Just a Lost Soul Swimmin' in a Fish Bowl

Updated your reader yet?

2010-03-23T14:17:00.000-07:00

Just a friendly reminder for those of you behind the 8-ball that I've moved!

Be sure to change your readers and bookmarks if you want to keep up on my debauchery and shenanigans!*

http://jeneypeney.wordpress.com!

* Seriously, people.**

** There are four different links to the same page on this post. ***

*** No more excuses.

My Final Post

2010-03-01T07:06:00.000-08:00

No, no, no! Not my final post EVER. That's just silly!

I meant my final post here at shamrock-on.blogspot.com

I have decided to move my little corner of the internet to jeneypeney.wordpress.com

So you know the drill... if you ~~treasure your life~~ wish to continue reading my rubbish, go update your reader, bookmarks, etc. Like, now.

Please and thank you!

I wish you all quiet Mondays with copious amounts of coffee and Pandora bliss.

Me Loving Harder, Part One

2010-02-26T07:14:00.000-08:00

When I was a freshmen in college, all of us little lasses were forced into these awkward orientation groups in which we attended to a bunch of pointless lectures to teach us all about what ~~the administrators thought~~ being in college was all about. It was in this group that I met a spunky, outspoken girl who introduced herself as Biz.

Biz is definitely a unique spirit. The fact that “Biz” was her short for “Elizabeth” rather than “Beth” or “Lizzy” was proof enough. The fact that she wasn't afraid to let her decidedly liberal views be heard in a massive sea of conservative classmates only solidified it. She quickly became my hero.

She has an incredibly infectious smile that honestly spreads to her eyes and lights up her whole face - and everyone's around her. She is the kind of girl that will drop everything to bring you Italian chocolates and boxed wine to cheer you up.

She has a wonderful sense of humor that she applies to everything she does (every single one of her Facebook photo album titles is a Super Trooper quote). She is an amazing artist and to this day I still have several of the pottery pieces she gave me around my apartment.

She is the most outgoing, bull-headed, and strongest women I have ever met. She never failed to be the life of a party and always had a story by the end of the night. She is an absolutely beautiful person; almost painfully so on the outside, too.

She is that kind of girl that you really, REALLY want to be friends with but you’re afraid she’s just too cool for you.

I am honored and blessed to say Biz is my friend. One of my best friends, actually.

You see, she was my person. I could go to her for anything… and sa-weet Jesus do I mean anything. She was the one and only person I could go to for everything from “What the hell kind of shoes goes with this top?” to “My Grandma was just diagnosed with cancer…” to “You will not BELIEVE who I went home with last night!”

She always listened and she never judged me.

Back in June, right before I moved to Fargo, Biz was driving through a wicked thunderstorm to work a basketball camp at Notre Dame. She hydroplaned, ran into a semi, and landed in a ditch. She survived the crash with no broken bones or any massive blood loss; but she suffered severe brain damage from the accident.

Her BPI was so high at one point we thought we were going to lose her. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I couldn’t lose my person. I never got to tell her how much she mattered to me; how much I loved and valued our friendship.

By the grace of whatever God there is, Biz did survive. She is still learning to walk and talk again, and she struggles with her short term memory. Biz and her family lost her father this past Christmas to a long-fought battle with brain cancer, and she still asks, "Where's dad?" several times a day.

Despite all of this, she is fighting harder and stronger than I could have ever imagined. Through this tragedy she has not only showed all of us how to live – but how to survive.

Biz is one of my inspirations to love harder.

What’s yours?

TMI Thursday: One Girl, One Cup (Not like you would think...)

2010-02-25T06:56:00.000-08:00

Mom... I am so very, very proud of the fact that you have somehow swindled my brother into showing you several of my blog posts. Your cunning and deceit astound me. But this is NOT something you would necessarily want to read about your only daughter. You have been warned.

***

Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

When I was a sophomore in college, I went to a huge dorm party on the co-ed campus across the street called The Zoo. This party ended with two of my friends leaving without us to go to Steak N' Shake while another was ticketed for being a minor in possession.

But that's besides the point.

Anypoorlifedecisions, after arriving at the party in all of our awkward, under dressed glory and many rousing games of Fuck the Dealer and Kings later, I was decidedly good and schmackered.

Said schmackered-ness had my brain thinking that Creepy McLoser across the room was worthy enough of my attentions.

Said attentions lead us to his room where he proceeded to have a 'little problem'.

I would have simply left after the 'little problem' surfaced (or didn't surface... whatever), but one friend was possibly in the slammer, the others were gorging themselves on greasy, delicious amazingness. It was also after 2:00am and thus, I was technically not allowed to be there.

So I just went to bed with every intention of waking up at at the ass crack of dawn and making my walk of shame back across the street to my college.

Then it happened...

I had to pee.

Now, many possibilities went through my (still very drunk) mind at this point.

I could have peed in the sink - but I'm really short, a girl, and was afraid that sitting on it would break it off the wall.

I could have snuck downstairs to the women's bathroom - but if I was lucky enough to even make it that far without being caught by the rector I might as well just leave.

I could have creeped to the men's bathroom down the hall - but I was at equal risk of getting caught.

So what brilliant idea did I decide was the best course of action? Peeing in the solo cup I brought into the room and then pouring it down the sink. Perfect! Fool proof!

Wrong and wrong.

I grabbed the cup, set it on the floor (Why on the floor? I have no earthly idea. I was drunk.), dropped my pants, and began to relieve myself.

(Honest to God I am having serious issues typing this without laughing right now...)

Once I was finished, I began to stand up when my jeans hit the lip of the cup and KNOCKED IT OVER.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. I had just spilled my urine all over this guy's floor.

Let that soak in for second.

(Pun totally intended.)

So I did the only thing I could think of: I made like a Shepard and got the flock out of there.

(Thank the good Lord above that this guy was a senior and I never saw him again...)

* I did break parietals once more after my senior formal, but it was in my best friend's dorm room and I was graduating in two weeks and I didn't care anymore.

Would You Rather Wednesday

2010-02-24T07:23:00.000-08:00

Does anyone else say "Wedd - nez - day" in their head when they type Wednesday?

No? Just me? Figures.

Anysnow -

Would you rather spend the rest of your life where it is excruciatingly bitter cold during the winter months (as in always below zero before wind chill), but less than six inches of snow actually falls?

Or would you rather spend the rest of your life where the temperatures are relatively mild, but you are guaranteed several feet of snow every year?

Things to consider: Digging your car out of the snow or digging yourself out of your house... your nose hairs freezing whenever you walk outside... frostbite risks... high electric or gas bills for heating.

In other news, I finally posted a little something over at Nothing Rhymes with Orange.

Happy Hump Day!

***

UPDATE : This is not a test. This is a message from the Emergency Free Shit Giveaway System. There has been a Free Shit Giveaway notice for anyone who has the mental capacity to type. For more information, please see DCPrincessQ at PQ Nation.

Again, this is NOT a test. This is a message from the Emergency Free Shit Giveaway System. She is giving away a $50 gift card to LuLu's, people!

This Post is Brought to You by Inordinate Amounts of Coffee

2010-02-22T13:47:00.000-08:00

Once again, my normal posting schedule has been thwarted by the evil, conniving, cold hearted beast that is my job.

Beware, job. You will get what is coming to you. I will have my revenge and I will seek these missing moments of my life back!

I may be small, but I am RUTHLESS!

(Aaaaaand. I've lost my mind.)

Anyrambles, seeing as how I can't produce a damn thing worth reading as this juncture, I will direct you to some pretty fantastic people that can.

If you are not on this list, I apologize. These are really just a snippet of the blogs I follow and the ones I honestly look forward to reading everyday.

***

Amy is a girl I met in my first year of undergrad and desperately wish would have gotten to know better. She's an excellent writer and has an awesome sarcastic sense of humor. She also will probably hate me for doing this, but you should all go check out her little corner, Bookends.

Kate has a very unique style of blogging that I love. As she reveals stories from her life, she only exposes a small amount at a time; leaving the ends of her blogs with the ever feared and often loathed "...to be continued." But the girl pulls it off. Follow her along the path to find the Perfect 10.

Mandy is a one big Funfetti cupcake made of snark and spice and everything hysterical. When she isn't making people pee their pants on her blog, she is the Relationship Angst Examiner for Detroit (ROCK CITYYYYY!!!!*) Her handle also happens to be the #3 search term of people who end up here.

Just A Girl is one of my favorite people. Ever. Sadly the evil, conniving, cold hearted beast that is her job just recently has thwarted her from social media in its entirety while she is at work. However, her blog, Dramatic Sigh, is still magnificent. Especially if you love all that can be inappropriate and ridiculous.

MJenks. I'm sure most of you know him so I am not going to explain him. I don't think I could if I tried, anyway. He recently moved his corner of the internets to Vita Brevis.

Carissa is honestly one of the funniest people I know. Her TMIs are always priceless and I can count on her blog to put a smile on my face no matter how much my fellow employees hate me.

And TheOddDuckling? He's just plain awesome. I mean... he's a teacher. And he loves french toast. And he wrote about 90s cartoons today.

... there are so many more blogs I want to direct you to, but my clever quota is on E. So if these bitches don't entertain you enough then scroll on down to my blog roll and check those hookers out.

* Sorry. I had to do it.

Waste of a Post

2010-02-19T13:24:00.000-08:00

Guess what? I had an awesome post all cooked up and golden brown in my head for today. It was inspired by Love Harder and I was uber excited to publish it.

Then I had a super shitty day yesterday. And I couldn't cure it with chocolate and copious amounts of cherry coke like I normally do because God won't let me. So I'm taking out my frustration on you guys.

Really... I'm sorry.

Here's a super adorable video to prove it:

This is how I felt yesterday.

And since I'm not cool and I don't live in DC and will not be attending the post -snowpocolpyse DC Happy Hour tonight, I am competing in Beerlympics with the authors from We Heart Cookie Dough on Team Scotland. Ridiculous pictures, stories, and possibly videos to come next week.

Happy Friday Hookers!

I'm callin' you out.

2010-02-17T07:43:00.000-08:00

For those of you who are not using Google Analytics, you need to be. Not only is it an awesome way to see just where your blog falls in the big, bad world of the internet, it gives you a really deep look into your readers. (It is also an endless source of entertainment.)

I know you guys know all about me and some of my most horrific, terrifying, and embarrassing moments… but just who the hell are you?

Well, ladies and gentlemen, while blogger tells me I have 61 followers, Google Analytics tells me over 100 people read my blog on a peak day.

While I knew most of you were from the United States, I had no idea you hailed from all but one of them (No one cares about South Dakota anyway.) Nor did I realize you represented 492 different cities

I never even imagined you international readers went beyond Canada and the UK to reach places like Australia, Singapore, Malaysia, Norway, Slovenia, Croatia, and over 50 other countries.

Most of you use Firefox when reading my blog. Others prefer Internet Explorer, Safari, and Chrome. One of you even used a Playstation 3. (WTF?)

For those of you who found me using Google search, the keywords you used mostly are related to tattoos and fish bowls (My favorite of which was “bad ass fish tattoos”) But a couple other gems are “pissing in swimmin “, “jeneys boobs“, “tamponpanty “ and “jeney movie porn.” There were also about seven of them that had to do with shitting/pooping your pants.

I was also shocked to see how many searches were actually for my blog or my name directly.

Most of you seemed to have found me through LiLu’s TMI Thursdays, while others stumbled over from MJenks’, JAG’s, Ben's, and Carrissa's pads. A couple of you are even creepy enough to follow me on Twitter or my feeds on Facebook.

So now that I have an idea of who you hooligans really are, come out of the woodwork already (Especially you people from Dilworth, MN… you’re like 10 minutes away!) I am declaring this an unofficial de-lurker day.*

Comment and tell me more about you! If you’re uncomfortable with going public (I would be too, don’t be ashamed), go ahead and e-mail me at jeney (dot) anderson (at) gmail (dot) com.

I promise I don’t bite.

I just drool a lot.

* But that doesn't give you jerks who comment regularly a free pass.

Post It Note Tuesday: Fattie Gras

2010-02-16T09:44:00.000-08:00

So today is Mardi Gras. A day of full Paczki's, colorful beads, boobies, and cakes with plastic figurines of babes in them.

But for those of you who are members of the Catholic Church, ~~or as I like to call it - The Life of Eternal Guilt~~ today is the last day before you attempt to give up something that you typically cannot go without for an entire 40 days of absolute hell to better yourself and bring you closer to your Lord and savior Jesus Christ.

Or something like that...

Today's Post It Note Tuesday will honor the top five things I will never try to give up again and the top five things I wish were acceptable enough to give up.

On the 'Never attempting to give up EVER AGAIN' list:

As for the 'My mother would give me the stank eye if I gave these up' list:

Happy Fat Tuesday Bitches!!

Why I Hate Valentine's Day

2010-02-12T07:48:00.000-08:00

This weekend, roughly eighty seven percent of the people I know will be exchanging absurdly expensive velvet boxes of candy, annoying stuffed members of the animal kingdom, and ridiculous displays of foliage all while making me want to vomit. all. day.

No, really. It’s not that big of a deal.

It’s fine that the only flowers I have ever received on National Schmoopsie Poo Day were from the boyfriend who ended up dumping me as I was getting in the car to leave for college and my father when I was in my twenties.

It doesn't even matter that I have to buy myself those absurdly expensive velvet boxes of candy.

I really don’t even care that I have had a super sexy little hot pink teddy in the back of my closet for the past five years with no one to wear it for.

And I don’t even like jewelry, anyway.

(Me? Bitter? Never.)

Because my hatred of Valentine's Day does not stem from always being single on February 14th. Oh no, no, no. Not this girl. No-sir-ee-bobby! ~~I can't believe I just typed that~~.

Back when I was a wee tike in grade school, if we were going to bring Valentines for someone we had to bring one for everyone in the class. We even made card receptacles out of paper bags and construction paper during class for this shenanigan of a holiday.

I know what you are thinking. And, no, I did not get shafted on my Valentines like Gretchen Weiners. My pain and suffering runs far deeper than that.

You see, when I was in the fourth grade I had a huge crush on a boy. Let's call him Mr. Meanie Pants. Because I'm mature like that.

I boldly decided to ask Mr. Meanie Pants to be my Valentine. And at the tender age of nine, I had devised a very discrete and devious way of doing so without the embarrassment of the whole class knowing about my crush.

I wrote him a note that I felt was so poetic and heartfelt I almost didn't give it to him. It read:

Clever, huh?

I slipped the note into his Valentine before I popped it into his scarcely decorated Valentine bag.

Now all I had to do was wait... and I didn't have to wait long.

Mr. Meanie pants did not circle yes. He didn't circle no. Hell, he didn't even just ignore it and pretend I never gave it to him to begin with.

Rather, he felt it was necessary to laugh boisterously about the note. Then he read it to his band of hoodlum friends. After they got a good snort and chuckle out of it, the other twelve ten-year-olds in the class wanted to know what was so funny.

He then announced to the entire class that he, Mr. Meanie Pants, would, in fact, NEVER be my Valentine. After his proclamation, he proceeded to savagely rip my note apart and throw it on the ground.

Who has two thumbs and despises Singles Awareness Day?

This fucking girl.

(I have just realized that the fourth grade was quite possibly the most mortifying and traumatic year of my life.)

Super Bowl Shenanigans

2010-02-10T10:05:00.000-08:00

So I hosted my first ever Super Bowl party at mi casa this past Sunday. What I thought would be a fun little get together with some close friends turned into a Jeney-drank-way-more-than-she-should-have-and made-a-complete-ass-out-of-herself kind of night.

Anyone surprised?

No?

Me either.

Exhibit A:

I was one of about two and half people actually rooting for the Saints. Most of the people who attended my party were actually Vikings fans and felt a bitter hatred towards the team that thwarted poor, old man Favre from retiring* with another Super Bowl ring. So everyone else was rooting for Manning and the boys in blue.

Voice of God was one of them.

As a result of the game not going exactly the way he wanted, Voice of God kept walking out of the apartment to roam the hallways cursing. Every time he did this I locked the door ~~because I'm an obnoxious little shit~~ because I thought it was funny.

Voice of God did not agree with my sense of humor.

Voice of God Skools Jeney from Jeney Anderson on Vimeo.

This was after the fourth time I had locked him out.

After about the eighth or ninth time I locked him out, he felt the only proper punishment was to throw me over his shoulders helicopter style and began to spin me around like I was a rag doll.

I, being as intoxicated as I was, clutched to Voice of God with everything I had in me hoping and praying that I wouldn't hit my head on the wall/vomit/fall off him mid-spin.

Awful, terrible, bad idea, folks.

Once he stopped spinning and started to let me down, my Vulcan death grip on his shoulders caused all 290 lbs of him to start tipping over as well. This left him with two options. Neither of which would end well for me...

1) Continue tipping over with my momentum and fall on top of me risking the possibility of breaking my arm, cracking my ribs, and/or snapping my neck.

2) Just dropping me and hoping I don't land on something crucial.

Well, kiddos. Voice of God decided to drop me six feet and four inches on to our hard, cold, poorly carpeted floor.

Luckily, I only landed square and directly on my noggin rather than on some other more important body part like my hip or shoulder.

I woke up Monday morning with a headache that would have crippled Sasquatch and I still can't wash my hair without wincing.

Exhibit B:

There is no long, entertaining story behind this one. I simply danced like a damn fool when the clock hit 0:00 and the Saints had a larger number in their score box. I have no idea if this behavior was caused by Coors Light or my quasi-not-really concussion.

Dancin' Like a Fool from Jeney Anderson on Vimeo.

The moral of this story, kids, is that one should not lock one's very large, strong, and irate roommate out of the apartment. One should especially not do this repeatedly. You'll end up ass over elbows.

And celebrating a win like you ride the short bus when there are cameras around isn't such a good idea either.

* SIKE!

Aw, hell

2010-02-09T10:16:00.000-08:00

I didn't post about my Super Bowl party shenanigans yesterday because I had a wicked headache that I wish was from a hangover but was really a minor head injury from the Voice of God throwing me on the floor.

~~Aaaaand I know most of you were rooting for the Colts and I wasn't and I didn't want you all to hate me.~~

I'm not posting it today either because I spent my morning with a needle in my arm and eating cookies. (read: donating blood and trying not to pass out because they couldn't get the needle in my vein)

I will, however, be posting about my head injury tomorrow. There is a video of me dancing around like a moron involved.

I'm the World's Greatest Cracker!

2010-02-05T07:29:00.000-08:00

So LiLu does this thing called "The Shiz my Friends Say" and I must admit - that shit's hysterical.

I didn't really want to steal her thunder or infringe on any copywrites for fear that Axe Murderer will be set after me for revenge... But her's are way funnier than mine and she's prettier and a way better blogger.*

But there are some ridiculous things that make it ~~or simply bypass~~ my friends' internal filters that have to be shared.

After all, these guys are the reason I haven't gone woodchipper on anyone's asses yet.**

***

While watching Iron Chef:

AT: "What the hell is that? A pile of leaves?"

Me: "Also known as a salad..."

***

Referring to some kind of cheese cracker:

Voice of God: “These are the greatest crackers in the world… besides you two.”

***

Voice of God: “What color is your phone?”

Me: “Pink.”

Voice of God: “And AT’s is black?”

Me: “Yep.”

Voice of God: “So hers really is a Blackberry and yours is just a Strawberry?”

***

While bringing Bear home, he kept trying to get in Voice of God’s lap in the front seat:

Me: He must like you.

Voice of God: No he’s just probably excited and thinking “Hey! I’ve never seen one like you before. You guys come in chocolate, too?”

***

Me: Soooo... I had a dream last night that I came to visit you and you had a really hot roommate and a pet elephant.

Vic: I have a really hot roommate who happens to be a stuffed pet elephant. Don’t judge him… he's sensitive.

***

After he threw a boiled peanut at me:

Me: Pick up that peanut!

Voice of God: Ok, come here and I'll pick you up then.

***

Happy Friday!!

* Ass kissing? Never.
**Bonus points to anyone who got that reference.

I'm a lot more effed up than I thought...

2010-02-03T07:48:00.000-08:00

Like most people, for as long as I can remember, I have had a lot of trouble remembering my dreams. When I was a kid, the only ones that stuck with me when I woke up were nightmares. When I was about 12, my mom got me a dreamcatcher and had it blessed by a family friend who happens to be a High Priestess in a Wiccan coven. All my nightmares and dreams went away.

Until recently.

And let me tell you, if dreams are a wish your heart makes... I need to be committed. This shit's fucked up, yo.

Sometime in October I had a dream that BDubz and I were floating on a couch (Because couches float, duh?) in the middle of a flood in Fargo. We had a fish tank (With fish in it... we like a challenge.) and a Pug with us (Supposedly my subconscious thinks these are two things that we absolutely, positively, without question must save in a flood). We were trying to switch couches, but every time we got into the other couch, it started to sink (Jackass couch).

Then a little while later I had a dream that BDubz and Voice of God were mad at me because we didn't have any spoons in the apartment (But there was like 10,000 knives... how ironic?*). To which I replied that if they didn't use all the spoons to cook, then maybe we would have spoons in the house (Apparently lack of spoons is a sensitive subject in our household...).

Another dream had Voice of God shaved all his dreads off except for a small patch in the front above his forehead. And sang lady Marmalade with three of my athletes at a benefit concert (Makes total sense, right? Right??).

Last night I had a dream that we owned two cats (Which wouldn't be weird if BDubz didn't HATE cats) and my cat turned into a person at night (...Um. Yeah.).

I have no earthly idea why I have started remembering my dreams. I am even more confused ~~and utterly disappointed~~ with the fact that my imagination can't help me out with a dream about laying on a beach in Cabo San Lucas while Adam Lambert feeds me grapes and sings to me and Ryan Reynolds bubs lotion on my back.**

*I know this is backwards from the original lyrics and that it has nothing to do with real irony. Get off my back.
**Of course my imagination would turn this into Adam throwing salami at me while Ryan decides to use his feet instead of his hands.***
***And we'd be in Iraq or Afghanistan in the middle of a war zone.****
****And Jack Bauer would be involved somehow.

Post it Note Tuesday: Big Pimpin'

2010-02-02T07:07:00.000-08:00

Hello boys and girls! This week's edition of Post it Note Tuesday is brought to you by Shameless Self Promotion, Inc., Blatant Blog Pimping & Co., and the letter Q! Just click on the Stick-Its for today's little golden nuggets of amazingness!

Letters to My Morning

2010-02-01T07:13:00.000-08:00

Dear Alarm Clock,

I admire your persistence. I really do. But for the love of God I have owned you since I was in Junior High. Don't you think it's about time you break?

The sound you make makes me violent,
Jeney Peney

***

Dear Coffee Pot,

I love you more than words can express.

Addicted,
Jeney Peney

***

Dear Contact Lenses,

I would apologize for neglecting to put you in this morning, but in all honesty you're lucky I even considered it for the millisecond I did.

I can't even keep my eyes open to write this,
Jeney Peney

***

Dear Below Freezing Temperatures,

Not cool, yo. I'm really not a fan of walking out in 2 degree weather and thinking, "Oh, it's not bad out. I could have worn a lighter coat."

I'm moving to Arizona,
Jeney Peney

***

Dear Truck in Front of Me with Dual Exhaust,

I understand that emission checks are not required in NoDak, but I really hope you die a slow painful death for exuding such a foul smelling, earth killing exhaust twice as fast ~~and into my general direction~~.

I still can't breathe,
Jeney Peney

***

Dear Sirius Satellite Radio,

I cannot thank you enough for playing MMMBop on 90's on 9. At least you put a smile on my face before I get into the office.

Don't judge me,
Jeney Peney

***

Dear Mom and Dad,

Thank you for sending me this totally kick ass travel mug that looks like a disposable coffee cup.

I feel that much cooler for drinking out of it,
Jeney Peney

The Best Moment of My Life

2010-01-29T07:09:00.000-08:00

I recently went and signed myself up for a formspring.me account and I have one thing to say.

You guys are weird.

I know I can be pretty ridiculous and I have little to no shame/dignity left, but seriously people? What the hell kind of questions are these? Sexiest piece of lingerie? My signature “moves” in bed? Absurd.

I spent a lot of time toiling with whether or not to be serious or facetious in my answers, but one question totally and honestly had me stumped…

“What has been the best moment of your life to date?”

Holy soul searching Batman!

Immediately about three different things had popped into my mind… The second I finished presenting and defending my senior thesis. Moving into my first apartment on my own. Realizing my bra size was a whole cup bigger in Target bras.

But are any of those really the best moment of my life? I mean, I have had a lot of moments in my twenty something years. So what if I finished my thesis? I’m not the only one who had to do the damn thing. Moving into an apartment? Big deal; I’ve moved into three others since then. And no matter what the tag says, the girls still confirm my membership to the Itty Bitty Tittie Committee.

So I began to dig really deep into the gray matter beneath my skull to come up with that one moment that was so mind-blowing, so magnificent, and so absolutely and completely fantastical that it trumped all others.

Thinking of that one moment is a lot of pressure, people.

It was over fourteen hours later, but I finally found my answer. It was hiding within the quote, "Life is not measured by breaths we take in a moment, but by moments that take our breaths away.” I know that is completely cliché and cheesy, but it is. so. true.

There are so many moments in my life that really were so mind-blowing, so magnificent, and so absolutely and completely fantastical that they make all the awful and shit-tacular moments obsolete.

Like the time we brought home our first puppy, Rufus, and he immediately pooped on the carpet in the living room. But he was so cute and we were so happy to have him we all just laughed.

Or when my grandparents celebrated their 50th Wedding Anniversary and you could see they were still so madly in love with each other that you couldn’t help but smile with them the whole night.

Then there was the time my brother brought home a paper heart from his second grade class that prompted “Something I will love forever is…” and he had filled in “my sister Jeney.”

Live your life one moment at a time, because otherwise you will miss something. As Cesare Pavese said ~~in another cliché and overused quote~~, “We do not remember days, we remember moments. The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.”

Tell me, what is your best moment?

(Mini)TMI Thursday : Underpants

2010-01-28T08:13:00.000-08:00

Well, today is TMI Thursday and to be honest, I am holding back on the story I really want to tell because I've seriously been toeing the line of appropriateness a lot lately.

And people at work read this thing.

So I feel the need to take a "Holy crap, did you read Jeney's blog today?" break.

I also need to stop double spacing everything.

Or maybe just not drink so much coffee in the morning.

Anycaffeine,

I feel like I would be cheating if I didn't post something today.*

So here is it.

Are you ready for this?

My underwear's on inside out. **

Huzzah!

***

* Since I am POSITIVE that this post did not, in fact, quench for thirst for gross and obscene today, go read all that is TMI Thursday glory at LiLu's pad.
** This totally made me think of S.I.F. and her mishaps from Tuesday.
*** I start giggling every time I watch that clip... which is hereby dedicated to Peach (and by default, Bowdisha.)

Winter

2010-01-27T07:11:00.000-08:00

In honor of the four inches of slush ~~that no one deemed necessary to plow~~ we got over the weekend that froze into a plate of ice ~~I am not exaggerating~~ over the roads this week as well as the bitter below freezing temperatures ~~that render the salt useless~~ that decided to return to us and the blowing snow that made my commute to work absolutely terrifying on Monday ~~and run-on sentences~~, I am posting a delightful little poem about winter my brother forwarded to me in a e-mail.

Happy Hump Day!

Post it Tuesday - Internet Glitches and Bitches

2010-01-26T07:51:00.000-08:00

Welcome to another Post it Note Tuesday!

Stick it Note Tuesday:

****

Nothing to write home about....

2010-01-22T11:22:00.000-08:00

This is what I like to call a 'doppelganger post'.

You see... it pretends it's a real post but in reality, it's just me telling you I finally cleaned up my blog and made a new header (the black background is finally gone). So get the hell out of your reader and at least glance at the work I did.

In all fairness, Nothing Rhymes with Orange has a real post.

Happy Friday!

TMI Thursday : Crapping my Pants

2010-01-21T08:20:00.000-08:00

Considering just how many of my IRL friends have started reading this blog I know I am probably going to regret posting this. But you know what? If you crazy faces chose to read, then you're getting all the obscene, inappropriate, and awful things that come with it. Just know that if you ridicule me, I will find ways to seek revenge on your sorry asses. Enjoy yourselves!

Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

It was just like any normal day in Mrs. Demon’s* fourth grade class, really. We all took our seats that morning and diligently paid attention to our daily cursive, spelling, and arithmetic lessons.

However, on this particular day, a woman from the high school counseling office was coming to talk to the class about this crazy thing called “self-esteem.” (Apparently my public school district felt that at the tender age of nine, we were all destined to be cast in Dr. Phil’s Sex Rehab.)

While this normally would have been a welcome distraction in the mundane activities of the day, the woman’s visit happened to be during the exact time that our class would normally take our afternoon bathroom break… which was also the time that my body decided was its time to be “regular” (Let me tell you, I had a stellar digestive system as a child).

Me: “Can I please use the bathroom?”

Ms. Everyone is Special: “I am so sorry sweetie, but I can’t let you leave the classroom. You’ll just have to wait for your teacher to come back.” ::big cheesy smile::

Now what I should have said was, “BITCH! I have to poop!” But I was awkward and timid and constantly afraid of getting in trouble. So I sat tight (literally).

Three minutes later… I started fidgeting a bit.

Seven minutes later… I started sweating.

Twelve minutes later… my innards felt like it was being cleaved with a hacksaw.

Finally, my body couldn’t take it any longer and for the first time in my potty trained life, I shit my pants.

I cried the whole ~~walk~~, ~~run~~, sprint home.

* I cannot remember her real name for the life of me. I must have repressed the memory...

LoveHarder

2010-01-20T09:36:00.000-08:00

While I do not know Brandy personally, I do know her story. And my heart goes out to her in so many ways. I just hope I can do my part to help... and you should to.

Our Plea

Our friend Brandy is a brilliant writer, a wonderful teacher, and a generous friend. And she is in love with a man who has just been diagnosed with multiple myeloma.

We are raising money for the Multiple Myeloma Research Fund in his name. For the price of a cinnamon dolce latte, half-caf, hold the whip, you can be part of an effort to cure a disease that affects approximately 750,000 people worldwide.

http://www.loveharder.org

Every dollar brings us a dollar closer to a cure. And every donation brings a sliver of hope to a girl who needs all the hope she can get.

Love Harder,
Jeney

***

What You Can Do

Give. Be part of a worldwide effort to cure a disease that affects approximately 750,000 people worldwide. Every dollar helps.

Pass it on. Forward this story to five people. Share this blog post. Become our fan on Facebook.

Love harder. Life is short, love is unbending, and no one knows what could happen next. Tell someone you love them today.

***

Where Your Money Goes

The American Institute of Philanthropy recently names The Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation one of the best organizations to give to in terms of their accountability and use of resources.

By working closely with researchers, clinicians and partners in the biotech and pharmaceutical industry, the MMRF has helped bring multiple myeloma patients four new treatments that are extending lives around the globe.

The MMRF has advanced twenty Phase I and Phase II clinical trials. They need your support to advance these clinical research programs and accelerate the development of better, more effective treatments.

The MMRF's Multiple Myeloma Genomics Initiative recently became the first to sequence the multiple myeloma whole genome in its entirety.

A whopping 98% of your donation to the MMRF will be used immediately to support high-priority multiple myeloma research.

With diminishing funding for early stage drug development and the next myeloma treatments not expected to be approved until 2011, the MMRF desperately needs your help.

***

Brandy's Story

My name is Brandy. And I have a blog.

And a plea.

I use my blog to showcase the crazy I meet everyday, share the stories of the kids I teach, and document my love for tequila, dairy products and the abdominal muscles of Ryan Reynolds.

Rarely do I talk about personal issues on my blog-- as personal as the dude that I adore. But I need your help. And it involves my dude.

He's a guy who made math comics for my class, so they would love learning about addition. He's the guy who sends my friends gift cards when they are having hard times, who remembers every story I ever told him, who was the first person I celebrated with when I got a teaching job.

He's the guy who sent flowers to me at school-- dozens of my favourite pink roses just because he loves me. He's a guy who has spent a year patiently explaining (and re-explaining) everything there is to know about football during the important games when silence is preferred.

He's made me word puzzles and comics and stayed up late playing Scrabble with me (even though I beat him almost every time). He's listened to me cry about school and family and jobs. He is everything I never knew I needed and everything I always knew I wanted.

I realize this all sounds dramatic, a Lifetime movie in the making-- but this is life. Right now. And I'm throwing away any hint of ego and am humbly asking for you to pray or think kind thoughts. If you are able to pass this on, thank you.

This isn't a call for sympathy or a plea for pity. It's just one girl hoping you can think positive thoughts for the person she adores. If my current heartache provides you with anything, let it be the reminder that life is short, love is unbending and no one knows what could happen next.

Thank you for reading this, and if you haven't already? Please tell someone you love them today.

I did.

Pretty, Pretty Princess (...or not)

2010-01-20T07:13:00.000-08:00

When I was an undergrad, one of the courses I was enrolled in my senior year was Communications 490; Theory of Female Beauty with Terri Russ, the author of Bitchin’ B odies.
This was, by far, one of the most enlightening and engrossing classes (wow... that makes me sound waaaay too sophisticated) I ever had the pleasure of taking. Remember my modified Barbie doll? Yeah, those were the kinds of assignments we had in this class.

Totally. bad. ass. (ahh... that's better)

The wonderfully talented and eloquent (when she wants to be at least) Mandy recently wrote an article for The Examiner about Disney Princess movies and the unrealistic expectations the films create about love and relationships (not to mention gender roles and socially accepted behavior). Her article reminded me of my favorite assignment I had in Female Beauty – our final project.

Professor Russ was a big fan of vague assignments (something I would later realize was the best way to do an assignment). So all she told us to do was a “project of our choice including a research paper and creative element.”

I know. I thought that, too. What the hell am I supposed to do?

Well, after much deliberating and many a stiff drink later, I decided to do my project on princesses and the myths that surround them. If you want to know more on the base of my study, I have actually posted the paper I wrote for the assignment over at Nothing Rhymes with Orange, today. I must warm you it is an academic paper, albeit an entertaining one. (It was just about 8 pages long, so anyone who reads the whole thing gets a cookie.)

As for my creative element, I modified the Pretty, Pretty Princess board game to reflect what I thought were the real requirements for being a princess. Rather than collect colored pieces of plastic jewelry, players will collect items such as:

A teacup which you must hold with your pinky out for the remainder of the game. Being a princess means you must have impeccable etiquette and table manners at all times. No one likes a sloppy princess.

Dancing tights that must be worn over your socks. Princesses are ALWAYS invited to the prince’s balls and other public affairs. This means you must learn to dance. After all, you don’t want to be “that princess” with two left feet do you?

A book to balance on the top of your head for the rest of the game. Slouching is absolutely unacceptable if you wish to be a princess. Poor posture signifies poor upbringing. Do not shame your parents

A piece of lace to tie around your mouth. When you wear this piece, you are not allowed to speak. Remember, you should not speak unless you are spoken to. Do not cause a ruckus and do not disgrace your family name.

Of course one cannot be a woman in power without a man, right? So don’t forget to pick up the prince’s engagement ring. Congratulations! You snagged the poor sap!

However, you must beware of the Queen of Hearts. After all, no one wants to be queen. She old, haggard, and used up from being a baby machine for all those years.

How to win the game? You must achieve all areas of princess training (Etiquette, Culture, Posture, and Silence) plus gain the Prince’s engagement ring – but do not become the queen – and you’ve won the game! Now as you balance the book on your head, carefully hold the teacup, don your dancing tights, and show off your obnoxious multi-billion dollar ring – all without saying a word – take a look in the mirror and see at the REAL Pretty, Pretty Princess you have become.

(By the way, I am only allowing my future daughter to play this version of the game. It's more fun anyway.)

Post It Note Tuesday: 24, Dumb Accents, and Clowns

2010-01-19T07:16:00.000-08:00

Stick it Note Tuesday:

Welcome to another installment of Post It Note Tuesday!

Back to school, back to school....

2010-01-18T09:21:00.000-08:00

For those of you who don’t know… I attended my first class as a graduate student last week.

(Shut your face, it was not an anger management class.)

It was weird being back in a classroom again. It took me a while to get back into the student mindset. You know… paying attention to the professor, reading the syllabus, taking notes, not telling the loud breathing student next to me to kindly suck oxygen through their nose. All that jazz.

But there was one thing about being in class that I really could not get over: boys.

Holy scrotums Batman! I almost forgot there was such a thing as universities that allowed people with a Y Chromosome in.

You see… I spent four years going to school with 1,300 other women. I had class with a total of two men those entire four years. One of them was gay and the other was in my physics lecture (‘nuff said.)

Sure, I was across the street from a coed university. But to be honest, 98% of those guys had smaller balls than I did. And as for being a student manager? My class happened to be the first one that was over 60% female. Oh yeah, did I mention the team I managed was the women’s swim team?

And now? I work with the soccer, track and field, cross country, volleyball, golf, and softball teams – all women.

Let’s just say that outside of just being friends, I don’t have much experience interacting with the opposite sex. (Reason why I’m still single? Possibly.)

So while I was sitting in class, stinking of my workout, I found myself thinking, “Oh my god. Do I really smell that bad? I should have at least put mascara on. Hell, I should have washed my hair! Maybe changed my socks? Christ, I’m disgusting.”

This is something I never, EVER had to think about when I was in undergrad. I used to go to class smelly and sweaty and one hundred different kinds of gross and never had to think twice about it.

This is definitely going to take some getting used to... and maybe at least body spray in my gym bag.

Hot Dog!

2010-01-15T07:20:00.000-08:00

For those of you who don't follow me on Twitter, I done went and got myself a dog yesterday!

Everyone say "Hi!" to Bear!

His name is Bear and he is a two year old yellow lab. He likes to sit on my freezing cold balcony and pull me face first into huge piles of snow on walks.

We are in a week long trial period to see if we will work out together in the apartment. BDubz isn't too thrilled about him, but I'm keeping my fingers and toes crossed that she'll warm up to him.

TMI Thursday : Dutch Ovens

2010-01-14T07:16:00.000-08:00

Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

I have a very odd, specific way of sleeping. I start by lying on my right side with a pillow between my knees, two pillows under my head, and my left arm hugging either my teddy bear or yet another pillow. Eventually I fall asleep and roll onto my back. Not long after, I'll wake up (because I cannot sleep on my back), roll over onto my stomach, pull the covers over my head, and fall back asleep.

This makes spooning, cuddling, or any sort of cutesy-with-someone-else-in-bed crap impossible.

Moving on.

Earlier this week BDubz, Voice of God, and I had made cheddar potato soup for dinner. Apparently this particular dish does not bode well for my digestive system. The cheesy, carby goodness that I consumed was still doing some knarly things to my insides when I went to bed, but I figured I would feel better in the morning.

Then it happened.

I woke up on my back… rolled over onto my stomach… pulled the covers over my head…

and dutch-ovened myself.

(Soup mix: $7. Target Comforter: $45. Unintentionally asphyxiating yourself with your own noxious gasses: Priceless.)

PS - I posted my first work over at Nothing Rhymes with Orange... go check it out!

My 100th Post

2010-01-13T07:22:00.000-08:00

Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Fish Bowl’s 100th post. Albeit, not quite as mind blowing or monumental as PB & Tuna or MJenks’ 100th Follower… but still more exciting than Sarah Palin joining Fox News or Mark McGuire admitting to steroid use.

Yay! Go me!

Considering I am completely ~~narcissistic~~ unoriginal and unimaginative, I am commemorating this post with 100 wholly pointless things about me.

If you thought you knew Jeney before, you are in for it.

***

1) My name has never been, is not, nor will it ever be Jennifer.

2) My favorite color is pink despite my personality and my hatred of it as a child.

3) My brother threw a flag stone at my head once when I was six knocking me out for fifteen minutes. I retaliated by crushing his hand with one a week later.

4) I have a birthmark on the bottom of my left foot. My dad has the same one.

5) My mom originally wanted to name me Nadina – Dina for short. (Dina the Dinosaur jokes, anyone?)

6) I cannot stand it when people chew with their mouths open. The smacking noise drives me bonkers.

7) I have had a sick obsession with vampires ever since I saw The Lost Boys as a kid. Twilight fans have nothing on me!

8) My only true fears in life are weed whackers, chain saws, and clowns.

9) I have been told that I have excellent taste in music when I am sober and awful taste in music when I am drunk.

10) I was technically a preemie- I was born four weeks early, but I was perfectly healthy and at a normal weight.

11) My parents were married in May of 1985, I was born in October on 1985. I was technically at the wedding.

12) I run to really loud, angry music - like Mudvayne and Five Finger Death Punch. However, I lift and elipticise (is that even a word?) to stuff like Lady Gaga and old school N’Sync.

13) I crochet and I love it.

14) I was born blonde and strived to stay that way until my senior year of college. I’ve discovered being brunette is way better.

15) I am the only person in my immediate family whose name does not start with an “L”.

16) This happens to be my favorite number.

17) I am closer to my 18 year old brother than I am with anyone else in this world.

18) I have had to do the math to remember how old I am turning every birthday since turning 21. I’m in denial already.

19) I have always wanted to have twin boys and name them Kristian Dakota and Kristopher Zachary. So they would be Kris and Kris (and hate me for it) but we would call them Dak and Zac.

20) Pickle Chiffon Pie is by far my favorite book EVER.

21) I have to admit that Peyton Manning commercials are my guilty pleasure.

22) So is really awful 90s pop music.

23) I once watched “My Super Sweet 16” for five hours straight. To this day I still have no idea why.

24) I used to get in my mom’s shopping cart and pull things off the shelves just to annoy her – when I was in high school.

25) My first word was “Floyd”… as in “Pink Floyd”.

26) My father once beat a guy to within an inch of his life for molesting me when I was 13 years old. I secretly wish he would have succeeded.

27) The only major surgery I have ever had was for a hernia.

28) You really shouldn’t take life too seriously because you’re not getting out of it alive.

29) The most profound thing any of my undergrad professors ever said to me was, “You are not an adult until you buy your own toilet paper.”

30) If you made it this far down my list, add the word ‘duck’ to your comment.

31) I am not a super religious person, but I do believe in God and I do believe He does everything for a reason.

32) I used to think my mom was Rosanne when I was a kid.

33) I love Christmas music, but I refuse to listen to it until Thanksgiving Day.

34) All of my iPod playlists have ridiculous names like “Sorry for Partying” and “I <3 href="http://www.celebritywonder.com/picture/Giada_De_Laurentiis/GiadaDeLaure_A__Wyman_14319525.jpg">Giada de Laurentis on the Food Network without staring at her boobs.

43) The most attentive, loving, and caring man I have ever met in my life is currently two years old.

44) The first thing I do when I come home from work, errands, a friends place, etc. is take my pants off.

45) I used to write a lot of poetry when I was in high school. I still have my book I used to write them in. You can find some of it here.

46) I have the WORST road rage ever.

47) I have an organizational OCD. Everything I own is in some sort of order (alphabetical, height, color, etc.)

48) The two coolest scars on my body are on my crotch (hernia surgery) and my calf (motorcycle incident).

49) I also have a small scar on my lower lip. I have no idea how it got there. Neither do my parents.

50) I never wore shoes when I was a kid. Now, I *love* them.

51) I’m awful at flirting. I also get incredibly awkward when boys give me compliments.

52) I still get Happy Meals at McDonald’s. (Sometimes I even go for the Mighty Kids’ Meals.)

53) My type is “the suit”. My secret type is “the bad boy”.

54) I don’t care what you say; Batman is the best comic superhero EVER!

55) My navel has been pierced since I was 16. I have wanted to take it out since I was 19… I just can’t find it in myself to do it.

56) My grandfather is, and always will be, my hero.

57) The best roommates a girl could ask for are two overgrown, seventeen year old boys stuck in 20 something year old bodies.

58) Ever since I was in high school, I have wanted to join the armed forces (preferably the Navy). My mom put the kibosh on it when I graduated HS and circumstances kept me away from it when I graduated college. I still think about it every day.

59) I don’t think I could ever go back to Vegas because of the first time I ever went there.

60) If you got this far down my list, add another ‘duck’ to your comment.

61) Currently, I have not had an orgasm caused by another person in five years. (TMI?) I don’t know if it’s a mental thing or a ‘Jeney-really-knows-how-to-pick-em’ problem.

62) I have serious issues with pubic hair. I mean like ‘vomit-in-my-mouth’ kind of problems.

63) I am a fiercely loyal friend. However, you have to earn it.

64) I actually have awful self-esteem issues. I hide it behind my sarcasm.

65) This may not seem true, but camping and sleeping in the wilderness is the best night’s sleep you will ever get.

66) I always kind of with I would have gone to culinary school.

67) I prefer beer over any type of liquor; but I have always wanted to be a wine connoisseur.

68) Strawberry/peach is the best fruit combination for anything.

69) Brinner is the greatest meal ever, hands down.

70) Deep down, I want to be a great blogger like LiLu or Ben; but I don’t have the time or talent to do so. I have become perfectly content being the little blogger I am. :-)

71) Miley Cyrus makes me want to shove forks in my ears.

72) I have never traveled outside of the states; not even to Canada or Mexico.

73) I purge my Facebook friends of people I no longer deem worthy of my time on a quarterly basis.

74) I want to get wasted with the guy who dubbed this video.

75) I was college roommates with a pretty well-known and loved 20 Something Blogger. We haven’t spoken since graduation day. I kind of miss ‘em.

76) My dream job would be the General Manager of the Chicago Bears. I’ll settle for being an Athletic Director somewhere.

77) I was flamed so badly the first week I joined 20SB on my profile that I am still afraid to get involved in the group.

78) Coming home from vacation to a clean house is the most relaxing feeling in the world.

79) I absolutely love Lady Gaga and I have no idea if I should be ashamed of it or not.

80) When I was in the 7th grade, I heard some boys on the playground talk about how gross it was for a girl to have hair “down there”. I agreed with them so I started shaving that night.

81) I feel that am not done learning and I want to go back to school.

82) The two most amazing things about Fargo so far are 50 Cent Draft Wednesdays at Bucks and Two for One You Call Its at Big D’s.

83) I wish I would have listened to my parents when they told me not to grow up so fast.

84) As much as I bitched about it while I lived there, I really miss Indiana sometimes.

85) I’m beginning to think my new Blackberry is my new best friend.

86) I still make wishes on my eyelashes.

87) I used to have a very extensive collection of gel pens when I was in junior high. I and I mean extensive… neon, glitter, metallic. You name it and I had it.

88) On that same note, I am still obsessed with highlighters and sharpies.

89) Sometimes when I am in a children’s section (clothes, books, whatever) I get this overwhelming feeling of wanting to get married and have kids like NOW. Then I come back to my senses.

90) If you made it this far down my list add the word ‘goose’ to your comment.

91) I have always kind of wanted to be a writer, but I never felt I was good enough to make it a career.

92) The greatest gift I ever got was one half of a 14 carat gold “Best Friend” heart from my mother when I was in high school.

93) I have a very vivid memory of watching an animated movie as a kid where rats were being killed and there was blood everywhere. To this day, no one has a clue what movie I am talking about and that I imagined the whole thing.

94) I have both a dream catcher and a rosary hanging above my bed.

95) It really bugs me when I don’t recognize a person on Facebook because they got married and changed their name.

96) I have owned this poster since I was a freshman in college and I still think it is one of the most impressive band posters I have ever seen.

97) My first concert I ever went to was the Smashing Pumpkins Infinite Sadness Tour in Chicago for my 11th birthday.

98) I gave a professional quarterback a lap dance once… and I don’t remember doing it.

99) When I was in high school, I ate three Bosco Sticks dipped in cheese sauce and marinara, a bag of Doritos, a chocolate shake, and three chocolate chip cookies for lunch EVERY DAY and still only weighed 110 lbs. I want that metabolism back.

100) I felt like this fact should have been earth shattering, but it is really hard to think up 100 facts about yourself.

Thanks for stickin' around! Let the judging commence...

Post It Note Tuesday (and an apology...)

2010-01-12T07:47:00.000-08:00

First of all, I need to correct a mistake I made in yesterday's post. Texas Fred did not personally write "Bad American", it was copied and pasted to his blog. I just wanted to clear that up incase anyone had urges to send him hate mail or flaming bags of poop. HE DIDN'T DO IT!

And now, on to the Post Its!

Stick it Note Tuesday:

***(or you can just click on the post-it)

Good American? Bad American? Ugly American?

2010-01-11T07:13:00.000-08:00

I was really hesitant about publishing this. Starting any sort of wicked political arguments was not exactly what I had in mind for this blog. So please take everything I say here with a grain of salt...

While I do not consider myself radical when it comes to politics, I am a passionate person when it comes to my beliefs. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to push my opinions on you or belittle yours. But I think that if you believe in something, you should not be afraid to defend it. (That's why sports goons like me get bent when "fair weather fans" come out of the woodwork...)

Well, my aunt forwarded this blog in an e-mail to me last week and I honestly had to read it twice to see if there was a joke in it. While Snickelfritz (aka Texas Fred) there makes some really good points, I cannot help but wonder about others…

“I know wrestling is fake and I don’t waste my time watching or arguing about it.”

This one confuses me more than makes me angry. I didn’t realize arguing about how fake DX and Jericho are made you a “Good American”?

“This is AMERICA, I believe if you don’t like the way things are here, go back to where you came from and change your own country!”

So I guess this means since I don’t like the fact that same-sex marriages are illegal OR my car has more insurance on it than the average American's health that I should “go back to my own country”? Alright, fine. Should I ship my ass to Italy, Slovakia, Germany, Ireland, Whales, Sweden, Scotland, or Poland? Go ahead! You get to pick!

“I believe that it doesn’t take a village to raise a child, it takes two parents.”

Two whole parents? How about one parent? Or two parents of the same sex? Grandparents? Older siblings? Foster parents? Aunts and uncles? Wolves? Angelina Jolie? No? Okay. Sorry I asked.

“I believe the American flag should be the only one allowed to fly over American soil! If you want to fly the flag of YOUR nation at the top of a flag pole, by all means, do so, IN YOUR OWN NATION! And if the American flag is NOT your flag, then this is NOT your nation”

I have a distinct memory as a child of learning that America was a “melting pot.” My mother still has a box full of countless projects on my ancestors and my heritage. Yes, I was born here and my flag does have stars and bars on it. However, if it weren’t for those other flags, it wouldn’t be my flag in the first place.

***

The fact that this man has the freedom and the right to post his opinions on his blog is a wonderful thing. That’s the beauty of being an American citizen. I also realize that he probably made these statements vague and broad just to get a rise out of people like me. But I also have the right to disagree and be a bitch about it on my blog.

I would apologize for believing in equal HUMAN rights… but I’m not that tactful.

Shou-tizzle to the Out-sizzle!

2010-01-09T08:24:00.000-08:00

I am sorry if this sounds cheesy... but I love every single one of you that is reading this right now.

I honestly do not tell my readers how much I appreciate you nearly enough. Regardless of what us bloggers say, we are all narcissistic assholes and none of us really write for ourselves. We write so other people can read the poppycock we spew out. And, damnit, I love you for it. Really. I do.

(Stop looking at me like that. I do have feelings, you know.)

Anywhat, I have a special mention to give to a special reader...

My freshmen year of college I lived in a quad. For those of you who need a translation... that means I shared one room with three other girls. I eventually had five different roommates throughout my four years in undergrad. I learned a very valuable lesson, too; I do not live with girls well at all.

I had my share of ups and downs with all five of these women, of course. However, one roommate in particular has always held a special place in my heart as the one and only college roommate that I never had a falling out with; we like to call her Peach.

(Side note... You know she thought I was a black lesbian before she met me?)

Well, Peach sent me a text message last night that read... verbatim, "hi im drunk. My friend Bowdisha* says she stalks your blog and she wants a shoutout."

Well, Bowdisha, here is your official Just a Lost Soul Swimmin' in a Fish Bowl Shout Out!

But, really... thank you all for ~~stroking my ego~~ reading! I think you all are rock stars!

* Ladies and gentlemen: the story you just read is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

One Word: Absurd

2010-01-08T07:08:00.000-08:00

It should be no mystery to you that I loathe winter. Though I have spent my entire twenty-something years in the Midwest, I will never get used to my nose hairs freezing when I walk outside, every shortcut I have anywhere being blocked by mountains of snow, or moronic drivers who never remember that ice is slippery.

Winters sucked in Northern Indiana. The lake effect snow and yo-yo temperatures drove me up a wall. I honestly thought that nothing could be worse.

Then I moved to Fargo, North Dakota.

I really should have anticipated the shitacularness of winters out here when it was 28 degrees and snowing on my birthday. But, seriously? Holy freezing balls Batman!

Ladies and gentlemen, we have had about two feet of snow dump on us since Christmas and it can't melt away because the temperature has not been above freezing in damn near three weeks. *

There are piles of snow in the parking lots (from plowing) that I could train for the Winter X-Games on. The drifts are up to four feet now as well.

I have yet to see any lines that have been painted on the roads to direct traffic because it's so cold even salting is useless.

While all of this royally, completely, and entirely sucks in every possible way... the ~~winter storm advisory~~ straw that broke my the camels back came last night.

Are you ready for this? Are you sitting down? You might want to. I'm serious.

The wind chill index last night was negative 45 degrees. The temperature was in the area of negative 14 to begin with. This means that if I were to walk outside the air that would have hit my skin was almost negative 60 degrees.

My dearest friends... the phrase, "When hell freezes over," is entirely inaccurate. Why? Because I happen to currently be living there and is has ALWAYS been effin frozen!

*Do keep in mind that I do mean the actual temperature... not the "feels like" temperature.

TMI Thursday - The time my "boyfriend" hid in a drawer

2010-01-07T07:28:00.000-08:00

It's that time of the week again! TMI Thursdays... if my own story doesn't quench your thirst for inappropriateness, go check out the rest of them at Liv It, Luv It.

Disclaimer: I have had a few new followers to this blog that know me personally… but may not know the TMIT side of Jeney quite yet. So read on if you guys ~~dare~~ wish, but I am warning you that this may not be something you necessarily want to know.

On with it!

**

So recently my roommate’s boyfriend moved in with us due to some personal problems he was having at his old place. Despite the initial “Woah, woah, woah. Woah!” reaction I had at first, it is turning out to be an awesomely fantastical arrangement. As a matter of fact, he makes a mean macaroni and cheese that I would probably turn down sex for. He also knows how to make some kick-ass sweet tea. And did I mention he takes the garbage out for us?

The only real downside to my newest roommate is his voice. He has one of those deep, booming, voice-of-god type tones that I can hear through my bedroom wall regardless of how quiet he is trying to be. This, of course, makes sleeping a little difficult.

So after a few nights of sleeping under my pillow, a couple more of sleeping backwards on my bed, and a $20 sound machine later we decided the best way to solve this issue was to flip my room around.

Now, I have one beast of a bed. It’s the kind with a mother fucker of a headboard and drawers underneath the mattress rather than a box spring. We actually had to completely disassemble the thing just to put it on the opposite wall. (I am also burning it before I have to move it to another place.)

Before we started taking the bed apart to move it, I suddenly remembered that the um… ::ahem:: new toy I bought myself for my birthday was in one of the drawers under my mattress. Upon realizing this, I stealthily jumped across my bed, whipped open the drawer, and shoved it under some clothes all before BDubz and the new roomie walked in. Whew! Awkward moment averted.

Or so I thought… it wouldn’t be a real TMI Thursday if I did in fact avoid an embarrassing and altogether uncomfortable situation, now would it?

I swear to all that is holy, I never cease to amaze myself. While my own “boyfriend” and all his accessories were safely hidden among my running tights and argyle socks, the packaging he came in that I had completely forgot to throw away was in the next drawer over all by its lonesome self... in all of the Hottie McSugartits package model glory for everyone to see.

All I can say in my defense is at least BDubz hasn’t had to flip her room around because of… ::ahem:: my “boyfriend”.

Post It Note Tuesday

2010-01-05T09:20:00.000-08:00

OMGZ! I just discovered a super creative and fun way to post all those stupid, pointless little things I want to blog about, but lack the whole "enough content to write an entire post about". ~~Me? Way behind the eight ball? Possibly...~~

For those of you who are like me and until this glorious moment were ignorant to what Post It Note Tuesdays were, go check out Wannabe SupahMommy and get the four one one on it.

Or you can be a complete waste of bandwidth and just read my post its... you lazy sumbitch.

An Ode to Old Roommates

2010-01-04T07:31:00.000-08:00

I have mentioned Clint and Vic on several occasions on this blog. As most of you know, they were my roommates when I lived in Indiana. After a slew of failed and awful roommate experiences in college (with the exception of one- I know you’re reading this Peach and I will always love you!), these two guys were really the best set of roommates a girl could ask for.

They were the guys who had nothing but condiments and salsa in the fridge when I moved in.

They were the guys who made me wear a climbing helmet once because I really was that intoxicated.

They were the guys who were perfectly content with having queso for dinner three nights out of the week.

Clint was the guy who tried to take me to a bar when I was kicked out of my office but they wouldn’t serve me because my wallet (and ID) was in said office. So we did doughnuts in the snow covered parking lot instead.

They were the guys who thought Mexican food was the cure for EVERYTHING.

They were the guys who decided getting drunk and eating pizza at Barnaby’s was a much better idea than slitting my wrists when my car broke down or when I had a bad day at work.

Vic was the guy who simply said, “Good job” when I walked into the house at 4pm the day after I went to a wedding still wearing the dress I left in.

They were the guys who helped me pack the ridiculous amount of shit I owned when I moved to Fargo. Clint also drove 12 hours it took to get me there.

They were the guys who slipped pages from a trashy porno magazine into said ridiculous amount of crap when we were packing.

Clint was the guy who ran my 10K with me (without registering or training for that matter...) to make sure I didn’t stop by screaming “Come on Jeney! You can do it! Keep going!” very loud and obnoxiously whenever I slowed down.

They were the guys who taught me how to play Presidents and Assholes... the way it’s supposed to be played.

They were the guys who reminded me every day how big my dog’s head and balls were.

Clint was the one who would talk to me in a Forrest Gump voice because he thought he was clever. And to make me laugh.

They were the guys who awarded me for “calling in sick” to work when I didn’t feel like going.

They were the guys who suggested I start an escort service with them as the product so I could pay off my student loans.

Vic was the one who let me pass out in his bed after I got good and sloshed at a concert while he slept on the couch.

They were the ones who kept the fridge stocked with Miller High Life Light, Keystone, Milwaukee’s Best, and Bud Light… and really nothing else.

They were the best damn roommates I ever had. And I miss them more than Lindsay Lohan misses her court dates.

Happy Blogiversary to Meeeeee!

2010-01-02T08:30:00.000-08:00

Yep, this collection of random poppycock and nonsense is one year old today!

So let's eat cake, wear pointy hats, sing off key, and throw confetti! Woohoo!

2009? Not so fine...

2009-12-31T09:09:00.000-08:00

When 2009 began, I have to say I figured it was going to be a good year. It was the year of the Ox (the Chinese sign I was born under), it was the beginning of my first full year of being a college grad, I had a job, and I was officially living on my own.

Well. It wasn’t a complete bust… but it wasn’t the worst year either.

My one year Blogiversary is actually coming up. When I introduced myself to the blogging world, I mentioned that starting this blog and keeping it going was one of my New Year’s Resolutions. Although I may never be nominated for a 20SB Bootlegger (go vote!!!) or have over a hundred followers, I’d say this resolution was achieved.

I also mentioned I wanted to get out of the Midwest… and although I did move, I just went to the northernmost part of the Midwest. So that's a half fail.

I wanted to get back into competitive running… and I completed a 10K at a 9 minute/mile pace. I had signed up for a 5K, but it was thwarted by 20 degree weather and snow. I'd say that was accomplished.

What is in store for 2010?

Well, first of all I want to run (and finish without dying) a Half Marathon. Second, I want to blog and comment more often. It would also be nice if I could go the whole year without my bank account going into the red.

Happy New Year followers! Make it a good one!

***
PS - I forgot to mention Jenn yesterday in my 20SB Bootlegger shout out!! Go vote for her!

Lessons Learned

2009-12-30T08:13:00.000-08:00

Well, I have spent the last three weeks or so ~~failing at blogging completely in every way shape and form~~ in Orlando playing with comic book characters, living in my apartment sans roommates, and spending time with these batshit crazy people they say are my family.

Let me tell you, it's been a ride. After a combined 34 hours of driving, 17 inches of snow in Fargo, 12 hours sitting in an airport, 8 hours of flying, 6 inches of snow in Milwaukee, 4 extra pounds I gained from eating my face off, and a ridiculous teddy bear in jester garb my grandmother gave me for Christmas* -- I am back in effin' North Dakota till March. Nothing beats coming home from Florida to wind chill advisories or having to dig your garage out from behind a foot of snow after driving 9 hours.

I must say, though, I have learned quite a few valuable lessons from my ~~inexcusable absence from the blogosphere~~ adventures.

Bar hopping with your parents in a theme park is the greatest bonding experience you will ever partake in.
I apparently have gained the "NoDak" accent. (Shoot me)
People actually do read this blog and do get upset when I go so long without updating it. (Love you "Big, Broad Shouldered Awesomeness" and Vic!)
Apparently the sign that reads, "Slow moving vehicles stay in right lane" actually means if you are driving at or below the speed limit you should become a left-lane bandit.
My youngest brother gives a whole new meaning to "dead asleep".
Calling your mother out on squirting Reddi Whip directly into her mouth and stating that "I wasn't allowed to do that when I was a kid!" is not a valid argument.
I never should have moved to North Dakota.

In other news, congrats to the 20SB Bootlegger Finalists! Especially LiLu, Ben, Derek, Doniree, David, Maxie, and Courtney! Good luck!

* It didn't fit in my trunk. It's still buckled in my backseat until I figure out what to do with him.

Leeeeaaaving on a jet plane!

2009-12-04T07:35:00.001-08:00

Ok, kiddos.

I'm leaving for Orlando tomorrow. Which means as much as I suck about posting now? It's going to get even worse. Like... I may or may not post anything all week. Unless something so unbelievably mind blowing happens that I simply MUST tell you about it and I can't fit it into 140 characters.

However! I will be tweeting my Mickey Moused little ass off ~~because I can't be apart from this farking phone for more than 12 seconds at a time~~ ... so go ahead and follow me.

Catch you on the flip side, bitches.

Fra-gee-lay... must be French.

2009-12-01T08:54:00.000-08:00

What's cookin' home skillets?!

As most of you may have remembered, today is normally Tattoos-day. Alas, I ran out of ink ~~for now~~. So if any of you have some artwork (or know someone who does), and wants to showcase it here, shoot me an e-mail at jeney dot anderson at gmail dot com.

JAG... JP... Carrisa... I'm looking at you.

On another note, I will be sending Christmas cards out when I return from my luxurious week in Orlando and I need you hoe-bags to send me your addresses!

I will leave you with this. Because it makes me giggle.

All I Want for Christmas is...

2009-11-30T07:53:00.000-08:00

... not you.

I kid, I kid! But really. If you show up at my front door without additional offerings I'm not letting you in.

And don't give me that "well, you haven't been all that good this year" bull shit. Santa and his lump of coal system can kiss my ass. I firmly believe that if that snotty little brat who almost broke my knee cap running around Wal Mart this weekend is getting Christmas, then damnit, so am I!

So what if I curse and lie? So what if I drink my face off every other weekend? So what if I'm a naughty girl? So what if that last remark has a secondary, more perverted meaning? I want presents! And this is what I want...

Pink Floyd 'Dark Side of the Moon' Edition Chuck Taylors

Personally, I think Chuck Taylors are the coolest effin shoes you can buy. I personally own four pairs (high top tri-pink, low top pink, low top black, and one low top pair with unicorns on the heal). Pink Floyd also happens to be one of my top three favorite bands of all time (check blog title... bonus points to the one who can name the song title.) Therefore, these shoes get me all antsy in my pantsy!

Pug Puppy!

Considering everyone I know out here in Fargo works for a baseball/softball team and there is a grand total of one half of a home game for either sport every season because of the absurd amount of snow we get I will be all alone from the months of February to April ~~writing run-on sentences~~. I really need something to keep me company... I wanted to get a cat just because they are easier to take care of, but this puppy is just too adorable for me not to want him.

Pink Blackberry Curve

Check! Got this little baby yesterday! I just wanted to be one of the cool kids. I also wanted to be permanently hooked to the internet. And I like pink. This is the lamest explanation for a gift I will give.

Spring Awakening Show Tickets

So, I'm not normally a big musical kind of girl. Sure, I love listening to the soundtracks and watching the big-screen versions of them. But this one, I want to see on stage soooooo bad! One of my old roommates from college introduced me to the soundtrack and I absolutely fell in love. The show is on tour and will be in Minneapolis late January through February. Who wants to nerd it up with me?!

Clone High Season on DVD

If any of you remember this show you need to come find me now because I want to kiss you. This will forever and always be my favorite animated show. I used to have the entire one season the show ran on my laptop. Then, as the technological gods would have it, the laptop went kaput and all my files went AWOL. I could try to download them all again... but having the DVD would just prove how much of a fan I am.

That's my list! What's on yours?

***

On a side note... I am going to start up a secondary blog. I used to write a lot of short stories, poetry, drabbles, and the like when I thought I was going to grow up to be a writer and I feel like they deserve to be let out of their ruled notebook prisons. I need to come up with a name for it and so far all I'm got is either "Crazy Diamond" or "Nothing Rhymes with Orange".

Do you guys have any suggestions?

Dear Chicago Bears

2009-11-29T08:04:00.002-08:00

Dear Chicago Bears,

I know you've been struggling this season. I honestly don't blame you, either. What with the heart of our defense out for the whole season and having to deal with the biggest mistake your owners have ever made this couldn't have been an easy season.

But today? I really need you to not fuck up.

I don't care if we lose the division. I don't care if we lose every game for the remainder of the season. Tonight, at 7pm, you need to not bend over and take it from those purple clad, braided mascot toting, Wrangler wearing quarterbacked, Minnesota Vikings.

I'm not even asking you to win! I just want to you actually put up a fight this week. Pretty please?

With a cherry on top?

Thanks.

Regards,
A lifelong, disappointed fan

Typical "I Am Thankful For..." Post

2009-11-25T10:03:00.000-08:00

This is the first Thanksgiving that I will not spend with my family. Like, ever. I'm torn between depression of being alone and joy of avoiding family drama.

Anywho... In the spirit of this here red-headed stepchild of holidays, I decided I will ~~do the cliche thing~~ write about what I am thankful for. And what exactly am I thankful for?

College quarterbacks getting sucker punched in the face? Nope.

Half naked, ripped under aged boys on the big screen? Not completely...

Friends that make me laugh until I pee my pants? Absolutely.

And this is exactly why:

My good friend Coco* who lurks on my blog:

Coco: 10 tats though?
Coco: or was it 11?
Jeney: 11
Coco: thats redic!
Coco: do they even have tats in north dakota?
Jeney: no one really knows i have them
Jeney: people ask about the one on my wrist a lot
Jeney: but you dont see any of the other ones
Jeney: i mean... you saw that foxy friday thing right?
Coco: hahaha oh yeah
Jeney: i had to be in a damn bikini to see them all
Coco: you say "had to be" like someone forced you
Coco: you like showing them off
Coco: I’m on to you
Jeney: well, i wasn't too thrilled about it
Jeney: why do you think i was trying to hide my face in each shot?
Coco: because you were embarrassed you didn’t have a tat on it
Coco: duh

Jeney: btw... i'm saving this conversation and blogging about it
Jeney: because i'm pretty sure this is the most entertaining one i have had since i moved to fargo
Coco: don’t use my real name
Coco: use a pseudonym
Coco: like big, broad shouldered awesomeness

My old roommate Vic Eastwood:

Jeney: I start classes next semester... so I'll hopefully meet new people that way
Vic: Oh yeah, you'll be the hottie mature girl that gets invited to keggers and is so tiny she HAS TO do keg stands.
Vic: And you'll be all tipsy and say, “You guys can't drink! Ya know who has two thumbs and can drink? This fucking girl!”

Jeney: new moon was amazing and I would totally go to jail to hook up with the kid who plays the werewolf.
Vic : Well you were the only legit excuse I had to watch it, so I'll have to make a late night run to redbox when it comes out on dvd
Vic: Wearing a ski mask of course.

And finally... pretty much the most amazing thing anyone has ever written on any of my profiles:

ALL of my friends (the ones in real life and you fine people who read the POS I call my blog) make my heart smile. And that is why I am thankful for you.

Happy Turkey Day!

*Not as cool as "big, broad shouldered awesomeness", but it works

Tattoos-Day : A New Chapter

2009-11-24T07:47:00.000-08:00

Ink #11: Good Fortune

Design: Dragon Fly

Location: Right Inside Ankle

When: Summer 2009

Pain Scale: Eight out of ten

Artist: Joey Drada

Story:

Sad day… this is the last Tattoos-day :-( However! If you, or anyone you know, is interested in featuring their own ink for a Tattoos-day, shoot me an e-mail at jeney dot anderson at gmail dot com.

I got this one right before I left for Fargo. I wanted to say goodbye to Joey and Mr. Max – and I wanted to get something to represent the newest chapter in my life. Moving to Fargo was one of the biggest transformations of my life. I moved away from family, friends, and everything I knew. As much as it scared the piss out of me, I knew it would be for the best.

There’s a story about Dragonflies that goes something like this:

In a little pond, in the muddy water under the lily pads, there lived a little water beetle in a community of water beetles. They lived a simple and comfortable life in the pond with few disturbances and interruptions.

Once in a while, sadness would come to the community when one of their fellow beetles would climb the stem of a lily pad and would never be seen again. They knew when this happened; their friend was dead, gone forever. Then, one day, one little water beetle felt an irresistible urge to climb up that stem. However, he was determined that he would not leave forever. He would come back and tell his friends what he had found at the top.

When he reached the top and climbed out of the water onto the surface of the lily pad, he was so tired, and the sun felt so warm, that he decided he must take a nap. As he slept, his body changed and when he woke up, he had turned into a beautiful blue tailed dragonfly with broad wings and a slender body designed for flying. So, fly he did! And, as he soared he saw the beauty of a whole new world and a far superior way of life to what he had never known existed. Then he remembered his beetle friends and how they were thinking by now he was dead. He wanted to go back to tell them, and explain to them that he was now more alive than he had ever been before. His life had been fulfilled rather than ended. But, his new body would not go down into the water. He could not get back to tell his friends the good news. Then he understood that their time would come, when they, too, would know what he now knew. So, he raised his wings and flew off into his joyous new life!

Moving to Fargo was my lily pad. And although I may not be able to go back to my old life, I know it is all for the better.

Fin.

I've got nothing...

2009-11-23T10:01:00.001-08:00

I know I've been MIA for the past week or so. In all honesty, I simply haven't had any sort of inspiration for blogging. That's it. No crazy illness. No deaths in my family. No unnecessarily catastrophic break-ups. I'm just lazy and I need a muse. That's my excuse. Deal with it.

As a matter of fact, I had to jank this post from Amy over at Rainy Saturday because I still failed to come up with anything original to write.

Fail.

I have been keeping up with your blogs, though (thank the good Lord for Google Reader). It just seems as though my lack of motivation to write has transferred to commenting, too. You can all tar and feather me later.

I'll be back with more substantial reading material for you this week. And now for my totally fake and stolen blog material:

***

1. I’ve come to realize that my chest-size. . . has absolutely nothing to do with how attractive I am.

2. I’ve come to realize that my job. . . may not be the most glamorous thing in the world, but I am happy doing it.

3. I’ve come to realize that when I’m driving alone. . . I am the next American Idol.

4. I’ve come to realize that I need. . . to stop looking and just let it find me.

5. I’ve come to realize that I have lost. . . my train of thought.

6. I’ve come to realize that I hate it when. . . ESPN suddenly turns into TMZ thanks to Favre/TO/soccer referees/irresponsible professional athletes/etc.

7. I’ve come to realize that if I’m drunk. . . I have absolutely no filter. So don’t piss me off.

8. I’ve come to realize that money. . . is the bane of my existence.

9. I’ve come to realize that certain people. . . pretend to care to hide their selfishness.

10. I’ve come to realize that I’ll always. . . set the bar way too high for myself.

11. I’ve come to realize that my sibling(s). . . will always be the same little shits they were when we were kids.

12. I’ve come to realize that my mom. . . is starting to become less my mom and more my friend.

13. I’ve come to realize that cell phones. . . are a complete rip-off.

14. I’ve come to realize that when I woke up this morning. . . I was sweating my balls off.

15. I’ve come to realize that last night before I went to sleep. . . I should have shaved my legs. I have spin class tonight.

16. I’ve come to realize that right now I am thinking. . . should I have moved to North Dakota?

17. I’ve come to realize that my dad. . . is one of the coolest guys I know.

18. I’ve come to realize that when I get on Facebook. . . I am kind of over it.

19. I’ve come to realize that today. . . is the tomorrow I worried about yesterday.

20. I’ve come to realize that tonight. . . I am going to miss Lie to Me and Castle… and I have no internet at home to catch up with it. Damnit!

21. I’ve come to realize that tomorrow. . . Is Tuesday, but really it’s Thursday.

22. I’ve come to realize that I really want to. . . eat Chipotle. Like, woah.

23. I’ve come to realize that the some people… honestly have no idea.

24. I’ve come to realize that life. . . is not to be taken so seriously.

25. I’ve come to realize that this weekend. . . is the first Thanksgiving weekend that I will not spend with my family in 24 years.

26. I’ve realized the best music to listen to when I am upset. . . is really angry, heavy metal.

27. I’ve come to realize that my friends. . . live way too far away from me.

28. I’ve come to realize that this year. . . was one of the better ones so far.

29. I’ve come to realize that my ex(s). . . really don’t know what they lost.

30. I’ve come to realize that maybe I should. . . get back to blogging on a normal basis before I lose all of my followers.

31. I’ve come to realize that I love. . . post it notes.

32. I’ve come to realize that I don’t understand. . . why some people LIVE for drama.

33. I’ve come to realize my past. . . is just that.

34. I’ve come to realize that parties. . . with your closest friends are way better that big blow-outs.

35. I’ve come to realize that I’m totally terrified. . . of power tools.

36. I’ve come to realize that my life. . . has only just begun.

Tattoos-Day : Live it Up

2009-11-10T07:21:00.000-08:00

Ink #10: Just Live Your Life

Design: The text “Live Hard, Rock On” with a faded star

Location: Left Outside Hip/Buttocks

When: Summer 2009

Pain Scale: Six out of Ten

Artist: Mr. Max

Story:

I had been tossing the idea for this one around in my head for a while before I got it. It wasn’t until my friend Biz got into a horrible car accident that I finally decided exactly what I wanted.

Biz is a beautiful, talented, wonderful person. She was always the girl I could go to for anything – and I mean anything. I have a lot of good friends that would do anything for me, but none of them would understand half the crazy shit I went to Biz for.

I am a huge fan of the quote, “Don’t take life too seriously. You’ll never get out alive.” It’s such a true statement it’s almost laughable. I like to think I was living my life to the fullest, but it wasn’t until Biz was on the brink of death that I realized how much I worried about trivial, stupid things. You’ve just got to live your life hard and rock the fuck on!

She told me she wanted to get the star constellation for Gemini on her outside hip. I didn’t want to take her thunder away from her; because she will get better and she will get that tattoo. But that is the reason for the star and the placement of this one.

What happens in Vegas ends up on my blog.

2009-11-09T08:17:00.000-08:00

I have been to Vegas once in my life. Only once. When I say I lived like a rock star when I was there, I’m not exaggerating in any way, shape or form. I honestly only spent a total of $200 the entire weekend and that included parking my car in the South Bend airport, a cab to the house I was staying at, gambling, and a ticket to see Bette Midler*.

Rock. Star. Bitches.

Let me explain…

My junior year of college, my good friend Glamour** was dating a fella who played poker. A lot. And he was good at it. He owned a Beemer to prove so. He happened to be playing in the World Series of Poker that summer and we both decided to ~~use him as an excuse to get stupid drunk on the strip for a weekend~~ be the good friends that we were and go cheer him on.

When I arrived at the Las Vegas Airport I was greeted with 100+ degree weather, slot machines, and billboards with half naked women on them. I was in absolute heaven. I cabbed it to the house I was staying at, which turned out to be Rock Star Moment #1.

This house was easily worth $2mil. Easy. It had eleven bedrooms, thirteen baths, a theater of Lazy Boy recliners in the basement, “guesthouse” with retractable walls, and one of those crazy waterfall pools with a tiki-bar hot tub attached. Their broom closet was bigger than my bedroom, for Pete's sake! There were twelve guys renting the house for the summer – all of which were playing in the WSP.

After a quick tour, I slipped on a sexy little number and all twenty of us jumped into a Hummer Limo (which the guys paid for) and went to dinner at N9NE in the Palms. Cue Rock Star Moment #2.

We all ate a fantastic dinner off a menu in which nothing was within my vacation budget (I got the filet mignon). When the bill came, all the guys threw their credit cards into the middle of the table. One girl would pick up the cards, chose a number, and count out then out. That guy's card she counted to? He got his card back. Said girl would then pass the cards onto the next one at the table. The last card standing paid for dinner.

The most nauseating thing about this? That several grand bill was pocket change to these guys.

After getting good and ~~sloshed~~ buzzed at dinner, we went to a club called Tryst. Holy sweet baby Jesus in a hand basket.

There is a waterfall in the middle of this club people. Did you read that? A WATERFALL. And beautiful people EVERYWHERE. We had table service with about seven bottles of Grey Goose, every mixer imaginable, and a big breasted, half dressed woman pouring our drinks into actual glasses (not cheap plastic cups) all night long. Did I mention the guys paid for our cover, table, and liquor as well? (Ahem… Rock Star Moment #3.)

That was all on the first night. So much more happened that weekend, but this post is already entirely too long. Just take comfort in knowing that I spent the Fourth of July nursing a hangover via hair of the dog from the tiki-bar hot tub and eventually made out with one of the guys under a waterfall in the pool.

I win.

*STFU. That show rocked my pants off.

**Changing her name for anonymity purposes. Duh.

Tattoos-Day : Acceptance

2009-11-03T07:42:00.000-08:00

Ink #9: My Brother

Design: Hollow rainbow heart, purple awareness ribbon, and “Smyles” written underneath it

Location: Left Lower Back (A cockeyed tramp stamp?)

When: Winter 2008 – It was a Christmas gift from me

Pain Scale: Four out of ten

Artist: Joey Drada

Story:

As I mentioned last week, my brother is “one of the gays.” When he first told the crazies that is our family, our Dad flipped, our Mom denied it, and our other brother was stoned. I was the only one who applauded him. (This meant I had a shopping and Grey’s Anatomy buddy! Huzzah!)

It took a while for my family to accept him. My mother pulled the hypocritical role and wouldn’t allow him to have his boyfriends over when she allowed my youngest to have his twat-face of a girlfriend actually live with us. My dad decided to take the “Parenting 101” role and was convinced he would grow out if it.

To show them they were all being absolute fuck-os and to show my brother that at least one person in the family accepts him and loves him for the person that he simply is, I got this awareness heart done. As for “Smyles”… His first name is Lucas and his middle name is Myles. So growing up he would run his name together and legitimately thought his middle name was “Smiles”.

He’s queer. He’s here. And damnit, I’m proud of him.

TMI Thursday - Of Moving Boxes and Porn

2009-10-29T07:30:00.000-07:00

It’s time for TMI Thursday, brought to you by LiLu. As she always says, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

When I took my new job and decided to venture into the great white north of America, the only thing I was really nervous about was the whole moving process. At that point, the most earth shattering move I had made was into my college dorm room (Which in actuality is a mini-move. You don't bring nearly as much shit with you and the furniture was already there.)

Before I knew it, I was lying face down on my bed sobbing my face off because I didn't have a hitch on my car to tow a trailer nor could I afford both a moving truck and trailer to tow my car and I had accumulated an inordinate amount of CRAP in the previous five years. Oh! And my family wasn't going to come help me make the biggest move of my life.

Cue saint-like (or so I thought) roommate and his girlfriend who offered to tow a trailer from Indiana to North Dakota to help me move.

The move itself was really nothing to write home about... we Redneck MacGyvered a tarp to the bed of the truck in an attempt to keep my bed set dry, but that was the only exciting part.

Would have been better if we were at a Wal Mart.

It was when the unpacking process began that I realized there were consequences to asking your overgrown, seventeen year old roommates to help you move.

I was sitting in my new living room while the roommate's girlfriend unpacked kitchen stuff when I started to unpack my drawers and boxes. Once I picked up a drawer to get to the one below it I was greeted with a wonderful, close-up, vidid photograph of Blondie McSugartits seductively placing objects of an adult nature into her no-no area.

I realized that my roommates ripped out pages of a porn mag and stuck them in EVERYTHING I OWNED!

Not that I would normally have a problem with this. Porn is great. My problem lied in all my new neighbors watching me as I carried open drawers and boxes with more images of McSugartits and all her friends doing naughty things to their lady parts. They also watched me chase said pages around the parking lot as the wind carried them away.

I made an awesome first impression.

I'm Just Sayin' - Freak-outs, Football, and Friends

2009-10-28T08:34:00.000-07:00

So as I said yesterday, I had an absolutely shit-tacular couple of days last week which started with Sparky giving me the old heave-ho. Considering he was my first relationship in five years and I actually kind of liked him, I went all “woe-is-me-stupid-girl-why-didn’t-someone-smack-my-face-off” on everyone. Sorry about that...

This is my apology dance.

Then I remembered we had only dated for a couple months. After that I realized that I’m a beautiful, smart, ~~not at all~~ funny girl and there is no reason for me to be crying over a boy.

I meant beautiful in the "only a mother could love this face" kinda way.

So I drove twelve hours to my old stomping ground to spend time with some of the greatest people on this earth… and watch the Irish finally break the Boston College streak.

Too bad the Bears decided to take it up the rear on Sunday.

Although the drive was monstrous whore and I'm still exhausted ~~and single~~ I couldn’t have asked for a better weekend. How could I wish all that free booze around?

I really do have the greatest friends a girl could want.

I'm just sayin'.

Tattoos-Day : Thicker than Water

2009-10-27T09:43:00.000-07:00

Ink #8: Family

Design: Five Shooting Stars from bra-line to panty-line

Location: Right Ribcage

When: Summer ’08 – After Graduation

Pain Scale: Nine out of ten

Artist: Joey Drada

Story:

This piece is the largest piece on my body and I plan on expanding on it. There are five shooting stars and each one represents a member of my family. Each star has the initials of the person inside and I chose their colors as I see each of them.

Blue is for my Mom because she is always strong and true – like the sea and the sky.

Orange is for my Dad because he can always find a way to laugh at a situation, no matter how grim or upsetting it may be.

Pink is for me… because I like pink.

Purple is for the older of my two brothers because he had recently come out of the closet and this was my very small way of showing him I support him (I did a larger one later… you’ll see that next week).

Green is for my youngest brother because no matter how old he gets, he will always be that little snot of a twelve year old in my head.

When I have children, I plan on adding moons with their initials into the design.

20SB Blog Swap - Crunch, Crunch, Swish

2009-10-26T09:09:00.000-07:00

Hellooo there! I want to apologize first of all for posting that awful crap last week and promptly disappearing. I had a terrible week which inspired me to drive 12 hours to Indiana to spend the weekend loving all things Notre Dame with my old friends. I'll tell you all about it later...

Because today is not about me over here in the Fish Bowl... it's about Doniree! She is my lovely partner for the 20SB Blog Swap and she is taking over my blog. If you went to see me, I'm over at her place. But you should go over there anyway because she kind of rocks. And now, I give you Doniree...

***

I love the simple beauty that is Autumn, how it feels like a whisper. The bright heat from summer has retreated, the bitter cold of winter hasn't stormed in yet. Autumn plays somewhere in the middle of the two, a quiet memory of things recent and a hushed whisper of things to come.

For those of you not in Minnesota right now (as our typically amazing fall has been something of a disappointment to those that love it), I've read a lot of posts lately praising all things autumn - the crisp air, the colorful trees, the taste of pumpkin (with the exception of you pumpkin-haters). And while I love giant hoodies and warm fleece as much as anyone else, my favorite thing about fall is one particular sound.

Leaves. The sound of leaves as they swirl above the ground, the sound the dried up leaves make as they crunch beneath my feet.

I love the times just before the streets are swept in the city in the fall, and walking along the edges of the streets, shuffling feet through and hearing the crunching and swishing of the leaves cracking beneath me.

Maybe it's because fall tends to be the Back to School time and for so many years, we spend fall preparing to start something new - a new grade, a new subject, a new goal. Something about fall makes me want to goal-set, not in big New Year's Resolutions kind of ways, but just in such a way that I simply, quietly take inventory of where I'm at and start to reconnect with the vision of where I want to be.

Life is busy. We move at quick paces, juggling, speeding, rushing. For me, Autumn is a time to pause, to let go of some things and let them fall (symbolism! yes!), to draw in a breath of the clean, crisp air, and exhale a little bit of lightness and simplicity, and of a clean start.

What's Autumn like where you live?

Emotional Vomit

2009-10-19T22:32:00.000-07:00

I am always the strong one.

I am the one who holds back tears so I don't look like the vulnerable one.

I am the one who pretends nothing happened so you have a solid, sturdy shoulder to cry on.

I am the one who makes sure you are okay before even thinking about how I feel.

I am the one who will pull you from the wreckage while I'm limping on my broken leg and bleeding from my abdomen.

I am the one who will look death in the face if it means you get to live.

I can't be that person this time.

I apologize for expelling my emotional crap all over your reader. But I can't hide behind my sarcasm and awful humor right now.

I can't be the strong one. I need to be allowed to be the weak one.

Just this once.

Dear Chicagoland

2009-10-19T07:50:00.000-07:00

Dear Chicagoland Area,

I must say that after twenty four years, your sports teams have finally damaged my heart and blood pressure beyond repair.

I know that it is partially my own fault for cheering on teams that haven't won the World Series in over a century or the Super Bowl in almost a quarter century. But you can't blame me for being loyal! I was raised this way...

A fan since poddy training. (Damn, I was a cute kid. See what you did to me?)

I have stuck by your teams through thick and thin. Through heat waves and blizzards. Through the glory days and the shit storms. But this weekend? I actually flipped over to Spike TV and watched CSI because the tears were too much to handle.

Why do you do this to me?! How many blatant opportunities do you want to screw up in one game? How often do you need to be in the red zone until you realize they call it so for a reason? What does it take to make you see that being within ten yards of the goal line should mean you are going to be scoring a touchdown?

I love you dearly, Chicagoland. I really, truly do. But I don't know how much more of this failure I can bear...

Regards,

Jeney

Would You Rather Wednesday - Edward Edition (Plus a little Ben!)

2009-10-14T07:14:00.000-07:00

Tim Burton is just fuckin’ weird.

After finding this link on one of my StumbleUpon sojourns I kinda went a little bonkers and had myself a Tim Burton movie fest. By myself. In the dark. And I have come to the ever so shocking and earth-shattering conclusion that he is one crazy son of a bitch.

But through the epileptic seizure inducing color schemes, mind-bending visual effects, and so-bizarre-you-can’t-tear-your-eyes-away costumes is one of the most talented and brilliant producers, directors, and writers of our day.

It really takes a special kind of insane to see the world the way he does and not be committed to an asylum.

Soooooo… I have a fuck, chuck, or marry edition of WYR this week inspired by my favorite Burton film, Edward Scissorhands.

So who you fuck, chuck, and marry?

Edward Scissorhands

Edward Cullen

Edward Munster (Just pretend he's 18, okay?)

***

In the spirit of monsters and Halloween and all things fall -- I have a little video from Ben over at No Ordinary Rollercoaster for you as well. We both share a vehement hatred of all things ice and snow, but a love of the amazing season that is autumn.

NOR Video for Shamrock-on.blogspot.com from Benjamin Boudreau on Vimeo.

Tattoos-day: Too Bad I Wasn't on TV...

2009-10-13T15:35:00.000-07:00

Ink #7: What’s your sign?

Design: Libra symbol with Roman numeral tens on either side

Location: Left Wrist

When: January, 2008, Senior Year of College

Pain Scale: Two out of Ten

Artist: Miami Ink Artist

Story:

I got this tattoo while I was a manager for the Notre Dame Swim and Dive team. We went to Miami for our training trip and a few of the girls talked me into going to the famed Miami Ink to get a tattoo. It is, to this day, the smallest and most expensive ink on my body.

Although I do not live and die by astrology and zodiac superstitions, I do take pride in the fact that I am a typical Libra. I thrive on balance in my life. I am sociable, self-indulgent, easy going, diplomatic, and ever-changing. I also just need to say that Libras are the only inanimate of the zodiac. (AKA – we’re all badasses)

I also happen to have been born in the best month ever, Rock-tober, on the best day ever, the tenth. Hence I have the ultimate Libran birth date, 10/10. Couldn’t ask for more balance than that! So on either side of my balanced symbol, I have my balanced birth date.

You think you're funny, don't you?

2009-10-09T16:35:00.001-07:00

Alright, snow....

You cold, heartless bastard...

I know I as stepping out of line when I wrote about you last year and blatantly ignored the fact that I should respect your identity. I did put all of your faults and private problems on the world wide web for all to see. I deserve to have your wrath wrought upon my very soul for that.

But seriously? This is going a little too far...

Srsly? Not cool.

It's October 9th. My birthday is tomorrow. I am supposed to run a 5K at 8:00am. I haven't even had time to buy a parka, yet!

I get it. I'm as asshole. Can we come to a truce? I won't ruin your reputation on my blog, and you go away until November?

Thanks!

TMI Thursday - My First Period

2009-10-07T21:50:00.001-07:00

I got my first period on the twelfth birthday. This sucked in and of itself.

The fact that I got my first period when I was driving two hours to my grandmother's house in Indiana with my father and two younger brothers (and only them because my mother couldn't get off work) made it the most memorable period of my life.

We made a pit stop at the same gas station we always did for gas and poddy breaks. That was when I discovered I had, in fact, entered womanhood. My saving grace was that I at least knew why I had suddenly started to bleed from my who-ha. I also knew that I had to do something about it unless I wanted to ruin the new jeans I just got that morning as well as the back seat of our Ford Taurus all while eliciting screams of "Jeney's got red stuff on her butt!" from my little shit of a brother.

Analyzing the situation, I figured that bizzare toilet paper trick my mom told me about would probably not work -- we still had 45 minutes of driving left. I thought I could buy some of those weird diaper things out of the dispenser in the bathroom... but I had been twelve years old for a total of about four hours at this point, so I didn't have any money that wasn't entrapped in an envelope with some cheesy card and confetti.

It was then that I came to the stark realization that I had to ask my dad for a quarter to get a pad from the magic girl products vending machine. It went something like this:

Me: "Dad, can I have a quarter?"

Dad: "What do you need a quarter for?"

Me: "Can I just have one, please?" ::turn on daddy's little girl charm::

Dad: "I don't think so. You're not going to get anything out of those gumball machines. You're brothers will throw a fit."

Me: "I really, really need a quarter. Um...It's my birthday!"

Dad: "You'll get presents at Grandma's."

Me (giving up the vague approach): "Dad. I'm bleeding."

Dad: "We have band-aids in the car?"

Me: "DAD! I. Am. Bleed. Ing."

Dad: "Well, where are you blee... Oh! Shit!"

Needless to say I got my quarter. Eight of them, in fact. And the most awkward 45 minute drive of my life.

I'm Just Sayin' - Jon and Kate Plus Eight Minus Jon divided by Eight to the Kate power

2009-10-07T12:47:00.000-07:00

I had an awesome post about Tim Burton ready for today... then I left my flash drive on my microwave. Fail. Sooo... that post will have to wait until next week.

So all I want to say today is that I am sick and effin' tired of all the Jon and Kate bull shit that I have to hear about every. single. day.

News flash... NO ONE CARES ANYMORE!

Jon can go walk in front of a train painted with Ed Hardy designs and Kate can get the clap.

Their kids can have all the ice cream they want.

I'm just sayin'.

Tattoos-day: In Joy and Sorrow

2009-10-06T10:34:00.000-07:00

Ink #6: Both Sides of the Force

Design: Heartagram

Location: Left Ribcage

When: Summer before senior year of college

Pain Scale: Eight out of ten

Artist: Jason Woolley

Story:

If any of you saw this and immediately thought, “OMGZ! Bam Margera! Ahhh!!!111! one!!” you can take my blog off your reader because you are dead to me.

One of my all-time favorite bands is one called HIM. They are from Finland and have a style they like to call ‘love metal’; which the lead singer, Ville Valo, describes as “being fist-fucked with a velvet glove.” (He’s so eloquent…)

Anywho, this is the official symbol of the band. According to Wikipedia:

“ The heartagram is the trademarked symbol of HIM, created by Ville Valo the day of his twentieth birthday. Valo has said that ‘the heartagram stands for HIM as a band, as an entity, and for 'love metal' in general.’ … Ville Valo has allowed his close friend, Jackass star, actor, and professional skateboarder, Bam Margera to share the license on the heartagram image and Margera has accordingly used it for his promotional purposes, including using it on his Adio shoes and Element skateboards. Because of the shared license, the symbol is often thought to belong solely to Margera.”

The symbol itself is like a new-age Ying and Yang. The pentagram is evil, pain, suffering, hate, etc. The heart is good, pleasure, love, etc. Just like Ying and Yang, it is a symbol of balance.
Being a libra, I love balance. Being a huge HIM fan, I love this symbol.

But being a purist, I effin’ hate the term ‘Bamagram’.

Conundrum

2009-10-05T11:55:00.000-07:00

I have a crisis.

Tonight has the potential to be one of the most epic of Monday Night Football battles ever. For those of you who do not follow the sport as religiously ~~as you should~~ as I do, let me fill you in.

Tonight's contest is between the Minnesota Vikings and the Green Bay Packers. Not only are both of these teams apart of the same conference (NFC - National Football Conference), they happen to be of the same Division as well (NFC North). This means that they are battling each other for the division title which will, in turn, give them a chance at the conference title. Winning the later of the two means you get to play in this game called the Super Bowl. (Shoot yourself in the face and Google it if you don't know.)

Anywho. Brett Favre, who is the current quarterback for the Vikings, was the quarterback for the Packers until two years ago. This was not a drama-free transition. All non-retirement jokes aside, this makes this game FUCKING EPIC people.

Now, here is my problem; I am a Chicago Bears fan.

Again, for those of you who ~~fail at life~~ don't know, this means I hate the Vikings, but not as much as I hate the Packers. I already know that Lovie's Boys are not going to win our division, so this little fact makes me want to root for the Vikings who are kind of a shoe-in for it.

BUT! I strongly dislike Brett Farve. This makes me want to root for the Packers.

However, Adrian Peterson is completely bad. ass. This makes me want to cheer on the Vikings.

Sparky also has this annoying habit of rooting against every team I root for just to piss me off. He's a Vikings fan, so this makes me want to cheer for the Packers.

What colors do you think I should wear tonight? Baby poop green and piss yellow? Or prissy purple and bimbo-blonde gold?

I really tried!

2009-10-04T13:33:00.000-07:00

I wanted to blog today. I really, really did.

At first I was going to write about all the random places I have woken up and have you guess which ones were as a result of copious amounts of alcohol and which ones were as a result of my uncanny ability to fall asleep almost anywhere.

Then I was going to write about how easy it is to amuse myse -- Oh! A squirrel!

When both of those failed I was going to rant and rave about how shit-tacular my mood is and how this inability to write anything of substance is a direct result of said attitude problem. ~~But I'm really blaming it on my new birth control pill because it makes me feel obese, puts my pores into hyper-drive, and makes me want to eat my face off.~~

So I have decided I'm just going to post this because I am officially a useless waste of oxygen and bandwidth.

Because I feel like a penis pump right now.

TMI Thursday - Of Hooters, Knockers, and TaTas (NWS)

2009-10-01T07:49:00.000-07:00

*Images in this post are not work safe!*

When I was in high school, I used to get through my summers by working at outdoor amphitheaters. I worked at the Tweeter Center in Illinois for three years and then one year at Alpine Valley in Wisconsin. I usually got stuck in Guest Services or just simply as an usher. I think it had something to do with being small and cute... drunk people tend to want to talk to people like me.

Each time I came home, I always had a crazy story to tell my mom. I was tipped $50 once for wheeling a guy to his car after Josh Groban. I met Dave Matthews in the VIP parking lot. Someone tried to check in their cousin's ashes at the Cure concert (we also had a dog at Jessica Simpson and a bucket of chicken at Tim McGraw). I had some crazy old guy at Jimmy Buffett propose to me at least three times. As tiring and crazy as that job was, it was always entertaining and left me smiling.

Until the night I worked Ozzfest at Alpine Valley.

Now, Ozzfest is always a completely different animal from any other concert you would work. There was always the feeling of impending doom in the atmosphere until the last guest left. Although I worked a number of Ozzfests at Tweeter (attended them as well) I was never shocked or rendered speechless by the things I saw.

Sure, there were crazy, over the top fans that were never hugged enough as children. And you would no doubt find more ass cracks in the crowd than at the Olympic Swimming Finals. However! I did not know there was shit like this until the summer I worked at Alpine.

Take a minute to really soak those pictures in. I want them to simmer and fester in the darkest corners of your mind. Go ahead. I'll wait.

...

...

...

Good and scarred yet? Good.

Don't get me wrong! I am glad these women are comfortable enough in their own skin to walk around topless with flames and butterfly wings on their nipples. Hell, who doesn't love body paint? But for the love of God who said it was a good idea to do that in WISCONSIN?!

I had women coming up to me asking all sorts of questions and I just couldn't handle it.

Topless Woman #1: "Could you tell me where the bathroom is?"
Me: "Yes. Right up this hill and to your breast. Um.... I mean left."

Topless Woman #17: "Where's the beer tent?"
Me: "If you go rack... uh, back up to the plaza there are beer vendors on the main concourse."

Topless Woman #42: "There is a couple in our seats and they refuse to leave."
Me: "Okay, ma'am. Tits... It's no problem. Let me just get a security guard and we'll boob - MOVE them."

Topless Woman #73: "Could you turn around for me? My husband thinks you have a nice ass."
Me (thinking): "God, why have you forsaken me?"

I swear to you, there is nothing more awkward than talking to a pair of breasts that can stare back at you.

I'm watching you!

I'm Just WYRing - Ageism

2009-09-30T07:09:00.000-07:00

Out of the whopping 4 people who voted on the last I'm Just Sayin'... seems like doing both a Would You Rather and I'm Just Sayin' is the favorite idea.

So now I need a new clever name for Wednesday posts. Anyone have something for me?

***

I know I am young and stupid. I know that although I am a 20-something, my physical appearance would sometimes suggest that I am still in high school. That is no excuse, however, for you old-timing bastards to treat me like I'm your kid.

On top of that, just because the woman whose place I took was a sweet old woman who let you walk all over her does not mean I will be the same. Don't try to take advantage of me.

Just because I look like a student does give you permission to demand I give water to the volleyball team because they are sweating bullets while signing autographs. I am not an athletic trainer- I don't even know where their damn water bottles are! If you had any tact, you would have asked me whether or not is was possible to get the girls some water. Hell, maybe you would suggest to the higher-ups that air conditioning be installed in the facility.

You would know this if you fucking worked in the athletic department!

I am not going to work from 8:00am - 8:00pm simply because your team is traveling tomorrow and you are having a break down. The team's bags are packed and every single piece of equipment they own is clean. I have also watched the same highlights on SportsCenter at least 5 times each today... what more do you want me to do?

I am not a kid nor am I a sweet old woman. I am a jaded, pissed off twenty something.

I'm just sayin'.

***

Soooo.... lovely readers.... this brings me to my first WYR.

Considering the predicament above, would you rather:

a) Wear a diaper in public and be limited to screaming and crying when you want to communicate.

or

b) Become prematurely grey/bald and still have to wear a diaper in public and be limited to screaming and crying when you want to communicate.

Tattoos-day: Like Mother, Like Daughter

2009-09-29T07:18:00.000-07:00

Note: I just now thought I should probably put a pain scale on these things...

***

Ink #5: Bonding with my Mama

Design: Blue shooting star with orange/yellow tail

Location: Right Foot

When: Summer before junior year of college

Pain Scale: Seven out of ten

Artist: Joey Drada

Story:

My mother and I got this one done by good ol’ Joey Drada at Prairie Tattoo. Mommy-daughter matching tattoos, yay!

This one is actually really simple to explain. As much as we butt heads and argue, my mom and I are really close. We tend to look to each other for direction in life; we think of the other as our own “North Star”. Hence the shooting stars.

We got the ink on our right feet so we could always help each other “put our best foot forward” even when the other isn’t there.

So whenever life gets tough, we look to our shooting starts to help us get through it.

That’s it -- plain and simple. :-)

Letters to an Old Life, Pt 1

2009-09-28T09:47:00.000-07:00

Dear Indiana,

It has been thirty-nine days since we last spoke (not that I am counting or anything). I must say, so far, I am content and happy with Fargo. The city has treated me well and I love my new friends, job, and life. I'm actually happy with myself for once. But, damnit. There are things about you I just cannot let go of.

I miss living with Vic and Clint. I miss my little bedroom with too much shit in it. I would give anything to be sitting on Vic's leather couch watching the Food Network, drinking High Life or Schlitz, eating queso, and listening to them talk about Giada's breasts. I miss running with Clint. I miss watching True Blood with Vic. I miss quoting Super Troopers with them at inappropriate moments. I still laugh when I think about playing Presidents and Assholes with them and Will... I miss them.

As much as I bitched about your lack of quality dining... I miss Martin's Sidedoor Deli and the wonderland that was salad bars, sushi, and deli sandwiches. I crave Uptown Kitchen and the orgasm in a tortilla they called their "breakfast burrito". I would literally murder someone for a veggie burrito bowl from Chipotle right now. Nothing sounds better at this moment than an Oaken Bucket cheeseburger or Barnaby's pizza with cheese sauce... or even some fish and chips with a Guiness on tap from Fiddlers.

I miss my old friends. I want to play beer pong with Ann Jan one more time. I want to hear Katie call me "Fargo" with her own voice rather than on my Facebook wall. I want to play with Joe Joe again. I want to be at Tuesday Trivia with Becky, Isaiah, Audrey, and Troy. I want to be shit-faced in Niles with Adam and Ben. Don't get me wrong, I love my new friends. But right now I want nothing more than to be eating Kim's Taco Dip with the manager crew while watching the Notre Dame game.

I miss all the sketchy, smelly, sticky, grossness that came with your dive bars. I miss the pitchers of Long Island Iced Tea from Finnie's. I miss huge beers from the Backer. I miss the Woo-Woos from Club Fever. I miss the awful decisions that were made whenever we were at one of these establishments. I miss the terrible music, sticky floors, and sweaty bodies that we hated when we were there... but craved when we weren't.

I miss you, Indiana. You were never really good for me and we are definitely better as friends. But sometimes I really wish I was with you again.

Till next time,
Jeney

Peace out, bitches!

2009-09-25T06:46:00.000-07:00

I'm in a mood. You know... one of those moods where you kind of just want to sit in your bathtub and eat chocolate chip cookie dough and drink brewskis while watching Super Troopers over and over again?

No? It's just me?

Well, shit.

I suppose there that annoying cliche silver lining, though. In an attempt to eradicate my piss poor attitude, I have started planning out a winter traveling extravaganza! Since ~~all six of the people~~ everyone I know currently lives all over this great continent, I have decided to take two weeks off during the winter months and visit ALL OF THEM!

That's right, I am purchasing a one-way place ticket to wherever I decide to start, renting a car, and high-tailing it all the way back up to effin' North Dakota where I will probably hang myself because I will have enjoyed life and friendship and all that crap so much on my trip that the -80 degree weather in Fargo will drive me to end my life.

I kind of want to start in Las Vagas where I will totally play the part of the Ugly Friend while super-uber makes-you-want-to-vomit gorgeous Colleen gets us into every VIP Club and Playboy party that my liver can handle.

Then I'll for sure be stopping in Arizona to see Vic (where I am sure I will drink even more) then swing over to Colorado to visit Clint and Tracy.

From there I plan on taking a twister to Lawrence, KS where I will proceed to get shit-tarded at The Hawk with old intern, Sugar Tits.

Then I'll end with the obligatory family stuff over in Illinois/Indiana/Wisconsin. There is a possible drinking stop in Madison, though...

Click to make it bigger.

While this is all fine ad dandy, I found myself wondering what could make it better? Oh, I know!

Meeting you guys!!!

How great would it be to having a tryst with Just a Girl? Show JP my ink in person? Let me know if you want me to work you into my little adventure!

I'm Just Sayin' - Would You Rather

2009-09-23T06:56:00.000-07:00

I am not sure if I am going to continue with I'm Just Sayin' Wednesdays. I kind of want to start up my own Would You Rather series... Alas, I know there are a few of you who do enjoy my weekly ranting shenanigans. And I love you guys. I really, really do!

That's why I have decided to let you pick what I will post on Wednesdays!

So... my minions... would you rather me:

1) continue with I'm Just Sayin' Wednesdays.

2) start up Would You Rather Wednesdays.

3) suggest your own hump-day theme!

Now, I know I have 34 people following this blog... and at least 10 of you read it on a regular basis.

I want all 34 of you to tell me what you want! All of you lurkers... it's time to come out and play!

(I'm just sayin'.)

Tattoos-day: COLLEGE

2009-09-22T07:04:00.000-07:00

Ink #4: The Best Years of My Life

Design: Four leaf clover with a French Cross inside the leaves.

Location: Left Hip Bone

When: Junior Year of College

Artist: Whitney Shake

Story:

I had this little one done my junior year of college by Ms. Whitney Shake at Point Blank Tattoo.

Although it has a very simple story, it encompasses some of the best memories I have.

I attended Saint Mary’s College of Notre Dame, IN for my undergraduate degree. Our school symbol is the French Cross.

It just so happens the University of Notre Dame is our brother school. They used to be the men's side - we were the women's side. In the seventies, Notre Dame decided to go co-ed while we continued to be an all female institution. This of course started many rumors (Or are they? You'll never know...) of naked pillow fights and jello wrestling on our campus as well as a nice little doozey that goes something like, "Every time a Saint Mary's girl gets laid, they plant a tree. Every time a Notre Dame girl gets laid, they build a Dome." (Sorry Jenks -- I had to put that dig in there. You know I bleed blue and gold.)

But I digress... Considering Notre Dame's proximity to my campus as well as my participation in all they had to offer us SMC (pronounced 'smick') Chicks, they played an enormous part in my collegiate career. Their mascot is, obviously, the Fighting Irish.

Fighting Irish Shamrock + Saint Mary’s French Cross = College for Jeney

TMI Thursday - Oh Shit!

2009-09-17T07:27:00.000-07:00

It’s time for TMI Thursday, brought to you by LiLu. As she always says, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

Today's TMIT was inspired by my muse, Just a Girl.

When I was in college, there was a girl us student managers absolutely loved to hate. She was an athletic trainer for the fooseball team and did a lot more than just medical treatments for the guys.

She was a Class-A bitch, too. One of those "I'm-the-shit" kind of girls who in actually is the ugly friend? You know those girls. They photo shop their facebook pictures to make themselves look thinner and tanner while their friends are all distorted?

This is a story about her unfortunate run-ins with body fluids - and how she got the nick-name "Oh Shit."

Story #1: Poop Check

Setting: House Party

Oh Shit's Level of Drunk: 11 out of 10

Ever been so drunk that you couldn't tell if you shit your pants or not? Well, she was. There are no words I can string together that would give this story justice. You just had to be there. However, below is the conversation I witnessed:

Oh Shit: "I think I shit my pants."

Slutbag Friend: "No way! Are you sure?"

OS: "I think so..." ::reached down pants to check in the middle of the room::

SF: "That's gross, ********."

OS: ::pulls hand of of pants only to discover she did, in fact, shit her pants:: "Oh Shit!" ::runs shit-covered limb THROUGH HER HAIR::

Oh shit, indeed.

Story #2: Puke-tacuklar

Setting: Local Dive Bar

Oh Shit's Level of Drunk: 8 out of 10

It was a Saturday night after a home football game. Everyone who was involved in the football team was drinking their faces off to forget the fact that they had to do it all again come Monday.

One player had a little too much to drink and proceeded to do what any red-blooded kid who just slammed 260,o82 beers on an empty stomach does: vomited. Everywhere. On himself, on the floor, and in the cup he was holding. Afterward, he placed the cup on the table he was sitting at and walked away like nothing happened. (Who does that?!)

Being the ever so pleasant person ~~drunkard~~ I am, I stood up and began to warn people as they walked by that there was a bit of a slippery spot on the ground -- "DON'T SLIP!!! WATCH OUT! THERE'S VOMIT HERE!!!"

Until she walked by. It was at this moment in time I felt it was appropriate to take a long, slow drink to preoccupy my mouth.

I swear this seriously happened in slow motion. She sauntered by sashaying her non-existent hips.

Her left heel hit the puke.

She began to slip.

She grabbed the table to steady herself. (Now here is where I need to remind you that Pukey McFootball Player left his vomit-filled cup on said table.)

The table didn't hold. And as she fell into the source of her slip on the ground, the glass left on the table fell onto her.

She. Was. Soaked. In. Vomit.

It was glorious.

Oh shit, indeed.

I'm Just Sayin' Wednesday - Get Pissed!

2009-09-16T12:44:00.000-07:00

I have no idea if the stars are aligned all janky or if there is a disturbance in the force this week. But why the hell is everyone so damn angry?

First, Michael Jordan decides to give a few snarky remarks during his Hall of Fame Enshrinement speech.

Then, tennis stars start going all batshit and throwin’ down all sorts of Ess-Bombs and Eff-Bombs at the US Open!

Theeeeeeen, Kanye West does what he does best.

My coaches have been crabby all week. I’ve had my own panties (Ew. I just typed the word ‘panties’) in a bunch since Saturday. I can’t even speak to my own mother on the phone without her trying to eat my face through the receiver. Hell, My iPod has been throwing fits at me all week, too!

Apparently we all need a time out. And a drink.

I’m just sayin’.

Tattoos-day : For my Grandpa

2009-09-15T07:05:00.000-07:00

One thing before I get into this... Do you remember my first TMIT? You can see the wound in this picture. Enjoy!

***
Ink #3; The Most Important Man in my Life Design: Green shaded celtic knot with block lettered "Grizzly" underneath.

Location: Left Outside Ankle

When: Sophomore Year of College

Artist: Jason Woolley

The Story:

This one was done shortly after my 19th birthday. I had it done at a small shop by a guy named Jason Woolley aka “The Big, Burly Guy” at Point Blank Tattoo in South Bend, In. I had originally wanted the text to be script, but Jason forgot to include the text at all in teh stencil. Still quite the inking noob, I figured this was normal. He had to improvise with the font, but I think it turned out just fine. :-)

“Grizzly” was my grandfather’s CB name when he drove trucks. He is by far one the most influential and special people in my life. I can honestly say that man in my hero.

He served in the US Army during the Korean War where he played football. He was recruited to play professional football. When he went to the try-out he blew out his knees and never played again. He has had a slew of medical problems including open heart surgery, knee replacements, staph infection in said knee replacements, diabetes, high blood pressure, depression, blood clots, a broken hip, among many others. And he’s still alive and kickin’ at seventy eight years old. That’s what the celtic knot is for – he is eternal and endless to me.

See the slice!? And the band-aid mark!?

This Post is Brought to You By Attention Deficit Disorder

2009-09-07T06:46:00.000-07:00

It just so happens to be a glorious Monday morning on Labor Day Weekend in Fargo, North Dakota. People everywhere are waking up in strange beds, praying to porcelain Gods, and curing their hangovers with Bloody Mary's and Natty Light shot-guns.

Me?

I'm working. Because ONE of my teams (out of six) is practicing today. FML.

So what is a girl to do when she is bitter about laboring on Labor Day? Blog about pointless rubbish, of course!

For the past month or so, I have wanted to watch Clone High soooooo bad I would probably do something illegal or publicly embarrassing to get my hands on the season on DVD. It just so happens that I lost all of my ~~illegally downloaded~~ episodes when I got the new laptop. ::cue sad, puppy dog face::

Wait - what did you say? You've never heard of Clone High?

Well, I think Wikipedia sums it up best:

Clone High is set in a high school that is secretly being run as an elaborate military experiment orchestrated by a government office called the Secret Board of Shadowy Figures. The school is entirely populated by clones of famous historical figures that have been created and raised with the intent of having their various strengths and abilities harnessed by the United States military. The principal of the high school, Cinnamon J. Scudworth, has his own plans for the clones, and secretly tries to undermine the wishes of the Board (Scudworth wants to use the clones to create a clone-themed amusement park, dubbed "Cloney Island", his intentions with the clones being decidedly less evil than those of the Board). He is assisted by his robot/vice principal/dehumidifier Mr. Butlertron (a parody of Mr. Belvedere), who is programmed to call everyone "Wesley" (a reference to one of the main characters in Mr. Belvedere).

It's from the creators of Scrubs and most of the characters from that show do the voices. It is insanely hysterical and a damn shame that they only had one season. Seriously - go check it out.

I will leave you with one of my favorite scenes from my favorite episode:

In other news:

The wonderful Deva over at Always Carried Away has given me an award!

Thanks, babe! ;-)

I know it is terrible and probably a blogging cardinal sin, but I simply cannot pass it along today. I am far too tired, irritated, and hungover to do so. So, I will chose award recipients and post them tomorrow when I don't hate life so much.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to introduce...

2009-09-03T09:19:00.000-07:00

I know I missed Tattoos-day. And I completely disregarded I’m Just Sayin’ Wednesday. I am also in the process of completely failing at TMI Thursday. I am going to blame this entire lapse on old age. I’m pushing a quarter of a century old and I just can’t keep up with you kids anymore.

I do have some exciting news, though! Since my big move to the Great White North of the U.S., I have finally begun to make friends. (One of them is actually my boyfriend... ::gasp:: Saywhaaaaat?!)

Considering I spend ~~~~every waking moment~~ I can~~ most of my time with them, I figured I should introduce you! No need to worry, though. They could never replace you guys. They don’t exactly understand my narcissism and awful humor like you do.

So blog friends, meet my real life friends…

Alias: Arkansas

Claim to fame: The first wolf I added to my pack of one.

Talent: Being on my shit list and Guitar Hero.

Drink of choice: Captain and Cherry Coke

Quote: “That’s my shi-at!”

***

Alias: BDubz

Claim to fame: The roommate

Talent: Lapses in judgment that make me snort and Skype

Drink of choice: Malibu with a splash of Dr. Pepper

Quote: “I almost hit someone in my truck… again.”

***

Alias: A.T.

Claim to fame: The Girly-Type Friend

Talent: Garlic Bread that will. Blow. Your. MIND!

Drink of choice: Amaretto and Pepsi

Quote: “I know, right?!”

***

Alias: Sparky

Claim to fame: My ~~Boyfriend~~ Biatch

Talent: He's an athletic trainer... he's good with his hands. (He makes me laugh a lot too… I guess that’s important.)

Drink of Choice: Beer

Quote: “I hope the party you had on my bed last night was worth it.”

***

Real life friends, meet my blog friends...

Go ahead, introduce yourselves!

The Gospel of JP

2009-08-27T20:03:00.000-07:00

This is a fake post.... because the real post is over down yonder at The Gospel of JP.

Check me out on Foxy Fridays! ;-)

I'm Just Sayin' - Letters to my Student Loans

2009-08-26T15:42:00.000-07:00

Dear Notre Dame Federal Credit Union,

You are delusional. Stop laughing because I am in not way, shape, or form kidding. The fact that you do not allow extended repayment plans on your student loan programs is absolute horse manure. Let us examine this for a second.

1) It costs between $37,000 and $47,000 a year to attend the institutions you cater loans to.

2) You do not award educational scholarships, hence forcing most of the students to take a loan for this absurd amount of money each year.

3) With your mandated ten year plan, this means that graduates (and I mean the sparse few that are even lucky enough to get an entry level job) are expected to pay about $900 - $1200 a month to repay their loans back. THAT'S A GODDAMN MORTGAGE PAYMENT! ::twitch::

Not everyone who attends your school is a trust fund baby, legacy student, or bathes in cash money.

Regards,

I'm So Broke I Can't Even Afford Ramen Noodles

Dear Sallie Mae,

I don't even know what to say to you.

I want to repay my loans. I want to give you my money. Really! I do! But you're making it so damn difficult that all my money is going toward anti-anxiety meds and liquor.

First, you keep changing the amount I owe you. $152 a month? Okay. $349 a month? Manageable. $735 a month? Holy Shit-balls! Back down to $215 a month? I have a headache.

So I put loans into forbearance (aka, put you on the pill) to lower and regulate this crazy payment structure you've got me on. So I send you a payment, and you apply it to the loans that are in forbearance rather than to the loans that you are billing me for.

TELL ME HOW IN THE SAM HELL THAT MAKES SENSE?!?!

It's you're own damn fault I am delinquent on my student loans.

Sincerely,

I Am Sick and Tired of Having a Different Rep Call Me Every Time You Fuck Up

You both need to get your shit together.

I'm just sayin'.

Tattoos-Day; Believe

2009-08-25T10:09:00.000-07:00

Before I get started today, I need to do some shameless pimping... The Goddess we all know as Just a Girl has sort of nominated me to be one of JP's Foxy Ladies this Friday. Sooo... to get a good sneak peek of myself in all my tattooed glory, you should come check it out.

(You should go read both their blogs before Friday, anyway. Because you're just a waste of oxygen and bandwith if you're not. Just a Girl is giving away goodies, too!!)

Ink #2; Believe in the Unbelievable

Design: Blue unicorn with the word "believe" underneath it

Location: Right shoulder

When: High School Graduation Present

Artist: Joey Drada

The Story:

This one was my high school graduation present. My favorite artist, Joey Drada, did this one for me. He and I have a very special bond… he’s done six of the eleven on me. He’s also done a few for my mom. He also works out of Prairie Tattoo with Mr. Max.

If you could swing your eyes over to the little “Lost Soul” section over to the right of this screen you will see that I am a self proclaimed unicorn enthusiast. I am not kidding about that. I actually have a very extensive collection of pewter, blown glass, and other unicorn paraphernalia. One of my all time favorite animated movies is The Last Unicorn. I am basically Kate from Dodgeball.

One very large reasons for this obsession is that according to unicorn folklore, the creatures do not regret. They’re just not programmed to do so. Considering they’re immortal, that is a long time and a lot of shit to go through without regretting any of it. What better way is there to live your life? “Believe” was added later to express the idea to “believe in the unbelievable.”

TMI Thursday - Exposing Myself

2009-08-20T09:24:00.000-07:00

I meandered across this little doozey on Little Woman, Little Home and thought, “What the hell? It’s not like I have any shame left…” Vic, I am giving you fair warning not to read this. It will taint your image of me more than Beerwell 2008 did.

So here is the fiftieth post of this blog (yay!), my third post for the week (a record maybe?), my second installation of TMI Thursdays (oh boy!), and your first peek into the wild side of Jeney.

The rules: Tell us 3 things about your sex life. You can make them whatever you want and it doesn't necessarily have to pertain to your current partner (or a partner at all for that matter). You can talk about your likes or dislikes, your kinky fetishes or your secret desires. You can tell us a funny story about the time you were having sex in the woods with your old boyfriend and you both ended up with 1,000 tics. Whatever you want... it’s totally up to you!

The Alpha: This one is super gross and one of the more embarrassing moments of my life. Remember the guy in my worst post ever? Well, after a particularly intoxicating St. Patty’s Day, I let him talk me into going home with him like the stupid ~~slut~~ girl I am. Everything that you would expect happened. Nothing worth writing home about... until he walked out of the bathroom afterward. “Umm. I think you’re bleeding.” Of course! Thank you to Murphy's Law and awful karma, my period started in the middle of the whole thing. FML.

Figure 2.0: Ever since I turned nineteen, my birthdays have been absolute shit-shows. This increased exponentially when I was legally able to celebrate at a designated drinking establishment. One such party ended with me and a boy (duh) who would not. shut. up. I’m not kidding – he talked the whole effin’ time. “Oh my God, you’re so beautiful. You are amazing…blah, blah, blah.” As nice as it is to hear bull shit like that, this constant stream of word vomit was waaay too irritating. After telling him to shut his face twice, I just pushed him off, got dressed, and slept on the couch. I just couldn't handle it.

Lucky Number 3: This one isn’t an experience or even really that embarrassing. It’s the one weakness that literally buckles my knees regardless of my mindset, emotional state of mind, or inebriation level: kisses on my neck. Oh sweet Jesus… sends me to pleasure town every time. This, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, and Very Sexy for Him by Victoria Secret and you can have me as a sex slave for life.

Thanks for reading!

I'm Just Sayin' - Goodbye

2009-08-19T06:56:00.000-07:00

Saying goodbye is probably one of the most difficult things to do in life… unless of course it’s as a result of a long night of vodka and Lady Gaga remixes.

Saying goodbye to something you love, something that defines the very essence of you, may be the hardest of all. However, goodbyes are inevitable.

Music said goodbye to ground breaking bands like Soundgarden and the Smashing Pumpkins. Not to mention musical geniuses like Kurt Cobain and Jim Morrison.

The world shed tears of farewell to grand figures like Princess Diana and JFK.

The athletic world pounded brewskis of mourning to legends like Ernie Davis and Brian Piccolo. Sport legends themselves like Tiki Barber and Michael Jordan hung their jerseys up eventually.

Goodbyes are a part of life. And for the love of God, someone needs to tell this to Brett Favre.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of respect for the guy ~~despite the fact that I’m a devout Bears fan and the Packers are the devil incarnate of professional sport teams~~. He’s a great athlete and a decent person-- but this kind of uncertainty and mind games is the reason He’s Just Not That into You became such a success.

I don’t know if you realize this, Brett (Can I call ya Brett?), but your “retirements” are right up there with Adam Lambert’s coming out and Billy Mayes’ cocaine problem in terms of shock value.

“Brett Favre is retiring… again.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Wanna go shave a dog?”

Say goodbye, Favre. Your losing more than your devoted fans and all you're gaining is an old man gut.

I’m just sayin’.

Tattoos-day!

2009-08-18T11:13:00.000-07:00

I have wanted to write about my ever-growing collection of ink since I started this little blog of mine because, let’s face it, that’s a lot of material I don’t have to think up and glamour to make my little life sound interesting.

So now I present to you, Tattoos-days! For the next eleven weeks (that’s damn near three months, people) I will show you one piece of art that proves I am, in fact, a badass.

You should feel privileged, really. Usually this becomes a game of “what stupid shit can Jeney get this person to do to see her tattoos?"

***

Ink #1; The Tramp Stamp

Design: Soccer ball surrounded by pink flower petals

Location: Center, Lower back

When: 18th Birthday present

Artist: Mr. Max

The Story:

I would like to preface this by informing you that when I did get this done, "Tramp Stamp" was not at all a coined term. So shove it.

When I turned 18, my mother took me to get my first tattoo as a birthday present. This was it. A great artist by the name of Mr. Max had the honor of popping my tattoo cherry. He did one other piece of mine and has done all of Little Shit’s and a few of my moms. He works out of Prairie Tattoo in Chicago Heights, Il.

As for the design, I actually was a grass fairy from the time I was six until I failed at trying out for my collegiate team. Although I did not play for as long as I would have liked, I still love the game and I always will. In fact, I thoroughly intend on forcing my kids to play so I can be an SUV driving soccer mom.

As for the flower part, I was inspired to do this by one of my old camp coaches. She had a similar tattoo on her ankle, but the petals were yellow. I like pink better. Simple as that.

Please excuse the poor quality. I had to take these pictures myself using ninja-like skill and a mirror.

You have GOT to be shitting me...

2009-08-15T14:15:00.000-07:00

I'm not normally a fan of posts like this one, but I HAD to share this with someone. And I thought, who better than my bloggy friends? :-)

I love StumbleUpon. I can spend countless hours Stumbling through the internet and discovering all the ridiculous, brilliant, absurd, and down right retarded things there are out there. I laugh. I cry. And sometimes, I cringe and want to gouge my eyes out.

Like with this particular website.

Okay. Seriously? I can't even handle this. "Creepy" and "pathetic" doesn't even begin to cover it.

My personal favorite Bertram from Canada -- "I got booted off Match.com for cyber stalking but I'm better now."

Seriously? Seriously.

Tell me who your lucky lad would be...

TMI Thursday - Shaving my Legs... Off

2009-08-13T08:07:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I will make TMI Thursdays a permanent part of my blog (considering it's not an anonymous one and I do some pretty stupid shit I would rather only those who witness it know about) but I had a pretty good one last night so I figured I would share all the bloody, gory details. Sooo..

Lesson # 1 – If you have poor vision, do not (I repeat DO NOT) shave your legs in the shower without proper eyewear.

Lesson #2 – If you do happen to be committing act #1 above against your better judgment, do not do so with a disposable razor you bought at the dollar store.

I, unfortunately, committed both of these acts last night while trying to enjoy my relaxing, hot shower. The end result?

Nicked myself? Nope.

Cut myself? Nuh-uh.

I farkin’ shaved an inch long piece of flesh OFF the base of my ankle. Having a hard time imagining what this would be like? Think of what the first cut of a potato looks like when you peel it. That is what I did to the first few layers of my epidermis with a disposable razor, people! I cannot even begin to explain the kind of pain I was in.

Not only did it sting like all hell, it bled. A lot. You know how a small nick seems to bleed for a good hour or so? I shit you not, this fucker bled all night long. Between my period and this I may have lost enough blood to need a transfusion.

I went through about six or seven tissues before I even attempted to but a band aid on it. Then I bled through three band aids and ruined my bathroom rug before I was forced to MacGyver a gauze-type bandage with more tissue and several more band-aids. When I woke up this morning and took my “bandage” off, I continued to bleed.

My bathroom kind of looks like this. Okay, that's an exaggeration. But it definitely looks like this with little smatters of blood on the tile and bathtub. I would have taken pictures, but a) my camera battery was dead and b) the amount of blood seriously might have convicted me of something. You would think after a decade of shaving my legs I would know better.

I need to change my band-aid now. Happy blogging!

I'm Just Sayin' - What Recession?

2009-08-12T10:37:00.000-07:00

Well, apparently I have been living under a rock for the past three or four years. ::insert dumb cheerleader-esque giggle here::

Did you know the US economy is falling apart faster than a Kia and we’re actually in a recession?! No way! I sure didn't!

I was actually completely clueless to the fact that less than 15% of 2009 college graduates did so with a job offer (compared to about 25% for the class of 2008 and 50% for the class of 2007*).

Seriously? Holy shit! Where the hell have I been??

I thought a jobs were handed out like candy? I figured everyone who graduates with a Bachelors is automatically handed one. I never knew you had to find them on your own! Whoda thunk?!

Oh boy! I guess I need to go read “Real Life for Dummies”. Aaaand so does this girl.

Ok, Seriously. I’m not that naïve. And if you believed anything I wrote above the line before this one you really should stop reading my blog. You're embarrassing me.

I know the economy sucks and I know I am damn lucky to have a job right now. However! ::ahem:: I fought, sweat, cried, screamed, crawled, and bled for everything I have achieved to this day. I was never handed anything on a silver platter.

I graduated with a 3.2 GPA from a prestigious college I busted my ass to get into. I landed a job straight out of college because I worked damn hard as an intern for them. I bought my own car and am paying for it with my own money. If anything I had to beat someone with a rusty fork to even look at the damn silver platter.

Just because you’ve got a degree and what arguably is a brain does not mean you are entitled to a cushy job. Work at Payless for a couple months if you have to. Or for the love of all that is holy, go sign up for an account on Monster.com.

She’s been looking for a job for 3 months? Big whoop. That kind of dedication reflects her 2.7 GPA**. I have friends who have been looking for jobs since the graduated LAST YEAR. I wonder how much they could sue our college for 15 months of stress?

My grandparents’ and parents’ generations say mine is lazy and we refuse to work for anything. You know what? I agree. We are not going to be handed big positions and rock star jobs just for graduating college.

Get up off your good for nothing, lazy, college educated, 20-something ass and find a god damn job on your own.

I’m just sayin’.

* I got these numbers from the 2009 Commencement Speaker for Saint Mary’s College of Notre Dame. You don’t like them? Well, screw you. Take it up with her.
** I’m not trying to knock people with 2.7 GPAs – just this girl.

Pack Rat and Purge

2009-08-10T09:52:00.000-07:00

I have no earthly idea if this sudden onset of sappy-face crap is because I've been alone for three weeks or because Aunt Flo sent her monthly present, but I've been really down all weekend.

How did I resolve this? By watching Dead Like Me on Hulu and throwing away copious amounts of stupid shit I have collected over the past five years.

While packing up my apartment (again) to move (again)*, I've run across a lot of above mentioned stupid shit I kept because I figured it was a way to remember all those "great" memories they are related to.

What the bloody hell was I thinking?! Do any of you know? OK, you can think about it. I'll wait.
....
....
....

Nothing? Seriously? What good are you?!

Jeesh.

Anywhoo -- as I have been tossing out all the faded pictures of high school friends, pressed flowers from dances, cheap jewelery from old boyfriends, and random trinkets that used to make me smile, I've been reflecting on a lot. Way more than you really want to know.

First off, I threw out my "Jimmy Box". This was the box full of things that my high school boyfriend gave me. He was the one I gave my V-card to. He was the one I dated for two years (in high school that equals eternity). He was the one who dumped me when I left for college (I'll blog more about that some other day). For any of you that ever had one of these boxes/relationships, you know what kind of milestone this is. I thought I would cry, chicken out, or even shove his "promise ring" in my pocket. I didn't. I was strong. And he is now laying is a Fargo landfill.

I also tossed out all my old planners from high school and college. I kept these because they were almost like mini diaries. Old memories and notes were scattered all through the pages. My friends wrote dumb things in them too like, "Ashley likes dinosaurs. And Jeney!" These were actually harder to get rid of than the box was.

I purged all of the cards, birthday banners, notes, and other random things most of my college friends and roommates had given me. I came to the conclusion that I have a lot of awesome memories from college -- and most of these things kind of bring back the bad ones. No need to keep them around.

Speaking of cards, I used to keep every single card that was given to me. Birthdays, Christmas, Easter... I even kept all of the "thinking of you" cards my Grandma would send me. I threw the two shoe boxes full of these out, too. I only kept my "going away to college" card from my family, the card the managers gave me for confirmation, and a card Little Shit gave me when he was in the 3rd grade.

I have purged a lot more than what is listed above. A lot more. Like, a pick-up truck worth. But I think those are the most important ones.

It's time for me to move on and become the woman I was meant to grow up to be.

Well, shit.

I'm Just Sayin' -- Self Checkout

2009-08-05T07:24:00.000-07:00

Are you ready for the glorious return of I'm Just Sayin' Wednesdays, bitches?!

---

I'm just going to come right out and say this: If you're going to get into a self-checkout line at the grocery store and you know you're a borderline ruh-tard, don't do it. Just don't.

Correct me if I am wrong, but I was under the assumption that the self-checkout line was installed into our friendly neighborhood convenice stores to expedite and ease the shopping process. Rather than waiting in line 16 with the puke-tacular couple that won't stop fondling each other, the Nanny 911 wet dream family with two full carts, and the awkward, smelly guy purchasing 20 Hungry Man meals and every trashy magazine with Megan Fox on the cover he could find standing in front of you, one can simply wait behind the kid with the Pepsi and Fritos in the self checkout line.

Lies!

I swear every time I get in one of those lines the idiot(s) in front of me stands there staring at the screen as if they have never seen a bar code in their pathetic, WalMart driven life.

Then they take their sweet time scanning each item as if the computer is going to overload and throw a tech-fit.

Don't even get me started on bagging.

I think there needs to be a Grocery Linebacker at the self checkout lanes. He'll weed out the ass-hats and save my blood pressure.

I'm just sayin'.

You can get a hooker and crack for a DOLLAR!

2009-08-04T09:22:00.001-07:00

Like any other typical 20-something living on their own in a state they’ve never been to in which they know aproximately one half of a person, I am dead broke. As a result, I bargain shop my ass off. (Litterally. I’ve lost about 3 pounds already.) You may be asking, “Why Jeney, where does one shop so hard they actually shed fat cells?!” To that questions, my friends, I have three words for you: The Dollar Tree.

The glorious thing about the Dollar Tree is that everything is, in fact, priced at one dollar. Unlike Dollar General where products are "generally" a dollar or the Family Dollar where you get the government version of “family discounts” – the Dollar Tree is true to its name.

I have been shopping at the Dollar Tree since I was a wee tike. It has recently been brought to my attention, however, that there are individuals in this nation that have not experienced the wondrous glory that is the Dollar Tree. Two said individuals happened to be my old roommates.

We ventured to the Dollar Tree before heading out for our 4th mexican meal that week. There, I grabbed some razors, shaving cream, and cotton balls ($3.21) then proceeded to leave the building where my roommates where nowhere to be found. Perhaps they are at the car? Nope. Perhaps the wandered into the used record store? No dice. The salon picking up girls? Absolutely not.

They were still in the Dollar Tree running around the aisles as if they were sex-starved seminary students in the red light dictrict. (Okay, so I guess four year olds in a candy store would have been a less crude analogy – but if you knew my roommates you would understand why that was appropriate.) They were absolutely astonished at the products that were available.
“Jeney! You can get a 25 ounce beer mug for a DOLLAR!”

“Jeney! They have whiffle ball bats and balls for a DOLLAR!”

“Jeney, if they have underwear in here I’m going to freak out.”

After a few ‘I can’t take you guys anywhere’s and ‘This is why we can’t have nice things’s – I finally pulled them out of the Dollar Tree. Of course this was only after one of them bought two pairs on sunglasses (for a DOLLAR!).

I miss having adventures with my roommates. They always made things interesting -- for a DOLLAR!

Just a lost soul... seriously.

2009-07-27T13:57:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned before, I recently started a new job.

In Fargo, North Dakota. (I know... absurd. Just go with me here.)

So after a 12 hour drive, brats and beer in Madison, Edward (new GPS) making me look like a retarded driver, and a sore ass bone later -- I moved into my new one bedroom apartment.

In Fargo, North Dakota. (Shut up.)

Grant it, I did move out of my parent's house when I was 18 and left for college. I was also technically "on my own" for a year before I moved in my my old roommates. However, there was always a friend I could bum a ride with to save gas or a family friend to invite a starving single 20-something over for dinner. Just SOMEBODY. Now, I'm all alone.

In Fargo, North Dakota. (Damnit all.)

Upon starting my new job, I discovered that I will not be receiving my first paycheck until August 15th. This leaves me with $85.47 to live off of for the next three weeks.

My TV set is sitting on a storage bin and I am using folding chairs as "couches". I also have nothing but jelly, hot dogs, and milk in my fridge. My cabinets? Coffee and peanut butter. I am officially living "on my own" for the first time in my life.

In Fargo, North Dakota. (FML.)

I't not even going to try...

2009-07-09T12:24:00.000-07:00

...and be funny about not blogging for so long because I am so thoroughly embarrassed by it.

On the bright side, I do have some good posts lined up for when I actually have internet access outside of my work place including subjects such as:

The codswallop that is my student loans.

Taking my roommates to the Dollar Tree.

Why I cannot do laundry if my roommates are home.

Interns and the stupid shit they do to piss me off.

My tenth tattoo (and the other nine that came before).

In other news, I got a new job! I am moving to North Dakota in ten days! More on that later.
Th-th-th-that’s all (for now) folks!

I wish it was April Fool's...

2009-06-12T11:48:00.000-07:00

I had every intention of posting a legit blog yesterday, but I found out late afternoon that one of my best friends from college was in a terrible car accident on the highway.

She hydroplaned while trying to pass a semi, lost control of her car, skidded into the truck and ended upside down in a ditch.

She is currently in critical stable condition -- but things aren't looking good.

Please pray for her, rub a Buddha's belly, light a candle, pour some liquor on the ground, or whatever your faith/spirituality/etc permits for her and her family.

Vic, Clint, and Trixie

2009-06-08T11:25:00.000-07:00

I’m baaa-aack!

And I have ~~absolutely nothing~~ a few things to report on.

First, I have decided to start my own business.

While catching up on the vampire porn that is True Blood this weekend, my roommate Vic, my friend Clint*, and myself were floored by the advertisements for Hung. For those of you who are not blessed enough to have HBO, Hung is a new series about a man who is down on his luck and decides to take advantage of his best “asset” and become a male whore (or “escort” if you want to be classy about it).

This, of course, let to a conversation about solicitation of sexual favors and talents that later veered into negotiations of my own escort service, Madame Trixie’s Escorts. (I mean, what else are we going to talk about while watching hot vamp sex and being teased about a man with a gargantuous penis?)

Currently our running rate is $500 a night. Clint and Vic are open to any role-playing or crazy fantasy – although waivers must be signed if it gets too kinky.

Secondly, I ran my 10k this weekend.

I finished in an hour, which averages out to about a nine-minute mile. I am extremely proud of myself, but in a world of pain. I feel like Vin Diesel railed me all weekend.

Now I can start training for my half-marathon. I am expecting that soreness to equate to being gang-banged by the Chicago Bears defensive line.

Lastly, we bought a pet this weekend.

He is a red Beta. He lives in an empty Patron bottle. His name is Paco. Be jealous.

* Names have been changed to protect those who have dignity left.

The Count of Jeney Cristo

2009-05-28T12:32:00.000-07:00

Hello. This is Jeney's fun-loving and loose-moralled alter ego, Trixie.

I'm the one who drinks her face off, curses like a trucker, dances in to oblivion, and enjoys her life. (aka - I'm the one who has time to blog and make your day more interesting.)

Jeney's the one who sold her soul to her place of employment, decided running a half marathon was a good idea, and goes to bed at 9:30pm. (aka - She's the one who blatantly ignores her blogging responsibilities.)

I am currently writing this from the depths of a prison-like crevice of Jeney's inner soul that bitch has locked me in. I'm stealing wireless from her office-mate and googling Alcatraz escape game-plans.

I will break free from this awful body I am trapped in, so help me God! And when I do -- I will return to you my darlings. Oh, how I miss you all!

Jeney will pay for this travesty. She will pay dearly....

I'm Just Sayin' - Just a Girl does Porn

2009-05-20T06:25:00.000-07:00

(Not litterally, sicko. Although I feel as thought she might not mind having a cameo someday...)

Due to the fact that I have no viable excuse as to why I suck at blogging lately (I promise I will start commenting and posting again soon!) -- I am passing the buck onto one of my favorites -- Just a Girl. I am going to assume most of you have already checked out her blog and are avid readers of it. If this is in any way a false statement you are officially on my shit list. (I'm just sayin'...)

Onward to I'm Just Sayin' Wednesday featuring guest blogger, Just a Girl. (She's linked twice here people -- no excuses now!)

***

When Jeney asked me to write a guest I'm Just Sayin post, there was no doubt in my mind what I was doing to write about. Porn! Partly because it's up there with puppies and cheese on my list of favorite things (I'm totally Ben right now), and partly because I have a LOT of things that I'm Just Sayin when I watch it. I'll keep this in list form to avoid writing a 15 page essay, and don't worry, it's SFW (red links are not, green links are). I'm nice that way.

First - Everyone knows this. There shouldn't be any talking in porn with very few exceptions. Generally speaking, if I have to look at people who look like this, I shouldn't have to listen to them talk. Just get to the humping please. Honestly, most porn stars sound like drug-addled retards. Because most of them? ARE. I'm just sayin.

Second - This girl can do whatever she wants. She's hot, and I have a crush on her personality after watching this interview. That pretty much never happens. Mostly I'm all, "Hey person who gets naked for a living? Please shut up."

Third - Seriously guys? I don't ask for much, but to paraphrase Michael Cera, I just want a little production value. Amateurs, you have an excuse, but at least try to hold the camera steady. And none of that zoooooom here's...something? I can't really tell because it's SO FUCKING CLOSE OH GOD WHAT IS THAT?! Don't do that. Just...don't.

Fourth - More of this. Just sayin.

Fifth - Seriously, I love you. Even when we disagree (must you keep allowing Evan Stone to be in movies?), what we have is real. It's long term. I might bitch, but you know I'll keep coming back for more. Just don't ever. ever. have the line "They really do fuck camels!" ever. ever. again.

I'm just sayin.

Bow down, bitches!

2009-05-15T11:01:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, a wonderful and beautiful blogger named Blondie was typing away in Qwerty-ville (a providence of the Land of Blog) when a Tweet-Fairy named Iva bestowed her with the Queen Awe-summ Crown.

Now, this honor is not something to be taken lightly. In order to keep her crown, Blondie had to list 7 Awe-summ things about herself as well as pass her crown onto seven other Awe-summ ladies in the Land of Blog. I happen to be one of them.

So without further ado, I give you seven Awe-summ things about Queen Jeney:

One. I have nine tattoos. You have to admit that’s just freakin’ bad-ass no matter who you are.

Deux. I went to an all women’s college. I am not putting down co-ed universities at all (to each his own) – but I have to say being a graduate with an education from an all women’s institution makes me awe-summ.

Tres. I am my mother’s daughter. ‘Nuff said.

Quad. I am a loyal and devoted friend. I will drop everything I am doing no matter what time of day it is to help a friend in need. This includes but is not limited to: taking you to the emergency room on my bicycle, letting you cry on my clean sheets about your douche-face ex boyfriend, picking your drunk ass up from the skeezy bar you passed out in, and helping you bury the body.

Golden Rings. I live with two boys. See #Deux and you’ll understand why this makes me Awe-summ.

Sex. I run for fun. Have you ever raced in a 5k? Trained for a 10k? Decided to run a half-marathon? It’s damn right difficult.

Se7en. I’m me.

Thank you! Thank you! You all may have a seat now. As apart of my duties as Queen Jeney, I hereby appoint the following lovely ladies as Queens of Awe-summ.

Just a Girl @ Mind Your Business

Jen Kuscak @ Welcome to the Jungle

Amy @ Rainy Saturday

Jennifer Alaine @ you'll grow to love me

Dani @ Daily Dose of Dani

Heather @ It is here for all to see

(Ok -- So I've only got six. Don't have a coup over it.)

I order all of you to go read their blogs. Immediately. With how Awe-summ I am you can only imagine how Ama-ziing these girls are!

Pwned.

2009-05-12T13:34:00.000-07:00

The man firewalled social media sites today. (and Pandora! Who does that?!)

I have no idea if blogger is going to be added to the list or not. (shit will hit the fan, damnit!)

I feel like I just found out Santa doesn't exist. (communist bastards.)

Stay tuned. (... because I have no idea when/if/how I'll be able to post again.)

I'm Just Sayin' - Round-Up

2009-05-06T12:06:00.000-07:00

I really don’t have anything worthwhile for today’s I’m Just Sayin’. So I thought I would follow Just A Girl’s lead and do an ADD version of I’m Just… Oh, look! A squirrel!

- Never, under any circumstances, should one wear pocket-less jeans.

- Anyone who drives in the middle of a two-lane road should be shot in the foot so they can’t drive at all.

- Dogs that weigh less than 15 pounds are not real dogs.

- I don’t care what the critics thought; Wolverine was a pretty kick-ass movie. (Ryan Reynolds and Taylor Kitsch eye-candy may or may not have had a lot to do with that.)

- Columbia pictures really fucked up doing Angels and Demons and the DaVinci Code backwards.

- Whoever thought competitive running was a good idea obviously never ran a race in their life.

- I’m really starting to suck at I’m Just Sayin’ Wednesdays.

I’m just sayin’.

(Soooo… anyone interested in doing a guest I’m Just Sayin’?)

Maybe Citizen Dog should speak at Notre Dame?

2009-04-30T10:16:00.000-07:00

I was perusing through my iGoogle home page this morning and found that the Citizen Dog comic for today depicts my exact feelings regarding this post.

Anyone for Citizen Dog as the 2009 Notre Dame Commencement speaker? Yea, you're right. Obama is way more controversial.

I'm Just Sayin' - Spreadin' the Love

2009-04-29T08:57:00.000-07:00

I absolutely adore Just a Girl (I totally have a friend crush on you), Blondie (you are one of the strongest women I know), Vic Eastwood (I never see you anymore), Scarlet Nite (you deserve better than Bomshell), the boys over at Cove Productions (never fail to make me laugh till I pee a little), Jen Kucsak (next time you go to Vegas, I'm coming with), Jennifer Alaine , (I have, in fact, grown to love you) and Dani (your enthusiasm for life always makes me smile) for consistently reading and commenting on my blog.

You all pretty much rock my world.

I'm just sayin'.

Behind the Eight Ball

2009-04-28T06:39:00.000-07:00

I normally don’t like doing meme’s or lists – but Blondie tagged me and I think she's a great gal and her blog kicks ass. So I’m doing this for her!

Also, I wrote this yesterday and never got around to posting it. So let's pretend it's Monday. :-)

8 Things I'm Looking Forward To:
- Spring and summer starting
- Moving into my new apartment
- Running a 10k
- Going to see Bon Jovi with my mom in June
- Getting a new office-mate
- Planning a solo-vacation
- Participating in a panel for a Bold Beauty Conference at the alma mater tonight
- Becoming a wife/mother (This is waaaaay down the road – but I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately)

8 Things I Did Yesterday:
- Ran the Race for the Cure 5k in 30 minutes flat
- Went fake-n-baking
- Cleaned the disaster that is my bedroom
- Took an unnecessary nap
- Attempted to finish my roommate’s crocheted slippers
- Officially moved out of the old apartment
- Re-packed my crap in the basement
- Decided I own too much crap and I need to get rid of it all

8 Things I Wish I Could Do:
- Drive stick shift
- Reach the top shelf of the cabinets
- Pay off my student loans
- Live in a state where winter doesn’t last from October to April
- Play the drums (aka Be a real rock star)
- Travel for work
- Run a marathon
- Think of 8 things I wish I could do

8 Shows I Watch:
- Ace of Cakes
- CSI (The original – I can’t stand Miami or NY)
- True Blood
- Grey’s Anatomy
- Private Practice
- Castle
- Lie to Me
- Sponge Bob Square Pants

8 Bloggers I'm Tagging:

I Got Bourbon Faced on Shit Street

2009-04-24T07:54:00.000-07:00

I would like to preface this post by making it perfectly clear that I am in no way shape or form a jersey chaser. I cannot stand dating or having any sort of romantic/physical relationship with them. I have tried it in the past only want to stick something sharp and metal into both my eyes. (I would, however, not be opposed to being a ~~groupie~~ “Band-Aid”.)

A ~~not so~~ long, long time ago in a world ~~not exactly all that~~ far, far away I used to be a college student. During this portion of my life, I happened to be a student manager for the athletic program for my alma mater’s brother school.

Now, their student manager program is roughly the equivalent of slave labor for Sri Lankan sweatshops. We worked preposterously long hours, rarely ever ate or slept, did not get paid, all the while striving to keep our grades up to avoid becoming academically ineligible. You may be asking, “Why on God’s green earth would you willing participate in such a scam?!” Well, we did receive tuition and book assistance, traveled with our teams, and had experiences no one else has had. Manager parties were also the sniznit. (Seriously – Lacrosse House and Hockey House had nothing on us.)

My junior year I was a manager for the football program. As a reward for being an outstanding ~~coach’s bitch~~ manager, I was granted the honor of traveling with the team to their bowl game in New Orleans, LA. Now, three things were certain about this trip:

1) The J.W. Marriot we were put up in was approximately one block away from
Bourbon Street.
2) We were each handed $600 in per diem when we got there.
3) There was a Wendy’s and a McDonald’s with 99 cent and dollar menus within
walking distance of the hotel.

Do you really need me to tell you where the majority of our combined $7,200 went?

While the whole trip was an absolute shit-show, I want to highlight one particular evening we spent on Rue de Bourbon -- January 3rd, 2007.

This splendid night in January happened to also be the night of the game. You know – the thing we actually traveled to New Orleans for? After our boys bent over and took it from the opposing team for sixty minutes of pure ass-whopage, us managers felt it would only be appropriate to get good and schmackered on Bourbon Street.

And good and schmackered we got.

In time, and God only knows how, my ‘wifey’ Slawless and I were separated from the other nineteen people we were with. Things were very hazy for me at this point, but I do remember us being at a skeezy dance club with the heavy hitters from the team. We apparently danced with one player in particular – we’ll call him Prince Eric -- for quite some time before taking refuge on a nearby (possibly disease infested) couch.

(This is where any semblance of dignity I had not lost in the previous three years of college goes right out the window.)

While attempting to reduce my vision to only two of everything, Slawess observes a random skank – we’ll call her Skanky McRando -- giving Prince Eric a lap dance.

Slawless exclaims her disgust: “Ugh! I know her! She’s such a slut.”

To which my outstanding and resounding reply was, “Fuck that.”

I proceed to sway up, catch my balance, shove Skanky McRando off of Prince Eric’s lap, and carry on giving him one of my own drunken erotic boogies. (Apparently it is unacceptable if Skanky McRando simulates sexual moves on our players – but it is perfectly fine if I do.)

I wish I could tell you how the dance went. Or how we ended up at a strip club at 4:00am. Or how I got back to my hotel room. But I blacked out promptly after, “Fuck that.”

Slawless and I didn’t get back to the hotel until 7:00am. I guess most of the other dozen managers were leaving to catch their flights at this time. Thank all that is good and holy my flight wasn’t until 3:00pm.

I did not sober up until I landed in Milwaukee that evening at 5:00pm.

Prince Eric was drafted that year to the Cleveland Browns. Mother was horrified. Father was proud.

Incase you were wondering, yes, photographic evidence was taken. If you want to see them you must give me your first-born child, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, and your e-mail address (or just your e-mail address).