Mele meets birds.

Jenn needs braces.

lolvets

Eastdale Mall

In junior high I thought of money in terms of the cost of my most-purchased items. ($50 was a lot to spend on a single item: three cd’s and a movie ticket!) That habit faded, but another from the same era remains: I still think of time in terms of movie-lengths.  At 5:30 this evening I knew I  had an entire costume drama to go before I could leave work.

Time, time, time.

Labor day’s a week away, but the crickets have already changed their meter.

Three

I need a new last name.

Jennifer Bonham-Carter?

Jennifer di Castiglione?

Jennifer Snape?

Jennifer Franzibald?

Jennifer Poindexter?

Jennifer Benjamin? (JennBenn)

Jennifer Tepes?

Jenn Katz?

Shaft? Jennnnnnn Shaft?

Well, thanks!

I slept for two fretful hours Friday night, after the worst conversation of my life,  and had to work at seven on Saturday morning. I wasn’t sure how I’d get through the day, but the radio reassured me, thusly:

Cansei de Ser Sexy-”The Rat is Dead (Rage)”

Awake

I stay up all night nauseated and lying on the couch feeling like a failure, even though this bullshit isn’t my fault. I can’t believe this is my life. I alternately feel like my statute of limitations on complaining is wearing out or that I could say a million words and never express the pain that’s come from this error. I can’t find myself appropriate accommodations; I can’t soothe myself enough to keep the bile down. I’m my own poor relation.

This just in:

Seth Rogen:

is Telly:

Ow.

Ow ow ow.