As you might have gathered from my roommate's comment to my last post (Too busy to go look at it? Here: "I almost quit reading this because I was bored. How do we live together? We couldn't be more different. Except for the Friends obsession thing." That's what she said hahahahahahaha um, anyway), we are very different. She likes country music. I like . . . well, pretty much anything else, but namely whiny indie rock. She thinks Kenny Chesney is the epitome of hotness, I think he looks like George Costanza. WHAT? That's not that harsh, she calls John Mayer "Fugs." It's pretty safe to say that we will never fight over the same man, because we have very different requirements for how a guy might get invited to our pants party. Which is good, because it means my claims on Jake Gyllenhaal and John Krasinski are safe.
We differ on more than just music and men. Given the chance, I could easily become one of those hermit-type cat ladies who stays inside all the time so she won't have to talk to anyone, unless it's through text messaging or The Internets. It's not that I dislike people as a whole . . . oh wait, that's exactly what it is. Heidi actually likes to go out and do stuff, but the majority of the time I'd be perfectly happy to sit at home by myself drinking wine and watching the same movies over and over.
Also? Heidi is in a four-year-old, committed relationship and I . . . have no idea what it is I'm doing, but it sure as hell doesn't involve commitment. Or four-year-olds, for that matter, because that would be wrong and very, very gross. I'm sure one day I might be able to trick someone into marrying me, but until then I will wander the Earth alone just like the Incredible Hulk. And Carrot Top.
Heidi likes to shop. OK, loves to shop. I find it a pain in the ass to shop and the only things I really like buying are shoes and t-shirts, and even then I'd rather do it over The Internets. She's never seen or read Pride & Prejudice. I've never listened to a Kenny Chesney song all the way through on purpose. She's a little bit country. I'm a little bit rock & roll. Well, she LIKES country and is FROM the country and if I'm a little bit rock & roll, it's the really nerdy kind. Like Weezer. ANOTHER THING I love that she does not.
You know how I procrastinate? Oh, OK, well, I procrastinate. A lot. Heidi does not. I don't think she understands just why I procrastinate so much and I certainly don't understand the inclination to get things done right away. What would I worry about if I didn't have all of those self-inflicted deadlines hanging over my head? Seriously. If I didn't have stuff to worry about, I'd have to invent stuff to worry about and I DO THAT ANYWAY so I really don't have time to argue about this right now, OK?!
We do agree on the important things, though. Miller Lite over Bud Light. Bridal showers are icky and boring, unless they serve alcohol. Cooking is hard*. But most important? We both know WITHOUT A DOUBT that absolutely anything in life can be related back to Friends. Amazing? I KNOW!
*bonus to this link: it's The One With the Bag of Semen (not a real Friends episode)
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors and laugh at them in our turn?
You know what I do that grosses even ME out? I crack my back. And my neck. And my wrists and ankles and knuckles. When I say it grosses me out, I mean it makes me think, "OH MY GOD the human body should never, ever make that noise." It doesn't make me want to vomit or anything, but I can't vouch for the people around me who hear all the cracking of my bones. Sometimes after I crack my back, I'm surprised to find I have not paralyzed myself. True story.
Last night, I made myself go to the gym. I really did have to make myself. There I was, slouched on the couch watching my fourth episode of Friends, twirling my hair, with my mouth hanging open in an oh-so-intelligent fashion, having the following conversation with myself:
"Go to the gym. No. Go. I don't want to! Go. But this is a really funny episode! So go after this episode. But the next one is the one with the nap partners! I don't care. This is unfair. I know. You don't care about me. I DO care about you, that is why I want you to go to the gym. Whatever. JENNIFER LYNN YOU GET OFF YOUR LAZY ASS RIGHT NOW AND GO TO THE GYM."
That is essentially exactly the way it happened. Then I did the elliptical for so long that I thought my legs were going to fall off. You know that part in Bridget Jones's Diary (the movie) where she's riding the exercise bike and she falls over when she gets off? That's what I felt like. I didn't fall over, though. Good story, right? Want me to tell it again? Because I can and will.
Wanna hear something weird? Too bad. I have to eat my lunch in the same order every day. Granted, this is only if I'm EATING the same thing every day but I usually do. You may assume from my exciting adventures on this blog that my life is a crazy whirligig of fun, but it's not. It's very boring. That's entirely not true. Interesting stuff happens to me all the time. It's just that I am boring. Usually for lunch I have carrot sticks, a turkey sandwich, pretzels, and a snack pack. And that is the order in which I have to eat it, too. I don't know why. Also, I have to cut my sandwich is unequal halves so I know which one to eat first. Because I like to eat the smaller one first. Again, I don't know why. Oh, and another thing? (God, Jennie, stop talking) When I'm eating pretzels or chips or something, I have to eat the broken ones first. I mean, I don't HAVE to. It's not like if I accidentally eat a non-broken one before all the broken ones are gone I have to throw it all up and start over again. But I PREFER to eat the broken ones first. This is all leading me to believe that I am slowly turning into my father, who has to make his sandwiches in a specific order and if he doesn't he sits there and says, "Oh no, I put the cheese in the wrong place. This sandwich is ruined." True story.
Let's see, what else, since I'm letting all my crazy hang out today. A little while ago I was trying to calculate how much of my life I have devoted to Pride & Prejudice. There's the book, which I've read at least five times. The six-hour miniseries, which I'm going to estimate I've seen at least ten times, probably more but who can keep track of that sort of thing? The new movie I've seen about six times, I think? Also, I have seen Bridget Jones's Diary approximately 87.5 times and since that is BASED on Pride & Prejudice, I think it counts. Better throw the book version on the pile, too, because I've read that, um, a lot of times. Then there's this book, which I've read twice. Then there was that time I devoted quite a few hours to developing my theory that all men can be placed into one of three categories: Mr. Darcys, Mr. Collinses, and Mr. Wickams. I think that should be updated, though, because how could I have left out Mr. Bingley and Mr. Bennet? Although, you could argue that Mr. Bingley is a Mr. Darcy, at least to Jane, and OH MY GOD here it goes again. Anyway. There's also all that time I've spent TALKING about Pride & Prejudice. Like when Amy and I got really drunk freshman year and there was a fire drill and we had to go sit outside until they let us back in? But the head RA or whatever he was called was standing by the elevator and we were scared we'd get in trouble, so instead of, I don't know, taking the stairs (although that would have been a loooong walk up those 10 flights of stairs), we veered into the bathroom where we spent at least an hour sitting on the counter talking about why Mr. Darcy was the perfect man.
Oh, and we can't forget the blogging about it. Or the writing of papers about it (I can't find a link for that, but I know I wrote at least two papers in college). Or the designing of t-shirts inspired by it. And yet, I can still never remember if it's spelled "Bennet" or "Bennett." I think I need professional help, but it's so expensive. I'm going to stop now. OK, bye!
Last night, I made myself go to the gym. I really did have to make myself. There I was, slouched on the couch watching my fourth episode of Friends, twirling my hair, with my mouth hanging open in an oh-so-intelligent fashion, having the following conversation with myself:
"Go to the gym. No. Go. I don't want to! Go. But this is a really funny episode! So go after this episode. But the next one is the one with the nap partners! I don't care. This is unfair. I know. You don't care about me. I DO care about you, that is why I want you to go to the gym. Whatever. JENNIFER LYNN YOU GET OFF YOUR LAZY ASS RIGHT NOW AND GO TO THE GYM."
That is essentially exactly the way it happened. Then I did the elliptical for so long that I thought my legs were going to fall off. You know that part in Bridget Jones's Diary (the movie) where she's riding the exercise bike and she falls over when she gets off? That's what I felt like. I didn't fall over, though. Good story, right? Want me to tell it again? Because I can and will.
Wanna hear something weird? Too bad. I have to eat my lunch in the same order every day. Granted, this is only if I'm EATING the same thing every day but I usually do. You may assume from my exciting adventures on this blog that my life is a crazy whirligig of fun, but it's not. It's very boring. That's entirely not true. Interesting stuff happens to me all the time. It's just that I am boring. Usually for lunch I have carrot sticks, a turkey sandwich, pretzels, and a snack pack. And that is the order in which I have to eat it, too. I don't know why. Also, I have to cut my sandwich is unequal halves so I know which one to eat first. Because I like to eat the smaller one first. Again, I don't know why. Oh, and another thing? (God, Jennie, stop talking) When I'm eating pretzels or chips or something, I have to eat the broken ones first. I mean, I don't HAVE to. It's not like if I accidentally eat a non-broken one before all the broken ones are gone I have to throw it all up and start over again. But I PREFER to eat the broken ones first. This is all leading me to believe that I am slowly turning into my father, who has to make his sandwiches in a specific order and if he doesn't he sits there and says, "Oh no, I put the cheese in the wrong place. This sandwich is ruined." True story.
Let's see, what else, since I'm letting all my crazy hang out today. A little while ago I was trying to calculate how much of my life I have devoted to Pride & Prejudice. There's the book, which I've read at least five times. The six-hour miniseries, which I'm going to estimate I've seen at least ten times, probably more but who can keep track of that sort of thing? The new movie I've seen about six times, I think? Also, I have seen Bridget Jones's Diary approximately 87.5 times and since that is BASED on Pride & Prejudice, I think it counts. Better throw the book version on the pile, too, because I've read that, um, a lot of times. Then there's this book, which I've read twice. Then there was that time I devoted quite a few hours to developing my theory that all men can be placed into one of three categories: Mr. Darcys, Mr. Collinses, and Mr. Wickams. I think that should be updated, though, because how could I have left out Mr. Bingley and Mr. Bennet? Although, you could argue that Mr. Bingley is a Mr. Darcy, at least to Jane, and OH MY GOD here it goes again. Anyway. There's also all that time I've spent TALKING about Pride & Prejudice. Like when Amy and I got really drunk freshman year and there was a fire drill and we had to go sit outside until they let us back in? But the head RA or whatever he was called was standing by the elevator and we were scared we'd get in trouble, so instead of, I don't know, taking the stairs (although that would have been a loooong walk up those 10 flights of stairs), we veered into the bathroom where we spent at least an hour sitting on the counter talking about why Mr. Darcy was the perfect man.
Oh, and we can't forget the blogging about it. Or the writing of papers about it (I can't find a link for that, but I know I wrote at least two papers in college). Or the designing of t-shirts inspired by it. And yet, I can still never remember if it's spelled "Bennet" or "Bennett." I think I need professional help, but it's so expensive. I'm going to stop now. OK, bye!
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
I am a great interviewee. Why? Because I have something no one else has. My brain. Which I use to my advantage, when advantageous.
You may remember that I mentioned that Heidi and I stayed up until 3 AM the other night playing Nintendo. The original Nintendo. The one with duck hunt and the huge, fake gun that you point at your TV and the dog that laughs at you when you miss? THAT ONE. Well, yesterday, I bugged and bugged and bugged my parents to let me take their Super Nintendo home with me. AND THEY LET ME! Well, they said I could "borrow" it and I'm hoping they mean borrow it like I borrowed Chicago and half of their tupperware collection. Anyway, so that is why our living room looks like this:
And I know right now you're probably thinking, "Oh, Jennie. You do not need these. You have far too many other time wasters in your life. TV. The Internets. All of those movies surrounding the Nintendo Area. Drinking." But I say to you THIS, Internets. I had time to take a picture of our new-old Nintendos and post them online. Obviously I have far too much time on my hands and these games are very necessary.
You know what's weird? When you walk by a mirror and are taken aback because, oh dear god, there's an adult staring back at you! Sometimes I just stare at my reflection and think, "who ARE you?" because I don't remember turning into a grown-up and I don't really care for it. I mean, some parts are OK (alright, MORE than OK) but sometimes I just want to have recess again, you know?
On a completely different note, I had the weirdest dream the other night. I was a contestant on America's Next Top Model (I know, shut up) and I feel comfortable telling you about this because I know I'm not the only one who has dreams about ANTM. For some reason, Heidi Klum was the host instead of Miss Tyra. I don't know why. Maybe Miss Tyra was busy with her talk show or sick or something. NOT IMPORTANT. So anyway, me and the other models traveled to some faraway country to compete in a fashion show against other models. Kind of like in Harry Potter? When they compete for the Goblet of Fire? Wow, I am really nerding out right now, aren't I? OK. So we're all in this huge closet that we'd thrown all of our clothes in and we're getting dressed and I went to ask Heidi Klum if we were supposed to wear our outfits in a certain order. She said, "Yes, of course! The first outfit must consist primarily of pockets!" and I was all excited because I'd packed this hideously ugly dress with pockets ALL OVER it. But when I went into the closet I couldn't find it and I started freaking out and trying on all these other outfits but NONE OF THEM HAD POCKETS OH GOD WHAT WAS I GOING TO DO I WAS GOING TO GET KICKED OFF FOR SURE and that's when I woke up The End.
And I know right now you're probably thinking, "Oh, Jennie. You do not need these. You have far too many other time wasters in your life. TV. The Internets. All of those movies surrounding the Nintendo Area. Drinking." But I say to you THIS, Internets. I had time to take a picture of our new-old Nintendos and post them online. Obviously I have far too much time on my hands and these games are very necessary.
You know what's weird? When you walk by a mirror and are taken aback because, oh dear god, there's an adult staring back at you! Sometimes I just stare at my reflection and think, "who ARE you?" because I don't remember turning into a grown-up and I don't really care for it. I mean, some parts are OK (alright, MORE than OK) but sometimes I just want to have recess again, you know?
On a completely different note, I had the weirdest dream the other night. I was a contestant on America's Next Top Model (I know, shut up) and I feel comfortable telling you about this because I know I'm not the only one who has dreams about ANTM. For some reason, Heidi Klum was the host instead of Miss Tyra. I don't know why. Maybe Miss Tyra was busy with her talk show or sick or something. NOT IMPORTANT. So anyway, me and the other models traveled to some faraway country to compete in a fashion show against other models. Kind of like in Harry Potter? When they compete for the Goblet of Fire? Wow, I am really nerding out right now, aren't I? OK. So we're all in this huge closet that we'd thrown all of our clothes in and we're getting dressed and I went to ask Heidi Klum if we were supposed to wear our outfits in a certain order. She said, "Yes, of course! The first outfit must consist primarily of pockets!" and I was all excited because I'd packed this hideously ugly dress with pockets ALL OVER it. But when I went into the closet I couldn't find it and I started freaking out and trying on all these other outfits but NONE OF THEM HAD POCKETS OH GOD WHAT WAS I GOING TO DO I WAS GOING TO GET KICKED OFF FOR SURE and that's when I woke up The End.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Well, you know, they only give you three letters, so after A-S-S, it IS a bit of a challenge.
It's been a strange weekend. I'm not complaining, because I would never complain about a weekend that lasts three days. That would be wrong. Although, I really think every weekend should be extended to three days. I should write a letter. I don't know who to send it to, though. Who is in charge of these things?
So, anyway. On Friday some friends came over for a low key night. We thought we'd just have a couple of drinks and hang out, maybe watch a movie. Who knows. Three-fourths of a bottle of vodka later and Steve, Heidi, and I were walking to Waffle House at 3 AM. Because when Heidi tried to call every pizza place in the phone book we discovered that, hey, no one delivers pizza at 3 AM. I would say I'm not proud that I was the one who came up with the idea to walk to Waffle House, but I am. Those waffles were delicious, even though I did fall down twice and step in a big pile of mud in the journey to and from them. It was worth it, is what I'm saying.
Somehow I had the presence of mind when we got back from our waffle journey to set my alarm, because I had to go to the DMV on Saturday. The reason? Um, because that was the day my temporary tags expired and I thought I should probably take care of that so I wouldn't get pulled over and have to trade sexual favors so I wouldn't get a ticket. I really can't afford a ticket, you see. Anyway, so I got up Saturday morning, downed some water and Tylenol, considered and ruled out showering, and then went to the DMV. It wasn't as terrible as I thought it would be except for the part where it cost $50, which is really a rip-off for something that you're lawfully obligated to have. Bastards.
The rest of the day I pretty much spent napping. I think I woke up around 4, worked up the motivation to shower by about 5:30 and Heidi and I were finally ready to join civilization around 7. Nice. What sucks is that Saturday turned out to be the only sunny day this entire weekend and we were too tired (ok, hungover) to enjoy it at the pool.
Which brings me to yesterday. That sounds weird. Anyway. Heidi's family was having a cookout at the lake and I was invited and who am I to pass up free food? I like hot dogs. I like deviled eggs (scratch that, I LOVE deviled eggs). I like potato salad. I like sunshine and lakes and stuff. When we left Dayton it was really sunny and warm and beautiful. As we continued to drive, however, it got darker and darker and eventually the torrential downpour started and I cursed the sun for getting my hopes up. I was wearing a tank top and who was going to darken my pale, pale, ghostly white shoulders now? A storm cloud? I don't THINK so. Rude.
After dinner and everything, Heidi's aunt, uncle, and cousins left but then a while later her grandma called and said her aunt had fallen and broken her leg so we ended up spending a good portion of the night in the ER. Heidi's 9 and 13 year old cousins sat quietly and behaved themselves the whole time while Heidi and I did the following:
So, anyway. On Friday some friends came over for a low key night. We thought we'd just have a couple of drinks and hang out, maybe watch a movie. Who knows. Three-fourths of a bottle of vodka later and Steve, Heidi, and I were walking to Waffle House at 3 AM. Because when Heidi tried to call every pizza place in the phone book we discovered that, hey, no one delivers pizza at 3 AM. I would say I'm not proud that I was the one who came up with the idea to walk to Waffle House, but I am. Those waffles were delicious, even though I did fall down twice and step in a big pile of mud in the journey to and from them. It was worth it, is what I'm saying.
Somehow I had the presence of mind when we got back from our waffle journey to set my alarm, because I had to go to the DMV on Saturday. The reason? Um, because that was the day my temporary tags expired and I thought I should probably take care of that so I wouldn't get pulled over and have to trade sexual favors so I wouldn't get a ticket. I really can't afford a ticket, you see. Anyway, so I got up Saturday morning, downed some water and Tylenol, considered and ruled out showering, and then went to the DMV. It wasn't as terrible as I thought it would be except for the part where it cost $50, which is really a rip-off for something that you're lawfully obligated to have. Bastards.
The rest of the day I pretty much spent napping. I think I woke up around 4, worked up the motivation to shower by about 5:30 and Heidi and I were finally ready to join civilization around 7. Nice. What sucks is that Saturday turned out to be the only sunny day this entire weekend and we were too tired (ok, hungover) to enjoy it at the pool.
Which brings me to yesterday. That sounds weird. Anyway. Heidi's family was having a cookout at the lake and I was invited and who am I to pass up free food? I like hot dogs. I like deviled eggs (scratch that, I LOVE deviled eggs). I like potato salad. I like sunshine and lakes and stuff. When we left Dayton it was really sunny and warm and beautiful. As we continued to drive, however, it got darker and darker and eventually the torrential downpour started and I cursed the sun for getting my hopes up. I was wearing a tank top and who was going to darken my pale, pale, ghostly white shoulders now? A storm cloud? I don't THINK so. Rude.
After dinner and everything, Heidi's aunt, uncle, and cousins left but then a while later her grandma called and said her aunt had fallen and broken her leg so we ended up spending a good portion of the night in the ER. Heidi's 9 and 13 year old cousins sat quietly and behaved themselves the whole time while Heidi and I did the following:
- wandered the hospital pretending to be Meredith Grey and Christina Yang . . . I'll let you decide who was who
- stole a wheelchair and Heidi pushed me around the hospital
- went outside with said wheelchair and got locked out of the hospital
- tried to find the baby section of the hospital so we could look at new-babies, even though I said I'd rather look at puppies
- found a secret window into the ER and spied
- oh, and I took a picture with my phone of the orange-jumpsuited, handcuffed prisoner that came walking into the ER about twenty minutes after we did
See:
You didn't believe at first, did you? THAT is why I took a picture, you disbelievers! NEVER DOUBT ME AGAIN!
Once her aunt was released, we drove home and tried to go to Kroger to buy some beer because when you spend the night in the ER, all you really want is a drink. Unfortunately, it was ten minutes after 1 and apparently you can't buy beer after 1. So, instead we went home and ate chips and salsa and played the old-school Nintendo Heidi had stolen from her brother until 3 AM. Duck hunt! Mario Brothers! Which I suck at! But I don't care! I told Heidi that one day I'm just going to stay home from work and practice so I can be as good at Mario Brothers as she is. It'll be just like that episode of Friends where Chandler sucks at Ms. Pacman until he plays all day and puts dirty words in the high scores thingie and also gets THE CLAW. You know the one I mean. Don't pretend you don't.
Anyway. I hope you all had a good weekend. I have to go shower now. We're going to dinner at The House of My Parents tonight. You can get beer there whenever you want, even if it's after 1, and that is why Kroger should strive to be like my parents.
Friday, May 25, 2007
So I will need a new number two. My ideal choice? Jack Bauer. But he is unavailable. Fictional. And overqualified.
So remember a couple of months ago when I was all obsessed with that new radio station? It's OK if you don't. I can barely keep track of all my obsessions, I don't expect you to. Anyway, I'm still pretty obsessed with it. But not as much. I switch to other radio stations sometimes and now that my car actually has a CD player rather than just a tape player that makes everything sound like The Chipmunks, I'm just as likely to be listening to this as to the radio.
Let me tell you how great this radio station is. There's this song, MAYBE YOU'VE HEARD OF IT, called "Hey There Delilah," that I heard, I don't know, a long time ago and loved. How much did I love it? A lot. Like, OK, this one time? Heidi and I were sitting in our apartment with the balcony door open? And a car pulled up in the parking lot and was playing that song really loud and Heidi was all, "is that you?" It wasn't, though. I haven't figured out how to clone myself yet, but WHEN I DO, be afraid. Be very afraid. ANYWAY. I was going to buy the CD but then I listened to the band's other songs on Myspace and didn't like any of them and now I'm really, really glad I didn't buy the CD because I have heard from several people that it sucks because they are a whiny, whiny punk band. CLOSE CALL. Anyway, so that was months and months ago and I'm just now starting to hear the song on the regular radio. And when I say regular radio, I mean the stations that basically play the same 20 songs all day long and make me want to jam a ninja star in my ear.
I don't remember my point, or if I even had one, so OH WELL to that. Hey, remember the butt sandwich? (Also see: THIS). Well, I'm eating another one today. That was all that was left, only we had a whole other loaf sitting right next to the butt loaf and I thought about just throwing the butts away but that is WASTEFUL and there are starving children in Africa who would kill for the butts. Then I thought about maybe feeding the geese and ducks with the butts but the other night two gooses (heh) totally CHASED ME because I accidentally got too close to their babies. SO. SORRY. And that is why I am eating the butts.
This morning as I was driving to work, I went a different way and drove through a school zone which meant I had to go 20 MPH, which is basically not moving at all. And I started thinking that school zones are pointless. Really, if the kids are too stupid to get out of the middle of the road, maybe it's a good thing that cars hit them. Thinning the herd, you know? Before they can grow up and be President. (ZING!) Then I realized that I am a horrible person who should not be allowed to talk to anyone. Also, I think I stole the whole no school zone speed limit/thinning the herd thing from somewhere but I don't know where.
THEN! I remembered this conversation that Heidi and I had the other day that was ALMOST IDENTICAL to one we had almost a year ago. Did you hear that? That was my mind blowing.
Me: I have something sad to tell you.
Heidi: What?
Me: I watched Maroon 5 on SNL the other day, and they were not good.
Heidi: Oh, no!
Me: Yes. And I've seen them live and they're VERY good live.
Heidi: I know, I've seen them, too.
Me: I was sad.
Heidi: I can imagine. I don't like the lead singer, though.
Me: Oh, I do.
Heidi: He's a manwhore!
Me: I don't care.
Heidi: And he seems really full of himself.
Me: I'd still do him.
Heidi: Ew.
Me: I would.
Heidi: I know. But I think he looks like a weasel.
Me: Oh yeah? Well, I'd do that weasel SO HARD.
Heidi: Wow.
I know, right? See what I mean about how I should not be allowed to talk to people? Also, I'm sorry if conversations about butt sex and Jesus and doing weasels offend you, but you should see the conversations I DON'T post on here. Oh wait, no. I'm glad you can't see those.
This post is very linky. Which might be a good thing. It'll give you guys something to do while you're killing time at work and waiting for the three day weekend to roll around. Don't pretend you're not. I know you're doing it. I can see you. Wow. Creepy, right? I know. Sorry. OK, bye. Oh, here's something funny. Here, this too. Enjoy, slackers!
Let me tell you how great this radio station is. There's this song, MAYBE YOU'VE HEARD OF IT, called "Hey There Delilah," that I heard, I don't know, a long time ago and loved. How much did I love it? A lot. Like, OK, this one time? Heidi and I were sitting in our apartment with the balcony door open? And a car pulled up in the parking lot and was playing that song really loud and Heidi was all, "is that you?" It wasn't, though. I haven't figured out how to clone myself yet, but WHEN I DO, be afraid. Be very afraid. ANYWAY. I was going to buy the CD but then I listened to the band's other songs on Myspace and didn't like any of them and now I'm really, really glad I didn't buy the CD because I have heard from several people that it sucks because they are a whiny, whiny punk band. CLOSE CALL. Anyway, so that was months and months ago and I'm just now starting to hear the song on the regular radio. And when I say regular radio, I mean the stations that basically play the same 20 songs all day long and make me want to jam a ninja star in my ear.
I don't remember my point, or if I even had one, so OH WELL to that. Hey, remember the butt sandwich? (Also see: THIS). Well, I'm eating another one today. That was all that was left, only we had a whole other loaf sitting right next to the butt loaf and I thought about just throwing the butts away but that is WASTEFUL and there are starving children in Africa who would kill for the butts. Then I thought about maybe feeding the geese and ducks with the butts but the other night two gooses (heh) totally CHASED ME because I accidentally got too close to their babies. SO. SORRY. And that is why I am eating the butts.
This morning as I was driving to work, I went a different way and drove through a school zone which meant I had to go 20 MPH, which is basically not moving at all. And I started thinking that school zones are pointless. Really, if the kids are too stupid to get out of the middle of the road, maybe it's a good thing that cars hit them. Thinning the herd, you know? Before they can grow up and be President. (ZING!) Then I realized that I am a horrible person who should not be allowed to talk to anyone. Also, I think I stole the whole no school zone speed limit/thinning the herd thing from somewhere but I don't know where.
THEN! I remembered this conversation that Heidi and I had the other day that was ALMOST IDENTICAL to one we had almost a year ago. Did you hear that? That was my mind blowing.
Me: I have something sad to tell you.
Heidi: What?
Me: I watched Maroon 5 on SNL the other day, and they were not good.
Heidi: Oh, no!
Me: Yes. And I've seen them live and they're VERY good live.
Heidi: I know, I've seen them, too.
Me: I was sad.
Heidi: I can imagine. I don't like the lead singer, though.
Me: Oh, I do.
Heidi: He's a manwhore!
Me: I don't care.
Heidi: And he seems really full of himself.
Me: I'd still do him.
Heidi: Ew.
Me: I would.
Heidi: I know. But I think he looks like a weasel.
Me: Oh yeah? Well, I'd do that weasel SO HARD.
Heidi: Wow.
I know, right? See what I mean about how I should not be allowed to talk to people? Also, I'm sorry if conversations about butt sex and Jesus and doing weasels offend you, but you should see the conversations I DON'T post on here. Oh wait, no. I'm glad you can't see those.
This post is very linky. Which might be a good thing. It'll give you guys something to do while you're killing time at work and waiting for the three day weekend to roll around. Don't pretend you're not. I know you're doing it. I can see you. Wow. Creepy, right? I know. Sorry. OK, bye. Oh, here's something funny. Here, this too. Enjoy, slackers!
Thursday, May 24, 2007
what a pity
I've never been great with the whole patience thing. Can anyone help me so I get my good things? What do you think the good things are? More dinosaurs?
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
I went for a walk and look what followed me home*
A dinosaur! I haven't settled on a name, but I'm leaning toward, "Roary." Get it? Get it?!
*I have too much time on my hands. I know this. You don't have to tell me.
Grab that net and catch that beautiful butterfly, pal! What do you like better, Christmas or Wedding Season?
You guys remember how I got my hair cut on Saturday? Well, I got my hair cut on Saturday. And I kind of sort of liked it until I took a shower and tried to fix it myself. All was going well . . . the washing, the conditioning, the towel-drying. But then I got to the blow-drying and the brushing and whatnot and I just stared at my assortment of hair-doing tools in befuddlement (aside: Heather Anne, I think "befuddlement" should be added to the list of words we should say more). And the hairdryer, the round brush, and the flatiron just stared back all, "what, you think WE know what to do?" They were no help whatsoever! What I'm trying to say is, this morning was the first day I actually got my hair to look somewhat like what it looked like on Saturday when I left the salon. Which is good, because I was getting really really close to just shaving it all off. I suck at being a girl. SIGH.
Also, you know how it's wedding season? Well, it's wedding season. And while I will not be doing any wedding crashing (unless someone else is up for it, maybe?), I do have two weddings to go to next month. I found this 28-day workout online the other day and then realized that conveniently, I had exactly 29 days until the first wedding. I did the math and I think I have time. So all week long I have been eating super nutritiously (is that a word?) and working out every day and, Internets, my legs hurt ever so much today. Ow, for real. The worst part is that I made banana bread over the weekend and even though my tummy tried to tell me that it was totally healthy because it has fruit in it, my brain said NO! PUT IT DOWN! Every time I start to feel weak and like I want to eat 100 million pounds of chips and salsa, I pull the dress I'm wearing to the first wedding out of my closet and stare at it and think about how awful it would be to have to wear a burlap sack or garbage bag or something because I can't fit into the dress anymore. STUPID WEDDINGS! ALWAYS WITH THE MAKING ME FEEL BAD ABOUT MYSELF! Unmarried, childless, 300 pounds, and SHORT. SHORT! Just kidding, I don't really care about the first two things and I am aware that I don't really weigh 300 pounds and the short thing . . . eh, I've gotten used to climbing on counters for things on the top shelf.
Oh, you guys, Heidi and I had the BEST EVER Conversations With My Roommate last night. I feel like I should give you some kind of warning for this, but I don't know how. Oh well . . .
Me [reading sign in front of a church]: Jesus is right for whatever is wrong.
Heidi: Hmm.
Me: Anything? What about unplanned pregnancy?
Heidi: What about butt sex?
Me: Hahaha. This is total Conversations With My Roommate material.
Heidi: That's for sure.
Me: And you won't sound like Kimmie Gibbler's boyfriend this time.
Heidi: No. I don't think he ever talked about butt sex.
Me: Yeah, I don't think Full House ever had a Very Special Episode about butt sex.
Heidi: They should have, though.
Me: Totally. DJ would have gone to Danny and been all, "Dad, Steve really wants me to have butt sex."
Heidi: And Danny would be like, "Well, Deej, as long as you use some Spic & Span to clean up afterward."
Me: Hahahaha.
Heidi: And then the special music would start.
Me: The tinkly piano.
Heidi: Right, the very special butt sex episode music.
Me: I cannot believe we just had a conversation that included Jesus, Full House, and butt sex.
Heidi: It happens.
Don't say I didn't warn you. Oh wait, I didn't. In any case, I think I'm going to start tape recording Heidi and I at all times because I can never remember all of the inappropriateness. And really, conversations about butt sex deserve to be remembered properly, don't you think?
Also, you know how it's wedding season? Well, it's wedding season. And while I will not be doing any wedding crashing (unless someone else is up for it, maybe?), I do have two weddings to go to next month. I found this 28-day workout online the other day and then realized that conveniently, I had exactly 29 days until the first wedding. I did the math and I think I have time. So all week long I have been eating super nutritiously (is that a word?) and working out every day and, Internets, my legs hurt ever so much today. Ow, for real. The worst part is that I made banana bread over the weekend and even though my tummy tried to tell me that it was totally healthy because it has fruit in it, my brain said NO! PUT IT DOWN! Every time I start to feel weak and like I want to eat 100 million pounds of chips and salsa, I pull the dress I'm wearing to the first wedding out of my closet and stare at it and think about how awful it would be to have to wear a burlap sack or garbage bag or something because I can't fit into the dress anymore. STUPID WEDDINGS! ALWAYS WITH THE MAKING ME FEEL BAD ABOUT MYSELF! Unmarried, childless, 300 pounds, and SHORT. SHORT! Just kidding, I don't really care about the first two things and I am aware that I don't really weigh 300 pounds and the short thing . . . eh, I've gotten used to climbing on counters for things on the top shelf.
Oh, you guys, Heidi and I had the BEST EVER Conversations With My Roommate last night. I feel like I should give you some kind of warning for this, but I don't know how. Oh well . . .
Me [reading sign in front of a church]: Jesus is right for whatever is wrong.
Heidi: Hmm.
Me: Anything? What about unplanned pregnancy?
Heidi: What about butt sex?
Me: Hahaha. This is total Conversations With My Roommate material.
Heidi: That's for sure.
Me: And you won't sound like Kimmie Gibbler's boyfriend this time.
Heidi: No. I don't think he ever talked about butt sex.
Me: Yeah, I don't think Full House ever had a Very Special Episode about butt sex.
Heidi: They should have, though.
Me: Totally. DJ would have gone to Danny and been all, "Dad, Steve really wants me to have butt sex."
Heidi: And Danny would be like, "Well, Deej, as long as you use some Spic & Span to clean up afterward."
Me: Hahahaha.
Heidi: And then the special music would start.
Me: The tinkly piano.
Heidi: Right, the very special butt sex episode music.
Me: I cannot believe we just had a conversation that included Jesus, Full House, and butt sex.
Heidi: It happens.
Don't say I didn't warn you. Oh wait, I didn't. In any case, I think I'm going to start tape recording Heidi and I at all times because I can never remember all of the inappropriateness. And really, conversations about butt sex deserve to be remembered properly, don't you think?
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
no seriously, what is wrong with me?
This song depresses the hell out of me and yet I CAN'T STOP LISTENING TO IT.
Monday, May 21, 2007
you're so cute when you're slurring your speech, but they're closing the bar and they want us to leave
You guys, today was such a weird day. It's Monday, I didn't get enough sleep last night (SHOCKER), my hair looks like crap, I have a giant pimple under my lip that makes me look like I have herpes (I don't), and did I mention it's Monday? Well, it is. All day. Hahahahaha! I'll be here all week. Tip your waitresses. And waiters. I don't want to be sexist.
Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, right. So see that list above that is all bad? Well, inexplicably, I was in a spectacular mood today. Maybe it's because the sun is out and it's really warm, but I think it has more to do with the fact that there is a three day weekend coming up. THREE. DAY. WEEKEND. I love those ever so much.
Today, I inadvertently wore the same color underwear as my shirt. Fuchsia. Fuchsia is my favorite color. To say. I'm not sure it's my favorite color ever, but I do like it. Which is a big step, considering there was a time I REFUSED to wear pink. I don't remember why, but I'm sure there was a reason. Probably something stupid like I didn't want to submit to the subjugation of the female color prototype. Did any of that mean anything? Probably not. Oh well. So, my underwear and my shirt matched today. It wasn't on purpose, I swear. And really, it's irrelevant anyway because it's not like I go around showing my underwear to people at work. Or people, in general, really. Only on special occasions.
OH! And Heidi seems to think I can't give up TV. She left this comment: The day you give up TV is the day you give up the internet . . . NEVER GONNNA HAPPEN!! Also, I would like to sound more intelligent in your "CWR" segment . . . I always sound like Kimmy Gibbler's boyfriend Wayne that just said "whatever" . . . SO. NOT. COOL.
And I decided to save the fact that she remembers Kimmy Gibbler's boyfriend's name for another time and sent her this e-mail, which launched Conversations With My Roommate blah blah blah:
To: Heidi
From: Me
Subject: Hey!
I could SO give up TV! Not the internet, though. Never never no way.
To: Me
From: Heidi
I'm appalled at the fact that you could easily throw away Jon Stewart, Christina Yang (she needs you right now), Miss Tyra, etc.
Very hurtful!
To: Heidi
From: Me
Well, I'm not saying I'd do it forever. But over the summer? Piece of cake.
To: Me
From: Heidi
What about Big Brother? Beauty and the Geek?
To: Heidi
From: Me
Eh. I could live without those. Hee.
To: Me
From: Heidi
I don't even know you anymore.
To: Heidi
From: Me
I have seen what life is like without television . . . and it's GLOOOOORIOUS.
To: Me
From: Heidi
No it's not . . . it's dark and scary . . . with zombies.
To: Heidi
From: Me
Don't you say that! Don't you ever say that!
I think you get the point. Well, to prove her wrong, I am going to go without television for A WHOLE DAY! So far today I haven't watched any TV and I won't watch any UNTIL TOMORROW! Did I just blow your mind? Did it hurt? I'm sorry.
I keep trying to listen to music on my computer, but every time I try to listen to music and do something else (like blog or stalk people on Myspace), my computer is all "OH HELL TO THE NO!" and just turns off. I've had this problem before and reinstalling Windows worked but I don't really feel like doing that because I'm lazy and really just the act of sitting here and typing is enough work already. WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?
Ahem. Since I can't listen to the music on my computer without having to restart it every 6.9 minutes and since I left all my CDs at work (STUPID), I'm listening to my mp3 player. I was a little apprehensive at first, because I find it difficult to listen to music I really like and not sing along, loudly and with hand gestures and I wasn't sure I wanted my neighbors hearing all the "singing" and thinking I was drunk already at 5:30 or whatever the hell time it is and they might judge me VERY VERY HARSHLY and I'm not sure why I care except I'd like to stay on their good side because, while I don't really care what they think of me, I don't want them telling on me in case they see me doing things like this. And I KNOW they can hear me because our windows are all open and if I can hear THEM when they're outside then if they are OUTSIDE they can hear ME inside. Did that make any sense? I don't care. I also don't care that my neighbors are going to hear me completely butcher this song. Because I love it and and have always loved it and will always love it MORE THAN THREE DAY WEEKENDS OR EVEN THE INTERNET EVEN and if you sing a song with love it doesn't matter how bad you sound. True story.
Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, right. So see that list above that is all bad? Well, inexplicably, I was in a spectacular mood today. Maybe it's because the sun is out and it's really warm, but I think it has more to do with the fact that there is a three day weekend coming up. THREE. DAY. WEEKEND. I love those ever so much.
Today, I inadvertently wore the same color underwear as my shirt. Fuchsia. Fuchsia is my favorite color. To say. I'm not sure it's my favorite color ever, but I do like it. Which is a big step, considering there was a time I REFUSED to wear pink. I don't remember why, but I'm sure there was a reason. Probably something stupid like I didn't want to submit to the subjugation of the female color prototype. Did any of that mean anything? Probably not. Oh well. So, my underwear and my shirt matched today. It wasn't on purpose, I swear. And really, it's irrelevant anyway because it's not like I go around showing my underwear to people at work. Or people, in general, really. Only on special occasions.
OH! And Heidi seems to think I can't give up TV. She left this comment: The day you give up TV is the day you give up the internet . . . NEVER GONNNA HAPPEN!! Also, I would like to sound more intelligent in your "CWR" segment . . . I always sound like Kimmy Gibbler's boyfriend Wayne that just said "whatever" . . . SO. NOT. COOL.
And I decided to save the fact that she remembers Kimmy Gibbler's boyfriend's name for another time and sent her this e-mail, which launched Conversations With My Roommate blah blah blah:
To: Heidi
From: Me
Subject: Hey!
I could SO give up TV! Not the internet, though. Never never no way.
To: Me
From: Heidi
I'm appalled at the fact that you could easily throw away Jon Stewart, Christina Yang (she needs you right now), Miss Tyra, etc.
Very hurtful!
To: Heidi
From: Me
Well, I'm not saying I'd do it forever. But over the summer? Piece of cake.
To: Me
From: Heidi
What about Big Brother? Beauty and the Geek?
To: Heidi
From: Me
Eh. I could live without those. Hee.
To: Me
From: Heidi
I don't even know you anymore.
To: Heidi
From: Me
I have seen what life is like without television . . . and it's GLOOOOORIOUS.
To: Me
From: Heidi
No it's not . . . it's dark and scary . . . with zombies.
To: Heidi
From: Me
Don't you say that! Don't you ever say that!
I think you get the point. Well, to prove her wrong, I am going to go without television for A WHOLE DAY! So far today I haven't watched any TV and I won't watch any UNTIL TOMORROW! Did I just blow your mind? Did it hurt? I'm sorry.
I keep trying to listen to music on my computer, but every time I try to listen to music and do something else (like blog or stalk people on Myspace), my computer is all "OH HELL TO THE NO!" and just turns off. I've had this problem before and reinstalling Windows worked but I don't really feel like doing that because I'm lazy and really just the act of sitting here and typing is enough work already. WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?
Ahem. Since I can't listen to the music on my computer without having to restart it every 6.9 minutes and since I left all my CDs at work (STUPID), I'm listening to my mp3 player. I was a little apprehensive at first, because I find it difficult to listen to music I really like and not sing along, loudly and with hand gestures and I wasn't sure I wanted my neighbors hearing all the "singing" and thinking I was drunk already at 5:30 or whatever the hell time it is and they might judge me VERY VERY HARSHLY and I'm not sure why I care except I'd like to stay on their good side because, while I don't really care what they think of me, I don't want them telling on me in case they see me doing things like this. And I KNOW they can hear me because our windows are all open and if I can hear THEM when they're outside then if they are OUTSIDE they can hear ME inside. Did that make any sense? I don't care. I also don't care that my neighbors are going to hear me completely butcher this song. Because I love it and and have always loved it and will always love it MORE THAN THREE DAY WEEKENDS OR EVEN THE INTERNET EVEN and if you sing a song with love it doesn't matter how bad you sound. True story.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Cause in my head there's a Greyhound station, where I send my thoughts to far-off destinations
I don't know why, but it seems that lately I have lost the ability to just sit around and do nothing. I mean, I am still perfectly capable of staring wistfully into space while listening to sad music. And daydreaming, I'm all over that. It would take a lot for me to lose that ability. Also, I can still easily lose hours to The Internets or a good book. But I find it difficult to watch even a half-hour of television without wanting to jump up and do something else. I'm not complaining. There are worse things in life than being distracted from a TV show. This may sound crazy, but I think I could easily become one of those people who doesn't even own a television (but what's all your furniture pointed at?) and I know right now you are shaking your head all, "Jennie, Jennie, Jennie, you are talking nonsense," but it's TRUE. Right now the only show I really care about seeing is The Office. The rest I could take or leave and if I'm honest with myself, I know that the world would not end if I stopped watching The Office.
Right now, I bet you're wondering who kidnapped the real Jennie and replaced her with this IMPOSTOR! But I say to you, BEHOLD, this IS the real Jennie. FEAST YOUR EYES AND TREMBLE IN FEAR. Anyway. Whatever.
Yesterday, after I got my hair cut and went to the bookstore and lost some time in Target, I came home and tried to sit around but that didn't work, so I changed into some old clothes and went to the nature reserve. I thought about going to Cox (heh) but that seemed like kind of a long drive just to walk around. I was going to wander around the pond by our apartment but then I remembered that Narrows Nature Reserve was just up the road. If you have been reading this blog for almost as long as I've had it (unlikely), you may remember the summer we kept catching chipmunks (and other various animals) and setting them free. Well, this nature reserve is where we took them. When I got there, I half expected a gang of angry chipmunks to come charging at me and carry me away to their secret, underground chipmunk lair. But they didn't. I was kind of disappointed because COME ON! Tiny underground chipmunk lair! If I managed to snap a couple pictures with my phone, I could be famous! Anyway, my dad made a comment yesterday that he's going to set rat traps for the chipmunks this year and I am saying to you right now, Dad, that if you set the humane traps I will personally drive each and every chipmunk you catch to the nature reserve. Please don't kill the chipmunks! I love them! I love them so much! Tell me about the rabbits, George!
Um, right, so I went to the nature reserve. As much as I try to be at one with nature (or whatever), I just don't think I'm very good at it. First of all, I'm far too clumsy. I cannot tell you how many tree roots I almost tripped over and I also almost fell in the river because I was climbing around on this tree branch that was hanging over the water. As I was doing it, I kept thinking, "Oh, Jennie, this is going to end badly. You are going to fall. How about you put your car keys down on the ground before you drop them into the water? Huh? Maybe you want to get down now, OK? Please?" but I didn't fall in the water, only almost. Almost doesn't count. ALSO, I am far too noisy for nature, because every time a bug dive bombed my face, I would exclaim, "FUCK!" or something equally intelligent but for serious, you guys, this one bug was following me, I swear. I never got a good look at it, but it was very buzzy so I fear it might have been a bee. You know how I feel about bees, right? Well, here is how I feel about bees. Only two things in the world scare the bejesus out of me, and that is bees and bats. Also, zombies, but I'm not sure that counts because they are not real (yet).
At one point, I was whistling (told you I was too noisy) down the path and spotted something very red on the ground and when I explored further, I saw that the bright, bright red was attached to a dead woodpecker. I've never seen a woodpecker that close before. I started to get kind of sad, but then the buzzy bug came back and I ran down the path, tripping over nothing but my own feet and almost face-planting on the way.
Right now, I bet you're wondering who kidnapped the real Jennie and replaced her with this IMPOSTOR! But I say to you, BEHOLD, this IS the real Jennie. FEAST YOUR EYES AND TREMBLE IN FEAR. Anyway. Whatever.
Yesterday, after I got my hair cut and went to the bookstore and lost some time in Target, I came home and tried to sit around but that didn't work, so I changed into some old clothes and went to the nature reserve. I thought about going to Cox (heh) but that seemed like kind of a long drive just to walk around. I was going to wander around the pond by our apartment but then I remembered that Narrows Nature Reserve was just up the road. If you have been reading this blog for almost as long as I've had it (unlikely), you may remember the summer we kept catching chipmunks (and other various animals) and setting them free. Well, this nature reserve is where we took them. When I got there, I half expected a gang of angry chipmunks to come charging at me and carry me away to their secret, underground chipmunk lair. But they didn't. I was kind of disappointed because COME ON! Tiny underground chipmunk lair! If I managed to snap a couple pictures with my phone, I could be famous! Anyway, my dad made a comment yesterday that he's going to set rat traps for the chipmunks this year and I am saying to you right now, Dad, that if you set the humane traps I will personally drive each and every chipmunk you catch to the nature reserve. Please don't kill the chipmunks! I love them! I love them so much! Tell me about the rabbits, George!
Um, right, so I went to the nature reserve. As much as I try to be at one with nature (or whatever), I just don't think I'm very good at it. First of all, I'm far too clumsy. I cannot tell you how many tree roots I almost tripped over and I also almost fell in the river because I was climbing around on this tree branch that was hanging over the water. As I was doing it, I kept thinking, "Oh, Jennie, this is going to end badly. You are going to fall. How about you put your car keys down on the ground before you drop them into the water? Huh? Maybe you want to get down now, OK? Please?" but I didn't fall in the water, only almost. Almost doesn't count. ALSO, I am far too noisy for nature, because every time a bug dive bombed my face, I would exclaim, "FUCK!" or something equally intelligent but for serious, you guys, this one bug was following me, I swear. I never got a good look at it, but it was very buzzy so I fear it might have been a bee. You know how I feel about bees, right? Well, here is how I feel about bees. Only two things in the world scare the bejesus out of me, and that is bees and bats. Also, zombies, but I'm not sure that counts because they are not real (yet).
At one point, I was whistling (told you I was too noisy) down the path and spotted something very red on the ground and when I explored further, I saw that the bright, bright red was attached to a dead woodpecker. I've never seen a woodpecker that close before. I started to get kind of sad, but then the buzzy bug came back and I ran down the path, tripping over nothing but my own feet and almost face-planting on the way.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
In my opinion, we don't devote nearly enough scientific research to finding a cure for jerks.
You guys, I got up so early this morning. I got up at NINE. Which, OK, is way later than I get up on any other day, but it's Saturday. Of course, I went to bed super early last night because I was tired, oh, and also really, really lame. I was watching a movie (Little Children) and almost had to stop in the middle because I kept nodding off. Not that I didn't enjoy the movie, but part of me was all, "you've read the book, this movie is happening exactly like the book did, why are you bothering to watch this?" And the answer is that I have a girl crush on Kate Winslet and would watch anything she is in. For serious. I've even seen that movie when she and her friend bash in her friend's mom's head with a rock. Weird.
So, I went and got my hair cut earlier. I think I like it, but I can't shake the suspicion that I kind of look like Susie, Calvin's nemesis from Calvin & Hobbes. However, this could be a result of me reading those books, um, all the freaking time when I was younger.
After I got MY hair cut, I went and picked up my sister because, as it turns out, she had an appointment ON THE SAME DAY, only like two hours later. I sat around with my parents, mooched a bagel and coffee, and watched something on the Discovery channel about sea otters (they fought off a CROCODILE, you guys! It was awesome!) until my sister woke up and got ready. Which she finally did. Eventually.
Me: Did you brush your hair?
Sister: YES!
Me: Oh. OK.
Dad: What difference does it make? She's on her way to get it cut.
Me: I mean, it's just all sticking up in the back.
Sister: Fine, I'll brush it again.
Mom: Don't let her cut too much of the back.
Sister: What?
Mom: It'll stick up if you do. You don't want to look like Spike Lee.
Sister: . . .
Dad: . . .
Me: Mom, Spike Lee is black and doesn't have any hair.
Mom: Oh, I meant Alfalfa.
Me: Sure, because Alfalfa . . . Spike Lee . . . totally similar.
Dad: I will look forward to seeing this on your blog later.
While I was waiting for my sister, I went to the used bookstore (books bought: Anna Karenina, Tropic of Cancer, In America) and Target to buy some floor mats for Sasha. When I was paying for my stuff, the cashier noticed that the lady in front of me had forgotten a bag. I grabbed my bags and walked quickly out to the parking lot. I saw the lady getting into her car so I ran over and started waving. I wonder what she thought I was doing at first? I mean, I doubt her first thought was "oh god, this crazy girl in the Dunder-Mifflin t-shirt and flip flops who looks like Susie Derkins is going to mug me!" so who knows what she thought I was going to do.
"Ma'am, I think you were in front of me in line in there and you forgot a bag," is what I said. Then I noticed a cashier walking up behind me with her bag. The lady thanked me, the cashier thanked me, and I no problemed them because seriously? It was mostly on the way to my car anyway. And also I'm trying this new thing where instead of acting like an asshole all the time, I do nice things for people. That never turns out bad, right? Except for that Haley Joel Osment movie. That was complete crap.
So, I went and got my hair cut earlier. I think I like it, but I can't shake the suspicion that I kind of look like Susie, Calvin's nemesis from Calvin & Hobbes. However, this could be a result of me reading those books, um, all the freaking time when I was younger.
After I got MY hair cut, I went and picked up my sister because, as it turns out, she had an appointment ON THE SAME DAY, only like two hours later. I sat around with my parents, mooched a bagel and coffee, and watched something on the Discovery channel about sea otters (they fought off a CROCODILE, you guys! It was awesome!) until my sister woke up and got ready. Which she finally did. Eventually.
Me: Did you brush your hair?
Sister: YES!
Me: Oh. OK.
Dad: What difference does it make? She's on her way to get it cut.
Me: I mean, it's just all sticking up in the back.
Sister: Fine, I'll brush it again.
Mom: Don't let her cut too much of the back.
Sister: What?
Mom: It'll stick up if you do. You don't want to look like Spike Lee.
Sister: . . .
Dad: . . .
Me: Mom, Spike Lee is black and doesn't have any hair.
Mom: Oh, I meant Alfalfa.
Me: Sure, because Alfalfa . . . Spike Lee . . . totally similar.
Dad: I will look forward to seeing this on your blog later.
While I was waiting for my sister, I went to the used bookstore (books bought: Anna Karenina, Tropic of Cancer, In America) and Target to buy some floor mats for Sasha. When I was paying for my stuff, the cashier noticed that the lady in front of me had forgotten a bag. I grabbed my bags and walked quickly out to the parking lot. I saw the lady getting into her car so I ran over and started waving. I wonder what she thought I was doing at first? I mean, I doubt her first thought was "oh god, this crazy girl in the Dunder-Mifflin t-shirt and flip flops who looks like Susie Derkins is going to mug me!" so who knows what she thought I was going to do.
"Ma'am, I think you were in front of me in line in there and you forgot a bag," is what I said. Then I noticed a cashier walking up behind me with her bag. The lady thanked me, the cashier thanked me, and I no problemed them because seriously? It was mostly on the way to my car anyway. And also I'm trying this new thing where instead of acting like an asshole all the time, I do nice things for people. That never turns out bad, right? Except for that Haley Joel Osment movie. That was complete crap.
Friday, May 18, 2007
I'm sorry, what was the question?
FIRST, a conversation with my roommate . . .
Me: Heidi, I have a very important and breaking announcement.
Heidi: Cannonball?
Me: No.
Heidi: What, then?
Me: I have . . . replaced . . . John Mayer.
Heidi: WHAT?!
Me: I know.
Heidi: With who?
Me: OK, so remember last year or whenever when I was obsessed with that guy Jon McLaughlin because I heard his song on Myspace and loved him immediately?
Heidi: Um, sure?
Me: Well, Target totally had his CD! I had stopped looking for it because I didn't think it was out yet, but TARGET STRIKES AGAIN!
Heidi: That's awesome.
Me: Yeah, especially since I went to buy the new Maroon 5 CD, which apparently isn't out yet.
Heidi: I know!
Me: So anyway. He's my new imaginary boyfriend and he plays the piano and we're going to meet and he'll fall in love with me* and then we'll get married and you're invited to the wedding.
Heidi: I'll be there.
Me: I hope John Mayer will be OK when he hears about this.
Heidi: I know.
Me: I mean, he really brought it on himself with the whole Jessica Simpson thing.
Heidi: Yeah, that skank!
Me: Did he expect me to just wait around?
Heidi: Exactly! You're not that kind of girl.
Me: No, I'm not.
I'm really glad Heidi indulges my delusions. Otherwise, I think I'd be very hard to put up with. OK, I already AM very hard to put up with, but I think I make up for it with dirty/funny comments and the laughter! Oh, the laughter! Last night, the laughter was plentiful, during both The Office (OK, I really, really want to geek out on the Pam and Jim situation but I will NOT . . . I'll be quiet . . . but OH MY GOD HOW GOOD WAS THAT? So good! Is the answer) and then later, after Grey's Anatomy bummed us out (seriously, wtf was that?) and we were finishing a bottle of wine, we laughed and laughed while completing more of our secret project. Oh, right, I forgot to tell you. Heidi and I have a secret project that will be unveiled very, very soon. Like, as soon as I get motivated enough to finish the final and most important step. Oh, it's so good, you guys are going to LOVE. IT. I promise. If I'm wrong, you can . . . I don't know, go to hell. Anyway, so this Jon McLaughlin guy is SO GOOD and also cute, not that it matters but it helps, you know? I was pretty obsessed with this one song last year when I found it on Myspace (true story, I go trolling for new music on Myspace . . . also, I stalk people I went to high school/college with . . . what the hell else is Myspace for, if not for the stalking?) and that song is on the CD and I love it ever so much. Heidi is not looking forward to the next couple of weeks because she's assuming I'll play that song over and over like I have in the past with other songs**. Well . . . she's right. I hate to be so predictable, but she totally called it.
I have a confession, Internets. I just did laundry but for some reason I can never find a matching pair of dress socks. So, today I am wearing socks with frolicking monkeys all over them. Ladies and gentlemen, I am a professional. Whatever, it's casual Friday, I DO WHAT I WANT.
*I don't know why I assume that once I meet my imaginary boyfriends (i.e. Jake Gyllenhaal, John Krasinski, formerly John Mayer), they will automatically fall madly in love with me. I mean, who DOESN'T fall madly in love with me as soon as they meet me? Oh, right, everyone. Well, in my head, things always go much better than that. It's nice. You guys should come visit sometime.
**I hope those are the right songs/videos . . . I didn't check the links. I trust Google. MOSTLY. Anyway. Whatever.
Me: Heidi, I have a very important and breaking announcement.
Heidi: Cannonball?
Me: No.
Heidi: What, then?
Me: I have . . . replaced . . . John Mayer.
Heidi: WHAT?!
Me: I know.
Heidi: With who?
Me: OK, so remember last year or whenever when I was obsessed with that guy Jon McLaughlin because I heard his song on Myspace and loved him immediately?
Heidi: Um, sure?
Me: Well, Target totally had his CD! I had stopped looking for it because I didn't think it was out yet, but TARGET STRIKES AGAIN!
Heidi: That's awesome.
Me: Yeah, especially since I went to buy the new Maroon 5 CD, which apparently isn't out yet.
Heidi: I know!
Me: So anyway. He's my new imaginary boyfriend and he plays the piano and we're going to meet and he'll fall in love with me* and then we'll get married and you're invited to the wedding.
Heidi: I'll be there.
Me: I hope John Mayer will be OK when he hears about this.
Heidi: I know.
Me: I mean, he really brought it on himself with the whole Jessica Simpson thing.
Heidi: Yeah, that skank!
Me: Did he expect me to just wait around?
Heidi: Exactly! You're not that kind of girl.
Me: No, I'm not.
I'm really glad Heidi indulges my delusions. Otherwise, I think I'd be very hard to put up with. OK, I already AM very hard to put up with, but I think I make up for it with dirty/funny comments and the laughter! Oh, the laughter! Last night, the laughter was plentiful, during both The Office (OK, I really, really want to geek out on the Pam and Jim situation but I will NOT . . . I'll be quiet . . . but OH MY GOD HOW GOOD WAS THAT? So good! Is the answer) and then later, after Grey's Anatomy bummed us out (seriously, wtf was that?) and we were finishing a bottle of wine, we laughed and laughed while completing more of our secret project. Oh, right, I forgot to tell you. Heidi and I have a secret project that will be unveiled very, very soon. Like, as soon as I get motivated enough to finish the final and most important step. Oh, it's so good, you guys are going to LOVE. IT. I promise. If I'm wrong, you can . . . I don't know, go to hell. Anyway, so this Jon McLaughlin guy is SO GOOD and also cute, not that it matters but it helps, you know? I was pretty obsessed with this one song last year when I found it on Myspace (true story, I go trolling for new music on Myspace . . . also, I stalk people I went to high school/college with . . . what the hell else is Myspace for, if not for the stalking?) and that song is on the CD and I love it ever so much. Heidi is not looking forward to the next couple of weeks because she's assuming I'll play that song over and over like I have in the past with other songs**. Well . . . she's right. I hate to be so predictable, but she totally called it.
I have a confession, Internets. I just did laundry but for some reason I can never find a matching pair of dress socks. So, today I am wearing socks with frolicking monkeys all over them. Ladies and gentlemen, I am a professional. Whatever, it's casual Friday, I DO WHAT I WANT.
*I don't know why I assume that once I meet my imaginary boyfriends (i.e. Jake Gyllenhaal, John Krasinski, formerly John Mayer), they will automatically fall madly in love with me. I mean, who DOESN'T fall madly in love with me as soon as they meet me? Oh, right, everyone. Well, in my head, things always go much better than that. It's nice. You guys should come visit sometime.
**I hope those are the right songs/videos . . . I didn't check the links. I trust Google. MOSTLY. Anyway. Whatever.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
the one where jennie talks about her hair (RUN!)
So you know how on Grey's Anatomy (stick with me), all the lady doctors (except Bailey) always have their hair pulled up in a ponytail, only the (only) thing is (is) they always have random strands of hair falling every which way? And I always think, wow, I mean, that looks really cute and all but doesn't seem very effective in, I don't know, KEEPING YOUR HAIR OUT OF YOUR FACE. Which seems to be the general use for a ponytail. How stupid, I thought, stupid stupid Meredith Grey, get your hair out of your face!
And then I realized that whenever I tried to pull all my hair into a ponytail, I always have weird bang-like hairs that won't fit into it. So I had to use a barrette to hold them back. Which is annoying! So I tried just the whole pulling-my-hair-back-without-looking-and-letting-whatever-hair-doesn't-fit-in-the-ponytail-just-fall-to-the-side thing and VOILA! it looks better and I don't have to use a barrette. Oh my god, that was a lot of hyphens. I think I used up my year's supply. Shit. Anyway. The end.
Ha, just kidding. You wish. Suckers. The reason I need to put my hair in a ponytail at work is because my hair really, really needs cut and I'm not getting it done until Saturday and it's DRIVING ME CRAZY so I need it out of my face or I will scream and they don't like it when I randomly scream at work for no reason. If I have a reason, fine, I can scream all I want, but no reason? Not cool. You're fired, I so swear. I scream really loud, you have no idea. Anyway, so I put my hair up. Someone told me I looked like a 12-year-old (thanks?) but the look I was really going for was naughty librarian. Maybe that would work better if I put my glasses on. I'll keep you guys updated. Heh.
I went home on my lunch break and when I got in my car to come back to work, Alanis was shrieking "You Oughtta Know" and I couldn't let her shriek alone, now could I? So I started shrieking, too, until I noticed that one of our neighbors was walking through the parking lot at that very moment and, oh, also my window was down. Whatever. We've been living there for over a year so if people don't know what a freak I am by now, that's their problem. The thing is, I don't even really like that song that much. The thing I like most about it is that it's about Uncle Joey. I mean . . . seriously? Uncle Joey? Really? OK, Alanis. You want to borrow my glasses, maybe?
I have nothing else to talk about. It's come to this. Ponytails and Uncle Joey. Sad, sad day. You should maybe look one entry below and just watch the warm, fuzzy music video. I feel like I'm talking like Zoidberg. Am I talking like Zoidberg? Robutts!
Anyway, bye.
And then I realized that whenever I tried to pull all my hair into a ponytail, I always have weird bang-like hairs that won't fit into it. So I had to use a barrette to hold them back. Which is annoying! So I tried just the whole pulling-my-hair-back-without-looking-and-letting-whatever-hair-doesn't-fit-in-the-ponytail-just-fall-to-the-side thing and VOILA! it looks better and I don't have to use a barrette. Oh my god, that was a lot of hyphens. I think I used up my year's supply. Shit. Anyway. The end.
Ha, just kidding. You wish. Suckers. The reason I need to put my hair in a ponytail at work is because my hair really, really needs cut and I'm not getting it done until Saturday and it's DRIVING ME CRAZY so I need it out of my face or I will scream and they don't like it when I randomly scream at work for no reason. If I have a reason, fine, I can scream all I want, but no reason? Not cool. You're fired, I so swear. I scream really loud, you have no idea. Anyway, so I put my hair up. Someone told me I looked like a 12-year-old (thanks?) but the look I was really going for was naughty librarian. Maybe that would work better if I put my glasses on. I'll keep you guys updated. Heh.
I went home on my lunch break and when I got in my car to come back to work, Alanis was shrieking "You Oughtta Know" and I couldn't let her shriek alone, now could I? So I started shrieking, too, until I noticed that one of our neighbors was walking through the parking lot at that very moment and, oh, also my window was down. Whatever. We've been living there for over a year so if people don't know what a freak I am by now, that's their problem. The thing is, I don't even really like that song that much. The thing I like most about it is that it's about Uncle Joey. I mean . . . seriously? Uncle Joey? Really? OK, Alanis. You want to borrow my glasses, maybe?
I have nothing else to talk about. It's come to this. Ponytails and Uncle Joey. Sad, sad day. You should maybe look one entry below and just watch the warm, fuzzy music video. I feel like I'm talking like Zoidberg. Am I talking like Zoidberg? Robutts!
Anyway, bye.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
bend me, break me, anyway you need me, all I want is you
A bit of fiction. You would think that after answering all those questions, I'd be too tired to write more, because writing is hard, y'all (I'm still all Nashville . . . sorry).
I never bit my nails before I met you. I didn't have any nervous habits. A month after knowing you, and my nails were completely ragged. You did that to me.
You said you wanted to know me. You wanted to know things no one had ever bothered to ask me before. We played twenty questions, sitting in the middle of my bed, my laptop between us. We'd been trying to figure out what movie to see but twenty questions proved more interesting than anything in the theaters. That's when I discovered you had once shaved the family dog and blamed it on your brother. That you'd never been in love. That's when I told you that the saddest day of my life was not the day my father died, but the day after, my first full day in that fatherless void.
You said you wanted to know me, and you did, despite all the times I tried to hide pieces of myself in vague remarks and sarcastic answers to your serious questions. I'd say you knew me better than I knew myself, but that's a cliche and you hated cliches.
I never bit my nails before I met you. You said you wanted to know me and I was afraid. We played twenty questions, you and I, for thirteen months. Your favorite band was Oasis. Your favorite ice cream was strawberry. You once went bungee jumping off the side of a bridge and kept your eyes closed the entire time. Maybe it was that answer that made me realize you'd never chew your nails to the quick for me. Or maybe thirteen was just our unlucky number. What a cliche.
I never bit my nails before I met you. I didn't have any nervous habits. A month after knowing you, and my nails were completely ragged. You did that to me.
You said you wanted to know me. You wanted to know things no one had ever bothered to ask me before. We played twenty questions, sitting in the middle of my bed, my laptop between us. We'd been trying to figure out what movie to see but twenty questions proved more interesting than anything in the theaters. That's when I discovered you had once shaved the family dog and blamed it on your brother. That you'd never been in love. That's when I told you that the saddest day of my life was not the day my father died, but the day after, my first full day in that fatherless void.
You said you wanted to know me, and you did, despite all the times I tried to hide pieces of myself in vague remarks and sarcastic answers to your serious questions. I'd say you knew me better than I knew myself, but that's a cliche and you hated cliches.
I never bit my nails before I met you. You said you wanted to know me and I was afraid. We played twenty questions, you and I, for thirteen months. Your favorite band was Oasis. Your favorite ice cream was strawberry. You once went bungee jumping off the side of a bridge and kept your eyes closed the entire time. Maybe it was that answer that made me realize you'd never chew your nails to the quick for me. Or maybe thirteen was just our unlucky number. What a cliche.
what's the story, morning glory
Heather Anne asked me some questions! Yay, questions!
1) Which Hogwarts house would you be sorted into?
I would hope Gryffindor because I'd be all, "Ooh, put me in Oliver Wood's house!" because I get crushes on fictional characters, you see. But according to this test I'm Ravenclaw, because I am intelligent, witty, and capable (hold your laughter, please). Eh, who am I to argue?
2) If you had to wear a button with a maximum of 5 words on it describing your outlook on life, what would your button say?
"Eat, Drink, and Be Merry." Or maybe just "Drink and Be Merry." Actually, just "Drink" would suffice.
OK, for serious? Last summer, our motto was "No Regrets," something I've been trying to continue. Basically, if I'm faced with making a decision, I think, "will I regret not doing this?" and if the answer is yes, then I do it. It's very simple and quite easy to remember, actually, and best of all has been working out fairly well so far. Anyway, our motto for this summer is "I don't even know," which is still under five words. Can I have three buttons, Heather Anne?
3) Fill in the blank: I am so much smarter than _____________ .
"I used to be." Which, considering some of the stupid shit I do and say, is really very scary.
4) If you could punch one person in the face without getting in trouble, who would you punch?
Ooh, ooh, Dubya! Or this guy. Or this guy. Or basically anyone on this network, really.
5) Do you masturbate on long trips? Or do you know anyone who masturbates on long trips?
Heehee! OK, here's the thing. No, I don't. But YES, I do happen to know someone who does. How weird is that? I mean, I kind of know him. He's not like a close friend or anything, but he says he does it on long car trips (when he's by himself, I'm assuming). Seems dangerous to me, but whatever. Actually, when I found out about this I started polling people (Heather Anne being one of the lucky ones) and asking them if anyone they know does this. So far, I haven't run across any other people who masturbate on long trips. I'm kind of happy about this, really.
If anyone else feels like asking anything, I'm feeling very truthful today so I might actually answer without lying. Much. I know we've played this game before, but it's totally fun, right? Right.
1) Which Hogwarts house would you be sorted into?
I would hope Gryffindor because I'd be all, "Ooh, put me in Oliver Wood's house!" because I get crushes on fictional characters, you see. But according to this test I'm Ravenclaw, because I am intelligent, witty, and capable (hold your laughter, please). Eh, who am I to argue?
2) If you had to wear a button with a maximum of 5 words on it describing your outlook on life, what would your button say?
"Eat, Drink, and Be Merry." Or maybe just "Drink and Be Merry." Actually, just "Drink" would suffice.
OK, for serious? Last summer, our motto was "No Regrets," something I've been trying to continue. Basically, if I'm faced with making a decision, I think, "will I regret not doing this?" and if the answer is yes, then I do it. It's very simple and quite easy to remember, actually, and best of all has been working out fairly well so far. Anyway, our motto for this summer is "I don't even know," which is still under five words. Can I have three buttons, Heather Anne?
3) Fill in the blank: I am so much smarter than _____________ .
"I used to be." Which, considering some of the stupid shit I do and say, is really very scary.
4) If you could punch one person in the face without getting in trouble, who would you punch?
Ooh, ooh, Dubya! Or this guy. Or this guy. Or basically anyone on this network, really.
5) Do you masturbate on long trips? Or do you know anyone who masturbates on long trips?
Heehee! OK, here's the thing. No, I don't. But YES, I do happen to know someone who does. How weird is that? I mean, I kind of know him. He's not like a close friend or anything, but he says he does it on long car trips (when he's by himself, I'm assuming). Seems dangerous to me, but whatever. Actually, when I found out about this I started polling people (Heather Anne being one of the lucky ones) and asking them if anyone they know does this. So far, I haven't run across any other people who masturbate on long trips. I'm kind of happy about this, really.
If anyone else feels like asking anything, I'm feeling very truthful today so I might actually answer without lying. Much. I know we've played this game before, but it's totally fun, right? Right.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
My fellow nerds and I will retire to the nerdery with our calculators.
Earlier this morning, Heidi threatened to punch me in the babymaker because I told her I was declaring it WORST. DAY. EVER. Week again and she said she couldn't deal with me being mopey and "woe is me." But I'm mostly just declaring it WORST. DAY. EVER. Week because my uterus is starting a revolution and I'm pretty sure the ovaries and fallopian tubes are thinking about joining, so I really hope Heidi does NOT punch me in the babymaker because my babymaker? Already hurts.
Anyway, not the point. Today I am here to tell you all about Nashville because I'll bet y'all (I learned that there) are just DYING to know. When Nancy and I left on Friday, it was a beautiful spring day that quickly turned rainy and shitty as we drove south. But the fact that we gained an hour made up for it. I love gaining hours! More time to waste! Whahoo! Everyone else was picking people up at the airport when Nancy and I got to the hotel, so we changed and displayed the penis cake in the best light possible.
Oh my god, this is so boring, I cannot continue. Just . . . here is a list of stuff that happened and stuff that was said. Please remember that you are hearing the stuff that was said completely out of context. Not that it would have made a whole lot more sense in context, but whatever.
- Bridal shower - no games (!!!), delicious food, I accidentally drank half of a bottle of wine (oops)
- Back to the hotel to change and then shopping, although I didn't buy anything
- At the shoe store, Mary, Katie, and I took pictures of ourselves wearing HIDEOUS HIDEOUS CROCS
- "Help me follow her! It's hard when you only have one eye!"
- We brought the sexy back every time we got in the car . . . sometimes twice
- "Have I mentioned I love Justin Timberlake?"
- Dinner at the Bound'ry. SO GOOD. Also! They played the entire Amy Winehouse CD while we were there!
- Irish pub - drank cider, listened to the band, played I Never, even though we all already know everything anyway
- I invented the term "sexual repertoire" and no, I will not tell you the conversation that led up to THAT
- "You can't be naked in Ohio without alcohol!"
- "What's the name of that movie? Batman Retires?"
- Mary and I made friends with some German guys. They told us they were from Germany and the first words out of my mouth were, "No, you're not!"
- I slept in a chair because all the beds were taken. My neck still hurts.
- The next day at lunch, Mary and I were oversharing until Nancy told us to stop because she kept hearing bits and pieces of our conversation and she was trying to eat.
OK, and this was the best part and gets more than a bullet because it is SO paragraph-worthy. On the way home, Nancy and I stopped . . . at DINOSAUR WORLD.
We had seen it on our way to Nashville on Friday and vowed to stop on our way back to Ohio. I am so glad we did. You guys! There were dinosaurs everywhere! Not real ones, unfortunately, but statues. Lots of statues. Even baby dinosaur statues! Of course, I wanted to get my picture taken on top of one of them, but unfortunately there were signs up that said "Please do not sit on the dinosaurs." See:
Well, OK, you can't really see it but that's what it said. Luckily, there was a playground, so I could do this:
ROOOOOAAAAAARRRRRR!
Alright. I'm gonna go now. Nerd, out.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Dear you guys,
I'm still pretty tired from Nashville, so instead of writing anything, here is some spam I received while I was gone:
To: me
From: Irusik N
Subject: hello and smiles, dear
Hi, my friend
I believe that you are my soul mate and I am even more confident that you are kind, bright, well-behaved person with wonderful manners and polite sense of humor. Indeed I am a wise lady and I will not stand living with a fool or a cry-baby. I know that I am worth thousands of women; my intelligence is far more advanced than it is of an average lady my age; my sexuality is million times stronger than it is of a young, inexperienced girls. I am worth a fortune and I am happy for you, because from now on you can write to me at http://inetfeelings.com/reliability and we will learn each other better. You will never regret that you've finally met me!
Later
Irusik
I have to admit, I was a bit surprised to find out my soulmate is a woman. Although, going by the second part of that first sentence, I'm not sure I trust Irusik's judgement. She obviously doesn't know me very well, and if your soulmate doesn't know you, who does? WHO?
Anyway, lot of stuff happened this weekend but until I get around to remembering all of it, here is a taste (so to speak):
To: me
From: Irusik N
Subject: hello and smiles, dear
Hi, my friend
I believe that you are my soul mate and I am even more confident that you are kind, bright, well-behaved person with wonderful manners and polite sense of humor. Indeed I am a wise lady and I will not stand living with a fool or a cry-baby. I know that I am worth thousands of women; my intelligence is far more advanced than it is of an average lady my age; my sexuality is million times stronger than it is of a young, inexperienced girls. I am worth a fortune and I am happy for you, because from now on you can write to me at http://inetfeelings.com/reliability and we will learn each other better. You will never regret that you've finally met me!
Later
Irusik
I have to admit, I was a bit surprised to find out my soulmate is a woman. Although, going by the second part of that first sentence, I'm not sure I trust Irusik's judgement. She obviously doesn't know me very well, and if your soulmate doesn't know you, who does? WHO?
Anyway, lot of stuff happened this weekend but until I get around to remembering all of it, here is a taste (so to speak):
Also this:
Yeah.
Friday, May 11, 2007
It was never my intention to ruin a life. But you know what? Sometimes, you just gots to get your freak on.
So, I was going to write this elaborate post that made sense, but I don't feel like it so making sense will have to just wait for another day. Last night, although I did manage to catch The Office (Pam is my new hero . . . she joins Kermit the Frog and Johnny Cash . . . I'm totally kidding . . . I love Johnny Cash, but he's not my hero) . . . what was I talking about? Oh, TV. Right. Oh my gosh, so did anyone watch Lost? Is Locke going to die?! I'm thinking no, but you never can tell. And who knew Ben was so batshit crazy? I mean, we knew he was a tiny bit crazy but he is totally and completely pitch-a-tent-on-the-front-lawn-stalk-you-and-boil-bunnies-in-your-kitchen crazy. And that's really crazy.
Anyway, I skipped Grey's Anatomy so I could pack for Nashville. I know that sounds extreme, but you have no idea how long it takes me to pack. First, I pulled out every possible article of clothing I might want to wear this weekend and threw it all on my bed. Then Heidi and I went for a walk. When I came back into my room, I was disappointed to find that my clothes had not magically folded themselves and placed them neatly in the suitcase. Not. Cool. So, I had a mini-fashion show (Fashion show! Fashion show! Fashion show in my room! is the song I sang) to figure out what I wanted to pack. The purpose of the fashion show was to ensure that I did not just throw a bunch of random clothes into my suitcase in the hopes that some of them would make outfits once I got down to Nashville, but even after trying everything on that's pretty much what I ended up doing. I suck at packing. I suck at fashion, too. I have a friend (not a very nice one, apparently) who told me she wanted to nominate me for What Not To Wear. At first I was offended, but then I remembered that you get like $5000 to go shopping. Also, I'd get to meet Stacy and Clinton. I love Stacy and Clinton! OK, I'm still a tiny bit offended but I prefer to think she's not nominating me because I dress like a complete and total slob, but because I'm way more likely to throw on a pair of jeans, some Threadless, and flip-flops than to mess around with trying to put together an "outfit." Clothes are stupid. Well, not all clothes. I do enjoy t-shirts. And pajamas. Also, shoes of any kind.
I managed to fit everything (including shoes!) into one bag. OK, that's a lie, I have one big bag and one very, very, tiny, practically-not-even-there bag. I hope I didn't forget anything. The last time I went on a trip, I forgot my toothbrush. Did you know that you can buy a toothbrush at most gas stations? Well, you can.
So, I just saw this shirt and for some reason it makes me giggle every time I look at it. Hee. Sometimes I wish I could buy all of those shirts and just wear a different one every day. Even to work. Until I got fired, which probably wouldn't take long if I wore this one (but come on . . . hee!)
I'm working ("working") through lunch today so I can leave early and I think I'm the only one in the office right now. It's a bit creepy. I always worry at times like this that the world is going to end and no one will come tell me. And I won't know until no one comes back from lunch and it'll be like 3 o'clock and I'll be all, "where is everyone?" and then I'll worry that, hey, maybe the world really did end or WORSE everyone turned into zombies and I'm pretty sure there isn't anything I can use as a weapon in this office. So, until that happens, I guess I'll just sit here with The Shins and The Internets and worry about zombies later.
Anyway, I skipped Grey's Anatomy so I could pack for Nashville. I know that sounds extreme, but you have no idea how long it takes me to pack. First, I pulled out every possible article of clothing I might want to wear this weekend and threw it all on my bed. Then Heidi and I went for a walk. When I came back into my room, I was disappointed to find that my clothes had not magically folded themselves and placed them neatly in the suitcase. Not. Cool. So, I had a mini-fashion show (Fashion show! Fashion show! Fashion show in my room! is the song I sang) to figure out what I wanted to pack. The purpose of the fashion show was to ensure that I did not just throw a bunch of random clothes into my suitcase in the hopes that some of them would make outfits once I got down to Nashville, but even after trying everything on that's pretty much what I ended up doing. I suck at packing. I suck at fashion, too. I have a friend (not a very nice one, apparently) who told me she wanted to nominate me for What Not To Wear. At first I was offended, but then I remembered that you get like $5000 to go shopping. Also, I'd get to meet Stacy and Clinton. I love Stacy and Clinton! OK, I'm still a tiny bit offended but I prefer to think she's not nominating me because I dress like a complete and total slob, but because I'm way more likely to throw on a pair of jeans, some Threadless, and flip-flops than to mess around with trying to put together an "outfit." Clothes are stupid. Well, not all clothes. I do enjoy t-shirts. And pajamas. Also, shoes of any kind.
I managed to fit everything (including shoes!) into one bag. OK, that's a lie, I have one big bag and one very, very, tiny, practically-not-even-there bag. I hope I didn't forget anything. The last time I went on a trip, I forgot my toothbrush. Did you know that you can buy a toothbrush at most gas stations? Well, you can.
So, I just saw this shirt and for some reason it makes me giggle every time I look at it. Hee. Sometimes I wish I could buy all of those shirts and just wear a different one every day. Even to work. Until I got fired, which probably wouldn't take long if I wore this one (but come on . . . hee!)
I'm working ("working") through lunch today so I can leave early and I think I'm the only one in the office right now. It's a bit creepy. I always worry at times like this that the world is going to end and no one will come tell me. And I won't know until no one comes back from lunch and it'll be like 3 o'clock and I'll be all, "where is everyone?" and then I'll worry that, hey, maybe the world really did end or WORSE everyone turned into zombies and I'm pretty sure there isn't anything I can use as a weapon in this office. So, until that happens, I guess I'll just sit here with The Shins and The Internets and worry about zombies later.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Conversations Extravaganza; or, Why My Mother is Grosser Than Yours
Last night, I went over to Nancy's to make a penis cake. It wasn't very hard (heh) because all we had to do was mix up all the ingredients and pour it in the mold, but I felt confident that if anyone could mess up cake from a box, I could. I didn't, though. So there. On the way home, I talked to my mom and NOW I BRING YOU a Conversation with My Mother:
Me: Hi, Mom.
Mom: Hey, what are you doing?
Me: Driving.
Mom: Oh, where are you going?
Me: I was at Nancy's.
Mom: Doing what?
Me: Making a penis cake.
Mom: Okaaaay.
Me: It's for Erin's bachelorette party this weekend.
Mom: Oh, I see. You just made the penis?
Me: Um, yes?
Mom: . . .
Me: Why?
Mom: Oh, no reason, I was just going to say something very crass.
Me: Well, thank you for keeping it to yourself.
Mom: It was going to be something about testicles.
Me: Mom! And anyway, the penis had balls attached.
Mom: Oh, OK.
Me: Also, we made pubic hair.
Mom: OK, Jennie, I didn't need to know that.
Me: It's just coconut shavings and food coloring.
Mom: You could have been like the guys from Jackass and used real pubic hair.
Me: OH MY GOD.
Later, I told Heidi about it and we laughed and laughed because is there anything funnier than moms saying "pubic hair?" I don't think so.
Heidi: I can't believe your mom said that.
Me: I know. Although, now I know where I get it from.
Heidi: That's true.
Me: I always thought it was from my dad, but it turns out it's my mom.
Heidi: Who knew?
Me: Or maybe it's from both of them.
Heidi: That would explain a lot.
Me: Man, I'm screwed.
When I got home from making the penis cake, I changed and put my gym clothes on. I had my mp3 player, membership card, and keys in my hand and then decided I didn't want to go. I took my shoes and socks off and sat down at the computer and then had this crazy mess of thoughts: You should go to the gym. Just go. You're already wearing your gym clothes. JUST GO. But if you go, you won't be home until almost 10 and you might miss some of Lost. Who cares, you're TiVoing it. Yeah, but you still have to fold some laundry and iron. Or you could not wear that shirt you were planning on wearing and you wouldn't have to iron. But you'd still have to fold laundry. Just go. Go. You went to all that trouble of putting a sports bra on, seriously just go. Plus, if you don't go, Heidi is going to come home and ask what you did tonight and all you'll have to tell her is 'made a penis cake and sat around playing on the Internets' and then she'll make fun of you, do you want that? No. Get off your ass and go.
So, I went. And almost immediately regretted it because all the elliptical machines with the TVs attached were taken, so I had to go into the Cardio Cinema and the movie they were playing was Employee of the Month. Starring Dane Cook and Jessica Simpson. I don't know if you know how I feel about them but if I were stuck on a deserted island and had to decide which one to eat for survival or sacrifice to appease the Volcano Gods? I would volunteer to jump into the Volcano myself because I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life with either one of them. Luckily, when I went in, it was toward the end of the movie so the credits took up a lot of the time I was in there. But could they have assembled any more annoying people to star in that movie? Dane Cook, Jessica Simpson, Dax Shepard, ANDY DICK, and that guy from Half-Baked who gets throw in jail. You know the one I mean? He was in Sorority Boys, too. Also There's Something About Mary, talking about seven being the key number and chipmunks on a branch. Oh man, why do I know this? I watch too much TV. Also, too many movies. I will HANDS DOWN KICK YOUR ASS at Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.
Anyway. Did I tell you the other night we broke our garbage disposal? Well, I say WE broke it but really it was all Heidi. Hee. Sorry, Heidi. This is the fourth kitchen appliance we have broken (it goes: stove, dishwasher, freezer, garbage disposal, and also my toilet). Heidi said when she called the apartment complex lady to tell her it was broken, the lady asked how we knew and when Heidi told her I had Googled "clogged garbage disposal" and Google said never, ever put celery in the garbage disposal, she laughed and laughed for the rest of the phone call. I don't know why. I thought everyone Googled everything and if you don't believe me I'll Google you RIGHT NOW I swear I will.
Me: Hi, Mom.
Mom: Hey, what are you doing?
Me: Driving.
Mom: Oh, where are you going?
Me: I was at Nancy's.
Mom: Doing what?
Me: Making a penis cake.
Mom: Okaaaay.
Me: It's for Erin's bachelorette party this weekend.
Mom: Oh, I see. You just made the penis?
Me: Um, yes?
Mom: . . .
Me: Why?
Mom: Oh, no reason, I was just going to say something very crass.
Me: Well, thank you for keeping it to yourself.
Mom: It was going to be something about testicles.
Me: Mom! And anyway, the penis had balls attached.
Mom: Oh, OK.
Me: Also, we made pubic hair.
Mom: OK, Jennie, I didn't need to know that.
Me: It's just coconut shavings and food coloring.
Mom: You could have been like the guys from Jackass and used real pubic hair.
Me: OH MY GOD.
Later, I told Heidi about it and we laughed and laughed because is there anything funnier than moms saying "pubic hair?" I don't think so.
Heidi: I can't believe your mom said that.
Me: I know. Although, now I know where I get it from.
Heidi: That's true.
Me: I always thought it was from my dad, but it turns out it's my mom.
Heidi: Who knew?
Me: Or maybe it's from both of them.
Heidi: That would explain a lot.
Me: Man, I'm screwed.
When I got home from making the penis cake, I changed and put my gym clothes on. I had my mp3 player, membership card, and keys in my hand and then decided I didn't want to go. I took my shoes and socks off and sat down at the computer and then had this crazy mess of thoughts: You should go to the gym. Just go. You're already wearing your gym clothes. JUST GO. But if you go, you won't be home until almost 10 and you might miss some of Lost. Who cares, you're TiVoing it. Yeah, but you still have to fold some laundry and iron. Or you could not wear that shirt you were planning on wearing and you wouldn't have to iron. But you'd still have to fold laundry. Just go. Go. You went to all that trouble of putting a sports bra on, seriously just go. Plus, if you don't go, Heidi is going to come home and ask what you did tonight and all you'll have to tell her is 'made a penis cake and sat around playing on the Internets' and then she'll make fun of you, do you want that? No. Get off your ass and go.
So, I went. And almost immediately regretted it because all the elliptical machines with the TVs attached were taken, so I had to go into the Cardio Cinema and the movie they were playing was Employee of the Month. Starring Dane Cook and Jessica Simpson. I don't know if you know how I feel about them but if I were stuck on a deserted island and had to decide which one to eat for survival or sacrifice to appease the Volcano Gods? I would volunteer to jump into the Volcano myself because I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life with either one of them. Luckily, when I went in, it was toward the end of the movie so the credits took up a lot of the time I was in there. But could they have assembled any more annoying people to star in that movie? Dane Cook, Jessica Simpson, Dax Shepard, ANDY DICK, and that guy from Half-Baked who gets throw in jail. You know the one I mean? He was in Sorority Boys, too. Also There's Something About Mary, talking about seven being the key number and chipmunks on a branch. Oh man, why do I know this? I watch too much TV. Also, too many movies. I will HANDS DOWN KICK YOUR ASS at Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.
Anyway. Did I tell you the other night we broke our garbage disposal? Well, I say WE broke it but really it was all Heidi. Hee. Sorry, Heidi. This is the fourth kitchen appliance we have broken (it goes: stove, dishwasher, freezer, garbage disposal, and also my toilet). Heidi said when she called the apartment complex lady to tell her it was broken, the lady asked how we knew and when Heidi told her I had Googled "clogged garbage disposal" and Google said never, ever put celery in the garbage disposal, she laughed and laughed for the rest of the phone call. I don't know why. I thought everyone Googled everything and if you don't believe me I'll Google you RIGHT NOW I swear I will.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Dear Internets,
I don't have much to say today other than on the way back from lunch earlier I totally got my hair caught in the sunroof. I could tell you that it wasn't because I was trying to shut the sunroof while dancing along to the new Maroon 5 song, but I'd be lying.
Love,
Jennie
PS: I am going to my friend Nancy's tonight to help her bake a penis cake. It's for the bachelorette party we're going to in Nashville this weekend, we don't normally just make penis cakes for no reason. However, I WILL be taking pictures.
PPS: I apologize for all the penis/balls references in the past couple of posts. Oh, who am I kidding, no, I don't.
Love,
Jennie
PS: I am going to my friend Nancy's tonight to help her bake a penis cake. It's for the bachelorette party we're going to in Nashville this weekend, we don't normally just make penis cakes for no reason. However, I WILL be taking pictures.
PPS: I apologize for all the penis/balls references in the past couple of posts. Oh, who am I kidding, no, I don't.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
It's totally time to write this movie
Do you ever wish you could just come out and ask a person the question that has been on your mind for months, tact and good sense be damned*? Or just say whatever you want to whoever you want without worrying about the consequences? Without using alcohol as courage, of course. This has nothing to do with anything, really, I was just thinking about it earlier.
Last night, not only did Heidi and I go to the gym, we also played tennis. Well. "Played" tennis. Our goal right now is to just make contact with the ball. We're going to worry about aiming later. And now, here are some Conversations With My Roommate because I'm lazy and don't know what else to write.
Whiny kid outside our apartment riding his bike: You guuuyyyys, wait UP!
Me: Oh, that is so the kid nobody likes.
Heidi: Yeah, it sounds like he's got some sand in his vagina.
Heidi: Uh-oh, I spilled ketchup on the counter.
Me: Heidi!
Heidi: Oops.
Me: I told you! No more performing abortions in the kitchen!
Heidi: Oh my god.
Me: I know, I can't believe I just made an abortion joke.
Heidi: Me neither.
Me: What is wrong with my brain?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Abortion jokes . . . can't get better than that. Except for maybe Holocaust jokes.
Heidi: That's true.
Me: Anyway, make sure you clean up the fetus before we eat dinner.
Heidi: Oh my god.
Heidi: I'll get our tennis rackets.
Me: Don't forget our pink balls.
Heidi: Oh, I won't. They're very important.
Me: Yeah, you can't leave your house without your balls.
Heidi: You'd be ball-less.
Me: How embarrassing. And what if you lost one?
Heidi: You could still leave the house, you'd just have one ball.
Me: What the hell are you gonna do with one ball?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: You might as well have sand in your vagina.
Me: We're getting pretty good. I think we're ready to take on Andre Agassi.
Heidi: We so are.
Me: Maybe even Pete Sampras.
Heidi: Oh, hell yes.
Me: Not Andy Roddick, though.
Heidi: Definitely not.
Me: He's too pretty and I'd get distracted.
Heidi: And balls would hit you in the face.
Me: Not tennis balls, though.
Heidi: Hahahaha!
Me: No, seriously, what's wrong with my brain?
Heidi and I actually did figure out what's wrong with my brain. It was pretty simple actually and makes so much sense but I'm not going to explain it because it would take too long and my lunch break is only an hour.
Aaaaanyway, while we played tennis, Heidi worked on her Anna Kournikova serve and I worked on my Monica Seles crazy screaming. The hitting-the-ball crazy screaming, not the oh-my-god-some-psycho-just-stabbed-me crazy screaming.
*I have actually done this. It does not always end well. Or at least the way you're hoping it does. But don't worry, everything turns out OK. So what I'm saying is, just do it. Chickenshit.
Last night, not only did Heidi and I go to the gym, we also played tennis. Well. "Played" tennis. Our goal right now is to just make contact with the ball. We're going to worry about aiming later. And now, here are some Conversations With My Roommate because I'm lazy and don't know what else to write.
Whiny kid outside our apartment riding his bike: You guuuyyyys, wait UP!
Me: Oh, that is so the kid nobody likes.
Heidi: Yeah, it sounds like he's got some sand in his vagina.
Heidi: Uh-oh, I spilled ketchup on the counter.
Me: Heidi!
Heidi: Oops.
Me: I told you! No more performing abortions in the kitchen!
Heidi: Oh my god.
Me: I know, I can't believe I just made an abortion joke.
Heidi: Me neither.
Me: What is wrong with my brain?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Abortion jokes . . . can't get better than that. Except for maybe Holocaust jokes.
Heidi: That's true.
Me: Anyway, make sure you clean up the fetus before we eat dinner.
Heidi: Oh my god.
Heidi: I'll get our tennis rackets.
Me: Don't forget our pink balls.
Heidi: Oh, I won't. They're very important.
Me: Yeah, you can't leave your house without your balls.
Heidi: You'd be ball-less.
Me: How embarrassing. And what if you lost one?
Heidi: You could still leave the house, you'd just have one ball.
Me: What the hell are you gonna do with one ball?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: You might as well have sand in your vagina.
Me: We're getting pretty good. I think we're ready to take on Andre Agassi.
Heidi: We so are.
Me: Maybe even Pete Sampras.
Heidi: Oh, hell yes.
Me: Not Andy Roddick, though.
Heidi: Definitely not.
Me: He's too pretty and I'd get distracted.
Heidi: And balls would hit you in the face.
Me: Not tennis balls, though.
Heidi: Hahahaha!
Me: No, seriously, what's wrong with my brain?
Heidi and I actually did figure out what's wrong with my brain. It was pretty simple actually and makes so much sense but I'm not going to explain it because it would take too long and my lunch break is only an hour.
Aaaaanyway, while we played tennis, Heidi worked on her Anna Kournikova serve and I worked on my Monica Seles crazy screaming. The hitting-the-ball crazy screaming, not the oh-my-god-some-psycho-just-stabbed-me crazy screaming.
*I have actually done this. It does not always end well. Or at least the way you're hoping it does. But don't worry, everything turns out OK. So what I'm saying is, just do it. Chickenshit.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
My point is, a penis, when seen in the right context, is the most wonderful sight for a woman. But in the wrong context, it is like a monster movie.
Hello, Internets. How are you? I'm really tired. I had A Weekend. A Good Weekend, don't worry. I'm totally going to do one of those weekend recaps, too, and I'm not going to apologize for it. Because I'm tired, you see. So just shut up and deal with it. Don't be so selfish. Geez.
On Friday, a bunch of us got together at a Mexican restaurant, partly to celebrate Heidi and my birthdays (even though they were last week, we like to stretch out the celebration as much as possible) but mostly for the margaritas. We went to that restaurant where I fell into the men's bathroom, but I don't think anyone who works there remembered me. Whew. Anyway, the restaurant party moved to a bar and then moved back to our apartment and I stayed up until 4 AM KNOWING FULL WELL that I had to be up at 8:30. Apparently turning 25 did not make me any smarter. Good to know.
THE REASON I had to be up early the next morning was because some friends (Nancy, Stephanie, and Nancy's mom) and I were traveling to the far reaches of Findlay, Ohio for a bridal shower. And even though this bridal shower was for one of my best friends, I was not really looking forward to it because, well, I hate showers of the bridal and baby variety. I hate them. I hate them hate them hate them with the fire of a thousand suns. I hate being fake nice to everyone, I hate trying to practically fake an orgasm while the bride-to-be opens a set of dishtowels and I ESPECIALLY hate the stupid games you have to play. Like the one where you have to make a wedding dress out of toilet paper? The last time I had to do that I wanted to throw a tantrum and ball up all the toilet paper and set it on fire. I didn't, but I totally thought about it.
I needn't have worried, though, because this was the best bridal shower ever. First of all, the food was SO GOOD. It was so fancy and pretty and delicious, even though I didn't really know what I was eating. Because, you see, I am not fancy. When I saw the spread my first thought was "where are the cocktail wieners?" Even watching The Opening of the Presents was OK because Whitney has fantastic taste and everything she registered for was so so pretty. I'm thinking of having a fake wedding just so I can get lots of presents. Would anyone be interested in marrying me and divorcing me a year later? You can have half of the presents (maybe). Win win (win)!
Anyway, the main reason this was the best bridal shower ever was because there was a martini bar. Also, wine. And somehow my wine glass never stayed empty! It was amazing. And then, after the shower, we went to Whitney's parents' house to eat pizza and, oh, also drink more. I was thinking about it today, and I think aside from a glass or two of water yesterday, I was drinking some form of alcohol pretty much from 2 PM to 11 PM. I think my liver has given up. FINALLY.
OK, Internets, and now I am going to talk about something very gross and inappropriate. Nancy's mom brought this video with her of some show that was in NYC called Puppetry of the Penis. Basically these two guys bend and stretch their penises into all these different shapes (i.e. wristwatch, hamburger, Loch Ness Monster) in front of an audience. That's it. I'm not sure what their intention was, but if it was to make me never want to see another penis again then they succeeded. I think it was The Windsurfer that did it. Oh man, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
That was pretty much the climax of the evening (so to speak) so we went back to the hotel. Um, The end. I can't think of anything else to tell you. I blame the penises, they broke my brain.
On Friday, a bunch of us got together at a Mexican restaurant, partly to celebrate Heidi and my birthdays (even though they were last week, we like to stretch out the celebration as much as possible) but mostly for the margaritas. We went to that restaurant where I fell into the men's bathroom, but I don't think anyone who works there remembered me. Whew. Anyway, the restaurant party moved to a bar and then moved back to our apartment and I stayed up until 4 AM KNOWING FULL WELL that I had to be up at 8:30. Apparently turning 25 did not make me any smarter. Good to know.
THE REASON I had to be up early the next morning was because some friends (Nancy, Stephanie, and Nancy's mom) and I were traveling to the far reaches of Findlay, Ohio for a bridal shower. And even though this bridal shower was for one of my best friends, I was not really looking forward to it because, well, I hate showers of the bridal and baby variety. I hate them. I hate them hate them hate them with the fire of a thousand suns. I hate being fake nice to everyone, I hate trying to practically fake an orgasm while the bride-to-be opens a set of dishtowels and I ESPECIALLY hate the stupid games you have to play. Like the one where you have to make a wedding dress out of toilet paper? The last time I had to do that I wanted to throw a tantrum and ball up all the toilet paper and set it on fire. I didn't, but I totally thought about it.
I needn't have worried, though, because this was the best bridal shower ever. First of all, the food was SO GOOD. It was so fancy and pretty and delicious, even though I didn't really know what I was eating. Because, you see, I am not fancy. When I saw the spread my first thought was "where are the cocktail wieners?" Even watching The Opening of the Presents was OK because Whitney has fantastic taste and everything she registered for was so so pretty. I'm thinking of having a fake wedding just so I can get lots of presents. Would anyone be interested in marrying me and divorcing me a year later? You can have half of the presents (maybe). Win win (win)!
Anyway, the main reason this was the best bridal shower ever was because there was a martini bar. Also, wine. And somehow my wine glass never stayed empty! It was amazing. And then, after the shower, we went to Whitney's parents' house to eat pizza and, oh, also drink more. I was thinking about it today, and I think aside from a glass or two of water yesterday, I was drinking some form of alcohol pretty much from 2 PM to 11 PM. I think my liver has given up. FINALLY.
OK, Internets, and now I am going to talk about something very gross and inappropriate. Nancy's mom brought this video with her of some show that was in NYC called Puppetry of the Penis. Basically these two guys bend and stretch their penises into all these different shapes (i.e. wristwatch, hamburger, Loch Ness Monster) in front of an audience. That's it. I'm not sure what their intention was, but if it was to make me never want to see another penis again then they succeeded. I think it was The Windsurfer that did it. Oh man, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
That was pretty much the climax of the evening (so to speak) so we went back to the hotel. Um, The end. I can't think of anything else to tell you. I blame the penises, they broke my brain.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Try not. Do or do not, there is no try.
Last night, as I do every Wednesday (except for that one time when I was super tired and didn't care and just went to bed and let TiVo cover things for me), I got in bed and turned on ABC. Because it was time for Lost, bitches. Although I am not the rabid fan I once was, I never miss an episode. And since Heidi doesn't watch it, I am forced to make "clever" comments to myself. Usually in my head, though, I don't want Heidi to hear me talking to myself because then she might move out.
So, last night I'm watching it and giggling to myself because Ben was walking around with a cane telling Locke he had to get rid of his father and being all cryptic and know-it-all-y and I was like, "calm down, Yoda." Seriously, I expected him to be all, "Kill your father, you will! This knife, you will use! Pick that up for me, can you? Had back surgery, I did. Help a brother out, you should!" But then I started thinking, "Oh, Jennie, you have just seen Star Wars one too many times. Possibly more than one too many times. Probably more like twenty too many times." I've watched Star Wars a lot, is what I'm saying.
BUT THEN! Then! Later in the episode! Sawyer totally killed Locke's father BY STRANGLING HIM WITH A CHAIN! I don't know what's funnier, the fact that Locke's father got killed just like Jabba the Hut or that Sawyer used the same killing method as Princess freaking Leia. And Jabba the Hut was way bigger than Locke's father. I'm just saying.
You remember how Heidi and I both had the stomach flu last month? Well, we had the stomach flu last month. It was awesome. I had a great time. Anyway, we kind of fell off the wagon after that, food-wise. For a while, we couldn't go to the gym because we were throwing up everywhere and I think they frown upon that. Then we felt better and started eating normal food again and still weren't going to the gym. That was pretty much all of April. So this week we started going again. My entire body hurts. Well, not my ENTIRE body. But most of it. Also, this whole eating well thing is a bunch of crap. What I really want to do is go to Chipotle and get a big, fat burrito but instead I am sitting here at my desk trying to eat my sandwich and pretzels as slowly as possible. That's a lie, they're both gone already. OH! And Heidi bought these 100 calorie packs that are like Hostess cupcakes. I am not lying to you when I say they are SO GOOD that if I had to kill a puppy to get to them? Well, I still couldn't kill a puppy but I'd at least consider it. The Faux-stess cupcakes taste just like the real thing. I have some in my desk drawer right now and it is taking all of my willpower (and there's not much) not to rip open the package and shove them all in my mouth right now. I'm saving them for later when I get hungry. This happens around 3 and is usually when I get up from my desk and wander around the building on my way to the vending machine. I'm so glad Heidi bought these because they are way healthier than what I might get out of the vending machine. Speaking of Heidi -- CONVERSATIONS WITH MY ROOMMATE: Work E-mail Edition . . .
From: Me
To: Heidi
I don't know why, but it's been harder to get out of bed every day this week. But at least it's Thursday which is almost Friday which is almost the weekend (which is almost midtwenties, oh SNAP)
From: Heidi
To: Me
Hahaha, seriously and it's football night . . . I think The Office is supersized tonight . . . or is it the hour show?
From: Me
To: Heidi
I think it is supersized tonight. And the finale is an hour but I think that's a couple weeks away. Ooooh snap. I don't feel like working today at all.
From: Heidi
To: Me
ME NEITHER! Let's just skip.
From: Me
To: Heidi
Yeah, I'll just be like "I'm going to the restroom, be back soon!" and then sneak out. Or just leave for lunch right now and never come back.
So sneaky.
From: Heidi
To: Me
I know! So, Aunt Flo decided to meet me at work this morning, so I guess I'll be going to Walgreen's on my lunch break to grab some stuff! Yay!
From: Me
To: Heidi
Hahaha, you know what's funny? It has been 13 years since Aunt Flo started visiting and I'm still never prepared for her. I'm not a very good host, I guess.
You wanna know what else? It'd be funny if our IT departments read some of our emails. Hee.
From: Heidi
To: Me
Haha, I know . . . I'm a lousy guest. Speaking of hosting people . . . do your parents have an air mattress? I was thinking that we'll probably have Kelly and Steve staying with us and Steve could sleep on either instead of the floor . . . also my friend Besty and her BF might stay . . . they probably won't, but just in case . . . or do you think the floor is fine?
From: Me
To: Heidi
Hmm, I think the floor will have to do because I'm pretty sure my parents don't have an air mattress. That's why they bought that futon.
Oh well. Hopefully everyone will be drunk and won't care. Or maybe Steve and Kelly could share the sofa. Ooh la la!
From: Heidi
To: Me
Ooh la la! Heidi and Bax's House. Of. Love!
From: Me
To: Heidi
You scoff, but it might be a good way to make some extra cash.
From: Heidi
To: Me
I'm all for that.
From: Me
To: Heidi
You know what I was seriously thinking? We could put a note in our apartment complex newsletter and open a babysitting service or something. Make loads of money and we'd totally be just like The Baby-sitter's Club. Can I be Claudia?
From: Heidi
To: Me
Yeah, I guess, if I can be Mallory!
From: Me
To: Heidi
WHAT?! Why would you want to be Mallory?! She had frizzy red hair and glasses! And was two years younger than the rest of them! She was the worst one! At least be Mary Anne . . . she was shy and mousy but at least she had a boyfriend. And Dawn had a secret passageway in her house!
Mallory?! Seriously?
From: Heidi
To: Me
Get off my case, dork . . . that was the only name I could remember.
From: Me
To: Heidi
Sorry. I feel very strongly about The Baby-sitter's Club.
From: Heidi
To: Me
I guess . . . sheesh . . . I took cover under my desk.
THE END.
OH MY GOD. This is the longest post ever. If you made it all the way through, I commend you. Unless you make fun of me about The Babysitter's Club. Or Star Wars, for that matter. If you do that, I will kick you in the babymaker.
So, last night I'm watching it and giggling to myself because Ben was walking around with a cane telling Locke he had to get rid of his father and being all cryptic and know-it-all-y and I was like, "calm down, Yoda." Seriously, I expected him to be all, "Kill your father, you will! This knife, you will use! Pick that up for me, can you? Had back surgery, I did. Help a brother out, you should!" But then I started thinking, "Oh, Jennie, you have just seen Star Wars one too many times. Possibly more than one too many times. Probably more like twenty too many times." I've watched Star Wars a lot, is what I'm saying.
BUT THEN! Then! Later in the episode! Sawyer totally killed Locke's father BY STRANGLING HIM WITH A CHAIN! I don't know what's funnier, the fact that Locke's father got killed just like Jabba the Hut or that Sawyer used the same killing method as Princess freaking Leia. And Jabba the Hut was way bigger than Locke's father. I'm just saying.
You remember how Heidi and I both had the stomach flu last month? Well, we had the stomach flu last month. It was awesome. I had a great time. Anyway, we kind of fell off the wagon after that, food-wise. For a while, we couldn't go to the gym because we were throwing up everywhere and I think they frown upon that. Then we felt better and started eating normal food again and still weren't going to the gym. That was pretty much all of April. So this week we started going again. My entire body hurts. Well, not my ENTIRE body. But most of it. Also, this whole eating well thing is a bunch of crap. What I really want to do is go to Chipotle and get a big, fat burrito but instead I am sitting here at my desk trying to eat my sandwich and pretzels as slowly as possible. That's a lie, they're both gone already. OH! And Heidi bought these 100 calorie packs that are like Hostess cupcakes. I am not lying to you when I say they are SO GOOD that if I had to kill a puppy to get to them? Well, I still couldn't kill a puppy but I'd at least consider it. The Faux-stess cupcakes taste just like the real thing. I have some in my desk drawer right now and it is taking all of my willpower (and there's not much) not to rip open the package and shove them all in my mouth right now. I'm saving them for later when I get hungry. This happens around 3 and is usually when I get up from my desk and wander around the building on my way to the vending machine. I'm so glad Heidi bought these because they are way healthier than what I might get out of the vending machine. Speaking of Heidi -- CONVERSATIONS WITH MY ROOMMATE: Work E-mail Edition . . .
From: Me
To: Heidi
I don't know why, but it's been harder to get out of bed every day this week. But at least it's Thursday which is almost Friday which is almost the weekend (which is almost midtwenties, oh SNAP)
From: Heidi
To: Me
Hahaha, seriously and it's football night . . . I think The Office is supersized tonight . . . or is it the hour show?
From: Me
To: Heidi
I think it is supersized tonight. And the finale is an hour but I think that's a couple weeks away. Ooooh snap. I don't feel like working today at all.
From: Heidi
To: Me
ME NEITHER! Let's just skip.
From: Me
To: Heidi
Yeah, I'll just be like "I'm going to the restroom, be back soon!" and then sneak out. Or just leave for lunch right now and never come back.
So sneaky.
From: Heidi
To: Me
I know! So, Aunt Flo decided to meet me at work this morning, so I guess I'll be going to Walgreen's on my lunch break to grab some stuff! Yay!
From: Me
To: Heidi
Hahaha, you know what's funny? It has been 13 years since Aunt Flo started visiting and I'm still never prepared for her. I'm not a very good host, I guess.
You wanna know what else? It'd be funny if our IT departments read some of our emails. Hee.
From: Heidi
To: Me
Haha, I know . . . I'm a lousy guest. Speaking of hosting people . . . do your parents have an air mattress? I was thinking that we'll probably have Kelly and Steve staying with us and Steve could sleep on either instead of the floor . . . also my friend Besty and her BF might stay . . . they probably won't, but just in case . . . or do you think the floor is fine?
From: Me
To: Heidi
Hmm, I think the floor will have to do because I'm pretty sure my parents don't have an air mattress. That's why they bought that futon.
Oh well. Hopefully everyone will be drunk and won't care. Or maybe Steve and Kelly could share the sofa. Ooh la la!
From: Heidi
To: Me
Ooh la la! Heidi and Bax's House. Of. Love!
From: Me
To: Heidi
You scoff, but it might be a good way to make some extra cash.
From: Heidi
To: Me
I'm all for that.
From: Me
To: Heidi
You know what I was seriously thinking? We could put a note in our apartment complex newsletter and open a babysitting service or something. Make loads of money and we'd totally be just like The Baby-sitter's Club. Can I be Claudia?
From: Heidi
To: Me
Yeah, I guess, if I can be Mallory!
From: Me
To: Heidi
WHAT?! Why would you want to be Mallory?! She had frizzy red hair and glasses! And was two years younger than the rest of them! She was the worst one! At least be Mary Anne . . . she was shy and mousy but at least she had a boyfriend. And Dawn had a secret passageway in her house!
Mallory?! Seriously?
From: Heidi
To: Me
Get off my case, dork . . . that was the only name I could remember.
From: Me
To: Heidi
Sorry. I feel very strongly about The Baby-sitter's Club.
From: Heidi
To: Me
I guess . . . sheesh . . . I took cover under my desk.
THE END.
OH MY GOD. This is the longest post ever. If you made it all the way through, I commend you. Unless you make fun of me about The Babysitter's Club. Or Star Wars, for that matter. If you do that, I will kick you in the babymaker.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
find a penny, pick it up
I try not to be superstitious. Not to read too much into the little things. Ignore anything resembling a "sign." But there are times I allow myself to be weak, silly. I wish on the clock when it says 11:11, on eyelashes, on birthday candles, on stars, falling or not. I always look for four-leaf clovers. If I spill salt, I throw some over my shoulder. The last time I opened an umbrella inside, it was in a bar and I was too drunk to worry about bad luck. I avoid cracks in the sidewalk, for my mother's sake, really. I carry mirrors carefully and don't walk under ladders. I hold my breath when driving past a cemetery. If my ears are burning or my nose itches, I wonder who is talking about me. If I tie the wrapper from a straw in a knot, pull the ends, and the knot stays intact, I wonder who is thinking about me. I always knock on wood.
This morning, I noticed a penny lying right next to my car. It was heads up. I thought about leaving it there on the ground but instead picked it up and slipped it into my pocket. Why tempt fate?
This morning, I noticed a penny lying right next to my car. It was heads up. I thought about leaving it there on the ground but instead picked it up and slipped it into my pocket. Why tempt fate?
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
so affections fade away, and do adults just learn to play the most ridiculous, repulsive games
Disclaimer: Because I'm tired of writing/thinking about my own problems "problems." This couldn't be about me, anyway, because I've never been in love. Unless you count John Krasinski, but that's different.
Once there was a young girl who fell in love with a boy. The end.
OK, just kidding.
Once there was a girl who fell in love with a boy who didn't love her back. The end. No, that's not it, either.
Once there was a young girl, a slight slip of a thing, willowy and graceful and everything a young lady ought to be. She fell in love with a boy, a brave boy, a boy who wasn't afraid to get into fights on the playground. And so she followed him, the definition of puppy-dog eyes, listening to his every word, laughing at his jokes, heart breaking every time he ignored her carefully constructed response.
One day, many years later, someone broke this boy's heart. The young girl was there, as always, to comfort him, her shoulder having housed his worries and tears countless times in the past. It was on this day that the boy finally noticed her. The way she looked at him. The way she stroked his hair. And so on this day the boy decided to fall in love with her. Not the way she loved him, but enough, he thought, to make her happy.
The girl knew he'd never love her as much as she loved him. He loved her because she loved him and for no other reason. But the girl decided that was good enough. She spent hours devising fantasies, all of them ending with him looking at her the way she looked at him instead of throwing empty "I love yous" in her direction as he normally did. She was busy enjoying the life she'd constructed in her mind, that is, until reality came crashing in.
One day she came home from work earlier than usual, having felt sick the entire morning. She unlocked the door, walked up the stairs to the bedroom, stepping over hastily discarded clothing along the way, and opened the bedroom door to find the boy, her boy, in bed with someone else. Not her. And so, realizing she had been living a cliché, she left the house and got in her car. She drove until she ran out of gas and then she abandoned the car, her last tie to the boy, and walked. The end.
Once there was a young girl who fell in love with a boy. The end.
OK, just kidding.
Once there was a girl who fell in love with a boy who didn't love her back. The end. No, that's not it, either.
Once there was a young girl, a slight slip of a thing, willowy and graceful and everything a young lady ought to be. She fell in love with a boy, a brave boy, a boy who wasn't afraid to get into fights on the playground. And so she followed him, the definition of puppy-dog eyes, listening to his every word, laughing at his jokes, heart breaking every time he ignored her carefully constructed response.
One day, many years later, someone broke this boy's heart. The young girl was there, as always, to comfort him, her shoulder having housed his worries and tears countless times in the past. It was on this day that the boy finally noticed her. The way she looked at him. The way she stroked his hair. And so on this day the boy decided to fall in love with her. Not the way she loved him, but enough, he thought, to make her happy.
The girl knew he'd never love her as much as she loved him. He loved her because she loved him and for no other reason. But the girl decided that was good enough. She spent hours devising fantasies, all of them ending with him looking at her the way she looked at him instead of throwing empty "I love yous" in her direction as he normally did. She was busy enjoying the life she'd constructed in her mind, that is, until reality came crashing in.
One day she came home from work earlier than usual, having felt sick the entire morning. She unlocked the door, walked up the stairs to the bedroom, stepping over hastily discarded clothing along the way, and opened the bedroom door to find the boy, her boy, in bed with someone else. Not her. And so, realizing she had been living a cliché, she left the house and got in her car. She drove until she ran out of gas and then she abandoned the car, her last tie to the boy, and walked. The end.
Fact: Bears eat beets. Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica.
The other night I had this dream that I came into work and there was a check sitting on my desk. "Who is this check for?" I asked my coworker. "Ha, you're silly," she said. "It's your check! Your tax refund check!"
I'll admit, even in the dream I thought it was strange that my coworker was giving me my tax refund check, but I went with it. Mostly because it involved me getting money and if it involves me getting money I'll do almost anything. ALMOST, I said. Anyway, so I opened up this check and immediately got pissed because they'd given me $200 less than what I'd been expecting. So, I went up to my coworker all angry and red-faced and shaky and waved the check in her face.
"Where's the rest of my money?" I shouted. She stared. I stared. And huffed and puffed and tried to blow her cubicle down but I couldn't.
"What are you talking about?" she asked. "It's all there."
"Um, no it's not," I said, and slammed the check down on her desk. "There is $200 missing."
"Ooooh! Hahaha," she laughed, risking me punching her in the face and/or babymaker. "That's because they took taxes out!"
Taxes out. Of my tax refund check. My brain is broken, I swear. I am dreaming of tax refunds. I am dreaming of sweet, sweet tax refunds. Although, hopefully there are no taxes taken out of the real one (seriously?) or I really will be forced to punch someone in the face and/or babymaker. So what I'm saying, Government, is that I could really use that money. If you could deposit that in my account today, I'd really appreciate it. You see, all of my friends decided to get married and for some reason all of the bridal showers/bachelorette parties/weddings/receptions are not being held in Dayton. But Dayton is where I am! And the world revolves around me, right?
OK, I know it doesn't, but it totally should.
I'll admit, even in the dream I thought it was strange that my coworker was giving me my tax refund check, but I went with it. Mostly because it involved me getting money and if it involves me getting money I'll do almost anything. ALMOST, I said. Anyway, so I opened up this check and immediately got pissed because they'd given me $200 less than what I'd been expecting. So, I went up to my coworker all angry and red-faced and shaky and waved the check in her face.
"Where's the rest of my money?" I shouted. She stared. I stared. And huffed and puffed and tried to blow her cubicle down but I couldn't.
"What are you talking about?" she asked. "It's all there."
"Um, no it's not," I said, and slammed the check down on her desk. "There is $200 missing."
"Ooooh! Hahaha," she laughed, risking me punching her in the face and/or babymaker. "That's because they took taxes out!"
Taxes out. Of my tax refund check. My brain is broken, I swear. I am dreaming of tax refunds. I am dreaming of sweet, sweet tax refunds. Although, hopefully there are no taxes taken out of the real one (seriously?) or I really will be forced to punch someone in the face and/or babymaker. So what I'm saying, Government, is that I could really use that money. If you could deposit that in my account today, I'd really appreciate it. You see, all of my friends decided to get married and for some reason all of the bridal showers/bachelorette parties/weddings/receptions are not being held in Dayton. But Dayton is where I am! And the world revolves around me, right?
OK, I know it doesn't, but it totally should.
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