Things that scare me...

So I have some odd fascinations that cause people to look at me sideways. For instance, I like to find the seedy underbelly of whatever town I’m visiting. I’m riveted by mafia-like crime. If someone dies a violent death, I want all of the details. I read the police blotter of local papers and have since I was little. When I ran long-distance, I was the one stopping to look at and examine road kill. This is a horrid side of me and I need immediate help, I know. I was probably dropped on my head as a child.

I have an unnaturally strong stomach. I started out in college as pre-med (who didn’t?) and got so far as to actually dissect a cadaver, so you wouldn’t think much would bother me.

(Sidebar: It’s not advisable to mention that you know how to dismember a body on a first date. The check will appear very quickly and you won’t get to look at the dessert menu. See, I don’t think of that knowledge as “strange” or “weird”, but more “handy” and perhaps “useful if hungry and on a deserted island.” That’s just me, though.)

But I do have a list of things that freak me out that the average person wouldn’t even blink at:

1) I don’t like people to touch my food.
2) I hate cabbage, either growing or on my plate. The plant itself inspires violent feelings.
3) I’m scared of birds.
4) I’m also scared of schools of fish.
5) I have an unnatural fear of something getting lodged in my navel.
6) Empty wrappers, for instance in a box of See’s Candies, cause me terrible anxiety. I can’t take a chocolate until I’ve gathered up all of the wrappers and thrown them out.
7) I’m scared of white vans. The ones that drive, not the shoes.

I’m sure others share #1 and #3…but I’d admit to the rest as being odd. Anyways, today, I added another irrational fear to the list.

I was working in the studio by myself and in between clients a man walked in, wanting information about Pilates. I had just started giving him my usual spiel when I caught sight of his nose…and the long hairs growing out of it. We’re talking LONG. Like, he might have had to employ a hair dryer and some styling products to get that hair to behave the way it was. It was curly, silky looking and very happy to be out in the world. As he talked, it bounced enthusiastically against his upper lip and I couldn’t hear a world he was saying for fear that the hair would wind its way over to me and perhaps pull me into his nose, where I would be forever lost. It was fascinating, and also made me want to throw up a little bit. Because in what land, what culture, is it ok to shave your entire face yet let hairs grow to that extent OUT OF YOUR NOSE? Things, mucous-y things, come out of that. With the amount of hair that was projecting forth from his nostrils, who knows what else was living up there? Had a goat poked its head out, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

My mind was spiraling, lost in the jungle of his nasal passages when I realized that he had stopped talking and was looking at me expectantly, clearly having asked me a question that required a response.

“Um…I’m sorry, what did you ask?”
“I asked if you…”
And again, the hairs were wagging so violently at me that I couldn’t focus on anything else. Truly, I’ve never been so distracted in my life. In my head all I could hear was “DOESN’T HE KNOW THAT HE HAS A FULL HEAD OF HAIR COMING OUT OF THE CENTER OF HIS FACE?”

Somehow, I got through the rest of the conversation and sent him packing as my next client came into the studio for her session. He held the door open for her as she entered and she did a swift double take as he left, dragging his nose hairs behind him.

“Are you serious?” she said, eyes wide.
“I know, right? I’ve never seen anything like that. I’m speechless.”
“Has he ever thought to trim them?”
“Honestly, I didn’t think to ask, I was too worried that I might get tangled up if I got any closer. It’s like a choking hazard.”
“Wow. Can you imagine kissing that? You wouldn’t need to floss later!”

Which is when I gagged, and then thought to myself “I’m officially afraid of excess nose hair.”

And again, yes, I know I’m shallow.

Dental porn...at Longs!

So I have had a pretty excellent day today. I didn’t have to be at work until 9am. I slept well. All of my clients were in great moods. I had a fantastic salad for lunch. My underwear didn’t ride up my butt. All was well in my land.

Who knew a trip to Longs could make it SO much better???

I must digress for a moment…

Remember when you were like, in HIGH SCHOOL, how it was kind of rad to make out in public? You could mess around with your boy/girlfriend by your locker or at the football game – perhaps even participate in some inappropriate over the sweater action – and it was cool. You were MAKING OUT and GETTING SOME and it was fun! Or perhaps I was just slutty? We could go with that...

Anyhoo, I was in Longs this afternoon buying sundries and realized that I was out of toothpaste. Rounding the corner of that particular aisle, I almost ran smack into a couple who was going at it FULL BORE. I mean, there were tongues, hands down the pants, the works.

They were both, like, in their late forties. And it was not hot. Or rad. Or cool. Or fun for me.

It was just GROSS. There were panty hose, some errant ear hairs, hot pink nails and a bad blond dye job involved. Ew.

Who knew the dental care aisle could be so hot? I mean, was he checking for cavities? Was she testing the integrity of his fillings? I don’t know, but I skirted past, grabbed my brand and made a hasty retreat. In typical Jen fashion, though, I realized that I had forgotten my floss, and so back I went, where they were still going at it. The disgusting factor had increased as now they were adding moans to the show. Was this some version of dental porn?

I turned to exit the aisle and met a little old lady, head on, who was pushing her walker ahead of her. She was clearly one of those women who you wouldn’t want to cross, her irritability wafting a good ten feet in front of her. I moved to the side to let her pass and retreated again, the moans of the two love-birds following me into the shampoo aisle. And this is when it got interesting.

The little old lady, either irritated because her walker couldn’t pass the two idiots or just perhaps reminded that she hadn’t gotten any in a while was clearly un-amused by the show. One of the things I love most about older people is that they just don’t care what anyone thinks of what they say…it’s as though your verbal filter gets removed, age 65. And she let them have it:

“WILL YOU TWO SLUTS GET A ROOM? FOR GODS SAKE DO YOU REALLY THINK ANY OF US WANT TO SEE YOU FOOLING AROUND LIKE TWO GOD DAMNED TEENAGERS WHEN WE’RE TRYING TO SHOP FOR A TOOTHBRUSH? TAKE IT SOMEWHERE ELSE. AND FOR CHRISTS SAKE ACT YOUR AGE. UGLY WHORES. I SHOULD RUN YOU OVER WITH MY GOD DAMNED WALKER! SLUTS!”

Seriously? I nearly wet my pants! I especially loved the second “SLUTS!” in case the first one, followed by “WHORES!” didn’t get their attention. Perfection! Had she had a cane with her, I'm sure I would have heard "SMACK SMACK SMACK" as she beat them both down (that being said, I wish she HAD had a cane, because that would have been awesome). I had to stifle the urge to go and hug her – an act which I’m sure she would have berated me for. I SO wanted to follow her around for the rest of the day…and perhaps even sic her on some people who have been annoying me lately. She would be an awesome secret weapon.



P.S. Does anyone know where the term “making out” came from? Because it doesn’t make sense OR sound right…yet we all use it. “We TOTALLY made out!” I mean, how does that imply two people kissing? I need to know. Fifty cents and my undying love to whomever gives me a satisfactory response.

Of one thing I am certain...

...my dog is definitely cuter than your dog.

You're lying if you love them...

I will never understand women who say “But thong underwear is SO COMFORTABLE!” No, it’s not. You’re lying. There is NOTHING comfortable about digging around all day for the slip of fabric that has been trying to saw you in half since morning. And you can tell me until you’re blue in the face that I just haven’t tried on the right pair. Girl, I’m 32. I’ve tried EVERY pair. And EACH ONE ends up with me trying to find a corner to duck into so that I can dig the fabric out of my ass…and sometimes I just go for it without being shielded, because that is the kind of classy woman I am.

I decided to go to the gym this afternoon. Being that the laundry has been piling up, the only thing left in my undies drawer was an old forgotten thong. I couldn't recall what kind of relationship I had with this particular garment. Did I like it? Had I not thrown it out with the other offending thongs because it did not, in fact, drive me to the liquor cabinet in irritation? Throwing caution to the wind, I put it on, certain that it had survived for a reason.

It would seem that that was not the case.

Two minutes into the car ride to the gym I began squirming around, the thong having decided that it needed to further investigate the recesses of my butt crack...and so WHEE! Up it went! About 10 adjustments later, one consisting of me rearing up in my seat and digging around in my pants at a stop light to GET IT OUT, I arrived at my destination, already sweaty and clearly out of sorts. I exited the car and in the empty parking lot, made some adjustments, you know, where you ride the thong low on your hips in the hopes that it will just STAY PUT? That seemed to work and it behaved all the way into the gym and didn't move as I started my elliptical trainer.

I thought I was in the clear, having made it through the first fifteen minutes of my cardio without incident. And then the thong decided to have some fun...

The thong decided to ride up. Far. So far that no squirming was going to convince it to come down and out into more civilized territory. I was going to have to go in. And so I did - while still on the elliptical because BY GOD this stupid piece of fabric was not going to interrupt my workout. After much rummaging, I got it back into place, but it was not to be defeated. Back up it went in again, and back IN I went, determined to beat the bastard. This went on for some time...long enough for me to finally realize that I was fighting an inanimate object that wouldn't appreciate my resolve.

So I got off, marched over to the front desk and asked for some scissors. I then went into the ladies room where, reaching into my pants, I cut apart one side of the thong, and then the other, ripping it out of my pants and saying "DIE FUCKER!" as I threw it in the trash. I cannot tell you how deeply DEEPLY gratifying that moment was in my life.

After returning the scissors to the front desk, I went back to the elliptical and had a fantastic workout. I'm pleased to say I spent the last half hour humming along to Angels & Airwaves, thong free and in complete bliss! It was lovely!

Too bad for the guy behind me. I think he thought he was getting a free show each time I reached down my pants before I killed my thong. Yep. That's right. I didn't realize he had been there, watching, the ENTIRE TIME. I was going to tell him what I had been fighting with, but I thought, nah, men love the visual of a woman in a thong, so why kill it for him? You see I was in a charitable mood. It was a beautiful day! I was thong free! I try.

I like a tidy house...

It would be fair to say that I keep a tidy house. I’m not exactly militant, but I like to keep the dog hair to a minimum and have a pretty good relationship with my vacuum and several cleaning solutions (all biodegradable, of course). This week, however, the house has really taken a back seat to several other projects and it’s been looking grim around here. I think even Kylie is wondering why so much of her hair is floating about.

So after dinner last night, I decided that rather than go to the gym, I’d exert my energy by chasing out the dust and scrubbing the toilets. I mean, who DOESN’T want to do that after a long day?

On went the iPod and I got to work. When I’m cleaning, and by myself, I like to sing. And, as it’s been noted before, I am not going to be signed to a record label anytime soon. I can hold a note, but it descends pretty quickly into something that sounds like a dying cow in a hailstorm. No joke. But if I’m solo, I really don’t care. I’m freaking Pavorotti (God rest his soul) in my own mind.

So I opened the windows and was happily hollering away, (to “Taking the Long Way” by the Dixie Chicks, which is one of the best sing-a-long songs EVER) putting the house to rights. I was spending a lot of time in my bedroom, folding laundry and dusting, the evening breeze floating through the window and freshening up the house nicely. I had, at this point, listened to “Taking the Long Way” about four times, because, you know, I had to work on HARMONIZING and that shit takes PRACTICE.

Laundry folded, I grabbed my cleaner and headed towards the window, which was still bearing the marks of a recent rain. Reaching the sill, I was working on my fifth attempt of the song “MY FRIENDS FROM HIGH SCHHHHOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLL, MARRIED THEIR HIGH SCHOOL BOOOOOOOYYYYY FRRRIIIIIIIIIIEEEEENNNNDS…” not quite happy with my rendition, I reached down to back up the song on my iPod. As I was doing so, I noticed something out of my peripheral vision and looked up to lock eyes with three guys who were standing on the sidewalk looking up at my window. Rooted to the spot, I didn’t know what to do and just stood there, mouth agape.

One of the guys, clearly laughing, called up “Um, so that WAS you singing, right? We’ve been listening for a while…you’re enthusiastic!”

Mortified, and unable to think of anything witty, I moronically nodded my head, stripping the iPod earphones out. Like that was going to help, since clearly, the jig was up.

One of the other guys added in “Well, I wouldn’t quit your day job, but thanks for about the funniest 10 minutes of my day!”

Regaining my composure, I yelled down “Well, you’re welcome. Which part did you like the best?”

To which he replied “I personally thought your third run through was your best – you missed less of your high notes. You flying by the window playing the air guitar was also a nice touch.”

Sweet. Let no one say I don’t live to amuse.

I need an (also)...

The other night I was on my way to pick up Angie for dinner at got stopped at a random light on Homestead Road. Normally, this would not be of consequence, but Homestead is filled with random, little strip malls and I have this weird fascination with them. How do all of these businesses stay afloat? For instance, in one mall you can buy suspect looking Chinese food, a mattress and a hot tub (not all in one store, mind you) - one stop shopping! Are they money-laundering fronts for the seedy underbelly of Cupertino? I need to know.

Anyways, at this particular light, I was across from a little mall that had a fresh, grand opening sign fluttering in the evening breeze, festooned with balloons and streamers. They were clearly excited…as was I, after I read the sign:

JOHN MASTERS NATURAL SKINCARE
(also, Certified Public Accountant)

I mean, how brilliant is THAT? I know my crows feet take on further depth and length during tax season, so how great would it be, during the stress of finding out how much you owe Uncle Sam to then get a facial, or perhaps a shot of botox? I can just see John wielding my income tax report and a needle “You owe $5k…oooo…hold that frown….aaaaaand….gotcha!” Done! What genius business co-mingling! It would wear off just in time to file your next quarterlies!

I drove off after the light turned green, jealous that my business card doesn’t have an “also” as well…but what would it be?

JENNIFER, CERTIFIED PILATES INSTRUCTOR
(also, General-Know-It-All)

Not quite the same.

Anal Leakage...

Being in the fitness industry means that I get a LOT of questions about health and nutrition. And what it boils down to is this: stop eating the entire sleeve of cookies and go do some cardio. There are no shortcuts. It’s called work and discipline.

Which brings me to the “miracle” drug that is Alli…and if you can’t sense my sarcastic tone, then I can’t help you.

Alli purportedly keeps your body from absorbing the fat found in foods, ergo allowing you to lose weight at a faster rate. Easy enough. You’re directed to take the Alli pills after each meal…the meals themselves should be low in fat and healthy. Here’s where it gets fun…because if you don’t follow a low fat diet, you’ll have some pretty neat side effect, such as:

“…oily spotting, loose stools, and more frequent stools that may be hard to control.”

Amazing. That there is enough of a reason to just avoid Alli altogether and spend a little more time on the treadmill…because I’ll keep my extra five pounds worth of fluff rather than accidentally pooping myself. It would seem like I have plenty of time in my old age to experience that.

Anyhoo, a friend of mine called me up the other day, nearly hysterical with laughter. When she had finally composed herself, she relayed this story…or, as I like to call it, a cautionary tale.

A friend of hers, we’ll call her Jane, had been struggling with her weight for some time and had recently just found the inner motivation to really do something about it. Jane, however, is really fond of short cuts and was wondering if there was some way to lose the weight AND keep her daily donut habit going. Enter Alli. She had seen it advertised on tv and thought “Awesome! I’ll bet I can keep eating crap and STILL lose weight!” (Dialog mine).

So off she trotted to her local drug store where she procured her box of Alli, anxious to start tearing off the pounds. And then she read the included literature. Let me summarize:

“YOU MUST, WHEN ON ALLI, NOT CONSUME YOUR USUAL HIGH FAT CRAP BECAUSE IT WILL GIVE YOU ANAL LEAKAGE. EAT SMART, DUMBASS.”

This caused Jane some consternation because not only was she unwilling to give up her daily donut, but she also preferred Mountain Dew to water and only had a passing acquaintance with vegetables.

“It can’t be THAT bad,” she reasoned “otherwise they wouldn’t put it out to the public!”

So she had her fast food for dinner, swallowed her Alli, and went to bed, dreaming of thin thighs and tight jeans.

Morning came, and Jane felt somewhat lethargic from a restless nights sleep, but washed down her donut with her coffee (and her next Alli pill) and went off to work, where she’s an administrative assistant. Thankfully, her boss was out for the day, so she could yawn her way through the morning without interruption.

Around 10am, she began to experience some mild stomach cramping which soon escalated to intestinal warfare. Thinking that something must have been wrong with her burger the night before, Jane tried to hold in the gas that was threatening her with internal implosion. This went on for a few hours, Jane trying to pass gas discreetly and silently, overwhelmed by her own stench and SO HAPPY that no one sat nearby to witness (or smell) her discomfort.

Around 12noon, Jane’s agony reached its zenith with a gas buildup so strong that she thought her pants button might pop off, rendering someone in the office blind. After some careful and creative shifting, she was able to pass the bubble (quietly, thankfully) and felt immediate relief. She happily went back to work, thinking that the worst of it was over.

Well, it wasn’t.

A half hour later, Jane was ready for lunch and got up to leave her cubical. Reaching behind her for her jacket, she looked down at her chair and was immediately paralyzed in horror. For there, on her seat, was a huge, brown stain.

She had shat herself.

Remember that oily spotting from above? Well, it would appear that Jane’s last gas pass had actually been somewhat solid, though slick enough in its consistency to slip out without her noticing it. Quickly realizing that her pants must have a similar stain on them, she tied her jacket around her waist and fled the office, driving home to shower and change, planning her next move. Should she move states? Change her name? Have gender reassignment surgery? All of this in a panic, because, who poops themselves at work? That damn Alli really DOESN’T mix with fat.

Coming to the conclusion that she could play this off, Jane returned to work, a plan forming in her head. Returning to her cube, she immediately called the custodian saying “I just got back from lunch and there is this awful stain on my chair…can you come see if you can get it out?...no, I don’t know what it is…it’s the strangest thing.” The janitor willingly came over and after much internal debate and obvious thought he turned to her and said “Well ma’am…it sure looks like some oily shit, but I’ll see what I can do to get it out.” Turning bright red, Jane whispered a thank you - he wheeled the chair away, and Jane went to her bosses office to retrieve his chair and use it for the afternoon.

The day passed without any further issues. Jane had a ceremonious tossing out of the Alli around 3pm as she ate her afternoon cookies and coffee, her love of Mint Milanos surpassing her need to fit into a pair of size 27 jeans. Around 5pm, she received a call from the janitor who, bless his heart, had been working on her chair for hours.

“Ma’am,” he said “I’ve been scrubbing at this here stain all afternoon, and try as I might, I can’t seem to get it out. It’s sure as shit a crazy one. I’m afraid you’re just going to have to order a new chair. Want me to toss this one out for you? It kind of smells.”

And so, my friends, avoid Alli. Eat your vegetables. Do your cardio. And here's to full bowel control!

Is he or isn't he?

My job as an independent contractor means that part of each month is spent beating money out of people (it’s part of your workout) and then depositing said funds into my bank account. Which means that I spend a fair amount of time at the bank each month… which means that I’m on first name basis with a bunch of the tellers…which means that I know a fair amount about their personal lives.

Except for one thing that has recently been driving me to drink. Well, not really, but I HAVE been spending WAY too much brain-power on it.

Is my favorite bank teller gay?

I can’t tell.

Let’s call him “Jay.” Jay is about 25 and a cute-as-a-bug little Japanese guy who has been here for 10 years, graduated from SJSU state and still works at his job at the bank because the benefits are so great and he likes the hours. I’ve known Jay for about four years and he’s definitely a “hipster” – one reason why I think my gay-dar has been so off. But, let’s examine…there’s more:

1) He wears blue contacts. And they are very obviously contacts, and a shade that no gene pool has ever produced. I finally asked him about them and he said “Well, I saw Paris Hilton’s eyes once in a photograph up close and thought they were SO PRETTY.” Wow. Ok, then.

2) Once we became better acquaintances he would greet me with “Look at my new SHOES! Aren’t they FAB?” and immediately hoist his leg up, Rockette style, to show me his footwear over the counter. I don’t know if I was more thrown off by his use of “fab” or his startling flexibility.

3) Last year, I came in having just recently had my hair cut and blown dry to which Jay said “GIRL! You look HOT! Your man BETTER be taking you out tonight! I know I’d make mine!” aHA! Admission of a boyfriend? Maybe?

4) He has the cutest faux hawk (and I LOVE a faux hawk…I just want to TOUCH them…they are so SPIKY!) with pink tips! PINK. Sometimes they are more purple and once I think they were green (it was near St. Patricks Day, for Jay is festive) but mostly they are unabashedly pink.

5) He’s recently adopted a lisp, which is new (for spring, perhaps?) and very much an affectation. Unless he just had dental work done that I don’t know about…can an oddly placed tooth cause that?

All of this is compelling evidence, no? I mean, you might wonder why I’m posting this. Here’s the thing – he’s CONSTANTLY talking about his girlfriend. With great enthusiasm. And frequently. SO frequently, in fact, that I wonder if she’s, like, a Canadian girlfriend?

And of course, at some point earlier, between his feats of dexterity and ever changing hair, I should have just asked. But now, it’s been too long and with all of this talk of the girlfriend, it just feels awkward.

Rod, will you go to the bank with me? I hear your gay-dar is perfect, and I need help. And then we can go for drinks!

Just like the rest of us...

So this weekend I had the pleasure of seeing the Annie Leibovitz exhibition at the Legion of Honor in San Francisco (which, if you live in the area, is a must see). Anyhoo, I wandered in and was immediately met with a nude portrait of Cindy Crawford, circa early 1990’s. What struck me wasn’t her flat stomach, lovely face or boobs. It was her thighs. Which were not skinny. They were, in fact, probably large by modeling standards. I was so excited by this, by the startling normalcy of the photo that I turned to the woman next to me and exclaimed, “LOOK! She has THIGHS!” Apparently, I wasn’t the only one as elated as she replied “I know! I haven’t been this excited since Oprah started putting weight back on!”

Pity there was no bar area, as I would have immediately bought this woman a glass of champagne so that we could toast Cindy Crawford’s curvy parts together. Instead, I just walked around the rest of the exhibition with a grin on my face and the visual of Cindy swearing as she tried to pull on tight jeans, sucking it in, just like the rest of us.

I know. My shallowness knows no bounds.

Take me on, baby...

As a child of the 80’s, I have a complete and utter love for the happy pop music that accompanied my generation through grade/middle/high school. More specifically, I would like to speak of the awesomeness that is “Take On Me” by a-ha. The song remains firmly lodged in my own personal Top 10…I know, I know, I shouldn’t admit that. But if a song can get me moving each time I hear it, then those of you who are sitting there in judgment thinking “REALLY? Take On Me?” can just suck it. Have you SEEN that video? Genius.

So the other day at work, a-ha came on my iPod (and wouldn’t you know it? everyone in the studio just perked right up!). John yelled out from the front “Take On Me? I LOVE this song!” to which I replied “I KNOW! How hot was Morten Harket in this video?”

…which we of course immediately had to look up on YouTube. I highly suggest watching it since everyone needs a treat on a Monday - you'll thank me later. It’s as riveting now as it was then…plus MALL BANGS!



John, still unconvinced of Morten’s hotness, needed more evidence, and so a Google search ensued, which brought up sufficient photographic proof. However, I went too deep, and came across this little tidbit which has been causing me some distress:




It’s as though the photographer caught Morten in a moment when he was turning to Wardrobe and asking “Are you SURE these jeans don’t make my butt look big?” And they do, Morten, they do. Also flat. And how long is the rise on those suckers, because I’m pretty sure they’re almost up under your armpits and it’s taking away from your sexy. Seeing a childhood crush take on such a female stance – and one that we do only if trying to interest the opposite sex or to check for visible panty lines – has really thrown me for a loop. Nothing that a mojito won’t solve, I’m sure…I should send my bar tab to Google who by making it so easy to find information has also tarnished the perfect image I had in my head. See, if we were back in the 80’s I wouldn’t have had such access and could just watch the music video over and over again on my VCR…

Things that have annoyed me today...

1) The driver I couldn't get out from behind on my commute in to work. Not only was he inconsistent in his speed but refused to use his blinker. People who do that should have a bucket taped to their head and be sent out to play in traffic.

2) The woman in front of me at Peets today who had on nylons with open toed shoes. Girl, NO.

3) The cashier at Peets who handed me my scone with his bare hands since they were out of bags...I don't like revealing that I have this phobia of people touching my food, so I was then in the predicament of having to tell him that I needed a new one and could he please use the tongs that were RIGHT THERE and FOR THAT PURPOSE?

4) The profuse amount of Nickleback that has been playing lately. Why must you (radio gods) torture my ears with that? And on a Friday? Before my latte?

5) That The View was playing in the background at work. If I wanted to listen to a bunch of chickens being strangled (which is what that show is akin to for me), I would. That show should only be inflicted on people if they've been heavily sedated first...and tequila shots would probably be frowned upon at work...before lunch.

6) That my client who came in with a broken foot and sprained wrist then complained that I hadn't worked her out hard enough. She almost added a bruised shin to her list of ailments with that comment.

7) That my underwear keeps riding up. I think my ass has gotten too big.

8) That I forgot my sunglasses at Cory's and it's SUPER bright out.

9) That EVERY TIME I go to the bathroom at work the toilet paper roll is empty...and the new rolls are DIRECTLY in front of the toilet in this charming little basket, so it's not like it would cause someone to pop a rib out to put the new roll on. I swear, I exist only to do this menial task.

10) That someone ate the soy yogurt I had put in the fridge at work. Seriously, that stuff tastes like ass and only I like it, so wtf?

I'm actually in a brilliantly happy mood today - shock, I know! Sometimes, one just needs to air out the list of grievances...much better...

Yes, they're fake...

I've had an unprecedented day today...I've had four different people in completely unrelated incidents ask me if my hair is in fact, natural. Being a white blond, I get this question on the average of twice a week, and after 32 years of such an inquiry, have run out of clever responses.

The last instance, was however, different from most. I was teaching pilates to a male client and I noticed him starting at my face at regular intervals. It wasn't a "you're a stunning beauty!" look, but more consistent with "she has spinach in her teeth and I'm not sure how to tell her."

Feeling both annoyed and bold (I got a REALLY good nights sleep) I said,

"Dude, what's up with the staring?"

"Um....well, I don't know how to say this, but is your hair real?"

Sigh..."As far as I know, yes. 20 more bicep curls, please."

He was not to be daunted now that I had opened the door..."Well, if your hair is really that blond, then are your eyebrows and eyelashes the fake part?"

No one had ever been this pointed, so I have to give him credit..."Yes, I have to draw in my eyebrows and eyelashes every morning. Pain in the ass, but otherwise, I'd look like Powder, except without the boy parts or baldness."

"Who?"

Observe:



And thanks to Katie who gave me that nickname junior year of college - amazing what floats into memory at 2pm in the afternoon when the integrity of ones eyebrows is being questioned.

I'm so sad...

...someone, some time ago gifted me with post it notes that had the most brilliant saying on the top. You might think that it's an odd gift, but I'm fluent in sarcasm and so the sentiment was very fitting and apt. I've used them judiciously over the past year and the other day was down to the very last one, which was placed on some paperwork to my insurance agent who not only ALWAYS mispronounces my name (even though I've been working with him for four years) but routinely loses my forms, something I've learned to combat by making copies and sending him several at a time...but I digress.

So today, I was irritated by a parking ticket I had to pay (b/c my stupid car was sticking ONE INCH into someones driveway in SF) and was scrambling for my sarcastic sticky notes so that I could include one with some detail on it...and alas! I had forgotten they were gone! But the sentiment isn't...I'm thinking of making it the tagline on my email:

"Light travels faster than sound. That's why some people appear intelligent until you hear them speak."

This is what girls talk about...

I am 100% positive that no man, gay or straight, has ever had an IM conversation like the one below, which took place this afternoon. Really.

Me: So, you're doing this wrap tomorrow - is it Bay Area Body Wraps?
Friend: Yes
Me: Ok, so, I'm peeing myself over here, b/c my friend did that...
Me: ...and they basically wrapped her up in like 7 parkas and had her run on a treadmill and then jump on a trampoline. I am NOT kidding you...she came out of there going "What the FUCK?"
Friend: Really?
Friend: I've never been there before.
Me: I'm so dead serious.
Friend: Maybe she did the like "lose fat" one or something??
Me: I think so...but I nearly wet myself with the visual or her being all bundled up and some little skinny thing going "Run, BITCH, RUN!" while she sweated away on a treadmill.
Friend: Exactly!
Me: Omg I want to come watch!!! Maybe they'll swath you in saran wrap and make you do jumping jacks!
Friend: Or you could come sit in the sauna.
Me: OR, I could just stay at home and have a glass of wine and wait for you to tell me about it...I'll go with that one.

I'm really, very truly, not in my 20's anymore...

A few of us ventured out to see Jimmy Eat World in concert last night. It was held at the San Jose Event Center on the SJSU campus – ergo, there were a lot of college-aged kids there. I had one of those evenings in which I was reminded, somewhat painfully, of how long ago I was actually IN college (it's been TEN YEARS people) and how I’ve become so far removed from that part of my life. For instance:

1) I’ve been suffering from a knee injury for about three weeks…I was thinking of bringing my crutches last night (less for support and more so I would get the sympathy vote, an aisle seat and a free pass to the front of the line in the ladies room). My point is in days past, I would have definitely worn heels to a concert...wouldn't have dreamed of leaving the house in less than three inch footwear. Last night, I had flats on and had actually considered wearing tennies.

2) As we were making our way towards the venue, two cute little college girls came out of the dorm ahead of us and started walking hand in hand towards the concert. Besides bringing up hopeful lesbian fantasies amongst the boys in our group, I was struck by how they were wearing the flimsiest, tiniest of tops, while our group was swathed in sweaters, jackets and scarves. It was, after all, below 60 degrees - downright chilly to those of us CA natives. Again, in my younger years I would have done the same, because how are you going to pull a man in a parka? He needs to see your treats, despite the dangers of hypothermia or indecent exposure. Slut it up! Not me...I'll be over here in my flats.

3) After arriving at the concert, we made a beeline to the bar only to find that their finest brew was Budweiser…I mean, really? We were all scratching our heads at the lack of acceptable hard alcohol and wine (grown up drinks) while being pushed aside by the co-eds who were excited and nervous to see if their fake id’s were going to work. I had a moment where I recalled pouring a wine cooler (age 18) into a plastic water bottle on my way to a party in college…and then I thought, do they even MAKE wine coolers anymore?

4) Hopes of a decent beverage dashed, we went into the auditorium and found seats. SEATS. I realized about two years ago that I was old enough to sit down to enjoy shows. Gone are my days of pushing my way through a crowd to get to the front of the pack so that I can make eye contact with the lead singer (I love musicians…sue me). Gone are my days of crowd surfing (great way to get groped, ladies), accidentally pushed into a mosh pit or head banging. I work all day, am tired and want to sit my sorry ass down to listen to the concert that I just paid good money for. If you’re sitting in front of me, don’t stand because I will seriously cut you for blocking my view of the stage. Thank you.

5) Which brings me to the problem of having forgotten my glasses. Jimmy Eat World, I hear you are all very cute and the girl in front of me (who thankfully sat the entire time) professed to whomever would listen that she was planning on marrying the bass player…so great. Being somewhat blind, you were three (or four?) fuzzy objects bouncing around the stage all night. (p.s. – just looked them up…if the above girl gets her man, well done. They are, in fact, emo cute.)

6) I spent most of the night thinking “I wish to GOD I had brought some ear plugs.” I’ve been spending a lot of time today going “What?” to my clients. I'm slightly deaf in the right ear.

7) I’ve become a lot crankier about bands with little discernable talent. I mean honestly, I am not at ALL vocally gifted (except in the shower where I’m competition for Celine Dion) but I can tell when people ARE. The opener FOR the opener was Dear and the Headlights. Bad use of a pun aside, if you’d like to listen to some of their awesomeness you can look them up in iTunes, but I don’t suggest doing so unless you really hate yourself or have just consumed a strong tranquilizer. Seeing as we were neither medicated nor in self-deprecating moods, it was just a ½ hour of auditory misery and all of us coming up with different ways of saying “These guys SUCK.” My favorite came from Cory “I would be pissed to listen to these guys play for free in a bar!” Indeed.

8) From our lofty seats we had a full view of the crowd below…probably about 1,000 people who were all rocking out on the floor. Between the two visible mosh pits and the general crush of people, I turned to Mindi and said “How cranky would we be if we had to be down there?” to which she just said “Very!”

We are old, geriatric, the kind of people who should really only see shows in a civilized place like the Mountain Winery or our local rest home. But we're still cool for going to rock shows, right? What?