jakorte's blog

February 09, 2012

Breathe Like Vader

5:10 PM: I actually had a pretty mellow day at work. Kept to myself, stayed out of trouble: I was pleased.

Stopped to get the mail on the way home. That’s when the fun began…

I dropped my utility bill and spun to catch it horrified to see that it had bulls-eye aim on the only puddle for miles. In my rush to retrieve it, I somehow ended up stepping on it. For some reason that stymied me – you know – big disaster, no problem, small one? Melt down! I took one of those deep relaxing breaths I learned in the "How to Relax by Exercising at Your Desk" stress-reduction work seminar this morning. I felt better.

I lifted my toes off the soaked envelope and then almost got rear-ended. Literally. As I’m bent over grabbing the what was sure to be offensive electric bill, a compact blue car with a cracked and rusty bumper almost bumped me off. Literally. Scared the pants off me. Not literally, thank goodness. I imagine that would have landed me in a bit more trouble, or given the driver a heart-attack. He stopped and looked sheepish. I couldn’t muster up a squinty-eyed glare since my eyes were still wide-round astonished that I was still standing. Nothing like viewing the world rushing up from behind you from between your legs.

Said legs were a little shaky, but the speed limit is only 15 mph, so I managed to drive the rest of the way home and park appropriately. I gave myself bravos and kudos for not bursting into tears. My two sweet kitties were there to meet me at the door. Harley Blu gives love and Fred just bumps and runs. Still, it’s a ritual, just as surveying the living room each evening for monster damage is. Nice. No damage! I suppose you could count the slightly mangled magazine cover of the sexiest man alive as damage, but that was yesterday’s damage and sometimes I get tired of putting the magazines back on the coffee table. Especially when I know they’ll end up back on the floor within minutes.

Off I went to get ready to really relax. In the middle of offing the work clothes and on-ing the casual clothes,I hear a thud, some ceramic tinkling and a crash. I fear I already know what has happened, but still, I’m hoping for the best. My antique chicken canisters, a wedding gift from a friend’s father, are on the counter bar that surrounds the kitchen. Until yesterday my littlest fiend had not yet discovered the kitchen counter. I discovered he’d discovered it when I watched him jump from the couch to the counter. Ok, that was the only safe surface left in the house. Anything I didn’t want him to get into was there. So, last early evening, I spent some time putting things away and made one of those preventative parental-type moves. I moved the couch about two more inches away from the feline landing pad. Blu tried it once more, and missed entirely.

I thought that would cure him of his dare devil ways. And as I mentioned earlier, nothing was amiss when I arrived home, so I thought my simple plan worked well.I’m now theorizing that the four-legged brat must have been trying to make the leap all day. He waited for me to get home to come within grasping millimeters and flailing, managed to paw-clear the counter as he fell just a whisker short. Nothing broke, unbelievably! Good thing I learned about the Darth Vader relaxer breaths.

My next challenge was to assemble and operate my new food processor – a new necessity since I won’t have any chewing surfaces available in my mouth until May. I plan to pulverize my proteins. Anyway, I read the manual (yes, I am a girl.) I assembled and prepped and pushed the required buttons in the required order (which I knew because I read the manual) and … nothing. No clicking, no whirring, not even a hint that it might kick into gear. Assuming user error (because I am a girl) I disassembled, reassembled, and… nothing. This time the ferocity of my Darth Vader breathing kind freaked Freddie out. She took off. Blu still sat there hoping I’d drop something. So, I disassembled, repacked, tucked my receipt into the lid and set the whole box of nothing by the door.

It’s now about 6:00 PM and I am in need of food to keep my sugar from dropping as my stress is rising. My planned dinner remained unprocessed so I went for the emergency can of tuna. Opened and creatively mixed with hummus and a little greek yogurt, I found I needed a cool down before I ate. The best way I know how to do that is to try and find the humor in situations and then relay them humorously to friends.

I went to find my phone, texted and giggled, got over myself and turned into the galley kitchen only to find a fur face had found a way onto the counter and was already halfway through contents of my bowl. How could I forget that the counter was now fair game? I pushed him off and growled as best I could. Harley Blu took off into the laundry room making a beeline for behind the washer. I closed the door to the room, and went in search of my 'fraidy cat Miss Freddie. I gave her the rest of the tuna sort-of-salad. I grabbed a protein shake from the pantry, sat down at the dining room table and practiced my Darth Vader huffing.

Eventually Blu pushed his way out from behind the bifold and came to sit lovingly and longingly by my feet. I growled again. I think he got the message that the chalky no-other-option protein shake was mine, and I wasn’t planning on sharing. For a moment I thought a nice warm bath might be a good idea. However, I decided I’d best not tempt fate. The new plan is me and a book on the couch. I should be safe for the rest of the night. Should be. Good evening. Over and out and done. God Bless. Deep Vader Breaths... 6:30 PM

Posted by jaselin at 07:57 PM | Comments (1)

June 22, 2011

Non Legal Pour Le Commerce

(Disclaimer: Fair Warning! Not for The Faint of Heart!)

Courtesy of IKEA, I have become much too familiar with the above statement tattooed on the side of my bathroom scale – the side which faces the commode.

You see, I’ve spent a lot of time on that particular piece of furniture today. Day four following surgery, and no complications, until now. Or this morning to be more precise, although I feared I was headed this way yesterday. I also didn’t realize until about noon today, what exactly the medication was that was missing when I went to the pharmacy to pick it up. I vaguely remembered the doctor saying there would be two prescriptions.

But, when I went to pick them up, sixteen hours later, and in the possession of two new prescriptions, there was only one. No trace of the other mystery med or Rx behind the counter. Since I was still a bit loopy, and the med that was waiting was the exact same one as the new prescription, I just blinked and said, “Ok.” The second Rx I turned in before discharge was for an anti-nausea medication. They for sure did not want me to vomit and rip open my super-glued incisions.

Anyway, no nausea, no pain; until today. My lower belly started to hurt, and I started to strain, and quickly tried to determine if the plethora of blue spots on my belly were left over bruising coming to the surface or new bruises because I tore something. Due to the vaguely yellowish tinge of the area, I decided it was old bruising.

Still… ouch. Ok. Childhood advice to a young me with belly issues was to always “Lay on your stomach.” That did not work. The non-sutured super-glue crusted bulge of angry skin that used to be a cute belly button cursed aloud when I tried that. Ok. Next attempt: legs up, feet on the arm of the sofa, forming a 90 degree angle to the belly. Thankfully, some gaseous matter escaped, alas nothing else moved along. Not after coffee. Not after milk, not after Raisin Bran.

Pushing fluids ensured my kidneys were functioning fine and my bladder was working, often. However, about 1:00 pm, it occurred to me what the missing link was: stool softener. I think I remember that the pharmacy would not fill the RX because I did not need one for it. I wish I had remembered that then. Homebound, unsure if it would be proper protocol to ask a friend to stop by somewhere and get me some of the embarrassing stuff, I was saved by a lovely lady who asked if she could come by with lunch.

I responded honestly, “Oh, hello. Have no idea what time you really sent this message because it says 3:39 PM but it's only 1:51 PM. Been lying down. Although today is not a good day for solid food, if you're not opposed to it, I could probably use some sort of intervention for constipation in the form of softener pills. Or maybe a Frosty. One of course is more appealing than the other.”

Because she is a marvelous friend, she agreed. It’s now 2:45 and I’ve skipped a dose of pain meds because that is most likely causing the issue. I’ve taken Motrin and now I’m at the dull-roar stage on the pain scale. I’ve convinced myself to attempt to nap until salvation arrives.

However, as luck would have it there is another nasty residual effect to prolonged pain medication. My previously aloof, non-demanding cat has turned into an attention grabbing monster. Each trip to the lavatory became an adventure as I belatedly realized that the vanity bulb lights reflect through my glasses projecting nice little dots of attack worthy amusement on the shower curtain. If I perchance removed my spectacles before using the facilities, I received an incredulous look accompanied by a harsh where the hell is my game meow. Every time I stood up, I was the victim of Miss Fred’s intentional herding. To the kitchen – I want milk! To the porch – I want Oat Grass. To blazes with you for unseating me – I was cat napping there!

It’s 4:00 pm and I believe I am in danger of morphing into my cat as my efforts have resulted in little more than cat-litter size droppings. (Please don’t forget, I warned you! You’re too far in now, might as well continue.)

So, the Motrin resembling little innocuous bottle arrived at 5:00 PM. Much joyous noise was made. Bifocals on – where are the directions? Thank goodness for non-medicated friends. Apparently, you are supposed self-deduce that you should peel back the label for directions. In my state, I never would have figured that out. Further vague directions – take 1-4 tablets? Works in – what??? 6 to 12 hours? Are they kidding?

“No,” my perpetually calm friend announced. “There were bottles that said worked within 12 – 72 hours. And bottles that said ‘super fast, super strength.” She went with the medium road, and I decided it was a good path to take. I took two.

So, 7:30 PM: I hear thunder, though the summer storm has already passed through an hour ago. My innards are telecasting the soundtrack from Jurasic park. The reaction of the raisin bran, the carriage of the coffee, the milk becoming magnesia, the power of panic, the frigidity of the frosty, the purposefulness of the pills? 6-12 hours my pupik! I’ve only recently learned that this is a technical Yiddish term for a chicken’s butt. So, I guess the whole chicken thing started way back with my grandparents.

In the midst of my unexpected but delightfully speedy relief, miss fred treated me to a kitty face I’ve seen before. Talli short for Tallica short for Metallica was another rescue. He and I were a pair long before I met my husband. As a forn of self-introduction Talli stuck his nose into one of Jeff's shoes and came out with a possessed feral look that telegraphed his extreme displeasure in my choice and gave us both the creeps. Only Miss Thing went a bit further and snuck her nose between my knees and the seat. And there it was – the universal cat "holy cow you’re kidding right" look of disgust. She shook her head as she backed away curling her lip up to cover her nose and baring fangs in the process. I laughed because I felt the same way.

Now, I’m kinda wondering if I’m going to swing completely the other way. Oh, I sure hope not. Non legal pour commerce – Not intended for trade!

Posted by jaselin at 05:12 PM | Comments (0)

January 16, 2011

Facebook Gems December 2010

12/5 having a super Sunday afternoon ignoring the snow - Carmel Vanilla Keurig coffee, click a little, clean a little, click a little, cook a little, click a little, coffee some more, click some more...
12/7 well, shoot.. I actually like it when people tell me to “google it” that because I ponder aloud like an absent minded professor asking ridiculous questions which most folks are at a loss to answer... so they remind me where to go. And "google it" is such a nice way of telling me to figure it out without their help.

12:11: Finished prepping for Girl's Night In: roasted-garlic four-cheese pizza, crockpot of mulled merlot, chocolate brownie ice cream (Weight Watcher's of course), a masseuse that makes house-calls, and netflix. What's not to love @ MI winters?

12/12: Three cups of coffee and seven dozen snickerdoodles into my last available baking Sunday... next up - double chocolate mint cookies....

12/16: think i liked it better when i was too busy to think, and too exhausted to care

12/24: Presents - check. PJ's - check. Full tank of gas - check. Road tunes - check, check, check. Checkin' out for a bit - y'all be careful on the roads today, tonight, tomorrow. Joy to the World and all of you

12/26: from a friend: The Five Reiki Principles : I - Just for today, I will not be angry. II - Just for today, I will not worry. III - Just for today, I will be grateful. IV - Just for today, I will do my work honestly. V- Just for today, I will be kind to every living thing.

12/26: ‎"GOD is great, but sometimes life ain't good. And when I pray, it doesn't always turn out like I think it should. But I do it anyway." From the broken to GOD's ears...

12/27: is staring woefully at the lean cuisine on her table - smelling full well that there's a beautiful bison roast in the crockpot that won't be available 'til morning. Alright then, I can bring myself to suffer through this pseudo-meal happily looking forward to a lovely Michigan Roast lunch tomorrow...

12/28: s'pose you did poach eggs in that Loko stuff? nah, that'd be crazy... prob'ly end up more like a flambee.

The Top Cities My Friends Live In:
The top ten cities where my Facebook friends are located:
1.: Adrian - 13 friends live here
2.: Ann Arbor - 11 friends live here
3.: Tecumseh - 7 friends live here
4.: New York - 6 friends live here
5.: Nashville - 5 friends live here
6.: Detroit - 2 friends live here
7.: Brookfield - 2 friends live here
8.: Clinton - 2 friends live here
9.: Atlanta - 2 friends live here
10.: Hartland - 2 friends live here

12/31: Beginning in Jan 2011, the gov't wants to FINE the last 221 families STILL living in FEMA trailers as their homes are being repaired by volunteers using their own vacation time, and personal funds. I've worked on six homes with my own two hands. I plan to go again, but right now I'm only inclined to be using one finger on each hand and at the moment they are both aimed at gov't politicians and FEMA.

12/31: Was assembling the laptop table I bought today however had to put a halt to that because it's missing pieces- how unusual, right? Alternate plan: I'll be rockin' my own party of one with some home boiled crab, taters and a touch of moscato ... no tellin' what'll happen after that .... zzzzzz.

Posted by jaselin at 01:37 PM | Comments (0)

December 07, 2010

Facebook Gems November 2010

11/6: Jodi Ann Selin Korte can't decide if IKEA really just isn’t that simple… or if she is really just that simple.

11/8: …. sincerely thought semi-city living would exempt me from MiSS: Michigan Skunk Season arrived at 2:00 am and is still going eye-watering strong. Need a truckload of baking soda...

11/8: … is wondering if someone can invent a "clapper" add-on for cell phones. You know - you clap and the phone rings... so you can find it without the embarrassment of having to track down facebook friends currently online and asking them to ring you

11/19: ... has scheduled a Pre-Thanksgiving mini MI tour. Saturday: looking forward to getting pie-eyed with the McCormicks in Yale, roasted with the Pruitts in Adrian, and hopefully grubbing with a Gafner or two in Blissfield on Sunday!

11/21: Accomplished 300 miles today: 6 ladies, 6 hours, 85 homemade handmade-crust fresh-sliced Michigan apples pies, and one BobsterMcCormick to thank for the butter/sugar runs. 3 hours later more pies with the Pruitts one pizza and one 125 mile transported dutch apple. Still on go... need a shut off switch....

11/23: Thanksgiving Traveler Tip: Obey the 3 c’s of road cuisine: coffee, chips and candy. I’m pretty sure I’ve never fallen asleep while eating, so there must be something to this…

11/25: Wishing you God Speed and safety as your travel to your blessings.

11/26 :
The Plea: tried not to react... failed miserably... and'd be a lot better off if I could find a way to laugh about it now instead of tomorrow. C'mon now, make me laugh.
The Answers: 1. the pirate didn't know how the ship's steering wheel got into his breeches...all he knew was that it was drivin' him nuts.....ARGH!!
2. so I've beeen trying to come up with something funny off the top of my head.. And yeah that sortta humor doesn't just come to me... Sorry soo uhhh turn that frown upside down? That's the best I got ha
3. Did U go 2 Sears.....Again....?????
4. we all have to let it out now and again....

Posted by jaselin at 04:27 PM | Comments (0)

October 19, 2010

Facebook Gems September 2010

Sept 1:
Mr. September is a Polish Frizzle of the Golden variety. Truly - that's his breed! Reminds me of Elvis, sort of... uh huh huh yeah yeah uh huh huh.

Sept 2:
Reflecting now on how things could have been, it was worth it in the end. Daughtry

Sept 3:
posted by Casey Alexander: Not looking back at regrets, how many people you bless is how you measure success.

Sept 7:
You got what????? Married???? At where????? Frontier Ville??????? Why am I the last to know?????? Love, Mom

Sept 10:
You know you're a dork when you forget girls night, go grocery shopping, remember girls pm an hour too late, think you can still make it, drive around for an hour because GPS keep delivering you to Kroger instead of Panera, can't locate the theatre either, the engine starts knocking and the right rear turn signal blows out. Yeah.... Happy Friday night...

Sept 10, again:
i think i'm over my pity party. i remembered i had one weight watchers turtle sundae left... emphasis on the "had" part.

Sept 11:‎9/11/01. On 9/20 I finally got through the jammed phone lines to a friend across the water from the Twin Towers. "Are you okay?" I asked. "Sort of..." she said. "Are you still coming to my wedding?" I asked nervously - knowing it was now just two weeks away. "I can't," she said. "I can still see the smoke rising." And I understood. She needed to see it through: watching until the grey skies cleared, being there when the sun shone again.

Sept 12:
Came in from the porch and the sun and the lovely breeze because I am having a day of writer's thoughts.... Well, shoot! I've got a wireless laptop... out I go again!

Sept 12, again:
Just thinking how my little balcony and my laptop are such along way away from the days of dragging myself and my spiral paper notebook and my ink pen and my blanket to Central Park.... I just moved an entire 30 gallon tote of writing - on paper - that I need to transfer to this century. Just another winter project... they're piling up!

Sept 23:
ack. schnuffle, schnuffle, sshhhhnickle, snort, snort, sneeze.... waaahhhhh. i need some homemade chicken noodle soup, please....

Sept 23:
Administration of Benadryl & Chicken Ramen warps the time continuum tesseract-style as evidenced by this prone positioned, incredulous, one-eyed, digital read-out observation: known session commencement begins 6:30 pm - semi-conscious resumption occurs 10:45 pm

Posted by jaselin at 12:45 PM | Comments (0)

September 12, 2010

15 Bras

I tried on 15 bras at Macy’s.

Disclaimer: If you are not a woman, you might want to stop reading this right now.
Disclaimer Retraction: If you’re a man, this may be something you need to know about. It could provide a lot of clues about a woman’s psyche.

The truth is I have sadly come of the age where gravity is winning.
The truth is I need old iron sides support.
The truth is I don’t need the cone-like Madonna-look that accompanies it.

Muffin top is a cute name for the disaster that happens when pants that sit too low and fit too snuggly end up on mature hips.
Has anyone come up with a cute name for that middle-aged side-boobage catastrophe?
I haven’t yet... probably because there’s nothing about it that inspires a cutesy name.

In any case, after 15 bras, I managed to weed my selection down to two types. After about an hour, I admit I was an emotional wreck. Tired of the whole buckle in - buckle out - buckle down, strap adjusting aerobic work-out. It’s actually a lot tougher than we readily admit to wriggle our arms around our backs, over our shoulders, as we attempt to adjust the misnomer of “fit.”

As a lady it is my obligation to my sister-hood to acknowledge that we always end up “settling.” In true trooper form, I settled on the most comfortable style of my limited two choices. Plus 3 bras, minus $67.00 (on sale) and a cranky-meter reading of about 9, I wearily headed home. Lucky for me, and other drivers on the road, my previous trek of 36 miles home from the mall has been delightfully minimized to less than 3 miles. In some ways this is good, in others I can see it going badly, quickly.

C’mon, girls – let’s admit it – even thought we get new contraptions, we rarely throw away the old immediately. Why? Not because we’re fond of the faded color or because they hold such great memories of having held our mammaries. We save them because what passed as the best option in the store usually morphs into a poking torture device as soon as we pull the tags off. We know we’ll get “used to” our new group support, if we ease ourselves into it as gently as possible.

Surprisingly, my first tag ripping, big-breath, here-we-go securing session went well. The bra was dang comfortable! And there I was thinking, “Go figure – I finally won one!”

I pulled a blouse over my head and stood there dumb-founded. “Go figure” had turned into “No figure.” I simply had no assets. Confused, I removed the blouse and assumed the not-really-yoga-but-almost position of elbow to ear, hand to shoulder blade, grope for the tightening of straps position. After nearly dislocating my shoulder and my wrist, I determined they were tightened as far as they could be tightened to achieve optimal lift. Well, then…

Must be the blouse shrunk in the wash – I do have a different washer and dryer now. Maybe… just maybe… I was wrong about the situation. The blouse went back on, and I now noticed it was also a little tighter in the arms. Maybe all the side-stroke pool swimming I'd done over the summer had changed my bicep measurements which in turn made the frontal property less frontal.

I turned sideways thinking I would find a better view and that the solution would be more obvious. Having changed my view, my eyes gravitated to the clock, and I realized I had to leave immediately or I would be obviously late for work. Still confused, I stumbled out the door without my travel coffee mug. I devoted my entire 6 minute commute to analyzing the situation. There had to be a simple and reasonable explanation, but I couldn’t come up with one.

As the morning progressed, I became aware that my arms were not sitting comfortably at my sides. I kept flapping my elbows out - like that would help. There came a time when the nasty office coffee had to make an exit, so off to the rest room I toddled feeling like a bulk ridden body builder unable to achieve normal straightening of the arms. As long as I was in the semi-privacy of an oversized stall, I decided to re-investigate. Off came the blouse and the bra. By now, I had come to the logical conclusion that I simply must have purchased one in the wrong size. I’d tried on so many, you know?

Nope, no such luck. The size was correct, although… wait a freakin’ minute! There was a word - a very tiny word very placed un-obstructively under the fancy scrolled name and serious printed size. I didn’t see that little gem in the dressing room because I stopped replacing my glasses somewhere around the 4th or 5th round. The minute but hugely offensive word? Minimizer!

Have you ever wondered how a bra can “minimize” your reality? Well, I have, and now I know. Minimizer bras don’t minimize nothin’ – the darn things flatten the front and squish what’s been “minimized” to the sides. At last I had determined why I was flapping like an uncomfortable hen and experiencing a severe short-fall in front.

Big sigh. I now own three very expensive doing-chores-around-the-house bras, and have resorted to my old double-buddy double-barrel slingshot stand-bys even though they are a bit lacking in support and a bit too elasticized in give.

I hope y’all have learned something by my sharing here. This is why you don’t throw old bras out until after the first full-day test run. If you’re in any doubt, go ahead and purchase one for yourself. And then you too can clean the house in glamour!

Posted by jaselin at 02:35 PM | Comments (0)

August 22, 2010

Facebook Gems July 2010

July 1:
Ms. Feisty July.... yez - that's my nickname, too. (Monthly chicken post - FYI)

July 3:
Organization - out the window. Crunch time chaos - grab it, box it, stack it, move on

July 6:
Today's observation: Country Life sheep always look surprisedly perplexed. Cows look blissfully ignorant. Chickens go about their business and concentrate on the work at hand

July 7:
Hard to believe - I'm courting chaos - and enjoying it!

July 7 follow up:
Wow, everyone for the misleading poetic oops. It's a what, not a him. Chaos is when you find yourself changing everything when really only one small step is what you were after, it's also those evil thwarted dunces in Get Smart. Hmmm.

July 8:‎
36 hours! Oh, my. (moving countdown)

July 9:
Glenda Gafner is the Goddess of Going Full Speed Ahead Despite Being Assaulted By Gargantuos Grouchiness. :-) (moving trauma)

July 12:
Oh, what I wouldn't give for a tall, dark and handsome man to show up at my front door with a plate of freshly baked killer brownies, ice cold milk, and my freshly folded laundry.

July 13:
Ladies, I would like to pass on some advice my father gave me as a young lady. It is as wise today as it was back then! Dad told me that there was absolutely no reason any young girl should get pregnant because everyone could afford birth control. Then he handed me a dime to keep in my wallet at all times. He said that... if I ever needed fail-proof birth control, I should simply put the dime between my knees and use them hold it in place. :-) A penny or a pebble would work just as well.

July 15:
Dear Food Researchers and Marketing Geniuses:
If you're gonna put candy pieces in a frozen beverage, you'd best make sure them broke up bits of expected goodness fit through the straw-er you're providin'... otherwisen could make some peoples cranky. Or crankier. Just sayin'.

July 19:
Went to the apt. took care of a potential soda hazzard (left a paper cup full on the counter), gave Fred a treat & some milk for not touching the paper cup (she loves to knock over liquids), measured the bathroom and entry way for rug sizes, drove the trash and the flattened cardboard boxes over to the garbage/recycling area. Back at work in 1/2 an hour. I'm giddy! BWHAHHAHAHHAH!

July 19:
Good nature only goes so far... sometimes going gonzo is the only way to really get through....

July 20:
Good nature left and I found myself not so quietly muttering a phrase I'd only ever heard my Dad use when he was in gangster mode. Not entirely proud of that, but am entirely and highly amused by it. :-)
(I'm gonna yank his balls out through his nose!)

July 22:
Ok because I'm tired and too lazy to go fetch my glasses, I misread your post as "Pat is attending Church Caput." And I'm thinking...I'm pretty much caput so that's the church for me! (Truly said: Church Campout!)

Posted by jaselin at 08:04 PM | Comments (0)

August 15, 2010

Facebook Gems August 2010

August 1:
"Sometimes we don't really notice just how good it can get." Rob Thomas

August 13:
My father once asked of me, "What will people think of your tattoo when you are 70?" My answer, "If I'm 70, and worrying about what other people think... I've got a bigger problem than my tattoo!"

August 15:
Set up wireless network, printer & computers, except for the one that refuses to turn on, in my office today. Ran into a few problems, fixed 'em with research & cables & one 15 minute "this is ridiculous" iced tea break. Only took 3 hours. Can't really tell ya how. Pretty sure I can't duplicate it @ your house. LOL.

August 20:
Steamers hint: thought the meal was dry, bland & boring til I realized there was wet stuff in the bottom of the bowl but not on my food. Huh? Oh! You're supposed to take the steamer tray out and mix it with the wet stuff. Much better...

Posted by jaselin at 06:21 PM | Comments (0)

July 20, 2010

Facebook Gems June 2010

June 4:
Packing, packing, packing. I just keep on packing, raw... fingertips. Really, people! Who packs with their ykw?

June 7:
Ugh. So decreasing the font size enabled me to see and use the "share" button in Cafe World. However no amount of font changing is helping that fact that I now cannot see my cafe. Cranky meter just hit 11. Any ideas... besides quit and get a life?

June 10:
I've discovered an awful truth: I'm too old to have electric blue hair and too young to have blue-grey hair. What to do?

June 17:
If it's normally not my gig, but has somehow landed in my lap anyway, I feel completely justified referring to the situation as a major gig-a-bite.

June 18:
Comfy walking shoes? Check. Shorts & Tees? Check. Bathing suit? Check. Jammies? Check. Elbow supports for repetitive wine glass lifiting? Check!

June 21:
Strong gives way to overwhelmed.

June 22:
Overwhelmed gives way to over-tired. Tomorrow strong will return. Maybe.

June 23:
Panic joined the party and attempted to drag Strong back into the "I've got things to do - get out of my way!" fray. Worked for a while. Now over-tired is talking again...

June 25:
‎12:30. Tagged. Tired. Tomorrow... oops.. today... tag sale. Two days. Toodles! (punchy?)

June 29:
Half the house is gone. I'm a bit gone now, too. So much empty space. Inside and inside.

Posted by jaselin at 08:17 PM | Comments (0)

July 15, 2010

Candy Shake Up

Dear Food Researchers and Marketing Geniuses:

If you're gonna put candy pieces in a frozen beverage, you'd best make sure them broke up bits of expected goodness fit through the straw-er you're providin'... otherwisen could make some peoples cranky. Or crankier. Just sayin'.

Posted by jaselin at 12:56 PM | Comments (0)

June 15, 2010

Hair Today...

In case you missed the prequel - I posted an urgent dilemma on facebook the other night.
"I've discovered an awful truth: I'm too old for electric-blue hair, and too young for grey-blue hair. What to do?"

Many viable suggestions came back at me. Lots of sage advice. Warnings that pink is now out of style but burgundy would do. Green mowhawks, red, purple highlights. All very good ideas. More than a few thought to mention powder blue. I actually found the notion of a baby blue bob quite appealing.

I responded to my 14 self-appointed (with provocation) internet fashionistas with another post:
"Ladies - you're all so lovely and creative! I have a 9:30 appt Saturday @ Salon Meridian. If I make there on time after driving into and through MIS race weekend traffic without pulling my hair out, chances are good that it will not end up being a respectable mid-40's drab color. In honor of the upcoming Traverse City Wine Tasting Weekend, a "Merlot" color might be quite complimentary. However, you just never know. "Grape" may win. :-)

Let me tell you - my stylist is amazing. Although "stylist" is such a thin word for her talent. Not only does she consistently remodel my thinning hair to look fuller, but she also is a color genius. She snipped me into an even shorter version of my usual cropped pixie, perfect for summer non-fussing. Then, we started talking shades. After a few minutes of non-atypical indecision on my part, my miracle maven met my eyes in the mirror.

“You know,” she titled her head. “I think this color suits you.”
“You know,” I tilted my head. “I kinda like it, too.”
“This is a custom color,” she emphasized. “You can’t get this from a bottle.”
I nodded slightly, and with a throat clearing nervous little giggle laughed at my own inner chipper voice slinging off someone else’s words: “It’s a pip of a color!”

The name of this remarkable one-of-a-kind pip-color? “New Natural”.

You’re all completely at a loss right now trying to come up with a mental picture of exactly what that color might be, right? Natural, of course, is not a conducive descriptive when it comes to the roots of my hair, the roots of which are a mystery to most.

I was born with the lightest possible honey blonde wisps that required taped bows and dresses for many years so that I would not be mistaken for a boy. Somewhere along the way, my hair thickened and developed into a fine chocolate brown curtain – stubbornly stick straight when curls and big hair were the popular style.

Somewhere else along the way (it’s hard to tell when since Ms. Clairol and I have been such good friends for so long), my mysterious true-color cap has trended into a tortoise shell auburn that strangely compliments my eye shade. Perhaps I should clarify that the interesting variegated color of my hair more than exactly matches the color of my eyes - as they are now. Again, in a progressional fashion – widely bright blue for a few years, deeply ebony brown for a bunch of years, now dark wheat sprinkled with flecks of gold and burgundy, encircled by contrasting - but complimentary - come-lately mossy-green rims.

So, “natural” it is, and probably will remain.
Naturally highlighted with a few adorably placed natural sparklers, due to my naturally (but very slowly in proportion to reality) progressional age.

Although, truth be told, I second–thought the situation and snapped up a multi-use sample of electric blue spike gel… just in case I feel the need to be recognized by family and friends.

Posted by jaselin at 07:55 AM | Comments (0)

June 11, 2010

Office Supply & Demanding

Last night on the way home, the vanpoolers and I were listening to and thoroughly enjoying the 7th CD of Janet Evanovich's book, Hot Six. The entire numerical series has been really quite amusing and takes the edge off the inevitable impediment of and then departure from our work environments. Bounty Hunter Stephanie Plumb needed to re-up her cache, and went to rifle some stock from the bond office supply cabinet.

Among the usual sticky notes and manila folders were automatics, semi-automatics, bullets, a few stun guns, and a supply of handcuffs.

Now, I don't necessarily see how having bulleted weapons could positively impact long-term office relations. However, stun guns and handcuffs - those might help. So, I'm thinking... all office supply cabinets should be stocked this way.

With easy access to stun guns, I imagine most employees would think twice before being snippy, cranky or downright demanding. Perhaps, ultimately deciding to be intensely more civil to each other on a regular basis.

How about we use handcuffs to curtail those perpetual smoke breakers and vending machine wanderers? Cuff 'em to their desks. They'd not only be more productive, but they’d be a lot healthier, too. Reduce the cost of benefits, resulting in raises for all! Bet I could get a grant to study that.

As far as the magnums are concerned... solely for morale purposes, I wanna be in charge of stocking the cabinet with mondo bottles of Moscato: to be used with morning Manosas… I mean mimosas… at my discretion, shared only with the people I really like.

Hmm, perhaps I'd better rethink the stun gun availability part.

Posted by jaselin at 12:50 PM | Comments (0)

May 03, 2010

Thursday Diet Desperation

7:50 am: I'm Thursday morning tired. Even an expensive cup of dark cherry mocha iced java hasn’t jolted me awake.
I can’t keep my eyes open. I decide to take action knowing for certain that I’ve never fallen asleep while eating.

7:55 am: Baked or regular chips?
7:56 am: Baked or regular chips?
7:57 am: Coworker rounds the corner into the kitchen, observes me pondering and advises, “Don’t do it!”
7:58 am: Regular chips.
7:59 am: Where are my chips? I saw them fall. Coworker asks, “Stuck?” "Nope. They fell, but I can’t find them."
8:00 am: We peer into the black abyss of vending darkness. They’re sitting there on some sort of ledge attached to the swinging flap. I stick my hand in under the swinging flap and can teasingly feel one slippery corner of the bag.
8:04 am: Coworker and I have both been trying for 4 minutes to free the chips.
8:05 am: Coworker gives up, pours coffee and abandons me. Nurse arrives and tries her helping hand.
8:06 am: Nurse gives up, grabs coffee, and abandons me.

I pull on my bull-dog mentality McGyver cap, determined to be resourceful. Retrieving a pair of metal-toothed ice tongs from the kitchen utensil drawer, I attempt to grab the chips with them. The bag budges a little, but all I really manage to do is slide the bag from one side of the ledge to the other. By this time I am kneeling on the floor, arm halfway into the machine, tongs still stubbornly clamped on the bag of chips. Ingeniously, I decide to jar the bag off it's perch by repeatedly banging the flap open and shut.

8:07 am: Computer guru comes in. Looks the situation over, pours coffee, and pauses on his way out. With typical early morning dry IT humor, and a bit of a twinkle in his eye, he shake shis head and inquires: “Have you tried rebooting?”
I shoot him a look that I hope silently projects how lucky he is that the hand holding the toothy tongs is attached to the arm that is still halfway into the machine.
8:08 am: I grab more firmly with the tongs, accidentally puncturing the bag, letting the air out. I slam the flap a few more times and my deflated bag of chips finally falls off the ledge, into the bin.
8:10 am: I notice that the chip bag in nearly flat. I pat it gently and instinctively know: all the golden chips are now only casserole topping worthy. I grab my coffee and a spoon and head for my office.
8:11 am: My boss is sitting in my office waiting for me. She eyes me inquisitively as I arrive with a crumpled, deflated, torn bag of chips and a spoon. “Breakfast?” she asks. “Yes,” I sigh.
8:15 am: After morning briefing, I cut open the top of the bag and confirm that the chips are pretty much pulverized. Still, I am not deterred. I grab the spoon and dig in.
I wanted the chips. I struggled for the chips, I paid for the chips.
I’m gonna darn well eat the chips!

Halfway through the bag I realize I’m on revenge autopilot, and not doing myself any favors.

I glance at my Weight Watcher’s Log Book - purposefully positioned to discourage this kind of dramatic and drastic desperate behavior. I put down the spoon, and reluctantly pencil in ½ of the points value for the crummy bag of crumbled chips. I throw the remaining other half into my waste basket.

OK. I figure I’ve at least done some good stretching, bending and reaching exercises in this morning, but I’m not about to credit myself with exercise points for that.

Nah, I’ll just credit myself exercise points for all the extra typing this experience has resulted in.

Posted by jaselin at 12:54 PM | Comments (0)

March 16, 2010

Always Wear a Slip

As best I can recall, the true story went something like this:

My 1990’s prudish self was horrified to discover a friend had left home in flimsy, wispy skirt without a slip. To me, that was simply an unheard of and not wise thing to do. My friend argued that slips were archaic – it was the 90’s for Pete’s sake! I warned her, “Someday, you’re gonna regret it!”

Shortly thereafter, I decided to wear a cute blue dress. I had done laundry and knew for a fact that I had washed my blue slip. I was running late and couldn’t seem to find that slip anywhere, so I donned some recently laundered pantyhose and flew out the door.

Once at the office, I stopped in the restroom. That’s when the trouble started.

As I yanked up the hose, my pantyhose ripped to the point of near disintegration. There simply was no more rear panel, if you get my breezy drift. So, I removed them. That left me with no slip and no hose. I was also rather unfortunately and uncomfortably without underwear, due to the original omission of such. Hey, it was the 90’s after all – nobody wore pantyhose AND underwear! No worries, though. That’s what stores are for. So, I jumped into my car, and headed out in search of a nylon solution – hose or underwear. I really didn’t have a preference.

I arrived at my mega-store destination and was surprised to find the parking lot rather packed. I had to park a good deal away from the store entrance. I moved quickly into the middle of a late fall Tennessee bluster that threatened to expose a good deal more than just the lack of a slip. I began my trek cautiously. With my wallet in one hand, and the other gripping my dress hem, I realized I was about to slip up and potentially give a bunch of folks a real weird show. At this point, I began to hurry across the parking lot. I remember being distractedly curious as to who all those annoying close parking people were, and why on earth they were shopping so early in the morning.

Then, I completely lost my grip and dropped my wallet. Bent over to retrieve it, the back side of the dress deftly whipped itself into the lower part of my rear anatomy causing a rather severe blue wedge.

At this point, the front portion of the dress was about to take flight, because I was no longer hanging onto the hem with my fingers. I was reduced to using the elbow part of my arm because my hand was now reaching for the wallet. Trying to restrain the flapping fabric that way wasn’t very effective. Major slippage!

Somehow, I recovered enough to yank the material from its pleated state, pick up my wallet, and hope there were no witnesses.

Disappointingly, a quick look around confirmed that every shopper in the lot had stopped to focus on me. Hands stayed on carriages, but heads turned as they passed by. Bags stalled as groceries were being transferred to trunks. Those heading in, crossed over to the next aisle, children in tow, glancing back to be sure I wasn’t going to either follow them or flip my dress up once again.

And all because I wasn’t wearing a slip.

The moral of this story is, of course, to always wear a slip.
The submoral, of course, is to make sure that you always follow the advice you give.

Posted by jaselin at 03:57 PM | Comments (0)

March 08, 2010

Arrested, Follow Up

For all of you who took part in last year’s popular “If You Saw Me In The Back of A Police Car What You Think I Was Being Arrested For” internet survey on my behalf, I am now able to provide you with an actual reasonable answer.

When I woke up Sunday morning, the new medication which it was hoped might stop my ears from ringing hadn’t done its part. I’d already taken it for a few days, stubbornly working my way through the nausea. I ate a bagel and had coffee, retrospectively both not good choices. I just couldn’t shake that icky feeling.

However, sibling support drove me on. My younger brother would be serving communion at his church.
So,that’s where I was headed... when the officer pulled me over.

Yep. I was supposedly clocked at a wicked 39 mph.

Unfortunately, I was within a 25 mph zone on MSU campus. I can't imagine why the officer set sites on me and my appallingly non-descript beige 2002 Buick Century, especially since I was being tailgated by a black SUV. Even more unfortunate was the discovery that invisible paper moths had completely passed over previous years’ staler versions in favor of devouring my obviously fresher and most current proof of insurance.

Reassurances that all would be ok from my nephew in the back seat did little to boost my morale. Up until that moment I had been a speeding ticket virgin. That we might be too late to support my brother’s efforts, bummed me out more. And none of that did anything for my already queasy stomach.

My sister-in-law’s explanation that I wasn’t from the area and she had just told me to slow down was answered with an explanation that there were 3 speed limit signs between where I turned and where I was pulled over.

My ticket included a warning citation regarding my lack of current proof. I wasn't aware that a new MI law states that being without proof of insurance is now a $250.00 fine to be paid for two years in a row to the state of Michigan.

All in all, we made it to the church almost on time.
However, I still missed communion due to the fact that the dizzying medication had finally wore me down to the point of bolting from the chapel. I had to ask directions to the nearest facility and then well... you know. That thing that I hate doing happened.

I haven't been able to draw a cute parallel GOD point to any of Sunday’s nonsense.
But I still thought I should point out that if you’re lucky enough to live in Michigan, make sure you have your up-to-date proof of insurance handy.

Posted by jaselin at 12:31 PM | Comments (0)

March 02, 2010

Distress Signals

I have to learn to interpret distress signals more accurately.

This one falls under that “drowning – not waving” category.
It also falls under the "5:55 am synapses aren't quite fired up enough to perform complex analysis yet" category.

Michigan had one of those warmed-up nights that turned into a froze-down morning.
Solid ice on the commuter van windshield meant a few extra minutes of defrost blasting and scraping as far toward the center of the vehicle as best a short gal can.

I followed through on the thought to text my first pick-up and let her know that the stairs on the side of the street where I usually pick her up might be icy. She has no railing – so it’s been an issue before.

I pulled up and waited a little before 6:00 am.
I bent down to retrieve another disc from the current Janet Evanovich novel on CD that we are listening to: Finger Lickin’ Fifteen. So far, it’s been very entertaining.

Anyway, when I looked up, my passenger was coming around the side of her house and down her driveway. She waved.
“Wow,” I thought, “She’s feeling mighty friendly this morning.” Not that she’s not always friendly, it’s just that five years of commuting with her, I am acutely aware that mornings aren’t her favorite time of day.

I popped the CD in, and selected track 9, where we had left off the previous evening.
When I looked up again, she had just passed her car and was double-waving with both hands kind of like Adriano Moraes after a good 8-second ride.

I waved back, again. Then I had a half thought. Maybe she’s telling me to go on without her?
By this time my unusually happy for so early in the morning friend was at the van door.

She opened it. I said, “Yes?” She said, “Yes?”
“Were you waving at me for any particular reason?” I asked.

“I wasn’t waving!” she snarled, sliding into the co-pilot seat.
“Huh,” I marveled. “I thought it was sort of weird that you were being so friendly...”

She turned her head to look at me and barked an astonished laugh. “I was trying not to bite it after sliding partially down my driveway sideways and slamming into my car. I was trying not to let my a** or my coffee become too friendly with the ground.”

“Oh,” I said.
Then, I couldn’t help it. I just started snickering, then giggling.
It took her a couple of gulps of coffee, but she finally saw the humor in the situation, too.

Then we turned on the CD and laughed a little more while listening to a few tracks. Gotta love frozen Michigan mornings.

Posted by jaselin at 10:57 AM | Comments (0)

January 27, 2010

Organized Slime

Organized Slime

It made sense to me when I bought it. That was after standing in the instant oatmeal aisle for more than a few minutes with my Weight Watcher’s sliding points card and my reluctance to start making better (aka healthier) choices in the convenience foods I eat.

My biggest self-debate is always over flavor. If it doesn’t taste good, I’m not going to eat it. It’s a risk you take when purchasing “new” items, though. You can always hope for the best, and throw out the worst.

I took my extra-high added fiber cinnamon swirl oatmeal out of the office microwave this morning, and sighed.
My sad and silent observation concluded that most miracle/improved diet foods should be outlawed for resembling organized slime.

However, I sucked it up.
Literally; kinda like that first taste of anything hot. For some reason you use your teeth to scrape it off the spoon thinking it will cool off enough by the time it hits your tongue. That little delay-ment move also manages to give your lips a chance to close around the goo before it hits your tongue for its first assessing assault.
It’s harder to spit healthy stuff out with your lips closed.

My assessment: it tasted like a 15-minute water-soaked cinnamon roll, which is pretty tasty if you like mushy cinnamon flavored stuff.
It’s been about 15 minutes now, and I’m still working my way through this cup of cholesterol lowering, irregularity eliminating morning gruel.
Tomorrow I think I will defy the directions and add a little less water.

I think I will be able to tolerate the week’s worth of this stuff that I bought.
Then I think I’ll head back to my stand-by regular instant oatmeal. I’ll just deal with the extra point by going another 2 songs on the treadmill.

As a complete aside, it now makes sense to me that the term “grueling” is used to describe tasks that are notoriously difficult and challenging. Oatmeal must have been way worse back in the dark ages.

this post also available at:
https://trackers.mhealthy.org/blogs

Posted by jaselin at 08:15 AM | Comments (0)

January 17, 2010

January 17, 2010: Ten Years, Breaking It Down

January 17, 2010: Ten Years, Breaking It Down

I have recently been honored and am sincerely grateful to be recognized and rewarded for my ten-year continuing commitment to my company, my division, my department, my position and my coworkers.

Last summer one of those supposedly inspirational saying started to circulate around the office.
People were grumbling because it had been advised at a meeting that it was time for everyone to just “Play nice in the sand box.”

Because I am the warped person I am, I applied that imaginative saying to the very-unimagined negative-attitude surge that had been roiling through the ranks. My immediate reactive thought to that advisory was: “Lately, it’s been more like a litter box.”

This January, I passed a milestone in my career history. I survived 10 years at one institution. My previous stint record was 7 years. It seems like that was the longest I could or would invest in a company before realizing it wasn’t going to change or work the way I’d like it to. I’d often wondered if that was anyhow related to the mythical 7-year-itch problem.

In any case, here I am at 10 solid years under my belt. I’ve switched departments, had my job description and title changed, and moved my work space/office at least 3-4 times. So maybe all of that made me less itchy. (Note: I am not making any claims that I have been less itchy with the second consonant in front of it.)

A two-part rewards program indicated that this milestone year be recognized within my division by a gold-tone heart shaped bit of badge-wear flair featuring an emerald rhinestone and the words “10 Years.” The second part of the reward was my choice of a $20.00 gift card to either a restaurant or a grocery store.

Because I play with numbers all day, a break-down seemed like the answer to my natural intrigue.

$20.00: 10 years
$20.00 / 10 years = $2.00 per year loyalty incentive
2080 workable hours per year in a 5 day/8 hour work week
2080 / $2.00 per year
0.0166 cents per month
0.0332 cents per week
0.0064 cents per day
0.0008 cents per hour

Realizing this, I did the only respectable thing I could do with my new found income:
I added it my yearly estimated income budget sheet.

Then, I used the $20.00 grocery store card to purchase a hefty long-term 24-count double-roll bundle of toilet paper and 28 bucketed pounds of scoop-able cat litter for multiple cats even though I only have one.

Just being practical, and covering my bases.

Posted by jaselin at 04:31 PM | Comments (0)

January 06, 2010

New Addiction

About a month ago I discovered Sprint TV on my phone. It's always been there, but I never explored it.
In any case, I ended up scrolling through the options. There are quite a lot of them.
I checked out the Disney Channel - to see what my niece and nephews might be able to watch should the need ever arise.

Out of curiosity, I decided to tune in to an episode of JONAS just to see what all the fuss was about.
You know, it was an ok show. I sort of enjoyed it for it's mindlessness, and those boys are cute.

And then, well.... I enjoyed it again, as soon as a new episode appeared.
And then, well.... I enjoyed it again, as soon as a new episode appeared.
And then, last night... I enjoyed it again, as another new episode appeared.

Now, I am being punished for being an old lady voyeur. The stupid theme song won't leave my head.

I thought maybe if I confessed it, you know - threw it out there -the perky intro and accompanying scene-flashes in my head would go away.

I'll let you know whether that works, or not.

Friendly and Not So Friendly Responses and Advice Received:

"Do you need a Jonas intervention?"

"I am a little scared, but really shouldn't judge since I've never seen it."

"Do you want me to hum the GITC wake-up ring tone?"

"That is too funny - don't feel bad - I often find myself quoting Spongebob ("Barnacles!")."

"STOP DO NOT BUY ANYTHING JONAS. Go for Jacob from Twilight instead!!!"

"That's supposed to be your SECRET quilty pleasure!"

Posted by jaselin at 08:48 AM | Comments (0)

December 22, 2009

Alrighty, then - Analyze This.

I was on a college campus during winter break studying in a heated, indoor grass hilled atrium.

Under the atrium, there was a huge walk in kiln that could fire as little as one piece, and the piece came out of the kiln at room temperature. I wondered if anyone could accidentally get caught in there.

The cafeteria had assigned random seating so you had to sit with people you didn’t know, and each person was given a different question that you had to ask your table mates.

They had 40 different types of flavored popcorn, so I ordered the largest bucket so I could taste them all. When they showed me a sample piece it was twice as big as a popcorn kernel and looked wet. At first, I just thought they were super fresh. Then I realized instead of saying “popcorn” I’d ordered a taste of all the flavors of candy coated shrimp. I was stuck with an $80 bucket of moist and only partly crunchy caramel, blueberry-vanilla, chocolate mint, tangerine and cinnamon, etc. flavored shrimp.

I did make a nice piece of pottery, though: a mini tea pot with a matching serving tray and tea leaf strainer.

PS. Before you ask: I had egg drop soup and dumplings for dinner.

Posted by jaselin at 07:37 AM | Comments (0)

December 16, 2009

Go ahead - Analyze this.

Nuno Bettencourt, a slimmer Jeff, a drive-thru garage with two packed lanes of flow through traffic, my mom, a pink shirt and a 3,300 pound sailfish that wanted to be baptized.

Sweet dreams are made of this.

(P.S. Wasn't sure where to place this tidbit, but I know I found it humourous when I woke up this morning.)

(P.S.S. I've been asked numerous times what I had to eat/drink/smoke last night before going to bed, so here goes: I had green beans, mashed potatoes, and exactly 3 peanut M&Ms. I really need to analyze the chemical proclivity of those ingredients.)

Posted by jaselin at 10:14 AM | Comments (0)

December 09, 2009

Hot Tamales Cinnamon Flavored Cotton Candy Quiz

On Wed, Dec 9, 2009 at 11:45 AM, Jodi Korte wrote:

Hot Tamales Cinnamon Flavored Cotton Candy Quiz

The fact that this product exists means that:

 A. I'm not the only nut mixing sweet and heat.
 B. If they mass produce it, they obviously expect people to buy it.
 C. I wish I invented it
 D. If I still had the Michigan Hot Sauce Club store, I'd stock this item.
 E. All of the above

PS. I found it at a gas station. It caught my eye because it was next to the chili-lime beef jerky, but I was actually looking for Cracker Jacks and canned espresso.

Around 1:45 pm I decided to set forth this invitation to my 35 of my coworkers:

Here's your invitation to another exciting candy discovery taste test.
2:00 pm. Timekeeping Office.

PS... No, I haven't tasted it... yet.
Bring water, if you think you'll need something to wash it down.

My expert opinion:
Sigh.... it's only OK.
I could do better with my own cotton candy machine and some hot oil.
It has a weird fore-taste as opposed to a weird after-taste.
However, the after-taste isn’t bad – reminiscent of a very weak Hot Tamale.
No heat.

Now I am envisioning a mini cotton candy machine and some home kitchen test runs in the near future. Maybe my next career will be a traveling gourmet cotton candy truck driver and fair sales barker featuring flavors like Real Spicy, and Rum Raisin, and maybe Buttered Popcorn.

Yeah, my dreams and aspirations are kinda warped.

But, really… by now you shouldn’t be surprised.

Photo available on facebook.

Posted by jaselin at 04:18 PM | Comments (0)

Espresso and Cracker Jacks

Espresso and Cracker Jacks, first snow of the season followed by sleet and rain, and crawling down the road in a commuter van behind a 45-mph driver for 30 miles can make you a wee bit loopy by the time you get to work.

The first person I saw this morning appeared to be wearing referee stripes. Strangely, so did the second person, too. When I pointed the coincidence out, I was abruptly corrected. “I am” said the second person, “Inmate # 11123.” I giggled until the first striped jersey referee approached from behind and emphatically announced, “I am # 11124!” Then, I laughed.

Then there was the milk jug incident. A very sane and appropriately distrusting co-worker marked her little milk jug with her initials and a thick black sharpie line indicating the fullness or emptiness of her container. “To see if it’s being used,” she explained. I pointed out that it was a bit sad she felt she had to do that. “Well," she said, ”I’ll tell you this much – if there is anything less than this line when I go to use my milk again, I’ll be doing breath checks!” I guffawed.

By this time, inmate # 11124 had a ticklish thought. She would run out at lunch to buy some bovine ammunition, and then add her newly acquired milk to the black lined jug, just to see what sort of reaction that would bring. Hilarious. I couldn’t stop laughing.

I guess the moral of this story is that at 7:30 am, everything seems funnier on cracker jacks and espresso.

Posted by jaselin at 02:21 PM | Comments (0)

September 15, 2009

Blow Pop Man – Transformer!

The Wednesday after the Labor Day holiday was a lot like any Wednesday after a Monday holiday.
You know that precarious point when you realize that you have to cram 5 days worth of work into 4 days?
For me, that's the kinda of thing that requires a sugar fix.

It is, however, impossible to blame this incident on sugar or caffeine, or anything else.
On second thought, I guess I could blame it on the vitamin D. Yeah, I’ll go with that…

See, I was unwrapping a grape blow pop, and having some difficulty doing it, too. I ended up just untwisting the stubborn wrapper and letting it flap around on the stick it was firmly attached to. After a lick or two, I was twirling my treat absently while reviewing paperwork when what should catch the corner of my eye than a lollipop flying by!

Seriously, it looked like little purple headed super hero with a polka dot edged cape flying out behind. Then, I noticed a few errant tiny circles on my desk; leftovers from a three-hole punching episode earlier in the day. I added a few black and bleeding Sharpie dots, and voila! Blow Pop Man was born!

I giggled to myself a little while before I got up the courage to let him fly by office mate. Her eyes flew open in wonder - as if to say "I'm wondering where her brain went?". Then she giggled, too.

Thus began the Blow Pop Man trek. I visited every office and cubicle in our department. Everywhere I went, I fluttered him by astonished employees, announcing, “Blow Pop Man to the rescue!” between the two of us, we managed to transform each holiday-Wednesday afternoon slump by morphing scowls into equal amounts of laughter and head shaking.

Then, someone who had already seen the Blow Pop Man tour fly by once, saw it again, and jokingly snapped, "Just eat the Blow Pop!" I asked her to be part of the Blow Pop Man video, but she declined. I had to enlist the help of my first victim -my office mate. She obliged - it was hard not to. I have a pretty contagious giggle.

The Blow Pop Man video made it's own slightly more restricted tour, with limited engagements. Sadly, our morale boosting success turned sour shortly thereafter.
Oh, yeah, the saga continues...

A little later in the afternoon, I had some work to do in my other office. I’m still transitioning from the current one to the new one. Anyway, I'm sitting there waiting for the screen to come up, impatiently twirling Blow Pop Man, and I start giggling, again.

That’s when I looked up and saw my boss standing there, shaking her head and laughing at me. I assured her that I was not just idly playing with Blow Pop Man and was really waiting for my computer to boot. She assured my coworker that she had some concerns about me!

Hmm. Between this and the Laffy Taffy sculptures, perhaps I have a future as an alternative candy artist!
And, perhaps now would be a good time to explore that further.

The moral of this story?
There are some legitimately good reasons to play with your food, and there are some legitimately good reasons not to play with you food, as well.

If you’d like to see Blow Pop Man in action, please visit me @ http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1110078991558&ref=nf

Posted by jaselin at 08:49 AM | Comments (0)

August 11, 2009

truth serum

You want me to be brutally honest?
All it takes is a'cuppa shots of espresso, some foamy milk, and caramel.
I’ll tell you anything you want to know.
Sort of like an 8-Ball gone haywire.
Only don’t be expectin’ no yes or nope answers.
I’m not about to tell you “maybe,” either.
Neither one of us is gonna get off that easy.
Believe me: it will be as painful for me, as it will be brain searing for you.
Don’t ask me a question if you don’t want it answered.
You’re playing roulette with over-caffeinated quiet person.
I’m one of those ones they’ve always told ya to watch out for.
Could get messy.
Now you tell me:
You sure you still wanna play this game?

Posted by jaselin at 12:45 PM | Comments (0)

August 07, 2009

caffienated (a)musing

If I were to spew all my random thoughts...
wouldn't I eventually be thoughtless?

Posted by jaselin at 12:41 PM | Comments (0)

July 27, 2009

Recipe for a Happy Life

A friend told me once whe wished she knew what to do to make me happier. I gave her this recipe to use.

Recently, I was asked to contribute a recipe for a bridal shower recipe box. I gave her this recipe to use, and a small pad of purple sticky notes. (Plus, instructions for a great dish called Wicked Spaghetti.)

Recipe for Happiness
Ingredients:
1 pad of sticky notes
A few colored markers
quotations, drawings, thoughts, bible verses

Practice random acts of sticky notes.
Put them on pillows, chairs, books, mirrors, the front door on the way in and on the way out, in a lunch bag, in a wallet, on a steering wheel, on a lamp shade, by a bedside, anywhere for any reason. Repeat often.

Posted by jaselin at 10:45 AM | Comments (0)

July 15, 2009

Scheduling Conflicts

I guess my inflection and intention both weren’t quite in the right place when I recently had to apologize for attempting to multitask and for not following my own rules of courtesy – I got caught texting while waiting on an appointment.

“Sorry, I’m…” I mumbled, trailing off as I waved my cell phone in silent explanation. Shrugging my shoulders, I finished with just the tail end of my inaudible thought, “…scheduling conflicts.”

I received an incredulous response. “You’re scheduling conflicts?”

I had to laugh. And I probably appeared a bit too amused.
Truly, I’m not the sort of person who has to schedule conflicts.
They’re a regular natural occurrence in my every day world.

However, wouldn’t it be grand if we could schedule conflicts?
Knowing they were coming, preparing for them… what a concept!

I suspect that knowing of a conflict in advance and having ample prep time could possibly dissipate the event. As opposed to taking a few cool down days, we could take a few days to warm up. And to consider options for responding: raised voices, monotone voices, written complaints, tears – maybe even backing down after applying some self-reasoning.

You know, they could have a “Scheduled Conflict” seating section in the back of the retail "Confidence Store" I’ve been dreaming of. Couldn't hurt to throw a little caffiene in that mix, right?

It sure would be nice to confidently anticipate disagreeing about next Thursday’s dinner menu.

So… who needs an appointment for next week? Just let me know.

My conflict calendar’s wide open.

Posted by jaselin at 08:37 AM | Comments (0)

June 30, 2009

Arrested

You know how data can be skewed.

Just because the numbers say one thing doesn’t mean all the variables have been taken into consideration.
For example, the recent, “If you saw ME in a police car what would you think I got arrested for?” poll may have provided some interesting insight to how people view me. However, the variables weren’t necessarily clearly reflected in the answers.

To make this poll legitimate, I’d need to ask a few more pertinent questions. Was the responder…
1) just being humorous
2) just trying to be as outrageous as possible
3) just trying not to offend or
4) did they really think I’d do that?

Arrested: Here are the results of my peers:

Car/Driver (5):
a. Causing road rage by screaming out your window for people to “zipper merge”.
b. not paying a ticket
c. speeding
d. your license hair color not matching your current hair color
e. I’d guess that your car broke down and you needed a ride home. * (also under Exposed.)

Assault (4)
a. gluing a coworker’s mouth closed because of continual unsanitary sneezing.
b. banging people’s head together because they have you asked to create a brand new presentation which will explain (in a different way) the same thing for the 10th time.
c. killing a “professional” acquaintance.
d. murdering a supposed “professional.”

Exposed (3):
a. I’d guess that your car broke down and you needed a ride home. Never would have crossed my mind that you were being arrested. Except for that flashing incident. Now if I had thought that you might have done that in front of the cop in order to get away with speeding and running red lights, then I might have thought you were arrested for good reason… but other than that, I would have figured that you just needed a ride home. And the cops would have to take you because of your history of stalking taxi drivers. Because your car broke down.
b. skinny dipping in a public pool
c. mopery – not sure what this means? Go ahead, look it up on Google.

Music (2)
a. listening to Barry Manilow and liking it!
b. I think you would get busted stealing music on the internet -- napstarish I guess

Strange, Sweet and Rather Random:
a. child abuse: refusing to hug your “adopted 16 year old nephew” because he hadn’t showered recently.
b. nothing, I would think you needed some help.
c. You were arrested for loving the LORD baby!
d. something involving mistaken identity, maybe you were standing next to a shoplifter
e. jewel thief? (green amethyst—lol)

Posted by jaselin at 12:51 PM | Comments (0)

May 29, 2009

Why Ballet Lessons Are Important to Working Women

T. is always inspiring me. Not like normal inspirations, though. She helps my mind go weirder places than I might on my own….Yeah, I suppose the blue raspberry High Voltage Mountain Dew with Ginseng probably helped some. Now I’m smartly super hyper.

Here’s the thing…Ballet should be listed as a prerequisite for any job where you will be required to share a public toilet with other employees or guests.

Some imperative moves to be mastered:

Demi Detourné: a half turn executed on both feet – used when arriving at a fully occupied restroom.

Jeté: a jump from one foot to the other – which is what you’ll likely do if you arrive at a fully occupied restroom and choose not to use the Demi Detourne.

Glissade: literally: to slide. The front foot moves out to a point, both legs briefly straighten as weight is shifted onto the pointed foot, and the other foot moves in to meet the first. Most effectively used for the “Toe Point Paper Towel Push” – to avoid contact with unidentified liquids on bathroom floors and seats.

Grande-Plié: literally "bending of the knees". Germ avoidance squats, accomplished by a smooth and continuous bending of the knees to the deepest position where the heels lift off of the floor.

Soutenu en tournant: a series of turns in quick sucessions recommended when using the “Ball of the Foot Flush”. First execute a demi plié while extending the leading leg in a tendu position and then stepping up on a tight leg and beginning the turn while simultaneously bringing the other leg up to a raised position while finishing a full 360 degree turn.

Port de bras: literally "carriage of the arms", varied usage:
* Port de bras, elemente: movement of the arms to different positions as in “Over-Head Arm Extensions” – to reach strangely placed back-up TP rolls when the dispenser is out.
* Port de bras, deux: movement of the arms away from the body, elbows severely angled to avoid drippage on dry clean only shirts after washing your hands when the dryer or paper towels are located across the room.

Epaulement: Literally "shouldering". The best way to keep hands clean when opening a push door – put the shoulder into it.

Aplomb: all of the above must be performed with aplomb – or absolute stability to avoid any sort of toilet related workers compensations issues.

Posted by jaselin at 04:32 PM | Comments (0)

Gnashing It Out

Top 10 Reasons Why I’m Not So Bummed About Not Having Dental Implants, After All.

1. I’m saving a lot of time without as many teeth to brush.
2. I’m saving a lot of money on toothpaste without as many teeth to brush.
3. I’m saving a lot of money on floss without as many teeth to floss.
4. I’m saving a lot of money on gum without any good chewing surfaces.
5. I don’t grind my left back teeth anymore!
6. Missing teeth makes my face looks like I actually have prominent cheekbones.
7. When I smile with my lips closed, I have a really cute dimple on my right cheek.
8. Eating mostly soft foods and protein shakes should help with the weight loss plan.
9. I can whistle now… never could before!
10. I have absolutely mastered the art of giving myself the Heimlich maneuver.

Posted by jaselin at 04:31 PM | Comments (0)

May 12, 2009

Complimentary, Straight Up

Compliments.

Recently a friend and a coworker had this conversation about me… in front of me.

The three of us had been jokingly discussing someone we thought might be hinting at something.
Knowing there is always some truth in jest, the friend asked me if I’d been hinting at anything lately.
I didn’t get to respond - I got cut off by the following dialog:

“Jodi doesn’t usually HINT,” my coworker said.
“I know,” said my friend. “She usually drops the ‘N’!

Translation: I tend to hit, not hint.

I drop the bomb straight on its target. I tell it like it is.
I don’t make you guess at what I mean.
If it’s not perfectly clear, you weren’t listening.

Which brings to mind another fairly recent, and also amusing description of me. This one was offered by someone who knew me better than anyone else in one particular group. It was given to a bunch of folks who didn’t know me quite so well, directly after I rather directly rendered a rather unpopular verdict.

“Jodi is like the Christmas present you get wrapped up in the Sunday comics,” he explained, with a laugh.
“No frills, straight up! You know it’s what inside that counts, and you always know what you’re getting is gonna be real.”

I’m gonna continue to think of these as compliments.
It’s good to be loved for who you are.

Posted by jaselin at 08:46 PM | Comments (0)

May 05, 2009

It's Unfortunate That I'm A Realist

It really is... unfortunate that I’m a realist.

I’m not about to accept anyone’s spare-my-feelings, candy-coated version of the truth when I have reality based internal and external mirrors.

Better than I used to be, but still not good.

Line up the facts, and then dare to argue with me:
Short, fat, balding, middle-aged, still possibly soon to be jobless, most probably soon to be homeless, cash-broke, half-toothless, trailer park widow.

There’s just not a lot of call for that. Trust me; I’ve been back out there on the dating sites.
Don’t see any point in avoiding the truth about my widowhood. It’s gotta come up sooner or later. I’m not about to waste my time or anyone else’s covering up my “flaw.” The truth seems to scare ‘em.

My long-time friends and life-time family don’t agree with any of my truths, but they’re not walking up to my life’s window for the first time, either. It’s first impressions that count, and that list is an entirely accurate reflection of my present state.

Then consider the past. There’s never been a line at my door. So, where are all these friends’ and families’ fantasies that I will “meet someone” coming from? Fact: I was single for way longer than I was married. And it’s not like I wasn't trying back then, either.

Yeah, nothing is impossible. So, maybe in another 20 years, when everyone my age starts losing their spouses, I’ll be able to trick myself into believing such silliness.

Nah, I’ll probably still be a realist, even then.

Posted by jaselin at 01:23 PM | Comments (0)

April 21, 2009

Fang-shui, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 16

To those of you who may not have heard from me in a while, there are reasons. Consider yourself among the luckier.

For those I have spoken to more recently, just in case you weren’t sure, I admit I've been a little snarly lately.

Yeah, snarly is one of my words. Happened on a day when I was feeling surly and starting to snarl.

I really do try not to let my emotional fangs show. They can be quite a reflection of my viciousness. Usually showing up as nipping comments, snits of growling, or just hateful lip curling, I do occasionally get the urge to bite someone’s head off.

I was at this point the other day when someone commented to me that it seemed like I was getting ready to rip off heads and spit in necks.

For your protection, I’ve dubbed this condition my personal fang-shui;
the art of arranging my lips over my un-retracted fangs in just the right way to make a delicious snarl.

It’s just my little harmless, yet the conveniently nicest, way of alerting you that you are treading on dangerous ground.

Having warned you, I now offer you up this personal self-defense: Counter-fang-shui:
the art of arranging yourself so my fangs aren't anywhere near your arteries when you finally come to the realization that you’ve superbly and supremely ticked me off.

I will not be held responsible, and reject all and any liability for my actions, if you ever-so-simply fail to notice my always undoubtably obvious fang-shui.

In this issue: Fangs, Feng-Shui, The Power of Positive Thinking.
Now posted: Unusual Missionary Style
Worth visiting: http://www.ehow.com/how_3776_feng-shui.html

Posted by jaselin at 09:41 PM | Comments (0)

April 01, 2009

Restraint and Perpetual Brownies

For some people a bubble bath will do it. Not for me.
Not right now, anyway, since no one has been able to determine why my water is stinky.

Work is driving me to eat like an idiot. I know i am responsible for my own restraint, or whatever.

I wish someone would restrain me... on a beach... in a comfy lounge chair... with a personal umbrella… next to a nice guy ... with a body for surfing ... a good sense of humor... and a brain for conversation...with a huge glass of super spiked limeade... and some munchies... like maybe fresh shrimp with a kicky cocktail sauce... or crab rangoons with real crab... and some windowpane pretzels … and a multi-flavoured soft serve ice cream machine at my disposal... right next to the oven that perpetually shoots out warm brownies.

Haven't quite decided if I should be a pale redhead or a tanned brunette, yet... but I would be taller, thinner, and have more hair... perhaps all of my teeth, too... and an unlimited bank account ... and nice natural nails....

Really, I haven't thought too much about it, though....

Posted by jaselin at 12:17 PM | Comments (0)

February 27, 2009

How to Fix Your Phone

Some time ago my office installed one of those way too sophisticated for normal everyday use phone systems. All those extra buttons I’ll never use have been blissfully ignored for at least a year.

Then, this morning, I received a call I need to transfer. Now Forward and Transfer are really the same button. Usually the screen shows Forward in the first lovely led title spot. It’s only when you pick up a call that Forward changes to Transfer. Pretty easy to use, right?

Except if that title disappears. Truly, I have no idea how it got obliterated from my screen, because it takes some complicated steps to change the defaults on these phones: permissions, passwords, blood samples, the ability to turn three cartwheels in a row while not spilling your precious coffee, stuff like that.

The bottom line is I couldn’t transfer the caller. I had to ask them to hang up and ring back the other person directly. That usually annoys people, but I did explain why it was necessary. Then, I sent out an email to the most phone savvy folks I have in my office network:

>>> Jodi Korte 2/27/2009 11:13 AM >>>
Good morning, all.
The transfer/forward button has seemed to disappear from my telephone led screen.
Does anyone have any idea how to get this back? The Nortel book isn't very helpful. Thanks.

Return replies:
Sorry, I don’t know, Try the QUIT button, Try the OPTION button, Try the SHIFT key, Throw it against the wall.
All good suggestions, but none of them worked. Admittedly, I didn’t try that last one. Job security/liabilty issues, you know.

Then, to my much too happy surprise, I heard from another unlucky coworker who had this happen to her. She graciously came down to my office and prepared to perform phone repair surgery. Before she could though, I received a call from another coworker.

The calling coworker informed me that particular button only shows up on her phone when someone calls in. I jumped up to look at my office mate's phone, just to be sure I hadn't completely lost it. It was right there on her phone in all it's greyish led glory. So, that wasn't it.

Another look at my phone nearly sent me into a tizzy. Now that I had a live caller on the line, my led screen was frighteningly completely blank. The caller took me through some “re-set” steps. They didn’t work. The patient coworker, who was still waiting at my desk, tried the solution that worked for her. And, well, as to be expected, that did not work for me, either.

What to do? 22 minutes later, out of desperation, I discovered the solution. I have happily shared this with my network of phone savvy admins, so that in the future we can prove our immeasurable value to the company should this dilemma occur again:

>>> Jodi Korte 2/27/2009 11:35 AM >>>
Thanks for the suggestions, all.
Due to desperation, I discovered the solution to restoring the missing Forward/Transfer Button:
When all else fails, unplug the phone from the wall, and seriously consider throwing it away.
Count to 10 to be sure that's what you really want to do, and then sigh dramatically and re-plug the phone back in.
The cute little "Forward" led title returns like magic. I guess it's sort of like a phone "reboot."
Yippee! Now, you know. Now, you’re more valuable, too.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 12:17 PM | Comments (0)

February 23, 2009

Elbow Piercing, to a point

So there I was on Friday night, one week after my nose piercing, at home, doing what most fabulous gals do on a regular Friday night: I was plucking my eyebrows. Now, plucking my eyebrows sometimes makes me want to sneeze.

And, I had to sneeze. Since I was up close and personal with the magnifying mirror attached to my medicine chest mirror, and because I didn’t want to have to drag out the Windex, I covered my sneeze with my right hand.

Ok, normally I’m not that much of a sneezer, but this one was relatively strong. Strong enough to jar something loose, anyways. Something shot out of my nose, into my hand, ricocheted off my palm, pinged against my glasses, and arced into the sink, where it rolled to a precarious stop on the metal ring that guards the drain. Hmm… I had no idea what that could have been.

Oh, no! Wait! Could it be? Nope, my nose stud was still in place. What was that little tiny metal thing? Ah, I deduced, after sticking my finger up my nose to investigate: it’s the protective end for the sharp point of the post on the inside side of the nose stud. I closed the drain and rolled the miniscule ball up into my fingers, and dropped it into a waiting capful of rubbing alcohol. After a few swishes, I pinched the little bead between my fingers. I couldn’t really get an adequate grip on it, so I decided to stick it to one of those miniature bandage tabs, and attempted to reattach it to the stud. It’s not so easy to steady a post in your nose while trying to manipulating a tiny ball immobilized on a bandage back onto it.

After a few attempts, and some eye-watering, I decided to see if the thing was even fixable. I imagined taking the “I’m-supposed-to-wear-this-for-4-weeks-before-taking-it-out” stud out for just a few seconds would be ok. And, it was, to a point. The nose jewelry wasn’t repairable. I just couldn’t get the end back on the post. So, I rinsed the stud in alcohol (the rubbing kind still), and reinserted into my nose. It wasn’t a big deal. It stung a little, but nothing worth crying over.

Until, I realized, the stud would no longer stay in. Apparently twisting and stretching your nostril while aiming to put the back on a nose piercing tends to make the inside of your nose swell up… just a bit. The stud would go in, but it would also pop right out from the pressure of the swollen inner tissues. No, problem. I just grabbed another one of those normally useless mini bandages that come in a multipack and taped the stud into staying in my nostril.

Voila! It worked, to a point. The stud stayed in, but did not come out the other side – the side in my nostril. Now, I started to get a little concerned. You see, if the stud was in one side, but not out the other, the inside part of the hole would close up. That would not be good.

At that point I made the decision to suck up my embarrassment and jumped into my car. Didn’t even bother with a coat. The salon is just a few miles away. It wouldn’t take long to get another unbroken stud inserted into my still cute but a little swollen nose.

The salon was closed. 8:15 pm on Friday night, and it was closed! Hadn’t bothered to bring my cell phone – short trip, right? So, home I flew. I dialed the salon as soon as I got home, figuring they would open around 9:00 or even 10:00 pm. Nope – closed on Friday nights at 8:00 pm: wouldn’t open again until 2:00pm on Saturday. If I waited until 2:00 pm the next day to get a new stud, the inner pierced part would be closed up, for sure. Now what?

I became a strong willed woman. I used my ear piercer stud – the old fashioned kind with a sharp point that they used to shoot from staple-gun like apparatuses when you had your ears pierced. It worked like a charm. Except it was too long and too sharp and stabbed the tender opposite inside of my nostril. I couldn’t get the back on that one, either. It’s a really weird angle you have to achieve to get that to happen, trust me. I considered and tried wrapping another one of those useless mini bandages around the pointy part. Uncomfortable and slippery, it didn’t do enough to keep the stud in place. Now what?

Panic-time. I called my neighbor who recently patronized another salon. “Do they do piercings?” I asked. “Yup,” was the reply. Great, I thought. Next on my list, ask a friend to accompany me. After all, I was going to be headed into strange territory as I’m not related by marriage to that tattoo parlor owner. Back into the car, a few miles further, and there we were. I felt a little like I was cheating on my step-niece and piercer, but I got over that and went in anyway.

“I need help,” I announced to the woman at the counter. As I explained my dilemma, she kept saying “I’ve never heard of that happening.” I kept trying to describe the little ball that fell off my stud. “I’ve never heard of that,” she said. After a while, I gave in. “Look,” I said, “All that really matters is that I need a new stud with a back of some sort to keep it in my nose because this piercing is only a week old.” So, we looked at all kinds of studs in different sizes and styles, with screw backs, straight, curled… there were a lot of choices. Due to the swelling, it became clear I could not get a straight bar stud. I needed the curly “screw-back” type. I picked out a teeny-tiny pink crystal. The screw back sort of looks like a spring that has been stretched a little. You actually have to screw it into your nose. I opted to wait my turn to get some help with that. I was feeling a little unsure of my abilities, and didn’t want to get home and find that I was too squeamish to do it myself.

The owner was otherwise occupied tattooing 3 gentlemen in his cramped work space. Still, he interrupted his art applying to call me in. It wasn’t as easy as either of us had hoped. There was a bit of re-piercing involved. But two minutes later, I was plugged up properly, and happier for it. It felt a little weird, but I was told I’d get used to it.

As we got in the car to head for home, 2 hours later, I pulled down the visor to get a gander at my cute pink stud. What? The screwy part of the screw back was sticking out of my nostril. Oh, good grief. I wasn’t about to go back in, so I figured I could live with it until 2:00 pm on Saturday. I planned to be waiting eagerly at the salon door as it opened for business.

In the meantime, my friend who was kind enough to go with me announced she was feeling a bit light headed. I cracked open the passenger side window for her. “I’m afraid I’m going to hurl,” she said, at which point, I began to get a little uptight. Ok, a little more uptight, whatever…. Things went ok, though. I dropped her off at her house, and continued on to my driveway just a few feet up the road.

“Phew, what an adventure,” I thought as I parked the car and tiredly stepped out. Onto ice. Down I went, perfect aim on the left elbow. I now have an idea why they call it the funny bone. That’s because when you’re lying on your back, looking at the clear winter stars as ice melts against your back and butt, you realize that you just spent 3 hours trying to save a hole you purposefully had punched in your nose, and that sometimes your life is kind of amusing. Painful, but amusing, to a point.

My elbow hurt… really bad. I finally got myself up off the ground wondering if any of my neighbors had seen my ice-capades. If they had, no one had come to my rescue. But then again, they can’t be faulted for not wanting to run over and help a newly re-pierced gal who seemed content to be lying on her driveway laughing at the mid-evening sky.

I was thinking of calling the brave friend who went off on this wild adventure with me, but realized that, at this point, it might discourage her from going on further adventures with me. It turns out that she had barely made it to her front steps when she lost it. Her prediction had become true. I’m glad I wasn’t around for that, because I probably would have joined her. I’m really open to suggestion when it comes to throwing up – if I even hear it, I want to do it. And I hate to do it, but that’s an entirely different tangent we're not gonna explore right now.

In any case, I started thinking that alcohol was needed – not the rubbing kind. But opening a bottle would have been wasteful, to a point. Although, the Pentamere Michigan Harvest Apple wine did get opened, and shared, on Saturday afternoon. Yes, I shared it with that same brave friend who now says she knows better than to run off with me when I call and ask, "Hey, ya feel like goin' for a ride?"

All's swell that ends swell. As it turned out, the swelling went down overnight. The screw back squiggly ends respectfully retreated into my nose chamber where they are out of view range. The pink stud is really tiny. Maybe a little too tiny for my taste. You can hardly see it. I’m definitely going to change it, but not for at least three more weeks. I’m only willing to subject myself to pain and stupidity to a point.

You know what the moral of the story is, don’t you?
Only pluck your eyebrows when you are sure the piercing salon is open.

Posted by jaselin at 03:54 PM | Comments (0)

February 16, 2009

Valentine's Day, Taxes & Piercing

I finally figured out what fabulous young widows should do on Valentine’s Day.
My Godiva Blackberry Caramel Dark Chocolate Promise wrapper advised me to, "Be Your Own Valentine."

So, I did my taxes.
And, got my nose pierced.

The truth is I've thought about it for a while. At least 5 years for sure, probably more like 20 years off and on.

I’ve found myself at a stage in my life where nothing I do will have any direct long lasting negative effect on anyone, which is interesting.

Didn't hurt much, at all. At least, not any more than getting stuck in your nose with a needle should hurt.

Actually, having my ears pierced at thirteen hurt way more and for a lot longer, about a week as I recall. My nose never turned red or swelled up, like my ears did. It was only sore for a few hours. My piercer was seriously impressed that I was willing to hold my own pinchers while he punched. No one had ever done that before.

Funnier still, we had a potluck at church yesterday. I sat right next to Pastor and with my fellow members of the outreach committee, and no one said a word. My coworker didn't even notice until about 10:00 am Monday morning. No one else seems to be too excited about it either, which is good. I guess it just looks normal on me. I knew it would.

I was responsible. I went to a licensed salon owned by a relative, and personally observed the piercer using all applicable sanitary precautions. Plus, I made sure I could take it out for my CAT scan scheduled at the end of March. Should be ok. I have a retainer stud to put in. It’s clear acrylic; a simple post and ball, which I partly picked because it seemed that it might be the best choice of nose-jewelry for when I next see my mother.

I had also thought long and hard about getting my eyebrow pierced, but since I already have old lady saggy eyelids I thought I might end up look a little too Deputy Dog-ish in a few years.

Now, I just need to dye my hair blue. Oh, wait … DONE THAT!
I was thinking that I might just go au naturale, however the auburn and grey will probably confuse people.

I truly am trying to be more conservative in my old age, you know.

Posted by jaselin at 01:00 PM | Comments (0)

February 10, 2009

Social Toileting

Dear family and friends, and those few coworkers I’ve entrusted with this blog address:
Please note, so there is no mistake: I am not a social toileter.

Ok, except for that one time in Georgia (or maybe was it Alabama) that I was forced to use a public latrine without sectional doors. Unfortunately, I was seated in the second stall from the door, and felt compulsed to greet each new entry. Hi, hi, hi. No one in their right mind would have taken the first one. That would have required a more formal greeter protocol. I couldn’t have handled that level of multitasking.

Anyway, here are my rules for anti-social toileting:
Do not ask me questions through the bathroom door. I have multitasking issues.
Do not follow me into the bathroom to ask me a question. I will not stop and take the time to answer it because there was a reason I was headed in there in the first place.
Do not tell me random facts through the bathroom door. I can catch up on those anytime, and if your brain can’t hold it for 30 seconds it couldn’t have been that fascinating to begin with.
Do not tell me anything you believe could make me angry, because delaying my instinctive throttling response only escalates it.
Do not tell me anything that is going to scare the crap out of me.
Unless I’m constipated, then by all means, go ahead.
Do not ask if I am done yet, as that will only delay the process.
Do not attempt to pass the phone under the door, or even suggest to callers that I will speak to them when I am otherwise seriously occupied.
Do not open the door, throw the cat or dog in and say, “I’m leaving now,” or you’ll find yourself in that same spot later probably somewhere around 3:00 am when I interrupt your pleasant dreams by tossing a cat or a dog onto the bed with you, adding the déjà vu phrase, “I’m leaving now.”
Do not talk on your cell phone in a public bathroom. I either get stage fright, or I’m reluctant to flush for fear of offending your caller.
Do not let your children peer under the divider at me, no matter how interesting my shoes are.
Do not discuss the movie’s details or the ending, because chances are I’m there to see that film. Or you can take that risk of being next in line after I remove the last roll of toilet paper from that stall. I love surprise endings.
Do not engage in any activity that will cause stoppage, because stoppage leads to bladder infections, which tend to make me really cranky. Yeah, ok, "crankier"...whatever.

Posted by jaselin at 08:20 AM | Comments (0)

February 03, 2009

Toothsome

A conversation with an acquaintance led to research on a recurrent dream. Since I’ve been about 8 years old, I’ve been having the same dream. Well, it can defined as more of a nightmare, actually. In my nightmare, I dream I am just waking up and notice that my left eye tooth is loose. I decide to test the give by using my tongue to wiggle it. It doesn’t wiggle, but falls out, which causes the chain reaction of all my top teeth falling out. As they hit the lower teeth, those also break and fall out. I am left with a mouthful of teeth, trying not to gag. If know if I throw up, I will have to retrieve the teeth from amongst the vomit in the toilet, wash them off and take them with me to a dentist to have put back in. (Not possible, I know, but this is a nightmare.) This is when I usually wake up, with goose pimples on my arms and sweat on my brow. And, yes, the first thing I do is check the solidity of my teeth.

So, it seems this is not an uncommon dream. Except for the vomiting part, it’s addressed on nearly every dream analysis web site I found. What does it mean? Much like everything else in life, that depends on who you ask. Unknowns are way open to interpretation, so some of the theories were surprising, some were interesting, some were… well, logical.

Not in any particular order, the basic theories are:
1. Anxiety: about appearance, age, respect, transitions in life, revealing yourself
2. Power: situations out of our control, fear of failure
3. Change: fear of involuntary change such as loss of a job or love
4. Abandonment: being left behind, or having to leave something or someone behind
5.Cultural:
a.Greek: indicates a family member or close friend is sick or near death
b. Chinese: indicates you have been telling lies
c. Tooth Fairy syndrome: symbolizes money
And finally my favorite of all dream theories
6. Biological: subconscious toothache, need to see a dentist.
Hmm. Go figure.

Posted by jaselin at 07:23 PM | Comments (0)

January 06, 2009

Catnip Scratch Fever

I like to buy fresh catnip for Miss Fred. It’s the least I can do after sticking her with a name like Fred. She was initially misread. In any case, I do this little finger and thumb pinching/rolling thing to release the oils and scents so she gets as much nip out of it as possible.

So, there I was, half asleep at 4:45 am, roughing up the catnip leaves, when I got bit. Roughed up, you might say. At first, I thought it was just a scratch. It wasn't until I was in the shower that I realized there was a thin and wily catnip stick embedded in my thumb.

Picture this: a right-handed person trying removing a nippy stick from a rapidly swelling right thumb using a soapy tweezer-filled left hand. Didn’t work so well. Luckily for me, I work with a fine bunch of nurses. A few hours and 36 miles later, I found a willing mercenary at work. A couple of mildly painful tweezer pulls later, I am now nip-free, and appropriately bandaged (antibiotic, and all).

The most often asked question by coworkers witnessing my catnip removal procedure: Didja get a buzz?

The bottom line is that I have yet again managed to come up with some unique, previously unheard of way to hurt myself.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 09:45 AM | Comments (0)

December 16, 2008

A Rocky Raccoon Sunday

Ok, here's the scoop. I'm sure I'll find a way to make this more humourous in the future, but right now I'm not feeling that vibe, so basically last Sunday night ...

One of my new neighbors, who I hadn't met yet, knocked on my door Sunday afternoon to let me know there was a commotion going on in my front yard. There was a sick/dying raccoon who was trying to pass peacefully under the tree in my front yard that was closest to the road. My neighbors were parading by, bringing their kids around to see "the sweet sick animal". Not so smart. I called animal control and then ended up sitting outside from 4:00 - 7:30 pm, keeping an eye on the darn thing and keeping people away.

It got pretty cold as the sun went down, and eventually one of my neighbors called another neighbor. They sent their daughter's boyfriend over. My neighbor went and got a clear 10 gallon tote. The boyfriend ended up talking the racoon into the tub, and then setting the tub down over him. We stole some bricks off someone else's landscaping to put on top of the tote. The intention was to keep it from running under someone's house to die.

Actually, the poor thing couldn't run. An earlier drive by another neighbor in a truck had determined that someone had shot him in the butt. He had some convulsions, so I think he had a stroke. He was confused. Cars, people, and barking dogs did not scare him. I would estimate he was about 25-30 pounds.

In any case, since he was secured under the tote, I was about to go inside and finish waiting for animal control to show up, when one of my neighbors allowed their estimated 10 year old to come out at night with a flashlight! He wanted to know if we had captured it. I said, "Yes."

He asked, "What is it?" I thought, "Are you kidding?" He'd been over with his father just a few hours earlier watching it. So, I said, "It's a raccoon!" He then wanted to know if was a boy or a girl. Because I blessedly speechless, the boyfriend told him we didn't get that close.

Then the kid, whose father is standing on their front porch watching says, "Can I lift up the tub and look at him?" Thankfully the boyfriend was like, "NO! It's a wounded wild animal and it will attack and rip you to shreds if it gets out of that tote." The kid took off towards home screaming. When he got there, the father yelled something I didn't understand, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't intended to be nice. I waved back in a friendly manner anyway.

At that point, I decided since a lack of sense seemed to be in abundance, I'd better stay outside just in case someone else decided it would be fun to peek under the tote. I got in the van and cranked up the heat. One of my neighbors called my cell and asked me if I would like some hot cocoa. That sounded good to me. I had to get off the phone then because the police showed up. Not animal control, mind you, a patrol cop.

So, after I told him three times that I was absolutely sure the critter wasn't dead, he reluctantly got out to take a look-see. He asked me if I wanted to keep the crate. I told him, "It's not a crate, it's an upside down tote. When you lift the tote off he's gonna be free." "Well," he said, "You're sayin' you don't want the tote ,then?" I said, "I suppose I could always buy my neighbor another one, so I guess not."

"Ok," he said, "I'm gonna shoot it through the side of the tote." He immediately pulled out his gun and told me to walk around the other side of my house. The boyfriend was on his way back over from across the street to see if he could be of more assistance. So I waved him over and told him to walk to the side of the house with me.

I also called my next door neighbor to let her know that the policeman was going to shoot the raccoon. Unfortunately, he shot before I could warn her. She was still shrieking as she answered the phone.

"I was calling to tell you they were going to shoot it," I lamely said.
"Well, that's fine," she huffed. "There's now cocoa powder all over my kitchen!"

As I turned around I saw that almost everyone on my street and the next street over had turned on their porch lights and run out of their houses to stand on their lawns or front porches. I guess Michiganders don't know about the New York code of common sense when you hear gun shots! If you hear gunshots outside your home, drop yourself down to the floor and stay there. Don't run out your front door and risk getting it by a random bullet. And for goodness sake, don't drag your little kids out with you.

Another one of my other neighbors showed up to talk to the cop after the shooting. I was still on the phone trying to apologize to my neighbor and getting her to breathe evenly. I guess the policeman filled out his report by whatever Mr. Across the Street said because the next thing I know, the cop got in his car and drove away. He totally left a bloody-dead double-shot raccoon and a totally mangled holey-bloody tote in my front yard.

Mr. Across the Street, bless him, said if animal control wasn't out by the morning to pick the beast up, he'd bury it for me in my backyard. When I got home Monday night, all the evidence was gone. I haven't checked the backyard. And I haven't caught up with Mr. Across the Street yet to ask him what happened and to thank him if necessary. I have a fear one of my neighbors grabbed it and made raccoon stew and I don't really want to know about it.

So, that's how my week started - with the cranky-meter up way at a reading of 10.

Thanks to Mr. Across the Street and my next door neighbors who tolerate my yearly visits by the police, and for having the decency and foresight to hose spray the splattered stuff from the side of the house and the lawn area where Rocky died.

Thus, I've managed to add another entry to my latest book. I've decided to call this one, "The Amused Widow's Guide to Unusual Circumstances." It's beginning to have best seller potential.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 08:47 PM | Comments (0)

November 24, 2008

Flocking Reflux

The term "flocking" is the result of a friend of mine's penchant for letting her birdie finger fly freely and frequently. In an effort to control this negative habit, she developed an alternative method of handily expressing her frustrations.

Instead of sending an obvious birdie, she now sends a whole flock of flighty fingers. To the expectant brain and the well trained eye, it sort of looks like a sarcastic wave. To the untrained, it means next to nothing.

This morning, after an annoying and offensive performance by a surly coworker, I unfortunately discovered a new disease to which I am apparently ridiculously predisposed.

Flocking Reflux.
It just comes up without warning.

jak. (in honor of ljb.)

Posted by jaselin at 09:57 AM | Comments (0)

November 14, 2008

Deer, Dear

I am the driver for MichiVan Adrian 2 Van Pool and we recently needed to established a way to make sure we are communicating during deer season, and all emergencies. Here is our story:

Well, it happened again this morning: the first commuter deer-siting incident of the season. Last year we established a protocol due to a silly conversation. This is how it went:

Co-pilot: “Um, dear?" Pilot: “Yes?"
Co-pilot: “Dear?!" Pilot: “Hon?!"
Co-pilot: “DEAR!!!" Pilot: “SWEETIE!!!"
Co-pilot: “BAMBI." Pilot: word association: Bambi is a deer so….applied brakes.

“Bambi‿ became our signal that deer are off to the side of the road. Keep in mind that this morning was the first deer-site of this season, so we all were a bit rusty on protocol.

Co-pilot: “Whoa." Pilot: silently wondering did she slosh coffee on herself?
Co-pilot: ‘Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" Pilot: silently thinking that coffee must have been very hot.
Co-pilot: “BABIES!"
Pilot: silently thinking Babies? That sounds a little like Bambi! Looked over at co-pilot, out passenger window, and then applied brakes. Young deer were way off the road, but moving towards it.

We’ve now reworked our protocol to an easier word to remember: Stop.

This word can be used by any van pool member at any time to indicate anything that causes them concern or that may affect the van pool and its passengers. Situations like way off the road deer moving toward it, a bicyclist coming up from behind who is not following road rules, a dog that might run into traffic, “I think I’m going to be sick and would like out," are some examples. I check the rear view mirror before applying the brakes to be sure that avoiding the problem in front of us won’t cause a bigger problem behind us.

It is always the driver’s sole responsibility to be aware and continually “sweep" the road and roadsides with their eyes as they are driving. Most of the time, my 6 passengers are asleep in the mornings. I take that as a compliment. If any passengers happen to be awake on the commute, they are welcome to participate and be another pair of cautious eyes.

Just a note from experience though: protocol and key words don’t end up being much help when a buck jumps out from behind a tree, off of an embankment, and lands squarely on your hood. There’s just no way to prepare for that.

Be safe and cautious this fall. We want to keep waving to you when we see you on the road.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 07:54 AM | Comments (0)

November 10, 2008

Why gum is good for your career

I've experimented.
It is in fact a bit more difficult to grumble aloud while chewing gum.
Especially, if you'd rather it didn't drop out of your mouth onto your paperwork.

Posted by jaselin at 11:42 AM | Comments (0)

November 05, 2008

too much caffiene

November 5, 2008

didja ever notice that the miniature tootsie pops are exactly the right size if you want to teach your rabbit how to play the bass drum in a rabbit marching band?

yeah, i admit it... had a little too much caffeine today.

Posted by jaselin at 04:00 PM | Comments (0)

October 31, 2008

Halloween 2008

I found a wig like my hair used to be! It was a black elongated pixie with blonde bangs. Of course, mine was shaved at my neck and blonde back there, too. But, close enough! Well, if only you have an elephant sized head. Ok, exaggeration, but I do have a pea-sized head, so the wig didn’t work so well. My sister-in-law tried to doctor it for me by cutting the bangs so they wouldn’t poke me in the eyes – true to punk form, however, also extremely uncomfortable. Not sure how I survived the 80’s with my eyes in tact. Wait, could it be that maybe that's why I need bifocals, now? Anyway...

I ended up using my tiny noggin and went shopping for a child size wig. After all, the kid size ball caps are perfect for me. I put on one of Jeff’s hats once: the sides came down over my ears, and the bill rested on my nose. Somehow, though, even the child’s size wig was a bit loose. I read that your nose and ears never stop growing, so I now theorize that as I age my head must be shrinking, along with my brain.

A discussion about head size with my scissor wielding sister-in-law reminded me that I had a few small hats stashed away. I ended up choosing the denim, Punky Brewster style one – complete with denim flower on the front. Jammed over the wig, it made a nice fit and a real retro statement, too.

For effect, I added lace gloves with fingers cut off, over which I put three silver rings on each hand. The rings included my old set of the blue eye of god, two onyx rings, and some engraved bands that I used to wear every day. I also put on my Metallica 15 year anniversary t-shirt, a nicely seasoned green and black plaid zip-front jacket, cuffed jeans, my old maroon biker boots, some old grey and black 80’s style eye and lip make-up, and one more item: a silver-tone fake lip ring. As an after thought, I added some plain white stickers. The top one said “ME". The bottom one said “1993".

So that’s how about ½ of my office saw my costume, until I started thinking with what was left of my receding brain. 1993 didn’t sound quite right. I ended up doing some research. Yes, I actually needed to do some research on myself. Brain shrinkage; I’m serious. I did the right thing. I pulled up on my big girl biker boot straps and sent out the following email disclaimer:

Subject: Costume Correction
Just to set the record straight... I had a time-warp denial issue going on earlier today. I checked my resume because I started thinking about the 1993 date, and realized by then I was in living Nashville wearing florals and cowboy hats....

Correction: This is me in 1988.

Somehow that's a little worse...20 years ago! Just be glad I did not wear the mini skirt and fishnet stockings, too.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 12:31 PM | Comments (0)

October 21, 2008

Rhubarb Cream Pie: Wauseon, OH 2008

I accompanied a friend of mine who designs and makes jewelry on a trip to the Gem & Rock Show at the Fulton County Fairgrounds. The Ohio show is a big one, and she’d asked me to go down with her to help with sales. Her store used to be next to our store, Michigan Hot Sauce Club, in Tecumseh. That made me a lucky gal – there was always plenty of jewelry available for gifts.

Truth is I was leaning toward going with her anyway, when she tried to sweeten the deal. “Tomorrow," she said is a near reverent tone, “there will be rhubarb pie." I loved Nannee Vincze, my husband’s maternal grandmother, but I had never met a pie I didn’t like until I was served a piece of her strawberry-rhubarb pie.

I can’t remember how it turned out this way, but my brother from Lansing and my husband pretty much polished off what was left of that pie, while I stood by scrunching up my nose in distaste.

With that in mind, I told my friend, “Sorry, that’s a deterrent not an enticement!" “What?" she choked. “You don’t like rhubarb cream pie?" Now, I’d never had rhubarb cream pie, but since it was rhubarb, and I only had one rhubarb experience to judge on, I imagined the worst.

At lunch time, out came the pies. At the lunch counter, my friend was first in line. She carefully and lovingly carried a significantly sized piece of pie through the crowd to back to our booth, and ceremoniously offered me a taste. I declined. She insisted. I declined. She insisted. For the sake of our friendship, I eventually gave in. Fork in one hand and a diet coke in the other, I was expecting the worse and I was prepared for it.

Wow whee! That pie wasn’t good. It was awesome. I sprang up, grabbed my purse and set off in search of my own piece. There were only 2 pieces left. I shifted from foot to foot, waiting in line, hoping no one else walked off with “my" piece. One was finally mine. I had to give my friend back the bite I took off hers. I tried to eat it slowly, savoring the thick sweet custard and the back-bite of the rhubarb. Cheeks soured-in, tongue tingling, I had found a new divine treat. I remember thinking, “It’s a very good thing that there aren’t any more pieces of that pie left."

Round about supper time, my friend headed off to the lunch counter (dinner counter, whatever) for a sandwich, and came back with a piece of... wait! Could that really be another piece of rhubarb cream pie? Yes, I practically knocked her over trying to get out of the booth. A neighboring dealer wanted to know what the fuss was about, so my friend let her try bite. Our new friend loudly declared the pie to be “like sex on a plate!"

Soon, there was a swarm – a line of dealers not so patiently waiting for pie. I was lucky enough to get another. About ½ way through that piece, my tongue started to smart, and I got that way-to-sweet kind of feeling in my tummy. Didn’t stop me, though. It was quite unusual for me, but I ate the whole thing.

Somehow we got to discussing how many pieces of pie my husband Jeff might have eaten if he had the pleasure of the “RCP experience." “Pieces?" I laughed, “Jeff’d been up there buying a whole pie to take home. And if he didn’t do it on his own, I would have made him do it."

PS.I found out that paticular pie comes from the Historic Sauder Village in OH. Never been there, but I’m thinking about going before the holidays.

Posted by jaselin at 12:36 PM | Comments (0)

September 12, 2008

Skunk Season

You know that Michigan season between summer and deer season, that ripe 4 week period when you can smell the change in the air? Yup, that’s right. It’s skunk season.

Most mornings our van pool averages between 3 and 5 skunk incidents. They’re always dead, which is a good thing. Still, running over a dead skunk isn’t much fun, especially, if the critter didn’t have time to de-skunk before reaching their demise. That means if you can’t avoid it, you’re gonna squish that scent out all over the undercarriage of your vehicle.

Skunk season means a lot less uninterrupted passenger sleeping, due to having to periodically open all windows. This always makes it worse immediately, but then it eventually gets better; until someone in front of us decides to have their own scent event. I guess I’m lucky I’ve never hit a live skunk with a moving vehicle. I punted-kicked one in college by accident, but that’s another story. Actually, now that I think about it there were two college skunk incidents. The other one was dead soup. That, too, is another story.

Anyway, back to this story: about that evening I officially made the last moving trek into Michigan. On my final trip from Nashville, I crossed over the state line and squished over a real-live dead one. It was past midnight, and to keep myself from getting sleepy, I already had the air vents open and blowing full blast. So we got it in the fullest force possible. My dog gagged and threw up. I gagged and threw up. Through my blurred vision, I managed to make it off the highway into the official Michigan Welcome Center without losing consciousness. I stood outside the car coughing, and gagging and dry heaving, while my three-legged border collie/shepherd mix, Kelsey, looked at me like I was the biggest, meanest moron she’d ever met.

Almost every piece of clothing I owned was crammed into my little Volkswagen Golf, along with a rocking chair. What a way to be welcomed to Michigan. It took a lot of random phone calls to car dealerships, and mildew removers before I was finally referred to a dry cleaner in Lansing that had a huge de-scentifying “shed.�? I was able to drop everything off there for a week, including the rocking chair and those upholstered parts of my car that were removable. It worked really well. As did taking Kelsey to the vet, and giving them the job of de-skunking her.

I hope I never have to use the Skunk Deodorizing Recipe that my friend recently gave me. But, just in case, I keep it in a safe and handy place… my recipe box.

Posted by jaselin at 12:33 PM | Comments (0)

August 04, 2008

Not Van-going!

If you think my funky Vans are expensive, wait 'til you hear this!

Worse than being squeezed out of seeing Squeeze, was being run over and flattened out by the price of a Van Morrison ticket at Detroit's Fox Theatre.

I swear, tears came to my eyes. I had to apologize to my coworker for sputtering a few high-pitched bovine related words that could be considered profanities when accompanied by the word "holy."

I was prepared, I thought, to pay probably $100.00 a ticket for the best seats. After all, this is the legend, Van Morrison. He is one of the all-time greatest performers on my semi-fatalistic list of people to see before one of us dies.

Well, I believe that dream has now died. $179.00 buys the upper balcony. We're talking trying to use binoculars with bifocals, here.

Wanna be able to see Van without resorting to watching the monitors (if there will be any)? That'll cost you. Note, I said it will cost you, and not me. Minimum "good seat" $300.00. Orchestra? $937.00!

I searched around a bit more. Here's what I found:
Atlantic City: Orchestra sold out, 2nd section, 1st row: $696.00
Darby, PA: Orchestra $632.00
Toronto: Center Floor $642.00
Rosemont, Il: Pit 2, $482.00 - Now, doesn't this seem like Bargain Central, compared to the rest of the gigs?

So, it looks like I'm gonna pass up the opportunity to be bilked for having a life-long dream. I'll definitely be not Van-going.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 01:12 PM | Comments (0)

June 10, 2008

Awake-a-Meter

Here’s an idea...

I think every car should be equipped with an “Awake-a-Meter." This nifty little gadget could gauge the level of your oxygen intake to determine if you really are awake enough to be driving your car in the midst of rush hour traffic.

Because some mornings, there’s just too much roadside gravel and dirt being slung around by tires wandering off the road. Yeah, I know some of this is caused by dropping a cell phone, spilling coffee, trying to read a map, or just the multi-tasking inability to drive while also concentrating on the radio news.

But seriously, the Awake-a-Meter could also be designed to project your awake-ness rating on to your rear window so other drivers would know if you are about to try passing a school bus, uphill, in a non-passing zone. I think something like that would be helpful.

Or maybe, it could be hooked up to a mandatory Awake-a-Meter roof light.
Green means you’re ok.
Yellow means you’ve been driving at least long enough to stop yawning.
Red means “Watch Out! They’re going to jump out of the exit ramp, across three lanes, all with moving traffic, coffee in one hand and a cell phone in the other, totally without warning, just to make sure they make it to their office 10 seconds before you do!"

These folks must love their jobs more way than I do. Or maybe, it’s just that I have passengers to consider. So, every move I make or don’t make is with their safety in mind. Now, suppose everyone drove like that? Like someone else’s life depended on their driving?

Well, guess what? Most times, someone else’s life does depend on your driving. Their lives occupy the car behind you, the car in front of you, the car beside you, the car in the opposite lane, the car pulled off to the side with a flat tire, the school bus making frequent stops, the truck trying to merge into traffic, the eco-friendly bicyclist, the motorcyclist with the extra loud pipes so you can hear him coming and avoid cutting him off, etc.

Think about this, please, for the safety and sanity of my passengers.

They kind of freak out when I wake them up by having to slam on the breaks and use my horn in an extended, yet friendly, “Thank You for Not Being Considerate" kind of way.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 08:10 PM | Comments (0)

May 19, 2008

Squeezed

I got all excited this morning when I heard that Squeeze would be playing at the Royal Oak Theatre. One of my all-time favorites, and one of the most talent-packed bands ever. I knew I just HAD to go. So, I got on-line to check it out, and I must be horribly out of touch... $59.50 for BALCONY SEATS! $40.00 for general admission, standing room only!

Ok, used to be that floor seats cost more because you actually had a chance to see facial expressions, or maybe catch a drum stick.

However, I am too mature (note I did not say "old") to stand around for 6 hours waiting for the main act to play, just to end up getting squished by sweaty strangers who are usually taller than I am, show up hours later, and believe they are entitled to be closer than I am because THEY are the band’s biggest fan ever. Besides they don't toss drum sticks anymore; it's got something to do with liability. Go figure.

Now, about the balcony seats: never been to Royal Oak Theatre. But I'm thinking it'd be like trying to watching my Squeeze video collection from the outside of my house looking in. Bifocals don't really cover that.

Come to think of it, I'm not even sure I have that ancient VHS tape, anymore. And, I don't have a clue as to how to use the VCR, either. That was Jeff's world. (He did eventually teach me how to successfully use the electric can-opener, but that's another story.)

I have 5 remotes lying around the den. There's one for the TV, one for the satellite box, one for the VCR, one for the DVD, and one for the floppy disk slide show picture device. I know I don't need the floppy disk slide show picture device, but again, fear of unplugging the wrong item keeps me in useless-electronic-limbo. That VCR hasn't been used in over a year. Even then, I wasn't the one running it; an eight year old was.

I'm afraid to try to make the VHS machine work for fear of using the wrong remote and messing up the only piece of equipment I can use; the TV. Even that required a teenager to leave me written instructions on how to sequentially manipulate the 2 remotes to make the TV/Dish work after Jeff passed away.

It's so weird how things time out, you know? Somehow being upset about Squeeze has morphed into my having to face-down my technological impairments.

I'm inspired now to go home and unplug the floppy disc slide show picture thingy... I think.

It’s probably sucking up major dollars in vampire electricity, anyway.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 03:14 PM | Comments (0)

May 02, 2008

Drive-by Inquiries and Sedentary Exercise

As with most organziations, we have a particular way we are required to answer our desk phones. Its 20 words, 36 syllables, to be spoken eagerly, but slowly, with a smile on our faces so our customers can hear it. We’ve been trained on this. But, I think perhaps the whole world needs to be trained on how to politely and intelligently make inquiries.

Plus, while I appreciate the effort to provide extra calorie burning lip, tongue and cheek exercise for us sedentary desk workers, I practically pass out after that required greeting. I take a mighty big breath before I start, too. And, once I stop seeing black-out spots, then the real conversation begins.

CSR: Good morning, (20 words, 36 syllables).
Customer: Um, is this where my paycheck comes from?
CSR: Yes, this is the (13 syllables) office. How may I help you?
Customer: My check is wrong.
CSR: May I have your name, please?
Customer: Ann.
CSR: May I have your last name, Ann?
Customer: Sklapzwerskamanty- Bergerstinghambler.
CSR: Would you mind spelling that for me, Ann?
Customer: Look, I didn’t get paid right, again.
CSR: Could you provide me with your employee #?
Customer: I don’t know my number. But my check’s been wrong the last 17 times.
CSR: Just one moment, let me try to locate your employee # for you.
Customer: If you people could just get things right once it would be amazing. I work hard for my money, and I need every penny of it.
CSR: Ok, I have your employee number, would you like to write it down for future reference?
Customer: No, I’m driving. (Horn)
CSR: Ok, I’m looking at your check data. It shows that you worked 47 hours during the last pay period. And it looks like you’ve been paid for 47 hours. Can you tell me what your check stub says?
Customer: NO, I’m driving! (Horn) Besides it’s at home. 47 hours sounds right, though.
CSR: So, the 47 hours are correct. Was there something else that you believe is wrong with your pay check?
Customer: Yes, you never put my reimbursements into my paycheck on time, and you haven’t since I started working here 4 years ago.
CSR: Well, that is because reimbursements are not included in your paycheck. They are always paid separately, once monthly, on the last working day of the month.
Customer: You never answer my questions! It’s not right that you hold on to my money. I want a check cut now.
CSR: I’m sorry but this department does not process your reimbursement payments. Let me transfer you to the correct department.
Customer: No, I don’t want to be transferred. No one ever gets back to me. I’ll hold while you go talk to them in person.
CSR: That department is ¼ mile away, across the street, in another building.
Customer: This isn’t very good customer service if you ask me. You should go to training. I don’t have time for this. I’ll call you back in 15 minutes to find out when I can pick up my check.
CSR: Thank you for calling (20 words, 36 syllables). Have a great day.

And they say exercise alleviates stress! For as many times as my phone rings daily, and as many times as I exercise through my introduction and exit greetings, I should be way below my suggested BMI, and practically stress free.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 12:09 PM | Comments (0)

April 29, 2008

The Electric Argument

A few years ago, I read an online article about ways to reduce electricity consumption. I was fascinated to learn that even appliances in the off mode could still be sucking up electricity. When I passed this information on to my husband, he guffawed. “Absolutely not true!"

I thought it was worth checking out, so I secretly unplugged some of our less used appliances. Must not have been so secretly, because the next day, all were mysteriously plugged back in. I unplugged them again, only to discover the phantom re-plugger had been ‘round the house, again.

A few months later, watching an episode of the TV show “Til Death," I laughed to see the very same issue addressed. Joy, of course, believed the electricity saving advice, and Eddie thought it was a farce. And, so began the plugging and unplugging.

It’s weird to see your life on TV. It’s also highly amusing.

Jeff and I never did resolve the electric argument. With all the unplugging and re-plugging, we never were able to prove a savings or not, one way or the other. Then, this month’s Reader’s Digest shows up, and guess what? The April 2008 edition, page 17, has a lovely little blurb about… Vampire Electricity.

If nothing else, at least unplugging all of those dormant appliances reduces the chances of a house fire… Who me, worry?

jak

Posted by jaselin at 07:56 PM | Comments (0)

April 08, 2008

Over-Preparedness in Minimal Space

I am used to the jokes by now. My purse has given many people the illusion that it would in fact carry the kitchen sink were it just a bit larger.

Now the funny part is that my everyday sling-it-over-the-shoulder pouch is only 6.5 x 2.5 x 3.5 inches. It’s been called the bottomless wonder, the incredible abyss, and the magic purse. I admit I do keep a lot in it, but then in my defense, I am a very experienced and efficient packer.

Someone recently asked me if I happened to have any Motrin on me. Of course, I did! So, I began the search. Before I got to the little reddish pills though, I first had to pull out:

Lip balm, a pen, scrap paper, breath mints, safety pin, mini sewing kit, bandages, antibiotic, nail clipper, nail file, Benadryl, cell phone, loose change, tissues, and a thumb tack that even I can’t tell you why I had.

What I didn’t pull out was: money, ATM/Credit cards, business cards, calendar cards for 2007 and 2008, fortune cookie slips of wisdom, receipts for purchases, bible scripture cards, and checks.

There ended up being quite a bit of hootin’ and hollerin’ over my over-abundant purse.

Now, a few days later, something in the air at work was bothering my eyes fiercely. I began roaming the halls, asking around for non-antihistamine over the counter drugs to combat the itchy, burning, eye watering reaction to whatever it was. First possible provider: Tammy.

Let me tell you about Tammy’s magic purse. Her purse is larger and she is way more over prepared than I could ever be, in a pretty minimal space, too. About halfway through her rummaging, I asked for a sticky note pad and pen so I could document the event.

Here’s what Tammy pulled out of her 12" x 9" x 3" purse:

5 packages of dental floss, 6 lip balms, 3 nail clippers, 2 date books (2007 & 2008), jack knife, lip mirror, 2 bottles of lotion, tissues, safety pin, pen, checkbook, 7 ATM deposit envelopes, a bank statement, coupons, makeup, extra ID badge holder, small notebook, an un-closable wallet stuffed with receipts not money, ear drops, an ipod, a cell phone, one thin dime, and alas, much to my disappointment, a completely empty pillbox.

True: Tammy’s purse is over twice the size of mine, but still, I bet I could pack a lot more into it than she ever could! I sense a challenge coming on….

jak

(PS. Thanks Tammy for letting me share. If anyone would like to join our simplifying support group for purse over-packers, let us know.)

Posted by jaselin at 02:19 PM | Comments (0)

April 01, 2008

Vanity and the Treadmill

Saturday night: 8:00 pm. I finally decided to stop working on my weekend project and grudgingly get my treadmill time in. I put on that lovely form-fitting outfit reserved only for working out, and thought… hmm. If I can see my neighbors' silhouettes through their blinds, then they could probably see mine just as easily.

Vanity told me that no one needed to see my version of a jello-wiggle commercial on a beautiful Saturday eve, so I decided to treadmill in the near-dark. The hall light was on, but it did not cast its glow over the treadmill in the corner. Perfect. I jumped up on the treadmill, and hit start. Nothing happened. I hit start again, and again, and again. Finally, I tried to re-figure where the start button was. Bingo! I found it, and the machine started rolling along.

Within seconds, I realized something was terribly wrong. My normally rather tame torture machine was whining like a freight truck's engine, and my feet were literally flying out from under me. Holding on to the grab bars, I assessed my situation, thinking, "If I don't find a way to get off of this thing, it's likely to slam me full force into the recliner two feet behind me."

At this point, as appealing as ending up in that lazy chair was, I was pretty sure I was going to have to break an arm or a leg to get there. I sometimes have a keen way of missing the obvious. This trait completely boggled and amused my husband. I thought of Jeff and received a loving virtual smack from the other side. Through his imagined laughter I heard the word: "Jump!" Well, duh!

I transferred my left hand death grip to the right hand bar, and jumped. By now, the machine was sounding like it might explode. I scrambled for the stop button as soon as I was sure that my sneakers were still attached to my feet, and my feet were still attached to my legs. I was, triumphantly, still standing!

Apparently, I had been hitting the speed increase button instead of the Start button. My normal 1.6 to 1.8 rate was gone, and I had cranked up the programming to a rate of 8.5! No, I wasn't wearing the emergency stop button clip thingy that is supposed to jerk itself from the machine should your body even hint that you might fly backwards off it, thereby cutting off the power and saving your stupid vain self from smashing into chairs or furniture or what have you.

Words to the Wise:
1. Treadmill in the daylight or in an un-windowed basement.
2. Wear the emergency clip.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 12:20 PM | Comments (0)

March 14, 2008

There's Not Enough Cinnamon in the World

I love cinnamon; especially the freshly grated, extra zingy, tongue tingling kind. I crave the stuff. I recently found out why. Scientific research, another one of my favorite things, indicates all kinds of good things about this bark.

The newest research I came across indicates that, supposedly, sniffing cinnamon can improve brain function and memory. I think this refers to smelling, not snorting. At least I hope so, because if not, this could lead to a whole new American Cinnamon Huffing Epidemic. If this were to happen, as least there’d be a handy acronym for it; ACHE.

Initially, I thought, perhaps, the time had come for me to begin developing a cinnamon-scented cologne. However, there’s a good chance there’d be a lot more women walking into doors, falling off curbs, and being just way too perky for anyone’s good. The “lick�? factor might be a problem, too. I’d hate to see a rise in the stranger-licking criminal conduct rate. There’s already too much of that going on in the world.

Maybe all we really need is a highly-caffeinated, teeth-whitening, memory-improving, checkbook-balancing, age-slowing, weight-loss gum that contains cinnamon, honey, orange essence, and green tea.

I’ll get right to work on that and let you know when I’ve made my first million.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 12:28 PM | Comments (0)

Going from 5 to 45 in 62,899,200 seconds

As a diabetic, I have discovered that without regular, proper feeding, I can easily turn in to a lethargic little blobby belligerent. It’s not pretty.

It is, however, very similar to what happens when it is 6:40 pm on a Friday night and I find myself stuck in the 25-item-limit express line at the market behind someone with express-entitled beliefs and 2 carts of groceries. I become a major meltdown, with stupendous sarcasm abilities. Friends laugh at me when this happens, strangers just change check out lanes.

I really do try to avoid both situations, but I have that “just let me do this one more thing…�? mentality. Especially now that I am giving up nearly an hour a day of my already limited personal time to exercise.

Maybe “giving up�? isn’t the right term. Reassigning? Redirecting? Rejoicing?
Yeah, rejoicing! Minus many pounds, I’ve lowered my A1C to a very respectable 6.1 as of last week.

It’s taken me 2 years of exercise and dieting to get to this point, and I still have a ways to go. It will probably be, at least, another 31,449,600 seconds. Through it all, I’ve learned a lot.

I started out in January 2006, trying to make it 5 minutes on the lowest possible treadmill setting. That was the best I could do at the time. Eventually, I started talking myself into another minute or two, and worked my way up to 10, 20 and 30 minute walks. I average 45 minutes a night now. Some days, I do a little less, some days I do a little more.

I discovered that I need to be a constant eater. I carry at least one type of food with me most of the time. Granola bars, small cans of V8 juice, and nuts are my favorite quick-fixes.

I’ve also learned other cool things. Like how to use a calculator to figure the number of seconds in a year. And, how going from 5 minutes a day of exercise to 45 minutes a day, can change a lot of you to a lot less of you.

Don’t get discouraged.
Don’t try to sprint your way to health.
Don’t be unreasonable with your expectations.
Don’t try to calculate the number of seconds in a year, or two years, if you haven’t eaten lunch, yet. Especially, if you tend to be a cranky unfed diabetic, like me.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 12:01 PM | Comments (0)

March 12, 2008

Linguistic Obesity

Eureka! I know why so many Americans are overweight. It’s a linguistics problem.

We shorten everything possible into abbreviations. Now, I’m no scientist, but from everything I’ve read about exercise, the more movements you make, the more caloric energy gets used.

Here’s an example. I overheard the copier repair fellow (who is here so often that he might as well just be on our staff payroll) say into his cell phone:

“They’re due for a PM anyway.�? 9 syllables. Now, suppose, he un-abbreviated?

“They are due for a preventive maintenance check, anyway.�? 16 syllables, resulting in 7 more syllables, and about 2 more seconds of lip, tongue, cheek, and possible matching hand movements. That’s 78% more exercise.

Here’s another potential solution for helping Americans slim down.
1st example sentence from above = 30 key strokes.
2nd version of the same sentence = 58 key strokes.
Results: 28 more key strokes, resulting in 28 additional finger movements. That’s almost 93% more exercise.

Come to think of it, here’s another potential: Speed dial versus hand dial.
Speed dial: Contacts, scroll, push, dial. 4 Finger movements
Hand dial: 555-5555, dial. 8 finger movements. 100% more exercise.
Long distance? 1-555-555-5555, dial. 12 finger movements. 200% more exercise.

I could probably get a good sized government grant for studying this phenomenon.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 05:50 PM | Comments (0)

I Like Nice Bumper Stickers

I like nice bumper stickers.

Have a Nice Day, World Peace, Hooked on Quack… sayings like that. I have to wonder though about the unhappy bumper sticker mind set.

Why permanently plaster your vehicle with stupid angry bumper stickers of things that annoy you?

I mean, every time you load your groceries and then unload your groceries you see your own gripe reminding you of how annoyed you are with a particular situation!

The one that set me in this direction was “George W. Bush. Worst 'President' Ever.�?

OK, so let me get this straight: You’re willing to devalue your vehicle by damaging the chrome or paint on your tricked out 2007 Explorer, in order to remind yourself every day, multiple times, that George W. Bush was not your presidential candidate of choice?

Hmm. Does that really make you feel great? Maybe you should let it go.

Oops, you can’t! It’s permanently stuck to the butt of your gas guzzling, environmentally unfriendly SUV. Have A Nice Day.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 02:26 PM | Comments (0)

March 04, 2008

Adaptability / Negativity

I have realized that I am adaptable.

Living in New York City, I developed a hard, aloof edge and wore mostly black. I saw no reason to ever live anywhere else, when everything I could ever want was easily accessible in the Big Apple.

When I lived in Massachusetts, I bought khakis, duck shoes, and came to eventually understand that “you could pahhhk your cahhh for only a qwatta, and great idears could be found in the ly-berry.�?

When I moved to Tennessee, I discovered floral prints, drank sweet tea, and defensively developed a sweet southern drawl in a vain attempt to understand what I was hearing. (Reference: Humor: That's Random: Child's Name?)

When I moved to Michigan, I thought there was some sort of strange inbreeding here that caused folks to run around barefoot, wearing shorts when the temperature hit 50 degrees.

8 years later, I have adapted. Now, I ditch the winter coat and pull out the spring wind-breaker as soon as the temperature hits 50.5 degrees. I guess there are still some limits to my adaptability. Before we get too far in to this, please note that in my little world: Adaptability and Flexibility are not the same thing. (Reference: Humor: Flexibility Nola 2007)

Because of my adaptive nature, if I am surrounded by negative people all day, I become negative. The problem is not always easily remedied. I am, unfortunately, not in a situation that promotes drastic change. I cannot just pick up and change jobs, or move to another city, right now. Although, I readily admit those actions have previously been my way of dealing with many issues, I must find a way to remedy my current situation by influencing it.

Responding to negativity with positive encouragement is not easy, and not always well received. The answer to another’s whining, “It’s only Tuesday!�? would be my cheerful “At least it’s not Monday!�? And believe me, I have found that if I dare to meet my conversationalist’s glance after such an upbeat attempt, I am usually treated to a “look�? that implies “I’d sure like to smack you upside your head.�?

Does this stop me from promoting cheeriness? You bet it does, on a daily basis.

But like a Jack Russell terrier at the end of a tow-rope that’s been tied to a six-year-old pedaling downhill on a tricycle, I sometimes just don’t know when to let go. So, I keep trying. I keep trying with certain people, trying to pick my battles carefully.

Not every minute of every day, because I sincerely believe that the “looks�? harbour a very real potential to eventually turn in to very real, physical smacks.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 04:26 PM | Comments (0)

No Brakes!

Driving through the UM campus close to quittin’ time is always a challenge.

I don’t usually have to do it, but our campus driver was sick on Monday, so I had the pick-up route. You know how sometimes things happen so fast, that it always takes so much longer to relate them? Well, this is one of those stories.

I saw the situation coming, and came up with a few plans to deal with it in just matter of seconds. The Suburban was stuck in the left-hand lane behind a car making a left-hand turn. They were both at a complete stop. I figured he might try to bolt in front of me, but he didn’t. He didn’t creep up, or turn his front tires, or even take his foot off the brake. So, I kept my course in the right lane.

Just when my driver’s side door was at his right front bumper, the non-signal using and obviously, non-mirror-using driver, was apparently overcome with rush hour travel desperation, and finally decided to get in to my lane.

I swerved hard right, and somehow missed the very poor lane-change planner. This is when I wish we had access to other people’s radio frequencies. I would have tuned in to his station and asked him, “Was it worth scaring us, risking injuries and vehicle damage just to make it to the next light a few seconds quicker?�?

I read a Reader’s Digest article a few years ago about a woman who died because she was trying to beat a light. The story gave statistics about how much time people really do, or actually don’t save by passing other drivers. I can't be sure I'm quoting exactly, but I think the average time "saved" was something miniscule like 15 to 30 seconds. It’s just not worth the risk.

Linda, who keeps me laughing, and was in the co-pilot’s seat, was not happy about the near miss. She felt cheated too because she had neither the time to use her famous finger-flying, “You should have stopped�? hand-signal, or to open the window and scream “No brakes!�? as we squeezed past the disaster that could have been.

We started giggling about other possible uses of the phrase, “No Brakes!�? One of the more amusing ones was the idea of suddenly throwing our office door open, yelling “No Brakes!�? into the hallway. We figured after that, we would just sit tight and see who, if anyone, stopped in to check on us.

That got me thinking. And thinking some more. See Faith: No Brakes

jak

Posted by jaselin at 03:42 PM | Comments (0)

February 20, 2008

Ramen Noodles Are Harder to Eat Sober

Fact or fiction? Ramen Noodles are much harder to eat sober.

Fact. I think. Umm… from what I can recall. I discovered Ramen Noodles after college. Right after I got my first low paying, but highly glamorous job in New York City. I rediscovered them a few years ago, when my grandmother-in-law developed digestive problems. All she would eat was Ramen Noodles. Anyway, the smell of micro-waved rehydrated noodles led me on a nice trip down memory lane, remembering my much poorer days. Plus, at the time, they suited our budget rather nicely.

I was going through the cookbook cabinet, aka Jeff’s leisure library, and discovered a little gem of a treasure called 101 Things To Do With Ramen Noodles. With a book like that in my possession, I felt compelled to buy a case of the pre-packaged little cuties in a variety of intriguing flavors such as, Chili Lime Shrimp, Chinese Mushroom, and Creamy Chicken. Who knew they were such a gourmet item?

I haven’t made anything from the cook book, yet. Ok. I haven’t actually read the cook book, yet. But I did throw a couple of those convenient bundles into my desk drawer at work. Just in case I ever forgot to bring my lunch one day. (Reference: NOLA Flexibility)

I didn’t forget my lunch today. I was, however, completely unsatisfied with the salad I prepared and reluctantly ate. So, around 2:00 pm, I decided to cook up some happy noodles. I ceremoniously cracked the brick of noodles into smaller chunks. I don’t think it really makes them cook any faster, but it is an effective aggression reliever. I emptied half of the flavor packet into my bowl as well. I never use the whole packet…watching my sodium, right?

Apparently, Ramen Noodles are a multi-cultural phenomenon, as well as being quite the conversation piece. Everybody has an opinion on them. Seriously, in the 20 feet from my office door to the kitchen microwave, I encountered three people who not only recognized the naked ingredients in my bowl, but also had some smart thing to say.

First comment: “Oh, Ramen Noodles! You’d get along with my daughter!�?
My reply: “Oh? She’s broke, too?�?

Second comment: “Oh, Ramen Noodles! Choice of college students everywhere.�?
My reply: “Yeah, and poor University employees, too.�?

Third comment: “Oh, Ramen Noodles! Short on cash this month?�?
My reply: “Nope! These are gourmet dried noodles transported all the way from Irvine, California with a delicate balance of spices and herbs specifically chosen for their medicinal and digestive values, and designed to provide complete comfort and satisfaction while also lowering blood pressure and making you smarter.�? (Maybe I should have lowered my aggression ratio by breaking more noodles.)

Me and my tasty treat finally made it back to the office, where I vainly attempted to eat/twirl/slurp/drink the concoction without splattering little drops of soupy stuff all over the payroll reports. I was very unsuccessful. I ended up with little splats of pale brown-colored artificial goodness all over my desk! I didn’t remember having that much of a problem eating them in my much younger and slightly wilder days.

Which is, finally, how I arrived at the title conclusion:
Ramen Noodles are harder to eat sober.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 04:31 PM | Comments (1)

January 18, 2008

A More Affordable Diet Plan

Hey! I found something cheaper than the weekly-weigh-in-visit or ship-meals-to-you home diet plans...

And it's even more effective... it's called a Passport photo. It only costs about $112.00 as opposed to $300.00 or more for those other popular programs. Plus, you get a permanent laminated reminder, courtesy of the US Government, as to why you must diet. 8 weeks from now, when the "program" arrives, you'll see what I mean... :-) jak

Posted by jaselin at 02:48 PM | Comments (0)