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?