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

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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...

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!

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!

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!

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!