All that she wants is to buy a CD without judgment

“Don’t turn around, ‘cause you’re gonna see my heart breakin’. Don’t turn around, I don’t want you seeing me cry. Just walk away, it’s tearing me apart that you’re leaving, but I’m letting you go.” 

Ace of Base probably doesn’t generate a lot of emotional recall for many people. It’s not an album of soulful ballads lamenting heartbreak or loss. The electronic music feels pretty devoid of actual instruments and the voices ring like a precursor to auto-tuning. But The Sign, released in 1993, was a self-imposed, elusive object for me. The pop songs were catchy, but as a moody youngster determined to get into Guinness for longest held scowl was unable to leave the store with such cheerful crap music.

When my dad bought a portable CD player, he took me to The Wall at the Echelon Mall to buy a CD. I could only buy 1, so my decision took a long time. My dad was ready in about 10 minutes: Iron Butterfly. But I was torn. This was my first CD purchase, so it had to be a good one: Ace of Base or the soundtrack to West Side Story. You can see my dilemma – that my taste in music vacillated between terrible pop and carefully crafted musicals.

From that moment on, I would look for the title at ever music store – The Wall, Tunes, Sam Goody – kicking myself for not letting my dad buy me that CD. As part of the A section, my CD browsing, conveniently, would begin with picking Ace of Base out of the rack, looking at the front to confirm that it was the right CD, then pretending to scroll the back of the case for the songlist I knew by heart:

1 All that she wants

2 Don’t turn around

3 Young and proud

4 The sign

5 Living in danger

6 Dancer in a daydream

7 Wheel of fortune

8 Waiting for magic (Total remix 7”)

9 Happy nation

10 Voluez-vou danser

11 My mind (Mindless mix)

12 All that she wants (Banghra version)

Fearful that someone cooler than I could ever be was watching me hold this plastic case of gross pop music, I would replace it in the rack and move onto a cooler section, perhaps pretending to care about Nirvana albums. All the while, as I bounced alphabetically through the racks flushed with embarrassment for my uncool music taste, I would be doing my unpatented CD math:

cost per song = total cost of album/number of songs

This simple formula should provide the justification for an album purchase, a formula I still use to this day, actually. However, The Sign posed confused the simplicity of the equation:

1. The radio played the songs all the time, so why invest in the CD when I could just hear the song for free?

2. My friend had a copy of the CD, so I could always listen to hers, if I could muster the courage to admit to wanting to listen to it.

3. Stephanie’s band on Full House covered The Sign, which, frankly, just put me off the music all together.

Yet, even in my later ironic but still scowling phase, I remained resistant to buying the disc. Probably because I didn’t ironically enjoy Ace of Base; I wasn’t laughing at the dancey beats or awkward lyrics (ie, “all that she wants is another baby”; what?) like I did with Lindsay Lohan or Ashlee Simpson. Perhaps it is my love of Abba that makes me love Ace of Base.

So when I was at my local Goodwill last week and saw Ace of Base, The Sign, priced at $.99, I knew I couldn’t keep up the sham. I needed to hear that slightly off-key vocal spewing uncomfortable French lyrics to raver music. To round out my uncool music purchase that day, I added Madonna’s Immaculate Collection and Evanescence’s Fallen.

Clearly, I’ve lost my bid for longest held frown.

Polite Observations

Privilege — n. a right or benefit that is given to some people and not to others. 

Right — n. something that a person is or should be morally or legally allowed to have, get, or do. 

***

In the ladies room, during class break, I am disgusted by the state of the bathroom.

Me: Aren't we in this together? I mean, what is going on in here? It's disgusting.

Classmate: Yeah, I blame the undergrads.

Me: But still, seems pretty gross to treat a bathroom like this, when you know everyone is going to use it.

Overheard in class last night.

Student: Their parents need to teach them manners.

Paul, driving on 676 to drop me off at school. We’re talking about driving and pedestrians who choose to walk in the street rather than on the provided sidewalk.

Paul: People need to learn manners. Their parents should have taught them how to be polite.

Me: Did your parents teach you manners?

Paul: Yeah.

Me: Did you walk in the street when you were younger?

Paul: Well, yeah. But I was living dangerously.

Me: Living dangerously? By walking in the street?

Paul: Yeah.

Me: Okay, well that’s dumb. But that’s not the point. Your parents taught you not to do that. To walk on the sidewalk. To be courteous.

Paul: Yeah.

Me: So then, why did you walk in the street?

Paul: Because, I was living dangerously.

Me: No. It’s because you felt you had a right to. We were all taught manners and how to be polite and what courtesy is. But what parents aren’t teaching their kids about is Privilege.

Paul: [tries to talk, but owing to years of experience dealing with me, knows better than to really stop me]

Me: No, listen. We all do it. This is MY street. I have the RIGHT to walk here. MY town. MY lane. MY school. MY right of way. ME ME ME ME MY MY MY MY. We know what manners are, but we alllllll choose not to use them because we feel we have a right NOT to use them.

***

As Mrs White, my driver’s ed teacher said: “Driving is a privilege, not a right.”

And as Graham Dashwood (from “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel”) said, “People here [in India] see life as a privilege, not a right.” 

And as Jesus said, "Love your neighbor as yourself."

And as Paul Robeson said, “This is our home and this is our country. Beneath its soil lie bones of our fathers [and mothers]; for it some of them fought, bled, and died. Here we were born and here we will stay.”

And as Herman Melville said, “We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow-[citizens]; and along those fibers, as sympathetic threads, our actions run as causes, and come back to us as effects.”

An Apology to My Past: or, How I'm Rocking My Present

Recently, I’ve been thinking about my past. Maybe it’s because I feel grateful for my present (Dare I use the H word?). Maybe it’s because I’m surprised by how many years I wasted angry (At what? Everything. Nothing. Who knows.). Or the number times I scoffed at older folks who told me I’d mellow out someday (Miss Patricia,  boppin’ at Wawa).  Or that I wonder about the people in my past who could be holding on to my mistakes, unforgivable (I’m sorry. I truly am. Won’t you please forgive me?). And don’t forget the molehills I turned into mountains (more like mountain ranges).

My recovery has been slow. Bit by bit. Timid, at first, fearful that the damage was irreparable. But with each successful step, I grow more confident that I'm on the right path.

Over the past year, I’ve done work to recover my academic reputation. Paying that overdue library fine. Reviewing my transcripts. Culminating in re-enrolling in a graduate program I left incomplete. It feels good to put my life right-side-up on paper. Of course, this is only the beginning of that up-ending. I have some more work to do. But I can see that I’ve improved. I just hope my improvement is visible to others.

Last year, I read, “War of Art.” My one regret: that I didn’t read it 10 years ago. What I saw as failure, what I felt as unmatched disaster, was just fucking life.

“We know that if we embrace our ideals, we must prove worthy of them. And that scares the hell out of us.”

For years, I piddled away at college courses, expecting to walk out into the world with a career handed to me. Because that’s why we went to school: to get a good job. Instead of relishing those collegiate moments, I rushed through classes anticipating the end, the result, the grade. Check off that box! Then, in those jobs, I found myself restless and bored, even confined. I fought back with sass and attitude. And maybe a tiny bit of bitchiness. This is not why I went to school! But it’s what people are telling me I should be going. Right? Right?!?! I thought hopping from job to job would soothe my anxiety: the newness was always appealing. But I couldn’t run forever. I had to face the truth: I would never be happy in a “job.” Now, I am facing my demons: attending graduate school and putting my brain—my thoughts! my ideas! my fucking soul!—up for grading and public scrutiny. I am terrified. But I am the most excited scared I can remember being, like, ever.

“Casting yourself as a victim is the antithesis of doing your work. Don’t do it. If you’re doing it, stop.”

Seriously. Just fucking stop.

I see how easily I settled into the victim role. And I am ashamed of not only what I did to myself, but how I made others feel. Expecting that they treat me as a victim, too. When, really, I was only a victim of my head. Granted, I can see that I truly should have sought professional help; that deep of a depression is dangerous and to say I “made it through alive” is not a badge of honor I want to wear. But, mental illness aside, during my Dark Days—Ok, Years—I received a lot of good advice, a lot of support, and a lot of opportunities. None can I point to and say: Yup, that helped me. Of course it didn’t help me! Because I hadn’t read “War of Art” yet—Ha, no. Because I was just trying to keep my brain from killing me, to survive. I wasn’t ready for good advice or experiential wisdom. I wasn’t ready to stop being a victim.

I was a fool and I am sorry for that.

“Defeating Resistance is like giving birth. It seems absolutely impossible until you remember that women have been pulling it off successfully, with support and without, for fifty million years.”

Take that, Victim Jess. Perspective makes me feel anything I want is possible. Not because I have everything I need to do it correctly the first time, but because others have done it already. In fact, it’s part of the reason I decided to go back to school. To understand that a challenge—from losing weight to finishing school to mending a broken heart—is surmountable soothes my anxious mind and takes the victim excuse off my table.

Now that you’ve read more about me that you probably ever wanted to, I share with you items that helped me through my bull shit:

Website: Life Hacker

Life is always easier with quality hacks. 

Book: How I Stayed Alive When My Brain Was Trying to Kill Me

Book: War of Art

Book: The Nerdist Way

Book: Fuck It.

Music: The Civil Wars

I've only recently started listening to The Civil Wars. But good lord they have grabbed my soul.

Music: Kelly Clarkson: Breakaway

When I was sad and victimy, a friend told me that I should buy some Kelly Clarkson and just rock out in my apartment. He was right. And I did. And you know what, I felt pretty good. This also put me on a crap-pop binge of Ashlee Simpson, Lindsay Lohan, and Avril Lavigne. But quite frankly, nothing is feels good as screaming "Since U Been Gone" to your ex-boyfriend who can't hear you because he's moved on.

Music: Barenaked Ladies: any song

My favorite band. Even now, when I'm feeling blue, I just sing along to any BNL song and I can't help but grin. Silliness is sometimes the best remedy for inexplicable sadness.

TV: Sex and the City

The same person who told me to buy Kelly Clarkson also told me to watch Sex and the City, because I was single, I suppose. Whatever the motive, buying the DVD seasons became a treat for me. Each paycheck (ie, every other week), I would go to Best Buy and buy one season. Being surrounded by happily coupled people was fucking sad. Especially when those happily coupled people were witness to my heartbreak on a daily basis. So embarrassing. So watching single ladies be awesome felt really, really good. 

Dog: Berger, my corgi. Who I can probably credit most with keeping me alive during those Dark Years. Thoughts like "But what would happen to Berger?" kept me more grounded that you'd think.

I feel like all that training in failure and heartbreak made me better able to handle the real failure and heartbreak I've experienced in this part of my life. Like losing my big brother. Or watching parents grow older. Or dealing with my father-in-law having a massive stroke. Or taking the leap to work at home. There is no room for victimhood here. This is the shit that counts. And I hope I'm making it count.

Winter Reading

Winter makes me want to stay inside and read my days away under layers of blankets and dogs. Here are some books that have kept my brain warm.

1. Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte.

You possibly read this one in high school, maybe college. Or, if you’re like me, you found it in the sale section of Barnes & Noble back in 1997 and proceeded to devour it cover to cover. No? Just me?

A bildungsroman of an orphan, mistreated and strong-willed. After suffering years of abuse at the hands of her cousin and aunt, Jane is sent to an awful boarding school, where love is scare and discipline overflows. It’s here where she meets a dear friend and learns some important life lessons.

But, quite frankly, no one cares about this part. It’s sad. It’s depressing. It’s even graphically written. I tend to skim this section now.

Where we love to see Jane is at Thornfield Hall, working as a governess. In a large, English estate, Jane falls for employer, Mr. Rochester. But Mr. Rochester has secrets – secrets that make Jane flee Thornfield Hall and Mr. Rochester.

Will she make it on her own? Where will she go? Will her family assist? Is her relationship with Mr. Rochester really over?

Read this if: you enjoy watching Disney movies – not these new CGI ones. Classically, hand drawn cartoon versions. With princes. 

Bonus: if you have an e-reader, you can probably download this book for free!

2. Special Topics in Calamity Physics, by Marah Pessl.

Thanks to an extremely slow day of work, and a dedication to checking the New York Times online daily, I stumbled on a book review for this book. I loved the review, so took on the chapter preview – yes, while at work. After work, I headed straight to the book store to buy it.

Years later, I found the book on CD at a flea market; some of the best $5 I’ve spent on a thing in my life.

Another bildungsroman (...I’m seeing a theme here...) about a girl living with her father, a university professor. Her mother died years ago and she has traveled with her dad from university to university, finally settling down for her senior year of high school.

This is where our story begins. There’s a teacher who is just a little too close to her students. The students she is too close to. Boys. Girls. Classes. All the while, meticulous footnotes cover the pages.

To tell you anything more would render you spoiled. It’s a dense read, even slow at times, but the writing and story are so tight it’s difficult to criticize.

Read this if: you love research and/or you want to re-live that senior year of high school, but this time with the cool kids.

3.  Harry Potter series, by J.K. Rowling.

You know the stories. You’ve probably seen the movies. Stop rolling your eyes. This isn’t like you’re friend saying that you should buy the new Miley Cyrus album because even though it’s just terrible, it’s good. No. This sh*t right here, good sh*t.

And when you’re done, come talk to me when you need to acknowledge your secret desire to send your unborn child to Hogwarts, based on an owl-delivered acceptance letter with Diagon Alley supply list included. We can flying-carpool.

Read this if: you want to be one of those people who after the movie gets to snidely say, ”The book was better.”

4. Gone Girl, by Gillian Flynn.

Why I bought this book, I don’t remember. Why my brain was f***ed by this book I will never forget.

During the search for his missing wife, we learn a lot about the husband. Or at least, we thought we were learning about him. We thought we understand. We invested care into that relationship. What Flynn does to your brain hurts. And not totally in a good way.

Read this if: you’ve ever been married, in a relationship, thought about relationships, or hope to have a relationship. You should know what each of you is capable of. You just should know.

5.  Under the Tuscan Sun, by Frances Meyer.

It’s fall/winter. Is there really a better time to dream of living in Tuscany?

Where the movie told the love story of Frances and Bramasole, the book focuses more on Frances and Tuscany. These appear to be different Franceses, in my opinion. And I might like the Hollywood version better, honestly. Blame it on Diane Lane - she's amazing! But I like like the book a lot and will go back and read it again just to visit Tuscany.

Read this if: you want to be one of those people who after the movie gets to triumphantly say, “The movie is better.”

127: The Goods

This past weekend, my mom and I went on an adventure: The World's Longest Yard Sale (corridor 127). Here are some of the goods I brought home:

1 pair of green Hush Puppies with steel shank support

I bought these shoes in hopes they would fit. I was too tired to try them on when I saw them and for $1 it was worth the risk. Small risk big reward: not only do they fit, they are perfectly worn in and adorable.














Books for making mobiles

An adorable cow

A box of assorted glass knobs

A metal ampersand

There were so many different shapes. I really wanted an alphabet, but settled on this guy. I've also commissioned Paul to make more. 













2 vintage pins

The woman who I bought these from was adorable. She deals exclusively in vintage/interesting jewelry.  "I feel so blessed to be doing what I love," she told me. 


















A fake watermelon

When we drove up to this sale, this watermelon was the first thing I saw. Of course, walking through all the stalls, I forgot all about it until we were getting ready to move on. 
"Wait! Where is that watermelon?"
Of course, my mom thought I was nuts. We'd just passed real watermelons... I thought it had been sold; I couldn't find it. But then, there it was, waiting for me.
"That's a watermelon," says the vendor.
"It's a facsimile of a watermelon," says me. "So how much for the fake watermelon?"
"Well, if it makes it any better, an artist painted those dots. Have you heard of Butch Anthony? He's been on American Pickers. When he saw I had a watermelon painted with dots, he said 'I can do that' and so he did."
Granted, I can't confirm the story. And I'm not that worried because I loved this watermelon with or without an artist attached. 




Skateboard deck designed by Roberto Jaras Lira

I had a great chat with the woman who sold this deck. She was so excited about this artist and I think even more excited that the decks were going to a good home (there were 2; my mom has the other). She works with Falls City Music Publishing and The Brycc House.




I bought a few other odds and ends: some mugs, a couple of pairs of earrings, and a chicken and rooster that I'll be making into bookends...

Overall, it was a good sale. I do think calling it the longest yard sale is a bit misleading. It's more like the "longest sporadic open-air antique market sprinkled with yard sales." And honestly, some of the prices felt a bit gouging - confirmed when my mom overheard that one vendor went to local thrift stores, bought things for cheap and marked the items up just for this sale.... but then there was the couple we met who helped us unload the trunk, put in the bed frame my mom bought, then reload the trunk all with smiles and conversation. So if you're looking to buy things for yourself, for your own enjoyment and not looking to flip profit, you'll have a blast and find more than you can buy.

What noise?

Paul brought me home some new headphones. This is how they make me feel:

These are Skullcrushers by Skullcandy, purchased on sale at Radio Shack. Yes, my husband still shops at Radio Shack. These headphones have a "bass amplified subwoofer" that requires a single AA battery. Um, yeah, I tried it. It's kind of fun to use it for songs on which you wouldn't normally amplify the bass, such as Imagine Dragons' "Tiptoe." Skullcrushers make all the bad noises go away:

Paul: "Oh good. So now you won't be able to hear when the burglars come in and rob us."
Me: "Yeah. This is great 'cause it's so annoying when they break in and make a bunch of noise. Like 'Hey, I'm trying to work here.'"

What the blink

Putting together a draft letter to automakers, based on my recent road trips. Shocking how many cars are on the road without turn signal capabilities! This must be amended.

Dear Automobile Manufacturers,

I write to you as a concerned citizen.

I have just returned from a 5-hour journey that took me through 3 states (NJ, PA and NY), from rural to urban, on highways to dirt roads - this is a trip that encompasses it all. Safety is always a concern, requiring the driver to be alert and focused with tractor trailers clogging lanes and car-wrecked road-kill littering the road.

So it's with concern for the wellbeing of all travelers that I ask you to make turn signals standard equipment on all makes and models of your vehicles. Perhaps I was just lucky - turn signals were included with my Ford purchase - but I see so many other drivers struggling as cars change lanes with no notice. A little warning would be much appreciated - and so much safer!

I can only speak for NJ drivers, but as driving requires testing to gain a valid license, drivers in NJ know that turn signals are required business. Obviously, if turn signals were present in vehicles, drivers in NJ would be using them since not only is it the law but it's courteous, too!

I'm not exactly sure when you decided to remove turn signals from the standard car package, but I implore you to reintroduce turn signals into your standard packages to ensure that motorists are given the proper tools necessary to adhere to all driving laws, as well as fostering a safe environment for all drivers.

Don't hate; curate.

I love Robot Chicken. I think my dream job (for this week, anyway) would be shopping for the toys and building the sets for Robot Chicken. As I watch, I think about the places I could shop and what I could find, or even skits to make. I daydream in action figures. What can I say.

Watching Robot Chicken made me think about art school. Which made me think about goals. Which led me to realize I don't have any goals set for 2013. Could this be why this year has been so terrible? Unlikely, but I need some resolutions.

I don't make New Year's resolutions. Firstly, because it's my birthday. And while everyone is so excited for a fresh start, I am usually thinking, "Another year older. Great. I'm going to bed now." My champagne glass is usually half empty.

Secondly, I work better under pressure. With only 6 months left in the year, I am forced to realize my goals in a shorter time frame, providing little space for me to procrastinate.

Resolutions: 2013. 

Read.

I love books. I confess: I am a book hoarder. My library includes books I'll never read, college course required titles, pretty books, old books, gifted books, multiple copies of a single title...yup, hoarder. In my defense - no, there's no defending it. I straight up cannot stop buying books. So clearly that means I should read more - and probably more importantly, read more of the books I currently own. In an effort to help me read more, I've joined a local book club (so local I can walk to the meeting house). That should knock off at least 6 books from my goal of completing 13 reads for 2013.

Write.

I just want to, okay. Sheesh. Do I have to explain everything?!

Kidding. I remember how much I enjoyed writing in my younger days. Obviously this blog is an extension of that habit. There's got to be at least one good story in this head of mine, right? Or perhaps potential for well-crafted reviews? 

Cook.

Last week, I cleaned off our refrigerator. It's sort of the dumping ground for all scraps of paper and assorted miscellany. With the random magnetic letters we have, I made a week chart (WED, THU, FRI, 5AI, UN, MO2, 7U3) and tacked up recipes I want to make. This has solved the frequent I'm-hungry-but-forgot-to-take-out-meat-from-the-freezer-so-now-I-can't-cook-with-it-and-will-only-end-up-throwing-it-away-in-a-week issue in my house, as well as the we-don't-have-anything-to-eat dilemma. Now I look and say, "Oh right, it's 7U3, I wanted to make that Turkey Cobb Salad [so good, by the way]," and remove said turkey from the freezer to thaw in time to make a proper meal. I also have desserts or random thinks, like Meyer Lemon Curd and a page from my Food Network Magazine (a great magazine) on homemade freeze-pops, so that I can have some fun cooking time, too.

By now, you're probably thinking, "Jessica, what is wrong with you? Did no one teach you life skills?"

To you I say, "Sure. Someone taught me skills. But as an independent-minded Capricorn who refuses to accept advice and will only learn by falling flat on her face first, I need to find my own way." Then I'd make a face at you and carry on typing...

Bake.

Baking is more fun for me thank cooking. And another facet of my book hoarding: cook books. Oh man. I love 'em! All those neatly typed recipes and gorgeous photography. Plus, the editor in me loves finding the errors, like when an entire step is either repeated or left out. Mmmm, yeah that makes for some challenging stuff. So, anyway, I'd like to be more adventurous in my baking (ie, beyond chocolate chip cookies - as much as I love them!), using different ingredients and flavors and opening all these books I've accumulated.

Visit.

The Longest Yard Sale (w/my mom). With finances tight, traveling will be limited...but watch out 2014! You owe me some travel.

Create.

As with writing, art has always been with me. With that, I need to do more of it. I would also like to build a piece of furniture. Maybe a table...I'll need to talk to my dad about this one.

Curate.

As an admirer of Kanye West, I was inspired by his latest album's simplicity. From the packaging to the tracks, the curation of Yeezus is special. I've probably lost you - it's cool. But you could potentially miss the most important bit of this post by simply being a hater...ya hater: 

Curate life.

Museums don't display every piece of art they own; their basements are full of lesser pieces. Great writers don't over-explain scenes; they choose words carefully. Less is more (once a knuckle tattoo idea I considered). So, this year, I would like to downsize the amount of stuff I am holding on to and only keep the really, really good stuff. Whether that be unwanted books (yes! I will try to stop hoarding books), by-the-wayside friends who feel friendship is defined by birthday wishes via Facebook, knick-knacks, clothes, pounds, frustrations...and whatever else I can find. I'm going for clean, simple, and refined.

[babok bok bok babok bok bok babok bok bababababok bok bok]

An e-Tiquette Post

It probably comes as no surprise that I own a 1946 copy of Emily Post's Etiquette, a revised edition that includes military and post-war etiquette. Or maybe it is a surprise because you have no clue who I am.

My book copy belonged to a woman named Betty - "summer of 1946" - so says the inside cover. She must have had quite the social life because I found passages underlined in The Debutante and Balls and Dances chapters. Lucky girl!

e-Tiquette in Practice

I read the internet. A lot. Probably not as much as other people, but more than the people I talk to regularly. But anyway, when I do read the internet, I am often taken aback by the amount of name calling - and the atrocious spelling of the names called - that seems so common place. While on Twitter one day, I read hateful messages to Katy Perry because she expressed an opinion. I followed one of the hate-tweets back to the author's page and was flabbergasted by what I saw: My mother told me if you do not have anything nice to say then you should not say anything at all [proper spelling and grammar my correction].

And just today, I saw a photo on Facebook of a young, out-of-shape woman working out, and was stunned to see a negative comment by an  older woman: Can she not put on a shirt [again, proper spelling and grammar my correction]? The photo's caption was something like: Like and show support! And this woman - and I imagine in the past 7 minutes since I last looked at the post, 400 more - felt the need to be...thoughtless.

By no means do I think that either Perry or this young woman are blameless; they are posting their personal business all over the globe. But their ill-planned commentary doesn't require a response - particularly one full of ugliness - since we know better. Don't we?

I've been wondering what happened to etiquette - particularly thoughtful manners that the internet seems to exclude:

"The continuous practice of kind impulses."What a simple and clean definition of etiquette.

In a chapter devoted entirely to Conversation, Post lists the first rule of conversing:

Ok, I'll say it. What happened to the polite lies of society? Who decided that being honest and "letting it all hang out" was a better way of living than begrudgingly holding doors for each other and writing thank-you notes for lame gifts received? Is this the way we want to live?

Sure, I post things on the internet - you are reading my blog, after all - but unless I talk to you daily, my business is not out there to be scrutinized. That's because (a) I am a tiny bit paranoid about this whole internet thing and (b) I don't share well. My inability to successfully share stems from my childhood - sans internet. Ask my mom; she'll tell you of the Barbie-related horror stories.  So it is with little surprise that now, in the e-world, I am an e-turtle. Check my blog dashboard; there are 4 draft posts that I've started but won't publish. Check my Twitter feed; I post once every 3 months. Check my Facebook status; I write about Kanye West and Dunkin Donuts. I try to keep it PG not because my brain is PG but because I want people to enjoy my feed and not unsubscribe from it. We've all done it. Don't lie - you have unsubscribed from that friend's feed who was always asking you for Mob Wars or Farmville junk or that friend who posts those statuses that make you feel uncomfortable for reading them but also obligated to comment because other, lesser friends have acknowledged this pathetic request for attention.

Like anyone, I worry if people like or hate me. And I sincerely hope that there aren't any haters wasting their time on my silly, little blog. But in regard to being popular and in reflection of the previous thoughts:

So, I'll be going back to Post for, well, posts - on this blog, that is. If you have any etiquette-related questions, feel free to leave 'em in the comments and we'll see what Post says...

Facts Come in All Shapes and Sizes

Deciding there was no way for me to actually learn my husband's job in a single morning, I let my mind wonder to non-HVAC related things. I made a mental list of items I needed to check on as soon as I was in wi-fi range of my house. These are the facts, folks. Just the facts.

8:45 AM: "You need a 3-inch pad below the Mason-Dixon line," says the salesman at the Goodman depot.

Later, in the van...

Me: Is that possible? Can the Mason-Dixon line be considered a viable resource in modern code creation?
Paul: I don't know.
Me: But aren't there parts of NJ that fall below the Mason-Dixon line? So does that code apply? Or is that a general direction, like "down south"?
Paul: I don't know.
Me: I will have to look into this.

Fact: The Mason-Dixon line is not so much a line as a 2-line segment - a right angle or half of a square, if you will. Terrible cartography skills aside:

So below and included are not the same thing when it comes to Mason-Dixon geography. Though I still find it strange that we're using a 250 year old border resolution to describe 2012-2013 building codes.

9:15 AM: "I won!"

Fact: 7 and 13 are lucky numbers, based on the fact that I won $15 on a scratch-off with both 7 and 13 as 2 of the winning numbers.

Nothing to really research here. You can't fight the facts, folks.

9:30 AM: "I thought mosquitos were nocturnal?!" [whack. scratch. flick]

Fact: Mosquitos are NOT nocturnal. No, they are willing to suck your blood at any time of day, given the opportunity. And based on the information below, I was doomed from the start:

• Bigger people are often more attractive to mosquitoes because they are larger targets and they produce more mosquito attractants, namely CO2 and lactic acid.
• Active or fidgety people also produce more carbon dioxide and lactic acid.
• Women are usually more attractive to mosquitoes than men because of the difference in hormones produced by the sexes.
• Blondes tend to be more attractive to mosquitoes than brunettes.
• Smelly feet are attractive to mosquitoes – as is Limburger Cheese.
• Dark clothing attracts mosquitoes.
• Movement increased mosquito biting up to 50% in some research tests.
• A full moon increased mosquito activity 500% in one study (AMCA Fun Facts)

Ok, not all of those applied directly to me. But I have to give the American Mosquito Control Association (AMCA; conveniently located in Mount Laurel, NJ) credit for labeling these "Fun Facts." Isn't it great that we can laugh about the impossibly relentless and unpredictable mosquito population in our state. It's great. Great. So great that did you know that NJ has the "oldest still functioning mosquito control association in the United States"? Oh, and our state university even has a a few web pages dedicated solely to the research of the NJ mosquito population. It's a (disgustingly) diverse population, actually.

11:30 AM: "I know this smell..."

That statement sounded much better inside my head, given the electrical storm-like nature of triggered memories.

This scent was located in a small, outdoor utility closet that we accessed for the job. I opened it once: I know this smell. I opened it again to confirm my initial reaction, and took a big old whiff: It smelled just like my Aunt Gerry's house, when she lived at Medford Lakes.

Fact: Her house - and apparently this supply closet - smelled of cigarette smoke mixed with the warm scent of potpourri.

You weren't supposed to smell the cigarettes she smoked. Her potpourri had purpose: to disguise. It was a flaw-hiding scent, different than potpourri used purely for enhancement. I never would have had this memory moment - odd as it was - had I not been conned into working this job.

12 NOON: "...best steaks in South Jersey..."

Upon my suggestion/demand, we dined at Steak Out for lunch (ie, my payment for services rendered), our favorite steak joint. And apparently, Steak Out is so awesome that even South Jersey News was there to get the facts on just how good the food is.

Reporter: Did you order a steak?
Me: No, I ordered a chicken cheesesteak. [Side note: If you want LITERALLY THE BEST CHICKEN CHEESESTEAK EVER EVER, go to Steak Out. The Buffalo Chicken Cheesesteak is too good for even all-caps to express.]
Reporter: Oh. [sad face]
Me: But my husband did. He'll be right out, just washing his hands. He's got quite a personality, too.

And that, dear friends, is how Paul got discovered.

Nah. I'm just joking. But he was interviewed and video-recorded for their feature on cheesesteaks in the area.

Fact: Steak Out is the best steak joint going. And now there is video evidence to prove it.

4:00 PM: "It's hot."

Fact: It's hot today. And with that, I must get the f*** away from this computer and find a cooler place to sit. We only install the AC; we don't live with it.