i Have an iLove iHate Relationship with the Apple Store. (A little Apple Store humor for frustrated customers who really kinda love that place, like me.)
Last week, I took a trip to the Apple store. Oh, the Apple store. It’s like a Dylan’s Candy Bar for adults. Like it’s namesake, in the Garden of Eden, or in the hands of Snow White’s evil stepmother, APPLE was so inviting… so enticing. There it was, in all of its overcrowded, 8 gazillion watt minimalistic splendor. Continue reading
I’m finally getting a long overdue pedicure and a long overdue moment of respite ( or so I think). This current span has been about 2 months or 68 days, but who’s counting? I like to let the nails grow unattractively long in the true spirit of martyrdom. Then I wear sandals and constantly draw attention to how badly I need a pedicure, by saying things like “How badly do I need a pedicure?”
The trick is to go as infrequently as possible and only surrender when your nails split and a jagged edge pulls threads in your sheets, thereby making a 3 AM roll over feel like chewing on a metal gum wrapper. Eeeek.
Most importantly do not, under any circumstance, remove the polish. This way you have undeniable proof of your hectic schedule. It implies that your “me time” is so sparse that you don’t even have enough to simply wet a cotton ball.
Today I arrived with the red so far at the tip it looked as if I was wearing a vampire’s French pedicure. Sarabeth, whose real name is Choi Jae Hua, or Yi Hae-Won or something else I can’t pronounce, looks at my feet with a “Tsk.” “I know it’s been a long time,” I say with the joy of squeezing in one last sympathizer. Then she looks up at me and asks if I’m aware there’s a Hello Kitty sticker on the bottom of my foot. “Oh, my daughter was looking for that, if only it were so easy to find my keys.” She then asks if it’s okay to remove it. “Well if you can’t work around it.” I’m not sure if she can hear me; my chair is set on high-multifunction-10. Its “Human Hand” technology is loudly knocking me out of my seat while it heats my tush, vibrates my thighs, froths milk for my cappuccino, and sorts my mail.
I lie, well shimmy back, trying to enjoy my favorite part, the massage. I can’t seem to relax. I am so keenly aware of every left over scrub granule that is kneaded into my legs. Worse, I can sense her daydreaming of the family she has left behind and I’m sure she’s totally resenting me for not shaving, detesting America for making her touch feet, and cursing her boss for making today “$20 Tuesday.” I finally start to relax as she coincidentally realizes she has massaged long enough.
She halts to do the required Korean calf knocking, which she follows with the “Ten Toe Pop” event. She’s seems let down when she can’t get a good snap out of the last two toes (not unlike that annoying handshake of the mid-nineties).
“Okay, pick you color” she says pointing to the wall. I can’t decide between “After Sex” or a hue one shade darker, “3 Bottles of Whine.” I don’t understand why all the colors are sexual innuendos. In the end I go with “Popped Cherry,” which is a medium shade of…well, you get the picture. I spend most of the polish application staring at the tranquil paintings of nude women relaxing on furniture. The woman in the painting across from me appears to be giving herself a breast exam on a plush sofa.
I decided to heighten my relaxation by purchasing a 10 minute massage. I swiftly wriggle myself into the pretzel seat after viewing a short video demonstration by Cirque De Soleil. Then she literally beats the tension out of me. “Excuse me Sarabeth, that knot you’re trying to knead out, I think that’s bone.” She ignores me as she does not recognize the sound of her own name. Probably because she picked the tag out of a basket this morning.
No matter, she manages to pummel it smooth regardless. Then she grabs my wrists, pulls my arms back and relentlessly yanks trying to crack my shoulder blades. She ends with vigorous karate chopping to the back of my neck. Sarabeth then signals someone, and an EMT rushes in with the Jaws of Life to free me from the chair. I walk away totally relaxed, one arm carelessly dangling from the socket. No worries. I’m sure it’s nothing a good orthopedist can’t fix. Seriously, ALL of my attempts at relaxation seem to stress me out!
Come join the sarcasm on Facebook
OMG, I have to tell you guys something. I often turn to my iCarly diary with my darkest secrets, but this one is just too juicy. Here goes… I slept with Tiger Woods. You guys are probably freaking out, as Tiger’s reputation has been sooo perfect up until now. Let me be the first to tell you, he’s not the squeaky clean Jonas Brother, he pretends to be.
Our affair was rather recent. I must confess, he was passed out when I met him. Sadly, that’s not the first time I started an affair with an unconscious man. The other time was when this guy was hit by a subway car and I went to visit him in the hospital. His family showed up and took me for his fiancé. I went along with it because I was lonely and it was the holidays. Eventually, he woke up and I married his brother. Oh wait, that wasn’t me. DUH.
Anywho, with Tiger it was different. He was admitted to the hospital (where I am a candy striper) after a rather harsh battle with a fire hydrant. –See, it’s different already. It appears he and his wife play late night golf and he took his car to search for a stray ball, when the confrontation occurred. I can only imagine how far one of Tiger’s balls can fly (well, I don’t have to imagine anymore). –That was a sex joke, in case you didn’t catch on, LOL.
As it turns out, it was lucky that his wife was caddying for him, as she was able to use his iron to pull him from the wreck and beat off the fire hydrant. I didn’t even know fire hydrants could come to life, but I saw this movie about a car named Christine and she came to life. So, I guess anything’s possible.
Tiger even promised me a signed Fat Head of his best friend MJ. I can’t believe he can get in touch with Michael Jackson, but after the stint with the fire hydrant, I can see Tiger’s special. Other people can see it too. He also had sex with my friend Luanne who mops the floors. And then Gertie, who resides in the nursing home area. Oh, and Becky who was in the pediatric unit to have her tonsils out. I ran into him wandering around the Nursery. He says looking at the babies calms him. I get it, they’re so sweet and innocent.
I confronted him about all those other girls, but he said, “don’t worry honey, you’re my hole in one.” He said if we do it enough I can be his “double bogey.” I don’t know anything about the golf but the nicknames sure are cute. Oh yeah, he made me swear I’d never tell… Shit.
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I’m not gonna name names, as I would certainly be one of them, but there are distinct qualities that describe most Facebookers.
The Over Sharer -This person seems to think that a trip to the store, a traffic jam, or the weather is worth repeating. They give updates like a minute to minute log. “Sitting in traffic.” “When will it stop raining?” “Just left SB, grande cap, mmmmm.” The Over Sharer is also the most enabled of all personalities. Other Over Sharers are constantly responding to their minute to minutes with fascinating epiphanies like “LOL” or “Rain makes me sleepy” or “Love Starbucks J” (Yes, let’s not forget the smileys, winkeys, and frowneys.)
The Workout Addict and the Closet Alcoholic -These people are actually the same, personality-wise. They feel the need to tell you what they’re drinkin’ or what they’re doin’ in the gym… and the stats. I think they’re both sending signals that require intervention. “20 mile jog, 500 sit-ups and feelin’ it.” “5 mojitos, ahhh” Not only do they flaunt the accomplishments of their pastimes, they like to question their friends as to whether or not to do it. “Do I climb a mountain, or go to the 10:15 spin?” “Drinks with the boys at Lucky’s, or sit on the couch with a cold one?” 😉
The Just “is” – At first I thought these people were publishing this status by accident, but then I realized certain people do it more than others. Either they have sausage fingers and can’t work the keyboard or they just “are.” What does that mean? Is that a call for sympathy a cry for help? A Buddhist feeling of zen? You people are too profound for me. ):
The Gibbrisher -Everyone knows a Gibbrisher. This person speaks in code. Code that at least one friend understands, while the other 500 hundred friends are wondering what the hell, “is so $ due MJ explosion!” means? LMAO
The TMIer -This person is like the Over Sharer in that they have too much time, but takes it one step further by including info about last night’s sex, a bout of diarrhea, or an overly itchy rash. Anytime you talk about your own genitals in any fashion, you fall into this category, BEWARE. TMI
The Self Promoter –Don’t waste your time thinking, “Oh, the irony,” I know this is me. This person thinks that their business is of the utmost importance, TO YOU. They don’t want you to miss a single sale, review, TV spot, story, or promo. They ask that you join the 50 fan clubs, groups, and subscription sites that they have spent valuable work time setting up. Don’t think we, I mean they don’t check to see if you join every one of those clubs and sites! IMHO
Honorable mention: The Quoter and The Lyricist.
BTW-There will be a sequel. I would love to hear about your experiences with these personalities and the other personalities you have encountered.
OMG I almost forgot please join my fan page on FB , seriously!
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I am now freelancing for iVillage, which is an amazing site for women. They cover enough issues to give me work and let me keep the humor in my essays. Those pieces will not be printed on my site as it is against my contract. I will give you the links as I get them and I am so happy to share the news with you all. The first article is
Do You Have a Case of Nanny Envy? I hope you read it, tweet it, FB it, email it, and continue to enjoy me here at Suburban Jungle!
Thanks for your unwavering support!
J from the B
PS- if you haven’t read iCan’t iStand the iApple Store, do so. It set new records on my site!!!
Dear Mickey:
Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I think we need to take a break. Sure, I love the way you and your friends with oversized heads eat breakfast with my family and entertain us with your theme parks, but you ask for so much in return.
I pay a near fortune to see you, then you woo my daughter into expensive princess attire and offer pricey oversized turkey legs, costly Pooh shaped popsicles, and expensive embroidered hats with ears… that don’t really translate in the real world. I’m sorry, that sounded like I was blaming you for the economy. I’m sure you and Minnie have a ton of Disney stock options, so I know you’re feelin’ it as well.
According to the latest statistics, me and 1/3 of other American families are cancelling trips this summer and taking a “stay-cation” instead. I know you’re angry. The last time you waved at me and said, “See ya real soon,” you thought it would be sooner. I’m thankful you only have 4 fingers, because I know what you’d be waving at me now.
This summer, like most Americans, I will be visiting (Chez Pa Tio). I will take a portion of the money I’m saving and recreate much of the awe and wonder you provide, without ever leaving town.
I will save $60 on those mandatory Mickey mist sprayers, and have my family stand in the general vicinity of wet neighborhood dogs when they shake. Each night my husband and I will wrap ourselves in twinkle lights, and then we’ll run by the kids really fast and call it Space Mountain. Then we’ll slow down and call it the Light Parade. Who knows, we could wear them to bed and call it Pleasure Island.
I will cook pancakes in your likeness. Then I’ll have my neighbor with an abnormally large head come over and eat them with us. I’m sure my family will be none the wiser, as his head is really big. Have a great summer now, ya hear.
Sincerely,
Jenny from the Blog
This was written for the new site saleHOP.com. I am now the feature writer for this awesome site. Wahoo! Here is a little info on it so you can be one of the first “in the know.”
SaleHOP is an online sale listing service for:
PEOPLE who host garage sales, yard sales, moving sales, estate sales, and more.
SMALL RETAIL STORES who seek a more effective way to attract new shoppers.
LOCAL EVENTS who want a cost effective way to promote their sale online.
BARGAIN HUNTERS looking for ways of saving time and money
They provide bargain hunters with a better way to find items they need at any sale or event occurring in their local area; while providing sellers an affordable and effective way to attract shoppers; in a comprehensive and feature rich website that provides a safe and fun environment.
New Vlog! I started doing how to videos for some of the Mommy sites I write for. Though not totally serious, the concept of explaining even the simplest thing, gave me quite a giggle. So, I taped this video on “How to sit on a chair.” In it I explain in layman’s terms the delicate artform that is “sitting on a chair.” You may want to use a spotter your first couple attempts. I assure you, with my expert guidance, you will be sitting on chairs in no time!
If you know anyone that could use this kind of instruction, please pass the link on -so they can take a load off!: mom demonstrates important skill “how to sit on a chair
Good Luck!
So I am finally getting a long overdue pedicure.This current span has been about 2 months or 68 days, but who’s counting?I like to let the nails grow unattractively long in the true spirit of martyrdom.Then I wear sandals and constantly draw attention to how badly I need a pedicure, by saying things like “How badly do I need a pedicure?”
The trick is to go as infrequently as possible and only surrender when your nails split and a jagged edge pulls threads in your sheets, thereby making a 3 AM roll over feel like chewing on metal.Most importantly do not, under any circumstance, remove the polish.This way you have undeniable proof of your hectic schedule.It implies that your “me time”is so sparse that you don’t even have enough to simply wet a cotton ball.
Today I arrived with the red so far at the tip it looked as if I was starting a new trend in French pedicure.Sarabeth, whose real name is Choi Jae Hua, or Yi Hae-Won or something else I can’t pronounce, looks at my feet with a “Tsk.”“I know it’s been a long time,” I say with the joy of squeezing in one last sympathizer.Then she looks up at me and asks if I am aware there is a Pokemon sticker on the bottom of my foot.“Oh, my son was looking for that, if only it were so easy to find my keys.” She then asks if it’s okay to remove it.“Well if you can’t work around it.” I’m not sure if she can hear me; my chair is set on high-multifunction-10.Its “Human Hand” technology is loudly knocking me out of my seat while it heats my tush, vibrates my thighs, froths milk for my cappuccino, and sorts my mail.
I lie, well shimmy, back trying to enjoy my favorite part, the massage.I can’t seem to relax.I am so keenly aware of every left over scrub granule that is kneaded into my legs. Worse, I can sense her daydreaming of the family she has left behind and I’m sure she’s totally resenting me for not shaving, detesting America for making her touch feet, and cursing her boss for making today “$20 Tuesday.”I finally start to relax as she coincidentally realizes she has massaged long enough.She halts to do the required Korean calf knocking, which she follows with the “Ten Toe Pop” event.She’s seems let down when she can’t get a good snap out of the last two toes (not unlike that annoying handshake of the mid-nineties).
“Okay, pick you color” she says pointing to the wall.I can’t decide between “After Sex” or a hue one shade darker, “3 Bottles of Whine.” I don’t understand why all the colors are sexual innuendos.In the end I go with “Popped Cherry,” which is a medium shade of…well, you get the picture.I spend most of the polish application staring at the tranquil paintings of nude women relaxing on furniture.The woman in the painting across from me appears to be giving herself a breast exam on a plush sofa.
I decided to heighten my relaxation by purchasing a 10 minute massage.I swiftly wriggle myself into the pretzel seat after viewing a short video demonstration by Cirque De Soleil.Then she literally beats the tension out of me.“Excuse me Sarabeth, that knot you’re trying to knead out, I think that’s bone.”She ignores me as she does not recognize the sound of her own name.No matter, she manages to pummel it smooth regardless.Then she grabs my wrists, pulls my arms back and relentlessly yanks trying to crack my shoulder blades.She ends with vigorous karate chopping to the back of my neck.Sarabeth then signals someone, and an EMT rushes in with the Jaws of Life to free me from the chair.I walk away totally relaxed, one arm carelessly dangling from the socket.No worries. I’m sure it’s nothing an good orthopedist can’t fix.Why do my attempts at tension release always seem to stress me out?
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