NaBloPoMo: Day 1

Willow: Carpe diem. You told me that once.
Buffy: Fish of the day?
Willow: Not carp. Carpe. It means “seize the day.”

Hey, so remember last year when I quit my nice HR job to work part-time at an animal shelter? And how most of my family (and probably my friends) thought I had lost my mind? At the time, I knew it was the right decision, even if others in my life didn’t understand it. Still. I’m not going to pretend it was always easy. Money was tight, my schedule was erratic, and I had no idea if this part-time position would ever lead to anything more.

A few months ago, while working with potential adopters, I met someone at the perfect time. Don’t you love how that happens? I’m sure it’s entirely coincidental, the pure happenstance of meeting someone who passes along a lesson you really need to hear, or it’s something our TV-addled brains just put together for us, wanting to turn our lives into a story with a satisfying narrative. But I don’t care. It’s the greatest feeling, meeting someone who turns out to be the exact person you were supposed to talk to that day.

It was a busy day at work, like always. I had been meeting with people all day, was in fact outside in one of the yards introducing some dogs to each other (you know, normal stuff), when someone came to tell me another person was waiting. I went inside to meet him and, through the course of his interview, realized I was talking to one of the nicest people I’d ever met. Like Heather Anne Hogan nice. (Psst, that’s really nice.)

He was there to meet a few dogs, as his dog had died a few months prior. He wasn’t sure he was ready to adopt another dog and was, in fact, still going to a grief support group for the loss of his pet. We talked a bit about Oak Tree Corner then, and how so many people are uncomfortable talking about grief, or even the idea of grief, and how certainly there are people out there who just don’t understand how hard it can be to lose a pet.

He didn’t end up adopting a dog that day, but during our conversation, he asked me how I ended up working there. I explained that I’d been working in HR for a long time but wanted a change, to do something where I felt like I was making a difference in the world.

In all honesty, in the days and weeks before I met this man, I’d begun to wonder if I’d made a mistake leaving HR. It hadn’t really been so bad, had it? It was a nice enough job. The money was better. The hours were better. I’d been thinking, you know, that maybe I should go back. I felt like I wasn’t contributing enough to the household. I wasn’t making as much money as I had been. My hours, I’m sure, were hard on Joe, since I worked most weekends, and often late-ish on Saturdays and, once I got home, I was usually exhausted. Good exhausted, but still exhausted.

Still, I couldn’t imagine going back to HR. It felt like giving up every time I thought about it. And when I mentioned it to this man, this near-stranger I’d met twenty or so minutes before, he said, “Oh, god, no, never go back.” You see, he, too, had once worked in HR, for more years than I had, and he also hated it, so he left and started his own business and never looked back.

“Don’t do it,” he said, looking me right in the eye. “You’ll regret it.”

I don’t know why I accepted this advice. Unsolicited advice usually makes me go homicidal and, in fact, want to do the exact opposite of whatever I’d been told, because apparently I’m still a child. But I think I was able to take it because it was exactly what I needed to hear, exactly when I needed to hear it. It’s what I knew to be true, deep down, under all the fear and doubt.

A month later, I interviewed for the job I currently hold, a full-time position (at the same company) that I love. The money and the schedule are better, much more in line with my previous full-time position. The difference now is, I’m so much happier when I’m at work. The days are so busy. There’s so much to do. But I’m EXCITED to be there. I love going to work and there are days when I accidentally stay late because I’ve gotten so distracted by whatever I’m working on that I didn’t realize how much time had passed. AND EVERYONE IS SO NICE. Plus, you know, if I ever need a break, there are plenty of fluffy animals around to distract me.

I used to come home from work full of complaints about the day. It was exhausting, and I’m sure not super fun for Joe to listen to. Now I come home and can’t wait to talk about the wonderful people I work with and the animals I work for. So Joe is still sick of hearing me babble, just for different reasons.

I guess my point is follow your dreams or whatever? Even if you’re scared? I don’t know. I still feel like I’m faking my way through this whole “being an adult” thing most of the time, but I think I’m getting better at it. So there’s hope for anyone, I suppose.

We should BUY A BAR.

Lately, I’ve been trying this new thing where I write a post and then let it sit for a day (or at least half a day) and revise it later. It’s much different than how I used to post things to my blog. I would just open Blogger, spew my word vomit into a draft, MAYBE read it a couple of times, and then hit publish.

So now I write something and try to forget about it for a bit. Which is nice. But it also leads to a new problem. I now catch myself just writing any old thing, really letting the stream of consciousness thing get away from me, and thinking, “oh, don’t worry about what you’re writing right now, Future!Jennie can fix it,” which is great and all, at the time, but I eventually turn into Future!Jennie and wish I hadn’t left a mess of words on my hands.

I guess, if nothing else, Future!Jennie is at least a day or two smarter than me, so that’s something.

This is a common occurrence, really, and not just with writing. I pretty much live my life by a code and that code is, “I’ll worry about it later.” AND BOY DO I. Here are some things I’ve worried about in the last 24 hours:

1. Whether Max sleeps too much.

2. What Phoebe's meows mean. Is she in pain? Hungry? Lonely?

3. Where Joe was, because he wasn’t home yet and OMG WHAT IF HE GOT IN A CAR ACCIDENT AND DIDN’T HAVE HIS PHONE OR WALLET AND THEY HAD NO IDEA WHO HE WAS.

4. Whether pulling a muscle in my neck while doing NOTHING means that I have a debilitating illness of some kind.

5. The stray(ish) cats that live in our neighborhood, namely one gray cat with giant balls (important detail) that used to hang out in our yard who I haven’t seen since the beginning of the winter. :(

6. That the deer who came back to our street are too cold at night. I wanted to put out some blankets but Joe wouldn’t let me. HE THINKS THEY LIVE IN A CAVE.

7. That I’ll bite into a carrot wrong and chip a tooth.

8. That if I can’t log into our bank accounts, it means someone has hacked us and stolen our identities, not that I typed my password wrong.

9. That River Song is going to show back up on Doctor Who. 

10. Life, The Universe, and Everything, obviously.

Aren’t you glad you’re not me right now? One might think, that if someone was prone to worrying about everything in the world, she might be more responsible about planning ahead and not procrastinating on everything in her life, but you’d be wrong. It’s the procrastination that leads to excessive worrying but if I didn’t have all this stuff to worry about, how would I spend my time? Productively? Perish that thought!

Last night, on my way to volunteering, I was complaining to my mom about how my day was so busy and I had to use my lunch break to put together my volunteering activity. She very wisely pointed out that the only reason I’d had to use my lunch break was because I’d procrastinated. I could have very easily come up with an activity over the weekend or last week or FREAKING WHENEVER, but did I? (No, obviously. Weren’t you listening just now?)

I’ve always been this way. In elementary school, I used to put off doing my homework each night until the last possible minute, and sometimes that minute was after bedtime, when I’d then sneak into the bathroom next to my bedroom and do my homework in the light of the bathroom nightlight. I can remember standing in line at school in the morning, waiting behind the other kids, to hand in my spelling book or whatever, and quickly finishing the assignment WHILE IN THE LINE. WTF?

I guess it’s comforting to know I’ve always been this way and will probably always be this way and it’s OK, because it’s who I am and I’d probably be even worse at being someone else. So I’ll just continue to let Future!Jennie worry about everything and deal with the consequences later. It’s probably not healthy but at least I’m not alone.

sugar and spice and everything nice

This morning I had an eyelash in my eye and, though usually I can fish them out with my finger (GROSS), this one was proving to be difficult. So I took a tissue, rolled up one corner, and used that to grab the eyelash. It worked instantly and I wondered why I don't just do that right away any time I have anything in my eye which, for whatever reason, happens ALL THE TIME. My eye is a magnet for eyelashes and tiny pieces of fuzz and ONE TIME EVEN A BUG AHH YOU GUYS. But I hardly ever think of the tissue trick right away. Probably because I have to learn the same lesson at least 128 times before it sticks, but it could also be that I'm just kind of dumb, common-sense-wise.

The rolled-up-tissue trick is something I picked up from my grandma, and I think about that every time I use it. Whenever I was little and would get an eyelash in my eye, my grandma would come straight at me with a tissue and I'd cringe into the sofa, sure that it was going to hurt MUCH worse than the eyelash did, thank you, that eyelash can just live in my eye OK IT'S FINE. But it never hurt, really, and soon I'd be back to whatever I'd been doing, playing with My Little Pony or watching Punky Brewster or whatever the hell I did to fill my time when I was six. Gambling? Cigarettes? Alligator wrestling?

Much like now, I was a total whiny wuss when I was a kid, more than others, I imagine, though of course I can't really speak to that. I was a kid and kids have crap memories for that kind of thing. Though I do remember once falling down and scraping both of my knees to bloody messes and, when I went inside to tell my babysitter what had happened, she didn't believe me when I told her I hadn't cried. So maybe that tells you something. Something OTHER than the fact that my babysitter was an evil witch who used to make me drink cranberry juice every day (BARF) and always yelled at me for coloring outside the lines in my coloring books OR for coloring things unrealistic colors (like, I don't know, a purple duck).

I often wonder why I am the way I am, or why you are the way you are, or why ANYONE is they way they are. Are we born this way or are we made this way, molded into a whole person over the course of many years? Sure, it goes back to that whole nature-vs-nurture thing, and I'm sure it's a combination of both, but can't there be a more magical answer? Can't we be mixed together from birth, a concoction of thoughts and feelings and fate and WHAT-WILL-I-BE-que-sera-sera goodness? I know that's ridiculous but it's much more fun than just saying someone is a product of the environment. I mean, do I like to read because my parents provided me with all the books I asked for, or is it because the Fairy of Learned Books sprinkled fairy dust (made from bits of first drafts, forgotten ideas, and MAGIC obviously) on my head when I was born? Come on, which would you rather believe?

At the same time, I can't ignore the things I've picked up over the years from my family. Not that I'd want to. And not just the important things, either, like how to be a good person or how to get eyelashes out of your eye quickly and painlessly, but other things like the correct way to make a bed or that you should put potato chips on sandwiches. True, these things are easily Google-able now, but I like that I've learned them from watching others.

My mom is job-searching right now, which is a soul-sucking thing to have to do, as everyone knows. Yet she remains so positive about everything and doesn't give up, even after setbacks, which makes me wonder why I'm so prone to quitting things. I certainly didn't get it from either of my parents. Was I born this way? Did some jerk Laziness Fairy get to me when I was a baby? I can only imagine it was this magical fairy, this merry trickster, who whispered in my ear each night as I was sleeping that I should give up when things get too hard, to take the easy way out, to most definitely spend the majority of my time watching reruns of my favorite TV shows instead of doing anything productive. Which is a total asshole move, really, but it shouldn't be too hard to turn it around. Not now that I know about it. Still. If anyone has the Productivity Fairy's number, can you send it my way?

"It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist."

This morning, I was trying to figure out what to listen to on Spotify but couldn't think of anything (MY LIFE IT IS SO HARD) so I put on Indie radio. Coldplay's Don't Panic came on which gave me the brilliant idea to listen to the Garden State soundtrack. (That song is on the Garden State soundtrack. In case you weren’t aware. The thoughts were connected, is what I'm saying.)

I listened to the Garden State soundtrack all morning because I guess I wanted to make myself really sad? That's the only thing I can think of. I was obsessed with Garden State (both the movie and the soundtrack) when it came out. I was just out of college and floundering through adulthood (The Shins hadn't yet changed my life) so a story about a guy going home and drifting along until he found some sort of connection with someone or something was right up my alley. I watched the movie constantly, sometimes starting it over as soon as the credits rolled. If I remember correctly (and it seems I do), Garden State and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind were in pretty constant rotation for a while which...I guess I was trying to MAKE myself suffer from crippling depression? Good idea, Past!Jennie.

So you can imagine how disappointed I was when Joe and I watched Garden State a couple of years ago and I hated it. Just hated it. I hated everyone in it. Though, I was never all that fond of Natalie Portman's character, having been convinced upon first viewing that she stole my “socially awkward, lying-for-no-reason” schtick. Most everyone else was OK back then, though. But this time? Everything grated. The slow drift through the story (such as it was), the overly dramatic dialogue, the "original moment," I couldn't believe how much I used to love it.

God, even reading the quotes on IMDb is giving me a mad case of CringeFace (so stop, IDIOT). I think what it is, is that I loved this movie SO MUCH, so unabashedly, that now I'm embarrassed that I felt so strongly. Which is stupid. Who cares that I used to love that movie? It spoke to me at a time when I needed it and now I don't need it anymore and that's OK. There’s a reason we behave differently at 30 than we did at 20 and that is called GROWING AS A PERSON or some bullshit, and that’s fine and normal and blah blah whatever.

Anyway. The Garden State soundtrack is still great. And it does still make me sad when I listen to it. It makes me miss the person I used to be, confused as she was, because I don't really know her anymore. I'm no longer homesick for that place that doesn't exist. But I used to be. For a long time, I felt stuck in limbo between childhood and adulthood, like I was just playing adult most of the time. And while I still feel that way sometimes, I also know that I'm capable of doing adult-like things, good or bad, without completely falling apart. I'm so much more capable than I used to be, more capable than I ever gave myself credit for. I mean, we all are, right?

Still. It makes me a bit nostalgic, listening to the soundtrack of my early twenties. A little heart-achy and more than a little eye-rolly, and, since we’re talking about my early twenties here, that feels almost perfect.

it's the end of the year as we know it (so sorry for that)

Up until just a few years ago, I was fairly certain I'd never reach the day where I'd be completely fine with having no plans on New Years Eve. But here we are, almost completely plan-less, and I couldn't be happier. Our plan for the day, such as it was, included going out to breakfast and...that's pretty much it. We went to Trader Joe's last night to buy wine and snacks for tonight and that's as planned as we've gotten so far. 

I'm not sure if you're aware, but there's a Doctor Who marathon on BBC America today, but since Joe got the entire Doctor Who DVD collection (BE JEALOUS) for Christmas, we're having our own marathon by just picking out random episodes we want to watch. WE ARE FAR SUPERIOR TO YOU, BBC.

This past week or two has been so odd, what with the four day weekend for Christmas then another four day weekend for New Years and a bonus snow day in between. I'm not even sure what day it is anymore, which is going to make going back to work on Wednesday SUPER FUN but such is life, yeah? Such is life.

It's been a strange year. I guess. I say that every year. Today, I'd intended to write about my resolutions from last year and where I stood with them but it turns out I didn't write any resolutions last year. Which is just as well, really, because I'm not sure I'd have made much headway on any of them. Such is life. Did I already say that? Oh well. SUCH IS LIFE, JERKS. 

I'd make some resolutions for next year, but they're pretty much always the same. Write more. Exercise more. Cook healthier food. Watch less TV (PFFT). GET SHIT TOGETHER. I think the problem with these resolutions is that it's not possible, really, to achieve them. How do I know if I've written enough MORE or not quite enough MORE or just the right amount of MORE? SPECIFICITY, that's the key. So here goes:

1. Finish editing the novel I wrote like three years ago. I'm sure it's absolutely dreadful, first draft and all, which is probably why I can't bring myself to look at it OH ALSO editing is awful. But apparently, magical editing elves aren't going to take care of it, so that just leaves me.

2. Participate in Cannonball Read V. It was way fun this past year, even though I didn't make it to 52 reviews. BUT WHO CARES. I still wrote 34 more reviews than I ever have before. If you're at all interested in reading any of them, here they are. It's hard to tell, really, because I haven't gone back to read any of them, but I hope they got better as the year went on. And two of them were published on Pajiba, which is super exciting, so why WOULDN'T I participate again?

3. Run a 5K. Because why not? I'm putting this on here mostly because "run more" is a shitty resolution.

4. Actually use all the cookbooks I have, by cooking AT LEAST one recipe a month from one of them. I mean, come on, Jennie, get it together.

5. Get another dog YEAH JOE, WE'RE TOTALLY GETTING ANOTHER ONE.

6. Continue my FutureMe project. PROJECT makes it sound like I've thought it all out, but really I'm just writing a FutureMe email to myself once a week. I look forward to getting to start reading them this June. 

That's all I can think of. So. You're welcome that there aren't more you have to read. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

deja vu, forever and ever amen

I've been reflecting recently (and by recently I mean CONSTANTLY) on the passage of time and how it's so slow but also fast which is, though not an original thought (not even a little), totally weird. We just hired someone born in 1994 and, as I was going over her paperwork, I thought, "wait...1994...she's not old enough to work here" because in my head, someone who was born in 1993 should still be in high school BUT NO. She's definitely old enough to work here or there or EVERYWHERE, except as POTUS but who really wants that job anyway?

It was one of many small moments that seem to sneak up on me more and more often, moments when I realize that not only am I not as young as I once was, but that everyone around me is getting older, too. This is not an "oh, woe is me, I'm so OLD" post, not at all, because I don't feel that old (unless, of course, I'm at a career fair at my alma mater because GOOD LORD was that an ongoing revelation that I'm not 20 anymore and THANK YOU BABY JESUS FOR THAT), but I do feel OLDER.

Joe and I went to trivia at a local bar last week, which was great (YOU GUYS, DISNEY TRIVIA) but we were maybe the oldest ones there? I think? We were definitely on the older end of the spectrum, which has been happening more and more frequently, especially at bars, which maybe means we're going to the wrong bars BUT I LIKE THOSE BARS so I'm going to keep going, probably. I don't know. I think it's OK. We're not those people who still hang out at college bars, doing shots until 2am because we want to relive our glory days, no, we're the couple sitting quietly at a table in the corner, nursing beers until the band starts, which I think is better, and not only because when I do shots now, I want to die the next day.

My friends are all getting married and buying houses and having babies and I feel like I talk about this a lot (because I do) but it's just so WEIRD that we're all allowed to be doing any these things. Who would put any of us in charge of another living creature? Crazy people, that's who. But it's happening more and more and those of us who used to drink until 5am AND THEN take a case of beer to Lake Michigan so we could watch the sunrise are now either pregnant (MARY, AHH!) or would rather stay home and watch Lord of the Rings instead of going out to a bar (me, duh). And it's fine! It's more than fine, really, it's natural and good and BARS ARE SO LOUD SOMETIMES. But sometimes I miss the people we all used to be, if that makes sense. I miss the person I used to be, though I like the person I currently am, but I'm a little quieter now, a little more cautious (meaning I'm less prone to illegal nightswimming), and I'm definitely a lot less likely to encourage everyone to do tequila shots at the end of the evening.

I've been writing myself FutureMe emails every week for about six months now and, since I'm sending them all a year ahead, I'll start receiving them sometime next June. I'm not sure what I'm hoping to gain from this experience, other than maybe I'll wonder why I felt the need to write stupid shit to myself every week, but I suppose it'll just be another reminder of how quickly time goes by and how much (how little?) a person can change in a year. It might end up being the most depressing project I've ever undertaken. Or it might be really uplifting and fun and super positive yay hugs! I'm guessing it'll be all of the above, but also a little weird because pretty much everything I do ends up being at least a little weird.

My uncle, when I was in high school, hurt his knee somehow, playing football or baseball or some other kind of ball (who can keep them straight?) and told us he'd hurt it because he was still trying to play like he was 25, since in his head, he WAS still 25. And I thought, at the time, "well, that's just odd," but now I wonder if I'll always feel that way, too. Maybe I'll be writing a similar post in 25 years, provided the world doesn't end in a few weeks or that the internet doesn't collapse in on itself at some point, about how I can't believe my friend just became a grandma or won the Nobel Peace Prize or whatever. Maybe we all stay a certain age in our minds, no matter how many years removed we are from it, which means I'll always be missing that person, so far removed from who I am now, and removing herself further and further each day. Maybe these FutureMe emails will give me a better glimpse of who that person was, that she's not that far away and that, really, I can hang out with her any time I want because HELLO BLOG ARCHIVES.

Though, again, this all hinges on the internet not falling apart in the next 25 years. So, you know. Fingers crossed. 

obligatory post-election post

Me: I've had an awful lot of wine for a Tuesday night.
Joe: I noticed.
Me: Whatever, it's a special occasion.

Last night, sometime around an-hour-past-my-bedtime and my third glass of wine, I wondered if I should maybe just go to bed. I knew I'd be tired today, but I eventually decided that was Future!Jennie's problem and Future!Jennie could suck it because: HISTORY. Now that I am Future!Jennie? I'm regretting it a teeny tiny bit only not really because WHOO OBAMA WHOO!

This is the second election in a row that I've voted for the winner, which is a nice feeling, yes? (Yes.) Still, I stayed away from gloating on Facebook because I remember how shitty it feels to be on the losing side. OH DO I. The first election I ever voted in was 2000 and BOY DIDN'T THAT GO WELL. I'm surprised it didn't turn me off of voting forever but no, I was even more fired up by 2004, despite the lackluster candidate (poor Kerry), and I remember trying to live-blog the entire thing until I got too depressed and then I just watched the returns on mute until I fell asleep around dawn. My friend called me from DC and we sat in silence on the phone for a while, until I asked where she was and she said, "In front of the White House. Just sitting." SUPER DEPRESSING.

So, yeah, it feels good when your candidate wins, especially when you didn't have to stay up until dawn to KNOW that he won, so the last two elections have been fine for me, other than the stomach-knotting-stress I felt the entire day.

It was kind of like...OK, so I had to give a matron-of-honor toast/speech at Heidi's wedding this past weekend. And for most of the day, I felt like I was fine. I was able to relax and have fun with my friends and, before the wedding ceremony, didn't feel like it was MY time to be nervous so I tried to make sure Heidi wasn't too nervous but, you know, duh she was. Who isn't? But once we got to the reception, I knew my speech was close at hand and I babbled nervously to Joe and had trouble sitting in my seat and choked down some dinner, though my stomach was full of butterflies, and somehow distracted myself enough that I almost forgot about the speech until they called for me and I had to go stand on stage and then I gave my speech and it was fine and people laughed when they were supposed to and I didn't break down in tears or throw up and when I was done, I sat back down beside Joe and I have never, EVER in my life experienced that kind of relief. I didn't even know how nervous I was until it was over and it felt like someone had injected my body with...um...I don't know, something relaxy. Or Felix Felicis, because the rest of the night was awesome.

Wait. What was my point? Oh, yes. I was super nervous before my speech but didn't know HOW nervous until after it was over, which is exactly how I felt about this election. I never actually thought Romney might win until yesterday, when the thought of President Romney became very, very real and I was TERRIFIED. It wasn't until well after they announced Obama had won that I felt myself relax.

And no, I don't think the wine had anything to do with it. Shut up.

I'd have to get off the freeway. I HATE that.

When I got my drivers license, my parents were surprised. I was, as you can imagine, a bit offended.

"Tim told us he didn't think you'd pass on the first try," my mom explained.

Tim was my driving instructor. And, apparently, a total asshole.

Maybe that’s not fair. I've never performed well under pressure, especially in front of an authority figure. I don’t rise to the occasion, no, instead I get very anxious and worry about not doing everything perfectly. Which. OK. That's ridiculous, right? I can’t remember the last time I did anything perfectly. But that doesn’t stop me from worrying. OBVIOUSLY. I worry so much about not doing something perfectly that instead I do it horribly, which is what I was worrying about in the first place.

Note: this does not apply to tests. I kick ass at taking tests. But things like giving speeches or performing at a piano recital? These things make me want to poop my pants. Also, I don't play piano so that might be part of the problem. Obviously, I can do things like taking tests without anyone watching, whereas if I'm giving a speech, um, duh, everyone is watching.

So, yeah, back to Tim, my asshole driving instructor who wasn’t really an asshole. He was actually very patient, as all driving instructors should be, and I can't say that I made the greatest impression during my first driving lesson.

I'd already started taking the official driving classes (the ones where you sit in a classroom and watch terribly sad videos about what happens when you drink and drive...I imagine now they also include terribly sad videos about what happens when you drive and text) and my dad had taken me out driving a few times in parking lots and such, so I was familiar with things like, oh, turning the key in the ignition and putting on my seatbelt. And, aside from the time I mixed up drive and reverse and drove onto a sidewalk instead of backing out of a parking spot, I'd done fairly well. Still, I’d never driven on an actual road with, like, other cars and stuff.

With Tim, though, we were going to be driving on real roads RIGHT AWAY. I was so nervous. Why couldn’t we just drive in circles around a parking lot for a couple hours? You know? Just to warm up! Alas, no, Tim wanted to turn me into a responsible driver, not someone who could execute beautiful figure eights in front of a deserted Best Buy.

Everything went well at first. I successfully pulled the car out of the driveway and out onto a main road. Things started going downhill when I realized there were all these other cars on the road with us! What if I hit one?! I started to feel a little vomity. Then we approached a red light and, in my terror, I asked, "um...do I have to stop?"

Now. Tim's reaction (a patient YES) was pretty good. He didn't make any snide remarks, he didn't DUH me, and he didn't do what I would have done, which was yell, "YES YOU HAVE TO FUCKING STOP, PULL OVER RIGHT THE HELL NOW."

[sidenote: this is why I'm not a driving instructor DUH]

Not my finest moment NOT EVEN A LITTLE. I didn't fare much better with maneuverability, annihilating cone after cone, because it just seemed like nonsense to me. I’d nod and smile as Tim explained what I needed to do, but in my head, I was all, “Stop talking crazy, you crazy car sorcerer! Take your dark magic out of my face!”

I feel like we don’t even need to talk about driving on the highway for the first time, right? I mean, it was basically this:



I wish I performed better under pressure. I’m not sure how to fix it or if it’s something that’s even fixable. Some people thrive under pressure and some don’t, yeah? Some like conflict (oh, I’m sure of it) and some, like me, avoid conflict at all costs because WHY WOULD ANYONE LIKE CONFLICT?

I do wish I could make myself stop worrying so much about fucking up in these situations, because it feels like a self-fulfilling prophecy. I’m afraid I’ll fuck up, so I do. It’s not even that I’m not confident I can do these things, it’s that once I’m in the moment, I start doubting everything I’ve ever learned.

For instance, on the last day of middle school, I forgot the combination to my locker. The combination I’d been using all year. It was just gone. I told the janitor that my locker was stuck so he would open it for me. Now I feel like maybe the pressure of high school was starting to loom over me, causing me to fuck up before I’d even started.

Or, you know, I had brain damage.

Now, 13 years later, I can totally see why Tim didn't think I would pass my driving test on the first try. I could barely control a locker, let alone a car. Still. It hurt. And I'm glad I didn't know about it before I took my test, otherwise I probably would have psyched myself out and not passed. But pass I did, and with (almost) flying colors. Conveniently, I didn't have to drive on a road with any stoplights, so that probably helped.

O R they?

One of my best friends had a baby yesterday but, you know, I finally broke in this pair of shoes that have been giving me blisters for months, so I'm not sweating it either.

I woke up yesterday to a text from Nancy, letting me know she was at the hospital about ready to GIVE BIRTH, which she did around 8:30 that same morning. I can't stop thinking about it. Nancy has a baby. A teeny, tiny baby. Nancy is a MOM. How are we old enough for this? I was looking at old pictures the other day, pictures taken right after college and thinking, "who ARE you?" because seriously, who ARE you, Crazypants? Where did you go? Are you hiding in that portapotty? If so, why? I just have so many questions.

My main question is, did you know newborn babies don't HAVE to look like alien gorillas? Because they don't. Nancy had a really cute one. And I'm not just saying that because she's my friend and I love her so I therefore love her baby and have like, ugly-blocking powers. Because no, this baby is just really cute. You'll have to take my word for it because I forgot to take any pictures, so blinded was I by the cuteness.

Once we left the hospital, we were crazy with hunger so we went out to dinner, Heidi, Nicole, Joe and I, and I marveled at how social Joe and I are being this week. We were just over at Nicole's for a Dexter party (Dexter viewing, I mean, we didn't kidnap a serial killer and then stab him in Nicole's kill room...as far as I know, Nicole doesn't even have a kill room), we had a baby visit last night, I'm going out to dinner tonight, AND we have plans for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights this weekend. WHO ARE WE. I think it's because our only other alternative is packing and, you guys, packing blows.

We close on the house this Friday (holy shit) which means soon we'll be really poor, but we'll have a house, so if we can't afford groceries, maybe we can eat some of our siding? That's a thing, right? Sure. We're not moving in right away, though, since we have to paint and clean and hopefully that's ALL because that's enough, really.

That is all of my exciting news. Except for, oh yeah, we also bought Max a hot dog costume.

YOU'RE WELCOME

Just call me Sawyer

So I was in a glass case of emotion pretty much all of last weekend and not just because of Ripley but because ALSO we bought a house. Or, you know, started the process of buying a house because, weirdly enough, it's not like going to the store and buying something and then it's yours. It's more like, you go to the store and ask to buy, say, a chocolate cake for a certain price and then the store is like, "hmm, no, how about this price," and you're like, "well...OK, that sounds reasonable," and then you sign a bunch of paperwork and maybe in a month or two, after some cake experts inspect the chocolate cake you want to buy, you can have it.

We are at the cake expert stage of home-buying, meaning we've signed all of our paperwork (I think?) and just have to wander around what will hopefully soon be our house with some strangers and cross our fingers that nothing is terribly wrong. I think I'm still wrapping my brain around the house thing because I found out about the house the same day I found out about Ripley, so my emotions were like a rollercoaster from Hell on crack WHATEVER THAT MEANS. I don't think it will feel real until we have the keys. That said, I have already started thinking about decorating and I don't even like decorating that much WHO AM I.

I sort of can't believe anyone sold us a house. I guess I've gotten really good at this grown-up ruse I've been pulling for the last ten years because apparently I look trustworthy. I don't FEEL trustworthy, though. I mean, this was happening while we waited for the realtor to gather our final paperwork:

WHAT

Can you believe we were allowed to buy a house? I mean, seriously. Most of the time I feel like I'm pretending to be a grown up. Like, I don't really feel all that different now than I did ten years ago, so it's very disconcerting to me that I'm married and my friends are starting to have babies and I JUST BOUGHT A HOUSE. I don't feel old enough to do those things. I don't feel almost 30 but, I don't know, maybe I do, because who knows what almost 30 is supposed to feel like?

My mom said something on Saturday, when we got home from the vet and were sitting around moping, trying not to look at the dog toys littering the carpet. She said, "Can I be done being a grown up now? I don't like it anymore," and you guys, it was like the floor fell out from underneath me because I realized I'll probably feel like this forever. Like I'm pretending or pulling the world's longest con, hoodwinking the world into thinking I know what I'm doing.

You're not who you are, you're only what other people think you are. Fishism.

Netflix recently announced that it was releasing several new (well, old) TV shows on Netflix Instant, which is awesome because every season of Bones, Ugly Betty, Doctor Who, The X-Files, Lois & Clark, Grey's Anatomy, Futurama, and Better Off Ted were getting really lonely in our queue.

The two shows I was most excited about were Ally McBeal and The Wonder Years. I mean, I've been wishing for them to put The Wonder Years back on TV for years, possibly since they took it off of the air, oh, whenever that was. I used to come home from school and watch The Wonder Years reruns alongside The Fresh Prince of Bel-air and Saved by the Bell. Unfortunately, the last time I looked, it still hadn't been released on Netflix Instant. I'M WAITING, NETFLIX. And I'm hoping that The Wonder Years won't send me spiraling into an existential crisis and if you're wondering what I'm talking about then PLEASE READ AHEAD.

Ally McBeal was available on Netflix Instant last week, so I added every season to our queue, much to Joe's chagrin. But whatever, I've only been watching it when he's not home. I watched this show back when it was first on and LOVED it, so I was interested to see if and how my opinion had changed. The first season aired when I was but a wee high school sophomore (yikes) and, at the time, I loved the whimsy and the singing and the, I don't know, the BALLS OUT CRAZY.

But, if I'm being completely honest, I find it a bit cringe-worthy to watch now. Almost like I feel when I read my journal from high school. That dancing baby thing totally creeps me out. I find Ally to be extremely annoying and I spend most of the time hoping a strong gust of wind blows her into oncoming traffic. But, I mean, Robert Downey Jr. shows up in a later season and, if I remember correctly, he sings at least once, so that's something to look forward to.

The thing that freaks me out the most, though, is that Ally is supposed to be 27 in the first season. WHICH IS WEIRD. I thought she was so old when I watched this show in high school and I thought that, surely, by the time I was her age, I would have all my shit figured out.

Well, I'm two years past the age she is on the show and I most definitely do not have my shit figured out. In fact, I often wonder at which point I will have my all of my ducks in a row, at least career-wise. I don't even have any ducks! WHERE ARE MY DUCKS?  

This troubles me. I need to take a moment.

Guess what shoes are completely inappropriate for (snowy/icy) December in Ohio!

These:



So I will probably wear them again tomorrow.

Remember that show The Pretender? I loved that show. Good story, Jennie, tell it again.

Sometimes I wish I could time travel just to go back in time and punch Past!Jennie in the face.

Three Hole Punch Steve got married this weekend. The ceremony was at Wittenberg, as both the bride and groom went to Witt, and many college friends descended upon the campus. As we were waiting for the ceremony to start, I was struck by this weird thought or feeling or...I don't know, but it is WEIRD to see us all coupling off and getting married. We who used to streak the hollow. We who once snuck into the sorority house snack closet through a window above the locked door just to get ramen noodles. We who scaled a fence to go swimming at 4 AM. We who once (twice!) walked to Lake Michigan from Mary's apartment with a case of beer to watch the sunrise, chase joggers through the park, go to IHOP, then sleep a couple of hours and go out and do it all over again. How are those people ALLOWED to get married? I still feel like I'm pretending to be an adult most of the time. Does that ever go away?

Anyway, what that all means is I didn't do a very good job at pretending I'm an adult on Saturday. I mean, I acted like an adult because you have to be an adult to buy alcohol but I didn't act like a RESPONSIBLE adult. Which is fine. Being responsible all the time is highly overrated. Except, not really. Who wants to be responsible all the time? If I was responsible all the time, then I wouldn't be able to watch three episodes of Veronica Mars in one evening or eat a chocolate chip cookie for breakfast or, I don't know, have any fun ever.

It was a fun wedding, although I'm pretty sure we were seated in the troublemaker section. That's OK, it just proves that Steve A) knows us well and is B) smart. For instance. There were bottles of wine on all of the tables that I guess were meant to use for the toasts, only we drank ours right away and there was only a tiny bit left for toast time. Oops. I don't know what else to say about the reception, other than the food was yummy and there was dancing and laughing and GENERAL MERRIMENT and I now have a picture of Joe and Steve slow dancing.

I also have a picture of like, the million beers we all drank, which made getting up early on Sunday SUPER FUN. That always sucks because for one thing, you feel like arse and for ANOTHER thing, you have no one but yourself to blame. Except I sort of blame Miguel on account of any time anyone has less than a half a cup of beer, he was all, "YOU NEED A REFILL!" If that doesn't sound like a recipe for disaster, I don't know what does.

Mom: What'd you break now? Me: NOTHING. I'm not at home yet.

When Heidi and I lived together, we broke all sorts of appliances. We broke the fridge, the garbage disposal (multiple times), several coffeemakers, not to mention things outside the kitchen like closet doors and toilets, but our most memorable was the oven. Only that wasn't really broken, the oven knob was just on upside down only WHO WOULD KNOW THAT?

Well, anyway, it turns out that all of those broken appliances may have been my fault. Things just break around me. I didn't even touch the garbage disposal at the condo but it broke after us being there NOT EVEN A WEEK. And last night, oh, last night...last night the microwave did things that no microwave is supposed to do EVER.

YOU GUYS, I broke the microwave. Or my brain did. Here is what happened (imagine this is a dramatic reenactment, sort of like the ones they did on Rescue 911...or the ones they do on that I pooped my baby into the toilet show):

Joe and I got home from work.

We started dinner (lemon chicken) in the oven and then settled down to watch an episode of The West Wing while it cooked.

Once the chicken was ready, I put a thing of Uncle Ben's rice in the microwave (You know, the kind where you're supposed to tear the top and then it steams the rice in the bag or whatever? The venting thing will be important later).

It's later. I went to the bathroom and as I walked back out to the kitchen, I heard a big POP and Joe's face was all, "...the hell?" and I was all, "what did you do?" and he was like, "um, the rice exploded and the microwave turned off by itself."

And then we opened the microwave to see that one side of the rice bag had exploded rice all over.

LUCKILY, the rice only had like 9 seconds left to go, so it was totally done WHOOHOO all is not lost!

Except, then we (ok, Joe) cleaned up the exploded rice and tested to make sure the microwave still worked. And it did. We were all WHOOHOO all is not lost! except then the microwave went dark and started sparking inside so we turned it off speedy quick.

We stared at each other, mouths agape. I said, "try it again." Yeah, more sparks. Scary! It was like we had forgotten to push the button in the hatch and the world was about to end only not quite that dramatic.

So, yeah, the microwave was definitely broken. We unplugged it and then ate dinner (since it was ready and all) and then I called my parents (since my dad is our landlord) and explained that the microwave was sparking and could we maybe come over and pick up my microwave from college? I didn't tell them about the rice exploding thing until we got over there but my mom said she's done that, too, and their microwave was JUST FINE thank you and I guess being easily distracted and forgetting to do things like venting the rice SO IT WON'T EXPLODE is genetic.

But whatever. My point is, you should keep all electronic devices away from me, unless you want me to break them with my (unintentional) mind powers.

Yeah, well, you know, that's just, like, your opinion, man.

I feel like I'm suffering from some sort of time traveling sickness, which is weird because I don't remember time traveling. But maybe a side effect of the time traveling sickness is that you can't remember actually time traveling. That'd be a pain in the ass, yeah? I mean, it's not like time traveling is confusing enough, what with trying to make sure you don't run into your past or future self and give yourself a brain hemorrhage and you have to make sure you find your constant and what if you run into wackadoo Faraday and you can't get away from him because he's spouting physics at you in a whisper yell? What then? Anyway, my point is, time traveling is confusing and might also be sickness-inducing so you should probably take your time traveling dinosaur with you just in cases.

Where was I? Right, I was about to tell you about my weekend only you don't know that because I started talking about time travel instead of what I did this weekend which is actually probably good because all I did was grown up stuff. It would have sucked, but Joe was there so that made it better. But like, Friday night I came home and went running right away. Who does that? Oh, I do. And do you know what? Now I don't even remember what else I did Friday night except I know I fell asleep on the sofa watching Joe vs. the Volcano but between the running and the packing...I don't know. I think there might have been some Penn Station involved at some point but OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS HAVE I REALLY BEEN TIME TRAVELING?! This is so cool. Other than the memory loss, but whatever.

OK, so Saturday was the really grown up day because here is what we did, you guys, just wait until you hear this: got up way too early for a Saturday, loaded the car with boxes, went to Budget to rent a truck, picked up my washer and dryer from the old apartment storage unit, dropped them off at the new storage unit, took the truck back, ate some lunch, took stuff to Goodwill, went to Ikea, went to Target, got some dinner, went home, Joe put Ikea stuff together, I addressed Save the Dates, watched The Big Lebowski, drank beer OMG aren't you tired? I am. Also, that was boring, let's talk more about time travel, OK?

STOP. Hammer time.

Yesterday, it finally sunk in that I am moving NEXT WEEK. Next week is not very far away. In fact, next week is NEXT WEEK. I'm not sure what prompted this revelation. Maybe it was that people were giving me boxes and everyone knows boxes = moving. Or it could have been that someone came to pick up my endtables, making the living room look empty and sad.

Or! It could be that the living room, along with looking empty and sad, now has a random bookcase sitting next to the sofa, making it look like a very trashy college living space. But whatever. Once the endtables were gone, I realized I needed somewhere to put the lamp and the remotes and, more importantly, my beer, so I cleared off a bookcase from my bedroom (packing a box in the process) and brought it downstairs. It will only look trashy for about a week or so, so I think it's OK.

I've gotten rid of a couple things on Craigslist now, and yet every time someone comes to pick up something I've sold/given away, I think they're going to kidnap me and sell me in some faraway country (thanks a lot, Taken) or ax murder me or WORSE stand there and talk about their kids or their last vacation for hours. None of this has happened, of course, but that hasn't stopped the fear. Oh, no. I always prepare before they come over. Like, I make sure I'm fully dressed and wearing sneakers in case they try to grab me and put me in their windowless van, so it's easier to run away. I make sure they only come during daylight hours so if I do end up running away from them, hopefully someone will be out walking their dog. And hopefully this someone is in the military, which is a good bet considering we live like five minutes from the base. I also make sure someone (usually Joe) knows that the person is coming over, and I text him once they're gone to let him know I wasn't horribly murdered. It's a good system. I figure if I have a plan, nothing bad will happen. It's sort of like how I plan for the zombie apocalypse. That way, I'm covered if it ever happens but I'm of the belief that if you plan for the worst, maybe it won't happen. If you don't plan, then the Universe knows you're unprepared and it throws zombies at you. True story.

Wow, what was I talking about? Doesn't matter. Tonight, Joe and I are going to pick out paint colors. We're at least painting the living/dining rooms on account of there's a giant gaping white space in the shape of the china hutch that used to be there. Sigh. But picking out paint is fun! Right? Right. I need help, though. The carpet is blue so we need to match the walls to that. Here is a picture. It's actually of the office. Please ignore the fact that I'm wearing Hammer Pants. That is a story for another day. Maybe. Here's a picture of the living room and the current wall color. And some random family members. At Christmas time. Happy Birthday, Jesus.

Anyway, what color should we paint the walls? We'll probably end up painting the master bedroom, too, which has the same color carpet so lots of suggestions would be super awesome times a million.

Piv-AT! PIV-AAAAT!

Oh, Monday. I would so very much like to kick you in the headplace. But I won't, because I'm nice.

I keep forgetting to mention this (too busy talking about my lady lumps, obviously) but Joe and I are moving in together in less than two weeks. Because I am an uberplanner, I have already started packing so I'm not up all night the night before the move, throwing random crap into boxes all haphazardly because that makes unpacking an even bigger mess than it normally is.

I'm also trying to sell some of my stuff on Craigslist and, WHOO BOY, but is Craigslist ever a pain in my ass. I ended up putting one thing on the free board just so someone would come pick it up and I wouldn't have to take it to Goodwill myself, but I am having the hardest time ridding myself of my dining room table. So many people have expressed interest and one couple even came to look at it yesterday, but no takers. Keep your fingers crossed that the person coming to look at it this weekend falls in love with it. Platonic love. It would be weird to fall in romantic love with a table. I'm pretty sure that's illegal anyway.

Joe and I are moving into my grandma's old condo and I will tell you why. My grandma moved out of it a couple of years ago when she started having health problems, which I won't go into because A) it would take a looooong time to tell that story and B) it makes me really sad face. She's since moved into a more permanent assisted living facility and so her condo is just sitting there, all lonely-like.

MEANWHILE, Joe and I were searching for a place to live. We decided not to buy right now, for various reasons, and we couldn't find an apartment we liked, which was very frustrating but then! My parents were all, "um, why don't we just rent you the condo?" and I was like, "um, OK, can we rent it for free?" and my dad was all, "no, loser," and I said, "OK, we'll take it!"

We spent this past Saturday boxing up my grandma's stuff and taking it to storage and mylanta, was she ever a packrat. It's good to know where I get it from. I had to eat two chocolate donuts just to keep up my strength. I think one of my cousins might have eaten at least five or six donuts, because every time I looked at him, he was eating another one and I know I looked at him at least five times. I don't understand how he does that. Or how he's so damn skinny. Anyway.

Get this, Internets, just GET THIS. My grandma had had the condo painted a while ago, before she moved out, and according to my aunt, the guy who painted it did a shit-tastic job. I didn't think it was that bad until my uncle moved the china hutch that was in the corner of the dining room and OMG there was a big white patch in the exact shape of the china hutch. Because the painter had painted AROUND the hutch rather than move it. I now hate him. We'd considered painting but now we sort of have to, unless we find something that's the same exact shape as the china hutch which...yeah, that's not gonna happen so now we have to paint. I'm not very good at painting because I'm short so I can't reach all the way to the ceiling and if I'm scared to stand on a ladder on account of all the clumsy, which is apparently genetic because in the span of about 30 seconds both my aunt and cousin tripped over NOTHING and we all laughed and laughed and there was general merrymaking.

I'm so, so excited to move in with Joe but I'm also sad because Heidi and I won't be roommates anymore. It's all very confusing, this having two feelings at once thing. I can't really talk about it right now because it makes me all verklempt.

story of my life

Joe and I are meeting with a mortgage lender tomorrow to see if buying a house right now is feasible. We're supposed to bring copies of our bank statements, paychecks, and our 2008 and 2009 W-2s. I had no trouble locating my 2009 W-2 because, um, I just got it, but I cannot find my 2008 W-2 ANYWHERE.

I did, however, find the original copy of The Evil Summer so, you know, that's something.

so this is the new year...

I'm not very good at making resolutions. Scratch that. I'm REALLY good at making resolutions, but not so good at keeping them. I feel no shame in admitting this, because who is good at keeping resolutions? I mean, I suppose if you set tiny resolutions, like, I don't know, buying a new set of curtains, it's pretty easy to keep them, so maybe that's the way to go?

I'm fairly certain that my main problem is making my resolutions too broad. Also, calling them resolutions totally bites, so I'm going to call them goals instead. That seems much healthier, really, because aren't we all supposed to have goals? Or, like, a five year plan? I need to get one of those, too. So here are some of my goals for 2010. Specific goals, not generic goals like to lose weight and save money because DUH those are great goals but how will I do that? Oh, wait, here's how SUCKERS! Sorry. Anyway.

1. Get up earlier before work. This will be difficult because of my new work schedule, which gives me every other Friday off, but in return, I have to get to the office earlier every day. I think I can do it, though. Does anyone know how to disable the snooze button on an alarm clock?
2. Work out in the mornings. I have done this several times in the past, and even though I always want to die when I'm dragging myself out of bed, I feel so much better all day when I work out in the morning. PLUS I get the satisfaction of knowing that I can come home from work and do nothing, or better yet...
3. Cook a healthy dinner. I actually really like doing this, when I do it. This means I'll need to:
4. Go to the grocery more often. I hate going to the grocery. HATE IT. But I like having food in the apartment. CONUNDRUM. Actually, no, it's not a conundrum, I just need to go to the grocery more than once a month.
   
5. Plan more meals so I don't walk back and forth from the cupboards to the fridge to the freezer for half an hour, trying to decide what to make for dinner, and then end up ordering pizza because I can't figure out what else to do.
   
6. Pay more attention to how much I'm spending at the grocery store, rather than throwing things haphazardly in the cart and then wondering at checkout how I just spent $95 on a week's worth of groceries.
7. Don't go out to eat during the week. NO! Just don't. Unless it's a special occasion, like someone's birthday.
   
8. Watch less TV. This might be difficult, as I haven't been watching all that much anyway, but I think it can be done.
   
9. Spend less time dicking around on the Internets when I'm at home. That's what work is for.
   
10. Revise that pile of crap I wrote in November. Set aside 20 or 30 minutes a day to work on it, even if I really don't want to, because that's how it got written in the first place, DUH, Jennie, you're an idiot.
11. Join the Biggest Loser competition that the apartment complex is organizing (check!) and actually, I don't know, try instead of flaking out halfway through.
    
12. Run a 5K.
13. Write more thank you notes.
    
14. Go to the library more, instead of buying books all the time.
    
15. Drink more milk, eat more fruits and veggies.
    
16. Don't procrastinate so much. HAHAHAHAHA. But no, seriously, otherwise I'll end up sending wedding invitations two days before the wedding.
    
17. Eat breakfast before work, so I'm not starving when I get there because then I make bad choices. Like, chocolate donut with chocolate icing and sprinkles bad choices.
    
18. Dude, that's totally enough goals, STOP NOW.
    

Scotch and Splenda. Tastes like Splenda, gets you drunk like Scotch.

You guys, I had the weirdest dream last night. I dreamt I was on Lost island and I was running around the Dharma Initiative village with Juliet and then Ben shot an arrow into my hand. It did not feel good. It was a tiny arrow, though, and when Juliet pulled it out (heh), there was a hole in my hand. Also weird. Anyway.

I blame the Guinness I had with dinner, because whenever I have a glass or two of beer in the evening or whatever, I always have crazy, vivid dreams. You know, like getting an arrow shot through my hand. OW. I know it was only a dream, but I really think going through that whole ordeal, what with the bleeding and the pain and THE ARROW STICKING OUT OF MY HAND, made me a stronger person. If I ever for-realsies get shot in the hand with an arrow, I think I'd be OK. I hope my brain doesn't know something I don't. Like, what if it knows that sometime in the future, I get shot in the hand with an arrow? And it's trying to prepare me for it. I don't know why I'd be somewhere that I'd get shot in the arrow. Maybe it happens in the Zombie Revolution that is sure to occur in the next 20 years or so. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Maybe it wasn't the Guinness. I also had a Monster Grilled Cheese sandwich AND Pub Fries covered in 10 pounds of cheese, so maybe the cheese made the dreams. It was a lot of cheese. Like, all different kinds of cheese, too. I mean, I really like cheese (all kinds) but this was just A LOT of cheese all up in my business. Yep, I'm still talking about cheese.

Anyway. Last night, we went to see a live taping of Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me, and it was really cool even though they made fun of Dayton the whole time. I don't blame them, really. Dayton is very make-fun-able.

Next week is my last week at this job, and after watching The Office last night, I realize I've been TOTALLY WASTING my two-week-notice-immunity period. Apparently I should have been throwing stuff at my coworkers, mixing disgusting drinks, and planning to start my own paper company. Oh well. There's always next week. Maybe I'll totally Hef it up and wear pajamas and a robe every day.

So, Joe got a Blackberry the other day and keeps expressing his amazement that HE HAS THE INTERNET! ON HIS PHONE! Seriously. The Internet. On the phone. Yesterday he was all:

Joe: I'm gonna blog about how I have the Internet on my phone.
Me: OK.
Joe: Do you think I can get a whole post out of that?
Me: Um, I've gotten whole posts out of far less.

Example: see above.