Single, Broke...and (sort of) Fabulous!

My funny Valentine (and crack is still whack)

2012-02-14T21:45:00.000-05:00

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)

2012-02-08T21:28:00.009-05:00

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

2012-02-07T20:19:00.006-05:00

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)

2012-02-03T18:27:00.001-05:00

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)

2012-01-18T01:26:00.008-05:00

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!

2012-01-03T19:33:00.000-05:00

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.

My holiday letter - 2011 WINNING edition

2011-12-30T19:19:00.005-05:00

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

Oh, America

2011-07-09T00:35:00.000-04:00

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!

To quote Kathy Griffin....

2011-07-05T21:57:00.008-04:00

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.

Why camping is the most ridiculous idea of a "vacation." EVER.

2011-07-01T15:56:00.003-04:00

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!

Crazy Mary, is that you?

2011-06-17T23:37:00.003-04:00

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.

Rage Against the Relationship

2011-06-06T07:06:00.001-04:00

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.

Try to catch me ridin' dirty

2011-05-20T20:31:00.000-04:00

'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:

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.

The coolest thing about the Mobile Watch Patrol? They ride around with spotlights and police scanners! Now they can't shine the spotlight inside of homes but still, that's pretty cool. They also report incidences in military time (how hard core is that?!?) and they use what I would guess are police lingo abbreviations. For example, ATT - attempt and MDOP - malicious destruction of property.

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!

"Are you going to clean that up?"

2011-05-11T12:39:00.000-04:00

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!

Excuse me, I think you left your DNA in my yard....

2011-05-07T13:45:00.002-04:00

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?

I want to thank you, thank you

2011-03-09T19:23:00.000-05:00

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!

Here's the unsigned note that accompanied it!

Take the weather with you, just leave the magnet!

2011-02-28T19:26:00.003-05:00

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!)

Show me your teeth (or in this case, tooth)

2011-02-25T19:57:00.003-05:00

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!

Am I being P'unked? In other words, Paris and Lindsay you are not....

2011-02-24T21:46:00.005-05:00

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!

How I spent my President's Day (or How I spent $619 on President's Day)

2011-02-21T16:36:00.002-05:00

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.

"Forget You, Cupid" the Sequel (in other words, Happy St. Patrick's Day!)

2011-02-14T07:01:00.000-05:00

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! "

In the words of Cee Lo - "Forget You," Cupid!

2011-02-13T12:51:00.001-05:00

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!

Top five things I don't need to know about you (or your spawn)

2011-02-10T21:32:00.002-05:00

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?

Near brush with local celebrity

2011-02-03T21:04:00.001-05:00

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.

Stranded

2011-02-02T21:09:00.002-05:00

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!

Sisters, sisters....there were never such devoted sisters

2011-01-26T21:50:00.002-05:00

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?

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!

Save the date? Part 2

2010-12-31T19:30:00.001-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Holiday Letter - 2010 edition

2010-12-23T09:49:00.001-05:00

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

Dear Family and Friends,

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

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

Work cut back on travel a bit this year but that didn't stop me from traveling the entire freaking state of Indiana (by car, with colleagues - something I would not recommend) as well as air travel to Salt Lake City (where my colleague/friend kept yelling "Sister Wife" as we wandered the grounds of the Mormon Temple...I totally thought the Mormon Secret Service was going to nab us for that!), New York City (I only spent 1.5 days there but made the most of every second I didn't have to work), Atlanta (where my "Sister Wife" yelling colleague/friend and I were almost the victims of a mugging), Houston (Texas - never been a fan, sorry), Washington, D.C. (where I finally made it to the Newseum) and, of course, my not so glorious return to Missouri, where I escaped accident free and got to see my dear friend Emily!

While in Atlanta I fell in love...no, not with Usher or some rapper....with a handbag. Yes, Kate Spade's Bow Regard Maryanne. Unfortunately, she's way out of my price range, especially after the events of recent days which leads me to update you on....

My "children." I would prefer not to discuss them at this moment but, what the hell. Lucy and LuLu decided ('cause they totally did this on purpose) to get sick with completely different cat sicknesses and in the last three weeks I have spent just over $1,000 at the vet. Yes, you read that correctly - $1k. I could have purchased two and half Bow Regard Maryannes for that!! And then there's Gracie - my happy go-lucky German Shepherd. Crime is up in the 'hood (I promise to give you a year end crime summary for the one mile radius around my house....and by the way, if you ever need crack I can tell you exactly where to go!) so I am thankful my dog looks menacing but let me tell you, if someone broke in the house she'd just jump on them and kiss them.

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

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

Love you and MERRY CHRISTMAS! -Jen

Save the date?

2010-12-21T21:09:00.002-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My life flashed before my eyes

2010-12-04T18:40:00.000-05:00

I had a near death experience today.

Well, sort of.

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

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

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

Ridiculous.

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

Give me a brake - fall 2010 edition

2010-11-30T14:43:00.001-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2010-11-21T19:58:00.002-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

At least this other guy asked!

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

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

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

A trip down the stairs and an all time low

2010-11-17T18:47:00.008-05:00

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

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

Today, it almost became a reality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh God, I really am Bridget Jones. Shoot.

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

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

2010-11-01T20:07:00.001-04:00

I'm back!

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

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

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

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

Stress (according to Dr. Oz) can years seven years to your age! That is why above life lesson is a good one to remember!

That's all I've got!

"Sparty On?" Yeah, not so much

2010-10-10T04:26:00.006-04:00

It is 4:09 a.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exercise can be hazardous to your health...

2010-09-21T19:44:00.001-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is how I remember it....

2010-09-10T21:09:00.000-04:00

I hate tomorrow.

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

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

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

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

Chaos.

Confusion.

Panic.

I called my mom in Michigan.

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

There was talk of missing planes and other potential targets.

Suddenly, reports a plane crashed in to the Pentagon.

America is officially under attack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second tower fell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2010-09-05T19:31:00.003-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

Don't buy me Old Maid cards, ok?

2010-09-02T17:01:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These are the people in my neighborhood: Summer edition

2010-08-30T21:59:00.000-04:00

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

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

Crackfest was what I expected and more.

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

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

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

Redefining "single"

2010-08-18T23:09:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

Once again I was totally outnumbered.

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

Tales from the road

2010-08-09T23:16:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dad: "Yes."

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

Silence.

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

Dad: "No."

Me: "What do you think that means?"

Dad: "I thought it meant shovel."

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

Dad: Silence

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

Busted!

2010-08-08T17:00:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

SCORE!

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

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

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

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

I can't help falling in love with you!

2010-08-06T21:26:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

I haven't felt this way in awhile.

Meet my new love...

....Bow Regard Maryanne

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

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

Isn't she lovely?

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

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

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

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

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

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

An example of nothing short of "jackassery"

2010-08-04T21:54:00.001-04:00

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

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

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

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

Worst. Nightmare. Come. True.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2 Live Crew, Christopher Cross and bloody dog poo

2010-07-29T23:53:00.006-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other highlights of the day include:

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

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

Just another day in my neighborhood!

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

2010-07-17T10:43:00.005-04:00

I am hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All good things must come to an end

2010-07-08T22:12:00.003-04:00

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

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

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

They should be back Saturday.

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

It was good while it lasted.

Things will be great when you're downtown

2010-07-07T19:18:00.001-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

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

Life, liberty and the pursuit of lawsuits

2010-07-07T18:52:00.001-04:00

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

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

Well, my friends and I learned you can.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy freaking (belated) birthday, America.

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

2010-07-02T08:20:00.001-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

Then there is Aggie. Yes, Aggie - she's my girl! She won me over with her tip for a long life when she shared her diet secrets. It's not what Aggie eats, it's what she drinks. My girl Aggie keeps it real. She said she drinks three Miller High Lifes and one shot of Scotch a day. All I can say? You go girl! Then there was a cut to a shot of Aggie kicking back a Miller Light (not a Miller High Life but close enough and I personally prefer Miller Light - less carbs).

There are your answers, my friends! The secret to a long, fabulous life. It is not about working out, eating right or any of that crap. Do as Betty and Aggie did. Don't have children and keep on drinking!

Bottoms up!

How to offend your friends 101

2010-07-01T20:31:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

I did NOT "re-post" this.

In fact, I posted this:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2010-06-30T07:59:00.000-04:00

I haven't written much lately because I've been working a lot. Oh, if only I could write a blog about my day job. That would be entertaining.

This post is to give a brief update on our good friend "Wiggy." Even though "Wiggy" has definitely been working more hours than I have, she always finds herself in entertaining situations outside of work.

Yesterday in the middle of the afternoon she sent me several BlackBerry Messenger (BBM) messages about an "epiphany" she had: "I need to befriend rich white women!!! They love me!"

She went on to talk about how "rich white women" would likely give her friendship gifts labeled Chanel, Prada, Versace, etc.

I, for one, am not 100 percent sure where "Wiggy" is meeting these "rich white women" - I mean, I am sure she is meeting some through her new job, but I have a feeling they won't enjoy talking about Beyonce, youporn.com (it is real and it is scary) or the virtues of "ghetto wine" (the kind in a big bottle with a screw off cap)....but I may be wrong. "Wiggy" is quite charming.

She went on to say, "I'm gonna be a rich white lady! Blonde tips and all."

This is when I started thinking "Wiggy" may not be in her right mind. The message exchange was taking place around 4 p.m. on a Tuesday and I assumed "Wiggy" was at work. She has been working crazy hours, and just worked two weeks straight without a day off, and I've been hoping to see she could take a day, or at least part of a day, for herself.

At 5:15 p.m. my suspicions were confirmed when I received a photo via BBM that appeared to be a giant glass of white wine with a black spot in it. The attached text said, "There is a f**king fruit fly in my wine! Actually swimming around like in a damn poll!!!! Look!"

"Wiggy" just can't catch a break when it comes to mice, fruit flies, bugs, etc. At least it was after 5 p.m. when she was drinking her wine...though I have a suspicion that was not her first glass!

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

2010-06-14T23:56:00.000-04:00

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

This is the lesson I learned tonight.

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

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

So sue me.

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

Bull shit.

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

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

Lying in bed, just like Brian Wilson did

2010-06-07T21:31:00.001-04:00

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

Oh, Barenaked Ladies, I still love thee!

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

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

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

Until about 20 minutes later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2010-06-04T21:45:00.003-04:00

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

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

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

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

Yes, you read that correctly. QVC.

I am feeling less than fabulous right now.

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

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

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

TheraFlu? That stuff is totally sick!

The second to last single girl

2010-06-03T07:03:00.001-04:00

How could I forget about "Wiggy?"

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

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

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

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

2010-06-02T23:17:00.006-04:00

It's official.

I am the last single girl.

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

At least it feels that way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2010-05-28T22:42:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2010-05-13T09:55:00.001-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death at 30,000 feet

2010-05-05T10:24:00.003-04:00

It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. You know, that mumbo-jumbo about travel trauma.

I love flying. In fact, I would prefer to fly anywhere and everywhere than ride in a car. Hop a jet to Detroit (a 3 hour drive)? Don't mind if I do! I feel much safer on a plane than in a car. After all, I've been in several car accidents over the years but despite my hundreds of thousands of air miles traveled, I've never been in a plane "accident." Yes, I know those are usually called plane "crashes" but I haven't been in one so there.

Last week I flew to Salt Lake City on a business trip. I knew there had been a lot of storms in that part of the country so I anticipated some turbulence. Generally, turbulence doesn't bother me. As I mentioned earlier, I completely believe I am safe on a plane so a few bumps are nothing to worry about.

There's turbulence and then there's TURBULENCE. I am talking, shaking back and forth, dropping what feels like thousands of feet at a time, the flight attendant says, "For those of you getting sick, remember the bag in your seat back pocket. To avoid nausea, do not look out the window and put your neck to your chest" type of turbulence.

Yes, a flight attendant said that and no, I have NEVER been on a flight where an announcement like that was made.

Sitting next to me were some way cool ladies from Elmira, NY. They are bowlers, flying to Reno for a bowling convention (and some gambling, of course) then on to El Paso for a bowling tournament.

One of them asked the nun across from us (yes, there was a nun on the plane, as well as at least four babies - yet another sign that plane would not make any unplanned contact with terra firma) to pray once the turbulence started.

The turbulence was rough, but I lost it when, during descent into Salt Lake City, the pilot suddenly pulled the plane up. In seconds we went from rapid descent to rapid ascent - and suddenly I was praying "Hail Mary" - repeatedly. When the pilot came on and told us he had to "abort" the landing because of a sudden storm over the airport I prayed faster!

The storm passed and we eventually landed safely. I was literally shaking all the way to baggage claim, in the cab and during check in at the hotel.

All is well that ends well, thankfully!

Salt Lake City is beautiful - it's surrounded by snow capped mountains, it is clean and safe and though at one point I was the only woman in a six block radius wearing jeans (as every woman I saw was a Mormon wearing a skirt), the people are very friendly. However, after a couple of days, Salt Lake City got pretty boring and I was ready to move on.

Tomorrow it's off to New York City - with it's grit, skyscrapers, traffic, noise, congestion and people who are not friendly - I believe it is the most beautiful city in the U.S. if not the entire world...and a couple of days is never enough to take it all in. I can't wait to get there!

Bring on the travel trauma!

2010-04-26T22:28:00.003-04:00

OK, I haven't blogged about travel in awhile.

However, that's about to change.

This week I will travel to Salt Lake City and next week to my FAVORITE city....oh yeah...let's hear it for New York! Concrete jungle where dreams are made of, there's nothing you can't do!

Sadly, the NYC trip is a quick 1.5 day deal for work (as is Salt Lake City, well, for work but a little longer) but a trip to the Big Apple is always energizing!

With all this travel there will inevitably be issues - delayed or missed flights, getting stuck in the middle seat on the plane (or worse, getting stuck next to the 400 lb man on the plane), bad cab drivers, spotting real life polygamists like in "Big Love" (in SLC), etc.

Stay tuned! And for some old classic Jen travel blogs, check out the archives from '07 and '08. When you travel as much as I have (and still do) there's always a story to tell!

Of Mice and Wigs...and Bottle Caps?

2010-04-23T21:17:00.000-04:00

An update on the "Wiggy" situation:

A source tells me it is quite possible the "slut mouse" she spotted in her room could actually be a bottle cap.

It's true. Apparently, when our co-worker went to her home to set the mouse traps, a bottle cap was laying on the floor in the exact spot where she said she saw the mouse. His theory? She moved something and the cap rolled across the floor.

Is this a possibility? Perhaps.

"Wiggy" is a tad paranoid when it comes to mice, having lived in mouse infested houses before. Last time she had a mouse (in a different rental house) she actually contemplated adopting a cat. If you knew "Wiggy" you would understand how she truly loathes cats (and dogs and all animals) and how being a cat owner would go against everything she stands for.

Of course, later she confessed she was hoping to adopt the cat, have it kill the mouse, and then send it packing.

Could "Wiggy" have jumped to a conclusion when she saw "something" move across her floor? Since she told me the "slut mouse" was giving her the stink eye, I'd like to believe she did indeed she a real live mouse and not an errant bottle cap.

However, all those peanut butter filled traps at her house remain empty.....

Of Mice and Wigs

2010-04-22T23:02:00.006-04:00

Less than one week ago, "Wiggy" was in her bedroom getting dressed for work when suddenly, she spotted a creature staring at her. She has no pets, and it wasn't a peeping squirrel or anything. It was a "mother f**king mouse" (her words). As a hater of all things furry, mice especially, "Wiggy" wigged out.

A male co-worker went to her house that day and set some traps and blocked the vents in her room (apparently "Wiggy" is not concerned about carbon monoxide - just mice). Despite the traps and mouse-proofing, "Wiggy" has refused to go back in to her bedroom since that fateful morning.

As her friend I took pity on her and offered to come to her house and investigate the trap situation and retrieve any items she may need from her bedroom, which is being held hostage by that "slut mouse" (again, her words, not mine).

Upon my arrival, we consumed some wine and strategized my plan of attack. Convinced the mouse was living the life of luxury in her bedroom, "Wiggy" and I had a discussion about where the mouse may have possibly taken up residence. Suddenly, I saw the light bulb go off in her head.

"That mother f**ker is living in my wig tub," she said with all sincerity and a defiant look in her eyes.

"Wiggy" keeps a tub of "old jacked up wigs" - "just in case." The problem is, the tub had no lid, and therefore, could possibly have been an excellent place for a mouse to nest.

My assignment was clear, in order to help "Wiggy" try to re-claim her bedroom, I needed to go in there, check the traps, retrieve her clothing (ALL of it) and along the way, shake each item out to ensure a) a mouse wouldn't fall out and b) mouse droppings wouldn't fall out. Did I mention when I said ALL of her clothing that included a giant pile of dirty clothing on the floor of the closet that spilled onto the top of the wig tub? Oh yeah, the wig tub, I almost forgot. I would need to search that damn wig tub too!

"Wiggy" gave me a pair of rubber gloves, some garbage bags and wished me luck. She couldn't handle the sight of me sorting through her stuff because she believed with every fiber of her being that "slut mouse" would scurry out at any point in time.

I checked all the clothing and stuffed it all in to garbage bags (so it could all be washed at some point in time)....and then it came time for the wigs. The wigs freaked me out because as I started to dig through the tub I convinced myself a mouse could quite possibly have taken up residence among the acrylic locks of hair.

"Wiggy" agreed the best course of action would be to throw away all the old wigs anyway. She has totally upgraded to a different type of wig (that I cannot tell you about or she will kill me) made of real hair so she's much less flammable then she used to be and therefore, doesn't need her old wig stash.

Anyway, before I could stuff the wigs into the "toss" bag, I had to retrieve one "back up wig" for her. She insisted it had to have bangs. And it was "just in case." The woman has many, many, many other wigs...so I wasn't sure why I had to spare one of these "lesser" wigs but I did.

Clothing and wigs packed up, I thought my task was complete. "Wiggy" even brought herself to enter the room after I confirmed spotting no evidence of a mouse.

She took two pillows off her bed. She told me she had been sleeping on the couch for the last five days and didn't even have pillows (that's how scared she was of the "slut mouse").

"Wiggy" was feeling better about life but then she thought of one thing in her bedroom she couldn't possibly live without...one thing the mouse could have "contaminated."

The one thing? Her "special box."

I won't elaborate on the "special box" if you are a woman, single or otherwise, I think you know what I am referring to...a grown up toy box....and if you don't get what I'm telling you, well, I don't know what to say.

"'Wiggy's' special box" is a K-Swiss box she stores under her bed ("Easy access," she said). As she pulled it out, she suddenly looked sick, and expressed how angry she would be if that "slut mouse" made a nest amidst her battery operated toys. Oh, the irony. I guess if the mouse is a slut, as she likes to say it is, then this would be an appropriate place for it to nest!

Unable to bring herself to open the box, she made me do it. I opened it and, seeing no evidence of a mouse, I quickly closed it. The whole thing was a little traumatizing, I must admit.

Once I confirmed the coast was clear, she swept the "special box" up and into her arms.

So, there she was - after all of that - a woman with her basic necessities - a jacked up back up wig, two pillows and her "special box."

As I drove away, all I could think was, "I missed 'Lost' for THIS?"

These are the people in my neighborhood....

2010-04-19T20:25:00.001-04:00

I promised not to blog about running, however, my neighborhood is so crazy I often find inspiration for my blog while running. So, if you don't like it, I say (in the words of the brilliant Kathy Griffin) "suck it."

My neighborhood used to be "the Polish neighborhood" and, well, it still sort of is, but like many other urban neighborhoods it is diverse - difference races, classes and ages. And I like that. I grew up in a homogenous suburb and it was so freaking boring. No one has yet been able to convince me why suburbs are so great (but please keep trying so I can make fun of you at a later date and time).

Today I encountered more craziness than usual while hanging out in my 'hood. Sadly, much of what I encountered illustrate class and cultural stereotypes and made me wonder if the people perpetuating this are even aware or care.

Shortly after the one mile mark I encountered a group of redneck teenagers working on a pickup truck. They all stopped to stare at me. It was really creepy and made me run faster. I kept waiting for one of them to bust out a Confederate flag to beat me with or something. These rednecks were hanging next door to a house where normally, as I run by, two or three small black men usually yell something at me that involves the word "shawty." I don't know where my "shawty" friends were tonight - I suspect they were making purchases at the party store across the street. They are less creepy than the redneck teenagers. Plus, they make me wonder if they need good optometrists. I have never been short/small/petite and, in fact, I am larger than all of them. I realize "shawty" or "shortie" is a term of endearment but, guess what fellas, you just sound silly yelling it at a tall, fat white girl.

The Dairy Queen sits close to mile marker number two on my run. Talk about temptation! I must say I feel superior running past as people stuff their faces with ice cream (though I LOVE ice cream). Today, I witnessed a group of Latinos treating a Jeep Liberty like a clown car. Seriously, there were six adults and three small children. The children definitely were small enough to need to ride in booster seats so I am not sure how they made it work, but somehow, all but one of them had piled in by the time I passed them by. I've been involved with overstuffing a car with people (once in college we broke an axle on a sorority sister's car it was so "overstuffed!"), so I am not one to judge. It made for something interesting to watch as a wheezed into the second mile of my run.

My mind was still trying to figure out the logistics of the Jeep Liberty clown car when I saw two elderly people walking toward me. Though they were sporting matching windbreakers, they weren't exactly jogging or even walking at a brisk pace. As I approached, I expected the old man to move behind his lady friend so there would be room for us to pass each other. Not so much. They "stayed the course" as if we were playing a game of chicken and I nearly took out grandma.

Finally, in the home stretch of the run, I was thinking about how my friend "Wiggy" better appreciate that I am running on a day I should be resting so I can make a trip over to her house after work tomorrow to check on the status of her mouse situation (this is a teaser for tomorrow, folks! I expect some good material to come from this as "Wiggy" hates any furry creatures and has already called the mouse in her house a "mother f**ker" and a "slut")..when suddenly....a car came speeding up the street. As it approached me, the passenger rolled down the windows and suddenly I saw a person with a pony tail and heard high pitched "woo hooing" and cat calling from the car. Women? I am now being cat called by women? Maybe it was the visor I was wearing that screamed Billie Jean King or something?

All of this convinced me I really need to find a new running route. One can only take so much heckling. It's tough enough for a fat girl to get out there and run...but to be sexually harassed by men and now women too? Enough is enough!

Maybe the 'burbs aren't looking so bad after all....

Who do you think you are, Dave Ramsey?

2010-04-12T21:54:00.001-04:00

Today I noticed a bumper sticker on a car in a driveway in my neighborhood: Debt Free & Lovin' It!

Then, of course, it lists Dave Ramsey's web site.

After a little research I realized some bozo in my neighborhood PAID $5 for this thing!

In fact, Dave Ramsey has a whole section of what can be described as nothing less than crap on his web site: $25 coupon organizers, T-shirts and designer envelope systems (whatever those are).

So not only are people paying too much money to listen to him tell them how to spend their money (starting, of course, with paying to attend the seminar and buying books and CDs - just don't charge them on your credit card) - they are also spending hard earned money on chotchkies?!

Am I the only one who thinks this is wrong? I mean, he is enabling the behavior he scorns, right?

Kiss it, Dave Ramsey. I don't know much about you but based on his bumper sticker indicdent you have totally offended me.

I'll keep my credit card debt, thank you very much!

And I would never be caught dead in a Dave Ramsey T-shirt.

Everywhere I go, there you are

2010-04-05T22:34:00.007-04:00

My friends and I seem to have people in our lives that, no matter how much we try to avoid them, just keep showing up. They're like toilet paper stuck to the bottom of our shoes (annoying), or road construction in Michigan in the summer (impossible to avoid).

Two such people made appearances in the last 48 hours.

Person number one is someone my friends and I refer to as Big Head Little Dog.

Big Head Little Dog came in to our lives via E-Harmony. When all my single girlfriends in the area were matched with this guy, we all realized: 1. E-Harmony's "matching" system is full of crap (it's all about geography - it's not about 57.5 dimensions of compatibility or whatever lies they tell in their commercials) and 2. We had seen this guy before - he's "that guy" with the big head who we've all spotted one time or another walking a little dog in the condo complex of one of said friends (hence, his nickname).

An interesting twist came about when yet another friend was not only matched with him, she went out with him a few times. Fortunately for her, she could not get over how ridiculously large his head is and moved on to better suitors.

For real, people, this guy has a total pumpkin head.

Anyway, my poor friend who had the misfortune to go out with Big Head Little Dog a few times sees this guy everywhere. He makes it really awkward, because he likes to pretend they don't know one another. I could write PAGES of stories of what my friends and I call "Big Head Little Dog sightings," but I will refrain. Trust me when I say, we see this guy everywhere.

This friend who "dated" Big Head Little Dog (she would prefer I use the term "dated" loosely since, as she said today, they "never even rode in a car together" - it wasn't exactly what one would call a "relationship"), spotted him and his fiancée (apparently if you are a man and you stay on E-Harmony long enough you can find true love, even if you have a ridiculously large head) at church on Easter and, of course, on the way out of church they all ran smack dead into one another and awkwardness ensued.

Person number two is someone I run in to constantly. I'd prefer to never run in to her. In this case, the piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe is a former co-worker who hates me. I have a nickname for her (because, according to a sorority sister, I have a nickname for everyone). It involves her first name which I would prefer not to share. To protect her identity I will just call her "Mean (Name)."

I suppose I am "that person" Mean (Name) just irrationally hates for no apparent reason. I was always nice to her (and I am not nice to everyone) and we actually have quite a bit in common but for whatever reason, she hates me and she's not afraid to show it.

Mean (Name) actually tried to destroy my career with my current organization by bad-mouthing me to everyone and anyone who would listen. Thankfully, most people realized she was just full of hot air and while I got promoted (repeatedly) her career stalled out and she eventually left the organization.

Despite her new career path, I see Mean (Name) everywhere!

I've run in to her at festivals, bars, parades - you name it. I even ran in to her one time at a concert - across the state. And it is always awkward.

Let's be real - when you know someone hates you, it is really uncomfortable when you have to look that individual in the eye and try to have a civil conversation.

Tonight I ran in to this individual again and while it was the least awkward of all my encounters with her in recent years, it was still painful and uncomfortable.

Why do I keep running in to someone who hates me? Why does my friend keep running in to Big Head Little Dog? (I often see Big Head Little Dog around town - since we don't know one another I enjoy it because I am able to report back the sighting with no awkwardness). Is this some sort of cruel cosmic joke? Maybe the universe trying to keep us in check? Or, maybe the universe trying to give us a good laugh?

All I know is - this town is just not that big and it won't be long before I see both of them again!

Blame it on the a-a-a-alcohol....

2010-03-31T20:19:00.002-04:00

I'm high on life today!

OK, maybe I am high on the 77 degree weather (in March! In Michigan!)....

or the 2.5 mile run I went on after work (during which no one heckled me)....

or the two Miller Chills I drank for dinner afterward.

Before anyone gets all judgy on me, you have to admit a 200 calorie dinner is a good deal. Any actual food would have been higher in calories and fat so there!

Anyway, I had a brilliant idea and my dear friend Tiffany told me I should blog about it:

You all know I hate my car.

Because I live in the snow belt of Michigan, my next car will be a Jeep or something with four wheel drive. However, from age 16 to whatever age I was when I moved here I only owned one type of car: a convertible. I LOVE convertibles. I LOVED living in Atlanta because I could drive around pretty much ten months a year with the top down (though I looked like an idiot in November and February but I didn't care).

Terrible winters forced me in to a Jeep (and I loved that Jeep) but a terrible commute to work forced me in to the piece of shit sedan I currently drive.

Why can't one of the Big Three (I only buy Big Three. I am from Michigan after all.) make an SUV convertible?

Tiffany (driver of a VW bug convertible) loved my idea. I am sure there are others like us who would be all over this idea.

While they're at it, the SUV convertible definitely should be a hybrid. Even better, it could run on garbage like the time machine in Back to the Future!

I am getting a little carried away here....but really, I need to start sending some emails to Ford, GM and Chrysler!

Come to think of it, the idea is not brilliant. Blame it on my liquid dinner.

Too bad I am out of Miller Chills. A 300 calorie dinner would still be pretty damn good.

My give a damn's busted

2010-03-30T20:46:00.002-04:00

Pine Rest is the local "loony bin" (it's a "Christian" loony bin but a loony bin nonetheless). I've referenced it before. I am in desperate need of some time away from work and well, I don't want to use vacation time for my escape....maybe "medical leave" (meaning "mental health leave") would be the way to go? OK, probably not. But a girl can daydream.

It's sort of like Monday morning....I (once again) happily visited the dentist to get a crown on a tooth because I knew I would spend at least one hour doped up on nitrous. It was a nice escape. Of course afterward my mouth was sore and I was really crabby. Had the dentist allowed me to take the nitrous tank with me to work I am sure I would have been a total ray of sunshine at the office!

Speaking of escapes, I've been working on channeling my negative energy in to running. Today I was especially "hyper-sensitive" (in the words of a co-worker) so I thought a nice three mile run would help improve my mood. It did. Until about two miles in to my run.

That's when a big fat man who looked like Jabba the Hut drove by in a tow truck. He slowed down and yelled, "Hey Chubby, run a little faster."

Really?

Hey, Jabba - I bet you can't run two blocks! The sheer force of you running may result in an earthquake that may result in a tsunami that could travel across Lake Michigan and destroy Chicago!

I know I am an asshole - but at least I don't yell at random people (unless they don't shovel their sidewalks in the winter but then they totally deserve it). OK, at least I don't yell at random, unsuspecting people who have done nothing to warrant being yelled at!

I just flipped him off. And guess what? He flipped me off back, as though I initiated the insults or something. Asshole.

Thankfully, he drove faster than I ran (though I don't know how that truck even made it up the hill with the sheer force of gravity caused by Jabba the Hut's presence in the vehicle) and I continued on my (not so) merry way.

I suppose my tolerance for stupidity and general asshole-ery is at an all-time low. As JoDee Messina said, "my give a damn's busted."

In good news, it appears the crime spree on my block has come to an end. With the way I am feeling these days, I have to say I would pity the fool who dare break in to my home while I am here. The wrath of Jen, even without a gun (because no, I did not buy one), is something to be feared!

Going, going, back, back to Miss-ouri

2010-03-21T11:13:00.001-04:00

Biggie Smalls (a.k.a. The Notorious B.I.G.) should not have gone back to "Cali" since that's where he was shot and killed....and I have a bad feeling I should not go back to Missouri.

However, this week my nearly ten year boycott of the "Show Me" state is coming to an end ("Show Me" what? I still want to know!).

No, I am not involved in any sort of "M state" rivalry or anything, but I am convinced bad things happen when I am in the state of Missouri.

So much so, I refer to Missouri as "Misery."

Ten years ago (wow - I am old) I was a professional sorority girl (oh, how I wish I had a blog / knew what a blog was in those days - would have landed a book deal for sure) and I traveled constantly to colleges and universities throughout the country. Two of my assigned universities were in Misery.

It was March 2000 and I was flying in to Kansas City to make a 1.5 hour trek to one of my schools. As we landed, the pilot announced we would be the last plane to land due to a blizzard. I figured my ride (college students) would not make it to pick me up since weather conditions were so terrible. Much to my surprise, two sorority girls were waiting for me at the gate (these were pre-9/11 days).

Long story short, they said roads weren't "that bad" and we would be ok getting to campus.

We piled in the car. The two girls up front , me and my 90 pound suitcase in the back. My purse, laptop and second suitcase were in the trunk (don't give me crap, ok, I traveled for 4-5 weeks at a time!).

About 2.5 hours later, after crawling along the state highways of Misery and counting over 25 cars off the road, the driver looked in the rearview mirror and said, "We're just outside of town!"

Suddenly, she lost control of the car, we crossed lanes and all I could see was a semi-truck speeding directly at our car. All I could think was, "Great - I am going to die in Missouri" when we suddenly started sliding another way, off the road and rolled down a hill in to a ditch landing on our side. The 90 pound suitcase landed on me.

Neither girl had a cell phone (this was just a year or two before everyone and their mother got a cell phone) and my purse was in the trunk. The car was on its side in a ditch - no one was getting out. Thankfully, my work-issued cell phone was in my pocket and I was able to call 911.

It was snowing so hard they couldn't find us...and, to make matters worse, no one else called 911 for us. Several cars saw us fly off the road, including the truck that almost plowed in to us. Hey Misery, "Show Me" you know how to call 911, ok?

We were eventually found and thankfully, everyone escaped without physical injury (yay for seatbelts).

Sadly, I have a long term "emotional injury" from the accident. When driving in snowy conditions I have panic attacks. It wasn't an issue when I lived in a state that shuts down at the threat of "snow" (why I love Georgia!) but here in Grand Rapids it presents a major problem for me to this day.

Anyway...

In July of that year, I went back (for work of course) and while stuck in a traffic jam, an old lady driving a conversion van slammed in to the back of our little rental Saturn. That 90 pound suitcase of mine (and a second one belonging to a co-worker) absorbed much of the impact (our suitcases were never the same after the wreck) and, once again, we were wearing seatbelts so all we had to deal with was a little whip lash.

After that accident, I told my boss she could fire me if she wanted but I would never return to Misery on business (I believe that is what I said verbatim. I wasn't mincing words). I never went back to any of those universities again.

Flash forward ten years: This week I head to Misery on business. Different business, but business nonetheless.

I can't use the "I boycott Misery...er...Missouri" excuse or anything. I just need to suck it up and go.

Do I really think I will be involved in a car accident? No. Well, not really. I mean, probably not. No, I am 75 percent sure nothing bad will happen.

Do I think something bad will happen this week in conjunction with my trip? In light of the crime spree in my neighborhood, maybe.

Misery/Missouri is just not meant to "Show Me" anything except the way out.

...and then there were three

2010-03-19T23:39:00.002-04:00

I never should have signed up for those crime alerts.

Two more homes on my block have been burglarized. That's a total of three homes on one block in five days. Two of the break-ins happened in broad day light!

I feel absolutely sick.

I know crime happens everywhere - but why is my block ground zero for this current crime spree?

What upsets me most is that I haven't seen the police step up their presence on my street. Also, shouldn't there be some sort of crime alert sent to people on my block? Had I not signed up on CrimeMapping.com I never would have known. What about people (like my crabby next door neighbors) who don't have Internet? (Don't worry - I told them what's going on).

After sharing my woes with friends today I received some advice - some good, some bad. Advice included:
-Get a gun (see "Jenny get your gun" for my thoughts on that)
-Go to Meijer (local grocery/supercenter) and "buy a home security system sign" (like they sell those there)
-Steal the home security system sign from a neighbor's house
-Put a video camera up outside the house (won't it just get stolen?) so potential burglars think I am videotaping them

I don't know that any of these will work for me, but I definitely appreciate the advice!

Monday I end my nearly ten year boycott of Missouri (I will definitely blog about this!!!), so I have to tell you I am getting really nervous about being away from home. Visions of Suzanne Sugarbaker and her guns dancing in my head are slowly morphing in to Kevin from Home Alone.

Yes, I think I could totally Home Alone this place out! Burglars - watch out!

She's a little runaway

2010-03-17T20:59:00.000-04:00

I promised not to blog excessively about my new "running" (still call it jogging) "hobby" (still call it feeble attempt to lose weight so I can meet a normal man and have children before I run out of eggs and, not to mention, my work is on this health kick so desperate attempt to stay 'relevant' in an ever changing work environment). However, I need to share some things that have been yelled to/at me during runs since I started this new routine:

-"Damn. You look good. But after that run you gonna look even betta!"
-"You go girl" as man puffs on cigarette and gives me a thumbs up
-"Yo momma, I'd like you breathin' like that with me"

and, my new favorite from today....

from teenage boys in a beat up turquoise Pontiac....

-"Hey lady, wanna buy a candy bar?"

Now, really boys? Do you think my fat ass would be out running if I could be lured so easily by a candy bar? I think not.

Funny thing is, the kid who yelled it actually had a box of those school fundraiser candy bars in his lap. I think he needs to work on his sales skills and maybe re-think his target market. Chubby girl - yes. Chubby girl running - not so much.

Ah, and spring is just springing. I suspect this is just the beginning....

Jenny get your gun?

2010-03-15T21:24:00.003-04:00

As an urban dweller, crime should not phase me.

However, Grand Rapids is a pretty darn safe city. I personally don't know anyone who has been a victim of a random act of violence.

This weekend my false sense of security came crashing down around me. The house across the street and over two was broken in to on Sunday morning.

Scary stuff. Thankfully, no one was hurt and the homeowners seem to be doing well (they're the unfriendly Illinois people I wrote about in the "Won't You Be My Neighbor" entry. One would think this would have brought them out of their shells - but they're still walking around acting like they are better than everyone).

Me, on the other hand? Not so much.

I live alone. Granted, I have a dog but she's more likely to lick an intruder than attack one. However, she looks pretty fierce. Just seeing her in the window could deter potential intruders - especially those who fear German Shepherds.

What is a gal to do?

I suddenly had this flash - me walking down my stairs holding a gun as intruders try breaking in - just like Suzanne Sugarbaker in that episode of Designing Women where someone was trying to steal her pig (if you've never seen this show it is a must see - one of my all time faves!). Light bulb!

End result - Suzanne accidentally shot Anthony. A small voice inside told me I would accidentally shoot someone or myself. But, I still thought getting a gun was a brilliant idea. I've never even seen a gun in real life (except you know, at Wal-Mart, which is odd but whatever) and have always been anti-gun, but I just kept thinking about Suzanne Sugarbaker and how she just carried that gun around with her all the time. I shared this brilliant idea with my very rational friend Rachael. She quickly put the kibosh on that. She's right and I know it but still - I was thinking a gun would be the way to go.

So I then mentioned getting an NRA sticker for my front door and back door. She said I would probably have to join the NRA to get a sticker and as a fairly liberal gal I just can't see myself writing a check over to whomever took over for Charleton Heston now that they really did have to pry his gun out of his "cold, dead hands"....though maybe he was buried with a gun? Wouldn't surprise me.

She did suggest (as a cost savings measure) trying to find an ADT or Brinks sign to put in the front yard. Actually not a bad idea....hmmm....I wonder if I could make one. "APT" or "Brocks" (wouldn't want to infringe copyright or anything). Probably wouldn't seem legit.

I mentioned Gracie the dog as a sort of "alarm system" when I am home. But what about all those times I travel? She stays with Grandma and Grandpa in the Detroit area. I am most fearful not of things being stolen but of someone breaking in, leaving a door or window open and Lucy and LuLu (the cats) running away while I am out of the state on a business trip or something. I mean, if a thief wants my broken iPod, my 200 pound television or my original Nintendo - have at it! I am sure there are plenty of people around me who at least have an Wii, a nice Macbook or flat screen tv.

So, I am thinking until Kate Spade starts making gun holsters I will probably avoid them all together (guns, not Kate Spade products). That being said...just to be safe...in that Designing Women episode I mentioned (titled "Full Moon" if you are interested) Suzanne told her friends she wanted to buy a gun. Like Rachael, they told her it was a terrible idea. In an effort to stop her, her friends would quietly murmur "don't buy a gun" every time she was around in the hope of delivering subliminal messages to her. In that case, it didn't work but they could have been on to something. So, next time you see me, do us both a favor and do the same for me. Just in case.

When life gives you lemons....

2010-03-11T21:57:00.001-05:00

Another Thursday evening and I find myself once again sort of watching "30 Rock." I like the show enough to tune in but not enough to fully pay attention. However, I have to say, every time I watch an episode I marvel and how much I relate to Liz Lemon. Seriously, there are times at work I feel like the only sane person....surely Liz feels the same way (look at the fools she works with!) and Liz, she's a single gal of a certain age - that alone makes for hilarious (or tragic) comedy.

Also, it seems she is always going to the dentist...just like me. Speaking of, is it wrong that I look forward to going to the dentist? A friend made fun of me the other day because I casually mentioned how much I love the dentist because they give me really good legal "drugs" (love me some nitrous) that don't give me a hangover. Plus, the cost is included in the visit. It's not like I have to pay a bar tab at the end of my visit. Is that wrong? I think not.

Anyway....

Since I only half-watch "30 Rock" I don't know if Liz Lemon has ever shared her thoughts on nitrous....but I bet she loves it!

The Bitch is BACK!

2010-03-10T21:01:00.001-05:00

I blame AT+T for my hiatus. In an effort to reduce my monthly expenses I thought switching from Comcast to AT+T would save me money (so far? not the case at all)....all it has done so far is cost me money and leave me without Internet for nearly two weeks.

Now that I am reconnected with the world I have some things to say. Shocking, right?

Today, I share with you the tale of a (sorta) young city gal who ventured to the "wrong side of the tracks" to the Comcast office to return her cable and internet equipment.

Comcast moved from what one could call a rough neighborhood in my city to what could be called the suburban white trash capital of the metropolitan area. This was my first...and thankfully last...visit to their facility.

Driving into the parking lot I noticed all the "accessible" parking spots were taken and that several people had made their own parking spots in the fire lane. However, there was PLENTY of parking at the back of the lot, which of course, is where I parked. It's not like we're talking mall sized parking lot here or anything.

Opening the door, a smell hit me. Feet. The place reeked of feet. I am not talking the smells of sea salts and acetone when one is getting a pedicure, people, I am talking smelly old gym socks.

I choked back a gag and took my place at the end of the line.

Quickly assessing the long line that snaked through the building and nearly out the door, I quickly determined I was the prettiest, wealthiest and most highly educated person in the line. That's not saying much. I felt the need to Tweet this using my BlackBerry (surely I was the only person there with a BlackBerry)....then quickly deleted it because I sounded like a total narcissist. Now I am writing it. Oh well. I really did feel that way, ok? And - - I really did feel it was a very sad statement about my surroundings. I may be highly educated but that's about it.

The line moved slowly, giving me plenty of time to take in my surroundings. I came to the conclusion that Comcast must be required in the rental agreements at all area trailer parks and subsidized housing because the majority of the people in line with me clearly lived in one of those two places.

After drawing that conclusion I felt terrible. I mean, who am I to judge? I started cringing thinking about roasting marshmallows for Satan in hell as it is immensely clear that's where I am heading....and then I overheard an...interesting conversation between a woman with no front teeth, her friend and a very pregnant woman in line. No Teeth decided she couldn't stand in the line - it was just too much for her. So, she made her friend hold her place in the line while she sat in a plastic chair with a bunch of other lazy people who also couldn't muster the energy to stand in line.

No Teeth and Friend weren't returning equipment, and I heard them talking about getting their service reconnected. Somebody didn't pay her cable bill! Well, she certainly didn't spend that money at the dentist (I am so going to hell, going to hell, going to hell). While sitting, No Teeth struck up a conversation with the pregnant woman (who was probably no more than 21) - I'll call her Preggers.

No Teeth asked Preggers how far along she was and Preggers answered but then told this whole story how she hoped "this one" (how many are there, I wondered?) is a boy but if it isn't she'll just try again. Like it was no big deal. Preggers told No Teeth all about this "crazy diet" her doctor wants her to observe while pregnant. Now, I've never been pregnant, however, this "crazy diet" sounded suspiciously like the food rules every single one of my friends who has ever been pregnant followed. Preggers went on to tell No Teeth she didn't follow that diet with the first two and, in fact, #2 is super smart - way ahead of her class and how she "don't need no crazy diet 'cause" her kids "are smart." She made it clear nothing is going to come between her and her 2 litre of Mountain Dew each day!

No Teeth then talked about her own pregnancies (let me add that No Teeth had some incredibly dirty hair....I shudder to think what the man who reproduced with her looks like) and told Preggers how she had her babies "nat-tral" (natural). No Teeth did not enjoy "nat-tral" child birth and, in fact, twice told Preggers how she "almost punched (her) momma in the face" during delivery.

You don't say? Tell me more.

Preggers then started talking about her Baby Daddies (my words, not hers). She has three of them. Of course she does (my words, yet again). But Baby Daddy #1 let Baby Daddy #2 adopt Baby #1 because she is "retarded" (her word, not mine). Was this not the same woman who just said her kids are "smart" and she "didn't need no crazy diet?" Yes, indeed, it was.

Some people should not be allowed to reproduce.

These two went on and finally, I just had to tune them out - I couldn't take it anymore. I imagined the tiny, dirty homes where they were raising their children and it just made me sad. I mean, I guess their children get their MTV right? They may grow up in filth and with four or five "daddies" but at least they can watch My Super Sweet 16 and The Hills (if that's even still on) and dream of different lives.

So, as I moved to the front of the line I could see all the people up at the desk being waited on....when something caught my eye. Money.

Money...a dollar bill actually, tattooed on the back of a young girl paying her cable bill in cash at the window.

I kid you not.

And this was a BIG dollar sign. I could only see maybe one fourth of it - it ran long ways from her back presumably to her butt cheeks. The girl with said tattoo was quite petite so I am not sure where that dollar bill went and frankly, I didn't want to know.

In an effort to stop staring at the back of Tattoo Girl, the older couple at the window next to her caught my attention. They were telling the poor customer service rep (If I worked there? I would insist a gas mask be included as mandatory work attire) how they "just gotta have" their Showtime, HBO and Cinemax.

Sure, their clothes had holes, and they looked like they hadn't bathed in a few days (probably alternating shower days to save on their water bill)....but they couldn't live without their premium cable channels. What is that all about?

When it was my turn I returned the equipment and booked the hell out of there - thankful to breathe fresh air after 45 minutes in the "feet" line.

Back outside in the sunshine, I reflected on my visit to Comcast. It made me a little sad. It made me a lot thankful (thankful I have my life and not the life of No Teeth, Preggers or Tattoo Girl)...and then it made me a little uncomfortable as once again I envisioned me, a stick, some fire and a supply of marshmallows that go on for all eternity.

Yep - the bitch is back!

Things I would have blogged about...

2010-03-10T17:41:00.000-05:00

If I could have...meaning, if I would have gotten off my lazy butt and gone to the library or something after work to write my blog while waiting for AT+T to get their act together and get my service hooked up:

The death of my iPod (still mourning the loss). In fact, I am so traumatized by this it may still come up in a future entry.
How I don't have SoapNet now that I have Dish Network and how I am suffering from "Days of Our Lives" withdrawal
My car and how it had a terrible oil leak that made me want to park it on the street on a snowy day and pray someone would plow right in to it
My running progress...I can now do 3.1 miles in under 45 minutes (miracle) and that even includes stopping for icy patches that won't melt off sidewalks belonging to lazy neighbors
How the Biggby Skinny Skinny Mocha Mocha is far superior to the Starbucks Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte
A friend of mine found a gray hair "down there" and was so traumatized she had to tell me about it - she had a total Samantha SATC moment. Poor thing.
AT+T and their so called "customer service" and how I wasted a total of five hours of my life on the phone with them in the course of two weeks
Speaking of wasted hours, my thoughts on "Twilight" the movie - I finally saw it, officially ending my boycott of all things "Twilight" and felt as though two hours have been snatched from my life watching that teeny bopper crap that I will never get back

Yeah...I suppose that's everything. I am a "blog in the moment" type of gal unless it is something really good (see "The Bitch is Back" for an example) so I will let these go. It's really too bad. However, in my world, there is always something "blogworthy" just around the corner!

Run, Jen, run!

2010-02-22T17:43:00.000-05:00

Let me start by saying my blog is not going to turn in to something dedicated to my quest for improved physical fitness or anything, ok? You want to read an excellent story about a pleasantly plump fashionable former sorority girl named Jen chronicling her attempt at weight loss? Someone already told that story and it's a million times funnier than anything I could write...so go and buy Jen Lancaster's "Such a Pretty Fat."

However, when I Tweeted that I was out jogging some people were surprised so I feel the need to explain. In a nutshell: yes - I am "running" (I use that term loosely) the Fifth Third River Bank 5K in May; yes - I hate "running"; yes - it did take me over 15 minutes to "run" a mile in high school gym class; yes - when I was in the best shape of my life as an adult I did run twice a day even though I hated it; so yes - I do think I can do this...even if I am the last person to finish the freaking run.

In my efforts to someday run 3.1 miles all in one day, preferably in like less than an hour, I need to start getting out there and running. Living in Michigan, outdoor running in February is a challenge. However, we had some gorgeous days last week so I took full advantage. Well, I tried.

My number one winter time pet peeve as an urban dweller? Neighbors who cannot get off their fat asses and shovel their sidewalks. Every time I try to walk the dog or "run" this is an issue and I just don't get it. Where I live the kids walk to school; plenty of neighbors take public transportation and need to walk to bus stops in the neighborhood; the mailman delivers the mail on foot, etc. So, it's just the "neighborly" thing to do. I know I sure as hell don't want someone suing me because they slipped on a sidewalk I was too lazy to shovel.

Many times this winter I've muttered to myself about lazy people as the dog and I tried to navigate ruddy, icy, snow packed sidewalks. However, this weekend I took it to a whole new level.

On Saturday the shining sun melted most of the snow on the pavement....with the exception of places where they pavement has not been shoveled ALL WINTER. Sadly, on my one mile "run" I encountered this every other block.

At about the half mile, I lost it.

For the last half mile of my "run," this is what I would yell as I came upon offending sidewalks: "Get off your lazy asses and shovel your f**king sidewalk!!!!"

So yeah, there I was....big old girl with her blazing red UGA zip up hoodie, face blazing red from exertion and anger, yelling like a crazy woman all throughout my neighborhood. Not sure what came over me.

Here's the deal, I am a really selfish person. I tend to put my needs before the needs of anyone else. (I mean, clearly, if you've read any of my previous blog entries you totally get that). And I'll admit, I am probably so anal retentive about shoveling my sidewalk (and driveway for that matter) because of aesthetics (I don't want people to think I am white trash), not because I am concerned about the people walking on it.

My city has an ordinance on the books that residents must shovel if three or more inches of snow falls. This ordinance is so not enforced. However, I will say I did report some of my neighbors earlier this winter because I almost fell walking the dog and shortly thereafter their sidewalks were not only snow free, they had even been salted. Take that. So, the ordinance is enforced when people (like me) complain.

I live in a (very) conservative city. During the final block of my "run" I started wondering if my conservative city has one of those public profanity laws on the books. I need to investigate...and watch my mouth...otherwise, I could be totally f**ked.

"And where's the flatware for going on vacation...alone?"

2010-02-13T10:17:00.000-05:00

Valentine's Day.

According to Twitter, "Valentine's Day is celebrated Feb. 14 by showing some love for your significant other."

And those without a "significant other" - in other words - those of us who are single? What about us?

I begrudgingly acknowledge that Carrie Bradshaw is not a real person...though if she were she would totally be my idol. Nothing tells the story of being single, fabulous (definitely not broke) and thirysomething better than Sex and the City.

In my all-time favorite episode, "A Woman's Right to Shoes" my would-be idol Carrie hit the nail on the head when she pointed out that after a certain age, if you are single, there is not one occasion where people celebrate you (since we all have birthdays she says it doesn't count - go to the last minute of the clip to hear what she said).

She's absolutely right. So, where does that leave us single people on these Hallmark holidays like Valentine's Day and Sweetest Day (isn't one holiday enough - do relationship people really need two?)?

Traditionally, I spend Valentine's Day with my single girlfriends - we go out to dinner, drink some wine, gossip and just have a good time. In fact, a couple of years ago we were out to dinner on V Day and a nearby table was full of elderly ladies doing the same thing we were. It was pretty cool.

Alas, this year, my usual "dates" have real dates (Bitches! Ha, ha - just kidding. Or am I?) or are out of town to avoid the holiday all together (you people suck too, ok?).

One as accustomed to not having a "valentine" as myself is not phased by any of this, really.

I look at this as a day to celebrate my freedom and my independence. This will sound bitchy (shocking, I know) but there are plenty of married moms my age out there who would kill to trade places with me. I come and go as I please, do what I want when I want and I don't have to answer to anyone. If I want to fly out of town for the weekend, the only "sitter" I have to find is for my dog! And you know, I would not trade my existence with one of those married moms my age for a million dollars. OK, maybe for a million dollars because then I would be debt free and could buy a new car and all the Kate Spade bags I want but....wait no, because kids are REALLY expensive and I suppose I would have to feed and clothe them...so it would really have to be more like ten or 20 million....

The sad thing is, when us single people celebrate (or try to celebrate) our singlehood, we're often judged or ridiculed by our friends in relationships. Why is that? No, I don't have a husband or children but yes, I do have a real life, a great one in fact! So please don't judge me when I want to celebrate it (seriously, I had an "I don't have a mortgage, I don't have a husband and I don't have a baby" party a few years back to mostly make fun of myself because of an issue with nearly buying a condo and it hurt feelings and ruined friendships - that was NOT the intention)!

On this Valentine's Day...

Celebrate love - love for your husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend, love for your friends, love for your sibilings, love for your parents, love for your pets.....love for yourself.

Single ladies, what I am saying is Valentine's Day isn't just for those in relationships. So go out there and celebrate YOU - celebrate your freedom, your independence, your love for where you are in your life right now - and tell those who may judge you (whether they are in a relationship or single) to screw off!

In the immortal words of Carrie Bradshaw (overkill, I know, but I can't help it) in the last episode of SATC, "...the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous."

Give me a "brake"

2010-02-12T15:26:00.005-05:00

My car is a constant source of personal frustration.

I hate the damn thing, just hate it.

In the past, I always loved my cars - I've been the owner of a series of convertibles and when I moved to West Michigan (a.k.a. the snowbelt of Michigan) I became the proud owner of a Jeep Grand Cherokee. Though not a convertible, the Grand Cherokee had been my dream car in high school (I'm a freak!) and I felt like I had "arrived" driving that thing around town.

Long story short, I started commuting a long distance to work and had to ditch the Jeep because I couldn't afford to fill the gas tank on a daily basis. (In fact, I am probably still paying for gas charged to my AmEx during the gas price spike of 2006!)

Now I drive a Chrysler Sebring SEDAN. If the car in question was a Chrysler Sebring Convertible I would have nothing to complain about. However, that hard top (not to mention lack of four wheel drive) makes me loathe this car.

It always has a flat tire, it's an ugly shade of silver/blue/green, it gets crappy gas mileage and it does not handle snow and ice well. And, did I mention it has a hard top?

Literally two days after my latest car repair one of my brake lights stopped working.

Now, I am all about my life as an empowered, independent single woman who doesn't need a man to be happy or to do shit for me. Except when it comes to my car.

When it comes to car stuff I am a total drama queen.

It freaks me out - car repairs are always expensive and being without transportation during said repairs is always a challenge.

Knowing burnt out tail light is a minor thing in the car world I decided I could handle it myself.

Of course, I bitched about the situation for a week to anyone who would listen...like that would make the Car Repair Fairy (oh, I wish there were such a thing) appear at my garage door and fix it or something!

Today at lunch I pulled out the owner's manual and went to AutoZone to get the bulb. First time I had ever looked at that thing. Frankly I didn't even know I had an owner's manual until today.

Acquired bulb and got down to business.

Owner's manual? Yeah, so not helpful. It failed to mention that I would actually need to remove the entire tail light from the body of the car. The diagram showed me diagrams of pulling out a bunch of wires - NOT removing an entire tail light!

I called my dad in a panic and he tried to talk me through it but some things just don't translate over the phone. I suppose asking things like "Do I need to pull out the plastic sqaure thingy with the wires?" was not helpful. That's just the payback I deserve for the other day when I was trying to help him navigate the internet over the phone (wouldn't recommend trying that either).

He finally suggested I ask a male co-worker for help but I was determined I could do this myself.

I hung up then twisted, turned, pulled some more and boom - light bulb found!

The light bulb I removed was half the size of the replacement blub AutoZone sold me.

Shoot.

Tried to stick large bulb in "just in case" but, of course, it didn't work.

In a snit, I drove back to AutoZone.

I showed the salesman the bulb I removed from the car. Inidignant, he told me what I had in my hand - you know, the bulb I just REMOVED from the tail light - was not the right bulb. I invited him to see if for himself but he declined my offer and sold me the bulb that matched the one I had removed, all the while acting like I would just be right back to make yet another return.

Another reason I can't handle car stuff? Because men that know cars (or think they know cars) treat women like we're total idiots. I may not be a car expert but clearly this bulb was not going to work in my tail light!

Determined to prove AutoBoy wrong, I decided to replace the bulb right there in the parking lot (now that I am an expert at removing the tail light). In a few short minutes the new bulb was in.

I started the engine and propped my portable air compressor against the brake (I told you the tires are always flat! This is no joke - I have to inflate a tire at least every other week), ran around back and both brake lights were working!

It's crazy, but I felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. Sounds silly, but I definitely got an adrenaline rush out of it. Part of me wanted to run in to the store say "nah nah nah nah nah-nah" to AutoBoy but I refrained.

As a single woman who owns her own home and car, it can be really frustrating when something is broken, something large needs to be assembled/moved, etc. and it's something I could easily handle if I just had a little help.

Today was one small step toward maybe being more of a drama princess than drama queen when it comes to car stuff, but I feel like it was really one giant leap!

A sad but true story of addiction

2010-02-10T19:38:00.006-05:00

I have fallen off the wagon.

Can a true addict ever really be "cured" of an addiction? Conventional wisdom says no. The best an addict can do is keep away from the vice. What am I saying here? I am saying an alcoholic, for example, should probably steer clear of Burbon Street this time of year (or any time of year really).

But, when a vice is dangled in front of an addict- it is hard to resist.

Especially when this happens every day at the same time.

For me, it was simply a matter of "days"....

My name is Jen, and I am a "Days of Our Lives"-aholic.

It all started in high school, when Vivian buried Carly alive and Marlena was possessed by the Devil himself. It only took a few episodes and I was hooked.

In college I literally scheduled my classes around "Days" - meaning I never had a 1 p.m. class and drove like a maniac from the sorority house to campus to make it for 2 p.m. classes. These were the days before DVR, people, and taping it with my VHS player just wasn't the same as watching it with a houseful of girls!

I spent the first two years of life after college traveling constantly for work. During that time, grounded co-workers would keep me up to speed on my favorite show.

Then I entered a more traditional work world and slowly I started to break the habit, though I would religiously read the now defunct Dustin's Days Page...ah, that Dustin, he was something. He would recap episodes of "Days" scene by scene and post them on his web site - complete with photos.

As time passed I became more and more caught up with work and real life ...at the same time, "Days" started sending away my favorite characters and focuing time on 'tweens. When it appeared the 'tweens had taken over Salem (where "Days" takes place - duh!) I sort of gave up watching - except for Christmastime - I always had to see Gran (Grandma Horton) hang the Horton family ornaments on the Christmas tree!

A year and a half ago I moved, and we all know moving means new cable. With trepidation, I turned the tv on that first day, knowing SoapNet was part of the new cable package and that "Days" was rebroadcast on SoapNet daily. I was determined to stay clean. Fortunately for me, the 'tween stories were the main focus of the show during that time. I could have given a flying flip about Chelsea, Stephanie, Max or the nerdy dude who was a fake Horton...so I didn't give "Days" the time of day. Plus, it was on at 11 p.m. and let's face it - that's about my bed time.

Recently, all of that changed.

It was a cold and snowy weeknight in January. I sat on my couch with a glass of wine to unwind after a long day and started flipping through the channels.

Passing through the 100s, a familiar face appeared on my screen. I stopped. My mouth dropped open. My eyes widened. I set the glass of wine on the coffee table and then moved forward.

There she was - the queen of mean herself - Vivian Alamain.

I thought "What is 'Days' doing on at 6 and, wtf, Vivian's back?!?"

The episode continued...the 'tweens were gone, Vivian was up to her old tricks, Carly was back (BOO!!! I hope next time Vivian buries her alive she stays buried), Bo and Hope were on but broken up (NOOOO!!!!! LEAVE THEM ALONE PLEASE - THEY'VE SUFFERED ENOUGH!!), Stefano was back and up to his old tricks (the villian we all love to hate)...this is MY "Days!"

And then I thought, "Oh no, I am in trouble."

Like an addict in denial I convinced myself that I would watch that one night only.

That's it. Just get caught up and then end it.

That was nearly one month ago.

Today I sit here fully up to speed on the goings on in Salem. I can tell you who is together, who is broken up, who is back from the dead, who is knocked up, who is on drugs, etc. In fact, I just finished watching today's epsiode.

I thought I had kicked the habit - and that I could stay clean.

Addiction, I am learning, knows no time or circumstance. An addict is always an addict.

Damn you, SoapNet, damn you.

"Vaguebooking": An analysis

2010-02-08T22:41:00.001-05:00

On Feb. 3, Urban Dictionary nailed it.

I could never find the right words to describe those intentionally vague Facebook status updates some of my friends post on a regular basis....and then, as though I was sitting in a dark room and someone flipped the light switch on....I learned of a new word: "vaguebooking."

Jackpot! Finally, a word for this annoying Facebook phenomenon!

A small handful of my Facebook friends are habitual vaguebookers. These individuals commit this offense so often that other friends and I often discuss their "crazy posts." The conversation used to be, "Hey - did you see (Identity is being hidden to protect the guilty)'s ambiguous Facebook status?" or "Oh my gosh, what's the deal with (Identity is being hidden to protect the guilty)'s Facebook status?"

Since Feb. 3 the world has changed. We can simply say, "(Identity is being hidden to protect the guilty) is vaguebooking again!" LOVE IT.

Some real life examples of vaguebooking that just drove me nuts:

Guilty Party- who is a single woman with no dating prospects - "I think he loves me!"
Friend 1 - "Who?"
Friend 2 - "Spill it!"
Friend 3 - "Did you have a hot date?"
Friend 4 - "Do you have a new boyfriend?"
....and on and on and guess what, Guilty Party NEVER answers any of their questions. In this particular case, my friends and I concluded she was talking about a dog or an imaginary friend or something since she never came clean.

-or-

Guilty Party - "just doesn't understand some......"
Friend 1 - "Seriously?? WTF??"
Friend 2 - "hope your ok" (**side note - I can't handle people who don't know your v. you're and their v. there)
Friend 3 - "what's up?"
Guilty Party - "Some things are just better left unsaid..."
OK, Guilty Party - if it's best left unsaid then DON'T SAY IT TO BEGIN WITH!

-and finally-

The desperate cry for attention that makes everyone feel too uncomfortable to acknowledge.
Guilty Party - "I am just so over this.This wasn't supposed to happen this time around..."
Personally, this is my favorite type of vaguebooking because it leaves the vaguebooker a little empty inside. I envision this person sitting on the computer, just waiting for the little red notification to pop up that someone, anyone, commented on his/her status but alas....no one dared comment.

I am not perfect - I have been guilty of vaguebooking on occasion. But, I can honestly say it was not to draw attention to myself nor was it to habitual. The true vaguebookers are those that slide down the slippery slope...it starts with one ambigous post....all your "friends" ask what's going on...you get a rush from the attention....you decide to keep them wanting more (see examples above)...then week after week...sometimes day after day or hour after hour you vaguebook. It's like a drug. And you can't stop it.

Now that there is a term for this habit/drug/annoying thing, my hope is vaguebookers will realize their addiction and seek help. Shall I suggest vaguebooking rehab to Urban Dictionary as a new word of the day?

Hospital sushi, anyone? Nope, this is not a post about my love of all things Kate Spade!

2010-01-30T12:23:00.002-05:00

'Tis the season for getting sick, right?

I don't know why everyone is so anxious to blame my current ailment on the sushi I had for lunch on Thursday while dining at the University of Michigan hospital cafeteria. It was much tastier than the Meijer sushi I tried once when I first moved to Grand Rapids (and I will never, ever make that mistake again - I had just moved from Atlanta and didn't know if GR even HAD a sushi restaurant, ok?).

I suppose I should have quesitoned it when I ate a roll that tasted like it was made with Chicken of the Sea tuna (gross) and not the good stuff. But you know, I was hungry and just continued on. The pieces of California and crab roll were very good!

Last night I met my fellow Parrotheads (yes, I am a dues paying, margarita drinking, concert going fan of Jimmy Buffett) at Bahama Breeze for happy hour. During happy hour I consumed one Bahamarita (most fabulous drink ever, though I am not convinced there is actually any alcohol in it) and a half a salad.

Suddenly, I felt full. Then achy. Then SICK. I bolted for the ladies room and sure enough - Bahamarita revisited. Gross, right?

Really, the only time one should puke in public is when one is very, very, very drunk (proud to say I have never done that) -or- very, very, very, very hung over (no comment).

Those who know me know one drink that doesn't even really have alcohol certainly won't make me spew from drunkeness or a hangover...though my mom was suspicious....

Anyway, here I sit - miserable. I am slurping brothy soup and sipping on a giant Coke from Sonic. Coke makes everything better - especially fountain Coke, especially with those little Sonic ice chips!

Everyone keeps saying it's probably the hospital sushi....but, I am not going to pass judgement so quickly. I mean, my office might as well be a day care center there are so many children in and out of that place on a regular basis. Seriously, I have been on the phone with HR trying to discuss personnel issues on several occasions with children screaming behind me...talk about a personnel issue! Each time I had to tell them I was indeed in the office, and not working from home where I run a rogue day care center on the side to supplement my income. Anyway, we all know kids are the carriers of all types of funky viruses....so, until someone can PROVE the sushi did it I am going to say it is a virus I picked up in the workplace earlier this week!

But just in case....I am going to avoid the sushi counter in the cafeteria from now on.....

What goes around comes around

2010-01-24T11:08:00.004-05:00

It was like a message from above.

I got it in my head to go to this new Goodwill store that opened super close to the hometown of Amway International. In other words, a Goodwill where the wealthy of my area are likely to drop off their unwanted goods.

Let me say - I only go to Goodwill to donate. I may be sort of broke but I am also sort of a snob. I'd rather by designer shoes on clearance than wonder whose feet have been in my shoes! OK, I did shop Goodwill once in college - but it was to buy clothes for this night of fun with my sorority where we dressed our big sisters up in crazy clothes, took them to the bar and got them drunk. In this day and age it would be called "hazing" but in my day it was good, clean, old fashioned fun! I digress....

I am looking for a cheap bookshelf for my basement because my bookshelves are overflowing (oh, if I only had a Kindle!). Something just told me "Go to Goodwill!" So, I picked up one of my city dwelling friends and we trekked out to the 'burbs.

Goodwill's furniture selection was pitiful and the whole place smelled like dust. I was so not impressed. My friend always manages to find something at Goodwill and she had found a really cute skirt for $3.

While waiting for her to check out, my gaze turned to the one locked glass cabinet in the store. It had some cheap jewelry so I wondered why they even bother when something on the very bottom shelf caught my eye.

Earlier this week I told you I can spot a fake Kate a mile away. Even with the glass between us I knew this was no fake.

This is Classic Noel Brown Bea clutch with the 14K plated KS emblem! Complete with dust bag! When this line came out with the KS emblems I was soooo tempted to buy one but I held back. Also, I don't have enough brown in my handbag collection and you know how I feel about the color red, so I've been admiring this particular pattern for some time.

This one is gently used (I call it vintage) and let me tell you, Goodwill would have been better off selling this sucker on E Bay because they could have gotten double, maybe triple what they were asking for in the store but too bad...I snatched it up! I must admit, I do feel a tad guilty practically stealing from this charity. I suppose it was pure profit for them. Still....maybe I need to offer my services to help them price their gently used high end handbags?

In the end I didn't get a bookshelf...and I still really need one...and would have been better off putting the cash I spent on this bag toward a bookshelf....my books won't fit in this bag but it will look so cute with these brand new KORS Michael Kors boots I picked up last week (don't worry - they were on clearance)!

To Kate or not to Kate? I can't believe it was even a question.

2010-01-22T23:34:00.003-05:00

Those who know me best know I have a slight obsession with all things Kate Spade.

I own many Kate Spade items, including but not limited to: flip flops, sunglasses (3 pairs), wallets (two), business card holders, pencil cases, calendars (past and present), jewelry, stemware (Larabee Dot - LOVE IT), fine China and, of course, handbags. Lots and lots of handbags.

I am not talking that cheap crap from Chinatown. Give me some credit - I can spot a fake Kate a mile away.

There was an incident at Marshall Fields a few years ago that best highlights how I truly feel about Kate Spade handbags.

I was there with a friend, way across from the handbag section in the fragrance section when my Kate Spade radar picked up on something new. I spotted IT! IT was at least 30 feet away but, I zoomed in as though I was looking through binoculars. A bag I had been drooling over on her web site was sitting there - - live and in person at my local Marshall Fields. I shouted "There it is!" (For real. Out loud. To no one and everyone around me, I guess) and darted across the store, leaving my friend in the dust. I was a woman possessed. By the time my friend made her way to the handbag department like a not deranged person, I had already snatched the bag off the shelf, proceeded to the checkout counter and was signing the charge slip ("Yes, I WILL be putting this on my Marshall Fields charge, thank you!").

Ah, those were the days.

I recently found myself at Nordstrom, in search of the perfect suit to meet the Governor of Michigan for a work thing earlier this week.

Because of my ~~love~~ obsession with Kate Spade purses I just had to stop by the handbag department while in the store.

Why does an alcoholic go to the bar? Is it a test of will? Self-torture? To get to the other side? All of the above?

On the sale table I spotted a beautiful red tote from Kate's Gramercy Park collection. Did I ever mention red is my favorite color? I picked it up, positioned it lovingly on my arm and ran to the mirror to admire how cute I looked. Then I got that rush that only a new Kate Spade bag on my arm (or new KS sunglasses on my face) can give me. It's amazing how a handbag can make me feel like a million dollars! Then I looked at the price tag. It wasn't a million dollars, but it might as well have been. It was on clearance....clearance price - a bargain $225.

The old me would have charged it and forgotten about it. A year later I would bitch about the balance on my credit card and wonder what the hell I had spent my money on. The new me is still paying for Kate Spade bags of shopping trips past charged to my American Express.

As new me admired the red Gramercy Park tote, I remembered how I nearly cried when my December heat bill arrived earlier that week and how it was about the price of said handbag...I realized I cannot afford this purchase because hell, I can barely afford the outrageous heat bill.

I sat the beautiful tote back on the sale table and got a little choked up. I slowly walked away fighting back the tears....sad that the Gramercy Park tote and I had crossed paths but that our time together was fleeting.

I am sure said tote will go to a good home. It's all for the best, I guess. She probably belongs with someone who can afford to pay for her AND their heat bill...or someone who doesn't mind paying her off for years to come thanks to their friends at Visa, CitiCards, AmEx, etc.

P.S. My two year old Gramercy Park Stevie bag looked fabulous with my new pink and black suit, making me feel like a million bucks at the event with the Gov. A tote would not have been a good choice for such an event and the red totally would have clashed anyway. What's the point of a new expensive purse if you can't show it off, right?

I always feel like somebody's watching me (and I have no privacy)

2010-01-06T18:08:00.004-05:00

Now I know why, when I leave my house or when I walk past windows on the right side of my house, I feel as though someone is watching me. Someone is!

My next door neighbors are this crotchety, crabby older couple. They are nice to my dog but not very nice to me.

Last fall and winter I worked from home a lot and they would always stop and ask me what I am doing at home in the middle of the day. Frankly, I think they're just jealous because they babysit four monster grandchildren whose parents work boring 9-5 office jobs.

At the end of both this year and last year I ended up with a lot of vacation time that I was forced to use or lose. Last year I was actually able to not work during that time (amazing) and was home for about two and a half weeks at the end of December. One day I was shoveling my driveway mid-day and Cranky Old Man came outside (for no apparent reason), looked at me with disdain and yelled, "Don't you work?" I was so stunned I just stared at him while he shuffled his way back into the house.

Today I came home from work shortly after 5 p.m. (normal). Since I thankfully landed office space in my town (long, painful story) I have a short commute and no need to work from home anymore. So, they can't pick on me for that.

Don't worry - they found something.

I arrived home, let the dog out and as I was filling the bird feeder in the back yard Cranky Old Man came pulling in his driveway. He always BACKS in to the driveway and it is normally a ten minute process. Dude has lived there for like 40 years so you think he would have it nailed by now but not so much.

By the way, I dread any time I am outside and Cranky Old Man or Crabby Old Woman are outside. Just dread it.

I tried to rush Gracie in but nature was calling.

Normally after he backs in the car it usually takes him a good five minutes to shuffle from his garage to his house (and it's like a six step walk) and today was no exception.
Sure enough, he stopped me.

"Why have you been leaving your garage door propped up?"

Time out: Since it got bitter cold I have been propping my garage door open about six inches with a flower pot. Why, you ask? I am feeding a couple of stray cats and I don't know if they have somewhere to go in this cold weather or not so I want them to be able to go into my garage if needed.

Knowing Cranky Old Man hates cats (when I first moved in he INSISTED I owned the cat that Gracie was eventually accused of killing. Every DAY he would say "You sure that's not your cat?" Really? 'Cause it's not like the cat just "appeared" the day I moved in - they had the thing for at least two years before I showed up!!!), I made up a lie and said it's because the door has been difficult to open in the cold weather.

What I really wanted to say? "None of your G-D business, old man!"

I mean really, get a hobby!

What does he think? Does he think drug smugglers are using my garage as a hideout...or maybe it's an underground railroad type stop for illegal immigrants? Seriously? Seriously?

They really do watch every move I make. I've suspected this since I moved in but today Cranky Old Man totally confirmed it.

My Holiday Letter

2009-12-23T19:10:00.003-05:00

I've been reading all those holiday letters that accompany Christmas cards (I didn't even send Christmas cards this year) and it got me thinking what my holiday letter would look like this year....

Dear Family and Friends,

I hope this letter finds you happy and healthy. As I type this, I am polishing off a bottle of Two Buck Chuck (Merlot - I went for the heavy stuff) so I am feeling just dandy! My fingers and lips are a little tingly - but this shouldn't take too long!

Despite my yo-yo dieting and acid reflux, I am a happy and healthy thirtysomething. Seriously, my doctor told me I have "A+" cholesterol...I am not sure why she seemed so surprised as she said it but whatever.

2009 started off wonderfully with a fun night out with my friends at our favorite local dive bar (Kale's Korner). That night we met a midget (don't ask) who introduced us to these fabulous Kale's specialty drinks called the Orange Kiss and Purple Kiss and well, our lives haven't been the same since. We enjoy these drinks (available as a shot or a mixed drink) regularly now and this really has enriched our lives at the bar. We're regulars there but we also frequent the Birch Lodge, Logan's Alley, Republic/Rockwells, the BOB (reluctantly), Kopper Top...ok, you get my drift.

I saw several concerts this year including Counting Crows, Madonna (that bitch was three hours LATE for her own concert), Jimmy Buffett (as usual) and Rascal Flatts. Additionally, I reluctantly participated in stalking a celebrity while in New York City.

I traveled quite a bit for work: Atlanta, Dallas, Denver, Washington, D.C....I know I am missing some others in there. Since my local airport parking situation has been "under construction" (read new parking ramp being built that will result in more expensive parking fees) I can't tell you how much I have enjoyed getting to the airport HOURS early for these trips to catch the shuttle to the terminal! Twice, in fact, I had to literally run after the shuttle after it passed me by. It was really special. Thankfully, since I know people everywhere (practically) I used those trips to catch up with friends. In addition to seeing my friend Ashley in Dallas I also discovered that airport has a wine bar where you can actually taste wine on a layover or while waiting for a flight - who knew?

My "children" also keep me busy. Lucy is now 8, LuLu is 5 and Gracie is a busy body at 2.5 years. Not too much new to report about Lucy and LuLu...I mean, they're cats. They eat, sleep and poop. And run away from Gracie. Speaking of Gracie, she's just a...little angel. This year she managed to eat the television remote control, a hardcover copy of "Marley and Me" and...well, she almost ate a neighborhood Chiuaua. So, I enrolled my little angel in "special ed" and after eight weeks of classes (for what I spent on those damn classes I could have bought a new Kate Spade purse) she is marginally better than she was before.

Being a homeowner keeps me busy too. As a single woman, being a homeowner is....special. I live for Thursday nights when I get to take out the trash - as well as Sundays in the non-winter months when I get to mow the lawn! Oh, the joy! Oh, and don't get me started on how much I love shoveling feet of snow off my sidewalk and driveway as the asshole with the snowthrower two doors down only clears his little section of the sidewalk. Pure joy, I tell you, pure joy!

I wish all of you the best this holiday season. Best of luck with your holiday shopping. Personally, I am thrilled I don't have brave Toys R Us or similiar stores in search of a Zhu Zhu pet or the like. Good luck with that. I am going to curl up with my "cocoa" (fresh bottle of wine), pop in a DVD of "Sex and the City" or maybe my life story "Bridget Jones's Diary," drunk dial some friends and Facebook on my BlackBerry. The single life IS all it's cracked up to be!

Your friend,
Jen

A picture is worth a thousand words

2009-12-20T09:47:00.001-05:00

If I were really fabulous, I would not hang out at a place like Kale's Korner.

Kale's (I pronounce it Cal's because apparently my water-downed Michigan accent won't let me say "Kale's") is a dive bar about 8 blocks from my house. They have karaoke on Saturday nights so that is usually when you will find me and my crew there. And every time we go, there's something interesting happening....

I could tell you many interesting stories of people we've seen and things we've witnessed, but I'll let the photos do the talking.

What is wrong with this photo?

Or this one? This woman is flat ironing another woman's hair. At the bar. Because she just "didn't have time" to do if before she left. If you had ever been to Kale's you would know how absurd this is since there is never a line to get in!

A bus load of drunken Santas and slutty elves:

A slutty elf accosting a guy she did not know while he karaoked:

Dude, it's 15 degrees out!

Just a nightmare!

2009-12-18T12:03:00.000-05:00

I should not have written the word nightmare twice before I went to sleep last night because, oh man, did I have a heck of a nightmare!

This week has been particularly stressful, both personally and professionally. When I am stressed I tend to have vivid dreams.

Last night I dreamt I was on top of a high rise in New York. At the top of the building was a round above ground pool. I somehow ended up in the pool. And I was not alone. In with me....I can only describe it as "Jaws." A giant great white shark who was ready for dinner.

Suddenly, my sister was in the water with me and "Jaws" took a lunge at her so I pushed her out of the way and the shark started snacking on me. The water was pink because of the blood pouring out of my body, I could see its teeth ripping in to my legs. I screamed and I could feel myself swallowing water. Suddenly my cat Lucy was floating in the water and "Jaws" left me to do devour Lucy in one gulp.

The upshot? At least Beyonce was not in my dream. "Wiggy" would have been really jealous, maybe even mad! Even if it meant that part of the time I was being eaten by a shark.

Additionally, I totally know who "Jaws" represented...and this person better watch out. In 2010 I am going to go all Chief Brody on their ass!!

P.S. "Jaws" was my favorite movie as a child. Disturbing, I know.

A sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare? Or just a nightmare?

2009-12-17T22:40:00.001-05:00

"Wiggy" and I had a discussion about Beyonce earlier this week.

Shocking, I know.

I made "Wiggy" a photo collage of our trip to "visit" Beyonce in New York. She proudly displays it on her desk at work so I see it every day.

Anyway, we were reminiscing and wondering if her bodyguard remembers us. I would imagine we were tough to forget. Especially "Wiggy," Century 21 shopping bag in hand staring up, mouth gaping at the open window on the top floor of the building (FYI - it's only a four story building).

Then we joked about how we would have totally been on CNN if her bodyguard would have tased us.

I think a lightbulb went off in "Wiggy's" head - her original plan for her next trip to NYC was to have a helicopter or airplane let her parachute out and onto the roof of Beyonce's building....but I think she may be contemplating this getting tased option.

If I blog that I am going to NYC with "Wiggy" any time in the near future please do me a favor and remind me not to go!

Thanksgiving score board

2009-11-29T20:44:00.001-05:00

Number of times my mom witnessed bad driving and blamed it on "texting"....1

Number of times during Thanksgiving dinner discussion centered on what Ch 4 in Detroit "found" on money (think e coli, feces, etc.)....2

Number of times above conversation led to conversation about finding cocaine on money....1

Number of times my sister's mother-in-law talked about not sneezing when sniffing a bill with cocaine residue and therefore, proving she is not a coke head....1

Number of glasses of wine I personally consumed over a three day period....at least 6, make it 8...maybe more?

The wine-o and I know...

2009-11-20T18:54:00.002-05:00

Today was an especially challenging work day.

I needed to pick up a few things at my neighborhood grocery store as I made my way home and decided some sort of alcoholic beverage should top the list.

Upon entering the store I made a bee-line for the wine aisle.

Desperate for wine, any wine...so much to choose from but could not make a decision which delicious bottle to buy. OK, I will admit it, I just wanted to buy (and drink) it all.

An elderly woman was looking at the wine but she clearly did not have the sense of urgency I had as I stood there wishing I had carried my corkscrew with me...

Other people were shopping the wine aisle but clearly, I was in "the zone."

She stopped me and asked if I would help her. I wasn't sure what she needed help with but I am a sucker for little old ladies and little old men so OF COURSE I would help her!

A friend (presumably another little old lady) sent her to the store for some "white wine" and she wasn't sure what to buy. Her friend was having some "chest pain" and someone told her wine would cure it.

Wine cures everything! These are my type of old ladies! That's advice I would give someone!

She wanted to know the difference between the Pinot Grigio and the Moscato bottles she had in each hand. This woman did not realize she had hit the jackpot! Since I've personally had both types of this particular brand I was a total wine expert! And bonus, the little bottles were 10 for $10! She wanted to buy the little bottle...though personally, if it were me, I would hope my friend would buy the jumbo size...so I did direct her to the larger bottles but she was happy with her small bottle choice and went on her merry way, thanking me for my help.

Who knew my love of drinking (wine) would help me help an old lady?

Goin' rogue in GR

2009-11-18T07:45:00.208-05:00

The national media descended upon Grand Rapids today as Sarah Palin kicked off her book tour.

Love her or hate her, Palin is "going rogue," visiting all the "right" smaller cities and towns (pun intended) so it is most appropriate Michigan's hotbed of conservatism is her first stop.

Ah, Sarah Palin. I can't help but think "Tina Fey" when I see her!

I toyed with the idea of "going rogue." I love politics and enjoy meeting political figures, regardless of their politics. So when the radio kicked on this morning and I heard my favorite morning show (and fellow Central Michigan University alums) had sent Producer Joe to the bookstore to "cheerlead" for Sarah Palin I knew I had to be there (this is a MUST listen by the way!).

Producer Joe quickly won the crowd over with his megaphone and zest. He started out by declaring his love for Sarah Palin and America then cheering "When I say 'Levi Johnston' you say 'douche bag.'"

In fact, people in line near me actually believed he was legit, despite the fact he yelled, "When I say 'teenage'" you say 'pregnancy'" and tricked the crowd with his cheer "When I say 'pro' you say 'choice.'" They actually played along.Then they realized their faux pas. And boo'ed. To which he responded "Suckers!"

Shortly thereafter the sun started rising and mall security escorted Producer Joe off the premises. It was then that I truly realized what was happening. Producer Joe (who introduced himself as "Joe Six Pack" - of course) won over the crowd despite the fact no one really knew who he was...hmmm...that sounds familiar.

And daylight shed light on the masses around me. And it wasn't pretty.

I haven't seen that much flannel in one place since I saw Pearl Jam in concert. In 1994. When grunge was TRENDY.

And the cammo...don't even get me started.

People were dirty. I don't mean rolled out of bed dirty I mean, dirty-clothes-with-holes-and greasy-smelly-hair-teeth-as-yellow-as-butter dirty. I hope Sarah Palin brought some Lysol along with her hand sanitizer! I always wonder why poor people vote conservative but I digress...

At one point I was directly across from the "stereotypical" conservatives. It did ease my mind to see them there. This was more of what I expected. They all looked like Alex P. Keaton and were talking about how "liberals" send "plants" to events like this and were trying to figure out who the "liberal plants" were. Suddenly, I started to squirm. As they cast their eyes in my direction I suddenly felt like I had forgotten to take my Hillary in ~~2008~~ 2012 button off my coat. I quickly averted my eyes. "Maybe if I don't move they won't notice me," I thought. It seemed to work. Whew.

Soon another "Producer Joe" type came on the scene but it was not a joke.

This woman was priceless. Check her out...that's her in the red sweatshirt and running pants.

She declared she was a "temporary reporter" for a local AM station, despite the fact she had no microphone, no credentials, no pen and no paper. Hmmm. But what happened? People flocked to her! The old ladies next to me in line were enthralled (just as they were with Producer Joe). This woman was not a reporter! Even an intern would have had a pen and paper. And yet, this crowd...for some strange reason...believed her and played along....without knowing much about her. Hmmmm.

Then some guy who had already made it through the line and had his wristband (oh yeah, because after you stood in line for hours you would have to come back and do it all over again to meet Palin and get your book signed) yelled at my section of the line, "Are you waiting for your Obama money? You're in the Obama money line!"

Suddenly we were approached by a woman looking like she walked out of 1976 (huge glasses, feathered hair and all) peddling Palin in 2012 pins. For real? I suppose it's capitalism at it's finest.

The entire time this little ditty kept going through my head..."I built me a bridge it ain't goin' nowhere...oooh"

Finally I realized I did not belong. I felt like the Alex P. Keatons were giving me the stink eye for not laughing at the "Obama money" joke (because it was sooo funny? because half the people there looked like they are receiving "Obama money?") and I realized I sure as hell had no intention to come back and stand in line again later tonight with these people.

So I left. I was disoriented and cold. And then it hit me...I totally got what I came for. Cable news networks are no longer fair and balanced. Fox News would have reported there were 10,000 people there while TJ on CNN weekend mornings would have declared his undying love for Obama, said no one was there and people were protesting Sarah Palin. I went and saw it first hand. We often hide behind televisions and computer screens rather than getting up and getting involved.

Yes, I am being judgmental (teeth the shade of butter? Low blow, even for me). I told you people I am a total bitch and I'm ok with it. But, after standing in the cold for two hours I feel like I have some credibility to share my experiences.

Sarah Palin...love her, hate her. Regardless, I give her credit for putting herself out there and for the example she sets as a woman who has the family and the career. I just really hope for that little baby's sake (what's his name? Trigg? Track? Trek? Tic? Tac? I can't remember) she packed the Lysol and Purell because there was a whole lotta nasty out there in the ~~flock~~ crowd.

Don't tase me, bro!

2009-11-17T19:18:00.003-05:00

In the tony neighborhood just east of here (appropriately named East Grand Rapids), police used a taser to subdue a man after they were called to his home. The problem is they tased him four times. Four times. And he died.

I know, I know...you are sitting there wondering why I am writing about this.

Well, here's why. This all took place across the street of the new home of my good friend. We'll call her "Wiggy."

"Wiggy" recently relocated to East Grand Rapids because she couldn't handle her Bible-thumphing, asparagus-pushing, home-schooling, home-intruding crazy neighbors/landlords. The last straw was when they placed a cross adorned in lights on the lawn of the duplex. That thing burned like the sun. On the upside I have to say it made her home easy to spot...from the road or even from an airplane flying overhead.

This story (of the tasing not the cross) prompted someone to ask my friend if she brings "crazy" with her wherever she goes. I have known "Wiggy" for five years now and must say she does.

It's like a dark cloud that follows her. She doesn't ask for it but it is just there.

Last night "Wiggy" was "sleeping" (if that's what you do after consuming a bottle of wine, just saying) when she saw strange lights coming in her home. She looked out the window, spotted the police and said to herself (this is a direct quote), "I am thinking to myself 'what have I did?'"

She went outside, and the police quickly shoo'ed her back in.

"Wiggy" then proceeded to take photos of the crime scene while peeking through the blinds and out the window with her BlackBerry. Did I mention that they were taking photos of her front yard? So while the tasing may have taken place across the street, for some reason her lawn is a crime scene. Welcome to the freaking neighborhood!

Unfortunately, the photos were all a dark blur. I would post one but frankly, she'd kill me if she knew I was blogging about her (so don't say anything, ok? Thanks!) so I couldn't come up with a great reason for her to share her photos with me (and she never uses Facebook so we'll never see said photos again).

I could say I am surprised, but frankly, I am not. Wherever my friend "Wiggy" goes, crazy follows.

Disclaimer: If there is any question as to who "Wiggy" is I will give you a clue. This individual, "Wiggy," may or may not have been involved with a "run in" with Beyonce somewhere in New York City....say Tribeca....Hudson St. in fact....of which I too may or may not have been involved. See June 2009 for further details.

Parents say the darndest things

2009-11-10T19:48:00.000-05:00

Lately I've been spending a lot of time on the phone with my parents. Since my dad was diagnosed with cancer in late July I've compensated for living across the state by calling...constantly.

Now that my mom and dad are my phone buddies I realize they say the funniest things. You can only talk about blood counts and chemo so much!

My mom believes the root of all evil in the world is text messaging. Actually, text messaging while driving. She'll tell me the story about someone who cut her off in traffic ("He was probably texting.")....someone who was driving too slow ("I know she was texting.")....driving too fast ("You know he was texting.")....a bad accident on the 5 p.m. news ("The reporter didn't say it but I am sure the driver was texting.") etc. I don't know when she made the decision that texting while driving is the cause of all accidents and traffic jams! It may be that she recently learned the word "texting" and wants to use it in daily vocabulary as not to forget it? Who knows!

My dad, on the other hand, likes to tell me stories about the dog, the Detroit Tigers and cars. Somehow the subject of my car came up. Since I am "broke" I drive a 2004 Sebring with 107,890 miles and counting. I was checking the mail while talking to him and got really excited about the latest hand-written note I received from the salesgirl at the Troy, Mich. Kate Spade store.

He quipped, "You drive a car with 100,000 miles on it but you receive personal notes from salesgirls who sell $300 purses?!?"

Hello, dad! Cars are great and all but let's be real - more people see my handbags than my car so I need to carry good ones. Plus, if Kate Spade had low interest financing I would totally own the entire winter line. Plus stemware....and shoes...and I love the new jewelry too. Since I rely on American Express to finance said purchases I have to be conservative in my shopping. After all, failure to regulate my "Kate compulsion" is what landed me in credit card debt to begin with!

ArtPrize...the coolest thing to hit GR

2009-09-27T10:39:00.000-04:00

ArtPrize is officially up and running here in GR and it is fabulous!

According to the official web site:

At ArtPrize, any artist—from established to emerging—has the chance to show work. Any visitor can vote. The vote will determine who wins the largest art prize in the world. We also took the unusual step to allow people in the city to open a venue and choose the artists to show in their space. There is not one official curator or jury for the competition

The city is full of people at all days and hours, resturants are running out of food...for a time of economic hardship this event is doing wonders for our little city!

I don't have a critical eye when it comes to art. I am a fan of most of the "big cool stuff" that has popped up all over town. Regardless of which pieces win, this event has been the best thing to happen to GR since Amway!

Oh won't you be my neighbor?

2009-07-27T19:15:00.000-04:00

Remember good 'ole Mister Rogers? I used to watch him every day on PBS as a child. I just loved him and wished he were my neighbor.

As a single thirtysomething adult living in the city, one would think meeting a nice, normal neighbor would be easier than it is. I am not looking for a Mister Rogers-type neighbor, I mean, I don't think he would enjoy hanging out with me on the deck at Republic during sushi happy hour or shopping trips to Saugatuck, but maybe someone a little like myself. I chose my current neighborhood for its close proximity to downtown GR and because I liked my house - I really wasn't too concerned about a perspective BFF living on the block.

My neighborhood is interesting and my neighbors are nice enough. There is the sort of crabby older couple on one side of me who like my dog more than they like me. On the other side is the couple with the 13 year old (who used to like me but now think my dog Gracie killed their cat - will save that story for later).

Does this look like the face of a killer?

Across the street is a really nice couple in my age range - two dogs, no kids but they are a little too, well, NASCAR for me (no offense to anyone who likes NASCAR - I know I am a bitch, what can I say?). So, when a couple my age with no kids, Illinois plates and an Obama sticker moved in two doors down from the NASCAR neighbors I was pretty pumped! I felt like a kid again - as though a new family with a child around my age had moved to the block and it was a chance to make a new friend. That never worked out when I was a kid living in my parents' subdivision so I don't know WHY I thought it would work out for grown-up Jen.

Maybe the possibilities intrigued me. I was thinking as a young, hip couple, they may know/meet/work with a young single guy or two they could throw my way. I suddenly had visions of BBQs at our respective houses, me meeting one of their guy friends, dating him and suddenly doing all kinds of fun couple like things. Single ladies, you know what I am saying, the one thing more difficult than meeting a friend in the city is meeting a "dateable" man!

I didn't want to run over there like a freak so a week or so passed before I made my move. I was watering the flowers when the opportunity presented itself - there goes the new neighbor lady walking her dog! As I smooth my hair in anticipation of meeting my new BFF, she sees me on the porch and makes a beeline across the street so she doesn't have to walk in front of my house. Now, Gracie is in the window going berserk at the sight of the dog so I initially delude myself into believing it was a "mercy crossing" - a way to keep her dog away from Gracie. OK, OK, a possibility. So I finish watering the flowers, go inside and put on some lip gloss (because one should never try to make new friends without it) and head across the street to go knock on their door and introduce myself. I know they are home because she just returned from walking the dog and he was just out in the yard.

I walk across the street, head held high, ready to meet my new friends. I walk up the steps and see the front door is open, the screen door letting the cool breeze of the day in. I nervously ring the door bell. The little black dog comes to the door and wags his tail at me. I am thinking it's a good sign. Then I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The little dog at one point turns and wags its tail at what I presume is one of both of his owners. After what feels like an eternity it is clear that, despite the fact that ALL SIGNS point to them being home, they just aren't going to come to the door. I put on my best sorority girl smile, turn around and head home. It feels like a one mile journey across the street. I put myself out there to meet my new neighbors, welcome them to the neighborhood and they completely reject me. They did not know I had already envisioned we would be BFFs! Unless they are mind readers...hmmm.....

So tonight I stepped out onto my porch and they were sitting on their porch. As soon as I sat down in my white Adirondack chair they high-tailed it in the house, never to be seen again. Clearly they think I am stalking them now. Or maybe they are just completely anti-social. Whatever the case I am a little sad that I will not have any new friends in my 'hood any time soon.

All the single ladies

2009-06-21T19:27:00.015-04:00

A friend, who shall remain nameless, ~~is a fan of~~, ~~likes~~, ~~loves~~, worships Beyonce. Eh, what the heck. She needs a name. We'll call her "Wiggy."

"Wiggy" just returned from New York City. She went with me and our friend Rachael. "Wiggy" had never been on an airplane before so I thought airport security would be the most interesting part of the trip but no. No, no. No, no, no.

Long story short. "Wiggy" discovered Beyonce's NYC apartment address. I may or may not have enabled this...or actually Googled this.

"Wiggy" insisted we "stop by" the building while in the city.

We did.

The chances Beyonce would be home while we were there? Or that she actually lived there? A million to one - easy. We should have purchased lottery tickets.

The incident involved an Escalade, a bodyguard and Beyonce herself. It was something.

For the record, her bodyguard is scary. He's clearly very good at his job!

I am just thankful we weren't arrested. Though I wouldn't be surprised if poor Beyonce has restraining orders out for us...