kittybrunette

2008-10-03T08:33:00.003-04:00

FIERCE!
Mike-Mike is dangerous! Here, he says, "How are my teeth?" The correct response? "Good, scary!"

And, in contrast, Mr. Yellow is sweet and mellow! The ladies say hello to this fine fellow!

2008-06-18T09:34:00.002-04:00

The Highway is NOT a Mosh Pit...

Contrary to popular belief. And therefore, if you are driving a crappy, rusted out white car with a big pizza delivery light on top of it, you should be paying attention to certain things. Like, the road in front of you, perhaps.

And not, I might submit, to the pizzas residing in your passenger seat. If you are driving badly enough that they may escape from their perch and land on the floor, maybe you need to think about a new career. One that involves not moving objects, such as a stamp-licker for a very rich old woman, perhaps. Or maybe you could fold shirts at Abercrombie and Fitch--that seems harmless to the general population. Yes, go with the A&F job--you will only be endangering the lives of snobby teens who get their heads stuck while trying on t00-small tee shirts, and to them, I say--Darwin was right.

Anyhow--as I was sitting *NOT MOVING* in the left-hand turn lane, (I repeat, the LEFT HAND TURN LANE!!!!!) I noticed that the pizza delivery vehicle behind me was coming towards the Millenium Falcon at an alarming rate of speed, and that its captain was not merging over into the "drive forward and avoid hitting stopped vehicles lane". As he got closer, I then noticed he was not looking through his windshield as a normal person might, but instead had his attention raptly focused on the seat next to him. There was nowhere for me to go, and... he hit me...HARD.

I sat there for a moment, collecting my thoughts, taking a mental inventory of body parts. Okay, so I was alright. Nothing bruised or broken. And the kid who hit me was dancing around in the street, looking like a freaked out kindergartener who couldn't find the bathroom. So he seemed to be fine.

Now, sadly, this has happened to me before, this being hit while NOT MOVING phenomenon. Twice in fact. So, I knew that this was not going to affect me financially at all.
But, oh, my car looked so sad when I got out to inspect the damage!

The back fender resembled an empty banana peel. My trunk was open, flapping in the wind. I tried to close it--it didn't line up with the base. That was because of the big crinkle in the actual frame of the car, up next to the rear windshield. Big white streaks of paint tattooed the side panel. The exhaust pipe looked oddly crushed and dangly.

"You do have your insurance card with you?" I asked the kid who got out of the pizza car.

"Yes," he said. "Please forgive me," he said.

Silence on my part.

"Wow," he said. "I've been a pizza delivery boy for a year now, and there have been a lot of close calls, but I've never actually hit anybody. God has protected me. Do you believe in Jesus?"

Okay, now at this point, I was furious. Not necessarily that the idiot was trying to witness to me, any other circumstances and I would have politely told him, yes, I do, thank you.
But, come on!!! You bash into the back of somebody's inert vehicle, and then try to present them with the "Good News"-- poor timing buddy. If I didn't believe in God, this would be the worst possible time to try and convince me otherwise. Seriously. He was just lucky I grew up a minister's daughter and resisted the impulse to haul back and punch his lights out.

Instead, I moved about 20 feet away and waited to talk to the police, and waited for the Scotsman to show up.

He called the pizza place, and his boss told him to remove the pizza sign from the top of his vehicle. He looked very forlorn, sitting on the side of the road, trying to make friends with the girl whose immediate future he just seriously complicated, and holding his plastic light-up pizza sign. I don't believe he knew that usually, drivers of pizza delivery vehicles don't get second chances when it comes to accidents, and that he was probably effectively unemployed at that very moment. It was almost sad.

Except for the fact that I watched him bash into me before he ever looked up to see what could be in front of him. What if I had had a child in my vehicle? Or what if I hadn't looked up to see him coming and not prepared to be hit--I could have been seriously hurt. AND, he pushed my car slightly into oncoming traffic--I could have slid much further.

So, no, in the end, I am not sorry for Pizza Boy, and that's final.

Updates to come later on what the prognosis is for the poor Millenium Falcon.

smash, smash! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2008-06-12T12:11:00.004-04:00

Kitty and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Morning...

Once upon a time there was a girl who went to bed with a headache. When she woke up the next morning, it was still there. She also had approximately 17 spider bites, two on her feet. "Ouch," said the girl.

She went to the bathroom, and found that Aunt Flow was visiting. "Double ouch," said the girl.

Next, to brush her teeth...the girl had a canker sore! "Super double ouch," said the girl.

After brushing her teeth, the girl went to get dressed, but before she could put on any clothes, her trusty Scotsman had to put oil on her very sunburned shoulders. He rubbed too hard, and the girl said, "That's enough pain for one day!!!!"

The girl put on her Friday outfit--capris with a tank top and a zippy sweatshirt. She put on some slip-on shoes that wouldn't touch her bug bites. She had hit snooze too many times that morning, so no breakfast before work, but she had cereal for such mornings in her office.

Off to work--a one-hour drive. Maybe life will get better.

Only, about 10 minutes before the girl reached her office, she realized, "Today is NOT FRIDAY! It is only Thursday!! And I have a client meeting!" The girl almost said a bad word to the squirrel next to her car as she pulled into the office parking lot.

Her boss was waiting for her, with reports for the clients. He tapped his foot, and laughed at all the things the girl was holding--her purse, her planner, her sunglasses and regular glasses, her car keys, her ID tag, and her report binder.

"You look like a hobo," the boss said.

The girl ran to the vending machine to grab a granola bar to eat on the way to the meeting. The machine asked for 85 cents, even though the granola bar only cost 80 cents, then, let the bar teeter a centimeter from the edge of the shelf it sat on, but didn't let the granola bar drop into the slot. The girl kicked the vending machine, but nothing happened. "HUNGRY" said the girl's stomach.

The girl went to the meeting with her boss and the clients. She looked quite silly in her Friday outfit, among all the slacks and pressed shirts of everyone else. "What a day," said the girl.

Halfway through the meeting, she needed to scream and roll on the floor because of cramps, but she sat there quietly instead, drawing pictures of kitties with horns and pitchforks stabbing the word "THURSDAY". The drawing didn't help.

The meeting was finally over, and the girl went back to her own office--finally, breakfast! OH, and 75 unanswered emails that have arrived within the last two hours! She still had a headache, a bad sunburn and 17 spider bites. The girl had tears in her eyes by this point.

The girl went to the printer down the hall. When she came back into her office, she ripped her pants on a desk drawer. She kicked the desk, but like the vending machine, nothing happened.

The girl searched and searched until she found a sewing kit. She sewed together her pants. It was now time for lunch, and the girl was glad that her terrible, horrible, no good, very bad morning was finally over.

What bad thing could possibly happen on a Thursday afternoon?
(And, by the way, where was her wallet?)

"the end" at janeh928@yahoo.com

2008-06-06T12:24:00.002-04:00

In the heat of the gym...

My baby bro, The Gangledorf, graduated from high school this weekend. It was a memorable ceremony, packed with fainting, nervous breakdowns and cheering for odd achievements-- could you expect any less from an event attended by the Kitty? Of course not.

First--The Fainting: Outside, the weather was warm, but not too bad, with a strong breeze (leftover from the tree-toppling storm the night before) to keep things bearable. BUT, inside the highschool gymnasium, with every family member of an over-populated senior class squished into high-rise bleachers (standing room only) and nary an airconditioner in sight (though they did have one really big fan--good for them), it was UNBEARABLE! Like entering a vortex that suddenly plops you next to the sun, hot.

Now, take that heat, top it with a giant nylon graduation gown, high heels, a huge case of the nerves (probably couldn't even eat her breakfast, poor thing) and a make-shift stage, and what do you get? "Could everyone please rise for the national anthem... performed by... CRASH!!!!"
She fainted--fell flat on her face. The crowd gasps. Several teachers run to her aid.

The principal (NOT anyone's pal, unless you play football) says from the podium 20 feet away: "Everyone, everyone, please calm down. Parents, I don't have any idea who that girl was (because she's an academic top 10 instead of an athlete, perhaps?), but I'm sure she'll be fine. Let's carry on and salute some students who deserve some REAL recognition."

And he carried on.

REASONS WHY THIS PRINCIPAL IS A COLOSSAL ASS-IN-A-GRADUATION-GOWN:
1. He made no effort to go help this poor girl, instead trying to keep the graduation moving along.
2. The apparent reason he wanted the ceremony to keep moving was so we could get to the part where he was planning an impromptu speech.
3. The impromptu speech was 40 minutes long.
4. Did I mention the nearly sun-temperature heat??

REASONS WHY COLOSSAL-ASSES-IN-GRADUATION-GOWNS SHOULDN'T GIVE SPEECHES:
1. They spend a lot of time talking about all the athletes in the class who deserve to be recognized for their heroic attitudes (but don't mention all the cheating and drug using).
2. They enjoy incoherent rants about "courage" (winning football games), and apparently four other character words that I didn't quite make out amidst the rambling, but apparently there will be posters next year.
3. They point out graduates with learning disabilities and talk to everyone those students have ever met about their "struggle" to get to this moment.
4. They praise kids who graduated after ending up in wheelchairs, though they ended up in those wheelchairs after drag racing and nearly killing many of their companions in the process.
5. They make sure to mention where they themselves played football in college at least twice.
6. They cry some actual tears about "heroic" athletes.
7. They then cry about the "heroic" athletic directors.
8. They mention where they played football in college again.
9. No body understands the run-on sentence fragment filled words that are coming out of their mouths amidst all the tears.
10. They give 40 minute speeches in 90 degree gymnasiums filled with trapped people who just came to see their kids walk across a stage, grab their piece of paper and turn a tassel on their hats.

Ah yes... but we will have to wait to get diplomas until several other speakers dazzle us with their gems of glorious thought:
1. The Salutatorian- Rambled on about the things she learned in high school, including "you must cut in the cafeteria line to get any food" and "germs spread really quickly when you come to school sick--you can infect the entire student population" and "something about academic teams and nonsense words"... Now, I was on academic team, you didn't hear me talk about it in my graduation speech, however. I'm proud of that fact to this day. NO need to go about spreading the word that you are a prime "wedgie candidate". NO need.
2. The Valedictorian- recycled some dreck about believing what you believe and not what others tell you to believe. (Actually a well-delivered speech, but WHAT a revelation! I mean, come on people...)
3. The Class Speaker (voted for writing the speech that is the best representation of the Senior class)- Compared high school to... Monopoly. "Do not pass go, do not collect $200--go straight to jail, or the principal's office" (I guess if he treats you to an impromptu speech while you're there, it could be considered jail. Maybe this girl was brilliant! Ha!)
4. Some girl warbles a song about "spreading your wings and remembering something".
5. The senior choir ensemble sings about being "33 for a moment--life just passes by...blah.."

AND THEN...
They get their diplomas, shake hands with the Colossal Ass in a Graduation Gown, turn their tassels and we get to lea... NO!!!! There's a slide show!!! With pictures from middle school!!!

(I'm not the only one who thought this whole process reeked of idiocy. The Gangledorf, who was wearing an entire SUIT under his graduation gown, says he doesn't quite remember what happened... he couldn't see through the rippling heat waves eminating around his head! He also forgot his tassel, so no turning. We're not sure he officially graduated without that all-important step!)

sitting in the top bleachers, sweating through a white dress at janeh928@yahoo.com

2008-05-27T12:24:00.003-04:00

The Kitty's Top Five of It All

(Prompted by The Lumberjack to reveal all sorts of things about myself, here goes...)

Top 5 Things Under $5 I Couldn't Live Without:
1. Chocolate
2. A notebook
3. The Scotsman's Irish Spring soap
4. Movie rentals
5. Hair ties

Top 5 Favorite Movies
1. High Fidelity
2. Almost Famous
3. Good Will Hunting
4. Breakfast at Tiffany's
5. Empire Records

Top 5 Favorite Baby Names
1. Maggie
2. Stella
3. Will
4. Ryan
5. Bob Oblaw

Top 5 Songs I Could Listen to Over and Over Again
1. Tiny Dancer/Elton John
2. Cupid d'Locke/ The Smashing Pumpkins
3. Kind of Blue/ Miles Davis
4. The Song That Jane Likes/ Dave Matthews
5. I'm Just a Girl/ No Doubt

Top 5 People Who Have Influenced My Life in a Positive Way
1. The Scotsman
2. My parents
3. The Lumberjack
4. Gangledorf
5. The Seahag and The Queen

Top 5 Things Always in My Purse
1. Tide stick for the Scotsman
2. Cell phone
3. Playing cards w/ "war kittens" on them
4. Makeup bag
5. A pen

Top 5 Moments that have Changed My Life Forever
1. Finishing college
2. When the SuperRat broke up w/ me (for the better)
3. Moving in with The Lumberjack
4. Meeting the Scotsman
5. To be determined...

Top 5 Obsessions I Have Right Now
1. Watering my garden
2. www.icanhascheezburger.com
3. Finding a new hair stylist :(
4. My baby brother graduating from high school
5. Flowers (esp. my lilac trees)

Top 5 Places I Would Like to Go to..
1. Scotland/Ireland
2. New York
3. Mackinaw Island and U.P. MI
4. A deserted island w/ the Scotsman
5. HOME (esp. bed)

Top 5 Appliances/ Kitchen Utensils I CANNOT Live Without
1. Garlic Press
2. Iron Skillet
3. Knife set
4. Glass juicer
5. The Rabbit wine bottle opener (it is AWESOME)

Top 5 People Whose Top 5 I would Like to See:
(Lumberjack, you don't count, I've already seen it.)
1. The Scotsman (ha!)
2. My first crush (interesting...)
3. Han-Solo
4. Mikey
5. Donna vs. Jackie

somewhat revealing... at janeh928@yahoo.com

2008-05-20T13:14:00.005-04:00

Swampy Clothes and Missing Toes...

The excitement never stops!

Two weekends ago, the Scotsman and I went to visit my sister the Seahag and her boy, Zachipoo. We all decided that the absolute best use of our time would be to take canoes out into the middle of a lake and eat some snacks.
Setting off, we were sure that the Seahag and Zachipoo were going to tip over, judging by the way they argued about how exactly they should be rowing the pink canoe they had chosen (By chosen, I mean the Scotsman deemed the pink canoe unfit for his manly arse, and took the green canoe, leaving Zachipoo to navigate the "girly" vessel.).

Well, arguing is one thing. A not-seaworthy vessel is entirely another. The manly Greenship turned out to be just a pretty face, all style, no substance. (By substance, I mean, sides tall enough to NOT take on water.) REALLY.

We paddled around for more than an hour, ate some chocolate chip cookies, laughed at how stupid Seahag and Zachipoo sounded, shouting, "NO, Zachipoo, I said DON'T tip me over!" "Bwhah-ha-hah! You will love swimming in your clothes!" "AHHHHHHH!!" (These two also found rowing around in a boat to be the perfect time to argue about subject-verb agreement.)

Only, try as he might, Zachipoo's pink boat with tall sides, would not tip over, dumping his girlfriend into the murky depths below.

NO, that priveledge was reserved for... me. The Scotsman and I fell into the lake, approximately 100 yards from shore, when a wave lapped over the side of our Manly Green Deathtrap, filled the canoe, and sent us right on over! IT WAS COOOOOLD!!

We swam to shore, toting our waterlogged vessel behind us, only to discover that "shore" was actually a rock wall skirted by a sidewalk (I must not have mentioned how much rain we've gotten lately). We had to scale the slippery, slimy, most-likely snake-infested wall in order to reach dry land. Only dry land turned out to be an impromptu island.

Then, because the "canoe-warden" was "kind of busy. Are they in danger or anything?" We had to dump out the canoe, try to get back into it, off of the rock wall (I got dumped again when the Scotsman attempted that maneuver!) and row, sopping wet, all the way back to the "real" shore!

Upon finally reaching real, non-island, ground, I took off my now-100-pound wet sweatshirt, revealling a totally soaked and see-through white t-shirt w/ black bra combination to several drunken Turkish exchange students who were attempting to learn how to fly fish. FAN-tastic!

I also lost my sunglasses. The Scotsman lost a sock.

In other news, the Scotsman now has only 5 toes, all on one foot, after a diabetes-related-emergency-surgery. He missed going to a Cubs game in order to go to the hospital, and let me tell you, Surly Scotsman has never made such a committed performance. (I can't blame him, last week really sucked for the Scotsman.) He was gruff and grouchy to the nurses (who tried to give him the wrong insulin), he got into fights with the kitchen people...

Actual conversation:
The Scotsman: "I would like the Personal pizza for dinner."
Kitchen Minion: "You can't have pizza for dinner, it has 6 carb points, and you're only allowed 6 carb points. You can have half a pizza."
The Scotsman: "And because I'm allowed 6 carb points, I can't have something that equals 6 carb points? What the hell?!!!"
Kitchen Minion: "Oh,well you can have pizza, but that's all you can have."
The Scotsman: "I ONLY WANT PIZZA!"
Kitchen Minion: "Okay. Would you also like a salad with that?"
The Scotsman: "Am I ALLOWED to have a salad with pizza, or does that shoot me out of my allotted point range?"
Kitchen Minion: "You can have a salad."

I'm not making that up!

Other dumb things:
"You put your side-rail down? That's against hospital policy." (Siderail was down because the Scotsman couldn't squeeze his shoulders into the narrow twin bed.)

"While you're recovering, try to wiggle your toes, so they don't get stiff" (Um, his imaginary toes?)

SO, now the Scotsman is at home, recovering, and all mad about not being able to go outside and chop things down, mow things, etc... A couple of days ago, I planted the last of our garden, while he sat in a lawn chair, leg propped on a bench, telling me how to plant the garden. I also learned how to mow the lawn, and last night, I scooped the litter box.

(by the way, our cats poop largely. i am getting muscles from all the lifting of pooper-scoopers and pushing of lawn mowers and turning over of soils. and i think i killed the tomato plants.)

never seen anyone so mad about staying home from work and watching t.v. at janeh928@yahoo.com

2008-05-08T09:11:00.002-04:00

All your garage doors are belong to us...

Our garage door opener broke. It was 35 years old. It gave many great years of service to everyone else it opened and closed for. BUT we move in, and all of a sudden it's all "I'm tired" and "I don't feel like opening today" and "How about I spit this sprocket at you, huh?!"

During the next two weeks, the Scotsman spent countless hours at specialty hardware stores, local small ancient hardware stores, re-sale stores, even bike stores, looking for a replacement for our lovely 35 year old sprocket, so he could repair the existing garage door. NO WHERE does anyone, on any planet, make sprockets like the one we needed. NO ONE. NO WHERE. NOT ANYMORE. JUST. NO. (We knew this could be a possibility because when we went to The Overhead Door Company to request a second garage door opener for my use when we first moved into the house, they took one look at the giant brown remote from 1976 that the Scotsman had in his hand, laughed, and asked us if we didn't just want to donate that model to their "museum of relics" and buy a whole new set. We said no. Ours works just fine.)

(Ha- I now see what happened. The Overhead Garage Door Company, seeing a business opportunity, snuck into our garage and ruined our sprocket ON PURPOSE!)

SO, after the Great Sprocket Search, we found out that you can get a tiny new sprocket made for $85. Or a completely new garage door with all brand-new parts for $180. Hmm...

For awhile, the Scotsman decided he would open the garage door by hand while he thought about what to do. But, sadly, this required him to back the Millenium Falcon out of her space for me every morning so that he could CLOSE the door before leaving for work everyday. We learned the hard way that it's not safe to leave a garage door open on our street. (Suddenly, all the neighbors' yards look suspiciously weed-free when someone takes your brand-new weed-eater in the night!)

After all the weight-lifting and squeezing into my tiny vehicle, we finally made the decision to get a whole new set. That was on Friday night. We will let go of $180 to buy a new door, we said.

Saturday morning: The Scotsman tries to make biscuits and gravy for breakfast. Oddly, much swearing seems to be involved, instead of his usual happy-morning-banter with Mr. Yellow.
Why? Because Oven, hearing that Garage Door was on strike, decided he was going to break also.

We went out to breakfast. Silent Scotsman. We bought the garage door opener set. Steam-at-the-Ears Scotsman. The Scotsman begins to install said garage door opener set. SWEARING Scotsman!

You know the "blue cloud of obscenities hanging over Lake Michigan" created by the dad in Christmas Story? Well, it's floated south a bit. It now hangs over my house. Specifically, the garage.

Several, and I mean several, hours pass, and the swearing goes from muttered-utterances to full-out, I-can-hear-it-from-the-other-side-of-the-house tirades streaming up and down the street. It was getting annoying.

So, I got my purse and my sunglasses and got OUT of there, "I'll be back in a couple hours" shouted over my shoulder as I back out of the drive!

When I got back, the Scotsman was still toiling away (something about completely unnecessary coordinating lasers being mandatory to open and close the door...)

I went to bed.

We now have a garage door that works.

Can't wait 'til work starts on the oven... at janeh928@yahoo.com

2008-04-16T13:50:00.003-04:00

We are not feeding Mr. Yellow any treats, anymore.

This is because he is by far the stinkiest cat on the planet. HE REEKS!
And this weekend, the Scotsman had to clean up a pile of ultra-stinky petrified runny-poo that he said smelled in equal to many of the cow messes he used to clean up on the farm. Maybe worse.
Worse than COWS pooing on fences?
Giant cow poo. Now rivaled by little Mr. Yellow and his amazing powers of stink.
Way to go, Captain Stench-butt.

And the fact that my boyfriend, the ultimate pushover when it comes to Mr. Yellow's pitiful "aren't I cute and starving" face and his little paw patting the knee trick, is the one who has laid down this decree--now that's a big deal.

Sorry Mr. Yellow, no more bacon.

But... but... look how my tummy caves in... see it shrink... at janeh928@yahoo.com

2008-04-15T12:32:00.002-04:00

I am a bad, bad blogger...

But I will get better--starting NOW!

My house--still lovely.
The Scotsman--still splendid.
The FatCat and his Sidekick Yelly-Yelly-Yellow--still spoiled!

AND I-- I am once again a scribe! So life is pretty much purr-fect!

Except for the bedspreads in my guest room...

We spring-cleaned my lovely abode this weekend, top to bottom, side to side, every knick-knack, every hide(ing spot for cats) (hey, i needed something that rhymed)

All was well, everything washed, everything sparkling, everything neat and organized, when...
then struck the FratCat!

He bounds through the cat door (which you can see through now) and into the kitchen, where he comes to a frantic screeching halt, looks around, then tears down to the basement and onto my lap.

Good lord--he looked like a chimney sweep, with black sooty smudges all over his face, blackened sticks and dirt protruding from his claws and just general disarray of cat.

Before I can fully comprehend the Pigpen lookalike before me, he tears upstairs, and plants himself on a quilt in the guestroom to give himself a bath. Um, it was hysterical.

And of course, because it was so funny and random, I didn't do a thing to punish the beast!

little black paw prints all over the house! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2007-08-07T18:19:00.000-04:00

The New House!

I have a house, a real, true, actual grown-up person's house!!

YAY!

It has 4 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, a REALLY big kitchen for me to cook snacks for The Scotsman and MikeMike, a livingroom/dining room, a family room, laundry room, workshop and attic. (OH and a 2 car garage too!)

It is SO pretty! I am having all sorts of fun doing the painting and decorating right now.Mike and Mr. Yellow love to help. Tails make great paint brushes, according to the kitties!

We are settling into our new jobs. The Scotsman has found himself a new pub and some buddies to throw cabers with on the weekends.

This weekend our best friends married each other. We were the maid of honor and best man, and it was super-fun. It was a very small, very formal event. I got to see the Scotsman in a tuxedo, and we got to stay in a room at the Columbia Club in downtown Indianapolis, VERY swanky!

Wait 'til you hear about our next plans for adventure! It will be in September, and involves a bunch of aging frat-brothers, a football game, lots of smoked meat and a birthday cake for me!It's going to be at our new house. I wonder how much of the stuff I've just purchased is going to be trashed by the end of the weekend?!

Miken has a little girlfriend. She's a tabby-cat with a collar who comes to visit our house everyday. The Scotsman and I will come home from an event, and she'll be running out the door. He should know that we don't allow friends to come over without permission!AND, Mr. Yellow is a great hunter, we have discovered! The King of the Jungle has killed for us many mice, bugs and even a bat! I don't know how he caught that!

Life is getting much more routine, now that we've settled in a place, so more postings should be on the way.

i have a pink toilet in my new bathroom! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2007-04-24T15:48:00.000-04:00

From Left Field...

Um... it's been forever, and I apologize. I'm sure by now, no one is reading this anymore. Nor expecting that there would be any reason, such as an update, that they should do so. Therefore, any random news I have to offer is somewhat inconsequential, but I'll share for no reason anyway.

1. I am now not a reporter, but a photographer. Fun! No deadlines!
2. The Scotsman and I will be moving to a new town, and purchasing a HOUSE! (no more apts!!)
3. We have a new member in our family. Mr. Yellow, or Joshua, depending if he's in trouble for shredding the curtains or barfing on the oriental carpet. He's stripey and fat, just like his big bro, Mike!
4. Mike is mad about both #2 and #3. Big surprise!

Well, I'll attempt to post more frequently from now on. Like I did once upon a time.

Signing off,
The Kitty

2006-09-02T14:43:00.000-04:00

Hello out there!

I am alive.

I have no real job, have been reduced to coffee-wench.

I have no internet access.

I cannot write everyday even though funny things have happened.

If anyone wants to hire me to write for them, please do, I will write your TPS reports, if I must!

Mike the Cat has transitioned well, we call him the Frat Cat now, explained by the following story.

The Scotsman and I had to work last Friday, when people were coming to paint our front door in the apartment complex, so we had to shut Miken into the bedroom.
I left him with food, water, the litterbox, the tv turned on to Animal Planet and the blinds pulled up in the window so he could see outside. (I am a good mama).
He didn't care. He was ANGRY anyway, so.... he took a pair of my favorite underwear, sitting next to instead of inside the laundry basket, put it in his litter box, scooped some litter over it and LEFT A LITTLE POO ON TOP for me to find when I got home.
HAhahaha!!! I died laughing, it was so funny, I wasn't even mad.
BUT THEN, later that night, when the Scotsman and I headed out to the patio, Mike decided to join us, then LEAVE us. We looked for him for an hour, but, no FattyFat. So, we left the screen door closed, to hear him scratch, and went to bed.
About 3 in the a.m., I get up to see if he ever came back and wanted in the house, but he met me in the hallway! He had slid the screen door open himself. Wily beast!
I went back to bed, only to be awakened by sounds of his throwing up at 5 a.m. Too tired to do something about it, I didn't look around for it 'til I got up around 8.
Not on the carpet in the living room. Not in the kitchen. WHERE IS THE PUKE, CAT?!
Oh, it's on a dining room chair, covered by a placemat, because I didn't want to get in trouble.
Great, Mike!
Where did we find HIM?!
Sleeping in the bathtub, with the shower curtain pulled over his head!

Yep, the FRAT CAT.

the tiger is unstoppable! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-08-11T14:57:00.000-04:00

The Crew: Lip, Rood, Phillip and THE SCOTSMAN!! (Froth in their hands!)

The Scotsman and Me(above)/The Scotsman's Brother, being offered a helping hand by Lip

Froth me baby!

I know I haven't written in forever, forgive me, for I have no computer. (typing now at the Scotsman's desk at work, where I stole his spot while he attends a meeting!)

We had a really smooth move-in process, if you don't count the broken air-conditioner during 100 degree weather!!
Everything looks so great in our new place, and it's not quite the ManCave I expected it to turn out as!
Mike moved in with us on Sunday, he is adjusting, having fun growling at squirrels on the patio and knocking over the Scotsman's chess pieces.
Oh, and don't let me forget the amazing Jimmy Buffett pilgrimage that took place last weekend, as it is the whole reason for this post:

The Scotsman and all his college pals get together every year to see Mr. Margaritaville play in Chicago.
It was a weekend of partying that actually started on Thursday afternoon, and included:
*A sick dog with impacted intestines--she swallowed a chew toy and had surgery on the morning of the show.
*Fruit-basket peace offerings sent to the neighbors.
*Tending to a meat smoker all day on Friday--mmmm! smoked meat! (so say the boys)
*No one knew how to use the high tech coffee maker.
*At a restaurant for breakfast: "People fear us right now--and they should!" The Scotsman's brother announced, "It's 10 a.m., and there's a problem right now. I'm sober."
*Taunting the neighbor's dog with a shock collar on, with the aforementioned smoked meat. The neighbor came out and threatened to taunt our friend with the same method!
*Margaritaville Twister.
*The Scotsman forgetting he had eaten lunch at all. "Man, and those hamburgers looked really good," he said. "And they were good," I replied. "You had one with potato salad and half of my pasta salad, silly."
*FROTH=DEADLY. FROTH=MEMORY LOSS. FROTH=TASTY!
*WHY is the rum ALWAYS gone?!
*Dancing on top of the Jimmy, alongside the giant shark-fin we constructed earlier.
*The infamous "Lip" of the Scotsman's frat-boy days, taking a dive head-first off the top of the Jimmy while dancing. EVERYONE just knew he was dead, but he wasn't. THE BOY IS BIONIC!
*Lip: "Hey man, my ear hurts!" Reeally?
*Oh yeah, Jimmy Buffett played some music too!

2006-07-05T09:49:00.000-04:00

Sun, Fun and Some Darn Good BBQ Chicken! (Happy 4th!)

Me and the Scotsman on Friday. Don't I look sweaty?!
It was, like, 95 degrees and my iced tea didn't have enough ice.

BUT, I lived like a queen this weekend, a life complete with a giant lakeside house and a boat to use all day and a huge picnic with (YUM) really great, made by a grandma, pasta salad!!!

We went to Lake Louise, to stay with the Scotsman's college friend, Sassy Red, and her husband, who she calls the Money Nazi. Which is NOT true, Miss Lakehouse/Boat Owner, but, whatever. They were really nice and I liked them a lot! I'm so glad I actually enjoy hanging out with my boyfriend's friends. That can be such the relationship killer, when all you want to do is walk up to his best friend and kick him in the balls.

It was so fun! We spent, like, the entire day on the boat just being happy and drinking really fruity sugary drinks. We saw a family of deer. We laid on the shore, watching occasional fireworks at night!

Oh, and then there was the parade on the 4th, where I stood in the rain for two hours, so I could watch the Scotsman march by in his kilt, all rain-geared up, banging away on his giant drum to keep time for the bagpipers.

He's in the middle, with the bass drum.

On the way home, I watched fireworks displays in every city from his house to mine. It was so beautiful!

ONLY THREE MORE DAYS IN THE OFFICE! ONLY TWO MORE WEEKS 'TIL WE MOVE!

i wish i had more pasta salad! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-06-29T15:04:00.000-04:00

We are such hotties...

So, a lady in my office came up to me to wish me luck on my new adventures in OH-land, and wanted to see a photo of the Scotsman.
This is what she said:
"Oh, he's a cute young man. His eyes. You know, he looks like John Travolta."
Oh my. Just. Oh... my.
Now, my Scotsman is preTTy darn handsome. Blondish hair. Blue-green eyes that smile at the corners. Very nice face and teeth. Squarish build. But, he's not John Travolta.
There's no strut to the walk of the Scotsman. At least, not a Travolta-esque strut.
And, kilts he may wear, but my boy probably would not be caught dead wearing a white leisure suit with sparkly lapels. OR a large trench coat with suspenders and occasional wings either, for that matter. (Remember Michael? Was that dumb or WHAT?!)

ANY way. I told him and he was all, "ON WHAT PLANET do I look like John Travolta?"

But, that's old ladies for ya.
My mom, while doing a play with a younger guy in the cast, wanted to set me up on a blind date with him.
SHE told him I looked like.... Carmen. Electra. Thaaaat's right. Dennis Rodman's ex-wife. Swimsuit model. Workout video queen. MTV talking-diva supreme.
Carmen Electra.
I'm sorry, but if I looked even remotely like the Elec, I would NOT be working at the Reporter for... nothing.

So, we're not the VOLT or the ELEC.
Too bad. We could probably use the publicity for our writing careers.

Shhhhocking!!! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-06-27T15:00:00.000-04:00

Men/Women/Love

My friend, formerly referred to in this blog as "Florida", now referred to as (The) Future (Mrs.) Lilly, or just FL, has this to say about her new fiancee:
"He's so cute, and he doesn't have any idea! (giggle interruption) I just love that about him!"
Wouldn't it be funny if us girls said things like that about other characteristics we saw in our boyfriends?
Like, "Oh, he's so arrogant, and he doesn't have any idea. I just love that about him!"
OR, "Oh, he's got terrible hygiene. He smells like a dead mule and he doesn't have any idea. I just love that about him!"
There's the ever-useful, "He's drunk as a skunk, and he doesn't have any idea... oops, gotta go, he fell down the stairs again. I just love that about him!"
and "He's unemployed and doesn't have any idea. I just LOVE that about him!"
Personally, I go around telling people that the Scotsman, "is actually a grizzly bear, but he doesn't have any idea. He goes around catching fish with his bare hands, scratching his back on tree trunks and scaring tourists. I JUST LOVE THAT ABOUT HIM!"

love your man, and give him kisses, xoxo, at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-06-22T11:28:00.000-04:00

Angry White Female

My boyfriend often carries a maori club with him around the office. The Maoris used this club to beat to death their enemies, then pulled teeth from the victims, lodging them in the weapon as trophies.
Of course, my boyfriend's club has no teeth in it...yet.
Today, I feel like him. I am in a VERY BAD MOOD. I don't want to be at work, or to talk to my boss, or to write anything, talk to anyone, or have anyone BREATHE NEAR ME.
I have no maori club, so I have resorted to holding a shiny black lacquered rock with lovely orange koi painted on it. It is a gift from my boyfriend, and right now, is the perfect size to hold discretely in my hand, with just the right weight and feel to it to allow me to pretend that I'm threatening the livelihood of anyone who might dare to interrupt me this morning.

Ahh!! It worked better than my usual trick: a Starbuck's mocha.

boys are stupid, throw rocks at them (and at everyone else, today) at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-06-20T16:03:00.000-04:00

Bad Church Music (BCM)

An Entry Inspired by the Good Woman who Writes "Blonde Champagne"
(God, let us pray, hear our prayer, BLESS Mary Beth Ellis!)

Apparently the Catholic church suffers from the same affliction as my dear Quakers do, and that, my friends, is Bad Church Music.

These are the songs that haunt you in the night, when you cannot sleep.
Those with verses so absurd, you very nearly have died from being unable to breathe while stiffling laughter during their performance every time they are played.
The ones performed so enthusiastically and terribly, you still hear the screechy strains reverb-ing through your consciousness in quiet moments.
The just-plain-stupid ones.
You KNOW what I'm talking about.

There's one Easter hymn that will forever live on in the Hall of Silly Fame for my sisters and me.
It goes like this:
"Up from the grave He arose!!
With a mighty power o'er His foes!!"

My sisters and I, sitting in the front row as the ministers' daughters, were very creative even at that young age, often coming up with alternative versions of the very BCM. One Easter, The Song was listed in the program.
(Now, mind you, Easter service is important. Your congregation doubles with all the visitors who show up.)
My sisters and I had the audience, the inspiration and the perfect opportunity.
We sang:
"Up from the GRAVE HE AROSE!!!!
WITH A MIGHTY POWER IN HIS TOES!!!!"

We still can't hear that song without quietly changing the words, then giggling hysterically. Usually having to excuse ourselves to laugh in the foyer rather than destroying the service!
(I'm at my desk, giggling with myself right now, while I type. That image of Jesus, shooting from his grave Mighty Mouse-style, propelled by muscles in his mighty wriggling toes. HILARIOUS!)

Other great moments:
My father, holding up our newborn baby brother, is barfed upon during the chorus of "Showers of Blessing".

The Crazy Turkey Lady, who sings with great gusto, every Christmas Eve, "Oh Holy Night"
The words: "Ohhhhhh niiiii-ght, di-VIIIIIIIINE" ring on this very day.

When my sisters realised the song "He touched me," sounded pretty creepy all of a sudden.

Special musical guests our church actually lived through: The 40-year old daughter of our organist, playing her Accordian. (Words from my father after a particularly appalling performance, "Oh, well, Beverly. That accordian...how many buttons does that really have?") AND The-Man-Who-Played-A-Handsaw. (AWFUL!!!!!)

Read also: www.blondechampagne.blogspot.com, MB's entry today is about BCM.

Jesus loves the little kitties, all the kitties of the world at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-06-19T12:58:00.000-04:00

Country Clubs

The Scotsman played with his pipe band at a country club golf tournament awards ceremony this weekend.
I stood with the country club people/audience, as they marched down the fairway of the 18th hole, to the green, where they played some pieces before the ceremony.
AHHH!!!! I hate country club ladies when they are mean and ignorant and drunk!
They were making fun of the woman who plays in his band, for being a woman in a bagpipe and drum corps, for wearing the traditional Scottish outfit, and just because she had an interest in something other than shopping and gossiping and cheating on her husband, in general.
Not all country club ladies are this way. I know some very nice rich women who go to the country club for things like tennis instead of for things like--BRANDY. There are very nice ladies who play bridge, and lunch and do little projects in the community and then there are those who torment the country club staff and spend their afternoons getting manicures while the nanny takes care of their two-year olds.
These are the ladies who would die if they ever had to deal with real life.
But, I did like their hair!

p.s. I have a new bow, that is my size, and now I can shoot really far, and hit things like the sidewalk!!

i'm hungry, it's time for lunch at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-06-06T16:41:00.000-04:00

Look how CUTE!!

This is the Scotsman's lovely kilt-wearing behind. He was at the Highland Games last year, when this photo was taken, and the person who took it published it on their website.
Go to www.scottishsocietyftw.org to see it. Look at the pictures from last year's games!

That is all, thank you! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-06-06T14:55:00.000-04:00

I have found something more torturous than math!

It is: the Bureau of Motor Vehicles and the Spawns of Ineffiency who run the place!

Back in January I got that speeding ticket, while headed to the blind date from hell, the one where I recieved a candy bar as a reward for being a nice person (see Feb. 1 entry called "The Candy Bar").
Well, I paid that ticket. (See, I really am a nice person, 'cause I was gonna make HIM pay it. I guess I did deserve that candy bar!) Only, the idiots at the BMV decided not to recieve my check. THEN decided not to notify me that they hadn't recieved it until after they had suspended my license. (They are NOT nice people, there are no candy bars in their future.)
I found out my license had been suspended going on five days after it actually happened on June 1.
And when I told them a check had been sent in, the phone receptionist who called me JEAN on several occasions, didn't seem surprised that they had lost it.

The guy behind me in line said he sent in two money orders that they "never got." riiiiight.

It took me two hours on two separate days to get the issue fixed. At one place, I sat in front of a government employee for a full five minutes watching her fix her paperclip dispenser with little pieces of scotch tape before she looked up at me and said, "what do you want?"
And believe you me, I wrote that second check and personally hand delivered that puppy straight into the hands of the IN state clerk, with a little threatening flourish of the pen on my signature to let them know I meant business! That'll show 'em!

What a waste of time and energy!!! Why are they allowed to be so disorganized then charge ME $30 in late fees? I just think it's as ridiculous as when my junior year math teacher told us "imaginary numbers were invented in 19xx..."
WHAT!!! Why am I learning this? IMAGINARY NUMBERS??
As if math wasn't frustrating in the first place when all the numbers were actually real, now you're telling me we're studying the fantastical dreams of some poindexter in a polka-dot bow-tie who one day in August, set aside his tuna-fish sandwich and said, "Wouldn't it be neat-o if a number could do this?? Let's make up some that can!" And all his fellow Comb-Over Club members thrilled with dastardly glee and tapped their finger tips together in uncontrollably evil math related emotion.

DOWN WITH MATH AND GOVERNMENT WORKERS, ALL at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-06-01T14:53:00.000-04:00

I am looking for a new job

IN DAYTON!! If anyone knows anyone who needs a most excellent writer, designer and/or public relations rep., let me know. I can send my resume in 2 seconds flat. (zip,zip!)

I'm moving in with the Scotsman on July 21!!!
Hooray! The ManCave will be gone, however, and we will have to create just as neat a place that accomodates the two of us.
Super-Girly AND Big-and-Burly.
I see NO PROBLEMS with that at ALL!!!! (heehee)

So, for the next couple of weeks, that will be my main focus, trying to sort through job descriptions. Which, sounds about as fun as...NOTHING. I hate looking for new jobs, because I am not good at that part. The interview, no problem. I like to talk. Trying to match the skills on my resume to what somebody else is looking for in their perfect employee: makes me want to die of embarassment at my inadequecies and drown myself in a giant bowl of ice cream.
Or in a giant chocolate mousse.
(Have I mentioned that I'm trying to cut out sweets?! I KNOW, ridiculous! The Lumberjack just took a moment to collect herself after spitting out her peanut butter cookie, I just know it.)

If you know anyone who hires professional tiger-trainers, I've got proof that I can do it at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-05-31T14:56:00.000-04:00

Those feisty Irish...

A little round Irish lady with flaming red hair, apparently drunk, came up to the Scotsman at a reception during his Canadian conference last week, and asked if he was wearing his kilt in the traditional manner (called "regimental", meaning "with no underwear). He swore that he was regimental, serious kilt-wearers don't do it any other way, and the Irish woman said she didn't beleive him, he was an American, and couldn't possibly be that serious about his heritage.
THEN SHE LIFTED UP HIS KILT, right in the middle of the conference, to reveal...his regimental status!
But, that's not all she did. She ran and got a friend, saying, "He really isn't", and... SHOWED HER!!!

i told you i was worried about his hotness, and how it'd affect the ladies! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-05-31T12:22:00.000-04:00

Get me a pineapple, stat!

The Scotsman and I spent the weekend MELTING!
It was damn-awful hot, and his airconditioner was putting in a half-hearted attempt at staying alive.
The Scotsman(standing on the bed, looking at the ceiling vent): "I think it's sending out some air, but it's not cold. I think it's the same temperature as the room."
ME (standing on a chair): "Maybe the vent needs cleaned?"
The VENT: Shudder, Gasp, WHeeeeeeZZEE....clunk, raa-tttle, puff.
The Scotsman: "Um, no. It's dead."
So, we spent most of Memorial Day at the pool, or in the Man Cave with the lights off, in our swimsuits, plastered to the floor, in front of a fan, watching Animal Planet's marathon of "The Little Zoo that Could".
AWWWWW, tigers and baby monkeys with brain damage. GOOD television, people!
And then, the Scotsman became just a little bit more wonderful in my eyes. He is 1.)Brilliant 2.)Very sexy when covered in sweat and swearing at the sun for producing heat-rays.
We go to the store, and very mysteriously, the Scotsman fills our cart with: a pineapple, three oranges and two bananas. At home, he gets a blender, frozen strawberries, ice and some rums (lots of kinds of rums in his cabinet, surprise!), and right before my eyes:
HE MADE FRUITY PINEAPPLE RUM DRINKS!!! With straws! In an actual pineapple!!!
It was delicious, and almost made us forget we were living in an oven for five minutes.

All that sun, and I managed to produce three freckles at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-05-25T17:14:00.000-04:00

There is no such thing as a perfect week of reporting...

I pursue a dream, a lofty, unreachable dream. A dream made impossible by uncooperative people, hurried editors and the fact that one page of copy goes through five or six different hands before it goes to print, and inevitably something gets changed somewhere.
It will be a day of great rejoicing should I get a paper out with all my work perfect, with no angry phonecalls, or even worse, the people who call not to yell, but to "helpfully" point out all your mistakes. Like today:
Lady on phone: "My dear, I'm sure it's not your fault, but you referred to Ms. Jones as " a school librarian" in your article. I just called to correct you because Ms. Jones is not, in fact, the "school librarian", but is the "assistant school librarian". She only checks out the books, she doesn't organize any of the programs. But, I saw that you were very young, you must still be learning... Do you think it would be possible to run the whole article again, with that correction?"
It's difficult not to reply with the following:
"A school librarian implies that there are more than one persons in that position, not that Ms. Jones is the only one who works there. But thank you for nit-picking. I'm sure everyone was horrified to find that I may have given Ms. Jones credit for doing anything other than checking out books. Your helpful comments have certainly helped me to learn, since I am so young and inexperienced. It's difficult to handle the pressures of reporting for an elementary school after only having three years of experience in criminal reporting. And sure, we'll take a whole page next week, to correct that glaring error and just hold the story on the town council's decision to do away with random drug testing for town employees (including themselves) for another edition. NO PROBLEM! Have a nice day, you old grizzle-hag!

Now, I will go running at the gym for a year and a half, follow that by drowning in a strawberry sundae and end my day with equal torture to being a reporter: plucking stray eyebrow hairs!!

Why doesn't anyone ever call about the good work I do?? at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-05-22T17:32:00.000-04:00

The Farmer's Market

It was such a lovely weekend. We made the most of it, because the Scotsman is making a trip to Canada-land this week, and we won't be able to talk, and I will miss him.
The best part: Saturday.
We went to the farmer's market in his town and were there forever, just browsing and making fun of people and eating good samples of things like: cuban sandwiches, french roast garlic soup and homemade on the farm breakfast sausage. We talked to the wine snobs in the wine area, and bought a few bottles.
The Scotsman: We don't need any wine, do we?
ME: No, we've got a lot at home.
Him: Okay.
(Talking to wine guys, trying several wines, time passes.)
The Scotsman, setting two bottles on the cash register: Okay, we'll take these.
Me: Umm... okay!
That's why we like each other.
We went to an International Festival after that, and ate our way through the world.
Good things: Spring rolls and Iced Coffee from Thailand; Guiness from Ireland; shortbread from Scotland (YUM), practically anything from Italy, China, Greece and Germany. Some lovely items from the middle-east.
BAD things: Haggis from Scotland (sorry, honey); Blue corn punch from Guatemala; Indian curry!
For a late-evening snack on Saturday, we had some cheese, strawberries, Boujoulais from his cousin Sarah and bread we bought from the market, out on his patio. VERY romantic.
VERY European.
On Sunday, we went shooting, and the Scotsman showed good form at his softball game.
I do worry about him being at this Canadian event this week. He is such a hottie!

Ate too much and had to roll myself home at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-05-10T15:10:00.000-04:00

Humble pie...

Right after I posted my last nasty blog entry, glorying in the misfortune of my friend Monk, I went out to the parking lot to find: my car had a flat tire, caused by a nail in the tread.

In the words of Earl, "karma came up and bit me in the ass." (NBC's, "My Name is Earl". Long live Jason Lee!)

I was a mean person, and deserve now the frustration caused by having to change a tire and go get the real tire patched while driving on a hideous spare that officially transforms my vehicle (also in desperate need of a bath) into the GhettoBlaster.

From now on, I promise to be nice to people with chronic diarrhea.

bad, bad jane at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-05-10T12:37:00.000-04:00

Just desserts...

Ah! It is so nice to see a crap-weasel like Monk get what he deserves!
And what he deserves is: chronic diarrhea!
Oh yes, it is true, and it is totally the most funny thing that has ever happened In. The. World.
Monk can't stop pooping, and his tummy is bloated to a permanent basket-ball size pooch.
He had to cancel a date because he couldn't get out of the bathroom!
(Take that, you jerk, for calling me "a thick girl" and cheating on me!)
He went to the doctor, finally, after 4 or 5 days of non-stop bathroom breaks, and was told that he might have an INTESTINAL PARASITE (horrors! the OCD clean-freak has picked up something much worse than a germ! how did that happen? he can't even touch plants because they grow in dirt!!)
The doctor (now my BEST friend) gave Monk a plastic "top-hat" contraption to poopy in, and four tiny plastic vials that he must fill with the runny hat-poo then take to the hospital for evaluation.
That was four days ago, and the hat still sits untouched on his dresser. Monk can't bear to touch the poo, though it may cost him his life, or his small intestine, if he doesn't.

And the best part: little four-year olds running up to the bathroom door to inform Monk that he's "stinkin' up the hallway. Don't you have some Stinky Spray to use?"

BWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-05-09T23:24:00.000-04:00

Garage sales and Rhubarb pies...

I love the Scotsman. He took me to his grammy's this weekend for an all town garage sale and we spent Saturday looking at antique tables, drinking glasses from the '60s, Craftsman workbenches and all the weird stuff people think you'll buy from their backyard.
It was a lot of fun. Mainly because he's so enthusiastic about things like tin snips and axe handles.
And he got so excited about the workbench that I thought he was going to die.
(Lumberjack, the yard sale thing, it's another reason that you'll love the Scotsman!)
We also went to the church breakfast, lunch and bake sale. I had just the BEST rhubarb pie ev-ar. THAT was what I was excited about. (It's a wonder I'm not a whale, in all honesty!)
On Saturday afternoon, because we had attended a party on Friday night, then drove to Illinois immediately afterward, I took a long nap.
The Scotsman chainsawed wood in the backyard, then went to help his dad move farming equipment, and that took forever, but I think he even had fun doing that. He came home covered in dirt! And smelly! But I still wanted to kiss him!
(Lumberjack--that's your cue to come over to G-field and hit me for being cheesy and in love!)
On Sunday, he got to experience for the first time ever, Jane: Crying for No Reason. (It was hormonal, and he's glad he's not a girl) But he was very nice about it, and hugged me and asked if there was anything he could do, which, in this kind of a situation there isn't, except for being nice and asking what you can do, so he did the right thing and he didn't even know it.
I want to marry him.

I feel like one of those people who you see kissing on the sidewalk as if no one was watching and getting grossed out.

get a room for crying out loud! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-05-04T16:45:00.000-04:00

Get your Ice Cream Here!!

Today, I was at Waldenbooks, buying a birthday present for a friend, when this rapper-guy loped into the store. He stood next to me for a minute, munching on an icecream cone, then he asked me what book I was looking at.
I said: "'Mother' by Maya Angelou, it's for a friend."
He took a bite of ice cream and, with his mouth still full said: "mp#0phhier398"
And I said: "What?"
He replied: "When you're done in this store would you come out so I can buy you some icecream?"

It was hysterical! I sort of felt bad for his pathetic existence.
So I said: "Oh, well, I don't think my boyfriend would want me to do that, but thank you for asking anyway."
He said: "Ok, I was just wondering" and walked out.
We saw each other later, as I was leaving the mall and both of us sort of smiled and laughed!

didn't your mom ever tell you not to hit on women while your mouth's still full? at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-04-25T17:36:00.000-04:00

Jealousy...

Right NOW, the new reporter who has my old job, is covering a hostage situation that seems to be at one of the area high schools and involves a Criminal-of-the-most-Feared-and-Hated-Kind.
Woe to me, now just a community reporter with no scanner of my own. I cannot jump into my car and speed down the roads with my trusty State Police Authorized Press Pass, destined for certain grave danger and excitement.
NO, I must sit at my desk, happily typing up the names of middle schoolers who won the regional academic competition. Because THAT'S IMPORTANT TOO, DAMMIT!!!!

i don't miss my old job on the weekends! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-04-21T17:08:00.000-04:00

Naked Driving...

I have been authorized to share a story with you that has not been shared with many people.
It is about my mom's little brother, and it is a naked driving story.
My mom's brother was in high school, it was winter--in northern Ohio in the 1970's--Cold, cold co-o-ld, and snowy/rainy/slushy. Basically "yuck"!
And he was playing football with his friends, in the mud. LOTS of mud.
He was consequently covered with mud by the time he was set to leave, but had just gotten his first new car. He loved the car and didn't want to get it dirty. (Note of blondeness: my mom has no idea what kind of car this was, though it was some sort of important muscle car and cherry red).
Anyway, he decided that in order to drive home without ruining his car, he would put his clothes in the trunk and drive home naked.
It was a brilliant idea until...
he ran out of gas!!
Um. You'd just have to know my uncle. This is not a surprise to those that do know him. :)
So, another brilliant idea!
My uncle walked home to my mom's subdivision, five miles away, in the slushy snow. NAKED.
Never thought to take his clothes back out of the trunk!
EVERYONE IN THE WORLD saw him.

So, that's one of the naked stories! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-04-19T11:24:00.000-04:00

The Irish Lion

Well, we got through the Easter holiday with only the minimal amount of familial drama and ended up at a lovely little pub in Bloomington called the Irish Lion, where everyone got along spledidly and told tales of driving while naked!
The Drama: Mom didn't want to do Easter because she is currently in a play where she is the lead character--a Texan blonde with attitude--and hadn't memorized her lines yet. Thus, the world around her must cease, including any traditional holiday plans.
Only she didn't tell me this until I had already made plans and invited the Scotsman and taken on most of the preparation duties myself. I mean, all she had to do was show up in her own dining room and eat some food!
But... no. On THURSDAY (as in, 3 days to go) I call to ask for a roll recipe and get: "We can't do this, there will be no Easter! Find somewhere else to go! POO in general on your ridiculous plans, daughter! I have LINES to memorize!" (all screamed in a texan accent)
I knew this panic session would subside, but was upset anyway. It put "on-hold" any plans that I had already put into place and I didn't know how I was going to cook an Easter dinner on-the-fly.
Visions filled my mind of the Scotsman arriving to find me covered in flour and egg while my mom shouts lines about bull's private parts in the background.
SO, Saturday morning, she decides that we need to include my collegiate sister, the Sea Hag, in our "now it's important" celebration, and would drive two hours to go to dinner with her.
Mom would practice her lines in the car.
(Luckily, the Scotsman and I, who had had WAY too much to drink on EasterEve, fell asleep for most of the way down. Didn't have to hear much of the "texas accent".)
All in all, a good holiday

No one can get the good Scotch anymore at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-04-14T17:14:00.000-04:00

I am humbled...

Being a fact that I have had some of the most ridiculous adventures of all-time, it is safe to say that I do not often feel that my stories on this site could be trumped by someone else's adventures. In most cases, I feel pretty confident that I have the ability to entertain like no other.

But today, my best friend in the whole world, The Lumberjack (most recently morphed into the Lumber Babe), has bested me at my own game.

Thus, go to www.girllumberjack.blogspot.com, and read the hilarious post she placed yesterday, called "I'll take shotguns for $200, Alex."

I literally laughed 'til I cried, and have no better story to share with you today than hers.

my life is also sometimes boring at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-04-12T17:26:00.000-04:00

Bullseye!!

I WILL get one. Someday. And when I do, the Scotsman will be so happy for me, he will pick me up, twirl around a couple of times and toss me fifty feet, just like the stones he throws at the Highland games!! (heehee, that was a little mean, but a fun image, and I know he could probably do it since he's practicing for such activities right now, and all.)
I LOVE ARCHERY!
It's crazy, all you who know me are giggling into your oreo-icecream right now (yeah, Lumberjack, I know you're eating icecream at this very moment. or cookies. or a combo there-of).
Remember, I am the same girl, who just five months ago, attempted to learn to play darts at Monk's apartment and only succeeded in tatooing the door on ten separate occasions and hitting the light fixture twice, sending sparks showering onto the carpet with great hissing, sending certain obsessive-compulsive individuals into convulsive coronary episodes.
But, now, I have finally found the ultimate sport for a very-pale Irish girl with curves--and it is archery. (Watch out, my new favorite sport involves WEAPONS!!! Bwah-ha-ha, the Quaker-girl gets violent! towards a chunk of styrofoam of course, not against rabbits or squirrels or anything cute. but against ex-boyfriends? maybe.)
I feel like Guinevere or Arwen, shooting my arrows into the target board (IT REALLY HAPPENED!) or the dirt (that happened too). I even have a cool white leather wrist guard to wear that makes me feel very special and official and like I know what I'm doing.

i wonder if i can get a quiver to match my wrist guard, with my name all done in sparkles? at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-04-10T19:23:00.000-04:00

The "Feminine Aisle"

(men who are usually grossed out by these kinds of stories might want to turn away, but I guarantee, this will be worth any discomfort on the subject matter, because the story is pretty hilarious.)

SO, the Scotsman, my new growly-bear boyfriend who lives two hours away, and I got to spend the weekend together, which was TONS OF FUN. (I learned how to be an archer, more on that tomorrow)

Since I live so far away, I have to stay at the ManCave when I visit the Scotsman. It is a wonderful place, and I love it very much, full of old ship models and Celtic weaponry and manly decorations of that kind. He has a lovely fireplace that fills the place with a woodsy smell, and a patio that looks straight out of Lord of the Rings. I am the happiest girl in the world to have found this place.

But, I have to spend the night with him, and that led to the Most-Embarassing-Experience-Ever that happened this Friday, shortly after I arrived at the ManCave.

I had been "not feeling so good" all day, but just HAD to see him, so I went anyway. We went to dinner and I felt even worse. My tum hurt quite badly and I had quite the headache.
Later on, around 2 a.m., he rolled over in bed and I almost threw up. It was NOT PLEASANT, but I fell back asleep.
At 4 a.m., he woke up at the same time I did, and we both didn't feel so great. He said he ate too much, but wondered if we had food poisoning since I wasn't feeling great either.
I decided to go to the bathroom at that point, and...
FOUND MYSELF COVERED IN BLOOD. Great, just great, I said to myself. Who knew I was going to start my period? Tonight of all nights.
I was just sure I had ruined his bed. ( I didn't, there was only a little bit, and amazingly, he wasn't mad.)
SO, I call the Scotsman and fill him in on the situation, very quietly, as I was terrifically mortified, and told him I needed to go to the drugstore. He said he would go with me.
We went to the store and got the necessary supplies.
We then headed back to the ManCave, not two blocks away.
Turning into his parking lot, we were accosted by flashing red and blue lights in his rearview mirror.
4:30 in the morning on an emergency feminine hygeine products run, and we get PULLED OVER!
oh, i felt so BAD. so horrible. so sure i had just ruined any chances i ever had with the Scotsman.
I WAS MORTIFIED.
But he started dying laughing.
And so did the officer when he found out what was going on.
The Scotsman, flashlight in his eyes, holds up my purchases, "Sorry officer, we had an emergency and had to go to the drugstore."
(we got pulled over for an illegal right-turn on red, the officer thought we may be drunk, considering the time of Friday night it was.)
The officer laughed all the way back to his car.

He's probably still laughing, and so is the Scotsman at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-03-27T18:35:00.000-05:00

Aaaahhhh, what a lovely time!

Just had the BEST, most romantic first date ev-ar! It lasted two whole days. There was a roaring fire, there was good Vampire wine and vintage shopping. There was a Celtic pipe band, and dinner with friends. There was chocolate shampoo for everyone!!! And I am a radiantly gorgeous Irish wench with a new growly Bear friend who is coming to see me again this weekend. PURRRRRR!!

basking in the glow at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-03-14T18:45:00.000-05:00

BuZZZZzz......

The Starbucks is very strong in this one.
Oh my goodness, I have a really, REALLY crazy buzz from my coffee break this afternoon.
I am pretty sure my Cafe Verona was laced with meth.
And now, I feel I could take over the world, Pinky.
Working--faster and smarter. That should make my new boss--The Death Lord--quite happy.
I feel like a husky working for him--MUSH, MUSH!!! Slogging through 20-foot snowdrifts on my way up a mountain of ice! HOORAY!! and all for a little bit of dogfood and a warm place to sleep.

life is grand, can't wait for tomorrow! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-03-14T10:50:00.000-05:00

These things really do happen to me.

I don't make them up. This Saturday was no exception.
I went out with Big Red and Monk, only to find myself in the middle of a nightmare.
Smokey the Tanktop showed up, of course, complaining about G-field's new smoking ban.
AND Big Red had invited a blind-date for Monk.
HORRORS!!!!! He told her in the middle of the date that Monk had dated both me and Smokey. Now that's the way to get a girl for your best friend!
I believe the girl was terrified of us, and rightly so.
She, however, was nice, though obviously anorexic (sadly, I'm being serious about that, not catty). And blonde. with nice legs. (hate, hate)
But, she didn't eat anything at dinner. She had 2 beers.
Then 3 more when we went out to the club.
I don't blame her though. I would have tried my hardest to get drunk in a situation like that myself.
In fact, I handled the situation very well. I am pretty well over the whole Monk crush.
I didn't even scratch Smokey's eyes out!!

it was a real possiblity at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-03-08T15:15:00.000-05:00

The Photo Shoot...

For some reason, my alma mater, good old HC (I miss thee, dear friends and freedom and long weekends of fun!) wants to do an Alumni Profile on--ME. Kitty. For REAL.
I am flattered, and think it's ridiculous at the same time.
What shall I wear for the photo... what shall I wear??
Now, if you read this on a regular basis, you'll know I'm a flat-out, hands-down, out of this world fashionista with a terrible shoe fetish. (Read: a good pair of knee-high black stiletto boots could very well put me into an orgasmic state.)
SO, the shoes are VERY important to this photo.
Black, peep-toe slingback satin stilettos? Hmm...too much kitten for work. Must be more professional.
The afore-mentioned boots, or one of the many tall-boot sisters? Maybe too kick-ass, though I AM a police reporter, set to destroy bad guys with my lightning quick PEN OF TRUTH!
OUT go the boots, goodbye sweet boots!
No flats. Flats are boring, even if they're covered in sparkles or look like antique bedroom slippers.
This is going to take some work. Any suggestions? (AND LUMBERJACK, if you suggest ANYTHING covered in plaid flannel, I will personally invade WV and kill you myself with a good cleansing scrub and a complete hair makeover, just out of revenge!!!! bwah-ha-ha!!)

mulling over whether the leopard-prints are professional enough at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-03-06T19:39:00.000-05:00

Licking trash cans...

What can I say about drinking 2 margaritas and 2 long-island ice teas other than, if you don't want to kiss weird men, you probably should refrain from drinking that much!
Okay, Friday night and we're about to hit the town. I was lookin' foxy in a low-cut black rocker-tee with a Fender guitar spraypainted on the front of it, jeans, my leopard-print slingbacks and black and white pearls. PLUS a brand new punk-ass, japanimae style hair cut. Pretty cute.
I was with the Bread Ladies--a group of girls who own and serve at our local coffee hangout, including the cashier girl, my sister--known after hours as the Bread Bitches, baby, and tonight we all had special Barbie-related monikers.
Our waiter, Marky-Mark, was pretty fine, and served the drinks with a pearly smile and lots of alcohol, and head Bread Bitch, Donna "PrimaDona Barbie" was footing the bill, so things got a little crazy. Plus, we randomly chose a location where the night weekend DJ from the local punk station was broadcasting his beats.
THAT's where the fun begins. He was cute-super cute. But come on, people. We all know that DJ's are trouble, trouble, trouble. I mean, all this guy does for a living is play music and go to different bars to drink and talk the long night away! Plus, I am positive that these kinds of guys go into the DJ business so that they have an endless supply of women to hit upon.
And on Friday night, I, "Plucky Reporter Barbie," was that woman.
The DJ comes up to me, all Seth Green-like with his red and blond spikey hair and some sort of goggle contraption taped around his head, thinking it's time to chat me up.
We got on the topic of careers and I told him I was a journalist and he said, "Wow, we're sort of in the same line of work."
Um, yeah. NO.
Criminal reporter vs. DJ for Punk Station. But whatever, it's 3:30 a.m.
THEN HE GRABBED MY BUM.
"I'm sorry, but under any other circumstances," I slurred, "you would never have gotten away with that."
AND THEN WE KISSED. A long and passionate Kiss of Very Bad Judgement.
WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING????
These guys kiss and have sex with ev-ry-one. Probably because we are all drunk.
I got out of there real quick after that, went home and drank Lysol for breakfast, ate some soap too.
i also accidentally gave him the business card with my real phone numbers on it. oops! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-03-01T16:32:00.000-05:00

Updates

I have been on vacation--to Mississippi, otherwise, and from now on, known as The Seventh Circle of Hell. Truly.
I saw sides of meat, raw, being sold from the backs of pickup trucks. People were sitting in their yards, still filled with Katrina trash, complaining about being jobless and how the government won't help them, yet local restaurants are closing at 7 p.m. and going out of business from low profits because they can't hire enough help to run normal business hours.
EVERYONE is a chain-smoker, and though I am allergic to cigarettes and was miserably sick all week, I did not ask a single person to stop puffing away, yet when they found out why I was sick from one of my friends, they GOT MAD AT ME, and said, "I hope she doesn't expect me to not smoke in my own damn house, 'cause it's my own damn house and I'm not putting this out."
So much for southern hospitality.
Mother of the family hated me for the following reasons (and it's not as if I'm a date or fiancee or potential threat to her family unit in any way, I was just there to babysit her grandson):
I am not a morning person, therefore, I do not jump out of bed and greet everyone with a cheerful "good morning", which is apparently, appalling in her eyes; i was sick one night and didn't help wash the dishes (I must point out, she didn't help either, because she was watching American Idol); I am allergic to smoke; I was there to help out with her grandson and she wanted to be in total control of his upbringing for a week, though she lives 800 miles away and the poor child is terrified of her; she thinks I could be a threat to her son's marriage, because I live with them (SO far from the truth. I would NEVER be interested in Big Red, and Franny is my best friend in Indiana.); I talked to her husband one time; AND I DIDN'T SHARE THE CHOCOLATE I BOUGHT FOR MYSELF!
Clearly, respectfully, she is right to hate me. From that list, you can see that I am a total BEE0tch of the highest order and deserve to find love from no one. I am a horrible person.
Moving on...
A former boyfriend, The Gypsy, may have recently been murdered or at least abducted, by mob bosses in Florida. (I totally wish I was kidding here) His mother called me this week to inform me that he went back to his old job for a week to help Mike and Anthony (real names, I couldn't think of anything more appropriate than the truth in that case!) shut down their "business" at their repeated request, and was to be back within two weeks, but hasn't returned and he had a round-trip ticket. She believes they killed him and wanted to know if I knew anything about them. I didn't, but it would be sadly appropriate if the Gypsy died at the hand of foul play. He never made the best decisions. I think he'll turn up in 6 months asking me to marry him. As usual.
In still more news, Monk says he only has good intentions towards me, and that I will eventually find out how he really feels, but he can't be in a relationship right now. I think he thought I'd buy that for real. I don't, but am willing to see what happens next, out of pure curiousity as to how he thinks that could possibly be true.
I had to write yet another story for the paper this week about an old man attempting to establish a relationship with a very young woman and realized something: The reason I can't find a boyfriend in this town is because I am over 18, and therefore, too old to be desirable. I can't believe I'm such an old, horrible, let-myself-go, 25 year old. I should have committed suicide for reasons of old age at 20!
My friend, Florida, and her boyfriend, have conned me into going on a blind date with his best friend, who, at current count, has slept with 114 (that's not a typo) different women. Bravo for me, I think I've found the man of my dreams! More on that after the date occurs, but just to give you a taste of what is bound to be an EXCITING EVENING FOR SURE, I have been advised to show up wearing something, "tasteful, yet slutty". That statement has SO MANY things wrong with it, I don't even know where to begin. My brain hurts!

queen bee-otch signing off at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-02-08T16:31:00.000-05:00

The weekend

This post is so late because I have been busy, so sorry for the delay. It's good anyway.
On Saturday, I picked up Monk from Z-ville and brought him back for the weekend. Our trip back was great, and dinner with him was great, and I thought, "Holy hopscotch, Batman, I think this whole weekend could go just great!"
I spoke too soon, because soon after, one of his ex-girls, Smokey the Tank Top, showed up. Along with one of my friends--Florida. So, we were all playing Euchre when my friend, Florida, proceeded to fill Monk in on what an Arse-of-the-Most-Large-and-Terrible-Kind he was for ruining our relationship. I slowly began to slide under the table. Monk does NOT like to be told he is an Arse-of-the-Most-Large-and-Terrible-Kind, especially by a girl he doesn't know at all. He was turning purple--but Florida, oblivious to his ire, continued her rant, avenging all woman-kind in my name. It was bad. Monk avoided Florida, and subsequently, Me, the rest of the night, spending time instead, with Smokey. GRRR-eat! Way to go, Florida!
THEN--Smokey left, and I found an automatic-rifle b.b. gun. PERFECT!!!! I shot Monk in the bum until no bb's remained, then sweetly plopped down next to him on the couch. It was a pretty mature move on my part, with no possible backlash in sight, right?!
Wrong.
Somehow, Monk was prepared, and pulled from his pants pocket... a little bag of bb ammo. I quickly grabbed the gun, and a delightful wrestling match ensued.
Delightful, that is, until Florida decided to ONCE AGAIN COME TO MY AID, BECAUSE I OBVIOUSLY NEEDED IT, lept onto Monk, and... Ripped. His. Oldest and Favorite. Pair. of Jeans.
GAWD!
After Florida and Smokey the TankTop finally left--at midnight--things were good again. I apologized for Florida's actions, Monk said he knew I wasn't behind her crazed lunacy, and we spent a good couple hours talking.
Fade to black, cut to next morning.
I made the most amazing, wonderful, perfect breakfast of my life, where every dish turned out lovely and all at the same time, too! Bacon, sausage, french toast, eggs and coffee. MONK WAS IMPRESSED WITH MY BACON-COOKING SKILLS, WHICH HE CONSIDERS AN ART FORM! Take that, Smokey the TankTop, who only knows how to microwave!

read more about what happened later--it gets somuch better at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-02-01T11:32:00.000-05:00

The Candy Bar

(I apologize if this blog entry is more disjointed than usual, I am currently hopped up on Excedrin Migraine and an enormous amount of poor quality chocolate!)

I thought you readers deserved more great dating stories, so I accepted the offer for a second date with the Gangster-Minister, just so I'd have something to write about, and the boy came through with just the most perfectly write-aboutable (yeah, I just made that word up!) experience I could have dreamed of.

Event leading up to date: I got a speeding ticket--$150. Because I was late for the date, of which I didn't really want to go to in the first place. Puts a girl in a lovely mood, let me tell ya.

SO, I was late to said date, and not really into the guy in the first place. I don't even remember what we talked about. That's not really the point of the story.

This is. As we got up to leave the restaurant, he hands me a king-size Hershey's bar with almonds. (I don't like Hershey's AT ALL). It had the following note attached (typed):
Jane--
Since you are reading this, I must have had a good time on our second date. Otherwise, I would be eating this myself.
I want you to think of me when you eat this candy bar. It is BIG- because I want you to think of me A LOT.
Hope to see you again soon!

Aargh!!!! There are so many thing s wrong with that!!!!
1.) Bad candy selection--can we say, "Oh, I thought you'd definitely be worth 40 cents in wax!"
2.)He had put a lot of thought into that lame note. (Did I mention it was typed?) Come on!
3.) "Otherwise I would be eating this myself." WHAT???? I had to pass some kind of test in order to get the prize? I don't even want to finish this rant, let's just say I was offended.
3b.) YOU SHOULD HAVE KEPT THE DAMN CHOCOLATE BAR!
3c.) AND SHOVED IT SOMEWHERE UNPLEASANT!
4.) It is BIG--oh, please God, please let him be talking about ONLY chocolate in this statement!
5.) I want you to think of me A LOT? Is this a command to fall in love with him? Is he going to take me for a long walk off a short pier to "go fishing" if I don't think of him a lot? WHAT THE HELL?
6.) He will NOT be seeing me again soon. I should make him pay for the speeding ticket.

This morning I fed the chocolate to the guys in our sports department and didn't think about him at all!! HAha!

he could have at least sprung for some godiva! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-01-26T17:29:00.000-05:00

The First Date:

This guy was a friend way back in the day--one of my old time friends. NOT ANYMORE. He is arrogant. He talks about himself too much. HE STARED AT MY RACK WHILE I TALKED. He won't stop calling me.
That's right. He won't. I got 7 messages on my phone from him yesterday. I have officially had enough.
I can't win. Monk never called me. He always forgot I existed. This guy can't leave well enough alone. I don't need to be updated when he gets up in the morning, or when he goes to lunch at work, or when he goes to the bathroom at home in the evening. We're talking WAY too much communication here. WAY. TOO. MUCH.
At least when he calls he can't talk to the twins!

The Second Date:
Actual word usage: ICEBOX. (I kid you not.)
It gets worse.
More actual word usage: Lousy. (As in, "It was just a lousy deal, pal. Now hold my tommy-gun so I can break out in a snap-finger shuffle-0ff-to-buffalo with my gang!")
My response: "Where did you learn to talk? 1930's in the Bronx?"
Him: "Well, I lived with my grandparents for a lot of my childhood, and now I'm a pastor with an older congregation. Why, what did I say?"
Hmmmm....I don't know...does "This dip in the icebox sure is lousy Mary," sound at all familiar?
(Plus... his teeth were majorly stained from smoking. Pipe smoking. I kid you not! His teeth were the same color as the wooden table we sat at!)

It must be nice in Vermont this time of year...all that snow! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-01-24T17:20:00.000-05:00

Dating...

I HATE DATING!!! I went on two dates this weekend, and while they were interesting and not too bad, they just weren't that fun either. More like, STRESSFUL.
I don't like having to talk to people about all that stuff you already know about yourself, but have to let other people know in order to get to know them. It's just so repetitive and stupid.
I wish I had an old friend to fall in love with.
I just kept thinking that the whole day was a waste of my time.
Let's just say, there were no immediate sparks and both boys seem more interested in me than I am in them.
Go figure.
Maybe I'll just marry Santino, though I doubt he's into that. I just think he could design me an entire wardrobe of overly-designed, orientally-inspired, majorly trimmed and bedazzled clothing and I'd be happy for the rest of my life! heehee!!

If you call me one more time, I won't be held responsible for the attack cat at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-01-19T10:47:00.000-05:00

Project Runway!

Oh yay! I love Project Runway!
Oh yay! I love that it's so gay!
So, so gay, so perfectly, deliciously gay!
I do love Project Runway!
(sing this loudly, while drinking sparkling wine and wallowing in your sweatpants!)

if you love santino, raise your hand. he can have my soul anyday at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-01-18T13:46:00.000-05:00

The FIASCO!

I was supposed to meet the ex-boyfriend (he will now be referred to as "Monk" because of his obsessive-compulsive tendencies.) for dinner at 7 last night in z-ville. BUT I didn't get out of work until 7:30 and still had the 45 min. drive to z-ville. As I was driving, speeding, zipping over the highway, I kept thinking, "wow, he hasn't called to find out where I am or why I'm late. Has he forgotten, or chickened out, or died (hope, hope ;0)?"
Um..no. I had left my cellphone at work, like an idiot.
BUT... it gets worse. I finally arrive at Monk's new apartment in z-ville, and realize I only know his roommate's first name AND have no idea what their apartment number is. So, I go to grab my cellphone...and...IT'S NOT THERE!!! I am such a blonde, without the hair and the manly attention to make up for it!
So, this is what I did--I went up to a woman's apartment, knocked on her door and asked, "Do you know if there's a guy named Nate who lives in your building and has a new roommate named MONK?" NO? oh, okay, well, can I use your phone??
BUT..it gets worse. I don't know Monk's number, because he programmed it into my cell immediately after we were introduced, so all I've ever had to do to get ahold of him is hit "2" and send. Very convenient. Until you need to use a real phone. I asked for a phone book, called up his office, and talked to a girl who works for him. That went like this:
Me: Hi. I am supposed to meet your boss, MONK, for dinner, and I can't find my phone, and therefore, don't know his number. I'm here, 45 minutes from home, at his apartment complex, and I don't know which one is his.
And she's all like: "Is this Jane?"
(So, the reputation precedes me!)
And I say: "Yes, he's going to be so mad, he's always on top of things and responsible and would never do anything like this. EVER."
And she says: "It's okay, honey, opposites attract."
I just about died, it was so hilarious. I was also an hour and a half late after all that.

we finally found each other, and he took me to red lobster at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-01-12T14:22:00.000-05:00

Also, check out my Lumberjack's blog, on blogger.
www.girllumberjack.blogspot.com
She might update it eventually.

a shout out from jackie at janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-01-12T13:19:00.000-05:00

The Lumberjack Moved to West Virginia

...and apparently they have no phones there.

I haven't heard from my best friend in 5 days. She is gone, and so happy in her new flannel-loving existance, she forgot all about me.
These are the reasons I told her not to go:
1. Extremely vile poisonous snakes. Unusually sneaky, probably with ulterior motives.
2. Men without teeth--which turned out, unfortunately, to be a selling point for her. Don't ask!
3. Lack of convenient food for people like her--the non-cooking kind of people.
4. The possiblity that she'll meet another Lumberjack and create more little-lumberjacks. Sc-ar-y.

These are the reasons she decided to go anyway:
1. mountains.
2. flannel shirts.
3. men without teeth. (I told you)
4. The possibility that she'll meet another Lumberjack and create more little-lumberjacks.

Once again, I must say it. Sc-ar-y.
A general warning to the people of West Virginia. She's tall.

p.s. Lumberjack: If you're reading this. "Loves!"
heehee@janeh928@yahoo.com

2006-01-04T11:20:00.000-05:00

If you thought Christmas was Bad, Try New Year's

The Boyfriend cheated on me, then blatantly lied about it. I found out on Jan. 1. We haven't talked about it yet,because he refuses to answer his phone. I'm breaking up with him and he doesn't want to face it. Not very happy right now, partly because I am so hurt by his actions and partly because it is very difficult to break up with someone when you're still in love with him in order to stand up for yourself and make a point that cheating is unacceptable; when all you want to do is go back in time and make it never happen so you can be happy again. Also I am very worried, because according to the people who have known him best, he is not the cheating kind of person. He has a solid reputation as someone you could trust, someone with decency and ethics, a general man of his word. THey all thought so, and have known him for 15 years. I believed that of him--it was one of the reasons I started dating him seriously. I think there must be something going on with him to act this way that really has nothing to do with our relationship. Things are generally not good all around.

i swirled his toothbrush in the toilet at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-12-30T10:26:00.000-05:00

Christmas blues...

I haven't updated since Christmas because the story I am about to tell is so sad and depressing, I didn't want to bother with it. But, I must.

The Christmas Morning from HELL

I was such a breezy, cheerful, full of Christmas Spirit angel with curly hair and furry white sweater and arm-loads of Christmas presents a moment ago. Laughing at Baby opening all his toy guns, joyfully giving The Boyfriend armloads of thoughful, sweet gifts just for him. (A dartboard cabinet, for his favorite hobby; a lime and 6-pack of Corona, his favorite drink; a pack of playing cards--the thing we did with friends as we fell in love; a giant Special Dark Hershey's bar, his favorite candy; and a black cashmere scarf to keep him warm and to go with his new formal overcoat)
But wait, it is time for me to open my present. Why is he shuffling around, mumbling? Why is his best friend yelling at him to get it over with--rip off the bandaid, he roars!--and give it to me?
Why is HE, the BOYFRIEND, practically in tears, opening my present, while explaining it to me???
Because, it is the ultimate let-down. A giftcard. for. the. mall.
(Oh, and some Bath and Bodyworks products that smell like the aforementioned Corona)
Not a gift "for me" at all, just some random present thrown in my direction. FELT LIKE CRYING. FELT LIKE TEARING HIS HEAD FROM HIS BODY AND SHOVING IT DOWN RESULTING GAPING NECK HOLE. FELT LIKE CRYING SOME MORE.
BUT, don't get me wrong. There is a reason he did so poorly at the gift-giving, and it's a doozy!
He.... waited until Christmas eve to go to the mall because he had a plan and KNEW what he was going to get me. Only, what the crap??? Did anyone know Coach purses are EXPENSIVE???
Then, because he couldn't afford the gift he wanted to get me, he panicked, he couldn't think, he rushed to the nearest customer service desk and... bought me a gift card.

Later on, Franny yelled at The Boyfriend--"She doesn't even like Bath and Body Works, what were you thinking?!"
Responds the Boyfriend: "But, Stephanie, at work, said girls love B and BW!"
Franny: "GIRLS!!! Stephanie is 17. Women do not shop at B and BW! Didn't you even go look in her room, right next door, and see what she wears?!"
The Boyfriend: "Have you ever been in B and BW? There were too many smells!!! I couldn't figure it out, they all started smelling the same!"

To tell you the truth, I felt really bad for him. I personally have never procrastinated and panicked in the gift-giving area, but I can see how it could happen. Especially with the first Christmas.

Franny told me later that her now-husband, The Boyfriend's Best Friend, got her the worst gift ever for their first Christmas--a tentlike blue-flowered dress off the clearance rack at Fashion Bug that was 2 sizes too small--which she opened in front of her entire family and upon seeing, promptly blurted out: "You got me a...dress?" Franny never wears dresses, especially not blue-tent-flower dresses. (He got it because he thought she'd look pretty in a blue dress with her blue eyes.)

So maybe there's hope afterall. Valentine's Day is coming soon!! heehee!

crash and burn at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-12-14T14:28:00.000-05:00

Will Opposites Attract? The official question continues...

I am dating the GRINCH. I realize as I write this that I don't often say nice things about my very cute boyfriend. That's bad. He is very sweet and nice to me sometimes. He makes sure my car windows are defrosted in the morning, and eats the food on my plate I can't finish, and calls me "baby" and gives me kisses. All that good stuff.
BUT, he is the Grinch. He does not love Christmas, no he does not.
He hates it.
He doesn't want to go to any holiday parties, or to wake up early, or sing carols, or even wrap the presents he buys people. He doesn't like visiting family. He doesn't like holiday food. He doesn't care about luminaries or wreathes or mistletoe or twinkle lights. He doesn't enjoy snow.

I love it all, the baking, the decorating, the partying, the wrapping, the snug blankets and hot chocolate in front of the roaring fire...the LOVE. The presents giving and receiving. The midnight mass. Snow piled to the top of the roof (I wish). The memories present, future, past. I love it all.

So we make a funny pair. The tree goes up, and I stand in rapture, dazzled by its glory. He wants to know whether the fake snow is going to stain the carpet. (By the way, not even his carpet.)

If I don't see some improvement, I'm winging a brandy-soaked fruitcake at his head.

i've mostly been nice. just a little naughty at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-12-13T14:21:00.000-05:00

So sorry...

Do I never talk to you anymore? Are you waiting to hear about my great adventures and not finding anything? I apologize. Blame it on the moving.

I am going to be living with my boyfriend now. Weird. But good. He's very cute, so I can't complain. Also, he likes me to be around, and I can't say I mind his company too much either.

We're throwing a Christmas party for our friends. In the midst of my moving in. And work has been hell. For both of us. He manages a grocery store--the people go crazy about the food this time of year. And don't even get me started on the night a storm rolls in.

(SIDEBAR: What the HELL, people??? You live in the middle of a suburb, with roadcrews and nothing but grocery stores on every corner, very well-stocked grocery stores. You don't need to stock up for the apocalypse every time you see a cloud. The plows will be out shortly and you will NOT starve to death. At the very most, you will be stuck in your house for an HOUR. Do you really need to buy all the milk in the store?)

So more later.

peace out panicked people at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-12-09T12:06:00.000-05:00

The Leopard Print Slingbacks also come in handy when...

You go to an awards ceremony:
I just swept the category in hard-hitting news at the Hoosier State Press Association annual luncheon. Three first place awards, one third place, and finalist for story of the year.
I am positive it can all be accounted for by the shoes.
Also, I told you I could write like a mad-woman. When I try.
I got more awards than anybody. And our paper won the General Excellence award for the second year in a row.

In other news: Have I said anything lately about my boyfriend? NO??? Well, that's because he is a workaholic around Christmas time and I have seen him for approximately .0000001 nanoseconds this whole month.
I hate that.
But I love awards!

2005-12-01T14:42:00.000-05:00

Today, I rock the Leopard Print Slingbacks!

I am so kick-ass! I just stood up to my publisher-a slimy, low-life, expensive suit and car, hot air balloon owning, moral-free creep--and told him I would NOT change the wording in my story to fit his views.
I stood up to him and told him it was unethical, then did a little dance as his soul "MELL-ted" into the carpet like the wicked witch of the west.
I was ANGRY, because later he showed up at a board meeting and spoke against the building project I am writing about, in front of all these public officials. That looks so bad, for the pubisher to take sides in a public manner like that. Newspapers are supposed to be fair and impartial.
If he thinks he's gonna win, he's crazy.
My hair is dyed sassy-ass red right now, like Mary Jane on Spiderman, and my Leopard Print Slingback Victory Shoes give me super powers.
I am the bad-guy's nightmare- I write with a mighty keystroke for the sake of justice!!!

hahaaha!! don't mess with a lady at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-11-25T14:43:00.000-05:00

I am bad about the posting, but nothing new happened really...

Except that the weather is now FREEZING.
And then there was Thanksgiving, and now I have a story to tell. Get ready for this:
The Great Thanksgiving Disappearance
Mike the Cat is very pampered. He likes things to go predictably, with the food at 5 a.m. and 10 p.m. and the big giant bed for sleeping in between with an occasional good ear-scratching and run around the house with his pal Fluff.
Yesterday that was not what happened.
I am moving into a house with my boyfriend and his best friends (a married couple) because we are all trying to save money and all that, but I can't keep Mike due to many people's cat allergies.
He is going to my parents' house, so I thought I would make the end of December transition smoother by taking him with me there on Thanksgiving so he can get used to the dog and 6 other cats he will be sharing space with.
He HATE, HATE, HA-T-ED it. He spent the entire time hiding under the hutch in the family room and under the table in the kitchen. I couldn't even coax him out with turkey.
When it came time to leave, I had to forcibly pull him--swearing, hissing and clawing--from under the table and stuff him into the tote I brought him in. Not an easy feat when the tabby weighs 20 pounds.
We were exiting the porch. I had him on one arm and was holding a plate of holiday leftovers for my boyfriend who had to work, when he FREAKED out. Swearing up a storm, he jumped out of the tote and into the bushes in front of our porch. I couldn't find him. No one could. There were flashlights. There was canned catfood. There were younger brothers crawling under the bushes to find him. But Mike was gone.
A lone jingle ball rolled down the sidewalk with no brownie paw to bat after it.
I went home crying. and praying.
And then, MY BRILLIANT FATHER got a brilliant idea. At Mike's 10 p.m. feeding time, my dad set the turkey skeleton in its aromatic roasting pan on the porch and hid behind a pole. Within minutes the aroma had the attention of my erstwhile, yet never one to miss a meal, cat. He came to investigate and my dad captured him! Giant poof-out scaredy tail and all.
I love my dad. I love my cat (sometimes). The day was saved!!
Happy Thanksgiving!

and i thought, that's either a raccoon, or i've got him! said my father at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-11-04T10:59:00.000-05:00

Resist!

The Boyfriend is having a very annoying, yet predictable, 1 month "I have commitment issues" balking period. He didn't want to meet my fam yet and it triggered the whining in full force.
So, I'm playing along. Quite simply, it's easy to fix the problem. When he thought I wasn't interested, he liked me a WHOLE LOT, couldn't get enough of me. So, I'm backing away...slow, slow... and look at that, he's texting me during the O.C. (which, he should NOT do, by the way. I don't reply. it was the same way with Friends. DON"T BOTHER ME, I'M WATCHING MY SHOW. You'd think a man would understand that!)
He wants to make sure we're still going on our day-trip to see fall foliage next week. BWAH-HAHA!!! If he only knew!
You see, Kitty and Jackie on That '70's Show know how to handle a man, and I take note. They're all trainable to some degree.

honey, could you go to the drugstore and pick me up a vogue magazine? at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-11-02T18:03:00.000-05:00

"Bludgeoned" is a good word...

Saw II-- I KNEW it wasn't going to be good. I didn't want to go at all, believe me. I didn't see the first one, on purpose, because it looked idiotic, and quite frankly, I don't get into movies that splash on the gore just for the sake of having a cool time with the special effects team. Any movie that men generally respond to with shouts of "That was totally awesome how his eye fell right out!" is generally not my cup of tea. Now, violence with a purpose doesn't bother me. If there is some thinking connected to the whole concept and plot line, I'll get into it. Seven, Fight Club and Pulp Fiction/ Kill Bill are some of my favorite movies. I even enjoyed Sin City for its artistic merit.
SAW II does NOT fit into that category. (I also discount it as legitimate since SOMEHOW it was able to release itself a matter of mere moments after its predecessor--how good could it really be?)
I saw it anyway, with my boy and his best friend. Spent most of the movie hiding my eyes on his shoulder,which he thought was hilarious.
I didn't. I wasn't upset, but it's a waste of money to pay to see a movie in a theatre that you really can't bring yourself to actually watch because it is so gross. Gratuitously gross. With a stupid, "forced twist" ending.
Anyway, when trying to explain this to the boys, they got fixated on the fact that I said I didn't enjoy the club-happy cast members, "bludgeoning each other with spiked clubs because they were too impatient to figure out a realistic solution to their problems."
Boyfriend: "Bludgeoning"? Who SAYS that? Most people say, "hit him in the head" or "clubbed him upside the head", not "bludgeoned him".
BUT THAT'S WHAT YOU DO WITH A CLUB, YOU BLUDGEON!!!
And I would submit that people who say "upside the head" are exactly the people who enjoy mindless bloodfests with crappy plotlines that make no effort to be coherent or remotely effective.
I think bludgeon is the technically accurate description of the action. Bludgeoning implies grey matter and blood splatter. It's graphic.

could be rethinking whether i like the guy afterall at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-10-26T16:00:00.000-05:00

What do I know?
Umm... not so much, apparently.

I know nothing about technology. I am not KIP from Napoleon Dynamite, you see. I do not love technology. Always and forever.

Well, people who must be reading this somewhere, sometime, in some place, I call upon you now. IF there is anyone out there who can very SIMPLY explain to this technologically challenged idiot about how to post some photos to this lovely site, you will be rewarded by seeing the lovely photos of me as a vampire and my friends as drunks!!! (I mean, really simple, straightforward, CLEAR and concise. As in "Do this now. And then this, Etc..") It will be worth it, I swear!

And speaking of swearing, it's been a two full days since I began trying to figure out how to put my photos on this site, so....

hurry up (please, and thanks) at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-10-24T15:58:00.000-05:00

Get this party started....

6 p.m.--I go over to boyfriend's best friend's house to help get ready for party.
We go to Wal-Mart to buy supplies and I spend the next hour and 45 minutes frantically chopping vegetables and laying down carpet protectors.
7:45 p.m.--My roommate shows up, we go upstairs to put on our costumes. I am a very sexy vampire, with a black velvet dress and fishnet stockings, fake purple and silver eyelashes and all. BUT, the teeth, the little vampire teeth in their own miniature casket I bought (actually, the boyfirend bought), WILL NOT STICK TO MY TEETH!! Arggh! Lumberjack is a TALL fairy with wings and a blonde wig.
8:15--Everyone has arrived, is downstairs, sans-costumes--all of them. I am hiding in upstairs bathroom, calling boyfriend on cell, "Where the hell are you?" I scream in distress. "Are you wearing a costume? Cause I'm upstairs, dressed like a damn vampire and all the OTHER girls here are in jeans, little tops and heels. And I don't know anyone. NOT COOL!"
Boyfriend is dressed up, as a skeleton/death Lord, or something. He's late b/c he was asked to go to the store and get some alcohol for shots.
8:30--Boyfriend saves me from upstairs bathroom. We look down on all the haters who didn't dress up.
The rest of the evening is spent:
1. Drinking lots of beer. Actually, I only had 2, the lots of drinking was mainly done by everyone but me, boyfriend, and the Lumberjack. I'm small, he's korean (and therefore, smallish) and she's a conservative who doesn't believe in alcohol.
2. Defending boyfriend from crowds of guests who do not like his singing (APPARENTLY HE LOVES karaoke. Had I known this before... oh, who cares. I'm dating a dork, but what do you expect. At least I've got a boyfriend, and that's more than I can usually say.)
3. Saving my camera from giant drunk man going around capturing all the ladies' low rise jeans/ass crack photo opportunities he could.
4. Getting wrestled to the ground by the Lumberjack in front of a crowd of drunk guys (definitely didn't expect to find myself suspended in the air, upside down, but there I was!)
5. Cleaning up spilled purple Kool-Aid in the kitchen, mud in the living room and alcohol in the dining room.
6. Dancing, dancing, dancing---did I mention one of our guests is employed as an exotic dancer?? SHE USED MY BOYFRIEND'S BELT TO BEAT THE BUM OF ANOTHER MALE GUEST. It was an interesting time.
Photos on the way!

we were out 'til 5 a.m. at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-10-24T13:33:00.000-05:00

So nice...

My brother, 15-year old giant that he is, called on Friday to see if I would hang out with him on Saturday. I said I couldn't because I was going to my boyfriend's Halloween party and he said, "OOH, I'm Jane. I'm going to a party. I'm too busy to hang out with my little brother, I'm so cool."
AND HUNG UP.
Yeah, what-ever. Whatever to you, you string bean.
But then, I felt bad.
So, on Sunday, I called to see if he wanted to go out to dinner with me, anywhere he wanted, and he (drum roll) already had plans with friends!
Yeah, that's right. "Hi, I'm Jane's little brother. I'm going to a friend's house. I'm too busy to hang out with my big sister, I'm so cool."
So, again, whatever to you. You gangle-dorf.
(MORE ABOUT THE HALLOWEEN PARTY LATER--KARAOKE WAS INVOLVED. and alcohol.)

too cool for school, and my little brother at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-10-18T17:27:00.000-05:00

I just thought you'd like to know....

I'M STARVING!!!!!

when will work ever end so i can go to quiznos? at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-10-18T13:17:00.000-05:00

No more black nail polish!

One good thing about finding a boy who will put up with you is that your vehicle also prospers from his attentions.
Someone scraped my black car in the parking lot at the mall, with their white car. YUCK! Anyway, I come out with my shopping bags, see my car, and immediately am impressed by the sheer expanse of the white scrape on my front bumper. It is huge! I can see that much of it will come off just by scraping with my fingernail, but am running late, so decide to leave it for later.
At the boyfriend's (yes, I said BOY-FRIEND!!) house just a little while later, we come out and he sees my car. It was as if we had walked out to find his best friend lying in the driveway, run over. He gasps, drops to his knees in front of my vehicle and starts examining the details of "the damage."
"What did you DO when you saw this?!" he asks me, wiping tears from his eyes and stroking the car as if it was hurting.
"Umm, I scratched at it with my fingernail, said "Crap" and forgot about it, really. What should I have done?"
"Well, I would have at least dropped the F-bomb. But I can fix this for you. We need to buff it out, there will be a couple of deeper scratches we can't get rid of..."
"That's all right."
"No. It's not, but there's not much you can do about it."
"I have some black nail pol--"
"ABSOLUTELY NOT."
Okay then. My car is now going to get used to being treated like a real vehicle. He better not break up with me, now that he's gone and gotten the car all attached to him and all!

when you're done with the car, i could use a good rubdown too at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-10-13T16:54:00.000-05:00

I am a slob...

And my new guy is N.O.T. His apartment is spotless. Immaculate. UNTouCHed. He told me not to look in his sink--I did anyway. There were exactly three cups in there, barely dirty. I don't know what the big deal was.

MY place is not spotless. not immaculate. N.O.T. untouched. I have a jumbly, cluttery, nesting kind of place, with treasures like magazine photos and old jewelry from lovers-no-more stuffed among my t-shirts and undergarments. I don't do the dishes immediately, and there is often cat-hair on the sofa. You can usually find the book I'm reading, a pile of half-written stories or poems and some magazines plopped beside my bed, and often, you might sit on a pen if you aren't careful. I am a very organic sort of person.

Will opposites truly attract??? He's afraid that I'll use a word he can't understand. I'm afraid he'll open my closet!

more to discover at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-10-12T14:54:00.000-05:00

Blind Date Pt. 2

Is it crazy to initially think someone is boring/not worth your time/has bad taste in movies, then, suddenly go on 7 dates in one week and change your opinion about that person to sweet/hard worker/VERY good kisser????
Well, that's what's happened to me. And it's been great. We went to our county festival on Saturday night, and in the process walked past a church that my sisters and I swore was haunted and inhabited by vampires when we were little, and he MADE ME GO LOOK IN THE WINDOW, and THERE WERE PEOPLE WALKING AROUND and IT WAS NIGHTTIME!!!! I screamed and ran away and he laughed. What were those weirdos doing in church at nighttime?? Preparing sacrificial goats is my guess.
He's decided I need to learn to play pool with him and his friends. I HATE pool, though. I know, it's ridiculous to think that a girl like me, with my pink high heels and manicured nails and general distaste for cheap beer would NOT know how to play pool. But the truth is, I suck. I am awful. I was so awful, in fact, that a total look of disbelief crossed his face everytime I made a shot, though he tried to hide his embarassment at my complete lack-of-any-skill-whatsover performance! He kept saying, "That's okay, you're learning," as if he had to keep reminding himself of the fact. If he were any older, he probably would have had a blood vessel visibly pounding at his temple. But, all in all, he was a very patient lad, and he promised to take me to play again, this time, with string to teach me about angles. How sweet! Maybe I'll teach him how to spell and how to appreciate movies that don't have plot lines centered on a gun fight and main characters uttering such profound statements as "I'm looking for a transporter," "You've come to the right place." ANYWAY, I've definitely got to come up with an excuse for never having to play pool again. Maybe carpel-tunnel syndrome? OR I could fall from a tree and break my arm?

Also, look forward to hearing about a sure-to-create-some-type-of-disaster event when I go to his best friend's Halloween party at the end of this month. Can't wait.

who knew you save the little black ball for last? at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-10-07T12:05:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, I can even impress myself!

So, I watched one episode of INXS Rockstar, and totally said J.D. would win. I just knew it. And, hello?!, he did! So there, sisters who think I am not cool. I picked the Rockstar. I am cool, but also, very, VERY lame. (p.s.--i also liked jordis, who had awesome style.)

the tattoos alone can make you swoon at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-10-03T13:27:00.001-05:00

Blind date

So, he was totally hot. Of course, I'm talking about the guy I got set up with in September, who was sort of boring and I didn't really think I was interested in. The same guy who I didn't call back after our first date until this Saturday night (yes, a full 18 days later!). I was bored. And he WAS hot, so I called him back. We went to see the band play, and he liked them, and my friends, and my friends liked him. So the second date was better. Then he invited me to meet his friends at their new house for dinner, and they were nice. So the third date was even better.
ALSO, I found out that the guy who set us up, his friend whose house we went to, told him that I had "an ass that wouldn't quit," when he told him about me. CHEERS!!! I have a lovely bottom! That can only be taken as good news, for sure. (heehee)

get the perfect booty: do yoga and follow it up with a nice piece of cheesecake at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-09-28T16:09:00.000-05:00

OHHH NOOOOOOoooooooo!
(and other stories)

The Blockbuster Video people in my town may be evicted over some stupid tax issue. When another reporter pitched that story for our paper yesterday, I almost had a heart attack. In the middle of our planning meeting, I actually yelled out, "OH NO! Not Blockbuster. If they get evicted there goes my date for Friday nights." (much dramatic waving of arms and fake fainting motions)
My editor was like, "What?!"
And I said, "Well, on Friday nights I talk to the brown-haired video boy while I get my movies for the weekend. It's a ritual."
Everyone burst out laughing and my editor said, "Jane, you live a very sad life."
It's true, I live a very sad life.

Today is my birthday. I am 25. I have no boyfriend, no prospects for a boyfriend. I work in the town I went to highschool in. My roommate is leaving in December and I have no one else to live with and not enough money to live by myself. Danger of moving back with parents could be imminent. My cat expects me to be home on Friday nights because I always am, watching movies. I live a very sad life.

But, things could improve. I think if I put my mind to it, got a new job, moved to a new place, things could be different. I am pretty cute, and I am intelligent, and who wouldn't want to date a girl with a mini-cougar as a pet? And I can write like a mad-woman.

Also-- I have the same birthday as Gwyneth Paltrow.

Really, I just ROCK, and no one knows it yet.

try the beef sauce, it's delicious. Shazaam! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-09-26T16:59:00.000-05:00

We were born in West Virginia...

Looking at the recent roll of film I got developed, my dad said:
"you guys were in rare form on this trip. I mean you were really hilarious, that's when you were writing the poetry, wasn't it?"
It's true. The trip we took to Louisville after my sister graduated from college was one of those perfect things. Timed when we were all on the same page--happy to see each other, missing being apart. All four kids in a state of "comedic commraderie," egged on by the fact our parents were laughing so hard my dad almost wrecked the car.
One photo shows my youngest sister with a crescent shaped neck pillow around the top of her head, hands in a jazz-fingers pose. She is screaming something about her dutch hat and wooden shoes. "I don't know any Dutch words, Schnecken, schnecken, strudel. Strudel, strudel, strudel," she screams in a high-pitched doll's voice.
Our brother: one shows him wearing a lampshade hat, another depicts him doing a Napoleon Dynamite dance.
Another photograph has me, and the other sister, gold foil teeth applied to happy grins.
Happy times.
Later, I will get a poem we wrote to post for everyone. We did the thing where you each write one line, fold the paper over, then pass it on. No one knows what anyone else wrote, then you read it and see what you get. Some of them were eerily well-done.
Anyway, our dad is strangely proud that his kids turned out to be weird-o commedians instead of bankers or lawyers.

"Strudel" to your sisters at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-09-23T16:26:00.000-05:00

and now for something COMPLETELY different...

at dinner last night, our fam was talking about television, and our strange historical love affair with the box that has sometimes--and sometimes not--occupied our house.
Story #1: My mother, when she was my age, was hooked on DALLAS, with all the drama and big hair. She told us this after I confessed my embarrassing addiction to THE O.C. (love, LOVE, LOVE the O.C., cringe, but it's true). My parents, who were very poor, and had just had a baby (me), had no T.V. at the time because the one they owned had broken. My mother made my dad walk down the street and borrow a television from an old lady because she needed to see the season premiere of DALLAS.
Story #2: Skip ahead to me at 17, in the midst of an AP Chemistry exam complete with blue book. I am attempting to squeeze from my brain a number of chemical equations forever lost in the mire, and all I can come up with is a song, which I am obsessively and absentmindedly humming to myself when the teacher walks by and says, "Did you recently see a re-run of DALLAS?" "No," I reply. I don't know if I've ever seen that show, why do you ask?? "Because, you're humming the theme song."
I tell my parents this at dinner and my mother says it must have been burned into my subconscious in the womb. scary.
Story #3: While our dad is making fun of our mom for needing the TV to watch Dallas, the kids quickly remind him of the time the family experimented with conservative values and put the TV in the garage. One Sunday afternoon, we couldn't find him until someone opened up the garage and found him huddled in a corner, crunched up next to an outlet with the TV, a Pepsi and a pizza, watching football. He'll never live that one down. The TV was reinstalled in our living room the next day.

who shot JR, anyway? at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-09-14T04:43:00.000-05:00

With the spinning and the reeling and the BRAIN on overdrive...

The past 24 hours have been jam-packed with nutritious excitement:
1. The lost boyfriend, prodigal and general fuck-wit screw up, has returned. Maybe more on that later, but for now, all anyone needs to know is he smelled like heaven and fed me lines. typical. boy.
2.I'm going to Mississippi to cover a group of our county's SWAT team members going down to cover the asses of the men who are protecting people and helping people after H.K. Will be sleeping in a casino with an asssortment of law enforcement guys from around the U.S. I'm guessing it will be one of the most emotional, dramatic experiences of my life, and also, that it will smell very, very bad. but i can deal. i better.
3. Tonight, I will be going on my Very-First-Blind-Date-Ever. With some guy who manages a Marsh store and has for quite some time. But while speaking to him on the phone last night I could have sworn he said something about med. school. intriguing. anyway, he sounds like a jerk because of this:
Him: "Do you play a musical instrument, by the way?"
and i said: "Piano."
and he said: "I thought so. That or the clarinet."
i respond with a: "Why?"
and he says:"I don't know. You sound like you're intellectual, and girls that are intellectual usually play an instrument and it's usually the clarinet, violin or piano."
Her: "Thanks for the label, ass-hat" (that was said in my head.)

SO, it will be dinner for free and the likely ending of: well that was nice, but I've got to go home now and thanks for never calling me again. erase me. from your memory. permanently.

too much to compute without my morning coffee at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-09-07T14:47:00.000-05:00

Time for a Change?

I feel pretty much useless right now, like I should be doing so much more. Am I even helping people the way that I want to with my work?? I don't know.
In the broad scheme of things, these stories that I write, about Hurricane victims, or people killed in car accidents, do they do any good?
Do they help others, the people who read them? Are they encouraged, or goaded into action by what I write, or am I just writing as a space filler??
Is there something else I could and should be doing? I got into this because I thought it was a way to contribute, but what am I doing, really??? Is there a better use for my talents, and if there is, what is it??
I write well. (Don't take my entries here as an example, as much of the time I ramble and wander then publish without another thought. I guess in a way, the words I type here are more analysis and therapy related than actual conscious word-crafting). How can I help other people with my writing??
Is there a use for my skills, other than what I am doing, that could benefit more lives than I have already touched? Why do I feel so useless??
Does anybody even read what I write???

pondering at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-09-01T15:27:00.000-05:00

Missed opportunities...

I always wanted to visit New Orleans, as it was the setting for my favorite series of novels, The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice. But old New Orleans is gone this morning and the disasterous image that rises up in its fallen shadow is such a horrifying snapshot of the human condition that it seems impossible anything will ever go back to normal.
There is a large part of me that wants to go down there, to join in the clean-up, but I realize that my skills are largely considered useless in a time like this. I could cook, I guess, for the workers who rebuild the city. I'm a good cook. And I could paint. But no one needs a writer in times like this, instead, you become a nuisance, a target for the bullet of a person desperate to release the anguish and anger brought on by such trauma.
If an opportunity arises, and I really can go down there, I'll do it without a second thought.
For now, much luck and peace will be in my prayers for the ghost of that beautiful, violent, luscious city.

2005-08-29T15:24:00.000-05:00

BUT I WANTED A MOVING VAN!!

My sister, the Sea Hag, diva supreme of the family, went to college for her junior year this week. She's living in an apartment instead of the dorms for the first time and, well, acted like it was the Hilton, or like SHE was a Hilton.
First, there was the fight about her bed--she wanted to bring her entire bed to college: mattress, box spring, head and foot board, canopy, royal bejeweled step stool, etc... but the thing would not fit into our dad's van and still leave room for all her other belongings (AKA, shoes). She realizes this and begins to stomp and pout, saying, "Yeah well this wouldn't have been a problem if you'd just hired a moving van like I wanted you to." Right. And when is your pink convertible arriving, madam? Can I get a sparkling water for the miniature dog you carry around in your Louis Vuitton satchel??
We decided just to take the mattress, like every other college student.
"Whatever," she says. "It's going to look SO tacky."
Then, as everyone else began to pack up the car, my sister decides now is the perfect time to take a shower, because she is hot and sweaty. We ALL are hot and sweaty, and only have an hour until the designated time to leave. Everyone begins arguing with her about taking a shower after she gets done with all the moving and unpacking and heavy lifting, but to no avail... she dashes into the bathroom and spends the next hour primping and preening while all of us continue to load up the van.
She comes out on the porch, perfect hair and makeup, cute outfit, takes a look at all the sweaty, disgruntled faces around her, and says, "Wow, it's all ready? Let's go! I brought out a water for everybody."
Well thanks, Paris. You are just so thoughtful!

because in college, everyone has a butler and a performing chimp at: janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-08-26T13:14:00.000-05:00

ACTUALLY OVERHEARD IN STARBUCKS...

Girl on cell: "So, my eye's been doing this weird thing, where all the colors get real bright, then dim out and it's total crap...WHAT?.. No, mom, I am not on pot! Are You?... Whatever."

laughed so hard i shot foam from my nose at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-08-22T17:51:00.000-05:00

Tale of the Lumberjack...

My roommate is nicknamed "The Lumberjack" in reference to Donna on "That 70's Show" because:
1. she is frr-eakishly tall, just under 6 ft.
2. she is a tomboy--her idea of a good time: running until she's drenched in sweat then tackling the first person she comes across.
3. she has a liking for plaid shirts.

Also, because I am a short, brunette, fashion fiend similar to Jackie, the names just fit.

ANYWAY. Here is the news of the day concerning The Lumberjack:
She is dating a jockey.
Not a real jockey, mind you, just a very, very, VERY small man.
Not small for a guy, small for a person. He is 5'6", which is taller than me, but he weighs in at a hefty 115 lbs.
My brother, at age 15, is much larger than that. HE calls me "stringbean" because I am so much smaller than him, and this guy is smaller than me. You get the idea.
It's ridiculous.
It's hilarious.
He has to climb up her leg to kiss her goodnight.
And, as I was saying before about her love of wrestling, she slings him around like a sack of sugar and generally beats the crap out of him on a regular basis.

can't wait for the wedding at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-08-18T16:44:00.000-05:00

Sad day....

I actually LOST my flipflop when it got sucked into a mud puddle in front of Starbucks. How embarrassing! I mean, it totally disappeared into the mire with a whoosh-sucking sound. And it was my favorite sparkly blue pair, with the flowers on the sole. It totally made the carmel macchiato not worth the drive.
Hey, you try driving home with a muddy, bare foot!

Stay tuned. Tonight has been set aside as Last Supper of the Summer for my Fam, before school starts, and my sisters disappear into the blissful abyss of not having to be at home...

at least it wasn't my soul at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-08-04T15:49:00.000-05:00

The Giant Salads at Restaurants

Umm...did I miss something??? Aren't salads supposed to be the food for healthy people trying to keep their weight from ballooning through the roof??
My sister and I went to a family restaurant last night, where I ordered a salad.
When our food came out, I was thoroughly confused by the giant serving bowl set at my place, filled to overflowing with so much chicken and fixins' that it was almost impossible to see the mountain of lettuce piled underneath the top layer.
It was certainly the frickin' MT. EVEREST of salads.
I ate about an eighth of it.
Since when did it become normal to offer a person enough food to feed a large family and then seem surprised when 1.) That person does not finish all of said food, and 2.) That person has the absolute gall to ask for a box to take home the rest of said food, which she had paid for???
Just wondering.

We are currently in a nightmare at work, consisting of operating with only half the normal staff. Our most experienced writer, my hippie mentor, challenger to "the man" in all things, quit last Friday. Another writer is on vacation. So two gone, two left to cover the news room. I've written two articles a day for the entire week. I think my brain is falling out!

After work today, I am going to go home, change into my cute pink and grey sweatshirt and shorts, get out the book I've been waiting to read all week, shut the door to my room, burrow under mounds of blankets and pillows and not come out for ANYTHING all evening.

If there is a fire and I die in my room, I don't care. Fires be damned, I want to be left alone for awhile!!

if you need me, you better bring cheesecake at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-08-03T18:06:00.000-05:00

No Doze or Starbucks, anyone???

I spent three hours at a library board meeting last night, listening to people discuss whether a circulation desk needed a strip of decorative formica around the edge, etc..
When do people get to the age when discussions like this actually seem important, or worth three hours of time??? Someone tell me so I can leap in front of a truck before I get there.

ANYway... I now have a lovely bedroom suite given to me by my grandparents after travelling to OH to retrieve it over my vacation. IT IS SO GREAT! I have traded in the twin bed from my 'rents for a king size--which gives me one side, and a whole other side for MIKE THE CAT!!
He loves it, oh, how he loves it. I don't think he's ever getting out of the new bed.

Not that he'll ever have to. The Boyfriend in Florida has officially been eaten by sharks as far as I'm concerned. His toothbrush is in the trash and I'm looking for a replacement. Anyone interested in a girl who can get you into any exciting board meeting you want, has a large pet tiger and creates killer dance moves fueled by a super Starbucks buzz???
I can also carry my own furniture upstairs, so that's gotta be a plus.

boogie, baby, all night long at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-07-13T14:51:00.000-05:00

Only three days...

Until my first ever paid vacation!!! It came down to choosing between two open weeks on the editorial schedule, and I chose next week for some bizarre reason. NOW, I have to think of something to do besides watching Days of our Lives with my cat.
AND SPEAKING OF THE CAT... he dumped a bowl of milk on my head this morning right before I was about to leave for work.
Had to wash my hair and do the whole outfit choosing ritual ALL OVER AGAIN.
Now, you may wonder how a cat can knock a bowl of milk on his owner's head, considering the owner, while not much fatter, is much taller than said cat.
I think it may have been my own fault.
The story: Woke up and got dressed for work. Very tired and grumpy, with cat following me around wanting pets. Went into kitchen to fix bowl of cereal (the Lumberjack recently purchased Golden Grahams, not as good as I remember as a kid) and sat down on the couch to watch the news. Cat sits down too. Finished cereal, set the bowl on the arm of the couch and snuggled up in a blanket to watch last few minutes of newscast. Steve "I-Hope-Somebody-Robs-a-Bank-Today" Jefferson is all excited about a teenage shootout. Great. Fell asleep. Cat takes opportunity to jump up and have a snack he's not allowed to have, gets too enthusiastic about delicious milk and knocks bowl off armrest onto my head.
He says he heard people used milk to make their hair shiny.

went to work with VERY shiny, bouncy twice-washed hair at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-07-05T16:20:00.000-05:00

Life at a daily paper...

Is difficult for many reasons, but today, the number 1 reason would be: trying to schedule vacation time is impossible.
There are too many factors that go into planning when I should get to have a little free time. What ongoing stories could suffer if I miss something the week I'm gone? Will we have enough reporters to cover all the news (can't schedule off when someone else schedules off)? Being the rookie, I get last pick, or so I would assume. What happens if a natural disaster occurs and I am not here to report on it? Mainly, this will make me mad that I missed something, I'm not going to get in trouble for it or anything. Do I make enough money to go on vacation????? heehee Should I just not go? If I don't go, will I kill myself because of all the stress? Or at the very least go crazy? If I go crazy, would it be crazy enough that I could go to a mental hospital and not have to worry about scheduling a vacation ever again??? I need an afternoon off just to figure out when, where and how to have a vacation with the least possible negative ramifications on my career! And that's not gonna' happen.

do you have the time to listen to me whine? at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-06-28T16:39:00.000-05:00

Awww!!! This is Mike, my fat little baby! He has some health problems that make him so fat, but that just makes us love him more!
As you can see, I am bored right now, not much happening, not much to do.
And it's raining outside, so I can't go swimming either.

loves! at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-06-23T16:08:00.000-05:00

Moms, and our pathetic attempts to communicate with them....

Called my mutha' yesterday. The conversation went a little like this:

Me:"Hi, mom."
Her:"Hellooo. (Mary Kay selling voice. This is why it's taken me 15 attempts to get through at the homefront.) The cat just threw up."
Me: "Oh."
(long pause)
"Which one?"
Her: "Leo. SO...how is Jeremy?" (referring to boyfriend, living currently 5 states away)
Me: (out loud) "Fine. Busy." (inside head) "I have no idea, the asshat hasn't called in a week, and his last email read: "Hey babe. Really snowed under right now. Will call when I have time to actually have a conversation. j"
Her: "So you haven't broken up yet? I thought that would be over by now."
Me: "No. Still dating. Hey, the reason I call...."
Her:"Well, I'm making phone calls right now. Can't talk, better go! Call if you need more lipstick!"
CLICK!!!

Oh well, didn't have news or anything. It's not like I could have possibly needed to talk to her, considering I took the time to call her and all. I just needed to know if the cat had thrown up lately and to confirm that I was still on schedule for production of her future grandchildren.

jolly good and all talked out at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-06-22T17:21:00.000-05:00

Smashing News

Billy Corgan just announced that he wants to reunite the Smashing Pumpkins, and I don't know whether to be excited or to cringe, because you never want your favorite all-time, love of your life band to decide to get back together, only to reincarnate as suck-ass-has-beens. And the fact that BC announced this by taking out a full page ad in the paper does not bode well for my fan-dom. Of course, I wasn't paying attention to details like that when the Pumpkins were around the first time. I wonder if they've published announcements like that before????
Billy, I will always be an original love, whether the new material lives up to expectations or not. (heehee)

sprinkle all my kisses on your head/ stars full of wishes fill our beds at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-06-16T15:51:00.000-05:00

Boom!

Ah, yesterday was a fun day in the world. I was all set to leave the office, bags gathered, kicky sunglasses applied to face, visions of a dip in the pool already swimming in my little head, when...
i got sent to cover the most ridiculous story. Apparently, this old man collects things from his apartment complex dumpsters to sell at flea markets and was carting around a collection of old explosives and a detonator in his van for two weeks. He says he didn't know what they were. Took them to the flea market yesterday, only to find out from another old fellow that he was carting around volatile explosives, DROVE THEM HOME, then called the police to come get rid of them.
So, the police depts, sheriff's depts of two counties, the bomb squad, called in from the other side of the metropolitan area, and bomb sniffing dogs are gathered across the complex, milling about aimlessly while ONE MAN SCOOPS UP THE EXPLOSIVES WITH A LITTLE SHOVEL.
And I'm there with my photographer and my notebook, when Steve "I Pee My Pants with Excitement for a Good Crime Story" Jefferson shows up, all-"what's happening? what's up? ooh, what's goin' down?!"
I point to the shovel scoop man, and suddenly things don't look so exciting anymore.
They declared the stuff stable, so we didn't even get to see them detonate it.
Three hours and we got nothin'.

got the sunburn without the workout at janeh928@yahoo.com

2005-06-15T16:50:00.000-05:00

In Which I Cannot Open My Purse

It becomes completely apparent to me on occasion that I graduated from college through some fluke in the bookkeeping process, because I am in fact, a complete and utter moron.
This was confirmed on Sunday, when I attempted to attend the viewing service for one of my co-worker's fathers.
Beforehand, the Lumberjack and I went to a little cantina for we were starving and nothing is quite as delicious as salsa with cilantro to munch on when you're starving. Even though the waiters there always say something about my breasts in Spanish. (I CAN understand you!)
Anyway, comments about my rack aside, the meal ends with my inability to get the attention of any of the aforementioned waiters so that I may take leftovers home to my giant cat, Mike, so I slip a few grilled shrimp into my purse, wrapped in what I assumed was a perfectly legitimate transporting material, also known as tinfoil.
All was well until I realized I was running late, trucked it back to GirlCentral, threw on a dour black dress, and the worst shoes on the planet and hit the road in the MilleniumFalcon with only minutes to spare.
Pull up to the church--an ass-haul of an hour away--and, as I get into line with several other colleagues, decide a mint might be in order, open my purse and...
OMG! What is that smell?! Deadly fumes rise from the depths of my favorite handbag! Horrid stench of... forgotten packet of shrimp! Stupidest. Move. Ever.
Quickly and silently zipping up the purse, I do a scan of the crowd, hoping no one has noticed that I brought something that obviously smells like it crawled into my purse and died-- to a wake.
I fiercely hug the parcel to my chest... greet mourning co-worker, try to politely dodge office patter from some 2,000 others who attended, and make an escape to the bathroom at earliest possible convenience. Shrimp in garbage can with a quick prayer for unfortunate bathroom attendant of the next day.
My purse still smells. It sits on the corner of the balcony at GirlCentral, defiantly reminding me of my moronic nature every time I walk by.

advice on other items not to carry home leftovers in gladly accepted at janeh928@yahoo.com