From Amalah.com:

I’m also typing this with one hand because, yeah, my entire life revolves around sustaining a 10 pound linebacker infant using only the mighty power of my boobs.

AMALAH aka Amy, my most favorite blogger in the world, just had a goddamn BABY and SHE updates! (in fact, as I have been reading since her last trimester, I actually cried when I read that she had her baby.  Argh. So sappy.)

I am a terrible, terrible blogger.

MICHIGAN:

The weekend home was wonderful, save one thing…my room was gutted. Now, that room has been mine since summer of 1989.  (oh and when I look back now, the summer seemed to last forever, says Bryan Adams.)

So, it’s only fitting:

R.I.P. Jenny’s Room (1989-2005)

My room started off in total Laura Ashley fashion, complete with a canopy, with ruffles.  And a huge doll house.  About five years later it was turned into a “celestial theme,” in which it looked like a planetarium had thrown up on itself.  But it was MY room, dammit.  I’ve laughed, cried, and made out with boys without my parents’ knowledge in that room! My mother had told me that she was revamping the space for her sewing/craft room. (Apparently this is something that happens after fifty? You need an entire room for crafting?)  I knew what I was in for.  But it wasn’t until I bounded up the stairs and into what used to be my little haven when I realized that I didn’t get a fond farewell to the space.  I started crying.  It was so silly, and I tried not to let my mother see, but it was really emotional.

I think she sensed that I resented her for this, because she started talking about plans for my “new room,” which is really just her “Room II,” as I have no plans of moving back into the house.  The funny part about this is that my mom has been taking Feng Shui classes.  ”This new room is the career room,” she cooed.  ”See, it’s on the second floor right above the front door, where all the chi comes in.”  She went on to thank me for choosing the pewter daybed that I did, because she needed a metal piece to reflect the chi.  This crazy talk distracted me from my pain for quite a bit, as I had to avoid looking at my mother with utter disbelief.  I spent a large chunk of the weekend sifting through boxes in attempts to decide what parts of my history were worth keeping.

(God, I’m dramatic. How do you people stand reading me?)

Thanks to all my friends who showed me a great time this weekend. Yeah, you.  I love you I love you I love you.

Sunday, I went to Ann Arbor with JODY and I went with JODY and her cousin Angie and her boyfriend to the Rufus Wainwright concert at the Michigan Theatre.  Holy God.  It was incredible.  I expected a near-spiritual experience and I got nothing less.  And the highlight?  WE MET RUFUS.  As soon as I scan the pictures of me and JODY looking bug-eyed so as not to blink (and Rufus looking 2934832% homosexual), I will post it and tell the story.  Did I mention that I went with my friend JODY? (wink)

EMPLOYMENT:

I’m in the process of updating my resume (pronounced ree-ZOOM)  and mailing it out to various marketing and advertising firms in the midwest, as well as a few various music-related ventures in LA and New York.  This is the point in the post where I solicit you for all of your networking connections, (i.e. “My friend’s cousin’s step-mom’s half-brother twice-removed works for Sirius satellite radioooooo”).

BOYS:

Well, it’s happened: I am officially off the market. And by “market,” I mean the dating scene in a college town, which usually consists of drunken frat boys commenting with slurred speech on your The Who shirt before they try to grab your boobs.  Thus, I will breathe a big sigh of relief before this one realizes what he’s gotten into. (smile) Yes, he’s adorable and funny and wonderful and I could gush for paragraphs and I am so immersed in the chemical bath* right now it’s not even funny.

** If you know me in real life, or have taken Prof. Smith’s Buyer Behavior M400, this has been explained to you.  If not, just ask.

The End.