I was reading an article involving Tony Dungy. I love that man! The article was about christians in professional sports. It reminded me of a story....
A friend of mine joined her church women's softball team last year. Her husband had already joined a team and she, too, wanted the fellowship and exercise. I went to watch her play one night and she did really well. One ball was hit way out to left field but caught just before going over the head of the left-fielder.
After the game the teams got in a circle and prayed, then parted ways. My friend walked over to my car and I told her what an awesome game she played...and what a great hit she had.
Her response....
"Yeah, but the bitch caught the ball."
Monday, September 28, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
My misfortune...
So I had a little misfortune yesterday and I'm pretty sure I brought it on myself. I've been working out very often with my workout buddy and pressing on towards my goal of plus size model. I had to go to Krogers after work and pick up some groceries and while I was in there I made the mistake of turning down the frozen dessert aisle. I wanted to see if the Klondike bars were on sale. They weren't....but it didn't matter. I bought a pack anyway! It's not going to kill me to have them as long as I don't eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Having one on a weekend night is as much pleasure as I can get lately. Cut me some slack!
I check out, go to my car, get in and turn the key. Hmmm. Now this noise I am NOT hearing is NOT normal. I turn the key again. Hmmm. Again, no noise. My battery is dead. I immediately think that this is my "workout karma" purposefully restraining me to cause my Klondikes to melt.
I wait and wait and wait for someone to come out who is parked around me to jump me off.
Finally, after I could use a spoon to eat my Klondike bars, a gentleman parked in front of me comes to his car. Oh...nice looking, clean cut, wedding ring, and it was a minivan. I knew he was someone safe and would be willing to help. He jumped me off and I was on my way.
Fast forward about 30 minutes to O'Reilly's Auto Parts.
I go in O'Reillys to purchase a new battery. There are two men at the counter, one on the phone and the other helping a customer. As my bad luck would have it, the one on the phone ended his conversation and asked to help me. I told him I needed a battery and he told me he'd even be nice and install it. Up until this afternoon, I thought that was their job. A friend informed me that it is a service auto part stores provide. Um....I used to work in one in high school and Mr. Elliott would have never let Greg or Tim sell a battery to a woman without them installing it. Period.
Anyway, I have to describe this guy. I shall not be hypocritical of his completely tattooed arms because I am not without the permanent ink. However, he had one of those earrings in his ear that leaves really large holes....like he is a member of some primitive tribe. He looked like he could be a member of Black Sabbath. I had so wished the other guy was able to help me.
He tells me that I'd be surprised how many people can't install a battery. Nope, not surprised. He told me I should get new wipers. Nope, got them a couple oil changes ago. He told me it only takes him 10 minutes to change the oil in his girlfriend's car. I tell him that it's a wise thing to date a man that can fix a car.
Oh, bad move, Jen.
He looks up, says to me, "you're single aren't you?" I shake my head yes and at that very moment realize I should have lied to him. He says, "sweetie, if I were single you and me would go out".
I'm thinking..."I can put a bratwurst thru your earlobe".
Like hell we would.
I check out, go to my car, get in and turn the key. Hmmm. Now this noise I am NOT hearing is NOT normal. I turn the key again. Hmmm. Again, no noise. My battery is dead. I immediately think that this is my "workout karma" purposefully restraining me to cause my Klondikes to melt.
I wait and wait and wait for someone to come out who is parked around me to jump me off.
Finally, after I could use a spoon to eat my Klondike bars, a gentleman parked in front of me comes to his car. Oh...nice looking, clean cut, wedding ring, and it was a minivan. I knew he was someone safe and would be willing to help. He jumped me off and I was on my way.
Fast forward about 30 minutes to O'Reilly's Auto Parts.
I go in O'Reillys to purchase a new battery. There are two men at the counter, one on the phone and the other helping a customer. As my bad luck would have it, the one on the phone ended his conversation and asked to help me. I told him I needed a battery and he told me he'd even be nice and install it. Up until this afternoon, I thought that was their job. A friend informed me that it is a service auto part stores provide. Um....I used to work in one in high school and Mr. Elliott would have never let Greg or Tim sell a battery to a woman without them installing it. Period.
Anyway, I have to describe this guy. I shall not be hypocritical of his completely tattooed arms because I am not without the permanent ink. However, he had one of those earrings in his ear that leaves really large holes....like he is a member of some primitive tribe. He looked like he could be a member of Black Sabbath. I had so wished the other guy was able to help me.
He tells me that I'd be surprised how many people can't install a battery. Nope, not surprised. He told me I should get new wipers. Nope, got them a couple oil changes ago. He told me it only takes him 10 minutes to change the oil in his girlfriend's car. I tell him that it's a wise thing to date a man that can fix a car.
Oh, bad move, Jen.
He looks up, says to me, "you're single aren't you?" I shake my head yes and at that very moment realize I should have lied to him. He says, "sweetie, if I were single you and me would go out".
I'm thinking..."I can put a bratwurst thru your earlobe".
Like hell we would.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Dating those in "Mid Life Crisis"
I must admit I debated on writing this note. I don't want to make fun of anything or anyone in it but there is just too much to let go without sharing with my "faithfuls". With that disclaimer, I write...
I went on a date Thursday night. Typically I wouldn't even put something like that on FB because it's my business and not necessary to share. The things I share on here are mostly for shock value anyway...but still very TRUE (most of it).
First, I'll state the facts. I've known him for a few months and have seen him a few times. Not in the dating situation but in, I'll say, social situations. I am 37 and he is 53. His oldest son is 6 years my junior. He has two grandchildren. You ask, "why Jenny Bruce, would you go out with a 53 year old with grandchildren?". My answer, "can't get much safer than that". It's not someone I would want a very serious relationship with so absolutely no chance of getting hurt.
Act 1. The plan was to go to the hockey game with tickets that my friend, Jess, set me up with. Shout out to Jess...AWESOME SEATS! We meet up and he is driving a brand new BMW. Taking me out in a brand new ultimate driving machine?.....I ain't mad at ya! No getting hurt and he's got class? Bonus! He even let me take it for a spin. The car.
Act 2. We switch seats and pull away and he punches it. I immediately grab the "oh sh*t" handle and my feet nearly press thru the floorboard. In like 3 seconds we are at 80 mph on a road that isn't but about a mile long. "Isn't it awesome?" Uh, no. My mother has already lost one child and I don't want her to lose another!
He continues to weave in and out of traffic at speeds of more than 80 mph, hitting brakes and punching the gas until suddenly I feel sick...like having just finished a roller coaster ride or having been in the backseat of a car on a winding road. He pauses at traffic lights after they turn green so he can have enough space to floor it again before nearly having to slam on brakes to keep from hitting the car in front of us.
Act 3. We get to the parking area outside the Sommet Center (thank God) and he cautiously backs the car into a parking space, leaving space between the car next to us, who's occupant is exiting. We get out and he proceeds to urinate beside his door.
As if I haven't just started asking myself, "What the heck are you doing with this guy?" after the NASCAR race to get to where we were going......I am now asking myself how I ever thought an older man would be considered "safe". He just pissed in public!
I have never been in a situation like that where a grown person pees in a parking lot. In public. In daylight. With someone standing at the very next car. Never. Who does that?
Obviously, I am really wanting this date to end.
Act 4. We get into the building and he says "Hi".."How you doin'?"..."How's it going?"...to nearly every person we pass. He puts my arm in his and even leaned in to kiss me. I cannot ever remember feeling so awkward in my life. If I weren't with him I would swear that he was drunk.
We get to our seats and proceed to watch the game. I could hardly enjoy it knowing what I had been through to get to this point and knowing I would have to endure it to get home.
At some point during the game he wants to leave because he's hungry.
Act 5. He wants to walk to the Hard Rock Cafe to eat so we stroll the few blocks to get there. Dear friends, he was again saying "hi" to everyone and pumping fists with homeless people playing guitar for money....saying "hey brother". I wanted to crawl in a drain.
We get to the Hard Rock and it's closed for remodeling so we head back. We get to our street and again, he wants to urinate. There is a landmark guitar at the corner of the street...probably stands 6 ft tall and is about 3 ft. wide. He states to me that he can pee right there and no one would ever know. I'm thinking to myself, "if you can whip it out right here and no one know you're peeing then I probably don't have any desire to get to know you better anyway". You get my drift? ;o) As if I needed any more reason! Thank goodness he decides to hold it. No pun intended.
We stroll pass a sports grill and decide to eat. It actually was not a bad time. He had water, no drinks, so he was pretty placid. We talked about his 33 year marriage and recent divorce. We talked some about his boys. We talked sports. We ate.
Act 6. We start to head what was what I hoped "home". He again shows off is car by disregarding all traffic laws. I promise if a cop had been around he would not have been ticketed...he would have been arrested. Here we go again...punching it and slamming on brakes. 90 mph down the interstate, weaving in and out of traffic. Thank God I see our exit sign ahead. We exit and he pulls into a Holiday Inn. Say what? I may be easy but I am not this easy!
He says he wants to go listen to the lounge singer. WHAT?! Lounge Singer?? At this point I am barely keeping my "Pauline" at surface and am about to break out the "Carolyne". I was thinking, "if I were a neutron bomb I would be going off about now". We go in and listen to two young ladies sing for about an hour. Actually, they were very good and it seemed to calm me. Or that could have been the rum and pineapple juice I ordered doing its work.....
Surely you realize I am now agreeing with you....Why, Jenny Bruce, would you date a 53 year old man? I do know that he is most likely the exception and not the rule. I know a few men that age and I would be blessed to date them (if they weren't already married). Heck, a couple of them I know I would marry!
Come on....I'm 37. I had a camero at 16 and got my speed demons out of the way. I learned how to pee in a private setting, on a toilet at a very young age. And I'm not near old enough to be lounge hopping. Turns out I wasn't "safe" at all. He put my life in jeopardy more times in one night than I have in my whole life.
Moral of the story......age + nice car + money DO NOT = class. I guess there really is a thing called mid-life crisis.
Peace my peeps.
I went on a date Thursday night. Typically I wouldn't even put something like that on FB because it's my business and not necessary to share. The things I share on here are mostly for shock value anyway...but still very TRUE (most of it).
First, I'll state the facts. I've known him for a few months and have seen him a few times. Not in the dating situation but in, I'll say, social situations. I am 37 and he is 53. His oldest son is 6 years my junior. He has two grandchildren. You ask, "why Jenny Bruce, would you go out with a 53 year old with grandchildren?". My answer, "can't get much safer than that". It's not someone I would want a very serious relationship with so absolutely no chance of getting hurt.
Act 1. The plan was to go to the hockey game with tickets that my friend, Jess, set me up with. Shout out to Jess...AWESOME SEATS! We meet up and he is driving a brand new BMW. Taking me out in a brand new ultimate driving machine?.....I ain't mad at ya! No getting hurt and he's got class? Bonus! He even let me take it for a spin. The car.
Act 2. We switch seats and pull away and he punches it. I immediately grab the "oh sh*t" handle and my feet nearly press thru the floorboard. In like 3 seconds we are at 80 mph on a road that isn't but about a mile long. "Isn't it awesome?" Uh, no. My mother has already lost one child and I don't want her to lose another!
He continues to weave in and out of traffic at speeds of more than 80 mph, hitting brakes and punching the gas until suddenly I feel sick...like having just finished a roller coaster ride or having been in the backseat of a car on a winding road. He pauses at traffic lights after they turn green so he can have enough space to floor it again before nearly having to slam on brakes to keep from hitting the car in front of us.
Act 3. We get to the parking area outside the Sommet Center (thank God) and he cautiously backs the car into a parking space, leaving space between the car next to us, who's occupant is exiting. We get out and he proceeds to urinate beside his door.
As if I haven't just started asking myself, "What the heck are you doing with this guy?" after the NASCAR race to get to where we were going......I am now asking myself how I ever thought an older man would be considered "safe". He just pissed in public!
I have never been in a situation like that where a grown person pees in a parking lot. In public. In daylight. With someone standing at the very next car. Never. Who does that?
Obviously, I am really wanting this date to end.
Act 4. We get into the building and he says "Hi".."How you doin'?"..."How's it going?"...to nearly every person we pass. He puts my arm in his and even leaned in to kiss me. I cannot ever remember feeling so awkward in my life. If I weren't with him I would swear that he was drunk.
We get to our seats and proceed to watch the game. I could hardly enjoy it knowing what I had been through to get to this point and knowing I would have to endure it to get home.
At some point during the game he wants to leave because he's hungry.
Act 5. He wants to walk to the Hard Rock Cafe to eat so we stroll the few blocks to get there. Dear friends, he was again saying "hi" to everyone and pumping fists with homeless people playing guitar for money....saying "hey brother". I wanted to crawl in a drain.
We get to the Hard Rock and it's closed for remodeling so we head back. We get to our street and again, he wants to urinate. There is a landmark guitar at the corner of the street...probably stands 6 ft tall and is about 3 ft. wide. He states to me that he can pee right there and no one would ever know. I'm thinking to myself, "if you can whip it out right here and no one know you're peeing then I probably don't have any desire to get to know you better anyway". You get my drift? ;o) As if I needed any more reason! Thank goodness he decides to hold it. No pun intended.
We stroll pass a sports grill and decide to eat. It actually was not a bad time. He had water, no drinks, so he was pretty placid. We talked about his 33 year marriage and recent divorce. We talked some about his boys. We talked sports. We ate.
Act 6. We start to head what was what I hoped "home". He again shows off is car by disregarding all traffic laws. I promise if a cop had been around he would not have been ticketed...he would have been arrested. Here we go again...punching it and slamming on brakes. 90 mph down the interstate, weaving in and out of traffic. Thank God I see our exit sign ahead. We exit and he pulls into a Holiday Inn. Say what? I may be easy but I am not this easy!
He says he wants to go listen to the lounge singer. WHAT?! Lounge Singer?? At this point I am barely keeping my "Pauline" at surface and am about to break out the "Carolyne". I was thinking, "if I were a neutron bomb I would be going off about now". We go in and listen to two young ladies sing for about an hour. Actually, they were very good and it seemed to calm me. Or that could have been the rum and pineapple juice I ordered doing its work.....
Surely you realize I am now agreeing with you....Why, Jenny Bruce, would you date a 53 year old man? I do know that he is most likely the exception and not the rule. I know a few men that age and I would be blessed to date them (if they weren't already married). Heck, a couple of them I know I would marry!
Come on....I'm 37. I had a camero at 16 and got my speed demons out of the way. I learned how to pee in a private setting, on a toilet at a very young age. And I'm not near old enough to be lounge hopping. Turns out I wasn't "safe" at all. He put my life in jeopardy more times in one night than I have in my whole life.
Moral of the story......age + nice car + money DO NOT = class. I guess there really is a thing called mid-life crisis.
Peace my peeps.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Jenny Bruce Heifer
I can't make this stuff up.....
To those who have read my notes before, you know I dream alot. Too much. Last night, once again, proved no different.
You know how we tend to dream things we've thought about, talked about, seen, etc. during the day? Happens to me, too. I'm weird but not any different than you. Here goes....
I am the only woman in a department of men. Needless to say, I'm popular. I don't know if it's my supply of Willy Wonka candy, my darling personality, my ability to listen even when I'm screaming on the inside for the person to shut up, or my rather voluptuous breasts. Does it even matter? Anyway, they all stop by my office dozens of times a day and talk. They talk about their wives, girlfriends, work, weekends, our boss, sports....anything, and they talk about it. So needless to say it didn't surprise me when one of my "regulars" stopped by yesterday and talked about how slow work was. He went on to say that if it got too bad he could go back and work his farm. He said he would buy some "feeder calves", fatten' them up and sell them. He went on and on and it was then that I was screaming inside that I'd rather be submitting a document than listen to this man talk about fattening a calf up to be the quarter pounder it will eventually become.
Part two...
My last status post mentioned something about me knowing what I wanted to do. I stated in a response that I was going to trim down and be a plus size model. I will never be skinny. I don't want to be skinny. I heard growing up that meat is for the man, bone is for the dog. I live by that motto. I am big-boned and have curves, and I can do everything a little woman can, and just as well. Heck, I've heard a man scream my name more than once....you dig? ;o)
I'm getting somehwere with this...trust me....
So in the middle of the night I am dreaming about calves and weight loss. The two are not a pretty combination. I wake up thinking I have to lose the amount of weight equal to that of a calf. WTH? I promise I do not smoke 'da dope.
I say to myself...OUTLOUD....in the middle of the night..."Jenny, you have to lose the equivelant of a heifer.". So I immediately start to giggle that I'm carrying around extra weight equal to that of a heifer. It comes to mind, the Jenny Bruce Heifer has to go in order to achieve my plus size model goal.
When I lose this "heifer" I'll still be curvy and sexy, I just won't have half my body mooing or looking for a tit.
To those who have read my notes before, you know I dream alot. Too much. Last night, once again, proved no different.
You know how we tend to dream things we've thought about, talked about, seen, etc. during the day? Happens to me, too. I'm weird but not any different than you. Here goes....
I am the only woman in a department of men. Needless to say, I'm popular. I don't know if it's my supply of Willy Wonka candy, my darling personality, my ability to listen even when I'm screaming on the inside for the person to shut up, or my rather voluptuous breasts. Does it even matter? Anyway, they all stop by my office dozens of times a day and talk. They talk about their wives, girlfriends, work, weekends, our boss, sports....anything, and they talk about it. So needless to say it didn't surprise me when one of my "regulars" stopped by yesterday and talked about how slow work was. He went on to say that if it got too bad he could go back and work his farm. He said he would buy some "feeder calves", fatten' them up and sell them. He went on and on and it was then that I was screaming inside that I'd rather be submitting a document than listen to this man talk about fattening a calf up to be the quarter pounder it will eventually become.
Part two...
My last status post mentioned something about me knowing what I wanted to do. I stated in a response that I was going to trim down and be a plus size model. I will never be skinny. I don't want to be skinny. I heard growing up that meat is for the man, bone is for the dog. I live by that motto. I am big-boned and have curves, and I can do everything a little woman can, and just as well. Heck, I've heard a man scream my name more than once....you dig? ;o)
I'm getting somehwere with this...trust me....
So in the middle of the night I am dreaming about calves and weight loss. The two are not a pretty combination. I wake up thinking I have to lose the amount of weight equal to that of a calf. WTH? I promise I do not smoke 'da dope.
I say to myself...OUTLOUD....in the middle of the night..."Jenny, you have to lose the equivelant of a heifer.". So I immediately start to giggle that I'm carrying around extra weight equal to that of a heifer. It comes to mind, the Jenny Bruce Heifer has to go in order to achieve my plus size model goal.
When I lose this "heifer" I'll still be curvy and sexy, I just won't have half my body mooing or looking for a tit.
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