This is what I attempted to do this morning.

I am motivated!!!!!! I think.

As many of you probably know, I spent all of November and December performing in HersheyPark's Christmas Show in Hershey, Pennsylvania. More on that later, I promise. 

I returned to my cozy, yet horribly insulated St. Louis apartment on New Years Day and promptly spent a number of weeks vegging out watching Teen Mom and baking things no one needs sitting around in their house. No job, no worries, no problems. Except for Amber and Leah. They shouldn't be living in a motel, and Gary should not be pulling out all the stops to bring her fucking meatloaf from Cracker Barrel to try to win her back. Can I keep the candle? SEE?! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!?! I need to get back into the world. I have auditions coming up, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I'll be cast in a summer season here in the Lou. To prepare, I've been singing (read: annoying the shit out of my neighbors) daily, as well as attempting to stay in shape despite all previously mentioned baked goods. 

With all my spare time that I don't spend watching Teen Mom, Property Virgins, or Taboo on demand, I have been planning a wedding. 7 months from yesterday, I'll be a married woman. It's pretty exciting. Also terrifying. I have dreams all the time that it's the day of my wedding and everything is ready and no one shows up. Or that the food isn't cooked and it's being served and no one notices. Or that our officiant decides to whip out a bible. AGHHHH! NO! The fun part starts next week, when we meet with our florist, baker, chef, wedding planner, and officiant all in one day. Brandon has already expressed his apathy toward planning, citing his main desire for the big day as "Jessi being happy with everything." He's mine and you can't have him. So yeah, wedding. In the works. Don't be pissed if you're not invited. 90 person guest list, big families. Don't cry.

Even more exciting than a wedding, I'm being screened for this new Microbiome Study that's being conducted by the two major medical schools in St. Louis. I had to pass this super extensive medical screening phone interview, and in two weeks I have to have a dental, blood, and physical exam to finish the screening process. If I pass, all I have to do is come in two times in the next year to poop in a box, have blood drawn, and let them evaluate me. No drugs, no variables, nothing scary whatsoever. I get paid $650 for this. And the satisfaction of knowing I'm healthy enough for their Nazi screening. And they get all my bacteria. I like trading. Brandon's doing it, too. We're GON BE RICH! Yeah, I need a job. So I guess I'll get one.

As I wave farewell to embraced unemployment, I say goodbye to many things. In case you've never been unemployed, I've compiled a list of what it's really all about:

-Farmville. Like, a lot of Farmville.

-knowing exactly what time your mail comes

-looking like a very young soccer mom when you go meet your PhD student fiance for lunch and bring plastic utinsels with you so you won't have to get up

-MTV and TLC, though TLC gets more points for having quality programming accessible through on demand

-petting your cats, and taking pictures of them that you probably shouldn't show people

-baths (not to bathe, but because it's winter and it's cold)

-walking around the mall FOR EXERCISE

-plenty of time to bust out the old lingerie

-shopping for things you don't need and then abandoning your virtual cart once you realize you're wasting time

-wasting time

-playing on your pole in the middle of your living room but whining to yourself because its not warm and sticky like the ones in class.. boo hoo

-reading Newsweek to assure yourself you're still intelligent

-reading Ladies Home Journal because your mom sent you a free subscription

-eating chips

Old People Love Musicals.

First and foremost, I would like to apologize for not keeping up with my blog. I have received infinite hate mail and facebook messages demanding more blogging, but since I've been extremely busy failing at figuring out what I'm supposed to be doing with my life, I've clearly been occupied. Such a perfect situation: I get to brag that you all miss my rants AND reveal to you that I'm in the midst of a full blown quarter life crisis. Win-WIN.

Anyway, for the past two months, I've been working for Stages, in the box office and ushering a few shows here and there. And before you go all, "OMFG JESSI IS WORKING AT A THEATRE AND NOT PERFORMING- WTF IS SHE DOING?!", I will tell you: finding a job performing in St. Louis is near impossible unless you are Equity or Jesus. Because these midwesterners love their Jesus. WHICH BRINGS ME TO THE TOPIC OF THIS POST:

Old People. I work for a theatre whose demographic is 90% between 65 and 100, so I constantly get to hear really awkward and exciting stories about their lives. I also get bitched out about absolutely nothing, and I get to act as a human handrail about twice a week as they hobble down the stairs that they shouldn't be walking but continue to do so because they refuse to give up their "great seats" in the center of row B.

I'm so intrigued by these people, I've done my research: I even read an article called "Have elderly people earned the right to be rude?" For those of you who care, the answer was a complicated no, but we all have to deal with it anyway.

They also never fail to leave their weird shit behind after a show. We've found candy wrappers, snotty tissues, hypodermic needles, hearing aids, and just last night someone left a bag of purple snap peas. Not kidding.

The best part is when they engage in conversation with me about the credibility and artistic merit of certain musicals. If you know anything about my taste in musicals, you'd know where these conversations are headed.

"I love Oklahoma! And MY FAIR LADY! WHEN ARE YOU GUYS GOING TO DO THE SOUND OF MUSIC AGAIN?"

A few years back, we did Full Monty, and you would have thought we'd hosted a Pro-Choice campaign on the stage:

"I've been comin' here for 30 years and never have you disappointed me so much! This is TRASH!"

We won the Kevin Kline award for it. Also, we haven't even been around thirty years. One of my favorite moments was when a little old lady called about tickets to Little Shop of Horrors, except she didn't think she'd be able to come to such a vulgar show. We didn't understand at first, and then proceeded to explain to her that it's HOR-ROR.. like.. scary, not whores.

They say that our generation is afflicted with this "entitlement" issue, but I beg to differ. Old people think they are entitled to a parade in their honor the moment they drag themselves through the door on their walkers. They ALL think they are the exception to the rule, and most of the calls we receive begin with "IM FRANCINE WALKER I AM A SENIOR AND I CAN'T DRIVE"... I wish we could have software that allows us to find people by that criteria. It would certainly take less time to get their needs met. About once a week, someone will come in and say, deadpan: "Gene died. I want to move into his subscription seats." or "Please move the person that is sitting next to my seats. They are very large/ smell bad/ of a race I do not favor." My personal favorite was the time a lady came up 5 minutes before the show was to start, leaned into the microphone and goes, "I HAVE A BLADDER INFECTION."

Sometimes they make up for their crotchety behavior. The men say the cutest things about their little old wives, including that they "found this pretty lady on the way in", and watching them all wait for their wives to get out of the restroom at intermission is one of the most adorable things I've ever seen. They're usually pretty polite when they come in all dolled up to see the show, and they always commend us for our show quality.

I guess we'll keep them. Though I do spend most of my time at work pondering that age-old question: how is that old people love musicals but hate gay people? It remains a mystery.

15 Things Darlene does

Darlene is my mother.

1. Darlene washes towels after each use. EVERY TIME. My family owns like 200 towels.

2. Darlene bakes homemade cinnamon rolls every year at Christmas time. She uses this as an excuse to bitch about making cinnamon rolls for everyone at Christmas time

3. Every time I call her, she answers the cell phone like she either just ran a 10k or had sex with my dad. Both would be equally demanding I guess.

4. Darlene has a blackberry headset and no blackberry

5. Darlene sends me emails at work with her message in the subject line, and nothing in the body of the email. These range from "ARE YOU HAVING A STINKY DAY JESS?!" to "Almost time to go homeee!!!!!"

6. Darlene calls me approximately 14 times on Sundays

7. Darlene's actual first name is Leslie. She CHOSE to go by Darlene.

8. Darlene takes belly dancing, yoga, and salsa.

9. Darlene sends text messages often. When she sends a message, it's very in depth and can even include a photo or video. However, when sending Darlene a text asking for specific information or her opinion on an important matter, the most you will ever get back is "Yes" or "I dont know" or "Okay."

10. Darlene likes to quit her job every 3-4 years and redecorate a room or section of our house

11. Darlene drives a Mazda Tribute and calls it "her girl"

12. Darlene LOVES to say "welll.. the thang of it is..."

13. She calls TGI Friday's "TGIF's".

14. Darlene has a sick obsession with ordering kitchen gadgets off of infomercials. We have 15+ choppers/dicers/rotisserie chicken spinners/vacuum sealers... u name it- we have it.

15. She has actually said to me "I saw it on the TV"

I love my mother. :)

Last Name?

With the fun and no-end-in-sight global recession, many companies are offering exciting steals and deals to somehow boost the economy, which happens to be sinking like Natalee Holloway into the Caribbean.

Car dealerships are offering buy one get one free sales on their gas guzzlers, and Quiznos has attempted to one-up Subway with their new $4 sandwich that looks about as filling as a McDonald's snackwrap. Everywhere you look, there are specials, sales, and overweight Americans.

Despite advertising huge clearance events and running more ads than ever, there is one thing that will seemingly never be affected by the poo poo economy. And that, friends, is customer service. There are some places that are always hit or miss, like the ghetto grocery store Brandon and I frequent that is also frequented by swarms of cop cars and the angry, cursing black men these cops pin to the walls outside. Inside, there are security guards and "pick up your food stamp/ WIC credit" counters. There are also very interesting cashiers. They either do not speak, and simply hold out their hand with a sassy look on their face to request your ID, or they inappropriately joke about how you made your fiance buy your tampons. Life is like a box of chocolates.

I've also noticed particularly poor service at bars, but only with female bartenders. It's as if even in the dark, smoky bar, they can tell I am more attractive/ less of a raging slut than they are. Hm. In comparison, Wendy's has significantly stepped up their game to always have on the schedule an extremely polite obese man with a headset and, if I had to guess- a college education. Said man will rationally reprimand the pee-ons who put mayonnaise on my chicken sandwich, and in turn make me doubt my capabilities as a future parent. 

However, there is one place that will always have terrible service. And that place is a tanning salon. Those bitches are the nastiest, shortest, most unfun bunch of airheads I've ever had the pleasure of conversing with once a month. Even the Asians at nail salons are more polite. They ask "what colla you wan?" as if it is important to choose quickly because someone might take your color. Or "you bite yo nail?!!!!!!" because they're just looking out for your cuticle well-being. I trust them. I do not, however, trust the orange girl whose only words I ever hear without eavesdropping are "LAST NAME?!". I say without eavesdropping because there is a particular girl who works at the salon I go to whose Asian skater boyfriend comes in and sits, and they argue about who lies the most, and why they can't trust each other. It's powerful stuff. Anyway, what the fuck is wrong with these girls? Is it UV poisoning? Is it that they don't like to wipe up ass sweat after each person leaves? Is it that they are actually secret representatives for World Health and their plot is to deter women from slowly and voluntarily damaging their skin?!!! It's a mystery. But it's expected. It's something I can count on. Just like that the fan will broken, and the radio will always be set to the trashiest, most Akon-ish station there is. And I will for some reason consider clubbing during my 20 minute nod off in the cancer box.

Hey Baby

Hello. I am an avid supporter of birth control. I have one or more prescriptions for Plan B in my medicine cabinet. (Yeah I'm old school... I got that shit before it was over the counter.) I am currently enrolled in an honors level Ortho Tri Cyclen Lo 6 year course. So far, A+. Teacher's pet.

Has anyone noticed the surge in assumingly unwanted pregnancies among their facebook friends? WOOOW. That's a lotta babies. I guess in the tough economy people between the ages of 18 and 23 are subconsciously considering how people got through the depression: had more children who could thus do more work. It's totally rational thinking. Ask your nana.

Anyway, my favorite part about unplanned pregnancy is simple: the planned parenthood/ reproductive services VS. God-fearing farm people initimidating wooden sign war. (Also, side note, I live about a 10 minute walk from a very popular Planned Parenthood location; on any given day you could make friends with 15+ hispanic women who do not want their baby Dora's.)

The signs/ bumper stickers for either side of this controversial issue are relatively hilarious. "It's a child, not a choice." All I can think of is the sassy Shuanita-type calmly and rationally repeating this insightful phrase to her estranged drug dealer boyfriend. Bitch, please. Not even Jesus is reading your crazy bumper stickers, so please remove them from your Astrovan. Planned Parenthood at least has a sense of humor with their marketing strategy:

"Pregnant. You're Not Alone."    ....LOL. nope. not anymorrrre.

a quick message to all facebook users:

THIS

SHIT

MUST

STOP

NOW

THANKS