Annual holiday letter: Belated edition

The annual letter is back. Inspired by the many "holiday letters" I once received, I started this tradition a few years ago. Apparently word is out because I only received one "holiday letter" this year. It happened to be from my boss. She definitely doesn't read my blog (thankfully).

Dear Friends and Family,

2013 will end in about 12 hours and, frankly, I can't wait to see it end. The fact that I'm writing this 12 hours before the end of the year and days after Christmas pretty much sums up my year - always a couple of steps behind.

2013 pretty much sucked. Ah, after two stellar years that was bound to happen. It's not just me. I mean, Helen Fielding killed off Mark Darcy! Bridget Jones had a rough year too.

Traditionally I use this annual letter to share some highlights from the year, my travels, etc. This year more than ever I learned to appreciate perspective and appreciate that there are millions of people in the world who would love to have my first world problems. I'm lucky, blessed, whatever you want to call it. In the name of perspective, I'm going to share my top ten "little victories" or interesting moments of 2013. Sure, I feel like the year pretty much sucked overall, but some good / fun things happened so I want to focus on the good:

10. I found a home for yet another homeless cat that came in to my life. Yay for Sally the kitty cat!

9. The river in my city had its 100 year flood, flooding my basement. I didn't totally lose my mind over this like I would have a few years ago. Sure, I had to rip out much of the basement carpeting, I'm sure the basement has mold that will never go away and the whole thing sucked but, what can you do?

8. Proving I am my father's daughter, when I sliced my finger open with a very sharp, fancy knife I decided duct tape and gauze would have to do the trick since I have no first-aid kit in my home. That worked for about a day and then I decided stitches were in order. Here's a picture of my drive to urgent care:

7. I went hiking for the first time in Tucson and managed not to accidentally tumble down the mountain or in to a ravine. I wasn't really wearing proper hiking attire but, I don't own hiking attire so I figured a cute The North Face fleece and my running shoes would work.

6. In 2013 I did not overdraw my checking account. Not even once. Sure I had to reapply for my job and go through three months of torture not knowing if I would come out of the process employed, but when all was said and done I ended up making more money and am finally finding myself in a place where I am starting to feel financially secure. In fact, I even bought a new sectional! If you've been to my home and been subjected to my horrific old couch (which was an oversized love seat) and chair you'll know what a "luxury" this is!

5. I trained for and completed two marathons. Sure, I gained about 20 pounds in the process but at least I didn't gain 30. Seriously, I'm the only person I know who can train for two marathons in one year and GAIN weight.



4. I won a major award! OK, not really a major award but an award nonetheless! It was for making a healthy lifestyle change by becoming a runner (even though I did gain those 20 evil pounds this year). Total surprise and pretty darn cool.

3. Flew on a plane with US Rep. John Boehner. He and his two Secret Service agents were flying coach, just like me! And yes, he really is this tan:

In fact, he was wearing an orange sweater - which made him look even more, well, orange.

2. My home value increased. Sure it was by $300 but at least it is moving in the right direction. Of course this may be because....

1. My neighborhood is no longer full of hillbillies and drug dealers! It's true! A totally normal young couple bought the house two doors down and paid close to what I paid for my house! The hillbillies are gone! There are no more break-ins (knock on wood)! And, to top if off, my favorite brewery is setting up shop within walking distance of my house. Things in my 'hood can only keep going up!

That's my 2013 in a nutshell. Sure, I'm ending the year a little more jaded than I started, but I did learn more than ever the importance of looking for the "silver lining" if you will. Also, I learned I wear a lot of pink. In fact, I'm wearing pink right now. I definitely want to make some changes in 2014 but I will definitely keep wearing pink!

Happy New Year! Welcome, 2014!

Hillbilly Heaven no more!

I haven't been home much this summer. Marathon training and additional work responsibilities keep me running (literally and figuratively) all over the place. I suppose the Hillbilly Neighbors were also an extra incentive to avoid my house. Since June I've witnessed many things including Little James on the roof threatening to fling himself off and Jabba James playing "basketball" shirtless (gag) so many times I'm surprised I'm not blind. There was the time recently Jabba James yelled at me from inside his house to ask if he could (once again) borrow my lawnmower. Since I couldn't see him I just pretended not to hear him. These people purchased not one, but two lawnmowers earlier this summer, so I don't understand why they're still so hellbent on borrowing mine! Anyway, the saga of the Hillbilly Neighbors has finally come to an end.

Remember when I begged them in my last letter to go back to the trailer park? Well, I think they did.

They are GONE!

The Hillbilly Neighbors have left the building! For real!

About a week and a half ago I spotted a small U-Haul parked in the driveway. The next morning the dining room chairs were on the front porch. Then those were gone. The next morning there were piles of garbage left at the curb, including things you wouldn't throw away unless you were moving and downsizing like the little girl's perfectly good wagon and a lawn rake. That morning I saw them load up in their rusting Saturn minivan and drive away. And that was it.

It is no shock that they're gone, given Big Momma was the sole supporter and can't make more than $10-$12 an hour at her job.

I'll admit I'm a little sad for them - I'm sure they're moving back to the trailer park or some tiny apartment. My guess is it isn't fun/comfortable/easy to have five to eight people living in a small space on any given day.

A friend said it is a little sad because I won't know what happens to the kids. Um, yeah, I think I have this figured out. The toddler is going to end up pregnant at 15 and Little James will end up in jail - probably because of being provoked by Booby Brian. Speaking of Bobby Brian and his penchant for peeping, I have no doubt he'll end up on the sex offender registry within the next four years. I do wonder about poor, dear little Maverick. He is only subjected to these fools every other weekend but still, that's too much. It seems he is being raised by someone with some common sense and manners, not to mention, a basic grasp of the English language. (Never did I hear Maverick say things like the others such as "I seen" or inappropriately using the word "them" as in "Jen, was them your parents" or "Where'd you get them woodchips."). My hope is he will turn out OK in spite of his gene pool.

Then there's Mittens the Kitten, aka Hillbilly Cat. I haven't spotted Hillbilly Cat since July, so I'm thinking Jabba James "got rid of it" like he did the dogs. By the way, this week I learned from a neighbor he "got rid of" the second puppy for biting the toddler. Puppies bite. I shudder to think of how he "got rid of it."

The other good news is homes in my neighborhood are starting to sell - and when I say sell I mean to normal people at prices close to what I paid for my house! Things are looking up. Since the Hillbilly situation didn't work out for whatever company owns the house, my hope is they'll fix it up and try to actually sell it. Fingers crossed.

Goodbye, Hillbillies! Welcome back peace and quiet! Serenity now!

The police have better things to do on Memorial Day weekend...

"Jen, were them your parents?" - Big James

Why yes, Big Jabba the Hut James, them were my parents. Ah, the saga continues with the Hillbilly Neighbors. I wish the inane questions were the least of my worries.

Yesterday was a beautiful weather day. A perfect spring day. I returned home after running a marathon the day before and was both exhilarated and exhausted. My mood turned to down right pissed off thanks to the Hillbillies.

At first I thought they weren't home so I changed clothing quickly and set out to mow my yard (did I mention I had just run a marathon the day before? My back was killing me! That's how desperate I was to mow the lawn in peace.) when suddenly I hear, "F**k you, you little bi*ch." Yes, Booby Brian was at it with Little James again.

These two were in a knock down drag out fight in my front yard. Yes, in my front yard.

They screamed "bi*ch"at each other several times before I stuck my head out the window, arms on hips, a "WTF" look on my face. Finally, Jabba James came to break it up.

I had HAD it. Home five minutes and suddenly these two are going at it in front of my house.

I did what any rational person would do. My bags were still packed from my weekend away, so I locked up the house to flee. I just couldn't take it.

As I was locking up the front door, Jabba said, "Sorry about the chaos."

I did not respond.

He then said, "Don't worry, someone already called the police."

My response, "Um. I didn't call the police."

Jabba said, "No. we did."

Are you flipping kidding me? You called the police on your own 13 year olds?

He went on, "Yeah, James is outta control."

Maybe your parenting, or lack thereof, is outta control, pal! You are such horrible parents you can't handle them yourselves? Perhaps you shouldn't be parents then. Not to mention, I heard the fight because it happened ON MY LAWN and it sure as hell sounded like Booby Brian started the whole thing.

I turned my back to walk away and poor little toddler girl said, "Hey Jen, where are you going?"

I turned back, looked Jabba square in the face and said, "Away from here."

With that, I took off as fast as my Jeep would go.

This explains why the police were there about two months ago. My guess is mom and dad can't handle the kids so they call the police. 'Cause that's great use of my taxpayer dollars when crimes are happening in our own neighborhood and 'cause that's what good parents do, right?

Upon my return today, the Hillbilly House, duct tape in the front bedroom window and all (that's new) looked quiet. It was raining so I thought I would have some peace and quiet but no, no peace. As soon as Little James spotted me (Yes, he is home and acting like nothing ever happened so I guess he didn't get hauled off to the clink.) he emerged from the house and decided to hang outside in the rain and ask me if I would be interested in buying any baseball cards because he's trying to sell 250 of them.

Oh, and now here we are in real time - Booby Brian just emerged to tell me they have new chairs on their porch courtesy of grandma and grandpa. Goody. I did notice those and let out an audible sigh when unlocking my front door today. My friend and I were just commenting how it is nice they don't have front porch chairs so it is one less place for them to lounge (I love my front porch. My wi-fi works out there. I have Adirondack chairs with pillows and an outdoor rug. And flowers, lots of flowers.) but now I'm losing my front porch. I guess I lost it anyway with the fighting in my front yard and all.

$1,500 for a privacy fence sounds like a bargain right now. I'm calling Lowes in the morning. At least I can reclaim my backyard in about four weeks.

The infamous annual holiday letter

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

Dear Friends and Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Police Academy (and no, not the movie)

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

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

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

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

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

-Ride-a-long

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

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

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

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

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

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

Broke, broken, brokest

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

They're all "broke."

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

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

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

Shoot!

There was a shooting on my street today.

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

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

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

And it's not even summer yet kiddos!

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

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

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

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

Aw, shoot!

Less than fabulous (more news about the toilet fountain)

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Everybody's heard about the bird

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

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

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

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

What happened next was surreal.

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

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

This was even worse. Because it was a toddler.

Yes, I was flipped off by a toddler.

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

I call it a toilet, you call it a fountain

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

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

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

Gross, right?

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

Someone in my neighborhood, of course.

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

Yes, a fountain.

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

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

Eight years.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just another day in paradise ( or the 'hood)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently I'm just full of rage these days. Blame it on the fact that I haven't taken a full week off work in over two years.

It's 4th of July weekend and I just escaped a major traffic jam - thankfully I was going against the traffic - because, unlike all those crazy people going "Up North" (it's a Michigan thing) I was heading back into the 'hood.

People primarily go "Up North" to do something I simply don't understand. Something so vile sounding I don't know why any rational person would do this. Yes, they go "Up North" to go camping.

Shudder.

The idea of camping makes me want to wretch.

Seriously, think about it. People go on camping vacations, right? They pack up all kinds of crap including a tent, sleeping bags, food, camping stoves (really?) and who knows what else....load down the car so it is heavier and therefore burns more gas....drive for countless hours to, in most cases, pay for a place to dump all their crap. Once said crap is dumped, they're forced to crap in community bathrooms (if they're lucky), cook their own meals and clean up after themselves and then sleep in tents....in the summer...with no air conditioning. Oh, and bears and skunks may attack the campers in their sleep.

How the hell is this appealing?

Seriously! I was giving a friend who is one of the thousands of "campers" in Michigan this weekend a hard time about all the money she has spent on camping equipment. Her response was the equipment will provide a "lifetime of fun." My response? Air conditioning and a roof over my head are priceless.

And to expound on this...think about it...when I go on vacation I stay in a hotel where I have air conditioning, cable, a comfortable bed, indoor plumbing that I don't have to share with strangers and I don't have to clean up after myself - a maid does that! Then, when I want to eat, I visit a cool restaurant. Maybe some Thai, maybe some pizza, maybe some sushi. You know what campers call sushi? Bait. And, I'm sorry, I don't believe you can get a good martini camping - that's a lot of extra equipment to pack.

Michigan is going to be hot, humid and rainy this 4th of July weekend so, camper people, good luck. Wiggy called me this week to declare "I am not a wilderness girl!" and, of course, neither am I so we'll spend this weekend enjoying shopping, sushi and strong martinis! Cheers to Independence Day!

Crazy Mary, is that you?

Now that summer break is upon us, the 'hood is much more lively at night. Lucky me.

My trashy neighbors (you know, the used condom tossers) threw a huge party last weekend and, thankfully, I was out of town. I can only imagine what I missed. Thankfully, I did not find any used condoms or similar devices in my yard.

Tonight as I was trying to go to sleep I heard someone yell, "Help meeeeeeeeeeee! Heeelllp meeeeeee!!"

Now, I am normally the first person to call my local police department. However, since I called yesterday to report some thugs playing basketball in the street (and, p.s. was told it is fine as long as they "yield" to cars), I decided someone else would make the call. I couldn't pinpoint where the screaming was coming from but oh man, it was loud!

GRPD arrived on the scene in record time. I could hear people laughing while the lady kept screaming. And kept screaming. And kept screaming. Suddenly she was yelling about being naked and "you're killing me!" Oh, but people were laughing at her so clearly there was no imminent danger.

Suddenly, I had a flashback. In my mind I could hear, "I WANT A TUNA SANDWICH!!!" "HELL-OOOOO I WANT A TUNA FISH SAAAANDWIIIIIICHHHHH!!!!!!" in my head. Yes, friends, I think "Crazy Mary" has followed me to the northwest side of town!

"Crazy Mary" was my neighbor way back in 2007 and her antics actually were the catalyst for this blog!

I'd like to think this woman, described over the police scanner as "combative psychotic," is indeed "Crazy Mary."

This "Crazy Mary's" antics brought out the crazy in the condom tossers. They needed to pack up all their kids (and there are a lot of them - they must have just figured out how to use condoms), Precious the dog and saunter up the street to check out the situation. I heard them laughing about "crazy white people" as they walked home...and then proceeded to turn on their blaring R& B music and light firecrackers. Really, people? It's 11:00 p.m. And the police are one block away.

At least "Crazy Mary" never threw a used condom in my yard. All right, I lived in an apartment and didn't have a yard...but I did have a stoop! Though she did play "Blue Christmas" by Elvis on repeat for hours....at least the condom tossers play a variety when they bust the jams.

Try to catch me ridin' dirty

'Hood rats, beware! There's a new sheriff in town (well, sort of) and her name? J-E-N.

You've got that, betches, I've joined the neighborhood Mobile Watch Patrol.

I'm already a little overzealous about this and my friend Rachael already warned me that this does not give me carte blanche to become some sort of neighborhood vigilante. We'll see about that....

I have a feeling I'll be the youngest volunteer on Mobile Watch Patrol. When Gerri pulled up in her Buick to drop off the information I took note of her tight perm and cardigan sweater and quickly realized I could be her granddaughter. That's cool though - I can hang with the old folks. It's all about stopping crime!

In my orientation materials I reviewed some information on "conditions, persons, and vehicles that may indicate criminal activity" and must share some highlights:

• 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?"

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....

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?

Take the weather with you, just leave the magnet!

Today after a long day of work (where, by the way, we were given ice cream treats as a "big surprise" in a staff meeting just like Michael Scott gave to his staff in that health care episode in season 1 of "The Office"), I strolled out to my car at 5:15 or so (lately I've been leaving work after 6 so this was a real treat!). The sun was still shining and for once it wasn't snowing so I decided I would be home in plenty of time for a short run. I was feeling positive about all I accomplished at the office today and well, just feeling good in general when I approached my car.

What is missing from this picture?

O.k., that is not a fair question if you don't personally know me/know my car so I will tell you. See that vast stretch of vacant space there? An oval JB magnet once sat there.

JB stands for the one, the only, Jimmy Buffett. I just realized I rarely blog about my love for Jimmy Buffett, which surprises me, because my love for Jimmy is timeless. It is eternal. It's like a religion. And, by the way, Jimmy shares a birthday with none other than Jesus Himself. Coincidence? I think not.

Upon first approach I decided the car may not even be my car...and then, upon closer inspection, I saw an oval spot, less salt covered than the rest of the car, where my beloved magnet once sat.

The anger swelled.

Never get between an honest to goodness Parrothead and her love of all things Jimmy Buffett!

I park in a "secure" parking lot, complete with cameras! I need a freaking swipe card to get in to the thing. There's even a rogue sorta security guy in a giant pickup truck who sits and monitors from time to time. Despite all this, my car was violated!

What rubbed salt in the wound? I called my mom (because who else am I going to call, really?) and she laughed!

This is not a laughing matter! I bought that magnet at the original Margaritaville in Key West. It's the mothership for Parrotheads. Every time I look at that tropical looking magnet on my piece of crap car, especially on days when I'm scraping off snow or filling the tires with air, I can't help but smile.

Every morning from now on I will have to face the sad, lonely, boring back of my car as I open the garage. I will wonder what happened to my beloved car magnet (I really did love that thing - I know it's silly). R.I.P., JB. I will miss you. I hope you have a new owner who loves you as much as I do...however, I have a feeling I'll be seeing you affixed to a metal object on the backpack of one of the local vagrants.

In the immortal words of Jimmy, I will simply "breathe in, breathe out, move on."

(P.S. On a positive note, my permanent crown is in place so no more teeth popping out! I know, I know, you were all really concerned about this!)

Near brush with local celebrity

I always watch the 6 p.m. news. It's my thing.

If you've read any of my entries about running in winter, you also know ranting about snow covered sidewalks is also my thing.

Imagine my glee when my two "things" came together last night when the lead story on my local news was....wait for it, wait for it.....sidewalks in my city! Yes! Literally, my friends and I were just having a discussion about how I want run for city commission on a platform of keeping the sidewalks clear.

Anyway, over 60 percent of students in the school district here walk to school and the school district has been closed for an unprecedented three days because the sidewalks are not clear for students to safely navigate their way to school. Well, duh! I don't know where my city leaders have been....but sidewalks have not been clear all winter in many cases! Post Snowtorious B.I.G. incident this week, rather than say a few inches of lumpy snow blocking a sidewalk the snow is, in some cases, knee high and waist high. The only way some little elementary schooler is going to get through that is with a team of sled dogs or a snowmobile. Since I have never seen either of these things in my city, my guess is that the kiddies just aren't going to make it to school.

The story was great so I commented on the story online, but then remembered that generally, only total nut cases do that (for example, the story was asking city residents to clear their own sidewalks and these morons were commenting about how dare the local school system ask residents to come clear the sidewalks in front of the schools....uh, hello, that is not what anyone is asking!) so I sent the station an email of thanks.

In my email I also made two suggestions of what I would like to see in a follow up story: 1) the city needs to clear sidewalks on city owned property (like around parks) because they don't. There is a baseball field in my neighborhood and the city never clears that sidewalk; and 2) share how residents are supposed to file complaints with the city about people who don't clear their sidewalks (we have an ordinance - you have to clear your sidewalk within 24 hours of a snow storm) because the city took that option off their online complaint system.

Pretty cut and dry, right?

Thirty minutes later I received a call from a rookie reporter at the TV station. She told me she was doing a story on roads in the city that haven't been cleared yet and she was looking for suggestions of roads that have not been cleared. I told her that's nice but I don't know about any (and I am thinking wtf?). The exchange continued:

Reporter: "Well, I read your email."
Me: "Yes, it was in response to the story about sidewalks."
Reporter: "Right. Well, tonight my assignment is to do a story on streets that haven't been plowed."
Me: "Uh huh, I see, well my email was in response to Tony's story at 6 p.m. You know, the one about sidewalks."
Reporter: "Yes. Sidewalks. You said you run. So sidewalks are important to you?"
Me: "Yes, SIDEWALKS are important to me. That the SIDEWALKS are clear, yes. I was just writing to thank you guys for the story and make a couple of follow up suggestions."
Reporter: "OK, so where are the sidewalks not clear?"
Me: (Wondering, so does she think roads and sidewalks are interchangeable or is she changing her story assignment?) "Well, for example, I live on the Northwest Side - near Sullivan Field. The city never clears the sidewalks around Sullivan Field. I think the city needs to clear their own sidewalks too. Also, I want to see the city enforce the ordinance for residents and businesses too."
Reporter: "Yeah. So, can you give me an example of where the road isn't clear?"
Me: Total bewildered. Then I hear a click.
Reporter: "Please hang on for a second."
Tick tock...one second later....
Reporter: "Jen, it looks like my story assignment is changing. But thank you so much for emailing us, we really appreciate it. If I need to talk to someone about this later, may I call you?"
Me: "Umm...sure?"
Reporter: "Ok, thank you very much!"

The whole experience left me completely dumbfounded. Especially when, about an hour later, I was on the phone with a friend who had a very difficult day when the call waiting beeped. Sure enough, it was the TV station again. No, I didn't click over. I have no idea what the reporter would have been calling back about...but I am glad I had a great excuse not to answer!

Though, I must admit, it would have been awesome to get a jump on my bid for local elected office by launching my platform about sidewalks on the 11 p.m. news...even if it was during a story about roads.