My boss sent me this link. He said "It's like it was written by you." i feel conflicted about this. First, i am BEYOND flattered that he felt i could have written something like this. Second, i am so upset that i haven't and have to link to someone else's blog.
Reguardless, everything that this girl says, i whole-heartedly agree with. When Shakespeare wrote, "What's in a name?" he obviously hadn't heard the atrocities that parents are naming their children these days.
Rexburg Baby Names
Enjoy her post. And i highly encourage you to read back to the posts she has about names from previous years. And if any of my followers name their future posterity from this list, i may have to block you from my blog.
P.S. As it is Mother's Day, i feel that i should take a moment to acknowledge mine:
Dear Mother,
Thank you for not only naming me "Jennifer" but for spelling it correctly. Heaven forbid i should be "Ginnyphyr" or something likewise ridiculous.
Love,
me.
08 May 2011
09 March 2011
Addendum to Previous Post
*Scene: Driving in the car and having a perfectly normal conversation about transvestites (don't judge).
Jacob: Speaking of transvestites, is Lady Gaga one?
Me: i don't think so...
Jacob: Are you sure? Because in her song she says "Don't be a drag, just be a queen" and sometimes she looks...different.
Me: Now that i think about it, she was on the cover of a Cosmo and they wouldn't make a transvestite a cover girl. So she must really be a she.
Jacob: Oh good. If she was a drag queen I would feel so...deceived.
**Side note: "To dress" in spanish is "vestir." Trans=cross. Ite=person/group of people. Cross-dresser. Huh.**
Jacob: Speaking of transvestites, is Lady Gaga one?
Me: i don't think so...
Jacob: Are you sure? Because in her song she says "Don't be a drag, just be a queen" and sometimes she looks...different.
Me: Now that i think about it, she was on the cover of a Cosmo and they wouldn't make a transvestite a cover girl. So she must really be a she.
Jacob: Oh good. If she was a drag queen I would feel so...deceived.
**Side note: "To dress" in spanish is "vestir." Trans=cross. Ite=person/group of people. Cross-dresser. Huh.**
08 March 2011
i think we're funny
Sometimes after a conversation between me and Jacob, I stop and think to myself, “It’s either a shame or very lucky that no one else was party to that exchange.” Mostly we just laugh at ourselves. Jacob can make me laugh until I can’t breathe, my eyes stream, and I have to pee. These quotes ring true to me, especially these past couple of weeks:
“Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh.” W. H. Auden
“Laughter is the closest distance between two people.” Victor Borg
“We cannot really love anybody with whom we never laugh.” Agnes Repplier
Enjoy a peak into a few moments that I found hilarious. I hope that they make you laugh too!
*Scene: Discussing budgeting for next month and cutting down miscellaneous expenses
Me: “We need to make sure to set aside something to buy you a new pair of pants.”
Hubby: “Oh. Shoot.”
Me: “What?”
Hubby: “I was hoping to get some new accounting software instead.”
Me: “Pants are a necessity. Computer software isn’t.”
Hubby: “Not necessarily!”
Me: “Going to go pantless, are you?”
*Scene: Shopping for above mentioned pair of pants for Jacob. He has just exited the dressing room trying a new pair of jeans. I’m hoping to get him to wear his jeans more fitted.
Me: “Would you be comfortable wearing a pair that is a little tighter?”
Hubby (with panicked look on his face): “Tighter where!?!”
*Scene: An exchange via text when I’m on the shuttle on the way home from work.
Me: “We are leaving Blackfoot now.”
Hubby: “K”
Me: “Shoot! Just realized we forgot to change our address with Netflix.”
Hubby: “Oh. Right.”
Me: “Someone on the bus just said they cut off commissioning officers at 31 years old.”
Hubby: “No.”
Me: “Wow! We’re late today! You there?”
Hubby: “Yes”
Me: “Shuttle is almost there. Just jumped onto I86.”
Hubby: “K”
Me: “Do you know your responses to my texts are never more than 3 words? :)”
Hubby: “I never have”
Hubby: “claimed to be”
Hubby: “a good texter”
*Scene: I honestly don’t remember because the following conversation made me forget everything that had happened before.
Me: “Are you sure?”
Hubby: “Sure as shit.”
VERY awkward pause
Me: “I’m glad you are so regular.”
Hubby: “I don’t know WHERE that came from and I don’t want to talk about it.”
*Scene: Making sure Jacob was ok if I posted these convos.
Me: “Are you alright if I put that on my blog?”
Hubby: “Ok, as long as I am anonymous.”
Me: “So I should just say, ‘My husband, who wishes to remain anonymous, said…’”
My husband, who wishes to remain anonymous: “Sure!”
“Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh.” W. H. Auden
“Laughter is the closest distance between two people.” Victor Borg
“We cannot really love anybody with whom we never laugh.” Agnes Repplier
Enjoy a peak into a few moments that I found hilarious. I hope that they make you laugh too!
*Scene: Discussing budgeting for next month and cutting down miscellaneous expenses
Me: “We need to make sure to set aside something to buy you a new pair of pants.”
Hubby: “Oh. Shoot.”
Me: “What?”
Hubby: “I was hoping to get some new accounting software instead.”
Me: “Pants are a necessity. Computer software isn’t.”
Hubby: “Not necessarily!”
Me: “Going to go pantless, are you?”
*Scene: Shopping for above mentioned pair of pants for Jacob. He has just exited the dressing room trying a new pair of jeans. I’m hoping to get him to wear his jeans more fitted.
Me: “Would you be comfortable wearing a pair that is a little tighter?”
Hubby (with panicked look on his face): “Tighter where!?!”
*Scene: An exchange via text when I’m on the shuttle on the way home from work.
Me: “We are leaving Blackfoot now.”
Hubby: “K”
Me: “Shoot! Just realized we forgot to change our address with Netflix.”
Hubby: “Oh. Right.”
Me: “Someone on the bus just said they cut off commissioning officers at 31 years old.”
Hubby: “No.”
Me: “Wow! We’re late today! You there?”
Hubby: “Yes”
Me: “Shuttle is almost there. Just jumped onto I86.”
Hubby: “K”
Me: “Do you know your responses to my texts are never more than 3 words? :)”
Hubby: “I never have”
Hubby: “claimed to be”
Hubby: “a good texter”
*Scene: I honestly don’t remember because the following conversation made me forget everything that had happened before.
Me: “Are you sure?”
Hubby: “Sure as shit.”
VERY awkward pause
Me: “I’m glad you are so regular.”
Hubby: “I don’t know WHERE that came from and I don’t want to talk about it.”
*Scene: Making sure Jacob was ok if I posted these convos.
Me: “Are you alright if I put that on my blog?”
Hubby: “Ok, as long as I am anonymous.”
Me: “So I should just say, ‘My husband, who wishes to remain anonymous, said…’”
My husband, who wishes to remain anonymous: “Sure!”
08 February 2011
::melancholy::
i just had to go through a series of very hard "goodbyes." I hate how people that have become so important to me sometimes move out of my life so quickly. In the spirit of my melancholy mood, here is a list of other things i hate:
*that blast of cold water that always comes shooting out when i first turn on the shower.
*feeling envious.
*having chipped toenail polish and no time to change it.
*cliches that are unfortunately accurate. For example: When it rains it pours; What goes around comes around; Champagne tastes and a beer budget.
*reading about other people's "perfect lives" on their blogs.
*the smell of sour towels.
*being so worried about getting to sleep that i can't sleep at all.
*holes in the heels of my socks.
*trying to find the right shade of foundation.
*how much i relate to the word "bittersweet" at the moment.
Goodnight. Hopefully the cliche "after the rain comes the rainbow" becomes applicable in the next few days.
*that blast of cold water that always comes shooting out when i first turn on the shower.
*feeling envious.
*having chipped toenail polish and no time to change it.
*cliches that are unfortunately accurate. For example: When it rains it pours; What goes around comes around; Champagne tastes and a beer budget.
*reading about other people's "perfect lives" on their blogs.
*the smell of sour towels.
*being so worried about getting to sleep that i can't sleep at all.
*holes in the heels of my socks.
*trying to find the right shade of foundation.
*how much i relate to the word "bittersweet" at the moment.
Goodnight. Hopefully the cliche "after the rain comes the rainbow" becomes applicable in the next few days.
14 January 2011
Jacob Story #1
Every year I forget how much I despise winters in Rexburg. The snow, the wet, the ice, the wind and the cold, man the cold. I step outside, breathe in the air and feel my nose-hairs, nasal passages, lungs and my very brain freeze. Bitter cold came early this year and I am only surviving thanks to heated car seats, fuzzy socks and my tea kettle which is constantly whistling for me to make yet another mug of hot cocoa. Someone told me once that the best way to forget the cold is to think of warm things and places. Therefore, in order to fight off the frost, here is a story from a place slightly warmer than Rexburg.
On his first tour for Operation Iraqi Freedom, Jacob was stationed in the middle of the “sandbox” that NO kid would want to play in. Heats easily reach 130 degrees Fahrenheit through July and August at his base in Northern Iraq. When the occasional breeze stirred through, it felt like a blow-dryer—not a hint of cool relief. The soldiers didn’t have usual water heaters for their showers. The water sat in tanks in the sun to heat up; it would get so hot that it scalded their skin.
Brutally, in this heat, all soldiers are required to wear their issued uniforms, including tall boots, long pants and jackets; when they are on the road, they add 60 pounds of body armor and equipment over their uniform. Then, they were all shoved into a heavy, metal, armored oven (also known as either a humvee or 5-ton) and sent out into the heat on convoys. The so called “air conditioning” did little to nothing to cool the air in the vehicles—in order to cool off at all, the soldiers attached hoses to the air vents and stuck the hoses right up under their body armor.
Jacob’s deployment was “hot” in more than just the temperature. Almost every convoy encountered problems, especially IEDs that constantly damaged equipment. Most of the time overseas, Jacob labored in the “motor pool,” putting back together the vehicles that blew up on the convoys. Every so often his turn to leave base on a convoy would roll around and he would head out into the heat of the action.
One particular mission kept Jacob and all the soldiers tense—not only had one of the vehicles in their convoy already hit an IED, but they also had a pickup full of hostiles drive by and shoot at the vehicles along the road, focusing on their convoy. These threats had Jacob especially on edge. As the driver of the truck, he had to keep his eyes peeled and make sure not to lead the other two soldiers (the gunner and the truck commander) into unnecessary danger.
In the midst of all of this pressure, Jacob heard an explosion and instantly felt warm, sticky liquid splatter across his face, neck and hands. Filled with horror and not knowing if the liquid covering him was fluid spouting from the vehicle or blood, he barely dared to look around. He felt terror that he would discover his gunner shot to bits, the truck commander dead next to him, or even his own legs blown off. After this moment of panic, Jacob realized that not only was everyone in the truck alive, but the vehicle hadn’t even been hit! In fact, the inside of the 5-ton truck grew so scalding hot that a soda can, sitting in between the driver and passenger seat, blew up, showering the soldiers with Cola. Apparently, if the hodgies don’t succeed in killing you, then the heat will try.
**Please note: This is a true story. Jacob has never seen the movie Memphis Belle—a problem that we will have to remedy shortly. Any similarities to certain scenes in that movie are purely coincidental**
**Please also note: i am aware that i may be killed by a suicide bomber for using the offensive term of “hodgie” on my blog. However, i am willing to take the risk for two reasons: 1- that is what the soldiers called them and i am trying to stay true to the feel of the situation. 2- it would be an extremely cool way to die and would make the news for certain!**
On his first tour for Operation Iraqi Freedom, Jacob was stationed in the middle of the “sandbox” that NO kid would want to play in. Heats easily reach 130 degrees Fahrenheit through July and August at his base in Northern Iraq. When the occasional breeze stirred through, it felt like a blow-dryer—not a hint of cool relief. The soldiers didn’t have usual water heaters for their showers. The water sat in tanks in the sun to heat up; it would get so hot that it scalded their skin.
Brutally, in this heat, all soldiers are required to wear their issued uniforms, including tall boots, long pants and jackets; when they are on the road, they add 60 pounds of body armor and equipment over their uniform. Then, they were all shoved into a heavy, metal, armored oven (also known as either a humvee or 5-ton) and sent out into the heat on convoys. The so called “air conditioning” did little to nothing to cool the air in the vehicles—in order to cool off at all, the soldiers attached hoses to the air vents and stuck the hoses right up under their body armor.
Jacob’s deployment was “hot” in more than just the temperature. Almost every convoy encountered problems, especially IEDs that constantly damaged equipment. Most of the time overseas, Jacob labored in the “motor pool,” putting back together the vehicles that blew up on the convoys. Every so often his turn to leave base on a convoy would roll around and he would head out into the heat of the action.
One particular mission kept Jacob and all the soldiers tense—not only had one of the vehicles in their convoy already hit an IED, but they also had a pickup full of hostiles drive by and shoot at the vehicles along the road, focusing on their convoy. These threats had Jacob especially on edge. As the driver of the truck, he had to keep his eyes peeled and make sure not to lead the other two soldiers (the gunner and the truck commander) into unnecessary danger.
In the midst of all of this pressure, Jacob heard an explosion and instantly felt warm, sticky liquid splatter across his face, neck and hands. Filled with horror and not knowing if the liquid covering him was fluid spouting from the vehicle or blood, he barely dared to look around. He felt terror that he would discover his gunner shot to bits, the truck commander dead next to him, or even his own legs blown off. After this moment of panic, Jacob realized that not only was everyone in the truck alive, but the vehicle hadn’t even been hit! In fact, the inside of the 5-ton truck grew so scalding hot that a soda can, sitting in between the driver and passenger seat, blew up, showering the soldiers with Cola. Apparently, if the hodgies don’t succeed in killing you, then the heat will try.
**Please note: This is a true story. Jacob has never seen the movie Memphis Belle—a problem that we will have to remedy shortly. Any similarities to certain scenes in that movie are purely coincidental**
**Please also note: i am aware that i may be killed by a suicide bomber for using the offensive term of “hodgie” on my blog. However, i am willing to take the risk for two reasons: 1- that is what the soldiers called them and i am trying to stay true to the feel of the situation. 2- it would be an extremely cool way to die and would make the news for certain!**
31 December 2010
Resolved
i used to set New Year's resolutions in the past, but the last few years i haven't. i realized that it was always a disappointment when i didn't hold to them and i ended up even more discouraged. But this year is going to be different. i am resolved...and besides, i've set up resolutions that i am SURE i will be able to keep.
In 2011 jo will:
1-Spend many hours a week lost in literature
2-Eat at least one piece of chocolate a day
3-Stress about a clean house
4-Get a good dose of whining in once a day
5-Memorize everything on the Taco Bell menu
6-Procrastinate just a little more
7-Have a nervous breakdown once a month
8-Double the amount of shoes in my closet
Hey, when your expectations are not met, then you've probably set them too high :)
On a more serious note, i am quite determined to be a little more grateful this year. After all, i live a relatively charmed life. Happy New Year!
In 2011 jo will:
1-Spend many hours a week lost in literature
2-Eat at least one piece of chocolate a day
3-Stress about a clean house
4-Get a good dose of whining in once a day
5-Memorize everything on the Taco Bell menu
6-Procrastinate just a little more
7-Have a nervous breakdown once a month
8-Double the amount of shoes in my closet
Hey, when your expectations are not met, then you've probably set them too high :)
On a more serious note, i am quite determined to be a little more grateful this year. After all, i live a relatively charmed life. Happy New Year!
21 December 2010
The Smell of Citrus
It seems there are so many Christmas stories about oranges. Oranges, clementines, tangerines stuffed in stockings. Children who had nothing for Christmas but this fruit, which became their treasure. Stories about sacrificing parents who worked hard to provide oranges for their families on this special day, or selfless friends and neighbors who brought the spirit of Christmas to others by means of orangey treats. Even my father remembers his socks stuffed with tangerines on each 25th of December. Because of his childhood tradition and memories, each of his kids finds a citrus surprise in the form of a tangerine of our own on Christmas morning. In spite of all these Christmas connections, oranges and their tangy smell don’t bring me memories of the birth of Christ or the joy of Christmases past. As I sit here in my house in Idaho, typing with fingers that smell of my freshly peeled clementine, I feel drawn back to a cold and grey February in Paris, France—far from my family, far from my home and far away from Christmas memories.
On that dreary afternoon I was doing my homework—to learn the streets of Paris, notice the architecture, and communicate with the people in their native tongue. Winter in Paris is drizzly and damp, a kind of cold that I had never experienced before. Knowing I would be outside walking all day, I left my apartment bundled in the warmest of coats, my new European scarf and gloves to protect my fingers from the chill. In my wanderings, I found myself on a narrow cobblestone road bordered with old, stone, and ivy-covered apartments. On the corners sat booths with vendors selling their wares. Knit hats, scarves and mittens, painted canvases, plates and vases, and fresh cheese, bread and produce all lay out across tables, tempting the passerby.
A younger merchant stopped me as I strolled past his tray of fresh fruit. In an attempt to keep my attention focused on his stand, he engaged me in conversation and was quick to notice that I was a foreigner (not at all hard to recognize when I practiced speaking French to him). After exchanging a few brief facts about where I was from and what I was doing in France, I attempted to excuse myself. However, the gentleman came around the other side of the table, told me that he was “enchanted” to have met me, that my French was coming along nicely, and that I was beautiful—for an American. As a parting gift, he pressed a beautiful, enormous orange into my gloved fingers and I continued on my way. Not wanting to expose my fingers to the icy air, I peeled and ate my juicy treasure without removing my gloves. For the rest of the day (and even a few days afterwards) every time I brought my hands close to my face, I could smell the citrusy smell on my gloves. Each time, I smiled and thought of my perfect orange.
Even now, four years later, the scent of citrus reminds me of that stunning European street, a friendly stranger, brief words exchanged in a foreign tongue that I once spoke so often, and a lingering aroma on my gloved fingers from a sweet and tangy treat.
On that dreary afternoon I was doing my homework—to learn the streets of Paris, notice the architecture, and communicate with the people in their native tongue. Winter in Paris is drizzly and damp, a kind of cold that I had never experienced before. Knowing I would be outside walking all day, I left my apartment bundled in the warmest of coats, my new European scarf and gloves to protect my fingers from the chill. In my wanderings, I found myself on a narrow cobblestone road bordered with old, stone, and ivy-covered apartments. On the corners sat booths with vendors selling their wares. Knit hats, scarves and mittens, painted canvases, plates and vases, and fresh cheese, bread and produce all lay out across tables, tempting the passerby.
A younger merchant stopped me as I strolled past his tray of fresh fruit. In an attempt to keep my attention focused on his stand, he engaged me in conversation and was quick to notice that I was a foreigner (not at all hard to recognize when I practiced speaking French to him). After exchanging a few brief facts about where I was from and what I was doing in France, I attempted to excuse myself. However, the gentleman came around the other side of the table, told me that he was “enchanted” to have met me, that my French was coming along nicely, and that I was beautiful—for an American. As a parting gift, he pressed a beautiful, enormous orange into my gloved fingers and I continued on my way. Not wanting to expose my fingers to the icy air, I peeled and ate my juicy treasure without removing my gloves. For the rest of the day (and even a few days afterwards) every time I brought my hands close to my face, I could smell the citrusy smell on my gloves. Each time, I smiled and thought of my perfect orange.
Even now, four years later, the scent of citrus reminds me of that stunning European street, a friendly stranger, brief words exchanged in a foreign tongue that I once spoke so often, and a lingering aroma on my gloved fingers from a sweet and tangy treat.
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