I was able to be on the scene so quickly because I was in the car that hit her.

I think I watched more TV last night than I have in like a month. Truly. Also, I think I ate more junk food than I have in the past month, too. Pizza! Cookies! OK, that was it, but whatever.

Heidi and I got pizza for dinner and settled down to watch a bunch of TV. We started with America's Next Top Model, moved onto The Real World, and then took a break to go buy cookies because I wouldn't stop talking about CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES and we sure as hell weren't going to MAKE them. Anyway, we didn't have milk so we had to go to the store. You see the logic? Good.

So on the way home from the store, there was the craziest conversation with my roommate ever. So crazy, in fact, that I'm not even going to try to recreate it because there's no way I can do it justice. We did talk about the fact that Heidi writes down everything that I say in a secret diary to use against me later. Because I kept talking about how I don't want kids and she said that in 10 years when I'm pregnant with my 18th child (ok?), she's going to pull it out and be all, "Remember when we were 25 and you said you didn't want kids? Well, I have it right here." And I am telling you RIGHT NOW that the only way I'm going to end up with 18 kids is if I go the Angelina Jolie route and just adopt one from every country or something. They are not coming out of my vagina. No way. Did you know you poop in front of people while you're in labor? NO THANK YOU TO THAT.

Also, she told me she hopes I marry someone with the last name "Dixon" so she can call me "Dix." That statement would probably make more sense if I tell you that almost every one of my friends call me "Bax." Which is short for my last name. I have had so many nicknames in my lifetime that I sometimes forget my real name. True story.

Also, other stuff happened, but I can't remember it right now. When we got home, we made cookies (duh) and they were delicious, especially because we ate them while they were still warm and gooey. Then we watched Ugly Betty. I've seen like two episodes total of that show and I don't know that Heidi has ever seen it so we really had no idea what was going on, but it was SO GOOD you guys. So good! I forget why I never watched it before. Oh, right, because it was on at the same time as The Office. I would talk about The Office now, but it made me so happy that I think if I talk about it too much my head might explode so I'll just say I liked it a whole lot and also I love PB&J and that is all.

Then we watched Grey's Anatomy. Eh.

I have decided that I'm going to listen to The Shins all day today. All Shins All Day! Chutes too Narrow, Oh Inverted World, Wincing the Night Away, MAYBE even the Garden State soundtrack. CAN YOU FEEL THE EXCITEMENT? Actually, I'm starting with Wincing the Night Away so I may not get to the rest of them. And that's OK. Dear self, stop babbling.

Oh, and Mom? I was thinking about it and I figured out that it isn't The Shins you don't like, because I remembered you said the song you didn't like was called "everybody something," and I'm fairly certain The Shins don't sing a song called "everybody something" and also if they do sing a song called "everybody something" I'm pretty sure I've never linked to it on my blog, so even though YOU SAID you don't like The Shins, I think in IN FACT what you meant was you don't like REM. So you might like The Shins (this is them) but if you don't like REM, I still might have to disown you. Sorry, but you brought this on yourself. Although, I haven't disowned you and dad for liking Two and a Half Men, so I might be able to overlook this.

Dear self, I believe I told you to stop babbling. Because WOW.

Dwight, you ignorant slut.

I just got back from a very traumatic run. A bug. Flew in. My eye. MY EYE. THE THING I USE TO SEE. It was gross. Like, I was concentrating so hard on the bugs not flying in my mouth that I didn't even see it coming. Get it? SEE IT coming? Anyway, it was sort of good because I think it made me run faster because I just wanted to get home and make sure all the bug pieces were out of my eye.

Before I left, I called my mom to tell her I was going running by myself in the dark because, while I am borderline retarded, I am not so stupid to run off into the night without telling someone where I'm going.

When I got home, I called to tell her I was still alive, which led to this:

Mom: Are you back?
Me: Yes.
Mom: Did you run into Sexy Man or whatever you call him?
Me: Hot Guy*?
Mom: Yeah, him.
Me: No, Mom, I did not run into Hot Guy.
Mom: Too bad.
Me: Sorry.
Mom: Well, a mother can hope.
Me: You hope I meet a strange boy while running in the dark?
Mom: No, not a boy. A MAN.
Me: OK.
Mom: Although, I'd hope he wouldn't live in an apartment complex. He should have a house.
Me: Why?
Mom: Because that means he's established.
Me: I don't have a house. Why should I expect him to have a house if I don't have one?
Mom: Because that means he's mature. One of you needs to be.
Me: Thanks.

And then! She told me she didn't like The Shins! I might have to disown her. She said she'd rather listen to Spoon, which . . . fine, but that brought up another sore subject. Yesterday I found out that the Spoon concert I was going to go to was CANCELED. Because the band is going to be on SNL instead. I mean, come ON. Ohio vs. Saturday Night Live . . . OK, never mind, they did the right thing. I'm still pretty devastated, though. Stupid crap ass Ohio.

*although I DID see him earlier tonight . . . twice, even! Hey, wouldn't it be funny if Hot Guy found my blog? He'd be all, "oh my god, am I Hot Guy?" and then he'd get creeped out and move away. So I really hope he doesn't know about The Internets.

heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey LYLA

The past couple nights I haven't slept, um, at all? Mostly because it decided to get all hot again and we turned off our air conditioning and we REFUSE TO TURN IT ON AGAIN BECAUSE SUMMER IS OVER DAMMIT.

Not only does the hot hot heat make sleeping difficult, but it makes getting ready in the morning hell on earth. Because, you know, it doesn't matter how not-hot I make my shower, by the time I've finished blow-drying my hair, I want to die. So I stand in front of the fan, swaying back and forth with it in an unholy dance of sweat and misery.

IT'S HOT. And it's making me whiny. Whinier. Actually, I think today it's only supposed to be 80.

So anyway, since I haven't really been sleeping, I was pretty tired last night. I got in bed at 9:30 (DON'T YOU JUDGE ME) with a book and I think I fell asleep around 10:30 or 11, but the problem was I kept waking up. Stupid brain. Go to sleep. Also, the book was really good. I'm reading Catch-22 because instead of buying new books I've decided to check out old books from the library that I probably should have read by this point of my life. Which is why I read this*. And also why I've read three Vonnegut books in the past month and I have another one sitting on my shelf waiting to be read. Books! Yay! Also, my mom wants to read Pride & Prejudice. Welcome to the dark side, Mom. Only it's not really dark. Kind of light, actually. Maybe a bit cloudy. It is England, after all.

*please bury me with this book

Almighty TiVo, we thank you for all the gifts you have given us. The power to freeze live TV to go take a leak* is nothing short of god-like.

I don't know what to write. Um. Conversation With My Roommate!

[in my car, aka "Sasha"]

Heidi: What CD are you putting in?
Me: Death Cab for Cutie.
Heidi: I think you should change your car's name to Death Cab.
Me: Um.
Heidi: Because you're the cutie . . .
Me: Aww, thanks!
Heidi: Sure. And so the car would be your Death Cab.
Me: Are you sure you're not just saying I'm a bad driver?
Heidi: Haha, no!
Me: OK then.

But I am sort of a bad driver. Not a REALLY bad driver, but I just get distracted really easily. So Death Cab is probably a really fitting name for my car, minus the cutie part.

Oh my god, what am I even talking about.

So last night, Heidi and I were watching How I Met Your Mother (thank you, TiVo) and I heard this weird, liquidy noise (ew) and I looked down the hallway and Phoebe had just projectile vomited all over the place. It was disgusting, but also impressive because of the sheer VOLUME of puke. Clearly, she's got a problem. She had just eaten so we think she might be bulimic. Heidi and I stared at the pile of puke for a couple minutes and exclaimed "OH MY GOD! LOOK HOW MUCH PUKE THERE IS!" a few times because YOU GUYS! This pile of puke had to have weighed more than Phoebe! It took me like half a roll of paper towels to clean it all up. Also, it was still warm and I made sure to tell Heidi all about how warm and gooey it was while I cleaned it up. Gross. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. Why am I still talking about this? Clearly, I have a problem, too.

*also to clean up cat puke

lacking active conscious knowledge or awareness

Last night, Heidi and I were talking about the Springfield Mall. I don't know why. I worked there my junior year of college because it's like five minutes away from campus. I worked at Vitamin World. It was as glamorous as you can imagine. Anyway, I'm not sure how we got to talking about that mall, but who cares because CONVERSATION WITH MY ROOMMATE:

Me: That was such a good job. We were only busy on like two days of the month when we had a giant sale, but other than that hardly anyone came in.
Heidi: Oh really? [what she should have said: Jennie, you are boring, shut up]
Me: Yeah. This one guy? He worked at Lazarus. And he'd come in every night and buy one of those gross protein bars.
Heidi: Haha. Ew.
Me: This one night he came in and I was working alone and he handed me this wad of cash but didn't wait for his change. And when I looked down, there was a slip of paper with the money and it had a phone number on it.
Heidi: Oooh!
Me: Heh, yeah, wait. Anyway, when I saw it, I was like, "Weird! This piece of paper has a phone number on it. I wonder why? Oh well," and then I threw it away.
Heidi: You did not.
Me: I did. And it wasn't until I was telling the story to someone later that they were all, "Jennie, he gave you his phone number. And you threw it away."
Heidi: Wow.
Me: I know. I am an asshole. But it didn't even occur to me! I just thought he handed me garbage!
Heidi: Was he cute?
Me: Yes.
Heidi: You are so special.
Me: Tell me about it.
Heidi: And this is why Jennie is single.
Me: Seriously, though.

Also, this one time an old man came in and hit on me for like an hour. He was wearing a cowboy hat and boots, eating an ice cream cone, and was shorter than I am. I turned down his offer (several times) but sadly, this is how obvious men have to be before I realize that they might like me. I mostly wander through the world with my head in the clouds, so not only do I run into stuff all the time, I am pretty much oblivious to things that may seem obvious to everyone else. Lazarus boy, if you're out there, I'm sorry. I hope I didn't hurt your feelings. I thought you were very cute and totally would have let you buy me dinner, and not just because I was in college and poor.

someone on the radio is trying to get me to drive into oncoming traffic

Monday + no sleep last night + Everybody Hurts on the radio = bleh

don't wake me, I plan on sleeping in

Last night, I was coming out of a restaurant where I had just been treated to a lovely dinner by my lovely parents, and I noticed I had a voicemail from Heidi. It started like this:

Hello, JENNIE, this is Heidi. Your roommate. I was just calling because there's this situation at the apartment . . .

and at this moment, I started visualizing all sorts of things. Like Phoebe had somehow turned on the fireplace or the stove and caught the apartment on fire or had gotten herself locked in the microwave with a rabid monkey or SOMETHING WORSE. Then, after I had a mini-heart attack, I kept listening:

I just thought you should know that Hot Guy is outside playing football. And he has Hot Friends. So you should get home ASAP so you can see Hot Guy and his Hot Friends playing Hot Football.

Unfortunately by the time I got home, the Hotness was over. So sad. There are actually two Hot Guys in our apartment complex that Heidi and I have been keeping an eye on recently. One has dark hair and one has light hair and I almost hit the one with light hair with my car in the parking lot one day. I've only had one run in with the dark-haired guy. It was at the very end of my run and I passed him on the sidewalk. He was running the other way and looked like he was just getting started. WHY I couldn't have seen him before my face was beet red and my hair was sweat-plastered to my face, I don't know. Anyway, I told Heidi it reminds me a lot of high school, like when you have a crush on the captain of the football team (I don't get this particular cliche . . . I don't remember having a crush on the captain of any team) and you walk by his locker between classes so you can giggle and tell your friends about it later. Because whenever one of us sees Hot Guy 1 or Hot Guy 2 we have to tell the other. In fact, the reason we were sitting on the balcony last night drinking beer and playing Truth or Dare was because we were spying on Hot Guy and his friends. WHAT? What did YOU do last night that was so exciting?

Our game of Truth or Dare escalated quickly. Truths suddenly jumped from "did you ever have a crush on a teacher in high school" to "would you ever get back together with [name has been deleted]?" and "how do you really feel about [oh you'd better BELIEVE name has been deleted]." And then the dares went from "I dare you to tell the Internets that you're a lesbian" to "I dare you to throw your underwear in that tree." By the way, the underwear stayed up there until about an hour ago, when Heidi found it on the front stoop. Heh.

Anyway, Heidi left a little while ago so I have nothing else to do but sit here and write these damn How To articles. Actually, it is about 800 degrees in our apartment right now so really what I've been doing is lying on the floor in front of the fan and whining about how hot it is even though no one can hear me, unless of course Hot Guy is outside exacting his revenge by spying on our apartment. Which I'm actually totally fine with, SO TAKE THAT, HOT GUY!

truth, dare, double dare, promise or repeat

Oh my gosh, you guys, remind me sometime to tell you about the crazy game of Truth or Dare Heidi and I played tonight. This game is the reason there is a spoon at the bottom of our pond and a pair of underwear in the tree next to our balcony.

Ahahahahaha!

here is a picture of my new girlfriend

I have very important late-breaking news and I need everyone to stop what they are doing and listen to me

I have decided to become a lesbinem.

Jan made me watch Why Tu Mama Tambien, which means Throw Mama from the Tambien.

You guys, I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow. I don't think I can tell you just how excited I am because my hair? Out of control. Seriously. It's getting longer and the longer it gets, the more full of itself it gets and it just will not listen to me anymore. I'm all, "lay flat, hair!" and it's like, "no, I want to be wavy and GLOOOOORIOUS!" and I say, "you do not look glorious, you look like Albert Einstein!" and then my hair starts crying. It's awkward. Especially if I'm at work.

I looked in my checkbook to see when the last time I got a haircut was . . . you guys, I haven't gotten my hair cut in over two months. Thus explaining the out-of-controlness. I mean, I kept meaning to get it cut but, go figure, then I'd put it off. Try not to act too surprised.

So. Today is Friday. Did you know that? I bet you didn't. Don't lie to me. I can see right through you. Although, my weekend? It is not going to be what you might call "exciting." Not at all. I have to a) write approximately 800 articles and b) not spend much money. But it's OK because the next couple of weekends are going to be SO. FUN. So fun. I can't even tell you. OK, I will. Next weekend we're going to the Renaissance Festival (hi, it's Ohio, there is nothing else to do here) and my goal this year is to see a Renaissance Festival Wedding because can you imagine what kind of freak show that would be? I'm taking my camera. And then THE NEXT WEEKEND is Spoon on Friday and wedding on Saturday. On the one hand . . . another wedding? Seriously? But on the other hand . . . friends! Alcohol! Dancing! Alcohol! Friends with alcohol! In Cleveland! Fancy hotel! Alcohol! OK, that's enough. After this one, I'm done with weddings for a while. Thank you, baby Jesus.

ALSO. The Office starts in LESS THAN A WEEK. You might say it's sad that I'm this excited for a TV show. You might even say it's unhealthy. But if you do, I might kick you in the babymaker. So think about that before you say anything.

lying on the floor, lying on the floor, I've come undone

It only took about an hour of volunteering, but I have outed myself as a smartass. Remember how no kids showed up the other night? No? Well, no kids showed up the other night. On my first night of volunteering. Off to a great start! While we waited to see if there would be any latecomers, the director, the other volunteers and I sat around and talked. The director asked everyone to go around the circle, say their name, their job, and how long they had been volunteering with Oak Tree. When it was my turn, I said, "my name's Jennie, I work in HR, and I've been doing this for, oh, about an hour now." Then I waited through the uncomfortably long silence until finally everyone started laughing. Thank god. Because in my mind? People laughing at what I say = they like me. Close call.

Last night, there was one more training session, only it really had nothing to do with training and everything to do with sitting around and TALKING about what we'd learned in training blah blah blah. The director also lead us through this relaxation visualization exercise, where we all had to sit around with our eyes closed, breathing deeply and visualizing what she was telling us to do. Basically, it involved walking through a forest, meeting a guide, and traveling back to times when we'd experienced loss. I KNOW. I mean, I guess it was nice to just sit there in the dark and relax but I'm not very good at the whole visualization thing. Like, when she told us to pick a guide, in my head I picked someone and then we were supposed to start walking but instead we started talking and suddenly I was way behind where I was supposed to be. I actually found the whole "journey" sort of silly so instead I made up adventures for my guide and I to go on. Since yesterday was Talk Like a Pirate Day, our adventures involved a lot of swashbuckling. Um, but then when we were done and allowed to open our eyes we had to go around the circle and say what had happened! I thought about maybe bursting into tears and pretending to be too verklempt to share, but luckily I can spew a line of bullshit in my sleep, so I just made most of it up. Oh and also? During the whole relaxation thing, I just kept worrying that I wasn't relaxed enough. Like, I kept thinking, "Are you breathing deeply enough? Does your body feel relaxed? No? You're still sitting up perfectly straight . . . that is not relaxing. Although good posture is important. I'd hate to become a hunchback just because I got too good at relaxing. OK, concentrate. Relax. Relax! I SAID RELAX, DAMMIT! I wonder if I'm relaxed enough. I bet everyone else is way more relaxed than I am. I SUCK at relaxing."

Then finally the training was over. I'm excited to just get into the actual volunteering, mostly because I am much more comfortable with listening to other people talk than I am with talking about myself.

Arrrrrgh, matey!

Sorry, I'm just sad that Talk Like a Pirate Day is over.

I'm French. Why do you think I have this outrageous accent, you silly king?

Last night was my first official night of volunteering. I was really nervous because I was afraid they'd put me with the teenagers and teenagers scare me. Mostly because they are all taller than I am but ALSO I was afraid the kids would make fun of me and laugh at me and call me names. Which . . . I know, that's stupid, but I can't help how insecure my brain is. Anyway, I needn't have worried, because no kids showed up. I was very disappointed, especially since I'd driven all the way out there to sit around some church for an hour and a half, but they said this happens every now and then, meaning it WASN'T just that all the kids heard that I was going to be there and so they stayed away.

I am still a bit surprised every time I think about how they're going to let me be in charge of a group of grieving children, especially considering that the last time one of my family members died, we had all the family over, and I didn't eat anything all day but I did consume many, many glasses of wine and also a couple of whisky sours and then I puked and puked my guts out the next day. At my mom and dad's house. CLASSY. Who has two thumbs and knows how to grieve? THIS KID. Yeah, that doesn't really work when you're not saying it out loud but just imagine that I'm pointing my thumbs at myself. Sigh.

CONVERSATION WITH MY ROOMMATE

Me: [blah blah blahing about something]
Heidi: Where'd you get that bruise on your leg?
Me: Oh, I don't know.
Heidi: Wow.
Me: But I think it might be from my desk chair at work.
Heidi: OK?
Me: Cause when I stand up, I kind of shove it out of the way with my leg and the arm of the chair hits me right there on the thigh.
Heidi: You bruise like a peach.
Me: Yeah, I also have this bruise on my arm and I have no idea where it came from.

[conversation continues but I don't remember what we were talking about and then all of the sudden Heidi starts laughing]

Heidi: I'm sorry, I just can't get over that bruise on your leg.
Me: Thanks. Thanks a lot.

I mean, to be fair, it is a pretty big bruise so I guess it's funny. Especially since I don't really know where it came from. Good times.

And since I'm not even trying to make these things make sense anymore, here is a dream I had the other night:

I was driving through a cornfield with someone and for some reason I was driving but it wasn't my car. And the worst part was, the car was a stick and I don't know how to drive a stick so I just left it in one gear and then, obviously, the car broke down because A) I wasn't switching gears, B) we were driving through a cornfield, and C) I don't think the car we were driving was designed for driving through cornfields. So after the car broke down, we got out and opened the hood and he started looking at the steaming engine and he was all, "what gear were you in?" and I was like, "First?" and he was like, "FIRST?! We were going 50 mph!" and I was all, "Yeah, but through CORN, I read somewhere that you're supposed to use first gear when driving through corn," and then he shook his head and I woke up.

That story was almost as interesting as my thigh bruise, but only almost.

What be a pirate's favorite movie? Staaarrrr Waaaarrrrs

It's my favorite day of the year. IT'S TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY!

My pirate name is Cap'n Elizabeth . . . oookaaaaay?

OH MY GOD YOU GUYS I'M SO EXCITED. I wish I hadn't left my sword at home. Do you think I should go out at lunch time and buy an eye patch? No? Too much? OK.

Prepare ship for ludicrous speed!

So yesterday I was being Whiny McBitcherson. I'm not sure why. It could have had something to do with the whole not sleeping Sunday night. Or that it was Monday and I was at work. All I know is, I was a big, giant anger ball (actually, more of a sad ball) for the majority of the workday and I sat all forlornly at my desk, staring into space in a wah-wah-wah fashion, until about 4 o'clock when I thought to myself, "Self, you are being ridiculous. You are going to be in a good mood right . . . NOW," and then I changed Death Cab for Cutie to The Fratelli's and PRESTO CHANGO I was in a good mood. Either I am very bossy (yes) or very open to suggestion (also yes).

COMPLETELY OUT OF CONTEXT CONVERSATION WITH MY ROOMMATE:

Heidi: So you know how Name Deleted called me at like 3:45 in the morning Saturday night?
Me: Yeah.
Heidi: And he kept asking about that word?
Me: What word? Oh, they kept saying tendencies, didn't they? What they hell were they talking about? What tendencies?
Heidi: Well, I had an email today.
Me: Oh lord.
Heidi: And they weren't saying "tendencies," they were saying "decendencies."
Me: Um, what?
Heidi: Yeah, he was all, "we were trying to figure out if decendencies was a word but spell check didn't recognize it."
Me: Well . . . because it's not a word.
Heidi: Right, I was like, "do you mean heritage?"
Me: Oh my god.
Heidi: I know.
Me: How drunk were they?
Heidi: He said they weren't drunk.
Me: What?
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: WHAT?! I'm sorry, but if I ever told anyone I thought decendency was a word, I'd soooo say I was drunk because . . . um, DECENDENCY.

So this morning I asked Heidi what her decendency was and she told me this: I believe my decendency dates back to the Mayflower. My great-great-great-great-great uncle was Isaac Mc Schmidt and he sailed over here from Ireland . When he got to the states, he met the lady that would become his wife, Pearl Brown. Pearl Brown came from an affluent family in Switzerland and her father was mayor of Goatsburg. So, all in all, my decendency is Swedish-Irish-mutt.

Which, I think is just fascinating, no? I love hearing about decendencies. What is your decendency, Internets? I know it sounds like I'm being mean by making fun of this, but HELLO it's funny! Usually it's me that says stupid shit like decendencies while drunk. Once in Mexico I tried to speak Spanish to our cab driver and I think it came out something like this: Ho-LA! Me llamo JENNIE! Co-mo es-tas! Ho-LA! so give me my moment, OK?

Then we watched Tim Gunn's new show, which . . . oh my god, you guys, I wish Tim Gunn lived next door to us. Watching all those fashion makeover shows always makes me feel bad about my own wardrobe, because they're always like, "you can't wear jeans and t-shirts all the time," and "your work wardrobe is unimaginative and dull," and then I think, "oh dear lord, that girl's clothes look exactly like mine!" Because if someone came to make over my wardrobe they'd take one look at it and be like, "JENNIE. You have 14 of the same shirt all in different colors," and I'd be all, "that's a problem?" and then they'd smack me. Only Tim Gunn wouldn't smack me because he is the NICEST MAN IN ALL OF EXISTENCE. Tim Gunn could tell me I looked like a sewer rat who had gotten caught in a shitstorm of . . . shit, and I wouldn't care because then he would make me feel good about myself by GIVING ME NEW CLOTHES AND TELLING ME I'M PRETTY.

My point is someone needs to nominate me for Tim Gunn's show because I heart him and I only have like TWO ITEMS from his Top Ten Women's Clothing Essentials List. So . . . either nominate me or buy me the rest of those items.

note to self

DO. NOT. LOSE. THESE.

take that look from off your face

You know, I've been thinking about this a lot and I really think my favorite song in the history of all songs ever written is Don't Look Back in Anger. I could listen to it over and over for the rest of my life and not only never get tired of it, but sing along loudly and off-key every time. True story. Ask Heidi.

Don't tell Johnny Cash, though. I still love the ring of fire, just not as much.

If I run uphill I'm outta breath, if I spend all of my money, then I've got no money left. If I place all of my chips on only one bet, I'm all in.

Good morning, Internets. How is everyone this morning? I woke up and my room was FREEZING. FREE-ZING. I slept with my window wide open last night and apparently it snowed or something because my room felt like an icebox. I had to put pants on, it was so cold. I mean, I was already wearing shorts. But I had to dig my pajama pants out of the drawer. That's how cold it was. Oh my god. This is so boring I want to jump out the window.

[sidebar: this is going to be a long one (that's what she said) so good luck making it all the way through . . . do you have some water? a map? mind-altering drugs? good]

Anyway, so that's why I'm drinking coffee right now. Well, that and coffee is my bitch mistress lover. I don't know. Also, I'm drinking it out of this:


Siiiiiiiigh. Yeah, um, I'm pretty happy I can drink out of it at home because I can't take it to work and I'd hate for that $1 to go to waste. Here is why I cannot take it to work. The head of our IT department is named Jim and he would tease me mercilessly if he saw that sitting on my desk. Although, he pretty much teases me mercilessly anyway, so maybe it wouldn't matter all that much. Eh. Whatever.

Last night, I went running and a turkey buzzard DIVEBOMBED MY HEAD! I thought I was going to die. Seriously, it was like half my size and it could fly so I think it had the advantage. I'm not sure why it divebombed my head. Maybe it thought I was a squirrel? But I'm pretty sure turkey buzzards only eat dead animals. Oh my god, you guys, do I look like a dead squirrel? You'd tell me if I looked like a dead squirrel, right? Anyway, then a couple of blocks later I almost got hit by a police car because I didn't look before I crossed the street and also I can't hear cars when I'm running on account of the loud music blasting in my ears. But if you're going to get hit by a vehicle and it's NOT an ambulance, I really think a police car is the way to go.

SO! Internets. Spoon is coming to Cincinnati soon and I knew this a couple of weeks ago but I talked myself out of going because Heidi and I have to get up early the next morning and drive to Cleveland for another freaking wedding and I thought it'd be irresponsible to go to a concert and come home late the night before but then I realized I DON'T CARE because GODDAMMIT, I'M ONLY 25 AND I'LL DO WHAT I WANT AND WHAT I WANT TO DO IS GO SEE SPOON IN CINCINNATI, SLEEP BE DAMNED! DAMNED, I SAY! Ahem. Anyway. So I'm going to that. The best part is, I don't have to go by myself because Three-hole-punch Steve likes Spoon, too, and I might even be able to talk Heidi into going if I tell her she'll get to make Spoon and Fork and Knife jokes all night. Spoon! Heidi makes fun of all the music I like. See:

Heidi: What CD do you have there?
Me: Shiny Toy Guns.
Heidi: Your music is so violent.
Me: No, it's not.
Heidi: Yes, it is. Shiny Toy Guns are dangerous.
Me: They're toys. And what about The Postal Service. That's not dangerous.
Heidi: Yeah-huh, cause Shiny Toy Guns are what The Postal Service uses to shoot people when they go crazy.
Me: Oh yeah? How about Rilo Kiley? Do something with that I DARE YOU.
Heidi: OK, fine.
Me: Hey. You know what kind of cab you'd ride in if you were a cutie?
Heidi: Heh. What?
Me: A DEATH CAB.

This took place in Target because Heidi and I like to put on short, one act plays for the other Target patrons. I think they like it. Later, we caught the tail end of The Office (not at Target) and had this conversation (with my roommate, duh):

Heidi: I haven't seen the season finale since it was on back in May.
Me: Um, yeah, me neither.
Heidi: Yeah, right. How many times have you watched it since then?
Me: I don't know. Only a couple.
Heidi: More than five times?
Me: No!
Heidi: More than four?
Me: . . .
Heidi: Ha!

And anyway, I think I accidentally lied because I may have seen it way more than five times but who can keep track of that sort of thing?

Since I've veered into conversation territory, let's just keep going, shall we? I called my mom last night because we're supposed to go to my aunt's today to have a party for my cousin. And no one ever tells me anything so I needed to know what time to be there and why were even having it in the first place. And now! CONVERSATION WITH MY MOTHER:

Mom: I got Cousin a card.
Me: A card for what?
Mom: You know, just to show our support for his decision and everything.
Me: What? What decision?
Mom: Oh, he joined the army.
Me: HE DID WHAT?!
Mom: He joined the army.
Me: IS HE RETARDED?!
Mom: Jesus, Jennie, your dad can hear you through the phone.
Me: Sorry. But seriously. What?
Mom: Yeah, your aunt isn't too happy about it, but we should be supportive.
Me: I guess. I'm glad you told me now and not tomorrow in front of everyone.
Mom: Yes, I don't think they would have appreciated your reaction.

True story. I don't ACTUALLY think my cousin is retarded for joining the army DURING WAR TIME. I gave my brain some time to think about it and my brain decided that the only reason I had that reaction was because, um, the army is dangerous? Did I mention war time? And I'm just worried. The army and I are totally fighting right now. AND I don't care if they have tanks and bazookas and nunchucks, I CAN TAKE THEM. Anyway, if you're thinking of joining the army and someone in your life calls you a retard, don't worry, it's only because they love you.

apparently I'm a big hit with farmers, IT guys, and 16-year-olds

I got yelled at by lots of employees today (turns out they don't like it when you don't give them all the money they want but TOO BAD and also? I'm not doing it to be a bitch, TALK TO THE GOVERNMENT BECAUSE THIS IS ALL THEIR FAULT) so after work I went to Kroger to buy some self-medication. There I was, wandering around the store carrying my precious, precious beer and when I passed two 16-year-olds walking the other way, one of them shouted, "Hey BABY, you need help drinking those?"

The answer is no, little boy. No, I do not.

And as it fell from the sky, I asked myself why can I never let anyone in?

The other day, I sprayed myself right square in the eye with a bunch of hairspray. This is because I no longer flinch like a little wussy baby and cover my eyes when I'm spraying the crap out of my ponytail (so no stray hairs come out and tickle my face while I'm running). I'm either getting braver or stupider. Maybe both. This has also led to more minor burns caused by my hair straightener, because I apparently no longer care if I hurt myself, but it's a small price to pay for smooth, shiny hair.

I'm going to say something now, but I'm not sure it's going to work.

I used to try to avoid pain whenever possible. This is why I avoided exercise for so long. Because sometimes it hurts. I might twist an ankle or overstretch a muscle or fall down because I am extremely uncoordinated and who wants to inflict pain on themselves? I sure as hell don't. Not on purpose anyway. I use avoiding pain as an excuse for more than not working out. I don't tell anyone how I feel because I'm afraid of it coming back later and making the rest of my feelings all hurty. Which, now that I think about it, doesn't make much sense because it never really stops my heart from feeling like a giant named Rocky who is made of boulders stepped on it while wearing spiky heels. I don't know why a giant named Rocky is wearing spiky heels. Maybe he's a giant executive transvestite. Don't judge.

I don't know. There are times when I wonder why I hold everything in until I finally (with the help of my good friend, alcohol) just burst and blurt out everything. EVERYTHING. Or I think back on past conversations and realize I said the wrong thing OR worse (and even more likely), I said nothing, missing a perfect opportunity to, I don't know, SAY WHAT I'M FEELING.

For all of my complaining and joking about how I'm going to die alone blah blah blah, I do realize that the fact that I'm perpetually single is probably all my fault. I thought about, you know, actually telling people how I feel, but I'm afraid once I open my brain, it will explode and all the crazy will spill out everywhere and then I really will die alone. Because nobody wants to be with someone who has an exploding brain. It's messy. And also? The Crazy is one of those stains you can never get out of the carpet and then every time someone comes over, they're all, "Ew, what's that? Vomit? Pee? Poo? Love stain?" and you have to be like, "WORSE, it's CRAZY," and they're all, "That is unacceptable, I must go now," and so then you open a bottle of wine and watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and cry through an entire box of tissues. True story.

WOW.

She is electric, can I be electric too?

Look at how big of a dork (not a whale penis) I am:

Also this:

I wrote myself that note because I went running by myself again last night BUT I got smarter. Because Heidi wasn't home and I wanted someone to know where I had gone in case I never came home because I was kidnapped by pirates or ninjas or space gorillas, I called my parents and said if I didn't call back in an hour, they should start to worry. I bet parents love calls like that. I felt kind of bad, like I ruined that hour of their night because they were sitting there all "gee, I wonder if the space gorillas have shown Jennie how to use their teleporter yet," but from what I understand about parents, they pretty much worry about their kids all the time, right? Whether or not they are in danger of abduction by ninja.

Heidi and I have been talking about painting our apartment since, well, we moved in. I think she got tired of waiting for me, because she has painted both her bathroom and her bedroom in the past month or so, and now I feel like a big slacker doo-doo head (nothing new there). So I've been thinking I want to paint my room. I'm not sure I'm going to bother with my bathroom. Maybe. I don't know. What I DO know? Is that these are the coolest things I have ever seen and I am coveting them SO HARD right now.

So I've decided to paint (right this minute, actually) and also I've decided I want to rearrange my room. Because it has been the same since I moved in. The problem with both of these plans is that I want to do it RIGHT NOW and I can't because, um, I'm at work? And I don't think my boss will understand that I need to go home because, even though I procrastinate A LOT, when I finally decide I want to do something, I want to do it RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE OR MY HEAD JUST MIGHT EXPLODE. True story. Also, apparently I can't do anything without telling the Internets about it first. Anyway, if anyone has any suggestions for paint color, please look at my bedroom and feel free to tell me what to do. Don't feel obligated to match to the bedspread because I need to get a new one. The one I have now is all ripped down the side. This either happened in the washing machine or I've been having night terrors and ripping up my sheets in my sleep. Anyway. Please, Internets, do my thinking for me. Also, I hope you all realize that by the time I get home tonight, I may have completely changed my mind about both the painting and the rearranging when I realize how much work they're going to involve.

For your convenience I’ve broken it down into three parts: professional resume, athletic and special skills resume and Dwight Schrute trivia.

Things are escalating:

In case you can't tell, that says I am at karate practice and I will return in three weeks.

And lest you think I am the only one with time to kill at work, look at what Heidi sent me yesterday:

with the caption "I luvs dis horse." That is a Dwight Schrute stress ball riding a horse stress ball. Don't try to apply logic to this situation, you'll only make your brain explode.

Last night, Heidi and I went to Target (again) so she could buy some CD by some country singer (heh) and so I could follow her around the store making stupid comments. I also needed to buy kitty litter. Here is what else I got:

a CD for less than $10 so it hardly counts as spending money (shut up)
I heart Jim stationary (shut up)
four boxes of tissues with pirates on the boxes (shut up)

I almost forgot to buy the kitty litter, which would have been a shame, because that means I wouldn't have gotten to hear Heidi yell, "Phoebe! We're home! And we bought you something to poop in!" when we got back to the apartment, and that would have been tragic indeed. Not that Phoebe DESERVES something to poop in. While we were watching TV last night, I had a pillow on my lap and when I do that Phoebe likes to climb on the pillow and sprawl out like she is a princess to be worshipped but the last time I checked, people don't worship a princess who licks own cooter. I don't remember princess Diana ever doing that. Anyway, at some point during one of the shows we were watching, Heidi yelled something IN A HIGH-PITCHED VOICE and it scared Phoebe and she launched herself off of my lap and in doing so, she dug her back claws into the precious, fragile flesh of my thigh. She made me bleed! In four places! Do you see why she doesn't deserve anything to poop in?

When I got home from work yesterday, I shut off the air conditioning and opened all the windows because it was hotter in the apartment than it was outside. I love having the windows open! Except it is almost goose-honking season, where the geese honk all loud and annoying-like at all hours of the day and night and make me want to buy a shotgun and shoot them. It's always an adjustment when I try to sleep with the windows open, because I am such a light sleeper that you can wake me up by even just thinking about poking me very gently in the forehead with a feather. True story. Anyway, so sleep last night was not to much restful and not just because of the open window, but also because around 4 AM I heard Phoebe retching and then she threw up on the floor next to my bed and the only reason I got OUT of bed to clean it up was because I was afraid I'd forget about it and step in it when I woke up this morning and you don't want to start your morning by stepping in a pile of vomit. Trust me. I have learned that lesson far too many times.

My father’s name was Dwight Schrute. My grandfather’s name was Dwight Schrute. His father’s name? Dwide Schrude. Amish.

I've been at my new job for six months now, and this is the first personal thing I have added to my office:

That is a magnet. With Dwight K. Schrute on it, in case you can't tell from the crappy cell phone picture I took. That's all I've put up so far. I'm sort of afraid that this is going to snowball and soon my office will soon be covered with pictures of John Krasinski and Jake Gyllenhaal, kind of like when I was 12 and my bedroom walls were covered with pictures of Jonathan Taylor Thomas* that I tore out of BOP** magazine.

*please do shut up

**seriously, shut up

OH. MY. GOD.

I need to get to Target RIGHT NOW.

I'm Agent Johnson, this is Special Agent Johnson. No relation.

Disclaimer: This is so boring, you should really just skip it.

You guys, I had the best weekend. I did nothing. NOTHING. The only productive thing I did was laundry.

I mean, Friday night was Boys are Stupid (and Smelly) Night. I got up late on Saturday and Heidi and I fixed a ginormous breakfast. Seriously, we ate all the breakfast food in the Dayton area. Then we went to the library (!!!) and I do believe I've gone overboard because I've been there three times in the past week and a half and I came home with books EVERY TIME. Oops. Then we got Papa Murphy's. MMM. Also, my mom and dad were out of town and they told Heidi and I that NOT ONLY could we use their hot tub this weekend? But we could raid their bar. I'm not sure what they were thinking. We also took advantage of their HBO OnDemand and watched Die Hard. I don't know why I've never seen that before. IT'S AWESOME! Bruce Willis kicks everyone's asses and HE'S BAREFOOT THE WHOLE TIME! And Carl Winslow is in it!

I slept in til noon yesterday. I don't remember the last time I did that. When I got up, Heidi and I watched a bunch of episodes of The Biggest Loser that TiVo had recorded for us.

Now. I hope you are sitting down, Internets, because I am about to BLOW. YOUR. MIND. Instead of doing what we normally do on Sunday night, which is run to Arby's/Wendy's/Penn Station, we COOKED. We cooked food! And it was delicious. THAT'S NOT ALL! We also went running last night! Normally I try to avoid all forms of physical activity on the weekends. And every time we started to get tired on the run, I'd be all "Big Fat Eric! Big Fat Eric!" or "Guy with a cane! Guy with a cane!" Oh, because Big Fat Eric lost like a million pounds on The Biggest Loser and Heidi had seen an old guy running in jean shorts carrying a cane earlier that day and we figured that if a 400 pound guy and a 400 year old guy (with a cane! in jean shorts!) could run, we could too. Probably I should have explained that first. Oh well.

It's not us, it's THEM! Them and their stupid boy . . . penises!

Me: Heidi . . .
Heidi: What?
Me: Do you wanna skip the gym and not go running and get shitfaced instead?
Heidi: God, yes.

Last night, for absolutely no reason whatsoever (heh), Heidi and I had a "Boys are Stupid Night." Obviously, we don't think ALL boys are stupid. Just some of them. OK, a lot of them. Also, they're smelly.

Anyway. Boys are Stupid (and sometimes Smelly) Night included Friends, margaritas, and chips and salsa. And best of all, Nancy! I don't know if you guys remember Nancy, but she is the one who went to Dinosaur World with me so that automatically makes her awesome but you guys have NO IDEA.

Obviously, before we could start Boys are Stupid Night, we had to go to the liquor store. We bought stuff for margaritas and also wine from the clearance section. I refuse to spend more than $10 on a bottle of wine because I can't tell the difference between good wine and cheap wine anyway and also I'm poor. If I can get away with it, I'd spend less than $5 on wine. It's not like I'm buying Boone's Farm, though, I mean, HELLO. There is this place called Trader Joe's (duh) that sells 3 buck Chuck so it's not like we're suffering. Oh, Charles Shaw. How can I show my appreciation for your cheap, cheap wine? I would offer to have your babies, but if I did that, then I couldn't drink your wine and that is a lose-lose situation, if you think about it. I prefer my situations win-win (win).

Where was I? Oh, right. Boys are Stupid Night. I mean, really, we didn't even talk that much about how Boys are Stupid. We spent more time going over the stupid shit we did in college (which obviously took up the majority of the evening) and then the rest of the time we spent gossiping about our friends which kind of defeats the purpose of Boys are Stupid Night, but whatever. Considering I got the idea for Boys are Stupid Night from this episode of Friends, you're lucky we didn't accidentally burn our apartment down.

That’s the thing about bear attacks. They come when you least expect it.

Last night I was reminded why I like having a roommate more than living the long lonely life of loneliness. Heidi had a bad day at work, a "one of those day" day, if you will, and so I bought a bottle of wine on the way home because the only way I know how to solve problems (such as a "one of those day" day) is with alcohol. So we drank wine and watched trashy TV. Big Brother (Dick and Danielle . . . HATE), The Hills (Spencer . . . DOUCHE), The Real World (Drunk People . . . LOVE), and My Boys. OK, My Boys does not officially qualify as trashy TV. It's not brilliant TV, but it's not terrible. It's got its moments (also, Jim Gaffigan) and I think the biggest problem with it is that it rushes through storylines waaaaay too quickly. Like, something that on a normal show would last at least three episodes, they blow through in half an hour. ANYWAY, before I get into the following CONVERSATION WITH MY ROOMMATE, allow me to explain the show a little. PJ is friends with all these dudes. She writes for the Cubs. And apparently next week she has to choose between three hot men. Jeremy Sisto of Clueless and Six Feet Under fame, who she was all in love with for years and he was in Iraq or Afghanistan or somewhere scary and he came back to Chicago and she was like "oooh, I still luuuurrvve him" in her head only it turned out he's engaged now. Awesome. Then there is That Guy Who Played Ethan Crane on Passions and also Keith on Scrubs. He plays for the Cubs and they went on some dates but apparently it violated her ethics as a sports writer to continue dating him. WHAT. EVER. Then in the last episode she met a hot botanist who talked to her about cicadas and brilliantly pretended to be a smoker to get out of awkward, forced party-interactions and was very cute all around. Um, yeah, so CONVERSATIONS WITH MY ROOMMATE:

Heidi: So if you had to choose between the guy from Clueless, Ethan Crane, or the nerdy cicada guy, who would you choose?
Me: I think . . . the cicada guy.
Heidi: Really?
Me: Yeah, because the guy from Clueless has gotten kind of fat. And he has a beard.
Heidi: Plus, he had a fiance, which means he would have had to break that off.
Me: Right, and Ethan Crane would mess up my job.
Heidi: Well . . . maybe not.
Me: And anyway, he's kind of goofy. The cicada guy is nerdy has dark hair and all the guys I've ever liked have had dark hair.
Heidi: Huh. I just realized something.
Me: What?
Heidi: I've never dated a guy with dark hair.
Me: Weird. But that just proves my theory that we'll never fight over the same guy.
Heidi: Well, I dated a guy with dark hair once.
Me: Oh yeah?
Heidi: But he cheated on me so I figured all guys with dark hair are cheaters.
Me: Well, shit, now you tell me.

Although, I have dark hair. Does that mean I'm a cheater? It hasn't so far, but maybe it only applies if you have a penis. Probably we should rethink this theory and not drink a bottle of wine beforehand.

Then? Then I introduced Heidi to lol cats and we spent the next 20 minutes laughing hysterically and saying things like "i luvs dis cher" over and over until we were laughing so hard neither of us could speak. I mean, tell me you're not jealous of our super exciting lives.

Then? Then I went to bed and had the WEIRDEST dreams I have ever had in my life, including but not limited to going swimming in the ocean and being scared that I was going to be attacked by a new kind of sea-bear that was quickly becoming known as THE MOST DANGEROUS BEAR IN ALL THE LAND and, oh this one is the best, teaching Zach Braff how to ride a bike without training wheels. He was wearing a helmet. It was pink and it had flowers on it. I wish I could say we made out or something, but no. I just taught him how to ride a bike. Not very well, I might add, because he fell down SO MANY TIMES because I wasn't strong enough to hold him up on the bike but OH MY GOD Zach Braff is like . . . A FOOT taller than me and I think it's unrealistic to think I could EVER hold him up on a bike WHILE running alongside it because I AM JUST A WEAK LITTLE GIRL LEAVE ME ALONE.

I just want to lie on the beach and eat hot dogs. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

Remember a couple of weeks ago when I was complaining about having to sit in training all day? I know it's difficult to remember everything I complain about, but try and keep up, would you? Anyway, there were several employees from some of our satellite offices who came in so we could tell them how to do stuff (I can't tell you what stuff, because it's very secret and important . . . OK, no it's not, but it IS very boring so really I'm doing you a favor) and today they sent us a basket full of Cheryl & Company cookies, which is why I have a Blondie Bar sitting in my desk drawer right now because I told myself that if I was good, I can eat it this afternoon. I don't know why. I like to make myself live by arbitrary rules sometimes. Whatever, it gives me something to do.

It's funny how a delivery of food can change the entire atmosphere of the office. I'm not immune. Here I was, sitting in a Thursday slump at my desk, when my boss waltzes in with a basket full of cookies! Cookies! Cookies make everything better. I bet they cure all sorts of diseases (except diabetes), only doctors don't want us to know that because then we'd stop going to see them and if I've learned anything from Grey's Anatomy, it is that doctors are lonely, sad, whiny creatures who only want to be loved. Sometimes they want to be loved in storage closets, sometimes in the on-call room, SOMETIMES even in the stairwells or the elevator. Don't judge.

Last night, I got in bed with a book, set it aside, and turned on the TV, but I had some time to kill since Futurama hadn't started yet. LUCKILY, the US Open was on. Guess who was playing. Guess. Go on. I'll wait. OK, that's enough waiting. It was Andy Roddick. And Roger Federer. So hot right now. I don't know much (anything) about tennis, except that Federer is fun to say and I really like the sound the ball makes when they hit it. Heidi and I bought tennis rackets in an effort to learn how to play, but it turns out tennis is sort of hard so we gave up. Maybe we'll try again since the weather will soon not make me want to die every time I go outside.

I don't know why, but I have been having really weird, vivid dreams lately. Last night, I actually woke up as I was in the middle of one and while I was waking up, I flung the comforter off of the bed. No big deal, right, but the comforter had felt heavier than normal and that's because Phoebe had been lying on top of it and I accidentally threw her off of the bed with the comforter. I'd feel bad, but she bit me pretty hard last night and ALL I WAS TRYING TO DO was pet her. She really is pure evil.

Oh, you guys. I went running again last night. By myself. In the dark. Wearing my mp3 player. Heh. Not my smartest move, for a couple reasons. One, my legs hurt so much today that every time I walk down stairs, I have to stop myself from going, "ow . . . ow . . . ow," and so on. Two, I probably would have been pretty easy to kidnap last night on account of the sore legs and also I wasn't running very fast oh, and also, I had The Fratellis blasting at full volume in my ears. I promise to stop talking about running once it gets easier and I'm not sore all the time. Until then, at least it gives me something to complain about and I do love complaining ever so much (see above).

She's a maniac maniac on the floor, and she's dancing like she's never danced before

So apparently my last post was lame. Because I'm just some sort of dancing monkey here to amuse you all! I don't have feelings! Ooh, look at Jennie! Let's all point and laugh and throw quarters at her! STOP THROWING QUARTERS AT ME! Throw dollars, they don't hurt as much.

Um. Yeah, I don't know. I just spent waaaay too much time on here, trying to figure out exactly how far we ran last night and planning out new running routes. Call me a nerd, I don't care, but that thing is AWESOME. It even tells you how many calories you burned! Which is nice, because the only thing keeping me from running outside instead of at the gym on the treadmill was the fact that I wouldn't know how far I ran and I wouldn't know how many calories I burned, because I don't take tests anymore so I need to have something to use to berate myself when I fail miserably. For instance:

What the hell, Jennie?! You only burned 200 calories? PICK UP THE PACE NEXT TIME, YOU GODDAMN SLACKER!

is what it sounds like in my head sometimes. There's a tiny drill sergeant in there. No joke. Also, what he really said was way worse, I totally cleaned it up for you guys. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Now I am very very happy that I can run outside, even though I have to wait until after 8 so it's not as hot (because I'm a big, wussy baby), but it IS darker which does increase the chances of getting ass raped on a dark corner, but let's just think glass-half-full shit* OK? OK. I'm pretty excited about running but I have to ask . . . when does this "runner's high" kick in? Also, I'm afraid to get hooked on running because it's not like I'm going to run outside in February when the ground is covered in a thick layer of snow and ice and I can't run on a treadmill. Don't look at me like that I CAN'T. I feel like I'm going to fall off. I can't even walk on a treadmill without holding onto the handles. I don't know why you're doubting me. Have we met? My name is Jennie and I fall down a lot.

*stolen from here . . . sigh

Now you wouldn't believe me if I told you, but I could run like the wind blows.

Heidi and I went running last night instead of going to the gym. My legs are sore today. They felt all rubbery and Gumby-like last night. I'm not sure which I prefer.

I thought I had more to say about that, but I don't.

Wow, good story, Jennie.

I'm feeling a little off, Internets. September is sucking hardcore so far, but I guess it could be worse. It can ALWAYS be worse. Wake me up when it's over. Anyway. Happy Wednesday!

Heh.

Deep Thoughts . . . by Hugo Dodd

More spam knowledge.

To: Me
From: Hugo Dodd
Subject: 4 Jennifer

Where grief is fresh, any attempt to divert it only irritates.

Calamity is virtue's opportunity.

Flowers are as common in the country as people are in London.

Law and justice are not always the same. When they aren't, destroying the law may be the first step toward changing it.

Talking is the disease of age.

What is all our histories, but God showing himself, shaking and trampling on everything that he has not planted.

The best way to navigate through life is to give up all of our controls.

A single bad habit will mar an otherwise faultless character, as an ink-drop soileth the pure white page.

What you do is more important than how much you make, and how you feel about it is more important than what you do.

Nothing so much prevents our being natural as the desire to seem so.

Age does not depend upon years, but upon temperament and health. Some men are born old, and some never grow up.

A jury too often has at least one member more ready to hang the panel than to hang the traitor.

Yes, I do touch. I believe that everyone needs that…

P.S. LOL you HAVE to see this video!

you had to know that I was fond of you, fond of Y-O-U

I've noticed that I've been posting more than usual (sometimes TWICE A DAY . . . I KNOW!) and I think I know why. My deadline is on Tuesday. And I procrastinate. Meaning I have a bunch of articles to write so I've been spending even more time than usual in front of the computer. So. Basically that means if I'm not asleep I'm in front of the computer.

I've been trying to curb my procrastination tendencies by setting mini-deadlines for myself every day, so I'm not writing 20 articles on Monday night. For instance, last night I said I had to write five articles and I DID but then it turned out that I was home alone and didn't know what to do with myself. So I watched Garden State and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I love both of these movies SO SO MUCH, but they both depress the hell out of me so I don't know what possessed me to watch them one right after the other. Not smart. At all. Then again, I never claimed to be that smart so there. Those movies both make me think of things I'd rather not think about. I do a lot to distract myself from real, honest-to-god thinking, what with the gym and the part-time job and the volunteering and the mindless hours spent surfing the Internets, so when I do something that causes me to have a feeling (yuck), I spend the next couple of days trying to talk myself out of it, all "you don't feel that way . . . cut it out . . . don't be stupid . . . seriously, just stop or if you're not going to stop, at least go to the gym instead of lying in a woe-is-me fashion all over your bed." True story. I have no clue what I'm talking about but what else is new?

Right, so, I'm posting a lot because I'm in front of the computer and eventually I run out of things to read on the Internets so instead I have to write on the Internets to procrastinate. It's science. It's funny (no, it's not), but I allowed myself to skip the gym today because the logical side of my brain was all "oh, if you skip the gym, that's another hour you can spend writing," but what the logical side of my brain doesn't know is that it's not in charge.