I made a typo

Yes, I did make a typo.

I tend to be a much worse writer and proof reader of my own writing than I am of others. I'll blast anyone, then I am tasked to write something myself, and it's riddled with errors, and sometimes makes no sense. Case in point, this blog.

So, yes, I just sent out our holiday cards, and I know I missed some people, so you need to give me until January to get them all out since I did the first batch from memory of people's addresses.
Well, I intended to write the phrase "point to point" and instead I wrote point to pint. Bah. The humanity. So, yes, even I, the great one, makes mistakes.

So now it's time for your lashing. Today's grammar lesson includes possession as posed by the elusive apostrophe. For those of you who sent a Christmas card to us from your family (which means more people than you) pay attention. I'm going to teach you the difference between This pluralization and possession.

If I were to say: "I'm going to the Walter's house for dinner tonight," the apostrophe in this case denotes that we own the house in question. Possession.

However, if I were to say: "Happy Holidays, Love, The Walters," I DO NOT use an apostrophe. There is no ownership. There is only a pluralization. I'm telling you this card is from all of us--The Walters, not just me, the Walter.

So, why, and girls I'm calling you out because I notice many more girls do this than guys, are you saying: "Happy Holidays, Love, The Walter's"

?

Please remedy this in time for next year's cards, and enjoy the last typo you'll see from me in print for a long time.

Am I Funny?

I've never been a big fan of my looks. I have a big, wide, bulbous nose, small eyes, crappy skin, and fine hair. I know the mirror doesn't lie, but at least sometimes I think, tonight, I don't look half bad.

I have always blamed the camera not liking me, and being completely unphotogenic when I see countless pictures of me looking bad. However after recently seeing a lot of pictures taken of me, I've thought to myself, no Jen, you really look like this. The camera doesn't lie either. When I see myself in pictures I think, this is an ugly person. Not, I don't look good, or unattractive, I look flat out ugly. And with my much talked about (by me) weight gain, I look even worse. I took a picture of myself today with my big ass belly looking like jolly old Saint Nick. I thought I had distorted the angle, but it was just my fat stomach in the way.

I say all this because I have just returned from a trip to the Dominican Republic for our friends Jay and Jocelyn's wedding, where I was about to tell the story of my hair getting butchered. I wanted to take shots of the style in question, and I couldn't even get past my face in the pictures to concentrate on how bad the hair is. Does everyone feel this way? Is it like your voice on a recording? You think you sound so weird and different, but everyone says that's exactly how you really sound? Or am I really the ugly person who appears in all of these photos?

The pics I am about to put up here also show me with my dirty looking tan, with white eye areas. I can't even tan properly. I'm beginning to think I'm being punished for all the bad things I've done in my life, and people's clothes I've made fun of in last ten years when I became jaded to the world around me (coincided with my move to L.A.). I wish I had the brains to say that it doesn't matter because I'm so smart, but honestly I'm only of average intelligence, and as I get older I know less and less, remember less and less, and have no ability to learn new things. I'm like the guy from Memento who can't make new memories (if you haven't seen it, don't even talk to me, because you now mean nothing to me). So, I ask you...am I funny? This may have to be a claim to fame for me. Everyone has one, and so shall I. I'm already working on material for my next dinner with friends.

Well, anyway, please excuse my horrific face, and try to focus instead on the haircut when you see the pics below.

Before leaving for the DR, I bought scissors to trim my bangs. I then left them in the car ten minutes after buying them. Typical Jen.

I have a hair appt. this weekend, but instead of waiting, I just had to make an appt. to get them trimmed. Now, based on me having at least five major catastrophes with hair in the past (peach colored hair, white hair, black hair, Edward Scissorhands chop job, etc.), that I would learn to trust no one with this hair.

As I was walking to get it cut, I thought, I should probably just wait.

Instead the following events occurred in this order:

1. Walk into humid salon.
2.Notice hair stylist is the same girl who gave me a massage in the morning. Are these two jobs interchangeable?
3. Notice the rusty curling irons, dated hair books, and am forced to pick out a picture for her to go by, and the photos all look like this:So, if anyone has seen me lately, they would know that my hair doesn't fit into any of these inverted bob, Aniston fever, or spike punk styles. Although three years ago, I may have had the blond's 'do.
5. Plead with Bella (the stylist, and I use that term loosely) in English to only cut my bangs. I am snipping with my fingers in front of my hair, then saying, "Just a little trim," with my thumb and forefinger in the universal little bit or a pinch position.
6. She assures me in Spanish of nothing I can understand, but we're both nodding, so I think we're good. I should have brought the handy Spanish phrasebook that was in our goody bag to the shop, but my memory failed me again.
7. Moments later, the scissors are cutting the back of my hair without warning. I immediately start with my, no no no's, but she keeps nodding like she's telling me everything is fine, and she knows what she's doing. I have no choice but to let her proceed.
8. I am sweating, and can't believe what I've gotten myself into. The lady waiting for her kid to get braids done is smiling nervously at me in the mirror. And by smiling, I mean sympathetically mind reading my every thought about the horror that is ensuing in the chair.
9. I continue throughout to tell her, "All one length, " and "No layers." To no avail. When the dull scissors are done tearing through my hair, it's a geometric mess. Oh, and the bangs I asked her to snip just a little bit, are not even to my eyebrows. I love the short bang, just not on me. I've tried it many times, and many times it hasn't worked.
10. I beg her not to blow it dry, because I can only guess what it will look like. She insists again.
What I looked like after that can only be compared to this photo at right. In fact, I think I saw this shot in the book as a wedding ceremony option. Interstingly enough, this woman has no top on.
11. I wanted to run to the room, and wet it down, but I had no key. So, I had to go all the way to the beach to find Trent.
12. When I arrived, I was so embarressed that I looked like this, that I started crying. Yes, crying. It was more that I couldn't believe that I had done it again, and it was officially short again than I was upset about it being cut. It took me three years to fully grow out my hair since I got derailed by it falling out for four months (Thanks TrailRX for getting it all back), and it was finally growing, and now this! Cool your jets, I only sobbed for like 10 seconds, but it was very very bad. Imagine me at the pool with tons of beautiful women and men around me in their thongs, and me in my dork sundress with hair looking like this chick. If I only had that pretty lace necklace to divert attention.
13. I took three showers at the pool shower to keep it wet all day, so it wouldn't dry all tweaked out. I entertained the idea of going slick and wet to the wedding, but the wet-haired model is just not a look I can pull of either.
14. It took me 1.5 hours to style it that night. It was long in the back, short on the sides, and every other length everywhere else. When I finally got it straight and somewhat under control, I walked out of the room, and the humidity hit it, and it poofed right back out again. I think I may have ruined all of the beautiful couple's wedding pictures. My hair took up most of the shots.
These pics don't really show just how bad it is, but here I am today at my desk, ugly, fat, and now with bad hair. No wonder the women at Lyla's school ignore me. I think I scare them.

Only in grammar can you be more than perfect

I know I have been lagging in my posts, so, for anyone looking for a quick fix, please keep the following in mind:

1. The word is recurring, not reoccurring. Man, this bothers me so much.
2. The characters Bert and Ernie on Sesame Street were named after Bert the cop and Ernie the taxi driver in Frank Capra's "Its A Wonderful Life." A nice holiday reference for all of you. By the way, not only are all of my xmas lights up, but my tree is also up. Sorry jacko neighbors, the Walters have won this year. Snap!
3. A snail can sleep for 3 years. My nightly average is about four to five.
4. Married men revealed that they change their underwear twice as often as single men. I'm not even going to go into the reasons why this may be true.
5. The "save" icon on Microsoft Word shows a floppy disk, with the shutter on backwards. This is obviously why I switched to Mac. Geez.

At some point I'll forget when the dream began

For those of you in the inner circle of our personal triumphs and failures, which are very few lately, since I have been so swamped with work, that I haven't talked to any of you, are familiar with the issues we've been going through with Lyla sleeping. With the heaviness of work at day job, and the massive amount of work I have had for Fold between events and custom orders, I have already been coming home late, then working until 1:30 or 2:00 a.m. to keep up. So, Lyla not going to sleep has not been easy. Especially since we never really went through the not sleeping phase with her. She always slept. Now, I feel like we have a newborn. Either she's up until 11, or she's up a million times in the night. All scenarios end with her not staying in her room/bed.

For those that don't know the events as they occurred, let me briefly take you through it:
1. Lyla was born two years and three months ago, and from the tender age of three weeks, she slept through the night until two months ago.
2. To days before vacation, she woke up with what seemed like a bad dream. Scared, clutching us, we took her out of her crib, and held her for a few minutes, then put her peacefully back into her crib.
3. Vacation-Sleeps like the wee angel she (was). No issues, nothing but a few routine wake-ups, she's a jem.
4. Day one home from vacation, and she screams bloody murder in the crib when we try to put her down. She also started school at this time which wasn't easy for her, so I thought maybe it's all related. So many new things, new kids, new peeps. I would be pissed too.
5. Next two weeks continue, and we start troubleshooting every solution under the sun to figure out why she suddenly won't go down. Enter night lights, stuffed animals, singing, lights on, door open, fall asleep in our room first then to crib, turtle milky way light, new songs, new books, vaporizer, blow-up mattress on floor, Dora sheets (which were at least well received), big girl bed, sitting with her until she fell asleep...

Sitting with her until she fell asleep became the new norm, since I refused to let her a. sleep in our bed, b. fall asleep elsewhere in the house c.scream for five hours, which is what she did when we let her "cry it out" in her crib.
Well, at first it wasn't bad. We'd wait in there for a few mins, and then slip out. Then, the time in there got longer and longer, and her ability to sense us leaving got greater. She would be dead asleep, and I would sneak out, but if a bone cracked in my ankle, or a floor board would creak, she would wake up and call for me/us. So, we would have to wait until she was so out of it that the noise of leaving (which is not loud!) wouldn't wake her up. The funny thing is, she takes a nap for our nanny every day without issue. She also slept at my parent's house in her own bed without issue. Of course, it's only with us that this occurs.

Well, after a month and a half of almost an hour and a half each night in her room, and about 500 games of Word Mole on my Blackberry to keep me entertained in there on the chair (high score of 2001 suckas), we realized it was no longer fear but manipulation on her part.

So, two weeks ago we decided to do boot camp. I figured it would take four to five days max to shake this. Well, two weeks later, we're no closer to her staying in her bed. She is up until 10:30 or 11 each night, once she was up until midnight chatting it up with us downstairs and yelling, "Go Ravens" during Monday Night Football. (Did I mention Lyla knows almost all the starters' names for the Ravens?)

The little thing puts on this voice, and says things like, "Hey Mommy, can you sing the mountain song or a lullaby, " "Can you hold my hand," "Can you sit in the chair," etc. She's super cute, and it's so hard to resist her, and over the past two weeks we have caved, and patted her on the back, or stayed in a few minutes for her to go down. She's like Edward. I know he wants to suck my blood, and potentially kill me, but I give in to him anyway. Lyla is the same. She is so charming (and pale for that matter). However, doing that hasn't helped the departure each night. So, twice, I have done the full blown Super Nanny approach. I put her back in the bed the first few times and console her. (side note is we had a gate in her doorway and the stairs of which she scaled both, so we have since taken both away, and she can just climb in and out of her bed now). Then, I just don't talk to her, and I simply put her back in the bed. Of course, as soon as I put her in, she climbs right out. Then the pleading and little voicing ensues. She usually will sit in her doorway or the hallway and calm down, but she never goes back into her bed. Monday night she started singing jingle bells (btw, the kid has perfect pitch), last night it was Mary Had a Little Lamb, last week it was a full story about a pink dinosaur. Last night, I kept a tally, and I put her back in 21 times. I finally let her be in the doorway, and she proceeded to put her blankie down on the floor, lay on it, and fall asleep. This is the second boot camp night she's done this. She absolutely refuses to stay in her bed, but will sleep on the floor in the doorway without issue.

So, I thought I would share this sight with all of you.

For all of the screaming, crying, late nights, no down time for us, frustration, and of course concern you feel when going through this, you have to stop and grin at how precious she can be when she finally throws in the towel. And look at those legs! They go on for miles.

Have You Ever Worn the Grapes of Wrath?

The Grapes of Wrath by Steinbeck, is a tale of a poor family that seeks the promise land in CA (a familiar story to me as well), after their farm is taken by drought and the future of their family is at stake. Upn reaching CA, they find not gratification and a slew of acting jobs, but an over-saturated landscape of Hollywood wannabes all fighting for the same jobs and wearing the same trends as them. People are being mistreated, resorting to one-night stands and commercial work just to survive. Unions start forming, and the writers go on strike to demand rights for themselves. After all, a six figure salary is hardly enough for a lead writer on Everyone Loves Raymond. One strike turns violent, and Tom Joad, the protagonist, kills someone (else). He's already a fugitive, so this makes things even worse. So, he's forced to flee in a high speed chase on the 405.

That's the jist of it at least.

Is Ralph Lauren the first thing you think of when you hear sharecropper? No, I didn't say shareholder. Well, his newest runway show, and many other designer's shows featured the return of the overall. He said he was inspired by the Grapes of Wrath, and it definitely shows in the collection. I don't know how runway-worthy the looks are since his runway stuff is usually higher end (see RL Black Label), but I was digging several of the looks. So, yes, cowgirls they're back. I resisted the genie pants and leggings, but can I resist the overall? Don't think so. And I'm pretty certain J. Crew will be selling a stylin' pair with my name on it within three months for $128.

Through the years I've had a few pairs.

My first pair was purchased in the local UDELCO in my town, a second hand shop carrying mostly army pants, surplus stuff, and of course good old overalls. They always smelled like wolf pee when I wore them, and I couldn't get rid of the stink, so after maybe 8-10 wears, I finally tossed them. Then I bought a pair later in college. My boyfriend Rob's roommate's girlfriend had a pair that fit so well. They were definitely more tailored in the waist, which made it look like jeans on the bottom with the traditional apron top. They fit her so well, I decided to go on a hunt for them. I would have asked her where she got them, but she was a real psycho, and I was afraid if I talked to her she'd kill me. She lied a lot, and stole things, and took or dealt drugs. Turned out she tried to sleep with Rob about a million times, and if I recall correctly even asked for a threesome with us. Once, she was sitting in the dark in his room in her underwear when he got home from class. Crazytown. In the end, I got a Calvin Klein pair, since, at that time, CK was the only designer brand of jeans, so I felt super cool buying and wearing them. They were definitely my best pair.

I've always wanted a pair that look like jeans, and have suspenders connected at the belt line. You heard it here first, this look will be in style this winter.

So, here are some of my faves from the RL show. I did buy a caddy hat a few weeks ago that I think I've since lost (along with a gorge gold multi-strand necklace--both from J. Crew), but could rock a winter version of some of these looks. Too bad none of these clothes will ever look like this on me. I tried rocking the boyfriend jeans today with a white tee, jacket, and cool pearlish necklace, but the jeans only made me look like a character from an 80s movie about to paint her apartment. Oh well, a girl can dream can't she?

Halloween 2009

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Halloween

Well, it was an eventful year. Lyla got to dress up twice. Once for school as a bumble bee, and once as Foofa from Yo Gabba Gabba. The lead-up to this day entailed Trent wearng the glasses and hat of his DJ Lance Rock costume on a regular basis, and Lyla wearing a combo of wings, pink hat and occasionally some antennae.

As usual, Lyla didn't nap, so as the parade at the end of our block ensued, Lyla started getting crabby. The revelers were merry, and Lyla was repeating how much she didn't want the pumpkin man giving out candy and playing a drum to come near us. Lyla is definitely not good in a crowd, and this place was like Filene's before a wedding gown sale. Packed to the gills with kids and parents. Luckily the mood broke when Lyla hit the slides, and she was pretty happy for the rest of the night after that.

We were afraid she'd be scared to go up to the houses, but she went right up and said Trick or Treat and Happy Halloween to each and every house. It was too cute, and too funny. She enjoyed getting the candy, but was definitely more interested in the decorations and pumpkins at the houses. One house had a ghost that danced when you clapped your hands. We were there for quite a while. The lady that lived there said she's had it since her daughter (who's out of the house now) was three. She said she loved it so much, that when she put it away in November, her daughter cried that she was putting her brother in the closet, and sobbed all day. Seriously, I feel like this ghost had the same impact on Lyla. Man, she loved that ghost.