It's close to midnight and something evil's lurking in the dark

Did you know today is Halloween? Well, it is. I realize how you could get confused. I mean, I already celebrated it over the weekend. And for some reason Beggars Night was last night instead of tonight. Heidi informs me that it's because some people go to church on Wednesdays. Well, let's see here. Do you think the people who don't want to miss church on Wednesdays are the same people who are going to be trick-or-treating?

Last night, I mooched dinner off my parents and helped them pass out candy to all the tiny children. It was funny, because they took the windows out of the screen door so it was all open and every time kids would come up to the door, Ripley (the dog) would poke her head out and stick her nose into their buckets. Some of the kids were like, "eh, whatever, a dog GIMME CANDY," but other kids were all, "OH UNHOLY BEAST! REMOVE THY NOSE FROM MY PILE OF CANDY OR I SHALL CRY AND FALL DOWN AND MAYBE POO A LITTLE IN MY PANTS."

We were allowed to dress up today at work, and yesterday I came up with a BRILLIANT idea for a costume. I was going to wear my devil horns and tail and carry around my pitchfork and write "PRADA" on a shirt. Get it? GET IT? The Devil Wears Prada? Only, by the time we got home last night, after passing out candy and going to the gym, I didn't feel like getting it all together. So INSTEAD I am wearing Heidi's Peyton Manning jersey (she offered me her Bengals jersey, but if my dad found out I was wearing a Bengals jersey, he'd disown me) and jeans. See, it's better because we don't have casual Fridays so we're never allowed to wear jeans and so this is my way of rebelling. DAMN THE MAN.

BONUS: Conversation with my roommate . . .

Heidi: Here's my jersey.
Me: Thanks!
Heidi: No problem.
Me: Heidi?
Heidi: Yes?
Me: Peyton Manning is the quarterback, right?
Heidi: Sigh. Yes.

So apparently I agreed to do this thing where I post something to my blog every day in November. Why I agreed to do this, I have no idea. Maybe I was drunk. Anyway, I need to come up with a plan so I'm not posting crap like this every day. So I don't know why I'm wasting all this time talking to YOU people. That is all.

I don't know what I'm up against, I don't know what it's all about, I've got so much to think about HEEEEEYYYYYY

Scary movies watched over the weekend: Stir of Echoes, parts of The Exorcist, part of Halloween, part of Children of the Corn, and Dawn of the Dead, but I fell asleep before it ended.

Can you believe I fell asleep during a ZOMBIE movie? Me neither. Normally, I'm cowered under a blanket or behind a pillow, but I was crazy tired. Which is like the most tired of all the tireds you can be. It's true. I read it in a science book. Ha! Like I read science books.

The reason I was so tired was because we had walked around the Oregon District's Hauntfest for a couple of hours. And it was freezing and we drank some beer and that didn't really help with the freezing because we didn't drink enough of the beer and there was so much going on that I think I got overstimulated on account of all the people in funny costumes and the movies playing on the street and the bands and the circus performers swinging on ropes or something and that is why I was so tired.

Heidi and I spent a pretty long time in Goodwill on Friday night searching for our Three's Company costumes (we found terrycloth clothing YOU GUYS IT WAS SO AWESOME), and yet once we got downtown I felt like I hadn't even dressed up. Oh well. We all still looked pretty good. See:

Come and knock on our door, INDEED.

Anyway, once we got home, we drank beer and played Mario Kart (Super Nintendo version OH SNAP) but it didn't take long for Heidi and I to get tired of Steve kicking our asses so we quit. Seriously, it was embarrasing. I suck at video games and it makes my thumbs hurt to play because I press too hard and I swing the controller all around like THAT'S gonna help. Sigh. Anyway, then we watched Dawn of the Dead and all fell asleep and now the story has come full circle so you'd think I'd quit talking now but you'd be wrong.

On Sunday, Heidi and I made pumpkins. Well, we bought pumpkins and massacred them. See:

And we ended up with this:

Mine is the one on the left. I like it because it reminds me of the snowmen that Calvin (of & Hobbes) would make and slaughter in various ways. Do you think Hobbes was gay? Oh never mind, didn't he have a crush on Susie Derkins? Or do you think he only had a crush on Susie Derkins because Calvin secretly loved her? And don't tell me Calvin didn't secretly love her, because why else would he have started G.R.O.S.S. (Get Rid Of Slimy girlS)? DENIAL. THAT'S WHY. Yeah, I definitely should have quit talking before now.

I'm running out of Shins lyrics

Oh, blog. I wish I could quit you.

You're a bitch, I'm a seven.

This morning was the first morning all week that I have not been awakened to the sound of two cats chasing each other around the apartment, yowling and hissing. The past couple days, Phoebe and Bo have started fighting about an hour and a half before my alarm goes off. You know, so it's enough time that I wake up and then can't really fall back to sleep for long enough to matter. I'm not sure you can call what they do fighting, though. Because they don't bite or claw each other (neither has front claws anyway), they just chase each other around and give each other dirty looks and make ugly noises. OK, this is mostly on Phoebe's part because she is a heinous bitch cat from hell. She's just mean. FOR NO RAISIN! Bo just wants to be loved. And loved hard. Seriously. You can pet this cat SO HARD and he loves it. It's weird. He likes it rough, what can I say?

If they're not fighting, then Bo is making this horrible strangled-baby noise at like 3 AM. Why? It's the worst noise I have ever heard in my life. I hope he doesn't do it while Heidi and I are at work, otherwise our neighbors are going to call the police and tell them we've been leaving our baby home alone all day. Which is nonsense. I leave the baby in my car in the parking lot at work all day. Don't worry, I leave the trunk open a little so it gets some fresh air. I just called my baby "it." I keep doing that. The other day, this lady brought her baby in and I was telling Heidi about it and I was all, "There was this baby . . . it was cute, guess, but when I saw it I was like, what's it doing here?" and then she asked why I was calling the baby an It. I DON'T KNOW. It was a boy baby. I don't know its name, though.

What I'm trying to say is, I've been tired pretty much all week. You'd think I'd just get up the first time they wake me up, but instead I lie in bed WIDE AWAKE waiting for my alarm to go off. And then I hit snooze a couple of times. Here is a timeline:

5:18 - Cats fight on bed. Pull the covers over head to protect face.
5:45 - Phoebe takes massive dump and digs around in her litter box for like ten minutes.
6:27 - The strangled baby noises start again. They will haunt me forever.
6:30 - Heidi's alarm goes off. Church bells. Can hear them through two doors and a wall.
6:45 - My alarm goes off. Hit snooze.
6:52 - Alarm goes off again. Hit snooze.
6:59 - Alarm goes off again. Begrudgingly get out of bed.
7:00 - Brush teeth. Multi-task by feeding cat and checking email (what?) while brushing teeth. Get toothpaste all over shirt.
7:03 - Shower. Space out and forget whether I conditioned hair.
7:14 - Stand in my closet in my towel trying to figure out what to wear. Pull out first appropriate clothes I see.
7:20 - Apply lotion, deodorant, etc. Dry hair.
7:33 - Plug in hair straightener. Put on make up. Straighten hair.
7:40 - Get dressed.
7:43 - Search room frantically for shoes.
7:44 - Search room frantically for glasses.
7:45 - Grab breakfast from kitchen.
7:46 - Leave apartment.

Fascinating, yes? I'm not sure why I did that. Filler, I guess. Aaaaanyway.

Yesterday, I came home from work and saw that the sliding shelf thingie on my desk that holds my keyboard had magically fallen on the floor, knocking the keyboard and mouse and speakers and modem and router all over the place. I don't know how the hell they managed to dislodge this drawer and make such a mess, but kudos to them! I wasn't mad. I was more impressed that they'd managed to do it. They don't even have opposable thumbs. Maybe they were all strung out on whatever pills were lying around the apartment. Although, I don't know what Heidi has lying around her room, but the only pills I have in mine are birth control and ibuprofen. Also, Ecstasy.

That's a lie. I'm sorry. I don't know why I do that. I guess I just want you guys to like me and pills = love, right? That's what my parents always told me.

No, they didn't. That's a lie. I'm sorry. OK, time to stop talking.

oh baby pleeeeeeeeease . . . give a little respect . . . toooo-ooooo MEEEEEEE

The other night, I decided to Tim Gunn my closet. Tim Gunn is like Stacy and Clinton put together, only nicer and way gayer. I wish Tim Gunn was my uncle so he could tell me what to wear ALL THE TIME. Because I need that much help, people. Left to my own devices, I have one of two uniforms:

1. t-shirt, jeans, flip-flops
2. long-sleeved old navy shirt, jeans, tennis shoes

Uncle Tim would make me wear skirts! And dresses! And fancy underwear! Which, OK, that'd be a little weird. Actually, on his show, Tim Gunn doesn't help pick out the fancy underwear, Veronica does. Because not even Tim Gunn is that gay. Or women's underwear makes him uncomfortable. Or both.

Anyway, so I cleaned out my closet and now have a huge stack of clothes to give to Goodwill. Some of the clothes? I don't know why I was holding onto them. First of all, a lot of them were far too big. Second of all, I found stuff that I never even knew I had. Like this one shirt? It is the ugliest, most heinous shirt I have ever seen IN ALL MY YEARS. I'm pretty sure it was a gift because I would never spend money on something like this. It was saved from Goodwill, though, at least for a couple of days because it might be perfect for my Halloween costume. Thanks, Tim Gunn!

So now I just have to work on collecting Tim Gunn's 10 essentials, WHICH ARE:

1. Basic black dress (check!)
2. Trench coat (no check)
3. Classic dress pants (check!)
4. White shirt (check, but I don't like it and it doesn't look very good on me, so UNCHECK)
5. Jeans (oh, CHECK)
6. Cashmere sweater (are you kidding?)
7. Skirt (eh)
8. Day dress (yeah right)
9. Blazer (check!)
10. Sweat suit alternative (who even still buys sweat suits?)

I think Tim Gunn and I differ a lot on what constitutes a sweat suit alternative. Because a lot of the time these women end up wearing a dress as a sweat suit alternative. Um, what? No. Would you wear a dress to go grocery shopping? Or take out the trash? Or give your dog a bath? I hope not. Otherwise, you've got bigger problems than the fact that you own a SWEAT SUIT.

Okay, Kitty Kat. This feels BORDERLINE inappropriate.

I am catsitting my aunt and uncle's cat again, and before my aunt came over, just in case my cousins were with her, I went through the apartment to make sure there was nothing out that maybe they shouldn't see. I don't know what exactly I was expecting to find, but a lot of my friends had been over the day before and god only knows what they might have written on the fridge. Turns out, the only slightly inappropriate thing on the fridge was this:

and I was the one who put it there. Not sure if you can see it, but it says "Hello, my fellow Americans. I am a douchebag," at the bottom. My cousins may already be familiar with the word "douchebag," but if they're not, I really think their parents should be the ones to tell them.

take me, take me to the riot

It didn't take us long to decide what bar to go to Friday night. We went to BoJangles because we thought there'd be karaoke. There was not, unfortunately, but the DJ was playing fairly good music so we stayed. We got some beer, Steve bought shots (thanks, Steve) and then I made a tower out of shot glasses and an empty pitcher and it fell over and one of the shot glasses broke.

I don't remember who said this: Did you break that shot glass?
Me: Yes.
IDRWST: How?
Me: I was making a tower.
IDRWST: Why?
Me: . . . I dunno.

Then, to get rid of the evidence, I threw the broken shot glass away in the bathroom. I thought this would be the biggest mishap of the evening, but THEN my parents decided to stop by and that's when all hell broke loose.

Hokay. So. If the bouncers hadn't stepped in, this would have been the statement I gave the police, because I'm pretty sure someone would have gotten their ass kicked or thrown in jail:

Slutty Girl who had been dancing like a stripper all night approaches our table. She asks my dad what time it is, but she has her cell phone out.

Mom: Just look at your phone.
Slutty Girl: [indecipherable screeching and yelling at my mom]
Mom: Go away!

Slutty Girl yells more. Mom yells more. I start yelling. Slutty Girl starts waving finger around in Mom's face. Mom gets up. Slutty Girl shoves Mom. I stand up and approach Slutty Girl, put my hand on her chest and push her back.

Me: That's my mom!
Slutty Girl: [more screeching]

Slutty Girl pushes me. Mary gets up. Mary pushes Slutty Girl. Dad grabs my arm and tells me to sit down. I do not.

Slutty Girl to Mary: I'm gonna kick your ass!
Mary: Bring it on, bitch!*

Bouncers break in and push Slutty Girl toward the door. Mary follows. I try and follow Mary, but another bouncer grabs my arm and won't let me.

Me: Let me go, that's my friend.
Bouncer: It's OK, they're kicking that girl out.
Me: . . . I just want to go over there.
Bouncer: No.
Me: But . . .
Bouncer: No.

Bouncers kick Slutty Girl and her (slutty) friend out of the bar. Victory! Later, Slutty Girl and her friend try to come back into the bar and are immediately kicked out again. As she was leaving (again!), she pointed at our table all "I am going to slash your tires or your throat, I'M NOT SURE WHICH YET," and later, as the bar was closing, a bouncer came over and told us that Slutty Girl was waiting outside for us. We had a shot, stood around talking about what a moron she was because THERE WERE SIX OF US and also the bouncers and also some HUGE tall guy we were suddenly friends with. But when we went outside, she was gone. Too bad. We were ready. I mean, Kate had even taken her rings off so Slutty Girl's face wouldn't break them.

So . . . I think that's mostly how it happened. It escalated quickly because THAT BITCH WAS CRAZY. I think I dropped more f-bombs than I've ever dropped, especially in front of my parents. Also, at some point Slutty Girl's friend tried to swing at my mom, but my mom caught her fist and wouldn't let go.

Moral of the story: Do not fuck with my mom. Also? DO NOT ask my dad what time it is.

*this phrase was repeated A LOT over the course of the weekend

your liver pays dearly now for youthful magic moments

I'm sort of OK with work completely sucking the life out of me today, because I get to see some of my favorite people in the world this weekend and if work needs to almost kill me, that's fine. As long as I am still a little alive at the end of the day.

Mary and Janna are driving in from the faraway lands of Chicago and Michigan and once they arrive, I fully expect insanity to start raining from the sky. Or something. They are crazy. Especially Janna. I mean this in a good way. I may not live for the weekend. Or maybe just my liver might not live through the weekend. Although my liver has survived worse. Probably.

Last night, even though Heidi had a traumatic experience with Red Lobster (long story) and I had a belly full of Penn Station, we went running and I seriously wanted to die at the end. The only reason I decided not to die was because we hadn't watched Ugly Betty or The Office yet. Then Henry and Dwight went and broke my shriveled little heart into itty bitty pieces and I wanted to die again.

Speaking of Penn Station (Nice segue, Jennie. Why thank you, Jennie), I told Heidi that we're not allowed to go there for at least a month because last night I went without her and the boy at the cash register asked me where my sidekick was. Another boy there knows both of our names. So. Yeah. It's time to give Penn Station a rest for a while. And now I want to die again. But only a little because I need to be sort of alive for this weekend. And now we have come full circle. DUN DUN DUUUUUN! I don't know.

Discovered by the Germans in 1904, they named it San Diego, which of course in German means a whale's vagina.

I don't know why, but I have been super productive lately. It's like I don't even know who I am anymore. Yesterday, on my lunch break, instead of staring at the Internet for an hour ( which is what I normally do), I wrote an article, balanced my checkbook, and went to the bank, CVS and the gas station. ALL IN AN HOUR. I know you're impressed, don't pretend you're not.

And last night, once I got home from work, I did two TWO! loads of laundry, wrote an article, cleaned my bathroom, changed the shower curtain liner, vacuumed my bedroom and took out the trash. NOW who is impressed?

I feel like I had more to say but now I can't remember what any of it was. Oh well.

Here's something. Every time I'm about to go running, I get Tiffany's "I Think We're Alone Now," stuck in my head because of when she's all, "running just as fast as we can . . . holding onto one another's hands . . . trying to get away, into the night, and then you put your arms around me as we tumble to the ground and then you say . . . I THINK WE'RE ALONE NOW, there doesn't seem to be anyone around." I will have you know I didn't have to look up any of those lyrics. Impressed?

COME ON! What do I have to do to impress you people? Jerks.

So you want to hear how I almost pantsed myself in the apartment complex parking lot? Too bad. Well, I have this pair of gym shorts that I wear all the time. I don't know why I still wear them because they are far, far too big. They barely stay up. But they're so comfortable. So I went outside to take the trash out and I had to put the trash down so I could lock the door behind me. Here is why I had to lock the door: the dumpster is behind our building so I can't see our door the entire time, and I'm always paranoid that if I leave it unlocked, some miscreant (not a zombie, though, because they are not smart enough to think of these kinds of shenanigans) is going to run into our apartment and hide somewhere (like UNDER MY BED!) until I come back in and then he'll ATTACK ME WHEN I'M LEAST EXPECTING IT. You can tell me this is completely irrational, and you wouldn't be wrong, but Heidi thinks the same thing so at least I'm not alone in my irrationality. So. Anyway. As I put the trash down so I could lock the door, some pokey thing sticking out of the trash bag got snagged on my shorts and pulled them down. Not all the way. Just like one butt cheek. Also I was wearing underwear. And it was dark outside on account of all the nighttime in the air.

I bet you're at impressed now. Sure, maybe you're only impressed with how stupid I am, but I'll take it.

4 - Tim

Tim was my driving instructor. At our first lesson, we were approaching a red light and I asked if I should stop. True story. After I passed my driving test (first time, dammit), my mom told me that Tim had told my parents he thought I'd have to take the test a couple of times before I passed. Guess I proved that asshole wrong.

part of the 365 project

i luvs the internets

http://the816.com/the_office/

3 - Dee

Dee babysat me until I was in kindergarten. She was an older lady with dark hair. She always made me drink cranberry juice, even though I hated it. One time she yelled at me for coloring outside the lines in one of her granddaughter's coloring books. I don't think she liked me very much. I still hate cranberry juice.

part of the 365 project

I'm not so good with the advice. Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment?

Whenever someone is stupid enough to ask for my advice or, and this is the more likely scenario, I offer it unsolicited, I usually follow it up with, "but what the hell do I know?" because seriously?

WHAT THE HELL DO I KNOW*?

*enough to know I don't know much

just give the old dark side a try

I am not proud of this, but for the past three nights I've been in bed before 10 PM. Around 9:30, I give up on doing anything productive, put on my pajamas, crawl under the covers with a book and am asleep within the hour. Not restful sleep. Sleep full of dreams so vivid that I wake up wondering where I am, having been ripped away from somewhere else entirely, somewhere I'd rather stay, to be honest.

On Monday, I half-heartedly declared it WORST. DAY. EVER. Week, but my heart's not in it. Not even half my heart. Too many not-worst things have happened; good news from the doctor, secret projects, friends making plans to come visit. It's not a shitty week, really. It's just blah enough to make me wish it was over.

2 - Claire

I was in Indian Princesses with my dad when I was a kid and we'd go on two campouts a year. One year, our cabin was nestled farther back in the woods than all the others and in the dark you could barely see it, even if the porch light was on. My friend Claire and I got up one night to steal toilet paper from the bathroom (to TP other cabins later, you see) and when we were done, we couldn't find our cabin. The light wasn't on because someone (I think Claire's dad, actually) was sleeping on the porch. We split up, I found the cabin and went inside. A couple of minutes later, I heard Claire outside shout-whispering, "Jennie? JENNIE? DAAAAAAAD?" I think she eventually found her way in. Who knows, though? Maybe she's still be out there, wandering around the woods with an armful of toilet paper.

part of the 365 project

1 - David C.

When I was in 5th grade, George Bush (senior) was running for reelection and he came to Dayton. A bunch of classes from our school went to see him and we had to stand outside for hours before he showed up. Either the bathrooms were closed or none of the chaperons wanted to take anyone to use them. For whatever reason, we weren't allowed to go to the bathroom. This kid David started complaining that he had to pee. One of the teachers tried to get him to pee in this plastic garbage bag (the fuck?) but instead he peed his pants. The next day at recess, I made fun of him for it and he punched me in the face. You'd think that would have taught me a lesson, but he was wearing these giant, padded gloves so it didn't really hurt.

part of the 365 project

Please take the chairs away. I don't like them. The big one is staring at me and that short one is being very droll.

How is it Monday again? Wasn't it just Monday last week at this time? Why does this keep happening? WHY?

It was a good weekend, although I did absolutely nothing productive. On Friday, Heidi and I watched Knocked Up and a bunch of episodes of Ugly Betty and got drunk off of four beers. WTF? I'm ashamed of myself.

We were all good on Saturday and went to the library and then we decided that since it was such a nice day we shouldn't waste it because it's Ohio and soon the weather will be so shitty that I will want to cry, cry, cry all day long. True story. So we went to the Nature Reserve and accidentally ended up hiking 3 miles.

Later that night, Steve came over and we all went to this bar. I think it might be a good one. We've only been twice but it's been fun both times. Let's break it down, shall we?

PROS:

$4 pitchers of beer
good food
lots of tables
buffalo head on wall

CONS:

only one Oasis song on the jukebox (Lyla)

I think the $4 pitchers win. Somehow we ended up polishing off a good four of them and also a Washington Apple. We also poured some money into the jukebox, took a cab home ($6!!!), and lit something on fire and threw it into the pond. What? It was for HEIDI!!! I think she found it very cathartic. Am I right, Heidi? Then we called Heidi's brother and told him we were lost in Kalamazoo. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? (I totally stole that from someone).

Also, at this bar, when I was coming back from the bathroom some guy told me I was hot. I was really flattered until I realized he was the same guy who had been shouting so loudly along to Say it Ain't So* that I could HEAR HIM IN THE BATHROOM. Seriously, it sounded like he was in the stall next to me. Still, it was flattering, even though he was clearly so shitfaced that he thought it would be a good idea to ruin a Weezer song for the entire bar.

All I managed to do yesterday was watch more Ugly Betty and mooch dinner off of my parents. So . . . yeah. Good times.

*I have absolutely no idea if that is a link to the right video because I can't watch Youtube right now because Big Brother is watching.

I'm feeling very Debbie Downer-y today.

I've decided to do this 365 thing, where you make a list of 365 people who have affected your life in some way and you write a set number of words about them. You're supposed to say that you'll write like . . . 50 words per person but if I put that kind of restriction on myself, I will quit ASAP so I'm going to write however many damn words per person I want. SO THERE! I figured since I don't have anything else to write about, I might as well do this. Wah wah waaaah. Aaanyway, I haven't finished my list yet because I'm not sure I know the names of 365 people, but I'm going to start writing them later. Why not? It's not like I'll finish this project anyway.

WAH WAH WAAAAAAAAAH!

OK, I'll stop.

I know this is weird because we work together, and because up until and possibly including now, I’ve repulsed you, but I like you.

You guys want to hear something really crazy? I mean, it's really, really, REALLY crazy.

Last night. Heidi and I went to Target. And I bought . . . NOTHING. Not one thing. Not even more $1 spot crap. I mean, sure, at one point I was holding both a DVD (Sense & Sensibility . . . $5.50!) and a CD (Iron & Wine . . . $9.99!) but I guilted myself into putting them down. Because it doesn't matter how incredibly cheap they both were, I DON'T NEED THEM. Whatever. That's $15.49 more I have to spend in DC, right? Right. Bah. Being responsible sucks hardcore.

So earlier this week it was like 90 degrees. I am not exaggerating. Monday was effing hot. So hot, that after my doctor's appointment I went to the library to get some movies (because they're free there) and I sat on the sofa all day watching them. Because it was 600 degrees in our apartment. No joke. I checked the thermostat and that's what it said.

Clearly, since it was 90 degrees on Monday, it makes perfect sense that on Wednesday it was only like 55. I mean, that makes total sense, right? I came home from work and all of our windows were still open and our apartment was FREEZING. OK, the thermostat said it was like 62 degrees, but it felt freezing. Why is it that 62 degrees feels so good when you're outside but when you're inside it makes you feel like your toes are going to fall off? Anyway, so it's fall now. Awesome. I'm glad it's no longer so hot outside that after I finish getting ready in the morning, I need another shower, but why the drastic change? We had one day where it was beautiful and sunny and 70 degrees. ONE DAY. Although, since this is Ohio, I suppose I should be glad we got even one day. Oh my god, I have been talking about the weather for a looooong time now. Stop. Seriously.

Did you know they make Halloween cards now? They do. Why? Because card companies are greedy. Also? Suddenly everyone has those giant inflatable pumpkin decorations in their lawn. Heidi and I saw about a million of them last night when we went running. True story.

Remember how last Halloween I fucked around so long with deciding what costume I wanted that I ended up having to go as a slutty devil? WELL NOT THIS YEAR. Because Heidi, Steve and I are going as Three's Company. Not the show itself, but the people. You know what I mean. If you know what we all look like, it makes perfect sense. PERFECT. Try not to get too excited. I know we are MIND-BLOWINGLY AWESOME but don't worry, one day you can be mind-blowingly awesome, too.

sing out loud, sing out strong

Back in June, when Erica and were driving to Chicago, she commented that she never really sees people singing in their cars. I thought, "Surely she is mistaken! People always sing in cars!" but then I started paying attention to the other cars around me. This is probably something I should have already been doing while driving, but better late than never, right? Right.

Anyway, so here is what I learned:

1. People really don't like it when you stare at them
2. They are (most of the time) not singing

I don't understand this. I am ALWAYS singing in my car. I don't see the point of having a radio/CD player in your car if it's not there to help you sing. I cannot tell you how many times I've humiliated myself by belting out Journey or Kelly Clarkson or Boyz II Men (oh yes) and then realized my windows were all open and people were staring. But it happens a lot.

Who ARE you people who don't sing in the car? You are completely missing out on that feeling you get when you're driving down the road on a warm, sunny day, and the windows are all down and the wind is blowing through your hair and the perfect song comes on the radio and you think, "this is it . . . if my life were a movie, this song would be on the soundtrack." How can you not sing along?

I told you it was a real movie

Do movies I make up in my head have trailers*? I don't think so.

Also, the trailer doesn't say anything about the paintbrush thing. But you can watch the entire movie on Google video if you're really, really bored.

*sometimes, but only I can see them

I'm hellaciously upset, Marc

So you guys know how I talk a lot of nonsense, right? Well, I talk a lot of nonsense. True story. Why, just this morning Heidi asked me if I fell and hit my head because I was talking CRAZY. I really wasn't, though, I was just quoting The Office HOW IS THAT CRAZY I'D LIKE TO KNOW.

Anyway, when we were at the Renaissance Festival the other weekend, we were walking around looking for a bathroom or something and this was after I'd had a couple of beers but before I'd had anything to eat, so I start rambling on and on about some movie I watched when I was a kid and I believe it went a little something like this:

Did you guys ever see that movie where the kid goes bald? And he makes this concoction out of peanut butter and all this other crap and rubs it on his head? But he uses too much of something and it makes his hair grow crazy fast? OK, and then? Since his hair is growing so fast, some evil dude kidnaps him so they can use his crazy fast growing hair to make magic paintbrushes. But then he might have gone bald again. I'm not sure why he was bald, but I think at one point he tried to superglue a wig to his head. Why are you guys looking at me like that? Didn't you ever watch that movie?

They so did not believe that this was a real movie, but thanks to the power of Google, I can tell you that IT IS a real movie and it's called The Peanut Butter Solution . And now I really want to see it. And I also want a peanut butter sandwich.

WARNING: hooha talk ahead

things you don't want to hear from your lady doctor PART 1:

"We saw something abnormal on your test and need you to come in for a biopsy," is what I heard about a month ago. I made my biopsy appointment, freaked out for a couple of days and then forgot about it until Friday, when I started freaking out again. My appointment was yesterday, which means I spent part of my precious day off with my legs up in stirrups while my doctor poked around my lady parts.

things you don't want to hear from your lady doctor PART 2:

"Basically this will be like a 20 minute pap smear."

Oh, that's it? That sounds like so much fun! I love pap smears! Um. 20 minutes? 20 minutes?!? I could watch an episode of The Daily Show in that amount of time! I just wish they'd told me beforehand. I would have taken a book to read.

things you don't want to hear from your lady doctor PART 3:

Dr: Crap.
Me: Um . . . everything OK down there?
Dr: Fine. You just won't stop bleeding.
Me: Oh god.

Actually, the whole procedure wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be. Except for when they told me it was actually THREE biopsies and not just one. I like how they didn't tell me until after I was already in the exam room and had taken my pants off. It's hard to run away if all you're wearing over your bottom half is a thin, white, paper sheet. Trust me, I tried.

I'll have an appletini, light on the tini*

Hi. I'm back from Cleveland. No more weddings this year, unless someone (Heidi?) has something planned I don't know about.

It was pretty much one of the best weddings ever. For several reasons. Which I will list. In list format. With numbers. For your perusal. OK.

1. Dinner = Steak, shrimp, green beans, roasted potatoes. OH MY GOD YOU GUYS IT WAS SO GOOD. I don't think I've ever finished a meal at a wedding before but I totally ate everything on my plate, except for the flower even though Heidi told me it was edible.
2. There was so much dancing. Which I'm not usually a big fan of, but I'd had enough to drink, I'd swapped my high heels for flip flops, and Leah's now-husband Paul is a DJ. He's also a rocket scientist. Now. I'm not sure how good of a rocket scientist he is, but if he is as good a rocket scientist as he is a DJ then we will be landing on the moon any day now. What's that? We've already landed on the moon, you say? Then we shall be LIVING on the moon any day now. True story. It's science. I'll prove it to you. Only not right now because I'm very tired.
3. Did I mention the drinks? Leah and Paul picked a drink special (appletinis), which were basically just vodka. Fine with me. My theory is they ran out of . . . whatever else they put in appletinis to make them apple-y so they just used vodka and a tiny bit of green food coloring. Also, after dinner they served cordials? Which were like . . . Kahlua type drinks or something? I really have no idea, but they were really good. Paul and Leah live in Huntsville now so I thought maybe it was a Southern thing? Cordials? A little help?
4. BEST OF ALL. There was a COOKIE BAR. And they were so good. And they had take home boxes so you could . . . um, take cookies home. Someone told me that's a Northern Ohio thing to do and since Paul is from Buffalo and Leah is from Cleveland, I am giving all the credit to Leah.

Oh and also? There was no bouquet toss or chicken dancing so I didn't have to hide in the bathroom at all. Also, I was pretty smart for once, because after the reception we were told there would be beer pong in room 414 and I DIDN'T EVEN GO. Instead Heidi and I went back to our room and caught Spoon's second act on SNL (sad face) and gossiped about the wedding. I'm not saying I was completely smart. I managed to remember the gift but I forgot the card, which is why I wrote this note:

Paul and Leah, Happy Wedding! I (Jennie) forgot your card at home so I'll mail it when we get back. Oops! Congrats! Love, Jennie and Heidi

on a piece of Sheraton notepad paper and slipped it in the gift bag. CLASSY.

*nothing was light on the tini last night

"Ay! Dios mio!"

is what I said last night after the previews for next week's Ugly Betty. And then Heidi made fun of me. STORY OF MY LIFE.

So tonight was supposed to be the Spoon concert. Sad face. Can we have a moment of silence?







Thank you. Heidi offered to lip sync and dance along to a Spoon CD so I would feel better about missing the concert, which was very nice of her, but I declined. I mean, to be honest, it certainly wasn't a SMART idea to plan on going to a concert tonight since we have to get up early tomorrow and drive to Cleveland for a wedding. Yes, another one. My friends? They need to stop it with the matrimony. I realize you get a lot of presents but stop being so greedy. Geez. Heh. Presents . . . that's why people get married, right? I can't think of any other reason.

The bride-to-be is my friend Leah from Wittenberg and she's marrying a rocket scientist. For serious. He works for NASA. WITH ROCKETS. He's also a DJ. A rocket scientist DJ. This may be the best wedding ever. I promise to take lots of pictures. I hope there are rockets there.

Well, I didn't get a good look at his face. I'm not made of eyes!

Sometimes it takes me like an hour to send out a five sentence e-mail. BECAUSE I want to make sure that A) none of the words are spelled wrong, B) it all makes as much sense as possible, and C) I have squeezed as much information into as few sentences as possible. I do this because I have the tendency to babble. I'm not sure if you've noticed this. Heh. I have to hold myself back most of the time when I email people because if I don't, I will write and write and write and it will all be about NOTHING. And I doubt that anyone has time to read that. I do the same thing on voicemails. Ask anyone. Usually I just talk until the voicemail lady cuts me off because I can never think of how to end my message.

What was I talking about? Right, babbling. So last night I went running. And I was going to shave my legs because . . . wow, seriously, they were gross, but then I figured that since it was dark outside and no one would be able to see anything, I'd just say "screw it" and go anyway. I suppose I could have worn pants instead of shorts but it was too hot for pants. And did I mention? It was dark? Really dark. So dark that when I was running around the pond I'd hate to know what I looked like because I was trying to dodge the huge piles of goose poop but BECAUSE OF THE DARKNESS I couldn't see the huge piles of goose poop until the very last minute so I was weaving around them like a drunk person who just got spun around in one of those things the astronauts train in. You know the ones I mean. The spinny thing. That like . . . makes their faces smush backwards? You know? Whatever.

So the other day I saw this picture of President Douche and he was wearing Crocs. Hold on, I will try to find it. Here it is. Not only is he wearing the ugliest shoes known to mankind, HE IS WEARING THEM WITH SOCKS. As much as I absolutely hate these shoes (and don't even find them that comfortable . . . and I know this because we tried them on and made fun of them in a shoe store in Nashville), I do find it somewhat comforting that, in addition to pretty much everything else in the world, the President and I also disagree on what shoes are acceptable to WEAR IN PUBLIC WHEN YOU ARE THE LEADER OF THE FREE WORLD. He should not be encouraging people to wear these. Kids look up to him, right? I mean, because he's the President. Not because he's George W. Bush. Even kids know enough not to look up to Dubya. Ha! I kid, I kid. No, I don't.

Do you see what I mean about the babbling?

There are several penises there I’d love Phyllis to run her eyes over.

It's like . . . OK, sometimes I worry that I've run out of things to talk about on my blog. And then I go to lunch and this guy in a truck cuts me off and after I wave my middle finger at him I notice that he has something odd hanging from his truck:


Do you see the red thing? It's kind of small (that's what she said) so I drew a picture of what it is:

He had balls hanging from his truck. BALLS! HANGING BALLS! Also, Ohio license plates are way fugly.

Well, I’m going to start fast. Then I’m going to run fast in the middle. Then I’m going to end fast.

Last Friday, after some fast and furious emailing, Heidi and I decided to run the Turkey Trot. Actually, what happened was, I spent the majority of the afternoon looking up various upcoming races in the Dayton area and then I asked Heidi if she wanted to run the Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving. Once she said yes, I told her the race was at 8 AM. Mwaahaahaa! Seriously, though, it needs to be early in the morning because I need plenty of time the rest of the day to eat mashed potatoes. Also, Turkey Trot is fun to say. Turkey Trot Turkey Trot TURKEY TROT! Although, it kind of sounds like a stomach disease you might get while traveling, if you know what I'm saying and I think you do.

I was telling my parents about the race last night and I don't think my dad believes we're actually going to do it. Not just because I have never run a five mile race before IN MY LIFE, but also because I say I'm going to do a lot of things that I never end up doing (see: play the guitar, write a novel, develop a time machine). But this race costs money so if I don't end up doing it, I'm out $17 and I don't know about you but I'm not in any position to wipe my ass with 17 dollars and throw it in the toilet and flush it away to China or anywhere else, for that matter.

Heidi and I went running last night and I told her that if anyone gets in my way during the Turkey Trot, I'm going to push them over. Or trip them. Or kick them in the babymaker. This was after I grabbed my boobs and jumped up and down to demonstrate how much they DIDN'T EVEN MOVE because I was wearing two sports bras. Apparently SOMEONE needs to work on her race etiquette before Thanksgiving.

greetings, good gentles

You guys know how I'm not very smart, right? (If not, see: rest of blog.) Yesterday, we went to the Renaissance Festival and I forgot to wear sunscreen because CLEARLY it was almost October! Who gets sunburnt in almost-October? This kid, that's who. It's not like I'm medium well or anything, more like rare. Just a little pink. I have no idea what I'm saying.

Anyway, my life is now complete because I have seen a RENAISSANCE FESTIVAL WEDDING. Or at least part of one. OK, really just the end. But whatever, close enough. I hope I didn't ruin their day by trailing along after the wedding party taking pictures of them on their way to the reception hall, but really I don't care. No joke.

You know what else isn't a good idea? Drinking a bunch of beer out in the hot, hot heat. I did have some chicken fingers, curly fries and like one sip of Heidi's water, though. That ALMOST balanced out all the beer. You'd think after walking around in the sun drinking all day, I would have been able to sleep last night, but you'd be wrong. Because my body or my brain or both hate me and want me to wake up at least 87 times a night OR NOT FALL ASLEEP AT ALL. Also? Everyone in the complex has their windows open and last night some stupid baby was crying so loud for like . . . EVER and I swear to the little baby Jesus that at one point I heard its mom yell, "SHUT UP!" and I don't blame her one bit because SERIOUSLY BABY SHUT UP.