Yes, I am just like "that friend" who failed to send her Christmas cards and sent New Year's cards instead because I am sharing this year's holiday letter with you after Christmas. In case you are wondering, I did not send Christmas or New Year's cards this year. But hey, at least I'm posting this before the new year! And P.S., my New Year's Resolution is to blog more, pinky swear!
Dear friends and family,
2011. 2011 was the year of Jen. Let's face it, it's all about me 24/7 because, well, who the hell else would it be about? My dog? My cats? Of course not - it's about me. This year, however, was more about me than usual. And (un)like Charlie Sheen, in 2011 I found myself WINNING and, on occasion, felt as though I too had "tiger blood" running through my veins. Ok, ok, no tiger blood. I took that one too far.
I found myself winning both literally and figuratively in 2011. This year I continued my running and surpassed my goal of finishing a half marathon by running three half marathons (including one to Canada and back!) and a 25k (that's 15.5 miles for you non-runners). All this running improved my physical and mental health. Im pleased to say I can once again shop at my holy trinity (J Crew, Banana Republic, Ann Taylor/Loft) and, let me you, I am a frequent customer. My credit card is not winning thanks to all the shopping but sorry, all my clothes were too big! I've longed for this problem for years. Now this is winning!
I lived out two childhood dreams in 2011. One involved a visit to a little place called The Magic Kingdom (more about that later) and the second a bit more obscure....I saw Wilson Phillips live in concert. Yes, the "Hold On" 90s girl group with those wicked harmonies. I love Wilson Phillips and their concert was everything 13 year old "Jenny" (call me that and die) imagined it would be. Totally winning!
Professionally, things couldn't be better. I'm a part of a national leadership development program, won two awards, got a promotion and am poised for bigger and better things in 2012. Most importantly, I truly love my job. Literally winning!
Sure, 2011 had some low points...finding a used condom in my yard, finding my basement flooded with sewage, chaining my air conditioning unit to the house for fear it would be stolen, countless flat tires, discovering my employer failed to take out the correct taxes for the city in which I reside, resulting in me owing over a THOUSAND dollars to said city (don't even get me started on this)...but hey, that's life! This year the good completely outweighed the bad.
I love to travel, and even though I'm still mad at Delta for breaking a wheel off a brand new piece of luggage at BWI this September, I enjoyed my travels. This year I made it to Atlanta (3 times), DC (twice), Chicago, Indiana (more times than I care to discuss but since I ran a half marathon in Indy I felt the need to mention it), New Orleans (where I got to be very American and celebrate the death of Osama bin Laden), New York (where I may have seen Jay Z....in his house) and Orlando (I am a Disney virgin no more! And yes, I was that creepy childless adult at Disney World hugging the characters).
Yes, I'm still childless...and single. And guess what? I'm ok with it! I may even marry myself in 2012. After all, I still need some basic home goods. Seriously, I just got my first crock pot. I'm 34. Why? Because I've never had a wedding shower to get one. I still need a toaster and toaster oven, a mixer and some more Kate Spade fine china. Plus, the last of my single friends are getting married next year and I'm feeling left out so yeah, I will probably marry myself next year just for the gifts. If that isn't WINNING I don't know what is.
Yes, I was WINNING in 2011 and I'm going to do everything I can to keep it going in 2012...even though I realize the whole "winning" thing is totally an out of date reference.
Happy New Year!
Jen
Friday, December 30, 2011
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Oh, America
Tonight Betty Ford passed away at the age of 93. I live in the hometown of Betty and Gerald Ford and despite a shooting rampage that took place here yesterday, things are normally pretty quiet. That being said, our fair city is already caught up in Betty Ford fever.
Clearly plans were in place for Mrs. Ford's passing because shortly after I learned she had died, an announcement was made that the Gerald R. Ford Presidential Museum would be open 24/7 beginning immediately so the community could come and pay their respects to Mrs. Ford and sign a condolence book for the family.
Since I had to pass the museum on my way home from another wine-filled Friday night with Wiggy, I decided to stop and sign the book.
A crowd had gathered and let me say, and I am not trying to be an ass, I was the only normal people there. Our local ABC affiliate was interviewing a woman and her two sons who looked like they could be inbred; there were three guys in front of me with droopy pants, backwards hats and gold chains - totally looked like K-Fed circa when Britney was relevant; a woman with black stringy hair and too short shorts asking the security guy, "Where's that Gerald guy buried?"; and a family of three that were all dressed in matching black and white outfits. The kicker? All of these people were taking photos! Pictures of the condolence book and pictures of one another signing the book. Really? Is this where we've come as a society - like if we don't photograph it then it didn't happen?
Don't get me wrong, I take a lot of photos. I love documenting fun times with my friends, my pets, random things...but, there's a time and a place for everything and I feel as though that was not the time and place.
And the worst part of it is, our local NBC affiliate had a camera set up to capture all of the people signing the book in "real time" so all of these shenanigans were being caught on film. Also quite possible...a certain girl in black and white dress scowling at these ridiculous people - oops!
Clearly plans were in place for Mrs. Ford's passing because shortly after I learned she had died, an announcement was made that the Gerald R. Ford Presidential Museum would be open 24/7 beginning immediately so the community could come and pay their respects to Mrs. Ford and sign a condolence book for the family.
Since I had to pass the museum on my way home from another wine-filled Friday night with Wiggy, I decided to stop and sign the book.
A crowd had gathered and let me say, and I am not trying to be an ass, I was the only normal people there. Our local ABC affiliate was interviewing a woman and her two sons who looked like they could be inbred; there were three guys in front of me with droopy pants, backwards hats and gold chains - totally looked like K-Fed circa when Britney was relevant; a woman with black stringy hair and too short shorts asking the security guy, "Where's that Gerald guy buried?"; and a family of three that were all dressed in matching black and white outfits. The kicker? All of these people were taking photos! Pictures of the condolence book and pictures of one another signing the book. Really? Is this where we've come as a society - like if we don't photograph it then it didn't happen?
Don't get me wrong, I take a lot of photos. I love documenting fun times with my friends, my pets, random things...but, there's a time and a place for everything and I feel as though that was not the time and place.
And the worst part of it is, our local NBC affiliate had a camera set up to capture all of the people signing the book in "real time" so all of these shenanigans were being caught on film. Also quite possible...a certain girl in black and white dress scowling at these ridiculous people - oops!
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
To quote Kathy Griffin....
Once again I've lowered myself to joining Match.com. The last go-round was a disaster and this one is proving to be the same. The only men interested in meeting me are: a) over 40 b) make less than $25,000 per year and work in food service ("Would you like to SuperSize that?") c) have a million children d) live at least 200 miles away e) all of the above. Meaning "e" my potential suitors are all of these, not just one each. I'm cancelling my membership - this is such a waste of my time!
My friend, we'll call her Jane, has had a much worse experience and should be the one cancelling her membership. Like me, Jane is well educated, is smart, career-driven, owns a dog and not originally from this area. Unlike me, Jane is super tall, thin and presumably makes big bucks at her super cool job. We met tonight for drinks to lament over the true fail that is Match.com.
Two days ago she was contacted by "Romanticmom34." The message was:
Hello. I believe my boyfriend is on here and his username is wingman2010. If you have received an email from him please let me know. If you can forward the email if he had contacted you to me.Thanks. Please do not say anything in regards to this. I need proof. Then he can be busted. Thanks.
Jane did not respond, hoping to avoid getting dragged in to some sort of backwoods, hillbilly (these people are from the sticks) brawl. And yes, "wingman2010" did contact her. However, since he has no education and probably no job she did not respond.
Today it got even better though....a guy contacted her with the message that he's not a "creeper but..." and proceeded to tell her he would love to give her some "oral" pleasure. For real. Hello, creeper, this isn't Yahoo! personals!
Seriously? Gross.
What is it? Why is it that men who have crappy jobs, live in the basements of their parents/friends/siblings and have zero personality can find great women (women who are, in fact, probably way too good to date them!) but women with great jobs, great homes and great personalities cannot find decent matches intellectually and educationally speaking? I just don't get it. Why are there so many great single women but no great single men over 30? I believe this is a line from an episode of "Sex and the City" but hello, it's my favorite TV show for a reason, that quote is dead on! Where are the great single men over 30? Oh, that's right...they're married! Or dead.
So, in the words of Kathy Griffin, I've said it before and I'll say it again....Match.com can "suck it." Wait, better not say that out loud...I bet if I put that on my profile Mr. Oral would come knocking at my door for sure.
My friend, we'll call her Jane, has had a much worse experience and should be the one cancelling her membership. Like me, Jane is well educated, is smart, career-driven, owns a dog and not originally from this area. Unlike me, Jane is super tall, thin and presumably makes big bucks at her super cool job. We met tonight for drinks to lament over the true fail that is Match.com.
Two days ago she was contacted by "Romanticmom34." The message was:
Hello. I believe my boyfriend is on here and his username is wingman2010. If you have received an email from him please let me know. If you can forward the email if he had contacted you to me.Thanks. Please do not say anything in regards to this. I need proof. Then he can be busted. Thanks.
Jane did not respond, hoping to avoid getting dragged in to some sort of backwoods, hillbilly (these people are from the sticks) brawl. And yes, "wingman2010" did contact her. However, since he has no education and probably no job she did not respond.
Today it got even better though....a guy contacted her with the message that he's not a "creeper but..." and proceeded to tell her he would love to give her some "oral" pleasure. For real. Hello, creeper, this isn't Yahoo! personals!
Seriously? Gross.
What is it? Why is it that men who have crappy jobs, live in the basements of their parents/friends/siblings and have zero personality can find great women (women who are, in fact, probably way too good to date them!) but women with great jobs, great homes and great personalities cannot find decent matches intellectually and educationally speaking? I just don't get it. Why are there so many great single women but no great single men over 30? I believe this is a line from an episode of "Sex and the City" but hello, it's my favorite TV show for a reason, that quote is dead on! Where are the great single men over 30? Oh, that's right...they're married! Or dead.
So, in the words of Kathy Griffin, I've said it before and I'll say it again....Match.com can "suck it." Wait, better not say that out loud...I bet if I put that on my profile Mr. Oral would come knocking at my door for sure.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Why camping is the most ridiculous idea of a "vacation." EVER.
Apparently I'm just full of rage these days. Blame it on the fact that I haven't taken a full week off work in over two years.
It's 4th of July weekend and I just escaped a major traffic jam - thankfully I was going against the traffic - because, unlike all those crazy people going "Up North" (it's a Michigan thing) I was heading back into the 'hood.
People primarily go "Up North" to do something I simply don't understand. Something so vile sounding I don't know why any rational person would do this. Yes, they go "Up North" to go camping.
Shudder.
The idea of camping makes me want to wretch.
Seriously, think about it. People go on camping vacations, right? They pack up all kinds of crap including a tent, sleeping bags, food, camping stoves (really?) and who knows what else....load down the car so it is heavier and therefore burns more gas....drive for countless hours to, in most cases, pay for a place to dump all their crap. Once said crap is dumped, they're forced to crap in community bathrooms (if they're lucky), cook their own meals and clean up after themselves and then sleep in tents....in the summer...with no air conditioning. Oh, and bears and skunks may attack the campers in their sleep.
How the hell is this appealing?
Seriously! I was giving a friend who is one of the thousands of "campers" in Michigan this weekend a hard time about all the money she has spent on camping equipment. Her response was the equipment will provide a "lifetime of fun." My response? Air conditioning and a roof over my head are priceless.
And to expound on this...think about it...when I go on vacation I stay in a hotel where I have air conditioning, cable, a comfortable bed, indoor plumbing that I don't have to share with strangers and I don't have to clean up after myself - a maid does that! Then, when I want to eat, I visit a cool restaurant. Maybe some Thai, maybe some pizza, maybe some sushi. You know what campers call sushi? Bait. And, I'm sorry, I don't believe you can get a good martini camping - that's a lot of extra equipment to pack.
Michigan is going to be hot, humid and rainy this 4th of July weekend so, camper people, good luck. Wiggy called me this week to declare "I am not a wilderness girl!" and, of course, neither am I so we'll spend this weekend enjoying shopping, sushi and strong martinis! Cheers to Independence Day!
It's 4th of July weekend and I just escaped a major traffic jam - thankfully I was going against the traffic - because, unlike all those crazy people going "Up North" (it's a Michigan thing) I was heading back into the 'hood.
People primarily go "Up North" to do something I simply don't understand. Something so vile sounding I don't know why any rational person would do this. Yes, they go "Up North" to go camping.
Shudder.
The idea of camping makes me want to wretch.
Seriously, think about it. People go on camping vacations, right? They pack up all kinds of crap including a tent, sleeping bags, food, camping stoves (really?) and who knows what else....load down the car so it is heavier and therefore burns more gas....drive for countless hours to, in most cases, pay for a place to dump all their crap. Once said crap is dumped, they're forced to crap in community bathrooms (if they're lucky), cook their own meals and clean up after themselves and then sleep in tents....in the summer...with no air conditioning. Oh, and bears and skunks may attack the campers in their sleep.
How the hell is this appealing?
Seriously! I was giving a friend who is one of the thousands of "campers" in Michigan this weekend a hard time about all the money she has spent on camping equipment. Her response was the equipment will provide a "lifetime of fun." My response? Air conditioning and a roof over my head are priceless.
And to expound on this...think about it...when I go on vacation I stay in a hotel where I have air conditioning, cable, a comfortable bed, indoor plumbing that I don't have to share with strangers and I don't have to clean up after myself - a maid does that! Then, when I want to eat, I visit a cool restaurant. Maybe some Thai, maybe some pizza, maybe some sushi. You know what campers call sushi? Bait. And, I'm sorry, I don't believe you can get a good martini camping - that's a lot of extra equipment to pack.
Michigan is going to be hot, humid and rainy this 4th of July weekend so, camper people, good luck. Wiggy called me this week to declare "I am not a wilderness girl!" and, of course, neither am I so we'll spend this weekend enjoying shopping, sushi and strong martinis! Cheers to Independence Day!
Friday, June 17, 2011
Crazy Mary, is that you?
Now that summer break is upon us, the 'hood is much more lively at night. Lucky me.
My trashy neighbors (you know, the used condom tossers) threw a huge party last weekend and, thankfully, I was out of town. I can only imagine what I missed. Thankfully, I did not find any used condoms or similar devices in my yard.
Tonight as I was trying to go to sleep I heard someone yell, "Help meeeeeeeeeeee! Heeelllp meeeeeee!!"
Now, I am normally the first person to call my local police department. However, since I called yesterday to report some thugs playing basketball in the street (and, p.s. was told it is fine as long as they "yield" to cars), I decided someone else would make the call. I couldn't pinpoint where the screaming was coming from but oh man, it was loud!
GRPD arrived on the scene in record time. I could hear people laughing while the lady kept screaming. And kept screaming. And kept screaming. Suddenly she was yelling about being naked and "you're killing me!" Oh, but people were laughing at her so clearly there was no imminent danger.
Suddenly, I had a flashback. In my mind I could hear, "I WANT A TUNA SANDWICH!!!" "HELL-OOOOO I WANT A TUNA FISH SAAAANDWIIIIIICHHHHH!!!!!!" in my head. Yes, friends, I think "Crazy Mary" has followed me to the northwest side of town!
"Crazy Mary" was my neighbor way back in 2007 and her antics actually were the catalyst for this blog!
I'd like to think this woman, described over the police scanner as "combative psychotic," is indeed "Crazy Mary."
This "Crazy Mary's" antics brought out the crazy in the condom tossers. They needed to pack up all their kids (and there are a lot of them - they must have just figured out how to use condoms), Precious the dog and saunter up the street to check out the situation. I heard them laughing about "crazy white people" as they walked home...and then proceeded to turn on their blaring R& B music and light firecrackers. Really, people? It's 11:00 p.m. And the police are one block away.
At least "Crazy Mary" never threw a used condom in my yard. All right, I lived in an apartment and didn't have a yard...but I did have a stoop! Though she did play "Blue Christmas" by Elvis on repeat for hours....at least the condom tossers play a variety when they bust the jams.
My trashy neighbors (you know, the used condom tossers) threw a huge party last weekend and, thankfully, I was out of town. I can only imagine what I missed. Thankfully, I did not find any used condoms or similar devices in my yard.
Tonight as I was trying to go to sleep I heard someone yell, "Help meeeeeeeeeeee! Heeelllp meeeeeee!!"
Now, I am normally the first person to call my local police department. However, since I called yesterday to report some thugs playing basketball in the street (and, p.s. was told it is fine as long as they "yield" to cars), I decided someone else would make the call. I couldn't pinpoint where the screaming was coming from but oh man, it was loud!
GRPD arrived on the scene in record time. I could hear people laughing while the lady kept screaming. And kept screaming. And kept screaming. Suddenly she was yelling about being naked and "you're killing me!" Oh, but people were laughing at her so clearly there was no imminent danger.
Suddenly, I had a flashback. In my mind I could hear, "I WANT A TUNA SANDWICH!!!" "HELL-OOOOO I WANT A TUNA FISH SAAAANDWIIIIIICHHHHH!!!!!!" in my head. Yes, friends, I think "Crazy Mary" has followed me to the northwest side of town!
"Crazy Mary" was my neighbor way back in 2007 and her antics actually were the catalyst for this blog!
I'd like to think this woman, described over the police scanner as "combative psychotic," is indeed "Crazy Mary."
This "Crazy Mary's" antics brought out the crazy in the condom tossers. They needed to pack up all their kids (and there are a lot of them - they must have just figured out how to use condoms), Precious the dog and saunter up the street to check out the situation. I heard them laughing about "crazy white people" as they walked home...and then proceeded to turn on their blaring R& B music and light firecrackers. Really, people? It's 11:00 p.m. And the police are one block away.
At least "Crazy Mary" never threw a used condom in my yard. All right, I lived in an apartment and didn't have a yard...but I did have a stoop! Though she did play "Blue Christmas" by Elvis on repeat for hours....at least the condom tossers play a variety when they bust the jams.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Rage Against the Relationship
I do plan to tell you about my first night on “mobile patrol” with my neighborhood association. However, right now my inner single girl is raging and I need to channel my anger.
Relationship people – I am so over you. Yes, you. You people who have to do everything together. Heaven forbid you spend a weekend with your girlfriends. Heck, or even a night out to dinner or the bar without your significant other. Heaven forbid you invite your single friend to do things with you (meaning the collective you, not you as an individual because you as an individual barely exists anymore).
I don’t understand you people!
I have a college friend who has been married now for about ten years. She and her husband manage to maintain their individual identities despite the fact that they now have three children and a generally busy life. They have their own interests, do things as a couple, do things individually with their friends (and, gasp, they even take turns “babysitting” the kids even though I would argue if they are your children it is not called “babysitting” it is called “parenting.” Of course, because they a normal couple they don’t call it “babysitting” but say things like Mrs. W is “with the kids.”) and, they have a couple of people in their lives who are perpetually single (including a former friend of mine) and, gasp again, they invite them to do stuff like trips and cookouts. Why can’t you all be like this?!?!
I wish these two would write a book, write a blog, make some YouTube videos, something, anything on how to be a great couple and to keep your own identities!
There are others out there who manage this too, I am just raging so let me rage and don’t take this personally, ok?
Everyone grows up at some point. I get it. However, why do some people find it so difficult to make room in their lives for relationships and friends? Remember all those times before you found your soul mate (yes, relationship people, I am talking to you again) and all you had were your friends? Some of us are still there and we need our friends. So when your soul mate mates with a new soul and you’re all devastated about it and you come knocking at my door I’ll be here for you (well, for everyone except this former friend) because, unlike you, I have a strong identity- single or not single.
Relationship people – I am so over you. Yes, you. You people who have to do everything together. Heaven forbid you spend a weekend with your girlfriends. Heck, or even a night out to dinner or the bar without your significant other. Heaven forbid you invite your single friend to do things with you (meaning the collective you, not you as an individual because you as an individual barely exists anymore).
I don’t understand you people!
I have a college friend who has been married now for about ten years. She and her husband manage to maintain their individual identities despite the fact that they now have three children and a generally busy life. They have their own interests, do things as a couple, do things individually with their friends (and, gasp, they even take turns “babysitting” the kids even though I would argue if they are your children it is not called “babysitting” it is called “parenting.” Of course, because they a normal couple they don’t call it “babysitting” but say things like Mrs. W is “with the kids.”) and, they have a couple of people in their lives who are perpetually single (including a former friend of mine) and, gasp again, they invite them to do stuff like trips and cookouts. Why can’t you all be like this?!?!
I wish these two would write a book, write a blog, make some YouTube videos, something, anything on how to be a great couple and to keep your own identities!
There are others out there who manage this too, I am just raging so let me rage and don’t take this personally, ok?
Everyone grows up at some point. I get it. However, why do some people find it so difficult to make room in their lives for relationships and friends? Remember all those times before you found your soul mate (yes, relationship people, I am talking to you again) and all you had were your friends? Some of us are still there and we need our friends. So when your soul mate mates with a new soul and you’re all devastated about it and you come knocking at my door I’ll be here for you (well, for everyone except this former friend) because, unlike you, I have a strong identity- single or not single.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Try to catch me ridin' dirty
'Hood rats, beware! There's a new sheriff in town (well, sort of) and her name? J-E-N.
You've got that, betches, I've joined the neighborhood Mobile Watch Patrol.
I'm already a little overzealous about this and my friend Rachael already warned me that this does not give me carte blanche to become some sort of neighborhood vigilante. We'll see about that....
I have a feeling I'll be the youngest volunteer on Mobile Watch Patrol. When Gerri pulled up in her Buick to drop off the information I took note of her tight perm and cardigan sweater and quickly realized I could be her granddaughter. That's cool though - I can hang with the old folks. It's all about stopping crime!
In my orientation materials I reviewed some information on "conditions, persons, and vehicles that may indicate criminal activity" and must share some highlights:
So much to learn - military time, police abbreviations, how to properly operate the spotlight and what to talk to a bunch of old folks about while cruising the crime infested streets in the wee hours of the night (for example, I don't think my Lady Gaga or Carrie Bradshaw references will fly).....
My first ride is the first weekend in June. I can't wait to share a full report of who and what I bust!
You've got that, betches, I've joined the neighborhood Mobile Watch Patrol.
I'm already a little overzealous about this and my friend Rachael already warned me that this does not give me carte blanche to become some sort of neighborhood vigilante. We'll see about that....
I have a feeling I'll be the youngest volunteer on Mobile Watch Patrol. When Gerri pulled up in her Buick to drop off the information I took note of her tight perm and cardigan sweater and quickly realized I could be her granddaughter. That's cool though - I can hang with the old folks. It's all about stopping crime!
In my orientation materials I reviewed some information on "conditions, persons, and vehicles that may indicate criminal activity" and must share some highlights:
- A license plate held on with wires, a covered license plate or a missing license plate. Tricky, tricky, that wire thing!
- Dirty car, clean plates or vice versa. Hmmm...these old folks patrol from midnight to 3 a.m. so my question is can they even see well enough to notice this?
- Vehicles the drop one or more people off and either stay or cruise the area. Oh, duh, this happens with the house I suspect is a drug house across the street from me all day, every day, round the clock!
- Persons running, particularly late at night. I assume these are persons not dressed in appropriate running attire - you know, sweat band, GPS watch, etc.
- Persons not dressed right for the existing weather conditions. Now, if this is a crime, jails should be full. I always see morons wearing shorts when it is 50 degrees out. It really should be illegal - that's just tacky.
So much to learn - military time, police abbreviations, how to properly operate the spotlight and what to talk to a bunch of old folks about while cruising the crime infested streets in the wee hours of the night (for example, I don't think my Lady Gaga or Carrie Bradshaw references will fly).....
My first ride is the first weekend in June. I can't wait to share a full report of who and what I bust!
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
"Are you going to clean that up?"
My house must have the bodily function equivalent of a "Kick Me" sign on it that can only be seen by my trashy neighbors.
Today I am working from home. I was just in the kitchen heating up some lunch when Gracie went crazy. I came into the living room to see a dog taking a dump in my front yard with his owner standing by. Seriously?
As soon as I saw the owner did not have a bag in his hand I popped out and said, "Are you going to clean that up."
Exasperated, the owner responded, "Yeah, I've gotta go get a bag."
That's when I noticed the dog wasn't even on a leash - he was holding it by the collar.
I probably sound like crazy, paranoid lady but why the heck would he "walk" his dog without a leash? Clearly he was just taking the dog out onto someones yard to let it take a dump and move on.
About five minutes later he returned with a plastic bag and the dog on the leash.
I'm glad it is cleaned up but, seriously, people, my yard is NOT a dumping ground for your dog crap, your Dairy Queen cup, your cigarettes or your used condoms!
Today I am working from home. I was just in the kitchen heating up some lunch when Gracie went crazy. I came into the living room to see a dog taking a dump in my front yard with his owner standing by. Seriously?
As soon as I saw the owner did not have a bag in his hand I popped out and said, "Are you going to clean that up."
Exasperated, the owner responded, "Yeah, I've gotta go get a bag."
That's when I noticed the dog wasn't even on a leash - he was holding it by the collar.
I probably sound like crazy, paranoid lady but why the heck would he "walk" his dog without a leash? Clearly he was just taking the dog out onto someones yard to let it take a dump and move on.
About five minutes later he returned with a plastic bag and the dog on the leash.
I'm glad it is cleaned up but, seriously, people, my yard is NOT a dumping ground for your dog crap, your Dairy Queen cup, your cigarettes or your used condoms!
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Excuse me, I think you left your DNA in my yard....
First, let me say I will never go this long without a blog entry again. I apologize to the whole three of you who read this blog on a regular basis!
THIS is worth the wait.
So, you know my neighborhood is sort of, well, ghetto and keeps getting worse, right? In fact, my neighborhood is in such a downward spiral that two weeks ago someone was CARJACKED outside of my home. CARJACKED. IN FRONT OF MY HOUSE. AT GUN POINT.
You get the point.
I find this incredibly disturbing. Here's the thing, I personally have no fear of being carjacked. I drive a beat up Sebring with constant flat tires and 135,000 miles. Take it - please! In fact, if I were to witness a carjacking I would probably stop the car, run out and offer mine. And then I'm sure the carjacker would laugh in my face. Or shoot me, leaving my car behind, of course.
Where was I? Oh yeah, fantasizing about getting a new car....anyway, I don't fear being a victim of this particular crime. However, I fear the fact that this crime would take place IN FRONT OF MY HOME.
Not to mention, this carjacker must not have the highest standards. Seriously, you should see some of the cars that drive down my street. This is not exactly Mercedes-ville, ok?
As if the carjacking isn't bad enough, today my next door neighbors told me they're walking away from their home. Awesome. There goes my home value and, even worse, there goes the neighborhood. Other than that time they (wrongly) thought Gracie killed their cat, they are nice, normal and quiet. Seriously, I'm fortunate because at least the people on each side of me and directly across the street are normal. I am seriously freaked out about who or what will move in next door.
The neighbor dropped the bomb this afternoon while I was doing yard work. The yard work eventually took me behind my garage where I plant my garden. Since it's Michigan I have yet to plant anything - I was just going back there to check out the weed situation.
That's when I spotted something irregular.
Something that does NOT belong in one's garden.
Something round, white and latex.
And I'm not talking about a balloon.
Yes, friends - there, on the ground where I will plant tomatoes, was a USED CONDOM.
I want to know how a used condom got in my garden. Wait, sorry, I am gagging a little.
Gracie goes back there all the time. She has probably sniffed it or worse - uh, gagging some more. It has been back there at least three weeks.
Should I get Gracie a STD test? I want to just go and Lysol the dirt. I know that sounds insane but I feel so violated.
Am I overreacting? I don't think so. No one should have to worry that when she goes into her garden to pick peppers and cucumbers she going to find a latex surprised filled with the DNA of a stranger.
I am so utterly disgusted.
Anyone wanna buy a house?
THIS is worth the wait.
So, you know my neighborhood is sort of, well, ghetto and keeps getting worse, right? In fact, my neighborhood is in such a downward spiral that two weeks ago someone was CARJACKED outside of my home. CARJACKED. IN FRONT OF MY HOUSE. AT GUN POINT.
You get the point.
I find this incredibly disturbing. Here's the thing, I personally have no fear of being carjacked. I drive a beat up Sebring with constant flat tires and 135,000 miles. Take it - please! In fact, if I were to witness a carjacking I would probably stop the car, run out and offer mine. And then I'm sure the carjacker would laugh in my face. Or shoot me, leaving my car behind, of course.
Where was I? Oh yeah, fantasizing about getting a new car....anyway, I don't fear being a victim of this particular crime. However, I fear the fact that this crime would take place IN FRONT OF MY HOME.
Not to mention, this carjacker must not have the highest standards. Seriously, you should see some of the cars that drive down my street. This is not exactly Mercedes-ville, ok?
As if the carjacking isn't bad enough, today my next door neighbors told me they're walking away from their home. Awesome. There goes my home value and, even worse, there goes the neighborhood. Other than that time they (wrongly) thought Gracie killed their cat, they are nice, normal and quiet. Seriously, I'm fortunate because at least the people on each side of me and directly across the street are normal. I am seriously freaked out about who or what will move in next door.
The neighbor dropped the bomb this afternoon while I was doing yard work. The yard work eventually took me behind my garage where I plant my garden. Since it's Michigan I have yet to plant anything - I was just going back there to check out the weed situation.
That's when I spotted something irregular.
Something that does NOT belong in one's garden.
Something round, white and latex.
And I'm not talking about a balloon.
Yes, friends - there, on the ground where I will plant tomatoes, was a USED CONDOM.
I want to know how a used condom got in my garden. Wait, sorry, I am gagging a little.
Gracie goes back there all the time. She has probably sniffed it or worse - uh, gagging some more. It has been back there at least three weeks.
Should I get Gracie a STD test? I want to just go and Lysol the dirt. I know that sounds insane but I feel so violated.
Am I overreacting? I don't think so. No one should have to worry that when she goes into her garden to pick peppers and cucumbers she going to find a latex surprised filled with the DNA of a stranger.
I am so utterly disgusted.
Anyone wanna buy a house?
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
I want to thank you, thank you
It was one of you!
I didn't rant and rave about the crime committed against me on my personal Facebook page, only via blog. So, it was one of you crazy people who find my ranting and raving at least somewhat amusing who made my day today. All I can say? Thank you! All is right with the world again!
I didn't rant and rave about the crime committed against me on my personal Facebook page, only via blog. So, it was one of you crazy people who find my ranting and raving at least somewhat amusing who made my day today. All I can say? Thank you! All is right with the world again!
Here's the unsigned note that accompanied it!
Monday, February 28, 2011
Take the weather with you, just leave the magnet!
Today after a long day of work (where, by the way, we were given ice cream treats as a "big surprise" in a staff meeting just like Michael Scott gave to his staff in that health care episode in season 1 of "The Office"), I strolled out to my car at 5:15 or so (lately I've been leaving work after 6 so this was a real treat!). The sun was still shining and for once it wasn't snowing so I decided I would be home in plenty of time for a short run. I was feeling positive about all I accomplished at the office today and well, just feeling good in general when I approached my car.
What is missing from this picture?
O.k., that is not a fair question if you don't personally know me/know my car so I will tell you. See that vast stretch of vacant space there? An oval JB magnet once sat there.
JB stands for the one, the only, Jimmy Buffett. I just realized I rarely blog about my love for Jimmy Buffett, which surprises me, because my love for Jimmy is timeless. It is eternal. It's like a religion. And, by the way, Jimmy shares a birthday with none other than Jesus Himself. Coincidence? I think not.
Upon first approach I decided the car may not even be my car...and then, upon closer inspection, I saw an oval spot, less salt covered than the rest of the car, where my beloved magnet once sat.
The anger swelled.
Never get between an honest to goodness Parrothead and her love of all things Jimmy Buffett!
I park in a "secure" parking lot, complete with cameras! I need a freaking swipe card to get in to the thing. There's even a rogue sorta security guy in a giant pickup truck who sits and monitors from time to time. Despite all this, my car was violated!
What rubbed salt in the wound? I called my mom (because who else am I going to call, really?) and she laughed!
This is not a laughing matter! I bought that magnet at the original Margaritaville in Key West. It's the mothership for Parrotheads. Every time I look at that tropical looking magnet on my piece of crap car, especially on days when I'm scraping off snow or filling the tires with air, I can't help but smile.
Every morning from now on I will have to face the sad, lonely, boring back of my car as I open the garage. I will wonder what happened to my beloved car magnet (I really did love that thing - I know it's silly). R.I.P., JB. I will miss you. I hope you have a new owner who loves you as much as I do...however, I have a feeling I'll be seeing you affixed to a metal object on the backpack of one of the local vagrants.
In the immortal words of Jimmy, I will simply "breathe in, breathe out, move on."
(P.S. On a positive note, my permanent crown is in place so no more teeth popping out! I know, I know, you were all really concerned about this!)
What is missing from this picture?
JB stands for the one, the only, Jimmy Buffett. I just realized I rarely blog about my love for Jimmy Buffett, which surprises me, because my love for Jimmy is timeless. It is eternal. It's like a religion. And, by the way, Jimmy shares a birthday with none other than Jesus Himself. Coincidence? I think not.
Upon first approach I decided the car may not even be my car...and then, upon closer inspection, I saw an oval spot, less salt covered than the rest of the car, where my beloved magnet once sat.
The anger swelled.
Never get between an honest to goodness Parrothead and her love of all things Jimmy Buffett!
I park in a "secure" parking lot, complete with cameras! I need a freaking swipe card to get in to the thing. There's even a rogue sorta security guy in a giant pickup truck who sits and monitors from time to time. Despite all this, my car was violated!
What rubbed salt in the wound? I called my mom (because who else am I going to call, really?) and she laughed!
This is not a laughing matter! I bought that magnet at the original Margaritaville in Key West. It's the mothership for Parrotheads. Every time I look at that tropical looking magnet on my piece of crap car, especially on days when I'm scraping off snow or filling the tires with air, I can't help but smile.
Every morning from now on I will have to face the sad, lonely, boring back of my car as I open the garage. I will wonder what happened to my beloved car magnet (I really did love that thing - I know it's silly). R.I.P., JB. I will miss you. I hope you have a new owner who loves you as much as I do...however, I have a feeling I'll be seeing you affixed to a metal object on the backpack of one of the local vagrants.
In the immortal words of Jimmy, I will simply "breathe in, breathe out, move on."
(P.S. On a positive note, my permanent crown is in place so no more teeth popping out! I know, I know, you were all really concerned about this!)
Friday, February 25, 2011
Show me your teeth (or in this case, tooth)
Somehow, I don't think this is what Lady Gaga had in mind when she wrote her song "Teeth" -
Today at work a temporary crown fell out of my mouth. This is the second time this has happened in less than a year.
That's me, holding my tooth. I really don't enjoy looking like a toothless hillbilly, especially at work, yet for some reason my temporary teeth always seem to fall out at work! Does it make me a hillbilly that I need so much dental work? Maybe, but since I actually get the dental work I think that takes me out of hillbilly category.
Yep - I'm showing you my tooth.
And this, my friends, is the less than stellar way I ended my less than stellar week.
P.S. Yes, that is my beloved Burberry scarf that I'm sporting!
That's me, holding my tooth. I really don't enjoy looking like a toothless hillbilly, especially at work, yet for some reason my temporary teeth always seem to fall out at work! Does it make me a hillbilly that I need so much dental work? Maybe, but since I actually get the dental work I think that takes me out of hillbilly category.
Yep - I'm showing you my tooth.
And this, my friends, is the less than stellar way I ended my less than stellar week.
P.S. Yes, that is my beloved Burberry scarf that I'm sporting!
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Am I being P'unked? In other words, Paris and Lindsay you are not....
Last night I visited the salon for a much needed hair cut and color. It was unusually quiet for a week night, but there was a client in the chair next to me. When I arrived she was already sitting there with foil throughout her hair which covered much of her face. Judging the way she was dressed (like a slut) I figured her to be about 18 years old. A little sidekick with skin that looked like leather (also dressed like a slut) sat next to her chatting while her highlights sat.
I generally ignore other clients at the salon and did my best to ignore "Lindsay" and "Paris" as they droned on and on and on about "partying," how much hangovers suck, how "hot" they are, how not hot other girls are, more "partying," "doing it," tanning, "partying," and a little more tanning. They mentioned the name of a local community college a couple of times, reaffirming my guess that they were both about 18 years old.
The stylist told the girl getting the highlights (she's the "Lindsay" of the pair) that the color wasn't taking and the whole process would take longer than anticipated. That's when "Lindsay" and "Paris" both freaked out. "Paris" yelled, "Well, like, our ride is coming at, like 8? What are we gonna do?" The stylist, who herself is probably 19 years old said, "Why do you need a ride?"
"Paris" responded, "I don't drive yet."
"Yet?" OK, this caught my attention.
The stylist was taken aback. She said, "How old are you?" (emphasis on "are") and the response "Paris" gave? 15.
15.
Really? Yet she's publicly talking about sex and drinking like she's on an episode of "Jersey Shore" (I've still never seen "Jersey Shore" but I bet they not only talk about sex and drinking, they probably do both on camera - a lot) and thinking nothing of it? Wow!
The stylist then asked "Lindsay" her age. Guess what? "Lindsay" is a whopping 16. Although she's legally old enough to drive, she is only allowed to drive ten minutes from home because she has already been in two car accidents. Since the salon is more than ten minutes from home she had to catch a ride. Not sure if this is court-ordered or mom-ordered but you now see why she's the "Lindsay."
Turns out "Paris" and "Lindsay" are from an ultra conservative suburb - one with a reputation for being uber-religious. They don't quite fit the stereotype with their leather-like skin, mini skirts and partying ways...but what I was most taken aback by was their ages. These two ding dongs are just, well, pathetic (and I'm referring to our Midwestern "Paris" and "Lindsay" not the real Paris and Lindsay - they've been judged enough haven't they?).
Was this sitation was for real? Was I being punk'd? These two clearly view celebrities like Paris Hilton and LiLo as role models but hello, this is the Midwest - no matter how short your miniskirt, how many trips to the tanning salon or how many times you say "partying" and "hot" you still will never be Paris or Lindsay...and you know what, sweethearts? That's a good thing! Get over yourselves, go buy a Hannah Montana poster (though I hear Miley is on the road to Lindsay-ville), download a Justin Bieber song (I just had to Google his name so I would spell it correctly), buy some non-slutty clothes at Hollister or some teey-bopper store and call it a day!
I generally ignore other clients at the salon and did my best to ignore "Lindsay" and "Paris" as they droned on and on and on about "partying," how much hangovers suck, how "hot" they are, how not hot other girls are, more "partying," "doing it," tanning, "partying," and a little more tanning. They mentioned the name of a local community college a couple of times, reaffirming my guess that they were both about 18 years old.
The stylist told the girl getting the highlights (she's the "Lindsay" of the pair) that the color wasn't taking and the whole process would take longer than anticipated. That's when "Lindsay" and "Paris" both freaked out. "Paris" yelled, "Well, like, our ride is coming at, like 8? What are we gonna do?" The stylist, who herself is probably 19 years old said, "Why do you need a ride?"
"Paris" responded, "I don't drive yet."
"Yet?" OK, this caught my attention.
The stylist was taken aback. She said, "How old are you?" (emphasis on "are") and the response "Paris" gave? 15.
15.
Really? Yet she's publicly talking about sex and drinking like she's on an episode of "Jersey Shore" (I've still never seen "Jersey Shore" but I bet they not only talk about sex and drinking, they probably do both on camera - a lot) and thinking nothing of it? Wow!
The stylist then asked "Lindsay" her age. Guess what? "Lindsay" is a whopping 16. Although she's legally old enough to drive, she is only allowed to drive ten minutes from home because she has already been in two car accidents. Since the salon is more than ten minutes from home she had to catch a ride. Not sure if this is court-ordered or mom-ordered but you now see why she's the "Lindsay."
Turns out "Paris" and "Lindsay" are from an ultra conservative suburb - one with a reputation for being uber-religious. They don't quite fit the stereotype with their leather-like skin, mini skirts and partying ways...but what I was most taken aback by was their ages. These two ding dongs are just, well, pathetic (and I'm referring to our Midwestern "Paris" and "Lindsay" not the real Paris and Lindsay - they've been judged enough haven't they?).
Was this sitation was for real? Was I being punk'd? These two clearly view celebrities like Paris Hilton and LiLo as role models but hello, this is the Midwest - no matter how short your miniskirt, how many trips to the tanning salon or how many times you say "partying" and "hot" you still will never be Paris or Lindsay...and you know what, sweethearts? That's a good thing! Get over yourselves, go buy a Hannah Montana poster (though I hear Miley is on the road to Lindsay-ville), download a Justin Bieber song (I just had to Google his name so I would spell it correctly), buy some non-slutty clothes at Hollister or some teey-bopper store and call it a day!
Monday, February 21, 2011
How I spent my President's Day (or How I spent $619 on President's Day)
President's Day used to be a floating holiday at work. A day I normally saved for summer - you know, a little beach, some yard work, etc. Our company made some changes and now, like the post office, we close to observe the holiday.
What to do, what to do? Some people took advantage of the three day weekend by going out of town. I imagine others went shopping, went to the movies, slept in, relaxed. I know some people worked anyway. That was my plan - to work from my couch. Oh, if only. If only.
Let me tell you about my President's Day.
It all started when the alarm went off at 6:05a.m. See, I made a 7 a.m. appointment with the doctor because I forgot my office would be closed on Monday. I had this great plan - see the doc and then hop across the street to work (literally, across the street) and start my day super early!
I dragged my butt out of bed and noticed that even though I cleared nearly six inches of snow off the driveway last night, my sidewalk and driveway were covered in snow like I hadn't even touched it.
No time for shoveling - had to motor over to the doctor where I did not see my primary care physician. I saw her PA. That's cool but here's the problem....if you read this blog regularly you know I get bronchitis - a lot. My doctor knows this. Her PA doesn't. And, since it appears he did not take the time to look at my chart, we had a disagreement about my lungs. In the end, I won and scored a prescription for an inhaler. After all, my half marathon is a mere 27 days and I cannot get sick.
Once home I spent nearly one hour shoveling my driveway and sidewalk. Heavy snow. It was daunting but I got it done.
That's when things really took a turn for the worse. I went to the basement to put some clothing in the laundry and found sopping wet carpeting. Upon closer examination I discovered the water was a lovely shade of brown.
Fast forward after a frantic trip to buy a Shop Vac and the arrival of the plumber.....it's my sewer line and yes, as I suspected but would not admit to myself, my basement is flooded with sewage. Raw sewage. My sewage, but sewage nonetheless.
Sewage.
Shudder. That word is right up there with phlegm.
No, it's worse.
So, here I am, plumber in my basement doing $619 worth of work to clear my blockage and clean up the mess. But the fun won't end there. After he leaves I get to rip out all the infested carpet. At least rip it out to the best of my ability.
I know it isn't the end of the world. But, I don't exactly have $619. I mean, I do, but I also have bills to pay and just spent nearly $170 a Nordstrom Rack on a new Kate Spade (she was only $70!! How could I just leave her there?), a Sweet Pea sweater and some new jeans - but all my clothes are too big, except for my skinny clothes which are still too small - I need clothing!. Had I known raw sewage would be floating around my basement today I would never have gone to The Rack and would just keep wearing clothes that are too big. The plumbing company's web site said they take "all major" credit cards - so I assume they take American Express. If not, I will write them a check and just live on snow (since there is so much of it around) until I get paid again.
What to do, what to do? Some people took advantage of the three day weekend by going out of town. I imagine others went shopping, went to the movies, slept in, relaxed. I know some people worked anyway. That was my plan - to work from my couch. Oh, if only. If only.
Let me tell you about my President's Day.
It all started when the alarm went off at 6:05a.m. See, I made a 7 a.m. appointment with the doctor because I forgot my office would be closed on Monday. I had this great plan - see the doc and then hop across the street to work (literally, across the street) and start my day super early!
I dragged my butt out of bed and noticed that even though I cleared nearly six inches of snow off the driveway last night, my sidewalk and driveway were covered in snow like I hadn't even touched it.
No time for shoveling - had to motor over to the doctor where I did not see my primary care physician. I saw her PA. That's cool but here's the problem....if you read this blog regularly you know I get bronchitis - a lot. My doctor knows this. Her PA doesn't. And, since it appears he did not take the time to look at my chart, we had a disagreement about my lungs. In the end, I won and scored a prescription for an inhaler. After all, my half marathon is a mere 27 days and I cannot get sick.
Once home I spent nearly one hour shoveling my driveway and sidewalk. Heavy snow. It was daunting but I got it done.
That's when things really took a turn for the worse. I went to the basement to put some clothing in the laundry and found sopping wet carpeting. Upon closer examination I discovered the water was a lovely shade of brown.
Fast forward after a frantic trip to buy a Shop Vac and the arrival of the plumber.....it's my sewer line and yes, as I suspected but would not admit to myself, my basement is flooded with sewage. Raw sewage. My sewage, but sewage nonetheless.
Sewage.
Shudder. That word is right up there with phlegm.
No, it's worse.
So, here I am, plumber in my basement doing $619 worth of work to clear my blockage and clean up the mess. But the fun won't end there. After he leaves I get to rip out all the infested carpet. At least rip it out to the best of my ability.
I know it isn't the end of the world. But, I don't exactly have $619. I mean, I do, but I also have bills to pay and just spent nearly $170 a Nordstrom Rack on a new Kate Spade (she was only $70!! How could I just leave her there?), a Sweet Pea sweater and some new jeans - but all my clothes are too big, except for my skinny clothes which are still too small - I need clothing!. Had I known raw sewage would be floating around my basement today I would never have gone to The Rack and would just keep wearing clothes that are too big. The plumbing company's web site said they take "all major" credit cards - so I assume they take American Express. If not, I will write them a check and just live on snow (since there is so much of it around) until I get paid again.
Monday, February 14, 2011
"Forget You, Cupid" the Sequel (in other words, Happy St. Patrick's Day!)
A few years ago my friend Heather wrote this and circulates it each year on Valentine's Day. She gave me permission to share with you - you will enjoy this!
"Years ago I gave up on St. Valentine. I was sick and tired of seeing all the men and women that felt sub-standard because they were not with someone on Valentine's Day. Sick and tired of feeling like I wasn't good enough for this guy who demanded romantic love from lonely people. Wasn't love supposed to be every day? Wasn't love supposed to be for everyone? Why weren't we good enough? This St. seemed like one sick cookie to me so I forsake his name. In that resolution I realized one who didn't care who you were with or weren't with for that matter. St. Patrick loves and accepts us all into his fold. He will even grant you citizenship into Ireland if you aren't Irish. He'll tint your beer green in welcome to this happy loving group of followers. He has never rejected me or made me feel unwelcome even if I was alone! So about 4 years ago I adopted my new saint for this unhappy day to give hope and love to Valentine's so called rejects. For everyone, alone or coupled, I wish you all a very Happy Early St. Patrick's Day! May you always see the world through green tinted glasses (of beer) and my you always feel loved by the greatest Saint of them all! "
"Years ago I gave up on St. Valentine. I was sick and tired of seeing all the men and women that felt sub-standard because they were not with someone on Valentine's Day. Sick and tired of feeling like I wasn't good enough for this guy who demanded romantic love from lonely people. Wasn't love supposed to be every day? Wasn't love supposed to be for everyone? Why weren't we good enough? This St. seemed like one sick cookie to me so I forsake his name. In that resolution I realized one who didn't care who you were with or weren't with for that matter. St. Patrick loves and accepts us all into his fold. He will even grant you citizenship into Ireland if you aren't Irish. He'll tint your beer green in welcome to this happy loving group of followers. He has never rejected me or made me feel unwelcome even if I was alone! So about 4 years ago I adopted my new saint for this unhappy day to give hope and love to Valentine's so called rejects. For everyone, alone or coupled, I wish you all a very Happy Early St. Patrick's Day! May you always see the world through green tinted glasses (of beer) and my you always feel loved by the greatest Saint of them all! "
Sunday, February 13, 2011
In the words of Cee Lo - "Forget You," Cupid!
Yes, "Forget You" or, you know what, even better...in the not radio friendly version of Cee Lo's hit song "F*** You." And yes, Cupid, I'm talking to you.
Valentine's Day is upon us and, yet again, I am sans Valentine.
I went to my local superstore yesterday (no, NOT Wal-Mart - I have standards) and saw men frantically searching through the Valentine's Day flower displays, desperate to find the right gift for that special someone. I gave them kudos for thinking ahead...but also thought how I would not want a Valentine's Day gift from a superstore. Buying an orchid because it is buy one, get one free at the superstore (one for mom and one for girlfriend? Shewd move, superstore, good move.) seems like something these men were doing just to do, not in the name of Cupid, Valentine's Day or love.
Love doesn't come from a superstore and, I will reluctantly admit it doesn't come from Tiffany & Co. either...
I think it's all part of Cupid's devious plan. I bet that little bugger owns stock in all the superstores and jewelry stores in the country, not to mention the FTD and hell, I bet he is the true CEO of Hershey.
Well, Cupid, forget you. I refuse to play your reindeer games (ok, wrong holiday but that phrase makes me think of the classic movie "Heathers").
Forget yoooou, forget you!
Valentine's Day is upon us and, yet again, I am sans Valentine.
I went to my local superstore yesterday (no, NOT Wal-Mart - I have standards) and saw men frantically searching through the Valentine's Day flower displays, desperate to find the right gift for that special someone. I gave them kudos for thinking ahead...but also thought how I would not want a Valentine's Day gift from a superstore. Buying an orchid because it is buy one, get one free at the superstore (one for mom and one for girlfriend? Shewd move, superstore, good move.) seems like something these men were doing just to do, not in the name of Cupid, Valentine's Day or love.
Love doesn't come from a superstore and, I will reluctantly admit it doesn't come from Tiffany & Co. either...
I think it's all part of Cupid's devious plan. I bet that little bugger owns stock in all the superstores and jewelry stores in the country, not to mention the FTD and hell, I bet he is the true CEO of Hershey.
Well, Cupid, forget you. I refuse to play your reindeer games (ok, wrong holiday but that phrase makes me think of the classic movie "Heathers").
Forget yoooou, forget you!
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Top five things I don't need to know about you (or your spawn)
I enjoy Facebook. Yes, I post status updates and I am sure I annoy people with them. I post a lot about running, complain about winter weather, cheer on my favorite college football team, etc.
If I am down and out with bronchitis or something I will share (via Facebook and blog) but I don't get into the dirty details...well, most of the time. There was that one time Gracie had bloody dog poo (in my defense, my house looked like a crime scene from it! I had to explain.), but beyond that I don't share information about body fluids or functions. However, some of my Facebook friends do not use the same restraint. In honor of those friends, I feel compelled to share the Top Five things I do not want to hear about on Facebook:
5. Your ongoing health problems that aren't real health problems. If you have cancer or something then yes, I care, and I want to hear if chemo is kicking your ass or if you had a good day. However, if you have something like say, a "mystery illness" and you just feel like crap all the time and use Facebook as a platform to complain about it, guess what, I don't need to know. Especially when you get all dramatic and say that you just don't know what is wrong and you're just so miserable. If you're so miserable and your doctor isn't helping, get a second opinion rather than trying to illicit pity from your Facebook friends!
4. Your mucus. Ick. That word grosses me out. Seriously! Spell it. Say it, "mucus." It just sounds gross. I don't want to hear about how much mucus you have, what color it is, etc. Period.
3. Projectile vomiting. It's bad enough when Facebook friends share, in detail, how little precious baby puked in their hair, on their clothes, etc. but it's even worse when I have to read about how said baby projectile vomited on the airplane, in the car or on a little friend at daycare. It's too much of a visual for me. Sidebar - as far as the airplane goes - as a frequent traveler let me say if it were up to me there would be family only sections on airplanes, if not family only flights, so people like me don't have to smell dirty diapers or baby spit. I'm a jerk, I know it. Anyway, what's worse than hearing about your child's vomit? Hearing about the vomit coming from you or your significant other. Seriously folks, a vomiting kid is one thing but a vomiting adult? That's just a whole new level of gross (especially if the vomiting is not induced by alcohol - if alcohol induced it's sort of funny and, therefore, tolerable).
2. Your child's exploding diaper. Seriously, I know more about the bowel movements of the spawn of some of my Facebook friends than my own bowel movements. I don't need to hear how your little precious one pooped on the floor, in the tub, on the dog or how he or she dropped a big bomb in his or her diaper. It's just gross, ok, and is not want to see as I scroll down my newsfeed while eating my turkey bacon for breakfast.
1. Your exploding intestines. Let me make this clear: I do NOT need to know if you have diarrhea. I do NOT need to know if you are constipated. I bet none of your other Facebook friends need to know either. I have nothing else to say on this subject because, well, there's just nothing else to say. What happens in the bathroom should stay in the bathroom, got it?
If I am down and out with bronchitis or something I will share (via Facebook and blog) but I don't get into the dirty details...well, most of the time. There was that one time Gracie had bloody dog poo (in my defense, my house looked like a crime scene from it! I had to explain.), but beyond that I don't share information about body fluids or functions. However, some of my Facebook friends do not use the same restraint. In honor of those friends, I feel compelled to share the Top Five things I do not want to hear about on Facebook:
5. Your ongoing health problems that aren't real health problems. If you have cancer or something then yes, I care, and I want to hear if chemo is kicking your ass or if you had a good day. However, if you have something like say, a "mystery illness" and you just feel like crap all the time and use Facebook as a platform to complain about it, guess what, I don't need to know. Especially when you get all dramatic and say that you just don't know what is wrong and you're just so miserable. If you're so miserable and your doctor isn't helping, get a second opinion rather than trying to illicit pity from your Facebook friends!
4. Your mucus. Ick. That word grosses me out. Seriously! Spell it. Say it, "mucus." It just sounds gross. I don't want to hear about how much mucus you have, what color it is, etc. Period.
3. Projectile vomiting. It's bad enough when Facebook friends share, in detail, how little precious baby puked in their hair, on their clothes, etc. but it's even worse when I have to read about how said baby projectile vomited on the airplane, in the car or on a little friend at daycare. It's too much of a visual for me. Sidebar - as far as the airplane goes - as a frequent traveler let me say if it were up to me there would be family only sections on airplanes, if not family only flights, so people like me don't have to smell dirty diapers or baby spit. I'm a jerk, I know it. Anyway, what's worse than hearing about your child's vomit? Hearing about the vomit coming from you or your significant other. Seriously folks, a vomiting kid is one thing but a vomiting adult? That's just a whole new level of gross (especially if the vomiting is not induced by alcohol - if alcohol induced it's sort of funny and, therefore, tolerable).
2. Your child's exploding diaper. Seriously, I know more about the bowel movements of the spawn of some of my Facebook friends than my own bowel movements. I don't need to hear how your little precious one pooped on the floor, in the tub, on the dog or how he or she dropped a big bomb in his or her diaper. It's just gross, ok, and is not want to see as I scroll down my newsfeed while eating my turkey bacon for breakfast.
1. Your exploding intestines. Let me make this clear: I do NOT need to know if you have diarrhea. I do NOT need to know if you are constipated. I bet none of your other Facebook friends need to know either. I have nothing else to say on this subject because, well, there's just nothing else to say. What happens in the bathroom should stay in the bathroom, got it?
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Near brush with local celebrity
I always watch the 6 p.m. news. It's my thing.
If you've read any of my entries about running in winter, you also know ranting about snow covered sidewalks is also my thing.
Imagine my glee when my two "things" came together last night when the lead story on my local news was....wait for it, wait for it.....sidewalks in my city! Yes! Literally, my friends and I were just having a discussion about how I want run for city commission on a platform of keeping the sidewalks clear.
Anyway, over 60 percent of students in the school district here walk to school and the school district has been closed for an unprecedented three days because the sidewalks are not clear for students to safely navigate their way to school. Well, duh! I don't know where my city leaders have been....but sidewalks have not been clear all winter in many cases! Post Snowtorious B.I.G. incident this week, rather than say a few inches of lumpy snow blocking a sidewalk the snow is, in some cases, knee high and waist high. The only way some little elementary schooler is going to get through that is with a team of sled dogs or a snowmobile. Since I have never seen either of these things in my city, my guess is that the kiddies just aren't going to make it to school.
The story was great so I commented on the story online, but then remembered that generally, only total nut cases do that (for example, the story was asking city residents to clear their own sidewalks and these morons were commenting about how dare the local school system ask residents to come clear the sidewalks in front of the schools....uh, hello, that is not what anyone is asking!) so I sent the station an email of thanks.
In my email I also made two suggestions of what I would like to see in a follow up story: 1) the city needs to clear sidewalks on city owned property (like around parks) because they don't. There is a baseball field in my neighborhood and the city never clears that sidewalk; and 2) share how residents are supposed to file complaints with the city about people who don't clear their sidewalks (we have an ordinance - you have to clear your sidewalk within 24 hours of a snow storm) because the city took that option off their online complaint system.
Pretty cut and dry, right?
Thirty minutes later I received a call from a rookie reporter at the TV station. She told me she was doing a story on roads in the city that haven't been cleared yet and she was looking for suggestions of roads that have not been cleared. I told her that's nice but I don't know about any (and I am thinking wtf?). The exchange continued:
Reporter: "Well, I read your email."
Me: "Yes, it was in response to the story about sidewalks."
Reporter: "Right. Well, tonight my assignment is to do a story on streets that haven't been plowed."
Me: "Uh huh, I see, well my email was in response to Tony's story at 6 p.m. You know, the one about sidewalks."
Reporter: "Yes. Sidewalks. You said you run. So sidewalks are important to you?"
Me: "Yes, SIDEWALKS are important to me. That the SIDEWALKS are clear, yes. I was just writing to thank you guys for the story and make a couple of follow up suggestions."
Reporter: "OK, so where are the sidewalks not clear?"
Me: (Wondering, so does she think roads and sidewalks are interchangeable or is she changing her story assignment?) "Well, for example, I live on the Northwest Side - near Sullivan Field. The city never clears the sidewalks around Sullivan Field. I think the city needs to clear their own sidewalks too. Also, I want to see the city enforce the ordinance for residents and businesses too."
Reporter: "Yeah. So, can you give me an example of where the road isn't clear?"
Me: Total bewildered. Then I hear a click.
Reporter: "Please hang on for a second."
Tick tock...one second later....
Reporter: "Jen, it looks like my story assignment is changing. But thank you so much for emailing us, we really appreciate it. If I need to talk to someone about this later, may I call you?"
Me: "Umm...sure?"
Reporter: "Ok, thank you very much!"
The whole experience left me completely dumbfounded. Especially when, about an hour later, I was on the phone with a friend who had a very difficult day when the call waiting beeped. Sure enough, it was the TV station again. No, I didn't click over. I have no idea what the reporter would have been calling back about...but I am glad I had a great excuse not to answer!
Though, I must admit, it would have been awesome to get a jump on my bid for local elected office by launching my platform about sidewalks on the 11 p.m. news...even if it was during a story about roads.
If you've read any of my entries about running in winter, you also know ranting about snow covered sidewalks is also my thing.
Imagine my glee when my two "things" came together last night when the lead story on my local news was....wait for it, wait for it.....sidewalks in my city! Yes! Literally, my friends and I were just having a discussion about how I want run for city commission on a platform of keeping the sidewalks clear.
Anyway, over 60 percent of students in the school district here walk to school and the school district has been closed for an unprecedented three days because the sidewalks are not clear for students to safely navigate their way to school. Well, duh! I don't know where my city leaders have been....but sidewalks have not been clear all winter in many cases! Post Snowtorious B.I.G. incident this week, rather than say a few inches of lumpy snow blocking a sidewalk the snow is, in some cases, knee high and waist high. The only way some little elementary schooler is going to get through that is with a team of sled dogs or a snowmobile. Since I have never seen either of these things in my city, my guess is that the kiddies just aren't going to make it to school.
The story was great so I commented on the story online, but then remembered that generally, only total nut cases do that (for example, the story was asking city residents to clear their own sidewalks and these morons were commenting about how dare the local school system ask residents to come clear the sidewalks in front of the schools....uh, hello, that is not what anyone is asking!) so I sent the station an email of thanks.
In my email I also made two suggestions of what I would like to see in a follow up story: 1) the city needs to clear sidewalks on city owned property (like around parks) because they don't. There is a baseball field in my neighborhood and the city never clears that sidewalk; and 2) share how residents are supposed to file complaints with the city about people who don't clear their sidewalks (we have an ordinance - you have to clear your sidewalk within 24 hours of a snow storm) because the city took that option off their online complaint system.
Pretty cut and dry, right?
Thirty minutes later I received a call from a rookie reporter at the TV station. She told me she was doing a story on roads in the city that haven't been cleared yet and she was looking for suggestions of roads that have not been cleared. I told her that's nice but I don't know about any (and I am thinking wtf?). The exchange continued:
Reporter: "Well, I read your email."
Me: "Yes, it was in response to the story about sidewalks."
Reporter: "Right. Well, tonight my assignment is to do a story on streets that haven't been plowed."
Me: "Uh huh, I see, well my email was in response to Tony's story at 6 p.m. You know, the one about sidewalks."
Reporter: "Yes. Sidewalks. You said you run. So sidewalks are important to you?"
Me: "Yes, SIDEWALKS are important to me. That the SIDEWALKS are clear, yes. I was just writing to thank you guys for the story and make a couple of follow up suggestions."
Reporter: "OK, so where are the sidewalks not clear?"
Me: (Wondering, so does she think roads and sidewalks are interchangeable or is she changing her story assignment?) "Well, for example, I live on the Northwest Side - near Sullivan Field. The city never clears the sidewalks around Sullivan Field. I think the city needs to clear their own sidewalks too. Also, I want to see the city enforce the ordinance for residents and businesses too."
Reporter: "Yeah. So, can you give me an example of where the road isn't clear?"
Me: Total bewildered. Then I hear a click.
Reporter: "Please hang on for a second."
Tick tock...one second later....
Reporter: "Jen, it looks like my story assignment is changing. But thank you so much for emailing us, we really appreciate it. If I need to talk to someone about this later, may I call you?"
Me: "Umm...sure?"
Reporter: "Ok, thank you very much!"
The whole experience left me completely dumbfounded. Especially when, about an hour later, I was on the phone with a friend who had a very difficult day when the call waiting beeped. Sure enough, it was the TV station again. No, I didn't click over. I have no idea what the reporter would have been calling back about...but I am glad I had a great excuse not to answer!
Though, I must admit, it would have been awesome to get a jump on my bid for local elected office by launching my platform about sidewalks on the 11 p.m. news...even if it was during a story about roads.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Stranded
Like much of the country, I spent the day dealing with the Blizzard of 2011, a storm bring dubbed Snowpocalypse, Snotorious B.I.G., snOwMG, SnOPRAH, SnOBAMA, Snow Doggie Dog, etc. It brought 16 inches of snow to my city, stranding me in my home. And guess what, I am not complaining about being stuck in my home. For the first time in years I am actually home and not traveling during a Snotorious B.I.G.-type storm, and let me tell you, I barely made it. Originally I was scheduled to be in Indianapolis through Tuesday evening (they got four inches of ice), but, given past experiences, I high-tailed it out of there and made it home before the big storm caught up with me. This wasn't a matter of pure luck - it was the result of some rational thinking based upon previous experiences. So, let me share my Top 5 stranded in a snow storm stories. Seriously, The Weather Channel, pay attention! You could totally do a one hour special just on me!
5. Atlanta - December 2009
I heart ATL. I really do. I especially heart it in the winter with its mild weather. When I lived there my office closed because one snowflake was spotted in the greater Atlanta area. It was heaven. Imagine how thrilled I was to have a work trip scheduled in Atlanta for two days in the beginning of December....until I saw the weather report for my home city. Sure enough, the day I was supposed to fly home was the day a ridiculous storm hit Michigan, extending my stay in Atlanta by two days. Because it was supposed to be a quick trip I asked a friend to stay with the dog rather than board her or ship her off somewhere....poor dog sitter! It wasn't all that bad on my end really- I visited World of Coke, the Georgia Aquarium and got a ton of Christmas shopping done in Buckhead....but when I arrived back in Michigan the roads were still so terrible I had to take an expensive cab ride home and shovel a ridiculous amount of snow to get the car in the driveway. Inconvenient but not the end of the world.
4. Indianapolis - January 2009
This experience was nothing short of miserable. Sure, on day one it was all fun and games but by day three I wanted to cry. In fact, I am sure I did cry! Nothing like being stranded with a gang of co-workers, including one who is totally high maintenance and makes your skin crawl to make you want to cry. We were stranded in downtown Indy so Circle Centre was our friend - we walked there, we ate there, we shopped there, we avoided one another there. Yes, fun times. A three day trip to Indy became a week long visit which meant running out of clean underwear (thank goodness for TJ Maxx) and running out of patience. Luckily, we all made it home unscathed. Eventually.
3. NYC - December 2000
My first trip to New York City. I remember flying in to LaGuardia that first time like it was yesterday. I fell in love with the city before the plane even touched the ground and wanted to stay indefinitely...little did I know my wish was about to come true. Sure enough, a big blizzard in Detroit left me stranded in NYC while all my travel companions made it out (Southern bitches!). Alone, scared and stranded in Queens, I had no idea what to do! I was not yet the seasoned traveler I am today, after all. For some reason all the nice, normal hotels by the airport were completely booked so that sent me scrambling. LaGuardia was under construction and the airline dumped my checked bag - sleeping on a plastic chair in baggage claim just wasn't a good option. So, I followed a family booked on my cancelled flight to a "hotel" (motel) somewhere in Queens. The cab driver totally screwed me on fare - he had the meter running at double speed. When I arrived, I had to pay a guy at a bullet proof window though a hole in plexiglass and explain that no, I was not renting BY THE HOUR, I was, indeed, like the family who just checked in ahead of me, staying the night. In my room I found a bed I called the 1001 Arabian Nights Bed - the bedding was, well, crusty. And the carpet wasn't much better. I pulled everything off but the sheet, covered the bed with towels from the bathroom and cuddled up like a scared baby for the night. The next day I trekked back to LGA, got re-booked on a different airline and finally got out of there. Oh, what a night! (By the way, if this happened to me today, I would pull out my AmEx, check in to the Millennium Broadway and stay until I maxed out my credit card - it would be a total sign to live it up in NYC. Oh, and I would stuff my face with as many Magnolia Bakery cupcakes I could get my hands on.)
2. Missouri - March 2001
After nearly dying in a car wreck, I was traumatized. If you're a regular, you read this story in March (if you're not, follow the link to the details of the accident)...but what I failed to share was that my bosses wanted me to leave the state of Misery, er Missouri, pronto after the accident. However, due to inclimate weather and the fact I was, in good weather, an hour and a half from the airport, I was stuck in the Show Me State. What I also failed to mention in the March entry was that though my 90 pound suitcase with my clothing made it out (because the rescue crew had to remove it because I was pinned underneath it), my purse and laptop (oh, the horror) were in the trunk of the car. The car was "too unstable" according to the rescue crew to try to mess with the trunk, so not only was I stranded, I was stranded with no purse and, gasp, no laptop until the car could safely be towed out of the ditch days later. I still have laptop separation anxiety as a result! It was before 9/11 and all, but I am sorry, Delta was not going to let me check in for my flight without my license and I sure as hell was not going to apply for Missouri residency!
and finally....drum roll......
the all time worst experience.....
1. Philadelphia -March 2003
I was sent to Philly to cover for a lazy, bitchy co-worker who was too much of a waste of space to get her ass on an flight out of Atlanta and into anywhere with snow, even for an event she was ultimately responsible for planning and executing. "Send the Northern girl"- I KNOW that was the logic. Let me tell you, I had a giant Georgia peach sized chip on my shoulder to begin with on this trip....a chip that grew and grew as I watched the weather reports once arriving in Philly. Every time I turned on the TV or picked up a radio it was all about the "big Nor'easter", "biggest storm in decades," etc. Apparently, I was the only person from my organization concerned about the impending doom. Until the morning the storm hit, of course. That morning....oh, that morning.
To fully explain the situation let me take a break and give you some background: At the time I had two bosses. My immediate supervisor was wonderful and I am still friends with her today. Our "big" (and I mean big in more than one way) supervisor was, well, The Devil. I also liked to call her The Mullet because she sorta had one. The Mullet reeked of Escape by Calvin Klein (a perfume I once loved and now loathe - to this day the scent makes me want to vomit), drank out of the same Styrofoam cup for days (she once said, in her gravely, loud, manly voice, "See this cup...I bought it three days ago in Oxford (as in Mississippi)." It was three days later. In Atlanta (as in Georgia). It had hot pink lipstick marks all around it. She just kept refilling it with Tab. Gross. Oh yeah, she was totally addicted to Tab.) and liked to sexually harass me and my FEMALE co-workers (she once snuck into my supervisor's office where I was bent over picking something up and sat in a chair immediately facing my ass. When I saw her I said ,"Oh, excuse me Mullet (I will not use her real name, sorry)" and her reply was, "It's ok, Jen, I'm just sittin' here enjoin' the view."). To top it all off, she was just plain mean. Oh and lazy. Super lazy. Super, duper lazy. I think her number two hobby (after hitting on women) was sleeping.
Anyway, the storm was coming and hotel staff and local volunteers were warning us to get out of dodge. However, the final person who could make the decision about ending the meeting and allowing people to leave was...you guessed it, The Mullet. Well, The Mullet needed her beauty sleep (no amount of sleep can help her - trust me) and by the time she lumbered downstairs the morning of the storm (because I was told I was not to call and wake her under ANY circumstances) it was almost time for everything to end anyway. We sent our volunteers out into the horrible conditions. Many made it onto the last flights out of Philly, some who drove got stranded - some even got in car wrecks but were all right.
Six of us didn't make it out of Philly that day. I was one....but karma is a bitch because The Mullet was one of the six as well.
We were stranded in Philly for days! DAYS! The hotel ran out of food! We totally weren't prepared. Hell, I did not even have a winter coat with me. No one packed for an extended stay in Philly.
Luckily, my organization had some goods that were boxed up and stuck with me in the hotel, including various T-shirts, sweatshirts, etc. The Mullet came to my room on the second day and ordered, "Jen, go get me some pants." Shudder.
I, too, was out of clean pants....as well as all other clothing items for that matter. I opened the boxes to find one pair of size large yoga pants. Those pants were never gonna fit The Mullet's fat ass and mine was pretty skinny at the time (and, according to The Mullet, pretty good looking) so I grabbed them. I did manage to find a long sleeve XL T-shirt that I thought might (barely) fit her. I also found T-shirts for myself and a co-worker I was bunking with. I put on my new, clean clothes and took the Mullet her T-shirt. She looked me up and down and said, "Jen, you're wearin' my pants." Oh, she was pissed. At that point I was tired, I was hungry and pissed off about the entire situation. I said, "Mullet, these are size large, sorry." Oops. I threw her stupid XL T-shirt at her and left. When she showed up at dinner that night (where we all drank water and ate saltines in the hotel restaurant), that stupid gray XL T-shirt was stretched over all her fat rolls. Even the cuffs at the wrists looked too tight. I just laughed and laughed and thought about how comfy I was in my new, clean yoga pants. Oh yeah, and as we all talked about the weather (because what else was there to discuss?) she looked at me and said, "Jen, for someone from The North, I don't understand why you make such a big deal about the weather." Um - hello! We're stranded with no food and no clothing and no flight out in sight!! Jackass. Not to mention, I had just barely escaped Missouri two years earlier working for this same organization. I'd prefer NOT to travel in a blizzard, thank you very much. Err - still gets my blood boiling! I believe I spent a total of seven days in Philly - three planned, four unplanned. I remember flashes of it (like a night too many martinis at the bar) but not the entire experience. That's probably for the best.
And, by the way, I still have those pants!
5. Atlanta - December 2009
I heart ATL. I really do. I especially heart it in the winter with its mild weather. When I lived there my office closed because one snowflake was spotted in the greater Atlanta area. It was heaven. Imagine how thrilled I was to have a work trip scheduled in Atlanta for two days in the beginning of December....until I saw the weather report for my home city. Sure enough, the day I was supposed to fly home was the day a ridiculous storm hit Michigan, extending my stay in Atlanta by two days. Because it was supposed to be a quick trip I asked a friend to stay with the dog rather than board her or ship her off somewhere....poor dog sitter! It wasn't all that bad on my end really- I visited World of Coke, the Georgia Aquarium and got a ton of Christmas shopping done in Buckhead....but when I arrived back in Michigan the roads were still so terrible I had to take an expensive cab ride home and shovel a ridiculous amount of snow to get the car in the driveway. Inconvenient but not the end of the world.
4. Indianapolis - January 2009
This experience was nothing short of miserable. Sure, on day one it was all fun and games but by day three I wanted to cry. In fact, I am sure I did cry! Nothing like being stranded with a gang of co-workers, including one who is totally high maintenance and makes your skin crawl to make you want to cry. We were stranded in downtown Indy so Circle Centre was our friend - we walked there, we ate there, we shopped there, we avoided one another there. Yes, fun times. A three day trip to Indy became a week long visit which meant running out of clean underwear (thank goodness for TJ Maxx) and running out of patience. Luckily, we all made it home unscathed. Eventually.
3. NYC - December 2000
My first trip to New York City. I remember flying in to LaGuardia that first time like it was yesterday. I fell in love with the city before the plane even touched the ground and wanted to stay indefinitely...little did I know my wish was about to come true. Sure enough, a big blizzard in Detroit left me stranded in NYC while all my travel companions made it out (Southern bitches!). Alone, scared and stranded in Queens, I had no idea what to do! I was not yet the seasoned traveler I am today, after all. For some reason all the nice, normal hotels by the airport were completely booked so that sent me scrambling. LaGuardia was under construction and the airline dumped my checked bag - sleeping on a plastic chair in baggage claim just wasn't a good option. So, I followed a family booked on my cancelled flight to a "hotel" (motel) somewhere in Queens. The cab driver totally screwed me on fare - he had the meter running at double speed. When I arrived, I had to pay a guy at a bullet proof window though a hole in plexiglass and explain that no, I was not renting BY THE HOUR, I was, indeed, like the family who just checked in ahead of me, staying the night. In my room I found a bed I called the 1001 Arabian Nights Bed - the bedding was, well, crusty. And the carpet wasn't much better. I pulled everything off but the sheet, covered the bed with towels from the bathroom and cuddled up like a scared baby for the night. The next day I trekked back to LGA, got re-booked on a different airline and finally got out of there. Oh, what a night! (By the way, if this happened to me today, I would pull out my AmEx, check in to the Millennium Broadway and stay until I maxed out my credit card - it would be a total sign to live it up in NYC. Oh, and I would stuff my face with as many Magnolia Bakery cupcakes I could get my hands on.)
2. Missouri - March 2001
After nearly dying in a car wreck, I was traumatized. If you're a regular, you read this story in March (if you're not, follow the link to the details of the accident)...but what I failed to share was that my bosses wanted me to leave the state of Misery, er Missouri, pronto after the accident. However, due to inclimate weather and the fact I was, in good weather, an hour and a half from the airport, I was stuck in the Show Me State. What I also failed to mention in the March entry was that though my 90 pound suitcase with my clothing made it out (because the rescue crew had to remove it because I was pinned underneath it), my purse and laptop (oh, the horror) were in the trunk of the car. The car was "too unstable" according to the rescue crew to try to mess with the trunk, so not only was I stranded, I was stranded with no purse and, gasp, no laptop until the car could safely be towed out of the ditch days later. I still have laptop separation anxiety as a result! It was before 9/11 and all, but I am sorry, Delta was not going to let me check in for my flight without my license and I sure as hell was not going to apply for Missouri residency!
and finally....drum roll......
the all time worst experience.....
1. Philadelphia -March 2003
I was sent to Philly to cover for a lazy, bitchy co-worker who was too much of a waste of space to get her ass on an flight out of Atlanta and into anywhere with snow, even for an event she was ultimately responsible for planning and executing. "Send the Northern girl"- I KNOW that was the logic. Let me tell you, I had a giant Georgia peach sized chip on my shoulder to begin with on this trip....a chip that grew and grew as I watched the weather reports once arriving in Philly. Every time I turned on the TV or picked up a radio it was all about the "big Nor'easter", "biggest storm in decades," etc. Apparently, I was the only person from my organization concerned about the impending doom. Until the morning the storm hit, of course. That morning....oh, that morning.
To fully explain the situation let me take a break and give you some background: At the time I had two bosses. My immediate supervisor was wonderful and I am still friends with her today. Our "big" (and I mean big in more than one way) supervisor was, well, The Devil. I also liked to call her The Mullet because she sorta had one. The Mullet reeked of Escape by Calvin Klein (a perfume I once loved and now loathe - to this day the scent makes me want to vomit), drank out of the same Styrofoam cup for days (she once said, in her gravely, loud, manly voice, "See this cup...I bought it three days ago in Oxford (as in Mississippi)." It was three days later. In Atlanta (as in Georgia). It had hot pink lipstick marks all around it. She just kept refilling it with Tab. Gross. Oh yeah, she was totally addicted to Tab.) and liked to sexually harass me and my FEMALE co-workers (she once snuck into my supervisor's office where I was bent over picking something up and sat in a chair immediately facing my ass. When I saw her I said ,"Oh, excuse me Mullet (I will not use her real name, sorry)" and her reply was, "It's ok, Jen, I'm just sittin' here enjoin' the view."). To top it all off, she was just plain mean. Oh and lazy. Super lazy. Super, duper lazy. I think her number two hobby (after hitting on women) was sleeping.
Anyway, the storm was coming and hotel staff and local volunteers were warning us to get out of dodge. However, the final person who could make the decision about ending the meeting and allowing people to leave was...you guessed it, The Mullet. Well, The Mullet needed her beauty sleep (no amount of sleep can help her - trust me) and by the time she lumbered downstairs the morning of the storm (because I was told I was not to call and wake her under ANY circumstances) it was almost time for everything to end anyway. We sent our volunteers out into the horrible conditions. Many made it onto the last flights out of Philly, some who drove got stranded - some even got in car wrecks but were all right.
Six of us didn't make it out of Philly that day. I was one....but karma is a bitch because The Mullet was one of the six as well.
We were stranded in Philly for days! DAYS! The hotel ran out of food! We totally weren't prepared. Hell, I did not even have a winter coat with me. No one packed for an extended stay in Philly.
Luckily, my organization had some goods that were boxed up and stuck with me in the hotel, including various T-shirts, sweatshirts, etc. The Mullet came to my room on the second day and ordered, "Jen, go get me some pants." Shudder.
I, too, was out of clean pants....as well as all other clothing items for that matter. I opened the boxes to find one pair of size large yoga pants. Those pants were never gonna fit The Mullet's fat ass and mine was pretty skinny at the time (and, according to The Mullet, pretty good looking) so I grabbed them. I did manage to find a long sleeve XL T-shirt that I thought might (barely) fit her. I also found T-shirts for myself and a co-worker I was bunking with. I put on my new, clean clothes and took the Mullet her T-shirt. She looked me up and down and said, "Jen, you're wearin' my pants." Oh, she was pissed. At that point I was tired, I was hungry and pissed off about the entire situation. I said, "Mullet, these are size large, sorry." Oops. I threw her stupid XL T-shirt at her and left. When she showed up at dinner that night (where we all drank water and ate saltines in the hotel restaurant), that stupid gray XL T-shirt was stretched over all her fat rolls. Even the cuffs at the wrists looked too tight. I just laughed and laughed and thought about how comfy I was in my new, clean yoga pants. Oh yeah, and as we all talked about the weather (because what else was there to discuss?) she looked at me and said, "Jen, for someone from The North, I don't understand why you make such a big deal about the weather." Um - hello! We're stranded with no food and no clothing and no flight out in sight!! Jackass. Not to mention, I had just barely escaped Missouri two years earlier working for this same organization. I'd prefer NOT to travel in a blizzard, thank you very much. Err - still gets my blood boiling! I believe I spent a total of seven days in Philly - three planned, four unplanned. I remember flashes of it (like a night too many martinis at the bar) but not the entire experience. That's probably for the best.
And, by the way, I still have those pants!
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Sisters, sisters....there were never such devoted sisters
Unless you've been living under a rock (even I am aware of this hot news and I pretty much have been - sorry for the lack of blogging), you've probably heard the news - yes, it's true, Oprah has a long lost sister!
My first thought when I heard? For real, this is what I said, "Damn! I wish I was Oprah's long lost sister!"
And that got me thinking....
Oprah, is there any way we could be related?
My first thought when I heard? For real, this is what I said, "Damn! I wish I was Oprah's long lost sister!"
And that got me thinking....
Oprah, is there any way we could be related?
Seriously, girlfriend....you and I look more alike than you and that woman who came on your show trying to claim my spot as the rightful heiress to the O fortune your sister who, by the way, as your real sister, could care less about your fame and fortune.
Look at us! We are both wearing red in our photos and we have similar hair....I LOVE pearls and though I am sure the ones you are wearing are real (p.s., sis, my birthday is in September so I am thinking I should get on sending my half birthday wish list your way ASAP)...we're both Democrats (and I guess I can work past our political differences over the best Democrat candidate for President in the 2010 election...in the name of being sisters and all)...you live in Chicago and I live near Chicago (well, like 3 hours away but I can take the Amtrak to visit you on holidays until you buy me that Cadillac Escalade)....you love dogs, I love dogs (Gracie's birthday is in the summer, she'll get to work on her wish list as well - she likes anything Kate Spade)....we're both single and childless (meaning, you only have to buy holiday/birthday/random Friday gifts for ME)...we both like to read (I already have a Kindle, but thanks anyway...though an iPad would be lovely for reading in the dark) and, the most obvious similarity, we both struggle with our weight (so please send a team of personal trainers and personal chefs my way pronto so I can look good for my debut on the OWN Network, ok?)!
See, Oprah, see? I really think you need to ditch that lady who is clearly just after your money, I mean, of course she didn't tell the tabloids about her suspicions - no one crosses The O! Besides, you have way more money than any silly tabloid would ever pay out. You alone could probably solve the nation's debt crisis...I am surprised your pal Barack (sure you won't mind if I call him that) hasn't hit you up for a loan yet! Whatever you do, don't it! Family first, sis, family first. You must take care of your own and you know, billions of dollars can only go so far.
Anyway, my dear, dear Oprah, I hope one day you will acknowledge me (just don't ask for a DNA test or anything) as your long lost sister (or cousin, or daughter, or auntie....we don't have to get stuck on labels) and, well, as they say, hook a sister up!
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