Jenny On the Spot: Caffeinated mom, lover of dancing, glitter and glitter.

Have you seen the movie Elf. Oh that Will Ferrell! He’s a riot. Well, there’s one line in the movie that feels a lot like my life. Listen:

Really, I can use the spirit of that phrase for anything!

Scenario 1: Hey Jenny, you wanna go get coffee? Is there caffeine in coffee? THEN YES!

Scenario 2: Hey Jenny, wanna use some of my shimmer lotion? Is there glitter in shimmer lotion? THEN YES!

Senario 3: Hey Jenny, do you want me to put a shot of Tequila in your Corona? Is there liquor in Tequila? THEN YES!

Scenario 4: Hey Jenny, do you want to be the MC for the school auction? Is there a microphone in that? THEN YES!

Scenario 5: Hey Jenny, you wanna help lead a pep rally for the Knowledge Bowl? Does it mean that at the age of thirty-youbetternotsayaword I get to put on a cheer uniform and dance on a stage? THEN YES!

Scenario 6: Hey Jenny, you wanna get a new pair of Converse? Is there AWESOME in those? THEN YES!

Dang it! You know how it was Doppelganger Week on Facebook last week? I thot I was more Jennifer Aniston-y (the hair)… By the power of Greyskull www.faceinhole.com it seems I confused a great number of people with this pic:

That’s not me. Well, it’s my face. In a hole. *erm* The vessel is Jennifer Aniston. If Jennifer Aniston and I ever had babies…

TO BE CLEAR – THAT IS NOT ME. *butitkindais*

I got a little creative and cropped-out the “Face in Hole” graphic to up-play the potential twin-ness of the Jenster and I. And it seems it *may* have appeared to some it was ALLLLLL me. That I had gone Hollywood for reals and for FINALLY!

I wish. Not that I COULDN’T *clears throat*… It’s just that I didn’t. I was busy.

And in the end it seems my HEART doppelganger is Will Ferrell’s character in Elf. I too, like syrup… because there is sugar in it. Oh. Yes!

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I had to head out to a meeting this afternoon. I wanted my outfit to say something like, “I can hack it.” or “I can bring it”… or maybe “Professional laday is in da hizzouse!!!”

*ahem*

Before the meeting, I picked up my son from school. As we walked to the car he asked, “Why are you dressed up?”

I was all, “On account of the fact I going to a meet-in’… and want to look all professional, yo. Cutty. Do ya think I look professional?”

My son smiled, giggled and said, “Yeah. Or you look like a Jonas brother.”

I said, “So, you think I’m hawt…” No, really. I said that. I’m always fishin’ for a compliment. I don’t discriminate. I didn’t get the answer I was fishin’ for, tho. My question grossed him out. On 2 levels. He said, “MOM! I’m a boy and your my MOM!”

Whatever.

And here it is… my formerly “professional” outfit (albeit a *little* funk-ish/subduedrocker-ish/canIgotothedancecubnow-ish because that’s how I roll)… that I will hithertofore be referred to as my Jonas brother outfit:

I think my kid was wrong. I kinda think I look more like Zac Efron hanging out with the Jonas brothers… I’m hawter than I thought…

Actually, my son looks like Zac Efron… Oh dear…

Aaaand on further inspection… I suppose I COULD pass for one of the Jonas Brothers, but curvier and better hair…

…aaaaand maybe I look more confused, but less angry. I think we are all wearing black nail polish though… I have said before that I think I kinda dress like a teenage boy. But I was mostly joking. I didn’t realize I was actually spot-on. That’s right. That’s me Jenny Spot ON Jenny On The Spot…

*Just a few days left to enter for a chance to win a $100 Visa gift card courtesy Tom’s of M via my review blog – Click here for details!*

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To me, this little set-up is akin to the highbrowed intellect of one who orders a non-fat, sugar free decaf vanilla/hazelnut/orwhathaveyou latte’… e.g., WHY BOTHER, YO!

And if YOU, yes you who are right here reading this right now, happen to be one who dares orders such things… *SLAP!* There. That should knock some sense into ya ;)

Decaf. Sugar-free… There should be a law…

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I re-wrote the lyrics to the classic Santa Baby as performed by Eartha Kitt.

And then, one evening, I finally found my “quiet place”… a busy Walmart parking lot in a remote part of Utah.

Vernal.

Vernal, Utah.

And IN THAT PARKING LOT — I recorded me singing my new rendition of Santa Baby. Desperate times, people.

This is my letter to Santa. Santa Baby. There are a lot of 7 year-old cool cats out there… sending him letters or visiting him at the mall. Soon they’ll be leaving him cookies! I have competition, and I want to stand out. I want him to know how verrrrry good I’ve been, that I’ll be leaving him cookies too, and Santa… I want you to know how verrry handsome YOU are in that Big. Red. Coat. *RAWR*

I can’t believe I just posted this. I have official lost it. Heh. That was fun… and please note: I never claimed to be like Eartha Kitt, just crazy. Simple and crazy. And glittery. Oh, and maybe sometime awesome, but that’s cuzza the glitter.

Merry Christmas. All silliness aside… Merry Christmas. Times are tight, and sadness abounds.  I believe The Greatest Gift has already been given. May your day be merry and bright… Love, be kind and laugh with others. I hope I’ve been able to help you with that last one :)
JOTS Code

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The Husband… his eyes burning with condemnation… as he stared at me through the innocent stair rails… He said, and I DO believe he seethed these words in ALL CAPS:

AND YOU KNOW THIS ALLLLLLLL HAPPENS BECAUSE YOU BLOG.

Whu? Who? Me???

Here’s what happened. It was a long weekend. A full weekend. A long a full weekend. To the tune of 3 children in 5 plays (the same one, but 5 shows), one gymnastics show, 4 or 5 meals out, one Jingle Bell Run

I made the local news for that… but they edited out my best line. You know the one…

Wait for it…

MADE OUT OF AWESOME.

Edited. Out. That was NOT made out of awesome.

I digress…

My friend Patti took pictures… Here’s me and something about spirits before the run:

Here’s a picture of me after the run… all bleary eyed, and missing one cute red ribbon from my hair…

Andalsosomuch, though the color of my skin might suggest otherwise… I do not have a case of the jaundiced. That was just bad lighting. I’m serious.

Oh yeah… with narry a 15 minutes to spare at any point on Sunday… we all made it home around 9 p.m. with my sis, bro, and mama -in-law and nephew… so we could celebrate our Christmas together. We are just way to busy for each other to make it happen ON Christmas, ya know? Aaaanywho…

9 p.m. on Sunday night…

Once the paninis were grilled and coffee drank and banana cream pie consumed… the kids opened presents and then ate their caramel apples…

And in the blink of an eye (a couple-a hours) … the in-laws drove away so as not to miss the next ferry and the children headed up to brush their teeth and the dog peed on my bedroom floor and my husband cleaned it up and I put a towel on the wet spot and I headed downstairs to curse our fool dog out of the children’s ear-range and then the 4 year old peed on the towel that covered the cleaned-up dog pee mess.

ON. THE. TOWEL.

True story.

It was at that point my husband looked at me between my fair stair railings and said,

AND YOU KNOW THIS ALLLLLLLL HAPPENS BECAUSE YOOOOOU BLOG.

Crack smoker.

The nerve. And I totally know what he means.

Mah bloggahs… I KNOW y’alls know what he means.

And then this morning I was all “You wanna know what ELSE happens because I blog? Wanna know, huh, huh??? I just won AWESOME ITSELF for doing a meme *neenerneener crack smoker*. My post Wishy, Wishy won the random draw at the Todays Mama’s Holiday Wishlist Giveaway. All kidding aside… this news made me cry great-big happy tears. That bike. Be still. My. Heart.

And also BECAUSE I BLOG…. YOU, my friends have a chance to win a $100 Visa gift card! My kids tried out the new Tom’s of Maine Silly Strawberry toothpaste…. we even made a video! But you’ll need to head over there to enter for your chance! Good luck!

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About 7 months ago I showcased my custom-blinged swine flu masks in a video:

I wish I had another video to share. Alas, I do not. I know this is disappointing and I promise I will not make a habit of such things *feels self-important*. I do have a couple of pictures of new masks… one is a re-make of the famous and favorite army men mask that my husband made himself under my critical watchful creative eye(s)… and the other, well just another brilliant maniacal creation of my mind. We wore these on Halloween.

Here’s my husband’s interpretation of the army men mask:

Ain’t no fool swine flu gettin’ all up in theh, yo.

This next one was more genius than I gave myself credit for. In my mind, I envisioned the swine flu virus just being scared by all the sharp points on the following mask:

What I didn’t know, until I started walking along the streets, meetin’ mah public where they at… I didn’t anticipate that no one would want to come near me.

No one.

Within the first two minutes of bein’ out in my public, one woman… eyes opened wide in horror… saw me… backed away and yelped, “OH MY GAH! WHAT ISssss THAT?”

I get that a lot.

For the rest of my trick-or-treating evening I was left physically alone. No hugs. No kisses. No hand shakes… not even a high five. No slobbery babies… If you are a recluse – I suggest ordering one of these masks. There is no need to live on a secluded island anymore. A push-pin swine flu mask is all you need to attain the isolation you crave and deserve.

Conclusion: Based on my scientific research, of all the masks I have ever created – I believe this mask to be the most effective at keeping the germies away. Success!

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I am tired and got myself into a spot where I cannot catch-up. October was a tornado. But not of cows and machetes and travel trailers, bathtubs and bad witches, but of errands and commitments and laundry and dishes.

What is the fruit of such things?

Nonsense.

This post, for example. Is it writer’s block or birthed from the loins of chaos.

Yes.

And I want to say what she said – Liz from This Full House. Her little take on her new acronym SAHMMA.

STAY at home… W (that stands for WHATEVER).

But in a ridiculous attempt to “entertain”… I publish this.

I thought about a video. But if I don’t know what to write… I sure as heck don’t know what to SAY.

I thought, “Hey! I’ll flex for them!” I need to practice the face-look of flexing. My face looks a lot like the face of my 4 year old when she poops. But I don’t do that. I’m a lady. Just my 4 year old. She’ll grow to be a lady. Too. I’m sure. It should come naturally… she has such a good example to follow *ahem*…

Hey fellas… I’m taken. *wave, smile and curtsy*

Whatever. It’s like I think I’m my own little circus. It’s possible. But if that is the case… I have WAY more than 3 rings in mine.

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When I saw this card I said, “Self. Self!! SELF!!!! Look! I don’t think there is a more perfect card for you me we us you!”

A poor picture, we I know But it just adds to the message, don’t cha think?

This is prolly the most beautiful card I have ever almost given to myself. I know me so well.

*wipes tear*

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And I meant it:

I went to the Family Force 5 concert in Seattle last Friday. Seattle was a stop on their “Dance RAWR Dance” Tour.

See why I love them? Dance + RAWR + Dance = my kinda awesome!

I made friends with a few natives young fans. I freaked a few out with my Twittering and self-portrait taking. But finally, I got one to warm up to me. She said she liked my hair. And I was all, “Yeah. I rock. I have cool hair. I like your shirt butIdon’tknowhowtogetmyripstoriplikethat.” And I swished my hair off my shoulder and did a Cher-like lip-lick.

It’s true.

Her friend gave me the skinny on a creating a good rip. I was all, “Right. Dude. Score.”

And then I took a pic of the shirt when they weren’t looking becuase I am a creepy middle-aged woman who goes to seedy bars for all-ages concerts.

The walls were sticky.

I Whrrl’d my story. The opening bands were unimpressive.

But when FF5 came on. *swoon* I wish I could show you the tambourine guy. I just… it was inspirational. *wipes tear*.

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What? You didn’t turn the page off your interwebz?

I actually have a post of substance I should mold and nurture… instead I share with you a personal struggle…

Buying tampons in bulk.

I don’t care how many years one has been purchasing the wide array of feminine hygiene products, it is never comfortable to plop one’s “goodies”… “pons”… on the counter. I am not afraid to purchase the needed items, but I cannot think of a time I have bought a pack of this-or-that where I haven’t looked for a checker-chick. I don’t want the fellas knowin’ mah bidness.

Secondlyandwhosoever… in this economy, I have become keeeeeenly aware of how expensive these necessities are.

NECESSITIES.

I mean, if we lived in the Biblical days, we’d just be cast outside the city gates to live in a tent for a week.

We don’t get that luxury today. No tent outside the city for the modern woman. Nope.

I digress… What I’m sayin’ is — this economy + coupon for tampons at grocery warehouse + 2 box limit = “the heck is wrong with HER insides?!”

And the whole while I’m nervously chatting about the economy and how awesome coupons are and the value of buying two 84 count boxes of tampons in bulk… so “people” only have to buy “CERTAIN THINGS” every 90 – 120 days or so… or less *ahem*

Golly. It reminds me of the time after my fist child was born.

Are you STILL here?

I needed “supplies”. Lots of supplies. I was well-read on parenting and the birth process, but I had no idea… NO. IDEA… about the wrath of the  ”just gave birth undercarriage”.

Friggin’ Armageddon.

Still here?

Aaaanywho. I loaded up a cart of things that I felt would best behoove a woman in my bloody sad state.

I unloaded enough “supplies” onto the check-out counter. I perceived there was enough on that counter to clean up the oil spill of the Exxon Valdez back in ‘89.

I also had a 24 pack of coke. And candy bars.

Aaaand… a checker-dude.

I just looked down. I don’t think he  saw my tears. I never screamed as afterbirth contractions riddled my new-mommy body. I remember crawling into my car, tearing open a candy bar and weeping… from pain, embarrassment and pure exhaustion. Aaaaand that is another story.

It was truly awful. Today was not so awful, but I still had to put two 84 count boxes of tampons on the check-out stand.

I compare buying tampons in bulk to wearing thong underwear. It’s never comfortable, but it’s not so bad after awhile. I… uh… aye… that’s… thah…har… at least that’s what I’ve heard.

*blinking*

This post was just all kinds of uncomfortable, now wasn’t it?

I am here to serve. *bows and hits head on desk on the way back up*

This all kind-of reminds me of the time my hubs and I had to buy… well… anywho… I did write about that too…

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