Ain’t no Thanksgiving like a Jenny On the Spot Thanksgiving!

It was one year ago that the Seattle area was hit with what we “survivors” call, SNOWMAGEDDON 2010. I wrote about my husband’s harrowing 8 hour commute home here.

BUT WHAT I NEVER TOLD YOU ABOUT WAS THE POOP.

Nor the wreck.

Nor the frozen well head…

Last November the greater Seattle area was eaten-up by a snowstorm.

We happen to live on a hill. Steep-like. Outside the city limits. With a septic system and a well.

We lost power.

So we lost water.

And heat.

And also the ability to flush the toilets.

For 3 days.

Oh, um… and it was the week of Thanksgiving.

The first night without power, we toughed it out in a house that hit 40 degrees. We high-tailed it out of our house the next morning to get coffee and some food. On our way we hit ice and a BMW.

We ran into friends (not their car) at the store after our accident. They invited us over. We accepted.

For two days.

*Waves to Stacey and Jason*

They are SAINTS, by the way.

And they moved this summer. *pouts* Now we need to find other suckers next time we lose power.

My friend Lisa’s (Blozulfog) husband was stuck in Seattle… she was stuck in her own “podunk granola-town, every road is a hill-o-death” hell… so my husband went to pick up her, her kids and her 2 teenage boy exchange students on the corner of some country road due to steep roads with ice limitations (see crash with BMW above).

Somewhere during this time we got power back… YAY!!!! HEAT!!!

But no water.

BOOOO.

WHY???

Frozen well head, friends. Frozen.

Hitherhencetofore we had no flushing… so my husband set out to defrost the well head with a space heater and a trash can:

AND IT STINKIN’ WORKED.

But not before everyone … well… anyone who had to poo… had to poo in a bag… fashioned to the toilet.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

Even the German teenage exchange student had to ask his host mom (Lisa) how to affix a plastic grocery bag onto a toilet seat so he could make brown.

This is the stuff of life.

Fortunately… the well-head defrosted (no pipe damage – YAY!) in time to get our flush and dishwashing ON… And in time to cook a fabulous Thanksgiving meal… served on paper plates.

I am such a class act.

I will never take a pilgrim for granted ever again.

Indoor plumbing, well head defrosting hacks, and paper plates — FTW!!!

*Unrelated but IMPORTANT and COOL – North Star Games is giving $1000 to my the charity of my choice - Children of the Nations!!! As a little thank you on my behalf, would you mind popping over to their their Say Anything Facebook game (right here)? The have a fun little game going… They asked a few of us if we could train a monkey to do anything – what would it be?  Head there to see what I would train a monkey to do, and your answer choice will enter you for a chance to win an iPad!

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I’m remembering that one time my guests had to poop in a bag on my toilet… is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

A right of passage in childhood is having one’s mom bring birthday goodies to class.

Me, not being one to rob rights of passages from my children, I dared take cupcakes to Olivia’s class – Hot Chocolate Cupcakes.

{recipe here}

{But I used a box mix and canned frosting}

{And Stacey and Nadine’s candy canes, because they are givers}

I think this story would best be told in a VLOG… (if you click on the image it will take you to YouTube. Either the embed code isn’t working or the embed code isn’t working… Go here for an explanation on words like embed).

Aaaaanywho. Now that the blood has become scab… wanna REALLY see?

I woke up the morning after with a limp.

Big scabs aren’t all that BENDY. So going down stairs has been all kinds of creative fun.

You know what else? I am in a fashion show in about a week.

STOP LAUGHING.

Perhaps I am more “show” than “fashion”, but no need to laugh.

I just got my assigned clothing… hours before my big fall.

A DRESS.

The hemline is ABOVE MY KNEES.

Read: THE SCAB WILL SHOW.

Not to mention the fact I may or may not be the best at NOT FALLING.

Bright side: great blog content.

Do you remember The Great Fall of 2010?

So much.

I am 5 foot not-quite 4 inches.

And I wear sometimesasize10shoe.

Have you ever tried walking with flippers on???

WELCOME TO MY LIFE.

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Hey. You looking for a cool $100 to Shutterfly? Check out my review site to find out how and learn about the new Sprite Parks Project!

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Pretty much earned my super mom cape… and a limp. is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

My Huz and I had a little conversation today yesterday. Time flies, no?

We talked about our independent spirits… if you will.

Basically, we both have a hard time with not being in supreme power delegation. We both agree, it is a pain in the butt to have to coordinate with others. It feels like more work to share decision-making.

It’s not that we are lazy, it’s that we are in a hurry. Not to mention, we both like being the boss. Takethatasyouwill.

I am anything but co-dependent. Unless it comes to the trash. I co-depend on him to take the garbage to the road. Our drive is steep and 2 football fields long plus 100 feet. I am smart enough to know when delegation is smart… and the lawn. I co-depend when it comes to mowing the lawn too.

Not that I CAN’T do these things… it’s that I am so sweet and dainty. Demure, even…

Shut up.

So.

Mid convo, I blurted, “So THAT is why We are so great together!”

It seems we are so consumed by our own projects and roles and whathaveyou, that we are both thankful neither is uber-needy/co-dependent/cling-ish. I can leave the man for 5 days and he’s right as rain. Whatever THAT means.

He can climb deep down into his man-cave and it’s fine – I haz gots things to do… and I’m not talkin’ laundry, yo. Though I do have that to do, but that is not the to-do I am talkin’bout heeya. I have a blog. So…

Though we do LIKE to spend time together, even LONG to spend more time together… we have come to a place where it’s not personal that we are not each others’sses (???) shadow.

And the time we DO co-depend? Well… It’s magical…

[photo cred: Mark Gsellman]

Wait. Here’s the picture I was looking for:

[photos cred: Scott Snyder]

We are like Captain and Tenille! Wait… Wilma and Fred! Wait… Debbie Boone and Aaron Neville!

You Light Up My Life from Jenny Ingram on Vimeo.

Nitro and Glycerin? Wrong and Wronger???

*A special thanks to Scott Bue for capturing this on video. And to all the people at Lisa’s party – first my huz as Aaron Neville then in Michelle’s disco outfit. I am still shaking my head… A night to never forget, indeed… And a night to wash-out one’s ears and, and then one’s eyes…

Baby. I co-depend on you. Sometimes.

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Mr. and Mrs. Independent is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

It’s true.

I totes talk to myself.

Out loud.

Like, in public.

Or even not in public.

And honestly? I don’t know which is creepier.

Case-in-Point #1: Thursday evening at home… 5 minutes into my intent to go to sleep, my rememberer fired. “OMG DID YOU ADD THE HOMEPAGE TAGS FOR FRIDAY???!!!” (for the record, I thought that in ALL CAPS. But that’s another post).

Not that you have any idea what my thought meant (Tarrant, you do… Erin, you do – xoxo to you both!)… Aaaaanywho. It was 12:38 a.m. Since I live on West Coast time I have until 3 a.m. to complete my stuffsesses. And I really only needed 5 minutes… theory.

So. I SHOT out of bed. Left my glasses behind (because I am made out of all kinds of smart), and headed down the stairs in the dark, essentially blind, except for my keen sense of… or…

My quads were also really, really sore… Like REALLY sore…

To break it down: down the stairs + in the dark + blind + a serious gimp + panick = it’s amazing I didn’t ….

It has recently been called to my attention that I don’t finish my sentences. I don’t know what she is talking

P.S. I am afraid of the dark. Don’t tell my kids, but I do believe in boogey men.

Did I digress?

That’s strange. I don’t usually digr

Once I felt my way to my computer, I logged on… and started talking.

There I was. Standing in the glow of my laptop, blind, typing, and talking… TO ME.

OK, I put that there. Yes, that one. OK, c’mon… load, load, load… Copy… Paste… Yea. Whu. Why isn’t that working? Crap. O.K… It’s fine. finefinefinefine….

And so it goes.

Then I hear my husband yell from upstairs, Jenny? Are you on the phone?!!!

Yeah… well. NO.

Case-in-Point #2: The grocery store… making a decision about tortillas.

Tortillas… tortillas… Flour… flour… flour. Wow. Expensive… expensive… oh. Sale! Those are too big. Wait.

I don’t need flour, I need CORN. Corn, corn…. oh! CORN.

80? I don’t need 80 corn tortillas. Corn… corn… corn… AH! 30! 30 CORN TORTILLAS!

Looking back, I may have been part-wise channeling Count von Count? Or my inner old lady.

A quick glance away from the tortillas revealed somemanone may have been watching me. *tosses hair*

I was looking rather cute.. (IMHO)… like – I had make-up on and everything!

However, I don’t think it was about the shoes or colored tights.

And have I ever told you I often talk with my hands?

This is even when talking to myself.

Sooooo…

Oh well…

Ooops. There I go. Talking to myself again. Apparently, I even do it online.

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I Confess: I Talk to Me. is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

Maybe not ALWAYS, but somebody was watching me recently.

I guess the good news is I wasn’t picking my nose. I know this because I was eating a mooshed chocolate-iced Honey Bun.

Hey. I was hungry. A girl does what she needs to do.

And there I sat. At a red light. Shoving my face full of mooshed Honey Bun.

The radio was on. A contest was playing… some kind-of “Name this 80′s TV theme song and win something” contest.

Just me and my mouthful of chocolate-iced Honey Bun sat at a red light. So I thought… And the radio station played the first few notes of the theme song…

I believe at note 2 I blew a few chuncks of chocolate-iced Honey Bun out of my mouth.

I screamed.

Yes screamed.

I know this song. I know this song. I KNOW THIS SONG!!!

To the audience of none sitting in my car.

I wish I knew how to type how it must’ve sounded to scream those words with a mouth full of Honey Bun.

I leaned forward… chest-ishly leaning on the steering wheel – as if I was pronouncing something very important to the crowd of cars in front of me…

Then I held my hands up high — a Honey Bun in one, none bun in the other — and squealed like someone cared…

Little House on the Prairie! This is the song for Little House on the Prairie! I KNOW THIS SONG! I AM THE ONLY PERSON LISTENING TO THIS CONTEST RIGHT NOW WHO KNOWS THE NAME OF THIS SONG I KNOW IT! I AM A WINNER!

I think that last part was just in my head.

Aaanywho.

As I brought down my hands and leaned back in my seat – in clear victory… I looked to the left. My eyes went up… and into the window of the cargo-like truck right above me… Wherehence I spied the gaze of a strapping young man. Watching me.

He bore witness all my passion about knowing the first notes of theme song for Little House on the Prairie… with mouth and palms full of chocolate-iced Honey Bun.

Awesome.

*dead-pan stare*

We made eye contact and I squinched my face.

He SMILED. Nice teeth, young man.

I looked away.

I wiped the corners of my mouth.

I shook my head.

I looked back and smiled a “Did you really catch all of that?” smile.

He smiled a, “I totally caught all of that” smile. Then he nudged the driver to check me out look at the cougar crazy lady.

He waved again and both men smiled.

How amusing. *rolling eyes*

I waved. I squinched my nose. I shook my head and did that whole “Who knew?” shoulder shrug.

My new friend threw his head back in laughter and waved so as to say, “You’re hot Nice scarf!”

The light turned green and I made haste… so I could finish my Honey Bun.

Priorities.

I think he thought I was cute.

I am not the least-bit delusional.

Sometimes crazy is cute. Right?

Right?

Oh nevermind. Ya know, I could really go for another Honey Bun.

[photo credit: graur razvan ionut]

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I Always Feel Like Somebody's Watching Me is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

If you read yesterday’s post, you are aware of the fact that my ankle is in disrepair, shall we say.

I am happy to report, however… that, though it is still slightly swollen… I have reason to believe I will be able to run in the Ragnar Relay in 7 days. No really:

Today I utilized a borrowed set of crutches and a walking-boot-thing. I iced my ankle at random and Ibuprofen-ed religiously. How smart am I?

I am so smart I tagged along with my chauffeur for the day to her kids’ rocket camp rocket launch. It was there I took my crutches onto a very not-flat field of unkempt wild grasses. And rockets. Ya know, cuz if anyone can outrun a rocket on crutches — it would be Me.

No?

*insert tempting fate here*

Basically there was a 2-part rocket with a part that disengaged (video below)… I am not a rocket scientist, so excuse my lack of proper rocket-anatomy vocabulary. The rocket piece DID disengage –  above us ME. The girl with the crutches. And a *special* kind of luck.

I remember looking up… I remember watching a bright orange rocket piece choose to chase me. I remember asking myself a number of questions:

• Do I ditch the crutches and run for my life?
• Will this be the end of me?
• Do I ditch the crutches, risk injuring my ankle further, and cover my head?
• Do I thrash the crutches wildly over my head, but risk injuring my ankle… but save my head?
• Do I drop my iPhone?
• Do I go forward?
• Do I go back?
• Do I…
• Is the reason I don’t run the Ragnar not because of a sprain but because of DEATH BY A ROCKET?!!!
• What the… ???!!!
• ARE YOU KIDDING ME???!!!

No. Not kidding…

And because my friend Lisa (and chauffeur-extraordinaire) is such a good friend… the sight of me frantically HOBBLING FOR MY LIFE was so funny concerning… she peed her pants.

And what a pair we are… Miss Hobble and Miss Pee-Pants.

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In Which I Dodge a Bullet… I Mean, Rocket. Literally. is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

It all started innocently enough. A walk to the bathroom along a park sidewalk with my daughter.

As we walked, I teased my friend Katie a few feet away, “Maybe when I get back, I’ll go get us an iced coffee…” We had been hard at work, providing an “adult” presence at drama camp.

{Of course, I had to make this week about me.}

Her delight was clear as she replied, “If you do that — I will kiss YOU!” As Fairy Godmother of camp, she waved her wand and flipped her tutu.

I raised her caffeine-deprived flirtation with a little kick. Or did I throw my hip to the right… Inanycase — while walking… on the edge of a side walk… at a park… holding my daughter’s hand… I bit it.

The details are foggy as I think back. I just remember that my right foot missed the sidewalk. But rather caught a low-spot in the grass and all of me came tumbling down.

Tumbling.

The right ankle crackled… though did not snap or pop. Seems I am not a Rice Krispie after all. As I fell, one word raced through my head.

R A G N A R ! ! !

Other things crossed my mind too: no health insurance, no health insurance, PAIN, and maybe a curse word or two.

I laid there stunned. Then laughed. Then wimpered. Then groaned. I remember hitting the ground with my fist a number of times in an effort to make the pain less pain-y.

I realized I was in the sun and had to ROLL into the shade. After Katie stopped laughing, she got me an ice pack.

Yadda, yadda, yadda, great friends, the passing of an hour, and my huz… I got to the car. But the whole “put your arm over my shoulder” tactic revealed a bit of a hamstring pull in my other leg.

Awesome.

By the time I got home I decided it was just easier to crawl. My huz helped me to the porch and upon my insistence for all the hamstring pain… for the first time in my life… I crawled into my house. Straight to the couch.

A set of crutches from a friend, 2 mega-doses of Ibuprofen and 8 hours have given me hope. I just walked tenderly for a number of steps and am hopeful that I will run in a week.

It has also been said I am crazy.

I feel I need to add –  Katie and I never did get that coffee.

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The Big Fall of 2010 is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

I received a request to be part of a private Facebook group yesterday. A professional group. But I (Jenny Ingram) was not able to access the page.

Why? Because the email address I was invited under belongs to the profile of my alter-ego, J-Bling.

Yeah. I have a real-live alter-ego.

The email address I am using with this particular project, happens to be the email I have set for my sparkly J-Bling’s Facebook page… you are welcome to be her friend…

After 3 attempts I realized I could not join the private group unless I join as J-Bling.

Now, J-Bling is fun, but not the least-bit professional. And this was where my 2 worlds collided. I had to send the following email to someone I hardly know… one of the people who I would like to impress more with my professional savvy and less with my gansta savvy. I realized… I had to send an email.

… can you send a new Facebook  invite to the following email address: *insert my authentic self’s email address here*. I have to log into the profile with my other addy (it seems), and that account belongs to my alter-ego.  I won’t even try to explain.

I tried to write that email several different ways. In the end, I decided less was more. I mean, really. Explain J-Bling? Would I start with, “gangasta-esque”? How would I explain I seriously have a Facebook profile for my alter-ego  — to someone I am developing a professional relationship with???

Definitely. Less is more. Especially in the case of J-Bling. *shakes head at self*

*Are you hungry? Well, either way… click on over to read about the new Ritz Crackers (oooh, bacon…), and there’s a $100 Visa gift card up for grabs there! Oh, and for my local Seattle & Kitsap area friends, don’t forget about the free organic produce boxes up for grabs from Full Circle Farm!

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That Belongs To My Alter-Ego is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

As part of yesterdays’ birthday celebration, I had to go get a new driver’s license, and hithertowhereverthougoest… I was gonna get a good picture and also lieaboutmyweight. Nothing quite like getting a new driver’s license AND getting old(er).

I made it to the DMV… or the DOL (whatever) moments after the doors opened.

Gloray! There was no line. *devil sign*

I sauntered up to my the unknown victim male clerk behind the desk. “Hi Handsome” I said with a smokey soft voice.” “Hey! How cool is it that there is no line! Is it usually not this busy? Huh? Huh? Huh? How is your day so far now that your doors have been open for 2 minutes and 33 seconds? Huh? Huh? Huh?” I said in a much too caffeinated and uncomfortably giddy tone. For the clerk, but not for me. I wanted to be my own best friend! *shakes pom-poms*

*toothy grin*

Clerk: “Yeah. How ’bout that.” *sniff and a head cock*

Me: “Yeah. Well. I know it sure can be crazy some days. How’s it going so far?”

I continued to ask and initiate silly banter. I needed this guy on my side. I slathered him with acknowledgement of the crazies he must endure (self excluded).

This man would be taking my picture. I know. I should have brought him coffee.

Or a can of glitter.

Or Crack?

It became apparent his tough DMV exterior was cracking under the unbearable weight of my undying charm, yet he showed restraint.

I told him I like that in a man.

I barely had time to pinch my cheeks to get some color for my headshot before he gave the universal motion for “Move toward the camera, Lady”.

I stood in front of a lovely green “canvas”, that seemed to accentuate my sallow tones.

Clerk (think monotone, yet surprisingly warm): “OK. 1. 2. …”

Me: *not blinking* *smiling wildly*

He turns the screen. “How about this?”

I flinched and hid my eyes for fear of blindness: “OHMYTRAVESTYOFALLTRAVESTIESMAN!!! Are you trying to burn my eyes?!!! WHO IS THAT CREATURE???!!!!” “Oh my GOSH! That’s horrible. Can we do that again?”

His shrug said, “No kidding, lady. That one should be burned.” I almost gave him a high-five.

He showed me our next shot. I was all, “Good. GOLLY. NO! And… can we try it again?” *turns head to side and bats lashes*

Clerk: “Your call.”

I almost kissed him.

When I saw my third picture I said, “DUDE. WHY is my neck so big???! It’s HUGE!”

He said… I’m not kidding, he queried,

“Well. Have you been workin’ out?”

Then he giggled. I have to admit, that was clever. Props to Clerk. Big props for your wit.

But, you know… as a woman… ya kinda hope that kind-of scenario panning out a little different. Not that I need that scenario, but I kinda hope had that happened it would be because I was wearin’ some hawt jeans and what woman wouldn’t be flattered, even if for a moment to hear, “Have you been workin’ out?”

Unless they are talking about your neck. And you are a WOMAN.

SOoooooo… I wrapped my scarf around my “She must be workin’ out AAAAAND taking steroids neck” a second time.

The fourth pic was at least not offensive. And far-less less-necky. And I was feeling just a bit vain-er than usual after 3 re-takes, so I thanked my gracious clerk and scurried away… with a new feature to be overly-sesitive about. Maybe I should take lemons and make lemonade… MAYBE I should join a circus! I hear those folks are REALLY into glitter. *eyes cross*

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A Big Workout Neck and the DMV, or is it the DOL? is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

So. I have this friend. Darcy. A personal trainer. A personal trainer who happens to be my friend who has been cruel kind enough to show me how to properly and effectively work mah boday. She is into “functional training”, and I’m all, “Heh… she said “function”…

Lemme tell ya, the first time she functionally beat the living crap out of me werked her functional magic… I spent lots of time face to rubber with the butt of a Bosu ball. She is a HUGE fan of the bosu ball, thusandtherefore, I have now sucked face with a great number of Bosu balls. Lucky Bosus. I’m kidding.

*not me* but… been there done that.

Wanna cookie?

I digress….

I went to her gym today so she could educate me, and a mere 12 hours later… mah butt HURTS. OH. MY. HEAVENLY. FUNTIONISMS. Ijustmightdie.

She’s good. She’s reaaaaaal good. *functionally pops 4 Ibuprofen*

She taught me all kinds of painful fun new moves.

Again — *not me*

I was unable to take pictures of me during my punishment training. Partly due to shame, but mostly due to flexibility issues. I mean, you do remember the “self-photography incident of Summer 2009″… don’t you?

Not so much pregnant, but try telling my shadow that, yo. Stupid purse.

Since I did not take any pictures of me on miscellaneous torture machines Darcy training me… I drew a few. To illustrate.

Pardon the quality. My scanner is broken, so I took pictures of my drawrings with Photo Booth on my Mac. Nothing quite like ingenuity, ehh?

Here are a few illustrations on the core training portion of our session…

First: The Plank…

I had this actual look on my face, and matching feeling in my heart.

Next: Leg somethings…

I actually am not sure she had me do this one. But my body feels like I did. Childbirth, anyone?

Now, I am not a fan of the gym-grunter-type-people. In fact, I make fun of The Grunters. I mean, c’mon. Seriously?

OH. But. Today.

I grunted. It’s all your fault Darcy! And now I have a strange craving for protein powder… Wait. No. Nevermind…

Stinkers. How’d they get in this post?

Then she made me do THIS with my body:

Grunting? No, I think I went straight to “HOWLING”.

Then she wanted me to do this cute move where I hopped (read: BALANCE SKILLZ) onto the round side of the Bosu ball. She looked like this:

I looked like this:

This is not to scale. My legs are not actually that long, but… you get the picture.

O.K. I didn’t actually FALL. But I felt like falling. That is what my brain was telling my body would happen. That is what THE LAW OF GRAVITY demands. Someday… someday…

At one point, she had me STAND on the upside down side (flat) of the BOSU, with 2 ten pound weights.

You are breathing in a paper bag for me, aren’t you? I started laughing so hard I had to hold onto Darcy so as not to fall… I said, “I’m sorry. I need to hold onto you until I get my laughing out.”

Typical. I exhaust myself sometimes.

My advice – do not stand on an upside down Bosu ball unless you are depressed.

In an effort to help me refocus, Darcy had to encourage me with this line, “Think of something sad.”

I thought about my muffin top.

Darcy then introduced me to the TRX. I think that stands for The Real Xhell… or Terrible Real Xcruciatingawfulness.

Reminds me of an institution in which I once resided.

You have no idea. She made me do this:

I. Know. On top of it all… to gain access to the veritable motherlode of TRXs, one had to be taken to the Inner Sanctum — The Training Room. I was Neo… and Darcy was my Morpheus….

Darcy is the one on the left. I am right next to her… the one on the right is another victim trainee. It is in this room the real damage training gets done. Shhh… it’s a secret… BTW, Darcy is not yelling at me… she is laughing at me. We got each other’s back like that.

And that, my friends is why… when I wake up in a few short hours to go run 4 miles… I will be channeling the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Working out is so hawt.

And Darcy really is all kinds of awesome. No matter how crazy she is:) She’s smart too. And we share clothes. She has cute clothes. I go through this torture so I can keep wearing her clothes

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My Butt Hurts, You Don't Even Know. is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...