the test

today i went to home depot. this was particularly ambitious because: 1) this is peak tourist season in NY and therefore impossible to do any mundane task without coming face-to-face with a hundred people on the street taking pictures; and 2) i had just gone to the eye doctor and my eyes were completely dilated. i could see 15 feet in front of me, but struggled to read anything within an arms length. 

i had a mission at home depot. besides the double-sided tape to mount my spice rack (true story) and a random assortment of incidentals, i was in need of a few bookshelves for my apt. nothing fancy, just something to hold the 6 boxes worth of books i've had stacked in my kitchen since i moved. 

so here i am in the basement of home depot in the middle of manhattan. there are probably 5 workers for every square foot of store, but they each are relegated to a section. they can move freely between areas if they are escorting a customer, but beyond that they stick to their borders. once i found the bookcases, i felt that i had really scored. my orange vested saviour (brandon) was standing no less than five feet away from my desired purchases. brandon was talking to another customer, so i gave him a little wave and a head nod to show him i'd like him to swing by when he was done. i know he saw this, because he nodded back, much like a bartender nods when they non-verbally promise to come back momentarily to get your next round. i wait around for another 4 minutes before i start to get antsy. i begin to eavesdrop on brandon's conversation with said "customer" and realize that this dude is not even looking to purchase anything and the two of them are engaged in a blatant pick-up situation. they are chatting about exhibits at the Frick and grad school, not bookshelves or hinges, or even power drill mechanics. i give brandon another nod, but this time he averts eye-contact. i start to walk towards him, but he turns the other way. this is when i begin the test. in an unmedicated state, i probably would have just gone and complained or pulled him away from his potential date, but my temporary blindness was clouding my judgement. 

test #1 - the lap. i stare intently at the items i want, pace around for a bit, read the contents of the boxes, and make it obvious that i'm perusing the items in his area. i then exit the aisle, circle back through another aisle and come back around to the same spot i was in. this was no doubt a majorly passive aggressive move, but if i were to make a media analogy to this, i was trying to work the frequency angle.  

test #2 - the substitute. i walk away from the items and attempt to flag down another orange vest. miraculously it takes me a good 3 aisles before i find another vest. well it turns out that this vest is assigned to another dept. i accompany him to drop off a cart to brandon; then he leaves us, assuming that brando will be so kind to help me out. brandon looks up at me, glances at the cart, and then continues chatting away.

test #2 - the weak girl. i'm not particularly strong these days - it's been at least 5 months since i've hit the gym. i'm still not back to my normal weight pre-gallbladder, and don't look like i could lift a ton of weight. that said, most normal employees go out of their way to make sure customers don't have to lift heavy objects. especially when the customer is a female. also, i wasn't wearing sweatpants, which usually earns me a fair amount of brownie points when asking for assistance in a store. despite my nods, and even a verbal plea for help, it's apparent that brandon isn't going to help me. from there, i take the cart and bring it over to the shelving with the boxes of the bookshelves. really truly at this point i would have thought brandon would have stepped in - even if i were a dude and he was in the middle of helping someone (which he wasn't). keep in mind my eyes are still dilated - actually getting worse - and somehow lifting objects seems like a great idea to me. i slide one of the 35 lb bookshelves off of the second shelf. after two attempts of wobbly swinging around the awkward box (the weight was distributed oddly so that one side was way heavier than the other) i manage to drop it into the cart. i swing the cart around past brando and his future boy toy, thank him for all of his help, and proceed to checkout. 

now i can't say i was completely right in this situation - i was messing up his game after all - but jesus. this was not a matter of waiting my turn. for the record, i don't recommend following my testing techniques. nor do i suggest doing any heavy lifting while experiencing impaired vision. i suppose it serves me right for disrupting the opthamological gods. 

BUSted

when i lived in minneapolis i took the bus every day. i had a car with me for the better part of my collegiate career, but the price of gas and incidentals encouraged me to take public transportation when the distance of my destination was greater than walking to the west bank of our campus.

during my year-long stint as an intern at an ad agency in st. paul, i took the 16 route to and from work every mon, wed, and fri. in retrospect, this was excellent preparation for my current relationship with public transportation. here in nyc, most everyone is at the mercy of the MTA. (with the exception of the park slope stroller moms who drive their suv's into the city and are using their clout to block the city's proposals for toll fees at the entrances into the city.) from lindsay lohan to beyonce, the nyc subway is the great equalizer of the five boroughs. the buses here however, are a completely different story. especially when it comes to interstate traveling.

for every nearby destination, there is an ill-organized bus service to ferry young professionals (or collegiate-age persons). these vessels' popularity peaks around any holiday that involves a day off from work/school. while immensely cheap and usually easy to use, these services are not for anyone who needs to be ANYWHERE in any reasonable span of time. a new rider can easily be spotted thanks to the "reservation" slip they wave at the workers while trying to argue their way onto an overcrowded bus. "but i have a reservation on the 3:30!!" you can hear them shout as they are shown to the back of the line. for the next hour, you can usually hear the newbies on the phone with their parents, whining about how they are never riding the bus again because it's causing them to miss ______. i highly doubt that any of these kids actually make good on their promises, because each and everytime i ride the bus over thanksgiving i see one of these said individuals, now joining me in my fascination with the rookie experience.

these buses must be oozing cash, literally leaving a path of benjamins as they head down the new jersey turnpike. each bus is filled to capacity with people under 30 (with an occasional woman from queens going on her annual trip to see her daughter in DC) who each pay in cash for their way to our nation's capital (or another high-traffic area on the greater east coast).

quite honestly, for a $25 trip, i really don't expect much. i've gotten to the stage of being a new yorker where i no longer feel a sense of empathy towards the rookies of the bus service. it's probably sad that part of my soul has been ripped away by the MTA screwing with any semblance of timeliness in my life, but at this point it's these little things that cause me from going mad when i am stuck between the vernon jackson and court square stops and missing the start of my 9am meeting. when it comes to the choice between being chauffered by public transit on a daily basis or having to scrape my windshield while blasting the defroster in the throws of december, i'll wait in line for the bus, thank you very much.

'tis the season

i have a friend whose golden rule is both a blessing and a curse: thou shall not say no to social engagements. she will hit a bar mitzvah in the morning, a baby shower at noon, then a bachelorette party in the evening. somewhere in between she'll probably find time to get a manicure or book a trip to florida. this woman cannot find a free evening 2 months ahead of time. she is not the first of my friends to follow this ideology, but she very well could be the one who gets screwed over by it most routinely. this week's turn of events is worth repeating.

my friend is quickly approaching her wedding anniversary. the exact details of the planned events were not divulged to me, but they're pretty irrelevant for this tale. let's say that they intended to spend the night with a quiet dinner, lots of wine, and no set plans. that's what my ideal anniversary would entail, though my night would also include heather grey sweatpants and snack foods. what they planned to do really doesn't matter, because the said anniversary plans were put on the skids by her well-intentioned but ill-timed sister-in-law. good 'ole SIL planned a birthday party smack on top of the no set planned-anniversary. for some, this would just mean that you tell SIL tough shit and that you'll see her next time. but golden rule or no golden rule, no compassionate person can deny the invite when there are nieces and nephews in the mix. so the heather grey celebration was put on hiatus for the little tike's bday party. (for the record - that also means a gift must be purchased.)

my friend is resourceful, and instead of making a big deal about this, she and her husband just moved their plans (or lack thereof) to the next weekend. BAM. SIL strikes again. this time with a family christmas potluck. now there's cooking involved in the list of mandatories. oh, but don't worry - there's gifts for everyone! not only is it a christmas gathering, there will be a secret santa exchange. the typical white elephant gifts are out the window - this is a $25 secret santa gift. i can only speak for myself on this one, but few of us are in a high enough tax bracket to afford anything beyond the $10 standard. (my all-time personal favorite from a gift exchange was the $9.99 toaster one of my friends found at walgreen's on the way to the madison west leo club 2000 holiday party.) regardless of income status however, we all know that it's the thought that counts. for this very reason, the exorbitant amount of dollars required for the gift minimum was secondary to the anticipated gratitude that my friend was sure her gift recipient would feel upon opening her gift. she imagined her nephew gleefully unwrapping his much desired bob dylan bootleg collection, ensuring her spot as the second favorite extended relative (close behind uncle jim who cemented that position eternally by purchasing the young nephew a rubber band gun for his 8th birthday).

at this juncture in her life though, #2 will remain out of her reach indefinitely. this morning my friend got her secret santee in the mail. it's becky. you know - becky - the realtor. that's right, the realtor was invited to the family christmas gathering.

my friend is now double booked with the little tikes bday extravaganza (i can only guess there will be magic tricks and/or a clown) and a special holiday evening spreading cheer to the century 21 sales leader of oct 2007 in lieu of the quiet anniversary. i guess i know at least one person who won't be getting coal in her stocking this year.

phases

unfortunately i've been to a few funerals this year. i'm hoping the latest was the last of it for a bit, but we'll just have to see what the future has in store. what amazes me about funerals for people who pass in their old age is how possible it is to know so much of someone for almost 25 years of their life, but not really know anything about them. two of my grandparents have died this year. i knew a fair amount about my grandfather's past as an ad man - probably most because it became my chosen profession and that my mom's side likes to tell stories. we used to spend a week or two every summer with him and my grandmother when i was little, and there he would tell me little bits of his past life. since i started working in media, we would exchange stories of how things have changed since his day in the industry. to me, it always seemed like he was talking of a different person. in my life he was a retiree who loved his faith, and spent a decade as a crossing guard at the local elementary school. he volunteered with knights of columbus, and read at least a book a week. it wasn't until his funeral that i was able to connect his two lives together. the one of the man in minneapolis who worked at the local TV station to the crossing guard. then it came into focus how tiny the frame of time my 24 years on the planet has been compared to the 80+ years he had here. the same is true of my grandmother - my dad's mom.

grandma baird was a consummate hostess in my existence. she had a giant pool with a diving board in her backyard where i would show off my moves from the swim team and lounge on pink pool furniture while blowing out my birthday candles. she spent the winters of my childhood at her house in ft. myers, and her time was spent volunteering for various charitable organizations. up until i started in the working world, she was the only person on the planet who called me jennifer without me correcting her. grandma drove around town in a white cadillac with a maroon felt top. she owned a mobile phone in the mid-80's - back when you had to drive from cell to cell to have reception. in the past year, i had forgotten much about her hospitality. the trips to florida. the cadillac. she still wore her mink coat when i took her to chemo, and would only let me see her with her wig on, but her illness started to cloud her memory of who she had been, and mine as well. and i realized at her funeral that my memory of her didn't even begin to touch the surface of who she was as a person. i found out she was a pinup model for a magazine given to troops about to ship out for war. i saw photos of her and her husband having lavish nights out in costume. her as a socialite. her with her siblings. it made me realize how much your adulthood can be compartmentalized into different phases. and how easily it is to be part of someone's life for only a phase.

as a child i found it fascinating that adults would reference 'my oldest friend' or buddies 'from high school' and didn't understand the distinction of the titles. in elementary school your friends are selected for you by the class roster or bus schedule. that's not to say its any different once adulthood has begun when making friends - the easiest places to find are usually still through parties (but this time there's booze) or where you live - but keeping them is an entirely different obstacle. once everyone's old enough to vote, there's effort involved. i came to realize a few years ago that also means that you can be selective about your friends. adulthood equates to having choices and one of those includes spending the free time you have with those you truly value. that doesn't mean i have the opportunity to hang out with everyone i want to, or that just because i hang out with someone sporadically is a sign that i don't like them. it just means that there were friends i had in specific phases of my life that were meant to be friends for only that phase. i'm not belittling our friendship or the meaning behind it - just that friends sometimes grow out of each other. there may come a time sometime the road where we rekindle a friendship, but i don't need facebook to tell me i should reconnect with someone.

where are they now?

 i know for a fact that eric carle of "very hungry caterpillar" fame is still popular among the masses, but i came to the awful realization a few weekends ago that any young woman growing up in the 21st century will no longer have her tween exploits include the babysitters club (or as it's known bsc to true fans). 

i was at a barnes & noble with a friend when we started talking children's books. though we grew up on different coasts, both of our formative years were shaped by ann m. martin's tales of the girls from stoneybrook, ct; it is the defining literature of our youths. so on this not so long ago saturday afternoon, we decided to scour the shelves to find the books. we were curious as to the number of books now in the series, plus we couldn't quite remember the author's name. ( i kept thinking it was ann b. davis - but soon realized that was the actress who played alice on 'the brady bunch'.) five minutes into a fruitless search we were forced to enlist the help of a barnes and noble employee. she woefully informed us that bsc is no longer in print, but the chain does carry comic versions of the first few books of the series. not only were the books out of print, but masterpieces like "kristy's great idea" and "the truth about stacey" are now reduced to graphic novels. BLASPHEMY. 

as an homage to the hundreds of regular books in the series, not to mention the tens of super series that took up an entire bookshelf in my bedroom, i have taken the time to formulate a special "where are they now?" tribute to my favorite girls from connecticut - think 'now and then' without crazy pete:

CLAUDIA - graduated from a local community college with an associates degree in art history. she now sells her watercolors on the streets of downtown stanford for $10 a piece. though now in her mid-30's, she still hides food in her room, causing constant roach infestations in her townhouse. 

MARY ANNE- continued to date her boyfriend, logan, throughout high school. the couple went off to college together at UCONN. in their sophomore year, mary anne became pregnant; logan immediately dropped out of school to afford his impending duties as the breadwinner of the family. shortly after the announcement of the pregnancy, the pair was married in a shotgun wedding at mary anne's dad and dawn's mom's barn. logan now attends law school at night while managing a local cinnabon during the day. still concerned with upholding her role as a proper wife, mary anne is a homemaker and mother to their brood, which now includes four children (aged 6 months - 6).

DAWN - attended berkeley after a 2 year spiritual journey to "find herself" in montana after high school. she now runs a vegan scone shop in sonoma, ca with her life partner, thomas. as a side venture, she also co-owns a chain of montessori pre-schools in northern california - the first to offer courses on ancient mayan dialects for children under five.

JESSI - continued to pursue her dreams of becoming a ballerina until an unfortunate stumble on the sidewalk forced a career-ending injury to her knee. this was a catalyst to a five-year tailspin characterized by heroin addiction and a seesawing weight problem.

STACEY - moved to NYC for college. during her first semester it was revealed that "the truth about stacey" was not only her diabetes, but also her lesbianism. she and her partner julia live in brooklyn with their adopted daughter zoe. stacey is the editor of an international fashion magazine. 

MALLORY - spent the last 10 years of her life still in the shadow of her 10 brothers and sisters as well as kristy and her "great idea". she continues to run the bsc out of the duplex she shares with her husband (and former favorite babysitting charge) jackie rodowsky, and now outsources her babysitters from stoneybrook middle school. she moonlights as a romance novelist - her latest book "the fire below" - cracked the connecticut public library 25-most read for the month of july.

KRISTY - had her "kit-kits" - cardboard boxes filled with magic markers, stickers, and imaginary toys - patented while she was still in high school. she lived a lavish life, selling 5 million boxes in the first year, until toys 'r us sued her for breach of contract. it turns out her "idea" was actually a rip off of the store's "kid activity set". the parties settled out of court, but the disgruntled kristy never quite got over the dispute. now known to most as ms. thomas, kristy teaches economics at a small boarding school in maine, while still scheming for her next "great idea".

pieces of the puzzle

admittedly i'm a big nerd. i love learning, reading meandering biographies, and subscribe to pbs' "frontline" podcasts. that being said, it shouldn't be too big of a surprise that i like puzzles. i can't think of too many things nerdier than taking time out of a weekend to dive into a 2,000 piece representation of "where's waldo" rather than be at the bar. 

this certainly stems back from a childhood filled with summers on my grandparents porch. i suppose it's pretty cliche to spend a week with your grandparents in wisconsin mastering 1000 piece puzzles of hot air balloons while sipping lemonade, but growing up in wisconsin has an inherent set of cliches. we didn't exactly have cows in my backyard, but that doesn't mean i was clueless as to where to find them. 

if i'm being judged on this one, it's fine by me. i like crossword puzzles and DVR jeopardy too. 

proof of purchase

so we're now in a "paperless" world. or at least are aspiring to be one. i signed up for paperless statements for my monthly bank assessments, but somehow they still end up coming to me in an envelope the first week of every month. the best part of it has to be the page insert that is always in the envelope encouraging me to do paperless statements. i've signed up 3x on the website, yet it still without fail comes to my apartment. computerized billing is a little big brother for some so i can understand the hesitation of doing all banking online - and having all records of your life on there. if the government hijacks your identity a la sandra bullock in the net you're completely screwed. most of us aren't smart enough how to blackmail the government to give our identities back the way sandy did; i know i'd be screwed and probably working as a hawker who hands out menus on the corner of 42nd street in the morning. 

in the recycling movement, i still cannot grasp the point of giving customers receipts for everything. some stores around my office promise they'll give you $5 off of your meal if you're not given a receipt. unless it's a business expense, why do you need one? and if you really want one, why not just ask for one? it doesn't make sense that the whole world gets them. i guarantee 85% of the people who are given receipts - if not more - throw them out at their first chance. the only proof i need of buying that ice cream sandwich is looking down at my swollen stomach. i carry that around with me all day. i don't need a carbon copy as well. 

when i grow up

i saw 'sisterhood of the traveling pants 2' over the weekend. as a 24 year old, i should probably keep such things to myself but i'm really not ashamed. i know a lot about boy bands and crappy tv - this is not an indiscretion that i'm concerned will tarnish my reputation. the movie was ridiculous in it's simplicity, but i realized that's what i like about those type of movies. 

i was of the belief until a few years ago that there were rules you followed as an adult. i wasn't dense enough to think that adults were always right, but i really thought that as you grew older maturity was just one of those things that was granted to you by the gods. like a diploma that you earn just by having a birthday. the older i get, the more i realize that experience doesn't necessarily bring maturity. you can easily go through years without taking anything in.  this is probably the one of the reasons adults always look so fondly at the times when they had no responsibility. there is no expectation of maturity - or any sense of failure when you don't have it. plus it's a hell of a lot easier to take things in when you don't have to remember 1000 things at once. 

what i love about movies like "sisterhood" is that everyone's complicated stories can be wrapped up in 2 hours. and a pair of ugly pants can solidify friendships for life. i've always been a sucker for sappy movies. the way that life's problems can be wrapped up into a monologue at the end of the movie. you don't have to think back to what you should (er - shouldn't) have said in an argument - things are said and done and everyone lives happily ever after. coping over a major life event is complete in one meaningful montage with the characters pensively drooping over their furniture. they stare off at the distance or glance down at their phone while acoustic music weighs down the sequence. the characters seem to always find clarity in the way rarely seen in most adults. they admit when they're wrong, learn from their mistakes, and somehow have the funds to travel around the world on a whim. 

in real life, maturity is tricky to master in your teens; even trickier once it becomes intangible in adulthood. when i was a kid, i was considered mature because i did my homework without being asked to. i got points because i knew how to handle my alcohol and didn't get busted for underage drinking. i guess finishing my work on time and not making an ass of myself at happy hour are considered mature adult things to do now that i hold a job, but the line gets awfully blurry once you surpass 18. 

in real life adulthood, friendships can easily become overcomplicated. at least the ones that are based on the farce that everything can be solved in an acoustic montage. once mix tapes and trips to taco bell are replaced with jobs and happy hours, it's easy to tell who are the friends who you'll chat with beyond a facebook wall conversation. who you'll call when shit hits the fan. you don't need to see them every day, but they're the ones who will go with you to see embarrassing chick flicks (see above film referenced) and tell you when you're being ridiculous. 

i've take on plenty of responsibility in my life, but i am always looking to try to learn a better way of doing things. if i were to make this into a food analogy, i used to think i'd always be of the thought that sandwiches always taste better when someone else makes them for you. eventually i'll grow out of it and want to make my own, but at the moment i have a complex when it comes to sandwich making. no matter how many grilled cheeses or pb&j's i make, i always feel subpar to the adults who made them for me when i was little. no matter how many times i've watched someone else slice the bread or spread the jam, i don't have it down pat yet. there's always someone who can prove that it tastes better when it's cut diagonally rather than in squares. there will come a day when i think my own sandwiches are just as good as theirs, but to do that i'll have to remember that there are no rules for the perfect pb&j. 

the land of enchantment

did you know new mexico is the land of enchantment? and maine is the pine tree state? this is all information that has been locked inside of my brain for years but did not make it to the forefront until my road trip last week. 

i flew from jfk to lax, then drove to wisconsin from la. over 30 hours in the car but it felt shorter than most drives i took to college in minneapolis from madison. i was with my best friend, who besides always being up for a good time has the ingredients for a perfect road trip partner: an off-key singing voice to match my own, a knowledge of crappy 90's pop songs, and a history with me that dates back to high school. our friendship was formed over our love for food - we co-chaired the food for the national honors society's annual blood drive. in our adult road-tripping years, this means we share an excitement for spotting wendy's in new mexico - or even better - a culver's in southern wisconsin. culver's is a modern marvel in the art of fast food. when i was a swim coach, we loved culver's so much that we coaches dressed as culver's drive-thru workers as one of our costumes that we wore for our big swim meet. fast food, however, was not the highlight of my trip. 

we skipped out on the vegas route and opted for the southern route. tess' '89 buick century was only questionably up for the challenge of high altitude driving, plus we feared a backlash when the two of us would choose going to bed at 11pm after watching a movie on HBO rather than hitting the slot machines or doing body shots at pure. instead we selected what tess dubbed "vision quest". this mystical journey through the southwest took us through arizona, new mexico, texas, oklahoma, missouri, kansas, iowa, and finally the southern part of wisconsin. 

day 1, hour 7 or 8. we're moseying through arizona. i use the verb moseying because her car's speedometer only goes to 85 and we were traveling on a route with a 75 mph speed limit. apparently speedometers in '89 weren't particularly accurate. somewhere along I-40 i found myself being pulled over by officer plumb of the arizona highway patrol for going 86 mph. on one hand, i'd say it's a scientific miracle that defied the limits of physics. on the other, we should have probably been concerned that the mphs that the car projects aren't its real speeds. whatever the case, i ended up on the side of the road in arizona, explaining to the officer why i was a ny driver but only had a (valid) wisco license. (my ny license was in my wallet when it was lost/stolen a month or so back and i haven't replaced it). while laying out the situation to him, i had a flashback to the scene in 'super troopers' where the kids think they're safe, right before the squad car backs up a few thousand feet to bust the kids. tess would have to come bail me out of the only jail cell in the county - and our road trip would be delayed for a few days while tess washed dishes to scrounge up enough dollars to bail me out of the slammer. this of course was far more dramatic than what actually happened. the cop didn't even care about my license situation; he just had me walk to his squad car to tell him my correct information to fill out on my warning sheet. (which incidentally will soon be posted on my fridge). 

but this story isn't about my brush with the law. or my vast knowledge of state nicknames (virginia is the old dominion state). it's about how much i really love driving places. with gas prices the way they are, it's just not practical to drive everywhere. nor do i really have the time to hop in a car for 24 hours every time i want to go visit my family. (plus i don't even have a car to hop into). but every day i get on the subway - f train all the way to work unless i mix it up and take the 6 so i don't have to walk the mile from bryant park if it's cold out. i spend the weekends in my backyard, or in another borough. i have a few trees in my backyard and prospect park has pretty sweet greenery but i should really get out more - outside of the little bubble i've made for myself in the empire state. 

i really should thank my parents for all of the road trips as a child. besides being able to claim visiting 47 of the 50 states (washington, oregon, and alaska are the only ones i've not been to) i have a great patience in the car staring off into space and listening to music. tvs in cars are a modern convenience that i'll never understand. i get the idea to keep your toddler content in the back seat. but i'm old school - i hate the idea that all these kids are growing up having to be entertained 24-7  by dora or hannah rather than having to play the license plate game. my childhood involved trips to florida twice a year. my grandma had a winter home down in ft. myers and she insisted that her caddie was with her for the duration. we'd drive the car down to florida right after the new year, then go get it sometime around april fools. thus my childhood seasons were divided into four parts: pool opening, pool closing (aka the school year), drive down to florida, drive back to wisconsin. somehow with all of this time in the car, i get carsick when reading. i'd probably be a much more intelligent person if i could have spent all that time in the car reading sarte. instead i excel at scattergories and catch phrase - probably a product of the quick thinking games i learned on the road. 

as i sit here in brooklyn, i can't help but think that i should do a better job of traveling more. i'm far too poor to go abroad on a regular basis, but i really should take some strides to do some more serious roadtripping. we hit two big cities on our whole trip - albuquerque and dubuque. most of the time all you could see was rock formations and open space. and it was perfect. tess joked that i was pumped when we hit dubuque because i was missing the skyscrapers. honestly, i get in such a groove here sometimes that i forget that i'm surrounded by giant buildings. it's just a bunch of metal that blocks the sun. when i leave and come back though i'm happy to see them.  i love the open road but i'd end up with more than one run-in with officer plumb if i were left to such vast stretches. plus i much prefer a night out at a nice restaurant over wendy's spicy chicken. those sandwiches are amazing but i they need to stay a special treat for the good of my cholesterol. and anyone who may need to see me in a swimsuit. 

**addendum to previous post

key food is the name of this establishment. not "key foods" as would be grammatically correct. i know my irritation with this oversight is a telltale sign that i'm white, as per "stuff white people like" but it's annoying. i'm getting multiple foods to eat - not just one. 

15 items or less

tonight i went to the grocery store here in brooklyn. i'm not talking about a bodega. this was a full-fledged grocery store with aisles, a deli, and even a parking lot. it's one of those places that's right by my apartment that i always forget about. i rarely "cook" for myself beyond steaming some veggies and cooking a piece of meat on occasion. most nights i stick to a bowl of raisin bran and lactaid (gotta love the my gallbladder-free, lactose intolerant system) so i don't really bother going beyond the deli around the corner. 

the cats in all of the bodegas in the area frighten me, but i figure there can't really be any cat hair in my sealed corrugated cardboard (biodegradable i'm sure) carton of lactaid. i should note that i just finished reading "freakonomics". i say this only because i really think they should do a study on "why do bodega owners always have cats in their stores?" cats can be smelly, shed, and really don't guard the place from any robbers. i can't imagine they keep better company with these guys than all of their buddies that are constantly visiting them throughout the day. i'm not sure if it's advantageous economically, but i do wonder about any causality or correlations it may have in sales. but i digress...

this grocery store i hit up tonight had ample supply for me to stock up for the bbq i'm having this weekend. i had brought my NYer cart - an item of shame for me but shockingly handy when shopping in the neighborhood for bulky items. so i charged through the store, filling up an entire cart full of foodstuffs. when i got to the checkout there were 2 lanes open: no's 1 & 5. 

numero cinco had a line of 4 people while lane 1 had none. completely empty. had been since i entered the store - probably around 10 minutes. without looking up, i entered lane 1, ready to empty my cart on cue. in a former life i was a grocery bagger. i held the job through my junior year of high school, and not to brag, but my skills in packing groceries are unrivaled by most of my skills outside of the office beyond facebooking and recreationally drinking. 

immediately the bagger stares at my cart and mumbles, "mifteenitemserless". sadly i've lived here long enough to translate that to its true meaning "15 items or less". 

fine. i get it. i had too many items. that's not what killed me about the situation. it was the five employees all standing near checkout staring at all the people in line as they waited. and how the express worker didn't offer to take any of the other 4 people waiting in line (who all had 17 items at max) to her line. and that out of the 15 lines of possible checkouts, only 2 (really 1) were open. if you have the gargantuan grocery store and ample customers, flaunt your services a little. show a little pride. 

while i'm on it, i should also note an important feature of the parking lot. to dissuade anyone from stealing any carts, all entrances/exits to the store are surrounded by a fence only large enough for a person to fit through. this means that anyone who has parked a car in the parking lot must leave the cart in this little holding pen and carry the bags to the car instead of rolling it to its spot. for me this evening, i had to position my cart in such a way where it tilted under the bars. i then had to put my hands through the fence to grab it on the other side without it tipping over. i achieved this feat with no droppage of my cargo, but it was a close call. my wavy lays were almost lost to the sidewalk of prospect ave. and immediately i was thrown from my grocery fantasy back into the world of bodega cats. the moment of serenity was fleeting, but as long as i'm not paying for gas i can't really complain. if i'm honest about it, this will probably be my only trip to the grocery store in the next 2 months. i can fool most of the world into my "maturity" through big words and early bedtimes, but my messenger bags and cereal for dinner will always get me in the end. 

say cheese

i have an aversion to being spontaneous in photos. i'm fine when i'm directed to smile or freeze and strike a pose, but something evil takes over when people capture me in a "moment". half the time my eyes roll up in my head, the other half i look "like i'm about to die" as one friend put it lovingly this weekend. 8.1 megapixels somehow captures every awkward physicality i possess into one frozen frame. it's sort of a miracle of modern technology. like canon added a feature on their cameras that refuses to capture me in my natural habitat. or so i hope. i can live with this unfortunate curse in photography, but do i really look like that in real life? is my mouth often open awkwardly? do i gain double chins with a quick tilt of the head? are my eyes constantly red and irritated and my forehead crinkled? this is what happens when you work in advertising. you can be concerned with this over saving people's lives. thank god no one's cameras are yet in HD. i'm fascinated by looking at all the celeb's imperfections while watching awards shows in HD. i'm just not ready for that reality with myself. 

journey to the center of the earth

recently i played in a touch football game in roosevelt island. if you're not familiar with this magical place, do not feel bad. it's a tiny sliver of a land mass located just east of manhattan - between the big island and queens. it's best known for an incident some years back, when the tram that runs between roosevelt and manhattan left a handful of passengers swaying over the east river. i have been there exactly two times in my life - both times to play football - and i can't really see any reason for traveling to the destination if you don't live there. from what i can gather, it's an alternate universe for those who want to live near the UES, but can't deal with the rent. it's quiet and unassuming, and a complete bitch to get to when the trains are not running properly. i was able to find my way to the island after some tricky subway maneuvering, but once there i had NO clue as to how to get to the field. i had brought with me a zoomed out googlemaps print-out with the field name highlighted, but it lacked any street names. apparently roosevelt island is akin to the town in 'twin peaks'. none of the employees at the duane reade next to the subway knew any of the streets on the island. i had wrongly assumed that the islanders all knew the places of their community. i also wrongly assumed that the folks working at the subway station knew the area. (turns out they all live in brooklyn.) lucky for me, the subway folks knew north from south (i didn't) and were able to point me in the general direction of the field. by luck i ran into another guy from my team who was over 45 minutes late for officiating the game prior to ours. of course 2/3 of our team had the same issue that i did and we started the match two people short. fast forward to the post-game report. i was able to wander my way back to bizarro duane reade and eventually back to my home borough. i'm not quite sure which borough roosevelt technically belongs to, but i doubt i will be returning to it often enough for it to be something i need for my repertoire. i want to be the type of new yorker who freely travels between borough borders, but i'm not sure i can be so altruistic. besides the tram, i'm not sold on this roosevelt. teddy's fine in my book, as is fdr. this island however, is in the same realm as daytona beach. it's just not my kind of party. 

god knows when you've been drinking

due to gallbladder issues, i've been off of the sauce for a good few months. not that i'm a complete lush or anything, but i have been known to drink on more than on occasion. 3pm is a timeframe usually reserved for football kickoffs or dismissal of middle school. for me, the hour marked when i sipped my first drink yesterday. ordinarily this wouldn't be an issue. do a little bit o day drinking an move into the evening with a slow and steady progression. this would keep me awake - and with enough time i would hopefully forget that i was supposed to be going to a club at midnight. that's right - midnight. usually by that time i'm either halfway home or plotting my exit. we're talking midnight arrival - not departure. also keep in mind folks that i've been off the sauce for a few months. 2 drinks turned into 4 at the garden, and there i was getting ready to go to a friend's birthday party at a club in the city. i put on a dress and some leggings (yep - i said leggings) and took my tipsy self to the club. (i drank another 2 mixed drinks in between the garden and the bar). in my mind i should have gotten out of the club appearance for intoxication, but my BAC didn't do anything to keep me from hitting the velvet ropes. by the time we got to the club, i had enough of the bar scene. the alcohol had saturated my system, and i was ready to go to bed. after a few solid years of knowing my drinking limits, i no longer pretend that i can move past this limit into anything other than bedtime. i dutifully said my hellos to all at the club and promptly pretended i had to go to the bathroom. immediately i made a beeline to the exit, hopped in a cab, and made it safely to my bed prior to midnight. this is why i don't go to the clubs. the psychological prospect of having to go causes me to overmedicate. it's best in the future if i stick to dive bars and t-shirts and jeans, and i think my liver will agree. as a punishment, i was blessed with the worst hangover i've had in years. combination of cranberries, beer, and rain. god's perfect storm of gluttony, guilt, and grain products. 

my belly button is deformed

you'll have to excuse the long delay in my writing. a venezuelan surgeon sucking your gallbladder out of your body quicker than daniel plainview drinking someone's milkshake puts a person out of commission for a while. especially when they're given vicodin to help them heal. i'm not a big believer in using pain meds. i avoid them when i can, but MAN do those things help you feel good. actually they just make it so you can't remember how shitty you really felt. at the time i remember laying on my back and staring at my punctured stomach, asking myself why i didn't feel as good as i should for being so drugged up. five minutes later i could have remembered the 10th round of a flip cup tournament better. 

it's lucky that none of my friends (who doubled as my caretakers) took advantage of me. they had free reign of my wallet and all my credit cards, and i was freely telling anyone who may need any cash my pin number. plus they could have dressed me in just about anything and i would have gone along with it. though they probably didn't recognize the gold mine of opportunity, i felt like they could have done a remake of 'weekend at bernie's' but had me half-heartedly cooperate. 

i've never had any scars before - at least not any real ones. i have two from the chicken pox and a tiny one on my ankle from getting my foot pinched between a car seat and my heels when drunkenly cramming into a taxi in the middle of winter in college. my new scars are slightly more bad ass. they're a little symmetrical and tidy to claim a knife fight on the subway, but i don't despise them too much now that the swelling has gone down. four days after my surgery, i had looked like i was in my second trimester. i'd sit and stare at my pooch wearingly - WHAT IF IT DIDN'T WORK? i'd become cranky and pale and sleepy with food deprivation. i stopped even wanting food and wasn't even a bit hungry when my coworkers were chowing down on full meals while i picked at rice and miso soup.  

in the end, all is well post-surgery. though i eat portions not even large enough to qualify for a "mighty kids meal" at mcdonald's, i can eat again. i had the great equalizer in food products last week - a lunch special from the sushi restaurant down the block from work.  i tested the waters with a few beers last week, but the big test will be a birthday bash this weekend. as stomach problems go, i'm hoping that the worst will be a bit of heartburn from a slice at 3am. 

midwest thang

at the moment i'm writing this, i have been in the midwest for 8 days. my trip started with my sister's graduation, hit a mid-point with a quick jaunt in minneapolis, and i'll end my journey with an evening of camping with my friends near milwaukee. in between these major events, i'll have dropped my grandmother off at her home in wausau (wi) and visited my other grandma in milwaukee.

since i moved to new york, i have yet to spend this much time back home. ordinarily it's a hyperactive vacation - for every day that i'm home, there's events planned from the time i wake until i sleep. there's always people that i don't have time to hang out with, and promised dinners or coffees that never occur thanks to me double booking on the fly.

not on this trip. with the exception of a lunch that i had to cut out because of my sister needing the car (sorry, cloud) i've done everything i've wanted to do here and more. and it's really made me appreciate where i came from. i joke that the best part of growing up in the midwest is that i didn't end up with a jersey accent and that i like to go camping. while that's true, there's more to the story. there's a kinship i feel with the folks here that i'll never have in new york. yes, i love my life in new york and i'll stay there indefinitely, but despite what borough i live in or how dark i dye my roots, i will always be that girl with green hair who spent her summers at seminole pool. i will think of memorial day and labor day weekend as synonyms for brat fest; the fourth for summerfest. christmas always has snow, and saturdays in the fall are supposed to smell like badger football. summer sunsets are meant to be seen from a green or yellow chair at the union, and you're weak if you can't handle a scrambler from mickey's with a chocolate malt.

there's an unspoken understanding here of how happy everyone is that they live here - especially in the summer. you can even feel it when you talk to people who just came here for college. i chose to leave for college to see what else was out there and i know that if i lived here permanently i would not have the appreciation that hits me everytime i come home, but i have it now. and it gives me gratitude for not only my hometown, but that i live in a place now that is so very different - but great in it's own right.

i'll never forget in high school when my friend maria and i were walking around in beloit (we were there for a swim meet). we had just stopped at burger king to grab some dinner and were on our way back to the pool. "i'm going to go home tonight and thank my parents for raising me in madison," she said after looking at our surroundings. i worry that if i stay in new york when i have a family that my kids won't have that. they'll use swear words in public that i can't say at 23 without turning scarlet. they'll know how to avoid eye-contact with panhandlers on the subways. granted a family is a long-way off for me, and i'm not leaving nyc anytime soon, but i hope that my kids can grow up like i did. yeah, the winters are awful and i ended up with an accent that elongates anything with an "a" or two "e's", but i was given a disposition that made me love where i'm from, while at the same time want something more. the part of me that wants something more keeps me thousands of miles away from madison and my family, but i really do love coming back.

i hope there's a hell for faulty gallbladders

rumors have been running rampant throughout madison and minneapolis, and i feel that i need to clear this up on record. to follow up on a previous post, i do not in fact have 2 pancreases (pancrei). while it is possible for that to happen (look it up naysayers!!!) i only possess one.

a shadow in one of my abdomen CT's led my surgeon to believe that i may have two pancrei (pancreases) but this was disproved after my latest small bowel series. (basically i was forced to chug two bottles of barium as quickly as i could; then the doctors took pictures of my stomach every 10 minutes to watch it travel through my intestines.)

it has now been determined and proven through multiple tests that my gallbladder is the culprit of my stomach pain. or at least it might be. the doctors aren't sure about that, but they are sure that it's about 1/4 of the size that it's supposed to be, so it should come out of me ASAP. in doctor-speak, that means june 3...10 days from today. at 7:30am, two tuesdays from today i will be sans gallbladder and up 4 scars from where i started the day. i hope this means in the near future i will have booze-filled evenings without ridiculously painful stomach pangs and can once again enjoy sushi (and any type of food that involves flavor). if not, i may to have to become a vegan or fruitarian. something that makes my life more exciting than bran muffins and nila wafers. i used to love the "simple goodness" of nila wafers, but i think one box too many has made me a bit more simple-minded than i was when i first started eating them.

satellite blues

i'm in madison this weekend for my sister's college graduation. it was a whirlwind weekend - lots of food, friends, and relatives - and an excellent time was had by all (or at least that's what we can gather from the lack of leftovers). tonight i wanted to take a quick break from the action - watch a bit of TV before heading downtown to hang out with my sister's friends. i fixed myself a bowl of cereal and got in perfect lounging position on the couch. i clicked on the TV using the remote , only to find out that our satellite was NOT working. (later i found out this was because the whole system had been screwed up when we watched 'hot fuzz' on the DVD player on our other TV the night before.)

out of the 950 channels we are supposed to get, only 1 channel worked on the TV: CBS. at first i wasn't too upset. maybe 'csi' or 'criminal minds' or even a rerun of 'two and a half men' was on. but then i saw fringe and cowboy hats and heard twangy music. it was the american country music awards - LIVE from las vegas. ugh. i immediately uprooted myself from the TV to the computer. i have a decent tolerance for pain, but everyone has a limit. mine is easily reached when carrie underwood steps onto a stage with a sequined microphone.

on the subway today...

- i spent 20 minutes on the subway debating offering the woman standing in front of me my seat. those 20 minutes were spent trying to determine if she was in fact pregnant, or just wearing an ill-fitting shirt. i wasn't about to offend her by insinuating her pregnancy if she wasn't.

- a kid grabs the center pole (that i'm holding onto) and starts whipping around it in circles. he crashes right into me, so i attempt to try and grab the railing on the side of the car. his mom glares at me for impeding his "playground". 

- a woman is sitting with her 3 kids. her children are all hitting each other; without any warning she reaches across two of the kids and starts smacking the youngest across his legs. he starts squirming and pouting, then swings around and whaps the random hipster sitting next to him. the mom starts yelling a story about some $^%$^% motha &*^$^% with their &*^# attitudes with no class. she's speaking so loudly that no one can hear the train stop announcements.  

- a greasy old man starts attempts to engage in eye-sex with me. while i attempt to avert my eyes from his view in any way, he keeps tilting his head, bobbing and weaving to get my attention. 

unfortunately, today was just a regular day in the company of ny's finest citizens

happy saturday

as heard from my bed this morning:

9am - screaming and crying (my roommate fighting with her boyfriend)

9:30am - my roommate babbling about bleeding all over the place

10:00am - the other roommate's dog running around. this was due to the fact that babbling roommate leaving the stove on. roommate with the dog went and turned off the stove, cleared the room of smoke and proceeded to try to go back to bed to no avail.

11:30am - the two of them fighting over depositing rent checks on time

i have no way of knowing whether this timeline is accurate, but these were the events that proceeded my exit from my room this morning. 

my life...as told by someone else

as i was cleaning my room tonight, i came across a bio one of my friends wrote for me in college. i asked him to write a few lines for me to put in the newsletter that was introducing me as the coach of a local swim team. just a quick blurb about me and how i looked forward to teaching kids how to swim the backstroke. this is what he came up with:

"jeni's swimming career is shrouded in mystery, a loose patchwork of folklore, half-truths, and hearsay. legend has it she fell through the ice on lake wingra as a small child, and instead of panicking she simply taught herself the breaststroke underneath the frozen surface. if the rescuers hadn't come so quickly she might have perfected the surface dive as well.

by the age of five, jeni was regularly practicing her stroke technique whenever and wherever she could. it was not uncommon for jeni's family to discover her missing, only to find her later attempting to crawl into the drainage ditch near her home, or the penguin sanctuary at the vilas zoo, or the lobster tank at red lobster.

by seven, jeni was swimming competitively against the nautical prodigies of the former soviet bloc countries, thanks to a fellowship granted by the eccentric and reclusive dr. wilford longfellow, a retired industrialist and lover of both traditional kabuki theater and olympic swimming. supposedly, longfellow spotted jeni at the local YMCA and said, "i have seen true beauty but twice in my life. the first time was when i spied a great white shark off the coast of antigua and barbuda, so aerodynamically perfect, a graceful dancer of the sea. i killed it and placed its fearsome plaque in my study. the same beauty i see now, in this little girl. she will bring home the gold medal, and i shall place it around the head of the great white shark"

there is no proof that longfellow ever said this. in face, there is no proof that longfellow even exists. there are medical records for a w.p. longfellow, but all pertinent information has been mysteriously blacked out.

after rigorous training with the finest swimmers of the former soviet countries, jeni inexplicably walked away from competitive swimming for five years. some say the pressure was too intense. others insist she simply sacrificed her own career to further the aspirations of her new friends. a scattered few claim her decision came after weeks in a communist isolation bunker and session after session of unspeakable torture. whatever happened, no one can say, but this much is known: at the age of 14, jeni was found by an excavation crew in the middle of the mojave desert, 23 miles from the nearest town. when they found her, she kept repeating the same phrase over and over. they could not understand it, for it was in russian. years later, one of the excavators, a prominent archaelogist named rachel suarez, would stumble upon what she had said. it was this: 'the phoenix has risen from the ashes. i will swim again.'

she would swim again, but only after fifteen labor-intensive months of physical therapy. for reasons known only to her, she had lost all motor functions below her neck. she had to relearn how to walk, how to tie a shoelace, and, most importantly, how to swim. those who had seen her swim before would remark that she was only a shell of her former self, that she would never live up to the expectations for her once promising career.

no longer a competitive force, jeni turned her attention to other areas. she studied the works of the great french enlightenment thinker, voltaire. she learned american sign language and provided translation for the deaf attendants of rock concerts at san francisco's historic fillmore theater. she even ghost wrote the autobiographies of a handful of celebrity chefs. but her estrangement from the world of swimming would not last long. at the age of 18, jeni was asked by the europe swimming board of regents to serve on the planning board for the 1st annual parisian underground waterway classic. the classic was intended to be a world class swimming competition in the elaborate system of underground sewers below the city of paris. though the event had may critics skeptical, jeni's guidance and business acumen made it an unqualified success, drawing some of the world's biggest names to the humble catacombs of paris. in gratitude to jeni's foresight and dedication the mayor of paris presented her with a key to the city of paris. the key was soon stolen by gypsies.

jeni has worn many hats in her short yet rich career. she has worn the hat of world renowned swimmer. some may call this a swim cap, not a hat. she has worn the hat of athletic expatriate, of crippled survivor, and of organizing guru. yet there is more space in her closet for even more hats. who knows what the 21st century has in store for the enigmatic jeni dill."

estoy loca?

i can't sleep. i've been tossing and turning for the past hour and a half, so i thought a little quality time with my tv would make me drowsy. i went to the abc family website in an attempt to watch the latest episode of 'greek'. in order to be able to do this, i was directed to sign-up for one lycos' viewing parties. i know i should not sink this low, or admit to the virtual public that i'm willing to create a user password for this, but it was free and i'm really upset that i missed monday's episode. in order to sign-up, i was prompted to create a user name and password. as you would suspect, i tried to use "jenski". (i may be willing to make a user password, but am not providing any evidence of my last name to link me to my addiction to tween comedies. that's a step too far.) i didn't add any numbers or letters, just typed-in "jenski" to see what my options were. these were the choices i was given:

jenski.loco

brat.jenski.loco

jenski.brat

locojenski

jenskiloco

brat.jenski

i don't know who chooses the name options, but i'm a little bit offended. sure i can be a brat and am borderline crazy, but a program that randomly assigns username isn't supposed to know that. i would have rather youre.too.old.to.do.this.jenski or jenski666. i just got cyberburned by a network website. a network whose most popular show 5 years ago was 700 club. brutal. 

up in smoke

i took a cab home from work tonight. i was there late and just wanted to peacefully sit in the back of a car rather than trudge to the F. given that i tried to get one at 8:30 on a thursday in the rain, i really lucked out by even getting a cab. the driver seemed a bit sketch, but that's not unusual. i'll settle for any cab that is willing to take me to brooklyn. as soon as we cross the bridge, the driver starts talking to me:

"you smoke?"

"excuse me?"

"ma'am, do you smoke?"

"what?"

"you smoke weed?"

"uh..."

"it's raining, traffic is slow. you want to smoke?"

"no, no thanks."

"you live in brooklyn. the people in brooklyn and the bronx, they always want to"

"no, not me."

the last 15 minutes of my trip was pretty awkward. i have a sneaking suspicion that he was high already or just trying to gouge me for my ride. either way, pretty damn sketch. 

pancreases galore

the latest theory on my stomach issues is that i may have two pancreases (pancrei??) the debate is raging in my workplace as to what the correct plurality would be for the word. pancrei sounds european - thus somewhat superior and refined - plus pancreases makes me giggle a little bit. one of my co-workers likened the word to breasteses. juvenile humor gets me every time. 

so as an expecting mother would search for names for her impending bundle of joy, i am on the hunt for the perfect names to encapsulate all my pancreases (pancrei) have to offer. since the two seem to be brawling, cain and abel were suggested tonight. this brought me to thinking about other famous duos. and the tale of rosemary and osemary. 

as an instructor of any kind, it's quite common to come across unusual names. for every jacob and sarah, there's a kid named zanzibar or gfarhdln (pronounced "jack"). when i coached swim team the first week of practice usually had a lengthy amount of time devoted to learning (or avoiding mangling) my kids' names. 

as the story goes, one instructor had two little girls in his class - identical twins. their names were rosemary and osemary. when he asked how to tell them apart, "osemary is smarter". 

the music of the night

i really love american idol this season. in all past seasons, i've lost interest after the auditions phase. but this year, i did the opposite. i didn't really watch many of the audition weeks, but have watched with full-attention since we hit the top-12. 

i think it's the instrument thing that may have really gotten me hooked. i have a greater appreciation for musicians who can also pick up a guitar or play the piano while they're giving an awkward nod into the swinging camera or winking at one of the hand-waiving "fans" in the first three rows. 

but what was up with the andrew lloyd webber songs last night? i thought we had evolved and moved past some of the more horrible theme nights. (enter 'big band night' in season 1.) the whole night was AWFUL. even the front runners didn't know what to do with themselves. david cook talked about his past in musical theater, while ALW knocked other (robot) david for choosing a song normally sung by a woman. i really don't understand what the issue was with that. last week, the top 7 all sang songs by a woman (mariah carey). what made that so special? 

my vote for next week is songs by nickleback. all of their songs sound the same and the lyrics are all mumbled. that would make for an interesting hour of television.  

dante the detailer

yesterday, meg decided that she needed to be spray-tanned before her trip to the DR tomorrow. i glanced at my pasty skin and pondered. a faux-tan could be the catalyst i need to get out of my barium induced funk. so we decided to venture to the beach bum tanning salon in queens this morning. to give you a quick schooling in faux-tans, there are two main ways to get instant gratification. mystic tan - where they put you in a room and shoot tanner at you like a car wash; or airbrush - also similar to a car wash, but at this place they have a guy named dante using a handheld tool and a drying hose. either option isn't particularly glamorous, but as we were told by many a tanning expert, airbrush is the "natural" way to go (aka less streaking). 

after two failed missions to beach bum locales in queens, i found myself at the UES beach bum at a 1:45 appointment with dante. the guy at one of the queens locales considered him THE BEST when it came to "tanning detail". in my mind, this meant no streaks, freaky hairlines, or orange spots. little did i know i would come out 3o minutes later with defined biceps, six pack abs, and a realistic tanline on my hips. 

my hollywood tan will have faded by friday, but dante's expertise will live on in my mind indefinitely. some make their mark helping children, curing diseases, or in my case performing competitive analyses of the top-10 adult cable networks. dante's gift to the world rests in a sterling silver squirt gun, and a vision of the perfect body. he is a master at his craft.  

it's berry good

today i had a classic waiting room experience. my stomach's been giving me trouble for the last month, so my docs decided to do a CT of my abdomen to get a better view of what's going on. i've already done the sonogram and endoscopy of my abdomen, so this was really the cherry on the cake.



i grew up in madison, wi. madison may not be the size of manhattan, but the major thing that my hometown has going for it is its medical services. the university hospital is world-renowned, but beyond that it's all in one place. if you need to get your blood drawn, you're taken to a room down the hall, your blood is taken, and that's that.


here, the doctors scribble hieroglyphs onto their notepads which you must hang onto for weeks at a time, and you're expected to wait upwards of 50 minutes for a vile of your blood. the worst comes when you need actual tests done. these tests are rarely done in the same building as the one you're being examined at, but that really doesn't matter. you can't be seen for the procedure for at least a few days. if you're lucky (like i've been recently) they push to see you as early as possible. i have probably the most understanding workplace possible when it comes to exiting for a doctor's appointment, but i'd be screwed otherwise. it's not often that you're given more than one option for an opening in the near future and they're always smack in the middle of the workday. why would a hospital employ its doctors to have to work past 5pm? as a worker in the media world, this often perplexes me. my biggest concern in a day concerns the placement of a commercial and i routinely work past 7pm. but if my spleen needs to be taken out, i'll know it in 8-weeks worth of 9-5 appointments.


today i found myself at a diagnostic imaging lab in lower manhattan for a CT scan of my stomach. my appointment was at 2:30, but they asked me to arrive at 12:30. i would have to "drink a little something" so that they could see how my insides were functioning.


i arrive promptly at 12:20, taking a seat in the crowded waiting room after filling out a packet of paperwork with my symptoms and SSN. beth israel hospital must have at least 10 versions of the same signed packet. i've started changing up my wording a bit - "abdominal pain", "stomachache", "chronic stomach ailment". i doubt the hospital has noted my creativity.


"banana or berry smoothie?" i'm asked when returning my paperwork. i'm relieved. the barium's flavored. it really can't be that bad. err...well...a cup of it isn't. but i'm handed two 425 ML canisters of berry smoothie barium. essentially 1L of this stuff. the containers resemble two classroom size refills of glue. the receptionist points to a water cooler on the other side of the waiting room. "grab a cup from there. just finish by the time of your appointment."


i take my solo cup and dignity and grab a chair. i soon realize i'm the only person in the room under the age of 40, but not the only one with the barium concoction of fun. a few older ladies nod their heads at me in support (they're the designated drivers - their husbands are the ones doing the drinking today). i feign a smile, then give the first container a few good shakes before opening it up. bottoms up. the scene does oddly resemble a midtown bar during happy hour on a wednesday night. old men and cheap shitty drinks. i give a nod and half cheers to an old man across the room, but he just stares at me in annoyance.

it takes me an hour and a half to drink the potion. the taste itself isn't horrible, but the docs make you fast the 6 hours prior. nothing else is in my stomach but those faux-fruit flavors. all 1 liter's worth of them. by the time the tech comes to get me, i'm feeling somewhat faint. my stomach is churning, but i can't tell if it's just the barium doing its business or my stomach uprising against the chemical agents. in either case, i'm extremely uncomfortable, but ready to get this over with.



i'm told to put on a gown, but leave on my sneakers - lime green converse. this is definitely a fashion statement with my pasty white legs. the tech makes small talk while he sets up a main-line in my arm. i'm getting the full-treatment today. barium and an iodine injection. woo hoo.


the CT itself takes moments. there's a notice right in my line of vision on the machine that says "do not stare directly at the laser." i do my best to not react, but i'm now i'm curious. i have no idea where the beam is located, but i want to know what it looks like. my eyes start wandering, trying to spot the mysterious laser beam.


they do one version of the tests with just me, then another set of images with the iodine coursing through my veins. rarely have i felt medicine coursing through my body (i hear heroin does that to you, but i've never tried it, nor will i ever). but i could feel the iodine. the tech warned me that i'd probably taste metal and feel a warming sensation in my crotch (no joke). nothing prepares you for the feeling that you've peed in your pants. especially when sucking on a fist-full of nails. i guess that's why iodine never caught on as a drug of choice for anyone. there's no real high from that, unless you get your jollies from the moment of panic that hits when you think you've completely lost control of your bladder while working at a construction site. thank god i hadn't really peed. i don't think i could have bared the shame of leaving berry pee stains on the CT gurney.


the barium's been messing with my stomach all afternoon, but beyond that, i'm physically fine for the moment. mentally though, that's another matter. it's going to take me a while to get back on the horse when it comes to berry products. probably a few months at the least. i had a similar issue in high school when a friend and i split a bottle of raspberry twist mixed with berry punch. i endured a monster hangover the next morning to meet my grandmother for brunch, only to be forced into eating a berry muffin. it took me 2 years to get over that. this time, i'm hoping i can overcome the berry adversity sooner. summer is coming, and there's a jamba juice on my way to work from the subway.

eggcelent

"apply to become egg donor. help an infertile couple! $8,000 compensation for time and effort. healthy females age 21 to 32 can apply up to five times"

this was an ad i encountered on facebook this evening while checking my profile. it was accompanied by a photo of a woman holding her pregnant torso. here i was looking at my friends' updates and writing random messages on their walls when this ad was served on my screen. when they say, 'apply up to five times', does that mean that you can be rejected four times and still provide your dna to some loving couple wanting children? i consider myself on the more-responsible end of the single 23 year-olds of the world and i'm frightened at the prospect of this. 

remote control

the remote for my cable is broken. i can't figure out what's wrong with it. i've changed the batteries, pushed all of the various button combinations, and even banged it against my sofa. this is awful. in the old school days, it was easy enough to get up and switch the channel. we had the broadcast nets plus a few key cable networks. 20 channels at most. but now the channels i like to watch are 50, sometimes 100 away from one another. i can't surf between shows whatsoever, and even have to buy myself a bit of time when switching to a new show. i'm forced to compromise missing the end of one to catch the beginning of another. so here i am on a wednesday night, forced to watch the american idols' ford commercial instead of checking in on criminal minds or last night's real housewives of ny. i know you're shocked by this, but yes, i am single. 

definitely

i generally take offense to bad grammar, but two spelling errors stand out in my mind as capital crimes: 1) "definately"; and 2) "wierd". why are these two magical (and commonly-used) words so often mangled? even as i write these, my computer flags them in red as misspellings.  in a time where we have phones that complete our words and computers that allow us to double and triple-check words and definitions, how does this happen? 

i fear it's my generation. us (not-so-fondly) referred to as the millennials. there's all sorts of buzz going around about the folks born between 1980-2000 - the newest addition to the list of gimmicky generational names (i.e. "gen x", "baby boomers", etc). 

according to the latest news, we're hard to handle in the office and need an exorbitant amount of hand-holding. we're used to our lives being scheduled-up by our overbearing parents and we all think we're special. honestly, i don't doubt that most of us fall into this label in some way, shape, or form. but this my fellow peers, is terrible. some of the ideals of the millennial generation are great - shared purpose, civic duty, forward thinking - but some of them are crap. absolutely horrific. step up and take responsibility. realize that we're going to have to pay our dues. understand that we're not all good at everything. and for god sakes, check your spelling. something glaringly obvious (to me) that has been left off of all of these special reports is the millennial desire to create shortcuts. most of us barely (if at all) remember a time when we weren't allowed to copy and paste our manifestos and most of us do anything in our power to save a minute. somehow with all of these quick techniques, some of us have lost a desire for accuracy. 

definitely becomes definately, weird becomes wierd, and worst of all - says becomes sez. i'd like to make a plea for better grammar. we've already become the generation of text messaging and "like". please do not let us completely lose our integrity. spare 20 seconds from your day to check the spelling of words you're not quite sure about. take a second glance at that email before you send it out. we're supposed to be arrogant because we're the most educated generation yet. not because we're ignorant. and too proud to admit it. 

jhon doe

i replied to an ad on craigslist yesterday to check out an apartment. at approximately 9:15am today,  i received a response from a mr. jhon doe asking me to call gary to see the place. i give mr. doe style points for the creative spelling of the traditional, "john". i can't decide if it was intentional, or whether it was a spelling error. i would like to see my 24th birthday, thus i will not be responding further with any personal information. 

the life story

with the advent of technology, most people have gotten extremely lazy. "U" instead of "you", lots of apostrophes. most people are probably well on their way to grammar hell with half of the emails and text messages they send on a daily basis. (i take full responsibility for the lack of capitalized letters in this post.) so why oh why, do people feel compelled to write long-winded "catch-up" postings for facebook and myspace that everyone in their network (or on the web) can read?

the ones i'm talking about are the messages that many people in my generation trade for any substantive conversation. they're akin to the awkward encounter one may face when bumping into someone that they can't quite place, or a person they have no real intention of ever wanting to talk to again. it's similar to the half-assed promise to hang out with someone who you haven't seen in 3 years and then exchange numbers when you are at the same party or out christmas shopping with your sibling when you're home visiting your parents. the classic facebook posting goes something like this:

"hi jeni!
how are you? i haven't talked to you in so long! it's been _______. i hear you're in NY. things are good. after i graduated school i ______ and now i'm ______. i live in _______ with my _________. if you're ever in _____, let me know. we should hang out.

- ______ (fill in name here)

the kicker is the signing of the name. the other stuff can be well-meaning and nice, and i truly apologize for offending anyone who over the years my have written this on my wall in an attempt to reconnect (i hope i crafted a nice response). but why the name? your post is linked to your entire profile. with one click, i can have access to a photo montage of the last 6 years of your life. i know who you are.

*in an effort to save time, i welcome anyone to fill in the blanks and copy and paste onto my facebook wall.

break of day

tonight i was pleasantly surprised to get off the train and be greeted with daylight. (i use this term lightly - it's been raining all day and they sky is grey and gloomy - but it's better than the dark sky that usually awaits me when i step off the F train after work). i'd like to say that i would have done something exciting if i wasn't home early because i'm sick. but the truth is, i would have done the same thing regardless of my reasoning for being home: put on my pj's and headed for the couch. weekdays are not days to be adventurous.

wild and crazy kids

after viewing the commercial a few times, i can confidently say that i'm 99% sure that donny jeffcoat, former host of nickelodeon's 'wild and crazy kids' is in the new nesqwick chocolate milk ad.

a spritz of scandal

unless you're 6 feet under or spent the last week in a casino, you've heard by now that eliot spitzer has been implicated in a prostitution scandal. being that i work across the street from the ny governor's offices, the past week has resulted in the possibility of ending up in b-roll footage on a national news source each and every time i step out of my building. in fact, one of my coworkers is of the belief she ended up on telemundo on monday, but we have no firm confirmation as neither of us are viewers of the network. regardless, it's been a zoo in our parts, which has escalated our attention to the scandal. and probably caused me to think more deeply about the situation than i really should.

to be honest, if he had met up with a prostitute on his own time, with his own money, i would be disturbed, but would have considered it completely no one's business but his own. what someone does on their own time is between them and their family. get federal funds muddled up in it though, and the whole thing has a different ring to it. it is what it is though, and mr. spitzer bowed out of his position before it could be ripped away from him in a call for impeachment.

the question that lingers in my mind is not why did he do it (i'm pretty sure the reasoning for people getting a prostitute is pretty obvious), but why a prostitute? i'm sure there's plenty of scandalous women in ny that would sleep with a man as powerful as the governor. i'm certainly not one of those women, but i can guarantee they're out there. why not an aide or some socialite who champions his fundraising? you know - the usual suspects in a sex scandal. i don't condone cheating in any way and think it's pretty despicable, but seriously - a prostitute? c'mon - that's just too 1980's cliche. if you're going to ruin your career, reputation, and life, at least do it because your hooking up with someone who you potentially have feelings for. not someone who you're paying to keep you company.

the internet gods are never smiling down on us...

for months i have been half-ass attempting to get a password set on our wireless account. it's one of those things i've been meaning to do, but never really had the patience to stick through until the job was done. 15 minutes on hold with the folks at time warner and it didn't bother me so much that people were stealing our internet.

today i felt like i had let the task fall on the wayside for far too long and it was time to do something about it. it was a late night at work, so by the time i got around to doing this, it was about 10:45. i started out by trying the live chat on time warner's website. I've taken out my 'analyst's' last name and deleted my personal information, but everything else is verbatim from our 'chat' [minus the brackets]. We begin from the start of our chat...

Barbie: In this case, now I will need to use a tool that will allow me to access your computer remotely. This will help us to troubleshoot the issue quickly efficiently. Please go through the following notes and confirm your acceptance: 1. I will be able to see your computer s desktop and manage your computer. I request your presence while I perform the required troubleshooting. 2. However, if you are not comfortable with this procedure at any point of time, you are free to disconnect the remote tool by clicking on Disable Remote Control button in the center of the screen.

Barbie: Sorry. [for what, i'm not sure]
Barbie: Hello, thank you for choosing Road Runner technical Chat. My name is Barbie D. How may I assist you?
Jennifer_: it's fine to remote connect
Jennifer_: i need help setting up a wep password
Jennifer_: i can't find how to do it on your website
Barbie: Jennifer, I'll try my best to assist you with the issue you are facing.
Barbie: Before we begin, I would like to bring up your account. May I have the following four pieces of information from you please?
1. The account holder's 10 digit telephone number. (xxx-xxx-xxxx)
2. The account holder's Full Name (First and Last)
3. Please tell us your name.
4. May I have your preferred e-mail address?
(Preferred e-mail address is the one that you use frequently; it may be different from the Road Runner e-mail address)

Jennifer_: [i give her this information]
Barbie: Thank you, Jennifer.
Barbie: Jennifer, if I understand you, you want the WEP password, am I right? [keep in mind that when i registered for the chat, i explained that my problem was that i needed to set a WEP password]
Jennifer_: yes please
Jennifer_: right now, we don't have one set
Barbie: Thank you for the confirmation.
Barbie: Jennifer your WEP key would be your Modem Mac address and fourteen 0 s.
Barbie: MAC address is a 12 digit alpha-numeric address on the sticker at the bottom of the modem.
Jennifer_: yes
Jennifer_: i have that number
Jennifer_: where do i type that in to set the password?
Barbie Dcosta: Jennifer, WEP key is required when you try to setup the wireless router.
Jennifer_: the router was set up when i moved in
Barbie Dcosta: Alright, is that provided by Road Runner?
Jennifer_: i can just click on the name of the router and it lets me hook up to that connection
Jennifer_: yes
Barbie: Alright Jennifer, in this case I'd request you to contact our concerned department as I do not have the required expertise for the same and they would be in a better position to assist you with the issue. I'll provide you with the phone number.
Barbie: The number is {XXX-XXX-XXXX]
Barbie: Is there anything else I can assist you with?
Jennifer_: no, that's it. thanks.
Barbie: You are most welcome. For further assistance please logon to our website help.rr.com and check for online FAQs.
Barbie: I would appreciate if you could provide us with your valuable feedback on the support experience, after the end of this chat session. It will help us to serve you better. Please submit your comments at http://surveys.rr.com/chat
Barbie: Thank you for using Road Runner Technical support today, I hope you found our session helpful.
Barbie: Analyst has closed chat and left the room

so Barbie and i parted ways. Ii called the 'concerned department' and let me tell you, they're not particularly concerned. i waited on hold for 35 minutes before even reaching the main menu. this was due to the 'large number of calls' that TW was receiving (past 11pm). once i got a rep on the phone, our conversation proceeded something like this:

Rep: hello. thank you for calling time warner. please provide your first and last name.
me: [provided this info]
Rep: thank you. can you please provide your MAC modem number?
me: [i provide the number on our router. turns out the number on the router is not a time warner number - it's the manufacturers number. i need to call them to set up the password.]
Rep: ma'am...sir?? ma'am, is there anything else i can help you with?

AHHHHH

i continue my quest by calling up the manufacturer of my wireless modem. after a "short" wait of 5 minutes, i get someone on the line. he walks me through how to set up the password, and we're all set. i have to set a lengthy one - it's some sort of system requirement and it's not particularly flexible.

45 minutes since my endeavors begin and we're all set. not too bad as any issues with the cable company goes. in my next life, i'm starting my own monopoly.

a tearjerker

http://video.stumbleupon.com/#p=ithct48cqw

child's play

on sunday, i encountered an all-too familiar scene at a coffeeshop. a girl no older than 11 stood in line in front of me. she asked the barista for the house blend - w/ 2 sugars and extra half and half. she ordered it with an air that i don't think i'll ever have when ordering a cup of tea (i quit coffee in november). most of the kids i encounter here are like that. sometimes their 'cultured' street smarts are things that i'm in awe of (like when the kid next to me on the subway is talking about his vinyl collection), but most of the time it freaks me out.

at water aerobics (yes, i've recently taken up the sport) last night, i overheard two kids talking about their ipods:

"i just got rid of my shuffle."
"for a real ipod?"
"no, well, like, maybe. it was from when ipods were first invented. i couldn't listen to all of my stuff. it was my brothers."
"i have a real one. it holds all of my music."
"whoa - my parents said i could get one of those for my birthday."

the conversation went on for quite some time. they started exchanging gigabite information and something about transferring files that i just couldn't follow. but my main questions hinged on my belief that it's not possible for either one of these children to have been born when ipods were 'invented'

but they know a hell of a lot more about the tech, so i'm going to keep my mouth shut. a few years from now, one of them will probably talk to me like a child when i'm trying to buy a new computer from them at the apple store. and so continues my descent into adulthood. i'm catching up to you mom - one new tech item at a time.