I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day.

Tamara asked: Are you pregnant? Just kidding. Um... If beer was not an option (because I hate beer and it makes me and the baby Jesus cry that you like it) what would be your drink of choice?

Sometimes when I reflect back on all the beer I drink I feel ashamed. Then I look into the glass and think about the workers in the brewery and all of their hopes and dreams. If I didn't drink this beer, they might be out of work and their dreams would be shattered. Then I say to myself, it is better that I drink this beer and let their dreams come true than be selfish and worry about my liver. --Jack Handy

OK . . . no, I am not pregnant. I know you said you were kidding, but I just wanted to make sure I point that out before I get to the rest of this. I know it sounds like I drink a lot. Because I talk about drinking . . . a lot. But I don't really drink that often. Just on the weekends. And sometimes during the week Heidi and I will split a bottle of wine but wine is good for your heart, right? Right. Also, what else are weekends for besides drinking? ALSO, I'm young and unmarried and childless, I have to spend my money on something, right? Right.

ANYWAY. FIRST OF ALL (caps lock off), who hates beer?! I was under the impression that everyone loves beer. Probably because all of my friends do, but that is neither here nor there. I don't know where it is, but not in those two places, that is for sure. If you hate beer, what do you drink at baseball games? Water? Coke? NO. The only reason I go to baseball games is because beer and hot dogs taste so much better there. I don't know why. It's science or something.

So, I normally stick to beer because A) it's cheaper and B) when I drink liquor or do shots I tend to get a little out of control. Moreso than I do with beer, anyway. FOR INSTANCE:

• On my 21st birthday, I had shots. A lot of shots. Not 21 because I would have died, but a lot. When I went back to the sorority house, I pretended to swim on a table, stole my friend's boyfriend's hat, and gave a speech to half of the girls in the house about how we should not fight anymore because, and I quote, "we're all Juniors at the same time!"
• Last Oktoberfest. I mostly stuck to beer but I think some shots got in there somehow. Possibly a rum & coke. The night ended with me dancing with an old man at the bar, falling down in front of McDonald's on the way home, trying to break into someone else's condo and yelling at Heidi when she tried to stop me.
• The last time we went to visit people at Wittenberg, my friend Mary and I decided tequila shots would be a good idea. Aren't they always? Somehow that night we ended up getting locked in a closet. A tiny closet. It took them a good 15 minutes to get us out of there because the lock was broken and I am slightly claustrophobic so I almost started hyperventilating and so to distract me Mary started singing and then we both started singing and then Heidi told us to shut up with the singing already! Because we were locked! In! The closet! I'm surprised they let us out; we are extremely obnoxious when we're together, especially after tequila.
• My birthday last year? Mostly beer, mixed with several rum and cokes and I believe more tequila shots? Because Mary and I are crazy. Anyway, I fell down in the parking lot and also Heidi's boyfriend tried to pick me up and then dropped me on my head.

You know, I think I'm going to stop there, because my parents read this and while I'll share a lot with them, I don't think they need to know EVERYTHING, right? Right.

I'm not saying that when I JUST drink beer things like this don't happen. I mean, there was that time I fell out of my loft. And that time I fell down and ripped my jeans on St. Patrick's Day. And that other time I fell in one of those kiddie pools at a party and had to walk home soaking wet (I wasn't the only one, though). I know it sounds like I fall down a lot, but that's not the alcohol, I'm just really clumsy.

The end. Thanks for reading. Come back soon. BFF!* Did I even answer the question? I can't remember. Um, if beer were not an option, I'd drink wine. Or tequila. Or anything, really, as long as it doesn't have cranberry juice in it because cranberry juice tastes like llama pee. I'm assuming.

*Also when I drink a lot of beer, my blog tends to suffer the next day. That is my excuse for this. Sorry. Heh.

Game's over, losers! I have all the money! Compare your lives to mine and then kill yourselves!

I've decided to take the weekend off. Not from blogging, because God knows I have nothing better to do this weekend. That is a lie to make you feel sorry for me. I do have plans. Some plans. Tonight, anyway. And tomorrow, who knows. Does watching movies in your pajamas all night count as plans? If so, I have plans BOTH nights. YES! I rule!

Aaaanyway. I'm taking the weekend off from thinking. And obsessing. But mostly thinking. I think thinking covers obsessing, doesn't it? Whoops, there I go thinking again. No more of that. Anyone want to take a no-thinking/no-obsessing pledge with me? Good times.

miss almost, miss maybe, miss halfway

Heidi is working her other job tonight (on the corner . . . ZING! Jennie shut up) so I've been getting lots accomplished. Here is what I've done:

Went to the grocery. Bought salad, Q-tips, and chapstick.
Made dinner. Consisting of leftover chicken cut up on top of salad and french fries. French fries not in salad, but on side.
Finished my book.
Contemplated started a new one.
Watched House instead.
Dicked around on the Internets reading blogs and trying to figure out how to pronounce "Sufjan."
SERIOUSLY someone tell me, I'm sick of being afraid to try and say it because I'm going to say it wrong.

That's it. I didn't go to the gym. I didn't do anything productive, except OOH I paid one bill. Go me. Because when Heidi is not here I come home and put on my pajamas and revert to the hermit lady I once was when I lived alone. And what is wrong with being a crazy hermit lady, I want to know.

Anyway, it's been a weird year so far, yeah? Yeah. Thanks for agreeing with me. Since I am not doing anything productive this evening, I thought I'd take stock of the resolutions I made AAAAALL the way back in January. If you don't like it, you can just GO AWAY (please don't) or read it and complain in the comments or something. I don't care. I was going to answer more questions but I got tired of all the soul-crushing and truth-telling. Ha, no, I don't really know what I'm talking about either. So . . . let's do this thing.

Write more (this blog doesn't count as writing, since I am basically just spewing word salad everywhere)

Ha! This hasn't happened and I actually accidentally deleted Microsoft Office from my computer. Yes, accidentally. That will teach me to try and clean up my computer after drinking half a bottle of wine.

Eat better (because dinners consisting of pb&j and applesauce are not cutting it)

Actually, we've been doing a lot better with this! I say we, because Heidi makes me buy actual food at the grocery and cook it. Left to my own devices, I'd eat Hot Pockets and chips and salsa every night.

For that matter, learn to cook. Because the pictures Kat takes of her food are so pretty.

This is kind of working. Remember that time I made banana bread?! It was SO. GOOD. You don't even know. Well, some of you do. The rest of you don't, though. Sorry. (Heh, sorry, Sorry . . . like five people got that.) There was a minor setback when Heidi and I tried to make prime rib, but once it finally finished cooking, that tasted pretty damn good, too.

Stop procrastinating as much (we'll see how that goes, seeing as how I waited til the 4th to make any resolutions)

HAHAHAHA!

Don't get pregnant (so far, so good)

No babies.

Don't get married in Vegas (so far, so good)

No husbands.

or anywhere else (so far, so good)

I said no husbands. Pay attention.

Don't get bitten by a zombie (so far, so good)

I don't think so, although that would explain the whole not sleeping thing. See: Yesterday.

Clean the apartment more often (yeah, we'll see)

Who knows? There are no piles of garbage anywhere or families of cockroaches under the stove so I'm putting this one in the win column. Yes, there are columns.

Go to the doctor when sick instead of trying to treat self with a combination of denial, naps, and lots of self-medicating

But the self-medicating is the best part! What was I thinking?

Spend fewer hours dicking around on the Internets

Again, I say, HAHAHAHA!

Take more pictures

Done and DONE

Travel somewhere other than Chicago (any suggestions?)

Heh. Done and DONE. And then some.

Visit Chicago at least twice, though

Not yet. Give me time. GIVE ME TIME I SAID.

Stop calling Phoebe names like slut, whore, bitch, pussy, slutbag, etc. even though SHE TOTALLY DESERVES IT

Never gonna happen.

OK, so I'm not going to lie to you guys. I went back in my archives (archives sounds so pretentious) to look for the prime rib incident (different than The Noodle Incident) and I just kept reading and reading because I honestly have forgotten writing most of it. I don't know what that's about. I didn't write all of it drunk or anything. Maybe bits and pieces but not three months worth. It reminded me of the other night when Heidi read me this old e-mail she found that I sent like a year and a half ago to tell everyone my new phone number, only I kept rambling on and on about gorillas and pirates and gorilla pirates. I think I have some sort of brain disorder. I'd better go watch more House.

Sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion*

I'm just going to go ahead and apologize if none of this makes sense. But YOU try making sense when you're this tired! I'm trying this new thing where I don't sleep at night. It's not really a new thing, though, cause I do it a lot. You should try it, it's awesome. Until you finally fall to sleep around 3 or 4 and then wake up an hour later and want to die . . . other than that, it's super! Kinda like you're a vampire but without the nuisance of killing someone and drinking their blood. Oh and also you don't have any cool powers like super strength or lightning fast reflexes or the ability to disappear in a poof of ash and smoke if someone stakes you in the heart.

ANYWAY (that was the "anyway" heard around the world) earlier this evening, Heidi and I went to the gym and, for the first time, went to this Pilates class. I'm going to be honest with you, the only reason we wanted to go is because you do it with the lights off. Heh. Which brings me to:

Me: Do you want to do the elliptical after the Pilates class?
Heidi: No?
Me: Yes!
Heidi: OK.
Me: Well, let's see how we feel after the class.
Heidi: OK.
Me: I mean, you're just lying on your back in the dark, how much work can that be?
Heidi: Heh.
Me: Ha! Although normally when you're lying on your back in the dark, it IS a lot of work.
Heidi: I think that went without saying.
Me: Yeah.

Zing! Anyway, yeah, so we didn't end up doing the elliptical after Pilates. I thought after all of our extensive training with Mari Windsor, we'd be fine, but the instructor tried to kill us FOR REALSIES. Oh, and speaking of the instructor? She was the mother of one of the patients at my old office. I am never getting away from that place! Gah!

I think the people in my new office are going to get fed up with my musical choices soon. I got tired of listening to the radio all day, so I took some CDs to work. The problem is, I put on a CD in the morning and then listen to it all day long over and over. Which brings me to:

Me: I think my coworkers are getting annoyed with me.
Heidi: Why?
Me: I listened to The Shins all day on repeat.
Heidi: Oh god! They're not the only ones, then.
Me: What?
Heidi: Every morning when I'm getting ready, I hear music coming from your room and all I can think is "Is she listening to that song AGAIN?"
Me: Heh.
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: It's not every morning.
Heidi: Yeah, ok.
Me: Some mornings I listen to Regina Spektor instead!
Heidi: Wow, you've really proven your point there.
Me: Thank you.

And just because I feel like it, another question. Heather Anne asked: What is the most beautiful word you can think of?

According to my sources, (Wikipedia and Donnie Darko*), the most beautiful phrase (I know you said "word," Heather Anne, but I chose to ignore it and read "phrase" instead . . . heh) in the English language is "cellar door." Who am I to argue with both Wikipedia AND movies? Especially a movie* that stars my future husband? HOWEVER, my favorite phrase in all of literature is just this . . . "picnic, lightning." Need more?

My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three.

That's it. That's all there is. I don't know what it is about that sentence. It's so SIMPLE but so damn good that it makes me want to quit writing forever. I mean, I won't, but when I read that sentence it makes me think I should, because I will never be able to string words together that make someone want to read them over and over and wonder, "how'd she do that?"

Kat, I know you sent me that book of short stories to make me start writing some? But right now I'm reading this? And every time I pick it up it makes me want drop everything I'm doing and go write a book. Not enough to, you know, get off my lazy ass and actually start writing, but still . . . baby steps.

*Seriously, have you seen this movie? It's fucking awesome. Go watch it. Now. Go ahead. I'll wait.

The universe may not always play fair, but at least it's got a hell of a sense of humor.

Heather Anne asked (out of like TEN questions, heh): What do you not blog about?

Today I was driving behind a couple who couldn't keep their hands off of each other. Not in some vulgar display of affection, but gentle . . . sweet. His hand was on her headrest and every so often he'd play with her hair. We stopped at a stoplight and she grabbed his face in both of her hands, laughed, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. The light turned green, I saw them grab hands, his right, her left, and as they turned, I kept going straight and lost them.

The truth is, my first impulse was to ram my car into the back of theirs. They were young and in love (or at least in extreme like) and goddamn it, I was jealous. I'm young! And I'm not getting any younger! And it's at this point that I start worrying that I'm making all the wrong decisions or maybe not the wrong decisions but at least not the RIGHT decisions. Because if I was making the right decisions, things wouldn't be so complicated. Right? And I wouldn't spend every waking moment (and sometimes the non-waking ones) wondering just what the hell I'm doing and what I'm thinking and what he's thinking and how can I ask if I don't even know what I want? And the question I have running through my head all day every day is, "what the hell are we doing?" And I want to ask but I don't and then I think I might just make things easy for once, cut my losses, and run. But suddenly the phone rings or an e-mail pops up, my heart jumps into my throat, I take a deep breath, and forget about all my crazy.

You know. For a few minutes, anyway.

Here's Joe Cool hanging around the student union eyeing chicks. Actually, we Joe Cools are scared to death of chicks

My mom asked: What was your favorite cartoon character when you were little?

Well, gee, Mom, I'd hope you'd remember this a little better than I would. But to the best of my knowledge, my favorite character was Snoopy. What's not to love about Snoopy? He sleeps on top of his doghouse. He's afraid of the cat next door. He flies planes, plays baseball, writes books, and is a killer ice skater and mimic. Also, his best friend is a bird. I don't know why that makes him more likeable, but it TOTALLY does so stop arguing with me.

When I was little, I had some old Peanuts books that my aunt gave me. I read them over and over. I still have them, although I haven't touched them in years. I mean, until right now when I walked over to my bookcase to confirm that, yes, I still have them and hadn't given them away or sold them in a fit of anti-packratism. That doesn't happen often but it DOES happen.

I say my favorite cartoon character was (and is) Snoopy, but if I had to pick a cartoon character I was most like, it'd have to be Lucy. She's mean and angry, but I think she means well. I know she charges for psychiatric help, but at least she's offering it, you know? And I'd like to say I feel sorry for Charlie Brown when she pulls that football away at the last minute, but really I find it pretty fucking hilarious. I mean, if some sucker is going to fall for the same joke over and over, wouldn't you keep pulling it?

Aside from Calvin & Hobbes, Peanuts is my favorite comic, not because it is particularly funny but because it's comforting. The characters stay the same. Charlie Brown is always sad, Sally is delusional, Lucy is domineering, Linus is a whiny pussy with a blanket, etc. And to this day, when an adult talks to me, sometimes the only thing I hear is, "wah wah wah wah wah."

I don't know about you, but I can hardly wait

Defining The Crazy: Cry Me a River Edition

I just spent the last ten minutes sitting in my bed and crying with a box of tissues in my lap and hoping Heidi didn't walk in because if she did I'd have to explain that I was crying because there were beluga whales on TV and there was only a tiny hole in the ice for 20 miles for the next two months and they can only hold their breath for 20 minutes but there was a polar bear! Right there waiting by the only hole in the ice for 20 miles and every time they came up to take a breath the polar bear would jump in and try to eat one and they got lucky a couple of times but finally the polar bear got one and ate it and it was sad!

And then I remembered why I wasn't allowed to watch Animal Planet anymore. It always ends in tears.

You think that because I'm a movie star I don't have feelings. Well you're wrong. I'm an actress. I've got all of them!

Heidi (Roommate) asks: When are you going to fix your coffeemaker? When are we going to fix our light in the kitchen? When are we going to paint?

And she should really know the answer to these questions is NEVER. Because I am involved and when I am involved that means Procrastination is involved and when PROCRASTINATION is involved . . . well, you know. The other night, I was looking through the benefits package I got when I started my new job, which is kind of amazing because I still have two more weeks before I have to turn anything in. So, I mean, the fact that I'm looking at it before the last day is pretty unbelievable, right? Anyway, Conversations With My Roommate blah blah blah:

Me [singing]: I would like medical insurance . . . donde esta my medical insurance form?
Heidi: Yeah, you need medical insurance to treat your gonorrhea.
Me: Hey!
Heidi: Or is it syphilis*?
Me: My away message now says "Heidi is mean."
Heidi: It's not my fault you have gonorrhea.
Me: True enough.
Heidi: The oral herpes, on the other hand . . .
Me: What is wrong with you?

Heidi makes fun of me a lot. I'm not trying to make you feel sorry for me. I mean, I bring it on myself. Most of the time. That time earlier this week when she made fun of my short, stubby ponytail, that was uncalled for. My hair is growing as fast as it can! Leave it alone! At least it's a ponytail, even if it is a short, stubby one. Today, however, when she made fun of me for freaking out about the word "we?" Totally my fault. I could tell you why I freaked out but it wouldn't make sense to you. It barely made sense to me and it ended with her calling me Robin Scherbatsky (How I Met Your Mother . . . geez, look it up) partly because I am afraid of commitment just like Robin but mostly for reasons that probably only make sense to Heidi. Also me. That's it, though.

Aaaaanyway, so I get made fun of a lot. Just a few minutes ago she laughed at me for telling her to throw the last potato away so we didn't get a potato disease, but if you had seen the weird growths on this potato you wouldn't want to eat it either.

*Other reasons I get made fun of? I say things like "Man, I always spell syphilis wrong." Out loud. In front of people.

Suppose I kept on singing love songs just to break my own fall

Kat (formally of i hate kit kats) asked: what's the meanest thing you ever did to a boy?*

I still maintain that the meanest thing I ever did to a boy was the time in 5th grade when I kicked David Whatsisname in the balls as hard as I could, which was pretty hard (ballet). But I don't regret it because he was making fun of my sister. Actually, at the time I was just happy that I was wearing really heavy, pointy shoes.

*Kat, I'm pretty sure this isn't exactly what you meant. But if you look elsewhere (wink wink nudge nudge), you may find it.

I am the best goddamn dancer in the American Ballet Academy. Who the hell are you? Nobody.

Heather Anne's cousin asked: So when you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up? Do you still wish you could?*

When I was little, I wanted to be a ballerina. Like every other little girl. If I could travel back in time, I would kick 5-year-old Jennie's ass for being so conventional. But there you have it. I wanted to be a tiny, tutu-ed, girl in tights. That, or Peter Pan. But not like a boy Peter Pan, like the girl version of Peter Pan. Patricia Pan. I'm pretty sure that was only because I wanted to be able to fly. I can't tell you how many times I stood on the edge of my bed with my eyes squeezed shut, thinking happy thoughts as hard as I could, only to jump off and open my eyes and my heart would die a little bit every time I realized I was on the floor and not the ceiling. Ha, Mom and Dad, I bet you didn't know I used to do that. Should I mention I was jumping off of the top bunk bed? Cause I was. Just be glad I wasn't jumping off the roof or something. I'd like to say I grew out of this, but I'm still half-convinced that I really could fly if only I could find the right happy thought.

Anyway, so I wanted to be a ballerina. But I quit because I hurt my ankle. Or because I was lazy and unmotivated. Either way, it was probably for the best. Ballerinas are willowy and graceful. I am neither. I walk into walls and door frames and piece of furniture sober (don't even ask about the damage I do to myself while drunk), which is why I am usually covered in bruises. Not because Heidi abuses me. Don't call the cops, put down the phone, I'm fine . . . just clumsy.

In fourth grade, though, I gave up dreams of THE DANCE and decided I wanted to be a writer. Mrs. Castrejon encouraged us all to write stories in her class but BEST OF ALL she had a little room set up so we could make our stories into real books. Cardboard for the cover, construction paper in every color you could imagine, and yarn to tie it all together. My favorite moments in that class were the quiet hours spent meticulously copying my words into a real, honest-to-god book. And when I think of myself like that, head bent low over the desk, biting the inside of my lip when I made a mistake, wondering whether to try and fix it or just start over, I realize that I haven't changed that much and maybe I'm not so grown up after all. So I take a deep breath, lean back from the desk, and send up a silent thank you that there's still time.

*Keep 'em coming . . . if I'm lucky, I won't have to think of an original topic for months

Cause the ice melts, and then it's like . . . second drink!

We had a guest this weekend. His name is Bo and he poos in a box and licks his butt. He's a cat. In case you didn't follow. I wasn't sure. He and Phoebe didn't get along. They hissed at each other and he made a really weird growling noise and I didn't even know cats growled. So I learned something new this weekend, which hardly ever happens. There was one minor setback, however, in that Phoebe puked on my bed. In my sheets. Like IN the sheets. I'm not sure how she did it because I had to pull back the comforter before I even saw it. And so, that is why I was doing laundry at 1:30 in the morning after Heidi and I polished off a bottle of wine while making jello shots (CLASSY!) and why I slept in my bed like this all weekend:


Sure, I could have made my bed but what if she threw up in it again? I'd just have to unmake it and remake it and last night let's just say I would have slept anywhere. When I woke up this morning the clean sheets were balled up next to my head, my pillows were unused except for the body pillow which I was half curled up with and half using as a blanket. Again I say CLASSY. I'd say Nancy's St. Patrick's Day party was a success. We were home by 12:30. I think. I sent many a text message and called the majority of my phone book (including our apartment phone), proving once again that I should hide my cell phone from myself if I'm planning on drinking.

Today, as I was driving Steve, Nick, and Heidi to get their cars, Nick produced the most ungodly smell in the history of farts. It was the worst thing I have ever smelled and once in college our apartment basement flooded with sewage. SEWAGE. And this smell was worse. We were at a stoplight and we immediately rolled all the windows down and stuck our heads out into the fresh, cold air. The lady in the car next to us rolled her window down and asked if we were OK and I would have said to her, "No, ma'am, my car has been filled with poisonous gas," only I was laughing too hard to breathe, let alone talk.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Don't do anything I wouldn't do. That doesn't leave much, so, you know . . . have fun.

Jim is not allowed to talk until he buys me a Coke. Those are the rules of jinx, and they are unflinchingly rigid.

OK, I'm not even going to pretend I'm not completely stealing this idea. I just won't. Lots of other people have done it in the past which makes THEM copiers, too. With the exception of the first one. Whoever they were.

So, yes, I'm stealing. But I don't care. Because I'm lazy and don't know what to write on here anymore and so when I do try to write something it looks like word salad because not only do I have verbal diarrhea, apparently I have finger diarrhea. That sounds all kinds of wrong. Sorry. I can never remember how to spell diarrhea. I wonder why that is. Huh.

ANYWAY, so my point is, you can ask me any question you want in the comments or in e-mail or whatever and I will answer them. Maybe. Eventually. Also I don't have to answer anything if it's going to make me have feelings. In fact, I don't have to answer anything more incriminating than "what's your favorite color?* because IT'S MY BLOG AND I'LL DO WHAT I WANT. So there.

Man, I'm going to be really depressed if no one asks anything. DON'T YOU PEOPLE CARE ANYMORE?!

*please don't ask this

And so Sally can wait, she knows it's too late as we're walking on by

Tonight Heidi had to work late and so I was going to skip the gym. Because Heidi and I are attached at the hip and cannot do anything separately except sleep, shower, go to the bathroom, and go to work. Also, she is the only one who sleeps with her boyfriend and vice versa . . . you know, if I had a boyfriend. ALSO. We have separate families only my parents call her their other daughter and what they REALLY mean is their FAVORITE daughter.

ANYWAY. Usually what happens when we get home from work is we wander around the apartment until one of us says, "what should we have for dinner?" Then we wander around some more, fix dinner, eat it while watching something TiVo'ed and then wander around until one of us says, "so . . . gym?" The past couple of nights we haven't gotten to the gym until 9, which means we don't get home til after 10, which means by the time we stop wandering around the apartment some more, it's almost midnight and then we hate ourselves in the morning. See, cause there are two different Jennies. The first one is NighttimeJennie. She is loads of fun, but not very responsible. She will convince herself that it's OK to stay up really late reading or watching TV or drinking wine even if she knows she has to get up at 6. Then there is MorningJennie. She is a royal bitch. Seriously. Don't talk to her. Every morning, MorningJennie vows to make NighttimeJennie go to bed earlier but by the time nighttime roles around MorningJennie is too tired to care. This is a vicious cycle.

What was my point? WOW. OK. Oh, so tonight Heidi had to work late so I was going to skip the gym. Did I say that already? I'm too lazy to look. But when I got home, instead of immediately putting my pajamas on and plopping in front of the TV (I am WAY behind on my Daily Shows), I put on gym clothes, threw my hair in a ponytail, and went to the gym. WHICH, by the way, is so much busier at 6 than it is at 9. Haha, 69. God. I thought I might have to fight someone for an elliptical but luckily I didn't. Because I would have gotten my ass kicked. Actually, maybe not. I have been working out lately and I'm pretty scrappy. I WILL KICK YOUR ASS!

Did that scare you? No? OK.

This is going to seem random. I'm just warning you. So, on Friday when Heidi, Steve, and I were driving down to Kentucky, we heard a commercial for this study being held at the University of Cincinnati. AND NOW. I BRING YOU. CONVERSATIONS. WITH. MY ROOMMATE. Because it's been a while. I think.

Me: Oh my god, are you listening to this?
Heidi: What?
Me: This commercial.
Heidi: No.
Me: It's for some study?
Heidi: Yeah . . .
Me: For women . . .
Heidi: OK.
Me: Who don't have any sex drive.
Heidi: Um. And?
Me: They're asking for volunteers to participate in the study.
Heidi: OK.
Me: Do you think they pay? To take part in it?
Heidi: Probably.
Me: I wonder how much.
Heidi: No idea.
Me: I could so fake not having a sex drive*.
Heidi: Me too.
Me: I'm tempted to sign up.
Heidi: You should.
Me: Only I'm afraid of what would happen to me if they gave me real drugs.
Heidi: Yeah, that could be dangerous.
Me: Like what if the drugs they gave me REALLY killed my sex drive?
Heidi: It could happen.
Me: I'd hate to have to fake it for real.

I'm not sure if Steve was paying attention to this part of the conversation. Were you, Steve? I hope not, because I think I took liberties with some of what was said. Give me a break, though, this happened LAST FRIDAY and there was a lot of beer in between then and now.

I don't even remember what I wrote up there at the top anymore and I don't care to look. Kay, bye!

*I would like to apologize to my parents right now

When I'm with you, baby, I go out of my head. And I just can't get enough, I just can't get enough.

Dear Internets, I miss you so much. When I come home from work, the first thing I do is fire up Google Talk even though my eyes are still burning from staring at the computer screen all day long. Sad? Yes, but also dedicated. Right? Is dedicated the word I'm looking for?

I don't think I realized how many hours a day I used to fuck around on the Internets. WORKING hours. Oops. Now I don't. Now I am a good girl. I have just decided. No more drinking, no more boys, no more slacking, no more cursing, no more cheesecake or thin mints or junk food . . . hahahaha oh my god I'm totally kidding. My stomach! It hurts! From the laughter!

I'm really tired. I can't get used to being on a normal schedule. At my old job, the hours were all fucked up . Some days we'd start before 7 AM, other days we'd start late and work late and on SOME DAYS, some very, very bad, dark days, we'd work on Saturday. Did you know that if I was still at my old job I'd have to work this Saturday? On St. Patrick's Day? ST. PATRICK'S DAY. I would have cried. True story*.

OH! And also? It is SO WARM OUTSIDE you guys. So warm. Like 75 or something. Which, I realize in the grand scheme of things is not that warm because I bet it's at least 87 in hell, but compared to the stupid stupid frigid cold of the past, I might as well be in hell. I mean that in a good way. Although, it only took one day of warm weather for me to start complaining about it. Because when I got in my car after work it was all sunny and hot and I started sweating because I have to dress for the -15 degrees it is in our office and I HATE sweating for ALMOST any reason so, yes, I was complaining but no one heard me or anything. Unless the guys standing outside smoking have very, very good hearing. One of them saluted me as I left. I'm not sure what that has to do with anything, but I thought it was worth mentioning.

I forgot to tell you all something really, really exciting. Heidi and I somehow got new silverware from Kohl's for . . . wait for it . . . $5.99! And it's good silverware, too! It was the last set of silverware with the pink handles (yes, we have pink silverware now . . . suck it) and when it rang up as only $5.99, I do believe smoke came out of Heidi's ears and I'm pretty sure my eyes got so big that one popped out of my head and I had to chase it down the aisle. Eyeballs are bouncy. True story**.

*lies (but I would have been upset)
**more lies

Why is this so hard? That’s what she said. Oh my god. What am I saying?

So, ok, I haven't posted in a while. I'm sorry! It doesn't mean I've stopped loving you. Really. Mama's just busy, ok? She'll read you a book tomorrow night. You know how to microwave a pizza, right? Go on. Go watch some TV while Mama works.

Yeah, I don't know.

Friday was Heidi's boyfriend's birthday. And when it's your birthday you get to pick the plans. Which is how I ended up at a horse track in Kentucky on Friday night. I mean, I'm not complaining although it did kind of smell weird. Like desperation and horse poo. BUT. They had hot dogs and popcorn and nachos and $1 beer. ONE DOLLAR. I didn't bet on any horses, though I totally would have paid money to pet one. Unfortunately that was not an option. Oh, and also? So many people had their kids with them. Also, girl scouts were there selling cookies (satan!) but I didn't buy any. The lady in front of us, though? Who let her tiny baby crawl around ON THE FLOOR AT THE HORSE TRACK? She bought some cookies and then she was eating one and it fell ON THE FLOOR AT THE HORSE TRACK and she PICKED IT UP, DUSTED IT OFF AND ATE IT. IT'S TRUE! HEIDI SAW IT! I wish I could make the caps lock more caps lockier because that is how grossed out I am.

Oh and also? Heidi and I took a trip to the restroom, which actually wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be except in three of the stalls there were these weird contraptions that kind of looked like toilets but not really. Maybe horse toilets. They looked like urinals that were sitting on the floor rather than attached the wall. As Heidi and I gazed at them in confusion, a lady walked up behind us, peered around the stall door and said, "Oh, those are the stand up ones," and then walked into one of the normal-toileted bathrooms like she hadn't said anything out of the ordinary. But, she said THE STAND UP ONES. What?!? OK, I don't know if any other women ever tried to pee standing up when they were little (I know I'm not alone, cause Heidi said she tried it once, too . . . Heidi, sorry if you didn't want me to tell anyone that, but everyone knows what a giant liar I am so they probably won't believe me . . . OK, that's not true, I'm a horrible liar) but let me tell you what happens. It runs down your legs and gets all over the damn place. So I would like someone to explain what the hell was going on in that Kentucky bathroom. No, you know what? I don't want to know.

After the horse track, we went to Hofbrau House. Where they serve liters of beer and also fried pickles. Unfortunately, due to some poor planning, we arrived at Hofbrau House too late to order food. OR SO OUR WAITRESS SAID. OK, so we asked if we could order food and she said she'd go back to check and see if the kitchen was still open and then she NEVER CAME BACK. And when we finally managed to catch her attention (which was difficult since she was avoiding eye contact and ignoring our calls of "Miss! Miss!" and Steve chanting "PLATE OF PRETZELS" while pounding his fists on the table . . . I mean, how do you ignore that?), she told us that they weren't making food anymore. To which I said, "why do you lie, liar?" I was pretty upset. I almost cried. I may have used the "C-U-Next-Tuesday" word . . . over and over and over to the point where people started backing uncomfortably away from me until I remembered I still had beer and concentrated on that.

So, as it worked out, we had banana bread (eaten before we left Dayton), popcorn, and beer for dinner. Oh, until we went to Skyline at 2 AM. OK. I don't like Skyline but I have this habit when I'm drunk of trying things I think I don't like. This habit led to me finding out that, yes, I DO like sour cream. Which was good considering I had just smeared almost an entire container on a chimichanga. ANYWAY. What was I saying? Oh. Skyline. We went there. And I decided to try the hot dogs. I know they're called something . . . two-ways or whatever. I almost got a three-way just so I could say, "I would like a threeway, please," but three hot dogs is a lot. But I did get a two-way. And it was as disgusting as I remembered (I did eat it but, I mean, we HAD skipped dinner). Still. I maintain my belief that Skyline hot dogs are boiled in toilet water because that's what they taste like.

I do like one thing about Skyline, and that is that they give you a bowl of oyster crackers, which I then douse in hot sauce and try to eat them all even though my mouth is on fire and my lips are turning purple. True story.

Then on Saturday we went to a comedy club. Also, other stuff happened this weekend, but I'm getting tired of typing.

ohmygodyouguysimissedyousomuchtoday

SIGH.

OK, so this morning on the way to work, I was listening to this radio station that asks an impossible question every day and today the impossible question was "10% of men say they don't do this," and my first thought was that 10% of men say they don't masturbate. Then I was all, oh my god, there is no way that many men in this world don't masturbate but then I thought, "well, the question was 10% of men SAY they don't do this," and I'm sure 10% of men might SAY they don't do it. But every guy I know is really proud of their masturbatory skills. Not sure why. ANYWAY. Then I thought that maybe like 10% of the male population might be really old guys and maybe they can't masturbate anymore but then I realized that really old guys might just go ahead and buy some Viagra just so they can masturbate and that's when I realized I was thinking about old men masturbating so I decided to change the radio station. Anyway, the answer to the question was 10% of men say they don't follow sports, and I'm still not really sure I believe that.

Then later on in the day? I actually sang the "Fifty Nifty United States" song to myself because I couldn't remember if there were any states that start with an L besides Louisiana. Yes, I remembered the entire song. Welcome to my brain. It's a scary place.

WE WERE ON A BREAK!

Dear Internets, I'm afraid that I will be neglecting you in the next few weeks. Maybe months. You see, my new job? The one I started today? They are much stricter when it comes to usage of The Internets. The monitor everything, kind of like Big Brother. And as much as I like to break the rules, I do not like getting caught.

Yeah. I give that a week.

So, today I got to wear big girl clothes instead of scrubs. My feet hurt. As soon as I came home I took off all my big girl clothes and put on sweats, which as far as I can tell is the best part about wearing big girl clothes. Except for the sound that big girl shoes make on tile. I love that. Also, I love the cute, big girl shoes. There is something really funny about the phrase "big girl." Maybe it's because we call my friend Mary's roommate "Big Girl." He is neither big nor a girl. Discuss.

I went the whole day without checking my e-mail. Well. Not true. I checked it in the morning before I left. And I checked my work e-mail, but I only got one today and it was just to tell me how to set up my voicemail. HARDLY as much fun as my personal e-mails. Also, as soon as I got home, right before I stripped off all my big girl clothes, I fired up Google Talk. I didn't have much in my e-mail, but at least the dose of internet finally stopped the cold chills, the dizziness, and the shaking.

I am ready to face any challenges that might be foolish enough to face me.

Today is my last day at work and this morning I left my apartment with my pants on backwards. NOW. Before you judge too hastily, they are SCRUB pants with a tie in the front (well, in the back today) so it's not like it matters that much if you're wearing them backwards or forwards or sideways or upside-down. Except for those last two, I'm not sure how you'd go about doing that.

I fixed them once I got to work. And I didn't tell anyone. Except you guys. This is just like on the last day of high school when I forgot the combination to my locker. For real. It was just . . . gone. Which was probably good, because a couple months before that I had spilled rancid hot chocolate all over everything inside and the smell still hadn't gone away by the end of the year. That smell is probably still there. It was the unholiest of all unholy smells. It made all of Central unit smell and Central was a BIG unit (heh).

I have no idea where I'm going with this. True story.

Lids down, I count sheep, I count heartbeats, the only thing that counts is that I won't sleep, I count down, I look around

Well, it's been a while since I've talked about not sleeping. Hasn't it? It has. Thanks for agreeing with me. Sometimes I go through periods where I don't sleep. Unless I drink profusely before bed and not even that works every time. Believe me, I've tried. I'm kidding. Maybe.

You know how sometimes after a night of drinking you wake up and your mouth tastes all fuzzy? Or like someone (hopefully you) threw up in it and then you forgot to brush your teeth? So you've got this ungodly taste in your mouth and it also feels like you've been sucking on cotton all night?

Anyway, that's what my brain feels like right now.

I'm not sure why I don't sleep sometimes. Maybe it's mental. OK, I'm sure it's mental. Heh, mental. Or I need to cut back on the caffeine (NO GOD NO) but I wouldn't NEED the caffeine in the first place if my brain would just shut up long enough to let me fall to sleep. Here are some of the reasons I couldn't sleep last night:

• I slept too late on Sunday, because I couldn't fall to sleep Saturday night.
• Phoebe was purring too loud.
• I got too hot under the covers so I had to take my pants off and then I got too cold and had to put socks on and then I got too hot again so I threw the comforter on the floor and then I got cold again OH MY GOD STOP THE MADNESS.
• I kept having weird dreams (nothing new there) and after each one I'd wake up, sit up, and say, (loudly, for Phoebe's benefit? I don't know) "What the fuck is wrong with me?"
• I start my new job on Wednesday and I am having paranoid delusions that they're going to call me Tuesday night and shriek, "HAHA JUST KIDDING!" and then hang up and I will cry, cry, cry all night long (but not sleep).
• The moonlight was too bright . . . SERIOUSLY. It was shining in my window and it woke me up because it was too damn bright. Normally, I love a full moon (heh) . . . it's all pretty and bright and romantic but not when I'm trying to sleep because I have to get out of bed and close the curtains and then I freeze because I'm not wearing pants (see above).

That's right, moonlight woke me up. I'm a very light sleeper, which is funny (not haha funny) because Heidi is such a deep sleeper. There are are mornings that I wake up because I hear both her alarm and TV through her closed door and my closed door and she can sleep right through it. I don't know how she does it but I'm totally jealous. This one morning as I was leaving I passed her room and the TV was blaring and bright and her alarm that sounds like you're standing INSIDE an actual church bell was ringing and ringing AND RINGING and she was dead asleep.

Oh my god, this is so boring. I'm sorry (not really). Maybe if I read this over and over I'll be able to fall asleep. I should probably wait until I get home, though.

Michael, if this is a lecture on how we're all supposed to whatever and blah blah blah, well, you can save it, because we all know it by heart.

Do you ever go through a period of time where all you want to do is read? For, I don't know, a while (so descriptive), I've had to force myself to finish any book I start. Which is not like me. But lately, I've been reading CONSTANTLY. I take a book with me everywhere, just in case I have some extra time to read a couple of pages. I even had my book at the grocery store the other day but I didn't take it out of my purse because I was afraid I'd accidentally run over a small child or an old person with my cart if I tried to read and shop at the same time. Not that I'm particularly worried about running over a small child (because they're everywhere and if me hitting them with my cart teaches them NOT to run in front of things with wheels then I am happy to perform that service) but I'd feel bad about running over someone's sweet old grandma who is only at the store because her dear grandchildren are coming to visit this weekend, and so she risked the cold and the snow and the roads to come all the way to Kroger to buy ingredients for her world famous oatmeal raisin cookies. Oh, Grandma, you are just too sweet for words.

Wow, ok. So all weekend I've been reading. I finished one book and am halfway through another and I'm trying to mainline them as quickly as possible because I want to start something new. Sometimes I wish I could have books shot directly into my brain, like how they gave Keanu Reeves all the kung fu knowledge in The Matrix. And after they did it I'd be all, "I know exactly what twists and turns and misunderstandings were necessary for Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy to end up together," only that doesn't roll off the tongue quite like, "I know kung fu." Ah well.

Last night I was pouring over my bookshelves and I found a copy of The Great Gatsby that had fallen behind a row of other books. The Great Gatsby! Shoved behind other books! Blasphemy! To be completely honest, I didn't even know I owned a copy of The Great Gatsby. And I'm pretty sure the last (and only) time I ever read it was in high school and I didn't like it because in high school I was all, "Symbolism? Pshaw! Symbolism is stupid! I hate symbolism!" and then I went to college and became an English major and that's when symbolism and I began our torrid love affair. Anyway, so The Great Gatsby is next on my list of books to read because I think I'll like it more as a sophisticated and well-traveled (ha) twentysomething than I did as a smart-assed fifteen-year-old know-it-all. Damn, that was a lot of hyphens! Did you see that? Amazing. Anyway, the symbolism, right. I had this one professor in college that was way, way into symbolism. She was symbolism's bitch. Also, her husband was a professor, too, but not so much into symbolism. He was completely insane, though. Katie, you know who I'm talking about? YOU KNOW who I'm talking about. Anyway, the lady professor? You could make up ANYTHING and she'd just nod her head and say, "yes, yes, that is an interesting point." Sometimes when she'd call on me I would make up the most off the wall thing I could think of just to see if she'd agree with me. She usually did. Probably because she was high all the time.

Symbolism and I almost broke up over Moby-Dick. That book almost killed me. You know, if I remember right, that was the time I was reading Moby-Dick for one class, Hamlet for another, and Crime & Punishment for a class on Russian Literature that I only took because I thought it would be easy. Russian Literature. Easy. Ha! So, yeah. Moby-Dick, Hamlet, and Crime & Punishment. The Bermuda Triangle OF DEATH AND DEPRESSION. I doubt I was very much fun to be around during this time, namely because I was FUCKING DEPRESSED as a result of the murder and the crazy and the dying dying everybody dying. You know what, though? I kept my copy of Moby-Dick, not because I'll ever read it again, but as proof that I actually did read it. You can tell because of all the clever notes I wrote in the margins. Such as "ew" in reference to a description of a gaping wound and "haha" in reference to the words "sperm whale."

Well, um, actually a pretty nice little Saturday, we're going to go to Home Depot. Yeah, buy some wallpaper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that.

I don't want to scare you guys, but I have been totally domestic all day long today. I did about 14 loads of laundry (lie), BAKED a loaf of banana bread (thanks for the recipe, Kat!), and just Monica Gellered the entire apartment. It looks (and smells) SO. GOOD.

Last night I started reading The Polysyllabic Spree. You know, you wouldn't think that a book where some guy talks about books he's purchased and books he's read would be that exciting, but it is really, really good. So good, you guys. Maybe it's because I suffer from the same affliction the author does. Namely, I purchase way WAY more books than I can read. Earlier I pulled all of the books off of my shelf that I haven't read yet, just to get an idea of how many there were. This is the stack:

Yeah. I told Heidi that she was allowed to berate me (but not slap me) the next time I come home with a bunch of books. I mean, seriously. I don't need to buy any more books for a while, right? Because of that stack up there. That could last me a while. At least a month, right? Right? Probably way longer. Maybe. So explain to me why the only thing I can think about is the gift certificate to Half Price Books that is in my purse and that I want to spend NOW RIGHT NOW.

I think I have a sickness. And you wanna know what? If there's some sort of cure, I don't want to know about it.

This year more people will use cocaine than will read a book to their children.

"Hi, Linda. Dwight Schrute, Assistant Regional Manager. You might remember testing my urine a few years back, when I was applying to be a volunteer sheriff’s deputy."

"We test a lot of urine."

"Mine was green."

"Oh, right. How are you?"

"I’m all better."

-The Office (duh), "Drug Testing"

Remember that list I made yesterday? And how I said I probably wouldn't get around to much of it? Well. AS IT TURNS OUT, I got around to almost all of it. Except for cleaning the bathroom. And going to the gym, but I'm doing that later. I also got around to doing some stuff on the second list, like sleeping in and reading and watching TiVo. No thin mints, surprisingly enough. DID I JUST BLOW YOUR MIND?

So far, the highlight of my day was going to get my drug test. I've never had to get a drug test before so it was a new experience. I was a little nervous, because whenever I have to pee in a cup at the doctor's office I get stage fright. Which is weird, because normally I pee constantly. Well, not CONSTANTLY, because that would be messy. But I pee A LOT. So before I left to go get my test, I drank a whole bunch of water and prayed I wouldn't pee myself before they called my name.

It turns out it's a much more intricate system than I'd been expecting. I thought she'd just hand me the cup, I'd pee in it (and probably on my hand) and give it back lalala all done. FIRST OF ALL, she inspected the form I'd brought with me (supplied by my new employer) and she asked if they'd just given it to me. "No," I replied. "I've had it for a while, hahaha." Because I have had it for a while. It only just occurred to me that the reason she gave me such a funny look when I said that is because she thinks I waited so long to get my drug test because I smoked a lot of crack or meth or ecstasy or whatever it is the kids are doing these days and needed time to flush out my system or something, but really it's just because I'm a big, giant procrastinator and it didn't occur to me that I still hadn't gotten tested until yesterday. Not that I really look like a drug addict, but sometimes you can't tell, you know? I don't even know how long drugs stay in your system. I used to work at a Vitamin World in college (shut up) and sketchy looking characters used to come in and buy this stuff that supposedly flushes out your system. I don't know. I didn't mind them. They were quiet and left the store quickly. The only customers I really minded were the secret shoppers and the geriatric cowboy who came in one night with an ice cream cone in one hand and his giant belt buckle in the other. He spent about an hour in the store hitting on me and asking if I was a christian while I begged the other customers with my eyes to please please please make him leave but that's a story for another day.

Anyway, so this drug testing lady looked like my grandma. She definitely wasn't as nice, though. She made me wash my hands and lock up my purse and told me NOT to flush the toilet or run water and she took the trashcan out of the bathroom. Also, my grandma has never made me pee into a plastic cup, at least not to my knowledge.

Still. I tried to be friendly. After all, she spends her entire day handling pee. Also? Once I'd handed over my pee (full to the brim, I'll have you know) she made me sign my form with her pen but she didn't let me wash my hands until after. I really hope she throws the pen away every time. Otherwise, I don't want to know how many pee germs are all over it. And don't you tell me pee is sterile, it's still pee.

I’m always thinking one step ahead. Like a carpenter that makes stairs.

I have the day off tomorrow and here are the things I need to do:

go to the grocery
balance my checkbook
go to the gym
get a drug test (for new job, not because I was arrested or anything)
go to the library
fill out paperwork for new job
clean room and bathroom
do laundry (but laundry, I barely know you!)

Just looking at that list exhausts me. EXHAUSTS ME. Here is what I will probably end up doing instead:

sleeping in A LOT
watching shows TiVo has recorded that I haven't gotten around to watching yet
reading
eating thin mints
watching shows TiVo has recorded that I won't delete because I like to watch them over and over
reading some more

I may be able to throw in something like doing laundry or showering or going to the gym. But not everything on the first list. I don't have any plans this weekend (LO-SER) so I need to leave something for Saturday night. Ha! Just kidding. If I'm home Saturday night I'm going to buy a bottle of wine and get drunk by myself, because Heidi will be at her boyfriend's. I. Am SO. PSYCHED.

So last night I went to bed around 11:30 and slept the sleep of the dead until about 2 o'clock when I inexplicably woke up. Maybe not inexplicably. I think it was storming last night and that may have been about the time a giant thunderclap scared Phoebe and she used my stomach as a launching pad off of the bed. OW, CAT. Anyway, so the rest of the night (early morning?) I had the WEIRDEST DREAMS EVER. Like, in the one I remember? This guy and I kept breaking into churches to have sex. Dear Family: I am so sorry I just shared that with both you and the entire Internets. Anyway, I have no idea who this guy was or why we had to break into churches to have sex. I guess that makes me both a giant slut and a giant sinner. Also, this was really elaborate breaking and entering, that sometimes involved climbing trees or removing bars from windows or rappelling from the roof when a church security guard (or Jesus) got too close. I think someone needs to tell Dream!Jennie and Dream!Guy that a hotel room would be a lot more convenient and also probably safer. Except for the coffeemaker. I saw this thing on the news or the Internets (or I made it up and can't remember) that you shouldn't drink coffee out of hotel room coffeemakers because sometimes people use them to make meth. I can't even begin to imagine how you'd make meth in a coffeemaker and also I'm not exactly sure what meth is or does which makes me pretty confident that I'll pass that drug test tomorrow.