Moon Pie Explained!

I know you all are waiting with bated breath to know what my mystery "moon pie" post from yesterday alluded to. And if you didn't really care, can you please just fake some interest? Sheesh!

I was going to try to tough out the poison ivy this time, but as the day went on yesterday, I realized that wasn't going to be possible. The few spots I had on my forearms started spreading to my stomach and back. I was turning into one big whelp. I decided that after work it was time to visit a doc-in-the-box and get a prescription for prednisone. Good stuff: it clears that rash and gives you lots of energy. The downside is that in can cause some slight swelling in your face that gives it the appearance of the otherwise tasty snack cake: the moon pie.

The last time I had the ivy, I got a prednisone shot plus 6 days of the oral variety. Big time moon pie face. And luckily, it just happened to coincide with Pride. I swear there is a picture of me on the parade route where I am smiling and my eyes are completely shut. My face looked like those frisbees the Gay Yellow Pages hand out every year.

So, those of you who know me personally, if you see me over the next few days and I look a little, well, puffy, please try not to stare.

The future is inevitable

Warning: TMI Ahead

Ok, so I have poison ivy, and for only the second time in my life I might add. The first time was last summer when I got this brilliant idea to clear out our fence row of any and all plant life. Two days later, the yard looked great, but me? I was covered with a red bumpy itchy rash. It started on my legs, moved to my arms, then around to my midsection. Actually, it migrated to my midsection while on a 7 hour car trip to Columbia, MO. Poison ivy...not fun. Poison ivy while trapped in a car for 7 hours...really not fun. And yes, I admit, I thought I had contracted a flesh eating bacteria and demanded that we go to the emergency room at 10 o'clock that night. Chris said, "No, we'll take you to a doc-in-the-box in the morning." We arrive at said doc-in-box bright and early the next morning, and sure enough...poison ivy. Steroid shot in the behind, oral steroid pack, oral antihistamine...NEXT! She would have felt really guilty if it was a flesh eating bacteria though...

So, now I have it again. Chris and I were de-ivying our back yard this past weekend and sure enough two days later, I spot the familiar little red bumps on my arm. It's not as bad this time as it is confined to my arms and several little spots on my tummy. Ahem...well, there is one other place. Ok, people, I'm just going to rip it off like a band-aid...quick and virtually pain free:

I think I have poison ivy on my left nipple.

Girls, back me up on this, but barring an infection of the nether-regions, nipple itch is one of the worst of the female itches, no? Ok, so just take your everyday nipple itch and add poison ivy. Oh the humanity!!! Why must these things always happen to me?

Not too far off topic, but Chris and I were watching the L word last night. All I can say is where are these lesbians that have sex in limos and in the bushes upon first meeting??? I can tell you, they were not in Alabama in the mid 90s. The only thing I could lay was down, mmmmmmkaaaay?

In other more PG rated news, I took the hard drive out of our defunct computer and installed it as a slave drive on another PC. I was actually able to retrieve the data (aka our 2005 tax returns) I needed! You may not understand, but to this wannabe computer geek, it was an awesome feeling. I felt like high-fiving myself. And no, not in an attempt to surreptitiously scratch my nipple. Get your mind of my chest, people!

This post is about as random as it gets. Anyways, I have a date with some Caladryl, so I'm out.

Why turkeys don't have recording contracts...

One way I combat my otherwise boring drive to and from work is to turn up the stereo really loud so that when I sing along I can't hear my own voice. A word of warning though, unless you are sure of your vocal ability, turning the music down mid-lyric to see how you really sound is probably not a good idea. In my mind, I sounded just like that girl from Evanescence when I belted out:

"YOU NE-VER CALL ME WHEN YOU'RE SOOO-BAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

Instead, I sounded like a screechy wounded turkey. I seriously think I may have damaged a vocal chord while attempting to throw in some vibrato.

From now on, I'm crankin' it to 11 and leaving it there.

MLK Day?

Since when do we refer to the holiday honoring Dr. Martin Luther King's birthday, MLK Day? I heard 2-3 different news agencies use this yesterday. Jeebus, do we as Americans really have to make everything a cute anacronym?

Jeep is a four letter word

A really bad four letter word...

Yes, she was cold...can I gouge my eyes out now?

So, I was minding my own business this morning, pulling out of my driveway on my way to work. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a human figure standing on the corner at the house across the street from mine. I didn't think anything of it since there is a Marta bus stop in our yard (I know you're green with envy), so it's not unusual to see people standing there. However, as I pause to place my car into drive, my focus grows, and I realize that the figure is a woman who doesn't appear to be wearing pants. As I drive closer, I exclaim out loud, "She's only wearing her underwear!" When I'm right up on her, I realize that this woman is wearing a bathing suit and has no shoes on. She has a bag or something at her feet as if, indeed, she is waiting for the bus. Now, I'm a very practical person, so I try to rationalize this. Maybe she's going to the Y to swim, and she just couldn't be bothered with clothing? Is she training for the "Polar Bear Club," those crazy people who go swimming in the ocean in the dead of winter? Did she have a nervous breakdown while waiting for her carport and fence to be repaired after an unfortunate accident 2 months prior? These thoughts were really bugging me until I get an email from B stating a similarly odd situation. Apparently, on her way to work, on the corner of Peacthree and 14th, she saw a man in bermuda shorts, t-shirt, lei, straw hat, and sunglasses.

It all makes sense now: these two obviously have vacation plans in some tropical locale and are meeting at the airport. Makes sense in my pragmatic head, and I'm sticking to that.

mama's freaked out.

Tuesday, January 10, 2007, 3:55 p.m.: I blog about desire to have the dilapidated carport that has been lying in my driveway for over 2 months fixed.

Two hours later: I pull into my driveway to see a brand new carport.

Wednesday, January 11, 2007, 10:01 a.m. - I blog about my happiness over the new carport, and state that all I need now is a new fence.

30 minutes later: I get a call from the fence folks scheduling for tomorrow.

::Enter twilight zone music here::


Not to push my luck or anything, but mama would really like to keep her job.

what mama wants...

...mama gets. What did my little eyes spy when I pulled into my driveway last night? You guessed it, a brand spanking new carport. Dreams do come true, people.

Now, mama wants a fence!

What a difference 54 days doesn't make...

Mama needs a new carport.

Needed: Publix's Address

Dear Publix,

Just a suggestion: tortillas should be located in one of two places: 1) the Mexican food aisle or 2) the bread aisle. In this shoppers humble opinion, tortillas should not be located in a darkened back corner of the store by the cottage cheese/yogurt.

Although lapping the store 14 times dodging those god-forsaken SUV-inspired child carts was good exercise, it did nothing for my mental health.

Just a thought.

Jennifer

Needed: Karma's Address

Dear Karma,

I hope this letter finds you well. Please know that although I don't write very often, it certainly doesn't mean I don't care. We've had some interesting times you and me. Why, just the other day, I thought of that time that I drunkenly "borrowed" a pen from Joe's on Juniper. You said, "You rascal, I shall bestow upon you a rash of car accidents!" Three actually. I got the message, Karma...I returned that pen and the accidents stopped. Ahhh...good times.

I feel as though you have graced me with your presence once again. This morning I got a call from the VP of my company telling me that come May, yours truly may no longer be employed with this company. Certainly not what I expected on a Friday. After the shock of that call, I started thinking about you. And I think I know where this is coming from. Yesterday, I sarcastically referred to B as Socrates then proceeded to call her, well....a rocket monkey. Truly, Karma, it was all in jest. But in all fairness, I apologize for my insensitivity. B was simply asking a philosophical question, and I should have treated it with seriousness:

"Is TM night still called TM night when it is not at TM?"

I say, yes. I think TM night has transcended the specific restaurant we happen to be dining at. It's really about the social interaction.

About the rocket monkey thing. Are you familiar with the origins of the space industry? Monkeys were used in the late 1950's in order to demonstrate that humans could safely be sent into space. They were brave pioneers. Without them, where would we be today? See this Wikipedia article on the subject: rocket monkeys are awesome. While you may see it as an insult, it was really a compliment. Despite that, I do apologize publicly to B, or anyone else in her social circle who may have suffered from my comments.

I do hope you will take these sentiments into consideration while deciding my fate. I wish you all the best in this new year.

Humbly yours,
Jennifer

Oh Snap

That is all.

i hate change

since when are felt tip pens referred to as "pourous point pens?"

i appreciate the alliteration, but seriously.

wonderful

While ordering my favorite item at Moe's this afternoon, I was struck by how strange the words that were coming out of my mouth would sound if taken out of context:

"I'll take an ugly naked guy with a hard shell and pinto beans."

Funny stuff. I remember the first time Chris and I went to Moe's. We lived in Birmingham at the time and had never heard of Moe's. It moved into the space vacated by the ghetto Burger King that was close to my office. We decided to try it out one day. So, we walk in and are immediately unsettled by the counter attendants screaming WELCOME TO MOE'S! Then we looked at the menu and said, "What the hell is a Joey Bag of Donuts?" Actually, truth be told, I got a little excited because nothing sounds better to me than a bag of donuts, especially Krispy Kreme. KK, represent! And don't give me this crap about how Dunkin Donuts are better. Or how DD has better coffee. Who the hell goes to a donut place for coffee? But I digress. Long story short, we walked out of Moe's. It was too overwhelming. Years later, it's one of my favorite places.

In other news, I was told by someone at work today that I was "wonderful" because I fixed his Outlook. Does he know that I simply googled his problem, cut and pasted the fix in an email, and hit send? Follow along while I hash out the following scenarios:

Scenario 1: Jennifer kicks Bob's dog. Bob is mad. Bob either kicks Jennifer in retaliation or calls some some animal protection agency. Images of Jennifer end up on the 11 o'clock news above the subtitle: "Evil Lesbian Dog Kicker."

Scenario 2: Jennifer turns off pop-up blocker so that Bob can browse his "adult" sites unencumbered. Jennifer then kicks Bob's dog. Bob hugs Jennifer, professes his love, then hoists her on his shoulders running her up and down the street in an impromptu parade. Bob's dog is pissed.

I certainly don't object to being called wonderful though. I'll take what I can get.

Oh the humanity...

I just realized that while loudly streaming WHAM! on my laptop that my office door was cracked. Which means, that the nice Hispanic cleaning crew just outside my door now thinks I'm a complete dork.

I heard them laughing and whispering something that loosely translates to, "Wake me up before you go go, you triangle headed gringo...1986 was soooooo 20 years ago."

:/

random

This is completely random, but I just had to share. I work for an auditing firm, and part of my job is to take the auditor's meager attempt at expressing the human language in written form and turn it into something actually understandable to the average taxpayer. I don't get paid enough, believe me. So, I'm sitting here doing just that, and I come across an example of something that drives me absolutely up the wall. I thought I would share. Some jurisdictions refer to their account numbers as PPINs, which stands for Personal Property Identification Number. What I can't stand is when auditors write it as PPIN# 568493. WTF? N stands for number dumbass, you don't have to put the # after it!! Personal Property Identification Number Number??

The things I have to put up with...