YOU GUYS

I don't want to brag, but . . . OK, yes, I do. I totally want to brag. I am going to brag to anyone who will listen because I have never gotten to brag about this particular thing before in the (long) history of all my bragging.

OK. Here goes. Yesterday . . . at Chipotle . . . I ate . . . THE ENTIRE BURRITO. See?

This totally makes up for that time in DC when I couldn't eat the whole thing and I covered it with a napkin and then Abigail mocked me for the rest of the trip.

ALSO. It has not escaped my notice that, well, my blog has sucked donkey balls recently*. So. I am now going to (sort of) rip off Kat's idea. If you guys ask me a question in the comments, I'll answer it or whatever. If I feel like it. And if I don't forget about this by tomorrow. YOU'RE WELCOME.

*recently? ha!

tell me about the rabbits, George

So, I'm still dog-sitting. And I don't know why Mocha hates me and wants me to kill myself. Why ELSE would she bark and bark and bark and bark when IT IS CLEARLY TIME TO SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP.

Ahem. So. I'm sleepy. This is pretty standard for . . . well, any day, really. But at least it's Friday. FRIDAY. And I have no obligations whatsoever this weekend, unless you count a movie and ice cream and mini-golf as obligations but I DON'T. I call those . . . I don't know, something else that doesn't mean obligation. Whatever. Shut up, I'm tired.

Every morning, as I leave my aunt and uncle's house to go to work, there are bunnies in the front yard. Sometimes just one, but SOMETIMES there are two. But they always run away from me. I tried to avoid eye contact, all "I'm not going to hurt you, tiny bunny, I love you and want to be your friend," but they run away anyway. I don't understand, bunnies, WHY? Why won't you love me?

When I was in 4th or 5th grade (like I remember which one), my class went to the park for a picnic on the last day of school. As we were walking from the park back to the school building, I noticed some boys kneeling around this patch of tall grass, poking at something. I went over and saw they were messing around with a rabbit nest, and that there were tiny, tiny bunnies inside. No big bunnies, just babies, with their eyes closed and everything.

Well. I got a little irate, put my hands on my hips, and told those boys to get the fuck away from those bunnies (note: I did not say fuck back then) and THEN I got really irate because I thought, "now this nest smells like stinky human boys and the mom bunny is never going to come back." PLUS ALSO, they'd moved the nest all around from somewhere else. Stupid human boys. And so I marched myself up to the school, asked for a box, and I took those bunnies home, nest and all. I'm pretty sure now that the whole thing about how if baby bunnies smell like humans, the mom won't come back is completely false, but what do you want? I was like 10. What's a 10-year-old know?

I don't remember exactly what happened next, but I imagine it involved a phone call to my mom that went something like this:

Me: Hi, Mom.
Mom: Hi, Jennie, how was school?
Me: Good . . .
Mom: What is it?
Me: Um. I found some baby bunnies and brought them home.
Mom: What?
Me: THESE BOYS WERE MESSING WITH THEM AND I DIDN'T WANT THE MOM TO NOT TAKE CARE OF THEM ANYMORE, SO I BROUGHT THEM HOME AND THEY'RE IN A BOX ON THE BACK PORCH BECAUSE THESE BOYS WERE MESSING WITH THEM, MOM!
Mom: Sigh.

In any case, we fed them with an eye dropper and took them to a rescue wildlife center. This wasn't the first time we'd nursed baby animals. My mom found baby squirrels in the backyard that had fallen out of the nest and we took care of those, too. Also, I used to bring home stray dogs and put them in the garage, and have more fun phone conversations with my mom:

Me: Hi, Mom.
Mom: Hello, Jennie. What are you doing?
Me: Nothing.
Mom: Jennie . . .
Me: Um, I found this dog while I was riding my bike, so I brought him home. He's in the garage.
Mom: Jennie.
Me: He's really cute and nice! He has white fur! And I named him Frank!
Mom: Jennie, is he wearing a collar?
Me: . . . yes.
Mom: Does the collar have tags on it?
Me: . . . yes.
Mom: Jennie, that is someone's dog. Go let it out of the garage.
Me: But!
Mom: Jennie.
Me: OK.

That is a (mostly) true story. I say mostly because I can barely remember last week, let alone 16 years ago.

Take car. Go to mum's. Kill Phil, grab Liz, go to the Winchester, have a nice cold pint, and wait for all of this to blow over.

Today Peefer shared the greatest meme ever. And here it is:

You are in a mall when the zombies attack. You have:

1. One weapon.
2. One song blasting on the speakers.
3. One famous person to fight alongside you.

Weapon can be real or fictional; you may assume endless ammo if applicable. Person can be real or fictional.

My answers?

1. Winchester
2. Ring of Fire, Johnny Cash
3. Batman

this is an absolutely true (boring) story

Oh my gosh, you guys, do I ever have some exciting news. Hold onto your butts (thank you, Samuel L. Jackson) because this? Is going to be amazing.

I don't know if you know this (but I'm kind of a big deal), but every Monday at Subway is Free Cookie Monday. I try not to make going out to lunch a habit, but I can't resist free cookies. So today, I went to Subway to get my usual (turkey on wheat) and the lady at the cash register was all, "for here or to go?" and I was all, "for here," and then ten seconds later I was all, "did I say here, cause I meant to go," and she gave me this look like, oh you poor sad creature, you are so stupid and then she gave me my chocolate chip cookie and I left. True story. So I got back to the office, put half my sub in the fridge for tomorrow, and checked on my free cookie. You know, to make sure it wasn't afraid, because it was dark inside the bag and everyone knows chocolate chip cookies are afraid of the dark. And lo and behold . . . I looked in the bag . . . and there were TWO COOKIES. TWO FREE COOKIES. TWO FREE CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES. Either she thought I was super awesome or she felt sorry for me because I don't know the difference between "here" and "to go." I don't really care. If being completely stupid gets you double free cookies, then I'm going to play dumb more often.

Also, do you ever have those moments where it feels like everyone is staring at you? I totally had one of those at Subway. It was weird and I got all paranoid that I had, like, ink all over my face or my fly was down or something.

Speaking of paranoid . . . I'm dog-sitting for my aunt and uncle this week and they have two dogs. Roxy, who is the greatest dog ever created and Mocha, who is . . . special. She is completely adorable when she's like, sleeping. Or just not barking. Because the barking makes me want to rip off my ears. Last night, she barked and barked and barked while I tried to go to bed. This went on for a long, long time. Not only was it annoying, but it made me wonder if there was someone out in the backyard, waiting for me to go to sleep so they could break in and torment me and kill me. I know that's completely ridiculous, but it just proves once again that Heidi and I should never have gone to see The Strangers.

Cake or death?

Um, cake please.

(I'm in Nazi Germany right now and can't watch YouTube, so I hope that's the right clip . . . meh.)

Chah-lie bit me.

I used the lotion I won at the tea party this morning. Now I smell like pink grapefruit. JEALOUS?

Last night, a bug flew in my eye while I was running. IT REALLY HURT. It's since been evicted, but my eyeball still hurts and now I'm worried I have a weird bug-eye disease.

Also, last night, Heidi and I went downtown to scope out some venues for Tamara's bachelorette party. One place serves wine and LOTS OF IT. I really hope we go there. Mostly, because it's within walking distance of a bunch of other bars and junk and bars and junk are really what you want for a bachelorette party. I don't know why we don't go downtown more often. It's not like downtown Dayton can compete with, um, any other cities, but there's stuff to do. FOR INSTANCE, Uno's pizza is down there and while that's not really something to DO, it's something to EAT, and that's almost as good. I don't know what I'm saying, so I'm going to stop now.

So we ate some Uno's pizza last night, which is why we felt compelled to go running, because there are approximately 800 calories in one bite of Uno's pizza. But it's worth it because it's SO GOOD, you guys. You know what, though? There are some freaky ass statues downtown. Like, they're made of bronze or whatever you make statues out of (not chocolate), but they're wearing REAL CLOTHES. They are, and I quote, "creepy as fuck." I just quoted myself. Is that weird?

Tomorrow, I'm dog-sitting for my aunt and uncle FOR OVER A WEEK. Dude, Jennie, lay off the Caps Lock. Anyway, they're going to California or something, and since dog's aren't self-sufficient like cats and babies, they need someone to feed them. So prepare for this blog to explode with crazy for the next week and a half, because I won't be able to spew my verbal diarrhea at Heidi. Wow, that's a disgusting image. I'm sorry.

and then we all ate ice cream

Yesterday, I fell off of a tightrope. It was going pretty well there for a while, but my balance is not that great (hence: all the falling down) and also there was this jumping bear trap right in the middle and when I tried to jump over it? I fell. And probably died. That's what usually happens when you're tightroping between two buildings and a bear trap closes on your legs and you fall to the ground. Good times.

Oh, and my parents got Wii Fit. That's how I managed to fall off a tightrope and still remain typing to you. I also ran a race. You put the Wiimote in your pocket and just run in place. It was fun until I realized I was, you know, running. Then I tried to hula hoop. Yeah, let's not talk about that.

Before all the Wii Fitting, I drove my mom to the video store and we passed this lady walking down the side of the street, pushing a grocery cart. She was wearing a hot dog hat. A HOT DOG HAT. (Heidi, like that one we bought Nancy that one time.) For real, she had a wiener on her head. A big one.

After dinner, we were watching Indiana Jones and I started explaining to my dad my idea for a new motivational tool that companies can use to, um, motivate their employees. Say you're walking down to accounts payable to drop off some invoices, OK? Wouldn't it be a lot more exciting if the Indiana Jones theme song was playing over loudspeakers in the hallway? Picture it . . . you're strolling along and then you hear, "Do do do dooooooo! Do do doooooo! Do do do dooooo! Do do do-do-do!" and then suddenly you're RUNNING down the hall and sliding down banisters and like, using your whip to swing across giant holes on the ground. You'd get those invoices to accounting SO MUCH FASTER. I really think this would boost productivity. Also, I thought it'd be fun if the Darth Vader song played as the CEO was walking toward your office. You know, as a warning signal to stop fucking around and get back to work. I think I'm going to explore this. Maybe I'll get my own infomercial.

I know it sounds like I've been doing a lot of shrooms or something, but I swear I haven't. This is all natural.

there's no place like home (especially when you're at work)

When I was but a wee little girl, my 2nd grade teacher gave us an assignment to dress up like our favorite fictional character. I, having been obsessed with the Wizard of Oz since I could talk (whenever my Aunt Karen would babysit me, I would say, "Aunt Kawen, I want to watch WIZAWD. OF. OZ."), chose to dress as Dorothy.

I don't remember much about the costume. I don't remember what dress I wore, I don't remember if I had a fake Toto (that's a lie, I totally carried around a Pound Puppy in a basket), but I do remember the shoes. My dad took an old pair of white dress shoes from my closet and when he brought them back, they had magically transformed into ruby slippers. Sure, it was just some glittery, red paint, but you guys . . . they are the best shoes I have ever owned. I wish I still had them.

I do own a grown-up pair of ruby slippers, but unfortunately, they never send me home, no matter how many times I click my heels.

fuck wank bugger shitting arse head and hole!*

I realize I probably say this every week, but this is the LONGEST. WEEK. EVER. The LONGEST. WEEK. EVER. is similar to WORST. DAY. EVER. Week, in that it lasts forever, but the days aren't as bad. My days haven't been bad at all. I mean, we've had ice cream at work the past two days and we have a luncheon with MASHED POTATOES tomorrow. Any day that includes MASHED POTATOES can't be all bad. I don't know why I keep abusing CAPS LOCK. I'm sorry. I'll stop.

I don't know if you've noticed, but it's summer now. I can tell it's summer because every time I go outside, my face melts off, which feels just as weird as you might imagine. Anyway, since it's hot as balls (what?) outside, I can't run immediately after work anymore. Well, I COULD, but I don't want to because, even though my face is nothing special, I've sort of gotten used to it so I try to avoid the "face melting" thing as much as possible. I don't want to look like that guy from Raiders of the Lost Ark. You know the one I mean. Don't pretend you haven't seen that movie 80 times. Everyone has.

Um. Right. So, I've been going running later in the evening, like around 9. Because it's still not dark yet at 9. But it's dim enough (what?) that the lightening bugs are out. I love lightening bugs. I'm a pretty simple person, really, and if I could just see lightening bugs all day long, I'd probably be in a much better mood than I normally am.

The only bad part about running this late is there are bugs EVERYWHERE. I mean, they're probably EVERYWHERE all day long, but they're worse at night. Last night, I accidentally swallowed one, because I can't run with my mouth closed because if I tried to run with my mouth closed, I wouldn't be able to breathe and then I'd fall over and die.

SIDENOTE: Right now, on the radio, THIS VERY MINUTE, they are playing "Summer Nights," from Grease. I am fighting the urge to jump on my desk and sing. I know all the words to every song in that movie AND I AM NOT ASHAMED. We all had to do something with our childhoods and I spent mine watching the same movies over and over. The end.

I could keep writing, I suppose, but I really have nothing else to tell you, Internets. Clearly. I mean, I just wrote about swallowing a bug. So I'll stop now. YOU'RE WELCOME.

(In completely unrelated news, people can be so fucking stupid. SIGH.)

(In completely awesome news, UNICORN DEER!)

(OK, I'm done)

*thank you, Heather . . . and, of course, Billy Mack

nobody ever told her it's the wrong way

Last night, a while after Heidi had gone to get her manicure (I was invited, but (and I know this will surprise you) I decided not to go), my phone rang.

Heidi: Hi.
Me: Hi.
Heidi: Do you want meet us at Bar Louie?
Me: Bar Louie?
Heidi: Yeah, we're gonna get dinner and drinks.
Me: Awesome, I'll be right up.

And up I went, because not only had I written my 300 words for the day, but I'd ALSO written an article. I mean, I would have gone up there anyway, but I felt far less guilty since I'd actually done some work. And you guys? If you thought the 123 GoBox was good, just HOLD ONTO YOUR MINDS BECAUSE I AM ABOUT TO BLOW THEM. Wow, that is like the poorest choice of words EVER and you'd think I'd delete them and write something else but YOU'D BE WRONG. Get used to it. Um, right. So, Bar Louie was having a special. One. Dollar. Hamburgers. And not like those pussy, little sliders from White Castle, either. Real-sized hamburgers. The toppings all cost like 50 cents extra but who cares? The hamburger (plus bun) was only $1. Which made up for the fact that our beers cost $6. But whatever, who cares, that beer was delicious.

I have no idea what my point is, except that if your friends call and ask if you want to come to the bar, you always say yes. Because you will be rewarded in hamburgers. Cheap, delicious hamburgers.

Also, beer.

it was like flying with THE RIDDLER

Tamara wanted me to do this and then she YELLED at me because I hadn't done it yet SO HERE, TAMARA, GOSH!

1. What I was doing 10 years ago:

I was a goody-two shoes, over-achieving sophomore in high school. I wish I could go back in time and tell Past!Jennie to calm down already.

2. What 5 things are on on my to-do list for today (not in any particular order):

eat ice cream
write 300 words
go running
answer emails that have been sitting in my inbox for like 87 days
write an article

3. Snacks I enjoy:

The answer is chips and salsa. I would live on chips and salsa if I didn't think I'd suffer some sort of nutrition deficiency and die.

4. Things I would do if I was a billionaire:

Pay off my student loans
Pay off everyone else's student loans (my friends, that is, not like everyone in the world)
Move to a beach somewhere. Or Italy.
Hire a professional chef.
Buy a pirate ship.
Invest the rest in hoverboard development.

5. Places I have lived:

Ohio. The womb. Although, the womb was technically in Ohio, so never mind.

I'm supposed to tag some other people. So I tag Kat, because she keeps threatening to quit her blog. And I tag everyone else, too, so I have something to read.

IT'S SO DAMN HOT. Milk was a bad choice.

I usually have a tough time falling to sleep on Sunday nights (see also: all other nights), due to a combination of sleeping in on Sunday morning, drinking too much caffeine all day, and the general laziness of Sundays that involves, um, lying on the sofa watching movies on cable. However, I have discovered the secret to getting the BEST night of sleep EVER on a Sunday night:

1. Get up at a decent hour (i.e. before noon).
2. Instead of lying around all day, get dressed up in tea party clothes.
3. Go to tea party and be nice, sociable person (this is exhausting). Try not to make any inappropriate jokes for a couple of hours (this is also exhausting).
4. Do computer research (i.e. surf Facebook, Google Reader, etc.)
5. Go running in the SWELTERING HEAT.
6. Take shower.
7. Read a good book.
8. SLEEP*.

It should go without saying (so I'm going to say it anyway), but your air conditioning should be turned on. Did I mention the SWELTERING HEAT? Because the heat? It is sweltering. Whatever. Swelter on, heat, I will totally harness the power of the AC and KILL YOU DEAD.

*BONUS #9 - read this blog because, dude, BORING

"Have a cup of tea," indeed! Well, I'm sorry, but I just haven't the time!

Today, Heidi and I put on our Sunday best and went to a tea party/bridal shower. Not like a tea party with stuffed animals and fake cookies and junk, but a real, honest-to-God tea party with TEA. And pastries.

I even wore a tea party hat, if by tea party hat you mean a big, floppy hat I found at Target for ten bucks. My tea party hat, having performed its tea party duties, is now a sunhat, which I will use at the pool so I won't burn my face off this summer.

I was a bit scared when someone said it was time to play the games, but none of them involved making a wedding dress out of toilet paper, so it was OK. Actually, we played one game where we had to make words out of the last names of BOTH the bride AND the groom. Sort of like Boggle. I totally won, but only because I cheated and made almost every word plural.

After the shower, Heidi and I got Taco Bell for dinner, because after doing something classy, we have to balance it out with something trashy. Sort of like that time we went to Nancy's bridal shower, full of fancy wine glasses and tiny, tiny sandwiches, and then, as soon as it was over, we went to get steak and beer and potatoes at a restaurant where you can throw peanut shells on the floor.

Also, I'm still wearing my tea party hat. You know, with my running clothes. I just want to get my money's worth.

Ben Franklin, do you wear boxers, briefs, or pantaloons?

Last night, I tried to be Ben Franklin and go running in an almost-thunderstorm with a key tied around my waist. You see, none of my shorts have pockets, so I tie the key to the drawstring and then double-knot it so it won't fall off when I'm running. How much would that suck? You get home from a long, exhausting run and you're locked out? No thank you to that. Anyway, when I got home from work yesterday, I put on my running clothes and then sat around reading Entertainment Weekly for a while, but when the sky got all thundery, I thought maybe I should go squeeze in a run before the torrential downpours and tornadoes started again. Not my best idea, considering the lightening started toward the end, at which point I sprinted inside.

FYI, it was like the worst run ever, because it is so humid here that the air is practically water, so when I got home it looked like I had just gotten out of the shower. DISGUSTING. Luckily, Bernard and Sebastian weren't outside. Did I tell you the Hot Guys got another roommate? We haven't named him yet. I think I'll call him Ishmael. Also, one of them got a motorcycle, but we can't tell which one. Although, on Sunday? Motorcycle Hot Guy was outside with no shirt on, messing around with his motorcycle, and then his hot friends came over with THEIR motorcycles and they all rode off together. They were like rebels WITH a cause, and their cause was . . . I don't know, being hot and not wearing shirts.

That wasn't even the best thing that happened this weekend. Oh, no. Nancy, Heidi, and I went to see Sex and the City (meh) and, even though we had just finished dinner, we got in line to get snacks. That's when Nancy saw this:



That is the 123 GoBox. You get to pick a drink (icee, juice box, or soda) and a snack (plain or peanut M&Ms, granola bites, or Skittles) PLUS ALSO you get a small popcorn. AND BEST OF ALL, it comes in that sweet, little box that has a handle so you don't spill anything. In case you're interested, I got a cherry icee, popcorn with butter, and peanut M&Ms. We thought maybe this sweet deal was only for kids (lucky bastards), but NO, it's for EVERYONE. Oh, and also, that whole happy meal thingie only costs $5.75. Yeah, you read that right. Add that to the fact that I used my eight year old college ID to get a discounted ticket and it was the cheapest movie experience ever. You know, except for when I was little and my parents paid for everything. I miss that.

you build the ark, I'll gather the animals

The weather the past two days has been extremely, and there's no other word for it, shitty. It rained all day yesterday, from the moment I walked out the door to go to work to when I got in my car at the end of the day to go to volunteering. The sky glared at me all, "WHAT? I'm RAINING! You don't like it? You think I care? WHATEVER, WHATEVER, I DO WHAT I WANT."

I was worried because last night was the final volunteering night before we go on hiatus for the summer, sort of like TV shows and my friend Nancy the Teacher. And on the last night of volunteering, the kids get to do a balloon launch. They write letters to their lost loved ones, tie them to balloons and let them fly, fly away. I'm trying to focus on how happy this makes the kids and not on the fact that once the balloon pops and falls to the Earth, some poor bird is probably going to choke and die on it. Focus on the happy, focus on the happy, look! look! something shiny!

The rain, though? The rain was threatening to KILL the balloon launch. So imagine my delight as I drove to the volunteering site and the sky became clearer and clearer. And as I sat in my car, waiting for someone else to get there and unlock the door (I'm always early), THE SUN CAME OUT. And it stayed out UNTIL WE WERE DONE WITH THE LAUNCH. It was a miracle. A balloon launch miracle. Poor birds.

Unfortunately, as I drove home from volunteering, the sky got angry again. When I got home, Heidi was making a nutritious dinner. I was hungry, too, so I made chips and salsa with M&Ms for dessert. As we sat down to eat, the tornado sirens started. "Le sigh," I thought, and looked longingly at my salsa. So spicy. So delicious. I turned on the news to see a furious, red blotch hovering over our town. Heidi was all, "is it bad?" and I was like, "no, no, it's just a tornado warning," and she said, "um . . . " and I answered, "oh, RIGHT, a tornado warning is the bad one." We don't really have a safe place to go in our apartment since we're on the second floor. Unless we go down to the first floor and cower in the coat closet, but cowering isn't really my thing, especially when I have chips and salsa in front of me. So we just sat on the sofa, ate our dinner, listened to the sirens, and watched the weatherman freak out all over the place.

It was fine. It stormed really badly for the rest of the night. The thunder was so loud that it woke me up (not a great accomplishment) but ALSO, it shook my entire room and made me hide under the covers. I didn't so much sleep as lie half-awake wondering if lightening could strike me through my window. I'm a little worried that this sleep-deprivation is causing hallucinations, because on the way to work I saw someone with an umbrella off in the distance and my first thought was not, "gee, it would suck to have to walk to work in this," it was, "OMG, it's Mary Poppins!"