Friday, August 29, 2008
Yes, it is truly the Best. Day. Ever.
Happy weekending, Internets.
Here is why you should be using it: your friends share things and you get to read them. And your friends will share awesome things like that David Duchovny has entered rehab for a sex addiction (WHAT?!?) and this (which will not be funny unless you've seen Zoolander).
So, for the love of pancakes, please start using Google Reader. Please? I mean, if you spend any time on the internets whatsoever, this will really organize your time-wasting. Trust me.
In other, real life, news, last night Heidi and I met Nancy at Fox & Hound because Nancy told us they had this yummy raspberry beer there. And they did. And we also got food. Because, you know, it was dinner time and the last time I had nothing but beer for dinner, I wound up hanging out with random British guys in a hotel lobby at 4 AM. True story.
When Heidi and I got there, I started digging through my purse for chapstick or something, and so I was pulling stuff out and putting it on the table. Said stuff included a book. Some manager dude came over to check on us, because we didn't have a waitress yet.
Manager Dude: Has anyone said hi to you yet?
Manager Dude: OK, well, hi. Oh, what are you reading?
Manager Dude: I'm nosy.
Me: Persuasion. Jane Austen.
Manager Dude: Oooooh. So you're reading that for school, yeah?
Me: . . . no.
Last night, I also went to Kroger to buy ramen noodles (JOE) and I looked for Uncrustables, Abigail, but I couldn't find them. What aisle are they in? I did find chocolate covered pretzel 100 calorie packs, though, so YUM.
Then we watched Obama speak the hell out of some words. Today McCain is in Dayton to announce his running mate. I'll let you figure out which of those things I'm more excited about.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
It probably won't surprise you to hear that I was sort of a weird kid. A weird kid who grew up into a genuinely weird woman (or, as my mom calls me, "a unique mind").
My mom also likes to remind me that, when I was little, I had a Southern accent that no one would explain. I grew up in southwest Ohio and, while it is a bit close to Kentucky, it's not close enough for Southern twang to seep in. I don't remember how or when I lost it, but I wish I still had it. I love accents of all kinds, but the Southern accent is the friendliest of them all.
Like most kids, I liked to play "pretend" during recess, but instead of playing House or School, I liked to imitate Babs from Tiny Toons or pretend I was Peter Pan (the girl version, of course) and climb to the top of the jungle gym and jump off. I never ended up flying, though. I tried a lot of different things in my attempt to fly. I stood on one end of a teeter-totter and had my friend push down on the other end. My thought was that, if he pushed down hard enough, I've propel through the air and soar into the clouds. What happened was, I fell backwards off of the teeter totter and hit my head on the ground. It was sort of exactly like what happened when I tried to run down the Slip 'n Slide. I used to try flying off of swings, too. You know, you'd swing as high as you could and then jump when you reached the highest heights, but I always crashed back down to Earth. My most unsuccessful attempts at flying usually involved an umbrella. I thought that since Mary Poppins could take off from the ground and fly with an umbrella, I could do it, too. But since I was an amateur, I jumped off of stuff while holding an open umbrella, so I'd at least already be in the air. It never worked and I was always disappointed. Even now, I can't believe movies would lie to me like that. I mean, I cannot tell you how many times I tried clicking my heels three times, but it never took me home. I tried it just this morning and it still didn't work. Hasn't stopped me from trying, though.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
AND THEN I got in my car to drive to work, because when I try to drive to work without my car, nothing happens. So there I was, wiping leftover sleep from my eyes, and that's when I saw it! A big, fat cicada stuck in my windshield wipers. I thought about turning them on, but I didn't want smooshed cicada guts all over my windshield. That's just not the way I like to start my day, you know? And anyway, right after I thought about smooshing him, he moved! And, while I find these creatures odd and try to avoid them whenever possible (sorry, Kat), I wasn't about to kill an innocent bug just because he got stuck on my car. On the other hand, I wasn't going to get out of my car and flick him off the windshield. Not because I was afraid to touch him, I just didn't feel like getting out of the car. Do you realize how much motivation it takes to get IN the car when I know the car's taking me to work? Yeah.
Since the cicada was alive, I had to give him a name. So Jeff and I drove to work and the whole time I kept thinking, "hang on, little guy, we're almost there!" and you know what? He did hang on. He hung on for the entire ride. I think he actually liked it. I didn't get a change to ask him, because I was running late, but if he's still there after work, I'll ask him and let you guys know.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Speaking of being sick, I had a doctor's appointment at lunch and I have another doctor's appointment after work. And when I say doctor's appointment, I mean "doctor's" "appointment." That means I had to wear heels today. My doctor is very strict and says that heels promote leg strength and back pain . . . back pain sounds bad, but really it builds character. I've almost broken my ankle about fifty bajillion times, which probably also builds character, so that's good. I don't think I could wear heels every day because OW my feet hurt. But they make me so much taller. Hmm.
Work sucks mostly because of this massive software conversion we're in the middle of, and I mean RIGHT SMACK in the middle of, and no one knows what's going on and it's all very confusing and off-putting. Did you hear that? I am PUT. OFF. Because I might have to work this weekend. That's right, this hallowed THREE DAY WEEKEND. Anyway, the software conversion gods have provided this test database so we can practice fucking shit up (that is what I do) but the tutorial left a lot to be desired and so again . . . NO ONE KNOWS WHAT'S GOING ON. And even though we're all in the same boat and no one knows what they're doing, especially me because I never know what I'm doing, people keep coming to me with their questions. They're all, "Jennie, how do you do this? What does this mean? Can you come help me? Wash the dishes DO THE MOPPING CINDERELLY CINDERELLY," and then my head explodes and that's messy and who do you think has to clean it up? Cinderelly.
So the moral of the story is, I don't know what's going on and I keep accidentally spreading my ignorance all around the office, which isn't even in my job description.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Yeah, I don't know what I'm talking about, either. Last night, we went to get some Mexican food for dinner and when I walked in, I noticed that they were having a special on Miller Lite and Bud Light. $1.95 drafts. I was all, "hell yeah!" and didn't bother to look at how many ounces it was. So I ordered it and almost passed out (from delight) when the waiter brought me this:
That is a shitload of beer for less than two dollars. I will have to remember that.
After dinner, we ran over to K-Mart, where we got distracted in the clearance toy aisle. OK. I'm going to show you something and you're not going to believe this is a child's toy BUT IT IS:
Yeah. I don't really know what the point of it is, but you put your mouth on that long, skinny, flesh-colored tube and when you blow, it makes the . . . body (?) of the toy get bigger. WHAT THE HELL, K-MART?
Then I almost bought some My Little Ponies. True story:
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
When I got home from Cleveland on Sunday, our downstairs neighbors (Dan the Man and his daughter) were out on their porch, which is right next to our front door. I noticed something odd as I came up the walkway and that something odd was two baby raccoons. On their porch. Like . . . in a cage.
Me: Um. Are those raccoons?
Dan the Man: Well, the mom died so we decided to raise them until we can release them.
Me: Oh. Cool.
Then we had a nice long conversation about how long it takes to raise raccoons and how smart they are and how you can domesticate them and then I got rabies and died.
Oh, wait, that didn't happen. Anyway, I emailed Heidi at work on Monday and was all, "did you know our neighbors are keeping raccoons on the porch?" and she was all, "WHAT?!" and I said, "yes, raccoons . . . on the porch . . . and they are smelly." And then Heidi sacked up and called the apartment complex. Naturally, since I was at my office and Heidi was at her office, I could not hear the conversation, but I was told it went something like this:
Heidi: Hi, I was walking by an apartment and they have raccoons on their porch.
Office Lady: Say that again?
Heidi: They have raccoons on their porch.
Office Lady: On purpose?
Heidi: Yes. In a cage.
Office Lady: Why?
Heidi: I don't know.
Office Lady: Who does that?
Heidi: Our neighbors.
Office Lady: Which apartment are you in?
Office Lady: Is this Heidi or Jennie?
Office Lady: You guys have the weirdest stuff happen to you**.
Then she told Heidi that they'd be gone within a day. And today they are gone. I wish I knew what happened to them. I feel bad because I didn't want them killed or anything, but if anyone in the apartment complex is going to accidentally get infected with rabies, it's gonna be me or Heidi. I mean, we had to take precautions.
*note: not our actual apartment number
Monday, August 18, 2008
And I WANTED to hear my music, because just moments before I left for Cleveland, the mailman brought me a package from Abigail. She sent me a running CD because I whined last week about not having any running music. I figured running music would also make good road trip music, and boy was I right. It's a good CD, is what I'm saying. And then! There I was, flying down 70, when Track 7 started and I completely lost it . . . no kidding, I almost drove my car off the road, I was laughing so hard. Because I heard the beginning of "Ridin' Dirty," which always makes me think of that time Heather Anne told a stranger at the gas station that "riding dirty" meant someone was traveling with contraband. Awesome.
I loved this bachelorette party, by the way. It was very un-bachelorettey. Amy didn't want any penis-related stuff to wear or strippers or anything, so it was very low key. We went to a Japanese steakhouse for dinner, where our chef sang us rap songs and ALSO I caught a shrimp in my mouth. You'd be more impressed if you knew how uncoordinated I am. Then we went to a dueling piano bar, where there were approximately 80 other bachelorette parties, only these bachelorettes were whores, according to Amy.
I think I'm getting more mature in my old age, because I watched how much I drank Saturday night. I KNOW. I didn't want to drive home all hungover because that is the worst thing ever. Even worse than riding the plane from Philly all hungover. See how much I've matured in the past three months?
Friday, August 15, 2008
This is what I had for dinner last night (in order):
caramel fudge brownie
beef tenderloin and green beans
tuna sandwich appetizer thingie
We went to The Taste of The Greene and there were approximately 80 bajillion people there. It cost $10, and I was a bit worried about getting my money's worth (on account of the 80 bajillion people), but then this lady came around handing out tickets for free burritos at Chipotle.
FREE BURRITOS AT CHIPOTLE. So, after we ate all that other food and gave the remainder of our tickets to Tamara and Jeremy, we got in line at Chipotle and there weren't even that many people there! I mean, yeah, the line was longer than the lunch line usually is, but FREE BURRITOS, people! I expected the line to be out the door and halfway down the block. Apparently these people do not appreciate the FREE BURRITO. Or they just hadn't made their way over there yet. Either way, I have a FREE CHIPOTLE BURRITO for lunch today.
Also, I forgot to share a really embarrassing story yesterday, and I sort of can't believe I forgot because it caused extreme mortification for approximately three weeks.
Once upon a time (high school), I worked at the library. And one night, when I went into the breakroom, some lady (I think it was a lady, I don't really remember) was back there. I thought she was just someone's friend. And then she was all, "what would you do if aliens landed on the Earth?" and I was like, "well, I would ask them to take me home with them and make me their pet," because I am incapable of giving a serious answer to any question. And she was all, "I need to take your picture now," and I was all, "what?" and she was all, "this is for the newspaper," and I was like, "fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck." But I let her take my picture, because I am also a people pleaser. And I was in the paper talking about how I wanted to be ET's pet. And that's all I heard about from everyone I knew for the rest of my life. Or about three weeks. Whatever.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
When we got to Tamara and Jeremy's, I noticed that there were decorations on the front door. I was all, "um, won't that tip him off to the surprise?" and Heidi was like, "yeah, he's here . . . he's in the bedroom." Apparently some girls were totally mean to him ON HIS BIRTHDAY (read about it here) and he was sad. Stupid girls. Luckily, there were lots of people and food and drinks and ROCK BAND to make up for the bitchy, bitchy girls he works with.
Have you ever noticed that when Rock Band makes an appearance, everyone gets this manic look in their eyes? A greedy, manic look like, "I WANT TO PLAY ALL THE INSTRUMENTS AT THE SAME TIME AND ALSO SING AND OH MY GOD WHAT IF I DON'T GET TO SING WEEZER?" I'm not kidding. That game turns people into drunk five-year-olds and have you ever been around a drunk five-year-old? If you've been around me when I'm drunk, then that's close enough.
It was pretty awesome. Heidi remembered to strum. We discovered that Tamara is a fucking awesome singer. I got to sing Oasis. Sting inhabited Joe's body for the entirety of Roxanne. It was a little spooky.
This week on The Collective, we're sharing embarrassing stories about ourselves. I'm having a hard time coming up with anything, despite having embarrassed myself on a daily basis for about, oh, 25* years now. A little help? Heidi?
*I say 25, because I couldn't really talk for the first year . . . although, when I was a baby I did routinely poop my pants and that's sort of embarrassing.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Speaking of music (wow, nice segue, Jennie), I went to a concert this weekend and it rocked my face off. My whole face. Fell off. Onto the floor. And then I picked it up and washed it off, because gross, it fell on the floor at a concert. Anyway, We Are Scientists were the ones responsible for my face falling on the floor. I'd be upset, but it was a really good show.
You know what happened, though? I spilled my beer. I mean, this is not unusual. It happens a lot, actually. But this time, it so wasn't my fault. I was just sitting there, minding my own business, when all the sudden my beer bottle was upside down, trapped between my leg and the wall. And I was all, "What the hell? No one was even touching the table! UNFAIR UNFAIR I WANT MY BEER WAAAAAAAAAH." Then I noticed that all of the bottles kept slowly inching toward me and no one was even touching them, because the music was so loud that the table was vibrating, which was making the bottles move AND IT WAS CRAZY. Like Poltergeist crazy, but not really, because no one got sucked into the TV. Anyway. So that happened. Also, we saw this girl slump over a table and throw up on the floor. Amateur. Also also, Kat, they had PBR in cans.
Also also also, this was written in one of the bathroom stalls:
and I didn't even write it.
Friday, August 8, 2008
When I was in elementary school, I liked the word "ass" because I'd say it and then, just as I was about to get in trouble, I was be all, "Nuh-uh, you misunderstood me, I was talking about a DONKEY . . . you ass."
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Ahem. So, yes. I'm excited for that to start tomorrow. I may get a teeny bit obsessed, so if you DON'T like the Olympics (what's wrong with you?), don't say I didn't give you fair warning.
I'll have you know that today I successfully resisted an invitation to Chipotle. I swear, the people in my office go out to lunch almost every day and I just can't do that, or I'd weigh 400 pounds and my checking account would have -400 dollars in it. Both of these things would be a problem. It makes it easier to save money when I know I have to. For instance, next weekend I'm driving to Cleveland to take part in a bachelorette party for my dear friend Amy. It didn't occur to me until just now that the only person that I will know there is Amy. The fact that I am not freaking out about this shows just how far I've come over the past couple of years. Besides, there are going to be cocktails and after a few of those, I'm everyone's friend.
I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to talk about Saved by the Bell again. No, you know what? I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry at all. This morning? It was the episode where they're all in a band and Casey Kasem is doing that Behind the Music special. AWESOME. First of all, the name of their band is Friends Forever. Worst band name ever? Possibly. Second of all, what? They're in a band? And they're famous? And where the hell is Jessie in all of this?
Whatever. I got to thinking that Saved by the Bell would have been a much better show if it had been a drama. OK, probably not, but think of the possibilities. Because, isn't Zack loaded? Come to think of it, Lisa's rich, too. And Jessie lives next door to Zack AND her dad owns a hotel, so she's got money, too. I think the only one who didn't have money was Kelly. That's why she couldn't go to the prom that one time. And had to work at The Max. So if the show had been a drama, Kelly totally would have been the outcast who got pregnant junior year and had to have an abortion. And Slater would have turned out to be gay, but he'd be afraid to tell anyone because the wrestling team wouldn't want to wrestle with him anymore. Maybe he got Kelly pregnant! To prove he wasn't gay! What a bastard.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
You know, on the old mariners maps, the cartographers would designate uncharted territory by writing "here be monsters."
Anyway, the movie was Cassandra's Dream and it made me lose more faith in humanity than even Match Point did. Thanks, Woody Allen! Oh, and just as a warning, HERE BE SPOILERS:
So. There are these two brothers, right? Ewan McGregor and Colin Farrell. Ewan McGregor is a man-whore who wants to be all rich so he pretends he's all rich in an attempt to get into this Kate Beckinsale-y woman's knickers. Colin Farrell is a drunk who is addicted to gambling and in one night loses 90 THOUSAND POUNDS. Yeah. That's right. They have a mysterious Uncle Howard who is loaded and they decide to ask him for lots and lots of money. Which is totally cool with Howard, but he wants a little something in return this time. Nothing big. He just wants them to kill this guy who is going to testify that he is a rotten, rotten bastard. Easy, right? So, I'm thinking, "Hey, they probably won't kill that guy . . . they're not very smart, but they seem like nice boys." I should have known better. I didn't think that one dude was going to kill Scarlett Johansson either, but he totally did. People are bastards.
Anyway, so they definitely kill that guy. And Colin Farrell starts going a little crazy because I guess murdering someone isn't something you just forget about. He starts drinking and taking pills and talking about going to the police, causing Ewan to freak out more than a little. It was at this point that I looked at Joe and said, "Ewan's going to kill his brother, isn't he?" AND THEN HE TOTALLY STARTS PLANNING TO KILL HIS BROTHER. I don't like it when Ewan McGregor is a rat bastard. He ultimately stops himself from carrying out his MUUUUUUURDER plan, but then they get in a fight and both die anyway. THE END HA HA HAPPY FUN TIMES
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
It DID storm so hard that the world ended for a couple of traffic lights this morning. What? You think traffic lights don't know they live in the world? You think they don't have feelings? Well, they do. They go red when they're angry, green when they're happy, and yellow when they're constipated. And YES constipated is a feeling. You think they turn colors for any other reason? You're wrong. Deal with it. There's something really disconcerting about a traffic light being completely dark. Mostly because I don't trust other people to not barrel through the intersection and kill me, kill me dead. No one did, though. But since there were two traffic lights that were out and I was on my way to work, I naturally assumed that my office building wouldn't have power when I got there. Because that's logical. Only not, because my office building totally had power and ALSO they expected me to work. PSHAW.
I wish it had been storming last night when Heidi and I decided to go running. But we had to run, for you see, we had Penn Station for dinner. That was the deal. We could have Penn Station, but we had to run. Right as we started, I was all, "didn't we decide not to run anymore after eating Penn Station because it makes us want to vomit?" and Heidi was all, "um, yeah, oops." Um, yeah, oops, indeed. I felt like vomiting after running about five steps, at which point I wanted to be done for the evening, but running five steps doesn't seem beneficial. Although, if I would just start with a five step run and add five steps to my run every day, that'd probably work better than my current running schedule, which is "run a couple miles four times a month and try not to pass out or throw up or die." Ah, well.
I don't think the run helped our stomachs OR our brains, because during our cool down lap around the pond, this happened:
Heidi: I've counted four tennis balls in the pond so far!
Me: Man, those people aren't very good tennis players.
Me: Do you think our pink tennis ball is still down there?
Heidi: I hope so. I hope the ducks play with it.
Me: The ducks play tennis?
Heidi: Yeah, they use their bills as tennis rackets.
Me: Plus, they can fly, so that helps.
Heidi: Wanna know how they serve?
Heidi: They put the ball in their mouth and just throw it.
Me: Wow. Do the ducks play doubles tennis?
Heidi: Totally. They play against the geese.
Me: The geese! I hope the ducks win, I hate the geese!
Heidi: Of course the ducks win. They're the Mighty Ducks.
Heidi: Nine! I counted NINE tennis balls now!
And then were were all, "quack . . . quack . . . quack . . . QUACK . . . QUACK . . . QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK," only not really, but I wish that'd happened. I mean, I don't think it's possible for our neighbors to think we're any weirder. After all, there was that time we threw a spoon in the pond and Heidi's underwear in a tree. Also, that time I got chased by a zombie.
Monday, August 4, 2008
I did not find any of these things. Well, I found some little juice glasses. And some cards with rubber duckie faces on them that cost more than the juice glasses. All in all, I waited in a 900 foot line to buy three things for a grand total of $14.00.
Ikea, I am not impressed. I LOOOOOOOVED Ikea when we went to the one in Schaumberg. I wouldn't shut up about it. Here, let me show you the not shutting up. However, when we went to the Ikea in Schaumberg, I wasn't looking for anything in particular. I just gazed in wonder at the array of household crap laid out before me. This leads me to believe that Ikea is a much more pleasurable experience when you're NOT actually looking for something. Or the Ikea in West Chester just sucks. Either way, I was sort of bummed UNTIL . . .
I realized that we'd be driving through Mason. And Mason is where McAlister's Deli is. I used to get McAlister's all the time when I worked in Mason, but there aren't any of those around Dayton because Dayton hates me. Anyway, I knew it was off a certain exit, but I couldn't remember exactly where it was because I am directionally handicapped. We got off the exit and it went something like this:
Me: I don't think it's on this road.
Joe: OK, we'll find it.
Me: It might be on this whole other road.
Joe: Let's just keep driving.
Me: OK. I don't see it. Hey, there's Ruby Tuesday! "Gooooooodbye, Ruby Tuesday . . ."
Joe: Are those the only words you know?
Me: . . . NO. "Who could something rain on you?"
Joe: Um, no. It's, "who could hang a name on you?"
Me: Whatever. Do you see McAlister's?
Joe: No. Let's drive through this shopping center.
Me: OK. I don't see it. Where is it? I don't see it.
Joe: Do you just want to go to Ruby Tuesday?
Me: Yeah, OK.
Joe: Let me turn around.
Me: OH MY GOD THERE IT IS!
Me: Look! Look! McAlister's! Across the street!
Joe: You scared the crap out of me.
Me: Sorry. BUT LOOK!
Then I got sweet tea and it was good. The end.
Friday, August 1, 2008
When I talked to her, she was all, "your dad and I figured you were busy," and I said, "oh?" and she said, "yeah, because you never update your blog anymore," and I was all, "yeah, cause they expect me to do actual work at work now PSHAW WHATEVER I DO WHAT I WANT." And then she was like, "you should come over because I have a bunch of kitchen crap you can have." I wonder if there'll be a day when, instead of taking leftover crap that no one wants anymore, I will be the one giving someone leftover crap that I don't want anymore. The day has to come, I think. It's the circle of crap.
I KNOW I've been neglecting you, dear Internets. I'm sorry. Summer is the time for doing stuff, right? And so I've been doing stuff. Stuff like almost killing myself with a guitar and trying to figure out a way to become a runner without actually, you know, running. Also, I've become obsessed with grape soda THROUGH NO FAULT OF MY OWN. Joe suggested we go to Potbelly a couple of weeks ago and I was all, "hmm, they have grape soda . . . I shall try it." And I tried it. And it was good. And then I kept suggesting we go back to Potbelly JUST so I could get more grape soda and then I bought grape soda at Meijer and now I want to drink it all the time, but I'm afraid my teeth might fall out.
Every time I drink it (or, let's face it, talk about it), I have to preface it with, "MMM, GRAPE SO-DA." My friend Nancy once came to a sorority function completely obliterated out of her mind (in the middle of the afternoon, I might add . . . those were the days) and proceeded to pour herself the biggest cup of grape soda known to mankind and womankind and, I don't know, duck-kind. She stuck her gum to the rim, then picked it back up, dipped it in the grape soda, stuck it in her mouth, and shouted, "MMM, GRAPE SO-DA." And then repeated this scenario for the next hour. We knew she was quoting something, but it took us the majority of the night to realize she was quoting Saved by the Bell. Saved by the Bell is sort of like Friends, in that anything that ever happens to you in life can be connected to an episode. True story. For instance, guess what episode was on the other day?
"I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm so . . . so SCAAAAARED." It was just like that time I got addicted to caffeine pills because I had a geometry test and my friends and I were in a girl band and I wanted to get into Stanford.