I felt like I could just fly, but nothing happened every time I tried.

I've had a lot of roommates over the years. OK, not that many, really. And aside from freshman year of college, I was friends with all of them. For some reason my freshman year roommate, the one who only went to Wittenberg because her boyfriend already did and who didn't sleep in our room after Thanksgiving and also who didn't move her textbooks from a towering pile on her desk all of second semester . . . she and I did not become great friends. Probably because one time I accidentally locked her out of our room when she was in the shower. Also, I was always in our room with one friend or another which meant she and her boyfriend had to have sex in his room and I don't know if you remember what the guys dorm floors smelled like, but it is a smell that TO THIS DAY haunts my dreams. Anyway. She and I? Not so much what you'd call close.

My current roommate, however? Freaking kicks ass. I don't want to make you jealous or anything, but when I got home on Sunday she had folded a load of my laundry that I'd left in the dryer all weekend. I have a habit of doing that. And last night she shared her wine with me and I think she even gave me the bigger glass. She is either really generous or was trying to get me drunk so she could take advantage of me. I'm leaning toward the former. I would say out of all of my roommates, Heidi and I get along the best. Which is saying a lot, I think, because all of my other roommates were when I was in college and while there is a lot of stress in college (like, say, choosing between writing a paper or going to the bar and THEN writing a paper), it's nothing to compare to the stress of choosing between paying rent and buying groceries. Not that we've ever had to do that. Yet, anyway.

And also? When I e-mailed her and told her I'd finally gotten the phone call I'd been waiting for, and that it was good news, her response was, "now, of course, we need to go shopping." Because we do. It is necessary. Because I can't keep borrowing Heidi's grown-up clothes. I mean, yeah, we're close, but we're not the Sweet Valley Twins. We don't even look alike.

As they say in my country . . . homina homina homina

For my third half-assed entry of the day . . . Conversations With My Roommate!

Heidi: The fat girl inside of me wants to eat everything in the fridge.
Me: Really? Cause the fat girl inside of me wanted to go to Penn Station earlier.
Heidi: Mmm.
Me: But we have leftover pasta.
Heidi: And salad.
Me: And we need to eat that before it goes bad.
Heidi: Right.
Me: Garlic bread, too. Which we also need to eat before it goes bad.
Heidi: Right.
Me: Right.
Heidi: Wanna have wine with dinner?
Me: Well, yeah, cause we need to drink it before it goes bad.

also . . .

Heidi: What are you listening to?
Me: The Shins.
Heidi: It's weird.
Me: You're weird!
Heidi: Your face is weird!
Me: I know!

I need to work on my comebacks, I think.

oh and also . . .

Me: Heidi! I'm drunk again!
Heidi: Me too, I think.
Me: We have got to stop getting accidentally drunk in the middle of the week.
Heidi: It isn't even the middle of the week yet.
Me: God. So. One more episode of How I Met Your Mother and then we get ready for the gym right?
Heidi: OK.
Me: That should be enough time . . .
Heidi: For the wine to wear off?
Me: Exactly.

Down here, it's our time. It's our time down here. That's all over the second we ride up Troy's bucket.

It's pretty sad that it's 42 degrees today and it seems so warm to me that I think it would be completely logical to strip off all my clothes and jump in the giant puddle outside our front door (born of all the melting snow). Not that I did this or would do this, but it did cross my mind that I wouldn't get frostbite and die if I DID. Or would I? Who knows.

I'm feeling very antsy today. I don't know why. I want to read something, but don't know what. I want to listen to some music, but can't figure out the perfect song. I'm hungry, but don't know what I'm craving. My mind is all over the place and I can't concentrate on something for more than five minutes. Or less. What's that about?

Well, the first days are the hardest days, don't you worry any more. Cause when life looks like easy street, there is danger at your door.

Right now I'm waiting on a phone call*. So, of course, I keep obsessively checking my cell phone to make sure I haven't missed it and that the ringer is turned up as loudly as it will go. I haven't missed it. And the ringer is turned up so loud that when and if it finally does ring, it will scare the shit out of me. I really should download a less jarring ring, but if I don't have a really loud and annoying ringtone then I never hear my phone when someone calls. And since I'm already really bad about answering my phone, downloading something like . . . I don't know . . . Bob Marley isn't going to work very well.

Anyway, this phone call is either going to be really good or a huge downer. I'm leaning toward really good but I'm trying not to lean too hard so when it turns out to be a huge downer I don't tumble over and hurt myself. It's hard not to get my hopes up, though. Things have been going fairly well for me recently and I'm of the opinion that when good things keep happening it only means something really shitty is coming along. Yes, I realize that's a really depressing outlook on life but Bridget Jones agrees with me and who am I to argue with my role model?

Who am I kidding? I pretend to be cynical and pessimistic but really on the inside I'm just a silly, naive optimist with blinders to the world and an overabundance of rose-colored glasses.

*I can't tell you what it's about, Internets. Not in such a public place, anyway. The walls . . . have ears. I will say, though, that I am not pregnant, planning to elope, going to go pitch-a-tent-on-the-front-lawn crazy and shave my head, or running away to a convent. Hell, I'm not even Catholic. And even if I were, I'm not sure they'd take me.

Whenever I’m about to do something, I think, “Would an idiot do that?” And if they would, I do not do that thing.

Today as I arrived at work and skidded my way through the parking lot that is still covered in sheets of ice, I wondered why we place ourselves in these giant, hulking, pieces of metal and hurtle down the road at speeds of sometimes 70 MILES AN HOUR. I think we must all really have a death wish. Cars are scary and also dangerous, especially with humans behind the wheel. Robots? Still dangerous, but not as much.

I keep thinking how much easier it would be if we all lived back in Little House on the Prairie times. We could just walk to work. Cause you'd only work like a mile away from your house. Or something. And sure . . . if I tried to walk to work on a day like today I'd probably lose a few fingers and possibly a couple toes. But maybe, if I was lucky, Pa would give me a ride in the wagon. Only wasn't it in a wagon accident that Mary went blind? I can't remember. Also, I think one of the other kids fell down a well. Carrie? I didn't like that girl anyway. OK, so I know that prairie times were hard. And now I have completely lost track of my point . . . if I even had one. Which, let's face it, is iffy. I like the word iffy. I don't know why. I'm going to start saying it more. You know what else I'd like to start saying? "Oh my godfathers." Again, I don't know why. But, like, if something shocking happened? Like someone at work fell down in the parking lot? I could be all, "oh my godfathers!" and place my hand over my heart like I was going to faint. I would also like to start saying things like, "he fancies you," or "where is the bloody lift?" OK, let me be honest here . . . what I would really like is to be British. Really British, though, not the fake British I pretend to be sometimes when I'm drunk*.

Alright, I'm cutting myself off from talking. Have a good weekend, Internets, I'll see you Monday.

*true story

In honor of International "That's What She Said" Day

Why yes, I am bored. Thank you for asking.

You've always left me satisfied and smiling.

I have very important and breaking news. I have just been informed that today is International "That's What She Said" Day.

Michael Scotts of the world? Rejoice.