Drive-By

I think someone attacked Kenny Rogers with a Botox gun among other things. I suspect his former face is bound into a ponytail behind his head. I'm just sayin.

jenji

Ritual

Wally

The mumbling codependent is at it again. Wally fell from his nest, while his parents made their frustration readily apparent by screaming at one another all evening. Dusk was quickly approaching, stray cats looming.

And so first I made this:

And then I went about weighing it down (rocks beneath the grass) and perching it within the crook of a tree in the backyard.

The parents weren't particularly jazzed about my involvement despite my use of gloves and anesthetic (for me, not Wally). At least Wally is safe from predators and the damp ground. It'll be interesting to see if the integrity of the nest will hold up overnight, as well as whether or not his parents have figured out what has transpired because frankly, Wally's ready to eat and I'm out of worms.

I'm just sayin'.

jenji

I Say Tomato

I'm frequently approached by loquacious individuals--specifically, gentlemen-- in the grocery store, as well as senior citizens, however the latter is a tale for another time. I'm not entirely sure why men--particularly middle-aged men--find the need to speak to me. Actually I have my suspicions--a gut instinct-- and they range from the very benign and friendly to the dangerously sociopathic; today the gentlemen registered somewhere in the middle.

The Particulars:

I needed two vine ripe tomatoes and so I began to do what I always do: fondle the produce. Produce needs to be handled so as to ascertain its quality and shelf life. And so I aggressively handled the tomatoes. I tried to do so generically, as I was already aware of his eyes upon me and I could feel--I could tell--that he was being more than an impartial spectator to my handling. Suddenly I was a general practitioner there to conduct a physical; I could feel it: I could hear him thinking it. He was ogling me as I went about my business and he made me extremely uncomfortable; it's a female instinct that just cannot be explained unless you've experienced it; and some women don't even have this instinct to rely upon. Some argue that to be ogled should be flattering, however it's not flattering, it's disgusting. There's a definitive difference between admiring and ogling and you know it when you feel it.

Now I'm a chatty individual and I have no problem with making eye contact and idle chit-chat in a grocery store; in fact, it can be rather pleasant to embrace the camaraderie a grocery store may have to offer. And so it would be a rarity for me to act a snob, however my gut instinct has always served me well and so when it goes into Defcon 5 I tend to listen to it and thus appear arrogant and snobbish. It's self-preservation.

And then he said it:

-What does one look for in a tomato?

Ugh. Really? Where's your wife (there's always a wife or significant other looming about, electively ignorant) and why are you just standing guard next to the tomatoes like a creep in the bushes? And what's with the salmon colored golf pants? Seriously, isn't there an online porn account that needs tending?

Now my answer is firmness- I look for firmness in a tomato, but there was no way in Hell I was going to respond with that little nugget of information given the guy was already visually and now audibly breaching my personal boundaries. And so I answered: color, I look for color.

Lie.

What I wanted to say was: piss off, freak. But I didn't. Instead, I collected my fruit, which had barely been inspected properly and quickly made my way over to the bananas. Yes, the bananas.

Thankfully he didn't follow me, as I managed to shoot him just enough stink-eye so as to say: piss off, freak.

jenji

Lost In Translation

(electrostatic feedback)

Welcome- can I take your order?

--Yes, I'd like a small fry and a cheeseburger with no mustard (pause for attendant processing) double cheese, double pickles, please.

Extra mustard?

--No, no. No mustard, double cheese, double pickles, please.

Oh, okay.

jenji consults the drive-thru LCD so as to confirm the order wherein she sees the following:

-1 small fry

-1 cheeseburger

-NO mustard

-NO cheese

-EXTRA pickles

Will that complete your order?

--No, no...I'd like no mustard and double the cheese and double the pickles.

Oh, okay.

jenji refers to the LCD one more time:

-small fry

-cheeseburger

-NO mustard

-EXTRA CHEESE

-EXTRA PICKLES

Would you like to guess what I found once I returned home and unwrapped my burger?

Why Marvin, why? The plane would have crashed is all I'm sayin.

jenji

Double Standard

Scenario #1:

And so imagine that you see a rather portly man or woman standing in line at the gas station waiting to pay for gas or various other items. For the purposes of this example let's say this individual is 5' 4" and weighs about 350 pounds; let's say this person is very clearly obese. There are a few other folks in line, as well as the gas station attendant. Now, how many people do you think would find it socially acceptable and/or appropriate to say out loud to this person--a complete stranger-- the following:

"You need to cut back on the nachos and lose a few pounds, Fatty."

I have yet to hear anyone utter anything even remotely similar to an overweight individual in this fashion; okay, maybe a few times in junior high school I can recall some bullies picking on heavier kids, but not since then have I ever heard it again. I'm not talking about a friend who may comment upon an individual's weight to you sotto voce, I'm talking about a direct confrontation, one stranger to another. I've never seen it happen. And yet, I find that complete strangers seem to feel no sense of social structure when they comment upon my weight to my face. In fact, I find that it happens at least once a week.

For example, imagine a woman (ie: me) is 5' 4" and weighs approximately 100 pounds and she is standing in line at the local gas station waiting to pay for her gas and particulars (ie: my gas and particulars) when this man begins to eyeball her up and down (ie: eyeball me up and down) and then scoffs at her (ie: me):

"you need to eat something, Skinny."

OR

A woman (ie: me) walks into a hair salon and another woman--a complete stranger--says to her (ie: me):

"Ugh, why are you so thin? Are you anorexic or something? I wish I could be so thin."

My response: "systemic illness, Asshole."

I've also found that heavier women find it socially acceptable to call me a "skinny Bitch," a passive-aggressive jab wrapped in a generous heap of "I'm just kidding" also known as the indisputable self-loathing. Whatever.

Scenario #2:

Imagine you are at work and the boss' daughter comes in to visit. You haven't seen her in quite a few years and she's really tan, as in at-the-tanning-bed-twice-a-week tan, so the first thing you say to her is:

"You need to stop sitting in the sun, you look like a saddle bag!"

Again, I've never heard it happen and I've seen a lot of saddle bags in my day.

And yet, the boss' daughter (ie: me) wanders into the building to visit and stumbles upon an employee she hasn't seen in a couple of years and he seems to think it's socially acceptable to say:

"Good God, you need to get some sun. Take a vacation, you look like a ghost!"

My response: "Um, first of all, I'm fair-skinned, I've always been that way and the reason I'm so fair is because of my British heritage and overall genetics, not to mention (again) systemic illness and the need to avoid ultraviolet exacerbations, but nice to see you too, Asshole!" Okay, that was my inner response, my real response was: "*uh-huh" as I was taken off-guard by this individual's seamless ability to open with such an fantastic one-liner (see: offensive observation).

*also known as, "oh right, this is why I never visit...I'm outta here, Asshole."

I won't even go into the individuals who refer to me as pale and/or peaked. I've been hearing that since I was a little kid. Okay, maybe one example.

I'm 9 years old and the woman at the ice cream shop greets me:

"Oh darlin, you're so peaked and thin!"

My response: "I don't know what that word means, do you have any double chocolate today?"

I guess my point is that people are insensitive assholes who seem to have no problem with indiscriminately spewing whatever flutters into the vast abyss they call a mind... oh wait, that's my point, it does seem to be discriminating and I find it utterly annoying, as I tend to run into one of these comments, as I mentioned, at least once a week. After a while one can begin to become self-conscious about what is completely natural and might I add significantly out of one's control.

It's bad enough I have to drink mass quantities of Boost to keep myself within triple digits, do you have to point it out as if it's deliberate and I've done something wrong? You can all see the picture of that woman in the right column, does she look like she's asking for an insult? I realize she's adorable, but that's not our topic today, so do your best to answer the question.

I'm just sayin, zip it and mind your own business... Assholes.

jenji

Poorly Written, but Written None-the-Less II: The Resurrection

Earlier this afternoon, I caught a few minutes of frenzied news coverage on The Weather Channel regarding tornadic activity and the subsequent aftermath in Mississippi. A devastating scene to be sure, however seeing Mike Bettes on location reminded me of a blog post I meant, but failed to post back in February when the folks in Washington D.C. found themselves waist deep in blowing and drifting snow. And so I feel compelled to mention what Mike Bettes had to say about that particular snowstorm.

The Scene:

On location, Bettes went on about the gravity of the situation, as this particular storm had provided some aggressive accumulation, which was quickly becoming unmanageable for D.C. residents.

Then he said it:

"And I have to tell you, this is nothing-- there's a number two storm right behind this one."

I couldn't help but interpret this to mean that this storm had nothing over the shit storm that was about to follow.

I know this is a juvenile observation--I know it. But I laughed out loud when I heard him say this because I immediately envisioned myself as his producer wherein I would have said to him via his earpiece: really Mike, a number 2 storm? So a shit storm is about to follow, is that what you're saying? A shit storm. Really? Is this language you want to use?

Honestly, I need to grow up.

jenji

I Have No Idea What It Means

I had a very detailed and vivid dream last night.

The particulars:

I was working concession at a movie theater (of course I was) and my manager was President Obama. And so whilst going about my shift Mrs. Obama came into the theater to discuss finances with her husband. Specifically, they were standing at the counter perusing the record of their dividend profits or in this case, significant losses.

President Obama remarks: We've lost so much this year, how are we going to afford underpants?

Wherein jenji, the harbinger of humor and levity remarks: There's no rule that says that the Commander and Chief can't go out and about in a state of commando.

Mrs. Obama was quite amused, wherein Mr. Obama just gave me an odd look and so I said:

I'm just sayin Mr. President, they're only undapants.

I actually woke up laughing at the absurdity.

jenji

It's Thimble, really it is...

Wednesday Evening:

jenji spent a full minute watching a frenzied contestant on a television show make a desperate attempt to bounce six separate marbles into six separate thimbles.

The suspense gave me a stomach ache. Truly. Or was it the production value itself? I feel as though I've been injected with synthetic adrenaline via the remote. I feel violated. Yuck.

That's 60 seconds I'll never get back.

jenji

Blurb

Defective down below. I'm just sayin.

jenji

Mammy-Gram

This afternoon I had my annual mammogram. Is this too much information? No? Then I shall continue.

For me, annual exams—both *pap and mammography—can evoke a sense of fear and trepidation, as the possibility for anomalous, irregular results can seem imminent, given an individual’s family history, coping style and/or current situation, or in my case, given the fundamental equilibrium and overall cohesive performance of the various synaptic connections throughout The Ol’ Noodle, which have been known to spontaneously challenge jenji’s ability to navigate about the particulars of reality, rationale and/or status quo with any definitive eloquence at any given moment. (see: dread)

*Frankly, the former—pap trepidation—initially has more to do with jenji minor’s anticipation and inability to brace for, so to speak, the advance of the stone-cold speculum—also known as The Cervical Iceberg, which has an undeniable ability to hastily freeze and lower my core temperature from the inside out within seconds of impact—more so to do with that than it does with my family’s significant history for irregularity in this particular arena. I’m just sayin, would it kill The Man to get a toaster oven? (The Man: My highly reputable gynecologist).

Conversely, one can choose to embrace and dare I say, be thankful for, the existence of such early detection devices so as to allow for early intervention should the results of any given test come back irregular and/or suspicious. I’m happy to report that given my current state of polarity—middle of the road, vanilla, hopeful, even—I didn’t lend any energy to the formidable worry front, as I currently posses the previously mentioned definitive eloquence, which allows one to successfully rationalize energies away from approaching murky squalls. (see: dread, opposite)

Also, given the virulence of various inefficient processes and programs associated with health care as whole, this particular Group—THE INSERT RADIOLOGY GROUP HERE—which prides itself on being progressive, cutting edge etc. truly is what it purports to be.

Wait. That can’t possibly be right. No, no, it truly is. They truly are.

Prove it.

Item #1: Intro

They welcome client feedback and in fact, actually make adjustments accordingly.

My last visit was in late 2008 and while the physicians, technicians and staff were entirely courteous, competent and expeditious, the waiting area (stage 1) was somewhat jarring in that their ability to work efficiently as a cohesive unit—to funnel individuals through 1, 2, 3—although still commendable, the staging area of the well-oiled machine could easily leave one feeling as if one ought to have a floppy red tag hanging from one's ear, a graphic match to the shiny red mark branded upon one's ass, both indicative of one's arrival and position within the voluminous herd.

Okay, perhaps that’s a bit exaggerated or melodramatic, however, the waiting area was so congested with clients that each one was referred to by a given number so as to protect and preserve privacy; in fact, one was initially given a pager to check in with admin and therein a plastic garment tag—a call number—to proceed back for the actual scan. Truly, it was reminiscent of a classic delicatessen, as the temperature of the anxious crowd--best described as feverish--was a crowd riddled with individuals constantly peering down at their pager and/or tag in an effort to validate that they hadn’t been skipped or passed over by another muttering mass of nerves. And so yes, 2008 was a bit disconcerting and overwhelming, especially for an artistic temperament (example: mine), which tends to implore one (example: me) to imagine the back-story and particulars—from title cards to credits—of any and/or all individuals I may stumble upon and/or interact with throughout any given day.

And so upon request I made a suggestion on the comment card provided at last visit:

Less factory, more intimacy. Yours truly, jenji

Item #1: Conclusion

The INSERT RADIOLOGY ESTABLISHMENT takes into consideration client feedback, as the entire establishment has been renovated and refurbished since my last visit wherein the artistic temperament (example: mine) will find itself (example: me) inquiring about the particulars whilst mid-squash, mid-mammo, mid-tug-- the particulars regarding the catalyst for said renovations so as to avoid inaccurate speculation and thus unnecessary title cards later.

The Verdict: “Client feedback indicated that the waiting areas were too crowded and impersonal, which caused unnecessary anxiety for many people.”

(gasp)

You don’t say.

And so the well-oiled machine, while still entirely lubed, has been broken down into “several different waiting areas,” each complete with its own flat screen television (Cable: The Food Network), fireplace (electric), comfortable décor, tranquil tones (sage, taupe), complimentary beverages (water, tea, coffee, juice) and finally, a heaping dish of chocolates. Shall I repeat the last part: a heaping dish of chocolates. Expensive, individually wrapped, gluten-free chocolate, I might add. No need to worry about smattered fingers in the candy bowl, as the candy in the bowl, or dish as it were, could easily be unwrapped and popped down one’s gullet sans contamination.

Item #2: Intro

Mammogram: 2010—

There was a phenomenon, a very post-9/11 phenomenon, which took place whilst waiting for my scan (stage 2): people—women, from all walks of life—spoke to one another in lieu of the formidable at one another or even worse, not at all. My city isn’t particularly known for neither friendly banter, nor routine pleasantries even whilst sharing a 4-foot by 5-foot space in an elevator, let alone sitting in a waiting room. Ingredients for jenjiworld surroundings: eyes down, grimace affixed, audible grumbling about this, that and the other. Such is my frustration, as the artistic temperament (example: mine) does not allow one (example: me) to coexist well amongst the detachment of the many who surround me. I’m too inquisitive; too chatty; perhaps even too polite. Far too often I find myself saying “nevermind, it was a joke” or “I asked, how’s it going?”

And so, these women you speak of jenji, as if they even exist at all; you say all walks of life? How do you know that? How could you possibly know that?

Because they spoke to me and they spoke to one another, while I naturally, said very little, to nothing. Such is my right as the nodding, prodding, albeit entirely engaged observer who cannot hardly get a word in, as she is busily cramming her face with goodies from the heaping dish of sanitarily sound chocolate. Chocolate trumps conversation, period.

It has been my experience that people interact and make considerably more eye contact throughout two different scenarios: whilst entirely comfortable and at ease or whilst incredibly anxious and nervous.

The particulars vary depending upon the audience. A man will interact differently with a woman than a woman will interact with another woman or in this case, amongst other women. Groups interact differently than individuals and I suppose one could assert that our group of 7—in this case all women—had a smattering of both scenarios (comfort and anxiety), however our surroundings were so comforting—fireplace, lighting, aromatherapy—that women seemed compelled to exchange particulars—not pleasantries, this was not mindless, polite banter—particulars, such as recipes (two women were caterers) and background (one woman was an elderly cancer survivor from India). This was interesting, fulfilling banter, which is not something I run into very often. Usually I witness either defiant mutes, complete with the what-are-you-wearing judgmental sneers (yes, I have a few holes in my jeans and yes I’m wearing fingerless arm warmers: deal with it), vapid inquiries/responses, narcissism and/or abject gossip.

And so we--7 strangers, picked to have scans and see who stops being polite and starts getting real; apologies--we all waited throughout stage 2 and into stage 3 together. With one another. (cue Phillip Glass)

At THIS ESTABLISHMENT one can choose to wait for a doctor to read their scans before they go home; this is stage 3 (my label, not their label I assure you); it takes a bit longer, however one doesn’t have to wonder about the possibilities and can set oneself up with an opportunity to more than likely go home with good news. In all, I encountered three different waiting rooms: reception, scanning and results. Women wish one another luck before going into their scan (stage two: “good luck”), while they congratulate one another once they get results (stage three: "congratulations"). I witnessed three women emerge from the doctor’s office with what could only be described as a posture of relief and a slap-happy grin on their faces. And as each one exited from the office they said some derivative of the same thing to all of us: all clear, negative or clean! When I emerged from the doctor’s quarters all of my comrades had gone, while a new group of women were busy respectively chatting with one another, however, caterer #2 was just leaving the changing room next to mine as I approached and she asked: “is everything okay with your results?”

My point: I suspect that this establishment's ability to truly care for us allowed us to truly care for one another. The university doesn’t give a shit about us and therefore, we don’t give a shit about one another, even within the confines of a 4 foot x 5 foot elevator, or so I've come to convince myself so as to avoid embarrassment, discouragement or homicidal rage. (see: fundamental equilibrium)

Note: I had a lovely conversation with a set of identical twins in the elevator--Donna and Diana (honestly, gleaned, not inquired)--however, while I can claim to have given a shit, I cannot elaborate further, as both were relegated to different staging areas once we reached our floor.

**Item #3: Intro

Existence

While a mammogram isn’t in and of itself a box full of kittens, it’s not nearly the most painful procedure on the planet (see: retrograde cystography for kidney stones) and so I will once again refer to, focus upon and embrace the existence of mammography as a diagnostic tool/device to be thankful for. In fact, I shall focus upon my results.

Item #3: Conclusion

Results:

Normal/Negative. No evidence of cancer.

**While Item #3—my result—isn’t in and of itself evidence of this establishment’s extraordinary expansion, sincere care nor purported pride, it certainly didn’t hurt neither my experience nor this review; then again, neither did the heaping dish of chocolate. Did I mention the heaping dish of chocolate?

jenji

Disclaimer For Insensitivity: jenji is keenly aware that many women may receive less than desirable news from the doctor regarding their mammography, however for the purposes of this entry she has consciously excluded such discussion; except for this part-- which is meant to deter anyone from pointing out what an absolute ignoramus jenji is for having overlooked the gravity and prevalence of breast cancer. For this entry is not about breast cancer, it's about chocolate.

Poorly Written, but Written None-the-Less

Get A Grip

A fellow blogger created a post about a week ago regarding "How Powerless Humans Really Are" when it comes to a particular weather event. Please do visit Marvin's blog, as not only does he have a unique writing style, but he also gets *it. For me, the topic ignited a pretty specific response, as the topic of weather--particularly snow--as it relates to an individual's defiant inability to simply consider the non-magnitude of its presence--has been and will continue to irritate me up until the very last flake has evaporated into the sky.

And so, some of this post is copied directly from my response to Marvin's original post, while I will go ahead and apologize for pulling what some may consider a repost or perhaps some sort of backwoods plagiarism even though I did in fact create the response myself. I apologize, I do-- however, I don't really mean it.

------

I completely understand that a blizzardlike event can slow up or even halt human beings in their tracks. It can be difficult to navigate about a wintery environment when you're not accustomed to doing so.

That said, I've lived in NY for most of my life and I can tell you that snow can slow things up quite a bit. It can be messy and inconvenient; however it's snow and it's February. In fact, winter, for the most part, is not going to kill you.

Our local news networks bask in the glory of a snow event in that it provides an opportunity for manipulative producers to create an event out of a non-event. They love to panic the local residents and they know damn well what they're doing: crying wolf.

It's snow.

...It's not cancer

...It's not a death in the family.

...It's not a life-altering event. It's snow.

In fact, fiscal arguments aside and aside from the unexpected/expected accidents that may occur during a messy commute, a snow event is not the type of experience that qualifies as a disaster. And yet the media makes it seem as though the apocalypse has finally arrived. Individuals who live down south and speak as if the end of the world is upon us need to understand that I understand: it's snow. It's messy and if you're not used to it, somewhat overwhelming. However, southerners (and believe me, many, many northerners who dare quibble about winter in February) fail to look at the bright side or gain perspective for what really matters.

Yes, we may be talking about a few feet of snow, but you're not buried underneath a pile of fallen cement in Haiti; your home has not been swept away by a tornado; a tsunami has not leveled your home and carried away your loved ones.

It's --> fucking --> snow. Deal with it. It can be cold, blustery and even inconvenient, but for the most part, it's not going to kill you. Stop whining, make a cup of hot cocoa, drag your kids out to make snow angels and/or snowmen and thank your lucky stars for this particular strain of weather-related inconvenience.

Belly in the sand. And yes, I have since cleaned the lens.

Southwest

Nature's Confection

Adjust your perspective and attempt to embrace the beauty.

*it: whatever you need it to be, Marvin gets it.

jenji

And Now A Message From Our Sponsor

Rick Sanchez

Disclaimer:

It is nothing new to learn that I have serious and considerable criticisms regarding 24-hour news. However, the following message is not related to the political/social agenda of a particular network and/or their psychosocial effect/affect on society per se. Instead it is about a specific personality and while I understand and agree that the current strain and overall majority of cable "news" personalities--those who present "the news" throughout various networks--are generally problematic and troubling as a whole, for some reason in the wake of the current catastrophe in Haiti, this particular individual's need to punctuate horrific imagery through gratuitous commentary (as if such imagery cannot speak for itself) really stood out and rubbed me the wrong way.

And so, take note of the photo above:

News flash: You're neither a journalist, a news anchor nor a correspondent. You Sir, are a sensationalistic putz; a transparent talking head whose insincerity for truth is surpassed only by your insincerity for humanity and you should be ashamed of yourself.

jenji

How Was Your Day?

And so for various personal reasons I had originally designated January 14th, *2010 as: Are You Fucking Kidding Me Friday (not to be confused with Stop Dickin' With Me December). That is until I realized that today is in fact Thursday, January 14th, 2010. So, here we are again and while I'm frustrated and undeniably riddled with pain, I most certainly recognize that things could always be worse. (see: Haiti)

*pronounced: twenty-ten or two-thousand and ten or perhaps even two-thousand-ten; I suppose it all depends upon your current **level of neurotic dysfunction.

**jenji is a card carrying member of "The" neurotic dysfunction and thus, as far as she can tell, unable to decide and/or commit to a particular pronouncement regarding the ***new calendar year.

***Yes! I suppose that I could refer to it as The New Calendar Year, as in: January 14th, The New Calendar Year (considerable emphasis on the New), however then contemplative confusion for those who hound...ahem, surround me (particularly between the hours of 8 a.m. and 5 p.m.) is sure to ensue.

jenji

This entry is dedicated to Marvin for his unwavering ability to get me, urge me (see: encourage me) to post, despite my current condition. Thanks, Marvin! And seriously, what's with the funny hat?