Wednesday, December 27, 2006

It's my freakin birthday!

Okay, so who got me presents?

(Ohhh so now you're gonna bring up the fact that I stiffed you on your birthday. Jeez. It's always gotta be about you.)

Well, I'm 23 today. And ya know, when I turned 22 last year, I was a little bummed because 21 was an awesome year of basically drinking and partying and being free and single, primarily with my friend Echo. But 22 didn't turn out bad at all, so now I'm not at all worried about 23. So that's cool. (And I do realize anyone older than me is saying "shut the hell up, young'n".) So I guess I won't have to stress until I'm at the 29 to 30 birthday mark, which I hear is a little rough patch to get through. So, really, I have like 6 more stress-free birthdays ahead of me. Wooo!

Now, I can eat my cake without too much worry. (Diet starts: January 1st, 2007)

I'm going right now to pick up The Boyfriend from the airport (he went home for the holidays) and he has to spend the whole day with me because, hello, it's my birthday. :)

He got the Season 1 DVD of Battlestar Galactica for Christmas, so we're gonna start watching that today. He was very very evil in letting me watch the mini-series DVD (which caused the series to launch because of the sudden cult following)... and that was over a month ago. In the meantime, BSG is in its 3rd Season on the Sci-Fi channel, and I can't just start up in the middle of Season 3!! I wasn't expecting it to be so good, and I had to wait in agony all this time to see Season 1.

Anyway, so that will be my day! Later, everyone.

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

How NOT to buy lingerie.

I went to Gordman's (favorite store in the world... before this) a few days ago to do some final Christmas shopping. I didn't expect to find that their lingerie section was freaking awesome, with all kinds of cute and/or sexy outfits to choose from. They even had a whole 2 racks devoted to Plus-Size Lingerie. Yeah, that's right. I'm freakin Plus-Size, okay? Make with the fat jokes already.

Okay, ANYway. I picked out a really nice two-piece thingie-ma-bob. You know, the confusing strappy bra/cami top piece with matching bottoms. I wanted to make sure the top would fit, so I went to try it on in the dressing room. I took one set that had a 38C top, and one set that was a 42C top. I'm actually a 40C on top, though I have been known to fluctuate depending on the brands/stores/style/etc.

Like all girls are aware, especially us busty-girls (and many guys are completely clueless to this fact): There just is no standard for sizing in the fashion world. You absolutely must try things on, or be a geek (confession: I do this often) and take exact measurements before buying.

So anyway, the 42C top ended up fitting well.

I should have paid more attention to the bottoms though, which I realize is my own damn fault, because if I would have switched the 38C's bottoms with the 42C's bottoms, I would have had no trouble. However, I spaced it out and didn't even look at the sizes of the bottoms.

Never assume you're normally-shaped. That's my fault, I get it. I get it!!

Well, I get it home and see the tag on the bottoms, and it's 2 sizes bigger than what I know is my usual size. Well, maybe the sizes are just different like that, I think, since sizes always vary depending on the brand. So I unfold them and hold them up, and they are noticeably way too freaking big. Like, they would have literally fallen off of my ass. And that's not particularly sexy.

I know there's lots of chicks out there that have large bums (why surely, since Sir Mix-A-Lot wrote an entire song on this topic), but apparently I'm horrifically misshapen, in that my bust is twice the size of my ass, according to this department store. Because I needed at least 2 sizes smaller.

I told Nadine about all this, and she says, "Just go back there and switch them. It's no big deal."

"I think I can just do that through customer service."

"Yeah, but they won't let you. It's a hygiene issue. You know, just in case you're a nasty."

"Oh, okay. But I didn't even try them on."

Okay, I get that it's a hygiene issue. Believe me, I am glad for this policy. And I get they don't wanna take my word on it, because obviously any kind of person could be lying about it. Okay, I get that. However, I should have just gone and switched them myself, because what happened when I went through customer service was A Christmas Nightmare.

I stand in a very long line to get to one of two nasally little skinny-bitches working at the customer service station in the front of the store. It's finally my turn and I pull the lingerie set out of my Gordman's bag and say, "I need to exchange part of this outfit because it's too big."

She says, "Okay, leave your bag here and do your shopping, and come back when you have your items." Okay, cool. I go back to the rack and take a pair of bottoms in the correct size and bring it back.

Once again... a very long line I have to wait in to talk to the same snooty little girl. I get to the line and show her the correct pair of bottoms and say, "Okay, here is what I needed to exchange."

Bitchy McSnootFace, scrunching her face in mild disgust:
Ohhh yeahhhh, you can't do that.

Okay. But you just told me to go get these so I could exchange them.

Bitchy McSnootFace:
Uhm, yeahhhh... I thought you meant something else.

Me, thinking:
are you stupid, woman? what else could I have possibly meant!? I set them right in front of you and said "I need to exchange this"

Out loud, I say:
Well, what can I do here then? Because I want to buy these bottoms. The other bottoms are 2 sizes too big.

Bitchy McSnootFace:
Uhhhm, I don't know. But you can't exchange the bottoms.

Okay, can I buy this pair of bottoms separately? Because I still want them.

Bitchy McSnootFace:
No, that's a set. You have to buy the whole set.

Okay, that's fine. Then charge me for the whole set, but I only need the bottoms. Because the top of the first set I bought fits fine.

Bitchy McSnootFace, looking exasperated (almost rolling her eyes):
Okay, fine.

Me, thinking while I look at the countertop:
Okay, please please stop being a bitch. I'm already embarrassed enough as it is being denied a lingerie exchange in front of an entire very long line of Christmas shoppers. I don't want to argue. I just want to pay whatever money it takes to get the hell out of here with what I intended to buy in the first place.

Bitchy McSnootFace:
Where is the top for those bottoms you just brought up here?

Me, trying not to turn bright red and still acting very nice to her:
I left the top on the rack because that isn't what I wanted to exchange. Sorry, I guess I should have brought it up.

Bitchy McSnootFace, talking to me like I'm 5 years old:
Well, I can't ring up the panties without the top, because they're a set.

Bitchy McSnoot gets on her walkie-talkie, which announces things over the intercom of the store. She picks up the lingerie and holds it up high for everyone to see while she describes it in (poor) detail into the walkie-talkie.

Here is what she says:

"I need someone to go to the
PLUS-SIZED lingerie racks to get the a Intimate Encounter brand lingerie top with a missing panty. The top is black see-through material with red ties over the... the boobs part."

I am effing serious folks, she said "boobs part". I wish it wasn't true. The dimwit doesn't know the word "chest" or "bust" or any other synonym that would be 10X more appropriate than "boobs part" being blared throughout the entire store.

Meanwhile, I am mortified. I am easily embarrassed, in case you didn't already know. I am also remarkably shy, and fairly reserved, especially when it comes to my private underthings! (Well, they're not private now. Since I'm blogging about them. And also all staff and holiday shoppers at Gordman's are now painfully aware of my lingerie choices.) So, this was practically torture to me. I stared deeper into the countertop and turn the reddest shade of red you'll ever see.

This nice lady who works the sales floor answers the page and comes up with the wrong set. It is a smaller set, but it's "not the right one" because it doesn't have bottoms with it. She has to go back and look again. Meanwhile, the line behind me is growing and Bitchy McSnoot gets on the intercom, with the most annoyed voice imaginable, and says, "Can I get another associate to help cover the customer service desk. We're really backed up here."

Oh my god. Let it end, please.
Finally, the nice lady from the sales floor came back again with the correct top. Thank you, lord.

Bitchy McSnootFace did some number-punching on the cash register and then handed me a receipt. She flatly says, "Thank you for shopping at Gordman's" and then looks behind me as if to say, I'm done with you now, who's next in line?

Me, confused:
Wait, I didn't give you my credit card to pay for the outfit. What did you pay for that with?

Bitchy McSnootFace, looking even more annoyed:
What are you talking about? You wanted to exchange this, right?

Me, now starting to sound pissed:
No. I said, the bottoms on this 1st set I bought are too big. Then I said I would have to buy this 2nd smaller set right now because YOU SAID they were a set and I could not purchase them separately.

Bitchy McStupid, gaining more attitude:
Sooooo... you want to buy both these sets right now?

Me, not raising my voice at all, but clearly more pissed:
I have already purchased THIS FIRST SET. Do you want to see my receipt? I already bought this first set. I need the second set in order to have an entire set that will fit correctly. I am only buying ONE set today. Not exchanging. Do you need to see my receipt from the first set? I have it r-

Bitchy McBitchSnoot, blinking vacantly at me through most of my re-explanation, finally cuts me off:
Okay okay, I get it. No, I don't need to see the receipt.

So, you were going to let me exchange this set, but I couldn't exchange just the bottoms? That makes no sense.

Bitchy McSnootFace:
They're a SET, ma'am.

Okay, whatever.
I was thinking (afterwards, because on the spot I'm not even remotely clever or fast):
Just because you decided to hang them together doesn't mean they're a set. They have separate tags, you freakin mean-ass, no-class snot. It's meant for people who are different shapes, as I apparently am, so they can get the correctly sized set. NOT ALL WOMEN are a size 0 twig with negative-AA cups and entirely no ass, you little jerkface. Normal women come in a variety of shapes, colors, and sizes. I know you can't grasp this concept because you and all your little size 0, assless friends have always jumped off the exact same bridges together, thus you would have no frigging idea what the rest of the world was like.

Bitchy McSnootFace finally gets me rung up correctly and I quickly leave the store with both of the lingerie sets, still horrifically embarrassed and bright red. So, now I have an extra pair of bottoms that are 2 sizes too big, and an extra top that is 2 sizes too small. I'm sure that anyone watching the whole ordeal was just confused as hell. I can hear them now: "Why does she want both sets? Is there just not enough fabric in one set to cover her enormous girth?" (okay, so most people aren't that bitchy, but you never know.)

This was by far the least professional salesperson I've ever had to deal with. Seriously. She could have displayed even the slightest amount of class or tact, but instead it was as if she were purposely trying to embarrass me. It felt like the horrors of high school all over again. I was back to being the nerdy, awkward teenaged girl being ridiculed by the tall, skinny, enormously popular cheerleader while a crowd of our peers watched me stare at the ground. (Okay, so it wasn't as bad as highschool, but the analogy does fit.)

Before you say, "You've obviously never worked retail, she was just doing her job" I must say SHUT YOUR FACE, because I have worked retail in the past and I still deal with customers and clients to this day. So I know proper etiquette, even if I never worked with anything as delicate as lingerie. There's a sense of class you need to have in order to deal with any customer.

And I wasn't even being a bitchy or difficult customer! I was agreeable and passive (even when I should have smacked her one) which is usually my favorite type of customer. Usually you don't go treating that type of agreeable customer like crap, or being rude and giving her attitude, and making her never want to come back.

Speaking of which, I really am never going back there. Ever. Thanks a lot, SnootFace.

I told The Boyfriend about all this later, and he said that I should call and complain to a manager about her lack of class and utter rudeness (since I do remember her real name from her nametag). Well, I'm just not that type of person, I guess. I don't like to make a fuss. I've worked retail, as I said, and I don't appreciate customers that make a fuss. Just deal with it. Working with customers sucks enough as it is, I don't want to be a complainer. Though she would deserve it.

So, I guess I'd rather blog about it. That's how I deal with it.

Monday, December 25, 2006

Question and answer time.

Found a little quizzy-question-thinker-thing that I kind of like. All the questions can be kinda lame in spots, but I have interesting-ish stories/explanations to help non-lame them. Actually, some of my answers are just Too Much Information. (As usual.)

Describe your very FIRST...

Memory? I really do remember as a barely-walking toddler waking up and getting out of my crib to pull the nightlight out of the wall. Then I started screaming because it was dark. Then I took my diaper off. Then I screamed some more because I was cold. I don't remember anything else, though I'm sure my parents came in shortly thereafter to shut me up, fix my problems, and strap me down again in my crib. (Not literally, people. Jeez. And take Child Protective Services off your speed dial already. It's scaring your friends and neighbors.)

Word(s)? I said "doggie" first... Who knew I'd become an animal lover!? :) After that I said "daddy" and then some time later (and I will never hear the end of this from her) I said "mommy".

Crush? I remember I was totally obsessed with Bejan Pourteymor (I have no idea how to spell it, so I spelled it phonetically. It was a middle-eastern name, I believe) in early grade school. (This was the start of a lifetime obsession with foreign guys.) I vaguely remember my mom taking me to his apartment complex where he lived with his mom, for whatever reason, and he answered the door wearing those footy-pajamas with Transformers on them (this was like 3rd or 4th grade, so he really should have been too old for those YEARS ago). But I still liked him. He was so funny! You know, for a gradeschooler.

Pet? The first dog that was actually mine was a Cocker Spaniel named Daisy (her name was actually much much longer than that, but I'm too embarrassed to share the whole thing), that my dad bought for me as a puppy when I was 5. She lived a spoiled, fat and happy life for 15 years solid (which is a long time for that breed) and passed away almost 3 years ago.

Girl/boyfriend? My first "boyfriend" was in my freshman year of highschool. One of my friends set me up with her cousin so we could double date to some stupid dance. (Yes, I'm so cool.) I "dated" him for a week and dumped him the day after the dance. He was really boring.

Kiss? I was 17, I think. He was a jerk. Seriously, if I saw him today I might throw up in his eye. We met online, which wasn't the issue, but obviously the issue was that I had no idea who he really was until it was too late. And my judge-of-character was completely Non-Working at the time (which should have been apparent from my group of friends at that time). We made out a bit after we met, but then when it came down to talking about 'us', he said that I "wasn't beautiful" like he thought I was. He said from my photos he was expecting a "beautiful, sexy, little gpth girl" and I wasn't what I had portrayed. Hello, asshole, I am 17... I don't even know what I am yet!! Every normal 12-17 year old girl is slightly-goth and takes Emo-esque photographs of themselves. WTF did he expect? Anyway, if I "wasn't beautiful" enough for him, then why did he make out with me, and lead me on? Oh yeah, that's right, he's an effing bastard.

Because of this colassal jerkoff, I developed a strict policy to never kiss a guy I wasn't entirely interested in. Thus, I have done my fair share of backing away from guys trying to go in for a kiss. I just refuse to lead a guy on in any possible way... I know what it's like and it sucks. (Sorry, guys... I wasn't just "being shy" or "playing hard-to-get". I just didn't like you. That's usually what it means when a girl backs away from a kiss. If she likes you, she won't do that. Usually. Guess what, it doesn't hurt to ask beforehand. Then you'll know for sure and avoid feeling confused when she runs away from your affections.)

Rejection from a guy/girl you liked? Oh, there have been so many. (Both given and received.) Well, the first time I was rejected by a guy that I clearly remember was in 7th grade. I liked this guy, (who was a TOTAL dork, by the way) and he and I became pretty close friends. Well, I was all excited about it and telling all my friends that I thought maybe he liked me like that. He pulled me aside one day at lunchtime, saying he wanted to ask me something. All my friends were going "ooooh, he's gonna ask you out!" but when he got me alone he asked me if I could help set him up with my best friend (skinny, pretty, personality-less best friend)... I was so mortified. The worst part... she wasn't even remotely interested in him because he was a freakin dork and she was too good for him!! So, I had to let him down for her nicely and then consoled him like the good friend I was. But he just never stopped talking about her!! Surprisingly, I didn't have the need to be friends with him any longer after a short while of that.

Car? 91' Ford Escort LX, fully loaded. My baby! From my parents when I turned 16 (slightly spoiled, I know).

Puppy love? I thought I was in love with Air Force Guy when I was 19 years old and he was 21. We never even held a conversation longer than 5 minutes. Ugh, and it took me forever to get over him! WHY!?

Cell phone? I had a pay-as-you-go phone and no-contract service that I bought almost 3 years ago so that Nadine could call me when she was having her daughter. Before that I was really anti-cell phones and always claimed that I would never get one. I found out that I really liked having a cell phone... I used up WAY too many minutes way too fast with that pay-as-you-go phone, so I bought an unlimited-minute, no-contract plan from Cricket about a year ago and have been really happy with the service ever since I got it.

True love?
Well... I don't want to jinx it! You're not supposed to say it out loud, right? That's what jinxes it... but, uh, yeah. You know what I'm saying. I think.

Real job? Well, I'm assuming that by 'real' you don't mean babysitting, so... Gosh, it's really hard to remember when I even started working a real job. I think it wasn't until I was out of highschool... though I guess I can't remember for sure. But I do remember my parents told me after I dropped out of hellschool, I mean highschool, to "get a job or get out" so I got a job working retail at Nobbies, a party supply store. It was slightly fun, for a retail gig.

"Intimate" encounter? (You know what I mean) Okay, this is the part of the quizzy-thing I think goes too far. I mean, this is kinda personal, even for a crappy little blog like mine that only 4 people read. But uhh okay I'll just be vague, but still answer, so as not to seem like a prude. It was not even a year ago. (Yeah, that's right. I waited until I was ready and I met someone I really cared about so that I wouldn't regret it. Make your jokes.) And it was fairly romantic and good and all that crap. I'm not with the guy anymore, for good reasons... we weren't good together when it came right down to it. And though I did care about him, it only took me 4 days to get over him. Lol. So, it probably wasn't love.

Then I started this blog right after!

Wow, sharing time is OVER.

This wasn't really a taggy-post, but I will tag you all anyway (Mikala, Tiffany, Missy, insert your name here and you know who you are, etc!). Because, damnit, I feel awkward and exposed and you all should share in the over-sharing.

Tis the season, right? Yeah.

So, Happy Holidays, my lovelies!

Please drive safely (see: not like me) and make sure you have a designated driver for New Year's, or just stay where you are, drunkie mcdrunkerson.

Alas, my friends, I won't be going out OR drinking this year. (But I'm okay with it.) And although I know you'll miss hearing a new story like the one from last year, I really want to ring in the New Year with my New Guy.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

My job is worse than yours.

For my real-life friends, you are permitted to ignore this post. I realize that I bitch about my job enough and by now you're probably sick of hearing about it. So it's okay if you skip this.

Well, I did the math (yes, I am capable) on my Christmas Bonus this year. I'm actually giving the company money this year.

Here's what I figured out:

- My bonus will be $50 or less*. Most likely less.
- My boss cut my hours (again) for next week, in an approximate amount that will make me lose $108. Which isn't a lot of money when you think about it, but I get paid pretty shitty and so that's a lot to me. Especially around the holidays, when I am broke from buying Christmas presents**.

Therefore, I will actually be giving the company approximately $58 for Christmas. And that's assuming my bonus is actually as high as $50, and not less.

* Although I haven't gotten my bonus yet, I am taking this figure from years' past.
** Every single year I spend way too much on Christmas presents. I can't help it, I like buying presents.

Anyway, so that's yet another reason my job sucks. Happy holidays, everyone!

Monday, December 18, 2006

Girls think about ice cream more than men.

This is a really old chatlog from July 24, 2006. (The guy I was dating at that time really was a jerk. So don't judge me

Jen: He is an jerkhole, I hate him.
Nadine: what? who?
10:46 AM Jen: Mr. Country Ass didn't call me all weekend, like I have the black plague or something. I swear to god he keeps track of my period or something and just ignores me the entire time, every single time, just when I am most moodiest.
Jen: i will rip off his face if he calls me tomorrow when my period is over.
10:47 AM Nadine: did you try and call him?
Jen: yeah, on Friday night i called him before i went to your house
Jen: and i told him to call me. and he hasn't, for 3 days!!
Nadine: what the hell dude
10:48 AM Jen: he better hope he is dying somewhere. or completely lost function of his arms and hands so he can't pick up a damn phone to call me. and he also better hope that he's lost all speaking capabilities so that he can't ask someone else to call me.
Nadine: yea really
Jen: I'm talkin about a coma or complete amnesia here, these are the only acceptable excuses.Nadine: yeah, cuz that's bullsh-t
Jen: i am not in the mood for him.
Jen: and i don't have any money to buy ice cream. Nadine: yeah, seriously. that sucks.
Jen: i know, and i want some so bad!
Jen: with chocolate syrup.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Counting above 2 sucks.

Jen: it's 2pm nadine
Jen: it's 2:15 pm. i have like only some hours left until 5
Jen: i don't wanna do the math
Jen: why?!
Jen: i thought we agreed that I rock ass.
Jen: see, you can't do it either.
Jen: "almost 3" isn't a number
Jen: really?
Jen: thanks!
Jen: [grin]

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Pissy rant regarding work.

Ya know what, every day my work gets worse. Not because things actually get worse, but because they remain at the exact same level of CRAP day after day. And it really wears on me. Especially at this particular moment.

So, for quite a while there, my 1/2 hour lunchtime got shoved around while my boss tried to find a schedule for us girls up in the office area that he liked. And you see, I've got this thing... (which I'm sure isn't normal, but since I don't have health insurance, I can't really go and ask anyone without having to sell a kidney) Anyway, I have this thing where if I don't eat 3 meals at regular times, or if I skip a meal ever, I immediately get extremely shaky and also feel quite weak.

I have tried eating a candybar, thinking maybe I just need a quick jolt of sugar. But this doesn't help.

Yet I was always the one to have my lunch switched, moved, changed, ignored, interrupted, skipped, and split up. Finally he decides my permanent lunchtime will be at 11:30 AM, when no one in their right mind is hungry yet. But okay, so I adjusted my Internal Hunger Schedule to that time frame and things run smoothly whenever he is not in the office.

But whenever he is here, LIKE TODAY, there is always something that keeps me from going at my normal time. For example, right now it is 12:18 and I was supposed to go to lunch at 11:30... but he has my co-worker in there in a meeting and if I leave without anyone else here to answer the phones then I will get into major trouble. It's a small company, there are usually only 1-2 people in the office at one time. So I can't leave until she's free to take over for me.

So I wait. It's 12:20 now. I'm just watching the effing clock and getting more and more angry.

The thing that bothers me most is that he doesn't give a crap about me. What if I had an appointment over my lunch break? What if I had a lunch date? What if I wanted to actually PLAN SOMETHING around my STUPID FREAKING 1/2 HOUR BREAK that is my ONLY freaking break from this HELL HOLE, all day long!? Oh, but of course his schedule is always more important than mine, and god forbid I say a word, because then I'd get chewed out.

It's now 12:23. I have 7 minutes left until my co-worker's scheduled lunch break begins. So now I will probably have to wait until 1:00 PM for my lunch break.

And of course I didn't bring my lunch in today, so now even though I am feeling shaky, I have to drive somewhere to get my lunch.

Friday, December 08, 2006

Non-sappy friendship thing.

Okay, I got this from Skittles blog. I guess I've been missing out on checking my favorites lately, because she's got a new layout design in a festive green-and-red that is very sharp!

Anyway, I've seen this friendship thing before but it's just too funny. And true! So I had to share. This poem reminds me so much of my friends and I. I don't think I need to name names... it's fairly obvious to them which ones remind me of them. However, I threw in a couple links to previous (hilarious) posts to help you out...

When you are sad -- I will help you get drunk and plot revenge against the sorry bastard who made you sad.

When you are blue -- I will try to dislodge whatever is choking you.

When you smile -- I will know you finally got laid.

When you are scared -- I will rag on you about it every chance I get.

When you are worried -- I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be until you quit whining.

When you are confused -- I will use little words.

When you are sick -- Stay the hell away from me until you are well again. I don't want whatever you have.

When you fall -- I will point and laugh at your clumsy ass.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Something to make you physically ill.

I know, this is my 5th post in one day. Admit it... you love it.

Quote taken from
The Superficial (hilarious celebrity news). Full story here, but all you really need to know is this:

After spending all that time with Britney Spears and her two kids, Paris Hilton says she's ready to start having children of her own. She tells Life & Style Weekly:

"It's been my dream to have four babies by 30. I look after animals, so I'd have a lot to give my kids."

Paris, I'm not sure how much clearer I can make this:

Catching up on taggy-posts.

I know this is my 4th post in one day, but I had a lot of catching up to do. Plus, they're all fairly short-and-sweet posts, so shut your face. :D

I got tagged a couple times in a row by Mikala! Like, a week ago. So, I need to catch up.

6 Weird Things About Me!

  1. I don't like oranges or any orange-flavored things.
  2. I have monkey toes, even though they are deceivingly short and fat little toes. I can spread all my toes apart, pick up almost anything with them, and also control most of my toes individually. (This sounds creepier than it actually is. My toes are quite cute, it's just they are very bendy or something.)
  3. In the past 10 years I have attained an unhealthy collection of panda and panda-related merchandise.
  4. I decided to become a vegetarian while eating beef jerky and listening to Silverchair's "Spawn" (a song about animal liberation).
  5. I love foreign foods (Indian, Persian, Thai, Japanese, Italian, Mexican) and I love foreign films (Amelie, Grave of the Fireflies, Run Lola Run, La Cage aux Folles, Life is Beautiful, etc) and am very interested in foreign cultures... but when it comes down to it, I don't have much interest in visiting foreign countries.
  6. I'm agnostic, which means I don't believe in or follow any one particular religion (though I don't disbelieve in them either), and I'm perfectly happy with it.

5 Favorite Christmas Songs

According to Mikala, I'm supposed to name my top 5 favorite christmas songs for this taggy-post. (I love her word for it, "taggle".) Here's my list:

  1. Silent Night
  2. The First Noel
  3. Winter Wonderland (I know I know, this isn't technically a Christmas song, but so what.)
  4. Do You Hear What I Hear?
  5. White Christmas

Okay! I am all caught up on my tags now! Thanks again to Mikala, who was kind enough to tag me! :) I'm supposed to tag a bunch of people, so uhhh you've been tagged. Also, do the purse thing, it's fun and you can really clean that bitch out while you're at it. (Though I didn't...)

The horror that is my purse.

My purse, full:
On pocket, from left to right: Ani DiFranco button, Tegan & Sara button.
On strap, above: Button that reads 'Green Beans: 12 oz.'

Okay. Get ready for it...

My purse, with of all contents:

From left to right (for the most part):

  • Faceplate and case for my car stereo by JVC
  • Nightmare Before Christmas wallet (bought from Hong Kong)
  • Violet/fuscia coin purse from Clinique
  • Pair of pink heart-shape Swarovski crystal earrings (bought on eBay)
  • Pink multi-ink pen shaped "like a tiny dildo" (according to Nadine)
  • Small spray bottle of "Glow by J.Lo" cheap-o imitation perfume
  • 3 Hershey's dark chocolate squares
  • Necklace in abalone and pearl from my great-grandma
  • Mini-briefcase with essential grooming tools (file, tweezers, scissors, clippers, etc)
  • Blue "cheese-grater" nailfile with a broken handle
  • 4-sided pink/purple/blue/teal nail buffer/shiner (cannot live without it)
  • 1 GB USB Flash Drive by Lexar in silver and black
  • Giant silver safety pin (I have no idea why)
  • Cheap plastic wide-tooth comb
  • Mini travel-size bottle of Purell hand sanitizer with aloe
  • Pink hair-tie
  • Random loose quarter
  • Big "claw" hair clip
  • Wooden curved hair brush with rubber gripped handle
  • "Candy BonBon" WetSlicks Crystals lip gloss by CoverGirl
  • 2 tubes of Liquid Ice "sticky" lip gloss from Walgreens
  • "Megaberry" Megabites Flavorful Lipstick by Jane
  • "Silver Sand" Moisture Extreme lipcolor by Maybelline
  • "Malt" lip gloss from Target's dollar aisle
  • "Blossom" lip gloss by Ten
  • "Creamy Natural" TruBlend Liquid Foundation by CoverGirl
  • Las Vegas souvenir tin that says JENNY (filled with Ibuprofen and Allegra)
  • Cheap Bic ballpoint from Olive Garden (oops)
  • Uni-ball ballpoint pen
  • Pink double-sided Sharpie
  • Kyocera Dorado cell phone from Cricket
  • Makeup brush for face powder
  • "Translucent" CornSilk Shineless Pressed Powder by Sally Hansen
  • Lighter that Echo gave me
  • Natural Ice lipbalm by Mentholatum Co.
  • Beeswax lipbalm by Walgreens (just like Burt's Bees!)
  • Lava Lips flavored lip gloss by BonBons (you get this stuff at Walmart)
  • "Twig" Beyond Color lip recovery cream by Avon
  • Halloween face shimmer from Walgreens
  • My keys, with:
    • Crane Coffee keychain that says "I (heart) NADINE" in pink Sharpie
    • Black/white keychain that reads:
    • Baker's (Kroger's) card
    • Omaha Public Library card
    • Big metal clippy thing from The Boyfriend
    • White bottle opener from Nadine
    • Black and pink braided ghetto-lanyard
    • 6 keys (3 keys actually useable): My house key, my car key, Mom's car key, my old car key (my first car, the Ford Escort LX, that I sold over 2 years ago), key to Gramma's old apartment (she has since moved twice), and an old house key (before getting all new doorknobs).
My prized possession, my Nightmare Before Christmas wallet I ordered on eBay from Hong Kong, which is not worth stealing because it never has any money in it:

Thanks to Mikala (and Tiffany) for this idea.

P.S. I have since gotten a new purse, but all the same crap got transferred into it so I'm not retaking the photos. Blogger also won't let me upload photos today, so you'll have to click on the link if you wanna ooh and ahh and my new purse.

Things that have kept me busy.

I swear, I have been pretty busy...

  • Drove Dad to the ER at 1:30 am last week
  • Skipped work the next day due to lack of sleep
  • Found out Dad has multiple blood clots in his lungs (like last time)
  • My uncle from South Dakota randomly came to stay with us
  • Bought Echo's Christmas present online (woo!)
  • Helped Gramma go through the exact same box 3 times
  • Griped at Gramma
  • Got griped at by Gramma
  • Watched Annie Hall and Pi with The Boyfriend
  • Ate an egg, cheese, spinach, and artichoke souffle from Panera Bread
  • Almost died of PURE JOY from eating souffle at Panera Bread
  • Went Christmas Tree shopping with The Boyfriend
  • The ONLY coworker/supervisor that I like announced he's leaving in a week
  • Won a 3-hour limo ride in a crooked raffle at my work
  • Hated my job 437 times
  • Thought about going back to school 73 times
  • Applied at only 1 job that looked remotely promising
  • Bought a new purse (made me feel better)
  • Found a freakin awesome B'n'B in Crescent, Iowa (they have 3 dachshunds!!!)
  • Dad got released from the hospital
  • My uncle went back home
  • Gramma looked through exact same box a 4th time

Scolding from a blog.

Jen: Hi blog... how have you been the past week or so?
Blog: *blank stare*
Jen: Oh. You're mad that I've been neglecting you, huh?
Blog: Hmph.
Jen: Look, I've been really busy with Family Things and with The Boyfriend.
Blog: *glare*
Jen: Okay, mostly with The Boyfriend.
Blog: That's what I thought.
Jen: Hey, don't guilt trip me about this.
Blog: You're not around enough to give a guilt trip to.
Blog: Shut up and post something already.
Jen: Okie.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

New Year's Eve, in which Echo dents my car.

Okay, so my friend Echo says I need to "post some funny stuff." (Lol, thanks Echo... I thought I was posting funny stuff...)

Anyway, so I have a story relating to Echo today, because I have been leaving her out lately. Plus, I have quite a few single life/drunkenness stories to catch up on.

Here goes:

It was New Year's Eve just last year, and Echo and I had this brilliant plan that we were going to
both get marvelously plastered at Eli's Bar. Normally, we take turns being the Sober Driver (See: Babysitter), and so really there has only been one or two times that we were drunk simultaneously.

But this was a dumb idea because:

1. we didn't plan ahead on who would be driving us home at the end of the night,

2. we didn't seem to be remember the level of Stupid-Drunk we could both attain,


3. we didn't think about who would be taking care of our drunk asses all night.

We get to Eli's Bar early and all is well until after we have 2-3 pitchers of beer. Yeah, I'm not entirely sure how many we had the entire night. Maybe 4-5 total... I lost track. Toward the end of the night, after the beer had sunk into our brains, we went up to order another before going back out on the dance floor.

At this point, we obviously have had enough:

We drunkenly ask the bartender:
"Should we get another pitcher?"

The bartender replies:
"You can't take a pitcher on the dance floor."
(I'm positive now that he must have been rolling his eyes, and we just didn't notice at the time.)

Me, turning to Echo:
want to dance."

Echo, to the bartender:
"Yeah, we're gonna dance."

Bartender, still playing babysitter:
"Do you want Miller Lite or Bud Light in bottles?"

Echo and me, in unison:
"F_ck Miller!"

Don't ask where this simultaneous outburst came from, since we'd been drinking Miller Lite
all night long by the pitcher, and remarking on how much better it was than Bud Light.

We go back out to the dance floor and after a short while, our Bud Lites are gone and we are completely out of money. Echo is dancing with this random drunk guy who offers her a drink from his mysterious green-bottled beer. (Much later, I did some research and found that the mystery beer had to have been either Heineken or Rolling Rock.) She takes a drink, and then (not asking him or anything!) passes it to me and I take a drink too.

I yell:
"That's pretty good!"

Echo says:
"What is it?"

I say:
"It tastes like water!"

You know you've had too much to drink when you drink a stranger's Green Mystery Beer and it tastes like water. This is the point of no return, people. You've literally drunk your taste buds to death. (Note: This is also the point in which I lose most of my hearing as well. For example, if a stranger talks to me, I assume they are speaking a foreign language. This may or may not lead to me making out with them in order to shut them up.)

Anyway, we drained his beer between the two of us. And then Echo gave him back the empty bottle.

Meanwhile, I am slapping at this guy's hands because he is untying Echo's lace-up top. (Similar style shown here.) It's not that he would untie her and her shirt would be gaping open, it just had the ties hanging down untied. I'm not sure what he was thinking untying her, but I was thinking "Get off my friend, drunk ass" while I slapped at him. And Echo doesn't even notice what's going on, and only realizes her top is unlaced the next morning.

So, at around midnight, we decide that it's time to go outside and call a cab to come and pick us up. I am dialing and dialing, not realizing that the busy signal is not going away. This was my first New Year's without a Designated Driver... the first New Year where I planned on calling a cab to come get us at the end of the night. And the first New Year that I learned that New Year's Eve is the #1 busiest night for the cab companies. In fact, we may very well have called back 100 times and never gotten through.

We go over to stand by my car instead of standing in front of the bar. I am still trying to call the cab company over and over again, even though it's extremely difficult to dial, even though I am just hitting redial (it's ONE key!), because I am so freaking trashed.

I tell Echo: "Dude, dial them on your phone too." She gets her phone and attempts to dial in the phone number as I read it to her. Who the hell knows what number she called, or if she even got 7 numbers dialed at all. So, we are starting to panic just a little, wondering how we will get home, and Echo is literally rolling on the front side-panel of my car, repeating "I don't want to go to jail tonight, Jen."

I say: "Well my house isn't that far, we could always walk there." Except it IS that far! And let's keep in mind, it's winter in Omaha, Nebraska... it's freakin cold outside. But Echo and I, pretty much wasted, are wearing only very light, slighty-slutty, bar-scene clothing and complaining because "It's HOT!!!" Echo is saying this while she continues to roll on my car. I have no idea why she's rolling on my car. (She doesn't know why either.) But the next day I find out that she actually left a dent in that spot she was rolling on at my front side-panel (above the wheel).

Granted, I drive a little practically-made-out-of-an-aluminum-can Kia Rio, but Echo is not a big girl! Can you imagine the sheer force required to leave such a large dent in a car for a little chick like her!? It's like she body-slammed herself into the side of my car. I mean, usually you get dents from, oh say, OTHER CARS. But not me... I get dents from DRUNK ROLLING FRIENDS!

Anyway, so I end up calling a friend of ours to come and get us and drive us home. We were about 10 minutes from either walking home or calling my mom. Seriously, those are equal punishments in our eyes. Apparently walking 15+ blocks in the freezing winter night and dying from pneumonia two days later is equivalent to lowering ourselves to middle school status and calling Mommy to come pick us up.

About a half hour after we get home, the real fun begins.

And in the morning:

Echo: "Jen, did I just walk in the bathroom last night and get sick?"

Me: "Actually dude, you freakin crawled."

Echo: "Oh my god. I kinda remember that now."

Me: "Don't feel bad. I did the exact same thing."

Monday, November 27, 2006

I wish I may.

Dude, seriously, my wishlist at Froogle works approximately 12% of the time. So, I joined the rest of the world finally and signed up at Amazon for my wishlist instead.

And found a few things (not) worth mentioning:

Ice Cream in a Ball
Have you ever wanted ice cream really really badly, but you didn't want to stop playing catch?

"With the unique Play & Freeze Ice Cream Maker, you can make ice cream anywhere! You dont need electricity, just add ice and rock salt in one end and ice cream mix in the other end, then have a ball as you shake it, pass it or roll it!"
Oh my god. Does anyone else think this looks like a hamster ball? I cannot believe this thing comes in multiple colors. What freak actually finds this 'ice cream ball' and says to themselves, "You know, I really wish I had 6 playful colors to choose from, because the blue ice cream ball is just not worth $39.95, but I think an orange one would be." This is almost the stupidest product on all of Amazon.

When Tennis and Cheese Collide

I love tennis. I love creamy cheese spread. Why in the hell can't we merge these two?


Product Features
  • Cheese Spreader
  • Tennis Design
Lovely description. What bothers me most is that there are 4 of them. Like you need a whole set of Tennis Cheese Spreaders to make your life complete.

Spam gets 4 new names

Naturally, this offends me on many levels. But I'll try and put my bias aside...
Alligator, Rattlesnake and more! Exotic and unforgettable food gift! Wild game just got wilder. Here's 4 cans of meat for your wildest, wooliest meat connoisseur to enjoy. He can try Smoked Rattlesnake, Cajun-style Alligator, Buffalo Au Jus and Elk Au Jus. It's a taste of the wild side, all ready to heat and serve!
Okay, the description made me laugh my ass off. "Wild game just got wilder" IN A CAN?! Not only are you not a 'wild, wooly, manly-man' because you are buying meat in a can (which you will heat up in the microwave), but also: holy god, don't you kill enough animals on a regular basis?! Do you really need to pretend that you've had alligator and elk? Don't kid yourself... there are 4 differently seasoned Spam chunks in those cans. Bon Appetite!

Advertising the obvious

Whoa. This is not very nice on so many levels...

"This is a great sweatshirt. Great gift."
Uh, great gift? I don't think the "Kiss Me, I'm Ugly" sentiment will go over too well with Grammy this holiday season. Or anyone. Maybe get it for yourself, if you have very little self-esteem. But don't expect many kisses.

The Depressing Coffee Mug

Nothing beats a hot cup of coffee and a mug that will
make you cry first in the morning!
This one makes a great gift too! They ought to have it boxed in a set with the 'Kiss me, I'm ugly' hoodie. Can you throw in an eating disorder with that?

Remember folks, there are less than 30 shopping days left until X-mas 2006!

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

The world is in peril.

Because I was not online for chat for 10 minutes...
I got this email from Nadine:

Subject: This is an email message for Jennifer [last name]
Calling all Jenny's! Calling all Jenny's! Calling all Jenny's!

Message Head:
Calling all Jenny's!
Where are you Jenny? The world is in peril! Nadine is BORED!!!!! (Screams of horror from all over the globe!)

And my reply:

Calling all Nadine's! Calling all Nadine's! Calling all Nadine's!
Message Head: Calling all Nadine's!

Body: Suck it!

Signed: Jenny

And to satisfy my Nintendo Wiithdrawals here's a cute console-release comic from

Monday, November 20, 2006

Hey, you got white-out on your face.

Before you ask... No, I didn't get a Wii. I will though. Soon. Mark my words.
(Also, thank you for all your words of sympathy from the previous post. I appreciate it. It was nice to come back to so many kind words.)

Now, ahem:

Okay, really, what is wrong with people!?

I came into work today all dressed up nice-and-purty, because apparently some guy was coming in to look at buying our company. (This is actually
good news.)

My coworker comes in with this form that been filled out and written all over, and is noticeably a copy of a copy of a copy... basically, it looks like hell.

She says,
"Mr. Scary Boss wants you to use white-out to erase all the writing and marks on this form. Then copy it so it looks brand new."

I say,
"It would be faster for me to re-type the whole thing. And it would look better." I hold up a copy to remind her that our piece-of-crap copy machine spits out every single copy completely crooked on the page. "And then we'd have a real nice copy saved on my computer for future use."

She says,
"He wants you to use white-out."

I say,
"Or I could even scan it, pull it into Photoshop, and erase all the marks. That would be faster and look better. This is what we bought the scanner for. Remember, the scanner?" I blow an inch of dust off the $250 scanner next to me, that Mr. Scary Boss insisted we buy, even though I told him, "We will never use it. Let's get the $40 scanner."

She says,
"He wants you to use white-out."

I clench my jaw and say,
"Will do."

A half an hour later, I have whited-out all the writing and marks on the form. (It would have taken me 5-10 minutes to retype it. Or 7-10 minutes to rescan and edit it in photoshop.) My bottle of white-out is empty and I feel like I just wasted 30 minutes of my life because my boss is a moron. Almost the entire page is covered in white-out, making it 3 times heavier than a normal piece of paper. I go to the copier and slide it through.

Not only does it copy totally crooked on the page, but the original tries to jam half-way through because it's so thick from the fresh coat of white-out I slathered on it.

My desk-calendar and my fingers are covered in white-out as well. I'm thinking about going to wash the white-out off my hands in the restroom, when Mr. Scary Boss comes in the front door (bosses get to come in whenever they feel like it), and starts me on another project that "has to get done ASAP" (he was supposed to do it himself 5 week ago).

So I figure: Hell, I might as well wear the white-out fingers as a Badge-of-Effing-Honor after what I just did for this moron. If he even tries to comment on my white-stained fingers, I'll just grind it into his face that I spent over 30 minutes painting the Sistine Chapel of White-Out on his ratty old form from 1967.

My unpaid half-hour lunch time comes around (the only break I get all day), and I go out to Subway to pick up a salad for lunch. I go in, talk a bit with the Subway guys, take my salad, and go back to work. Before I go to eat my lunch, I run into the restroom to wash the freakin white-out off my hands that I had forgotten about. I am washing my hands in the sink... I look up at myself in the mirror... yes. Yeah, I hope you're following me here...

I have a large smear of white-out on my cheek and a small smudge on my forehead.

No one told me. Not my coworkers, not my boss, not even the freakin people at Subway! And don't tell me that the white-out blended in with my skin. I'm plenty pale, but
I am not that pale, people.

Just one considerate person could have helped me out. ONE PERSON could have just said:

"Hey, you got white-out on your face."

Thanks for nothing, bitches!

Next time I see one of my moron coworkers with a giant "KICK ME" sign on their back, I'm not saying a word. Not a word! Granted, I probably put it there. But... that's not the point. The point is I'm not telling anyone anything to be considerate. Because I freaking had white-out all over my face for almost 4 1/2 hours and people were probably thinking, "Oh god, Jenny's got white shit on her face. I hope that's white-out" and "Aww, I didn't think they let 'special' people play with white-out. That's sweet."

Please, folks, next time you see some clueless girl who obviously does not realize her fly is undone, her hair is going in 14 different directions, she's got an entire piece of pie in her front teeth, OR she's got white-out all over her face... please please please, for the love of god, pull her aside and quietly make her aware of her social retardation.