A Pictorial Presentation of My Morning Spin Class

This morning I went to a spin class that I usually don’t go to. It was at a gym in an “uppity” suburb typically associated with Land Rovers, soccer moms, and Mc Mansions.

Unfortunately for me, I arrived right before it started and was able to snag the LAST available bike which just happened to be in the front row. Of course it was, why wouldn’t it be?
Apparently there is some sort of rule that if you’ve never been to a certain class at a certain gym and you can’t find the pedal clips for your bike because they’re MISSING and the whole scene is only magnified because you’re in the front row and the instructor so kindly gets off her bike to bring you a pair of clips and everyone stops and looks at you like “Oh, she must be NEW…”

Anyway…

Nick Nolte was there.

O.K, so maybe it wasn’t THE Nick Nolte, but the guy struck an uncanny resemblance to his famous mug shot photo, hair and all.

The room was also full of these ladies.

Yup, one of them was even wearing her cashmere hoddie tied around her shoulders like some kind of country club trophy wife, decked out in her fancy jewelry and expensive fake ta-ta’s.
It didn’t appear as though she was there to get a workout, but instead to parade around in her little outfit and hit on the twenty-something bo-hunk who was working out next to her.

And the more I looked around the room the more I realized that these women actually put on makeup and did their hair...All for what?

I on the other hand, looked more like this:

Except that I’m blonde and look NOTHING like Yasmine Bleeth, but you get the picture. I could give a rat’s ass what I look like when I go work out because I know that at the end of a 60-minute spin class I’m going to look like a train-wreck anyway.

I don’t know…Maybe it’s just me…Maybe I should be primping myself more for the gym.

Wait…I can’t believe I just wrote that. I think their sweat glands or extravagant perfume emitted some sort of hypnotic fume…A kind of weird Stepford Wives deal…

Must. Wear. Pearls.

A Town Called Nimrod

Nimrod. It’s a place many would love to call home. Or not.

I passed this sign on the way up to visit clients in Bemidji, MN and I have to say, I found it particularly odd that someone would name a town “Nimrod” unless of course they had a really poor sense of humor or some sort of self-hatred disorder.

“Hi, I’m Jenni and I live in Nimrod, MN…By choice.”

Yeah, not so much.

So when I arrived home I decided to do some research and I Googled “Nimrod, MN” and this is what I found.

“Nimrod is a city in Wadena County, Minnesota, United States. The population was 75 at the 2000 census.
Nimrod is one of the smallest incorporated towns in Minnesota. It is included on most major maps…”

Ah, HA! Apparently 75 Nimrods live in Nimrod…I wonder if they have a Mayor? If not, I wonder if they need one…Or if they’ve ever had any applicants. Afterall, being the mayor of Nimord would not only carry with it an AWESOME title, but the praise and distinction of being a mayor in an incorporated town that is included on MOST major maps…but not all of them.

The demographics are even more surprising, according to Wikipedia, “As of the census2 of 2000, there were 75 people, 35 households, and 17 families residing in the city...The racial makeup of the city was 100.00% White.”

Now here’s a surprise, the racial makeup of Nimrod is "100% white."

I don’t know one brotha who would be caught dead living in a town called Nimrod…As a matter of fact, I think you’d most probably have a better chance getting him to move to “Cracker” or possibly “Honkey.”

Definitely not Nimrod.

But the best part of Nimrod is that apparantly THIS GUY lives there. Go figure.

A true Nimrod from Nimord. How special, and at the same time, mind-numbingly ironic.

And if you thought that was great, check this out. Apparantly there was a book about “The Chronicles of Life in Nimrod, MN.” That unfortunately is now out of print…Here is the cover:

I can’t even begin to make this up. The people from Nimrod wrote a book about their life and on the cover they chose to put a huge fuscia ass in a pink flamingo-filled garden.

First of all, are those skorts? Secondly, Do you think this poor woman knows that her picture (in that compromising weed-pulling positon) was chosen to dawn the cover of a book about her town? Is it also OK to assume that if she did know, she would think twice about bending over in public during daylight ever again?

Could Nimrod quite possibly be some obscure city between Canada and Oz?

I’m beginning to wonder myself.

When and When Not to Use “The Wave” While Operating a Motor Vehicle.

The Wave; Everyone’s done it, or at least have seen it done. But there are only two valid reasons to perform it in an everyday driving situation.

1). To acknowledge someone you are familiar with.

Example: I am driving down the road and notice a recognizable oncoming automobile. I see the HUGE Pontiac sticker on the front windshield, hear the rumble and scrape from a dangling muffler, and immediately realize that it is my neighbors back-woods hick of a renter whom last I saw was dawning a mullet and smoking a pack of menthols in a lawnchair in the driveway. So, I smile, wave in acknowledgment and mutter something profane and insulting under my breath and carry on with my travels.

2). To express gratitude.

Example: I approach a four-way stop sign at the same time as another driver to my right. As stated in drivers etiquette, I wait, as the person to my RIGHT essentially has the right-of-way. I then become antsy, sigh, and mouth the word “GO!” doing my best to make sure the other driver can read my lips. It is then that driver smiles and gestures that I go first. To sarcastically express my gratitude and that the driver is clearly an idiot, I wave and carry on with my travels.

Those are the ONLY TWO CIRCUMSTANCES where “The Wave” can be deemed appropriate while operating a moving automobile.

IT IS NOT OK TO WAVE AFTER YOU’VE ALMOST KILLED SOMEONE.

Waving into your rear-view mirror, or towards the back of your rear window IS NOT OK.

Example: I am driving in the fast lane on Crosstown 62 when you decide to switch lanes. Unfortunately for me, you do not notice that I am right next to you. I slam on my breaks to avoid the situation where you slam your retired police-issue Crown Victoria into my automobile causing my vehicle to careen over the freeway divider and into oncoming traffic. After laying on my horn you continue to merge into my lane and only after doing so do you realize that “Yes, that it is the lady behind you that almost flew through her windshield and landed in the backseat of your ghetto cruiser.” Taking a moment to ponder what a horrible driver you are, you realize what you have done and you stop, raise your hand in the air and…wait for it...Wave.

THIS IS NOT OK.

Waiving is not going to take away the fact that I almost died. It is also not going change my mind which at that moment in time I believe you are possibly the worst driver on the face of God’s green earth. In fact, it makes me want to flip you off…which I do…Which is TOTALLY acceptable.

Stay tuned for “Creative Ways to Flip People Off While Operating A Motor Vehicle.”

An Ode to Valentines Day

First of all, this is an actual comment I had written for Citizen of the Month. It was in response to a post on Valentines Day and for some reason I could not post it, so I saved it and was going to post it later. It turns out I never did post it, but came across it and thought the world would be a better place if it was published.”

“The thought of someone hanging themselves with a chain of panty liners is bone-chilling.

All I can picture is walking into the scene of the suicide and seeing a woman hanging in the bathroom stall via Kotex under a flickering fluorescent light in some sterile workplace lavatory. Her last waking moment was that of pure angst after ripping down the "Please do not flush tampons or tampon applicators down the toilet" sign.

If only someone would have sent her the Hallmark Kissing Bears...This all could have been avoided.”

Yeah, I dunno.

Anyway, “Happy Valentines Day!”

I really don’t have much to say about the over-commercialized holiday. I like diamonds, and I like chocolate therefore, I like Valentines Day. It’s really that simple!

And for those of you lame-o’s who like to wear black on December 14th and complain about how you have nobody “special” to spend the day with, why don’t you look in the mirror. Maybe if you weren’t such a winy jerk you’d have someone to send you flowers and buy you nice over-priced trinkets.

Who can legitimately be sad on Valentines Day? You get candy, and even if you didn’t get any candy sent specifically to YOU, you can totally glom onto someone else’s Valentines Day moment.

“You’re not going to eat all of those Belgian truffles from"Joseph Schmidt you got in that lip-shaped box are you?” Of COURSE you aren’t…A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips! Gimme one.”

Free truffles people, all by guilting the receiver and throwing her into a little relapse of that eating disorder she had back in the twelfth grade. Who needs candy when you have OTHER PEOPLE’S CANDY?

Exactly.

I plan on spending my V-Day passing out Valentines candy to my clients, spreading Valentines cheer via chocolate wrapped in heart-printed cellophane each lovingly tied with pink and red curling ribbon. I spent two and a half hours last night and drank a half a bottle of wine trying to make it through without eating half the stash. I didn’t even have one piece.

Bravo.

So, I wish you all a Happy Valentines Day, make the most of it, put a smile on your face and enjoy it, damnit. It only comes once a year!

Jenni's Race Against the Odds. (Alternate Title: Tuna and Cheese; Why Here, Why Now?)

Getting old; It’s inevitable. Some may say that the right way to age is to just give up and let nature take it’s course. I say that the second things start pointing south I’m filling them right back up with strategically implanted saline.

But enough about that, I’m not so much scared about the physical changes as much as the loss of independence and inevitable dependence that I will more than likely encounter as I make my way into a bona fide card-carrying AARP member.

Some of you may be thinking to yourself, “She can’t possibly be going thought a midlife crisis, she’s only 30!.” And you’re right! I hadn’t really given it much thought until a few weeks ago when I went to visit Josh’s Grandma in her “Senior Living” complex.

As I was riding the elevator up to the floor where she lives, I decided to entertain myself and Josh as I read aloud their weekly “Dinner Menu.”

Meatloaf, chicken, spaghetti, beef stew, “tuna loaf with cheese sauce…” Wait…”TUNA LOAF WITH CHEESE SAUCE?” Did I read that right? Tuna and CHEESE? Since when was it ever O.K. to smother FISH with CHEESE?

Is this where I’m going to find myself when I’m 89 years old…Trapped in some sort of dormitory for the elderly and forced to eat two things that CLEARLY should not be eaten on the same DAY let alone served on the same PLATE?

Because if it is, I’m out.

TUNA AND CHEESE SAUCE!??!

And I love how they try to hide the fact that they’re serving “tuna and cheese sauce” by throwing in some wild rice and buttered peas.

“Let’s see how we can mask the fact that the main dish is downright disgusting by throwing in some fancy rice and a bland vegetable, and then before you have a chance to complain about your train-wreck of a meal we will brain-wash you with our mesmerizing “Pound cake and berry sauce.”

“Damn right we will. Everything is better with pound cake and berry sauce.”

I was actually so shocked I had to take a picture with my camera phone of the actual menu that was posted in the elevator, just in case the “Tuna and Cheese Sauce” phenomenon was so unbelievable I would be written off as some sort of lunatic.


See. Even I can’t make this shit up.

An Exercise in Excuse: By Jenni

I don’t even know where to begin. Seriously. It’s not like I’ve had some sort of life-altering event that has kept me away from my computer, and it’s not even that I’m not entirely interested in writing. It’s just that the thought of comprising my thoughts onto a page made my head hurt.

You know when you really want to do something, but the simple act of just starting it is painful enough to make you not even want to go there?

I could essentially stick my tail between my legs and write this off as a form of garden-variety laziness, but that's not me. Instead, I'm going to come up with an excuse.

Lately, I’ve turned all of my energy to a). My job and b).My health and well-being including but not limited to spending every chance I get in the gym at either a step class or a spin class. As a matter of fact, I believe I have become a tad bit compulsive about the whole deal and I’m going to now take the time to place the blame on this:

This, my friends is my Polar heart rate monitor/watch/and exercise diary all in one cute little pink wrist gadget. Not only does it give me an accurate count of where my heart rate is while I’m exercising, but it also stores each exercise in an electronic twelve-day diary that I can access at any given moment to see how many calories I’ve burned, the length of my exercise sessions, where my max and average heart rates were…blah…blah…blah…

O.K. I’m losing you here aren’t I? I know, the average person might find this mind-numbingly boring but I find it fascinating.

I am a dork.

A dork with a pink digital wrist watch.

Anyway, each exercise session gives you a little bar in the diary and well, I want more bars because more bars are good and the more bars I have the more calories I’ve burned and…Lost you again didn’t I?

O.K. Remember when you were in elementary school and your teacher had a tag-board with everyone’s names on it and every time you did something good you got a gold star by your name and the more stars you got the more shiny your row was and the more shiny your row was the more praise you got and the more praise you got the better you felt about yourself because at that moment you could visually see that you WERE better than that loser that sat behind you and put gum in your hair.

Whew.

I just wrote a run-on paragraph.

I need to get back to this blogging thing purely for technical purposes.

Anyway, that’s where I’m going with this. A childish obsession for digital bars has kept me from my blog.

Pure and simple.

It’s good to be back.