Attack of the Killer Orange...Tabby?

Cat fun gone seriously wrong...

This weekend I agreed to look after Chrissy and Lukes cat Captain Morgan (Morgan for short). It was our responsibility to go over every night, feed him and play with him a bit so he wouldn’t be “as pissed off” when they return.

The first night we went over and everything was fine, until Josh walked Lola through the door on her leash and WHAP. It was like an encounter with Jackie Chan, only in feline form; there was blood all over the kitchen floor and Lola had gotten a claw to the nose. So I cleaned it up, created a sort of doggie nose tourniquet thingy and Josh headed downstairs with the dog. After a while Morgan started to settle down and Josh and Lola had let down there guard when out of nowhere came “Tarzan Morgan” flying through the air, all paws and claws ready for more scratchin action. That did it. Josh was now officially afraid of this cat. This is when we decided to leave and make sure that the next day we didn’t bring the dog.

So, the second day came and Josh and I arrive at the Murrays sans Lola. Josh forgot about his newfound cat fear and started playing with Morgan, which led to downstairs. I was upstairs pouring a glass of water when I hear…”OUCH! SON OF A…” I looked down the stairs and there was Josh with the fear of God in his eyes, and Morgan blocking him so he could not go up the stairs. Josh refused to pass him, which now that I know I don’t blame him. The way he explains it is that he and Morgan were playing when he decided to go upstairs and that’s when Morgan attacked. He leaped straight up, attached himself to his thigh via his two front cat fangs, and scratched his calf (See above picture). As if it wasn’t bad enough with Lola, we now have two causalities, which only means on thing…I was next.

Tonight, the last night, we went over, and I was forced to face the mad cat alone. Josh refused to enter the house so he decided to water the flowers instead, leaving me all to myself with El Capitano. And much to my surprise, nothing happened. Just some aggressive purring and rubbing up against my legs, that’s about it. I guess I was spared from the Jeckell side of Morgan, maybe because he likes me, or maybe he did it just to mess with me. Who knows, and I guess I’ll never know, until the next time I’m alone with the Tabby from hell.

Menards and Burlap; the root of all things evil.

Flowers a la Jenni

Yesterday I went to Menards (which is like Home Depot, the root of all things evil) in search of burlap to line my new cute outdoor flower baskets (see above). The first person I see when I walk through the door was this kid (about 18 or 19 years old) wearing a blue vest with reflector tape and "Customer Service" written across the front. So I asked him, "Do you sell burlap?" And he looked at me like I was crazy. He then asked, "What is burlap?" WHAT IS BURLAP? Are you KIDDING ME? I don't know what kind of training you have to go through to be the bearer of the blue reflective vest, but it appears you have not completed it yet...what is burlap...dumbass.

So I ended up finding the burlap sacs, which were in the outdoor garden department and while sifting through them I got a whiff of this god-awful stench, like a mixture of sweaty gym socks and vomit. It was the burlap. I quickly grabbed two sacs between my thumb and pointer finger and headed for the checkout, which was at the OTHER end of the store. By the time I got there I was dry heaving and ready to yack right there in the “plunger” isle. The girl took one whiff and was like “ewwww.” I said “I know, lets get these rotten sacs into plastic bags as soon as possible and seal them tight.” While she was ringing me up I asked her “What do they ship in these things, rotting animal carcass?” Which caused the guy behind me to choke on his 12 oz Coke. Seriously! The total came to $1.07 and then I told her that they should pay me for getting these rank burlap hell buckets out of their store…burlap! Gross.

Wacka Wacka Wacka

Jen; Circa 1985

So I just got a new printer, copier, scanner, fax all in one and I thought I'd try it out. Although I had to use another copier to have Damian scan it...thanks D.

My older brother Randy is 20 years my elder and a professional photographer to boot, therefore the majority of my life has been documented on film. This picture was taken about 21 years ago at my house where I grew up in Bloomington, MN. I was a fish and spent all summer in the pool, thus the sweet tan and bleach blonde hair. The glasses were also mine, and the cigar...well that was compliments of my dad. Just thought this pic would get everyone in the mood to enjoy their summer!

Happy Memorial Day everybody!

Somewhere over the...airport?

So pretty.

While driving home from my cardio kickbox class at the gym tonight I came across a beautiful sight at the Mpls St. Paul International Airport; A double rainbow! I exited off the freeway and pulled into some maintenance building parking lot to take the shot...and look, my cute little VW is like the pot of gold...awwwww. I was even able to see both ends, however my camera phone didn't allow me to capture the whole thing...isn't it pretty?

Finally, something good to come from all the rain we've had!

"And the Hairy Ass Crack Shall Show Her the Way."

The gym I belong to is Northwest Althletic Club and they have about a dozen locations throughout the Twin Cities Metro area. Last night I had planned on going to the Eden Prairie location of which I have only visited once before. They have this class that I take at other locations called “Power Step,” which is an hour long class of advanced step aerobics, enough to make you double over in exhaustion a half hour into class, this is why last night over half the class left at the midway point.

Anyway, so only having been there once before I was a tad bit unfamiliar with the exact location of the locker rooms. So shouldn't I pay attention while looking for them? NAH, I’ll just eat my banana and read the class schedule as I randomly walk through the huge facitility in search of them. So I’m walking, and eating and not paying any attention, I see the sign that points towards the “Mens and Womens” locker rooms, so naturally I go, “that way.” I’m eating, reading, walking, eating, reading, walking, enter locker room, look up from schedule and immediately see a hairy ass crack passing infront of me. Yes, there I was, standing in the middle of the entry way to the mens locker room eating a banana. I was like a deer caught in the headlights and the look of horror must have been enough for some guy to feel sorry for me and say “Um, I think you’re in the wrong room.” NO SHIT Sherlock. I looked at him, said a sarcastic “Thanks,” turned around and walked out. I passed another guy on the way who smiled and said “Leaving so soon?” I didn’t realize that this gym was so full of wise guys…apparently so.

Random Drunk Story #4 "Beer Cart Girls Kick Ass"

My last two years of college I was privileged enough to work as a “Beverage Cart Girl” at the local eighteen hole golf course. And let me tell you, it was the best job I’ve ever had. Ever. I got to drive around on the course all day and serve beer. What more could anyone ask for in a job? Besides free golf, which was also another perk of the job. I was able to golf whenever I wanted and there were many a day where 36 holes was the norm.

To give you a little background, while we were working we would engage in some run of the mill Tom Foolery like the famous “which beer car girl can throw the other beer cart girl off of the beer cart first.” This game worthy of Olympic consideration involved making sharp turns to try and throw the passenger from the speeding cart. Whoever stayed on longer won. We also had this idea that manically festered in the back of our heads of how much speed and clearance we would need to jump the sand trap. Yes, you read that right, jump the sand trap. Almost every sand trap out there has a lip to make it extra difficult for the average golfer to get their ball out of “The Beach,” and we always wondered what it would take to jump the beer cart over a sand trap.

Which brings me to Random Drunk Story #4. It was a nice evening and a couple of friends of mine from the golf course decided to play a quick nine before it got dark. So after the first hole the beer cart girl on duty came by and gave us a round, which turned into another, and another, and by the end of our 9 holes we were all well on our way to wasted. It was getting dark, and as we approached the clubhouse there sat the beer cart waiting to be put back into the shed, and needless to say still full of beer, as it had not been emptied yet. That beer cart was like candy to a baby, it was like an open ATM to a bank thief and I still swear to this day, it was calling my name. So I looked at my coworker, she looked at me, and we knew exactly what each other was thinking. I grabbed a tee from my bag and we headed straight towards the cart. The tee, of course was for the governor, as every good beer cart girl knows that a simple golf tee to the governor under the seat makes a cart go about 20mph faster. So, we were off like a flash and headed straight to that sand trap.

Of course we didn’t think about the fact that we were driving a cart full of beer. We just planned on doing something great. I pictured it as I drove towards that trap, the praise, the distinction. My picture on the clubhouse wall, forever engraved with my name and the fact that I was ingenious enough to take a beer cart and get enough air to clear a sand trap. Unfortunately, that’s not exactly how it went down.

We got up the speed, didn’t even flinch, and when we hit the edge of that trap the beer cart did a nose dive worthy of flipper himself. It was all about 2 seconds of “Wee ugh…” There was no air, there was no clearance and there was certainly no “praise and distinction.” In fact, it took an observing grounds man a good ten minutes to pick himself up off the ground from laughing so damn hard to make his way over to us to tow us out. Yup, we had to be towed out.

Surprisingly we were fine. However, I can’t say the same for the beer cart. The next day while my coworker was working it caught on fire and thus forever named “The Smoldering Beer Cart.” They ended up getting a new one and fixed it somehow so the governor could not be tampered with. In other words, they “Jen proofed it,” or so they said. And as for my defense, they were planning to purchase a new beer cart anyway because the one in which I totaled was on its way out.

Looking back I can’t believe I wasn’t fired. Intentionally burying a beer cart in a sand trap while drinking is definite cause for termination…right? Apparently not, and as from my understanding the golf pro was watching this entire train wreck from the clubhouse with his binoculars. I was later told that he just shook his head, set his binoculars down and said “Damn Beer Cart Girls.”

"There's No Point in Yam Fucking..."

Last night we went to see Dave Attell live on his “Insomniac Tour” at the State Theatre. Thus the title to this Blog; “There’s No Point in Yam Fucking.” His performance was definitely original and many times crossed the line between humor and just plain mental illness, but funny nonetheless.
For instance, the whole snippet on “whiskey dick” and how sometimes it’s a good thing. Like when a guy wakes up the next morning after some serious drinking and realizes that it was a good thing he had whiskey dick because the whole idea of fucking a pumpkin in the middle of a party was probably a bad idea in the first place. And now that we’re out of pumpkin season, he’d have to fuck something else, like a yam…and the rest is history and consequently the title to this blog. Anyway, it was a humorous finish to the weekend.

Guess what? This weekend at the grocery store I was called “Miss.” Yeah, I know, I couldn’t believe it either. When the young man said it to me I stopped dead in my tracks, turned around, looked him in the eye and said, “Do you realize what you have done?” He looked a little startled and said, “Uhhhh, No.” “You have made me the happiest Miss in Minneapolis, keep up the good work.” I believe he may now think I am crazy, but that’s OK, because I was called “Miss.” Not only that, but on Saturday I was at a dealership helping with a sale and was called “Young Lady.” Does it get any better than this? I don’t think it does! So my weekend was spent basking in the glory of “Miss” and “Young Lady.” No complaints here, nope, looks like everything’s going to be A-O.K!

Somebody, please feed this girl...

Looks like somebody needs a sandwich.

What the hell is this all about? Does anybody out there think this is remotly attractive? Sure, I could starve myself for a month and achieve the same results...I choose not to.
Is this the image we want to send to the impressionable teens of today? This Auschwitz meets Karen Carpenter body type?
The only way this look is achievable is through absolute starvation coupled with overexhaustion or some sort of horrible disease. The sad part is, her father Lionel Richie said that she is absolutely fine, and that when he's "stressed he doens't eat," and the same goes with Nicole. I'm sorry but if I looked like that my father would drive me straight to the hospital while stopping at DQ on the way to shove a grilled cheese sandwich down my throat!
Who wants to look like that? Apparantly every young actress in Hollywood. Have you seen pictures of Lindsey Lohan lately? Same exact thing. I think it's sad, and definatley "Not Hot." What do you think?

I've Been Tagged!

GOSH! I am ALWAYS “It!” Apparently I’ve been “tagged” by Steph so I had to answer the following questions. I did this while driving to visit clients. Lots of windshield time = lots of time to ponder obscure questions. So here goes.

Three names I go by:
1. Jen
2. Jenni
3. G (my family calls me G, because that’s what I called myself when I was little, I was WAY ahead of my time.)

Three screen names that I have had:
1. jenni
2. jenni76
3. jennis76 (I know, real origional)

Three things I like about myself:
1. Sense of humor and that I have an infectious laugh (so I’m told).
2. Optimism, my glass is almost always "half full."
3. That I am never intimidated by others.

Three things I don't like about myself:
1. HUGE procrastinator
2. I’m alergic to wheat…makes eating pizza, pasta, or drinking beer next to impossible.
3. I can be a tad messy at times, and then I get sick of it about once a month and then incessantly clean the house.

Three parts of my heritage:
1. 75%German
2. 25%Norweigan
3. Ummm…American?
Sidebar: On the first day of my "Intercultural Communications" class my Junior year of college, after calling roll call and inquiring about the heritage of the person before myself, and then reading my last name (which was Schultz) my professor looked up at me and said; “Well, I don’t have to ask about your heritage. You look like the poster child for the Arian race.” That was the first time I have ever been and will most probably ever be speechless.

Three things that scare me:
1. Airplanes
2. The monster under my bed…IT’S TRUE! He's there...I’m SERIOUS!
3. Old Navy commercials

Three of my everyday essentials:
1. Lip Gloss
2. My 1.5 litre of Crystal Glaciers Spring Water
3. Music

Three things I am wearing right now:
1. Pink Raincoat
2. Black Pants
3. Light Pink Camisole

Three of my fave bands or musical artists:
This is really tough as I have so many favorites
1. Anything big band or swing, especially old French Jazz tunes
2. Coldplay
3. Van Morrison

Three of my fave songs:
1. “In Your Eyes” (Peter Gabriel)
2. “You Can Call Me Al” (Paul Simon)
3. “Into the Mystic” (Van Morrison)
4. Oo, Oo...can I have a fourth? "La Vie en Rose" (Louis Armstrong)

Three new things I want to try in the next 12 months:
1. Writing more often and consistently.
2. Test my creativity with refinishing furniture
3. Train for NEXT YEARS TRIATHOLON…I’m serious this time!!!

Three things I want in a relationship:
1. Trust
2. Compassion
3. Laughter

Two truths and a lie:
1. I can beat almost any guy I know in a round of golf.
2. I can leap small buildings in a single bound.
3. I'm going to be a “Great Aunt” next week!

Three physical things that attract me to the opposite sex:
1. An air of Confidence
2. Laugh
3. Eyes

Three things I can't do without:
1. Lip Gloss (Hmmmm I see a pattern here)
2. Cell Phone
3. My cute little VW Cabrio (I heart my car).

Three of my fave hobbies:
1. Writing
2. Collecting French Antiques
3. Photography

Three places I want to go on vacation:
1. Italy
2. Paris
3. Jamaica

Three things I just can't do:
1. Throw a frisbee…shut up, I can’t.
2. Roll my tounge into that hot-dog bun type pose thingy.
3. Say the word “balls” without smiling.

Three kids' names:I don’t have kids, but if I did these would be their names;
1.Gracie
2. Alton
3. Sinara

Three things I want to do before I die:
I couldn’t really think of “things” inparticular, I just want to be proud of;
1. Myself
2. My accomplishments
3. They way people remember me.

Three celeb crushes:
1. Ricky Schroeder (Loved him in “Silver Spoons”)
2. Mackenzie Astin (Facts of Life…LOVED him!)
3. Matt Damon (LOVE HIM! Did you hear he’s engaged!!)

Ok, Danika..."You're it!"

Happy Birthday Lola!

Lola, Super Dog.
So for those of you who may not know, I have a Jack Russell Terrier named Lola who turned one year old today! I’m not the type of person to speak incessantly about their dog, so I thought I’d take a moment to introduce Lola and sum up her personality in a nutsack…I mean nutshell (Danika, that never ceases to make me laugh).
Lola is one of those dogs who thinks she’s a human (or cat, or squirrel, whichever is more convenient), hence the sunglasses, a.k.a "Doggles" (see above). She spends her days stalking squirrels out the window, lounging in her chair in the backyard, chewing on bones, guarding the front yard, and disturbing the birds while they try to grab a bite to eat in their bird feeder.
She likes long walks by the lake, eating the occasional goose turd (when I’m not looking), rolling around in anything foul and gross (especially worms) and playing with her dog friends Max and Peetie across the street. She is having a secret love affair with Buddy, the Shar Pei-Lab Mix through the fence in our back yard, and can’t stand Lucy, the lab that lives next door. She prefers Purina to Science Diet and enjoys her snacks throughout the day instead of all at once. She has a stuffed armadillo we’ve named “Army” that she sleeps with and a stuffed mailman that she beats the crap out of. She chews the eyeballs out of all of her toys first and then goes for the knee-caps. This kind of creeps me out but doesn’t stop be from letting her sleep in bed on occasion.
Seriously, this dog attracts all sorts. There was once a time when a lady actually stopped her car in the middle of a busy street just to tell me how cute she is. Wherever I go I get stopped and she soaks up the attention. She is a total ham. She makes my life more interesting and puts a smile on my face every single morning, for that I am eternally grateful. Happy Birthday Lola!

Ma'am's the Word

You wanna know what I wanna know? What’s with all this “Ma’am” bullshit. I don’t remember when I actually graduated to ma’am status, but I’m sick of it. It’s honestly like nails on a chalkboard. Whenever anyone calls me “Ma’am” I want to lunge toward them and strangle them….Ma’am my ass!
Let me tell you something, I am 29 years old. Most people, when they meet me and find out my age are surprised and say I don’t look a day over 25, and if it wasn’t for these snot nose “Ma’am” calling prepubescents who think anything or anyone over 21 came over on the Mayflower I’d be fine. Ma’am…please! I’d rather have someone say, “Here are your groceries you f’in bitch” than have them say, “Here are your groceries “Ma’am.”
I don’t even like the sound of it…”Ma’am.” It sounds like you’ve got some sort of small animal lodged in your throat when you say it. You know what sounds good? “Miss.” I use it whenever I can. I don’t care if the woman of whom I am speaking to is 95 years old, it just sounds better. “Oh, excuse me Miss, you dropped your Geritol and Depends.” It sounds a hell of a lot better than “Ma’am…MA”AM you dropped your vitamins and diapers.” Wouldn’t you agree? Or am I just being extra sensitive?

Ode to Chevy

National Lampoons Vacation
I love Chevy Chase. You know when you come across that question, “If you could meet anyone that has ever lived who would you meet?” My answer is hands-down “Chevy Chase.” He is my all-time favorite actor. Nobody surpasses him in wit, charm and no one could possible play a bigger idiot so well. Every single movie that he has been in he plays a role that was written specifically for him. No one else could have possible played his roles as perfect as he.
My love for Chevy dates all the way back to “Foul Play,”(“You’re very pretty, with or without cleavage. Would you like to take a shower?”) which is the first movie I remember watching. I was 2.
My favorite movie ever is National Lampoons Vacation, you know, the infamous road trip to “Walley World!” I know every single line to that movie backwards and forwards. Including my favorite scene where he freaks out on his family in the truckster after they all ask him what he thinks about turning around and going home; “I think you’re all fucked in the head! We’re ten hours from the fucking fun park and you want to bail out! We’ll I’ll tell you something. This is no longer a vacation, it’s a quest. It’s a quest for fun! I’m gonna have fun, and you’re gonna have fun. We’re all gonna have so much fuckin fun we’re gonna need plastic surgery to remove our goddamn smiles! You’ll be whistling Zippide-do-dah out of your assholes! I gotta be crazy! I’m on a pilgrimage to see a moose! Praise Marty Moose! Holy Shit!” And the “Walley World National Anthem?” I sing it every time I get into the car to go on a road trip.
And European Vacation... own it. Christmas Vacation? My parents have it on VHS and it’s been a family tradition for the past 12 years to watch it on Christmas Eve at my parent’s house. My favorite line; “Where do you think you’re going? Nobody’s leaving. Nobody’s walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas! No, no! We’re all in this together! This is a full-blown four-alarm holiday emergency here! We’re gonna press on, and we’re gonna have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fuckin Kaye! And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he’s gonna find the jollies bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse!”
My new quest is to get “Caddyshack,” “Fletch,” (“I would have been here sooner, but a manure spreader jackknifed on the Santa Ana. You should see me shoes.”), “Spies Like Us,” “Funny Farm,” “Three Amigos.” The list goes on and on. My goal is to own every single Chevy Chase movie that has ever been made. There. The perfect gift idea for me for Birthdays, Christmas, Arbor Day…etc.
Chevy has been out of the limelight for quite some time, but there is still definitely no replacing him in my eyes. Lately, Will Ferrell has come close. I think he’s my second generation Chevy. He’s awesome in “Anchorman” and everyone loves “Frank the Tank.” Actually, he’s hosting “Saturday Night Live” tonight. I think Chevy should host “Saturday Night Live.” You know, for old times sake. Just a thought.

Pool of Goo

I have officially sworn off the gym hot tub…forever. Why do people sit in the hot tub naked? It’s just a huge hot festering bath of other peoples’ germs. Tonight while at the gym I walked by the hot tub only to encounter a rather large woman exiting the hot tub with breasts that fell down to her knees and a stomach that managed to hide her “nether region.” She had a lot of creases that most probably could hold a lot of goo, which is now swirling around in the hot tub. And it’s not just her. It’s not just because she’s large, the same thing applies to skinny people.
I don’t know, for some reason I believe that a swimsuit could act as a sort of “goo barrier”, or maybe I’m just kidding myself. I hope these people take showers before entering the tub, at least rinse off and get that first layer of goo down the drain beforehand.
That’s it. I can’t even think about it anymore. I must stop while I am ahead. I am sorry if I have unnecessarily grossed anyone out here, but if I did, keep in mind that my goo theory may be correct and I actually could have saved you from some sort of funky goo disease. You’re welcome.

Random Drunk Stories 2&3.

I had to group two drunk stories together since they made more sense together than separate so here goes. (By the way, I in no way condone drinking and driving. These stories happened over 4 years ago and I have since matured enough to call a cab, and the only vehicle I now operate while intoxicated is a riding lawnmower…oh, and a golf cart, but that’s a whole other story.)

Random Drunk Story #2;” Major CLM (Career Limiting Move).”

My second job out of college was for a company called Allegiance Telecom Inc. I was hoping to break into sales, and this would be the perfect opportunity. I secured a position as an “Account Executive” and ended up being part of the first sales team in Minneapolis, which proved to give me more experience in sales than I had ever hoped. The just of the job was to go door to door to local business and cold call them in order to sell local, long distance and internet services. The first month was a cake-walk as it was all training the new sales team and pretty much opening the office for business. We all got to know each other and became good friends as we would spend our days cold calling in teams and running contests etc. After the first month it all went down hill from there as there was extreme pressure and a sick sort of “Boiler Room” mentality. My boss, Michael, was literally standing on his desk and yelling to get on the phones and set appointments while his boss, Brandon, (the City V.P.) would walk around playing “good cop.” It was horrible, but we made the best of it.
One Thursday evening we all decided to go out for happy hour to bitch about our job. We all proceeded to get shit-faced (because that’s what disgruntled employees do) and after a few too many, Myrna and I decided to call it a night. We had driven together and I had to drive her to her car while intoxicated (please, do not try this at home). While in my Jeep, Myrna thought it would be a good idea to call Brandon, my boss’s boss, and complain even more about our job. So she called his voicemail at work and left him a message that went something like this; “Heeeeyyyyy, Brandon, this ssiss Myrna and Je…(breaks into laughter), this sisss, Myrna and Je…(.breaks into laughter, hangs up). After watching this train wreck that happened in front of me, I command her to call him back and leave a more appropriate message regarding our current dislike for our job, or in my words “Call that jackass back and let him know how pissed off we are.” So she does and it goes something like this; “Brannnn, sisss Myrna and Je…(more laughter). It was at this point I grabbed the phone away from her and said “Brandon, this is Jen and Myrna and you drive us to drink. You, and your little Michael (which by the way, Michael is all but 5ft 3in tall) made us get hammered tonight and call your voicemail to bitch about our job. Urall the telecom Nazi’s. We’re drunk and we’re driving down the HIGHWAY…that’s a huge liabiliteeeeeeee. Just wanted you to know. Thanks Bye. Oh, yeah, see you tomorrow, or today, whatever.” Click.
The next morning Myrna and I entered the office quite hung-over, (or most probably still drunk) and as I walked over to my desk the red voicemail light flashed like I’ve never seen it flash before. On that voicemail, and everyone else’s voicemail in the entire office, were the two messages Myrna and I sent to Brandon about 4 hours earlier. He forwarded them with his opening statement of “Nice.” We were never able to quite live that down, I used to cringe whenever I heard someone play it, and it was saved on the phones up until my last day two years later.

Random Drunk Story #3 “The Hat Made Me Do It.”
While employed at Allegiance Telecom I had this pink foam cowboy hat that somehow made it into my cube and adorned my desk for the two years that I was there. On my last day, my friends that I worked with took me out for drinks. So I packed up my things, which included awards, “Legally Blonde” poster (compliments of Brandon, he said she reminded him of me…nice) personal documents, quota achievements, foam cowboy hat, and random stuff that had accumulated and all managed to fit into a large cardboard box. I threw it all into my Jeep as I was more than ready to leave and start my new job.
We went to a local bar and proceeded to get quite intoxicated (do you see a pattern here with these people?). Before I started my car to go home, I thought it would be a good idea to put my foam cowboy hat, not even imagining that I must look like a huge red light for any police officer to pull me over. I could have lit my ass on fire and hung it out the window of my speeding automobile and I would still have been considerably more discreet.
I ended up making it home, (via the very slow 35 mph back route and thanks to the 3 cups of coffee I drank before I left) however it wasn’t until I got home that the drama began. From what I am told, Josh and Damian were in the backyard when they heard a big crash in the front yard. They ran up the hill only to find me wearing my foam cowboy hat and kicking all of my worldly Allegiance possessions all over the yard while throwing the finheimer around like batting practice at the World Series. Apparently, the bottom of the box broke and mixed with the tequila, caffeine, and pure angst I decided to wrestle with my things smack dab in the front yard. Looking back it must have been quite funny, and I am so lucky I was never pulled over by the police, could you imagine my mug shot?

Thanks Cmac, another thought-provoking quiz that will determine my indefinate fate.

Fun with Bands( Even Rap Bands)...

I got this from Charlie's site (see Bored at the Beach to your right...I still can't text link). So, all you have to do is pick your favorite (or one of your favorite) band/artist and fill in the answers with song titles. Danika, make sure you pick your favorite Rap Band! (Inside joke, Danika once inferred to a Rap Artist as a "rap band." We think it's funny and use it quite often.)

NAME OF BAND: Coldplay
ARE YOU MALE OR FEMALE: "Brothers and SISTERS” (I’m the sister part)
DESCRIBE YOURSELF: "Green Eyes” “Yellow” (hair…well, ok, blonde)
HOW DO SOME PEOPLE FEEL ABOUT YOU: "God Put A Smile Upon Your Face"
HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT YOURSELF: "Don’t Panic"
DESCRIBE AN EX BOYFRIEND: "Warning Sign"
DESCRIBE HUSBAND: "Trouble" :)
DESCRIBE WHERE YOU WANT TO BE: "Amsterdam"
DESCRIBE HOW YOU LIVE: "High Speed"
DESCRIBE HOW YOU LOVE: "Sparks"
SHARE A FEW WORDS OF WISDOM: "Everything’s Not Lost"

Gripe of the Day

I work out of my home, so when I’m not out visiting clients, I’m at home on the phone with them. Thus brings me to my “Gripe of the Day” of which I’ve entitled “Hold Music and Its Test on My Sanity.”
Have we become so accustomed to “noise” that we must be entertained while waiting to talk to someone? I can’t stand it! We have this hold music at my home office that is enough to make me want to shoot someone. I’ll be on hold for like 3 minutes and then I start humming the stuff…then I know its time to hang up. And don’t even get me started about the tunes I hear when holding for my clients. I work for car dealerships; the Mecca of annoying jingles and the minute that receptionist hits that button to transfer me, or to hold for my client I cringe. What kind of half-ass jingle are they going to come up with to have me singing it for the next three hours? It drives me crazy. One year I spent the whole summer singing a jingle that consisted of this; “Trucks, trucks, trucks, trucks, Grossman Chevrolet has trucks, trucks, trucks, trucks…” HATE! There are times when I’m driving down the road and I just have to turn off my radio because I can’t seem to escape the “noise” of everything that is around me. Am I the only one that feels this way? Maybe I need help. Maybe I should seriously consider professional help. On the other hand, maybe I’m right and maybe people should seriously consider eliminating the background noise that they subject us poor unassuming people to! Or maybe I just need to take a Midol and get over it. Anyway, am I crazy?

Now I finally know why Fridley is so F'd up!

Ok, so while watching the news last night there was a special report on the tornadoes that went through the Twin Cities metro area on May 6th 1965. Apparantly Fridley was hit by two F4 tornadoes in one day which totally explains why Fridley is such an ass crack for a city! I can't believe I actually figured it out! You wanna know what's even more f'd up? Fridley is having a "40th Anniversary Tornadoe Festival" commemerating the event that took place 40 years ago.
Who does that? Apparantly Fridley. Maybe I'll go, just for shits and giggles, and stop by one of the numerous Taco Bells for some crappy cat food nachos.
Here's a link to visit to read more as reported by the Minneapolis Star Tribune: http://www.startribune.com/stories/142/5379286.html

Check it out! Steve Stiffler from American Pie is listing the house for sale across the street from me! Sweet! I wonder if MILF will come over this weekend to help him host the open house?  

Random Drunk Story #1

Inspired by a blog I was introduced to (which by the way is really hilarious, I suggest each and every one of you check it out www.cmac23.blogspot.com) I have decided to compile a list of my funny drunk stories. Unfortunately, while creating the list I realized that it was really long, like too long to consider cramming them all into one blog, then I said out loud, “Wow, I probably need some help.” Anyway, I’ve decided to post them randomly throughout the summer. Here’s the first, and most recent. Enjoy!

Riding Lawnmowers and Beer; Bad idea.

Have you ever realized that your best ideas come to surface when you’ve been drinking? Such an idea surfaced last Labor Day while at my friend’s parents cabin for the weekend.
We decided to clean out the shed (which is actually really cool with screened windows and wooden screened door), and turn it into the “Ultimate Tiki Bar.” In order to do so we had to remove the two riding lawnmowers and park them next to the garage where the other riding lawnmower resides. So, after the tiki bar was established and more drinks were consumed someone mentioned how cool it would be if we were to have lawnmower races. At the time I thought it was most probably the best idea I have ever heard. At least the best idea since about 5 minutes earlier when we did the whole put your head on the baseball bat thing and spin around ten times and then run. Which Josh did and ran smack dab into the side of the tiki bar…ouch, but still, I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants.

So the lawnmower races ensued, there was a track, and finish line, and I even started the race standing between two of the lawnmowers in a dramatic rendition of Cha Cha’s race starting moves in the movie Greece. The races went off without a hitch and the real drama didn’t begin until Chrissy and I decided to take two of the lawnmowers down to the store to get ice. To set the scene, their driveway down to the cabin is really long and the total trip is just under a half a mile each way. Usually, the road is empty, however since it was Labor Day the resort next door was packed from the turtle races and there were cars lined all the way down the road on one side. I was on the older lawnmower and watched as Chrissy’s step dad Pat started it for me. He lifted the hood and pulled the cord and it just started, that’s all I saw. All he said was that the rabbit makes it go faster and the turtle slows it down. Simple right? Wrong.

We made it up the driveway and Chrissy was ahead of me, naturally I wanted to go faster, because fast is a good idea on a riding lawnmower when you’ve been drinking. I was messing with some levers and ended up stalling it. Chrissy kept going while turning around to see what I was doing. After watching Pat start it I flipped up the hood and pulled the cord. Nothing. Pulled it again. Nothing. This time I took all my energy and violently pulled the cord and watched in awe as the lawnmower sped across the road and slammed itself into the tire of a 4 door sedan of which I refuse to name for legal reasons. It was at that point I realized that I forgot to put the mower into neutral. Chrissy turns around to see me run across the road and try to pull the lawnmower off the car that is viciously ramming itself over and over again into the side of the car and caught under the body above the wheel. Laughing hysterically with tears in her eyes she managed to come over and assist in turning off the lawnmower while we both pulled it off the car in front of us. Surprisingly, there was no damage to the car. If the mower would have been a little to the left, or a little to the right we would have been screwed. Plus, no one was around to witness the disaster and except for a few scratches under the wheel rim on the backside of the body everything was fine, except for the lawnmower, which had definitely seen better days. The hood was brutally dented in and we were unable to latch it, not to mention I was in shock and my mind was going a mile a minute to try and think of a story to cover our tracks.
While driving back down to the cabin we thought up a story to tell everyone that I had hit a tree. As we arrived, we were showered by our friend Ian who ran towards us shaking up two cans of beer and spraying us with them (which was very fitting in a Special Olympics kind of way). We were able to coax him into bending the hood of the lawnmower back to its original (sort of) state and explain what happened only to the tree, not the car. Later that night while sitting in the tiki bar the truth came out and everyone learned what had happened. I was really embarrassed, but now thinking back it makes me laugh. Hysterically. So here’s to riding lawnmowers and alcohol, only one of many of my really bad ideas.

Run for the Boarder

Why is it that when you’re hung over you crave greasy crappy food? I had that problem today as I was nursing a rather sever hangover from my night out last night. It should have occurred to me that it was time to retire when I asked the bouncer while fumbling through my purse for my ID if he thought it was a good idea to let me in the bar because I was REALLY drunk. He said I should be fine so of course I entered and ordered another drink because I really needed one. Thus my massive hang over brought on by approximately 6 glasses of red wine and a “Scooby Snack (?), whatever that is.
So, while driving around visiting clients today I started to crave Taco Bell nachos (no meat extra beans) and the quest began. I immediately drove to the area I thought would have a Taco Bell. It’s an area of which I am unfamiliar so I had to drive for quite some time until I found a bunch of restaurants, some strip malls, and ultimately, no Taco Bell. I was cracked, why is it that wherever you go you see one, but when you need one they’re never around, kind of like policemen…or bottle openers.
Anyway, I passed a Chipotle and could have stopped for their nachos, but I didn’t want their nachos. I wanted Taco Bell crappy nachos. I wanted the kind of nachos with processed cheese, canned tomatoes, soggy scallions, and refried beans that most probably double as cat food.
I decided to stop my car and think (because apparently I can’t think and drive at the same time…I know, that’s very scary), and after thinking I eventually decided that in order to find a Taco Bell I must put myself in the place of the people that frequent Taco Bell. Now, where do I see them? Immediately I thought of busy intersections with lots of concrete and strange looking people loitering around gas stations and the like. Where would one of those places be around here? (Ding, insert cartoon light bulb here) Fridley! OF COURSE! FRIDLEY!
For those of you who have never been to Fridley MN, don’t go, you’re not missing anything. Actually, don’t go because you’ll never look at the world the same again…ever. I myself having grown up in Bloomington (a suburb of Minneapolis) haven’t even been to Fridley up until about 3 weeks ago when I accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up there. Since that time I have so eloquently named Fridley “The Ass Crack of the Twin Cities Metro Area” and I’m not even being overly dramatic about that, it’s true, if Fridley were an area on the body it would be an ass crack.
So I was now off to Fridley, a city in which I implicitly swore I would never ever visit again to get my greasy crappy Taco Bell because I was hung over and needed to get my fix. The funny thing is, I did find one and I think I saw like three others within a 2 mile radius, and I even ordered my crappy nachos without my sarcastic usual “I’ll take the nachos supreme without the dandruff and pubic hair please.” It turned out that I ate every single last one of my crappy nachos, which were SO good and totally hit the spot. I’ve also decided that I received a little lesson, Marketing 101 style; In order to get crappy food you have to go to the crappy parts of town. I’ve also learned that 6 glasses of wine and a shot of some obscure drink named after a cartoon with a talking dog and toked out hippie will definitely reap havoc on your body the next day and probably should not be consumed within such a short period of time. Live and learn because “It Is What It Is.”

I am often told I look like Jenny M'Carthy...now I know where they get the resemblance. 

Odd Sightings...

Someone should be fired on the North St. Paul City Council

This week has been an interesting week full of weird and strange sightings. I’ve decided to make a list.

1). Was manually accosted by the “Helping Hands” transportation bus. I’ll let you know that the hand I saw was all but helping after I cut him off because he was weaving in and out of traffic and driving erratically with complete disregard for his fellow drivers and the handicapped person propped up in their wheel chair in the back of his “Helping Hands” van…prick. I’d have to say that guy is 100% Skank.

2). The State Patrol officer standing next to his smashed in cruiser with no more back end on the shoulder of the east bound lane of 94. There was no other car. Hit and Run? Or accident caused by spilled coffee and dropped doughnut?

3). Politically profound bumper sticker that read; “Clinton: Blow Jobs. Bush: No Jobs.”

4). Snow

5). Early 90’s Pontiac Bonneville with the name “Stormy” spray painted on the front panel being driven by a Vietnam Veteran aged mad with a grey beard and a sombrero in the back seat.

6). (This isn’t really a sighting, but more of an occurrence) Falling down the stairs at a dealership with my client and then proceeded to get into my car and spill my newly purchased steaming hot Soy Chai Late all over my lap while driving.

7). Two story cement snowman in North St. Paul. (See picture taken while driving.)
Who at the city council meeting let this pass? Come ON!

8). Ceramic cactus tea party on lawn of individual on the way to New Prague. Not only did this person have a group of cacti sitting on metal chairs with a ceramic donkey and wagon, but they also had multiple deer, dogs, pigs, and other lawn ornamentation that will be sure to make you jerk your car off the side of the road and into the ditch trying to take it all in. I should know, I almost did. I didn’t get a picture this time; I promise I will take a shot next time I drive by.

9). Customer at one of my dealers who strangely resembles Darryl from “Coming to America.” You know the character, the one who promotes “Soul Glow.” I kid you not, this guy is the spitting image with the glowing soul and everything. I hadn’t seen jerry curl since the mid eighties. Please don’t tell me it’s coming back in style…PLEASE GOD NO!