Hot stuff

I have the worst vacation luck ever. Why do I always get sick? Why? I sound like Darth Vader, people. On a bad day. I'm hot. And not because I'm enjoying the sunshine. Oh, no, when I'm outside, I'm cold. And I walked around Epcot all day today like a corpse. I did get to enjoy Spaceship Earth, though (that's the big golfball structure), and I took lots of cheesy photos, which I promise to share as soon as I am safely home in Massachusetts. Assuming my head doesn't explode on the plane tomorrow.

Sunshine on a cloudy day

Day two of my Florida vacation, and I have this to say: I don't need a coat. I don't need a sweater. I don't need a sweatshirt. I keep bringing one with me anyway, because it's freaky. I keep expecting a cold snap. This much sunshine can't be natural.

I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello

So, tomorrow morning at the official crack of dawn, I'm winging my way to sunny Florida to visit the little sister in her new home. I'm excited to go someplace I've never been, even if it's Florida and not say, Spain. I'm excited to see my little sister, too, in her own place, all grown-up and shit. Okay, that part freaks me out a little bit, but I'm dealing with it as an older sister.

This long-winded message is just to say that blogging will be sporadic if not non-existent for the next five to six days. I'll be basking in the sun, and all you Bostonians can officially hate me. If you live outside the Arctic tundra, however, you must still love me unabashedly.

Egg hunt

Last night I was at CVS picking up a few things, and I couldn't resist the massive display of Easter candy, so I grabbed two Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs, my favorite Easter candy ever. At least, that's what I thought I grabbed. When I got home and unwrapped the chocolate, peanut-buttery goodness, I discovered to my horror that I had purchased two white chocolate eggs. This was a tragedy of epic proportions. My mouth was all prepared. I wanted the peanut butter egg. It's vastly superior to the regular peanut butter cup. The chocolate shell is more melty and smooth, and the peanut butter is divine. But not this, this ... monstrosity. White chocolate is nasty. It's a crime against nature! It's not right! I struggled though my disappointment, cried my way through ER (why do I still watch this show?), and made amends today by picking up the real thing. It's every bit as good as I remembered from last Easter. This stuff is heaven on earth, people. I wonder if I could survive on nothing but peanut butter eggs for the rest of my life? Probably not as well as I could survive on only potatoes, but oh, what a way to go.

Seriously, people, if I got presents on Easter and peanut butter eggs, this would totally be my favorite holiday.

Start me up

Sure, it's been nearly eight months since I said I needed to round out my top five best song beginnings ever, but I never forget a top five list. Especially when it involves listening to songs at extremely high volumes in my car.

In rough order, here are the Top Five Best Song Beginnings Ever (Because I Said So):
1. Your Time is Gonna Come. Lyin. Cheatin. Hurtin. That's all you seem to do. 'Nuf said.
2. Separate Ways. Who doesn't know that that beat means some serious Journey is coming your way? Classic.
3. Cochise. Wait for it. Wait for it. Now.
4. Daughter. Alone. Listless. Breakfast table in an otherwise empty room.
5. Chemicals Between Us. Just ... right.

Bush edged out Seven Nation Army. You can't deny that beat. It's persistent, it's fabulous, and we still don't understand why we're going to Wichita, but it's one hell of a ride.

Out of balance

Oh, man, I'm totally out of whack now. How did I end up with Stage Beauty, Ray, and Finding Neverland at the same time? I'm usually more careful with my Netflix queue. Where's my Napoleon Dynamite? Where's my Anchorman? Damn. All of this basketball watching has me off my game.

And so it is

BC fell to Duke last night, 70-65. BC played a great game and really hung in there against a bigger, more experienced team. Senior Clare Droesch left everything on the court; she finished with 23 points to lead all scorers. She heaved back-to-back 3-pointers to keep the game alive in the waning seconds, and she still managed a smile when the buzzer sounded. Brooke Queenan had another stellar game with 17 points and 9 rebounds, but truly, it was a team effort. My only criticism is this stat line: BC took 6 free throws to Duke's 22. Yup, I said 22. And I know Kathrin Ress doesn't have the highest shooting percentage, but you can't tell me she went 1 for 10 in the paint without getting fouled.

All that aside, I really think BC is going to do well in the ACC next season.

Wholly to be a fool

While spring is in the world, I am feeling the need for change, for something new and green and different. I want to clean my car, clean my house, clear my mind. I want to fly away, see something I've never seen before.

I'm taking steps. Steps have been taken to accomplish all these things. I'm heading off to Florida in four days, where hopefully there will be sunshine and baseball. I've signed up with one of those internet dating services (no, I will not tell you which one), and I feel ... okay about that. Mostly, it's made me realize just how hard it is to be charming all the time. I'm really not a charming person. Smiling makes my mouth tired. When do I get to scowl again? Perhaps I should wait until winter returns.

This is a half-assed response to this week's Fifty Words.

Nothing but net

The women's tournament is finally underway, and we've got virtually non-stop coverage today. Which means I'm logging some serious couch time.

In the first game that I really cared about, BC beat Houston, 63-43. I expected a much closer game than that (as did everyone at ESPN), but BC came out of the gate on fire, led by senior Clare Droesch, who finished the game with a career-high 23 points. Lucky BC gets to advance to face #2 seed Duke on Tuesday. This will be a taste of things to come for BC fans, as next season BC joins the ACC.

Update: The published boxscores seem to be giving BC the win 65-43. While watching the game, the officials overturned a basket made by Emily Vogts in the last few seconds, claiming she didn't beat the shot clock. Anyone know if they changed their minds again? (Not that it matters, I'm just curious if this is crappy women's sports reporting, or an officiating change that happened off-screen.)

The law of diminishing returns

I've been debating for the last several minutes on whether or not I should blog. I've been trying to stick to the idea that I should only blog when I have something to say, something to share, or some vaguely humorous non sequitur to insert into the universe.

Well, I have something to say, and it's only a trifle more inappropriate than what I usually write, so I'm going for it. I'm here to tell you the things no one else will. You know when exercise-loving freaks tell you that you're going to like it once you get into it? That's bullshit. They're trying to sucker you into their misery. It's always going to suck. You know why? When you're done, you're tired and sweaty. And there's only one activity worth that, and running on a treadmill ain't it. I'm also here to reveal this ugly, ugly truth, ladies: When you do finally buckle down and do that exercise/healthy eating crap that doctors and documentarians are always urging us to do, the girls are going to suffer. I went shopping today, and I spent an agony of time in the lingerie department before I finally gave into the truth and demoted myself a cup size.

Fuck this shit. Somebody get me some fries.

Back-handed compliment of the week

"Other girls aren't like you, Jen."

Front-handed compliment of the week:
"Have you lost weight? You look great."

Please direct all other compliments to the publicity office.

Because I'm ubiquitous like Moby Dick

I give you my first post at Snarkfest. Until they delete my mad-ass ramblings, anyway.

Got me a ticket on an aeroplane

At last! I'm flinging off the cruel mantle of winter and embracing the delicate shrug of spring. And all I have to do is trek to Logan, enjoy the shiny new Terminal A, take a two-hour flight, and hang with my little sister in her new abode in Florida. It'll be like spring break, except without the binge drinking and meaningless sex. Dammit.

T-10 days. Not that I'm counting.

Green means go

While watching the latest installment of Project Greenlight tonight, I finally learned the answer as to why I haven't skyrocketed to international fame and fortune (and no, it's not because I haven't done anything): I don't drink enough coffee. In fact, I don't drink any coffee at all. I'm screwed.

I also learned that my freakish attraction to men who swear with authority continues unabated. Matt Damon dropped the f-bomb like it was going out of style, and all of a sudden, I wanted to have 10,000 of his babies. Trouble is, I've never liked Matt. I'm a Ben girl from way back. Hopefully Ben will swear next week, and the world will be restored to its proper order.

But the most important lesson of all to be had from bad reality TV? Even the losers get to have a beer with Matt and Ben.

Things are going great, and they're only getting better

Now, I know my vampire tendencies are well documented, but I can't take the sunshine we've been having. Whenever it's not snowing here, all of sudden, the sun has taken to shining. I'm not used to it. We've just had two months of endless night. In addition to my poor weakened eyes miserable attempts to readjust to something called "daylight," I've also got to deal with the glare off the snow. Don't think I don't know what this is all about. No, it's not spring. (That won't arrive until June, you fools!) It's Nature's way of making sure I've got lots of wrinkles just in time for my 30th birthday. I'm on to your game, bitch.

According to the latest figures

Four out of five chihuahuas read being jennifer garrett.

A true friend

"You're frumping out today, hardcore. That's okay, I still love you."

Thanks.

That explains a lot about you, Ray

Co-worker, suspiciously: Jen, have you had a lot of sugar today?
Me: Well, now that you mention it, yeah.

I think it was the extensive quoting of Beavis and Butt-head that gave it away.

A veritable symphony

The confluence of noises at my house this morning is a little freaky, people. I currently have Tina & the B-Sides playing on my computer, accompanied by the tap-tap-tap of my laptop keys, which is merging nicely with the alternating humming and swearing and sanding of the man currently employed in replacing my bathroom ceiling. All of which serves as a nice counterpoint to the pit bull whining piteously in his crate.

You gotta love working from home.

I wake to sleep

Last night, I dreamt about sleeping. Which, I think, is a bad sign. Either a) my dreams are so boring that they put even my unconscious mind to sleep or b) my sleep is so bad that I'm dreaming about better sleep. Either way, I've got issues.

Sometimes it's good to, like, think and stuff

I went to a poetry reading tonight, and though yes, I am just that big a dork, I did, in fact, go for work. It was a reading of Robert Lowell's "For the Union Dead" by Frank Bidart, a student of Lowell's and an amazing professor and poet in his own right.

I'd forgotten how much I love poetry, how much I enjoy taking it apart line by line, stringing together the imagery, listening to how words sound when spoken carefully and deliberately. During the Q&A following the reading, someone commented on the line "the ditch is nearer" and how it puzzled her. I had my own theory on what it meant, but I kept it to myself, enjoying for just a few moments feeling like I was back in class, with nothing more to do than puzzle over a bit of poem.

An all-time low

I don't know if it was all the wedding kerfaffle or just sheer psychosis, but I watched The Notebook yesterday. And I liked it. No, if the horrible truth be told, I loved it. Somehow Ryan Gosling overcame the super-creepy impression left by Murder by Numbers and became a romantic hero. I may have even been attracted to him at some point during the movie. This is what I've been reduced to: Stick me in a dress for a few hours, parade me past wedding bands and flowers, and all of a sudden, I'm a girl.

Regression therapy

In order to deal with my little sister's impending wedding and the fact that I spent most of the day either picking out flowers or looking at wedding bands, I bought shoes. They are little, they are cute, and they make me feel about 12 years old. It's a nice feeling.

But I've nothing to wear

The bridesmaid dress has been found. The trying on of numerous poufy dresses has been accomplished. It has been confirmed that I look like a short man in drag. But my little sister had a good time, and that's all that matters. My older sister had a good time too, but that's because she looks good in everything. You can see the whole parade here. (And it was only fitting that I should listen to the soundtrack from My Best Friend's Wedding whilst composing this post. And just so y'all know, had I been Julia, Cameron would have never gotten my man.)

You are a party and I am a school night

Yesterday, I bought the new Ani album. And last night, I just sat there and listened to it.

I just listened, reading over the lyrics, thinking how rarely now I just sit and listen to music, allow nothing else to occupy my time, and then I couldn't just listen because I was already thinking, thinking of writing and then I had to write it down because I saw what was happening. I remembered the first time I heard her sing, when an upperclasswoman played the music to first-year me, and said this will change your life and it did and it does, because I remember my life in stages, in song lyrics. College as this cliched list of experiences to have (their eyes are all asking are you in or are you out?) and when I made decisions and determinations of who I was and would be (I am not an angry girl) and then it seemed she grew with me, and my life broke apart in bits that no longer fit together (I see you and I'm so unsatisfied) but some still did (flirting like a 12-year-old girl) and then at some point, I graduated and we parted ways and I bought her albums out of habit but I didn't listen because I only had time for music that I could play in the car, music that was loud, lyrics I could remember without trying. And I revisit her again last night and today and her life is no longer mine, but I take the time and I read the lyrics and I try to hear what she's saying to me now.

A trip to Rosie's

"She'll have an Orgasm and a peanut butter cookie."

Yes, please.

But the establishment owes me a Snickers

Is it inappropriate use of office resources to utilize company masking tape to de-lint myself? I mean, shouldn't I buy my own lint brush? Or is it in the office's best interests if I'm not covered in weird fuzzies all day long, thus looking unprofessional and incompetent?

March madness or why you should beware the ides

I hate this time of year. Nothing good is going to happen for months. Certainly nothing good is going to happen this week. My computer is currently sending some weird call out to the mother ship. The Saturn has a wicked shimmy whenever I go over 60 MPH, probably a tortured alignment from all the potholes in the shitty "roads" here in the Bay State. I have to shop for a bridesmaid dress on Friday.

And this morning, I crossed some previously unknown yet still substantial line in road rage: I've started to give the finger preemptively. You know when you're driving along, and you see someone creeping out into the rotary, and you say, "Don't even think about it"? Well, now I say that and accompany it with the finger. I gave the finger this morning to some innocent minivan driver, and I don't know why. I think it's because I suspected they were going to do something out of line. Or maybe because their car was taupe. One of those two.

Something to look forward to

ESPN is launching an all-college-sports network, ESPNU. Which means that I will never leave the couch again, and I will watch sports until my head explodes or my roommate kills me. Either way, I'm happy.