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.

Potty Dance

I'm sorry, but it's got to be said.
I don't think I've ever seen anything more wrong than this.

Customer Service

So yesterday during the mondo-huge snow storm, my satellite went out. And since I'm currently unemployed and sit at home all day long, I was a little bit bugged so I called Dish Network to see if it was an everywhere thing, or if I was just special.

After talking to the guy and getting it figured out he started harping on the fact that I mentioned that it happened frequently. When I told him it goes out randomly, about once every couple of weeks but I just play with the settings until it comes back, he decided that it was his duty to go above and beyond on the call of customer service. He made me run all sorts of tests and read all different kinds of messages to him (at high noon on my cell phone, mind you) so he could figure out why it frequently went out. It's a satellite, dude. If a bird flies through the signal, it goes out. I've learned to deal with it and so should you.

Keep in mind this took much longer than it should because he felt the need to dumb down everything he said, "Press the menu button, scroll to 7 and press select," and "Highlight yes, and press select." So eventually he has me run some test that says that I'm only getting half the signal I need and has me save some setting. Suddenly, I only have the local channels instead of all of the channels which I'd had just three minutes prior to that and now he's got to schedule a technician to come out to my house.

"He'll be there tomorrow between noon and five. Please let us know 24 hours in advance if you need to reschedule."

"So, like right now?" I questioned him. To which he brilliantly replied, "Huh?"

"You said to let you know 24 hours in advance if I needed to reschedule but you just scheduled him to come out exactly 24 hours from now. So you need to know right now if I need to reschedule the appointment you just set up for tomorrow? Right?"

Honestly, when the conversation ended and I finally hung up, he still didn't get what I was asking him. So I figured I was on my own. I played with the settings, changed a couple of things I didn't really understand and ran the same test again until I got all of my channels back and saved the day. So the moral of the story is - don't bother with customer service. Just run random tests until you get the result you're after on your own. Take the reins and be your own hero, damn it!

PS After all of that, the technician didn't even show up today. But did they didn't bother to call me 24 hours in advance to reschedule? You know the answer so say it with me, "Huh?"