A(Musings)

Easter Feasters

2010-04-05T18:50:00.006-05:00

The first year I was with my husband, I was surprised to learn his family did not gather together to celebrate Easter. I changed that right away by hosting a lovely Easter dinner that year. And the next year. And the next and the next and you get the idea. This year, I decided to let someone else have the honor of cleaning and shopping and cooking. Someone? Anyone? No one stepped up.

So we offered to take his parents out to dinner and invited his many siblings to join us. Only his sister took us up on the offer. She joined us, along with her grandfather (he's from a different side of her family - she's really Shaun's half-sister, see? and, oh, just trust me).

We caravanned to the Hoffman House. It's a bit nicer restaurant than we typically frequent, but it was a holiday. And we had a coupon.

I hadn't eaten all day, so by the time we arrived at 2:55 for our 2:45 sitting, I was famished. On our way to the table, we passed the buffet room - an entire banquet room filled with tables of hams, salads, breads and desserts. Thank you, Jesus, for dying and rising again so that we may have everlasting life and enjoy this heavenly buffet.

When the server came to take our drink order, Shaun handed her the coupon.

"Oh, we don't accept these on holidays," she informed us.

"It doesn't say that on the coupon," Shaun informed her.

"Well, my manager told us this morning we couldn't take them. I guess I could go ask him."

Shaun offered to go with her to speak to the manager.

The rest of us waited pensively for his return. Please say yes. Please say yes, I willed to the manager.

Shaun came back with a smile and a swagger and I knew he'd worked his magic. We were in! An Easter miracle!

He handed the server the coupon again. She looked at it and said, "Oh, it's for $75 off? I thought it was just for $25 off. I don't know if he'll accept this."

Shaun went to talk to the manager again and the rest of us looked longingly at the water pitchers on our table. Do we dare fill our glasses? Will we be allowed to stay, or will this dream dinner be destroyed by the coupon-hating manager?

Destroyed.

And because we are a family of A) principles and B) limited means, we got up and left. I imagined the manager calling after us, "You're leaving? Okay, okay! I give! I'll take your coupon, just please don't leave. We need your business. We need you!"

Those weren't the exact words he muttered under his breath as we walked out. I couldn't really focus on him, though, as I was trying to do my "Big mistake. Big. Huge. We have to go eat now" act while simultaneously sneaking a last look at the verboten omelet bar.

We rallied the troops and decided to go to Mongolian Grill because it was right across the street, Shaun's dad loves that place, and we had a coupon.

We blew in asking for a table for six. No need for a reservation here! This is the place to be, low-key and low-fuss, like us.

Oh, no, not that table for six. That one's too close to the grill. Do you have something else? Oh, isn't this quaint? A private party room. Well, I guess we are a party of 6!

Once we ordered and quickly explained the process to Shaun's sister and her grandfather, I made a beeline for the food. Given my haste and experience with the Mongolian grill procedures, I was the first to return to the table with my food. So I made a quick trip to the salad bar. Shaun's mom came back and said, "Oh, we can get salads? Where?"

Shaun and I pointed her in the direction of the salad bar. Then his dad came to the table and asked, "We can get salads? Where?"

Ditto for the sister. Not the grandfather, though. Hey, where'd he go, anyway?

As we start eating, the conversation turns to liver. As it does. How do you cook it? Why do people eat it? I had lots of questions. Then Shaun's dad began regaling us with stories of brain burgers, which were apparently a delicacy at Wainwright's, the deli by his house when he was a boy.

We all made gagging noises, even Grandpa, who'd just returned to the table after getting lost en route to the restroom and receiving an escort back from our server.

"Brains are good for you," Shaun's dad continued.

"I've heard dandelions are good for me," Shaun said, "but I'm not going to try them anytime soon."

"Dandelions? Do you know how those came to be in the U.S.? They're not native to this country, you know?"

I wish I could tell you how the dandelions got here, but it was at that point that I excused myself for another trip through the food line. When I returned, the conversation had turned to the banal subject of dog food. As in, "Dad ate dog food once. Liked it, too."

It was, in the end, a lovely meal accompanied by delightful conversation. I am happy to report that Mongolian Grill accepted not one, but TWO coupons from us. On a holiday, no less.

We love them.

God is so good.

Who needs Suze Orman?

2010-04-01T13:01:00.004-05:00

The president of the university where I work released an official statement yesterday. It went something like this: "The state owes us a ton of money ($55 million) but they're not giving it to us. We're going to have to cut some positions. This sucks. Sorry."

Yes, it sucks. I don't blame our president. In fact, I think he's a pretty decent guy. But I have some questions about budgeting and big monies. We're getting a HUGE donation from the state ($10.3 million) to renovate the building where five students were shot two years ago. But that's special money from a special source, so it doesn't count toward the debt the state owes us and it can't be used to pay salaries.

Our football team took a little trip to Toronto in January to play in the oh-so famous International Bowl. What? You've never heard of it? While there, the team racked up $271,152 in debt. According to university spokesfolk, that money will come from internal athletic department funds and will not affect the school's general fund.

I've never received official schooling in matters of finance. My limited knowledge of budgetary issues has forced me to think only in terms of A) money I have and B) money I don't have. How naive! How 2008! I think I'm going to take a few lessons from this fine institution I call work.

The next time Shaun asks me to contribute to our family finances, I shall tell him I have no money to give. He'll reply with something predictable like, "What about the $1000 you made selling jewelry last month?"

"Oh, that?" I'll respond. "That's special money from my capital spending appropriation fund and, as such, is earmarked for a special renovation project. The specifics are not clear at this time, but plans are underway to transform the living room from drab to fab and details will be released as they become available."

Assuming he goes along with this, which he won't, he'll then ask why, if I have no money, I recently took a trip to Vegas. And I'll assure him the tiny deficit created by my junket in Vegas will be covered by my internal credit funds and will not affect our general operating budget.

"Internal credit funds?" he'll ask.

"Otherwise known as Discover Card Financial Services," I'll remind him. Geez, you'd think a guy with degrees in finance and accounting would know this stuff.

He'll mumble something about debit versus credit and loss versus gain and someotherstuffIcan'twrapmybrainaround. He may even question my financial savvy, but I'll just remind him where I learned my skills; from the highly-regarded establishment that's been underpaying me for ten years. The money managers at said establishment have mastered the art of saving money while at the same time getting new things and going on exciting vacations. Sounds savvy to me!

Can you believe I said that?

2010-01-27T12:25:00.004-06:00

This morning while talking to a colleague, I said, "We (the instructional staff) think you're on a power trip and we're losing respect for you. It's demoralizing."

And what did the colleague say? "Excuse me, could you tell me where the math department is?"

I was, uh, not actually talking to the colleague, but having a little convo with him in my head. It was going really well until a student interrupted us to ask for directions.

I spend a lot of time in these imaginary dialogues. This week I've told off a couple people from work, a rude lady at Target, and a mean-spirited in-law. Also had a delightful encounter with a perspective jewelry recruit and a heart-to-heart with Oprah.

I am not right in the head.

When I was young, I had several imaginary friends. They caused my mom anxiety over my normalcy. Then in high school, my friend Anjie announced that imaginary friends were a sign of intelligence. "I had three," she proudly told me.

In time I managed to ditch Listerine, Tarantula, Calculator and Kelly, who were steadfast friends in my formative years. I even made a few real-life pals along the way. But I never loosened my grip on non-reality. Now, instead of having fake friends, I have fake realities with real people.

Seems like a sign of crazy, but I'll cling to the intelligence theory from high school, thank you.

Do you wear pants?

2010-01-26T05:45:00.003-06:00

Thanks, Caroline for A)inviting me to your bachelorette party and B) missing my blog.

Lately I've felt overextended and wanted to simplify my life. That meant giving up some things, like the ol' blog. But if my people want me, well, I've gotta give them what they want, don't I?

And so, people, I'd like to ask you a question. Do you wear pants?

I, like most women, am on an eternal quest to find good pants, specifically jeans. I am curvy (read; I have ginormous hips). Gap Curvy jeans are nice, but they don't carry tall sizes in the store. If I buy the regular ones, they're just a smidge too short for my liking. I have flashbacks to junior high when Brad Walters asked me if I was preparing for a flood when I walked by his locker in my brand-new, pleated J.C. Penney jeans with the fold-over waistband. This was obviously before the tight-rolling craze hit central Kansas.

I found a pair of long jeans at Eddie Bauer. Long is not the same as tall, you see. I'm long, not tall, according to the saleswoman. I have the need for extra length in the leg, not the torso. But I do not have the need for six extra inches in the leg, which is what these jeans provide. I was so happy to find jeans that touched the floor when I put them on, I bought them without thinking of the hazards they'd pose. I'm constantly tripping over the excess material. It's, well, excessive. I pity petite women who must have that problem with all pants.

And those Eddie Bauer jeans do not maintain their shape. They're all loose and frumpy looking after about ten minutes on my body. What's a girl to do?

Don’t go, Christmas.

2009-12-29T14:19:00.001-06:00

I promise I’ll be good. I won’t curse you or your pine needles or your dogs barking jingle bells. I’ll do whatever you want; bake you cookies, buy you presents, cook you a ham. Just please don’t leave me yet. I’m not ready for you to go.

Seems you already left Target and Menard’s. But then, you were courting them back in September. Although I began anticipating your arrival right after Halloween, you didn’t come to my house until after Thanksgiving. So while the stores had several months with you, I barely had one month of your glittery goodness. I want more, but if I hang on to you too long, people will talk.

People are already talking on Facebook about you. They say they’re done with you and they’ve packed up your things, even tossed some of them to the curb. Ouch. How must that feel? I promise to do you better than those impatient, ungrateful joy-haters. I’ll keep you around at least until New Year’s Day. Then, when I absolutely must say goodbye to you, I will. But I promise I won’t like it.

oh snow

2009-12-09T10:27:00.005-06:00

The weather outside may be frightful, but my outfit is downright horrific. My trusty NIU stocking cap is coming unraveled, my sweater apparently shrunk even though I dried it on the "no heat" setting, my coat is spewing feathers everywhere, my scarf is too small to tie the way I like and is choking me, my gloves have a hole in them and my boots, well, they're functioning properly but are not as cute as I'd like them to be.

Welcome, winter!

On the road

2009-11-25T09:11:00.003-06:00

This is one of those rare days where I feel completely content. I'm not stressed about projects I need to finish. I'm not anxious about my business, or lack of it. I love my husband and my home and I'm pretty darn happy with my life.

That will change in about three hours. Don't think it won't. We'll be joining the 38 million Americans who are traveling on the nation's highways today. We're goin' to Kansas. When I travel alone, I use the time to listen to mysteries and NPR podcasts. When I travel with Shaun, I use the time to remind him how far it is (700 miles), how much longer it is (a little while), and to answer questions such as, "Why are your seats so uncomfortable?" and "How can you stand to listen to this crap?"

This is gonna be so fun.

ring ring

2009-11-24T08:08:00.008-06:00

I sell jewelry. Well no, the jewelry sells itself. I just take it to people's houses and let it go to work.

I've done alright up to now, but my booking chain has reached an end. In order to get more shows and more business for my jewelry, I need to do something. Some advisors call prospective hostesses. On the phone. I hate calling people on the phone. Especially people I don't know. I don't want to bother them and I definitely don't want to give them the opportunity to reject me if I propose they host a jewelry show.

Email is more convenient and face-saving, so it's been my favored mode of communication. But then I realized I have the ability to see who opens my jewelry emails. 19 of 44 recipients opened the last one. Over half didn't even read my carefully, cleverly crafted sales pitch! Clearly it is not the best mode of communication.

So last night I decided to strap on my big-girl boots and get on the phone. My first call was to a woman who'd expressed an interest in doing a show, so I thought she'd be a good one to start with. It wasn't a cold call, per se. More of a lukewarm call.

Her husband answered. He said she wasn't home and he sounded a little harried. When I told him my name and reason for calling, he said, "Uh, well, our daughter was taken to the emergency room earlier this week and it's been very difficult and she's still in the hospital."

Oh. You have a daughter? Does she like jewelry?

Ugh. I just told him I was sorry and I'd be thinking of them and blah blah blah. I really do feel bad for them. Clearly a jewelry party is not on their radar right now. I felt like such a heel. And that, my friends, is why I hate calling people on the phone.

Vacating varmin

2009-11-22T12:52:00.009-06:00

We had an uninvited houseguest last week. He showed up in the garage about 3 a.m. Sunday. Ever-clever Shaun went to the Internet in search of a way to remove the trespasser. Here's what he came up with:

I was doubtful. The little creature would have to crawl all the way up the rickety ramp and stick its head through the toilet paper roll. There was peanut butter on the end of the roll to entice him, but still. Mice always find sneaky ways into people's homes. Aren't they too clever to fall for a set-up like this?

Apparently not.

The little guy went for the peanut butter and tipped the tp roll right over into the trash can. Like he was in a barrel over Niagara Falls. I'm not sure if you can see him, but he's in there. That's what we woke up to the next morning.

And this is my disposal technique. I didn't want to kill him, but I certainly didn't want to take the chance he could escape in my car while I was driving him to a dump site.

I drove a couple miles outside of town and let him go. He's a country mouse now.

Blimy, the blog is back.

2009-10-28T19:06:00.011-05:00

It's been a loooong time since I blogged. Here's what I've been up to:

Visited Amy in D.C - carved pumpkins and did crafty stuff and hung out with her kids.
Seriously questioned my own ability to rear children. They're kind of needy, y'know. And I'm kind of selfish. Kids don't get to stay up late or say bad words. As a parent, would I have to give up those things? Kerith suggested I start hauling around a sack of flour to see if I'm ready for a kid. Just like Niles did on Frazier. I may not start my flour child on fire a la Niles, but I'd probably leave it in a cart at Target or accidentally loan a cup of it to the neighbor.

What else have I been up to? Just underwent training for the Ultra-Shiny Steam-Sensation washer and dryer Shaun bought while I was in DC. They're pretty, but I could do without the jingle they play at the end of each cycle. What's wrong with a buzzer? Every hour and ten minutes I'm fooled into thinking the ice cream man's here.

I attended a Halloween party and the Sycamore Pumpkin Fest parade last weekend. It's been almost too much pumpkiny goodness to handle!

In costume. Shaun had a botltle of Jet-Alert, which is like generic No-Doze, in his pocket.

I did not run in the Pumpkin Fest 10k. I cheered on some friends who ran it and discovered the joy of spectating. I loved it. It was so fun to be on the sidewalk with coffee and a warm sweater instead of on the street with Gu and sweaty shorts. Running's old news, friends. From now on, watching's my game.

I'm proud to say I also scrubbed all my bathrooms and watched all my DVR'd episodes of Project Runway this week. Now what? Perhaps a long soak in a hot tub. I could grade papers or try to drum up some jewelry business, but I don't wanna. And the beauty of being an adult is, no one's the boss of me so I don't have to do stuff if I don't want to. Nah, nah, na, boo, boo.

Marathon do-over

2009-10-14T09:50:00.008-05:00

Kerith read my post about the marathon and said, "I had no idea you had such a miserable run." Me, either. It wasn't that bad. Perhaps I mis-remembered it? I was actually smiling in three and a half of my fourteen photos on marathonfoto.com.

This is the half smile. It was before the race. Kerith looked so cute and I looked so . . . shocked. As if I had no clue how I got to the starting line of a 26.2 mile race or how I was going to ever get to the finish line.

I don't know when this was, but it must've been before mile 18, as that's when I lost the "sleeves" and gloves. I guess that's a smile on my face. Let me re-check the number, is that really me?

Although this photo is small and I'm too cheap to purchase the larger version, I believe I can see a bit of a smile in this shot, too. Is that what miserable looks like?

Ah, finally. The finish. The best part of the race. Definitely smile-worthy.

I guess it wasn't so bad after all. I saw people limping and suffering all along the route. I was fortunate to avoid injury. I wasn't plagued with intestinal issues. I was blessed. So all in all, it was an alright race. A good race. Thanks for supporting me and reading about my running woes. It really was an incredible experience and I'm gonna remember it as such.

The morning after

2009-10-12T10:06:00.006-05:00

I am still alive and I did finish the Chicago marathon yesterday. I didn't enjoy it, though. I'm not sure what my problem was. I just never felt in the groove as I usually do on long runs. Maybe it was the cold; I never really felt warmed up. Maybe it was my lack of serious running since my 20 miler three weeks ago. Maybe it just wasn't my day.

At any rate, I finished and set a new PR (not hard to do since last time I walked frequently). I didn't finish in quite the time I'd hoped, but four minutes slower. I think I'll blame that (it can't be my fault, right?) on the fact that I started with people slower than me and it took at least four minutes to break out of the pack. I really underestimated the number of runners and how crowded it would be.

I got cranky with folks who were talking on their cell phones. Helllloo - you're sort of in the middle of something here, perhaps you could call your mom later? and with folks who dropped their clothes right on the course creating major running hazards.

I was also peeved every time a spectator ran across the course. Why did all of them choose to run right in front of or right into me? Of course, had there been no spectators, I would've been equally peeved. It was just that kind of day.

From about mile six onward, my body was talking to me, saying things like, ooh, this is a little rough, and Stop. Running. Bitch. As is my way, I chose to ignore it. That's also how I handle strange sounds from the car or complaints from students. Deny, deny, deny.

I didn't see Shaun and my friends at mile ten, where I was told they'd be. This did not make me happy. I spent the next ten miles planning the tirade/guilt treatment I was going to give Shaun for being at breakfast instead of on the street supporting me. As I was rounding a corner at mile 25 and heading up a HUGE hill, I heard him yell my name. That gave me the boost I needed to chug up that damn hill and finish the race. And it turns out they were not at breakfast earlier, but in our friend's apartment trying to track me with the very untimely "runner update" texts Verizon sent. Or rather, didn't send.

I finished in 4 hours and 49 minutes. That's 45 minutes faster than my last marathon. It's also a good time to try to beat if I ever run another one. Right now that doesn't sound like much fun, but perhaps by next spring I will have forgotten this awful ache in my lower back and the soreness in my hips and legs. And the blisters and the crankiness.

For now I'm going to do some Columbus Day/Post-Marathon-You-Deserve-New-Stuff Day shopping. Gotta keep moving, right?

Kerith and me after the race. Thanks, Lisa, for cheering us on and taking pictures!

It'll be a cold day in Chicago when I run a marathon

2009-10-10T09:49:00.006-05:00

When looking at my calendar, I see I've got a thing in Chicago this weekend. Some kind of race? Oh, yes. The marathon. THE MARATHON!!! It's less than 24 hours away!

It occurred to me no sooner than yesterday that I need a new race day outfit. Not the whole thing, mind you. I'm no rookie. I know you shouldn't change up your routine or your ensemble on race day - stick to what you've been doing during training. But what if you've been training in 70 degree weather and the race is in 40 degree weather? ARGH!

I need clothes I can shed as the race progresses. I found some long pants at the Salvation Army yesterday. Surely we have some extra gloves lying around this house somewhere? As for my freezing arms, I think I'll borrow my friend Amy's trick and use cut-off tube socks. Or one of Shaun's Z. Cavaricci sweatshirts from 1987. Or both.

Oh, I'm gonna be a sight to behold tomorrow. I'll try to get you a picture.

I've gotten myself all worked up about the outfit and I've sort of forgotten about the running. Perhaps that's okay. Best not to think about the fact that I'll be on my feet - running - for nearly five hours tomorrow. That's 5, Fuh-ive. Oh dear. Now I'm getting nervous. Stop thinking about it, Jess. Stick with denial. It's just a little trip to the city for some sight-seeing and Gatorade tasting. And, at the end, shopping! I'm definitley buying some marathon kitsch after I finish this race. Can't wait to model it for you.

one year trip

2009-10-07T08:47:00.012-05:00

We're back from our Big Mysterious Adventure. We went to . . . wait for it . . . Toronto! It was a lovely little getwaway, although I fear Shaun's set the bar too high for future anniversaries.

We went to Ovo, a Cirque du Soleil show Friday night. We spent Saturday at Niagara Falls. I'd been to the falls before, but on the American side. The experience was different from the Canadian side, especially from the Skylon tower where we ate dinner. What a view!

On Sunday, our anniversary, we went shopping. I love shopping. I love my anniversary.

We also went up in the Canadian National Tower, the largest tower in the world! We ate dinner in the revolving dining room. Hmm. What's Shaun's obsession with tall structures, I wonder?

He wanted to stop by a "club" called The Landing Strip, which was conveniently located near our hotel and next to the airport, but sadly, it wasn't open on the sabbath. (Note to self: don't search Google Images for "Landing Strip" while at work. Again).

Flew home Monday. Back to work Tuesday. Blech. Is it time for another anniversary yet?

Mystery vacation

2009-10-01T22:37:00.005-05:00

Shaun sure was funny with that email about Hotel Carter, wasn't he? I'm just not sure how far he's willing to go for a joke. Sending me a link to the hotel is one thing. Booking a room there is quite another. I don't know where we're going on this mystery vacation, but if that filth-hole is part of his plan, divorce will soon be part of mine.

He says the weather will be in the sixties, possibly rainy. Darn. That rules out a Caribbean cruise, doesn't it? He also says we're leaving at 4 a.m. tomorrow.

I had to locate and surrender my passport to him tonight. Seriously? We're going out of the country? But just now he asked about my parents' phone number. Are we visiting my family? Although it may seem like it, Kansas is not a foreign nation and does not require a passport. Ugh. He's done a grand job of confusing me. Kudos, Shaun.

The only thing I know for sure is the bit about 4 a.m. That's 4 o'clock in the morning, you know. I gotta get to bed.

Goodnight.

Leaving on a jet plane, don't know if I'll be back again.

2009-09-29T18:47:00.016-05:00

I was going to plan a fun weekend getaway in celebration of our one year anniversary, which is Sunday, but I got busy/lazy/sidetracked/whatever! and dropped the ball. Fortunately, Shaun picked it up and ran with it. He's made all the arrangements and doesn't want to worry me with any of the pesky details. Like...where we're going or what type of garments I need to pack.

I realized today I'll need to close a couple jewelry shows over the weekend. I emailed Shaun to ask if we'll have Internet access where we're going. He replied that I'll need to bring my laptop or rely on whatever the hotel has available. I requested the name and web address for the hotel so I could check out their amenities. Pretty sly, huh? And he fell for it! He actually sent me the link. So much for a surprise.

We're going to New York City. Say it with me - New York City?!

We're staying in the Hotel Carter. It's right in Times Square but is actually quite affordable.

Here are just some of the comments left by previous guests:

Now, it's up to you: you can pick Holiday Inn, or Ramada Inn, or whatever other sterile, insipid, generic "Inn" chain that you wish. Chances are, you'll like the first room you're given, and will sleep well, without fearing the bedbugs may bite you. Or, you can pick Hotel Carter. Old, smelly, dingy, dirty, dodgy, creepy Hotel Carter.

Discover new diseases during your stay.

A Filthy Hole

Oh but Bed Bugs DO bite!‎

We turned on the t.v. ....which didn't have a remote...to listen to the news. It turns out that Friday morning, they found a dead body in plastic bags under the bed on the 6th floor.

You know you are not the first to find it so bad that you want to leave by the notice on Reception saying "no refunds after you have been in your room for more than 15 minutes".

Great when you are broke but got eye infection from pillows.

I'd imagine jail would be nicer!

Not for the faint of heart, or squeamish!

Hotel Carter was almost OK‎

Don't be fooled by the price of this Hotel. If it were free you would be still paying too much. Health and safety for you and your family has no price. Cheap and cheerful but without the cheerful.

There is internet in the lobby, but it is so antiquated i really hated to use it, and the keyboard was gummy and sticky - really gross. (So, bring my laptop?)

Only For Those With Low Self Esteem - There really is bullet proof glass protecting the registration desk, the lobby does look like a casino. The elevators are for smurfs.

Do you love Adventure?!‎

Nice if you like MICE

Didn't get killed, mugged or infected!!

We waited an hour in the lobby to check in. The staff was rude enough to be remarkable; however, their conduct was completely upstaged by the condition of the room. No sheets, comforter, curtain, towels... The room was covered in a layer of dirt. And someone had urinated in the bed recently and placed all of the pillows in the center of the bed to absorb it.

We was robbed‎

I checked into this hotel alone about 6:00 pm, put my suitcase in the room and left to have dinner. When I returned at 10:00 pm, I noticed that in my absence someone had been in my bathroom and defecated in the toilet and left without flushing!! When I told the desk clerk, his response was, "Why was someone in your room?" (Exactly my question to you, Hotel Carter). When I told the "security guard", his response was "What do you want me to do? It's late."

An experience!

Sounds delightful. Unfortunately, I think I'm coming down with something. I feel queasy and itchy. Might have to cancel this romantic rendezvous. Sorry Shaun. Sorry Adventure. I love you both, but my health (and my self-worth, apparently) are begging me to beg off.

Gusty with a chance of more gusts

2009-09-28T10:16:00.008-05:00

So glad I went running yesterday instead of putting it off until today. We're experiencing some brutal winds today. If our grill can't withstand those gusts, I doubt my tiny frame (just humor me, please) could.

What great luck for us, we chose the windiest day of the year to plant new grass. Shaun planted it before the wind picked up last night. Then, at 10 o'clockish, we were out in the blowing rain trying to weigh the seed blankets down with 2x4s. Do nothing the easy way, that's our motto!

The seed blankets were all in place this morning, but our grill was not. It had scooted all the way across the deck. What fun we had searching the neighborhood for our grill cover.

I hate wind. Really, it's my least favorite of all the elements. When I first visited DeKalb, it was a horribly windy day. Central Kansas, where I lived at the time, is no stranger to great gusts. But there was something mean and depressing about the winds here in Illinois. I hated this place. My mom and I were here checking out the NIU COMS department. She asked me, Do you think you want to come here for your master's? I just started bawling.

And, eleven years later, here I am! The blustery weather was no match for the kind folks in the COMS department. They made me feel warm and welcome. Those folks are all long gone now, but I'm still hanging out in that same department. Funny how life is, huh?

Friday News Round-up - sitting in for Diane Rehm

2009-09-25T13:53:00.012-05:00

Even though I'm super busy and important, I like to make time in my day to catch up on current events. What can I say? I care about this world we live in. And I've found a few stories I think you should care about, too.

First off, Cousin Eddy's in the clinker! I always liked Randy Quaid, but I've got to admit, this coat is criminal.
Next, I feel compelled to share the results of a recent study with you. Apparently, alcohol may protect the brain during an accident. The study seems a little flawed, but let's not get mired down in details. Booze is good for us!!!

Image via Wikipedia

And finally, it's with mixed emotions that I report to you Vince Vaughn says he's really ready for kids. I've had a crush on that big guy for years. I don't plan on acting on it. Again. (That's the last time I mistake a restraining order for a restraining suggestion). I'm happily married to my own big, hunky man now, so I guess I can let Vince get on with his life, too. I wish him well. I do. And I wish his wife-to-be some killer drugs when she delivers his behemoth babe.

6.2 miles

2009-09-21T12:49:00.009-05:00

I found this fun little ditty on the blog Run Faster Mommy.

You get to run the last six miles of your next marathon with 6 different people. They can be dead or alive; famous or not famous. Who are these people and why did you pick them? Furthermore, why did you pick them for the specific mile you did? Remember, you get an extra .2 miles with runner #6.

It was the perfect activity to occupy my mind as I ran a twenty miler yesterday. Here's what I came up with:

Okay. Mile 20-21: My friend Ker - uh, I mean Merith. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't be running in the dang race in the first place. A few years ago I tried running on my ow n. The result was an injured ankle and a vow to never run again. Then Merith presented me with a typed, color-coded training plan for a half-marathon. We started out slow and steady and stuck to the plan. It worked! We finished a half-marathon. So the next summer, we trained together again, that time for the Columbus marathon. And lo and behold, we finished that race, too. We're both running the Chicago marathon this year and we're both going to finish and we're both going to love it. Right, Mer?

Mile 21-22: My friend Caroline. We ran the Pittsburgh half-marathon together and the miles went by in a flash. Caroline kindly pointed out all the sights as we raced past them. "Oh, that's where you can get the best sub in Pittsburgh. And under that bridge is the perfect spot to dump a body." Even though she's not from Chicago, I trust she'd make up stuff about the landmarks to keep me entertained.

Mile 22-23: This guy.

No, seriously. Around mile 4 of our first race, Merith and I came around a corner and saw him. I said to her, "What kind of idiot would wear that outfi-ohmygodit'smybrother-in-law." He ran along with us and cheered us on and took photos of us. I laughed so hard I could barely run. His comic relief made the race fun for us and for many other runners. I think I'll be in need of some laughs around mile 22. Sorry, Wes, but I'll probably still say, "Who was that guy?" very loudly after you stop running with me.

And once he stops, I'll be at mile 23-24: This is where I'd like to invite all my friends who say "I can't even run a mile" to join me (Lisa? Shelley?) I'd like to show them that they can, indeed run a mile. Especially with thousands of people cheering them on and the promise of a cold beer at the end of it. I figure these non-runners would probably want to take it slow, and I'd gladly use them as an excuse to slow down at this point.

Mile 24-25: This one's kind of hokey, but I'd want to run with my 25 year-old self. She was insecure and puny. She made some dumb choices and, although she toyed with the idea of running, she was too scared to actually run. I'd like to drag that sad little lady along for a mile to show her what she's capable of.

And now, the final mile: No question - my mom. For a couple reasons. First, she's my biggest fan. Last year she happened to be working in Columbus when I ran the marathon there. The night before the run, she and Merith's mom plotted their approach to waching us. They told us to expect to see them at two points along the course. But then, during the race, they just kept popping up and surprising us. At mile 19, Merith and I took a bathroom break and when we came out of the port-o-johns, there were our moms, smiling and waving.

The second reason I want my mom to run the last 1.2 miles with me is because she can't. At least not right now. She was recently diagnosed with a rare form of myopathy. Her muscles have degenerated in the last few months and she can no longer go up and down stairs. She often needs a cane to walk or get up from a chair. As I'm running, I often think of her and the fact that she simply couldn't run if she wanted to. And I think I'm running for her. But, she's going to receive treatments soon that will hopefully restore her strength. So she may not be able to actually join me this year, but there's always 2010!

I realize I haven't included my husband. He's not a runner, and I doubt he'd be all that cheery or inspirational if I forced this mile on him. He can best motivate me by waiting for me at the finish line and by graciously accepting the big, sweaty hug I give him.

Three Things

2009-09-17T11:27:00.004-05:00

During my morning stalking of other blogs, I came across something called Three Things Thursday. I guess the idea is to write about three noteworthy things in your life. Brilliant.

1) I'm still in training for that darn Chicago marathon. I'm running for a charity called Girls on the Run, and thanks to my awesome friends and family, I met my fundraising goal. Thanks, everyone! The training's going alright. I'm doing a twenty miler in Chicago this weekend, and then it'll be time to taper. That means this is the last long run before race day. Yippee!

2) My house stinks. Reeks. Like dogs. I've washed the dogs, washed their beds, and vacuumed the carpet. And it still smells. What's a girl to do? Fabreeze the mutts? Nope, tried it.

3) Shaun and I are approaching our first anniversary. While researching cool ways to celebrate, I found the following:

1st WEDDING ANNIVERSARY
Traditional Anniversary Gift: Paper
Modern Anniversary Gift: Plastic/Clock
Travel Anniversary Gift Ideas: Travel Gift Certificate, Airline Tickets

So... paper or plastic? What's it gonna be? I'd prefer the airline tickets, thank you. In fact, I just found this cool hotel for us on cnn.com. All Shaun has to do is buy us some tickets to Berlin. Auf Wiedersehen!

Take action

2009-09-15T08:55:00.011-05:00

My mom's prognosis is good - thanks for asking and thinking of her.

My prognosis is alright, too. I was in quite a funk for a while there, but I'm crawling out of it. My friend Jill once said, "Life sucks. Once you accept that fact, it gets a lot easier." I believe M. Scott Peck mentioned something similar in his groundbreaking work The Road Less Traveled.

At any rate, my life doesn't really suck. I've just let some of the unfair or frustrating aspects of it suck me into a morass of blechiness. But I've decided to accept them and move on.

I'm currently teaching resume writing in one of my classes. We're going to talk about the importance of action words and specific details and I'm trying to think of some examples from my own work experience.

Secured 6 important notes to my computer via Post-Its.

Devoured 3 doughnuts in break room before 8:30 a.m.

Hauled 150(ish) pounds up three flights of stairs five (okay three) days a week for ten years.

Wowed 4 colleagues with my fashion-forward jewelry and accessories.

Coordinated office hours with happy hour at Cabana Charley's Bar and Grill.

Developed clever nicknames for 65% of co-workers. For example, T.P. (Tight Pants), Dr. Pantsonfire, and Richard Cranium.

Ruminated on shitty treatment from co-workers and researched various methods for destroying them.

Yes, those will work quite nicely. "Lead by example," I always say!

My ma

2009-09-01T23:19:00.004-05:00

I would appreciate your prayers and positive thoughts for my mom this week. She's at Mayo having lots of tests done.

Thanks. I mean it.

Row, row, row your boat.

2009-08-31T16:03:00.011-05:00

We've been planning a Wisconsin tubing trip for months. As the weekend got closer, though, we changed it to an Illinois canoeing trip. Instead of spending the entire weekend camping and drinking and floating down the river, we decided to dedicate just one day to it. That day was Saturday.

I got up early and went to Wal-mart for lunch and snacks. We squeezed into our swimsuits, packed up our cooler, collected a few friends, and headed to the river.

On the way, Shaun got a call from one of his brothers who was supposed to be meeting us there. Apparently the water was too high and fast, so they weren't allowing canoes on the river.

I was mighty disappointed, because of the getting up early and squeezing into the swimsuit business, and because I really wanted to spend the day with my friends.

So ... we invited everyone and their coolers back to our place. At 9:30 a.m. This may have been my favorite canoe trip so far. We had indoor plumbing and crackers and cheese. So civilized!

At one point, my friends Lisa and Shelley disappeared. Then they showed up in the kitchen looking be-dazzle-me beautiful!

Just look at all that lovely bling!

At my jewelry shows, when I suggest wearing this Alpine necklace as a belt, people often laugh at me. Good to know Shelley takes me seriously.

And here's Lisa wearing my new favorite ring. I call it Big Blue.

All in all, a pretty great day. There was some bocce ball in the afternoon, but I couldn't take any photos of it, as the action was too intense.

We ended the party with a few hands of Left, Right, Center and then dinner at Buffalo Wild Wings. I can't wait to do it again next year.

A grande venti

2009-08-25T22:22:00.009-05:00

Image via Wikipedia

Sometimes I go to Starbucks and it's so homey and smells so good I think I want to stay there forever. I think I'd like to work here. Then I go to the sandwich shop and I think this job's gotta be better than mine. I wish I worked here.

Of course, those folks have to work nights and weekends, which I don't. And they probably make minimum wage, which I no longer do. Still, I feel that sense of longing and I know I'm in trouble.

When I once thought the pregnant clerk at McDonald's had it better than me, I knew I needed to reevaluate my life. That was some messed up thinking, and it led me to realize how much I was dreading going into a doctoral program. I wanted to trade places with just about anyone to avoid going. So...I didn't go. I've never felt more relieved or sure of a decision in my life.

And the deadlies are back. They're not containing themselves to Sunday anymore. Tonight my bunco group met, but we played Bingo instead. It was hilarious. We all laughed and I felt so grateful for my friends I wanted to cry (no, I'm not pregnant). I knew the night had to end and that made me sad and kept me from fully enjoying myself. Does that make sense? Well, no, but what I really want to know is, does anyone else ever feel that way? I just wanted to stay there with my friends and keep laughing and bingoing forever. I didn't mind coming home, but I don't want to go to work tomorrow. I really don't. And I'm letting that dread ruin my time away from work. Something's gotta change.

Annoy-i-pedia

2009-08-22T12:05:00.003-05:00

Remember when, if you were out and about, you had to wait until you got home to Google the name of Poison's third album to settle a debate with your buddies?

Gone are those days, my friends. I secretly miss them.

Last night, Shaun and I were at the infamous Corn Fest watching an 80's tribute band. He and his friend started reminiscing about a concert they attended 20 years ago.

"Who else played besides Van Halen?"

"Uh, lemme see... there was Scorpion, Kingdom Come, Metallica and ... who was the fifth band?"

They both racked their beer-filled brains for a bit, and Shaun remembered, "It was Dokken!"

Whew.

Then, "In what order did they play?"

Ugh. Here we go. They each whipped out their phone and started Googling.

As they were engaged in their research, the volunteers at the event began picking up the chairs and tables around us. They were clearing trash and getting ready to shut the place down.

"Um, guys, I think we might need to move," I suggested.

No response.

"Shaun? Matt? They're literally clearing the tables. I think we should get up and let them have our table."

"I know Van Halen was the last act, but was Kingdom Come the first? I didn't think so."

"We're the only people left in this place. We really should go."

They were so engrossed in their phones they didn't notice their chairs being taken out from under them. As they stood next to each other, frantically surfing for the answer to this burning question, they were oblivious to the world around them.

"Shaun, your beer's spilling," I say to get his attention.

"Oh yeah. It says Scorpion was next to last. I remember that," he answers.

"Matt, your hair's on fire," I warn.

"Yeah, and Kingdom Come played early but got booed off the stage."

Such instant access to information is annoying. And dangerous.

Baby Day!

2009-08-13T10:04:00.003-05:00

No, this is not the day for a big baby announcement (sorry, Mom). But yesterday was the day that not one, but TWO of my friends had babies. What are the odds of that?

I was running yesterday morning and saw one of the friends and her husband on their way to the hospital. They had a C-section scheduled for 11:00 and I "ran" into them about 9:45. I got so excited when I saw them I started running fast and couldn't slow myself down and nearly died by the end of the run.

Last night I noticed I'd missed a call from the other friend's husband. I tried to call back but didn't get an answer. I figured he was busy calling everyone he knew, so I just sent a little text apologizing for missing the call and asking for any news. Still no response. So I called again. This time I left a long rambling message about not wanting to bother them but wanting to know how they were doing and if the baby was okay and how big she was and what they named her.

Then I got this text: Sorry, I misdialed but we're at the hospital now. Will let you know when she comes.

Oh.

She eventually arrived and her mom sent me a photo of her and she's adorable. Ah, babies.

change of pace

2009-08-11T21:01:00.002-05:00

I thought I'd spice things up here on the ol' blog. Not sure what I think about the new look. You?

Can you watch my dogs while I go to Mars?

2009-08-11T14:05:00.004-05:00

Someone in my house gets a monthly Mensa magazine. (Hint: it's not me). This little ad was on the very last page. Why, I nearly missed it. But thanks to my careful perusing of the magazine, we're going to Mars!

Of course we have to submit our resumes to Grand first, but I'm sure he (she? they?) will pick us. We have a lot to offer. I know my way around a food dehydrator and I love Tang. Shaun's handy with tools and watches the Discovery Channel. We're a natural choice. I wonder if we'll report to Chloride, Arizona or directly to the launch pad? Hey, maybe we could do our own little reality show from the shuttle! Do they have cable on Mars? HBO? No? That is a disappointment.

What's a proprietary quantum anti-inertial null spacetime vessel, anyway? And why do I need to include a self-addressed, stamped envelope? They can afford to fly a fancycraft to Mars but can't afford to pay postage for my orientation materials?

I'm no genuis, but this is starting to sound a little scammy.

Oh boo hoo

2009-08-10T13:37:00.006-05:00

Would you like to hear a pathetic tale of woe? Yes? Well, read on my friend!

If you answered no, you should skedaddle away from this blog. Come back tomorrow for a peppier post.

******************

Picture it; Corntown, Illinois, in the year 2000. Young Jess just finished graduate school and, instead of moving home to Kansas, takes a (last minute) job offer as an instructor at the university where she got her degree. Although her paycheck is teeny-weeny, it beats the heck out of her grad. school stipend. She's happy.

2001 - Silly Jess is convinced she should apply for an administrative position. Sure it's more work, but it pays 20% more! She wears her killer Ann Taylor Loft suit (the one she can now only dream of fitting into) to the interview and gets the job. She is happy. For about ten minutes. Soon she learns the instructors received a $9,000 pay raise. They're now making more than her.

2005 - Jess learns her department will be hiring two new instructors and vows to be one of them. But her department chair, Dr. Pants on Fire, tells her she has to resign form her current position in order to apply for another one. Gullable Jess believes ol' P.O.F. and, not wanting to give up a sure thing, stays in her position.

2008- another instructor position opens up! Pants on Fire is no longer the department chair, so hopeful Jess applies (without giving up her current position) and is told, "Sorry. Funding fell through. We're not really hiring anyone."

2009 - another instructor poosition opens up! Disenchanted Jess applies. But she's recently learned she won't be hired. Someone else has been serving the department as a visiting professor for a couple years. Even though he hasn't actually taught public speaking, he's in the instructor's union and she's not. He gets first dibs.

******************

So there you have it, my sad, sad saga (better known as My Pity Party). I've never talked about myself in third person so much before, but once I started, I couldn't very well stop.

It's disappointing to lose out on the position AGAIN. I've been teaching public speaking and doing the administrative tasks for the past eight years. I know it's not a matter of me not being qualified. It's just the way the union works.

I have a good job and I'll just keep reminding myself how fortunate I am to have it. And I'll probably make up more nicknames for the persons involved so I can make catty remarks about them in code.

Dr. Sues-a-lot is a poopyhead! Ah, yes. That does make me feel better.

Thanks a lot

2009-08-07T15:51:00.005-05:00

I am not equipped to receive compliments.

At jewelry camp, we learned about this great sales tactic called the "Compliment Drawing." You're supposed to carry a pad of entry forms in your purse, and when someone compliments your jewelry, you let them enter your monthly drawing for a piece of free jewelry. You may or may not actually give away a piece of jewelry, but you definitely get the name and contact information for a potential client.

I carried a pad of entry forms in my purse until last week. I decided it was a waste of valuable purse space. When strangers compliment my jewelry, which they do ALL THE TIME, I say things like, "Yeah, it's cool isn't it?" or "It's lia sophia. Have you heard of it?" When they say, "Yeah, my neighbor sells it," or "Yeah but I can't afford it," I simply say, "Okay!" I have yet to solicit one entry for my "drawing."

And when folks compliment my clothes, which they do occassionally, I say things like, "Oh, thanks. I got it at K-Mart. It's Jacqueline Smith. It was on clearance!" So basically I'm telling them, "I'm cheap. I support sweat shops. I'm really cheap!"

I need to learn to simply stop at thank you.

*****************

Some updates: I fixed the fan! And I have an extra AE23 12Volt battery on hand now if we experience that horror again.

I took my headphones to work Thursday, but Crazy Lady was with students and out of the office most of the time so I didn't need them. Wannabe Redhead, a woman sitting next to me in a meeting started clipping her nails and I got up and left. I HATE that sound. It should never be heard in the workplace.

Billy Mays had cocaine in his system when he died. Hmm. Explains his unnatural energy level, I guess.

Fanfare

2009-08-06T10:22:00.002-05:00

I woke up a sweaty mess at 3 a.m.. Looked up to see that the ceiling fan wasn't on. I knew I'd turned it on before I went to bed. I fumbled around on my nightstand, knocked my glasses and phone to the floor, and found the fan remote hiding under a book.

When I tried to turn the fan on, nothing happened. Nothing. So I stood on the bed and yanked the chain. Still nothing.

Somehow Shaun woke up during all this. I told him the remote wasn't working and he replied, "Lemme see it."

Now why does he do that? He doesn't trust I'm pushing the button properly and he thinks he can do it better? He could not.

I confessed that when I set my book on it, it might have been pressing on some or all of the buttons, causing the thing to go crazy and/or the battery to die.

"The first time I put you in charge of the remote, you break the fan," he said.

"Then the fault is yours for giving me the remote," I replied.

Having clearly deflected the blame for the situation, I settled in to go back to sleep. Ugh, but it was so hot. And every ten minutes or so, I was pestered with comments like, "Did you fix the fan yet?" "Why did you break the fan?" and "I wish the fan wasn't broken."

I got up and headed downstairs with the remote, thinking I could just change the battery. But then I discovered it's some strange, fat little round battery that no one has on hand.

I crawled back into bed and moaned about the heat.

"Wal-Mart's open right now," was his reply.

"Are you suggesting I go sleep at Wal-Mart?"

A little while later, he got up and took the remote out of the room with him. Again with that! I heard him rummaging in my office and asking for a paper clip. When ol' McGyver returned, the thing was still not working. Go figure.

He walked out of the room and said, "I'm going to Wal-Mart."

"You're in your underwear," I reminded him.

Turns out, he just went to the bathroom down the hall. Then he came back, complained about the heat, and got into bed.

I guess we both finally fell asleep at some point. I'm a little groggy this morning, so the details are fuzzy. What I do know for sure is I'll be purchasing a fat little round battery today and praying it fixes the fan.

Bloggity blog blog blog

2009-08-05T14:16:00.002-05:00

I'm blogging! Look at me, I'm blogging!

What am I blogging about? I have no idea. I just hoped if I started typing, something would come to me.

One of my brother-in-laws locked himself out of his car today. He was working near my neighborhood, so I offered to help him. I took him a coat hanger. A plastic one.

One of my friends is expecting a baby girl any day now. I spent yesterday afternoon searching for cute non-pink baby clothes for her. I have nothing against pink, but I'm a girl and I don't wear pink every day. Why should baby girls have to?

It is not easy to find cute non-pink baby clothes for girls. After traipsing around to several different stores, I discovered this great little place with all sorts of brightly colored baby clothes. It's called My Spare Bedroom. As in the room down the hall where I shoved all the baby stuff I bought when my friend Amy closed her baby boutique. Oh I had a grand time "shopping" among all the cute stuff I had stashed in there. Good thing, too, as I currently know three other women expecting babies soon. It's the year of the baby, I guess. At least I'm prepared. I just hope I remember it next time before I go to Kohl's and Carson's and Penny's and TJ Maxx and Old Navy.

Now I think I'll head over to the Border's café and grade papers read free magazines. Oh, summer, I'm going to miss you. But once school starts and I'm in my office more, I expect I'll be a more faithful blogger. That's where I do my best blogging - in my office with my certifiably CRAZY office mate. Shaun has suggested I wear headphones to work so she can't annoy me. I have to go in tomorrow for a couple hours. I'll try it then. I may even tell you about it.

I have a blog?

2009-07-22T13:04:00.013-05:00

Yeah, yeah. I know I've been silent too long. I know you're lost without your frequent doses of Jessness.

Just returned from a luxurious vacation in sunny Ellinwood, Kansas. Not only is it home to my fine parents, but also to the renowned After Harvest Festival. This year's theme was "It's showtime!" Boy was it!

I ran the annual 10k Saturday morning. I wish I had photos to share, but no one in my family thought it important enough to capture on film. No big deal, just my first time placing in a race EVER! Yep, I took second in my gender/age division. That other thirty-something lady is goin' down next year, just you wait.

Since I don't have a photo of the race, I'll insert the one recommended by Zemanta:

After the race was the much anticipated parade. Here in Sycamore, Illinois, you can't throw candy from parade floats. I do not attend parades here in Sycamore. But in Ellinwood, Kansas, you can throw candy, necklaces, bottles of water, and small children. Here's Shaun and my dad preparing to load up on lots of loot.

And here's my cousin's son actually loading up on lots of loot. Notice the coffee can? Some old guy placed it in the road and expected people to throw candy into it. Lazy! Half the fun is running into the street dodging oncoming cars and mini-motorcycles to collect your candy.

And here's my mom's float. The red-hatters were all dolled up, Hollywood style.

Ah, good times.

What wasn't such a good time was the ride home. I drove to Kansas by myself a week ago. The time passed rather quickly because I was listening to a murder mystery on CD. I didn't finish it, so I was anxious to discover the killer's identity on the way home. But Shaun was with me for the return leg of the trip (he flew to Kansas last weekend) and he wasn't interested in my mystery. No, he was interested in playing "Who sings this?" for ELEVEN HOURS. If I didn't know an artist, or mixed up Primus with Incubus, he laughed and acted smug. But who was acting smug when he didn't know who sang This Kiss? Not me, as I am a good sport and I do not derive pleasure from other people's ignorance.

(It's Faith Hill. Geez. How could he not know that? Doesn't everyone know that?)

Anyway, we made it home eventually. And I suppose I'll unpack our bags eventually. First I'm going to drive around town for a few hours. I've got a killer to finger!

Baay-Bees

2009-07-09T21:48:00.021-05:00

Shaun and I were recently invited to a baby shower. Since my friend Amy closed her store, I now have to buy regular old baby gifts at regular old stores. Since I have no clue what babies need, other than oxygen and adorable clothes, I relied on the trusty registry. And this, the Soothe and Swaddle Bouncer, is what I ended up purchasing. A baby vibrator! Isn't it lovely? I knew Shaun would freak when he heard the price of the Baby Soothe and Shake, but I felt compelled to tell him anyway. He needs to be prepared, after all, in case he one day has a baby of his own that needs bounced.

I was right, he flipped out. And then, as is his frugal way, he sent me links to several cheaper bouncers on eBay. All were nice, but none soothed and swaddled and matched our friends' baby's room. Nor were any of them new, which is a criteria I also like in a shower gift.

But he really got me thinking; when we do have kids, we could easily outfit them and their rooms with goods from eBay and Craigslist. Goods like these:

Clean w/o any ripes Bouncer with Cover on top.

Clean and no ripes? For only $20? Score!

Leapfrog Bouncer with all the attachments. Plays music and has mirror on one side for the baby to see. Clean and no ripes.

No way. Ripe-free with a mirror so baby can see? All for $30? Jackpot!!

Affordable Youngin' Starter Kit - $1

This caught my attention, let me tell you. But there seems to have been a mistake. Or a fraud. Nothing here's $1. And even I know this isn't all you need to start a youngin'. Where's the Miller Lite?

Pack N Play --- $50

High Chair --- $25

Products (bundle) --- $30

Outfits --- $20

socks --- $5

baby einstein bouncer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! - $5

yup only 5 dollars. it works!
cash only please!!!!!!!
its been used alot but still has alot more use in it.
email with questions

I had to click on it!!!!!!!!!!!! It just sounded so fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It doesn't swaddle, but whatever it does, it works! And it's cheap. Speaking of cheap;

Baby things in cheap rate
I am selling
sit & play walker,Graco travel system,eventflow breast pump,Graco bath tub,snuzzler,sweater,VHS,Taperecorder,speaker systems,desktop,camping tent for child,printer. which one u want to buy.contact me soon

Now, we're clearly dealing with a non-native English speaker here, so I shouldn't make fun. But I have to. Which one u want to buy? Priceless! Snuzzler? Don't know what it is, but me want one!

Now, this next one I clicked on for Shaun. It just made me think of him.

My Breast Friend - $25

Hmm. He may not get as excited about the Breast Friend as I'd hoped. Ooh, what's this? A booh-bah? I think he likes those. Let's see...

Booh-Bahs - $5

Oh dear. That's not . . . never mind. It's clear I have a lot (or is it alot) to learn about kids and their toys. I think I might start trolling Craigslist for these treasures on a regular basis.

Makin' a list

2009-06-30T23:48:00.004-05:00

How could I go to the grocery store with this list, and spend $101? And forget the dang protein drinks??!!!

I have a problem. I also have a cupboard full of Terra chips and Pirate's Booty. Yum.

Z-what?

2009-06-29T21:33:00.008-05:00

I've just installed a fun new program called Zemanta. Apparently it will read my mind, or my blog, and suggest related pictures and videos for me to use.

We'll see about that.

This weekend I went to jewelry camp. What kind of picture do you have for that, Zemanta?

Hmm. Interesting. It was in Milwaukee. Do you know where that it, Z-man?

Better, but not really useful. We went to Summerfest. Got any idea what that is, Mr. Z?

Image via Wikipedia

Well, I guess you do. The photo's 15 years old, but I'll give it to you.

So , 1.5 out of 3. Not bad, but not really worth the trouble.

All irrelevant images aside, the jewelry conference in Milwaukee was actually a lot of fun. As was Summerfest. Now it's back to Illinois and training for the Chicago Marathon. Woohoo.

Image via Wikipedia

Oh thanks, Z.

clutter bug

2009-06-24T18:05:00.006-05:00

Life's been out of control lately. My house is a mess, my car's running on E, and my finances haven't been tended to in quite some time. Do you ever get that way? I've been busy doing fun stuff (like shopping at IKEA - hence the need to check on those finances), so I really shouldn't complain. Yet I do.

Yesterday I vowed to get myself organized. I've been feeling a little out of sorts with regard to the jewelry biz, so I wanted to get that area of my life straightened out.

Here's my office closet, where I keep a lot of my jewelry supplies, before my maniacal organizing frenzy:

Embarrassing.

Here's the After:It's not as eye-catching as an office or closet in Real Simple. I'd need some shelves and magazine holders for that. Ooh, better head back to IKEA.

In the meantime, I'll enjoy the clutterlessness of my home office and I'll pray for someone else to come declutter the rest of the joint.

Don't be crabby

2009-06-21T14:32:00.011-05:00

I found this little guy on Kristina P's awesome blog and borrowed him.

I've just been so darn busy I've had no time to blog. I've been reading my romance novels and, well, they're really thick novels, y'see.

I also visited with an old friend, attended a wedding, went to book club, met some new in-laws, played a little bingo, and ran a very few miles.

Today I'm hosting a cookout that starts at 2:00. What's that, it's 2:45? Either I am a terrible hostess, or my guests are tardy.

And because I have nothing else to blog about, I'm going to wow you with the dress I bought at Kohl's today.

Isn't it adorable? And it was half-price! I wish you could get one for half-price, too, but I bought it during a One Day Only Doorbuster Sale. Sales like that only come along once in a blue moon. Or a week.

Four years

2009-06-15T13:11:00.009-05:00

Four years ago today, Shaun and I went on our first date. Oh, the memories. Maybe we could go to Ruby Tuesday tonight and recreate the romance. Wait, it's Bingo night at St. Mary's. And since it's their last bingo night ever, someone is guaranteed to win the $3000 jackpot. Surely a good way to celebrate four years is by winning $3000.

Here's what I remember about that magical night four years ago:

He'd asked me out two weeks earlier but I'd planned a trip to Kansas and had to put him off for a while. Why he waited around for me, I do not know. He's no doubt asked himself that question more than once in the last four years.

He picked me up in a sweet Chevy Malibu sedan -with two car seats in the back. We'd spoken a couple times on the phone, once at a bar and once at a Cubs game. We had several mutual friends. Somehow, though, no one ever mentioned his two children.

He claimed the car seats weren't his. Claimed the car wasn't even his. Allegedly his friend was working on his jeep and he was driving the friend's car.

After he told me this, I suggested we snoop around to see if the friend had any good or incriminating junk hidden in his car. Shaun acted appalled and I felt like a big jerk. It was a joke gone awry. Not a good start to the date. It was also a lame attempt at getting him to fess up and admit the car was his and he was actually married with two kids. No luck there, either.

We went to dinner at Ruby Tuesday (where I now refuse to eat because it does not agree with me), then had drinks at a local beer garden. It was there I learned his (and my future) last name.

Here's what I wrote in my journal a few days after the date:

Went out with Heather's friend Sean (or is it Shaun) Wednesday night. I like him. It's been a little awkward talking to him on the phone. Lots of pauses and him not laughing at my jokes. But we talked for 36 minutes tonight and it felt better. There were still some awkward pauses, but this time I didn't rush to fill them by saying stupid shit. I also made a few jokes he didn't laugh heartily at, but maybe he's just not sure how to take me and my incredible wit. He'll learn. He better.

I'm happy to report he's learned how to appreciate me and my humor. And I've learned how to correctly spell his name.

Leave nothing to the professionals

2009-06-11T16:07:00.008-05:00

We needed trees. The only tree on our property was half-dead, so we had the city remove it last week.

Yesterday we took a little trip to a nursery and picked out some new trees. While I like the idea of shade and big beautiful trees, I don't want anything to do with the planting of said trees. And I'd rather not wait twenty years for them to be big and beautiful.

Too bad.

Shaun is a handy and frugal fella, and as such, he does not like to pay others to do a job he can do himself. That's all fine and good if the job is, say, building a deck or redoing a kitchen. But planting trees? That's absurd. That requires special equipment and strength. I made my feelings known to Shaun, but he seemed sure we could plant them ourselves. Anything to save $500.

Here are the three trees we purchased:

This picture was taken after we let the nursery attendants load them onto our trailer with a forklift. I was quite worried about how the two of us would unload them. My confidence was further shaken when the muscular little man securing them to the trailer asked, "You're planting them yourselves?" and laughed when we said we were.

We drove home slowly and pulled the trailer into the yard. They love that here in our subdivision. We dug the first hole (which was easy because it's the one the city just emptied for us a week ago) and rolled tree number one off the trailer and into the hole. Tada!

I know it looks like the tree is leaning, but I think it's really the whole picture that's at an angle. I am not a professional, remember?

I felt good about the first tree, but the others were to go into the backyard and the holes had to be dug from scratch. I was nervous.

But, an hour and a few tire tracks in the grass later, here's tree number 2:
We did it! I was really impressed with us at this point. Shaun was sweating up a storm and complaining of a raging headache. From a couple little trees? Wimp.

And finally, I present to you, Tree Number 3:
Why yes, that is a tarp wrapped around the unplanted rootball. Tarps are very fashionable in our neighborhood. In fact, we've already seen some folks staring and pointing at it, no doubt in admiration.

So in the end, we were able to plant two out of the three trees all by ourselves. I suspect we'll do the last one tonight. I'm sure the neighbors got a kick out of seeing our truck and trailer in our backyard, and out of watching the two of us roll/kick/shove a 300 pound tree into place. I only wish I'd have thought to record it so all of you could enjoy the spectacle as well. Maybe next time. We do need a fence . . .

too . . . tired . . . to post

2009-06-08T15:44:00.008-05:00

Yesterday I ran a half-marathon. Excuse me, I ran the Chicago 13.1. Their slogan is "13.1 isn't half of anything."

That's a dumb slogan. At least the medal was cool.

Me and my friend Sarah before the race.

Me after the bleepin' race.

This is not the picture of happiness. Or health. Or anything good.

My faith in humanity and bodice-rippers has been restored

2009-06-04T13:28:00.006-05:00

Another book arrived for me today. This is the second book I've received as part of the Book Club Chain Letter I passed on a few weeks ago. At first I was sad and disappointed because no one seemed to have passed it on. But my friend Sarah did - and now her mom and sister are sending me books.

I LOVE getting new books. Remember when you ordered Scholastic Books in grade school? Oh, what joy it was on the day the books arrived and the teacher separated them and piled them on our desks. Perhaps that's where I acquired my copy of AYTGIMM. And oh, the horror on those days when I'd forgotten to turn in my order form and I had to watch all the other kids get their new books.

This is the book that came for me today. I've already started it and I must say, it's goooooood.

Let me offer you this teaser from page 18:

"The rogue she had lain with would buy no cloaks for anyone after tonight. For Verhulst had spent those hours as he waited for Imogene to make her move in devising a variety of horrible, lingering deaths for Stephen Linnington. He would make Imogene watch. It would be a valuable lesson for the young wife he had brought from across the sea to Wey Gat."

Not even twenty pages in and I'm bearing witness to adultery, sex in a meadow, and attempted murder!

I've got to go. Verhulst and Imogene are calling me.

Are You There, God? Cuz' Margaret's Freaking Me Out

2009-06-02T11:33:00.006-05:00

I know you all read this book. Well, maybe not you, Dad. But the rest of us know the story; young Margaret longs to become a woman, gets her period, and lives happily ever after.

My literacy developed much faster than my body. I was able to read about Margaret's escapades in puberty, but wasn't able to relate. Wasn't able to understand them, even.

One day before school, I casually asked my mom, "What's a period?"

Margaret and her friends were in a race for their Period. I'd surmised it was something a person got around age 12, and that, apparently, the sooner you got it, the more special you were.

My mom sat me on the edge of my bed and explained the details. I have absolutely no memory of the actual words she used, only of my complete shock.

"Whoa! You mean it's not something you get in school?"

"Well," my mom said, "you might get it at school."

"But it's not an award or certificate you receive for being a good student or passing a test?"

"Uh, no."

Later in the book, Margaret finally got her damn period. She was in the bathroom when it happened, not on a stage at her junior high. Thank goodness Mom had set me straight, or I would've been really lost. (Why did she find her award for good penmanship/perfect attendance in the toilet?).

She had to use some sort of pink belt contraption, which my mom hadn't mentioned. I was frightened and not at all interested in joining Margaret's ranks. Apparently, the Period was cool to get, but a bitch to maintain.

One of Margaret's habits was familiar to me. I didn't have to ask my mom about it because I'd already discovered it myself. She talked about lying in bed and touching herself - stick with me here, it's not what you think - in a special place. I'd often lie in bed and run my fingers along the soft skin on the inside of my upper arm. It was so soothing! And I felt pretty cool to find a kindred spirit in Margaret, someone else who knew about the "special spot."

What do you remember about this book? Are girls still reading it? I guess it's good for starting important dialogues, but without some guidance or a glossary, it could could really freak a girl out.

Baby Pat

2009-06-01T12:14:00.010-05:00

Went to a graduation party yesterday. Saw some of Shaun's kin we hadn't seen since our wedding. Saw some scrunchies and bangs we hadn't seen since our youth. (Not, I must clarify, on Shaun's kin. On their friends.)

There was a toddler running around in a white ribbed tank-top and athletic shorts. Sort of like this guy:Or this one:
But the child had long, curly hair. Like this:I could not discern the kid's sex. At one point, Shaun's brother was holding it and I cleverly asked, "Who's this?"

The brother replied, "This is Havoc."

"Excuse me?"

"Havoc. This is Sam's oldest."

I didn't know Sam, or any man (woman?) who would name their child Havoc. I tried again, thinking that if I spoke directly to the child, its response might give me a clue as to its gender.

"How old are you, Havoc?"

The kid just stared at me. Shaun's brother said, "Almost three. But we're tired and shy today. All we're interested in is our Mountain Dew, isn't that right, Havoc?"

That was no help, except to illustrate why the child's name was synonymous with trouble. Mountain Dew and a three year-old? Havoc indeed.

In other news, I got a book in the mail today!!! Someone passed on my Book Club Chain letter! And someone actually sent me a book! Now, where are my damn flip-flops?

Prancing with the Stars

2009-05-28T15:04:00.006-05:00

Did you hear ol' Rod Blagojevich was cast in a reality TV show? The show, I'm a Celebrity...Get Me Out of Here, is being filmed in the jungle in Costa Rica. Unfortunately, the courts won't let Rod leave the country while he's facing federal criminal charges of fraud and bribery. So, sadly, he cannot be a contestant on the show. But his equally crass and corrupt wife Patti will be competing in his place.

I don't like that. Not one bit. They're criminals, not celebrities! Even worse is the ridiculous show about the Bunny Ranch Brothel in Nevada. The owner asked Drew Peterson to be his apprentice and to star in the show. He had the good sense to rescind his invitation when Peterson was officially arrested for the murder of his third wife.

For those of you living outside Illinois and not familiar with this sleezoid, he's accused of killing his third wife and is suspected of involvement in the disappearance of his fourth wife. He's a murderer!!! (I know, innocent until proven guilty, but I've seen enough crime TV to know this guy is NOT innocent).

Why would anyone want to glorify him in any way? Who wants to watch the jackal on TV every week? I get queasy every time I see OJ Simpson; I certainly wouldn't tune in to a program on which he was a regular. What's next? 17 Kills and Counting? America's Next Top Mauler?

Hey, let's bring back Vicki Lawrence and play some Win, Lose or Die!

Oh, perhaps Chuck Woolery could help Eliot Spitzer find his next hooker girlfriend on The Gov Connection.

And Bernie Madoff could restore America's faith in him by hosting Who Wants to Be a Millionaire! (Maybe The $250,000 Pyramid would be more appropriate?)

And that Italian mob boss who was recently arrested? He'd be a hit on Dirty Jobs!

I don't know – I love my TV (and my new DVR!!), but I don't want to give anyone the impression that I support these lunatics in their criminal endeavors. I'm not interested in their prime-time antics. When their stories are aired on TruTV or Dateline, that's when I'll be watching.

Marathon madness

2009-05-26T22:09:00.005-05:00

There's no better way to honor our fallen soldiers on Memorial Day than to watch endless episodes of the same TV show. Yesterday I stumbled across a Law & Order SVU marathon on USA. I enjoyed it for a bit, but I'd seen all of the episodes several times. Even Shaun, who claims to hate the show, was saying after the first two minutes, "The retarded brother did it. Can we change the channel?" And he was right, it was the brother.

Then, around 6 p.m., I discovered a Six Feet Under marathon. I'd only seen the first season of the show, so I was thrilled to have it playing all night long. I watched until 2 a.m., then went to sleep. Woke up, went to work for a couple hours, came home, and it was still on!! I missed a couple years while I was sleeping, but I think I figured out most of the story lines.

It was a shame, though, that I wasn't able to do anything productive today. Huh? DVwhat? No, we don't have a DVR. Someone in my household doesn't want to spend the extra money on it. I had to sit in front of the television all day, and even had to watch the commercials! I know, can you believe it?

Fortunately, I'm accustomed to such hardship. Growing up, mine was the last family in Kansas to get a VCR, and when we did, it was a Betamax. There were like seven movies at the video store for Beta machines, and seven thousand for VHS. Oh, the deprivation. But I suppose it built character and gave me the fortitude to sit, catatonic, for six hours today while watching that crazy show. Thanks Mom and Dad.

Open House of Horrors

2009-05-24T15:21:00.003-05:00

A few weeks ago, a friend asked me to participate in her Open House Event. She's really just an acquaintance and the event was really just a disaster in disguise.

She's also my hairdresser, and last week while I was in her chair, she said the following to me: "I don't care about the party. I mean, I hate home parties - no offense."

And: "I'm only doing this because everybody keeps bugging me to have a party so I'm just doing them all at once."

Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize by mentioning ONE TIME that I sold jewelry that I was bugging you. How rude of me.

She also said: "I really hope I get a lot of sales from Tastefully Simple. That's the only one I really care about - no offense."

No offense? What's next, you gonna call me fat and then pretend it's not rude by adding no offense?!

She capped it off by saying some unsavory things about one of my in-laws, who happens to be her neighbor, and about Mexicans. Apparently they're all thieves.

There were six vendors at her house Friday night. Three were selling kitcheny items, one was hawking candles, another knock-off purses, and me with my jewelry.

When I arrived, the hostess's two-year-old wanted to dig in my stuff. She was cute and seemed harmless, so I let her help me take some small boxes out of a bag and put them on a table.

I sat up shop next to the Tupperware lady, who is my new BFF. We spent the entire night talking, as no one else wanted anything to do with us. Women were coming in, looking right at us and exclaiming, "I've gotta find the purses! I only came for the purses."

I'd point to the next room and think, you're gonna need more than a new purse to update that look, lady. I highly doubt folks who see you sporting your tapered-leg jeans and your kitty-cat T-shirt are going to believe you're carrying this year's Prada.

I'd been there an hour before the hostess even really talked to me. She'd been gossiping about my brother-in-law in another room, and kindly sought me out to share her snide remark with me. Then she said to her mother, "Jess is related to that guy."

"Oh," the mom said, "I guess we shouldn't have been talking about him."

To which the hostess said, "No, it's okay. Jess is cool with it."

No, no Jess is not cool with it. Although he is an eccentric fella, he's as kind as the day is long. I was surprised at how defensive I felt when she talked about him. I was disgusted that I didn't stand up for him, but it didn't seem the appropriate time or place.

After another half-hour, I finally got some action at my table. The two year-old came back to examine my goods. "Pretty," she'd say as she grabbed necklaces and bracelets off my display and threw them on the floor.

"Oh, please put the pretty necklace back," I politely instructed her. She was too busy pushing all of my display boxes onto the floor to hear me.

"Oh no, you shouldn't do that," I said kindly. More grabbing and "pretty" and throwing followed.

"Yes, it is pretty. And if you don't put it back on my table, I'm going to strangle you with it. Can you say strangle, little girl?"

Where was her mother, you ask? She was talking on her cell phone and feeding her other kid. She put them both down long enough to come to my table and pick up a bracelet.

"Oh, it matches your shirt," I said.

She told me the reason she doesn't wear jewelry is because she doesn't know how to match it. Tupperware Lady and I both told her that anything goes, it doesn't have to match. Then she said her kids just pull her jewelry off of her. Tupperware Lady happened to be wearing lia sophia earrings and she demonstrated how, when her two year-old tugged on them, they came right off and didn't rip her ear.

"Yeah, but still," was the hostesses final plea for getting off the jewelry hook. Alright, I get it. You're not into jewelry. No reason to pretend you are, I guess. Then she said, in all seriousness, "If this is a big success for you guys, I'll do it again even though I hate it."

Well, don't go nailing yourself to the cross just yet. Let's see if either of us gets a sale, shall we?

In the end, I did get a sale. A single sale.

Apparently the Tastefully Simple lady was more successful. At one point in the night, the hostess was waltzing around saying, "I only need you to buy 30 more dollars worth of Tastefully Simple stuff, ladies."

She came up to me and said, "Just 30 more dollars, c'mon Jess."

And that's when I decided - she is dead to me. I already found her hairdressing sessions expensive and offensive. Now she wants me to help her get free stuff even though she's all but said she hates my jewelry? No way, bitch. No offense.

You take the good, you take the bad...

2009-05-22T15:09:00.008-05:00

Good stuff:

Went running this morning and, if my calculations are correct, my pace was a 9 minute mile. This is monumental for me, as I averaged a 13 minute mile in the marathon I ran last fall and an 11 minute mile in the half-marathon I ran last month.

I signed up to go to the lia sophia national conference in Milwaukee (can you say Sucka?), and today I found out that my region is sponsoring a tent at Summer Fest; they're paying for our entrance and concessions. And Keith Urban is playing the night we'll be there. I love Keith Urban!!! And I love free beer and food!!

Last night one of my friends told me I looked skinny. She'd been drinking and it was dark, but who cares?

Bad stuff:

My running calculations probably weren't correct.

I have made a whopping $6.40 from lia sophia this month. (But I have four shows in the next two weeks, so let's hope I can turn it around. I can't let Keith, er, my team down!)

I have consumed approximately 4000 Caramel Creams today. Are you familiar with these delightful treats? Ooh, while looking for this image of them, I discovered they come in bar form and in tubs. Tubs! Better bookmark that website. I guess that's about all that's happenin' in my little world. Well, all that I care to relate on this here little blog. The rest is boring and messy and you deserve better.

Naiveté is fun to say

2009-05-20T16:01:00.007-05:00

Let me share a secret with you. Something my husband doesn't even know.

I am a sucker.

While Shaun may be aware of my general sucker-like nature, he doesn't know of my latest adventures in gullibility.

The other day I received a chain letter. I can hear you groaning, but wait! It wasn't your average chain letter, it was a Book Club Chain! All I had to do was send a book to the person at the top of the list, and then forward the letter to six friends. The letter promised I'd soon receive 36 books in the mail - all my summer reading would be provided for me by kind strangers.

Now, I'm no dummy. I knew better than to expect 36 books. I'd have been happy with 2 or 3 books. But to date, I have received 0 books in the mail. Not one other person sent a book?!

Before the Book Club Fiasco, I'd signed up on someone's blog to participate in a Flip-Flop swap. We got matched up with someone, then had to email them to find out their size, favorite colors, favorite summer activities, DNA make-up, and so on. My partner didn't respond to my initial email, and after a couple days, I was glad for her lack of communication. I'd started to re-think the whole scheme and decided it was stupid and I was lucky my partner bailed.

Then, alas, she emailed me a couple weeks later, after I'd forgotten all about her, and she was super excited about the swap. So, not wanting to disappoint some woman in Atlanta whom I've never met, I went shopping for flip-flops. While I didn't spend the suggested amount, I did get her a really cute pair of Tommy Hilfiger flip-flops from T.J. Maxx (and I used part of a gift card my mom gave me for my birthday - I spent my birthday money on her!).

I shipped them off and sent her the following email:

Stephanie,
I mailed your goodies yesterday so you should receive them soon. Hope you like them! Enjoy your summer.
Jessica

I should've sent her something like this:

Stephanie,
Oops, I lost your address. Can you please send it to me again so I can ship your cool new flip-flops to you?
Thanks,
Jessica

Then, when she didn't respond, I could have taken them back and gotten something in my own size. But what's done is done. They're no doubt already in her posession and I have heard nothing from her. Nor have I received any super cool new flip-flops in the mail. Or even any moderatley cool ones. I may soon be forced to send her another email:

Stephanie,
Oh dear. I think there was a problem with the shipping of my flip-flops. I never received them; isn't that crazy? Did you purchase insurance or get delivery confirmation? I just wanted to let you know, as I thought you'd be disappointed. I know I am!
Jessica

Or perhaps I should be a little more personal:

Stephanie,
Oh dear. Is everything okay? I haven't recieved my flip-flops. I know you were "super excited" about the swap, so I'm concerned that something terrible has happened to you. Were you in an accident? Have you contracted a terminal illness? Is it that pesky swine flu? Well, no matter what, I'll be sending positive thoughts your way so you can get better and get me my flip-flops soon.
Jessica

What I'd really like to say is:

Stephanie,
What is wrong with you? Seriously, you're weird and your blog sucks.
Enjoy your flip-flops. They're last season's! Hah!
Jessica

What I'll actually say is: nothing. Why bother? Although I'd really like to teach her a lesson about lying and not keeping promises and disappointing others and taking things from strangers, I know she'd probably just delete the email and go on with her stupid, super life.

As much as I want to blame this Stephanie and all the slackers who threw away the Book Club Chain letter (you know who you are and you should know you're looking at seven years of some real bad mojo, my friends), the real problem is with me. Why do I send stuff to strangers? Why am I so naive to think strangers are just going to send me stuff?

I think I've learned a lesson here. I think I'll stop being quite so trusting. What's that you say? You have a home-based business you'd like to tell me about? And I can be independently wealthy within a year? Sounds like we need to talk! Call me!

Running in Cabot Cove

2009-05-18T13:43:00.005-05:00

Ooh, I think I witnessed a crime being investigated today.

I was running through a neighborhood other than my own, and I saw a man in a suit standing near the curb. His nondescript, presumably state-owned tan sedan was parked and running near him. He was looking at a house, and then he casually reached into the garbage bin standing at the end of its driveway.

He's collecting evidence! I thought to myself. I've seen this on The Investigators dozens of times. Trash is fair game. Once it's put on the curb, detectives don't need a warrant to search it.

And then I saw something sticking out of the garbage bin that convinced me we're (he's) dealing with a serious crime here. It was . . . carpet! And padding!

I think we all know what that means. Don't we? Uh, someone's trying to cover up bloodstain evidence by replacing their carpet.

I felt compelled to stop and offer the detective my assistance. I do, after all, have some significant crime fighting experience. In fact, it was my keen perception and eye for detail that allowed me to read the paper in his hand. It was an MLS listing. And there may have been a real estate sign on his car. And the owner may have been replacing their carpet, not to cover a crime, but to update their home.

Whew. Thank goodness I solved that little mystery, and fast! I really don't have time for another investigation right now.

I'm in a pickle

2009-05-16T12:19:00.003-05:00

Shaun has a friend who's going through a divorce. I also have a friend who's getting divorced. His friend is divorcing my friend.

It's not as simple as that, though. Shaun and the husband have been friends for years. Then the friend met and married his wife and Shaun became friends with her, too. Then I entered the picture and also befriended the couple.

Now the husband and wife are not on good terms with one another. This makes things a bit awkward at times. The husband's new girlfriend adds to the awkwardness.

I feel the need to be loyal to my friend, the soon to be ex-wife. Shaun, of course, still hangs out with his friend and now, with the new girlfriend.

It's not in my nature to be rude, but I don't usually say much to this woman. She might be super nice, but she's not a friend and I'd feel guilty making her one. Like I was betraying the wife. The girlfriend is nice to me, and tries to initiate conversations. I respond in kind, but I don't ask her questions or engage her in conversation. That's not natural for me, and I feel bad doing it. I still talk and laugh with the husband, and he's guilty of hurting my friend, too. Should I be equally cold to him as well? Should I just be nice to both of them?

I do not like tension in my life. I like to keep the peace. But my friend has made it clear she does NOT want me befriending her ex's girlfriend, and I don't blame her. I think I'd feel the same if I was in her shoes. But her ex is still Shaun's friend, and probably will be for life. We're gonna be seeing him and his new gal-pal frequently, I'm sure.

Ugh, this is tricky. Any advice?

What's that funny smell?

2009-05-14T11:32:00.012-05:00

I cannot work under these conditions. Something really stinks in my office. We have a mini-fridge in here and although it's empty save one old bag of coffee grounds, it's the epicenter of the stench.

Okay, I've opened a window and a candle. I cann ot a ctually light the candle, but I've set it right under my nose in hopes the smell will mask the rotting odor coming from the empty fridge.

I expect this in my kitchen, but at work? Unacceptable.

While I'm de-stinking this joint, I'm going to try to snazz it up a bit. Make it appealing and fun. I read about thinkgeek.com recently, and I've found some lovely office supplies on the site.

Won't I look cool with these beauties on my desk?

It's a file cabinet . . . for business cards. It's actually quite small. I love mini things.

I also love this:

Dead Fred, it's called. How whimisical!

And these will no doubt provide me with hours of fun:

Stickers for my office supplies! Oh, things are going to get FUN around here very soon.

You can’t pick your family, but you can pick on your in-laws

2009-05-11T18:46:00.002-05:00

Because I'm lazy, and because my brother-in-law is so hilarious, I'm going to let him provide the funny for today's blog. Below is an email exchange between us.

From: Jess

Sent: Sat. 05/09/09 12:44 PM

To: Ben

Subject: Sole Mates

Hi. Did I tell you I ran the Pittsburgh half-marathon on Sunday, May 3rd? Well, while still on a runner's high from that event, I signed up for another one - the Chicago Marathon.

I'm now coming down from the high and thinking "what have I done?!," and "is this a valid excuse to buy new shoes?"
Although I'm a bit nervous, I'm actually very excited about this race. I'm running for a great charity. That's where you come in. (You knew there was a catch, didn't you?)

I'm running as part of a group called Sole Mates. We're raising money for Girls on the Run, a terrific organization designed to empower young girls through running. I'll no doubt need some emotional support as I train to run 26.2 miles and I'd also like your financial support as I try to raise money for Girls on the Run.

Please click on the link below to learn more about the organization and/or to donate.

Thank you in advance for your help! Every bit is a blessing.

Jess

From: Benjamin

Sent: Sat 05/09/09 8:44 PM

To: Jessica

Subject: Re: Sole Mates

Wouldn't the "Support the Homeless Sibling Foundation" be a better cause? We can use your support in many easy ways. You can donate time, money, living quarters, or just buy a home for one. Shaun is already a lifetime "Platinum Member" shouldn't you be one too?

From: Jess

Sent: Sun 05/10/09 10:46 AM

To: Ben

Subject: RE: Re: Sole Mates

While that is a noble cause, there's no official T-shirt for it. I'd want a free T-shirt.

From: Benjamin

Sent: Mon 05/11/09 1:14 AM

To: Jessica

Subject: Re: RE: Re: Sole Mates

There is no T-shirt because while you are helping out at "Support the Homeless Sibling Foundation" you are also suppose to give them the t-shirt off of your back.

From: Jess

Sent: Mon 05/11/09 10:12 AM

To: Ben

Subject: RE: Re: RE: Re: Sole Mates

Hah! That's funny. I feel I should remind you that I technically do not have any siblings, homeless or otherwise. If there were an in-law branch to this charity, I might feel compelled to get involved. Probably not, though.

From: Benjamin

Sent: Mon 01/11/09 11:22 AM

To: Jessica

Subject: Re:RE:Re:RE:Re: Sole Mates
You inherited a whole bunch of siblings the moment you said "Yes."
And you know, sometimes you don't even know that you are a member until one day you wake-up and find one living in your home.

Happy Mom's Day

2009-05-10T12:32:00.003-05:00

Although this picture and my memory suggest that I was a perfect angel, I would still like to thank my mom for her years of love and sacrifice. Thanks, Mom!

For every up there is a down

2009-05-06T17:35:00.004-05:00

OH I AM SO MAD!!!

You may remember how I complaint-bragged about being a big shot jewelry seller in April. Well, I'm getting knocked off my pedestal, and how!

Last night I called a woman about her show, which is in 2 weeks.

"Oh, yeah, I'm gonna have to re-schedule," she said. "When I got home from the show (on April 17th!!) I realized I couldn't do it on the weekend we planned."

Thanks for telling me!

And tonight, I called the hostess of Friday's show to get directions.

"Did my daughter call you?" she asked.

Uh, no.

Turns out, they're canceling it!

I understand that things happen and stuff gets canceled, but why do I have to call them to hear about it? Hows about letting me know a little sooner, ladies?

I guess I'll learn how to avoid this situation when I go to Jewelry Selling Camp this summer, also known as the National Conference. In the meantime, I'll just call every hostess every day to see if they've canceled their show or not.

Ugh, I'm not sure I'm cut out for this business.

In other news, I learned at ephphatha that today is No-Diet Day. Hooray!!! I shall celebrate (and wallow in my aforementioned sorrow) with some Heath ice cream cake.

I'm baaack!

2009-05-05T10:11:00.012-05:00

Quick recap of my weekend:

Friday: came to work to find that one of the secretaries made May Day baskets and put them on each office door. Now, as I've already stated, I love May Day. So I was eager to find my basket. But when I got to my office, my wacky office-mate had removed it from the door. When I asked about it, she said, "Oh, there was only one and I got here first."

Was she serious? Yes, she was! I was appalled. Not only was Friday May Day, it was my birthday! And that bi**h wouldn't even share the goodies with me. Not cool, lady.

Later that day I defied the Vice-president's advice and flew. In an airplane. To Pittsburgh.

Once I arrived I was greeted by my bestest friend Amy and her/our friend Caroline. We drank margaritas and ate Mexican food at a place called Ben Franklin's Authentic Mexican Inn and Restaurant. Despite their claim of authenticity, the food was prepared, not by Mexicans, but by Caucasian high school boys. Still, it was tasty.

Saturday: Amy sold some stuff at Caroline's friend's garage sale. She made about $80. I spent about $40.

We picked up our packets for the Pittsburgh half-marathon and got the best goody bags EVER. Okay, it was only the third race goody bag I've gotten, but it was by far the best. Way to go, Pittsburgh!

Then we ate pasta and tried to go to sleep early. I read a little of Tori Spelling's autobiography and finally fell asleep.

Sunday: Race day! We woke up at dark thirty and drove into the city. Here we are shortly before the race. Don't we look happy?

And here's a shot of Caroline and Amy afterward. Happy happy!

Caroline and I ran together and posted times of 2:22:55 and 2:22:57 respectively. 2:22 is the same time as the winner . . . of the full marathon. Still, we were happy to run a half in that time.

Later that day we hobbled to a Greek restaurant for lunch. Then Caroline dropped me off at the airport, where I discovered that my flight was delayed by an hour and a half. I spent the time reading and getting yelled at by a drunk guy.

Drunk guy: 9:10?! That's ridiculous! Why aren't we leaving until 9:10? What time is it now?

Me: It's 6:30. I don't know why we're leaving late.

Drunk guy: 9:10? Are you serious? What time is it? Huh? What are you reading? That must be a good book. You're awfully calm. Is that book that good?

Me: It's not that the book is good, it's that you're annoying and I don't want to talk to you.

Drunk guy: You don't want to talk to me? Why not? Are we really not leaving until 9:10? What time it is?

I finally arrived home around 11:15 and was sound asleep by 11:30.

So, there you have it. My weekend in a long, cracked and crazy nutshell. It was definitely one to remember.

May day! May day!

2009-05-01T10:23:00.002-05:00

In honor of May Day, I think you should pick some flowers (make sure your neighbor isn't looking) and put them in a basket. Then take them to a friend's house, put them on her door, ring the bell and run away.

She'll love it.

In honor of May day, I'm going to Pittsburgh!

Be back Sunday!

Icky stuff

2009-04-30T10:59:00.004-05:00

I'm trying to work here! Why must my colleagues create such an annoying and disgusting work environment?

Here's what my office-mate is telling me while I'm checking my email.

"My friend Judy is real sick. She's going to the doctor."

"Oh, that's too bad," I say politely. "What's wrong with her?"

Now, I'll admit to you that I didn't catch the complete answer. I was checking my email, remember? Busy, busy. Here's what I did catch as she prattled on for the next half hour:

pig aorta . . . 70% success rate . . . dialysis . . . paralysis . . . good candidate . . . teaching situation . . . my mother . . . left it up to her . . . died in three days . . . lost my mother at 28 . . . aneurysms happen in the trunk area.

And then later, when she was advising a student and I thought I'd get a respite from her incessant chatter at me, I overheard this:

"It's like that big pimple in the middle of your forehead that you just can't pop until you go to the doctor." I believe she was talking about a gen. ed. math requirement the student had to meet.

My threshold for revulsion had been met, but not exceeded. Not until another colleague popped in to tell me about his daughter's illness.

She has a diverticulum in a rather private area. That's all that needed to be said. I'm imaginative enough to understand her predicament and compassionate enough to make the appropriate, concerned facial expression. End of conversation.

No. Beginning of a diatribe about her pustule and how the doctor will go in through her vagina to remove it. I tried not to cringe, but seriously? A grown man talking about his grown daughter's vagina pustule to a colleague? I'm not mature enough for that kind of talk. Let's call it a "node" on her "va-jay-jay."

Or better yet, let's not talk about it. I do not need to be privy to my co-workers' family medical issues. In fact, I think there are laws against that sort of thing. I've got my hands full with the swine flu, people. Do not trouble me with your pimples, pustules or other poppable atrocities.

Thank you.

Can I get a do-over?

2009-04-29T09:39:00.006-05:00

Am I too old for do-overs? I could sure use one. I'd like to do-over yesterday. Not the whole day, just from, oh - 4:30 p.m. on.

If I had it to do over again, I would go home after work and mow the front and back yard instead of leaving the back for tonight. I would NOT accept my friend Heather's invitation for a pre-bunco beer. Or three.

I would arrive at Bunco early, not late. I would arrive at Bunco sober, not drunk.

I would sit demurely and sip a diet soda all night. I would NOT flit from table to table while guzzling a Miller Lite. Or three.

When asked how my jewelry business is going, I'd calmly say "Fine, thank you." I would NOT respond with, "IT'S GREAT! I'M THE TOP SELLER ON MY TEAM THIS MONTH. I DON'T KNOW HOW IT HAPPENED - HEY, WHERE YA GOING? OH, THE BATHROOM? I'LL COME, TOO! SO, YEAH - I'M THE TOP SELLER!"

After Bunco, I would quickly and quietly collect my winnings and go home to bed. I would NOT let Merith talk me into going out for another drink. Or three. And I certainly would not let that hellcat drag me to Steak 'n Shake at midnight for a plate of tiny fries and some sort of chicken surprise. No way.

The day after my New and Improved Tuesday would find me bright and bubbly, not headachy and dehydrated. I'd be nursing a latte instead of a hangover and the sneaking suspicion that the Bunco ladies are now talking about me.

But really, what fun would that be?

I'll give you some advice...

2009-04-28T11:48:00.001-05:00

Today I was trying to type an email to a student, and instead of writing "Thank you for contacting me," I wrote "Thank you die."

If your fingers are just one letter off on the keyboard, for becomes die, see? Fortunately I caught my mistake and was even able to have a laugh at it. I needed that. Sometimes I get too serious and morose at work. Must. Lighten. Up.

Students come in seeking my advice because, well, I'm an advisor, and I get irritated with them.

Now, I hate when I'm at a store and the salesperson acts put upon when I ask for help. Isn't that your job? I think. I'm no different. I'm acting like it's a big imposition for me to help students when every aspect of my job description is synonymous with "helping students."

It's not the student's fault I've been doing this too long. It's not the student's fault I've repeated the same information a gajillion times. I try to remember this and to keep each advising session fresh. It's getting hard. When they ask for advice, I act like they've asked for a kidney.

You want what? Help picking your classes for next semester? Can't you see I'm busy blogging/reading the paper/doing a crossword?

Geez, kids these days! So demanding.

But I am lucky to have this job and I am going to shape up. I am. I'm going to be super-nice today. No more acting like a big ball of poison, spewing negativity and blechiness. Just kindness and smiles.

Oh, but Bea Arthur is dead. How can a person smile when Bea Arthur is dead?

Another case closed

2009-04-24T15:07:00.006-05:00

Recently, I made a plea to my loyal readers and the larger public regarding my Pampered Chef Rectangular Chillzane Server. It went missing and, although it took me several months to discover its absence from our home, I was deeply saddened by the loss.

We were invited to a cookout tonight at the infamous Lisa's house. The last time my Chillzane server disappeared, I found it hiding out on top of her fridge. It had even gone to a picnic with her! Soon after, Lisa got her own Chillzane and returned mine.

Thinking of all this brought tears to my eyes. We have such a history, that serving dish and me. Why did it leave me again? Where the @^%# is it?

I decided to scour the kitchen one more time. "If it's in this house," I told my dogs, "I'm gonna find it today."

I looked in all the old spots, all its familiar haunts. Still not in any of them. Then I looked in the other cabinets. Got down on my knees and peered in the back of the bottom ones, pulled out a step-stool and scoped out the top of the upper ones. No luck.

Then, I opened up the cabinet next to the stove. The one I open nearly every day for mixing bowls or measuring cups. I almost didn't even notice it, but . . . there it was!!! On the top shelf where it doesn't belong and where I've probably been looking at it for months and not even seeing it. I'm just so happy to have it "back" safe and sound. I want to thank all of you for your thoughts and prayers during this difficult time. I'm so glad to be reunited with my dish that I'm not going to point fingers or try to uncover the identity of the person who hid it from me. Although, that would be another fun mystery, and I do love a mystery. No, the important thing is that we're together now. That's all that matters.

In other, equally trivial news, this is my 101st post. Woohoo! Thanks to those of you who've read any of them. That's real nice of you.

What's my secret?

2009-04-23T10:08:00.007-05:00

Did I mention I sell jewelry? Oh, I did? Well, did I mention that I am my team's top seller this month?

I'm not trying to brag. Really, I'm not. I'm trying to figure out how this happened.

I got an email earlier in the month saying I'd sold almost twice as much as anyone else on the team at that point. I'd only had one party, but it was for a good friend who invited a ton of people. And all of those people placed orders, so by simply showing up and taking their orders, I got a sh*tload of sales.

I don't honestly know who's on this "team." I don't have a clear understanding of the structure of the organization and all the levels of management. I only know the names of my favorite items from the catalog and the name of the woman who recruited me.

And I knew there was a meeting Monday night. A regional team meeting. I figured, I got the email, I must be on the team, I better go to the meeting.

I'd been to another team meeting, and there were about ten of us. The other night, I walked into a room of at least a hundred women. And a couple men. I knew no one.

I knew I was in the right place, though, as all the gals were adorned in layers of lovely jewelry. I felt completely alone and ridiculous. I deduced that, if the previous meeting was with my team, this one must be with the entire league.

After sitting with a group of people who clearly all knew each other, I recognized one woman from the previous meeting. I excused myself from the first group and joined the woman I recognized. She introduced me to the woman she was with and they said, "We're so impressed you came!"

Impressed? Aren't we supposed to come to the meetings? Apparently not. No one else from our team was there.

So now I look like a superstar, when in truth, I'm a big idiot with very little understanding of the game I'm playing.

This morning I got an email stating that I better be prepared to share my secret to success at the next team meeting.

Which team??!! Will any other team members be there to hear this advice, which is such a big secret that even I don't know it?

Here's what I can suggest to them:

1) Spend hours perusing the catalog. Make numerous lists of the items you want. Rank order them in terms of how badly you want them.

2) Daydream about which jewelry you'll wear with which outfit. Do this while driving, working and "listening" to your husband talk about ... whatever he talks about.

3) Con your friend into having a jewelry party and insist she serve delicious alcoholic beverages (to lubricate the purse strings, as Merith would say).

4) Go to a meeting, any meeting. Just show up lookin' bedazzled and actin' like you belong there.

5) That's all I've got.

Ahchoo!

2009-04-21T16:46:00.007-05:00

Last night as I crawled into bed, I rehearsed the phone call I was going to make this morning. I planned to call in sick to work because, well, I was sick. My sinus congestion was so bad that I tried some of Shaun's "Sinus Buster" spray, which is made with real hot pepper extract. I may as well have shoved a jalapeno up my nasal cavity. It was painful, but not terribly soothing. It seemed the only remedy that would do the trick would be hours of bedrest.

My class and a few office hours would have to be canceled, but hey, when you're sick, you're sick. Then I got to thinking; there aren't many classes left this semester, and I really can't afford to cancel one. No biggie - class is at 8 a.m. I figured I'd just go for that and then come home.

I felt equally yucky at 6:30 when I woke up, but by the time I got to work and taught my class, I felt a little better. I was feeling slightly guilty for thinking of leaving, so I made a deal with myself; I'd stay until noon and then come home.

Noon turned into 1:30 (because I went to lunch, not because I was working hard, mind you). Then I had to run a couple errands and submit a couple jewelry shows.

Now it's 4:54 p.m. and I'm finally ready to put on my pj's and go to sleep. But what's the point?

Ugh. I was looking forward to a day of lying around watching daytime TV and moaning to anyone who'd listen (that would be no one, but still, it would make me feel better).

When I was young, staying home sick meant watching One Day at a Time on TBS (The Superstation, does anyone remember that channel? They played the best shows, like Little House and Bewitched) and The Young and the Restless on CBS. I was home sick the day the Challenger blew up, and I watched it from my bed. Sometimes, if I was in really bad shape, my mom would buy me Tiger Beat magazines and lots of 7-up.

I miss those days. I'm obviously not that sick, but I think I'd like to spend a day in bed reading magazines and watching Ms. Romano and that crazy Schneider. There's always tomorrow...

Riparian entertainment

2009-04-19T22:16:00.010-05:00

During the winter, Shaun purchased a boat off eBay. He'd been scouring the universe for the right boat at the right price for months, and he finally found it . . . in California. But it was pretty cheap, so he bought it and had it delivered to us here in the midwest.

When it arrived, the seats looked like this:

Shaun spent many hours cleaning and re-coloring them, and they now look like this:

Yesterday the weather was nice-ish, so we took it out on it's maiden voyage. Well, its maiden voyage with us, anyway.

Shaun backed the boat down the ramp, and then he got in it and drove it off the trailer. I had to stay on shore to pull the truck and trailer off the ramp. The pier wasn't in place, so there was no easy way for me to get into the boat. I ended up jumping from the side of the river and getting a little muddy in the process.

My first thought when jumping in was, "The seats! I can't get the seats dirty!" And I didn't. See?

As soon as we loaded the boat back onto the trailer, we made a beeline for a car-wash, where I may have paid for someone else's car wash. I thought the machine I was sticking money in was a change-maker, but apparently it was the money-taker for the automatic wash, which we were not using. There goes $4!

Shaun's only comment was, "Is that going on the blog? I think that should go on the blog."

So, there you go. I made a mistake. Geesh. I know he's not used to it, as it happens so rarely, but does he have to insist on my public acknowledgement of it?

All in all, the boat trip was fun. A bit cool and a little stressful - I thought I was going to have to back the trailer into the water to load the boat back on it. I am not good at trailer steering. In fact, I'm awful at it. Fortunately, Shaun hopped out of the boat, backed the trailer into the water, and then hopped back into the boat to steer it onto the trailer.

On the drive home, he asked if I wanted to practice driving and backing up with the trailer. I guess it would be a smart skill to master, but I wanted to get home to run, so I said no thank you. Maybe some other time.

I'm anxious to take the boat out again. We just need to add a few degrees, a few beers and a few friends and we'll have ourselves a great time. I can't wait.

You're my inspiration, I hope

2009-04-18T10:22:00.006-05:00

I have 26 songs on my Workout Mix on my iPod. I'm tired of all of them.

I have run approximately 26 times in my neighborhood in the past couple months. I'm tired of all of it.

Perhaps I'm making excuses. Did I mention I have a(nother) head cold and I'm all stopped up and sniffley? Is it safe to run while sick? Better not take any chances.

I used to look forward to it, but now I'm bored with my tired old running routine. I need a new route and new music. I need some inspiration.

This is where you come in. Do you have any suggestions for peppy and inspirational tunes for the ol' Workout Mix? Any ideas for how to get out of the running rut? If so, PLEASE share them.

Thank you!

zzzzzz

2009-04-16T15:02:00.014-05:00

Shaun and I have friends who used to call us "The Nappers." For a while, every time they called or stopped by, we were both sleeping. These were daytime pop-ins, mind you, and we would both be resting. No, resting isn't code for anything, except maybe being lazy.

I felt a bit guilty about our little siestas, but then I read in Reader's Digest that napping would improve and prolong our lives. We're just trying to be healthy. We're nothing if not health nuts! Seriously though, if we have children, I have absolutely no idea how we'll stay awake long enough to raise them properly. From what I gather, they're pretty restless little creatures. How young is too young to start a person on Ambien? Lunesta?

We don't take as many naps as we used to, but I'm in need of one today. It's currently 3:36 p.m. and I'm exhausted. I didn't stay up insanely late, nor did I get up ridiculously early. But here I am, about to nod off at my desk.

One time my mom said to me, "Your Aunt Ulanda used to put on her nightgown and crawl into her bed to take a nap. Isn't that strange?"

Well, it might seem odd to amateur nappers, those who only practice the sport on sofas or recliners. To me, it sounds like . . . Monday afternoon. Not really. Not usually. Not always. But if I'm gonna take a nap, there's no place better than my bed.

It can be a pain if I'm wearing, say, jeans. Or work clothes. Or anything other than an old T-shirt. So I usually take that garb off and lay it gingerly at the foot of the bed. Then I crawl in and cuddle up for a little mid-afternoon delight. (Does anyone else do this, or are Aunt Ulanda and I really peculiar?)

My grandma likes naps, too, but she takes a much different approach. She's the ultimate Power Napper. She can nap in an upright position, often not even leaning her head to one side. This gives her much more napping freedom, as she can do it in a car, a chair, or a church pew (not that she would do that, I'm just saying she could). Sometimes I don't even realize she's asleep until she darts up and says, "That little nap was just the ticket. I feel much better now."

Huh? "But you've only been sitting there for seven minutes."

"Oh, that's all I need," she'll say with all sorts of pep and vigor.

Not me. I need a couple hours, and then I'll need at least an hour to work myself out of that foggy, after-nap funk. So if I don't have that kind of time, I don't generally attempt a nap.

Maybe I should try Grandma's technique this afternoon. Perhaps I could just catch a little shut-eye between advising appointments. Ooh, if I'm lucky, the students might not even realize I'm asleep. Perfect.

Damn you, Bravo.

2009-04-15T12:34:00.018-05:00

I wasted another night of my life watching the Ridiculous Housewives of New York City. They're like a train wreck in my living room; I can't look away.

Last night Kelly, who is my least favorite lady, was shown running in New York City. She wore tiny shorts, a fru-fru long-sleeved T-shirt, and had her long hair flowing behind her as she ran in the middle of the street. A taxi cab was on her ass, and she just breezed along while her voice-over told us why she likes running in New York. She claims there's nothing like it. Maybe, but all the taxis bearing down on her put me in mind of those idiots who run with bulls.

Seriously, pull your hair back. Get some moisture-wicking gear. Use the sidewalk. Geez. She does have great legs, so the short shorts are acceptable and maybe a tad enviable.

Also last night, my favorite "housewife" Bethenny was wearing this lia sophia jewelry!! I read some snarky comments online about how declasse this direct-sales jewelry from the suburbs is. Well, I am here to set the record straight (again). In addition to their line of beautiful and reasonably priced jewelry, lia sophia has an uppity, I mean upscale collection called the Red Carpet Collection. It's marketed and sold to rich and famous people, and Bethenny's jewelry is from that line. While it's not Tiffany or that private label stuff Simon and Alex bought (gag, don't even get me started!), it's nice stuff. I'd buy some for myself if I had a place to wear it. Can you see me sporting this to the grocery store? Or maybe this to the Moose?

Also, Jill picked out her birthday gift from her husband: a $16,000 purse. Because of the economy, she reasoned, it wouldn't be prudent to spend a lot of money for her birthday. So true. This year, Shaun's only getting me a house in the Caribbean instead of an island. Darn recession!

I believe tonight is the season finale of this Housewife Hoohaw. But apparently there's to be another version filmed in New Jersey. I managed to steer clear of Orange County and Atlanta, so I hope I can stay out of Jersey.

Have you seen me?

2009-04-13T16:24:00.004-05:00

Missing: one Pampered Chef Chillzane Rectangular Server.

Last seen: well, who the hell knows where it was last seen? Not at my Easter dinner yesterday, I know that much.

Usual hangouts: the back of the kitchen cabinet, my friend Lisa's house, and various potluck gatherings in the DeKalb county area.

Reward: 24 delicious deviled eggs to the person who returns the item intact and unharmed.

Statement to the press: We loved our Chillzane server and deeply regret that we (okay, I) may have caused it harm by taking it to a Christmas party or picnic held by persons of questionable moral character. These persons are obviously responsible for its tragic separation from us, as we (I) would never take our beloved dish to a stranger's house and then proceed to drink beers/bloody marys/margaritas to the point of forgetting about it when I (we) left. Never. So please, help us reunite with our favorite dish. We felt a void during Easter dinner. Our poor little deviled eggs were sad and pathetic without the ol' Chillzane to dress them up and make them look more appealing than they really were.

We are not looking to punish or publicly humiliate the guilty party. We're a peaceful people. Just give us back our serving dish and no questions will be asked. Thank you for your cooperation in this matter.

Keepin' it Real

2009-04-11T10:47:00.007-05:00

Grrr. Why didn't I open the latest post in the Lipgloss Lounge last night?

Apparently I've been tagged to play a fun little game called Keepin' it Real. This involves me taking and posting a picture of myself RIGHT NOW with no primping or preparing. Last night I was lookin' cute for the Friday night fish fry at the Moose. But this morning? Not so cute. But in the spirit of keeping it real and of feeling pretty cool for getting tagged (it's my first time!), I'll do it.

Here I am. In my glory. And my pajamas. I was going to go running first thing this morning, see? But I don't have any clean running socks. So I had to put a load of laundry in the wash and while I'm waiting for it, I'm just hangin' out in my office, keepin' it real. And let's be honest, by the time those damn socks are clean and dried, I'll be too tired from all this laundering and blogging to run anywhere except back to my bed for a nap.

As luck and all of my ten readers would have it, I already had the camera out this morning. Shaun got up before me, which he does on weekends these days. Weird. Anyway, when I walked into the kitchen to make coffee and eat one of the cookies I made last night, here's what I found:

There were three cookies left on the counter. And the cooling racks were overturned on the floor. I marched into Shaun's office to ask if he'd seen it. Nope. Then I called for Mildred (also known as Millie, but not by me. Not when she's in trouble). She immediately ran into her kennel. She knew what she'd done, and she knew it was wrong, that's why she was hiding. I was livid. She's surfed the counter before, but not recently, and not to eat two dozen cookies.

At this time, Shaun strolled in, asking what all the fuss was about.

"Mildred ate all the cookies. She has to be punished and taught not to do this!" I said in exasperation.

"Oh, you mean these cookies?" he said, pulling a bag of cookies out of the cabinet.

He went on to say stuff about not jumping to conclusions and putting the cookies away at night and some other stuff I didn't hear. I was just focusing on eating me some cookies and putting things right with Mildred.

Ruminations on the run

2009-04-10T14:21:00.007-05:00

Just returned from a long run. There's a wicked wind from the north, and it's carrying a strong feedlot odor. As I first started running into it and breathing cow dung, I wanted to quit. To run back home, climb in my car, and drive to the gym. There's no wind to contend with at the gym. But a good athlete must train in all conditions. And even though I'm nothing close to a good athlete, I'm delusional enough to believe that I'll someday be rewarded for torturing myself in this manner. So... I kept running.

And here are a few things I encountered out there in the windy world:

1) A man standing on a street corner with a sign reading "God is angry with the wicked every day." Huh? God is many things, like compassionate, forgiving, generous, and so on. But angry? I'm sure he's regularly disappointed in his sinful children, but I have trouble picturing Angry God. Especially not on this of all weekends.

2) A Barbie Dream House on the market for $20. $20!! It was at a garage sale, and I was tempted to buy it. Except I didn't have $20 on me. And I would've had to haul it on my back for the rest of my run. But I could still go back and get it. I longed for a Barbie Dream House for all of my childhood. I never got one, though. I'm not bitter or anything, but if I have a daughter, I bet she'll want one, and I'd hate to deny her the happiness my parents denied me. (Just kidding, Mom. I'd never spend a hundred bucks on one either). But if I buy one, I'll most certainly have a houseful of Barbie-hating boys and no girls. Better not tempt fate. Or make it angry.

3) A friend of my husband's, who has a construction business, was working on a house I ran past. He saw me and hollered, "Hey, Eebs!" This is a nickname from my new last name. I've heard people call my husband this before. In fact, sometimes I yell, "Hey Eebs, pick up your dirty socks!" or "Eebs, gimme a pop, will ya?" But nobody ever called me Eebs before. I liked it!

Now it's time to hit the showers and the grocery store. A bunch of Eebs are coming over for Easter dinner. That ought to be a hoot.

Fit to print

2009-04-09T12:35:00.011-05:00

Actual email I received from my husband this morning:

So I get up a little early so I can get to work a little early, and when I come down stairs I see this big dark yellow stain on the couch, so I grab millie pull her out of her kennel and drag her to the couch, put her nose in it smack her ass and tell her bad dog, and then she runs back to the kennel so I lock her up and grab some paper towels, but when I pat down the stain its pretty much dry so I grab the oxywhatever spray and spray it on and then wipe it with paper towels and get some of the mess up and then I get the mini wet vac and spray it some more and suck up some of the goo, and then spray some more and then suck up some more goo and repeat and repeat and then clean out the mini wet vac and plug in the base because it wasn't plugged in after its last use and is almost dead and then I look at the couch and it looks like it is permanently stained and I am sure whatever it was soaked into the couch and will stink for years, but we will be able to tell people for years that the funky smell is when our "cute" dog decided to get up on the couch and piss all over, but now we are just left with the stench and I was late for work instead of early and that was the whole purpose of getting up early.

My response:

I'm sorry you had to deal with this. Why is she getting on the couch, and WHY would she pee on it? Too much freedom, I guess. She's going to get locked up at night now. And we're going to have to get a new couch now. I'll start looking for one - oh, I've already found one! Shall I order it?

And his response:

nope no new couch until millie is gone, not going to have her ruin another

And finally:

May I put this on the blog?

I've yet to receive a response on that one. Silence is consent, right?

Edited to add:

Shaun's response came at 4:49 p.m. Here it is:

no

This he sent after I came home to find Millie resting sweetly in her kennel and not one, but two piles of yellow "goo" congealing on the kitchen floor. Looks like Baxter's the guilty (or sick) party. And both Shaun and I have gotten the pleasure of cleaning up after him today. I'm not going to write out a looong explanation of my clean-up process. It was similar to Shaun's as described above. I wonder, will he email me and describe every dirty diaper he changes? According to him, he's not changing the messy ones. We'll see...

A simple birthday dinner

2009-04-08T09:44:00.004-05:00

"Happy Birthday. Where are we taking you for dinner?" I asked my brother-in-law on the phone last night.

"Oh, I think Dad and I are just going to grab a quick bite. Nothing special."

Okay. This led me to believe my husband and I were not going to be taking him out for a birthday dinner and that my trip to Jewel and my grueling search for the PERFECT card were a waste of my time. It also meant I could go directly home, change into sweats and spend the entire night on my couch. Super.

I called Shaun to pass on the news. "We're on our own tonight. Your brother's eating dinner with your dad. See you when you get home."

Two minutes later, the BIL calls. "You guys are welcome to join us. I didn't mean you couldn't come with us."

Uh, where's this coming from?

Apparently Shaun called his brother and, in typical Telephone Game fashion, the message was distorted. It went from "Happy birthday, enjoy dinner with Dad," to "What the f--k? We're not good enough company for you on your birthday?"

So after another call to Shaun, it was decided that we would, in fact, be joining the brother-in-law and father-in-law for dinner.

We drove to their town, which is about thirty minutes from ours. They weren't even home, but they arrived shortly after us. His dad was talking about a Thai restaurant, so we piled in Shaun's truck, thinking that was our destination.

The birthday boy, who claimed not to care where we ate and wanted it to be something low-key, said, "I'm not crazy about Thai food, but that's okay."

Shaun quickly agreed with him. So now we're NOT going to the Thai place. Where are we going? Oh, nobody cares. Nobody has a suggestion.

Wait, what's that? Shaun's dad pipes up from the back seat. "You know, Scott (another brother) refuses to shop at Kohl's."

BIL: "Why?"

FIL: "Well, you know his son got some of Uncle Fred's old sportcoats when he died. He got one that was sort of a blue, well, it wasn't navy, it was more like periwinkle."

BIL: "I bet it was expensive at one time."

FIL: "I doubt it. Anyway, he also got one with some outdated buttons that need to be fixed. Scott didn't think he'd like the blue one. He loved it. So I said to Scott, 'You know, they have some great sales at Kohl's. They had stuff 90% the other day. In fact, your mother and I got a $44 sweatshirt for Louis (yet another brother) for $13.'"

BIL: "Oh, is that the one I saw at the house? That's nice."

FIL: "Yeah, and you know, those things are expensive, with the embroidery and everything, so we thought $13 was a good price for it. But Scott said he doesn't shop at Kohl's. Because of the trees."

BIL: "The trees?"

FIL: "Yeah, apparently Lowe's had some trees planted behind their store but Kohl's thought they were blocking their sign so they took Lowell's - Scott gets them confused and he calls Lowe's Lowell's - to court. They made them cut down the trees."

At this point, we'd driven approximately half a block. Shaun simply stopped the truck, waiting for a decision to be made about our dinner destination.

Once the backseat passengers wrapped up their tree discussion, we were back to determining where to eat.

BIL suggested we go to DeKalb, which is where Shaun and I had just come from. No thank you. I asked about options in their town, and they mumbled and hem-hawed and didn't provide any sort of answer.

There was talk about driving to Rockford, which was another half hour away. I hadn't planned on that, but if there was nothing closer, it seemed like our best bet.

Shaun, knowing his father dislikes Ruby Tuesday, chimed in, "Let's just go to Ruby Tuesday in Rockford."

His dad didn't hear him, and at nearly the same time said, "Oh, we can go anywhere. I don't care. As long as it's not the Ruby Tuesday in Rockford."

AUGHH!! We'd made it to the end of another block, but Shaun didn't know in which direction to drive.

"How about Red Robin?" I asked.

No one disagreed, so that's how it was determined that we would eat at Red Robin.

The meal and the company were delightful. I can't imagine why I was exhausted afterward.

If he sounds too good to be true, RUN!

2009-04-06T16:33:00.005-05:00

Well, another weekend passed without me organizing my wedding photos or saving the world. I did sell a whole lotta jewelry, though. And watched a whole lotta true crime dramas.

One of the shows that really struck a chord with me, and may have caused me to shout at the television, was about a man who'd been married four times. That alone is not a crime, but he wasn't always clear with his wives about his availability or his past. He generally carried on with two at once.

Who has that kind of energy, I ask you? This fella was a real peach. After he left his third wife, she admitted to herself and the world that their son died, not of SIDS, but at the hands of this evil man. She took him to court.

I was appalled by the women who defended him. One was a scorned fiancee who never got to marry him because he was ALREADY MARRIED. And she said, "He's not loyal to women, but he's a nice man." Oh yes, I bet he smiled sweetly the whole time he lied to you and bilked you out of thousands of dollars. That was so nice of him, wasn't it?

In court, in came out that, years earlier, he also lost a daughter to "SIDS." Experts testified that SIDS isn't genetic, and that both of his babies suffered head traumas. He was convicted of murdering both children.

His fourth wife, well, she's in complete denial. She blamed the third wife for ruining her family and sending her husband away for life. She was singing his praises as a wonderful family man. I felt bad for her and kept offering her helpful advice like, "Wake up, woman!" and "Be glad he's in prison or he'd kill your child, too, you idiot!"

In the post-script of the show, the narrator said she divorced him, so apparently she came to her senses.

Perhaps my irritation comes from my experience with a similar man. He has not committed murder, to my knowledge, but he was just as cunning and conniving as the man in this show. I wouldn't be surprised at all to see him on a similar show, and I've rehearsed my comments in case I get called to testify to his sociopathology. I wish I was kidding about that.

These creeps are everywhere. They have no soul, no capacity to care for anyone but themselves. But they act as though you're the most important person in the world. It's scary, really, how manipulative and charming and purely narcissistic they are. I thank God every day that I got away before I lost all of my soul and credit and before I became the idiot woman defending him on national TV.

Take this job and shove it, but not too hard.

2009-04-02T21:36:00.004-05:00

I met with my boss yesterday to discuss my summer contract. Although I essentially got what I wanted, I left the meeting feeling deflated.

There's one person in our department whom I loathe. He's really the only person in the universe I feel so negatively about. I pray for God to soften my heart toward him, but so far that's a no-go. He's incompetent, pompous, chauvinistic, unprofessional and just plain creepy. And my boss kept defending him and making excuses for him.

At one point he said, "Jessica, can I chide you for something?"

Oh, please. I'd love nothing more. Chide away!

"I heard third-hand that you made a derogatory remark about Mr. X (El Creepo) in the presence of a student."

Yeah, I'm sure I did. I try to remain professional, but sometimes that clowndick makes it impossible. I admitted my wrongdoing and apologized for it.

But what about Mr. X? That jerk says inappropriate stuff about me and other professors to students all the time. Does he get chided? Does it matter?

I came home last night and just felt crummy. I wanted to go to bed, but 6:30 seemed a little early for that, so I just flopped around on the couch and moaned for a while. Then I felt a knot forming and festering in my stomach.

I realized the physical discomfort was a sign that I'm in an unhealthy work relationship. I decided I needed to do something about it.

My first course of action was to take a bath, drink some wine, and paint my toenails. It was very relaxing, but a little scary when I woke up this morning and got a good look at my nails. Good things it's not yet sandal season.

Step two is to look online for a new job. Each click of my mouse opens a new world to me, and for a few seconds, I envision myself in an Ann Taylor suit working for Acme Fasteners as a Communication Relation Specialist or for XYZ Communications as an Assistant Account Executive. I have no idea what people in these positions actually do. That doesn't factor into my daydream. Once I decide which shoes I'll wear with my suit, I hit the back button and move on to the next position.

Do I really want another job? Although mine's maddening at times, it offers perks that few others would. But checking out my options helps me feel a slight sense of control over my future. I've started daydreaming that I get canned and I give my boss and Mr. Effing X the mother of all kiss-off speeches. I'm a speech teacher, by the way, so it's a doozy, I promise you.

I wonder if that's what it'll take to get me out of that place, being fired? Maybe I need it. I was once in an awful relationship but was too afraid to end it. Then one night I walked in on him in bed with our neighbor. Although I was beside myself with rage, I was also relieved. I knew, even in that first horrible moment, that it was for the best. For my best. I needed out. And I'm starting to feel that way at work now.

But I'm lazy. The fantasies of new jobs and F-bomb laden farewell addresses are entertaining, but actually applying for one of these positions seems arduous. And scary. Maybe after another glass of wine...

Don't take the bait.

2009-04-01T12:19:00.006-05:00

Yes, another post about Facebook. I just have so many FB peeves and I need to air them somewhere.

Folks may think they're being coy with vague status updates like "Linda's sadder than sad," but I think they're cloying and annoying. If you're sad and you want my sympathy, I need more info. I'm not nosy (well I am, but that's not my motivation here), but if we're so close that you want to be my facebook friend, then we're close enough for you to share everything with me.

What's that? This information is too private to post? Then keep it off the site! Don't even lay the bait. I won't bite.

Others will, though.

A "friend" wrote "Sheila's hoping to hear something today."

Of course her curious and, dare I say, easy, friends fell right into her trap with comments like, "Oh, what are you hoping to hear about?" and "What's happening? Hope everything's okay."

To which Sheila responds, "Wayne knows what it's about. But don't tell anyone!"

I don't know who the hell Wayne is, but if he's the only person who can know this top-secret information, how's about a little email just between you and him, Sheila? Why is my time, energy and screen space being wasted on this prattle?

This is the equivalent of running around the playground yelling, "I've got a secret!" and taunting others with it. Only now you're really saying, "I've got no boundaries!" And your loyal facebook followers are indulging you. WHY?? You're teasing them (us), and making them (us) work for information you should either freely share or keep to yourself.

I've established that I'm not good with secrets. So it's really better if I don't know your confidential data, as I'll more than likely share it. But what's best of all is if I don't even have to hear/read about your semi-secret issues. I've got quizzes to take and other people's quiz results to analyze.

And friends to block. That's right "Sheila."

Is it just me?

2009-03-31T13:07:00.008-05:00

Does anyone ...

think aciphex (pronounced ass affects) is an unfortunate name for an acid reflux medication?

smell pine needles in late March and desperately wish it was Christmastime?

think Cheez Whiz is heavenly?

feel guilty for having a job?

feel guilty for blogging while on the job?

avoid watching series finales in order to pretend the show is never ending?

not quite understand this Twitter business?

drink coffee because it's comforting, not because it tastes good?

write "make to-do list" at the top of your to-do lists so you can immediately cross something off?

sometimes pretend you're being watched by your younger self and try to impress her?

Just wondering.

Where sleeping dogs lie

2009-03-29T18:58:00.005-05:00

We have a strict rule in our house: No dogs on the furniture.

Once when Shaun was out of town, I thought I'd invite the dogs into the bed for a slumber party. Baxter was thrilled. He jumped in and snuggled up next to me. Mildred was skeptical, though. She just kept staring at us, but wouldn't join us. I tried to pull her onto the bed and she piddled all over me.

So I gave up and left the dogs to their post outside the bedroom door. Then, in December, we left town for a few days and Shaun's cousin stayed in our house with the dogs.

When we returned, we found Baxter lounging on the sofa. He'd NEVER, in his seven years of existence, been on the sofa. For days afterward, when we came into the house, we'd find him curled up on the couch with a good bone, or standing guiltily next to it. A quick feel of the cushions would find them warm and furry.

Clearly the rules had been relaxed in our absence. It took a few weeks and some bubble wrap (Baxter has an intense hatred of bubble wrap, similar to me and velour), but we broke him of the habit. We also bought him a cozy bed that we now keep on the floor by the couch.

We thought we'd finally undone the damage done by our dogsitter. Then, a couple weeks ago, we had a houseguest. That's Shaun's brother tucked under the covers in the photo. And yes, those are our naughty dogs in bed with him. As soon as Shaun opened the door to the guest room, they made a beeline for the bed.

Another friend stayed with us last week. Same story. The dogs clearly slept with Shaun's cousin in the guest room while we were on vacation, and now they think it's their room. They're kind enough to allow our guests to edge in next to them. This particular cousin is very interested in Shaun and me having kids soon. What a great babysitter she'll be!

I've never slept with my dogs, but apparently anyone who stays in our guest room can enjoy their company during the night. Maybe I'll sleep in there soon to see what all the fuss is about.

Swanky sweats

2009-03-28T10:52:00.008-05:00

I've always wanted a velour tracksuit. Okay, maybe not always, but my desire for one dates back to at least aught six.

I'm not sure if they're still fashionable, or if they ever really were, but they look so darn cute and comfy.

Unfortunately, I doubt I'll ever own one. My reasons are threefold.

First, my ginormous hips are not on good terms with Lycra and Spandex. In fact, they will never be friends with any fabric from the Form Fitting family. They prefer the company of the Form Constricting and Concealing clan.

Second, I was raised to believe that wearing sweats in public is akin to kicking babies. It simply isn't done. I'm okay with wearing workout gear in public, so long as I'm engaging in some sort of workout-like activity while wearing it. But these special sweatsuits are too precious and moisture-absorbant for actually working out in. So where would I wear one? It might take some time before I'd be comfortable letting this getup work outside the home. Especially given my aforementioned hip issue.

Finally, velour is troublesome for me. It has a nails-on-chalkboard quality that makes me never ever want to touch it.

So it seems it isn't in the cards for me to sport a velour jumpsuit. I'm not giving up this little fantasy just yet, though. I think they look especially cute on pregnant women. I've spent a ridiculous amount of some time envisioning myself pregnant. If it happens, maybe the rest of my body will grow to meet my hips in a fair and balanced proportion. And maybe the wacky hormones will cause me to tolerate, perhaps even enjoy the hideous, grating feeling of velour.

Yes, hope is alive.

I hope you're enjoying your slumber party, mister.

2009-03-27T03:52:00.004-05:00

Three. Fifty. Six. A. M.

Why am I awake right now? I'll tell you why. It's all Shaun's fault.

This is a common problem in our house. I usually go to bed earlier than he does, but I'm a fairly light sleeper. When he comes to bed, I always wake up. He'll fall asleep as soon as he turns out the light, and then I'm left awake, wondering did I pay the cable bill? How much would it cost to add HBO? Maybe I could just wait for the next season of Big Love to be available on Netflix - damn! I forgot to return those movies. We never watched them, but I don't think we're going to. I should just cancel it. I guess we probably wouldn't watch movies on HBO eitherohmygoshisitreally 3 a.m?

You get the idea.

Last night Shaun went out with some friends and I stayed home with a head cold. I went to bed early, but woke up when he rolled in at 1:00. We exchanged pleasantries, held a brief debate about toilet paper roll changing responsibilities, then said our goodnights. He mumbled something about me being the most beautiful woman in the world, or at least the house, and fell promptly to sleep. Lucky guy.

My mom gave me an alarm clock that displays the time on the ceiling. I love it because I can see the numbers without contacts or glasses. It's not my favorite feature in the middle of the night, however, when every time I open my eyes it's taunting me with an up-to-the-minute report on the decreasing number of hours until morning. Countdown to Alarm Time. We're now at T minus one hour and counting.

So I figure, what's the point? By the time I get settled into a nice dream, the alarm will knock me out of it. Might as well save myself that irritation.

Oh, I'm going to be a bundle of joy today. A sinus headache, a runny nose, and three hours of sleep. Lucky Shaun.

Shhh!

2009-03-26T09:32:00.017-05:00

I'm crap with secrets. I just can't keep them to myself. But I'm pretty up-front about my inability to keep my trap shut, so why do people keep confiding in me?

Stop with the secrets, already. Please, I beg you. Or soon the whole department/neighborhood/family will know about your fetish/STD/toothbrush and toilet incident.

Shaun's boss told us months ago that his wife was pregnant. Not realizing she was only about twelve minutes along and thus not thinking it was a secret, I may have told some folks. The wife, who is a friend of mine, said nothing about it. I kept waiting for her to reveal her big news. Each time I saw her, she just sipped her water or decaffeinated drink in silence.

When she finally came out with it at a jewelry party, I acted all surprised and she said, "Um, didn't you already know?" Yeah, but I wish I hadn't. Then I could've shared my genuine surprise with her instead of my cheesy imitation of surprise. I felt robbed of that opportunity, and I may have taken it from some or all of our mutual friends.

Shaun and I are close with a couple going through a divorce. The wife told me about a little escapade involving the husband's girlfriend's pickle*. I was able to keep it from Shaun. For thirty whole minutes.

Ugh. Now Shaun's burdened with the information. He's friends with the husband and may feel an obligation to share it with him.

This week at work, no less than two people have shared secrets with me.

"This is just between us, but Dawn is applying for a new position and you should consider applying for her job."

Shouldn't I wait until "Dawn" gets the other job, accepts the other job, and resigns from her current position?

"Now you can't repeat this to anyone, but Ron is getting transferred."

This "Ron" is kind of a big deal. This news is big, and I am only privy to it because I'm the personal lackey to the husband of a bigwig. His wife told him, but he shouldn't know it yet, and I sure as hell have no business knowing it.

He told me the news about Ron just before I went to dinner with some colleagues. I was itching to tell them. I ordered a beer and figured I'd blame my blabbing on the alcohol. My tongue was bloody by the end of the night, but I just kept biting it. I never told a soul. Until I got home, at which point I relayed all the gritty details to Shaun.

Having that kind of knowledge is too much responsibility for me. I feel the need to share it, to relieve myself of the pressure. Like when my friend found a Kama Sutra book in her parents' bedroom and showed it to me. She couldn't bear to be the only person with that disturbing information in her brain so she forced it into mine, too.

I know it's selfish. I burden other people with classified info so I can feel less guilty for knowing it. But then I feel guilty for sharing it. Which brings me back to my original plea - please stop confiding in me. It's best just not to set the cycle of secrets into motion. I think we'll all be better off if you don't.

And if, after this warning, you still choose to dish the dirt with me, you should be prepared to bear full responsibility for any unforeseen consequences.

*Names and identifying details have been altered, except for the ones that are just too juicy to keep to myself.

This is my life?

2009-03-25T11:05:00.012-05:00

Last night was Bunco night. All the ladies gathered at my house for pasta and some hot dice action. I love Bunco night. For a couple short hours, my house is clean and filled with the laughter of my friends.

As I was picking up afterward, I started thinking How did I get here? (Cue The Talking Heads' "Once in a Lifetime.") I'm a thirty-something woman living in a modest subdivision in a midwest town. I drive an SUV. I wear comfortable shoes to work. And I play Bunco.

Wasn't I going to live in a big city? Didn't I want to work in advertising or law or any field that required heels and snappy suits. Wasn't I going to toodle around town in a sporty little car?

I'm sure that was all part of the plan. And for entertainment I was going to go to the theater and posh clubs and cocktail parties.

Oh, I had me some grand notions. Then I visited a few big cities and realized I felt constantly stressed in them. And I fell into a fabulous albeit ordinary life in a small college town. A life where a Miller Lite on the deck with my husband constitutes a cocktail party, and where the poshest club we belong to is the Moose Lodge.

It's not as glamorous as those images I had of myself when I was 18, but I don't think I could be happier. In fact, sometimes I feel undeserving of all the good stuff in my life and I wonder if I might wake up one day to find it all gone. Maybe I'll wake up in a high-rise apartment full of windows and sleek furniture.

Until then, I'm gonna live it up here in the cornfields with my Bunco buddies. And I'll keep watching those Real Housewives to remind myself how stressful a life of money and glamour would be. Who needs all that?

National Lampoons Nakation

2009-03-24T10:08:00.022-05:00

Now this is what I should've done for spring break. A nude vacation! I could save money by not checking any luggage, and I'd get to relax and unwind without my pesky clothing.

Yes, nothing could relax me more than baring my blubbery butt at Laguna del Sol. Oh, I see they have a fitness center. That certainly sounds pleasant; working out while sharing equipment with other naked sweatys. I foresee some weight loss taking place. Loss of lunch, loss of appetite, take your pick.

Cypress Cove offers bike rides and a beach. Oh joy - cycling naked on the shore. Bruises and sand in lots of new and exciting places!

All of the Naked Resorts boast pools and meeting rooms. Meeting rooms? Do they plan the meetings, or are the nudies just told to mingle and mix it up on their own? Because I'm shy, see. And I'd need organized activities to get me out of my shell/ sweater.

According to their website, "Appropriate behavior at Laguna del Sol is the same as in any other family environment." What?! What fun is going to a nudist resort if I have to pretend I'm at Chuck-E-Cheese? I want debauchery. I want lewdity.

Avalon Resort claims, "We ... firmly believe that to practice discrimination and intolerance has no place in Nudism or at Avalon. We accept people as they are regardless of race, religion, marital status, nationality, or sexual preference. This policy of acceptance is fundamental to Avalon. We are inclusive and shall remain so. We do however discriminate on behavior as we are a family friendly resort. Act as though there were children around, and don't do anything you need apologize for."

Well, that does sound nice, all that tolerance. I guess I could give up some hedonism for a little inclusivity. Would they really accept my thighs, I wonder? And not criticize or raise eyebrows? That sounds divine.

But what about all my cute capri pants? And my adorable new tank top from Marshall's? People need to see them. I can't deny the world these great togs. And frankly, I'm more comfortable being known for my outfits than for my, uh, birthmark.

So let's see; at a nude resort I could not act uncivilized or show off my new Dana Buchman tunic (it's from her Kohls line and it's ADORABLE). Seems this here crazy clotheshorse might not enjoy that particular brand of vacation.

Maybe I'll just look for a clothed resort where I can lie by the pool in my bathing costume and re-read David Sedaris' Naked.

The trailer's trashy

2009-03-23T20:56:00.020-05:00

We received a letter stating that we're in violation of Article VII, Section 7.02 of our Homeowners Association Declaration of Easements, Covenants and Restrictions. In short, we had a trailer parked in our driveway.

I'm thankful to the HA folks, as I didn't like the look of the damn thing and I was tired of parking on the street. They obviously hold more sway with my husband than I do, as he took only one day after receiving their complaint to remove the offending item from our property. I'd been suggesting he move it for over a week.

Even with my delight at having to move it, I felt bad receiving their reprimand. We're not bad people. We don't generally break rules, yet here we are getting a notice of non-compliance. I felt so...naughty.

Then, while jogging through the neighborhood this morning, I noticed several other offenders. Their transgressions made me feel better about my own. Allow me to share them with you:

Offense #1: A trash can lying open in a yard. Granted, it's a windy day, but why was this indoor trash can in an area where it could blow into the yard? Quite unsightly if you ask me.

Offense #2: This, my friends, is a sink. While it is not a "boat, commercial vehicle, airplane, trailer, house trailer or motorized recreational vehicle," it is a sink. In a yard.

Offense#3: I wish I could make this picture bigger for you. Then you could gape in horror, as I did, at not one, not two, but three trash cans, a lawn mower, a snow blower, a wheelbarrow, a bicycle, and a soggy roll of carpet. While none of these items individually are on the "do not park" list, taken together they're atrocious and surely worth a letter from the HA. And the flowers hanging on the garage? They're poinsettias. Don't even get me started - it's March!!!! Under which Article might I find information on holiday decorations left up past January 15th? Appalling.

Offense #4: This guy just scared the bejeezus out of me. He may not be illegal, but he's definitely in violation of good taste.

Offense #5: What have we here? A Hummer? Either the neighbors are getting a visit from the elders of Juniper Creek or Miami CSI is in town. The picture's blurry because I was afraid that if I lingered, Horatio Caine would come after me in his pursuit of justice and I'd crack under the pressure of his menacing, sideways gaze and I'd get sent to the clinker for a crime I didn't even commit. Unless he heard about the trailer...

Literal Lady

2009-03-22T15:31:00.008-05:00

I have an acquaintance who is humor-challenged. Like a four year-old, she does not recognize sarcasm. This is unfortunate for her, but great joke fodder for me.

One time she told us she was having her in-laws, whom she loathes, over for dinner. She said she was making chicken with a special sauce.

I asked, "Ooh, what makes the sauce special, arsenic?"

Without laughing or even smiling, the humorless woman said, "Actually, it's lemon-pepper."

Yesterday she was at one of my jewelry shows. The hostess' husband was asking about the lifetime guarantee, testing my skills. He asked if a piece of jewelry went down the garbage disposal, would the company replace it? I said yes, as long as he could produce the old item and send it back, no matter what shape it's in.

His wife joked, "It looks like a fork, but it was a necklace before it fell in the disposal."

And that Humorless Woman interrupted our laughter saying, "No, they don't care what it looks like. I've returned stuff before and they didn't ask any questions."

Good for them. Really, I love this company and I appreciate her support of it, but c'mon. We're being funny here. Can't you hop on the funny bus for just a little ride?

The R-word

2009-03-21T10:29:00.003-05:00

The Special Olympics is launching a campaign to get people to stop using the R-word. I'm so glad - I hate the connotations that word has developed. I hate when people use it and then, when called on their ignorance, say, "It's just a word. I don't mean anything offensive."

"Oh, okay Assface."

It sounded like a good idea two months ago.

2009-03-19T22:59:00.008-05:00

I regularly volunteer to answer phones for the local NPR station's pledge drives. What can I say? I love to serve the community. And I also love the free snacks they provide. And the free coffee mugs, and the free t-shirts. And I've met some great folks doing it.

In fact, that's why I keep going back. It's a hoot to sit and gab with the other NPR junkies while we wait for the phones to ring. Generally we do a lot of waiting and thus, a lot of gabbing.

Tomorrow, however, may be a different story. The station's holding a Power Hour. They want to raise as much money in one hour as they normally would in an entire day of fundraising. One little hour.

I got all caught up in the madness when they called me. "Ooh, a Power Hour? This is the first time you've tried it, you say? And you want me to be a part of it? Okay then, sign me up!"

I'm sure it wasn't until after my verbal commitment that the lady told me which hour I'd be powering. That would be the 7 A.M. hour.

And I have to be there 15 minutes early to receive special instructions. Apparently this thing is gonna be BIG. Apparently I'm going to be on the phone constantly between the hours of 7 and 8 A.M. tomorrow.

I better go to bed soon and get some rest. But what if I can't sleep? I'm already a little nervous about performing under all the pressure. I hope they have bagels.

I'll drink to that

2009-03-18T13:47:00.005-05:00

Meet Shaun's Uncle Andy. Andy's a simple guy; he loves beer and sexy women. St. Patrick's Day is the perfect time for him to indulge in both.

Shaun's cousins take Andy out to a local bar each year. They get him drunk on green beer and snap photos of him with pretty young waitresses. He loves it.

This was my first year to participate. I went with Cousin Jaci to pick up Andy, and dang! He was looking spiffy. Green polyester suit, green undershirt, green tie, and various "kiss me I'm Irish" buttons and necklaces.

We met Shaun and some other family members at the bar where we all enjoyed a few drinks and some loud Irish music. I like to joke around with Andy, but I don't want to be patronizing, so I mostly just smile at him a lot.

After a couple hours, Shaun and his brother had to take turns propping Andy up in his chair. It became apparent it was time to call it a night when he started nodding off at the table. Shaun and his brother carried Andy out of the bar and tucked him into Jaci's car. Shaun and I carried/drug Andy to his apartment and into his bedroom.

We carefully removed his green jacket. As Shaun unclipped his tie, he told Andy how much fun we had with him but suggested next year he stop after three beers. He was so kind, so warm, that it melted my heart. Here's my big tough husband undressing his handicapped uncle and tucking him into bed, all the while being loving and non-condescending. It was an unexpected moment of complete admiration for my husband and gratitude for our life together.

Can't wait to do it again next year.

Name your price

2009-03-17T15:25:00.009-05:00

As noted in my profile, I love garage sales. I enjoy finding a bargain, and then telling people about it for years to come.

"Oh, that old table? I picked that up in '05 for $10!"

"You like this shirt? Well, I wish you could get yourself one, but I got this at a yard sale last summer for - get this - fifty cents."

So, not only do I like to find a bargain, I like to brag about my finds. I do this with new items as well. All my purses are from TJ Maxx, which I feel compelled to share with anyone who compliments them. And I usually tell them how cheap the purse was, thus illustrating my own cheapness.

I do not like garage sales where nothing is priced. Sure, it's a pain putting those damn stickers on thousands of items, but it's what you must do in order to rightfully sell your junk and earn your 200 bucks. You may have no idea if your old Air Supply CD is worth 10 cents or 2 dollars, but take a guess. (I'd lean to the cheap side on that one). If you put the onus on me to make you an offer, I won't do it.

I know some folks love wheeling and dealing, but I am not one of them. The bargain isn't as great if I named my own price. I have to discover it, not create it.

Seems not everyone's as neurotic as me when it comes to naming prices. The Java Street Cafe in Ohio has no prices on its menu. People just pay whatever they think their food is worth. The owner started this trend when sales were tanking due to the pesky economy. And now sales are on the rise.

He said some folks underpay, others overpay, and in the end it all evens out. I'd be an overpayer. I wouldn't want to insult the owner, or the chef, or anyone in the place, so I'd be extra generous and then go home berating myself for throwing away $20 on a bowl of soup.

The owner claims that few people try to cheat him because they have to look him in the eye and tell him what they think the meal was worth. Again, even if I hated it, I'd surely smile and say, "It was delicious. Great. Thank you."

But I can think of a few folks who wouldn't be so kind. My father comes to mind. Not that he isn't kind, he certainly can be, but if he encounters a meal he doesn't like, he does little to conceal his disappointment. He'd be eager for the opportunity to tell the owner just what he thought of the food, and just what it is or isn't worth.

I guess I'm just not creative or confident enough to negotiate my own price for things.

I wonder if more places will start operating like the Java Street Cafe? If so, I'm liable to go broke. Guess I better hone my bargaining skills or prepare to take my father with me everywhere I go. Any advice?

Delicious Dish

2009-03-16T20:34:00.024-05:00

Looking for dinner ideas? Need to make your boyfriend/husband/babysitter grovel? Well, look no further than Katie Lee Joel's recipes for seduction. Seems this gal's got recipes to butter up just about anyone.

Kayla sent me this link, and I love it. Not for its brilliant recipes, but for its lunacy. Know what Ms. Lee Joel makes when she wants to wow her friends? Not a torte or souffle. Nope, this Top Chef host whips up a batch of spinach and artichoke dip.

Wowee. So does my hairdresser.

And to make up with your boyfriend, she suggests you throw together some no-bake chocolate oatmeal cookies. Cuz' nothing says "I'm sorry" like a blob of bumpy, brown, uncooked batter. As an added bonus, Katie says, "chocolate is an aphrodisiac, so who knows where you two could end up next!" Ooh, maybe a Weight Watchers meeting!

"Please don't be mad at me, honey. I mixed some ingredients together and plopped them on a cookie sheet for you. I couldn't be bothered to bake you something, but Katie Lee Joel says you're gonna be too horny to notice. Yum. Don't these remind you of summer camp and cafeteria lunches? Now what were we fighting about?"

Not very original, Katie. And such cookies would only be effective in my household if they were laced with cianide. It smells like almonds, you know.

Ms. Joel's Wikipedia biography credits her culinary expertise to "working in several restaurants and gourmet food stores and helping to open Jeff and Eddy’s Restaurant where she served as the house fishmonger." Oh. It has nothing to do with her marriage to the rich and rotund Billy Joel?

Wonder if she took her own advice when she first met his parents and made them Nutty Banana Bread? Apparently it'll 'win over your guy's parents.' Let me reread the recipe... nope, no alcohol in it. Sorry, Kat, but bread, no matter how nutty, won't win over anyone like booze will.

She also offers a recipe to 'Get him to pop the question.' Aha! Now we know why Billy Joel proposed to a twenty-two year old recent college graduate. For her garlic chicken! I recommend you single ladies give this one a try. (Ahem, Caroline.)

Finally, Katie Lee Joel offers some tips to Make Meals with Him Even Sexier.

Add candles. Arrange votives not just on the dining table but also around the room — on counters, side tables, the mantel. The soft flicker of flames makes anyone look sexier. Until it crawls up their face and erases their eyebrows.

Sit side-by-side. Some guys find eating face-to-face weirdly intense. But sitting on the same side of the table allows both intermittent physical contact and eye contact. In other words, let him grope you while you eat. How romantic!

Use your hands. Eating with your fingers makes the experience feel more primal and pleasurable. Foods to try this with: beef lettuce wraps, shrimp cocktail, potato wedges dipped in sour cream, mini grilled-cheese sandwiches — use your imagination. Primal? No, thank you. Pleasurable? Not when I'm the one washing our grease-stained clothing.

Thanks, Kayla, for this enlightening link. I know you were disappointed Ms. Katie Lee Joel didn't have any original or decent recipes for you, but she sure served up some entertainment for the rest of us.

Behind the scenes

2009-03-15T22:25:00.007-05:00

What a weekend! So . . . uneventful.

Yesterday I read a book until 3:00 p.m. (The Middle Place, highly recommend it), and then decided to go for a run. Somehow my fanny ended up parked in front of the TV instead of jogging around the neighborhood. There was a Real Housewives of NYC marathon playing. Have you seen that show? I'd never even watched it before yesterday, but I am hooked. A bunch of rich women going to fancy parties. It's like a soap opera, only it's REAL. Love it.

After that, I got myself dressed and we went to the Olive Garden at 9:00. Pretty classy, huh? Don't hate me because I'm fabulous. I'm like a Real Housewife of DeKalb county, only I'm not a housewife and we don't go to fancy parties with celebrities. We did go to a charity auction emceed by a local dj once.

Today was filled with more glamor; I cut coupons, got huge blisters from running, and then ate bierocks and drank Miller Lite with the in-laws. Perhaps I should contact the Bravo network - this life is just too sensational not to share.

Life lessons and Facebook

2009-03-13T16:46:00.006-05:00

About six months ago, I was Facebook friended by two girls from college. We lived together our junior year. Before we'd even moved in, they threw me a surprise birthday party in the house we rented. The next day there was a beer can, one little beer can, in the yard. The neighbor complained to the landlord and the landlord complained to us. We played dumb, but she'd already pegged us as troublemakers.

We shared many laughs at that landlord's expense, and at nearly everyone else's who dared cross our paths. Sadly, the laughter ended a few months later and that house and those girls became parts of my past I didn't like to think about.

I don't care to remember the details, but to sum it up; they had boyfriends and I didn't. I was churchy and they weren't. I thought I was morally superior to everyone and they didn't agree. When one of them started making decisions I didn't agree with, instead of respecting her anyway or speaking with her candidly, I just sort of wrote her off.

I, of course, felt like the victim because I felt they were ganging up on me. I moved out and barely spoke to them afterward. They each married their boyfriends, but I didn't go to the first wedding and wasn't invited to the second.

Fast forward ten years. They're both my "friends" on facebook and they're both so ... nice. I'm reminded of why I befriended them in the first place - they're funny and kind. I'm also forced to think about why we didn't stay in touch. I cringe when I think of my behavior at that time. Although I'm sure we all said and did hurtful things, I think most of the fault was mine. I was self-righteous and well, weird. I was easily wronged and very unforgiving.

As painful as this realization is, I suppose it's good for me in some sort of character-building, you'll-thank-me-later-for-this kind of way. I've grown up a little in the last decade, and it's sort of nice, albeit embarassing, to recognize it.

One day I was casually stalking my exes on Facebook when the Great Friendmatcher suggested I "friend" this girl from high school. We were actually friends back then, so I almost accepted. Then I noticed she didn't have any friends. She's an actress of some sort and she doesn't have friends, she has fans. Facebook wanted me to fan her.

Puh-lease. I may have matured a little over the last ten years, but I am still way too petty to stroke the ego of a girl I always envied. Get back to me in 2020.

Lessons from the gym

2009-03-12T14:55:00.006-05:00

Please benefit from my mistakes and heed the following advice next time you head to the gym.

1. Do not work out immediately after enjoying a $2.99 Bowl Combo from KFC. You'll never enjoy another one.

2. When an acquaintance catches you walking on the treadmill, do not gasp, "I'm on my cooldown." She won't believe you.

3. When torn between which pants to wear to the gym, do not wear both pair. You'll probably forget to take the long pants off and the shorts will start creeping and twisting underneath them.

4. When your shorts are creeping and twisting, do not try to adjust them while on a moving treadmill. Just don't.

5. Unless you're Beyonce, do not sing Single Ladies. Expect to be the recipient of some disgusted looks if you do.

Uh, that's all my gym wisdom for today, but I may go back and I'm sure I'll do something stupid I can share with you. My pain is your gain.

I don't think Gatsby's all that great

2009-03-10T16:27:00.008-05:00

Book club tonight! I'm excited because we're meeting at a restaurant that sells rum drinks in buckets. I'll need 'em after this month's selection: The Great Gatsby. Dee-pressing. I liked it in high school, but then, I liked marching band and Enigma in high school.

I understood more of the humor this time. Sort of like watching episodes of Three's Company now that I know Jack was pretending to be gay. I didn't even know what it meant to be gay when I first watched it, but I still loved those crazy roommates. Once I figured out that little tidbit, though, it was a whole new show for me.

Maybe I didn't realize what it meant to be filled with desire for things and happiness when I first read The Great Gatsby. C'mon, I was in high school - I was all desire.

But I don't remember feeling so utterly sad about the chasing and the squandering and the adultery. Maybe it seemed more of a fantasy to me then. I didn't think real people lived that way. Now I'm all too aware that many folks live their lives like Gatsby, buying things, trying to impress others, hoping to recreate the past, and then dying alone. Oh, sorry if you haven't read it and I spoiled anything for you. But really, is there anyone over the age of fourteen who hasn't been forced to read this book at some time in their life?

Come to think of it, I believe I've dated a Gatsby or two, although they looked nothing like Robert Redford.

I've always thought the worst kind of loneliness is when you're surrounded by people who don't get you or know you or love you. That's the feeling I had throughout this book. Just a bunch of people doing weird things together but never really connecting in any meaningful way.

Ooh - that's good. I'll have to rehearse that for my part of the discussion tonight. And I'll have to share it before I down too many run buckets so I can sound all smart-like.

Fear and loathing in aisle nine

2009-03-08T19:47:00.007-05:00

Nothing, I mean nothing, gets my blood boiling like Wal-Mart on a Sunday.

Why do I do it? I try not to, but today we needed groceries and acetone. In the interest of saving time and gas, I went to the only place in town that sells both: Wal-Mart.

It was not an energy-saving trip. I headed to the home improvement section first. I went down the paint aisle, but that's not where they keep the acetone. I tried to turn into the next aisle, but an employee had parked a huge lift in the way. He was standing on it looking down at me. Just looking. Not busying himself with work. Not politely asking, "Can I help you find something?" or "Would you like me to move this oversized machine so you can get to the proper aisle?"

I made a u-turn and entered the aisle from the other end. And there was that yellow-vested employee up on the lift, still staring down at me. I grabbed a gallon of acetone and sped out of the aisle and his line of vision.

Next I went to the deli to get lunchmeat. There were a couple people at the counter, so I took a number and waited. And waited. The woman ahead of me wanted sliced ham. The deli-worker told her they had pre-sliced ham and started putting it in a bag. No no no. This woman wanted freshly sliced ham. The worker assured her it was fresh and was the exact same ham as in the display case. I couldn't hear what was said after that, but I did witness the worker take a hunk of ham out of the display and slice it up.

Grr. I was getting impatient. I thought of throwing my number in the air and walking off. That'd really teach 'em a lesson. Just who the learner of this lesson would be, I had no idea. But I wanted to make a dramatic statement about the ridiculously long wait. I let out an audible sigh. No response. From anyone. So I dramatically shifted my weight. Still nothing.

I made a show of looking at my watch. Well, at my wrist. Damn, wish I hadn't left my watch at home on my dresser. I know, I'll get out my cell phone and have a good hard look at the time on it. Ooh - looks like I missed a message. Wonder who called?

"Number 40. Is there a number 40?"

I looked around, wondering who the new idiot slowing me down was. Then I glanced furtively at my own card and sheepishly handed it to the deli worker.

"Looks like I'm number 40," I laughed. She was not amused.

With the deli debacle behind me, I navigated my way through the rest of the store. I had to wait ninety-four seconds to get frozen broccoli. Can you believe that s--t? I just stood there, staring at the couple who were taking their sweet time, holding the freezer door open and wasting God-only-knows how much of Wal-Mart's hard earned money by cooling the entire aisle. I was developing an intense hatred of them.

Eighty-eight one thousand, eighty-nine one thousand, breathe deep, Jess, breathe, it's just frozen veggies, ninety one thousand . . .

I needed spaghetti sauce, but a husband and wife had parked themselves and their cart in front of every available jar. They were recalling with fondness that sauce they had that one time, the one with the mushrooms. What brand was it? And did they have any sauce in the basement? Maybe they should buy some extra.

I don't know about your basement, but my husband and I would like to enjoy some spaghetti sauce sometime before the next nuclear attack.

Then at the end of the aisle, a woman was holding court with her two daughters. I could've politely asked them to move, but I was in no mood for pleasantries. Instead, I just stared at them. Turned the ol' evil eye on 'em and started counting.

They noticed me shortly after and the woman said, "Oh, we should get out of the way."

"Ya think?"

I thought I made this comment under my breath, but why was the woman suddenly giving me a dirty look? This place just makes people mean, I tell you.

Finally - I made it through the check-out and I was outta there. Almost. I was in the parking lot, nearly free of the joint, when an incident occurred that left me wanting to give a small child the finger. I'm not proud of it, but I share it with you to further illustrate the evils of Wal-Mart.

I was driving behind a family who was walking up to the store. This little boy kept turning around and holding his hand out, as if to tell me to STOP. And he kept making eye contact with me like he suspected I was revving up to plow over him and his parents. I had no intention of hitting them. Sure the initial impact would've released some pent-up hostility, but the aftermath would have led to more stress and more time in that portal to hell.

But he KEPT looking at me. What do you want from me, kid!? I'm just trying to get out of this place! What?! Again with the STOP sign? Well I've got a sign for you, buddy.

Luckily he turned away from me. I took a deep breath and peeled out of the parking lot.

I'm never going back. Not until I forget this nightmare. How long, I wonder, will that take?

I'll crack your case

2009-03-06T13:45:00.006-06:00

It's been suggested (thank you, Kayla) that I spend some of my free time on spring break working on the Great Carnation Caper.

I believe I've solved that particular case. Apparently a person's address can be found in the online white pages even if they don't have a home phone. After that discovery, the "person of interest" became "suspect numero uno."

He's a former student of Merith's who's made previous inappropriate attempts to woo her. She never gave him her address and went to some lengths to conceal that information, so I initially thought he couldn't have done it. But a quick check of whitepages.com told me he could have and I believe he did.

I think a good rule of thumb when sending flowers to folks is - if you have to do an online search to obtain their address, you're not a close enough friend to be sending them stuff. Think twice.

Neither Merith nor I want to endure a conversation with the student about his gift, so we're simply going to operate on the assumption that he's the guilty party.
So... case closed. Next? I'd be happy to put my investigative know-how to work again. Seems a shame to have this expertise and not use it. Anyone got a mystery for me?

Get the Maxx for the myriad

2009-03-05T13:52:00.010-06:00

I just read this article by Lisa Kogan and it made me feel much better about myself. I've always enjoyed her writing. She reminds me of me only funnier and on better terms with Oprah.

In this particular piece, Kogan talks about living in New York City and having a myriad* of dining and entertainment options available to her, but preferring to stay home and occasionally pop in to TJ Maxx for cheap underwear.

Amen to that. Spring break is next week. I could never have a "real" job, as I'm too accustomed to the schedule of a college student. I like my breaks.

I'm not sure, though, how best to spend this one. I have a week of freedom ahead of me, yet the mere thought of traveling somewhere makes me tired. It's so much work.

I would go to Kansas for my cousin's baby shower, but I have a big jewelry show the night before. The timing's just not good.

Speaking of timing, aren't we going to lose an hour of our lives Sunday? I'll need at least a week to recuperate from that.

I just joined Netflix and I get a free two-week trial. I can't spend one of those weeks away from my TV, can I? I think I'll plan a little soiree and invite some of my pals; Dr. Pepper, Orville Redenbacher, and Jane and Lizzie Bennett. Hope they can make it.

And I'll probably head to the Maxx once or twice. Gotta do my part to keep the economy afloat.
I might blog, but you'll have to forgive me if I'm a bit remiss next week. Busy busy!

*I'm never quite sure if I'm using this word correctly. According to Merriam Webster Online, I'm as good a user of it as anyone writing reputable English. Me and Thoreau, two peas in a pod. I found the last line particularly reassuring.

Main Entry:
¹myr·i·ad
Pronunciation:
\ˈmir-ē-əd\
Function:
noun
Etymology:
Greek myriad-, myrias, from myrioi countless, ten thousand
Date:
1555

1 : ten thousand 2 : a great number myriad of ideas>

usage Recent criticism of the use of myriad as a noun, both in the plural form myriads and in the phrase a myriad of, seems to reflect a mistaken belief that the word was originally and is still properly only an adjective. As the entries here show, however, the noun is in fact the older form, dating to the 16th century. The noun myriad has appeared in the works of such writers as Milton (plural myriads) and Thoreau (a myriad of), and it continues to occur frequently in reputable English. There is no reason to avoid it.

Did you win?

2009-03-04T09:54:00.009-06:00

According to the Random Number chosen at random by the Internet - Shannon is the winner of a new bracelet! Please email me, Shannon, so I can get your information and get your jewelery in the mail.

jess@rustybarbedwirebunco.com

Thank you to everyone who participated in my Recession Schmession Giveaway. I think I'm going to start cutting coupons - well, I already cut them, but I think I'm going to start taking them to the store with me. And maybe I'll buy a new car - great suggestion from Musing of the Mrs. And I'm heading over to mint.com to create an account - thanks for that tip, Caroline.

If the drawing had been, well, not a drawing but a contest based on need and/or most compelling entry, I think Ann, Joshua or Mary would've won. Whew - glad I didn't have to make that decision.

Thanks again. This was fun. I may do it again someday. . .

If there was a problem, Yo I'll solve it

2009-03-03T12:10:00.018-06:00

Update: A person of interest has been identified in this case.

Ooh, I'm embroiled in a real life whodunit. Okay, maybe I'm just involved, not embroiled, in it. Really I've just stuck my big nose into it, but still, I love a mystery!

One of my friends, whose identity shall be protected - I'll call her Merith, received a bouquet of flowers yesterday. On the card was simply a poem about aging. The gist of it was, "You probably feel old because you're really getting up there in years, but you shouldn't feel old because you're not old." Or something equally unpoetic and unuseful. How about including, say, the identity of the sender?
But no, these flowers were an anonymous birthday gift. Who would do that? What person in their right mind wouldn't want credit for shelling out $39.95 on the Serene Green bouquet? And for remembering a birthday?

Clearly we're dealing with an unreasonable person here. This is what we know of him/her:

1) The sender knows her birthday
2) The sender knows her address, which is unlisted. Interesting.
3) The sender wants her to not feel bad about feeling bad about feeling old (which she didn't until she got the crazy poem).

Okay. I'm on the case. First I called the florist that delivered it. I've seen this done a dozen times on Law & Order, so I was prepared for some resistance. I was not prepared for them to claim complete ignorance. Apparently the offender ordered the flowers through a wire service that sent the order to their shop. Huh? Are we dealing with someone fluent in morse code who sends messages via telegram? No, a wire service, I learned, is an online or telephone company like 1800Flowers.com. Specifically, it was 1800flowers.com that placed the order.

So the next step in the investigation was to contact said Wire Service. I had to locate the number for 1-800-Flowers. The customer service number, smarty pants. Once I found it, I proceeded to call, pretending to be Merith herself.

The helpful woman who answered took down "my" name and put me on hold. When she came back, she launched into the poem on the card. It was five lines long, and she read the whole thing to me. Touching. Then she read the poet's name at the end and got excited, like she'd discovered the sender's identity. Thanks, Sherlock.

She then told me that by law, she couldn't give me the sender's name unless I had a court order or got his/her authorization. Did I want to wait on hold while she called the person, or did I want her to call me back? Uh, crap. I don't know, I have to ask Meri- I mean, oh, - Click. I just hung up on her. Useless woman.

Clearly I've got to solve this one without the help of the Flower Powers that be.

Merith and I went to lunch and examined the evidence - the card. The handwriting was feminine, but that was not helpful, as we know someone at the flower shop simply transcribed the message. I'd like to run some traces on all the campus computers to see who's been searching for this particular poet. That, however, may require the involvement of the authorities. We don't need them mucking things up.

No, we'll get to the bottom of this on our own. We've already added a couple things to our list of knowns regarding the perpetrator.

4) The sender has access to a computer.
5) The sender has a credit card.

Well, that ought to get us somewhere. I'm off to chase down a few leads. I'll keep you posted!

I've waited thirteen seasons for this

2009-03-02T22:32:00.021-06:00

WOW!!! What a night.

I pulled out of my driveway at 6:40 to go to my friend Heather's house. We watch The Bachelor together every Monday night. I was all keyed up for tonight's season finale. Just as I was pondering what I'd wear if I were in the final rose ceremony, a loud and ominous voice from the back of my car bellowed, "Turn left."

What!? Then it commanded me to "Drive 400 feet, then turn left."

Hilarious. Shaun changed the voice on the GPS and hid it in the back of my car. He must've programmed Heather's address in it, because Dr. Nightmare directed me straight to her house. Well, he told me it was on my right instead of my left, but he was close. And creepy.

We sat through two hours of recaps and "amazing" stories of how the contestants are all falling for each other. Then the big moment arrived. To no one's surprise, The Tool, er - The Bachelor, picked Melissa. She wasn't interested in a pesky career like that workhorse Molly. And she "needed him more." Brilliant choice, pal.

So then I thought it was time to come back home. But no... there was a special After the Final Rose ceremony right after the show! And in an unprecedented turn of events, The Tool broke up with Melissa on national TV. She was delightfully rude and haughty, as she should have been. And just as she was calling him a bastard (can you believe it?!), a fire truck pulled up outside Heather's house. Something was going down at her neighbor's house, although we couldn't see flames and their curtains weren't open as wide as I'd have liked.

It was stimulus overload. It was crazy. I loved every minute of it.

Back on the show, Melissa left and Molly came on seeking answers and closure and all that claptrap. She got a lot more, though; she got a second chance with Mr. I-Have-to-Follow-My- Heart-and-Go-with-My-Fourth-Choice. I just know they're going to live happily ever after. Or happily until Live with Jimmy Kimmel, which airs at midnight. I'm gonna stay up for it. This is BIG.

And I'm gonna have to investigate the episode at Heather's neighbor's house. The house that, had I followed Dr. Death and Shaun's instructions, I would have been in at the time of the incident. AUGH - How will I ever sleep tonight?

Put this in your mixer and beat it

2009-03-02T15:02:00.013-06:00

Giveaway!

"Anyone who believes that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach flunked geography." Robert Byrne

There's a rumor going around about me. It's being passed among my in-laws. My own family has probably spread it. They're saying, can you believe this . . . they're saying I don't cook.

I love my in-laws. I do. I feel blessed to be a part of their family, which is why I used to laugh at their ridiculous interest in my culinary habits. But they've gone too far.

Here's a replay of a conversation from last night between a brother-in-law, his girlfriend, and me.

BIL (to his girlfriend): "See, they use their dishwasher. And they never eat at home."

Me: "We eat at home."

BIL: "What, like twice a week?"

Me: "No, we eat at home more than that."

BIL's Girlfriend: "Yeah, microwave stuff."

Me: what the...? Who does this woman think she is? Does she know how many knives are within arms reach of me right now?

BIL's Girlfriend: "See, she's not denying it."

Me: "Uh, we cook. I cook."

Where do they get their crazy notions? Oh, maybe from another brother-in-law. BIL#2 came over unannounced a couple weeks ago. We were eating tacos, and I invited him to join us. He declined and said, "I thought you didn't cook."

When I asked why he thought such a bizarre thing, he said, "When I took care of your dogs while you were on your honeymoon, there was no food in the house. "

Okay, I really don't think I should have to defend myself here, but I will.
1) We'd just done A Month of No Spending, which meant cleaning out the fridge, freezer and pantry instead of buying food at the grocery.
2) We were on our honeymoon! Sorry we didn't stock the fridge full of perishables for your enjoyment while we were out of town for two weeks.

And maybe it's their father, my beloved father-in-law, who's fueling this absurd fire. I'm pretty sure he thinks I dine on caviar and lobster every night. None of that homemade caviar and lobster, either. No, he's convinced I take every meal in a lavish restaurant.

A couple summers ago, Shaun and I went to Yellowstone with his parents. A few days into the trip, he suggested that he and I go out to a nice dinner by ourselves. He didn't inform his parents of our plan, though. They started talking about what we should do for dinner that night, and words like "cold cuts" and "Denny's" were being exchanged. Now, I love both cold cuts and Denny's, but I was really looking forward to that nice dinner with Shaun. And I couldn't very well say, "Uh, sorry folks. Your son and I are ditching you to have a good meal tonight." So what did I do? I pouted and said, "Fine! Let's just go to McDonald's."

In my defense, again, I was a wee bit stressed from traveling with my boyfriend and his parents. And that turned out to be the night we got engaged, though not at Denny's.

My own grandmother thinks I'm going to lose Shaun if I don't cook more for him. Uh, have you seen him? The man is not starving.

She and my parents came a week before our wedding last fall. I'd run twenty miles that day and was a little tired when they arrived. The most I could muster for dinner was a bowl of Cheez-its. Lame, I know. But hello - twenty miles! Shaun was working on our deck and Grandma said, "You better feed him, he's been working hard."

When he came in, she asked him what he wanted me to fix him for dinner. He said, and this is why I love him, "Cheez-its and Mountain Dew."

So whether or not I cook (but I do, let's just get that straight) our eating habits work for us. I'm tired of defending myself against these false allegations. Why do others care how often we eat at home? Is it weak-minded to eat out once in a while? Is it a character flaw to dislike cooking?