she's a maniac, maniac, on the floor

Heidi and I went running a little bit ago, because the weather has gotten a teeny bit nicer and we're trying this new thing where we don't sit like useless blobs on the sofa when the sun is shining. However. When we left for our run, it was overcast and windy and just a little bit cold. But then! As we hopscotched over goose poop on the sidewalk, the clouds parted and the sun came out and was all, "hey, bitches, how you been?" The sun is not very polite, you see.

So, we ran. We ran so far away. We just ran. We ran both night and day. Jennie, stop. Anyway. We got to a point and stopped to walk and that's when we almost passed out from heat exhaustion. Heidi had a t-shirt underneath her long-sleeved shirt, so she simply took off her long-sleeved shirt. And wrapped it around her neck like a cape, I might add. But I thought I was a goner, because I was wearing my long-sleeved shirt UNDER my t-shirt. I figured I'd have to leave it on, unless I wanted to take both shirts off and flash the entire neighborhood and I really didn't want to do that. But then I remembered Flashdance and thought maybe, just maybe, I could pull the bra trick with my long-sleeved t-shirt and like two years later, I did it! Wow. That story was lame. Sorry.

I have more impressive news. Today is March 31st, which means I have posted random crap for all of you to read EVERY DAY for THREE STRAIGHT MONTHS. And if you don't think that's some sort of accomplishment, then I don't want to know you anymore.

toe pick!

So ABC Family has been running the shit out of all The Cutting Edge movies, so this weekend I watched the first one.

Confession: I did not watch The Cutting Edge on ABC Family, I popped it in the VCR (yeah, that's right) after I watched We Are Marshall and bawled my way through an entire box of tissues. WTF, movie, why do you want me to kill myself?

Anyway, so I don't know how I always forget how absolutely TERRIBLE this movie is, maybe because, I don't know, it's one of the most amazingly awful movies ever made that is ALSO one of my favorite movies, like, EVER. I don't know how old I was when I first saw it, but considering I own it on VHS, I couldn't have been that old. I'm not ashamed to tell you that I've seen it so many times I can recite most of the lines along with the movie, because I feel that's a talent and my parents told me never to be ashamed of my talents, useless as they may be. This movie is awesome, is what I'm saying.

But I have to call shenanigans on something. No, it's not the fact that Doug (Dooglas) Dorsey is a phenomenal figure skater even though, previously, he was a hockey player. And it's not that Kate and Dooglas win the Olympics with this super crazy (possibly illegal?) move that we never really even get to see and then they make out on the middle of the ice and everyone is all, "aww, that's nice, gold medals all around!" No. It's that scene after they find out they're going to the Olympics. And they go to that bar? You know? And Kate Mosley doesn't drink, oh no, not even a drop of champagne on New Years Eve, so of course, on this night, Dooglas starts her off with . . . tequila. TEQUILA. IS HE CRAZY?! I mean, he has to know she's going to be bombed off her ass after, at most, two shots and then she does like a billion of them. It's true. I counted. Plus, she only weighs 90 pounds and she's NEVER HAD A DRINK BEFORE. I consider my liver pretty seasoned and I still know that if I have only ONE shot of tequila, the night is most definitely going from pretty low key straight into one of those stories I will tell over and over and over and they all begin, "so this one night I was drinking tequila and . . ." Because inevitably I either end up tying balloon animals to firecrackers or locked in a closet while everyone else is asleep. True story and, oh, TRUE STORY.

As a child, when I watched this movie, I knew the shots of whatever they were doing = slutty behavior and big, black sunglasses the next morning. But I didn't know why. Hell, I used to lick salt off my wrist and shoot Sprite or whatever just to amuse my sister. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. Now that I think about it, maybe I can trace my love of alcohol back to that movie. Ah, The Cutting Edge. It's the gift that keeps on giving.

I have officially run out of things to talk about

My high school lunchroom, like most, had a condiment bar. It was right next to the cash registers, so after everyone stood in line to pay, they could THEN stand in line to squirt some mustard on their hot dog or whatever the hell the lunchroom was serving that day. I don't know. Most days I got french fries or . . . french fries.

The interesting thing about my high school's condiment station was the apparatus used to dispense the various condiments. It was this big shelf thing with what can only be described as udders hanging off of it. You squeezed the udders to make the condiment come out. I wish I could show you a real picture, but I can't, because according to my cousins who are now in high school (how the hell did that happen, btw?), they've gotten rid of the udder contraption. Which is unfortunate, because they're being deprived of something special. There's nothing quite like that feeling of inappropriateness that comes with squeezing a giant condiment udder. Especially the mayonnaise one.

Anyway, while I do not have a real picture, here is a drawing I made of what I remember it looking like. Stephanie, I believe you can back me up on this, yes?

the world has turned and left me here

When I woke up this morning, my old friend Figment was sitting on the sofa. He was chomping on a bowl of Cheerios (bowl and all) and holding this picture:



I walked back into my bedroom, pinched myself to make sure it hurt, and went back to the living room. Figment was still there.

"Jennie," he said. "This picture you drew of me hardly does me justice."

"Sorry, I'm not much of an artist," I said.

"And I read your blog. Well, some of it. Then I got bored and went to TWoP," he confessed.

"Awesome."

"When did you start spelling your name with an "ie" at the end?" he asked.

"Fourth grade?"

"Why?"

"Because there were fifteen other Jennys in my class and I wanted to be different," I answered.

"Fifteen, huh? I see you haven't stopped exaggerating," he placed his cereal bowl (the half that was left) on the ottoman, where it leaked milk all over the fabric. I started to object, but then I remembered that time Phoebe threw up on the ottoman and decided milk couldn't really hurt it.

"So, Figment," I began. "Whatcha doing here?"

"Well, Jenny," I don't know how he managed to pronounce my name with a Y, but he did it. "I've got the old Rocketship (duh) outside and wondered if you wanted to go somewhere."

"But I have to go to work," I said.

"Why?"

"For . . . money."

"Why?"

"Um. For stuff?"

"Stuff? Where we're going we don't need stuff," he exclaimed, jumping up and knocking the ottoman, along with the half-bowl, over. Great, I thought. Now there's milk all over the carpet. Then I remembered that time Phoebe threw up on the carpet and decided milk couldn't really hurt it.

"OK," I said. "Let me call into work and we can go."

"Great. We'll just have to pack some stuff first," he said.

"But you said we wouldn't need stuff!"

"That was just for dramatic effect," he said, waving his hand at me. He lumbered to my room, pulled out a suitcase, and started throwing my clothes inside.

"Can you at least fold that?" I asked.

"Geez, when did you get so uptight?"

"Bite me," I said. "Where are we going anyway?"

"Um, it's a Rocketship (duh). We're going to space. The final frontier."

"Still a Star Trek fan, I see."

"Well, it's really the only show I can get in my Dragon Lair," he said.

"I see. If we're going to space, don't forget my ET shirt."

"Already packed," he said and slammed the suitcase closed. "Let's go."

"Can I pee first?" I asked.

"No time," he said.

"But--"

"Calm down, there's a bathroom on the Rocketship. Duh."

pssssst!

I'm over here.

and then I found five dollars

Once upon a time there was a girl named Jennie. She procrastinated and procrastinated until she had to write a bajillion articles by FRIDAY MORNING. Also, she got sick and her other job tried to kill her. It was the LONGEST. WEEK. EVER.

And when it's all over, Jennie is going to celebrate with either a bottle of wine or a bottle of Nyquil, she hasn't which decided yet.

THE END

this sucks

I live a relatively quiet life in the suburbs, so you can imagine my surprise when I walked into the kitchen one night to find a vampire raiding my refrigerator. He was digging through the freezer, pulling out all the meat, and sticking it in the microwave. The problem was, he hadn't taken the plastic off, and I'm assuming the popping noise that had brought me to the kitchen in the first place was the plastic exploding and melting all over my new Kenmore Elite.

I cleared my throat and the pasty gentleman turned to face me.

"Oh," he said. "Hello, there."

"What do you think you're doing?" I asked.

"Me? Oh, um . . . I'm a ghost . . . OOOOOOOOO AAHHHHHHHH OOOOOOOOOOH AAAHHHHH!"

"Stop."

"Sorry," he said, plopped a sirloin back in the freezer, and slammed it shut.

"Can you turn that off, please?" I requested, pointing to the microwave. He opened the microwave door, releasing the acrid smell of burning plastic, and sat down at the kitchen table. I took the chair across from him.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Sherman."

"Sherman?"

"Sherman."

"What kind of name for a vampire is Sherman?" I scoffed.

"Vampire? Who's a vampire?" he widened his eyes.

"Please."

"OK, yes, I'm a vampire," he said. "But I didn't bite anyone, did I? I just helped myself to a little snack."

"This isn't a grocery store," I answered.

"Clearly! The meat selection left a lot to be desired."

"Funny."

"Thanks," he said. "Well, I'd better be going now." He got up to leave, but I walked to the door and stood in his way.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to repay me," I said. "For both the food and the microwave."

"Look . . . "

"Alan."

"Alan. I am a creature of the night. I don't have any money," he said. He reached past me and grabbed the doorknob.

"Well," I said, pushing his hand away. "What do you have? A nice watch? Jewels?"

"Look at me," he gestured to his faded jacket and the patches in his pants. "Do I look like I have jewels?"

"I'm going to have to come with you, then," I said.

"What?"

"I'm coming with you. We'll get you a job or something and then you can pay me back," I said.

"You're crazy. You can't follow a CREATURE OF THE NIGHT," he shouted.

"Keep your voice down. I'm coming with you." I opened the door and stepped outside.

"Fine," he said and followed me to my car. "But I don't think you're going to enjoy this."

"Finally, something we can agree on."

never eat slimy worms

"Did you just eat that worm?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, why?" said Danny, around a mouthful of earthworm.

"Um. No reason."

"Mmm." Danny rubbed his belly. Bobby tried to ignore his own rumbling stomach.

"What's it taste like?" Bobby asked.

"Like a regular old gummy worm. Duh." Danny picked up another worm from the sidewalk, put it in his mouth, and slurped it up like a noodle.

"Let me try one!" Bobby grabbed a worm out of Danny's hand and shoved it in his mouth. He regretted it almost immediately.

"Ha! I can't believe you just did that," Danny laughed. "That was too easy."

" . . . erp," said Bobby.

"Wanna go home for dinner?" asked Danny.

"Yeah," Bobby answered weakly. "What's mom making?"

"Spaghetti."

Happy Easter

On a completely unrelated note (although . . . not really), the other night I was channel-surfing and when I flipped past The God Channel (official name), I noticed something odd. Some movie about Jesus was on, which is not, in fact, odd on The God Channel. I mean, if it had been a movie called Porn and Why It's Awesome: Let Us Show You It, I would have been all, "hey, wait a minute," but no. It was a movie about Jesus. BUT. Jesus was being played by Desmond. Desmond the time-traveling Scotsman from Lost. And the weird thing is, he didn't look any different playing Jesus.

Thus endeth the Easter lesson of the day.

I've had a breakthrough

Heidi and I just watched Ocean's 13 and at some point, this FBI dude comes into the picture and when he did I realized that he was George Sr.'s surrogate from Arrested Development. But I made myself keep quiet because Heidi doesn't even watch that show, so why would I think she'd care that George Sr.'s surrogate was in the movie? I knew she wouldn't care, I just wanted to spread knowledge. No. That's not true. I wanted to be a know-it-all. I'll admit it.

But I didn't say it! Not even once the movie was over! Well, until now. I guess it doesn't mean much, but, you know . . . baby steps.

today (so far) in email

1. Sharks and

My mom sent me a forward this morning about this family that went on vacation in Australia. The mom, dad, and son all go scuba diving and right as the son is taking a picture of his loving parents, he FREAKS OUT and swims as fast as his little body can carry him back to the boat. His parents follow him because they're all, "wtf, why is our kid such a crybaby loser?" and he's like, "whatever, parents, there was a giant shark behind you!" And they don't believe him (because kids = liars) but when they get the pictures developed they see THIS:



And my mom called me a party pooper just because I looked it up on Snopes and told her it wasn't true. I said, "WHATEVER, if you want to go around believing false information, go ahead, but it feels much better to be right." And then she told me I was starting to sound like my dad and to be careful. Meh.

2. Eggs and

Around 8:30 this morning, a company-wide e-mail went out. It said something to the effect of: Hey, suckers. There are a dozen Easter eggs hidden around the building. Whoever is willing to degrade themselves by running around like a 5-year-old wins $20 if they find an egg.

And since, of course, I will degrade myself for a lot less than $20, I immediately jumped up and ran out of my office. I wasn't the only one, though. Everyone else poured out of their offices and for every step closer they got to an egg, they shed about 2 - 5 years (math). Luckily, I found an egg by the water cooler as soon as I walked into the hallway, but other people were reduced to sprinting down the hall and stairs just to win their $20. Yay! I am $20 richer. Also, I got to keep the egg so . . . SCORE, I guess.

3. Books (oh my!)

Last night, I finished the book I was (re)reading. Because I am bossy and like to tell people which books to read, I emailed Heidi and was all, "I finished this really good book I think you'd like, so you should read it. It's called The Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing (it's not about hunting or fishing.)"

I know I read this book years ago, but I'd forgotten most of it. Actually, I think what I did was banish it to the deepest recesses of my brain, because the whole time I was reading it, I kept thinking, "this girl is me, oh dear god." I don't really enjoy that kind of self-awareness.

And when I read this, which someone says (sort of) to the main character: Making jokes is your way of saying "Do you love me?" and when someone laughs you think they've said yes.

I had to put the book down for a minute because WHOA never in my life has a book known me so well.

just for the record . . .

I can no longer listen to this song:



without thinking of this piece of awesome:



True story.

And I know that sounds cliché, and I know saying it sounds cliché sounds cliché. Maybe I’m being cliché, I don’t care.

I took this writing class in high school and our teacher once gave us the assignment to write a cliché paper. Which is exactly what it sounds like. A story with a bunch of clichés in it. I collected clichés for days, carrying my journal with me everywhere in case I thought of one. I mentioned this paper to Abigail back when she wrote about how much she hates clichés and then! I went home and found it. And so, since I have nothing else to write about, here is my high school cliché paper, creatively titled . . . Cliché Paper. Keep in mind that I wrote this in high school. Which explains why it sucks so hard. But seriously? If you don't read this, you're going to have to go back to doing some actual work and nobody wants that.

It was a dark and stormy night. A young couple stumbled away from their broken-down car. They strained to get through the rain and mud toward a dark house looming behind the fog settling over the soft ground.

"I'm scared stiff, Jim," the girl whispered, looking like death warmed over.

"I know we're in a pickle, Jane, but you know what I always say. Every cloud has a silver lining and when the writing's on the wall, we'll be fit as a fiddle."

Jim and Jane peeked in a dusty window. Jim grasped the rusty doorknob with a clammy hand. The door slid open with a loud creak that resounded through the windy night. Jim and Jane entered the house in the blink of an eye. The dark and dank of the house quickly enveloped their tired bodies.

"Help me!" a voice cried.

Jane turned as white as a sheet and said, "maybe we should just let sleeping dogs lie."

"Looks like the lights are off but someone's home," Jim quipped.

"What's wrong?" Jane shouted. "And please try to make a long story short here."

"I'm hanging on by a thread here. I think about to kick the bucket. To tell you the truth, I may have already bought the farm," the voice screamed.

Jim decided to go with the flow and answered, "you can shout until the cows come home but we won't be able to find you!"

"Help! I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. I've really painted myself into a corner. This is straight from the horse's mouth, you know, we're like fish in a barrel here."

Jim decided he'd had enough shooting the breeze, so he quit while he was ahead.

"You really put your foot in your mouth this time," Jane said. Jim kept Jane at arm's length as they bit the bullet and went to explore the house, but it was the blind leading the blind.

"I think we jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire," Jane whispered.

"You're preaching to the choir. This is just small potatoes compared to what could happen and no pain, no gain, you know. Even so, we may want to walk on eggshells or that . . . voice will surely hit the ceiling. I can read him like an open book." Jim obviously had a mind like a steel trap.

"This is a real headache, but I'm sure we'll soon be as snug as bugs in a rug. I'm sorry if I was crying like a baby. I'll try not to rock the boat again," Jane apologized.

"Look! There's a car out there by that lake!" Jim shouted.

"Wow! You're as smart as a whip, Jim!"

"I guess every dog has his day."

"You were dead right. Now let's blow this Popsicle stand," Jane said.

They ran out the back door toward the car. Out of the blue, someone came plummeting off the balcony and plunged into the cold lake.

"Is he dead?" Jane asked.

"I won't beat around the bush. He's as dead as a doornail. He must have been crazy as a loon."

"He must have had some chip on his shoulder. Why is he still floating there?" Jane asked.

"I guess there's a moral to this story," Jim said.

"What? Patience is a virtue? What goes around comes around? No use barking up the wrong tree? Two people breaking into your house is no reason to jump off the balcony?" Jane suggested.

"Nope," said Jim. "You can lead a corpse to water but you can't make it sink."

"You're one sick puppy, Jim."

"I guess we just don't see eye to eye, Jane."

THE END.

Why is your family ROSS?

Well, I always thought that archaeologists were always funny looking men going around looking for their mommies.

Happy St. Patrick's Day, Internets. Is the Internets Irish? Probably. Everyone is Irish today. LIARS. I mean, whatever, say what you want to say, that's fine. What do I care? Despite my pale skin and dark hair and light eyes and freckles GALORE, as far as I know I have no Irish blood whatsoever. Unless someone's not telling me something. Mom? Dad?

Anyway. This weekend I may or may not have watched all three Indiana Jones movies. But, see, I had to. Because I watched Once and it ripped my heart out. And then set it on fire. And then hit it with a sledgehammer until the ashes were all smashed into the ground. It did not feel good. After that happened, I clearly needed to watch something that would not make me want to jump out the window. Which is why I watched Indiana Jones, because that doesn't make me want to jump out the window. Unless, of course, I'm imitating his high-flying antics. See how that works?

Here is my problem with Indiana Jones: oh, right, I don't have one. I do, however, have a problem with some of the women in the films. OK, really, just the one woman. How annoying is Kate Capshaw in Temple of Doom? I mean, that's obviously the worst of the Indiana Jones movies, and most of it is her fault. WOW. It's always pissed me off that she poured perfume on her elephant. Lady. It's an elephant. They don't smell like roses. Also, elephants are awesome. If you don't like elephants, there's something seriously wrong with you. I think you might be a serial killer. Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but maybe you should just turn yourself in now. Just go to the police station and say, "I hate elephants." They'll know what to do. ANYWAY, she sort of vindicates herself at the end by punching some people in the face, but she's still annoying. And I know Indiana Jones is a bit of a man whore, but seriously? I worry about his judgement that he hooks up with the chick who almost gets him (and Data) killed because she was afraid of some bugs. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know they were big SCAAAARY bugs, but suck it up! When people are about to get squished, you fondle all the bugs you have to in order to save them. It's common courtesy.

You guys, I'm telling you, when she runs, she looks like a cross between Kermit The Frog and The Six Million Dollar Man.

I think I need to master the Phoebe Buffay method of running, because it looks like a hell of a lot more fun than the way I run now:

blake's got a new face

Dear Internets,

You would not believe how productive I've been today. Especially since I've only been awake for less than three hours. I mean, sure, I sat around and drank coffee for a while BUT THEN I paid bills and renewed my license plates (what a fucking rip off) and did some laundry and listened to the Vampire Weekend album THREE TIMES (thank you, Kat!).

I figured before I showered or started working on How to Knit a Bunny (siiiiigh), I'd better tell you all about how productive I've been, because if the Internets doesn't care, WHO DOES? Good question, I have no idea.

Last night, Heidi and I went to a hockey game. See:



That's what hockey looks like. And since Monday is St. Patrick's Day, they were serving green beer. Until they ran out. Jerks. At some point during the second period, Heidi and I both realized we had no knowledge about The Hockey whatsoever.

Heidi: Oh, they're taking another intermission.
Me: Zamboni!
Heidi: How many periods are there?
Me: I don't know. Three?
Heidi: Oh.
Me: That doesn't seem right, though, cause it's an uneven number.
Heidi: Is it over now?
Me: I don't know. Maybe there are four periods? But then the game will be on forever.
Heidi: Hmm.

Anyway, I have more productive things to do now, so I'd better go. That To Do list isn't going to do itself. Heh. I wish it would, though. While I was making it, I wrote stuff down that I knew I wouldn't get to today and WHAT FOR? What's the point of making a To Do list if you don't get to cross everything off IMMEDIATELY?

it's true now, because you've read it on the Internets

Contrary to popular belief, hot dogs and beer are actually very good for you.

LOST! (this is full of spoilers, READER BEWARE)

OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS! Ahem. Oh my god, you guys! Lost . . . I just . . . I have no words.

OK, just kidding, I have all sorts of words. Lost blew my mind twice last night (slut) and THEN made me sob and sob like a little baby who lost its mom at the mall and also someone stole its cookie. And it was a giant, soft chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven. You know, when the chips are still all melty? So you KNOW that baby is upset. And so was I. Truth.

As soon as "Johnson" (was that his name?) started walking toward Sayid, Desmond,* and the weirdo doctor with the CRAZY EYES, in my head, I was all, "Oh my god . . . is that Michael? No way. I know they said he was coming back, but . . . no. No way. OH MY GOD, IT'S MICHAEL." Because, you guys! IT WAS MICHAEL! And in my head (again), I was like, "Michael," you know like how GOB says it? Like that. That's how I said it. In my head. OK, out loud.

Sidebar: I apologize to those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about. I mean, with that last paragraph alone, I've not only alienated those who don't watch Lost, but also those who don't watch Arrested Development. Although . . . if you don't watch Arrested Development, what the hell is wrong with you? /sidebar

Anyway. Can you guys believe Michael is Ben's "man on the boat?" I did not see that coming. Granted, I stopped trying to figure out what was going on on Lost a looooooong time ago, because the show is a lot more fun to watch if you just give up and think of it as pure (awesome) entertainment. I mean, the beginning of the episode was kind of ho-hum, business as usual. I was watching it in bed, all slumped against the pillows with my eyes half open. But when Michael walked into the light, I sat straight up in bed and was all, "HOLY SHIT," and then I looked around for someone to share my disbelief, but there wasn't anyone in my bedroom besides Phoebe and my own reflection in the mirror, and so I gave my reflection an air-five. It was awesome. And by awesome, I mean lame.

OK, AND THEN? There was a double whammy flashforward/flashback. WELL DONE, LOST. Seriously, kudos. And THAT is where your kudos ends, because SERIOUSLY? YOU'RE KILLING JIN? REALLY? Even as I watched Sun putting on a black dress and jewelry and she and Hurley walked into a cemetery, I was like, "no . . . they wouldn't kill Jin, NOOOOOOOOOO!" but they did. And I cried A LOT. And then I was like, "Jennie, calm down, these aren't real people," and then my reflection jumped out of the mirror and smacked me in the head. True story.

(lies)

*heh

the kids don't stand a chance

I'm blaming it on all the sandwich talk on The Collective this week, but last night I drove half an hour out of my way to get a Panther Paw from this little deli by my old office. I mean, really it's just a ham sandwich on a croissant but YOU GUYS, it is SO GOOD. And they give you a free pickle there. Any place that gives you a free pickle with your sandwich is fine by me. Actually, I think you should get a free pickle everywhere, but that's just me.

After I devoured my Panther Paw (and pickle), I was really bored because Heidi wasn't home and I'd finished the Arrested Development disc I was watching and was too lazy to switch it to the next one. So I thought, "hey! I shall go to Target!" Because we were almost out of toilet paper and one of my absolute worst fears is running out of toilet paper. If you run out, WHAT DO YOU DO? You can't just not wipe, that's disgusting. Wow, shut up, Jennie.

Also, Phoebe was almost out of cat food. For some reason, she eats every day. I'm not sure what's wrong with her. I'll check with the vet.

I think I was at Target for 12 years. I sent the following texts while there:

Kid in Target is singing Barney. I can kick?

Mom just told her kid to shut up. Ha!

Mmm, Easter candy.

It really was annoying child day at Target, though. Although, is there any other kind of child? Ha! ZING! I'm kidding. I don't find all children annoying, just the annoying ones.

Anyway, where was I? OH. Target. While I was there, I decided to buy some cheap organizy office supplies so I could organize my desk at home. See, at work, my desk is super organized and I know where everything is and if someone moves something I stab them in the neck. But at home? All bets are off. There's all manner of crap stacked ALL OVER THE DAMN PLACE and I think the reason I never want to sit down and write is because it's such an unpleasant environment. You know, because a stack of paper might fall on me and cut me and that's dangerous because what if those tiny paper cuts get infected? Huh? How am I supposed to explain that one to the doctor?

BUT. I bought file organizers and paper trays and a pencil cup and now my desk at home resembles my desk at work instead of an office supply explosion site. Which I'm pretty sure doesn't exist. At least not anymore. You know, on account of I CLEANED MY DESK. Although, I give it a week before it looks like a disaster area again. And that's being generous.

it puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again

This morning on the way to work, I was all pissed off because it was cold and my car was taking forever to warm up and then, just as I pulled into the parking lot at work, I remembered that last night I had turned the blowy temperature thingie (technical term) to blow cool air because I was wearing both my heavy coat AND a sweater and I was hot and I didn't feel right opening the windows because there was snow on the ground. It all made sense yesterday, I swear. So. That's why it was cold. It reminded me of this game my friend Amy told me her brother used to play. When it was really cold outside, he'd lock all the car doors and turn on the AC and say, "let's play Antarctica!" I think he played a similar game in the summer, except he used the heat and it was called "Sahara Desert." I find this to be one of the greatest stories anyone has ever told me. I wish I had come up with it, but I didn't. I could have told you I did, but that would be lying and lying is wrong.

So I was in sort of a bad mood, on account of I was freezing and I knew it was because of my own stupidity, but after a while I decided to not be in a bad mood anymore. It worked, too, because I'm very good at bossing myself to do stuff and also I was listening to The Shins, which has the inexplicable ability to make me smile. It's weird that The Shins Effect can be so different for everyone. Because I'm pretty sure The Shins make Heidi want to punch me in the face. Heh.

I have a confession to make, Internets. You know how they show The Office reruns on TBS on Tuesdays? Well, even though I have seen every episode at least (at least!) five times and I own every season on DVD, I still watch them. And sometimes TiVo records them and I watch them again. I have a problem. But it's OK, I've learned to live with it.

oh, I fell over! oh, I fell over AGAIN!

When it rains, this giant puddle forms right in front of our steps. Heidi and I call it Lake That's What She Said but I can't really remember why. It's pretty deep and long and always gets everyone wet and OK, now I remember why we named it Lake That's What She Said, so never mind.

This morning, as a result of all the melting snow, Lake That's What She Said was deeper than normal. I was also afraid it was frozen, so I tiptoed around it. Once I'd passed the treacherous lake, I assumed I was OK and started walking normally, but you know how they say when you assume it makes an ass out of you and me? Well, sometimes it makes you fall flat on your ass. Because, see, you assumed the wet sidewalk was just wet, but really it was icier than . . . an ice skating rink. For real. I fell down and hurt my butt and also scraped my hand on some ice or something in the snow pile I fell into, and now I have a bruise on my butt and a cut on my hand. You'd think I'd be used to falling down since I do it so often, but you'd be wrong. I got to work and wanted everyone to know that WAAAAAAAH I fell down and HURT MYSELF! FEEL SORRY FOR ME OR YOU WILL PAY!

It's quite possible that I fell over because I was still thinking about the dream I had last night. It was so scary. See, I was at this grocery store and so many people were there and I soon found out it was because there were zombies! Outside! The store! And so I ran to the produce aisle (the fuck?) because . . . I was going to trick the zombies into thinking the heads of lettuce were brains? I don't know. What I DO know is, I was soon trapped in a grocery store (HELL) with all of these people I didn't know, and also Katherine Heigl. Eventually, I got up to go to the bathroom and even in my dream, I knew I wasn't going because I had to pee or anything, but because all the people in the store were bugging the crap out of me with their, "oh no, zombies might eat my brains!" as if they were the only ones worried about their brains being eaten. Even in times of zombie-crisis, people are still self-centered assholes. So, anyway, while I was in the bathroom, this really tall, fat lady with short red hair was in there with me and she was all, "I'm about to turn into a zombie!" and I said, "oh HELL to the NO," and ran out of the bathroom! But she chased me! And then she tackled me and started trying to bite me and I was like, "What the hell is wrong with you? You haven't even turned into a zombie yet, why are you biting me?" but then she DID turn into a zombie and everyone else was just standing around staring at me until finally I yelled, "HEY FUCKERS, HOW ABOUT YOU GET THIS HUGE ZOMBIE OFF OF ME!" so they did. And they threw her outside.

It was at this time that I decided I'd had enough of the grocery store and its annoying inhabitants, so I gathered a posse of people who apparently didn't annoy me and we devised a plan to run to my car and get the hell out of Zombie Town. Said plan consisted of . . . going out the front door and running to my car. BUT, once we got outside, as is so often the case, I couldn't remember where I'd parked. FINALLY, we found my car, but there wasn't enough room for Katherine Heigl so she got eaten by zombies. I wasn't too upset, though, because it was just Katherine Heigl. Cristina Yang I would have been upset about, but Izzie Stevens? Please. Even if there had been room in my car, I probably would have pushed her out anyway.

girl, I must warn you

I have had a version of the following conversation with no fewer than four coworkers:

Me: Hi, how are you?

CW: Fine, you?

Me: Fine. Did you have a good weekend?

CW: Not really, with being snowed in and all. How was yours?

Me: Oh, great! I went to Springfield on Saturday.

CW: . . .

Me: Don't worry, we took my friend's SUV.

CW: . . .

Me: I wouldn't have gone, but it was important.

CW: . . .

Me: I had to get to a bachelorette party.

CW: You're crazy. How were the roads?

Me: Oh, they were terrible!

CW: Yeah?

Me: Awful, and the visibility was not good.

CW: Well, I'm glad you're alive.

Me: Me too.

I don't always make smart decisions, that doesn't necessarily make them BAD decisions. I'd travel a lot farther than Springfield in a KILLER BLIZZARD for something that's that important to one of my best friends. Even though there were far fewer of us than there were supposed to be, those of us that could make it (including Heidi, once we rescued her in Nancy's aunt's monster truck Sequoia) made absolutely sure Nancy had the best time she possibly could, given the circumstances. And INDEED a good time was had by all. We even ventured out of the house Saturday night and a good thing, too, because we were ready to be as obnoxious as possible. And obnoxious we were, even ending up at our old college bar and commandeering the dance floor. Seeing as how there were maybe 20 people in the entire bar, the DJ was graciously accepting requests, which is how Heidi and I ended up on the dance floor, all by ourselves, doing the running man to Bel Biv Devoe. I think Turk would be proud.

my snow. let me show you it.

the shiny guy always worries

HAPPY SATURDAY! I will now show you a video that is awesome. I forget who told me about it, but whoever it was, thank you. If I'm ever forced to have a baby, I hope it turns out like this kid:

BLIZZARD! And not the good kind that you can eat. You know, from Dairy Queen? Those are delicious.

Right now? We're supposed to be on our way to Lake Erie. Then this happened. Which is why I am sitting here in my pajamas praying to the sweet baby Jesus that Mary makes it here from Chicago in one piece.

Not to worry, though. The roads should be better by the time Mary reaches Dayton and anyway, she's Mary. She's kind of a big deal. Snow will just melt as she drives by and it will be awesome.

Another location has been chosen for tomorrow, easier for all to reach safely, and while the setting may have changed, the guests remain the same. And really, isn't that all that matters? The bridal shower and bachelorette party MUST GO ON. Especially the bachelorette party. Because we've got like three dozen penis cookies that aren't going to eat themselves.

I have the most boring job in the office, so . . . why wouldn’t I have the most boring job on beach day?

Work gave me a panic attack on Monday, and while it's calmed down since then, it's still sort of making me want to choke a bitch. And so this weekend couldn't have come at a better time than, you know, now. At the end of the week. Weird how that works.

Anyway, Heidi and I will soon begin the long journey up to Lake Erie (providing Mother Nature doesn't cover all of Ohio in a foot of snow) for a weekend of bridal shower and bachelorette party MADNESS. Things will probably get out of hand and thank goodness for that because when things are in hand, they are so boring.

Last night, in preparation of today's journey, Heidi and I slaved away in the kitchen on these:



The one at the very top? The big round one on the right? That is a butt. We didn't realize that covering it in chocolate icing would make it look like it had poo all over it until after it TOO LATE. Oops.

Your dentist’s name is Crentist?

Yesterday, Heidi went to the dentist for the first time. Not the first time ever, because . . . gross. But for the first time with this dentist. This particular dentist is also my dentist and he has known me since I was but a wee, little girl with wee, little teeth. He is the best dentist ever in the history of the world. Anyway, I emailed Heidi IMMEDIATELY to see how it went, because . . . work is boring? Yes, it is. And now! Conversations with my Roommate! Email edition!

Me: How was the dentist?

Heidi: The dentist was magical . . . you are a legend there. They all thought you were sweet and nice?!?! Wow, you have them fooled! I have to go back to have my jaw checked out. It clicks and pops when I chew so I have to have something made for my mouth.

Me: I am sweet and nice! Maybe your jaw wouldn’t click and pop if you’d stop with all the BJs.

Heidi: Haha, but I just can't stop!

Me: I understand. That's how I feel about crack.

Anyway, so I'm pretty sure I proved Heidi's point.

everybody here, comes from somewhere

So you guys know how I wanna quit the gym, right? Well, technically I have quit, but my membership goes through the end of this month so I decided to stop throwing money down the toilet and actually, I don't know, GO TO THE GYM. And on the way there, I had the radio on and OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS, the radio started playing the Ghostbusters song and I was so excited. Probably more excited than is normal. But whatever.

So, I'm singing along because . . . well, I'm pretty sure that if you were born in the 70s or 80s, that song is ingrained into your DNA and therefore you can't help but sing because if you try not to sing your DNA will explode. SCIENCED! But I think this might have been the first time I actually listened to the lyrics and did you know that at the end of the song, he says, "Lemme tell ya something, Bustin' makes me feel good!" Does that not strike anyone else as slightly inappropriate? Who let that one slip through, huh?

Once I recovered from the Bustin'Gate, I went into the gym and got on an elliptical in the Cardio Cinema and was immediately PISSED OFF. One, because it was sofa king hot in there that I almost died for real no joke. Two, the movie they were playing had the subtitles on, but the movie was in English, so basically that meant that the jackoffs who work there were too lazy to turn them off. And three, I couldn't figure out what the movie was. I know this doesn't seem like a big deal, but I pride myself on being able to guess a movie within a couple of minutes. Even if I've never seen it before. Sometimes I can guess the movie before the credits start rolling. I KNOW. That is how good I am. But this movie had Alec Baldwin and Sarah Michelle Gellar in it and I quickly ran all the Sarah Michelle Gellar movies I knew through my head and none of them had Alec Baldwin in them. IMDB, to the rescue! Holy shit, apparently it was some movie called Suburban Girl and now I am ashamed because one of the movie's writers is Melissa Bank. Oh GOD.

In other news, if I could, I would listen to REM's new song (supernatural superserious supercalifragilisticespialadocious) over and over so I'm betting Heidi is really glad I don't have the means to listen to it over and over, unless I resort to taping it off the radio when they play it. Did you guys ever do that? I did. All the time. Wow, good story.

I hope you know that this will go down on your permanent record

I almost forgot that today is election day. Even though Heidi and I talked about it JUST LAST NIGHT. Which just goes to show you how stressed out I've been because of work, life, etc. And by life and etc, I mean work. I still can't believe I almost forgot. It's a good thing I brought my lunch today, because now I have to vote on my lunch break and the whole driving to the polling place and voting process will take more than an hour. Probably. And I can't NOT eat lunch. Heavens, no. I can't vote after work because today I have to go warp the minds of small children. The place I volunteer is also a polling place, so I wish they'd just let me vote there because I'll be there ANYWAY, but NOOOOOOOOOOO apparently there's something about precincts and blah blah why won't anyone let me do things my way? Why? Heh.

I've told you guys how much I love voting, right? Well, I do. I love it so much. I'm sure the novelty will wear off eventually, but I sort of hope not. This is only my second presidential election. Oh wait, it's my third. I guess I always forget about the first one because it was such a clusterfuck that I'd like to forget it forever.

You know what else I'd like to forget forever? This post, because it sucks.

karma karma karma karma karma chameleon

Work was starting to get to me again but you know what? It's lunchtime and I decided that everyone could just wait until after 1 to start pissing me off some more. Because I've realized that this is just a job and I shouldn't be worrying about it 24 hours a day because it doesn't worry about ME 24 hours a day. No sir. Or ma'am. Oops, sorry for just calling you all "ma'am." I hate that. I feel as though 25 is too young an age to be ma'amed, but it still happens sometimes. What is the appropriate age to start ma'aming women? When I was little, I thought that you had to be married to be called "ma'am," which is still OK with me because that means I won't be ma'amed for a long time.

I thought about going outside and frolicking around in the warm weather (it's 60, you guys . . . I almost wore shorts and a tank top to work), but I was afraid that once I got out there, I'd never want to come back inside. And they'd be all, "where's Jennie?" and then someone would look out the window to find me rolling around in the grass or running through the sprinkler or something. And that would be difficult to explain to my boss. Although, maybe they'd give me time off to work on my mental problems and I could use that time for more important things, like reading and sleeping and watching TV and if you'll excuse me, I think I need to go outside now.

big! buck! hunter!

Last night was a reenactment of so many college nights, full of flat beer and Kings and Irish Poker and approximately 800 games of Asshole, and so this morning we all woke up ready for greasy food, and lots of it. So we went off in search of pancakes and ended up at a small, country diner. And although none of us ended up getting pancakes, something magical did happen. For as we sat and ate our food, the clouds parted, the heavens sang, and the peasants rejoiced, because what should be gracing the corner of this fine establishment but Big Buck Hunter, begging to be played. And play we did, once we rustled up some quarters (and finished our food, of course) and although Heidi beat the crap out of me (and killed Bambi's mom three times), it was all worth it, because what better way to end a weekend than this:

Ten minutes to Wapner. We're definitely locked in this box with no TV.

Hi. I'm pretty tired today, on account of all the stuff I did last night. For example, I:

• raced a cow
• went ice skating
• rode on a shopping cart
• threw bunnies off a cliff
• played baseball with bunnies
• was in a band
• knocked half of Paris over with the power of my burp
• shot ducks, balloons, alien spaceships and Heidi's face
• played ping pong
• played pool
• went fishing
• milked a pig and milked it faster than anyone milked a cow

Oh, right, all of this was on Wii. Of course. I would never throw bunnies or milk a pig or go fishing in real life. Isn't it nice that you don't even have to leave the house anymore to do all these things? We went around the world last night with this weirdo cracked-out bunny game and I didn't even have to put on my shoes.

I've done nothing of consequence all day. Of course, I've only been up for an hour, but I've filled that hour with coffee and honey nut cheerios and Spongebob. So far, this is like the best Saturday ever. I hope everyone else's Saturday is as Spongeboby as mine.