I don't WANT to talk about the rain, because seriously...I am so sick of water, you guys. And chances are, if you're in the DC-Metro area, you are as well. Because seriously, SERIOUSLY. What. Is. Up. With. The. RAIN??
Apparently, I escaped the treacherous tornados of the Midwest just in time for monsoon season on the east coast. And in case you didn't know, when they say flash floods? This means literally that the roads will flood in an extremely quick and sudden manner (or "flash", if you will). And it will probably happen as you are driving on the parkway towards Springfield where it is all curvy and dip-y to begin with and you are late for a doctor's appointment at an office that you have never been too and in all fairness most likely couldn't find under the most perfect of weather conditions because, let's face it, if there's one thing you're awesome at, it's getting lost, rendering you and your giant, dilapidated, formerly-red-but-now-it's-getting-kind-of-rusty-and-gross, car stranded. Also, mud-slides on the beltway!?!??! WHAT?!?!
And what's with this rain continuing ALL WEEK LONG?!?!?! I blame decades of careless four year olds urging the rain to "go away, come again another day". Well, that day has come, and apparently Mother Nature has decided to cash in appx. 219312912938 billion delayed rainy days all at once. To make matters awesome, I'm home alone with no one but a giant puppy who's scared of rain, tons of shoes for said giant puppy to destroy, and a basement filled with my belongings that could very well flood.
In summation, I present my updated list of Reasons Why Nature Is Stupid:
1. It's not air-conditioned
2. There are bugs involved
3. The Jew-fro is neither water nor humidity proof
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a boat to assemble and some animals to gather. No ostriches though. Those freaky bastards should never have survived the last time.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Monday, June 26, 2006
Basically, I'm Job
As in the Almighty is testing me, not the thing that society unjustly expects me to find/hold/not show up drunk to.
When I was 13, I dislocated my knee playing soccer. It was the worst pain ever ever ever in all the land. One minute I was running and the next thing I knew I heard a horrific cracking sound and I was on the ground screaming. I was on crutches with the entire left leg imobilized for months and months, during which the muscle atrophied (shrunk) and I developed a nasty allergic reaction to the third knee brace I had to wear. After 8 years of playing, I refused to even step on a soccer field again (seriously, it makes me hyperventilate a little to even kick a ball around with my dog).
This all happened one week before 8th grade started, and the indignities that I had to suffer were endless. My friends became my personal bell-hops, carrying around my backpack and books for me. I couldn't fit my jeans over the imobilizer, so in a panic I went out and bought a ton of (short) skirts. Which seemed like the perfect idea (in my defense, Clueless was a big movie at the time, so at least I didn't resort to the ill-fated skirt/knee-sock/Doc Martens combo that was totally the look du jour) until my first class, when I went to sit down and realized that while short skirts were good in theory, when you have to lift your leg up and elevate it while wearing said skirt things turn a little indecent awfully quick.
In addition, this little faux pas took place two months before my bat-mitzvah. I shopped for cute little (ok, not quite so little but there's my drift, so try and catch it) patent-leather heels while in a wheelchair.At first they thought I tore my ACL or cracked my bone, so on my first trip to the orthopedist, when I explained the situation, the jackass actually said to me "well, you might be in a cast for a very fun party". Obviously he had never met a 13 year old girl before, because if he had he would know that such a callous comment would catapult me into a state of depression so intense that it would make the characters in The Grapes of Wrath think "huh, things might be a little dusty, but overall we don't have it so bad!" I cried for 48 straight hours.
Anyway, the point is this was not a great time in my life. Anything that has to do with my knee, particularly my left one, FREAKS ME THE EFF OUT. I seriously spend about 70% of my energy every day just avoiding any possible knee injury.
So when I was rushing around on Sunday and the monsoon outside mixed with old motor oil on our garage floor caused me to slip and bash my bad knee on the slick concrete, I wasn't sure whether to laugh at the fact that I was an idiot/God hates me or let out a string of expletives that would ensure that my parents never let me around my younger siblings again.
I'm really starting to miss my brother.
When I was 13, I dislocated my knee playing soccer. It was the worst pain ever ever ever in all the land. One minute I was running and the next thing I knew I heard a horrific cracking sound and I was on the ground screaming. I was on crutches with the entire left leg imobilized for months and months, during which the muscle atrophied (shrunk) and I developed a nasty allergic reaction to the third knee brace I had to wear. After 8 years of playing, I refused to even step on a soccer field again (seriously, it makes me hyperventilate a little to even kick a ball around with my dog).
This all happened one week before 8th grade started, and the indignities that I had to suffer were endless. My friends became my personal bell-hops, carrying around my backpack and books for me. I couldn't fit my jeans over the imobilizer, so in a panic I went out and bought a ton of (short) skirts. Which seemed like the perfect idea (in my defense, Clueless was a big movie at the time, so at least I didn't resort to the ill-fated skirt/knee-sock/Doc Martens combo that was totally the look du jour) until my first class, when I went to sit down and realized that while short skirts were good in theory, when you have to lift your leg up and elevate it while wearing said skirt things turn a little indecent awfully quick.
In addition, this little faux pas took place two months before my bat-mitzvah. I shopped for cute little (ok, not quite so little but there's my drift, so try and catch it) patent-leather heels while in a wheelchair.At first they thought I tore my ACL or cracked my bone, so on my first trip to the orthopedist, when I explained the situation, the jackass actually said to me "well, you might be in a cast for a very fun party". Obviously he had never met a 13 year old girl before, because if he had he would know that such a callous comment would catapult me into a state of depression so intense that it would make the characters in The Grapes of Wrath think "huh, things might be a little dusty, but overall we don't have it so bad!" I cried for 48 straight hours.
Anyway, the point is this was not a great time in my life. Anything that has to do with my knee, particularly my left one, FREAKS ME THE EFF OUT. I seriously spend about 70% of my energy every day just avoiding any possible knee injury.
So when I was rushing around on Sunday and the monsoon outside mixed with old motor oil on our garage floor caused me to slip and bash my bad knee on the slick concrete, I wasn't sure whether to laugh at the fact that I was an idiot/God hates me or let out a string of expletives that would ensure that my parents never let me around my younger siblings again.
I'm really starting to miss my brother.
Friday, June 16, 2006
I'd make a joke about a hairy situation, but I feel like I owe you more than that
Dear Internet,
I apologize for the lack of blogging as of late. Things have been a little ridiculous. Mainly with Big Giant Personal Problems That I Don't Discuss In The Blog So As To Perpetuate The Image That My Life Is All Laughing At Hilarious Reality Television, Playing With The Giant Puppy Beast, And Also A Little Bit Of Obsessing Over Dead 60's Pop Icons. But also with some minor, less serious things.
Like buying a purse that I am terrified to use because it is way too fancy for me and I am sure to ruin it with a spilled chai latte or some rogue, un-capped lipgloss or maybe with the coolant exploding in Big Red (oops-already happened, and it's green if you didn't know). Would it be weird if I just kept it in the big Coach box and fashioned a strap to that? I'd feel much more comfortable.
Or witnessing a major entertainment watershed moment during last Thursday's now infamous Dateline interview. I'm referring, of course, to Matt Lauer's belief that it's ok for him to wear loafers without socks on national television (it's not, by the way-I don't care "Where In The World" you are, Mr. Lauer)
Or losing BOTH of my hair straighteners in one week, rendering my new choppy haircut un-styled, thus allowing for the emergence of the mythical Jew-fro:
I apologize for the lack of blogging as of late. Things have been a little ridiculous. Mainly with Big Giant Personal Problems That I Don't Discuss In The Blog So As To Perpetuate The Image That My Life Is All Laughing At Hilarious Reality Television, Playing With The Giant Puppy Beast, And Also A Little Bit Of Obsessing Over Dead 60's Pop Icons. But also with some minor, less serious things.
Like buying a purse that I am terrified to use because it is way too fancy for me and I am sure to ruin it with a spilled chai latte or some rogue, un-capped lipgloss or maybe with the coolant exploding in Big Red (oops-already happened, and it's green if you didn't know). Would it be weird if I just kept it in the big Coach box and fashioned a strap to that? I'd feel much more comfortable.
Or witnessing a major entertainment watershed moment during last Thursday's now infamous Dateline interview. I'm referring, of course, to Matt Lauer's belief that it's ok for him to wear loafers without socks on national television (it's not, by the way-I don't care "Where In The World" you are, Mr. Lauer)
Or losing BOTH of my hair straighteners in one week, rendering my new choppy haircut un-styled, thus allowing for the emergence of the mythical Jew-fro:
As you can see, things are hectic. But I promise to be better in the future. Things will be better once I find my damn hair straighteners. Bad hair just is not conducive to brilliant writing.
Naturally, there are always exceptions.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Don't Get Cocky, North Carolina; I Hate You As Well
September 11th, 2001- At school for only two weeks and 600 miles from Washington, I am unable to reach my family on the phone and can do nothing but watch helplessly as terrorists crash planes into my hometown. I also have to listen as jackasses in my classes say things like "well, in Indiana we're a HUGE target because we have (insert something lame and totally not important, like "an airport" or "one four-story building") , so we really should prepare because in reality we're probably next" and resist the temptation to yell out "LOOK I REALLY DO LOVE THIS SCHOOL BUT I WAS 18 BEFORE I COULD FIND YOUR STATE ON THE MAP SO I REALLY DOUBT ANYONE INTERNATIONALLY EVEN KNOWS YOU EXIST".
May 31, 2006- Homeland Security slashes funds to New York and Washington by FORTY PERCENT while increasing grants to cities like Charlotte and Omaha and Jacksonville and Sacramento and MY HEAD LITERALLY EXPLODES.
I mean...what are you trying to do to me, Mikey? Ok, I have one theory. Chertoff's from Jersey, right? Classic rivalry between bordering states. So sad, really. I'm so glad that we don't have to deal with such pettiness in the big VA. I mean, when I say things like "If you stay in Maryland for too long, you'll probably get crabs" or "the state song of West Virginia should be the theme from Deliverance", I'm merely being witty...and more than a little honest.
How come no one is talking about this? I blame Shiloh (side note-the fact that I am totally jealous of a newborn baby fills me with SUCH self-loathing) for distracting us. But then again, she also taught millions of oh-so globally aware Americans that there is a place in the world called "Namibia" (can you believe there are multiple distinct countries within Africa? Weird! It's just like a couple of months ago when we all learned that Iraq and Iran, though their names contain many of the same letters, are two separate places with two different cultures).
I can see now that if we want to protect D.C. and New York City, we're going to have to do it ourselves. Bring your pitchforks, and dry clean your best militia clothes.
May 31, 2006- Homeland Security slashes funds to New York and Washington by FORTY PERCENT while increasing grants to cities like Charlotte and Omaha and Jacksonville and Sacramento and MY HEAD LITERALLY EXPLODES.
I mean...what are you trying to do to me, Mikey? Ok, I have one theory. Chertoff's from Jersey, right? Classic rivalry between bordering states. So sad, really. I'm so glad that we don't have to deal with such pettiness in the big VA. I mean, when I say things like "If you stay in Maryland for too long, you'll probably get crabs" or "the state song of West Virginia should be the theme from Deliverance", I'm merely being witty...and more than a little honest.
How come no one is talking about this? I blame Shiloh (side note-the fact that I am totally jealous of a newborn baby fills me with SUCH self-loathing) for distracting us. But then again, she also taught millions of oh-so globally aware Americans that there is a place in the world called "Namibia" (can you believe there are multiple distinct countries within Africa? Weird! It's just like a couple of months ago when we all learned that Iraq and Iran, though their names contain many of the same letters, are two separate places with two different cultures).
I can see now that if we want to protect D.C. and New York City, we're going to have to do it ourselves. Bring your pitchforks, and dry clean your best militia clothes.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Hell hath no fury like a gigantic puppy scorned
See Jenn
See Jenn's gigantic feet
See random selection of Jenn's shoes for effect
See why Jenn has a hard time finding shoes, as these are the smallest size she can wear (usually needing an 11.5 or 12)
See Max, the 90 pound puppy
See Max the 90 pound puppy angry at Jenn for going downstairs to her room (where he is not allowed) and leaving him alone upstairs
See how Max the 90 pound puppy exacts his revenge on Jenn's new shoes
Bad puppy
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