Friday, December 31, 2010

Save the date? Part 2

"With the wedding quickly approaching, her save the dates have gone out. But not everyone from her old life received a save the date...in fact, her former friend - the (cool, hip) younger urban dweller who scorns chain restaurants - was left off the list, despite the fact that the two of them spent nearly five years of their lives being each other's go-to single gal pal. And after the snubbed friend discovered she was snubbed, she de-friended her former friend on Facebook and the two never spoke again. The End."

I established the Facebook part was an exaggeration. I thought the story would really end with, "and the two never spoke again." However, the world is a strange, strange place and, ironically, within days of the "Save the date?" blog post the Future Mrs. Old and Flabby contacted her former friend. This is where the story continues:

And then one day, rather unexpectedly, the Future Mrs. Old and Flabby reached out to her former friend via Facebook. In her message, she acted like she was simply picking up where she left the conversation off nearly a year and a half ago. The recipient was surprised. She thought the future Mrs. Old and Flabby had written her off, with no intention of even attempting to communicate again. As she read the message from her former friend, surprise turned to stunned which turned to anger. Basically, the wannabe soccer mom asked her former friend to join a club with her and participate in a recreational sport together for the several months leading up to the wedding. Since the culmination of the sport would take place mere weeks from the wedding, the bride-to-be clearly would only have wedding planning to talk about....with the former friend who is still not invited to the wedding.

The younger friend sent a response, declining the offer, wishing the bride-to-be luck and expressing disappointment for not receiving a save the date.

Several days later, a response arrived. It basically said the wedding is going to be a "small" one. It went on to say save the dates hadn't "even" gone to co-workers yet (so, "Our friendship was the equivalent, to her, of a work friendship?!?," thought the urban-dweller) and reiterated that they're trying to keep the wedding "small." Not even a suggestion that the recipient might make the round two invite cut.

The urban-dweller reflected. "Had we not talked on the phone several times a week? Did we not hang out on average once a week? For over five years?!?! Am I not recalling this correctly?" Realizing she was, indeed, remembering the friendship correctly, or at least the way she perceived it, she simply closed her laptop, took a deep breath and chose not to respond. The official end of a friendship - this is it. At least she got the closure she needed. It's much better than simply never hearing from someone. Clearly, the younger friend thought they were better friends than the older one thought...sad, but certianly not the end of the world. And with that, the younger one thought ahead to the New Year, filled with new possibilities and, hopefully, new (and true) friendships. The End.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

My Holiday Letter - 2010 edition

It's that time of year! People have been asking me when I planned to post the 2010 edition of my holiday letter...and since I received only one holiday letter this year (clearly, last year's online holiday letter offended some!), I didn't have the inspiration I needed....until I received a BBM from Wiggy at 7 a.m. yesterday asking what time is "too early" to drink wine because the only beverage in her home that sounded appealing (at 7 a.m. if I failed to mention this) was Moscato. In Wiggy's world, it's always time for wine and wine does help the ink flow out of the pen (or in this case, the fingers hit the keys)...so here goes:

Dear Family and Friends,

Merry Christmas! This year I decided to stop saying "Happy Holidays" - not sure why, I haven't become uberCatholic or anything (though recently in a drunken state I allegedly said, "All people who aren't Catholic are crazy" - oops - I didn't really mean that....I believe some people who aren't Catholic are crazy), but I celebrate Christmas, as do most of my friends, so, Merry Christmas.

This year I took up running and am sitting on the couch right now nursing a random pain in my ankle. All the little veins in my foot are bulging out...I don't think this is a good so I am going to take it as a sign to not run today and to drink more wine. This running thing has been great for me! I weigh less (running burns major calories!), cry less (endorphins!) and...I drink less (except for today apparently). All true, really, I mean it. In fact, this year I ran six 5ks, a10k and am gearing up for a half marathon in Atlanta in March of 2011.


Work cut back on travel a bit this year but that didn't stop me from traveling the entire freaking state of Indiana (by car, with colleagues - something I would not recommend) as well as air travel to Salt Lake City (where my colleague/friend kept yelling "Sister Wife" as we wandered the grounds of the Mormon Temple...I totally thought the Mormon Secret Service was going to nab us for that!), New York City (I only spent 1.5 days there but made the most of every second I didn't have to work), Atlanta (where my "Sister Wife" yelling colleague/friend and I were almost the victims of a mugging), Houston (Texas - never been a fan, sorry), Washington, D.C. (where I finally made it to the Newseum) and, of course, my not so glorious return to Missouri, where I escaped accident free and got to see my dear friend Emily!
 
While in Atlanta I fell in love...no, not with Usher or some rapper....with a handbag. Yes, Kate Spade's Bow Regard Maryanne. Unfortunately, she's way out of my price range, especially after the events of recent days which leads me to update you on....
 
My "children."  I would prefer not to discuss them at this moment but, what the hell. Lucy and LuLu decided ('cause they totally did this on purpose) to get sick with completely different cat sicknesses and in the last three weeks I have spent just over $1,000 at the vet. Yes, you read that correctly - $1k. I could have purchased two and half Bow Regard Maryannes for that!! And then there's Gracie - my happy go-lucky German Shepherd. Crime is up in the 'hood (I promise to give you a year end crime summary for the one mile radius around my house....and by the way, if you ever need crack I can tell you exactly where to go!) so I am thankful my dog looks menacing but let me tell you, if someone broke in the house she'd just jump on them and kiss them.

This year more friends got married, got engaged, got knocked up, opted to live in sin (oops - crazy Catholic emerging again) and I stayed single and not knocked up (and most certainly any sins I committed did not involve co-habitation). I'm convinced there are no normal single men out there, so I intend to stay single because I refuse to affix myself to some socially inept freak with a GED who makes $25,000 per year. Do you think I am joking? Go to match.com and try, just try, to find a single man over 30 with a Bachelor's degree or higher - THEY'RE NOT THERE because they're all married already! Not to mention, $25,000 per year is not enough to support my Kate Spade habit! Speaking of living single, I saw an episode of Oprah featuring some Michigan nuns and had a fleeting thought of joining them because I bet American Express would forgive my mounting credit card debt if I were a nun (crazy Catholic or shrewd financial move?)  but when I saw footage of them "marrying" Jesus I decided to chuck that idea. (Seriously, they "marry" Jesus?? How have I been a lifelong Catholic and not realized? It creeps me out. Sorry, sisters, it just does).

Once again this year I managed to not step foot in a Toys R' Us, Target or any other store that sells "hot toys" this holiday season (I am sure "hot toys" are sold in my 'hood but they're a different type of "hot" if you know what I mean and, get your mind out of the gutter, by "hot" I mean stolen!). The local news said today will be the second busiest shopping day of the year after Black Friday so best of luck to you if you still have shopping to do  - I am curled up with my Winter White wine from Leelenau Cellars, my "fireplace" is on (it's fake but whatever) and my $1,000 cats and crazy dog are curled up nearby. While some homes will be buzzing with children running around screaming and hopped up on candy it will be a silent night at casa de Jen. The single life is STILL all it's cracked up to be!

Love you and MERRY CHRISTMAS! -Jen

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Save the date?

There's a situation I've been longing to blog about but have refrained for many reasons. I can no longer keep my mouth shut but will tread lightly in telling this story for it is no urban legend. Sadly, everything I am about to share is indeed true:

Once upon a time there were two single women living in the city. These two women shared a mutual friend in college, and became good friends after both moved to a new city across the state from where they grew up. Both lived downtown (until one fled to the suburbs in hopes that living in suburbia would help her realize her dream of being a soccer mom) and both were often shunned by their married friends for being single. These two women spent many a Valentine's Day together and went to dinners, bars, festivals, movies on a regular basis. Both struggled with their weight, which made them basically "undate-able" in the very superficial world they (and we) live in. They talked on the phone nearly every day - telling tales of work drama and mutual friend drama.

While they had a lot in common, they were also very different. The younger woman believed in things like helping her community and scorning chain restaurants, whereas the other believed in...well, the mall. These different philosophies caused some tension from time to time, but nothing insurmountable. Even after the older one moved to a condo in the suburbs they remained friends. The pair also had different philosophies on dating. The older one was always on the lookout for "the husband (she) hasn't met yet" while the other believed if it's meant to be it's meant to be and if it's not, it's not. Both had insecurities about entering the dating world.

Eventually, both gained some confidence and ventured into the wacky world of online dating because neither was the type of girl to get hit on at a bar - both needed some extra help in that department. In the beginning, they shared stories about bad dates and the crazy profiles of men they encountered online. Then, one day, the older one told what was certainly one of the worst first date stories ever! She met up with a guy she was matched with on eHarmomy and on their first date he looked at her and called her "chubby." Yes, chubby. And, by the way, this man was estimated to be about a decade older than her, and did not exactly have the abs of Ryan Reynolds...or even Jack Black for that matter. The friends gathered around for this story, as well as the waitress at the restaurant serving their table, all told her to forget the guy and move on. The conversation turned to other people at the table and other topics and the evening progressed into a fun girl's night out.

And that was the last time the older one was seen or heard from again. Well, for the most part. It turns out she didn't run from Mr. Old and Flabby. In fact, they eventually moved in together and got engaged. She cut her friends out of her life to date and now marry the man who called her chubby on their first date. With the wedding quickly approaching, her save the dates have gone out. But not everyone from her old life received a save the date...in fact, her former friend - the (cool, hip) younger urban dweller who scorns chain restaurants - was left off the list, despite the fact that the two of them spent nearly five years of their lives being each other's go-to single gal pal. And after the snubbed friend discovered she was snubbed, she de-friended her former friend on Facebook and the two never spoke again. The End.

OK, so the "de-friending" may be an exaggeration but the story needed to wrap up!

The moral of the story, kids? Don't ditch your friends when you get into a relationship. And, if you do, at least invite the people who supported you through your single years to your wedding to celebrate your new life, even if you have no intention of continuing the friendship. After all, these are the people who supported you through some of the most difficult times of your life and should be included in your special day, if for no other reason to have closure to your friendship and to wish you best of luck in your new life as Mrs. Old and Flabby!

Saturday, December 4, 2010

My life flashed before my eyes

I had a near death experience today.

Well, sort of.

OK, I am being dramatic. It has been a ridiculous day. Which is ridiculous because today is Saturday - Saturdays are supposed to be wonderful, not craptastic!

I decided to improve my mood by going for a run - usual route through the 'hood. To make a long story short, here's what happened (and if you want to read the long story check out my brand new running blog Running in Pearls):

I approached an intersection, running parallel with traffic that has right of way. Cross street had a stop sign. I saw two cars rolling toward stop sign - a white van and a burgundy p.o.s. pickup truck. I realized I was not running fast enough to cross before van stops, so slowed down and van came to a complete stop then proceeded. I proceed. 'Cause I HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY. Burgundy p.o.s. - who made eye contact with me while I was yielding to the van - just followed van and tried to RUN ME OVER. I ranted, I raved, I guess I'm lucky he didn't have a gun (and admit I did wonder what Suzanne Sugarbaker would do in this situation!). He crossed the intersection and slowed down, presumably to look at me in his rear view mirror, then kept going.

Ridiculous.

He better watch out. I remember what the crappy truck looks like and I guarantee he lives in my neighborhood and our paths will cross. And, I know my rights. According to Code of the City of Grand Rapids section 10.122 titled Crosswalks, I totally had the right of way. So, in the words of Kathy Griffin, "suck it" you a-hole!

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Give me a brake - fall 2010 edition

Wait! Didn't I already write an entry with this exact title? Well, slightly different story, totally different day.

My car, my car. Winter is upon us,'tis the season I loathe my car more than usual because it doesn't have four wheel drive.

(Not so) lucky for me, my car failed me the day before Thanksgiving...and it wasn't even snowing.

On Wednesday of last week I made the cross state trek to visit my family for Thanksgiving. After nearly an hour and a half on the interstate, I exited and made a quick stop at an outlet mall and then headed to my hometown. Shortly after exiting the outlet mall and getting onto the one road I would take for the remainder of my trip I came to a stoplight. My foot was on the brake ('cause I was stopped at a stoplight) and I leaned over to pick something off the floor of the passenger side. As I sat back up, I felt my foot (remember, it's on the brake pedal) go all the way to the floor. Immediately I thought, "That's not normal!"and then I freaked out and thought I broke the brake pedal.

Suddenly the light turned green and it was time to go. I had a line of traffic behind me so I went. I thought maybe it was a fluke, so I decided to test my brakes. And that's when panic set in. When I hit the brake the car would slow, but definitely wouldn't stop...and oh yeah, my foot was still going all the way to the floor.

Now, you have to understand, at this point I am traveling down a two lane highway that runs through some farms, fields, new housing developments and a golf course. There is nowhere to stop to get my car fixed and my head is spinning at the thought of paying a towing bill. What do I do? Not the smartest thing...I keep driving. I know that about 15 minutes up the road is civilization, and know that there are several car dealerships about 25 minutes up the road.  However, what I also know is "civilization" is where the highway crosses and where traffic is always very heavy. I ponder all of this, and decide to press on. After all, I can slow down, I just can't exactly stop.

Thankfully, luck was on my side. It is sort of like the seas parted. I only hit one red light after the brakes went out, despite the fact that I passed through several stop lights. Then,when I arrived in "civilization" traffic was light so I was able to drive slowly into the Wal-Mart Super Center parking lot. I thought a lot of Wal-Mart stores had car repair places....but when I pulled in I quickly realized I was wrong.

What to do...what to do...coasting along the back of the Wal-Mart parking lot, I spotted a quick oil change place dead head. Bingo. I didn't know if they did brakes or could help me, but it was something.

Pulling in to the bay was interesting, I rolled down the window and told the guy I couldn't stop the car - he insisted on standing in front of my car as I pulled in anyway. Luckily, I was able to throw the car in park before mowing down the oil change guy.

Once stopped, a sign caught my eye, "We repair BRAKES." Jackpot!

Long story short, two hours and nearly $200 dollars later my brakes were repaired. Turns out the brake line simply broke. And now, I'm broke.

On a side note, I've started a blog specifically to tell tales of my running adventures-check it out:
http://runninginpearlsgirl.blogspot.com/

Sunday, November 21, 2010

"My kid's just gonna be going for candy..."

A friend and I attended a local event called the "Santa Parade" this weekend. This event attracted all types of people from our city, including --of course-- families since the headliner was Santa Claus. However, attending this event with children was certainly not a prerequisite for snagging a spot along the parade route.

My friend and I planned ahead, arriving early enough to claim a prime spot on the sidewalk near the start of the parade route. Nice families set up chairs on each side of us, including one poor dad with five small children (I don't know how he managed that-but he managed it well!).

All was fine and dandy until the start of the parade....that's when a guy with a young daughter asked if he could get in front of us with his daughter so she could see. He was nice and she was a little kid so of course we accommodated. However, I was a little irritated....I wondered why he chose us...but whatever, it was time to enjoy the parade.

As the parade started, I noticed it was one of those events where people walking with floats throw candy out to kids.

About one second after the first Tootsie Roll was tossed, this asshole guy with his daughter came barreling through, practically shoving my friend and, as he brushed passed us said, "Yeah...my kid's just gonna be going for candy the whole time so we're just gonna stand here" and proceeded plant himself and child DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF US.

At least this other guy asked!

Asshole's wife stood behind us and said nothing. Eventually some of her skanky friends showed up and the ridiculous amount of perfume one of the skanks was wearing (probably b/c she hosed herself in her fave Victoria's Secret body spray after an all night bender at the bar) was so overwhelming it drove the family of the guy who asked to get in front of us (and who, by the way, sat on the curb as not to obstruct our view) away.

As the parade progressed, people came and went and we had room to move a few steps over to have an unobstructed view. However, the whole thing was incredibly irritating. What, I can't go and enjoy a community event because I don't have a kid with me? Why did two dads choose my friend and I to cut in front of? Why didn't they find a spot where they could squeeze in further down the parade route? What makes them entitled to take the spot I arrived early to claim? If you want a spot on the curb near the start of the route then arrive early like I did!

Bah Humbug to Asshole Dad....I hope Santa puts a lump of coal in your stocking!

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

A trip down the stairs and an all time low

"And I'd finally die fat and alone, and be found three weeks later, half eaten by wild dogs." - Bridget Jones

Many single girls have this fear - dying alone (and fat) and not being found. I'll admit this fear creeps to mind every now and then.

Today, it almost became a reality.

Yes, after what has been one crappy week after another this month, I hit an all time low today when I slipped and fell down the stairs in my home. That's right - like a frail old lady. Boom, boom,boom -there I went down eight steps! Thankfully my stairs turn mid-point and the turn stopped me from going down all 16 steps.

Once I stopped I just laid there not moving, with a death grip on my BlackBerry, in pain and in tears.

The jury is still out on this numbness in my right hand and arm (can't be good, right?) and these shooting pains I am now feeling in my hip, right butt cheek and right shoulder....but I am just thankful I fell backward and not forward.

Seriously, peeps, if I fell forward I would not be typing this right now. I'd be lying there dead, unconscious or paralyzed. Since I live alone and keep a crazy work schedule and already talked to my mom and sister today no one would look for me until at least Friday...and that's only because I have plans to run a holiday themed 5k with a friend that night.

By that time Gracie the dog would get hungry and would start munching on my cold, dead corpse. And then the cats would join in. That's even worse than being eaten by wild dogs!

I would be a punchline on the local evening news: "Spinster's corpse eaten by pets!"

While still on the stairs I BBMed my friend Emily to let her know about my mishap. She's local and has a key to my house. I didn't need assistance...but I just needed someone to know I totally could have just died!

I know, I know, I'm being a total drama queen....but it's a little freaky.

Tonight I'll thank my lucky stars I fell backward rather than forward and hope I don't wake up with a forearm the width of a basketball. I bet I will have some wicked bruises on my back tomorrow! In the mean time, I am going to sit here and watch "Bridget Jones's Diary."

Oh God, I really am Bridget Jones. Shoot.

"Have you got a boyfriend? A real one?" - Bridget's dad to Bridget....yes, I could see my dad asking me this...if I actually had a boyfriend - that is.

Monday, November 1, 2010

Snippets from my single, super broke and definitely not fabulous life

I'm back!

Honestly there hasn't been much to write about lately - a few small things but nothing "blogworthy" so here are snippets from the single, super broke and definitely not fabulous life of Jen:

  • That whole Marie Claire article on Mike and Molly by Maura Kelly....if you haven't read it yet you need to....and if it makes you mad, read my favorite writer's "counterpoint." As someone who has been many, many sizes, more large than small, I have no right to judge anyone about their weight, but it's something I find myself doing. I think we all do. At the end of the day I believe this...I would bet my bottom dollar that there have always been "fat" people in the world: Neanderthal times, Biblical times, best of times/worst of times, etc.  We all come in different shapes and sizes and whatever size we go through life, if we're happy that's what matters!

  • Trick or treat in 'da 'hood! Once again I had hundreds of trick-or-treaters, including teen moms with so many children they must have had their first born at age 11 or 12; a woman in her 40s or 50s trick or treating for herself on her scooter while sporting a velour jumpsuit - for real, she didn't even dress up!; two dads of babies carrying two trick or treat bags, one for the baby (oh yeah, cause that six month old is gonna go home and chow down on that Almond Joy!) and one for themselves.

  • Important life lesson learned: No matter what, no matter how hard you work, no matter how hard you try to impress others, it doesn't matter. What matters is how you feel about yourself and the work you've done. So, don't waste time trying to exceed the expectations of others, focus on exceeding the expectations you set for yourself and celebrate your accomplishments, even if you are the only one singing your praises. Yeah, I should have learned that years ago. I think I did and actually I forgot it.

  • Stress (according to Dr. Oz) can years seven years to your age! That is why above life lesson is a good one to remember!
That's all I've got!

Sunday, October 10, 2010

"Sparty On?" Yeah, not so much

It is 4:09 a.m.

I should have known it would be a restless night of sleep.

The signs of the disturbance started around 10 p.m.....cars gathering on the street near the rental house on the other side of the street. Cars driven by college age looking people.

I left a bunch of lights on hoping to deter any potential violence against my beautiful and giant front porch pumpkin (speaking of pumpkins, the DQ has brought back the Pumpkin Pie Blizzard and it is as delicious as I remember...I fell off the wagon...twice. Good thing DQ closes for the season this weekend!).

All night I've been restless and after finally falling into a nice REM cycle something woke me up. Sure enough, a party...still going strong at 3:45 a.m.

Don't get me wrong, I love college students. They party, but generally mean no harm. It's all in the name of fun and I clearly remember those days (ok, sometimes not so clearly). However, I don't want to live near them. In fact, I used to drive one hour back and forth to work to avoid living in this not so little college town called East Lansing, a town notorious of riotous college students who burn couches at the drop of a hat. Those Michigan State Spartans can get a little out of control over basketball wins or because it's a random Friday night. "Sparty On?" No, no thank you. I am too old for that.

Now, I'd rather live near college students than say....a crackhouse...and if you read this blog you know there are a lot of transactions involving crack within one mile of my home.

However, I don't enjoy being woken up at 3:45 a.m. on a Sunday morning.

This particular home where the party is currently underway had been for sale forever, and finally it appears the owners gave up and rented it out. The last group of renters were a bunch of Emo and hippie looking people. They were totally harmless and often had friends over but noise never came from that home. They probably just sat in the basement and smoked pot.

A new group of normal looking college age students moved in this fall, and they've been quiet until tonight. They could be celebrating the local university's Homecoming weekend (though we're not IN the town of the local university...but you never know) or they could be celebrating Michigan State University's win over University of Michigan this evening (and let me point out we are nowhere near either school). If that's the case, I suppose I am lucky they aren't burning a couch.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Exercise can be hazardous to your health...

...At least in my 'hood it can.

Today is a beautiful day - 83 degrees and the leaves are changing - summer and fall together, the best of both worlds, at least in my book!

It was a beautiful evening for a run, but this was no ordinary run. It was more like an obstacle course. An obstacle course that could have killed me.

It all started when a little boy on a bicycle decided to ride next to me as I was running...and I do believe he called me "shawty" - they start 'em young in my neighborhood. I had my earphones in and just tried to ignore him until I finally turned the corner and, presumably, turned out of he radius where he is allowed to ride his bike.

All was good until about mile number two, when I passed the Triangle bar, one of my lovely neighborhood dives. I love a good dive bar, but this one is so bad I have never stepped foot in the place. Thanks to the smokefree air law, smokers are forced outside onto the sidewalk when they want to indulge in a cancer stick...I enjoy this except when I am running and have to run through a haze of smoke. Every time I pass the Triangle I have to face the haze. Today was no different, several smokers were congregated on the bench puffing smoke right at me, and the horrid stuff sent my lungs into spasm.

I was just clearing the haze when out of nowhere cama van pulled out of an alley onto the sidewalk and almost ran me over. I had to stop so we didn't collide. He just smiled and waved at me like "no big deal."

Up next, the Dairy Queen. Now, the DQ is a hazard for a couple of reasons, the first and foremost being that I LOVE ice cream, especially a really good Blizzard (side note: Dear Jesus, Please give me strength in October if the Blizzard of the month is Pumpkin Pie - it's my second favorite after Pecan Pie which, thankfully,  is a like one month a year thing. Thanks- Jen). The other reason is crazed DQ goers often park their cars on the sidewalk, forcing me on to the road. That happened today but thankfully I did not have any sort of near miss with a car.

Up the block from the DQ, a curly haired blond three year old tried to play chicken with me while scooting down the sidewalk on his mini razor. That was special. Oh yes, and on that block a dog lunged at me but thankfully he was firmly tethered to his front porch.

And then, the scariest part of my run...a young kid walking toward me clearly packing heat. He looked like a thug out of a movie, complete with gun. I thought about yelling something about my colors (my turquoise and navy running outfit) NOT being gang colors....or yelling that though I have dark hair I am neither a Latin King of Mexican Mafia Member (two big rival gangs in this city according to my local NBC affiliate) In the end I did the smart thing by keeping my sunglasses on and my mouth shut. He just walked past me. He looked like he could be no more than 17 years old - just a kid. A kid with a gun. Scary.

Thankfully, the rest of the run went off without incident. Even Crackhood (the area on my run where Crackfest took place and where the police are constantly arresting people for selling / buying crack) was quiet today. This is where I normally get called "shawty" so I really enjoyed the peace and quiet today.

My neighborhood really isn't that bad...just another day here in "paradise!"

Friday, September 10, 2010

This is how I remember it....

I hate tomorrow.


I hate the numbers 9 & 11, particularly when they are together.

I did not know anyone who died during the terrorist attacks on 9/11/01 but I remember feeling like the world was coming to an end. In a way, it sort of did. On 9/11/01 I woke up after going to sleep at about four in the morning on a couch in the apartment of some sorority girls at Towson University just outside of Baltimore, Maryland. It was my second year working as a professional sorority girl and it was recruitment (rush) week at their school. I flew in to Baltimore from Indianapolis via Chicago on a US Air flight the day before. Exhausted from lack of sleep, I woke up at 8 a.m. or so and put on Good Morning America. Two of the girls had left for work or an 8 a.m. class and it was me on the couch and a third girl asleep upstairs.

I remember it like it was yesterday. My friends Charlie and Diane reported a "small commuter plane" had crashed into the World Trade Center. Silly pilot, I thought! Who could miss one of the Twin Towers? I had just made my first trip to New York City less than a year earlier and remember marveling at those towers as my plane flew in to LaGuardia. It was a beautiful site.

Eventually, GMA had video of one of the towers with black smoke billowing out and I remember thinking that sure looked like a big hole in the building. Conflicting reports were coming in...but how could it be anything but an accident? The thought that it could be anything sinister never even crossed my mind. Until it happened. Right there. Right there, while the cameras were focused on the tower on fire, a plane smashed into the second tower.

Chaos.

Confusion.

Panic.

I called my mom in Michigan.

I let her know I had arrived in Baltimore the day before and was safe.

There was talk of missing planes and other potential targets.

Suddenly, reports a plane crashed in to the Pentagon.

America is officially under attack.

Suddenly I started to fear for my safety...after all...I was just down the road from DC in Baltimore.

My phone rang. It was my co-worker, who told me our boss was on a plane that was grounded just as it was taking off and that she was calling all of my traveling colleagues to make sure we were safe. No one beside my boss (thankfully) was flying that day. What a relief.

I woke up the sleeping girl upstairs and told her what was happening. We sat on the couch, enthralled in what was unfolding in front of us.

Then, the unthinkable. The first tower fell. It just disappeared in a plume of smoke.

I tried to call my mom - on the East Coast it was impossible to use a cell phone - all circuits were busy for hours. I never felt so alone or so scared. I wondered if I would ever see anyone I loved again. I wondered how many planes were out there, and if this was just the beginning of an even bigger attack.

Another plane crashes, this one into a field in Pennsylvania.

The second tower fell.

Then it all becomes a blur. Phones weren't working, and the other girls returned home as classes were cancelled and we all just sat there staring at the television for hours in shock.

Eventually I was able to talk to my mom, some of my friends at home in Michigan and some of my traveling colleagues. One of my co-workers was also in Baltimore at UMBC, so we met for dinner to get away from the TV and just to take comfort in seeing a familiar face.

That night I couldn't sleep. Since I was stuck on the couch in the living room I had easy access to the TV. The girls had all gone upstairs to sleep, and I just laid on the couch watching Peter Jennings on the air and crying. Crying, crying, crying. When I closed my eyes all I could see was that second plane flying in to the tower. The footage of the planes crashing, the Pentagon burning, and the towers falling repeated throughout the night.

I was stuck in Baltimore for days....and was among the first to actually fly once air space re-opened in the U.S. I remember going to the Baltimore airport and standing in line for hours. I was scared to death. It was the first day commercial aircraft would fly again, and I couldn't help but worry something would happen on my flight. If I had a flight, that is. BWI was packed, but you could hear a pin drop. Police and bomb sniffing dogs were everywhere. I felt like I was in a military state, not the United States. Hundreds of us stood solemnly in line and watched on the boards as flight after flight was cancelled. I was trying to get back to my base in Atlanta. As the crowd thinned due to cancelled flights, an elderly lady wound up behind me who was also trying to get to Atlanta to see her family. As we got close to the desk to check in, the announcement was made that the flight to Atlanta would be going - one of the only flights to actually fly that day. We looked at each other, hugged and started crying.

I remember after we checked in and made it through tight security, we walked to our gate. The lights were off, and we were the only two people in the hallway. It was eerie. We made it to the gate and there were three or four nervous looking passengers seated. Eventually, a few more showed up and we boarded the plane, welcomed by an apprehensive looking flight attendant. There were maybe ten of us on the plane. I remember being scared, relieved and thankful for a wonderful flight crew who acknowledged the events of 9/11 and took good care of us on the short flight from Baltimore to Atlanta.

I'll never forget the site of my co-worker when I arrived in Atlanta. I hugged her so tight - and was so grateful to see her.

The days and weeks that followed were difficult. I continued my job flying every four or five days, despite threats of additional attacks, Anthrax, having to arrive at the airport four hours before a flight to get through security, etc. It was scary and for many months, I was one of few brave souls who took to the skies.

Nine years later, flights are consistently oversold and America is happily flying again (of course now we have to pay for an aisle seat, to check a bag, for a water and probably soon to use the loo, but we're still flying). I hope we never have to go through a day like 9.11.01 again....and I hope we never forget.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

The horror, the horror (in other words, the best birth control ever)!!

Side note before I begin: I am currently watching "The Holiday" on TBS. I adore this movie. I so understand Kate Winslet's character and want to be her, except I want to go to England and not L.A. in a house swap. Anyway....

Disclaimer: If you are currently pregnant, especially if pregnant with your first baby, you may not want to read this! Wait until you experience the miracle of childbirth for yourself!

My oldest and dearest friend welcomed her first baby to the world last week! I finally spoke with her this evening and when I asked how it all went she replied with one word, "Horrible." Eek. She then described in excruciating detail her 20 hours of labor, which eventually led to a C-section. I won't go in to details, but I am thankful she shared the nitty gritty details because I will remember this story the next time I see a cute baby and start to feel those motherly yearnings. I mean, I definitely shuddered several times and may have felt some sympathy pains in my nether-regions and all but it sort of made me thankful I don't have to endure that sort of marathon of pain any time soon. I have plenty of friends who have children, and most describe childbirth as this wonderful, almost mystical thing. Not this time. In fact, I joked she should go visit high school health classes - I bet she could single handedly drive down the rate of knocked up teens at area high schools.

I called my mom to report news of the baby's arrival, and after she asked how big he was when born (I know this is something I am supposed to ask new moms but I never do. I don't really see how it's relevant. Seven pounds, eight pounds, who cares?) I told her about the "horrible" experience and she responded in only the way my mom can...."Well, you know, the older you are, the more difficult it is. I mean, my experience with you was similar and I was only 26."

Gee whiz, thanks, mom! She might as well have told me to just give up because by the time I have a baby I will probably die in childbirth. It may be her way of encouraging me not to reproduce, who knows. After the story I heard today, I am thinking reproduction is not high on my priority list for the immediate future anyway. So there!

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Don't buy me Old Maid cards, ok?

This month I will turn thirtysomething....my math is a little fuzzy here and that's intentional.

Lately I've been feeling a little "left behind." No, I am not talking about "The Rapture" unless you define "The Rapture" as a time when Jesus comes and steals away all your single friends, and you're left dateless and friendless on a Saturday night.

Because I am admittedly a smidge self-centered, I can't quite wrap my head around the concept of planning my life around someone besides, well, me! These relationship people are killing me! If I hear, "Oh, sorry, Mr. X has that day off work so I can't  (fill in the blank)." or "Oh, sorry, Mr. X and I have plans with (fill in the blank of a couple) for that day," or, the one that's really irking me these days, "Oh, sorry, I can't talk right now. Mr. X and I are watching tv together on the couch." Really? Gag.

Let me say, I have plenty of friends who are able to function like normal human beings while in relationships (and I heart them, I do - and appreciate the fact they can have a relationship and friends!). But, for those who are not I have a question: Why do you people continue to put all your eggs in these relationship baskets (no reproductive pun intended)? There are two possible outcomes for your situation: A). You two will break up and then you will come running back to your friends for entertainment. B) You two will get married and be stuck with each other for the rest of your lives, and eventually you will come running back to your friends for entertainment as an escape from your beloved.

At my "advanced age" I should be totally used to couples, I've been surrounded by them since middle school. I suppose I just need to find some new single friends in my age bracket (because really, it's easier to find new friends than to find a boyfriend - at least when you are me!)....but that's much easier said than done (but still easier than dating).

Tonight I decided an episode of my all time favorite TV show would cheer me up. So, I popped in "Luck Be an Old Lady Tonight" (Season 5 of SATC). The girls couldn't get together for Charlotte's birthday because of boyfriends, babies, etc. and Carrie took matters into her own hands, delivering the best line of the episode: "Are you telling me the four of us can't get together to celebrate Charlotte's thirty-faux birthday? This is bull shit!"

Amen, Carrie.  That IS bullshit. This year, like Charlotte, I am sticking to my age. I don't need to get any older. In fact, I'd rather celebrate my 25th or 26th birthday again but I suppose I will have to go with sticking. I don't think I can pass for under 30 anymore anyway.

And while I loved the card game "Old Maid" as a child, I would prefer not to receive any decks of "Old Maid" cards for my birthday. After all, "old maid" is a "game" I play daily!

Monday, August 30, 2010

These are the people in my neighborhood: Summer edition

Though summer is winding down here in West Michigan, there are still plenty of outdoor events to attend around town. For example, last weekend I ran a 5k sponsored by a local television station. Two of the TV personalities ran the race and the lead weatherman for the station sort of walked it - I mean, he had a number and everything but was dressed in Dockers and a button up shirt - not exactly what one would run in. Anyway, the day had two highlights. First, I set a "PR" or a "personal record" for myself (I would post the time, but if you are a runner you would spit out your Diet Coke because the time is nothing to brag about, trust me). Second, when I saw random woman in a long denim skirt (again, what's with the attire at the 5k?) sneaking to take a photo of the weatherman and acting like she was stalking George Clooney or something. It was nuts. I mean, he's the weatherman. And he's old. You could tell she was totally star struck.

I also recently attended a little festival in my neighborhood I lovingly call "Crackfest." The reason? It took place in an area where a lot of arrests have been made (according to the crime alerts I receive from my local police department) for selling / possessing crack. Yes, crack. As in "crack is wack" crack. Not cocaine - crack. Awesome. Crack always attracts quality. And I just love that I can take a five block stroll through my neighborhood to secure some.

Crackfest was what I expected and more.


This woman dressed and acted like she was on crack. So I know where she bought the crack but where did she find that outfit?


And this unfortunate fellow...they were too close to get a good picture of him. Focus your attention to that bulge of flesh above the shoulder of the woman in the blue T-shirt there on the right. This big, fat slob of a man was walking around with his pants and boxers positioned well below his love handles and was shirtless. His "moobs" (man boobs) really just looked like boobs. It was just vile. If a woman walked around like that she would be totally scrutinized. This man was with a rag tag crew that included that lovely smoker lady on the left and several children, including the one in the arms of lady in blue. Made me sad for the children who are surrounded by adults like these.


I know...there I go being all judgy again! What should I expect living five blocks from the crack capitol of West Michigan, right? It goes with the territory. What can I say? Crack is wack!

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Redefining "single"

Tonight I attended a social gathering of women aging in range from early 20s to late 40s. Looking around the table, I realized that while I was (for once) not the only unmarried woman there, I was (as usual) the only "single" woman there. At my "advanced" age that just won't do so I have opted to redefine "single."

From here on out, I declare "single" means someone who is not married, not engaged and not cohabitating. Therefore, if you are in a relationship but not cohabitating you are (in my warped sense of reality) "single." This is really just out of necessity....you know, so I am not the only "single" person at such gatherings.

Once I redefined "single" in my (warped) mind, I was one of four "single" women attending this event and suddenly felt much more at ease. That is, until the brag books started circulating. Even one of the other "singles" had a brag book, despite the fact that she doesn't have children of her own.

Once again I was totally outnumbered.

And there was no way for me to redefine that in my head.

Monday, August 9, 2010

Tales from the road

Today I spent about ten hours in the car driving from Grand Rapids, Mich. to Indianapolis and back. What a marathon!

While driving through Kokomo, Ind. this evening my colleague was flipping through the stations and what did we hear? Low and behold - "Kokomo" by The Beach Boys. Kokomo in Kokomo. Aw, how cute! However, this Kokomo is not in the same ranks as Aruba and Jamaica or Bermuda and Bahamas. It is more like Dayton (OH) and Naperville (IL) or Fort Wayne (IN) and Auburn Hills (MI). In other words, no one is fallin' in love to the rhythm of the steel drum band down in Kokomo, Ind.

While driving through Kokomo we discovered not one, not two, not three but seven "Jesus" radio stations! Seven! Does seven equal Heaven in this case? Not sure why there is a need for so many Christian radio stations in one relatively small area but we enjoyed counting them. That's a whole lotta Jesus, that's for sure.... Especially for a city that would expel a little boy from middle school for contracting HIV through a blood transfusion (anyone remember the Ryan White story from the 1980s?). Would WOULD Jesus do? Just saying, Kokomo, just saying. Maybe they are trying to make up for misdeeds of the past. I shouldn't judge, but I do find seven Jesus stations to be a bit much.

Ineterestingly, this was not the only day I had a discussion about The Beach Boys in the car. Today I shared a story of the car ride with my mom and dad this weekend. They came to visit me and we traveled to a Lake Michigan beach town. We had a couple of disturbing conversations during the car ride....

First, in regard to The Beach Boys, we discussed Katy Perry's "California Gurls" and the rumors The Beach Boys are suing her. My mom said, "Oh please. Those two songs are nothing alike. The Beach Boys don't say anything about 'being so hot we'll melt our popsicle.'"

I don't need to hear my mom talking about anyone's popsicle melting, ok? Shudder.

Within five minutes of that incident my dad, drifting in and out of sleep, picked up on part of another conversation my mom and I were having and shouted out from the back seat, "I've got myself a Detroit 'ho!"

Me:  "Dad, are you talking about mom?"

Dad: "Yes."

Me: "Do you know what you just called her? Do you know what that word means?"

Silence.

Me: "Dad, do you know "ho" means "whore?"

Dad: "No."

Me: "What do you think that means?"

Dad: "I thought it meant shovel."

Me: "So mom is a shovel?!?"

Dad: Silence


Without a doubt, the next time I hear The Beach Boys I will think melting (about how no one's tropical drink is melting in their hands in Kokomo, Ind. and how much I did not enjoy my mom talking about melting popsicles) and shovels (otherwise known as "hos" or, in my case, Mom).

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Busted!

It's a hot and humid day here in GR so after an early morning run I opted to spend the day laying low in the house. After a packed weekend I am enjoying some peace and quiet.

About an hour ago I let Gracie out and decided to water my hanging baskets.

As I turned the corner from the back yard to the front I spotted not one, but two GRPD cars parked in front of my house.

Immediately I thought, "Great. Which house was robbed now?"

I saw the officers walking down the street...to the 2 Live Crew house.

SCORE!

They went there, knocked on the door, apparently no one answered (the music wasn't playing but I would venture the inhabitants have hearing loss based on exposure to ridiculously loud music and therefore didn't hear the officers - or were hiding their stash of pot, meth or other drugs) so the officers walked back to their cars, one stopped to compliment me on my hanging baskets (brownie points for me with GRPD?), moved their cars to the end of the block and went back to 2 Live Crew house.

I went inside. I decided if a shootout happened over loud music I did not want to be caught in the crosshairs.

No shootout...and not sure what transpired but I am so grateful these morons are on GRPD's radar.

I have a feeling I won't be hearing much 2 Live Crew or Christopher Cross any time soon!

Friday, August 6, 2010

I can't help falling in love with you!

I met my new love interest in Atlanta a mere two weeks ago while shopping at Lenox Square.

I saw my new love again at The Galleria in Houston a few days after our initial encounter.

Since that time, I cannot get the object of my affection off my mind.

I haven't felt this way in awhile.

Meet my new love...

....Bow Regard Maryanne



Oh, Kate Spade...you did it again!

I know I am sick. But let's look at Bow Regard Maryanne from another view:



Isn't she lovely?

The metallic leather! The gold dot interior! That bow! That handle! Oh my!

When we first met in Atlanta it was difficult for me to leave her in the store. She looked perfect on my arm. Like we were meant to be. I think I actually heard her calling my name as I sadly left the store.

Alas, I do not have $445 to splurge on her. I mean, American Express could pay for it but then I would just end up paying off Bow Regard Maryanne for the next ten years.

Wait, I just realized that is almost the exact same amount of cash I plunked down at the vet to nurse Gracie back to health. Cruel joke, universe, cruel joke.

However, I must say, I haven't felt this way about a Kate Spade bag in awhile.

Damn you, Kate, for making such beautiful handbags!!

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

An example of nothing short of "jackassery"

Jackassery. I am 99.99 percent sure I learned that word from my favorite writer, Jen Lancaster. I want to make sure I give credit where credit is due for coining that phrase, because it truly describes my actions this past weekend.

I was a reader in a very big, Catholic wedding. I skipped the rehearsal because it would have required an additional five days away from home after just returning from six days away from home for work travel. Since I couldn't be there to practice, I followed the bride's instructions to arrive at the church a half an hour before the ceremony to find the other reader and get the scoop from her. I practiced my reading and arrived at the church one hour early just to be safe, skipping lunch (bad idea) and breakfast for that matter. I immediately tracked down my fellow reader, who told me to just go after her. Sounded good to me. Then I started to think about it.

"Isn't there a song between the two readings?" I asked. As a lifelong Catholic (I even went to Catholic school!) I should have known the answer. OK, in my gut I knew the answer (and it was YES) but I skipped lunch to make it to the church so all I could hear from my gut were hunger noises.

You can probably guess where this is going....the short version is no, I wasn't supposed to go right after reader number one and yes, yes, YES, there IS a song between the two readings. Ignoring my gut, and at the prompting of someone in my row who told me to "Go!" I marched up to the altar and started reading, despite the sheer look of horror on the bride's face (she is a good enough Catholic to know it goes reading, song, reading). As I opened my mouth I was promptly removed from the altar by the priest.

Worst. Nightmare. Come. True.

Public speaking doesn't phase me. I've spoken, read, sang, etc. in front of hundreds of people - no biggie. What does phase me? The prospect (or actual act) of screwing up someone's otherwise perfect wedding ceremony.

Walking off the altar, rejected, a vision of Bridget Jones popped into my head. You know, the scene where she has to introduce the guy who introduces the author and she totally screws it up? Yep, just like that. Thank goodness I didn't call the priest "Mr. Titspervert" or anything.

After the song, I was beckoned to the altar. I put on my best sorority girl smile, did my reading and sat back down, replaying the entire thing over and over in my head throughout the rest of the ceremony. Thankfully for the sake of bride and groom, the rest of the ceremony went off without a hitch.

Still feeling like I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, I was doing my best not to "be seen" at the reception. I sat my ass down at my assigned table and tried to hide in plain sight until I could no longer resist the lure of the open bar. Don't worry, while in line for a drink some guy I don't know stopped me to make a comment about my gaffe. I simply smiled at him.

Once I had my drink I practically ran back to my seat and momentarily thought about hiding under the table.

A little while later, I ventured to the bar with my pal Peasley thinking there would be safety in numbers. We were separated en route to the bar and, sure enough, yet another stranger approached me about it the minute I was alone. Again, all I did was smile at him.

Really? I felt horrible about the whole thing! Who are these people to come up to me and bring it up? I am not a total idiot - I did realize I screwed up. I think I got that memo when the priest removed me from the altar!

After the second incident, I vowed not to leave my seat at the reception and stayed true to that promise except for two quick trips to "tee tee" when the path to the ladies room was clear. Don't get me wrong, I contemplated not getting up to "tee tee." However,  I figured I had humiliated myself and messed things up for the bride and groom enough...I did not want to do any additional damage.

Luckily, I had good company at my table and had a wonderful time when I was engaged enough in conversation to not replay my screw up over (and over and over) in my head. The reception was a blast - the tequila was flowing and the attendees danced and celebrated all night long. I apologized to the parents of the bride, as well as the gracious bride and groom but still felt like a total jackass. In fact, I still feel like a total jackass. That's where "jackassery" comes in....perfect way to describe my failure to follow my gut!

Thursday, July 29, 2010

2 Live Crew, Christopher Cross and bloody dog poo

I woke up this morning to the aroma of dog poo.

As I followed the scent down the hall then down the stairs, noting Gracie the dog was totally missing in action, I knew it wouldn't be good.

In fact, it was worse than I could have imagined. As I took the final steps into the living room the poo smell became a blood smell.

My living room looked like a crime scene. Or like vampires were hanging out there overnight.

Diarrhea and blood, bright red spots of blood, were smattered all over the living room. Thank goodness for hardwood floors. However, in my carpeted office? Oh yeah, a pile of gooey, foamy vomit. Uh-oh.

$434.03 later (I feel that extra .03 is a total slap in the face), Gracie was diagnosed with "hemorrhagic gastroenteritis." Sounds scary, right? It is. The one pager the vet gave me says, "Dogs with HGE will appear severely ill and, if untreated, may die." Super.

Today was supposed to be my beach day, instead it turned in to my clean up dog poo, dog vomit and dog blood and get the permeating smell of poo and blood out of my house all while starving my dog and trying to feed her ice cubes. It was a special day indeed.

Other highlights of the day include:

-Watching the President on "The View" and learning he does not know who Snooki is. Whew! I, for one, am thrilled. I mean, I just learned who Snooki is about one month ago. In fact, I believe I asked Twitter-land, "What is a Snookie?" a few months back. (Not only did I not know what a "Snooki" was I also did not know how to spell it). I would hope our President is too busy running the country to watch "Jersey Shore." I guess that means Barack Obama, me and my mom are literally the only people in the U.S. who don't watch that trash.

-Speaking of trash, another highlight was listening to my trashy neighbors take their new speakers out for a spin. Well, they were spinning tunes anyway. The "free concert" went on for about an hour - the sound was coming from a house a block away and yet it was like I was listening to my own radio. The song selection varied from "Supersonic" to some bad songs by Slaughter or Firehouse (or other bad early 90s rock band), "Me So Horny" and "Sailing" by Christopher Cross. Eclectic yes. Oh, and annoying too. We are experiencing another surge in crime in my 'hood (shocking). In fact, last weekend while I was in Houston on business I received a crime alert that 80 crimes happened within one mile of my home. 80. 8-0. Eighty. Crimes included attempted murder, selling crack and something that sounded like someone tried to mow someone down with a car. Awesome. I am just saying....to any potential home invaders out there....that trashy house on 4th Street with the blanket in the window in place of real window coverings has a sweet sound system. Just saying. I am not a fan of most crimes; however, if this speaker system were to suddenly "disappear" I would not be disappointed and would thank the home invaders.

Just another day in my neighborhood!

Saturday, July 17, 2010

First it's flowers, then it's grand theft auto

I am hot.

And not because it's going to be 90 degrees out today.

This morning I took Gracie for a walk and on the way back I saw large blonde lady walking with four little children further ahead. I noticed her because she was huge. I tend not to make fun of "pleasantly plump" people (because I am not skinny) but this woman made Rasputia from "Norbit" look like super model.

(The reason Rasputia is even on my radar is because this other "big" lady I know who I call The Mullet was trying to raise some money this week and apparently offered to go down a 90 foot water slide if she hit her goal. The waterslide scene from "Norbit" - which was not a good movie, by the way - came to mind. I do make fun of her, because she is The Devil, not because she is fat - long story).

Anyway, Two-ton Telly and the four children were stopped in front of my house. I couldn't tell why they were stopped because I was about 6 blocks back but didn't think much of it because little kids drop things all the time. As I walked with Gracie, I saw them stop again at the house next door (home of the owners of the cat Gracie was accused of "murdering.").

By the time Gracie and I got home they had rounded the corner and were making their way up another street.

I took Gracie in, got her some water, grabbed my iPod and headed out for a run.

I went around in front of my house and in the direction Two-ton Telly had gone. As I started jogging up the block I noticed red and purple flowers sprinkled along the sidewalk and realized those were MY red and purple flowers. I went back to my house and, sure enough, they were stopped because the devil-children ripped about one-third of my beautiful petunias out of the planter and then threw them on the sidewalk.

Don't tell me, "They're just kids" or "They're just flowers."

What was this woman thinking? When the kids went for the flowers, she should have said no. It wasn't one or two, I counted as I picked them up. The pulled a total of eight flowers from the pot.

My mom says this is what I get for living around a bunch of uneducated, trashy red necks. I suppose she is right, but in my defense, the neighborhood did not seem that trashy two years ago. Because of the bad economy it has definitely declined.

So, what's next. First, it's just ripping flowers out of the flower pot at the home of a neighbor. Next, it's stealing a toy from a kid at school or at the playground. Then, it's on to throwing firecrackers at homes in the neighborhood and finally, what, grand theft auto? I am serious.

I am not a parent, but would think it is important to start instilling things like, "Don't touch what doesn't belong to you" at a young age.

Needless to say, my run did not go as planned. Rather, I picked up the eight dead flowers and jogged around the blocks in the direction Two-ton Telly went hoping to find her. She is huge, so she could not have gone far.

I am sure I looked like a psycho jogging up and down each block in a half-mile radius intently staring at each home, with ripped out petunias in hand. In fact, I hope I did look like a psycho and I hope she saw me!

I did not find her but will be on the look out for her this weekend. It's on!

And P.S. - if her kids/grandkids/babysitting charges, whatever they were, had not messed with my flowers I would care less about her size. Just saying!

Thursday, July 8, 2010

All good things must come to an end

My cranky neigbors left for a week long vacation last Saturday.

I cannot begin to tell you how much I have enjoyed coming and going without two sets of old eyes peeping at me.

Not to mention how much I don't miss the screaming grandchildren they babysit every week day and always trot out when I am trying to talk on the phone on my front porch (b/c my effing Sprint phones don't work in my home - don't even get me started on them!).

They should be back Saturday.

Where did the week go? I had such plans to enjoy not having next door neighbors! I was going to have friends over, work from home as much as possible and catch some rays in the back yard. Alas, weather and work got in the way of most of my plans.

It was good while it lasted.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Things will be great when you're downtown

I live two miles from the downtown of a large city (the Northwest side of Grand Rapids, Mich. to be exact).

I try to stay "in the city" as much as humanly possible. I leave to go to the movies, to go to the grocery store and to, well, leave town. That's about it. I live, work and play in the city.

It's no New York or Chicago, but, it has its charms. And it's better than the suburbs (except when hoodlums throw firecrackers at your house).

If you want to go to a concert or a festival, check out a sporting event or hit a cool bar, you have to go downtown. Seriously. There aren't many other places to go around here. Got it? Good. Because this is important.

So this guy who is a resident of a local suburb asked me out. I suggested meeting somewhere downtown. His response? "I don't really know anything there. I've never really been there."

What?

How? How? How is that possible? It isn't unless you have no life. Now, this guy doesn't really know me - or he would know how incredibly appalling I would find such a statement.

This guy seemed (past tense) normal enough but clearly, if he has never been downtown to a concert, festival, museum or bar I should not even waste my time on him. He needs to spend time with some nice, simple girl who likes dining at chain restaurants and hanging out at the mall! In other words, someone who is less than fabulous!

Life, liberty and the pursuit of lawsuits

I know I am a tad behind on my 4th of July post but the delay is worth it, trust me!


This year I spent 4th of July like a true American....drinking beer at a baseball game that was immediately followed by a patriotic fireworks display. Can't get more American than that, right?

Well, my friends and I learned you can.

God bless America. Indeed, we celebrate many freedoms here. Including a freedom I know our Founding Fathers just absolutely wanted us to be able to exercise...the freedom to file frivolous lawsuits!

You know George Washington was out there at Valley Forge, cleaning his wooden teeth, yelling at officers about getting STDs from the local whores (true story - saw it on The History Channel) and thinking, "Gee whiz, I hope someday people in this country will be free to fake injuries in the hope of personal financial gain!"

Without a doubt, what I witnessed at the baseball game will result in a frivolous lawsuit.

You know those T-shirt guns? The mascot was shooting T-shirts into the crowd and people were clamoring for them as if the mascot was shooting out bundles of Benjamins or something.

An orange T-shirt hurdled toward a group of people about four rows in front of me and my friends. Hands shot up to catch the prized T-shirt and a tall man at the game with his family caught it.

All is well that ends well, right? Not so much.

The woman in front of him, perhaps angry she didn't get the T-shirt, perhaps looking for some quick cash, suddenly doubled over in "pain," putting her hand on her side/lower back. It appeared she implied she was somehow shoved/pushed/punched by the man who caught the shirt. That definitely did NOT happen.

This woman was a drama queen. She tried to get up and walk and "collapsed" while her male companions kept shooting death looks to the poor guy who caught the T-shirt.

Speaking of T-shirt guy, he was totally bewildered. His wife kept putting her hand on his back and his kids had total looks of "WTF" on their faces.

"Injured" lady tried to make it the four seats to the end of her row and just couldn't, so a Good Samaritan flagged down "help." While waiting for "help" to arrive, poor T-shirt guy offered his prize to one of "injured" woman's male companions. The guy looked annoyed, but he accepted the T-shirt. Really? If your friend is truly injured do you care about a free T-shirt? Crazy!

She was suddenly surrounded by all kinds of official looking management people, as well as a paramedic. Suddenly a wheelchair appeared. The "help" tried to get her in a wheelchair but then realized we were surrounded by steps so that wouldn't work.

Meanwhile, the fireworks started and they were super....but I couldn't be help but be intrigued by the side show taking place in front of me!

Finally, a stretcher arrived. A freaking stretcher. They made her climb on, cross her arms in the manner of Hannibal Lector, and whisked her away.

T-shirt guy and his family jetted out of there before anyone could take his name and vital info. Good for him. The guy did not injure this woman. And, unless this woman had a pre-existing condition, there is no way she was injured. I mean, for real, if you have a bad back are you really going to lunge to grab a stupid free T-shirt? Probably not.

Given the fact that there was a slightly delayed reaction to the T-shirt catching and this woman's injury, I believe she was simply opting to celebrate the 4th of July in a uniquely American way...by faking an injury to file a lawsuit.

Farewell T-shirt guns at the local baseball games. Since T-shirt guy split before she could sue him, my guess is she'll go after those dangerous T-shirt guns.

I have a very American thought for her: T-shirt guns don't injure people. Idiot people jostling for free T-shirts that are worth .50 cents injure people (themselves).

Happy freaking (belated) birthday, America.

Friday, July 2, 2010

Eat, drink and don't be married - or at least don't have kids

Thursday evening I saw what is, in my opinion, the best news story I've ever seen on ABC World News. It should win an Emmy or a Pulitzer or something like that!

The story was about longevity, specifically focusing on those mysteries of modern medicine: the centenarians. You know, really old people. Specifically, people 100 years or older.

Here is the link but really, you have to hear my interpretation (which will be even better than the real deal). The news piece talks about having good genes, blah, blah, blah but the treasure and, what I believe is the truth, comes from the mouths of the two centenarians featured in the story: Two old ladies named Aggie and Betty.

Betty is a 110 year old white lady and Aggie is a 105 year old black lady. And they have some damn good advice for the younger ladies. Both are as cute as buttons and still quite active given their ages!

Betty said her key to long life, "No kids." Bingo! Betty is single and fabulous...and probably broke because she has lived so damn long. But maybe not so much since she never had to spend money on children? Not sure if Betty ever married, but by now I am sure her husband would be dead because women usually outlive men anyway. Unless Betty is a total cougar. Anyway, give it up for Betty!

Then there is Aggie. Yes, Aggie - she's my girl! She won me over with her tip for a long life when she shared her diet secrets. It's not what Aggie eats, it's what she drinks. My girl Aggie keeps it real. She said she drinks three Miller High Lifes and one shot of Scotch a day. All I can say? You go girl! Then there was a cut to a shot of Aggie kicking back a Miller Light (not a Miller High Life but close enough and I personally prefer Miller Light - less carbs).
 
There are your answers, my friends! The secret to a long, fabulous life. It is not about working out, eating right or any of that crap. Do as Betty and Aggie did. Don't have children and keep on drinking!
 
Bottoms up!

Thursday, July 1, 2010

How to offend your friends 101

I didn't intend to offend my Facebook friends today. They know I can be a total bitch. Hello! It's me! Do they not know me?

Somehow, I did manage to offend a few because today I took offense to one of those "If you have the best husband in the world-gag-me-with-a-spoon then copy this" stupid status updates that I despise.

This particular one is making its second round on Facebook. I ignored it with disgust the first time, but this time I can no longer hold my tongue:

"Snobby girls come from New York, sweet girls come from Alabama, but we Michigan girls have fire and ice in our blood...We can ride four wheelers, be a princess, throw left hooks, and drink with the boys and if we have an opinion, you know you're going to hear it.... Re-post ...if you're a ...TRUE.....MICHIGAN GIRL!"

I did NOT "re-post" this.

In fact, I posted this:

"Am I the only one offended by that 'Michigan girl' status update that talks about riding four wheelers and 'throwing left hooks?' I do neither of those. I also don't go 'up north,' I don't own any 'snow gear' and believe Michigan people have horrid accents. Clearly I am NOT a 'Michigan girl!'"

If the original author of this status update wants to stereotype, he or she simply should have written, "A 'Michigan girl' can wrangle a deer with her bear hands while cooking pasties (not pronounced like the nipple covers, by the way) and drinking a Faygo pop or a Labatt Blue during a weekend up north in 'da UP."  I think I covered several Michigan stereotypes there.

No one likes being reduced to a stereotype, especially one so....rough? "Throwing left hooks?" Really? I am not sure if the reference is to fishing (which is a big sport here in the Great Lakes state) or bar fighting but either way I am offended. I know it is just a stupid Facebook "thing" but it just really got to me.

What I did not expect was the dialogue it started on my Facebook page! Some agreed with me, while others did not.

And I never should have opened the door on the whole "accent" thing. People who don't get out of this state much really believe Michiganders don't have a regional accent. Yes, they do. Trust me on this. I have been back in this state for six years and it has totally crept back - I work hard to keep it at bay, but alas, when surrounded by it, you eventually surrender. For example, "Mom" is pronounced "maam" in Michigan. Don't believe me? Ask The New York Times travel writers! A few years ago one of their writers did a review on Grand Rapids (man, we thought we have MADE it then!) and featured a city landmark, The B.O.B., in the article. The writer took time to say, "The B.O.B., or as the locals call it, "The Baab." No joke.

What is the point of all of this? I am not really sure. I suppose to share a couple of lessons:
1. Offending people you like on Facebook is not a good idea
2. Don't get offended by stupid Facebook cut and paste status updates made up by people who have nothing better to do

Notice I did not take offense to the drinking reference. Though, as a refined, fabulous woman, I would much prefer sipping martinis at cocktail hour with the girls than shot-gunning beers with the boys. Unless Ryan Reynolds was one of said boys. Then I'd be totally down (or as we say in Michigan "Eye'd bee totally daayown").

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

It's always 5 o'clock at "Wiggy's"

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Monday, June 14, 2010

An emergency on your part does not constitute an emergency on our part

If f**king children are throwing firecrackers at your home late at night in the city of Grand Rapids you just have to suck it up and deal with it.


This is the lesson I learned tonight.

For the second time in three nights blazing firecrackers have been hurled at my home by pre-pubescent hooligans.

I called the non-emergency number for my city's police department tonight because I feel like twice in three nights is starting a trend I don't want to see continue, and when they didn't answer I got pissed and called 911.

So sue me.

I was told to call the non-emergency number by 911. You know, the number that no one answers.

Bull shit.

I know this isn't an "emergency" but I am angry. I yelled out the window at these 'hood rats and guess what? It did no good. They simply started tossing firecrackers at the house next door. They are not afraid of me. Clearly I need someone with a badge and a gun for backup (totally pondering a gun purchase again). Where are the parents of these children? Why do these little effers, who appear to be under the age of 13, even have access to incendiary devices?!? I just don't understand.

Right now those boring old suburbs aren't looking so bad...

Monday, June 7, 2010

Lying in bed, just like Brian Wilson did

"So I'm lying here, just staring at the ceiling tiles, And I'm thinking about, Oh what to think about."

Oh, Barenaked Ladies, I still love thee!

I am feeling like a recluse, a little Brian Wilson-esque if you will, since my self-imposed isolation started Friday afternoon. During my bout of bronchitis I've made several attempts to do "normal" things. For example, on Saturday I attempted to mow the front lawn. I live in the city, my front lawn is tiny. The lawn mower won that round. I barely finished and was drenched in sweat afterward (and it was only like 76 degrees out). You would think I would have learned a lesson but no. On Sunday, once again feeling very Brian Wilson-esque (meaning like a fat ass) I decided I would attempt to run two miles. What a joke. At the one mile mark I nearly passed out and had to walk the rest of the way home.

So today I decided I would really take care of myself.

After waking up and taking my temperature and realizing I still had a fever, I decided I would work from home. When it came time for my morning medications, I made a big mistake. I ran out of name brand Mucinex yesterday and moved on to the leftovers of a generic version from the last time I had bronchitis. In my feverish haze, thinking generic Mucinex is a "lesser" Mucinex, I popped two of them and thought nothing of it.

Until about 20 minutes later.

When I felt like I was going to vomit. And then I felt stoned. And then I felt like vomiting again.

During my Mucinex high I decided to drive to Walgreen's (horrible idea) to buy a Coke to settle my stomach and orange juice because I had polished off an entire carton of OJ this weekend.

Thankfully I managed to drive to Walgreen's and back without incident (that I can remember anyway) but upon my return got to deal with my very "special" next door neighbors.

In previous blog posts I've referred to them as Cranky Old Man and Crabby Old Woman. They watch me like teenage boys watch anything featuring Megan Fox.

Cranky Old Man was mowing his lawn when I returned from Walgreen's. I used the "avoid eye contact" technique as a scurried in the house. However, I could feel him staring me down as I ran in - making efforts to cough extra loud in the hopes he would get that I am sick.

Pathetic, yes. But here's the deal. I took a week off work around Memorial Day. Then, after two days back to work I got sick. Cranky and Crabby are old school, and believe people have to go to an office (or factory or who knows what) and work from 9-5 to "work." I have a laptop and a cell phone - I can pretty much work anywhere. Not to mention the fact I travel a lot for work and work weekends several times per year, so there are plenty of times I am home on a random Tuesday or Wednesday to make up for it. One time I was home on a random week day and he stopped me and said, "Don't you work?"

On week days when I am home sick, working from home or on a "staycation" I feel like a prisoner in my own home because they are watching, wondering and judging.

Why do I care what Cranky and Crabby think about me? I can't answer that.

All I know is that after five days of hiding away like Brian Wilson, I am ready to return to the land of the living, and away from the prying eyes of Cranky and Crabby!

Friday, June 4, 2010

Sick...and not as in "That Lady GaGa concert was totally sick" either; or, I have reached an all time low

I love that line. A co-worker who is at least  three years older than me (meaning mid 30s) said something to that effect, referring to Lady GaGa as "sick" and for a moment I was taken aback. I thought, "Is Lady GaGa ill?" Then I realized this co-worker was trying to be like those hipster kids by using their newfangled terminology.

Anyway, I am the other kind of sick. As in "ill." Bronchitis to be exact.

You know when it sucks to live alone? When you're sick. In other words, living alone is not sick (cool) when you're sick.

Seriously, tonight I have hit an all time low and I am not afraid to share it with you. I am laying in my bed, drinking orange juice, popping antibiotics, using two inhalers and sharing said bed with two cats and a dog while watching QVC.

Yes, you read that correctly. QVC.

I am feeling less than fabulous right now.

In QVC's defense, I do occasionally purchase Philosophy and Bare Escentuals from QVC because their prices on these things are much better than in stores or on the company web sites. So sue me. At least it's not the Home Shopping Network. I feel the Home Shopping Network is the Wal-Mart of television shopping. QVC is, on the other hand, the Macy's.

However, in bed at 8 p.m. on a Friday night with pets watching QVC? I feel like I have crossed a line that can never be uncrossed.

Off to make some night time TheraFlu and put myself out of my misery. At least for tonight.

TheraFlu? That stuff is totally sick!

Thursday, June 3, 2010

The second to last single girl

How could I forget about "Wiggy?"

I received a BlackBerry message from her last night that said, "We'll be the last single girls together. You know me I'm a Samantha to the core. I just want a ring with diamonds and not a diamond ring!"

Then she went on to say how a guy just sent her some flowers and chocolate covered strawberries (her fave). "Wiggy" always has men chasing her down - she loves being chased but I pity the fool who thinks he is going to catch her. Anyway she went on to say, in regard to the strawberries, "I wolfed those things down like my last meal. I am such a freakin pig."

Bless you, "Wiggy" - you are the best!

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

The last single girl (and why parents shouldn't be given access to technology)

It's official.

I am the last single girl.

At least the last single girl in the 30-35 age bracket. In my city. Possibly in the state.

At least it feels that way.

Lately in my group of friends (including some former friends who are former friends because they dumped their girlfriends for boyfriends) there has been a rash of serious relationships, engagements and weddings. I am thrilled for all of these people, but it leaves the perpetually single girl (me) feeling...well, more single than ever.

What really drove home my feeling "more single" than normal was when I came home from a Memorial Day weekend visit with my parents (nothing like being the fifth wheel for my mom and dad and sister and her husband!) to find the electricity out on my block due to thunderstorms. All the neighbors on the block were hanging out on their respective porches - husbands and wives, parents and children, roommates....and Jen (me). Just Jen.

I couldn't talk on the phone because I only have a cell and worried about how long the battery would stay charged. Well, I take that back. I called my mom to ask her to look up the number for my electric company "on the computer" (huge mistake) and after 20 minutes of trying to explain how to Google search after she couldn't comprehend that the web address started with a "www" and not a "ww" I gave up. At that point, the battery on my crappy cell phone was too drained to make too many other calls.

So there I sat, just me. Eventually, I got smart and ran to the store to buy ice and some cold beer. Upon my return home I busted out one of my summer reading books and the battery operated iPod speakers I had just purchased a few weeks ago. As I sat there sipping my cold drinks, listening an all 80s playlist and reading a hilarious memoir I thought, "Ha, ha suckers, you may have company but I have cold beer on this hot summer afternoon! Take that!" And no, I did not buy a 40 (which is what most people in my neighborhood drink on their porches...or, hell, while walking/driving down the road).

Hours later, the electricity came back on and I resumed life as normal. And that afternoon I realized a couple of things:

First, I really love electricity. I mean it. I should become a fan (or "Like") electricity on Facebook. My dad/teachers in school always liked to say, "Back in the day when they didn't have electricity....blah, blah, blah..." (meaning our collective ancestors, not them personally, I am not THAT old!). Hell to the no. If I lived "back in the day" before conveniences like electricity and, even more so, indoor plumbing, I would have died. I never would have made it to see my 30s, I just know it.

Second, even if I really turn out to be the last single girl in my neigborhood, group of friends or (gulp) city, I will be ok as long as I have a few other conveniences like my iPod and cocktails!

Friday, May 28, 2010

The Spice Girls said it best..."Goodbye, my friend"

Today we packed up "Wiggy" and moved her to her new home in a new town. She got a big promotion a couple of months ago and finally made her move. While the promotion is much-deserved and we're all happy for her, it's definitely bittersweet. As we packed boxes marked "lace-front wigs," "underwear," and "sex toys" into the U-Haul, I recalled the last time we helped her move, which was only a few months ago when she escaped living in the duplex from hell and next door Jesus freaks.

Oh, "Wiggy," life here just won't be the same without her! While she is only about an hour away, it's not going to be so easy to just meet up for after work cocktails or hit the mall so she can try on House of Dereon outfits that should never have been made in plus sizes.

On "Wiggy's" last night in town, we hit the Sex and the City 2 pre-party and premier. It was fabulous. The film is, by no means, a cinematic masterpiece but we didn't care! My group of four gal pals got caught up with our four favorite fictitious gal pals and cocktails were involved.

What an appropriate way to end "Wiggy's" time here. I mean, she's most definitely the Samantha of our group, but more than that, it got me thinking about how important friendships are, especially for single women in their 30s. Let's face it, by our age mostly everyone else has paired up and procreated. Each year our numbers dwindle as friends are picked off one by one and venture into marriage and motherhood. Those of us left behind form close friendships because in our urban jungles we're all one another has. We love our lives and wouldn't trade them for the world, but it's important to have friends around who relate to what it's like to be single...and, of course, who are free to go out and shop, drink or hit a movie with you at any time!

This certainly won't be the end of my friendship with "Wiggy" but in many ways it's an end of an era.

By the way, for those who were wondering, we found no evidence that a mouse had ever inhabited "Wiggy's" home after we packed her up today. Confirming what I eventually came to believe...that the "slut mouse" and a bottle cap were one and the same!

Thursday, May 13, 2010

From one surly ex-sorority girl to another....

Things have been crazy lately! A ridiculous amount of work travel in a short amount of time has kicked my butt, resulting in contracting a cold that is hanging on tighter than Joan Rivers' last facelift. I ran my second 5k with remnants of said cold, pleased my time improved from the first 5k, despite the fact I was stuck behind tons of people who felt it was appropriate to walk across the start line. (Don't worry, I wrote some strongly worded comments about those ridiculous gangs of walkers in my post -event survey). Now, just as my body is starting to catch up (and as I narrow my work email down to 60 unread emails from 600+), I am about to beat it down again by participating in the American Cancer Society Relay For Life. It's a 24 hour event to raise funds for ACS and my friends and I will be camped out and walking for the duration. Yeah, for one fighting off any sort of cold/virus this is not the best idea but neither is eating two (maybe three?) cupcakes in the course of one day when one is dieting but yeah, I did that this week too. And last week in NYC  come to think of it (I heart Magnolia Bakery). Shoot. No wonder I am not losing weight despite all this running! Anyway....

Despite my hectic schedule I took a day off work to travel across the state to meet my favorite writer. I am an avid reader, someone who reads two to three books at a time. I like biographies, historical fiction and memoirs. A few years ago, a friend told me I needed to read a memoir called "Bright Lights, Big Ass" by Jen Lancaster. The first page of that book is a (hilarious) letter from Jen Lancaster to Carrie Bradshaw...the rest, as they say, is history.

I know I've referenced her here before (many, many times). She really is my favorite writer, in part because I feel like we are kindred spirits....as I told some friends last night, we both love pearls, we were both sort of tyrants when put in leadership positions in our respective sororities, we both aspired to be Blair from "Facts of Life" as children and both love watching Blair and the gang from "Gossip Girl" now, etc. I could go on (and on) but I don't want to bore you.

Jen treated us to a reading and Q and A before the book signing. It was better than I had expected and thankfully, Jen was exactly how I hoped she would be - funny, engaging and during the book signing she took time to talk to each person individually and take photos, despite the fact that over 300 people were lined up to meet her.

Though Jen's knowledge of reality TV vastly outweighs mine (I limit my reality TV to "American Idol" auditions and "Celebrity Rehab/Sober House" on VH1 because I generally have great disdain for all those ridiculous shows...unless they involve celebrities fighting addicition hence "Celebrity Rehab/Sober House" and Paula Abdul's days on "American Idol"), and sometimes I didn't know who she was talking about when she would throw out a name (a "Real Housewife?", a "Next Top Model?", someone from "The Hills" if that's even still on?), I still heart her and was thrilled to "have a moment" with her!



P.S. In honor of Jen's new book about her efforts to break her addiction from reality TV (see, I love addiction stories so I will love this book), I looked up my Jersey Shore nickname. It's The Tan-trum. I am pretty sure my mom would wholeheartedly agree with that one!