If stick figures ran the box office....

As with all things...

I have come to both love and hate the word "thing". It's a both vague and overly descriptive word, and I simply cannot figure it out. No matter what your opinion of this word, you cannot deny it's essential existence in a western world such as this. It has become, perhaps, our most important noun. Or, pretentiously taking it a bit further...."things" have become our way of thinking (dramatic music plays you find yourself suddenly enlightened by my deep thoughts).

To spare the reader a ridiculous rambling of radical rationale (ha, alliteration. See what I did there?) I will instead make you a list. A list of the acceptable and unacceptable ways to use the words "thing" or "things". And so, ladies and gents, I give you....

THOUGHTS ON THING/s:

a list for the ages

*the list will continuously be updated*

A. Unacceptable usage of "thing" or "things":

1. "Don't put that thing in the sink"

2. "This thing will make me happy!"

3. "What did you do today?" .... "you know, things."

4. "So, did you get me anything?"

5. "Did you pick up the thing?"

6. "What is this thing?"

7. "Is there anything you do right?"

8. "I need space to figure things out...and I'm not coming to your birthday"

8. this:

9. "Give me that thing now!"

10. "I have so many things to do today"

11. "Clean up those things.......now!"

12. "Don't touch those things..."

13. "No miss, we don't carry those things at this store"

14. "shhh, don't speak of such things"

15. (dramatic sighs) "Don't we have anything to eat around here?"

16. "You look like something...."

17. "That thing makes you look fat"

15. this: (from 1982 movie "The Thing")

B. Acceptable usage of "thing" or "things":

1. "Whoa, check that thing out!"

2. "It's like the thing that wouldn't stop eating!"

3. "Get away from that thing!"

4. "Where did you get that thing?"

5."Don't you have enough of those things?"

6. "The thing about it is...."

7. "I don't know where to find this thing"

8. "Get that thing out of your mouth!"

9: this:

10. "I love this thing!"

11. "I'm not gonna eat this thing"

12. "What is it with you and things?"

13. "Do we have to go to that thing?"

14. "I hate....things."

15. "That thing is going to KILL me!"

16. "This thing is amazing!"

17. "Say that thing you say, it's hilarious...come on!"

18. "Is this thing a boy or girl?"

19. this: and also this:

The Root of the Problem

One of these days, I will move into a house that I will not have to....6months later....or less, move out of. One of these days I will put down roots. And from them I will grow strong. And rock back and forth on my porch, yelling at the children who kicked their soccer ball into my yard. Handing out dental floss at Halloween. I will call the authorities when one of my 10 cats goes missing in my house. Yes, roots. That's what I need. Roots.

Sigh.

New Holiday Designs

I think this design is really funny. What's funny is calling it a design, because really...it's just stick figures people. Oh how I love them!

Gospel Christmas Letter

President Mills and Treasurer Winstead;

Dear Madams,

I greet you with tremendous joy at the opening of this holiday season. I also welcome the very *temporary, yet honorary Jello Club Members Janelle Marie Walker, David Christian Walker Sr. and Kenneth Brett Kupelian to this jello forum.

Faithful Jello consumers, I write to inform you of an amazing opportunity. It has come to my attention that the Arlene Schnitzer Concert will once again be hosting their annual Gospel Christmas Concert on December 11-13, 2009 at 7:30pm. After careful research, I was able to obtain this obscure link which will lead you to greater details regarding ticket prices:

http://www.ticketmaster.com/search?tm_link=tm_homeA_header_search&q=Arlene+schnitzer+concert+hall&search.x=12&search.y=5

My challenge to all of you is this: Will you join me on this holiday endeavor? Will you stand with jello and help save Christmas? I fear that without Jello club and it's special new *temporary members....the spirit of this fine concert will come to certain ruin. And also that children around the world will cry out in horror on Christmas morning when they find their stockings filled with dead bugs and various furry rodents rather than shiny toys and candy. How does Jello Club not attending the Gospel Christmas directly correlate to Santa losing his mind and children around the world receiving dead animals rather than presents? I do not know. But can we really afford to take that chance?

A timely and prompt reply would be much appreciated. With exception, of course, to President Mills...as she is the leader of the free world.

Sincerely,

Jennifer Marie Walker

Secretary to the Interior

**Temporary Jello Club members are subject to exclusions including jello crowns and certain types of tea. Temporary Jello Club members may not look President Mills directly in the eye and must never, under any circumstances utter the name, "Rod Hill". Temporary Jello Club members may submit applications for permanent membership on or after January 1, 2010 3:30pm Pacific Western Mountain Eastern Time. Application available upon request. Applicant must have a valid Drivers License or other form of Identification, speak 3 languages including French, not talk too much, and in general be an enjoyable or entertaining person. Completion of the "Jello History Quiz" with a passing grade of C or higher required before Application is accepted.**

Jello Resources for study:

http://brands.kraftfoods.com/jello/explore/history/

http://www.billcosby.com/site/index2.html

Quick Update

Jarfly greeting cards are now sold at Drakes 7 Dees Garden Center (Eastside Location) and Anne Bocci Boutique (Multnomah Village).....email me at jenni@jarflydesigns.com for more information

The Plight of A Starving Artist

Jenni: "I noticed you sell alot of great cards here. I actually make cards, my name is Jenni...I'm a local artist...would you like to see a few examp....(cut off)"

Store: "We aren't buying right now."

Jenni: "Understandable, you probably get people like me in here all the time! (awkward laughter)"

Store: (mercy laughter)

Jenni: "When do you usually buy cards for the season?"

Store: "Yeah, email me some shots of your stuff and I'll get back to you."

Jenni: "Sure, I'll absolutely do that, but I actually have my work right here and it's easier to see the layout of... (cut off)"

Store: "(doesn't look) Great! email me your stuff...but I'm going to be out of the state for awhile so I might take a long time to get back with you"

Jenni: "Right..... okay. thank you for your time and I will get that email sent out as soon as I can...would you like a business car....(cut off)"

Store: "No thank you."

Jenni: "Well have a nice day, you have a beautiful store. I come in a lot (I actually do)"

Store: "mmm hm."

*thanks to anne bocci boutique for buying 4 of my cards and selling me the cutest dress ever. And for treating me like a human.

*special thanks to the sales clerk at presents of mind who actually let me finish my sentences and looked at my cards even though she had absolutely no authority to buy them...and for laughing at the ones that I, too, think are funny.

**extra special thanks to mom for being my best client and buyer :)

***extra extra special thanks to Lavenda Memory, Amy Rispler, Staci Janssen, Erin Underwood, Caylan Wagner, Crystal Berry, Rachel Short and Tracy Zaits...whom whether they knew it or not were the muses for all my pregnant lady designs.

****extra extra massively important special thanks to Kenny Kupelian and Beth Winstead for manual labor, moral support, and inspiration behind my drawings of umbrellas, walkmans, unicorns, stickfigures, nintendo controllers, hugs, and wine glasses. You guys are my two favorites and I wouldn't want to watch "Joe Dirt" with anyone else!

oh how i miss things

A Very Good Year

My mother has always made reference to "my good year". This is an inside joke that we both find very funny (so please, PLEASE understand the sarcasm and do not mark my mother insensitive).

I was born, quite literally, one of the most beautiful of all children. As well as the most humble. Corkscrew curls gathered around my head like a halo....wait okay hold on. Afro rather. Yes, a frizzy Afro. But it's was utterly adorable. I looked like one of the girls from the peanut gang...the one who was nice to Charlie Brown and then threw a rock at his head for fun when his back was turned. Did I mention my hugely giant brown eyes? Yeah, I was pretty much the cutest kid ever.

Then...THEN.

Fourth grade, (or maybe even before) somebody (mom...was it you?) started beating me with an ugly stick. What's worse is I wasn't one of those happy, ignorant children that don't know they've gone ugly. I KNEW it. And it was very sad.

I remember my mom trying to help, in vain. My dad and her would encourage me to try new things, like basketball, art, or actually trying to make friends. She'd offer to take me shopping to get a cute shirt only to deal with my bad attitude as she drug me through Mervyns. She bought me tame, little girl make up (think bonnie bell) and I would break into dramatics saying "nothing can help me! besides, make up is for shallow people!"...and then I threw my Easter basket against the wall and ran away for a good 5 years until I was picked up by a nice family named the
Plonkers. They raised me in the woods aided by 2 fairies until I turned about 13....it was only then that I returned to society...

Wait, no. No that's not all what happened. Let me gather my thoughts...

I did throw my Easter basket, but I think I just ran in my room.

Anyway, long story short I didn't actually start to sprout out of that awkward girl stage until about 8th grade. I shot up, therefore losing all that baby fat....my hair de-frizzed, I got my braces off....I gained a waist and some other womanly attributes and boom....bring high school on baby. I am SO ready.

Until junior year hit that is. Suddenly I had acne, and coarse defiant hair....weight gain, no confidence...retainer lost resulting in crooked teeth.......

And as I shaved my head, covered myself in ashes and wailed to the heavens, I wondered,

"Will this cycle of on again off again uglyness ever end?"

Today as I return from Target with a bag full of skin cleansers and tooth whiteners I can honestly tell you...it will not. We each have our good year, and then become average like everyone else. Unless you are Heidi Klum of course. And I suppose I'm getting to the point of realizing that there is so much more to life and I really need to work on just being okay with that much loved ugly stick.

What was my good year? I cannot say for sure. As mentioned before I was an adorable child. However I believe my actual good year was 23. I mean it had to have been. I punched that age in so many times on the treadmill (which is probably why that year turned out alright...exercize made a short stint into my daily routine) that I actually still think I'm 23.

So let's go with 23....or 3. I'm fine with either.
____________________________________________________________________

Me : "blah blah blah complain complain...sigh....."

Mom: "still waitin for your good year?"

Me: "Yep."

(laughter)

_____________________________________________________________________

Final pretentious deep thought of the evening:

Maybe ugly isn't actually ugly. And maybe a good year is what you make it.

well us women....

Wells us women always want to visit far off places. Be it Africa, Europe....or just a field where you could lounge in nature making daisy crowns for your friends, we all crave some great beautiful unknown.

I believe it was Belle, from Beauty and the Beast who first said, "I want adventure in the great white....somewhere, I want it more than I can tell. And for once it might be grand. To have someone....understand. I want so much more than they've got planned."

(and then some twirling, and the peasants burst forth in song...but you get the idea)

Now, there are times when I'm content with a top raman adventure. In fact, not moments ago I took a trip such as this. In my car, I went down to the plaid pantry at the late hour of 11pm (quite out of my typical schedule I might add) to purchase such a fine noodle cuisine.

And I later sat in bed thinking....
"Has it come to this? That's it? That's what I'm proud of in regards to "epic" travels for the week?"

You see, I am at war with the rat race. I hate it. And my hatred for it only enables it's control over my life ending in a guaranteed dominance over me.

What about the "great white...somewhere!" ?

I will be the first to admit that a person unable to be at peace and content in the present is forever an unhappy human. Always in want. Always gnashing away at life. Always clenched at the fist. I would not recommend this outlook on earthly existence. Trust me, I speak from experience.

However, there must be a happy medium between, ingratitude and complacency. I think my next journey is to find this unknown balance, and linger there awhile.

More to come.....

Hypothetical Sigur Ros Situation (Metaphorically Speaking)

If you ever find yourself in the midst of a crying fit (not that it would ever happen to me) for no apparent reason on the freeway (hypothetically of course) and your mascara is running down your face (for you shallow gals who wear make up) while on your way to a wedding in which you produced a plethora of wilted bridal bouquets (something I'd never let happen) in 92 degree heat which so happens to be messing your perfectly straightened hair into a humidity curl nightmare (I of course can't relate) then....you should know (just in case) that Sigur Ros is a wonderful band to aid in calming you down, thus keeping you from entering social functions like a crazed emotional voodoo woman (again, metaphorically speaking).

Consider yourself informed. Thank you very much.

For Jello Club

when the Jello craze first began...back in 1880 or 1989 or something...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XX1H9Lq0438

At LAST!!!

After much toil, blood, sweat, tears, financial ruin, techinical difficulty, back pain, car accidents, break ups, baby spit up, failure, paper cuts and painters block...I give you.....

JARFLY BOX SET ALL OCCASION CARDS

asking price: 1200.00

(yeah, I wish)

I grow tired of the game....

" We are satisfied by our decent little life. We are pleased with our good habits; we take them for virtues. We are pleased with our little efforts; we take them for progress. We are proud of our activities; they make us think we are giving our-selves. We are impressed by our influence; we imagine that it will transform lives. We are proud of what we give, though it hides what we withhold. We may even be mistaking a set of coinciding egotisms for a real friendship"

- Michel Quoist

I-POD Death Match Round 1- in honor of Emily Moyer

Fight starts an 8pm, Saturday September 5th, 2009. Pacific Standard Time

Reigning Heavy Weight Champion

Jolly "Green Machine" Giant Defends His Title

name dropping and so forth

As requested. (sigh) Kenny is rad. Bethany Winstead has AMAZING hair and always smells wonderful.

Are you now, both satisfied? The 2 (maybe 3) people who read my blog are now fully aware of your existence.

:)

Running from Technology (and the robots and the androids...and and and)

dedicated to Bethany Winstead, David Walker and Kenneth Kupelian

I do not exaggerate when I say that my laptop can be directly linked to the amount of time I spend laying in bed. This is a phenomena I have only recently experienced as I have been much behind the times. Let me take a moment to explain my apathetic relationship with technology.

It all began at the age of 8 when our family purchased our very first Nintendo. If you remember correctly...the controllers on the Nintendo were pretty basic. They consisted of two red buttons, and a little cross looking...thingy.

Anyway, my brothers and I would plug away at "Chip n Dale Rescue Rangers" for hours on that thing. Most of the time, my brother David would purposefully kill me in the middle of whatever level we were in. Correct if me if I am wrong...but Chip and Dale were not enemies, but rather brothers with a common cause. So why did he keep throwing me off cliffs? Weren't we working together to defeat "fat cat"?

All that to say, if David didn't do me in, the Nintendo would simply freeze up. This lead to endless hours of blow drying the dust out of the bottom...and pointing the gun ridiculously close to the screen to shoot any one bird down in "Duck Hunt". I had finally had enough and my little heart was forever frozen to any video game, or electronic device. Forever would I harden myself so that I could be no further troubled by the pain of technology.

So it's no wonder when I was 23 I had no cell phone. What would I possibly do with a cell phone anyway? I much liked my nomadic, secluded lifestyle. I could not think of any reason to allow anyone and everyone to get ahold of me whenever they wanted to. I had to keep my hermit ways somehow right? So next to my bed, on an old nightstand I kept the most rustic of things...(dadada, dramatic horrifying music)

A LANDLINE TELEPHONE

On this landline phone I kept a voicemail. I had no caller id, no fancy nothing. It was a shot in the dark...and dangerous decline into the old ways. I had no idea who was calling me, and better yet they had no idea if I was home or what I was doing. Joyous, mystical, and terrible was this landline phone. And my heart grew to love it.

I remember the adrenaline rush of parking my car in front of the house and rushing up the stairs to check my voicemail at the end of a long work day. The possibilities were endless! Maybe that boy called, maybe I got a telemarketer...who knew? Nobody! Wonderful wonderful and wonderful again. I soon memorized all of my friends phone numbers due to being without a "contact list"...I was like the "Rain Man" of our group...randomly spouting off numeric orders for the entertainment of all.

However, this sweet time could not last. Because with a job comes responsibilities. With friends come social opportunity and I soon realized that I had to get a blasted cell phone or forever be behind the rest of the world. And so I did...and the rat race that descended upon my life with that simple purchase will forever be regretted. Let's not even get into text messaging.

So, I'd avoided video games, almost held out for the cell phone...what piece of robotics was still out to get me? Well, I'd already had one ipod go kaput on me and had two others stolen. So it would have to...ah yes. The computer...or better yet, laptop.

I had successfully avoided these strange creatures, for many years in fact. After all, what was so bad about checking email, shopping and balancing your check book at the local library? That's what I had always done. I felt a little warmer inside, walking to the library to share a computer with the community...maybe even a little green, if you will (will you?).

However, upon the start up of a artwork website, college plans and other ridiculous endeavors... (like Facebook) I soon realized I needed to buy a laptop. It was time to jump in the pit with everyone else. I mean, how bad could it really be? It's not like the computer I buy will break down within 16 days and I would lose hundreds of dollars because of a bum return policy at Best Buy!! Right?

Yeah that's what happened.
And so, for 6 months I regrouped and made a plan of attack.

As Karma would have it, I would even go onto date a hacker...which is so ironic it's laughable. Also, I've become a bit more 2009 savvy. I was given an ipod that weighs about 5 pounds. I don't mind, It may be old but at least I can drop it and it will keep playing all those ace of base songs I have downloaded on my work out mix. I own a cell phone that has only one crack on it, and is holding fast throughout my clumsy lifestyle. It is not an iphone. I prefer to dial on buttons, not air...Beth. And in the end I did purchase a laptop with the help of that good ol' hacker buddy of mine and it seems to be stable so far.

Except for that now, I stay up way too late fiddling around with another source of great technological power...THE INTERNET. Which is what I am doing right now...on this damn blog.

Sigh.....

My next purchase will be a pager and disc man. The pager is so you can get ahold of me where ever I am. The disc man is so I WONT hear it vibrating.

Essay: Understanding the Stick Figure

\
i wrote this at the age of 17, nothing has been changed so don't judge my writing skills....

Sometimes, the simple things in life are overlooked. But these things deserve credit despite their lack of glamour or excitement. So let us begin by looking into the life of one underrated simplicity: the stick figure. Everyone has drawn these little people at one point or another. So why do we choose to deny how essential the stick figure really is? It is finally time to explain the importance of stick figures and slowly erase the stereotypes that developed over the years.

Many people think of the stick figure as boring, or unappealing. People who do not consider themselves artistic draw stick figures, thus allowing other individuals to label the sticklike as too common and all together silly. Why must stick figures continue to be unappreciated by the public? What's more is they face humiliation every time their simple angled body shapes are laughed at. Can they help it that they were made perpendicular? Did they choose to like...well...sticks?

If the stick figure is so terribly unsatisfying, then how can we justify letting them help us so much? While the rest of us are in our nice warm beds, the stick figure is working. Who shows us which bathrooms are for men, and which are for women? Who is plastered on road signs reminding us to 'watch for pedestrians'? These are just two examples of the sacrifices that stick figures make all year long.

Since the beginning of time, humans have found a way to persecute those who are different. Stick people have now become the new and easy target. Really, the stick culture as a whole is very misunderstood. Fortunately, one needs only to be taught to understand. For the most part, stick figures have been used as a quick from of art. Sadly to say, all too often they are interpreted wrongly. One common misconception is that stick figures have hair. Unfortunately, somewhere down the line an artist decided to add this feature by drawing cults, pigtails or light brown hair parted to the side with gel. The public just needs to accept that stick figures are bald and proud of it.

Another little known truth is that stick figures don't wear hats, shoes, mittens or anything else. In fact, the female stick person wears a simple triangle as a dress. This style is smart and classy, as well as elegant. Why must our nation continue to draw these people with funny looking ties and bows? It is simply insulting.

Although the sticklike have endured many misgivings for quite some time, one feature has always been right: the face*. Their perfect circular heads have been beautifully enhanced by emotion. Smiley, angry, scared, embarrassed and surprised faces have graced the faces of stick figures for decades. For this reason it's impossible to support the idea that stick figures are over done or too simple. How could something with endless emotional possibility be boring? And why must we continue to sneer at their simple form? If one is bored with the appearance of the stick figure, adding an expression can easily solve the problem. As mentioned before, there are many to choose from.

Many who were ignorant in the way of the sticklike finally understand. It is becoming more and more clear that without these wonderful, flat little people...our world would be entirely too 3 dimensional. So the next time you are playing a game of hang man, remember to do the stick figure some justice and thank he or she for all the time they put into your everyday life (and for goodness sake kill them quickly).

*you may notice that stick figures do not sport a face when on road signs and bathroom doors. This is simply because they are working and do not want to appear unprofessional*

A Poem

kicking stones is quite a game
stones always look at you just the same
they never lie
they never die
stones don't forget your name

the art of crashing into an suv

In fact, there is no art to it. Just follow my lead, because apparently it's my one hidden talent.

Telegram

If there is a hannah webster out there...stop....and she has a blog address...stop...I must know it's whereabouts immediately...stop

The Long and Short of It

I do not plan on making many vulnerable entries at this site. Living in Portland, I have found that we (including myself) all take ourselves, our problems, our pain, and our artistic license....entirely too seriously. With this in mind, most of my thoughts will fall in the range of silly and the all together ridiculous. Because what better way to cope than to just laugh.

And so I will keep the following endeavor short.

I have given up, because in the event that I should fail...I surely will, fail.

Ladies and gentleman, such an event has finally happened upon me. It has become strikingly clear that I can no more fix myself than a home schooled child can burn his or her jumper. And the imagery of a friend, foe, counselor, pastor, mentor, or parole officer showing up for the fight has faded from the hopeful dreams in my head. In this moment I feel utterly alone, useless and dare I say it...broken?

Yet, I do not crave "authentic community", "home community", "artists community", "community gardening", "intentional community" or anything of the sort. Also, please do not elevate my brokenness to a god state that excuses the weight of sin or consequence. Diminishing the uncompromising beauty of purity and holiness will only aid my withering state. I need no more excuses, outs, pats on the back, conversations, self help books, medication or compliments.

But rather, push me out into that fearfully dark unknown called, submission....and wave to me as I take my holiday at the sea. Alone. Hurting. And with Him.

To put it plainly? What I so desperately need cannot be found in this world, and though my head always knew...only now is the ache in my heart completely in awe of such a truth.

And now...if only...if only I weren't so tired.

These are my thoughts for the few who read, and the many more who do not.

Captain Jack Sparrow?

Yet another odd van I encountered..apparently this one sails the high seas. You cannot tell from the pic, but it's actually covered in pirate gear. I find the skeleton a little more disturbing than funny. Maybe it's because it looks like Cindy Lou Who from "The Grinch" died rather violently on the freeway.....

Gentle

The most important voices in my life are so gentle, I cannot hear them.

If I Could Get Free

"We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered to us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."

CS LEWIS

Inbox: Hannah Webster

Ms. Webster,

You are not a horrible friend. One of the things I enjoy about this friendship we have is that we can always pick up where we left off...no strings attached...no pressure...no worry if you are busy :)

Now, as for your "busy" ness. I relate to this problem completely. In fact I relate so much, it may serve as a good topic for my blog. Yes, blog. You read correctly. I am obsessed. Blogging masquerades around in my mind like something of power...making me believe that the world is reading right along with each key I press down. Logically, I know this isn't true, but it sure beats the anxiety associated with all the unfinished journals molding in the back of my closet (and underneath my bed). (and in the cellar) (cellar? Am I 95 years old?)

It is American to be busy, so they say. Whoever 'they' are. Yet, at first glance my life is simple. I work approximately 40 hours in 3 days. Assuming my quick math skills do not abandon me, that leaves 4 days a week completely free. All the time in the world right? Here in lies the problem. Each week, those four days of bliss escape me, and I do not know how it comes to pass.

Ideally, I'd be hiking in the Gorge, getting lost in the red room at Powell's Books while trying to find the pink room, or maybe drinking a good mocha from anywhere but Starbucks. Why not sit by a willow tree and watch people who love dogs flirt with each other? I could put my most beautiful dress on and lounge in lobbies of the fancy hotels downtown! I could stay up all night writing a heartbreaking, extravagant novel (or um, blog) involving me, tragic romance, and Gerard Butler (from PS I love You). *Note to self....you use too many parentheses*

There are many wonderful acts of service I could take part in. How fulfilling to work with refugees, aiding them in finding jobs and getting acquainted with culture...or I could actually talk to that homeless woman who stands at the on ramp to 1-84 West at Sandy Blvd. I could tutor a child in math er how about recess...I could walk dogs so those people could flirt more!!

But do you know what I do on my days off? I generally marvel at how exhausted I am at the ripe old age of 26. That takes up a few hours, usually. Then I drive all over town meeting up with the few people I can for coffee or a quick happy hour. This is followed by balancing my check book (okay, I don't do that), doing my laundry, cleaning my room, folding my laundry (sometimes), making my bed, doing a little sketching, going to church (sorta), trying to work out, attempting healthy eating, getting caught up on sleep, stressing about healthy eating... and when that's all done, if I have time, I feel tired again. Too tired to do any of the more worthy ideas I mentioned earlier.

And thus, when people ask me what I'm doing in life I feel embarrassed because all I can offer up is work and laundry! But I do speak truth when I say it sincerely feels like that's all I have time to do. Were did I go wrong? Is this rat race really what I take part in for the rest of my life? BAH!

So, my friend, I'm busy with nothing as well. Don't feel too badly about it. However, I have made a recent decision that if I don't change something very soon, I will end up with regrets...and that is a sad sad thing.

AH! I've got it! I'm going to go to school to become a midwife. Yes, you read correctly. A midwife. I'm going to help women bring babies into the world... I will teach them to bite down on a stick while I say a blessing over them using mango juice. Wait, that was the Lion King...but no matter. I will travel around the world and do this.... Man or no man, bad complexion or good, skinny or fat, ten fingers or nine, style or mom jeans...I'm going to do it.

And I'm not kidding.

Now I just need 40,000 dollars, some more free time, a bit more work ethic and a place to live for free. Oh and a way to pay bills....

How are you?

Jenni

I encountered this van while walking in Hawthorne...those are some first graders I do not want to mess with....

Lovin' The Rain

Keep Portland Weird? I say keep Portland wet.

Germs and Children: The Ultimate Partnership

The better half of my twenties has been monopolized by a sad obsession with germs. No, it's more than that. I am at war with them. Let me explain, however, that I actually don't hate germs....nor am I afraid to be in their presence. In fact, you wouldn't know that I even cared about them unless you could read my mind. If anything, I am a secret admirer of their power to bring my social life to an utter stop, and melt my work days into tedious oblivion. I am in awe of the germ's dark magic.

It could be that I've become crazy or maybe just more practical. More acurately though, Ive been humbled by years of slow and methodical beatings from nearly every toddler in the greater Portland area. My job title is Nanny, which is so drab. I prefer Child-Germ Conflict Resolution Therapist or Household General Manager Substitute. To be realistic, it doesn't matter what you call me, because at the end of the day, everyday, there are four things that I have always done. And done well.

1. in the nick of time, successfully wedged my body in between a toddler and countless dangerous objects and/or vehicles

2. been thrown up on

3. completed various amounts of manual labor while holding an infant on my hip, such as folding other peoples underwear and then folding it again when a toddler (see above) destroys my hard work

4. practically snuggled up to and spooned with a million germs, while in vain, trying to snuff out their existence

5. been thrown up on (wait a second....)

I never thought of myself as a germ-a-phobe, until I noticed how much lotion I was going through. I actually hate lotion, as it's similar to covering yourself in yogurt, but I digress. So how on earth did I purchase and harbor so many different kinds of the awful stuff? Well, I wash my hands obsessively. So much so that my knuckles are nearly gone, requiring that I rub yogurt, er uh, lotion on my hands almost hourly while at work.

Do you know what children are? Well that was a very sweet, heartwarming answer...but you are wrong (and a little stupid). Let me tell you what they are: carrier monkeys.

All they do, all day long, is find unique ways to infiltrate this world with new and colorful germs. It's a premeditated plot to destroy anything taller than them with the capacity to say, "no, you may not climb up on the top of the house and jump off with that umbrella." They do it so that when you are laying on the kitchen floor convinced you are actually going to die from the chest cold that has plagued you for 2 weeks, in that moment that child can run over and with all it's weight jump onto your sternum, thus propelling itself onto the counter, where the TV remote is laying, and in turn... switch on "Elmo's World".

What's even worse, is when they barter germs with one another before contaminating you. This is how they efficiently handicap as many adults as they can within a one block radius. It's genius! While they get extra ice cream, TV, affection and grape flavored Tylenol...you bust your body to keep them comfortable, only to get sick right about when....no, exactly when, they are well enough to absolutely manipulate your sick sorry ass into doing just about any ridiculous thing they want.

I'm not bitter. I'm not. It's a circle of life...kinda thing.

Okay, so I'm irritated. Okay, I'm bitter. Why is it that for every sanitary wipe I wave in the air, declaring a surrender...germs (or their child partners in crime) never show me grace? And for every mac and cheese meal I have shared with a 2 year old while crossing my chest hoping for a consequence free bite, I repeatedly am left cursing KRAFT and it's counter parts. Will there ever be an end to this on going conflict of interests!?

As I guzzle the NyQuil on my nightstand while applying a fresh coat of yogurt to my knuckles, I can only dream. Dream of a time when my germ radar will fail to guide the whole of my subconscious thoughts during the day, or, at the very least.... it will finally reward my solid understanding of my frailty next to the united front of germs and children, with a nice strong handshake (preceded by purel of course).