2010, You've Been Great! Kind of!

Christmas Eve. The perfect time to sit in front of a computer and blog.

An eight hour drive by yourself and a cat--no matter how many interesting podcasts you listen to--allows a person to do a lot of reflection. The final chapter of 2010 is unfolding and I feel like I need to run through the table of contents again, just to get a grip on all the highs and lows of the year. As I love to say...Time flies.

Ahhhhhh

I promised that I would never make this bloggy blog a personal diary, something you might feel uncomfortable reading. So I won't drag up painful memories or failures so that you feel compelled to express your sympathy or to cheer me up. But the year had some low points, for sure. However, thankfully the year was more than balanced out with wonderful moments. So this weekend as I look back on my monthly calendar pages before throwing it away (recycling is a myth) I'll be remembering a lot of you and the good times we shared and possibly the tears we shed.

But for tonight....it's crab legs and meatballs, baby.

The Prosecution calls...Facebook

According to the news this morning a female weather reporter in New York City has been suspended for filing a false report that she was raped in Central Park. The Today Show reporter, in his piece, began by giving us expository information about the reporter--how long she'd been at the station, how well liked she was, her running interest, etc. Then his tone changed and he got into "investigative reporter" mode.

His first piece of "proof" that the weather reporter was lying was...Facebook. In a condescending tone he explained that the day after the alleged rape, her Facebook status was "Had a great day!" And her status the next day was some silly comment about turkey, since it was close to Thanksgiving. THEN he went on to report secondary information...like her confession. And how her stories didn't match up. But Facebook led the list of damning evidence.

I wish I had the time to go through all my Facebook statuses (...stati??) for 2010. I would find that in the whole year I was only mad once. Sad? Maybe 3 or 4 times. Depressed? Never. Hurt? Never. Had a headache? Never. Heartbroken? Nope. Went to the grocery store? Not once!

That's correct--if you don't post it on Facebook it obviously didn't happen and it could come back to haunt you in a court of law. This girl obviously lied about being raped, but would her story have been more believable if she had posted "Heidi Jones was raped tonight"? Why would anyone in their right mind, any logical thinking adult, turn to Facebook as an accurate, 3 dimensional protrayal of a person's personality and/or life? Or assume that everyone enjoys posting terrible things that happen to them? Just because I never post that I'm going to grocery store, is the next logical assumption that I have an eating disorder? Or I buy my food on the black market?

People use Facebook for lots of different reasons and to varying degrees of disclosure. Facebook is a window into someone's personality but for some people--myself included--it's not an all access pass. It's not the doorway. I'm not opening the door. The door is reserved for close friends and family...people I love and trust. Everyone else is permitted to look through the window and see whatever I place in the window that day. I don't necessarily WANT everyone to know when I'm hurt or mad or devastated or angry. If I was robbed, mugged, raped, dumped, stabbed, or fired...I wouldn't put that on Facebook and I find it really offensive that Facebook should be the first place you turn to to determine if it really happened.

Honest Spam

There are a series of online request forms that are used by the volunteers and people that I work with. Our web team told me that online forms are a magnet for spam and sure enough, I get 2+ emails per day from "Online Request Form Submission" that turn out to look like this:

Date: 9qhouth8#Q%^
Name: i9y%$&^J
Title: (U(* spam oaind*^*%

Here's what today's email looked like:

Date:
Name: Porn
Title: Porn

I appreciate the straight-forwardness.

I'm Gonna Boogie Oogie Oogie

til I just can't boogie no more!

It's a party weekend! I'm classing up my parties, this year, though, much like Michael Scott. Just because the venue is classier and the elbows I'll be rubbing will be classier doesn't mean that I won't embarrass myself, so charge up your cameras.

Do You Wanna Know What I Love?

• Hot coffee
• My Christmas tree
• Roni's little ears
• Bursts of energy, during which you accomplish the least important item on your to do list: color code your closet, alphabetize your pantry...
• Paul F. Tompkins
• Budweiser and Blue Moon
• Snickerdoodles
• Dominoes
• Post-run elation
• Chapstick
• Cashmere
• The Wire
• Busy nights of social events
• Lazy days of cereal, crappy TV, more cereal, and Ocean's 11
• Limes

Do You Wanna Know What I Hate?

This a very broad topic and one in which I'm sure we'll explore more in the new year. Here's to a hate-filled 2011!!

Ok, enough with the jokes, let's just focus on today's topic: Self congratulatory statements masked by appreciation statements.

In a lot of thank you speeches you'll hear people say "I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for ______." Or "I owe who I am today to ______."

Well, who said you were that great? Sure, you usually go on to talk about the wonderful virtues and traits of the person who made you "awesome," and that person probably really IS all that and a bag of chips. But that person being a bag of chips doesn't mean YOU'RE a bag of chips.

And you might be a bag of chips, who knows. But putting yourself forward as an example of all things great that the real bag of chips can take credit for?? Did you ever think that maybe the bag of chips is secretly embarrassed of you? Or that the bag of chips doesn't even remember you? Maybe the bag of chips considers you a bag of Bugles.

Today in History

In 1948 heavy metal legend Ozzy Osbourne was born.

In 1979 11 people were stampeded to death outside a Who concert.

in 1984 2,000 people were killed in an explosion at a pesticide plant.

COINCIDENCE????????

Santa's Naughty List

People must be idiots. It's apparent--especially today when Hoosiers woke up to snow--that Christmas is approaching. That means that everyone should have a single priority: staying on Santa's Nice List. In case there are a few people living under rocks and don't know this--Santa does not bring toys to naughty little girls and boys.

I thought people would be smarter than to be naughty in Advent, the lead up to Christmas. Guess not.

Yesterday I told you about the Crime Stoppers guy who used his own cell phone to call in fake leads and embezzled $100,000. It was a busy Naughty News day because check out the other stories that hit the air waves:

An Indiana State trooper has been accused and charged of embezzling over $90,000 of state funds.

The (arguably) #2 weatherman in South Bend was arrested on 2 charges of false reporting. (Crime reports, not weather reports. ZING!) Apparently, he called the police from his home and told them that police had wrecked his car and were firing gunshots at him.

I'm going to refrain from making jokes about the weatherman (but c'mon...that kind of a story deserves copious jokes) because I'm trying very hard to be nice. Santa is watching. And Santa, if you're reading this...since the weatherman's been bad, can I have the toys you were going to give him????

A Big Huge Throne of Lies

From Tuesday's South Bend Tribune:

Suspect in Crime Stoppers theft pleads guilty

Tribune Staff Report

A man suspected of embezzling funds from the South Bend-area Crime Stoppers pleaded guilty Monday. George V. Timlin entered a guilty plea to the charge of theft, a Class C felony. Timlin was accused of stealing at least $100,000 from the Crime Stoppers account while he was treasurer of the organization.

The money was stolen between September 2005 and July 2010. He faces a sentence of two to eight years and a fine of up to $10,000. The court can also order a defendant to make restitution for the loss to any victims.

**According to the news this morning, he was able to steal the money by texting fake leads to the Crime Stoppers line. I'm confused...according to the jingle "No one will know your NAME!!! CrimeStoppersdoesnothavecallerID."

So they must be a bunch of liars, sitting on a throne of lies

Roadtrip!

I'm a great road tripper. Put me in a car with a cup of coffee and I will go at least 4 hours (or whenever the next gas fill up is) without a bathroom break. Because of this awesomeness I have little knowledge of the rest stop and gas station bathrooms along I-80. I stop in Iowa at exit 220 where the outlet mall and Amish gas station equal manna from heaven. I stop in Blair, NE at the McDonald's...and that's about it.

So the question I'll throw out into the blogosphere tonight is...which is worse: the smell of a well-used public restroom or the fake cherry smell that gas stations pump into their restrooms to try to mask the well-used smell?

This is Deep

If a girl does the robot in her house, and no one is there to see it...does she still win the grand prize dance off?

You Can't Spell Holiday without I

If I am a bloggER than you are my blogEES. And I apologize once again, blogEES, for being an absent blogER. (I'm taking a lot of credit here, assuming that you actually missed me.)

Lots of randomness floating around in my head...time flies, doesn't it??

Ahhhhhhhhh

I love Thanksgiving and I love Christmas. I don't mind the commercialization of Christmas because my love of giving gifts is stronger than my hatred of piles of catalogs and Baby Jesus M&M dispensers. Even stronger than my hatred of the song "Wonderful Christmastime" by Paul McCartney. Seriously...I'll shotput my Christmas tree if that song is played in my home.

Also, I look forward to dressing up Roni for our Christmas card photo.

Christmas Idea

I already own a blue Snuggie, so matching slippers would be appreciated. I hate to be mismatched whilst I lounge.

My friend Tawnie Kataen in Virginia is knitting me a little something to be worn underneath said Snuggie. Can't wait!

Chirp Chirp...Anyone out there? Is this thing on????

Sorry for my absence, loyal followers. What a c-r-a-z-y week it was last week, topped off with a trip to New England. I didn't advertise beforehand that I'd be out of town because I'm not an idiot--I know there are people out there who would do anything to get their hands on Roni. I couldn't risk having everyone on the internets know that Roni the Pony would be alone.

So it's November. I don't know about you but the fall seems to be going fast, huh?? And I don't know about you but I LOOOOOOVE talking about how fast time flies!! I love it! I even love saying it: "Time flies!"

That felt good.

I have all kinds of good observations about my trip to Connecticut that I will dole out to you in carefully spaced intervals. Because frankly, some of it will blow your mind. I'll start with this:

I witnessed one of the most awkward first dates ever. (I think I still win The Most Awkward award...swim trunks?? You deserve to be mocked, sir) Saturday night I was having dinner in the hotel bar early because I had to be up at 4am to catch my flight. In walks a middle aged woman who sits at the bar and orders a beer and bar snacks. Several minutes later in walks a middle aged guy. I have not looked at the couple at this point because the awkwardness wasn't apparent until their conversation started. First date conversation is always kind of stilted but these people sounded like they were reading the "How to Have a First Date" brochure.

I finally look over and see the guy: brushed back, fluffy hair. A gold chain. Skinny jeans. In a word--Justin Beiber at age 53.

Here's the best part: I finish the worst steak sandwich in the history of steak sandwiches and head for the elevator, noticing that the woman is by herself now. I round the corner and THE GUY IS HITTING ON THE HOTEL DESK CLERK!

I love you Connecticut!

Bad Idea Jeans

Some bad ideas I've had lately:

A diet Coke at 7pm
The Darjeeling Limited
Guacamole while wearing a white shirt
A Mighty Wind
Waking up on time without an alarm
Coffee jello
Play through the pain
Looking at the nutrition label

This list is not comprehensive and should not be interpreted as the ONLY bad ideas I've had.

Nutjobs

I'm very picky when it comes to the crappy TV shows I watch. My quality shows (Mad Men, The Office, The Soup, Amazing Race, etc) typically have a general consensus about their quality (or in some cases, the decline of their quality.) But when I choose to watch crappy television I'm very discriminating. A sampling of the crappy TV shows that meet my high standards of crappiness:

• Bridezillas. One nutjob couple after another.
• Maury Povich. A parade of nutjobs.
• Food Network Cake Challenges. Nutjobs making things out of gum paste.
• Jersey Shore. 8 nutjobs living together and hooking up randomly.
• The RW/RR Challenge. 30 nutjobs beating each other up and hooking up randomly.
• NewsCenter 16. Countless nutjobs trying to make me believe squirrels are newsworthy. And also hooking up randomly with ex-football players.

So what's the common theme? I love nutjobs.

Tornadoes

I sat in the basement of my building for about an hour and a half this morning because we were in a tornado warning. I hope when I go outside a tree has fallen on my car. I pray almost day that I get t-boned or a tree falls on it or it catches on fire (when I'm not in it, of course) or it gets stolen.

God doesn't ALL prayers, does he?

My Acceptance Speech

I'm very humbled by this award. I didn't know it was possible to win "Best Wedding Guest" but now that I think about it, it was a role I was born to play. I couldn't do it alone and there are so many people to thank:

• First, I need to thank God. (For the mind to rhyme and two hype feet!)
• George Clooney. You helped with the driving, you brought apples for the drive, (true, I didn't eat any apples but it was inspiring just knowing they were in the back seat) you enjoy good meals and great drinks, you're a snappy dresser and your dance moves pale only in comparison to my own.
• The City of Omaha--you shine like a new penny!
• My brother and his fiance--the hospitality was fabulous!
• My mom--always a joy
• Moscow mules--I tip my copper cup to you
• Risotto--there's nothing more I can say about you. Kiss-kiss!
• Whole Foods--you are for classy people only. Thank you for letting me in the doors.

There just isn't enough time to mention everyone by name but all the Norfolk Catholic people--it's so great to come home and see you and get so many hugs! To the people from Norfolk--it was like a family reunion. To the happy couple--what a great party! I only wish you had played more Neil Diamond during the ceremony but I'll get over it!!! (You could have walked out of the church to "Comin' to America!")

Thank you all again. Go Huskers!

Eat Your Fruits and Veggies. And Nothing Else

About 6 years ago I signed up for a cleanse and detox class at a now-defunct health food store. There was no special reason, I wasn't feeling especially toxic, I was just in the check out line one day, saw the flyer and signed up. A spontaneous decision that would make me the comedic fodder for my friends for the next 6 weeks.

For 6 weeks I gave up red meat, dairy, wheat, sugar, alcohol, and caffeine. Before I started I knew the alcohol and red meat weren't going to be problems. Cutting out dairy, wheat, sugar and caffeine meant changing every eating and working routine I had. I learned to like green tea. I learned to eat something other than cereal and yogurt for breakfast. I tolerated salads with oil and vinegar dressing. I baked so many apples for dessert...I probably funded an apple orchard that year. Try drinking hot lemon water sometime. Yum!!

I'd still come to Corby's on Fridays but I'd drink water. I would occasionally smell my friends' beers, when the temptation was especially strong, which made them laugh. What REALLY made their night, was the night I announced that I was on Day 3 of a week long juice fast. I had consumed nothing but vegetable or fruit juice for the last 3 days. Jokes about the validity of the benefits of a juice fast ensued...until I told them the reason for the juice fast was to prep for the "cleanse" part of "cleanse and detox" at the end of the week. Then the real jokes started.

My friend Young-Katherine Hepburn made a joke. I started to laugh. And laugh....and laugh...and laugh...until I was doubled over, crying....which led to sobs. Which led to me eating a taco. This is one of my friends favorite stories of me, when I was so delirious from malnutrition that I had a breakdown.

Ain't Nothin' Gonna Breaka My Stride, Ain't Nothin' Gonna Slow Me Down, Oh No! I Got to Keep on Movin'!

I have a severe hamstring pull, according to my doctor. In general I'm a skeptical person and so I asked Dr. GreekFace with my eyebrows all in a furrow: "A pulled hamstring is making it uncomfortable for me to SIT??" It was almost as if I WANTED GreekFace to tell me that I needed surgery or a complete amputation. Instead I have to start physical therapy for the next month and I am not to run or do anything strenuous with the lower half of my body until he sees me again.

The thing is...I have a wedding to go to this weekend. My dancing is even more strenuous than my running. I take the Grocery Cart to a whole new level.

Short and Sweet

My dad used to say that are some people in life who are only happy when they're mad.

I Live on the EDGE!

It's October 19th and I'm about to eat yogurt that says "Use by Oct. 12" on the lid. Can someone call me tonight to make sure I'm alive?

Houston, I Have a Problem

What are you going to do on your day off?

-Nothing!

Where are you going on your day off?

-Nowhere!

Have more wonderful words ever been spoken?

I have no witty observations this morning. What I've noticed the last few weeks is that the number of unlistened to podcasts in my iTunes is growing. Slowly but surely I'm now over 200 and frankly--I fight to keep it around 220. And to be even franker--it gives me slight anxiety. I don't see how I'll ever catch up. I now subscribe to so many podcasts that every morning when I log into iTunes and it checks for new ones, there is always a minimum of 8 -9. Everyday. In order to make a dent I need to listen to 9-10 everyday. I don't have that kind of time lately, so there's a choice in my future.

Do I let go of the anxiety and watch as my list of podcasts continues to grow?

Or do I unsubscribe to some of my podcasts? (I have a hard time letting go sometimes...)

Or do I recommit to my podcasts and give up some of my social life and dates with George Clooney so I can spend quality time with my iPod?

This is me, as a Smurf, listening to my podcasts

Stream of Consciousness...

I went to an art auction last night with George Clooney. Good times. It's fun to sashay around sometimes and pretend that I'm somebody in this town. Schmooze. I winked a lot. No finger guns. I don't think art auctions are the place to finger gun someone. A lady told me that if George Clooney didn't want to look into my eyes, she would. Not my 1st flirtatious comment from an older lady. Ribs--a lot of work. The pay off better be good. Art Auction ribs--not so much. New shoes are cute but in 2010 you'd think shoe designers could be able to invent pre-broken-in shoes. I almost bid on a painting of a raccoon. George Clooney was 2 scotches away from a bidding war over a photo. I almost fell over at one point. I had to defend my love of Neil Diamond yet again. I may have gotten a little too sensitive towards the end of the evening. (Sorry George) I won dinner for 2 at the LaSalle Grille. I've narrowed my dinner date options down to Roni and George. The population of Stuifbergens in South Bend is about to triple. Buy some stock in Budweiser now before the weekend, if you know what's good for you.

The First State

I'm in Delaware withdrawal. I'm in bear hug withdrawal. I'm in pizza withdrawal. I'm in teasing withdrawal. (Not really, I'm teasing)

This weekend my house was taken over by 10 dudes from Delaware. Awesome dudes. Even the little one who refused to "Dougie" for me.

I'm always very humbled by my friends. I'm humbled that the kinds of people who are my friends call me THEIR friend. I know a lot of loving, generous, protective, funny, and kind-hearted people. If you really ARE judged by the company you keep then I'm a lucky girl, because despite all my faults, I'll coast into heaven on the laurels of my friends.

Here I Go Again On My Own....

I'm going to miss my friend Tawny Kitaen. She's moving to Virgina and I sincerely hopes that Virginia gets hit with a grasshopper plague, forcing her to move back to ME! Indiana! Where we have no grasshopper plagues!

If that doesn't happen, we developed a plan (still working out some details) to move to Ireland and open up a pub. Roni my cat would be the barmaid, delivering beers to our patrons. In my head, Roni was like a mini-Clydesdale, pulling a wagon behind her. But I also like this version:

Tawny, you're one of the funniest people I know and one of my best friends. Come back soon! Love you tons!

Nicknames

I had nicknames growing up. I have nicknames now...some of which are the same and most are some derivative of my first or last name. Where my dad grew up, though, EVERYONE had a nickname, it stuck with them for eternity, and it was almost always unusual. Not like "Davey" for David or "Suz" for Susan. I'm talking about things like "Rab" and "Fast Eddie." I can't remember all of them but I have lots of memories of listening to grandma, dad, and aunts and uncles talk for hours about people and use nary a single name. Just nicknames.

I think that's what small town life is all about. I like it.

Three Cheers for Physical Fitness

I love to see people enjoying physical fitness. And is there a better place in the world to exercise and see the beauty of God's creation than the great outdoors? The exhilaration of a morning run or walk, the brisk fall air filling your lungs, the sun rising with the promise of a beautiful day. Glorious.

I love that Notre Dame men find physical fitness so important. Sometimes I have trouble just WAKING UP, let alone going for a walk before work. To see their obvious devotion to their physical well being at 8:15am, as they cross the highway on their way back from what MUST have been an early morning walk over to Saint Mary's...it fills me with...something. And you know they take it seriously because when they go on these exercise walks they dress in their khaki pants and blue button down shirts. This is serious exercise! And serious love of nature! They may look tired and disoriented but I think that makes me respect them more. Walk on ND men...walk on.

Not Even Toads Can Take Me Down!

Rise and shine campers! It's THURSDAY! And that means it's

Jessica's Latest Problem with the World, Part IX

I may have to rename Thursday because once again...I'm pretty happy. Despite having some sort of pulled right hamstring that has worked it's way up to my bottom. Despite the weird twinge of pain that started this morning in my lower back, causing me to walk around campus like a nicely-coiffed Frankenstein. Despite the fact that I was the target of a failed assault by a toad last night. No matter what George Clooney says...that toad had his sights set on me and he was coming to give me a deadly ankle lick.

Yes, despite physical discomfort and threats to my life, I'm pretty happy. Lots of reasons, actually but here's what I'll share:

• The month of October is an experiment in European living. I'm not working one Friday the entire month. (If all goes well I'll start using my fancy pronunciation skilzzzz)
• I'm looking forward to a trip to Nebraska and some good wedding dancing. (Where I will try out my pronunciation skillzzzz)
• I found a $1 bill in my jacket this morning!
• I found my articles for the presentation I have to give next week to my business class. They had to be from the New York Times or the Wall Street Journal. Most of my news comes from Facebook posts, so...I was worried.
• I may have won $1,000,000. I just have to respond to this email today.

Make Every Day a Holiday

This thought came to me this morning: I'd face the morning with much more optimism if I could drink from coconuts everyday. I mean, not just alcoholic, coconut-y, pineapple-y drinks. I'm talking about walking into a meeting with my morning coffee in a coconut. I'm talking about pulling through the drive thru at Starbucks and handing them my coconut for a refill of french roast. Going to the gym with a coconut of water. Sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner with a plate full of turkey and mashed potatoes and a coconut full of wine.

Cheers!

Look at how happy these kids are, all because they get to drink their sports drink from a coconut. Especially the kid in the back. He's PSYCHED!

Neighbor Hunter! Crikey!

Ever wonder what my neighbor looks like, in case you see her in the grocery store and want to shake a finger at her? Here's the best I could do:

In her natural habitat, with her preferred weapon of choice: the rake. Right after this picture was taken she caught me with my camera and bit my right leg off.

Sunday Night Riddle

Q: How can you tell you rented your house to a bunch of dudes?

A: Your couch and pillows smell like Right Guard
A: The entire 12 pack of toilet paper you provided is gone
A: You turn on the TV and it's ESPN (This is not a joke: this happens after every rental)
A: There's a can of Kodiak on your decorative hat box

Jealous Much???

Rocco's pizza with George Clooney.

Don't hate.

My Eyebrows Have Been Through a Lot, Cut Them Some Slack

It's Thursday and that means it's

Jessica's Latest Problem with the World, Part VIII

Hmmm....thinking of a problem....scratching my head....twirling my hair....buy those cute shoes on Etsy....gotta find a problem...Okay, we'll revisit this one.

I'm a comedy snob and I hate generic topics that are brought up repeatedly for laughs. "Airplane seats--what's the deal with that??" "What's that, Notre Dame fans? Michigan sucks? Oh tell me ANOTHER ONE, har har har!!" "White men dancing??? HILARIOUS!"

But my special level of distaste is for conversations dealing with the differences between men and women and in particular, the social norms of grooming for each gender. Sorry, but these jokes are tired. They are old. They are not original. I think as a society we can all agree that in terms of money spent, time spent, and pain administered, women draw the short stick when it comes to adhering to the social norms of "beauty."

However!! I bring the following subtopic of grooming to the table because it's something I experienced this week: threading. I think all men should be forced to have their eyebrows or some over other facial hair threaded. Good Lord. To get threaded in South Bend you start by laying down in a chair in the middle of the mall (made just a little less embarrassing because "Pretty Eyebrows" has little half walls, like a cubicle). The woman with the bluetooth in her ear pulls the string through her mouth, positions your face, and your eyebrow hair is ripped out. Repeatedly. Sometimes painfully. She will sometimes stop her bluetooth conversation to ask you to pull your eyelid down so she can get a better grip on the hair, but for the most part she never stops talking during the entire process. I'm not a big fan of pain so when it hurts I immediately start to turn my head away and the lady and I start a little unspoken war, much like a parent trying to get their child to take the cough syrup, and the kid keeps turning his head away, lips clamped shut.

I can deal with overpriced hair products, marketing meant to make me believe that I need lotion with sea minerals, baskets of make up, shaving my legs, pedicures, hair masks, face masks, and "miracle" products. I really can. For the most part I like being a girl and this stuff doesn't bother me as an inequality between the sexes.

But threading?? Men need to buy you an extra drink when they find out you've been threaded that day.

Making a Bucket List, for Beginners

The term "Bucket List" has entered everyday vernacular and I'm pretty okay with it. I don't hear it everyday and thankfully everyone I know is not dying to recite their bucket list to me. So I'm ambivalent.

The other night on Mad Men, Don Draper was writing in his journal about cleaning up his life. In the voice over he says he wants to climb Mount Kilimanjaro one day. The line is hilarious because Don is a chain-smoking, 10am-whiskey-drinking, blacked-out-an-entire-day kind of guy. It got me thinking that maybe for some us, we need a pre-bucket list bucket list. Like a pre-season warm up game, when the Huskers can beat up on Florida Mid-Atlantic.

I will be so bold as to share my pre-bucket list bucket list...

Eat my first peanut butter and jelly sandwich
Stick my ankle in the ocean. (Haven't people heard of SHARKS?)
Ride my bike up a moderate sized hill
Learn Spanglish
Write in my journal for more than 2 days. In a row.
Form a one-woman band
Sit through Lord of the Rings without falling asleep
Find the answer to why my check engine light has been on for 6 years

This is just the beginning! Feel free to share your pre-bucket list bucket list.

Good News!

I'm looking on the bright side today: sure, my right hamstring is so badly injured that it hurts to sit still. Sure, I'm kind of in panic mode because I didn't check my calendar and the football renters are coming Thursday, not Friday. Yes, my favorite little pink cardigan is now ruined, with iron-looking stains.

BUT! Sing to the mountains, people: my Black Berry is being updated with European Portuguese! Finally, all my European Portuguese needs will be met.

Pimp My Ride

Driving home from the gym Saturday morning (actually...driving home from Starbucks which was my stop after Lowe's, which was my stop after the gym...) I found myself at various points driving behind about 5 different cars. I'm going to be cautious and say that at least 3 of those cars had those little decals on their back windows, the ones of stick figures representing your family.

Mom, Dad, Jr. and doggy! Mom, Dad, kid, kid, kid, kid, kid, kitty, baby!

Is this a "thing" now? Do I need to jump on this bandwagon like I jumped on the N'SYNC bandwagon? Do I need to find a decal that depicts me as the Mommy, Roni, and then on the other side of my back window, a decal of 2 disapproving stick figure neighbors, shaking their finger at Roni and I? And a toppled over fence in the middle?

'Cause I'll find one, damn it.

Welcome to Hotel Hell! Co-Owned by Dwight Schrute and Satan

Have you ever wondered just what you get when you check into Hotel Jessica for a football weekend? True, I have no pool. I also don't provide a bible in every nightstand drawer. But I guarantee that you'll never sleep on sheets nicer than these:

Take your pick boys. GO IRISH!!!!

Parks and Recreation and Attempted Assault

Here's a list of things you can do in a park:

Lay on your back and look at the stars

Throw a frisbee

Run through the splash pad

Swing on the swing set

Play a game of pick-up basketball

Have a picnic

Have a screaming match with the father of your child

Guess which one actually happened last night???

If you guessed "screaming match" you're a faithful reader and have won a beef lip burrito on me. Here's the lowdown: I'm laying in bed, reading my Organizational Behavior book. I hear two people arguing in a car outside but it wasn't obnoxious or too loud. I could hear her repeating "Can I finish?? Can I finish? Shut up! Can I finish??" I keep reading, not too concerned.

All of a sudden the woman screams bloody murder: "Get the ____ away from me! Don't you f____ touch me! Don't touch me!" She's out of the car (Roni and I are now peaking out of the blinds, watching the action) and he's trying to grab her while she's struggling to get away. The screaming went on and on and on so I figured at that point it was about time to call 911, I'd personally had enough and I was kind of scared of what could possibly happen next. The 911 operator said he'd send some cars out so I hung up and immediately heard sirens. I was foolish enough to believe that the sirens were for this situation and my mind was racing about the confrontation that could come next.

The guy hears the sirens and runs back to his car and speeds away, the woman screaming after him at the top of her lungs that she hates him and he'll never see the baby. She starts walking across the park, away from my house. 10 minutes later 2 cop cars race down my street, circle the park, then do another lap slowly with their search beams going.

That's the end of the story from my perspective but I'll throw in another dash of crazy for ya, for free. I'm laying on my stomach watching all this through the blinds when I notice that my neighbor's car lights are on and they were in the car. I was surprised I didn't notice it before, since their car was there for the entire fiasco. I tried to figure out what had happened--had the crazy neighbors gone outside during the confrontation to sit in their car?? Had they arrived home just before things blew up across the street?? Do they now live in their car??

I'll Drink Half a Glass in Your Honor Today!

This is the cake I'd make for you if it was your half-birthday

When it's your birthday you pretty much know when you wake up that people are going to pay attention to you that day. You'll probably get more phone calls than normal. More text messages. Your Facebook wall be a full of one line messages wishing you a great day. Maybe someone will write a blog entry about your birthday. (Hint hint! Show me the cash and I'll show you a post!) Maybe there will be a little celebration for you at work. At the very least, you know you're going to talk to your mom and/or dad and/or sibling.

But what about the other days of the year? What about those days, 180 or so after your birthday, when you're feeling kind of blue or lonely and everyone is going about their own business because Facebook hasn't reminded them that it's your half birthday? Those days when you wonder why you bothered to get up...those days when you're not sure where you stand...when you fear that people think you're a fool...when you just need a hug...when you realize you haven't heard from a friend in weeks. Months maybe. Maybe those are the days that we should be reminding our loved ones that they're special and we hope they have a great day. Those are the days to call your friends and sing to their voicemail.

It's not even my half birthday today, just thinking how great it is on my birthday to hear from people I care about and wondering today how some of those people are.

Tuesdays

You know what Tuesdays are good for?

Seriously, call me and tell me what Tuesdays are good for.

Or text me, I don't care. Don't tweet me, I don't tweet.

Little Hiccups

Coming home today was not fun but now--about 9 hours after walking through the SIDE door--I've regained some perspective. I know that when I give my house keys to strangers I shouldn't expect the same kind of care and respect towards my house that I hope my friends and family would have. Yet, I'm constantly amazed at how LITTLE respect these people show my home. I hope life never leads me down a path where I find it acceptable to leave bloody band aids in places other than the trash can. I hope I always have enough respect for people and their property that I'd never dream of grinding chocolate into their floor. Or gum into their couch. Or vacuum up something wet with a vacuum cleaner. (I have no idea what the "wet" was but it was all over my legs and I kind of threw up in my mouth a little)

This rental was not the worst I've experienced, by a long shot. I guess it's the shock factor, the 1st rental of the season. I'm doing laundry, I've cleaned the bathroom, kitchen, living room, dining room and read the paper. This is just a small hiccup in a great weekend.

It's a Secret Surprise!

Roni believes that her little trip this weekend to the boarders is her "spa vacation." If any of yous tell her the truth, I won't be responsible for what she does to you with her little, ineffectual, toenail-less paws.

And she gets a hammock. *I* don't even get a hammock.

Take a Tour of my Thoughts, with "Being Jessica _____________"

This week is like a cross between finals week, a marathon, and prepping for a wedding. There is no option to delay these deadlines. My eyelash batting won't buy me an extra day. I'm either ready...or I'm not.

I have a board meeting this week for work and so I'm prepping for meetings and committee meetings AND several functions that are part of the entire board weekend. On top of that it's a football weekend and I'm renting out the house. I spent the weekend prepping and cleaning as much as I could beforehand. Here's a peak inside my brain this weekend:

• "Do I vacuum the cat litter off the floor now or just wait until 5am Friday morning?"
• "Don't forget the combination to the beer fridge."
• "Can I put the renter sheets on my bed today and sleep on the couch the rest of the week? It sounds a whole lot easier than stripping the bed at 5am on Friday."
• "What if I wake up too late on Friday morning and Roni has to go to the board meeting with me? Would people be really upset?"
• "If I clean the sinks today can I brush my teeth in plastic cups for the week?"
• "Don't forget to leave instructions about how to use the wireless internet connection named John McClane."
• "Need more paper bags to pack away my Trader Joe's goods."
• "Why don't I ever clean the house this well when I'M staying here??"
• "Need to pack away the unmentionables but I'll need unmentionables this week. Count them out."
• "They'll just have to deal with that random door leaning against the wall, in a room it doesn't belong."

Music to My Ears

Do you have a song named after you? I do. It's called "Jessica" by the Allman Brothers Band.

Here are the lyrics:



















--Allman Brothers Band '73

My Kindred Spirit

People call me weird because I want to dress Roni up as a taco for Halloween. At least I'm not pretending to ACTUALLY bake my baked potato dog. In my case, I'd have to stuff her in a Taco Bell bag and leave her on the floor of my car for a month.

This is the Future

School's been in session for over a week. Let's check in on what the ND students are up to, shall we? I turned to the Viewpoint section of The Observer, the campus newspaper serving ND and Saint Mary's.

Anger at South Bend police is hypocritical. A response to a very wise student who argued that South Bend police do nothing except bust student parties. Yes, police officers should be moral authorities and decide which crime--sorry, underage drinking IS a crime, and I admit that I committed that crime once upon a time--is important enough to respond to. And yes, students DO have the right to punch police officers in the face.

Despicable Scene. Anger at The Observer's film critic for not giving the cartoon Despicable Me rave reviews.

Quarter Dog price increase doesn't add up. Anger at ND food services for increasing the price of a $.25 hot dog to $.33. This student apparently analyzed the ND budget and found alternative ways to keep the "tradition" of "quarter dogs," including charging each student $.40 more per year on their meal plan, charging each resident an additional $1 in housing fees, and finally, just eating the loss of $2,400 from 30,000 hot dogs they sold last year. "Help us generous alumni, you're our only hope!"

No Wonder She Doesn't Know Her Name

Here's a list of nicknames I have for Roni:

Roni the Pony

Roni Baloney

Rone

Rone Rone

Rone Face

Butt Face

Little Dudey

Sweets

Princess Roni

Sugar Lips

Kitty Kitty Bang Bang

Yawnee

Chirpee

Prancer

Roni Toes

Learn It. Love It. Live It.

There is never...EVER any cause for a person to be completely nude in their gym locker room.

What's in my Mailbox?

My junk mail today consisted of the following:

• A flyer for 40% off at Gymboree (for the dudes...that's a children's clothing store)
• A letter from AccuQuest Hearing Centers. I can come in to get a free hearing test about my unbeknownst-to-me hearing loss
• Notice of a new church opening that promises it can get your (my) children to wear their seat belts more often

I'm sorry if this sounds stupid, but exactly WHAT did I buy or WHERE did I put my name that I'm now on these mailing lists??????

You've Got Garlic in Your Soul...Mr. Grinch!

‘Yard Grinch’ strikes Mishawaka apartment complex

Friday, Aug. 27, 2010.MISHWAKA — More than a dozen residents at Townhouse of Mishawaka apartment complex on Birchwood Drive were hit by an overnight “yard Grinch.”Swiped were residents’ lawn furniture and lawn decorations between late Thursday and early Friday, according to Mishawaka Police.

Anyone with information about the Grinch or where the items may now be is asked to call Mishawaka Police at 574-258-1687.The Tribune is not automatically publishing Web comments on this article. If you wish to comment, send an e-mail to comments@sbtinfo.com.

***I would love to hear the kinds of messages the police are getting today about the Grinch.

Shop Local!

It's Thursday which means it's Jessica's Latest Problem with the World, Part 8 but you know what? I'm in a great mood. I don't have a problem with the world today.

I ran errands over my lunch break, one of which included buying new running shoes. I love to buy new running shoes for 2 reasons. The first is that new shoes feel so good! So squishy! And they're clean and unmuddy! But the main reason I like buying new running shoes is because I buy them at an independent retailer. I started going to this place about 5 years ago and was so impressed with their level of service that I am hopelessly devoted to them. They could recommend that I run with paint cans over my feet and I'd believe them.

First of all, there's a sign on the wall that says "We won't let you buy your shoes based on the color." So your first realization is: you may end up with ugly shoes. Second of all, before you can randomly pick out some shoes based on color or price, they put you in some neutral running shoes and make you run around in their parking lot while they watch you. It's intimidating and I'll admit that the first time I ran for them I attempted to break the 40-yard dash world record. But they're so nice and they talk to you and before you know it you're running back and forth normally while they get a good idea of your pronation, your gait, and which part of your foot is striking the ground the hardest.

Then you go back inside and they bring you 3-4 shoes to try on. That's it. If you fell in love with the yellow Pumas on the wall and they didn't bring them to you? Tough. Go to Finish Line if you want yellow Pumas. If they bring you pink Asics and you like them but want blue? Tough. You're getting the Asics in pink.

I walked in today and the owner knew me, greeted me, and told me the new Sauconys were great and that I'd probably love them. Dressed in my work clothes I didn't expect to test drive them but they made me put on socks and walk around in the new shoes (which are gray with teal trim, by the way.) When they rang me up they gave me a frequent customer discount, a reusable "green" shopping bag, and the owner told me to have a great day. (He was busy in the parking lot, converting a new runner into a devotee.)

So I sing the praises of this store and the people who work there, I sing the praises of ALL independent retailers and the attention they give to their customers and the quality of service they provide. I admit that I shop at big box stores when the budget is tight but I rarely walk out of those stores with a grin on my face or a lighter step, feeling like I just visited friends.

And...some independent retailers are cuter than June bugs. :)

Take a Stand!

[Music cue: The Battle Hymn of the Republic]

My fellow bloggy blog readers. I come before you today with a promise. A promise of new hope! A promise of change! A promise that I will cast away the shadow of doubt and the fear of ridicule. A promise that one day, no one will be afraid to let their inner light shine, like moonlight on a duckpond.

I will no longer edit my folksiness.

[Music cue: Music crescendos]

Yes, a new day is upon us! One filled with friendly neighbors, pies cooling in the window sills, and glasses of lemonade. No longer will I hold back the desire to sit in my rocking chair, to quote Mark Twain, and to write old fashioned letters. I stand (sit) here and freely admit that I long for the days of rotary dial phones and operators with sassy attitudes. I will not be ashamed to use phrases like "Don't take any wooden nickels!", "Holy Moly!", "Ya old coot!," "Heavens to Betsy", and "Stop fannying about!"

I shake my fist good naturedly at those urban folks who--for TOO LONG!--have held us captive with correct grammar and clear cut sentences with no similes. Sentences need similes! How better to get your point across than to compare it to something ridiculous?

[Music cue: Music slows and begins to fade]

I do this for you. I do this for me. But most importantly, I do this for future generations who might never know what a hand basket is. Or who might never hear the satisfying "click click click DING!" of a manual typewriter. Who might not know that it's possible to be happier than a pig in mud, busier than a one-armed paper hanger, and madder than a box of frogs.

My folksiness is here to stay. This...I promise you.

Some "Outloud" Thinking

I'm in a weird mood today. I wouldn't call it sad, or irritated, or angry, or even blase. I guess the closest adjective to describe my feeling today is contemplative. Maybe pensive. Which ever sounds the most poetic and dramatic.

I have orientation for my Master's program tonight. And I'm conflicted. I remember packing up our minivan and driving from Nebraska to Indiana for my orientation at Saint Mary's. I knew with every ounce of my being and in the depth of my soul that I wanted to be at Saint Mary's. But as the mile markers ticked by and we entered Indiana, all I wanted to do was turn the van back around and go back to the known. I was filled with equal parts excitement and dread and it was a really confusing weekend: part of me wanted nothing more than for my mom to just pack up and get out of town so I could get this part of my new life started. The other part of me wanted to throw my arms around her neck and refuse to let go. Luckily for her and her back I decided the neck thing wasn't very smart.

I don't know if I remember how to study. Will it come back to me? The last book I read that didn't feature David Sedaris or vampires was...a long time ago. I don't know where to park. I don't know where the buildings are. What if I can't keep up? Can't I just go home and throw my arms around Roni?

I spent the morning helping first year students move into their residence hall this morning. I carried body pillows, futons, flat screen TVs, shower caddies, see through drawers of intimates, Marilyn Monroe posters, and an entire living room set out of mini vans and into an un air-conditioned dorm. It was great! Happy sweaty people and sore muscles galore.

Because I'd be outside all morning I wouldn't be able to make my coffee in my office and achieve optimum and necessary caffeine levels. It's really for EVERYONE'S benefit that I achieve optimum caffeine levels. So I swung into the grocery store to get an iced coffee from Big Bad Starbucks.

Once again--keep your ears open and you'll hear all kinds of interesting things. The guy in line ahead of me is telling the barista that he usually goes to the other Starbucks closer to his house because they have a really nice bathroom and his house is so crowded that in the morning he doesn't even get a chance to [I'll edit for your benefit].

Gosh. And all I ever tell the barista is that I have exact change. Maybe I need to loosen up.

Can You Move Like THIS?!?!?!?

A reoccurring theme to this bloggy blog--I'm discovering--is my admission of all the weird things I like. Neil Diamond, Urban Cowboy, pajamajeans, airports, horrible tattoos, meat babies...the list goes on. I've got one today that's gonna blow your mind.

I love to move.

I love to pack up all my stuff. I love to hunt for boxes. I love to unpack my stuff. I love to find new uses for my old stuff and I love to discover all the old stuff that got buried underneath or behind my new stuff. Basically, I like to handle stuff.

Here's a quick synopsis of my moving history:
1999: moved to Chicago
2001: moved to Apt #1 in Granger
2002: moved to Apt #2 in Mishawaka
2003: moved to Apt #3 in Mishawaka
2004: moved to House #1 in South Bend
2007: moved to House #2 in South Bend
2008: moved into and bought current house, House #3

Moving and packing is cathartic for me. I don't just open a box, dump in a drawer full of stuff, and tape up the box. Everything I pack has to be important enough to me to occupy the cubic space it requires in the box. Everything has to cut my mustard. It's like losing weight without the carrot sticks.

I'm a great mover too. Ask my dear dear friends who have volunteered many times without much complaint to schlep boxes and furniture up and down stairs and across town. If I ask you to help me move you will arrive at my place to see everything to actually MOVE. You will not be asked to pack anything or clean anything. You will be treated to the coldest beer and hottest pizza I can find.

On the other side of this coin--I love to help people move. I love new beginnings and I like to be there when other people get THEIR new beginning. Let me be your muscles. :) Moving is my talent.

As much as I love my house and as much work as I've put into making it my own and "nesting," I admit that I'm getting the moving itch. At least the "clean out a closet and box something up" itch.

Chicago...Chicago...

Here's a story for you.

I used to live in Chicago and I took the #45, #46 or #47 bus to and from work everyday. I worked in an office on S. Michigan Ave and went to a gym right across the street. Every morning I'd walk over to the bus stop and wait for one that was hopefully un-clown-like packed, since I was carrying my purse and a gym bag stuffed with 2 changes of clothes. This was a big deal--it's an unspoken rule on mass transit that you're never allowed to take up more space than the approximately 22 inch circumference of your body. (Measured with arms at side) Sometimes I was lucky and could find a seat to slide my bag under, sometimes I elicited dirty looks for the full 25 minutes, as my gym bag took up the 1 square foot of space that someone else would have/could have squashed into.

But that is not the story. Oh no.

Riding home was a different story, especially in the winter, when darkness came at 4:30. Unsurprisingly, by the time I made it out of the gym between 7 and 7:30, the buses were plentiful and blissfully empty, as people had either gone straight home at 5pm or straight to the bar.

One fateful night I chose my seat against a window and pulled out my book for the ride. A few stops later a woman got on the bus, obviously homeless and obviously mentally ill. As she boarded the bus she put her transit card in the slot and then SHOUTED at the bus driver

"YOU CAN'T SEE ME!"

The thing I loved about Chicago is that kind of thing would happen and I'll be damned if people didn't even LOOK UP! I of course--small town Midwestern girl and surveyor of all--couldn't believe it and stared. The woman slowly started walking the length of the bus, pausing to tell each person

"YOU CAN'T SEE ME!"

Luckily she sat right behind me. What followed was a story I only vaguely remember now but included the repeated phrase "I come from the land of Al Gore," said in a semi-British, semi-Hollywood epic film intro-style.

Shout for Joy!

My brother sent me an email yesterday titled "Roni." I expected it to be a picture of a Roni doppelganger or maybe a funny story/blog about a kitty. Instead, it was a list of entries from urbandictionary.com for Roni.

My three favorite entries are as follows. (I edited for spelling sparingly, for the full effect):

2nd Runner Up:

A very pretty girl that is usually stalked by boys because she so beatifull, and
fun. Most guys want to be with her cause she has such a great smile and an
amazing basket ball player.

1st Runner Up:

A cool girl who loves to sing and is a very intellegent person. She is
sometimes ignorant, but that doesn't mean she aint smart. She is short, and
gorgeous. Mexicans are often attracted to her, as are blacks. She says herself
she looks like a black girl, though she is whiter than paper. Roni is an awesome
person you should know.

And my Grand Prize, favorite urban definition of Roni is....

Shout of joy (Hebrew)

Citizens on Patrol!

Christmas has come early,

SOUTH BEND IS GETTING A CITIZEN'S POLICE ACADEMY!!

http://southbendtribune.com/article/20100806/News01/100809611/1051/News04

I can't wait for the wacky hi jinks! The practical jokes! The funny noises! Mahoney! Hightower! The Blue Oyster Bar! You just KNOW someone's gonna fall in the river and find a dead body! Or maybe there'll be a police chase through the mall! I would love it if they were a horse squad, riding over to the west side on horses, guns-a-blazin'.

Maybe I should enroll. Then I could arrest my neighbors for resisting to be sane.

Question:

People have birthday parties for their cat. Right?

LUNCH!

Another food post, sorry. This just absolutely blew my mind, though. I'm dedicating this to my brother. Dare to dream, brotha. Dream big.

Behold.....

TURBACONDUCKENRIBLETS!!

Made of riblets individually wrapped in bacon stuffed with stuffing into a deboned chicken, wrapped in bacon stuffed with stuffing into a deboned duck, wrapped in bacon stuffed with stuffing into a deboned turkey, wrapped in woven bacon strips and slow cooked for 7 hrs.

**Yeah, I know. I'm reblogging. I had a 20.5 hour day yesterday, people. I'm asking for some slack

Too...Many...Jokes. Brain...Hurts...

I don't care who you are or what your baggage is, everyone has a birthday. And no matter if you're 3 years old or serving 3 life sentences, you deserve a birthday cake. [Finger gun!]

Option #56 on How to Break Bad News to Your Family

The baker screwed up: there was supposed to be a "suspected" in there

You Don't Make Friends With Salad!

Doesn't a salad drizzled with bacon fat kind of defeat the purpose of eating a salad? I realize there are salads out there with more calories and fat than a Big Mac but the general stereotype is that salads are supposed to be healthy. So putting crumbled bacon PLUS the bacon grease PLUS a runny poached egg on top of your ooh-la-la organic lettuce...doesn't jive with me.

(This opinion is expressed for the shaming of salads, not the shaming of bacon. Bacon is perfect.)

I am the Definition of Guillible

This morning I signed my sleep, money, contentedness, and all dairy products* over to a woman who told me I've lost about 10 inches from doing her torture/bootcamp classes. She pinched me so hard with those torture fat tester things that I had to grip the counter because I was crying and afraid I'd pass out. It was a moment of weakness, a defining moment actually. I was willing to write a humongous check because one woman praised me.

Further testing is needed to see if this applies to other parts of my personality. Please don't anyone tell me I look ravishing with short hair...I'm likely to go Telly Savalas-style.

*She THINKS I'm giving up dairy. And wheat. And alcohol. And Splenda. Which is what I have for breakfast everyday (cereal with milk and splenda and a Budweiser)

I Was Born to Use Small Electric Power Tools

Normally mowing my lawn doesn't excite me to the point of giddiness but as I surveyed the work ahead of me on Saturday afternoon I realized with great joy that Sunday was going to be a great day. It was time to get out the weed whacker.

I. Heart. Power Tools.

I never thought I'd say that. I love power BALLADS, sure. Power BALL is awesome, even though I've never won. But never did I show any interest in power tools.

When I bought the house 2 years ago I knew I'd have to become--or at least impersonate--an outdoor person. Hiring a lawn boy wasn't in the budget so off to Sears I went to find some electric hedge trimmers so that I could keep the fugly trees and bushes somewhat in check.

The first time I plugged the trimmer in and let 'er rip...this feeling of power and control and aggression washed over me. I picked the closest hedge and cut it to shreds. "Just a little off the top...now a little off the sides...whoops, too much, a little more off the top...looks weird, a little off the bottom" until I had a great little meatball-on-a-stick for a bush. I looked for other things in my yard I could use my hedge clippers on and sadly, there isn't a lot. If I could've cut my grass with the things I would have.

Last summer my mom got me a great gift--my weed whacker. I was so excited, she took a picture of me trimming along the edge of my front walk. Again, when I use that thing there's this feeling of unbridled power in my hands--it's really intoxicating.

As my neighbors came home from getting their church on and I continued to work in the front yard, I started to giggle, thinking about the movie they'd make about me and my power tools:

The South Bend Weed Whacker Massacre

(If someone who is better at photoshop than I am could please paste my head on Leatherface's head and add in a weed whacker instead of a chainsaw I'd appreciate it. Thanks.)

At Least I Don't Suck at Life

Watch this and tell me it's not catchy!

http://www.zefrank.com/scared/

This is a song that I sing when I 'm scared of something

I don't know why but it helps me get over it.

The words of the song just move me along

And somehow I get over it.

At least I don't suck at life.

I keep on trying despite

At least I don't suck at life

I keep on trying despite

EVERONE! [Insert a tongue roll and "whoop!"]

The Rules of Halloween

I wish I had a great story about why I started this thing. But here's the short, sweet, and honest answer: I was sick of reading someone's blog who did nothing but reblog and repost from other sources. One day it irritated me enough to the point where I said "Even *I* can come up with ONE original thought a day!" So my little bloggy blog was born out of spite. There it is. This whole thing is just one big "thumb my nose" at a person who shall remain nameless.

So here I go, about to copy and paste someone else's jokes. Sue me. I'm also about to break a rule of mine and post some pictures of people I know. (People I know: if you disapprove of the pictures email me immediately and I will definitely honor your wishes to remove the photo)

Of the 133 items on the list of Stuff White People Like (http://www.stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/) I officially like 44. Which makes me 33% stereotypically white. The Onion? Check. David Sedaris? Don't make me slap you for not knowing that. Microbrews, wine, hummus, farmer's markets, marathons? Check. Check. Check. Check. Check.

Here are some excerpts from one of my favorites, #113: "Halloween"

Halloween is so important to white people because they have to wear a costume. It is a chance to literally show everyone how clever you are without having to say a word. This makes it especially important to single white people as one well thought out costume could produce enough romantic interest to last through the winter. For this reason any white Halloween Party is less of a celebration than it is a contest. And as with any contest, there are a lot of rules.

The first thing you need to know is that white people are the only people on the planet who will dress up as a concept. So while your initial thoughts about a costume might be “cowboy,” “policeman,” or “Count Dracula,” white people are more likely to think “math,” “the economy,” or “Post-Modernism.”

Peeping Tom

If you show up dressed as Austin Powers or Napoleon Dynamite you will be met with near-universal scorn. You see, you need to find a character from a movie that enough people recognize but not one that’s so well known that makes it easy to find the materials required to create the costume.

That being said it’s a good idea to draw inspiration from older movies or television shows, specifically ones from the 1980s.

The only thing white people like more than costumes are group costumes.

With this information, you should have no problem fitting right in at a white halloween party. But don’t try too hard at your costume, white people hate being upstaged.

Serenity Now

I was washing my face last night after having a day I wished I could wash away. I suppose you never really take notice when things in life are running smoothly. At least I don't. I never stop and think "Wow, everything worked out today. No body parts are broken, I had plenty of hot water, my car started, I have money in my checking account, my computer functioned like the mysterious box I need it to perform like, my ipod was where I left it, and the cat didn't puke."

But when one thing DOESN'T work out? It's easy for me to whip out "Nothing ever works out for me." Perhaps that's the aspiring actress in me..."oh the drama!"

Back to washing my face. I grabbed the towel to dry my face and I spotted Roni laying on top of my shoes, upside down, staring at me. I said hi and she meowed back at me and then wriggled around on top of the shoes, as if she was wrestling her invisible brother.

And I sat down and cried. Because not EVERYTHING had fallen apart.

Whew! I feel bad for leaving you on that note so I'll tell you this: I dreamt last night that Steve Van Zandt became a follower of my blog.

Not so much THIS Steve Van Zandt

as THIS Steve Van Zandt

How is it possible to feel like so many good things are happening, so many things are going right...and at the same time feel like things are crumbling around you? To be hopeful and hopeless at the same time? To want to dance and weep?

This post is rather historic. Reason #1: it is my 100th post. It's been quite the whirlwind love story, hasn't it? I promise to make the next 100 even better, baby.

Reason #2: I now have 22 followers. My bloggy blog is an adult! It can go to bars with me now! It can vote! It can watch R rated movies and rent cars! Now I can start talking about subjects with adult themes. Like IRAs. And property tax laws. And responsible gun control. I can talk about dirty things...like why does it take 2 days to get the dirt out from under my fingernails when I work in the yard? And why does my dishwasher occasionally smell like eggs??

Reason #3: I'm pleased to report that my new favorite drink is an old fashioned. You read that correctly. Now hurry up and finish reading--it's already 8pm, I'm in my housecoat, ready for bed. Get off my lawn!

I'm Scared to Think Too Hard About This One

I told you a therapist would have a field day with me, right? And that's just based on the weird things I like. Well, here's what I dreamt last night, analyze to your heart's content:

I was sleeping in bed (in my childhood home, by the way) when a friend came walking into the room. I asked him how he got in the house and he said he just kicked the door and jimmied it a little. (The door that I pictured, though, was my current front door, which is in need of replacing) He was wearing fatigues and I asked why he was wearing fatigues and he said he had joined the army and they had sent him here--to my childhood home--as his first assignment.

Then...my cousin came to the door and handed me the phone. It was my brother, pranking me, who said he was "Randy Rooney." I said "Do you mean "Andy Rooney?" I could hear my brother start to giggle and he said "Yeah, that's what I said "Andy Rooney."

I think at that point I woke myself up. Who wouldn't bolt awake when the vision of Andy Rooney enters their dream?

"Do You Ever Have Deja vu?" "No...but I'll ask the kitchen if they can make it"

It's Thursday....Jessica's Latest Problem With the World. Part 7

The fence fell down again. The. Fence. Fell. Down. Again. How long has it been down, you ask? Oh, only a solid week. Have the neighbors made ANY attempt to fix it? Of course not! Why would they do a silly thing that? Can I mow my yard? Of course not!

And you know what?? They know. They know I'm upset and they know they should be fixing this thing and they're avoiding me. They used to sit outside on plastic chairs and tsk at me water flowers and tsk at me mow and tsk at the basketball players. Have they been outside monitoring the neighborhood this week? OF COURSE NOT! And here's what's funny--I was watering last night on the side of the house opposite of them so they couldn't see me. As I worked my way to the front of the house I came around the corner and saw the oldest one peeking out her screen door. When she saw me she ducked back inside and the screen door slammed shut. That's right lady! You better hide!

I dreamt last night I was Superman and I walked up to the fence sections, picked them up with 2 hands, and threw them over my head directly at their front porch.

Imagine this is me...curly blonde hair...and I'm holding a fence

I, perhaps, need to develop some better stress relief tools.

It Comes From a Magical Animal

Who feels like makin' some bacon??

Extra! Extra! Read All About It!

Headline, South Bend, Ind:

Police seize 30 raccoon hides in $3.6M
pot raid in Winamac

It is illegal to possess hides of fur bearing animals more than 30 days after trapping season is over, every fool knows that. Oh yeah...and it's pretty illegal to have over 600 marijuana plants on your property, along with the 450lbs you already dried.

Real Men Two Step

As some of you know, I have unusual tastes. Take for example, my celebrity crush. George Clooney? That soccer guy? Justin Bieber? No, too expected. Too ordinary. It's Neil Diamond who makes my eyebrows wiggle. My favorite song?? Well of course it's "I Don't Feel Like Dancin'" by the Scissor Sisters (the namesake of this little bloggy blog). A song sung by a guy in a falsetto and who wears a one-piece leotard in the video while he dances & hops around.

A good therapist might find it interesting that my favorite movie as a child was Urban Cowboy. A movie about...an urban cowboy...who falls in love on the dance floor of Gilly's, gets married, moves into a trailer, leaves his wife within a week, hooks up with a fancy urban cowlady, and then gets back together with his wife after she learns to ride a mechanical bull and gets beaten up by her ex-convict new boyfriend. A movie where the woman protagonist is named Sissy.

Hellooooooo therapy!

Despite not really understanding the plot I loved it because...oh my God...could they dance. My mom could probably tell stories about the number of times I watched Urban Cowboy on HBO and danced in the living room, trying to two step, trying to do some fancy footwork, wishing I had some cowboy boots so it would look cooler. I'd sing the songs all the time and slow dance to "Lookin' For Love in All the Wrong Places," hooking my thumbs in my belt, and believing that the ultimate romantic gesture was to slow dance with your guy and put on his cowboy hat while you spun and spun and spun. It was what I dreamed adulthood would be like. I was 5.

I visited my friend Marilyn Monroe this weekend and she took me to a dance club that reminded me of Gilly's. It used to be a Kmart or something and so the dance floor was huge! I'm not ashamed to admit that I imagined recreating scenes from Urban Cowboy...drinking long neck Buds, starting a fight, two-stepping around the perimeter of the dance floor...and showing off some moves like this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2agO4PhJTLs