Just In Case You Were Wondering

Yeah, it's been ... years. I'm sure you'll get over it. 

But I just wanted to give you one quick update. This happened:

Miss me yet?

I keep getting random hits from really odd places around the world on a blog that I haven't posted on in over a year. Yup, you guessed it - this is that blog.

So I thought I'd post a quick note to say that no, I'm not dead.  Just pathetic.  I've basically had no life for over a year now and the world seems to have slowed to a snails pace.  Most days just blend together.  I swear it's only been three months since I sold my house and most of my belongings to some random retired couple from Washington, but I know it's been much longer.  Sad, I know, but what can ya do?

Anyway, I've got some promising prospects coming up that will hopefully get me out of the dungeon and back into the real world.  If so I may actually have something to write about again - so wish me luck, and hopefully I'll see you soon!

hhmm . . maybe I should do something about that missing background.  Eh, that can wait for another day when I might write something that someone will actually want to read.

Love ya, BS'ers (that's short for Blog Stalkers - not the other BS)

In the meantime, please enjoy this picture of Chuck the Wonder Dog. :D

Is it odd . .

that I randomly blogstalk people I've never met and steal ideas from their blogs? Okay, that's not totally true. She did ask for people to make their own lists and the post them back to her - so here goes:

Is it odd that I:

* could and would eat an entire watermelon every week if they were available year round?
* am having a very hard time thinking of things that are odd about me even though I know the list is extremely long?
* will stay in bed for hours pretending to be asleep because I believe everyday starts better with sunshine?
* will stay up until 2am so that I will sleep in later and not have to pretend?
* can take hours to do something simple and easy because I get distracted by Mah Jong games?
* have HUNDREDS of recipes in not one, but two special folders bookmarked on my computer but I've only ever made maybe two of them?
* can hear a song just once and then be able to sing it word for word (but if the music isn't playing I can hardly get out two lines of the chorus)?
* have developed crushes on all of the boys from The Big Bang Theory (except Howard . . those bright red pants and turtleneck dickies just don't do it for me)?
* that I've got chocolate and junk food (chocolate is never considered junk in my world) stashed in random places all over the house but I rarely eat it? Or at least rarely finish it before it's stale?
* that I refuse to add people from high school as friends on Facebook? I'll accept their request if they send it to me, but I won't send out the invitation. Call me insecure or something.
* that I get disappointed when I don't get any mail? It makes me feel important when I get credit card offers.
* that I LOVE buying shoes (I probably own 50 pair) but I HATE wearing them?
* tell everyone I'm opposed to blind dating but really it's a confidence thing and I'm always afraid the guy will be disappointed (but don't tell my friends, they'll get mad and start trying to set me up again)?
* that I often forget to eat and then can't figure out why I've got a headache?

So tell me what makes you odd and/or normal?

Make your own list and link it back to me and to Kelly cuz we want to know too. Plus, knowing your oddities makes us feel better about ourselves.

Set Ups

Am I the only one that's morally opposed to the set up? I have this theory (you'll soon learn that I have a lot of those and very few of them are based in reality) about being set up or blind dating. One of two things is bound to happen, either A) things turn out great and you hit it off and get married and are then obligated to remain besties with whomever it was that introduced you for the REST OF YOUR LIFE or B) it goes either badly or really badly and you sit there throughout the evening plotting revenge on your former friend and thinking, "This is what they consider compatible?!? It's not that we're in different leagues [after all, you don't want to seem too shallow], but we're playing totally different sports."

Don't get me wrong, I understand that in this day and age - and at my age - the options for ways to meet men are limited at best. I could meet someone at church, bump into someone at the grocery store, drop my water bottle in front of them at the gym, hit on the FedEx guy, update my (nonexistent) online profile, or allow my friends to introduce me to potential suitors (yup, I said it).

Just last week I got a text from my BFF, MJ, saying that she had, "a lead on a 31 yr old guy from Minnesota who works with Ike (her brother)." I know she didn't mean it, but it makes me sound like a victim on CSI. I guess I should be grateful that I'm not naked and laying on an ice cold autopsy table . . but is that where my dating life is? Have I become the cold dead corpse?

So here's my question, single readers, do your friends consider you projects? Do they feel the need to set you up with everyone they come across because you're both single? And is that enough to consider giving it a try? Or do you have a higher standard that a blind date must meet before you'll go out with them? Do you go out with anyone because it's free food (don't laugh, that's what got me through college)?

You see, my house is now under contract and the new buyers want me out ASAP and would like to rent it from me until the sale closes. Actually, they even want to buy all of my things . . couch, bed, kitchen table, dishes, towels, sheets, decorations etc etc etc. I'm not sure if I should feel flattered that the like my style or freaked out because this retired couple is trying to take over my life. But that's not the point. My problem is that due to the fact that I'm soon to be both unemployed and living in my parents basement in the middle of nowhere, I don't think I'll ever date again. Or the very least, not until I find a job and get out of there and with with economy, who knows when that might happen. I'm sure there are single guys down there but I'm related to 97% of them and the rest are divorced with multiple kids. So do I now lower my standards and go out with anyone because it's better to be with someone than to be alone? Or do I hold out and risk becoming the crazy cat lady that lives with her parents??

Reasons I'm Glad I'm Still Single

Number One:

Today I watched a man in the back of Sunday School reach up and pick something out of his wife's nose. And she seemed 100% okay with it. Have they never heard the saying,

"You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose but you can't pick your friend's nose?"

Last I checked, that counted for spouses too.

By far one of the most disturbing/disgusting things I've ever witnessed. I would prefer to never be THAT comfortable with anyone - ever.

I'm sure I'll come up with more reasons along the way.

Update

I was hoping to have a little more background information on this guy before I did an update post but I haven't gotten it yet and I know inquiring minds want to know, so I thought I'd just go ahead with it.

I went to church on Sunday, still unsure if I was going to stay for the whole meeting or not. Twenty minutes into Sacrament Meeting I was ready to leave. I knew the circus was in town, but I had no idea they were coming to my ward. So needless to say, he plan was to pay my tithing and then ditch so I could make it to the Single (adult) Ward on time.

When the meeting ended I happened to walk past a girl friend from high school (imagine my surprise a few months back when I realized she was in my ward) and told her I needed to talk to her and asked her to call me later (and that is the aforementioned information I was hoping to have for the post) but she's got four kids and is kinda crazy busy.

I was headed out of the chapel with my sunglasses on my head and my keys in my hand when I happened to pass "that guy" in the hall. He was talking to someone else so I tried to avoid eye contact and keep moving but he wasn't having it. "Walk quickly and with a purpose" is what kept running through my head. I was relieved when I hit the door without any real interaction. Outside the door was another crazy weird guy in the ward who was having some sort of an altercation with one of his Sunday School kids and making a little scene of his own - and we all know there can only be one of those a day, right?

Half way down the stairs I heard someone calling, "Christine! Christine?" I knew there were no other women around and even though I knew it was him I kept going because (work with me here) my name is NOT Christine. I've been called by my sisters name many many times in the past but never by her middle name so I chose to ignore it.

I was at my car, I can do this. No, no I can't. I opened the door and turned around to get in and he was two feet away with his clear braces right in my face. And this is where I protectively get behind the door.

"Hey Christine, I'm really sorry about the other day. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I don't want you to think I'm stalking you or anything (FYI: this is why you don't correct a creepy man when he gets your name wrong - makes it much harder to cyberstalk). But, I just really think you're pretty so if you'd like to go out sometime call me." So not gonna be your arm candy, buddy.

"Ya know, honestly," I countered, "I was under the impression that you were married."

"Oh no!" He says like I should have known better. "My divorce was finalized a couple of months ago."

When recounting this story to a friend at the SAW she informed me of her rule which I've got to say, I'm going to adopt. The divorce must be finalized for over a year before I'll consider going out with you (of course that wouldn't have made a difference with this guy).

So anyway, when talking to MJ about this on the phone earlier in the week she asked if I could find a picture, "Do they have pictures on the ward website?" I have no way of knowing - I'm not registered to get on the site. So instead ... I used my second favorite tool: Google. And while I didn't find a picture, I did find a comment he'd left on Feminist Mormon Housewives (how's that for a contradiction in terms?!?) a while back. And yes, I realize you can figure how who he is by digging around this blog but honestly, I'm okay with that because I don't think any of you are really THAT concerned. However, if I suddenly disappear one day and no one knows what happened to me, start digging around there and check him out first.

Anyone who thinks they can get rich by putting facebook out of business automatically gets a big fat NO in my book. Before you ask, yes I'm sure it's really him and not just someone with the same name. The phone numbers matched up to those on his business card.

And I guess the argument could be made as to whether looking someone up online before you go out with them is a good idea or not. In this case, it really wouldn't have made a difference because there's no way I was going to go out with him anyway, but what about the next guy I meet? And has anyone ever done that to me? Actually, that wouldn't really matter either. Other than my blogs I don't have much of a google worthy internet presence anyway.

What do you guys think? Is it a good idea to google potential dates? Have you ever done it? Do tell!

Who would have thought . .

. . that I'd LONG for the day when guys tried to ask me out via text message. Okay, let's be honest, I'm not much of a dater anymore and no one tries to ask me out by text or any other way for the most part. But is has happened to many friends of mine - one specifically (you know who you are - and now everyone else does too. PS Congrats on the impending nuptials and may he NEVER plan a date night via text).

Here's what happened (Tony Shalhoub and Jim Parsons were ROBBED): Melissa and I were preparing for the season premier of The Big Bang Theory and as part of that, I took Chuck for a quick walk to get out some of his energy before our guests (who am I kidding - guest, singular) arrived. Since it was just going to be a walk I just threw on some old sneakers and a hoodie over my tshirt (so that passerbys couldn't tell I wasn't wearing a bra) and went on my way.

Half way around the block I passed by the home of a family in my ward. I'd seen them arriving late many a time and hiding out in the overflow along with me and most of the other young families, but never paid them much mind - other than to notice that their middle kid has a SERIOUS case of middle-child-syndrome. Oh, and they have a son that has just recently gone on a mission.

Anyway, as I was passing by the house the father (whom I think is in the EQ Presidency - but I don't know why I think that . . carrying a binder, maybe?) was out grabbing the mail. He stopped me - but not Chuck who continued to run circles around my feet trying to get at their cat - and introduced himself. He said, "You're in our ward, right? I've seen you in the back. Are you seeing anyone?" Now I'm annoyed. I'm not going out with his single brother/cousin/coworker just because we're both single. That doesn't mean we've got anything in common. Come on single readers, help me out. How annoying is that?!?

I was paying more attention to Chuck than the conversation because I didn't really care about his matchmaking skills and failed to censor myself appropriately. "Do you want to go out sometime?" And looking back in it now, I probably shouldn't have scoffed and said, "NO!" It took me a second to realize what had just happened. He didn't say he wanted to set me up. He actually asked me out. "I've seen you at church and you're really pretty . . . (stammer, stammer, stammer)" What the hell?!? I thought he was married? Who are the kids? Who was the woman he was with at church? Is the kid on the mission that he gave a talk about just two weeks ago his? And of course, in light of the next paragraph, how am I supposed to answer his question?

Oh crap, oh crap oh crap is running circles through my head. You see, not even a week ago, Melissa and I had gone for a walk with Chuck the Wonder Dog and passed by his house just as he was getting home. I said to her (because he was watching us), "He's in my ward. I think he's in the EQ Pres so I'm sure he's a really nice guy, but I've got to tell you the truth. He really gives me the creeps. He's always staring at me. I'm sure he's just doing his duties and wondering if I've got a Home Teacher or whatever, but still . . it's awkward." My bad. I felt so horrible, that I considered calling/texting him to apologize for being so snotty, but I really don't want to encourage anything. If those are indeed his kids, there are FIVE of them! And what happened to the woman? Buried in the back yard? Wrapped up in a rug in the landfill? Vacationing in Mexico with girlfriends? His sister?

"Sorry, you really caught me off guard." I stammer as Chuck tries - almost successfully - again to reach their orange cat that is now cowering by the basketball hoop. He then handed me his card and told me to call him and we'd go out (or not). Then trying to be the gentleman he said that he's had a lot of experience training dogs and could help me with mine (as Chuck peed in their bushes) and if I'd like, he'd walk me home. Hhhmm . . no. But I do think I hurt his feelings and I really do feel bad about that and I'm not sure what to do with it.

So what now? Thoughts? Advice? I think it wouldn't be so weird if there were a ton more single people in the ward that I could just blend into . . but as far as I can tell, I'm the only one there under the age of 40. Seriously, I'm dying here. Tell me what to do, oh mighty blog stalkers.

Too much information you say? Suck it up and tell me what to do. <3

Where have all of the good guys gone?

I've been asking myself this question for YEARS. Seriously, many of them. Even when I was in a serious, committed relationship, I'd often look at the guy(s) and think . . what am I doing?

[insert photos of me with ex-boyfriends with their faces cut out]

Most of you know, I avoid/despise the idea of blind dating. I find the thought of internet dating absolutely insane. However, I don't seem to be having much luck on my own right now either.

But after finding this voicemail on the blog of another single LDS girl in NYC (whom I blogstalk) I decided that maybe . . just maybe . . I'm better off on my own.




I think I may be single forever.

Blessing and a Curse

No, I'm not talking about my amazing good looks or my astounding crazy wit. Nope, I'm talking about my friendship with Marion (keep reading, you'll eventually understand).


Seriously, she's one of the most amazing, kind, patient people you'll ever meet. And actually, just this morning I realized that I was conceived approximately two weeks after she was born. Here's what I think happened . . .



We were hanging out in Heaven playing flying hopscotch and what not when she decided that it was time for a new adventure - a road trip, if you will - to Earth. So she was born, and I was bored so I went for a visit. At that time said/cooed to me one of two things, either A) "J, this is really cool. You should come too. It'll be so freaking cool." Or B) "J, this is crazy nuts and I don't think I can do it on my own. Please come down too. We can do it together." Being the optimist that she is, I'm going with A - always convincing me I can do things that I really incapable of doing. And so, I came. It took us something like 12 years to find each other again, but we did it.



We've known each other for 22 years and been best friends for 18. (MJ, correct me if I'm wrong, my math skills lack once the sun goes down). We've been through EVERYTHING you can think of together . . dating, boyfriends, ex-boyfriends (and their sweatshirts), middle school, multiple divorces (not our own), high school, research papers, college, cross country trips, snow storms, heat waves, marriages (hers, not mine), babies (hers, not mine), buying houses, getting jobs, losing jobs . . and so much more. And I expect that it will continue for many more years to come.




Earlier this evening, I realized I was out of milk (for shame!) so I ran to the grocery store. Upon getting there, I realized I had remnants of dinner still on my shirt. Feeling like an idiot, I ran into my Bishop. And this time, he actually recognized me. Figures.



Then two minutes later, I saw another woman from my ward. She is in her late 30's, never been married, teaches elementary school, cries in every lesson where they mention kids and/or marriage and writes in her journal during Sunday School about how hard it is to be single in a family based religion (she sad next to me one day and held her journal so that I could read it - trying to bond or something, I suspect). So, I ducked around a corner (yes, I'm evil and MJ would NEVER do such a thing) so that I wouldn't have to talk to her. But before I did, I realized that she was wearing no makeup, a sloppy tshirt, had her hair in a bun and just looked generally sad - aside from the sad part, she pretty much looked a lot like I did, minus the food that was being saved for later. And I thought, "Damn, that's me in 7 years. . ."



And then in my minds eye, I saw us up there in Heaven again and I thought, "This is all Marion's fault."


Sorry about the random smattering of pictures. Eventually, when it's not the middle of the night, I'll come back and make one of those cute collages that MJ makes on her blog - but as of right now, that requires way too much effort.

Drunken SnAILers

My poor flowerbed has been having issues. Everything I planted . . died.


And then one day, I saw one of these:



and one of these:


crawling across one of the only remaining healthy leaves. They were chowing down and leaving a shiny silver treasure map for their slimy friends to follow. This confirmed my suspicions from last summer when I found big holes in the leaves of our tomato plants. Last year and twice this year I've laid down slug and snail bait but it hasn't seemed to do any good. They just keep coming.

In my research I've found that snails and slugs like to breed (with themselves, yes they have both male and female parts and don't need a . . . donor . . . to create more), live and lay eggs in overgrown yards - just like the one next door to my townhouse. The neighbors have been trying to sell their place and it's been empty since last fall so no one takes care of the yard. And sure enough, after their feed, I watched a couple of them slither back through the fence to take shelter from the days sun.

I've come across a couple of decent sounding game plans for said "snug" (get it? Half snail, half slug) problem. Someone suggested keeping a salt shaker in your garden and sprinkling it on them whenever they show up - which I don't doubt works, but they usually feed in the early morning and late at night. I don't know about you, but I've got better things to do with my time than salting slugs. Someone else also suggested using some sort of a poker to stab them with? But again, that would require just hanging out and waiting for them to show up. Not gonna happen. Finally my roommate Melissa made an interesting suggestion. She said she'd heard that if you put out a small bowl of beer overnight they'll be attracted to it, slither in and drowned (or at the very least get a buzz and not be able to make it back to your plants).

So I thought I'd give it a try.

Finally bought my first beer. Only ten years too late for the drunken rebellious stage of life.
The whole time I was standing on the gas station waiting to buy it I was singing that really annoying hot dog commercial song in my head, "With the Miller High Life boiled in. Go meat!"

That's it my transgendered friends . . slide on up to the bar and let me buy you a drink.
(insert devilish laugh here)

I felt it was only appropriate that they die in the shade of what they had killed. How's that for irony?
(Is that technically irony? I don't think it is but I couldn't think of a better word. Blame Alanis.)

Is it bad that I counted the slug carcasses with joyful, childish glee?

Yard Mullet: damage in the front, carnage in the back.
I accept full blame for the lame jokes.
and the accidental rhyming.

Let us pretend that you can't see that dead spot in my new sod that's been caused by the pee of one "Chuck the Wonder Dog".
(I've been researching that too but thus far, have not found any good solutions. If you have one, PLEASE send it my way.)

Apparently, the ants quite like the beer too. Let's see them march in a straight line now. HA!

All in all, I counted 52 slugs between my three plates when I emptied them this morning. And I'm almost out of beer. Those suckers can DRINK. I may have go get some more but I think this time I won't go dressed like trailer trash. And as soon as I hit the grocery store I'm going to try another theory . . sprinkle broken egg shells around your plants. Apparently, they will crawl over the shells, get all kinds of sliced up and bleed out. Painful, but necessary (and cheaper). Slug impaled by shell. That could make for some interesting photos too.


PS I was having a hard time naming this blog post because I'm mental like that and in my sleepy daze, I came up with many others that I like so I thought I'd share:

It's Miller time!
Chugs & Slugs
Slugs on a Bender
Bugs on a Bender
Chuggin' Slugs
Beer! It's what's for dinner (and for breakfast, apparently).
The Great Slug Slaughter

Ode to Hot Cops

Why is it that every time I get pulled over, or get a flat or break down somewhere it's always the old gray haired, chubby cops that are there? This afternoon I was driving down Highway 89 and saw a car that was broken down on the side of the road. And while I felt bad for them, as breaking down does suck, the cop that stopped to help them was nothing short of B U I L T and H O T. So I ask again, where were you when I got pulled over in I-15 for doing 96 in a 75? Sigh.

Spider (Wo)man

So I woke up one morning last week with two HUGE spider bites on my right arm. Please forgive the low quality picture. I took it with my phone. And since the lighting was so bad, I outlined the bites so you could see them better. Yup, I'm amazing that way.

I pulled off my sheets and changed them (even though the ones that were on there were clean and I'd just put them on the day before . . hhm . . maybe that's where the spider came from) and went on with my day.

Within 24 hours, both bites had two tiny blisters in the middle of them which I imagine is where the evil spider injected it's super power inducing venom into my arm. And then the pain started - it spread all of the way up into my elbow. Not my idea of a good time.

Now, I don't know if the evil spider was the freakin' HUGE ant I found crawling across my ceiling or if it was this mother of a bug I found in my closet a couple of days later . .

Now let me clarify . . the spider DID NOT come with the Sobe cap. So don't go plastering this all over the internet and saying that someone found this inside their drink and the health department is shutting them down. It's not true. A friend of mine gave me the cap because I drive a Jetta and often wear a ponytail (how appropriate is that?!?) and I had it taped to my computer at work - but now, it sits in my closet, amongst the spiders.

I had to include that last one so that you could see the sack of eggs that she was protecting with that massive web. Can you imagine that breaking loose in my house?!? Next step . . filling the cap with spider killer.

PS I'm pretty sure my spider induced super power is invisibility as that once again, I was standing in line at a fast food joint and the clerk looked right past me and asked for the order of the person behind me. That can only happen so many times before my ego takes a hit. From here on out I think I may have to avoid restaurants where you have to look up at the menu.

Fortune Cookie Update

It's been over a month, and absolutely nothing (except for my sleeping schedule) has changed. So much for the fortune cookie gods.

Damn you, drunk Chinese men! *Sigh* Who knows, maybe the gray haired lady had an excellent May. I sincerely hope someone's problems got better.

ttfn (which is the only appropriate sign off after my last post),
Jj

And you thought your family was embarrassing . .

So wrong that I just had to share. Follow the link, so worth the time.

Miss me?

Okay, I know I said I was going to give it a break for a while but this story is just so funny that I have to share. Honestly, it would be a crime against nature and comedy to keep it to myself. So you'll get this one and probably a few others along the road but I'm going to lay off anything personal for a while. I figure people probably don't care about my personal life as much as my observations anyway, so here goes.

Saturday night (or should I say Sunday morning?) some neighbors across the way in my complex starting making a ruckus. This is not unusual for them. It's a house full of (very) young and stupid renters and they have no respect for anyone else in the area that might have children or just a crazy desire to sleep at 1am. They've had the cops called on them multiple times and have had eviction threatened many times. I think the owners just keep cycling people through it. One moron will move out and another idiot will take his place - and around we go.

Anyway, I heard some guy run out of their townhouse with his girlfriend shouting about how they were going to "do this" and "get it done". I stayed in bed thinking they were going to get in their car and leave and my part in the story would "be done". Then the headlights came on and lit up the entire parking lot. That's when I realized that they were going to try to jump a dead battery. I felt really bad for the people directly across from me because they had said headlights shining right into their living room and master bedroom. Chuck the Wonder Dog was all kinds of agitated by all of the noise and started to pace out on the balcony so I got up to check it out (and encourage him to bark at them). Sitting on the floor in my room spying out the front window I was riveted by the drama that was going on down there.

It all started out pretty normal, they pulled up some sort of an SUV next to the Malibu hooked up the cables, started the first car, and then went to hook the cables up to the dead Chevy. And then she shrieked, "Holy &@*#&! It's on fire! Do something!" As things under the hood were starting to melt he tried (with bare hands) to remove the cables from the battery. I don't know, call me illogical, but my first thought - which I almost screamed from my hiding place - was to cut the power since it was an electrical fire. Simply put, turn off the running car. And that begs the question, why was that car running in the first place? I'm no car expert but I have jump started more than one dead battery and I typically start with both cars in the OFF position. There I go, being logical again.

Back to the story . . . As the drunken bimbo was freaking out I heard, "I'm going to go get some water!" Thankfully, he wasn't quite as drunk as I'd previously assumed and logically warned her of the fact that it was an electrical fire and they could both die (I'm paraphrasing as he used a number of four letter expletives within the warning). And this is when they went for help. By now, Chuck was beginning to freak and get really agitated. He laid down behind me on the floor as to protect himself from the burning smell of melting plastic. Such a protector.

Don't stop now. Keep reading because it only gets better/dumber.

An entire gaggle of other drunkards tumbled out of the front door of their rental to lend their expertise. They're all standing around the smoldering remains of the electrical blaze trying to figure out how to solve the problem (with the jumper car STILL running) and lighting up their cigarettes as they lean in closer to get a better look. I know they're two totally different kinds of fire but am I the only one that thinks that might not be the brightest idea? Oh, and speaking of bright, I heard this one word-for-word a minute later. "Dude, you can't jump an American car [the Chevy Malibu] with a foreign car [the STILL running SUV]." Are you kidding me?!?! There's a 98% chance that both of those batteries came from Wal-Mart (thank you Melissa) and that the jumper cables were made in Taiwan.

But that didn't stop them from pulling a Ford up on the other side to try again. By now, I was only mildly entertained and extremely tired. Seriously, it's bed time. "Get it done" and go away. After fumbling with the cables for a good 10 minutes they FINALLY figured it out (this time actually doing it the right way) and headed back in doors so I headed back to bed. A few minutes later I realized that I could still hear a car running. They'd left the Malibu running as to keep charging the batter which is probably the right thing to do, but most people would drive it somewhere. Whatever, not my car. But I was tempted to take it for a little joyride and leave it in a ditch (still running as to keep recharging the battery).

And in conclusion, ten minutes later Ken and Barbie came out of the house to head who knows where and as they got into the fully charged Malibu I heard him say, "Babe, I feel so stupid."

As you should, Ken. As you should.

xoxo
Jj

I believe that everyone else my age is an adult . . .

. . . whereas I am merely in disguise.
- Margaret Atwood.

We all work every day to accomplish something - or sometimes, anything for that matter. Life is a battle and a test and we can only do the best we can. And like so many others, I've pushed myself to get through my schooling so that I could get a good job, (a career even) and live a "successful" life. And I got that job, and I thought I had that life. I worked at said "good job" for almost four years, feeling like a child in an adults clothing the entire time. While I enjoyed it and was good at what I did, I always felt as though I was faking it.

You're invited to: My Pity Party*
Where: Right here, silly
When: Well, right now if you bother to finish reading (not really worth it, so don't) or later. Whatever, I'm not picky.
Please RSVP
Ben and Jerry's will be served by the pint.

On the outside, I tried to appear like I had it all together. I have my education, I had my "career", I bought my own home, I have my dog, my car is paid off, etc etc etc. But, being a Mormon in Utah, I still feel as though it's all an act and that because I'm unmarried and barren (I like to use technical terms as it makes me feel more mature) I still feel like I've accomplished . . well, nothing. And to ice the cake, I was laid off from my "career" two and a half months ago and there is no sign of any new job on the horizon. And honestly, I have no idea where to go from here. So basically, I'm no longer successful. I can no longer claim to have it all together. I'm an unemployed, unmarried "adult" who owns a home I can no longer afford, has a dog that eats like a horse, a car with a check engine light that's on so often I can set my watch by it, and basically no reason to even bother changing out of my pajamas.

There have been MANY times throughout my life when I've gotten up in the morning, looked at myself in the mirror and been surprised at what I saw. It's like my body doesn't exactly match my soul. Does that make any sense at all? Almost like I forget what I look like overnight and when I see it again, it just doesn't seem to fit. Am I weird? I can't be the only person that's ever experienced this sensation, right?

I envy those that seem to actually know who they are. And I envy those that don't have to try to figure it all out on their own. Now don't get me wrong - I will NEVER be one of those girls that begs everyone she knows to set her up with anyone that's single. I actually despise the idea of setups. Plus, I have much higher requirements than just having a job and not living with their parents and I'd be borderline impossible to setup anyway. I'm stubborn and I refuse to change that even if it means I die alone with my six cats (which I don't yet have, don't curse me).

But, when I look around my neighborhood and my ward at all of the cute little young couples that have or are having babies right now (and there are a lot of them - it's an epidemic) the only thing that I can think is that it must be nice to have someone to go through all of this crap with. Now I've got my friends - actually I've got some of the most amazing friends out there (trust me, you should be so lucky), but it's been YEARS since I've been THAT important to any of them. Ya know what I mean? (Don't get me wrong, ladies and gents, I know you love me and that you still consider me important - I'm not saying that you don't, so don't get all annoyed with me.) But back during the younger (and their) single days, I often felt . . . needed. But things have changed. I'm no longer that person to anyone.

I was the person they called when the cute guy asked them out, I was the first person they emailed when they got that job offer, or that raise, or that A. If it was exciting, disappointing, happy or sad, I got the call. And in return, I had someone to call. And in all honesty, I know that if something happens (good or bad) I still have multiple people that I can call - but really that's not as important to me as being important to someone else. I rarely get phone calls anymore and 98% of my emails are junk. Sometimes it will be days, even weeks before I hear about things that happen in my friends lives. I'm just not the one they think of anymore when they've got something to say - and really, in the grand scheme of things, I shouldn't be the first person they come to anymore. It's just the cycle of life - but it would seem that mine has stalled and everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.

*Okay, I'm done with my pity party and I hope you enjoyed your ice cream. I hate not being funny and entertaining (cuz I'm so good at both of those) and I hate writing negative or depressing stuff but unfortunately that is all that has been on my mind for the last couple of weeks and I had to get it out so I could stop thinking about it. I promise, this is the last post I'm going to write like this (at least for a good long while). I don't know how long it will be before I'm back, but I refuse to do another post until I've got something exciting or at the very least, entertaining to tell that person (or any person for that matter). And to make matters worse, I'm betting that as soon as I hit the Publish Post button, I'm going to regret it. Such is life in the World Wide Web.

Chinese Take-out

Last week I had a crazy craving for lettuce wraps so I stopped at a local Chinese restaurant on my way home for some take-out. As I sat at my desk touching up jewelry pictures and chowing down on my cashew chicken, I pondered what words of wisdom my sweet/crunchy/yummy fortune cookie (Which I've always felt would be better if it came dipped in chocolate. Who's with me?) may have for me today.

As you probably know, the last couple of months have been very up in the air and confusing for me. I've been feeling, what you may call, "a little lost" - but I digress.

Don't get me wrong - I really don't take much stock in fortune cookies (like my men, maybe I'd find them more trustworthy if they were smothered in chocolate). Honestly, who is going to believe the drunk Chinese guy in the back room with a typewriter anyway, right? But, I don't think I've ever found a fortune cookie more exciting than this one:

My mind went into hyper drive! What could this mean? Will I find the most amazing job ever? Will I make a decision about going back to school? Will I win the lottery? Will meet some amazing guy (who has already won the lottery)? The possibilities are ENDLESS.

I'm hoping that for once, the old Chinese guy got it right and this cookie wasn't actually intended for the gray-haired lady ahead of me in line - but the fact that the waiter gave me three cookies instead of just one in my Styrofoam container made me debate the randomness of the fortune cookie delivery system.

I sat there daydreaming for a good five to ten minutes - jewelry photos be damned - until I started to think about fortune cookies past and that one fateful (or not so fateful) lunch so long, long ago (imagine wavy time travel lines here as we head back to that restaurant in Provo) . . .

It was a warm day in the summer of 1997 (No, I'm not making up the facts. My memory is just that good.) and I sat across the booth from my roommate and her boy of the week. We'd just picked him up and decided that lunch was a necessity. I had the sweet and sour chicken and McKenzie had the broccoli beef (okay, that part may be made up). Nobody cares what the BF had because he's be out of the picture for a very long time now anyway. The food was satisfying but not overly impressive - which explains why I have no clue as to the name of the restaurant. When the waitress brought the check, we followed the custom and each took the cookie closest to us. I have no recollection what the fortune cookie gods said to the rest of the table, but mine made quite the impression. And to tell you the honest truth, I've still got it taped in an half-finished journal somewhere. I was dating three different guys at the time (none of which knew about any of the others) so I was a little confused when I read out loud:

Which one do I choose? How do I decide? Yeah, and we see how well that one worked out for me. Side note: If I recall correctly (and again, I know I do) this is the lunch where I came up with the "old drunk Chinese guy in the backroom with a typewriter" theory as to how fortune cookies are written.

Now, I know you're dying to do it, so say it with me, "Don't worry. Your problem gets better next month . . in bed." There are so many ways that this could go (I actually had a pretty good list started here) but I've decided that I'll leave the creativity up to you, my loyal cyber-stalkers, rather than getting myself into trouble at the embarrassment of my family and friends (or at least my Mother) who thought I had more tact than that.

Good luck on thinking about anything else for the next 15 minutes. You're welcome.

The Girl in the Social Bubble

This is going to be one of those pity party posts that I just have to get off my chest. But in all honesty, I would prefer it if no one actually reads it so why don't you all just give up and navigate away . . now.

For anyone still reading this - you suck. Of course, I'm a rambler anyway so you'll get bored and leave soon anyway so I'm not really worried.

As most everyone knows, about a month and a half ago my company did a mass layoff (they've now lost more than 40% of their staff through lay offs and quitting in the last 12 weeks) and along with 14 other people, I too lost my job. Now don't get me wrong, I'm actually quite okay with it. I was in a bit of a creativity and career rut working there and I had been semi-job hunting for a few months before that anyway and this has just given me the push that is forcing me to move on. Plus, with my tax return, severance, vacation pay and unemployment I'm good for a while so don't be freaking out thinking that I'm going to be living a van down by the river any time soon (but I could end up in my parents basement which is part of my concern and reason for this post). However, I am selling my house so that if/when I do find that perfect job I won't have anything major tying me down that I still have to take care of.

My second major topic for this post is my ward status. For anyone who is an avid reader of my blog (both of you) you know that I was kicked out of my singles ward due to my age. They announced that this was going to happen back in August and that we had until the end of the year to find somewhere else to go - but the only real option they gave us was the family wards - hello nursery*. At the time there were 64 people in my ward that were being put out to pasture and I know of at least four more that were passing their shelf date before New Years.

And within those two stories lies my issue . . I go to a ward where the closest I get to social interaction are the blank stares of disapproval I get from the rest of the ward when I don't sign up to feed the missionaries and the old man that calls me Sister Larsen - he's the Executive Secretary, for Heaven's sake. Guess I won't actually be getting any callings any time soon. Imagine that conversation:

"I need you to call Sister Hansen to come in and meet with me."
"Who's Sister Hansen?"
"The blonde that got kicked out of her ward."
"I don't know who you're talking about."
I believe it ends with "Who's on first?"

And then I stay home all day, every day. My roommate gets up and goes to work, often before I'm even really considering the idea of consciousness and until she gets home at night, I don't hold a single two-sided conversation. I say two-sided because I often talk to Chuck the Wonder Dog but he's not much of a conversationalist and has some really unusual political views, so I try to avoid that all together.

Melissa (previously mentioned roommate) isn't much of a night owl, and I'm not a morning person so we keep very different hours and she's often passed out and talking in her sleep before I've even had dinner which means that I can often go a full day without ever having had talked to anyone at all. Now, to be totally honest, I'm really okay with this. I'm not as social as I once was (okay, I know I've never really been social but for the sake of the post, just go with me on this) but I think this may be becoming an issue. Don't get me wrong, in the past few weeks I've spend quite a bit of time with my BF's because they've been kind enough to come help me on my house, A LOT! Which I totally appreciate and it's been a lot of fun to have them around. But they're all married and don't really live very close and they have many other priorities besides conversing with me. So since I was kicked out of my ward, and thus all single based activities and laid off from work, I've also lost almost my entire social network and I've developed a bit of a social bubble. And by bubble, I don't mean that I'm unaware for what's going on around me. I mean that I feel like the boy in the plastic bubble (thank you John Travolta for blessing the world with that cinematographic masterpiece) where I'm being kept from the rest of the world like I have leprosy or some other horrible contagious disease.

Seriously, this is more action than I've had in much longer than I'm will to admit. Unfortunately, my plastic bubble doesn't allow for making out, unless I'm allowed to start macking on the bag boy at Smith's since he's often the only boy I see for days at a time.

So I ask you this, what am I supposed to do about it? I've discovered that it's much easier to make friends, if you already have friends. No one wants to hang out with someone that has no one else to hang out with - you seem clingy and needy when they ask, "What did you do on Friday?" and all you can come up with is, "I sat at home by myself crying to my dog because you didn't return my call." And unfortunately, friends is something that I don't really have - at least not any single ones. So aside from internet dating (which I am totally against so don't even think about suggesting it), what on earth am I supposed to do to rectify the problem? However, in reality, it's not even a dating thing. Aside from a few wild and crazy (and starving) college years, I've never been much of a dater either. But I've almost always had a large group of friends that were around whenever I needed them. And since it would appear that both joining the ranks of a television sitcom where all we do is hang out at a coffee shop and marriage aren't really options, I seriously think it may be time to get out of Utah and start over somewhere that they don't ostracize people for being single. Next decision . . where to go. I guess that depends on finding a job - or winning the lottery, which sounds a whole lot more fun and less time consuming.

*If I were actually ever called to the nursery, I may have to convert to Catholicism and become a nun. At least then I'd be married to Jesus instead of being "in that situation".

Kitchen Reconstruction

So for the past week and a half I've been covered in paint EVERY dang day. For the first time in nearly two weeks I wore a different pair of jeans yesterday and I found myself wiping butter down my thigh. Guess wearing paint covered clothes has helped me develop some pretty bad habits that I've got to break. I haven't been in the gym in nearly two weeks but I still feel like I haven't stopped moving.

My hands hurt, and not only the joints and all of the places I hit myself with the hammer (I hit my left thumb three times on ONE nail. Seriously. Issues.) but also my skin. It's dry and cracked and ugly from washing over and over again and all of the unnatural chemicals and I'm in serious need of a manicure because most of my nails have broken or ripped off. But that's so beside the point.

Poor, poor Chuck the Wonder Dog has been afraid to navigate through the kitchen for DAYS and he's only been walked three times in the last week.

The good news is, I'm FINALLY DONE (note obsessive use of caps tonight)! The hinges were an issue. I had to drill new holes because the hinges that were on the cabinets were really weird and out dated. But Melissa helped me and we got the last of them up this morning. So, here you go. Before, during and after. Looks pretty good, huh? ALMOST makes me wish I weren't selling. Almost.

And just so you know, every plant like item in my kitchen is an actual living plant. It's been spring in my house for the past six or eight weeks. Check out that tree?!? It started blossoming (is that what trees do? Blossom? Bud? Sprout?) in October! Weird, I know but who am I to argue with Mother Nature. Oh, and be sure to check out that freakin' awesome thing on my dining room table. It's a bulb my sister gave me for Christmas. It's HUGE and really cool looking.



Oh and I've got to thank Marion, Maria, Melissa and my parents for helping me get this all done. I'd probably still be down there working instead of posting about it right now if it weren't for them.