...school buses were called school trucks instead, and kids didn't sit in individual seats, they were like picked up on those lever-y things and dumped into the back of the truck? I think kids would like that because kids are dumb.
...seeing deer three mornings in a row was a sign of something, good luck or bad, who knows, and not just that the deer population is so out of control that they wander down your suburban street, eating flowers out of your neighbor's yard BUT NEVER OUT OF OUR YARD WHAT'S WRONG WITH OUR YARD?
...The Shins weren't called The Shins but, like, The Knees? Or The Elbows. OR THE CHINS.
...coffee was illegal? I'd either be in jail or running a bootleg coffeehouse out of my basement, windows boarded up, secret passwords, bribing cops, the whole nine yards.
...we all still wore old-timey clothes like top hats and corsets? I would go live in a cave.
...men wore makeup and high heels instead of women? OH WAIT THERE WOULD BE NO SUCH THING AS MAKEUP OR HIGH HEELS.
...carrots not only gave you better eyesight but also X-RAY VISION? I'd be able to see through your clothes right now, is what.
...when you look in the mirror, you're really looking at the alternate version of yourself, one who is just like you in almost every way but who sees things slightly differently on account of, you know, mirror universe, and his or her life was almost like yours but slightly better or slightly worse and you didn't know which was which because, you know, you have no perspective and neither does Mirror Universe You because HOW COULD EITHER OF YOU? Would you trade, not knowing?
...you're the mirror universe?
Showing posts with label wtf jennie?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wtf jennie?. Show all posts
Monday, October 22, 2012
Friday, December 16, 2011
me and my brain are like peas and carrots
One of the best parts about our new house is that it's way closer to work for me, which means I don't have to get up as early. I used to get up way before Joe and I'd be dressed and ready to go most days before he was out of bed. Now, he gets in the shower around the time I'm drying my hair. This is great, mostly because neither of us really minds sharing the bathroom (unless I leave the cord to my flatiron lying all over the floor, which used to happen all the time and I'd hear a mighty yell whenever Joe would step on it...oops), but also because we can do ridiculous things like sing Backstreet Boys songs together or, like this morning, the Annie Edison Holiday Tradition Extravaganza, which I have not been able to get out of my head since last week.
One morning, I was, for whatever reason, quoting Forrest Gump, as ALL normal people do from time to time. I was quoting this line in particular: "Dear God, make me a bird, so I can fly far...far far away from here."
Then I started singing the Doctor Who theme song and explaining to Joe that a lot of people don't think that song has lyrics but it does and they are: Doctor Pooooooo doctor pooooo doctor poooo doctor poooooo...doctor poooooooooooooo. Or something. I don't know. I don't remember.
Anyway, Joe was all, "your brain is a strange place," and I was like, "what?" because what? And he was all, "how do you go from quoting little Jenny from Forrest Gump, praying in a field, to singing INSANE lyrics to Doctor Who?" and I was like, "I don't know, it's easy."
My brain is a place where The Doctor runs rampant with his new companion, Annie Edison, where Coach Taylor gives me daily pep talks, where Kelly Kapoor gives me fashion advice in the mean-girlest way possible. Movie and TV references zip around, smacking all up into each other until they spill out of my mouth FOR NO RAISIN. It's sort of like Community, if Community was terrible and made no sense. At any given moment, my brain sounds like this:
Why do people put those giant inflatable decorations in their yards? I hate them. Especially Frosty the Snowman. I really hate Frosty the Snowman. His stupid face and his stupid nose and his stupid stupid hat. If I were one of those kids, I'd set that hat on fire so he'd melt and never, ever come back. He is THE WORST. But I guess his hat IS pretty cool so maybe I wouldn't set it on fire, I'd just steal it and set one that LOOKS like it on fire so Frosty is dead and melts in the spring but I'll still have his magic hat. I don't know what I'd use it for but maybe it would bring other things to life, too? Like, I don't know, a stuffed elephant? But a little one because a big elephant wouldn't fit in our house. Except little elephants are mean, I think, because I read about it in The Lost World and it makes sense because little dogs are way meaner than big dogs because there is less room for evil in their bodies so the evil is more concentrated. It's science or something. Max is sort of little but he's not evil at all so maybe he's an outlier? Probably. Phoebe is little and she's pretty evil but that might just be a cat thing. I hope evil isn't transmitted by poop because Max keeps eating Phoebe's poops and I don't want him to be evil. I think evil is probably transmitted by, like, dark thoughts or blood or something. Not poop. Poop is supposed to be funny, not evil.
So yeeeeeah. Obviously, my brain is loud and confusing and doesn't make sense a lot of the time and almost always leads to poop talk, but, hey...whatever. It's home.
One morning, I was, for whatever reason, quoting Forrest Gump, as ALL normal people do from time to time. I was quoting this line in particular: "Dear God, make me a bird, so I can fly far...far far away from here."
Then I started singing the Doctor Who theme song and explaining to Joe that a lot of people don't think that song has lyrics but it does and they are: Doctor Pooooooo doctor pooooo doctor poooo doctor poooooo...doctor poooooooooooooo. Or something. I don't know. I don't remember.
Anyway, Joe was all, "your brain is a strange place," and I was like, "what?" because what? And he was all, "how do you go from quoting little Jenny from Forrest Gump, praying in a field, to singing INSANE lyrics to Doctor Who?" and I was like, "I don't know, it's easy."
My brain is a place where The Doctor runs rampant with his new companion, Annie Edison, where Coach Taylor gives me daily pep talks, where Kelly Kapoor gives me fashion advice in the mean-girlest way possible. Movie and TV references zip around, smacking all up into each other until they spill out of my mouth FOR NO RAISIN. It's sort of like Community, if Community was terrible and made no sense. At any given moment, my brain sounds like this:
Why do people put those giant inflatable decorations in their yards? I hate them. Especially Frosty the Snowman. I really hate Frosty the Snowman. His stupid face and his stupid nose and his stupid stupid hat. If I were one of those kids, I'd set that hat on fire so he'd melt and never, ever come back. He is THE WORST. But I guess his hat IS pretty cool so maybe I wouldn't set it on fire, I'd just steal it and set one that LOOKS like it on fire so Frosty is dead and melts in the spring but I'll still have his magic hat. I don't know what I'd use it for but maybe it would bring other things to life, too? Like, I don't know, a stuffed elephant? But a little one because a big elephant wouldn't fit in our house. Except little elephants are mean, I think, because I read about it in The Lost World and it makes sense because little dogs are way meaner than big dogs because there is less room for evil in their bodies so the evil is more concentrated. It's science or something. Max is sort of little but he's not evil at all so maybe he's an outlier? Probably. Phoebe is little and she's pretty evil but that might just be a cat thing. I hope evil isn't transmitted by poop because Max keeps eating Phoebe's poops and I don't want him to be evil. I think evil is probably transmitted by, like, dark thoughts or blood or something. Not poop. Poop is supposed to be funny, not evil.
So yeeeeeah. Obviously, my brain is loud and confusing and doesn't make sense a lot of the time and almost always leads to poop talk, but, hey...whatever. It's home.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
sliiiiide away
What's weird about being an adult is that sometimes you get excited about stupid things, like when your husband changes your windshield wipers for you. This was exciting for two reasons. One, I didn't have to do it. And two, I hadn't changed my windshield wipers in...I don't want to say YEARS but you guys it was totally years. Like...when did I get my car? 2008? Let us check the archives! Oh, no, I'm sorry, it was 2007. So, if we use math, we will discover that my windshield wipers were REALLY FUCKING OLD. I'm sure they weren't really THAT old, maybe? Like maybe I changed them at some point and forgot? But still. I fail. I fail at life and stuff.
What's also weird about being an adult is that sometimes you get excited about willingly putting yourself in a great deal of debt for the next 80 bajillion years. What's also also weird is that someone will let you buy a house even though you routinely stay up too late onschool work nights watching zombie shows and don't shower on the weekends until at least 3 o'clock in the afternoon.
My point is, a lot of things are weird so get over it. Sorry, that was mean. And that wasn't even my point because OBVIOUSLY I DON'T HAVE ONE WHAT ARE YOU, NEW? Well? Are you? If you're new, how are you even reading this because you are obviously a baby and babies can't read until they are really old babies so what's up with that, are you a really old baby?
Is anyone even still reading this? I wouldn't blame you if you weren't. Anyway. We closed on our house on Friday, which I think means that it is closed all over the place, man, there are no open windows or doors or anything in that damn house. It also means that the next two weeks aren't going to be very much fun unless you like having to pack and paint and clean more than watching reruns of Mad Men and if that's the case, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.
I'm sorry, I'm being really combative today and I have no idea why. Whatever. The closing was odd because the sellers were there and they seemed really nice but it was kind of weird because, like, we're going to be living in their house. Which is now our house, but like, what if we find something weird in a hidden drawer in the basement, like a homemade sex tape or a box of blood slides? I don't want to have met these people face to face if we end up finding something like that. OH WELL, I guess.
I am going to miss our realtor. She's pretty much the nicest realtor ever so I'm thinking about maybe buying a second house so we can continue to hang out with her. She's THAT awesome. And she seemed to like us even though we looked at approximately 75 houses and I'm not even exaggerating, I think we really did look at 75 houses, AT LEAST. That's a lot of houses. But because I am me (who else would I be?), I felt like we had to look at every house we might possibly want because what if we didn't and THAT WAS THE HOUSE. And, you know? It's a good thing I spent so much time obsessively combing the internet for available houses because that's how we found the one we bought, I think. I don't know, I don't remember. Wow, good story, Jennie, TELL IT AGAIN.
What's also weird about being an adult is that sometimes you get excited about willingly putting yourself in a great deal of debt for the next 80 bajillion years. What's also also weird is that someone will let you buy a house even though you routinely stay up too late on
My point is, a lot of things are weird so get over it. Sorry, that was mean. And that wasn't even my point because OBVIOUSLY I DON'T HAVE ONE WHAT ARE YOU, NEW? Well? Are you? If you're new, how are you even reading this because you are obviously a baby and babies can't read until they are really old babies so what's up with that, are you a really old baby?
Is anyone even still reading this? I wouldn't blame you if you weren't. Anyway. We closed on our house on Friday, which I think means that it is closed all over the place, man, there are no open windows or doors or anything in that damn house. It also means that the next two weeks aren't going to be very much fun unless you like having to pack and paint and clean more than watching reruns of Mad Men and if that's the case, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.
I'm sorry, I'm being really combative today and I have no idea why. Whatever. The closing was odd because the sellers were there and they seemed really nice but it was kind of weird because, like, we're going to be living in their house. Which is now our house, but like, what if we find something weird in a hidden drawer in the basement, like a homemade sex tape or a box of blood slides? I don't want to have met these people face to face if we end up finding something like that. OH WELL, I guess.
I am going to miss our realtor. She's pretty much the nicest realtor ever so I'm thinking about maybe buying a second house so we can continue to hang out with her. She's THAT awesome. And she seemed to like us even though we looked at approximately 75 houses and I'm not even exaggerating, I think we really did look at 75 houses, AT LEAST. That's a lot of houses. But because I am me (who else would I be?), I felt like we had to look at every house we might possibly want because what if we didn't and THAT WAS THE HOUSE. And, you know? It's a good thing I spent so much time obsessively combing the internet for available houses because that's how we found the one we bought, I think. I don't know, I don't remember. Wow, good story, Jennie, TELL IT AGAIN.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
if my brain could throw up, this is what it would look like
Did you know that you can only listen to 40 hours of Pandora a month? I didn't. Until I apparently reached my limit, which I did today. I thought at first that 40 hours was really impressive but I don't think it is. I have Pandora on most of the time at work, so that's an easy 40 hours right there. In a week, even.
At first I was really worried because WHAT WOULD I DO FOR MUSIC? I found out that we can hear the music from shows in our offices during rehearsals and showtime but there aren't any shows right now. And I always forget my iPod at home, or if I do remember it, it's not charged and don't ask me where my charger is because I DON'T KNOW I DON'T EVER KNOW. But whatever, don't worry (I know you were worried), I paid 99 cents and now I can listen to Pandora for the rest of the month and my limit starts over in September. Can you imagine, though? No music at work? To miss out on the joy that is Part of Your World popping up after, like, Radiohead or something? No thank you.
Anyway, what was I talking about? Who knows. How many times have I typed "what am I talking about?" on my blog might be a better question only probably not really because the answer is DUH A LOT. Guess what we did last night? Guess. I SAID GUESS. No, but seriously, folks, we put an offer on a house last night. I wasn't going to say anything because I was afraid of jinxing it but we didn't say anything LAST time we put an offer on a house and we still didn't get it so I am throwing caution to the wind. Here, wind! Take it! Take all the caution! I don't even want it anyway!
So, yeah, we met our realtor after work to sign all the paperwork and did you know putting on offer on a house is kind of a big deal? Because I guess it is. There's a contract and you have to hand over a check and everything. I signed my name a bunch of times and didn't even hyperventilate once! That will happen when and if we end up getting the house and I then realize we just bought this giant thing where millions of things could go wrong and we won't have a landlord to call anymore. OMG WHAT HAVE WE DONE.
No, seriously, it's fine. It'll be really nice if we get it because there's a giant backyard, all for Max, which is great because he refuses to use the litter box, unless he's sneaking into it to steal cat poop. We mentioned the cat-poop-thievery to the vet when she suggested putting Max on a diet (he's packed on a few pounds...don't mention it to him, he's sensitive) and I was all, "I think he's hungry because he got in the litter box the other day and hardly ever does that," and she was like, "Oh, yeah, he's not hungry, he's just stealing Kitty Cookies, lol. Cat poop is like dessert to dogs." It was an informative visit, is what I'm saying.
Anyway, there was an earthquake today, too, so that's weird. I mean, it wasn't IN Ohio but I certainly felt it in Ohio. We don't usually get earthquakes here but this one time when I was in 3rd grade they were worried about some giant earthquake that was supposed to hit (I don't know the details because I was 9, but it probably had something to do with the Hellmouth being in Cleveland) BUT ANYWAY we had to have earthquake drills and that consisted of sitting under our desks, which doesn't really seem that safe but whatever, I don't know about surviving an earthquake, only about surviving tornadoes and MORE IMPORTANTLY zombies. Did you know this entire paragraph was only two sentences? Well, three now. Four. Five. Shit.
You guys, WHAT is this post even about? You know what the problem is? I started it yesterday morning and now it is today evening and guess what I don't even care, I'm posting it anyway, non-sensicalness and all. For what is life without a little non-sensicalness? Besides more sensical and stuff. But who wants that? I can't decide how to end this but I need to go watch some Mad Men reruns until it's time to go to bed so BYE.
At first I was really worried because WHAT WOULD I DO FOR MUSIC? I found out that we can hear the music from shows in our offices during rehearsals and showtime but there aren't any shows right now. And I always forget my iPod at home, or if I do remember it, it's not charged and don't ask me where my charger is because I DON'T KNOW I DON'T EVER KNOW. But whatever, don't worry (I know you were worried), I paid 99 cents and now I can listen to Pandora for the rest of the month and my limit starts over in September. Can you imagine, though? No music at work? To miss out on the joy that is Part of Your World popping up after, like, Radiohead or something? No thank you.
Anyway, what was I talking about? Who knows. How many times have I typed "what am I talking about?" on my blog might be a better question only probably not really because the answer is DUH A LOT. Guess what we did last night? Guess. I SAID GUESS. No, but seriously, folks, we put an offer on a house last night. I wasn't going to say anything because I was afraid of jinxing it but we didn't say anything LAST time we put an offer on a house and we still didn't get it so I am throwing caution to the wind. Here, wind! Take it! Take all the caution! I don't even want it anyway!
So, yeah, we met our realtor after work to sign all the paperwork and did you know putting on offer on a house is kind of a big deal? Because I guess it is. There's a contract and you have to hand over a check and everything. I signed my name a bunch of times and didn't even hyperventilate once! That will happen when and if we end up getting the house and I then realize we just bought this giant thing where millions of things could go wrong and we won't have a landlord to call anymore. OMG WHAT HAVE WE DONE.
No, seriously, it's fine. It'll be really nice if we get it because there's a giant backyard, all for Max, which is great because he refuses to use the litter box, unless he's sneaking into it to steal cat poop. We mentioned the cat-poop-thievery to the vet when she suggested putting Max on a diet (he's packed on a few pounds...don't mention it to him, he's sensitive) and I was all, "I think he's hungry because he got in the litter box the other day and hardly ever does that," and she was like, "Oh, yeah, he's not hungry, he's just stealing Kitty Cookies, lol. Cat poop is like dessert to dogs." It was an informative visit, is what I'm saying.
Anyway, there was an earthquake today, too, so that's weird. I mean, it wasn't IN Ohio but I certainly felt it in Ohio. We don't usually get earthquakes here but this one time when I was in 3rd grade they were worried about some giant earthquake that was supposed to hit (I don't know the details because I was 9, but it probably had something to do with the Hellmouth being in Cleveland) BUT ANYWAY we had to have earthquake drills and that consisted of sitting under our desks, which doesn't really seem that safe but whatever, I don't know about surviving an earthquake, only about surviving tornadoes and MORE IMPORTANTLY zombies. Did you know this entire paragraph was only two sentences? Well, three now. Four. Five. Shit.
You guys, WHAT is this post even about? You know what the problem is? I started it yesterday morning and now it is today evening and guess what I don't even care, I'm posting it anyway, non-sensicalness and all. For what is life without a little non-sensicalness? Besides more sensical and stuff. But who wants that? I can't decide how to end this but I need to go watch some Mad Men reruns until it's time to go to bed so BYE.
Friday, November 19, 2010
We mustn't dwell. No, not today. We CAN'T. Not on Rex Manning day!
Most evenings, I spend a little time picking out what I'm going to wear the following day. It saves time in the morning, it really does, which is awesome because A) it means I'm on time for work (...most of the time) and B) it means I get to sleep as long as possible.
I forget sometimes, though, and on those days I think about what I'm going to wear while I'm getting ready because then, by the time I'm about to get dressed, I know exactly what clothes I need to rip out of my closet. This morning, I thought I knew what I was going to wear and I was like, "oh, hell yeah, snooze button!" but when I woke up, I realized in horror that I couldn't possibly wear what I was planning to wear because DUN DUN DUUUUUN the shirt I was planning on wearing was way too close to Slytherin colors! I can't wear Slytherin colors today! Not on Harry Potter Day!
So instead, I'm wearing a maroon shirt because obviously I need to show my support for Gryffindor and I didn't have time to make a Luna-Lovegood-Lion-Head. I told Joe about this when I woke up, and it went something like this, "I almost wore this green shirt today but then I realized it was Slytherin colors! SLYTHERIN! So I had to change it real fast and wear this shirt so I was wearing Gryffindor colors! GRYFFINDOR! IT'S HARRY POTTER DAY!" and he looked at me like I was nusto bananas (standard) and I was like, "You collect toys and comics LET ME HAVE THIS ONE THING," and he was all, "calm down, psycho," because he wasn't really looking at me like I'm nusto bananas (much), it was that he had just woken up and I was all awake and talking REALLYREALLYFAST like the micromachine guy. Remember the micromachine guy? He was on Saved by the Bell one time. True story.
Also, in other Harry Potter news, I totally won the bet. I finished Deathly Hallows around 9 last night, and that was even after I had to take a break because I was crying. That book gives me so much sad, especially toward the end, and I usually get to a certain point where I can't read anymore because of all the tears. Stupid feelings.
GRYFFINDOR!!!!11!!1!!!!1!
I forget sometimes, though, and on those days I think about what I'm going to wear while I'm getting ready because then, by the time I'm about to get dressed, I know exactly what clothes I need to rip out of my closet. This morning, I thought I knew what I was going to wear and I was like, "oh, hell yeah, snooze button!" but when I woke up, I realized in horror that I couldn't possibly wear what I was planning to wear because DUN DUN DUUUUUN the shirt I was planning on wearing was way too close to Slytherin colors! I can't wear Slytherin colors today! Not on Harry Potter Day!
So instead, I'm wearing a maroon shirt because obviously I need to show my support for Gryffindor and I didn't have time to make a Luna-Lovegood-Lion-Head. I told Joe about this when I woke up, and it went something like this, "I almost wore this green shirt today but then I realized it was Slytherin colors! SLYTHERIN! So I had to change it real fast and wear this shirt so I was wearing Gryffindor colors! GRYFFINDOR! IT'S HARRY POTTER DAY!" and he looked at me like I was nusto bananas (standard) and I was like, "You collect toys and comics LET ME HAVE THIS ONE THING," and he was all, "calm down, psycho," because he wasn't really looking at me like I'm nusto bananas (much), it was that he had just woken up and I was all awake and talking REALLYREALLYFAST like the micromachine guy. Remember the micromachine guy? He was on Saved by the Bell one time. True story.
Also, in other Harry Potter news, I totally won the bet. I finished Deathly Hallows around 9 last night, and that was even after I had to take a break because I was crying. That book gives me so much sad, especially toward the end, and I usually get to a certain point where I can't read anymore because of all the tears. Stupid feelings.
GRYFFINDOR!!!!11!!1!!!!1!
Monday, August 16, 2010
the very definition of WTF
We got a wedding gift today. And it came in a giant bag. So, of course, then this happened:
Joe was sad that all six foot five of him would not fit in the bag, so Phoebe tried to console him:
It sort of looks like he's growing out of the floor, but I swear, he's not.
Joe was sad that all six foot five of him would not fit in the bag, so Phoebe tried to console him:
It sort of looks like he's growing out of the floor, but I swear, he's not.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Some days I'm more afraid of zombies than others.
This is one of those days. I'm never sure what sets it off. It could be that I dreamt about zombies last night, but I don't really remember if I dreamt about zombies. I do remember that I was leading Bill Clinton through the first castle you have to beat in Zelda (Super Nintendo version), but I think that has something to do with seeing Scott Pilgrim. No idea why Bill Clinton was there. He does seem like he'd be fun to hang out with, so long as he keeps his hands to himself.
Sometimes zombie thoughts just pop into my head, zombie dreams or not. Not sure why. This morning, I was putting a signed form on the outside door so UPS would drop off my package (heh), and as I stood there, sticking the note to the door, I thought, "It's awfully quiet out here...this is the part of the zombie movie when a zombie would jump out from behind those bushes and bite my face off."
Then I heard a noise and ran back inside.
It's because mornings are so quiet, I think, that my imagination starts to run wild. Also, in a lot of zombie movies, morning is when SHIT GETS REAL. It's morning when Shaun (of the Dead) finds zombies in his backyard. In the new Dawn of the Dead, Anna Faris wakes up and there's a creepy child standing in their hallway, a creepy child who BITES HER HUSBAND'S NECK OFF. And then her husband turns into a zombie right in front of her and tries to eat her and she has to shimmy out the bathroom window and run to her car and luckily her car keys were on the nightstand so she can, you know, drive away but WHO REALLY DOES THAT? Who keeps their car keys in the bedroom? Do you guys? I guess I need to start keeping my car keys on the nightstand but we don't HAVE a window in the bathroom so if I get stuck in there, I'm screwed. There aren't even any good weapons in there.
The mornings when I don't see anyone outside are the worst. Usually, at some point, I'll see or hear a neighbor go out to their car or walk their dog and I think, "OK, there probably wasn't a zombie apocalypse last night." But if I don't see anyone? Then I just don't know. I think, what if all the neighbors are zombies now and they're just hiding in dark places until my brain gets close enough for them to eat it? WHAT THEN? CONSTANT VIGILANCE, that's the only answer.
This morning I didn't see anyone outside the whole time I was getting ready. So I knew that a zombie apocalypse was totally possible. Obviously. LOGIC. I was kind of terrified to go out to my car, now that it's in the garage. For a long time, our garage was full of random crap so there was no room for my car, but NO MORE. I had to walk down a long, creepy hallway to another hallway to the dark garage and as I reached through the door to hit the "open garage door" button so the light would come on, I imagined one of those rage zombies from 28 Days Later sprinting out from a dark corner and BITING MY HAND OFF and I'm not kidding, you guys, I might have whimpered a little.
It's seriously exhausting being in my head sometimes. Especially on zombie days.
Sometimes zombie thoughts just pop into my head, zombie dreams or not. Not sure why. This morning, I was putting a signed form on the outside door so UPS would drop off my package (heh), and as I stood there, sticking the note to the door, I thought, "It's awfully quiet out here...this is the part of the zombie movie when a zombie would jump out from behind those bushes and bite my face off."
Then I heard a noise and ran back inside.
It's because mornings are so quiet, I think, that my imagination starts to run wild. Also, in a lot of zombie movies, morning is when SHIT GETS REAL. It's morning when Shaun (of the Dead) finds zombies in his backyard. In the new Dawn of the Dead, Anna Faris wakes up and there's a creepy child standing in their hallway, a creepy child who BITES HER HUSBAND'S NECK OFF. And then her husband turns into a zombie right in front of her and tries to eat her and she has to shimmy out the bathroom window and run to her car and luckily her car keys were on the nightstand so she can, you know, drive away but WHO REALLY DOES THAT? Who keeps their car keys in the bedroom? Do you guys? I guess I need to start keeping my car keys on the nightstand but we don't HAVE a window in the bathroom so if I get stuck in there, I'm screwed. There aren't even any good weapons in there.
The mornings when I don't see anyone outside are the worst. Usually, at some point, I'll see or hear a neighbor go out to their car or walk their dog and I think, "OK, there probably wasn't a zombie apocalypse last night." But if I don't see anyone? Then I just don't know. I think, what if all the neighbors are zombies now and they're just hiding in dark places until my brain gets close enough for them to eat it? WHAT THEN? CONSTANT VIGILANCE, that's the only answer.
This morning I didn't see anyone outside the whole time I was getting ready. So I knew that a zombie apocalypse was totally possible. Obviously. LOGIC. I was kind of terrified to go out to my car, now that it's in the garage. For a long time, our garage was full of random crap so there was no room for my car, but NO MORE. I had to walk down a long, creepy hallway to another hallway to the dark garage and as I reached through the door to hit the "open garage door" button so the light would come on, I imagined one of those rage zombies from 28 Days Later sprinting out from a dark corner and BITING MY HAND OFF and I'm not kidding, you guys, I might have whimpered a little.
It's seriously exhausting being in my head sometimes. Especially on zombie days.
Thursday, July 01, 2010
QUESTION: What kind of bear is best?
On any given day, my job pretty much sucks. I try to remind myself that it could suck harder (twss) but on days when I do nothing but stare at I-9s (don't ask) or hear that Joe's company is giving away Kindles or iPhones or $50 Amazon cards FOR NO RAISIN, I get a little stabby.
And these are the days that I am so happy that Google Reader exists. I subscribe to about a billion things, meaning that at any point of the day, I can go there and be entertained. I like to think of it as a physical place, sort of like what The Commons was like at Wittenberg. Between classes, you could stop by and grab a cyberwrap (Chipotle-sized, customizable burritos) or a tiny pizza, and catch up with whoever happened to be there at the time. Wittenberg was a tiny school, so the chances that you would run into someone you knew were pretty good.
That's what Google Reader is like. There's some activity going on at pretty much any point of the day. Someone is sharing something, or there's a new Harry Potter read-a-long post to read, or there's an important conversation going on in the comments. A conversation like: what kind of pop-tart is best? (answer: anything frosted.) Or: what are your thoughts on donuts/bagels? (cake donuts, give me all the bagels.) Or: could James Franco be more crazy awesome? (No.)
When I think back to the early days of the internet, I am appalled at how low tech my blog/website reading was. I put my favorite blogs and websites on the sidebar of my own blog and I'd click on each one individually when I got bored to see if anything had been updated. LIKE AN ANIMAL.
Google Reader, though, Google Reader makes sure I don't miss anything and I don't have to do any work at all, really. I am being for serious, you guys, when I tell you that some days, I could not make it until 5 without my Greader. It is my precious and I wants it GIVE US THE PRECIOUS.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
oh, right, I have a blog
I have two Big Problems. I want everything to be perfect ALL THE TIME and I procrastinate, um, a lot. The combination means I don't ever get anything done. Because NEWSFLASH nothing can ever be perfectly perfect all the perfect time. Duh. This is like, common knowledge, right? And if something isn't going to be perfect, why even bother DOING it?
Earlier someone asked me for a report. Except...not really. They did not ask for a report. They asked for A NUMBER. Their exact words were, "Can you tell me the percentage of employees blah blah blah...doesn't have to be perfect, I just need an estimate." And I was all, "OMG, I can't believe someone is finally asking me to do something! Hooray!" So instead of procrastinating, I did it right away! Even though it was lunchtime! Unfortunately, instead of just estimating the answer off of data I've already compiled (because that data is OLD, duh, and no longer perfect), I took it upon myself to make it a much bigger project than it needed to be and suddenly there were reports and spreadsheets ALL OVER MY COMPUTER AND THE NUMBERS WEREN'T ADDING UP AND THE PERSON WAS EMAILING ME ALL, "NO SRSLY, THIS DOES NOT NEED TO BE PERFECT, DO YOU HAVE IT YET?" AND I WAS ALL, "THERE'S NEVER ANY TIME I NEVER HAVE TIME TO STUDY OMG SHUT UP JESSIE SPANO." PLUS ALSO my other coworker was trying to talk to me and carrying on a conversation with her is like a never-ending "Who's on First" routine, so concentrating was OUT OF THE QUESTION.
Ahem. I eventually finished it without procrastinating AT ALL (!!) and it was perfect (!!) and I sent it away and got what I wanted: validation in the form of a "YOU'RE AWESOME, THANK YOU!" email. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.
Anyway, my point is, SUCK IT, BIG PROBLEMS. If we were in prison, you guys would be, like, my bitches*.
*thank you, Phoebe
Earlier someone asked me for a report. Except...not really. They did not ask for a report. They asked for A NUMBER. Their exact words were, "Can you tell me the percentage of employees blah blah blah...doesn't have to be perfect, I just need an estimate." And I was all, "OMG, I can't believe someone is finally asking me to do something! Hooray!" So instead of procrastinating, I did it right away! Even though it was lunchtime! Unfortunately, instead of just estimating the answer off of data I've already compiled (because that data is OLD, duh, and no longer perfect), I took it upon myself to make it a much bigger project than it needed to be and suddenly there were reports and spreadsheets ALL OVER MY COMPUTER AND THE NUMBERS WEREN'T ADDING UP AND THE PERSON WAS EMAILING ME ALL, "NO SRSLY, THIS DOES NOT NEED TO BE PERFECT, DO YOU HAVE IT YET?" AND I WAS ALL, "THERE'S NEVER ANY TIME I NEVER HAVE TIME TO STUDY OMG SHUT UP JESSIE SPANO." PLUS ALSO my other coworker was trying to talk to me and carrying on a conversation with her is like a never-ending "Who's on First" routine, so concentrating was OUT OF THE QUESTION.
Ahem. I eventually finished it without procrastinating AT ALL (!!) and it was perfect (!!) and I sent it away and got what I wanted: validation in the form of a "YOU'RE AWESOME, THANK YOU!" email. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.
Anyway, my point is, SUCK IT, BIG PROBLEMS. If we were in prison, you guys would be, like, my bitches*.
*thank you, Phoebe
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
out, damned spot!
I just spent about thirty seconds trying to wipe a crumb off of my lip and then I realized it wasn't a crumb. It was a freckle. I didn't even know you could get freckles on your lips but APPARENTLY you can. Or at least I can. Jealous? You shouldn't be. My face is an explosion of freckles right now. I'd show you, but I haven't put my Myrtle Beach pictures on my computer yet. Sorry.
Anyway, I'm back. We got back late last night, which means I'm tired and whiny today. Whinier than usual, even, which is pretty whiny. I called Joe earlier and was all, "I'm tiiiiiiired," until finally he said he was going to hang up and I should call back when I was an adult again. I'm afraid, though, that I'll never really be an adult, mwaahaahaa.
I don't know. I'm tiiiiiired! I couldn't sleep last night because, in an effort to stay awake until I got home, I drank a shitload of caffeine (truth: I got a drink from Starbucks just because I was bored and had a gift card). The reason I couldn't stay awake is because we went to the beach for four hours before flying home and being at the beach is hard! It's true! It's really warm and the sand is all hot and you get sand all over EVERYTHING, no matter how hard you try not to, and then you get in the ocean and the waves try to beat you up and steal your swimsuit. Plus also, you might have to save a little girl's life like I did one day. There I was, just sitting and relaxing and reading my book, when I looked over to the umbrella next to ours and saw a little girl clutching the umbrella stand, crying, and shifting from foot to foot.
I was all, "are you OK?" and she emphatically shook her head no. "Are you lost?" I asked and she replied, "My feet hurt!" so I motioned for her to come under our umbrella. I asked where her adult was and noticed she wasn't wearing any shoes so her feet were probably burning off of her body. Because that is how hot the sand was that day. TRUE STORY. Anyway. I picked her up and we went walking down the beach, looking for her particular blue umbrella in a sea of blue umbrellas. Luckily, a lady eventually ran up to us and claimed her, which was good because I was tempted to keep her. She was almost as cute as a puppy.
So maybe I am an adult, after all. Even though a stewardess on one of our flights asked if I was old enough to sit next to the emergency exit because she claims I look 12*. I blame the freckles.
*Just . . . what? That lady was crazypants.
Anyway, I'm back. We got back late last night, which means I'm tired and whiny today. Whinier than usual, even, which is pretty whiny. I called Joe earlier and was all, "I'm tiiiiiiired," until finally he said he was going to hang up and I should call back when I was an adult again. I'm afraid, though, that I'll never really be an adult, mwaahaahaa.
I don't know. I'm tiiiiiired! I couldn't sleep last night because, in an effort to stay awake until I got home, I drank a shitload of caffeine (truth: I got a drink from Starbucks just because I was bored and had a gift card). The reason I couldn't stay awake is because we went to the beach for four hours before flying home and being at the beach is hard! It's true! It's really warm and the sand is all hot and you get sand all over EVERYTHING, no matter how hard you try not to, and then you get in the ocean and the waves try to beat you up and steal your swimsuit. Plus also, you might have to save a little girl's life like I did one day. There I was, just sitting and relaxing and reading my book, when I looked over to the umbrella next to ours and saw a little girl clutching the umbrella stand, crying, and shifting from foot to foot.
I was all, "are you OK?" and she emphatically shook her head no. "Are you lost?" I asked and she replied, "My feet hurt!" so I motioned for her to come under our umbrella. I asked where her adult was and noticed she wasn't wearing any shoes so her feet were probably burning off of her body. Because that is how hot the sand was that day. TRUE STORY. Anyway. I picked her up and we went walking down the beach, looking for her particular blue umbrella in a sea of blue umbrellas. Luckily, a lady eventually ran up to us and claimed her, which was good because I was tempted to keep her. She was almost as cute as a puppy.
So maybe I am an adult, after all. Even though a stewardess on one of our flights asked if I was old enough to sit next to the emergency exit because she claims I look 12*. I blame the freckles.
*Just . . . what? That lady was crazypants.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Tiiii-iiiiime is on my side
Hey, remember that really annoying Time Warner commercial from a couple years ago? I know that doesn't help much because, as Time Warner is Satan's boyfriend, it follows that he puts out the most annoying commercials known to mankind, surpassed only by Hidy Honda and Buddy's Carpet. Those might be local commercials. Sorry. Actually no, if you've never seen a Hidy Honda or Buddy's Carpet commercial, consider yourself lucky.
Anyway. There was this really annoying Time Warner commercial, and in it, Vanessa Carlton (remember her?) warbles that song Time is On My Side. My point is, it's like the worst rendition of that song in existence. And I'm counting that time I sang it at a karaoke bar after 18 shots of tequila. OK, that never happened, but if it HAD, it still would have been better than that song. Um. Right. So.
I have absolutely no reason to be blogging right now, other than I'm bored and I have nothing else to do. Hey, it's just like the days of yore! You know! Yore! When I used to work at that orthodontist office and they would leave me unattended every Friday and I'd run out of work around 10 and spend the rest of the day blogging and reading the Internets! Good times. My 'n' key keeps sticking. So if any words are misspelled, that's why. I keep accidentally typing my name like this: Jeie, which is great because what I really want is for everyone at work to think I don't know how to spell my name right. Although, according to my parents, I haven't been spelling my name right since 4th grade. That's when I changed it from "Jenny" to "Jennie" because there were four other Jennifers in my class and they all went by Jenny and they all spelled it with a 'y' and I was all, "I want to be different!" I wish someone had told me I didn't have to change the spelling of my name because I was always going to be "different," no matter how I spelled my name. It would have saved a lot of confusion. And time. Because I've had lots of conversations like this:
HP (Hypothetical Person, not Harry Potter): Do you go by Jennifer?
Me: No, Jennie.
HP: Is that with a 'y' or an 'i'?
Me: "i-e."
HP: ...oh.
I didn't think it was that weird in 4th grade, but people seem to have a hard time with it. I almost started spelling it like this: Jinniey. I'm glad I didn't, though. Most people default to the wrong spelling (Jenny), but I don't get offended considering a lot of my family doesn't even remember to spell it right (Jennie). Tamara tried to convince me that I should start going by "Jen" or "Jennifer" at my new job, just to switch things up. I fully intended to do so on my first day, but then my new boss led me around introducing me as "Jennie with an ie," and I knew it wasn't going to happen. I finally got someone to remember that I'm Jennie with an 'ie' JUST when I don't want anyone to call me Jennie at ALL. Isn't it ironic? Well? Alanis? Anyone?
Anyway, NOW my point is I'm going to start going by Cassandra. Tell your friends.
Anyway. There was this really annoying Time Warner commercial, and in it, Vanessa Carlton (remember her?) warbles that song Time is On My Side. My point is, it's like the worst rendition of that song in existence. And I'm counting that time I sang it at a karaoke bar after 18 shots of tequila. OK, that never happened, but if it HAD, it still would have been better than that song. Um. Right. So.
I have absolutely no reason to be blogging right now, other than I'm bored and I have nothing else to do. Hey, it's just like the days of yore! You know! Yore! When I used to work at that orthodontist office and they would leave me unattended every Friday and I'd run out of work around 10 and spend the rest of the day blogging and reading the Internets! Good times. My 'n' key keeps sticking. So if any words are misspelled, that's why. I keep accidentally typing my name like this: Jeie, which is great because what I really want is for everyone at work to think I don't know how to spell my name right. Although, according to my parents, I haven't been spelling my name right since 4th grade. That's when I changed it from "Jenny" to "Jennie" because there were four other Jennifers in my class and they all went by Jenny and they all spelled it with a 'y' and I was all, "I want to be different!" I wish someone had told me I didn't have to change the spelling of my name because I was always going to be "different," no matter how I spelled my name. It would have saved a lot of confusion. And time. Because I've had lots of conversations like this:
HP (Hypothetical Person, not Harry Potter): Do you go by Jennifer?
Me: No, Jennie.
HP: Is that with a 'y' or an 'i'?
Me: "i-e."
HP: ...oh.
I didn't think it was that weird in 4th grade, but people seem to have a hard time with it. I almost started spelling it like this: Jinniey. I'm glad I didn't, though. Most people default to the wrong spelling (Jenny), but I don't get offended considering a lot of my family doesn't even remember to spell it right (Jennie). Tamara tried to convince me that I should start going by "Jen" or "Jennifer" at my new job, just to switch things up. I fully intended to do so on my first day, but then my new boss led me around introducing me as "Jennie with an ie," and I knew it wasn't going to happen. I finally got someone to remember that I'm Jennie with an 'ie' JUST when I don't want anyone to call me Jennie at ALL. Isn't it ironic? Well? Alanis? Anyone?
Anyway, NOW my point is I'm going to start going by Cassandra. Tell your friends.
Friday, January 02, 2009
I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day.
First things first.
1. Happy New Year
2. Happy Birthday, Sister
I am at work today, although my body tried to hold me hostage and NOT get out of bed. I also went to bed at like 7 o'clock last night. Sort of. I needed, um, a lot of recovery from Wednesday night's festivities. I think I learned some important lessons that night. One, if you cannot even read the words to a song on Rock Band, it's probably time to go to bed. Two, if you have been drinking champagne and rum & cokes all evening, don't mix your own drinks. Or BETTER YET, stop drinking and go to bed. Things reached ridiculous levels that night. Jon spun Miguel around in circles and then Miguel ran headfirst into the bookcase. True story. It's on video. Also. I said things like this:
Technology ruins EVERYTHING.
And this:
Joe: Do you want some water?
Me: No, I'll wait for them to bring ice cubes.
Joe: ...what? Who is bringing ice cubes?
Me: [unintelligible]
I don't really remember that last part, but Joe assures me that it happened.
Anyway, around 1:30, Heidi, Joe, and I managed to drag ourselves to Wendy's, and then home. I was supposed to be at my parents' house around 4 and getting ready was like torture, which is why I ended up going over there in my pajamas. Honestly, they're lucky I showered. Then I ate way too many mashed potatoes, felt like dying, and so I went home to die in my own bed. Good times.
Monday, December 15, 2008
WARNING: there is disturbing hooha talk ahead. I mean it. Turn away now.
Thank you all for the kind words yesterday. I knew I could count on you guys.
Now, it's time to talk about the gyno. I know, how excited are you? So. I went to the gyno this morning, because what better way to start the week than by letting someone you don't know very well shove a cold piece of metal into your hooha and poke around with giant Q-tips. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT THEY DO. I think sometimes men wonder why women complain about going to the gyno and HERE IS WHY.
First, you walk in and they weigh you. I'm really OK with this. The part I have a problem with is that they then measure you and SOMEHOW I've shrunk a quarter of an inch from last time I was in. Or I was wearing thicker socks last time. Or I was standing up straighter. I don't know. But I do know that 26 is probably too young to start shrinking.
Then they take you to an exam room, where they point out the lovely frock you'll be wearing. The nurse is all, "make sure the gown is open in the back and put this white sheet over your lap." The white sheet is for privacy while the doctor gropes you. You'll see.
So you change into this gown, making sure to leave the opening in the back, and cover your business with the white sheet. You wait and wait and wait and, if you're like me, you're just getting to a good part in your book when the doctor walks in and is all, "How's life? How often do you do it? Have you ever been pregnant? When was the first day of your last cycle?" It's like an exam you haven't studied for PLUS ALSO an interrogation. There are even hot lights shining on you. Sure, they're shining on your lady parts, but whatever.
After some chit-chat, the doctor tells you to lie back and put your arms over your head so she can feel you up and make sure your boobs aren't bad-lumpy. And then she yells at your for not giving yourself monthly breast exams. My doctor also likes small talk, but instead of talking about the weather, she'll talk about how her kids go to Catholic school and one day they came home and said they'd had a discussion about abortion in religion class. And you just smile and nod and try to pretend she's not kneading your boob like a bunch of dough.
Now comes the big show. The stirrups come out and she's all, "scoot down here . . . a bit more . . . that's it . . . relax your knees," and it's very uncomfortable, except you're kind of distracted because SHE'S STILL TALKING ABOUT ABORTION. And then, with some gentle words ("oh boy, this part is never fun") she violates you with a piece of metal. Good times. Now is when she switches subjects a bit and starts talking about how she really liked that Mike Huckabee and you bite your tongue because you are in a VERY. COMPRIMISING. POSITION. and she could do you permanent damage. Eventually, she finishes and you think it's all over, but then she feels your ovaries or uterus or whatever. From the inside. Yeah. I've heard some gynos poke you in the butthole or something, but mine doesn't do that. If she did, I'd poke HER in the butthole and see how she likes people messing around down there.
See? I told you not to read this. That'll learn you.
Now, it's time to talk about the gyno. I know, how excited are you? So. I went to the gyno this morning, because what better way to start the week than by letting someone you don't know very well shove a cold piece of metal into your hooha and poke around with giant Q-tips. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT THEY DO. I think sometimes men wonder why women complain about going to the gyno and HERE IS WHY.
First, you walk in and they weigh you. I'm really OK with this. The part I have a problem with is that they then measure you and SOMEHOW I've shrunk a quarter of an inch from last time I was in. Or I was wearing thicker socks last time. Or I was standing up straighter. I don't know. But I do know that 26 is probably too young to start shrinking.
Then they take you to an exam room, where they point out the lovely frock you'll be wearing. The nurse is all, "make sure the gown is open in the back and put this white sheet over your lap." The white sheet is for privacy while the doctor gropes you. You'll see.
So you change into this gown, making sure to leave the opening in the back, and cover your business with the white sheet. You wait and wait and wait and, if you're like me, you're just getting to a good part in your book when the doctor walks in and is all, "How's life? How often do you do it? Have you ever been pregnant? When was the first day of your last cycle?" It's like an exam you haven't studied for PLUS ALSO an interrogation. There are even hot lights shining on you. Sure, they're shining on your lady parts, but whatever.
After some chit-chat, the doctor tells you to lie back and put your arms over your head so she can feel you up and make sure your boobs aren't bad-lumpy. And then she yells at your for not giving yourself monthly breast exams. My doctor also likes small talk, but instead of talking about the weather, she'll talk about how her kids go to Catholic school and one day they came home and said they'd had a discussion about abortion in religion class. And you just smile and nod and try to pretend she's not kneading your boob like a bunch of dough.
Now comes the big show. The stirrups come out and she's all, "scoot down here . . . a bit more . . . that's it . . . relax your knees," and it's very uncomfortable, except you're kind of distracted because SHE'S STILL TALKING ABOUT ABORTION. And then, with some gentle words ("oh boy, this part is never fun") she violates you with a piece of metal. Good times. Now is when she switches subjects a bit and starts talking about how she really liked that Mike Huckabee and you bite your tongue because you are in a VERY. COMPRIMISING. POSITION. and she could do you permanent damage. Eventually, she finishes and you think it's all over, but then she feels your ovaries or uterus or whatever. From the inside. Yeah. I've heard some gynos poke you in the butthole or something, but mine doesn't do that. If she did, I'd poke HER in the butthole and see how she likes people messing around down there.
See? I told you not to read this. That'll learn you.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
fake it til you make it
I had to take a math test this morning. And then I got a flu shot. BEST. DAY. EVER. There was also an aptitude test (not attitude, unfortunately) and that part was fine. "What letter comes next in this sequence?" they asked. "Q!" I shouted. The test administrator asked me not to shout during the testing process. Then during the math portion, he asked me to stop crying and throwing things.
I was in all the smart math classes in school, but I never really understood what I was doing. I have a good memory so I'd memorize how all the homework problems were done, and then I'd skate through the tests with my sweet memorization skills. But I had no idea WHY you multiplied the square root of your butt by X. It's sort of like when you teach a little kid to swear. Sure, they can pronounce the words correctly but they don't know what they're doing. And unless you show them how, they'll never know how to combine those swear words for maximum hilarity (see: poohead buttshits).
Last night, I missed watching James Bond (in Blu Ray, which is apparently better than HD, but I wouldn't know, wah wah) because I needed to go over the test math problems they'd provided. These are the text messages I sent as I tried to work the problems:
I can't do math and I'm getting frustrated! (this was to Joe, who edits math textbooks, and who came over to help me when I threatened to cry)
I HAVE TO TAKE A MATH TEST TOMORROW AND I CAN'T REMEMBER ALGEBRA.
Math is a fuckstick.
And as I sat there with my head in my hands, trying to set the fake test on fire with my eyes, I was reminded of all those weeknights my dad would sit with me and help me with my math homework. I'd get frustrated then, too. I get frustrated with anything I can't do perfectly right away THEREFORE I get frustrated a lot. Here is how most of those evenings would go:
Me: UUUGGHHHH! THIS IS STUPID.
Dad: What's wrong?
Me: I can't do this problem!
Dad: Let me show you how to do it.
Me: I don't need help!
Dad: Jennie . . .
Me: Fine.
Dad: See, you do this and this and blah blah blah the answer is 6.
Me: I don't get it AND I'M NEVER GOING TO USE THIS.
Dad: Yes, you will.
Me: Math sucks.
Dad: I know.
Me: Waaaaaaaaaah.
Dad: Try this one.
Me: OK.
Dad: There, see, you did it.
And then I'd try another one and start crying when I couldn't figure it out. I felt confident that I'd never, ever need algebra again and I would yell and yell about that instead of actually doing the problem, while my dad would explain that YES, YES I WOULD NEED ALGEBRA STOP BEING SUCH A WHINY BRAT. It turns out we were both right (about the math part, only my dad was right about the whiny brat part). I haven't really needed math since college. Until now, when I needed it this morning AND IT WASN'T THERE. Plus, they wouldn't let me use a calculator. What kind of fucked up shit is that?
I was in all the smart math classes in school, but I never really understood what I was doing. I have a good memory so I'd memorize how all the homework problems were done, and then I'd skate through the tests with my sweet memorization skills. But I had no idea WHY you multiplied the square root of your butt by X. It's sort of like when you teach a little kid to swear. Sure, they can pronounce the words correctly but they don't know what they're doing. And unless you show them how, they'll never know how to combine those swear words for maximum hilarity (see: poohead buttshits).
Last night, I missed watching James Bond (in Blu Ray, which is apparently better than HD, but I wouldn't know, wah wah) because I needed to go over the test math problems they'd provided. These are the text messages I sent as I tried to work the problems:
I can't do math and I'm getting frustrated! (this was to Joe, who edits math textbooks, and who came over to help me when I threatened to cry)
I HAVE TO TAKE A MATH TEST TOMORROW AND I CAN'T REMEMBER ALGEBRA.
Math is a fuckstick.
And as I sat there with my head in my hands, trying to set the fake test on fire with my eyes, I was reminded of all those weeknights my dad would sit with me and help me with my math homework. I'd get frustrated then, too. I get frustrated with anything I can't do perfectly right away THEREFORE I get frustrated a lot. Here is how most of those evenings would go:
Me: UUUGGHHHH! THIS IS STUPID.
Dad: What's wrong?
Me: I can't do this problem!
Dad: Let me show you how to do it.
Me: I don't need help!
Dad: Jennie . . .
Me: Fine.
Dad: See, you do this and this and blah blah blah the answer is 6.
Me: I don't get it AND I'M NEVER GOING TO USE THIS.
Dad: Yes, you will.
Me: Math sucks.
Dad: I know.
Me: Waaaaaaaaaah.
Dad: Try this one.
Me: OK.
Dad: There, see, you did it.
And then I'd try another one and start crying when I couldn't figure it out. I felt confident that I'd never, ever need algebra again and I would yell and yell about that instead of actually doing the problem, while my dad would explain that YES, YES I WOULD NEED ALGEBRA STOP BEING SUCH A WHINY BRAT. It turns out we were both right (about the math part, only my dad was right about the whiny brat part). I haven't really needed math since college. Until now, when I needed it this morning AND IT WASN'T THERE. Plus, they wouldn't let me use a calculator. What kind of fucked up shit is that?
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
I AM SOFA KING NERVOUS
Hi, Internets. Did you vote yet? I hope so. Even if you voted for the wrong person (hee), I think it's important that you vote. At least then you can complain for the next four years if your candidate loses. Hell, you can complain for the next four years if your candidate wins. That's what's beautiful about this country -- you can complain as long and as loudly as you want and no one gives a shit. Hee.
I wish I'd gone to vote early this morning, because then I could be drinking free Starbucks right now. But that would have meant I needed to get up even earlier than I do already, and that thought makes me want to cry. So I'll go at lunch, and if there's a long line and I have to miss work, so be it. It's the least I can do for my country. Actually, the least I could do for my country would be to NOT vote, but again . . . see above, re: complaining.
Heidi and I ended up tossing out the "watching the returns from a bar" plan when I suggested we just make chili and invite people over. Dude, people love chili. Also, beer. And cornbread! Mmm, cornbread. I wish it was time for chili now because that would mean I'd already voted, work was over, and it was time for the results to start coming in.
We made the chili last night and it looks so good. I wish I could invite you guys over. I mean, if you want to travel all the way to Ohio, then go for it. The more the merrier. You know, just bring extra booze because we only have so much of it and I know how much some of you can drink. Heh. Heidi went to the grocery last night to buy another can of beans, because we were worried we wouldn't have enough, and while she was gone, I decided to dice the onion. First I had to Google "how to dice an onion," NOT that I couldn't have figured it out on my own, but I like to follow directions. That's a lie. I had no idea how to dice an onion, other than to start chopping the shit out of it with a knife. I had to take a couple breaks because it was making me CRY, CRY, CRY, sort of like how I cried four years ago when W was reelected. Once the crying stopped, my friend Katie called me from DC and the conversation went something like this:
Her: Hey.
Me: Hey. What are you doing?
Her: Oh, you know. I'm just standing in front of the White House. Staring.
Me: Yeah.
Her: The Metro was really quiet today.
Me: I'll bet.
Her: This sucks.
Me: Yeah. I'm gonna go back to sleep.
Her: OK.
Me: ...
Her: ...
It was a depressing day, is what I'm saying. Also, I live blogged the election last time. I might do it again this year. If I remember. Heidi, will you remind me? You know how my brain forgets things. It can be the "Jennie and Heidi live-blog the election show." We'll be famous. FAMOUSER. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Onions. They were making me cry. And when Heidi came home, she was all, "holy lord, it smells like an onion exploded in here," and she was right. Even this morning it still smelled like onions, despite the fact that I ran through the apartment spraying Oust everywhere and lighting candles and opening windows. Damn, Gina.
Last night, I also did the 30 Day Shred video again and didn't want to die quite as much as I did the first time. And I'm not as sore today as I was before, so . . . yay. And then I watched like four episodes of Lost because did you know they show it on Sci-fi now? Awesome. It still doesn't make any sense, but that's why I love that show. Also, Matthew Fox is hot, even though Jack is really annoying. My favorite one that was on last night was the one where Hurley is in charge of the food, and he gives it all away in the end and it totally made me cry. Or maybe it was just the onion.
I wish I'd gone to vote early this morning, because then I could be drinking free Starbucks right now. But that would have meant I needed to get up even earlier than I do already, and that thought makes me want to cry. So I'll go at lunch, and if there's a long line and I have to miss work, so be it. It's the least I can do for my country. Actually, the least I could do for my country would be to NOT vote, but again . . . see above, re: complaining.
Heidi and I ended up tossing out the "watching the returns from a bar" plan when I suggested we just make chili and invite people over. Dude, people love chili. Also, beer. And cornbread! Mmm, cornbread. I wish it was time for chili now because that would mean I'd already voted, work was over, and it was time for the results to start coming in.
We made the chili last night and it looks so good. I wish I could invite you guys over. I mean, if you want to travel all the way to Ohio, then go for it. The more the merrier. You know, just bring extra booze because we only have so much of it and I know how much some of you can drink. Heh. Heidi went to the grocery last night to buy another can of beans, because we were worried we wouldn't have enough, and while she was gone, I decided to dice the onion. First I had to Google "how to dice an onion," NOT that I couldn't have figured it out on my own, but I like to follow directions. That's a lie. I had no idea how to dice an onion, other than to start chopping the shit out of it with a knife. I had to take a couple breaks because it was making me CRY, CRY, CRY, sort of like how I cried four years ago when W was reelected. Once the crying stopped, my friend Katie called me from DC and the conversation went something like this:
Her: Hey.
Me: Hey. What are you doing?
Her: Oh, you know. I'm just standing in front of the White House. Staring.
Me: Yeah.
Her: The Metro was really quiet today.
Me: I'll bet.
Her: This sucks.
Me: Yeah. I'm gonna go back to sleep.
Her: OK.
Me: ...
Her: ...
It was a depressing day, is what I'm saying. Also, I live blogged the election last time. I might do it again this year. If I remember. Heidi, will you remind me? You know how my brain forgets things. It can be the "Jennie and Heidi live-blog the election show." We'll be famous. FAMOUSER. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Onions. They were making me cry. And when Heidi came home, she was all, "holy lord, it smells like an onion exploded in here," and she was right. Even this morning it still smelled like onions, despite the fact that I ran through the apartment spraying Oust everywhere and lighting candles and opening windows. Damn, Gina.
Last night, I also did the 30 Day Shred video again and didn't want to die quite as much as I did the first time. And I'm not as sore today as I was before, so . . . yay. And then I watched like four episodes of Lost because did you know they show it on Sci-fi now? Awesome. It still doesn't make any sense, but that's why I love that show. Also, Matthew Fox is hot, even though Jack is really annoying. My favorite one that was on last night was the one where Hurley is in charge of the food, and he gives it all away in the end and it totally made me cry. Or maybe it was just the onion.
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
I need a Winchester
Last night, I had a nightmare about zombies. This is not unusual. I often have nightmares about zombies. Well. Maybe not often. It's not like it's every other night. But I probably dream about zombies more often than most other people dream about zombies. Anyway. The difference between my nightmare zombies and REAL zombies (yeah, that's right) was that in my nightmare, all the zombies had to do to turn YOU into a zombie was touch you. Which is so unfair, really. Real zombies have to chase you and catch you and bite you. My nightmare zombies just had to get close enough to poke you with their zombie finger or whatever and BOOM, you were a zombie. Also, and this is just conjecture, but I think they could probably like, rip off their arm and throw it at you and if it touched you, you'd turn into a zombie. So in my dream, Simon Pegg was a zombie and he was chasing me around this house trying to turn ME into a zombie and I was all, "Shaun, cut it out, this is NOT COOL," and then I woke up and heard it was raining and got pissed because I'm supposed to go see Death Cab OUTSIDE tonight and even if it stops raining, the ground will be all soggy and I keep meaning to buy a Neat Sheet but I haven't yet so if we try to sit on the ground with the blanket I threw in my car, my butt will get wet and it will look like I peed myself but maybe that keeps zombies from touching you and if so that's awesome because I really don't feel like turning into a zombie today BECAUSE, as I said, it's raining and I bet zombies don't smell very good when they get wet.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
The Big Brain am winning again! I am the greetest!
You guys, sometimes I am for realsies a bitch FOR NO RAISIN. It just happens. I like to think the people I'm a bitch to bring it on themselves, which was totally true yesterday when I made that old man flip me off.
See, there's this intersection near our apartment. And going one direction, the right lane quickly ends as soon as you drive THROUGH the intersection. People know this. But. Instead of being polite and getting in the left lane, which is almost always much longer BECAUSE EVERYONE KNOWS THE RIGHT LANE ENDS, there are those who bypass the politeness system and get in the right lane, so they can speed around everyone in the left lane before we get through the intersection. Whenever I can, I make sure not to let these people in front of me because they are assholes. And I can't let assholes in front of me because then I'd be staring at an asshole for the rest of the drive to work and who wants to do that?
Yesterday I was sitting in the left lane, waiting for the light to turn green and fuming at the line of cars appearing in the right lane. There was an old man in an old man car next to me and right then and there I was all, "He's not getting in front of me! He's old! He'll drive slow and I'll be late!" So the light turned green. I stepped on the accelerator and so did the old man. He was right next to me and I knew he wanted over but I didn't let him. And then he had to get behind me or, you know, drive off of the road, which I believe, I BELIEVE, is something most people try to avoid. And then I said, "HAHAHA! TAKE THAT, OLD MAN!" and then he said, "HONK HONK HONK HOOOOOOONK!" and I said, "Hon't you blow your horn at me, you old fart! You did this to yourself!" and then HE said, "HONK HONK HONK HOOOOOOOONK!" and that's when I flipped him off and then that's when he flipped me off and YES I flipped off an old man but he totally deserved it the end.
See, there's this intersection near our apartment. And going one direction, the right lane quickly ends as soon as you drive THROUGH the intersection. People know this. But. Instead of being polite and getting in the left lane, which is almost always much longer BECAUSE EVERYONE KNOWS THE RIGHT LANE ENDS, there are those who bypass the politeness system and get in the right lane, so they can speed around everyone in the left lane before we get through the intersection. Whenever I can, I make sure not to let these people in front of me because they are assholes. And I can't let assholes in front of me because then I'd be staring at an asshole for the rest of the drive to work and who wants to do that?
Yesterday I was sitting in the left lane, waiting for the light to turn green and fuming at the line of cars appearing in the right lane. There was an old man in an old man car next to me and right then and there I was all, "He's not getting in front of me! He's old! He'll drive slow and I'll be late!" So the light turned green. I stepped on the accelerator and so did the old man. He was right next to me and I knew he wanted over but I didn't let him. And then he had to get behind me or, you know, drive off of the road, which I believe, I BELIEVE, is something most people try to avoid. And then I said, "HAHAHA! TAKE THAT, OLD MAN!" and then he said, "HONK HONK HONK HOOOOOOONK!" and I said, "Hon't you blow your horn at me, you old fart! You did this to yourself!" and then HE said, "HONK HONK HONK HOOOOOOOONK!" and that's when I flipped him off and then that's when he flipped me off and YES I flipped off an old man but he totally deserved it the end.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Best. Day. Ever.
You wanna know why? I got out of work at 4. I'm having free pizza for dinner (thank you, parents). I'm staring down the barrel of a three day weekend. And today. While playing Wordscraper, the new Scrabble rip-off on Facebook, I spelled this:
Yes, it is truly the Best. Day. Ever.
Happy weekending, Internets.
Yes, it is truly the Best. Day. Ever.
Happy weekending, Internets.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Bell out of order, please knock
Apparently Tamara did not like my last post. In fact, I believe she might have suggested that it was the worst post ever. And, yeah, it was short and not thought out at all, but at least I wasn't listing things I carry in my purse, right? Right. In any case, Tamara is bored at work, and since she was kind enough to blog for me today over at The Collective, the least I can do is babble to the Internets for a while.
It probably won't surprise you to hear that I was sort of a weird kid. A weird kid who grew up into a genuinely weird woman (or, as my mom calls me, "a unique mind").
My mom also likes to remind me that, when I was little, I had a Southern accent that no one would explain. I grew up in southwest Ohio and, while it is a bit close to Kentucky, it's not close enough for Southern twang to seep in. I don't remember how or when I lost it, but I wish I still had it. I love accents of all kinds, but the Southern accent is the friendliest of them all.
Like most kids, I liked to play "pretend" during recess, but instead of playing House or School, I liked to imitate Babs from Tiny Toons or pretend I was Peter Pan (the girl version, of course) and climb to the top of the jungle gym and jump off. I never ended up flying, though. I tried a lot of different things in my attempt to fly. I stood on one end of a teeter-totter and had my friend push down on the other end. My thought was that, if he pushed down hard enough, I've propel through the air and soar into the clouds. What happened was, I fell backwards off of the teeter totter and hit my head on the ground. It was sort of exactly like what happened when I tried to run down the Slip 'n Slide. I used to try flying off of swings, too. You know, you'd swing as high as you could and then jump when you reached the highest heights, but I always crashed back down to Earth. My most unsuccessful attempts at flying usually involved an umbrella. I thought that since Mary Poppins could take off from the ground and fly with an umbrella, I could do it, too. But since I was an amateur, I jumped off of stuff while holding an open umbrella, so I'd at least already be in the air. It never worked and I was always disappointed. Even now, I can't believe movies would lie to me like that. I mean, I cannot tell you how many times I tried clicking my heels three times, but it never took me home. I tried it just this morning and it still didn't work. Hasn't stopped me from trying, though.
It probably won't surprise you to hear that I was sort of a weird kid. A weird kid who grew up into a genuinely weird woman (or, as my mom calls me, "a unique mind").
My mom also likes to remind me that, when I was little, I had a Southern accent that no one would explain. I grew up in southwest Ohio and, while it is a bit close to Kentucky, it's not close enough for Southern twang to seep in. I don't remember how or when I lost it, but I wish I still had it. I love accents of all kinds, but the Southern accent is the friendliest of them all.
Like most kids, I liked to play "pretend" during recess, but instead of playing House or School, I liked to imitate Babs from Tiny Toons or pretend I was Peter Pan (the girl version, of course) and climb to the top of the jungle gym and jump off. I never ended up flying, though. I tried a lot of different things in my attempt to fly. I stood on one end of a teeter-totter and had my friend push down on the other end. My thought was that, if he pushed down hard enough, I've propel through the air and soar into the clouds. What happened was, I fell backwards off of the teeter totter and hit my head on the ground. It was sort of exactly like what happened when I tried to run down the Slip 'n Slide. I used to try flying off of swings, too. You know, you'd swing as high as you could and then jump when you reached the highest heights, but I always crashed back down to Earth. My most unsuccessful attempts at flying usually involved an umbrella. I thought that since Mary Poppins could take off from the ground and fly with an umbrella, I could do it, too. But since I was an amateur, I jumped off of stuff while holding an open umbrella, so I'd at least already be in the air. It never worked and I was always disappointed. Even now, I can't believe movies would lie to me like that. I mean, I cannot tell you how many times I tried clicking my heels three times, but it never took me home. I tried it just this morning and it still didn't work. Hasn't stopped me from trying, though.
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