Saturday, June 2, 2007

Born of a jealous rage.

Okay, a jealous rage may be too strong a front for this, but what made me decide to do an actual "blog" outside of the world of myspace was an old friend. Not out of her support, but of her lack of it... or of anything. I've realized a lot that people don't try as hard to be nice as they get older. I don't know whether or not to be thankful for the honesty or mournful for the loss of decency. Either way, the situation is a former friend, a very close or even best friend who has "moved on." This is probably my fault but I can still think of all the times I was a good friend to her. I hadn't known her for too long but we had so much in common. We met while working the same job and going to rival high schools, found that we were both Editor-in-Chief of our award winning newspapers. We were both going to college for journalism, loved design, and movies and had similiar personalities. When she left to be a camp counselor over the summers, I made sure she had plenty of mail and gift packages with her name on it. When she left for college and I was still living at home, I made her a scrap book of all our friends. Without getting too detailed, I can say that I was most likely the one who messed up a good friendship, though the details are hazy now. I became so desperate not to lose this boy that I was seeing and ridiculously hooked on, that I didn't care who got in my way. I eventually moved to Florida and we lost touch for years. I found out through friends of friends that she was engaged to a mutual friend and co-worker. I was thrilled for her but when I tried to contact her through myspace she ignored me for a long time before telling me that we had outgrown a friendship that wasn't worth rekindling. I accepted this, hurtful as it was and watched as all of our former friends who had meant much less to her than I at one time made it into her circle of friends. Some of which even got invites to the wedding. It was really kind of a slap in the face and whatever I had done, I can't imagine it was worth this kind of pain. I've always been fairly sensitive to the feelings of others. From there, I noticed a comment regarding a column she was writing for the paper. Sure enough, I looked it up and there it was. She had a column writing about preparations for her wedding. It wasn't badly written, but it could have been done more humorously and good natured. After all, don't you choose to bear the burden of planning for a wedding? I purposely chose not to. Anyhow, it got me thinking that I had always wanted to have a column and I knew I could do better than that. I knew I could do better than her. It sounds terrible and it was even hard to type that sentence. We are in similiar fields and have similiar loves and interests so the fact that I feel so stepped on by her is the only reason I can even bring myself to feel a competitve streak in the matter. I have no intention of competing with her, contacting her, or anything again. I have gone out of my way to tell her how happy I am for her and offer my support despite her cold shoulder. I hope I can just forget it-- and with her, I would have to forget that portion of my life. Its all connected. So maybe its good that I want to make a "blog." Something for me. Probably few will read it, but at least I'll have an outlet. Hell, it feels good to get that off my chest- an ex-friend out of my head and heart. The reason I thought of doing this in the first place and the guilt behind it. This is my first post here, though I plan to repost several older blogs that I enjoyed writing and hope serve as a laugh or an insight into what I feel would be interesting stories to tell. Then maybe my degree that's only halfway finished in the journalism field won't go to a total waste. P.S. We're both professional graphic designers now, not journalists.

It's a BOY!... and a GIRL!.... and 2007 is the new 666.

I just have so much to say. Where to begin? Okay, let me start by going back in time to when I started at Florida Imaging. Literally, it was the first day there and I woke up with a scratchy throat and cough. I have weathered worse, so I went in and made sure to be very concious of my breathing area and should a cough escape, it was immediately contained and the entrails properly eliminated. By the time I got home that night (aka, my FIRST DAY) I was so sick I ended up going to the hospital and being out of work for a week with the flu.
I decided to keep this tradition alive, so now that I had started at Element, my white blood cells took a vacation and I was once again sick within the first few weeks. I'll never forget what happened next.
I was driving to my new job one morning with the strangest sensation in my stomach. Almost like hunger pains, but not quite... and I don't usually eat in the morning. So I stopped at a nearby Burger King because we all know that greasy, fried, grade E meat mixed with cheese cures what ails ya'. I ate my $2.00 cholesterol sandwich at my desk at work and literally as I swallowed the last bite, I got a pain so horrible and so blinding that tears were welling up in my eyes and I was pretty sure the temperature had risen a good 15 degrees. It was HORRIBLE. I immediatly went to which didn't help at all. I didn't want to leave and look like a total slacker so I figured I would just gut it out for awhile. I sat there at my desk pretending like I wasn't seeing a bright light and tasting the bitterness of death for almost three hours before I emailed the boss to say I would be taking a long lunch. I went to the walk in clinic and was promptly told that I "probably had a kidney infection" and was given an antibiotic.
Several days passed. I was feeling okay... not good. Pains came and went and I was now at a day before my trip to Michigan to see one of my oldest and best friends get married. It was about 10:30 at night when the blinding pain drove me to the hospital where I met the most wonderful woman to roam the planet earth.
She put me on an IV and filled it with two vials of medicine. It could have been crack, it could have been antifreeze, I really didn't care. She was an angel because for the next two hours, I felt GREAT.
I went home with the news that I had a kidney stone. One little kidney stone. I was free to travel, given medicine for the pain and nausea and sent on my merry way.
By the time I had made it back home to Michigan (aka my mommy) the blinding, searing pain had changed and moved into my stomach. I would now say it was more of a gnawing, aching, hell. Since this had nothing to do with kidney stones, back to the hospital I went. It turns out that the antibiotics given to me by the walk-in clinic lady had created excess acid in my stomach. YEAH!!!!
To make a long story short (ha, you wish,) I spent my entire vacation sleeping and missed the wedding. I gave birth to a baby boy kidney stone and then was surprised to see his twin sister later in the day. The stomach pain lasted another week.So what does all this really mean? Really?
It means that 2007 freaking sucks. IT SUCKS! Instead of having a ball drop in Times Square for this year, it should have been a giant hairy testicle. I seriously detest this horrid, rotten year and all it stands for. Since it is June 1st and officially the halfway point OUT of this miserable shit-stew of a year, I think I should start an official tally of all the CRAP that has spewed forth from the bowels of this millenium + 7 hell.
List O' 2007 Follies and Fallacies.1. This year started with our Wayne moving away to Virginia. The last official member of our clan to take off and leave us cold and lonely in Whorelando, we miss Wayne and Mike and Julie each weekend- more than the last. There is no longer anyone to help me pick lunch meat out of my hair at parties or make me cheese dip when I'm down. I knew it was going to suck this year.2. The flu. Not one who is usually sick, I got the flu this year. I had forgotten how it feels like when your soul is being smothered by a giant mucus membrane. It was pretty awful. Dear 2008, remind me to get a flu shot.3. Then came good ol' February. As a Valentine's Gift, Florida Imaging informed me that since there was no work for me to do, I was no longer an employee there. I really appreciate that since I left a job that had a great benefits package to go there. Not to mention a crazy lady who cared for cats with STDs.4. Jenny goes on unemployment. I never, NEVER thought that would be me. Usually I am one of the top employees because I like to work. I like to be all that I can be. I would have gone to the army if the food was better. I then spent several weeks in a state of depression you could never truly understand. I felt like a drain on society and my family. All this time did for me was teach the dogs to howl like I was killing them whenever I slothed my way out of the house. I also discovered ABC daytime television and relived Full House, the younger years. Ehhhhhh. If it hadn't been for Michelle helping me to get through this time, I probably would have been become a fan of Sabrina the Teenage Witch.5. Adventures in Maya's Cornea. Maya had an eye infection that was being treated for about 3 weeks before I said "screw it" and took her to a specialist. She was immediately set up for surgery to remove a rogue eyelash causing her to get recurring eye ulcers. She has since had multiple problems with that eye. I blame 2007.6. The Great Roomate Divide of '07. Some people have terrible relationships with their roomates. Not the case for us. We liked our roomate, she liked us... but it didn't work out. That is all.7. It's Kidney Stoooonnnnnes. Nuff said.8. I missed Ryan's wedding. This is the kind of thing that will bother me until the day I die.9. Yep. We're still in Florida.10. What's next? What kind of festering boil awaits us for the month of June... I'll keep you updated.

Mother's Day and Underpants.

With my mother in Michigan, and Mike's in Texas, we spent this Mother's Day as we do any other Sunday. At the Dog Park. We really don't have any other choice since if we don't take them immediatly upon waking up on our Saturdays and Sundays, then we will pay. Pay dearly.
Anyway, so we ran into another lady there who was spending the balmy, smoky morning with her daughter, and pug, Nemo. I don't know how they know, but pugs find each other. So of course we all stood around while they ran and played and we had mildly interesting conversation that consisted of questions like: "Oh, they're so cute, how old are they?" "Where did you get your pug?" and things like that.
We were joking about the shocking ability for pugs to shed (or reorganize their molecular structure into...) a whole other pug when the little girl became very excited. She asked Mike: "Do you know what my dogs favorite food in the WHOLE WORLD is?!"
Mike said: "What?"
Now, both of us being socially inept kind of laughed and offered up that our pug enjoys the occassional laundry buffet as well, but it was too late. The obviously humiliated mother grabbed her chatty daughter and laughed saying: "ahhh, ha. ha. Well... it was nice meeting you!"
It really wasn't that embarrassing, but her face was about as red as it could get. What a mother's day. hahaha.
For all you mothers out there, I hope it was magical and no one ate your panties. Without your permission...

Crab Stabbing 101

Its amazing how your attitude really changes your view of the world- and of yourself. Its amazing how things can start out so great and then you get bamboozled by a Vietnamese hooker and it just all goes down the crapper.
I am, of course, referring to my day today. It started well and good despite the florida smoke burning my eyeballs and choking my soul... I was outside massaging strips of paper mache onto a balloon, like everyone workin' for a living when I noticed two men from the neighboring suite outside nearby, adding to the already smoky atmosphere. They were watching me paper mache my balloon and I thought to myself, its not every job that you get to make balloon planets and pirate maps. Sucks to be them going back to their boring computer monitors and staring at numbers all day. As Nelson from the Simpsons would say: "Ha Ha."My attitude began to slowly shift downhill as the day progressed. I went from feeling pretty positive to pretty damn worthless. My new mission was to locate three round paper lanterns of various sizes to replace the vetoed paper mache balloon idea. I visited about five random stores all of whom: "had them in stock... but they are out now." and I made a few calls via 411 to places like Pier One and Target and nothing panned out. Fortunately, I got the brilliant idea to go downtown to the Vietnamese section of, well, downtown. I got pretty much the same story at the handful of little shops I visited, until I went to Phat Ho. I mean... Ho Phat.
The store was hot and smelly, but it had a lot of cool things... I asked about the paper lanterns which were hanging all over and a very nice man assured me that he had some in the back. He told me to wait a minute and scurried off to a back room, leaving me standing next to an old woman stabbing live crabs in a wooden crate with a little spear. Seriously. As I tried not to watch this, I noticed the enormous metal "tongs" hanging on the edge of the fishtank, where large fish swam back and forth. For the life of me, I can't imagine picking one of those things up with "tongs" and carrying it to the checkout counter! Several dead fish were staring up at me from an ice chest. Five minutes went by. Then ten. I felt bad just leaving because I worried that this kindly, little old man was in the back room tearing through boxes of merchandise. I imagined him finally finding them and coming back out only to find me gone and an old lady stabbing his crabs. I waited. And waited. Fifteen minutes. Before the clock ticked over to twenty minutes I went to the counter and tried to describe the man that went to look for me. After about a minute of trying to explain who I was looking for and why, I was informed that he was in the bathroom.
I left.
At this point, it was getting ridiculous. I had been gone from work for almost two hours and had nothing to show for it. I figured I would try one more store and then go back.
There they were. In a box right there in the front window were the damn, freaking paper lanterns that I was looking for. I wanted to find them so bad, I couldn't bear to go back empty handed... especially after I had been gone for what felt like a million years. I pulled the door handle and it was locked. This freaking store was open everyday of the week. Except Thursday.
It began to rain a little and I looked up in the sky and imagined that I was screaming obscenities at the top of my lungs. It actually made me feel a little better. I decided to check ONE LAST store. Again. I stepped into a Vietnamese Anime shop, not expecting to find anything. They had porcelain cats and mini plates and TWO paper lanterns! Holy crap. They were both the same size, but I didn't care! I practically ran to the counter with them. It was great. Not exactly what I was looking for, but it was something.
I was feeling much better as I opened the door. The rain had already stopped. I looked back down the road in the direction where I had parked my car. That's when I realized that I had walked like three thousand miles. I couldn't even see the store where I parked. So I began my long trek back and only got side tracked once. As I passed a restaurant supply shop, I saw a giant budha and it occured to me that maybe THEY had paper lanterns. I walked in and spotted them immediately. They were in a big pile on the left side of the room. I glanced through them, admittedly, quickly. I didn't see a price anywhere. I grabbed a small one and a very large one and took them to the front to be rang up. This is where I met the Vietnamese hooker. Okay, she wasn't really a hooker. Infact, she was actually pretty nice. When she handed me the receipt, I looked at it as I shoved it into the bag and noticed that I had just forked over $80 for a stupid paper lamp. I asked her if I could return it and she starkly said no and offered to "follow me to my car" which I finally figured out meant: "Help you to your car," which I also didn't need. $80 back in my bank account would have been better.
So now, I had to go back to work with our entire budget plus some blown on a paper lamp. I wasn't expecting a hero's welcome. Everyone was nice about it, but I have to say that I can't remember the last time I have felt more like a giant baked ass. Fortunately someone suggested I look over the reciept again, and when I did, I realized that they infact DO allow returns if the package is unopened and if the return is within seven days. That's when I decided that the lady that rang me up was a Vietnamese hooker. She totally fucked me. So I'm going to go get my money back tomorrow!
Hopefully.As I finished up the day, still feeling pretty low, I went outside to finish cleaning up after our paper mache project. I was scraping the water and flour off the side of the bucket when I saw the Smokersteins from the neighboring suite again. This time I felt like they were laughing at me. Truth be told they probably didn't give two shits what I was doing, or even give it a second thought. Its just funny how quickly your outlook on life and on yourself changes. So I had a bad day. At least I got to see a good ol' fashioned crab stabbin'.

Its so dark here, with my head up my ass and all.

Ladies and Gentleman. I implore you. If you simply MUST distract yourself from the boredom of driving, then talk on the ol' cell phone. Pick yourself up a drive through baked potato or something that requires finesse to eat while steering. Hell, maybe even do a crossword or paint your toenails. Just don't drive with your head up your freaking ass anymore.
It took me 35 minutes to make it to I-4 today FROM THE ON-RAMP. Why? Well, because the four lanes of merging traffic behind me had fought long and hard to get to where they were because of an accident on Sand Lake Road that had the left lane blocked. This actually prepared them for the accident just down the road where the 3 left lanes were blocked and we had to squeeze all the merging and through traffic into the exit only lane for the turnpike. This seemed to be going relatively smooth. Slowly... but smoothly. People were in orderly lines, kindly letting others in and making the process of switching from lane to lane, almost a joy. A damn, freaking, joy. Damn it. But then came the fire fucks. I mean, the fire trucks. Undoubtedly coming from accident #1 to accident #2, they blared their sirens, flashed their lights and split the already constipated lines of traffic down the middle.
That's when it got ugly. Cars were everywhere. Honking. Finger flipping. Screaming. People in two lanes, the shoulder, driving around in the grass, merging left, merging right, merging back. No one was quite facing forward anymore. I imagine that it looked like God picked up a stack of micro minis and threw them into a pile on I-4. It was that shit-faced confusing. As if this weren't enough, some guy's car decides to die. Right fucking here. So now there's people going around him, around the fire trucks, around the ambulances, around each other, around the exit only lane for the turnpike and basically around in circles. It was freaking madness.
Anyway, needless to say, I finally got through it. Only to find that one car had rolled itself all over the damn place andk someone probably is in the hospital right now. The camera crew was there and two of the three lanes were blocked completely without reason. The retarded girl in front of me merging back onto the open road stopped (in the ONLY lane that you could manuever through, by the way) to take a picture on her cell phone and then proceeded to cause me and everyone behind me to once again slam on the breaks.Past that, I saw only one more accident sans-scene. It was a little fender bender off on the shoulder and normally Floridians would be lining up to linger at the smell of burnt rubber and fuming housewife, but we had had our fill of accidents. The last accident of the day was on the other side of the road. The west-bound side. Why does that concern me? Well, because one of the fire trucks that had been headed home after its long afternoon of prying people's heads out of their asses cut across two lanes and THEN turned on its lights and sirens blocking the ENTIRE left lane and causing traffic to once again come to a grinding hault, forcing everyone over to the middle lane. FOR NOTHING. As far as I can tell, this freaking fire truck pulled over to aid a busty blonde talking to Michael Moore's long lost twin in a Geo Metro that looked like it had been covered in caked on bacon grease. There wasn't a damn thing wrong with either car and certainly no reason to shut down yet another lane on the death track.
Its been awhile since I've had a nice long rant about the traffic so hopefully you enjoyed it. I must go now, as I've discovered that there is a bag of broccoli on my counter that I believe to be the cause of a mysterious odor...

Florida Chainsaw Massacre.

I was headed out to where I used to live, Lake Mary, to run some errands today. Since my roomate had just gotten back from visiting family over the holiday in Sarasota and had an errand to run, we went together. It turns out that, her mom's landlord had purchased an item on ebay and had asked Tasha to pick it up for him and just bring it back the next time that she came to Sarasota since the item was heavy and shipping it would have been stupid. Well, going to a stranger's house alone is never a good idea, so we went as a team. Probably also not a good idea. We were told it was just past Sanford, which is just past Lake Mary. HOWEVER, it turned out to be WAAAAAY past Sanford, and hell, Toto, way past freaking Kansas. We drove down lots of roads with no stop lights. No gas stations. No people. Every once in awhile we would pass a gorgeous plantation home on several billion acres-- cows... horses... and apparently bears since there were bear warning signs all over. We even passed a blinking sign that said: "CAUTION: SMOKE." Well, just when we thought that there was no way this place actually existed, we saw the turnoff. It was a dirt road (are you shocked?) We were in the middle of nowhere and there were 3 trailers out here. They all had the same address (the address we were going too) but different lot numbers (which we didn't know.) So we just headed over to lot one and knocked on the... "door." To get to the "door" we had to step over plastic lawn chairs and be careful of the bowls full of cigarette butts and pieces of wind chimes and sprinklers. There were rusty nails hanging out of the sides of the house-- mostly attatched to pieces of wood that were just nailed there... what purpose, I don't know. We waited about a second and a half for an answer. There wasn't one so we ran back to the car... regained our nerves and knocked on the second door. This place was a slight step up from the first since my immediate impression wasn't that whoever lived there was carving up a hitchiker while we were standing on the "porch." We knocked on the door and you can imagine my surprise and delight when Leather Face's mom opened it. She was an old lady in a quilted moo moo with some kind of saucy looking muffin smeared all over her face, lips, cheeks and teeth. I said a prayer that she wasn't going to yell: "Bruno Ray Jr... thare's some visitors... can you bring out our special guest chairs?!" Fortunately Tasha asked if "Doug" was there and she just said; "Doug who?"
"I don't know his last name, we're just supposed to pick something up.""I don't know a Doug.""Okay, Thanks anyway."We started to walk away and she came out onto the porch.
"You mean that Doug that live thare in that thate traila'?""Ummm... sure.""Well, he ain't here.""Oh.... okay... Thanks."
So we get back into the car and Tasha gets out her cell phone and good lordy, this is where we realize we ain't go no signal. None whatsoever. And oh, yeah! Leather Face's mom is waving too us on the porch!
"I can call Doug's wife on da cell, if you'all want."
(Wait a minute, didn't she JUST SAY "Doug who? She didn't know a Doug?")
"That would be great!"
Wouldn't that be great? Maybe we can all have a Barbeque. and the guy in Lot one can serve the mail man as the main course.
Anyway. The guy was supposed to be there anytime after 4pm for us to pick this thing up. It was 5:10. He finally showed up and now I have a 100 pound chunk of Welding equipment complete with creepy dirty mask in the back of my car. Thank Goodness for Leather Face's mom because I wasn't going to be coming back here to backcountry again anytime soon. I pretty much saw my life flash before my eyes.... my pink barbie bike... watching Dirty Dancing and eating bagels at my Grandma's... liberating tadpoles with favorite pair of shoes.....
Yeah for life! Yeeeeah for life.

You're Basically Asking for it if you Dress Like That.

In an effort to make up the fact that I left Midas alone for five days, I took the dogs to the dog park yesterday. Little did I know that it would have me rethinking life in its entirety.So anyway, things are going great. The dogs are having fun running around in the water, so I was just standing on the beach watching to make sure they didn't become gator nuggets when Midas comes running up on shore. Just running. (He does that. No reason.) And as he's tearing through the sand he comes to a screeching halt at this older woman who is also watching her dog play in the water. She's wearing jeans and a t-shirt sans bra, but I think what made Midas go into his crazed barking rage was the sandal/sock combo on her feet. It was really uncalled for.
The whole scene really wasn't a big deal.... aside from the foot fashion disaster... Midas was a good ten feet from her, barking his balls off. I picked him up and took him away and the lady called after me that it was probably time I took Midas home. I didn't say anything, but really... Midas barks sometimes, but he loves other dogs and never causes any problems. I was just thinking how no one would ever dare say anything like that to my husband. Never a chance. I just have the classic doormat look, I guess... and that's WAY worse than socks and sandals. Well, I have to go shave my hair into a mohawk, dye it green and get a lip ring.
Peace out homeslices.

The Day Satan Smiled.

The day Satan smiled? Well, that was today. TODAY! He smiled and his evil minions slapped each other on the ass in a gesture of victory over the poor miserable girl without a job in the greater central Florida area.Now before you go back to reading all those Myspace bulletins that arrange the letters of your name to form some kind of kooky saying involving alien sex and granparents, remember, its much more interesting to read about someone's lousy and possibly hillarious day, than it would be to read about someone who had a boring wonderful day filled with pink ribbons, puppies and shiny princess wands.
So anyway. It all started when the third glass belonging to my roomate imploded upon contact with water. So I had to go to the store and get some new PLASTIC cups to make up for it. On the way I had to swing by the video store because when I returned a movie yesterday, it had the wrong disc in it. That should have been a sign right there that things were going to SUCK from here on out. After feeling like a giant tard, I got the DVD thing sorted out and was ready to head over to target. Its an abnormally busy intersection but I had a slight break in traffic to pull in to the center median. There was a white truck coming in the lane closest to me, but it was one of those situations where I could hurry up and pull into the lane on the other side of him and we'd all be fine. Assuming there's no blue golf car behind him, of course. So I almost caused a major accident. I think...Now that I think back, no one ever honked at me and there were no squealing of tires, just a blue golf car on my ass. Eitherway, whatever happened or "could have" happened was undoubtedly my fault. In a rush of complete humiliation, I floored it and turned at the next green light, making sure in my rearview that I left everyone witness to my near-disaster causing mess far in the dust. I turned again into the first shopping center and weaved my way out to Target where I parked near the back of the lot and got out my phone to call Mike and cry about what just happened. I was in the middle of leaving a message when the white truck pulled up next to me and the man in it signaled me to hang up the phone-- which I did. He got out of the car and was stomping over to my driverside door so I threw it into reverse and drove the HELL out of there the whole time freaking out as to why and how I was followed! I mean, I understand why- despite how horribly messed up that is... but how he found me, I will never know.
So in a new state of shock and frustration, I went to the Target across town where I found some plastic cups and marvelled over the loss of the good ol' days when someone could buy a pair of sweatpants to work out in that weren't water repellent, thermal anything, capris, rainbow colored or spandex before heading back onto the road to kill more fellow motorists.

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes.

I'm sorry, did someone slip some crack into the Orlando water supply?
Last night I had a dream that some really kind of crusty and hobbity real-estate agent was showing us this house. She said that it needed some work but would be really nice when it was done. So I was trying to see the potential in this really horrible broken down house when we go out to the back and the roof, floors and walls just kind of stop and there is a pile of bricks and rubble leading up to the enormous sink hole leading to nowhere. So I told the hobbit woman that it wasn't really what we were looking for and we escaped before the rest of the driveway in which the house was sitting crumbled into the oblivion hole that was kind of in the backyard and kind of just in the living room. Anyway, as I'm trying to escape this neighborhood/town with the real estate agent, I notice that everyone living there is a little deformed. Like weird humps and eyeballs out of place and shit like that and everything smells like ham sandwiches and of course I can't find Mike any freaking where. When I do finally find him talking to the obviously most deformed and most crafty of the townspeople, they are trying to convince him to buy the terrible house and because he's the kind of guy that is very nonconfronational he's kind of agreeing with them. So I tell him we have to get out of here but it turns out that we're in the middle of some kind of horror movie where the deformy town has trapped us and we can't hide because I somehow cut my arm and wherever we go there is a trail of blood. And did I mention that their leader is Marge Simpson-- but that's not a good thing because they have to sacrifice her. Yes, the deformies are seriously going to kill Marge Simpson, but apparently this is okay because its actually been worked into the plot of future Simpson episodes. So instead of escaping from deformy town, I tried to get them to replace Marge with the crazy real estate hobbit. Which seemed to be working and they didn't notice. I woke up still not knowing how to get home or where Marge even went because she sure as shit didn't say good-bye to me.

Me and My Monday.

Ahhh, last week. Its just evidence that sometimes life kicks the dust off its sneakers, spits, and then kicks you in the balls. I think I've kept pretty positive considering I didn't wake up a different, better natured person... so I bid you farewell, week of February 11-18. On to Monday, again...
I know that I won't always feel like a moldy toilet overflowing with murky shit, so I'm trying to think about things that make life great and are unexpected little smiles. Its cheesy, but its true. We all have some story of an amazing moment... or even a very plain one that makes you think that all is right with the world. Here are some of those moments:
1. When "Houston" finally hears your morse code signals and can bring your mislaunched space-shuttle back for re-entry. 2. When you're playing Oregon Trail and your family of five doesn't die of diarreah.3. When no one runs over your trailer during a 12 hour road trip.4. When your pug doesn't eat cat poop.5. When your shoe doesn't come flying off during your acrobatic steam rolling finale.
Have a SUPER week full of moments that make you happy to be alive and not wishing you wore a metaphorical "cup."

This is the Rhythm of My Life. My Life. Oh Yeah.

This was kind of fun if you want to kill some time:
This is your life's soundtrack, chose a song for each scene that fits you.
Opening Credits
Coffee and TV- Blur
Waking Up Scene
Good Morning Baby- Dan Wilson/Bic Runga
Getting Ready Scene
Happy Face- Destiny's Child
Car Driving Scene
Cosmic Girl- Jamiroquai
High School Flashback Scene
Mad World- Gary Jules
Nostalgic Scene
Everything Changes- Matthew Sweet or In My Life-Beatles
Angry Scene
The Kids Aren't Alright- The Offspring or Coming up From Behind- Macy Playground
Agony, Painful Scene
Try Not to Breathe- R.E.M.
Break-up Scene
China- Tori Amos
Sad, Breakdown Scene
Putting the Damage On- Tori Amos
Nightclub/Dance Scene
Wild Night- John Mellencamp or Stripper Song- Wyclef Jean
Buddy/Sidekick Scene
Every Me, Every You- Placebo
Dreaming of Someone Scene
I Want You to Want Me- Letters to Cleo
Contemplation Scene
Carry Me Ohio- Sun Kil Moon
Love Scene
Colorblind- Counting Crows
Kissing Scene
Sway- Bic Runga
Relaxing Scene
1979- Smashing Pumpkins
Action/Fight Scene
Everybody Was Kung-Fu Fighting-
Victory Scene
Bittersweet Symphony- The Verve
Closing Credits
Don't Get Lost in the Crowd- Ashley Ballard

Feeling Bad for the Thumb.

I am sitting here having this deep philosophical moment. I'm listening to this InDesign tutorial that I got my hands on, to see if there is anything that I don't already know to expand my knowledge and power.... and I just can't sit still. So I'm always taking my wedding ring and moving it from one finger to the other and back again. I don't know why. If I wasn't doing that, I would be messing with my hair or biting my nails or something else fidgety and unattractive. Anyway, I noticed that the ring fits just about the same on my thumb as it does on my ring finger. That's weird because my thumb is like the DUFF of the finger family, you know, the designated fat, ugly friend. Its shorter than the others and therefore looks chubbier. Now, how is that fair? Its actually the same circumfrence as my ring finger which looks soooo much better in the ring. Its a metaphor for my life. Being short SUCKS! Tall people always look good when they're at a healthy weight. But us short people always look chubbier than we really are. I can remember this one time going to get work pants with all my friends and I was buying size 3 to their 8s but there was NO WAY I looked the skinny one. So, I'm sittting here right now really feeling bad for the thumb. It has to really put up with a lot of crap and heartache for being the one that seperates us from the animals... Infact, come to think of it... I guess all of our fingers have personalities. And most of them aren't good. We already know that the thumb is the beautiful on the inside, misunderstood on the outside, fat friend. The index finger is kind of the sloth. The dirty finger. Its used for pointing blame, pushing buttons and lets not kid ourselves, people... nose picking. We all know the middle finger is the rebel. How many times has that one gotten us into trouble in traffic? The ring finger is the princess. I know that for me, that's always the finger that looks best in the pink nail polish and feels complete when wearing diamonds. For this one, its all about looks. And the pinky finger is kind of the outsider. Its really only good for hitting "a" and ";" on the keyboard. It shys away from the other fingers and doesn't get along all that well. Its like this angry little anorexic finger that doesn't play nice and avoids all the other fingers. I just realized that its probably a really good thing that we only have five fingers instead of seven, because we almost have a finger that has the personality for each of the seven deadly sins.Clearly, the thumb is representative of gluttony with its slow metabolism and chubby physique.The index finger? Well, lets face it. That filthy bastard is all that sloth stands for.The middle finger is most definately rageThe ring finger is pride and vanity and that bastard pinky is envy. Don't believe me? Just hold your hand out in front of you and look how it leans away from the other sinners.... err.... fingers.Something to ponder.

Look Out Rachel Ray

Cooking is something new to me. My mom stopped letting me even chop vegetables in her kitchen after a certain incident where I tried to melt pink crayons into wax and ended up burying a sauce pan in the backyard....But that is neither here nor there.Anyhow, I am getting better, and I have been trying to cook meals 5-6 days a week. Its been going really well, I think. New things, however, always make me nervous. A good example of this was when my sister came to live with me and made popcorn, the kind popped in oil over the stove. I was actually really nervous to attempt such a feat myself, because, quite frankly, I don't have a backyard to bury a charred saucepan in anymore. I took the plunge, though and it all came out okay. It turns out that you don't have to buy popcorn in prepackaged little microwave bags! The difference is actually pretty amazing. So I mastered the whole popcorn thing.Then, my roomate Tasha, was trying to school me on how to make my own smoothies. She makes them and they are fabulous. Well, I took what she told me and decided to try it on my own while she was at work yesterday. I warned her that the kitchen and its cuisinart minions hate me, but she was so convinced that I could pull off this little task, that my confidence was renewed.I put in two tablespoons of yogurt. I added the pineapple juice and that's when I started to get nervous. She told me to fill it to the silver line and that it wasn't even a half a cup. But I had poured a whole cup and it was barely at the silver line. Looking closer I saw that it wasn't even half a LITER... maybe that's what she meant. So I added a cup and almost a half. Then the fruit. Frozen fruit. I have a blender that crushes ice, but this fruit would not crush. I tried to be patient, but then I decided screw patience and started mashing it with a spoon. I figured as long as I was careful, poking it with a spoon whilst blending would be safe enough.WRONG.I totally ground up a plastic spoon into the smoothie. AND the damn thing wasn't even that smooth.So, I am thinking I'm going to make my own cook-book. Cooking with shards of plastic and other unexplained lumpy phenomon that will give you indigestion.Maybe I'll get my own show. Why not? Tim Allen had one.

One Small Step for Me.

Okay, well I took the crack about Liz Pulliam Weston off my heros. NOT because I changed my mind but because I never meant to make anyone feel bad. Its easier to say Britney Spears is a drunken slut when you're sitting around with your friends than it probably would be if she was all in your face and pantiless. I suppose it brings a certain reality to things. Well, I don't like her articles, but I'm not the kind of person who would ever intentionally hurt somoene else, so I have no problem with taking it off and letting bygones be bygones. The only way that I can comprehend someone wanting to hurt my dogs or put a foot in my ass for me not liking something their aunt writes in a column each week is that I must have really hurt someone. If not, then who the hell would care anyway? So I'll do the right thing. I do have to say this, though. What a weird freaking week.... I wonder if anyone else who says on Myspace that they don't like Bob Seger or something gets this kind of grief!....

I Got My Very First Hate Mail!

Back when I was working two jobs and going to college full time, I read an article by Liz Pulliam Weston. It was about how to get what you want by complaining to the manager. I guess I can be convinced to look in the farthest corners of my mind to say that there could possibly be a time when you do actually need to speak to the manager for assistance, but I can say with confidence that the majority of people reading that article are using it to calculate ways to get things for free or discounted and basically cheat the system by way of subtle blackmail. It is because of this article, because of people like her, that I had to battle with people in between classes who wanted me to move "Star Trek 35" to a bigger auditorium. They felt that paying $4.50 to see a movie in anything less than the biggest auditorium was a waste of their money. It didn't matter to this guy that all other 19 auditoriums were occupied with movies that actually were making money he was ready to have me fired for not jumping at his command. Not to mention, if he had the slightest clue what it would take to move a movie like that, he didn't care.
So lets by all means continue to perpetuate the "I want, gimme, gimme, me, me" syndrome of today's society. Its these people costing everyone else time, money and for God's sake uneeded grief. Is it really putting a dent in your existence that you "believe" Denny's only gave you two eggs when you were supposed to get three? Really?
That aside, since then, Ms. Pulliam Weston's articles have crossed my path several times a week in which I am often lured in by headlines such as: "How to save money on things you wouldn't think of" and "why not to buy a house" and I am always, ALWAYS disappointed at the lack of character and RESEARCH or even insight in her regurgitated crap. Tips such as: "If you want to save money, try not to spend as much" and "buying a house can be expensive, that's one reason why you might not want to do it" always have me rolling my eyes. It must be nice to have a national column and not actually have to have any kind of dedication to the topics you bring your audience. I may be exaggerating a little, but everytime I look at one of her articles and get nothing out of it but the contempt of wasted moments and brain cells, I hate her a little more.
I say just that under "heroes" on myspace. I said that my hero would be anyone who could bring down the editorial career of Liz Pulliam Weston and see her behind a ticket counter or cash register for all eternity. It sounds to me like she's a liberal nutcase and could use some hardworking common sense knocked into her by the first customer who DEMANDS to speak to a manager because you won't take their coupon that expired in 1985. But back to my hatemail. So anyway, I have that written there and apparently her son decided to look her up or something (??) and sent me a somewhat anonymous hate message in which he did not state his name (I had to do my RESEARCH to find out who he was) and declared he was going to stick his foot in my ass or something. Sorry dude, I'm not that kind of girl.

I've Never Been the Target of and Ice Cream Related Sexual Incident Before...

The title pretty much says it all. Words can't really describe what I went through, though I'll try in my best adult trashy romance way.
It all started when Tasha and Wayne and I decided that we HAD to get ice cream. So we drove all the way down to the Lake Mary Brusters. For those of you who know the area, Lake Mary is a pretty nice place. Its the kind of place where you laugh because 16 year old girls are driving lexus' and begging for change on the side of the road so that their softball team can go to state (because really, THIS is a good cause) and you just know that it doesn't matter how many perverted old men give them a twenty dollar bill while oggling their teenage nubbin boobies because mom and dad will pay for it anyway. What was I saying? Oh yeah, its a well off area.
So, we're in line and Wayne is laughing his ass off in the backseat about about Bruster's salted Dixie Nuts and Wet Walnuts and other strange concoctions that no one probably ever buys. When Tasha asks what's in the "Black Forest" that doesn't help. So I'm guessing the lurking pervert heard this and figured we'd be into his little show.
When we get up to the window and pay there is a middle aged man with streaky hi-lites in his hair (the kind that meant to be blonde tips but during the do-it-yourself process something went horribly awry) sitting on the park bench STARING at us. I was probably the first to notice and was immediately very uncomfortable. As I pointed it out to the rest of the car Wayne told me not to worry because the guy was obviously gay.... and then he started eating out his ice cream cone. Oh yes, he was licking it in a very suggestive manor and just as I was ready to gag on my own tongue, his group came and joined him at the bench, laughing at our misfortune of being stuck in a drive through getting visual oral gratification from the scary perv. Scarier still was his "group" consisted of two 12-13 year old boys! I tried to focus my attention on the ceiling of the car and hoped that my powers of telepathy would will the little ice cream scooper girl to scoop faster, but I had no luck. When Tasha gasped I looked back over in his general direction, and boy, was that a mistake. I'm going to try to slowly explain what he was doing to give you the best possible visual, as I know that's why you're reading this anyway:
He was standing on the bench bent over with his hand on his ass and his index finger pointing straight down. His other hand was reached around and holding the ice cream which he proceeded to have finger sex with... just under his ass. It was like watching a car accident. I think this is quite possible the nastiest thing I have ever seen. Oh, until he pulled his finger out and licked it "like a lollipop."
This weekend has been no better in restoring my faith in humanity, either. I got up this morning and noticed that there was a Uhaul parked in front of my first floor apartment. Lucky me, I have a sliding glass door that looks RIGHT into the parking lot. Where everyone has to walk to get their cars The dogs just love it. Anyway, I didn't think anything of it. When I got back from picking my car up at the shop and taking the dogs to the dogpark, there is a whole new set of hideous, cheap, dirty lawn furniture on my porch. Despite the fact that Mike was on the phone I was like: "What the hell kind of nasty shit is this!" and I knew immediately that it wouldn't be Tasha's because she has taste. I took just a minute to double check with her and confirm that she hadn't been rummaging through the trash for new ways to make us look like total rednecks and I marched the damn things back upstairs and left them right in the stairwell with a note that read: ""Dear Assholes,Thanks for the gesture, but I won't be needing any of your trash on my porch, so here it is."As we speak, the chairs are still in the stairwell and the note has been removed. I wanted to go put a new one on there that said: ""Dear Arbors,We won't be needing our cheap, crappy, Dollar General furniture anymore, so we'll just be leaving it here. Sincerely, the douchebags on the second floor moving out on 1/19/06"But Mike didn't think that was a good idea. Seriously, is it just me or is that really nervy? How do all these mental patients find me? Did someone plant a homing device on me when I wasn't looking? Do I smell like cheese or something? What the hell. I'm going to go take a shower and wipe the retardedness off of me. Thanks for reading.

Its a beautiful day in the neighborhood, Mr. Federline.

Its a little after one in the morning on Saturday and I'm already asleep after my long day of shuffleboard and complaining about teenagers to cashiers at the grocery store. I say asleep, but I really mean TRYING to sleep since the neighbors upstairs are involved in the Ultimate Fighting Championship. It sounds like they are overturning dressers up there with all the yelling. Its been going on since around 6 in the evening. Finally, everyone in my whole apartment is up as we try to figure out how to locate the local sheriff's number as it is not available online and or in the phonebook... way to go Sanlando area.... and then it finally stops. Tasha and I went to take the dogs out and there they are sitting on their balcony smokin' it up. We just glared at them and took the dogs back in. These are the days when I wish I was one of those enormous middle aged black women in movies that no one messes with. I'd heave my fat ass right up those stairs and get in their faces and maybe even toss someone over the balcony into the lawn before heading back off to bed. But alas, I like to veil my chicken-shittiness in a cloak of maturity and try to forget about the precious hours shaved off of my happy sleepy time.Well, this morning, as I'm leaving for work, I got a better look at this douchebag who was again sitting out on the balcony in his boxers smoking a cigarette (hopefully not planning to rob my apartment when I leave) and he looks exactly like Kevin Federline. Same disgusting, dirty, only a middle-class white, rebellious, 14 year old who hates their parents, could love him kind of guy. I almost choked on my Nature's Valley Granola Bar. But what can you do? So I just put on some Britney and drove away to work, hoping the crackheads stay away long enough for me to get the HELL out of apartment complexes forever.Amen.

My Name is Jenny and I have an Addiction

I know that everyone has their vice. For my mom, its smoking, for my dad... its ice cream. People have drinkinig problems, eating problems, and heroin addictions and even Midas can't help but to pee on every blade of grass that comes across his path during our walks.My addiction is a little different. I am a glutton for punishment and my eye is drawn to "now hiring" signs like a pugs face is drawn to another dogs ass. Not that I don't have a good job, because I do. I make plenty of money and I like what I do... but I'm always on the look out for something else that could keep me busier than the average person. Its true. I've never worked fast food and have no desire to work in the cellular phone industry, but I could probably tell you which stores and local chains are hiring and how long the sign has been up. Its just something that I notice.Well, it seems that its finally gotten the best of me. I applied for a second job at Bed Bath and Beyond. Why? I'm not really sure. It seemed like the logical next step, somehow. First, my school lost my transcripts from Ringling (you know that place where I got my DEGREE!!!) and so before I could take classes there this semester, I had to have them replaced. Which I didn't do. Ordering transcripts to me runs on the same level as mailing bills. I just can't do it. Getting it to the mail box is just too much for me. Same here. So, the deadline came and went and now I have no classes to take.So am I bored?Hell no. I have to work out. I have to learn new programs. I have to work on my portfolio. I have to train my dogs to be less demonic.But without a major obligation staring me down, threatening to suck me into an endless vaccuum of fatigue, I just can't be settled. So I applied yesterday and I may soon be the proud owner of a second job.I should probably seek help.

Wow. Just... Wow.

Okay, so my lunch break rolls around and today I decide to go to this grocery store that's right across the street from where I work. I was going to buy some cereal and maybe some sort of side dish for dinner tonight. Now, I know that I don't exactly work in the greatest neighborhood anyway, but the name: "Save Alot" (one word for "a lot") should have given it away. As you enter the store, you come to metal gates that have a sign saying you have to surrender any bags or personnel items due to theft problems. There is no way I'm handing over a coach purse.... the only "nice" thing I have besides my wedding ring to a crusty one eyed sales lady with a skin rash. So I just went through the gates-- thankfully hassle free.I went down most of the aisles and really, they had NOTHING that could be a good side-- except for rice (which we have already had this week) and mac and cheese. (I am a firm believer in mac and cheese as a side dish and NOT the main course) and so that's what I grabbed and went to look for my cereal. They didn't have Cheerios... okay. So I decided to just skip this part altogether. Too much stress. I do want to take a moment to mention their impressive selection of flavors, sizes, and assortment of honey buns and wrapped muffin pastries. Anyway, so I took my lone box of Mac and Cheese to the skin rash woman to check out and she says to me:"Reckon by the looks of it, the kids is hungry."What do you say to that? "I don't have kids?""If I had kids I would feed them.""The proper way to say that sentence doesn't have the word "is" in it?"In the end I decided that it was best not to turn this into a conversation and simply said:"Chompin' at the bit they is."She looked at me a little funny, so I don't know if I got my redneck crossed with my Brit accent a little or something, but I just took my artery clogging crap and my coach bag and got the hell out of there before I developed some kind of rash myself.

Resolustion Dissillusion

I was listening to the conversation around the office yesterday about New Years Resolutions. Is it sad that each of the resolutions that everyone had made could totally apply to me? Literally, all of them. I could adopt any of them and it would make me a better person. I can't say: "Well, I already have this goal covered..."Holy crap, I'm a mess! Lets run down the list here:1. Isn't it always everyone's goal to lose weight? I am certainly no exception to this. I could stand to have a goal that would have me blend in less with say, a herd of cattle. I say this, but only moments ago I found myself IMing away with one of my closest friends about all of the great restaurants that we're going to eat at when we move to Texas. I know, somehow, that on both ends of that conversation, drooling Homer Simpson noises were being made at the mention of Cheddars, Chuys, and the Texas Land and Cattle restauarant.To make the goal of weight loss a little less painful or less intimidating, there are two resolution offshoots that come from this common crusade.a.) To work out more. Well, I MAY have this one covered because at my last job, the printer was on my desk. Here, I have to actually WALK to the printer. I figure I burn an average of 7 more calories a day, that way. GO ME! But seriously. I don't remember what the inside of my gym looks like, and worse.... Its going to take some serious self-motivation to get me back into work out mode like I was previously. Infact, this would lead me right into a WHOLE OTHER resolution. See resolution 4.b.) Eat better. If there is any resolution in the world that was handwritten for me, its this one. I have been eating so much fast food for convenience sake, that when I sweat, it smells like onion rings. I haven't made this a New Year's resolution, but out of sheer luck, I have actually had time to cook all of twice this week. INFACT, I ate a salad yesterday and I didn't die. This is exciting news! Now if I could just work fruits and vegetables back into my diet, my food guide pyramid might start returning to normal. As it is, there are four main levels: Chicken nuggets, fries, soda, and taco bell. I don't even love the taste of this stuff! Its just so eeeasy. 2. To get out of debt. This one can apply to me too. Infact, just today, I figured out that if I pay a little over $550 dollars a month in school loans, I can have them paid off in just two years~! Ehhhhhhhhh.3. To save more money. Its a nice thought, but see Resolution number 2.4. To get up earlier. Okay, well, the one I heard was to get on a more regimented sleep schedule, but to me this translates as "get ass out of bed when alarm goes off. NOT 45 minutes later." This would have to be the one that I would go for. I think that waking up late each day is the root to all my problems. If I got up early, I would have time to work out, to make myself a healthy lunch and still not have to rush getting ready. I could take the dogs for a walk before work, I would be at work earlier, get home earlier, I would have MORE TIME IN MY DAY. Its not like I'm asking THAT much of myself. I get my 8 hours. I'm just saying if I could get my fat ass out of bed at 6 or 6:30, my whole life would be better.That said, I think I'll take the advice of yet another friend who has decided to opt for low expectations. After all, I don't really know anyone who is still working on their new years resolution in september. Maybe if I made a New Years resolution to gain weight, eat badly, be more slothly, squander money, develop a gambling addiction, and sleep in everyday I will actually end up being a better person than if I plan to do the opposite. Does that make sense? Well. In the worlds of an old friend...Da dunno.

Dear McDonalds

First off:
Dear Jenny,
I have sent you many signs that could possibly warn you of the serious fast food problem you have. The long lines at the drive throughs, the caravan of fat women ordering for 7 in front of you, your increasing waistline, and the fact that your skin is starting to smell like french fries should have given it away. Eating so much fast food is killing you. KILLING YOU. Maybe think about that, fat ass.

Secondly: After having the lunch hour from hell, I decided to send a formal complaint to McDonalds corporate headquarters and heed the warnings of a higher being, that I shouldn't have been there in the first place.

Dear McDonald's,
After having to waste my entire lunch hour running around in traffic, I made a last minute decision to stop by your establishment. It was lunch time so the line was long, but it was going pretty quickly and everyone I talked to was in a much better mood than I would have been-- until I paid and started driving up to the window to get my food. The crazy woman you have working there is holding my food out the window shaking it, as if I was just taking FOREVER! I had to actually move my car over to the right to avoid hitting her arms! She practically throws the food at me, shuts the window and walks away before I had any chance to ask for any sauce, a straw, or even THE RECEIPT!!! If I hadn't already been in stressful traffic and having a long day, I probably would have just said: "Man, what a bitch," and gone on with my life. Since I am pretty mad about the whole thing, though, I think I'll share with you how I feel about the quality of your hiring here. I think that the lips and rear ends of the chickens found in your little nuggets were probably better citizens at one point than that rotten woman there. Please tell her: thanks for making my day just a little crappier.
Hugs and kisses,

Smee Feels Pretty

I'm just starting to fall asleep when Mike asks me to smell Maya and sets her down practically on my face. Sure enough, Maya smells great! Or more specifically, her lips smell great. Usually our little Maya pie smells like a horsey so this pretty interesting. Interesting enough for me to get up, turn the light on and do a full scale investigation. Sure enough Maya has found a sample bottle of perfume. And not just any perfume. No, no. She's not a Curve girl or anything like that. She is wearing Michael Kors' Island, and she's pretty damn proud of it. She actually devoured some perfume. Just... GROSS! Who thinks that tastes good? Although this is coming from the dog that ate an earplug and thought to herself: "Mmmm. That was pretty tasty. I think I'll have another."So anyway. For the rest of the night we were singing:"I feel pretty, oh so pretty. I feel pretty and witty, and bright! And I pity any pug who isn't Smee tonight."

I Know the Answer!

Yesterday I'm at work... on myspace filling out one of those online quizzes just so my brain has something to do when I came across this question:"If you could go back and tell someone something would you?"I thought to myself what a waste of time (because doing surveys on myspace isn't a waste of time, right?) and I just put no. Today, however, the answer to that question came to me completely by accident while I was at Subway. I wasn't even thinking about it. But now I know. It was a few years ago. I was 21 or 22, a freshman at Ringling and working as a manager at Carmike Cinemas. I was allof 5' 1 (and a HALF) and weighed something in the mid 90s-- pre boob job so 60% of which was boobs. MOST of the time, when I met strange men, they were pretty darn nice to me. All except this one guy.It didn't really bother me that this guy was mean to me since he was all of 30 and slaving away at the local Subway as a sandwich artist. I used to go in there a few times a week to pick up Sean's lunch. Sean was the general manager at Carmike and I pretty much did all of his work and ran his errands. It wasn't a dream job, but its things like this that get you through school with the hope you'll never have to do them again. Anyway, Sean wasn't the most upstanding citizen and he paid for everything with movie tickets. I mean, EVERYTHING. His food, his car repairs, his dry cleaning. All bought with movie tickets. To be fair, he got food for myself, the other two managers, and our assistants every weekend with those tickets as well. It didn't really bother me and I was used to going places, handing over the tickets and getting whatever it is that Sean wanted. Subway was one of his favorite places to go and he arranged his little deal with a guy there named Tony who still makes my skin crawl. Anyway, whenever I had to go pick up Sean's lunch there was always that nasty troll man at the counter. He would give me dirty looks, slap together the sandwich and practically throw it at me when I was done ordering. Then Tony would come out and I'd pay and leave.Well, one day I decided to go there for myself and another manager, Emerald. Sean wasn't even working and I certainly didn't sustain a life on movie tickets. So I went in there and there's Mr. Troll man. I start to give him our orders and he stops mid-bread slicing and slams down his little "knife" and goes to get the manager. When she heaves her fat ass out of the employee lounge, he announces loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear that I make him sick and he won't wait on me. She says: "Great. Thanks, now I get to deal with her."All of this is happening so fast I don't even know what to say. I'm completely shocked and I feel like a total ass. My face is getting all hot and red again just thinking about it. So I just quietly finished my order and handed her my debit card.Of course, the stars had aligned that day and I had decided to go to SUBWAY on a day when it turned out I was overdrawn. So this monstorous heffer runs my card and its declined and she laughs at me while Mr. Troll rolls his eyes!!Now, there are times in your life when the right thing to do is to not give them your money in the first place... this would certainly have been one of them. I, however, felt compelled to not "look stupid" and was determined to find the cash to pay for my sorry little sandwiches. I dumped out my purse while Monstorous Cow waited on everyone else and I managed to come up with all but THREE CENTS. I present this to her and she tosses a glance over her shoulder at Mr. Troll who struts up to me and says: "We no longer take movie tickets from you... so I suggest you come up with three cents or you're out of luck."I didn't even know what to say since I clearly wasn't attempting to pay with tickets and I never had gotten anything for myself with tickets so I said that I had three cents in the car. I went to the car where I found two cents. I can't believe I even put myself through this. If I hadn't found another penny IN THE PARKING LOT they would have laughed me right out the door. So I went back into the doors of sandwich hell, paid IN FULL and took my subs. I told Mr. Troll that I never had anything to do with the whole stupid ticket deal but he cut me off and told me to shut up and get out! So the only thing I managed to say was: "Asshole"Except I was shocked and shaking and it kind of came out as more of a question... like: "Asshole?"Needless to say I never went back. I just went back to the theater and gave Emerald her sub and started crying as I retold the story. So to answer that question... yes. I do wish that I could go back and tell someone something.Actually, I still don't know what I would say. I would have called the corporate office or something.... probably.... or maybe I would have given Mr. Troll an open faced tuna sandwich facial. (Sounds good, huh?)Either way, I hope that he was fired from his sandwich empire and had to go work somewhere horrible-- perhaps with Sean wherever he went after he got fired. I just hope that they are both shoveling horse shit for minimum wage. So much for forgive and forget.

Choppy, Choppy.

Well. Its that time. I think I'm going to chop a foot of hair off. I'll have to put aside my stripper career for awhile, but it will be worth it. I just don't have the time right now. Not, that I don't enjoy getting my hair caught in the car door, the seatbelt, and wrapped around necklaces because its fun. Really. Pain is your friend. But lets be logical here, I don't want to become the victim of some crazy bargain shopper who wants me out of her way. Its that time of year. Hair pulling crimes are up, I'm telling ya. While I'm in this mood for change, I think I'm going to get rid of the blonde hi-lights and just go back to having really dark hair. And bangs. Maybe bangs.

I Quit Florida

Yeah for me! I'm actually at work! AND with the end of the night its the weekend. I actually feel well enough to maybe see a movie and I'm starting to eat more food that doesn't perpetually jiggle or isn't endorsed soley by Bill Cosby. This is all great news but the last week has really been a downer. Aside from the fact that I started my new job off on the wrong foot by working one day, coughing all over and then calling in the next day with the flu, it has been really sad being at home. First of all, let me just recap the fact that growing up SUCKS. I can't remember a time that I wanted my mommy so bad! My mom is a pro at sitting long hours in the ER with me, only its usually for injury, not illness. Mike was a trooper and all, but I wanted my mom, even if she would have said: "You're not dying and don't breathe on me." Combine this with spending three days in bed with no one but the pugs to keep me company and I was already in the mushy mindset of holiday overemotionalism. Everything on TV is Christmas related. Steve Urkel is having his Christmas rerun, along with Full House and all the other forgotten mainstream trainwrecks. Jenny McCarthy is plugging the hell out of her new Christmas movie (in which she plays Santa Clause? O-kay.) and I have seen the preview for Unaccompanied Minors 3,719,488,611 times. What am I saying? I am completely homesick for my family at Christmas. This totally sucks. After four years quarantined at Ringling, I thought I would never have to miss another Christmas again, but here I am gathering my pennies in little piles and wondering if I am able to scrape together enough, how good am I going to look at my new job where I've already used up sick days that I haven't acrued...I can't help it, though. I like the holidays with my family. I have really good reasons to want to go home. I want to spend Christmas with my grandparents... I don't know if they have many more left. I want to see Michelle and Kenna and holy crap, at the same time. I want to see my mom's new puppy. I want to NOT be in Florida where every store is playing holiday music, but it never feels like Christmas and we don't even have a Christmas tree. Stupid Florida. The only real way my little fantasy would come true is if I could drive back. That way I would still be able to have Mike and the dogs with me too. Otherwise, I willhave to spend this Christmas pouting and no one wants that.So I am presenting to you, Jenny's top ten list of why a Florida Christmas woud SUCK.10. 18.36 hours by car away, people will be jumproping without me.9. I'll be moving boxes of crap into a new apartment and then when I'm completely worn out I can sit on the couch and watch endless reruns of the Christmas Story.8. Everyone I would want to spend Christmas with doesn't come from Florida and probably wants to go back to where they came from. 7. My family will call on Christmas and then I'll just feel lousy like I do every year. Stupid Florida.6. Maya will spend the rest of the day hacking up chunks of wrapping paper and tape. 5. Everywhere you attempt to go will be packed and playing Christmas music, but you'll be surrounded by rednecks in shorts.4.From now until Christmas I'll have that "there's nothing to look forward too feeling."3. If this was my grandpa or grandma's last Christmas and I was here eating sugar free Jell-O and screwing around on myspace, I would feel like total shit.2. Michelle and Kenna and I would not be able to combine our powers for world peace.And the number one reason why Christmas in Florida would SUCK is:1. Because I'm sick of regular old Monday through Friday Florida. I'm ready to move where real estate isn't ridiculous and people aren't inbred. Stupid Florida.


irst day at a new job and I wake up and out of nowhere have a horrible cough. I seriously sound like a barking seal. An OLD barking seal. And whenever I get a cough, I immediately end up having the Joan Rivers voice. Damn it all to hell. I think I'll blame this on the MCG holiday party where I MAY have had too much to drink. God knows what I did. I probably decided that I couldn't possibly celebrate the holidays without licking everyone's silverwear or something. Either way, I am FREAKING SICK. Its also the first day that Tasha is here and moving some of her stuff in. We're all pretty excited to get into a smaller apartment where it won't be an event to take the dogs out. I'll spare you the details of that joy. The main first here, though, is that it is my first day of NOT working at MCG. Its the first day that I didn't have to get on the slow elevator and arrive for 8.5 hours of pure torture. So even though I have some kind of whooping cough its a great day. I would skip around singing songs to celebrate, but then I'd just wind up on the floor sounding like a dying yak. Stupid germs.

30 Minutes in Winter Park, FL

I don't know why, exactly, but I was in the best mood when I took my lunch break at 12:30. Maybe its because its Friday. Maybe because I really only have to work four more hours until I can leave for a three day weekend. Maybe its Rhienna's party or that I'm getting married. I don't know. But 30 minutes driving less than a mile and dealing with the pretentious Winter Park morons has definately dampened my spirits.
It began when I turned down Orange Ave to go to Subway. Its the second building on the left and no surprise there, I couldn't just make a left without causing a major traffic jam. No problem, I just went down to the bank and made a U-turn. No sweat. Well, I get back onto Orange and I go to turn into the subway parking lot only to find a utility truck has somehow managed to block the ENTIRE entrance. O-kay. So I went next door to the always questionable Popeye's Chicken and walked over.
The line wasn't too bad so I figured I would make it back in plenty of time to get back to my census bureau research. GUESS AGAIN. A pregnant lady with french manicured toenails was in line two ahead of me. Her order went something like this:
"Gimme (what happened to "May I please have...") a 6 inch turkey on Asiago bread. Double Cheese. Swiss. What do you mean you don't have swiss? Mozzerrella's not the same. Hmmm. Hmmm. Okay. American. NO. Mozzerrella. That's about the same, right? Okay. Double Mozzerella. Lettuce. Tomatoes. Not that many. Okay. That's good. Pickles, Jalapenos-- ON THE SIDE. Olives, banana peppers. Can you toast that. WAIT- just put the jalapenos on and I'll pick them off. Now I want a foot long turkey on white. American cheese. Everything on it. No oil. Well, put the oil on the side (what?!) No olives. Okay, can you please cut this diagonally. Thanks. Oh, I need them wrapped seperately as well. Um, my oil (its in a little cup) has spilled. Can you give me another one and put it in a bag seperate from the other three sandwiches?"
By now I was hoping that I would be here long enough to see her choke on her mozzerrella when she comes up with: "I have to pay for all of these seperately." Arguing ensues as to whether she is buying three sandwhiches (three 6 inches) or two sandwhiches (a six inch and a foot long.)Clock ticking. Clock ticking. I can see harry men have a conversation on my car. One is leaning on my car. I want to go. Please don't get your tobacco spit on my almost clean Cavalier....Waiting, waiting. Finally she's gone.
I am now irrationally irritated and try to be extra nice to the poor people who just had to wait on her and hope that the nine turkey sandwhiches she's eating for lunch give her explosive diarreah. I begin my .5 mile journey back to the office when I get behind a white Expedition.
We're on a cobblestone road and its a little bumpy. But not THAT bumpy. I would have no problem riding a bike down this street bumpy but probably not "lets go rollerblading" bumpy. Anyway. I shit you not, this car was going approximately 2 miles an hour. I look at this person and I think: You know what is running through their head? All the wrong questions.
For example. This person shouldn't ask themselves "Ooooh, can my Expedition handle this bumpy road?" They should ask themselves "Should I really drive a vehicle?"
Because seriously. These huge ass cars can handle a bumpy road. A railroad track. A pregnant lady from Subway. You can run over just about anything in those cars and it will be F-I-N-E. If I can manage it in my "bottoms out going down even the flattest driveway" cavalier, you can do it in your cargo off-road utility vehicle. Kudos to those of you who drive your car.
P.S. I wonder if anyone else notices that its like 115 degrees in here and my plastic water bottle is melting...

Can this job PLEASE be less awesome?

So I got to escape from the office for awhile to go to the bank. I walked there and took an extra long time to enjoy the nice weather, the pretentious Winter Park hoochies who are simply disgusted at my Target and Walmart wardrobe and the man walking the dog with the cone on its head. Now that I'm back and preparing to make my copies, I notice that once again, my crazy coworker has been snooping around on my computer while I'm gone. I don't care if she technically has the right to or not, I think its so rude and sneaky and coniving that I just want to scream. I swear to all of you out there reading this (I'm totally serious, right hand on my heart and left hand in the air) that when I do get another job, I am going to download the most horrific raunchy, disgusting and disturbing porn that I can. I am going to change the background of my computer to a scene from S&M Midgets Take Over Vegas Hotels. I am going to find the dirtiest, nastiest crap, save the images, and then photoshop Gail's face onto whoever is in the most compromising position. I'm then going to take a screen capture of the whole thing and paste it over the actual desktop so her little pea brain isn't capable of figuring out how to get it off! Then I'm going to burst into tears and call the company owner over to my desk and say: "I don't know what Gail is trying to say here, but its.... its.... its just really inappropriate and I'm REALLY offended."This will be better than than the time that the Bentley tried to make us pay an extra months rent because we turned in our 60 notice on day 59 and I threatened to pay them in all change.
One can dream. Until then, if you need me, I'll be the one quietly weeping in the silent office by the lady whose cat has feline herpes.

The Little Blog that Kills

Jenny and the Magical Cavalier. P.S. I'm getting Married.
Moreso in Florida than in any other state that I have lived in, apartment complexes have discovered ways to jack up the cost of rent yet a little more with their "security features." Every place I have lived here, except one, has had some sort of "gate" access and the Arbors is no exception. To get into my apartment complex, you either have to have a gate card or know the "pizza code" which is a whole other story.
I HATE opening the gate. I don't know why exactly, but it COULD have something to do with the fact that if the gate is closed, it means I have to dig through my mound of vehicular trash like a seven year old in a pile of green nose "boogers" on double dare. Then when I find it, I have to press it to this metal plate and its sticky so touching it isn't one of my favorite things either. I always hope to come in behind someone or go in the out way as another car passes, but lately, a miracle has happened.
I was coming home from work and as I pulled up to the gate, it just opened! I figured it was just some sort of freak occurance. But I asked Mike if the gate had automatically opened for him and he said: "Uh... no..." so the next time I was coming home and he was in the car with me when it opened on its own we were both surprised! Not only was it a miracle, but I have a witness damn it!
Logical, as he is, Mike decided that I must have had my radio station set on some wacky frequency or something but I think it was angels.
Speaking of divine influence (yeah, you'll have to squint to make the connection here) I am feeling rather nostalgic and fiery right now so I think I'm going to make a little blog speech, here. As many of you know, (well, probably all of you because I don't think too many people read this crap!) I am getting married in 11 days on the 30th. I've gotten a lot of talk about this big life change and am I excited.... Well, the thing is... its not really a life change. Mike and I have been practically married since sophmore year of college. We've been through just about every hardship and joy together and always manage to come out on top. If things get really bad, we just buy another pug. So I feel bad that I can't say how excited I am about this big life change... or worse, people actually make me feel like I'm really weird for not being all strung out about it.I guess what I'm thinking here, is that as a "nod" to where I have been in leiu of where I am going in life, I would like to reflect a little. Showing off the "good person" in me, I am going to give some love and gratitude to the top ten people that have influenced my life and made me who I am today. Because how could I be here without you? For the evil person in me, I am also going to present a list of the top ten people who influenced my life in the worst possible way. I will name names. I don't care. I'm speaking my mind. Live with it.
Jenny's Top Ten List O' Wonderful People in my Life*Bonus 11. Jessica Bury- My first real friend. I was neighbors with a girl named Theresa and we hung out all the time, but she was a backstabber and a little bit mean. She threw a rock at my head. Jessica was my first "real" friend. We did everything together for all of first grade including ballet and oh, the costumes we had.10. Mrs. Bunka- My high school Journalism teacher. I'm a nerd through and through and I lived for the Newspaper staff. I knew what I wanted to do for a career because of her.9. Mrs. Shepard- my second grade teacher. She always told me and my parents how talented I was for a 7 year old. She encouraged my writing and my drawing and I couldn't get enough of it... even when Mrs. Grant tried to beat it out of me. When I sliced my finger open making applesauce, she walked me home.8. My grandma. You know, this woman was not a good influence on me. She was however, the most giving person I know. She loved the hell out of us and we always had a great time when we were kids. She let us eat too much junk food, talked way too much shit about my grandfather and "Ruby" and spoiled us rotten, but I love her for that anyway!7. My grandpa. He was always so ridiculously proud of whatever I did. He made me feel like I was the greatest person in the world because I got good grades, could play the piano, or wrote for the school newspaper. He too got me where I am today through sheer generosity.6. Michelle Winther- We were the best friends ever back in grade school. I don't think we were average kids by any stretch of the word. We were a little smarter, a little weirder... Most importantly, now that I am 26 and good friends are much harder to come by-- friends who genuinely get you, she is still there and we are still so similar. If I die, I am leaving Mike to her in my will. What? I don't care if she has a boyfriend. 5. Ryan Payne- The only friend I have had for my whole life pretty much. We met at age 7, but Ryan stayed in touch with me through every move. He was there when I graduated high school, when I had my first show in college, and when I needed help carrying pumpkins up to the fourth floor at my first "real" job. I hate that I missed out on a lifetime of close friendship with him and Michelle because of moving.4. My sister- We went through a lot together and there were many times when we only had each other. Now that we are older, my desperation for her to succeed is surpassed only by my fear that she will give up and crumble under the weight of the "real" world that hurts her too much. I have spent many years afraid that we would lose each other because we live in different places and we are very different personalities. I don't want what happened to my mom and her family to happen with my sister and I and she has taught me a lot about looking through other peoples eyes and having patience. I'm not there yet, but I'm learning.3. Mike- I don't believe in soul mates... but he is mine. Figure that out. We are a perfect match and there will never be anyone else for me who is better. I could go on and on. We've gone through more hardships together than anyone else I know in a five year span and not only survived it, but have come out on top. Its been awesome. If it wasn't for him, I would still think pugs are gremlins.2. My mom- I had the best mom ever. She went to all my softball games even though I never once hit the damn ball. She was the "room mother" every year in elementary school. The one who chaperoned field trips, baked cupcakes at holidays, and drove all the kids to get ice cream in the summer. I love my mom more than anyone in the world. She is only number two on my list because I did not inherit much of my personality from her. For that we had harder times when I got older.1. My dad- I am more like my dad. Because of my dad I appreciate "nerdy" things like history, art, nature, and the "why" of things. My dad helped me to be a good writer by pounding proper grammar into my head. I have his dry and sarcastic sense of humor, his love of ice cream, and his high blood pressure. It would really suck if I got his hemroids. Like my dad, I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders and am personally hurt by people's lack of manners and lack of caring for the world around them. I can't comprehend the self-centeredness... Finally, because of my dad I am an intelligent person who can stand on my own and kick anyone's ass at Mario.
Top Ten List O' BAD Influences in La Vida De Jenn10. My cousin, Keith- Aside from photos in the family albumn where he is "hugging" (AKA CHOKING) me, Keith and I were very different and he always made me a little nervous. I can still remember him pulling off all the hair on a caterpillar. That's creepy stuff, man.9. Mrs. Vredenburg- BITCH. Okay, psycho teacher of the first grade, I think that its not in your job description to make a six year old cry. I drew my mom a picture of her favorite flower, a marigold. I couldn't WAIT to give it to her. But when I turned it in for a grade, I forgot to put my name on it. She made an example of it in front of the whole class by tearing it up. I'll never forget that. I also used to cry if she put sad faces on my homework. That's a big deal at age 6.8. Mrs. Grant- She constantly was calling my parents for something. I was in third grade for God's sake. She thought I was semi-retarded because I always wrote on the wrong side of the page. When she read out loud to the class, I would write stories (because she was boring, people!) and that used to piss her off. At least I didn't eat paste. 7. Aaron Seneck- He was a mentally retarded boy integrated into our classroom. He kicked me. That doesn't do much for instilling acceptance into a young persons mind.6. Vanessa Jaroniewski- Holy crap, what a whore. When I first moved back to Michigan, she was the ONLY person who would be nice to me. We used to go hang out at the movies and she spent the whole time making out with random strangers. Then she finally hoooked me up with this guy and told him that I would sleep with him (I was 14 people.) Then when I wouldn't, she did. Of course, she was 16 and we were in the same grade... as an added bonus, four years later when I was away at MSU, this guy used to call my house daily-- FROM PRISON.5. Tiffany Murtha- I hope that she is in prison somewhere suffering from the clap. She tormented me relentlessly when I moved back to Michigan because I was "super smart" and put into the advanced science level. Little did she know, the ONLY reason they put me in that class is because it was the at level class in Sycamore. So not only was I an average moron, but I had some horrible witch and her best friend pinning dead worms that were supposed to be for disecting onto my backpack. FUN TIMES. Oddly enough, I really didn't care. I was far too occupied with my plan to move back to Illinois.4. The 96 pound racoon that eats my trash and won't let me go up the stairs to my apartment. You know, it hasn't been a great relationship, he needs to go.3. Megan Hochstetler- I can clearly remember sitting across from her and Ryan Meis the first day of sophmore year in college. They were Mike's friends and they didn't know me, but I knew them. I was so nervous about making a good impression on them when we did meet, but that never happened. Megan never wanted anything to do with me, but she DID like to call Mike and say that she was drunk and needed him to come find her. She spent most of sophmore and junior year making little comments and telling him how I was bitchy and jealous. Well, YEAH! Hey ladies, how many of you out there like other girls sending half naked pictures of themselves to your boyfriend? Anyone? Really? I also told him to invite her along to a private showing I had at my theater to which she never even said thank you. Why? Partly because I'm stupid, and partly because I wanted to be the bigger person. Life lesson: girls are catty bitches. 99% of them. Its true.2. Amanda Barnes- I love the girl, but she has to go on this list. We were really good friends. When she went away to camp or college, I always sent her letters and goody boxes, etc. We hadn't talked in a few years, but I would always ask her boyfriend to tell her I said hi when I spoke to him (I didn't have her email anymore) and he never offered it, which was my first clue that something was up. Basically she told me our time had passed and she didn't think it was worth either of our time trying to keep a friendship alive that wasn't anymore. She made me feel like I was some kind of weirdo for even trying to talk to her but I think I had always been a good friend to her. Ouch.1. Matt Welsh- Um hands down, winner. Matt Welsh, wherever you are, whatever you're not doing, I hate you. I hate myself for letting you walk all over me. The only thing good to come out of knowing you was the fact that I was stupid enough to go with you to Florida. I will die happy knowing that I left you in a sobbing crying mess on the floor and moved on with my life. Have fun cleaning pools.

In all fairness both of these lists are so incomplete. I have so many Illinois friends that I would have put on the good list. And Emeral Reel my ex best friend who slept with Matt? You go on the bad list along with Chuck Volosin, my balding midget porn watching ex boss who used to treat me like I was dirt under his feet. I think life has done well for all of them, though. Those Illinois friends, I am still in touch with most of them. Emerald? Well, she smokes pot with her dad most nights that she's not working at a shit job going nowhere and last I saw ol' Chucky boy he was getting yelled at behind the counter at a McDonald's. Ha, YES. I WILL TAKE FRIES WITH THAT.
Anyway. I'm going to take my magic car and go home now.

Thanks, Library Nazi.

That about sums up my day: "Thanks, library nazi."
So can anyone tell me what the big flipping deal is about library cards? I have always been asked where I live when I get a library card somewhere new and I have always had the presence of mind to lie so that I could get a Hartland library card, even though I live in Fenton-- or a Bradenton library card even though I live in Sarasota. That's how I'm able to lose the most library books. And don't even get me STARTED on Blockbuster video.
So anyway. No one has ever actually made me provide proof of residence until today. I was trying to get a library card at the Winter Park library, where I work and she asked to see a copy of my driver's license which has my lake mary address and I live in Orlando. So I can see this is going to be a fight. Not to mention, I kind of was concerned that she would take my license and run it through the system and I would have to find out that there was a warrant out for my arrest and that I am wanted dead or alive by the National Library Maffia. Which, you know what? I don't even see what the problem is. My library fines alone built a whole new wing of the Selby library in Sarasota. They should LOVE to have me for a patron. They should be thanking their lucky stars and building statues in my honor. But NOOOOO. She asks again to see my ID to which I answered: "Well, I'm getting this for work" and hand her a business card. She slides it back across the counter and says that I need to have legal document stating my residence is in Winter Park.
What in the heck is the deal with library cards. Since when has it become a bureaucratic mess of paperwork and legal documentation. Are there really a lot of sinister happenings going on with library books? Really?

On another note, the one thing that did cheer me up today was a housewife looking stupid. I'm very used to the extremely wealthy, manicured Winter Park housewives lining the streets of Winter Park with their Prada and their Gucci and their 3.2 kids and one of the things they do that irritates the CRAP out of me is decide to let their two year old toddle themselves across the street instead of carrying them. So it takes between seven and ten minutes for them to cross the street and meanwhile the traffic on park ave backs up RIDICULOUSLY. Well today, one such lady sets her "not old enough to walk" child down and grabs its hand. They begin to Sllloooowwwlllyyy shuffle along and the kid goes down and starts SCREAMING. This is funny because when the kid goes down, Mom's 6 inch stilleto day heels give out and she goes down too. Ah. It was beautiful. Its like all a sudden reality strikes and she has to quickly scoop up baby, $600 shoes, and yogurt covered rasin treat that baby scattered onto the ground while trying to eat and walk. Both of which were unsuccessful projects to ask a two year old to perform at the same time. It was beautifully hillarious. As a side note, if you're a house wife, do you really need to wear spiky heels when you're out shopping with the kids on a cobblestone street? Really? Do you? Meh. What do I know. I am lucky if my shoes match my clothes and if my clothes don't make me look like a retarded hippo. Maybe I can make some kind of new years resolution to help me out or something. Da dunno.So the moral of the story is:I have no library card and no nice shoes.

A.T.F. Alcohol, Tobacco, and Fine-Ass Ho's.

Something is going very wrong in my life right now. This epiphany occurred to me at around one in the afternoon as I sat in an overly crowded Subway (the restaurant, not the transportation depot) eating my "not on the six grams of fat or less menu" tuna sandwich. The whole place was filled with smelly construction workers and one of them was clearly stoned and wearing a neon yellow shirt that hung around his ankles and said A.T.F. which apparently means Alcohol, Tobacco, and Fine-ass ho's.
So maybe I am going about things all wrong. Maybe if that's all I needed in life to be happy, things would be much less frustrating. I could get drunk everyday whilst increasing my chances of lung cancer or emphasima ten fold. The whole lesbian thing, I could really take or leave. I'm just not into ho's before bro's. So I don't know if this would even work out.
The issue here is really that I'm just blown away by the housing market. I'm pretty sure that crack head A.T.F. is living in a Winter Park 2 bed 1 bath home that looks like a toolshed but actually costs around $350,000. I mean if this smelly bastard can't find a shirt that fits him in the local Wal-mart can manage to put his paycheck into actual equity instead of throwing it in the rental trashcan, I should be able to do the same, yes?In all fairness, I'm just cranky. I'm cranky because once again, I'm coming up on my two week mark of not going to the gym. This actually has a much deeper meaning than simply "couldn't get my fat ass out to the gym today." You see, the sentence: "I haven't been to the gym in awhile" can actually be broken down to mean the following:
a.) Hi, I'm feeling pretty disgusting today, how about yourself?b.) Using only fried, artery clogging, fast food grease nuggets, I have been able to sustain an existence for almost two weeks without a second thought given to any sort of food that would exist on a government dictated pyramid.c.) I am perpetually exhausted, unmotivated, and eating flav-o-ice popsicles.d.) I simply haven't found the time in my slothness to walk the dogs who are miserable and simply don't understand why I can't find a half hour in my day to help them break out of our 3'x3' apartment on the third floor.e.) I am looking like a fat, sleepy troll. If I can't make it to the gym you better bet that I am slothing out of bed at the last POSSIBLE instant and my hair will be jammed into a giant 16 pound knot on the back of my skull.I'll put on some clothes that might be clean and probably match and sulk into my little work chair dreaming of fried nuggets from any given fast food hut-- only 4 hours from now.Now that my first project is coming to pass at my new job, I think I can start to accurately judge my surroundings. It's still up in the air as to whether or not I will continue my reign of abuse here. I like the projects and the idea that I will be able to find creativity in something I know little about. I like to learn new things-- but no, I don't have a degree in aviation and I don't know the difference between this airport and that airport so maybe that does warrant my boss talking to me like I should be wearing a helmet and a drool cup. I don't know. We'll see. We'll see.
Either way, back to my Subway adventure with the tuna fish and the smelly A.T.F. man... so I'm sitting here thinking about life and I realize that once again, my unhappiness is my own fault. It comes down to the fact that I am disorganized and flustered about 100% of the time and I get my barings straight just in time to move on to the next latest issue without having really accomplished anything. I am infact very lucky and certainly very thankful. It wasn't too long ago that I really did have it bad. Customer service is really having it bad. Really having it bad is answering the phone and hearing "Hello. kalsdjfiowjelknfaishdifjkefijaoidsjiasknfij8iuc" on the other line and knowing that you can't POSSIBLY decipher what this person on the other line wants. Really having it bad is when that person then calls the corporate headquarters of your really bad customer service job and they place them on hold to find someone that fluently speaks jibberish who will not only give this person everything they want with a cherry on top, but ensure them revenge on the poor person who dared to not speak a language other than English. From this point on it really does get bad. Corporate will call your store and talk to your manager who will then alert every other manager above you as to what has happened so that each and every person in the store who outranks you can individually tell you the same thing over and over again until little vessles in your brain start to pop and sizzle.Then if you're REALLY lucky you will REALLY get to have it bad because the powers that be will decide that EVERYONE can benefit from learning to handle the jibberish person and you'll have to show up at the store at 7:00am on a Saturday to hear the whole story again in the form of an interactive meeting with games and store bought cookies. They will make up fun little acronyms like: PHONE JOY which will stand for People Honoring Overly Nonsense Excited Jibberish Over Yack machines (phones) and they'll watch you for weeks on end providing you with monkey and elephant stickers if you can infact answer a phone correctly.
Now THAT is having it really bad. So I have to remember how far I've come and be thankful. I need to get my shit together, buy a house and walk the dogs. That will be my alcohol, tobacco, and fine ass ho's and I'll be Okay.

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