Moose

Our neighbors were ambitious enough to welcome a small, black lab puppy into their homes last spring. They named him Moose and at the time, I had no idea how fitting this name would become. 

As a general rule, I think people should buy appropriate puppy gear before investing in the actual animal. My neighbors skipped this (key) step. 

For several weeks, Moose was led around on a red rope looped around his neck, no collar, no nothing, just Moose. His owner tried diligently to teach him the basics: sit, stay, come, stop chewing on my hand, no don't pee there, cut it out! You know, the basics. Well, to put it bluntly, his owner failed... miserably.

No big deal, right? 

The weather started to get colder and I saw less and less of Moose because I assume he's been confined to his inner sanctum where I'm sure he terrorizes the hell out of everyone. 

Keep in mind, the last time I saw Moose he still resembled a small, enthusiastic puppy, not quite able to put one foot in front of the other without swaying.

Tonight however, I had the privilege of getting reacquainted with Moose in the most unfortunate of circumstances. Walking to my truck this evening (I parked 2 blocks from my house...long story) I was briskly turning the corner, concentrating on the ground so as not to slip on all the snow and ice, when I hear the all too familiar jingle of dog tags coming in my direction.

Whipping my head up I see a 70 pound black creature barreling straight at me through the snow with complete ease. Clumps of snow are flying through the air in slow motion as club like paws claw at the ground, quickly gaining momentum. And, running at me with little coordination and great speed is Moose. Fucking Moose. 

I stood frozen (literally and figuratively) deciding what to do. 

If I don't move, maybe he won't see me. No! If I use my ninja-like reflexes, I can just jump OVER him once he gets to me. No! I'll rapid fire snow balls at his face long enough to scurry away. NO!.... As you may have guessed by this time Moose has reached me. I closed my eyes, braced myself for the blow (and most likely death) and waited...and waited... After deciding I wasn't dead, I opened my eyes just in time to see Moose miss me completely, hit the snow and ice covered road and go slip sliding away down the street.

For the record, while he was sliding away, I bid him farewell and I noticed no collar, no nothing... just Moose.

To Be Jolly

Decorating the tree (or MY tree if we're getting into specifics) is an intricate process. Allow me to elaborate.


Years ago, my dear mother separated my ornaments and my sisters into separate bins so that when we grew up, we could whisk them off to our own homes and decorate our own trees. Well... 3 years later we're still decorating our parent's tree.

That's not the point.

The point is that my ornaments (mostly hand decorated glittery objects indistinguishable from crumpled trash with the letter 'J' all over them) MUST be showcased. Let's be honest, I was a child prodigy in the area of feather and glitter placement when it comes to decorating. All of that to say I tend (always) to claim the front of the tree for the strategic placement of my masterpieces collected through the years.

This year was different. After years of my sly manipulation a certain sister REFUSED to have her ornaments ignored. The result?

Cindy.

Picture this: a ceramic angel whose face was drawn by an eager 4 year old with permanent marker. Cindy's "gown" (if you can call it that) is bedazzled with glitter that has dutifully clung to her robes for all these years. Not impressed? That's because I didn't tell you about her yellow feather hair glued all over her head, jutting out in every direction.

This year, for the first time, Cindy is displayed proudly in the front and center of our Christmas tree.

You must be thinking, wow Jessica, you've really grown as a person to not be so selfish. FALSE. I felt guilty for the following conversation:


(Decorating the tree listening to christmas music)

A christmas song starts playing and the whiney voice of a woman just keeps repeating the line "a baby changes everything" over and over and over. I waited until halfway through the song (sometimes I try to keep my opinions to myself) to comment "Wow this song is really stupid." My sister agrees with me whole heartedly by saying "I know! This is stupid!"... We continue to decorate the tree and listen to this awful song... 30 seconds before it's over she yells "OHHHH! Like a baby, like baby Jesus!! I get it!!"

After rolling on the floor laughing for a while, I finally managed to ask her what she thought it was about, a public service announcement about premarital sex?
She responded by saying she just thought they were trying to get the point across that babies make life hard. Then follows it up with a statement along the lines of "I was wondering why they were playing such a depressing song during Christmas."

I love her and I love Cindy.

Tis the Season

So now that Thanksgiving has come and gone, Christmas festivities begin.  Hanging decorations, putting up lights, getting the christmas tree...it's all very "lifetime movie" esque.

My family, per my insistence, has a yearly tradition of trekking out into the wild (a tree farm in Utica...and by that I mean somewhere in Ohio that feels forever away) to hand pick and chop down our family Christmas tree. Before you get a gleam of Christmas cheer in your face, you should probably know the facts.

First, we take the dogs. Mine and my parents along for the ride. It can go one of two ways... pleasant snoring from the back, OR (the more likely option) my dog climbing back and forth over the seat to sit in my lap, check out the snacks, lick my eye...the usual.

Second, my parents and I have a different idea of what constitutes Christmas music. While packed in the SUV, I insist (every year since its release) that we jam to NSYNC Christmas. Is it really too much to ask to enjoy boy bands during the holidays?

Third, once we arrive the searching commences. My mom always selects the first tree she sees and is CONVINCED it's THE PERFECT one. The reason for this is because she wants to go home because my sister and I have annoyed the hell out of her by now. And more often than not, her selection is...well...awful.

Fourth. You should know I am a Christmas tree connoisseur. Since childhood my parents have made my sister and I "take turns" picking the tree. Note the " ". Obviously my eye for pine needle perfection cannot be suppressed. So, for several years running I have been able to convince my sister that she picked the tree last year.

It goes: "Jessica, it's my turn! You picked it last year!"
Me: "Lies! You always say that just because you want to get your way. I can't believe you're being so selfish!"

So, later after we've strapped my selection to the roof of the previously mentioned SUV, we begin the drive home. This is where the tradition SHOULD end.

Fifth. The ride home. Well, it goes like this:
"Hun, I don't think you tied the tree on tight enough. I think it's moving"-Mom
"No, I did. It's fine. Stop watching it." -Dad
"I'm not. I'm watching the shadow...OH! I heard something move...what if a squirrel is in there...we should have brought more rope.... Should we pull over to tighten it?...Jessica, stick your arm out and try to hold the tree on to the roof."- Mom


So, can't you see why I refuse to let my parents get a fake tree? What a hassle....

In Michael Jackson We Trust?....

I've been saying it from the beginning, that Justin Bieber is a freaking moron, but tonight at the AMA's he illustrated it better than I ever could.

As he strutted to the stage with his boy band swept hair, tight jeans, and bling (let's keep in mind he's white) he had victory gleaming all over his prepubescent face. 

He accepts his second award with the following words "I want to thank Michael Jackson. Without him, we wouldn't be here."

WHAT? Ok, to clarify, I enjoy the musical talents of Michael Jackson as much as the next person. BUT COME ON.

In the beginning Michael Jackson created man? In the name of the Father, the Son and Michael Jackson?  Did Michael have a hand (a white gloved one at that) in divine creation? 

FAIL. 

Harry Potter

Harry freaking Potter. I love it. I love it all equally. I love the ridiculously long novels, the strange vocabulary, the fans who dress up as his or her favorite character and the strange food the theaters provide for individuals such as myself to enjoy.

Let's talk about it.

So me and 3 others decided we would brave the crowds and the insanity to be part of the epic midnight showing of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Excellent decision all around.

Question: Have YOU seen a grown man dressed as a house elf hobbling around the theater in nothing but a burlap sack?  (no really , he literally hobbled around ALL night)

Answer:I have. And if that's not dedication, I don't know what is.

Also, I have to take the time to defend my love of Harry Potter. I can't help but be surprised by how many people think it's outrageous that someone of my age (I'm only 23 by the way) would still enjoy this stuff, but I've got to tell you, I saw exactly one person under the age of 16 all night.

Adults running around in dress robes, carrying wands, and drinking butterscotch foam (or coffee for those who weren't used to staying up past 10pm.) It was like Christmas for these people (myself included). Everyone was smiling and slurping icees.

 Mind you, we arrived promptly (well, three minutes late, but that's not my fault) at 10:00 pm to get our seats which left a solid two hours to take everything in.

The best part is that everyone was so happy to be there and behavior that would normally set off a generally impatient person (like myself) did not.

As people were clambering over my legs and stepping on my feet to get a third, fourth, who knows, maybe fifth refill of popcorn, all I could do was smile and say "Oh, it's fine. No really, just push on through. " or "Ouch...oh no, it's perfectly ok! I didn't really need that toe anyway. Don't worry about it!" All while smiling.

Or, while waiting in a line for concession (that wrapped around so many times I'm sure it looked like a cinnamon bun from above), I was grateful it only took 25 mins to get twizzlers and an icee that I had to carry with two hands. I actually said the phrase "Oh, you should go get popcorn! It really only took us 20 or 25 minutes" to someone. (He did-and he got a refill).

Now, in retrospect, I have to admit I'm stunned at some of these observations, but I can guarantee I will be in the exact same place. at the exact same time (hopefully not 3 minutes late) to do it all over again for the final Harry Potter installment.

Being. Brilliant.

I blog. This is me blogging. Blog blog blog.Ta da! I'm not really sure about blogging etiquette (or if such a thing truly exists), but since when have I adhered to the social norm?... Point made.

Now that I'm an official blogger, I expect to wow everyone with my eloquent prose, deep thoughts and pivoting life view. I'm sure that I will become insanely famous, making so much money I can begin buying pool houses for all my friends and family (put in your orders now).

Ok, I've just now decided to create blogging rules for myself and those individuals who sacrifice  their time to read this.

1. I will use the words fuck, shit, damn, ass and probably all the equivalents in French. If this offends you, stop reading NOW (damnit).

2. I will NOT simply whine about how unfair my life is, no one cares.

3. I will NEVER use anyone's actual name even if it is crystal clear to whom I am referring.

4. I will do my very best not to use short hand like, u, txt, goin, l8tr, brb and all that other annoying shit.

Ok. Excellent. Now to more important matters. My truck stereo=gone. After sparks flew out at me (driving down high street, in the dark, in the rain, in traffic) and I saw my life flashing before me, I decided, "hey, let's look on the bright side."..... I'm still trying to think of the bright side.. BUT I think I have a good start.

First, the next time there's an electric fire in my truck, I know the best course of action (which was screaming, yelling, driving like a maniac, calling my dad, and then buying electrical tape).

Second, instead of listening to music in the mornings (or just while driving 6 hours for Thanksgiving) I can contemplate things to blog about!

Third, a thug somewhere is jamming to the melodious french cd's that were in my truck. Therefore, I have single handedly cultured someone. Basically, I'm a hero.

All in a days work. No really, that was my day today.