I wrote a while back about how I don’t do Adam’s laundry… stop judging me, he’s a dude and his laundry is gross. And he generates like, seven times as much dirty clothing as I do so if I did his laundry I’d be doing laundry all day every damn day.

Anyway, I was feeling nice recently (no idea why) and while he was gone for the weekend I decided I’d surprise him by getting his MOUNTAIN of smelly clothes all clean and put away (you know now that I think about it, I might not actually have been feeling nice, but actually super-annoyed that I couldn’t walk through our bedroom…).

You guys, I’d just like to give you an idea of  how long it’s been since Adam actually operated the washing machine. Here is a breakdown of all of the separate categories of clothing – each which constituted a FULL load of laundry – I had to lay out before I even started this chore: 

1. boxers

2. white socks

3. hunting socks

4. button-up work shirts

5. fleece pants

6. waffle shirts (long-john material)

7. orange t-shirts

8. dark t-shirts

9. white t-shirts

10. jeans

11. weird materials (workout shirts, nylon, underarmour, etc.)

12. cargo shorts

13. sweatshirts/sweatpants

14. miscellaneous color load

Okay… I know who I married, so I’m not particularly surprised by most of this, but who the heck has an entire load of dirty hunting socks??? Or really, an entire load of orange t-shirts?

 OR FOURTEEN F***ING LOADS OF LAUNDRY IN GENERAL??

Aaaaaaaand now I’ve retreated blissfully back into my “no man-laundry” rule after a weekend spent folding laundry gave me carpal-tunnel. Next time you see my husband, tell him his socks look clean.

While browsing through the most recent issue of Parents magazine, I came across this little “gem” of advice:

Now, I may not be in the majority with this thought, but shouldn’t parenting magazines be encouraging families to get outside and be active? According to the CDC website, obesity now affects 17% of all children and adolescents in the United States – which is triple the rate from just one generation ago. About one-third (33.8%) of US adults are obese – here in Alaska the rate of obesity is 24.5% (Alabama came in at the top of the chart with 32.2%; Colorado is the lowest with 21.0%). Listen, folks, the CDC states it plain and simple - obesity is common, serious and costly.

Being that this country has such a problem with inactivity and unhealthy eating habits, is telling people to enjoy the fall season through their windows while watching TV really such a smart tip? My first thought upon seeing this advice was to give Parents magazine a stern “NO-NO”!

Don’t get me wrong, I love new episodes of Modern Family and Glee… But I feel an appropriate amount of “lazy guilt” while I’m watching them. It really startled me to see a popular magazine with such a wide reach actually encouraging me to sit on my butt and stare at the boob tube instead of doing something active outside with my family.

Parents (and non-parents)…Where do you stand here? Do your thoughts echo mine, or do you think it’s refreshing to see a magazine give permission to be a little lazy in our crazy lives?

Lol.

Another email that showed up in my inbox last week:

Obviously, this person took a lot of time reviewing my site to verify content, audience, and you know… my NAME. I felt it was only polite to respond.

Pretty sure that in order to email me, you have to type in “superwifeJENNY (at) gmail (dot) com” – obviously I haven’t made my name visible enough out there.

At least Nate got my name right.

Such a wonderful reminder… of the things I am not. If you wear these jeans, I curse you. CURSE YOU!

Updated: You know, looking at this picture close up (click on it), don’t you think it’s weird that the front pair of jeans on this rack do NOT look like they’re exactly for skinnie minnies? This, for me, is a big fat FAIL.

For passengers on any airplane I am flying on:

RULES TO FLY (WITH JENNY) BY

1. Don’t talk on your cell phone at the top of your lungs at 7:30am while others (namely, me) are boarding/deboarding. It makes me have fantasies about your window breaking and you getting sucked out into nothingness.
2. Don’t chew your gum/apple/candy/cud/whatever loudly when you’re near me. Or at all.
3. Wash your fucking hair in the morning. Before you get on the plane and sit anywhere near me. Because dirty hair smell is grounds for me giving dirty face looks in your direction ALL FLIGHT.
4. Speaking of smells, you’d better wash/put on deoderant/put on cologne and just smell acceptable in general if you plan on sitting anywhere near me and my supernose. Because I. Have. No. Problem. Calling over the gay flight attendant in my loud voice and requesting a new seat because “I might barf the stench is too disgusting for me to sit here next to him/her kthanks.” Don’t test me.
5. Don’t talk to me. Just don’t. ESPECIALLY if you have a penis and you’re going to say ANYTHING about my boots.
6. Don’t fall asleep and snore. I also have no problem throwing pillows.
7. Seriously? Don’t complain about turbulence. Don’t complain about the flight being delayed/turbulent/whatEVER. Everyone feels the same, and we’re not irately crying about it out loud. Stop making yourself looking like an asshole.
8. OMG if your fat stupid kid kicks my seat one more time I swear I’ll turn this plane right around…
9. Your cat? Really? Does she need to be under the seat in front of you? Because it doesn’t sound like she’s enjoying herself… and in turn, I’m not enjoying herself…
10. Don’t ask me about the book I’m reading. Yes, it’s vampire porn. Obviously I love it. Yes I know it’s for ‘young adults’ and I don’t care. I am technically a young adult, as I have not been an adult for a long time. Also, see #5.
11. Back to smells… don’t wear sandals and then put your feet up on my arm rests when you sit behind me. I can smell your feet and again, have no problems SLAMMING my elbow on your fat stinky pinky toe. And then not apologizing. I prefer the term “oops!” with a sly smile.
12. Don’t be too fat to sit in the seat next to me without spilling over into my space. Please… I paid good money for my seat too, and I’d like all of it, not half.
13. DON”T BE FUCKING SICK. AAAAAAARRRRGH I’ll hate you forever if you’re hacking all over yourself and then sniffling and coughing and sneezing and not using antibacterial hand sanitizer every 3 seconds. I hate you. I pre-hate you if you’re thinking about flying sick.
14. On second thought… no one get on the plane with me. Ever. Just cancel when you see me at your boarding gate.

Note: All of this has happened. To me. Which is why I feel that rules are in order.

At the dentist recently my hygienist commented that I obviously practice “excellent” home care… and then she told me I have 3 cavities. WTF? Apparently my mouth has low ph? Gah. Anyway this was my brief conversation:

Hygienist: “Jenny, do you have any specific drinks you consume a lot, like every day, you know like sweet coffee of something? Because a lot of the time for us adults, it can be the drinks that trip us up and not junk food.”

Me: “Hm… no, I don’t even drink coffee. Maybe iced tea? I drink that kind of a lot I guess. Although I do drink a lot of water too. Huh.”

But then it totally dawned on me about an hour later during lunch with a friend…

Me: “blah blah, my hygienist thinks there’s some sort of drink that’s giving me cavities, but I don’t really drink coffee or energy drinks, so I have no idea what it could be!”

Friend: “Are you KIDDING? What about the massive amounts of candy you eat? WHAT ABOUT THE FACT THAT YOU DRINK PINK CHAMPAGNE EVERY SINGLE NIGHT??”

Me: “But I have EXCELLENT at-home-teeth-care techniques!!! She SAID!”

So apparently, champagne is giving me cavities. WHY, GOD, WHY???

I hate Costco. I hate it more on the weekends. I hate it more on weekend afternoons…

BUT, to get my beautiful new wine glasses, I went to Costco on Sunday at about 1:45pm. After some redneck (literally, a man in an old beat-up chevy, with a cigarette hanging out of his scruffy face, and his girlfriend sitting in the passenger seat with curlers in her hair and a cigarette in her mouth as well) cut me off in the parking lot, and I waited in line at the customer service desk for 30 minutes to get my new membership card…

I’m standing in line for 20 minutes at the register to buy my 2 items, thinking about how this damn place looks more like the fair that Costco, and I realize there’s something wrong with my new membership card — it now says:

Costco Business Member

Jennifer Fat

Awesome. Now skinny bitches at the Costco membership desk are noticing my weight gain. I wonder why she didn’t just add the “s” after “Jennifer”… Back to the gym it is. :) I’m also considering joining Sam’s Club.

Originally posted on jennyfast.com

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While I was in Seattle this week, I went to Southcenter Mall and window-shopped. To keep myself from actually buying clothes, I went to Baskin Robbins for an ice cream cone (can’t try on clothes if you’re eating ice cream!!).

I paid the cute 16-year-old blonde girl behind the counter $4 for my $3.49 ice cream. She handed me back like, 300 nickels and a few pennies.

Me: “Aw, I dont need this… (looking around)… don’t you guys have one of those little ‘help the children’ donation boxes?”

Baskin Robbins Girl: (innocently) “Oh no, sorry, we don’t have one of those. I could just give it to a kid though if you want.”

HAHA! I almost dropped my ice cream cone! What was she going to do, walk around and accost the first child she saw?? What a cutie. Totally made me smile for the rest of the night.

PS. I kept the change and found a “real” donation box a few stores down the hall. :)

I understand (kind of) that you live a lonely, deserted life with no women who care about you. This may be why you think it’s perfectly acceptable to creep random women out in public places. I’d like you to know, it’s not. It’s not acceptable to talk to women (namely, me) in airports (or restaurants, or grocery stores, or banks, or medical offices, or anywhere) about their knee-high black leather boots, which you apparently think are “sexy.”

It’s not acceptable to say things like “I bet you wear those to places other than work,” or “I’d like to see those boots in action,” or even, at this point, a simple “I like your boots.” Your mindset shows on your face. Also, the only “action” you’d get to see would be my boots’ stiletto heels stabbing you in the eyeball.

My black boots do not make me kinky, outgoing, or sexually attracted to you in any way. EVER. So trying to start up an innocent conversation about the weather in order to later work in a comment about the boots is also unacceptable — and pathetic. You’re not that sly, man.

My black boots are not a sex prop. My wedding ring is not a fake. Please assume neither. Also, it is not ever okay to ask me when I was married, and then longingly (while practically drooling) comment that you “wish you’d met me before I got married.” I can assure you, it wouldn’t have mattered. I have standards, you know.

Attempting to talk to me about my boots from THREE rows back in the airplane I’m in is also not a good idea, and completely weird. No, the club patches on your motorcycle jacket don’t help. Neither does your long scraggly hair.

Being so adamant to tell me you like my boots that you’ll motion for me to take my ipod earbuds out of my ear is just ridiculous. How did you really think I’d respond to that? “Oh, thanks mister creepypants, I didn’t like that song anyway… oh you like my boots? Awesome, let me strip for you…”

NO. Just NO.

And while we’re at it, pausing at my lunch table at Chili’s in Fairbanks while I’m dining with a man (my boss) to tell me that my boots are incredibly sexy is a TERRIBLE IDEA that may next time get you tabasco sauce in your creepy wandering eyes. That’s right, I saw you wait for your wife to walk ahead of you before you chester-molestered your way over to my table while heading in the direction of the restroom. That’s just gross, man. Just gross.

And one last thing. DON’T. EVER. EEEEEVVVVVEEERR. TOUCH. MY. BOOTS. The next time you think it might be a good idea to come over and STROKE MY BOOT while I’m reading WILL NOT END WELL FOR YOU. I was just too stunned this time to throw my book at you and scratch your eyes right the hell out of your disgusting creepy face. You could have just ASKED me what it was made out of. I still would have ignored you and muttered “ew” a little loudly under my breath, but still, you could’ve just asked. Did you WANT to give me nightmares?

In conclusion… please cease being creepy. And stop thinking about my boots.

Sincerely,

Happily Married Young Beautiful Boots Girl Who Would Never In A Million Years Sleep With You