Archive | Uncategorized RSS feed for this section

Not Quite Razzle Dazzled

22 Nov

On Friday, I decided to hop a Megabus to New York City.

I find it amusing that one of my old Lollipop Tuesdays (taking the Megabus) was the vehicle (Ha! HA!) for my new Lollipop Tuesday: seeing a Broadway show.

I’m so tickled that I’ve picked up a few noobs this week and so allow me to direct you to the top of this page where it says “What’s Lollipop Tuesday?”  You can click there if you’d like.  Or you can wander on in confusion.  The Jackie Blog is your oyster, noobs.

On to the matter at hand.  Having gone to one of the best conservatories in the country for performance, I have always felt like a bit of a fraud for the fact that I’ve never seen a Broadway show.    Well, I kind of saw one once.  It was called Lestat, and I went to a preview.  It was a vampire musical with a score by Elton John.  Allow me to repeat that: It was a vampire musical with a score by Elton John.

It was obviously awful.  There’s something about a vampire singing ballads that I just can’t get into.

I decided not to count it, for fear I lose my faith in Broadway forever.   Then, this past weekend, I scored some half price tickets to Chicago, which had, in my opinion, all the elements that one expects from Broadway: catchy songs, attractive (scantily-clad) ladies, and a whole big dose of pizzazz.  I was totally stoked to finally be seeing my first show and could barely contain my urine.

I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer, but I was underwhelmed.  Maybe it’s because the show has been running for so long, maybe it’s because the cast went out drinking heavily the night before.  Maybe it’s because I went to a school that had amazing dancers and so I expect cleaner lines and more energy.  I expect people to look like they’re having fun up there.  Especially on a Saturday night with a full house.

But they weren’t.  And so neither was I.  There were, of course, some good parts sprinkled in there.  But when the entire set is just the orchestra on stage and there are no costume changes, there had better be some damn fine performing.  Without anything to look at besides the actors, there’s nothing to distract me when they suck.  I actually started to get sleepy at the end of the first act and almost dreamed of the money I’d spent running back into my pocket.

But hey, I’m glad I went.  Very glad.  After all, John O’Hurley was on that night. There’s nothing like getting to see the guy who played Elaine’s boss in Seinfeld do a good Broadway tune.  

Speaking of which, perhaps it wouldn’t have hurt to have one of those leggy ladies do the Elaine Dance. Theater gold. ♣

Tags: , , , , ,

The Thrills of Adulthood

21 Nov

I’m excited for electing dental coverage with my employer for next year and that reality makes me very, very sad.

I don’t want to be excited for such lame things.  It makes me feel all gross and grown-up inside.  In fact, I drooled over my benefit elections for open enrollment like a kid in a candy store.  I got to shop for the adult goodies that I wanted to cash in on in 2012 and it was thrilling.  Medical, dental, retirement, tuition assistance, buying time off, and even child care assistance.

I don’t need that last one even a little bit but I still worked up a good saliva at having the option.

I remember back when I was a tiny tot, I looked up to an older friend of the family as a sort of role model for a short time.  I remember going out with her somewhere one day and her having to stop at the post office to mail out some bills first.  I thought it was so cool that she was so mature.  “Are you officially a grown up now?  Do you feel like an adult?  I’ll bet that’s so cool,” I said like a stupid little kid. She furrowed her brow and shot me a crooked, almost fearful smile.  “I guess you could say that – I don’t know,” she responded. 

She was a little younger then than I am now and I can only imagine how that inquiry must have made her feel; I know what it would do to me.

I’m finding that more and more often I’m excited for stupid little things that aren’t actually fun at all but I get thrilled for nonetheless.  You know, like adult things. 

Not those kind of adult things.  Stay with me here.  Things like dental work and finding a car with an engine that isn’t already waltzing toward the grave, or a cheap ticket to another city or good customer service.  I get excited for bargains and good budgeting and direct deposit.  I don’t want to like those things – but I can’t deny that I am truly thankful for them because being an adult sucks sometimes and when things can be made even slightly less awful it’s hard not to feel a thrill in the pit of my stomach.

I’m still being shocked by the reality of adulthood every single day.   There are all sorts of little things here and there that aren’t at all like I imagined them.  Or rather, I never thought to consider them so they take me by surprise.  Like when my brothers had babies and got bills from the hospital. I was shocked.  Shocked! It cost so much just to get a human out of your body.  That’s a serious medical condition, having someone in your body.  And you won’t get any help with it unless you can pony up the dough.

Of course, I imagine those things tend to take care of themselves even when unassisted.  But that can’t be pretty.

When people say kids are expensive, they didn’t just mean clothes and food and education.  They mean that having one in the first place requires you to take out a loan.

Maybe that’s why parents resent their children.  Man, everything is coming together.  You really do understand more when you’re older.  I guess I just that I thought when I understood it all, I’d be excited.  But I’m not, because it’s all pretty depressing.

Except dental coverage.  That’s pretty sweet.  ♣

Tags: , , , , ,

How I Almost Failed Postaday2011

20 Nov

Today, I almost brought a heart-shattering, epic end to the postaday2011 challenge here on The Jackie Blog.

As many of you know, this blog was fired up in January with the promise to post every single day until 2012.  At least, I hope most of you know.  I’m pretty sure that’s the reason you follow me.  If we take away the challenge, there’s no thrill; no fire; no sense of adventure.  It’s just someone blabbing on and on every day without end.

In order to succeed at posting each and every day, you have to accept that posting is the most important priority you have for that day.  That means that above sleep, above exercise, above food, above entertainment – above everything else – you must submit to the chains of writing every day.  Some days it comes without conflict.  I may not have anything in particular to write about, but I can usually pick my brain for something, dust it off, dress it up, and throw it out into the great, gray nether that is the magical Interwebz.  In fact, most of the times I’ve been challenged by the postaday calling have been related to lack of topics (or ones I feel like writing about anyway), not lack of opportunity.

Today, however, was a real problem.

I traveled out of state this weekend, and though I decided to post every day before I accomplished anything that was fun on my agenda, today I thought I’d tickle myself by waiting until the Megabus ride home and then posting about my surroundings.

Since that usually includes a loud-mouthed cell phone user, a rowdy group of hooligans, and an incredibly awkward situation with a seat partner, I figured it was blog post coal that could be fashioned into a rough diamond. But my bus was not a Megabus.  It was one of those charter buses: the red-haired stepchildren of the Megabus land.  Though it offers comfortable seats, a personable driver, and romantic mood lightning for the evening hours, it does not offer WiFi. 

Poop.

Given that the bus left at 2:30pm and would arrive back to my city around 10:30pm, I had one and a half hours to get to an Internet connection and post this bad boy before I’d have to crawl up in a fetal position under a cold shower and rock myself to a deep, dark depression.

And given that on the way out Friday we had to wait an hour extra at a rest stop while the driver figured out how to open the luggage

I can see the light. Must...keep...posting...

door, I didn’t have much faith in that 10:30 estimation.

After 10pm, nothing was going to be open downtown so I’d have to get to my apartment as quickly as possible – the best option was a bus, which is a shaky plan based on their late Sunday evening schedules.  What if I waited for the bus for 15 minutes, it took 30 to get to my neighborhood and then another 15 for me to walk to my apartment? I’d only have 30 minutes of leeway before I am completely and totally screwed.

I’m not going to lie: it was a close call, my friends.  At  11:30 postmeridian, I published a splattering of my cerebrum to the world of Interwebbage and breathed a large, deep sigh of relief.  I can’t even imagine having come this far in the year and missing a day.  When I think of all the times I’ve forgone sleep, disappeared from family and friend get-togethers, and scribbled down notes throughout my daily existence all for the sake of this challenge, I honestly think the weight of failure would be so great that I’d go catatonic.

Now, of course, all I will do is fret about the remaining month-and-some-change that I need to post.  There’s a lot of travel over the holidays.  And food and friends and family and obligations and expectations.  That’s a whole bunch of obstacles just waiting to render me catatonic from failure.

Things are getting risky indeed; here’s to the treacherous last leg of the postaday challenge. ♣

Tags: , , , , ,

The Yellow Jacket Saga: Part 1

19 Nov

I’m fighting with the crossing guard outside my apartment.

There are several schools in my neighborhood and there are some lovely folks that have taken it upon themselves to don a neon yellow jacket and help coax cars into stopping and children into narrowly escaping with their lives.   I love that they do it; I’m sure if I had a child, I’d feel much better about knowing that someone would aid them on their journeys.

After all, children are often too stupid to effectively cross the road.

But I’d like to think that they’re only there for the children.  They should completely ignore anyone who approaches them and is of their same stature.  Let’s go with a general rule: if I’m as tall as you, I can handle crossing the road as well as you.

But the other day when I got to the end of my road, the bus was stopped and already  loading on the corporate oafs. I was running ever so slightly behind and though I had neither the assistance of the pedestrian walk signal or the help of the yellow jacketed lady friend, I chose to cross the road.  Just as I ran across to catch the bus before it closed its doors and carried on, she yelled at me to not cross and stay where I was.  I, on the other hand, acknowledged that her jacket does not imbue her with the power to make me late for work.  I acknowledged that I was just as tall as she and capable of making this decision on my own.  

And so I crossed.

I chose to cross because I looked both ways, saw I could get across, and I freaking needed to get to work.  I crossed because I’m an adult and if I make a decision to travel  30 feet from where I’m already standing, I feel confident that I have assessed the situation for safety and am carrying on with all my best interests accounted for.

This made Yellow Jacket incredibly upset.

Having run across with little regard for the words coming out of her face, I made it to the other side and she decided to take out the bulk of her wrath on the poor turtle-like girl that was behind me and trying to follow my lead.

She stayed where she was.  Because she was a poor turtle-like girl and had not the spine for confrontation.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the street, the bus had reached capacity and the driver closed the door before I could join the public transit party – leaving me on the sidewalk next to Yellow  Jacket.

In situations like this, I tend to just stare at the ground and craft a dialogue in my head for my own amusement.  If you don’t look at someone, they can’t give you the stink eye.  Yellow Jacket seemed like she could rock a nasty stink eye.  So I stood and stared as  Turtle Girl finally filed in behind me and together we waited, both feeling a bit like we’d been scolded on the playground.

I’m thinking about buying a yellow jacket and competing with Yellow Jacket for that intersection.  I don’t now how crossing guard assignments work, but I can only imagine it will be an enjoyable altercation to be had.  She can make people follow the rules of crossing the street and I can try to talk people into freedom and liberty.  You know, if they’re regular-sized.   Pint-sized people follow the proper procedures.    I should get a cool crossing guard name.

Suggestions are welcome.  ♣

Tags: , , , ,

Tales from the Bus

18 Nov

Public transit is wearing me down.

As many of you know, the totaling of Dave’s and my car spewed us into the land of bipeds and buses until further notice.  That means that twice a day, every weekday, I am subjected to the anxieties and atrocities of the bus system.  I started out incredibly grateful for this mode of transportation, and I’m trying very, very hard to maintain that virginal appreciation.  But there are only so many times I can have someone else’s cell phone conversation blasted in my ear for the duration of my stay in the flying steel sardine can before I have to smack a ho.

Did I just say ‘smack a ho’?

I’m really sorry.  This whole bus system thing is just… It’s hard.  Okay?  It’s changing me.

I think the main problem is that I don’t like to be around people.  So putting me in a situation where my personal space is inevitably going to be violated well over fifteen times before I can get out of the situation is a recipe for disaster.  That, and I don’t like it when people’s leg fat smooshes up against mine.

You know? You know when you sit right beside someone on the bus or – worse, right in between two already-seated people- and your leg fat spreads out around your legs and touches that of those beside you?   I try to tense up my quadriceps to avoid it, but it’s a long way to work in the morning and you can’t expect someone who has leg fat to begin with to be able to maintain that kind of form.

Yesterday was particularly trying for me.  I intentionally waited until three buses went by after work so that I could get on a less

Absolute torture.

crowded one.   I got a totally awesome seat and let out a nice relaxing breath for my post-work commute only to be joined at the next stop by an enormous crowd of people who piled onto the bus for what I can only imagine was a just-announced carnival somewhere along the bus route.  Unfortunately the gentleman who settled to stand right in front of me smelled exactly like a portable toilet.

Exactly.  I could have bottled his skin dew and sold it to variety stores, it was so painfully accurate.

Just then, the woman somewhere to the back, left-hand side of me took a cell phone call that she felt absolutely no need to muffle her voice for.  I don’t mind when people talk on their phones on the bus so long as they’re as respectful as possible.  I like to assume that people would only make the choice to carry on a conversation if they really needed to or had a hard time getting in touch with that particular person.  But this lady was like, running a call center out of her bus seat.  She was putting people on hold, doing three way calls… she was tending to some incredibly important business regarding someone she lived with telling her how to run her life and her sentiments on that.

And the entire time I sat in my seat, trying to tune her out, trying to hold my breath from the toilet man, and telling myself: Don’t lose your shit, Jackie. Do not.  Lose.  Your shit.

I had to repeat this to myself under my breath as I stared at the stain-coated floor of the bus and dreamed of wide open spaces because it took everything in me to not give the call center lady a piece of my mind, the toilet man a power wash, and run rip-tearing through the swarm of people, throwing my sad slip of a ticket at the bus driver’s face, and pounding on the doors to please God let me out.

Man that was a long sentence.  Did you make it through all right?  You can go back and reread because I’m not going to fix it.  I refuse.

So anyway, I think I’ve reached my criminal limit.  That is, the amount of public transit I can stand before I do something criminal.  

I guess it’s a good thing the insurance check came this week. ♣

Tags: , , , , , ,

The Premiere of My Face

17 Nov

I don’t know why I keep getting deeper and deeper into all of this social media hootinanny. I got my feet wet with twitter, went wading with a Facebook Page, and now I dove in both feet on YouTube.

Try not to get too excited.

Per usual, it took me a long time to figure out how this newfangled business works.  But I got it.  And so I present to you an announcement in the form of my first YouTube upload.

Also, the premiere of my face.

Follow me on Twitter, Like my Facebook Page (link on top right of sidebar), and hey – come see me on YouTube.  I’m slowly taking over the world.  Very slowly.  Almost not even noticeable really.

It’s the small victories folks. ♣

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

The Times They Are a-Changin’

16 Nov

The blog is blue today.  Don’t freak out.

Are you okay? I don’t want you to get too worked up.  Take some time with it.  I know it’s shocking.

Today I have a pretty huge announcement.  Well, huge for me because I stay up until lets-not-kid-myself-I-didn’t-go-to-bed-at-all trying to figure out how in the hell to make a Facebook page.

I’m sorry to call upon the terms of Hades, but holy goodness it takes me a YouTube tutorial, written out instructions, and a few examples of other people’s pages just to get moving on the whole thing.  Not to mention I had to make an image in Microsoft Paint.  Let’s not forget how charming those are:

from "Plight of the Ginger Sperm"

From "Wrestling with a Poltergeist"

From "There Is No Jackie. There Is Only Mindee"

You get the point. 

Oh, I guess I kind of breezed over the whole “exciting news”. 

I have a Facebook Page! 

Like, a fan page.  Not just a Jackie page.  You see, when I wrote a post about giving up Facebook for good, I got a lot of grief from people who don’t want to subscribe but want to click on my posts through Facebook any time they please.  And since I think that’s kind of demanding and ridiculous and they think I should just take what I can get, I’ve decided to compromise by making a Facebook page just for The Jackie Blog.  Now my friends don’t have to get my blog tweets and posts and you don’t have to be my friend to get them. 

I like to think that everybody wins.

Except me, who was up all night fumbling through simplistic code and struggling with the reality that at the ripe age of 25, I’ve already passed the age of comprehension for new developments in technology.

They keep making my brain obsolete.  I have about 60 more years of that to look forward to.

Anyway, I’d be real tickled if you’d click that button on the top right of the sidebar and check out my Facebook page.  Heck, maybe you could even like it while you’re there.  I mean, if you’re feeling ambitious.  I’m not going to beg.

But there is a picture of a kitten.  And a cookie.   Listen, you should probably just go look.

At any rate, I’ve changed the background of the blog to something less… purple.  And I’m gearing up to change that header image soon.  Hopefully really soon.  You know, because I only have like… a month and a half to go before the whole gig is up.  If I’m going to give Yo Gabba Gabba the boot, I need to do it soon.

But it will be glorious, you’ll see.  And until I can make that happen, I’m just changing the background to blue and throwing a Facebook button up.  Because I want to ease you into change slowly and gently, like a compassionate lover.  I understand your struggles.  I have them too.

Which is why today I will be needing a massive vat of coffee. ♣  

P.S. If you don’t want to go all the way up there and click the button, you can just click here.  And if you’re a Twitterer, you can also follow my Twitterage here (also located in the sidebar for your convenience – remember – compassionate lover). Woot for the Interwebz.

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

The Art of Mixology

15 Nov

Hey, it’s Tuesday.  It’s everyone’s favorite day of the week here on The Jackie Blog.  Because instead of droning on an on about my cats or my preference of bathroom sink water over kitchen sink water or my discontent with adult life, I talk about something new I’ve tried.

If you don’t know the drill, check out the link at the top of this page called “What’s Lollipop Tuesday?”

I’d like to think I have a constant influx of newbies here that need to be told what Lollipop Tuesdays are.  Let me dwell in my self-constructed reality.

Moving on. This past Sunday, I took the plunge and invested in an alcohol mixing class.  Yeah.  Mixing alcohol.  They have classes for that.  It’s called ‘mixology’. Isn’t that wild?

I had structured my entire day around this 3-hour long course, set at one of the hippest bars in the city.  Because I’m incredibly anal and tightly wound, I called the morning of to ensure that the details I had taken down for the day were all still correct.  I tried to talk myself out double checking everything, but sometimes the crazy really takes over and there’s no stopping me.  And hey, wouldn’t you know the location was changed and the time was pushed back by  half an hour and no one bothered to contact me to let me know?

Things like that do nothing to cease the crazy.

Anyway I showed up pretty livid and fully prepared to give the teacher a piece of my mind.  What right does he have to run a class, charge a fortune, and then fail to communicate changes to that class to the attendees? I booked it two months ago! But just as I was all fired up in a mind-driven hailstorm, I was taken aback by how totally cool the thing was.

The thing.  You know, the whole deal.  The setup.

The new choice of venue had a huge wraparound bar, which was preset with mats, a variety of glasses, and all the cool tools one would need to make a killer cocktail.  There were pretzels, chips, glasses of water, huge televisions to watch when you didn’t feel like listening to where the drink “zombie” originated or about the tiki trend of the 70’s.

So. Cool.

It. was. awesome.

We learned three drinks, which we made ourselves all at the same time.  We did things like light oranges on fire and put twelve different ingredients into one single beverage.  We used fresh fruit, we made our own whipped cream – it was glorious.  The teacher had a great story about being a cocktail chef in Atlanta and so on and so forth.  He had drinks that won awards, and he placed well in competitions. And while I was happy to know I didn’t just throw my money at any ol’ fella with a cooler full of liquor and a black shirt, I didn’t really care about all of that.  What I cared about was that he was the kind of guy would come try your drink and tell you how to adjust it.  He would come over and sneak a little extra rum into your glass if you like a stronger kick.  This guy brewed his own coffee and brought it in canisters to be chilled and used for a super fantastic drink that was some sort of divine espresso manna from heaven. He even gave out his cell number to everyone so that if we’re at a party or the bar or even at home and we misplace the recipes he emails us after the class, we can ask him a question on the fly.

It’s always awesome to watch someone who is wrapped up in their passion, and even more awesome when they share it with you. Even if you have to pay.  In fact, for such experiences I will very happily fork over my hard-earned American dollars.

Now, don’t get me wrong – I don’t think I’ll be repeating any of those drinks.  They were delicious and lovely, but it’s all I can muster to keep Frosted Flakes and milk  in the house at the same time.  I sincerely doubt I’m going to be able to keep cherries, pineapple, white rum, aged rum, brown sugar, whipped cream, and an armload of other ingredients stocked for when I feel like whipping up a cocktail.

But it’s still totally cool to know I can do it if I want. ♣

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Things My Cats Do to Upset Me, or, The Case for a Teacup Piglet

14 Nov

Don't let the cute curl-up-and-sleep pose fool you. Look closely: she has one eye open.

  1. Even if I pet them for an hour, they will still ram their heads against my various limbs, knocking cups, books, and handheld electronics to the floor in their fervor.
  2. They always nest on freshly cleaned clothes if I don’t put them away immediately.  
  3. They can’t handle it when I bring things from the outside world.  Each item gets sniffed, snuggled, and batted around. 
  4. I’ve bought a myriad of cat treat brands to finally find one that Cat A will eat and another that Cat B will eat.  Yesterday I went about my usual business and fed each their respective preferences only to find that Cat A cares for neither now and Cat B likes them both. They have no respect for me.
  5. It is impossible to have a basin of water in the house anywhere without one of my cats seeking it out immediately, dipping its grimy litter-laden paws inside, and scooping out little licks worth of water to lap up for fun.  When at the dinner table, great precautions must be taken.
  6. When I’m sleeping at night, I often awake to the gentle gnawing of a cat on a plastic bag and it makes me want to tear my skin off. 
  7. They continually barf up hairballs and clumps of food on things they know I need the following day, thereby forcing me to take immediate emergency cleaning action, which I despise.
  8. Sometimes they’ll lie in the bathroom sink and refuse to move so that I can wash my hands, forcing me to pick them up out of the wet basin, leaving them covered in toothpaste and my hands covered in wet fur.
  9. When I get comfortable at night, they come lie next to a bend in my body so that I have to monitor my movements throughout the night to avoid clobbering their soft bodies with my monstrous limbs.
  10. The way they dig at the plastic on the litter box instead of at the litter. For ten minutes. WHERE DO THEY THINK IT WILL TAKE THEM?
Sometimes when I look at all these things together, I realize I’m living in a prison of my own design.  I also begin to lust heavily for a teacup pig, who would commit none of the above offenses. 
Unfortunately, my cats would annihilate it while exercising habit number three. ♣

He knows he's a monster. Don't buy in to the face.

Tags: , , , , , ,

>50 Posts: I’m the Little Engine That Could

13 Nov

For some reason, this image disturbs me.

I have less than 50 posts to write.

I’m pretty nervous about it.

Not nervous because I don’t know what to write.  I never really know what to write.  But about three months in, I had to have a long chat with myself about how I needed to relax and just write and not worry so much about the poo that came out when I did.

With 365 posts in a row no-excuses, there’s going to be some poo.

I’m actually just nervous that something will happen that will prevent me from posting one day.  I mean, I waited until pretty late tonight to post this.  What was I thinking?! I could have lost electricity.  My computer could have committed suicide.  My cats could have held me hostage.

I could have fallen into a spontaneous coma.

Every day, I’m threatened by a plethora of possibilities.  All of these things are threatening my almost-complete goal of posting once every day in 2011.

I don’t want to have to start all of this over again.  Can you imagine how awful that would be? Not that I don’t love you all and everything, but oh my good grief would that be just terrible.  I wake up in the middle of the night with my heart racing at the very idea.

What if I get in a car wreck and the nurse the hospital refuses to help me get in touch with someone who can bring me a laptop? What if she doesn’t believe I’m an Internet star and thinks I must have a concussion? What if I die?!

For the record, if I die before I complete these final posts, I don’t want this 2011 goal to be the basis of my funeral or my biography. I don’t want everything hinged on how I almost completed this one thing I set out to do.  

Then again, I can’t really think of any other solid goals I’ve made, so I’m not sure what else the biographer would write.

I’d like to think someone would write a biography.  Or do I have to pay someone to do that prehumous?  I’ll have to look into that.  Great.  There’s something else I have to take care of as this all winds down.

I might just lock myself in my apartment for the remainder of my self-imposed challenge.  That way I can severely reduce the risk of damage to my fingers or my brain.  That’s really all I need to keep going, here. I’m like the little engine that could.  The little nervous engine that could.  The little nervous engine that is huffing and puffing to the finish line.

Yeah.  That last one sounds about right. ♣

Tags: , , , , ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →

Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started