Back by Popular Demand, how to do death right.

Because my last post was so popular (or because only one person read and commented on it and I'm going insane, you decide) I have teamed up with my beloved husband to come up with what I deem to be the most distinguished names possible for our future Cemetery Woodlands. Below you will find our preferred list for the Cemetery owning enteprise. We will also provide you with a "mix and match" feature so you can name your very own squalid death farm!

Curdle Clearing
Stiff Pastures
Cold Meat Courtyard
Dead Body Meadows
Cadaver Orchards
Disintegration Park
Eroding Acres
Shrivel Bed
Carcass Corral
Putrid Park
Remains Ranch
Dirt Nap
Eternal Hibernation
Fester Fields
Permanent Slumber Pastures
Endless Beddy-Bye
40 Winks Falls
Unending Orchards
Long-Term Siesta Ranch
Oblivion Orchards
Everlasting Snooze Lot
Rotting Ranch


NOW YOU TRY! Mix and match words from at least two sections and you got yerself a winner!

Lawn________________Corpse_______________Soil
Backyard_____________Body________________Dirt
Garden_____________Dead Body_____________Dust
Grass________________Bones_______________Earth
Grassland___________Cadaver_____________Mire
Grass Plot__________Carcass
Green_______________Cold Meat
Park________________Loved One
Plot_________________Remains
Terrace_______________Stiff
Yard________________Deceased______________Long
Courtyard_____________Shell_______________Lengthy
Patio________________Skeleton_____________Drawn Out
Play-Area_________________________________Imminent
Enclosure_________________________________Constant
Acerage___________________________________Continual
Acerage___________________________________Endless
Arboretum___________Breakdown_____________Eternal
Estate_______________Crumble______________Forever
Field_________________Decay_______________Everlasting
Grange____________ Disintegrate___________Long Term
Orchard______________Dissolve_____________Permanent
Grassland_____________Fester______________Perpetual
Meadow______________Moulder_______________Persisting
Pasture_______________Putrid______________Unceasing
Patch_________________Spoil_______________Unending
Plantation____________Taint
Ranch________________Decompose
Soil________________Deteriorate
Common________________Erode
Turf___________________Rot________________Beddy-Bye
Lot_________________Granulate_____________Coma
Woodlands___________Shrivel_______________Cat Nap
Village Greens______Waste Away____________Commons
Square_______________Curdle_______________Hibernation
Area_________________Parish_______________40 Winks
Lawn Social_______________________________Lethargy
Clearing__________________________________Rest
Corral____________________________________Sleep
Land______________________________________Sandman
Ground____________________________________Shut Eye
Falls_____________________________________Siesta
Bed_______________________________________Slumber
Oasis_____________________________________Snooze
__________________________________________Dream
__________________________________________Relax
__________________________________________Oblivion

Casket Caverns

How does one come to own a cemetery? What would make you decide to bury people on your land? Sure, its probably good money, but Ehhhh. I was thinking about the logistics of cemeteries this weekend as I passed two of them on my way to, where else, the dog park. The first was called Oak Lawn Cemetery and the second Long Rest Cemetery. Seriously? Do you really want to give your death yard a kitchy name? Is that really in good taste? Florida is notorious for weird crap like that. I used to walk Midas on the outskirts of a cemetery that practically shared a plot line with my apartment complex and we always had to walk past the "baby garden," which, I'm sorry, is grotesque. Would it really kill these people to name the place like: "Willow Point" or something lame and generic? Hell, give it your last name. Ferguson's Cemetery. You really don't need a Baby Garden or a Midgit Schmorgasboard either. I'm pretty sure they could be buried with their family like the rest of us... may be. I know that when I die, I'm not particularly hoping for my very own plot in the Short, Fat, and Cranky Arboritum.

Leave it to Florida. Its like Adam Sandler's on-air game of Florida or Germany. If I end up being stuck here for all eternity maybe I'll acquire some land and start up my own cemetery called "Dirt Nap."

I Could Never be a Helper Monkey.

I almost went into journalism. My life's dream of being a writer, of striving to get into Michigan State University to be the next big thing in journalism evaporated one freezing morning at the Comm Arts building on the north end of MSU's massive campus. The temperature had to have been in the negatives, but I was officially sweating as I shared very personal elbow space with the students on either side of me. It was standing room only in this stadium seating style classroom where a 695 year old man had just taken his place at the podium. He began a lecture detailing his career in the profession and sharing with us bits of pre-emphysema phlegm and I knew right then and there that I didn't want this.
Now, I find myself comfortably at a job that I really enjoy, but do you ever wonder what would have happened if you had taken another path in life. Since growing up has taught me one thing, uncertainty, I find it is important to examine your career path and your goals occasionally. What would become of me if I couldn't be a graphic designer?
The following is a compilation of some suitable replacement careers and their not so suitable counterparts.

I could be a:
•Surgeon. I'm not sure why, but poking around in guts wouldn't phase me in the least. I could probably have the nerve to sew up a colon but get me near a cockroach and its all over.
•Farmer. I have a wonderful zit farm going on right now on my face. A brand new crop of mysterious acne has developed on my face and it seems to be in full bloom. •Race Car Driver. Not much explanation is really needed here. Lets just say I'd be more at home with people who don't feel like going slow is an option.
•Nutritionist. I love to read articles and learn about the needs of the human body and comparing the trends of dieting and exercising... whether its about carbs, fats, calories, I find it all very interesting. Would I be required to practice what I preach?
•Owner of a kennel. I love dogs, but I could never be a vet. I could never work too closely with victimized dogs because my soul would die. I couldn't be a foster person because I wouldn't be able to give the dogs up. I could own a kennel, I think.
•Art historian. I would love to know what kind of junk I'm looking at when I hit a garage sale without having to take it to the Antiques Roadshow.


And... Not so Much....
•Cook. Chef Boyardee hangs his head in shame every time I enter a kitchen. While my food has definitely become more edible, I must dirty every dish and utensil I own in order to make the simplest of meals.
•Olympian. Ha. Pass the french fries, please.
•Janitor. You puke- I puke. I am for DAMN serious.
•Teacher. I think a lot of people go through a phase where they think it might be fun to be a teacher... however, I realized long ago that I just don't have the patience. "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST UNDERSTAND!" usually isn't a teacher's motto...
•A nanny. I believe in spanking. And yelling. And manners. Since most people don't, that might present a problem...
•A Party Planner. What do you mean a game of Uno isn't exciting?
•A Sandwich Artist. I smell ham... I die a little.


And of course, I couldn't be a journalist. Spending the best years of my life writing about Paris Hilton's jail-time epiphanies would kill me.
So back to designing children's books.

Rats in a Furniture Store.

Our barren living room is a constant reminder that we want to move. We sold our couches in December and bought two excercise balls to sit on, thinking that if we absolutely had to sit in the living room and watch TV, we'd do some sit-ups too. HAHAHA. Ahhhhh. Anyway. All the gifts we got from our wedding are still packed up in boxes and every couple of weeks we pack away more stuff... all with the hope that one of those fabled jobs will land in our lap and we can get out of Mickey's PeeWee'esque playhouse. Wanting to make a move as quickly and painlessly as possible, we plan to sell pretty much anything and everything we can to get out of here. That said, I occassionally enjoy a trip through the furniture store where I can make a mental escape for a few minutes to owning an actual house and trying to imagine how I would decorate it.
Saturday night we were making a quick stop at Starbucks... an odd choice, because we NEVER go there. On the way in, we stopped at American Signature furniture where we made it exactly half-way around the store before being approached by a friendly gentleman asking several questions about our reason for visiting. We made small talk and answered his questions fairly pointedly, not trying to loop ourselves into any long-winded sales pitch-- but loop we did.
Somehow we were swept up in a whirlpool of couch and bedframe comparisons, mattress demonstrations, wood grain analyzing, and comfort assesments... before I knew it, an hour had passed... the store was closed and this man still wouldn't let us leave. He wouldn't take no for an answer. He wanted to run our credit, set up accounts, hold items, get ten percent down. We didn't even know what we were buying! I've never felt more cornered... like a rat... a rat with no furniture and no cheese to spend on it.

In the end, it took a combined effort of desperate "no's" and "we really, really were just looking... we can't do this right nows" to get us out of the store with a business card and none to happy salesman.

Both of us quite shook up, we continued to our orignal destination, Starbucks where Mike promptly dropped a tall carmel latte on the floor. Now that's what I call a Saturday.

Baseball, Hotdogs, Applegate and Chevrolet

I have a new favorite summer past-time. Out with the old: baseball, hotdogs, apple pie, fireworks, and pool parties (and that really awful commercial that used to play on the radio in Fenton: see title.)
My new favorite past-time is sharing an ear of corn on the cob with two wiley pugs. There is nothing funnier than watching them gum away at this intriguing vegetable with all the vigilance of a soldier attacking... an... ear of corn. They are like two toothless old men, squishing and mashing their little contorted faces into the very core- slurping up as many kernels as possible and making the most unattractive sounds ever to grace the human ear drum.
It's hands down the funniest thing I have ever seen and they're corn cob pros, I tell ya what. These two would be at home at any summer barbeque so guard your grill. Haha, get it? God, I am hillarious.

Have I ever been this mad before?

This is a letter to my gym. Well, before Mike makes me edit it. Personally, I want whoever reads it to cry like a baby:


I am waiting for two things to happen.
I am waiting for someone to have the genius idea of devoting one of your three pools to the free-thinking modern mommy awaiting the chance to give underwater birth and then I am waiting for you to change your name to the "RDV Family Funplace." That's pretty much all your missing, isn't it? Popping the kids out right there in the pool? I am intelligent enough to know that this letter won't make the slightest bit of difference and that's why I'm not even going to bother signing my name. I could care less if some middle-aged lady named Nancy talks calmly and reassuringly at me saying things like: "of course" and "we understand." The point of this letter is to let you know that eventually you will lose a demographic.
When I first got a membership to this gym, I was so thrilled. I had just moved to Orlando after graduating college and couldn't believe how amazing the RDV was. Over the last year, your "gym" has turned into a ridiculous clusterfuck of pointless crap. I think the main reason for purchasing a membership to your "gym" is to work out? I see that it is a health club and the little salon and sport shop and doctor office and ice skating rink and dairy farm is cute and all... but I am paying money to go to a GYM. Over the last several months, on many occassion I have had ZERO access to the machines that I want because there are people everywhere-- like ants on a sticky bun. I can't get on the machines I want. I can't swim laps in your pool because they are all taken. The locker rooms are infested with screaming children running around naked. Its DISGUSTING!!!!!!!!! This is the WORST gym I have EVER been to. Just because its covered with glitter doesn't mean it isn't a turd.
I'd like to give you a few examples to hang on your wall and laugh at. Maybe it will have the added benefit of backing up my point.
As I mentioned before, screaming naked kids in the locker room. Since you love to waste money (lasik eyecare? Come on.) why don't you get one of those "mommy and me" changing areas. PLEASE. I know this might sound hard to believe, but someone elses kid playing peek-a-boo with me while I'm trying to put on a bra isn't my personal idea of cute. Kids. God, they are crawling all over the place at RDV. On one of the days when I couldn't get to the machines that I wanted, I wandered over to do some cardio and couldn't help but notice a gaggle of 12-13 year olds in dresses and flip flops tying up 4 machines. They don't even want to work out, they want to hang out. Give me a break. Some of us are paying a lot of money to afford the luxury of using your facility and would like the chance to ACTUALLY use it.The women's locker room is full of little boys who are old enough to dress themselves in the mens locker room. Swimming laps on the weekends is great because you have to listen to their screaming pool parties. While its hillarious watching all these loser moms strut around in bikins at the gym, their screaming kids are really irritating.
This morning when I went into the gym, there were no lap lanes to swim in. Disappointed, I figured I would try again this evening. Still no laps. Every machine I had planned to use was in use. I packed up my stuff and went home. Money down the drain. 0/2 on the workouts today. Why do I bother? Did you oversell your memberships or something? Is your Lasik center just really busy so people are killing time out on the floor? I just can't figure out why this once wonderful gym has turned into the bane of my existence. At least I know I'm not alone as this has become a topic of discussion among mine and my husband's friends as well.
You guys will bend over backwards for mommys that want to have 85 half-naked kids prancing around, but when I brought up the fact that I never got a chance to get one of those intelligent keys when I began my membership- I was told I was SOL and should have paid more attention. There's that family friendly attitude!
Basically, I hate your gym. I will not be renewing my membership.Neither will my husband.
Neither will our friends.
Anyone I know looking for a new gym will find one as far away from you as possible.
I'm planning to have 39 kids. None of them will go to your gym.
Thanks for the memories. Hoping your higher ups get jock itch,
J

30 Laps and an Epiphany

I'm not about to qualify for the Olympics in swimming by any means, but each time I go out there I can tell I am getting faster (*I almost typed "fatter" just then... what do you think that means?) and I have recently increased my previous 24 laps to an even 30 in the same time span, which I think is pretty damn good. For me, the best way to make it through long and intense cardio of any kind is to occupy the far corners of my brain with something other than boredom, discomfort, or exhaustion and I happened to let my mind wander to myspace. What a thing, this myspace. If only I had it when I was a kid, I would have been able to keep in touch with so many people that I have loved and lost over the years in moves and changing schools. I thought about how lucky kids are now'a'days to have such a thing. As I was contemplating why anyone wouldn't value a tool that helped connect you to people that are or were important in your life, or friends and relatives far away, I realized that, infact, I was the lucky one. Thank God that myspace and email weren't around when I was younger. What if it had been? Thanks to myspace, I have been able to get in touch with a friend that I haven't seen in years and despite the fact that we no longer live close by, we are now able to visit each other and share our life stories like we used to and neither of us have really changed. We are still pretty much the same people and still great friends. I wonder if we had myspace all along, would the friendship have faded away as the novelty of keeping in touch is devoured by the melodrama of everyday life as a teenager? I think that making the reconnection later in life has been much more valuable- good friends- true friends- are harder to come by. Personally, I appreciate it more and I can tell the difference more readily.
And what about those people that used to mean so much to you? On more than a few occassions I have reconnected with someone on myspace only to find out that they have grown up to be nothing like the person I once knew... or even worse, not only have they changed... but they've chosen some interesting paths to take as well. To each his own, I suppose, but the point is, it ruins the fairy tale. It changes the memory and there isn't anything more precious than that. What do we have if we lose those?
I'm sorry I opened some of those old doors. Thankfully, it was all worth it for just that one friend who gets me better than anyone else... but the truth is that for the most part- you can't go back home.
Fortunately, after swimming laps, the ol' treadmill has a tv and I have my MP3 player so the thinking can come to an end, giving way to sweating, zoning, and drooling. Look what happens when I have too much time on my hands.

The blurred line.

I have managed to set my alarm for the last week and a half to go off at 6:30 and then again at 7:00. I moved it across the room so I had to get up, bend over, pick it up, and mash at it with my hands to shut it off.

I'm awake at this point, yes?

No.

Anyway, so I haven't gotten up once and have had to go to the gym at night. Except Sunday I didn't go. We were really busy all day and I'm pretty sure I got in some moderate excercise anyway. Monday I didn't go because I had missed a dose of some medicine and wasn't feeling good. TODAY. Today I was feeling it. I was ready to go. Visualizing all the calories I would burn, tomorrows BL weigh in didn't seem like a big deal. Except my eye had been bugging me all day and I wanted to take care of that before heading out.

Well, when I opened my eye really wide to look in the mirror, my contact freaking disintegrated. One half fell right out of my eye and the other half curled out and stuck to my eyelash. Can you tell me how in the HELL that happens?

OH WAIT. Now it all makes sense. You see, As of August first, I am covered 100% through my work benefits for vision care and I can't get new contacts until I have my yearly eye exam. So I had to kind of stretch out this last pair of contacts that I had a few extra days. Somewhere evil little elves are laughing at me. So I have an appointment on Saturday to get new ones and have my exam and I'll pay for it and its no big deal. Its just the point that I'm SO close to saving some money. But NOOOOOO. Also, I can't possibly work out this week with glasses. I am blind as a bat and I couldn't swim without them. I would get so seasick. I can't really do the treadmill either because when I get hot and start sweating, they steam up and on top of not being able to see, I look like a baked ass.

I am becoming more a fan of the laser surgery option by day. Lets take a little quiz, shall we?

Which of the following has happened to me since I began wearing contacts in the year 1998:
A. While laughing hysterically at a joke made by one, Jennifer Schillenger, I rounded off our evening of tall cakes and laughs at Ruby Tuesday with the cinema crew by somehow stabbing myself in the cornea with a drinking straw.
B. You know how when you're coming to the end of your deodorant stick, the remaining little cake of anti stink sometimes falls off if you twist too far? Well, it fell onto the dresser and I picked it up and threw it out. Somehow a microscopic piece remained in my open contact case and proceeded to deodorize my eyeball- a burning sensation like you will never know.
C. While putting in the first contact of the morning, it fell to the ground and was never located. I broke out a new set only to discover that evening as I was removing my shoes after work, that it had cemented itself to my sock and was dry and crunchy inside my shoe, still clinging lifelessly to the sock.
D. All of the above. All of the freaking above.

The answer is D. Did you seriously not see that coming?

Embracing Adulthood with poop.

Who doesn't complain about feeling fat from time to time? Weight loss has become a topic of interest since I've gotten older. Its everywhere. People share articles and recipes and make resolutions together, but there has been a recent development that cracks me up. Most of you have probably heard of the drug Xenical, and its now OTC counterpart, Alli. If you've heard anything about this new diet phenom, its probably about the unpleasant side effects causing you to have greasy, oily farts and less than solid fecal anomolies. (I think now is a good time to point out that no one discusses poop enough in blogs.) Anyway, now that this drug is officially on the market you can read about it online and even meet people who are taking it and all of the sudden, your adult conversation turns candidly to that of poop.
Personally, I think that Alli is a good idea. If you're going to eat too much fat, this thing is your worst enemey. Its like Pavlov and his bell, you must condition yourself to eat correctly, and if the response to a gorge fest is shitting your pants in a board meeting... well I would think you would learn your lesson a lot faster than waking up one morning and realizing your pants are too tight. So even though it isn't your typical diet pill and won't really do anything if you're eating right, at least you know when you're slipping up and learning quickly not to do it again.
Most importantly perhaps is the joy of discussing poop again at the office. Ahhh, to be young.