Wednesday, August 31
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Wednesday, August 3
Monday, August 1
M is for Monstah
As in the Green Monster, baby. Which is where I was tonight for the Sox's win over the D-Rays. It was glorious! I mean, it always rocks to be at Fenway. Always. But you have no idea the joy that is standing atop the Green Monster and surveying all that lies beneath you. That, and watching Millar hit not one, but two homers right at us. Did I mention it was glorious, fabulous, and all other things wondrous and amazing?
Katie and Jamie, as usual, were responsible for hooking me up with the sweet tickets, and Leigh and Greg were along for the ride, as well. And let me tell you, when you're with the right group of people, standing room only is better than having seats. To commemorate my first time on that big green beauty, today's blog is: The Call of the Green Monster. (Oh, c'mon, did you really think you were going to get 100 blogs without at least one of them being about the Sox?)
Sure, you're thinking I picked this blog because the name was too perfect, too right, and far too fitting not to use it. And you are so, so right. But I also picked it because of headlines like, "Schilling Says Pepsi Ad Proves ARod is a Weasel," which, if you've seen that ad, is so fucking true. Or because he calls it like I see it with "With Palmeiro Caught, Giambi Eases Up on Rejuvenated Steroid Use." Or my personal favorite (and no longer true after tonight): "Despite Myriad Hair Styles and Colors, Beards and Mustaches, Kevin Millar Still Has Four Homeruns." Ahh, Millah, I love ya, baby.
posted @ 7:45 PM |
On the eighth day, she rested
People, don't fear: There is no rest for the blogger. Would I leave you without your blog of the day? Hell, no. Today's blog is Watch Out for Falling Debris. And one look at that page should tell you why: Anyone who uses the phrase "bygones" is immediately a winner in my book. And isn't that what it's all about, people? Winning? No, wait, it's all about cursing. Fuckyeah.
Seriously, though, I picked it because of paragraphs like this: "Sunday was a day of blissful catatonia for everyone. Even the typical, chronically agit street demonstrator, who make an uneasy living raising heck, hell and an armed militia over something as trivial as a stray grammatical error, stayed home, focusing their hostile energies on afternoon showbiz talk shows instead. Such was Sunday for everyone, except mine." Funny, yet deeply, deeply strange. I dig it.
posted @ 6:51 PM |
Life is a highway
Do you think the idiots who can't stay inside their lanes whilst driving are the same people who, as children, couldn't color inside the lines? Because I really don't know what to do with these drivers; I don't know how we can make it any easier on them than drawing lines on the road. And sometimes, when the road-makers want to be super emphatic, they draw two lines and paint them yellow, which means: Don't cross this, jackass, because if you do, I'm allowed to hit you.
posted @ 7:23 AM |
Comically speaking
It seems strange to pick a new blog to read whilst a good portion of the country is being battered by some bitch named Katrina. (Seriously, that name has "ominous portent" written all over it, people.) A good friend of mine has been called away to help deal with the aftermath of the storm, and that's just a little on the freaky side as well. I thought about picking a blog covering the storm, like Brendan or CNN's Miles O'Brien, but in the end, I'm going with distraction. Today's blog is A Strip a Day.
Maybe I picked it because it reminds me of the Soxaholix and its ghetto-fabulous strips. Maybe I picked it because it mocks Freud, and that is always a good time. In the end, though, I picked it because it made me laugh, and that's sorely needed right about ... always.
posted @ 12:43 PM |
Fashion victim
For some reason, drinking sangria, mimosas, bloody Marys, and assorted other brunch-time beverages at Jen's big birthday bash and hanging out with the girls made picking today's blog so much easier. It was all so Sex in the City that Las Fashionistas had to be the blog of the day.
Why, you ask? Because it's my party now, bitches, and I'll blog what I want to. Because they are the "Lewis and Clark of keeping it real." Also, because they are funny, and they oh-so-rightly told Nicole Richie to eat a burger. They also have exquisite taste, and by that I mean, they like what I like: Jason Lee, the Gilmore Girls, and mocking yet worshipping our celebrity-based culture. Also, they hate the shrug, and I support that. (Plus, I need all the damn tips I can get.)
posted @ 4:05 PM |
Can't turn back now
For day five's glorious new blog, I hath chosen Pamie: Pop Culture Princess.
You're probably thinking, "Didn't she claim she was going to be expanding her horizons? Doesn't that mean not seeking out people she feels a kinship with? A chick who writes, and listens to the soundtrack from Some Kind of Wonderful, and composes long, rambling posts about fear of spiders and shit -- who does that remind you of?" Shut up, bitch. Dan posts there, too, and he's a man. So totally different from me.
posted @ 10:16 AM |
Pudding and pie
Leigh and I were browsing at Borders this afternoon, and I noticed that the second season of the O.C. was out. Leigh, tragically, has never watched the O.C. I admitted that it was your average teen-drama trash, but I love Adam Brody, "because you know how I like funny, goofy guys." To which Leigh replied, "Yeah, but I don't know if these guys are, you know, tough enough for you." I was all, "What? They don't have to be all hardened and shit, they just can't be pussies." To which she said, "See, that's my point. I'm afraid you'll call him a pussy, and then he'll cry."
That's right, folks. Leigh's afraid I'm going to make the boys cry. Reason #812 why I'm single.
posted @ 8:17 PM |
I don't feel any older
Yet another day has gone by, my friends, and that means it's day four of 100 days, 100 blogs, which means that I'm going to meander my ass over to another fine new site: The Swashbookler.
You may be thinking I picked this site because I'm a total book nerd who reads George Eliot for fun. Or maybe I picked it because we all know how much I love the Facts of Life, and I respect anyone who knows the details of Lisa Whelchel's sordid life. But, fuck man, I just liked the title. Though I almost ditched this site for writing, "Never trust someone from Boston." We're totally trustworthy! As long as you're not from New York. Then you better run, and you better hide, because we are going to do whatever is necessary to bring you and all your kind down. (Unless you're a Mets fan, and then maybe you're okay. Maybe.)
posted @ 8:04 AM |
Day 3, or don't you think it's a little early to be out of titles?
Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but it's day three of 100 blogs, and I'm sticking to my regime! If this were a diet, I would have lost five pounds by now. Bygones. Blog 3 is Number 4 of 5.
Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I deliberately made this blog 3 so that it would fall 3, 4, 5, which isn't unreasonable considering my jones for order. You may also be thinking I only picked this blog because the title reminds me of Seven of Nine, and she was fucking smoking, and who wouldn't want to be reminded of her? As usual, you're right. You may also think that I chose this site because its author is a Sox fan. Again, you're right, you're right, I know you're right, what the hell can I say? I love my boys. But honestly, she's funny and, apparently, competitive as hell: "I even sent out an email to the whole staff yesterday telling them that if they did not bring sneakers to play in they could not have any beer. They all knew that I was not kidding. For weeks I have been talking smack about how our team was going to destroy the rest of the company. I even went so far as to tell my staff that if they did not 'Bring it' today they might as well not show up for work in Tuesday."
I'd read her site if I were you. Things could get ugly if you don't. Plus, she might withhold beer, and nobody wants that.
posted @ 12:26 PM |
Just like family
I don't know what the Tylenol PM was doing to me last night, but I had a dream wherein I could not name all seven of the Seven Sisters. I, of course, did not remember this dream until I read the Rogue Slayer's post on the most GLBT-friendly schools, and she wrote "Go Seven Sisters!" My inability to name all seven was driving me nuts in the dream (I pride myself on my extensive knowledge of women's college trivia). I remembered things like, "But Vassar went co-ed (traitors)" and "Radcliffe isn't really a school anymore," but I could not name the seventh school. I think I was forgetting Bryn Mawr. I always forget Bryn Mawr.
posted @ 6:16 AM |
It's the loneliest number since the number one
It's day two in 100 blogs, 100 days land, and I'm already tired. Y'all have sent me so many good blogs to read I may have to finally bow down to this whole newfangled aggregator idea. Picking a blog is getting increasingly harder, but luckily, I've got 98 more blogs to go after today's site: Pencil Revolution.
Now, you may be thinking I picked this blog because it was recommended twice, and I bow easily to peer pressure. You may be right. Just ask my drinking buddies from high school college. You may also think that I picked this site because I have a weird obsession with the Dixon Ticonderoga pencil. You are an astute reader of human behavior, my friend. Bygones. I picked this site because it's about goddamned time for a revolution in wood and graphite, people. Also, because I liked the phrase "wooden wisdom." (Get your mind out of the gutter! You're crowding me.) Really, I just like the guys over at PRevo digging up the dirt for me -- from pencil-tip sculptures to Hemingway quotes.
Why pencils? "The first and best reason to use pencils is because you like them and enjoy writing/drawing with them. Because you feel better connected to the paper you're writing on (or the wall, etc.) and the earth from which the clay, the graphite and the wood all came. Because they smell good. Because sharpening them can be a sort of meditative process. Because you can chew on them. Or for reasons we can't explain." And you know how I feel about the inexplicable.
posted @ 9:13 AM |
Open invitation
Dearest Mark,
It's me, Jen Garrett. We had a moment at last October's parade. I'm sure you remember it. It may have been the last time you actually smiled. Some people think your lack of facial expression stems from your naturally chill nature (or a lot of weed), but I know that it's because you're shy. I'm glad you could overcome that with me. Or at least that a grown woman screaming "Bellhorn! Bellhorn!" didn't scare you senseless.
Now that you've got some time on your hands, may I suggest that you spend it with me? We could do lots of fun things together, and I promise to pepper the conversation with things like, "Wow, this really reminds me of the time you hit the game-winning home run in the World Series." Or, "You know, I think strikeouts are incredibly sexy." As well as, "My, what a big ring you have."
Yours,
Jen
posted @ 9:19 AM |
Let's get it started
[Sidebar: I can't decide if I need a format for my 100 blogs posts -- I mean, I love rules and shit. Sure, I'm not writing a villanelle, but a little structure never hurt anyone. I'm going to freehand it for now, but we'll see what develops. Also, keep suggesting. One hundred blogs is more than you think.]
Our first trip down Blog Alley brings us to The Complex Mind by Mr. Ortiz. Now, sure, you may be thinking, "She just picked that site because she loves Señor Octubre and she will do anything to bring everything back around to the Red Sox." Well, you may have a point there. Bygones. You may also be thinking, "She picked that site because she has a freakish obsession with Austin, a place she's never visited in her life." Also a valid point.
But the truth is, the man's got something going on over there: "The internet can be likened to space, can't it? The internet is a huge place. Each website is like a planet, waiting to be explored. Some planets are uninhabitable ... but others are capable of sustaining life, flourishing life, like this blog. While there are other blogs out there that might be interesting, and others that are only meant to take up space, there are some that you can definitely relate to." All I'm saying is, I can relate. Can you dig? (Also, I love a man with road rage.)
posted @ 4:58 AM |
I charge thee, fling away ambition
Seriously, reading Stone's book is getting me all high on blogging again. To that end, I've decided to try a new project: 100 blogs in 100 days. I want to read a new blog every day, but I'm going to need some help. (Because, no, I do not have enough time to surf for that many quality blogs.) So, suggest away! Suggest yourself! Your friends! Your enemies! Your countrymen! Whatever. Just don't suggest anyone on my blogroll already or ridiculously famous blogs like Dooce or Instapundit. I'm trying to broaden my horizons, so I'll go to blogs that may not immediately scream JenGarrett -- but I'm not going anywhere that promotes any kind of love for the Yankees. There has to be a line somewhere, people.
I aim to post about the blog of the day every day (though I make no promise that I will not come home tipsy at midnight and cheat and change the time of my post to make it onto the previous day). I do, however, promise to continue posting random crap about my life, the Red Sox, and the ass clown who cut me off in traffic this morning.
posted @ 10:18 AM |
Weekend snapshots
The last weekends of summer are flying by (no doubt helped by copious amounts of liquor and hanging out with my friends). I'm always a little sad at this point in the season, like I haven't done enough, haven't enjoyed my summer enough. The truth is, this year, I haven't. There was a lot to do -- work was kind of crazy and my little sister got married -- so there really was no time for vacation. I snuck away for a few days here and there, but I haven't been able to string together any serious down time. This weekend, however, I got to laze away some serious time on my porch. I finally finished reading Chronicles yesterday -- and then I promptly took a nap in the sun. I watched Ada, Leigh's wee dog, and Sam, too (Jen's slightly less wee dog). I chilled again on the back porch today and did some serious damage to Stone's book. (I had to laugh out loud when I read a quote from myself. I'd forgotten I'd even said that.)That said, general sports anxiety is what has given me a little more free time. The Sox are currently in first, which is just freaking me out. Plus, I'm a little pissed that they let go of the Bell. I'm just taking a little space between me and my boys, you know, some time to heal. (That doesn't keep me from being delighted with the t-shirt Jen brought me back from her weekend in P-town.) The WNBA play-off race is in full force, and I can't handle it. (I want the Mystics in, and the Shock out. I want Minnesota in, and the Sparks out. Everything else, I don't care.) Tonight is the series finale of Six Feet Under, and I don't know how I'm going to handle it. Really, when did TV become so stressful?
And when did it become so hot that I have to wear pigtails?
posted @ 5:14 PM |
Eat, drink, and be merry
I went to Salsa's last night with Jamie and Katie, and ohmygod, it was good. And I'm not just saying that because Jamie and I polished off two carafes of amazing sangria. We started with the tinga fingers, which were heaven, and then I moved into serious overeating mode with my steak chimichanga. Whoa. Whoever decided that rolling up meat and cheese in a tortilla and then deep frying it was a good idea needs to be canonized. It was seriously good times, people. Expect a little bit of a wait because it's a tiny place, but it's so worth it.
posted @ 10:01 AM |
Hit me, baby, one more time
Not that I'm counting or anything, but I am dangerously close to reaching 100,000 hits. I'm kind of ... proud, or something. I was reading Stone's book over lunch today, and it struck me that I'm still totally fascinated by this whole blogging schmiel. I mean, really, what the fuck?
posted @ 10:16 AM |
Nor shall ye fiddle with my crumpets
I've decided that "Don't mess with my cake" is my new favorite phrase. When Boomer said, "The guy's messing with my cake" (referring to Manny before the trade deadline), it really stuck with me. (Plus, that is a man who knows a thing or two about cake, and I would not mess with his if I were you.) What solidified my love of this phrase was listening to Ben Folds's "Kate" last night, because I kept hearing "cake." And, dude, I want to be cake, too.
posted @ 8:55 AM |
Girl, you'll be a woman soon
A rousing happy birthday to my web site, which has been sucking my free time and creative energy for four long years now.
You've come a long way, baby.
posted @ 5:58 AM |
When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible
Today, Summer and I were bemoaning the fate of the romantic comedy; we also noticed how sex has gone the way of the dinosaur in such movies. Nowadays, it seems like we're lucky if we get a kiss at the end. (Sure, there's no end to random sex in action movies, but a good romantic shag just seems awfully hard to come by currently. Cinematically, I mean.) I had to admit I was looking forward to Just Like Heaven, but only because Mark Ruffalo is the thinking woman's mega-hottie. (He's also probably the non-thinking woman's mega-hottie, but I suspect she doesn't read my site much.) But, I worry that the presence of Reese Witherspoon, much like Andie MacDowell and Ione Skye before her, will ruin the potential of the flick.
In fact, the quality of romantic comedy as a genre has gone down dramatically, if you ask me. I mean, if you count When Harry Met Sally as the all-time winner (and we do), then which of today's movies even come close to that standard? The Prince and Me? Hitch? I don't think so, people. A good romantic comedy requires both romance (which includes some understanding of why in the hell these two people would ever get together) and comedy (which requires that I laugh). Summer and I tried to compile a list of the top 10 romantic comedies of the last 10 years (1995-2005), and it was hard going, people.
1. While You Were Sleeping. Sandra Bullock took over for Meg Ryan for awhile there, y'know?
2. Bridget Jones's Diary. Almost any retelling of P&P is a good thing. Plus, Colin Firth.
3. Love Actually. Plus, Hugh Grant. (Do ensemble romantic comedies count? I say yes.)
4. The Tao of Steve. I have to get my indie cred in somehow. Plus, unbelievably fucking funny movie.
5. High Fidelity. John Cusack is the master of tortured love. Plus, my god, he's a tall drink of water.
6. French Kiss. Meg Ryan was still Meg Ryan in 1995.
7. Jerry Maguire. Before it was ruined by a bunch of idiots saying, "You complete me," this was actually a funny movie about love and shit.
8. 13 Going on 30. Heavy on the cute, but whoa! Did I mention Mark Ruffalo?
9. The Truth About Cats & Dogs. See aforementioned part about the need for an actual love story. Whatever happened to Ben Chaplin?
10. You've Got Mail. Meg Ryan is the new Meg Ryan.
(For the purpose of this list, I eliminated teen romantic comedies as a subgenre that was too confusing, though Clueless and 10 Things I Hate About You are tops. I also had to go with my gut on some movies. For instance, was Garden State a romantic comedy? Kind of, but ultimately, I felt no.)
posted @ 3:30 PM |
I love a rainy night
I decided to skip out for a run tonight (just after the Mystics almost came back against the Sun), while it was relatively cool and not raining. Foolishly, I thought I had enough time between storms to get in a run. Um, no, I did not. Jen and Sam accompanied me so I didn't have to feel so skeeved out about running around the pond late in the day, and I made it almost all the way to the end of my run before it started to rain. At first, it was kind of invigorating (and cooling). And then I just felt hardcore, which helped me get through the last leg of my run. And then, whilst Jen and I were walking home, it started to rain in earnest. I mean, really fucking rain, people. And at first we were blasé, like, oh, we can't get any wetter, right? Wrong. You can in fact get more wet. By the time we got home, my capri running pants were dragging to my ankles with the weight of water, and Sam looked like an otter. And Jen and I could not stop hysterically laughing.
As we dripped all over the hallway, Jen asked me if I wanted to take a shower first, and all I could say was, "I'm tired of water right now."
posted @ 4:41 PM |
Recipe for disaster
Take one extremely hot day, add one heat-intolerent Jen, blend with ice and margaritas, and then finish with several hours of Dawson's Creek on DVD.
Seriously, I should have just gone to the mall.
posted @ 2:27 PM |
I want a house on the beach and you in my dreams
Okay, I don't really need the house on the beach. (Nothing but trouble anyway, worrying about erosion and hurricanes and shit. Who needs that?) I'm ready to officially declare this the summer of the wedding. I've been to three so far and there's another one on the horizon that I'm trying to fit in. And today I went to see Wedding Crashers, and damn if that isn't crap. Does anyone actually meet someone at a wedding? There was, like, one other single person at each of the weddings I've been to this summer. (Though the premise that chicks want to hook up after a wedding is totally dead on.) Nonetheless, I haven't laughed that hard in a really, really long time. Normally, I'm not a huge fan of Owen Wilson. (That nose freaks me out, and I think we all know what it reminds me of.) I liked Vince Vaughn in Swingers, but after that he sold out and was the crap. But both stars were on their game this time, and I have to admit, I was seriously contorted with laughter at several points. I have to agree with the Sports Guy that the first half was the best part, but I enjoyed the whole thing. A perfect escape from the heat -- and from my wedding-packed summer.
posted @ 3:54 PM |
My old addiction
I know it's wrong, but I can't stop myself. I keep watching Dawson's Creek, and all I want to know is, by god, where is my Pacey?
posted @ 5:43 AM |
The long and short of it
I've been growing my hair out for awhile now, but, somehow, it still feels new. Today, I'm wearing a shirt with a low back, and the swing of hair against skin surprised me. I've had long hair most of my life, so cutting it all off after college was something of a bold move. I felt no remorse; I didn't cry; I didn't keep a locket of the hair. I was ... free. Unrestricted. Exposed (but in a good way). After a few years of (let's face it) butch hair, I didn't like it anymore. I missed my hair, I missed me. So I began the torturous experience of growing it out, and now it rests just below my shoulders, the perfect ponytail length, long enough to fall over my eyes, long enough to hide behind, or not.
There are days now when I miss the time when I wasn't me -- when I could feel the shape of my skull in my hands, when I was as blunt as my hair. I had no disguise then.
posted @ 2:23 PM |
I can't help myself
I don't care that Keira Knightly is all wrong. Or that they may take a few liberties with a beloved book. Or even that Colin Firth will always be the part. Because Matthew MacFadyen is hot. And he plays tortured (literally) so well. I simply must see this. Is it September yet?
posted @ 12:31 PM |
Qualifications
I'm cute, I like to make out, and I'm a writer. What more do you need?
posted @ 10:08 AM |
Even in dreams, I cannot hide
Last night, I dreamt I was playing online poker with Wil Wheaton. Which is interesting, because I don't know how to play poker. And, then, for some reason, I dreamt about paucity. Yes, that's right, I dreamt about a word. My life has reached a level of lameness heretofore thought unreachable. Let's just remember the good times, like a few weeks ago when I had that awesome sex dream about Matt Damon, okay?
posted @ 11:06 AM |
No, no, tell me what you really think
For most of my life, I've considered myself a shy person. I think this was actually true when I was younger, but at some point, when I wasn't looking, it changed. Not many people who know me now will accuse me of holding back (unless we're talking about emotional intimacy in a relationship, but I don't think we are, do you?). I'm known as being somewhat blunt, but I consider it a good trait. I'm reading Marie Claire tonight (shut up, I got it for free), and there is an article on actually telling the truth, straight up. No matter how direct I am, I don't usually come right out with things in a social situation: No, no, it's not out of my way to pick you up. Sure, I want to do X. No, you're not bothering me, you incredibly loud and obnoxious fuck.
I think running may actually be removing whatever small amount of tact I had left. While running around the pond this afternoon, I finally had enough of the idiots that walk, bike, run, and other wise fuck with my shit. First, it was the group of four women who decided that they could, in fact, take up the entire path, despite the fact that it was heavily trafficked and they were blocking everyone. Then, I come upon a pair of bikers who are pulled over to one side of the path, so I start to run on the other side. Then they decide to start moving again and cut back across to where I now am. At which point, I just have to say, "Pick a fucking side already." I didn't even bring up the fact that they weren't on the fucking bike path, so I think they go off lucky.
posted @ 4:37 PM |
Rockin' the suburbs
I went to see the Odd Men Out concert at the Pavilion last night, and it was so fucking good. I haven't been to a concert in ages (because I'm old), but I clearly need to go more often. Ben Lee opened, and I will be buying a CD. He sounded kind of like Bob Dylan, and I think we all know how I feel about Bob. Also, he was funny, and I totally dig that in a man. I was really there to see Ben Folds rock it out, and I was not disappointed. He claimed to be sick, but you couldn't tell from his performance. He had a stool to sit on at the piano, but I don't know why. He never sat down. (At one point, he may have thrown the stool at the piano, so maybe that's why it was there.) He played Bitches Ain't Shit, but, you know, in a sad and melancholy way. It was hysterical. Almost as funny as the discovery that, nowadays, kids hold up their lit cell-phone screens instead of lighters. I almost died. More importantly, he played my two favorite songs (Gone and Landed), and I got to hang out with the friend who introduced me to Ben in the first place.
Rufus Wainwright ended the evening, and all I can say is, dude is pretty. I have mixed feelings about his music -- mainly, it just made me sleepy, but that may have been because it was the end of the night. And, like I said, I'm old.
posted @ 9:09 AM |
Unique just like everyone else
Supafine tried to uncover her five idiosyncrasies with minimal success, which got me wondering if I could do any better.
1. Before I open a can of soda, I have to flick the top three times with my fingernail.
2. I can't fall asleep unless at least some part of one of my feet is outside the covers. Even in winter.
3. I'm so paranoid about being late that I'm almost always early. Way too early.
4. I like to arrange things by color. I group shirts by color family in my closet, and the first thing I do when I get a box of crayons (markers, colored pencils, etc.) is to arrange them all in rainbow order.
5. I have to arrange my CDs in alphabetical order by artist, and then by year of release. And yes, I notice when someone puts one back in the wrong spot.
Hmm, I'm sensing a little OCD here, Jen Garrett. So, what's wrong with you? C'mon, fess up, I need to feel better about my own weirdness.
posted @ 10:27 AM |
Life's like an hourglass glued to the table
After some clever detective work and a few threatening e-mails, I finally got to meet up with Stone last night while he was in the Boston way. As expected, there were drinks, laughter, and good times. (At least, the other bar patrons looked like they were having a good time.) Biz and I had serious matters to discuss, including but not limited to: the last two years, blogging, podcasting, whether or not Google is planning on taking over the world with a series of miniature robots, and The Future. I may or may not have giggled like an idiot, but I did get out of there without lighting anything on fire, so, all in all, a good evening. Now I just need to travel to San Fran so we can do it all over again.
Oh, yeah, and we talked about how I should just suck it up and make the switch to Firefox. Dude, pages actually render in the Fox. Who knew?
posted @ 9:37 AM |
The most boringest post in the world
But this is just a tribute! Writer's question of the day: What is the most boring topic in the world? (And if you reply "Jen Garrett's life," I will smack you. If, however, you make a legitimate reply, I may pick up the writer's challenge and attempt to write something interesting about the most boring topic in the world.)
posted @ 1:50 PM |
Out of touch
Yesterday, I took the day off to help my mom celebrate her birthday. I figured I'd do a little work from home in the morning before the fun got started. And then I woke up to a dead phone. Normally, I don't use the phone much -- let's face it, I don't really like talking to people. So, no phone, no problem. Except for one teensy little thing: dial-up. Dammit, I'm still old school and beat, and I get my internet the hard way. I wasn't able to check my e-mail or the internet all day yesterday. It was freaky. I didn't know what was going on. What if friends were trying to get in touch with me? What if there were a major disaster and I didn't know it? What if they traded Dawn Staley?! Yeah, that's right, I'm out of a it for a little while and they get delusions of grandeur. You don't trade Dawn Staley! She's, she's -- well, she's Dawn f-ing Staley. It just doesn't get any better than that.
At least the Comets beat the Shock. And the Sox brought home another win.
posted @ 5:57 AM |
Just like a mission from god, except different
Today, I went shopping for an outfit to wear to a friend's wedding. Taking place this weekend. Okay, so I know I put it off until the last minute, okay? I hate shopping. It was an amazing shopping trip, though: I found my outfit at the second store I went to. That never happens to me. Never. I should have known it was too good to last, because trying to find shoes to match the outfit was a nightmare. When the hell did finding a pair of brown shoes become the search for the Holy Grail? All I needed was a semi-dressy, flirty pair of brown shoes/sandals. (And I said brown, and by that I do not mean camel or tan.) Leigh and I scoured every store, including but not limited to DSW shoe warehouse, where they did have a pair of blue leopard-print shoes, but nothing suitable for my needs. I finally found a pair of sandals at Target of all places, and even they don't exactly match, but I was tired and they were cheap. And, ultimately, cute, which is all that matters.
posted @ 8:13 PM |