I have some bad news. Really bad. You should probably sit down. I got to work today at the same time I always do, checked my work email, and then went to see if it was my turn on Scrabulous. And . . . oh god . . . it was GONE. JUST GONE. NO MORE SCRABULOUS. I guess it's because Hasbro hates me and wants me to cry all day long.
You guys, I am a mess and not just because of the Scrabulous loss. I came back from Put-in-Bay with a wicked sunburn, a huge bruise on my knee and no recollection of obtaining it, and a blister on my hand from burning it on the oven. This is why I shouldn't try to cook. People only get hurt, and by people, I mean ME. Also all the people who get food poisoning. Then yesterday, I tried to tune my guitar and a string broke and whipped me on the wrist. It hurt. You may be asking yourself, "why is Jennie tuning a guitar?" or maybe even, "Jennie has a guitar?" and the answers are, "because an out of tune guitar sounds like shit," and, "yes, I do have a guitar." I bought it my senior year of high school because I thought teaching myself to play would be easier than it was. Also because it was blue. It turns out, teaching yourself how to play the guitar is NOT easy. I think I was hoping I would just pick up the guitar and magically know how to play. Like I'd be the Rainman of singer-songwriting. Alas, I am not. So, recently, I got a book to help teach me and yesterday was the first day I actually TRIED to do anything and then a stupid string broke. AND THEN (no and then!) I realized that I haven't changed the strings since I got the guitar. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it wasn't like I was playing it or anything. So. Moral of the story? I need new strings.
After I broke my guitar, I decided to go running and I almost died. I know I say that every time, but a combination of very little sleep this weekend, spending too much time in the sun, the HOT HOT HEAT and HUMID HUMID, um, HUMIDITY, and the fact that I haven't run in weeks meant I seriously for real almost fell on the sidewalk and died. I know this means I need to start running in the morning before work, but waking up that early makes me die, too. This is really a losing situation any way you look at it.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Worst. Post. Ever.
Last night, we went to see WarGames at the movie theater. Yes, WarGames came out 25 years ago. Yes, movies are hella expensive. Yes, I just said hella. But WarGames is a movie of awesomely 80s goodness and it was Thursday night and The Office is in reruns, so what else is there to do? Nothing, that's what.
There were approximately 10 other people in the theater with us. We were all enjoying the movie when, about three-fourths of the way through it, BOOM the screen went black. Everyone just sat there for a while and I was all, "I don't think this is part of the movie," because stating the obvious is what I do. A couple of minutes later, the lights came back on. Ruh-roh, we thought, and ruh-roh was right. The movie was being projected through space or something by a satellite and the satellite feed was interrupted because space pirates blew up the satellite. This is what I'm assuming happened, anyway. They were trying to fix it, but in the meantime, if you didn't want to wait, you could get a refund. So we got a refund. Which meant we saw three-fourths of WarGames in the theater for free. Win win win! Mostly.
Today has already lasted approximately 95 hours. I counted each one, so I know it's true. And now, for no particular reason, allow me to tell you what I have in my purse right now:
There were approximately 10 other people in the theater with us. We were all enjoying the movie when, about three-fourths of the way through it, BOOM the screen went black. Everyone just sat there for a while and I was all, "I don't think this is part of the movie," because stating the obvious is what I do. A couple of minutes later, the lights came back on. Ruh-roh, we thought, and ruh-roh was right. The movie was being projected through space or something by a satellite and the satellite feed was interrupted because space pirates blew up the satellite. This is what I'm assuming happened, anyway. They were trying to fix it, but in the meantime, if you didn't want to wait, you could get a refund. So we got a refund. Which meant we saw three-fourths of WarGames in the theater for free. Win win win! Mostly.
Today has already lasted approximately 95 hours. I counted each one, so I know it's true. And now, for no particular reason, allow me to tell you what I have in my purse right now:
- wallet
- chapstick
- three tubes of lip gloss
- a Flex Spending check
- cell phone
- 2 barrettes (red and blue)
- a granola bar
- gum
- a tiny notebook with drawings from Philly in it
- lotion
- three pens
- The Virgin Suicides (10 more pages to read at lunch!)
- Lord of the Flies (to start at lunch when I finish The Virgin Suicides)
Wasn't that exciting? I know. It was. You're wondering if your life will ever be the same now that you know what's in my purse. No. No, it won't be the same. I hope that eases your mind.
I'm bored, Internets. Entertain me, please. Or at least give me something better to write about than the contents of my purse.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
It's curtains for you, Dr. Horrible. Lacy, gently wafting curtains.
Hello, Internets. I barely have the energy to type this. I'm just . . . so . . . tired.
Heh. I'm really on edge right now, because they're doing some construction or something downstairs and they're drilling and it sounds like the loudest fart ever. Like, say someone farted so loud that your head exploded? That's how loud the drilling is, only my head hasn't exploded yet because drilling doesn't make heads explode, only farting does.
This morning I watched Saved by the Bell as I was getting ready for work. It was the one where Zach hires Screech to tutor Kelly so Kelly will pass her test and take Zach to see George Michael. That sounds really complicated, doesn't it? No. It doesn't. What's wrong with you? Anyway, Kelly goes over to Screech's house and he has a robot in his room named Kevin who is sort of a rip off of Johnny 5. But then again, so is Wall-E. WHAT? I love Wall-E, too, but COME ON. He looks like the love child of Johnny 5 and E.T. and if you think Johnny 5 and E.T. never got it on, then you are sorely mistaken. They had a brief, illicit affair in the hills of Montana one summer. Does Montana have hills? IRRELEVANT.
Um. Right. I thought it would be fun to recap an episode of Saved by the Bell, but I didn't get to finish watching the one this morning, because my boss says that I can't call in late to work just because I want to finish watching a TV show. Even if it's Saved by the Bell. If I'd seen the whole episode, though, I'd recap the shit out of it. I don't remember what happens in that one, even though I've seen every episode of Saved by the Bell at least three times. AT LEAST. Remember that time Tori Spelling was on that show? What the hell?
Anyway, so my point is, I saw two movies this weekend. What do you mean that has nothing to do with Saved by the Bell? ZIP YOUR LID. I saw The Dark Knight, which was as amazing as everyone said it would be. I also saw Mamma Mia!, which made me want to rip out my eyeballs and shove them in my ears so I wouldn't have to experience that cinematic Armageddon any longer. Yikes, you guys, that movie was ten shades of awful. It hurts me to say that about a movie Mr. Darcy was in, but that's how bad the movie was. SO BAD. You know what made up for it, though? Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long Blog. I hope you watched it. If you didn't, I hope you had a good excuse, like you were feeding hungry orphans melted chocolate from an eye dropper or something.
Heh. I'm really on edge right now, because they're doing some construction or something downstairs and they're drilling and it sounds like the loudest fart ever. Like, say someone farted so loud that your head exploded? That's how loud the drilling is, only my head hasn't exploded yet because drilling doesn't make heads explode, only farting does.
This morning I watched Saved by the Bell as I was getting ready for work. It was the one where Zach hires Screech to tutor Kelly so Kelly will pass her test and take Zach to see George Michael. That sounds really complicated, doesn't it? No. It doesn't. What's wrong with you? Anyway, Kelly goes over to Screech's house and he has a robot in his room named Kevin who is sort of a rip off of Johnny 5. But then again, so is Wall-E. WHAT? I love Wall-E, too, but COME ON. He looks like the love child of Johnny 5 and E.T. and if you think Johnny 5 and E.T. never got it on, then you are sorely mistaken. They had a brief, illicit affair in the hills of Montana one summer. Does Montana have hills? IRRELEVANT.
Um. Right. I thought it would be fun to recap an episode of Saved by the Bell, but I didn't get to finish watching the one this morning, because my boss says that I can't call in late to work just because I want to finish watching a TV show. Even if it's Saved by the Bell. If I'd seen the whole episode, though, I'd recap the shit out of it. I don't remember what happens in that one, even though I've seen every episode of Saved by the Bell at least three times. AT LEAST. Remember that time Tori Spelling was on that show? What the hell?
Anyway, so my point is, I saw two movies this weekend. What do you mean that has nothing to do with Saved by the Bell? ZIP YOUR LID. I saw The Dark Knight, which was as amazing as everyone said it would be. I also saw Mamma Mia!, which made me want to rip out my eyeballs and shove them in my ears so I wouldn't have to experience that cinematic Armageddon any longer. Yikes, you guys, that movie was ten shades of awful. It hurts me to say that about a movie Mr. Darcy was in, but that's how bad the movie was. SO BAD. You know what made up for it, though? Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long Blog. I hope you watched it. If you didn't, I hope you had a good excuse, like you were feeding hungry orphans melted chocolate from an eye dropper or something.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Help!
I've been kidnapped by pirates!
Just kidding. I do need help, though. Not like mental help, but I have a question. Do you guys remember that toy that was like . . . um, OK. It was filled with water and had little plastic balls (hee) in it and when you pushed buttons at the bottom, it pushed air into the water and made the balls (hee) move around. I had one with a red base. Joe used to play with his at the doctor's office (hee). I tried to Google it, but when you Google "80s toy water balls," you get really weird results.
So, yeah. If you could tell me what that toy is called and where I might find one, that'd be awesome. Good talk.
Just kidding. I do need help, though. Not like mental help, but I have a question. Do you guys remember that toy that was like . . . um, OK. It was filled with water and had little plastic balls (hee) in it and when you pushed buttons at the bottom, it pushed air into the water and made the balls (hee) move around. I had one with a red base. Joe used to play with his at the doctor's office (hee). I tried to Google it, but when you Google "80s toy water balls," you get really weird results.
So, yeah. If you could tell me what that toy is called and where I might find one, that'd be awesome. Good talk.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
I love the YouTubes
You guys. This was my favorite movie EVER:
Except for ET. And The Wizard of Oz. And maybe this movie:
Except for ET. And The Wizard of Oz. And maybe this movie:
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
everything it seems I like's a little bit sweeter, a little bit fatter, a little bit harmful for me
Hey, guys. How's it going? Good? I'm glad. I know I've been ignoring you lately and I'm afraid it's not going to get any better. It's just that this summer has exploded with awesomeness and I'm busy. Really busy. You know. Seeing movies and going to wedding-related functions and next weekend? Celebrating Christmas-in-July up north with some friends. I could tell you exactly where, but I just like saying "up north." Not like Canada north, I'm afraid, but north of here. Oh my god, Jennie, shut up.
I went to two cookouts this past weekend. TWO. In two days. TWO DAYS. The weekend before I last I went to two cookouts ON THE SAME DAY. I'm not going to lie to you, I LOVE COOKOUTS. But if I continue to eat cookout food at the rate I am currently eating it, I will weigh 800 pounds by the end of the summer. And then I'd have to get one of those little motorized scooters to carry me around and I can't afford one of those.
Um. Anyway. The cookout on Saturday was for Heidi's friend's wedding. They got married a couple weeks ago and their reception was this giant cookout and IT WAS DELICIOUS. They put Rock Em Sock Em Robots on top of the cake instead of a tiny bride and groom. I approve of this. I approved of the cookout, too, until I ate a giant piece of chocolate wedding cake and felt like vomiting for the rest of the day. I don't care. It was worth it.
The cookout on Sunday was for all the volunteers and kids and parents from, um, the place I volunteer. I was put in charge of bringing some water balloons, so Joe and I turned the kitchen into a water balloon factory and I had to take the picture over the sink down because we sort of got water EVERYWHERE. It could have been worse, I suppose. Like, we put all the balloons into the laundry basket and say I'd accidentally dropped a bunch of safety pins in the laundry basket, causing a horrible water-balloon-exploding effect that soaked the entire apartment, including Phoebe. That would have been worse.
At the actual cookout, the water balloons lasted approximately 3.4 minutes once the kids saw them. And they had these long stick things (heh) that you fill up with water and shove one end in and water shoots out the other. I'd never seen them before, but the kids played with them for the entire time and most of them looked like they'd jumped in a pool with all of their clothes on which is CRAZY WHO WOULD DO THAT? Oh, wait, actually I have done that. Hmm. Anyway, I also met an undertaker. He was . . . interesting. He told us that their funeral home now cremates pets and one of their best customers (his words) is this lady who has 68 cats. Yeah, you read that right. 68 cats. She has a separate house for them. Yeah, you read that right.
PS: Have you wished Kat happy birthday yet? Don't be rude, Internets.
I went to two cookouts this past weekend. TWO. In two days. TWO DAYS. The weekend before I last I went to two cookouts ON THE SAME DAY. I'm not going to lie to you, I LOVE COOKOUTS. But if I continue to eat cookout food at the rate I am currently eating it, I will weigh 800 pounds by the end of the summer. And then I'd have to get one of those little motorized scooters to carry me around and I can't afford one of those.
Um. Anyway. The cookout on Saturday was for Heidi's friend's wedding. They got married a couple weeks ago and their reception was this giant cookout and IT WAS DELICIOUS. They put Rock Em Sock Em Robots on top of the cake instead of a tiny bride and groom. I approve of this. I approved of the cookout, too, until I ate a giant piece of chocolate wedding cake and felt like vomiting for the rest of the day. I don't care. It was worth it.
The cookout on Sunday was for all the volunteers and kids and parents from, um, the place I volunteer. I was put in charge of bringing some water balloons, so Joe and I turned the kitchen into a water balloon factory and I had to take the picture over the sink down because we sort of got water EVERYWHERE. It could have been worse, I suppose. Like, we put all the balloons into the laundry basket and say I'd accidentally dropped a bunch of safety pins in the laundry basket, causing a horrible water-balloon-exploding effect that soaked the entire apartment, including Phoebe. That would have been worse.
At the actual cookout, the water balloons lasted approximately 3.4 minutes once the kids saw them. And they had these long stick things (heh) that you fill up with water and shove one end in and water shoots out the other. I'd never seen them before, but the kids played with them for the entire time and most of them looked like they'd jumped in a pool with all of their clothes on which is CRAZY WHO WOULD DO THAT? Oh, wait, actually I have done that. Hmm. Anyway, I also met an undertaker. He was . . . interesting. He told us that their funeral home now cremates pets and one of their best customers (his words) is this lady who has 68 cats. Yeah, you read that right. 68 cats. She has a separate house for them. Yeah, you read that right.
PS: Have you wished Kat happy birthday yet? Don't be rude, Internets.
Friday, July 11, 2008
FACT
I love bananas, but not foods or drinks that are banana-flavored.
I hate (raw) tomatoes, but I like salsa, ketchup, marinara and pizza sauce, and dishes with tomatoes cooked in them.
Cooked carrots make me gag, but I eat raw, baby carrots every day.
Um.
That's all I've got today, Internets. Happy Friday.
I hate (raw) tomatoes, but I like salsa, ketchup, marinara and pizza sauce, and dishes with tomatoes cooked in them.
Cooked carrots make me gag, but I eat raw, baby carrots every day.
Um.
That's all I've got today, Internets. Happy Friday.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
cause you said the brains I had went to my head
I love going over to my friend Nancy's house, and I'll tell you why. Not only does she live in a grown-up house with a zillion rooms (including an office and a fancy dining room and a Wii room and, I don't know, all the other normal rooms), BUT she is always prepared for any event. For instance, just in case you need freshly made popcorn, she has a for-real-honest-to-goodness popcorn machine on her kitchen counter. If you're in need of a frosty beverage, just open her fridge and you'll find everything from Pinot Grigio to PBR. And if Nancy invites you over for hot dogs, don't be surprised when she pulls out all the fixings. It's not just ketchup and mustard at Nancy's house, oh no. It's ketchup and regular mustard and spicy mustard and two kinds of relish and pickles and Skyline chili and Skyline hot sauce and all the shredded cheese you can fit on your wiener (HAHAHAHA).
It's no surprise that Nancy's house is stocked with whatever you need. When I lived next door to her in college, we were always in her room, even though in order to sit anywhere (couch, bed, floor, didn't matter), you'd have to clear off a stack of clutter. But it was worth it, because she always had some new contraption to try, like that time she bought a cotton candy machine. Or that other time she bought a sno-cone maker. Or that other time she bought a popcorn popper. Or that other OTHER time when she bought a deep-fryer.
So of course Nancy's house is the best house ever and now that she's a wife, it's always free of clutter. Heh. Well, at least it is when we come over. Last night, after a delicious dinner of hot dogs, potato salad, and corn on the cob (which I did not partake in, because I don't like getting it stuck in my teeth SHUT UP LEAVE ME ALONE), she made us Bazooka Joe drinks (see?!) and asked if we wanted to play Rock Band. And after playing for, I don't know, a couple hours, we opened the next batch of songs to see that MY LIFE WAS NOW COMPLETE because it included Don't Look Back in Anger. Which I sung. On expert. And still scored 86%. I have no idea how the scoring works for the vocals once you start moving past the Easy setting, but I'm pretty sure my Expert 86% means I'm ready to go on tour. So, Liam. Noel. Call me. We'll talk.
It's no surprise that Nancy's house is stocked with whatever you need. When I lived next door to her in college, we were always in her room, even though in order to sit anywhere (couch, bed, floor, didn't matter), you'd have to clear off a stack of clutter. But it was worth it, because she always had some new contraption to try, like that time she bought a cotton candy machine. Or that other time she bought a sno-cone maker. Or that other time she bought a popcorn popper. Or that other OTHER time when she bought a deep-fryer.
So of course Nancy's house is the best house ever and now that she's a wife, it's always free of clutter. Heh. Well, at least it is when we come over. Last night, after a delicious dinner of hot dogs, potato salad, and corn on the cob (which I did not partake in, because I don't like getting it stuck in my teeth SHUT UP LEAVE ME ALONE), she made us Bazooka Joe drinks (see?!) and asked if we wanted to play Rock Band. And after playing for, I don't know, a couple hours, we opened the next batch of songs to see that MY LIFE WAS NOW COMPLETE because it included Don't Look Back in Anger. Which I sung. On expert. And still scored 86%. I have no idea how the scoring works for the vocals once you start moving past the Easy setting, but I'm pretty sure my Expert 86% means I'm ready to go on tour. So, Liam. Noel. Call me. We'll talk.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
How about some spaghetti?
Last night, I decided to cook a real, honest-to-blog (I'm sorry) dinner. I used the recipe that Andrea talked about a while ago, because it sounded delicious and she SAID it was delicious, so I thought, "hmm, I wonder if this is delicious?" And so I had to make it, if only to kill my own wonder.
Anyway, the recipe called for prosciutto, and I'll be honest with you, I didn't really know what that was. I mean, I've heard it before, OBVIOUSLY, from stuff like . . . I don't know, Mama DiSalvo's and Top Chef. And so I called Joe, who would, in fact, be partaking in this delicious meal. Oh, right, Joe is new. Everyone say hi to Joe. OK. So. He didn't answer, and so I was all, "blah blah blah, I'm stupid, can you tell me what a prosciutto is?" into his voicemail. And then I thought about calling Heidi, but I remembered she was at spinning and I doubted she'd answer the phone while almost dying on a bike. And SO, I then put out an APB via text message:
Me: What is prosciutto and where in the grocery is it?
Heather Anne: I think it's like a giant sausage.
Me: I am in the wrong aisle then.
Heather Anne: Let me know if it's a huge sausage.
It is not a huge sausage. Not that I knew that at the grocery. I wandered around the meat (heh), looking at all the giant sausages (heh), but none of the sausages looked right (heh). And by looked right, of course I mean none of them said, "HEY JENNIE THIS IS PROSCIUTTO AND YOU SHOULD USE IT TO MAKE PASTA ALLA VODKA TONIGHT." And so I left the grocery without prosciutto, because I was afraid to ask anyone what it was. I almost stopped this little old lady to ask her, but she kept GETTING IN MY WAY WITH HER STUPID CART so instead I just glared at her a lot, which was not so much helpful, but it made me feel better.
As I was pulling out of the parking lot, Joe called me back.
Joe: Are you still at the grocery?
Me: No, I just left.
Joe: Damn.
Me: Do you know what prosciutto is?
Joe: . . . no. Hold on, I'll Google it.
Me: OK.
Joe: Here it is. Ha! It's HAM.
Me: Ham?
Joe: Ham. Dry cured ham that has not been cooked.
Me: Why don't they just call it ham? I know what ham is!
Joe: I don't know.
Me: Anyway, that sounds gross. Are you OK with not putting ham in the pasta?
Joe: Yeah, I don't really like ham that much either.
Me: Excellent.
That is essentially, exactly the way it happened*.
*except for the part about the buck teeth . . . oh my god, Jennie, shut up.
Anyway, the recipe called for prosciutto, and I'll be honest with you, I didn't really know what that was. I mean, I've heard it before, OBVIOUSLY, from stuff like . . . I don't know, Mama DiSalvo's and Top Chef. And so I called Joe, who would, in fact, be partaking in this delicious meal. Oh, right, Joe is new. Everyone say hi to Joe. OK. So. He didn't answer, and so I was all, "blah blah blah, I'm stupid, can you tell me what a prosciutto is?" into his voicemail. And then I thought about calling Heidi, but I remembered she was at spinning and I doubted she'd answer the phone while almost dying on a bike. And SO, I then put out an APB via text message:
Me: What is prosciutto and where in the grocery is it?
Heather Anne: I think it's like a giant sausage.
Me: I am in the wrong aisle then.
Heather Anne: Let me know if it's a huge sausage.
It is not a huge sausage. Not that I knew that at the grocery. I wandered around the meat (heh), looking at all the giant sausages (heh), but none of the sausages looked right (heh). And by looked right, of course I mean none of them said, "HEY JENNIE THIS IS PROSCIUTTO AND YOU SHOULD USE IT TO MAKE PASTA ALLA VODKA TONIGHT." And so I left the grocery without prosciutto, because I was afraid to ask anyone what it was. I almost stopped this little old lady to ask her, but she kept GETTING IN MY WAY WITH HER STUPID CART so instead I just glared at her a lot, which was not so much helpful, but it made me feel better.
As I was pulling out of the parking lot, Joe called me back.
Joe: Are you still at the grocery?
Me: No, I just left.
Joe: Damn.
Me: Do you know what prosciutto is?
Joe: . . . no. Hold on, I'll Google it.
Me: OK.
Joe: Here it is. Ha! It's HAM.
Me: Ham?
Joe: Ham. Dry cured ham that has not been cooked.
Me: Why don't they just call it ham? I know what ham is!
Joe: I don't know.
Me: Anyway, that sounds gross. Are you OK with not putting ham in the pasta?
Joe: Yeah, I don't really like ham that much either.
Me: Excellent.
That is essentially, exactly the way it happened*.
*except for the part about the buck teeth . . . oh my god, Jennie, shut up.
Monday, July 7, 2008
This is really long. That's what she said. Shut up, Jennie.
You guys, I had one of those weekends where SO MUCH HAPPENED that the thought of writing everything down is exhausting. And I'm already exhausted, but I'll do my best. I took Thursday off of work, because Wednesday was Tamara's bachelorette party. We went to a wine bar for dinner and my brain almost exploded (in a good way) because there was so much wine to choose from, plus also, I got to meet Karen (from the internet . . . hi, Karen!). Not that I know anything about wine, though. I was almost just like, "give me some red wine, please . . . just bring me a box of it," but then I closed my eyes and pointed at the menu and ordered a flight of three kinds of white wine and NO I don't remember what any of them were. Leave me alone.
THEN. We went to the bar next door because it was $5 martini night. I know less about martinis than I do about wine, but these martinis were all flavored and, while I did not try all of them, the ones I tried were all delicious. I ordered this raspberry one at first that tasted like a margarita (um, because there was tequila in it, Jennie), so I'm not sure it even qualifies as a martini. It was in a martini glass, though. Anyway, I almost didn't order it because they spelled raspberry wrong on the menu. TWICE. Sigh.
After the martini bar, Tamara's Man of Honor handed out penis straws and we went to a gay bar. There was much dancing. Also, I gave my penis straw to the bathroom attendant and told her to enjoy it because, and I quote, "I already have a bunch of penis straws at home anyway."
Friday was the wedding and OH MY GOD YOU GUYS. I am converting to Judaism, because then I could start going to Tamara and Jeremy's temple, which had the most comfortable seats ever. I realize that's not a good reason to convert, but it also means that if and when I ever got married, my husband could smash a glass and everyone would yell "mazel tov!" which, let's face it, is awesome because how often do you get to yell at church? Hardly ever. I'm Lutheran and the last time I yelled in church, they tied me up naked outside until I apologized. I'm kidding. That never happened. I don't know why I do that.
I've never been to a wedding ceremony that ran the gamut (yeah, I just said gamut) of emotions the way Tamara and Jeremy's did. First of all, Tamara made everyone cry when she read her vows, which is totally rude. Well, I didn't cry, because I'm dead inside, but I had tissues for everyone else. That is the kind of person I am. I knew I wouldn't cry because I don't cry in public (I refuse, because it shows I have feelings), but I like to be prepared so I had tissues with me JUST IN CASES. So yeah. Tamara made everyone laugh, too, which made up for the crying. When she was reading the ketubah (while standing under the chuppa . . . oh SNAP), she said, "you are my face . . . wait, that's not right . . . you are my EVERYTHING . . . haha, same thing," and so the rest of the night, we were all, "you are my face HAHAHAHAHAHA," because A) it's funny and B) there was an open bar.
The reception was in this building with lots of trolley cars, which I guess we weren't supposed to be climbing around on, so Heidi should probably delete all those pictures from her camera so we don't get in trouble. At the end of the night, they handed us all sparklers even though we'd been drinking for five hours. I'm not going to lie to you. I kicked off my shoes and ran through the grass with my sparkler and ALSO I regretted it the next day because . . . freaking ow. Heidi and I also helped Jake Gyllenhaal (ok, it wasn't REALLY Jake Gyllenhaal . . . but he was a groomsman that looked remarkably LIKE Jake Gyllenhaal, so . . . close enough) shove Reese's Pieces into his vest, after I convinced him that I was psychic:
Him: I have to go ur --
Jeremy: What?
Him: I have to use the restroom.
Me: It's OK. You can say "urinate." We won't be offended.
Him: How did you know I was going to say urinate?
Me: I'm psychic.
Him: Really? What am I thinking right now?
Me: I can't say it out loud. It's really dirty.
Him: That's right! How did you know?
Me: . . . I'm psychic.
Him: What's my name?
Me: Jake.
Him: Oh my god.
And then I tried to convince everyone to throw Reese's Pieces everywhere so ET would find them and come hang out with us. Nobody did, though, because Reese's Pieces are too delicious to throw on the ground.
On Saturday, I went to two cookouts, and at the first one I saw a big bird, tried to convince a small child to look for caterpillars in the pond (but I wasn't trying to drown him I SWEAR, even though that's what everyone THOUGHT I was trying to do), and got everyone to tell dead baby jokes. Other stuff happened, too, like Wii and Wall-E and firecrackers, but I'm spent, you guys. I need a nap.
THEN. We went to the bar next door because it was $5 martini night. I know less about martinis than I do about wine, but these martinis were all flavored and, while I did not try all of them, the ones I tried were all delicious. I ordered this raspberry one at first that tasted like a margarita (um, because there was tequila in it, Jennie), so I'm not sure it even qualifies as a martini. It was in a martini glass, though. Anyway, I almost didn't order it because they spelled raspberry wrong on the menu. TWICE. Sigh.
After the martini bar, Tamara's Man of Honor handed out penis straws and we went to a gay bar. There was much dancing. Also, I gave my penis straw to the bathroom attendant and told her to enjoy it because, and I quote, "I already have a bunch of penis straws at home anyway."
Friday was the wedding and OH MY GOD YOU GUYS. I am converting to Judaism, because then I could start going to Tamara and Jeremy's temple, which had the most comfortable seats ever. I realize that's not a good reason to convert, but it also means that if and when I ever got married, my husband could smash a glass and everyone would yell "mazel tov!" which, let's face it, is awesome because how often do you get to yell at church? Hardly ever. I'm Lutheran and the last time I yelled in church, they tied me up naked outside until I apologized. I'm kidding. That never happened. I don't know why I do that.
I've never been to a wedding ceremony that ran the gamut (yeah, I just said gamut) of emotions the way Tamara and Jeremy's did. First of all, Tamara made everyone cry when she read her vows, which is totally rude. Well, I didn't cry, because I'm dead inside, but I had tissues for everyone else. That is the kind of person I am. I knew I wouldn't cry because I don't cry in public (I refuse, because it shows I have feelings), but I like to be prepared so I had tissues with me JUST IN CASES. So yeah. Tamara made everyone laugh, too, which made up for the crying. When she was reading the ketubah (while standing under the chuppa . . . oh SNAP), she said, "you are my face . . . wait, that's not right . . . you are my EVERYTHING . . . haha, same thing," and so the rest of the night, we were all, "you are my face HAHAHAHAHAHA," because A) it's funny and B) there was an open bar.
The reception was in this building with lots of trolley cars, which I guess we weren't supposed to be climbing around on, so Heidi should probably delete all those pictures from her camera so we don't get in trouble. At the end of the night, they handed us all sparklers even though we'd been drinking for five hours. I'm not going to lie to you. I kicked off my shoes and ran through the grass with my sparkler and ALSO I regretted it the next day because . . . freaking ow. Heidi and I also helped Jake Gyllenhaal (ok, it wasn't REALLY Jake Gyllenhaal . . . but he was a groomsman that looked remarkably LIKE Jake Gyllenhaal, so . . . close enough) shove Reese's Pieces into his vest, after I convinced him that I was psychic:
Him: I have to go ur --
Jeremy: What?
Him: I have to use the restroom.
Me: It's OK. You can say "urinate." We won't be offended.
Him: How did you know I was going to say urinate?
Me: I'm psychic.
Him: Really? What am I thinking right now?
Me: I can't say it out loud. It's really dirty.
Him: That's right! How did you know?
Me: . . . I'm psychic.
Him: What's my name?
Me: Jake.
Him: Oh my god.
And then I tried to convince everyone to throw Reese's Pieces everywhere so ET would find them and come hang out with us. Nobody did, though, because Reese's Pieces are too delicious to throw on the ground.
On Saturday, I went to two cookouts, and at the first one I saw a big bird, tried to convince a small child to look for caterpillars in the pond (but I wasn't trying to drown him I SWEAR, even though that's what everyone THOUGHT I was trying to do), and got everyone to tell dead baby jokes. Other stuff happened, too, like Wii and Wall-E and firecrackers, but I'm spent, you guys. I need a nap.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
F-O-X
The greatest thing ever happened to me last night. EVER. It was amazing. After $1 burgers and $2 drafts at Bar Louie last night, Nancy dropped a bombshell. I don't remember what we were talking about, but at some point she nonchalanted, "oh, I bought Rock Band."
We were all HOLD THE PHONE (what?). Nancy bought Rock Band? Nancy bought Rock Band. For Wii. Unfortunately, it was still in the box, but once we got to Nancy's, we made quick work of that. The drums are white for Wii Rock Band, unlike the black drums for XBox (is it XBox?) because Wii is racist. Trust me. Just play Rayman and keep your eye out for all the sleeping Mexicans. I wish I was kidding BUT I'M NOT.
Aaaaaaanyway, once the game was set up and I'd put the game disc in the right way (harder than it sounds), the band tour started, with Heidi on bass. At which point this happened, and made me the happiest girl in all the land:
Heidi: It's not working . . . seriously, why isn't it showing that I hit the right color?
Me: Is the guitar on?
Heidi: Yeah!
Me: I dunno then.
Heidi: IT'S NOT WORKING. WHAT THE HELL? ARRRRRRG!
Nancy: That's weird.
Heidi: I'm hitting the right color, WHY ISN'T IT SHOWING THAT I HIT IT?
Nancy: Um, are you strumming?
Heidi: . . . no?
All: BWAAHAAHAAHAAAA!
Seriously, you guys, I don't think I've ever laughed so hard EVER EVER IN MY LIFE. Ahem. I love you, Heidi.
This morning, when I left for work, I looked in the little patch of grass next to our steps and noticed something odd. Two 40s hanging out together, because apparently I'm back at Wittenberg. I think some college kids moved into the apartment next to us. This annoys me. Now that I'm not longer in college, I find most college students and the activities they participate in to be extremely annoying. I'm all, "you kids get off my lawn!" You know. Stuff like that. It's not that I no longer like to go out and act all crazy (see: Thanksgiving Miracle, Philadelphia, St. Patrick's Day, every trip to Chicago ever, tonight's bachelorette party (probably)), it's just that the times I do go out act like a booze-soaked psychopath are few and far between. Not because I don't like to drink anymore (heh), but because I'd rather sit at home in my pajamas and drink while watching a movie or playing Wii or whatever. I'm simple. I don't like wearing real pants, what can I say?
I don't know where I was going with that. Let's move on, shall we?
I went running the other night for the first time in like a week, because I SUCK, and as I was running, I noticed a little girl tottering down the driveway a few houses in front of me. She was about two or three (I don't know), and as she walked onto the sidewalk, going the same direction I was running, her mom, about 87 months pregnant, waddled after her.
Waddler: Come back, sweetie!
Runaway Girl: Heeheeheehee!
I kept running and eventually caught up to the little girl.
Runaway: Hi!
Me: Hello!
Runaway: Hi!
Me: . . . hi!
Runaway: I'm going to run with you.
Me: OK!
So then she started running after me. Away from her mother. This child was chasing me! CHASING ME! What if it followed me home and never left? I think that's how it happens. So, when I noticed she wasn't stopping and that her mother couldn't really run after her, I turned around and ran back toward her house.
Me: Let's run this way now!
Runaway: OK!
Me: Good job! Keep going!
Runaway: Hi, mommy!
And that's when her mom grabbed her and the runaway started crying. I totally tricked her, which is sort of comforting because sometimes I get worried that I might be stupider than a toddler.
We were all HOLD THE PHONE (what?). Nancy bought Rock Band? Nancy bought Rock Band. For Wii. Unfortunately, it was still in the box, but once we got to Nancy's, we made quick work of that. The drums are white for Wii Rock Band, unlike the black drums for XBox (is it XBox?) because Wii is racist. Trust me. Just play Rayman and keep your eye out for all the sleeping Mexicans. I wish I was kidding BUT I'M NOT.
Aaaaaaanyway, once the game was set up and I'd put the game disc in the right way (harder than it sounds), the band tour started, with Heidi on bass. At which point this happened, and made me the happiest girl in all the land:
Heidi: It's not working . . . seriously, why isn't it showing that I hit the right color?
Me: Is the guitar on?
Heidi: Yeah!
Me: I dunno then.
Heidi: IT'S NOT WORKING. WHAT THE HELL? ARRRRRRG!
Nancy: That's weird.
Heidi: I'm hitting the right color, WHY ISN'T IT SHOWING THAT I HIT IT?
Nancy: Um, are you strumming?
Heidi: . . . no?
All: BWAAHAAHAAHAAAA!
Seriously, you guys, I don't think I've ever laughed so hard EVER EVER IN MY LIFE. Ahem. I love you, Heidi.
This morning, when I left for work, I looked in the little patch of grass next to our steps and noticed something odd. Two 40s hanging out together, because apparently I'm back at Wittenberg. I think some college kids moved into the apartment next to us. This annoys me. Now that I'm not longer in college, I find most college students and the activities they participate in to be extremely annoying. I'm all, "you kids get off my lawn!" You know. Stuff like that. It's not that I no longer like to go out and act all crazy (see: Thanksgiving Miracle, Philadelphia, St. Patrick's Day, every trip to Chicago ever, tonight's bachelorette party (probably)), it's just that the times I do go out act like a booze-soaked psychopath are few and far between. Not because I don't like to drink anymore (heh), but because I'd rather sit at home in my pajamas and drink while watching a movie or playing Wii or whatever. I'm simple. I don't like wearing real pants, what can I say?
I don't know where I was going with that. Let's move on, shall we?
I went running the other night for the first time in like a week, because I SUCK, and as I was running, I noticed a little girl tottering down the driveway a few houses in front of me. She was about two or three (I don't know), and as she walked onto the sidewalk, going the same direction I was running, her mom, about 87 months pregnant, waddled after her.
Waddler: Come back, sweetie!
Runaway Girl: Heeheeheehee!
I kept running and eventually caught up to the little girl.
Runaway: Hi!
Me: Hello!
Runaway: Hi!
Me: . . . hi!
Runaway: I'm going to run with you.
Me: OK!
So then she started running after me. Away from her mother. This child was chasing me! CHASING ME! What if it followed me home and never left? I think that's how it happens. So, when I noticed she wasn't stopping and that her mother couldn't really run after her, I turned around and ran back toward her house.
Me: Let's run this way now!
Runaway: OK!
Me: Good job! Keep going!
Runaway: Hi, mommy!
And that's when her mom grabbed her and the runaway started crying. I totally tricked her, which is sort of comforting because sometimes I get worried that I might be stupider than a toddler.
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