jakorte's blog

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?
Foe 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)