Arcades and stretchy hands.

Take a look at this link, and if you remember to, come back and read the rest of this post:
A Stretchy Hand!

OH MAN. They really are taking every classic, amazing, and once tangible thing and making it digital aren't they?! Not that I don't love this (It's so dumb & fun)... but now kids will see actual sticky hands and go - "oh they made a real one from that website!"

...No, kids... no.

You used to have to play a lot of really stupid arcade games to get that hand. You had to spend like 5 dollars on tokens in order to play said arcade games enough times to finally win (if you sucked like me).... only to get a measly ten little paper tickets, with which you could use as currency to choose from an array of fine dollar-store quality prizes; the parachute men, the dentist-style rings, etc.  But we all know the best one was that rubber hand. It reached so far... it was like you had a fantastic rubbery extension of your own arm! Finally you could be Dhalsim from Street Fighter (If you don't know who Dhalsim is. Or if you do. Either way, this is awesome & you should click it. )!!!

You could slap people with it, you could annoy the heck out of your mom with it, you could [try to] stick it to the cat, stick it to the wall, or my personal favourite - sling it up toward the ceiling to grab some of the little white and sparkly flecks that so easily crumbled off. That hand was so much more fun, and way more amusing than those brutal arcade games that you had to beat to get it.  That is, for the first 10 minutes of slapping things and sticking it to stuff, until it became so completely full of dirt and hair that it resembled something your cat either killed or coughed up; not to mention that it was at that point completely useless. Or until you flung it to the ceiling with such zeal, such reckless abandon, that in the moment you were so excited to fling it that you LET GO of it, and so it got stuck up there.

All of that hard work doing the dishes and mowing the lawn to earn your allowance (I didn't really have to work that hard to earn my allowance... but I'm sure a lot of kids did, and with them I empathize) to buy those overpriced tokens....
All of those tokens spent on that stupid frogger game, and all of that determination and frustration to beat it just to get those tickets, to get that sticky hand... and it all amounted to either a piece of disgusting, hair and dirt ridden, cat vomit resembling piece of rubber, or a new ceiling decoration.

But there were those ten minutes of pure slapping, sticking, Dhalsim fun. And that is why you always chose that stretchy hand.

mem-mwas

I went out for coffee with someone & we were discussing how it seems as though people are writing memoirs younger and younger these days. Prime example: Justin Bieber. Has that little dude's voice even dropped yet? How can he have written a memoir? Also, every time I hear of or think about the word 'memoir,' it sounds like John Malkovich's voice in my head, from the movie "Burn After Reading." He talks about how he is going to write his memoir (memoir? memoirs?), and he pronounces it "mem-mwas." It's probably the best thing about the movie.

So anyway, I was thinking about that conversation some more. I was thinking about how I had once thought that one day it would be fun to write a memoir... I still think I would like to, but because of that conversation, I realized I should wait until I'm old to do so. But then I thought, "What if I die in my twenties? I will never have had the chance to write a memoir." So there's that. But on the other hand, if I write one sooner because I might die, I might live to be really old and it will be rather lame to have written a memoir so early in life.

I decided that if I live to be sixty, I will write a memoir. That's not really super old, but who knows what could happen after that point. I don't mean to say that all sixty year olds are super old and should be concerned about the ticking time bombs that are their bodies, but I'm pretty sure that my body is like a dormant volcano. I have seen what it is capable of, and I will tell you, my friends, it isn't pretty.

Anyway. Me being sixty, now there's a funny thought! That would take 35 more years of me staying alive. I don't know, guys... I have my doubts. In case I don't get there, or in case I forget, here's a little story from today at work. I call it:

"Working with a brain that doesn't work (the way you want it to)."

I don't know how many times I have set out to do a task and have completed it from start to finish without getting sidetracked or forgetting about it, or starting something else in the midst of it. At work, I have a nice chunk of office time in the mornings, before my intern and I leave to go set up for camp and then pick up the kids. This is my least favourite part of the day, because it requires sitting at a desk and doing tasks; reading/responding to emails, planning... other things that don't involve playing outside and hanging out with kids.

We also have chores in the office. My chore, as per my request, is collecting and taking out the garbage and recycling. I go around to everyone's desk and take their discarded paper and old coffee cups... and either take it to the big trash bin outside, or if it is recycling, to our shed. We have too much recycling to just leave out for the garbage trucks to take, apparently; so we pile it in a shed in the backyard until it builds up so much that you can't use the shed for anything else (my bicycle literally got buried in paper and cardboard this summer). And then I get to load it in the van and take it to the recycling depot. It's pretty fun actually.

Anyway. I hadn't done my chore in a while (we're supposed to do it once a week), so I took a break from what I was working on to go collect the recycling. I gathered everything from the main office where most of us work, and then went into the administrator's office, saying "Bring out 'cher dead!" which was received by a most delighted and genuine laugh (this happens every single time I take the recycling from her).

I was done gathering the recycling, so I went to the back door (which is in the kitchen) to unlock it and go outside to the shed. But first, I got my lunch and put it in the microwave, so that when I got back inside from putting the recycling in the shed, my food would be heated up for me. When I got back inside I remembered that I hadn't done the other part of my chore - taking out the garbage. So I got a big bag and started going around dumping the contents of everyone's garbage cans into the big bag. Like with the recycling, I started in the main office, and then went in the direction of the administrator's office. On the way there, I noticed in the hallway two large boxes of mail.

The church and our office are on the same property (we are tenants of the church), so mail for them gets delivered to our door, and I get to bring it over with me when I set up for camp. I had actually noticed the boxes a couple times already, but was not wanting to bother with them, so I figured I should put them by my desk so I remember to take them next door with me when I set up for camp. The desk behind mine is vacant at the moment, and there is a short bookshelf beside it, so I thought the bookshelf would be a good place to put the boxes for the time being. But then I noticed the book shelf was a little unorganized and full of old junk no one was using, so I started sorting that out... and then ended up going through the whole desk while I was at it. At some point during this process I realized my food was still sitting in the microwave, so I got that and started eating it.

Here is where I don't really know what all went on and things are a little bit muddled in my mind... but I was sitting at my desk eating, and I was getting to the end of my bowl of food, and it was becoming clear that I was going to need a spoon to do this thing right. So I got up to get a spoon. On the way to the kitchen, I saw the big bag of garbage that I had left in the middle of the hallway earlier, when I noticed the boxes of mail (I must have passed that big bag of garbage at least once already, when retrieving my forgotten food from the microwave.). So I picked that up and finished gathering the trash from the administrator's office, and took the bag outside to the bin. When I came inside, I saw my dirty tupperware that I brought my lunch in, sitting by the sink. So naturally, I washed that, as well as any surrounding dishes, cleaned the sink, and wiped the counter. Feeling accomplished, I sat back down at my desk.

...Oh yeah. I was going to get a spoon and finish my food. When I went back into the kitchen to get my food, it was nowhere in sight. Perplexed, I retraced my steps back to my desk. On the way back, I saw my bowl sitting up high on a filing cabinet behind a stack of paper. Right where I had left it when I noticed the big bag of garbage in the hallway. A perfectly normal place to leave one's lunch, I'd say.

I ate the rest of my lunch, with a spoon, and then thought through how I was going to prioritize the rest of my tasks with the remaining 45 minutes I had left in the office.

Where the crap I've been...

Why, hello. It has been a while, hasn't it? You've probably forgotten about me and moved on to other, more exciting ways to waste time on the world wide web (Perhaps you've chosen to follow Conan on Twitter, or decided to rekindle your youth and have rediscovered the game "Jezzball"...I know I have). I've missed a few months, I realize. December, January, February, AND March... yikes. I won't try to catch up, but I will try to pick this blogging once a month thing up again.

I started feeling more and more (and more) sick and that is why I stopped blogging for a while, as I didn't have any motivation for much of anything, least of all trying to sit & be creative. Well, "feeling" sick implies that I was just, well, feeling sick. But no. I was ill. It's hard to explain - without being graphic, grossing you out and scaring you away - the extent of this experience.

You know when your entire digestive system is cleared out, over and over again, until it feels like the very essence of who you are has gone down the toilet? Like your spark for life has been blown out like the post-smelly-poo match? Like your spirits have been crushed by dump truck loads full of toilet paper? Like your enthusiasm and joy have been beat down with the very hammer that is repeatedly hitting the inside of your stomach?

... I have tried to come up with more fun metaphors and similes but I'm out. Like the nutrients in my food which were very prematurely eliminated before my body could make use of them.

Though I did end up with a crappy diagnosis, I have since been figuring out how to manage it and I am starting to finally feel like myself again. I am remembering with much fondness and nostalgia, but most importantly, by experience, what it is like to be healthy. And, perhaps, most wonderfully of all, I am rekindling the flame with my estranged love, food.

A self deprecating post, for a friend.

At the request of a friend, I am writing about my absolute clueless and frightened state of singleness. Because it is funny.

Over the last few years I have come to realize a lot about myself, as I suppose most people do in their early twenties. One thing that I have more recently began to think about - and I don't want to say "I realized about myself" because then it is true - is whether or not I am awkward.

The odds are not in my favour.

Some examples:

1. Sometimes people tell me I am awkward.

2. I wave at people. It's like a nervous tick. If I want to talk to someone who is across a room, instead of going over to them, I wait for that brief moment of eye contact. When that moment comes, I don't really know what to do with it... smile? Sure. That would make sense. But no, I guess I feel that is not sufficient, so I raise my hand to about shoulder level (while the elbow stays close to my waist) and and wave it back and forth. Why? Rarely is this reciprocated.

Who invented the wave? It's silly. It's a vague sort of a greeting that says "I don't know how to communicate to you with my face right now, nor can I get close enough to you to talk to you, so I will just start moving other parts of my body. In fact, why don't I just stand here and flail around until you look away? Good?"

As if I didn't already look like weird enough standing around like an awkward teenager at a high school dance... you know, hanging out by the refreshments (are there refreshment tables at high school dances? I wouldn't know, I never went to any.), peering back and forth between the food and the person of interest. Both are good. Food = good. Person I want to talk to = also good. Both good. But food is easier. You don't need to talk to or wave at it. And if there's punch... forget about it.

When I was in high school I was practically a poster girl for non dating. I questioned, even chastised my friends regarding their dating decisions. I insisted that there is absolutely no point in dating while you are in high school because those relationships wouldn't last. "Are you going to marry this person?" I would say, condescendingly. "Umm, I don't know" would be their reply - as it should be from someone in their teens. "Well, why are you dating then? What is dating to you, anyway?" etc etc. I was doing my friends a great service, really, constantly sharing my many insightful musings on the topic.

I was annoyingly proud of my stance. I don't think I would enjoy talking to myself about this, were I to go back 8 or 9 years and meet me. But really, I think I would have a great time hanging out with me. We would laugh a LOT. And get into only God knows what kind of shenanigans. We would only discuss 15 year old Jenny though, lest we get into some sort of Back to the Future scenario, where I told her about stuff from the future and then it changed the course of important events and messed things up for everyone. Mind you, shenanigans probably wouldn't help in not messing up people's futures either.

If I got into conversations with 15 year old Jenny about current Jenny, she would be like "You're not married? What? Oh... you're not even dating anyone? I thought you'd have this figured out by now. I expected you to. I know I am acting like a pompous ass now, but come on. You're not in high school anymore. You're 24. You should at least have a potential boyfriend... something on the go..... nothing? Why are you so weird?"

(Let it be noted that these would be the thoughts of a 15 or 16 year old me. I do not currently regret that I am husbandless. I am in fact, 24. *Note the different context this time when stating my age, and how in this light, I .... I don't really need to explain this, do I? )

Then 15 year old Jenny would probably do all sorts of irrational things based on information she gained about her future upon meeting current Jenny, and then who knows where current Jenny would end up. Which means, I would be different, which means 15 year old Jenny would then have met a different Jenny than current Jenny.... and this is why time travel makes no sense. And my name is starting to look really weird the more I type it.

ANYWAY...

As it turned out, my best friend from high school, who had the privilege of listening to my many thought provoking and convicting messages on why dating in high school is stupid, married her high school sweetheart. And here I am, 24, trying to figure out basic things about dating and relationships that she figured out in grade eight. Ironic, no? It's funny... I guess. Yeah. It's pretty freaking good.

My blog sucks.

Well, I suppose if I want to continue on this "one post a month" trend I should write something, as October is nearing it's end.

It just so happened that for the previous few months I had one day in there somewhere where I thought of something in particular I could write a blog about. Not so this month. So who knows what's going to happen. Maybe this is a mark of the end of an era. Four posts... (I almost wrote "poast" again)... I had a pretty good run. Except they weren't all that good, either, so not really.

I should write a post (Seriously. Try to type "post" without first typing "poast". I don't think it can be done.) using as many lame and overused words as possible that I can think of. It will be one of the most annoying blog posts (postas) you've ever read. Or maybe it will be very similar to conversations you have daily with friends.

So on Saturday I went to see Mumford & Sons and it was totes one of the most epic concerts I've ever been to. There was this totally random moment with a lady that was really awkward where she put her hand on my knee to sort of lean on as she stood up to let someone out of the aisle, and then she realized what she was doing and we had a pretty good laugh about it. It was legit. Then the opening band played and they were so epic that I wanted to buy their cd, but I didn't have any cash. Fail. Then at the end of the night I left my umbrella in the aisle and didn't realize until I left the building. Epic fail.

... Okay, I can't go on like that any longer.

Mumford & Sons, I have to say, was not epic, because unfortunately the term epic doesn't really mean what it should anymore. Everything is epic; funny stories are epic, that movie was epic, that time Carl drank four frostys was so epic.

Mumford & Sons were amazing. I was blown away. If I said they were epic, I would be cheapening how good they were, because I can not call Mumford & Sons epic when someone else is calling a youtube video epic. It's not the same thing.

I continued on a little rant about some of the other words in there and why it annoys me when people say them, but then I deleted it. No one wants to read this as I go on pretentiously talking about words and what they mean and why people should or shouldn't say them. Heck, say whatever the crap you want. I'm not God. Except don't say the eff word at my camp unless you're prepared to write lines.

This is boring. I'm bored now.

Sorry this post (paost, followed by poast) was so lame.

Here is the picture of a zombie that I drew on my Etch-A-Sketch that I mentioned before:

I don't really like it anymore. When I did it I thought it was cool and funny, but now it scares me a little bit.

This month's post.

When I first typed the subject line, I wrote "This month's poast." It made me laugh really hard. Poast. It looks like it should be a real word, doesn't it? I reminds me of "poose" (which is also not a real word) and "toast." Imagine having some toast with a slice of poose bacon. Mmmm that would be good. It would be like normal bacon (which is incredible), but would have a game-y taste to it, because of the moose-ness (to know what the crap I'm talking about, go here). Some poast would be pretty good right now.

I was going to write something nostalgic about summer... you know, 'It's already September, where has the time gone,' etc. Okay actually I wasn't, I was just going to tell you about this one time during summer when my room mate was on vacation and I watched a movie.

I believe it was during my prep week at work before summer day camp started. I was basking in the dim light of the post midnight hours, getting in all my late nights while I still could. Soon I would have to be more wise when choosing a bedtime, as I would have to wake up early enough to get mentally and physically prepared for six energetic, loud, tiring hours spent with upwards of 90 kids.

But I was still free to stay up as late I fancied. It was about 12:30 AM and I had a sudden and uncontrollable urge to watch What About Bob. If you haven't seen that delightful movie, please stop reading this lame blog, and go rent it and watch it. It will be a better use of your time.

But the problem with my sudden need to watch What About Bob was that it was almost one o'clock in the morning and I knew that a) this was a movie watching scenario in which I would definitely need to be lying down, and in a state of utmost comfort, and b) I might feel sleepy and want to fall asleep in front of the TV (enter point A again). The problem with this was that I hate my couch. Well, I have two couches. Well, I guess only one couch. I have a couch and a loveseat. The loveseat is comfortable, but not enough for the level of comfort that I desired, because being a loveseat, it is of course far too short for me. The couch is almost long enough for me, but not quite. And it is leather, which is never a good idea for furniture. Who thought of leather furniture anyway, and why?! I don't understand why people like it.

Some jerk: "Hey, Simmons, I've discovered this awesome material that is perfect for furniture!"

Simmons: "What is it, boss?"

Jerk: "Leather. You're gonna love it. You should use it on your couches."

Simmons: "Will it be cool and refreshing to sit on in the summer?"

Jerk: "No, it will be sticky and hot. You won't want to sit on it while wearing shorts, or other typical summer clothing. You will need to change into pants and a long sleeved shirt, which are too hot to wear in summer."

Simmons: "..."

Jerk: "But in winter, it will be cold and unwelcoming. You will need to wear pants, and probably also throw a blanket over it, which will constantly slip off the couch because leather and every other material are like oil and water. What do you say, Simmons?"

See? That's not fun for anyone.

Another one of my problems with starting a movie late at night is not having good eyes. I knew that if I were to start watching a movie at night, and potentially fall asleep, contacts would not be a good idea. Contacts are fantastic - they allow for all of the joys that people with perfect vision take for granted, that one could not enjoy while wearing glasses: peripheral vision, walking in the rain, things like that. But after several hours of wearing them, and especially after an extended period of time wearing them while looking at a glowing screen, you may feel like you've been walking through a desert. But the alternative to contacts is glasses, which are almost worse when it comes to late night movie watching, especially when maximum comfort is what you are striving for. If I were to go the glasses route, I would have to give up the dream of lying down, because who wants to lie down and have a pair of glasses digging into the side of their face? Not me. I've tried to mix glasses, TV, and lying down too many times before and it always ends with disappointment.

So I came up with the most brilliant solution of all solutions. It was a solution that I am still proud of and remember very fondly. It solved all of the aforementioned issues... it made it possible for maximum and utmost comfort, it would allow for clear movie watching without the need for contacts, glasses, or squinting, and it would be most conducive to the inevitable falling asleep that would ensue about halfway through the movie that I needed to watch. I moved my mattress from my bed into the living room, right smack in front of my TV. I had my bed in front of the TV. It was fantastic. I know, I know, you're probably thinking, "You idiot, it's called a laptop. Ever heard of one?" Well What About Bob is such a movie that needs to be watched on a real TV, on a big screen (or so I felt that night. And still do.). Plus when you bring your laptop into bed to watch something, you're just going to bed and watching a movie. But what I did was create a situation where I could watch a movie while going to bed. Do you see the difference? When you watch a movie in your bed on your laptop you are done for the night. But camping out in my living room with my mattress in front of the TV - it was a movie watching experience. I had the big screen. I had snacks. I enjoyed supreme comfort.

So I started watching What About Bob at quarter to one in the morning, in my bed. In my living room (and bonus: I ended up sleeping there for the next few nights). I laughed my head off at the hilarious antics of Bob Wiley, while eating Lays salt & vinegar chips, pepperoni sticks, and cold, leftover bacon that I stored in my fridge for such an occasion. Tell me you're not jealous. I doubt you can.

Toy Story

Today my brother, sister in law, and two lovely nephews came to visit me. While we were getting dinner ready, my little nephew crawled around my non-baby-safe apartment doing fun things like knocking videos off the shelf and playing with remote controls, which apparently I have a somewhat extensive collection of. If you know me well, you know that I am stupidly anal and borderline OCD about cleanliness and order, so you may be thinking this was bothersome to me. But you're wrong. I love that little boy much more than tidiness as it turns out (but later I fixed the movies... I can't help it). He also came and grabbed onto my legs to help himself stand up, making it very hard to to anything else but stand there and be enamored with his cuteness, and also try to hold it together through the pain of his grabby little hands and sharp fingernails.

My other nephew was watching Toy Story. He had seen the third Toy Story but neither of it's prequels. He asked me "Is there scary babies or teddy bears?" and I reassured him that there were not. Man, I was freaked out by that stupid baby (if you haven't seen Toy Story 3, you need to. It's fantastic. But there is a freaky baby.) and I'm 24. My nephew is 4 (ok, almost 5). Poor kid.

Toy Story made a lot of sense to me when I was a kid. It wasn't really a crazy idea, like, for example "The Brave Little Toaster". Toasters, vacuum cleaners, lamps... coming to life when the humans are gone? That's ridiculous. But toys, yes, that makes sense.

I definitely thought my toys had feelings when I was a kid. I remember getting very, very upset at my brother for punching my favourite stuffed bear in the face repeatedly, while saying "Look at his face, Jenny! He's still smiling!" I would just stand there yelling at him to stop, crying for my poor bear, who just had to hold it together and put on a brave face while getting smoked in the face time after time. I have that same bear to this day, and yes, he is still smiling. What a trooper.