Ode to Spring Break, 1996

Ode to Spring Break 1996


Holy God, nice mall hair Jen. Jenni and Danika, "Overexposed" 1996. 

About 10 years ago Danika and I took a trip out to Jackson Hole, Wyoming to visit Josh and his friends who at the time went to Montana State.

It all began with the prerequisite of cheap. We had planned on cutting some corners by creating a sort of “planes, trains, and automobile” type of vacation, because as poor college students we really had no choice.

So we set out to Jackson Hole via an airplane that left the Minneapolis St. Paul airport destined for Salt Lake City Utah. But before we even reached the airport we had a plan. A plan that included empty water bottles, Zima, and Jolly Ranchers; because what’s better than sneaking alcohol onto an airplane? Sneaking alcohol onto an airplane that has the potential to taste like apple jolly ranchers (Come on, we were not even 20 years old at this time, cut us some slack).

So we arrive in Salt Lake City with our booze and headed straight for the Greyhound bus station where we would catch a bus to Idaho Falls, approximately 200 miles north. It was upon the entrance of the station we decide to crack our bottles and toast a good luck cheers to our awesome vacation.

After being approached by many interesting people including a foreign exchange student who wanted to know how to spell “phat” you know as in “That car is really phat,” we decided to take a small tour of the area around the station. We somehow found a building which I believe was right outside the back of the station that dawned a giant gold statue on the top resemebing what I now know was a Mormon, and to give you a clue of our (or my) state of mind the following conversation ensued.

Jen: Danika! Look at that GIANT golden Muslim!”
Danika: “That’s a Mormon Jen.”
Jen: Right…let’s catch our bus.

So, we boarded the bus, which was filled with a cast worthy of a Saturday night episode of “Cops”…seriously. Upon boarding the bus we examined the company we were about to keep for the next 5 hours and headed straight for the back; because where else do the cool Zima drinking people sit? But at the back of the bus of course!

We were situated and comfortable and after a few more toasts we were introduced to Le Roy, his wife and their 5 month old baby. I swear to God his name was Le Roy. It’s like his parents were from the classy part of Detroit and decided to take a horrible name such as Roy and make it sound snazzy. After the obvious jokes about what their kid’s name was which included but were not limited to“Le Bob, and Le Frank,” the bus set out for our five hour tour. At each stop Le Roy and his wife would go out to smoke and leave their Le Baby with us drunk 19 year old college students.

So, to make a long story short we finally arrived in Idaho Falls where we were met by Brady, Jim, and Josh in Brady’s mom’s suburban with a full bar set up in the back. They had peach schnapps, rootbeer schnapps, Dr Mcgillicuddy’s, and every other kind of booze to get a young college girl smashed. So we were on our way for the next 90 mile stretch of highway that would lead us to our destination.

We arrived at our condo drunk and tired. And when we woke up the next morning we were ready to hit the slopes. We were probably on the slopes a good two hours when “the accident” happened. It was snowing and the flakes quickly turned to slush making it icy to boot. Josh, who is an experienced snowboarder, decided it was time to take us down the double black diamond. That’s right DOUBLE BLACK DIAMOND, because that’s what you do when you have two inexperienced skiers on an icy, snowy afternoon in the mountains.


What should have been the first clue that the double black diamond was probably not a good idea.  

I have no clue why we're blue in this picture...in fact it kind of creeps me out...blue...

It was going fine, until we got near the bottom and I thought I could handle it on my own. This is where I lose most of the recollection of the afternoon. All I remember is flying down the hill towards the chalet when I woke up, surrounded by a ski school. I was wet, injured, and missing my sunglasses. It was all bits and pieces from there and from what I’m told I was given a ride on the “dead sled,” x-rayed, and ambulanced to the local hospital. Yes, they ambulanced me to the hospital. I hated it and I couldn’t wait to get back to the condo.

After asking me where I was and who was the president and all of that other bullshit they sent me home with specific instructions for Josh to wake me up every two hours, in case I should slip into some sort of coma, which was not reassuring at all since I knew Josh and everyone else that night would be shit-canned.

When we arrived back in Salt Lake City, we hadn’t planned on reserving a hotel room because we thought it would be fine to sleep in the Greyhound station. Yeah, you read that right, “Sleep in a Greyhound station.” So, as you probably guessed we made some phone calls, and some more phone calls, and some more phone calls…you see, each and every hotel room was booked because the “National Bowling Convention” was in town. National Fucking Bowling Convention.

We were tired, we were hungry, and we were scared. So we gathered up our things and walked down to the local Mariott where we demanded they give us a room and if they didn’t we were going to camp out in their lobby. Surprisingly, since our phone call, they miraculously came up with one available room, equipped with two queen sized beds and a mini bar. We handed over our plastic and $150 later we were officially the occupants of a relatively comfortable hotel room. $150 for a hotel room in 1996? We could have stayed at the fucking Westin in Tokyo for $150 ferchrissakes. But still, it was like winning the lottery, only we had to pay for it and it wasn’t as exciting.

We did make it back, and with plenty of stories to share with our dorm mates. It’s nearly 10 years later and we’re still laughing about all of our misfortunes, but it was an experience that has bonded these two bloggers together. It was our “Spring Break 1996.”

Am I asking for it?

So, tonight I'm going to this guy's cabin. I'll be sure to bring my digital camera in hopes we'll get "Random Drunk Picture #2" out of him.

Wish me luck.

The Top Ten Things I Learned this Weekend at the Cabin.

My new favorite t-shirt...isn't it great? A little tacky maybe, but great nonetheless. 

I’ve made it back from the long weekend in Northern Wisconsin, and mostly in one piece. I thought of writing a story, but the story would be way too long and frankly, I’m way too tired to even begin. So, after letting the events marinate in my head for a while, I decided to make a top ten list which keeps the description (and work) at a minimum, but also leaves something up to the imagination as well. So here goes…

The Top Ten Things I Learned this Weekend At the Cabin.

10). Any man who single handidly drinks a two-gallon whiskey sour and still manages to successfully dock a pontoon boat should be the Eighth Wonder of the World.
9). Pillaging the resort next door for their supply of Pop Rocks and coming back an hour later with less than one bag in tow is totally socially acceptable.
8). The ear to ear grin of two people that leave a campfire to go “crack one off” and then return to the party is as obvious as daylight.
7). When you shoot a bottle rocket at someone expect one to be shot at you.
6). The 1972 volume of the HBJ Catholic School Dictionary, eight people, and multiple cocktails can supply at least a good full hour of entertainment.
5). Polishing off three quarters of a liter of vodka in one day will not help you walk better, or more specifically climb stairs. At all.
4). Croquet is more fun one handed with a cocktail in your other hand.
3). Fire + Gasoline = Really Big Fire
Fire + Gasoline + Jenni = Really Bad Idea
2). I don’t care what anyone says, to name your bar “The Beer Hunter” is the best idea. Ever.
1). Taking a really violent fall in front of your friends will trigger the following events to happen, in this order.
a). Gasps and genuine looks of concern.
b). An immediate bath of Bacitracen on all open wounds.
c). Pointing and laughing.
d). Overly dramatic reenactments of said fall…all night long.

The one thing I already knew about the cabin that I was reminded of again this weekend:

If life isn’t about good friends, a lake, a cabin, some cocktails and fun, then it should be.

Let's get this party started...right?

Woo-hoo! 

I love my boss. I’m serious. I don’t know how many blogs I read that complain about their boss. Maybe it’s because it’s the thing to do, sit around and bitch and complain about your boss. Or maybe there are people out there who really have horrible luck with their “man in charge.”

I was expecting to work today and when I got a call from my buyer saying he was ill, I was expecting it to be an even longer day in front of my computer buying loans from the que. That is, until I got this awesome email from my boss.

Go to the Cabin! Have a good weekend--Get refreshed and ready for 150% in July.

Have a GREAT WEEKEND!!

I will handle the Q!


Did I mention that I love my boss?

Did I also mention that I am SO excited to go to the cabin? Well, today’s the day and I’m ready and roaring to get the hell outa Dodge.

As I’m wrapping up this entry “It’s a Beautiful Day” by U2 is on the radio and it seems the perfect time to sign off. So, everyone out there, please have a great Fourth of July weekend! Happy Birthday USA!

Look! You too can have this totally awesome Swank or Skank desktop! Just save it to your computer, change your display settings and voila! Instant Swank! 



Disclaimer: We are not responsible for what happens if your popularity increases so much that you just don’t know what to do with yourself. Do NOT operate heavy machinery after installing desktop as men with wieners may cloud your judgment. Please use responsibly and only in small doses.

Nerd Convention

Joshua and Damian searching for gainful employment on their nerd engines.  

It's the same thing everyday. It's Joshua and Damian sitting in my living room surrounded by newspapers and computers trying to find a job. You see, the wireless highspeed internet access makes life a lot easier and provides speedy access for that pesky job hunt.

However, if you look closely at the above photo, you will find that MTV is much more interesting than what is on their computer. It's called the Real World, or Road Rules, or whatever that crap is they air on that network that I whole heartdly believe should still play music videos.

Every once in a while I'll hear a laugh followed by "Dude, check out this link." A link will then be emailed which will inevitably end up at some website having do do with either a). Hot chicks or b). Somebody crashing hard into or onto something that looks like it would really hurt. Bad.

So if anyone is ever looking for the two of them around the hours of 12-5, just drive, walk, or fly on over to my house and there they will be on their nerd engines searching for employment. Someone please...please find them a job. Please.

Kids: Sugar, spice and everything nice? 

I think I’m broken. Not broken in the conventional sense, broken in the psychological one. You see, many of my friends that I have known for a long time are having kids and the thought of having children is at the absolute bottom of my list of fun things to do. It must be something to do with my biological clock. It must be broken.

This weekend I spent some time with my family at my sisters lake home. I was able to meet my new great nephew William (who is called Isiah, his middle name). He is so very beautiful and perfect in every way and when I saw my niece interacting with him and she was so loving and motherly all I could think of was “Pass.”

Is there some sort of snooze button I should be aware of here? I didn’t come with any sort of manual…maybe I’m not plugged in. I don’t know. Do I have the motherly instinct? I don’t know that either. But who really knows? I guess only time will tell.

By the way, the little cute blonde girl on the right side of the photo is my mom about 66 years ago…isn’t she adorable? Wait…was that a tick?

On a lighter note, it’s officially the four day countdown to the four day party in Hayward WI, which I believe I previously deemed “Drunkfest 2005.” You know my friend Chrissy, my friend since I was like 4 years old and also my partner in crime and the costar of Random Drunk Story #1, yeah, her…she’s pregnant. So, as you can imagine, no keg stands or "random shot of the day" for Miss Prego. However,because of her "condition" she is an automatic sober cab...no more "not its" to be yelled this year.

I look forward to this trip every year as it’s a time for all of us to get together, hang out in the lake and just act like a bunch of assholes. It’s great. And when I say assholes I mean shoot bottle rockets at each other type of assholes, run butt-ass naked out of the lake around the cabin in the middle of the day kind of assholes, and yes, slam riding lawnmowers into the side of random parked cars kind of assholes (which as I stated before was a total accident).

As a matter of fact, I am so excited I cannot even stand it. Like excited as in obsessing over what I need to pack; food, drinks, clothes, swimsuits, drinks, snacks, drinks. This week is going to be tough, but I will somehow make it through with the focus of a gazelle…if that makes any sense whatsoever. Because there is only one means to this end and that’s me in an innertube with a cocktail in my hand. There’s a lake in northern Wisconsin and it has my name written all over it. Damn right it does.

Fun with shadows...

I don't know what else there is to do on a beautiful Thursday evening in Sandra's backyard after a few cocktails, but "shadow art" sounds pretty fun!

Danika decides she's had enough of Jen posting her boobs on their blog and takes matters into her own hands...

 


Charlies Angels Minneapolis Style.

 

Two Cows

This is the funniest thing I've recieved over email in quite some time.
Steph> sent it to me and I just had to post it. Enjoy!


TWO COWS


DEMOCRATIC
§ You have two cows.
§ Your neighbor has none.
§ You feel guilty for being successful.
§ Barbara Streisand sings for you.

REPUBLICANISM
§ You have two cows.
§ Your neighbor has none.
§ So?

SOCIALIST
§ You have two cows.
§ The government takes one and gives it to your neighbor.
§ You form a cooperative to tell him how to manage his cow.

COMMUNIST
§ You have two cows.
§ The government seizes both and provides you with milk.
§ You wait in line for hours to get it.
§ It is expensive and sour.

CAPITALISM, AMERICAN STYLE
§ You have two cows.
§ You sell one, buy a bull, and build a herd of cows.

BUREAUCRACY, AMERICAN STYLE
§ You have two cows.
§ Under the new farm program the government pays you to shoot one,
milk the other, and then pours the milk down the drain.

AMERICAN CORPORATION
§ You have two cows.
§ You sell one, lease it back to yourself and do an IPO on the 2nd
one.
§ You force the two cows to produce the milk of four cows. You are
surprised when one cow drops dead. You spin an announcement to the analysts
stating you have downsized and are reducing expenses.
§ Your stock goes up.

FRENCH CORPORATION
§ You have two cows.
§ You go on strike because you want three cows.
§ You go to lunch and drink wine.
§ Life is good.

JAPANESE CORPORATION
§ You have two cows.
§ You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of an ordinary cow
and produce twenty times the milk.
§ They learn to travel on unbelievably crowded trains.
§ Most are at the top of their class at cow school.

GERMAN CORPORATION
§ You have two cows.
§ You engineer them so they are all blond, drink lots of beer, give
excellent quality milk, and run a hundred miles an hour.
§ Unfortunately they also demand 13 weeks of vacation per year.

ITALIAN CORPORATION
§ You have two cows but you don't know where they are.
§ While ambling around, you see a beautiful woman.
§ You break for lunch.
§ Life is good.

RUSSIAN CORPORATION
§ You have two cows.
§ You have some vodka.
§ You count them and learn you have five cows.
§ You have some more vodka.
§ You count them again and learn you have 42 cows.
§ The Mafia shows up and takes over however many cows you really have.


TALIBAN CORPORATION
§ You have all the cows in Afghanistan, which are two.
§ You don't milk them because you cannot touch any creature's private
parts.
§ You get a $40 million grant from the US government to find
alternatives to milk production but use the money to buy weapons.

IRAQI CORPORATION
§ You have two cows.
§ They go into hiding.
§ They send radio tapes of their mooing.

POLISH CORPORATION
§ You have two bulls.
§ Employees are regularly maimed and killed attempting to milk them.

BELGIAN CORPORATION
§ You have one cow.
§ The cow is schizophrenic.
§ Sometimes the cow thinks he's French, other times he's Flemish. The
Flemish cow won't share with the French cow. The French cow wants control of
the Flemish cow's milk.
§ The cow asks permission to be cut in half.
§ The cow dies happy.

FLORIDA CORPORATION
§ You have a black cow and a brown cow.
§ Everyone votes for the best looking one.
§ Some of the people who actually like the brown one best accidentally
vote for the black one.
§ Some people vote for both.
§ Some people vote for neither.
§ Some people can't figure out how to vote at all.
§ Finally, a bunch of guys from out-of-state tell you which one you
think is the best-looking cow.

CALIFORNIA CORPORATION
§ You have millions of cows.
§ They make real California cheese.
§ Only five speak English.
§ Most are illegals.
§ Arnold likes the ones with the big udders.

Random Drunk Picture #1

That's nippleiscious... 

This is my friend Ben. Ben is a drunk, he is not an alcoholic. I decided to post this picture mainly because it makes me laugh, but also because it is probably the drunkest picture I own. It was taken at his cabin in southern MN a couple of years ago after a day of drinking and fun in the sun on the pontoon boat.

To tell you the truth, I don’t know if he was trying to be sexy in this picture, or if he just wanted me to take a picture of his nipple…either way it’s fucked up. Fucked up, but funny nonetheless.

A precursor as to what's to come, or a harmless frappucino. You decide. 

I’m looking California and feeling Minnesota. –Soundgarden “Outshined”

Today as I was driving down the freeway I realized something. I’m a conformist. Now, I’m not talking ultra-conventional conformist, I’m talking I tend to buy name brand items and like to afford the “nicer” things in life.

This all came about as I was driving home from the gym I belong to at which I pay way too much money in monthly dues, drinking a Starbucks iced soy chai latte, wearing my over-priced Nike air running shoes, and driving my VW convertible. The song “Outshined” came on the radio and I was mesmerized…something about that line “I’m looking California, and feeling Minnesota” hit a nerve and it just all came crashing down. Is this what I’ve become…something of a stereotype? A “soccer mom” waiting to happen? I can’t have that!

I need to break the mold and I need everyone’s help…desperately. What can I do to change this? What can I do to make myself less of a stereotype and more of an individual WITHOUT dying my hair pink and piercing my face. Or am I just over reacting and I’m really nothing of a stereotype of which I so hastily self-diagnosed?

Any suggestions?

Random Personalized Liscense Plate #1

Hmmmm.... 

In college there was this guy we called “Nature Boy” because when he got drunk he would strip down to his birthday suit and run around the halls in the buff.

Which brings me to the above photo. If I were to bet money, I would wager that this personalized plate has everything to do with a group of guys (most probably friends since high school), a very drunk weekend, a pair of tube socks and a bet.

Any other ideas?

"Wood lives on in infamy...literally."

A bronzed portrait of a hummer...It's about damn time! 

If you were to walk by this monument, what would you think? Would it make you uncomfortable if you were with Grandma? Would you have your picture taken by it? For the full story click here.

I can make my own assumptions of what this means. And let’s just say it has it’s home in a predominately gay area in Toronto. Silly Canadians!

It is what it is...Part 2.

Thanks mom, for the sweet hair-do.  

Yesterday I spent the majority of the afternoon with my parents for a 50th anniversary celebration of the church we attended while I was growing up. For some background, my parents are in their early 70’s, and yes, I was a mistake, or a “pleasant surprise” or whatever cliché label you’d like to give me. Growing up with older parents I never thought of myself as any different than any of my other friends. Sure, I may have had siblings that were old enough to be my parents, and yes, I was given everything I ever wanted because my parents could afford it and were more “established,” and it wasn’t until my father had his first stroke when I was twelve years old that I realized that maybe it wasn’t fun having older parents.

After his second stroke I spent the early summer before my Junior year of high school teaching him how to read, write, add, subtract, and minor things, like what the game of baseball was. It wasn’t easy seeing my father go through something so difficult, but it nonetheless is something I will never forget and would do again in a heartbeat.

I spent the following years wishing things would be different, wishing things would be back to the way they were and they’ve never been. And although he’s not who he was, there are still pieces of his old self that come though. He’s witty, and funny and manages to crack a joke here and there despite all that he’s been through. I discovered this as I was holding him up in the church parking lot yesterday, because without my help he would have fallen right over. While my mother was frantically searching for her keys, frustrated to the point of tears that he was having another “spell” he looked at me and said, “I’m fine.” I looked at him and said, “Yeah, I can tell.”

A few pills later and”caffeine free diet coke” (I tried to get him to drink water, but he’s too stubborn!) he was fine, like nothing ever happened. It was time for the banquet and I was ready for another episode. I expected it to happen, and it never did. He was social and attentive and I was thankful. Not only for him, but also for my mother.

I was feeling sorry for myself when I went to the bathroom and something amazing happened. I walked into the ladies room when this large woman wearing a bright colored floral moo-moo smiled at me. I smiled back and walked into a stall. As I sat down I heard her say, “It sure makes it hard to go when you’re constipated.” I smiled to myself and then realized, wait; I’m the only one here. She continued her “too much information” rant with “Maybe it’s because I eat too much cheese.” Great. “ Don’t you think that could do it Dear?” She asked with awkward wonder? I put my head down and looked under the stalls to hopefully find at least another set of feet and when I didn’t, I regretfully replied, “I suppose so.”

I tried to wait until she was done, but she wasn’t leaving and I had to leave. I could mentally hear my father announce to everyone there that I must have “fallen in” and that maybe they should call a search and rescue team to retrieve me. It was still only she and I when I walked out and there she was with her head in the sink…washing her face and exclaiming something about hot flashes and menopause. Then she glanced at me through the mirror and said, “Well, you’re too young to know about that.” Yup. I quickly washed my hands, wished her a nice afternoon and split. I about ran into my mother as I exited and as she was entering I made the crazy motion with my finger.

My mother was misfortunate enough to catch the other end of the conversation, something about a bad haircut and a horrible reaction to Bush’s baked beans. We had a good laugh and then I realized, although my dad has had his difficulties, and may have been through a lot in his life, he was never crazy like the dame I just encountered in the ladies room at the banquet hall, and for that, I am thankful.

Ziggy Zaggy Ziggy Zaggy Oi Oi Oi! 


I suck…

You know what I did today? Worked. DAMNIT! I CAN’T STOP! I think I may even need some help. Is there a support group for people like me? “Workaholics Anonmyous,” maybe?

It’s awfully tough though. When you office at home and your work is ALWAYS there. Not to mention I told my partner yesterday that I’d work for him to buy loans since his mom’s up to visit. You see, my office is in Chicago and I’m here in Minnesota…all by my lonesome. Sometimes I feel like the “red-headed stepchild.” Other times it’s kind of nice.

Anyway, it just gives me an edge to take off for the Fourth of July weekend where I can assure more drunk stories will be made (see above picture of me doing a keg stand in Northern WI) and fun will be had as I’m heading up to Chrissy's cabin to participate in the self-named “Drunk fest 2005.” I can’t wait…

Drop it like its hot...

Someone's seen better days... 

I somehow found myself perusing the < Minneapolis Prostitution Arrest Website when I was looking for a nearby office to change some info on my house. What’s this lady’s story? I thought prostitutes were supposed to be remotely attractive. “Damn, sista…somebody lied to you!”

What to do...What to do...

This weekend I have the weekend to myself, and NO WORKING ALLOWED. (That’s working at my job) So, I need your help! What should I do?
a). Work on my house.
b). Dance like I just don’t care.
c). Spend each evening in my kitchen making paper mache animals.
d). PARTY!!!!!!
e). PARTY!!!!!!
f). PARTY!!!!!

(The last three answers were not meant in anyway to influence your answer. Please, be partial and honest in your response.)

I have a confession to make. This is bad, so you may not want to read any further. Today I did the unspeakable. I did something that I never thought I would ever do and I am ashamed of myself…I went to Old Navy. I KNOW! For SHAME! I was sucked in by that commercial with the girls in the cute skirts. Damn capitalism. I did however find three incredibly cute tank tops and a really cute skirt. What? I can’t believe it either.

And it wasn’t even that bad. I expected to be bombarded by valley girl like sales clerks with leathery tans and skinny wrists wearing flip flops and board shorts and it was nothing like that. I guess I just needed to give it a chance…it’s amazing what happens when you give things a chance…

It's a sauna on wheels no more... 


I hate auto repair. Mostly because I feel like a complete dumbass when it comes to anything to do with how a car runs. I know how to put in gas, check the oil and fill the wiper fluid. That’s it. And it’s not because I couldn’t learn about it. I just choose not to. This is why when my air conditioning went on the fritz I was in panic mode. Shit. I didn’t buy an extended warranty. What if I needed a whole new AC? I don’t want to spend $1500 on air conditioning. This was in March.

This week while driving around I realized. OK, I can spend $1500 on air conditioning. Driving around in a car all day with a black top and black leather seats when it’s 85 degrees outside with 100% humidity is like sitting in the waiting room of hell. I would walk in to see my clients and they would all ask, “What the hell happened to you?” Which I would only respond with a gaze that could kill and “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I know, you’re all probably thinking, “Jen, you have a convertible. Put the top down.” It’s not that simple. It’s just as hot driving around in my car with the top down and the sun beating down on my face, than having the top up and all the windows open. Especially when I’m wearing work clothes and want to stay somewhat presentable.

So yesterday I marched my sweaty self into the VW dealership where I bought my car, and who I also do business with. The conversation with the service writer went something like this.

M(me): I need someone to look at my car. My AC is broken.
Service Writer (SW): What’s wrong with it?
M: I don’t know…it’s broken. It just blows hot air.
SW: Hmmmm…sounds like we’ll have to do a diagnostic check to figure out the problem, which is $99.00.
M: $99.00? To figure out what’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong, it’s broken, it doesn’t work.
SW: Well, we have to perform a diagnostic to see what’s wrong with it.
M: (blank stare)…what’s wrong with it? It’s broken, and it doesn’t work, and I’m bringing it to YOU to fix it. Why do I have to pay for YOU to figure out how to fix it? Isn’t that why you’re here?
SW: (Blank Stare)
M: OK fine, when can you get me in?
SW: Lets see (types on computer)…Monday at 1.
M: Monday at one huh…I could die of heat exhaustion by that time.
SW: What?
M: Never mind. What’s the best -case seneraio? What would the cost be of that?
SW: For you or us? (Chuckle)
M: (glare)
SW:Well, the best case is that you just need a refill of freeon and a recharge and that would be around $275 dollars.
M: Plus the $99.00 “diagnostic” I have to pay you to figure it out.
SW: Maybe we could waive that fee for you.
M: Oh, for me. Right.

So I made the stupid appointment just because I was sick of arguing with this guy and immediately called my friend Adam whose greeting when I call him is “Where’s my sugar, bitch!” Anyway, he said to tell the dealership to take a flying leap and gave me the number of his mechanic of whom he personally called to tell them to take care of me. NOT ONLY was there no “diagnostic fee,” but all that had to be done was a “recharge” and the whole thing only cost me $175.00. I know! What a deal! And now, not only am I riding around in the lap of luxury with my new AC…but I also saved myself like $200! I have yet to call and cancel my appointment at the dealer, I’m waiting until tomorrow so I can brag to the service writer about how smart I am and how much money I saved myself. And not only that, but I’ve found myself a new mechanic and have since relieved myself of my fear of anything to do with automotive repair. What a day!

If this is eye level, I'm Helen Keller. Wah. 

Some of you might wonder; “Why does Jenni have a picture of her ta-tas on her blog?" Others may say “It’s about damn time Jenni has a picture of her ta-tas on her blog. In all honesty, the reason for the photo is to ask this question: Why do men feel somehow obligated to stare at your chest when you speak to them?
All day long I had to dodge blatant glances at my chest. That’s right, I said blatant. Guys, it’s obvious and no, the cough as you look down does NOT mask the fact that you’re trying to cop a glance at our boobs, nice try.

And it wouldn’t be so bad if I weren’t working. It’s a little unsettling when someone you see on a regular basis is staring directly at your nae naes. Talk about awkward. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re just getting out of “turtle neck” season and it’s like the baseball opener, you just have to see it. Or maybe it’s just that I somehow surround myself with raging perverts on a daily basis. Nonetheless, it’s not very pleasant. I would rather have them say “Hey Jen, nice tits,” than have them dance around the subject like a freaky little circus clown. At least then it would be a little less awkward.

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?