Wednesday, August 30, 2006


First of all, I believe everyone should have an Andy Warhol inspired photo of themselves. This one was taken yesterday and was modified with my kick ass windows garden variety photo editor tonight. I invite everyone to do this to one of their photos and post it on their blog.

Do it now.

You know you want to. ( I.marzipan, this includes you...I feel abandoned and all alone...sniff sniff)

Now, on with the business at hand...In order to commemorate the 200th post on Swank or Skank I thought about writing an opinion blog on something important. Something like the war in Iraq, world hunger, or whether or not I feel our President is doing his job. I realized there are so many important issues that I should be considering, perhaps dissecting, or analyzing and while I thought of this I reached for my lipgloss.

ThatÂ’s right LIPGLOSS.

Which made me stop. At that very moment in my car I was surrounded my EIGHT count them, EIGHT tubes of lipgloss in assorted colors, shine, and flavors.

When did my life spiral out of control and when did I become so dependent on lipgloss?

And it's not JUST lipgloss...It's chap stick too, or as I affectionately call it, "chappy." If I don't have a tube of chappy on my person at all times you might as well forget about it as I will become cranky and non-functioning.

It can't be just ANY chappy either. It has to be Burt's Bees chappy.

Before I was introduced to Burt's Bees it was Carmex, which I believe was the gateway chappy to my addiction. Carmex is evil. It has that cooling menthol feeling that I liken to a sort of crack-induced haze that can only be relieved with another application. It's waxy-evil in a palm-sized jar, that's what it is.

I even have a process for application.

First, I apply the chappy, wait at least one minute, and then I apply the lipgloss.

Without them I feel naked.

Which brings me to the EIGHT TUBES of lipgloss that have found their way in my car. The eight tubes that took prescedence over evey other uber-important world topic that could have occupied my mind at the time.

I think I have a problem.

Twelve step program perhaps?

Saturday, August 26, 2006

A bucket full of beautiful sorry.

He didn't get me flowers for our anniversary...Or a card for that matter...And I'll be the first to admit, I was upset. Not so much at the fact that he walked through the door empty handed...o.k. so it was totally at the fact that he walked through the door empty handed.

However, I soon got over it because (THREE DAYS LATER) not only did he buy me flowers, he bought me a BUCKET OF FLOWERS from the farmers market downtown, and a card that inside read, "Sorry for being a jackass...You make me a better person. You are the sweetest!"

That's right. He actually admitted he was being a jackass...In writing.

I love this.

In other news, I've lost 6 more pounds and am now fitting into my "skinny" jeans. Jeans I haven't been able to fit into for...Ahhhhh...Who am I kidding, I've NEVER been able to fit into these jeans until now. They're Abercrombie and Fitch ferchrissakes! They're not 30-year old jeans! They're pre-pubescent-I'm still in highschool and my metabolism is sky high therefore I can eat whatever the hell I want-jeans.

So, not only did my other half admit he was a jackass, he admitted it to me while I was wearing my skinny jeans.

Life is good.

Friday, August 11, 2006

Random Salad (Alternate Title:"No Mo Toothpaste In My Carry-on."

Last night on the evening news the bulleted rundown that appeared on my televison screen before the first commercial break went something like this:

-Terror Threat Foiled
-Heightened Terror Alert
-Passengers Left Waiting
-Aniston/Vaughn Engaged?
-Man Shot in Northeast Minneapolis waiting for Bus.

Seriously? The state of Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn’s relationship is more important than the poor guy gunned down at the bus stop? Really? I mean, I know being shot in Northeast has become a regular occourance lately, but COME ON! I suppose the director also had to play with whether to put that or the terror thing on first, because I know not being able to fly with lipgloss or toothpaste in my carry-on should totally be second to a Hollywood engagement…but maybe that’s just me.

Also, while sitting in traffic I saw an interesting homemade license plate cover on a navy blue Dodge Durango that read : “Geo. W. Suck’s.”

Have I been using the comma wrong when it comes to the word “sucks” all these years? Should it REALLY be “suck’s” or “sucks?” I suppose it depends on how you use the word “sucks.” But really, even if you use it correctly it should still be “sucks” because if it’s not used correctly and you’re writing it and somehow all of a sudden you become concerned about the English Language and grammer? Well, you have issues.

Speaking of having issues ( like needing glasses or a new pair of contact lenses) one of my finance managers told me that I was “The most beautiful bank rep that comes into his dealership” which totally made my day because I THOUGHT I was having a bad hair day…turns out it wasn’t so bad after all.

I hope everyone has a great weekend…enjoy the summer while it’s still here to enjoy!

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

BMW:1 Wild Game: 0

Sunday while driving home from my sister’s lake home I killed what appeared to be a pheasant. No, NOT peasant…PHEASANT, like in BIRD, DUCK, WHATTHEFUCKEVER. I felt really bad and it appears my stint at being the Animal Whisperer is now officially over. I was actually following my niece and her husband, who were driving in front of me and managed to miss the whole flock of pheasants, but have no fear…I took care of that last one, or should I say, the blow from the windshield of my speeding automobile took care of that last one.

Now, for those of you who have been reading my blog, you’re probably asking yourself “BMW?” What the hell happened to The Rollerskate. Don’t panic. I still have The Rollerskate, but just a few short months ago there was a purchase of a used BMW X5 at the Jenni household for more cargo capacity and to also aid in polluting this great planet of ours. Global warming, global schwarming…fill me up with $65 worth of premium and let me do my work.

Oh, I should also mention that about 7 hours prior to the gruesome pheasant massacre I was given a speeding ticket while PASSING A DEPUTY going 75 in a 55 all while trying to show my 70-year-old mother how to use her cell phone.


In my defense he was driving an unmarked navy Trailblazer and going WAY too slow.

Lucky for me he was kind enough to write the ticket down to 65 miles per hour, just 10 miles above the speed limit to not only save me some cash, but also to protect me from something along the lines of reckless driving. Which brings me to this question:

Why do they call it reckless driving when clearly you are capable of wrecking SO MUCH MORE when driving under it's definition?

Reckless is neither "WRECK" nor "LESS." Discuss.

As a matter of fact, I am thinking of taking this to court...can I enter the insanity plea as a defense for my speeding ticket? In all fairness I WAS trapped in a vehicle with my 70-year-old mother and her CELL PHONE ferchrissakes.

Seriously. Let me present "Exhibit A" and let you be the judge.

The actual conversation that occurred moments prior to the citation. I will be played by Reece Witherspoon and my mom by Phyliss Diller.

(Phone rings in backseat)
Mom: What's that noise?
Me: It sounds like your phone.
Mom: Well, how do you know it's not your phone?
Me: Because that's not my ringtone.
Mom: (Pause) What?
Me: Nevermind. It's your phone.
Mom: (Unbuckles seatbelt and reaches back for her purse, rumages through purse and finally takes out cell phone) A-HA! But it stopped ringing. How do I find out who called?
Me: Open it up and the number should still be there.
Mom: (Opens cell phone, covers cell phone with hand and trys to read the numbers from every feasable angle) 555-6778. Does that number ring a bell?
Me: Ah, no.
Mom: Well, I wonder who that could be? Remember the number 555-6778, 555-6778. Can you remember that and tell it back to me when I'm ready to dial? Because there's no way I can remember that.
Me: Sure, but if you just push the talk button twice it should call it back for you.
Mom: What?
Me: Nevermind. 555-6778.
Mom: HOLD ON! How do I get this number off the phone.
Me: Push the "End" button twice and it will clear it off. Just remember, whenever you're in doubt, always push the "End" button twice.
Me: Right, now it's 555-6778.
Mom: SLOW DOWN! 5.5.5.
Me: 6778
Mom: (pauses) It's saying it doesn't recognize the number. Maybe I dialed it wrong.
Me: (Speeds the car up a little more)
Me: (grabs the phone out of her hand and dials the number, hands her back the phone) There, now is it ringing?
Mom: (Screaming into the phone) HELLO? HELLO? DID YOU CALL ME? (pause) THIS IS JOAN...DID YOU CALL ME? (pause) WHO? WHO ARE YOU? (turns to look at me and adresses me) I can't hear them...I can't understand them...They said something about Stan...who is STAN? How do you turn up the volume? (Screaming back into the phone) HELLO? WHO? THIS IS JOAN.
Me: (Speeds up the car and passes blue Chevrolet Trailblazer in an effort to escape from the trainwreck that is happening between my mother and her cell phone.)
Mom, it could be the wrong number...you should just hang up.
Mom: (Pause gives me a blank stare)
Me: (grabbing the phone from her) Seriously. Hang. Up. The. Phone.
(glances into the rearview mirror and sees that the 5-0 is on to me) Shit.

So, what do you think? Insanity plea?