The infamous annual holiday letter

Since the world didn't end, it's time for the 2012 edition of Jen's Christmas letter:

Dear Friends and Family,

Merry Christmas! I'm saying that more since an outing with my college friend Liz. She sported a button while we were out with some other college friends that said, "It's ok to say Merry CHRISTmas," so, I guess it's ok to say. Because the button she got at church said so...yeah....anyway....

2012. Wow - where is the time going? This year flew by and really, I can sum up the events of the year with one word: Run. I didn't blog much about it because I didn't want to be one of "those" people (that's what I used Facebook for), but this year I trained for and completed my first full marathon. Marathon training was all consuming. Seriously, particularly in the last month, I was obsessed. Everything in my life - what I ate, what I drank, how much I slept, even (gasp) work - revolved around marathon training. This experience changed my life (in a good way). I cried like a baby when I crossed that finish line after 26.2 grueling miles. Afterward, I went to the home of my parents where I sat in an ice bath for 30 minutes, then moved to a recliner where my ice and icy hot slathered body experienced pain like I've never imagined. It hurt to breathe. I looked at my mom at one point and said, "I know I've never given birth, but I guarantee you, this is worse than giving birth" (really? Clearly I'm no expert on birthing anything.). Like childbirth, the pain is now a vague memory and I am already signed up for my next full marathon (Because, like people with multiple children, I'm insane.).

As usual, I traveled for work - Indianapolis (gag), DC (3 or 4 times?), Atlanta, Nashville, Portland, St. Louis, Denver, maybe a few more places but I can't really remember at this point. I even took a trip of pure leisure - visiting the Ritz Carleton Reynolds Plantation in Georgia. It was lovely but, Georgia, really, what was I thinking? I used to live there. I need take fun trips that are a little more "exotic" in the future.  I'm a little bitter right now because we clamped down on work travel just as I was two trips away from keeping my silver status on Delta - I happened to have two trips on the calendar that were cancelled. Now I'm relinquished to peasant status once again....oh, how I loathe boarding planes with clueless tourists.

The travel highlight was a work trip to the Pacific Northwest. I added two personal days and took in as much as possible - Portland, Seattle, Mt St Helens (my friend Lori and I are forever bonded over our harrowing trip up and down the road near that mountain!) and Cannon Beach (aka Goonies beach). My new life dream is to live in Oregon. Seriously. It is beautiful, clean, progressive, they have beer (I attended the Oregon Brewer's Festival), and even the TSA agents at the airport are happy and friendly...I think it is the place for me...so now you will randomly hear me declare my love for Oregon in general conversation.

Even more friends got married (as if this was even possible), so I truly am the last single girl at this point. It's cool - I'm thrilled to not have to deal with the crazy family of someone else at holidays (mine is crazy enough, thanks) but, you know, from time to time (New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day, etc.) is can be sort of a bummer being the only single girl. But then I think of my friends with kids, shudder, and realize I'm living the life I'm meant to live (childless).

And finally, I became a certified Citizen Police Academy graduate this year. That's right, while I didn't blog much about it (because of marathon training and a pesky confidentiality agreement) I earned not only a certificate but a teeny, tiny badge (pin). I had the best experience on my "ride along" where "we" solved a crime (a shooting!!), arrested a baby momma beater and saw a hooker (she totally looked like she should be on PeopleofWalMart.com and not working the street corner), all while I wore a bullet proof vest. It was pretty awesome.

Here I am, drinking a Shiner Holiday Cheer (LOVE this beer), Love Actually (LOVE Hugh Grant) is playing on the tube and my three furry children are sitting nearby while I'm watching college kids converge on the house across the street for what I presume is an end of the world party (milk it for all it's worth - just don't burn a couch like we did at Central Michigan University for such parties, kids, ok?). Reflecting on 2012 (yet another Year of Jen, just like 2009, 2010, 2011, you get the picture), I'm thinking this:

Sure, I have a crack in my kitchen ceiling (still) from the bathroom fiasco (the black sub floor the contractor removed from my bathroom nearly made me faint),  I lost way too many hours watching a certain soap super couple from the 80s on You Tube (repeatedly), cupcakes and crap still appear in the breakroom at work on occasion to tempt me, I did two things I will never, ever do again (and no, I'm not going to elaborate) and this week I overdrew my checking account with last minute Christmas (not holiday) purchases. Woe is me and my 'first world' problems.

Time to go to sleep and count my blessings (instead of sheep - couldn't resist - love the movie White Christmas).

The single life is still all it's cracked up to be, and I look forward to yet another Year of Jen in 2013.

It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine

Well, Michael Stipe was not talking about 12.21.12. As you are acutely aware, the Mayans were wrong and we're all still here.

Frankly, I'm a little surprised and here's why....

Last weekend while out with friends I met a nice, friendly, attractive, employed, childless, seemingly normal man. It's true. Oh, and I guess I should say the important part - he liked me. That never happens.

Now, he happened to be Canadian (the really far away part of Canada - Calgary) but you know, had we had more time to get to know one another I could have totally moved. Anyway, the fact that an attractive, friendly, educated, employed man actually had an interest in me made me believe in the impending apocalypse. Surely, this had to be a sign of Doomsday.

I spent apocalypse eve at a local brewery debating gun control with a gun-owning, NRA member friend. Yet another sign of end of days, that I would have a gun-owning, NRA member friend.

However, I woke up today, went to the Y and watched soap operas (Robert Scorpio is BACK on General Hospital. Anna's true love Duke is back from the dead - from 20 years ago - my mind has been blown!!!). A truly unremarkable day - good thing it was not my last one on earth.

Last night between debating guns in schools, right to work and the Affordable Care Act, we discussed the end of the world. If the world ended today, what would have been my biggest regret? Not being single, not being broke, not being sort of fabulous....it would be not traveling more. For real.

This is where the Canadian could have come in....he is an energy consultant...I think he could have funded some globetrotting. Oh well.

So, yay, the world has not ended! It's not the end of the world as we know it, and I still feel fine.

One is the loneliest number

Nope, I didn't keep up with Citizen Police Academy updates. I was training for a freaking marathon and was sort of busy. So sue me. Yep, I'm really feisty tonight.

I had a lovely evening out with my runner friends. We were celebrating the fact that we are all about to start training for another marathon (because we are crazy, apparently) and enjoying a fun night out on the town. I've known for ages that one of my runner friends grew up in the same small town as a college roommate of mine, and always assumed they know one another but never asked if they are, indeed, acquainted. Tonight the subject of their town came up so I asked and yes, my pal knows Cow Katie - the roommate. I feel I need to take a moment here to say I did not seek out Cow Katie as my roommate - it was one of those freshman dorm things that happened. Anyway....

My pal says, "Ew, yes, I know her. She's s weird. She's that little nerdy girl who looks like an albino."

Bingo!

I also need to interject that I deemed her Cow Katie not because of her size or anything but because she grew up on a dairy farm and loved to talk about the cows.

In my usual fashion I did a voice impression of Cow Katie, saying in a whiny, nasal voice, "Yeah....I'm from Free-mont and my daaad is a dairy farmer. I love cows."

My pal says, "Yes, that's her. She is so weird. Seriously weird."

I go on to tell the story about how Katie would turn red at the mention of any male name. For real. My other roommates and I loved this game. We would sit there, look at Katie and just start saying names: "Dave." Suddenly Katie turns Pink. "Steve." Katie is now a bright shade of red. "Ted." Katie is now purple.

Did she know any guys named  Dave, Steve or Ted? Nope. But, she was so socially inept when it came to the opposite sex that just the mention of a male name sent her into a tizzy.

Then my pal drops the bomb.

"Yes, she's married now." (Sound of disbelief in voice).

Katie-I-turn-red-at-the-mention-of-a-male-name-Nerdy Cow Girl is MARRIED?!

That's it.

It is bad enough Liz Lemon got married on "30 Rock" this week (seriously, Liz, how could you?) and now this.

Not to mention, I have to go to the family Christmas party in a couple of weeks where I will be the cousin still single except for the 19 year old who is heading off to be a nun soon.

No joke.

Maybe I should just join her.

Police academy week 1 (no, I didn't fire a taser)

So, I didn't get to fire a taser...but I did see a police officer discharge one!

Yes, I'm just back from my first week of police academy.

Tonight was more of an orientation, hearing from the captains from the different sections of the city, getting an overview of the program, etc. However, there were a few great nuggets. For example, I learned from the captain for my quadrant of the city that it is the "busiest" (polite term for the most calls to the police). Luckily, while we are the busiest, we do not have the most serious crimes - the homicide capital is another quadrant of the city. Makes sense, we have the drugs, the breaking and enterings, larceny, etc. You know, normal crime.

I also learned there are 11,000 people in my city of 200,000 with outstanding warrants out for their arrest. Wow. Beware on match.com, ladies. Just saying - the odds are good that if you go on enough first dates in this city that you are going to date a criminal.

Additionally, I learned about the topics for the next nine weeks. Next week we're going to learn about traffic stops and procedures AND will get to "drive" a police car. OK, "drive" will probably mean just in the parking lot but hey, how fun will that be? Week eight will be about Vice Squad (drugs and hos - oh yeah) and week nine, according to Gerri (who, by the way, was the super star of the class because all the cops know her. This is because it is her second time in the class and she was chosen to participate again even though they only took 30 of the 150+ applicants. She's a rock star.), will be the highlight of the program because we get to go in a simulator and shoot people. I know Gerri is counting down the days until Tuesday of week nine. She also advised me to request to do my ride along in the homicide section of the city because that's where I'll see the most action.

Now, if I can just get my hands on a taser...

Accepted!

My instinct was correct. Guess who has been accepted to Citizen Police Academy (CPA)? You guessed it!

The training starts TONIGHT.

I'm totally pumped. Sure, I'm actually totally exhausted because I'm training for a marathon (which is taking up crucial blogging time, sorry, readers!) and work is busy as always but this is going to be a goldmine of blog topics - at least I hope it will!

First class is tonight from 6:30 - 10 PM (talk about hard core). I'm looking forward to seeing Gerri and my fellow wannabe vigilantes in just an hour or so.

I'll be sure to keep you posted on "CPA!"

Condemned

The house across the street has been condemned. The house next door is foreclosed and should be condemned as the ceilings in the living room have caved in, presumably from water damage when the house was not winterized. FML.

I bet I couldn't even GIVE my house away at this point.

Let's see - any takers?

Police Academy (and no, not the movie)

Since I live in a crime infested neighborhood, I have a vested interest in keeping up with the happenings around me. You know, the usual stuff like larceny, robbery, selling crack, etc.

Tonight I attended a neighborhood association meeting about improving the business districts in our corner of the city. I had a blast. We had the opportunity to draw on massive maps of the 'hood and point out the good and, in more cases than not, the not so good. The spot with the most "not good" notations, you ask? The infamous Family Pantry (no surprise there.)!

While there, our community organizer told me about an opportunity she believes to be right up my alley: Citizen Police Academy.

This is a ten week program (talk about hard core) where "citizens" (me!) will learn about topics such as:
-Crime mapping/analysis (you know how I love my daily crime alert emails!)
-Crime scenes / forensics (I can see it now, "CSI Grand Rapids")
-Patrol Operations (I already do Mobile Watch, why not make it more official?)
-Use of Force (I'm envisioning the tazer scene in "The Hangover.")
-Traffic stops (I drive like a bat out of hell through this city - only good can come from this!)

And.....drumroll.....

-Ride-a-long

True! Each participant will be given the opportunity to ride with an officer for one shift (mine better be cute, in his 30s and single).

Now, they don't just let any old schlep off the street do this. You have to, well, not be a criminal (check), must be at least 21 (check plus, plus, plus) and you need to apply and have good references. Both of my community organizers already offered to be my references so I thinking I'm in.

Later this evening, a board member sent me a text telling me I MUST apply so I told her I plan to and she offered to be a reference. She happens to be the manager of a Walgreen's in a most unfortunate location in our 'hood so she has the po po on speed dial and they are tight!

To cap off my night, my favorite gun toting octogenarian Gerri called me. She caught wind that I want to do the academy. She has done it before and wants a refresher (If you ask me think she's trolling for a hot, young cop and is looking to sharpen her shooting skills at the same time). She is thrilled I want to do this so she's "putting in a call" for me tomorrow.

So, yeah, hate to sound cocky but...I've got this. I am so going to be in the next Citizen Academy class. My crime fighting career continues (I know, you too wish you lived in a crime infested neighborhood so you could have such opportunities. Not everyone is as lucky as I am.)!

And, who knows, maybe I'll get to do my ride-a-long with a real life Robert Scorpio!

West Coast Jen the Third? (Or how I said "No" to Ricki Lake)

I turned down an opportunity to make my national TV debut.

My job has put me on local TV from time to time but nothing like this.

A staff person from the Ricki Lake show contacted me after stumbling across the blog. No joke! I edited the email address and phone number but here's the message:

Hi There, Jen!

I'm messaging you from the Ricki Lake Show office in Los Angeles. I stumbled across your blog, and thought you might be a good fit in a segment we are working on. We are looking for a single woman who doesn't necessarily want to change up a lifestyle of certain luxuries- going out with friends, mani/pedis, shopping, Starbucks etc... But still sweats it out until the next paycheck. I'd love to talk to you more about it if you have a few moments today. I can be reached via e-mail at name@therickilakeshow.com or on the office line: 310.XXX.XXXX.

Thanks so much! Hope to hear from you soon!

-Name

Ricki's staff person is on it - I do fit the bill. However, taking my single, broke and not so fabulous life on a national talk show is not my style. Though it would have been super fun (who doesn't love Ricki Lake?? "Hairspray" was amazing!)! Then again, I would have been in L.A. and could have found Cali Jen (and Cali Jen #2 for that matter). I mean, if I found Beyonce for Wiggy in NYC, finding a non celebrity with my name should be a breeze, right?

Ah, c'est la vie. It would have been fun. Crap. Now I'm wondering if Ricki would have given me some free Kate Spade swag or something.

I'm still thinking if I'm going to go for TV, I'm totally going for "The Price Is Right." Occasionally they give away Kate Spade luggage and bags....to go along with a fabulous trip somewhere. Heaven knows I am in desperate need of a real vacation!

Will the real Jen please stand up?

You may recall that I get the emails for another Jen from time to time (I called her West Coast Jen in my last post on this topic). This has led me to wildly speculate about Cali Jen (shorter to type than West Coast Jen) and her life.

After a lull the emails are back!

Remember Emma? Well, I recived a link to Emma's first ballet recital! There she is! She is much younger than I imagined and she looks harmless - not like a child who needs an entire "team" but what do I know?

Watching the video I had to wonder, was the whole clan there? Team Emma, Jen, Leslie, Brad? Maybe Stephanie? Clearly Brad was there because he filmed it. Where was Jen? If this is her daughter was she there or was this some way of throwing it in her face that she wasn't there? This inquiring mind wants to know (clearly I have a lot of time on my hands this week).

By now I know the key players in Cali Jen's life - Brad, Leslie, Emma, etc. but who the hell is Naama?

This is new.

Naama is meeting with Cali Jen, Brad and Leslie and someone named Sherri. I'm thinking Naama works at Emma's school based on her email address. However, she and Jen must be tight because today she sent Cali Jen an email with the subject: Fwd: great yoga pose (see below).

"The Bridge Pose is a powerful tonic for body and mind. It provides an invigorating stretch for the chest, neck and spine. Traditionally, its benefits are said to also include:

• Calming the mind and alleviating stress and mild depression
• Stimulating abdominal organs, lungs and thyroid
• Rejuvenating tired legs
• Improving digestion
• Relieving the symptoms of menopause
• Reducing anxiety, fatigue, backache, headache and insomnia

It is also held to be a therapeutic for asthma, high blood pressure, osteoporosis and sinusitis. See how to do the Bridge Pose."

So, I decided to Google Cali Jen once again. Last time I did this I think I figured out what she does and where she lives. This time I found a person with the same first and last name who works where Naama works - totally different background. Could it be...a third Jen? No, no way. So, maybe Jen is on Team Emma has a teacher and not as her parent. This may explain who Lucy is....maybe Lucy is Cali Jen's daughter? Or Cali Jen #2's daughter?

Based on my Googling (or as Wiggy would call it my "white girl stalking skills) I am convinced there are two Cali Jens with my name. And somehow, both are connected.

If Jen works with Naama, why would Naama email her a yoga pose at her (my) Gmail address? Why not just send it to the work account?

Between the vision therapy, yoga, Neruo Fit, the NBC affiliate (and did I mention Brad apparently works in Beverly Hills?) this is all feeling very Hollywood.

Especially for a girl on staycation sitting on her couch watching a "Pretty Little Liars" marathon to beat the heat. Then again, I always love a good soap opera and this certainly feels like one.

Broke, broken, brokest

What do my cell phone, washing machine, garage door, front storm door, main bathroom plumbing and bank account all have in common?

They're all "broke."

Seriously, I don't understand how so many things can break (or in the case of my storm door be warped from someone trying to pry it open) at the same time. Thank goodness I no longer have that horrible Sebring because it would most certainly be broken right now too. In fact, wherever it is, I bet it is broken.

The phone, for example, has been in my possession for less than three weeks (and how/why I had to get a new phone is a whole other saga, let me tell you) and is defective. So I'm sitting here in my home waiting on UPS to deliver a new one because Ilive in the ghetto, so if I were not here to get it I guarantee it would not be here upon my arrival. Particularly because someone recently tried to pry my storm door open and left it flapping in the breeze, damaging it to the point where I have to slam my whole body against it to shut. However, today while preparing for UPS to arrive I discovered I can no longer open the storm door. It is simply stuck. I stood there pushing, pulling and finally giving up. Seriously, I feel like those cats at animal shelters stuck behind plexiglass. Meow.

So here I am with dirty clothes, a dirty car because I can't put it in my garage, a half working phone and a bathroom with a leak...my face is smashed against the stubborn glass storm door, a sheer look of desperation on my face. Somebody please bring me some wine. Or tequila. You can pass it to me through one of my windows. Just not the kitchen ones because those are broken too.

Shoot!

There was a shooting on my street today.

A mere five blocks away, by the way. But who's counting?

According to the news it was sort of a drive by (but the shooter got out, shot someone in the house, then sped away) and I'm sure it was a drug situation.

Coincidentally, tonight was my neighborhood association meeting. Not only did we talk about the shooting, but about how violent crime (not just plain crime) is up in our little corner of the city.

And it's not even summer yet kiddos!

Our community organizer said, "This is gonna be one scary summer."

As of last week we've already had over 700 crimes since January. Those, by the way, are just the crimes where the criminals were caught and arraigned.

My part of the city is just not that big! Seriously, we're talking maybe a four mile square radius here. I feel the odds are not looking good, folks. I already long for the days where my biggest worry was a toilet fountain.

Time to call ADP. Or buy a gun. Or both.

Aw, shoot!

Less than fabulous (more news about the toilet fountain)

Remember the house with the toilet and sink fountain in my neighborhood? The poor next door neighbors are trying to sell their house. A for sale sign went up last week. They should just put up a sign that says “Free To Good Home” on their front door because, seriously, no one is going to buy the house. First and foremost, it is sort of unfortunate looking to begin with…it is on a street that is in decline…and, oh yeah, the house next door has a toilet in the yard!


The house next door to me is in foreclosure, but I’m lucky – the bank seems to be taking better care of the lawn and landscaping than the owners did. So, despite the fact that the foreclosed home has caused my home value to plummet, thereby chaining me to my home and neighborhood for eternity, I can’t complain about overgrown rose bushes or grass. Despite this little sliver of sunshine in my ridiculous neighborhood, I’m a bit off-kilter this week.

It all started when I went “out” on Sunday night. I’m too old for that! The worst part was, it was a visit to my favorite neighborhood bar and at 11 p.m. they started letting people SMOKE in the bar. Michigan has a law (that I LOVE) that requires all bars and restaurants to be smokefree. This issue is very close to my heart so I was absolutely disgusted and outraged. The smoke caused me to high-tail it out of there (thankfully, because 11 p.m. is past my bed time on a “school night”) but not before I told the bartender that allowing smoking is against the law and that I would be filing a complaint with the health department immediately. I’m thinking I won’t be welcome back there with open arms any time soon…

I have this irrational fear of falling off the elliptical at the gym. I’m not sure why – I just do. Of course, it was completely unjustified and irrational until yesterday…when I fell off the elliptical at the gym. At least it was a somewhat graceful fall. I held on to the machine for as long as possible (thank goodness it did not fall on top of me!), resulting in sort of a slow motion roll to the ground. Graceful, I know.

This morning I was ready to head out the door for work, sporting my favorite gray pencil skirt. I bent over to pick up my running shoes and I heard a “ziiiiip.” My zipper had split. At least it happened in my home and not at the office – that would have been embarrassing. I realize this is a “first world pain” (by the way – if you are on Twitter – First World Pains is fun to follow) but, it is embarrassing and I tend to share embarrassing things in the name of my blog all the time (see last blog post as prime example).

I suppose my off-kilter feeling is heightened by the fact that: 1) Crime is up in the ‘hood (shocking, I know) and I have to be away this weekend for work and 2) Of all places, I have to go to Missouri this weekend. Those of you who are long-time blog readers know Misery/Missouri and I are not friends.

I would say wish me luck, but I know all will be fine and I’ll escape Misery unscathed. Do me a favor and wish some luck to the poor home owners next to the toilet house. No wonder their home is sort of unfortunate looking - if the home next to me had a toilet fountain I would be more than off-kilter, I would give up on life!

How do you measure a year? (or 5 days)

One hundred thirty three hours, thirty minutes (to the tune of "Seasons of Love" from Rent). One hundred thirty three hours, thirty minutes.

What could you do with that time? It breaks down to five and a half days or so.

One could use that time to take a trip, learn a new skill, volunteer in their community, or....watch 817 condensed (key word here, people) episodes of "General Hospital."

Yes, it has happened...I am writing to you with tear and mascara stained cheeks because I have come to the end of the(infamous) Robert and Katherine storyline. Tear.

While watching the breakup scene I was totally transported back to 1990 (totally! Totally was still a totally relevant word because 1990 was practically still the 80s) and the damn turkey cake (you have to see the clip or know the story to understand it).

I was out for drinks with a friend tonight who is up to speed on my Robert and Katherine obsession viewing and I explained I had come to the end of the road and started to talk about the turkey cake when she interjected, "Yes, I know about the turkey cake." She also referred to my "viewing" as a hobby. Yes, hobby is a much more sane sounding word. Hobby. Sure. Hobby.

Damn.

Clearly, I am permanently traumatized by that stupid turkey cake. I'm like Chandler on "Friends." You know, traumatized by pilgrim holidays (or in this case turkey holidays). Speaking of trauma, I can't believe this breakup made me cry. Clearly, my cold, unfeeling heart is not as black and shriveled up as I would like people to believe. Double damn.

In the event I am in the position in the future where I am proposing marriage to a man ('cause let's face it, I'm not exactly fighting off potential suitors so this is a real possibility), for the love, someone remind me not to propose using a turkey cake or any other baked good. If it didn't work for the skinny, blonde, rich concert pianist (Katherine) it sure as hell won't work for me!

Next up? I (totally) discovered "Melrose Place" on You Tube. So...next time someone asks me about my current hobbies I will have two words: Melrose. Place.

Hey, at least this new hobby is getting me out of the 80s and in to the 90s. That's progress.

In another life

Ever wonder what your life would be like in an alternative universe?

From time to time I get a glimpse of mine and that's because another woman with my name is living her life in Los Angeles and, on occasion, I receive her emails.

We have the same first and last names and I would imagine our email addresses are nearly identical.

When I first received the info about "my" new Nissan purchased in LA I freaked out thinking I had been the victim of identity theft. Then I realized that I had received some random emails to "me" that were definitely not to "me" a few months prior and that all these messages were intended for West Coast Jen.

Recently, I started getting more detailed, personal emails for West Coast Jen and I must admit, they're sort of freaking me out but they're also very intriguing.

Based upon the emails I've received this month, I learned West Cost Jen has a child named Emma. Emma is messed up. Big time. She has issues at school. So many issues she has a whole team (Team Emma) lending her emotional and extra academic support at school. Every time I get an Emma email I shudder. Can you imagine me with a kid so messed up she needs a whole team to support her? So sure, I probably would mess up a kid...but I would not handle it well. When would I have time to obsess over the latest J Crew catalog and Kate Spade's summer line?

West Coast Jen also has a baby daddy named Brad who seems like a total prick. Worse than Brad is his (I presume) wife, Leslie. Leslie works at the NBC affiliate in LA. She sent West Coast Jen a nasty email about "Emma's worksheets" to which I finally responded, letting Leslie know she had the wrong Jen. (If you are interested, Emma has these worksheets that she doesn't want to do but they only take ten minutes. Leslie was accusing Jen of not doing them enough with Emma).

Jen also has a friend (personal assistant?) named Stephanie setting up all kinds of crazy appointments for someone named Lucy. I'm thinking Lucy is code for Emma because, why would Jen care? Unless Jen has two effed up kids...because Lucy's appointments are crazy. This week Lucy is going to "Neuro-Fit" and vision therapy. I finally responded to Stephanie to let her know she has the wrong Jen. The thought here was Lucy missing her vision therapy and brain development appointments may spell disaster. Poor Jen is already getting beaten up about Emma's worksheets! What would happen if Lucy was a no show for her appointments?

Last night I got to thinking about West Coast Jen and her messed up child/children, her ex-husband/baby daddy and his bitchy wife/woman and how much I do not envy her. She lives in LA and probably can't even enjoy the great shopping, restaurants and beach time because of all her personal drama. On the other hand, I don't have baby drama and would enjoy close proximity to the Pacific but, let's face it, I'd be even more broke than I am now so I'll just stay put.


I'll stick with my furry children and my single life, thank you very much. 
 
Next time my mind wanders off wondering about the roads not taken, I'll think of West Coast Jen. Getting her emails is sort of like when I'm in New York City and I spy New Yorkers in their apartments and wonder about their lives. 

Wait, it's totally not like that. After all, I would give my right arm to live in a tiny New York apartment to live the broke but fabulous life in New York....but you couldn't pay me enough money to live West Coast Jen's life!  

Everybody's heard about the bird

I enjoyed an exhilarating run this evening after work - one of those runs where I actually got "in the zone" and felt true mental clarity I seem to only achieve while running (note to self: install a treadmill in office at work).

I ran on a paved trail less than two miles from my house. It is one of my usual running spots because I can stop there on my way home from work to get a run in and because it is so close to home.

On the post-run drive home, I followed a beaten up Buick down a narrow city road. We stopped at a red light. The light turned green but the Buick didn't budge.

In my neighborhood this could mean a number of things, including but not limited to: the car stalling out at the light because the car is such a piece; a broken turn signal because the car is such a piece; operator error because the driver is drunk or high (this is my neighborhood, after all). Irritated that we were just sitting at a green light - and suspecting the beaten Buick intended to turn left but the driver just didn't feel like using a turn signal - I beeped my horn.

What happened next was surreal.

As the horn blew, a tiny brown hand emerged in the back window. Clearly the hand of a toddler in a car seat. Then, the tiny middle finger slowly unfolded.

I had a flash of Mini Me giving Austin Powers the finger.

This was even worse. Because it was a toddler.

Yes, I was flipped off by a toddler.

Nothing says welcome to my neighborhood like being flipped off by a kid in a car seat.

You and I ( You, you and I)

We.

Single girls only use that term when talking about hanging out with their girlfriends. The term "we" is rarely used in mundane but oh-so grown up phrases such as, "We went to church and then the grocery store" or "We cooked a wonderful dinner, ate and did the dishes."

For a short period of time one of my single friends thought she could be a "we."

Why you ask? Well, she thought she had a parasite.

Turns out she doesn't, but she got the news after she went ahead and named it.

We had a lot of fun talking about all the things she and her parasite could have done together, turning her from a "me" to a "we."

Personally, I'm sad I have no excuse to write her a poem I planned to title "My Parasite and Me."

Ho hum. Better luck next time.

I call it a toilet, you call it a fountain

To-mato, tom-ato, po-tato, pot-tato...toilet, fountain?

A couple of weeks ago I walked the 'hood looking for potential housing violations. Ok, I was actually walking to the local pub to meet a friend for a beer but it was a great excuse to look for housing violations.

I found one that I thought was a real zinger, too: A home with a toilet and a sink in the front yard.

Gross, right?

In retrospect, the toilet and sink seemed strategically placed but, really, who would purposely have a toilet and a sink in their front yard?

Someone in my neighborhood, of course.

Tonight at my neighborhood association meeting my community organizer informed me she filed the report of the toilet and sink to the city. When they investigated they discovered the toilet and sink are a fountain.

Yes, a fountain.

Someone apparently had the brilliant idea to say, "Hey, I know what I'll do with this old sink and toilet, I'll turn it into a fountain system because it will look lovely as a permanent fixture in my front yard!"

And, the kicker? I know, you're wondering how this could get any better. The kicker: It has been there for eight years.

Eight years.

And I'm the first person to complain about it.

And, since these items are "a fountain" they can stay.

Lay off that whiskey and let that cocaine be (another day at Family Pantry)

Spring arrived in the 'hood today! The warm weather wasn't the only indication - the other indication was the fact that the streets were crawling with 'hood rats as I made my way home. I knew I needed to get a run in today and had a gut feeling any run through my neighborhood would be nothing short of an action-packed adventure. After all, the warm weather always brings out the freaks.

Toward the end of my run a Michigan State Police SUV flew through a stop sign and I knew something was up. I know my 'hood well so I knew exactly where he was heading - the Family Pantry. Family Pantry is this really trashy "convenience" store in my neighborhood where you can get your smokes, Jack Daniels and lottery tickets with your Bridge card. For your convenience you can also buy crack here. Quite possibly with your Bridge card. Yes, it is crack central. Every week my crime report shows an arrest (or two) for selling crack in the parking lot. After awhile you would think the drug dealers would "get it" but, alas, they don't (perhaps they are smoking too much crack themselves).

As I turned the corner near the Family Pantry, sure enough

Not just the city police - the state police had descended upon the Family Pantry. This is serious, right? Of course, I had to walk by for a closer look.

All these crazy people were still there mulling around in the parking lot, while an officer slapped a purple latex glove on his hand and another stood there in a bullet proof vest scanning the crowd. Purple glove was searching this tan car owned by this woman -

Yes, that is her and her CHILDREN. And she's sporting a shirt that says "Vagina is for Lovers." Yes, "Vagina" not "Virginia."

Nothing but class here in my neighborhood. Of course, I was helping to "class up" the joint as I stood across the street from this scene snapping photos and giggling like a school girl looking at a Ryan Reynolds calendar.

As I nearly tripped on an empty Five O'Clock Vodka bottle on the sidewalk I simply smiled. After a long day in Indiana, it sure felt great to be home!

Shanequa dont live here no mo' (It's a party in the USA)

Last May I found a special surprise is my backyard. Yes, it was made of latex and contained DNA.

However, today it's a party in the USA (or just the 'hood) because my trashy neighbors are gone! I spotted the them sort of packing up some things last week but didn't want to get my hopes up. However, today my suspicions were confirmed - they are gone! The newspaper they used for curtains (no joke) is torn down, the mail is overflowing out of the mailbox and a Wal-Mart quality entertainment center has been abandoned on the front porch.

The condom tossers have left the building (or the block)!

So yes, things are looking good. One set of trashy neighbors gone..."My 600lb Life" has come to an end, therefore, my exercise is back to normal rather than compulsive...no Kate Spade sales (but Banana Republic had 50 percent off on Oscar Sunday - win one for Devil Jen)...and the mild weather has allowed me to walk the neighborhood more and, therefore, report lots of housing violations (couches on lawns, wood in place of windows, etc.). Hey - someone has to put the smack down here in the 'hood. Just wait because my "mobile watch" starts back up in two months - I can't wait to cruise the neighborhood from midnight to 3 a.m. with my fellow honorary crime fighters, including my favorite gun-toting octogenarian Gerri, the clerk at my local Walgreen's!

On a side note - someone asked if I'm still watching "General Hospital" on You Tube and the (sad) answer is yes. I'm on part 436...just 381 clips to go. Sadly, I think it is all downhill for my favorite super couple from here on out but I must stick with the storyline. I've invested (wasted) too much time! However, I really need to put an end to this because just the other weekend I used a 1989 GH reference in conversation like the other person should know what I was talking about. We were at a downtown breakfast spot, I paid with a 20 dollar bill and the cashier marked it with a pen to ensure it was legit. As this was happening, I turned to my friend and said, "Just like Jimmy and the phony 20s." As she made the "what the hell are you talking about" face I realized my faux pas and had to explain I had just made a 23 year old soap opera reference. Welcome to loserville, population one - me!

Why I love Twitter

I love Twitter.

I use Twitter to keep up with news, entertainment and pop culture. For example, the other night it was fun reading Tweets from all over during the Oscars - it made watching the Oscars fun ('cause Billy Crystal was a total bore. Seriously, this is not 1989!).

My favorite thing to do on Twitter is follow celebrities. I am NOT one of those people who asks celebs to "RT" (a "retweet" for those of you not hip to Twitter lingo. Or as my friend Rachael would call it, The Twitter). Those people are just dumb. And I never understand why celebs do it. For example, "Hey Cher, it's Monday, can I get a RT?" and she actually RTs. If I were Cher I would say, "Get a life" but clearly Cher is much nicer than I.

I rarely Tweet at celebrities either because I am sure tons of people Tweet at them all the time. However, I did Tweet at Kathy Griffin during the Oscars (poor thing was in the hospital, supposedly with bird flu?!?) because she Tweeted something about the show being boring. I responded saying she would be a fun host. No response, though I'm sure she totally agreed with me.

I follow my favorite author ( and long lost sister...seriously, she is like the Republican version of me) Jen Lancaster on Twitter. Now, since I feel like Jen is my BFF (Dear Jen, please be my BFF. -Jen), I often reply to her Tweets and always hope she'll respond. No luck yet though she does, indeed FOLLOW me on Twitter. Yep, that was a big day in my life (sad).

In other words, when it comes to celebrities I don't follow the former Mr. Demi Moore (Ashton...nor Bruce Willis come to think of it), Kim Kardashian (or as my dad calls her Kim Kevorkian, you know, as in Jack "Dr. Death" Kevorkian) or anyone like that. Just "normal" celebrities or people I think are celebrities.

Case and point? Remember late last year when I geeked out about seeing Wilson Phillips in concert? Love them! They were my favorite music group in the 8th and 9th grades. Anyway, they are all on Twitter and I follow them all (of course). Tonight Wendy Wilson Tweeted me. Seriously. She Tweeted earlier this week about how they are working on a new album, so I responded and asked when it is coming out. She just wrote me back (answer is April). How cool is that? I suppose you had to know me back in the day to understand how happy my inner 14 year old is right now (my friend Karen will totally get this).

Sometimes I think social media is undoing the fabric of our society. O.K., I suppose I feel that way about Facebook ( even though I use it daily). However, with Twitter, you only get a few characters. You have to keep it short. There's not as much drama (remember vaguebooking?). You can just share a little. So I get why celebrities, quasi-celebrities and wannabe celebrities like Twitter. You can connected just enough without having to share too much (unless you are Demi and Ashton because I hear they used to Tweet photos of themselves in bed. Gross).

Side note:I'm waiting for the day Beyonce starts Tweeting. Wiggy will probably quit her job to become a full time Twitter-er/Beyonce stalker.

I'll stick with my more relatable celebrities in the mean time. And will keep hoping Jen Lancaster will Tweet me back someday. And then we'll become BFFs. I also keep hoping Kate Spade (the person, not the company - the company has RTed my Kate mentions on several occasions. Frequent customer) joins Twitter. Because she should be my other BFF. Just imagine how many purses I would own then....

My funny Valentine (and crack is still whack)

My Valentine.

My Valentine makes me feel wonderful. Like I'm dancing on a cloud. Like ooh, heaven is a place on earth.

My Valentine makes my heart flutter. I'm dizzy - dizzy because of the effect my Valentine has on me. I'm even a little weak in the knees.

My Valentine and I are currently together at a Hampton Inn. I should sleep well tonight with my Valentine in my life.

My Valentine? My Valentine's name is Flexeril. Yes, Flexeril's love is my drug. No, no, Flexeril is my drug (to sort of quote Ke$ha).

Yes, my Valentine is a prescription drug. (You thought Flexeril was a silly name for a man, didn't you?).

Just when I couldn't sink any lower on this damn holiday, here I am.

At some point in time this week I did something to my back. Perhaps a I pulled a muscle running, Yoga Booty Balleting or opening my really old and sort of broken garage door. Frankly, I'm not sure what happened but last night I tossed and turned in pain, unable to get comfortable.

This is a week of much travel for me - beginning with meetings at an office about an hour away (where, thanks to the holiday, there were cupcakes GALORE. However, unlike at my office, these cupcakes were for sale for a fundraiser and, therefore, I deemed it ok) today and tomorrow, followed by a trip to my (least) favorite city, Indianapolis, on the books for tomorrow after work.

Anyway, on the drive this morning my back started to spasm. We're talking couldn't breathe-almost-passed-out-thought-I-was-gonna-crash-the-car-awful-pain. I made it through four morning meetings (at one point I was literally triple booked) and then motored on over to urgent care.

The diagnosis? Back spasms (imagine that). The treatment? Flexeril, Mobic and rest (oops on the rest part - after popping the drugs I felt so great I hit the elliptical for an hour. Blame it on the cupcake I bought. Yes, I caved today).

I've experienced Flexeril before and know what it does - it totally makes me high.

So here I am - high on not love on this Valentine's Day but on Flexeril.

And even though the doc told me heat is good for my back, I learned a valuable lesson from Whitney Houston this weekend. Don't get high and then get in a hotel bathtub.

It's just a bad idea (R.I.P. Whitney).

Crack may be whack, but Flexeril is phenomen-il!

Just another day in paradise ( or the 'hood)

It all started with this (not so) "brilliant" idea.

You all know I live in quite the neighborhood. In addition to a plethora of crack and crime, it has a plethora of bars. Sure, I've visited my fair share but certainly not all of them (because some look really scary). Literally, there are at least 20 bars within a one mile radius of my home.

Since winter in Michigan isn't exactly fabulous, my fellow west sider Rachael and I decided we would initiate a little winter project - to visit every west side bar we've never patroned by hitting one bar per week.

We've discovered some real gems. Cheap drinks, friendly people and good food. Every week we were pleasantly surprised and declared we would return to the bar. Until tonight.

Tonight our experience proved to be everything stereotypical about our neighborhood and what we expected to experience in these dives.

I've never visited this bar because it has a reputation for being a little...rough. However, it is two blocks away from some of our usual (and safe) hangouts so we figured it couldn't be "that" bad, right? Maybe? Anyway, tonight the bar looked empty from the outside but when we walked in all eyes were on us. The place was nearly full and we clearly didn't belong. I mean, we aren't hooked on meth so no, we didn't fit in. While walking past the bar to grab a table I noticed my draft beer choices were Bud Light and Busch. Super.
'
The bartender sported an 80s ponytail and a Bluethooth. However, she was friendly and we were pleased to pay $2 each for beer. The juke box was rocking and we made note that this bar had a closed circuit TV that alternated not one but four scenes captured by security cameras (awesome) when Bob, the drunken former Marine, former Army guy, five foot two father of six came walking our way with a thousand watt smile on his face.

You know that moment when you know something is about to happen but you are too paralyzed to speak? That's what happened to me as soon as I realized Bob had his radar locked on our table. Before I knew it he was trying to squeeze in to the booth next to me. Since I have a general rule about not cuddling with strangers (though this will be violated later) I refused to move over. No worries, the Bobster was persistent and scooted himself right in next to Rachael.

We got to hear Bob's life story (hence the thorough description above). We also got to hear him swear. A lot. More f bombs than I could count. He also enjoyed pointing at us and sort of winking every time he thought he said something funny, which, unfortunately happened a lot in large part because we kept nervously laughing because we didn't really have much to say in response to statements such as, "And then I told my kids to fuck off" or "I told my kid, don't call me, I'll call you."

The Bobster looked at me and said, "Aw, you're probably married with ten kids." to which I practically screamed, "Yes!" From that point on my left hand remained hidden under the table and I made several references to my (fictional) husband and (really fictional) children. I made sure to reference Rachael's engagement and she flashed Bob her hardware, so thankfully we were covered on that front.

I got a little nervous when a female "friend" of Bob's kept coming over. I did not want her thinking we were trying to steal her man. Especially after he said, "She's just jealous I'm talking to you" I couldn't help but remember the "Sex and the City" episode where Samantha and Carrie nearly got their asses kicked by the Jersey girls. In this scenario, and frankly, any scenario, I would not be the Jersey girl. Seriously, I have a meeting with the CEO at work tomorrow (I know, clearly Rachael and I did not belong at this bar - we have Master's degrees and careers), I was not prepared to explain any sort of contusions.

Don't worry because while Shelly/Michelle looked like a Jersey girl she had no ill will toward us and, in fact, was trying to sell us on her friend Bob (and don't worry, they are friends and have never had sex. Because, you know, men and women can be just friends. Thanks for sharing.). Shelly/Michelle liked us so much she crawled in the booth with me (as did her rather large and rather high male friend, thus violating my no cuddling with strangers rule, and when I say the dude was high I mean it - he reeked of pot) and, at one point, trusted us to watch her purse for an extended period of time. For real, she literally left her purse with us to go put Bob and her 51 year old "harmless" but "schizophrenic" friend Julie in a cab together (I can only imagine what that cab ride was like! Poor can driver.).

Shelly/Michelle knew every person in the bar. Rachael declared her the "mayor" of the bar and she was right on. However, there were some patrons Shelly/Michelle didn't seem to know. One of whom was sporting pajamas and, apparently in an effort to remove a layer of clothing, exposed her breast. I missed this but Rachael had full view.

I'll summarize this experience by saying this bar is like a magnet for tragedy. I would venture to guess every person there has a truly tragic story (not a someone brought cupcakes to work but I am trying to eat healthy or Kate Spade has a sale but I'm broke tragedy). Even our new friend Shelly/Michelle said something to the effect of "I just want to get out of this life and I'm going to soon."

Of course, me being me, I just kept thinking the whole time we were there how not bringing Kate (my purse - as in Spade) to the bar tonight was a good idea...and how I couldn't wait to get home to wash my hands.

By the way, universe, when I complained in an earlier blog post about not finding my Robert Scorpio, it did not mean send a short, drunk dude named Bob my way at the local dive bar. But thanks anyway.

Cupcakes, shopping and wine

Remember the old school cartoons where a character had a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on each shoulder when faced with a dilemma? Lately I feel as though my own little angel and devil have been at war.

Let me paint the picture: My little angel is running in place on my shoulder, decked out for a run after putting in a ten hour work day. Her grocery bags are full of organic food, she flosses daily and her bank account has more the $50 because she is living within her means. She's a good girl.

Then there's my little devil. She isn't so little - in fact, she's overweight because she is sitting on her couch drinking wine, shopping online and watching (you guessed it) too much General Hospital on You Tube. She has a new Kate Spade purse on her arm, a cupcake in her mouth, a glow to her face because she just got an Aveda facial and she's totally up to speed on the current "Days of our Lives" story line. She's simply ridiculous. And broke.

I want Angel Jen to win the ongoing tug of war, but it isn't easy. Today alone was fraught with temptation.

It all started when Kate Spade emailed my work account at 3 a.m. announcing a one day only up to 75 percent off sale. 75 percent off. Kate Spade.

Normally, Devil Jen would be all over this. However, last week Devil Jen - celebrating the hard work of Angel Jen's weight loss (100 pounds lost, baby!) - spent way too much money and essentially bought a new wardrobe. Seriously, while checking out at Marshall's, the clerk asked me/Devil Jen where I'm/we're vacationing. I sort of choked (while Devil Jen totally did her evil laugh) because, well, there are no official non-work travel dates on the calendar yet, and then lied (Devil Jen wins again - damn her!).

Marshall's was just one place Devil Jen/I hit on her/our binge - she/we dropped some serious cash at Banana Republic and at loft.com. Wiggy told me I have a problem. Given her penchant for spending I think she may be right. So, even though I got paid on Friday and 75 percent off anything Kate Spade is a bargain, Angel Jen prevailed today. Don't worry, I'm still sort of sweaty and shaky wondering if I missed any good deals but I'll survive. I hope. I'm trying not to drink wine to cope.

It continued when cupcakes from a local bakery made an appearance in the lunch room. Devil Jen loves her some cupcakes. In fact, she/I (we) are cupcake connoisseurs. Seriously. There is junk in our lunch room all the time. Cakes, cookies, crap. It makes it tough to eat healthy when temptation sits next to you while you try to eat non crap. Devil Jen, weary from the Kate Spade battle, probably already feeling a little defeated, easily lost this one to Angel Jen. No cupcake for me. Of course, while running 3.25 miles after work (another win for Angel Jen), I couldn't stop thinking about Magnolia Bakery cupcakes. Thank goodness I can't order those online!

Finally, tonight I have two conference calls for work. I decided to use that time to multi-task and do additional work. If I only work 7.5 hours per day (our "normal" work day - supposedly) I feel like I'm cheating the system. I have so much work to do (and I'm not complaining) that there are never enough hours in the day. Angel Jen won this round too - I'm proud to log a 9.5 hour work day today and I'm rolling in to the office early tomorrow to ensure I do it again, probably sporting the adorable red pants Devil Jen just purchased from Loft to wear on Angel Jen's body.

And I'll probably still be day dreaming of Magnolia Bakery cupcakes...

The 650lb Lady and I (or How I am T.G.I.F'ed)

Work.Run.Work.Run.General Hospital.Work.Run.Work.Run.

Yes, sadly, that sums up my life.

Yes, I am STILL watching Robert and Katherine General Hospital clips from 1989-1990 on You Tube daily. Last time you heard from me I was in the 400s but admitted starting in the 200s. Naturally, I had to go back and start from the beginning to truly get the full story.  So, I'm back in the 200s. But, I'm only watching two to three clips per evening, usually while eating dinner and watching ABC Nightly News.

And no, I haven't been to the  YMCA. The mild weather is keeping me outdoors logging every mile I possibly can.

Work is crazy busy and as a result of all the running and working I am simply exhausted. However, I can't stop running. Yesterday I ran two miles and then came home and did a one hour workout video. In fact, I've logged a total of 17 miles this week, with six more on the calendar for tomorrow. Tonight my body told me to stop and I'm feeling incredibly guilty sitting here writing and not running.

Why, you ask?

I'll tell you why. The 650 pound woman.

I made the big mistake of watching My 600 lb Life on TLC the other night.

Even though my weight starts with a 1 (and no, I'm not sharing anything other than that!), I couldn't help but feel like I'm one cheeseburger away from looking exactly like the woman on the show (who, by the way, actually weighed 658 lbs).

I started compulsively doing sit ups while watching the two hour special.

Since the show I've been completely distracted and, frankly, exhausted from all the working out. So much so that yesterday morning I heated up some turkey bacon for breakfast and apparently never ate it. This evening I opened the microwave to heat up my dinner and discovered this:

Gross, right? It isn't even from this morning because I had a dentist appointment bright and early so I simply ate a banana before brushing my teeth. Two day old turkey bacon just sitting there. Apparently I never noticed that I missed breakfast.

Wait, it gets better.

This morning, while packing my lunch in the dark, I grabbed a can and tossed it in my lunch bag. Imagine my surprise when I opened my lunch bag in the break room and discovered this:

Friends don't let friends bring Miller Light to work! Thankfully, no one saw my offending beverage and it is now safely back in my refrigerator.

Thank goodness the weekend is here. I'm exhausted, starving (apparently) and committing HR violations with my lunch. I am completely, utterly, totally T.G.I.EFFED!

How I spent my MLK weekend (or how Robert Scorpio ruined my love life)

Thankfully, this is nothing like my 2011 President's Day weekend. This is much more pathetic.

On Friday I left work an hour early to hit the gym. You all heard my rant about these New Year's resolution people and, side note, based on my experience at the gym today the crowds are getting worse, not better, but I digress.

I spent an hour on the elliptical and caught the end of the final episode of "One Life to Live." I grew up on the ABC soaps (my stay at home mom needed some entertainment) including OLTL, "All My Children" and "General Hospital." Of the three, GH was my favorite.

Why? Well, to be fair to the other shows, GH, it was on at 3 p.m., meaning it was the only one I could keep up with after school. Yes, I was totally the kid who would come home from school and watch a soap opera. Don't judge me, judge my mom (Love ya, mom!).

I loved soap operas so much that I was an avid reader of "Soap Opera Digest" and one of my many career aspirations was to be a soap opera writer. Seriously. Since the soap opera genre is dying I guess it's a good thing that dream didn't work out.

Couples are the cornerstone of the soap opera and like all soap viewers I have an all time favorite couple. No, not Luke and Laura (boring and before my time). Not John and Marlena ("Days of Our Lives" shout out!). And no, not even Bo and Hope (though they are my SECOND favorite soap opera couple of all time). I'm talking about GH 1989 - 1990 - Robert and Katherine.

Now, you're probably asking, "Who?" OK, you're probably only asking that if you are in tune with soaps in any way, shape or form and therefore, can tolerate reading this entry.

Two years is a blip in the lifetime of a soap but for some reason, this storyline was my favorite and the whole OLTL ending made me think about my favorite soap couple. I wondered if there could be a clip or two on You Tube since I hadn't seen my peeps in over 20 years. After Robert decided he "couldn't commit" and Kate left Port Charles I stopped watching GH (until Sonny Corinthos rolled in to town, I mean, HELLO!) and went on with my life (meaning, I transferred my soap opera addiction to "Days").

Imagine my shock when I stumbled upon not one clip, not two, but the entire Robert and Katherine storyline posted on You Tube. All 817 parts. Yes, 817. Eight hundred and seventeen. Someone out there is even crazier than I am.

Suddenly, I was totally sucked back in time to 1989. First it was my favorite episode ever (Kate returns from the dead,  "I'm not a ghost."). Then the craziest episode ever (Kate's creepy fiance Paul the archaeologist tries to mummify her. "These are linen wrapping strips. They'll keep you warm and protected." Seriously, even if you don't know what I'm talking about, check this out for a good laugh). The saddest episode (the break up) and the one that perfectly sums up the relationship (a knock down, drag out "War of the Roses" type fight).

It is now Tuesday and I'm on part 426. Oh the shame. (I will admit, I finally started watching sequentially in the 200s...and now I may have decided to go back to the beginning and that may have something to do with the fact I'm blogging at 1 a.m. on a week night).

Why did this story and these characters captivate me at the age of 12 and again in my 30s? I have no idea. But, I do know this: Since the age of 12, no matter how fiercely independent I think I am and try to be, deep down I just want a Robert to save me (Robert had to save Katherine many, many, many times). An Australian born ex-secret agent with an Aborigine friend who predicts his death is hard to come by in the Midwest so this is not working out so well (though I have to admit while Robert had boyish good looks in 1989, he really started to age in 1990. He got a bit overzealous with the Just For Men hair color). Plus, I will never be a world famous pianist whose fiance tries to mummify her (at least I hope not. And I mean that. Really.) therefore, I suppose I don't really need "saving."

Damn.

This is exactly why I'm still single. I will never find my Robert Scorpio.

About Jen's addiction: Jen is a recovering soap opera addict. After quitting GH in 1990, she took up "Days of Our Lives." For a period of time in the mid 1990s, Jen did both GH in "Days." In college, she had to cut back and, therefore, never scheduled a 1 p.m. class, thereby sealing her addiction to "Days" for the next five years (yes, five, not four). Eventually, Jen broke her soap opera addiction (it was called getting a big kid job and not having reliable VHS player). She had a brief relapse two years ago when her cable provider offered SoapNet for free for several months. Today, Jen leads a happy, normal life though she does use soaps recreationally on days off work and extended vacations. Jen does not, however, have a subscription to "Soap Opera Digest" and has not picked one up in at least 16 years. Jen should probably delete the You Tube app on her iPad if she wants to remain a normal, productive member of society.

Resolve to break your resolution, please!

January 3. The day the entire world returns to the gym after an 11 month hiatus. What a headache. On January 2 I was one of maybe 30 people at the massive YMCA in my city. After all, it was a federal holiday with New Year's falling on a weekend and all but, today, boom!

Why do all these people think something as arbitrary as a date on a calendar is going to inspire them to commit to long term healthy living? It isn't. Get real, people. First it's all these damn Janet Jackson Nutrisystem commercials, then the Weight Watchers commercials showing skinny Jennifer Hudson next to chubby Jennifer Hudson (and, by the way, there is NO WAY her arms just shrank like that counting points. She should have some major skin hanging off her skinny arms now. Where's the disclaimer that she had skin removal surgery? Cause...she did!) and now, everyone and their mother and brother are at the gym.

These new gym goers are the worst. First of all, they don't dress to work out. Today I spotted a woman on a treadmill in a sweater. Yes, a cotton winter sweater. While the old man next to her "ran" in his loafers and Dockers. Seriously, people? If you're going to go to the trouble to pay the outrageous YMCA membership fee try to look the part, ok?

Speaking of dressing, or undressing, don't get me started of the locker room. On any given day I'm subjected to seeing saggy boobs and even the occasional who-hah but now the locker room is PACKED. I'm a modest person. No one will ever see any of my naughty bits in the locker room. I realize some people have no modesty but, try to show some respect for others! Today I was clearly about to change when this girl sat down next to me to tie her shoe. She came from around the corner and the locker room wasn't even full yet! There were plenty of other places to sit! I gave her my "go away" look and she just stared back at me like, "Bitch, I'm gonna sit here and tie my shoe." So, she took her sweet-ass time and I just sat there and waited to change until she was done.

After my workout, I returned to the dreaded locker room which was full. At least the women there were doing the "don't make eye contact with anyone thing" while changing so it was cool. Until this old lady with long, stringy gray hair came along. I was leaning forward trying to pack my gym bag when she bent down to change her pants, sticking her saggy, old lady ass right in my face. I was so annoyed/disgusted that I bolted out of there.

All I have to say to all of these people is GO AWAY. Let me have the Y back. I hate having to stalk people for parking spots, for workout machines and getting old lady butts stuck in my face. Please, for the love, give up your New Year's resolutions. You, not the calendar, are the key to your own success. Go back to your couch, stuff your faces with Twinkies and watch "The Bachelor." I'll see you next January.