The Jackie Blog

Pic by Joanna8555. Click to check out her Flickr Photostream.

I don’t trust grocery store bathrooms.

I don’t know why, but I don’t.  It doesn’t seem right – folks relieving themselves in the same place they get their groceries.  It’s like peeing beside your pantry.  It’s wrong.

When nature calls while I’m grocery shopping, it is only out of absolute desperation and necessity that I will resort to the grocery store restrooms.  They’re often scuzzy, hidden, and almost always traumatizing.

Yesterday I got out of work a bit late and Dave came as a knight in shining armor to pick me up from the evil soul-sucking corporate castle.  I was afraid I’d tried his patience so I dared not stop for a bathroom break before heading to the elevator.   But when the elevator reached the lobby, the slight thud of a stop it made bounced my bladder just a tad and it became evident that my pee situation was becoming higher priority than I anticipated.

When I opened the door to Dave’s metaphorical steed, he casually mentioned we needed some milk and might consider stopping by the grocery store.   I grimaced at the possibility of resorting to using the restroom there.  Tucked back behind the meat coolers, the one-toilet  deadbolted room was no party.  I imagined toilet paper strung up around the ceiling and a variety of gag-inducing messes strewn about.  No doubt the employees do their business elsewhere so upkeep isn’t of much concern.

But alas, as I was in the cereal aisle debating with Honey Nut Cheerios as to whether they really were America’s favorite cereal or if they were just saying that, I could endure it no longer: the bladder needed drained.

I cautiously made my way to the back of the store and there in the bowels of the meat department between the antibiotic-free chicken and the precooked ham steaks, was several stacks of soda can packs and the steel door behind which lied my fate.   I took a deep breath and tried the door to find it locked and heard a woman heartily shout from inside “ALMOST DONE!!!”.

I’m never sure how to take a statement like that.  I don’t want to think about the fact that she knows how much more she has in her and is approaching the finale.  I don’t want to imagine her rushing.  It seems stressful.  And potentially painful.  But I don’t want to yell anything back to her to indicate that we’re now in a conversation while she is doing her duty.

So I told myself she must have meant she was almost done washing her hands.  Yes.  That’s what she must have meant.

When she finally came back from the depths of the cove and into the harsh, bright lights of the meat coolers, she looked me straight in the eye, exhausted, and said “I was in there a while.   You know, sometimes that’s good to know.”

I admired her straightforwardness but was absolutely paralyzed with fear.  How could I possibly venture forth with such a certain doom?  But there was no way I could make it through the after-work grocery crowd, back to the metaphorical steed, and home in time to save myself from a very public, very wet embarrassment.

So I took an enormous breath and charged forward, hoping I could squeeze my bladder empty fast enough to rinse my hands, skip the drying, and bolt out the door.

That never works,  you know.

I sat there, rushing, heart pounding, breath held – knowing what was waiting for me – absolutely certain that every squeak of a breath let out was inevitably a puff of putrid air that would have to be let in.  I held and held until I could hold no longer and slumped my shoulders in defeat.  Eyebrows furrowed, face bright red, and eyeballs strained, I forced myself to release the meat department air in my lungs and replace it with “I was in there a while” air.

It was everything I thought it would be.

I’m considering a detox today.  You know, an all raw diet of sorts.  There’s nothing like a huge, lung-swelling breath of stale bathroom air to make your very genes feel sullied.

I need an apple. ♣

Tags: 365 Project, Humor, life, musings, postaday2011

The movie theater concession stand - selling disappointment at alarmingly high prices. Photo by "TheWanderingEye". Click to check out their Flickr Photostream..

Movie theaters have mocked me for the last time.

Yesterday I decided to bend over and take the Harry Potter ending like a champ at my parents’ local movie theater.  After all, I’d promised my dad I’d go with him and since he’s a hermit two steps away from swearing off any and all human contact, I felt it my duty to drag him out into the daylight.  Unfortunately, I was in a bit of a rush from place to place yesterday and failed to eat ahead.

‘Eating ahead’ is when you aren’t necessarily hungry at the time you eat, but rather eat because you know you’ll be hungry before  you have your next opportunity to eat.  It’s basic first-year Fat Girl coursework.

So unfortunately, I found myself about to digest a very long, very intriguing movie on a very empty stomach.  And though I almost always refuse to fall for concession stand inflation devilry, I was hungry and without defense.   I tried to make a somewhat well-balanced financial decision in spite of the fact that there basically was none -and ended up squelching my desire for a hot dog based on its $4.50 price tag and instead opted for nachos and cheese – which was just slightly less and seemed slightly more promising.

It wasn’t.  The nachos were terrible.  Terrible in that way that makes you feel filthy inside.  Like you’re gnawing on flavored cardboard that used to have something tasty in it but is now long gone.

I was in a bit of a predicament, as the  nachos were far too disgusting to eat, but that I’d eaten enough that I couldn’t return them.  And if I truly wanted any satisfaction I’d have to try for the hot dog or make it through the movie battling my hunger like Harry battled He Who Shall Not Be Named.

I was weak and sad and went back to the concessions to drop a few more of my hard-earned American dollars on terrible food.  I went for the hot dog, but was informed that they ran out of ones that had been cooked by a heat lamp and that the only way I could have one was if I wanted it microwaved.

Gross.

So I did it.  I paid $4.50 for a microwaved pig butt on a bun. Not even a foot long.  Just a plain old, stubby radioactive hot dog.

I was pretty disappointed in myself.  I should have just taken my money out of my bag, licked it, and thrown it in the trash can.  It would have been more satisfying.    But most of all, I was disappointed that I gave money to a business who does not have enough foresight to put an ample number of hot dogs on during at 1:00 matinee of Harry Potter.  Sell one, replace one.  It’s pretty straightforward.

When I finally threw everything away and settled in to the seat to wallow in my misery, I got slight pangs of excitement for seeing the previews.  After all, I’ve done away with television entirely and the only way I even know there are movies out there is if I get to see them at the theater.

Unfortunately there was some sort of silliness going on with the projector.  It flipped in and out on a whim and the sound didn’t play along with the clips.    While someone worked frantically in the booth to fix the problem, I watched a trailer for Planet of the Apes to the soundtrack of an upbeat teenage girl voiceover trying to tell me I could take college courses online in my pajamas.

It’s good to know that 15 dollars I dropped on crap food at least goes toward a well-run establishment.

But hey – that will teach me.  Stick to the old standard: make a queue on Netflix, watch them as they come, and visit Redbox to help squelch any sudden urges.

Stay inside, Jackie.  Just stay inside.  It’s safe there. ♣

Tags: 365 Project, Humor, life, musings, postaday2011

I think it’s time I get serious about starting my own business.

Like my own product line.  Yeah.  I need to start my own business featuring a line of products to address problems I face on a daily basis.  I assume that since my problems are universal in nature, they’ll apply to everyone and I will instantly make money based on the fact that by making products to solve my life’s problems, I am also by extension, making products to address everyone’s problems.  And even if no one is interested in my super awesome life solutions line, it doesn’t matter.  Because I will have solved the  most nagging problems I face every day.  It’s a win-win with the happiness factor.

Things like excessive underarm sweat.  I’ve blogged about it before and I’ll blog about it again.  I shouldn’t need Botox injections or the removal of my sweat glands to help me get a grip on sweat and finally enjoy summer.

Then again, as long as bathing suits exist I probably won’t ever enjoy summer.

I also have a slew of other problems that today’s product development is failing to properly address.   Like underwear that don’t look like granny panties that are also comfortable.  What’s so hard about that?  Or a nude bra that doesn’t look absolutely and terribly boring and sad.  Or a pillow that doesn’t lose its super awesome fluff support after a few weeks of drool accumulation.

What’s so hard about this?

The key to true happiness and complete satisfaction in life isn’t some hidden secret you only unveil when you’re 60 and wish you could relive life again.  True happiness is having things like garbage bags that stay around the trash can instead of falling into it with the goopy leftovers from last night.  It’s things like self-cleaning cat litter boxes that save you from having to clean up after your own cat’s feces.  It’s pot holders that double as oven mitts and pens that glide on paper but don’t bleed

Perhaps this is a sign of my (ever-increasing) age: the simpler pleasures in life. ♣

Photo by "ejhogbin". Click to check out their Flickr Photostream.

Tags: 365 Project, Humor, life, musings, postaday2011

I had big plans last night.   

All day long at work, I dreamt of what last night might be.  I had visions of wine and a lovely homemade meal.  I had plans to snuggle on the couch.  Movies were in order.  Laughter, relaxation – my contentment would know no bounds.

But instead I worked until almost 8, came home, surrendered to ordering a pizza, and got back on my computer to do work the rest of the night.  The only alcohol I came in touch with was a shot of brandy to shake the work out of me.  

I’m a classy dame.

After I took care of emails, etc, I took a glance around the apartment and noticed it was starting to accumulate signs of being lived in.  And since I dedicated my entire life on Sunday to making sure I could eat cake off the carpet without fear, I immediately got up to start cleaning.  After all, I have to work again tomorrow and then go to my parents’ house and somehow fit in a blog post and then spend time with the shiny, new baby nephew, and then I’ll drive back and come back to work on Monday and it will all begin again.

It’s an endless cycle of stressful doom.

I have to figure out a way to break the cycle.   I’ve got knots in my back so huge they’re becoming part of my bone structure.   When I lie down at night, I shoot up an hour  later and plug a bunch of to-do’s in my phone so I don’t miss anything and can sleep in peace.

Isn’t that frightening?  I’m not even married.  Or with child.  Or with dog.  

I’m thinking some super awesome vacation is in order, but on all accounts that costs money.   Even if I decide to spend the time in the woods,  I need to get a tent.  And food.  And probably rent a camp site.  And I have to drive there, which sucks since it’s more expensive than a gallon of milk.  I should just invest in a dairy cow, put it in my backyard, sell the milk to neighbors and use that money to go get gas.

At least then it would only cost me between 20 and 80 cents a gallon.

But I digress.   The point is that I unless my landlord suddenly allows the housing of large, dairy-producing farm animals, I am unlikely to be able to afford even the most rudimentary of vacations.  

I would think that if I’m stressed from working all the time, my working should permit a vacation of sorts.  But all working really does is point out all the things I need money for that I don’t have.  Heaven forbid I trot off into the sunset for a weekend getaway and the car finally heaves its last, strained, dirt-filled breath.  I’d have hock my camping supplies on the side of the road until I got enough chump change to put in a tow call.

I went through this line of thinking not long ago and set aside a jar in the corner of the apartment to collect spare change and loose dollar bills so that someday I can afford to go to Barcelona.  Or Ireland.  Or England.

But I got hungry one night and went to P.F. Chang’s instead.

So maybe relaxation just isn’t on the books for me in 2011.  Maybe this is the year of the go-getter.  This is the year of restlessness, of blog-writing, of day job success, of night hobby take-offs, of relentlessness.   This is my power year.  My year of the tiger. 

Rawr. ♣

Photo by "kimubert". Click to check out their Flickr Photostream

Tags: 365 Project, Humor, life, musings, postaday2011

Photo by "Rossell78". Click to check out their Flickr Photostream.

I can’t remember the last time I slept.

I’m sure I slept some time ago – I just couldn’t really tell you when because quite frankly, I have absolutely no idea what’s going on right now.  My life is currently being supported by a bag full of legal drugs including caffeine pills, energy shots, and a horde of Starbucks doubleshots.

I’m sure there were a slew of bad decisions that led to this, but mostly I blame my father, my birthday, and babies.

On Monday evening my dad needed a 60-page thesis reviewed for final edits.  And make no mistake: verbally guiding your average keyboard-pecking baby boomer through edits over the phone is no quick task.  It took a complete five and a half hours from start to finish and while I was more than ready to turn in at 4:00am Tuesday morning, I remembered I still had a blog post to write.

You’d think after  190-something blog posts in a row, writing one wouldn’t be something that has to make it on my “remember to do” list – but when sleepless, my idiocy knows no bounds.

I decided it was best to sleep at 4am and wake at 6am to write the post that would be published by 9.  I woke, I wrote, I went to work., and looked forward to tasting the sweet, full-bodied flavor of sleep last night.    Being my birthday and all, my work day was pretty easy to stay awake through with all the happy wishing and whatnot.  I left the building promptly at 5pm to be greeted by my wonderful Dave, who soon realized that the car would not turn over and take us home.

It mocked us.

It was a lack of fuel parading as a dead battery, and while I appreciated getting it started and finally heading home, I did not appreciate the sleep time it cost me.  I got home at 7pm with no time to nap before my 8pm birthday dinner date with friends.     One large dinner and several large drinks later, I went home to happily sink into the beautiful nest of pillows and covers that never looked better but was greeted by a text proclaiming my sister-in-law was in labor.  I called, I texted, I rejoiced, and then finally sank into my  nest of hibernation.

Until my brother and father mentioned that they’d actually prefer I be there in person for the baby’s arrival: an unanticipated notion given that I had planned to drive in this weekend to spend time with everyone.  I woke, Dave drove, I arrived at the waiting room at 3:00am, almost 2 days sleepless and chock full of every caffeine pill, shot, and drink convenience stores had to offer.

At 4:57am  in a full zombie state I helped welcome into this world a moist, pasty new member of the family and was crowned with aunthood.  I smiled, I rejoiced, I hugged, and then promptly noticed it was 6:05am and time to head back home.  Dave drove, I supported his efforts from the passenger’s seat, and we arrived at 9:45am, just in time for me to show up very late to work.  There, I will stare at my screen, click on emails, and ponder the intricacies of human language at a pace approximately ten times slower than normal.  At the conclusion of my workday I will virtually have been awake for 56 hours straight and almost entirely non-functioning.

Yesterday a friend wished me a “very blogworthy” birthday.  I considered it the best wish of all.  And seeing as how I’ve had a car breakdown, a birthday experience, absolutely zero sleep, and a baby delivery, I’d say it certainly came true.

If only she would have wished I also had the mental faculties at the end of the day to be clever about it all. ♣

Tags: 365 Project, Humor, life, musings, postaday2011