2/21/2007

Hello.

Tonight Brian has a smoker's social function, so I am left here alone blogging right before I make a run to the border for a big beefy surpreme.

First and foremost, I have to thank Rachelthebomb.com Lamble/Johnson for sending me the cutest little package that I have ever laid eyes on. Thank you Rachel! Earlier, I had sent her some garland and she returned the favor with a few crafty and cute goodies.

The card is mine, but the rest of it is all Rachel. It's like my little Rachel shrine. No wait, that sounds creepy. But seriously, Rachel, when I went to get the mail I wasn't having the particularly best of days, and I saw that package and just about did two and a half back-handsprings. It was TOTALLY unnecssary, but I think we should totally be penpals. You make me want to move to Portland.

And I should mention that I had total intention to find a really old picture of when me and Rachel were buds at Oxford Middle School. I know they exist. I even went down to the scary basements to look for some. But alas, all I found were old doc martens, mouse doo doo, and a picture of my dad making a duck bill mouth out of two pringles. Trust me though, maybe you don't want to see them. Rachel basically looks like a model and I look I was just born into the marching band.

Moving on, Bri, Nick Cage, and I took a little jaunt up to Chicago this past weekend.
It was much needed, seeing as I've become an all-time magazine slave. I took Friday off and flew into Melissa's arms.

Sidenote: Midway airport displays gigantic manlove posters:

And I don't have a problem with it.

We immediately noted that it was COLD. (Which, oddly enough, would later come to be the theme of the trip.) Bonus! Schrags was in the car, too. I later sat at the table and dined next to him. Sadly enough, I didn't get any pictures of the man, the myth, the legend, so in lieu of a photo, he'll be represented by this keyboard:


God did we ever DESTROY some deep dish Giardano's pizza.

I will professionally vomit all over your face if you say there is a better pizza on planet Earth.

Then, after total domination, we went to Melissa's apartment for some sleepy.
She's retarded, but her place made me want to live there. So cute. Dark wood, things like this:

A freaking glass little cubby that would make me buy the place ALONE.


Minor setback? The fact that maybe the heat wasn't on all weekend and Brian had to sleep with his hat on and I slept with two winter coats on. It's totally cool though. I was on antibiotics from a previous cold.

So, on Friday, the gang hit the Muesum of Science and Industry. And we hit it with a bang:
\

Melissa is now taller than average-sized buildings. Just kidding. It's the miniture train portion of the museum.
After 79302847 tries, I finally got her to pose next to the replica of her downtown office building:

I smell Merril Lynch dedication.

Now I want to talk about how we shelled out some extra dough for the Bodyworlds exhibit. It's where this artist crazy man doctor dude has plastisized bodies to show you how they work, how them move, and how nasty male bits they can cram into one small, curtained-off room. I mean, you just stare at them for hours. (Steph Hall, look away.)

It was actually a really profound exhibit and I'm really glad I went. These were real bodies, donated to the art of plastization. There were forms at the end that you could fill out to donate your body if you were so moved, but man, I breezed by those. I had to hold Brian back though. Just kidding, Mom. They also showed some cool total horizontal slices of the entire body and even what your lungs look like if you work in a coal mine.

From the bodies, me moved on to an equally profound exhibit: ROBOTS.

This was by far my favorite piece of the museum. It made me immediately want to drive to a computer and ebay bid on every single tin robot that was ever made on this earth. What a cool idea for a collection.
And so I got started right away.

Here's me, welcoming my plastic molded green robot into the world:




The last one's a personal favorite.

Ah, remind me to wipe Melissa's nose hair off my new robot.


Brian was our trusty tour guide through the entire museum.
Holding that map tightly in his hands and usually about 30 feet ahead of the rest of us in a dead sprint.

Totally geeking out.

Most of the museum was a touch out-dated and definitley for childen who's parents have never put on deoderant in their entire life. So that's basically why I ended up with a shitload of blurry baby chicks pictures and let's-take-a-million-no-flash-pictures-in-this-trippy-lighted-mirror-maze pictures.
But that's cool, cause I was in the market for a good thermal portrait.

I call this one, "Hunt for Red October".


Thank God for 15$ and a dream:


All in all, it was a great trip to the museum with my special needs pal:


That night, we went off to a Head Automatica concert at the Rivera. It was seriously melting my face off. Such a good and powerful show. I made friends with a goth chick and she's even going to send me some of the videos she filmed on her little camera. So overall, I think it was a pretty win-win night.
Oh, and after that we met Melissa at a little place that charges 20$ for all-you-can-eat catfish from a crockpot.

The next day was fast. We slept, pooped in Melissa's mini toliet (size of small playing card) and dropped the boys off to watch the KU game where also 3/4 of my freshman college dorm was re-uniting. Melissa and I raided some great paper stores and not to mention American Apparel. Met back up with the boys.
Speaking of boys, here was Brian's theme of the trip:


That night, we met the Gine-ster out at SoPo where I had the best ceaser salad of my natural life.
The rest of the night was filled with bad vests.

So that kind of brings the trip to a close. Let me just include the highlight. There is a store in Wrigleyville called Strange Cargo where a bunch of angry goth chicks work. You just buy their shirts and pick all these sick iron-ons.
I took the liberty of making about 80 shirts and one pair of glorious sweat pants.

Thank God you decided to grow a pair, Meliss:


But the one that tops them all. Are my new GUN SWEATPANTS.


And.. I'm spent. Have good nights.

2/14/2007

Just in case anyone wonders where I came from:

(My mom doesn't have a wonky eye in real life. )

But, unfortunately, my sister does really look like this:

(Poor, poor Laura. GET IN YOUR CAGE! DON'T MAKE ME GET THE HOSE..)

So, HAPPY VALENTINES DAY! A day of love. I started the week off right by not drying my hair before bedtime. Probably not the smartest idea ever, but that puts me with a nice little cold this morning. Brian woke me up at an ungodly hour because he was off to KU to recruit some young smoking salesmen.

But the doorbell rang at 9:30 and Brian had sent me roses. How presh. So fun to receive.
Makes me all warm and lovey dovey. He's coming home super late tonight, so I don't know what he's got up his sleeve.
Probably just a lot of arm hair.


I just have to say this.

How lucky I am to have found you, Bri. My Brizzy-Siz. Perfect in every way. I want you to grow a beard and you want to clean every square inch of the house for the 5th time. You are my spaz. Taking the best care of my every single day. Waking me up in the mornings. Making big decisions. Holding me.
Being the world record holder for cutest human, ever.

You have always been on my mind. You bought me a used Saving Silverman DVD and you hold my hand real tight on the plane rides. You get a gold medal in snuggling and I'm just all-around obsessed with you.
Thank you for being my perfect man. Love you.

Well, I'm gonna go crush some work and stay inside because it's nasty cold outside. Had a nice little V-Day lunch with my pal, the Janster. Basically just an all around good day. Cinnamon roll for breakfast even. You have to love this holiday. Even if you just do something cool for yourself or your mom. I'm wearing my best red Gap long-sleeve shirt.

2/05/2007

Wow. It's been quite the weekend. Not gonna lie, I could have used an extra two days.

Friday, Brian and I enjoyed a nice little dinner at Olive Garden with some of the cigarette employees.
I had the chicken scampi, it was lovely. So were the 23 free mints I ingested after the bill came.

Saturday consisted of sleeping till the crack of noon, waking up, shopping around Omaha on a quest to find the perfect family room curtains, and then preparing for the KU game and a night out.



It was a great time until KU went RETARDED. And well, let's be honest, so did I.


Saturday was filled with Taco Bell and nacho cheese, those kind of poops that come out like softballs, and a little Super Bowl par-tay where I consumed enough fudge brownies to feed a small country.

The game was lame, I can't believe they wouldn't have the friggin' game in a place that doesn't have a dome, and the commercials bit the big one. All, except the Snickers one where the guys kissed (awkward) and then pulled out a large patch of chest hair (totally awesome).

Now is the time to discuss TV. I'm totally boycotting the gay Grease You're the One that we Want show. It makes me want to vomit. So I've stopped watching it. But I'll never give up my Sweet Sixteen.

I'm also parusing the American Idol. Are you catching this? My god, this next guy was one of the stand-outs. This KILLS me. The sound effects when he throws his shirt and glasses off make me want to pee my pants for the rest of my life.

I can't stop watching it. It's pure brilliance.

Well, that's about it for now. It's rather chilly up here. I can't even open the blinds it's so cold. And Brian is a little touchy about the fire. Speaking of Brian. I got a call today from him as he was driving to Lawrence for some recruiting. His message said this:

"Ah, Jenn, I'm driving down interstate 29 and it's dark, and I just hit a wolf and then ran over it. My entire front bumper is missing and there are some chunks of animal fur in the front, but I didn't pick those out because I didn't think was a good idea."

Obviously, I'm hoping my husband is okay.
And I didn't really like to hear that he had a minor accident with a Timberwolf.

So, I call my mom and what does she say? She tells me to tell Brian to take a sample of the fur off the front of his car and take it to a vet to have it tested to see exactly what kind of animal he hit.

People. There are no words.
So if you see Brian's front bumper on I-29, give it a little salute as you pass by.