I've been lost, I've been found, but I don't feel down

So, I don't know if I've mentioned this, Internets, but I feel blue. Oh, right, I have mentioned it. Like every post this month. Or something. I don't know. I'm not going back to look, that's for damn sure.

Anyway. I don't know what my problem is. BUT. I can pretty much guarantee that the shitfest that was April 2007 was all my fault because of this post, where I went on and on about how great April was going to be. You'd think I'd have learned by now to shut my goddamn mouth, but I haven't. So there. It turns out T.S. Eliot WAS right. Who knew that son of a bitch was so smart? Oh, everyone? Right.

I'm not saying the entire month was a wash. I did get a new car. I did have a birthday. And I did have some very good times on some very specific occasions if you know what I'm saying and I think you do. You don't, though. I don't even know what I'm saying. Actually, maybe a select few of you know. Like if your name is Heidi. Or you know about Fight Club. BUT YOU DON'T. Unless you do. See? No idea what I'm saying.

See, here's the thing. I probably don't seem like I'm blue. It comes and goes. I'm not very good at being blue. I don't know what to do with myself if I'm not making an inappropriate joke about something or giggling to myself because someone just said, "this is the biggest one I've ever seen" or whatever. But I can be as melodramatic as the next person. I can mope. I can stare into space and twirl my hair. I can lie on my bed listening to The Shins and Coldplay and Oasis over and over. Just ask Heidi. I think if she has to hear Wincing the Night Away one more time, she is going to punch me in the babymaker and I WOULDN'T BLAME HER.

So what I'm saying is that since today is the last day of April, I am calling it the last day of Jennie's Great Funk of 2007. I'm not sure if you can will yourself out of a seemingly permanent state of blah, but I'm going to try my best. And I guess I will look back on April 2007 with some fondness. After all, it was Jim Halpert Month. And it was responsible for the creation of the first "Worst. Day. Ever. Week," and really, how could I stay mad at April after that?

Yeah, well, I’m calling the Ungrateful Bee-yotch Hotline!

Dear Internets, meet Sasha:

Yes, I ripped off the name from JD's scooter on Scrubs. Deal with it. Look at how little and cute she is! I can probably keep her in my pocket if I can't find a parking space. I had to give her a girl name because that car is CLEARLY a girl. Heidi suggested "Minty" but my mom said she needed something more exotic. Thus, Sasha was born. Thank you, Zach Braff. For so many things, really. Heh.

I got a little sad last night when I had to give the keys to Tealy to the dealership guy. Especially when my dad started talking about how they were going to rip him to pieces for parts.

Me: NO! NO NO NO!
Dad: Haha.
Me: Tealy is going to a little farm out in the country where he can drive and frolic about in the fields.
Mom: Oh my.
Dad: Yeah, ok.
Me: It's true.
Dad: Maybe he can be with the Buick.
Mom: Yeah, what did you name the Buick?
Me: Big Blue.
Dad: Well, Tealy and Big Blue will be very happy together.
Me: The other night Heidi called Tealy a "she" and I was all "NO! Tealy is a boy."
Mom: What was Big Blue?
Me: A boy. Which is too bad for Tealy.
Dad: Not necessarily.
Me: That's true, Tealy IS kind of gay.
Dad: Nothing wrong with that.
Me: I hope the farm is in New Hampshire.
Dad: You are so strange.

a stronger girl would shake this off in flight, and never give it more than a frowning hour

Internets, I've been blue this week and can't figure out why (lie #1 - I know exactly why). On Sunday, Kat decreed that Monday would be the WORST. DAY. EVER. and so it was. Then we decided to go ahead and extend it to Tuesday and then suddenly it was "WORST. DAY. EVER. Week." So . . . enjoy! I've mentioned it to a couple people and they are all on board, so you should be, too.

I am being dramatic. Nothing bad has happened to me this week. In fact, good things happened over the weekend, so I don't know where this bad mood came from (lie #2 - I know exactly where). Also, if all goes well, I'm getting a new car tomorrow, so I should be happy, right? Right.

Did you hear me, Internets? A NEW CAR! Said like Bob Barker. It's not REALLY a new car. But it is a mere two years old, which is younger than Phoebe. Not that I would condone trying to ride Phoebe to work. I tried that once and she bit me and then pooped on my pillow (lie # 3 - that never happened).

I do have one legitimate reason for being sad (not that the other reason isn't legitimate, but it is much less tangible and much more dramatic and involves WAY more obsessing and being a stupid stupid girl than I am comfortable with . . . oh man, am I being vague OR WHAT? Ha and also awesome) and that is that I have to get rid of my old car. Tealy. Oh, Tealy! I am not lying when I say to you that I may shed a tear tomorrow when I hand over the keys. We've been through a lot together. I have had this car since 1999 when I was still IN HIGH SCHOOL. It came to college with me. I drove it to Cleveland, Chicago, Michigan, and other places I CAN'T EVEN REMEMBER. I've been stranded in this car, cried in this car, laughed in this car, been laughed AT in this car, driven around aimlessly for hours in this car, been kissed in this car, and BEST OF ALL I have sung along to Journey in this car! JUST A SMALL TOWN GIRL! LIVING IN A LOOOOONELY WORLD!

Oh man, I'm gonna cry FOR REAL. You guys know how I never get rid of stuff? That includes stuff in my car. I cleaned it out tonight because I won't have time tomorrow after work before I pick up my new car and you would not BELIEVE the shit I found in there. Here is a list of things I found in both the car and the trunk, you disbelievers:

• jumper cables
• antifreeze
• a quart of oil
• three ice scrapers
• wait, no, four ice scrapers
• a cell phone charger for a phone I haven't had in at least four years
• two old license plates
• a blanket
• a Harry Potter lightening bolt temporary tattoo
• CASSETTE TAPES . . . no wait, cassette MIX tapes that I made IN HIGH SCHOOL (!!!)
• a fake Furby (named Hootenanny by ME) that I got in high school in a McDonald's happy meal
• a keychain from the library I worked at in high school
• a pair of shoes
• the tassel from my high school graduation cap
• two pairs of sunglasses that I thought I'd lost
• lots of loose change
• a YoYo

That's it, other than a lot of trash. OH WAIT, I forgot the best thing! I found a letter I'd written to my friend in MALAWI AFRICA that I forgot to send. It's from April 9th of last year (written at 11:37 AM if LastYearJennie can be believed) and of course I read it, out loud, to Heidi because it's like a time capsule. FROM LAST YEAR. Dum dum DUM!

You wanna hear my favorite part of the letter? It is either this:

I have this letter I wrote back in late February to send you but it's on my computer and my printer is out of ink. You'd think this would be relatively easy to fix, and you'd be right, but for a variety of reasons I just haven't gotten a new one yet. They're kind of expensive, I haven't had time, and I'm moving soon so I might as well wait. Long story short, I'm a bad friend blahdeebloobloo.

or this:

Wanna hear something funny? I haven't done my taxes yet. Heehee! My dad flipped out when I told him that. He kept saying that I'd forget to do them but that just goes to show he is not a true procrastinator. A real procrastinator doesn't forget things they have to do; they just like the excitement of waiting until the last minute. True, I wish I hadn't left them until now, since I'm busy getting ready to move, but I didn't know I was moving in January. Or February, even. Besides, back then I was SURE I'd have my taxes done by now. Can we say delusional? I can. Out loud.

So, I still haven't gotten a new ink cartridge for my printer. Also, I'm pretty sure it was around April 9th when I did my taxes this year. So that's it. I'm done trying to fight it. The procrastination can take over and do what it wants and maybe I will finally have peace.

This is the longest entry ever. You'd think I'd delete some of it but you'd be wrong. Anyway, I just remembered how much I like writing letters. Like real letters, not just e-mails, although I do enjoy a good e-mail. Or chat. But real letters are fun, what with the handwriting and the having to know how to spell things and whatnot. Good times. Who wants to be my pen pal? If no one volunteers, I'm going to be forced to write letters to random people and they'll be all, "who is this Jennie and why does she keep calling me Internets?"

Is there anything sadder than homeless robots at X-mas? Only drowning puppies, and there would have to be a lot of them.

I'm just wondering . . . is it completely obvious that I have absolutely no idea what the hell I'm doing most of the time? Usually I'm pretty oblivious to it but lately it's all I can think about. Bleh.

Anyway, remember when I was catsitting? When my aunt and uncle came back, they brought Heidi and I some sweet windchimes for our balcony. See:

They're CATS! Get it? Cause we were CATsitting? Laugh, you bastards. Anyway, so we hung them up (obviously, see the picture?) and they are SO LOUD. It's awesome because the fuckers who live below us slam their damn door ALL THE TIME. Payback's a bitch. Mwaahaahaaa!

Speaking of gifts, last night Heidi went all Monica Geller and was cleaning and going through all her clothes. She has more clothes than anyone I know. It's awesome because she gave me some capri pants that she was going to get rid of but earlier that day I was complaining about how I didn't have any capris and I didn't want to buy any blah blah no money etc. Anyway so I tried on this one pair and they came down to my ankles and just looked like high-waters. You know, it's really a shame that I'm a freaking munchkin.

Dear Internets: part two

Since I have run out of things in my own life to write about, I have decided to write a book*. I know I've said this approximately 18.7 times in the past, but I mean it this time. I have just decided. I think it has something to do with the fact that I turn 25 on Saturday and my life doesn't look anything like I thought it would at this point. So I have decided to turn this soul-crushing quarter-life crisis nonsense into something good. Or whatever.

I have no idea what to write about, though. I've started at least four novels in the past and I'm wondering if I could shove all of them together into any kind of narrative that makes sense. Doubtful. Eh. Anyway, it gives me an excuse to read Bird by Bird again.

*the reason I am telling the entire Internets about this is so you can all kick my ass after you ask how my book is coming and I say "oh, I haven't started yet." I need a good ass-kicking every now and then, you know.

Dear Internets

I think I am out of things to talk about.

Love,

Jennie

Bad CARma (I'm sorry for that)

Hello, Internets. I hope you're doing well today. I'm great, thanks for asking! Kind of have a headache, though. But it's sunny outside! And somewhat warm! Birds and bees are having sex with each other, as is my understanding. Wow, I can't believe I'm stealing from The Simpsons now. LAME. Oh well.

Enough of that. So you guys know how I have to get a new car, right? Oh, well, I have to get a new car. Or a newish car. The odds of me being able to afford a NEW new car? Not good. Anyway, I would just be happy to have a reliable car. One where I don't have to check the oil every day. Or one that starts right away so I don't have to pray to little baby Jesus every time I turn the key in the ignition. Or one where the automatic locking mechanism is not duct-taped to the door. Or one that is not a HULKING DEATH TRAP OF DOOM.

Right now, I am just driving my car to work and back and hoping and praying that it lasts until next week. I don't know why I have made next week the deadline, but I have. Don't ask for logic, you won't find it here and if you don't know that by now, I'm just not sure what you're even doing on this blog. Please don't leave, though. I love you.

So, I've been doing a lot of car shopping on The Internets and I have come to the conclusion that cars are expensive and I am just going to invent a teleporter. OK, not really, because that sounds like a lot of work. I just need a car that has wheels. Any amount of doors. Ooh, ooh, I just remembered! Conversations! With My Roommate!

Heidi: So what kind of car do you want to get?
Me: I don't know. It just has to be an automatic.
Heidi: Yeah, that's what your mom said.
Me: What?
Heidi: When you and your dad were test driving your car, she was like, "I guess Jennie could technically drive a stick, but I worry. She's just so easily distracted."
Me: You know, I'd be offended, but she's right.
Heidi: Haha.
Me: Seriously, though, who would want to drive a stick?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: I think guys like to drive a stick because it's like an extension of their penis.
Heidi: Okaaaaay.

Yeah. So that happened. I also thought about leasing a car, but this one website had a quiz on whether you should buy or lease and one of the questions was "Do you get emotionally attached to your car?" and at first I was all, "Who gets emotionally attached to A CAR?!" and then I remembered that I named my car "Tealy" and gave it a hug on Sunday when it wouldn't start and if that isn't emotionally attached, I don't know what is.

Oh, Jenny, you are crazy, first I'm perfect, then I'm lazy

You know, I was going to start complaining that I wished my name was Lyla or Layla or maybe even Janie or, better yet, (proud) Mary or (sweet) Caroline so I could have a song that was about me. Then I remembered that my name is Jenny and there are a shit-ton of songs with my name in them. SUCH AS:

Jenny Was a Friend of Mine (thanks, I like you, too)
Jenny From the Block (I am from a block)
Jenny, Jenny, Jenny (Tony, Tony, Tony!)
Jenny Gotta Dance (you don't want me to do that, I promise)
Jenny, Don't Be Hasty (too late)
Jenny Wren (I have nothing to say about this one)
AND for the love of all that is holy in this world!
867-5309 (Jenny!)

As far as I know, there aren't any well-known songs (or songs whatsoever) that spell my name the right way. With an IE. Not a Y. Not an I. IE. Although, when I was born I was just Jenny (well, Jennifer but whatever). I'm the one that changed it to Jennie in 4th grade because I was all, "all of these other suckers named Jennifer spell Jenny with a Y . . . fuck that!" I had a dirty mouth for a 4th grader. Anyway, so I changed it to be different. Um. Yeah. Mission accomplished, there, didn't so much need to change the spelling of my name. Right after I changed it my teacher asked me about it, probably because she was all, "Oh no, why has this girl forgotten how to spell her name? What's wrong with her now?" I mean, I was already one of those kids with the really messy desks. You know the ones I mean. And she would come around to all the messy kid desks and DUMP EVERYTHING OUT ON THE FLOOR and I was always the last one to get mine cleaned up, which meant I was sitting on the floor in a pile of papers and pencils and crayons and who KNOWS what else long after everyone else had cleaned their messes up. So I'd sit there crying and crying, my sad little pigtails hitting me in the face with each heaving sob of my body, until they had to take me out in the hall and beat me. I'm totally kidding. I never cried.

they tried to make me go to rehab, I said no no no*

So, I didn't do much this weekend but it was SO MUCH BETTER than last weekend because it didn't involve vomit of any kind. Which is always good. I have nothing interesting to say. Just thought I'd warn you now.

I had a very wholesome weekend, until last night when I was GOING to go to bed but got sucked into the evils of Gmail chatting and let's just say things escalated quickly and suddenly it was 3 AM and I was still awake. Before that, though, we had homemade pizza, watched movies and then had ROOT BEER FLOATS. When I was younger and my parents and sister made root beer floats, I'd always turn up my nose and declare them DISGUSTING. Turns out I was really wrong because they are delicious. DE-LICIOUS. True story.

I did break a lot of stuff this weekend, though. First, I broke my toilet. I'm not sure how. I was just flushing it and the handle broke. I picked up the lid on the back and looked inside and the little lever that lifts the flushie thingie had broken off. Oops. Apparently I flush very forcefully. Then, I went outside to check the oil in my car (Did I tell you my car is leaking oil? Well, my car is leaking oil. Pretty badly and it would cost more to fix it than the car's worth so basically I'm driving my car until it dies. Which, considering it is hemorrhaging oil, shouldn't be long.) Oh man, where was I? I don't even remember. Oh, so I went out to check the oil and when I tried to start the car afterward it . . . didn't. So then I went back upstairs to the apartment and flopped on my bed with my arm across my face all forlorn and inconsolable and called my dad. Turns out, my car just needed jumped and probably needs a new battery. In any case, my car is not long for this world so I'm going to need a new(ish) one soon. Would anyone like to give me one for free? Like, if you've got a car you're not using that's just sitting around going to waste, I will totally take it off your hands for you. Please? Come ON, don't be so stingy!

Later we had to run by Kroger to return some movies that we'd rented from that little machine at the front of the store. Do you know what I'm talking about? I don't care. I was given the task of returning them (big mistake) and first I tried to shove them in the slot the wrong way and then I think I actually broke the machine but when I went to the customer service desk they told me that they have nothing to do with the machine. THANKS! Then I went back to the machine and it was working again so I guess I only broke it a little bit.

So, yeah. Everything I touch lately breaks somehow. Keep me away from small children and nuclear reactors. Although, probably I shouldn't be allowed around either of those anyway.

*this song has been stuck in my head for the past week

I am so in love

Seriously. Watch this and try not to smile. I dare you.

Andy, Dwight says welcome back, and he could use a hug.

A game for Friday because I'm sure none of you actually want to work.

Two Truths and a Lie:

1. When I was a young lady of 12 or 13, I thought you could only wear tampons if you'd had sex. Also, I thought tampons seemed very scary. I'm no longer scared of tampons, though.
2. I still make a wish whenever I see that the clock says 11:11. I also wish on stray eyelashes. I always forget to pay attention to whether or not they come true, though.
3. This would probably surprise my coworkers and some relatives who are not familiar with this blog, but I have a pretty goddamn dirty mouth. I tone it down on here, but the words I use most frequently are probably some variation of the word "fuck," "douchebag," or possibly movie and The Office quotes.

Only I cheated, because none of those are actually lies. Except maybe number one because it implies that I was once some sort of lady, young or otherwise. I'm not a good liar anyway. It's true. Ask Heidi.

Have at it, Internets.

Yeah, and if you were the Pope they'd be all, "straighten your pope hat." And, "put on your good vestments."

I spend a very large quantity of time every day daydreaming. Usually while twirling the same strand of hair with a not-so-bright look on my face. It's becoming a problem. Sometimes the daydreams are so tangible that I feel like I could reach out and grab them or tumble forward and escape the constraints of my (admittedly comfy) desk chair into a more interesting world. And sometimes? I worry that I bypassed daydreaming altogether and fell asleep at my desk and wandered into a real dream.

This morning was the very first morning that I forgot to turn my cell phone ringer off at work. So imagine my surprise when I heard Johnny Cash's voice coming from my purse. I rushed to turn it off and prepared myself in case anyone wandered into my office. "Ring of Fire? I didn't hear any Ring of Fire. Crazy, get out of my office," is what I would have said. Earlier in the morning, when I was getting ready for work, my cell phone made that wonderful little trilling noise it makes when I have a text message. "Oh joy!" I exclaimed (no, I didn't). "A text message this early in the morning! Whoever could be texting me this early? I hope it's something delicious and good! Oh, phone, how I love you!" And forsooth, it was something good. That didn't make any sense, I just wanted to say "forsooth." I noticed the number began with 010 and there were like four million numbers after it, which usually means my friend Kate is text messaging me from AFRICA. That's right, she doesn't have electricity or indoor plumbing, but she has a cell phone. Anyway. I got excited! Because Kate! Was texting me! From AFRICA! Only, it wasn't from Kate, it was from some STRANGER and this is what it said:

Alec, I will be passing thru ekwendeni tmrw morning to pick up the papers. Will u be around? Pls text back.

Weird, right? I was going to answer it but then I realized that text messaging AFRICA might be expensive.

Anyway, so this afternoon I had to go to someone else's office so she could teach me how to do something and she had this space heater on and it was right after lunch and I'm always really sleepy right after lunch but it was even worse today because of the heater and she was also playing Rush Limbaugh on her radio and I kept hearing bits and pieces of his show and it was really hard to concentrate. On account of all the rage, you know? So I crossed my legs in the most uncomfortable position possible so I'd stay awake at least and when she was done talking I stood up and almost fell over because my foot had fallen asleep. At least they're all getting a taste of how I fall down all the time and am really clumsy, because the other day I smacked myself in the head with the file drawer I was opening. Then I went into my office and my new toner had come in. I had to order a new one because my printer was making these big black splotches all over everything I printed and, after he'd spent 25 minutes messing around with my printer, the IT guy told me my toner cartridge was busted. So today I changed it myself because I think it's stupid to call the IT department for stuff I'm perfectly capable of doing myself but then I got toner all over my hands and my desk and probably all over the floor, too, but I'm not sure because the carpet is so dark.

And as I was sitting there surreptitiously wiping toner off of my hands with every tissue I had left in the box, I started thinking I MUST have fallen to sleep. I was dreaming, right? These things don't happen to people. Most people don't almost fall into their coworkers laps, hit themselves in the head with drawers, or channel Johnny Cash from their purse but then I realized that HEY I'm probably not dreaming, I'm just stuck in a cartoon. Which is OK because I like cartoons. If I had to be stuck in a cartoon, I'd prefer to be stuck in Futurama because maybe I'd get to fly a spaceship and that is my dream.

And now that we've come full circle in the most ass-backwards way possible, I'm going to go watch The Office. GOOD TALK!

All morons hate it when you call them a moron.

So, today I was going to come home and right a proper blog entry about that one time I went camping at the Official Bob Evans Farm in . . . I don't know, Someplace, Ohio. But I had this sneaking suspicion that I already had written about it at some point. AND I HAD. A simple blog search for "Bob Evans Farm" took me to this entry. I already wrote about it in the most mediocre fashion possible, so I guess that saves me the trouble of doing it now. But you know what that means? I am officially out of things to write about on here. Out. Unless you guys have some suggestions, I quit. I just quit.

Nah, not really. I will just have to talk of other (read: boring) things. I'm rereading The Catcher in the Rye. I haven't read it in a couple years. I actually had to buy another copy because I can't find the one I used to have, meaning I either sold it (doubtful) or lent it to someone and they never gave it back. I don't care, though. The best part about books is that you can share them with other people. How disgustingly sweet was that last sentence? Oh man, I just threw up in my mouth a little.

Anyway, I wasn't going to buy another copy, I was just going to get it from the library (once I paid my fine and they let me have books again), but I just HAPPENED to be at a used bookstore and I picked up a copy and was flipping through it and saw that someone had written this on the inside of the front cover:

Scott - I figure that you could get your dirty fingures into this cats writting. I know you'll dig it. Happy Birthday Boy . . . Matt

I'm not sure if the spelling mistakes are intentional, but I find them hilarious. Come ON, wouldn't you have bought the book for that reason alone? No? Just me then? OK.

Do you remember that movie with Mel Gibson where he plays the crazy guy? This was before we all knew he was ACTUALLY batshit crazy. Conspiracy Theory! That's what it's called. You know in that movie how he HAS to buy a copy of The Catcher in the Rye whenever he's in or near a bookstore? I had a friend in who said I was the same way, only instead of of The Catcher in the Rye, I'd buy Pride & Prejudice. Just because this one time I bought a copy of it even though I already had one. Also, I stole a copy from the library we worked at because it had Colin Firth's face on it. Come ON, wouldn't you? No? Just me then? OK.

Wow. How obvious is it that I really am out of stuff to write about? Le sigh.

the force is strong with that one

The other day, Heidi and I were at Bob Evans (Down on the faaaarm . . . not really, although I HAVE been to the official Bob Evans Farm. Remind me to tell that story sometime.) Anyway. There was a family sitting behind us with a couple kids. I don't know, like 4 or 5. When they got up to leave, the littlest one (maybe 6 years old?) realized he was missing something. Not sure what. But it brought on this conversation:

Little Boy: It doesn't matter, I'll just get more from the bar.
Older Boy: You don't go to the bar any more.
Little Boy: Yeah, I do.
Older Boy: When?
Little Boy: After school.

I think it was really big of Heidi and I to hold our laughter in until the family was out of earshot. You have no idea how hard it was. That's what she said. Sorry.

Conversations With My Roommate: Gmail Chat Edition

Ever since Heidi bought a laptop, sometimes we'll chat on Gmail from opposite ends of the apartment. Sure, one of us could get up and go into the other's room, but we don't. Also, sometimes yelling is tiring. So. Shut up and stop judging, judge-y.

Heidi: i'm really tirsty too
wow, way to spell

[this part of the conversation is not safe for the internets]

me: i could totally start a conversations with my roommate: gmail chat edition on my blog

Heidi: haha, you should

me: not this convo though

Heidi: heck no

me: we'll see
should we send out an evite for our bday soon?
or like a save the date?
hahaha

Heidi: yeah, i think we should
we could send out one that lets them know and then update it when we decide what to do

me: good call
i like where your head's at

Heidi: thanks, I try
are you watching friends?

me: no
i'm listening to the radio

Heidi: loser
friends is funny!
haha

me: you're funny!
haha!
oh god my stomach is angry

Heidi: your face if funny
mine too...it's all achy now

me: not pukey angry or anything but like "too soon, jennie, too soon!"

Heidi: "you should have known better"

me: yeah, but when do we ever make good decisions?
i mean, it's april 9th and i'm just now doing my taxes

Heidi: haha, yeah, that's funny
talk about procrastination

me: i'm glad my parents never asked about it
my dad would be all "jennifer lynn! don't come crying to us when you get thrown in jail!"

Heidi: you could totally trick them into thinking you forgot this year if they ask!

me: and my mom would be all "jennifer lynn!" and then "are you feeling better, sweetie?"
oooh, i should!
i could be all "i have to do my taxes every year?"

Heidi: I'm afraid I'm not going to remember to get my new ID or tags for my car
haha, yeah that would be hilarious!

me: i think our parents should be responsible for stuff like that until we get married

Heidi: seriously...too much and I'll blow up

me: and then our husbands can be responsible for it
i feel bad for my future husband

Heidi: me too

me: he has no idea what he's in for

Heidi: i can't cook, hate to clean, and don't like to be responsible for my own stuff

me: he has to pay all the bills, cook, do the laundry, take care of the cars, clean the bathroom

Heidi: hahahaha yeah

me: make sure i change my underwear every day

Heidi: eww
that is bad

me: i'm just kidding!

Heidi: haha, good

me: god, how disgusting do you think i am?

Heidi: well........

me: hey

Heidi: JUST KIDDING

me: whatever!
we're fighting!
i will fight you!
fisticuffs!

Heidi: bring it

me: I don't wanna, i'm tired

Heidi: I'll poop on you

me: EWWWW
and hahahahaah
once i told my sister i pooped in her bed

Heidi: it won't take any effort for the poop
you can just sit there

me: this was like a couple years ago

Heidi: haha, did she believe you?

me: yeah!
she got so mad!
and started screaming, "JENNIE WHY DID YOU POOP IN MY BED?!?"

Heidi: because

me: and my dad came upstairs and she was yelling and he was all "why is she yelling?"
and I couldn't tell him because I was laughing too hard because . . . did you poop in my bed? hahahahaha

Heidi: hahaha, that would be all sorts of wrong
our cat at home used to poop on my brother's bed
it was funny

me: phoebe puked in my bed
not now
but this one time?
she did

Heidi: excellent story

me: thanks
i pride myself on my storytelling skills

Heidi: they're pretty great
i won't lie

me: i work on them at night while i'm lying in bed

Heidi: that isn't the only thing you work on in bed
ZING!!!!

me: wow
i am offended

Heidi: haha
sorry

me: no you're not
i'm so putting some of this in my blog
can i have your consent?

Heidi: yeah

me: awesome

We do still have real conversations, though.

Heidi: Your hair looks cute!
Me: What?
Heidi: Your hair. I like it.
Me: Are you kidding? I just pulled it into a ponytail while I was sitting here. I didn't even look in the mirror.
Heidi: Well, it looks good.
Me: That's it. I'm not even going to try any more. When I try to look cute, everything backfires.

Well, I don't eat anything and when I feel like I'm about to faint I eat a cube of cheese. I'm just one stomach flu away from my goal weight.

Today was a big day. I went to Kroger. AND the gas station. It was the first time I'd left the apartment since Thursday, unless you count yesterday when I went out to check the mail. Which I don't. So there. I even wore JEANS to the store. Not makeup, though, so I probably scared some small children or gave an elderly man a heart attack, but I'm sure they're better now. I don't think you understand how scary I look. Sure, I showered, but I'm about ten shades paler than I normally am and folks? That is almost transparent. Also? Despite the fact that I've been sleeping most of the weekend, the dark circles under my eyes have dark circles. True story.

I had only been driving for a few minutes when I realized that maybe someone who has been surviving on water, toast, Jello, and chicken broth for the past three days shouldn't be driving. Eh, whatever, I'm still alive. All that walking and carrying, though? Totally wore me out. I walked up the stairs to our apartment and then went straight into my bedroom and fell face down on the bed. Once I'd collected myself, I got up and put my pajamas back on and flopped down on the couch for a good hour. I was supposed to go home for dinner tonight, because it's Easter (not sure if you realized that, but it is) and my mom was making all sorts of good food. But seeing as how walking from my bedroom to the kitchen requires a tiny break and I have no appetite (not even for MASHED POTATOES . . . DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT A BIG DEAL THAT IS? DO YOU?! I LOVE MASHED POTATOES!!), I thought I'd just stay home. My mom promised there'd be leftovers and I could come over when they had them and then I secured my spot in Hell (I think I've got front row seats by now) with the words, "Yeah, we can just resurrect Jesus another day."

So. Anyway. Heidi got guilted into going home even though she is still sick, so I've been all alone since yesterday afternoon. Unless you count Dr. House, Miranda Priestly, and Holden Caulfield. Sure, they're a cranky bunch, but when I'm sick*? So am I.

Oh and since it is Easter and all, I give you . . . Giant Jesus:



Yeah, it's off-center but what do you want? I took it from the window of a moving car. Give me a break. See? Cranky.

*also other times

I am not a hero. I am a mere defender of the office. You know who’s a real hero? Hiro, from Heroes. That’s a hero. Also Bono.

Heidi and I always joke that we should both call in sick on the same day so we can sit around in our pajamas and do nothing but watch TiVo and movies all day long. I mean, sure, we could do that on the weekend but that's not as much fun as on a normal weekday when we're supposed to be at SCHOOL. I mean work. Anyway, there's always all this other stuff to do on the weekend, like go see friends or go to the store or drink. Priorities, people. Well, Heidi and I both ended up home from work yesterday but it wasn't quite what we'd hoped and dreamed it would be.

So, Thursday night, I started to feel sick during The Office. Which is not my normal reaction, I promise. Ask Heidi. All through the show I tried to deny it and even when I said, "I think I am going to vomit," during the beginning of 30 Rock I was mostly kidding. Only it turned out the joke was on me. I WASN'T KIDDING because then I vomited everywhere. Not really everywhere, though. Just in the toilet. And in my trashcan. And maybe a little in my hair.

I spent the rest of the night either spooning the toilet or curled up in bed doing Lamaze breathing to relieve the pain THE PAIN THE HORRIBLE PAIN in my belly. I'm not sure I was doing it right because everything I learned about Lamaze I learned from that episode of Saved By the Bell where there's an earthquake and Mr. Belding's wife gives birth in the elevator? You know the one I mean? I understand if you don't, cause it was one of those ones with Tori? The girl who wore the leather jacket and rode a motorcycle? Those episode were lame. LAME! WTF? Like, they all graduated and then all the sudden they come back and Kelly Kapowski and Jessie Spano are just gone? And some girl with weird, curly hair takes their place? Again, LAME. ANYWAY. I couldn't sleep, so instead I watched a lot of TV. Puking, Futurama, Futurama, Family Guy, more puking, Scrubs, Legally Blond, and then I forget cause I was throwing up some more, and then did you know The X-Files is on like 74 times really early in the morning? Well, it is. I thought about going to the store to get some medicine, but I was afraid I'd throw up in my car and do you know who'd have to clean that up? I would! And if there's one thing I hate almost as much as puking, it is cleaning up puke. I don't care if it's my own or not. I mean, I tried really hard before I threw up to talk myself out of it. "Don't throw up, belly, it's just not fun. The mouth and esophagus asked me to talk to you. They don't like it. It tastes gross and to be honest, it kind of hurts the neck, too. I promise to be better to you if you'll just stop. No more spicy food. No more mixing beer and liquor." But, alas, the belly cannot be reasoned with. Stupid belly. But at least I don't have to give up spicy food. I tried denial, too. "Nope, not gonna throw up. My stomach feels fine. My mouth is not filling with saliva and I most certainly am not having hot flashes and oh god oh god I'm gonna throw up where's the trashcan." Yeah, it didn't turn out so well. I made myself wait until 6 AM and then I did what any self-respecting adult would do. I called my mommy and daddy and asked them to bring me some medicine because MY TUMMY HURT.

So, yes, not my proudest moment. But whatever. Heidi and I both slept through most of yesterday. I ate some toast and about four bites of chicken noodle soup before I gave up and just drank the broth, which is what I really wanted anyway. Mmm, chicken broth. And I don't know how, but I also slept about 14 hours last night. And then? When I finally worked up the strength to walk all dizzied out into the kitchen to get some water, I noticed that Phoebe had puked on the floor in like three different places. I mean, it was really nice of her to test my gag reflex like that, because how else would I have known that I was ready to put something on my toast besides just butter? And peanut butter toast is my favorite.

Wow, I just talked a lot about vomit. I'm really sorry. At least I'm not being all Debbie Downer anymore, though, right?

This Week succeeds in making me cry like a little bitch AGAIN

I have the stomach flu. I was going to tell you all about how I threw up in my trashcan and how I spent the majority of last night and early this morning lying in the fetal position on my bathroom floor, but it's just too soon. So instead I'm going to go take a nap on the sofa. Maybe eat some Jello. I have got one killer Friday night ahead of me.

there are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don't know how

The line was long. It stretched all the way through the funeral home, full of people, young and old. Strangers and familiar faces from college. A reunion of the worst kind. I'm not good in serious situations; not only do I not know what to say, I tend to babble. Or laugh at inappropriate moments. Snappy comments floated through my head, waiting to burst through my lips, but I managed to hold them back. All I wanted to do was make someone laugh, break the tension, but it wasn't the time. Not while one of my best friends was standing at the front of the room next to her brother's casket.

I was nervous to see her. I didn't know what to say. I kept running the scenario through my head, as I do in almost any situation, rehearsing my lines and wondering what variations I could say if she said something I wasn't expecting. But how was I supposed to prepare for what I couldn't anticipate? As it turned out, the minute I saw her, all my rehearsing didn't matter. I looked at her, she looked at me, we both burst into tears, and I knew exactly what to say.

As I hugged my friend and she sobbed against my shoulder, I told her I loved her and that she was going to be OK. And a few minutes later, when she made a joke about crying into Heidi's hair and hoping it was clean, I realized I had been telling the truth.

Bite my shiny metal ass, Week!

I wish I had a dollar for every time I realized I'd been walking around for hours with my fly down. Because I would have A LOT of dollars. On average, I'd earn at least three dollars every day which is an extra $90 a month which would almost cover my liquor and beer budget. I kid, I kid. It wouldn't even come close. ZING!

I don't know.

I'm blogging from work right now. Ooooooh! Don't tell. Actually, it's my lunch break so I think it's OK. I mean, I have been working hard ALL MORNING and the least they can do is let me SPEW NONSENSE ALL OVER THE INTERNET FOR AN HOUR.

Breathe, Jennie. It's been a long week and I feel like it's getting longer instead of shorter. What kind of strange non-ending-week wormhole have I fallen into? I would like out. Thank you.

Remember the other day when I was all "April is going to be great!" You know, as I was typing it I kept thinking, "Hmm, maybe you are tempting fate here. This may come back to bite you in the ass." And then this week happened and my brain was all, "JENNIFER LYNN!" because I did a bad thing and when you do bad things you get BOTH names. It's true. Ask anyone.

So to rectify this mistake, I'm going to go ahead and say it: April sucks balls. I think it just may be the worst month ever (with the exception of my birthday, which is an occasion for everyone to celebrate and drink and fall down, in honor of ME because I like to celebrate and drink and fall down) and I am going to hole up in my room for the rest of the month in case any other bad things should happen. Bad news is easier to take when you're taking it from the comfort of your own bed. That sounds kind of dirty but it's not.

Monday night Heidi and I went to the gym and worked out and then after dinner we decided to take a walk. We wanted to enjoy the nice weather because it's supposed to snow tomorrow. That's right, it was almost 80 degrees yesterday and today it is 40. Dear Ohio, you can suck it.

Anyway, I figured out how to make sure I sleep through the night. All I need to do is work out until I want to kill myself on the elliptical machine and THEN take a long walk so when I get in bed I am completely exhausted. It would also really help if I didn't sleep at all the night before because of any of the following reasons: moonlight too bright (it's true, ask Heidi), wind kept blowing the blinds around all loud and obnoxious-like, Bo kept trying to sleep directly on top of my legs no matter how many times I kicked him off, Bo and Phoebe hissing and fighting over precious bed territory.

Yeah. Good times. Would it be weird if I used the rest of my lunch hour to curl up under my desk and take a nap? No? Awesome.

Wow. WORST. ENTRY. EVER.

Trying to de-funk myself

I don't have anything funny to say today

I almost broke my No-Crying-At-Work rule already because this afternoon I found out that my good friend's brother died. I spent the rest of the day completely distracted with the intelligent thought "what the fuck?" running through my head. I can't even imagine. They were really close. And he was very young.

You know, sometimes I would like to kick Death in the crotch.

I do believe it's true that there are roads left in both of our shoes, if the silence takes you then I hope it takes me too

So, it is beautiful outside. GORGEOUS. See:


Beautiful. Of course, I've been sitting inside in my pajamas all day, but still. I went outside to take the pictures. Well, on the balcony. Which is technically outside. I wore flip flops, so it counts. I thought about taking a walk but then I got distracted and forgot. Anyway, it's much better to just enjoy the view while sitting all lazy and slothlike on the porch. I can't normally look around that much while I'm walking because then I fall down. So I'd miss this:


Well, you know, unless I fell down. Because, really, if you think about it the ground is the most ideal spot for looking at the sky. Except all the geese have come back and so the sidewalk has goose poop ALL OVER it and I don't want to be a prima donna but I'd like to avoid lying in a pile of goose poop if at all possible.

I hope April is going to be a good month. January was good, February was good but cold, March was OK because I started a new job and here are reasons April should be good:

• I turn 25. I will be a quarter of a century old. Which means not only will my car insurance go down but I will either become more mature or will have a quarter life crisis. Hmm.


• It's spring! It's getting warm! Birds and bees are having sex! Not with each other because that would be weird!


• I'm going to a bachelorette party. Which is so much better than a bridal shower, because, as I understand it, you can drink way more at a bachelorette party than at a bridal shower. Except for my bridal shower (scheduled date for my bridal shower: the 15th of Never) . . . there will be booze at my bridal shower. I'm registering at the liquor store.


• But mostly? The reason April will be good? Is because it is Jim Halpert month, at least in our kitchen:

Of course, I could be wrong about all this. Some smart guy once said that April is the cruelest month, but what the hell do smart guys know anyway?