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 Tuesday, January 22, 2008 I watch the cars Once, my father and I were sitting in the car in the parking lot of the grocery store. This wasn't unusual, as my mother hated for my father to go in the grocery with her. "He's like a kid in a candy store!" He so rarely went into the grocery store that he wanted everything. Bright colors, pretty, shiny. I'm afflicted with the same problem. I'm so easily distracted by visuals and textures. But anyhow, we were sitting in the parking lot of the grocery store one Winter evening, and my father made a comment to me about the people walking to their cars. He quipped about how he enjoyed watching people go to their cars in the Winter, because everyone had a little extra hustle and bustle to their step when it was chilly out. Kind of a rush-rush hustle step. I see people out and about in the Winter now, and I still think back to sitting in the parking lot of the grocery store with my father. And I catch myself doing the little rush-rush hustle step, and I smile. I still smile when I think of that, and it's nice to find little things like that to smile about nowadays. Labels: stories posted by Jennifer at 1/22/2008 07:27:00 PM | 0 comments
Wednesday, March 28, 2007 life is very short There once was a girl who thought she was right all the time. The boy she was with was weak and obviously in need of leadership, unable to make do on his own and still living with his mother. Money fell out of the boy's pockets when he walked. Faced with the potential for supporting this boy, she forced him to put money away. Faced with the potential of losing her hard-earned savings, she squirreled her money away. The boy proposed marriage six months after meeting the girl. The girl had few options. The boy had already spoken with her father and bought a ring. Friends were present. To deny him this would be ending the relationship, and they had been through an ordeal in the preceding months. The boy had wanted other girls involved in their relationship. The boy had asked other girls to join into their union without her consent. They had been through this. The girl could not deny him then. She was trapped. A week after the proposal and acceptance of said proposal, the boy was caught trying to arrange a rendezvous with another girl. The girl almost put her shoes on to leave. If the girl had just finished tying her shoes, this story would have been very different. The boy apologized. The boy swore he would change. The boy didn't. He just didn't tell anyone that part of the story, so it was okay. The boy and girl continued living together in strife, the bickering and crying outweighing the laughs and smiles. The boy continued to pretend everything was fine. The girl continued to be blind to her options. The girl took off her ring for months. The boy tried to make her put it back on. Eventually, her will worn low, she wore it again. But, she decided if she wore it, she was going to follow through. They would be married. They were married. Despite the girl's best efforts to organize everything, many things fell through the cracks. The boy decided buying a car two days prior to the marriage was more important than organizing the wedding. The money he promised to spend on paying off his school loans was spent instead on an impractical car. The honeymoon passed quickly, so to speak. The girl fell out of love. The girl had not been in love in many years. The boy was too distracted to see this. The girl didn't know how to say this. Despite the boy's later denial of this, the boy didn't care. The boy was too absorbed in himself, his friends, and his bitterness toward life in general. Seven years later, the girl fell in love. The new love absorbed her, and she let it. The girl had promises to keep with the boy, and she kept them. She was faithful by most standards. She kept her promise to move away from her home and her family. She uprooted herself, but found no nourishment for her roots in the new home. The girl could not pretend anymore. The girl could not live her life with this boy. She knew this, but she had been denying it for many years. The boy was oblivious. The boy yelled, fussed, slammed the car door, pushed the cat, and insulted her love one too many times. The girl had to choose quickly between a life of unhappiness with the boy or the potential for great happiness with the man. In the end, the girl made a wise decision, for once in her life. Good riddance to this girl. This girl has changed. This girl has grown. This girl is possibly not quite the woman she will be one day, but she is certainly not still the girl who thought she was right all the time. However, she was never malicious or unfaithful. Her only crime was pretending to be happy. The boy lusted; the girl followed her heart. True friends remain by her side, but the boy's friends and family have not spoken to the girl since. Good riddance to these people. Good bye to these people. Good wishes to these people. Godspeed to the boy. I honestly hope you follow your heart and choose happiness over practicality, lust, money, and the other temptations of life. (And a part of me still hopes you'll see one day that I did the same.) Labels: self-assessment, stories posted by Jennifer at 3/28/2007 08:49:00 AM | 7 comments
Monday, March 05, 2007 fly away from here Dear little bird that happened to die on our doorstep, Please accept my deepest apologies for any part our doorstep may have played in your untimely demise. I left the front door open so the cats could see outside, since it was a temperate day, and I realize you may have mistaken this glass door for an opening you could pass through. I didn't hear any sound when/if you flew into it, so I was unable to come to aid you. At least it appears that nothing harmed you. You were not mauled by an animal and left as a gift for us, as we responsibly keep our pointy-toothed critters indoors. I have seen first-hand what a roaming feline feels is a suitable doorstep gift for its family: legless or half-eaten birds. What a travesty. But I should not mention such grotesque matters. What matters is that now you are dead, unscathed, and laying on my doorstep with your delicate feet pointed toward the heavens. What should I do with you, little friend? Where would you like your mortal remains to decompose peacefully? I will find a place for you, and I hope it will be to your liking. Peace to you, Jennifer Labels: stories posted by Jennifer at 3/05/2007 11:50:00 AM | 2 comments
Monday, January 22, 2007 from vine to vine I had another dietary revelation the other day... To explain, I must first explain some back story. About 20 years ago (when I was 7), my grandfather used to grow all different kinds of vegetables around the side of my grandparents' house. Some of these were cherry tomatoes. He used to love them, and affectionately called them "Tommy Toes." Fast forward 20 years back into the present. Darrell and I were sitting in the garage, discussing dinner plans. I was telling him about a raw soup that Kathy had made for me, and I was planning on making it for us that night. I began listing off the ingredients: tomatoes, celery, avacado... and right after I said "tomatoes," Darrell said delightfully, "Tommy Toes!" I was silent, staring off into the distance, not finishing my list of ingredients. Darrell looked at me, befuddled, and asked where I went. I was visiting my memory from 20 years ago... of my grandfather calling the cherry tomatoes "Tommy Toes." And when I snapped back to the present, I told Darrell of my revelation: I had always thought my grandfather called them "Tommy Toes" because they looked like little toes. It never had occurred to me that he just called them that because it's a cute name that sounds a lot like "tomatoes." *sigh* Labels: stories posted by Jennifer at 1/22/2007 11:34:00 AM | 1 comments
Friday, October 27, 2006 makin' me dizzy Ever the indecisive one when it comes to food (amongst other things), I stood in front of the refrigerator, trying to decide what to eat. I narrowed my options down to two: bratwurst or a fish and cheese sandwich. In a spontaneous moment of, "Eh, why not?" I decided to have both. One bratwurst. One fish and cheese sandwich. This was not a wise decision. Labels: stories posted by Jennifer at 10/27/2006 12:05:00 PM | 6 comments
Tuesday, October 24, 2006 tears of a clown My email to Hewlett-Packard tech support: webform_submit_time : Thu Oct 19 12:30:55 EDT 2006 problem_area : color and print quality problems model_number : Deskjet 1220C problem_description : Print outs (color and grayscale) output with ink spots all over them. The last 11" x 17" print had at least 10 orange spots randomly scattered over it. The spots are approximately .125" to .25" in diameter, and they are usually bright orange or magenta. The printer has done this sporatically since I've had it, but it is getting worse as it gets older. trouble_shooting : I have tried aligning and cleaning the cartridges, with no results. Also, I recently purchased new color and black cartridges. The black cartridge is approximately 1 month old, and the color cartridge is approximately 1 week old. setting_changes : Nothing has changed, however, the printer has always sporatically misbehaved, just not to this extent. tech_skill : intermediate H-P's response? Read on... Hello Jennifer, I understand your D1311 is printing color spots on your print outs. The D1311 does not support 11 X 17 the largest paper supported is 8 X 10 Thank you for contacting HP Total Care. This should resolve the issue. If you need further assistance, please reply to this message and we will be happy to assist you further. HOW THE FUCK does this resolve my issue? Hi, I know you said you are having trouble with your 1220C, and you specifically mentioned a problem on your latest print which happened to be on 11" x 17" paper... BUT this other model of printer - which you do not even own, by the way - does not print 11" x 17." What the hell? That's like me saying, "Hi, I'm having trouble driving my car, because the front driver side tire is flat. Would you please help me air it up?" And then, you say, "Well, motorcycles don't have driver-side tires. They only have two tires. Have a nice day!" ::shakes head in disappointment:: At least I didn't tell them my tech skill was advanced. Their response would have probably been WAY over my head, then. ha! posted by Jennifer at 10/24/2006 07:35:00 PM | 1 comments
Wednesday, August 16, 2006 things we said today I haven't written much lately. I've been feeling a touch exposed here lately, but I have to stop and realize that this is the internet, and truly any Joe (or Jane) Schmoe can freely read whatever they please. I know this. Somehow, I allowed myself the illusion of privacy for a moment there, though. It's pretty easy sometimes. Just pull down the blinds, ignore the StatCounter, and vent your little heart out. And that's exactly what I intend to do now. Except that my words will be veiled in slightly thicker blinds. Moving along. It's done. I'm done. We're done. (Insert sigh of relief here.) It was a long day. I am grateful to those who chose to help me through this day ("sign here," "oops forgot to put a date here," "it'll be okay," "this is what you need to fill out"). It's funny how no one's been helpful till the day it all actually matters. So much for saving face. At least it's done. That's all that is important to me right now. It's a mixture of frustration, anger, sadness, embarrassment, and relief that is washing out of my eyes right now. Soon, it will all distill into something I can make sense of, sort out, and file away as a memory. Labels: stories posted by Jennifer at 8/16/2006 08:51:00 AM | 2 comments
Wednesday, May 10, 2006 'cause everybody hurts Here's the deal. I'm whiney. Here's what happened: [Don't laugh. Seriously.] I had a little "accident" in the kitchen last night. I went to turn off the light over the sink, and noticed a cat toy in the floor while the light was still on. So, silly me, I turned off the light THEN bent down to pick up the cat toy. I bent over straight into the rim of the trash can. I hooked my tailbone on the edge of it, emitted a series of foul words, and went to bed hurting and pissy. It hurts when I sit. It hurts when I stand. It hurts when I walk. [Okay. Stop laughing. I said stop. Dammit.] posted by Jennifer at 5/10/2006 10:32:00 AM | 5 comments
Monday, May 08, 2006 ain't nothin' like the real thing It's been sitting in the refrigerator – taunting me – for a week or so... Every time I peek in, it's there. It wanted me to eat it. It really did. The Organic Polenta. I looked up serving suggestions. Recipe ideas. Anything to make me understand exactly what this food is. I asked an Italian friend. He shuddered and said it was an acquired taste. Aquired tastes scare me. I usually don't care to acquire them. But today, I bit the bullet and tried it. And it's not bad. I'm pleased. Quite pleased. Labels: stories posted by Jennifer at 5/08/2006 10:36:00 AM | 2 comments
Wednesday, May 03, 2006 still I'm glad for what we had The papers are signed and notarized. Now, I need to make a trip to see the Circuit Court Clerk, wait 61 days, and go from there. It was so easy. And so hard. My friend Kathy told me that signing the papers is only writing down what you've both already decided. And I know that's true. It just stirred up so many emotions that I can't even begin to describe them all. I miss my family. I miss Michael and Dottie and Joe and Poppy and Kris. I miss my friends. I miss karaoke nights with Chris Ward and Josh and Kayla and Stephanie and K. Webb and Jason and Justin and Bristow and everybody else. I miss my job. I miss Osagi-san and Houdini and Chewie and Bajeera and Nimbus and Loki and Peachy and Abbey Cat and Alley Cat and The Banshee. And even though I know better, I still feel like I need to explain everything to everyone. But I don't know what to say or how to say it. So, here's what I sent to my dad last month (which is, of course, an abridged version, but I think it sums things up well): Sent: Fri Mar 31 09:07:43 2006 That sums it up pretty well. I'm happy where I am now. And I think Michael is happy where he is now. I think this all will work out like it should have all worked out in the first place. Everything happens for a reason, right? I'd like to think so, at least. I still have good friends. I still have good family. I still have some work trickling in. I still have my kitty cats (plus one). And I have My Darrell – my love – who appreciates me, loves me, and makes me happier than I ever knew I could be. I have honesty. I have communication. I have faith that the future will bring me good things and continued happiness. I have more than I've ever had before. There is a lot to look forward to, so I need to stop looking backward. Labels: stories posted by Jennifer at 5/03/2006 12:33:00 PM | 7 comments
Thursday, April 13, 2006 it's hard at the end of the day Mister Kitty showed up in the back yard Monday morning. I saw his grey tabby coat through the leaves, and I called him to see if he was a social kitty. He meowed and came to see me. You can imagine my horror when I saw that his head was twice the size that it should be, he had a gash on one side of his face, and he was favoring his left hind leg. "Poor Mister Kitty! Are you hungry? Who is hungry? Mister Kitty is hungry." I immediately went inside to get him some food. I put it on the ground for him outside, went inside, and called the vet to see if I could get an appointment for him. Miss Kitty's vet said they'd work him in if I could catch him. I tried putting some tuna in the back of the plastic cat carrier. He was too smart to go in all the way, so I couldn't shut the door. I thought I could maybe find a heavy cardboard box to get him in. I found one, but he was gone by the time I got back outside with it. I saw Mister Kitty that night, Tuesday night, and last night. It's like he knew not to stop by during the day, because I was going to take him to the vet. Psychic kitty. I left his food out for him inside the cardboard box to get him used to going in it. This morning, I was watering the plants out back, and Mister Kitty showed up on the doorstep. I put his food in the box for him, and he went right in. I shut it behind him, and tipped it up to carry it, whence he promptly freaked out. Paws were sticking out every possible escape route. Thinking he was going to hurt himself, I promptly let him out of the box. He hadn't finished his food, so I made one final effort. I tried the soft carrier. It's smaller than all the others, but I thought I should exhaust all possible resources. Mister Kitty needed to go to the vet. He went right into the soft carrier to get the food, and I zipped him up in it and threw a towel over the top. He didn't like it. He meowed. He tried to get out. He didn't escape this time, though. I brought him around front, but then realized the front door was locked. So, I left him out front, ran back in through the back, grabbed by wallet, some shoes, my keys, and the phone. I called the vet and told them I was on the way. I put Mister Kitty in the back of the car, and I talked to him all the way there. He wasn't a happy camper. "It's okay, Mister Kitty. The vet's gonna make you all better. It'll be all right, baby." At the vet, we sat and waited for a bit. I filled out some paperwork. And I tried to soothe the Mister Kitty. He meowed some more. He scratched. He tried to get out. And he was perfectly happy once we got to the exam room. What a model patient. They took his temperature, and it was 2 degrees higher than normal, which meant he had a fever. They looked at his wounds, and could find no obvious damage on the back leg, but his face looked awful. He had significant scar tissue and wounds on his face, ears, and mouth, and some of his teeth were recently knocked out. His gums were bleeding. His disposition, on the other hand, was great. He walked around the office, checking the place out, while they ran his blood work. It seemed like forever before the vet came back with the test strip. The vet came back with the strip and showed it to me. There were two little blue dots. He had FIV... Feline Immunodeficiency Virus... Feline AIDS. The doctor assured me that he would have trouble healing, and with open wounds, he would easily spread the virus to other cats. He said almost all of his clients faced with a similar decision would opt to put the cat to sleep. As he was telling me this, he averted his eyes, because tears were welling up in mine. Everything was kind of foggy after this point. I said goodbye to Mister Kitty. I picked him up and held him, and he purred for me. I kissed him on top of his head, and I told him I was sorry. "I'm so sorry." I whispered to him that I loved him and that I was sorry. I left with an empty carrier, and it felt like it was filled with lead. posted by Jennifer at 4/13/2006 02:03:00 PM | 3 comments
Tuesday, January 03, 2006 ba da da da da da ba bum... tequila! This is what I remember from my tequila-driven New Year's Eve: Josh gave us (Michael, Jesse, Jason, and me) a ride to Chris Ward's house. Chris Ward wore a Monty Python hat, and insisted for everyone to wear party hats. I wore one atop my toboggan Christa made for me. It rocked. Ward's lady friend Tracey had prepared a bounty of food, and it all was delicious (the unmeaty, uncheesy parts, anyhow). Jason, Kayla, Michael, Josh (I think), and I had a shot* of tequila. Jason (my shot buddy) and I discussed the plan of attack for the evening, and decided to do another shot. We toasted. I don't remember what I toasted to. I can't remember if we sat down in between or not, but we had another shot. Jason toasted to his new plot he came up with at work that day (and I really hope that works out well for him!), and I, ironically, toasted to not getting sick. Or maybe that's what I toasted to the other time. Hell, I don't remember.
At some point, I got a beer** and some chips. I sat on the couch and proceeded to take pictures and spill the chips all over the floor. I got more chips at some point, and I think I spilled those, too. I asked Chris Ward if I could wear his hat later. He said yes, but I never got the chance to wear it. Kayla then asked me to do a shot, so I, of course, did. I'm a glutton for punishment. Seemingly a few minutes later, we did another. I don't remember much of that. Later, I woke up in Ward's spare room, covered in vomit, on an air mattress. Michael fussed at me for making a mess. I yelled at him. "Let's go home." "NO!" "C'mon, you've made a mess here." "YES! NO! YES!" "Let's just go home." "YES! NO!" "Kitties love you... c'mon, they're at home waiting on you. You love kitties, don't you?" "NO! YES!" I vaguely remember this. I went to sleep. I woke up alone. I heard counting... "...NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN!..." I drifted off again. I woke up freezing cold. I went back to sleep. I woke up. I went to the bathroom and puked. I slipped some water and puked again. Michael took me home, and I thought I was going to DIE Sunday. The End. Lesson learned: I already knew it was stupid to drink so much so quickly. However, I did learn something new the next day (Sunday), and that was that butter rice cakes aren't altogether unpleasant when they come back out the way they went in. * 1 shot = a rough estimate in a Solo cup ** Mike's Hard Limeade posted by Jennifer at 1/03/2006 08:58:00 PM | 7 comments
Sunday, October 30, 2005 as each moment has unfurled The hospital was scary, but having to sign the paperwork over by the OB/GYN Nursery Ward fully sealed the deal in my mind. The expecting mothers looked so frightened, and the little pamphlets with pictures of women holding newborns were so foreign to me. Literally. Most were in Spanish. "¿Está teniendo un bebé?" The pictures looked so sterile. They glossed over the labor, the diapers, the illnesses, any complications. I could not identify with the women in those pictures. The nurses and the anesthesiologists were all very cordial. They waited patiently while I took out all my earrings, belly ring, tongue ring... and they even let me leave in a couple piercings, since I'd thought ahead and gotten solid nylon jewelry for some. I took off my wedding band, contact lenses, and my ponytail holder. I got out of my clothes and into the dreaded hospital gown. At least, they let me keep my socks on, and they gave me a toasty blanket. Since we got there so early, we waited an hour or so for the doctor to arrive. They let Michael come in and chit-chat with me. He made me giggle, which would make my heart rate go up in little spurts, which made me giggle even more. The incessant heart rate monitor beeping was slightly unnerving, as was the random blood pressure checking. I pestered Michael by asking him what time it was every 10 minutes or so, but he tolerated it nicely. Finally, the doctor arrived. A couple of the nurses asked me, "are you certain?" and I answered, "yes" every time. The doctor asked, too. "Yes, I'm ready." The anesthesiologist gave me happy juice as they wheeled me down the hall, and the last thing I remember was being moved from the rolling bed to a more narrow, harder bed that was under two large lights. The lights were large, round, and had iridescent colors inside. They weren't lit yet, but I remember thinking they would be very pretty when they were on. They told me that this bed was smaller, and to feel the sides of it, so I wouldn't fall off. I faded out, staring into the light fixtures... ... I woke up in pain saying, "... it hurts ... tell Michael it hurts ... tell Michael it hurts ..." The nurse took off my oxygen mask and asked what the pain was on a scale of 1 to 10. I told her it was "6-ish." In retrospect, it was more like an 8. She gave me more pain medication in my IV. This went on until I told her it was down to a "4 and a half." They tried to get me to go to the restroom (I couldn't leave until I proved I could go), but I got chilled, and my teeth wouldn't stop chattering, so they put me back to bed. I got half-dressed, and I asked for Michael again, so they brought him back in. He helped me put in my earrings. My throat felt like someone had stuck a hot iron down it, but they didn't want to give me too much water, for fear that I'd get sick. They gave me more fluids in my IV, and finally I could pee. Joy! It was finally time to hop in the wheelchair and go home. The Oxycontyn the doctor prescribed hasn't helped much. However, this morning, I took some Flexeril (a muscle relaxer) left over from my wreck last December, and that helped. So, I decided to take a little Pamprin today (careful not to exceed 4 grams of acetaminophen in 24 hours), and that helped out, too. I'm feeling much better. I didn't expect to feel so stiff; I could barely move yesterday. But, I'm just happy to be on the mend. Labels: stories posted by Jennifer at 10/30/2005 09:22:00 PM | 4 comments
Monday, October 17, 2005 saturday in the park My Weekend at the Fair by Jennifer W.K. This weekend, I went to the Bell Buckle Craft Fair with my sister-in-law Kristine, her business partner Kerri, and Kerri's sister Krista. Friday night, we had to get the products ready over at Kerri's house. I was up till 2:00 a.m., ate very little, labeled hundreds of products for Kristine and Kerri, and slept like a baby for a whole 5 hours. Saturday, I was awakened at 7:00 a.m. by having the covers pulled off me and Krista's small Maltese dog licking me in the face. We packed up the trucks and headed down to Bell Buckle. Upon arrival, we set up the booth, and life was good. I filled out invoices, ate curly potatoes, strung some bracelets, got the kids in the booth across from us to paint monkeys on my hands, and got some reading done at the end of the day. We packed up and got home by 7:00 p.m. I ate biscuits and fake sausage for dinner (my first substantial meal in over 24 hours), and crashed. Sunday, I headed down to lovely Bell Buckle again, but this time with my friend Katherina. We didn't have to help set up or take down, so life was good. We gave out product samples (home-made doggie treats) to dogs, petted sugar gliders, talked to a lady about goats (I love goats!), and helped out at the booth a little. I bought a kid's painting that benefitted the Humane Society and a wallet made from Kool-Aid packets. Katherina bought a Halloween accessory for her pug Conan. I ate Chinese food for lunch and Cracker Barrel for dinner. And I'm pooped. The End. Labels: stories posted by Jennifer at 10/17/2005 10:08:00 AM | 0 comments
Monday, September 19, 2005 before we all go under Almost exactly ten years ago today, I was walking across the Walnut Street Bridge in Chattanooga with my mother and brother. I remember it only vaguely, but I recall the weather being a perfect mix of sunshine and a crisp, cool breeze. My brother and I had been arguing (nothing out of the ordinary there), and he and my mother were walking up ahead of me on the way back across to the car. As I straggled behind, I noticed an ordinary-looking woman sitting on one of the benches that faced out to the river. She was crying. She was just sitting there with tears pouring down her face, but she wasn't wiping them away or trying to hide in any way. At the same time, she wasn't sobbing or doing anything to draw attention to herself. She was just having a good, hearty cry right there on the Walnut Street Bridge. I wanted to say something, do something, anything to help, but I couldn't. There was nothing I could say or do that would help. This was one of the first events that put the voice in my head that pops in and reminds me, "You can't save the world." But I want to save the world. I wanted to help. But it wasn't my place. And I was helpless, too. Today, walking across the Woodland Street Bridge, I marveled at how no passers-by could help me today, just as I couldn't help that woman then. It's funny how that works out sometimes. And that's okay. You can't save the world. [Me, me, me, me, me. I sound like such a brat.] Labels: stories posted by Jennifer at 9/19/2005 05:23:00 PM | 8 comments
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