it's called "a child".

i mean, do i cross them in front of me? or do i just let them hang at my side? or do i lay them in my lap?

and what do i do with my legs?!?! do i cross them? like at the knees? or the ankles? or maybe i should just stand?

and where am i supposed to be looking? i shouldn't be staring should i? and just what constitutes staring? how many seconds before it's weird?

oh! i know! i'll just stand here looking at the ground with my ankles crossed and my arms dangling like noodles at my side.

damn i'm hot.

---

p.s. i really am 30 years old, you know. really... no, honest!

i can never seem to run into the hot british guy who lives in my building. unless. i am doing laundry. while wearing my jammies. and no make-up. and i haven't brushed my hair yet.

oh yay!

so, i'm standing there in the elevator and he says something british-y to me, and i scream "i clean up good!".

ok, no i didn't. but i thought about saying it.

and when the door closed after he got off the elevator, i muttered something to the effect of "you WILL be mine, hot british boy!"

but, i didn't say it like a psycho. i said it like they say it in cheesy movie-of-the-weeks... and it seems to work for them!

*crossing fingers*

ps. note my newfangled ego stroking machine.

---

today jamie wrote in my guestbook. and i thought she said i was generic CRAP. and i thought, "she's MEAN!"

but then i learned how to read, and i realized she said i was generic CRACK. and then i thought, "she's SMART!".

unfortunately, though, i look like i've had a stroke.

but, as is status quo with me and the hot british guy in my building, i saw him on the elevator.

"don't smile at me," i thought. and i concentrated real hard so i could send this message via telepathy to the hot british guy. "don't smile at me, don't smile at me, don't smile at me... arrrrg! you smiled at me... must! not! smile ... oh, great. i smiled. now, i look like a 'tard."

so, let us review the states in which the hot british guy has seen me:

• in jammies, no makeup, large mass of messy hair.
• in sweatpants, no makeup, large mass of messy hair.
• grown-up clothes, makeup, straight shiny hair, facial paralysis.

grandpa and i will meet wednesday for lunch... or ensure. or gumming soft foods. or whatever it is old people eat for lunch.

macaroni & cheese perhaps?

anyway, i'm nervous and all. but don't tell grandpa! because the prospect of me being nervous may cause a coronary embolism in gramps... and then what am i going to do for lunch on wednesday?

not only do they cause strange men to grab my ass in a furvor of terror horniness in the days following september 11th, but they make for easy fall-age when i wear these big ugly chunky shoes:

stupid cute pants!

---

p.s. the lunch date with geriatric mark has been postponed until friday... stay tuned for geriatric fun!

i should get me a suit! and a cape! and a theme song! and swagger and strut my way around seattle saving the egos of recently broken-up-with men!

that's way cooler than that boy wondertwin.

OHMIGAWD! that can so not be true. i am cute! right? even when i pick my nose! no, really! go look at my profile! CU-UTE!

* and by "we" i mean "HE". oh my god! maybe i'm objectionable! *sob*

but in other less horrifying news: pants are looser. despite what i've told you, i am not a fatty.

thank you. that is all.

and they're gonna read it because i will be screaming this: "WOO HOOooooooooooooo!"

---

ps. geriatric mark smells good. like grapefruits. and i am a sucker for citrus-y smelling men with pink lighters.

i don't remember using all these muscles the other night, but OH MY GOD i hurt.

i am not liking the stairs today. or the inclines. or the sitting. or the getting-up-from-sitting. or anything that involves the use of my thighs. or triceps. (?? when did i use my triceps?)

people named "grant" or "cord" or "john" should be considered undate-able... because, let's face it, do we really want to be reminded of them all the time?

for instance:
let's say, that i am a pirate. and that i recently got it on with a man named "mark" *. and let's say i'm looking for treasure on a map. and what if the other pirates asked me to find the x "mark"? ... wouldn't i flush?

how embarrassing!

• smell like citrus.

• be tall.

• make goofy faces.

• bring me beer.

i am a simple girl.

you know that gland in the noses of men that's supposed to smell phermones? well, i think what it actually smells is "got a man" (sorta... don't let this get back to geriatric mark, he doesn't know he's "my man" yet).

anyway, back to the subject at hand... *ahem*... so, apparently men still use stupid questions to get the desired information. here are a few examples:

"are you buying those flowers for yourself?
doesn't your husband buy you flowers?"

"where's your boyfriend?
a pretty girl like you shouldn't be eating lunch alone!"

yeah. they're sly little feckers, those boys are.

please stay tuned for his answer... and possibly incessant giggling and blushing.

this is a sad, sad day in my life, you realize.

what is up with that?

p.s. my boss asked me who was i giggling on the phone with... oh! my! god! i'm giggling! ... JUST KILL ME NOW!

---

anyway, i had coconut ice cream, at my friendly neighborhood food establishment, and have decided that that is the most wonderful food in the entire world.

but only since hostess ho-ho's are nauseating all of a sudden. i mean, when did partially hydrogenated oil and high fructose corn syrup become so unappetizing?

• anxious.
• smiling at thin air (like an idiot).
• prone to the occasional "teehee".
• thinking about him in a very dirty manner.

do not ask me where the child gets these ideas... but, i'm positive they are not from me.

but in other, also-not-interesting-to-you news... yes, i have fulfilled my obligation to show him my boobs (again)... i may be a whore, but, hey... i'm a whore that keeps her word!

p.s. i am FABULOUS in bed... i do realize that i am saying that about me, and to all outward appearances, i would be bias or a liar. but i assure you, i am not bias... no, honest!

oh! my! loins!

and this is him getting tackled by a bunch of other men in shorts.

rowr! ... violence and shorts.
and i reiterate... rowr!

i mean... i just gotta loves me some ron cribb! oh, help me... knees weak... can't go on... must scream like girly girl.

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

well... yeah, dude. yur straight.

hmm... let me review some facts with you. he is:

• young.
• cute.
• foreign (sortof... he's just a canadian. pft!).
• occasionally naked around the apartment.
• leaving the country in three months.

i just got a load of the canadian, and may i just say: "holy motherfuck! hold on pants! that fucker is freaking HOT!"

i think i may have to go show him my boobies!

• one could be responsible for making me laugh and being mean,
• one could be responsible for saying smart things and doing math for me, and
• geriatric mark could be responsible for cuddling and doing the sex.

also - vanilla soy milk is really good. i just drank 400 calories of it. and i'll be bursting out of my sarong any time now.

you know, it's probably not wise to mix so much caffeine with a telephone call with geriatric mark. oh my lord, i'm a giddy little girl. TEE HEE!

and damn my father for inviting his-stupid-monkey-self to seattle! he is messin' with my game! how's a girl supposed to get her thang on like this?

fucker.

it's called "the finger."

i suppose one could do what i did! pose. i'm a poser. i posed for the handsome lecherous man.

yeah. that makes alot of sense, jennifer.

1. pink cheeks.
2. pouty lips are poutier.
3. smooshy disposition.
4. freshly showered appearance.
5. proclaiming "i got laid. go me!"

• "hey, jennifer. your sex date is here".

• while discretely slipping out of the office (to client): "don't mind her. she's just leaving to go have sex."

• while discretely slipping back into the office: "wait. is that a different outfit from this morning?"

• while sitting at desk trying to get work done: "so... how is geriatric mark?"

  me: "fine."

  "oh is that all?"

• "wow... two hours. just how many times did you 'lunch'?"

• "what's that smell?... i think... it's... SEMEN!"

i work with asshats.

because i said, *pout* "i wish i had more memory in my pc". *pout*

so he said, "i can do it for ya."

so i said, *pout* "but, i don't have any money." *pout*

so he said, "aww, we can work something out." and then he called me the black magic woman.

woohoo! i'm gonna get free memory AND i'm gonna "work something out" with the techie. like my... err... never mind.

this is day five of operation abstinence... i'm beginning to hate this operation. grr.

i told someone-who-shall-remain-nameless that the techie is fascinated with my mouth. to which he replied:

"if he only knew what you could do with that big mouth... it's like, no teeth!

this is the day when operation abstinence died.

i was all... did he just call me a bitch?

then i'd just have to figure out some way to wrap the pillows all the way around my head without suffocating myself, and i'd be one happy camper.

you know that funny guy i asked out? SWEET JESUS, that man can talk... like, for 2 hours straight! about nothing!

i think i may have met the male me.

ps. i have a date on saturday... i wonder if he's easy?

note:
the following words were uttered in the preceeding conversation: "carpet muncher" "packers" "wo fat" and "hot pants".

you must be soooo jealous of me! how can you stand it?

but anyway, geriatric mark and i had a very lovely lunch... shock! horror! it was outside of my apartment... and we attempted to see if we could hang out with each other and not do the deed... well. that idea went out the window at about 12:25pm.

we're failures. we failed. we suck. i hate us.

do you know what this means?!

i can wear my BIG SHOES!

i am so happy, i will do the dance of joy... but i will do it before i put on the big shoes, because last time i attempted gyration in the big shoes, I fell down and hurt my ego.

boom.

then, me and sir talksalot HUNG OUT WITH OBSCURE SINGER/SONGWRITER! and he bought me a beer, and he ate my french fries, and we talked until 3am about politics and stuff. and i called him a whore!

oh my god! i hung out with critically acclaimed rock stars! i am so cool!

don't be hatin'!

also, today is the day when i am going to call up geriatric mark and apologize for mauling him the other day.

yes, i am aware that he enjoyed the mauling. and i am also aware that he didn't resist all that much. but, then, how could he? i'm asian.

it is not wise to leave a sexually explicit voice mail on the man friend's work number.

nope.

---

also today, the boss is SICK! hah! i knew all that coughing on his keyboard would pay off! muwahahahaa!

i can never ever be monogomous. ever.

and why? because no man can be everything... and why? because you all suck.

oh, don't look at me like that! it's true. you all only have, like, a half dozen good qualities, and the rest of you is all crap. crap, crap, CRAP!

argue with me if you want. but, i have proof.

but nooo. i go and make a date with some guy. no, not even those other some-guys. but a whole new some guy (from the 'hood).

further proving that i am a whore.

but... an irresistible whore.

and sometimes, if that friend is a jackass, he'll just laugh and point.

you know, someday, i'm going to put my little plan into action. but not today! because boy-from-the-hood is tall! and smart! and cute! teehee!

my god! i don't care how tall, or smart, or cute you are... you have to talk!

it's his fucking job to ask questions! ask questions! stop making me order drinks in an attempt to make you more interesting!

ok. it might be time to start implimenting the plan.

i coulda had THREE dates today. and, to tell you the truth, i'm not really as hot as i always say i am (don't let that get out), so i'm really confused.

but anyway, i only went out on ONE (early) date tonight. because i'm a big stupid head. and when someone offers to pay for dinner, i am helpless against the power of my own cheap ass.

---

ps. click here to see me kick el bastardo's ass... i am not only "la wench", but i am also the artist. dude, just like that ross guy on pbs.

---

pss. i am getting an ASSLOAD of hits from totalfark.com... but i don't know what totalfark has said about me! because totalfark is passworded! and it's killing me i tell ya! KILLING MEEEeee! what did totalfark say!?! oh my god! somebody tell me!!

jesus h. christ! i saw his sorry (albeit handsome) ass TWO DAYS IN A ROW! just how much am i supposed to date this man?

i have other men to juggle for frig's sake! i have to spread the love. spread the love.

• go shopping. like in a grocery store for, like, food because i have to eat at, like, home!

• use my superfluous sexual energy to clean the apartment. a lot... my apartment is the cleanest apartment in the whole wide neighborhood. (and i live with the gays!)

• having conversations that go something like this:
  "soooo... what'd you do last night? where'd you go? did you go with a boy? did he pay? was he funny? did you laugh? AUUGH!"

• think about boys.

muerte el bastardo!
i will kill him with my mangry rage!

*ahem*.

plus, it is very very nice to have your own personal furnace in bed all night long.

'sup with boys being warm all the time, anyway? that's just weird.

previous 'sup: 4 3 2 1

• i'm sorry i woke you, but i was dying to hear your voice.
• i miss you already.
• i think you're very sexy and i like you a lot.
• you are very pretty and i should have told you that.
• i need to spend the day and night wrapped up with you.
• are you dead?

• i love you just the way you are.

ok, pardon me while i over-react, because he doesn't really love me. he just thinks i'm swell. and probably wanted to freak the hell outta me... and it worked. ha ha. funny. yeah, whatever.

fucker.

just when i start thinking about a life in the convent, the good one calls and restores my faith in mankind.

and by mankind, i mean the ones with the peters. because the cooter side doesn't lose my faith.

because girls rule and boys drool. and that is just a fact... i mean, have you seen boys while they're sleeping?

D-R-O-O-L

but, just let me have this for a few minutes, would ya? ... sigh ... alright, i'm better now.

so anyway, i think i should be entertained for international jennifer day, and what better way to entertain myself than by taking my step-father (who is in town this week), to the queerest queer bar in all of queer town *.

nothing quite says "happy birthday" like hearing a frightened "what. the. FUCK! is going on in here?!"

he pimps beer.

for a living.

hello?

marry me?

uhh, no... i'm scared because you're creeping me the hell out, dumbass.

and am now shocked at the resemblance between one jesus-bandaid and one geriatric mark.

hoo hah!

1. they come in droves and then they're mad that they're part of a drove.
2. like when they say "why are you so mean to me?"... psh! like i'm mean. puh-lease!
3. when they tell me they're separated, but they're not. oh, yay!
4. when i like them... grr!
5. beating me at war. and nobody, and i mean NOBODY beats me at war!

that part angers me. grr!

and i've started calling him my "pretend california boyfriend". and i think i'm giggling on the phone (gak!)... and, i may be mistaken, but we might've had phone sex yesterday while we were discussing "plumbing" and my throat.

what is this madness?!?!

i want to know how that happened. and i want to know how a nice little conversation about marble tile turned into a discussion about masturbation.

SATAN! he's SATAN!

also, my apartment which usually smells like old-apartment, today smells like apples. but i have no apples.

is that one of the signs of the apocalypse?

me: "this is jennifer"

satan: "what are you doing?"

me: "thinking about you."

satan: "again? why's that?"

me: "because you're evil."

satan: "no, actually i'm good. really good."

me: "can i see some references, please?"

[insert talk about pocket doors and "rods"]

me: "tee hee. you're bad."

satan: "me?!? you!"

me: "no, you!"

satan: "no, you!"

me: "no, you!"

pathetic isn't it? out with the jennifer, in with the moron... also, could somebody please kick my ass? i'm embarrassing myself here! kick me!!

but by far this is the stupidest thing i have ever done:

allow satan to call me at home.

two hours of giggling and saying "no, you!" is really just way more than i can stand... i'm going to have to kick my own ass soon.

*hanging head in shame*

good god! sweet jesus! hallelujah! AMEN!

but in other news... oh wait, it's not other news, it's more satan news. yeah. well, whatever... anyway, satan called me last night (eeee!!)... apparently, it's not enough for the man to SET! MY LOINS! AFIRE! by chuckling on my answering machine. he's gotta do it live too.

that bastard!

eee! he's back... and don't faint now. but, i think i'm officially in smitten... i think i felt, like, stuff when he had lunch with me today... and by "stuff" i do not mean "penis". get your minds out of the gutter, you perverts!

now if you will all excuse me, i'm gonna go smell my couch. which is not as weird as it sounds. sortof.

i thought about telling him that he is now my boyfriend. but i figured he was drunk and wouldn't remember he was my boyfriend in the morning, which would kinda defeat the purpose of telling him he's my boyfriend.

so instead i ate cookies.

---

also, as i was saying to my compatriot colleen, "i'm so FREAKING TICKLED by this joe club thing it's not EVEN FUNNY!" it's sorta pathetic, actually.

was it you? NO! NO! it wasn't! it was ME! ME ME ME! ME! got some new years bootie! ME!

and now's the time on piehole when we dance.

what the fuck is that about?

---

i interrupt this piehole for a cautionary tale.

this, up here, is seattle... this is where jennifer lives. and this, down here, is san diego... this is where satan lives.

yes. now it all makes sense. it all makes perfect sense... now i understand why he calls ALL THE FREAKING TIME.

no wait. i'm still confused.

girl: "huh? umm. uh. wellll. umm... see... hrm... uh. well... uh..."

what the fuck?

does he not understand the map? are boys seriously this stupid? arrrrg!

at least my pretend internet boyfriend is smart enough not to have anything to do with me.

but, in other news - my hair smells like coconuts, my hands smell like cucumbers, and my feet smell like peppermint.

mmm... stinky!

i feel shit rising... might be knee deep... just got off phone... talked to the full-time booty wanting guy... says he wants to ask me something... tomorrow... says it's "good"... wondering what that means...

MONOGAMY!!???!!!???!!!?????!?!??!!!!!? ACK!

"yo! todd kenobi! hah! that's genius."

"look at my hands! they're full of paper cuts! 'sup with that?"

"... and then she said 'i have no happy'! haha!"

"so this priest, a rabbi, and a minister go into a bar..."

i think it pretty much worked too, because he looked really confused, and insinuated that i talk too much, and told me he needed a nap.

yay!

let us review some of the things he could have said, shall we?

she is...
- cute.
- funny.
- smart.
- bootylicious.

but here's what he actually said:

she's a gook.

but, anyway - here are some reasons i think i should fall for geriatric mark:

• he smells really good.
• he does boy things like open doors... and he's opening them for me. i'm not just running past him when he opens them.
• he's tall and cute and lumberjack-y.
• two words: foot massage.
• two more words: great .... err. you know. it rhymes with tex (but i can't say it because i'm *shy*).

• we spent a good 10 minutes talking about joe millionaire at work. while his clients were waiting. whee! (because joe is more important than clients!)

but, i have come to one conclusion. i don't have to know anything about football. all i need is to follow my ingenius football formula:

• scream "WOO!" when he screams "YEAH!"

• scream "YEAH!" when he screams "WOO!"

• scream "WHAT THE..." when he screams "WHAT WAS THAT?!"

• scream "OH SHIT!" when he screams "NOOOOO!", and

• (most importantly) keep the beer coming.

tall, big boned, white boy stands with hands in pockets in front of jennifer.

jennifer: tee hee. hee hee. tee hee.

---

tall, big boned, white boy bends in front of jennifer.

jennifer: tee hee. hee hee. tee hee.

---

tall, big boned, white boy: hey.

jennifer: tee hee. hee hee. tee hee.

is this how all you boys feel all the time? because if so, i pity you.

but not as much as i pity me.

POOR ME!

when did i start dating sir mix-a-lot?

i have decided that he must fall in serious like with me.

i don't know how i will accomplish this, but it is sure to involve boobs and booty.

stay tuned.

apparently, calling once a week does not constitute Wooing.

but. i do not know The Woo. how do i Woo? what IS The Woo? how do i do The Woo to geriatric mark without stalking him? help!

so i am turning to you, my Woo-capable readership to learn me of The Woo... but realize, i don't want to smothah a brothah... i just want to do the Woo to him.

please insert wisedom.

apparently, the full time booty wanting guy wants booty full time. or, as he puts it, "[he] wants to take it to the next level."

what language is that? i do not understand... is that finnish for "run away! i am a scary scary man"?

i will spare you the details. because the details are too much information for you and way too much titillation for me.

but please be aware i did not take your Woo advice... i did not braid my hair and wear a tight shirt and shoot some people with my shiny guns while techno music played in the background... but, thanks for the advice, bozos.

reason #2
if i whine about having cold hands, they will let me put my hands in their armpits. my COLD hands! ha ha! then my hands get warm and their armpits get COLD! ha ha, again!

reason #3
when i don't want to pay attention to what they're saying, i just say "huh?" and look dumb, and they give up... when they don't pay attention to me, i sit on their lap and stare at them until they do. (i win!)

reason #4
boys are easily distracted by television. so i can to rifle through their jacket pockets while they're not looking... yay! i'm rich!

I don't know who it was, but oooooh I want to kick you in your pants hit-&-run man! In the FRONT of your pants!

In the meantime I will sate my rage with Girl Scout cookies.

Mmm. Cookies.

And how can I make them stay?

Barista... Mmmmmm... Bus driver... Garrrugggh... Construction worker... Hubba hubba!

There are phermones in the air or something... And if this doesn't stop soon, I'm going to be arrested for humping the legs of that tasty piece of locksmith down the street.

Apparently they got tired of listening to me giggle on the phone all the livelong day!

But will this stop us from our appointed dirty phone calls?! Nay!! They cannot stop our love! Damn the man!

We have unleashed Operation Bob!

Here is how to get around stupid office policy that will prohibit you from making dirty phone calls at work on the company dime.

1. When you recognize the number on the caller ID to be from the interloper, pick up and say "Hello... BOB! How are you doing today... BOB!?
2. Instruct interloper to tell the receptionist that he is BOB... from San Diego.
3. Insert the word "BOB" into dirty phone call. For example: "what are you wearing... BOB?"

Oh, nevermind! I can't wait for you to guess! I'm just going to tell you, before I BLOW UP!

Geriatric Mark just called me from North Caroliner (where he is away on business). AND! AND! He divulged information that leads me to believe that HE LIKES ME! Eeeee!

What information was that, you ask? Why, it was him saying that he "really likes [me]" and that he (GET THIS!) "misses [me]". EEEEEEeeeee!


I am the WOOMASTER! The Master of Woo!

I am not usually in the habit of running around the house shrieking and waving my arms about like a 12-year-old girl.

Nor do I usually jump into The Child's bed at 11:00 night and poke him in the arm in the hopes that he'll get up so that I can say "HE LIKES ME!"

(Hey, give me a break. There's nobody else in the house at 11)

OK. I'm glad we've cleared that up.

EEEEeeeee!


I am SO The Woomaster. (Lessons begin shortly)

And, just wait until I tell Geriatric Mark that he's my boyfriend! TEE HEE! TEE HEE HEEEE!

Reasons why he is going to regret the day he met me, and subsequently became my future boyfriend:

1. I cannot refrain from pimple popping. Although I haven't spotted one on him yet, I am on the look out! And then it's PAIN for you, my boy!

Beside for that pimple thing.

And here I was all ready to use my hamfoot to garner his sympathy. Plus, I'm really, really cute today!

I just don't understand how people aren't pinching my cheeks constantly!

But in other news... I pee in the shower!

Dude. I've done this, like, 3 times. You'd think by now I'd know to move my head.

AND I went to the grocery store and tormented the manager with goofy stories, all designed to make him fall deeper and deeper in love with me.

But, he already loves me. For obvious reasons (Hello? It's ME). It's all in the googly eyes, and the following me around the store, and the extremely hands on customer service approach.

... He's about 5 flirtations away from jamming his tongue down my throat.

PS. Do not take my flirtation to mean that I am interested. Because I am SO not... I do it because:

A) I can't help myself, and

B) I like for all the menz to really really like me.

Also, I am hoping for free pudding.

And then? After he's hung up? Start wandering around the office bumping into walls and stuff.

Boys like that.

He's also damn good at other things. *Ahem*

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Here, for your bulleted pleasure, are a few things I learned about him last night:

1. Geriatric Mark cannot watch the U.S. National Jump Rope Championship on TV without a look of horror on his face.
2. Geriatric Mark smells good, like, all the time... He's fancy!
3. Geriatric Mark cuddles in his sleep. A LOT! I think I have a dent in my head from where his arm was all night.
4. He also snores funny. Like this "fffffffft" then "whheee" then "fffffft" then "whhhheeee".
5. I haven't told him yet, but Geriatric Mark is my boyfriend... My old, geriatric, boyfriend.

I know! I know! I can't believe it either!

This is the craziest thing I've done since I jumped off a ledge because of peer pressure.

I'm either going to barf or start freaking the hell out... Dude! He makes me want to cook!

That's just crazy.

If he was short, we could've avoided this whoooooole mess.

Me: Fat? Ugly? Short?

MFH: He's not any of those things, hon.

Me: No? No fat?

MFH: No fat.

Me: No short?

MFH: No short.

Me: No ugly?

MFH: Noooo ugly.

Me: Damnit! I was hoping he was a troll.

MFH: Nope. Noooo troll.

Me: Oh, shut up.

MFH: Mmm Mmm MMM!

Me: Go away.

MFH: H-O-T

Me: I hate you.

MFH: CuuuuuUTE!

Me: How come you can go see my pretend California boyfriend, and I can't?

MFH: Because I'm prettier.

*PS* Do not get in a slapfight with a gay man. They hit harder and their hands are bigger.

*PSS* I'm prettier!!

I didn't say anything to him about that idea I had about full time booty with somebody else.

Dude he comes back from Canada on Sunday night. I CANNOT DO THIS! I'm a big chicken! I'm gonna start freakin' out! FREAK! OUT!!! AAAAAAHHH!

It's so bad, look how badly I'm punctuating!!!!!

PS. Remind me to tell Geriatric Mark that he's my boyfriend.

PSS. Remind me to tell Dickhead happy birthday (He's not really as big a shit as I make him out to be here... But he's still a shit).

Example #1
Homeless man says to me, "Hey, you're pretty sexy".

Now, while I enjoy a compliment like nobody's business, I'm much more likely to take you seriously if you're not drunk and/or crazy. And if you have some teeth... That might be good too.

Example #2
Guy in car pulls over and explains to me that he has seen me walking down the street almost every day, and wants my phone number.

AND I GIVE IT TO HIM!

As you can see, I'm very serious about that plan where I have only one boyfriend.

The Full Time Booty Wanting Guy left me a message saying 'Call me you long-haired freaky girl', and me being easily won over by someone calling me a freak, I returned his call and he asks me where I've been because I, like, haven't called him in forever, and I say,"Oh, I've just been busy", and he says, "Found the love of your life?" and I say, "Hah! No," and he says "Good. Free this weekend?"

And, well... Looks like I need to get a babysitter this weekend.

Now, I ask you... Is there any way that you can tell some guy that you've decided you're only going to see one guy naked from now on, and it's not him, but hey, you really like hanging out with him alot, so why don't you all just keep doing that and just not sleep together!

Talk about a deal! You get to hang out with me, without all the pressure of having to have sex! Yay!

my boss just told me all about his bout with testicular cancer... but, hey! they're back to normal size now!

augghh! too much information! too much information! too much information!!!

oh just kill me.

Did you hear me?!?!

There are carpenters in the building! And painters! ...And one dykey plumber, but that's beside the point... There are MEN COVERED IN PAINT! In my building! As we speak!

Man, nothing turns me on more than home improvement!

Let's hope this news doesn't kill him.

Reasons why Jennifer hasn't told Geriatric Mark that he's her boyfriend yet:

1. Get nauseous feeling when open mouth. Scared vomit will come out instead of words.
2. Extremities get very cold when think about telling him... Must use superfluous energy to keep warm.
3. Too busy gettin' busy.
4. Scared of boys. Especially this boy. This boy makes me want to barf.

But I tried! Sortof... I mean, I opened my mouth. But instead of telling him I just kissed him so I wouldn't have to look at him anymore. Or (EGADS!) talk. Or HORROR OF ALL HORRORS possibly end up telling him he's my boyfriend.

Can't I just tell him after we're married?

Now I am forced to pull out the big guns. Yes, that's right folks... I'm going to have to start giggling like a damn fool!

You see, he will be so enticed by the giggling that he will have to fly up to Seattle to "occupy" my "time" until I tell Geriatric Mark that he's my boyfriend.

But in other news, my new neighbor has a REALLY BIG MOUSTACHE. And a wee little leather hat. He is YMCA-Gay and I need to make him my new best friend.

Dear Boys,

Why! Why! Why can't you just do what I want you to do? Huh? Why? I'm smart, damn you! You big burly cute ass bastards!

I know where you left your socks. I know where the remote control is. I know when you touch something you're not supposed to. Hey! I even know that you need to pee before we leave the house.

See? I KNOW EVERYTHING!

Signed,
Seething with rage.

Y'all are not going to believe what I did!

Now don't faint... But...

I told Geriatric Mark that he's my boyfriend! Ha ha ha! Can you believe it?!?! ME NEITHER! Ha ha ha! I'm a retard!!

Ahh... And all it took was 3 months, several agonizing attempts and the words "Dude... I'm not seeing anyone else anymore."

Now tell me, who couldn't love a girl who calls a 40-year-old man "dude" all the time? NOBODY! That's who. No! Body!

Oh, but they are very fine owies!

You know, Geriatric Mark is surprisingly virile for a 40 year old... Hell! He's virile for a 18 year old. Oh the stories I would tell! But then you'd all picture it in your heads and then for definately you would get all infatuated and drive to Seattle to stalk me. And then I'd have to kill you.

I'm only doing this for your own good.

Moving on... Let us talk about my owies!

My legs hurt! My back hurts! My arms hurt! And I don't know why my shoulders hurt... Oh wait. I remember now.

Moving on again! Let us talk about what a bad day I am having!

It is poopy! I wish people would stop making me talk to them on the phone. I do not care about the base moulding! I do not care! Also? I am angry! I hate everybody! Stop talking to me! STOP! Except you, of course... You I love.

Smoochies!

You looooooooove my template.
You want to maaaaarry my template.
It is delicious!

And how gay am I that I call a template "delicious"? Sheesh! I already say "fabulous" way too much.

But anyway, you know what would be really cool? If boys came with built-in cup holders... It would also be cool if they came with subtitles. Because damn y'all are hard to understand when you're drunk!

There is a tall, big boned, Caucasian GOD at the construction site across the street from me right now!

Oh, I cannot concentrate. Cannot. Concentrate... Cann...

Tomorrow at lunch, the pretty pretty goatee-d techie and I will go to my apartment to "install" some "memory" in my "PC".

Heh heh heh.

Oh all right! Nothing dirty will be happening!! Unless you count all the flirting and sexual innuendo and me making those quotey marks with my fingers everytime I say "hard drive", as dirty.

Woo baby! The Construction Site Man Meat is shirtless today! And I think my eyeballs popped out of my head when I saw him.

Which is attractive, no?

Anyway. I need to stop talking about boys. All the live long day, it's nothing but boys, boys, boys. Blah blah! I'm starting to annoy myself. A lot. I'm ANNOYING! Bah!

Instead, I will talk about refried beans!

Oh, how I love you refried bean! And your zero fat! I don't know how you do that!? How do you remain so tasty! So beany! So refried! And still be ZERO FAT? How? Aren't you made of lard?!? Why, I will eat you all the live long day!

Or I would have if Fran didn't point out the sodium content.

You've ruined my fun! That's it! You're going to get it now, you bastard! I'm shaking my fist at you! HEARTILY!

That'll teach you to mess with my beans!

Today I told Geriatric Mark that Yosemite National Park is SO not in California... Even though he was raised in central California, and was just there on vacation... It went a little like this:

Me: Yosemite is so not in California.

Geriatric Mark: Yes it is, you nincompoop.

Me: No WAY!

Geriatric Mark: WAY!

Me: Hmm. But I'm smart!

Geriatric Mark: No WAY!

I do not like how he keeps exposing me as an idiot. I DO NOT LIKE IT ONE BIT!

Geriatric Mark just called me "Ducky".

ISN'T THAT THE CUTEST THING EVER?

I'd pinch the dickens out of him except that I think I'm supposed to be angry with him... I think? Maybe?

And I wish I'd remember so that I could stop sexual-innuendoing him to death and start being a jerk.

You know. One day I'll be able to hang out with Geriatric Mark and then NOT act like a big dork afterward... But don't bet on that happening anytime soon. I've known the man for a year, and I still get butterflies when he calls.

Yeah. I make me want to puke too. Shut up... But, come on! The man's voice can remain completely normal while taking a business call... NO MATTER WHAT!

:hubbahubba: *Wink wink. Nudge nudge.*

And if that isn't reason enough to fall for him, I don't know what is!

Man. Do you realize how hard it is to walk straight when your boyfriend took you out and made you drink four Canadian beers on an empty stomach?

I look like a vagrant!

What with all the stumbling thru traffic, and the bending down to make sure my toe wasn't being stung by a bee, and smelling my shirt all the time.

I'm so going to get arrested.

But can you blame me? THE MAN SMELLS LIKE GRAPEFRUITS! GRAPEFRUITS! I cannot stop smelling him! It is irresistible! And interferes with my ability to walk down a crosswalk in a straight line! Help!

I am helpless against the grapefruit! Help me!

It's a good thing that all my pillows smell like Geriatric Mark... I'd hate to think what would happen if I had to sleep with just ONE pillow wrapped around my head.

But in other news, guess what?! NO INTERNET ACCESS AT WORK! It's broken! Aaaaah! Oh my God! I'm going to die!

This morning, I stared a little too long at The Gorgeous Piece of Construction Site Man Meat and walked into a parking meter.

I just thank Jeebus that I was staring at the ass-side, so he didn't see it happen... Because then I'd be embarrassed! Tee hee!

Me: You should, like, totally call me.

Geriatric Mark: Totally.

Me: Dude... Totally.

My, what deep introspective conversations we have. You're so, like, totally jealous, aren't you?

1. Attempt to impress me by ordering me glasses of wine... Hello! Beer girl here! BEER! Want to impress me? Order me a friggin' Heineken. I still won't be impressed, but at least I'll be appreciative.
2. Yell at the screen, like the Mariners can hear you or something... Or like, they give a shit.
3. Order your cobb salad sans bread. And then explain how you maintain your figure by eliminating white flour. :eh:
4. Hover 6" above said cobb salad and shove THE WHOLE ENTIRE THING in your face.
5. Tell me how much you are attracted to Asian women... EWW GROSS! Get away, freak!

It should also be noted that I don't look very Asian at all... Observe...

I am the uneducated white man's Asian.

Geriatric Mark called me this morning at 3:00am. Yes, folks! THREE! IN THE MORNING! While I'm still all messed up from the whopping 3 hour time difference.

Why I find this behavior so adorable, I don't know.

But I did get a chance to tell him that I missed him way too much while I was gone, and that I am very disturbed by this fact. And I did a lot of yawning and might have possibly said "submarine" for absolutely no reason at all.

Why are men so retarded?

I mean, you can take one out and he'll be completely normal and civilized, but you send him out in a car with a bunch of his friends, and all of a sudden he's howling like a madman.

What the hell is that? You were just talking about your feelings and now you're Wolfman Jack?

Yay! The hot smarmy techie will be here this afternoon! Why... I will make him move heavy things around my office! Hooray!

Hell. There are lots of boys in my office today.

There's a landscape dude. And three construction dudes building stuff right over there. And there's a mechanical dude messing with some, like, pipes and gauges or whatever.

And, of course, there are the gay boys. Which are plentiful and multitudinous. And like to tell me about how unprofessional my hair is.

:yeahright:

The first time Geriatric Mark said the word "clandestine" in front of me, I thought my ears were going to go flying off my head... Good God! I'm already way too libidinous for his own good. What did he think he was doing?

I mean, maybe he could've gotten away with it if he was standing, like, 10 feet from me. But to lean in and say some words, more words, and then clandestine?

Now, that's just asking for trouble.

What exactly is a girl to do when the man she fell in love with 3 years ago tells her he's still very much in love with her.

Gawd! Why does everything have to happen when I'm OVULATING? First Queer Eye and now this?

Geesh! I'm going to be permanently puffy eyed. Dammit.

Geriatric Mark came over last night bearing strawberries. And he fed me chocolate cake, and I took him up to the roof deck to show him the fan-freaking-tastic view, and I gave him cookies, and we guffawed, and then I molested him.

Go me!

Just for the record, he has not given up on his ritual of spending all night cuddling... Well, it's more like, half cuddling, half death-grip... You had better get damned comfortable before he falls asleep, because you ain't going nowhere until morning.

In fact, I think I've lost all feeling in my right foot.

And gone is his previous snore of "fffffffft", then "whheee"... It has been replaced with the traditional snore, with the occasional sound of squirrels choking.

So relaxing!

When I woke up this morning, I found his clothes all over the place. Everywhere! And everything's so big! Is he a giant? ... And it looks so cute everywhere! His giant clothes. Aww.

:wub:

Of course, in 6 months I'll be saying something like, "Gawd! Pick up your damned clothes! I'm not your maid!"

My friends met Geriatric Mark for the first time today... And they have concluded that he:

A) is a doll head.
B) smells fantastic. (See, it's not just me)
C) is so cute!
D) looks like Mark McGwire, and
E) is gigantic.

And then I took him home where we had the following conversation:

Me: Did I ever tell you that every time you're on your way to see me, my hands get all clammy and I get so anxious that I make myself nauseous?

Geriatric Mark: Really?

Me: Yeah. You make me want to barf.

*Sigh* Aren't I romantic? No wonder he likes me!

Geriatric Mark is coming! Yay! He's right down the street right now buying me beer!

(Does this boy know me, or does he know me?)

Now all he has to do is drive around the block about 18 times, finding a parking space, and it's ON!

That man makes me want to bake loaves of bread AS BIG AS A HOUSE... Or maybe just a pie... Or maybe I'll just buy a pie.

Actually, giving him a pie might make up for the fact that I'm freaking his ass out by watching him sleep.

But gosh darn it, he's so damned cute.

Apparently, people think I'm in loooooooove... Well, peepee heads, you're wrong, and I would like to clear this little misunderstanding up.

I am not in looooooooove. And here's my proof:

1. I don't wonder what he's doing RIGHT THIS MINUTE!
2. I've never attached HIS last name to MY first name to see if it sounds good.
3. I haven't planned our wedding.
4. I haven't named our children.
5. I haven't named our dog.

And if that's not proof enough for you, then stuff it up your nose!

1. Working.
   
2. Rolls off the tongue, actually.
   
3. Vegas. Elvis presiding.
   
4. Ashton for a boy, Demi for a girl.
   
5. Former Congressman Bob Dole.

I just ran into the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my whole entire life... He was tall and broad-shouldered, had pretty blue eyes, a knee-weakening smile, and was gayer than pink hot pants.

Oh well. I can still look. And drool. :drool:

Last night I had a little conversation with My Pretend California Boyfriend that went a little like this:

MPCB: I want to have sex with her!

Princess Me: Don't!

MPCB: Why not?

Princess Me: DISEASE! BEWARE THE DISEASE!

And then I talked about herpes and chlamydia and HPV and numerous other venereal diseases (because I am the STD police) and scared the living crap right out of him.

MPCB: OK. I won't.

I have him right where I want him... MUAHAHAHA! :evil:

PS. Love the latex. Embrace the latex. Fortify the latex. (But only with water based lubricants.)

Hmm... What's it mean when you talk to your pretend boyfriend more than you talk to your regular boyfriend?

I think it means boys are stupid, and that other boys are more than willing to talk to you forever and ever on the phone. Because they're stupider... Stupid boys.

I hate them. Or maybe I just hate one of them. Or maybe I just hate the ones that have seen me naked. Or maybe I just hate one of the ones that have seen me naked...

Well, fuck me. I think the boyfriend has angry-dar... Fucker. How am I supposed to remain irritated with him when he doesn't just GO AWAY so I can be mad?

But nooooooo. The second I get indignant, all of a sudden - Pow! Boy! What the hell is that all about? Am I in the 4th grade?

Moral of this story: If you want a boy to like you, COMPLETELY IGNORE HIM.

I am so tired I'm forced to take little naps every time I blink... Oh sweet, sweet blinks... I long for you.

I swear, that's the last time I stay up late talking to Geriatric Mark about theology and crap.

Did you catch that? THEOLOGY!

Good grief, what is this man turning me into? Somebody who's, like, smart or something? Next thing you know I'll be doing math without a calculator.

Me: I have wanderlust.

Geriatric Mark: Wanderlust... What a great word.

(Dramatic pause)

Me: I LOVE YOU! MARRY ME!

I am such a liar. I didn't ask him to marry me... But come on! The man likes words! RAWR!

And besides, I'm dying to call someone my financee. Hee.

1. Pie never tells you it doesn't want a relationship one minute, and then says that it is "uncomfortable with you seeing other pies" the next.
2. If you don't want any more pie, you can throw it away without all the drama of having to avoid it's calls.
3. If your pie is too small, you can just get two pies and it's just as good as one big pie.
4. Pie will never drink all your beer.
5. Pie doesn't get jealous if you eat other pies.

1. He will read it.
2. He will ask why he keeps showing up under the title "Big Dumb Boys". And why you call him "Geriatric" Mark.

   Him: I don't get it. Why GERIATRIC?
   Me: Because you're old, Mark. Because you're old! *

3. He will find out that you think he's ridiculously hot, and get all big headed, and then you will have to kick him.

But in other news, I am officially stitchless! Woo hoo! And melanomaless! Woo hoo!

* = I totally didn't mean to call you old, Mark.

Tee hee! Nothing, and I mean nothing, makes me weak in the knees quite like a kiss on the forehead... Except for maybe liquor...

Oh my. I like him. I really, really like him.

This can only mean horrible things for my coordination and my ability to hold intelligent conversations.

Not that I've ever had any of those things... But at least there used to be some hope.

Just a few minutes ago, :geriatricmark: was dancing around my living room in his underwear, singing "Won't you take me to... HONKYTOWN".

:eh:

And you people call me the goofy one? Yeah... Right.

PS.

Dear Geriatric Mark,
Once again, kudos on your performance. Err... PerformanceS... You're quite randy for a geezer. And your underwear dancing is phenomenal. Or something.

Well, it seems that I have completed my training of :geriatricmark:.

Just the other day he said to me, "Well, it is all about you, right?" And he said it totally without sarcasm! ... And I didn't even have to use whips!

What a good boy.

Tell him you're going on a "very very bisexual date" tonight.

Ahh, boys. So easy.

Woo baby! Hot furniture movers in the hizzouse!

Good Lord, I just might consider moving the Seattle Crap Museum to a whole new location just to watch that man move shit around.

Oh yes. Move that console table, hot white boy... Rowr.

Despite all the drooling, I have to say I am quite proud of my (totally uncharacteristic) display of self-control.

Not only did I refrain from excessive hair tossing and giggling, I also didn't say anything really lame, as is my way when I am trying not to hump someone's leg.

Plus, I didn't hump his leg.

For a few minutes there I thought :geriatricmark:was dumping me. And I thought, "GAH! This can't be happening! Nobody dumps Jennifer! I'm The Best Girlfriend Ever! GAAAAAH!!"

And then I realized, he wasn't dumping me. He was just having a conversation with me.

Ha ha. Ha... Err. Ha.

Last night (or this morning, or maybe in the middle of the night) :geriatricmark: somehow managed to screw the nail polish right off of me. WTF? I know it was perfect last night. But this morning? They're all chipped.

How'd that happen?

Maybe it was from all the bazillion times I poked him in the side to get him to breathe. I swear, if he doesn't quit it with the holding-his-breath thing? I'm going to be a nervous wreck!

Hey! Geriatric Mark! QUIT IT!

And he talked in his sleep last night. Hee hee! How cute is that?

Do men try to impress you by telling you about their Peace Corps service, everywhere? Or is that something that just happens in Seattle?

OK, I admit I was impressed, interested, intrigued, but I was definately NOT turned on. If you want to turn me on you have to show up with the a beard and very large man hands.

... And a large line of credit.

HA HA! I was totally kidding! [insert head waving, and index finger wagging] I don't need no MAAAAN buying my shit, thank you very much.

... But they still need the facial hair and the large man hands.

Man, is that boyfriend ever virile. And man, am I ever in pain... I'll be going to Dyke Fu tonight pre-injured, but I'll be very, very, VEEEEEEERY happy, so it all evens out.

And here is where I erased a bunch of stuff that was WAY too much information. But let me just say, that if I ever see whipped cream again, it will be all too soon.

PS. You know what? I really like that :geriatricmark:. He's swell. And kind. And thoughtful. And attentive. And he may have offered to help move my big ass TV... But that might have something to do with the blow job.

I am worried about whether or not :geriatricmark: got home safely last night. IT WAS RAINING!!! DID HE GET IN AN ACCIDENT?!?! IS HE DEAD IN A DITCH!?!?!??!!!!!? GAH!!

And, I have reason to be alarmed, dammit! Because I have never ever ever before ever ever ever given a shit whether or not a man got home safely. Ever! It's never happened! I totally don't care! Ever! Now let me reiterate that for you... EVER!

I am the all-time world champion of not giving a shit. In the Guinness Book of World Records, I hold the record for 32 consecutive years of not giving a shit. If there was a contest for not giving a shit, I'd be the grand prize winner.

So what does it mean if I give a shit?!? Giving a shit is scary!

Hold me.

But am I going to call to make sure that my boyfriend is alive? Nooooooo. That'd be, like, admitting that I gave a shit.

... Well maybe I'll just call and hang up.

Yay! He didn't die!

Uh. Not that I care or anything. It's not like I'm obsessed with him! I'm not in loooooove with him. Heck! I don't even like him. Yeah. That's it. Who? Geriatric what? I don't even know who you're talking about.

But you know what I do like? Weet-Bix. I looooove Weet-Bix. I want to marry Weet-Bix.

I mean, how can you not love food made by a company that calls itself SANITARIUM!

Hahahahahaha!!!

Do you think it's too much to ask to tell your boyfriend to come over dressed as a fireman? Huh? Is it? Well?

Err... I mean. It's not like I asked him to do that or anything... Uh... Just, you know. Hypothetically speaking.

Yeah.

I was 90 minutes late for work today. Gee, I wonder why? *cough*:geriatricmark:*cough*

You know... Last night I was very very tempted to call Anne and record his snoring for you all to hear... But after that little incident in the restaurant where he was talking about how great we are together, and I totally ignored him and turned around and looked for a waiter... I thought it best not to push my luck.

Oh, if only he knew how long I lay there thinking about doing this to him, he'd... well, he wouldn't do anything. Except maybe laugh and decide that he is never going to fall asleep in front of me again.

And now I have a question about boy clothes... How can he be regular burly-sized, but his clothes are, like, Godzilla-sized? How does that work? My clothes look smaller off of me. His clothes? HUUUUUUUUGE!

Why can't we sleep like normal people? Why does my bed always look like somebody came over and tied all my sheets up in knots? And why are all the pillows on one side of the bed? And why is there a freaking bruise on my shoulder?

Damn big lunky boys.

OK, fine. Technically, I don't really know where the bruise came from... Although it probably has something to do with me... But it's never been in my nature to accept blame. Soooo... HIS FAULT.

Hey, he might as well get used to it now, right?

Oh hello. I found another set of bruises... In a very, err, delicate area. Like roast beef delicate.

:eek:

How much do you want to bet he gets to see the pity-me-boo-boo-face next time he's in the city?

I'm totally using this to guilt him into, oh I don't know, taking me away for a weekend in the boonies next month?!? ... Oh yes. He is so taking me. Although, first he may need formal training in how to care for his Jennifer.

(Coming soon to Piehole: "Caring for your Jennifer")

8:00pm: Jennifer leaves message on :geriatricmark:'s voice mail.

8:15pm: Boyfriend returns call.

Would you look at that? That's some prompt service. This man is the kind of man you keep around. You know, for more than just the hoobity hoobity... Even if he does call again at, like, 2 in the morning because he can't sleep. Oh guess what, now? I can't either.

But I'll let that go since he can move heavy things and works a pair of socks like nobody's business... Plus there's the hoobity.

Last night :pretend: called me and made me watch The Swan with him over the phone.

I was horrified... He got all emotional on me and cried, "Waah! She's hot now!"

What a boner.

Last night when I was out, someone asked me what I was doing a few weeks from now, and I answered "I'm going to go sit in a big vat of mud and get rubbed by strangers!!" And then he said, "Cool! Are you going with a couple of your girlfriends?" And I said, "No. I'm taking my boyfriend." And then he said...

"BOYFRIEND?!?!??!!!!!!?"

He said it just like that! In all caps! With all those question marks! And exclamation points!!!!!

What's that supposed to mean? Am I unsatisfactory girlfriend material? Hasn't he noticed how cute I am? How engaging? How smart? Dude! I'm fucking fabulous! I mean, he's the one that always makes an effort to sit by me and engage me in convers... OOooooooh! Now I get it.

:geriatricmark:'s facial hair configuration changes practically every time I see him... It's like dating 18 different men, except without 18 different annoying boys. Just one! Woohoo!

And there are just NINE days until I make him take me away for the whole weekend... And considering that every time we've ever been together it included a sandwich and then, racing back to my apartment for some hoobity, this is going to be different.

What if this relationship is all sandwiches and hoobity?! I can't hoobity him all weekend long... I promised him I wouldn't! So what do I do with the non-hoobity time? Eat sandwiches? Pretend I'm asleep? What?

:geriatricmark: told me he's going to keep his eye on me... Oh oh! I'm in trouble now! Because if he's going to start paying attention, he's going to notice all the flaws.

For your entertainment, here are some of the flaws:

1. Pees a lot.
2. When hot, becomes really annoying.
3. Preens way too much.
4. Frequently makes claims of being the cutest person ever.
5. Has crippling addiction to eyedrops.

Feel free to share.

I broke :geriatricmark: tonight... But in my own defense, he was already kind of broken when I got him, what with him being geriatric and all.

Who knew it could be so dangerous to fill a 41-year-old man up on soul food, make him stand up for an hour while you drink your face off, force him to carry heavy things, and then hoobity his brains out?

He really should have come with instructions.

I'm not sure if smelling really good is part of his wickedly evil plan to make me think about him all the live long day, but damn... Everything smells like :geriatricmark:.

Oh, all the smelling going on in this apartment!

Like this morning, when I could hardly get myself out of my Mark scented bed because MY GOD IT SMELLS LIKE GRAPEFRUITS IN HERE! Or when I got home from work, and immediately changed into my Mark scented jammies, because MY GOD THEY SMELL LIKE GRAPEFRUITS! Or just now when I was smelling the stupid Mark scented pillows... because MY GOD! MY PILLOWS SMELL LIKE FUCKING GRAPEFRUITS!!!!

Guess what? Today I went out to lunch with :geriatricmark: and I didn't molest him! What is this? Bizarro World?

And I did weird things like admonish him for not seeing his chiropractor... How girlfriendy of me. I could just barf! Hell, why not just go all out and start dragging him to chick flicks and make him paint my toenails! Yeah!

Tomorrow I make :geriatricmark: drive my sorry ass miles and miles out of town so he can be irritated with me in a different environment... Ha ha! I'm kidding! I never irritate him! I mean me? Irritating? Never.

At least not until I start whining about all my paper cuts.

Dying to know how the Dirty Weekend went? Well, there was some intoxication, a little waterfall viewing, :geriatricmark:'s discovery that my hair looks purple in the sunlight, and a bathtub the size of my bed. Whee!

And I learned that this relationship is more than just hoobity and sandwiches. I mean, it's mostly hoobity and sandwiches. But it's a little bit smoosh too... ACK!

And I learned other things too. Like, did you know that :geriatricmark: can speak Norwegian? Hello libido!! And did you know that I can make him stand out on the deck naked? Ha ha! And did you know that children read this website so I'm not going to ask you what else you know!?

But there does seem to be one problem with The Dirty Weekend... I'm having hoobity flashbacks! Which wouldn't be all that bad if I wasn't having them in public... People are going to start wondering what's up with all the weird seizures.

Sheesh. Can't a girl take a really long lunch with her really cute boyfriend without her boss freaking out and asking everyone in the office if he should call the police?

I done told him already! He's isn't an axe murderer!

But he is really great. :wub:

I finally met my engineer, Måns in person today, and might I just say that he is extremely attractive... Uh. Isn't that against the engineer rules or something? This is messing with my head. He's supposed to be dorky and balding and average looking, not pretty!

But then, it does make his sense of humor a lot more tolerable. And it does mean that I'm going to have to switch gears from Consciously-Not-Flirting to Can't-Stop-Flirting.

Hey, I am helpless against Scandanavian genes.

I got my loverly boyfriend, :geriatricmark: to carry my big ass (free) area rug up from the office today. He's so handy! It's no wonder I almost gloved him today... It was the scariest 2 seconds of my whole life! But I pushed it down, down, down until it went away.

Ah. Safe.

I have consulted several straight friend boys (Hey. I have a few!) about the petrifying events of the last week, (What? Didn't you know that petrifying events were happening? Haven't you been reading my mind? Sheesh! What good are the lot of you?!?) and here is what they've recommended I do:

Straight friend boy #1: Stop being so stupid!
Straight friend boy #2: Calm down, you idiot!
Straight friend boy #3: Fight fight! Fight fight!

Isn't it great having friend boys? Without them I would never stop being stupid and anxious, and start fighting.

OK. I would start fighting anyway, but I could never stop being stupid and anxious without their guidance.

Did you know it was possible to miss somebody SO BAD even though you just talked to him the other day, and saw him a few days ago? This is so retarded! I would stage a Mushy Girl Feelings revolt, but I'm too busy writing his name in the margins of my room finish schedule and naming our future dog.

(Former Congressman Bob Dole!)

First of all, I'd like to say that my hair looks FANTASTIC all desheveled. Damn! It's GORGEOUS!

And second of all, did you notice how much more violently I'm tossing my head? But what better way to show off my FANTASTIC DESHEVELED HAIR than by giving myself whiplash?

And third of all, I'd like to say that nothing clears out the Poor Me, Pity Me mood like a 41 year old man with fantastic hoobity skills and a remarkably short recovery.

And fourth of all, I FEEL GREAT! Bad mood, schmad mood... Apparently, all I needed was to get laid.

And fifth of all, can you believe I took a 2.5 hour lunch and still had my boss greet me with, "where have you been, goddess?" ... Dude. I'm so never quitting.

OK. What is up with :geriatricmark: experiencing CHEST PAINS?! :ack:

Didn't he read that part of his contract? No boyfriend of mine is allowed to have a motherfucking heart attack*, damn it! THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!

Also, it is very inappropriate to find out this news a full day later while EVEN MORE JOURNEY is playing on the radio. (What is this? Journey day?)

* Geriatric Mark did not have a heart attack. But still. WHAT THE HELL?!?

Today I told :geriatricmark: about how I spent the morning talking to a client about hippies. (Hello, appropriate workplace conversation!) And then I told him that I was considering talking to my engineer about boobs, just to round out the day - But since my job consists of me sitting around looking pretty, my plate was already too full to make calls of the booby nature. (Being pretty is hard!)

And then I told him that I was the boss of him, and as his boss, I say that he can't die until I SAY he can die.

And then I went to lunch and felt schmoopy. :yuck:

5 reasons why I am irresistible to construction workers today:

1. Diffused autumn light very flattering.
2. Fog makes me look like I'm in an Elizabeth Taylor perfume commercial... Again. VERY FLATTERING.
3. Pea coat makes ass look smaller.
4. Ridiculously frizzy hair (Even though I spent 15 MINUTES ironing it flat this morning, and BURNED MY HAND OFF... Gah!) is the new black.
   And the last reason why I am irresistible to construction workers today...
5. Only woman available for hooting and hollaring on the street at 7:15 in the morning.

Right now, the the kindest man in the world is on a treadmill, with electrodes hooked up to his moobies, trying not to die. And I'm sure he's totally non-heart-attacky seeing as I just threatened to kill him, and what is more relaxing than a death threat?

Next, I think I'll threaten him with a diet high in soy and low in hamburgers, because he'll totally love that.

My boyfriend did not drop dead! Yay! And, according to his doctor, he is exhibiting no "obvious" signs of heart disease... Which, of course, means nothing to me because now instead of looking for obvious signs, I can now imagine ambiguous signs of heart disease.

Like, oh, I don't know... Gregarious personality? Big feet? Frequent discontent with facial hair configurations? Falling asleep after sex? Aren't those all pretend signs of heart disease?!?

:geriatricmark: will be in America's Armpit ALL NEXT WEEK! One whole week! In the armpit! Without me to shield him from all the armpit-ness!

Oh, the horror!

The other night I had a very inappropriate dream (WITH KISSING! AND TONGUES!) about someone I work with EVERY DAY and whom I claim looks 12 years old. ACK!

I responded the only way I knew how... By running to the shower to scrub the KISSING DREAM off me. Ewww! Twelve is married! And TWELVE! I AM A DIRTY OLD LADY! AAAAAH!!

This one time? I went out to lunch with the boyfriend, and he was standing there holding the chair for me, and since I ain't accustomed to no fancy chivalry crap, I stood there confused... So he sighed real big and pointed to the chair with eyes that clearly said "SIT ON THIS CHAIR, DUMBASS".

So as you can see, I am very charming. He cannot resist my idiot wiles! He's SO in the bag. (He's totally not in the bag.)

And now! Back by lukewarm demand! Guest Posting! ... And I highly encourage you to post, or I will cry and cry and cry. But I might just be saying that because I'm always highly emotional after I watch home makeovers on TV.

Wah! Cabinetry!

:geriatricmark: got back from The Armpit in one piece, which I celebrated by falling down the stairs in my office... Go me.

And I would like to thank you, Los Angeles, for not breaking my boyfriend... And I'm sorry I called you an armpit. I didn't mean it. (I totally meant it.)

PS. And I would like to thank you, Jive Turkeys, for participating in Piehole Open Posting Day. You made me laugh. You made me cry. You made me go, "Huh?" You're the greatest!

Later today, a doctor will inject my boyfriend with RADIOACTIVE MATERIALS.

He'll be just like Spiderman! Except different. I will have a RADIOACTIVE SUPER BOYFRIEND! I can have him melt my enemies with radioactive death rays that shoot from his eyeballs! This is going to be great!

Or at least that's what we'll be telling me.

Things you can put in my new Big Coffee Mug:

1. Coffee
   
2. Pudding
   
3. Peanut Butter
   
4. Altoids
   
5. Jennifer's Big Head
   
6. Hot Buttered Rum
   
7. Regular Rum
   
8. Mixed nuts
   
9. Potpourri
   
10. A small puppy
    

I'm ok, internets. You don't have to wonder if I have a brain tumor anymore, no matter what my very-brain-injury-like behavior says, I'm not dying.

I'm so totally over that crying thing... OK, I lied, because I still do that thing, you know, where all the water falls out of your eyeballs? Yeah. I do that sometimes when I walk past Volunteer Park, or when I think about chocolate cake.

I mentally made a list of all the places I couldn't go - Snoqualmie Falls, the conservatory, the second booth from the back at my local pub - and all the things I couldn't eat anymore - pita bread, whipped cream, raspberries... I've been avoiding that raspberry yogurt in my fridge like the plague, until I realized that's just retarded. Not eating it isn't going to make it all go away. Raspberries have just become the elephant in the room. So I ate it yesterday, and look at me! I'm still alive!

I've just never broken up with someone when things were wonderful. But what can I do? He wants more, and what do you know? So do I. After all, this was the first time that both my heart and my head agreed. But, alas - We don't live in a vacuum.

I won't go any further into the reason why it's over, because, well - I fear people will attack him because of it. But trust me I understand it, and I respect it, and I've accepted it.

Now we just have to work on convincing him that it IS possible to be my friend without hopping into bed with me... I know it's hard to believe, what with me being so doggone cute, but it's true! I swear!

At lunch yesterday (you know, when I was CHILDLESS AND CAREFREE?! WHEEEEEEEE!), my beer arrived with a coaster that said "Call me" and had some fool's phone number on it... Oh, tricky fool. I know it was you over there at the bar. It was the goo-goo eyes and the winking that clued me in. I'm perceptive like that.

Now tell me, do you think this is creepy or is it just me? Who does this? Who hits on girls using coasters? And how did he get my beer guy to deliver it? Money? Or did he invite him over for a rousing game of Dungeons and Dragons?

And anyway, didn't everybody in this bar just see me necking with a large Norwegian man there the night before? What's wrong with these people?

Why for does the Swedish Engineer need to be so pretty? And Swedey? And lumberjack shaped? And have those swoony heavy-lidded blue eyes? And my God did you see his hands? COME TO MAMA!

... I totally didn't mean that! I've sworn off The Boys, remember? I'm just VERY VERY WEAK.

It may not seem like it, but sometimes? I just really, really miss him.

I still daydream about him as if he was still my boyfriend, and I call him several days late for his birthday because I suck at remembering stuff and I totally forgot his birthday, but I still left him a message telling him that I suck, so maybe I don't TOTALLY suck, but I still totally suck, and I just miss him; and if you must know the truth, I've gone so far as to buy deodorant that smells like him, so that whenever I sweat, I can think "MARK!", which is exactly what I do because I am majorly pathetic, and my God, this is one long run-on sentence.

My Pretend Swedish Boyfriend came into the office for a meeting today. And when he arrived, I slinked out of the design studio, tossed my hair, flashed him a smile I was sure would melt his underpants... And walked into a chair!

... God hates me.

Wow.

It's a lot harder to preserve a friendship after a break up, with someone you actually like, than I thought. WHO KNEW? Not me, since I've never actually been dumped before. Why didn't someone tell me there would be visceration?

I seriously don't know why he bothers. I'm really irritating... What with all the "why" and the "but" and the self-pity and the OHMIGAWD! What if I gloved you? What if I still do? THIS TOTALLY SUCKS! I TOTALLY SUCK! NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE ME! I WILL BE ALONE FOREVER! AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!

Yeah... Fun!

And, even more fun? I'M HAVING AN ALLERGIC REACTION TO CORNBREAD! Woo!

Today I had lunch with :geriatricmark:. And then we did, um... Stuff. I told you it was going to be a good day!

Now before some of you go pooh-pooh-ing the fact that I did, uh... stuff... with a man who only recently dumped me, realize, I GOT TO DO STUFF! Which should make you HAPPY for me! Stuff! Yay!

Also? Still liking the fuck out of him.

You know, on second thought, I don't know if I really want to call him "Mr. Poopie". I mean, that's so misleading... He's not in diapers, or anything! It's just that this one time? He cut the cheese under the sheets, and then viciously yanked the covers up over my head.

He thinks he's soooo funny. Jerk.

So, while I think of alternate names for him, I give you five ways to annoy Mr. Poopie:

1. Take your index finger, and jab him in the same spot on the arm for about 3 minutes.
2. Go "hi-ya!" and then kick him in the shins. Not because you're mad or anything, but because you think you look cute going "hi-ya!" and making karate hands.
3. Invite a group of friends over for a Good Morning Kamikaze Dog Pile.
4. Show his mother all your self-inflicted bruises and go "LOOK AT WHAT YOUR SON DID TO ME!" and then watch and laugh while he gets lectured about "not hitting girls".
5. When he complains about the searing pain he is experiencing, make a sad face, ball your fists up under your eyes, and go "Wah! I'm Mr. Poopie and I'm a big baby".

Now... Who wants to be my friend?

Fireman. In my office. Right now... PRAISE THE LORD!

[UPDATE!]
The fireman has left, and without my phone number! What's up with that?

But he did leave me a form telling me I need to "mount" my "fire extinguisher", which I think is not really about mounting our fire extinguisher, but code for "I love you!"

This morning, my site meeting included standing in the middle of several gorgeous plumbers. (When did plumbers start coming like that? What ever happened to the butt-crack variety? Also - HALLELUJAH! Gorgeous plumbers! And the prettiest one's name was Lars. LARS! Oh, thank you Scandanavia! For all the pretty boys!)

Hmm. Are you as concerned as me about my current preoccupation with boys? If your concern level is zero, then YES! We have the same concernity!

Also, is it just me, or the sunny weather, or the (FINALLY!) lack of personal ennui, but... is EVERYBODY IN THE WORLD BEAUTIFUL? Or am I just horny or something?

Last night I had a very dirty dream about :pretend:, which is pretty amazing considering I don't even know what the man looks like, aside from a very drooly description from :homo:.

I think I will have to call him tonight and tell him that I dreamed about him naked, and that he looked a little like Russell Crowe, and for some reason we accidentally broke into someone's house and made out in their spare bedroom.

I'd go ahead and analyze my horny dream, but come on! If I did that with every naked dream I had, I'd never have time to do anything else.

:pretend:: Hello?

Me: Hello, My Pretend California Boyfriend!

My Pretend California Boyfriend: Hey! What are you doing?

Me: You say that so lecherously... Wait. Let me try... How YOU doin'? ... No wait... How you DOIN'? No wait... What are you wearing.

My Pretend California Boyfriend: Nothing.

Me: Eww. I called you when you were naked? Gross.

---

Me: You should come up to Seattle in two months and take me to my friend's wedding.

My Pretend California Boyfriend: (Lecherously) And after the wedding?

Me: Drinking and then vomiting!

My Pretend California Boyfriend: Ah.

Me: You're not coming, are you?

My Pretend California Boyfriend: Nope.

My Pretend Swedish Boyfriend was in the office today, and I have come to the conclusion THAT HE TOTALLY LOVES ME. Or at least I can imagine that all his looking at me is not really just looking so much as WORSHIPPING.

Also, I had other things to say, but then I got distracted by all the worshipping by the Swede. Or maybe by the booze, because YES! I HAVE BEEN DRINKING! AT WORK!

Err... I just pat some guy, I don't even know, on the ass at my coffee place. No really! Go ask him. He's probably still there looking shocked and saying, "did she just grab my ass?!"

Yes. I did. I grabbed his ass... But I didn't mean to! I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED! Please don't sue me!

This morning, when I went to get coffee and a 2-billion calorie croissant, I ran into the guy who whipped out his notebook, and suddenly I remembered why I'm not dating.

Y'all CRAZY!

Besides. I'm saving myself for my one true love. Who is apparently Paul Bunyan. (Tall? Check. Burly? Check. Facial hair? Check. Totally unattainable because he's a CARTOON? Check.)

Want to hear something REALLY RETARDED? Apparently, somebody who recently broke my heart into a million cynical pieces told me this morning that he fell head over heels for me. ME! ME!?!?! WHAT?!?!

I don't know what the hell to think. Or do. Or whether or not I should go jab this pencil in my eye... But I think I've officially gone and fucked up the 2005 Tall Norwegian Man Recovery Program.

Somebody get me a margarita!

PS. He cannot glove me! Because if he did, that would mean that I would be free to feel all those feelings that I have been snuffing out! And that would be gross.

[Edited to say: NOT BACK TOGETHER! ATTENTION! NOT BACK TOGETHER! Just, my God, we should totally stop IM'ing. It makes us all introspective and soppy. :barf:]

So, that whole bitter and cynical thing seems to be going splendidly! Why, I think My Bitter is DRIPPING off the internets! This is great!

Or it was, until it all got ruined by that old boyfriendy type guy, Mr. Poopie. Who, besides for making me one whole minute late picking :turdface: up from day care so that he could tell me how great I am, has apparently made it his mission in life to SABOTAGE ALL MY PLANS! What a jerk, with his making me feel all pretty and hopeful and crap... How the hell am I supposed to be Oscar Levant now?

You know how sometimes when you see somebody you see all the time, but somewhere you don't normally see them, and you look at them like "don't I know you?" or "MY GOD, YOU'RE SO HOT OUTSIDE OF THE PRODUCE DEPARTMENT!"

Or is that just me?

Surely other people have tall, fleshy, produce guys with big produce handling man hands who look incredibly hot in line at the deli counter and are not too annoyed by girls who invade their personal space and stare at them? Right?

So... I think I may just start dating again. You know, since boys won't just stop being pretty. Selfish hot bastards...

And plus, I keep getting asked out. By selfish hot bastards. Or maybe I just got asked out by a couple. Or, OK, maybe just one. But DAMN. Did you get a look at him? He's totally hot! And does not, yet, appear to be weird or have any skeevy fetish for Polynesian girls! JACKPOT!

Let's see how long he can deal with the standard Jennifer behaviors of:

1. Not calling ever.
2. Talking, talking, all the time with the talking, and
3. Whining about paper cuts. (Shut up. MY JOB IS VERY DANGEROUS!)

I give him two days.

You know that Potential Rebound Boyfriend I spoke about earlier? Well, he is DRIVING ME ABSOLUTELY INSANE! Good grief, he needs to wear looser pants. He is distracting me with the not loose enough pants!

Also, he needs to stop being so fucking pretty. Why oh why do his eyes have to crinkle up like that on the sides? That too is driving me insane! Bah!

And I won't even go into his big man hands. Because then I will spontaneously combust.

I can talk to :geriatricmark: without crying now! And even about sensitive subjects! NO CRYING! And even later on in the day! There is no crying! Wow. This is totally a step in the right direction.

Besides for talking about sensitive subjects, we talked about other stuff, like Prospective Rebound Boyfriends! Who are pretty! And butt ass tall! And have hands large enough to envelope my entire ass in one hand! (That's one big hand!):

Geriatric Mark: Where'd you meet him?

Me: My Evil Rotten Friend. She brought him along when I met her for drinks last weekend.

Geriatric Mark: A set up?

Me: No, she thought he was really tall, and pretty, and had big hands, and should be my boyfriend.... Oh, she pretended like she just happened to bring him along, but the whole time she was looking at me like "LOOK HOW PRETTY AND TALL HE IS! YOU SHOULD TOTALLY HUMP HIM!"

And then he asked me if the Prospective Rebound Boyfriend is prettier than him, and I was all, "Err. He's pretty in a different way" and he was all, "Way to crush an ego, Jennifer" and I was all, "Well, I do try."

I know sometimes it's hard to look at me and not think "I want to marry this girl," but unless you're trying to TOTALLY FREAK ME OUT, just keep that to yourself, OK crazy pants?

OK. I'm done complaining now. Go about your business.

I went to happy hour with My Pretend Swedish Boyfriend and then we made out in the street.

HA HA! I am kidding! ... There was only hugging. And I somehow managed to get my hand in an inappropriate place. But CAN YOU BLAME ME? Do you know how cute he is?

... And telling everyone that we made out in the street was his idea.

*This is totally an inside joke. But it makes me laugh, so it stays. Ha!

** PS! He just called to tell me that there will be skullfucking! He's so charming, no?

I have decided that the Angry Irish "Oy Oy" Accent is one of the greatest things in the world... Almost as great as margaritas! But the Oy Oy accent under the influence of the margarita... Totally better than the margarita.

PS. If anybody watches Romber Get's Married I swear, I will come to your house and beat the shit out of you.

Why do boys always assume you're talking about them?

Me: I love ...

Boy: (Knowingly) I know.

Me: ... Sushi.

No, not YOU idiot. SUSHI! I love SUSHI! Gawd.

My baby :turdface: is on a charter bus with his classmates to Mt. St. Helens, and won't be back until NINE O'CLOCK AT NIGHT. Holy fucking crap! I already don't know what to do with myself.

There is, of course, the obvious choice of auditioning penises. But lately, they are so lame! I mean, they're pretty like the dickens. (Heh. I said "dickens".) So pretty that I think *I* am out of *THEIR* league, which is weird, because who's out of MY league? MY LEAGUE IS THE BEST LEAGUE!

But then, he opens his mouth, and, like, nothing comes out. Because I think he's all hollow inside... It makes me glad I haven't even kissed him yet. He'd probably just suck my personality out. (Heh. I said "suck".)

Last night I had an argument with :pretend: that went a little something like this... Actually, now that I think about it, it went EXACTLY like this.

Me: I'm smart!

My Pretend California Boyfriend: No you're not!

Me: Am too!

My Pretend California Boyfriend: Are not!

Me: Am too!

My Pretend California Boyfriend: Not!

Me: Too! Too! Too!

My Pretend California Boyfriend: Not! Not! Not!

As you can see, we're really mature.

I have come to the conclusion that boys, if smitten, will pretty much take whatever the hell you throw at them and declare it "CUTE!"

I can show up greasy haired, no make-up'ed, wearing grubby jammies, and obnoxious, and this is cute! CUTE! Absurd... But I'm totally taking it.

I'll never have to bathe again.

That man crosses the street like a New Yorker. Which can only mean one thing... HE'S TRYING TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK!

Stop it, damn you! Stand and wait an appropriate distance from the curb like a good little Seattleite! YOU'RE KILLING ME!

If Your Pretend California Boyfriend tried to woo you to Las Vegas in early August, what would you think he's planning?

A) Penn & Teller, blackjack, and shrimp cocktails til we puke.
B) Drunken wedding at the Elvis Chapel. (Followed by Quicky Divorce.)
C) Quicky.

Me, I'm leaning more toward C, but I wouldn't rule out B because who WOULDN'T want to drunkenly marry me at the Elvis Chapel? I'm great! And so is Elvis!

I don't know exactly what it is about watching boys cook that makes me think very dirty thoughts, but OH MY GOD! Boy + spatula = Rowr.

Now, if I could just find some guy who I could con into cooking for me, rather than LAUGHING when I suggest we eat at my apartment. And then saying, "Who are you kidding? You don't cook!"

Well. Mister. Number one, I am CAPABLE of cooking, I just don't want to. It makes me feel all gross and domestic-y... And number two, hello? Who said I was going to cook? Puhlease... YOU! You are cooking! YOU!

There's this guy I know, who when I look at him, all I can think about is how I want to have lots and lots of babies with him... Lots of broody-eyed, big-headed babies with high nose bridges and ginger hair.

I wonder if I can make him go very very far away with the power of my mind?

A List of the Last Five Men To Hit On Me

1. Tremendously old man. Not, like, the mere 9 years it takes for me to call them geriatric, like TECHNICALLY geriatric. Like, I Keep My Teeth In A Glass kind of geriatric.
   
2. Man with beginner's mullet and criminally tight jeans. And there might have been some cowboy boots involved, but I was too scared to look down.
   
3. Smarmy man claiming to "know how to treat a woman". (Odd seeing as he was incapable of knowing how to talk to one.)
   
4. Man wearing belt with big rodeo-sized belt buckle and (MORE!) tight jeans! (Why for the belt? Where are the tight jeans going? They're TIGHT!)
   
5. Hobo.

Now, I'm not sure if you can take this much excitement in the morning, but I am going to chance it, because The Hoobity! It has returned! Oh, how I missed you, hoobity. Also the cunnil... Wait. Is that too much information? ARE CHILDREN READING THIS?!?

Well. You get the picture.

But the snoring... Oh my God! It was like sleeping with a jigsaw. And the taking up of the whole bed thing, so that I can't sleep diagonal like I am wont to do! That too, was weird. Also, I feel kindof bad about my neighbor having to listen to all that noise. (Sorry, Kyle!)

But I'm willing to forgive the snoring, and the hogging of the bed, and the waking up of Kyle, because of the smelling good, and the laughing at my jokes, and the general pleasant demeanor... And, you know. THE HOOBITY!

Oh my god... Am attracted to 50-year old man with white hair... May have, at some point, pictured him naked... In own self defense, was very George-Clooney-10-years-from-now looking... Is that enough defense? Because I don't think so.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!

(Also disturbing? Just danced to the Applebee's "Hey Mambo" commercial on TV... OH MY GOD! I can't stop it with the creepy behavior!)

My Prospective Rebound Boyfriend can grab my entire head in his huge gorilla hands, and pop it right off! Dating him would be dangerous! With his huge head-ripping-off hands!

Let's run away!

PS. Found a Kate Spade handbag at a secondhand store for $20! ... I didn't have to prostitute myself or nothing! OH MY GOD! This is the best weekend ever! And my head wasn't even popped off!

When people are lost and (I'm guessing tipsy) in San Francisco, who else do they think to call, but ME? Not because I know my way around, but because... Drunk? Lost? THIS IS TOTALLY JENNIFER!

Of course, the promise to call me when they are no longer lost and drunk, and their cell phone is charged. NOT HEEDED... Well, :geriatricmark:, are you still wandering around Bay Street? ARE YOU DEAD?

I got "wooey!"-ed by a garbage man on my way back to the office from lunch today... Because I'm so HAWT hobbling down the street. He could not resist my hobbling! I am hobbleicious! Sssssssss! *

And just so you know, being followed down the street by a garbage truck with someone screaming "YEAH BABY!" and "what's your phone number?" is TOTALLY CLASSY!

* This is the sound of me sizzling!

What does it mean when you look at somebody and he smiles, and your nose automatically crinkles up and your smile goes from, like, ear to ... what, China? And your whole head feels light, and your brain non-existant, and it feels like someone has reached into your chest and grabbed a hold of your guts and is tickling the shit out of them, and you kind of want to cry all the time because you're kinda happy finally? Because I think I know what it means.

It means I AM REALLY FUCKING SCARED! But I'm happy about it... I think.

No wait... SCARED! No... happy! ... Eh, fuckit. I'm scrappy.

There's just something very weird about just sitting there with the phone stuck against your ear, saying absolutely nothing, because HEY! I think I ran out of things to talk about... Not because I don't have anything to talk about, because believe you me that never happens... But because it's just so draining feeling all these exhausting feelings.

Let's just sit here and listen to him breathe! Yeah! That's easier... And creepier.

Besides it's just better if I shut up, because I can't seem to stop calling him "pooter head", and I can't stop talking about other guys, and telling him stories that, while amusing, ARE NOT AT ALL APPROPRIATE. Because I'm a jackass.

Also, I am so totally freaked out, and confused, and scared, and disappointed, and did I mention scared? Yes? I did? Well, trust me - I didn't say it enough. Because I. AM. FREAKING. OUT.

It must be I Love Jennifer week! First, that dude that, like... yeah whatever. I don't know. But first him, and then just now while I was annoying him during our bi-weekly phone call, :pretend: says to me, "It's a good thing I love you or else I'd BEAT YOUR ASS."

And then he called me a "slut bitch whore".

Oh, that man! He knows all the pretty words.

He has the bluest eyes I've ever seen... It's like he's got two swimming pools stuck in his head. Oh, how they make me so swoony!

Swoony, of course, is code for "stupid"... Although sometimes, he does inspire genius... I mean, my "Do Not Disturb, I Am Naked" sign is the best sign ever!

Apparently, when boys pretend to choke you for pushing every last one of their buttons, and you go "ehhk" and make the gaggy face, they think it's cute. CUTE!

God! If only I knew this sooner, I could have saved about 5 trillion dollars on makeup.