Oh...You're Adopted?

Once upon a time I was subleasing a fabulous apartment in Venice Beach. This two bedroom one bath cosy bungalow, tucked a block away from the main drag in town came with a Roommate. An interesting fella with a random work schedule, random drinking habit and a random set of guest always swinging by...yet kind none the less.

One set of random guest was his father and brother. Much like he, they were nice people, nice people that lived with us for three days.

Day two of their stay Father Roommate decided to whip up a dish in the kitchen, sadly I was on my way out, therefore missing the delicious dish, however I did have time to take part in some light conversation before leaving. So we did.

We chatted about where I was going, what I do, where I'm from....then about what he was cooking, what he does and where he's from. It was around that moment that the Roommate entered the kitchen. He chimed in regarding the 'where's he's from' question and offered a quick tale of growing up there. Then silence hit. In retrospect I should have said a polite 'nice talking to you enjoy your dinner' and moved on, however for some unknown reason I felt the need to indulge in another comment.

"Wow, ya know, you two really look so much alike! Like it's almost crazy how much you both look alike!!!"

Blank stares in return.

Cue Roommate "....Uh...I'm adopted"

"What?! No you're not, look at you two!"

Cue Roommate and Father Roommate "Uh yes"

"Really?...Oh...huh...(awkward smile)....how about that...well I got to get going..."

Looking back, I do (vaguely) remember Roommate telling me he was adopted upon my moving in. Would have been pretty awesome to have remembered that.

Dear College,

To all those professors, advisors, adminstrators and loan granters - I'm requesting a refund. Yup, that's right, a refund.

You see, I spent 5 years (yes 5 and NO I'm not a DR. or Lawyer, just really fun, curious spirit) studying various courses to gain my bachelors degree, and though I live the life of a bachelor...ette... I'm finding very little use of all of those other 'skills' I've learned. I've been in the 'real world' (sans MTV) for over 5 years now and so far have yet to use any of the following:

Chemistry - sorry not really mixing anything besides drinks these days = refund

Interpersonal communications - single, therefore = refund

Writing for the Tech Professional - you mean texting? Okay, I'll let that one slide.

Science Foundations - it'd be one thing if we were talking humans here, but plasma and plankton - really? = refund

Space Law - if I remember correctly this wasn't about 'roommates' sooo = refund

Public Relations - everything I'm learning on Facebook for FREE = refund

Conflict Managment -
Journalism - (again) everything I'm writing on here for FREE = refund

Mathematics Foundations - still paying you for nothing of 'worth' sooo = refund.

Some courses that would have been useful:

Dream Deflation 101 and 201

Traffic flow and diversion

Starbucks 101

Shipping and Receiving

Dealing with douche bags

Emergency Road Care

Dealing with Debt 101, 201, 301, 401, 501

Guest for weddings 101

Where Your Rent Money Goes: Lecture

(...just to name a few)

So, in conclusion - college I demand a refund. I mean sure some experiences I had while there were 'priceless' but really, I can barely remember those. Soooo feel free starting sending the money back, I accepted cashier checks (sorry no personal checks), travelers checks, paypal, money orders and rolls of quarters.

Best Regards,

Jeanine Peters

Oops! I Shit My Pants.

Not literally.

However it will LITERALLY get you out of any given situation at any given time. Even Sunday (insert drum sound that is usually played after a bad joke - joke being 'Any Given Sunday' reference....Okay moving on).

Directions:

It's actually rather simple. While in mid conversation, with someone you don't want to be talking to or when you know the conversation is going to lead to a question or offer you don't want to answer, you just shout out the line 'Oops! I shit my pants!' *Please note - the term 'crap' can replace 'shit' if small children or Mormons are within earshot.

Now, while saying the line you must simultaneously gesture one hand to the under portion of your bum...and (if you like) hold it there till your exit (which is what I like to do).

Moving on to the exit. This may be the trickiest part of the procedure, as this is where you really have to sell it. After all you can't shout a line like that out then turn and swagger away with a smirk on your face. Therefore you must, do a military about face turn, then with a slight waddle walk away (remember you don't want to oversell so keep the waddle to a believable minimum). Appropriate facial gestures vary on case by case basis. As does the emphasis and level of which you verbalize the words.

Examples (just a few):

5:00pm Friday evening: Friends are all heading out to happy hour. Your boss has been numbing your ear for the last 20min about god knows what. Lucky for you, you tune back in just as you hear him setting up for 'Gotta get this project done - going to be a late night' type of line. You quickly burst the words "Oops! I shit my pants!" out of your mouth, turn and proceed to pick up your things and move on out the door.

Enter office hallway:

"So Jones"

"Ah, yes Mr. Boss"

"That Justin Bieber Flobee project is snowballing, looks like we going to...."

"Oops...I shit my pants."

Now the beauty of this move is that it will never be mentioned again. Your boss will be equally embarrassed by the said inccident and therefore bypass it, allowing you to leave. Cause I mean really, what's he going to say 'Ah well take a minute to clean up Jones and meet me back here in ten?' Doubtful, highly doubtful. Worst case scenario, you leave to enjoy your weekend and get an awkward 'Ah, about Friday's incident...everything OK Jones?' come Monday morning.

12:45pm Friday night: You made it to happy hour - and then some. Bar after bar of good times with friends yet you still haven't struck gold in the 'significant other for the evening' department. So, you make your way back to the bar for another beverage when 'captain single' mingles their way over. They have a couple of terrible pick up lines, no personalty, no friends and apparently no tooth brush. YET they have it planted in their head that you are the one person on the planet that wants to converse with them that evening. Not so much. Pull out the line and make your way to the bathroom. (In this case I suggest notifying your friends on the way to the loo so they can catch the priceless look on the 'captains' face, because it will, be priceless). Enter the bathroom, hang out for a minute, then return, collecting your friends and move on to another location, or stay there and watch the 'captain' relentlessly annoying every other human in the bar that night while cautiously avoiding eye contact with you. *Note - there is also a good chance the 'captain' may have left the bar due to said uncomfortableness. Either way, the choice is yours.

Enter close talker with gelled up hair:

"Hey, so you come here often"

"Ah no, no I don't"

"Oh - well I do"

"Cool for you"

"So I was thinking...."

"OOPS! I SHIT MY PANTS" - exit

And that my friends is just a little tip of a line you can slip in your back pocket for safe keeping. Oh and no worries, you can thank me later.

PS - A giant shout out to my girl Shalea for this one.

I Sleep With Farting Dogs

I'm pretty sure that title just about sums it up. But just to be safe, let me elaborate.

I'm house sitting.

More detail. I'm house sitting for a family that has two dogs. Two tiny, bull like black and white dogs. You know that kind that grunt and snort instead of coughing or barking. Yeah, those kind.

They're sorta cute little fellas, or rather ladies, as they greet me daily and follow me around the antique mansion making me feel loved and appreciated (if even its only faked until they're fed). But I think it's the sense of security they give me while staying in the oversize home that made me take a liking to them, after all sleeping in a new place all by your lonesome can be slightly haunting at times.

Now, I was told by the owner of the home that the dogs would 'sleep with me' as they usually join her and her husband nightly at the foot of the bed. Therefore you can imagine the hurt I felt when the sun set on the first night and I found myself sleeping alone. Not even dogs will spilt the covers with me? Brutal.

Right, so moving on to night number two. They made their move and I couldn't have felt more flattered. They liked me! They really liked me! As I switched off the lights and snuggled under the covers the two dogs tucked themselves confidently in next to me.
Note: They did not, however, fall to rest at the foot of the bed, but rather they burrowed under the covers creating a makeshift tunnel under the comforter until choosing their final resting place.

This was new to me, for growing up our dog was never allowed upstairs let alone allowed to sleep in the same bed as us. Yet, as the easy going lady I am, I went with it, adjusting my sleeping position and drifting off into dream land.

12:34AM - Just as I was hitting the E cycle of R.E.M...I awoke to a scent. An unpleasant scent. The scent of gas, not natural gas or gasoline, but canine gas. It was horrifying and smothering ME as it had soaked into the sheets that tucked me in. GOD DAMN how could such a tiny animal create a stench of such horror! Shoot, I was just Dutch Oven'd by a freaking dog! (Which one dropped the bomb is still in speculation.) It seemed like hours before the smell drifted away... And actually I'm not positive it ever did as when I awoke around 4:43AM another stench held the air captive. REALLY???!

Fast forward to night 5. I cannot out smart the bitches. Diet changes only worsen the issues, closing the door to sleep alone only leads to nails scratching on the door/barking all night and sleeping with a pillow over my face only leads to near suffocation, and really, there is only so much a ceiling fan can do. Therefore, I sleep, night after night, with farting dogs.

Jealous, aren't ya?

Outlook Not So Good

Really?


http://www.cinematical.com/2007/08/02/magic-8-ball-the-movie


Need I say more...?

This Is Why

Yesterday I took it upon myself to go for a jog to a place I've deemed 'The Death Stairs.' Three hundred and ninety-two uneven steps made up of concrete unevenly placed into the side of a mountain. Sound awesome right? Not so much. They are killer, hence the name. (But yes I love them for after just one set you feel like you could bounce a quarter off your butt cheek). What a fun, painful way to get in a quick work out...and also, meet people...?

Now, I've never been a fan of the idea of 'meeting people at the gym' - why you ask? Well, I'll tell you why. For one - I don't go often enough to make my presence known, rather I just wander sheepishly through the gym searching for the machine that I want, then sit on it wondering how it works. Two - Upon wandering I always happen to stumble upon a mirror and realize that maybe I should have paid more attention to the outfit of a worn out oversized freebie t-shirt and mismatching shorts that fit better a year ago, for this is LA and all that surrounds me is matching spandex and made up faces. Therefore I don't even try to chat it up as I turn beet red and my hair takes the style of a 1950's greaser from my sweat. Hot image huh?

Right so it's for those reasons, among others, that I don't attempt to be the one making small talk and picking up numbers while working out, I'm there to work out people, not make out.

However, yesterday during my adventure to 'The Death Stairs' the winds of change were a blowin'! Without paying much attention I managed to dress myself in a semi appropriate pair of running tights topped off with a wind breaker that was only a shade or two off from matching. And I'll tell ya, I'm glad I did. For when I reached the peak of the stairs who met me there but a young fine speciman of a man. Delightful! We made eye contact and smiled, ahhhh ;). 'DAMN' I thought - this is what everyone is talking about! What a great place to meet someone! Then I turned for a stretch and by the time those 30secs passed, he was gone. Vanished.

Burn.

So I headed back down the stairs, saddend. Another missed opportunity....Or so I thought. For what did I see coming up 'The Death Stairs' in the distance...was it him? Did he dare to run 'The Death Stairs' twice?! He did! Ok, so this was my chance, a friendly hello to at least break the ice, a baby step if you will.

Climbing one by one he approached ....while one by one I descended...and just at that moment when our feet met the same stair and our eyes were about to catch...I lost my balance and rolled my ankle, looking like a fawn on its first journey to a green pasture. Immediately I had to shift all my energy to prevent from stumbling down the remaining 200 stairs and therefore missed my chance again to say hello! I like to think I felt his eyes look back in a moment of 'there she goes..." but in reality IF he did look back it was to see if I had caught myself or if I was tumbling down the concrete filled mountain side.

From that point on, with defeat sitting heavy on my shoulders, I continued to hide my hobble down the rest of the stairs, jog with a limp home and ice my ankle.

I'm happy to report that it feels quite okay today and (not too) ashamed to report that still I remain gameless and clumsy. This is reason number three of why I do not try and meet people at the gym, or ' The Death Stairs' or while working out in general. Because safety comes first people... and I lack health insurance...so really, love over a medical bill? You do the math.

And for those of you that haven't caught on yet - yes I'm still single.

Doing My Part

So yesterday I had plans to meet up with a wonderful friend of mine as it had been WAY too long since our last gathering. Since I often complain internally how I miss living so close to the beach, (yes 15mins away is far when you spent 1.5yrs living a mere 6 blocks away) I suggested that we meet up and walk on the beach for our gathering. She of course accepted. And we met. But rather than just gabbing away along the sand, we decided to gab away with bags in our hands, bags that would be used to clean the beach. Crazy huh, mixing productivity and pleasure.

Now, for anyone who has ever been to Santa Monica Beach you are well aware of the many trash cans that line the sand, so many that it's almost obnoxious. Yet, with all these trash cans people still find it impossible to rid of their own trash. It is ...well, obnoxious. I mean, ok, I can kinda understand if you were enjoying a snack after a surf and a tiny piece of a wrapper caught wind and took off, but what I can't understand is the number of 42 ounce Big Gulp and Circle K cups, food containers, globs of paper towls, and 'personal items' that were found. I just can't believe that people really don't notice that they 'happen' to drop these items nor that they are THAT lazy that they can't walk it to one of the surrounding trash cans 100 ft away. I'm mean come on now, even if you don't want to make an extra trip, your going to pass a can on your way back to your car, that is unless your a mermaid and returning to the ocean. (In which case, contact me - I've always wondered what its like to be a mermaid.) Look, people, I'm as lazy as the next American but even I can manage to take ten steps out of my way to rid of waste that I brought onto a beautiful beach instead of letting it sit there can keep the next person company.

Along with the beautiful sunset occurring, great conversation and the idea floating in the back of my mind that I just saved a guppy from chocking on a Capri sun straw, my favorite part of the 'clean up' was the looks of passersby. I guess since we weren't donning orange jumpsuits we seemed exceedingly crazy. Staring eyes stating "What in the world are those two girls doing!? Picking up trash? Oh dear me! AND WITH SMILES ON THEIR FACES?! They must be special, or crazy OR SOMETHING!". That is except for two gentlemen. One, stopped and thanked us as he was running by, he apparently does his part by lecturing people when he sees them litter on the beach. Helpful to physical pollution sure, but not so much to verbal. The other gentlemen was that of the lifeguard. After watching with pondering eyes for a few minutes he finally yelled out that we were 'awesome' for picking up the trash and 'the world needs more people like' us. We smiled and said thank you and decided not to bring up the fact that we just gathered three large handfuls of trashed items surrounding his tower. I guess he was really busy yesterday.

All that said. The point of my story is not to gloat or 'diss' people, though I realize it may seem like it; but rather my point is just to make you aware. Be aware and pay if forward if you will. Not one of those pieces of trash belonged to me yesterday but instead of walking along side of them thinking what a shame it was that someone littered and 'someone should really clean this up' I cleaned it up, along with the help of my dear friend (whom actually goes out every Wednesday morning to do just that). And it didn't take much, just a bag and some gloves, and some love ; ). While we didn't make a huge dent my friend and I still made one. So can you. Just think, if each of us, little by little picked something up and placed it in the proper place of disposal instead of passing it by, a little dent will in no time turn into a huge one.

That's my green peace piece for the day.