Making Mountains Out of Molehills

Today has been a very difficult day for me. For several reasons. For starters, I am hungry. And while, after three days of diligent fasting, I still can't recall my famed dick hat story, I have managed to shrink my breasts by two, quite essential, inches (at this rate, inversion seems imminent). Secondly...actually, there is no secondly, but I'm irritated enough about the breast thing to make it count twice.

The thing that is really irking me, however, is this...Someone asked me what my most embarrassing moment was. And I had nothing. No unexpected wardrobe malfunctions. No mortifying moments involving vomit, a midget, and the Thanksgiving Day parade. You see, I've embarrassed myself loads of times, but never in the colossally red-cheeked, tail-between-my-legs fashion that would be the stuff of legend. What I do have, is a litany of mildly amusing awkward moments that, individually, always fail to impart the sheer awesomeness of the collective embarrassement I've experienced over the years. And because I love telling a good story so much, this really chaps my hide.

It also leaves me with only one logical solution. I must lie. I must concoct a moment so embarrassing, so rich with comic fodder, that telling the story will fill me with immense pride. Therefore, I am enlisting your help. Perhaps you've got a story that I can steal, or maybe we'll all just make one up together. Whatever the method, I want to make damn sure that the next time someone asks me, "What's your most embarrassing moment?" I'm ready to spin a fantastical web of deliciously satisfying lies...

Life in the Fast Lane

I started a fast today that, among other things, is designed to increase my mental acumen and memory skills. You see, lately I've been having trouble remembering things (Remember just the other day when I forgot which way the d and the b go? Well, I don't. But I read about it on my blog and it terrified me into action). So, I am fasting. In part, because getting fond childhood memories back has become somewhat of a priority for me. But mainly, because I used to know a really great story about a woman in a dick hat and several chimpanzees and now, sadly, I'm having trouble recalling the sordid details. And let's face it, if I lose this story, I'm nothing. Nothing!!!!!!

In other news, I am hungry. Would someone kindly send me a sandwich (sans mayo, of course. As luck would have it, food phobias are impossible to forget).

I've Got Jungle Fever (And Not the Good Kind)

I am a hypochondriac. Name a disease or chronic ailment and I've most likely already had it. Once I know the symptoms, self-diagnosis is mere moments away. For several hours yesterday I was clearly suffering from an acute case of Australian Spotted Fever. This morning, I spent breakfast with Diphtheria (which, I probably don't have to tell you, makes it very difficult to enjoy an otherwise delightful bowl of cereal). Needless to say, I tend to blow things out of proportion. Which is why I'm trying not to worry too much that, at present, I am exhibiting numerous signs of either Gingivitis or Hepatitis A thru E. On the bright side, my fear of testiculitis was completely unfounded. Guess I dodged a bullet on that one. Whew...

Mixing Up My Conquerors

Napoleon was short. Alexander the Great was gay. Attila was...a Hun. In the future, kindly remind me not to get into heated historical arguments after imbibing several glasses of wine. Otherwise, I'm just setting myself up for ridicule from those smarter and more vindictive than me. Stupid confusing conquerors.

Groove is in the Heart

Some people can not dance. If you are one of these people, you may or may not know it. My money is on "may not," as self-awareness is clearly not your forte. Neither is grace or rhythm. You are a drunken casanova with a penchant for 80's dance tunes and complete reckless abandon. And I adore you. Here are several reasons why I love and admire you...

1. The Hustle
2. The Roger Rabbit
3. The Electric Slide
4. The Robot
5. The Funky Chicken

So please, keep on shakin' your groove thing, despite your lack of proficiency. You may be a lousy dancer, but in the end, you will survive. Hey, hey...

bumd and bumder

This morning, while lying in bed and attempting to take a phone message, I puzzled for a full minute over which way the d and the b go. Evidence of a larger problem? Perhaps...

The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People

Please, please be something along these lines...

1. Wake up
2. Cold pizza
3. People's Court
4. Nap
5. Lifetime Movie
6. Leftovers
7. Blog

Another productive day. Ah, the sweetness of success.

Lost in (Cyber) Space

If you go to Google and type in "Playing Chicken with Marsala," you won't find this blog. But, if you go to Google and type in "Playing Chicken with Marsala," you will find a passable recipe for Chicken Marsala and several articles about "playing chicken" with a possum/buffalo/or anteater (turns out playing chicken with undomesticated land mammals is rarely a good idea). In summation...glad you found us. Both of you rock.

Cracking the Walgreen's Conspiracy

An elaborate world of codes exists out there, and I want in. Codes are everywhere. They are written and broken and interpreted by cops and spies, and quite surprisingly, although, I'm sure not without good reason, Walgreen's employees. As further evidence that I have been left out of some nationwide memo, today I unwittingly displayed characteristics that would make an unassuming pharmacist declare me a "Code 10". When I inquired about just what might define a "Code 10," and why it was necessary to announce it over the loud speaker, I was quickly rebuffed. At which point, I used several interrogation tactics I'd previously seen on television (i.e. incessant singing of Don Ho's Tiny Bubbles). Even by Walgreen's high standards, she proved incredibly adept at dancing around the issue at hand. But, after hours of intense questioning, she finally crumbled. "Code 10" has no meaning she confessed. Turns out she just gets really bored filling prescriptions. And codes are fun. Indeed.

I'm Sorry Mama...

I cleaned out my closet this weekend, and was almost killed by an errant hanger and a pair of polyester pants. Several times, in fact, I cheated death in its varying forms...asphyxiation, exhaustion, embarrassment at the realization of past, or worse still, current fashion faux pas'. Eschewing sleep, sanity and even blogging I trudged onward like a woman possessed. And as I slowly unearthed the carpet that was inevitably waiting beneath years of neglect and slovenliness, I felt a tinge of sadness and loss. The time had come to throw things away. I bid goodbye to my favorite spandex jumpsuit circa 1993. And said ado to the fishnet stockings that I always swore I'd find an occasion to wear. With blinding clarity, I finally realized that the handcrafted wooden shoes I'd once purchased were not my wisest investment.

Now, as I sit here, with the weekend's purge behind me, I try to cope with the longing for my lost treasures. The grief will subside soon enough, I'm told. I'll find new clothes to love. New excuses to go another few years without a good spring cleaning. And, of course, I'll always have the memories. But deep down I know I'll cling to the kernel of hope that someday, somewhere, someone will enjoy my green taffeta cocktail dress as much as I once did.

Science on My (Back)Side

Science doesn't lie. It doesn't need to. If you ever find yourself in a heated debate with a scientist, odds are you will lose. This may come as a surprise to you, but they know more than you do. Much much more. After all, they can split an atom. What can you split?

As a rule, I like scientists. Penicillan was a good idea. Botox was inspired. And now the scientific community has impressed me once again by releasing the results to a study that says that laughter is a valid and efficient way to shed those extra unwanted pounds. Turns out if you laugh for a mere 10 minutes a day, you can lose up to five pounds over the course of a year! Now, I'm no mathematician (As a rule, I don't even like mathematicians.), but if I've run the numbers correctly (and I believe I have). laughing for 50 minutes a day can make you 25 pounds lighter by this time next year. Amazing! From now on, I am on a strict romantic comedy regimen. Goodbye, balanced diet and exercise! Hello, When Harry Met Sally! So take my advice (and science's), skip the gym, read my blog, and feel your backside shrink and shrink and shrink. Did I mention I love science?!

You've Lost That Bloggin' Feeling

Experts say it takes 21 days to form a habit. And to these experts I submit the following plea and apology...

I, Jenn Marsala, am deeply sorry for being completely remiss in posting yesterday. In my defense, I was kidnapped by pirates. Please still consider me for habitdom. Thank you.

You Must Be a Gemini

Today a friend rang me up to report on my daily horoscope. It predicted that my day would be both productive and exciting. Money would be flowing. An attractive new suitor would bake me a bundt cake. It predicted a banner day. It was wrong. And I bet whoever wrote that feels a bit sheepish just now.

So, in order to spare you, my readers, the same disappointment I endured today, I've done my homework and created a foolproof and completely accurate daily horoscope for you. In return, feel free to bake me a bundt cake.

Capricorn: You might eat a sandwich today. If you do not eat a sandwich today, you might eat one within the next 30 days. It may or may not be delicious.

Aquarius: Oxygen is important to you. You like it. You will use it today.

Pisces: You hate your job. If you are at work now, you wish you were somewhere else.

Aries: Spelling is not your forte. Neither is math. Today you will scrape by on charm and/or good looks.

Taurus: Watch your wallet today. When you get bored, watch some television.

Gemini: A secret crush on Jenn Marsala pays off. She admires you. Loves you even.

Cancer: Exciting things are in store for you. Today or eventually.

Leo: Fasten your safety belt. Look both ways. Be wary of masked madmen.

Virgo: You can read. If you cannot read, you will not be offended when I tell you that your butt looks big in those pants.

Libra: You are delightful. A secret admirer will bake you a bundt cake.

Scorpio: Love is in the air. You or someone you know might get lucky.

Sagittarius: It is a favorable day for communicating with others. Respond to a blog. Namely this one.

Range of Emotions One Experiences Upon Learning that One Has Missed the Annual Old Town Tustin Chili Cook-Off...Again.

Devastation. Possibly, a hint of indifference. But mostly devastation.

Jenn Marsala: Hipster and Cunning Linguist

This evening, in an attempt to feel youthful and/or hip I used the phrase "Don't be hatin'!" And although I'm fairly certain I used it in the correct context, something about it seemed desperately wrong. Go figure...

Conversation I Overheard While Waiting In the Bathroom Line at the Pixies Concert

Girl 1: Like like like like like like like!

Girl 2: Dude...

Girl 1: Totally.

And as I sat in silent judgement of their questionable social skills, I aged 10 years and became patently uncool. Bummer.

You Are Awesome

Odds are, I would probably like you. If I met you on the street, I'd probably say something like, "Wow! What an intelligent and articulate person. Such white teeth and nice gums. I wish we were best friends." I might invite you over for a pot luck dinner. Or ask you to join my book club. And most likely, over the course of our friendship, I would learn all about you. Your likes and dislikes. Your dreams and goals. Your best recipe for guacamole. I would speak fondly of you to my friends and/or coworkers, saying things like, "You should hear what happened to So-and-So. It's so funny/interesting/inspirational. That So-and-So really is a stand-up guy/girl (So-and-So is, of course, my nickname for you. You call me Sweet Pea)."

Unfortunately, and here comes the really sad part, I may never get to meet you on the street. You may never get to join my book club. I may never taste your guacamole. I'm afraid to say it, but the odds of a chance meeting between us aren't exactly in our favor. Depressing, but true. However, because I think we could really have something here, I've come up with a delightful alternative. This will require your participation and will, invariably, start us on the road to a long and happy friendship.

Write in and tell me all about you (or someone you know, I'm not picky. But then, you already knew that about me, didn't you). Submit a good story, interesting fact, or never before revealed secret about yourself, your grandmother, or your neighborhood grocer. And then (and here's the really good part), one of you will be chosen for an exclusive, "Playing Chicken" interview. Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Sweet Pea and So-and-So, Friends Forever! Full story to follow...

Monkeying Around

This afternoon I was propositioned by a giant banana. A very persuasive giant banana, at that. And because I just can't say no to mammoth sized fruit, I spent my afternoon handing out bumper stickers and posing for photos. For just a moment, with excited tourists to my left, a man in a banana suit to my right, and a feeling of self-satisfaction deep in my heart, all was right with the world.