Random Salad II

This morning while driving home from the gym, I came across a bumper sticker that read. “Mitzi’s Tattoos, “A cut above the rest.” What’s with that? “A cut above the rest?” Is it just me, or does that sound like a slogan for a Plastic Surgeon, not a Tattoo parlor.
Then I started thinking, if I owned a tattoo parlor what would my logo be? “Jenni’s Tattoos, We know were to draw the line.” Or, “Jenni’s Tattoos, Because nothing in life is permanent…except that Tasmanian devil we just tattooed on your calf…you really should have thought more about that one, man.”

I think Target has an inferiority complex. You never just see any plain old “Targets” anymore, now they’re all “Super Target”, or “Target Greatland,” and there’s something to be said about being able to buy your floor mats and grapes all in one store…well, I really don’t know what that is, but I’m pretty sure it’s brilliant.

Where do they get those people that do the Valtrex commercials? Seriously, if I was an actor and my agent called me and said, “I’ve got this great role for you! You get to play the poor sap that has genital herpes on a television commercial!” I’d probably just hang up. But only after asking how much they pay, because what’s a little public indignity if I could drive around in a kick ass sports car?

Speaking of kick ass sports cars, whatever happened to the Delorian? Did it do something to offend someone? I mean, the Firebird lasted for decades, as did the Camero…What, was the Delorian just not good enough for your garden variety sports car standards? Maybe it was the weird doors, or maybe it cut a bad rap in Back To The Future with the whole flex capacitor thing…I guess we’ll never know.

Jenni's How-To Guide.

How to Simultaneously Humiliate your Dog and your Man:

Figure A.

Step 1: Go to pet store and buy super obnoxious pink plaid doggie carrier.

Step 2: Bring pink plaid doggie carrier home and chase dog around house to try and strap her in.

Step 3: Lure dog near you by offering yummy treats.

Step 4: Retrieve Bacitracin from medicine cabinet and clean scratch on arm from dogs freshly clipped claws.

Step 5: Scold the dog into obnoxious pink plaid doggie carrier.

Step: 6 Strap on doggie carrier and laugh hysterically while checking yourself out in a full-length mirror.

Step 7: Wait for man to come home from work.

Step 8: Watch as man comes home from work and immediately breaks into out-of-control laughter at the dog in the super obnoxious pink plaid doggie carrier.

Step 9: (This is where you need to turn on your charm) Wait for man to change, offer him a refreshing beer, (preferably a Blue Moon with an orange slice) and coax him into the doggie carrier.

Step 10: DO IT FAST! Grab your camera phone and take a photo of the man and the dog in the super obnoxious pink plaid doggie carrier to show all of his friends and yours at parties and **dinner dates.

Congratulations! You have now managed to simultaneously humiliate both your dog and your man.

**This goes over exceptionally well at dinner dates on the patio of classy restaurants where the conversation inevitably will lead to the discussion (with your waiter) of shaving a cats ass to prevent the occurrence of dingle berries.

One more step towards helping mankind.

Maybe it was the pink rims, or the pink and silver flames, or the dice valve caps or maybe it’s just the cruiser type feel of my new Electra bike, “The Betty” that screamed, “This bike is for you!”

Isn’t it oh so cute and charming? PLUS, it’s just another way to save more money and spend less time at the pump filling up with $3.00 per gallon gas. Do you know how many more Frappuccinos I can buy with the savings I will reap from biking to the grocery store, or the hardware store, or the BAR?

Damn, I’m a genius.

P.S. The pic shown is of the kids model...if you want to see the adult size go here. I didn't post that picture because of this. Seriously, she had NO INFLUENCE on my decision to purchase this super cute bicycle. It was ALL ME!

Jen Thinks Outside The Box.

Yesterday I had an epiphany. It started at the gas pump as I was silently cursing the fact that gas had jumped to $2.98 per gallon. It cost me over $30.00 to fill up The Rollerskate, a car that only has a 10-gallon tank. Ridiculous.

After I had paid, and tried (with no success) to use that little squeegee thing to clean my windshield, I immediately headed to the Starbucks drive thru across the street. It was there I ordered my favorite, a Grande Café Vanilla Light Frappuccino with an extra shot of espresso. I gave the lady my check card, and I was on my way. Now here’s the thing, I never look at prices for things like this, I wouldn’t stand there and complain that I was about to pay close to five dollars for a 12 oz cup of ice, skim milk, and coffee, one that would last me oh, about 10 minutes TOPS. And why is that? Why is it that I complain about the price of gas, but not that I’m getting royally fucked by the folks at Starbucks?

It was here I had the epiphany…Are you ready…Money isn’t in oil, or gas…it’s in COFFEE! Move over J.R. Ewing, because Juan Valdez is KICKING YOUR ASS!

While driving down the highway I retrieved the receipt from Starbucks out of the ashtray and scanned down to the total. $4.31. I paid $4.31 cents for my drink…Hmmmm…I wonder how much it would cost if The Rollerskate ran solely on Starbucks Frappuccino? I reached for my cell phone that has a calculator and I began my figuring, first in my head. There are 16 cups in a gallon, 8 oz per cup that makes 128 oz per gallon X 10, that’s 1280 oz in a 10-gallon tank. Now I need to divide that by 12 oz per Frappucino and times that by $4.31 and I get $459.73 (And yes, I did this ALL while driving…I know, I’m amazing) which is about FIFTEEN TIMES the amount of money I just spent to fill up. Thank God The Rollerskate doesn’t run on Starbucks Frappuccino.

Just think, what one can do with a full tank of gas and what one can do with a Frappuccino? I can drive to and from my favorite store Anthropologie two times on one tank of gas, but on the other side, there are no baby seals hurt in the making, or transporting of Frappuccino...and comparatively speaking, that’s all I needed to know to never, ever complain about the price of gas, or the Frappuccino again.

And there you have it. I once again solve another economic crisis by using comparative analysis. Maybe I should be a politician…or better yet, President of the United States. Nah, I think maybe I’ll just buy a Starbucks and make enough profit off of idiots to take over the world...we’ll see.

Gabsmashed

A few weeks ago I was asked to do something I do best...Be a smartass. Every Wednesday, Gabs over at Gabsmash puts on a "Celebrity Roast" where seven panel members post mean and insulting comments on the celebrity (or celebrities) of choice. So if you haven't checked them out you need to do so.

Below is a glossary of the three roasts we have done, plus make sure you stop by and visit Gabs for all of your celebrity gossip needs throughout the week because hey, if it wasn't for Hollyweird who would we have to make fun of?

Oh, and by the way, I'm "Swank" if you haven't figured that out...Shut up, I totally am.

April 4th Roast
April 12th Roast
April 19th Roast

Thank God It's Over.

His favorite ice cream is Cherry Nut, and he has a sweet tooth that could rival a six-year olds. He loves children, euchre, and MN Gopher basketball. He’d give you his left arm if you’d ask, but he’s stubborn as hell. He doesn’t like ketchup on his fries, but will put maple syrup on his cottage cheese. He has a sense great sense of humor and loves a good joke.

I’ve been gone because of him. My dad. He was admitted into the hospital last Tuesday with a case of the flu, and ended up with a trace of pneumonia. There’s a history here though, one which I don’t feel like getting into. One that has to do with a brain tumor and three strokes…for further reference you can go here. It will explain it in more detail.

Anyway, I’m not up to going into detail here. How his stubbornness kicked in and after day two he was ripping out his IV’s and devising his escape plans to be able to go home. The first hint was this conversation between him and my mother that went something like this. (Which was after they had given him enough sedatives to “knock out a horse.”)
Dad: Where did you park your car?
Mom: I don’t remember.
Dad: Well, which side of the hospital is it on?
Mom: Ummmm…Hmmmm….can’t remember.

And I’m not going to go into detail how my brother, sister, and myself all ended up getting said flu and how I spent all Thursday hunched over the toilet in a vomiting haze.

He went home on Friday hopped up on so many sedatives he didn’t know where he was, or what year it was and ended up sleeping the majority of the day. I guess he ended up being a bear to watch, very hard to keep still and wanting to do whatever he wanted to do. I’m lucky because my shift didn’t start until Saturday when he was pretty good. Actually, getting me ice water and scooping out ice cream for everyone, and by Sunday he was even better.

This Easter we sat out on the back deck and watched the golfers go by, barely even remembering what had taken place only days earlier. He doesn’t dwell on things, and that’s what I think makes him so strong and able to preserver through the tough times. He’s a great man, and I’m proud to call him my dad.

A note from my car.

Dear Jenni,

This is the last straw. I’m writing this letter to you to inform you that I believe you need to pull your head out of your ass. Since when did my “Check Engine” light become a novelty? Seriously. It’s been flashing for like a month now and you’ve done nothing about it.

Remember that time when you drove all the way to Chicago with it flashing and you SWORE you would never do that again. I know, sometimes it lights up in error, but you’ve had ample time to drop it at the service station up the street and you haven’t. You just drive me by, ignoring all the bells and whistles I may throw at you.

I know I’ve been a pain in the ass lately with new brakes, new spark plugs, rotor, and spark plug wires…oh, and that little incident of needing a new ignition coil in the middle of a snowstorm on a two lane highway in BFE…but still, I’m your Car, your mode of transportation…your lifeline.

Please bring me into the mechanic soon to get this problem resolved. I want to be here for you for years to come.

Sincerely Yours,

The Rollerskate.

PS. My oil is 500 miles past its expiration date, you might wanna change it before I do something drastic. Bitch.

Sparkler Fun Gone Askew.

All of us have had them, those moments in our lives that we’d just rather forget, sweep under the proverbial rug and wipe them clean from our memories. I have one of those moments that involved a box full of sparklers, multiple cocktails and a pack of kitchen matches. However, forgetting it has been a problem thanks to the HUGE scar on my shoulder that refuses to go away. (See above).

For those of you who know me know that I am accident prone to the point of complete strangers offering to purchase me padded suits and helmets. Now, couple that with booze and fireworks and you have a disaster waiting to happen.

When it comes to fireworks I go big. I don’t like to just light off one sparkler, I light the WHOLE PACK OF TEN because doing so while drinking is a great idea. And so is waiving them around the deck and writing my name in the air…when drinking that is…with a pack of sparklers. Yes, I was that jackass. And now I have the scar to prove it when a large fireball leaped from my bouquet o’fire and landed smack dab on my shoulder causing me to throw them all in the air in an effort to do what I was told to do in the first grade “Stop, Drop, and Roll.” Only I don’t think when they taught that they thought it would be on a deck, surrounded by sparking sticks of dynamite. I’m lucky I didn’t burn my house down.

So, it’s almost been a year and the scar has yet to disappear. I mean COME ON, I finished off a summer, and went to Mexico where I laid on the beach for five consecutive days and this shit IS STILL HERE!

Any suggestions on how to get it to match the rest of my skin? Obviously, I could use your help.