The birds, the bees and the monkey babies, Mulder.

You guys, I think Max might have PTSD. See, he's terrified of thunderstorms, right? I feel like this is well-documented...on this blog. But anyway. We didn't have him last year during the July 4th festivities but we assumed that he'd be afraid of fireworks since they make even bigger BOOM FUN noises than thunderstorms.

We discovered that, yes, he is just as terrified of firecracker booms as thunder booms when we were out walking one night (Independence Day Eve Eve or something) and someone set off some amateur fireworks because of course they did. Max stopped for a moment, looked at us in abject terror, and then took off as fast as his little legs could carry him. But he was mostly fine after a bit because they had been far away so they were just little booms.

We decided to walk him around before ten on July 4th, because the real fireworks started at ten and we knew we would never get him outside at that time. We thought we were safe. We were wrong. Because some jackhole in the block of condos next to us set off a huge, esplodey firework just as we had Max to that point. Oh my god, you guys, I thought he was going to reach light speed, such was his haste to get back inside. We couldn't even get him to pee, which was a problem, because we have him on a very strict pee and poo schedule. We talk about Max's poop (or lack thereof) at least five times a day. It's weird. Such is the joy of pet ownership. Anyway.

I tried to take him on another walk that night, after the fireworks were over, but he would barely come out the front door. He went out long enough to pee and then he raced back inside like there were bombs falling outside, which I guess maybe he thought there were? I felt so bad, though! He looked so sad and pathetic so I just gave him extra treats and cuddles.

I thought that would be the end of it, but every night we walk him around nine o'clock, which is the same time he almost got blown up in a firecracker. We try to take him on the usual path, and it happens to be the same path we took him on the night of July 4th. I thought this would be no problem. I mean, dogs don't really have long memories, right? But he won't even go that way! He will during the day, he's fine, but he refuses to walk that way at night. Do you think he thinks there will be another FIRECRACKER BOOM EXPLOSION? But yeah, that's how he got PTSD.

This is (very) slightly related, but I'm trying to convince Joe that we need to get a pet pig. He was all, "we can get a pet pig after we have a baby," but I think he's just saying that because he hopes that if I have a cute baby, I won't want a cute pig but that's not true at all because I'll probably just want a cute pig even MORE because a pig (probably) won't pee and poop on me, PLUS BONUS it will make adorable oinking noises AND will have a curly tail. If I get a baby with a tail, I'm gonna be pissed.

But my point is (I guess) that it should go: Dog, Pig, Baby. Like, obviously, you get a dog before you have a baby because you have to make sure you can keep another living thing (besides yourself) alive. But I think you should get a pig between the dog and the baby because a pig is a pet like a dog but it's pink and hairless like a baby so it's the perfect transition between a dog and baby. I mean, it's practically a baby. It's a practice baby! Anyway, I think Joe's just worried that if I get a pig, why would I want a baby? Actually, that's a really valid point.

Whatever. Did you know you can adopt pigs from Petfinder? Don't tell Joe.

this blog is about to reach a new low

Last night, while Joe and I were sleeping, Max woke up, went to the living room, threw up, and then dragged his bed over the puke. Like he was hiding it.

WHAT.

go directly to heaven, collect two adorable mastiffs

So I just got this email that there are two mastiffs available for foster/adoption in the Dayton area. Here they are:



and



LOOK AT HOW CUTE THEY ARE.

Here is the what the email said:

These two young mastiffs are super sweet and friendly. They were due to
be put down today, but thanks to a mastiff lover who went and picked
them up (thanks Lindsey) we got them into boarding last night. They are
getting their shots, wormed, and baths. The owner didn't give much info
on them. If you know of anyone willing to foster one or both of them
(they are very attached to each other), please let me know!! HART has
offered placement in their rescue if I can find fosters. I do have 54"
crates I can lend to someone and I can furnish the dog food. Thanks!

The Clinton Co. (Wilmington, OH) Dog Warden just picked up a male and
female English Mastiff who was surrendered to the county because the
owner is moving. The owner has not supplied names, medical history or
any info about the dogs. I do know that they have mostly lived outdoors
or in the garage. The Warden says they are nice dogs -- just huge!

Clinton Co. is a very rural and depressed community. The Pound has 20
kennels to house dogs. Currently, dogs are doubled, and in some cases,
tripled up in kennels. The Warden is forced to euthanize due to lack of
space and already has the vet scheduled to come in on Wednesday to have
relief on the quantity of animals.... he will be housing the Mastiffs in
an outdoor kennel tonight.

SUPER SAD FACE. If you would like to adopt/foster these dogs or know of someone who might, please EMAIL ME and I will forward you the foster lady's contact information.

Seriously, though, if you adopt them you will get so many karma points for heaven. Is that how heaven works? Being nice to animals?

Also, if you could please share this with others, that'd be great, because I think approximately 20 people read my blog and only a handful of those people actually live in Ohio.

show me that smile again

I went to Zumba (yes, ZUMBA) on Saturday for the first time. While I spent several songs marching in the wrong direction and flailing my arms about wildly, I enjoyed it and I'm going back tonight. It tricks you into exercising and it turns out exercising is good for you. Who knew? Anyway, the plus side of going to this Zumba class is that there's no set cost, it's all just donations to the instructor, AND it's really close to my house. The negative is that it's at a church, not that that's bad, but there are some churchy elements. Like scripture reading before the class starts (but it's short) and I'm pretty sure there were one or two Christian rock songs played during the class, but I was too busy trying not to run into people or fall down to really notice. This said, I don't really care because while I am not churchy, I do not begrudge others their churchiness (I don't know).

AND. The instructor told us before the class started that Kirk Cameron was coming to give a talk about marriage or preparing for the End Times or something, I don't know, I wasn't really listening because I was too busy mouthing, "OMG MIKE SEAVER MIKE SEAVER!" to Nancy while my 18-year-old cousin just stared at us blankly because I'm pretty sure she doesn't know who Mike Seaver is. The shame, the shame.

Anyway, I'm trying to decide if it's worth the price of the ticket to possibly accost see Mike Seaver in person. Probably not.

So, yeah, since I went to Zumba, it meant getting up early (on Saturday!) and regretting my decision to drink coffee beforehand. It was fun, though, and the fact that I keep telling people I'll meet them there means I can't flake out unless I have a really good excuse. Wanting to stay home and watch The Soup is not a good (enough) excuse.

After Zumba, I went home and was faced with this tough decision: Do I continue being productive since I'm already up and aboot? Or do I reward myself for getting up early with TV and loafing? The answer was a little of both, because Joe and I finally went to the bank to begin the long, arduous process of merging our moneys, but when we got home, I watched an episode of Doctor Who and two episodes of Grey's Anatomy (from season 2, when it was still good...ish).

I was about to start the next episode when Joe called and was all, "...um...so...I found a dog," and it was one of those times where I just wasn't sure how to react. I thought he was calling to tell me he was on his way home, not that Max might soon have a new friend. But, no, this dog was wearing tags, so we couldn't in good conscience keep her forever and hug her and squeeze her and call her George.

At first I was like, "take her to SICSA, maybe?" hoping they'd know what to do and then I remembered that I had a computer in front of me, and everyone knows that Google can solve anything. I got on SICSA's website, which led me here in a matter of CLICKS. Apparently, if you find a lost dog, you can find the owner's address and phone number just by entering the dog's tag number. I had no idea our county did this. I'd imagine your county does the same.

I plugged in the tag number and luckily the owner's current information was in there. I called them and a little girl answered the phone. I told her my name and that my husband had found a dog and that's when she squealed, "THEY FOUND CHRISTY!" and my heart melted. They didn't live far from us so I called Joe and told him where he could return the dog, and he said the whole family was outside in the front yard, waiting for him to bring their dog back. I want to cry a little, you guys, WHAT THE HELL. Anyway, I think our Dog Karma is really high now, so hopefully if Max ever gets lost (NOOOOOO), he'll find his way back to us, or someone will find his way back to us FOR him.

Are you there, internet? It's me, Jennie

I find that sometimes I don't write in here because I feel like I tell you guys the same things over and over. Like, haha, the other day I said something stupid and everyone made fun of me (true)! Or, I spent all of Saturday watching season 2 of Buffy (also true). Or even, JENNIE LOVE DUCKS (truest of all). I'm pretty sure I've even used the title of this post before. And I'm pretty sure I've SAID I'm pretty sure I've used the title of this post before AHHHH OMG meta tornado save the ducklings!

So that's why I don't post sometimes. It's not because I don't love you guys. In fact, it's just the opposite. I love you TOO much, so much that I've pitched a tent on your front lawn and spelled "I LUV U" in a gasoline-fire in the grass and now I'm standing there with my boombox blaring some Peter Gabriel and WHY WON'T YOU COME OUTSIDE AND TALK TO ME. Or at least let me in to use the bathroom.

Now let me tell you about my weekend, in which I said some stupid shit, spent most of my days watching Buffy, and then talked about how much I love ducks. ZING!

But yeah, you know what? I do love ducks. And you know what else? I went for the best run ever yesterday and you want to know why? Hardly anyone was in my park.

Here's what, internet. A week or so after Joe and I moved to the new place, I went for a run to make sure we'd moved to a running-friendly neighborhood. Because where I lived last year? Not so running-friendly, unless I wanted to drive somewhere else to run which seems wrong in some way, don't you think? Anyway, so I decided to go run around this one pond but then I discovered that there was no path around the pond! Which would be fine, if I wanted to run through goose turds but I didn't want to run through goose turds so I just kept going on the sidewalk because I wanted to see where the sidewalk ends (Shel Silverstein FTW!) and you know where it ended? In a park. An awesome park with lots of trees and a nice running path and a community garden (I think?) and geeses and duckses and frogs, oh my! No lie, you guys, I ran around that park with a big, stupid smile on my face and when I got home I was all, "JOE! I FOUND A PARK! And it was awesome! I saw some ducks! And geese! And a frog! Well, I HEARD a frog! Also, guess what?! I saw an albino squirrel! It looked at me!" because I am five, apparently. And also Dug from Up.

So now that is my park. I get very angry whenever I go there and someone else is using it. Effing hell, man, GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE I SICK MY GEESE-GANG ON YOU! You don't want to mess with my geese-gang. Nesting makes them loco.

I don't know where this park came from because it wasn't always there and it looks pretty new and they keep updating it with cool stuff. Like, last night I discovered that they had put in these little information boxes and you could push buttons and some nice lady would tell you all about crayfish and maple trees and stuff. Not like, crayfish IN maple trees because that would be weird. It's an awesome park but it's not a magic park. That I know of. I will keep you all updated.

baby otters, obviously: a play in one part

Joe: I heard something on the radio about baby otters today.
Me: Oh, tell me!
Joe: They said that they're really mean.
Me: That's a dirty lie!
Joe: Um, no, it's not.
Me: Baby otters are nice.
Joe: No, it said they're mean and their jaws are five times as strong as a pit bull's. Soooo, maybe having one for a pet isn't a great idea.
Me: Whatever, I still want one. And anyway, my baby otter will be nice.
Joe: How do you know?
Me: Because it will like me.
Joe: It's a wild animal, Jennie.
Me: It doesn't matter. I'll train it from birth.
Joe: OK. Sure. What happens when it bites your hand off?
Me: It won't do that. Why do you want my baby otter to hate me?
Joe: IT'S A WILD ANIMAL.
Me: If it tries to bite me, I'll spray it with a spray bottle.
Joe: It's an otter! It lives IN THE WATER.
Me: So, it still won't like getting water sprayed in its face. Trust me, I will train it so good.
Joe: Oh, so you'll just overrule Nature?
Me: Um, yeah, when has that EVER backfired?

I speak over two thousand languages, including Dodo and Unicorn. I had a classical education.

The Universe is totally telling me to get a puppy. Look at this Super Exciting Opportunity that I received in my Gmail today:

From: Troye Lincoln
To: Me
Subject: Adorable Puppies Available!!

Hello, My name is Troye, I got your e-mail address from the email surfing marketing affiliated with the US chamber of commerce. Am mailing to let you know i've got some puppies am willing to adopt to a loving and caring home because I don't have the special time they need anymore due to my job. I have a female English bulldog and a male Yorkie. These puppies have got great personality and I will love to let you know that they are not just a puppy but a baby for you. These babies participate in the house jobs and we are teaching them to understand human language. They have this great personality like human. Kindly let me know if you are interested. So I can email you the pictures and more info. Thank you for taking your time to read the advert. Reply to: i_want_to_give_you_puppies@awesome.org.

So I think I should write him back, yeah? Hee. I mean, I know it's Spam, but it came to my inbox and when I first saw it, I was all, "NOOOOOO! I can't get a puppy right now, STOP TEMPTING ME!"

I don't really want an English bulldog or a Yorkie, anyway, although I am tempted now that I know they are learning to understand HUMAN LANGUAGE. I wonder which human language they're learning. It'd be cool to have a puppy that spoke French, but I don't speak French, so how would I talk to it? Plus! They participate in house jobs? Does that mean they clean the bathroom? Because I hate cleaning the bathroom.

Anyway, it would seem that the theme of this week is ANIMALS ARE CUTE AND AWESOME because you know what? Animals are cute and awesome. I need to unsubscribe from The Daily Puppy and Zooborns because my heart explodes on, like, an HOURLY basis and it takes a long time to clean that up, you know?

Still, I'm POWERLESS against animals IRL. Presented with pretty much any four-legged creature, I melt into a puddle of stupid-voiced goo and spend ten minutes telling a chipmunk how adorable it is and that, DON'T WORRY, everything will be OK, Jennie is here to take care of you OMG WHY DID YOU JUST POOP IN MY CAR.

See: chipmunk.

It's not just four-legged animals, though. Last night, while Joe and I were waiting for our Chinese food (yum), I stared at a group of ducks for SO LONG, I thought Joe might get up and leave me there.

Ducks:



Convo:

Me: Where did they all come from? Why are they out there?
Joe: I don't know.
Me: There are SO MANY.
Joe: Yep.
Me: OMG! One of the ducks? Had something hanging from its bill. And another duck ate it! Haha!
Joe: ...
Me: One of the ducks sat down. Like PLOP.
Joe: ...
Me: Another one sat down.
Joe: ...
Me: There went another one! The way they sit down looks painful. They just flop.
Joe: ...
Me: Haha! That one? The one that ate the thing off the other one's bill? The thing it ate is hanging off its bill now!
Joe: ...
Me: Now like half of them are sitting. One just peed.
Joe: ...
Me: I think that one is sitting in its pee! Gross.
Joe: ...
Me: Also, they're pooping everywhere.
Joe: That's why I'm not looking at them.
Me: Ew, I just saw one poop. I'm going to sit down now.
Joe: Good.

All of this leads me to believe that I need a pet of some kind. Phoebe is alright but she won't let me cuddle her and this one time she puked on my bed. I'm leaning toward a mini pig because OMG SO CUTE. Look. I'll wait. Heather! Anne! says I should get two, so they can be BFFs, which is a good idea because even mini pigs need BFFs. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go think of some names for my new mini pigs.

Should I be running right now? Totes magotes.

Hi, Internets. I'm just sitting around. Waiting for everything in the universe to align in such a way that I know it's a good time to go running. I know it's not a good time right now because I'm sort of thirsty and trying to get rid of the tiny headache I woke up with. It seems unfair to have a headache when I didn't do any drinking last night, but oh well. I really do need to go running, though. I ate cheese fries AGAIN last night and, while I did not partake in any 123 GoBox action at the movies, we did go to Graeter's afterward and I totes magotes got a chocolate milkshake.

We saw I Love You, Man, which is why I cannot stop quoting Paul Rudd. I think, in the past 12 hours or so, I have said, "totes magotes," approximately 87 times and I've almost perfected saying "slappin' da bass, mon," like a leprechaun. Anyway.

Crap. My iPod is fully charged now. Almost time to go running. I need to eat a banana first. You know, for energy.

I'm sort of too tired to go running because I spent part of the morning being really productive and going through stuff in my room to get rid of. Because the only time I feel inspired to get rid of anything is when I'm moving. Otherwise I don't throw anything away because OH MY GOD WHAT IF I NEED IT? It's a problem. Then there are those things that I have no use for, but I can't get rid of, like yearbooks and journals from high school. What can you do with those, other than shove them under the bed so no one ever, ever looks at them?

I think that's it. You are all caught up with my life. Oh! Except. Earlier I took some stuff to the dumpster and a goose chased me through the parking lot. I wasn't even doing anything to it! I even walked way around it so I wouldn't bother it, and I didn't make eye contact because geeses hate it when you make eye contact. It's true. The goose told me so when it chased me. It also threatened to cut me, which is total bullshit because what's it gonna do? Hold a switchblade in it's beak? Please. Don't be ridiculous.

Just kidding, goose, please don't cut me.

Fin.

tell me again about the rabbits, George

I recently started the Couch to 5K program because I hadn't gone running since, um, way before it was even too cold to go running, and I quit the gym a long time ago so I didn't have access to a treadmill EITHER. That's sort of a lie, because Joe's apartment complex has a fitness room and he said SEVERAL TIMES that I could use it whenever I wanted but I'm far too lazy to do that. So I didn't. Anyway, I'm on Week 2 and it's going well, mostly because weeks 1 and 2 don't involve as much running as the rest of the weeks, which is awesome because sometimes running makes me want to die. Not this program, though. This program is my friend. We go to the mall together and then get ice cream. Ha, just kidding, I hate the mall. Shopping gives me hives.

Anyway. I went running yesterday because OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS, the weather was perfect. Sunny and warm and beautiful. It was a little windy but I'll take it. After I finished the program, I decided to keep walking because I wanted to see the ducks at the pond. I love the ducks. They're so cute! Sometimes when they cross the street to the pond, I get worried that they might get hit and I have conversations like this:

[in Heidi's brand new, shiny car]

Me: Look! Ducks!
Heidi: I like them.
Me: Me too.
Heidi: They're taking a long time to cross.
Me: OMG look how fast that guy is driving! He's not slowing down! He's going to hit the ducks! What if he hits the ducks? OK, he stopped. Good. Otherwise I would have to beat up his car.
Heidi: Wow.

And the day before!

Me: Look! Ducks!
Joe: Wow.
Me: I love ducks.
Joe: OK.
Me: Look at that one! He has a mohawk thing!
Joe: ...
Me: You know what I love best? When ducks put their little ducks butts up in the air. I love that.
Joe: Yep.
Me: Look, more ducks!
Joe: Are you retarded?
Me: I don't think so. I just love ducks, is all.

And SCENE.

Crazy Cat Lady talks to her cat

The other night, I got a text from Heidi. I opened it to see a picture of Phoebe sitting on Heidi's bed. In front of her was a huge pile of puke sitting smack dab in the middle of Heidi's new Wittenberg blanket. Heidi's text said: Can I throw her out the window? and I answered: Yes, of course. Because it was a GIANT pile of barf. I'd post the picture, but it's really gross. I made Joe look at it and he was all, "why would you show that to me?" and I was like, "why WOULDN'T I show that to you?" Anyway, the best part of the picture is Phoebe sitting behind the puke all, " . . . did I do that?"

So now Phoebe is banned from Heidi's room and GUESS WHAT? She is not a fan of that decision, but it doesn't matter because she licks her own butt and you know what? We make a point never to listen to someone who licks her own butt.

The biggest problem is that Phoebe hates it when doors are closed. She's very particular about it. And by particular, of course I mean ANNOYING AS HELL. If my bedroom door is closed and she's outside, she'll scratch and scratch and meow and meow until I'm finally like OK FINE and I open the door, let her in, and close the door again. Five minutes later (if that), she is scratching on the door again to be let back out of my room. WHAT THE HELL, CAT? She also does this to us when we have our bathroom doors closed. I don't know why she wants into the bathroom when I'm in there. If I let her in with me and close the door, she acts like I'm locking her in there because I'm going to drown her in the bathtub or something. Which I would NEVER do. It sounds too messy.

This morning, I was getting ready and I heard Phoebe in the hallway scratching and meowing and just generally being annoying. I opened my door, thinking she was scratching to get in, and saw she was instead scratching at Heidi's door. Then I had this conversation with her:

Me: Phoebe!
Phoebe: Meow!
Me: Phoebe . . . come here.
Phoebe: I want to go in there.
Me: You can't. The door is closed.
Phoebe: What's a door? I want in there. Meow.
Me: Come in here. I will pet you.
Phoebe: Why won't The Other One let me in there?
Me: Because you puked on her stuff.
Phoebe: You guys don't like that?
Me: No. No, we don't.
Phoebe: It was a gift.
Me: It sucked. Come in here. I will pet you.
Phoebe: Meow!

And then I let her into my room, closed the door, and tried not to throw her out the window when she immediately started scratching to get out again.

WARNING: this is written by Joe. Not Jennie. It could get confusing, is all. You'll see.

So I don't know about you, Internets, but this weekend has been pretty spectacular. Friday night, Heidi and I went to a slumber party at our friend, Nancy's. That's right, a SLUMBER PARTY. We played Rock Band and the new Guitar Hero and I totally rocked the shit out of the Bon Jovi classic, "Livin' On A Prayer." Seriously. It was epic. I almost lost my voice in the process, but it was worth it. Anything for the Rock Band. After we were done with that, we all (there were many of us, not just Heidi and I and Nancy) stripped down to our underwear and whispered secrets in each other's ears (Whitney told me the dirtiest thing I will ever hear in my life). Then we practiced french kissing before having a tickle fight and passing out in each other's arms. Also, we'd been drinking a lot. It was awesome-tastic.

On Saturday, Joe and I hung out and played Guitar Hero until our fingers cramped up, which for me was not long, but GUESS WHAT! I got a PERFECT SCORE on the song "My Name is Jonas" by Weezer. IT WAS AMAZING. Here, I'll prove it to you:



See? It was so amazing that we took a picture of it. Then we went to Los Tres Amigos (which is Spanish for 'The Three Amigos') for dinner. Sadly, Steve Martin, Chevy Chase, and Martin Short were not there, but there was a girl there at the table next to ours who was doing tequila shots. By herself. With her dinner. She was with a friend, but her friend was not drinking. It was incredibly weird, and very entertaining. Also, they were talking about Futurama for some reason. Yeah, we eavesdropped. What, you got a problem with that? I thought not. After dinner we went back to Joe's apartment and watched Edward Scissorhands, which Joe had never seen and which we both thoroughly enjoyed.

This afternoon I had a pile of laundry on my bed, and Phoebe curled up into a ball in the middle of it, and it was adorable, and Phoebe doesn't do adorable things very often (usually she just pees on your bed and then looks at you like you were asking for it), so I took a picture of that, too. If you're good I'll share it with you. Okay, you're good, I'll share it.



See? Adorable. It's moments like that that I feel bad for constantly hating her, but I only do it because I know she constantly hates me, too. We have a good relationship. Also, Joe and I have been dating for five months and two days. So yay for that.

Happy Sunday, Internets.

don't drink the hateorade

I complain a lot. Ask anyone. ANYONE. These are the things I've been complaining about lately, but in an effort to make myself a better person, I'm going to complain about them AND THEN say something good about them. Look at that. I'm growing.

1. Cold weather

Earlier this week, I started complaining about snow and it hasn't even gotten cold enough to snow yet. Also, the cold weather makes it harder to go running because it makes my throat hurt (waaaaaaaaah) and I have to wear a jacket. I HATE WEARING A JACKET. The good thing about cold weather, though, is that I no longer sweat like a pig while running and also it was cold enough last weekend to build a fire and roast marshmallows. Win win win.

2. the election

I've known who I was going to vote for since February 2007. And since I know who I'm going to vote for and am sick of hearing about the election and am double sick of seeing Palin's stupid face everywhere, can't they just move the voting to today? Or even tomorrow. I'm flexible. The good thing about the election is . . . um, it's almost over. Also, I could go vote early if I wasn't so lazy and if I didn't heart voting on election day so hard.

3. Atonement (sorry, Ashley)

I finished the book the other day, and I only did it out of pure spite, because I guessed the ending after beginning Part Two, and I didn't like any of the characters, and Briony was stupid and annoying, and it moved SO SLOWLY and I don't really like war books anyway (except for The Things They Carried). But. I plan on seeing the movie, because I've heard rumors that James McAvoy is super dreamy in it.

4. NBC

We still don't have it. Instead we have HBO Family, which has been running the same five movies over and over. We have Batman Returns (good), E.T. (good), some movie about kid entrepreneurs (didn't watch it, but it looked really cheesy), some movie about kids stuck in an airport (didn't watch it, but it had Lewis Black in it so it couldn't have been good), and The Astronaut Farmer, which I can't watch because Billy Bob Thornton ruined David Duchovny's marriage. This not having NBC is not good, no matter what way I look at it, because you know why? The version of E.T. they're showing is the new one. And in the new version, they took out the part where Elliot calls his brother, "penis breath." Enough said.

5. money

As in, I have none. The good thing about this is, it forced me to reevaluate my budget (ha, what budget).

6. Thanksgiving

First of all, nothing can top the Thanksgiving Miracle of last year, but this year Thanksgiving is with my mom's side of the family which is the side of the family full of DRAMA AND CRAZY. Because of this, Thanksgiving will just be me, my parents, and sister, and that sounds practically perfect to me. I might even bring more than the rolls this year.

7. Christmas

See above: crazy family. They have rescheduled both Thanksgiving and Christmas, and even though I can't make it to faux-Thanksgiving, it doesn't matter because they only reschedule major holidays for my army-bound cousin, anyway. Oh, do I sound bitter? It's because I am. Anyway, the good thing about Christmas is I LOVE BUYING PRESENTS FOR PEOPLE. The no money thing makes this a challenge, but despite my laziness, I actually enjoy a challenge.

8. Puppies

Ha! Just kidding. No one complains about puppies unless they pee or poop somewhere they're not supposed to, and even then, it's half-hearted complaining because LOOK AT HOW CUTE THE PUPPY IS.

And now I want a puppy.

Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time.

So it turns out that skipping a week of running is NOT, in fact, a good idea. I went running after work yesterday and wanted to die fifteen times. It's true. I counted. And then I thought I actually MIGHT die when I ran into the coyote.

Coyote: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Me: Um.
Coyote: Ahem. Excuse me.
Me: Can you let me pass?
Coyote: No.
Me: Please?
Coyote: Only if you can answer three questions.
Me: Sigh. Fine.
Coyote: What is your name?
Me: Jennie.
Coyote: What is your quest?
Me: Um. To go home and collapse on the floor until my heart rate returns to normal.
Coyote: What is your favorite color?
Me: Blue.
Coyote: Really?
Me: Yes.
Coyote: You're not just saying that? Cause of the movie?
Me: No. I'm not just saying that cause of the movie.
Coyote: OK, fine, go ahead.
Me: Byeeeeeeee!

He was really nice. He didn't try to eat my face once, which was nice.

The other night, I went running IN THE DARK. I got home from volunteering and saw that Heidi had been to the gym and so I shamed myself into running. I'm not going running by myself in the dark anymore. At least not around Halloween. Because . . . see . . . that's when ghosts come out and do stuff. And I don't know for sure, but I think if zombies were going to attack, it would be on Halloween because they could just hang out on someone's porch, pretending to be a Halloween decoration, and then when the owner comes out of the house they'd be all, "AAAAAAAAAAUUUURRRRRGH! I WILL BITE YOU NOW!" only not so articulate. True story. Also, it's dangerous to run at night. There are still piles of branches and crap from the windicane that happened A MONTH AGO and when I ran by a big pile, I didn't see a stick sticking out of the pile and it scratched my leg. It's OK, though. It's just a flesh wound.

Hee! I just had this conversation with one of our field agents in Georgia:

Me: HR, this is Jennie.
Her: Hey, Jennie.
Me: Good morning! How are you?
Her: Oh, god, you sound so Northern.
Me: . . .

I mean . . . I talk to her almost EVERY DAY. Hey, remember when my blog had a point? Yeah, me neither.

PS: I still need help with my Halloween costume idea. Please do my thinking for me, I'd be very appreciative. Here are the stipulations: I don't want to wear a wig, so whatever I dress up as has to have dark brown hair. I don't want to spend a lot of money. I'm lazy, so I don't want to do a lot of sewing or gluing or anything. I will be outside, so I'm not dressing as slutty anything.

Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica.

Yesterday, when I got home from work, I saw that the apartment complex people had put a notice on our door. "Oh, no," I thought. "I hope they haven't seen my pet penguin." Just kidding. I don't have a pet penguin, although, I'm pretty sure that since they don't allow dogs, I wouldn't be allowed to keep one in the makeshift ice cooler habitat I'd make out of the storage unit. Anyway.

The notice was to tell us that a coyote had been spotted in the vicinity. A COYOTE. And not the friendly kind that tries to blow you up with dynamite. But a real coyote that will eat your cats and your babies and MAYBE NOT EVEN IN THAT ORDER. Do coyotes eat babies? Or is that just dingoes? Anyway.

Unfortunately, the notice didn't tell you what to do in case you ran into this wily coyote (see what I did there?) during your early morning run or, let's be honest, sleepy walk to your car. I thought back on all of my wild animal knowledge and all I could think of was Dwight's advice about bear attacks, which I didn't think would be very helpful. I thought maybe you beat sticks at it, but then I remembered that that was from The Parent Trap and I think that was to ward off mountain lions, not coyotes. OH MY GOD LOOK AT THIS. AWESOME. My favorite part is the laughing. Anyway.

Heidi actually SAW the coyote with her very own eyes and she said the coyote just looked at her like she was a delicious, delicious baby that it wanted to eat with a side of cranberry sauce. I might have embellished a bit. I told her to stay far away from it if she saw it again, because what if it was friends with the baby raccoons?

Dear someone,

I would like a pet squirrel, please. Just like this one, which I would like to name Henry:



Did you see them chasing Henry with rakes?! Bastards.

A woman shouldn’t have to be hit by a car to learn that she may have rabies.

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?
Daughter: Yep!
Me: Why?
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?
Heidi: 5699*
Office Lady: Is this Heidi or Jennie?
Heidi: Heidi.
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

**see: broken garbage disposal; upside-down oven knob; broken toilet; broken front door lock

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.

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.

I think green is kind of whorish.

It was poor planning on my part (story of my life) that led to me running frantically around Meijer at ten o'clock last night holding onto an ice cream cake FOR DEAR LIFE. After volunteering, where we ran out of pizza because HOLY HELL growing boys eat a lot, I ran through Wendy's, went home and ate it, and then remembered that I was in charge of a birthday luncheon today. Eff. I went to Kroger to buy chicken salad and an ice cream cake but Kroger didn't have any ice cream cake. By this time, Dairy Queen was closed and I thought about going to Coldstone, but I couldn't remember if they were open and to be honest? I don't like my coworkers enough to get them an ice cream cake from Coldstone. So off to Meijer I went. I said a little prayer as I walked toward the bakery and cursed the birthday girl for wanting an ice cream cake. Didn't she know I'd wait until the last minute, when no places that sell all sorts of ice cream cakes would be open? At least if she'd picked like . . . chocolate cake, I could have (theoretically) baked it myself. But an ice cream cake? I can barely get ice cream out of the carton without spilling it all over myself, so making an ice cream cake was out of the question.

By the time I got home and put all the groceries away, I barely had the energy to put on my pajamas and flop into bed to catch the tail end of The Office (I heart you, TBS). Surprisingly, I fell asleep right away and didn't wake up until the geese started honking outside this morning. "I wonder why it sounds like they're right next to my window," I thought, and the answer is because they WERE right next to my window. As I walked out to my car, I noticed one of the geese on the roof, honking at a goose on the ground. I think they were either playing King of the Mountain or Red Light/Green Light. Maybe Simon Says. Mother May I?

This has been a long, hard (heh) week and I don't really know why, but I do know if the geese don't STFU already, I'm buying a BB gun.