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.)

I love...past homes.

They say: "Home is where the heart is". Sometimes I think it's nice to remember where your heart has been.

Yesterday I went to a friend's house for a late brunch. It was a lovely afternoon of wine, lasagna and cannoli, while myself and four girlfriends caught up on everything from backaches to boys to babies. My friend lives on the east side of town and while driving home I couldn't help but slow down as I passed my old apartment on Mayfield Road. I looked to see if anyone was out on the balcony or if the balcony was decorated or if there was an "I miss you, Jenny" sign hanging from the railing. It looked pretty quiet there though.

It got me to thinking about past living spaces - past homes - and how I can't help but be reminiscent when I'm near them.

Take this apartment on Mayfield, where I spent about four years of my life and met some of my best friends. It was there that I realized it was possible to miss central air as I spent several summers melting into my sofa. I cried in that apartment, I laughed in that apartment, I continued my non-cooking streak in that apartment. The back fire escape stairs are where I spent several weeks being terrorized by a mysterious raccoon who would climb up and down them while leaving trails of garbage behind him, until the day I actually saw him teetering on the tiny rung of a ladder to the roof and I nearly fell down the stairs as I tried to escape the situation. Sure, I've moved out of and moved on from that apartment, but my heart will always remember how it felt to live there.

Whenever I'm back at Bowling Green State University I of course feel a little reminiscent when I pass my old dorms and apartments. The memories of late nights, parties, new friends, walking back and forth to classes, and getting in trouble for being too loud while playing "would you rather" seem like both forever ago and just yesterday.

Then there is the first home that I lived in while growing up (well, officially it was my second home, but we moved in there before I was one year old, so I'll call it the first home I remember). It was in a development in Strongsville, Ohio, tucked back on a cul-de-sac. It was where I spent nearly 18 years of my life growing up with my two older sisters and my parents. I learned to walk in that house, I learned to ride my bike in front of that house. I decorated Christmas cookies and Easter eggs in that kitchen. I played Barbies and had countless sleepovers while staying up too late watching scary movies in that basement. We have family pictures standing in front of the fireplace in that living room and home movies on the back deck of everything from graduation days, to proms, to when my sisters and I just wanted to test out the new video camera after school. When we moved out of that house the summer after my first year in college I went into my bedroom closet and drew a small heart with a little note as high as I could in one of the corners, with the hope that the new owners would never find it and there'd forever be a mark of me in that house. Since we moved, I still have reasons to drive through Strongsville and when I do I try to allow some extra time to drive by that old house. It's now been painted blue (used to be tan) and the wooden tree fences that used to line the edge of the driveway have been ripped up (which our friends hated when they first got their licenses and had to carefully back out of the driveway) and I know that most of the neighbors I grew up with have since left as well. But even with those changes it still feels the same when I'm in front of it. It still feels like the place that my parents, sisters and I grew into our family and it's still the place where I started on the path to become who I am today. I imagine my little drawing still intact in the closet as if saying "Jenny's heart was here".

As I type this I am sitting on the balcony of my current apartment - my current home. Years from now I'm sure I'll pass by here and remember the stories of what happened in my life while I lived here. And now I'll remember this moment of sitting on my balcony remembering all my past homes - all the places my heart has been.

I love...balloons.

Over this past weekend I went to a fundraiser for The Karen Foundation for MS. It was held at the Barley House downtown and was complete with live music, auctions, food, and a Joe Haden sighting. An adorable Joe Haden sighting.

There's one more thing that this fundraiser had...balloon creations! I say "balloon creations" because there weren't just balloon animals, but there were hats and other objects. My friend Cami and I stood in line anxiously awaiting our turn to ask the balloon guy for our balloon wishes. Cami was planning to ask for a pony, as she loves ponies. I was planning to ask for Prince (the artist), as I love Prince. As we got closer a girl in front of us got a balloon pony, so Cami decided to instead go with her back up: a unicorn hat. Just in case, I also chose a back up: pizza (as I also love pizza).

Finally it was my turn. I asked for Prince. The balloon guy told me he couldn't do that, but he would sing Prince while he made me something else. I agreed and asked for pizza. He agreed and started singing "Kiss" while twisting and turning several balloons into a tomato, green pepper and onion slice of pizza.

And let me tell you, it looked good. Delicious, in fact.

Cami then got her unicorn hat, and my friend Alyson got a big crazy hat:

After a while, friends encouraged me to ask that my pizza slice be make it into a hat, which was a good idea since carrying a balloon slice of pizza around all night would not have been very easy. That was how Pizza Hat came to be.

Then I thought: How could Pizza Hat be even better?
The answer: Have Joe Haden sign it.
So I did.

Here is Joe looking extremely focused while signing Pizza Hat:




















Here is Joe looking adorable after signing Pizza Hat:



After that, Pizza (as it came to be called) and I had many more adventures. Including going to a friend's house for Feaster Easter (a belated Easter dinner with a competition for the best side dish); a crazy dance party around a suitcase; and a late night stop at Flying Monkey for a couple drinks and a quick song on the jukebox ('Call Me, Maybe' - which I should note that when I went to play this song, a couple guys standing nearby threatened to pop my pizza hat if I played it. I played it anyway and called their bluff).

The next day it was really nice out and I met some friends back at the Flying Monkey patio later in the afternoon. We decided to go to Edison's for some pizza and it was suggested that I should run home and grab Pizza.

So I did.

Pizza enjoyed a slice of pizza with us, before we went back to Flying Monkey for Sunday night karaoke.

Now Pizza is slowly deflating and getting smaller, as that's what normally happens to balloons. But I'm not sad, because we'll always have our balloon memories...and Joe Haden.

(*thanks for the photo memories, Cami!)

I love...peanuts.

Happy Peanut Week!

Wait - what?! You don't know what Peanut Week is? Well okay, it may not be an official holiday, but within the walls of Hoopples in the Flats - it's been Peanut Week, all week.

Now you're asking: what exactly is Peanut Week? Well, I'll tell you. It's a week where Hoopples provides tons and tons of free peanuts. You go in. You eat the peanuts. You throw the peanut shells on the floor. And tah-dah - you're celebrating Peanut Week!

I found out about this during a bar crawl in the Flats last weekend. We started at Hoopples and written in chalk all over their walls (ahem, "chalk") was: "Peanut Week!", as well as the phrase "Shells on the floor!" and this adorable peanut picture (which, as I told some friends when promoting peanut week, is so cute it almost makes you not want to eat peanuts...almost.):

I was intrigued. Upon speaking with the bartender I found out the details and was sold. I got some other friends in on the deal and we chose yesterday as the day to stop out and throw some shells on the floor.

And let me tell you, they weren't lying about shells on the floor. We walked in and *crunch, crunch* shells were cracking everywhere under your feet. Our group grabbed a couple tables, ordered some beers, cheersed to Peanut Week and quickly plowed through several baskets of peanuts. At first it felt a bit awkward to carelessly throw the shells on the ground, but all you had to do was look around to be reminded that they wanted you to do it. Soooo...we totally made it rain peanut shells in Hoopples! We were throwing them on the ground, throwing them over our shoulders, dropping and stepping on them. Anyway you can think of to throw shells on the floor - we were doing it.

Proof of Peanut Week

On top of all this peanut action, the draft also started last night and Hoopples had draft-related games going on...that's right, it was Peanut Week, with games! They provided us with football bingo cards and Browns trivia sheets. A couple friends and I answered only three of the trivia questions and turned in our sheet - fingers crossed. As for the bingo, it was on! The bartender let us know he had nine official bingo prizes. As the draft went on people were yelling "bingo" left and right. I was getting nervous. Eventually I knew all nine prizes had been claimed and I went to use the restroom, abandoning my bingo card and feeling defeated. But a bit later some friends yelled: "Jenny, you got bingo!" I thought the prizes were done? Wrong. Turned out there were a few more prizes up the bartender's sleeve: free beer! I claimed my prize and happily drank it.

At the end of the night my stomach was full of peanuts and I was ready to head home and have peanut dreams.

So now you know about Peanut Week. Don't worry, it's not over yet, so if you haven't been then there's still time to make a visit and throw some shells on the floor.

Happy Peanut Week!


such a cute lil' peanut - right?