40 Days?? Really? Can we negotiate God?

Lent for me is much like crossword puzzle books - they're easy to cheat at because all the answers are in the back. And you better believe that I cheat. Lent and crossword puzzle books evoke similar reactions in three ways for me - smug satisfaction, rationalization, and defeat. Let me outline:

Smug Satisfaction: One of the "rules" of Lent is no meat on Fridays. I like to pretend that every Friday during Lent that I don't eat meat is just one more "God point" added to my tally that will someday open the pearly gates of heaven for me. I derive a lot of smug satisfaction over the fact that I am able to refrain from meat eating and therefore fulfilling my duty as a good Catholic....regardless of the fact that I'm a vegetarian and wouldn't be eating meat anyway. I get the same sort of smug satisfaction when I finish a crossword puzzle. It's my way of saying "Hey, look at me everyone! I'm BRILLIANT." No one ever has to know that I looked up 60 of the 90 answers in the back of the book...

Rationalization: This year, I'm going to give up carbs. But not all carbs, only things that are obviously carbs - pasta, rice, cereal, bagels, bread, etc. But not on Thursdays when it's family pasta night because, after throwing my desire to become a vegetarian at my mom right before Thanksgiving a few years ago, giving up carbs at the exact moment she is making pasta for dinner tonight would be just cruel, right? I thought so too. And honestly, they wouldn't put the answers to the crossword puzzles in the back if they didn't want you to look at them...

And finally defeat: I'm a carb-a-holic. Making it 4 hours, let alone 40 days without cereal might just kill me. And honestly, I think it might just be a pretty unrealistic goal that willcrash into flames in yet another epic Lent failure. Much is the same any time I try to attempt a crossword puzzle without the answers. Massive, humbling defeat...

Check back with me in April and I'll let you know exactly how many days I made it without a cupcake...except for on Thursday nights of course...

Call PETA...

Yesterday was our annual "take your cats to the vet day." It's an appointment that lasts approximately 30 minutes, but I start mentally preparing for it about a month in advance. Why is it so bad you ask? Oh it's bad for so many different reasons....

First - my cats are princesses. They never really got the idea that there can only be one princess per house and it's me..to them, I exist to scratch those hard to reach spots, feed them, and open the blinds when they meow in the morning so they can see outside.

Second - they do not view a once a year car ride in their carriers as an adventure. To them, it's torture. At the first hint that the carriers might be coming out of the closet they bolt, hiding under chairs, my bed, behind furniture. There are many a times I'm head first, butt up, under my bed dragging a cat out by the scruff (or tail). I've resorted to stealth tactics in recent years. Pulling the carriers out the night before to lull them into a false sense of security. Closing them in a bathroom. All sorts of things that make me want to pat myself on the back and say "Way to go Jen...you're smarter than a cat!"

Third - my one cat, Shank, weights 15 pounds. No she's not fat...she's just big boned...the vet tech told me so. Have you ever tried carrying a 15 pound chunk of fat in a plastic carrier? Anyone with an infant is nodding their heads right now. Have you ever tried carrying a 15 pound MOVING chunk of fat in a plastic carrier? I'm not sure which is worse - the wrenching of my elbow or the dislocation of my shoulder. Although, perhaps it might be worse for Shank based on the number of times I've banged her into a door frame....

Fourth - the meowing. Oh my god, the meowing. It starts the minute the carrier doors close and does not stop. And they just feed off of one another. Chai: "Meow" Shank, not to be outdone "Meow Meow" Chai "Meow" Putting the windows down doesn't help. Turning the radio up only causes them to meow louder. It is non stop.

Fifth - and final object of torture is also Chai's big F* you mom moment as well. I live 5 minutes from the vet. Without fail, within two minutes Chai will drop the nastiest, stinkiest poop in her carrier, never once pausing in the renewed meowing - it does stop once we get into the exam room at the vet...at that point they just try to be as inconspicuous as possible. It's truely gag worthy.

All this, so that my only indoor cats can get a re-newed rabies tag that costs $30 each. How my indoor cats will get rabies, I don't know, but we're covered just in case a racoon or a bat manages to break into the condo....sign me up for another 10 years of this!

You want the truth? You can't handle the truth!

It's become abundantly clear to me lately that I live in every man's nightmare. You know the one where the girlfriend says "Honey, tell me the truth, do these pants make me look fat?" And any good, well trained boyfriend knows that this is a trap. Say yes, we'll get mad, and you'll be sleeping on the couch tonight. Say no, we will totally know that you're lying to us, we'll get mad, and you'll be sleeping on the couch. This scenario never ends well for the boyfriend. 

Well, this is my life. I am both cursed and blessed to be a great listener as well as an opinionated, I cannot tell a lie, truth giver of the largest proportions. Blame in on being raised by a feisty mother and a father who gracefully allows me to call him on all his bullshit, and sometimes even enjoys getting caught "spinning" as my family so delightfully calls it. Spend 10 minutes with me and I'm going to offer you a no holds barred, honest to goodness opinion on whatever comes out of your mouth. You want to know if those pants make you look fat? Stick with me, I'll tell you, without a flicker of guilt or remorse, that they do. You want to be like my father, who complained for a month straight about how badly his back hurt (after playing 36 holes of golf each weekend)? Then I'm going to listen and sympathize for the first few days, then I'm going to tell you to shut the hell up, stop complaining, and go see a doctor (Hey Dad, surgery could have been  A LOT sooner if you'd listened to me in the first place). Worried that your boyfriend/husband/significant others sense of humor is too blunt and crude? I'll tell you I find it funny and that other people need to accept it for what it is and stop taking themselves so seriously.

This is me. I make zero apologies for it. I make a deliberate attempt to never, ever be malicious, cruel, or unnecessarily mean, and believe it or not, there are many times when I actually do hold my tongue. But, I will not cater to or feed your drama, nor will I tell you what I think you want to hear. If you're going to come to me and have a conversation where I could potentially have an opinion on it (and this covers just about everything since, trust me, I have an opinion on just about everything) then you need to be prepared to hear the truth as I see it.  And truthfully, I don't understand why this is a problem. Would you rather I talked to our good friend Sally behind your back about how those skinny jeans seem to be having an adverse effect on your thighs? Prrrrobably not. I have absolutely not artifice. I would make a terrible poker player. I have an awful poker face and I will probably never say something behind your back that I wouldn't say to your face.

There's a very good chance that this little quirk of mine has cost me "friends" and you know what, in the long run that's ok with me. I treat others as I wish to be treated. There is NO WAY IN HELL that I would want to go out in public in a pair of pants that make my butt look as wide as a tractor trailer. I may pout a bit when you tell me, "Yeah Jen, you ARE kind of being a bitch right now" (yes those words have come out of many a friends mouths), but I absolutely do want to know when I appear to be stepping outside the lines of being polite. Tell me I'm being dramatic, tell me your opinion, tell me THE GOD DAMN TRUTH. 

Accept the fact that the reality of how you see things may not mesh with the reality of how I see it. This is life people, a respectful difference of opinions and conversation is what makes things interesting. Accept that we may not agree, accept that each and every event in life is not black and white, and move the hell on. But then again....this is just my opinion....

Will Sell Daughter for Farmville Bucks

Today my mother offered to set up a profile for me on eharmony. Part of her motivation was so that she could get some Farmville Dollars for her farm on Facebook (I swear Farmville is the answer to my mother's lack of a backyard here in Tampa). As for what her reasonings beyond that may be, I have no idea. A mother's wish to see her daughter happy and settled? That's never really bothered her before. The desire for grandchildren? My younger brother has taken care of that quite nicely when he presented the family with my nephew last year. Maybe she thinks a significant other will mellow me? Which I can assure you has never been the case in the past...quite evident in her description of me to friends as a "man eater." So maybe her full motivation really is the Farmville Dollars....which then all I have to say to that is..Thanks Mom for sacrificing me and my dignity for a larger virtual farm and a horse barn.