The Jackie Blog

You aren’t even halfway through the work week.   You’ve just started  up.  You haven’t the fresh outlook of Monday or the hopeful hump of Wednesday.  But by golly, you can take solace in the fact that it’s Lollipop Tuesday.

Happy Lollipop Tuesday, ya’ll.

Once, many moons ago, I wanted very badly to have a fancy evening out with David, even though I knew it wasn’t a good fit for the budget at the time.  But work was exhausting and it had been a long time since we had time out together, so I stubbornly forged ahead and went to the nicest Japanese steakhouse and sushi bar in the city.

For a girl who’s car muffler is currently being held up by a wire coat hanger, this was a poor choice.

We dressed up and joined a table for hibachi, and just for one evening, pretended that money meant nothing.  When it was time for the check, the waitress informed everyone at the table that our check had been covered  by a gentleman who was sitting with us and that we could leave whenever we were ready without paying.   

It blew my mind.

So last evening, I went to my favorite restaurant to pay it forward (thanks to “Ker-bear” for her suggestion on the “What’s Lollipop Tuesday?” page).  I settled in to a booth in the busiest section and scoped out my clientele.  And in the corner I found a middle-aged couple who looked like they were out for a relaxing evening together.  They also looked quite grumpy.

I liked to imagine that they were grumpy because they didn’t want to pay for their food and that someone taking care of the check for them would make them fall in love with each other again.

I have a vivid imagination.

So I asked my waitress if she could transfer their bill to mine and just not let them know who I was.  She was more than happy to and when they asked for their check, she coyly answered that it had been taken care of and walked away.

Enter mass confusion.

I watched from the corner of my eye as they sat there with confused smirks, wondering if there was something wrong with the food.  Or perhaps there was someone in the restaurant they knew and they were supposed to look around and notice them.   Or maybe they heard the waitress wrong.

After stewing on it for a while, the gentleman got up to question the waitress and ask if he could know the identity of the benefactor.  She said she was sworn to secrecy and that she was sorry that she could not reveal the source.  He gave up on trying to figure it out, grabbed his significant other, and left the establishment.

I peaked out the curtain to see them walk away, dazed, confused, and sporting crooked smiles.

In retrospect, I should have passed them a handwritten note that their meal had been paid for and that it was for no reason whatsoever other than to brighten their day and encourage them to pay it forward.  Or heck, even just a “pay it forward and have a nice day” would have been a great script for the waitress.

But I did nothing.  I planned nothing.  It was so unorchestrated and sloppy.

I hope that they enjoyed the experience.  Looking back, I would have changed the way things played out, but hey – I’m just a critical gal.   And Dave said the waitress was elated to be part of the process so even if I was convinced that the couple wasn’t quite as affected as I would have liked, I could take comfort in the fact that her night was perked up by the experience.

Regardless, this whole thing got me thinking: this is a great kickoff to my 25 Random Acts of Kindness, as suggested by bridgesburning on my post from the other day on finding a way to celebrate my quarter century milestone.  

This past weekend I made chocolate chip cookies to my sister-in-law, who is very pregnant and has been craving them (discovered via Facebook), but hasn’t had the energy or willpower to make them for herself.  That’s one. 

Random dinner is two.

Today will be three.

And in the 22 days that occur between now and my birthday, I will complete exactly 25 Random Acts of Kindness before I hit my milestone.  Feel free to offer suggestions.  Feel free to try one yourself.

Yee haw. ♣ 

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

I will never be a model.

I say this not because I’m overweight (which I am) or because I’m too unattractive (which is also likely) but because today I endured a two-hour photo shoot and I enjoyed no part of it.

Let’s back up.  Today, I was at a photo shoot because I needed some updated headshots.  For anyone who doesn’t know what they are, think of them as business cards for actors.  It’s a way for the director to remember your face once you’ve left the audition and it’s time to cast.  Or sometimes, it’s a way for folks to give you a call when they’ve never met you just because someone showed them your headshot and you look like the person they might want to use.

It’s complicated.

Anyhow, it’s been a while since I’ve had any professional ones done and today was the day.  I refuse to run another fall audition circuit with a headshot that I know isn’t up to par.  So today I moseyed across town to hook myself up with the city’s best headshot photographer.    Let’s call her CheeChee.

Man, did CheeChee hit me with a nice dose of reality.

The very first thing she said when I sat down in the makeup chair was “what are we going to do about that eye?”

For those of you who may not have read my post on my problems with my eye, feel free to catch up here.  But if you want to skip all that, suffice it to say that I have an eye that is noticeably smaller than the other.  It’s somewhat noticeable day-to-day, very noticeable when I smile, and downright glaring in photographs.

"Quasimodo" by Roberto Mangosi - Click the image to check him out at Toonpool.

I didn’t have an answer for her.  Naturally.  Given that I was born with an asymmetrical eye, it didn’t really occur to me that I had any options. Thank heaven I had already written a post to make peace with said eye problem or by golly her just blurting it out like that would have given me a hard time.  CheeChee spent the rest of the makeup session working to camouflage it.  Deep shadow on one, light on the other.  Curl the lashes on one, don’t on the other.  Line the bottom of one, don’t the other.  The light the living bejeezus out of my right side and pray to God I don’t look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame in the prints.

At one point she said “well – soon they’ll have some sort of surgery to correct it, I’m sure.”

Very comforting, CheeChee.

It was a rough day.  I didn’t realize how exhausting it can be to just have someone take pictures of you.  But then again – I’ve never been given such specific directions.  In each photo, I was attempting to accomplish a variety of tasks, mandated to me by the Cheester.  Straighten my back leg, bend my front leg, flex one arm and put it on my hip, bring the other arm softly to the front.  Turn head toward window, look at camera, chin up, cock head, and throw out a pleasant smile.

A pleasant smile is pretty difficult to muster with all that other business going on behind the scenes.

But that wasn’t enough for CheeChee.  Unhappy with how my eye was turning out under pressure, she decided to ask me to correct it.  As in – close one eye slightly so that it matches the mutation of the other.  All while keeping the other completely wide, one arm stiff, one arm soft, one leg straight one leg bent, my face toward the window, chin up, and with a cocked head.

And of course, I had to smile.

But not too much.  When I smiled too much, the eye became very evident and my horse teeth started to show.  At least they must look like horse teeth because when I smiled “with teeth” per CheeChee’s command, she instantly grimaced and asked me to show less teeth.

There’s nothing like faking a fake smile.

So I’ve decided – I can’t possibly be a model.  I left the place with a raging headache and only a modicum of hope for my future.  If anyone ever did want to use me for print work, I’d have to let them know that it takes about 200 shots to get one where I can squint with one eye while keeping the other perfectly open and achieving whatever they want me to do with my body will be entirely secondary from stopping my face from falling back to its natural Quasimodo state.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom mirror and begin my daily affirmation.

“I am not a monster.  I am not a monster.  I am not a monster.” ♣

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

I have begun the slow march to my quarter-century celebration.  

In less than one month, I will officially be in my mid-20’s.  Like, right on the dot.  Bam – mid 20’s.   At 24, one can argue early 20’s.  They’re pushing it, but they can at least try.  At 25, one has no excuses.  I will be smack dab in the middle of 20 and 30.  

I should probably do something amazing to finish out this first quarter.  Even if I live to be one hundred years old, there’s no escaping the fact that I’m finishing up the first leg.  If this were a marathon, I’d have to hand over the baton to the next runner.  

I don’t have any big plans.  Thanks to this Lollipop Tuesday madness, I’ve accomplished quite a few things that I would never have done before.  I can’t tell you how many years I’ve wanted to go ice skating but have been to afraid to try.   

At least I can check that one off.

Photo by "The Shopping Sherpa". Click the image to go to their Flickr PhotoStream

I ordered a drink the other night and one of my freshly graduated friends celebrated the fact that I carded.  He was elated.  He thought I would be too until he realized that celebrating my getting carded for me is kind of an insult.  I had to explain to him that since I wasn’t exactly 60 years old, getting carded was still kind of something I expected.  You know, being within 3 years of the legal drinking age and all.

When I greeted a visitor at work the other day, I was forced to make small talk until my boss was ready to take the meeting.  Part of the small talk was the visitor asking me if I had kids.    

What? Do I have kids?  I don’t even know what to say to that.  I had Frosted Flakes for dinner last night.  No.  I don’t have kids.  

So since society is going to go ahead and move me along in age and expectation, I should probably do some big, awesome act of rebellion.  Or celebration.  Or something. I should accomplish something huge, or go do something fantastical.  I’d go backpacking in Europe but I’m not likely to muster up that kind of dough without overnight blog fame or a hefty donation from a relative I have yet to meet.   And I’d imagine my boss would need just a bit more heads-up on that one.  

Maybe I could whip up a book real quick.  Or hurry up and start my own small business with zero money.  Or begin construction on my puppy amusement park.  Maybe I could do a bunch of craft projects I’ve always wanted to try or maybe I could just withdraw all my money from my savings, kill a man, and drive to Mexico.

Maybe not that last bit.

But you get the idea.  So here we go – I’m up for suggestions.  What should I hurry up real quick and do to finish out my first quarter of life like a real champ?  We should probably steer clear of things that are illegal or costly.  Pretty much anything else is up for grabs.   Hey, maybe that will be my fantastical act.

“When I turned 25, I put my fate in the hands of strangers”.  ♣

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