So Not Clairvoyant

2004-02-23T07:15:00.000-08:00

Like the good little nerd that I am, I recently signed up for this book club where they, of course, send me a new book every month like clockwork. But instead of being sent recently published novels, I'm getting a new book from a "Great Books of the 20th Century" collection. Basically, I'm reading all the books now that I should have read back in high school had I been paying attention...okay, had I been showing up to class. (I only recently found out what all the hoopla was about in regards to the green light at the end of the dock.)

I went to go put my latest shipment, "Brave New World" in its place on my bookshelf and I noticed one of my all time favorites, "The Town and the City" all highlighted and scribbled on, with post-its hanging out of the pages. That, along with having just read another Kerouac quote from this blog, made me pull it off the shelf and look through my notes. I decided to go ahead and cop out today by sharing one of my favorites.

"So when the sun of October slopes in late afternoon, the children scurry home from school, make footballs out of stuffed socks, they leap and dash in the powerful winds and scream with delight. Fires are burning everywhere, the air is sharp and lyrical with the smell of smoke. There are great steaming suppers to be eaten in the kitchens of home as the raw October gloom gathers outside, and something flares far off. The children are off again at dusk, they form excited groups in front of fires, the iron-gray clouds mass together and move across the skies. There on the street corners are the men and boys gathered, discussing some rumorous tidings, some news, some furor that can be sensed in the very air--football, maybe, or the big heavyweight championship fight, or the elections. The leaves are piled in the gutters, the supper lights are glowing warmly in all the houses, smoke whips from the chimneys, the whole evening echoes with the calls and cries of children, the barking of dogs. Someone is smoking a pipe and striding the street. The streetlamp at the corner-store sways shadows in a big black dance, the store sign swings and creaks in the wind, leaves fly, apples thud to the ground in the orchards, the stars are blazing in the somber sky--everything is raw, smoky, and terrific."

"The Town and the City"
Jack Kerouac

This is not the quote I originally had in mind but I decided that one would cause you all to think I was suicidal, which, for the record, I am not.

Pet Peeve Du Jour

2004-02-20T07:20:00.000-08:00

I have two words for those groups singing about how hard it is for them to get up and go work. Even Flash-In-The-Pan groups who probably do have to work like the rest of us now because they blew through their 80’s glam cash.

Either way, I don’t want to hear how hard it is for you. I don’t want to hear how manic your Monday is. Or how you wish it was Sunday (oh-woe) because that’s your Funday (oh-woe) and your I don’t have to runday (oh-woe).

Those two words are “Fuck” and “you.”

2004-02-19T07:06:00.000-08:00

Jen would like to welcome everyone to 3PT! Unfortunately, when she wrote the following post, she forgot it was 3PT (thank goodness for Outlook calendars/reminders or she would have forgotten altogether!). Jen has a lot of work to do so she doesn't have time to edit her post to reflect this joyous day so she'll just slap some quote marks around it and make it a giant quote.

"I know I probably stand alone among the masses of gays marching down to the alter, but I don't think gay marriages are the way to gain equal rights.

That's right, my official stand on this issue is: I'm against gay marriage.

I don't think those who are fighting for it are wrong, in fact, I support the symbolic gesture of commitment and I'm prepared to buy wedding gifts should the occasion arise. However, I think the effort to gain rights through legalized same sex marriage is wasted. I think if our efforts were more focused on civil unions and expanding the rights of domestic partnership (where gay and straight couples would both benefit), we'd probably be enjoying those rights a lot sooner. The general population (or at least those making the laws) truly believe marriage is strictly between a man and a woman and as long as our politicians are being born and raised in the bible belt, that probably won't be changing any time soon."

Okay, bring on the flame(er).

2004-02-18T07:36:00.000-08:00

Today I’d like to discuss art and as you’ll see, I use that term loosely.

On his drive back to San Jose, my dad placed a hysterical call to my mother. He said he had just seen something terrible and wanted to share it with her. My mother’s heart sank immediately thinking of the drivers who can be terribly reckless as they go screaming past you at 90+ miles an hour. Was it an enormous French sized cow laying lifeless in the diamond lane? Did he narrowly escape with his life by avoiding a ten car pile up? A freeway sniper maybe?

No, it was much, much worse.

“I just saw a La-Z-Boy delivery truck plastered with pictures of Thomas Kinkade inspired furniture.”

My mother immediately shot an email off notifying me of this major home decorating event-slash-fiasco. The truck was most likely headed for Vallejo where I have heard, there is an entire community modeled after his paintings.

I’m not much of an art aficionado but of course I have my preferences. I’m much more inclined to appreciate a Degas ballerina, a Thiebaud cityscape, or even a bronze statue of Alfred E Neuman than I am a Kinkade painting. Of course that’s just my uneducated opinion and anyone else who feels differently should do so freely with only minimal amounts of taunting and ridicule. I mean, art is up to one’s own interpretation, right?

If you recall, not too long ago we witnessed Kinkade’s fame and fortune grow enormously in a very short period of time, about five minutes I believe. Naturally, such a sensation hit primetime and Kinkade made an appearance on 60 Minutes where his now infamous interview forever changed my opinion of him…well, it made me more vocal anyway. Until that interview, I had no problem quietly dismissing his work and keeping my opinions to myself.

Here is just one brilliant quote of the many brilliant quotes he provided:

“ I don’t believe, in time, that [Picasso] will be regarded as the titan that he is now, he is a man of great talent who, to me, used it to create three Picassos before breakfast because he could get $10,000 for them.”

Ohhhhhhhhhhh, right. But plastering your work on upholstered furniture and designing neighborhoods with homes starting at $400K is acceptable. It must be the mark of a truly great artist. It makes me wonder what a da Vinci inspired sectional sofa would have looked like, or better yet, a Salvador Dali town.

(Today’s post is in no way a shameless ploy to increase my hits from Googlers looking up Thomas Kinkade. I swear.)

2004-02-17T07:28:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, as my mom and I were driving home in the middle of one of our nastier storms, we noticed a loose dog in the street. As many of you have come to know, I am the Master of Stray Dogs. I don’t know how I earned such a prestigious title but every dog within a ten mile radius is aware of my status. Every wandering, hapless dog seems to seek me out so whenever I turn around, there’s a new sad little face staring up at me. In fact, if the door is open they’ve even been known to help themselves to the warm sanctuary of my garage. They just walk in, turn around three times and lay down for a nap. ß True story.

Hans-the-Stinky-Shaker dog was no exception. He lovingly came into my life, stunk up my laundry room, drank my water, and peed on my floor. And he shook. And he howled. And howled. And shook some more (he was a bit of a sympathy whore). Luckily for Hans-the-Stinky-Shaker dog, he had tags letting me know exactly where he had wandered off from and who to call. As soon as Hans’ “daddy” as he liked to refer to himself, got my voicemail, he came immediately to pick him up thus neatly ending Hans’ traumatic afternoon.

The lesson here is this: Please make my job as Master of Stray Dogs easier and make sure your pets have current tags like Hans-the-Stinky-Shaker dog. And unlike Hans-the-Stinky-Shaker dog, please have your pets spayed or neutered. (I just had to work in a Bob Barker comment, I couldn’t resist.)

Now, on to the Showcase Showdown.

2004-02-13T08:33:00.000-08:00

It was a year ago today that I left with a seventeen page letter from my Cubie in one hand and my passport in the other for my first trip to Europe. This was no pansy seven day trip to Paris and London and back. No, this trip had it all. Sex, drugs, celebrities, and the best fucking yogurt I’ve ever tasted in my life. Although there was no sex for me, I believe there was some heavy petting for my travel partner while I stayed back in the hotel room to watch the free porn that comes with every room in Amsterdam.

A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think about all the random experiences I had while there…I think about the Dutch photo-mat man that shouted at me to hurry up and decide between doubles or singles (I think it was a direct attack on my mathematical abilities because I was simply trying to figure in my head and on my fingers out how cost effective it was to get doubles as opposed to singles.) I think about the random fist fight that broke out between our taxi driver and the chocolates delivery boy in front of our hotel in Paris. I think about the BBC employee originally from the Bay Area who slammed the door in our face after we walked for hours on our Eddie and Patsy pilgrimage (stopping at every pub along the way, of course). I think about my whole Belgian experience…the 17 year old junkie/pusher who rolled and smoked at least four joints in a three hour period…her middle aged mother who barked directions at us while giving us an insiders tour of Ghent…the dinner consisting of chocolate crepes drizzled with chocolate syrup served with hot chocolate. I think about the French cows who were, to the best of our knowledge, as long as a football field. I think about running into Jerry Garcia who IS alive and is currently running a bar Brittany, France that has anti American sentiments written in chalk on his wall but who was as warm and friendly as anyone would guess Jerry would be. I think about the ghost town of Carnac with the little girl who did not take her eyes off me for 45 minutes and who’s chair must have been possessed because without any warning, flipped her over right in the middle of the restaurant (I swear on my mother’s life I did not touch the chair.)

As much fun as all of that was, I was pretty anxious to get home to my routine and normalcy after three weeks of bizarre experiences and even more bizarre people. However, I’ve had a year to recover and god, I can’t wait to go back. It’s the yogurt, I’m sure.

2004-02-12T07:25:00.000-08:00

Jen would like to extend a hearty arm hickey welcome to 3PT!!! She would also like to take a moment to update those of you following her fast track to the top. Okay, she exaggerates, it’s not as much of a fast track as it is a slow, painful schlep.

Jen would like step outside her norm and make a comment or two about her job. She usually avoids writing and posting about work due to the fact she has known of people getting fired from their blogs and also because Blogger dot com has even included a creative tutorial on “How not to get fired because of your blog.” Jen gets the hint and has been very good about keeping her work related opinions off of the internet. Maybe it’s because it’s 3PT that she has the courage to throw caution to the wind and go jazz hands crazy today.

What exactly is so urgent that Jen has decided risking certain termination to share? Well folks, it is this:

Jen is so excited about her new job, she could pee herself.

(There is photographic proof of her incontinence so don't even question her)

2004-02-11T07:05:00.000-08:00

I don't have much time to post today due to the fact I have eight hours of homework from a class I'm currently taking, "Introduction to Excel." The course catalog failed to mention that you either need to be a Mensa mathematician and/or a NASA Engineer to complete the lessons.

2004-02-10T07:53:00.000-08:00

Man Advisory: I really hope the following post isn’t too offensive or pushing the envelope too far…all Janet Jackson-style. I had a very embarrassing trip to the grocery store the other night and as a Blogger, I am bound by Blogger Law to share it with you.

---------------------

I’m a grown woman. I don’t blush when discussing menstrual cycles and childbirth but something happened this weekend that brought me crashing back to my days of nervously pacing back and forth in the grocery store, trying to find the courage to pick out and buy a box of tampons.

Due to the fact that I’ve been blessed with feminine parts that are unusually resilient, I’ve not been faced with having to browse and scrutinize the “Feminine Needs” aisle for many years. Unfortunately, due to forces far stronger than my body’s, I had to do just that on Saturday. Luckily, I had my friend Brick with me to help guide me through this embarrassing predicament.

After stuffing myself silly with Dilly Dippers and a couple of beers (two of thirty-five available on tap) at Yagers, Brick and I headed home with a quick stop at the grocery store along the way.

I should have known that the experience would not be a pleasant one when I decided to save time by settling for the grocery store in Folsom rather than driving to the Rich Raley’s in El Dorado Hills. But I decided that I had only two things on my list, Russian Rye Bread and some over the counter medication for my female affliction. It shouldn’t take too long.

We walked in and headed down the “Feminine Needs” aisle to grab the ointment and move on but when we got to the aisle’s end, my medication wasn’t there. We looked and looked but all we found were maxi pads, Tampax, and Summer’s Eve**.

“Well shit, where else would it be?”

”Let’s try over by the pharmacy area”

So we headed over to the pharmacy but again, we came up empty…toothpaste, deodorant, pill pulverizers, and razors but there was still no relief in sight for me. It had to be there somewhere…I couldn’t imagine a store simply would not stock such products. Do the women of Folsom have even more resilient vaginas than I? I could not make sense of it.

Then we turned around. The clouds parted, the angels sang, and a glorious light shone down. There they were. Two whole shelves containing my choice of one, three or seven day remedies….and every single one of them was behind a locked pane of glass.

What??? They’re locked? That’s absurd! Are teenagers getting high off Vagistat these days? That must be the case since they’re stocked right next to other teenage contraband like condoms and those hallucinogenic cold pills the kiddies are calling “skittles.”

Frustrated, we went to find someone to unlock the cabinet but the only employee we could find was an unsuspecting stock boy stocking the yogurt shelf (yes, the yogurt shelf). Oh well, it serves him right to be working in a store that locks its single most embarrassing product behind lock and key. Unfortunately for me (because I could have used the laugh I would have gotten from embarrassing him) but luckily for yogurt-boy, just as we were about to interrupt him a female employee came around the corner. We asked for her assistance at which point, my embarrassment went from bad to really, really bad. While the clerk struggled with the lock, she and my friend began letting loose with the bread baking jokes. Very. Loud.

I wanted to die.

As it turns out, along with condoms and cold pills, the store preferrs to keep “high priced” items such as heart monitors, brand new Cadillacs and Vagistat behind lock and key.

The lesson here, ladies: Do not try and save time by slumming it by going to the store in the ghetto when all this embarrassment can be avoided by driving a few extra minutes to a respectable store a little further down the road where you could even sip a latte or mocha while you shop!

**Note to women: Please, PLEASE resist the urge to use these femine hygiene products. I don’t care if you are having one of those not so fresh days. As a genuine, card carrying lesbian I can say with confidence that you do not need it. Ever.

R-O-C-K in the USA

2004-02-09T08:08:00.000-08:00

The following is a good post idea that went horribly, horribly wrong: I would like to extend a warm, slobbery arm hickey welcome to a brand new radio station here in the Sacramento area, "Star 103.9, 80's music and more!!!"

It's about damn time!

I know I'm not alone with my love for everything 80's. You can't beat the fashion...pegged pants, three different t-shirts all color co-ordinated with your three different pairs of socks, the volumes of hairspray to get our bangs and wings to stick straight out, laceless keds, ESPRIT, ESPRIT, and more ESPRIT, neon colors, skater dudes and their skate betties, "flock of seagulls" hairdo's.... do I need to go on?

So I spent this weekend in my car reminiscing while listening to all the hokey songs that represent the best decade. Ever. How could it not be when it provided us with such classics as: Hit Me With Your Best Shot...Chains of Love....Beat It....Come on Eileen....Keep On Loving You (did you know REO Speedwagon was still together? Please see here for official tour dates)....anything and everything George Michael...oh, and let's not forget, vintage Prince.

And then that Billy Joel song comes on, "We Didn't Start the Fire" and I realize, there is no way in hell I even knew what I was singing about back in 89', I barely understand the lyrics today. In fact, I probably thought Sally Ride was a porn star and Castro was just a cool place to hang out.

Anyway, there really is no point to this post except to say that 80's is totally the new 70's.

2004-02-06T09:14:00.000-08:00

Why, WHY can't I be computer savvy??? Why do things like, "IP address" and "megabyte" make my brain freeze up and stop functioning altogether? I'm the first to admit that I'm one of the most neurotic, freaked out, paranoid, unmedicated person on earth but hear me out.

I think I've been hacked into...well, my computer has been, anyway. Is that possible? Is it possible that some complete stranger can hack into my work computer, look at my personal conversations, track which websites I visit (blogs mainly since I've become a blog whore) and leave creepy comments regarding those private conversations??? I know that hackers hack all the time and it doesn't really bother me because I don't have much to hide but please, please don't tell me. I don't want know...read whatcha like but leave me out of it. I have a hard enough time keeping my paranoid thoughts at bay (Do I hear a "hell yeah!" Hphat?) I don't need yet another cracked conspiracy swimming around in my head.

Note to hacker: if you are reading this and any other of my computer recorded thoughts, I hope you enjoy them although I'm afraid my life is far too boring. If you'd like more entertainment, may I recommend my friend, Brick. Now there's a stimulating read!

Friday morning Survivor update:

No change, still rooting for Rupert.

2004-02-05T07:43:00.000-08:00

Jen would like to extend a sincere arm hickey welcome to 3PT!

She'd also like to thank those of you who left kind comments on her Nelly post, it means a lot to her.

But enough of the warm, hallmark moments, Jen has other things to do today, like give arm hickeys.

She's wrapping up her current stint on the Quality Control Squad and must focus for the next two days on making sure her replacement, Frank the Token Gay Man, is adequately briefed on her duties. As much as she loves her current squad, she is really looking forwarding to getting back to her roots and focusing on something that interests her. Unfortunately, she is a-feared that she'll fall on her face when it comes time for her to step up after two years of talking big. She'll figure it out though, if nothing else, she'll bullshit her way through it, much like she has in every other job she's ever taken. Oh, except those two and a half days at McDonald's...she didn't try very hard to pretend she knew how to assemble Sausage McMuffins.

Next order of business: Jen would like to extend an advanced apology to those around her that will be affected by her inevitable ugly, cranky-pants side as she again, attempts to quit smoking.

Final question: What should one do when they find themselves as a guest, already in bed with a wad of gum in their mouth and they can't get up to throw it out? (Due to it being way too cold to leave the warm snuggly bed or because they're falling down drunk and can't negotiate their way to a garbage can in the dark.)

Any thoughts on the matter?

2004-02-04T08:53:00.000-08:00

You know your day is going to be long and treacherous when, feeling overwhelmed with everything you need to have done by EOB, you say to yourself, "God, I need a break...I think I'll do my taxes." <------Not exaggerated.

Writing these manuals and doing my taxes have sucked every last creative desire from my body so in lieu of a literary masterpiece, I will share with you some really, really, really, random things I've heard this past week:

"Wow! Your computer smells good!!!!"
Jaden

"Oh my god, Jen! I'm so worried about Martha Stewart!"
Said as sincerely as only a gay man can.

"I LOVE spackling!"
Frank, the Token Gay Man

"Vodka is slimming in a vomiting kind of way."
HPhat

I'm off to do my taxes....

2004-02-03T10:48:00.000-08:00

A friend asked me today, "Why are you okay with alcohol but not pot or other drugs?"

My knee jerk reaction to this question is to immediately become defensive and try to convince you how right I am but because this question has come up enough, pretty much every time I voice my objection to drugs, I think I've finally accepted that I am the one who's wrong. The bottom line here is that I'm a total hypocrite and my aversion to drugs is as logical as my fear of flying. It's not. Logical, that is. But in the same way that our experiences form our opinions and beliefs, the same holds true for my intolerance of drugs.

For anyone who has known me for a long time knows that I haven't always had this Nancy Reagan-esque view of drugs. I spent most of my high school days getting high under the bridge, sucking on tabs of acid, cutting lines, and popping pills. Eventually I stopped using all drugs, for whatever reason...maybe it was simply because I grew up or perhaps it was because as I got healthier (mentally) I realized that I preferred to experience life without the distorting haze of being high. But that's my preference and for a long time, I never really cared about other people's drug use.

But then I watched a friend fall into a horrible life of hard core drugs and prostitution. There was really nothing any of us could do to help her. Her mother and I spent weekend after weekend driving up to San Francisco, finding Nelly, bringing her home to kick only to have her run away again a few days later. (Watching her detox is easily the most disturbing ordeal I have ever witnessed.) Eventually her friends and family accepted the fact that there was nothing any of us could do to help her since there was nothing she wanted to do for herself.

So for three years I watched a healthy, young, beautiful, intelligent, funny, affectionate, generous girl turn into a frail, cloudy, shell of who she used to be. Every time I saw her, she became even harder to recognize than the time before. She was a hollow skeleton that I didn't want to hug because I was afraid of crushing her despite the fact that's when she needed hugs most.

Even though I was watching her slowly kill herself and somewhere subconsciously, I knew she wouldn't be around for much longer, nothing will ever compare to the way my heart broke the day I got the call telling me she had "passed on."

From that moment on, I became Nancy Reagan's number one cheerleader (FYI: not really). I had absolutely no tolerance for drugs, not even pot. I know it doesn't make any sense because you all know my deep affection for beer which, technically, is a drug. I used to try to argue with people when they said I was a hypocrite saying it was "different because beer is a more controlled substance" and "You never know what you're getting when you buy street drugs...you can't anticipate the affects blah blah blah."

The truth is, I'm wrong for approving of alcohol but not of any other drugs. I admit it. But the same way I've begun to loosen up about pot and pot smoking friends, I hope they can loosen up and just accept my feelings as another "Jen-ism" and love me anyway.

I hate flying, I hate drugs, I hate cantaloupe. It's all the same to me and makes no sense to anyone else.

2004-02-02T08:09:00.000-08:00

I'd be surprised if there was any alcohol left in the state of California because I believe my friends and I drank it. All. Every last drop.

And if that weren't bad enough, in addittion to depleting our state from it's alcohol supply, I think we ate so much that Californians will soon find themselves in a famine.

My sincere apologies to all those who are stone cold sober and who are finding it hard to eat due to the severe scarcity of food.

2004-01-31T00:26:00.000-08:00

Rules for drunk blogging (drunk blogging is in lieu of drunk-dialing):

No Editing.

I went downstairs to grab more beer so as to enhance my only semi-drunken state and I walk into a aroom foll of smoke. not marlboro smoke mind you, but mareewaana smoke. My ex fucking girlfriend is gedttting my mother high. how did this happen? howd id our roles switch like this? god, my living rom smells like a fucking coffee house in amsterdam!

Okay, so cubie went downstairs as well and now TWO of my friends are getting hight with my omm (lemme drink anohther swig). my mom the pot head.

have i ever told the story about my mom coming to get me from a parttY?

growing up, she had always told me that i could always call her to come get me if i ever found myself wi/out a sober ride. So one day, I find myself in a house full of poeple flying high on acid but me, being the goody two shoes that i am, chooses to call my mom to come get me.

"mom, all my friends are on acid and i have no way of getting home"

she comes and gets me like any mother would. no questions, no rants....it was a good experience. she comes and gets me and on the way home she says that we need to stop at the safeway to get a treat. Okay, seems strange but hey, the Recee's draw can be pretty strong and i don't question. We stop, get our Recee's and head home.

It wasn't until years later, that she tells me that on that night that i called her to come rescue me from that drug fest, that she herself was higher than a kite. It wasn't some weird reward that we stopped at safeway to get chocolate, it's that she had the fucking munchies!

So yeah, my mom's now in her room enjoying her high while two of my best friends are downstairs passing a joint back and forth. i hate drugs! oh well...i love them all.

2004-01-30T10:57:00.000-08:00

Growing up in my house was a little like growing up in the environment of an operating room (minus the hot nurses and the CellDyn2001 Blood Analyzer). Everything had its place, bookcases were dusted, carpets vacuumed leaving neat criss cross diagonal patterns, the floors were swept and mopped, the bathrooms scrubbed (our shower doors were being squeegeed long before it was en vogue). Our dishes were cleaned the moment they were put in the sink and if it was my night to wash them and something was especially crusty and cooked on, I had to plead my case to leave it in the sink to soak overnight. I even had friends, on more than one occasion, ask if it was okay to sit on the furniture because they didn't want to "mess it up." You get the idea.

Today, my house would be unrecognizable to my childhood friends. The dishes are still cleaned expeditiously but the rest of house....well, it's gone to the dogs, literally.

There is no where in my house that is safe from the constant onslaught of white, wiry, dog hair. They’re like ticks.. once they fall, they burrow into the fabric and won't budge. It takes a careful, steady hand to remove it which is pretty implausible due to the sheer number of hairs that fall from my dog (approximately 1,273,829 hairs per day.) The situation is so out of control that it's not uncommon for me to be miles away from my home and my dog and find an offending hair in some random place. Case in point: I recently attended a wedding 75 miles away and during the ceremony, I noticed a single white hair resting on the back of the man sitting directly in front of me. A complete stranger, mind you, sporting a $3000 suit and the best comb-over this side of the Mississippi. I pretended not to notice and let him continue through the evening with this little piece of Turtle hanging from his shoulder.

Where is this all leading? Well, I have two rock your ass off houseguests coming to town today to stay for the weekend and of course, I’m fretting about how dirty my house is. Not only is there the excessive dog hair issue, we also have a terrible case of “dusteous houseous” due to the fact both our house and backyard are going through major overhauls. Therefore, I have put together this Handy Dandy Packing Guideline for my guests:

Handy Dandy Packing Guideline:

1. Do not bring any piece of clothing you care about
2. Do not bring any piece of black clothing
3. Do not bring any piece of fleece clothing
4. Do not, under ANY circumstances, bring any piece black fleece clothing
5. DO bring industrial strength lint removers (three minimum)
6. Full Haz-Mat gear recommended for extended stays

If you pack using these easy to follow steps and burn all garments before returning to your own home, your stay at Casa de Cubie will be a delightful one, and free of aggravation upon your return home.

(FYI: Sports bras welcome May through September. Ha ha ha! Hell, sports bras welcome year round.)

2004-01-29T07:56:00.000-08:00

Welcome to 3PT!

Jen has just one question for today....how is it not Friday yet?

She has so many exciting things happening right now and so much to do to prepare for some upcoming changes (not to mention some houseguests' arrival tomorrow!) but for some reason, all she can do is sit and stare at her computer. Her stomach is all topsy turvey and she's wondering how many trips to the bathroom are in her future today. Yuck. She also forgot her lunch ...okay, she didn't really "forget" but decided an extra 8.5 minutes of sleep were far more important than a measly sandwhich on stale, yeasty bread. She may have to go to McDo's (that's Fancy-ass French for McDonalds) for lunch even though she KNOWS she'll regret it...HARD.

Okay, Jen's signing off....she has a ton of things to do today and even more ways to kill time avoiding them.

Super Sunday

2004-01-28T10:12:00.000-08:00

I can not wait until Sunday. If you need me, I'll be on my recliner with a bowl of chips, a platter of hot wings, and a frosty mug filled with my beer du jour. The television will be tuned to CBS and I'll be glued to the game. Don't be surprised if you can't be heard over my yelling and screaming strategies at the players. I wait all year for this day. The day we watch the players begin to outwit, outplay, and outlast the rest.

I totally admit that I am a "Survivor" junkie.

I am not ashamed.

I embrace the tribe member within.

I refuse to apologize for this Thursday night habit and if a single one of you put me down for it I will call you out publicly for the closet "American Idol" groupie that you are.

My final, final Delphinia update:

She’s at home, charging up, and waiting for me to go home and play with her.

My opening Survivor Update: Go Rupert!!! (my survivor of choice is subject to change weekly)

2004-01-27T10:07:00.000-08:00

One of the worst feelings in the world is watching a good friend hurting and not being able to do a thing to console them.

We can distract them with crazy "Drunk-Improv-Movie-Night"....we can pump them up with undying support....we can justify them by commiserating with them but we all know, from having been in dark places ourselves, nothing takes the hurting away.

In exchange for taking my friend's pain away I would:

1. Eat cantaloupe every day for a month
2. Wear my clothes backwards to work, Kris Kross-style
3. Run through a college campus in the snow with nothing on but my "Mind the Gap" mittens and "Life is Good" winter cap (The cap is reversible for accessorizing purposes)
4. Loan my soul to the devil (for a week, tops)
5. Stop drinking beer for three days (yes, EYE would stop drinking beer)
6. Rent a U-haul and "surf" on the roof going down El Camino Real at 5:45pm (between Lawrence Expressway and Wolfe Blvd) wearing a feathery swan hat
7. Name my first born after you (Yeah, you'll be waiting a while for that one.)
8. Quit watching children's movies....cold turkey
9. March through "Serrano" with a banner yelling, "We're here! We're Queer! Get used to it!"(Who am I kidding, I want to do that one anyway)
10. Not masturbate for two weeks...no, make that a week, no...one day. I will not touch myself for one whole day

I heart you in the hugeliest way.

Now for the Delphina update:

Located a tracking number (NOT via the helpful "Online Order Status Tool" but through their toll free number.) Tracked her via UPS's online tracking tool (they must not have gotten the head's up about my obsessive "refreshing" and allowed me to use it.) She's in Rocklin now and is "Out For Delivery" I will update as necessary.

omeN...

2004-01-26T08:10:00.000-08:00

I admit it. I watched "Finding Nemo" three times this weekend and I don't even have a child to blame it on. I just love that movie...Bizarre since I hated it to begin with. I bought it the day it came out on DVD without having seen it first, simply because it was a Pixar film and really, has Pixar put out a single dud? Hardly.

I was very disappointed when I first saw "Finding Nemo" thinking Pixar had sold out to Disney and the movie just wasn't up to "Toy Story" and "Monster's Inc" standards. I can't really put my finger on why I felt that way because the characters are funny, the animation is, of course, brilliant, and the story line moves very quickly which is always welcome for those of us with the attention span of a light bulb. However, I decided to give the movie another chance and after watching it again with a friend who hadn't seen it my mind started to change and the movie began growing on me.

Now, I don't think I can go a week without watching it. I have no idea why I felt like I needed to write about that but you are all now updated on my loser life....I watch children's movies on the weekends rather than lead a normal, healthy adult homosexual life. What a crappy lesbian I am. I should be out at the bars picking up on the ladies, renting U-hauls, and plastering my car with rainbow stickers. To be totally honest, I don't even like lesbians. Gay men are okay, I mean, how can you not love gay men? But queer women? Ugh. They're so predictable and dramatic (I don't mean dramatic in the good, gay man kind of way either.)

Okay, I have eight hours of Excel homework I need to get going on. It's preventing me from concentrating here but before I go:

Delphinia Update:

No longer in "Boxing" stage
Shipped 1/25/04 (yes, on Sunday)
"In Transit"
Estimated date of delivery 1/29/04 - 1/30/04
No tracking number at this time

FYI: I'm wearing Christmas socks today. I'm hoping that lifts my spirits.

2004-01-23T08:47:00.001-08:00

First, I’d like to throw a hearty arm hickey thank you out there to my good friend, Jaden who, with no help from any of you, came up with a great name for my new computer. “Delphinia” it is!

Next, I owe everyone who has recently bought a new Dell computer on-line an apology. I have single handedly broken the "Online Order Status Tool."

With so much time on my hands here at work, I have no distractions to keep me from checking on my order....every 15 minutes.

At first, it was exciting. I watched it go through all the steps of production yesterday. When I logged in the first time it was being "kitted." Wonderful. I imagined the "Dude, I'm gettin' a Dell" guy spaztically running around a warehouse pulling all the parts from the shelves. When I checked a couple hours later it had gone through "Build" and was in the "Test" phase of Production. Now I imagined my poor computer going through a barrage of abusive trials like you see in the commercials. Being dropped from balconies, stepped on by suma wrestlers, karate kicked by Ninjas. Finally, at about 11am, it was in it's final stage of "Boxing." Woo Hoo! That means it'll probably ship before it's estimated ship date of January 29th! I might even expect my Dell delivery some time next week!

I gave it some time and went to lunch before I checked again but when I did, it was only to be disappointed. It was still in "Boxing." I thought for sure it would only be a matter of minutes, an hour at the latest before it went into "Shipping Prep."

I checked again about 20 minutes later but no, it was still in "Boxing."

Again, 15 minutes later: "Boxing"

10 minutes later: "Boxing"

And so on and so on until 3:45 when I went for a final status check before leaving work. This time, it took a while for the page to load so I thought for sure this meant it had moved through to the next stage. It is after all, just a laptop. Put it in a box and ship that sucker off! Right?

Nope. What it said was even worse: "We're sorry. The online Order Status tool is currently experiencing some difficulties. Please try to check your order again later."

Translated to: "Due to the annoying woman in California hitting her refresh button every five minutes, this tool has overheated. We will resume answering your status questions when she goes home and leaves us alone."

Fuck. I broke it.

I went home disappointed and a little embarrassed about my constant checking but hey, I AM excited. I can't wait to get rid of my iMac and replace it with a computer that I can actually navigate through. I know fans of the Macintosh are die hard and believe that they are actually easier machines to run than PC's but I've had mine for four years and I still can't do anything with it except dust it. (And rarely do I even do that!)

Okay, so I didn't have any kind of shipping update but I decided I could at least prepare for its arrival by saving and printing all my files from my old computer. I got as far as turning it on and deleting whatever was on the desktop but I wanted to delete all of my personal information and as I mentioned earlier, I'm worthless on a Mac. I asked for the help of my Mac-Savvy mother (yes, that's 007.) I told her I wanted to get rid of everything that might have financial information and also all my cookies.

Once I explained what a "cookie" was, my mother went in found and deleted them all. I was impressed with how well she could move through my computer and she did not hesitate to let me know how much easier a Mac was than a PC.

To further boost her ego I asked, "How much room is left on the hard drive now that we've taken so much off?"

Her Martha Stewart answer: "Oh. That's eeeeeeasy! You just open the hard drive. Click right here while holding down these three keys, stand on your head, contort your body and fart. It says there's 15GB's left.* See? How easy was that?"

Yeah. Okay. Whatever. I give up. I no longer want to fight that battle. Soon she’ll have her Mac to herself and I’ll finally a PC. And, according to Dell's Online Order Status tool (which is up and running again this morning) I should have my new PC by February 3rd!

Maybe sooner but probably not, since it's still in the "Boxing" stage.

*Numbers completely made up since I have no idea what I'm talking about.

2004-01-23T08:47:00.000-08:00

2004-01-22T10:29:00.000-08:00

Firstly....Welcome to 3PT!!!
(that's third person Thursday for all you new kids)

There once was a girl who hated her uterus.
Not to be confused with her almighty clitoris.
She bows to the clit.
And an occasional tit.
But to bleed every month is far from hilarious!

Okay, Jen knows....uterus, clitoris, and hilarious don't really rhyme and the syllables are off as well but please, cut her some slack. YOU try finding a word to rhyme with uterus! (Clit and tit, however, were very easy.)

Dude. I'm getting a Dell.

We all know my proclivity for naming all things animate and inanimate so please, any name ideas for my new computer would be very much appreciated!

2004-01-21T11:33:00.000-08:00

Self-pity girl has left.

Fake-it-till-I'm-fine-girl is BACK!

I'm tired of people who are so literal they can't let anything go unless it is an absolute fact. As you all know, sometimes I like to embellish or exaggerate or twist reality for the sake of a good story or, in the case of my dog's favorite toy, a good name.

My dog's all time favorite toy to date is Mr. Cow Cow. I can almost hear all of you dairy farming Wisconsinites sucking in your breath so please, let me explain.

A couple years ago I bought my dog a black and white plush squeaky toy in the shape of a cow. I have never seen my dog so enamored with a toy the way she was with this one. She brought it on our walks , she lovingly bathed it, she took it to bed, she even refused to relieve herself without going back in the house to grab it. I decided a toy as beloved as this one deserves a name. Naturally, I named it "Cow Cow" due to the fact that dog toys don't demand very creative or flowery names and until that point I had always referred to it as "the cow".

Time passed and new toys began filling her toy box but she always came back to Cow Cow…her first love. Eventually, my mother began joining in the fun of naming stuffed toys. We have River Otter, Alien Guy, Croaky Toad, Peaball the Polar Bear…I’m sure you get the idea. But something always bothered my mom about my dog’s favorite:

Mom: “A 'cow' could not be a 'Mister'.”

Me: “It’s a dog toy, it doesn’t really matter.”

After all, what the hell do I care if my dog’s toys have been assigned gender appropriate names? I don’t and for that matter, neither does my dog.

It’s years later and the toy that once could not leave her side is now only played with occasionally but as soon as my dog hears the words, “Where’s Mister Cow Cow? Where is he? Go git Mr. Cow Cow!” it’s new love all over again.

So really, with all that affection, does it matter what her toy’s names are? After all, my dog’s name is Turtle but she’s not an amphibian.

2004-01-20T15:01:00.000-08:00

It's official. I'm a complete loser.

As a child, I was jealous of my friends who had imaginary friends so I tried having one of my own but a week into the relationship, she got pissed and hasn't spoken to me since.

2004-01-20T09:57:00.000-08:00

I just don't care.

It's been a long time since I've just not cared but right now, I don't.

That's not entirely true. If I really didn't care, then I wouldn't be so afraid of feeling like I'm losing it.

I can't believe that I'm feeling this way. I haven't felt so listless and dark in years. I'm sure it's a short, temporary lack of togetherness but it scares me just the same. Have I just been talking shit all these years saying how I could "never be that depressed again" and "I would never let myself go there again"? I feel like having been as low as I had as young as I was has truly been a blessing. It taught me that I can come back from anything and that I'm stronger than anything that tries to trip me up.

Yes, I'm sure this is just temporary but god, it's a scary feeling. I haven't cried unconsolably and without reason for so long, I've forgotten what it felt like. Maybe that's all this is. A reminder of how close I really am at all times to my Girl Inturrupted days. Maybe I was just getting too cocky in thinking I had control over what affects me and what doesn't. Three days ago, I felt in complete control over my emotions. Sure, I have my bad days but I'm usually aware of the trigger that put me there. Yesterday, I got smacked down with this darkness and I can't figure out why. If I could just find a good reason then I could just accept it, feel it, think about it and move on.

Mind over matter, mind over matter....that's all it takes.

2004-01-16T17:49:00.000-08:00

The other day my mom and I were chatting it up while we drove down to Folsom for one last farewell dinner to carbs. It was during our conversation that I realized I swear too much. I mean, I can't get through two sentences without throwing in some kind of expletive. I noted my observation to my mom and I suggested that perhaps I try to stop swearing. My mom, always full of maternal wisdom said, "Maybe you shouldn't try to quit until you're more comfortable with no smoking and no carbs. You shouldn't try to quit everything at once."

Hmmm...true.

But of course it got me thinking about why I swear so much because unless I've had a beer or five, I can be intelligent, creative, and articulate. Why do I feel the need to inject foul language into my speech? What is it about profanity that I find so appealing? Some of my earliest childhood memories involve double dog dares to curse walking home from school with my best friend. (Who knew those innocent dares would eventually lead to smoking cigarettes and illegal drug use behind the portables in high school...or was that junior high? I can't remember, it's all still a blurr.)

Well, I figured it out. You see, when you swear and I mean really swear, it releases hormones into your bloodstream. Endorfins most likely. Your blood flow pulses with seratonin accelerating your heart rate and increasing your energy while decreasing your appetite creating a feeling of elation. Much like the feeling you get from nitrous oxide at the dentist's office only you don't have drill wielding dentists and hygenists reeking of last night's garlic lover's pizza hovering over you while hammering a rubber mallet into your face in the name of "tooth extraction" causing you to come up with the most colorful string of four letter words uttered this side of the Mississippi.

So you see, swearing is not the result of laziness as I and most of the adult population had previously thought. In fact, it's a simple biological need that most healthy adults need to fulfill. So please, friends, embrace your gutter mouth within and stop hiding behind those big words!*

*Readers, please note: Today's post is in absolutely no way based in scientific fact. I even asked a certified biologist to review my findings and she agrees...."There's not a single word of truth to your hypotheses"

One more thing....

I'd like to thank my Cubie-san for helping me out with all the technical, computerish, Fortran, "html" crap I can't get a grasp on.

2004-01-15T11:39:00.000-08:00

With all the events of the past couple days involving various friends and ex's, I can't help but think long and hard about what makes us happy. Of course we are all individuals so different things make us tick however, I think we all share a fundamental need to feel fulfilled.

I don't know exactly what makes me feel fulfilled but whatever it is that keeps me from laying awake at night, I think I have it. I generally feel pretty content with my life alone. There's times I miss the closeness and intimacy of having a girlfriend but I've never really felt that I need one.

My bills get paid, my car runs, my house is warm, and I have a (semi)well paying job. I have reasonable but challenging goals and finally, I'm surrounded by intelligent, generous, thoughtful, and witty people...add one remarkably adorable dog and my life feels pretty complete.

I worry that perhaps I'm too critical of those who don't share the same lifestyle; I'm too quick to judge their lives and their happiness when really I should just understand that we all have different standards. But still...I can't help it. It's a hobby, really.

I can't think of a better example than that of a woman I had dated for a few months this summer. As most of you know, I was unceremoniously dumped via Instant Messaging at work on the busiest day I'd had in months. Oh, did I mention I had an interview later that day? (FYI: I didn't get the job.) I admit I was deeply hurt and the whole thing made me angry and bitter and even a little cynical. After the initial shock wore off and my friends calmed down and stopped threatening to retaliate, I was able to comfort myself with a vision. I pictured this woman sitting alone in her dark, smoky apartment watching television all day every day. I imagined her crying at the computer while she composed and deleted letter after letter of apology and regret. Of course the reality of her actually being with someone else was also there but it was pushed so far into the back of my mind that I was able to ignore it....90% of the time.

Eventually those fantasies disappeared and I was able to concentrate on friends, family, and work again. (Being consumed with two jobs certainly helped me over the hump.) I still thought about her occasionally but the pain was subsiding and while there is still a small pang of grief when her name comes up, I am well past the obsessive stage.

That is until her name came up repeatedly in one night. I was helping a good friend move after she and her girlfriend broke up when my friend's ex came home. I had managed to stay pretty neutral through their whole breakup and I thought I'd go in and check on her. She didn't have much to say to me except, "I run into Angela a lot these days."

Oh HELL! I don't want to know about this!

Me: "I don't want to know."
Her: "Well she comes into Starbucks all the time and I see her at Club 21."

Ugh. I didn't want to know! I hate to admit it but that threw me quite unexpectedly into a fit of self pity. I was perfectly fine with my fantasies of her alone at home pining away for me.

We finished moving and my friends consoled me with alcohol and my favorite chinese food. Thankfully, I was only in that space for a few hours and woke up fine the next day.

But there was more to come. Through dyke drama that I don't really want dignify with words I found out Angela was actively pursuing my friend's ex. She was spending a lot of time trolling the same bars, driving past at least 5, no make that 8, Starbucks to buy coffee from her new target. She even went so far as posting a missed connection on the internet, referring to me as a "mutual friend", hoping to get the opportunity to for a dinner date.

I immediately flew into another adolescent rage that continued (with the help of my friends and co-workers egging me on) through most of the day. Oh god, I was angry. Did she think I wouldn't find out???? The nerve of that snake!!!! I wanted to reply to her post and let my friends loose on her but somehow I managed to not overreact in a way I'd regret later. No. I was very adult and after my long and emotional day at work I went home and calmly continued to think about it all.

Eventually, the anger was replaced with pity. Yes, pity. I feel sorry for her.Perhaps it's not my place to judge her life but it seemed very clear to me that she leads a very empty life. In fact I was relieved to have my fantasy of her alone in her apartment replaced with the reality of a life that not only do I find cold and empty but also truly, truly sad. I'm comforted knowing that while I hope to someday find a partner to share my life with, I'm satisfied with the life I already have.

2004-01-14T15:49:00.000-08:00

I know I really bailed at the end of yesterday's post but I'm either completely burned out on the subject matter (both from writing about it and thinking about it...obsessively) or I was digging too deep and simply don't want to face it right now.

Either way, on to lighter subject.

How about smoking cessation? That's certainly a lighter (get it? lighter?) topic than deeply seeded relationship dysfunction, right? In fact, I should probably stay away from self analyzation for a while...at least until I have a few smoke free weeks under my belt.

So here's the game plan...um....okay, I got it.... Don't smoke. Ugh. Do you know how many bags of Cheeto's I'll be going through? I've already polished off one "Big Grab" bag and it's only my first day. I DID however, receive an inspirational poster from a co-worker:

"Just keep swimming,
Just keep swimming,
Just keep swimming,
swimming, swimming"*

In order to make room for this inspirational gift, I had to finally take down the picture of the alien cat with two and a half inch toes and a neck so hideously long, even a giraffe would laugh. I have left the color print of an iron wok for those really, really challenging days that require "Iron Wok Therapy."

Wish me luck. I'm about to go home and face my first night Marlboro free. Don't worry, I'm going armed with another bag of Cheeto's.

*Notice the quote marks. This is to make perfectly clear that this catchy little jingle was not an original thought to me and I am in no way trying to claim it as my own.

2004-01-13T15:44:00.000-08:00

My least favorite way to start a story/letter/post...."Okay, so......."

Okay, so....I really thought today would be the day that I'd finally start keeping my blog. It started yesterday actually, when a friend had asked me to explain something I was having a hard time puting into words. I thought that the process of working through my idea and finding the right words for her would be a perfect way to start things off. And although I ran into some worthy distractions today, I think I'll be able to kick this off as planned.

The inspirational conversation I had was with someone I had at one time, had a deep attraction to. (Yes, I used the word "had" three times in one sentence) It's a year later and we've both moved on and are able to share (and by share, I mean commiserate) our experiences with dating. While we were talking about relationships, she had asked, "So where DO you stand right now? Are you dating?" My answer to that, which should be as obvious as the day is long, "Hell no! I'm not dating again until I get some therapy!" I said it jokingly but I assure you, there's much truth to those words. You see, after getting my heart stomped on this last time I knew I really needed to step back and look at my own patterns that seem to lead me to the same type of unhealthy, childish, manipulative people.

When I was dumped by "Trolling Troll", TT for short....(FYI, not her real name) it devastated me. It took me by surprise, not the being dumped part but my reaction to it. You see, I tend to keep people at a distance and am very picky (some say neurotic) about letting people in. I, unfortunately, made a bad decision and let TT in my life and let myself begin to carelessly fall in love. In the weeks of introspection that followed, I'm lucky enough to have friends who care enough about me to really tell me like it is and not sugar coat their advice.

"You really need to figure out what it is that attracted you to her and then figure out why your attracted to that type of person. This isn't the first woman who has treated you this way."

Ouch. So this IS my fault?

Not exactly, no one deserves to be treated like dirt but I DO have a history with dating women who, once they're through wining and dining me, have the tendency to shut me out emotionally. If there is one thing that will send me back into my Girl Interrupted days, it's being shut out.

So I started looking at all these choices I've made until this point and painfully admitted to myself that I have clearly developed a pattern. Okay, fine, I admit it....I'm attracted to the wrong kind of person...what now?

What I came up with is even MORE painful to admit. Sick even. I've realized that the women I'm attracted to are not women who are like my mother (as I'm sure Freud would have you believe) but women that I WISHED my mother had been more like....

(I don't want to get too deep in the dynamics of my relationship with my mother but I DO want to make it clear that I love her with all my heart and she is a wonderful friend and although she's made mistakes, I know she has done/is doing the very best job she's capable of.)

So here's where it gets tricky. I obviously feel I'm lacking something from my mother, mainly emotional support. For whatever her reasons, she's never been able to be there for me emotionally with issues that she herself find too painful to deal with. When I was younger it was really hard to know I couldn't count on her to support me when I needed supporting most. Obviously, over the years I've been able to put together my own support system with loving, devoted friends that I know will be there no matter how hard and/or painful my problems might be.

It seems as I grew older and I began dating, I found myself attracted to women who seemed exceptionally strong and supportive. The kind of woman I could let down my defenses and just cry. She would be there to help pick me up, soothe me, encourage me....all things that on some level, I wished my mother could have done.

I guess that, in itself is not necessarily bad, right? I never wanted to be "taken care of" but I think we all want to feel supported. The problem seems to be when the loving care and tender moments slowly disappear and turn into total complacency and a complete breakdown of communication.

I am not so naive as to think the honeymoon lasts forever. I understand that the twitterpation and giddiness subside but they should be replaced with deeper understanding and stronger communication. Unfortunately, my own experience is nothing like that. When things get hard and the tough questions are brought up the women in my life literally shut me out. I don't mean they shrug things off and change the subject. They turn their backs and turn absolutely silent. Funny how complete silence says a million words.

I guess as it turns out, Freud was right.

Jack and the Girls

2003-10-30T13:22:00.000-08:00

The world is going to shit and there's no end in sight. I know my own generation is guilty of possessing a poor work ethic and extreme apathy but at least we know what "vinyl" and "beta" is.

It was just brought to my attention that there is now a generation that will stare at you blankly if you mention "Jack, Chrissy, and Janet". I would understand if you were to say, "Jack, Cyndi, and Janet" or "Jack, Terri, and Janet" but to not recognize the original trio???

I know there's one obvious question that we can't help but wonder....What kind of values are our children learning from television these days if they aren't learning it from Jack and the girls?

Disaster Recovery Room

2003-10-26T10:09:00.000-08:00

On the way back from one of my 87 daily trips to the bathroom, I noticed our fishbowl conference room had clusters of computers and telephones set up on the table with a note on the door that read, "Disaster Recovery Room." The first time I walked by, I didn't think much about it, the next time I walked by, it caused me to think about my days working for Nortel. How in the beginning, disaster recovery meant a switch was hit by lightning and a call center selling baby powder was down and unable to take calls. Ok, that's bad. Then it meant a tornado leveled a mile wide strip of some town in Alabama and the Wal-Mart needed an emergency switch C2C'd. (Hey, white trash need phones too!) Finally, disaster recovery meant getting communication re-established in Manhattan after September 11th. It meant working around the clock for days... ordering, configuring and building telephone networks so the people of New York could communicate again.

So on my 73rd visit to the bathroom, I pass by the "Disaster Recovery Room" but this time, I'm completely puzzled. What on earth does disaster recovery mean at a company that sells dental insurance? If we are attacked by terrorist or, god forbid, the "big one" finally hits and California really IS breaking off the continental United States, how important is it that the people of this country continue to receive quality dental care? I mean, are healthy teeth and gums really THAT crucial as the Al-queda are attacking our country and our freedom? If my suburban Sacramento home is suddenly waterfront property with the tide quickly rising, is my periodontal health and excessive decay really going to be at the forefront of my mind???