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!)

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.

Cause you know, they say pregnancy often leads to, you know . . . infants.

Yesterday was shaping up to be one of those beautifully unproductive Saturdays, but it was not to be. Le sigh. Sure, when I finally rolled out of bed, it was practically afternoon and I spent the majority of the early afternoon dicking around on the Internets, but then I realized Heidi was already dressed and was bopping in and out of the apartment for a variety of things because she was actually attempting to accomplish something (installing satellite radio in her car) on a frigid Saturday instead of sitting around in her pajamas, which is what I was doing and it's sort of like this sentence might never end, isn't it? Oh, well, there it just did. YOU'RE WELCOME. Can I have a sidebar for a moment? It was sort of freezing yesterday. Not as cold as it was earlier this week, mind you, but still cold enough that when I stood outside, watching Heidi work on her car, I had to jump around lest my legs should go numb from the cold, cold air. Sure, I could have gone inside and put on something other than pajama pants, but that would have meant taking off my shoes and it's so much work to put them on. You have to tie them and everything. Anyway, so it was wicked cold yesterday and it's 52 right now and tomorrow it is supposed to be 67 degrees. That is PRACTICALLY 70 and I'm pretty sure this is Ohio and I'm pretty sure this is January and so I'm pretty sure something is not adding up.

Anyway, so Heidi was outside hooking her satellite shit up and eventually I wandered out to have a little looksie (this is a lie, mostly I really needed her to make a decision for me POST HASTE) and saw she was struggling with one of the steps. She had to like, pry up the rubber (heh) on the rim of the back windshield and shove the antennae wire under it. Well, as you may have already guessed, we do not have the tools necessary to participate in this sort of endeavor. The little picture in her instruction booklet showed someone using what looked like one of those torturous metal poking devices dental hygienists use to scrape plaque off of your teeth. I am not friends with any dentists, HOWEVER, I knew that my dad just happened to own several of these tools. I don't know why. He's not a dentist. We don't ask questions, OK? So, I called my dad:

Me: Hey, Dad.
Dad: Hello.
Me: Can I come over and borrow your dental tools?
Dad: Sure. What for?
Me: Heidi's trying to pry off the rubber part around her back windshield? And we don't have anything that will fit.
Dad: . . . why is she doing that?
Me: Oh, she got satellite radio for Christmas and she's trying to install it.
Dad: By herself?!

Once I explained that JUST BECAUSE we cannot hook up a dryer without practically setting the apartment on fire, and sure, we also have trouble with oven knobs, it DOES NOT mean we are completely useless, we went to go get the plaque scraper/rubber lifter. Hahahahahaha. Oh man.

Sister: What are you doing here?
Me: We're here to borrow Dad's dental tools.
Sister: WHY?!
Me: Well, I can't afford to go to the dentist, so Heidi's gonna clean my teeth for me.

And I'll have you know that once we got that thing, Heidi had absolutely no trouble shoving the antennae under the rubber and installing the rest of her radio stuff. I even helped, by standing around complaining about the cold and making inappropriate comments about rubbers and shoving things in holes. So, see? We're not completely useless. It's just me.

You know, your voice is kind of nice when your mouth isn't screwing it up.

So you may have noticed that things look a little different around here. Or maybe you didn't notice. It's OK if you didn't. My feelings won't be hurt. MUCH. Anyway, I decided to renovate. Partly because it's a new year! And a new year calls for new . . . other stuff, as well! But mostly I did it because I was bored. Don't get too used to this. I don't want you to get attached and then when I change it again in two days, you get all sad and cry and email me and say, "Jennie, woe is me! I am oh so sad and do not appreciate all the changes for CHANGE IS BAD." Well. I don't like change either but it's time we both learned to live with it, OK? I'm doing this for your own good.

I love the beginning of a new year, because I set all these goals (I'm not calling them resolutions) for myself that I know will remain unfulfilled, but whatever. Like, for instance, I signed up to do this thing where I blog every day for the entire year. Which . . . is crazy and I'll probably forget about by mid-February BUT WHO CARES. Here are the rest of my goals, because there's nothing better than putting them all in writing so in a year's time I can come back and see how much of a failure I am. That's soul-crushing, is what that is.

OK, so I don't really have any goals yet. I mean, nothing new. I need to work on the whole saving money thing. That is A TALE AS OLD AS TIME. I almost wrote "thyme" instead of "time" there. I'm not sure why. How old is thyme? Maybe thyme is even older than time. You don't know. Or maybe you do.

Um, anyway, saving money. Somehow, I've managed to squirrel away more money than usual the past couple of months, even with Christmas all up in my business, yelling at me to SPEND MONEY NOW, BITCH. Coincidentally, I haven't had any weddings the past couple months. You do the math. Along with the whole saving money thing, I've decided to see how long I can go without eating fast food. If you knew how often Heidi and I go to Penn Station (they know our names there), you would see just how great an endeavor this really is. The no fast food is a double whammy because NOT ONLY will I be saving money, but my ass will not continue its current journey to become bigger than Texas.

And, of course, my most important goals are to NOT get married OR pregnant this year. This sounds easy, but Heidi thinks she's Miss Cleo and has predicted that I'm going to get married this year. That gave me nightmares. For real. I had this dream that I got married and had a baby and for some reason took the baby to the bar we used to go to in college and I think at one point I might have given the baby to the bartender so I could play darts. If you knew how bad I am at darts, you'd realize just how responsible that decision was.

Lighting firecrackers off on the front lawn, as thirty dialogues bleed into one

Hi. I'm back. I wish I could say I missed you, but I totally didn't. OK, that's a lie. I'm just cranky on account of my head feels like it might fall off. I'm trying not to make any sudden movements, because when I do, that's when the pounding starts and I start thinking about how much champagne I drank last night and then I get really dizzy and have to lie down.

So 2007 is over. Good fucking riddance. The last month dragged on and on. And on some more. Lots of stuff happened. For instance, on Christmas Eve, a bat got loose in our office building. A BAT. It hung out under the Christmas tree for a while, flew through the hallways, and then the mail guy shot it with rubber bands until it either died or flew outside. I'm fuzzy on the details since I hid at my desk until it was gone. I didn't want to take a chance that I might turn into a vampire. Also, bats scare me because once when I was a tiny child, I was sleeping over at my aunt's house and a bat got in and FLEW AT ME AND TRIED TO EAT MY FACE. No one believes that this happened BUT IT DID. Anyway, I work in a really old building and apparently bats live in the chimney. Like, lots of bats. Thousands. THOUSANDS. OF. BATS. THAT. MIGHT. BITE. ME. I may have to find another job.

Also! Heidi and I found out that, for the entire time we've been living here (almost 2 years), we've been almost setting our apartment on fire every time we did a load of laundry. APPARENTLY, you shouldn't try to do your own electrical work when you have no idea what the hell you're doing. There are scorch marks on the back of our dryer to prove it. Then last week I almost set the carpet in my room on fire with a candle. I think the moral of this story is, we should get rid of all lighters and matches before we burn down the whole world.

So, Internets, I am sitting here waiting for my head to stop hating on me so I can get in the shower. I suppose I don't HAVE to shower. I'm just going to my mom and dad's tonight for pork and sauerkraut (BAAAAAARF!!) and they've seen me look worse than this. But, I mean, the house is already going to smell like boiled vomit because of the sauerkraut, so I'm going to shower so I don't add to the smell.

Just because we have chiseled abs and stunning features, it doesn't mean that we too can't not die in a freak gasoline fight accident.

Heidi and I often joke about how accident prone we both are. At any given time, one of us has at least a couple of bruises. Usually it's me. I think I hurt myself more often, but when Heidi hurts herself SHE HURTS HERSELF. Like last April? She was at a Reds game and after the game went running across the street, tripped over her flip flops or something, and fell face first and hit her chin on the curb. I was out of town, but I got a voicemail later that night from her and, because of all The Party in the background, pretty much all I could make out was, "BAX! BAAAAAX! I FELL DOWN! I FELL DOOOOOOOOWN!" I listened to it again, hung up and started laughing.

Person I Was With*: What was that?
Me: Heidi fell down? And hurt herself?
PIWW: Um. Do you need to call her back?
Me: Nah, she sounded drunk and happy, I think she's OK.

And since we both get hurt a lot, it leads to a lot of conversations like this:

Me: Ow.
Heidi: What happened?
Me: Nothing, I just stabbed myself in the lip with my car key.
Heidi: I would say that surprises me, but it totally doesn't.

And also this, while roasting marshmallows on Saturday:**

Heidi: Ooh, my marshmallow is done!
[flaming marshmallow melts too fast and falls off poker, onto Heidi's leg]
Me: Um, you're on fire.

See? We're so used to these accidents by now that not even Heidi SETTING HERSELF ON FIRE causes me to blink an eye. It's really only a matter of time before one of us drowns in the toilet, while the other one just stands there all, "um, you're totally drowning right now," and then walks away to make a PB&J sandwich.

So, yes, we both get hurt a lot. I'm sort of surprised that neither of us has blown up the apartment or set it on fire or accidentally blasted a hole in the wall. Although, on our first night living there I did throw a coaster at someone (drunk) and it dented the wall, but apart from all the appliances we've broken, that's the worst damage we've done. So far.

*no, I'm not telling you who, Internets, because I do like to have some secrets . . . mwaahaahaa!
**that's right MARSHMALLOWS!

hurry boy, she's waiting there for you

I had a strange weekend, Internets. On Friday, Heidi and I bought beer and pizza. Which is not at all strange or important to the story but I told you anyway so deal with it. Then we came home, ate our pizza, and drank our beer while watching Bring It On and then Elf and while we drank beer and watched these movie classics we made posters. Posters! With markers! And stickers! Also! Thank you, Kat, for the fun poster stuff you sent! We used almost all of it! On the posters!

Oh my god. So I probably should have mentioned that I didn't really sleep last night. I just kind of stared at the ceiling (I tried counting stars on the ceiling but it turns out there aren't any stars on my ceiling . . . a situation I believe should be rectified AS SOON AS POSSIBLE . . . does anyone else think the word "rectified" sounds kind of dirty?) . . . OK, what was I saying? Oh, right, so I didn't really sleep last night. Which is really nothing new, but it should explain why nothing I am about to say is going to make any sense. Are we all clear on that? OK, good.

Anyway, we were making posters because Kate got back from MALAWI AFRICA on Saturday and CLEARLY the first thing she needed to see was her obnoxious friends holding some huge posters.

Did you just hear what I said? KATE IS BACK. FROM MALAWI AFRICA. That's where Madonna tried to steal a baby. Heidi and I got up at 8 o'clock ON A SATURDAY in order to get to the Columbus airport on time, but it turned out we didn't need to leave as early as we did because, go figure, Kate's flight was delayed. I thought maybe it was because a giraffe tried to get on the plane with her in Africa, but I guess it got delayed in Georgia. So, I don't know, maybe a peach tree tried to get on the plane or something.

When we left for the airport, I walked out to my car and noticed something unusual on the ground.

Me: Heidi.
Heidi: Yes?
Me: Heidi.
Heidi: What?
Me: There is a condom on the ground over here.
Heidi: . . .
Me: And it's used.
Heidi: Ew!
Me: I know.
Heidi: I did not need to see that.
Me: It is far too early for used condoms.

I mean, I'm pretty sure there's never a good time to see a used condom. But especially not at 9 AM ON A SATURDAY after you've just inhaled an english muffin and a huge glass of chocolate milk. In case you're interested (and really, why wouldn't you be?), it was still there when I left for work today.

So that was an eventful start to the trip. We got to the airport and sat at McDonald's drinking the largest iced coffees known to mankind and also womankind and probably alienkind, too. Then we decided to go look for a Target, because we had like three hours to kill and ALSO I needed to find an ATM so I could get some cash to pay for parking because I didn't even have enough cash to pay for my Sausage McMuffin and that was less than TWO DOLLARS. Cash is stupid, I hate carrying it. So we got back on the highway and pulled off at a random exit.

Me: OK. So now we need to find a Target.
Heidi: I think we can do it.
Me: Me too. You know how Spiderman has spidey sense? I think we have Target sense.
Heidi: Indeed.
Me: If we actually find a Target I will poop my pants.
Heidi: Then I'll laugh at you because your pants will have poop on them.
Me: Whatever, we'll be at Target, I'll buy new, poopless pants.

And do you know, Internets? We DID find a Target! I did not poop my pants, though. I bought some music instead. It was on sale and there is nothing I like more than discounted music. Unless it's free music. I sometimes wish I didn't have to buy food because then I could spend all my money on music and books. Anyway. More conversations, because they are easier than whole paragraphs and I am lazy.

Heidi: Did you buy a band called Spoon?
Me: Yes, I did.
Heidi: Where are Knife and Fork?
Me: Oh ha ha.
Heidi: I am going to use your Spoon and hit you in The Shins.
Me: You are so clever. How did you get to be so clever?
Heidi: Well, one day I thought I needed to be clever. So I decided to be clever and then I was.
Me: Fair enough.

The point of this entire ball of nonsense is that we finally went to the airport and met Kate! From MALAWI AFRICA! By way of Georgia. Who knew Georgia was a hub for Africa? I didn't. Georgia has more going for it than I thought it did. Also there's a song about it. More than one, actually.

Speaking of songs . . . I have a bone to pick with The Plain White T's. You know that song Hey There, Delilah? I really, really liked it like . . . three or four months ago when I first heard it. At that time, just My Favorite Radio Station Ever was playing it. I was going to buy the CD but I heard from NOT ONE but TWO people that the rest of the CD sucked huge, ginormous donkey balls. My words. Not theirs. I don't think they said anything about huge, ginormous donkey balls and that's something you'd remember, you know? YOU know. I was content to just catch the song on the radio every now or then or listen to it on myspace or youtube or whatever. But now. NOW I can't flip through the goddamn radio stations without hearing it two or three times EVERY TIME I'M IN THE CAR. And that's all well and good, because I still like the song, but if I'm in a certain mood or feeling particularly angsty and thinky? Hearing that song makes me want to rip out my heart and throw it on the ground and stomp up and down on it because THAT'S WHAT IT FEELS LIKE ANYWAY. You know, I'm pretty sure I abused Caps Lock in this post. Oh well. Anyway. Crazy, out.

Other stuff happened this weekend, too. I bought some new bras. We saw some comedians and the laughter? It was plentiful indeed. Heidi and I went to a Mexican restaurant and forgot to order margaritas. And one of our beers exploded all over our kitchen counter! EXPLODED! It was so weird. I took a picture. I'll show you later. Promise.

You think you're too cool for school, but I've got a newsflash for you, Walter Cronkite . . . you aren't.

A long, long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away . . . sorry, I can't help it), I used to be smart. Like book smart, I mean. I was in most of the gifted classes. Even math, which I hated with the fire of a thousand suns. I'm not sure what happened to my book smarts, but I think they started to dissipate once it became legal for me to drink. Anyway, even though I was book smart, that doesn't mean I had anything resembling common sense. In fact, whenever I would do something lacking in common sense (like this one time when I spilled an entire pitcher of iced tea on the kitchen floor and tried to mop it up with the rug, which I think I blamed on my sister, or this other time when I stood on the end of a teeter-totter and had my friend push down on the other end because I thought it would make me fly or this other time, OK, I'm stopping) one of my parents would exasperatedly say some variation of, "Jennie! I do not understand how you can be so smart and HAVE NO COMMON SENSE."

I always thought that the older I got, the more common sense would come seeping into my brain. I'm not sure how I thought that would happen. I think you're either born with common sense or you're not and I'm afraid neither of my parents passed any of theirs down to me. Tonight, as I do most nights since I have nothing better to do, I went to the gym. When I got home after the elliptical made me its bitch, I started to gather all my crap from my car to take into the apartment when I realized OH NO I didn't have my gym membership card! I remember placing it on the elliptical before I started and I THOUGHT I'd grabbed it when I was done, but I couldn't really remember because I was trying to get out of the Cardio Cinema before everyone died in The Perfect Storm. That movie's depressing, is what I'm saying. But OBVIOUSLY I hadn't grabbed it because it wasn't in my car. So, instead of, I don't know, checking underneath the passenger seat (where I'd thrown all my other gym crap) I drove all the way back to the gym. I bothered the girl on the elliptical I'd been on and asked if a card was on it. No. I checked the locker room. Nope, not there. I retraced my steps through the parking lot to make sure I hadn't dropped it on my way to the car. No luck. I drove home, wondering if I should call the gym in the morning to see if anyone had found it. Before I went into the apartment, I decided to check my car again to see if my card had fallen on the floor and lo and behold there it was, lying between the passenger seat and the door. I mean, I'm glad I found it and all, but I kind of wish it had really been lost. What kind of moron drives all the way back to the gym instead of checking the entire car in the first place? This moron, that's who.

Also, I am going to prove the universe wrong soon. You think I am off topic, but I will prove you wrong just like the universe so SUCK ON THAT. Um, OK. So you know how we live next to that fancy, outdoor mall? Well, we live next to a fancy, outdoor mall. And Heidi told me that Mandy Moore is going to perform there FOR FREE next month and ALSO they are going to hold a contest and whoever wins get to watch License to Wed (also starring John Krasinski) with Mandy Moore. Whoo freaking hoo. I mean, I don't dislike Mandy Moore, but that is irrelevant. I quite like her, actually, if only for that scene in Saved! where she throws the Bible at someone and shouts, "I am FILLED with Christ's love!" Awesome. MY POINT IS, Heidi and I are planning on winning this contest because I'M SURE Mandy (I can call her Mandy because after we meet she's obviously going to want to be my friend because . . . hello, check it out, I'm awesome) has John Krasinski's cell phone number. And I'll be all, "Mandy, can you give it to me?" and she'll go, "I don't know, Jennie, he might get mad at me for giving out his number to random girls," and I'll say, "But MANDY, you don't understand . . . I just want to talk to him about how awesome I think The Office is," and she'll be like, "Oh, OK, in that case, here it is," and then I will take it and call John Krasinski and tell him I want to have his babies and then we'll get married and live happily ever after in the Italian villa he'll buy next door to George Clooney and I will be smarter than the universe. It's foolproof, really. I have so got this common sense thing covered.