i sing the body electric

At this time there are no half-drunk soda bottles in my house. Well, maybe one.

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 23:36:04 GMT

I don't really like to repeat jokes. For one thing, I'm really bad at telling jokes. I have heard so many great jokes in my life (especially dirty ones! I have probably heard them all!) but I can't ever share them because I am a horrible story teller. I always botch the punchline, assuming I ever get to it, and I never start at the beginning. I also interrupt myself several times with opportunities for the listener to "stop me if you've heard this" and to double check their memory. "Are you sure I haven't told you this one? It feels like I have."

If I do somehow manage to get to the punchline, I will ALWAYS leave out some important part of the joke that gives the ending any kind of purpose. I get so proud of myself for remembering the wording that the blank stare I get at the end has to be my cue for pretty much the entire middle section of the joke. So I try to go back and add it in, but conversations aren't like blog posts. You can't go back and edit before anyone notices. Because, trust me. They have already noticed.

All of this is just to say that I don't like repeating other people's jokes. As for my own jokes - I tend to get them right the first time, as they require no amount of memorization - and since they are spontaneous, there is no stage fright to worry about. But I don't really like repeating those either. For one, the situation is probably never going to come up again, and two, it's not spontaneous if I've done it before, and so it becomes a form of acting, and I piss my pants. Have you ever asked me to repeat myself, or to recreate a noise or laugh that just erupted from my mouth? I get all kinds of flustered and if I don't flat out refuse, it is under extreme protest that I actually repeat myself.

All of THAT is just to say that there is ONE joke that I actually do repeat when the occasion arises. It's not a particularly good one, but it makes me laugh more and more the more I use it.

As you may / probably not know, I like Dublin Dr. Pepper. I like the tiny glass bottles and the sweetness of sugar vs. the stigma of corn syrup. But I also like for it to be ICE cold, and I drink it very slowly. Basically this means that if I don't drink the entire bottle within a certain amount of time, it will warm to room temperature and I will no longer be able to drink it. So this inevitably leads to me drinking about half of the bottle and then just getting another one later instead of finishing the first one. And since I am a messy person, these bottles just kind of accumulate around various points in the house, because I fully intend to empty them and then toss them later, I just never get around to it.

Enter Zach. Zach hates how messy I am. To be fair, anyone would. But he especially hates my propensity for leaving unfinished drinks around. So whenever we get into a fight about how messy I am, he will eventually get to the part of his argument where he mentions this habit. He says "And you just leave half-full bottles of Dr Pepper all over the place!" to which I always, always, always respond in the most nonchalant manner I can possible muster:

"Half-full? Huh. I never figured you for an optimist."

Glasses

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 23:12:51 GMT

Most of the time I don't like my glasses. The prescription is outdated, my hair gets caught in the frames, and there are a million little scratches on them that make everything look cloudy, and not in a good way. I think if it could just be cloudy around the edges then I could pretend that life was just one long dream sequence and I would feel brave enough to take more risks since the outcome wouldn't matter if I was just going to wake up at any minute. Maybe when I replace this pair I will look into it.

I also don't like the way they look on me. My face is too small for glasses, truth be told. I have a tiny head and a weird little body like an upside down mushroom. Being near-sighted makes your eyes look smaller from the other side of the lens, especially if you don't splurge at the glasses shop and buy the super thin lenses. No - if you try to save some money you get the kind of lenses that are thin in the middle and thick on the outside, so you end up with a cute little reverse-magnifying-glass effect that gives Jessie tiny eyes on a tiny face on a tiny head on a big lumpy lady's body. Or tiny lumpy lady, whatever. If you're short, and have any kind of curves, you are a lumpy lady, whether or not you are actually female. And I hope for your sake you are - because a short curvy man is one of the most disgusting things I can imagine.

And I don't like that I can't see anything outside of my lenses. Instead of being able to use my eyes to look around, I have to use my neck, so my neck is like the size and strength of a body builder's. This would be impressive if I had been trying to bulk up my neck (maybe for necking purposes?) but in reality it just makes up about 12% of my entire body mass and 25% of my height. Anyone else ever call it "heighth" by mistake? I had a sort of identity crisis in elementary school when I heard a nurse say it. Nurse = respectable, intelligent, attention to details, etc - right? Well I started alternating the way I said the word and in the end wasn't sure which was correct so I probably looked it up in the dictionary. World = shattered, at that point.

Anyway - most of the time I don't like my glasses. But sometimes it's not so bad. Like when someone says something incredulous you can always peer at them over your glasses for dramatic effect. Sure you can't see anything, and you can only hope that they are at least facing you in order to fully appreciate the drama - but it's like the one move that people without glasses just can't do. They can roll their eyes, rub their temples, rub their eyes out of exhaustion ... but they can't peer!

The one major downside to peering is the double chin that pops up if you don't do it right. Or if you just always have a double chin.

and you're not invited!!!!

Fri, 16 Oct 2009 07:59:28 GMT

My plan for this weekend involves learning to hip hop dance by watching crappy youtube instructional videos.

a definition of sorts

Fri, 16 Oct 2009 07:55:18 GMT

One of my biggest fears in life is that a spider is going to lay eggs under my skin and then one day a million little spider babies are going to erupt out of a boil placed somewhere on my body that I must not have noticed. At the same time, I think that this would be kind of exciting. I guess that's fear for you.

That prince is fresh!

Wed, 23 Sep 2009 08:56:23 GMT

There is something that has bothered me for, literally, YEARS and I'm at a point where if I don't get it off my chest I'm going to, literally, die. Just... die.

I can almost guarantee that all four of you reading this are going to disagree with me - and I wish I was more awake right now so I could best prove my point - but I think that if I were more awake I would probably not be writing this.

When Will Smith was singing about his childhood in West Philly - how do you like to think he spent his time?

We know that he spent most of his days on the playground... but what did he do there? Make a mental list and then we can compare.

Most people think that he did the following:
"Chilin' out, maxin', relaxin' all cool and all, shootin' some b-ball outside of the school..."

It is at this point that I ask you "WTF IS MAXING?!?!?!?!"

As far as I'm concerned - and always have been - he spends his time "Chilling out max," as in chilling to the extreme (max was a popular word at the time, while "maxing" was not) "Relaxing all cool and all," (which is really just "relaxing" but doing so while appearing even more nonchalant than one would normally associate with "relaxing") and playing basketball. He also spent a small amount of time getting into one little fight but that is neither here nor there.

The point is, there are very few people who subscribe to the "chillin' out max" theory, so the majority of websites available for reasearch will show "maxin'" as the appropriate lyric. One of these websites spelled Philadelphia like "Philadelfia" so I guess that's why we can't really settle this with google.

The REAL point is - I hope that one day I can meet Will Smith, befriend him, and ask him about the lyrics. I have to befriend him first because I don't imagine he would like answering a question like that unless it was coming from someone who was reaaally important to him. So I don't know how I'm going to make this happen but it's going to take a LOT of work.

Twilight.

Wed, 08 Jul 2009 21:15:03 GMT

It's messy because I'm an idiot and am using my tv as a monitor and it's like 6 feet away and I can't see anything. Excuses, excuses!

I have been at my job for nearly a year. That sounds impressive to me, but then when I think about how many mental breakdowns and anxiety attacks I've had since I started - it's really one year too many. This job is the most stressful and unrewarding thing I've ever done. I imagine it is similar to childbirth. Right, ladies? Nine months of getting fat(ter) and all you get in the end is a pink blob of your own juices that will most likely grow up to blame all of their problems on you. JK? I would like to have kids but let's not try and pretend like it's not really just bringing an extra person into the world so you can have millions of awkward moments with them. Either you will try to control them and they will hate you for being a tyrant - or you will give them freedom and they will hate you for not giving them enough attention. OR you will be supportive of all of their endeavors and then they will hate you because they can never be as good as they want to be in order to make you proud - even though you're totally proud already! And if they don't hate you for any of those reasons - then they will probably be very boring people who follow rules and stay out of the way of the people who are actually changing the world because they never got enough space/affection/respect from their parents. Google it! This is a scientifically studied psychological fact.

Fri, 26 Jun 2009 00:30:08 GMT

I am rarely surprised by a person's handwriting. Not that someone's handwriting could really shock anyone, I guess... but you can always tell who is going to have terrible handwriting.

Poominations

Fri, 24 Oct 2008 18:31:16 GMT

Sometimes I get this overwhelming feeling of what can best be described as some variation of "pride" though the description doesn't quite fit. Or at least saying the word doesn't feel just right. I guess I don't often look at my life from the outside with anything less than brutal hostility and mild-to-medium disgust, but sometimes I do, and it's in these rare moments that I find myself feeling really satisfied with what I see. It's like the feeling you get right before you poop. You know - the good kind of feeling you get when you can tell that the poop is going to be on your terms and it's not one of those messy/painful ones that find you huddled in the stall furthest from the bathroom door praying that no one walks in and inadvertently shares the moment with you - while you tense your abdomen in a vain attempt to deny how very human you really are; crumpled and shaking in the same spot where so many have come before to shed their dignity like a bad sunburn or like a good pair of underwear after a long night of drinking. Or so I've heard. Picture a montage of people shuffling into the back corner stall in hopes of being as innocuous as possible, each one momentarily forgetting that they are not the first person to have this idea and thusly are using the most abused pot in the bathroom like it's some kind of dear friend.

No - I'm talking about the kind of poops where you can tell that it's on its way out, but there's plenty of time to finish the top square of sudoku and share a laugh with one of your cats before sauntering off to the bathroom where the temperature is exactly the same temperature as your mom's womb, or at least that's what you think, and you can hear a faint buzz in the background that sort of overrides all other noises, voices and thoughts - and allows you to sit back, relax, and void your bowels. No cramps, no nausea, no sweats, no noisy stallmates peeing in harmony with one another, no choking neighbor spraying fruity body splash to cover the smell, no scuffed high-heels clumping awkwardly across the faux-tile floor coming dangerously close to the disappointing excuse for "privacy" your bathroom stall provides, and nobody walking in to the bathroom in a huge hurry to change her pad and get back to work. It's like she's so afraid of being timid about making the crinkle noises in public that she makes up for it in sheer pad-peeling bravado by literally ripping the sticky parts from the non-sticky parts and slapping the little trashcan lid closed at the end as if to rid herself of the shame she is certain she will not be forced to feel if she keeps her head high enough and doesn't spend too much time thinking about it. Obviously I don't share this woman's resolve as I send text messages to my friends about the symphony of pee I am trying not to obsess over because it will force me to try and identify the smell of urine over the smell of perfume and I really just don't want to do that right at this moment when I am trying to disown the grotesque act that has brought me to this place.

No, the feeling I'm talking about is the very definition of "cozy" but like you're experiencing it from a distance, like you're from the future and you've come back in time to hide behind a trash can and watch your past-self make all the same mistakes you made the first time around but since you know that it all works out in the end, you aren't self-conscious or embarrassed like you were when it happened, and you kind of laugh on the inside since no one is with you and you aren't the kind of person who laughs out loud unless there's someone else around to hear it, and besides, you don't really think it's funny but you don't know how else to feel because even though it's not the first time you've gone back in time to spy on yourself, it never really gets any less bizarre no matter how much you get used to it.

Anyway, so this cozy feeling that's experienced from a distance is kind of how I was feeling on my way back to work from lunch today. It was pretty cool outside but my car had been cooking on the inside - so by the time I got in it was probably about ten degrees above what I would consider "womb temperature" which as I have previously stated is obviously not the standard body temperature because 98 or so degrees feels way hotter than what I would consider comfortable. So I rolled down my window a crack to let a bit of the cool air creep in and whip against the top of my head while I drove to WalMart, which is where I spent my break shopping for chicken broth and vegetable broth, a bit of a contradiction in some way, I think, and as I pulled into the WalMart parking lot singing a song I made up about waiting on a waste of time because I liked the melody and not because the words made any sense, because they obviously didn't, The top of my head was feeling a weird combination of hot from the sun and cold from the breeze and it was a nice way to feel safe and exposed at the same time which is what I think we always need to feel in order to make any progress in life. I probably focus too much on feeling safe but it's only because I forget how much fun it is to be exposed, even if it's just the top of my head.

I came out of WalMart a changed person. A fugitive of sorts, escaping briefly from a tyrannical stepmother of a mind that always finds the faults in things without accepting that there might, on accident, be an action that is without negative consequence, and that it might be possible to be the kind of person who looks in the mirror and doesn't get pissed off at the reflection for not being as good as it's supposed to be. The kind of person who isn't always surprised when she sees a picture of herself because she was positive that her eyes weren't so close together earlier that day, or that her nose has NEVER been that bulbous and it is clearly the photographer who has made a mistake here. I was a person full of possibilities and sugar, as I had just downed an orange soda and was seeing the world through Yellow 6 and Red 40 colored glasses, and it occurred to me that even though the details of my life may not be very impressive, all together they form a blob of incomprehensible warmth that I couldn't turn away from even if I really wanted to.

I drove back to work wearing my cheap forever21 sunglasses over my too-expensive nerd glasses with the radio off and the Imperial March resonating in my head for some reason. I guess I had bumped my rear view mirror out of it's proper position whenever I got into my car, so I reached up to put it back into its rightful place and caught a glimpse of the car behind me. I didn't really look at the driver, but I thought about how if she was an insecure kind of person, she might think I was readjusting the mirror to get a better look at her. Since I'm really not the type to laugh alone, I let a smile crawl across my lips and thought to myself "God damn I love my life."

Oh life, you little poot.

Mon, 15 Sep 2008 02:18:07 GMT

A lot of crazy things have happened lately. I haven't been able to tell you guys about it because I have been going to bed at like 9pm like some kind of sad old lady with frail bones and no friends. While that is probably not too far from the truth, the real reason for my absence has been the bogacious (you're welcome, world) amount of crap that's been going on. Let me see if I can fill you in.

I've been working for an electric and gas company, answering phone calls. It's not a very difficult job, but depending on how big of an asshole each person decides they want to be when they call in - it can be pretty trying. I almost walked out on Friday (dramatic exaggeration, obv) because of how obnoxious people were being to me. Cooould have been the major pms I was undergoing at the time, but I almost cried right at my desk as I put the caller on hold, slammed down my headset and grumbled off towards a supervisor saying something about how stupid the guy was. He basically wanted me to remove charges from his bill because he didn't think he should have to pay it, since it was so high. I told him that it didn't work that way, so he wanted a manager?? I wish that he was the only person I had dealt with like this - but apparently it is not uncommon for people to feel that they are somehow exempt from taking care of their basic adult responsibilities like PAYING THE FRAKKING BILLZ. Whatever. Most of the people (and I mean like 95%) are really nice, so it's not so bad. It's definitely not the kind of "bad" that you take home with you and stew about overnight, so THAT'S awesome. Before, when I've had problems with a job, it's been mostly due to issues that make the actual job more difficult, like having a jerk for a coworker (or boss, even.) Everyone I work with is really great, and none of the douches on the phone can touch us because they don't know us - so it's easy to let it go. It's easy to remember that they're not mad at ME, they're just mad at life, the economy, etc. - but it's still irritating to know that there are people who don't have a problem with taking it out on a stranger.

So as a result of having said job, I have actually been able to pay my OWN bills, which has been a pretty pleasant change from the norm! I haven't yet had any extra money to buy clothes or get my car looked at, what with all of the paying-back-people-who-lent-me-money and buying-stupid-last-minute-crap-for-the-wedding.. but SOON I'll be able to feel human again! It's going to be.... wait for it.... incredibbo.

I also got married two weeks ago! Woo hoo! It was weird and fun, but mostly weird. I'm mostly just glad that it's over. It wasn't a terrible experience, but the whole wedding-planning thing just really wasn't my "style." It was really awkward because we couldn't afford to pay for everything ourselves, so I had to surrender a LOT of control. So the wedding really ended up feeling like it was someone else's, but that's fine with me. I was allowed to be in charge of the invitations, so I was pretty much good to go. And the food was awesome, so that's another plus. We did a Mexican buffet kind of thing, and there was basically a shit load of amazing food. And my aunt brought pineapple sodas! Who can have a bad time if pineapple sodas are involved? No one, that's who. So all in all it was a good day, but we are NEVER doing it again. I like parties, and I love being married (which I can write more about some other time) but now that "wedding" is checked off the list, I feel like we can all breathe a little easier. More easily?

In other amazing news, I did a little upper-lip hair removal last night. Did it burn like the shits? Oh yeah. Was it red for like 3 hours? But of course!

But isn't it amazing to not have a little blonde mustache anymore??? IT IS!! IT REALLY IS!

A little culture, ffs.

Mon, 25 Aug 2008 02:14:18 GMT

I'm trying to convince Zach that we need to go to a film festival next year. His response was "we need to go to the Dallas festival." My response came in the form of vomit pooling in the back of my throat. The point of a film festival is not to be one of the first sets of eyes to view a film that would otherwise take years to be released (like you might think) but to take a g.d. vacation that doesn't revolve around getting drunk and sunburned and shopping - like virtually ALL OTHER vacation ideas. He also suggested SXSW as an alternative, as if hanging out with sweaty teens and watching shitty bands and like 4 movies is my idea of a good time. I prefer my teens clean and odorless, thank you very much.

Wed, 02 Jul 2008 22:57:45 GMT

New Blog:

squirrelscout.blogspot.com

Do you guys have any non-livejournal blogs? I think I'm about thisclose to being done with ol' LJ, for no real good reason. Just tired of it, I suppose??

Five secrets to great skin.

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 22:01:01 GMT

I get this question a lot: "Jessie, how do you have such amazing skin?"

Normally I giggle and say something modest, but I thought that today I might share some of my secrets with the world. Partly to enlighten those without the kind of vision that I possess, and also because I'm bored and I need to be designing wedding invitations. :/

1. Be born with dry skin.
If you have oily skin, I am afraid I can't help you. You are pretty much destined to be a pimple factory. My advice to you is to not over-dry your skin, because it will just freak out and produce even more oil than usual. This applies to people with dry skin as well. Your face is already on the defensive, so drying it out even more than it normally is will just cause it to go into a fit trying to make enough oil to compensate. And don't be afraid to moisturize, even though you are already too greasy to live. Also, drink more water. But hey - this isn't a book on how to fix disgusting skin, so let's move on!

2. Don't get too sweaty.
Getting sweaty means you have to shower. Showering means you have to wash your face. Washing your face can be bad news, sir! I know it's counter-intuitive, but it goes back to what I was saying about over-drying your skin. If you don't have an amazing face wash, then you are almost sure to be doing more harm than good whenever you lather up. And even with a great face wash that seems tailored exactly to your needs, you still run the risk of causing your skin to panic. On days when I encounter the misfortune of sweating, I just rinse my face with water, and rub my hands over it. It won't zap away all of the oil, but it leaves enough left over to retain normal levels. Am I talking out of my ass? Possibly. But don't I have great skin? That's what I thought.

3. Don't touch your face.
I do this all the time. If I touch my face, I alert the cells in that area of some kind of tomfoolery. They think they are being attacked, and so a persistent tingle develops as they go to investigate the area. I am subconsciously drawn to this area again and again throughout the day, and before you know it, I have put enough dirt and oil onto that spot to farm a nice crop of bumps. Also, I touch my face when I'm worried or stressed, and you should probably know that those kinds of things will cause breakouts. So...

4. Don't worry or stress.
I know it seems impossible, but you can pretty much avoid this part of life if you stay indoors. Not only will it grant you a milky white complexion free from harmful pollutants and sun damage, but it will ensure that you aren't bothered by things like road rage, incompetent bosses, and social places like bars - which are great places to go if you like having the ugliest skin in the world. Sure, you will have massive breakouts near the end of every month when you're desperately scrambling to come up with rent money (since having a job is bad for the skin) but it's worth it to look like a china doll. Incidentally, this should NOT to be confused with "Chyna Doll" who is 80% man and has gross skin. But she can afford makeup artists, so I guess it works out. But don't plan on being able to afford a makeup artist to make you look less like Rocky Dennis, because the odds of that happening just aren't in your favor. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you that.

5. Keep an extra ten pounds on you at all times.
It hides wrinkles and your fugly face structure, so that's good. In all seriousness, fat is great for your skin. Maybe not fried-chicken-fat, but flax-seed-fat can give you smooth supple skin and shiny hair. Also, having more fat in your system makes perfume smell better on you. True story! Errr...

You don't have to follow all the rules, and that's fine as long as you like having shitty skin. This is just what I have found to be effective, and if you have a problem with that, just bear in mind that I'm not a fucking doctor so you really shouldn't even be reading this anyway.

Five things that made me smile today:

Fri, 20 Jun 2008 02:31:53 GMT

I am boring!

1. Getting this spam email:
From: CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI
Subject: Looking for a career in criminal justice?

2. Scheduling a job interview for Tuesday.
Might not get the job, and if I do - it's probably not going to be the best job ever, but if I could start getting some money I could stop thinking about selling my stuff - and that would be nice.

3. The smell of strawberry cake.
Unfortunately, I followed this with the delicious taste of strawberry cake, and then some more strawberry cake, and now I feel like puking.

4. Talking about wedding stuff with Carleen.
Now that we both have dates set, it's less creepy!

5. Writing down dates and appointments on my calendar.
I have stuff written on like every weekend! Granted, some of those items are really stupid, but I hate an empty calendar.

Fave Five (Boring!)

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 02:24:04 GMT

I think the "my faves" concept is a bit silly for a cell phone plan, but I like short lists. So here are five excellent illustrators, in no particular order.

Maurice Sendak

Everyone knows Maurice Sendak, whether or not they can link his name to his work. He's probably most popular for Where the Wild Things Are, but he's also the man responsible for In the Night Kitchen, my most treasured banned-book. As a child, I repeatedly checked this book out of the library and pored over its pages, lingering perhaps too long on the pages where Mickey was drawn without his clothes. Sendak is also to thank for Chicken Soup with Rice, another book full of terrific images and poems about soup. Can't be beat.

Mabel Lucie Attwell

Aside from having a really cool name, Mabel Lucie Attwell has a really recognizable style. I didn't grow up a fan of hers - I've only recently put her name to her work - but she's a great inspiration.

Margaret Tempest

I didn't know anything about Margaret Tempest when I bought a poster of her illustrated alphabet, but I'm glad to know now. She has a definite Beatrix Potter feel to her work, but I think that her creations are more human than Potter's.

Anton Pieck

Anton Pieck is an immensely talented illustrator who puts an incredible amount of detail into his drawings. I love looking at images like his and getting lost in the scene. I used to have a real problem with staring too long into detailed illustrations, but I believe it is artists like Pieck who gave me a desire to feed my imagination until it became nice and plump.

Arthur Rackham

Arthur Rackham may be my favorite on this list. He has illustrated nearly all of the "classic" fairy tales, and has such a haunting style that just blows me away. I had trouble choosing one image to best represent this man - and I would have even more trouble choosing a favorite.

Also check out Edward Gorey's The Gashlycrumb Tinies. A child and an untimely death for each letter of the alphabet.

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 17:46:51 GMT

Add this to the list of things I love:

I love when someone is describing the way another person speaks, and they say "You know, he kinda talks like this" and they say that last part in an imitation of the person's voice.

Everyone does it, and I LOVE it!

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 11:10:43 GMT

So I just got this overwhelming urge to sneak into a high school cafeteria for lunch some time in the fall.

Who's with me?

Tumpy Dumpy World

Fri, 16 May 2008 09:18:05 GMT

Summer's here! Now I have to find a job. I really need to practice better judgment when accepting employment, because my last few finds have been real downers.

I got a sweet birthday present from Zach.

I have been using our hand-mixer for years, so the stand mixer is really just an upgrade for the things I was already doing. It's definitely made bread-making a lot easier. The downside is that I have now become an insufferable pizza expert. Homemade crust, homemade sauce, only fresh mozzarella, uncured pepperoni, fresh peppers, and fresh grated parmigiano-reggiano.... num. I love pizza, but nothing comes close to being as good as homemade! And you can NEVER know what I mean until you successfully make your own and see how good it tastes and how good you feel.

Since we've started buying only natural and organic foods, we've pretty much stopped eating at restaurants and have taken a real sense of pride in preparing our own food. I guess we've both always loved cooking, but now it's a bigger deal than it was, since it's pretty much a necessity.

Annie introduced me to Stumble and it's officially been keeping me up even later than before - which is saying an awful lot. I suggest you check it out if you have three million years to devote to the internet.

Hmm... what else. Carleen and I hiked around Lake Ray Roberts last weekend. We kept getting attacked by little black bugs (aliens, possibly?) and ended up with bright red jello thighs. Thanks to sunblock, my face stayed white as a frightened ghost, but I did get a little pink tan on my arms. A few more outings like that and I should have a solid glow the color of cartoon vomit.

We also floated around in a PEDAL boat, which I have been calling PADDLE boats for a while. I know I only recently started calling them that because I never referred to them before I started talking to Carleen about them around a year ago. Either way, it was fun, but we sort of made friends with a creepy old guy who was fishing and kept staring at us through his sunglasses. We thought maybe he was in love with us, but at one point he cast his line dangerously close to our boat and we figured maybe he was just mad that two snowmen were pedaling around in his water. Two snowmen who were eating honey roasted peanuts and giggling like newborns.

When we were tying the boat up after we were done, this couple was bringing their canoes out of the water. They had some pretty nice fishing gear with them, and Carleen suspected that they were on a date. The woman had the man get back into the water with his gear so she could take a few pictures. She said "Let me get one of you holding your rod" and Carleen and I looked at each other with mouths open and eyes bulging out of our heads. I managed to keep from laughing, but Carleen admitted later that she couldn't help herself. Amateur. I am surrounded by amateurs!

All in all - a fun time. I have been having recurring dreams about publishing a children's book and then being on the writing team when they immediately turn it into a movie. I move to LA and eat Pinkberry every day and meet Britney Spears and she teaches me to dance like I just don't care (literally.) That last part isn't part of the dream, but it's just as likely.

Anyway - I'm done here, I guess. Show of hands - who still reads this? It seems like it would be less awkward writing when you think no one's reading - but for me I think it's easier to write when I know that people are going to read what I say. Otherwise I'm just saying stupid stuff that no one will ever see. Which hurts my heart.

Sun, 27 Apr 2008 08:01:12 GMT

It's been a while since I've written. So many boring things have happened since the last time that I don't know where to begin. I had a birthday. That was gross. Being 25 feels so much older than 24 and I'm really starting to wish someone would throw my name in the hat for "What Not to Wear" and let me embarrass myself on TV in exchange for some new clothes and a makeover. WORTH. IT.

My birthday was fun, and a near repeat of my fun birthday from 2 (or was it 3?) years ago. We ate at Oriental Garden and went bowling. Then we went back to Annie's house to play a really frightening game of Charoodles. I was probably the worst player, which was no real surprise because I buckle under pressure like a clothes basket when I'm trying to fit inside of it, but Annie was really good. It might be because she had a fair amount of experience with the game, but I like to think it's because she is a born performer. Because she is. Sorry!

I had more to say but I can't remember it. I've been cleaning all day and baking bread. I am apparently a mom.

One more thing - I have to say that there are few things funnier than finding members of your family on Myspace.

dream wed-ding-dong.

Thu, 27 Mar 2008 10:53:52 GMT

If you want to see Dan in Real Life and you haven't yet, then I suggest you refrain from watching this clip. Otherwise, please watch it and fully understand what I mean when I say "wedding."

Online Videos by Veoh.com

My posts are useless.

Mon, 24 Mar 2008 10:03:58 GMT

We had a Lost marathon the other night and finally got caught up with season 4. I've been putting it off because of how disappointing last season was in my eyes, but this season has made up for it pretty well. There were still a lot of "what the *&#*&$ is going on???" outbursts, and there was plenty of filler (in my expert opinion) but I think that this season so far is better than the previous two. One episode in particular ("The Constant") was really well done and mentally stimulating in a non-frustrating way. I was really happy with it, to say the least (I think I was jumping out of my seat at one point yelling nonsense about how much I looooved the episode and how it made me reconsider my newfound hatred of the show) and the whole time we were watching it, I was reminded of a really great movie that I don't think anyone but me and Zach have seen. It's called Primer, and I'm too tired to give my rambling review of it - but I just have to say that I highly recommend that everyone who reads this (Carleen) go rent it as soon as possible. It is probably the ultimate "indie" movie, filmed in Dallas over a few weeks, and I believe the budget was about $7000 of this guy's own money, and he did everything himself. It's a really smart little dab of film and even though it really needs more than one viewing to be fully appreciated, even after just one go-round it leaves such an impression that I still think about it from time to time. In fact, I don't think I could be friends with anyone who didn't like this movie, it is that important to me. So. If you don't like intelligent movies that challenge your perception of reality, you may not want to see it. Because if you don't like it, then I'm afraid that it's the end of the line for our friendship. Sorry! But who would want to remain friends with someone who was willing to cease communication over a movie? I mean really you would be coming out on top either way.

So anyway. Go watch Primer. I love it, and you will too.

Wed, 12 Mar 2008 13:42:25 GMT

I love movies, but I don't spend a lot of money on actually buying them. Our blockbuster account gets us in the store about a zillion times a month, and where we used to buy one or two movies a month - we now pay the same amount to rent 500 times that. Occasionally I do make exceptions. Recently I bought all three Spiderman movies for some reason. More recently, I bought the Office (UK) and Extras. The Office is a more perfect show, in my opinion, but I'll be fucked if Extras doesn't make me lol like it's about to be banned and I'll never have another chance to lol again.

And I don't really think it's fair to compare the UK and US versions of The Office. I think they're two completely different shows, and even though in the beginning of the US version, they used a lot of the bits from the original, it's gone in such a different direction and had more time to become more of an ensemble comedy, developing the other characters more and focusing less on the "Tim/Dawn Jim/Pam" "Boss is an incompetent retard - I'm not sure how he wrangled this job" things. I won't list all the ways in which the versions are separate but equal but I will say that I don't think I could pick a favorite. I love how the UK version made me feel when it was all over - but I love getting to know more about Dwight and Angela and Andy and Michael and Kelly and blah blah blah. There isn't enough time in the original to care too much about ... well Keith is the only one whose name I know. And Gareth - but I feel like I know more about him than I ever wanted to. And I'll be honest - Tim > Jim. Not just because I have a giant crush on Martin Freeman for no good reason, but because Jim is too smug. Sorry!

Anyway - I didn't mean to turn this post into a sleepy review of my favorite shows - but it looks like I've done it anyway.

My birthday is coming up (April 8) so I guess it's time for a dream wish-list.

I'll just start right out with this one. Tim Canterbury. He dreams big but he's afraid to step outside of his world and start over. He would encourage me to never give up on my own dreams and he would be in love with me for years, even though it seemed like a bad idea. We'd share a load of laughs and a million inside jokes and I would never be able to tell when he was kidding.
For those of you not keeping up - I've just described Zach.

This is Donald Trump's baby. No, I don't want to have Donald Trump's baby - BUT I do want to have a cute-as-shit little mop-topped nearly-ginger hobbit/elf son in sophisticated clothing. And oh man - his little overbite makes me want to clone him immediately and get started raising him STAT. Why??? What is wrong with me???

A baby fox. I don't need to be able to keep it (wouldn't want it sneaking all of my eggs and disemboweling my cats or anything) I just want someone to arrange a meeting between me and a baby fox. I don't care what we do on our date - we can just lay in sleeping bags on the floor and watch Spiderman 2 (my favorite) and eat popcorn and drink kool-aid and try to out-toot each other.

I wish for steady work for all of the lesser-Baldwins. I know that seems pretty selfless of me, but it's really not. I would just sleep better at night if I knew that Alec's brothers weren't hurting for cash. :/

I'd like it if Bryce Dallas Howard could be pregnant all of the time. Carleen and Zach have each tried to convince me that she's a good actress - but they are obviously both drunk and a little dumb. She's just plain bad and I won't hear another word of it. BUT as a preggo chubbers she is strangely adorable to me, and I can almost forget that she showed her snatch to the world in Manderlay (in a scene that definitely could have existed without it.)

I don't care how you do it - or what you have to do in order to arrange it - but get me to Hogwarts. I can take it from there, it's just I'll need some help finding the place.

Ok that's all for now. Have a nice morning, I'll be sleeping.

I get pretty political in an election year.

Thu, 14 Feb 2008 07:16:41 GMT

I like talking about politics with my friends. Lauren was about to say something smart about the democratic presidential candidates, and Carleen and I interrupted her with the following dialogue.

Lauren: Well I'll take Barack over Hillary b--

Me: Oh me too. Hillary has a bigger mustache than Barack.

Carleen: Hillary has a bigger DICK than Barack.

Me: But Barack's like the ULTIMATE sleeper cell.

Me: He'll be president and then blow the world up.

Me: THESE ARE EXCITING TIMES!

Carleen: We're lucky to be a part of it!

Lauren: (Caressing leg) We should thank our bodies for letting us be a part of it.

Jessie: (Caressing Lauren's leg) We should thank Lauren's body for letting us be a part of it.

Carleen: (Caressing Lauren's leg and clearly regretting it) We should thank Lauren's body for letting us be a part of it.

Some quotes have been changed because I don't remember the exact conversation. All I know is that, like always, I said the bulk of the stupid stuff.

A New You : Plastic Surgery & the Lonely Housewife

Sat, 09 Feb 2008 11:15:02 GMT

While the positive aspects of cosmetic surgery may outweigh the risks, one should consider both sides of the spectrum.

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This entry is all about percentages.

Wed, 06 Feb 2008 19:53:36 GMT

It's funny what you can do with a little determination.

I mean, I make my body do some things that it doesn't really want to do, but in the end it surrenders to my mega will power. Like two guys at once. You think my body wants to do that? No way, man. But I have a reputation to uphold, and I don't want people thinking that I'm all talk and no action - you know what I mean? Yeah, you know what I mean. You slut. You disgusting pig whore.

Anyway, I didn't sleep last night, and I'm making myself stay up until bedtime tonight so that I can get up early tomorrow and not sleep through the day like the catatonic fatass I've become. With my sweet new schedge of online classes and joblessness, I stay up until anywhere between 4 and 7 in the morning, and sleep until the sun goes down. Or later. Truthfully, I'm not sure how much time I actually spend sleeping, and how much of that time is wasted waking up suddenly and freaking out over a large truck driving by that sounds like something that I am 95% convinced is signaling the end of the world. I guess I know why I'm so tense all the time. It's because I'm 95% sure that my house is going to be bombed when I'm in bed, half asleep and wearing only half of the clothes I was wearing when I got into bed. Y'see, I like to climb into bed wearing about 50% more clothes than I need, so that when I wake up sweating, I can remove my parka and feel so relieved that I pass out from happiness. THAT'S a good feeling, and worth the trouble of finding a nice parka that matches my polar bear pj pants. But you can do the same thing with socks.

Back to my sweet schedge. I stay up late doing homework, which takes FOREVER to do - which is a lot longer than 45 seconds, which is how long I assumed it would take to do online schoolwork. I know, I know. My bad. But at least I'm DOING my schoolwork. Lay off, grandpa.

Anyway, for those of you wondering - this is as drunk as I get. I keep laughing really hard in my head, but my face only looks mildly pleased and my eyes don't really focus on anything. What am I laughing at? I don't even know. Maybe the word is less "drunk" and more "completely fucking stupid." I don't know! That's the beauty of it!

But I DO know what I want for my birthday! Are you ready? Wait for it... waaait for iiiit...

Malt Shop Memories!!!
It's a collection of ten cd's full of pointy-boob shaking tunes from the good old days that I never experienced but have heard a lot about.. from nobody, personally.

Buy it here for your convenience and my complete delight!

I know that you are too rude to click on that link, but you really should. This is the best collection of songs EVER and I watched a good 28% of a 30 minute infomercial about this product - so TRUST ME when I say that it is GOOD STUFF. Actually, fuck you. Don't trust me. I wash my hands of this conversation.

Speaking of birthday, I still haven't had my party from last year. My new birthday is coming up, and truth be told, I'm not really ready for it. I'm starting to get to the point where I feel like lying about my age - only I do it subconsciously, so it's not so bad. I just find myself saying "Umm... 22??" whenever people ask me my age, and I'm starting to feel really guilty about it. But in my defense, I'm also getting to the age where people stop asking me how old I am. So I really DO have to think about it when the occasion arises. I think I'm just secretly bummed about turning 25 and not having shit to show about fuck. Man I love posting while sleepy. It's like I can say whatever I want and it'll be so dumb that I never have to worry about anyone reading all the way through it and then hating me as a result.

Is the writers strike nearing an end?

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 02:10:36 GMT