Errr...

You are 50%Fucktarded. Sometimes you're stupid...sometimes you're smart. If only you could figure out what the hell is wrong with you, your life would be so much better. 

Is it better to be more or less fucktarded? Does it up my score that I have to ask that?


POSTED BY DANIKA.

Does it lower my score that I had to fix it for her? (Heh) Danika, you know I luv ya!

That's just Fuktacular!

"25% Fucktarded. You are pretty normal, although you do have your moments. Mainly you're just a smartass and you have horrible luck. Hey, we're all allowed to be a Fucktard sometimes!" 

Oh My GOD! I've finally figured it out. Apparently the "technical" term for what I am is "Fucktard." All these years and it just takes one quiz to put everything together. Thank you Quizilla...you're the best!

Are you a fuktard too? Find out
here

God, I'm old...

William Isiah 6/2/2005

I'm a GREAT AUNT everyone!

Here's a picture of Jamie (my niece) and Franks (her husband) new addition...William Isiah!

Frank is only home for another week and then will be depolyed back to Korea for the military where he is training new recruits. He will be coming home this September for one week for their MN wedding ceremony, and then sent away for another year.

Jamie finished her masters degree last year in family counseling and now counsels mothers who murder their children. I don't know how she does it, but she has a heart for helping others and I admire that greatly.

Please keep Frank, Jamie and baby William in your thoughts and prayers!

"The Gazelle"

W.T.F?


Can someone please tell me what Tony Little has going on with this so called "Gazelle?" It looks like you could get more exercise picking up a can a beer than busting a move on that thing. Has anyone every tried one? If so, why, and how long were you on it until you became even a bit winded?

Rob Lowe Can You Forgive?

"The Hoff"

Our new friend Rob Lowe is all upset because of a comment that Danika made that he resmebles John Favreau. So upset that he sulked all weekend as he pseudo came out to his family. So, I took the libertly to retract that statment and say that I think he looks more like "The Hoff" circa "Night Rider" without all the chest hair and mullet. ;) What do you think? Danika?

Profound Bumper Sticker #1

...unless they're funny.


Now I can totally say that because I am a blonde woman, who also drives and is Minnesoootan...talk about a stereotype!

You know what I hate? Bumper stickers that people purposly place on their vehicle to reflect some sort of political belief. Because a sticker on the back of your car is going to change the world and the way I view it...whatever.
I saw this bumper sticker while leaving Dicks sporting goods after buying my new running shoes. I assume that the driver of said Honda most probably works in the fishing department...and is a woman. Whoops, my bad...is that a stereotype?

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!

It Is What It Is

Have you ever had a day where at the end of it you believe you may actually have discovered the meaning of life? You know, the kind of day where you are at the epicenter of it all and everything seems to be happening around you but you can’t quite grasp control of any of it. Sure, you can give advice and try to deal with it all in your own little unique way, but in the end, it’s all still out of your realm of being.
I had that kind of day today, and all I have to say is it involves my parents and a disagreement over a new piece of furniture, which I now refer to as “Divorce by Armchair.”
This is what happens when you have two people that have been married for almost 50 years, that are retired and see each other practically every single second of every single day. Especially when one of them is on a drug that he has been on for about 30 years and that makes you a little ‘feisty” and the problem with that drug is he’s taking double his dose because it makes him feel better. I’m not talking illegal drug, I’m talking prescribed cortisone because he no longer has a pituitary gland because of a brain tumor kind of drug. The issue here is that he doesn’t realize the fact that the extra cortisone puts him on an emotional rollercoaster that leaves him threatening the people at Coca Cola one minute (don’t ask), and laughing along with his new neighbors the next. It’s enough to make a person crazy, and unfortunately is out of my control. Which brings me to my new motto; “It Is What It Is.”
While driving today and talking on the phone to multiple members of my family to try and remedy “Divorce by Armchair” I realized that there are things in life that I am not able to control and no matter how I hate to admit that, I guess I just have to accept it and realize “It is what it is.” There was a point somewhere between the phone call to my sister and the phone call to my mother (who had camped out in the Perkins parking lot after removing herself from the situation) where I just wanted to break down and cry out of frustration. But before that first tear came running down my cheek a light popped in my head and I all of a sudden thought, you know what? “It is what it is.” Immediately my tear dried and it was suddenly like after 29 years of “crying over spilled milk” I have finally come to the conclusion that I was not meant to tackle every single problem and that not everything can be fixed by myself and myself alone, some things you just have to accept as they are. Sure, I’d love to have my dad back to “normal”, back to the way he used to be when I was growing up, but that’s just not going to happen and I can’t dwell on it because that day has passed and it just is what it is.
I have since decided to share the responsibility with my siblings to mend the problem at hand and make things better, not try to necessarily change them, or to hope for some sort of miracle, but to just make things better, because in the end, that’s what families and friends are for, support, love and to help each other through the “it’s” of the “is’s.”
So if I ever write a book about my life I plan on titling it “It is what it is.” Or maybe I could go retro-Popeye “I am what I am.” Or maybe just “I am” or “It is,” or “Holy Shit.” Either way I am sure I’ll have enough to make it interesting.

So Much for Man's Best Friend!

Headline:
Dog rejected as cash drawing winner

Gas station refuses to give winnings to 'Mr. Jengels'
The Associated Press
Updated: 12:32 p.m. ET April 18, 2005
A gasoline station owner is trying to smooth some ruffled fur over the winner of a cash drawing.
'The name on the winning entry, "Mr. Jengels," turned out to be that of a dog owned by Kevin Strybos, who said he used the name of his miniature dachsund-pinscher cross to avoid telemarketers.
Gas station owner Mike Paz said the dog couldn't cash a check and refused to give the $410 to Strybos, who had claimed the winnings.
On Friday, Paz said he would give the money to the local animal shelter run by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and offered to hang a portrait of Mr. Jengels on a wall with other cash winners.
Strybos said he appreciated the donation but added, "I don't know if it really changes too much the way I feel about the whole situation."

The 5am Conversation from Hell

The following conversation occurred at 5 am this morning while trying to get back to sleep after letting Lola out to pee.

J (Josh): You know what business we should get into?
M (Me): Hm? (half-asleep)
J: Toothbrushes
M: (silence)…Hm?
J: You know how much toothbrushes are these days…like 5 dollars.
M: So. They are kind of important, aren’t they?
J: Well remember when years ago when they were 75 cents…and it can’t be because of inflation.
M: So you’re saying toothbrushes somehow miraculously avoid inflation.
J: I bought the last 75 cent toothbrush yesterday from Snyder’s, it was 75 cents.
M: Great.
J: Why do toothbrushes have to be ergonomic? My new toothbrush is a “Tek”, I think.

At this point he actually gets out of bed, goes downstairs to the bathroom to check and see the brand of his toothbrush.

J: (As he is getting back into bed). Yup, it’s a Tek.
M: Great. Why don’t you go to sleep.
J: You know cedar shingles aren’t that expensive. I priced them out yesterday at Home Depot. We could just replace our shingles on the dormer and side of the house with new shingles and it would probably be less work than refinishing them.
M: That’s nice. Why don’t you go downstairs and watch some TV.
J: No. I want to lay here and talk to you.

Eventually I was able to get back to sleep and believe I did so during his discussion involving a tool belt and a power sander. Ahhhhh, the moments of matrimonial bliss.

Hardy har har....

A little Minnesoooota humor...


Lena's car breaks down on the Highway 8 just outside of Lindstrom one day. So she eases it over onto the shoulder of the road.She carefully steps out of the car and opens the trunk. Out of the trunk jump two men; Lars and Sven in trench coats who stand at the rear of the vehicle where they are facing oncoming traffic and begin opening their coats, exposing their nude bodies to approaching drivers.Not surprisingly, this causes one of the worst pileups in history of the highway.It's not very long before a police car shows up.The cop, clearly enraged, runs toward Lena's vehicle yelling, "What the hell is going on here?""Ya, vell my car broke down," says Lena, calmly."Okay, so what are these perverts doing here by the road?" asks the cop. And Lena replied, "Vell, officer....... dose are my emergency flashers!"

i 

Dredlocks, Patchouli, and the American Dream

Dreadlocks, Patchouli, and the American Dream

While waiting in line the other day to pay for my overpriced gas and my overpriced drinking water, I managed to stumble upon a blatantly obvious stereotype. In front of me there stood an individual with a head full of dreadlocks carrying with her a scent reminiscent of musty basement, marijuana, and body odor. I took a step back and while breathing through my mouth to avoid the offending odor I thought, “Why do people choose to look, and more importantly smell like that?” And then I began to think of where you generally see those types of people which brought back memories of idealistic college students lurking around in dark and seedy tie dye stores that sell bongs, black lights, and the like. And then I said to myself, “Well, they’re just trying to be different.” But then I realized that although they may want to be different, they are all surprisingly the same.
I am sure you know the type of person I am describing. Long hair, matted into dreads and pulled back with a rubber band, no makeup, baggy clothes, more than likely a long Indian print skirt with some sort of tank top that has seen better days. If not the skirt, then a pair of baggy pants and a dark zip-up sweatshirt with frayed sleeves, and the t-shirt underneath that is completely optional. A couple piercings here and there, a pair of Birkenstocks that are worn every single day (and have been for the past 5 years) and voila! Instant hippie. To add further validation to my previous statement about how they are all alike I was able to catch her getting into a late 70’s VW Vanagon adorned with multiple bumper stickers one of which read, “We are not free if others are oppressed.” Who drives a 1970’s Vanagon that is not a raging hippie!? Besides of course my friend Amanda who had to drive one to high school in the early 90’s and to this day is still completely mortified of the experience. Anyway, I thought a little more about it and decided that this is just a rather obvious example of a group of people who want to be different, but are all the same.

And then there are those who want to look like everyone just to fit in, like every conservative business executive who has ever lived, or anyone who feels the need to belong to some sort of prestigious organization. The thought of being different is enough to ensue thoughts of being frowned upon, fired, or even worse, black balled from the very group they are trying to assimilate themselves to. Ironically, this is the type of behavior that the previous group is so adamantly trying to avoid. These types of people include any individual who works for a company with more than one last name in its title, has an office in some sort of “glass” office building and drives a large flashy sedan or some sort of SUV (the bigger the better), and also holds (or aspires to hold) a short title like V.P. or President, because I don’t know if you have noticed or not, but the shorter the title the higher the pay scale. For example: CEO = “major paycheck” Administrative Assistant to the Administrator of the CEO = “crappy paycheck.” I digress. Anyway, up until about six months to a year ago I thought of major politicians and, well, lets just say “Ex-governors” to also fit into this category. That is until I saw a picture of our beloved ex governor Jesse Ventura looking like he should crawl into his own Vanagon and drive to some remote location to smoke weed and play the guitar all while preaching world peace in some sort of odd beatnik manner. Has anyone seen him lately? Who puts braids in their beard…really!? So thanks to Jesse the fine line between hippie and politician has now been made a little more fuzzy in my eyes.
So I guess the point that I am trying to get across (if there actually is a point) in this rather long, drawn out blog, is that because we’re in America we can dress the way we want, have our own beliefs and reach our own goals. Whether it is to support world peace, belong to the most prestigious country club, or to just stand up for what we believe in, everyone is allowed to be his or her own individual. The best part about it all is that the more I think about it, with everything that is going on in the world and all the oppression that people face, I think that’s pretty “far out.”

Movin On Up...

If anyone is wondering, because I am sure everyone is on the edge of their seat to find out how the rest of the move went after the moving van debacle, Ken and Joan (my mom and dad) were moved in and settled without a hitch. Except the 14g’s they had to spend on a new septic system for their old lake home and that my aunt Glenda was hit with a golf ball while standing in the backyard of their new home. So besides that, everything else went fine. As a matter of fact, in order to fit into his new surroundings at the course Ken bought a sweet 1989 Mercedes Benz 560 coupe complete with convertible top and vintage charm. With only 32 thousand miles it’s quite a find, and although my efforts to trade straight up with my VW Cabrio failed you can bet I will be driving it as much as I can.

A Look At What's To Come...

I just received a phone call from my sister giving me a "progress report" on the move of my mother and father of which I am about to participate in about three hours. Apparantly my father and brother thought it would be a good idea to drive the rather large moving truck across the lawn down by the lake in order to make the items in the basement more accessible. Upon doing this they apparantly came across a rather large "road block" when the truck sank into the yard up to its axle. Shit. (As a small sidebar, we are not Polish, are in no way related to "Ole and Lena," and are generally quite strategic and intellectual)
I decided to save the sarcasm and not ask whether or not the six inches of rain they recently had was a factor in this incident, and when she asked if I would like a call to hear the progress of getting the large moving truck out of the lawn I said, "Just let me be surprised when I get there."
I have a feeling this is going to be a long weekend....

My Pal Willie

Today my Dad called me to tell me that he is going to take my dog Willie to be put down tomorrow. I hate that. As you can probably imagine the call didn’t go very well and actually ended with my solemn vow to from now on to refer to him as “The Killer.” Although I know that it is his time, and that he has had a good long life (just shy of 16 years by 6 days) it makes me want to throw myself on the floor and sob uncontrollably (insert visual here…not pretty).
You see, I picked Kaiser Wilhelm, (aka “Willie” and the best Miniature Schnauzer in the world) out when I was thirteen years old and he has been a part of my life for quite some time. Now, for those of you who believe that animals are not part of the family you are seriously wrong. I have eight nieces and nephews and Willie is older than all but three of them and has therefore been given the honorary title of “Uncle Willie.” He has been with me through Junior High, High School, College (of which he visited for a week while my parents were on vacation and was awarded an honorary degree by my father in the field of “Human Studies”), and although he wasn’t at my wedding, he was still alive to spend the weekend at the “Pet Hotel.” He has kept the kids occupied at family functions and also kept the yard “dog free” while protecting “his people.”
Since Willie was never neutered, he earned the nickname “Wizzie” as he felt the need to urinate on everything in site in order to “mark his territory.” And there are many a picture where “Wizzie” is seen in the background whizzing on something, which always makes us laugh. Its kind of like finding Waldo. Willie made friends with everyone in the neighborhood and was usually seen wandering from house to house getting his daily treats from all of his friends. He was the captain of the “Schultz Party Barge” on Nest Lake, and copilot of the Cadillac Deville or the Chevy truck. Last year we thought the end of Willie was near when he almost suffered what was to be referred to as ‘Death by Pizza Crust”, but he snuck under the radar and was able to last another year through his special diet of Senior dog food TLC.
The memories are many and I am glad that I have each and every one of them, and although Willie will be just 6 days short of his “112th birthday” I can only imagine that he has had a life every dog dreams of.

P.S. For you parents out there who want to break the news of the death (or near death) of an animal to your children who have since left the home take my advice. Don’t say you’re going to take them to be put down, and don’t break it to them all at once. Lie. Lie like the Santa Claus red suit wearing, present leaving, reindeer flying, Easter bunny hopping, tooth-fairy money giving parent that you really are! Which reminds me of a joke, that is most probably innapropriate at the current time since nothing is funny right now, but here goes.

So Ed goes on vacation and leaves his cat with his brother Bob to watch for the two weeks while he is gone. The first night of his vacation Ed calls to check on his cat and unfortunately, Bob informs him that his cat died which, of course, threw Ed into hysteria and which he immediately jumped down Bob’s throat and asked him how he could break it to him that way. He instructed Bob that if he is ever in a similar situation like this, he needs to break the news to the party more slowly. Like the first day when he received the call he should have told him that the cat has escaped out the window and is on the roof. Then the second day he should say that the cat is no longer on the roof, but the cat is now in the tree. On the third day he should inform that the cat has jumped down to a lower branch, or onto another tree that is not quite as tall, and on the fourth day he should mention that the fire department has been called, and the fifth day is when he should say that the cat has unfortunately fallen out of the tree and has died. At least then, the news would have taken a while to sink in and would be easier to understand. So the conversation ended and Ed resumed his vacation.Two days before he was to come home he received a call to his hotel room and much to his surprise it was from Bob. “Hey Bob, what’s up?” aksed Ed. At which Bob replied “I was just calling to tell you that mom’s on the roof.”

It's All Up In The Air

To commemorate my sincere and absolute hatred of flying I have decided to write this while sitting in my seat (5F) of the flight I am currently on while traveling for my day and a half excursion to Chicago.

First of all, I must make it extremely clear that I hate flying. Not only because every time I book a flight or think of taking one I want to throw up, but mainly because I just don’t like sitting in a pressurized cabin with a bunch of people most of whom are more than likely ill with something that I now have a greater chance of catching…WHY DO THEY DO THAT??? WHY MUST THEY ALWAYS CUT THE POWER AND MAKE IT SEEM THAT WE’RE JUST GOING TO DROP RIGHT OUT OF THE SKY…MAKES ME CRAZY!
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, illness. So I am now stuck here for the hour and a half flight and I completely forgot to take my extra vitamin C this morning…WHY ARE WE TURNING? WHERE COULD WE BE GOING THIS FAR UP IN THE SKY? I THOUGHT THIS WAS A STRAIGHT SHOT. I CAN’T EVEN SEE THE GROUND AND WE’RE TURNING…I really should reconsider getting an aisle seat next time, this window thing really freaks me out.
So anyway, I don’t even know where this hatred came from. I think it stems partially from Sept.11, more so from the 15 hour flight I took 2 mos after where I ended up sitting on the tarmac for at least two hours in Tokyo while they fixed the number two starter before take off. Number two starter? I know it’s not the first, but it also isn’t the fifth or sixth. Sounds important. Not to mention that we were in Tokoyo and I was on an American flight...do our planes come with Japanese instruction manuals? This was my train of thought.
WHAT IS THAT DING FOR? I should remember to ask my father in law “Captain Jim” next time I see him what that ding is all about. And don’t get me started on the seat cushions that double as “flotation devices.” What are the chances that we actually land on water? WHAT? I can’t understand “Carlos” the lead flight attendant whose accent is strangely reminiscent of “Mango” from “Saturday Night Live.” Something about descending? I didn’t hear anything about turning off any electronic devices so I am going to resume.
It also doesn’t help that the lady across the aisle from me is tugging on her rosary beads like taffy and… THEY DID IT AGIAN! You know what, I think they do that just to screw with us. “Hey Captain, lets cut the engines again so we can watch that broad back in 5F have another stroke.” Sweet.
Why is it that when the Captian comes over the intercom I always manage to… …TURBULENCE…LOTS OF TURBULENCE, HATE TURBULENCE…DING DING….TURBULENCE. CHRIST!

So it was then that I decided to turn off my computer, put it away, cross my fingers and wait for the plane to land, which thankfully, ended up landing without a hitch. I have since come to realize that I was better off on that plane than in the car with my analyst who picked me up at the airport swerving in and out of the Chicago traffic.

Later that day we went to the Bulls game which was more than suitable enough for everyone born with ADHD and entertaining in itself. I also managed to get myself of the mega tron only after purposely placing myself in some elses' mega tron moment.

My flight home was a little more dramatic, but thanks to my hour and a half visit to the airport bar and the three glasses of merlot that I consumed I was comfortably numb enough to continue on with my travels. I witnessed other travelers much like myself including a young lady who ordered a Becks and a shot of tequila to help her on her way to Detroit. I suggested she drink more than that to make Detroit look remotely appealing.

I boarded the plane and was actually quite calm, up until the announcement from the Captain which went something like this; “Ladies and Gentelmen, as you can tell, our departure time has come and gone, and we’re not going to leave the gate until they finish replacing the breaks.” BREAKS? I looked at the guy who sat a seat over from me who looked at me and we proceeded to break out into laughter. We waited another half hour and we were on our way down the runway. We both agreed that it would be a good idea for the pilots of the aircraft to at least test the breaks, not only to reassure everyone on the plane that they were in working order, but also just to test them to make sure they worked. No such luck. We took off and began our treck back to Minneapolis. As we were taking off I infomed my new found friend that it should be against federal aviation policy that I have a window seat which evoked some laughter and made us more at ease. While we were ascending the three glasses of merlot began to take effect and I had to pee…really really bad. Spencer and I decided that it was “O.K” to test the waters and head to the bathroom. After a few looks from the flight attendants and a stern warning, I finally relieved myself and returned to my seat where another glass of wine was ordered and the conversation began. Spencer was a graduate of Notre Dame and a current software engineer. We spoke of his job and it’s risks, which included his recent rendezvous with Bear Stearns. I was more than fascinated to hear of his college experience at an Ivy League school, more so to take my mind of falling thirty two thousand feet out of the sky, but also to pass the time. Not only that, but this was his first visit to Minneapolis. I told him of the places to go and the places to avoid. He asked about the Mall Of America, of which I eloquently described as a big friggin mall with a roller coaster and a giant aquarium, nothing more, nothing less. Needless to say after a few bouts of turbulence we landed and I was once again (thankfully) safely on the ground.

It was after this experience that I decided that flying is severely overrated. I have also come to the conclusion that if anyone were to try to overtake any aircraft and crash it into a large skyscraper (or skyscrapers) that the people on said aircraft would do anything in their power to stop the action. Not only because 75% of us were “comfortably numb” and fearless thanks to the airport bar, but also because we are acutely more aware of our surroundings. I have also come to realize that flying without breaks is not a big deal if you have someone next to you to talk to and that shares the same sense of humor as you. So Spencer, wherever you are, thanks man…you saved a few more hairs from turning grey.

It's A Good Thing We're Cute...

The following conversation occurred between my sister, myself, and my mother Easter Morning.

S(Sister)(to Me): Oohhh, I like your poncho, where did you get it?
M (Me): Orange County.
S: Orange County?
M: California
S: Ohhhh. (Pause) I wonder why they call it that?
M: Probably because they grow oranges there.
S: No! Poncho, why do they call it a poncho!
M: It's probably Spanish for "jacket without arms."
S: Or "jacket with neckhole and no arms".
M: (Pause).....or that.
Mom: (Looking up from her book) No, "Poncho" is named after "Poncho Gonzalez", the man with no arms.
M & S: Really?
Mom: (Looking back into her book) No.


I am blaming this on the inhalation of egg dye that we were exposed to the night before. I plan on writing the people at Paas to post a label reading "Could cause delayed brain function, do not attempt to communicate in any fasion, nor operate machinery and stuff."

Isn't It Ironic?

As sung by Alanis Morissette so eloquently, Isn’t it ironic? Three days after I wrote a blog praising the beauties of “Up North”, some emotionally dysfunctional, neo-Nazi message posting nut job decides to go and kill his grandfather, his grandfather’s girlfriend and a bunch of innocent people at the local Red Lake High School, making it the “second worse” school shooting since Columbine. And where does Red Lake geographically lie, but right smack dab in the middle of the proverbial “Up North.”
I would nonetheless like to mention that this catastrophe is in no way indicative of the regular activities of northern Minnesota, and I would just like to again, remind those of you not to think of the area as a criminal filled society where right and wrong are disregarded. It’s like finding that green chip in an otherwise perfectly good bag of Lay’s…no matter how you may wish it wouldn’t have, it unfortunately just happens (O.K so it’s not really like that, but I felt like leaving an analogy and that’s the one that first came to mind).
And this brings me to the obvious rhetorical questions that I am not going to even get started on regarding where this kids guardians and loved ones were and how it went unnoticed that he had the mind of a suicidal psychopath since his father apparently ended his own life 8 years prior. Not going to go there. I just ask that your thoughts, prayers, and well wishes go to the families and people of Red Lake that suffered through this awful tragedy, because it could have happened anywhere, but unfortunately it happened “Up North.”

http://www.startribune.com/style/news/newsgraphics/files/redlake.html

And on the Eighth Day He Created..."Up North."

It’s another Friday evening in Minneapolis MN, and we are being bombarded with more snow, enough to close schools and allow the everyday working person to start the weekend a little early. And after loosing control and slamming my car into a curb, I decided to join the masses and head home prior to the normal end of the working day. When I arrived home I went to the local NBC affiliate news website at http://www.kare11.com/ to check the local forecast before I shoveled the sidewalk, and noticed something that sparked a little inspiration for today’s blog. After clicking on the “Sky Scan 11 Radar” option, I saw something that has become a sort of “Minnesotanism.” There are four pictures of regions in the local covering area, one being a blown up version of the Twin Cities Metro Area, another one being of St. Cloud which is about 80 miles north of Minneapolis, another being a smaller condensed version of the Twin Cities, and the final radar map labeled “Up North” which immediately caught my attention. Now “Up North” is not actually a city, although it has been capitalized on the Kare 11 website and to try and explain the error in relative grammer, “Up North” has an uncertain, yet distinct boundary to those of us who live here.

For those of you who are not from Minnesota, “Up North” is more than likely where you believe you are when you land at the airport, or cross the boarder from any extreme west, east, or southern state. To us natives “Up North” is a geographical area that encompasses the entire state of Minnesota from around St. Cloud to Canada and stretches through Northern Wisconsin. It’s something that if you ask someone “What are you doing this weekend” and the answer is “Going Up North,” the conversation is never continued with a question of exactly where, it is just assumed.

So, one may ask, “How do you exactly know when you’re Up North?” And the answer to that is a little tricky. First of all, the obvious is that the trees are taller, denser, and more piney. There are more campgrounds, lakes, and cabins and the people are considerably more laid back. Personally, I know when I’m Up North when the first cocktail is usually consumed at around 11 o’clock in the morning and continues throughout the day while sitting in an inner tube in the middle of a lake. For those of you who are not yet at your destination in your inner tube, just look for a Dairy Queen that also carries live bait and gas stations that sell fishing licenses; big clue that you’re “Up North.” Gun racks are more visible and camouflage is usually worn year round on males driving large trucks with dead animals thrown in the bed (more importantly, those men usually hold more respect for those animals than anyone they know). Blaze orange could be and more than likely is included in the school colors, and the opener of hunting season is a holiday that is celebrated by all. The “Friday Night Fish Fry” is the place to be which serves killer walleye fillets with french fries, mashed potatoes, and cold slaw, and in the summertime will most probably follow with an evening campfire and drinks with good friends. It’s a place where your cell phone more than likely will not work and you really don’t mind because it makes life that much more uncomplicated. “Up North” is one of the only places where you can get away with having riding lawn mower races after “a few too many” and not be frowned upon. You can go skinny-dipping in the middle of the night and take a bath in the lake in the morning and not worry about your neighbors. You will go to sleep with the fireflies and wake up with the loons, and every worry or concern disappears in the reflection of the lake that is in front of you. The air smells like campfire and lake water and it’s quiet enough to hear the eagle’s cry from above. You can actually see each and every star in the sky and find at least three that will fall right in front of you appearing as if they were to land in the palm of your hand. The daytime is endless and the sunsets are miraculous. All in all, Up North is a place that has pretty much lost all concern with time, deadlines, and conventional worries. It’s a place to bring your family and friends, it’s a place that just “is.”

And as I sit here and reflect upon it, “Up North” is a place that very much deserves the capitalization that has been given by Kare 11, for it has earned the love and respect of almost everyone I know and is a place that I will treasure forever.

The Top 10 Identifiers That I Am Getting Old.

10). Passing out at the ripe hour of 12:00 at our kick ass “Karaoke Extravaganza” Birthday party.

9). Being concerned that 80 jello shots held on the lap of passenger while driving to said party would constitute a citation for an “open container.”

8). The highlight of my day is when the Roto Rooter man came to clear a blockage in the main pipe so I could resume using the kitchen sink.

7). Actually knowing where to find the main pipe.

6). Having to run to the mall because I am out of my under eye wrinkle prevention cream.

5). Going through a whole bottle of under eye wrinkle prevention cream.

4). Discovering that my refrigerator is no longer solely occupied by liquor and condiments.

3). Spending 5 minutes in the morning searching for grey hairs and finding three.

2). Coloring my hair to cover up the grey instead of coloring my hair to cover up the dishwater blonde.

1). Obsessing over stupid identifiers and other lame reminders that I am no longer 18 (or 21, or soon to be 29 for that matter) instead of going to the bar to celebrate because I am, yet another year older. So if you’re looking to find me this Wednesday, March 16th go to a bar I’ll probably be there.

My City's Smarter Than Your City...Plphttttt

According to the latest edition of the Men’s Journal, Minneapolis was voted America’s “Smartest City.” Apparently the judges failed to read my “Extreme Blonde Moment” entry in our blog. Whew.

http://www.mensjournal.com/feature/0504/bestPlaces.html

Where There's A Pill There's A Way.

It’s Monday night and being slightly bored I decided to take an interactive Adult ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) test. However, only making it to question 15 of the 70 or so odd questions before I became bored and decided rather to review the gossip column of Eonline leads me to believe that I should maybe be on some form of medication because there’s a pill for everything these days, right?

You’ve seen them on TV. Strange adds with blatant innuendos, like the erectile dysfunction add where a guy throws a football though a tire swing. Everyone has something wrong with him or her, anxiety disorder, depression, dysfunction of all sorts, work allergies, you name it, they have a pill for it. I even saw an add claiming to have a solution in pill form for the “night shift worker”, it went something like this; “Are you always tired? Do you sleep all day only to wake up in the evening? Are you tired of going to go to bed when your family is just getting up? Well we have the solution for you!” Are you kidding me? I have a solution, it’s called get a new job so you can work during the day, spend time with your family, and quit complaining about stupid shit.

It is so easy to fall for the latest quick fix for all our problems, or children’s problems for that matter. Speaking of, what has happened to kids these days? I’ll tell you why everyone and their brother has this new fangled ADHD, it’s because they don’t actually experience life. When I was a kid I was always outside with my friends. There was a group of us neighborhood “hoodlums” and we would all get together, play games, and participate in your harmless everyday, run of the mill tom foolery. Sure we had our share of trouble, like the time Chris burned his eyebrows off trying to light a firecracker, but in the end we were together forming friendships and interacting with each other. It seems like now friendship has been replaced with video games, television, and the internet. What social skills does one need to play video games or watch Fear Factor, and what are we doing when watching these new reality shows? We’re watching other people experience life instead of doing it for ourselves.

I am glad I grew up when I did, everything was more carefree back then and we were never worried about the “what ifs”. Case in point: I never wore a helmet while I rode my bike. (insert obvious joke here). In fact, I learned how to use the breaks on my cute pink Huffy all by myself. I had this super smart lesson plan to take it down the hill into the cul-de-sac and crash it into the curb until I figured it out. The funny visual that has lasted me 24 years and still makes me laugh out loud to this day is when I once missed the curb and went flying into the garage door of my neighbors home (she had bicycle track marks up the middle of her garage door for months). I was fine, maybe suffered an injured ego, but fine nonetheless. Hell, what am I saying, I was 5 years old, there was no ego. There was just satisfaction that I was now able to wear a band-aid on my knee, elbow, and forehead, and all my friends would think I was cool and dangerous. These days it would probably be cause for some sort of lawsuit, “Your garage door injured my daughters ego.” Either that or “My daughter has gone off the deep end driving her bike into garage doors, is there a pill for that?”

Maybe it’s because parents don’t have the time they once did for their children. They’re off working to afford that god awful enormous SUV, or to pay for their children to have the latest video games or cell phones, or to pay for the drug that will give them four hour erections. Maybe it’s because we have become immune to fun and instead are looking for the horrible “what ifs” instead of the "why nots." It seems that risk and adventure have left us with caution and terror.

Who knows? Maybe things will go back to the way they once were. Maybe someday children will find themselves lighting bottle rockets at their neighbors house, and launching water balloons through a slingshot and not have to worry about their parents pumping them full of medications because that’s what kids do even though some doctors may label it as “abnormal.” Or maybe it would be a good idea to just quit with the whole self medication craze, step back, take a good look at yourself (or your children) and realize that not everything is exactly the way you would like it to be. You may not be satisfied with yourself, but taking pills to mask the problem isn’t doing the problem any good. So begins my pledge to refrain from asinine pill popping and take life as it is, one unique experience after another. If there ever comes a time in my life where my profile fits the questions on some obscure television advertisement I will turn the other cheek. I will figure it out in my own way, on my own terms and without a doctor’s prescription. I have come a long way from the girl that learned how to ride her bike the dangerous way to the woman who still manages to crash and burn every once in a while in other areas of her life, because that’s what life is all about; one big garage door, you just have to realize when to open it up or when to step on the brakes.

Martha, Free as A Chimpanzee?

Hardened inmate, Martha Stewart has been sprung from the clink just in time for her to demonstrate to all of us domestic-happy women how to make realistic grass out of coconut in order to decorate a fashionable Easter dinner table.
I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but for the past six or so odd months the media has been stirring with the inability dig up any juicy information on Martha. There were no hair-grabbing brawls to report, or un-lady-like tantrums over the prison food. The inmates have just referred to her as a nice person who they have grown to actually like. Actually like? Could it be so? Mean, temper tantrum, assistant abusing, Martha… nice?
So in order to prove everyone wrong I was drawn to the live video feed on CNN.com showing her release. First of all I should have had a clue when her footage was directly under one that headlined “Chimpanzees Viscously Attack Man”. Upon seeing this I contemplated which one to view first and decided that Martha would probably be more dramatic. I was wrong. The video showed nothing but her leaving the prison and pulling into her driveway, and then shots of her in her kitchen, where I assume she whipped up a batch of marzipans and hot cocoa to spend her evening by the fire knitting sweaters for her new found friends at “Camp Cupcake.”
However, I fear this is just the beginning for poor Martha as she will be held hostage at her estate for another 5 months of "in house arrest", leaving only for 48 hours a week on work release. We will most probably be bombarded by shots of her in her garden, or walking her dogs which leaves us with nothing more than the thought of our own dreams of in house arrest on a 153 acre estate, life is tough for the domestic diva.
So Martha is back and we can all rest easy that from now on we will continue to be entertained and educated on the important things in life like how to prepare, decorate, cook, bake, and still be the life of the party, “It’s a good thing.”

Gluten Free Day #6; An Ode to Toast

Ode to Toast
Toast, we used to be such good friends. With a little butter and jelly, you were the start to my day. Unselfish and tasty you gave yourself to me for nutrition and health. We were friends toast. How could you turn against me? I look at you now with contempt as I smell you in someone elses toaster, or see you on someone elses plate. Maybe there will be a time when we can meet again. A time when you no longer cause me pain and I can enjoy you all the same, because toast, you complete me.