I let my blog go so long I lost my domain name. www.Jen14221.com is now owned by some robot with a love of Italics and travel to Italy who's posted once about golf and some crazycakes therapy lamp. I did enjoy the one reference to Italian wine, though.
In the last fourteen months or so I have had a bunch of changes. My dad died. My cat died. A tree in my yard fell over. Our sewers backed up twice and we literally had a shitty basement for most of January and February. I turned thirty-twelve. I still weigh about 180 and my booobs are still enormous. I changed jobs. The rest of it is either on my twitter feed or none of your fucking business.
Basically I have writer's block unless we're talking about 140-character updates. I occasionally write about being drunk in my Facebook status updates and talk about my boobs (again with the boobs!) on FB or the Twitter. I'm relatively semi-sane and trying hard to be a good person.
Is this my last blog entry ever? Probably not, but this is what you get for now.
No FKP for you today. Look for a SKP instead, on Sunday. Maybe Monday.
I threw a party last night I invited everyone I know that lives in or around the area. I planned on having people over for a few hours, to feed them and to get them good and buzzed, and then kick them out by around 8:30pm so that everyone could go down the street to see the Tears For Fears concert. I know it's hard to get a babysitter sometimes, so I got a bouncehouse and made sure there was soda and I ordered pizza.
If you came, I hope you had fun. I heard the music was pretty cool. Too bad it apparently slipped my mind that my child would no way in hell want to leave the backyard, full of Mountain Dew in cans, and am honest to God bouncehouse to wallk 3/4 of a mile down the street in the dark to hear music from a band that was super-cool back when his mom was still learning how to French-kiss boys.
So I sent Peter with all the guests and I hung back with Will and some of his little friends b/c their parents were smart enough to leave them at the house of awesome, complete with Mountain Dew and a bouncehouse.
Here's me with Norm and Christina.
This morning, I woke with a ghetto sangria hangover and a backyard full of tortilla chips scattered around the yard (the squirrels had a party I think); also a jacked up bouncehouse (talk to Norm and Chuck).
P.S. People who don't RSVP to bouncehouse and sangria parties suck big dicks out loud in public.
Thursday's three recommendations for you:
I went to NYC for Blogher 2010. It was awesome.
I took MegaBus from Philly to New York on Thursday morning. Then I went on a tour of Ellis Island with Liberty Mutual.
It was 104 degrees.
Hot enough to cause my makeup to slide off my greasy face.
Hot, but awesome. I met a bunch of cool bloggers.
Then I went back to the hotel and Laura and I cracked open a bottle of Veuve.
Then we went to a few parties in the hotel and played "I Never"."I Never"is actually not all that exciting when you are 41. Although I have not done everything, like some of my slutty friends.
On Friday morning, the conference officially started.
I posed with a wax figure of Bruce Jenner. Well, I thought he was wax BUT THEN HE SPOKE.
I ate Jimmy Dean sausage.
I thought about attending a session, you know, to learn something. Mostly I walked around the Expo Hall and stalked Padma Lakshmi and stocked up on free stuff that I told myself I did not need, and did not want. Except I did want the free multiple pairs of Spanx and the Luna bars and $50 coupons from Soap.com.
I also had my makeup done and I looked hot. Trust me.
See? SMOKING. Also Sparkly.
My sister @Meribon came to party with us on Friday night.
It was so much fun to hang out with a bunch of the Peevers from The Peevery.
On Saturday I actually did attend a few sessions and also walked around the Expo Hall again, got my makeup done again by my new BFF Debra, makeup artist to the stars. Michelle scored an invite for the two of us to go to a private party at some snazzy salon on 9th where I had my hair did and drank seventeen glasses of sangria and then we crashed the vibrator party at the Warwick Hotel. Where I scored my very first vibrator. YES I AM 41 AND I'VE NEVER HAD A VIBRATOR BEFORE.
You can stop reading now, mom.
Then, back to the Hilton. I did not eat a snowcone. I did eat everything else. And I drank 10,000 glasses of red wine.
I stole this sign from somewhere. I can't remember exactly where.
I danced, I wore neon necklaces as a headband and I had a blast.
Then I went to the CheeseburgHer party and snarfed down a cheeseburger and then I went to my room to throw up.
Did you know I am going to BlogHer tomorrow?
If you follow my Twitter feed, you must know. I also apologize in advance for the next several days of tweeting about WHOOO DRUNK or HOT CHICKS or AWESOME SESSION or WHOOO DRUNK.
I had to be in Philly for work Monday-Wednesday but first thing tomorrow I'm hopping the MegaBus to New York City.
I have a small carry-on suitcase stuffed with my work clothes for the first half of the week and my party clothes for Thursday-Sunday. I'm really quite proud of my packing skills. Besides my work clothes, I packed three purses, four pairs of shoes, four dresses, about six tops, two skirts, and a pair of jeans. Also undies, two pairs of Spanx and my very special extra-large bras. And 17 pairs of earrings.
I will be unable to collect swag or carry any of it home. I'm really not all that into swag anyway, unless it's like a free iPhone (here's hoping!) or maybe a lipbalm or two.
I RSVP's to six or seven parties, and was invited (as an influential blogger - or something) to an event at Ellis Island where I can have lunch and get a tour and talk about Responsible Blogging. Ha.
That's tomorrow afternoon. And then I plan on non-stop stuff until I board a plane on Sunday to fly home and attend the Taste of Williamsville.
We're finally re-doing the Master Bathroom. I first talked about this way back in March 2005. It is actually costing more than I thought it would. We wrote a big check a week or so ago and the guys showed up last Thursday and ripped the bathroom to shreds. The only thing we are saving is the tub.
Peter's planning the whole thing. I really have no interest in going to Lowe's or Home Depot, it does not make me hot like it does my husband, and I don't have the time to go anyway. As long as he picks out tiles that aren't like, yellow,or something, I think we'll be okay. He told me he ordered a nice (read expensive) vanity and sink and a medicine chest from Restoration Hardware, and got some marble tiles the other day. I'm monitoring the credit card charges and so far I'm horrified but whatever.
The only request I had (other than no yellow tiles) was to keep the USED RAZOR BLADES tile because I thought it was so old-fashioned and kitchy and cool. And I came home last Friday to find a 1/8" layer of dust on everything in my bedroom (because I guess no one uses drop cloths anymore) and the USED RAZOR BLADE tile destroyed. Sad.
The contractors found a shitload of rusty razor blades in the wall,along with a few coins and a moldy $5 bill. And a ring.
It's an old, white-gold wedding ring, inscripted with "Phil and Vera 10-2-27". It's small (size 5 or 5.5) but I have freakishly small fingers myself so it fits me.
I did a little research and it seems that the first owners of our house, or at least the first recorded owners (our house was built in 1932, the first owners we have on record bought in 1935). The first owners are listed as a Vera M. and a W. Herbert.
Peter thinks Vera was a divorcee and Herbert chucked her old wedding ring in the razor blade slot one day when he got tired of Vera talking about her first husband, the one who was nice to her, who really loved her. I like to think that Vera was a young widow and I think she was cleaning it one day, just a piece of jewelry she used to wear, and she left it in the bathroom and one of the kids stuck it in there and Vera never knew what happened to it.
We have another one of the razor blade tiles in the other bathroom and I'm kind of dying to see what's inside the wall behind that one.
Anyway, if anyone out there knows a Vera, or a Phil, who got married on October 3, 1927, let me know. I've got something for you.
I didn't really quit the blog, I just had to re-evaulate my relationship with it. I certainly do not need to blog about shit and then get into trouble for it. THERE ARE SPIES OUT THERE, YOU KNOW. WITH THE LAST NAME OF "LOPES". I refuse to password-protect my blog like b/c that is lame with a capital L so I will just have to be more carfeul. Or blog only while sober. Or something like that. LAME.
Currently, as I type, I am in Toronto. We're using some of my points for a free night at the Park Hyatt (verrrry nice) and Peter and Will went to a pro-soccer game (which cost more than a stay at the Park Hyatt would, most likely, WTF). I am going on an adventure to some bar to attend a Pre-BlogHer meetup with some Toronto-area bloggers which should be fun. Then, later I will meet my husband and son for dinner and we shall be merry.
This last week was exhausting, but intense, because I have so much going on along with a new opportunity which should keep me at LMNOP company for another 2 years or so, and the notion of this new project is scary but EXCITING. Who knew this six-month gig in 11/2006 as a trainer would turn into something so big? Not me. I'm still surprised sometimes that I am 41-years old, and responsible enough to pay my mortgage and all the bills and manage to remember to feed my kid, and my cat. Of course, Peter handles everything while I am gone 4 days/week so that makes him a superstar, and he may just get a new car or something (DO YOU HEAR THAT, SPIES?).
So - lesson. Life is strange and I am catching a good buzz (thanks, free bottle of wine in my hotel room) so I better stop blogging for now. I do not want to say anything to offend the spies.
Dear People of Earth, and people in Philadelphia.
Everything on this blog is a lie. Well, some of it is a lie. You should not take anything I say too seriously, and make sure to remember that I am an idiot.
Most of the time.
I like these things. You should try them.
Somtimes I am astounded at how people I knew when I was young are STILL EXACTLY THE SAME. I mean, I know I am have many many flaws/quirks/whatever, some of which make me adorable and some of which make me a giant fucking bitch, but I like to think that I am not the same person that I was back then.
Sorry for the intentional vagueness on this post. As you know, I usually have no problem telling you exactly what I mean and who is on my shitlist. It's safe to say that I am bothered. But my world is big. And I guess I have to stop caring so much about what other people think.
This morning I woke up with my son's feet in my face. It was 8:25am. Peter slept on the couch last night - we have no A/C and it's about 10 degrees cooler downstairs and he did not want feet in his face (and my BIL is in the guest room).
Peter actually woke me up at about 7am, puttering around and ZIPPING and UNZIPPING his suitcase about 100 times, getting ready for work, but 8:25 was when I finally decided to get out of bed. It was already 80 degrees in my bedroom. And I had feet in my face.
Will begged to stay home from camp today because he did not want to miss the soccer game (OH MY GAH I WILL BE SO HAPPY WHEN THIS WORLD CUP SHIT IS OVER) and I finally agreed.
I did a bunch of laundry, cleaned up cat vomit, cared for my child, and listened to Peter's brother snore, loudly, until 10:30am.
Peter came home at some point and he and his brother went to lunch. I was not offered any lunch. I could have totally used some lunch. I fed Will lunch. I did not eat lunch myself.
At 12:45 I dragged Will next door to go swimming. At 1:30 he demanded we go home because SOCCER WAS ABOUT TO START OH MY GAH.
I set WIll up in front of the TV with his cheesy poofs and lemonade and went back to the pool until 3:30. Then I took my sunburned ass home and got dressed and went to the airport.
I flew to Philadelphia. It was 102 degrees when I landed. I checked into the hotel and then I went to Qdoba for tortilla soup.
I was kind of hungry. Remember, I had no lunch.
Working out of town has its benefits (good pay, lots of private time, hotel and airline points) but during the summer I really just want to hang out at home by the pool.
Not my pool, I don't have a pool. I use my next-door neighbor's pool.
Anyway, summer just started and I think just about every other weekend is booked. This weekend I'm flying to Providence, Rhode Island to partake in some Forced-Family-Fun with my in-laws. In July, we're spending a few weekends in Toronto (I have these Hyatt points to use up and they expire at the end of August), and I want to try to get my ass to New York City at some point to see my sissy and her new house.
In August I have BlogHer and we have a week scheduled in the Outer Banks and I have an Ophthalmology go-live in there somehere. Then it's September and Will goes back to school and the neighbors will close up the pool (sob) and I'll be trying to plan our trip to Clearwater Beach in February.
I usually take a week off during the summer to lounge around but there's no time this year. Boo.
I did not ride a plane to Philadelphia this morning. I did spend seven hours in the car with my husband and son yesterday, driving to Philadelphia, so there's that. So this week I plan to work hard and spend time with the fam and talk in World Cup speak A LOT.
My car is in the shop so we drove Peter's car which I do not fit comfortably into. Will happily spent the hours watching DVDs and drawing soccer players rioting.
Then it was time for lemon water ice but hurry! There's another soccer game coming on soon!
Have you seen this commercial?
It reminds me of the Fall of 1986 when I had someone (my mom? my dad? I can't remember) drive my sorry ass out to Southtowns Nissan in the OP to collect my belongings from my sad, crashed, Nissan Stanza. I didn't need my gearshift or Filofax; I needed my Le Sportsac purse and Trapper Keeper.
It was something like nine years before I got another car and I have never driven anything but a Nissan. I am not sure why.
Two years ago today I drove myself to the 14221 in the wee hours and my dad took me to the hospital.
This is me BEFORE:
This is me AFTER:
Looks aside (yes I'm fucking hot), I'm happier and heathier. I still think it's the best decison I ever made.