super absorbancy!

By some miracle, it is barely 7 o'clock and I am completely packed. Well, almost. All I have left to do is wait for my workout clothes to finish in the dryer. You know, so I can throw them in my suitcase as if I'm going to work out while I'm gone. Yeah. Right.

The only other thing I have to do is eat the rest of my birthday brownies. They might have gone bad by the time I get home on Sunday. Or they might be in Heidi's belly. You just never know.

Why am I posting right now? This is pointless. I have nothing to say. Nothing.

Hmm. Tomorrow I fly! Not really fly, like with a cape or wings or whatnot, but in a plane, which is almost as good. I chose a window seat on purpose and, although I'm bringing five books with me (why, Jennie? WHY?), I predict that I will spend the majority of the flight with my nose pressed against the window.

Do you want to know what books I'm bringing? Not Anna Karenina, even though I'm still not finished with it. But it's just too big. That's what she said. But seriously, it's huge. That's what she said. It's so big that it won't fit in my bag. No matter, instead I've packed my bag with skinny, light books. SUCH AS: Nine Stories, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Don't Get Too Comfortable, Shopgirl, and this book about Jane Austen. I have read all of the books except the one about Jane Austen. Chances are I will shove more books into my carry on before I leave tomorrow. I know I won't finish them all, but I have no idea what I'll be in the mood to read, you know? YOU know. Therefore, it is perfectly acceptable that I will end up taking half my library on the plane tomorrow.

I also packed Spongebob Uno, because you just never know when you might want to play it. Maybe I'll play it with the person sitting next to me. You don't know.

I'm waiting for Heidi to get home so I can eat dinner. Because apparently I'm 5 and can't eat dinner by myself. If she doesn't get home soon, I'm just going to eat birthday brownies for dinner. True story.

tumbly

Work tried so hard to eat me this morning, but I didn't let it. I just kept closing my eyes and picturing myself NOT at work for the rest of the week and, wouldn't you know it? That helped.

In other news, I had an email from Nancy when I got up this morning.

SIDENOTE: I would be so much earlier for work if I would stop checking my email while I'm getting ready in the morning. Instead, I check my email and this leads to surfing the Internets in various stages of undress and it's not so much productive. THE END.

Anyway, Nancy sent me a link to some story about a Miami student falling out of his loft and hurting himself really, really badly. She wasn't trying to bum me out or anything, she was reminding me how lucky I am that when I fell out of my loft junior year, I didn't hurt myself. Not really, anyway. I had some bruises and, yeah, there's a chance I might have hit my head because I still don't remember falling. Or, you know, LANDING. The next morning, I had this conversation with my roommate (not Heidi, though, I lived with Liz then):

Me: Man, my arm hurts so bad! I wonder what I did to it.
Liz: You're kidding, right?
Me: No . . . why?
Liz: You fell out of your loft last night, dumbass.
Me: I did? Nuh-uh.
Liz: You did. I heard a giant crash and when I opened my eyes, you were lying on the floor.
Me: Hahaha!
Liz: Yeah. And when I asked if you were OK, you mumbled something and then ran to the bathroom.
Me: That's crazy.
Liz: I KNOW.

I have this theory that my bones are extra hard (hee) because my body knows I fall down and run into stuff a lot, and it's trying to protect me. It's not a great theory and has no scientific merit whatsoever, but it's a theory nonetheless.

Good talk, Internets. I need to go eat lunch now. My stomach is angry.

when you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way

This morning, I almost walked right into a goose fight. Goose fight! This is an almost everyday occurrence. We live right next to Walden Pond (suck it, Thoreau . . . I'm just kidding, Henry, I love you) and there are geese everywhere. Angry geese. They fight all the time, sort of like they're the geese versions of the Capulets and the Montagues. I almost ran over Tybalt and Benvolio as I was pulling out of the parking lot. Tybalt was chasing Benvolio and trying to bite him on the butt. It was weird. A couple weeks ago, Heidi and I watched the geese fighting for like twenty minutes. OK, it was five minutes, but whatever. While we were watching it, we had the following conversation. Or something like the following conversation. I don't remember, it was two weeks ago and if you think I remember EXACTLY what happened two weeks ago, then you are sorely mistaken.

Me: Heidi! The geese are fighting!
Heidi: I thought I heard them!
Me: Ooh, that one is chasing the other one!
Heidi: They're so angry!
Me: This is just like Romeo & Juliet.
Heidi: OK.
Me: Oh, man, look at that one!
Heidi: He's all, "Get off my property! This side of the pond is MINE!"
Me: And the other one is like, "Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?"
Heidi: Um . . . geese don't have thumbs.
Me: Whatever.

Anyway, later this morning, a duck almost flew right into my windshield. THE BIRDS HAVE GONE CRAZY.

So my birthday has come and gone and I have to say it was a good one. I met my parents and sister for dinner last night and it was delicious. Heidi came, too, because she is their favorite daughter. It's true. They tell me all the time. It's really bad for my self-esteem, but do they stop? No. Anyway, do you want to know what I had for dinner? Too bad. I ordered the chicken piccata JUST BECAUSE it came with mashed potatoes and asparagus. I think I would order a main dish of Poop Flambe if it came with a side of mashed potatoes. We also had wine made by, as my dad pointed out, "Nicholas Cage's uncle." Hee. And I got a free chocolate mousse! And! Even better, the restaurant staff didn't do anything embarrassing like, you know, sing a stupid birthday song. I hate that. It makes my face all blushy and I hate that even more.

After dinner, Heidi and I went shopping, which I normally hate, but I needed some stuff. I only bought necessities, which were: running shoes, a t-shirt with Animal on it. If you don't think that last one is a necessity, then I don't think we can be friends anymore.

Don’t hurt that bat, Creed! It’s a living thing with feelings and a family!

Last night, after a lovely (but spicy) dinner at Chipotle, I came home and decided to write articles for the rest of the evening. Then I looked at my bed and thought, "I should change my sheets." And then changing my sheets led to starting some laundry and that led to putting my pajamas on (I don't know) and THAT led to watching TV with Heidi. I don't know how these things happen, they just do. After TV, I was all, "I'm going to go to my room," and that's when I saw IT. On the wall, right outside my bedroom door. A giant bug that had a million legs. A MILLION.

Now. I'm OK with most bugs. I usually let spiders live if I see one in the apartment (because spiders eat bugs) and if I see any other bugs, I smoosh the crap out of them with a tissue. And then I flush them down the toilet just in case they're zombie bugs and they're going to come back to life. One time, at my old apartment, Phoebe killed a cricket (while I freaked out and cowered on the couch . . . from a cricket . . . not my proudest moment) and I ran it down the garbage disposal.

But, you guys? This bug was monstrous and creepy. Did I mention all the legs? Bugs with millions of legs freak me out. OK, Google tells me that this bug was a common house centipede, but WHATEVER, Google, you didn't see it! Ahem. So, I clutched the wall and stared at the bug and said, "Heidi! COME HERE THERE'S A BUG OH MY GOD," and she was all, "OH MY GOD WHAT IS IT?" and I was like, "I DON'T KNOW I NEED A SHOE GIVE ME A SHOE SO I CAN SMASH IT!" and she was like, "We need a stick! A long stick!" and I was all, "that's what she said!" only not really, really I said, "GET. ME. A. SHOE!" Because I couldn't go in my ROOM to get one of MY shoes because THE BUG WAS RIGHT NEXT TO MY DOOR AND WHAT IF IT ATTACKED ME AS I WALKED BY AHHHHH!

So, Heidi picked up one of her (brand new) running shoes. I said, "Are you sure you don't want me to use an old shoe?" She looked at the shoe and then looked at me and then looked back at the shoe and said, "I'll get an old shoe." She gave me an old ballet flat, when what I really wanted was a giant combat boot. Something with some weight to it, you know? But I took the ballet flat and I crouched next to the bug.

Me: Oh my god.
Heidi: Smash it!
Me: Oh my god oh my god oh my god.
Heidi: Do you want me to do it?
Me: No . . . I'll do it.

And then I SMASHED the shoe into the wall! And missed! And the bug ran behind the hallway mirror!

[cue loud, girlish screaming]

Me: I MISSED!
Heidi: WHERE IS IT? IS IT ON THE SHOE? IT'S ON THE SHOE!
Me: IT'S NOT ON THE SHOE! [looks at shoe in horror] IT'S NOT ON THE SHOE, it's behind the mirror.

So I walked closer to the mirror and waited. And waited. And then it came out! And I smashed it! And I missed again! AND THEN, YOU GUYS, IT RAN INTO MY ROOM!

Heidi: It ran in your room!
Me: I KNOW!
Heidi: GET IT, GET IT!

I went in my room and started stabbing the bug with the toe of the shoe.

Me: DIE, BUG, DIE DIE DIE!
Heidi: Is it dead?
Me: AHHHHHH!!
Heidi: Is it dead?
Me: WHY. WON'T. IT. DIE???
Heidi: Is it dead?
Me: . . .
Heidi: Is it dead?
Me: Yeah.
Heidi: I'll get the vacuum and you can sweep it up.
Me: Good idea.

So the bug is now inside our vacuum. Hopefully it's dead. Otherwise, I'm afraid it'll attack me the next time I empty the vacuum cleaner. I feel a lot closer to Heidi now. Like we've been through battle together. Because that WAS a battle and don't you argue because YOU WEREN'T THERE. You didn't see the evil look on that nefarious bug's face.

(To be continued? DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN!)

and then my heart broke into a thousand pieces

Conversations With My Cousin:

Me: So what do you guys normally do on the weekend?
Josh: Last weekend, I read this book all weekend.
Me: Oh, cool.
Josh: It was for school.
Me: What book was it?
Josh: Fahrenheit 451.
Me: Oh, I love that book!
Josh: I hated it.
Me: Oh, no.
Josh: It was the most boring book I've ever read.
Me: Josh. Stop.
Josh: It was sooooo boring. And we also read Great Expectations.
Me: . . . and?
Josh: It was so boring, too!
Me: Ouch, my heart.
Josh: Don't tell me you LIKED that book.
Me: Josh. Do me a favor. In ten years, I want you to go back and reread these books.
Josh: . . .
Me: Please.
Josh: Whatever.

articles written today: ZERO!

Internets, this is Mocha:



She is a dog (sort of) and belongs primarily to my aunt. While I've been here, she's spent the majority of her time playing with her balls (heh) and licking my feet. Licking. My. Feet. Gross. I really, really wish she would stop.

She's starting to grow on me, even though she's all cracked out most of the time. For instance, last night I got into bed and she crawled under the sheets and curled up right next to me. It was so adorable that my heart almost exploded. It didn't, though. In case you were worried.

this is borderline inappropriate

So I'm babysitting my cousins this weekend. I made them some pizza earlier and while Josh was in the bathroom, Sammy picked up Josh's pizza, licked it, and giggled, "Shhh! Don't tell him!" Then Josh came out of the bathroom and Sam yelled, "I LICKED YOUR PIZZA!" Chaos ensued.

Later, we were watching Mocha (the tiny, tiny chihuahua) play with one of her tennis balls and I was all, "why does Mocha have so many balls?" and Sammy was all, "giggle giggle," and I was like, "oh, so it's genetic, then," because . . . balls. Hee. And then they were showing me pictures of their trip to Montana to visit my OTHER aunt, and for some reason my aunt's dog played a major role in a lot of these pictures.

Me: What's their dog's name again?
Josh: Amos.
Sammy: Anus.

Yep. Definitely genetic.

Yeah, I have a lot of questions. Number one: how dare you.

Gather round, dear Internets, for I am about to tell you another story of my stupidity. Last night, Heidi was at a concert and, rather than do anything productive, I spent the evening reading (I WILL finish Anna Karenina before Philly because there's no way in hell I'm carrying that giant book onto a plane . . . they might actually take it away because they think it's a weapon), surfing the Internet (i.e. playing the "girthy" commercial over and over), and watching TV (The Office and 30 Rock and Lost OH MY). And SINCE I did nothing productive, I felt sort of guilty. Not really guilty because you know what? I work hard 40 hours a week. Well. I work 40 hours a week. AND THEN I spend countless hours scouring the Internet for How To information (current article: How to Can Salmon . . . I think I must be high when I pick these titles) so I DESERVE A NIGHT OFF.

Moving on. I decided last night that this morning I needed to get up early and go running before work. I don't know what I was thinking. I stayed up even later than normal because Lost was on until 11 and I had to read for a long time before I could go to sleep. Because, you see, I have been reading before bed since I learned how to read and I am physically incapable of going to sleep without having read at least a chapter or two. But whatever. I set my alarm for 5:45 and placed my neatly folded running clothes on my muddy and worn out running shoes and said to myself, "Jennie. I don't care how tired you are when you wake up, you need to GET UP AND RUN."

Yeah. My alarm went off, I looked at the clock, heard that it was raining, turned off my alarm, and set it to the time I normally get up. Only, you guys, it wasn't really raining. It was some douchebag's air conditioning. First of all, an air conditioner does NOT, in fact, sound like rain. Also, what assclown has their air conditioning on already? IT'S NOT EVEN MAY. It's not even that hot outside! At the hottest part of the day! Sure, today it's supposed to be 80, but it still gets cold at night. Suck it up, you whiny bitches, and turn off your AC.

Where was I? Right. OK, so I went back to sleep and I kept dreaming that I was driving around looking for a bathroom. Do you guys ever have those dreams and then you wake up and you really have to pee? Yeah. I woke up and I really had to pee and then I looked at the clock and FREAKED OUT because it said 7:45. Which is like, the time I leave for work. I picked up my cell phone to see if anyone from work had called. Because, you know, even though I didn't have to be at work for another 15 minutes, I thought maybe my coworkers would call to make sure I was up? I don't know. In any case, I noticed that the time on my cell phone was different than the time on my alarm clock. In fact, the time on my cell phone said it was the time I normally get up. Apparently, when I woke up the first time and thought I was setting my alarm forward, I was actually setting the time forward. I guess my wish to time travel is starting to exhibit itself in all sorts of strange ways. Now, you might be thinking, "Jennie, this isn't really that stupid. You were half asleep, big deal," but the thing is, Internets? I've done this exact same thing before.

You know, I think this is the longest, most pointless story I've ever told. And I've told a lot of long, pointless stories in my time (just ask Heidi . . . or, you know, read my blog archives). Oh well. At least that means I've accomplished something today, I guess.

Children cannot lie. They are innocent, and they speak the truth. And out of the mouths of babes, Michael Scott is freaking cool.

Today, as I mentioned, is Take Your Child to Work Day, and so there are adorable children wandering the halls. I ran into one of them, a charming little four-year-old named Dora (not her real name), who was on her way to another department with her dad.

"Look!" she said and held up a box of Timbits. "I'm taking these to my co-workers!"

And then I was all, "ow, my ovaries," and also, "I'm so going to steal you later." Later she told us all about how her dad has a Storm Trooper costume (true story: he wore it for Halloween and it was all kinds of awesome) and ALSO that sometimes he beatboxes at home. They left before I could ask him to demonstrate.

DRAMATIC SUBJECT CHANGE

A couple days ago, I had the following conversation with my parents.

Me: Oh! Heidi and I are running a race again. Will you guys come watch us this time?
Mom: I don't know, IS IT ON THANKSGIVING again?
Me: No. And it's not at 8 in the morning, it's at noon.
Dad: Where?
Me: . . . Columbus.
Dad: Jennie . . .
Me: It's at noon!
Mom: What day is it?
Me: May 25th. A Sunday, I think.
Dad: You can't do that.
Me: Um. Why?
Dad: That's your grandmother's 70th birthday party?
Me: Who-to-the-what-now?
Mom: I told you about this.
Me: You did not!
Mom: I did. I told you to leave that day open.
Me: This is the first I've heard about it!
Dad: Your mom told me she told you.
Me: Well, she didn't.
Mom: I did.
Me: Nuh-uh! I'm always the last to know EVERYTHING. [cue four-year-old-style tantrum]

Anyway, NO ONE EVER TOLD ME. Until like two days later, my aunt called and told me about it. Whatever. THEN! This morning, I found out that not only is my cousin in Kuwait, on his way to Iraq (making him the second person to leave for Iraq WITHOUT TELLING ME), but apparently his mom (my aunt, duh) is having some sort of surgery. No idea what kind, just surgery. At least this time, I'm barely the last to know, because my mom just found out, too. Somehow, that doesn't make me feel better. In any case, I'm going to change the subject now.

When I got my laptop, Heidi was really excited. I believe her exact words were, "now we can sit on the sofa with our laptops and work and it'll be just like we're in school again!"

So last night we were sitting on the sofa working. Well, "working." I don't know what she was doing, but I was playing Free Rice. As research, though, because I'm writing an article called, "How to Help Africa," which I realize is a very, very broad subject and I'll probably do a terrible job, but I'm using Free Rice as a source. Because playing Free Rice means some rice might be sent to Africa, and I think you'll agree that Rice + Africa = Helping Africa. Math!

Anyway, while we were sitting there, I thought, "heehee, I will message her on Google Talk and it will be hilarious because we are sitting next to each other." So I did. And we had the following conversation:

Me: butt
Heidi: erection
Me: phalanges
Heidi: penis
Me: vas deferens
Heidi: moist
Me: panties
Heidi: bajenga

So it really is like we're back in school. Only not college. More like 4th grade. Except I don't think I knew what "vas deferens" meant in 4th grade.

I only have one goal today. To make one kid like me. Just one.

The other day, my boss sent an email about Take Your Child to Work Day, which is tomorrow. Basically she told everyone in the building that they could bring their kids to the HR department and we would give them some treats.

"Oh no!" I shouted from my office (professional). "Does this mean there are gonna be kids all over the place on Thursday?"

Then, BOOM, my boss was at my doorway. I was all, "oh, actually I really like kids," and I wasn't even lying. Kids as a giant, faceless group, I am scared of, but kids on individual level are cool. Not babies, though. Like the real little ones? The ones that don't do anything but lie there and poop? Useless. And sometimes even old babies (you know, like two-year-olds) are annoying. Or they throw up in a restaurant while you're trying to enjoy your dinner. Anyway, where was I?

"I like kids, too," my boss said. "As long as they don't talk to me. Or touch me. Or spill anything." Ha! Awesome. And then, you guys, she told me that since I like kids so much, I "get" to be the one to pass out the treats tomorrow. I was like, "thanks?" Although, I wonder if this is an all day assignment because passing out treats to kids sounds way more exciting than what I normally do.

Also, we're having an ice cream social today at work. I don't know why and I'm not going to ask. You don't question free ice cream.

heartache to heartache, we stand

I think I come across as a pretty laid back person, but the truth is, no matter what time of day it is, something is going on that I am silently freaking out about. It could be something as simple as what to have for dinner or something big like, you know, what the hell I'm doing with my life. I've come to the conclusion that if I didn't have something to worry about 24 hours of the day, I wouldn't know what to do with myself.

Sometimes, dear Internets, I have so much to tell you. Nothing important, mind you, because to be honest? I don't really talk about the important stuff on here. Because A) I'm not good at talking about feelings (yuck), B) I'm already silently freaking out about it (see above), so I don't want to talk about it too, and C) mind your business! Hee. But mundane stuff? I tell you all of it. You're so lucky. Sometimes I have to stop myself from posting like 18 times a day because HELLO that's a little Crazy McPsycho right there. I have no idea where I'm going with this. Is it obvious? Moving on.

Since it's gotten warmer, I've taken to driving around with my windows down (naturally). The problem with this is I forget the windows are down. Which means, when a song I really like comes on the radio, I start singing it as loudly as possible and I'm just not sure, but I don't think the people in the next car really want to hear my version of Love Is a Battlefield.

BECAUSE it's gotten warmer, Heidi and I have been running more. I don't know if you know this, but it's a lot nicer to run when it's sunny and warm and you don't have to dodge patches of ice every five feet. In any case . . . Conversations With My Roommate: Running Edition!

Day 1:

Me: I have to pee.
Heidi: Um. There's a bush over there.
Me: I'll wait. I don't want to wipe with a pinecone.
Heidi: Yeah, that would hurt.
Me: Are pinecones made out of wood?
Heidi: I think so. They look like wood.
Me: Or are they made out of some wood/leaf hybrid?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: I'm going ask Google when we get home.
Heidi: OK. Let me know what you find out.

Day 2:

Me: Oh man, I forgot to Google pinecones!
Heidi: I was going to ask you.
Me: Don't let me forget later.
Heidi: OK.
Me: Can you eat dandelions? Or are they poisonous?
Heidi: Poisonous.
Me: Do you know that for sure?
Heidi: Not really.
Me: Well, because there's this Ray Bradbury story?
Heidi: . . . go on.
Me: Called Dandelion Wine?
Heidi: . . .
Me: And the boy in the story? His grandfather makes dandelion wine.
Heidi: . . .
Me: So I don't think dandelions are poisonous.
Heidi: You realize that not everything you read in a book is true, right?
Me: I can't believe you just said that.
Heidi: Is this book in the fiction section or the non-fiction section?
Me: . . .
Heidi: I rest my case.
Me: Just . . . stop.

Day 3 (confession: this was not while running):

Me: So apparently birds don't have penises.
Heidi: Oh yeah?
Me: Yeah. Tamara said they have these winky butthole things that they just rub together to fertilize stuff.
Heidi: So. Birds don't have penises.
Me: Nope.
Heidi: So your book was wrong?
Me: . . . well, yes. But that doesn't mean anything.
Heidi: What was the other thing you were trying to tell me?
Me: That you can make wine out of dandelions?
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: That's true!
Heidi: OK.
Me: It is! That book is semi-autobiographical!
Heidi: Uh-huh.
Me: I'll prove it. I'm going to make some dandelion wine!
Heidi: You do that.
Me: And you will drink it and you will be SO. DRUNK.
Heidi: I look forward to it.
Me [muttering]: Just you wait.

I'm beginning to think one of the reasons Heidi and I make such good roommates is because we both think the stupidest things are funny. Like, we made a fake Mii on Wii (wow) named Gladys. She has a pig nose and a side half-ponytail and jowls. Heidi bowled as Gladys the other night, left-handed no less, and kicked my ass. Then we had Gladys take the fitness test to see how old we could make her. She ended up being 80 and Heidi and I laughed and laughed until we couldn't breathe. During the test, we made up a fake history for Gladys, like that she enjoys hanging out at the bowling alley every night, and she's a smoker, and she's not afraid to share bowling shoes with her closest bowling alley friends, and the REASON she wasn't very good at tennis is because, hello, she's 80. And a smoker. I keep telling Heidi we should really think about taking our comedy act on the road, but I'm pretty sure we'd be the only ones laughing.

PS: Have you hugged the Earth today?

but I am le tired

Someone actually said, "looks like somebody's got a case of the Mondays," to me earlier. I should get points for not punching this person in the face, yes? Yes. Thank you. I drove to work in a fog today. Not like a mental fog, but an actual fog. I sort of felt like I was dreaming or stuck in that Stephen King story and was about to be attacked by a monster. Either option sounds better than work, so bring it on.

Places I would rather be than work:

the DMV
a baby shower
the Republican National Convention

I turn 26 in exactly one week. I've been thinking about having a quarter-life crisis, but I'm not really sure what that entails. Quitting my job? Joining a rock band? Running away to Alaska? Robbing a bank? I think maybe I'll just try all of these things. Except robbing a bank. Because, aside from inching closer to 30 next week (thanks, Sister), I also leave for Philly and I told Abigail I would try not to get arrested before then. I mean, I'm also going to try not to get arrested IN Philly, but who knows what might happen? All I can say is, if there's an opportunity to lick the Liberty Bell, I'm taking it. I've heard it tastes like pennies.

I can ride my bike with no handlebars, no handlebars, no handlebars

I'm taking a break from article writing. Normally, I'd just, you know, not write any articles before taking a break, but today I've already written TWO. I know. Who am I? The thing is, they weren't exactly mentally taxing. One of them was "How to Play Beer Pong Overtime," which . . . yeah, doesn't require that many brain cells.

It finally got warm enough to turn the heat off, but I think I've gotten a little overzealous with the windows. Just because it's semi-warm outside does not mean I need to open every window in the apartment, and yet . . . that's what I keep doing. And then suddenly it's like 10 degrees in the apartment and I have to crawl under my comforter to get warm. This story has no point, really. I'm just typing.

At dinner last night, I told Heidi that when I'm in a restaurant, I like to make up stories for each of the waiters and waitresses. I know the stories I come up with aren't accurate, but I like to pretend they are. It's just that I want to know which employees are secretly in love and which ones are strippers on the side and which ones bang in the storage room when their shifts are over.

Conversations With My Roommate!

Heidi: Um, they just put their baby carrier on the floor. And there's a baby in it.
Me: Is that allowed?
Heidi: I don't think so.
Me: Eh, just slide it under the table out of the way.

And then, you guys? This baby at the next table puked all over the place. I was all, "Heidi, don't turn around," but she did. Luckily, I am immune to sympathy puking because this one time when I was babysitting, the kid I was watching puked in a bucket while he was sitting on my lap. I think he got some puke on my pants. You see? This is why I maintain that the most effective method of birth control when you're a teenager is babysitting.

So I've pretty much given up on trying to make this post make sense at all. Could you tell? Meh, whatever, let's keep going, shall we?

Conversation With My Roommate From Like An Hour Ago:

Me: Hey! The birds are back on the porch, maybe they'll do it again.
Heidi: I hope so.
Me: Watch as the male bird's feathers get all big and fluffy.
Heidi: And the female just sits there like, "will you get on with it already?"
Me: Seriously, she's got stuff to do. She can't wait around all day for his tiny bird penis.
Heidi: She's busy.
Me: Did you know that birds keep their bird penises tucked up inside their bird bodies until they use them?
Heidi: Really?
Me: Yes, it's so they're more aerodynamic when they're flying.
Heidi: Are you making this up?
Me: I don't think so, I read it in a book once.

I could go Google it, I guess, but I'm pretty sure it's true. Even though the book I read it in was a VC Andrews book. Which I read when I was like 12. Why I was allowed to read these books at ANY age, I have no idea. Um. Anyway. Happy Sunday.

today will be better, I swear

There's this lady at work who, every Friday, stops by my office to ask what I'm doing that weekend. She must think I live this super exciting life because she calls me "the social butterfly" of the office. I don't know what they all think I'm doing. I mean, yeah, sometimes I have something fun and exciting to tell them about, like a concert or a date or a trip to Dinosaur World (true story), but like . . . last night? Heidi and I went running and then managed to eat dinner AND go to Target to buy a nunchuck (a Wii nunchuck, not a ninja nunchuck, although that would have been awesome) AND we went to Meijer to look for this flavored beer we had at Nancy's last weekend AND then we went home to play Wii. Then. Oh, then, Internets, my parents called and asked if they could stop by with some friends. Which is how our living room ended up with six adults in it, trying to bowl without breaking anything or hitting anyone in the face. I know it's really sad that my parents came over to find us hanging out in our apartment on a Friday playing Wii with each other (hahaha) but THIS IS MY LIFE and I will not be ashamed.

When they left, Heidi and I tried to play this cracked-out rabbit game, and we were doing pretty well until it came time to throw cows (yeah, I know), and we had to give up because our arms got tired. You try throwing a cow 147 feet. It's tiring. Then Dwight Schrute and Jim Halpert played tennis together. I think they had fun.

At the beginning of our run yesterday (I call it "walking"), this little old lady in a scooter was coming down the sidewalk and Heidi was all, "she's going to run us over," and I said, "no, she's not, she's nice," and Heidi said, "nuh-uh, she's jealous that we have legs that work," and I said, "WOW, you are going to Hell." And then the little old lady stopped us to ask if we'd tell her how much battery power her scooter had left. We told her she had plenty and she kept going. Once she was gone, I said, "ha, it would have been funny if she didn't have any battery power left and we told her she was fine, and then she ran out," so maybe I'm going to Hell, too. Because LATER at Target, this little boy in Crocs (sigh) was running around the movie section playing with his ball (like, a bouncy ball, not one of the balls in his pants) and then he fell down.

I turned to Heidi and was all, "I have special powers. I wished for it to fall down and it fell down!" and she was like, "what fell down?" and I said, "the baby!" and why do I keep calling babies "it?" Anyway. Now seems like a good time to stop talking.

you shook me all night long*

So apparently there was an earthquake this morning? I got to work and someone was all, "did you feel the earthquake?" and I said, " . . . huh?" I'm not so eloquent first thing in the morning, you see. But I guess around 5:30 this morning, while I was sleeping, the earth moved. I still find it hard to believe, because I'm a really light sleeper (seriously, I will wake up if you even think about looking at me), and I felt nothing. It's all anyone will talk about today, which makes sense because, I don't know if you know this**, but we don't really get that many earthquakes in Ohio. I think they suspected we might get one when I was in like 3rd grade, because I vaguely remember having earthquake drills where we got to hide under our desk. They were either earthquake drills or bomb drills, I don't know. This was during the war in Iraq (you know, the first one), so it really could have been either.

Last night, when I got home from work, the spirit of Monica Geller inhabited my body and I raced around the apartment, cleaning like a madwoman. I don't know why, but don't worry. This burst of productivity only lasted until Heidi got home and we decided to get Papa Murphy's for dinner. Then we watched A LOT of TV. Like . . . a lot. And drank wine. But not a lot of wine. A normal amount. Wow, Jennie, good story. Um. How about a Conversation With My Roommate? A short one, though, because I'm sleepy.

Me: TiVo, PAUSED. I have to pee.
Heidi: OK. Do you want more wine?
Me: Do you have to ask?
Heidi: True.
Me: That's like asking a woodpecker if he wants to peck some more wood.
Heidi: Nice.
Me: Thanks.

*lame
**but I'm KIND OF a big deal

The thought of popping one of your beets in my mouth makes me want to vomit.

Dear Internets, how are you today? I'm happy that it's Thursday, which is almost Friday, which is PRACTICALLY Saturday, which is, in fact, the weekend. We're having a luncheon at work today for . . . well, for no reason, really. I like having these luncheons because I get free food and most of the people I work with are really good cooks. I don't like having these luncheons because it means I have to cook something. I've gotten away with bringing chips and salsa or soda and ice a couple of times, but sometimes they actually expect me to cook something. Please. So I volunteered to bring brownies. At the time, I thought I'd be all Julia Childs (what?) and get my mom's brownie recipe and make real, homemade brownies. But then I got off work yesterday and was like, "yep, box mix it is." Whatever, the way I figure it, I can easily mess up brownies from scratch, but it's a lot harder to mess up box mix brownies.

So, yes, I made box brownies for my coworkers. But whatever, they're just my coworkers. And if any of them ask, I'm definitely saying I made them from scratch. Suckers.

Before I made brownies, I went running and discovered that it might be time to buy some new running shoes. Actually I think it's way past time to buy new running shoes, but that's beside the point. Who made up that saying? Beside the point, I mean. Why isn't it behind the point? Or on top of the point? Um.

Oh! I'm pretty sure I witnessed the best shoplifter ever at Kroger. I was waiting in line at the self-checkout and the two ladies at the checkout thingies on the right apparently knew each other and we're all "talk talk talk" while I gave the one in front Death Eyes because she was done and just standing there. FINALLY, she walked out all leisurely with her cart (her cart!) full of stuff. Well. I went up to the checkout and it was on that screen where you say how you're paying. That lady didn't pay! And she was so breezy about it! What a whore. If I ever see her again (and I'll recognize her, because I gave her Death Eyes for quite a while), I'm either going to shake her hand or kick her in the shins. I haven't decided yet. Maybe both.

I can't believe I keep forgetting to tell you guys about this. There's this commercial for a pregnancy test and the announcer has this super deep voice and is all, "when you're knocked up, you want to know ASAP because DEAR GOD babies are scary." I might be paraphrasing. Anyway, at the end of the commerical he says, "it is the most sophisticated piece of technology you'll ever pee on." The first time I heard it, I was all, "whaaaaa?" Can you say that on TV? If so, WHY would you say that on TV? Well, apparently you cannot say this on TV, because I heard the commercial again this morning and they'd changed it to, "it is the most sophisticated piece of technology you'll ever [clears throat] . . . you know." I was disappointed because it was so much funnier when he was talking about peeing on technology and now you probably don't even believe me. I know it sounds like something I would make up, but I swear that's what he really said. And I mean . . . what? It doesn't make sense. What if you accidentally pee on an iPhone or something? That's gotta be a more sophisticated piece of technology than a pregnancy test.

And you're probably thinking, "Jennie. How would one pee on an iPhone?" WELL, you doubters, I say to you THIS: say you're talking on your iPhone, but you just drank a gallon of water earlier and you really have to pee, so you head to the bathroom and . . . you know, and mid-stream, you drop your phone in the toilet and pee all over that very, very sophisticated piece of technology.

So there.

on my way to where the air is sweet

I've had the Sesame Street song stuck in my since yesterday. It's driving me crazy. CRAZY. I'm not really sure why I told you guys about it. Maybe I'm hoping it'll get stuck in your heads and I won't be so alone in Crazyland. Crazyland is sort of like Candyland, only you don't get any candy because they lock you up in a padded room and you have to wear a straight jacket and it's hard to eat candy when you're wearing a straight jacket. ANYWAY.

Last night, I led my group at volunteering and no one died and no one kicked me and none of the kids told me that I eat poo. Which is good, because I do NOT eat poo. If you hear a rumor that I do, in fact, eat poo, that rumor is FALSE. When I got home, I had an email from the director telling me I did a good job, which is great because I pretty much need positive reinforcement ALL THE TIME, otherwise I think I suck and that everyone hates me. Heh. Kidding. Still, the fact remains that I am, above all, a people pleaser, so when people are pleased? It means I did my job. I've always been a bit of a suck-up, especially in elementary school. Yes, I was a troublemaker, but I never really did anything bad. I was the one in the back of the room whispering ideas to other kids so THEY'D get in trouble. I can count on one hand the times I really remember getting in trouble at school (or daycare) and they are:

1. In Kindergarten, I squirted glue in someone's face and had to sit in the corner. The rest of the class was making Mother's Day cards or something and I didn't get to make one. So, Mom, if you didn't get a Mother's Day card in 1988, it's because I tried to blind a kid with glue.

2. Once at daycare, I kept saying "pubic hair" and making the other kids giggle, so I had to sit in timeout and apologize to the teacher. For saying "pubic hair." Out loud. I still maintain that it's a scientific term and I was just trying to teach everyone that Science can be funny.

3. In 5th grade, we had a substitute teacher and I passed around a note that said, "EVERYONE DROP YOUR BOOKS ON THE FLOOR AT EXACTLY 11:15." I mean . . . what? What kind of lameass prank is that? My guess is, I read about it in a book and thought, "hey, if they do it in a book, it must be awesome." I got a lot of ideas from books. Like the time I hid food all over my room because Claudia Kishi did it in the Babysitters Club books. Yeah. I eventually got in trouble for that, mostly because my parents kept wondering where all the Little Debbies and bags of Doritos went.

4. Oh, and also that time my sister and I were fighting and we ripped her bedroom door off the hinges. And that other time my sister and I were fighting and I cracked a ceramic figurine on her head. Or that other OTHER time my sister and I were fighting and she called 911. She called 911 and I GOT IN TROUBLE. TRUE. STORY.

It's not that I was a perfect angel and never, ever did anything to get into trouble. I've just always been very sneaky. If I did something bad, I'd put on my innocent face and blame it on someone else, like, say, my sister. So. You should probably watch your back. Especially if you're my sister.

One day I will grow up. That day is not today.

You guys, I know I'm just a few weeks (OK, 13 days) shy of 26, but I think I'm officially old. I pulled a muscle in my back TAKING A SHOWER this morning. Just . . . what? How do you pull a muscle while you're shampooing your hair? Explain that to me. Please. I did this once in college, too. Pulled a muscle doing something ridiculous, like picking up a shoe off the floor. If I remember correctly, the only thing that made it feel better was a pitcher of beer so if you'll excuse me, I think I need to get to the bar.

Guess what? (Here is where you say, "what, Jennie?") Last night, I was so productive. Only not that productive, really. I went running and was going to write an article, but then I got distracted by this ("This is an ex-parrot!") and by the time Heidi got home, it was time for dinner. Against our better judgement, we went to Penn Station. I forget that every time I eat there, I feel like shit for at least 12 hours after. You'd think I'd have learned by now to stay away, but you'd be wrong. I think Penn Station puts crack in their subs.

You guys know how I write How To articles, right? You really should, because besides running, reading, The Office, and Wii, that's pretty much all I talk about here. I know it seems like I blow them off most of the time and, yes, there HAVE been occasions where I really had no idea what I was talking about and so FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, do not try to breed garter snakes based on an article you get from the Internets. Please. Anyway, I do try to take most of them seriously and do the required research. This one time I had to write something like, "How to Find Love on an Internet Dating Site" or whatever, because when you're looking for advice on love and relationships, I am the PERFECT person to come to. In any case, I made up (free) fake profiles on both Match.com and eHarmony and, for future reference, if any of you are looking for some Internet loving and you have a short attention span, go to Match, not eHarmony. Match makes you fill out a fairly long profile, but eHarmony makes you take this test that's longer than the SATs. It had at least 5000 questions on it. After a while, I just started hitting random buttons without reading the questions and, just based on the profiles eHarmony sent me afterward, apparently I told them that I was interested in 60-year-old smokers who lived 300 miles away and had at least eight children. You know what? Just stay away from Internet dating, OK?

Last night, I wrote "How to Switch from AOL to Gmail," which is perfect really, because I want to have Google's babies. I feel like Google is this benevolent, all-seeing entity that watches over all of us and wants us to be happy. Why else would Google have invented Google Talk? And Google Reader! And Google Docs and OH MY GOD GOOGLE BOOKS! Ahem. For realsies, though, I Google something at least once an hour. Hell, I've Googled myself. Don't judge. Everyone Googles themselves, it's perfectly natural.

While I am very familiar with Google and all of their services, I couldn't remember much about signing up for Gmail because I did it about a hundred million years ago. Back when you still needed an invitation to sign up. But no one invited me. Blogger gave me an account because I . . . had a blog? I don't know. Whatever, the point is, I've been using Gmail since THE BEGINNING so suck it. Sorry. Anyway, so last night I went through the whole process of signing up for a new email account (RESEARCH!), which is why I now have this email address: jen.poopsmith@gmail.com. And I KNOW that's absolutely ridiculous, because come on . . . no one even calls me Jen.

eff

Hey, remember yesterday when I was bragging about how my arm didn't hurt even though I played with a billion Wiis (hee) this weekend? Yeah, well, it hurts now. I blame Heidi. She hooked her Wii up last night and then OF COURSE we had to play with it.

Sidenote: Can you believe we had a Wii in our apartment for over a week and we didn't even touch it once? Who ARE we?

So anyway. We hooked up the Wii and when I say, "we hooked up the Wii," I mean Heidi hooked up the Wii while I sat and played music on my computer. Then we made our Miis and got down to business. First we bowled. Then we beat the shit out of our boxing opponent. Then we played baseball. THEN we took the fitness test. I was 28, according to Wii, which is pretty damn close to my actual age so I was excited. Last time, I think I was 40 or something. Heidi . . . well, I won't tell you what Heidi got, but she looks SO GOOD for a senior citizen.

I bet you guys are tired of hearing me talk about Wii. Actually, I bet you guys are tired of hearing me talk PERIOD. End of sentence EXCLAMATION POINT. Um. We also made some famous Miis. Like Whoopi Goldberg. And Barney "Swarley" Stinson. And Jim Halpert. You might be wondering who is next. Well. I don't know. You tell me.

Tomorrow at volunteering, I have to lead the group all by myself for the first time ever. And I'm nervous. I planned some activities last night so hopefully the kids don't get all ADD and blow through them all super fast, because then I will be OUT OF IDEAS. I'm so scared. I'm always afraid kids won't like me. I don't really care if adults don't like me, because adults are two-faced and they'll just pretend that they like you and then talk shit about you behind your back. But kids are honest. Kids have no problem saying, "Jennie, I hate you," or "Jennie, you smell bad," or "Jennie, eat my poo." Not that any kids have ever said any of these things to me, but you never know when they might. I'll let you know after tomorrow.

let's go away for a while, you and I, to a strange and distant land

I think my Wii arm must be getting stronger, because I played with a lot of Wiis (hahaha) this weekend and my arm doesn't hurt at all. DESPITE the fact that I almost ripped my arm out of socket trying to play tennis. This was before someone told me that you didn't, in fact, have to swing your arm like you were actually holding a tennis racket. But it's so much more fun that way.

We tried to play Guitar Hero at Nancy's Friday night, and none of us made it through a single song. Perhaps it was the song, but I have a feeling it had more to do with the beer. HOWEVER. Last night, I played it again and I made it through a billion songs! Or like four. One of those. Of course, I was playing on Easy, but whatever. You know what I'd like to know? How can boys pick up a game for the first time and be good at it IMMEDIATELY? I have this theory that boys have an extra gene or chromosome or something (it's a well-thought out theory, you see) that enables them to play any video game well, even if they've never played it before. Sort of like Rainman and the toothpicks. Only not at all. Never mind.

I had Indian food for the first time last night, and it was delicious. Also, our waiter was psychic and NOT friends with the cute, little man who poured the water. And we enjoyed the musical stylings of Raj Patel and Little Ravi. I am aware I'm not making much sense to most (any?) of you, but I'M laughing and isn't that really all that matters? Yes. Yes, it is. You know, there was a time (birth through high school) that I wouldn't try any food that I didn't think I'd like. Which was limiting, you know? Then one day, I decided to just try anything someone put in front of me, as long as it was, you know, food. I think it started that Thanksgiving my dad bet me $10 that I wouldn't eat a raw oyster and yes, it was disgusting and yes, it was slimy, but at least I tried it. And I made ten dollars.

Also! Someone submitted something I wrote for this thing. Wow, I am great with details, yes? Anyway, thank you to whoever nominated me. This award will be added to my other writing awards which include . . . um, being a finalist in a short story contest and then LOSING. This is much better, thank you very much.

Dear Internets,

I wish I could just spend the whole day talking to you, I really do, but I can't. I'm sorry. But instead, here are some funny videos. Most of which I've posted before, but whatever. They're fun. Get over it.

Flute guy!



Look at me! I'm Chandler! Could I BE wearin' any more clothes?



I could watch this over and over for the rest of my life:



I have a feeling this is what my future children will sound like (the cursing, not the accent):



This would not be as funny without the accents:



Fat guy in a little coooooaaaat:

I hope my Wii knee will be OK

I'm going to a sleepover tonight. That's right, I said a sleepover. My friend Nancy (you know Nancy . . . Nancy of Dinosaur World! Nancy of the Penis Cake! OK, that's enough) got married in the Caribbean last month and she's FINALLY back and done with crazy stuff (until, you know, her reception in May . . . where there will be a hot dog bar . . . don't be jealous) and since her HUSBAND (yikes) is out of town tonight, she's invited us over for wine and Wii and, I'm assuming, boy talk and pillow fights and prank phone calls. That? Was the longest sentence ever.

She also has about a billion pictures for us to look at, including pictures from the bachelorette party that almost got snowed out (snowed in?) and, I'm just guessing here, but I think there may be some incriminating pictures I need to steal and burn so no one ever sees them. Apparently she and her HUSBAND (yikes) got a new grill (what is with you married people and your weirdo, grown-up purchases?) and so we're all going to attempt to grill hot dogs and hamburgers without burning their house down. The back up plan is pizza. I think it's good that we have a back up plan, seeing as how Heidi once set herself on fire with a marshmallow.

Last night, I went running because . . . well, I'm trying this new thing where I don't sit around reading and surfing the Internets 24 hours a day. It's . . . different. Anyway, the geese, they are everywhere and they are so mean! I was walking down the path by the pond and this lady goose (I guess?) was sitting right in the middle of the path. And this mean boy goose (I guess?) was like . . . I don't know, guarding her or something and I just tried to walk by them and he started hissing at me. I think he was hissing anyway. I had my music up pretty loud so I couldn't really hear him, but he had his mouth open and was flapping his wings at me and you guys? I'm not going to lie to you. I thought I might die.

Also, a little show called The Office came back to television last night, and the world made sense again. Heh.

If I had a friend named Kenneth,

I'm pretty sure that, at least once a day, I'd ask him what the frequency was.

lift me up and take me where I stand

Last night, I stopped at my parents house, as I am wont to do because hey . . . they live really close. When I got there, I made fun of my mom for already being in her pajamas (because it was 5:30!) but then I remembered that almost every day I go home from work and immediately put on either workout clothes or pajamas so I stopped poking fun.

Anyway. Conversations With My Family!

Me: Did you know there's a Chipotle at The Greene now?
Mom: No!
Me: Well, there is. On a completely different note . . . did I lend you my copy of Emma?
Mom: Yes, but I haven't read it yet.
Me: Crap.
Mom: Why, do you need it?
Me: No, I bought another copy last night because I thought I'd lost mine.
Mom: Oh, well, thanks for the copy of Emma!
Me: No problem.

And then!

Sister: Jennie, why do you have that blue shirt on under your other shirt.
Me: It's not a shirt, it's a little tank top thing, see? [lifts top shirt] WHOOOOOOO!
Sister: Geez, Jennie
Me: Heh.
Sister: Your boobs are getting bigger.
Me: WOW.
Sister: I mean smaller.
Me: Thanks. Good talk, Sister.

And then!

[phone rings]

Mom: It's your father.
Me: I'll get it. [answers phone] Good evening, how may I direct your call?
Dad: SIIIIIIGH. I'd like to speak to your mother please.
Me: Just a moment.

Then my mom was all, "do you want your birthday present now or do you want it on your birthday?" And I was all, "um, now?" And so she gave it (laptop bag) to me, but it wasn't wrapped, so I looked at it and then gave it back to her and told her to wrap it and give it back to me on my birthday. Perfect. SPEAKING of perfect, then she gave me three bottles of wine.

On a completely unrelated note (seriously), over the weekend Heidi and I watched August Rush, which . . . OK, I knew I was being completely manipulated and ALMOST lapsed into a coma because of how over-the-top SWEET this movie was, but I didn't care because it made my shriveled little heart grow about 50 sizes. Of course, later we watched Gone Baby Gone and my faith in the human race was dashed to bits, but whatever. In any case, Felicity's name in August Rush is Lyla and every time someone said her name, I was all, "HEEEEEEEEEEEY, LYLA!" It's true. Ask Heidi.

start today tomorrow

Today I have:

spilled (hot) coffee on myself

stepped in (goose) poop

been accused of being a guy for not providing Tamara with enough date-details (sorry, Tam)

finished the Internet

broken my umbrella

written my Collective post AHEAD OF SCHEDULE

listened to the Vampire Weekend album approximately 5 times

And now time seems to have stopped, so I'm trying to resist the urge to crawl under my desk and take a nap.

how many ADD kids does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

You guys, my ADD (I don't have ADD) is out of control today. This morning, I forgot if I'd conditioned my hair, I stepped on Phoebe approximately 50 times while I wandered around my room wondering what I was doing, and I put my shirt on backwards. Twice.

Hey! So this week on The Collective, we're interviewing fictional characters. Yesterday, Heather Anne interviewed Neville Longbottom (awesome), today . . . I don't know, because Abigail hasn't posted yet, tomorrow I don't know either, but I suspect I know who Kat's interviewing and Thursday? Um, I have no idea. I've run about a zillion fictional characters through my head and none have really stuck. So, who do you guys think I should interview? Just tell me who to do (that's what she said) so I don't have to think anymore.

Help me, Internets, you're my only hope.

Charlie Bucket was the luckiest boy in the entire world. He just didn't know it yet.

I give up. Every Sunday night I try to go to bed at a (somewhat) reasonable hour, and every Sunday night I lie there, staring at the ceiling and wishing I was asleep. Last night, I tried so hard, you guys! That's a lie. I was watching Willy Wonka (the new one) on TV. Even though I prefer the old one, that doesn't mean I'm gonna just TURN OFF THE TV when there are Oompa Loompa shenanigans to watch. That's crazy talk.

Hey! How about a Conversation With My Roommate? Sound good? I don't care!

Me: Why are there starving Africans on the front of the coupons this week?
Heidi: They're not starving, they're drinking Pur water.
Me: I didn't realize starving Africans were so into name brands.
Heidi: Duh. Anyway, those aren't starving Africans. That baby is Angelina Jolie's kid.
Me: WOW. I can't talk to you anymore.

LATER

Heidi: Guess what I watched earlier?
Me: What?
Heidi: The Prince and Me.
Me: . . .
Heidi: 2.
Me: Oh my god.
Heidi: I know.
Me: It was bad enough before you added the 2.
Heidi: Yeah, well.
Me: It's OK, I watched part of The Cutting Edge 3 the other day.
Heidi: Wow.
Me: I know.

I forgot to tell you guys this, and I can't believe I did because it was HILARIOUS. Saturday night, we were standing outside (next to a sex shop, no less), waiting to get into Bogarts and this guy was going down the line asking for change. He's not important, though. I'm not sure why I even told you about him. Forget I said anything. Anyway, there was another guy in a wheelchair and he has a sign that said, "Give me some change or I'll kick you in the face," and at first I was like, "well, that's rude," but it turns out he didn't have any legs.

And now for some sad news. Remember a long time ago when I bought all that crap at Target that had The Office all over it? Here. Let me show you it. Well. They frisked us as we went into Bogarts (I felt violated) and then this lady went through my purse. She found a pen and she was like, "you can take this back to your car or we can throw it away." At first I was all, "throw it away," but then I saw it was my Michael Scott pen and I had to think about it. In the end, I told her to throw it away because the car was far away and I just wanted to go inside and get a beer and see Spoon. I cried a little. On the inside, though, where no one can see your tears. Apparently you can use a pen as a weapon, I guess, which I wasn't aware of. Until this (tall) douchebag in front of me started dancing around bumping into people and then I realized if I had my pen I probably would have stabbed him in the neck. So really that lady who threw my pen away saved me from 7-10 years in prison. Thanks, lady.

Two posts in one day? Clearly I'm going for quantity, not quality.

We got home from Cox Arboretum a little while ago, and my shoes, they are covered in mud. Because, even though EVERY SPRING I come home muddy when I take my first trip out there, I never seen to remember. I don't learn very well from my mistakes, I guess. See? That was back during that time I was asking myself what Elizabeth Bennet would do whenever I had to make a decision. Remember? It's OK if you don't, it was like two years ago. Um. Anyway. Good talk, guys.

Sidenote: You know what pisses me off? I can never remember if Bennet has one or two Ts. Bleh.

So, there's this dog that lives at the arboretum. His name is Zip (or Zipp, depending on what sign you're looking at) and according to all the signs, he's there to chase away the geese. But don't worry, the sign also points out that he doesn't harm them. It was a very helpful sign. Now, I cannot tell you how many times I've been out there and I've never, ever seen this dog. Until today. He was everywhere. Heidi and I were standing by the pond, staring at the turtles, when suddenly he came running straight at us. Once he got in front of us, he saw some turtles at the edge of the water and just stood there staring at them. I think maybe they were having a conversation that went something like this:

Zip(p): Hey, turtles!
Turtle 1: Excuse me, dog, but our names are Clarence and Mildred.
Mildred: Clarence! Put your head in your shell like I'm doing! Then he can't see you.
Clarence: Mildred, how many times do I have to tell you that just because you can't see them, that doesn't mean they can't see you.
Mildred: What? I can't hear very well inside here.
Clarence: Sigh. So, dog--
Zip(p): My name's Zip(p)!
Clarence: Right. Zip(p). Can I help you with something?
Zip(p): Wanna be friends?
Clarence: No.
Zip(p): Let's be friends!
Clarence: No.
Zip(p): I'm just gonna lie down right here until we're friends.
Clarence: I'm getting in the water now.
Zip(p): OK, talk to you later, friend!

That's exactly how it happened. Ask Heidi, she was there.

I hope Heaven is an indie rock concert

Only not really, because at concerts there are all these people invading my personal space. Apparently, they don't all know that I have an invisible bubble around me and the only people that can come in are the people I personally invite.

Also. Dear Tall People, please stop standing directly in front of me. Did you notice that I'm about a foot shorter than you are? All I want to do is catch the occasional glimpse of the stage, but I can't see through your gigantic head. Move. MOVE. Please?

I came up with this idea last night that since I'm only 5'2, I should be allowed to stand on a stool all night that will bring me up to average height, which is what? 5'6? Or something? I don't know. I feel really claustrophobic in situations like crowded concerts. I've tried to explain this to people, but I don't think they get it. See, when I'm in a big crowd and there are people all around me and they're all taller than I am? I feel like I can't breathe because the tall people are stealing all the air. Also, I'm kind of afraid of getting trampled. The good part about being short in these situations? You can usually wind your way through a crowd pretty quickly by like ducking under elbows and stuff. I realize I'm making it sound like I'm only three feet tall and I know this isn't the case, but sometimes it feels like that, OK? OK.

Anyway, there were no mishaps at the concert, so I didn't have to break onto Spoon's tour bus or anything. Everything was SO GOOD, you guys, from the White Rabbits to The Walkmen to Spoon's double encore, my heart was so happy.

I guess my heart is still happy (just sleepy) because the sun is out and it's warm enough for just a t-shirt and Lord knows I have enough t-shirts to last about 100 warm days. Heidi and I had waffles for breakfast and we're headed to Cox (hee) Arboretum soon. I think it's gonna be a good day.

So much time and so little to do. Wait a minute. Strike that. Reverse it.

The half a pot of coffee I drank earlier has started to wear off, and thank goodness for that, because I was being far too productive for my own good, what with the vacuuming and the writing and whatnot. Alright, I didn't really do that much writing, but that's only because . . . yeah, I have no good reason.

But, you know, I gathered all the trash together, which I find exhausting. I haven't actually taken it out to the dumpster yet because I'm still in my pajamas (yes, I'm aware it's 1:30 in the afternoon) and CALL ME CRAZY, but I'm just not comfortable walking around the apartment complex in Strawberry Shortcake pajama pants. Not sure why.

Anyway, so my laptop and I are getting along really well. I think he/she needs a name, though. Suggestions? The best part about having a laptop now is that NOT ONLY can I spend half the weekend lounging around in bed reading, but I can also read the internet from bed. Heidi thinks I'm more obsessed with the internet than books, but I told her that, if given the choice, I'd give up the internet in a heartbeat. Sorry, guys. At Tamara's suggestion, Heidi is going to get this tattooed on her ass. I'm not sure why, but hopefully I'll have pictures to share soon. Only I hope not, because . . . yikes.

So now I'm sitting here contemplating whether I should crawl under the covers and finish my book or go outside for a run. I'm leaning toward the run, because I was out on the balcony earlier and it's so nice outside. I'm a little worried about the geese, though. You see, I like to run around the pond, but the geese are nesting and the boy geese are getting a little mean. I understand that they're only trying to protect their lady geese, but it's not like I'm poking around their eggs and trying to steal them. I don't even like goose eggs. I'm guessing here, since I've never actually HAD a goose egg. Do you think they're golden goose eggs, like in Willy Wonka? Oh wait. Those were swans. No, it was a goose, right? I need to brush up on my Wonka knowledge.

I think the run would be better for me. I need to get rid of all this nervous energy I have on account of I'M SEEING SPOON TONIGHT. At least, I'm supposed to see Spoon tonight. I'm excited, but mostly nervous since last year I was supposed to see them and they decided to go on SNL instead. Remember that? I almost cried. Don't you feel sorry for me?

I think in the back of my mind, I'm expecting to get down there and someone will come onstage and be like, "sorry, suckers, Spoon decided they'd rather take a nap on their tour bus than come inside and play for you all, so . . . go home." If this happens, obviously the only course of action will be for me to break onto their tour bus and kidnap them until they agree to play. Logic. Anyway, I hope to make the local news, but if I'm really lucky, maybe CNN. Fingers crossed!

Oh, you guys. Please don't read this.

So last night, I was at this class I'm taking at my old high school. It's math or science or something, I'm not really sure. See, it was the first night and while I was wandering around looking for my classroom, I ran into my old Calculus teacher.

"Hi, Jennie!" he said. I was surprised he remembered my name, mostly because he hardly ever remembered my name when I was actually in his class. I can't really blame him, though. I didn't talk much. That was the semester I took Physics and Calculus and Biology 2 at the same time and so I was pretty miserable. Anyway.

He asked what I was doing and I told him I was taking this class blah blah blah and apparently the class was some sort of medicaly type class because he was all, "oh, are you going to med school?" I thought about how unimpressive my real job is for a minute and replied, "Yes. I'm going to med school." And then he got all excited and started talking about how he always wanted to go to med school and how I'd be a great doctor, yadda yadda yadda.

OK, none of this really happened, right? Because it was a dream. Sorry if I tricked you, SUCKERS. But I have to wonder what part of my brain thinks it'd be a good idea to go to med school. I mean, it's so much work, which I try to avoid at all costs, and also I've been told you have to do stuff to corpses. Not like naughty stuff, but gross stuff. I could barely dissect an earthworm in high school without gagging. And when I took that Biology 2 class, we spent a whole quarter dissecting a fetal pig. The same fetal pig. All quarter.

This is how it went. On the first day, our teacher sat there with a big cooler full of fetal pigs and a list of our names. We stood in line and, as he handed us our pig, he crossed off our name and we took it to our seats. Then he passed out big Ziploc bags with liquid crap inside of it to keep the pigs ripe. We had to write our names on the bag, because heaven forbid you accidentally grab someone else's fetal pig. I think we might have even given our pigs names. So let's say I named my pig Wilbur, because I'm a sick and twisted human being. Every day, I'd have to go to the refrigerator in the corner of the room, pull out poor, Ziploc-bagged Wilbur, and then I'd dissect the shit out of him. You guys. It was the grossest thing I have ever been a part of. Toward the end of the quarter, the entire room reeked of fetal pig juice and WOW, you know, I haven't thought about this in YEARS. I kind of wish I wasn't thinking about it now.

I'm not sure how this post devolved into fetal pig talk. I'm sorry. But these things happen sometimes. Especially around here. Again, I apologize if I ruined your breakfast.

She thinks she missed the train to Mars, she's out back counting stars.

Last week, when I almost hyperventilated thinking about all the articles I had left to write before my deadline, I decided I needed to get my act together. And, you know, stop hyperventilating because that's not so much productive. Part One of Getting My Act Together was organizing my desk, which I did a couple of weeks ago and BY GOLLY (did I seriously just say "by golly?" Sheesh) it's stayed organized. This is a big deal. Usually my desk devolves into chaos about a day after organization. But this time? I employed such devices as an in-box and filing system and, throughout tax doing and article writing and bill paying, the desk has stayed clean and clear and under control (did I seriously just say "clean and clear and under control?" Sheesh.)

If Part One was organizing my desk, then Part Two was organizing my brain. Granted, this is much more complicated than Part One, but through an ongoing system of, I don't know, making To Do lists, I was actually GETTING STUFF DONE. And then some. It got to the point that I was actually ADDING stuff to my To Do list at the end of the day because I'd finished everything else. Plus, I really like crossing stuff off. It's extremely satisfying, sort of like deleting those old e-mails that you KNOW you shouldn't read over and over because they're going to set you off on an emotional roller coaster, and not even one of those new roller coasters, but like one of those old, rickety roller coasters that give you whiplash and make your head all fuzzy and your heart feel like it's going to fall out of your chest, and yet you read those e-mails anyway and then think, "Why? Why did I read that?" and so finally one day you say, "ENOUGH," and DELETE THEM ALL so you never have to think about them again. The end.

Ha, you wish it was the end. So this To Do List System was working pretty well until yesterday. Number one on the list was "Go Running," which I did not do and my excuse was that all my sports bras were dirty. And I couldn't go running without them because . . . ow. Then I was going to write some articles, but I'd finished my book at lunch (shut up, Heidi) and wanted to start a new one and I was only going to read a chapter but suddenly I was a third of the way through and it was 7 o'clock and I realized I was starving and I tried to figure out how to cook dinner while holding the book, but I couldn't. You know what someone needs to invent? Some sort of contraption that goes over your head, like a headband or one of those beer hats, and it has arm thingies that hold your book out in front of your face for you and also the arm thingies would know how to turn the pages. Maybe they'd be voice activated and you could just say, "Turn Page," or something and it would turn the page (duh). Also, it should have a built in dictionary so if you come across a word like . . . quinquagenarian, you could be like, "hey, book thingie, what does quinquagenarian mean?" and it would tell you and not make you feel stupid for not knowing. So someone get on that. I come up with the ideas, you do all the work, that's how this relationship works, OK? So anyway, by the time I ate dinner and fucked around on my laptop and read some more, it was far too late to attempt anything on my To Do list and so I just went to bed. Wow, good story, Jennie, tell it again.

I wrote my To Do list for today and only put about four things on it, so I have a better chance of actually, I don't know, finishing it. So at least I learned something. Cue the tinkly piano.

the word you're looking for is, aaaanyway . . .

Yesterday was a big day. I got a laptop. FINALLY. It's nothing sexy and was very cheap, but considering I'm going to use it to surf the Internets and . . . surf the Internets, it's perfect. Also? It doesn't randomly turn off by itself all the time like my old computer. Which, I will now tell you, I've had since freshman year of college. This means I've been using that computer for eight years. EIGHT YEARS. That's a long time. I could have an eight-year-old kid by now, you know, like if I'd gotten pregnant in high school and had the baby over the summer, right after graduation. I mean, if they'd let me graduate with my pregnant belly sticking out of my gown. Which they would have, because if they had tried to stop me, I would have petitioned the school board and if they STILL said no, well, I would have busted into graduation anyway, run (ok, waddled) across the stage, and grabbed a random diploma from the pile.

Something even more exciting than a laptop happened yesterday. Heidi almost had a heart attack during the last few seconds of her attempt to buy a Wii on eBay. But it was all for naught, because she totally won.

I'm sorry, did you hear me? Heidi. Bought. A. Wii. So when that gets here, I'll probably have to say goodbye to you, Internets, because I will be too busy playing with Heidi's Wii to talk to you anymore. Also, what with the laptop and the Wii? I'll probably never leave the apartment again.

Speaking of technology, last night at volunteering I was sitting next to this charming little girl wearing a pug t-shirt and a yellow scrunchie. She was telling me about how one of her friends has an iPhone and before I could be all, "wtf does a 9-year-old need with an iPhone, GIVE IT TO ME," she THEN told me that they sometimes watch YouTube on the iPhone at recess. I nodded as she spoke, but she must have thought I looked confused (which is my natural state), because she stopped to explain something.

"YouTube is this thing on the Internet," she said. "You can like watch videos and stuff."

"Oh," I said, as if I didn't regularly make the Internet my bitch. "That sounds neat."

I stopped myself from explaining that I'd been there for the beginning of YouTube and knew more than she did about it nyah nyah nyah, because sometimes, not very often, but SOMETIMES, I do actually remember that I'm the adult.

what's with today, today?

I'm pregnant.

I got married last night.

I found Amelia Earhart.

I'm in love with you.

I won the lottery.

Vampires actually really enjoy garlic.

I'm really a man.

If you eat too much salmon, you'll turn into a bear.

I'm friends with the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Gullible isn't in the dictionary.

It's foolish to worry about zombie attacks.

I quit my job and joined the circus.

I invented curse words.

President Bush is really a (poorly-made) robot.

I'm 1,583 years old.

I can fly (with a cape).

LOLcats were invented as part of a world domination plan.

I'm writing this from the Bermuda Triangle.

Your shoe's untied.

April . . . oh, you know.