The One Where I Say "Vagina" and "For Real" A LOT.

Last night, I picked Joe up from the airport because he was finally, FINALLY back from San Diego, the big jerk. He saw all sorts of sights, like Breckin Meyer eating and Jeffster singing and Ray Bradbury being awesome and Coronado Island ("It belongs...in a MUSEUM") and the weather was perfect blah blah blah.

Whatever. So we got Potbelly for dinner and somehow the blog The Wind in Your Vagina (that's right) came up. Don't ask me how The Wind in Your Vagina comes up in conversation, it just does. Ever since Joe found out I read a blog called The Wind in Your Vagina, he thinks it's the FUNNIEST THING EVER. I just said vagina a lot. Anyway. When it came up, I was all, "he quit his blog today!" and Joe was like, "why?" and I was all, "I don't know, but Ashley is MAD," which is true. Ashley is mad.

Then I told Joe that I think that dude might be quitting his blog to concentrate on writing For Real things. Not that blogging isn't For Real writing. It is for a lot of people. But for myself, blogging is not For Real writing. I never For Real write on my blog. I open Blogger, I type some nonsense, I spell check (most of the time), I publish, and I pretend I'm writing. It's an easy out. If I'm blogging, I can still tell myself I'm writing and then I don't have to, you know, TRY. Because trying takes a lot of time. And effort. And I'm low on motivation.

So I got to thinking that maybe I could For Real write on my blog. Or, if not, I could at least concentrate more on For Real writing in my spare time instead of concentrating on Facebook or whatever. I'm not quitting my blog, though. I couldn't, because I think Ashley would stab me in the face.

I do da cha cha like a sissy girl. I like-a...do da cha cha.

Yesterday I went sort of crazy with cleaning the apartment. It was totally unintentional, too. I meant to do NOTHING yesterday. Absolutely nothing. It started out well enough. I got up relatively early, made some coffee, ate some breakfast, finished my book, and then BOOM...The Crazy kicked in.

Only not really. Really, I was just going to wash my sheets and change my bed. Easy. But once I'd stripped the bed and thrown the dirty sheets in the washer, I was out of control. I was running all over the apartment, downstairs to get the Windex, upstairs to clean my bathroom, downstairs to get the vacuum, upstairs to clean the litter box, and then suddenly I was trying my best not to fall down the stairs while I vacuumed them because did you know? Our vacuum is surprisingly heavy. And, you know, once I'd finished cleaning upstairs and vacuuming down the stairs, I figured I might as well clean the kitchen floor and take out all the trash and vacuum the downstairs and SWEEP THE PORCH. WTF? Sweep the porch? It did no good. It's just as dirty this morning as it was before I swept it, but right after? It was a thing of beauty.

Anyway, I blame this obsessive bout of cleaning on the psychological trauma I suffered Saturday night. I was sitting on the sofa, talking to Joe on the phone, when I noticed a creepy bug crawling on the wall next to me. I thought about killing it, but it was the same kind of creepy bug that attacked Heidi and I that one time and I didn't want to risk it.

SO! There I am, sitting on the sofa, watching the bug and watching PHOEBE watch the bug, and giving Joe a play-by-play (he's so lucky). I was all, "it's crawling higher...Phoebe thinks she can reach it, but she can't...now it's trying to crawl on the ceiling...now it's on the ceiling...OH MY GOD IT JUST FELL OFF THE CEILING ON THE COUCH RIGHT NEXT TO ME OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD," and this is when I ran to the bathroom to get some toilet paper to KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT but you guys! IT CRAWLED INTO THE SOFA! IN BETWEEN THE CUSHIONS! And I kept freaking out and Joe was telling me to calm down and I was yelling at home for being in San Diego and not protecting me from the KILLER BUG THAT WAS TRYING TO KILL ME, KILL ME DEAD! And then I told him I was never, ever sitting on that couch again and he laughed at me but GUESS WHAT, I did not sit on that sofa at all yesterday SO THERE.

And then Joe was not sympathetic AT ALL about my brush with death. I believe his exact words were, "I cannot believe that you, a grown woman, just had a massive meltdown because of a tiny bug," and I was all, "whatever, you didn't see it, IT WAS HUGE AND HAD FANGS!" and then he didn't believe me when I told him it was two inches long, like bugs in Ohio can't be that big or something. But they can be that big because I saw one and it crawled into the couch and again I say SO THERE.

oh, right, I have a blog

I have two Big Problems. I want everything to be perfect ALL THE TIME and I procrastinate, um, a lot. The combination means I don't ever get anything done. Because NEWSFLASH nothing can ever be perfectly perfect all the perfect time. Duh. This is like, common knowledge, right? And if something isn't going to be perfect, why even bother DOING it?

Earlier someone asked me for a report. Except...not really. They did not ask for a report. They asked for A NUMBER. Their exact words were, "Can you tell me the percentage of employees blah blah blah...doesn't have to be perfect, I just need an estimate." And I was all, "OMG, I can't believe someone is finally asking me to do something! Hooray!" So instead of procrastinating, I did it right away! Even though it was lunchtime! Unfortunately, instead of just estimating the answer off of data I've already compiled (because that data is OLD, duh, and no longer perfect), I took it upon myself to make it a much bigger project than it needed to be and suddenly there were reports and spreadsheets ALL OVER MY COMPUTER AND THE NUMBERS WEREN'T ADDING UP AND THE PERSON WAS EMAILING ME ALL, "NO SRSLY, THIS DOES NOT NEED TO BE PERFECT, DO YOU HAVE IT YET?" AND I WAS ALL, "THERE'S NEVER ANY TIME I NEVER HAVE TIME TO STUDY OMG SHUT UP JESSIE SPANO." PLUS ALSO my other coworker was trying to talk to me and carrying on a conversation with her is like a never-ending "Who's on First" routine, so concentrating was OUT OF THE QUESTION.

Ahem. I eventually finished it without procrastinating AT ALL (!!) and it was perfect (!!) and I sent it away and got what I wanted: validation in the form of a "YOU'RE AWESOME, THANK YOU!" email. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

Anyway, my point is, SUCK IT, BIG PROBLEMS. If we were in prison, you guys would be, like, my bitches*.

*thank you, Phoebe

I also idolized Pippi Longstocking, if only because she had her own monkey

This morning, when I left for work, I was all, "booo, it's cloudy and looks somewhat thunderstormy!" I like thunderstorms, but not when I'm driving to work because once it starts to rain EVEN A LITTLE BIT everyone forgets how to drive. Thunderstorms are OK once I'm AT work, though, because the power might go out and the last time all the power went out I didn't have to work for two days.

It didn't end up thunderstorming on the way to work and EVEN BETTER there was the best rainbow. I'm assuming that seeing a rainbow means good luck. Which is good because Joe bought a lottery ticket (hey, why not?) although I'm happy to report he didn't play Hurley's numbers. I don't need any bad juju. Don't worry, I won't forget about you when we win (do you like how HE bought the ticket, but WE get the money?) because obviously I'll quit my job right away and have loads of time to blog. Or sleep. One of those.

Even if we don't win the lottery, rainbows are still pretty, right? I've always had a fondness for them on account of one of my two childhood idols was Rainbow Brite. The other? Punky Brewster. My mom insists that I dressed myself like Punky when I was little, complete with rainbow suspenders, a rainbow belt (this also doubled as a Rainbow Brite belt when I played Rainbow Brite), pigtails, freckles (those never came off), and red, heart-shaped sunglasses. I've never seen photographic evidence of this, so I'm not sure I believe her. I've also been told that I inexplicably spoke with a Southern accent as a tiny child, but I don't know if that's true and I have no idea where the accent went.

Anyway. Here is a picture of the rainbow I saw. It looked way awesomer than that IRL, I promise.

ooooooooh BARRACUDA

I went all week having pretty much jack shit to do. And now, in the last hour of work for the week (I get to leave at 3!), I have been given something that needs done RIGHT NOW OMG WTF.

Of course, I'm blogging, so I must have plenty of time to finish it. Revel in the procrastination! Revel, I say!

Ahem. Just a bit ago, I called someone to set up an interview and their ringback tone (wtf ever it's called) was Barracuda. Awesome. I have a bad habit of singing along to these songs and continuing to sing even after the person has answered (ask Heidi, her ringback is Don't Stop Believin') but I held it in this time because I am nothing if not professional. Although, who WOULDN'T want to work at a company where the employees were singing Heart?

The answer is: I don't know, why are you asking me questions, I HAVE SO MUCH TO DO.

the best things in life are free

Whenever I leave the office, spring in step and grin in place, I get to a certain point in the parking lot where I cringe in absolute horror. Not because I don't want to leave work (please), but because of the unholy stench emanating from the building next door.

It's some sort of Skyline factory. I'm not sure exactly what they're doing in there, whether they're testing new Skyline recipes or just making more of the same-old, but the smell is horrifying. You know how I feel about Skyline, right? How it's evil and disgusting and who the hell puts CINNAMON in chili? CINNAMON?! Also, I stand by my statement that the hotdogs themselves taste like they were boiled in toilet water.

Sometimes my coworkers will be all, "you have to be from here to like Skyline," whenever someone says they haven't had it. And speedy quick, I have to say, "I grew up here AND I HATE IT so that's not true." It's sort of like when someone says to me, "You like Two and a Half Men, right?" and I have to hurry and tell them, "OMG NO I HATE IT WHO IS SPREADING THESE VICIOUS, VICIOUS LIES ABOUT ME?"

Anyway, do you know how disgusting it is to smell Skyline in the morning? Well, I'll tell you. It's really disgusting. It's a good diet tool, though. When I get to work I'm usually starving because I never have time to eat before I leave the apartment, preferring instead to sleep ten more minutes because SLEEP IS AWESOME I HEART IT. Then I get out of the car and Skyline smacks me in the face and I never want to eat anything again ever.

Between that and my goal to save money and eat better, I've been packing my lunch so I don't have to leave the office. Except sometimes I HAVE to go out at lunch or I would kill all my coworkers and stab my computer with a letter opener. But most days, I prefer to pack my lunch and do important things during my lunch break, like pay bills or read the Internets.

But. Packing my lunch can be bad for the environment. I mean, yeah, everything can be bad for the environment, but packing lunch? With the little sandwich and snack baggies? Totally bad. So I went to Target one day with the hopes of finding a couple little tupperware type things to use primarily for lunches. We have some stuff at home, sort of, but our collection mostly consists of really old Gladware and Tupperware I've stolen from my parents. I ended up spending 20 dollars on a 36 piece set of Rubbermaid containers, which was probably not necessary but this is why I need to pack my lunch. So I don't go to Target and spend money.

Now if only someone could take away my ability to shop online, I'd be rich, I tell you, RICH!