I don't have much to say today other than on the way back from lunch earlier I totally got my hair caught in the sunroof. I could tell you that it wasn't because I was trying to shut the sunroof while dancing along to the new Maroon 5 song, but I'd be lying.
Love,
Jennie
PS: I am going to my friend Nancy's tonight to help her bake a penis cake. It's for the bachelorette party we're going to in Nashville this weekend, we don't normally just make penis cakes for no reason. However, I WILL be taking pictures.
PPS: I apologize for all the penis/balls references in the past couple of posts. Oh, who am I kidding, no, I don't.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
It's totally time to write this movie
Do you ever wish you could just come out and ask a person the question that has been on your mind for months, tact and good sense be damned*? Or just say whatever you want to whoever you want without worrying about the consequences? Without using alcohol as courage, of course. This has nothing to do with anything, really, I was just thinking about it earlier.
Last night, not only did Heidi and I go to the gym, we also played tennis. Well. "Played" tennis. Our goal right now is to just make contact with the ball. We're going to worry about aiming later. And now, here are some Conversations With My Roommate because I'm lazy and don't know what else to write.
Whiny kid outside our apartment riding his bike: You guuuyyyys, wait UP!
Me: Oh, that is so the kid nobody likes.
Heidi: Yeah, it sounds like he's got some sand in his vagina.
Heidi: Uh-oh, I spilled ketchup on the counter.
Me: Heidi!
Heidi: Oops.
Me: I told you! No more performing abortions in the kitchen!
Heidi: Oh my god.
Me: I know, I can't believe I just made an abortion joke.
Heidi: Me neither.
Me: What is wrong with my brain?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Abortion jokes . . . can't get better than that. Except for maybe Holocaust jokes.
Heidi: That's true.
Me: Anyway, make sure you clean up the fetus before we eat dinner.
Heidi: Oh my god.
Heidi: I'll get our tennis rackets.
Me: Don't forget our pink balls.
Heidi: Oh, I won't. They're very important.
Me: Yeah, you can't leave your house without your balls.
Heidi: You'd be ball-less.
Me: How embarrassing. And what if you lost one?
Heidi: You could still leave the house, you'd just have one ball.
Me: What the hell are you gonna do with one ball?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: You might as well have sand in your vagina.
Me: We're getting pretty good. I think we're ready to take on Andre Agassi.
Heidi: We so are.
Me: Maybe even Pete Sampras.
Heidi: Oh, hell yes.
Me: Not Andy Roddick, though.
Heidi: Definitely not.
Me: He's too pretty and I'd get distracted.
Heidi: And balls would hit you in the face.
Me: Not tennis balls, though.
Heidi: Hahahaha!
Me: No, seriously, what's wrong with my brain?
Heidi and I actually did figure out what's wrong with my brain. It was pretty simple actually and makes so much sense but I'm not going to explain it because it would take too long and my lunch break is only an hour.
Aaaaanyway, while we played tennis, Heidi worked on her Anna Kournikova serve and I worked on my Monica Seles crazy screaming. The hitting-the-ball crazy screaming, not the oh-my-god-some-psycho-just-stabbed-me crazy screaming.
*I have actually done this. It does not always end well. Or at least the way you're hoping it does. But don't worry, everything turns out OK. So what I'm saying is, just do it. Chickenshit.
Last night, not only did Heidi and I go to the gym, we also played tennis. Well. "Played" tennis. Our goal right now is to just make contact with the ball. We're going to worry about aiming later. And now, here are some Conversations With My Roommate because I'm lazy and don't know what else to write.
Whiny kid outside our apartment riding his bike: You guuuyyyys, wait UP!
Me: Oh, that is so the kid nobody likes.
Heidi: Yeah, it sounds like he's got some sand in his vagina.
Heidi: Uh-oh, I spilled ketchup on the counter.
Me: Heidi!
Heidi: Oops.
Me: I told you! No more performing abortions in the kitchen!
Heidi: Oh my god.
Me: I know, I can't believe I just made an abortion joke.
Heidi: Me neither.
Me: What is wrong with my brain?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Abortion jokes . . . can't get better than that. Except for maybe Holocaust jokes.
Heidi: That's true.
Me: Anyway, make sure you clean up the fetus before we eat dinner.
Heidi: Oh my god.
Heidi: I'll get our tennis rackets.
Me: Don't forget our pink balls.
Heidi: Oh, I won't. They're very important.
Me: Yeah, you can't leave your house without your balls.
Heidi: You'd be ball-less.
Me: How embarrassing. And what if you lost one?
Heidi: You could still leave the house, you'd just have one ball.
Me: What the hell are you gonna do with one ball?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: You might as well have sand in your vagina.
Me: We're getting pretty good. I think we're ready to take on Andre Agassi.
Heidi: We so are.
Me: Maybe even Pete Sampras.
Heidi: Oh, hell yes.
Me: Not Andy Roddick, though.
Heidi: Definitely not.
Me: He's too pretty and I'd get distracted.
Heidi: And balls would hit you in the face.
Me: Not tennis balls, though.
Heidi: Hahahaha!
Me: No, seriously, what's wrong with my brain?
Heidi and I actually did figure out what's wrong with my brain. It was pretty simple actually and makes so much sense but I'm not going to explain it because it would take too long and my lunch break is only an hour.
Aaaaanyway, while we played tennis, Heidi worked on her Anna Kournikova serve and I worked on my Monica Seles crazy screaming. The hitting-the-ball crazy screaming, not the oh-my-god-some-psycho-just-stabbed-me crazy screaming.
*I have actually done this. It does not always end well. Or at least the way you're hoping it does. But don't worry, everything turns out OK. So what I'm saying is, just do it. Chickenshit.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
My point is, a penis, when seen in the right context, is the most wonderful sight for a woman. But in the wrong context, it is like a monster movie.
Hello, Internets. How are you? I'm really tired. I had A Weekend. A Good Weekend, don't worry. I'm totally going to do one of those weekend recaps, too, and I'm not going to apologize for it. Because I'm tired, you see. So just shut up and deal with it. Don't be so selfish. Geez.
On Friday, a bunch of us got together at a Mexican restaurant, partly to celebrate Heidi and my birthdays (even though they were last week, we like to stretch out the celebration as much as possible) but mostly for the margaritas. We went to that restaurant where I fell into the men's bathroom, but I don't think anyone who works there remembered me. Whew. Anyway, the restaurant party moved to a bar and then moved back to our apartment and I stayed up until 4 AM KNOWING FULL WELL that I had to be up at 8:30. Apparently turning 25 did not make me any smarter. Good to know.
THE REASON I had to be up early the next morning was because some friends (Nancy, Stephanie, and Nancy's mom) and I were traveling to the far reaches of Findlay, Ohio for a bridal shower. And even though this bridal shower was for one of my best friends, I was not really looking forward to it because, well, I hate showers of the bridal and baby variety. I hate them. I hate them hate them hate them with the fire of a thousand suns. I hate being fake nice to everyone, I hate trying to practically fake an orgasm while the bride-to-be opens a set of dishtowels and I ESPECIALLY hate the stupid games you have to play. Like the one where you have to make a wedding dress out of toilet paper? The last time I had to do that I wanted to throw a tantrum and ball up all the toilet paper and set it on fire. I didn't, but I totally thought about it.
I needn't have worried, though, because this was the best bridal shower ever. First of all, the food was SO GOOD. It was so fancy and pretty and delicious, even though I didn't really know what I was eating. Because, you see, I am not fancy. When I saw the spread my first thought was "where are the cocktail wieners?" Even watching The Opening of the Presents was OK because Whitney has fantastic taste and everything she registered for was so so pretty. I'm thinking of having a fake wedding just so I can get lots of presents. Would anyone be interested in marrying me and divorcing me a year later? You can have half of the presents (maybe). Win win (win)!
Anyway, the main reason this was the best bridal shower ever was because there was a martini bar. Also, wine. And somehow my wine glass never stayed empty! It was amazing. And then, after the shower, we went to Whitney's parents' house to eat pizza and, oh, also drink more. I was thinking about it today, and I think aside from a glass or two of water yesterday, I was drinking some form of alcohol pretty much from 2 PM to 11 PM. I think my liver has given up. FINALLY.
OK, Internets, and now I am going to talk about something very gross and inappropriate. Nancy's mom brought this video with her of some show that was in NYC called Puppetry of the Penis. Basically these two guys bend and stretch their penises into all these different shapes (i.e. wristwatch, hamburger, Loch Ness Monster) in front of an audience. That's it. I'm not sure what their intention was, but if it was to make me never want to see another penis again then they succeeded. I think it was The Windsurfer that did it. Oh man, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
That was pretty much the climax of the evening (so to speak) so we went back to the hotel. Um, The end. I can't think of anything else to tell you. I blame the penises, they broke my brain.
On Friday, a bunch of us got together at a Mexican restaurant, partly to celebrate Heidi and my birthdays (even though they were last week, we like to stretch out the celebration as much as possible) but mostly for the margaritas. We went to that restaurant where I fell into the men's bathroom, but I don't think anyone who works there remembered me. Whew. Anyway, the restaurant party moved to a bar and then moved back to our apartment and I stayed up until 4 AM KNOWING FULL WELL that I had to be up at 8:30. Apparently turning 25 did not make me any smarter. Good to know.
THE REASON I had to be up early the next morning was because some friends (Nancy, Stephanie, and Nancy's mom) and I were traveling to the far reaches of Findlay, Ohio for a bridal shower. And even though this bridal shower was for one of my best friends, I was not really looking forward to it because, well, I hate showers of the bridal and baby variety. I hate them. I hate them hate them hate them with the fire of a thousand suns. I hate being fake nice to everyone, I hate trying to practically fake an orgasm while the bride-to-be opens a set of dishtowels and I ESPECIALLY hate the stupid games you have to play. Like the one where you have to make a wedding dress out of toilet paper? The last time I had to do that I wanted to throw a tantrum and ball up all the toilet paper and set it on fire. I didn't, but I totally thought about it.
I needn't have worried, though, because this was the best bridal shower ever. First of all, the food was SO GOOD. It was so fancy and pretty and delicious, even though I didn't really know what I was eating. Because, you see, I am not fancy. When I saw the spread my first thought was "where are the cocktail wieners?" Even watching The Opening of the Presents was OK because Whitney has fantastic taste and everything she registered for was so so pretty. I'm thinking of having a fake wedding just so I can get lots of presents. Would anyone be interested in marrying me and divorcing me a year later? You can have half of the presents (maybe). Win win (win)!
Anyway, the main reason this was the best bridal shower ever was because there was a martini bar. Also, wine. And somehow my wine glass never stayed empty! It was amazing. And then, after the shower, we went to Whitney's parents' house to eat pizza and, oh, also drink more. I was thinking about it today, and I think aside from a glass or two of water yesterday, I was drinking some form of alcohol pretty much from 2 PM to 11 PM. I think my liver has given up. FINALLY.
OK, Internets, and now I am going to talk about something very gross and inappropriate. Nancy's mom brought this video with her of some show that was in NYC called Puppetry of the Penis. Basically these two guys bend and stretch their penises into all these different shapes (i.e. wristwatch, hamburger, Loch Ness Monster) in front of an audience. That's it. I'm not sure what their intention was, but if it was to make me never want to see another penis again then they succeeded. I think it was The Windsurfer that did it. Oh man, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
That was pretty much the climax of the evening (so to speak) so we went back to the hotel. Um, The end. I can't think of anything else to tell you. I blame the penises, they broke my brain.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Try not. Do or do not, there is no try.
Last night, as I do every Wednesday (except for that one time when I was super tired and didn't care and just went to bed and let TiVo cover things for me), I got in bed and turned on ABC. Because it was time for Lost, bitches. Although I am not the rabid fan I once was, I never miss an episode. And since Heidi doesn't watch it, I am forced to make "clever" comments to myself. Usually in my head, though, I don't want Heidi to hear me talking to myself because then she might move out.
So, last night I'm watching it and giggling to myself because Ben was walking around with a cane telling Locke he had to get rid of his father and being all cryptic and know-it-all-y and I was like, "calm down, Yoda." Seriously, I expected him to be all, "Kill your father, you will! This knife, you will use! Pick that up for me, can you? Had back surgery, I did. Help a brother out, you should!" But then I started thinking, "Oh, Jennie, you have just seen Star Wars one too many times. Possibly more than one too many times. Probably more like twenty too many times." I've watched Star Wars a lot, is what I'm saying.
BUT THEN! Then! Later in the episode! Sawyer totally killed Locke's father BY STRANGLING HIM WITH A CHAIN! I don't know what's funnier, the fact that Locke's father got killed just like Jabba the Hut or that Sawyer used the same killing method as Princess freaking Leia. And Jabba the Hut was way bigger than Locke's father. I'm just saying.
You remember how Heidi and I both had the stomach flu last month? Well, we had the stomach flu last month. It was awesome. I had a great time. Anyway, we kind of fell off the wagon after that, food-wise. For a while, we couldn't go to the gym because we were throwing up everywhere and I think they frown upon that. Then we felt better and started eating normal food again and still weren't going to the gym. That was pretty much all of April. So this week we started going again. My entire body hurts. Well, not my ENTIRE body. But most of it. Also, this whole eating well thing is a bunch of crap. What I really want to do is go to Chipotle and get a big, fat burrito but instead I am sitting here at my desk trying to eat my sandwich and pretzels as slowly as possible. That's a lie, they're both gone already. OH! And Heidi bought these 100 calorie packs that are like Hostess cupcakes. I am not lying to you when I say they are SO GOOD that if I had to kill a puppy to get to them? Well, I still couldn't kill a puppy but I'd at least consider it. The Faux-stess cupcakes taste just like the real thing. I have some in my desk drawer right now and it is taking all of my willpower (and there's not much) not to rip open the package and shove them all in my mouth right now. I'm saving them for later when I get hungry. This happens around 3 and is usually when I get up from my desk and wander around the building on my way to the vending machine. I'm so glad Heidi bought these because they are way healthier than what I might get out of the vending machine. Speaking of Heidi -- CONVERSATIONS WITH MY ROOMMATE: Work E-mail Edition . . .
From: Me
To: Heidi
I don't know why, but it's been harder to get out of bed every day this week. But at least it's Thursday which is almost Friday which is almost the weekend (which is almost midtwenties, oh SNAP)
From: Heidi
To: Me
Hahaha, seriously and it's football night . . . I think The Office is supersized tonight . . . or is it the hour show?
From: Me
To: Heidi
I think it is supersized tonight. And the finale is an hour but I think that's a couple weeks away. Ooooh snap. I don't feel like working today at all.
From: Heidi
To: Me
ME NEITHER! Let's just skip.
From: Me
To: Heidi
Yeah, I'll just be like "I'm going to the restroom, be back soon!" and then sneak out. Or just leave for lunch right now and never come back.
So sneaky.
From: Heidi
To: Me
I know! So, Aunt Flo decided to meet me at work this morning, so I guess I'll be going to Walgreen's on my lunch break to grab some stuff! Yay!
From: Me
To: Heidi
Hahaha, you know what's funny? It has been 13 years since Aunt Flo started visiting and I'm still never prepared for her. I'm not a very good host, I guess.
You wanna know what else? It'd be funny if our IT departments read some of our emails. Hee.
From: Heidi
To: Me
Haha, I know . . . I'm a lousy guest. Speaking of hosting people . . . do your parents have an air mattress? I was thinking that we'll probably have Kelly and Steve staying with us and Steve could sleep on either instead of the floor . . . also my friend Besty and her BF might stay . . . they probably won't, but just in case . . . or do you think the floor is fine?
From: Me
To: Heidi
Hmm, I think the floor will have to do because I'm pretty sure my parents don't have an air mattress. That's why they bought that futon.
Oh well. Hopefully everyone will be drunk and won't care. Or maybe Steve and Kelly could share the sofa. Ooh la la!
From: Heidi
To: Me
Ooh la la! Heidi and Bax's House. Of. Love!
From: Me
To: Heidi
You scoff, but it might be a good way to make some extra cash.
From: Heidi
To: Me
I'm all for that.
From: Me
To: Heidi
You know what I was seriously thinking? We could put a note in our apartment complex newsletter and open a babysitting service or something. Make loads of money and we'd totally be just like The Baby-sitter's Club. Can I be Claudia?
From: Heidi
To: Me
Yeah, I guess, if I can be Mallory!
From: Me
To: Heidi
WHAT?! Why would you want to be Mallory?! She had frizzy red hair and glasses! And was two years younger than the rest of them! She was the worst one! At least be Mary Anne . . . she was shy and mousy but at least she had a boyfriend. And Dawn had a secret passageway in her house!
Mallory?! Seriously?
From: Heidi
To: Me
Get off my case, dork . . . that was the only name I could remember.
From: Me
To: Heidi
Sorry. I feel very strongly about The Baby-sitter's Club.
From: Heidi
To: Me
I guess . . . sheesh . . . I took cover under my desk.
THE END.
OH MY GOD. This is the longest post ever. If you made it all the way through, I commend you. Unless you make fun of me about The Babysitter's Club. Or Star Wars, for that matter. If you do that, I will kick you in the babymaker.
So, last night I'm watching it and giggling to myself because Ben was walking around with a cane telling Locke he had to get rid of his father and being all cryptic and know-it-all-y and I was like, "calm down, Yoda." Seriously, I expected him to be all, "Kill your father, you will! This knife, you will use! Pick that up for me, can you? Had back surgery, I did. Help a brother out, you should!" But then I started thinking, "Oh, Jennie, you have just seen Star Wars one too many times. Possibly more than one too many times. Probably more like twenty too many times." I've watched Star Wars a lot, is what I'm saying.
BUT THEN! Then! Later in the episode! Sawyer totally killed Locke's father BY STRANGLING HIM WITH A CHAIN! I don't know what's funnier, the fact that Locke's father got killed just like Jabba the Hut or that Sawyer used the same killing method as Princess freaking Leia. And Jabba the Hut was way bigger than Locke's father. I'm just saying.
You remember how Heidi and I both had the stomach flu last month? Well, we had the stomach flu last month. It was awesome. I had a great time. Anyway, we kind of fell off the wagon after that, food-wise. For a while, we couldn't go to the gym because we were throwing up everywhere and I think they frown upon that. Then we felt better and started eating normal food again and still weren't going to the gym. That was pretty much all of April. So this week we started going again. My entire body hurts. Well, not my ENTIRE body. But most of it. Also, this whole eating well thing is a bunch of crap. What I really want to do is go to Chipotle and get a big, fat burrito but instead I am sitting here at my desk trying to eat my sandwich and pretzels as slowly as possible. That's a lie, they're both gone already. OH! And Heidi bought these 100 calorie packs that are like Hostess cupcakes. I am not lying to you when I say they are SO GOOD that if I had to kill a puppy to get to them? Well, I still couldn't kill a puppy but I'd at least consider it. The Faux-stess cupcakes taste just like the real thing. I have some in my desk drawer right now and it is taking all of my willpower (and there's not much) not to rip open the package and shove them all in my mouth right now. I'm saving them for later when I get hungry. This happens around 3 and is usually when I get up from my desk and wander around the building on my way to the vending machine. I'm so glad Heidi bought these because they are way healthier than what I might get out of the vending machine. Speaking of Heidi -- CONVERSATIONS WITH MY ROOMMATE: Work E-mail Edition . . .
From: Me
To: Heidi
I don't know why, but it's been harder to get out of bed every day this week. But at least it's Thursday which is almost Friday which is almost the weekend (which is almost midtwenties, oh SNAP)
From: Heidi
To: Me
Hahaha, seriously and it's football night . . . I think The Office is supersized tonight . . . or is it the hour show?
From: Me
To: Heidi
I think it is supersized tonight. And the finale is an hour but I think that's a couple weeks away. Ooooh snap. I don't feel like working today at all.
From: Heidi
To: Me
ME NEITHER! Let's just skip.
From: Me
To: Heidi
Yeah, I'll just be like "I'm going to the restroom, be back soon!" and then sneak out. Or just leave for lunch right now and never come back.
So sneaky.
From: Heidi
To: Me
I know! So, Aunt Flo decided to meet me at work this morning, so I guess I'll be going to Walgreen's on my lunch break to grab some stuff! Yay!
From: Me
To: Heidi
Hahaha, you know what's funny? It has been 13 years since Aunt Flo started visiting and I'm still never prepared for her. I'm not a very good host, I guess.
You wanna know what else? It'd be funny if our IT departments read some of our emails. Hee.
From: Heidi
To: Me
Haha, I know . . . I'm a lousy guest. Speaking of hosting people . . . do your parents have an air mattress? I was thinking that we'll probably have Kelly and Steve staying with us and Steve could sleep on either instead of the floor . . . also my friend Besty and her BF might stay . . . they probably won't, but just in case . . . or do you think the floor is fine?
From: Me
To: Heidi
Hmm, I think the floor will have to do because I'm pretty sure my parents don't have an air mattress. That's why they bought that futon.
Oh well. Hopefully everyone will be drunk and won't care. Or maybe Steve and Kelly could share the sofa. Ooh la la!
From: Heidi
To: Me
Ooh la la! Heidi and Bax's House. Of. Love!
From: Me
To: Heidi
You scoff, but it might be a good way to make some extra cash.
From: Heidi
To: Me
I'm all for that.
From: Me
To: Heidi
You know what I was seriously thinking? We could put a note in our apartment complex newsletter and open a babysitting service or something. Make loads of money and we'd totally be just like The Baby-sitter's Club. Can I be Claudia?
From: Heidi
To: Me
Yeah, I guess, if I can be Mallory!
From: Me
To: Heidi
WHAT?! Why would you want to be Mallory?! She had frizzy red hair and glasses! And was two years younger than the rest of them! She was the worst one! At least be Mary Anne . . . she was shy and mousy but at least she had a boyfriend. And Dawn had a secret passageway in her house!
Mallory?! Seriously?
From: Heidi
To: Me
Get off my case, dork . . . that was the only name I could remember.
From: Me
To: Heidi
Sorry. I feel very strongly about The Baby-sitter's Club.
From: Heidi
To: Me
I guess . . . sheesh . . . I took cover under my desk.
THE END.
OH MY GOD. This is the longest post ever. If you made it all the way through, I commend you. Unless you make fun of me about The Babysitter's Club. Or Star Wars, for that matter. If you do that, I will kick you in the babymaker.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
find a penny, pick it up
I try not to be superstitious. Not to read too much into the little things. Ignore anything resembling a "sign." But there are times I allow myself to be weak, silly. I wish on the clock when it says 11:11, on eyelashes, on birthday candles, on stars, falling or not. I always look for four-leaf clovers. If I spill salt, I throw some over my shoulder. The last time I opened an umbrella inside, it was in a bar and I was too drunk to worry about bad luck. I avoid cracks in the sidewalk, for my mother's sake, really. I carry mirrors carefully and don't walk under ladders. I hold my breath when driving past a cemetery. If my ears are burning or my nose itches, I wonder who is talking about me. If I tie the wrapper from a straw in a knot, pull the ends, and the knot stays intact, I wonder who is thinking about me. I always knock on wood.
This morning, I noticed a penny lying right next to my car. It was heads up. I thought about leaving it there on the ground but instead picked it up and slipped it into my pocket. Why tempt fate?
This morning, I noticed a penny lying right next to my car. It was heads up. I thought about leaving it there on the ground but instead picked it up and slipped it into my pocket. Why tempt fate?
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
so affections fade away, and do adults just learn to play the most ridiculous, repulsive games
Disclaimer: Because I'm tired of writing/thinking about my own problems "problems." This couldn't be about me, anyway, because I've never been in love. Unless you count John Krasinski, but that's different.
Once there was a young girl who fell in love with a boy. The end.
OK, just kidding.
Once there was a girl who fell in love with a boy who didn't love her back. The end. No, that's not it, either.
Once there was a young girl, a slight slip of a thing, willowy and graceful and everything a young lady ought to be. She fell in love with a boy, a brave boy, a boy who wasn't afraid to get into fights on the playground. And so she followed him, the definition of puppy-dog eyes, listening to his every word, laughing at his jokes, heart breaking every time he ignored her carefully constructed response.
One day, many years later, someone broke this boy's heart. The young girl was there, as always, to comfort him, her shoulder having housed his worries and tears countless times in the past. It was on this day that the boy finally noticed her. The way she looked at him. The way she stroked his hair. And so on this day the boy decided to fall in love with her. Not the way she loved him, but enough, he thought, to make her happy.
The girl knew he'd never love her as much as she loved him. He loved her because she loved him and for no other reason. But the girl decided that was good enough. She spent hours devising fantasies, all of them ending with him looking at her the way she looked at him instead of throwing empty "I love yous" in her direction as he normally did. She was busy enjoying the life she'd constructed in her mind, that is, until reality came crashing in.
One day she came home from work earlier than usual, having felt sick the entire morning. She unlocked the door, walked up the stairs to the bedroom, stepping over hastily discarded clothing along the way, and opened the bedroom door to find the boy, her boy, in bed with someone else. Not her. And so, realizing she had been living a cliché, she left the house and got in her car. She drove until she ran out of gas and then she abandoned the car, her last tie to the boy, and walked. The end.
Once there was a young girl who fell in love with a boy. The end.
OK, just kidding.
Once there was a girl who fell in love with a boy who didn't love her back. The end. No, that's not it, either.
Once there was a young girl, a slight slip of a thing, willowy and graceful and everything a young lady ought to be. She fell in love with a boy, a brave boy, a boy who wasn't afraid to get into fights on the playground. And so she followed him, the definition of puppy-dog eyes, listening to his every word, laughing at his jokes, heart breaking every time he ignored her carefully constructed response.
One day, many years later, someone broke this boy's heart. The young girl was there, as always, to comfort him, her shoulder having housed his worries and tears countless times in the past. It was on this day that the boy finally noticed her. The way she looked at him. The way she stroked his hair. And so on this day the boy decided to fall in love with her. Not the way she loved him, but enough, he thought, to make her happy.
The girl knew he'd never love her as much as she loved him. He loved her because she loved him and for no other reason. But the girl decided that was good enough. She spent hours devising fantasies, all of them ending with him looking at her the way she looked at him instead of throwing empty "I love yous" in her direction as he normally did. She was busy enjoying the life she'd constructed in her mind, that is, until reality came crashing in.
One day she came home from work earlier than usual, having felt sick the entire morning. She unlocked the door, walked up the stairs to the bedroom, stepping over hastily discarded clothing along the way, and opened the bedroom door to find the boy, her boy, in bed with someone else. Not her. And so, realizing she had been living a cliché, she left the house and got in her car. She drove until she ran out of gas and then she abandoned the car, her last tie to the boy, and walked. The end.
Fact: Bears eat beets. Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica.
The other night I had this dream that I came into work and there was a check sitting on my desk. "Who is this check for?" I asked my coworker. "Ha, you're silly," she said. "It's your check! Your tax refund check!"
I'll admit, even in the dream I thought it was strange that my coworker was giving me my tax refund check, but I went with it. Mostly because it involved me getting money and if it involves me getting money I'll do almost anything. ALMOST, I said. Anyway, so I opened up this check and immediately got pissed because they'd given me $200 less than what I'd been expecting. So, I went up to my coworker all angry and red-faced and shaky and waved the check in her face.
"Where's the rest of my money?" I shouted. She stared. I stared. And huffed and puffed and tried to blow her cubicle down but I couldn't.
"What are you talking about?" she asked. "It's all there."
"Um, no it's not," I said, and slammed the check down on her desk. "There is $200 missing."
"Ooooh! Hahaha," she laughed, risking me punching her in the face and/or babymaker. "That's because they took taxes out!"
Taxes out. Of my tax refund check. My brain is broken, I swear. I am dreaming of tax refunds. I am dreaming of sweet, sweet tax refunds. Although, hopefully there are no taxes taken out of the real one (seriously?) or I really will be forced to punch someone in the face and/or babymaker. So what I'm saying, Government, is that I could really use that money. If you could deposit that in my account today, I'd really appreciate it. You see, all of my friends decided to get married and for some reason all of the bridal showers/bachelorette parties/weddings/receptions are not being held in Dayton. But Dayton is where I am! And the world revolves around me, right?
OK, I know it doesn't, but it totally should.
I'll admit, even in the dream I thought it was strange that my coworker was giving me my tax refund check, but I went with it. Mostly because it involved me getting money and if it involves me getting money I'll do almost anything. ALMOST, I said. Anyway, so I opened up this check and immediately got pissed because they'd given me $200 less than what I'd been expecting. So, I went up to my coworker all angry and red-faced and shaky and waved the check in her face.
"Where's the rest of my money?" I shouted. She stared. I stared. And huffed and puffed and tried to blow her cubicle down but I couldn't.
"What are you talking about?" she asked. "It's all there."
"Um, no it's not," I said, and slammed the check down on her desk. "There is $200 missing."
"Ooooh! Hahaha," she laughed, risking me punching her in the face and/or babymaker. "That's because they took taxes out!"
Taxes out. Of my tax refund check. My brain is broken, I swear. I am dreaming of tax refunds. I am dreaming of sweet, sweet tax refunds. Although, hopefully there are no taxes taken out of the real one (seriously?) or I really will be forced to punch someone in the face and/or babymaker. So what I'm saying, Government, is that I could really use that money. If you could deposit that in my account today, I'd really appreciate it. You see, all of my friends decided to get married and for some reason all of the bridal showers/bachelorette parties/weddings/receptions are not being held in Dayton. But Dayton is where I am! And the world revolves around me, right?
OK, I know it doesn't, but it totally should.
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