I heart the fourth grade. That’s what the blue stamp read on my hand. I heart the fourth grade. Normally, I would have noticed this first thing, but I was sidetracked by the late thirty-something/early forty-something male who asked me if I was a “student” while taking my money to enter my niece’s basketball game. No, not college student, High school student. I wanted to leap across the counter and kiss him. Full on smack right on the lips. At that moment in time I didn’t know who he was nor did I care…he was my new best friend.
You see, I’m turning 30 in less than 18 days. IN LESS THAN 18 DAYS I WILL NO LONGER BE IN MY 20’S…I WILL OFFICIALLY BE OLD. Where’s my paper bag…seriously…where’s my paper bag….
No, I am NOT overreacting. This is a real- life legitimate concern for me. I will no longer be 29…I WILL BE 30. The only thing that is keeping me sane while I cross the proverbial bridge into Thirtysomething is the fact that I will be in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico on the big day…if not for the beach, sun, and cocktails I would most probably be on suicide watch right now. Seriously.
But back to the High school student thing. Do you even realize what kind of sanity-saving moment that was for me? It made me realize one thing, you’re only as old as you appear to be...or as young as you look to the person who is looking at you who probably needs a new eyewear prescription or is just really bad at judging age.
What am I doing here? I’m overanalyzing this. Of course he thought I was 18, because I LOOK like I’m 18. Yeah, that’s it.
(Humor me people, please…just this once…)
Monday, February 27, 2006
Thursday, February 23, 2006
It's here!
Sorry for such a long break in between posts. My fingers are still thawing, and I can probably say the same thing for Danika since we were both just driving convertibles in unseasonably cold weather.
In other news...It's arrived! Thanks to my sweeping victory of the Big Mega Bowl Game Virginity Contest I am now the proud owner of a gold plated Detroit Superbowl XL pin, all shiny and new right in the package sent along with a nice note from "The Lowe" himself. (Ok, so maybe my victory wasn't exactly sweeping, but hey, I won nonetheless.)
Anyway, we leave for Puerto Vallarta in less than three weeks and I have decided that the pin is coming along. I plan on documenting the pins journey by taking photos of random people wearing the pin, the pin on the beach with a cocktail and so on and so forth. And I'm starting with the first picture of "The Pin" on Lola.
Which brings me to my newest dilemma...What to name "The Pin!" I don't want to just call it "The Pin"...I need something more intimate and character-like. Any suggestions?
In other news...It's arrived! Thanks to my sweeping victory of the Big Mega Bowl Game Virginity Contest I am now the proud owner of a gold plated Detroit Superbowl XL pin, all shiny and new right in the package sent along with a nice note from "The Lowe" himself. (Ok, so maybe my victory wasn't exactly sweeping, but hey, I won nonetheless.)
Anyway, we leave for Puerto Vallarta in less than three weeks and I have decided that the pin is coming along. I plan on documenting the pins journey by taking photos of random people wearing the pin, the pin on the beach with a cocktail and so on and so forth. And I'm starting with the first picture of "The Pin" on Lola.
Which brings me to my newest dilemma...What to name "The Pin!" I don't want to just call it "The Pin"...I need something more intimate and character-like. Any suggestions?
Friday, February 17, 2006
Poopin in the Cold...the life of Lola
It's minus three degrees below zero out this morning with a windchill of minus twenty-seven degrees below zero. It's fucking cold. The high today in good old Minneapolis MN is expected to reach a whopping zero degrees.
I've never seen Lola run around the yard so fast to try and find a place to poop. Can you imagine pooping outside when it's this cold out?
Poor Lola.
Therefore those of you who are residing in warm climates can kiss my ass, and kiss my dogs ass. You suck. (Not really, but it just makes me feel better, so let me have my fun. Thanks.)
On the bright side, only 23 days till Puerto Vallarta. Thank God.
I've never seen Lola run around the yard so fast to try and find a place to poop. Can you imagine pooping outside when it's this cold out?
Poor Lola.
Therefore those of you who are residing in warm climates can kiss my ass, and kiss my dogs ass. You suck. (Not really, but it just makes me feel better, so let me have my fun. Thanks.)
On the bright side, only 23 days till Puerto Vallarta. Thank God.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
UPDATE:To Brush With Death Part V (See next post)
UPDATE : New curling iron shown to give "saucier" waves.
Jenni's Brush With Death Part V With *Bonus Brush With Death Glossary!
Welcome to yet another edition of "Jenni's Brush With Death." To be perfectly honest with you I had to actually look back to see which number I was on...These brushes with deaths seem to happen a little too often.
Anyway, yesterday while curling my hair I almost bought the farm. For those of you who know me you're probably asking yourself, "Why does she curl her hair? She has naturally curly hair." And my answer to that is, if you have naturally curly hair you always want your hair to be a different kind of curly. My hair, is curly in the cross between Diana Ross on jerry curl and Erwin Fletcher kind of curly, so I run a curling iron through it to give it saucy waves.
I digress...Anyway where was I? Oh, I was standing in the bathroom when all of a sudden this large spark leaped through the air and landed in the sink causing me to screech and jump back. I looked around and the cord was brushing the sink which was a little wet, I thought maybe that was what caused the spark so I moved the cord and resumed curling my hair.
About 3 minutes later I had the iron in my hair when "BOOM!" This enormous fireball soared across the room. I simultaneously dropped and unplugged the iron from the wall and looked to where it landed as it was still smoldering below the sink. I decided that my hair had enough saucy waves and inspected the iron and much to my shock, this is what I found...
Take note of the exposed wires pouring out of the protective casing which I have to say is no longer protective, but more of a death trap. Yup, time to throw away the trusty iron and purchase a new one. Here's to cheating death yet one more time.
*New? Check out my other Brushes With Death in my "Bonus Brush with Death Glossary!"
Brush With Death Part I (aka "The Day I Almost Died.)
Brush With Death Part II
Brush With Death Part III
Brush With Death Part IV
Anyway, yesterday while curling my hair I almost bought the farm. For those of you who know me you're probably asking yourself, "Why does she curl her hair? She has naturally curly hair." And my answer to that is, if you have naturally curly hair you always want your hair to be a different kind of curly. My hair, is curly in the cross between Diana Ross on jerry curl and Erwin Fletcher kind of curly, so I run a curling iron through it to give it saucy waves.
I digress...Anyway where was I? Oh, I was standing in the bathroom when all of a sudden this large spark leaped through the air and landed in the sink causing me to screech and jump back. I looked around and the cord was brushing the sink which was a little wet, I thought maybe that was what caused the spark so I moved the cord and resumed curling my hair.
About 3 minutes later I had the iron in my hair when "BOOM!" This enormous fireball soared across the room. I simultaneously dropped and unplugged the iron from the wall and looked to where it landed as it was still smoldering below the sink. I decided that my hair had enough saucy waves and inspected the iron and much to my shock, this is what I found...
Take note of the exposed wires pouring out of the protective casing which I have to say is no longer protective, but more of a death trap. Yup, time to throw away the trusty iron and purchase a new one. Here's to cheating death yet one more time.
*New? Check out my other Brushes With Death in my "Bonus Brush with Death Glossary!"
Brush With Death Part I (aka "The Day I Almost Died.)
Brush With Death Part II
Brush With Death Part III
Brush With Death Part IV
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
A Day Late and A Dollar Short
Well, actually 688 dollars short. That's what I'm out after sitting in the Auto Repair Shop yesterday for 7 hours while they fixed my car. Which brings me to my Haiku for "Haiku Tuesday"...although it's Wednesday...nevermind.
Auto repair shop
Six hundred dollars for brakes
Where's my vasoline?
And that's not all...the following is an excerpt from a draft I wrote during hour 5. Enjoy.
Today I was held hostage by my car, aka, "The Rollerskate." I'm not talking "hostage", my car pointed a gun at my head and demanded things "hostage," I'm talking my car decided to want new brakes and then wouldn't start after I've already waited at the Auto repair shop for five hours kind of hostage.
And for a special bonus, turns out when you spill break fluid on corroded spark plugs your car doesn't start.
Sweet.
It also turns out that when you sit there and stare at a Pepsi machine and 9-inch television for hours on end you tend to go a little batty. Like the kind of batty that makes you want to throw the uncomfortable chair that your ass has been planted in all morning and half the God-forsaken afternoon out the mother-fucking window. That kind of batty.
Actually, I am normally a very patient person, but when a job that was supposed to take two hours takes five (and counting) it tends to wear that patience a little thin...or more like stretch it to the point of snapping.
(Flick the paper in a way that makes it snap...like my patience)
My handwriting sucks. Seriously. It's a wonder how I can read one word I wrote on this page. Has my friendly laptop lead to the destruction and consequential demise of what used to be my artform? My beautiful handwriting that no resembles that of someone with Parkinsons and a pen?
Shit.
Auto repair shop
Six hundred dollars for brakes
Where's my vasoline?
And that's not all...the following is an excerpt from a draft I wrote during hour 5. Enjoy.
Today I was held hostage by my car, aka, "The Rollerskate." I'm not talking "hostage", my car pointed a gun at my head and demanded things "hostage," I'm talking my car decided to want new brakes and then wouldn't start after I've already waited at the Auto repair shop for five hours kind of hostage.
And for a special bonus, turns out when you spill break fluid on corroded spark plugs your car doesn't start.
Sweet.
It also turns out that when you sit there and stare at a Pepsi machine and 9-inch television for hours on end you tend to go a little batty. Like the kind of batty that makes you want to throw the uncomfortable chair that your ass has been planted in all morning and half the God-forsaken afternoon out the mother-fucking window. That kind of batty.
Actually, I am normally a very patient person, but when a job that was supposed to take two hours takes five (and counting) it tends to wear that patience a little thin...or more like stretch it to the point of snapping.
(Flick the paper in a way that makes it snap...like my patience)
My handwriting sucks. Seriously. It's a wonder how I can read one word I wrote on this page. Has my friendly laptop lead to the destruction and consequential demise of what used to be my artform? My beautiful handwriting that no resembles that of someone with Parkinsons and a pen?
Shit.
Friday, February 03, 2006
WTF? FRIDAY! (*New!)
Welcome to Swank or Skank's first ever installment of, What the Fuck? Friday!
So, I was parousing the selection of Eames lounge chairs at the Marshall Field's home store when I came across this sculpture of what appears ot be a gigantic dick doing his deed over someone's dining room table. Now, I appreciate art just as much as the next guy, but this was somewhat mortifying. Mortifying enough for me to take a picture with my camera phone and create a post about it.
The nightmares have yet to taper off. Thanks for asking.
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