On Jen Lancaster...

So who, you might ask is Jen Lancaster?  Only the snarkiest, plus-sized writer to ever grace my bookshelves.  Unfortunately, she is the leading cause of failure of my diet.

Maybe I should back up a bit.  I enjoy reading, what one of my friends termed as "Saccharine, sarcastic chic lit." I enjoy reading others slightly absurd happenings in their day-to-day lives.  It's nice to know that I'm not the only one who is amused, amazed and befuddled by life.  I actually got to meet Jen Lancaster at a book signing in Farmington Hills.

Going with Jenn G., Kate and Jackie, we bought her a cupcake and wine in a sweet if not slightly stalker gesture figuring she will need the sugar and liquid strength after a night of signing.  We then go to the gourmet grocery next door and gorge ourselves on dumplings, sushi and kobe beef panini.  Realizing that we just spent way too much time eating and we most likely will get crappy seats we rush next door.  As we run through the doors we notice a driver and car pull up.  Wait, driver and car? In Farmington Hills?  OMG!  It has to be her!  In walks Jen Lancaster, the cool kid, the plumpy princess.  Jackie and her talk and joke like old friends as Kate and Jenn presents her with our gifts (which she loved.  Or at least pretended to.)  I want to dazzle her with my wit and snarkiness too!  I am funny and lovable! In a lull in the conversation, she moves as if to go inside, waiting for the people in charge to lead her to her podium.  I'm going to miss my chance to wow her!  Say something quick!

I squeak as I try to squeeze something out.  She looks at me expectantly.

"We don't work here."

Bazinga!

Giving me the, "This is why I carry mace on my book tour look" she is rescued by a Border's employee, a snippy little thing who gives me a withering look. Hmmm. Note to self: Just keep quiet next time I see famous people.

So as I sit here today, reading another of her books, chortling to myself, (Oh Jen, you ARE so witty.) I get the munchies.  Hush tummy you just got a very large fattening breakfast of eggs, sausage, deep fried potatoes, deep fried french toast, and deep fried bacon.  But it's hard to ignore.  I mean the chic is talking about food every other page.  And alcohol.  And I have a good two weeks of forced sobriety before I leave Magnus, teenagers, and Pam's Prohibition 2010. 

And every page my munchie craving gets stronger and stronger. This is going to get ugly really soon.

I rummage through my shelves as she describes chocolate ganache and foie gras.  She lives in Chicago for pete's sake.  Damn.  All I have is Ramen and Slim fast.  Yuck. And chocolate. And bacon. Hmmmm...

If you are going to crash your diet, crash it big.  In all of its chocolatey bacony glory.

On Magnus (week one)...

525,600 minutes...wait...that's not right...that's a year...

Okay so you have to hum "Seasons of Love" to make it work...you ready?

604,800 seconds
604,000 here at Magnus
604,800 seconds
So you might ask, what's all the fuss?

In sore throats, in grown nails, in dorm food and lots of dancing.
In tendu, in demi, I don't know what that means...

In 604, 800 seconds, I hope I don't kill, any of these teens.

This is week.....ooooonnnneee.
Oh God, week....oooooonnnne.
This is week one.

On Magnus....

Let me just preface this post by telling you that after every sentence you should add "And then I walked." Man my feet hurt.

So as some of you know, for the next month of I have signed up to be an RA for the Magnus Midwest Dance Intensive in Flint. I work my normal FIM job during the week but at night I take care of 100 12-22 year olds at the U of M - Flint dorms.

Yesterday was move in day. I spent five hours walking up and down floors the length of two football fields answering questions, reassuring parents, explaining thermostats, etc. After they moved in we walked to the Cultural Center a 1.5 mile round trip (I googled it.) Last night, I fixed wi-fi, unplugged toilets, gave out extra blankets and patiently said no over 50 times. Mostly about things they knew they shouldn't do but just wanted to test the waters. Hey, their parents weren't there. I'll let them get tummy aches from eating too many cookies, but walking the streets of downtown Flint is just too far.

This morning it was showered, dressed and downstairs by 8. Placement classes were today. The students would be placed in three different groups based on their ability. I was warned about temper tantrums, hysterical sobbing, and slammed doors as these best-of-the-best divas found out what happened when all 99 other dancers were the best-of the best too.

The kids did their placements and then we had lunch. It was a lazy day, just hanging out. I would get little visits through out the day and I would laugh at their shenanigans because well they are teenagers and full of shenanigans.

After Dinner, talking with some of the girls about their day and how they were adjusting the elevator doors opened to a mob of students clamoring to see 3 small pieces of paper. Placements. I stood back and watched their faces. Trying to gauge if someone would need a pep talk or hug, and just watching. At first it was hard to see who was placed where. Quick fleeting glances of disappointment, brief moments of excitement. No tantrums, no slammed doors. These young men and women were talking this like champs.

I am sure that tears were shed in private and that moms and dads got triumphant phone calls, but I was really proud of all of their poise today. Now only 27 more days to go...

On guns and garden centers...

Strange bed fellows you might ask? Not in the least.  They have one thing in common.

Outdoors?

Fresh air?

Lots of wood? Closer...

Boys.

So as I was shooting on Saturday with the girls (oh, hush.  I don't kill animals or anything.) And doing a fine job of it when I noticed.  I was surrounded.  By men.  Old, young, cute not so cute.  And they were all interested in the 3 twenty-something females shooting the Ruger22.  Even the cutie wearing the MSU sweatshirt (I'll forgive him that) who let me play with what he was packing.  A single action 22 Magnum. 

For an hour and half, in all of our delightful gun ignorance we were bells of the ball (if the ball involved Sara Palin, firearms, and safety guns). 

Fast-forward to today when I went to Menards to buy the bricks for my new retaining wall.  And I noticed again.  Boys...everywhere.  I was actually astounded by the lack of female employees.  And they were all interested in helping me (granted they are paid to.... hush, don't pop my bubble) Suddenly, becoming a home owner with only minimal working knowledge of lawncare and plumbing is the best pick up line.

And it gets me wondering...why go to the bar where the men I meet are only interested in casual flings.  Been down that road.  And it left me leaving dirty.  And not in a good way.  More of a mis pantalones son sucios kind of way.  Not that I'm saying working at the Menards makes you a saint or morally superior.  But I'd rather chit-chat about bushes then....er...nevermind.

On temptations...

Mae West once said, "I generally avoid temptation unless I can't resist it," a saying which has been my modus operandi for my entire life. Not today.

Today was a normal day. With it's normal ups and downs. And my normal bit of insomnia. This week it has been strangely 4:36 am. What it is about that magic time, I'll never know. But suddenly I am wide awake as if someone had thrown a cold bucket of water on my body. For the next two hours I struggle with questions, only falling asleep about 17 minutes before my alarm goes off.

I keep asking, when? When will I meet this deadline? When is my credit card bill due? When is my next paycheck? When will I see the girls next? When will the other shoe drop? When will I fall in love? When will I fall asleep content?

Failing answers at night, I struggle to sleep. Failing answers during the day, I find and stuff myself with chocolate.

Not today.

Given 4 separate occasions to fail hard, I didn't. Because instead of being the insidious voice in my head undermining my confidence, the when became at first a plea, then a demand and finally a war cry.

When?

Now.

On happy meals...

Unlike most of my other posts, this starts on a happy note. And unlike most of McDonald's other claims, I do have to agree the happy meal does fulfill its promise.

It's happy to see you!

A coworker just surprised me by bringing me a happy meal. Now unless you are a six-year-old, this would not be the highlight of your day. In a day unremarkable because of its normalcy, where life was neither good nor bad, just life, I now had a colorful box filled with little goodies. Hot french fries, a fun toy and a shamrock shake became a small little break from the mundaness of today. Putting together the toy, racing it across my desk as the hot greasy goodness burnt my mouth. The fries and shake now reside in my belly, the little toy will be absconded by Des tomorrow, but for all the hours in this mediocre day, I had a few happy minutes.

On taxes...

Benjamin Franklin once said, "Nothing in life is certain except death and taxes." Oh, Ben you rascally scamp. How true you are.

I arrived home Monday after enjoying a lovely snow day at Borders. In the mail was a letter from my mortgage company. Hmmm...never a good sign. They were increasing my monthly payment.

By $127 dollars.

While this may not seem a lot to some people, for this single woman buying this house all on her lonesome it is a big deal. A mortgage, utilities, credit cards and two student loan payments mean I have very little disposable income at the end of the month. I freaked.

After several calls to the mortgage company (a mistake in my taxes last year necessitated and increase this year, go to the city fight this assessment, etc.) and the city, I felt alone. More then figuratively. (Literally my roommate was not home.)That cold feeling in your stomach. At that moment, the reality of me being alone in this venture came crashing home. Where was my prince charming to hold me tight and tell me everything was going to be okay? We all now collectively wait for the part where he arrived at the door, rose and fat check in hand.



Yeah. I'm still waiting too. But as the deed says, Pam Howe a single woman is the owner of this house. No Prince listed. I grabbed some power tools and went upstairs to work on the guest bedroom. I had shelves to put up and decor to finish. It gave something productive for me to do. As I worked with my hands it took my mind away from the reality of my situation. My guest room began to resemble that place that friends could come and find respite from their cares. I began to transform that room into my home. Which, as my sister reminded me earlier, is why I bought the house in the first place. It was important for me to create a home. So the belt has been tightened. Expenses cut...brown bags bought.

But regardless of what tomorrow brings, additional taxes, backed-up sewers, leaky pipes, Pam Howe, a single woman will still be queen of this castle.