On the bed, on the floor, on a towel by the door, in the tub, in the car, up against the mini-bar

This morning, the DJ on my favorite radio station in the history of radio stations was plugging something called PrinceFest, which is taking place next month and consists of local bands covering nothing but Prince songs. As soon as I got to work, I checked it out online and emailed Heidi because WE HAVE TO GO TO THIS. HELLO. How awesome and hilarious is this going to be? The truth is, I can't even tell you BECAUSE I HAVEN'T BEEN YET.

Anyway. What else. Hmm. Last night at volunteering, I got to play Candy Land. And then we played in this mini sandbox. It was amazing. The weird thing about volunteering is, I'm usually in a horrible mood when I get there (as I've just come from work), but by the time I leave I'm in such a good mood you'd think I just won the lottery and married Jake Gyllenhaal or something. You wouldn't think that after talking about death and grieving for an hour and a half would lead to a good mood, but YOU'D BE WRONG.

Also, I forgot to link to all this stuff. Because I'm easily distracted. So, here's the deal. This week on The Collective, we're listing the 5 Best Somethings. On Monday, Heather Anne told us about the 5 Best TV Couples on . . . TV. In it, she compares Jim Halpert to Mr. Darcy and then my brain stopped working. And Abigail, well, she gave everyone 5 excuses to drink. I don't know how to thank her. But if you read it, you'll see that you should be drinking right now. Today, Kat loves on bugs. Some of them I'm OK with, like fireflies, but then she started talking about zombie-making wasps and I might have passed out a little. I'd link to my post, but it doesn't go up until tomorrow. Also, I haven't written it. Also, I don't even know what I'm writing about. Clearly my procrastination is in FULL EFFECT.

and then we all ate ice cream

I have a lot of trouble concentrating on anything on Sundays, especially in the afternoon and evening, because I know that tomorrow I have to go back to work and why am I wasting the few precious, precious free hours I have left writing articles such as, "How to Wax the Chest?" I am fairly certain that is knowledge I will never, ever need and I feel as if I'd rather not divulge the information I've gathered to the public at large, for fear that all men will start WAXING THEIR CHESTS ALL THE TIME.

Note to men: Do not wax your chests, please.

I'm finding it really difficult to write these articles today because . . . I just don't want to. Heidi's in the other room watching How I Met Your Mother and there's so much Internet to read and also I have become hopelessly addicted to Scrabulous. I'm not any good, of course, mostly because my method of playing is, "hmm, I think I've heard this word before," and then I just throw a bunch of letters together, hit Play Word, and hope it sticks.

In other news, last night Heidi and I watched this episode of True Life on MTV that has to be at least seven years old, but the people on it were all having plastic surgery of some sort. The guy was having calf implants. CALF IMPLANTS. I just . . . there are no words to describe how absolutely stupid that is. What was hilarious, though, was that this guy shaves his entire body AND wears body glitter when he goes out. Yeah, I said body glitter. I'm glad it was on, though, because we had just finished the worst movie ever, after stupidly taking advice from some guy standing behind us at Kroger while we were picking movies out of the movie machine. He was all, "The Ultimate Gift is good. Don't get Zodiac, it's really long." I'm not sure what made us listen to him, especially since he was wearing Bengals pajama pants and also, since when do I take movie-related advice PERIOD, let alone movie-related advice about a JAKE GYLLENHAAL MOVIE? Anyway, if I ever see that guy again, I'm kicking him square in the nut because The Ultimate Gift sucked. It was worse than everything in the Nicholas Sparks oeuvre PUT TOGETHER. And now I would please like you to give me credit* for sitting through the entire thing. Thank you in advance.

*will take booze instead

Roads? Where we're going we don't need roads.

This morning I fell into a wormhole. It happened while I was in the middle of getting ready, right after I'd finished drying my hair but before I'd put on any pants. I think the wormhole is somewhere in the vicinity of my closet, because that's where I seem to have lost the most time. At first, I fell into this wormhole and looked around and was all, "where are all my clothes?" because all I could see was a smooth see-through tube all around me and then I was like, "a wormhole? Seriously?" But whatever, I'd fallen into a wormhole, what could I do? I had to float around in it until it spat me out on the other side. I was just pissed because wormholes are really cold (who knew?) and I wasn't wearing pants. I mean, if I'd KNOWN I was going to fall into a wormhole, I would have put on a parka or long johns or something.

While I was floating around and shivering and trying to come up with a good excuse for being late to work that didn't include the words "pantsless" or "wormhole," this dwarf suddenly appeared next to me.

"Um, hi," I said.

"Hi. What's all this then?" he asked.

"Wormhole."

"Ah."

We floated in silence for a bit and then I asked his name and where he came from.

"My name is Algar. I come from a land called Dwarfatania," he explained.

"Where's that?"

"It's like 30 minutes south of Narnia, if you take Highway Fairy Princess and get off at the exit for Puck's Joke Shop."

"Oh."

"What is your name? What land do you come from?" Algar asked.

"Jennie. Ohio."

"Ohio. That sounds magical."

"It's not."

"Oh."

Then Algar disappeared. I don't know where he went. Such is the magic of wormholes. Eventually, I got out of the wormhole. I don't know how. Such is the magic of wormholes. I was a little disappointed that I didn't run into Jake Gyllenhaal, but there was a silver lining to this wormhole. When I got to work (late), I explained to my boss about the wormhole and when I got to the part about Algar, she sent me home for some reason! Something about not coming to work drunk anymore, I'm not sure.

_____

Today on The Collective, boys are smelly. True story.

My father’s name was Dwight Schrute. My grandfather’s name was Dwight Schrute. His father’s name? Dwide Schrude. Amish.

I've been at my new job for six months now, and this is the first personal thing I have added to my office:

That is a magnet. With Dwight K. Schrute on it, in case you can't tell from the crappy cell phone picture I took. That's all I've put up so far. I'm sort of afraid that this is going to snowball and soon my office will soon be covered with pictures of John Krasinski and Jake Gyllenhaal, kind of like when I was 12 and my bedroom walls were covered with pictures of Jonathan Taylor Thomas* that I tore out of BOP** magazine.

*please do shut up

**seriously, shut up

my brain is scary

The other night, I had a dream that I was running frantically around this really nice apartment/house type place. Seriously, it was beautiful. And huge. But there were no windows. And Tom Cruise was trying to lock me in this huge, beautiful house. Hence the frantic running.

When I woke up, I started to remember other details of the dream. Like that Tom Cruise was trying to lock me in this house with Jake Gyllenhaal. So I'm not sure why I was running. Why would anyone fight that? No idea.

Eventually, I ran away from Tom Cruise and got outside. Then he threw a skunk at me. It didn't spray me, though, which really pissed off Tom Cruise.

Oh my god. Do you see why I need your help?

Life can be so fair, let it go on and on

Do you guys ever have those weeks where every day you come home from work and want to immediately crawl into bed and pull the covers over your head? I'm having one of those weeks. Only it's more like I get out of bed in the morning and want to turn right around and crawl back in. Whatever. Semantics.

I haven't given into this desire, though. Oh, no, I have not! Instead I come home, make dinner, read, watch TV, go to the gym, blah blah yadda yadda. You guys know how I like to entertain myself by making up scenarios in my head when I'm bored, right? I'm beginning to think it's getting to the point where it's not healthy. Like the life I'm inventing in my head is a lot better than the one I'm living. How do I switch that? If life really was like Choose Your Own Adventure (psst, Kat, hee), I'm pretty sure I've willingly made some of the stupidest choices possible. Like, you know how you would read those books and when it came time to choose between A and B, you'd look ahead, right? I did anyway. Well, it's like that, only I'm still choosing A when I already looked a head and A is like, the long, lonely path of loneliness and B is . . . I don't know, marrying Jake Gyllenhaal and then winning a million dollars that you turn around and give to charity because you don't NEED a million dollars because you just married Jake Gyllenhaal. My brain is all, "Choose B! B is good! B is the smart choice . . . trust me. I'm your brain. When have I ever let you down before?" And then I go ahead and choose A and when I look back on all the choices I've made the past couple of months, I don't necessarily think they were the wrong ones, I just wonder what would have happened if I'd picked B a couple times.

Does anyone know what I'm talking about? Because I don't even know. Oh well. So in the whole spirit of not crawling into bed at 5:30 every night this week, I made sure I called my mom tonight to wish her a happy birthday. Because it's her birthday. Makes sense, if you think about it. It's also their anniversary. My parents. Duh. They got married on my mom's birthday, which was really smart of my dad because it's only one date he has to remember. Although, like my mom told me earlier, he's totally screwed if he forgets that one date. My parents are on vacation up at Niagara Falls (the Canadian side) because even though they've been together since high school and married for 107 years, they still want to hang out ALL THE TIME. Doesn't that just make you want to throw up? I blame them for the fact that I'll probably never get married, because I don't want to get married unless it's to someone I'll still look forward to hanging out with in 107 years. And sure, that might happen, but the odds of me finding someone who can put up with me for 107 years? Not good.

Truly, you have a dizzying intellect.

Sometimes I think my favorite part about eating apples is ripping the stems off beforehand. I'm not sure who told me this, but a long, long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away . . . just kidding, it was in Ohio) someone told me that you recite the alphabet with each twist of the stem and whatever letter the stem comes off at is the first letter of the last name of the person you're going to marry. Either I am exceptionally strong or the apples I'm eating have really weak stems, but I never can make it past "D." I guess the universe is trying to tell me I'll never marry Jake Gyllenhaal or John Krasinski, but I'm really hoping the universe is wrong.

Hey, just so you know, it's NOT that common, it DOESN'T happen to every guy, and it IS a big deal!

As you might have gathered from my roommate's comment to my last post (Too busy to go look at it? Here: "I almost quit reading this because I was bored. How do we live together? We couldn't be more different. Except for the Friends obsession thing." That's what she said hahahahahahaha um, anyway), we are very different. She likes country music. I like . . . well, pretty much anything else, but namely whiny indie rock. She thinks Kenny Chesney is the epitome of hotness, I think he looks like George Costanza. WHAT? That's not that harsh, she calls John Mayer "Fugs." It's pretty safe to say that we will never fight over the same man, because we have very different requirements for how a guy might get invited to our pants party. Which is good, because it means my claims on Jake Gyllenhaal and John Krasinski are safe.

We differ on more than just music and men. Given the chance, I could easily become one of those hermit-type cat ladies who stays inside all the time so she won't have to talk to anyone, unless it's through text messaging or The Internets. It's not that I dislike people as a whole . . . oh wait, that's exactly what it is. Heidi actually likes to go out and do stuff, but the majority of the time I'd be perfectly happy to sit at home by myself drinking wine and watching the same movies over and over.

Also? Heidi is in a four-year-old, committed relationship and I . . . have no idea what it is I'm doing, but it sure as hell doesn't involve commitment. Or four-year-olds, for that matter, because that would be wrong and very, very gross. I'm sure one day I might be able to trick someone into marrying me, but until then I will wander the Earth alone just like the Incredible Hulk. And Carrot Top.

Heidi likes to shop. OK, loves to shop. I find it a pain in the ass to shop and the only things I really like buying are shoes and t-shirts, and even then I'd rather do it over The Internets. She's never seen or read Pride & Prejudice. I've never listened to a Kenny Chesney song all the way through on purpose. She's a little bit country. I'm a little bit rock & roll. Well, she LIKES country and is FROM the country and if I'm a little bit rock & roll, it's the really nerdy kind. Like Weezer. ANOTHER THING I love that she does not.

You know how I procrastinate? Oh, OK, well, I procrastinate. A lot. Heidi does not. I don't think she understands just why I procrastinate so much and I certainly don't understand the inclination to get things done right away. What would I worry about if I didn't have all of those self-inflicted deadlines hanging over my head? Seriously. If I didn't have stuff to worry about, I'd have to invent stuff to worry about and I DO THAT ANYWAY so I really don't have time to argue about this right now, OK?!

We do agree on the important things, though. Miller Lite over Bud Light. Bridal showers are icky and boring, unless they serve alcohol. Cooking is hard*. But most important? We both know WITHOUT A DOUBT that absolutely anything in life can be related back to Friends. Amazing? I KNOW!

*bonus to this link: it's The One With the Bag of Semen (not a real Friends episode)

Sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion*

I'm just going to go ahead and apologize if none of this makes sense. But YOU try making sense when you're this tired! I'm trying this new thing where I don't sleep at night. It's not really a new thing, though, cause I do it a lot. You should try it, it's awesome. Until you finally fall to sleep around 3 or 4 and then wake up an hour later and want to die . . . other than that, it's super! Kinda like you're a vampire but without the nuisance of killing someone and drinking their blood. Oh and also you don't have any cool powers like super strength or lightning fast reflexes or the ability to disappear in a poof of ash and smoke if someone stakes you in the heart.

ANYWAY (that was the "anyway" heard around the world) earlier this evening, Heidi and I went to the gym and, for the first time, went to this Pilates class. I'm going to be honest with you, the only reason we wanted to go is because you do it with the lights off. Heh. Which brings me to:

Me: Do you want to do the elliptical after the Pilates class?
Heidi: No?
Me: Yes!
Heidi: OK.
Me: Well, let's see how we feel after the class.
Heidi: OK.
Me: I mean, you're just lying on your back in the dark, how much work can that be?
Heidi: Heh.
Me: Ha! Although normally when you're lying on your back in the dark, it IS a lot of work.
Heidi: I think that went without saying.
Me: Yeah.

Zing! Anyway, yeah, so we didn't end up doing the elliptical after Pilates. I thought after all of our extensive training with Mari Windsor, we'd be fine, but the instructor tried to kill us FOR REALSIES. Oh, and speaking of the instructor? She was the mother of one of the patients at my old office. I am never getting away from that place! Gah!

I think the people in my new office are going to get fed up with my musical choices soon. I got tired of listening to the radio all day, so I took some CDs to work. The problem is, I put on a CD in the morning and then listen to it all day long over and over. Which brings me to:

Me: I think my coworkers are getting annoyed with me.
Heidi: Why?
Me: I listened to The Shins all day on repeat.
Heidi: Oh god! They're not the only ones, then.
Me: What?
Heidi: Every morning when I'm getting ready, I hear music coming from your room and all I can think is "Is she listening to that song AGAIN?"
Me: Heh.
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: It's not every morning.
Heidi: Yeah, ok.
Me: Some mornings I listen to Regina Spektor instead!
Heidi: Wow, you've really proven your point there.
Me: Thank you.

And just because I feel like it, another question. Heather Anne asked: What is the most beautiful word you can think of?

According to my sources, (Wikipedia and Donnie Darko*), the most beautiful phrase (I know you said "word," Heather Anne, but I chose to ignore it and read "phrase" instead . . . heh) in the English language is "cellar door." Who am I to argue with both Wikipedia AND movies? Especially a movie* that stars my future husband? HOWEVER, my favorite phrase in all of literature is just this . . . "picnic, lightning." Need more?

My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three.

That's it. That's all there is. I don't know what it is about that sentence. It's so SIMPLE but so damn good that it makes me want to quit writing forever. I mean, I won't, but when I read that sentence it makes me think I should, because I will never be able to string words together that make someone want to read them over and over and wonder, "how'd she do that?"

Kat, I know you sent me that book of short stories to make me start writing some? But right now I'm reading this? And every time I pick it up it makes me want drop everything I'm doing and go write a book. Not enough to, you know, get off my lazy ass and actually start writing, but still . . . baby steps.

*Seriously, have you seen this movie? It's fucking awesome. Go watch it. Now. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Conversations With My Roommate: Jake Gyllenhaal edition

During the Golden Globes

Me: Ooh, Jake Gyllenhaal!
Heidi: Yay!
Me: Hilary Swank needs to get her gross vagina away from him.
Heidi: Gross vagina?
Me: You heard me.

Me: I like Maggie Gyllenhaal.
Heidi: Me too. She was really good in Stranger Than Fiction.
Me: I'm going to write her a letter.
Heidi: You should.
Me: "Dear Maggie, your brother is hot."
Heidi: "Could you please introduce me?"
Me: "Because I would like to hit that."

Me: Oh, Jake Gyllenhaal, I wish I could quit you.
Heidi: Haha.
Me: Not really, though.