I don't care what anyone says, I would totally take a midnight train to anywhere. As long as it was south of here.

I walked out of the apartment this morning and was unpleasantly surprised to find that all of the snow was still here. I was kind of hoping that by some miracle it would have all magically melted overnight. Unfortunately, the opposite happened. It just got colder and harder (heh). Actually, since we got so much freezing rain after we got all the snow, there's a really thick layer of ice over everything so, in most places, you can walk on top of the snow. Not only does it make me feel taller, it also kind of makes me feel like Jesus. You know? Cause he walked on water? Which is technically what I'm doing, only this water is frozen. Hey, maybe that's how Jesus did it!

Hell is nice this time of year, right?

Anyway, I know I told you guys all about how it took me 9 hours to unearth my car yesterday, but what I didn't tell you is that after I did all that work I couldn't even get my car out of the parking spot because there was a giant hump (heh) of snow and ice behind me. Also? Heidi and I do not own a shovel. I know. I KNOW! Luckily, my lovely mother was home from work yesterday and she let me borrow her car. And then after work my lovely father came over and helped me dig my car out. And when I say he helped me dig my car out, I mean he got my car out for me while I stood back watching with a not-so-bright look on my face.

Wow, this entry is boring. I really wish I'd stop talking about the stupid snow and the stupid ice and the stupid cold, too, but you know what? I'll stop talking about it when IT GOES AWAY FOREVER.

On a completely unrelated note, I just typed the words, "it's too cold to take my pants off outside," in an e-mail. I think that may be a first.

The end.

I don't care if Monday's blue, Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too, Thursday I don't care about you, it's Friday, I'm in love*

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone, if you're into that sort of thing. I forgot about it until this morning, when I saw the long-ago purchased, recently-forgotten The Office Valentine's Day Cards sitting on my desk. I gave out three of them in a moment of drunken motivation (the best kind of motivation, you know) but that was weeks ago. Far too early, if you ask me.

Remember how yesterday I decided to let that stupid groundhog live? Well, his days are numbered. I have to go back to work today. Granted, not until this afternoon because every business or school in this area is on, like, a five hour delay or closed. Because here is what happened. We got a shitload of snow. And then we had freezing rain all day yesterday. So, earlier this morning I went out to clean off my car. Which WOULD have been really easy if it had just been snow, but unfortunately the seven inches of snow were encased in a two inch layer of ice, so I had to break the ice into little pieces before I could scoop it off of my car. At one point, I broke off a big shard that was in the exact shape of Ohio. I wish I'd taken a picture because I know you think I'm lying BUT I'M NOT WHY DON'T YOU BELIEVE ME? Faux-hio fell on the ground and was still intact and I thought about how I had just spent the past 30 minutes beating snow and ice into submission and as I stood there getting angrier and angrier I did what any normal person would do . . . I used my handy ice scraper and smacked the shit out of Faux-hio and then stomped on all the little pieces and then I kicked all the even-littler pieces until they flew every which way and then I went inside and took several deep breaths until I felt better.

Happy Valentine's Day!

*obligatory V-Day love song lyric . . . how original

Well, let’s hit up Yahoo Maps to find the dopest route. I prefer Mapquest. That's a good one, too. Google maps is the best, true that DOUBLE TRUE.

I was all set to get pissed with Punxsutawney Phil and threaten to kill him and punch him in the babymaker and roast him in our fireplace, but he's getting a slight reprieve because I did not have to risk life and limb by trying to make it into work this morning. That's right, friends, I got a snow day. SNOW. DAY. And while as a tiny child I would have immediately run out into the frigid cold snow to build a snowman or snowangel or some other snownonsense, today I plan on spending the day in my pjs, alternating between napping on the couch watching TiVo and napping in my bed "reading" a book. Funny story (not really), I have seven library books and countless books I have purchased that I have not yet read (although I did finally finish Lolita), said library books are rapidly approaching their due date and I have decided to read Bridget Jones's Diary for the 18th time. I have a problem but at least I am not afraid to admit it.

Last night, Heidi and I got stuck in some strange wormhole at the gym and didn't end up getting home until 10:30. PM! Then we spent a good 30 minutes mapquesting different destinations. It's more fun than it sounds. It's kind of like traveling without having to pack or put shoes on or find a rest stop that doesn't look like a scene out of a horror movie when you have to pee so bad you're afraid your bladder is going to explode out of your stomach (or wherever) and you'll never make it to your destination and if you do you'll have urine and pieces of bladder all over you. I'm sorry for that image. ANYWAY. I should tell you . . . this is the longest, most pointless Conversation With My Roommate in the history of Conversations With My Roommate. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Me: Do you know how far away Knoxville is?
Heidi: Not really. I think it's near Nashville.
Me: Hmm.
Heidi: Let's Mapquest it!
Me: OK!
Heidi: 4 hours, 51 minutes, that's not bad.
Me: Let's see how far Nashville is.
Heidi: OK.
Me: 5 hours, 19 minutes.
Heidi: So basically a difference of half an hour.
Me: I thought they were farther away from each other than that.
Heidi: Me too. Ooh, I know, Mapquest how far it is from Nashville to Knoxville.
Me: Oh. 2 hours, 47 minutes.
Heidi: OK, then.
Me: Let's see how far Boston is!
Heidi: OK.
Me: 13 hours, 26 minutes.
Heidi: Damn. What about Atlantic City? I bet it's far.
Me: 9 hours, 52 minutes . . . what about New Orleans?
Heidi: Yeah!
Me: 13 hours, 7 minutes.
Heidi: Washington DC?
Me: I've never been there.
Heidi: It's fun.
Me: 7 hours, 57 minutes.
Heidi: How about the North Pole?
Me: I think we might have a little trouble driving there.
Heidi: OK. How about Juneau, Alaska?
Me: HAHAHA.
Heidi: No, seriously.
Me: Why can't Mapquest find it?
Heidi: Because Alaska's state code is AK, not AL.
Me: Oh man. Don't tell anyone I did that.
Heidi: OK.
Me: It's good to know there's not a Juneau, Alabama, though.
Heidi: Truly.
Me: HA! It takes 63 hours!
Heidi: Let's leave now!
Me: It'd be a beautiful drive.
Heidi: We'd get to go through Canada.
Me: Ooh, speaking of Canada . . .
Heidi: Windsor?
Me: Heck yes!
Heidi: Yessssss!
Me: Holy shit, it's only 3 and a half hours!
Heidi: Let's go!
Me: Yeah, you can drink there when you're 19!
Heidi: Um.
Me: And I know I'm well over age 19 but still . . . it's the principle
Heidi: True. Ooh, Mapquest San Juan, Mexico.
Me: OK. Wait, there's no code for Mexico.
Heidi: Try MX.
Me: Um. It only has codes for Canada, not Mexico.
Heidi: Racists.
Me: Wait, isn't San Juan in Puerto Rico?
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: Oh my god.
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: I think this is veering into Conversations With My Roommate territory.
Heidi: I think you're right.
Me: Geez.
Heidi: Ooh! Mapquest Honolulu, Hawaii.
Me: Um, once again, I think we might have a problem driving there.
Heidi: Just try it, I wanna see what it says!
Me: OK. It says, "We are having trouble finding a route for your locations. Please try modifying the information you entered."
Heidi: Damn, I was hoping it would say something like, "Please vacate your car and start swimming."
Me: Why don't they just build a bridge from Hawaii to the mainland?
Heidi: Yeah! It would help with their tourism.
Me: And if anyone needs help with tourism, it's Hawaii.

If you made it all the way through that, I hope you learned something. Other than how bad at geography Heidi and I are.

You’re a real-life wedding crasher, and I must bounce you. I’m sorry, it gives me no pleasure.

DISCLAIMER: This entry drops the F bomb all over the place. Please protect your virgin ears if you are into that sort of thing. Everyone else, all the F bombs are toward the end. Fuck. Except that one. That's the thing about the F bomb. It drops when you least expect it.

Phoebe gives me really weird looks when I sing, OK yell, Journey lyrics at her. Whatever, CAT, you spent the entire morning staring at the sun reflections on the ceiling! DON'T YOU JUDGE ME. And seriously? Anyone who doesn't like Journey can just get the hell out of my apartment RIGHT NOW. That is a new rule. Everyone must sing a Journey lyric before they enter the apartment. Heidi, I hope you're OK with this. I mean, I spend the majority of my life with a Journey song stuck in my head so I'm just trying to pass along the joy.

So, you know how I was complaining about having to work yesterday? I realize it's difficult to keep track of all the things I complain about, but try and keep up. Right, so, I was complaining about having to go to work but really? On the Saturdays that I have to get up early and go into work, I am so much more productive than I am on normal Saturdays. For instance, yesterday after work I got gas, checked my oil, got a hair cut, dyed my hair, went to the gym, balanced my checkbook, cooked dinner (although "cooked" might be stretching it since I mostly used the microwave), and . . . OK, that's it. But last Saturday? When I didn't have to work? I worked out. That is the only productive thing I did. There was that whole prime rib incident, too, but I'm not sure that counts.

There are these two weight machines at the gym . . . I have no idea what they're really called, but Heidi and I call them the slut machines. Because, see, they both involve spreading your legs as wide as humanly possible. The first night we tried to do them in shorts and I will never, ever do that again because there are some things I do not want strangers to know and that includes the color of my underwear. So now I make sure I do those machines first, while I still have my pants on. LET ME ELABORATE, when I do take my pants off at the gym, I always ALWAYS have shorts on underneath them. I do not walk around the gym pantsless because I think they frown upon that. Anyway, the slut machines are my favorite ones in the whole gym so I'm not sure what that says about me.

Did I tell you that you can watch movies while you work out? Well, you can. There's even a sheet at the desk where you can request movies. Only there's a little note that says "no nudity," so I guess I can't request, I don't know, Wedding Crashers. Who wouldn't like to watch Wedding Crashers while they work out? Sure, it might be dangerous because I could start laughing really hard and slide off the treadmill but that is a risk I'm willing to take. But we can't watch it because there are boobies in it. And if we have learned anything from Janet Jackson, it is that boobies are scary and should remain hidden at all times, especially during sporting events. I don't even remember where I was going with this. Let's pretend that what I'm saying makes sense, though, OK? OK. So, we can't watch movies with boobies or hoohas in it, but apparently profanity and violence are totally fine. Yesterday they were showing Courage Under Fire, which alternated between Denzel Washington in an army uniform (mmm) interviewing hot soldiers in uniform (Matt Damon, for instance) and battle scenes that went something like this:

Soldier 1: Woe is me! They are fucking shooting at us!
Meg Ryan: I would suggest that you fucking shoot back!
Soldier 2: Ma'am, with all fucking due respect, I cannot seem to hit those motherfuckers with this fucking gun.
Meg Ryan: Blow up their fucking tank!
Soldier 1: Ma'am, I do not have any fucking ammo left with which to blow up any fucking tanks. I fear we may all fucking perish.
Meg Ryan: I would be much obliged if you would shut the fuck up and obtain some fucking flares.
Soldier 2: Fucking flares, ma'am?
Meg Ryan: I do believe that is what I fucking said. Fucking flares will be ideal for blowing up their fucking tank and saving our fucking lives.
Soldier 1: Yes, ma'am.
Soldier 2: I don't mean to be a nuisance, but I have just been shot in the fucking jugular.
Soldier 1: Fuck. Fuck fuckedy fuck fuck fuck.
Meg Ryan: Fuck.
Me: Bring back Denzel!
Gym Attendant: Ma'am, please don't yell at the screen.
Me: Don't fucking call me ma'am.

Anyway, so my point is I think we should be allowed to watch Wedding Crashers.

Conversation With My Roommate: Fatty McGee Edition

Last night

Me: Would you judge me if I had a piece of cake right now?
Heidi: No.
Me: Good, cause I'm having one.
Heidi: OK.
Me: I need something sweet.
Heidi: OK, I'm having some cake, too.

Later

Me: I'm going to throw up.
Heidi: So, here's what we had to eat tonight . . .
Me: Don't remind me.
Heidi: French fries . . . cheesy brauts . . . a pickle
Me: Uhhhhhh
Heidi: Cheese dip and tortilla chips.
Me: Stop.
Heidi: And cake.
Me: You know, if I wasn't on my period right now I'd be worried I was pregnant.
Heidi: Me too.
Me: I think we fell off the wagon and it rolled over us a few times.
Heidi: Yeah, well, I think it's parked on top of me.

Tonight, on the phone

Me: I'm going to Kroger later, do we need anything?
Heidi: Why are you going to Kroger?
Me: To buy pizza for dinner.
Heidi: Yum!
Me: I've decided to fall off the wagon again tonight.
Heidi: OK. Can you pick up some chicken breasts on your way off? Meijer didn't have any.
Me: Sure. Oh, and I'm also not going to the gym tonight.
Heidi: OK.
Me: Cause I'm not gonna get home til 7:30, and I'm tired, and I'm hungry, and I have to work tomorrow so I am throwing a tantrum!
Heidi: Sounds good.
Me: What are you and Nick doing tonight?
Heidi: Well, tomorrow night would you rather go bowling or go to a comedy club?
Me: Duh, comedy club.
Heidi: OK, then I'll try to talk Nick into bowling tonight.
Me: Awesome.
Heidi: Indeed.
Me: Tell Nick that [name redacted] and [name redacted] say hi.
Heidi: Oh, are they with you?
Me: Oh, yeah, I invited them over later for a threesome.
Heidi: Nice. You are covering a lot of ground there.
Me: It's true. And I think Nick would want to know.
Heidi: Hey, you're just doing your part to support the troops.
Me: If only more Americans were like me.
Heidi: Exactly.

Can you believe I have to work tomorrow? On Saturday! Seriously!

I said BRR, it's cold in here! There must be some Toros in the atmosphere!

It's cold outside. And it snowed. It took me twice as long to get home Tuesday night because of all the snow. Going 20 on the highway? Not as fun as you might think. I hate you, February, SO MUCH.

So, last weekend Heidi and I tried to make a grown-up dinner. On Saturday, we decided that instead of going out to eat like we normally do on Saturdays (and Fridays and Sundays and sometimes Thursdays), we'd cook the prime rib she'd gotten (free) from work. I wasn't exactly sure what a prime rib was . . . I mean, yeah, I knew it was meat of some sort but that was only because it was thawing all big-hulking-meat style in our sink. It didn't really look that appetizing but the picture on the packaging looked pretty delicious. Luckily, there were also directions on the package so we didn't think we could mess things up TOO much. This coming from the people who couldn't use their oven for three months because the knob was on upside-down.

Heidi: It says to cook it in a roasting pan.
Me: Do we have one of those?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Um.
Heidi: Um.
Me: Oh, wait! Is this a roasting pan?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Hmm.
Heidi: We don't have a meat thermometer, either.
Me: We could buy one.
Heidi: Do you think your parents have one?
Me: Oh yeah! I'll see if we can borrow theirs.
Heidi: Maybe we can ask them if this is a roasting pan, too.
Me: OK. I'll take a picture of it with my phone!
Heidi: Wow.
Me: I know. I am all kinds of special.

We ventured over to visit my parents. After showering, though. Because when I told my mom that Heidi and I had worked out Friday night and not showered after and then worked out again Saturday morning and then cleaned the apartment, she said we weren't allowed to come over unless we de-smelled ourselves. Normally I'd be offended but, to be honest, I did smell really, really bad. Anyway. My mom gave us the meat thermometer and also a roasting pan because it turns out the pan I had taken a picture of? Not so much a roasting pan as it was a broiling pan. Yeah.

FINALLY we made it back to our apartment so we could start the prime rib and also make fun of Heidi's boyfriend, who had fallen asleep on the couch watching Spongebob Squarepants. Once that was taken care of, we went to the grocery to buy such important staples as salad, garlic bread, and beer. We got back to our apartment and sat around for a while until it was time to start the baked potatoes and salad. Heidi handled the baked potatoes because that involved the microwave, and the fewer chances I have to break an appliance, the better. Then we checked the prime rib. It still wasn't done. No matter where we stuck the thermometer. OK. No problem! we said. We'd start with our salads like civilized human beings. Only the prime rib still wasn't done when we finished our salads. It wasn't even close to being done. So we turned up the temperature. Half an hour later, it still wasn't done and we were getting so hungry that when we looked at each other, we did not see human friends, we saw human-size steaks covered in delicious delicious steak sauce. Actually, I think Steve did take a bite out of Nick's arm. Don't deny it, Steve! Since it was almost 9 (!), Heidi and I made an executive decision. We were going to replace our main dish of prime rib with, wait for it . . . cheesy brauts, which are really just hot dogs all dressed up. So. Our fancy, grown-up dinner consisted of salad, baked potatoes, and hot dogs (we forgot to make the garlic bread). Which, I'll admit, is kind of lame, but it's still better than serving omelette, blue soup, and marmalade*.

And also? The prime rib, that finally finished cooking around 11, after we'd given up on learning how to play poker but before we made the terrible decision to watch SNL? Was DELICIOUS. Especially after what we had for dessert . . . which was several servings of Miller Lite. Don't judge.

*Yeah. Probably four of you got that. Sorry.

Herbert* the Penguin: An Introduction

Let me tell you, nothing perks up a Monday like getting a penguin in the mail**. Especially one that does not require an all-fish diet or frigid, arctic temperatures (although I could totally supply that right now) and, most important of all, will not poo on the floor.

Plus, he has already tamed the wild beast who DOES poo on the floor***.

*Don't call him "Herbie." He hates that. I already tried it and he didn't talk to me for two hours.

**Thanks, Kat!

***That's not really fair, she's never pooed on the floor . . . PUKED on the floor, now, that is another matter entirely.