I love...boy bands.

I peed in a men's bathroom on Sunday.

 

But more on that later. Right now I'm going to name a few bands: Boyz II Men; 98 Degrees; Fleetwood Mac; New Kids on the Block.

 

Three of those bands played a show together at the Q in Cleveland on Sunday night. I'll let you guess the combo...okay, stop guessing, the show didn't include Fleetwood Mac.

 

It was The Package Tour! And though I continued to accidentally say we were going to see Boyz II Men, 98 Degrees, and 'NSYNC (seriously...even yesterday I was telling my co-worker a story about the show and she had to correct me), I was still excited for the chance to see these groups that I never saw when I was younger.

 

Opening the show was...Boyz II Men! And they can still sing their booties off. A little End of the Road, a dash of Motownphilly - so great. I should add that this moment of seeing Boyz II Men was making up for years ago when they were supposed to be my first concert, but my parents decided I couldn't go because it would keep me out too late on a school night. Granted they definitely are now "Men", but I was finally at their show and I was able to legally drink a beer while there.

 

Following the Boyz was...98 Degrees! During their set I had several thoughts, which I'll list here:

1) Wow, Nick Lachey and his dimples do NOT age.

2) These guys still make women swoon (myself included).

3) I find it awkward when there's one guy in a boy band who, while the other band members are stripping off their vests and shirts, doesn't even take off his heavy blazer.

4) There are some songs that singing along to is just like riding a bike. No matter how long it's been, you hear the first note and the words come back to you. That was the case for me and 98 Degrees' song "Give Me Just One Night (Una Noche)". The song also brought back memories of how I used to sing: "Give me just one night...and a nacho!" #incorrect

 

After the heat from 98 Degrees, there was a break before our eardrums and vocal chords were about to be pushed to their limit. It was time for...New Kids on the Block (NKOTB)! (*no lie, I just typed "'NSYNC!"...what is my problem??) Never being to a NKOTB show before, I wasn't sure what to expect. I imagined some side stepping, some hand clapping, maybe some arm waving. Indeed there was all of that, plus even more...

 



NKOTB!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One thing I immediately learned is that Donnie Wahlberg works out and he's not afraid to show it...at some moments I thought I was at a live performance of Magic Mike. And I didn't hate it. In fact, you know how people say "I wouldn't want to run into him in a dark alley" when they're scared by someone? Well instead I'll say "I wouldn't mind running into Donnie in a dark alley". Shortly after I had this thought Donnie ripped off his shirt and threw it into the crowd, which is when two women grabbed it and began pummeling each other in the head to keep it. At that time I decided that I would not want to run into those two women in a dark alley filled with Donnie's sweaty shirts. Still the show continued on. They did a quick medley of popular songs that were not their own...including "Kiss" by Prince (I was in heaven)! Then after more singing, dancing, screaming, and running in and out of the crowd while narrowly escaping womens' grasps, NKOTB ended the show.

 

Our ears ringing, we left and passed several bars while walking to our car, but we didn't stop for a drink. I mean it was after 11pm, on a work night. My parents would have been so proud. Instead I went home with boyband songs playing in my head.

 

The End...

 

...oh wait! If you're still reading you might be in search of the reason I peed in a men's bathroom. Well, it's because the Q was smart. They figured with a crowd of mostly women it was a good idea to increase the women's bathroom situation, which they did by decreasing the men's bathroom situation. So after 98 Degrees when there was a rush for the bathrooms, my friend and I followed a short line into a bathroom labeled "Women". However we all came to a stop when we were greeted by a wall full of urinals. After several doubletakes we realized the bathroom signs had been switched out and for that night boy bands may have ruled the stage, but women ruled the Q!

Okay, now it's really The End (...of the Road).

I love...random short story Sunday (#4).

Hello, friends! Here we are: another Sunday with another random short story from my random collection of short stories...just like the random short story Sundays that have come before it!

 

This story actually would have been more fitting a week ago on St. Patrick's Day...but I was downtown most of the day, enjoying the holiday with random beverages. And really, who would have remembered reading it on that day anyway? So instead you get it today. Cheers!

 

 

Oscar's St. Patrick's Day

by: jenny chalk

 

Once upon a time, in a land right under your feet, there was an ant named Oscar.

 

Oscar was the happiest ant in his town. He always smiled at the other ants he passed on the street and he whistled a happy little tune while he worked in his yard. In fact, all the ants in Oscar's town called him, "Oscar, the happiest ant you'd ever want to meet who smiles and whistles" (the ants had to be careful not to get Oscar confused with "Simon, the sleaziest ant you'd never want to meet who smiles and whistles").

 

One day (March 17th to be exact) Oscar was walking down the street and smiling at the other ants, when he heard a large group of ants laughing and singing inside a local pub.

 

"Sounds like a great time in there," Oscar thought to himself. So he walked in.

All the ants in the pub were dancing around, wearing green clothing and green beads. Some ants even had green stickers on their faces and green top hats on their heads. Oscar walked up to the bar, "What's going on?" he asked, "Is it green day?"

"No," the bar-ant replied.

"Is it top hat day?" Oscar continued.

"No."

"Is it recycling day?"

"No," the bar-ant replied, "It's Saint Patrick's Day!"

"What is Saint Patrick's Day?" said Oscar with a confused look on his face.

 

"It's a new thing we're starting this year," explained the bar-ant, "we all celebrate by drinking too many green beverages and wearing too much green stuff and then everyone falls asleep in random places around town and we wake up tomorrow wearing the same clothes we have on today. I read about it on the Anternet."

 

"Wow," said Oscar, "Sounds harmless, I think I'll give it a try."

 

And with that Oscar joined in on the celebration. He bought a green beverage, borrowed some green beads from other ants and put half his paycheck into the jukebox, playing Usher's song 'Yeah' as many times as he could. The last thing he remembered was telling an ant he'd never seen before that he was awesome and challenging another ant to who could hold their breath the longest.

 

The following morning Oscar woke up in a tree. Well, he woke up sometime between falling from the tree to the ground. "Ouch," mumbled Oscar. He stood up, rubbing at his antenna, and looked at the town clock..."NOON?!" he shouted.

 

Oscar crossed his arms and stumbled back to his house. As he passed other ants on the street they waved and yelled, "Hi, Oscar!" This did not make Oscar happy. He didn't smile, he didn't wave, he just put his hands to his temples and grumbled at the other ants to be quiet.

 

From that point on March 18th became known as Oscar the Grouch Day.

 

As soon as Oscar got home he showered, drank some water, took some tylenol, and closed all his blinds before getting ready to go to bed. But before he crawled into his bed he marked down March 17th on his calendar for the following year: "St. Patrick's Day!" And he added a green smiley face.

 

The End

I love...straw wrappers.

Today I got a pop...a soda pop...a fountain soda pop, to be more specific. I don't normally drink pop, so this was a special treat. But the pop itself wasn't the only treat, because along with the pop I got a straw for sipping purpose, and along with the straw came a wrapper. So you know what that means...it was time to find out if someone was thinking about me!

That's right, you don't need a fortune teller or a crystal ball to find out if someone is thinking about you. All you need is a straw wrapper.

It's easy. You remove your straw from the wrapper, tie the empty wrapper in a knot, and if the knot breaks then someone is thinking about you (happy face), or if it doesn't break then no one is thinking about you (sad face).

Or, wait, is it if the knot does break then someone is thinking about you or if it doesn't break then someone is thinking about you...?


That's the thing. I've tied a lot of straw wrappers into knots in my life, but I'm not sure what the outcome means. I've never really known. Yet I still tie every straw wrapper I use in a knot. Even the plastic ones, which is silly since they don't really break...they just stretch and twist and then kind of cling to your hands...frankly, it's annoying. But regardless, I still tie them.

I've held up many a garbage can line while making sure to tie my straw wrapper before throwing it away. And in my purse you can often find bits and pieces of straw wrappers that were at one time tied and broken...or not broken.

Is someone thinking about me? Is no one thinking about me? As far as I know, it could be both. I guess you could say people are always *knot* thinking about me (hahahaha...ha).

My point is (yes, there is a point)...order those drinks, use those straws, and tie those wrappers, cause the world is full of straw wrappers just waiting to tell you that someone may or may not be thinking about you.

And on second thought, maybe it wouldn't hurt to get a crystal ball? Then the crystal ball could tell you what it means when the knot in your straw wrapper breaks!

I love...blushing.

This afternoon I was stopped at an intersection downtown and saw an older gentleman dancing on the street corner as he was waiting for his turn to cross the road. He looked in my direction and I threw my hands up in the air and bounced my shoulders a bit to return the dance. Then I looked to my left and the guy in the car next to me was giving me a confused look...and I felt myself start to blush.

If you know me at all or have seen me out and about then chances are you have seen my cheeks get nice and rosey. It could happen at any moment. I can't control it.

I might blush for any of the following reasons:

I trip in front of a group of people.
Someone gives me a compliment.

I'm asked an embarrassing question.

The person next to me is asked an embarrassing question.

Someone on TV is asked an embarrassing question.

I say something stupid.

I say something smart.

I drink too much red wine.

I'm warm.

I'm cold.

I'm Jenny.

 

I could go on. But I won't. I'm getting embarrassed.

 

It's been that way since I was little. I noticed it more so in school, like when the teacher called on me to answer a question in front of the class or a boy I liked picked on me by hitting me on the head with his folder everytime he walked to the pencil sharpener (true story).

I used to hate it and at a certain point it affected my everyday routine. I spent time in class trying to figure out how to make just the right amount of eye contact with the teacher and then pretend I was writing down amazing notes so they wouldn't call on me. Or when my friends said the folder-hitting boy did that cause he liked me back I would find ways to not sit close to the pencil sharpener so he couldn't draw attention to me. It even affected my wardrobe, as I'd try to not wear much red so that if I blushed people couldn't say "Hey, your face matches your shirt!"

The thing about my blushing is that the actual blushing makes me blush more. So I'd start to blush, then feel I was blushing and blush more, then someone would say "Hey, you're blushing" and I'd blush even more...and at that point I'd pray that either my face would explode or the room would go dark so I could make a quick getaway.

I used to hope for a blushing "cure". A potion. A cheek-transplant surgery that would give me the less blushy-cheeks of other people who were able to handle random situations without looking like a blush make-up model gone overboard.

As I've gotten older it's gotten better. This could be the result of guys no longer hitting me on the head in front of my friends to express their feelings. Or it is probably just the result of becoming a lot more comfortable with myself. I'm a goofball who is sometimes clumsy and often says random stuff, and since I've mentally accepted that I think my cheeks have come to accept it, too.

 

But still, I do blush. The difference is that now I don't hate it when I blush. Sure it'd be nice to be able to control the blush level from time to time, but I don't want to stop it anymore. I've decided that it is just my way of showing that I'm feeling every emotion of every moment as they rush through my body and then ultimately show in my cheeks. And you know what else? I like wearing the color red and if my face ends up matching my shirt - cool, I'm color coordinated.

I have a feeling that blushing is always going to be a part of who I am and I'm okay with that. Actually, I look forward to that moment years and years from now when I'll be an old woman dancing on a street corner while I wait for my turn to cross. I'll be the same Jenny, just older and gray...and red.

I love...dishwashing.

It's been over six years since I've lived somewhere with a dishwasher. When I first looked for apartments in the Cleveland Heights area hardly any of them had dishwashers as they're all in older buildings. I was a bit nervous about the idea of not having that amenity. But then my desire for the location won over my desire for a dishwasher, and I realized "Hey, these hands at the ends to my arms are great dishwashers". After a few years there I then moved to Tremont and a dishwasher wasn't even a factor in my apartment search.

Over the years I've grown to enjoy washing dishes. Don't get me wrong, it's not something I want to do on a Saturday night. And there was the night a year ago when I was washing dishes before bed, broke a glass, sliced my finger, started bleeding, and as I started to freak out I vowed that if I survived the horrible cut I would never wash another dish [*spoiler alert: I survived. But only after calling my friend Megan and telling her I was certain I needed stitches; she kindly played along, picked me up, and as we drove out of Tremont she asked to see the cut, after which she told me that a strong bandaid would probably suffice. She was right.].


But again, dishwashing is not so bad. In fact, it can be kind of fun. And here are two reasons why:

1) Punishing the Dishes: In college, though we had a dishwasher, sometimes my roomies and I would still just wash the dishes in the sink, especially those dirty pots and pans. And when it came time to wash those dirty dishes, I didn't think "washing" them sounded fun, so I came up with the idea to "punish" them instead. How can you punish dishes? Well, I would fill the sink with warm soapy water, throw in the dishes, and then walk away as I yelled "Now you stay there and think about what you've done!" Then I'd watch TV until I decided they had learned their lesson and were ready to be cleaned...and then used again.

2) Kanye West's "Gold Digger": You probably know the song - and/or can listen to it here. It's fun to dance to, fun to sing along to, and -in my opinion- fun to wash dishes to. That's right, when I'm washing dishes I've got Kanye and Jamie Foxx singing along in my head. The reason is that anytime I go to wash the dishes and start pushing up my sleeves, all I can think of is the lyric: "There's dishes in the back, he gotta roll up his sleeves". And from there the song is in my head and I'm all "She take my money, well I'm in need...", and then it's just a big ol' dishwashing dance party in my kitchen.

Those are just a couple reasons why dishwashing isn't so bad. PLUS it gives me a reason to wear my apron. If I ever move into a place with a dishwasher I probably won't know what to do with it. Maybe I'll just use it to store sweaters.

Speaking of dishes, I have some being punished right now and I think they've finally learned their lesson. So I gotta run, Kanye & Jamie are waiting... "She take my money, well I'm in need..."

I love...random short story Sunday (#3).

Today I realized something. It's been almost a YEAR since my last random short story Sunday post.

Unacceptable, right?

So here you go! Take a few minutes this afternoon to read this ol' story I wrote about two bumblebees, cause it's story time on Jenny's blog.

Red & Pink: A Buzz Story
by: jenny chalk

Once upon a flower there were two bumblebees.

 

One bumblebee was named Red - he liked apples, stop signs and cinnamon bubble gum; he did not like the color pink.

The other bumblebee was named Pink - she liked cotton candy, flamingos and original bubble gum; she did not like the color red.

On one side of town you could often find Red buzzing near stop signs and smiling while blowing bubbles with his cinnamon bubble gum. On the other side of town Pink would be petting plastic flamingos and buying bags of cotton candy, while blowing bubbles with her original bubble gum.

Red and Pink had heard about each other and their opposite color preferences, but had never met until one rainy Thursday night...

Red and Pink were both out with friends at a local karaoke hive. Red had just finished singing his favorite song - 'Red Red Wine' - when Pink buzzed in. He didn't know who she was, but he thought she was beautiful. She got up on stage and sang 'Pink' by Aerosmith; Red couldn't take his eyes off of her. When she buzzed off stage they began talking. They talked all night, forgetting to even exchange names, and suddenly the hive was closing and their friends were ready to leave.

"Come on, Pink!" yelled Pink's friends.
"Come on, Red!" yelled Red's friends.

They looked at each other in shock.

"You're Red?"

"You're Pink?"

And before they could say anything else their friends were dragging them home.

Red couldn't sleep that night. He'd always pictured Pink as a gross, pink-loving bee, but she was beautiful and funny and he liked her alot. But could she like him back if some of his favorite things represented her least favorite color? That was when Red decided to change his color-loving ways and try to embrace everything about the color pink.

That night Pink had the exact same thoughts about Red.

The next day Red called Pink and invited her to lunch. When they met at the restaurant, Pink was wearing a red dress. "What do you think of my dress?" she asked.

Red liked it, but was confused - was this a trick? "Yek, it's gross," he replied.

Then Red presented Pink with a pink flower. Pink started to smile, then remembered her plan. She took the pink flower and threw it on the ground.

They sat there in an awkward silence for awhile; each thinking that the afternoon was not going as planned. But then they began talking and laughing and it felt so comfortable. Red talked about his job as a writer for a local magazine. Pink talked about her job as an antenna stylist. They liked the same kind of movies and enjoyed going to the same hives around town.

For lunch Pink painfully ordered an apple pizza and Red ordered a cotton candy souffle. However, neither of them touched their meals. As lunch ended they talked about different things they could do afterward. Red suggested a tour of the local flamingo farm and Pink suggested a tour of the best stop signs in town.

They buzzed outside as they tried to agree on an activity. Neither would give in to the other's suggestion. As time passed, it started to get awkward again. Pink reached into her purse and pulled out some cinnamon bubble gum. Red grabbed a piece of original bubble gum from his pocket. As they began chewing their bubble gum, Pink couldn't take it and she spit her gum on the ground. "I'm sorry! I can't do this, I've just never been a fan of the color red!" she cried.

Red spit his gum out as well, "I know! I really don't like pink. But I think you're great!"
Pink nodded, "So are you!"

 

That was when they realized that they didn't need to change who they were for each other. And they didn't need to like or dislike everything that the other bumbleebee liked or disliked.

Pink may not have liked the color red, but she liked Red.

Red may not have liked the color pink, but he liked Pink.

 

So Red handed Pink the pack of original bubble gum and Pink handed Red the pack of cinnamon bubble gum and they buzzed off into the sunset together, blowing red and pink bubbles the whole way.

The End

I love...2013.

  It's just over half way through the first day of 2013 and I love this year already!

I rang in this new year in a way that I haven't in a long time, or possibly ever...I was at home, alone. I had big plans for the night. I was going to get gussied up, go to dinner, then to a NYE party at my friends' house (where it was rumored there was going to be karaoke!). However, for the past week and a half I've been fighting off a cold and yesterday when I woke up it was obvious that the cold was winning. I tried to push through hoping I could pull it together, but when I got out of work early and stopped at the mall to find some last-minute cuteness to wear, I found myself in a fog staring at a sparkly dress that likely wouldn't have fit over my right leg and decided I should make the wise choice to stay in. So I spent the night at home with juice, a glass of wine, some pad thai from Ty Fun, my fanciest pjs, and the Dick Clark special, which allowed me to kind of sing karaoke when Carly Rae Jepsen performed "Call Me Maybe".

I proceeded to fall asleep on my couch off and on until about 3a.m., when I finally moved to my bed. Then I woke up this morning ready to start the day and the new year, but found that I had no electricity, and subsequently no heat. Soo...that brings me to right now, where I sit on the second floor of a Starbucks in downtown CLE. (*I note "second floor" because it makes me feel fancy. I'm basically like the queen of Starbucks right now, just sayin'.)

Granted, the second floor of a Starbucks is not the first place I thought I'd start out my 2013 New Year's Day, but it's been pretty cool so far. I mean, I'm the queen; one couple just walked in with a cute dog; lots of happy people keep walking in declaring "happy new year"; plus I had a gift card (bonus)! Also, this has given me some time to focus on a very important mission I've taken on over the past few years...to decide on the new year's motto.

What is a "new year motto", you ask?

It's the motto to live by for the new year. Some words to carry with you. Something to strive for. Perhaps some motto history would help to better explain:

2009: "Shine in '09!" This is when it started. Some friends and I were at brunch on new year's day and thought "we need a motto!" So we brainstormed, and it my friend Brian came up with "Shine in '09!" And shine we did!

2010: "Be like Jenny in 2010-y!" This motto never really caught on, but it's super catchy, right?? Whatevs, I lived by it. And I guess Jenny McCarthy did, too.

2011: "Name your drink giraffe Kevin in 2011!" This was the result of a NYE celebration on West 25th Street. I brought a bunch of those plastic drink hangers that are shaped like animals (incl. a giraffe) and we handed them out and used them all night. Soo...why not create a motto for the new year around them. (*"Be like Jenny in 2011-y" was not approved by my friends...whatevs.)

2012: "Rearrange your shelves in 2012!" Well, um, not lots of things rhyme with "12". People still weren't keen to "Be like Jenny in 2012-y" and why not take some time to rearrange your shelves?

2013: Now here we are...a new year and a new motto. After insight from friends and some serious thought on my part...the motto for 2013 is: "Don't be mean in 2013!" Sure these are words to live by every year, but since "mean" and "teen" rhyme so nicely, I don't think it hurts to reiterate the idea this year. So don't be mean. Just don't. It's silly. And this is a motto coming directly from the queen of Starbucks, so it's very official.

If you're interested, here were some runners-up:

"Keep it clean in 2013"
"Go green in 2013"
"Be seen in 2013"
"Eat Jimmy Deans in 2013" (*w/plans to ask Jimmy Dean to sponsor the year)

"Be like Jenny in 2013-enny"

Happy New Year, friends and soon-to-be friends! I hope you all have a great 2013...be amazing, be new, be inspiring, be you. And remember..."don't be mean in 2013!"

I love...ornaments.

Ta-da! My Christmas tree is officially decorated!
 

See:

 

It's actually been decorated for over a week now, which is pretty good for me. Normally there is the long process of bringing it in the box down from the attic and letting it adjust to the hallway for a few days; then taking it out of the box and letting it adjust to standing upright for a few days; then I start to put on the lights but get annoyed when one strand goes out so I leave it in the corner in shame for a few more days; then one Sunday I finally fix the lights, add the ornaments, and...BAM: it's Christmas all up in my apartment.

Nope, this year I made it all happen in one day. It's probably because I'm getting to be more mature and responsible with age...ahem...



Disco ball ornament

When it comes to decorating my tree, for the past few years I've used purple lights and a set of silver ornaments. They consist of round ones, skinny ones, big ones, little ones, and sparkly ones.

There's even a few small ones that look like this disco ball ornament (did someone say "tree par-tay"?!):










However, wanting to add a little extra "Jenny" to my tree each year, I have happily acquired new ornaments that I throw into the Christmas tree decorating mix. Here are a few of them:



Save the Date ornament

My friend Colleen and I handmade this ornament in 2007. The bug (on the left) is a tribute to a small bug that we saw the previous summer. We were sitting outside our friend's house in Little Italy during the Feast and it was hot...really hot. We saw an adorable little bug on the sidewalk (and for me to call a bug adorable takes a lot), it was one of those little wooly/fuzzy bugs and it was just inching along. Suddenly it started flipping around like it was dancing. Then...it stopped. It died right in front of us! Of course we'd both seen dead bugs before and seen others or ourselves squish bugs, but never seen one die all on its own. For weeks after that we told all of our friends about the story of Little Bug (as we dubbed him) and his story became a part of our group. We drew him on magnets that we made for our birthday party invites...then we drew him on this Save the Date ornament, which was an invite to a joint party we threw for our friends Rachel & Matt that year. A few of our friends tell us that they still hang their ornament up every year...and so do I!



Chicago ornament

This ornament was a favor from my friends' wedding in Chicago several years back. It was a great weekend - we sang karaoke at their rehearsal dinner (hosted at a delicious pizza restaurant), celebrated their beautiful wedding in the Sears Tower (I know..."Willis Tower"), and toured the city. I thought that this favor was a sweet idea and now every Christmas when I hang it up on my tree I think of them and that great weekend.














S'more ornament

I got this ornament at an ornament exchange party a couple years ago. A bunch of friends were back in town for the holidays, so we all got together to catch up, eat, drink, and exchange ornaments! The ornaments were all wrapped so we didn't know what we might be getting and we passed them back and forth until finally whatever ornament you were holding was the one that was yours for keeps. I unwrapped mine to find this adorable marshmallow guy! And up until the moment when I leaned in close to take this picture, I thought it was simply that - just a cute marshmallow guy sitting on a piece of wood. Upon closer inspection...I have now realized it's actually a s'more guy! Even cuter! I guess you learn something new about your Christmas tree ornaments every year. That's a saying, right...?








Youngest child ornament
 

Last year my mom got me and my sisters each our own ornament. This was mine and it says "youngest child", because, well, I'm the youngest child. My ornaments don't lie!

 



Pickle ornament

And then there's this one. It's a pickle. I think my mom also gave me this ornament one year and said it is a Christmas tradition for people to hang pickles on their Christmas tree and that it brings good fortune in the year ahead. I didn't question her, though have since Googled it and confirmed that it is indeed true. So now, every year, I have a pickle on my tree. Yay! Bring on the fortune.



And that is the tour of my Christmas tree ornaments. Now for the next few weeks I get to enjoy the lit up Christmas tree each night as the holiday spirit takes over my apartment. Until, of course, I need to start the process of UNdecorating the tree: removing the ornaments and getting annoyed when they all don't fit in the very same container I kept them in the year before; taking off the lights; waiting a few days then folding up the tree and getting annoyed when it doesn't fit in the same box that it also did NOT fit in the year before; then tying it up and putting it back up in the attic.

 

But who wants to think about that, so for now I'm just going to enjoy this wonderful Christmas tree night light filled with lots of happy memories and disco dance party possibilities. Tis the season...to disco!



I love...being thankful.

This Thanksgiving I had a lot to be thankful for:

My family

My friends

My new car, Tootsie

Pizza

Prince

Leopard print

Carly Rae Jepsen

Bubblewrap

The word "love"

Laughing

Jimmy Fallon

Blue Gatorade

The ability to j/k

Heart shapes

Empty gyms

Instagram

The #37

Pillows

The list goes on and on...so I'll just pick out a few to discuss here:

My family
My family alternates between three different relatives' homes that host Thanksgiving. It's the one time of year that we get together with aunts, uncles and cousins to catch up and laugh our faces off. This year it was at my aunt & uncle's house in Cincinnati. Unfortunately I wasn't able to go to Cincy to be with everyone this particular year, so my parents were nice enough to drive up to the CLE to have dinner on Thanksgiving-eve with me and my sister Lisa. We went to Light Bistro in Ohio City. The food was delish and we had a lot of laughs as we discussed everything from confit to the time my mom and I got in the wrong van in a store parking lot. Then Thanksgiving morning they all headed down to Cincy to see the rest of my fam for the weekend. Fortunately I'll be able to see them all in February at my cousin's wedding - thank goodness for love!

Empty gyms
After sleeping in a bit I woke up on Thanksgiving morning, watched some of the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade, then got the urge to go to the gym (in anticipation of what I would be eating later in the day). My gym has 24-hour access and upon entering I found that I was the only person who had this "go to the gym on Thanksgiving" idea. I had the place to myself! I decided to use this opportunity to do all the things I don't normally do at the gym when other people are there.

As I started running on the treadmill a Beyonce song came on my iPod and I was inspired to see if I could run, dance and sing like Beyonce all at the same time while keeping my breath. I could! Well, for a few minutes at least.

Once my treadmill concert was done I decided to attempt playing with the big ropey things. They're those large ropes that are bolted to the ground and you're supposed to work out with them...somehow. I'd never tried them before, cause there are usually too many people around and I don't understand what I'm supposed to do with them. I picked them up and shook them up and down. I twisted them in circles. I crisscrossed them. I still didn't know what I was doing, but I was sure I was getting stronger-ish.

Then I went downstairs to the weight room. I'd used the room before, only a few of the machines that are close to the front - some arm ones, the leg ones. Today, since I had the whole room to myself, I did what I've never done before...I walked all the way to the back of the weight room! It was amazing- there was a different floor back there. Then I saw it, a large silver bowl full of chalk! This changed everything. I now know that I'm welcome in the weight area anytime. They have chalk there, I'm Chalk...get it? In fact, even though I'm sitting at a coffee shop typing this right now...it's good to know that I'm actually at the gym right now, too. I feel even stronger!

My friends
There is a lot to say about this topic. I often stop and think about how lucky I am because of the great friends I've met in my life. I've met so many people who are kind, thoughtful, hilarious, fun, helpful, caring, and did I mention hilarious? Instead of going through all of those people in this post, I'd like to touch on one instance of friendship over this Thanksgiving holiday.

As I mentioned earlier, I wasn't able to join my family in Cincinnati for the holiday dinner. Upon hearing this my friend Colleen immediately invited me to join her and her family for dinner. (And after that, several other friends also invited me if I still needed a place to go.) So I joined her, her boyfriend and her family that evening. We drank wine, sampled cheese, discussed fingernails and movies while researching topics on our phones, and then we ate...everything from turkey to rutabaga to pumpkin pie...to anything else that falls in between at a Thanksgiving feast. It was a wonderful dinner, accented perfectly by the tiny salt & pepper shakers that we each had at our own seat.


I hope you had and are having a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday with family, friends, and possibly your own personal gym for an hour or so. Go ahead, shake those ropes...and if you need me, I'll be in the weight room.

I love...mittens.

Recently I bought a pair of mittens. These mittens:

As cute and soft as they appear in this picture, our relationship almost ended as quickly as it began. Let me explain...

The thing that originally pulled my attention their way was the "sale" tag hanging off of them at H&M. But the thing that made me pick them up and buy them was their cute, little, mitteny appearance.

The past few winters I've gone with regular gloves or fingerless gloves, so upon seeing them I thought to myself: "Hmm, it's been awhile since I've had mittens." Then I bought those little mittens and excitedly put them on as soon as I got in the car to drive home. I felt great! Just me and my new mittens.

As I started driving I went to change the radio station. But I couldn't. My fingers were all too close together to hit the right button on the radio. They were trapped. I was having a case of finger-claustrophobia! But I couldn't take the gloves off at that moment. I was driving. I was getting on the highway. I was merging! 10 & 2. 10 & 2!

Luckily it only took a few seconds for me to chill out. A song I liked came on the radio. My fingers were fine. They weren't suffocating, they were just bonding. They were warm and cozy.

I was wearing mittens. And I liked it.

I suggest you go out and buy yourself your own pair of mittens, then the next time we cross paths we can have a mitten high five! But for safety reasons you should probably wait until you get home to put them on and break them in. Maybe wear them while watching this scene from an episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

"jfkfmkolkdjsmkl." -typed by my mitten-hands (translation: "The End.")

I love...legwarmers.

It's that time of year where the weather is getting cooler and you can start to bring back out all the items you packed away in the spring.

The sweaters. The scarves. The boots. The hats.

And for me, it's also time to bring back out the legwarmers!

You didn't suddenly rewind to the 80s. It's 2012 and I'll admit it: My name is Jenny and I love legwarmers.

Legwarmers aren't all that crazy to own right now. They've come back into fashion, as most items from the 80s have, and you can buy them just about anywhere. But the pairs I have are directly from the 80s. They're vintage (yes, I refer to anything that was created prior to the current day "vintage").

I have several pairs of them. I rediscovered them several years ago when I was visiting my parents and opened a drawer into past fashion choices of mine and my sisters. It was legwarmers galore: purple & white striped ones, orange/blue/white/brown speckled ones, white ones, and my favorite ones (in this pic) red with white hearts. They all looked up at me from the drawer just begging to keep my legs warm(er), and I decided it was time to bring them back out for another chance in the world.

Over the past few years when the weather has started to cool I've happily put them on. They're cozy. They're comfy. They're warm. They're fashionable. And sometimes they make me feel like I'm in the movie "Flashdance" (not so much in the "I'm a welder by day and exotic dancer by night" kind of way, but in the "I'm spinning and hopping and pointing at judges" kind of way).

So here I am, settling down on a cool October night. Just me and my legwarmers...what a feeling!

I love...birthday weeks.

I am typing this while curled up on my couch in a leopard print Snuggie, thinking of the birthday week that was last week. I know, a birthday is only supposed to be for a "day", but this year there was a lot that happened, so I used a week: I aged. I wore leopard print. I was on TV. I ate pizza...lots of pizza (I love pizza).
"How could all this activity have been packed into one week?" you ask.
Well, I'll tell you. Let's start with Monday...

*****

 

DAY 1: Scarf
 

MONDAY
With my birthday quickly approaching, my sister Lisa invited me to join her for pizza and beers at our favorite pizza spot, Edison's in Tremont. We ordered a pepperoni and banana pepper pizza plus several beers. As we were winding down the night I decided to use my newest addiction to record the night: Instagram! Then I realized I was wearing a leopard print scarf and since the week was leading up to my leopardy birthday party (see "Saturday" below) I decided to wear a dash of leopard print everyday for the rest of the week, Instagram it, and call it "7 Days of Leopard Print".

*****

 

DAY 2: Bracelet

TUESDAY
Tuesday, September 25th, was my actual birthday. I woke up feeling older, wiser, and ready to take on the day! My friends and family sent me birthday wishes. My office bought me a cake. My birthday was off to a great start. Not only was I aging on this day, but that evening was the premiere of a new season of one of my favorite shows...New Girl!!! I planned a watch party for the event at Rivergate in the Flats. This watch party was to serve several purposes: 1) so I could watch the show and hang out with friends at the same time; and 2) because there was a possibility that I would be shown during the show as the New Girl Fan of the Week (an honor I had applied for several weeks earlier)! So there we were, I was wearing a pink boa (cause why not), the show was playing on several TVs, I had my friends around me, we were eating calzones, and the sound for New Girl was on full blast. Then...BAM...during a commercial break: "Jenny is the Fan of the Week"!!! I nearly fell off my barstool. This was the icing on top of my birthday cake. (And aside from all that, the show is laugh-out-loud hilarious! I laugh every time I watch and re-watch it. If you don't already watch it, you should!) Then I went home and ate half of a leftover slice of pizza.

*****

DAY 3: Sweater

WEDNESDAY
Still high off my New Girl moment of fame, I woke up ready to celebrate my post-birthday day. That evening I finished the other half of my pizza slice for dinner, then headed to the Winking Lizard for bowling league. My team entered me on the scorecard as "bday" and my first game started out awesome, with spare/strike after spare/strike. Then that ended and the rest of my game was...eh. But the popcorn at the Lizard tasted great.

*****

DAY 4: Headband

THURSDAY
Some friends and I went downtown to watch the Cleveland Browns game. While the game didn't end as we might have liked, our night was a good time. We ended the game at Map Room, where a friend and I split...pizza! Surprise! Someone jokingly asked me if I'd had pizza every day that week. I laughed that I hadn't. Then I stopped and thought about it and realized I had indeed had pizza every single day of the week. Awesome...and oops.

*****

 

DAY 5: Shoes

FRIDAY
For lunch I had leftover Map Room pizza (I couldn't stop myself). Then that evening I went with a coworker to a candle party. We ate some yummy food, smelled some yummy candles, drank some yummy white sangria, and made it an early night. I was home and in bed by 11p.m., and I loved it.

*****

SATURDAY

DAY 6: Dress

I woke up early and decided to immediately go to the gym before I could change my mind. After a week of eating pizza and drinking birthday drinks, a gym visit was needed. That evening I had plans to gather with friends at the Speakeasy in Ohio City to celebrate my new age, and in doing so I asked that everyone wear a dash of leopard print (because, well, I love leopard print). My friends didn't disappoint. One by one they walked in with scarves, shirts, shoes, dresses...Ohio City was oh so fashionable that night. We spent the night drinking, dancing and just being leopardy! As the night ended, I did not eat any pizza - but I did get Taco Bell, which is an excellent second choice in my book.

*****

SUNDAY

DAY 7: Hat

After sleeping in, I met friends for brunch at Southside. Bloody marys and mimosas flowed and I pointed out every leopard print item that people we didn't know were wearing. After that my friend Niki and I started walking home, then got sidetracked by hot chocolate and a two hour walk around the pretty streets of Tremont. The weather was perfect, the trees were Fall-ish, and you couldn't NOT be outside. I didn't eat any pizza on this day, but I did pass by Edison's, so I was hugged by its delicious smell. Finally, I was ready to head home and spend quality time with my couch, and that's what I did.

*****

 

YAY: Snuggie

Now I'm nursing a leopard print hangover with my leopard print Snuggie and feeling very thankful for a great birthday week, great friends & family, great TV shows, great pizza, and a great year ahead in my new age.
"What is going to happen in the year ahead?" you ask.
I don't know for sure - that's what makes it exciting.
However, I'm sure it will be filled with dashes of leopard print - that's what makes it Jenny.

I love...my automobiles.

You know the ol' question: Which came first - ChaCha or Tootsie? Well the answer is simple: ChaCha did.

My first car was a silver Saturn named ChaCha. She was a lovely car, and yes - she was a "she". I bought her from the owner when she was only 1 year old, and on my first drive I had the windows down and was blasting the CD single "I Wanna Be Bad" by Willa Ford. Little did I know that ChaCha and I would be spending the next 11 years together.

ChaCha wasn't just any ordinary silver Saturn. She had a secret power...and that power was her magical third door! Yep, on the driver's side there was a half door that helped people to easily get in the back bucket seats. It was super fancy.

ChaCha and I got along very well for many years. She actually held herself together quite well until she was about 8 years old. That's when I think she couldn't hide it anymore. Aside from oil changes, tire rotations, and the occassional "fix whatever is making her service engine light come on", I hadn't done much else to her. That's why I think the garage I'd become a regular at was so stunned when they asked me the last time I'd had her tires changed and I answered 'Never'. Or the last time I got a new battery, 'Never.' They then took me outside to show me all the reasons I was in dire need of changing both of those,  plus a couple other things that were broken (this day would become known as the day I spent half a month's paycheck at the garage).

After that ChaCha was never quuuuiiiite right. Her engine light came on more regularly. Then it would go off for a couple days, then on for an hour, then off, then back on. I just started to ignore it. Then it would take a while for her to start when I turned the key. Then she stopped using her gas light to let me know when she was running low (because, much to my dad's dismay, I had started letting my gas get pretty low before filling up) - this resulted in a couple different "Can someone come get me and take me to a gas station" phone calls. She also stopped using her beeping alert to let me know if I opened the car door while the keys were still in the ignition - this resulted in the time I got locked out of my car.

But still I loved ChaCha. Even when the trunk started leaking - I took that as a challenge to see how little I could keep in there. Then when a hubcap fell off - I took that as the chance to test how I could park my car so that the missnig hubcap was never facing an office building or anywhere else I wouldn't want people to see that I had a missing hubcap. And when her CD player stopped working - I took that as a chance to break out some of my old casette tapes. Mainly, Michael Jackson's "Bad". Who's bad? ChaCha is bad.

It was a little under two months ago that I was driving into work and as I got on the I-90 bridge to pass over downtown ChaCha made a huge cracking noise and started puttering along. I willed her to make it to an exit, which she did. Then when I realized her powersteering had gone out, I willed her to let me turn her around the circular exit ramp. Then we pulled into a gas station. I called my dad. And I cried.

After a tow and a visit to my friendly gas station, they let me know her belt and a pulley had broken, and then ChaCha was fixed (kind of). Though it was scary, I knew that she wasn't trying to kill me that morning. No, I believe she was trying to tell me that she was tired. It was her way of saying "Jenny, please stop making the wheels on this car go round and round." And this time, I listened. A couple weeks later I stopped out at a car dealership and that same day I left ChaCha behind and drove off in my new little lady...Tootsie.

Tootsie is a silver Toyota Corolla. I thought of her name immediately: Tootsie coROLLa. Tootsie Roll! I have a stash of tootsie rolls in the car right now, which my mom supplied me with once I named her. So far we're getting along splendidly. Sure, there were some adjustments needed. I had to get used to the brakes immediately working when I barely tapped them. I'm sure my left arm will weaken as I won't have to manually roll my window up and down. And it's now officially time to get rid of my casette tapes as Tootsie can't play them. But all in all I think it was a good choice. I look forward to many years with her.

As for ChaCha, I imagine her out there in car heaven, rolling along with all the other cars, her service engine light blinking on and off, while she honks her horn and blares "I Wanna Be Bad" - just like when she was a carbaby.

I love...my dad.

When I see a spider, the first person I want to call is Denny Chalk. Denny Chalk is my dad and the reason I want to call him is not to say, "Oh my, I just saw a beautiful spider." It's to say: "Ahh! Creepy spider! Save me!"

However, if I see a spider today I will not bother my dad with it, because today is his birthday! So I'm letting him off spider duty.

The thing is, my dad is the first person I want to call in lots of situations. Car issues? I call my dad. Life advice? I call my dad.

This is probably a good time to point out that my dad now lives in North Carolina and I'm in Ohio. Sure we're miles apart, but I've always known that no matter how far away my dad is he'll always be there for me. And I hope he knows I'll always be there for him.

It's been that way since I was little. When he was outside doing yardwork he'd be there to take me for a quick trip around our house in the wheelbarrow. And in return, I'd be there to help smash the leaves and grass down in the garbage can with my feet.

My dad is a great golfer and he golfs any chance he gets. Unfortunately I have not (um, at least not yet) picked up on that skill from him. Though he did once take me to a driving range. He was there to give me tips on hitting the golf ball. I was there to make him laugh as I missed the ball on my first, second...and third swing.

When it came time for me to learn how to drive, my dad was there to take me to an empty, nearby parking lot and start teaching me the basics. I was there to keep him safe by hitting my head on the rolled-up window as I tried to double check that no other cars were around and then slam on the brakes when I saw a dog walking on the opposite side of the parking lot (yep, I brake for animals).

As the father of three girls, I have to admit we didn't make things easy for him. As we each went through our teenage phase, he couldn't win. The three of us, plus our mom and our female family dog - my dad was completely outnumbered. But he took it all in stride. He just zoned us out when necessary and sat in the car waiting, somewhat patiently, as we each changed our outfits and fixed our hair for the millionth time.

I learned a lot of lessons from my dad while growing up. He taught me that slowly repeating directions out loud as though you're asking a question makes them easier to remember.  Me: "Dad, can you get that box with the green lid out of the attic?" Dad: "The box? With the green lid? From the attic?" My sisters and I used to think it was hilarious. Now I find myself doing it all the time.

He also taught me to never let my gas tank get so low that the gas light comes on. I stuck to that, until about a year ago where I started pressing my luck, and ended up out of gas in a parking lot after work. And who did I call? Yep, my dad.

I like to think that I also taught him a thing or two over the years. Like when he joined Facebook and asked me how to clean all the comments off his wall, and how everyone knew it was his birthday.

Well now even more people know it's your birthday, Dad! Happy Birthday! Thanks for putting up with me all these years, and for always helping me realize that everything is going to be okay. And like I said, don't worry about getting any emergency spider phone calls tonight. If I see a spider I'll just be an adult about it. I'll relax, take a deep breath, put a cup over it, and call you tomorrow.

Love, Jennifer

My dad and their new dog, Tolya - the most recent female addition to his life.

I love...The Bachelor/Bachelorette.

Go ahead. Pick on me all you want. Get it out of your system: "It's a cheesy show", "It's fake", "It's all about the drama". I've heard it all and I'm not denying that it's not true. But maybe that's why I love it. After all I also enjoy Taco Bell, which is cheesy, possibly somewhat fake, and - depending on how your stomach agrees with it - may also cause drama for you later in the evening.

...but I now return you to your regularly scheduled blog post...

I have watched The Bachelor and The Bachelorette since the beginning. I would gather with friends and a couple bottles of wine to watch each season unfold. During the first show we'd each pick our favorites, our MLTGE (Most Likely To Get Engaged) and the OYHGKOSYCHT (One You Hope Gets Kicked Off So You Can Have Them) and then watch as they were either quickly dumped in the first show or dragged out until the end where they proposed or were proposed to or were not proposed to. Then read as the tabloids ripped their love affairs apart.

Where to begin with the many reasons to love this show...

I'll start with the babysitter, er, I mean the host, Chris Harrison. He has to deal with the new contestants each season. He watches as each person gets out of the limo trying to introduce themselves in the most memorable way possible, whether it's a cute opening line or bringing a prop like a horse, or a mask, or a grandma. Then he sticks around for each rose ceremony to make sure everyone constantly knows how many roses are left to give out: "This is the final rose tonight" (Wait, what? This one remaining rose is the LAST rose? Thanks for clearing that up...).

Then the first night includes an unofficial drinking contest. Well, it's a "cocktail party" that goes on for a very long time and likely provides every liquor available on the planet. It's just a matter of who will pass out or cry or slur their words first.

For those who make it through the first night, there are then weeks of romantic, awkward, drama-filled dates. A majority of the dates are concocted from the daters' worst fears. "You're afraid of heights? Oh, you have to climb this tall mountain."; "You're afraid of water? Oh, then this scuba diving date is going to be tough for you." This is why I have decided if I was ever on the show I would fill out my questionnaire this way: "WORST FEAR: Petting puppies while eating pizza." Bring on the puppy/pizza date*.

(*Speaking of my puppy/pizza date, this seems like the perfect time to admit that I once applied to be on this show. It was several years back. I did the online application: submit a picture, write down some interesting facts about myself, include a statement as to why I wanted to be on the show. Alas, I received no phone call to be on the show...it's too bad, I could be reading about my new found relationship's demise in Us Weekly right now...)

Some other delicious Bachelor/ette ingredients are:

• commonly used lines, like "Here for all the right reasons";
• one girl/guy that all the other girls/guys hates, but that the Bachelor/Bachelorette doesn't send home until the very end;
• helicopters on demand; and,
• at least one date that ends while on a boat in the middle of the ocean, where the rejected contestant will have to exit said date on a small speedboat as their tears are mixed with the salt water flicking them in the face.

Over the past few seasons I have discovered that each episode holds not only drama, tears and romance, but also amazing life lessons to take away. Like these little tidbits:

• The Bachelor Lesson #32: If you can't find one of your dates, it's probably because they're crying in a luggage fort.
• The Bachelorette Lesson #121: If you continuously call the bachelorette a trophy wife, and she continuously tells you she doesn't like it...don't act surprised when she sends you home.
• The Bachelorette Lesson #66: If you don't want to date a woman who has a child, you probably shouldn't go on a dating show where the bachelorette is a woman who has a child.

Finally, there's the last show where you try desperately to tell from the previews leading up to it which person is the "winner" and which person is sent home in a limo as the "crier". Alas, it's often not what you expect. Sneaky previews... Then it's tears and XOXOs before the new happy couple is sent home to their new reality.

If you haven't watched The Bachelor or The Bachelorette, don't worry. You can catch up on all the recycled drama with Bachelor Pad, a show where past bachelors and bachelorettes come back to try to nurse their heartaches, their hangovers...and win a lot of money.

Basically, the shows are an entertaining way to spend a few hours every week while you sample the finest $5 wines you can find and learn valuable life lessons.

Until next time, readers and readettes...this is the final sentence of this blog post. #thingsChrisHarrisonmightsay

I love...coffee shops.

As I write this, I am on an accidental coffee shop tri-date.

But I'll get back to that in a moment.

I started frequenting coffee shops in high school. There was a local coffee shop within walking distance of my school and several of my friends and I quickly became regulars. We spent many crazy nights there, getting high on caffeine while talking and playing games. At that time I didn't even like coffee, so I'd only get hot chocolate, but I did like the atmosphere. The owner of this particular shop (I can't remember the name of the shop - it might have just been called "Coffee Shop"?) was named Ted, and we all loved him. After we started going back there enough he would tell us stories about his life and give us life advice. I remember one time when we walked in behind a woman who Ted was interested in. She bought her coffee, they chatted and she left. Ted told us he was interested in her and we cheered him on to go ask her out. He ran out and got her number, then came back in jumping with excitement. On several occassions a group of us went rock climbing with Ted, and one night he let us stay after hours to watch Saturday Night Live. (I should also note that this shop was in the same lot as a Taco Bell, which could explain that obsession.) We were coffee shop groupies.


Once I got to college I didn't find another "Ted", but I did find more coffee shops. I would go there to study, to write, to think. I still wasn't a fan of regular coffee, but if I remember correctly I did enjoy a good mocha. It's not one specific thing I love about coffee shops, it's lots of little things - the constant hum of activity, the new music I usually hear, the chatter of the other customers. You can be lost in your own world, while surrounded by tons of other people. It feels like there's constantly a story ready to unfold with every new person who walks in.

After college I found more coffee shops and finally developed a taste for coffee. And where I live now there are tons of options to choose from.

This morning I decided I wanted to go out to a coffee shop and write. My plan was to do this earlier in the day, but I got distracted by watching Season 3 of SATC while I went through old clothes and googled stuff online. As it got later in the afternoon I realized some coffee shops I regularly go to might close early on Sundays, so I then focused my googling on finding a new option with late hours, which brought me to where I am currently sitting - Gypsy, in Gordon Square. It's pretty fab. I ordered a vanilla latte, and it's delish. There's lots of space to sit, good music, nice atmosphere. The front of the shop is all windows and looks out onto Detroit Avenue and there's a long bar option that you can sit at to look out the window as you drink or eat. That's where I chose to sit. It's fun to watch the constant activity out on the street - people driving, bicycling, walking. There are some small tables outside the shop for people to sit at, there's currently a guy sitting at one table while he types away on a typewriter (vintage blogging). A little bit ago two people walked outside with their coffees and pulled their table down to get in the shade. This action put them directly infront of me. So now the only thing separating us is a thin sheet of glass.

And that is how I accidentally ended up on a coffee shop tri-date. Though I can't hear what they're saying, I think it's going well. But I should go now, it's rude of me to be on the computer during my first date with...whoever these people are.

I love...hugs.

Have you hugged today?

After a recent hug, I found myself pondering the "hug". Where did the term and action come from? Who were the first two people to say: "Let's wrap our arms around each other and squeeze - and then call it a hug"?

I began some serious research on this subject. And by "serious research" I mean I Googled it and found this link to Merriam-Webster's page, scanned the page briefly enough to see that the origin dated back to 1567, then got ditracted by listening to the audio pronunciation of "hug" - which made me want to listen to some other words like "chalk" - and my research was done.

Instead I decided to consider the hug based on personal experiences. So while I'm still not sure who the first people to hug were, I'm glad they did - and I'm glad they told other people about it - cause I've been enjoying hugs for as long as I can remember.

When I was little, my mom read an article about the positive effects of hugging. It suggested people should hug a certain amount of times a day. (This was an article I was happy that she read, as opposed to the article she read about the negative effects of eating raw cookie dough - ugh, making Christmas cookies was ruined after that.) Anywho, she read this hugging article and we decided to make sure we hugged that certain amount of times a day from then on.

With so many things to hug, and so many reasons to hug - there's no reason not to do it.

You can hug a person, an animal, a tree, a stuffed animal, or even (as I recently found myself doing) a bag of chips.

You can hug hello, goodbye, congrats, sympathy, welcome, or I love you. The simple act of hugging can make you feel better, it can make the other "hugger" feel better, it may even make a bag of chips feel better.

A hug is like saying: "It's so good to see you!", or "Welcome to my personal space.", or "Watch how bendy my arms are!", or "I think you're all that and a bag of chips!".

Whatever you want to say today, try saying it with a hug.

PS: Did I mention that hugs are free?

I love...my mom.

Today is June Chalk's birthday! And June Chalk just so happens to be my mom.

There are a lot of things that come to mind when I think about my mom, starting with one of my first memories of her putting me into my crib with a nightlight glowing in the room behind her.

When I was little she would lay in bed with me, telling me stories she made up until I fell asleep.

The first time I swore in front of my mom was after I had watched the movie "Clue". She was trimming my bangs and let me look in the mirror as she asked how I thought they looked. I, quoting the movie, replied: "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn." She didn't like that.

The first time my mom swore in front of me was when we were driving home from the grocery store. Someone was quickly backing out of their driveway not paying attention, my mom tried to swerve out of the way, but they hit us. She said the "s" word and then started crying. She denies the swearing part ever happened.

My mom always keeps me laughing. In fact I started tracking her "Momisms", which are the funny random things that she says - whether she intends them to be funny or not. Like the time we were on a family vacay, my sisters and I were laying by the pool and my mom walked over to us carrying a bag of animal crackers. She went to ask us if we wanted one, and mixed up the words of crackers/cookies as she yelled: "Do you girls want a crack-cookie?!"

As a fan of the Usher, Lil Jon & Ludacris combo, my mom likes singing along to (the chorus of) this song. And (thanks to the Ellen Show) she once asked me "Do you know that song that goes 'Apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur'?". To which I replied, "Yes...but why do you?"

Anytime I worry and my mom tells me to stop worrying, I remind her that I got it from her. In fact, I'm worried right now about writing this and that she will worry about me being worried about her worrying...

My mom has been through a lot in life, but she's still one of the most positive, loving, silly, caring and giving people that I know. And if I have even a little bit of that in me, I'd be as happy as a kid eating a crack-cookie.

Happy Birthday, Mom!
Love, Jennifer

(p.s.: also happy birthday to Paul McCartney, who my mom always reminds us that she shares a birthday with.)