I need a good blogging, if you know what I mean...

I'm a horrible blogger. I have jotted down so many things to 'blog about' at a later time and the list keeps getting longer and yet I waste my time doing stupid things and being the opposite of productive. I sit around for hours reading other blogs and voting on fashion disasters on gofugyourself.com when I should be writing my own blog or, I don't know, cleaning my apartment or something boring like that.

I have so much going on and a plethora of topics to write about yet I feel the need, nay, the uncontrollable urge to watch every single episode of "The Bad Girls Club" on the Oxygen Network and the like just because it's on. I already had this procrastination problem before I gave in and got cable. Now it's even worse. But I love it so. Cable, I love you. (On a side note: I'm totally impressed with myself for actually using the word plethora, and correctly, I might add. You should be too.)

So the next few weeks will hold exhilarating tales of cat pee and failed baking attempts. Of overindulging and urgent care. Of Steven Seagal and kitten farts. Of Deadwood obsession and wardrobe malfunctions. Of retarded birds and whooping cough. Of bums with Tourette's and air bag burn. Of falling out of bed and Netflix comas. Of funeral processions and high school boy trends. All this and much, much more.

I know you are excited. Thrilled beyond comprehension. I need you to calm down. Calm down! No, down! Stop humping my leg! Sheesh.

My name is Jenn and I'm retarded.

I should have started the day off by hitching a ride to work on the short bus. I will super fast-forward through this stupid day, to after work, after more wedding dress shopping with Tammi and straight to the drive-thru of Chick-fil-A. I ordered. I paid. I set my wallet on the passenger seat. I pulled up to the the special drive-thru trash can and picked up a handful of bags off the seat and tossed them.

I go home, pack, eat, do some other stupid retarded things. THEN I look for my wallet. THEN I even notice it is missing. 2 HOURS LATER. I somehow persuaded my poor mother to go to Chick-fil-A with me and dumpster dive for a good half hour in which we cannot find the bag with my garbage in it, let alone my wallet. Why would my wallet be in there? WHY??

I DON'T DESERVE TO OWN A WALLET ANYMORE. Those rights should have been revoked when I lost my wallet all full of my passport and money down in Mexico. They should revoke these rights to me because I am not normal. Because this is not my first foray into dumpster diving outside of a fastfood restaurant. That was when I threw my retainer away. See, they should not let me out with the rest of society.

So now I'm thinking those wallet chains that most dudes wear as a fashion statement that I secretly sorta dig could be a necessity for the wallet-y challenged such as I. But then I'd have to wear my wallet in my back pocket right? Sooo don't want to do that. Plus my wallet is big. Like check sized. Can't fit that monstrosity in the back pocket of my True Religion hand-me-downs. No sirree.

**UPDATE**
This morning I went out to my car to get a hoodie or something out of my trunk and there it was. My wallet. Looking all smug and mocking me. Laughing because I actually looked through a dumpster and canceled my debit cards. Bastard.

Holy taffeta, I'm in hell!

Today I met up with Tammi and Bridget at David's Bridal to pick out another wedding dress for Tammi's wedding. "Another wedding dress" being a long story for another blog. So as the Maid of Horror... I mean Honor, I did my duty and wrangled and strapped Tammi into only about 85% of the stock they had in the store and she managed to filter it down to about 4 or 5 dresses that were absolute YES's. But in doing this filtering she made Bridget and me put on a few of the dresses so she could see what they looked like on a body all at the same time. Holy hell.

I'm not going to lie. I've done the Monica and totally tried on one of Tammi's wedding dresses that I was holding for her in the closet of my apartment so her fiancee wouldn't see it. I didn't clean the house wearing it, but I did try it on and walk around pretending that I was the one getting married. I think I may have sat around in it and watched some Dawson's Creek episodes. I mean if you had to choose to watch Dawson's Creek in your normal clothes or a wedding dress, come on. No comparison. You can even change the show. Won't matter. The wedding dress will win every time.

So at this point in time I'm sweating and I swear I almost broke out in hives with that damn poofy dress on. I was all pasty white and out of place too. It never makes me realize more than when I'm hangin with Tammi and her friends just how "different" I am from them. And I feel all weird and awkward and clumsy the whole time until I get drunk or leave and then I'm just happy I'm not trying to dye my hair that same shade of blonde the rest of them are. Because let me tell you... me and blonde hair... just... BAD.

On a side note, I should really consider working at these bridal shops. I harranged Tammi in and out of those dresses with the speed of lightning. If I could deal with telling girls in ugly dresses that they looked pretty. Seriously they had a dress with a 7 inch red hem on the bottom of it. Yeah, I just threw up a little in my mouth at the memory of it. (And sorry if "harranged" isn't a word.)