Month: October 2005 (Page 2 of 4)

My blog (gladly) got discovered by Heidi a while back, and because we used to work together, we have a bond no Hurricane Wilma can break. I haven’t seen her in a few years, in fact – and a fact that will hopefully change soon. After all, when you work with kindred spirits in this advertising business, your connections are forged like airline titanium, or ten-year-old blood-brother boys with pocketknives. It’s a connection not even your spouse can crack, unless they, too, are employed in the Evil Empire. All you have to say is, “Motherfucker (client) (supervisor) (project)” and it’s as though a large gong in a far-off land has been struck, one that we were trained in our cribs to recognize when The Time Comes. You just Get It. I realize this isn’t inherent to advertising, either – whatever particular industry you’re in, the common pitfalls, hilarity and issues interweave you together with people you might not have ordinarily known or shared experiences with.

So that brings me to my point, which is that Ms. Heidi posted a quick entry titled, “I know someone who’s been to a prostitute.” And then, all she said was, “Oh, come on people, I didn’t get details.” We-he-he-ELL, pardon me for taking off my hat & stayin’ a while, but curl up your feet & take a listen to MY story. For I know someone who’s been to a prostitute. At least a couple of ’em, in fact. The man in question & I used to work together, and there were many happy hours-turned-into-evenings with our crew & I heard a lot of funny stories in my tour of duty at that employer. In fact, he was on a work-related trip in San Francisco, where he availed himself of the services from “the most beautiful woman he’d ever met”. Yeah, I rolled my eyes, too. You can think “Pretty Woman” and romanticize the working-girl industry, but then I give you THIS story, from the same guy: He also availed himself of a little :cough: oral pleasure from a Working Girl over on Independence Avenue. He extolled her “skills”, but then revealed this gem: “I’m not sure now if she was a man or a woman. I was really, really drunk.” I absolutely loved to give him shit about THAT one.

Thankfully, he’s quit drinking, been sober for several years now, and presumably, no longer feeling the need to pay for services rendered. If not, I hope that at least now he can spot the drag queens.

Yesterday, some of the knit crew gathered on our back patio & began a very exciting adventure: hand-dyeing our own yarn. It was blustery cold, and at times, raining. So we had some outside circumstances contributing some challenges! But Kristin was an awesome teacher, and we learned a ton on how to do the dyeing, the different processes, and all the steps to creating our own versions of the $30 skeins you buy in the store!

My focus was on dyeing sock yarn – I have some merino worsted, as well, but I think I’m going to wait for another day. I wanted to learn & experiment, and see what might work, and what might result in something dreadful, before I ventured in to creating wool for an entire sweater. (Kudos to the ladies who jumped in with both feet, though! They’ll be knitting sweaters soon!) I’m happy to say that I absolutely love each skein I dyed, for they are each very different, but were really fun in their own ways. I have four complete skeins, with a fifth partially-dyed & needing more done to it – it can wait until next time. We used acid dyes, and didn’t do a whole lot of mixing/experimenting with shades, since we had a nice assortment to start with. The sock yarn also can be used for lacey-type scarves, and one or two might become that, instead of footwear.

Here are the skeins! They are all on my Flickr page as well.

My first skein, definitely looking a lot like the landscape around us right now!

Beth is a saint, for she created the enormous skeins for self-striping sock yarn. Purple, Orange & Red. Pippi Longstocking, get out of my way.

I love these colors…they are what I gravitate towards. I’d like them a bit brighter, but again, for a first-time out-of-the-box adventure, I’m happy!

My last skein, half-immersion (purple), half-handpaint. Jungle Fever, baby!

And yes, after 5 or so hours of dyeing, eating, tidying up, etc., I collapsed & took one of those naps that feel like you’ve been professionally sedated & when the phone rang & woke me up, I had no idea 1. where I was, 2. what day it was, & 3. what time it was. Later, when I went to bed, I even beat James to the Land of Nod, and he almost always falls asleep before I do. Play dates tucker me out! And yet I’m already looking forward to doing it again soon!

Courtesy of Wild Scorpy, another fun quiz! You can get your Superhero Identity here….

Your Superhero Identity For Today Is:

Name: Silver Sister (True, true, I do not wear gold. Platinum would have been better, though.)

Special Power: Blazing Toes (Need a light? Hang on. Must take off Crocs. Lifting up leg ….and….. I’ve toppled over. Hold on.)

Transportation: Quantum Minivan (oh yes, nothing says Superhero like a minivan. No offense to those who drive them. Remember, my dream vehicle’s a station wagon.)

Weapon: Quantum Spear (I guess I have thing for the Quantum brand.)

Costume: 100 Percent Cotton Helmet (For breathability! It is, after all, the fabric of our lives. Wait, do I only wear a helmet? That’s scary.)

Sidekick: Bobo (ah sweet Bobo. Good monkey! Fetch mommy a daiquiri.)

Nemesis: Harold the Unspeakable (Why are we speaking of him again? :arched eyebrow:)

Tragic Flaw: Addicted to yogurt (uh, yeah. For the culture.)

Favorite Food: Cashews (Mmm! The only nut that cannot be sold in its shell! Show off your smarts & tell us why not!)

I’ve mentioned it before, and I have to say it again, this is absolutely the best time of year for my commute. Each day, the transformation of the trees that line Ward Parkway bring new changes, new colors, and very soon, the riot of color will explode, and then shortly thereafter, be gone.

In my mind, Mother Nature is the consummate striptease artist. And only in the classy sense, like a coy can-can dancer from the paintings of Toulouse-Lautrec. Her Fall dance starts out with a hint: just a slip strap, peeking out from her clothes, pressing in to a freckled shoulder. Then a glimpse of lace hem, creeping out from below, a shock of bright color drawing our eyes in. We hardly know where to focus, when will it all be unveiled? What will the ultimate palette of colors be? Will it take our breath away, anew? That is the mystery we anticipate, holding our breath. Once she is clad in her swirl of reds, golds, browns and oranges, we watch, transfixed, for we know, as all years before this have taught, we will blink before the music stops. And she will slip behind the back curtain and be gone.

I saw this online this morning. I don’t know if you have to register to read it, but my reaction boils down to two words: Absolutely Dreadful. Yes, that’s an American Idol quote, but honestly, it’s what I first thought, and not in Simon’s voice. We have had an enormous jump in our homicide rate this year in Kansas City, and the notion that people are buying t-shirts to support staying SILENT about those deaths is revolting. Just because most of those deaths are happening in “one part of town” doesn’t mean it’s not our problem. It’s everyone’s problem. And I have no idea what I could do to change it, but at least I’m mad about it.

Fear is the ugliest, ugliest thing in our society. It makes people do the wrong things, prevents them from seeing the right things, and keeps those lines drawn along street names and income lines.

I often lament the rapid decline of responsibility, and James finally snagged one of the reasons: we have children of the children who were babies having babies. Got that word trail? Sure, we gave options for taking care of your child while you stayed in school. We’ve got WIC so you don’t starve. But the parenting broke down. Parenting is where you learn responsibility and accountability and rules and consequences and in the absence of that, you stay stuck in a teenage mentality. Without a support system, you don’t leave that mentality, either. And that’s the full circle on the “don’t snitch” link up above. I wish to God I had the answer, without sounding like an Aldous Huxley novel, re-programming people, sending them to boot camp, mandatory schooling.

I’m definitely in a “Rail-At-The-Sky” place this week.

Seriously. Sometimes? Don’t you just want to pour kerosene into your ears, light them on fire and run around the neighborhood shouting “THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN BAD MUSIC IS PLAYED ALL THE TIME!”????

I sure as shit do. Let’s take the Ear Worm From Hell, and it’s second cousin, Ear Worm From Fucknut. EWFH would be “Don’t Cha” by the Pussycat Dolls. No. I am not going to f’n look up their websites or mp3’s and LINK to them. If you haven’t heard the song, then this is your personal Public Service Announcement courtesy of PlazaJen. PSAP-Jay. I just THINK about that song and suddenly I feel compelled to tilt my head like a goddamn spice girl. And if you know me, virtually or otherwise? I AM NOT A SPICE GIRL. Nor can I get behind grammar this bad.

So that leads us to EWFF. I had never even HEARD this song before last weekend. THANK YOU JWO. It came on MTV or something & he was all, “OMG, you HAVE to hear this song!” (ok, he said Oh My God, we don’t speak in acronyms. Mostly not, anyway.) Oh, pray tell, what was this candy taffy nugget of puke set to drum beats? “My Humps” by the Black Eyed Peas. No, bitches, I’m not linking to them EITHER. My humps! My humps! My humps! My humps! My lovely lady lumps!

WHAT the Fuck kind of lyrics are those? My lovely lady lumps? Lovely? Yes, I like that word. But when you attach it to “lady lumps” we now have the absolute stupidest euphamism for buttocks or breasts, and both are emphasized in the video, with emphasASS on the butt. A co-worker told me his 10-year old niece was singing the song at dinner the other night. Niiiiice. The whole song’s shallow as hell, with of course a perfect ringtone-kinda beat, and isn’t that what it’s all about now? Get a hook that earworms in and is so popular people are paying $1.99 to make their cellphones play it, too?

God, I am going to turn into one of those old-man muppets that sit up in the balcony & hate everything. But it’s better than setting my ears on fire. I’ll choose to be Statler. The other guy’s name is Waldorf, and that’s also a salad featuring walnuts. I hate walnuts. Walnuts & Ear Worms. SMACK SMACK SMACK. I smack them all.

THIS is why I don’t listen to Top 40 radio. It makes me very, very angry.

HARRUMPH.

Yes. I have had one of those days. Really, it’s almost two weeks’ worth of those days, and when I hit this point, I keep hearing ” I SAID GODDAMN!” in my head, exactly as Uma Thurman spoke it in Pulp Fiction after she’s just done a line of coke that would make Kate Moss break into a sprint from across the room. Only I’m not high, nor am I about to drink a five dollar milkshake, or dance with John Travolta.

It’ll be ok. I won’t even have to get medieval on anyone’s ass. But don’t think I can’t if I need to. BMF, baby. I’m a B. M. F.

sometimes I want
a pottery barn life
with chocolates from belgium
and pink chandeliers

someone to clean
the crannies and nooks
organize my cds
fold my laundry each day

sometimes I want
to wake up in tangiers
live a life of adventure
silk scarf in my hair

sun freckles my face
curry spices drift by
excitement awaits
my passport is stamped

sigh with me, for you
have watched too much tv
seen too many catalogs
been told for too long
what to think
what to buy

someday we will go
to tangiers and forget
about pottery barn
and long velvet drapes

but we will always remember
the chocolate from belgium
and the boy in the fountain
who laughed when you kissed me
on the tip of my nose
under late summer’s sky.

*Feeling very Belgium was coined by Bucky Katt of Get Fuzzy fame. I say it in my head sometimes. It works. Today, fits like a glove. And no, it doesn’t make any sense.

So, I see this news story link on Yahoo! Entertainment, and all it says is, “Rocky’s Back!”

Immediately, I think, “Rocky & Bullwinkle? OH MY GOD! I LOVE THEM!” It has a LOT to do with the fact that I, Jennifer, the one & only PlazaJen, have a speaking voice that sounds almost pitch-on perfect to Mr. Rocky the Squirrel, if I just go up one octave with my voice. (or whatever. I’m no Mariah Carey or Celine Dion. Maybe it’s just “raise” my voice.) I enjoy proving this fact by saying “And now here’s something you’ll REALLY like,” in my best Rocky trill.

Oh, the excitement and yeah, but no. It was Rocky the fighter, Sylvester Stallone. Apparently he’s making yet ANOTHER movie about the boxing and the eggshakes and the jogging up steps and the YO ADRIENNING. Somewhere, somehow, a pop-culture need got identified. They obviously weren’t consulting ME! What’s next? Geriatric Rambo? Taking on the Platoon of Elderly at Shady Acres Retirement Homes with Assisted Living?

I am connected to Sly, though, in that I share a birthday with him. Me, Sly & Nancy Reagan. Yes, I keep excellent company on my birthday (July 6). Brigitte “I’m-So-Drunk-I-Love-Flava-Flave” Nielsen’s slurring ex-husband and the Hugs not Drugs Lady who, I believe, spent a shitload of money on new china for the White House. Oh yes, do not question that random factoid from the 80’s. That is what I remember more than her anti-drug program: the fact she spent oodles of controversial money on new plates. The one (and only) time I learn a good lesson from the Republicans: never disrespect the emphasis on exquisite hostessing & fine dining.

Heh. Lessons from Nancy Reagan.

Oh Bullwinkle.
That NEVER works.

Yes, I’m playing along. You google your name + “needs” and see what comes up. Not surprisingly, I have many, many needs. 19,800,000 in fact. Here are the top ones:

1. Jennifer needs a cold shower (I don’t like them so much. More a boy thing.)
2. Jennifer needs a smack daddy (Yeah, but you get one & they change their names every freakin’ week. First it’s Smack Daddy, then it’s S. Daddy, Diddy Smack, and I can’t keep up.)
3. Jennifer needs a tutor (True. I love to learn. Photoshop & Illustrator, please.)
4. Jennifer needs space (Always.)
5. Jennifer needs to keep on improving (And I ask you, who doesn’t?)
6. Jennifer needs heavy visual depiction of her subject in order for it all to work (Yes. Get to work on the heavy visual depicting, stat. I need it for work. And improving.)
7. Jennifer needs the earth energy in her life (Again, who doesn’t benefit from the earth energy?)
8. Jennifer needs this Diva Publicity like she needs a hole in the head (AMEN!)
9. Jennifer needs a thorough psychiatric evaluation (Now, hold on, let’s not make any hasty decisions. I’ll spend more time with the earth, and I’ll be ok. I promise.)
10. Jennifer needs time to heal

Hm. Well, don’t we all. Let the healing begin!