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.