tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61095512024-03-07T04:14:42.266-05:00Long Story Shortblah blah blah and stuffJenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.comBlogger2090125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-83574036078804522032019-10-12T16:00:00.000-04:002019-10-12T16:03:45.160-04:00Guess I only write sad animal things in here now. Anyway, hi!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I’m having a "feel all the emotions" week and it’s making it hard to concentrate on or accomplish much of anything. Which...fine. Sometimes this is just how life is. But it sucks.<br />
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Last year at this time, almost exactly to the day, we found out that Mara had cancer. Specifically, anal sac adenocarcinoma or, as we maturely called it, "butt cancer." She had a mass on her anal sac (heh) and one of her lymph nodes. I won't bore you with all the fears and tears and options we ran through at that time, but we decided to start with surgery to remove the masses. She came through it great! There were some follow up steps, including an experimental (but free!) vaccine and oral chemo which, did you know that was a thing? Crazy. We were hesitant, but it had no negative effects on her, really, and was keeping the cancer from spreading. For a time, anyway.<br />
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She had a follow up appointment last week, and they found a mass on another lymph node. It hadn't been there a month ago when they did an ultrasound, so they took a sample. We found out yesterday that the mass is cancerous. Because of fucking course it is. I don't think either of us were surprised. When they told us there was another mass that had appeared that quickly, what else was it going to be?<br />
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I'm mostly OK. Mostly. It fucking sucks, but I've been mostly holding it together, if only because we still don't know what all the options are yet.<br />
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I just keep doing this thing where I'm, like, poking my feelings? To, I don’t know, see how much it hurts to think about Mara not being here this time next year, or when we move into a new place, or, fuck, not being here at all FULL STOP?<br />
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I don’t know why I keep doing that. It turns out it hurts a fucking lot, is what it does. And it makes me cry every time, and my eyeballs feel like they’re going to dry up and fall out of my head already so I really don’t want to cry anymore.<br />
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Meanwhile, Max is acting weird and apparently has arthritis and then he started eating dirt obsessively (wtf?) and we don’t know why. He gets to go back to the vet on Monday, so I’m hoping they can figure something out. I don’t know. I know this is normal (I mean, not the dirt-eating thing but, like, dogs having issues). He’s getting older, of course he’s going to have medical issues. But why does it have to be happening when we got such terrible news about Mara?<br />
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Life is supremely unfair, and I know that, but I don’t know why the universe feels the need to show me evidence of this all at the same time. It's rude.<br />
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At the same time, I know that we are very lucky. We’re lucky to have at least some funds, though they are not unlimited, to help our dogs with these issues. We’re lucky to have back up plans for moving and upcoming travel, should we need them. We’re lucky to have one another, so we can lean on each other when we’re having I AM NOT OK moments. I know all of this.<br />
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I also know we’ve been really lucky to have the last year with Mara, something I’ve thought and reminded myself of often since this time last year. We didn’t know if she’d make it through the surgery she had. And she did! And she has been acting normal (well, normal for her) ever since. We’ve been really lucky to have that time. The cancer she was diagnosed with is an aggressive one. We were lucky to have that time to enjoy her and, yes, even to take our time saying goodbye to her. Pet owners don’t always get that.<br />
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Still. It fucking sucks ass, is what it does. And no amount of luck with change that.Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05899796038346995051noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-4406062375336179152018-08-09T23:16:00.000-04:002018-08-09T23:16:05.411-04:00Goodnight, dear void. Oops I haven’t been writing again SHRUG EMOJI. Oh, me. To be fair, after Joe and I got back from vacation a couple of weeks ago, we both got super sick or just had colds but whatever, either way, I didn’t feel like writing or doing anything that wasn’t lying on the sofa and whining about how I didn’t feel good.<br />
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Also, sometimes, it’s just hard to get back in the swing of things when you get back from vacation, unless the normal swing of things is just coming home from work, half-assing the easiest dinner you can think of, and then watching <i>ER </i>reruns until the end of time and by end of time I mean until you’re trying not to fall asleep on the couch because George Clooney is long gone and you don’t recognize any of the characters on the show anymore because seriously, why is Shane West. Not why is Shane West here, just...why was Shane West ever a thing.<br />
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Anyway. Hi.<br />
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I haven’t blogged in a hundred thousand years because...I don’t know, blogs don’t exist anymore and I’m pretty sure no one will even notice that I’ve posted this, but there’s something nice about <strike>screaming</strike> speaking quietly into the void.<br />
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I have been trying to write more frequently but it happens in spurts (grossest word) and usually I’m too tired after work to do much of anything. My new job (which is not really new anymore) is busy all the time but even busier in the summer because that’s when we need the most volunteers and most of my job = finding volunteers who want to clean up lots of poop and potentially get bitten by wild animals who hate them. Honestly, who WOULDN’T want to do that (I’m being serious) but it does take finding the right kind of person.<br />
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<b>SIDENOTE:</b> if you think you might be that person, <a href="https://www.nwrawildlife.org/page/Find_A_Rehabilitator" target="_blank">please look up wildlife rehabilitation centers</a> in your area and see if they need volunteers SPOILER ALERT they probably do but also heads up, you can’t cuddle the animals because it turns out WILD ANIMALS DON’T LIKE THAT. If you absolutely MUST cuddle animals, I don't blame you, but please look into animal shelters because those animals are in great need of cuddles.<br />
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Anyway. Turns out working is tiring DUH.<br />
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Things I’ve been trying to write include:<br />
<ol>
<li>Daily journal entries. I average about 2-5 of these a month. </li>
<li><a href="https://cannonballread.com/author/baxlala/" target="_blank">Book reviews for Cannonball Read</a>, a project in which you’re supposed to read and review 52 books over the course of the year. I’ve written...7. (But I’ve read at least 46, if my calculations are correct, and they probably aren’t. </li>
<li> A novel. Yeesh, who isn’t. </li>
</ol>
I have been experiencing zero to middling success on the motivation and word count fronts but OH WELL. A quote popped up in a book I read recently (which one, I have no idea):<br />
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“Any time spent is better than no time spent.”<br />
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I’ve been trying to take it to heart. It’s always been difficult for me to not give up on things that take a long time to complete, or that I can’t focus 100% of my attention on, but I guess that’s what GROWING AS A PERSON is all about. Ugh.
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Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-36009836346788065742017-02-09T20:59:00.000-05:002017-02-09T21:02:56.351-05:00Phoebe Princess Consuela Banana Hammock Buffay <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When you get a pet, you’re basically signing up to willingly have your heart broken. Until they develop some sort of serum that extends the longevity of animal lives (get on it, science), we know that, in all likelihood, we’re going to outlive the little life we’re suddenly in charge of. Sometimes they pass naturally, hopefully at a ripe, old age after living a long, healthy life. Sometimes, unfortunately, you have to make the decision for them.<br />
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We took Phoebe to the vet last week and learned that she wasn’t doing well. She had several underlying issues that pointed to even more serious issues. There were options. More medical tests. Long term medications and vet visits. But we knew they’d be torture for Phoebe. We went home to think it over and decided that, when we really thought about it, her quality of life wasn’t so good. And adding additional medical tests and medication? Wasn’t going to make it any better. It would only delay the inevitable, and there would always be a chance that we’d wait too long and would need to make the decision suddenly. And in that case, she’d most likely be in even greater pain than she already was.<br />
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It wasn’t an easy decision. But it was what was best for her, even if it broke our hearts. Today we took her to the vet for the last time. I’ve been struggling with this decision, obviously, and have only just come to terms with it, though that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped crying about it. This week has really just been an exercise in how many tears the human body can produce. I assume I’ll stop crying at some point. A person can’t cry forever. (RIGHT???)<br />
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I adopted Phoebe 12 years ago, funnily enough from the animal shelter I’d later end up working at. I decided I wanted a cat, found the most terrified, saddest looking cat I could on PetFinder, and adopted her. Adopting such a terrified cat as a first-time cat owner was not my brightest moment, but we made it work. After she hid for a week and spent a few months slowly peeing on all of my possessions. Still. We found our stride.<br />
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Phoebe was with me through five moves. She was there when I met Joe, when we moved in together, when we got married. She was there when we (to her consternation) brought home Max, and later Mara. She was a sassmouth, who’d respond with a meow whenever you’d say, “kitty?” She hid from most people and was never very social, so whenever she’d crawl on my lap, I’d sit as still as possible, hardly breathing, so I wouldn’t startle her away. Last night, for the first time in a while, she came downstairs and crawled on my lap. Just for a few minutes. I think she was saying goodbye.<br />
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I’d had other pets as a kid, but she was my first pet. The first pet that I was directly responsible for. Though I feel like I failed her in not noticing earlier that she was struggling, I’m glad I was able to do right by her in the end. She’s not suffering anymore. And even though she did, in fact, break my heart, I also know she’ll live there forever. Thankfully, there’s some peace in that.<br />
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<br />Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-42388290724151209252016-11-28T15:00:00.001-05:002016-11-28T15:00:40.048-05:00I wish I could rewrite the ending on this one<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have most Mondays off, so on nice days, I go hiking at one of the many parks in the area. Last Monday, I spent most of the morning and early afternoon hiking and, on the way home, tired and muddy, I drove through Lincoln Park, a small residential park with a few trees and a pond. As I drove by the pond, I noticed a woman in the middle of the road. In front of her was a duck, struggling to drag itself out of the street.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I pulled over and got out of my car, and at that point, the duck, a mallard, had managed to get himself into the grass. He seemed comfortable enough, though wasn't moving to walk or fly away, despite his wariness of the humans standing around him. A man who'd also been driving by told the woman and I that he had called animal control. He drove away and the woman, who had a car full of kids, soon followed him, thanking me as she left. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>“I guess this is my problem now,” I thought, and went back to my car.</b> After texting some friends and Joe, I came to the conclusion that I’d wait for animal control but try to find another option in the meantime. I called <a href="http://www.bruknernaturecenter.com/index.html" target="_blank"><b>Brukner Nature Center</b></a>, which does wildlife rehab, and the woman I spoke to told me that, if I was able to capture the duck, I could bring it to them. Knowing what animal control would do should I leave the duck there, I decided to at least try to capture him. How hard could it be to capture an injured duck? </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">SPOILER ALERT, it turns out it’s super hard! </span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Joe left work early (which is ridiculous and also why I love him) and stopped to get a box and some towels. We tried to capture the duck once he got there, but it FREAKED OUT and also all the other pond ducks and geese came over to see what we were doing and swarmed around us like a bunch of duck-zombies, hungry for <strike>brains</strike> bread, and in the midst of all the confusion, our duck got into the water. </span><br />
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</b><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>So. At that point, we could have given up.</b> But instead we went to Meijer and bought a net. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We rushed back to the pond and saw the duck, which we (stupidly) named Lincoln, sitting on the little plank-ramp that the ducks use to climb out of the water. He wasn’t able to climb all the way out, so he was just sitting at the end. And unfortunately, every time we got near him with the net, he swam away to the middle of the pond where we couldn’t get to him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We decided to leave for the night, since it was getting dark, and try again in the morning. We tried for an hour the next morning, but were still unsuccessful. I came to visit Lincoln during lunch and again after work, each time feeling more and more useless. When I visited him that night, I was at first hopeful that he had gotten out of the water, as all of the ducks were huddled together in the grass next to the pond. But as I walked the path, I soon found him, still in the water, on the complete opposite end of the pond. He was still swimming away every time I got near him, but not quite as quickly. And he was all alone. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I went home and cried to Joe, but we decided that, at that point, we should probably just let it go. He didn’t want to be caught. I’d spoken with someone from the parks department earlier that day, who told me that it’s extremely difficult to catch a duck that doesn’t want to be caught, but that they would try to catch him the following day. It made me feel a bit better, but I still felt like I’d failed in some way. If only we’d been able to get him before he got back in the water. If only. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The next day, I went to work as usual, hoping that the parks department would have better luck than I did. Joe texted me around lunchtime, saying he wanted to try one more time to catch Lincoln. It turned out that my kind-hearted husband, also feeling badly about the duck, had gone by to see whether the parks department had been there. They hadn’t, and Lincoln was still in the water. He wasn’t swimming away as he had been the day before, so Joe thought maybe we could catch him this time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All of our duck-catching gear (which at that point consisted of two towels, a box, work gloves, a net, some bread, and a dog crate) was still in the back of my car (because you never know when you might need to catch a duck), so we were all set. We got to Lincoln Park and formulated a plan. I was cautiously optimistic but trying to tamp it down, as my optimism had gotten us nowhere so far. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On our first attempt, Lincoln swam away again. He slowly made his way to the other side of the pond. I decided to stay on one side while Joe walked to where we thought Lincoln was headed. He crept up to the edge of the pond, slowly dipped the net in front of Lincoln, and Lincoln swam right into it. Joe scooped him out of the pond, easy as anything, and made his way toward me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Guys, I wish I could adequately describe the jubilation I felt as I watched Joe walk toward me, Lincoln safely in the net.</b> I dropped the bread I was holding and sprinted to the car to get the crate ready. Joe deposited Lincoln into the crate and we made our way to Brukner, hoping that we’d gotten him in time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Brukner is about a 40 minute drive from where we live, and we spent the entire trip alternating between excited chattering and sitting in happy silence. Every now and then I’d break the silence with, “REMEMBER THAT TIME YOU CAUGHT A DUCK?” and we’d start laughing hysterically. </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(We also later realized that there was a guy fishing in the pond the entire time we were trying to catch Lincoln, someone who watched us scoop him into a net, put him in a dog crate, and then quickly drive away. I hope we gave him a fun story to tell on Thanksgiving.) </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Once we arrived at Brukner, we were able to transfer Lincoln into their care easily.</b> I filled out a form, they gave us a patient card so we could call and check on him, and we were done. We both went back to work, feeling happy that we’d tried our best to help. </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I wish I could say that this story has a happy ending. </span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Brukner was closed on Thursday and Friday, and when we called on Saturday, they told us that Lincoln had died. They did everything they could, even taking him to an outside vet, but, after all that, his injuries had just been too extensive. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: helvetica neue, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">I wish I had something deep to say here. But I don't. It just sucks. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Even now, a few days later, I still find myself tearing up about that duck.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"> I spent five days fixated on him, thinking about how to catch him or what was happening to him at Brukner. Our giddy happiness at having caught him turned into an impressive display of grief (we cried a lot and then impulse-bought a brass duck statue that we found at a vintage-y store) for an animal we’d known less than a week. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTl06EqnhsrTHtOPIat4YlJE-3VIC5hGPQ8LwgO01HnUlomYUNq2CSV3hy2S1_kJSDLgpov5ovj2362KIh_m7MH49Oj9JQEX0X4RdYSEQDWx1vJjtbikfZD3RNNUWkMV7vTFnQ/s1600/duck+statue.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="2" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTl06EqnhsrTHtOPIat4YlJE-3VIC5hGPQ8LwgO01HnUlomYUNq2CSV3hy2S1_kJSDLgpov5ovj2362KIh_m7MH49Oj9JQEX0X4RdYSEQDWx1vJjtbikfZD3RNNUWkMV7vTFnQ/s320/duck+statue.JPG" width="276" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If I’m honest, lately I’ve been feeling frustrated about the many terrible things happening in the world, things that I cannot change, or situations that have no easy fix. And here was a situation in which I could actually do something. There was a hurt animal in front of me. I knew exactly how to help. Someone else gave me the knowledge, I had all the tools. And I still failed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I keep wondering how my week would have gone had I driven home a different way. Or if I had just ignored the situation and driven by instead. I probably would have worried about the duck for a bit, then placated myself with thoughts that someone else probably dealt with it. Maybe that’s how the people I met last Monday are feeling. Several people happened upon Lincoln while I was waiting for Joe to get there with supplies, and each one seemed supremely relieved when they realized I’d taken ownership over this sad little duck. I'm a bit jealous of them, really. They can at least tell themselves that the duck was probably fine, since someone was there helping. I wish I could have done more.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Still, as disappointed as I am, I just keep reminding myself that there are ways to help. </span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Brukner Nature Center, and other organizations like it, can always use donations, whether the donations are monetary or items like animal food or blankets. <a href="http://www.bruknernaturecenter.com/support-us!.html" target="_blank"><b>If you’re able to give</b></a>, they’ll put these items to good use, helping animals like Lincoln, or educating children and adults in the community on how to safely interact with wildlife, both healthy and injured. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>I know that, because of organizations like Brukner, many other animals are successfully rehabilitated.</b> I’m so thankful that a place like this exists in our community and that, when faced with this situation, I had an expert (other than Google) to talk to. I wish there had been a better outcome for Lincoln, but we happily made a donation so that the experts at Brukner can continue helping animals like him. It doesn’t feel like much, not really. But sometimes it has to be enough. </span>Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-68805563127076901152015-04-14T20:36:00.002-04:002015-04-14T20:36:37.882-04:00I don't really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So good night, dear void.Apparently, I only write here every six months or so. Remember when I used to write here multiple times a day? Probably not. I'm not even sure if anyone will even see this. Blogs have changed so much. No one has the attention span for them anymore. Everything is Twittered and Tumblred and FOR GOD'S SAKE Snapchatted, which I don't entirely understand because I'm an Old now. When did that happen?<br />
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I'm constantly surprised by the passing of time. Which is ridiculous. It's been passing my whole life but I'm still shocked by it. When someone says something happened in 2007, I think, "oh, that was just a couple of years ago," but no. It wasn't. It was eight years ago, actually. Eight years. I could, like, have had an eight-year-old in that time. I mean, I'm glad I don't. Eight-year-olds are little sassmouths. There are already two sassmouths living in this house, we don't need another one.<br />
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Anyway. I used to post here so much. I do miss it. The blogging community kind of fell apart in the last few years (and, yes, I realize that by saying "few" years, I could possibly be talking about the last eight years ago...WHO KNOWS). But I also think I used to post here more often because I wasn't happy at work and, probably (who remembers) in other ways. If posting less means I'm happier, then according to my archives, I've been getting steadily happier over the last ten years. I posted over 400 times in 2004 (Jesus, lady, no one needs to hear that many of your thoughts) and a whopping 7 times last year.<br />
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Do you guys ever read your archives? I find myself getting lost in mine sometimes, on my most past-obsessed days, trying to figure out where that girl went. Is she still there, somewhere? As we grow and get older, do we always encompass who we once were? It makes me a little sad to think she might be gone completely, but I can't be that sad, because I really have nothing to be unhappy about these days.<br />
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I really, really like my job, you guys. It feels weird to say that because it's never been true before. For a long time, two years exactly, I was pretty miserable at work, which made me not want to write anything because misery is exhausting. Then I got a job that I really like and things got really busy and I never wrote anything because work left me exhausted, but in a good way. Because I get to, like, use my brain and stuff. I even get to write sometimes.<br />
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I guess what I'm saying is, I don't really have an excuse for not writing here more often. Not a good one, anyway. I find plenty of time to watch TV, and too much of it. Which I suppose means the girl I was talking about up there isn't really gone at all so WHEW BULLET DODGED.Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-29814702938651107202014-11-05T21:25:00.000-05:002014-11-05T21:25:14.121-05:00NaBloPoMo: Day 5I got homework at work today, which is fun because I don’t get homework anymore AND it involves very little effort on my end, which is my favorite kind of task. <br />
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My homework was to take <a href="http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/jtypes2.asp" target="_blank">this Myers Briggs personality test</a>, something I’ve taken multiple times in the past, but took it again JUST IN CASE my personality had slightly shifted in the past couple of years. Or in case another personality had taken over, slowly and subtly, and I didn’t even notice. I was interested to see <a href="http://geekologie.com/2013/09/harry-potter-character-myers-briggs-pers.php" target="_blank">which Harry Potter character my new personality is</a>. <br />
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As suspected, I am still Draco Malfoy, though percentage-wise I’m almost tied with Remus Lupin. I’ve taken a million and a half of these tests (thanks, Buzzfeed!) and am always either INTJ or INFJ. I like to say I’m an INTJ most of the time because fictional INTJs are always evil. Mr. Burns. Walter White. Tywin Lannister. Louise Belcher. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep. </td></tr>
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INFJs are much nicer. Lisa Simpson. Kermit. Elizabeth Bennett. JK ROWLING. They’re also the rarest of personality types, unless you bring gender into the equation, in which case female INTJs are the rarest, tied with female ENTJ and male INFJ (going by my really extensive research that was basically Googling “rarest myers briggs types by gender”). SCIENCE. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GOB is an ESTP, apparently. </td></tr>
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Why am I still talking about this? IDK BECAUSE I LOVE TALKING ABOUT MYSELF OK? Welcome to blogging.<br />
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Anyway. I think being tied between INTJ and INFJ means I get to pick whichever side I want. There are positives and negatives about both, but the INTJs have Mr. Darcy. So. I think you know who I’ll choose. <a href="http://images.g4tv.com/ImageDb3/306254_S/snapes-favorite-feminine-hygiene-product.jpg" target="_blank">Always</a>. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suck it, Cumberbatch. </td></tr>
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Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-15208639105045857482014-11-04T15:36:00.000-05:002014-11-04T15:36:13.676-05:00NaBloPoMo: Day 4Today I was singing in the shower, like you do, and, as is so often the case, my songs of choice hailed from the Joss Whedon oeuvre. I haven’t tested this theory officially but I’m pretty sure I could sing “<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Once_More,_with_Feeling_%28Buffy_the_Vampire_Slayer%29" target="_blank">Once More with Feeling</a>” all the way through ALL BY MYSELF YES ALL THE PARTS ALL OF THEM. <br /><br />I’m not really what one would call a “good singer,” but I do enjoy it, even if it’s just singing along to the radio or making up dumb songs to sing to my pets, or playing Rock Band a million years ago. Remember Rock Band? We have the entire set that sits in a closet in our house because it’s not fun to play just the two of us and we are hermit people who never invite anyone over to our house and the dogs haven’t learned how to play guitar OR drums yet. Slackers. <br /><br />(Why doesn’t anyone play Rock Band anymore? We played it so much a few years ago and then just stopped but I don’t think anything took its place. Anyway. Whatever.) <br /><br />I was in choir in school and I loved it, especially the time in fifth grade when we went to McDonald’s in our fancy robes to sing Christmas carols and I got to stand on a table and it was AWESOME until I went to the bathroom to take my robe off and one of the snaps on it got stuck in my hair and I for real thought I was going to have to shave my head to get it out. I didn’t, though. GOOD STORY. <br /><br />The only thing I ever really miss about church is all the singing in unison. Which is weird because whenever I was the acolyte, I never wanted to sing along to the songs, I think because I was sitting in the front of the church, where everyone could see me, and the last thing I wanted was to be seen PARTICIPATING EARNESTLY in something. PERISH THE THOUGHT. <br /><br />(Did your church have children as acolytes? I don’t know if it’s just a Lutheran thing. I think maybe it’s like being a choirboy in the Catholic church. Basically, I lit the candles at the front of the church when the service started, staring at the flame as I carried it, hoping and praying (appropriate) that it wouldn’t go out because THEN WHAT WOULD I DO? Would I have to go to the back and start over? What would people think? What would GOD think? Anyway, I also was in charge of holding the dish where people put empty glasses when they were finished taking communion. It was really a lot of responsibility for a 12-year-old.) <br /><br />If I wasn’t acolyting, though, I really enjoyed the singing part of the services. Especially at Christmas, because I actually knew those songs, except for the weird extra verses of songs like Silent Night that no one on solemn Christmas episodes of TV shows ever sings so why do they even exist? <br /><br /> A couple of years ago (um, ok, <a href="http://longstoryshort.blogspot.com/2010/10/it-be-my-first-pah-ty-fah-tha.html" target="_blank">four years ago</a>, yikes), I went to a Sound of Music sing-a-long at the movie theater and it was magical. A couple years before THAT, Joe and I went to a Dr. Horrible sing-a-long at ANOTHER movie theater and THAT WAS ALSO MAGICAL. I haven’t really seen anything else like that around here recently, other than a Frozen sing-a-long last year that I was afraid to go to because I thought I might get irrationally angry at any kids butchering the words. So. I guess what I’m saying is, I really need a non-church, non-solo, adult outlet for singing. MORE OPPORTUNITIES FOR SECULAR SING-A-LONGS.<br /><br />Until then, I guess I’ll just dig out Rock Band. How hard is it to teach a dog to hold some drum sticks, do you think? Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-30749091390292289222014-11-03T17:25:00.001-05:002014-11-03T17:25:21.295-05:00NaBloPoMo: Day 3I doubt anyone noticed, because this blog has become a bit like speaking into the void (I’m not complaining, it’s kind of nice, like it was when I first started it and just rambled on and on like I was writing in my diary), but I forgot to post yesterday. <br /><br />Well. No, that’s not entirely true. I didn’t forget. I knew perfectly well I needed to write something, I just...didn’t. There were two reasons for this: <br />
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<b>1.</b> I spent much of yesterday preparing for our annual volunteer appreciation banquet. <br />
<br /><b>2.</b> I spent all my time not preparing for the banquet watching many, many episodes of <i>Gilmore Girls </i>with Joe. <br /><br />And you know what? NO REGRETS. <br /><br /><a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/tim%20riggins_zpsixwrsw2e.gif.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo tim riggins_zpsixwrsw2e.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/tim%20riggins_zpsixwrsw2e.gif" /></a><br /><br />I put pressure on myself a lot of the time for just SUPER dumb reasons. Like, I don’t even know, that I was five minutes late for work and now the day doesn’t count anymore? That’s a bad example. I can’t really be late because I can get there whenever I want. But we’re going with that right now because I can’t think of any other examples and it’s my blog and I do what I want. <br /><br />My point is (and I do have one) that, even for something that means nothing to anyone but me, like National Blog Posting Month, I tend to be very hard on myself if I feel like I’m, I don’t know, “cheating.” So if I post a video instead of actual words or GOD FORBID don’t post one day, it negates anything else I’ve done for the month. <br /><br />This is stupid, flawed logic and it’s something I hate about myself so I purposefully sabotaged myself early on in the month and now NOTHING ELSE MATTERS. <br /><br /><a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/wild%20card_zpska6lxfjw.gif.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo wild card_zpska6lxfjw.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/wild%20card_zpska6lxfjw.gif" /></a><br /><br />Anyway. Bye. Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-30053417021079986472014-11-01T08:00:00.000-04:002014-11-01T08:34:35.329-04:00NaBloPoMo: Day 1<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRn_M_IXrkcAFePKtybLl4tUjAAfBrJWQgey85OpAetp0MCP2tgfc6EKgIGLyRMqMWvjSb33GuUh-oATzPN4GMabjy8Kl0_EgBTI8DtNP6x8ruxgTSbSSGankAi20BDk51IR5i/s1600/cute-spaniel-puppy-dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRn_M_IXrkcAFePKtybLl4tUjAAfBrJWQgey85OpAetp0MCP2tgfc6EKgIGLyRMqMWvjSb33GuUh-oATzPN4GMabjy8Kl0_EgBTI8DtNP6x8ruxgTSbSSGankAi20BDk51IR5i/s1600/cute-spaniel-puppy-dog.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a><i><b>Willow:</b> Carpe diem. You told me that once.<br /><b>Buffy: </b>Fish of the day?<br /><b>Willow: </b>Not carp. Carpe. It means “seize the day.”</i><br />
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Hey, so remember <a href="http://longstoryshort.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-one-where-i-quit-my-seemingly-great.html" target="_blank">last year when I quit my nice HR job to work part-time at an animal shelter</a>? And how most of my family (and probably my friends) thought I had lost my mind? At the time, I knew it was the right decision, even if others in my life didn’t understand it. Still. I’m not going to pretend it was always easy. Money was tight, my schedule was erratic, and I had no idea if this part-time position would ever lead to anything more. <br />
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A few months ago, while working with potential adopters, I met someone at the perfect time. Don’t you love how that happens? I’m sure it’s entirely coincidental, the pure happenstance of meeting someone who passes along a lesson you really need to hear, or it’s something our TV-addled brains just put together for us, wanting to turn our lives into a story with a satisfying narrative. But I don’t care. It’s the greatest feeling, meeting someone who turns out to be the exact person you were supposed to talk to that day. <br />
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It was a busy day at work, like always. I had been meeting with people all day, was in fact outside in one of the yards introducing some dogs to each other (you know, normal stuff), when someone came to tell me another person was waiting. I went inside to meet him and, through the course of his interview, realized I was talking to one of the nicest people I’d ever met. Like <a href="https://twitter.com/hhoagie" target="_blank">Heather Anne Hogan</a> nice. (Psst, that’s really nice.) <br />
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He was there to meet a few dogs, as his dog had died a few months prior. He wasn’t sure he was ready to adopt another dog and was, in fact, still going to a grief support group for the loss of his pet. We talked a bit about <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Oak-Tree-Corner/129630443735759" target="_blank">Oak Tree Corner</a> then, and how so many people are uncomfortable talking about grief, or even the idea of grief, and how certainly there are people out there who just don’t understand how hard it can be to lose a pet. <br />
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He didn’t end up adopting a dog that day, but during our conversation, he asked me how I ended up working there. I explained that I’d been working in HR for a long time but wanted a change, to do something where I felt like I was making a difference in the world. <br />
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In all honesty, in the days and weeks before I met this man, I’d begun to wonder if I’d made a mistake leaving HR. It hadn’t really been so bad, had it? It was a nice enough job. The money was better. The hours were better. I’d been thinking, you know, that maybe I should go back. I felt like I wasn’t contributing enough to the household. I wasn’t making as much money as I had been. My hours, I’m sure, were hard on Joe, since I worked most weekends, and often late-ish on Saturdays and, once I got home, I was usually exhausted. Good exhausted, but still exhausted. <br />
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Still, I couldn’t imagine going back to HR. It felt like giving up every time I thought about it. And when I mentioned it to this man, this near-stranger I’d met twenty or so minutes before, he said, “Oh, god, no, never go back.” You see, he, too, had once worked in HR, for more years than I had, and he also hated it, so he left and started his own business and never looked back. <br />
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“Don’t do it,” he said, looking me right in the eye. “You’ll regret it.” <br />
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I don’t know why I accepted this advice. Unsolicited advice usually makes me go homicidal and, in fact, want to do the exact opposite of whatever I’d been told, because apparently I’m still a child. But I think I was able to take it because it was exactly what I needed to hear, exactly when I needed to hear it. It’s what I knew to be true, deep down, under all the fear and doubt. <br />
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A month later, I interviewed for the job I currently hold, a full-time position (at the same company) that I love. The money and the schedule are better, much more in line with my previous full-time position. The difference now is, I’m so much happier when I’m at work. The days are so busy. There’s so much to do. But I’m EXCITED to be there. I love going to work and there are days when I accidentally stay late because I’ve gotten so distracted by whatever I’m working on that I didn’t realize how much time had passed. AND EVERYONE IS SO NICE. Plus, you know, if I ever need a break, there are plenty of fluffy animals around to distract me. <br />
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I used to come home from work full of complaints about the day. It was exhausting, and I’m sure not super fun for Joe to listen to. Now I come home and can’t wait to talk about the wonderful people I work with and the animals I work for. So Joe is still sick of hearing me babble, just for different reasons.<br />
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I guess my point is follow your dreams or whatever? Even if you’re scared? I don’t know. I still feel like I’m faking my way through this whole “being an adult” thing most of the time, but I think I’m getting better at it. So there’s hope for anyone, I suppose. Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-21029700559468604642014-04-04T10:46:00.000-04:002014-04-04T10:46:12.360-04:00"I lost Ed Truck and it feels like somebody took my heart and dropped it into a bucket of boiling tears."This post contains spoilers for <i>The Good Wife</i>, <i>How I Met Your Mother</i>, <i>The New Girl</i>, and <i>Hannibal</i>. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED. If you get spoiled and get mad about it, take it up with this guy:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If this doesn't scare the shit out of you, you're not watching <i>Hannibal </i>and you must remedy that immediately.</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
You guys. I'm having a problem. TV is betraying me and I'm not sure I can take part in it anymore. The TV. None of it. It's gotten so bad that I've taken refuge in old episodes of <i>America's Next Top Model</i>, over twelve seasons of which is on Hulu Plus, which is yet an other reason I should cancel both our Hulu and Netflix accounts because I'd get SO MUCH DONE. But we already got rid of cable, so I suppose Hulu and Netflix are acceptable vices. It's healthier than binge drinking, probably. I don't know. I'm not a scientist.<br />
<br />
When I was in college, there came a point in my classes where I was reading the following three books at the same time: <i>Moby Dick</i> (for a class on transcendentalism), <i>Hamlet </i>(for my Brit Lit class), and <i>Crime and Punishment</i> (for Russian Lit). These are all...dark, depressing works, so much so that reading the three at one time began to affect my mood. That's how I feel about my favorite TV shows lately. Watching TV hasn't been the joy of all joys that it should be, and it's making me want to stop watching TV FULL STOP because why am I even watching TV if not to enjoy myself?<br />
<br />
<b>1. <i>The Good Wife</i></b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://longstoryshort.blogspot.com/2014/03/this-contains-spoilers-for-good-wife.html" target="_blank">I've already written about this</a> but it's still SO DEPRESSING. Will Gardner died two episodes ago, and in the latest episode, we got to watch everyone hear the news and cry a lot. FUN. I mean, it was very well done but if the rest of the season is going to be like this, I don't really want to watch it. I wish regular TV shows would stop going all <i>Game of Thrones</i> on their characters. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/hug_zps93a4c8b0.gif.html" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo hug_zps93a4c8b0.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/hug_zps93a4c8b0.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GOOD BECAUSE IT'S YOUR FAULT THAT I NEED ONE</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>2. <i>HIMYM</i></b><br />
<br />
UGH. About 20 minutes into the finale, I realized I probably wasn't going to like how it ended. The internet has been speculating for months that A) the Mother is dead and B) Ted's going to end up with Robin anyway, even after realizing he wasn't the guy who was in love with her anymore and after both he and Robin had grown so much. I admired the time and thought put into the theories but brushed them off (much like I did when someone posited that Will might die on <i>The Good Wife</i>), because why would they do that? After all this time? After making us sit through that horrible scene where Robin freaking FLOATS AWAY ON THE WINDS OF UNREQUITED LOVE:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://howimetyourmother-lawyered.tumblr.com/post/75582497348/why-was-robin-floating-away" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo robin_zpse5453eda.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/robin_zpse5453eda.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously, what?<u><br /></u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In the end, however, that's exactly the path the creators took, because that's the one they'd planned at the beginning of the show. And it was terrible and I hated it. Some clever person, however, <a href="http://www.uproxx.com/up/2014/04/a-fan-fixed-the-how-i-met-your-mother-ending-and-made-it-so-much-better/" target="_blank">cut together a new ending</a>, one that will wash away (a bit) of the foul taste the finale may have left in your mouth.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>3. <i>The New Girl</i></b><br />
<br />
Look, I haven't even watched the episode where Nick and Jess break up because A) it happened right after Will Gardner died and B) I DON'T WANT TO BELIEVE IT. NO DON'T MAKE ME.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/newgirl.gif.html" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo newgirl.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/newgirl.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me too, Jess.<u><br /></u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>4. <i>Hannibal</i></b><br />
<br />
Bev died. Bev! I loved Bev! And she died in a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad way!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/katz2_zps38ab3eee.gif.html" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo katz2_zps38ab3eee.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/katz2_zps38ab3eee.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I screamed. <u><br /></u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Sigh. I mean. I know I shouldn't get attached to people on this show. Everyone is going to die and be made into a fancy pies and Hannibal is going to eat it and maybe throw out some food-related puns and we'll all cringe-laugh into our wine, wondering why we continue to watch these shows when all they do is break our damn fool hearts.<br />
<br />
THE END<br />
<br />
PS: But don't worry, you can wash your tears away with <i>Captain America</i>:<i> Winter Soldier </i>because it was AWESOME. Seriously. It was this good:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/datass_zpsf33c2a04.gif.html" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo datass_zpsf33c2a04.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/datass_zpsf33c2a04.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The story was good, too, if you're into that sort of thing.<u><br /></u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-81810189147614342692014-03-24T10:42:00.001-04:002014-03-24T10:42:46.603-04:00this contains spoilers for: The Good Wife, Downton Abbey, Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones and other shows that are so old I've decided they don't need spoiler warningsI haven’t posted in almost two months and, of course, the thing that brings me back is TV feels. Last night’s episode of <i>The Good Wife</i> ripped out my heart and threw it on the ground and stomped on it with cleats and then scooped it up and threw it into a blender. THINGS ARE NOT OK. <br />
<br />
Do any of you even watch that show? I hesitated at first, because it’s on CBS and it seemed like a total mom show (and maybe it is, because most of the moms I know watch it), but it’s actually really, really good. I KNOW. It shouldn’t be that surprising, really. It’s filled to the brim with talent: Julianna Margulies, Christine Baranski, Nathan Lane, Alan Cumming, and, until last night, Josh Charles. <br />
<br />
Because last night <i>The Good Wife</i> lost its damn fool mind and killed off Will Gardner. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/screamsinternally_zps542910f9.gif.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo screamsinternally_zps542910f9.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/screamsinternally_zps542910f9.gif" /></a></div>
<br />
I have two major problems with this (well, three, if you count the fact that I don’t get to see Josh Charles on my TV every week): <br />
<br />
<b>1.</b> <i>The Good Wife</i> is not <i>Grey’s Anatomy</i>. Killing off your male lead? OK, I guess, if you absolutely must, but in a courtroom shooting? Really? <br />
<br />
<b>2. </b>No more Willicia. A major driving force of the show was the will-they-won’t-they thing between Alicia and Will (and whether or not she’d ever leave her dumb husband for him). So. Guess that’s over, unless Will comes back as a walker. <br />
<br />
Earlier this week, my friend, Nancy, who keeps tabs on these things, brought to my attention that Josh Charles hadn’t yet signed his contract for next season. We briefly considered the idea that they might kill him off, but dismissed it for the above reasons. Because why would they do that? I’ve seen articles calling this a brave move and, yeah, I guess it is, but was it smart? I’m sure the show will continue to be well-written and well-acted. It will probably bring out some really fantastic acting from the other leads. But I can’t imagine I’ll enjoy it the way I used to. I told Nancy that I would stop watching the show if they killed Will. I still have that inclination, but am also curious to see how the rest of the season plays out. So I’ll watch, but I doubt my heart will be in it (except for the part of my heart that is HORRIBLY BROKEN BEYOND ALL REPAIR). <br />
<br />
I don’t remember being this upset about a character’s death since I don’t know when. Which is a total lie, because I REMEMBER THEM ALL. And here they are, in order of feels: <br />
<br />
<b>Sybil, childbirth </b><i>(Downton Abbey)</i> <br />
<br />
I was spoiled for this and it was still hard to watch. The show killing off the most likeable of the sisters was shocking enough but was especially nutso when you consider what happened later that season, which leads me to...<br />
<br />
Honorable mention: Matthew Crawley, car accident. I was also spoiled for this but, even as I watched, was hoping I'd read it wrong? I read an article last night that compared Will’s death’s to the move they made with Matthew on <i>Downton Abbey</i> and couldn’t help but think, “oh, fantastic, that’s when I lost all interest in the show.” <br />
<br />
<b>Billy, brain tumor</b> <i>(Ally McBeal) </i><br />
<br />
I know, right? What? <i>Ally McBeal</i>? I don't remember a whole lot about this, other than it was really sudden and shocking because this was before the internet spoiled everything. <br />
<br />
<b>Melissa Scully, gunshot wound</b> <i>(The X-Files)</i><br />
<br />
This was mostly sad because it made Scully cry a lot and Scully crying is the saddest thing ever. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/scullycrying_zps3d4c47b8.gif.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo scullycrying_zps3d4c47b8.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/scullycrying_zps3d4c47b8.gif" /></a></div>
<br />
Honorable Mention(s): Mulder, buried alive in the desert. And Mulder, gunshot wound to the head. And Mulder, alien...stuff.<br />
<br />
<b>Hank, shot in the desert</b><i> (Breaking Bad)</i><br />
<br />
I'M STILL UPSET ABOUT THIS. <br />
<br />
<b>The Red Wedding, EVERYBODY STAB NOW</b> <i>(Game of Thrones)</i><br />
<br />
No, I HAVEN’T read the books, thanks for asking, and yes, I reacted exactly like these people did: <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param>
<embed src="//www.youtube.com/v/78juOpTM3tE?hl=en_US&version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="560" height="315" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<br />
<b>Boone, airplane crash, but not THAT airplane crash</b> <i>(Lost)</i><br />
<br />
I wasn't all that attached to Boone, but this was the first main character death and the moment we learned this show wasn't playing around re: killing off favorites. <br />
<br />
Honorable Mention:<b> </b>Sun/Jin, drownded (WHY BOTH WHYYY)<br />
<br />
Honorable Mention #2: Charlie, also drownded (NO SERIOUSLY WHYYYYY) <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Lucy Knight, stabbed</b> <i>(ER)</i><br />
<br />
<i>ER</i> was one of the first shows I really, really loved, and so Lucy’s death was the first time I realized a show could break my heart. <br />
<br />
<b>Joyce Summers, Joss Whedon</b> <i>(Buffy the Vampire Slayer)</i><br />
<br />
This one was just mean. Just...I hate you, Joss Whedon. <br />
<br />
Honorable mention: Anya, killed as an afterthought, RIP. <br />
<br />
<b>Mrs. Landingham, car accident</b> <i>(The West Wing)</i><br />
<br />
I don’t want to talk about this anymore.<br />
<br />
<br />
Anyway, RIP Will Gardner.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/danrydell_zps45a7fbe1.gif.html" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo danrydell_zps45a7fbe1.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/danrydell_zps45a7fbe1.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At least Dan is still alive.<u><br /></u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-61237914176728640372014-02-05T17:58:00.001-05:002014-02-05T17:58:43.921-05:00ROONEY MARA!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
So, those who follow me on Twitter or Facebook or Instagram (in other
words, those tools I use to distract me from doing some actual
blogging/writing), may already know this, but Joe and I got a new dog!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqfkInlcVPC9ui4Qc_kGDo4yR4KKmXgBwlNNpOjU-HkquDA8BC4y5BXM_j2yzrMRNwfUyVS5J05qHwJqSJ7dVYpz6Qyp3Mk76B7P7KrWNrmDHQkUvS31IO4TbuXdaD5Pp-2ktq/s1600/steps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqfkInlcVPC9ui4Qc_kGDo4yR4KKmXgBwlNNpOjU-HkquDA8BC4y5BXM_j2yzrMRNwfUyVS5J05qHwJqSJ7dVYpz6Qyp3Mk76B7P7KrWNrmDHQkUvS31IO4TbuXdaD5Pp-2ktq/s1600/steps.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She is the weirdest dog ever and I love her. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
(I’m
sure most of my friends and family, upon hearing that we had some “big
news,” expected it to be about a baby but nope. Sorry!)<br />
<br />
Anyway. She's a year old, some sort of beagle mix, and her name is Mara but she already has some nicknames, including:<br />
<br />
Marabelle<br />
Crazy Eyes<br />
Mad Eye Mara<br />
SWEET GIRL PUPPY FACE<br />
<br />
and, my favorite...ROONEY MARA.<br />
<br />
(Thank
you, Billy Eichner. I can’t find a video of Billy Eichner shouting
ROONEY MARA but just trust me that it’s hilarious, OK?)<br />
<br />
When I
started working at an animal shelter, I figured it was only a matter of
time before I fell in love with a dog and brought it home. In fact, I
soon started coming home at least once a week, regaling Joe with tales
of some new dog I was obsessed with. But he never took the bait.
Which...in hindsight was a good thing because A) those dogs were
awesome, but would have been a disaster in our house and B) then we
wouldn’t have gotten Mara.<br />
<br />
I met Mara when I took her to an
adoption event about a month ago. The point of taking animals to these
adoption events is to hopefully get someone to, you know, adopt them, or
at least generate some interest in the dog, so maybe someone will see itand, like, go home and think about it for so long that they’ll
suddenly realize they simply HAVE to go back and adopt it.<br />
<br />
I
guess this time, that someone was me. I actually called Joe and told him
to come to the event so he could meet her, thinking that if I was being
ridiculous (again), he’d talk me out of it, but then he knelt down in
front of Mara and she perched her front paws on his knee and licked his
hand and BOOM we were DONE. WE ARE SUCH SUCKERS.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifacunNnvY90oeNwlS_8onuhQNkV_-lGw2uEVcEJ5o_Qnoo3LPCJFGMe5ygA6LPpyWgsDbkz4DUj6ofwyrGazDPNNN1vRjBapy5HURztelCEgruvIgmfqVwJRM28yoBmC7xZij/s1600/day+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifacunNnvY90oeNwlS_8onuhQNkV_-lGw2uEVcEJ5o_Qnoo3LPCJFGMe5ygA6LPpyWgsDbkz4DUj6ofwyrGazDPNNN1vRjBapy5HURztelCEgruvIgmfqVwJRM28yoBmC7xZij/s1600/day+1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Still, I wasn’t
sure. I didn’t want to rush into anything, so we decided to wait and see
if she was still available in a week. Plus also, you know, introduce
her to Max and make sure she didn’t like to eat cats. She passed both
tests with flying colors.<br />
<br />
Phoebe doesn’t really like her, but
then again, Phoebe doesn’t really like anyone. Unfortunately, Mara, so
far, has not shown Phoebe the deference that Max does, so there’s been a
lot of hissing and “NO MARA”-ing, but I suppose that’s to be expected.<br />
<br />
We
were prepared for a second dog. It’s something we’d been talking about
since we moved into our house. There were things we knew, like that our
expenses would double, the dogs might not get along at first, Phoebe
might riot and puke and pee on all of our stuff, but we were pretty sure
we could deal with it.<br />
<br />
However. (There’s always a however.)
There were things we did not consider. For instance, it turns out Mara
is allergic to grain. So that’s been fun! There were a couple of nights
where we didn’t sleep, because Mara was up hacking and LICKING THE DAMN
FLOOR, which I don’t think is bad for her but it’s really, really
unsettling. Also, there was one night where she was acting like she was going to throw up, so I let her
outside and then went to the basement to look out the window at her and
was climbing over the couch when I fell and ended up knocking over some
water I’d left down there and so there was shattered glass just,
everywhere, and I thought maybe Joe was going to murder me. <br />
<br />
Anyway! Since that escapade didn’t end in divorce, I feel pretty good about the solidity of our marriage. Whew.<br />
<br />
It’s
been about two weeks now and I think things are finally starting to get
to the new normal. Even Phoebe seems to have accepted yet another
interloper in her world. Max was pretty perturbed the first few days
that Mara was here, mostly, I think, because of two reasons. One was the
aforementioned middle-of-the-night hacking, which disrupted his sleep,
and the second is that she doesn’t seem to care if Max is lying
somewhere she wants to be, she just jumps up and crowds right into
him...which disrupts his sleep. He’s getting used to it, though, and has
stopped giving us, “why did you do this to me,” looks.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqBTrh1QjlQVG6sNLxCxKDnmRx5yQGgymh2h7XMpNkgR52XNhZA4x5yqmiB5EIMDJZXs4Em9t_t3dfan_QyBcyB8GqLchp31C-PRRsbqyMKGrZZly9nMNsY4fx_X6q2n4JmIB/s1600/max+and+mara.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqBTrh1QjlQVG6sNLxCxKDnmRx5yQGgymh2h7XMpNkgR52XNhZA4x5yqmiB5EIMDJZXs4Em9t_t3dfan_QyBcyB8GqLchp31C-PRRsbqyMKGrZZly9nMNsY4fx_X6q2n4JmIB/s1600/max+and+mara.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
That’s
actually one of my favorite things that Mara does. She just makes
herself comfortable, wherever she may be, which then causes her to do
one of my other favorite things. She seems to hate falling asleep, I
assume because she’s afraid she’ll miss something, so she holds her head
up and her eyes just fall slowly closed, until she jerks her head and wakes herself up. IT’S ADORABLE YOU GUYS.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFy5d8IvgksTWnW21j_NpQbc48QgE2xMJg57tNsV5ElVXQBgcLsUURsSHR34P5iXJBNDaOh55UkFR62fej0c6HADDrxmOmCTL42P3FmbB61IAvv87F_-_ZKhPneMMjkQvV36QB/s1600/sleepy+mara+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFy5d8IvgksTWnW21j_NpQbc48QgE2xMJg57tNsV5ElVXQBgcLsUURsSHR34P5iXJBNDaOh55UkFR62fej0c6HADDrxmOmCTL42P3FmbB61IAvv87F_-_ZKhPneMMjkQvV36QB/s1600/sleepy+mara+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She lost. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was sort of worried that there was no way I could ever love another dog as
much as I love Max but it turns out I can and now I love Max even more?
Love is so weird. I sometimes think of love as this exhaustible
resource, like I should hoard it to myself because I might run out eventually, but
duh, obviously this is not the case.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2hJOT_SzVLjn6z6bjIWLoasuN2wWYTS9kIjEO3AHeWRQswKPZFMzxmktXhjRF73SK2ZS27loVY8ufWJMmupzkxhOWMhC1fidI_BhU7tCrUYS1bdbo7eqy9dA8iAztXKM_IBGS/s1600/the+more+you+know.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2hJOT_SzVLjn6z6bjIWLoasuN2wWYTS9kIjEO3AHeWRQswKPZFMzxmktXhjRF73SK2ZS27loVY8ufWJMmupzkxhOWMhC1fidI_BhU7tCrUYS1bdbo7eqy9dA8iAztXKM_IBGS/s1600/the+more+you+know.png" height="232" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="sewv942y2cjdqzg"></span><span class="sewv942y2cjdqzg"></span>Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-14354323637961023542013-12-31T09:00:00.000-05:002013-12-31T09:19:05.750-05:00the year end stuffThis morning, around, oh, 3:45am, I threw back the covers, grabbed my pillow, and stomped out of the bedroom because Joe was snoring so loud that I felt my only options at that point were to either smother him with a pillow or go sleep downstairs. I chose to sleep downstairs. I hope Joe appreciates that.<br />
<br />
So, you know, I guess it would seem that the year is going out the way it so often comes in: with too little sleep and a headache. I guess what I'm trying to say is I feel hungover even though I haven't had a drop of alcohol which seems unfair? But <span class="st">c'est la vie</span>.<br />
<br />
I'm so tired, in fact, that I have started babbling even more incoherently than I usually do, leading Joe to tell me multiple times to just take a nap already. But will I? No! Because I'm not tired! I am basically this today:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/nottired_zpse93a3102.gif.html" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo nottired_zpse93a3102.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/nottired_zpse93a3102.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TAKE A NAP<u><br /></u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
But that's not what I want to focus on. OH NO IT'S NOT. It seems only right that I write some sort of end of the year wrap-up, because of, I don't know, blogging rules or some shit. So here are some things, mostly good, that happened this year.<br />
<br />
<b>1.</b> I had some <a href="http://www.pajiba.com/book_reviews/why-moms-are-weird-by-pamela-ribon.php" target="_blank">book reviews</a> <a href="http://www.pajiba.com/book_reviews/girl-walks-into-a-barby-rachel-dratch.php" target="_blank">published on</a> <a href="http://www.pajiba.com/" target="_blank">Pajiba</a>. SO AWESOME.<br />
<br />
<b>2.</b> Related: Marcus Zusak, author of <i>The Book Thief</i>, <a href="https://twitter.com/Markus_Zusak/status/331903141861806081" target="_blank">tweeted me about my review of his book</a>. SO VERY AWESOME.<br />
<br />
<b>3.</b> Also related: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/PamelaRibon/posts/10151667054462958" target="_blank">blogger and writer Pamela Ribon also tweeted in response to a review</a>. ALSO SO VERY AWESOME.<br />
<br />
<b>4.</b> <a href="http://longstoryshort.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-one-where-i-quit-my-seemingly-great.html" target="_blank">I quit the job that was causing me emo feelings</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>5.</b> I got a new job where it's actually in the job description to play with dogs and cats.<br />
<br />
<b>6.</b> I went on several trips, Chicago (twice!), South Carolina, Florida, and had almost 100% positive experience with all! I say almost because one trip was for work. The non-work parts were awesome. The work-work parts were...not.<br />
<br />
<b>7. </b>Two friends had babies.<br />
<br />
<b>8.</b> <a href="http://longstoryshort.blogspot.com/2013/12/hold-onto-your-butts.html" target="_blank">PENGUINS</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>9.</b> Had <a href="http://longstoryshort.blogspot.com/2013/04/why-i-volunteer.html" target="_blank">some feelings</a> about <a href="http://longstoryshort.blogspot.com/2013/11/childrens-grief-awareness-day-november.html" target="_blank">volunteering</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>10.</b> Wrote a lot. I know it doesn't seem like it if you just look here but I wrote here and for <a href="http://cannonballread5.wordpress.com/author/baxlala/" target="_blank">Cannonball Read</a> and <a href="http://nevillesremembrall.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Ashley's Harry Potter project</a> but I also did a lot more personal writing. So there's that.<br />
<br />
There's probably more but I'm tired of typing and really wanted to end on <a href="http://danieloquent.files.wordpress.com/2012/06/tumblr_ljufux4vos1qj8372o1_500.jpeg" target="_blank">10</a> SO THERE.<br />
<br />
Happy New Year, internet. I wish you many David Tennant GIFs (and, you know, other good things) in the coming year!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/tumblr_m4qskaYm9A1r2rjw5.gif.html" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo tumblr_m4qskaYm9A1r2rjw5.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/tumblr_m4qskaYm9A1r2rjw5.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Allons-y!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-60097704809541485852013-12-30T15:42:00.000-05:002013-12-30T15:42:00.464-05:00hold onto your buttsI can't believe I haven't written about this yet. I guess I've been busy...um...watching <i>The United States of Tara</i> in its entirety over the course of a week. PRIORITIES.<br />
<br />
Christmas came and went, as it does, and very quickly, as it ALSO does, and faster and faster each year. But, lucky woman that I am, I got to open one of my Christmas presents early.<br />
<br />
I came home from work one evening, exhausted and stinking of puppies (which is pretty standard these days), and trying to work up the energy to go to my work Christmas party (which wasn't too difficult, it's just that I need to work up energy for any kind of extended social interaction where small talk might be expected), when I noticed a card sticking out of my Christmas stocking.<br />
<br />
Inside were two tickets to Newport Aquarium's Penguin Encounter. See:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf1VA13EXrZTuP1eWPqey26lA8o9PF_038Psrhrif1cVcqGHJ4N7dtjvX9pqbYPuBRcf1MNY5QbFS01R9jV7ol1urWsUTP-b66QpkpoAro78U7YctUkpPembSvpeqd3WYspKnr/s1600/PENGUINS+tix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf1VA13EXrZTuP1eWPqey26lA8o9PF_038Psrhrif1cVcqGHJ4N7dtjvX9pqbYPuBRcf1MNY5QbFS01R9jV7ol1urWsUTP-b66QpkpoAro78U7YctUkpPembSvpeqd3WYspKnr/s320/PENGUINS+tix.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Craziest eyes to have ever crazy eyed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
My response to opening this gift was something like, "What? What? What does this mean? Does this mean...oh my god...oh my god...what does this mean? Does this really mean we get to meet penguins? Like meet meet them? Like shake hands?" for, oh, about half an hour? And then for the rest of the week? JOE IS SO LUCKY. <br />
<br />
It was awesome, you guys. The encounter itself lasts only about twenty minutes, which passes far too quickly, but it's great. I'd go again. Like, SO MANY TIMES AGAIN. I'd pay five times as much if it meant I could spend twice as much time with the penguins. I briefly considered asking for a job application once it was over. I mean, how different are penguins from dogs really? <br />
<br />
When you arrive at the penguin encounter, a penguin handler makes you wait five minutes while he or she tells you about how you can't pick up the penguins and cuddle them like little babies unless you don't have a particular fondness for your eyeballs anymore. (Still. It's tempting.)<br />
<br />
After the liability spiel, you're finally allowed in the room with the penguins. When we went, there were about eight penguins roaming about the room. You mostly just sit in one place and have to wait for the penguins to approach, which is difficult. I really wanted to get up and waddle around with them but I don't think that's allowed.<br />
<br />
The handler picks up various penguins and you're allowed to, like, pet them on the back and wings. They're so soft! I wasn't expecting that. And they sometimes make sounds like braying donkeys. Definitely was not expecting that, either. Anyway. Here are some pictures of penguins. That's what you're here for, right?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmalpOYmsIqj7i4YPPXbpl24t5barpM-XWlB7lbmfoi3F1_TD_NSIHcyp3vwqu0gz-NyR5JWPyRvjGB52t14Et1q8T6Z2IQsH79ho1dqmeZ5rkELSleOFFX7M3tQdp6d71k0ME/s1600/closeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmalpOYmsIqj7i4YPPXbpl24t5barpM-XWlB7lbmfoi3F1_TD_NSIHcyp3vwqu0gz-NyR5JWPyRvjGB52t14Et1q8T6Z2IQsH79ho1dqmeZ5rkELSleOFFX7M3tQdp6d71k0ME/s320/closeup.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HELLO I AM A PENGUIN.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw5JRm_10zDtiIZbXo-HswX9bOvMzvvY_3wr9NWRsZ0C41C28sqVTXt4vvWM-gFbA4nE8c_g3cLk15eL9c2nRIkntHl357VMAsUW8UDbz4D21VL5U2vrkZ4knx4q46x0aRpNBc/s1600/donkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw5JRm_10zDtiIZbXo-HswX9bOvMzvvY_3wr9NWRsZ0C41C28sqVTXt4vvWM-gFbA4nE8c_g3cLk15eL9c2nRIkntHl357VMAsUW8UDbz4D21VL5U2vrkZ4knx4q46x0aRpNBc/s320/donkey.jpg" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I named this one Donkey because she made donkey noises. CREATIVITY. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibX1_5mZhUxZ5_62VtDNc9o4x_oyKPlpTceyTx_u4XzK0iwu0mhyn-d2Q-oWjdRwV6cFNMMpNif4BYNW9x3s3GelyLpdatcOsB99oycVg87_PoqvwhOCbJci7rchRFN05Pf2XG/s1600/umbrella+thief.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibX1_5mZhUxZ5_62VtDNc9o4x_oyKPlpTceyTx_u4XzK0iwu0mhyn-d2Q-oWjdRwV6cFNMMpNif4BYNW9x3s3GelyLpdatcOsB99oycVg87_PoqvwhOCbJci7rchRFN05Pf2XG/s320/umbrella+thief.jpg" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blueberry tried to steal my umbrella. I guess cause it was blue. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Newport Aquarium opened in 1999. It's open every day (except major holidays), there are five penguin encounters daily, and each encounter has a limit of 12 people. Assuming the penguin encounters started when Newport Aquarium opened, over 300,000 people have taken this tour. It's fairly easy to buy a ticket. It's not all that expensive. Anyone could do it. But I don't care. It still feels special. Like, I touched a penguin! Who cares if so many other people have done the same? Extraordinary experiences don't become any less extraordinary just because others have experienced them. <br />
<br />
I'm not sure when my obsession with penguins began. It was probably always there, along with my obsession with, oh, all other animals. I know seeing this video a million years ago definitely didn't help:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<object height="315" width="420"><param name="movie" value="//www.youtube.com/v/11xs9mFKObs?version=3&hl=en_US"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param>
<embed src="//www.youtube.com/v/11xs9mFKObs?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="420" height="315" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object> </div>
<br />
And this latest penguin encounter has only strengthened my resolve to have my own pet penguin someday. I'LL SPARE NO EXPENSE. Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-75214404566489308022013-12-06T10:42:00.000-05:002013-12-06T10:42:11.464-05:00All I want for Christmas is thisI keep dreaming about work. But not my current job or anything, because that would be normal. No, I keep dreaming about my old job, which is very annoying as I no longer work there. <br />
<br />
I guess I had a lot more anxiety tied up in my previous job than I realized. The reasons aren't really important. But apparently the anxiety didn't magically go away, even though I haven't worked there in months. I had the most vivid dream about it last night, so vivid that I woke up convinced I was running late, that I needed to get up right away and leave early since it was snowing.<br />
<br />
I don't have to be at work until 11:30 today. I woke up at 7:30. So. You do the math.<br />
<br />
I don't have anxiety dreams about my new job. Not yet, anyway. Maybe those don't show up until you've been there at least six months. Still. I wish I'd stop dreaming about my old one. I'm not holding my breath or anything, I mean, after all, I had an anxiety dream about high school a while ago and high school is a lot further back than a few months. <br />
<br />
Speaking of work (NICE SEGUE), I had yesterday off so I took my sister to see <i>Catching Fire</i>. We went in the middle of the afternoon and there were about ten other people in the theater, and yet there was still a lady sitting a few rows behind us, explaining specific plot points (loudly, of course) to her husband. She was one of those people who, instead of whispering to her partner during non-silent parts of the movie, would try and speak OVER the loud parts, because OMG what if he couldn't hear her? What if he didn't know that, in the previous movie, Peeta and Katniss had almost eaten poison berries? What if he forgot that Katniss had volunteered for Prim? What if he didn't remember that District 13 supposedly didn't exist? OMG PEOPLE GO HOME AND READ THE BOOKS.<br />
<br />
Usually movie-talking sends me into an apoplectic rage. I normally sit there fuming, wishing I could get up and scream, "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UUUUUUUP" into the person's face.<br />
<br />
Which. I never do. Not out loud. But my brain always looks like this:<br />
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<a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/chandlershutup_zpsd281c14c.gif.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo chandlershutup_zpsd281c14c.gif" border="0" height="256" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/chandlershutup_zpsd281c14c.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
Actually...it's probably more like this:<br />
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<a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/skylershutup_zpsd1be9e30.gif.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo skylershutup_zpsd1be9e30.gif" border="0" height="227" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/skylershutup_zpsd1be9e30.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
But it didn't bother me that much yesterday. I thought, "well, maybe he's hard of hearing and he missed that part." I guess I finally remembered the whole "<a href="http://longstoryshort.blogspot.com/2013/11/be-kind-for-everyone-you-meet-is.html" target="_blank">this is water</a>" thing while I was actually IN the moment. Score.<br />
<br />
(Though that didn't stop me from passive aggressively complaining about the ongoing idiot commentary within earshot of Talking Lady as we exited the theater. YOU GUYS I CAN'T HELP MYSELF.)<br />
<br />
Anyway. I'm finding it hard to get worked up about things lately, especially this morning, as right now I'm sitting on the couch, curled up with Max, a blanket, and a hot cup of coffee, the computer screen illuminated by the Christmas tree next to me. I'm listening to the Muppets sing Christmas carols and snow is falling softly outside. I plan on reading Harry Potter until it's time to leave for work, where I will get to play with puppies and kittens until I come home and hang out with my family for the rest of the evening. No wonder I can't bring myself to get worked up about anything, not even Talky Lady and crazy anxiety dreams. Hopefully it'll stay this way. You know, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5g4lY8Y3eoo" target="_blank">if the fates allow and all that</a>.Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-22511767678447520992013-11-27T21:56:00.000-05:002013-11-27T21:56:14.993-05:00"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My idiocy is well-documented on this blog, but I really outdid myself yesterday. I went to the grocery after work, in the midst of
a (barely) snowstorm, two days before Thanksgiving. And not only that, I
went to the bad Kroger, the one with long lines and not enough
cashiers, the one with questionable produce at the best of times, all because it’s five minutes closer than the good Kroger. I always do
this. The good Kroger is so nice. It’s newer, everyone who works there
smiles and says hi and asks if you need help instead of glaring at you
or avoiding eye contact, and they always ask me if I’d like help out to
my car. I would never, ever take them up on that, but I like being
asked. It makes me feel like a 50s housewife for a moment (and a moment is really the only length of time I ever want to feel like a 50s housewife).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://frenchfriedgeek.wordpress.com/2011/05/11/go-read-the-50s-housewife-experiment/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="http://frenchfriedgeek.wordpress.com/2011/05/11/go-read-the-50s-housewife-experiment/" class="irc_mut" height="320" id="irc_mi" src="http://frenchfriedgeek.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/01324.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="314" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her eyes are screaming. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I walked around the store,
doubling back now and then as I inevitably forgot something, and
spent my time mentally killing everyone in my path. The woman examining a box of band-aids, somehow blocking two aisles: DEAD. The man careening one of
those <a href="http://babyoffboard.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/shopping-cart-race-car.jpg" target="_blank">stupid car carts</a> down an aisle while his screaming children
orbited around it like flies on a turd: DEAD. The lady standing in front
of the bananas, blocking the entire display with her cart, while she obliviously
chattered away on her phone: DOUBLE DEAD.<br />
<br />
As I walked down the baking aisle, scowling at the world in front me, my brain looked like this: <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSUrNXeCatIHOh4uOtZFUEQkBfEkETMkPdxP_aN1Tt7CGmRZJJI2-JcPC3v_vkLTjTYBaWVIX5-iXbmTGpO9o7szbaFmt1A7blcpYm5fu5NjoO6WVBVdY62gc9rnBX9uAP8TGN/s1600/CUSS+WORDS.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSUrNXeCatIHOh4uOtZFUEQkBfEkETMkPdxP_aN1Tt7CGmRZJJI2-JcPC3v_vkLTjTYBaWVIX5-iXbmTGpO9o7szbaFmt1A7blcpYm5fu5NjoO6WVBVdY62gc9rnBX9uAP8TGN/s320/CUSS+WORDS.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I made this myself. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And
then this lady, an older woman who was being trailed by several
grandchildren, started coming down the aisle. I was already mentally
rolling my eyes as her grandchildren splintered away and she slowly rolled her cart down the
very middle of the aisle. However, she maneuvered her cart to one side
when she saw me and then she completely erased my
bad mood. It was like magic.<br />
<br />
“Do I need nutmeg? Hmm, I can’t
remember if I need nutmeg,” she said to the grandchildren who were no
longer behind her. She kept walking, paying no mind, then looked
straight at me. <br />
<br />
“What do you think, honey? Do I need nutmeg?” she asked. <br />
<br />
And
without even thinking, I blurted out, “Of course, you can never have
too much nutmeg. I bet you’ll be glad you have it.” She laughed and
thanked me for my help, then continued making her way down the
aisle as I exited the other end, grinning like a fool.<br />
<br />
It
reminded me, almost exactly, of a commencement speech David Foster Wallace gave called <i>This is Water</i>.
Have you heard it? Here, just watch it. I know ten minutes of internet
video is like ten hours of real time, but I promise you that it’s worth
it.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
I wish I could tell you that, after my
short interaction with that lady, I made a conscious effort to pull
my head out of my ass and remind myself that no one else in the store really wanted to be there either, and maybe I did, for a few moments, until someone else entered my
glare zone. So, you know. Can't really put that one in the win column.<br />
<br />
Although, at least I’ve got the perspective now, right? And just in time for Thanksgiving, too.Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-43443614165930103892013-11-25T11:31:00.001-05:002013-11-25T11:31:16.003-05:00FABLES review: Volumes 1 & 2<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-4f5ea850-9001-8c71-86b1-8a73f50fcf88">
<i> <a href="http://cannonballread5.wordpress.com/2013/11/25/baxlalas-cbr5-review-24-and-25-fables-volumes-1-2/" target="_blank">Crossposted from Cannonball Read 5</a></i></div>
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It seems only right, <a href="http://www.comicbookresources.com/?page=article&id=48879" target="_blank">as it’s been announced that <i>FABLES</i> will be ending at issue #150</a>, that I should finally start my review of the series. Nothing like waiting til the last minute, yes? I’ve been meaning to review <i>FABLES</i> since my last go round of Cannonball and, in fact, did manage to at least review one collection last year, a <a href="http://cannonballread4.wordpress.com/2012/12/11/baxlalas-cbr4-review-33-fables-werewolves-of-the-heartland-by-bill-willingham/" target="_blank">Bigby-centric collection called <i>Werewolves of the Heartland</i></a>.</div>
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I wish I’d loved that collection more. I’m surprised I didn’t because, as I mentioned, it was Bigby-centric, but I suppose they can’t all be winners. Luckily, the first two FABLES collections, <i>Legends in Exile</i> and <i>Animal Farm</i>, are absolutely:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/fantastic_zps59c4a85b.gif.html" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo fantastic_zps59c4a85b.gif" border="0" height="241" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/fantastic_zps59c4a85b.gif" style="border: 0px none;" width="500" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can't stop thinking about DOCTOR WHO: blame the 50th Anniversary.</td></tr>
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I came to comics late in life, thinking (wrongly, like so many people) that they were all superheroes and big-boobed-spandex-clad ladies. It wasn’t until I met my husband that I started reading comics and <i>FABLES</i> was one of the first.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>FABLES</i> hits all the marks for me. There’s an ongoing mystery, a smart-as-a-whip-takes-no-nonsense heroine, a tortured hero, still haunted by things he’s done in the past, an unlikely romance that sparks in the first collection and heats up throughout the rest. And, best of all, fairy tale characters, just, ALL OVER THE PLACE.</div>
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<br /></div>
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When ABC announced that <i>Once Upon a Time</i> was going to be a thing, I was of two minds. Part of me thought, “awesome, I love stuff about fairy tales, how cool!” but the other part of me, the larger, angrier part, just think-shouted, “WHAT THE FUCK WHY ISN’T IT <i>FABLES</i>?”</div>
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<br /></div>
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I did try <i>Once Upon a Time</i> for about half a season but it just didn’t hold the appeal for me that <i>FABLES</i> did. Probably because, the entire time I was watching it, I was just wishing it was <i>FABLES</i>. </div>
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Oh well. Moving on, I guess.</div>
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Slight spoilers, ahoy.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><a href="http://cannonballread5.files.wordpress.com/2013/11/fables-vol-1.jpg"><img alt="Fables vol 1" class="alignleft wp-image-27235" height="210" src="http://cannonballread5.files.wordpress.com/2013/11/fables-vol-1.jpg?w=200" width="140" /></a></i></b><b><i>Fables, Vol. 1: Legends in Exile</i></b></div>
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Our story takes place in a part of New York called Fabletown, where a bunch of fairy tale characters took refuge when their Homelands were invaded by the Adversary and his forces. The Fables have disguised themselves as normal New Yorkers, so the Mundys of the world can’t detect that there are immortal beings in their midst.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We’re introduced to some important Fables, namely Snow White, Fabletown’s deputy mayor, and Bigby (formerly the Big Bad Wolf), the town’s sheriff, when Rose Red (Snow White’s sister) is allegedly murdered. Bigby and Snow team up to find Rose Red’s killer. Prime suspects include Jack (of beanstalk fame), Rose Red’s longtime boyfriend, and Bluebeard, her secret fiance.</div>
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We also learn that Bigby has been nursing some hardcore unrequited love for the beautiful Snow White so, you know, YAY SHIPPING.</div>
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<div dir="ltr">
<b><i><a href="http://cannonballread5.files.wordpress.com/2013/11/fables-vol-2.jpg"><img alt="Fables vol 2" class="alignleft wp-image-27236" height="210" src="http://cannonballread5.files.wordpress.com/2013/11/fables-vol-2.jpg?w=200" width="140" /></a> Fables, Vol. 2: Animal Farm</i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
So last issue, we met the human Fables but you just know there are non-human ones, right? RIGHT? Well. There are. FYI. The three little pigs. The three bears. Three blind mice. Chicken Little. Yada yada. While the human Fables get to enjoy the conveniences of big city life, the non-human Fables have to live on The Farm, so as not to arouse suspicion in the Mundy world when someone sees a talking pig wandering around. The Farm seems nice enough, really, but some of the non-human Fables bristle at being told they HAVE to stay there.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Enter the revolution, which Snow White and Rose Red stumble right into. Shit gets real, you guys. Shit gets SUPER TOTALLY REAL.</div>
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Anyway, it’s hard to review these without giving too much away. You should probably just read them, OK? OK. Good talk.Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-34988003016783219082013-11-21T14:11:00.000-05:002013-11-21T14:11:17.920-05:00Children's Grief Awareness Day: November 21st, 2013<br />
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</div>
Tuesday night, on my way home from volunteering, I was listening to the all-Christmas radio station and then BOOM suddenly I was crying.<br />
<br />
I was not all that surprised.<br />
<br />
Christmas music always makes me think of my grandma. Grandma died three years ago, on October 15th, 2010, a day that feels like both yesterday and a million years ago. Sometimes, in weak moments, moments when I'm tired or caught off guard because I see something Grandma would have thought was funny, I forget that she's gone, even. How is that possible? <br />
<br />
I've been volunteering with Oak Tree Corner, a children's grief group, for six years now, so I understand that the the <a href="http://psychcentral.com/lib/the-5-stages-of-loss-and-grief" target="_blank">stages of grief</a> are not something that can be charted. It's not like, OK, I will be in denial for a week and then angry for three weeks and I will bargain for just a few days, but I'll be depressed for three months, and then I will enter acceptance and will be done grieving for this person forever. CASE CLOSED.<br />
<br />
I know that's not how it works. I understand, logically, that the grieving process is a dark and convoluted mess, a twisted timeline that loops back in on itself and starts and stops depending on mood or circumstance. And yet I'm still surprised when I find myself weeping quietly in the car along to the sweet sounds of Karen Carpenter singing, "I'll Be Home For Christmas." <br />
<br />
And I'm lucky. With the exception of my younger cousin and a friend's brother from college, the deaths in my life have been due to old age or after a long illness. They've been grandparents and great-aunts and uncles, a beloved pet, sad still, of course, but not altogether unexpected. <br />
<br />
So when I go to Oak Tree Corner and I hear some of the things these kids are struggling with, I realize just how lucky I am. My grandma was a twin, identical, and I remember how confusing it was, emotionally, when I saw her twin for the first time, just before the funeral. So when I hear a story of a child struggling with something similar, but like, times 100, it makes me wonder just how else I could be helping. Because if I was confused, how confused was that kid, you know? <br />
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</div>
These are the things I find myself thinking about today, on <a href="http://www.childrensgriefawarenessday.org/cgad/index.shtml" target="_blank">Children's Grief Awareness Day</a>, and as we approach the holidays. The holidays are pretty much universally acknowledged to be the worst time of year for those grieving a recent loss. They really throw into stark relief just what's missing from your life, in a way that you might be able to ignore at any other time of year. Family traditions that the person was a part of no longer hold the same joy. It feels wrong or at least...off in some way to continue them without that person you loved so dearly. <br />
<br />
It does get easier as the years go on, but it still hurts. The fresh slice of pain, blade-sharp, that took your breath away that first year fades to a dull ache as the years pass. It never stops hurting, though. It just hurts in a new way.<br />
<br />
I spend a lot of my time thinking about Oak Tree Corner and the kids there. And yet I still always feel like there's more I could be doing. If only I thought about myself less, tried a little harder, gave a little more...yada yada yada. Everyone feels like that, though, like there's more they could be doing, because there IS always more we could be doing. So, today feels like a good day to renew my efforts a bit, to pledge to do more next year than I did this past year, and to look for new ways to help.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/ChildrensGriefAwarenessDay" target="_blank">Join me</a>? <br />
<br />
<i><b>You can also find a list of children's grief support groups throughout the US on the <a href="http://www.childrengrieve.org/find-support" target="_blank">National Alliance for Grieving Children's website</a>.</b></i>Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-16549423615452323072013-11-20T09:58:00.001-05:002013-11-20T09:58:21.346-05:00this post has no point but I had fun writing it and isn't that all that matters? They say everyone has a super power (I mean, right? Someone says that, I'm sure.) and if that's true, mine is...I don't even know what to call it. I'm...really good at recognizing voiceover actors in commercials (or whatever)? (Or whatever...what a great origin story.) Anyway. I identified John Krasinski as the Esurance guy in about two seconds and it wasn't JUST because I used to spend all of my free time watching <i>The Office</i>. <br />
<br />
It's not just that, though. Sometimes I can recognize an actor or actress from just seeing them for a split second, even if they're not all that famous and the part they're playing is miniscule at best. (For instance, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0194516/?ref_=tt_cl_t3" target="_blank">Cary from <i>The Good Wife</i></a> is in an episode of<i> Freaks & Geeks</i> for, like, 30 seconds. I'm not sure he even has a name. He is SUPER young. But I totally got him. YOU HEAR ME, HE'S MINE, I GOT HIM.)<br />
<br />
In these days of constant internet access, my superpower is kind of moot. But even back before I had an <a href="http://www.imdb.com/" target="_blank">IMDb</a> app on my phone, I could identify an actor and rattle off a list of other shows or movies they'd been in. It was like I had IMDb in my head. I AM IMDb! My friends would be all, "Who is that?" and I'd be like, "Joshua Jackson," and they'd be like, "what do I know him from?" and I'd say, "<i>Dawson's Creek</i>?" and they'd say, "no," and I'd be like, "<i>Urban Legend</i>?" and they'd be like, "whaaa?" and I'd be like, "M<i>ighty Ducks</i>?" and they'd be like, "OH YEAH." (This is a terrible example, everyone knows who Joshua Jackson is, <a href="http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/fa34df6f44/pacey-con-with-joshua-jackson" target="_blank">PACEY 4EVA</a>!!!) <br />
<br />
I am the Rainman of pop culture. If people are talking about a movie and they can't think of the name, I'm there. If you can't remember the name of the guy who pushed Spike off of the giant tower in <i>Buffy</i>'s <i>The Gift</i>, I can tell you it's Joel Grey, who also played the Wizard in <i>Wicked </i>on Broadway. Most recently, it was recognizing Henry Francis (Betty's new husband on <i>Mad Men</i>) on an episode of <i>The X-Files</i> just by his voice. YOU GUYS I FREAK MYSELF OUT SOMETIMES NO JOKE. <br />
<br />
But my greatest act of pop culture genius happened the other night (or like...a month ago...I started this post a long time ago, apparently) and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to top it. It came, surprisingly enough, as a result of watching <i>It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia</i>. In the episode, they were playing charades or something and Charlie (MY SOULMATE) started with this:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/first_zpsaae3ddf7.gif.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo first_zpsaae3ddf7.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/first_zpsaae3ddf7.gif" /></a><a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/first1_zpsaec80c52.gif.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo first1_zpsaec80c52.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/first1_zpsaec80c52.gif" /></a><br />
<a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/first2_zps635b3a7c.gif.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo first2_zps635b3a7c.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/first2_zps635b3a7c.gif" /></a><a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/first3_zpse3d88ce9.gif.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo first3_zpse3d88ce9.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/first3_zpse3d88ce9.gif" /></a><br />
<a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/first4_zpsf44eb986.gif.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo first4_zpsf44eb986.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/first4_zpsf44eb986.gif" /></a><a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/first5_zps4efbab3c.gif.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo first5_zps4efbab3c.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/first5_zps4efbab3c.gif" /></a><br />
<br />
And almost immediately upon him starting the thing with his nose, I shouted, "<i>WHAT'S EATING GILBERT GRAPE</i>," and then Joe LOST HIS SHIT when it turned out that's exactly what Charlie was doing. What can I say? It's a gift. And I promise to use my powers for good, at least most of the time. Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-16623910763173845672013-11-11T18:39:00.005-05:002013-11-11T18:39:51.566-05:00Today is 11/11 QUICK MAKE A WISHWhat? Anyway.<br />
<br />
I have the day off, not because of Veteran’s
Day, but because I worked all weekend and so this glorious day is mine, all
mine, to do whatever I want and that whatever I want is mostly nothing.<br />
<br />
Part
of the nothing-wanting is because I am siiiiiiiiiick. Like, normal wintery sinus crud,
so not a huge deal, but it makes my head feel all swimmy and makes me
not want to do anything. Like write. It most definitely makes me not
want to write (this doesn’t count as writing because all I’m doing is
typing whatever pops into my brain like WALNUTS or PANCAKES or
CHEESECAKE my god I’m hungry).<br />
<br />
But the not writing is a problem
because I’m still <a href="http://nanowrimo.org/participants/baxlala" target="_blank">NaNoing</a> and so I must write at least 1667 words today
to stay on schedule. The trick to NaNo, at least for me, is to write
every day and, more importantly, to get ahead of the word count early on
because I will inevitably A) get super busy or B) get sick or C) BOTH
and this year it was C) BOTH because LUCKY ME. However, up until today, I
was a day or two ahead in terms of word count, so my not writing the
full 1667 words over the weekend didn’t matter a bit. Until today. When I
still don’t feel like writing. And yet I must.<br />
<br />
You may be thinking,
“Well, Jennie, why are you writing this blog post instead of writing for
NaNo,” and I will tell you it’s because we’ve entered Week 2 of NaNo,
aka, the week you realize your novel is going absolutely nowhere
and you don’t know what to do about it. No lie, last night I wrote a
letter to myself within the novel talking about how terrible it was and
how there was no plot but then, wouldn’t you know it, a plot point
presented itself. So, my fellow NaNoers, I recommend just going balls
out crazy the next time your stuck and have one of your characters start
talking to you.<br />
<br />
This post, as you may have noticed, has no point. Here is a GIF of Tina Belcher aka ALL OF US. Good day to you, sirs.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s1103.photobucket.com/user/Jennifer_Baxla/media/tina_zpsab38b6d6.gif.html" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo tina_zpsab38b6d6.gif" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g478/Jennifer_Baxla/tina_zpsab38b6d6.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Been there.<u><br /></u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-90003235528818733972013-11-04T13:35:00.000-05:002013-11-04T13:35:17.825-05:00I'll go first.This little blog is turning ten this month. Ten! A decade of insanity, wrapped up in a messy little package. <br />
<br />
I can't believe how much blogging has changed. The personal blogs like this one, the ones that used to be updated daily, sometimes multiple times a day (ahem), are really no more. I mean, they still exist, of course, but they're not as easy to find. Or maybe I'm just not looking hard enough. Ever since Greader went away, I've fallen behind on my blog-reading, even though I replaced Greader with Feedly. It's just not the same, though. I'm much lazier, as is everyone else, it seems. Everyone's Twittering or Tumbling (<a href="http://www.tumblr.com/blog/longstoryshorter" target="_blank">myself included</a> but, like, mostly Tom Hiddleston GIFs) and, when you can shoot out your ideas that quickly, why put any thought and effort into a longer blog post? And if you DO happen to put in that effort, why not just post it on Twitter and Facebook so your followers don't even have to log in to their feed reader. GOD, INTERNET, MAKE IT EASIER FOR ME TO READ YOU. <br />
<br />
Anyway, the internet is changing, blah blah blah, and those who don't wish to fade away must change with it...I guess? There's just so much internet to internet now. There's blogging and Tumblring and Twittering and making Pinterest boards and Vines and WHAT THE HELL IS A SNAPCHAT EVEN? I mean, there are only so many projects you can keep up with before your brain explodes and you just shut down completely and do absolutely nothing except watch <i>The X-Files</i> for hours and hours in your pajamas and then you realize it's almost 5pm and you haven't showered NOT THAT I'M SPEAKING FROM PERSONAL EXPERIENCE OR ANYTHING.<br />
<br />
I'm not even sure what my point is, really, except that lately I feel like I've been half-assing a whole bunch of things instead of whole-assing anything and, as Ron Swanson has pointed out, that's no good.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-AXEwvTBs1ZEw1e4IhsHcuq7hlHndNVppT5NewN6EI2O8WkLfO064Y7lGa7nxXdUCrAaECxONtBl-jZ5QcBz9dbclnmNV5dXopUFZn2NUSrhRbyuoBc2QYJW1Nna75O0IR58/s1600/swanson.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-AXEwvTBs1ZEw1e4IhsHcuq7hlHndNVppT5NewN6EI2O8WkLfO064Y7lGa7nxXdUCrAaECxONtBl-jZ5QcBz9dbclnmNV5dXopUFZn2NUSrhRbyuoBc2QYJW1Nna75O0IR58/s320/swanson.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm doing <a href="http://nanowrimo.org/participants/baxlala" target="_blank">NaNoWriMo</a> again this year. I've done it in the past and finished it twice and yet...I've done nothing with the drafts of either novel. Even calling them novels feels wrong because they both need extreme editing before I'd even show them to anyone and yet I can't bring myself to go back and reread them. It's scary. Even though I know first drafts are terrible, I'm scared of how terrible my own first drafts are going to be. <br />
<br />
And yet, I have this terrible habit of going back to reread old blog posts, as if getting lost in the archives of my past mistakes is going to benefit me in some way. I'm really trying hard not to do that anymore. It never leads anywhere good. It's like going into your and reading stuff from old crushes or exes or friends. You just end up feeling bad about yourself. How is that beneficial?<br />
<br />
So, though this blog is turning ten and it's sometimes fun to look back (but not in anger) and all, I invite you NOT to go back and reread any of my old posts (please) but let's jump forward, OK? Let's pretend we can see what the next ten years are going to bring, all the good, all the bad, and let's just jump the fuck right in. Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-75381260391612038862013-10-10T19:39:00.003-04:002013-10-10T19:39:52.044-04:00shameless self-promotion time, whoo! So, in an effort to make it look like I post here more than once a month (or two), I thought I'd start cross-posting stuff I write in OTHER places, in case you A) care and B) somehow miss my constant FBing and tweeting about whatever it is. <br />
<br />
Last year, I took part on <a href="http://cannonballread5.wordpress.com/about/" target="_blank">Cannonball Read</a> and, while I didn't reach a full 52 book reviews for the year, it was so much fun I'm doing it again this year.<br />
<br />
One of the best things about CBR is that you get to meet (well, "meet") other book-lovers. The other best thing is you get lots and lots of book recommendations, almost too many HAHA JK THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS TOO MANY. The other OTHER best thing is that sometimes your review might be published on <a href="http://www.pajiba.com/" target="_blank">Pajiba</a>.<br />
<br />
I've loved Pajiba for years and years but it was through CBR that I worked up the courage to actually interact with the community, commenting on articles and reviews and such. Which is super happy fun times! Duh!<br />
<br />
Anyway. My point, and I do have one, is that I recently had a review appear on Pajiba which is just the greatest feeling, you know? IT IS. TRUST ME. I wouldn't lie to you. <br />
<br />
If you're interested at all, the link is <a href="http://www.pajiba.com/book_reviews/why-moms-are-weird-by-pamela-ribon.php" target="_blank">HERE</a>.<br />
<br />
And if you want to read any of my incoherent ranting about OTHER books I've read, you can go <a href="http://cannonballread5.wordpress.com/?s=baxlala&submit=Search" target="_blank">HERE</a>. You should also peruse the rest of the reviews on that site because there are some TOP NOTCH A++ reviews in that place. <br />
<br />
Anyway. Hi!Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-91693490051727033042013-10-07T11:34:00.000-04:002013-10-07T11:34:55.481-04:00the one where I quit my (seemingly) great job and start something newLately, my favorite routine is coming home from work and baking
while I listen to <a href="http://podbay.fm/show/536258179" target="_blank">Welcome to Night Vale</a>. It's not something I planned. I don't do it every day, or even every week. Just whenever I feel like it.<br />
<br />
It's new. I like it. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<br />
About a month ago, I left my old job. The next day, I went to Myrtle Beach with Joe's family, and, when I got back, I started a new job. So. You know. Things have been a bit crazy around here. My new job is completely different from anything I've done in the past. There's office work, sure, but I have a much more active role in daily goings on at the company. I love it, of course, but it's taken some getting used to. My schedule is completely different, so my body is tired and my brain is confused. But it's been perfect, really. Exactly what I needed. <br />
<br />
The job I used to have wasn't terrible or anything, but I couldn't wait to leave it. I worked for an arts non-profit, located downtown, and I worked in a beautiful building with great people. But I didn't get to do any of the fun stuff. I didn't get to interact with the public when they came to shows, see how excited they were. I didn't get to talk up any of the upcoming shows, unless I happened to be at a career fair, because I was in HR.<br />
<br />
HR never really gets to do any of the fun stuff. HR is behind the scenes, which I actually prefer, but sometimes you just want to DO, you know? Don't get me wrong, it's important to have an HR department. (Just trust me on this, naysayers.) But I didn't want to be part of it anymore. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<br />
I went to the annual SHRM (Society for Human Resources Management) conference back in June. It's the largest HR conference IN THE WORLD, boasting something like 28,000 attendees, and all of them were extremely passionate about HR.<br />
<br />
All except me, it seemed.<br />
<br />
Every morning, there was a keynote speaker. The first day it was Hilary Clinton, the one speaker I was actually excited about, but we missed it because our flight got in too late. The second day was Blake Mycoskie, the creator of TOMS shoes. The last speaker was Mark Kelly, with a special appearance by Gabby Giffords (and holy shit was that something).<br />
<br />
It was the third day, the day of some speaker I don't even remember, that I had a bit of a breakdown. An existential crisis, if you will. I got up at one point to use the bathroom and, rather than try and find my seat again in the cavernous auditorium, I sat on the floor in the back, leaned against the wall, and tried to pay attention.<br />
<br />
It was then, in the midst of thousands of people clapping for "strategic thinking," and "game-changers" and [insert other annoying buzzwords here] that I thought, "What the hell am I doing here?" How could all of these people bring themselves to care about this shit, let alone at 8:30 in the morning?<br />
<br />
But I sat there, almost in tears, wondering how in the world I'd ended up in this place, and sent desperate texts to Joe.<br />
<br />
Yes, you could say I was being a bit overdramatic.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*** </div>
<br />
This epiphany or whatever you want to call it made me start to think about what I wanted. And then later, on the way home, there was an incident, one in which my boss said some, just, unbelievably rude and crazy things to me (this was not outside the norm of her behavior), that just about broke me (straw, camel's back, all that). I fumed the entire way home and practically ran out of the airport once we landed. I went into work the next day ready to turn in my notice. It was crazy, and irresponsible, and obviously I didn't do it, but I really, really wanted to. I've never come close to doing anything so irresponsible.<br />
<br />
Instead, I started applying for jobs. Which is as equally frustrating and soul-crushing as is going to a job day after day that you hate. I found myself applying for HR jobs, because that's what I'm qualified for, with a sense of resignation. I wondered why I would want to leave a company I liked just to work another HR job. I wondered what the other options were.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*** </div>
<br />
Lo! But behold, a shining light in the distance, brought to me by the magic of social media! Someone on Facebook posted a job for an Adoption Counselor at a nearby animal shelter. This person would get to work with animals and make sure they found good homes. Puppies! Kittens! YOU GUYS. <br />
<br />
"Shit," I thought. "I'd better apply for this."<br />
<br />
So I did. And I interviewed. And I got it.<br />
<br />
It's part-time. It doesn't pay as well as my old job. But I love going into work. I love it. I don't come home hating myself and the world. I don't cringe every time I open my work email or get a text from my new boss. No one snaps at me or assumes I'm an idiot or micromanages everything I do. People trust me. It's magical! I'm happier (ask Joe), so much happier that I can't believe I wasted so much time being unhappy in my old job.<br />
<br />
SPEAKING of Joe, this is really all thanks to him. I was unsure about taking this job, being part-time and less pay, but he was adamant. He pushed me, in a kind way, into being brave and trying something new. This is what he does. That's why he's the best. <br />
<br />
I don't know where this new path will lead. Maybe I'll work with animals forever in some way. Maybe this is just a thing I'll do for a while. Maybe (HOPEFULLY) I'll use more of my free time to write and be able to make that into something. WHO KNOWS. I don't. And for a person who plans EVERYTHING, including their own free time, that is a pretty big fucking deal. Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-92147322909101464482013-08-05T16:20:00.002-04:002013-08-05T16:20:59.637-04:00I added lots of GIFs and videos for you guys because this contains all the words in the universe. For my next trip down movie-memory lane, I’ve chosen to watch <i>Now & Then</i>, a movie I associate with <i>Casper</i> both because of the Devon Sawa connection AND because I watched both of them eleventy billion times as a kid. But, as much as I loved
<i> Casper</i>, my heart really belongs to this coming-of-age tale featuring
four best friends.<br />
<br />
Look, it’s impossible to watch this movie and
not compare it, at least a teensy bit, to <i>Stand by Me</i>, another coming of age story that stars
four boys instead of four girls. But while both focus on friendship and
the mysteries surrounding death,<i> Stand by Me</i> is clearly the darker of
the two, both by benefit of being written by Stephen King and because
the boys are taking a trip to see a DEAD BODY.<br />
<br />
Compared to that,
<i>Now & Then</i> seems much more light and frivolous, though there <i><b>are </b></i>some heavier
storylines dealing with death and divorce. There’s room for both of them,
though, in any child’s movie repertoire. Girls need coming of age
stories just as much as boys do, and I guess they could have worse role
models (i.e. a Kardashian) than the four young women featured in this movie.<br />
<br />
ANYWAY,
I’d skip this recap if you don’t have a soft spot for Devon Sawa or GIRL POWER. <br />
<br />
The
movie opens with a game of Red Rover. All of the neighborhood children
are there, it would seem, and all but four girls are on one team. Those
girls are screwed. But no! They call over the nose-picking weakling and
he doesn’t break through their arms, but it’s mostly because they
totally cheat! They’re not just holding hands, they’re clasping
elbows, creating a DOUBLE ARM BARRIER which is not authorized in Red
Rover. Everyone knows that.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCDBwCywSGDFQIIxgGlATTvMolEZMKizvJr08fFr1fvIc5o9m2zmDp_QzudJyLO4Z9ItrQC0XPJ6wBul6AYqC4ihP0UQNEkTvHTk86xck4UBATB4nmNUMVa-jmU0oIpyOCQPDQ/s1600/breaking+rules.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCDBwCywSGDFQIIxgGlATTvMolEZMKizvJr08fFr1fvIc5o9m2zmDp_QzudJyLO4Z9ItrQC0XPJ6wBul6AYqC4ihP0UQNEkTvHTk86xck4UBATB4nmNUMVa-jmU0oIpyOCQPDQ/s320/breaking+rules.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes. Yes, you do. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We find out, via raspy Demi Moore
voiceover, that these four girls grew up in Shelby, Indiana, which for
the movie’s purposes means: suburbs, quiet, BORING.<br />
<br />
Look, the adult-friend parts of this movie are THE WORST so here is what you need to know. Sam is a writer who wears a lot of black, Teeny is a movie star who has been married five times, Chrissy is stuck in the past and still lives in Shelby, Roberta lives both in Shelby and in sin with her ex-boyfriend. You can tell it's been a million years since they all hung out as a group, though it seems like Roberta and Chrissy are still friends. Poor Roberta. <br />
<br />
Eventually
(blessedly), the movie flashes back to 1970, when the girls are all
12-years-old. They do things like ride bikes! And swing on swings! And
take sex quizzes in <i>Cosmo </i>while drinking Coke floats, which are served
by Janeane Garofalo, who calls them boys and is apparently a witch!
Anyway, their big goal for the summer is to save enough money to buy a
tree house. Remember being 12? Jesus.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZewqHtrmBx74SSirfSPKnsjBvLgZ6q_U62C1cbwvlmiLN6lvv8qWOrAG3T5w2ZBPOrgRTpZPVfCzt8mVyTxAbxHQbGJM-OB5VxACnzHeTpPGrRCQJXQgTjUjvPTcDsYoVmJ9Z/s1600/pee-wee-herman-riding-his-bike.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZewqHtrmBx74SSirfSPKnsjBvLgZ6q_U62C1cbwvlmiLN6lvv8qWOrAG3T5w2ZBPOrgRTpZPVfCzt8mVyTxAbxHQbGJM-OB5VxACnzHeTpPGrRCQJXQgTjUjvPTcDsYoVmJ9Z/s320/pee-wee-herman-riding-his-bike.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(pee)wheeeeeeeeeeeee!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Later that night, they have
a seance in the cemetery because SURE. I mean, actually the whole
seance thing is realistic enough (my friends and I used to try to raise
spirits all the time, and we also tried the “light as a feather, stiff
as a board" thing from <i>The Craft</i> which I just decided I will be watching
next) but sneaking out to do it at a cemetery in the middle of the night
as a 12-years-old seems a bit much.<br />
<br />
They try to raise the spirit
of a young boy named “Dear Johnny,” and actually think they’ve done so
when they see that his tombstone has been cracked in half. They also run
into an old man named “Crazy Pete,” who rides around town on his bike
and doesn’t talk to anyone. I don’t really think that’s weird but that
could be because I try not to talk to other people unless absolutely
necessary.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipX5kAqnPIjhgCled7dJv0U8EUHT_Qa5_1oCEmXPsk_r5GC-V7sIK2XA9dMYAhDAqPWaBUCOj4AeHPHAy9wJTBfGPy8rc-AjgfWTujNV9ONXDfEIa7BH4BebTYkSZ-CYXnRB3a/s1600/caring.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipX5kAqnPIjhgCled7dJv0U8EUHT_Qa5_1oCEmXPsk_r5GC-V7sIK2XA9dMYAhDAqPWaBUCOj4AeHPHAy9wJTBfGPy8rc-AjgfWTujNV9ONXDfEIa7BH4BebTYkSZ-CYXnRB3a/s320/caring.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
They decide to figure out what happened to Dear
Johnny, so they take a long bike trip to the library in the next town
over. Do you see how spoiled we are today? These girls rode at least 10
miles (judging by movie science...at one point they pass a sign that
says Greenville: 9 miles YES I WAS PAYING VERY CLOSE ATTENTION) to
discover (spoiler alert) basically nothing, which we could do in like 10
seconds of Googling.<br />
<br />
The only thing they find out from these old
newspapers is that Dear Johnny and his mother died tragically, but the
rest of the pages had been torn out so they don’t know why or how. They
also find out that Roberta’s mother, who died when Roberta was four,
suffered a lot before she died, something that Roberta’s father had lied
to her about. SAD.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5e1MqmieZkZIYIAtqqCaSJq3MAeHC2TsAqoq1EFvgMk4Q4AbEyK3-_1QJCxNtT2V7M5_pIGs4vrgj1TMO0nMUeYD7WkzDBxct24VYiYMpCiIsHECfLaEguHREr9lBY1imkxqg/s1600/saddawson.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5e1MqmieZkZIYIAtqqCaSJq3MAeHC2TsAqoq1EFvgMk4Q4AbEyK3-_1QJCxNtT2V7M5_pIGs4vrgj1TMO0nMUeYD7WkzDBxct24VYiYMpCiIsHECfLaEguHREr9lBY1imkxqg/s320/saddawson.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">YOU MOCK MY PAIN.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I forgot how much of the movie happens on
this bike trip. On the way to the library, they see the Wormers (smelly
boys who torture them earlier in the movie, also DEVON SAWA IS ONE)
skinny-dipping, so they steal their clothes. Also, Roberta dives into
some shallow water and pretends she’s dead, which really pisses off her
friends. Roberta needs grief counseling. Just saying. Then LATER, on the
way home, they meet Brendan Frazier who is a hippy from ‘Nam and
commiserates with Sam, whose parents are divorcing (though no one knows
this) about how adults don’t know shit. Speaking as an adult, I can tell
you this is true.<br />
<br />
Their next step in solving the Dear Johnny
mystery is to go to Janeane Garofalo and get their tarot cards read.
Sure. They find out Dear Johnny was murdered.<br />
<br />
Later, for no
reason, there’s a softball game. Roberta, who rules at all sports (she’s
basically <a href="http://babysittersclub.wikia.com/wiki/Kristy_Thomas" target="_blank">Kristy Thomas</a>), gets in a fight with a boy (who, I might add,
wasn’t even PLAYING) who says girls can’t play ball. She’s winning the
fight but her friends pull her off, at which point this Malfoy ACTUALLY SAYS,
“It’s too bad your mother’s dead, someone needs to teach you to act
like a girl.” WHAT A DICK. Roberta goes after him again but Samantha
throws her out of the way and tackles him instead. FIGHT. This is the
best part of the movie, you guys. You remember that “you play ball like a
girl” kid from <i>The Sandlot</i>? These girls would have eaten him for
breakfast.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
Unfortunately, Samantha’s post-fight high doesn’t last
long because she goes home to find her mom on a date with Hank Azaria.
She...doesn’t handle it well. She goes to Teeny’s and they decide to try
out the new treehouse (which...I guess they finally got?) and talk
about how their parents don’t know anything because:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
Meanwhile, Roberta is getting first kissed by Devon Sawa. It’s pretty adorable and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0112642/" target="_blank">he doesn’t even turn into a ghost afterward</a>. She threatens to kick his ass if he tells anyone.<br />
<br />
On
their way home from the treehouse, Teeny and Sam get caught in a
rainstorm. Sam almost drowns in a sewer drain but DON’T WORRY she’s
saved by Crazy Pete. Now they like Crazy Pete! Yay! <br />
<br />
The next
day, the girls are painting a garage door for treehouse money, even
though JUST TWO SCENES EARLIER we’d established that they’d already
gotten the treehouse. SHENANIGANS. Devon Sawa walks by and makes googly
eyes at Roberta. I like to think he’s the boyfriend referenced earlier
in the movie.<br />
<br />
Later that day, they go to Sam’s Grandma Cloris
Leachman’s house. They ask her what happened to Dear Johnny and his
mother, but she refuses to tell them anything and rushes them out of the
house. They wait for her to leave so they can break in and go through
all the old newspapers in the attic. Oh man, my grandma totally would
have kicked my ass if I’d ever broken into her house but maybe this kind
of thing was OK in the 70s.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgay3HOm00QN4pg_A85NGTCYoF-TmQ-dKAzB9__ECKppVesP2-mQJdn4pt89PJn1PECG7H7yxSs6DVtPK6Ogc20J2vIluxcoJWFUYmYETVpevEtxv9pD3imth65YDySjb44F5m2/s1600/nope.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgay3HOm00QN4pg_A85NGTCYoF-TmQ-dKAzB9__ECKppVesP2-mQJdn4pt89PJn1PECG7H7yxSs6DVtPK6Ogc20J2vIluxcoJWFUYmYETVpevEtxv9pD3imth65YDySjb44F5m2/s320/nope.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Really?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZALyjGYgZy5X4xFX9g7MmaQPmK-vKtNm6p0lTepEZAHxJiBnEgA_wYDp-tOw_tqO0DKOouzWKnw6QASqdnkkweVyNcTXPGSEuOAc_XgV6Pxevki9mELc4JdRfTdWUROBzERk5/s1600/mulder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZALyjGYgZy5X4xFX9g7MmaQPmK-vKtNm6p0lTepEZAHxJiBnEgA_wYDp-tOw_tqO0DKOouzWKnw6QASqdnkkweVyNcTXPGSEuOAc_XgV6Pxevki9mELc4JdRfTdWUROBzERk5/s320/mulder.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />K, fine. <br />
<br />
They find an old newspaper that says
Dear Johnny and his mother were shot to death by a robber PLUS ALSO
Roberta freaks out and breaks a mirror because she has a lot of feelings
re: her dead mother. Sam then finally tells the other girls that her
parents are getting divorced. This glimpse into the real world, all full
of evil and suffering, leads the girls to make a pact, that they’ll
always be there for each other, no matter what happens.<br />
<br />
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<br />
That
night, they go to the cemetery to hold another seance. The groundskeeper
catches them and tells them that the graveyard isn’t a playground
which...OK, good point. He was the one who knocked over Johnny’s
tombstone and broke it. According to the voiceover, this was the day
they stopped their make-believe games (booooo!), so they throw away
their seance gear and go home.<br />
<br />
Sam goes back to put some flowers
on Johnny’s grave. She runs into Crazy Pete and realizes that he was
Johnny’s dad. It’s treacly and obvious but still...oof. I always forget
that coming of age stories focus so much on death and loss until I
actually watch one. I guess that’s what forces us to grow up. We
realize that terrible things don’t just happen to other people. Death
will come to those we love. We’ll lose people throughout our lifetimes
and there’s nothing we can do about it and now I’m depressed and need to
go lie down.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhciLf0IiFDKngYKi7GIgitoRZF6O9aAXlYGuqvp7KXjOmKfVo6kwVqP0Cb30kV6R8R39-whJ1Om5xuHWl2TyZqFVdJqfODFTgua3huoSvERc2xmpRRUKmylp3WS17o-fkFsQ9z/s1600/gm.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhciLf0IiFDKngYKi7GIgitoRZF6O9aAXlYGuqvp7KXjOmKfVo6kwVqP0Cb30kV6R8R39-whJ1Om5xuHWl2TyZqFVdJqfODFTgua3huoSvERc2xmpRRUKmylp3WS17o-fkFsQ9z/s320/gm.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spot on.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
With that, we are rudely forced back to the present
and the mostly terrible women the girls have grown up to become (this might be the most depressing thing about the movie).
Chrissy has her baby (Roberta delivers it, which is weird, right?) and
they all ooh and ahh because LADIES LOVE BABIES. The movie ends with
another pact, this time to see each other more often, and another game
of Red Rover, which they play with a bunch of neighborhood kids who just
magically show up (<a href="http://s3-ec.buzzfed.com/static/enhanced/webdr06/2013/6/13/17/anigif_enhanced-buzz-1093-1371158071-32.gif" target="_blank">maybe they came out of that field in Iowa</a>, I don’t
know).<br />
<br />
When I decided to watch this movie for the first time in,
oh, let’s say 15 years, I did not have high hopes, but I’m surprised at
how much I enjoyed it. Though, the bits of the movie featuring the
adults could use some work or, better yet, be cut out completely. It was
as if the movie’s creators were less focused on the emotional heft of
the movie than on, “ooh, look what famous actresses these girls grew up
to be!"<br />
<br />
Also, it was fitting that I watched this during the summer, because this movie really made me miss summer vacation.<br />
<br />
Also, also, just because it's SLIGHTLY relevant:<br />
<br />
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Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10603984411324049557noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6109551.post-38044881611523683602013-07-18T20:05:00.001-04:002013-07-18T20:05:55.023-04:00They're heeeeeeeeere...Perhaps writing about my dog’s stomach issues the other day made my own
stomach jealous that it didn’t get to participate in all the
gastrotechnics, I don’t know for sure, but what I do know is that my
body is rebelling against me and I’m not OK with it.<br /><br />I’m feeling
much better today than I have the past two days, which is good, because
I’m not sure I could have taken another day of sitting uncomfortably on
the sofa while watching <i>Roseanne </i>reruns and <i>Marriage Boot Camp:
Bridezillas </i>WHICH IS A THING I HAVE NOW SEEN PLEASE BURN MY EYEBALLS.<br /><br />Yesterday
I managed to put in a DVD, which was a major improvement on the day
before but that could have just been my choice of DVD which was <i>Casper</i>.
As in the friendly ghost. As in the movie that introduced the star of my
teenage dreams, Devon Sawa.<br /><br />Devon Sawa’s picture, torn carefully
from the pages of <i>BOP </i>magazine, held valuable real estate on my wall
when I was a tween. I didn’t love him as much as I loved JTT but WHO
COULD COMPARE I MEAN REALLY.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbh6qPG3aK51MFjivnt2B2gj7Tse7026Wn49Eo9yJYnsIWJD6sxKxCYnzpxlcymgn0D0Zlav2sxAUuPR9Gttqdf3JEhmFYkpjKfQnq5deRSmQJkiZtEfdkR8_XGHrYfNKKAdU4/s1600/jonathantaylorthomasjtt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbh6qPG3aK51MFjivnt2B2gj7Tse7026Wn49Eo9yJYnsIWJD6sxKxCYnzpxlcymgn0D0Zlav2sxAUuPR9Gttqdf3JEhmFYkpjKfQnq5deRSmQJkiZtEfdkR8_XGHrYfNKKAdU4/s320/jonathantaylorthomasjtt.jpg" width="194" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty sure I had this exact picture on my wall. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
By the time <i>Idle Hands</i> and <i>Final
Destination</i> rolled around, I was all, “stop trying to make Devon Sawa
happen, he’s not going to happen,” but the mid-90s were the Devon Sawa
sweet spot (ew). <i>Now & Then</i> and <i>Casper </i>came out in 1995 and I
was fairly obsessed with both of them, mostly because of Devon Sawa. Sawa. Saaaawaaaaa. I really wanted to watch <i>Now
& Then</i> yesterday but Netflix took it away and for some reason I don't own it on DVD. WHO AM I?<br /><br />Luckily, Joe and I were at
Target a few weekends ago and when saw <i>Casper </i>in the $5 spot I picked it
up without even quite knowing what I was doing. Anyway, my point is,
here is my <i>Casper </i>recap:<br /><br />The movie begins with two young boys
breaking into Whipstaff Manor, a creepy ass mansion that’s supposedly
haunted, because all creepy ass mansions are haunted. Are these
our heroes, who will bravely lead us through a tale of ghouls and
restless spirits?<br /><br />No. We won’t ever see them again, which is a shame, because one of them is Squints from <i>The Sandlot</i>.<br /><br />Anyway,
a ghost shows up and offers to take their picture. Very polite ghost!
But the boys are still scared so they run away screaming.<br /><br />Cut
to...Carrigan Crittendon. Carrigan is the terrible human being who has
inherited Whipstaff and she is NOT pleased to find out that it’s
haunted. She and her assistant, Eric Idle (what are you doing, Eric
Idle) call in various people to do some ghostbusting, including an
actual <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dan_Aykroyd" target="_blank">Ghostbuster</a>, but none of them can get rid of the ghosts.<br /><br />That
night <i>Casper </i>is watching TV (sure) and sees a story about a ghost
psychologist, Professor Harvey, and his daughter, Kat, on <i>Inside
Edition</i>. He falls in love with Kat through MOVIE MAGIC so he manipulates
Carrigan into calling the ghost psychologist and I can’t believe I just
typed “ghost psychologist” twice in the same paragraph. Three times.
Whatever.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcz-xX4KpmK2omjDOnutO7npj85mkjVyViZ8RReP6Tgby-GfHNr416qP4DxMMwsVvO8UDiulBCtBjzoZShnSJw19NpSjqh1Iz7WXu3LfuxZPORrJEQOS3gk3FiEvo7E7EyPBWj/s1600/casper+creepy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcz-xX4KpmK2omjDOnutO7npj85mkjVyViZ8RReP6Tgby-GfHNr416qP4DxMMwsVvO8UDiulBCtBjzoZShnSJw19NpSjqh1Iz7WXu3LfuxZPORrJEQOS3gk3FiEvo7E7EyPBWj/s320/casper+creepy.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is fucking creepy, Casper. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Professor Harvey and Kat are soon on their way to
Maine. Kat doesn’t want to go because TEENAGE ENNUI. We learned earlier through EXPOSITION that
Harvey’s wife died unexpectedly, and that’s why he has such a hard on
for ghosts. LITERALLY (probably). But Kat doesn't believe in ghosts, not even the ghost of her dead mom.<br /><br />They arrive at Whipstaff and
soon find out that, this time, the ghosts are really, really real, specifically Casper and his uncles, Stinky, Stretch, and Fatso. Yes, really. Harvey
battles the uncles that night and,
even though he sucks them up into a vacuum cleaner, they eventually come
to a sort of peace later on because Casper is super nice and the uncles
are disgusting and dangerous, sure, but also mostly just rascals.
Rascals, I say!<br /><br />The next day, Kat meets the requisite cute boy at
school, who is attached to the requisite bitchy girl who hates Kat for
pretty much no reason. STANDARD. When Kat’s class finds out she lives at
Whipstaff, they decide to have the school Halloween dance there because
SURE. This makes the bitchy girl hate Kat even MORE because now
everyone likes Kat.<br /><br />Meanwhile, Harvey is obsessed with getting
Stinky, Stretch, and Fatso to “move on” so the house will be clear and
he can get paid, but the uncles would rather fart and burp and mess with
Harvey and can you blame them? Eventually, though, they realize they
like Harvey and, thinking he needs to have some fun, they take him out
to get drunk with the intention of killing him so he can be a ghost,
too. OK SURE. They change their mind but wait OH NO he dies anyway. Don’t worry, it’ll be OK. I SAID DON’T WORRY THIS IS A MOVIE ABOUT A
CARTOON GHOST.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWaGg0MV6J8n6g_p9xEVZKFoybpXMMBbEECXcfMMrfkRrtUGzDSx4ggeSZye7gPdvtcrhLIJVRYwaenouZhTHMjIfWLDsQwbXI2RL-ZzHzlSH1WH1ZoOYzpll5zrrugHIplRC/s1600/creepy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWaGg0MV6J8n6g_p9xEVZKFoybpXMMBbEECXcfMMrfkRrtUGzDSx4ggeSZye7gPdvtcrhLIJVRYwaenouZhTHMjIfWLDsQwbXI2RL-ZzHzlSH1WH1ZoOYzpll5zrrugHIplRC/s320/creepy.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A REALLY CREEPY CARTOON GHOST. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
While this is all happening, Kat is helping Casper
remember who he is because I guess when you die, you forget everything
about your life? Bummer. He remembers that his dad had a secret
underground laboratory that can only be reached by chair-roller-coaster,
which I was super jealous of when I watched this as a kid.<br /><br />They
find the Lazarus Machine in the lab which, you guessed it, brings the
dead back to life but there’s only enough life-juice (not semen) left for
one person. There’s a lot of convoluted stuff about Carrigan trying to
kill Eric Idle so he can become a ghost and fly through a vault door in order to get some
treasure, but she dies instead and steals the life-juice. Casper
and Kat trick her into crossing over, leaving the life-juice
for Casper, yay! But no, then Kat’s dead dad shows up and Casper gives
HIM the potion because Casper is such a good guy. Kat's really grateful, so maybe this is part of Casper's master plan?<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWL2BwriTgIjem_fmtPrR18WXxBYDn7zuJLhCN_20Ki2f6kJ7SXsyB88SU9IQooTnhwrkcEUQykDgKdMPx_plzcJz8FJ0De556M5DDruWMpX8cii4CkZ3XNaLbZ7QZh5nec-qO/s1600/nice.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWL2BwriTgIjem_fmtPrR18WXxBYDn7zuJLhCN_20Ki2f6kJ7SXsyB88SU9IQooTnhwrkcEUQykDgKdMPx_plzcJz8FJ0De556M5DDruWMpX8cii4CkZ3XNaLbZ7QZh5nec-qO/s320/nice.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />While all of
THIS was happening, Kat’s classmates arrived for the dance. Kat goes to
join the party and Casper goes to his room to pout, where he is visited
by the ghost of Kat’s dead mom, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000312/?ref_=tt_cl_t1" target="_blank">Judge Amy</a>. Judge Amy gives him a
“Cinderella deal” and turns him into Devon Sawa, but only until 10
o’clock. He uses this time to ask Kat to dance and then make out (OK
just kiss) with her on the dance floor, before turning back into a ghost
and scaring the party away. UGH I’M EXHAUSTED.<br /><br />I know this is a
kid’s movie but the plot really started zooming out of control right
around the time Casper remembers who he is. Kat’s dad dies super
suddenly and I don’t remember being as horrified by this as a child as I
was yesterday because poor kid SEES HER DAD AS A GHOST AND HE DOESN’T
REMEMBER HER. That's some Arya Stark level trauma right there. Also, why does Judge Amy only give Casper, like, 10
minutes as a real boy? What a bitch. Also also, are Kat and Casper going
to have a relationship now? I have a lot of questions about where this whole thing
is going. Do you think there’s <i>Casper </i>fanfic? OMG <a href="http://www.fanfiction.net/movie/Casper/" target="_blank">THERE IS <i>CASPER</i> FANFIC</a>. STOP. YOU STOP IT RIGHT NOW, INTERNET, YOU ARE TOO BEAUTIFUL.<br /><br />Ahem.<br /><br />This
movie was the most romantic shit I'd ever seen when I was but a sweet,
innocent tweenager. Come on! A poor dead boy falls in love with a lovely
live girl and because he is pure of heart, he gets to become alive
again for one special night while the cheesiest song ever plays in the
background. I’m pretty sure if I’d recapped this when I was 13, it would
read: Haunted house, ghosts, Bill <strike>Paxton</strike> Pullman, a lot of boring shit
happens, DEVON SAWA KISSING.<br /><br />Seriously, you guys. I can’t even with this:<br />
<br />
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