Category Archive

pretty much want to throw this whole blogging every day thing out the window.  Not really, just today.  I’m not feeling reflective at the moment. 

Apologies.

In college, we read Como Agua Para Chocolate and in the book they (or someone) travel(s) to San Antonio and we kept saying, “SAN ANTONIO, TEJAS!!” in class.  And that’s what I always think when I come here.

I do love this town- it’s beautiful in a way Houston is not.  Just . . . the landscape, the hills, etc.

Today is a day of hellos and goodbyes.  To computers.  We uploaded everything from my old laptop (Paolo) to my new MacBook (Chrysanthemum).  The glossy screen is NOT, in fact, bothering me.

Pause to beat Jonathan at pool.

I lost.

[Also paused to go eat dinner at a delicious Latin restaurant and walk down the Riverwalk.]

Anyway, it was totally sad to transfer my files to my new computer.  I felt like I was cheating on my old one.  And I was not excited to use the new one.

Then Dave erased my old settings and began to make Paolo his.  So technically, Paolo didn’t exist, it was just Dave’s laptop.  So that helped.  And when we came here to set up his old iMac to be Jonathan’s, Dave said, “This is kind of sad.”

No shit.

I still have more to write about the retreat and I promise I’ll get to it.

Notes on choices for today:

1.  Today: The highway was closed 2 exits away from Jonathan’s, and traffic was at a dead stop.  We’d driven 3 hours only to be 2 miles way and not be able to move.  It sucked and was frustrating.  I was annoyed at first, then turned up the iPod and went back to knitting.  (Then we took a detour and that was much better.)

2.  I paid attention to my breath in the car for a few minutes.  That’s all I got.  Sorry.

Just got home from my aunt’s rosary service after a long day at work.  Remind me to post a cool picture of a n election.

Tomorrow . . . as my eyes can’t stay open

It’s my sister’s birthday. She’s 23. But she’s not reading this because she has run off and joined the circus convent.

Not even kidding.

She’s always been the strange one in our family, which is a bit like saying she’s the round one in a carton of eggs. When she was little she used to say she wanted to be one of 3 things when she grew up: a race car driver, a librarian, or a nun. Then she started college as a Fashion major, but ended up falling in love with Geology. That’s Caroline. And she has such a skewed sense of logic that she had us laughing all the time. Like once when she got a bad haircut, she wanted someone to trim the back of it. She’d begged the whole family for days and when I got to town, she started in on me.

“Caroline, I’m not cutting your hair. I’m not a stylist and I’d probably screw it up.”

“Who cares? It’s in the back! Nobody will see it!!”

“. . . “

That was Caro-logic. It made you scratch your head. And then laugh, because she’s dead serious.

Anyway, she spent the fall of 05 in Arizona at an evangelical youth training thing. Then she got assigned to an Air Force Base in Alaska to help Protestant Christian youth blend with Catholic youth. Which was not a problem. The problem, according to her, was getting the ancient priest to not judge her for hanging out with the non-Catholics.

Because I guess that’s totally not what Jesus would do.

Then she came home and worked at Ann Taylor Loft for about a year and was their top salesperson. Not the typical career path of a nun, but that’s what happened. She chose a community a few months ago and began the application process. She was accepted and then left Aug 1. She will spend the first 3 months with no contact to her family or anyone else. Having done extended meditation retreats, I completely understand that part of it.

Turns out she won’t be a full-blown nun (I’m sure that’s the proper term) for seven years. Each year, she has to make the commitment that she wants to stay on the path. I think this is good. I know I’m projecting, but boy would I not feel ready to make that commitment right now if that were me. But I also don’t play Christian songs on a guitar, or voluntarily go to mass on a WEEKDAY (or, um, ever) if that’s any indication of how different we are.

Yet I support her decision and if this is what she wants, she has my support. And if next year, she wants to be a race car driver, I’ve got her back there too.

Cuz man, kittens are cute!  The cat that lives outside our building and randomly gets fed had kittens while I was housesitting and now they are CUTE! weeks old.

For about an hour this morning I was totally in a Philadelphia. For those of you who are not Camille- I mean, for those of you not familiar with David Ives, “The Philadelphia” is the funniest short play ever.

The basic definition of being in a Philadelphia is that whatever you want, you can’t get. Go to the store for something and they won’t have it, order something at a restaurant and they don’t serve it, try to get somewhere and you can’t get there from here. The only way to get out of it is to ask for the opposite. Want beer? Ask for eggnog.

Today I woke up and decided to close my WaMu business acct. I’d opened it several years ago to handle my freelance business so I wouldn’t mix it up with my personal account. I stopped doing freelance and therefore stopped using the account months ago so I decided to close the account and get my whole $5.54 out. It wasn’t gaining interest so it could at least be serving a higher purpose, like buying me breakfast tacos.

So I drop by WaMu at about 9.30am thinking it will be a 5-10 minute operation and then I will have breakfast tacos. So I sit at the desk of the nice man and tell him that I no longer need the account since I don’t do freelance. He told me they had another account I might be interested in, but I said no thanks and he wasn’t pushy. We chatted about having jobs we love and he asked me to sign here and he goes to the teller to get my $.

He comes back and tells me that he can’t get the money, because there’s some kind of fee or something. I said, “What?” because it’s a free checking account and I haven’t used it in about 6 months and I just got the statement 2 days ago and it was the same as it is every month. I don’t even keep the debit card in my wallet. There’s no way I can have a fee. He explains that apparently I made a deposit that was reversed and now my account was in the negative.

“What deposit? Why was it reversed?”

“I’m looking . . . a deposit of $5.54.”

“Why would I deposit $5 into a checking account?”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Is there a date?” I peek at the screen. “Today?? Apparently I deposited $5 into my account today?? What time?”

“7:51am.”

“Whatever, I was sleeping.”

“Let me talk to my manager.”

He comes back. “Unfortunately ma’am, this isn’t something we can take care of at this level. I’ll have to call and have someone else look at it and if there are any funds remaining they will send you a cashier’s check.”

I’m in utter disbelief. “I’m sorry, did you just say if there are any funds remaining?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“There are. There are 5 dollars and 54 cents in that account that I haven’t touched in 6 months.”

Now I just feel like an idiot. Or a little kid: I want my five dollars!! NOW! Wah! He says he understands and gives me a lollipop. Just kidding, he gives me his business card and says he’ll call me if he needs to, otherwise I should get the check in 3-5 business days.

So I left. Too fucking weird. Dave and I had plans to go to the beach, so I went home to get my stuff and load the latest This American Life onto my iPod so we could hear it in the car. I download it and drag it to my iPod. The progress bar does its thing and I look on my iPod and it’s not there. I do it again and no podcast. By now I know I’m in a Philadelphia and give up.

I call Dave to tell him I’m on my way but of course I get his voicemail.

Anyway, I pick him up, breakfast taco-less and he says, “Well, let’s stop by my parents’ bank and I’ll cash this check from them.”

Which of course he can’t because they just deposited a check and now there’s a hold on their account.

He said, “Let’s just go to an ATM and I’ll get cash for breakfast tacos.” I said no because if we go there they’ll have decided to stop serving breakfast early.

The rest of the day was fabulous. The beach was more disgusting than usual, but whatever. We didn’t swim in it. We had lunch on a patio (not cheesesteak) and rode the ferry and saw a bunch of dolphins, so I was happy. Then we went home and swam in his pool for the rest of the afternoon.

On the way home we were driving up Broadway which had like 30 lights in 5 miles all timed exactly right to make me slam on my brakes to stop at each one. I started to bitch, but Dave was like, “Jen, the Philadelphia . . .” So I was like, “Okay, from now on I want ALL red lights! Not yellow, not green, RED.”

At which point I must have started manifesting them, so I gave up.

1. Walk into a UPS store to mail a package for a friend using their FedEx account number. (me. Doh!)

2. Spend 2 minutes trying to park your large-ass Sequoia in a small parking spot where you go forward, reverse, forward, reverse, forward . . . and then reverse farther to turn into a spot on the other side which will be easier to park in and still have to reverse, forward, reverse, forward. Maybe you shouldn’t have bought a vehicle named after the world’s tallest living thing? Maybe you need something with a name that would be more beneficial to your parking skill level, like a Honda Fit?

3. Have an awesome little shop on Westheimer with the city’s best flower arrangements and handmade truffles . . . and turn it into a little shop on Westheimer that sells cookies and cupcakes. Booo-ring.

4. Tell your ex-boyfriend over IM that your current boyfriend (the ex’s former best friend, the one you cheated with 3 years ago) is better than he is in the sack. Then act put out when that ex-boyfriend promptly cancels your mobile phone line from his plan.

5. Charge $780 for installation of new headlights.

6. When asked a direct question about anything, begin your response with, “Senator, I don’t recall-”

Hey kids. As I mentioned before, I’m working on overhauling my blog. I have picked one though it’s not the one I was looking at when I decided to switch. And it’s cheaper for all the same services.

And I can transfer over all my old blogs but not the photos. I’d like to re-upload them all, but boy does THAT sound like a project I’ll never finish.

Also housesitting. (A tiny poodle. Well, tiny compared to the white German Shepherd, the Weimaraners, even the pug.)

Also need to set up my brackets.

K, that’s all. More later. Can’t wait for you guys to see it. The blog. Not the poodle or the brackets.

UPDATE: It DID load photos! Woo! Now I just need to go in and categorize the 270 uncategorized posts. Neat.

A friend sent me a link to this alarm clock.

Dear Pillsbury-

I don’t normally buy your products, except for the occasional croissants-in-an-exploding-tube thing. But I’m housesitting and I came across a package of Quick Bread: Cinnamon Swirl. Across the top in yellow text you have printed:

“MADE WITH REAL CINNAMON!”

Just so you know, I am not impressed.

Regards,
Jen

Someone found my blog by Googling

“rob schutz” sex

I don’t want to know. I just don’t.

I know I could probably start a whole blog on the dumb shit you can find on eBay, but this cracked me up:

“FREE UPS GROUND SHIPPING ANYWHERE IN THE US, EXCLUDING CANADA.”

Right. Not THAT part of the US. Not that in-a-different-country part of the US.

Sheesh.

whispering:

“Dude, I thought you said you were going to take off your jacket.”

“Ummm yeaaaah, I’m keeping it on to serve as a protective layer.”

Several weeks ago I was wondering about eBay b.c I couldn’t find certain things on it. Like Ghettopoly, the most irreverent version of Monopoly ever.

I’d been trying to find it to see how it was selling and if I should sell mine. But I could never find it. So I decided to just sell it.

Here’s what happened:

–fyi, this is from yesterday morning, but my internet was down–

Hi kids.

Probably most of you aren’t into astrology, and sometimes even I have to roll my eyes at it, but for a while now several planets, six to be exact, have been in Scorpio, the sign of death and rebirth, endings and beginnings, bringing the hidden to the surface. And Mercury was retrograde in Scorpio, so I definitely started to feel old issues coming up.

Overall, it wasn’t a conscious effort . . . it was mostly through dreams. Dreams about exes, specifically reconciling with them. I discussed with a friend that it may not be face value, but be symbolic of reconciling with aspects of myself that they represent. For example, my ex fiancée was all about stability: marriage, a house in the suburbs and 2.5 kids. Patterns made him comfortable. I was 21, I didn’t want to be tied down. I wanted to travel! Marriage, house? Those had roots. 1-year apartment contracts scared me. Hello!! What if I wanted to move to Argentina??

Anyway, now that I have a job, potentially a career I like, I feel more settled. Don’t get me wrong, I still want to travel!! Every time I read about Macchu Picchu or temples in Cambodia, I’m thinking about what would fit in my suitcase. And I totally have the international itch. In the last 4 years, my travels have been from Key West to Anchorage, but internationally I’ve only been visiting Mexico and Canada, both of which I love. But I’m itching. There are so many places . . .

Back to my point. Now I’d feel comfortable with roots. There’s no way I can afford a house right now (gotta pay for my financial irresponsibility) but I’d love a house. I want to pick out paint for walls. I want a garden. Lime trees and basil and flowers that attract butterflies. So if the ex fiancée represents stability, maybe my inner Jen is saying, Hey, it’s okay to have roots. You won’t lose your wings.

You’ll be like a MacBook Pro. You can be portable, but not without recharging your battery. (Did your eyes roll?)

Anyway, after yet ANOTHER dream about my ex this morning, I looked for him the only way I knew how: MySpace. Found him. He’s married, which is a relief. I always felt guilty about that breakup (go figure . . . not just dumping the man you’ve been with for 4 years and were conceiveably going to marry, but doing it 2 days before Christmas because now that you know don’t want to marry him, if you continue to pretend this is a relationship, you just might burst into flames). I never regretted it, but I felt like I’d hurt him as much as one can hurt a person. He asked me to discontinue contact with him, which was probably for the best. And I always wondered if he understood why we broke up and if he also thought it was for the best. So seeing that he is married and happy is a relief I’m sure I’ll be feeling more and more as the 6 years of guilt begin to dissolve.

And now I’m late for work . . .

“I’m going to go return that phone call- are you cool covering all 2 customers on the floor?”

“Yeah, dude, no problem.”

“Even that guy over there who’s been here for like an hour?”

“Dude, he’s creepy. I’ve talked to him. He’ll, like, make you a rose out of toilet paper.”

I’ve shown lots of people this video, but I’m hooked. It’s one guy’s (girl’s?) thesis for his Masters Animation in I totally fell in love with the little guy and it damn near made me cry. I made my mom watch it and she was like, “Hm. Whatever.” Oh well. Maybe y’all will like it.

Enjoy.

No, I’m not sick again . . . the Boyfriend got me an Airport Express for my birthday. It’s awesome! I plug my ethernet cable, speakers and printer into it and my portable computer finally gets to be just that.

I can hang out in my bed in my knickers with Paolo on my lap (on a pillow cuz he gets HOT) and post a new blog and listen to, say, Tribe’s Electric Relaxation softly on my speakers across the room while I send a file to print. Which I may or may not be doing currently.

You might say, Come on Jen, you can lay on your back on your floor and do dust angels and touch all the walls in your apartment, why do you need a wireless router? To which I will say, Because.

Since you asked, I think it’s working.

It’s weird stuff. I add water and am supposed to take it only once and it works its magic over the next several days. I may not notice any changes the first 2 days, but then it should kick in. Since I feel like I don’t have strep anymore, it’s hard to monitor any changes.

But since I know you’re dying for the details . . . I mixed it up and got mentally prepared to take it. I had drinks to chase it with and anyway, it HAD to be better than that OceanSpray/Southern Comfort concoction I had in college on Eli’s birthday. The side effects listed were the same as the Erythromyewhatevercin- nausea, vomiting, etc. Neat. The instructions said that if I vomited in the first hour, to call a doctor.

This - unfortunately - is not on the side of a bottle of SoCo. It should be.

I took the medicine, thankfully more cherry than banana, and it wasn’t so bad. Kind of medicine-y, the way cheap pills taste if you don’t swallow them right away. I was paranoid about throwing up, so I went straight to bed. I wanted to sleep so I wouldn’t be like, “Oh, my stomach feels the slightest bit different from normal, I might throw up.” I wasn’t tired, but I tried to sleep. I sat up suddenly and looked at the clock- 32 minutes. I must have slept. I tried to go back to sleep . . . rolled over . . . 2.30am. Woooo!! I was in the clear!!

I woke up feeling fine other than feeling like I’d been sucking on Tylenol all night. The taste was AWFUL. But no side effects. So, provided this medicine (Zmax) takes out the aliens that are huddled in my lymph node, all will be well and I’ll have no reason to complain.

And of course I will anyway.

:)

Hi all.

I’m not blogging, so I must be feeling better, right? Right!

I got the antibiotics on Wednesday and my doctor suggested that I take them with food because they could be harsh on the digestive system. Bah, better than not swallowing.

So it started as a warm, but not burning, sensation. I made sure I ate with the medication. The doctor said, “a piece of bread or a cracker.” I ate toast and milk and yogurt, or waffles or an entire sandwich. When I’d digested my food, the warm almost-hungry feeling would be back, so I’d eat more. Keep in mind I had a sore throat still, eating wasn’t the most appealing idea ever. I didn’t care for the weird feeling, but it was a hell of a lot better than strep.

So the sore throat faded, it wasn’t gone, but sometimes I’d swallow my own spit without even thinking about it, hallelujah!! And the fever was gone. My energy level was low, but I could go back to work. And I wasn’t contagious. But I hated the unrest in my stomach.

I began to call my pills The Others. It had been 2.5 days and I had to take them for 10. 23 pills to go. 22 pills to go. I bought a sandwich before work at the part-time job Saturday night. I ate half the sandwich, took the medicine, and ate the other half. (Buffering the evil of The Other) I felt nauseous, but figured I’d get over it. I was sitting in my car, trying to will myself to go into work.

I went in to work, told my boss a side effect of my antibiotics was nausea. I sat in a chair in the back and mouth-breathed. I went back and forth to the bathroom. My boss said, “Go home.” I did. But unhappily. I was BETTER!! My sore throat and fever were gone!! The only reason I was sick was because of my damn antibiotics!!!

I stopped taking them despite my doc’s explicit instructions: “I want you to take these for 10 days. Not 9. 10. I don’t care if you feel better.” I called my doctor this morning and told her the pills were making me throw up. It was a lie. But the way I see it, whether I can’t work because I’m throwing up or because I’m lying on the floor of a public restroom just to feel the cool of the tile on my face doesn’t really matter. Bottom line is- it WAS helping, now it’s not.

So they were unhappy with me- as expected. I said, maybe I could try to finish the bottle, but if they had another option, that would be better. The assistant said, “Well, you can come in and we can diagnose you based on current symptoms. Or we can prescribe something different. But unfortunately it will be expensive.” I said, “How expensive? Because a trip to see you guys will cost me $100.” She said she knew and put me on hold.

When she came back, she said, “We have a sample for you. It’s only one. But we’ll put your name on it and leave it at the front desk.” I thanked her profusely.

Since I’m well, you might be wondering why I think I need medicine so bad. Well, my right lymph node is just as swollen as it was when I got strep. I’m afraid the aliens have moved underground and are waiting until it’s safe to rehabit my tonsil. Jerks. I want them gone.

So I went to pick up the sample medicine, grateful for my good luck. The nurse handed me the box and I took it to the car, already deciding I’d take it tonight before sleeping so I could sleep through any side effects. I shook it, it was a powder. I opened it up and it was a bottle, I needed to add water. No problem, I hated taking pills anyway. I looked at the flavor.

Cherry banana.

Sigh. I’m sure this is all really funny to SOMEBODY.

No? Because I am.

And I figured out what’s fundamentally wrong with throat lozenges. They make you SWALLOW. I don’t mean that jokingly. I mean it 100% at face value. It’s a mean trick. Right when you’re thinking that maybe life will be okay if you just drool your saliva down your chest instead of having to go through the physical agony of pushing your own saliva past the alien reservation on your tonsil, you think, “I know, a throat lozenge!”

But the joke’s on you, my friend.

It only makes more work for you. You have to swallow more saliva and more often.

Worse, my antibiotics make me HUNGRY. If the Excedrin I just took puts my aliens to sleep in the next 30 minutes, baby girl is having waffles.

Strep throat.

Yup. 2 days of all the symptoms described below. I thought it might be something that me and my immune system could tackle on our own. Especially since I have no insurance yet. But the spots on my tonsil were getting bigger, not smaller. And usually when I’m running a fever, it will go away on its own.

Not these past days. I can always tell when the Excedrin’s effects wear off because this is what happens.

1. I get cold. No matter where I am or what I’m wearing. Shivering cold.
2. It suddenly hurts to swallow again.
3. It hurts my body to move. All of the individual muscles.
4. My neck and face get super warm.
5. I only want to curl up under my down comforter and watch dvds.

So I take the Excedrin.

1. It stops hurting to swallow- as much.
2. I get hot- why am I wearing a damn scarf and wool socks when it’s 75 outside?
3. I realize I’m hungry and eat some food.
4. I start to think about what I should be doing- early voting, hanging up clothes, etc.

Then I start to get cold . . .

And that’s what’s been going on. I can’t live on Excedrin forever, plus there are those white aliens living on my tonsil and reproducing. I picked a General Practice doctor out of what *will* be my insurance doctor list. Made an appt for 1.30. Didn’t take the Excedrin so she could see what I’m really dealing with. Which is a girl walking in from a pleasant sunny 75° day in sweats, a tank, a thermal long sleeve tee and a wool/rabbit hair scarf tied twice around her neck. I picked this doctor because she was female (and I was sick and I missed my mommy), in my zip code (free parking) and she speaks French. I don’t speak French, so it doesn’t matter to me, but maybe she’d have an accent. Or be hot.

Anyway, she was great. She took one look at my throat and said she wasn’t going to waste my money giving me a throat culture, it looked terrible. She put me on antibiotics and said I couldn’t go to work until Friday, and even then, ONLY if I was feeling better.

And I’m on antibiotics for 10 days and she said I can’t kiss my boyfriend. Even if he doesn’t get sick, he might be a carrier and could pass it back to me. Coincidentally, my birthday is in 10 days. So I can’t kiss my boyfriend until I turn 28.

Somehow, I think this is exactly what my dad always wanted.

Sigh . . . I’m sick.

I think I have Tonsilitis. Sore throat? Check. Headache? Check. Fever? Check. Sore neck from swollen lymph nodes? Check. White spots on tonsils? Check. One tonsil, actually. And one lymph node. But sore and swollen as a mofo.

I had a headache all Sunday, but I just thought that maybe I was having a bad reaction to the wine and brandy I’d had Saturday night at the That’s So Wrong costume party. (I wasn’t the only Mark Foley, but the boyfriend WAS the only page (hehe), Johanna was extra-wrong in her JonBenet Ramsey outfit complete with bruises, but the wrongest were the two Steve Irwins with stingrays attached to their chests.)

But then Monday I had a bit of a sore throat. Being raised by the mom that I was raised by, I decided to look into my throat with a flashlight and saw white spots. I do wonder if I hadn’t seen them, would I have allowed myself to get this sick. Who knows. Or would I have just taken some aspirin and sucked on some throat drops and gotten over it. I wonder if when I saw the spots, I began to expect the fever, the achiness.

Arg. So yeah, 3 days off in a row, but not pleasant. Guilt trip from hell and an apartment that reeks of Sick Person. And it was a nice day!!! Sunny and 80 degress and I was curled up in my bed, alternately freezing and sweating, watching dvds on my laptop.

Boo.

Last weekend, we had a couple of firsts. I went to my first haunted house (not scary) and the boyfriend carved his first pumpkin.

Here’s his masterpiece, which he was disproportionately proud of.

I carved 2 pumpkins as well. One skeleton pirate and the other . . . yes, I’m a dork. :)

I don’t want Manolos.

I don’t want a Cartier watch.

My life has somehow been complete without owning one damn thing from Tiffany’s.

Diamonds? No thanks. I’d rather have the money put toward a credit card payment.

And I take pride in not being high-maintenance like that. But last week I bought a new shower rack and as I looked at all my products, I had to laugh at myself. Oh, I’m high-maintenance allright. “Organic” this, “Contains no sodium laureth sulfate” that. I even bought cotton washcloths so I wouldn’t be using those weird plastic scrubbies.

@_@

BUT! (She justifies . . .) I was showering where I was housesitting and I used some Dove body wash that was labeled “Deep Moisture.” I figured that would be okay (better than the boyfriend’s bar of Irish Spring whose lather burned my girl parts, even as I was trying to avoid contact). After showering, my skin itched so much I had to put on lotion twice and I was like, “What in the world is IN that stuff?”

I don’t know, but I *can* tell you that since I started using all-natural face washes/scrubs, my skin actually LOOKS better. On my 10-day retreats, by the end, my skin looks amazing. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve grown used to not wearing makeup, or that I drink more water, or just that I’ve been meditating . . . or all of the above. But within 2 days of using some sample skin care things I got, my skin looked how it does after a retreat.

I’m just saying there might be something to this whole “all-natural” thing. Something more tangible, more immediate than “less likely to develop cancer later on from using God-knows-what every day.”

Hi kids.

Just chillin at a cafe with Anoop, who I’ve totally missed hanging out with.

I have lots of pictures to post, but that’s for another time. Right now I’ll just catch you up. I love both my jobs. LOVE. The full time job has an amazing opportunity for me to grow my artistic skills. What I thought was just a time-consuming aspect of my job is actually something I could, well, make a name for myself with.

The boyfriend is great. We had a scare there, 2 days of tension and crazy emotion, all to find out it was 100% miscommunication. It was ridiculous. All is well now.

This past week I went to Keith’s comedy show, which he’s been talking about for weeks. It was fun. It reminds me of the comedy club we had on campus in college. I wasn’t part of it, but my best friends were. Same kinds of skits, sort of “Whose Line is it Anyway” kind of stuff. They told one guy that his affliction was that he thought he was Cookie Monster. He had it dead on and all I have to do is think of it and it’s hard for me to not laugh out loud.

I keep thinking I’m going to go back to yoga and I never do. I think what I need from yoga right now is different from what I’ve needed before. We used to have a sub and she was very peaceful and her classes weren’t that difficult and my friend Tom would sigh and say, “Greaaaaaat, Powder Puff is here.” But I think I need that right now. A chill female-energy yoga class that’s smooth and low-impact. I used to get bored at yoga if it was too slow or if I wasn’t challenged. But in my memory, the classes I was going to just recently would leave me exhausted and useless for the rest of the evening. And my schedule didn’t allow me to go very often, so I was pushing myself super hard only once a week, which is probably not wise.

And I haven’t done anything athletic since I got off my bike in the MS 150 last April. So I’d love a mellow class a few times a week that stretches me and makes me feel good but doesn’t make me want to sleep all my free time away. I think I’ve found one near work and of course now that I want to go, I have to work during all the class times.

Anyway, time to go home. I’ve had coffeecoffeecoffeecoffee so maybe I’ll be scrubbing bathroom tiles at 2am or dusting my ceiling fan.

HOT.

Today this happened.

I knew it would happen. That’s the story of technology. You buy the latest and greatest thing and you’re the coolest person ever . . . for a while. But my MacBook Pro is still new!! I’ve always had Macs that were at least 4 years old, so when a new Apple product came out . . . meh . . . whatever. But now I have a NEW one! And I was complaining about it at work.

“Jennnnnnnnn . . . lack of desire is the lack of suffering.”

“Ohwhatever!! It was easier for the Buddha to achieve enlightenment since there were no Apple products!”

Not even kidding.

You know that I hate bananas. Apparently I was a little monkey as a kid and I loved them. My mom said that when we went to the grocery store she had to give me a banana first thing because God forbid I’d see one and not be able to eat it.

But sometime around age 5 or 6, I stopped liking them. I remember the day, too. My friends Anne and Ruth (yup! Catholic!) came over and my mom served bananas as a snack. I didn’t really want one, but I wanted to do what they did, so I had one. But I was taking super tiny bites because I didn’t like it. My mom put peanut butter on it so I’d eat the whole thing. I licked it off- I tried to get some banana too but it didn’t really work. I didn’t want it. But Mom wouldn’t let me throw it away since I’d chosen to eat it. Sigh.

I’m pretty sure that was the day.

Anyway, yesterday I tried a sample of some opaque green protein shake with spirulina. I said it was good, what did she mix in it, was it just water?

“Yes, it’s water, organic apple juice and bananas.”

“What?? Bananas?”

She looked at my face. “Why, are you allergic?!”

“No . . . I just hate them.” I smelled the drink. “But I can’t even smell them.”

She sniffed the pitcher. “Me either. But I put 2 bananas in here.”

“Really? That’s great!! That means I can eat bananas!! I can put them in this drink and I don’t have to taste them! Wooo!”

But now that I think about it, she had 2 drink samples out. I didn’t try the other one . . . maybe she only put bananas in ONE of them and forgot. Dangit!

Last night, we watched Eyes on the Prize, a documentary about the Civil Rights Movement on PBS. I watched it last Monday too and it was amazing. It’s weird that to my generation, it was a section in a History book . . . if we got that far during the school year. I remember graduating high school with full knowledge of the American Revolution but I knew nothing about the Vietnam War. And there was a Korean one, too? Really?

Anyway, that’s another blog.

Eyes on the Prize has been eye-opening. Last week I watched government officials quoting scripture to prove that desegregation was wrong and God was pro-white. W. T. F. And interviews with white kids who didn’t want “blacks” in their schools. Claiming it was unethical and immoral???

I guess I always figured that the Segregationists were hard-core, like part of the KKK. Not average-looking kids that I might have sat next to at the lunch table. To hear them say stuff like, “Well, it would be different if they were Spanish or Chinese, but blacks are just different.”

It hurts.

So last night after watching it, I said, “I hope that in 40 years there will be people our age watching a documentary like this and be just as shocked that politicians as well as the general public were anti-gay-marriage as we are that people were anti-desegregation.”

“I hope it’s sooner.”

Without a dope beat to step to.

I’m chillin in the Wi-Fi area at the mall where Part Time Fun Job is. Waiting on The Boyfriend (which I have no problem saying now. Well, it’s like 98% not uncomfortable.) so we can go play. Either by shopping at snobby stores that sell stuff we can’t afford or maybe going to a movie. He loves movies (and art in general) and we’ve never been to the movies together.

We’ll see. So I noticed I write a lot about anticipation of things, then nothing after. Like Naomi’s baby shower. Like buying a 15″ 2.16 GHz Macbook Pro. Like my new *NSync watch I DID find on eBay and bought and lovelovelove.

Seriously, when I first saw this watch in like 2000 or whatever, I loved it. But I was 22 and I was SO ABOVE liking a song by *NSync. Now . . . I’m not. Now I feel comfortable admitting I love the song “Bye Bye Bye.” And I make the watch play the snippit of the song like it was the year 2000 and I was 13. Which is to say every 7 or 8 minutes. Twice in a row.

Nao’s baby shower. It was my first time throwing a baby shower. First, the invitations. I went to Hobby Lobby, but nothing was cute/tasteful enough. So my stupid ass ended up at this pretentious stationery store in River Oaks where I found the most perfect baby shower invite paper ever. I bought Crane’s cream-colored invitation paper and pink envelopes. At the top of the paper was simply a tiny pink baby hat with a brown outline. It was vector art, not a photograph and it had been embossed and printed with spot colors, not CMYK. As The Boyfriend says, “Designers do things only to impress other designers.”

So I went home and designed the layout of the invite. Black ink centered down the middle? No. Four lines, scripty large pink words and small brown simple text that exactly matched the colors of the baby hat. Stamps had pink to match the envelopes.

So I’ve spent $60 (at least) and I haven’t begun the shower yet. The Shower. I had it at 2pm so that I could provide light snacks without anyone expecting to REALLY eat. I decided to make the theme be “round.” So I served cream cheese with a chipotle raspberry sauce and round crackers, round potato chips with spinach dip (no I didn’t make it myself, but I should have, mine’s better!!), a bowl full of mixed berries, and little round sandwiches that I made after I cookie-cut round pieces out of the bread (half with pimento cheese and half with tomato, avocado and provolone).

I made pink punch out of pineapple sherbert, raspberry lemonade and sparkling lime-flavored water. I totally made that up at the grocery store. I was like, “Hmmm, what sounds good?” And I got tons of compliments on it!! I told them it was an old family recipe. My aunt was especially impressed because she usually finds punch too sweet but because I used sparkling water instead of Sprite (thereby avoiding high fructose corn syrup), it was just right.

For dessert, I made homemade lemon custard ice cream and The Boyfriend scooped out like a dozen lemons and I scooped ice cream into them. (Round)

At the shower, we had introductions, then played “guess the baby food.” I promised I wouldn’t have any horrible flavors, but it’s not my fault no one liked the Lentils and Rice flavor! Then we ate and then opened gifts and offered Naomi parenting advice, which I promised to put in the iPhoto book I’ll make her with the photos I took.

As a parting gift, I’d made pink glycerin soap (NOT HARD! Hobby Lobby. You buy the glycerin, melt it, add dye and pour it into a mold. Super easy and it impresses the crap out of everyone.) to hand out. I wrapped it in wax paper and made tiny pink baby hat stickers as decoration to tie in with the badass stationery.

And that’s how I discovered I have an inner Martha Stewart. Sometimes I feel so lazy, like when I go to Liz and Rob’s and their house is immaculate and organized down to the q-tip and clipped coupon. My place right now has a kitchen full of dirty dishes. I have clean laundry to put away. My bathroom needs cleaning. I have 2 boxes of crap I brought home when I quit the suck job sitting in my closet. All the stuff I brought back from housesitting this weekend is sitting in a pile of bags next to my sofa. And I’m just screwing around onthe internet.

So I should remind myself that I threw my first baby shower on my own while working 2 jobs and I prepared most of the food myself and made homemade ice cream and handmade soap, for crying out loud. Lazy I am not.

But I wouldn’t say I’ve changed because I still haven’t made that iPhoto book.

***

We went shopping at pretentious stores. I found a hat I liked (my new haircut makes hats look cute on me!) but the B rolled his eyes at the Shepard Fairey logo. I don’t know enough about him to wear or intentionally not wear the hat. I DID like seeing the Giant face on the side of an abandoned building in my neighborhood simply because it was different from street art I usually see, but I never could have told you it was Shepard Fairey.

Anyway, I found a candle I liked but am not so far gone as to pay $60 for a candle. Yet.

We also went into Needless Markup where the older lady who had no business having fake boobs or all that makeup on regarded us with contempt when we asked her about a fragrance with notes of seawater, crab and pepper. She said, “Okay, now I’ve heard it all.” I mentioned it was in an article in the New Yorker, but she still thought we were just punk kids until we began dropping names.

“No, it was designed by this one guy who did a line for Hermés, I forgot his name? Ellena, yeah, that’s it. He did some fragrance for someone else and I’m really curious to smell it, but I can’t remember the name.”

“And it has notes of CRAB?”

“That’s what I read.”

We then got into a discussion with another guy about fragrance and he took us on a smell tour of Creed’s fragrances (all of which the B knew already) and by the end the snooty lady was gushing, “Oh, I can tell the two of you have a WONDERFUL sense of smell. You shop like the Europeans do– they don’t come in for a brand, they come in for a FRAGRANCE!”

I gave her my card and wrote the url of kottke.org on the back (which is where I found the New Yorker article in the first place) because she said it would bug her all night if she didn’t find what I was talking about. Anyway, I looked it up when I got home, it’s Frédéric Malle and the fragrance is called “L’Eau d’Hiver.” Maybe I’ll try Sak’s. Meh, maybe I’ll hate it.

Right now I’m loving Creed’s Green Irish Tweed. eBay? Actually coming through on this one.

What is up with all the vegetable-related gov’t warnings? First spinach, now carrots?

It’s totally a plot by the Gov’t to get us to only eat Partially Hydrogenated Oils and High Fructose Corn Syrup.

(10 days- is it too soon to be blogging at work?)

It’s because I’m not cool enough.

I’m not “in the know.”

What the hell is the new eBay?

Anybody?

I used to be able to go to eBay, search for some random obscure thing and see 45 people selling it. But for the last few months- nothin. Every time I look something up, I get nothing. Ghettopoly? Nothing. An N*Sync watch I saw at Wal-Mart 5 years ago that played “Bye Bye Bye?” Nothing. The Shakira t-shirt that I saw at the concert last night but was too cheap to buy because it was freaking expensive but now I totally regret not buying it? NOTHING.

WTF, mate??

WHERE CAN I FIND THESE THINGS THAT I TOTALLY TOTALLY NEED??

I know everyone is using some new eBay that is the new cool one and I’m totally out in the dark.

Sorta.

Okay, not at all.

But I saw this article on BBC News this morning. No models with a body mass index under 18.

Curious, I did the crazy math to figure out my BMI. (If I had a link to a good calculator website, I’d link it! Nevermind, found one!) Anyway, my BMI is slightly above 17. Which is in the Underweight category. I could totally not be a model during fasion week in Madrid.

Oh well, no one invited me to anyway! Besides, I don’t think I could handle a 3rd job. I only have 2 and I went home at lunch, fell face first on my bed and when I woke up about half an hour later I was lying on a smear of drool and lipstick. (HOT.) But that’s totally better than going home for lunch and doing a line of coke and eating a french fry. With the salt wiped off so I don’t get bloated.

“Yeaaah, I TiVo’d this show about ADD, but I’m fast-forwarding through all the boring parts.”

Well, I did it.

I was rational and reasonable. I didn’t fly off the handle and make a rash decision. I didn’t quit my job in an emotional burst of tears because ohmygod-if-I-work-another-day-here-I’ll-light-the-ugly-dark-green-carpet-on-fire.

I walked into Larry’s office and said, Do you have a sec?

“Sure, want to close the door?”

“Actually, yes.”

I close the door. Larry doesn’t look up from his computer.

“No.”

“Um, yes.”

“You can’t.”

“Dude, it’s time.”

I finally got another job. It’s totally a fun job, which means I have **2** fun jobs!!

My last day at the Suck Job is Thursday. It hasn’t quite sunk in yet. Jesus. 4 whole years.

Took me that long to realize that I can’t work for companies I don’t believe in. And to get over myself. The previous me: “I am a DESIGNER. I can’t work at a MALL. Or a GROCERY STORE.”

Actually, I can. Isn’t it funny how your own ego can keep you from being happy?

Sep 1, 2006 3:58 AM

On FedEx vehicle for delivery

HOUSTON, TX

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

Happy Birthday, Raymond! Happy Birthday, Mary Beth!!

On Caroline’s birthday, I didn’t write happy birthday on my blog for her and Mary Beth admonished me for it. I said, “What? I called her. And I’m making a project for her.” But if Mari thinks it’s a big deal, then Mari can have a shout out. :)

Also, Spider and Mari, you don’t have to pay your August Sprint bills. Happy Birthday. :)

Today is also my car’s birthday. Not as in this is the day she was born, but I bought her 6 years ago today. I named her Akiko. Well, *I* didn’t. Camille had just gotten back from Japan and I said my car needed a Japanese name since Hondas are Japanese. Camille said that Akiko means “autumn child” and I loved that.

My pets have all had meaningful names: Phra Chan (Thai moon god) for my Beta, Xochiquetzal (Aztec goddess of song, dance and love) for my tree frog, Stellaluna for my parakeet.

And soon I will have a new addition to my family. (The 15″ 2.16.)

He’s male, I’ve decided. I’ve gone through several rounds of names. I almost chose “Mr. Shivers” just because I liked it, but it has no meaning. Hello! I’m a Scorpio! EVERYTHING HAS TO HAVE MEANING. DEEP, DEEP, SERIOUS MEANING.

A coworker named her iPod “Riddikulus,” which is from Harry Potter.

From about.com: The Riddikulus charm is the defence against the Boggart and turns it into something the caster thinks is silly.

That’s awesome! My G4 never had a name. Jen’s HD was as close as it got. I flipped through a few of my favorite books. I almost named him Anaïs. I know Anaïs was female, but she was bi. And if Camille can name her female cat Jeffrey (Geoffery?), I can name my male MBPro Anaïs. And how cool is that name for something so sleek and silver and awesome?

But. So she was a badass female erotica author during a time when that was pretty much unheard of. How has that changed my life? It has meaning, but not DEEP, DEEP, SERIOUS meaning.

So. My new baby’s name will be Paolo. As in Paolo Coelho, probably my all-time favorite author.

Okay, I just went to Mr. Coelho’s website. Ummm, now I don’t think my computer is cool enough to be named after him. I just can’t picture myself at a book signing: “Oh my gosh, Mr. Coelho, I just LOVE your work. I TOTALLY named my computer after you.”

. . .

Maybe I should save that name for the greyhound I adopt/rescue one day when I have a house. And when I’m actually home sometimes.

I think I’ll just name my MBPro Sven.

Oh God . . .

I’m not good at this. It took me half an hour to do my first one on the airplane to San Francisco. An easy one.

But still, it’s addicting.

I sit down in my seat on the light rail this morning, headed to volunteer for a few hours. There’s a tiny 2″ square of Post-It paper on the ground. Has someone’s address on it.

I think, “Sucks to be the person who lost THAT.” I read my magazine.

The paper stays on my mind. Someone might need that. But how will they ever find it? I should throw it away. But then the owner will NEVER find it. I should just leave it. But what if some stupid kids find it and decide that that house would be a good target for needless violence? I should throw it away.

I read my magazine.

Before my stop, I pick it up and shove it in my pocket. I volunteer and forget about it until I get to work. Just now I thought, “What’s in my pocket?” I pulled it out. Oh yeah.

Wait, it’s TWO pieces of paper. I lift up the front one. The second piece has someone’s bank name, account number, username and password.

DEAR. GOD.

I rip it into tiny tiny pieces and throw it away.

So . . . dear person out there who lost all your important info on the Houston light rail this morning before 8.45am? Don’t worry. It’s cool. You might freak out and still change all your info, but you don’t need to. It didn’t fall into the wrong hands. I destroyed it for you.

Shit . . . unless it already DID fall into the wrong hands. Yeah, you might want to go ahead and cancel that account and think of a new username and password.

UPDATE: I dug that stuff out of the trash can and put it back together. I called Bank of America to let them know that maybe they should alert that account owner. When he was done taking the report, he asked that I burn the paper. I did. It’s hard work being a good citizen.

“From, ‘Mary Beth.’ ” Nope, Caroline.

“Hi Jennifer! I just called to tell you that I finally saw those shoes done right. You know, the crocs? Yeah, they actually looked good.

Or maybe the guy was just hot.”

So I was going to San Francisco! One of the bluist (it’s a word) cities in the nation . . . it would be like taking my favorite parts of Houston (ok, Montrose) and multiplying them times, um, 740,000. (Don’t do that math or try to logically figure out what I said, just nod and keep reading.)

I couldn’t wait to go shopping. I could go to an actual Lululemon store, not just look online and guess-order. I did. Track pants- $20 + tax. Nice. I could get funky shoes! I didn’t. I didn’t mean to get jeans . . . but you know how that goes. Of course I did. I finally got to go to a Trader Joe’s!! That was awesome! Cheaper than Whole Foods, er, at least in their body section.

I also wanted a new purse. Something over-one-shoulder like a mini messenger bag . . . or even a small sling-bag. I saw a girl with a green bag that I loved and couldn’t get out of my head. I went to a few stores and saw nothing resembling what I wanted.

On Monday I was walking up and down Market street, checking out little recycled clothing shops and just looking at purses. And jackets. I found a few bags I liked and decided to buy this little black messenger-style bag. It was cool- a Tumi bag, black with red interior. Lots of cool little pockets, very urban like I wanted. It was $27.50 and I decided to get it. On the way back to the car, I beat myself up with a stick of Buyer’s Remorse. i didn’t need this purse . . . I already spent so much money this weekend . . . why was I paying $30 for a used purse that’s a brand I’d never heard of, maybe I could get it cheaper on eBay . . . etc.

Oh well. A few hours later at the airport, I saw a girl with a green purse similar to the one I’d seen and loved! Had 4 little green rubber dots on it. I thought about asking her where she got it, but I was sitting and talking to my mom on my cell and I decided to not be obsessive about it.

11 hours later, at home, I opened my suitcase and unpacked some of my things (they’re still sitting on my floor, exactly where I left them Monday night). I pulled out my Tumi bag. I hadn’t noticed the 4 little back rubber dots on it before . . .

Nooooo waaaaaay.

I had accidentally bought exactly what I wanted. I went online to look it up. Still in season. $95 new.

Sweet. Buyer’s remorse, what buyer’s remorse?

Except . . . I could describe the motivation of my SF shopping with one lyric:

“I spent 400 bucks on this, just to be like, ‘N***a, you ain’t up on this!’ ” –Kanye West

“Hey, Ryan, I forgot my FM transmitter. Do you have one I can use?”

“No, I haven’t found one I like.”

“Ahh, ok.”

“So when I want to hear my iPod in the car, I just make a playlist and burn it to a cd.”

” . . . “

Hi kids-

Welp, I’m in San Francisco, visiting my brother and his wife. They actually live in Petaluma, which is 38 mi north of SF. Yesterday we drove out to Point Reyes National Park, which was fun.

We stopped on the way to have lunch at a cheese factory and we sat outside at picnic tables and ate fresh cheese, sandwiches and drank wine. I got a pinot noir just to be cheesy. And because I like it.

We came back to Petaluma, chilled for a while, then discussed what to do for the evening. I know SF has tons of stuff to do and an amazing music scene, but I soooo didn’t feel like going to a club, or even drinking. So I asked if they wanted to go to a cafe and chill and people watch. They agreed.

We didn’t do any research, just decided to drive down, find somewhere cool and stop. I was driving, but Ryan knew the area better than I did. But not MUCH better, which is saying something since it was my first time there. We drove around for a while and it was busy, but nothing looked like what I wanted. Then Courtney said, “There’s a Starbucks.”

“OHMYGOD we are NOT going to Starbucks.”

“Okaaaaaaaaay.”

They were kind of hungry, but planned to just have a snack whenever we found my cafe. We drove out of where it was populated and it looked a little seedy so we turned around. I was pulling up to a stoplight . . . in this rent car, I tend to be a bit of a late braker, I’m used to braking in a Civic, with one person inside. Not a Malibu with 2 other passengers. Anyway, as a rule I try to never stop the car in the pedestrian walkway. There was a probably-homeless man walking there and this was no exception. But the man looked pissed, as if he was thinking, “Bitch, you better stop, this is MY walkway.” I stopped well before it. He glared at me and pulled a gun out of his pocket and raised his hand in the air.

He didn’t point it, he just held it, like, “I have a gun, bitch. I may not have any ammunition, or any desire to shoot you for driving fast and braking hard, but just sos you know, I gotta gun.”

I waited until he walked away and the light turned green, then I started laughing. Courtney was horrified and Ryan didn’t see it and was like, “He didn’t have a gun, Courtney, that was an umbrella.” When I said seriously, “No, Ryan, that was his other hand. That guy really had a gun,” he stopped arguing.

I’d given up on a cafe and just wanted somewhere cool to chill. We passed a few hip-looking restaurants and turned around to park and go to one. The neighborhood was still seedy, but I think that’s when you know you’re somewhere cool. When everything around you is either abandoned or really modern construction and everyone is either homeless and mumbling or dressed in clothes you usually see in magazines, that’s my favorite part of any city.

We walked passed these awesome apartments with lots of glass and concrete and I said, “Wow, I’d LOVE to live there.” Courtney said, “I wouldn’t!”

“Really?” I was surprised since she normally likes modern architecture.

“Yeah, I mean it looks nice, but hello! Man! Gun! Or did you already forget about that?”

I laughed. “I did, actually.”

We had dinner at Lulu’s which was great. Amazing food- but expensive. But good food is usually expensive. Especially stuff like ravioli with goat cheese and heirloom tomatoes, basil and toasted pine nuts. Ryan and Courtney prefer their food boring, as far as I can tell. They ordered tomato soup. Which I was thinking of ordering since it was a chilly wintry August night, making me wish I had packed my touque. (I KNOW that word is Canadian, and I wouldn’t use it except we don’t have a suitable equivalent!!!!)

I bought dinner since I felt bad for dragging them out of their comfort zone and making them eat expensive food that Courtney said if she was on Iron Chef, would declare had too many ingredients.

Anyway, I’m about to shower and take my car back to Budget since last night we pulled up to a stop light and the car began to shake and act like it was going to stall out. I instinctively stomped my foot on the clutch– it was an automatic. It had been chugging uphill and making weird sounds all day but this was the first time this had happened. Ryan determined, “It’s not downshifting.” He was totally right, maybe that’s why I felt like I was having to brake so damn hard.

More later. April, R&C say hi!

I’m flying tonight and because of the incident, or non-incident in London, I’m checking out TSA to see what I can and can’t carry on.

They’re mostly looking at liquids. I am now allowed to carry on small scissors with a pointy blade that measures under 4″ in length. That would have been helpful a year ago when I went to Detroit and the guy made me unzip my suitcase, dig through and pull out my makeup bag, unzip a pocket and throw away this totally great pair of scissors that were 3″ in length total. What harm can I cause with that?

I don’t think a hijacking usually begins with, “Um, excuse me . . . sir? Can you help me get down my suitcase? It’s pretty heavy and I think it’s stuck.” Followed by blocking all the aisles while I fish out a tiny pair of scissors.

Anyway, things I can’t carry on:
- Food/drink. (Meaning my Nalgene. Now with light-up lid, thanks to a hint from Mighty Goods and piss-poor self-control when it comes to not buying ridiculous things.)
- All lotions and creams, inc. first-aid creams and ointments
- Hair straightener or detangler (not kidding kids, look it up).
- Lip gels such as Carmex or Blistex.
- Liquid lip glosses.
- Liquid sanitizers.
- Whipped cream. (What?? I never travel without my whipped cream!!)

Things that ARE allowed-
- Gel-filled bras.
- Personal lubricant. (PERSONAL LUBRICANT!! Oh my God, I can’t have soft, moisturized lips for 4 hours, I can have personal lubricant?? Maybe I should buy some minty personal lubricant so I can apply it to my lips when they become dried out. Or maybe it will cheer me up since I can’t have my whipped cream.)
- Toy Transformer Robots. (What about Dora? Can I bring Dora?)

Just so you know. Water & hand sanitizer- NO. Personal lubricant and Transformers- ROCK ON.

No, not to you, Caroline. Or you, Spider and Mari.

To my blog! This weekend my blog turns 1. I’ll be in California (for the first time in my life) so I won’t be able to celebrate.

So I’ve given her a new outfit and a new profile pic. Turns out I don’t look good in orange as a cartoon either.

Change is good.

On Monday I stopped by a gas station that had a built-in Subway so I could grab a foot-long tuna sandwich on wheat. (Note #1: Next time, no cucumbers. Note #2: I make a better tuna salad (I KNOW I’m asking for jokes with that one). But I do.) I get into my car with my sammich and a well-dressed man in a shiny clean black Jaguar pulls up next to me. He kind of motions to me, I roll the window down. We’re on the edge of downtown, it’s easy to get lost/turned-around here, maybe he needs directions.

He says, with a thick accent, “I think I’ve met you before. What is your name?”

“Umm . . . Jen.”

“I’m Marciano (or something). Where do you work?”

I tell him I work at the Fun Job.

“Oh. Well, can I have your number?”

“No . . .”

“Why not?”

“Dude . . .”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

Pause. “Yes.” He looks skeptical. As he talks, his saliva sticks to his teeth and lips. I wonder what drug has that side effect. At the very least he’s dehydrated. I abruptly end the convo and say goodbye and back out. I glance back . . . man, that is a very clean expensive black car. And he was well-dressed. Kept driving.

So . . . that’s just further proof that I’m not shallow.

Today I’m about to put a check and a deposit slip into the canister at the bank drive-through when a black Bentley coupe pulls into the parking lot. My checking account can wait. I pull through and wait somewhat impatiently, ok, very impatiently for an old man with pants up to his nipples to shuffle across the street. I pull up to the well-dressed black man walking up to the bank.

I say, “Hi. I just wanted to let you know that you drive one of the hottest cars designed by man in all of history.”

He laughs. “Really, do you think so?”

“Are you kidding me? I just drove out of the drive-through line to tell you that!”

“Well, thanks. I’ll tell you what. Here’s my card. Stop by anytime and I’ll give you a ride.”

“Wow, thanks.” NOT stopping by. I wasn’t flirting with you. I was going to tell the same thing to whomever got out of the front seat of that car.

He’s the CEO. His business card. Black thermography on cream linen stock. No logo, 2 fonts: Park Avenue and Copperplate. Dude, you drive a BENTLEY COUPE. Spend more than $10 on your business cards. Seriously.

“Y’all know this song is so about me, right?”

“Jen, if this song was about you, it would be a lot shorter.”

This is me in June at my 10-year HS Reunion.

And here’s my haircut. I hacked it. But not quite as short as I did in college. There are some things you really only need to do once.

As in, disorganized. Back in May, I posted about being super productive. Yeah, that was the last time that happened.

Every week I insist I’m going to get things done. But somehow . . . other stuff happens. Like going to see Mark Farina (good) and having lots of vodka (bad) and therefore having a headache all the next day (bad). Eating Moroccan food (good), drinking Moroccan red wine (very good). Spending time with friends I never see (good). Housesitting and making money (good).

Finally I’m home and going through Mount Mail and discovering overdue bills. Credit card bills. Plural. Bad, bad, bad, bad.

So finally I’m getting my ish together. And I’m channeling my inner Martha Stewart. I’m throwing a little baby shower for my cousin. It would be easier if . . . well, if lots of things. It would be easier if I’d just go to Sam’s like the rest of the world and pick up some frozen yummies and heat just before serving. It would be easier if I didn’t decide that for dessert, they needed homemade Lemon Custard ice ceam made by yours truly. It would be easier if I wan’t going to serve them in scooped-out lemons and top them with a mint sprig. It would be easier if I wasn’t going to give out hand-made soaps as the parting gift. It would be easier if I didn’t insist that all the foods be fresh, and preferably organic.

But! Easy doesn’t = cool. It doesn’t = guests being blown away by how fabulous I am. It doesn’t = people talking about the lovely shower I threw with delicious good-and-good-for-you food.

I guess I just like a challenge.

So this weekend I made the lemon custard ice cream. It came out delicious and I’m sooooo glad I made it ahead of time! Y’all didn’t think I did anything ahead of time, didja? If I hadn’t, people would have had lovely scoops of homemade ice cream served in half a lemon topped with a mint sprig to eat after their DOMINO’S PIZZA because nothing else would have gotten done.

I also already made the soap. It looks nice- I promise I’ll take pictures.

Last night I continued my path toward organization. Cleared off the months of papers stacked in my “to file” pile. I even cleared off my refrigerator and took Luna’s cage down and cleaned it. It kind of made me sad. It didn’t make me sad to know that I’ll never pick birdseed out of my ice cube trays again.

(yes, my birdcage was ON my fridge. it’s a short apartment-style fridge. and parakeets are sensitive to cold and my kitchen is always warm in the summer and easy to heat in the winter, thanks to 50 year-old gas applicances.)

So. I’m nesting. Not pregnant, but looking for ways to create space in my apartment. I don’t need a huge bookcase like I have. I’m going to get rid of the books I don’t read. I’ll admit I keep some just so I look smart- historical writings on the Maya, a book on Japanese aesthetics, a huge Oxford dictionary- but let’s be real, if I need a definition I’m going to hit F12 and type it into my dictionary widget on my Dashboard. And once I get a MacBook Pro, it will be bigger than my television anyway. My television might just become a black box for me to dust.

So there goes getting cable television!

Remember this post?

Well, I returned them. Turns out that was a bad investment. They *were* cute as hell, but also uncomfortable as hell. With me, cute is optional but comfortable is NEVER optional. Both is a bonus!!

Caroline made fun of me a few years ago when we were both boot shopping. Not together, but we both wanted boots. She found some killer black stiletto pointy toe boots. I mean killer as in, wear them long enough and you’d die. I searched and searched for some brown leather boots (biggest problem for us is getting boots to fit our skinny calves!) and Caroline was like, “It’s not a big deal, just buy some already!” Well, I finally found them and they are no longer in style b.c they have a square toe. Damn you, fashion!

Anyway, one day I was home and we traded boots. Care wore mine all day and I wore hers. Like I said, hers were miserable. By the end of the day she said, “Wow, these are so comfortable I didn’t know I was wearing boots!”

And that’s why I shop the way I do.

But when I bought the cute girly shoes, I was blinded by CUTE! and by SALE! and by ADDITIONAL 25% OFF SECOND PAIR!

I wore the brown ones and on the way home, stopped to get the little socks that go in slip-on shoes. Didn’t work. I had blisters on my heels and toes. :( Dave asked if they were comfortable. I paused and said maybe I just need them to break me in. He said, “You’re not walking like you’re comfortable.” ?? Guess not.

I waited for my feet to heal and tried wearing them again- just to volunteer. I even drove there. New blisters on heels and toes.

I returned them. Didn’t get all my money back, but I didn’t care. We were through, me and the painfully cute shoes. And good riddance!

Lol, maybe I should have saved them for you, Caroline. ;)

I was talking to my cousin’s girlfriend about my dinner plans with some friends. They’re grown-ups. They’re not much older than I am, but they have a mortgage and 2 cars and a big house and a 1-year old. Every dinner with them is the same. I arrive in time to say good night to the baby- adorable!- then we have dinner, then I go with the dad/husband to walk the doggies, then I leave.

Every time. It’s fun to play grown-up.

So I told Christina about that, since I was about to leave to play grown-up. And she said, “So why didn’t they invite the boyfriend?”

“Oh, he’s working. And they don’t know he exists yet.”

Christina nods, with a straight face.

“Shit! You said ‘boyfriend!’”

She laughs, pleased with herself. “I’ve been working on that all night, I told Jonathan I wanted to slip it in to see what you’d do.”

“Did I even flinch?”

“Nope.”

“Shit!” Pause. Sigh. “Okaaaaaay, fine.”