Give me a brake - fall 2010 edition

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..."

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

"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

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

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...

...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....

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.