sponge selling checklist

Posted on by Jennifer Heller
  • breakfast, lunch, dinner
    • include grapefruit in the morning (makes caffeine last twice as long due to a biochemical interaction in the liver)
    • include chopped apples for late morning and another for late afternoon (wakes you up just like coffee)
  • rental car
  • 1 hard large Super Sponge*
    • take out of package at least three days in advance
    • use brand new Super Sponge
  • fanny pack
  • microphone
  • extra batteries
  • Microfiber Cloth*
  • carpet
  • electric water heater
  • that shit that’s made almost entirely of alcohol and is supposed to kill 99.99% of germs
  • notepad for mileage
  • $100 in change (4 twenties, three fives, five ones)
  • canteen of coffee
  • one Kombucha/day in cooler with Techni-Ice(R) ice packs*
  • one Aveda PVA face cloth, in packaging, retail price $14.00
  • pens (3)
  • cough drops
  • some sort of nicotine
  • CDs & tapes for car
  • sweater
  • lipstick, makeup
  • fork, napkins, electrolyte mix, BOTTLED WATER!!!!

that was what I forgot. The bottled water.

*for sale Friday, Saturday, and Sunday only at the Concord Home and Garden Show!

if one of the smokers was your Juliet, where would you be?

Posted on by Jennifer Heller

I work in a construction zone. As I type, bang bang BANG in CZ, right by head. I’m so lucky I don’t have a hangover today.

The best part about working in a construction zone: the increase in the level of the testosterone. John Rosenberg is one of the few men that work in my office, and it’s soooo nice to have some males to flirt with besides him.

My other smoking buddies feel the same way.

So imagine our surprise, when we find a typed note saying “If one of the smokers was your Juliet, where would you be?” taped on a pillar above our heads in the same blue tape they have used to label each pillar. I’m not sure why the pillars are labeled, but I don’t claim to be an expert on construction.

Am I the Juliet? Is Sue? Pat? Where oh where is our Romeo?!!

somehow

Posted on by Jennifer Heller

it just seems like there isn’t even a normal for my life to go back to. I don’t remember the last time it was normal.

Julia says that what she likes about me is that even though I do all sorts of crazy and often dramatic shit, I laugh at myself anyway.

Jules, do you realize that 90% of why I do anything is for hilarity for its own sake?

Hilarity or otherwise keeping myself entertained.

and that’s that.

we’ve had a request…

Posted on by Jennifer Heller

and that request is that I talk about someone other than myself for once. And the person I am to talk about is John Rosenberg.

I met John Rosenberg in August of 2001 when I moved into apartment B21 in Rochdale Village. I was sitting on the stairs drinking a 211 (my favorite malt liquor at the time). We exchanged a few words and the next day I started my new job at the USCA where he also worked.

Neighbors and coworkers, we were instant companions. John has this amazing ability to seek out the juiciest parts of a story. He’s also incredibly good at setting me up with his friends*. One time I had a crush on this one friend of his that turned out to be gay. That didn’t work out, obvs.

We’ve worked together almost ever since. And lived close to each other randomly on multiple occassions.

He gives good advice and he’s always supportive. He knows just the buttons to push to make me cry at lunch. And that happens embarassingly often.

He started the Jennifer Heller Daily Report, which I still enjoy looking back on. I enjoy teasing him about his weight gain and his eating habits. It’s pretty much a match made in heaven.

His annual birthday party is always one of the most drunken nights of my year. Can’t complain about that.

One time we made out in the parking lot of the Hotsy Totsy while my boyfriend at the time was playing pool. That was pretty awesome.

We used to go to lunch at Le Petite Cheval all the time. If I was lucky, he would dump glasses of water in my lap.

One day I spit in his face. Since then, we’ve taken to spitting at each other.

We’re still playing this game where we get to knock food out of each other’s hands. I have two turns left. He better watch out.

So thank you, John Rosenberg. Thanks for the years, and making sure I get some play thrown my way every now and again. Thanks most recently for talking me out of my insanity, even if it just made me even more insane. But that was my fault, not his. I should have known better.

God, I hope I learned my lesson.

This blog entry is dedicated to my great friend, and true companion, John Rosenberg.

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*I definitely intend never to let him set me up again, though, FYI.

best story ever

Posted on by Jennifer Heller

Alex and I have had a third roommate living in our Dome for the majority of this year. Hw moved out on Monday, coincidentally the night I decided to finish my bottle of Bushmill’s in devotion to what has been a six day marathon drinking fest. I am now completely out of hard liquour, so it’s back to wine if my marathon is to continue. FYI.

Anyway, when my sister came home last night, she had this to relate about the previous evening:

She and Third Roommate were loading the car with Third Roommate’s final load. Alex was going to drive him to his new house and then return home. Apparently, and I, of course, don’t remember any of this, he repeatedly attempted to engage me in conversation. But I was aware of nothing but the level of whiskey in my glass and my dwindling ice supply. He would say something to me, and I would wander to the freezer to refill my glass. He tried to say goodbye and I was too involved in the motion of the ice cubes to respond.

“Hey Susie…” I wander to the freezer.

“So…I’ll see you sometime!” I turn to my computer.

“Okay, then, I’m taking off now…” Where’s that last ice cube tray? Why is the bottle so low?! What’s the Guster up to?

And that, my dears, is awesome. Continue Reading

all i did this weekend was drink.

Posted on by Jennifer Heller

I let myself do whatever I wanted. I didn’t have to water the plants. I didn’t have to clean the house. I didn’t even have to eat.

Instead I got drunk. Went swimming. Went shopping. Got more drunk. Stayed home. Watched romantic comedies. And cried myself to sleep with these big fat crocodile tears I’d only read about in mediocre novels.

These big fat crocodile tears were my company. Friends, too. My cat, as well. My sister, bless her soul.

It’s so funny…this time of the month. It’s funny this month…with the sun out. My soul is light but my heart is heavy.

And I’m a little bit hungover. I’m going to go meet my old boss for drinks after work, so, really, there’s no need to end the marathon.

Though I do need to get more whiskey. And make more banana bread for breakfast tomorrow.

I get to do whatever I want. Forever. And, that, my dears, is fantastic.