Mar. 17: More from my Wonder Years

Oh yes, it’s time once again for me to share choice, censored bits and pieces of my Wonder Years. You can watch TV if you get bored.

Remember, when we left off in 1985:

• I was using the word “sexy” way too much for a 17-year-old.
• Margaret was evil.
• Mike D was dating his half-sister (er… somethin’ unholy).
• I was in my senior year at a fine Adventist high school and, by all appearances, still the churchiest girl there ever was. In fact, I journaled often about being worried I’d have to transfer to public school—my dad cared NOT ONE BIT for Adventist education, and I had to work my butt off to pay my tuition each month—though I know it wasn’t public school I feared, but leaving my friends.
• I was singing almost every week at church or school assemblies or prayer meetings. (Side note: sometime between high school and college my ability to carry a tune disappeared, though I didn’t discover that until I had performed (terribly) at several embarrassing college functions. Nowadays I rock it in the car—who doesn’t?—but nowhere else. Sad.)
• I went to church when I wasn’t performing too. It would seem like sitting in church every Sabbath would translate to being a good, worship-ful teen, but in truth I went just to see boys boys boys.
• Not found in my journaling was anything about one of the stupidest things I ever did: I brought wine coolers in my travel mug and sipped from it at my locker between classes. I brought alcohol to school because it was risky and exciting, not because I had a drinking problem—I wasn’t in denial; truly, I couldn’t stand the taste. (My easy access to booze was courtesy of my over-21 brother-in-law.) I was sure I wouldn’t get caught because no teacher would’ve suspected such behavior from a good girl like me. If any of my friends had told on me—and OF COURSE, all of them knew about it because I thought I was that safe from suspicion—I would’ve been immediately kicked out of school. I don’t remember how long I did this, but I’m guessing the guilt and fear kept it going for a very short time.
  
  I wanted to be a bad girl. It just wasn’t in me. I mean, I sewed my own prairie dresses, for goodness’ sake.

---

My first journal entry for 1986 contained very important information:

Jan. 7: My newest cassettes are by Eddie Murphy, Jack Wagner, Amy Grant, Depeche Mode, Charlie Sexton, Mr. Mister, Van Halen, Sting, Phil Collins, Whitney Houston.

I was still as boy-crazy as ever:

Jan. 12: Last night we watched Footloose and it made me sort of depressed—it is so romantic in some parts. It made me think of AH, I think because it brings back so many memories from last year at [my other school].

Laura, Tracey, and I went to tea.

Tea? I do not remember this tea. We were such wanna-bes, though, that I’m not surprised we thought it would be fancy and fun, thereby making US fancy and fun. Laura? Tracey? Do you remember?

Jan. 24: I found the stereo I want. It’s got a dual cassette and everything else.

Wow. That is some high tech right there.

Jan. 26: The Bears won the Super Bowl. I ♥ the Refrigerator!

I cannot believe for a second that I really cared.

Jan. 27: I got my stereo! It is so totally cool.

Rissa and I have been writing really naughty stories.

Feb. 11: I was supposed to study for Cit Ed but Moonlighting was on tonight.

TV was always more important than studying. Thank goodness I was applying to a college that didn’t care about grades. (Can you write a check? Congrats, you’re in!)

Since I started keeping a journal in 1985, every time I mentioned my niece, Erin (4-5 years old), I wrote how cute she was, how sweet, adorable, all that. And then this:

Feb. 17: Friday night I babysat for Erin and she was a brat.

Not to worry, Erin; that’s the only time I said anything bad about you. On paper. ;)

Feb. 18: Today started out shitty but it got better. We had a health check at school and I was measured at 5’8”. I can’t believe I’m that tall. I was in there when Mike D got measured, and he was embarrassed that he was an inch shorter than me.

April’s nasty story is the best one yet.

Is Mike being shorter than me really all I needed to know to make my shitty day better? I was so easy to please! Also, I can’t believe I used the word “shitty” back then. I was such a rebel.

Feb. 19: I hope it snows tonight because I really need to get my hair cut. Life is so horrible.

The drama!

Mar. 3: GD is scared to death of me. He asked Debi why I always stare at him and she said because I want him really bad. He wouldn’t believe her, but now he probably won’t talk to me.

Mar. 5: I had a really boring day, but after I got off the bus that all changed. I heard someone running behind me, and when I turned around, this guy was walking right next to me. I said “hi” and then he started talking to me. He asked me where I went to school and where I lived and how long I’ve lived there. Then I said, “Well, maybe I’ll see you again sometime.” and then I had to turn off onto [my street]. He was cute! I don’t know his name or where he lives. I think he probably goes to [nearby public high school]. I hope I see him tomorrow or I won’t see him ‘til Monday probably. It would be exciting if I saw him again.

Wow. Just… wow. I wasn’t just boy-crazy; I was a dolt. Telling a stranger all that stuff? Did I learn nothing from all those ABC Afterschool Specials???

Mar. 12: GD is so cute and sweet to me, but sometimes he acts so immature.

Pot v. Kettle, 1986.

Mar. 13: Laura and I wrote notes all day.

Today’s kids will never know the daring fun of writing and passing notes, will they? I mean, it was THE thing back in the day. Sixteen Candles would have been a much shorter movie if not for the passing of the notes. Really, though, texts and emails are less likely to fall in the wrong sexy hands; it’s just so strange that this HUUUUGE thing of my growing up years is a lost art. “Art”? Maybe “medium” is more the correct term. Although the stories we wrote in our notes were definitely artistic, considering they were borne solely from our vivid imaginations. Yikes.

Mar. 31: GD and I wrote notes back and forth all during Sabbath School.

Yesterday I went over to Deani’s and she cut my hair. My senior pictures are next week.

I let my friend cut my hair right before pictures? No offense, Deanna, but that was possibly not my best decision ever. Although I’m not wearing a hat in my senior pictures, so maybe you didn’t do too bad a job.

Apr. 11: Some kids were rehearsing a play in the chapel today and when GD saw me watching he turned all red. He kept smiling at me. He is so cute and flirty. I’ll miss him so much next year.

…which is funny, because after I left for college there isn’t a single mention of him in my journal. Out of direct line of teenage sight, out of teenage mind.

Apr. 22: GD sat with me at lunch. He and CW made fun of me and it made me sort of mad. I told GD I hate when he acts like a sophomore.

In all fairness, he was a sophomore.

May 1: I was in a really bad mood today. Deani kept trying to cheer me up and that made it worse.

How horrible of my friend to do that. Just awful.

May 14: Today we got our caps and gowns. They’re red, and the cords are white and silver, the tassel is all three colors. It made me depressed.

This shows the melancholy mood so typical of my teenage years. It was exciting to get our caps and gowns, but I couldn’t just be excited because I knew it meant graduation and the end of high school. While a lot of people hated high school and couldn’t wait for it to end, I loved so much about it that I wished it could last forever.

May 15: GD hasn’t looked at me, except once, and I think it was an accident.

May 16: Tonight Dad and I went over to [April’s house] for dinner. We had a good time.

April is laughing at this memory right now, I just know it. The “we” that had a good time was me and April, not me and my dad. It’s a long story, and not interesting to anyone else, but my dad would want me to say this: it was one of the most awkward evenings ever, and April and I were all ♫ LA ♫ LA ♪♬ LA ♩♪♫♬ THISISSOFUN!! because we had no clue.

May 22: Tuesday we had a special Girls’ Club meeting—it was like a goodbye for the senior girls. Laura gave me a rose and said the most special things about me. I cried so much.

Wait! I have a picture!

May 26: [MG had a graduation party with DANCING (gasp!)] Last night was so much fun!!!

I was trying to get SS to dance with me but he kept saying that he didn’t know how. Finally, after a whole bunch of people told him to get out there, we went out. We danced to “Faithfully” and it was really romantic even though it was only SS.

Later “Hold Me Now” came on and BW said he loved that song so we got up and danced to it. He was singing to me. [I’m pretty sure he was drunk.] He is so tall!!

MB asked me to dance, but I didn’t want to dance a fast dance with him. Finally we danced to “Hold Me” by Whitney Houston and Teddy Pendergrass. That was by far the best dance. He held me so close and Deanna said he was smiling and had his eyes closed!! So did I. Rissa said we were picture-perfect, just the right height for each other.

Mike D brought his kinky cousin/girlfriend.

I looooove how creeped out I was by Mike’s girlfriend.

May 29: Today GD gave me a great big hug and said he’d miss me after I graduate. I told him I promised to write every day.

Later I was in the library and MB came in and was sort of flirting.

...which meant he was talking to me.

Jun. 1: Today I graduated from high school.

Jun. 2: I packed up all my stuff and moved to my mom’s house in Walla Walla. Tomorrow is my first day of work in the VP’s office.

Jun. 7: After Sabbath School I was in the foyer of the College Church and saw MB!!! I couldn’t believe it. He said he’s here for his sister’s graduation. I wasn’t going to go to the ceremony tomorrow but now I am for sure.

Mom invited people over after church and there was this guy [MH] that is WONDERFUL. He looks like BL but cuter. We went out for pizza and he held doors for me and pulled out my chair. Later we watched TV in my room and talked until really late. He is really really nice and so good looking.

Jun. 11: I was in a bad mood all day because I was so tired and my hair looked gross.

Jun. 22: MH was here again yesterday. I think I really like him. He’ll be back in August.

Jun. 28: This weekend was really fun. I stayed in the dorm. I met a girl, Sher, from [the same school as MH]. I asked her about him and she said he’s dumb.

Not that Sherilee’s opinion meant anything (ha!) but I never saw or mentioned MH again.

July 6: I moved into the dorm last Monday. I LOVE IT!! On Friday Sher, Sherri, and I went to Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

To this day, going to that movie is still one of my favorite and most vivid college memories.

July 7: Laurie and I went to [the guys’ dorm] tonight and the guy at the desk let us go to SG’s room. When he answered the door he wasn’t wearing anything! We were so embarrassed!

There’s a story there that picks up about six years later, but if you ask me for details I’m pleading the fifth.

Aug. 2: I found out this guy DB likes me. He is kinda cute but not really my type.

The other night a big group of us made a few prank calls over to the guys’ dorm. Most of them were pretty boring but one really gross guy really got into it! It was disgusting.

This might be the first recorded evidence of our epic prank phone call sessions. I wrote about my life-changing one here.

—please take a Brief interlude—

Between August and December there are an embarrassing number of pages about different guys I went out with (mostly the two that I didn’t like all that much and another that I really liked but kept me at arm’s length until I started dating other guys and then he wouldn’t leave me alone), high school friends that had finally arrived for college, moving into the other dorm and getting a roommate, the zit that nearly killed me, Mike D and me becoming actual friends, and surprisingly little about classes I was taking.

Why is it that I’m more embarrassed by my immaturity in college than in high school, just months earlier? Whatever… I’m Facebook friends with too many of the people involved to go into any level of detail.

—end interlude—

Dec. 7: Tonight is Open House and all the guys are coming through the dorm. We have mistletoe! Shevaun’s and my room is so cool! We have posters of The Breakfast Club, Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure, Thief of Hearts, and Levi’s. We also decorated for Christmas—lights, spray snow, wrapping paper on our door, and tiny paper trees hanging from our ceiling.

Wait! I have a picture!

This next part really freaked me out. This journal is written on both sides of notebook paper, and as I was transcribing for this blog post, I missed a side of one sheet, which made an entry look like this:

Mike D and I went to the caf tonight and had a long talk about [the guys I liked]. He thinks I should come up with an excuse to call B again. [***] We came back to the dorm and he kissed me!

***Mike D has never kissed me, let’s just make that clear right now. He only kisses girls related to him. But between our talk in the caf and a page worth of journaling, B, the guy I HOPED would kiss me, did. That was the part I missed.

Whew. And now that we have that straight…

We’re done. The journal closes with a bunch of boo-hooing about how much I missed B over Christmas break… the recurrence of the killer zit… more whining about B’s absence… fights with my roommate… and the end of 1986, one of the most remarkable years in The History of Jen (now with more drama!).

Shall I continue on to share bits from 1987? I’m thinking NO. Unless Meanie Margaret shows up again. That could be entertaining.

Mar. 8: ‘Twas a sexy 1985

I just finished reading a book that inspired me to dig up my journals from high school, and hoo-boy, I’ve hardly stopped shaking my head since. I’ll write up my review of the book soon, but for now, there’s this: selections from how I poured my heart out on paper all those years ago. I have to limit my sharing to a choice few bits, because back then I wrote pages and pages every day. You’re welcome.

Here are the main things you need to know about me in 1985:

• I was 16 and in my junior year at an Adventist high school, which I loved. I was a church-y girl.
• I frequently went on “seminars,” which were basically a bunch of us kids putting on a church service somewhere in Oregon—sometimes they required overnight trips, sometimes they were just on Sabbath mornings in the Portland area. I sang. I rarely missed these semi-monthly events, not because I yearned to be a missionary but because they were really fun and sometimes involved bases.
• My junior year a bunch of us created a club and called ourselves “The Ravaged Five.” Yep, we were the five boy-craziest virgins you ever knew. Our senior year April was welcomed into the group and we changed our name to “The Sexy Six.” Our logo—because OF COURSE we had a logo—was the number six inside an upside-down heart. Why? Well, the shape of the butt on our primary object of affection was an upside-down heart. Duh. We spent many hours talking about that butt. It was a good butt. Twenty-some years later, when I realized that butt and the guy who owned it had a kid at my kids’ school, I drew upon my best evasive techniques to avoid him every day at 3pm.
• Parties! Planning parties, attending parties, crying about not being invited to parties… parties were a huge deal.
• I lived with my dad. Those were not our best father-daughter years. The parties might have had something to do with that.

Jan. 3, 1985. Yesterday AH called me and we talked for two hours. Why does he have to live so far away? He said his friend DK thinks I’m cute. They might drive over here for church next week. I hope NS is there so he’ll maybe be jealous. I think we’ll invite them to the party when Dad’s gone on the 28th.

Jan. 29, 1985. Last night with NS was weird. He was flirting more than he used to, like when I wanted him to. He kept trying to hold my hand. I loved it but it mad me sad too. I wish he went to [my school] and I could see him every day.

I can’t quote this because there are just little bits here and there, but it seems that my dad made me give him one of my contacts as a punishment. Since I was blind as a bat, I can’t imagine how this was a good idea. Given that my dad’s buttheadedness knew no bounds, it’s hard to know if what prompted this action was even a big deal.

<Sigh.>

Feb. 3, 1985. I’m fat and I look pregnant. I think I’ll tell everyone I’m pregnant so I’ll have an excuse for being fat.

Well, that’s just a super idea, Jen.

Feb. 5, 1985. Yesterday in history class, TW told the whole room I was pregnant. I was so embarrassed, but I just went along with it. This is what I decided to say if anyone asks: I can’t say who the father is, and if he goes to [our school] or not. I’m two months pregnant, due in September.

Feb. 6, 1985. Today I told KW I’m pregnant. It took a while to convince her, but she believes me. I’m singing [Amy Grant songs] for seminar this weekend.

Seriously, WTF???

Feb. 11, 1985: Mike D actually smiled at me today. I think he was laughing at my hair.

Feb 23, 1985: In chemistry yesterday I was talking with Tracey and [the object of our affection—we referred to him as “Mr. Cute Ass” or “MRCA” for super-secrecy] and I said that I would be home alone so Tracey said, “Well, I’ll come over and keep you company.” And I said, “You’re not exactly the person I had in mind.” Then [MRCA] started asking me who I wanted to come over. I kept stuttering and finally I just said, “Well, if you get really curious why don’t you just come by and see?” And he said, “OK,” like he really would. But he didn’t.

Of course he didn’t. Because I was ridiculous.

Feb. 24, 1985. Today was pretty fun. Mike D was nice to me. I think I flunked my history test. [MRCA] thinks I’m pregnant. I think it’s funny, but it wouldn’t be if he tells everyone. I had to work in the cafeteria today and broke three of my fingernails.

Soooo... which part of that day was fun?

Feb. 25, 1985. [I was dieting…] All I ate today was a donut and mashed potatoes. I wrote an essay on neon clothes. DK told AH to tell me he thinks I’m “sexy.” I wish he lived here.

Mar. 2, 1985. Tracey, Deani, Kari, Rissa, Yvonne, and Kim are coming over tonight. We’re going to read erotica books. I hope it’s fun.

Mar. 3, 1985. I am so in lust with Huey Lewis and Ray Parker, Jr. They’re both so sexy! And then there’s NS, DK, [MRCA] and Mike D.

Mike, I bet it makes you feel reeeeal good that I put you on the same sexy pedestal as Huey Lewis and Ray Parker, Jr., huh?

Mar. 5, 1985. I am in love! Todd was at the party. He is GORGEOUS!!!!! He’s 6’4” and blond. The one problem is he’s a year and two months younger than me.

I do not know this “Todd,” nor do I remember anything about the party to which I refer. I love what’s considered an obstacle in my 16-year-old brain: that he’s a much, much younger man.

Mar. 7, 1985. Today we wrote [MRCA] a note that said: “Dear [MRCA], we love your sexy body. We’ll be your private dancers and do what you want us to do ANY time you want!!!!!! We lust after your gorgeous physique!!” We put the note on his windshield. Nobody saw us do it.

Terrible, terrible paraphrasing of Tina Turner there. I’m so ashamed.

Mar. 17, 1985. I went to seminar at [local church] today. Mike B was there. I kissed him three times. My songs went pretty well.

WHAT was I doing kissing a guy at church? I remember kissing Mike B, but it certainly wasn’t at church. (I shared those details here, along with the sad direction Mike’s life took in recent years). I also love that I go from reporting this kissing thing right into a review of my singing performance, like it was just like every other seminar.

Mar. 24, 1985. I’m sobbing and I’m not sure why. I thought it was because of [a boy] but now I think it was my hair.

Mar. 26, 1985. Today in Bible class Margaret volunteered me to read. I was so mad at her, but I read anyway. I’ll get her back for sure.

Mar. 29, 1985. Tomorrow night The Ravaged Five is going to the Van Halen laser light show at OMSI. I can’t wait!!!!

May 19, 1985. I wrote a really perverted story last week and Tracey and Kari said they’d buy me a milkshake if I gave it to Mike D to read. I did, and he thought it was “pretty wild.” The thing so embarrassing was that the initials I used were “J” and “M.” I know he thought it was about him.

I feel like maybe it totally was.

May 22, 1985. Today was the last day of school. I can’t believe I’m almost officially a senior!

[At graduation the juniors walk down the aisle to be introduced as next year’s seniors.] I’m marching with GW. He’s cute so I’m glad. [GW didn’t show. I WONDER WHY???]

Jun. 10, 1985. Today when I got home there was a VCR on top of the TV!!!!! I’m going to have lots of movie parties this summer!

Aug. 27, 1985. We found out that the girl Mike D was with at Camp Meeting is his cousin AND his girlfriend. Kinky.

Sep. 3, 1985. Today Margaret kept telling me to turn around and shut up.

Nov. 15, 1985. We wrote CS a note. I said I loved his hair and wanted to run my sprained fingers through it.

Guess what? This stuff just goes on and on and on—I kept a journal for 15 years. Aren’t you already looking forward to the next installment of this pathetic blathering?

Liar.

Jun. 7: Ants-b-gone

We have ants. Just a few, and they’re those little teeny ants, but that doesn’t make it any less icky. There is small comfort in the following:

• I have not found ants anywhere in our house but-cept for the kitchen
• I have not found ants in our food
• I have not eaten any (I hope)

Where’d they come from? I blame the big dog. Recently she briefly stopped digging outside to put her paw in my coffee; when she finished stirring it, there was a little ant doing the backstroke in there. Ergo, Lucy’s fault.

(Oooh, I kinda liked using “ergo” in that thar sentence up yonder. I think this usage of “ergo” might be a first for Stuff Jen Says.)

We got ant killing spray and take-it-back-to-their-nest-goo traps but the ants keep coming back. In the past week I’ve smashed, like, six of them every day. I know; it’s far from an infestation here at the House of Manullang, but still. Yuck. So yesterday I got on the ‘net to find out what repellent or poison or whatever I should use to make the ants leave our kitchen. Here’s what I found: [insert glorious sound of the heavens here] BLUE DAWN LIQUID DISHWASHING SOAP is the answer. It must be Dawn, and it must be blue. The ants hate it.

Supposedly even a residue of a blue Dawn and water mixture will keep ants away, so I figgered I’d not only spray the kitchen countertops, I’d wash every item in the kitchen with blue Dawn and that would increase the chances of this whole effort being effective. Smart, no?

Slowly and methodically, I cleaned every item in the kitchen with blue Dawn and put it back in place. Once I got into the cleaning groove, I enlisted the help of more cleaning products. I used a razor blade to scrape wax off the window and tile where Jack exuberantly extinguished a candle. I ran vinegar through the coffee maker five times to make that “cleaning required” light finally go off (full disclosure: it wasn’t so much the vinegar as—heh heh heh—I might have broken the light). I thoroughly washed all the windows. I scoured the stovetop with baking soda. I scrubbed every inch of the top half of our kitchen. In the end, the room was spotless. I was filthy, but everything else was OCD-clean.

And then I saw a little mofo ant walking along the edge of the sink.

[Insert the curse heard ‘round the world here.]

All ninja-like, I sprayed the ant with the blue Dawn/water combo and ffffzzzzt. Dead.

It. Was. Awesome.

Sure, I was irritated that after all that work, the blue Dawn residue didn’t seem to be repelling the ants, but it was all kinds of powerful cool to have something so immediately effective in the spray bottle. I might have maybe possibly kinda turned into James Bond for a minute. Or maybe Charles Manson, just bat- ant-shit crazy. Whatever; if there was a black speck that even slightly moved, it got sprayed.

I found two ants checking out the sink this morning. They were probably looking for their friends who never came back from hunting yesterday. Ha! Those ants are extry-clean now. All day I’ve been checking the counters for more and I actually squeal a little when I see one—more ffffzzzzt! Wheeee! I don’t like having ants, not even a little bit, but OMG, I sure do like spraying ‘em.

Now, what we know about ant behavior is that the rest of the ants will hear about the carnage in our house and move on to another one, right? Or will they develop new skills and advance above me in the food chain? I really don’t know how ants work.

This extermination thing may not be going like I planned, but it is going well. The twitching, muttering, foaming, slightly blue girl in the mirror says so.

May 7: Screen-Free Week = Grouchy Jen

Screen-Free Week is over. Hooray! I stuck with it, with the tiniest bit of violations, for the entire seven days. I’m not gonna lie; it was not fun. The only time I remember feeling this kind of constant anger and resentment is when we did Atkins after I had Jack.

I kept a SFW journal all week so you could follow my descent into madness.

I have to remind y’all here that the PTO encouraged kids to participate in National Screen-Free Week and I felt that, as PTO prez, I needed to do it too. Vic agreed to do it with me, but he formed his own set of SFW rules. Jack and Katie went along with it too, unless you think escaping to their friends’ houses to play video games and watch TV was against the rules. (It totally was.)

(Just gotta point out the illegibility of my handwriting, which is a good clue of how seldom I take a pen to paper. What a mess.)

During SFW, I continued to email and text—this was the only way I was able to stay connected with the outside world. Some might say that wasn’t following the SFW rules, and to those people I extend a sincere invitation to bite my giant white butt. While Facebook is a definite time-suck for me, I realized during SFW that I depend on FB to stay in touch with friends and family. Cutting it from my screen time completely is too extreme, but I could probably spend a little less time on FB every day…

Victor suggested the similarity to Adventism, and how true it was! The many ways people interpret the rules makes SFW a different experience for everyone. Honestly, I didn’t miss my TV shows as much as I expected to, so maybe my own, super-logical (of course) set of rules for SFW would do just fine in the future. Sadly, we will never know, because THIS SFW RELIGION IS NOT FOR JEN.

I’ve gotten used to immediate notifications for texts and emails, and whether they contain important info or not, I did not like giving them up. Full disclosure: on Saturday I peeked at Facebook and played a few games of Sudoku on my phone. My hold on my sanity had become flimsy; I needed to do something.

I read a lot of reactions to SFW online today, and the people who had positive results said they had shared lots more family time than usual, got out the door faster in the mornings, were more productive, etc. The one good difference for me was that I read a LOT during the spare time I might have normally spent playing mindless games on my phone. All I really need to be enticed to read more is a good book, though, so I can’t credit SFW all on its own for all my extra reading.

In summary, I will probably not do Screen-Free Week again, at least not with the rules I set for myself this time. If I start pushing SFW next year at this time, please remind me how miserable I was last week.

Frustrating: the 357 unread items in Google Reader. That will take FOREVER to get through. I think I’ll do little bits at a time. Now, leave me alone so I can catch up on my 12+ hours of Hulu. Shhhhh…

Jun. 28: Read between the lines

Here are a bunch of things separated by lines.

---

This is pretty much exactly how I feel right now.

We watched The Hangover the other night. Val told us we were the only people on earth who haven’t seen it, and she loaned us the DVD and we watched it and it was funny and now I want to talk about it but nobody wants to talk about it because the sequel is out now and everybody’s talking about that instead but Tina told me it’s got a lot of wieners in it and I don’t know if I’ll see it in the theater because we so rarely go to movies in theaters and when we do it tends to become a family event and I don’t want to take my kids to see The Hangover Part II because I am a better parent than that… maybe.

---

Dan posted the link to this David Sedaris piece on my FB wall today. My favorite part is about how he signed Judith’s book. I’m sure I’ve told the story before about when Sally went to a Sedaris show. She had been waiting in line forever to have him sign her book and Presley, who was a baby at the time, insisted they leave. Sally gave her book to her brother, who stayed in line for her. When he gave it back to her, she saw Sedaris had signed it, “It was nice to meet your brother.”

---

Tony posted this quote to Facebook this morning. This is truth:

---

Here’s a peek into my psyche that kinda explains why it’s so hard for me to get anything done around the house:

1. I decide I need a bulletin board for my office, but I don’t want an ugly bulletin board. It has to be bulletin board-like, though, because I need to hang stuff right in my face(ish) so’s I don’t forget whatever it is that’s important enough to hang right in my face(ish).
2. I buy a sheet of foam core. Foam core isn’t a bulletin board! I can still hang stuff on it, though. Perfect!
3. I decide the foam core isn’t sturdy enough. I hang lots of things.
4. I buy square sheets of cork to cover the foam core. That oughta strengthen it.
5. I decide putting cork on the foam core will ultimately look just like any old bulletin board and I am trying to avoid the bulletin board look. I forget things easily.
6. I take samples of my office colors to many fabric stores looking for a matchy-matchy fabric to cover the cork.
7. It takes two days too long.
8. I finally find the right fabric.
9. I find the right fabric just before our big party, and while tidying up I put it in a closet and forget about it.
10. I remember I bought the fabric but forget where I’d put it.
11. I remember where I’d put it—it is with the square sheets of cork. Dur.
12. I discover that the cork sheets are a different size than the foam core and I’ll have to cut them to fit. Have you ever cut cork? It’s totally messy and leaves an uneven edge. Even with fabric covering it, it’ll be hideous. I put everything back in the closet, and the bulletin board(ish) thing goes on hold.
13. I find a bulletin board for super-cheap at IKEA, and make a note to get it.
14. I remember I don’t want a plain ol’ bulletin board. Haven’t we already gone over this? UGLY.
15. I discover many different styles of magnet boards at IKEA. I vow to check them out.
16. I forget to check them out.
17. On my visit to IKEA with Sherilee last week, I remember the magnet boards. I pick one out. I do not get the PØØPLÎ magnet board. Only dorks get the PØØPLÎ. I get a SPONTAN. When I get home, I set my new SPONTAN on the dining room table. It’s thin and very flat, and I forget it is there. I don’t turn the dining room light on very often, obvy.
18. Yesterday I remember that I purchased a magnet board. When Vic gets home from work I ask him to hang it for me.
19. He goes to change his clothes first and falls asleep.
20. I wake him, but not at all in a screechy WHERE DID YOU GO WHAT ARE YOU DOING HOW THE HELL DID YOU FALL ASLEEP THAT FAST WHY AREN’T YOU HANGING MY MAGNET BOARD??? way.
21. Hanging the magnet board requires a stud finder, laser level, drill, and apparently a lot of curse words, but eventually Victor gets my magnet board on the wall. Yay!
22. Now there is a big black circle in my peripheral vision. It’s okay; it’s supposed to be there.
23. The big black circle magnet board has nothing on it because I have no magnets for it. It might as well be sitting on the dining room table, or on the shelf at IKEA, really, for all the good it’s doing me.
24. I decide that, rather than using random refrigerator magnets, I want something pretty. This will require some pondering. I decide to sleep on it.
25. Because if I don’t have the perfect magnets for my magnet board, why bother?
26. After said pondering, I decide this morning that the magnets for my magnet board absolutely must be matchy-matchy with the other colors in my office. And so it begins again…

And this, my friends, is just one of the many reasons I hate myself.

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Happy Tuesday, y’all.

Mar. 8: They don’t tell you everything

Before I started chemotherapy, I knew I could plan on a few sure things: baldness, nausea, and fatigue. But there are so, so many other things that happen to a person during chemo that the doctors, nurses and a lot of books fail to mention. How did I find out about these things? When they happened to me. About a week after my first treatment I started noticing stuff going on with my body that I had not expected, stuff that made me go WTF, CANCER??? The baldness isn’t humiliating enough?

• For the first few days after each chemo treatment, everything that comes out of me is toxic. They say I’m supposed to flush twice, clean around the toilet with antibacterial stuff every time I use it, wash my hands eleventy times, etc. Why do I need to clean all around the toilet? I don’t dance while I’m sitting on it. I just sit. It’s insanity, I tell you. As far as the hand-washing, I do that like an OCD freak anyway, so no changes there. The one fun thing about being toxic is threatening to spit on people for those few days.
• My vision has gone all wonky. It comes and goes, the wonky-ness, but I can almost always count on it being bad. And the worst part is that sometimes it’s far-sightedness, and sometimes it’s near-sightedness—it’s inconsistent and annoying as hell. One minute I can’t read street signs or see my kid in his school play. Next, I can’t read the newspaper or focus on the computer screen. See? Annoying. As. Hell.
• Have you ever heard of chemo brain? I hadn’t. It’s totally a thing, though. Forgetfulness, stupidity, loss of the ability to speel words correlcty… I do not enjoy this one bit. I think chemo brain is similar to pregnancy brain or mom brain, but I don’t remember because I’m a dummy now.
• My skin is drier than normal, but not all over. It’s dry in patches. I’ve never had this problem in my life.
• Ugh, don’t get me started on my manicure. My fingernails have begun to bend at the tips. This is usually hereditary and/or a sign of low calcium, but even as I guzzle gallons of milk, it just gets worse. They’re also striped now—you can read my fingernails for my chemo schedule, just like a tree for its age. And then there are my cuticles—dry and hangnail-y like never before. I rub Bag Balm on them every night, but by morning you can barely tell. That could be because the cat loves the taste of Bag Balm, but I’m still blaming the chemo drugs. Oh, and professional manicures and artificial nails are out of the question—too much risk of infection.
• Approximately two weeks after each chemo, my neck and chest break out with an acne-like rash. I’ve bitched about this in recent weeks because I’ve never had an acne problem, EVER. It disappears right after each treatment and then comes back again about a week later. Fun! And so pretty!
• Yeah, they tell you your hair’s gonna fall out, but you kind of assume it’s just your long, flowing tresses that you’ll lose. Then one day you look in the mirror and see that girl in high school who shaved her eyebrows off for no apparent reason but she looks psychotic and everyone suddenly suspects she’s the one who pooped in the gym shower. Losing your eyebrows sucks BIG. Eyelashes too. The hair loss on the rest of my body, I’m not complaining about—that kind of maintenance I do not miss. But the eye hair! I curse the missing eye hair!
• The hair on my head did not come out at its roots—oh no, that would be too clean. Instead, it broke. It broke off right near the skin, but left a teensy root, like a practical joke played by Paul Mitchell himself. What this means is that my head is not smooth-bald, it’s stubbly-bald. Stubble is sexy on some guys, but not on my head. Worse yet is that between each treatment, the hair begins to grow back… and then breaks off again. I wonder if God gets a huge kick out of this. Someone must. It sure ain’t me.
• Don’t get me started on what chemo, pain meds, and anti-nausea stuff do to one’s digestive system.
• I’ve read in every cancer book about mouth sores and what a problem they can be. They are easily infected, can interfere with the ability to eat, are extremely painful, etc. I’ve had one small mouth sore and I think it’s not so much due to chemo, but because I bit the inside of my cheek while I was showing off blowing huge bubble gum bubbles for the kids.
• I’m dizzy a LOT. And not just the weird for-a-second dizziness, but the for-a-couple-minutes-I-might-just-fall-over dizziness. I’d do well to get myself a cane, but I don’t want to look like a pimp.
• This one I’m not complaining about too much: chemo can put women in a state of menopause. If my body starts in with huge hormonal fluctuations and hot flashes, I’ll be very upset, but for now, I’m fiiiine with menopause.
• Fatigue? Depression? I could go on for days about this stuff. I won’t though, because I’m too fatigued and depressed.
• I read about loss of appetite being common with chemo patients, often as a fear of eating due to nausea. And I’ve definitely experienced it—the oncologist said I’ve lost ten pounds since this started, in fact—but the odd thing is that it comes and goes, changing within seconds. It’s not like I don’t want to eat for a day or two; it’s more like I don’t have an appetite now I have an appetite here comes my food oh wait I don’t feel like eating this now I’ll take it home I’m starving I don’t want to eat. My tummy is a total food tease.
• Not helping the appetite problem is that my taste buds are different now. Things taste bland where they used to be delicious, or they taste metallic where they used to … not. This is something that happens with a lot of medications, and is a well-known chemo side effect. I hate it.
• I’ve been lucky not to have too much trouble with nausea. This was a huge fear of mine, after being rehydrated in the ER three times last year during particularly bad migraine episodes.
• I’m wetting the bed again. Not with pee, mind you, but with sweat. I have awakened several times on drenched sheets. What is with the night sweats? I’ve tried different types of sheets, different types of jammies, no jammies, a cold room, a warm room, no blankets, piles of blankets. Nothing seems to stop them. Am I running a fever? NO! So, um, again I ask, WTF, CANCER???

I have to just keep telling myself: IT’LL ALL BE OVER SOON. IT’LL ALL BE OVER SOON. IT’LL ALL BE OVER SOON.

Sep. 29: The crazy is making me crazy

Y’know how sometimes people look kinda crazy (not crazy like “funny” but crazy like “off their rocker”) and you immediately know that you shouldn’t take anything they say seriously because they’re obviously off the medication that allows them to function like a normal person?

I sometimes think I should accompany each of my blog posts with a photo of myself taken at the time the post was written so you can see how sane (or otherwise) I look. This way you might have a better understanding of why some most posts have no point. Because until someone develops a computer in which buttons that post to public forums can sense insanity in the person attached to the clicking finger—and until I get one of those computers—we as an Internet public are subject to all sorts o’ batshit crazy. For instance:

• I started out my day having slept just a few hours. I woke up repeatedly throughout the night with pain shooting up one leg and one side of my back, and nothing I did and no words I yelled made any difference.
• I turned on my computer this morning to find an e-mail containing distressing news from a dear friend. I feel helpless and am trying to decide the best response to let this friend know how much I care.
• Either our cable line or both of our TiVos are farked up and the TV picture occasionally freezes or scrambles, even when I’m not watching the naughty stations. Neighbors out there, please tell me yours is doing the same thing. IT IS TOTALLY PISSING ME OFF. I was hoping it might be because of all the digging going on in our neighborhood right now but that’s probably just wishful thinking.
• There’s no school tomorrow. I don’t know why schools have to have teacher in-service days. My guess is that the teachers are tired of trying to keep our kids busy, so they’re turning it back on us so WE have to figure out what to do with them for a day in the middle of the week. Wow. Teachers be smart.
• Every day that I’ve taken a walk has evolved into me waking in the middle of the night with intense pain. My professional opinion is that even small amounts of exercise are bad for me right now. I shall drown my sorrows in many, many Advil, because Vicodin stopped doing any good a long time ago, and the small amount of rum I poured in my Coke the other day ended up giving me a huge headache. Is it possible I just needed more? Hm. So Advil or rum, either way… And now pretty soon I’m gonna need new kidneys. Little help?
• Tonight Jack told me that he wants to start showering in the mornings so he can wake up faster. I told him about how my dad used to throw a cup of water to wake me up when he thought I’d slept enough, and Jack thought that story was awesome. Funny, because Kathy’s and my memories of Dad doing that are anything but awesome. Anyway, as Jack wandered off to bed, he said, “If Grandpa Curt was alive I would ask him if he remembers that and if he thought it was funny and if he would do it to me.” And I burst into tears the second he walked out of the room because I hate that Jack doesn’t remember Grandpa Curt, only that he should.

See what I mean? I’m a mess. Physical pain can do a real number on us, and combined with miscellaneous (and sometimes stupid) frustrations, can cause totally unexpected emotions to surface, huh? Yikes. I need to stay off the computer, keep my finger away from “post” buttons, all that. But I’ve never been one to make good decisions. Instead, I acted like an idiot over on Facebook all day. Seriously—if you’re my friend and you can see the shit I wrote everywhere, you’ll go SHE WAS SOOOO NOT KIDDING!

Alright, so here’s the picture that best describes my state of mind right now. Notice I have no lipstick on. I couldn’t wear eye makeup for months after I fell last summer, but you won’t catch me dead leaving the house without lipstick. The only stronger indicator that something isn’t quite right with me is if I have lipstick smeared all over my mouth and teeth. That kinda means that for anyone, though.

My hair’s half ponytailed, half frizzy—no one’s best look. My just-off-center cowlick is doing its best to uglify my hairline. Any eye makeup you see is left over from yesterday, and lodged/smeared in the bags under my eyes. The dent in my chin is from the fall before that other fall. I know, you’re probably thinking “Girlfriend needs an old priest and a young priest!”

And let’s just say Princess Jen will be the “I’m alright” post photo:

So, is it a deal? Pictures speak a thousand words, right? Just think how much time you’ll save, not having to read a bunch of crap to find a purpose where there almost never is one. You’ll see the photo at the top and immediately know if you want to read the words under it.

Oh, you don’t have to thank me.

That horrified look on your face is thanks enough.

Aug. 29: Poodle doodles

Why? WHY???

In my opinion, dog owners who dress their pets in goofy clothes or have their hair groomed to look like another animal or work of “art” fully deserve to be chomped in their sleep. It’s just plain mean. You know other dogs make fun of these freaks when they’re paraded around. Isn’t it enough that their genitals are always visible? Do we have to decorate them too?

(I gotta admit that danda thing is kinda cute, though. → )

Here are some poodles who have been made into all sorts of other things. Check out the insanity. I’m almost speechless.

On the other hand, Sherilee, I think Ruby has “camel” written all over her—just a haircut, no dye, voilà! Bad Terrier Ruby becomes Good Camel Ruby! Maybe an art project for Seth, hm?

Jul. 4: Why all the tears?

I spent much of yesterday morning e-mailing back and forth with my cousin, who’s putting together a Saltmarsh-themed surprise thingie for which she needed my help. Specifically, she was looking for a picture of our grandfather. He died when I was six years old, so my memories of him are few but special. I’m in most of my pictures of my grandpa, so they may not be exactly what Deanna was hoping for, but she can crop me out if she wants to (meanie).

To find the photos I started digging through photo albums and boxes labeled “to be scrapbooked” and had so-so luck. Then I remembered that Kathy had scanned a ton of old photos for Dad’s memorial service, so I connected my external hard drive and started wading through all those photos.

Y’know how looking at old pictures can make you feel incredibly sad and happy at the same time? That’s how it was, looking at one picture after another of my dad, at varying ages and weights, and with me and Kath in varying hairstyles (though Kathy’s hairstyles made me cry with laughter, mostly… heh heh…). It’s not like I never look at photos of my dad, but sometimes his being gone just hits me a little harder.

I was home by myself, so I gave in to the need to cry. I don’t do that very often. I probably should.

While searching all those folders, I found the music we used for the slide show at Dad’s memorial service. And this one song—a song that I loved long before I ever realized how perfectly appropriate it was for the “apples of his eye” portion of the show—well, it gets me every time. The song’s not sad at all; in fact, it’s incredibly sweet, so I’m sharing it with you because if you’re a parent and it doesn’t make you cry, then your heart is most certainly made of stone, my friend. And also, I can’t be your friend anymore.

“You Steal My Heart Away”

Download this MP3 - (Right Click)

(Please let me know if that doesn’t download properly and I’ll post it a different way.)

Our next-door neighbors came home with their new baby last night. Tina posted photos on Facebook and this one, of their middlest with their youngest, just squeezed my heart right up. Sami’s such a sweetie—Alexander is a lucky little brother, don’t you think?

Jen E, I look forward to seeing a similar picture of your little ones in a couple weeks!

I made potato salad last night, using my aunt’s recipe. It was always my dad’s favorite kind. Although I was sure I’d eaten it before, I couldn’t remember it… until I did the taste-test this morning. Amazing how tasting something like that can take you back 35 years in one short second. It’s delicious, and I’m so glad we still have these favorite recipes being shared within our family.

I watched the Rent: Live on Broadway DVD this morning while I was cooking. So yeah, I’ve watched it 14 times this week, does that matter? Does it make me react any more “meh”-like to Angel’s story? To seeing Collins walk around with Angel’s drumsticks at the funeral? To current and former cast members on stage at the end for one last round of “Seasons of Love”? My god, man, do you know me at all?

After Rent: Live on Broadway was over, I watched the special features on the DVD. One of them shows interviews and clips of the show’s final week on Broadway last fall. Jonathan Larson’s parents were on it, as well as several cast and crew members who’ve been part of the show since its beginning. Goodbyes and endings and finales suck, that’s all I gotta say.

I was still watching the special feature and, along with all of those other things, that’s why I was bawling my head off when my mother-in-law and Julianne came in this afternoon. I felt like such an idiot. And I was trying to explain what was so sad about the show, and it just made me cry harder.

I think Darlene and Julianne are ready to have me committed. I really am fine, though; just a bit weepy. I’ll be back to my snarky, complaining self before you know it. Promise.

Apr. 5: Our couple name could be “Jin” or “Jem”

I had a dream last night about me and Jim Halpert. He dumped that psycho Pam and told me he loved me, so Michael Scott immediately called a staff meeting to announce the bittersweet news. My whole dream was like an actual episode of The Office. Just think, if these were interesting dreams, I could be a scriptwriter and just dream up all the episodes. Instead I’m a loony who dreams about fictional characters falling in love with me, and not even in an intriguing way. Let’s face it, no one would watch the episodes I’d write.

I woke up with a fat lip this morning and am talking weirder than normal. Seriously, one side of my lip is totally swollen and I look like I got punched. Now, I’m not saying I couldn’t possibly have deserved to be punched, but I wish I knew who did it and why. Vic swears it wasn’t him.

I blame all that yardwork I did yesterday. I’m telling you, it’s not healthy to exert oneself, people!

Aug. 26: Advice for a young boy

1. When your mom’s trying to cut carbs and is a teensy bit grouchy, you should not defy her in any way. If she asks you to pick up your Legos, for instance, you should do it, and you should do it immediately. Because if you don’t, she may backhand you, and remember she’s got that one pokey ring.
   
   
   
   
2. When your mom’s trying to cut carbs and cannot seem to get a good night’s sleep, you might consider keeping your things and self out of her way. And if she trips over the light saber you left on the stairs one more time, she will almost certainly inject peanut butter under your skin and encourage the dogs to nibble at you until they get to it.
   
   
   
   
3. When your mom’s trying to cut carbs and asks you to eat M&Ms for breakfast just so she can watch and enjoy them vicariously, you should do it. Yes, she’s finally lost it, and yes, you should probably get her some help. But just eat the damn M&Ms already, okay? She’s tired of seeing them whenever she accidentally opens the Cabinet o’ Carbohydrates™ and they make her want to drag you by the ankles across the unswept kitchen floor. (Also, you should sweep the kitchen floor for her.)
   
   
   
   
4. When your mom’s trying to cut carbs and has absolutely no energy and you won’t stop asking to go to the store and buy more Legos no matter how many times she says you already have too many, you should fully expect her to shove your face against the curb and stand on it until a neighbor sees.
   
   
   
   
5. When your mom’s trying to cut carbs and just wants to stop thinking about how much she’d like to have a bowl of pasta, you can bet she doesn’t want to hear every detail about your trip to Spaghetti Factory with Grandpa and Grandma yesterday. And if you insist on telling her about it anyway, she has every right to threaten you with the grater she’s using to make her Caesar salad without croutons.
   
   
   
   
6. Lastly, (and this one applies whether or not your mom’s cutting carbs), when you’re running from a bee, PLEASE watch where you’re going so you don’t bonk into a tree.

Fine, it’s too late; just file this info away in your noodle because you will need it again someday. You are my son, after all.

(Mmmmm... noodles...)