To my dear friend Jordan

Dear Jordan,

I just wanted to take this opportunity to profusely thank you for your behavior yesterday during the wetlands hike. I was so hoping that during the hour long scenic tour of the animals and birds that inhabit the wetlands there would be someone like you who would shout into his blackberry right in front of us for the entire time. Nature, in its most incredible form would just have not been the same if not for your loud obnoxious voice talking about the football game while watched a Blue Heron feed its young.

You deserve a boy-scouts badge for the way you screamed to the person on the other end of the line while we stood next to the first alligator I have ever seen in real life.

I am so pleased to know that douchbaggery can still exist in the wild. I was concerned for a while that people would be respectful and awed by the glorious wonders of nature. Thanks for proving me wrong.

I totally respect your need to make plans to go drinking later that day. Holy, how ever would you manage if you actually had to wait a whole hour before leaving the wetland park? What if all your home-boys went for beers without you? It would have been a total waste of the day to just enjoy watching Cranes soar above your head and turtles swim under the bridge below your feet.

Also, your constant talking was the least bit disruptive so thank you also for not completely irritating the hell out of me. It was so peaceful to enjoy this kind of scenery with you right around me.

You are a gem Jordan. I absolutely cannot believe that you are not married, a fact which you revealed in your hour long conversation. Who would not want to spend their lives with an oily bohunk like you.

Perhaps next time I am visiting some rare exhibition at the art gallery you will come and reenact your classy and thoughtful behaviors to heighten the experience.

You should not at all be ashamed and I don't think you are a a total loser who probably lives at home with his mom at age 40.

Your friend,

Jane

P.S. Point: Do it again Jordan, and I will feed you to the gators. Watch your fat ass.

The grinch who stole Gap bags

For 20 something years my family and I have enjoyed our annual tradition of going buck wild and shopping up a storm to celebrate boxing day. This year was no exception. Holiday or not we were as determined as ever to pillage the mall and enjoy the chaos along the way.

We don't really do it for the sales, although I love a good bargain, we do it because we really love spending time together and this somehow became one of the many things we tend to do all together every year.

Now, here, they don't have a boxing day, it is apparently a Canadian thing but they do have a "day after Christmas sale" thing which is just like boxing day except less busy and less be-there-at-eight-in-the-morning-to-snag-good-deals ish. Seriously, at home my parents have us up and out by 7:30 am on boxing day to take full advantage of the day. We visit 4 different shopping locations- it's nuts.

What is nice about their not-boxing day day is that you can go in the afternoon or at night with no worries.

We headed to the mall around 5 and got shopping. The best buy was these wicked long sleeves from the Gap. Really nice cotton, pretty colors, long, just so cute and on sale for less than 10 dollars per shirt. We bought 6, 2 each for me, my mom, and my sister. We scooped up the bag and headed out to our next stop.

Now, to the person that swiped our Gap bag off the floor where my father had put it down right beside him, like, touching his foot, while he tied his shoe in Banana Republic, I know you are not reading this but if you were I would tell you how much I think you suck.

First of all who steals a Gap bag? What did you think was in it? Gold? Did you think we bought gold at the Gap?

Second, who steals from a nice man? My dad is the cutest man of life, if you can rob him in a mall you must be satan.

I pity you so much person who stole our Gap bag, how sad your life must be that you must go and steal other peoples lovely long sleeves... your life must be so miserable.

And also, it's Christmas time ish still, where is the holiday spirit when you have to clasp your shopping bags for dear life for fear of them being taken from right beneath your eyes. I hope that whoever you are you received coal in your stocking.

Point: Your a mean one Mr. Grinch, you really are a heel.

Whoever you are may you "accidentally" have backsplash while you pee tonight and may many drops of your pee get into your mouth.

Oh, and I hope none of the shirts fit you either.

Things that make you want to barf in your mouth.

While doing some research on the car ride down to the flea market for the "words that make you want to barf in your mouth" blog I began a conversation that slowly but surely led to "things" that evoke those same feelings. Because they provided many laughs on the 45 minute drive on the Turnpike, I thought I might share them.

Let's do this top 10 styles.

10. People with food in their teeth.

Now, I'm not talking about a poppyseed or a piece of diced up herbage, I'm talking a piece of broccoli or a chunk of meat. Something which you can fully identify and something which protrudes out from the tooth which it is lodged in. The grossest is when you see this person all day and the food does not move. How do you not know people? It always makes me wonder why this person is oblivious. Are you that used to having things lodged in your mouth? I especially find this scenario sickening when the person talks to you and the food flaps around in their mouths... that being said I also usually don't tell them about the entire pizza in between their two front teeth. My revenge to the universe that put this unsavory person in front of me to begin with.

9. Hands and the bathroom.

Part A- people who want to touch you or shake your hand right after you know they have been in the bathroom. Thank god I never went into traditional business. I am a complete germaphobe and also think people are generally gross even when clean. I would just die to have to spend my days shaking hands with strangers. My hands would simply erode from all the purel I would be forced to use. You know what people? Politeness Shmoliteness, don't touch me when you get out of the bathroom, just don't.

Part B- people who blatantly don't wash their hands after using the bathroom. EWW. What you do at home is one thing people, and I could care less, but in a public bathroom you had better be washing those hands. I don't want to know about the germs you are carrying around from having touched the toilet flusher, the lock to the toilet stall, your junk, whatever, it is just repulsive. The most awful is watching someone from scenario B interact with someone from scenario A, this is why I don't like touching people.

Also, in this same category, I think possibly the most vomit inducing thought is when you read the signs on public bathrooms, specifically in places that serve food, that say "all employees must wash their hands". Do your employees hail from kindergarden? Who would serve food with bathroom hands. Apparently enough people to warrant that sign and inspire me to embrace a life of agoraphobia.

8. Subway sweat stains.

I hate the subway. In rush hour it is like being in your own smushy box of hell. This obviously goes back to my not liking to touch people and in the subway this is simply unavoidable. Sometimes it is ok. Sometimes you are slotted between a good looking guy and a polite elderly person who does not smell like formaldehyde. Sometimes this is not

the case. There you are minding your own sweet business when a large (usually ethnic)

man reaches up to hold the handlebars above you. You are trapped in the slew of people and as such find yourself in the unfortunate position directly under his armpit. You gag at

the thought and then literally puke in your mouth when you see that he boasts massive drippy sweat stains. I know that some people have sweating problems but that does not make it any less disgusting for me to be near. Sorry.

7. Whiteheads in weird places.

I pity you if you get unsavory whitehead pimples. I do. It must be horrid. But Ewwww to the f-ing ewww do they make me sick. I want to pop the shit out of them. I make myself sick with the desire.

6. Close Talkers.

Back off people. If I can smell what you ate at lunch or feel the light mist of your spit, you are too close. I have great hearing, I can hear you at a comfortable and acceptable distance, I promise. Close talkers evoke such a nasty feeling in me. There is a reason for the term "personal space" Close talkers, you people have no respect.

5. People who want to show you their rash.

"Oh Jane, I have the most gnarly rash, look!!" Have you heard this phrase before? Everyone has at least one friend who wants to show off their medical problems. First of all, rashes, even on myself, make me bilious, on you they are intolerable. Second, those things are infectious. Why do you want to spread your disease? Did we learn nothing from the Black Plague? Keep your rash, your unidentifiable skin issues, your warts, and your cuts to yourself or risk losing a friend. I'm not a doctor an there is good reason for it.

4. Hot elevators

I once read this John Saul thriller when I was young and in it the characters are tortured by a mysterious evil being who seeks them out on their elevator ride and causes the elevator to plummet 23 floors, stooping short enough to shatter each bone in their bodies but not kill them. I fear this. I always think that if I could choose a way to die, falling would not be it... you could live and how incredibly painful would that be? I shudder. Anyways, so I fear the elevator and suspect many people share this fear as well as my rampant claustrophobia that only ever rears its ugly head in the confined space of an elevator. Plus there is the added horror of having to make idle chit chat with your elevator co-riders. I fear menial conversation as much as I do falling 23 stories. I don't care how nice the weather is for this time of year.

All of this plus stifling heat= throw up in my mouth, sometimes on the elevator carpet.

3. Change Rooms that have B.O.

There is no excuse in the world for the kind of B.O. that lingers for a whole day in the small confined space of a change room. How am I supposed to enjoy the process of trying on clothing when I can barely breath? How can I feel pretty surrounded by such an ugly stench? And what have you eaten to make it smell oh so bad?

If you or someone you know has the kind of body odor this offensive, there is help.

2. Damp Handles.

Now you already know my aversion to the public transportation system however even more gross than underarm sweat guy is the guy who leaves a damp handle. I try not to touch any of the shiny metal on the subway/bus. I know, I just know that it is filled with a million germs per inch and despite the recently installed hand sanitizer stations, I believe that people are dirty. I don't want your hepatitis or your swine flu thank you. Nor do I want your 3 year old's buggar fingers, your greasy hair which you just touched or your eye goo that you just rubbed. Unfortunately, sometimes a handle grab cannot be helped and even more unfortunately, sometimes the gloves I bring onto every subway ride, winter or not, are not accessible at the moment of the necessary handle grab. I already have t touch your seething germs but NOTHING is more disgusting then holding a hot, damp handle. You just know that in addition to the millions of bacteria you are touching you are also touching someone else's palm sweat.

1. Warm seats.

Again, usually found on the subway/bus (are you seeing a trend here?). Without a huge elaboration I simply ask if there is anything more unappealing and upchuck-worthy than having a seat, any seat, especially seats with some kind of fabric or padding, that is warm. Warm and moist. So gross. I barf.

Point: I guess it is suffice to say that I am a germaphobic, public transportation hating, detester of all mankind. But tell me dear reader WHAT THINGS MAKE YOU WANT TO BARF IN YOUR MOUTH- seriously, share it!!! We are all freaks at heart so don't be shy.

Words that make you want to barf in your mouth.

You know how some words evoke this really squirmy, icky feeling inside you, probably similar to accidentally catching geriatric porn on late night TV or biting into a peach and finding a maggot?

This seems to be the case for just about everyone I know however, the words vary and come from the extremely graphic in nature to the everyday leaving me to wonder why certain words bug certain people.

For my boyfriend it is short form words. There are a few in specific but really any kind of unnecessary shortening of a word makes him uncomfortable. Sucks for him as I am the queen of short forms and live to invent new and inappropriate words that are only a fraction off what they once were. The more unnecessary, the better. For him, hearing these words are like eating big spiders accidentally in you sleep but then waking up as you have just bitten in and feeling the slimy green goo from their insides trickle down your throat. In particular he hates the words "combi" as in, combination OR combine and "heinu" as in heinous.

If you see him on the street tell him that he is a "wick combi of amaz and heinu" and watch him recoil and run the other way.

For my mom, it is made up words to describe body parts. We once heard the female genitals described as a "ha-ha". She almost lost it right there and then.

She also really hates swears. Not in the old fashioned way of just wanting to hear polite language around her, but in the way that swears make conjure up an image of a super fat truck driver lifting his layer of stomach or leg fat that smells that sickly sweet fat person smell and asking her if she wouldn't mind washing in between the folds. She has several times commented on the misuse of swears in my blogs. She thinks that people will think I am this dirty truck driver as a result. Let me assure you, I'm not.

My sister moves to the other end of the spectrum and it is everyday words that make her mad. "Blouse" is a word she cannot stand, and this goes for either context of the word, an actual blouse and to blouse out ones shirt. When I just asked her why she hates the word she said "It is a B-lousy word". She's witty like that.

She also hates the word panties and wonders why, oh why, underwear cannot just be called as such.

Here are some more common words that I have heard make people sick to their stomachs; "slick" - a word which summons an image of an unshowered Italian man who has OD'ed on the hair gel combing his hair while leering suggestively.

"gummy" - only in reference to a mouth, stimulates the picture of a saliva filled decayig jawline that smells like unbrushed teeth in the morning after binge drinking.

"conjunctavitis" - just call it pink eye.

"pleasure" (said in a sexy way) tends to remind people of something disgusting that someone disgusting in their past once said to them. Seriously, I have heard of more than one person who finds this an uncomfortable word to listen to.

Some not-so common words that have a universal gross-appeal consist of words like;

camel-toe, diarrhea, yeast infection, enema, and plaque. None need explanation I hope and all make me think nasty nasty thoughts.

My personal qualms in regards to wordage is the word "moist". I'm not even sure of what I imagine when hearing this word but it is something humid, unclean smelling and just cringe worthy.

Point: Find out what people's word aversions are. You can learn a lot about them and/or have some leverage when in n argument with them. I can never fight someone when "moist" is thrown on the table.

Also, although my boyfriend just pointed out that his reason for hating the word "combi" is that "combo" is already the short form for combination, I disagree. I pointed out that yeast infection medicine that combines an external cream calls itself a "combi-pack". It was a double barf in the mouth and the best Christmas present this girl could ask for.

Feliz Navidas everyone!!!

Health Minute with Doctor Fiedlefortz.

Doctor Fiedlefortz says: Eating a box of sugar cereal a day is bad for your body.

While perusing the cereal aisles of any given grocery store it is easy to bypass the bowel-regulating All Bran, the seemingly healthy options of Cheerios and Rice Krispies, and the ever disgusting Mini-Wheats, those small cubes of fiber with the horribly addictive commercial ads that have you singing "mini mini mini mini wheats, strawberry flavor" inappropriately in the elevator while the CEO of your company wonders if you are secretly indulging a crack habit in the bathrooms.

So you walk by these fiber-ific cereals and then comes the good stuff. Sugar Cereals. If you, like me, have an insatiable sugar tooth and will settle for nothing but the best then you completely ignore those bullshit pseudo-sugar cereals like Honey Nut Cheerios and Coco Rice Krispies and head on down for the goodness.

My personal favorites are the following; Lucky Charms (but only the charms, not the cereal part), Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Count Chocula and all his spooky spin offs, and my top 2 are Apple Jacks and Cookie Crisp (mini cookies as breakfast, genius).

I recognize that this preference in cereal likens me to a hyperactive 8-year old boy who is neglected by his hick mom and left to play World of Warcraft while stuffing his face full of processed food but quite frankly, I just don't care.

But this past week has been bad. With too much spare time and a 2 for 1 sale on Cookie Crisp cereal I have successfully managed to consume a box of sugar cereal per day for 5 days for all 3 meals and yesterday I awoke in the middle of the night with horrible, mind blowing stomach pains. I had no idea why.

I obviously called for the only person I trust during times of medical uncertainty, Doctor

Fiedlefortz. Now, Doctor Fiedlefortz, being the wise man that he is questioned me about my eating regimen obviously associating a sore stomach with food. When I confessed my guilty pleasure he made his diagnosis. I was suffering from sugar ceral itis. The worst itis there is.

The cure- a daily dose of not eating whole boxes of cereal. In fact the good doctor suggested that perhaps even a handful was too much a it seemed to him that my self control was unstable in regard to these mini cookies. It did me no justice that during his diagnosis I was sneaking bites of the cereal under the table. The doctor is a quick man and when he heard the crunching, he knew what was up.

So like a reforming heroine addict I was forced to give up my stash and go into withdrawal.

It had been 1 day. I have dreamt in Sugarland already. My eyes have developed a very unsavory tick and my farts no longer smell like fresh baked goods.

But Doctor Fiedlefortz made the call and what Doctor Fiedlefortz says, Doctor Fiedlefortz means and Doctor Fiedlefortz is never wrong.

Doctor Fiedlefortz's Point: A steady diet of sugar cereal has never done anything good for anyone. It may be tempting but one must resist the lure of the artificial colors and tastes for what the good doctor refers to as "real food".

The Glass Castle

Today, in between frolicking on the beach, visiting some art galleries and buying super cheap OPI nail polish at the flea market I read a really amazing book that I think you should also read. It is called "The Glass Castle" by, Jeanette Walls and it is a true and truly amazing story.

It is amazing in general but especially amazing if you feel like you have it bad in life. This woman has the worst but best life story imaginable and although the book was 300 pages and no Nicholas Sparks I managed to rip through it in just a few hours- it is that good.

So why did I like it?

First, her writing style is one to aspire to. She is so funny and sarcastic while tackling seriously heavy issues. The opening chapter blew my mind in the way she articulates her first childhood memory (which is so horrible you will immediately feel better about your life). She manages to both present an obvious and usual biased view of each of the characters she fills out with her witty verbiage and also a very omniscient viewpoint allowing for the reader to understand who each character is to the narrator and outside the narrator. The way she deals with the horrors of her own life should inspire everyone and really demonstrates a the kind of person we should all aspire to be. She rarely laments her unfortunate circumstances and tries, as we all should, to see the light at the end of every tunnel. Cheesy right? Trust, this is the best kind of cheese.

For once, a heartfelt tale about a family did not make me cry and although utterly depressing, did not make me even sad. I was honestly grateful that this woman who had led this extraordinary life had the capacity to pen it out and share it. She is a true and wonderful storyteller.

Second, I personally have (and have found many people also have) a morbid obsession with the underworld. If you , like me, find those kind of things fascinating you will freak out for how close you get to the inner workings of transient people, alcoholics, homeless people, and mental disorders.

Point: Unlike movies (except Avatar), I have excellent taste in books so trust me. Read it.

Thank me later

Dinner and a Movie Part 2

Part Two. Movie:

This is the real reason I wanted to write this blog tonight. Yes, my dinner grossed me out and was worthy of note but my movie made up for it by leaps and bounds.

I don't usually recommend or endorse movies as I like things like Twilight, How She Move, The Notebook... basically anything that is romantic, anything catering to preteen girls, anything where the main character dances or sings their way out of the ghetto, and movies with vampires. As such, my taste is not what you might call refined or even very good and people usually want to stab their eyes out when I can convince them to join me in a JanePlantain movie choice. My boyfriend is still vomiting in his mouth from Twilight Number One (I waited in line in a Twilight T shirt for number 2 mind you).

Now that being said go see Avatar. Seriously. I may have just discredited myself but I am pretty sure the entire theatre agreed on the level of awesomeness of this movie and 400 people united strengthen my argument.

This was a movie that was SO good on many levels.

I don't want to ruin the plot but suffice to say that the satiric nature of the content is both blatant and glorious. It is pretty hard to miss the moral of the story here.

It was visually STUNNING. The people who conceptualized this picture are absolutely amazing and put any graphic artist to shame. To think up this kind of exquisite scenery is a gift.

The story was that perfect union of what I like in movies, what my sister (who appreciates actually good movies) likes in movies, what action lovers like in movies... seriously bring whoever you want to see it, I dare them not to love it.

I personally hate movies about war and death but have never in life wanted a character to die in a miserable and horrific way as much as I did in this movie.

The attention to detail does not go unnoticed and nor does the perfection in which Mr. James Cameron casted this film.

The movie is 2 hours and 30 minutes long and I have a problem where I jimmy my feet when I get antsy. I didn't even jimmy and even got sad when I realized that the movie was coming to an end. I thought to myself how I will for sure see it again and how if I could, I would sit through another viewing right after it.

Anyways, I feel like I am always bashing on something or other so I wanted to show you all that I likes things too. I really do. I appreciate good things- I just hate Hummers and greasy lettuce is all.

Point: See this movie. So SO so very good. (and even better in the extra wide seats for fat asses and even better when your sly friend sneaks you into the sold out earlier movie before the line outside and gets the best seats in the house with tons of leg room- you may feel guilty for budding but you won't feel that bad once the movie is over).

Enjoy.

Dinner and a Movie Part 1

Tonight I had the pleasure of meeting up with two of my favorite people for some food and some cinema. The weather was unusually cold today so it seemed like the ideal night activity. I will subdivide this entry into 2 parts so as to fully capture the experiences I had.

Part One: Dinner.

I only have one word (well two words actually) for the restauranteurs here: "Portion Control". Holy hell, no wonder they have to make extra wide movie theatre seats here. Tonight, with the thought of eating light, I decided to share 3 appetizers as dinner. Thats not so crazy right? 3 apps, 2 people seems like a nice light bite with room for popcorn after.

Sadly, I was mistaken. Each appetizer came out on a humungous plate and had enough on it to feed our table of 4. I don't care who you are, unless you are shamoo the whale how could you possibly eat a full sized appetizer and still eat an even fuller sized meal after? And I'm not talking about a huge plate of nachos or anything, no, it was this massive plate of lettuce wraps. It's like they try and make everything bad for you. Lettuce, not caloric, not even really of any substance but with the accoutrement they adorn the plate with you may as well be eating a big mac combo. We also ordered sliders. You know, those baby burgers that usually come 3 per order. 5. 5 sliders and by sliders they really meant the same size hamburger as McDonald's regular burger. What kind of an appetizer is that? Thats a whole fucking meal.

Funny enough, but not surprising, the only thing that came to the table in a normal sized portion was... you guessed it, the beet salad. I guess they don't want their customers to overdo it on nutritious beets and wholesome arugula.

The kicker is that both nights I have eaten in this establishments 2-part chain restaurants they assume dessert. On night one our waiter asked over five times if we had considered the fresh baked desserts made to order and tonight after filling our table with 10 pounds of food to the point that the table itself was invisible underneath the gluttonous portions, the waitress asked us if we wanted dessert.

I know as a waitress you have to ask, its the polite thing to do but come on. As if I would be able to eat one more morsel of food after my super sized appetizers.

Now the really sick part is that people freak out for this place. We waited 45 minutes just to get a table on a Sunday night at this place. And all around you people sit and eat a full 3 course meal, which by any healthy standards is a 10 course meal. And you wonder why you weigh the same a mid sized elephant... hmmm, I can't even begin to put a finger on it.

I'm not going to say you shouldn't eat there. They do have a rather famous and delicsious dessert section, and I am not going to give away the identity of this place to clog your arteries and add 2 inches to your waist per serving all I can tell you is it rhymes with shmeezchake actory....

Point: Do you have a healthy appetite? That's great! I salute you. I am not trying to say don't eat or not to enjoy pigging out Smeezchake style here and there- fuck I did it tonight. I'm just saying that when morbid obesity is a big problem where you live, perhaps you should consider PORTION CONTROL. Shmeezchake people, you are feeding one person not a fucking army unit.

But you have such such good shmeezcake so keep that up.

Do you own a Hummer?

If you have answered yes to the above question, Fuck you.

Seriously, who are you kidding? We all know your little secret oh Hummer driver. And do trust that a big bad car is by no means adequate compensation for anything.

Last night in the matter of a 20 minute drive I saw not one, not two, not three, but four Hummers on the road. One was even a Hummer limo (and thats a double Fuck you to limo Hummer). I ask this with all due respect to my fellow Hummer driving man (I'm saying it sarcastically mind you...) but WHY?

I know this may be a shock to you people who literally have to hop up to get to the step that gets you into your monster all-terrain vehicle but you are not the military. You are civilians. The sooner we can put that issue to rest, the better I will personally feel about the levels of douchbaggery on the road.

And you are not even driving these Hummers in a 4-season place. There isn't even any snow here (although to be honest even if there was snow you would be no less of an asshole but would have an excuse to hide behind). You have absolutely no justification for parading around in your big dumb car other than that you just like it. This would be indication number 1 that you are a moron.

Number 2 would have to be that you think that your personal actions in this world are above everyone else's who you peer down upon from your elevated stance as made possible by your heinous elevated car. I'm not sure if you were made aware by the millions of ad campaigns, the general trend of conversation or the new popular "green" movement but your unnecessary eyesore is mega bad for the environment. In fact I am of the belief that long after this world is over the only remnants of a time that once was will be cockroaches and Hummers. The new race of man to inhabit and repopulate earth will think we were dirty gas guzzling assholes. You are giving mankind a bad name. So enjoy your flashy set of wheels while you can and in the meantime just pull down the visor and ignore your personal carbon footprint which has grown as big as your car itself.

Number 3. Are you a great driver? Is this your way of letting everyone know? Like a statement piece? I can tell you that you can prove your driving skills in a far less ridiculous car. I say this because driving and especially parking beside you is the absolute worst for us civilians who drive real people cars. My personal favorite is when Hummers park illegally. A true double whammy as they succeed in actually blocking whole driveways while looking stupid.

You should have your own personal parking lots... in quicksand.

Number 4. Have you even seen someone get out of a Hummer? It is a laugh out loud kind of scene. Since you are raised so high off the ground you literally have to jump on out. Nothing says manliness like a cowboy hat wearing muscle head making that dainty hop skip and a jump out of his car. Seriously, I swoon just thinking about it. Loser.

Number 5- this one's for the boys. As I already mentioned, you are not hiding anything. When a man tries to overcompensate with a big belt buckle or a big car you know for sure, without a doubt that he has, shall we say, inadequacies elsewhere. Don't worry men, some girls don't mind that kind of thing and if they do mind, you car doesn't quite make up for it. One ride does not offset another. Right?

Number 6- for the ladies. Girls, I am sorry that your husband cheats on you with his hot young secretary. I am sorry that he is going through a midlife crisis and driving you to the point of insanity. I am sorry that you are going through your own kind of crisis and need a new car to go with you new boobs and lips. I am sorry that you think that a car will exude an air of powerfulness to your male counterparts. I truly am sorry for whatever you are going through but maybe try a shrink instead, or botox. Both are cheaper and far less offensive and like men, you are not fooling anyone. I know what's wrong with each and every one of you right when I see you driving along in your waste of space mobile.

Point: Hummer drivers, Fuck you. Fuck all of you. You are what is wrong with humanity. If you want to drive a big stupid car, join the army. Otherwise please relinquish your Hummers for the sake of a better tomorrow (not just environmentally)

You are not fooling anyone.

FAFAFA FANTA

Why is there no Fanta in Canada?

A question I ask myself over and again every single time I step off home soil and find the neon orange glow of Orange Fanta illuminating the grocery store shelves in between Root Beer and Pepsi.

Fanta, for you uncouth, unclassy bunch who may not know is an orange fizzy beverage not unlike Orange Crush. The difference is that Fanta is less fizzy than your average soda, really neon and SO SO SO super sweet. Fanta pairs well with any meal including breakfast (trust me) and makes a delicious addition to any party.

My personal favorite: Fanta and Pizza. I begin as I usually do by eating only the cheese off the pizza- no Fanta, then I use my nails and scrape off the dough that has been moistened by the remaining tomato sauce- No Fanta then I roll up the crust and take small bites which I also include Fanta in. Delicious.

I am one of those eater at the same time as drinkers and love nothing more than any bread product getting soggy in my mouth by any given cola product/ coffee before I swallow it. I am the reason that there is such thing as backwash and let me tell you this dear reader, no backwash is better than Fanta/Pizza. Like Romeo and Juliet they are simply made for one another.

Ok, so then a few years ago I saw a Fanta sign on the grocery store wall in Toronto. It said "coming soon" and my anticipation for the day that Fanta could be my everyday drink was insurmountable. You can obviously see just what this precious drink means to my existence as a gluttonous pig so you can understand my excitement. The day came and went when Fanta was brought to the shelves and you want to know what reader? The brought three kinds of Fanta to Canada. Three kinds of different, shitty, never before heard of flavors like Tangerine Fanta. Tangerine. Seriously. Tangerine but not orange. There is also fruit punch Fanta, Grape Fanta (or something purple Fanta) but no regular, wonderful Orange Fanta.

WHY? For all seriousness, why? Who drinks these other flavors? I have never seen anyone buy them and the look hella gross.

Now I have to go ahead and buy another small suitcase to fit in some cases of Fanta to bring home with me.

Point: I realize that the owners of Fanta will never read this blog but just in case, Orange Fanta needs to make an immediate appearance in Canada. Having to buy all these bottles and cans of Fanta in the States just because I know that the meager supply I bring home will not last long and I have to ingest as much Fanta as possible makes me feel like a crack head.

Dear John

Nicholas Sparks= Superman

Oh what can I say about Nicholas Sparks. Well for those of you who are unacquainted with him he is that dude who wrote "The Notebook". I live and breath for his heart wrenching tales of the perils and beauty of endless love.

So far I have only read The Notebook and A Walk To Remember but vowed to finish his whole collection of equally perfect pieces of literature over the course of my 3 week holiday. To date (I have been away 4 days) I have read 2.

I am a super fast reader and have actually gone through a book a day since being here alternating my Nicholas Sparks days as they tend to leave me emotionally drained and weepy but his books go by so exceptionally fast I find myself getting through them in mere hours. Like this morning when I started and finished Nights in Rodanthe before noon.

I never saw the movie with Richard Gere and Diane Lane (my boyfriend was horrified at the idea that his penis might fall of if he were to willingly watch something Notebook-ish and my mom and partner in sucky chicky movies had seen it on a plane ride and I hate to cry alone).

I had no idea what to expect but was still not disappointed. How Mr. Sparks continuously finds ways for his characters to realize their passionate and all consuming love in just days and also conceives new ways for said romances to be squashed by some tragedy or another is uncanny. How many romantic ways can a person die? Apparently many.

This one defiantly made me teary eyed and had my stoic unemotional sister look at me the way she does when she can't decide whether I am pathetic and worthy of pity or just straight up crazy- getting emotional over something as small as a paperback novel.

As great as Rodanthe was though, so far the end-all be-all for me, above the Notebook even is the one I read on day 1 of my vacation, "Dear John". Without being a plot spoiler this one not only has a heart wrenching, love at first sight, greatest love of all, love lost, love found theme but also has this amazing family love subplot that obviously made me sob my eyes out but moreover was so touching and so relevant and also so interesting that I could confidently pass it onto my stone cold sister and know with certainty that she would appreciate the book as a whole for this subplot alone. I cried from the moment I got to the third last chapter all the way to the end and then continued while packing up my things at the beach and all the way home. It was that good. And if you, like me, love a good hearty cry then you know just how good it all felt.

Tomorrow I will go back to the used bookstore down the street and continue. The woman who runs the store also loves Nicholas Sparks so I like shopping at her place. In the meantime I am reading Absalom Absalom by Faulkner. Something that heinously dense and boring is just what I need to make me want to get on the emotional rollercoaster of my next Nicholas Sparks.

Point: You should be reading Nicholas Sparks, all of you- and here's why:

If you are a girly girl and love a good romance- self explanatory

If you are not a girly girl- you will probably love being all like "this is so lame, love is so stupid, girls are so weak" and then cry yourself to sleep muffled in a pillow.

If you are a boy- these books will enlighten you to what girly girls think about when they fantasize about a perfect love for they too want (insert name here) to realize in just one hour without a shadow of doubt that she is the most beautiful and perfect creature alive and that he cannot go another minute without being her one and only. It will also enlighten you on how woman imagine that you spend the time that you are not with them thinking about them instead of thinking about football. Perhaps next time you want to get laid you will thank me for this blog and then tell your lady that you could not get the image of her hair blowing in the wind out of your mind all day instead of the scores of the football games you have watched and details of your proline tickets. If girls got a hard on the latter would lead to erectile disfunction.

your welcome

Tan-o-Rama

Alone in the looming florescent lighting of the one of five consecutive cosmetic aisles at Super Target I came face to face with the product entitled “tan legs”. Tan Legs promises you just that, legs that will rival the suntans of any good tanorexic and make your legs- not your body, but just your legs- become sun kissed. Um, what about your face people? Why just your legs? I would even understand if along side the leg bottle was an arm bottle, a stomach bottle etc. right, cause then it would be this money making ploy to entice people into thinking that each individual body part requires a different spray on tanning device. But no, this was just legs and weird enough, beside it where arm tan should be was another brand of leg tan. Wouldn’t that just look weird? I would defiantly think the girl who’s skin was white as snow and legs as brown as a Californian was a freak.

What if you put it on your face, I wondered? How can a tan be only applicable to your legs?

Anyways, being naturally curious and profoundly bored as my mom shopped the aisle ahead for baby soap, I tried it. Just a light spray right on my right knee. Thinking, what if this shit actually works, I immediately, like, IMMEDIATELY scraped it off with the Target price tag that I ripped off the display – Sorry Target but desperate times call for desperate measure.

This morning I awoke and went about my usual morning routine, got dressed and headed down to meet my sister at the pool. As I stripped down to my brown bikini she let out a loud gasp and began pointing. I froze thinking my butt, my boob or my Netherlands were hanging on out. I imagined a small gecko or beetle on my body that made her point but instead she motioned to my knee.

There in the spot where I had stupidly sprayed that leg tan was the largest and orangest circle..

This thing was hideous, just hideous and since the package promises 7 days of tan legs I have 6 more to go before I can hope to get rid of it.

Point: Don’t buy this crap.

Point 2: who makes these tanning products? I have legitimately bought tan cream before (the one for ALL OVER your body) after it was announced that fake and baking is like sipping arsenic, and it, like this leg tan makes you orange. I have had a real tan, it is not orange. I have seen others with a real tan, they are not orange and yet all these tan in a cans make you orange. I don’t want to look like a oomahloompah, I just want to help myself look less like a translucent ghost freak and more like a healthy person who didn’t spend her summers in sweatshops downtown and has not seen the sun for over a year. Perhaps you tan makers want to work on that.

An open letter to Sid.

Dear Sid,

You may wonder how I even know your name to begin with. Well Sid, the reason is because you and your wife are the loudest and most obnoxious people ever to sit two rows away from me on a nonstop flight to West Palm Beach (or anywhere for that matter).

Sid, I don’t especially like to fly. I have this extremely unwarranted but rampant fear of death in airplane. I know, I know they say you are so much safer in the air then in a car and the percentages are low blah blah but you see Sid, I believe that if you get into a car accident your chances of survival vary and can be good. I know many people who have had car accidents and lived to talk about it. I don’t however believe for a second that if a plane accident happened that anyone would survive. This isn’t “Lost” Sid and I wont end up like Kate on a magic island with miraculously perfect hair everyday despite no electricity and two gorgeous men fighting over me even though I have not brushed my teeth in almost 5 years. No Sid, I will more likely plummet to my death. I will have to fall down to earth and if I by chance survive the fall I know how bad the aftermath looks.

And Sid, just so we are clear, my parents had no idea that as a small child I watched the Delta plane crash documentary where you literally saw women with bones sticking out of their legs, hair on fire, just lost their whole families and stumbled upon their lovers decapitated head. My parents would have never wanted me to be scarred like that but you know what Sid, it happened.

So anyways Sid, I don’t like to fly and I especially don’t like to fly with really stupid peon people so I was SO thrilled to find that the seat next to me was empty for the flight. I honestly felt blessed Sid, felt like this would not be so bad after all, felt like maybe I could fall asleep without an Adavan… I was encouraged.

I slept a bit and was actually managing to clam myself down midway through the flight when I was abruptly awoken by someone’s ass pressing into my head. Do you know who that was Sid? It was your orange dyed hair, equally as loud as you wife. She stuck her butt right into my peacefully sleeping face and then stood there like a cow not having the courtesy to move. At first I sympathized, I thought, maybe the bathroom line is big and everyone is cramming themselves in line as people on planes tend to do (another reason I hate to fly). But no Sid, no she was just yakking away with some other old lady about tabloids. Guess what Sid’s wife, Jane no like your butt. I decided to move, to head down the aisle to the bathroom and that Sid, is where we first met.

Another thing I hate about planes is the bathroom line. No matter when you go, no matter what flight in line there is ALWAYS a woman with a baby, an old rich woman who may or may not attempt to engage you in conversation about the airline, and a loud breathing ethnic man. This is coupled with the fact that again, no matter the time or flight one bathroom is always occupied forever and reverberates with sounds of someone who maybe had too much taco bell for breakfast. So this is the line I was in when you waddles yourself right up to the front chewing on an imaginary “gum” like a cow chewing their cud, but grosser.

You made some obvious old person comment about how “its always the women waiting- he he” and then tried to cut in front of all us stupid women. When the old lady explained that we were waiting in line your clever and classy response was “we’ll see bout that- he he” and probably would have actually gone and relived yourself before us lined up civilized folk if not for the creepy French stewardess who needed an excuse to vent her French anger onto someone. She told you your behaviors was unacceptable Sid, and it really was.

Sid, I would have forgotten all about you but then came your real time to shine. I left the bathroom and began to walk the aisle back to my seat. You and your wife were blocking my way standing in the aisle chatting away in your loud voice and continuing to chew your imaginary gum. I waited, I was patient and you saw me waiting and didn’t move and not until 5 people were now backed up behind me did you feel the need to get out of the way. Sid, you fucking gem did you not, instead of get out of all of our ways- we who had stood for 10 minutes watching you ignore us and yammer on about whatever bullshit your pea sized brain could muster- you decided that we all should move for you and proceeded to physically push me out of your way followed by all the others behind me.

I fucking hate you Sid. I really don’t wish bad things on people but if travelers diria struck you tonight, I would not even feel slightly bad.

Point: Who raised you Sid? Begin old is an excuse for many things; shoplifting small items, touching food and putting it back, applying too much eye or cheek makeup, wearing matching velor track pants and sweatshirts, bathing suits with attached skirts, reference to gay people as “those queer type”, reference to Chinese people as Orientals or Chinamen but Sid I draw the line at being a big stupid pig. I’m sure you had a mother and how do you think she would feel knowing that at 11:00 on December 13^th you pushed a girl in her chest to get by her, did not say sorry, did not say excuse me and chewed the whole time. She would think you’re a dick Sid and so do I.

Enjoy your trip.

Xo

Jane.

Bed-in-a-Bag.

My boyfriend has this bedding that is brown checkered with matching throw pillows. Visually it is nice, masculine, unobtrusive, however, it is made of fabric that comes straight from the sweatshops of hell. I'm going to guess polyester- the great imitator- which in the case of his bedding was made to imitate microfiber. Who would want a good quality microfiber bed in the first place would be my initial question followed with an attempt to get my head around imitation microfiber. It is basically like you are sleeping in or on a cheap, fake, suede boot and feels just about as lovely as it sounds.

On top of the fact that the feeing of the fabric makes me recoil in disgust and evokes in me the feeling of eating a candy that is far too sweet and stuffed with extra sugar the Bed from the Bag also pills. So now we have this thin (nice looking from afar) polyester microfiber wannabe blanket and on the underside over 4000 small balls of broken fabric fibers have clustered making the flip side of the blanket feel like you are pressed against an 80 year old man with a million old people skin bump things.

Anyways, I sleep in this "bed" every night, complaining night after night about the horrific bedtime conditions- a complaint which has now been rendered futile since we will soon be moving in together and thus sharing my AMAZING Hypoallergenic, Soft as a Cloud Duvet with COTTON cover- and I complain, I toss, I turn, I sweat, I wake up with migraines due to dehydration from sweating and I lament the fact that I live at home and can't (at 27) have a boy (who I have been dating for over 2 years) sleep in my room.

Last night however, was the straw that broke the camels back and the reason I address the issue of his microfuckingfiber/ polyester bed. I am fortunate that the man I love is a cuddler. Sorry to embarrass him but he is, he loves to spoon or just generally be attached to me in some way during our sleeps. I am unfortunate that just one person alone under the abyss of this blanket will sweat about half their body weight as polyester, specifically bad polyester, specifically this polyester does not breath the heat just stays with you. Alone I could take it. I'm a cold ish person and do like to be warm in my bed but with two of us that shit is out of control. Now even this I manage, not without a little complaining, but I manage BUT this winter he decided to crank up the heat an idea that commenced last night. Heat+2 people's body heat+non breathing polyester=the worst night's sleep I have ever had= me telling my waxing lady this afternoon to go fuck her mother during a routine bikini wax.

Point: I write this as a warning to other girlfriends out there who may not want to step in after 2 months of dating and say "hey babe, that bed in a bag looks nice but maybe you should go for a duvet" thinking they will be overstepping their boundaries- DO IT... or live, as I do to curse the day that bullshit bag was ever unpacked, throw pillows and all.