31 August 2007

I'm not cool.

Minnesota Monthly has devoted it's September issue to "cool." Does this automatically make the magazine uncool? Many would say yes.

One of the pieces is The Cool Matrix, "How the hippest Minnesotans live, love and take their coffee.

I am none of these. Actually, the only type with which I have more than a couple things in common is The Hipster Parents. Riiiiiiiight. I guess the hipster part applies. Am I devastated to find that Minnesota Monthly thinks me neither hip nor cool? Not so much.

This article: "The State of Cool," is pretty great, though. Then again, I'm an unabashed Minneapolis lover. I guess the rest of the state isn't so shabby, either.

I do take issue with a few things on the "Cool in theory" list on the second page of the article. Surly beer is as delightful as Canada and the Rollergirls and I always go to Trader Joe's after my yoga class.

30 August 2007

My fantasy

... football drafts are in the books. Is this the year that The Bob Saget Fan Club finally makes it over that last hump and wins the Super Bowl? It may very well be, provided the league commissioner doesn't make any last-minute playoff rules changes that benefit no one but him. My crop of wide receivers and running backs has received high praise from the guys in my other league.

Yes, okay, I'm bitter about the change our commish made last year -- without any discussion or notice -- to reseed the playoffs after each round. That's why he went to the Super Bowl and I had to be content to finish third. I still came out ahead, but I want the glory. And the $200 or whatever the payout is this year. Just think of all the lip gloss and vintage purses I could buy!

There's a new team in town this year, too -- Strumpet's Crumpets. Yes, I am the suck at thinking of good fantasy football team names. I had to think of a name right away, and I was eating a crumpet and thinking whore-y thoughts. Voilà! Strumpets Crumpets is born. It is fitting that my quarterback for this team is Matt Leinart. I know, I know. The eye herpes. But sweet, merciful Jebus, he is hot.

I'm glad I can still be totally stoked about football season, even though I no longer have a truly favorite team. The Vikings can suck it. I might tune in every now and again to see Adrian Peterson run, but I really don't see myself taking them back.

Now, if only I could watch Gopher football games. Fuck you, Comcast. And fuck you too, Big Ten Network. Just agree on something, already.

28 August 2007

The Girls are here to stay.

During the pub crawl on Saturday, my sister revealed to me that my mom had asked her if she thought I needed a breast reduction. I'm not entirely sure why she didn't ask me herself. But that's mom, I guess. I've had the conversation plenty of times with a number of people.

It's no secret that I have bodacious ta-tas. I'm not going to lie. The thought has crossed my mind more than a couple times -- usually when I try on a button-down shirt or when I'm on the elliptical machine at the gym and my pecs are sore from trying to keep the fun bags from flying all over the place when my Multi-Bra Boob Control System isn't doing it's job.

Yes, I have back problems. However, I'm not sure they're related to the size of my dirty pillows. My jugs did not cause me to slip on the ice outside The Cheating Asshole's garage which led to my herniated disc. Besides, since I've been pretty religious about going to the gym, I can't remember the last time my back even bothered me.

And yes, there's the aforementioned inability to wear button-down shirts. That does kind of suck. Finding shirts that fit over the hooters yet don't leave me looking like I'm wearing a tent is a challenge. But I've learned to buy multiples of shirts that work for me.

The aforementioned difficulties at the gym would probably go away, too. There are poses I really can't do in yoga because my sweater puppies get all up in my face and I can't breathe. I won't even bother running -- two bras is barely enough to keep them under control while I'm walking or on the elliptical machine. If I was to run, I'd have to hold on to my cans for dear life, lest they break free from their bonds and hurt someone.

Oh, I can't forget the inappropriate attention they bring. But my knockers get me free drinks, too. So that one is pretty much a wash.

I would have plenty of reasons to do it. But ultimately, it's elective surgery. I've already had surgery twice in my life -- when I was 16, to remove bone chips in my knees and when I was 20, to remove my thyroid. Unless I have a very good reason -- like I want to be able to move around without pain (knee surgery) or I have cancer (thyroid), I'm not having surgery.

Part of my mom's reasoning, I'm sure, is based on her breast cancer. When she was in the hospital after her surgery, she apparently told one of her sisters that all the women in the family should just get their tits lopped off as a precaution. Yeah ... no thanks, mom.

It's not like breast reduction surgery is a breeze. It's painful and it's complicated. For the love of God, they cut your fucking nipples off! You can lose sensitivity. I'm sure there's something about breast feeding, but I don't give two shits about that.

I don't think I'd feel right or look right with smaller boobs, anyway. At the end of the day, my rack is a part of who I am -- be it good or bad. I love my boobies and I'm not getting rid of them unless it's a life-or-death situation. And that is something I may very well have to deal with later in my life. I'm going to enjoy them while I can.

27 August 2007


The pub crawl went well on Saturday. It seems like everyone had fun, and that's really all I wanted.

We did karaoke at the Otter. Entered the meat raffle at the Vegas Lounge. We didn't win, which was a good thing. What the hell would we have done with a box of hamburger and bacon for the remaining six bars on our list? Nicked peanut butter packets from the Spring Street Bar & Grill (where we saw two mullets!). Drank a lot. The cowbell really helped us stay on schedule. I spent a lot of money.

Before Saturday, I was a bit worried that people at the bars might be annoyed. That didn't seem to be the case, though. The karaoke woman at the Otter loved us. The bartender at the Vegas Lounge gave us $5 for the juke box. Everyone seemed really cool.

I was a little disappointed that like, eight people didn't show up. But these were the people who never RSVPed to me -- it was someone else saying, "Oh, I talked to these guys and they're planning to be there." So, of course I included them in the button count and ended up spending $20 extra on buttons. It's not a huge deal, but next time I know better. If you don't RSVP, you're not getting a button or whatever it is we're using. Just have to be more of a hard ass, I guess. I didn't want anyone to be left out.

Of course, that little wrinkle isn't enough to deter me. We're totally doing a light rail pub crawl in October. That will require a dry run, most likely. And a little more planning in regard to travel time. I should probably get working on it soon.

23 August 2007

Pub crawlin' III: It's almost here!

After all the planning and agonizing, the Northeast Pub Crawl is almost here.

I'm über stoked about it. Christ, I need something to be excited about with all this dreary weather. There were so many days this summer I wished for a gray, rainy Saturday after the unrelenting heat and sun. I guess all the wishing everyone did had backlogged or something and now we're getting them all at once. And my hair hasn't been fully dry since Friday.

But, back to the pub crawl ... I'm kind of surprised at the number of people who were interested. I mean, I knew there would be a core group of people who would be there regardless. For a while it looked like there might be just that handful of people. Then it was 11, 13, 19 and now we're hovering around 25. Awesome! I'm ever so glad I ordered those extra buttons.

It's going to be quite the task to keep this group together and on schedule. But I will be armed with a cowbell (Sweet!) and a loud voice.

    1. Spring Street Bar & Grill – 5:00 p.m.
    2. Moose on Monroe – 5:45 p.m.
    3. Vegas Lounge – 6:30 p.m.
    4. Legends – 7:15 p.m.
    5. U Otter Stop Inn – 8:45 p.m.
    6. Mac’s Industrial Sports Bar – 9:30 p.m.
    7. Keegan’s Irish Pub – 10:15 p.m.
    8. Whitey’s – 11:00 p.m.
    9. The Bulldog NE – 11:45 p.m. to Finish

That looks like a good schedule, right? A nice mix of places? I really hope people have fun. I put a lot of time and thought into this. Not to mention the $50 or so I dropped on the buttons. Granted, it was fun because it completely satisfied my somewhat obsessive nature when it comes to schedules and plans and whatnot. But it was still quite the undertaking.

The only thing left to do now is the drinking.

22 August 2007

Oh, it's one of *those* weeks.

Gah! I'm having one of those weeks where Tuesday felt like Wednesday and now here I am on Wednesday and it totally feels like a Thursday. Nooooooo!

I can take some consolation in the fact that the feeling doesn't kick in until I'm up and around. It's really bad when you wake up in the morning, absolutely convinced it's Friday ... until you receive that slap in the face that says, "It's Thursday, sucker!"

Maybe it's the weather or perhaps I'm just totally stoked about the upcoming weekend, or it's just one of those weeks where you're always a day ahead. But it is Wednesday -- Wednesday afternoon, even. We're on the downward slope to the weekend now.

21 August 2007

Could it really be true? Is it really over?

I haven't heard from Booty Call Matt in almost six weeks. I'm beginning to think that this whole thing is over. And I'm pretty happy about that.

Gone are the mildly inappropriate late-night phone calls. Gone are the more inappropriate 30 or 40 late-night phone calls. Gone is the taking a break during the 30 to 40 phone calls to pound on my door for a little while. And gone is the wholly inappropriate coming to my bedroom window and saying, "Jess! Jess! Why aren't you answering your phone?" after I ignored the inappropriate late-night phone calls and pounding on the door.

I don't know why. Maybe he got a girlfriend. Maybe he got bored with me. Perhaps my attitude after the bedroom window incident made him realize ... something? It really doesn't matter to me one way or another. I let things get out of hand with the showing up at my door and all that. And really, three years is just too long for me to be involved with him.

It's not as if I'd never tried to end it. When I was dating Whatshisfuckingface I tried. Obviously, it didn't take. Early on, I could ignore his calls for weeks at a time. That didn't work in my new place, where I was on the first floor of a house and there was no security door. In retrospect, I probably should never have let him come over after I'd moved. But hindsight's always 20/20, isn't it?

So, now I'm free. I don't have that crutch that might have kept me from dating or getting involved with someone (aside from Whatshisfuckingface). I could maybe have a real relationship. Hahahahahahahahahaha. Oh, like that'll happen. At the very least, I don't have to worry about him showing up at my doorstep if I've got someone else over at my house. I always worried that he would pull that shit when I had a friend crashing on the couch or, God forbid, my sister staying with me.

Of course, I've said this before about Booty Call Matt. He invariably calls after I proclaim him out of my life. Something about this time feels different, though.

19 August 2007

Fall preview.

It's gray and chilly (compared to last week, anyway). It's Sunday night and there's football on TV.

It feels like fall.

Summer's not over yet, but the writing's on the wall.

16 August 2007

Okay, Karma. I get it!

I was all set to blog last night about these old hags who busted in to yoga late and were throwing their shit all over the floor and making a ton of noise (at least that's what it sounded like. I couldn't tell for sure as I had my eyes closed and was trying to center myself and regulate my breathing).

Then they decided they needed to turn the fan on high and move it so it blew directly on me. And I totally got up and stalked over there (I didn't realize I was walking angrily, I swear) and unplugged it when it came time for savasana because at that point even my nose was cold to the touch. Seriously, I was freezing despite working my ass off. Of course, the fan being off made it much easier to hear one of those old twats with her dog-bark cough. You know that way dogs bark kind of quietly and it sounds as though they're doing it with their mouths closed? She was coughing like that.

Oh, and I probably would have mentioned the girl who has taken my usual spot on the floor the last two weeks in a row. She's obviously good at the yoga; she doesn't even know which mats are yoga mats and which are the general exercise mats. Why am I such a creature of habit that if someone is in my usual spot on the floor it completely fucks up my routine? Christ, I really need to loosen up a bit.

Even as I really really tried to seal my practice with hands to the head, for peaceful thoughts; hands to the mouth, for peaceful words; and hands to the heart, for peaceful actions, I was fuming.

So, I was coming home to blog about it. Eventually. Oh, but Karma had different ideas. I pulled up in front of the house and went to put my car into park. But it wouldn't go. Okay, momentary panic. I'm sure I can just put the parking brake on and leave the car in neutral and worry about it later. As it turns out, with my car you can only take the key out if it is in park. Dad's not home to offer me any ideas (Mom: "He's at church. You can try his cell." Dude, I'm NOT calling him at church!), so I whip out the trusty AAA card and sit on the steps watching my car to make sure no punks come by and steal it.

Dad did call; he was confounded by my problem. So was the tow truck driver. He did manage to get the car into park, but the key still wouldn't turn all the way back and release. Nothing to do but take it in. An hour later, I find out that one of my theories as to the nature of the problem was correct. Something was caught in the shifter.

So, $90 and a forgotten iPod (the bus kinda blows with no music) later, everything's cool (except I'll be closer to broke for the next week) and I realize that there are far worse things than annoying people at yoga class. Thanks for the lesson Karma. I needed it.

15 August 2007

It only took a month!

Yes, it only took a month for eHarmony to find me a third "match." Yes, a military guy 10 years older and an inch shorter than me. We're off to a smashing start there. Ooooh, he's got what seems to be an oddly close mentoring relationship with his best friend? Nice. And he makes certain to stress his faith is very important to him.

I'm sure he'd be all over a drinking, cursing, commie, pinko, homo,America-hating, terrorist-loving, baby-killer like me. Yes, I have been called that.

I know Christine set up that dating blog and was more than willing to finance my eHarmony membership in the interest of "science" and hilarity, but man ... there is just no way I can bring myself to consider even fake dating the kind of dudes I'd get if I changed my profile to be all Christian-y and proper. It was a good idea, though. Maybe someday I'll be up to the task.

Quite frankly, I'm not sure I could be arsed to do any real dating at the moment. All that getting-to-know-you crap just seems so lame. I need someone who already knows that shit, or just doesn't really care. I suppose the former is preferable to the latter. Not that I really care.

I think I'll stop now. Is it any wonder at all why I'm single?

14 August 2007

I don't come to your house and mess with your shit.

Am I the only person who has friends who feel it completely okay and sometimes even necessary, it would seem, to fuck around with my shit when they come over to my house?

It's mostly just the Macho Man and the World's Worst Wing Woman who are guilty of such behavior. Neither is ever happy to just let my iTunes playlist run while we're hanging out and having drinks or whatever. Oh no. They need to listen to something else and feel absolutely free to do so without asking.

Oh, and now there's something that simply must be Googled. And then comes the bitching about how slow my computer is. Hey! Here's a tip -- go the fuck home and use your own damn computer if you don't like it. In fact, the World's Worst Wing Woman has been banned from as much as touching my computer after her insistence that I allow her to clean up the programs on my computer and she royally fucked up my Adobe.

I suppose I'm asking for it -- what with leaving my computer out on the coffee table. I should really just put it away and hook my iPod up to the stereo. That would probably solve my problems. But still, is it just me who thinks this is rude? When I go to someone's house, I don't complain about the music they're playing. Unless, of course, they're playing something terrible specifically because I hate it. Then I might say something. I try not to complain about what's on TV. And I certainly don't change the channel the second my host walks out of the room.

Meh. I'm probably overreacting because I'm crabby. Still, I'm giving you booze (that large bottle of Maker's Mark is suspiciously empty after my only using it to make a single Manhattan) and sometimes even food and you thank me by deciding you need to play DJ or complaining about what's on TV? Man, fuck you. I'm not inviting you over any more.

10 August 2007

Block rockin'.

Tomorrow is the Pizza Luce Block Party -- beer, brats, pizza and live music. And it's all outside! Does it get any better than this?

Why yes. Yes, it does get better. This will be my second block party as an actual neighbor of Pizza Luce. When the writing was on the wall that my old apartment on Hennepin would be turning into condos in the near future, my search for a new place took me to a fourplex on Lyndale.

The place honestly didn't look that great. The kid who lived there had it all dark and he chain smoked like a motherfucker. Honestly, it took months for the smell to come out completely. GROSS. But there were nice hardwood floors, high ceilings, a deck(!) and ... well, when it came time for the Pizza Luce block party, I could PEE AT MY OWN HOUSE.

Sad as it may be, that was a real selling point. Lord knows I'm not a fan of porta potties. I mean, who is? Well, there probably are people who fetishize them. There are as many fetishes as there are people in the world, most likely. Still, I am not one of them. I thoroughly enjoyed being able to walk home and pee in the clean comfort of my own bathroom. There is free water at my house, even!

And I really enjoyed being able to haul all my friends over to hang out on the deck afterward. I'll even have beer and food this year. Not like last year when we hauled pizza over and sent people to buy beer. I'm starting to get better at this hostessing thing, I think.

08 August 2007

Pub crawlin' II: This is hard.

I did finally get my wish to plan a pub crawl, but I really didn't think it would be this hard.

This scheduling is killing me. I'm still waffling between starting up around Psycho Suzi's or starting over around the Vegas Lounge. I'm leaning one way, but it might be easier to plan for a longer stay somewhere we can eat if I go the other way. GAH! Then I'll have to make the map and all that ...

I have accomplished something, though. After hearing from a couple people that buttons/t-shirts were necessary, I found some buttons online that kind of encompass our theme. Oh, there were grand ideas of buttons featuring things from 1977 (Jimmy Carter, Star Wars characters, Elvis, various punk rockers), but I'd have had to make those buttons and I don't know the first thing about button-making. Or where I'd get buttons made. Especially such a small quantity. There was the idea I had at the gym the other day -- a guitar and a light saber clashing like swords. But again, a total DIY project. And people, I'm not crafty.

So, now I have to get people to actually RSVP. For whatever reason, I have some friends who seem to just refuse to do it. It's like herding fucking cats to get people together sometimes. And I don't want to nag. But at the same time, I don't want them to show up and not have a button. Naturally, I'll buy a few extra. They're only like $2 a pop. Still, I'm not made of money.

Blah, blah, blah. It's going to be a blast and the time I'm spending planning it will totally be worth it. Plus, it'll make the next one that much easier. Do any of you local folks want in? Saturday, August 25, starting around ... oh, I don't know. Fiveish? Let me know by Friday! I'm looking at you, Sarah. What's not to love about getting drunk with strangers?

06 August 2007

Green thumb thwarted.

I don't have a garden, so it's not as if I have a real green thumb. However, I do have a small deck and my mom decided to plant some cilantro for me to nurture. Well, it didn't grow. Nor did many of her herbs at home.

So, she gave me the remaining seeds in the packet, plus some basil and mint. I scraped up a bit of the soil (with a fork!) in the pot and dumped a bunch of seeds in. As you can see, I'm good at the gardening. Much to my shock, things started growing! Seeds that I planted were growing. Me -- the girl who usually kills plants. The herbs were even growing enough that I had to thin them out (like I said, I just dumped the seeds in willy-nilly).

Then the day came where a friend was going to come over and we were going to get pizza and strew it with fresh basil. And when I came home from yoga that morning, the pot was all dug up. Fiends! Who dares to destroy my cilantro? 'Cause the basil was mostly okay.

I fixed things up as best I could and awoke the next morning to more destruction. Bastards! Who was doing this? Squirrels? God, I hate them so. That cat from next door who lounges around on my deck like he owns the place? (I swear, cats are attracted to me just like kids are. I think it's because they know I don't like them.) My sister said it was chipmunks. Sure, they look adorable. But they're plant-wreckers.

I was not daunted. Okay, I was a little daunted. But I planted some more seeds and moved the pot to the railing of the deck. Yeah, it's not the most stable place in the world. I took solace in the fact that perhaps whatever dug it up would be crushed under the weight of the pot, should they all take a tumble.

Everything appeared to be okay for a while. My ivy plant was not disturbed in the same spot where the herbs had been ravaged. The herbs were even growing again!

Then I returned home from work one day last week to find a hole in the soil around the ivy. Little damage done, but I moved it anyway. Perhaps I moved it too close to the herbs, because when I checked Saturday morning, the perpetrator had once again torn up the soil and herbs in the pot.

Now, I'm officially daunted. I haven't even cleaned the mess up yet. Should I bother? Obviously, the plant terrorists are winning. How can I keep varmints away? I mean, it's a deck. It's not like I can put a wee fence around the plants or anything. *sigh* Why must I fail at every attempt at gardening?

02 August 2007

I'll no longer scream at the drivers in front of me who slow down when crossing a bridge.

Still, the only bridge in the metro area where I never really noticed people driving along at a normal speed and then suddenly slowing to a crawl because WE'RE DRIVING OVER A BRIDGE was the I-35W bridge. I would get a little freaked out driving on it in the winter, but never just because we were driving over the river.

Thankfully, no one I know was on the bridge when it collapsed. My sister narrowly missed it, though. Probably by a half hour or less. The one time she didn't take light rail to a Twins game. It would figure.

Traffic wasn't as bad as I expected it to be this morning. Until we crossed the river on the Hennepin Avenue bridge into Northeast, that is. Then it got bad. My bus was rerouted, so we didn't go over 35W on University. But when we met back up with University at 10th Avenue, it was very easy to see the heaved-up north end of the bridge; the cars that were able to stop before the bridge dropped off into the water just parked and abandoned.

I've never been more glad to have started commuting on the bus than I am today. And I'm glad that construction kept me from driving to work. "Why sit in traffic on the bridge? I'll just leave work a half hour earlier and bus home and get my car." I want to say the last time I was on the bridge was a couple of days before the construction started. I can't even imagine what it's going to be like when the U starts classes in a month or so.

There's not really much else I can say about this. It's surreal. Shit like this doesn't happen in Minnesota. Yeah, we have horrible blizzards and tornadoes, but nothing like this. It's bizarre to turn on CNN and see them showing an area I've been going through every day on my way to and from work for three years; an area where I spent six years of undergrad and grad school and two years working on campus between undgrad and grad school. If any place in Minneapolis is home (other than the home where I live), this is it.

01 August 2007


Oh, how I love Gilbert Arenas. He writes in his blog today that there are no such things as a shark attacks (scroll down). Thanks to Deadspin for reminding me to read Agent Zero's blog on a more regular basis.

We’re humans. We live on land.

Sharks live in water.

So if you’re swimming in the water and a shark bites you, that’s called
trespassing. That is called trespassing. That is not a shark attack.

He does make a good point, I guess. And it's quite a timely entry, since it's the 20th anniversary of Shark Week.

I think this is also one of those Black People vs. White People things. The cheating asshole ex used to wonder what the fuck was wrong with white people who wanted to swim with the sharks (or sky dive or bungee jump ... things like that). He wondered this even more loudly when I voiced my desire to witness a Great White feeding frenzy from a shark cage. Sure, I'd be so scared that I'd piss myself (or worse), but I still think it would be totally fucking rad.