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