Bowl-ed Over

HA! I'm back! And I come bearing puns!

So I watched the Super Bowl. Here's what i have to say about that:

1. Tom Brady wears superfluous make-up (if that black stuff is to cut down the glare, why is it needed indoors, at night?). Also, he is SO PRETTY. Almost too pretty. Every time he got tackled I feared for his delicate facial bone structure.

2. Why did 90% of the commercials involve animals?

3. The whole dramatic "throw the red thing on the field to challenge a call" thing is fabulous, and I wish I could do it in life.

4. The Giants' uniforms are TERRIBLE. Why the red knee-socks?

5. Tom Petty still totally does it for me. I don't care if he's sporting a mountain-man beard, his smile kills me every time. Plus I'd like to share hair-straightening tips with him sometime.

My one complaint: too pretentious for solitaire?

This blog entry comes straight from my brand new 15 -inch MacBook Pro.  Yes, "pro".  As in "professional."  Professional laptop-breaker?  Perhaps.

I am a "computer person's" worst nightmare.  I know nothing about technology.  That seems insane to say in 2007 when computers are no longer dorky and we rely on them to live and function, but really.  I understand precious little.  My sole requirements for a new computer were the following:

1. Not heavy, or, at the very least, not heavy enough to break my nose

2. Pretty

And that's it, so this new one really fits the bill (I can't believe I just used that cliche-just because I'm reluctant to join the 21st century technology-wise doesn't mean I should talk like I live in a speak-easy).  I'm basically terrified of breaking it, and I don't really know what I'm doing, but dammit, it LOOKS really cool.  And that's what counts.  I'm nervous of it getting scratched or something, so I've finally found a use for those dust-bags from purses and shoes that I have lying around (I'm rotating between Coach and Seychelles-I've found that the Juicy Couture ones are too thick and cumbersome.  Maybe I should post this observation on some kind of Mac forum so I can get pelted with e-fury and cyber insults).

But I'm loving this Photo Booth thing.  Is someone at Apple as OCD as I am about having something stuck in your teeth or on your face?  Because I will use this constantly.

Apparently it counts down before it takes the picture.  I wasn't aware of this despite the big red flashing numbers, so I now have a default picture that looks like I fell asleep while setting up the laptop.  I plan on keeping it like this for two reasons.  One, it makes me appear completely aloof and unfazed by this fancy technology.  And two, because my eyelashes look fabulous in MacBook Land.

Ali Lohan, take notice

Jamie Lynn: Mom, I know that I'm 16 and your only daughter that wears underwear in public, but I think I'm going to move in with my 19 year old boyfriend.
Mama Spears: No, I don't think so...
Jamie Lynn: Oh, really? Have you reconciled with Britney? Do you not need my Zoey 101 money anymore?
Mama Spears: I'll get the U-Haul!

I mean, seriously. My favorite part about this whole thing is the fact that she's "shocked". Really? Shocked? Shock is a word that I reserve to describe something that is completely unexpected and unlikely. Not the EXPECTED outcome.

God bless Lynn Spears and her crackerjack parenting. Dina Lohan is going to have to really step up her game.

"I said, in these shoes? I doubt you'd survive..."

Dear Friends At School,
I adore you all and have enjoyed your company immensely. However, I regret to inform you that you will never see me again, as I will not be returning to graduate school next semester. For I have fallen in love.


I know what you're thinking: it will never work out. This is fleeting. Once you commit to to these, it will only be a matter of time until a newer, shinier, younger pair of black, round-toed pumps catch your eye. But you're WRONG. This is different. It's special.


The reason that I can't simply relocate my relationship is simple; as I've learned in the past few weeks, the streets of upstate New York will be covered in some form of ice, snow, or dirty sludge until probably July. And while I'm not above wearing fancy clothes in the apartment (I've coded and done research in a black cocktail dress, not going to lie), I'm at a point in my life where I'm not interested in hiding my relationship from the world. Nor do I want to be the girl who ends up in traction because she wore stilettos to the bar and slipped on ice en route (although if I look good in the emergency room, then I'm kind of a little OK with that). I mean, please look at what the weather has done to my favorite jeans. Mangled.


I have been SO GOOD about cutting back on the heels lately, ever since I came to the realization this summer that "hey, lady...maybe you don't need to be 8 feet tall." And these babies put me in the upwards of 6'2 range. And it's NOT BECAUSE OF BOYS. Entirely. Look, I don't think I'm a traitor to my gender or statuesque women around the world just because I recognize that it's a distinct possibility that some guys don't want to date women who are a foot taller than them. And that's fine. Different strokes. It took me years and years to be cool with the idea of dating a guy my height or shorter. And I don't NEED to wear heels all the time-in truth, I think I overdid it with the espadrilles this summer. But OCCASIONALLY, I want to wear ridiculously impractical (and, let's face it, dangerous) shoes, and I will never be with a man who can not accept that (or who is not willing to go get the car for those times when the ridiculously impractical and dangerous shoes render me immobile and unable to walk across a parking lot).

Also...can you please notice the red DSW tag on the bottom of the shoe (also, note my makeshift makeup table that I have commandeered in my parents' basement over break):
Because they were 70% off of the sale price. Eighteen dollars, friends. It would have been foolish NOT to purchase them*.

*Please remind me of this when I am an 80 year old woman, hobbling around on knees without cartilage and non-functioning Achilles tendons.

I'm Only Sleeping

I'm WAY too busy to be doing this, but who am I to spit in the face of great blogging traditions?

John Lennon
October 9, 1940 – December, 8 1980

"On a cold December evening
I was walking through the Christmas tide

When a stranger came up and asked me
If I'd heard John Lennon had died

And the two of us went to this bar
And we stayed to close the place

And every song we played
Was for The Late Great Johnny Ace, yeah, yeah, yeah"

"Well he's still alive. He's still with us. His spirit will go on you know.

"You can't kill a person that easy.

"That's the way I feel about it."

-Yoko Ono

Seriously, don't call me

Dear CNN.com,
I have about 8 million things to do. I don't have time to be writing this blog entry. But we need to talk.

Look, I'm all for free flow of information and blah blah blah. But sometimes? You should keep certain stories to your damn selves. Stories that will do nothing but terrify and exacerbate an already legendary anxiety disorder. Stories like this one.

I already live in fear of my stove (it's GAS, people, gas-there is a flame involved), my car (I know, it's been a year since Big Red but I still can't adjust to the fact that not all cars have parts that will literally fall off in your hand or explode while you're going 70 on the Beltway), and my Rocket Dog sneakers (the bottoms are SO SLIPPERY). I do not need another thing in my apartment/life to fear.

Love,
Jenn

PS-Also, what happened to Bill Hemmer? I know he was on tv and not really on the website, but still. Why did you guys lose him to Fox? He was dreamy, and I can't watch Fox because, well, it goes against all of my principles (i.e. "don't pay attention to crazy people"). Unless I'm watching O'Reilly. Gotta keep that heart rate up, and nothing gets me going like the utter lack of spin that man dishes out.

It doesn't show signs of stopping...

So remember when, exactly one year ago this week, Big Red finally died for real and poor, recent college-graduate Jenn had to buy her first car? And she debated and debated over getting all-wheel drive, because it would cost more? And her dad was like "Jenn, get the all-wheel drive, you're applying to (insert name of large, private, upstate New York university) if you move there you're going to need the all-wheel drive, trust me"? And Jenn was like "oh dad, if I even end up going there, and who's to say, as there's a chance I will write and publish a wildly successful novel and will make a bajillion dollars and will therefore not need to go to graduate school or use my brain ever again, even if I end up going there that's a billion years away (i.e., 9 months) and I don't ever like to plan for the future"? But then she ended up doing it anyway, and was slightly pissed about how that decision affected her monthly Target budget?

As it turns out, "Father Knows Best" wasn't just a title of a boring black-and-white 50's TV show that I've never actually watched before.

I awoke Friday morning to a veritable blizzard (like an inch of snow on the ground and it was still falling from the sky in impressive volume, so shut up) and had to get myself from my apartment to campus. It was a NIGHTMARE. If I was still in the D.C. area, not only would the federal government have been closed and I wouldn't have to go to work, THERE WOULDN'T EVEN BE ANY SNOW IN THE FIRST PLACE BECAUSE IT DOES NOT SNOW IN EARLY NOVEMBER IN CIVILIZED PLACES. And people keep tossing this phrase "lake effect snow" around and I STILL don't know a.)what that means or b.)what lake they're talking about.

By Friday evening there was literally about 4 or 5 inches on the ground. I've had winters where we've never had that much snow on the ground ever, and here it is November and we've already had that much and no one seems to care about it. I knew about the snow situation here before I moved, but it's really starting to hit me. I had to buy SNOW BOOTS on Friday, ya'll. Snow boots. No no no no no. Children need snow boots because they go into the snow and play. Adults don't need snow boots because IN CIVILIZED PLACES they can always get from place to place without having to worry about walking through 8 foot-high snow banks.


I'm officially in hibernation mode.

The Celebrities Have Lost Their Damn Minds: A Pictorial Expose

Is it weird that I am most bothered by her sleeveless turtleneck sweater?

I'm going to pretend that they're not actually shooting right now, and instead stand by my theory that the cast of Grey's Anatomy truly believes themselves to be actual medical practitioners. Also, you know that those two on the left just hate Pompeo.

KATHERINE HOLMES, why the hell would would you run a marathon without a bra??!!? I wouldn't take the trash out without one! This is absurd! I'm having sympathy pains just imagining how uncomfortable that would be. I truly believe that gravity is going to strike back with a vengeance just because she's clearly mocking it.

Ok, so I'm all for fairness and getting what's rightfully yours and blah blah blah. But these pictures of the strike crack me the eff up. Because, people? IT'S NOT THAT SERIOUS. It's not Vietnam. YOU DON'T NEED JESSE JACKSON (note: I was going to make a reference to Jackson maybe not realizing who runs Hollywood-google Jackson and anti-Semitic if you don't know about the good reverends slightly racist leanings-but I opted not to, because in this time of strife and conflict and Internet royalties, we need to band together as a nation).

Oh, Mickey Rourke. For a dude who's walking out of the police station after being charged with a DUI, you certainly are chipper, aren't you. And why wouldn't you be. You have a face that looks like a caricature version of your former self. You're wearing cowboy boots and what might possibly be a snakeskin shirt in a charmingly unapologetic manner. And you take the time to shave your chest, yet you leave that Captain Hook-looking facial hair. You are truly a delightful, alcoholic enigma.

Sigh. When I grow up, I hope I can find a husband who will take me to fancy events and present me like he's Vanna White and I'm a sparkly, drugged-out vowel. And he let her wear heels! Nicole is going to be so pissed!

Hey, it's the creepy pharmacist from Desperate Housewives! I wonder what it's like to have no friends, mirrors, or knowledge of the existence of pomade.

This doesn't really relate to the rest of this post, but seriously, I don't know which to love more-the fact that Bowie looks like he's doing a damn Vogue shoot, or the fact that he has been in upstate New York (because really, I live there now, and I can't see it).

1.)Why are you still here?
2.)Are you aware that the picture on the right looks like you're wearing eye-shadow?
3.)Is that cord REALLY going to wrap itself around your neck and drag you off what might be the worst album cover I've ever seen, or are you just a tease?

Presenting the "Tyra/Oprah/Dr. Phil Axis Of Daytime Evil Quote Of The Day"!!!!

"You'd think you'd be like 'oh my god. Oh. My god. I have a miniature human here and I'm only 16. Oh my god.' But then you got pregnant AGAIN. Are you a slow learner?"-Dr. Phil


I've absolutely developed an unhealthy obsession with Dr. Phil. Like to the point that I have a running list of possible Dr. Phil-related thesis topics. Just because he resists the temptation to touch his guests' breasts or basically tell them they're going to hell because they're not Christian or talk about how to burp in your boyfriend's car without him noticing does NOT mean that he's any less crazy than Miss Tyra. He clearly is. He also thinks women are inferior. I base this sweeping judgment on one fact:

1.) His wife attends the taping of every single show-AND JUST SITS IN THE AUDIENCE SILENTLY DOING NOTHING BUT WATCHING HER HUSBAND WORK. He'll actually acknowledge her prescence about one in every 10 episodes. Homegirl just sits there. Every single day. For the hours and hours that it takes to tape these shows. Why!?!?! Isn't she allowed to work? Or if she doesn't want to work, doesn't she have something better to do than sit for a thousand hours on end?

Ok, PLUS he completely coddles his female guests, letting them get away with all kinds of crap that he won't take from men because he expects less from women. I'm also not having any more of his "aw, shucks, I'm just a down-home southern gentleman spreading my quaint brand of common sense to the masses." Gross. And according to his wikipedia page (and we all know that if it's on wikipedia, it is 100% fact), his dissertation was entitled "Rheumatoid Arthritis: A Psychological Intervention." I'm not sure why that makes me dislike him even more, but it really really does. It might have something to do with the fact that I'm fairly certain it's about pain being all in your head. Seriously, can you NOT see him yelling at a pack of grandmothers to toughen up!?

In which I link to everything on the internet

So did you watch the premiere of "Chuck" tonight? Well, if you did, then you now know what would happen if Zach Braff and John Krasinski had a baby, and NBC gave that baby a show. After the baby grew up, of course. Everyone knows that baby-centered television never works. Also, do you think that characters named Chuck will be having the best week ever?

In unrelated news, Ms. Bradshaw? You've been out of the game for awhile now, so I guess it's understandable. You weren't aware that it's now considered a major fashion faux pas to wear flowers bigger than your head with dominatrix shoes after Labor Day.

"I mean...I AM a graduate student in media studies...."

New favorite pick-up line, by the way. You'd be surprised how many men are into content analysis. That wasn't meant to be dirty. Not that it really sounds dirty. Now I feel like maybe I'm the dirty one here. ANYWAY-let's analyze some media!

So today I have been singing "Every Rose Has Its Thorn", by my personal favorite 80's hair band, Poison. Now, I'm not entirely sure why this particular song has worked it's way into my brain, but it has, and it refuses to un-clench it's vice-like grip over me. It might have something to do with the 76 episodes of Rock of Love that VH1 has been looping over and over and over. Who's to say. But back to my point-have you ever actually stopped to think about the rhyme scheme in that song?

"Every rose has its thorn

Just like every night has its dawn

Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song

Every rose has its thorn"

He rhymes "thorn" with "dawn" and "song". That totally blew my mind. I can't ever think of it the same way again. Because seriously, there are A BILLION AND TWENTY word that rhyme with thorn. Here's what I would have done:

"Every rose has its thorn

Just like every can has its corn

Just like every baby is eventually born

Every rose has its thorn"

OR

"Every rose has its thorn

Just like every guy looks at porn

Just like every Swede man is named Bjorn

Every rose has its thorn"

While we're on the topic of lyrics that bother me, allow me to share my personal favorite. DISCLAIMER: Stop reading now if your favorite song is (somehow) "In The Summertime", by Mungo Jerry. I have ruined this song for many, many people by pointing out what I'm about to.

Ok, if you're still with me, let me just say that I do love this song. It's just the words that kill me:

"In the summertime when the weather's high,

you can stretch right up and touch the sky,

when the weather's fine,

you got women, you got women on your mind.

Have a drink, have a drive,go out and see what you can find.

If her daddy's rich, take her out for a meal.

If her daddy's poor, just do as you feel.

Speed along the lane,

Do a ton, or a ton and twenty-five.

When the sun goes down, you can make it,make it good in a lay-by."

This song encourages:

1. Drinking and driving

2. Reckless driving

3. Using rich women

4. Possibly date-raping the poor ones.

Lovely!

I guess if you're this pretty, you don't need to bother with iambic pentameter

Takin' time to make time...

And suddenly it's 2001 once again and I am scared of my mail. Not that this was found in the mail, but I hear "anthrax" and I just go there. But ew, I'm really glad it's not 2001 again; I was blonde for the better part of that year, and it was a terrible life choice.

And on a lighter note....

Unfortunate Situation: Plugging your i-Pod into your car while you're in a parking lot surrounded by people and having an embarrassing song play extremely loudly.

Unfortunate Situation That Could ONLY Happen To Jenn: Having the parking lot be attached to a Jewish Community Center, and having the song be "Son of a Preacher Man."

True story, by the way. Happened last month. This embarrassing situation was after the one where I cried on the phone with the CVS pharmacist, but before the one when I slipped on spilled coffee at National Airport and fell on my bad knee-AGAIN. Essentially, if I leave the house I'm either going to a.)embarrass myself, or b.) get lost going somewhere I've already been 45 times, therefore embarrassing myself.

Just some things I have to say

1. I'm in graduate school. It's a little scary, and I am under constant stress wondering when they will discover that I am not very smart and that they made a horrible mistake. Also, I feel like I'm cheating on my college (both big basketball schools, renowned journalism/comm. programs, you know).
2. The "no cell phones while driving in New York" law is RUINING MY LIFE. Don't they know that the car is where I do my best phone calling?
3. I've survived a week without air conditioning. It's like Survivor up in this piece, for real.

Where Can I Buy Desperation Barbie?

ABC really knows what women want. We like our men vacant, manicured/groomed within an inch of their lives, and made of wax. So they're giving us Brad:

Bradley is the newest victim of "The Bachelor", ABC's hit reality program where women give up their careers, dignity, and self-respect in order to prostitute themselves for a plastic rose from an equally plastic man who is also DATING/MAKING OUT WITH ALL 15 OF THEIR ROOMMATES. God bless America.

Homeboy looks like a Ken doll. I'm not entirely sure what bothers me the most about him-is it the dead eyes? Or the fact that it looks like the hair in his beard/sleaze-stache was placed onto his wax skin one by one by a pair of tweezers?

He's also a total natural. Nothing awkward or forced about this gem!

Dear Internet: Am freaking out. Please send cookies.

In the midst of all this sadness, I developed a Mystery Cut on my arm that has since morphed into a Mystery Scar. Also, seriously, I kind of have a wonky-looking face, but I doubt copious amounts of vitamin-E oil will solve that problem. Not that it's doing much for Mystery Scar either.

I'm moving in 12 days. To go to graduate school. I have not discussed the matter in this forum as of yet. But now I have to. Because I am losing it a tiny bit. And this involves me crying over running out of hair gel, hyperventilating in the parking lot of REI, giving myself shin splints from spending 45 hours a day at the gym working out my anxieties, and typing in weird, short, pseudo-sentences at the beginning of all blog entries.

I have about 8 billion things to do and I can't seem to accomplish anything. Like yesterday I went to paint pottery. My procrastination is hard. Core. I don't just play solitaire on the computer, friends. I go out and do crafts.

Basically, I'm probably going to be posting a little less frequently for a while. But don't worry, kids. I will not abandon you completely. Because where else can I go when I feel the need to tell literally TENS of people things like "yeah, so I have to get a mouth-guard to wear at night." This is true, p.s. I went to the dentist today and he told me two things. The first was about the mouth-guard, the second was when I was being fitted for said guard and involved something about my mouth having unusually powerful suction. I don't know. Basically I need to wear this thing to bed every night because a.) you never know when a hockey puck's going to be flying at your face and b.) I have developed a delightful little crossbite, which is essentially an underbite that can't quite commit. So yeah, I'm a little sad about being 24 and having to wear a glorified retainer.

The moral of the story: maybe take your orthodonture seriously the first time, instead of I don't know, using those little rubber bands that were meant to go on your braces for when you make a million tiny braids all over your head, Bo Derek style, because really you look like an ass and now your bite is still messed up. NEVER HAPPENED....