An Open Letter to Girl Scout Cookies....

Stop looking at me. I gave you up for Lent. In fact, it's not just you...I gave ALL sugar up for Lent. Trust me, I'd eat you by the SLEEVE if I could, but I can't. I made a promise, and I think that promise has even helped me shed a couple pounds. So see??? It's been a good thing for me.

We will rendezvous the day after Easter, on my couch. I swear. I'll be the one with the tall glass of milk. In the meantime, just stay in the freezer and leave me the hell alone.

Thanks,
Jen

My Wish.

Do you remember wearing banana clips in your hair? In case you don't remember (or are a guy, and have no earthly business knowing what they are), here are a few:

This is NOT a banana clip:

Sorry, found the above picture while I was searching on google image...I HAD to figure out a way to use it in this post. Back to the hair care subject at hand.

I love banana clips. I pine for them. And my wish is that they were cool again. Back when they were in style, I was 13, and my hair looked like this:

This is not me. It's Dorothy Hamill during some Olympic medal ceremony. But that is EXACTLY what my hair looked like. Not banana clip-friendly. Or looking-like-a-girl-friendly either. But that is a WHOLE other can of worms we're not going to address today.

Now I have long, thick hair. With a set of hot rollers and a banana clip, I would be unstoppable. (At least in my head I would be.) Plenty of things have come back in style. For instance, skinny jeans made a return to being trendy, so why can't banana clips? Maybe in the meantime, I will go ahead and bring them back anyway. Lindsay Lohan brought leggings back into our lives without asking our opinion, so I will charge forward with the banana clip movement.

Who's with me?? Anyone?

No one?

Crap.

Well, how about we bring banana clips back, Levar Burton style?

*It's plain to see I had WAY to much fun on Google Image this morning.

Plenty of fish in the sea? More like plenty of FREAKS.

I think I'm done with internet dating that doesn't cost money. Not to say that the paid sites aren't teeming with weirdos, because they are. They're all a cross-section of society, so no matter where you go, some of our fellow humans we meet are just downright strange. I've used both Match.com and Eharmony in the past, but I've gotten considerably more odd messages from the free sites. Most notably, http://www.plentyoffish.com/.

Today, I bring you another charming internet dating exchange, compliments of the aforementioned Plenty of Fish. The following is an email I received from a member no more than 30 minutes ago:

"How would you like to have a guy give you a nice foot massage, then suck your toes and lick your feet while you relax for as long as you want? Let me know if you would be interested. Looking forward to hearing from you soon! Alex"

Ready? Set? GROSS.

No, I didn't mention 'hang out with my totally awesome feet' as one of my interests on my dating profile. And by the way, I did not change his name to protect his anonymity. Alex doesn't deserve protection. WOMEN are the ones needing protection from a creepshow that thinks this is an ok way to introduce themselves. Ladies, if you're surfing through Plenty of Fish, and a foot-loving dude named Alex sends you a message, save yourself the 12 seconds of message reading, and delete without remorse. Unless you're strangely proud of your feet...and if that's the case, you crazy kids just might hit it off.

And you know what? That's not even the worst message I've received while being on this site. But I can't bring myself to post them because they're pure trash. While I know I can post whatever the hell I want on my blog, I'd still like this forum to maintain a SHRED of dignity.

And of course, nothing screams "dignity" like talking about a creep from the internet with a foot fetish. Oh yeah, and lest we forget, there was also "sugar tits". That was a shining moment as well.

Ah, the blessing that is internet dating.

This evening, I was having my first instant message conversation with a gentleman I'd met on my latest interweb dating venture, Plenty of Fish. I'm still not totally sold on this site, but it's free. I'm skeptical that my soul mate is on this site, but it keeps me out there, meeting people. That skepticism intensified tonight, and apparently I'm getting what I'm paying for, which is nothing. What seemed to be a fun, sweet, lighthearted conversation with a seemingly good guy took a VERY unexpected turn at the end.

His sign off?

"Talk to you later, Sugar-tits."

Um, thanks pal. I'm floored at your gallantry. Proof positive that romance is not dead. I can't wait to talk to you again. Really. Of course, you ARE a San Francisco Giants fan. I should have seen it coming a mile away.

NOTE: Let it be known that the pictures I put on my profile do NOT suggest that such a nickname would be acceptable. I would happily show my 99 year-old grandmother any of the pictures I posted.

Evidence our Country is in REAL Trouble.

Turns out there is real proof that America is in crisis. Is it the unemployment numbers reaching double digits? The plunging stock market? Increased home foreclosures? No, it's the fact that Tyler Perry's Madea Goes to Jail was #1 at the box office for the second straight week.

And no, I haven't seen Madea Goes to Jail. But I'm still confident that it's crap. Why? Because it's been done before, and I already saw it back in the 80's. It's called Ernest Goes to Jail. And that was a festering turd of a movie.

And you know what? This is not the first time a film of this caliber made it this far. This is actually the third movie I've noticed in this disturbing trend. Remember my post on Beverly Hills Chihuahua? That was the first offense. The next time I noticed it, it was for Paul Blart, Mall Cop. I was so horrified at this development that I couldn't bring myself to blog about it. But now with Madea, our bad movie alert level has just been raised from yellow to orange, and I feel it's my civic duty to make this plea:

PLEASE, go see something else. ANYTHING ELSE. If you haven't seen it yet (or even if you already have), go see Slumdog Millionaire. Amazing movie. There's a reason it's getting so much press. Spend your money on that one.

I'm Wanted for Murder.

My roommate has been out of town for the last week. Before she left, she entrusted me to watering her happy, pink flowering plant from her bedroom. She even brought it downstairs to the living room to hang out with my other plant so I could water them together. I was more than happy to, as I'm hoping to add more plants to my house and backyard, so this would be a great chance to test out my green thumb that I SO desperately wanted to cultivate. The following picture is a result of my 'care'.

I'm at a loss...I've given both plants the same amount of water, sunlight, and love. There's a few pink blooms hanging on, yes, but the rest of the plant is heading south quickly. I brought in reinforcements. My mom, a seasoned gardener happened to be at my place on Friday morning, and I told her my concerns. She said, "Maybe you over-watered it. Put it outside on your patio for a day or two, and it should perk up."

And the picture above is what greeted me this morning. It looked even worse. Horrified, I brought the plant back inside so it could spend it's final days under 24-hour care. A sort of "botany-hospice".

Maybe this plant didn't WANT to live. Or maybe my plant killed it out of jealousy. Or just maybe I'm to blame. But no matter who's fault it is, my roomie is home tomorrow. At this point, I need a freaking miracle. This plant is by the front door...the first thing she'll see when she returns from her long cross-country journey. When she asked what happened to her beloved plant, I will simply give this explanation:

"It was Colonel Mustard, in the Living Room, with the lead pipe."

It would be real nice if you all backed me up on this theory.

Because I'm awesome.

Don't you hate when you're in the car, and an awesome song comes on the radio just as you're reaching your destination? This was playing when I pulled up to a work meeting this afternoon. So I stayed in the car until it was over. And I rocked out.

Judge me if you want. I don't care.