The worst egg hunt ever...

Freakin' New Girl. I sat down to enjoy a light evening of comedy featuring Zooey Deschanel and that hot guy who plays Nick that I simultaneously feel like I've known forever and have never seen before but it doesn't matter either way because I want to have babies with him even though I probably can't because 90% of my eggs are LOST. That's right, lost. Keeping the other socks company. Candle in the wind. My sacks are running on 10%. Gone. 

In tonight's episode, Jess' lesbian gynecologist friend (they're dime a dozen, am I right) tells her that women lose 90% of their eggs by the time they reach 30. Of course her face turns into a baby deer and she sings some silly songs and demonstrates general hipster quirkiness until her LGF informs her that she does in fact have plenty of hormones up in her snatch (while her gorgeous model friend is coming up empty - take that models). 

In the real world, I pretend to be convinced that this is a made-up-for-laughs fact but nearly drop my hot-dog wiener and Thanksgiving gravy down the side of my recliner-and-a-half (America!), and give Google a friction burn with my mad search.

And there it was. "The study published by the University of St. Andrews and Edinburgh University in Scotland found that women have lost 90 percent of their eggs by the time they are 30 years old, and only have about 3 percent remaining by the time they are 40."  Lost. Lost? Should I have worn fewer skirts? Kept my legs crossed? Is this something that people know - why wasn't I aware?

This is not appropriate Tuesday evening comedy fodder. I still feel like I kinda want to have a family. I'll probably be ready in about a year or 75. So keep an eye out for your invitation to the worst egg hunt ever. 

Now please enjoy this clip that is EXACTLY like a conversation I had (except I looked far less like a woodland creature while speaking):

Happy Thanksgiving!

Hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving. We ate a lot and shot a frozen turkey. What did you do?

Sunday Confessional: Fake-o the Faux Asthmatic

I hereby cancel Obsession Confession Sunday as it never quite fit in with the rest of Whitfield Awesome and quite frankly, I'm just not that into it. In it's place: Sunday Confessional. I will tell you a story that ranks somewhere between sorta and truely on the awful scale. And then invite you to do the same.

Today's confession: I still harbor a teenage grudge against Fake-o the Faux Asthmatic. 

When I was a teenager, I belonged to a youth group that spent a good part of each year learning choreography, doing rehearsing lines and getting in tune. Each summer, we traveled the southern United States for a week performing a musical. Mostly in churches but once we performed in Opryland! I'm 73% certain that we had nothing to do with the closing of Opryland.

One such summer, a fellow musicalician musician dork performer (known for attention seeking), decided that she simply MUST have asthma. She would convulse and put on quite the show. Mid-convulsion she would announce that she was having an asthma attack and needed an inhaler. I'm pretty sure she thought asthma and epilepsy were the same thing.

The group would crowd around her, terrified expressions, her closest pals on the verge of tears, and the leaders would demand that I hand over my inhaler. I'm an actual asthmatic, you see. I always have an emergency inhaler on me. I need it at least once a day but most people don't know this because asthma doesn't make you have a freaking seizure. The leaders knew about it because it was on the paperwork my parents filled out each year. I would begrudgingly hand over my inhaler. Once I even pretended not to have it on me and walked to my hotel room and back before handing it over because (a) I wanted to prove that she was a faker and (b) I'm kind of a douche.

These fake asthma attacks would make me so angry. She was stealing my disease thunder and doing a bad job of it. Not to mention I was certain that at some point on the trip, I would need the inhaler and all of my puffs would have been puffed into that lying slut troubled youth. Her asthma was miraculously cured during the same week that she came down with it. Guess it was the ole 96-hour asthmalepsy bug. That was 13+ years ago. I haven't seen this person in about as long. But any time I think back on those days, I think of Fake-o the Faux Asthmatic and still feel anger toward her. Issues. I gots em.

Your turn. Do you need to confess anything? I won't hate if you do so anonymously. I might think you a pansy but I won't know who you are, so who cares. Sharing is caring...

It's that special time of year again.

There's a chill in the Florida air. At least in the mornings and evenings. EVERY Floridian who goes outside mid-day still shouts the lyrics by that rap gentleman about sweat dripping down their genitalia. The chill let's me know it's that special time of year. The time when creatures of the night inhabit my attic.

They scurry as soon as my alarm goes off. This morning, I heard one shout "oh snap, she's awake...hide! Today will be the day that she climbs that scary as ish wooden ladder into the attic pre-shower. How does that thing support her weight?" Obviously they are wordy and far too concerned with vanity.

You are all invited to go into my attic and kill whatever you find and MAYBE get a microwaved hotdog for your effort my super awesome It's Winter! party. You'll need this field guide. Please print and bring your own. I'm not made of money.

Have you ever...

...run into Wal-Mart to pick up a few items and decided to check out in the garden center because it should be faster only to find yourself behind a woman with an overflowing buggy of games and dvds and makeup and foodstuffs who waits until the cashier rings up everything in said buggy to announce that she only has $12 and must have the cashier unring items one at a time until she brings her multi-hundred dollar bill down to $12.10 because she just can't live without anything that would bring her down to the $12 that she actually has so she starts calling people on her cell to bring her $0.10, which you could give her but by that time you are so mad that you want her to have to wait for someone to drive a dime over?

I have.

Vajazzling is Wack, Y'all

I finally have my million seller book idea! All thanks to a comment I recently made on Facebook that included the fictional book title "The New Church's Stance on Vaginas and Crystals: But Not Together Because Vajazzling is Wack, Y'all". Why everyone in the whole entire world is not clamoring to be my Facebook friend is beyond me. 

I've prepared a book proposal to send to publishers nation-wide. Let the bidding begin Penguin and Random House!

Do you want to see your name in paper and ink? Tell me about it so I can steal your ideas applaud you. (Don't worry, stealing takes effort and I much prefer television over effort.)

Touché Tuesday Advice Column: #Election2012

Need some Whitfield Awesome advice (about anything)? Fill out this form.   

Happy election day to my fellow Americans! I hope you exercised your right, even if we don't agree on the man for the job. Now stop watching George Stephanopoulos* and read my blog! I saved up all YOUR election related questions...

7:09 PM. Made it. After only 1.5 hrs of adults coughing on me and kids rubbing my butt
and punching my purse, I did my part and voted to keep Ron Swanson as a FL Judge. That
was the important one in this election, right? #MeatTornado2012

Dear Jen,
I feel sure that my guy isn't going to win the election. How do I deal?
Civic Dude-y

Dear The Dude,
Look at the two candidates. Nobody wins. Eat a cheese danish. That always makes me even fatter feel better.
♥ Jen

Dear Jen,
I'm finally old enough to vote. All this election business is exciting! But also confusing. What does voting with your feet mean?
All the best, Googleless

Dear, Googleless,
This should be obvious. Wear shiny new Chrisitan Louboutins = a vote for Romney. Wear old ill-fitting loafers = a vote for Obama. 
♥ Jen

Dear Jen,
Should I bring my super annoying children with me to vote and not discipline them, like, at all?
Clueless in MN, Dumb-Dumb McTrashy

Dear DD, 
No.
♥ Jen

*When I type "Stephanopoulos", spell check thinks I mean "postmenopausal". 

Week O' Ween: G-G-G-Ghost Hunting

Not Quite TAPS of Florida. We were all sore afraid. Except Chocolate Dream. He was pretty chill.

One of America's most haunted lighthouses, the Pensacola Lighthouse, is right in my backyard (plus a 45 minute drive). Even TAPS has spent a night there. I've been on ten or so ghost hunts at the lighthouse with the Ghost Seekers of Texas. I go on the hunts mostly because it's fun to roam a historic building in the dark with your friends, you learn a bit of history and the proceeds support the lighthouse museum. 

Do I believe in ghosts? I don't know. I believe in God and Jesus and the devil and demons. I don't believe dead people are walking the earth - if ghostly figures do exist, it's something else. I am also fascinated by the human brain. The way it works. The way it remembers things like how to type or play an instrument and moves your fingers so quickly. The way it can convince you that you are seeing or experiencing something that may not really be there. I used to want to be a brain scientist until I figured out that people who use the term "brain scientist" aren't smart enough to be whatever brain scientists are really called. 

On to the point of this post. I carry my own voice recorder on hunts because the GST are crap at posting evidence online (♥). I want my own recordings to listen to immediately. Plus it's funny to go back and listen to that moment when so-in-so was scared or the truly awful southern twang I sometimes get. The following recording is from November 27, 2009. My sister and I and a few friends went on a hunt at the lighthouse. There are a few things on the recording that we did not hear during the hunt:

• There are a few spots in the beginning that sound like a whispered "help me". People were talking and moving around (annoying!) so I can't swear that this isn't someone fooling around. 
• At 3 minutes, 17 seconds, I ask "are you attached to this couch" and hear a "no".
• Around 6.5 minutes in, a few of us (me, my sister Sarah, Noelle and Choco-Dream), break off from the main group and go into another room....
• At 7:15, a very distinct "they're back" and "shh" is heard (my sister and I had been at the lighthouse one month prior). The recorder was in my hand. We were getting settled at a table to one side of the room. No one was close enough to me to whisper into it. 
• At 7:34, after the question "Do you like people being in the house?" a male voice, not that of Choc, says "yeah". 

Listen to the recording. Make of it what you will. Happy Halloween. Mwahahahaha.