This is fairly typical. Scout standing there, boring holes into me with her eyeballs and Boomer lying nearby thumping his ginormous tail.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Check it out!
What It Really Means
It's my first online (well, outside of this guy) article! Written for my church newsletter, and perhaps a little small beans, but I'm kinda excited about it.
It's my first online (well, outside of this guy) article! Written for my church newsletter, and perhaps a little small beans, but I'm kinda excited about it.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Who'd a Thought?
Of all the things I never expected to overhear on H Street, a conversation about turkey burgers would be one. I was prematurely headed back from SoVa, my current haunt of choice due solely to its proximity, because a group of ladies decided to bring their work meeting to the table right beside me, and my headphones weren't loud enough to drown them out. When it's quiet as a library, what makes you think coming in and disrupting the peace is going to ingratiate you to anyone, I haven't the slightest. But I digress...
Turkey burgers. I'm walking down the sidewalk, and a guy is coming toward me, talking on his cell phone. The first words I catch are "my turkey" and "that's what I do with my turkey," and I think, well that's odd. As he's passing me, I hear, "Well, ya know, then I usually put my turkey burgers in the wahrma (warmer). But I messed around and served that Mutha F*@#er two raw-ass turkey burgers!" Although unable to suppress my ensuing grin, I managed to get passed the man standing at the edge of the Auto Zone parking lot before bursting into an audible guffaw. I didn't know the people in this neighborhood would even come within a two block radius of a turkey burger. However, they were raw-ass thereby making them Hood Accessible. Thank you, stranger, for my Monday bliss.
Turkey burgers. I'm walking down the sidewalk, and a guy is coming toward me, talking on his cell phone. The first words I catch are "my turkey" and "that's what I do with my turkey," and I think, well that's odd. As he's passing me, I hear, "Well, ya know, then I usually put my turkey burgers in the wahrma (warmer). But I messed around and served that Mutha F*@#er two raw-ass turkey burgers!" Although unable to suppress my ensuing grin, I managed to get passed the man standing at the edge of the Auto Zone parking lot before bursting into an audible guffaw. I didn't know the people in this neighborhood would even come within a two block radius of a turkey burger. However, they were raw-ass thereby making them Hood Accessible. Thank you, stranger, for my Monday bliss.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Yabba Dabba Doo
I seem to be morally opposed to taking vitamins if they appear in any other shape than Fred and Wilma Flintstone, probably because I took them as a child, and I remember the tart, chalky taste lingering on my tongue and lodging in my teeth grooves. The red ones and purple ones were my favorite, but if I had to suffer an orange or green, I suppose I made do. With my mother's brand of diligence however, we rarely took them daily, only perhaps weekly or however often she happened to lay eyes on the bottle and say "oh yeah, you guys should probably eat one of these." If I am currently iron and/or B12 deficient, I'm blaming it on the far from daily intake of Fred and Wilma.
My pregnant friend recently told me her nails were a lot stronger than before, and she guessed it was on account of all the vitamins she was taking. I felt a sharp, grass green pang. I should be taking vitamins. I hear they're good for you. So on my toilet paper trip to Rite Aid today, I took a gander in the vitamin aisle and found no box so appealing as the orange one with FLINTSTONES tattooed across the front in prehistoric white lettering. Fred was even there, looking ridiculously thrilled that I had picked up his vitamins. "Is this childish?" I asked myself. Should grown-ups take these? Would it even make a dent in my bloodstream, or would it be akin to eating a jar of baby food for dinner as opposed to an adult serving of pasta? Lo and behold, directions for both 2 & 3 years of age and 4 years of age & older were on the back. Score! as I do believe I fall into the latter category. They even contain choline, a pretty vital nutrient found in breast milk, and it could be the lack thereof post eight months out of the womb that accounts for rampant stupidity. Hooray for choline! Check. Increased mental acuity, here I come...
My pregnant friend recently told me her nails were a lot stronger than before, and she guessed it was on account of all the vitamins she was taking. I felt a sharp, grass green pang. I should be taking vitamins. I hear they're good for you. So on my toilet paper trip to Rite Aid today, I took a gander in the vitamin aisle and found no box so appealing as the orange one with FLINTSTONES tattooed across the front in prehistoric white lettering. Fred was even there, looking ridiculously thrilled that I had picked up his vitamins. "Is this childish?" I asked myself. Should grown-ups take these? Would it even make a dent in my bloodstream, or would it be akin to eating a jar of baby food for dinner as opposed to an adult serving of pasta? Lo and behold, directions for both 2 & 3 years of age and 4 years of age & older were on the back. Score! as I do believe I fall into the latter category. They even contain choline, a pretty vital nutrient found in breast milk, and it could be the lack thereof post eight months out of the womb that accounts for rampant stupidity. Hooray for choline! Check. Increased mental acuity, here I come...
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Bo-red
Boredom. Let's explore.
It's those moments of "life can NOT be this unexciting." In all events, it's raining outside, which gives me something at which to look. If I'm not doing anything interesting, at least the sky is. The thing about boredom though, is that even though I have lots of unsolicited time on my hands, there doesn't seem to be much I feel like doing with it. Like, I could have painted a mural today. Yesterday, I'm sure had I been so inclined, I could have cranked out several chapters of one of my books. Did I do so? Pssshhh, no. Instead, I watched TV, which by no means is a favorite pastime of mine, read a book I had checked out from the library until the words started to run together and my eyes drifted shut, and due to aforementioned drifting, took several naps and then played my Ukulele. But I am remiss: I did, indeed, accomplish one thing of worth to other people, but quickly gave up on going above and beyond, instead slamming my computer shut and walking back through the gray weather to my house to stare at my wall. This even led to spontaneous working out. Maybe that's the secret, folks. Bore yourself almost to death, and then you'll start exercising just for something to do. New workout regiment? Done.
Sigh. It's official. I'm a bum.
It's those moments of "life can NOT be this unexciting." In all events, it's raining outside, which gives me something at which to look. If I'm not doing anything interesting, at least the sky is. The thing about boredom though, is that even though I have lots of unsolicited time on my hands, there doesn't seem to be much I feel like doing with it. Like, I could have painted a mural today. Yesterday, I'm sure had I been so inclined, I could have cranked out several chapters of one of my books. Did I do so? Pssshhh, no. Instead, I watched TV, which by no means is a favorite pastime of mine, read a book I had checked out from the library until the words started to run together and my eyes drifted shut, and due to aforementioned drifting, took several naps and then played my Ukulele. But I am remiss: I did, indeed, accomplish one thing of worth to other people, but quickly gave up on going above and beyond, instead slamming my computer shut and walking back through the gray weather to my house to stare at my wall. This even led to spontaneous working out. Maybe that's the secret, folks. Bore yourself almost to death, and then you'll start exercising just for something to do. New workout regiment? Done.
Sigh. It's official. I'm a bum.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Things Jenn Does Not Like To Do
Oh, on this list, there is many a thing, but today, I'd like to focus on just one. Grocery shopping. One of the banes of my existence. Not sure one can have more than one bane, but I say you can and I do. Having to do my own grocery shopping is one of the many, MANY reasons adulthood does not recommend itself to me. I'm sure there are many pros about being an adult; independence, self-sufficiency, being able to rent a car, etc. However, I find most of these over rated and one of the few things adulthood does have to offer that I'm looking forward to, I currently don't get to participate in. Draw your own conclusions.
This idea of pushing a squeaky-wheeled buggy (yeah, that's what I said because that's what it's called) through aisles and aisles of pre-packaged food product, agonizing over whether or not shaved and vacuum-sealed sandwich meat is really worth the dollars pasted on it's price tag, is utterly ridiculous. Who came up with these flourescent lit, warehouse sized refrigerators that consistently pipe bad lite rock out of the speakers as if having to buy stuff there to survive isn't bad enough on it's own without having to listen to Huey Lewis and the News for half an hour? It is NOT hip to be square but it would be very hip to be wielding a buggy that didn't sound like a caboose clacking down train tracks with every trip down an aisle.
In case the previous paragraphs weren't clear, I HATE this task. Even when it is completed, I look in my fridge a few days later only to find that I still have nothing to eat save a sweet potato and bread crumbs. How do these things happen? Because I'm pretty sure I just bought about $50 worth of brilliant food product in hopes of becoming the next Wolfgang Puck, and suddenly it's as if the basement nymphs snuck in during the night and ate all of my food. Bring back my Oreos, ya little punks! I'm craving them now, so I must have picked some up at the Edibles Asylum.
This idea of pushing a squeaky-wheeled buggy (yeah, that's what I said because that's what it's called) through aisles and aisles of pre-packaged food product, agonizing over whether or not shaved and vacuum-sealed sandwich meat is really worth the dollars pasted on it's price tag, is utterly ridiculous. Who came up with these flourescent lit, warehouse sized refrigerators that consistently pipe bad lite rock out of the speakers as if having to buy stuff there to survive isn't bad enough on it's own without having to listen to Huey Lewis and the News for half an hour? It is NOT hip to be square but it would be very hip to be wielding a buggy that didn't sound like a caboose clacking down train tracks with every trip down an aisle.
In case the previous paragraphs weren't clear, I HATE this task. Even when it is completed, I look in my fridge a few days later only to find that I still have nothing to eat save a sweet potato and bread crumbs. How do these things happen? Because I'm pretty sure I just bought about $50 worth of brilliant food product in hopes of becoming the next Wolfgang Puck, and suddenly it's as if the basement nymphs snuck in during the night and ate all of my food. Bring back my Oreos, ya little punks! I'm craving them now, so I must have picked some up at the Edibles Asylum.
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