True story: when we watch Fringe, I spend most of the time talking about how dreamy Joshua Jackson is.

When I was a tween, one of my most serious hobbies was collecting BOP and Tiger Beat magazines. My friends and I would go to the drug store and sit in the magazine aisle, leaf through these bubblegum rags, and agonize over our purchases. My weekly allowance would only support my habit up to a point, so I had to be careful if I wanted to get my money’s worth. Sometimes the magazines had only so-so heartthrobs on the cover, but if there was a magazine with a full-size pullout poster of Jonathan Taylor Thomas (JTT!!!), well, obviously that was money well spent.

Some of my friends were already starting to go on dates around this time, even though most of us hadn’t even started our periods. I was shy and socially awkward around most people, and even more so around boys. I had no interest in them and didn’t anticipate ever wanting to have anything to do with them. I mean...I had books, I had my friends, I had my bike, honestly, what else did I need?

Maybe I wasn’t maturing as quickly as my friends, I don’t know, but I didn’t see the appeal of dating. Frankly, what little dating information I’d been able to gather (mostly from old episodes of Saved by the Bell) terrified me. My friends and I often discussed the perfect age to start dating. Most of my friends insisted that, at 12, we were the perfect age to date all we wanted, and you wouldn’t believe the heavy silence that fell when I suggested that maybe 18 was a better age.

I had no real interest in any of the boys in my life but was obsessed with collecting glossy pictures of my favorite teen actors. My room was plastered with the posters and pages I’d torn from teen magazines. I taped them on my bedroom walls like wallpaper. I lived in my head and my head was full of these Hollywood pretty boys. It was easier to pretend that if I should ever meet one of these actors, they’d fall deeply in love with me, and I’d never need to go through the painful dating process. I weaved intricate fantasies around these meetings, based on information gleaned from all the generic magazine articles I’d read about them. JTT liked ice cream. I liked ice cream! Joshua Jackson liked animals! I LOVED animals! Andrew Keegan liked to hike and, well, I liked to walk? Oh the fun we’d have, JTT, Andrew, Josh (yeah, I call him Josh) and I, eating our double-decker ice cream cones while we hiked through the woods and tried to catch wild animals WITH OUR BARE HANDS.

Obviously, these fantasies never became reality, and I (sort of) overcame my fear of boys and dipped my toe into the dating scene. I still spend most of my time in my head, but I eventually outgrew these magazine heartthrobs. Although, if I didn't think Joe would mind, I might still plaster the walls of our house with pictures of Joshua Jackson.

PACEY 4EVA!!1!!11!

This place is a tomb. I'm going to the nut shop where it's fun.

When I was a kid, I read all the time. Like, ALL THE TIME. A few months ago, my mom was telling me a story about how she was in a waiting room, quite obviously deeply involved with her book (dirty), and someone wouldn't stop trying to have a conversation with her. I was all, "MOM. You used to do that to me all the time!" and she was like, "Well, JENNIE, if I didn't talk to you while you were reading, I'D NEVER HAVE GOTTEN TO TALK TO YOU," because that's how much I read, you guys. TRUTH.

Anyway, I also had this problem in that I thought everything I read was true. I mean, I think I knew that I couldn't really travel to Narnia through a wardrobe and that Ramona Quimby (age 8) was not actually a real person. It was more like I wanted the real world to be more like books, all the time. I wanted to write to Mr. Henshaw and I wanted to run around with Maniac McGee and I dearly, dearly wanted to go to Wayside School, even though it was falling down.

Mostly, though, I wanted to be in The Baby-sitters Club. I went back and forth between which character I wanted to be. Sometimes it was Claudia, with her "keen" fashion sense, but I didn't want to have her mean sister. I did try that thing she did, where she hid food all over her room so she could have fun snacks any time she wanted, but it turns out if you do that in real life, your parents catch you and get mad at you because when they asked you where all the snacks were going, you told them your sister was probably eating them and that, my friends, is called lying and I guess parents don't really like lying or something. But I digress.

Sometimes I wanted to be Mary Anne, but I was already desperately shy and bookish, so that was no good. And sometimes I wanted to be Stacey, but not really because man, she was a Grade-A beeyotch if there ever was one, right? Mostly, I wanted to be Dawn, but only because of her beautiful, long hair and the fact that she lived in a house with SECRET PASSAGEWAYS. I knew our house wasn't anywhere near as old as Dawn's house, but that didn't stop me from searching for secret tunnels in the basement.

But the Club sounded fun, no matter which member you were. Probably because there was absolutely no adult supervision and parents had no problem sending ALL the neighborhood kids off on adventures with 13-year-olds, like remember that one time they all got shipwrecked on an island? I mean, they weren't there long enough for it to get all Lord of the Flies, but still...who sends their kid off on a boat with a 13-YEAR-OLD?!

Unfortunately, I didn't have a boat, but I still thought I'd be a good member. Screw that Red Cross Baby-sitting class I took, I learned way more from The Baby-sitters Club. True story. OK, not really, but they did have those super awesome Kid Kits, full of all sorts of fun stuff to keep little ones occupied. I COVETED those Kid Kits, which I know is a sin or something but there are worse sins so just be glad I'm not out there murdering people or building shrines to the Flying Spaghetti Monster or whatever.

I still sometimes wish that real life was more like books. Less work, more play. Adventures that last pages and pages. Kid Kits. But last night, as I was getting my bag ready for volunteering, I rummaged through some of the stuff I'd collected for it. Stickers. Markers. Play-Doh. Bubbles. And wouldn't you know it? It turns out I'd made my very own Kid Kit, albeit about 15 years late. Maybe this real life thing isn't so bad after all.

WORST. DAY. EVER. Week

Earlier this week, Heather Anne proclaimed a state of emergency and by state of emergency I mean "WORST. DAY. EVER. Week." It's been a while since we've had one, and I think this week qualifies. I didn't want to believe it. I'm pretty good at denial, but things have stacked up and yep . . . it is now officially "WORST. DAY. EVER. Week." I understand this may not be affecting you all, but for those of you who have been affected . . . I'm sorry. But at least it's almost over, yes? Yes.

That's not to say it's been all bad. Sure, work has sucked donkey balls (two words: SOFTWARE CONVERSION) every day so far, but today I get to do detective work and fix things, and that's sort of fun BECAUSE I'M A NERD. And I had to go to the gyno on Monday, but that gave me something to blog about, and who doesn't love hooha talk? Also, there was a big, dumb ice storm on Tuesday (not like the movie, though, with the swingers and the itty, bitty Frodo and the tween sex), but it was practically melted by Wednesday morning. And my cell phone charger broke, meaning my phone was quickly dying, but then I realized it was time to UPGRADE and so UPGRADE I did. I think my new phone and I will be very happy together.

Oh yeah, my mom called me yesterday and told me they were taking my grandma to the hospital with what, to me, sounded like a stroke, but it turned out she was fine. And, you know, it gave me a chance to spend some quality time with my parents and some dude with a puke bucket in the ER waiting room.

Anyway, this week has been a bit of a disaster, but like I said, it's almost over. And I have nothing to do tonight but some Christmas shopping and TV watching, AND AWESOME TV WATCHING at that. Thank you, TiVo, for recording the Muppets. They can fix everything. And if, for some reason, they can't, then I'm sure those Christmas cookies my mom gave me will do the trick.

I want to live in Effington

I feel like I've been so productive today. And it's only three! What other productivity lies in store for me today? No one knows! Except I do. Here is what I've done so far:

• Went to the market for breakfast
• Went to a book fair
  
• Got my hair cut
• Worked out
• showered

OK, I'm working on the shower. And later! Lampl, Heidi, and I will venture to our old stomping grounds to partake in beer! And possibly shots! Because it's a bachelorette party, and there always seem to be shots there. Also penises. And after that, who knows.

The market was way fun. We had pancakes and coffee. See:



The pancakes were free! With donation, anyway. Which is basically free. Then we saw a guy spinning pots. See:



It was very cool and I could have stood there all day and watched him, only then I wouldn't have gotten anything else done.

Then. THEN we went to the book fair. You guys, it was in this giant auditorium filled with tables! And the tables were filled with books! I would have taken a picture, only at first I was too excited and after a while my arms were too full of books to get my phone out. I sort of want to go back, because I feel like I missed buying a bunch of stuff I should probably buy. Like, right now I'm regretting not buying all of those old Berenstein Bears books. Sigh.

Dwight thinks it's Friday...so keep that going

I had this plan all worked out today, to use the time change to my advantage and miss work. See, I was going to SAY I came in at 7, which I thought was 8, and when I saw that no one was there, I assumed it was Sunday and went home. And THEN I was going to sleep in and call work around, say, 11? And tell them I thought it was Sunday THEREFORE, I'd be in whenever I goddamn well felt like it. I was informed that this was a bad plan, as my boss would think I was either A) a liar or B) really, really dumb and I think I'd get fired in either case.

Whatever, I slept the crap out of that extra hour, so I guess I got everything out of Daylight Savings Time that I'm going to. Hey! Guess what? I've decided I love NaBloPoMo. Not because I have to write some crap everyday, but because OTHER people have to write some crap every day. This means my Google Reader is never empty. Not that my Google Reader is EVER empty, but let's ignore that part.

OHMYGODYOUGUYS. Guess what tomorrow is! I'm not sure why I'm so excited about tomorrow, given my track record. Never have I ever voted for a winning president. It's enough to make a girl to vote for McCain tomorrow. That's crazy talk, of course. I'm trying not to be superstitious, but I can't help it. I'm afraid to be optimistic on account of, um, the past two presidential elections. I thought about voting early, but Heidi did and waited FOUR HOURS in order to vote. She's such a good citizen. I find it incredibly uplifting that so many people are voting early. In the end, I decided not to vote early because I like to vote on election day. MOSTLY so I can wear my "I Voted" sticker around all day like a big nerd. After the voting is all over, we're gathering at a bar to watch the results come in. My thoughts are, if Obama is winning, I'll need a celebratory drink and if McCain is winning, well . . . I'll just need to be drinking period. Sigh.

Moving on. Because I am incredibly open to suggestion, I purchased this, after I read about it on some blogs. People were all, "this is so hard!" and I was all, "that's what she said!" and then I bought it. And you guys? It is so hard. That's what she said. I did it on Saturday (that'swhatshesaid) and I am still sore (that'swhatshesaid). It's a good thing I bought it, though, because this is what I ate this weekend:

Cousin Vinny's Pizza
Sonic
Spaghetti Warehouse
Penn Station
Clancy's

We went to Clancy's last night for dinner, and Heidi ordered us some deep fried cheese. Because, see, they were out of deep fried pickles. And then I got some Buffalo Balls (boneless buffalo wings) with hot sauce, and they were pretty spicy so I had to wash them down with some Miller Lite. Then my tummy kind of hurt for the rest of the night. And that is why today I am not going to eat anything deep fried. Tomorrow, though, that depends on the election results. I may be drowning my sorrows in more than just a pitcher of beer.

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

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

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

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



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

It's like a cow's opinion. It just doesn't matter. It's moo.

We haven't talked about TV in a while, have we? Does that scare you? I mean, I used to have a lot of thoughts and opinions about TV but now? Not so much. To be honest with you, Internets, I haven't really been watching that much TV. The strike, it hath cured me of my addiction! All hail the strike!

I'm kidding. But I haven't been watching as much TV as I used to. And I'm not as invested in the shows I do watch. Used to be, when a show like, say, LOST was on? I had to have complete silence and no one was allowed to talk to me during the entire hour and during the commercials, I'd sit on the sofa clutching my heart because OH MY GOD WHAT IF SAWYER DIES? Also, I didn't want to miss any of the parts where Jack and Kate are making kissy faces. Unless Jack was acting like a big, stupid doody-head, which is a lot of the time, like when he tries to take his own appendix out (wtf, Jack?), and also why does Hurley have to be so sad all the time? Dude. I love Hurley. Um. Yeah. Anyway, now I'll get up and actually do stuff during commercials. Although, I still feel a little ragey when someone talks to me while the show is on. I can't help it. I'm not very smart, so I need to really pay attention to everything or else I'll have absolutely no idea what's going on.

But then came Top Chef and now I find myself emotionally invested in a reality show but I DON'T CARE, because I freaking LOVE this show. I love watching people cook, so Top Chef is sort of like food porn. I got way, way angry last week when Dale got kicked off (um, spoiler alert) but last night's episode was sweet, sweet revenge, because the douchiest douche to have ever douched finally, FINALLY, packed his stupid douchey knives and went home. Douche. We hates him, precious*. All that needs to happen now is for Greasy Lisa to lose and then I don't care who wins. But I hope it's Stephanie. And not just because she looks JUST LIKE this girl I went to college with, who we called "Pledge," because . . . I don't remember, but whatever, MY POINT IS, Spike is gone and it was awesome. Truth.

*new low, Jennie