New New New

Blogspot changed up their format. I'm still getting used to it. (Editor's note: after writing this post my opinion is: I don't like it)

They also decided they're not compatible with Internet Explorer 9 and personally...neither am I. This house is now strictly Firefox.

Vacation no longer means sleeping in. I've been up since 5am. And I'm ok with it. For now.

Facebook changed. I don't care too much, although I've been in an all-media black hole for 8 days so I'm just now messing around with it.

I got an ipod nano for Christmas, meaning I need to create a new term for "receiving the gift that you gave to the person who originally gave it to you." My brother gave me a home speaker for my ipod a few years ago. After 6 months of it working perfectly I had a party and used it underneath a table, tilted. It messed up the thingies in the ipod and it no longer connected right to the speaker. So I gave it back to my brother for him to use. Now he's given it back to me. It's not a re-gift, since that means someone a gift that you received from someone else. Multi-gifting? A reverse re-gift?

The new year means starting new habits and new attempts to break the old bad habits. Nothing new there.

I tried chocolate covered potato chips for the first time. And I have a new favorite obsession.

George Clooney and I survived multiple holiday celebrations, visits to and with families, 4 days of being together 24/7, and a total of 10 hours in a car together. We still like each other. Nothing new there.

When Cameron Was in Egypt Land...

Here's how sorry things have become, blogwise--I had to google my name to find my blog. My auto-fill didn't even remember my website. Even technology is making me feel like a slacker.

Life's moving fast...and unfortunately I'm not Ferris Bueller. I am sprinting alongside the Ferrari, trying to hop in and feel the wind in my hair. I am the Cameron Frye, in the backseat, worried that we won't get home in time...or, in my case, that I won't get my homework done on time. (Actually, it sounds like I'm the anti-Ferris.)

Let the Leaves Fall Where They May

Editor's note: I actually wrote this on Saturday but apparently the blog is no longer compatible with IE 9. I welcome all techie advice.

Don't think that just because I haven't posted in a long time that my neighbors have been behaving themselves and we've been making s'mores together in the autumn evenings. Oh no...fall is when they get extra prickly.

There is a giant tree on the strip of lawn between my sidewalk and the street. The parkway. Or, if you're Canadian, the Boulevard. Or, if you're British: the Verge. The huge tree, admittedly, drops tons and tons and tons of leaves each fall and because of the natural force we call "the wind," not all of those dropped leaves obey property lines and stay within the limits of my property. Some of the leaves venture over to Screamy and Blank Stare's lawn, although I'm sure they regret it the minute they get over there.

It was about 5:30 Saturday when I turned around from the computer because I could hear my neighbors raking AGAIN. They rake. Every. Single. Day. I watched Blank Stare rake the leaves closer and closer to my property, until there it was, a medium sized pile of leaves sitting inches from my lawn. I waited breathlessly to see what she'd do.

I stood. Coffee cup in hand. I stood at the front window of my house, summoning her with my glare. Just as she was about to take one big SWOOP with her rake and sweep them over the property line, she looked up at my house. She saw me. And then...she threw her rake down in disgust and looked down and off to the side, as if she was muttering something. I caught her!!! Victory is sweet, my friends! She picked up her rake. She marched out of sight. She reappeared with a box. She walked over to her little pile and began scooping them up with her hands and depositing them in the box.

I watched her from my window for a long time. I watched her sweep and clean the curb on the OTHER side of the street. I watched Screamy come out of the house to yell at her about how poor of a job she was doing.

I considered going outside to confront them and let them know that I know they're dumping the leaves on my yard. But...tomorrow the wind gusts are supposed to 40mph. I think Mother Nature wins this round.

Headlines!

Man Dressed as Ninja Breaks Into Home

http://www.southbendtribune.com/news/sbt-man-dressed-as-ninja-reportedly-breaks-into-home-20111102,0,1556197.story

Woman Dressed as Bear Breaks Into Dance

New Verb

My new word is: Roni--v. Meaning: 1. to lay around and offer nothing of substance. 2. to sleep 18 hours a day in various places. 3. to get by in life on your looks. Usage:

"What did you do Saturday?"

-"Nothing. I was so tired, I just Ronied all day."

"You look great. Did you Roni last night?"

-"Yeah, I Ronied for like 8 hours straight."

"After Thanksgiving dinner the whole family watches football and Ronis."

"He quit college, seeing no need, since he planned to Roni his way through life."

Halloween Hairstyling Help

Last month I reported that one of my favorite emails was from Lands End, the subject promising to teach me 7 new ways to wear my pants. This month, it's from Real Simple. I'm excited to learn about the 8 Halloween hairstyles that I simply MUST try out. I sure hope the students in my classes tonight will appreciate the Grecian goddess up do with gold comb I'll try out.

The others--"The Cheerleader," "The Maiden," and "The Genie" were rather uninspired. Basically just ponytails.

Can You Speak Up?

I realize that if you go to a coffee shop to do work you're taking some risks in regards to the atmosphere. However, I don't think anyone deserves or should expect the coffee shop experience of this morning.

Two young women (I'll give them the benefit of the doubt and HOPE they were too young to know they were being obnoxious) sat down in a relatively quiet coffee shop where about 5 other people were reading and studying. One woman must have dated the other woman's brother at one time. The woman with the brother had no filter and no inside voice--I know more about her than I know about some of my friends. She has major depression--MAJOR depression, which she discussed at length--but her mom doesn't think it's real and hides her meds. Her mom is (daughter-diagnosed) bi-polar while her dad is (daughter-diagnosed) an alcoholic. Her brother grew up with no "concept of love" and believes that "love is disposable." Her parents have no "sense of parental responsibility" and no "other focus love." Her mom doesn't even know that she won the science fair in middle school!

At one point her mother was dating a guy she nicknamed "Ohio Steve" because she was also dating "Tall Steve" at the same time...in addition to a few others. Her father's girlfriend accused her of being a slut to which she countered with a slew of F bombs and the revelation that she gets tested regularly and the promise that if she gets HIV she'll never knock on her door for help.

She did not shut up for 2 solid hours. People have the right to free speech, they have the right to have personal conversations over coffee in a coffee shop, and they have the right to use whatever language they feel is appropriate. But I think I have the right to drink coffee and read without having to listen to F-bombs and vivid descriptions of a person's sex life.

Procrastination Leads to Extreme Hair

I was SUPPOSE TO read about standard cost variance and variance analysis last night. Instead, I made Chicken Rice a Roni for George Clooney and I and then made him watch Hair Battle Spectacular with me. I think it was worth it.

Hair Battle Spectacular is a show where the BEST extreme hair stylists compete for $100,000. I saw a woman make a 3 foot "bean stalk" on a woman's head to represent Jack and the Beanstalk. A guy turned a woman's hair into Little Red Riding Hood's basket. You don't come by these skills everyday.

But the best part was the final challenge (sorry, I meant Final Hairdown) at the end...the hair battle. Each stylist created either a super hero or a villain. They had to create a hair piece and a COSTUME MADE OF HAIR for their model to wear. So, the superhero who flies around and fights for rights for discriminated people fought against some villain...I don't know...who wore a black hair suit. And when I say they fought...I mean they were escorted to a boxing ring and then were encouraged to fight! These models wearing hair suits and 2-3 feet-high hair pieces were circling each other, spraying each other with hair spray and taking swings at each other. It was beyond a doubt, a very concerning moment for television. This counts as worthy to be put on TV, I guess.

The guy who took home the trophy and won it all was a guy from Omaha, Nebraska! So if any of my Omaha friends need a new look and set of headphones MADE OUT OF HAIR and about the size of an extra large beach ball is what you crave...I know a guy.

I am a Cake Segregist

I'm a cake segregist and I don't care who knows it.

I am NOT a cake racist. I enjoy and love all kinds of cake. White cake, chocolate cake. Carrot, yellow, and marble. Cheese, coconut, and apple. Lemonade cake, pound cake, and 7 UP cake. Pumpkin, tres leches, and blueberry. Cupcakes, cake balls...sheet cakes, bundt cakes, round cakes, and even upside down cakes. And don't forget coffee cake. I looove coffee cake. I could spend all day thinking about all the different kinds of cake I love.

However. I'm a firm believer that when it comes to cake and frosting, white should stick to white and chocolate should stick to chocolate. Whoever got the idea that these two should mix is in my Big Book of Grievances.

I will repeat what I said before: I love all the cakes. And I love all the frostings. (And...in full disclosure...it's not that I'll ever TURN DOWN a piece of chocolate with white frosting or vice versa...I know, I'm a hypocrite)

Here's a quick tutorial:

Excellent!! Yummy!

Oooooo! DELICIOUS!

Pass The Note

Thanks to Eagle-Eyed George Clooney for catching this one at Meijer this week.

You tell 'em Random Person! Get more yogurt!

I might start carrying around little scraps of paper, leaving notes.

"Your friends park in front of my house 3 times a week, leaving me to park
across the street. Could you please tell your friends to ride their
bikes?"

"I come to this Starbucks every Saturday morning and have to ask you for
skim milk. Could you please just start putting a carafe of skim milk on the
little coffee bar thing?"

"You obviously know you have class every Monday and Wednesday at 5:30.
Could you please not eat a loaf of garlic bread (or the equivalent of) at 5:25
and then release silent-but-deadly burps every 5 minutes, directly behind me?"

Thursdays

I've been suffering through some self-doubt about my bloggy blog. I used to post regularly, about every other day. Now I'm lucky to post once a week. I used to post about interesting things I saw or learned and strange encounters I had. Now I sit at my computer and have to really think if anything interesting has happened to me. I don't know for sure what's changed (or if anything has REALLY changed) or how/if my outlook changed. I need a Cher-style slap in the face.

"Snap out of it!!!"

So today is Thursday. Thursdays are probably my favorite day of the week. Some would argue Friday or Saturday are better days and I would agree that Fridays and Saturdays are indeed fantastic days. But there's something about the anticipation of the weekend I feel on Thursdays that really gets me jazzed. Thursday is usually when I make all the big plans for everything I'm going to do over the weekend--fun times, house projects, relaxing, catching up on Bridezillas... On Thursdays I see the entire weekend stretch out ahead of me, as if it could go on and on. I'm filled with ambition to catch up on everything I've let slide over the week. I'm filled with anticipation of comfortable clothes, yoga, and Mad Men on Sunday mornings. I peruse cook books and recipe websites looking for a my next inspiration. (How do you think I found out about the Meat Baby, afterall?)

We're having a wonderful stretch of warm weather in Indiana this week. After a week where it rained every single day and we saw the sun zero times, we're having one glorious, sunny, picture-perfect day after another. I'm sipping coffee, looking at the blue sky, and making my Thursday list of what the weekend will bring.

I Wonder What Sound a Blackberry Makes as You Throw it Against the Wall?

I try to stay positive with my posts...(WHEN I post). But all I'm feeling right now is frustration.

I hate my phone.

I didn't even WANT the Blackberry. I wanted a regular phone that had a qwerty keyboard. But my cell phone company has now made regular phones and their plans just a hair cheaper than the smart phone. So I thought "Ok, for $10 more a month I'll get the Blackberry. Why not?"

Guess how long my fully charged battery lasts? Approximately 5 hours. That's so smart.

I've closed programs, deleted all the stuff I could--basically dumbed it down. I even went into the store and had them replace my battery. I said "I know I have another year until I'm eligible for an upgrade, but all I really want is a downgrade. Can I please get a downgrade???"

"No Miss. No downgrades."

A New Holiday

If you see me today and I look like this

it's because I'm celebrating a new holiday. I call it "New Door Day." The Great Door Saga of 2011 comes to a close today as my front door and side door are being replaced AS I TYPE THIS!

Forevermore and throughout the land, September 21st will be celebrated by the traditional eating of a cake donut in the early morning hours. At 4pm every man, woman and child (throughout the land) will open and shut their front door 6 times: 1 time for each month this project lasted. At dinner time, families should light candles and sing "Hallelujah to Our Saviors George Clooney and Lowes." Finally, much like the king cake associated with Mardi Gras, children will have fun eating a traditional New Door Cake, and if they find the mini-front door baked in the cake, they win a prize.

Eat This Not That

I have never read the book Eat This Not That. I only hear the guy regularly on The Today Show. I like that he exposes the massive amounts of sodium, fat, calories, sugar, (fill in the blank) of all kinds of food. Sometimes I need that wake up call.

What I don't understand is the analogies he makes to describe how horrendous a particular food is.

"Eating this sandwich is the equivalent of eating 25 bagel bites."

What does that mean?? What kind of a nutritional reference is THAT? To be an effective analogy, shouldn't the analogous part be some kind of universal concept? Something that most people would relate to or visualize immediately without having to google "nutritional content bagel bite"?

"Eating two slices of this pizza is like eating 47 chicken nuggets."

Um...so that's good?

There is One Way

My daily amount of promotional emails is getting out of hand. I need to make some decisions to de-clutter my inbox and my brain.

Today's promo email from Land's End said "Seven Ways to Wear Your Pants."

There is ONE way to wear your pants. Around your waist.

I'd Much Rather be Forever in Blue Jeans

Neil Diamond is getting married!!!

This news makes me want to grab an American flag and march around in a big circle to "Coming to America." I might even gallop.

Holiday Road

Hopefully you're enjoying your Labor Day. If you don't have a day off work, then I hope you have an aggravation-free day. After a great night with friends (and copious amounts of guacamole!) I was ready to tackle the weeding for the 2nd time this year. NO JUDGEMENTS! I'VE BEEN BUSY!

I got a run in, read about Harry and the 2nd task of the TriWizard Tournament, learned that I'll never give my cat yogurt again, listened to a podcast describing the horrible new craze of hobo-themed weddings, and I'm now procrastinating mowing my lawn. Some deeper musings going on...but maybe that's for later.

Addictions

The first step is admitting you have a problem. Current addictions:

Homemade ice cream
Cardigans
Iced Coffee
The jigsaw puzzle game on my phone
TMI blogs
Chocolate peanut butter pretzels
Harry Potter

Step two is combining all your addictions into one glorious, coma-inducing weekend. Me, wearing five cardigans, sipping on iced coffee ice cream float, playing puzzles and reading teen lit.

All's Well that Ends Well

The Great Door Saga of 2011 is over everyone. I'm sure MSNBC will get around to reporting the details after the hurricane is over. Here's the condensed version, for the on-the-go crowd:

Me: Major Crier

Contractor: Liar

George Clooney: My hero

Contractor: Total Zero

Lowes: My New Favorite Place

Contractor: I Can't Look at Your Face

Jessica the Builder

I know how to wash my clothes. Therefore I don't send my laundry to a laundromat.
I know how to vacuum and dust and pick up my clutter. Therefore, I don't hire a cleaning service.
I know how to drive my car. Therefore, I don't have a driver named Stuart.

I do NOT know how to cut my own hair. Therefore, I pay someone to cut my hair.
I do NOT know how to plumb (hee!), Therefore, I hire plumbers.
I do NOT know how to install siding on my house. Therefore, I hired a contractor when I needed to replace rotting siding.
I do NOT know anything about gutters. Therefore, I hired a company to install the gutters on my house.

Do you think I know anything about installing a new front door with sidelights? No, I don't. So I hired a contractor. He told me to go to Lowe's and buy the door and he'd install it. Hmmmm.

Never before has my plumber ever said "You need a new gaskety thing. Go buy it and I'll install it." My gutter guys did not tell me "Just go buy all the gutters you'll need. We'll come back and put 'em up."

So guess what?? The door opening is not standard-sized. Did I know that? Nope. Did the contractor I hired know? Who knows. He sure didn't tell me. So now I own a door that--in order to get it to fit in my house--the gorgeous, thick, wood trim around my house will have to be cut into about 4 inches, destroying the look of the house.

And he doesn't feel responsible. He told me "I didn't tell you what size of door to order." Um, that's kind of EXACTLY THE POINT.

Stay tuned for updates.

To Serve and Protect and Knit

I was driving after work last night when this next story takes place. I was approaching the intersection where I was going to turn left. Up ahead, on the street that I was about to turn onto, I spotted a police car. I immediately ran through my mental list that I run through EVERY time I see a police car:

Do I have my seat belt on?
Am I speeding?
Did I renew my license plates?

Do I look suspicious?

I was pulling through the left turn with an eye on the police car and I noticed that I couldn't see the driver. "How odd," I thought. Upon a closer, staring-at-you look, I realized that the driver was (probably) not police, because the driver was a little old lady. When I say "little old lady" I mean like this:

Now...I'm not sure what was going on, if this woman had legal rights to drive the police car (it looked like a new police car, not a Blues Brothers situation),

if ANYONE is allowed to drive a police car, or what. Like, if my husband or brother were a cop--could I drive the police car??? Was she a cop in disguise, coming home from her undercover gig??? Is the city selling their old patrol cars?? If so, I'd like one. I think it would make my neighbors much more accommodating in our little silent parking war.

Bye Bye Kitties

The kitties are gone. Vanished! I have no idea what happened to them, since I didn't call Animal Control or the Humane Society. Maybe they decided they could get a better free meal elsewhere, I don't know. Roni is content, once again, knowing that she is queen of this castle. I continue my duties as her serf, scooping the litter, retreiving the toys from under the couch, and being her attack dummy.

The whole incident with the kitties--and the raccoons that showed up Monday night--has led to some nasty nightmares. I woke up in the middle of the night last night, convinced I was laying next to a dead animal. In the most cartoonish of ways, I BOLTED out of bed, grabbed my glasses and turned on the lights...to see The Prisoner of Azkaban laying there. (Not the REAL prisoner, Sirus Black, but the Harry Potter book.)

Cat Lady

There was a little black cat running around the neighborhood for a while. I named him Rooster. He'd sometimes show up in my front yard, sometimes he'd be in the back alley, but he always ran away from me. I put food out on my deck once, hoping that he'd realize that I'm a nice person and would befriend me. No luck.

Rooster, I learned, is a girl and apparently gave birth to a pride of kittens a few weeks ago. They're living on my deck, as I found out last night. I was listening to my ipod with my earbuds in, making dinner, and stepped out on the deck to pick some basil. I turned around to see if Roni was making moves towards the storm door and behind me I heard a small thump. I heard another thump and then little feet, running. I was frozen, certain that what was behind me was a family of racoons or skunks or badgers.

I slowly turned around to see a kitten dangling from the screen of the screened in porch. Another kitten was sitting on one of my porch chairs. From around the doorway of the screened porched peered another kitten. And then Rooster appeared, walking towards me and sitting down in between me and the kittens. The kittens swarmed her. I stood motionless, unable to process everything at once: was that Rooster? Were they LIVING on my porch? If they were living there, how long had they been there? Are they ferrel? I backed up to the storm door, wanting to get some cat food and water and Rooster started to approach me. I didn't THINK I had made any threatening moves towards her or the kitties but it scared me, nonetheless.

I was probably inside getting tupperware and cat food for no more than 2 minutes. When I came back to the door, this is what I saw:

I gingerly stepped outside and slowly placed the food and water bowls down, not sure if Rooster would think it was a threatening gesture. In SECONDS the kitties were bounding towards the food and ravenously ate.

I sat down on a chair to watch and take pictures while Rooster watched her kitties fight for position in the food bowls. I made a kissing noise to get one of the kitties to look at me for a picture and Rooster approached me and slid in between my legs, rubbing against me. Soon one of the kitties followed her and rubbed up against my leg, giving me this picture:

They were still there this morning, sleeping in a big huddle until I opened the door to give them more food. Then the kittens started bounding over each other and rolling around...being the cutest kittens that ever lived. I soooooooo want one of these little kitties. I want to pick them up so bad and play with them but George Clooney warned me they may have fleas.

Does getting a kitten make me a cat lady??

They Did It!

My little brother did it! He married his sweetheart! It was a slightly sweltering weekend but no one cared--especially me, the queen of air-conditioning. The weekend was great from start to finish. Everyone looked fantastic, everyone seemed happy, we danced, we laughed, we cried, we ate and we drank.

I don't know if I could pick a highlight, there were too many great things that happened. The priest who married the couple had the immediate family over for dinner on Thursday and it was awesome to have a Nebraska steak while catching up with my family and meeting his new in laws. My mom gave a terrific speech at the rehearsal dinner Friday night and we feasted! The food was out of this world! Saturday was a whirlwind but George Clooney was there to drive us around, fix mimosas, take pictures and charm the pants off everyone.

I wish we could do it all over again. In another month...I'm going to need significant recovery time.

Best wishes to the best brother a girl could ask for. And thank you, to my new sister in law, for being wonderful and nice and funny and so easy to like. And for loving my brother.

Just Asking

I've never been pregnant, so I need someone to tell me what's what. My questions are as follows:

When pregnant does your stomach get so hot or uncomfortable that it's necessary, when in public--like say, a waiting room, with people sitting and staring at each other, to lift your shirt up over your breasts, so it sits bunched up around your bra?

When pregnant, is it impossible to burp with your mouth closed? I know that your body isn't completely yours anymore and you're tired and worn out and uncomfortable to the hilt. But does it effect your mouth and whether you can't contain your light-fixture-rattling burps by keeping your lips closed?

If this ISN'T normal, than I had the most awkward oil change today.

Things You Should be Thankful For

• My discretion on this bloggy blog. Never will you have to read about my gastric health, my mental health, or my female-related health. Except for that ONE TIME.



• The fact that I don't own a cookie shop. Because you would seriously gain 50lbs if you could eat my peanut butter pretzel chocolate chunk cookies.



• That most of you will never hear me sing "My Heart Will Go On" from Titanic.

Feel free to add other things you're thankful for.

Give me the 411

Planking.

Someone needs to explain this to me ASAP. I need someone to tell me or send me a full description of why I should find planking amusing or edgy or dangerous...or please just tell me WHAT I'm supposed to FEEL about planking...I have NO idea what this is.

I know that I can be a square. And I know I have a tendency to scoff at fads and then come around a few years later to fully embrace them. (Example #1: Facebook. Example #2: Harry Potter. Example #3: Capri pants) So I'm asking now for the down low on why planking is awesome so that three years from now you don't hear about me on the news, as the crazy woman who died planking on Interstate 80. Right now...I don't love it. I have an urge to kick plankers.

Maybe I *DO* Feel Like Dancin'!!!!!

Do the Hustle!

Just Sayin'

General rule if you choose to leave your house and be in public: belly buttons--no matter how ripped and/or flat your stomach is--should probably be kept under wraps and should NOT "wink" at me in the grocery store.

Correspondence

Dear South Bend Bureau of Streets,

You posted Temporary Tow Away Zone signs along my street 2 weeks and plowed up all the asphalt. Any idea on when you plan to repave? Now that we've won All American City have we just given up on completing unfinished projects? Just let me know.

Thanks,
Jessica

Dear Little Black Kitten that's been hanging around my house,

I'm not mean and I won't hurt you. Please don't run away when I try to pet you. If you would like to live with me that's fine. Your new name will be Rooster.

Love,
Jessica

Dear Facebook Friends,

I keep track of all my friends. If you unfriend me, that's fine. But you should know that I will begin emailing you everyday to let you know what my status is.

Haha!
Jessica

Dear Kate Spade,

You did not live up to my dreams or expectations. We're breaking up. You're on a third class UPS trip back to New York.

Don't call me,
Jessica

Dear Gap,

I've been a huge fan of your Favorite Ts since about 2000. I buy them faithfully, every season, in basic white and black but also whatever limited color selection you make available that year. It amuses me that with the cult following this t-shirt has, you continually--seemingly ANNUALLY--alter the style, cut, and fit of the shirt. Despite having a drawer full of t shirts that are all the same size on the label, I have skinny tees, baggy tees, long tees, short tees, tees with huge arm holes, tees with tiny little arm holes, tees that are nice and thick, tees that are virtually see-through, tees with high necks and tees with "crew" necks that are more scoop neck.

I'm about one season from starting a quest to find a new favorite basic t shirt. You exhaust me.

Jessica

So Much to Do, So Little Time

As anyone who's ever been part of a wedding party knows, there is much preparation leading up to the event. I know that my preparation as a bridesmaid (and one that lives 500 miles from the wedding site, at that) is nothing compared to the work and planning and creativity and muscle that my brother and his fiance have put into this event. However, as the days tick by I've made a little list of everything I've done to prepare myself to see my little brother tie the knot and a list of all the things I have yet to do.

Done

• Ordered my bridesmaid dress


• Ramped up the running


• Ramped up the diet


• Bought killer high heels that might, indeed, kill me. I'm already 5'10....being 6'2 shouldn't be a big deal but in the heels, I feel safer going down my stairs like a 2-year old: on my bottom.


• Had a trial run for an updo. Um...we'll try again.


• Drooled over the registry


• Learned the rumba! Yep! George Clooney and I will face any of you wedding guests in a rumba-off! Nobody puts Baby in a corner!

To Do:

• Buy up all the limes and mint I can find for the late night mojito bar I'm setting up in my hotel room


• Write down every single embarrassing story I can remember about my brother. Make 300 copies.


• Buy tissues. This little wedding might make this temporary-6'2 bridesmaid/sister cry like a baby.

Let's Check in With the Neighbors

Last weekend I was in the sun room when I saw my neighbors pull up to their house. Except they didn't really "pull up to the house." The driver (I'll call her "Screamy") stopped the car in the street in front of their house. The passenger (I'll call her "Blank Stare") got out of the car. She picked up the 2x4 they keep in the street--perpendicular to the curb at our property line to separate their parking space from my parking space--and began to "sweep" the wet leaves, dirt, and yucky stuff that accumulates along a curb from their side of the curb to mine.

I watched for half a minute, determining that this was what I was seeing, before going to the front door. I opened my front door wide and stood in the doorway, watching Blank Stare walk around her yard and pick up other leaves and then walk back over to deposit the debris in the little pile she'd made on my curb. I probably stood in the doorway a good two minutes before Screamy spotted me.

"GET IN THE DAMN CAR! SOMEONE'S IN THE HOUSE WATCHING YOU! SO DAMN STUPID! STUPIDEST ________ ________, I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE _________!"

Luckily Blank Stare had rolled down the passenger window before getting out, so the screams were nice and loud and clear for me to hear. Screamy went on and on while Blank Stare stood on the lawn and literally shook with fear. Screamy successfully parked the car after a mere 8 attempts at parallel parking, the whole time screaming through the open passenger window at Blank Stare about how stupid she was. After parking and making sure that their car was backed up to the 2x4, they walked up to their house--screaming and shaking, respectively--never once looking over at me, still standing in the wide open doorway.

I have a feeling there's a Dateline episode brewing.

Put That Quote on Your Bulletin Board

We could accomplish world peace if everyone got their daily recommended amount of fiber.
--Jessica

No Toll at the Troll Hole

If you live in the Midwest and you're looking for a fun day trip, might I suggest visiting Alliance, OH for two new attractions, set to open this month. Although Alliance is apparently struggling mightily like a lot of communities, due to the economic downturn, they are investing in a renewed arts district that would make a lot of small towns jealous.

First up on your Alliance itinerary should be the new Cat Fancier's Cat Museum. The Cat Fancier's Association Foundation has collected cat memorabilia and artifacts for the last 20 years. TWENTY YEARS! All the way back to 1991! These things are ANTIQUES! Don't touch! The museum will include a library of over 1500 books on cats. They're also accepting donations, so if you happen to have any priceless kitten "Hang in there!" posters, you might be able to get a tax deduction for your donation.

Next up on your list of activities won't take you very far from the Cat Museum, as it's located in the basement of the building: The Troll Hole. The Troll Hole will showcase those awesome miniature troll dolls, used primarily to ensure you win big money on bingo Friday nights. Local artists are teaming up to create "an enchanted forest complete with faux trees, toadstools, streams, a troll bridge and a troll cafe." You can stroll through the forest and gaze upon the nearly 2,300 troll dolls, owned primarily by one person. I bet all those people who criticized her for investing in troll dolls are kicking themselves now, right??

You might be thinking that it will take a lot of money to turn the basement of a neglected building into an enchanted forest fit for trolls and humans alike. Thankfully the city received an arts grant to finance The Troll Hole. Yes, the local arts foundation gave $1500 to help create this troll utopia.

Might I suggest you seriously start considering that Snapple lid museum you've been dreaming of?

Accessorizing

I might start wearing a tool belt everyday. Here's what I'd keep in my tool belt:

• My Cutco trimmer knife and Santoku knife. Helpful when the problem is trying to open something, chop something, or protect myself.


• A roll of Thin Mints, helpful when the problem seems to be too many vegetables around.


• Credit card, helpful when you need to buy a new pair of cute shoes or an emergency bus ticket to get out of town.


• Roni, helpful when I need a high paw but really, not very helpful for anything else.


• Starbucks Instant Iced Coffee packets, helpful when dealing with people before noon.


• A picture of George Clooney, helpful whenever I start to think life is unfair.


• A Sharpie Ultra Fine Point Marker, because they are the best writing instruments and I never know when I'm going to need to write down


• Hair get, helpful when my head starts to look like a dandelion blowing away in the wind.


• A dictionary, helpful when I suddenly start typing "you're" instead of "your" four times in the same paragraph.

The busiest weekend of my year is over. I feel like I sprinted a marathon. I opened a bottle of Snapple tea today and the lid told me that Roni has 32 muscles in each of her ears.

I'm taking a nap. See you tomorrow.

A Fly on the Wall...

Conversation I overheard last week:

"...I haven't learned anything in college. I think college is a joke. If I could make a decent wage at my job as a bank teller I'd just keep doing that and forget this [expletive.]"

As a professional working in higher education, I'd like to amend his statement.

"...I haven't learned anything in college because I don't read anything I'm assigned and I don't try. Even now--we're supposed to be working on textbook problems but I'm complaining about my bank teller coworkers and gossiping with you. I think college is a joke that everyone around me seems to get and enjoy but I stare blankly because I don't want to think too hard. If I could make a decent wage at my job as a bank teller I'd just keep doing that and forget this [expletive] and make room in classes for people who actually care about their future and care enough to make the class interesting. Instead, I come to class unprepared and make my classmates reteach me everything and then copy their work.

Alice

Another commencement exercise has come and gone and 380-ish young women went off into the world with no idea how good they had it for four years. They THINK they know and appreciate their time in the bubble...but they don't. They don't know yet what a safe place they were in. How many worries were taken care of for them. How many people were looking out for them.

When they realize that not everyone wants them to succeed, that friends are harder to make when you don't share bathrooms and classes and meals and EVERYTHING, and that people will not always give them second chances...they will look back with a longing so strong that their chest will hurt. They will cry for the memories they made. They will physically ache to see their friends again. They will search their apartments and houses for something without really knowing what exactly they're looking for. But I know what they're looking for because I looked for it a long time. They're looking for the secret trap door that will send them down the rabbit hole and back to Day One, when everything was ahead of them. When decisions were easy and time was infinite.

I hope the graduates of 2011 find their next Wonderland.

Har Har Pickle Food Factory

I need to get in the business of naming things. The Har Har Pickle Food Factory is genius.

I Need a Robot

This week is one of those weeks where I wish I had a robot. There are dozens of reasons to wish for a robot:

• You need to go back in time to murder someone who invents something that destroys humanity and you're just too busy to do it yourself.

That's about the only reason I can think or right now besides the reason that *I* need a robot. I need a robot to clean my house. And mow my yard. The house needs to sparkle by Thursday morning. I need that cartoon robot who wears a maid's outfit and sasses back. No. Actually, 86 the sass. I'm the boss of my cartoon robot and I'm not afraid to show it the back of my hand.

Kitty Fight!

So I tried to log on earlier because I had something hilarious to tell you. But the stupid Blogger was unavailable. So now you'll never know the most hilarious story I never got to tell. You can send your angry hate mail to Blogger Owner, c/o Sometimes We Choose Not to Work Blog.

I tried to have a play date last night with Roni and George Clooney's cats. Take a guess at how well that went?? It was like mixing oil and water. Snookie and Angelina. Homer and Selma. The Iron Sheik and Hulk Hogan.

Everyone survived and the only one with a war wound is George.

You Know Your Cat is Awesome When...

even the plumber tells you your cat is a character and pretty cool.

My bathtub was draining slowly so I called the plumbers. They're nice enough to give me a 20 minute heads up so I don't have to be away from work for long. The two guys were so nice and even laughed as we walked up the stairs and Roni stared them down, then dashed around them to race into the living room.

Roni then raced upstairs and into the bathroom, to check things out and make sure everything was on the up and up. I picked her up and walked downstairs and as soon as we got downstairs she wiggled and strained to be let down. And then ran right back upstairs. I sat in the sun room and listened to the big tattooed plumber coo at her. He was saying "HI! Hi there!" in this high pitched voice.

When they left Roni was sitting on top of the coffetable/ottoman. He leaned down to say goodbye to her (how often do you see that??) and she reached up with one paw and touched his face. Like she was giving him a high-paw. To his face.

Have a good weekend everyone! High Paw!

Play or Get Played

Omar Little. The scariest drug thief I would LOVE to have dinner with.

George Clooney and I have been watching the HBO series The Wire, via Netflix for a couple of months now. We're wrapping up the 5th and final season. It's probably the best tv drama I've ever seen (I can't say "program" because that would force me to decide between The Wire and The Office.) I recommend it whole-heartedly--it can be tough to watch but you'll be hooked. Like one of the drug fiends on the show.

It's gotten into my (and George's) head so much that in almost every conversation with George there is a Wire reference. I've begun talking like the folks on The Wire (NOT a good thing, since every other word on the show is an F bomb) and all things that happen to me now are mentally checked against the plot in the show.

Examples:

• We see a homeless person on the street and automatically refer to him as "Bubbles."


• Getting seconds for dinner is not "getting seconds." It's a "re-up."


• Someone dying is not "dying." It's "they got got."


• George plans to give the 5 month-old son of our mutual friends a bottle of Jameson whiskey, because he has the same name of the lovable yet unfaithful, lying, drunk cop on the show. Jimmyyyyyyyy!


• The democratic nominee for mayor of South Bend reminds me of Tommy Carcetti, promising a "new day" in Baltimore. Let's hope Pete can clean up South Bend better than Carcetti cleaned up Baltimore.


• A hat is not a hat. It's a "crown." And the drug dealing code says that all "play" suspends on Sunday.


• I don't trust public school, politicians, unions, the police, the newspaper, or drug dealers anymore.

Yogi

I think a lot. A LOT. I can analyze something to death. I will mull it over and over and frontwards and backwards until I annoy everyone around me. I make lots of mental lists that I promptly forget. I can think of a thousand things that need to get done or should get done. And at least a dozen things that I DON'T do that I wish I did because I think I'd be a better person.

I bring this up because I took a yoga class last week. And I enjoyed it. I was surprised. I took a yoga class a few years ago at a local college and thought ti was just ok. It was a great ab workout but otherwise, I did not experience the relaxation I think I was supposed to. My brain just wouldn't shut off! I was thinking about my posture and if I looked stupid, I was thinking about the other people in the class with me, I was thinking about grocery shopping and how much more I'd be sweating and working out if I was out running or at the gym.

But last week I was able to really focus on my breathing and stretching. I was able to shut my brain off for awhile. I still worried that my t-shirt was riding up and that I wasn't holding my arms the exact right way. But I didn't think once about the things I COULD be doing in that hour. Or worry about work that I didn't get finished. Or make lists of cleaning projects. I think I might be a convert.

Oh, and the guy next to me tooted. :) So I wasn't the MOST embarrassed person there!

I Prefer "Duchess Jessica."

A. Yes, I'm still alive.

B. Yes, it is kind of crazy to stand half-in, half-out of your house, with the front door wide open, staring at your neighbor and her family while they do yard work.

C. Yes, I really made Dr. Pepper Pulled Pork over Easter. It was just what the doctor ordered.

D. Yes, I think I'm having some kind of allergic reaction to something I ate. My whole face itches.

E. Yes, I found a great cover of "I Don't Feel Like Dancin'", courtesy of George Clooney. Happy Friday! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bEyWmz35qoI

Tea

Nothing interesting to report. On our trip to Chicago I told George Clooney that one of my "must dos" was visit Argo Tea. I'm not a regular tea drinker; I prefer coffee for my daily caffeine fix. But Argo Tea makes a yummy fabulous drink called a MojiTea: mint iced tea, lime juice, and sparkling or carbonated water. I don't know what's in it, I don't care. I care about how good it tastes. And it tastes so good!

So when we were parking the car, stuck in traffic, I was THRILLED to look immediately to my right and see an Argo Tea. It was a very windy and cold day and when we walked into the store, despite my craving, the LAST thing that sounded good was iced tea. I chose a hot peach tea instead and it was lovely. Lovely.

This moment, in a delightful 2 days, has got me re-started on tea. I'm sipping some mango herbal tea tonight. I'm sure that in a week I'll have forgotten all about tea. But that is only a sign telling me I need to get back to Chicago.

I Need Your Opinion

Someone (**cough cough GeorgeClooney cough cough**!) thinks I need to start a video blog. The hook would be me, in a row boat, floating around on the St. Joe River (aka Dead Body and Old Truck dump site) commenting on current events and telling my stories. Guess how many times I've rowed a boat? Twice.

I don't know why I find the idea so out-there. It's not like it's any weirder than the stuff I think of. In fact, it's pretty normal compared to some of my own ideas. So I need your input: Jessica on a rowboat--would you tune in?

These are my concept pictures, my storyboard, if you will:



Here's what a typical shot of the river would be.

Now, try to imagine this is me. Instead of brown hair picture curly blonde hair. Of course, Roni would ride in the boat with me. Instead of cute little sea otters, try to imagine a few dead bodies popping up to say hello. (I thought about googling "dead body in river" but thought that might put me on some kind of government watch list)

It's Story Time

I'm back from Texas and my hair is bigger than ever, my boot scootin' boogie is slightly more full of boogie, and my desire to eat barbecue is a 24/7 obsession.

Yes, I went to Texas and did not tell you. You missed your opportunity to loot my house.

It was a great weekend of family festivities. Sorry guys, but there's one less [my last name]-girl on the market. She's hitched and enjoying a cruise.

It was really fun to meet my aunt's side of her family. I come from a relatively small family so large families always seem so fun and overwhelming to me. Friday night we gathered at my aunt and uncle's house to relax and meet each other. It amazed me that one of my aunt's sisters--whom I had never met and had met my dad just once, about 35 years ago--could recognize that I was his daughter. She lovingly told me that I looked just like him. Big grin.

I had another humbling conversation with one of my own relatives at this dinner. My dad's cousin's wife asked me about the blog and how it was coming along. She told me that she reads it and (gulp!) that she thinks I have a gift for writing. I was mush-mouthed, I didn't know how to respond and I'm pretty sure I blushed. (I did NOT shoot her a finger gun)

She asked me "So what do you want to get out of the blog?" Whoa. Have you ever been going about things in your life--not quite mindlessly but just...on autopilot????--and someone stops you to ask what your goals are? Or what the purpose of a particular endeavor is...and you have to stop to think? The question stopped me. What DO I want to get out of this blog? What role does it serve in my life? Why do I do it?

I jokingly told her that what I want out of it is a contract from NBC to be a writer for a hit TV show. (If you're reading this NBC talent scout--call me!) I couldn't give her an answer and so instead I told her how the blog came about, from reading some other very unoriginal blogs and feeling competitive, that I could write a better blog than just posting song lyrics and saying "This is how I feel today!"

I've given the blog some thought about its purpose. Here's what I came up with: the blog is a way for me to tell stories. I love to tell stories. I think telling a good story is a talent and an art and what I lack in musical and artistic ability, I think I make up for in my story-telling ability. I love to make people laugh. I love to share with people the little moments that I find hilarious or ironic and all the weird little things I observe. I've been lucky to have some pretty good story-inducing jobs, yes, but it also come from being constantly aware of my surroundings. I very rarely tune out.

It circles back to the little quote off to the right of this page, that I don't think I'm more interesting than the next person. I find a lot of things AROUND me interesting. Thank you, to my relative, for making me stop to discern what I'm doing with this thing. Thank you for reading. And thank you to everyone else who humbles me by reading and laughing and commenting and retelling my stories.

Simple Pleasures

My mom gave me a book once called Simple Abundance. Each day has an entry that encourages the reader to get rid of toxic "stuff" that holds you back from enjoying life, to notice all the small ways in which your life is pretty awesome, and to reframe your way of thinking about happiness.

I've never made it past January.

From what I can tell it's a great resource. Yes, it has touchy feely reflections. But there's great practical advice and reasoning regarding getting rid of clutter, cleaning out your closets, and tackling some less-than-desirable home projects.

I'm thinking about that book because this morning as I took my first sip of coffee I momentarily closed my eyes and sighed a satisfied sigh and thought, "it's going to be a good day." I thought about some of the simple pleasures I'm often too tired or hurried to enjoy fully.

A great cup of coffee.
Cream cheese on ANYTHING. What a perfect food.
A clean kitchen, no matter how short-lived it is.
Fresh air.
Exercise. Yeah, I just said exercise.
The smell of anything on the grill.
Dancing.
The Scissor Sisters. :)

Think about your own simple pleasures today. Cheers!

I May be Crazy...

but I'm not THIS crazy.

Answers

Warning--this post contains no irony, no funny pictures, and no wit. You have been warned.

Today is a good day. Not just because it's Thursday and thus, almost the weekend, and not just because the sun is shining. (Although, sunshine will play into this story in a minute) It's a good day because I'm finally starting to get some answers.

In early January I had a small surgical procedure. Although small, it did require general anesthesia and 3 days off work. When I went to my post-op meeting with my doctor 3 weeks later I told him the only problem I was still experiencing was sluggishness and fatigue and I asked if I could still be feeling the effects of anesthesia 3 weeks later. I reported extreme exhaustion--I was ready for bed most nights at 8:30pm. I was a barrel of laughs for poor George Clooney, I'm sure.

After 4 vials of blood, an appointment with my primary care physician, more internet research, a good hard cry (maybe two or three), and two nights of insomnia, I'm happy to report that there are at least 2 physical reasons for my exhaustion. Number one--hypothyroidism. My doctor was reluctant to diagnose this one, but after my research I asked for the more sensitive blood tests and sure enough--viola! My poor little thyroid can't keep up with me!

Number two, also a result of the blood tests: I have a pretty non-existent level of vitamin D. Where does vitamin D come from? The sun. What city does the sun hate the most? South Bend, Indiana. So I was instructed to start taking about a gazillion units of vitamin D daily. Otherwise I'm at risk for rickets. Rickets!!! Thank goodness we found this out now because I would NOT want to end up like Rickety Cricket

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia's Rickety Cricket

A Letter to Pottery Barn

Dear Pottery Barn,

Thank you so much for making some very cool home furnishings and accessories. I love looking through your catalogs that you send me twice a week and love seeing how you rearrange the exact same items into dozens of different configurations. You appeal to my materialistic side and I love you for it.

However, I have several points of contention with you. First, you spend a disporportionate amount of money marketing yourself to me than I spend buying your stuff. I do not warrant 2 catalogs a week. Yes, I've bought your stuff in the past, but 2 catalogs a week means I don't even bother glancing through them anymore. I've never really jumped whole-heartily on the "green" bandwagon but my God...that's a lot of paper you're wasting.

Second, I like your stuff but I refuse to have a home that looks like a homogenized version of thousands of other homes.

Last--and this may be hard to hear--but some of your stuff is crap. You sell "rustic barnwood tables." Uh huh. One look at the "details" section tells you all you need to know: made of pine with pine veneer, stained mahogany. Or beds made of "solid hardwood." Which hardwood?? Pine stained mahogany? I know that was harsh and I will admit that you DO sell some legitimate mahogany beds and some legitimate quality pieces. I will also admit that I salivate looking at your serving pieces, your glassware, your dinnerware, and your linens. But you make us work for the real information. For every real mahogany bed you've got an "antique" media cabinet made of engineered wood with birch veneer.

In conclusion, I think we can learn to live together peacefully. Just save yourself some money and cut my catalogs to once or twice a month. That would make me so happy.

Yours truly,
Me

This Means That Roni Will Probably Have Her Own Blog Soon

Roni is clearly her mama's cat: She has a curly whisker.

Buh Bye...

One of my favorite guilty pleasures is no more. That's about as descriptive as I can be. I will have to search out alternate forms of entertainment.

Rest assured that Jersey Shore is still on TV, so it's not the cancellation of Jersey Shore. Girl Scout cookies are still in production so slap yourself for even THINKING of that tragedy!

I Would Not Make a Good Carnival Weight or Age Guesser

If you would've said to me yesterday, "Jessica. Hey, how ya doin'? You look great in yellow, by the way. Hey, how old do you think Elizabeth Taylor is?" I would have responded "Hey, I'm good. Thanks, I love yellow. Hmmm...I'd say Elizabeth Taylor has gotta be like 91. At least."

Elizabeth Taylor was 79.

I'm like a little kid, when you tell them to guess how old you are and they think because they're 5 and little and you're 10 times their size, that you've got to be at least 54 years old.

You Don't Get This at WebMD

I went to the doctor on Wednesday. I was sent back to the room mercifully fast (it might be in my chart to get me in and out quickly, since the last time I was there I made a rather big scene when I waited in the room for the doctor for 45 minutes). The nurse did her business and left the room and I waited for the doctor. Here's what my room had to offer in the way of art and literature:

Grillmeister Apprentice

**NOTE** This post probably won't contain much humor. Feel free to stop reading now.

Now.

I've mentioned how I have amazing friends, right? Well I do. I've only named a handful here but in South Bend my friends include people I've known since college, their family members, friends that survived through long past relationships, THEIR family members, their EXTENDED family members, friends through church...and THEIR family members...friends from work and volunteering...I'm really quite humbled. These friends helped me move 5 times in 8 years. They've joined me in celebrations and hugged me when I've been sad. They've given me many intangible gifts that I oftentimes don't feel worthy to have received.

But this post is about a TANGIBLE gift I received from my friends. Ha! I love stuff. (Remember I'm the girl with 7 sets of dishes) When I bought my house and finally got to move in, my friends presented me with an awesome Weber gas grill. I never thought I'd love to grill as much as I do. Now that the weather is warming up I'm reading more grilling recipes and getting anxious to fire it up. It's relatively fast, the clean up is minimal, the food is scrumptious...what's not to love? I'm still on a learning curve--flank steak looks so easy on the Food Network, mine was like a shoe. A shoe caked with mud. But I make a mean grilled vegetables.

In fact, I'd go vegan if I could eat my grilled vegetables everyday. With a slice of cake, of course. And a Budweiser. And a side of meat.

Boo Hoo

What is sadder than sad underwear?

The answer: sad mittens.

How Does One Know When it's Acceptable to Loot?

Friday night George Clooney and I walked onto the set of "Escape From New York."

It was supposed to be a low key evening: Lenten acceptable dinner at one of my favorite restaurants downtown (seriously--shrimp in chipotle...YUM!) and then maybe a movie or some tv, if I could stay awake.

At the restaurant George and I ran into my friend Neil Diamond and her fiance. (I named Neil before I knew the whole celebrity-name thing would be a "thing") We discussed the downtown St. Patrick's Day tent party happening a few blocks away and our mutual "meh" feelings. And the meh feelings were justified, as drunkies came wandering into the restaurant all night being loud and obnoxious.

After my screaming spicy shrimp in chipotle and a screaming good bottle of wine, George and I tempted fate by deciding to wander closer to the tent party to get a closer look. I don't think my words could describe the scene adequately. There were people wandering all over the streets, looking ridiculous, and most wearing flashing green necklaces. They were yelling: across the streets to each other, within their own circles, down the street to unseen people...

George and I happened upon a fight in progress, which is always awesome. Two guys yelling, screaming f-bombs, pushing each other, and the most serious of all fighting techniques--taking off their t-shirts. We found out as we passed and the 2 guys friends starting walking with us (???) that the guys were just having pizza together, happy as clams. How quickly the circle of life goes 'round, right?

Really all that was missing to make it a perfect apocalyptic scene were trash cans on fire. I asked George Clooney if the city had a loot whistle, something to let the citizens know when we could start looting stores. Because we were in front of Dainty Maid Bakery and I would LOVE to loot that place.

Who Needs Maury Povich??????

This was sent to me by my friend George Costanza
Man, I LOVE South Bend!

I hope the 365 Things to do in South Bend blog girls add this to the list!

1.21 GIGAWATTS!!!!!!!!

Blah blah blah, Fat Tuesday, blah blah, Mardi Gras blah.

So what.

The real party is this Saturday--Daylight Savings Day! It's like time traveling. To the future! But remember that you only time travel one hour. Obama will STILL be the president (good or bad), you will NOT have a bushy white beard, mostly likely your milk will NOT go bad in that hour, and most likely you WON'T wake up with a robot maid.

I'm going to the mall tonight to buy my Daylight Savings outfit.

**Disclaimer: I owe some of the comedy here to my favorite comedien Paul F. Tompkins. http://comedians.jokes.com/paul-f--tompkins/videos/paul-f--tompkins---daylight-saving-time/

No Beads for Me, Please

My friend Emma Roberts (niece of Julia Roberts) sent this to me this morning. I admit that I read the headline on Sunday and moved right on, didn't give it another thought. This is proof that it's the people AROUND me who are interesting.

Taken from the Sunday edition of the South Bend Tribune, South Bend, Indiana:

Girl Scouts Go Wild For Mardi Gras

I think the South Bend Tribune could have done a better job at writing a headline for this story. One that--without reading the article--didn't lead the reader's imagination to run away with itself.


By the way, my friend Madonna recommended that _____ be Emma Roberts. She sent me this picture and I have to say...striking resemblance.

Add "Athlete" to my Resume

I call this photo "Blind Squirrel Finds a Nut"

What do you think of my breakthrough use of Microsoft Paint?

Hi! I'm Jessica's Blog and I'm One Year Old!

Does everyone know what Tuesday was? (Obviously I didn't, since it's Thursday and I'm asking you about Tuesday.) Tuesday, March 2nd, was the one year anniversary of my very first bloggy blog post.

I needed to take a minute and let that sink in. For one year I've been posting my genius. To be exact, I have posted 193 times. Sometimes it was tough: I'd sit in front of my computer with nothing to say. Other times, there were dozens of thoughts that were screaming to be articulated but for the sake of friendships, family...my overall well-being, I could not say anything.

To begin Year Two, I'd like to point out that I think South Bend, Indiana is great. Saturdays are "Make Your Own Parking Spot" days!

I Should I Have Just Tweezed

Would you let a person rip the hair out of your face with threads who is young enough to be reading a copy of The Great Gatsby while taking notes on a spiral-bound notebook????

I read The Great Gatsby in the 9th grade. I was 13. And I let this girl near my face. I have the cuts on my eyelids to prove my stupidity.

Happy Friday!

Randomness on this sunny Friday...

I'm down to the last drops of my eye make up remover and will soon be out of my very-necessary hair smoother goop. Do I order online to avoid the mall and get 3 free samples with my order but wait a week? Or do I trek out to the mall this weekend, deal with the crowds and forfeit my free samples?

I find that I talk to Roni in a few distinct ways:

1. In that baby talk way, where your teeth are kind of clenched and you pretend to have a lisp and repeatedly tell them how cute they are. "You are my kitty and I LOVE YOU!"
2. I say things to Roni that I'd probably like to say to some humans. "You smell." "Why are you so weird?" "Get out of my face."
3. I talk to her AS IF she is human. "I'd really appreciate it if you'd get down." "What did you do today Roni?" "Can you please come here and say goodbye to George Clooney?"

The house next to me is for sale by owner. I wish it was the ladies but it's the house on the other side. Whoever bought it to flip it did a great job. If you're in the market for a cute 2 bedroom house and you'd like to be neighbors with Roni, let me know.

My new 2nd favorite song? Milk & Sugar, by G Love. It combines my love of music and my love of coffee. Still hoping Scissor Sisters comes out with "Love Me Like a Thin Mint."

Some Things Need to be Explained, Apparently

I ran into the grocery store to grab 4 items to make myself the most delicious sesame noodles for din din tonight. My Beiber-esque clerk in the express lane was running my debit card when a woman approached him, having just come in the front door. She pointed to the "10 or Less" sign and asked if that meant a TOTAL of 10 items or if she could come through the line with 10 cans of soup, 10 boxes of cereal, 10 gallons of milk, etc.

I wish I could have stayed and waited for her to check out.

Conversation Continued in my Head

I just pulled up to my house to see my crazy neighbor shoveling the snow away from her curb and dumping it in the middle of the street.

Neighbor: Do you know who knocked the mirror off my car?

Me: Probably someone who was trying to drive down the street and couldn't get around your car parked halfway in the street.

(In my head): Ya weirdo.

Wednesday

There's a fine line between judging people and knowing what you will and won't tolerate. I'm guilty of judging people, of not treating people with enough love and patience, of not treating them how I wish to be treated. Of using cynicism and sarcasm. I humbly admit this as a failing, one that I work on but not enough and not consistently.

But I'm becoming more and more comfortable with myself and confident in my feelings to know what I won't tolerate in my life.

Watch out Funyuns. That means you.

Viva la South Bend!

If South Bend, Ind. is truly a dying city, like Newsweek reports, would we have restaurants like this

that serve fried seafood AND healthy drink??

Driving Miss Hilton

This is a view of my dashboard.

I forget that they're there 99% of the time, until someone rides in my car and asks why in the world I drive around with a Paris Hilton card.

In a nutshell, I think the Paris Hilton card is hilarious. Back when South Bend had a Marshall Field's (rest in peace, you glorious department store) women would stand in your way and harass you to squirt perfume on you. One unfortunate woman one day, was trying to sell Paris Hilton Perfume. If you didn't want to take a big squirt of Paris to the wrists, you could get a little squirt on a beautiful Paris Hilton card, to take home and sniff and imagine what Paris Hilton smelled like. Looking at the card, I immediately thought:

If Paris Hilton actually had business cards, this is exactly what they'd
look like. Her name and nothing else.

I snatched up a half dozen.

And the St. Andre Bessette card? Gotta cover your bases, kids.

NKOTB: This One's for the Children....

I had a weird dream last night.

I dreamt that I was babysitting for some kids I wasn't crazy about at all. I put the little girl to bed and then took the infant little boy out from under a blanket he'd been laying under...to discover that there had been an explosion in his diaper. I cut two holes in the bottom of a plastic grocery bag, slipped his legs through the holes, and tied up the bag around his waist. Ready for bed!

**Note to past babysitting clients: I have NEVER done anything like this in real life.

**Note to my future children: I hope I NEVER do anything like this to you.

**Note to CPS: this was a dream.

There is no joy at TJ Maxx

Does it mean I'm old or a curmudgeon that I found it really UN hilarious that the sales team at TJ Maxx was having a limbo contest behind the sales counter INSTEAD of ringing up my sale? That I didn't crack a smile while I waited for all three of them to try walk backwards under the broom they set up, each one falling on the ground in hysterics?

Side note: I did a Google image search for "obnoxious people." Here's a taste of what Google thinks is obnoxious:

That's harsh. Sorry Alabama

Google gets it right with this one. Perez Hilton.

I don't know if this is supposed to mean that grandmas are obnoxious, little kids are obnoxious or grandmas who make their grandkids hold moths are obnoxious.

Obnoxious soup