she's a maniac, maniac, on the floor

Heidi and I went running a little bit ago, because the weather has gotten a teeny bit nicer and we're trying this new thing where we don't sit like useless blobs on the sofa when the sun is shining. However. When we left for our run, it was overcast and windy and just a little bit cold. But then! As we hopscotched over goose poop on the sidewalk, the clouds parted and the sun came out and was all, "hey, bitches, how you been?" The sun is not very polite, you see.

So, we ran. We ran so far away. We just ran. We ran both night and day. Jennie, stop. Anyway. We got to a point and stopped to walk and that's when we almost passed out from heat exhaustion. Heidi had a t-shirt underneath her long-sleeved shirt, so she simply took off her long-sleeved shirt. And wrapped it around her neck like a cape, I might add. But I thought I was a goner, because I was wearing my long-sleeved shirt UNDER my t-shirt. I figured I'd have to leave it on, unless I wanted to take both shirts off and flash the entire neighborhood and I really didn't want to do that. But then I remembered Flashdance and thought maybe, just maybe, I could pull the bra trick with my long-sleeved t-shirt and like two years later, I did it! Wow. That story was lame. Sorry.

I have more impressive news. Today is March 31st, which means I have posted random crap for all of you to read EVERY DAY for THREE STRAIGHT MONTHS. And if you don't think that's some sort of accomplishment, then I don't want to know you anymore.

toe pick!

So ABC Family has been running the shit out of all The Cutting Edge movies, so this weekend I watched the first one.

Confession: I did not watch The Cutting Edge on ABC Family, I popped it in the VCR (yeah, that's right) after I watched We Are Marshall and bawled my way through an entire box of tissues. WTF, movie, why do you want me to kill myself?

Anyway, so I don't know how I always forget how absolutely TERRIBLE this movie is, maybe because, I don't know, it's one of the most amazingly awful movies ever made that is ALSO one of my favorite movies, like, EVER. I don't know how old I was when I first saw it, but considering I own it on VHS, I couldn't have been that old. I'm not ashamed to tell you that I've seen it so many times I can recite most of the lines along with the movie, because I feel that's a talent and my parents told me never to be ashamed of my talents, useless as they may be. This movie is awesome, is what I'm saying.

But I have to call shenanigans on something. No, it's not the fact that Doug (Dooglas) Dorsey is a phenomenal figure skater even though, previously, he was a hockey player. And it's not that Kate and Dooglas win the Olympics with this super crazy (possibly illegal?) move that we never really even get to see and then they make out on the middle of the ice and everyone is all, "aww, that's nice, gold medals all around!" No. It's that scene after they find out they're going to the Olympics. And they go to that bar? You know? And Kate Mosley doesn't drink, oh no, not even a drop of champagne on New Years Eve, so of course, on this night, Dooglas starts her off with . . . tequila. TEQUILA. IS HE CRAZY?! I mean, he has to know she's going to be bombed off her ass after, at most, two shots and then she does like a billion of them. It's true. I counted. Plus, she only weighs 90 pounds and she's NEVER HAD A DRINK BEFORE. I consider my liver pretty seasoned and I still know that if I have only ONE shot of tequila, the night is most definitely going from pretty low key straight into one of those stories I will tell over and over and over and they all begin, "so this one night I was drinking tequila and . . ." Because inevitably I either end up tying balloon animals to firecrackers or locked in a closet while everyone else is asleep. True story and, oh, TRUE STORY.

As a child, when I watched this movie, I knew the shots of whatever they were doing = slutty behavior and big, black sunglasses the next morning. But I didn't know why. Hell, I used to lick salt off my wrist and shoot Sprite or whatever just to amuse my sister. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. Now that I think about it, maybe I can trace my love of alcohol back to that movie. Ah, The Cutting Edge. It's the gift that keeps on giving.

I have officially run out of things to talk about

My high school lunchroom, like most, had a condiment bar. It was right next to the cash registers, so after everyone stood in line to pay, they could THEN stand in line to squirt some mustard on their hot dog or whatever the hell the lunchroom was serving that day. I don't know. Most days I got french fries or . . . french fries.

The interesting thing about my high school's condiment station was the apparatus used to dispense the various condiments. It was this big shelf thing with what can only be described as udders hanging off of it. You squeezed the udders to make the condiment come out. I wish I could show you a real picture, but I can't, because according to my cousins who are now in high school (how the hell did that happen, btw?), they've gotten rid of the udder contraption. Which is unfortunate, because they're being deprived of something special. There's nothing quite like that feeling of inappropriateness that comes with squeezing a giant condiment udder. Especially the mayonnaise one.

Anyway, while I do not have a real picture, here is a drawing I made of what I remember it looking like. Stephanie, I believe you can back me up on this, yes?

the world has turned and left me here

When I woke up this morning, my old friend Figment was sitting on the sofa. He was chomping on a bowl of Cheerios (bowl and all) and holding this picture:



I walked back into my bedroom, pinched myself to make sure it hurt, and went back to the living room. Figment was still there.

"Jennie," he said. "This picture you drew of me hardly does me justice."

"Sorry, I'm not much of an artist," I said.

"And I read your blog. Well, some of it. Then I got bored and went to TWoP," he confessed.

"Awesome."

"When did you start spelling your name with an "ie" at the end?" he asked.

"Fourth grade?"

"Why?"

"Because there were fifteen other Jennys in my class and I wanted to be different," I answered.

"Fifteen, huh? I see you haven't stopped exaggerating," he placed his cereal bowl (the half that was left) on the ottoman, where it leaked milk all over the fabric. I started to object, but then I remembered that time Phoebe threw up on the ottoman and decided milk couldn't really hurt it.

"So, Figment," I began. "Whatcha doing here?"

"Well, Jenny," I don't know how he managed to pronounce my name with a Y, but he did it. "I've got the old Rocketship (duh) outside and wondered if you wanted to go somewhere."

"But I have to go to work," I said.

"Why?"

"For . . . money."

"Why?"

"Um. For stuff?"

"Stuff? Where we're going we don't need stuff," he exclaimed, jumping up and knocking the ottoman, along with the half-bowl, over. Great, I thought. Now there's milk all over the carpet. Then I remembered that time Phoebe threw up on the carpet and decided milk couldn't really hurt it.

"OK," I said. "Let me call into work and we can go."

"Great. We'll just have to pack some stuff first," he said.

"But you said we wouldn't need stuff!"

"That was just for dramatic effect," he said, waving his hand at me. He lumbered to my room, pulled out a suitcase, and started throwing my clothes inside.

"Can you at least fold that?" I asked.

"Geez, when did you get so uptight?"

"Bite me," I said. "Where are we going anyway?"

"Um, it's a Rocketship (duh). We're going to space. The final frontier."

"Still a Star Trek fan, I see."

"Well, it's really the only show I can get in my Dragon Lair," he said.

"I see. If we're going to space, don't forget my ET shirt."

"Already packed," he said and slammed the suitcase closed. "Let's go."

"Can I pee first?" I asked.

"No time," he said.

"But--"

"Calm down, there's a bathroom on the Rocketship. Duh."

pssssst!

I'm over here.

and then I found five dollars

Once upon a time there was a girl named Jennie. She procrastinated and procrastinated until she had to write a bajillion articles by FRIDAY MORNING. Also, she got sick and her other job tried to kill her. It was the LONGEST. WEEK. EVER.

And when it's all over, Jennie is going to celebrate with either a bottle of wine or a bottle of Nyquil, she hasn't which decided yet.

THE END

this sucks

I live a relatively quiet life in the suburbs, so you can imagine my surprise when I walked into the kitchen one night to find a vampire raiding my refrigerator. He was digging through the freezer, pulling out all the meat, and sticking it in the microwave. The problem was, he hadn't taken the plastic off, and I'm assuming the popping noise that had brought me to the kitchen in the first place was the plastic exploding and melting all over my new Kenmore Elite.

I cleared my throat and the pasty gentleman turned to face me.

"Oh," he said. "Hello, there."

"What do you think you're doing?" I asked.

"Me? Oh, um . . . I'm a ghost . . . OOOOOOOOO AAHHHHHHHH OOOOOOOOOOH AAAHHHHH!"

"Stop."

"Sorry," he said, plopped a sirloin back in the freezer, and slammed it shut.

"Can you turn that off, please?" I requested, pointing to the microwave. He opened the microwave door, releasing the acrid smell of burning plastic, and sat down at the kitchen table. I took the chair across from him.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Sherman."

"Sherman?"

"Sherman."

"What kind of name for a vampire is Sherman?" I scoffed.

"Vampire? Who's a vampire?" he widened his eyes.

"Please."

"OK, yes, I'm a vampire," he said. "But I didn't bite anyone, did I? I just helped myself to a little snack."

"This isn't a grocery store," I answered.

"Clearly! The meat selection left a lot to be desired."

"Funny."

"Thanks," he said. "Well, I'd better be going now." He got up to leave, but I walked to the door and stood in his way.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to repay me," I said. "For both the food and the microwave."

"Look . . . "

"Alan."

"Alan. I am a creature of the night. I don't have any money," he said. He reached past me and grabbed the doorknob.

"Well," I said, pushing his hand away. "What do you have? A nice watch? Jewels?"

"Look at me," he gestured to his faded jacket and the patches in his pants. "Do I look like I have jewels?"

"I'm going to have to come with you, then," I said.

"What?"

"I'm coming with you. We'll get you a job or something and then you can pay me back," I said.

"You're crazy. You can't follow a CREATURE OF THE NIGHT," he shouted.

"Keep your voice down. I'm coming with you." I opened the door and stepped outside.

"Fine," he said and followed me to my car. "But I don't think you're going to enjoy this."

"Finally, something we can agree on."