Pretty much just got Final Destinationed.

I. Almost. Died. 

I had just returned home from work and was about to change into sweatpants (cause it's Friday night!). I heard my text notification in another room and started to run to check my phone as it was probably Gregg Rainwater circa 1989 texting to ask me to the movies. (Obviously if that were the case, I would need to change into hot pants* instead of sweatpants. I'm not the kind of girl who wastes pant changes.)

On my way, I neared my hair dryer. It fell from whence it lay and brushed my dresser in such a manner to power it on. Time stopped for a moment. I saw myself being burned to death by the dryer. It would be ever so slow and painful. My hair would frizz.

The dryer hit the floor and bounced onto my leg. Being average smart and sorta average quick, I was able to thwart Death's plan. I bravely stooped and turned the dryer off. Of course this means he is coming after one of you now. My bad.

*I'm typing of pants that are hot, not hotpants. I'm not a savage. No offense, Gregg.

P.S. Turns out the text was about Veronica Mars. Nearly as important as vintage Gregg Rainwater.

Touché Tuesday Advice Column

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

Dear Jen,
I am dating a guy who has a daughter (about 10 years old). I don't have kids and I haven't spent much time around kids since I was one myself. Do you have any suggestions for what I could do to bond with her?
Sincerely, Clueless

Dear Clueless,
Insufficient data. I need to know things like: How big are your closets? Is she tall enough to reach the bottom of your washing machine? Can she cook? Do you have litter-boxes?

Seriously though, just ask her what she likes to do. Then do it. (Assuming her responses are more akin to puzzles or bike riding than meth or watching the Disney Channel.)
♥ Jen

Dear Jen,
First, you are soooo beautiful. Second, if I were to spend fifty-something hours watching one TV series, based on the Pony Express, that ran from 1989-1992, which one should I watch? 
Yours, Jen Schmen*

Dear Schmen, 
You should watch The Young Riders on Hulu. It's about boys (and a girl) who are young (but legal) and ride. The title is crazy on target. It's full of horses and gun fights and saloons and cowboys and cheesiness and mail. 100% of eight-year-old me's and thirty-one-year-old me's agree: Buck is totally the hottest rider. And I still want to be Lou.
♥ Jen

*It is possible that I made this question up to profess my love for The Young Riders which I recently re-discovered. My fam watched it when it originally aired on television. I still dig it.

Where have I been?!?

I just haven't been able to bring the funny lately. Hopefully I'll be back in the groove soon.

In the meantime, check out my new other blog, Turning Mediterranean. I, along with my parents and sister, have decided to adopt the Mediterranean lifestyle. Healthy foods, activity, sunshine. We're adding more fruits and vegetables and exercise. We're subtracting some red meat and sweets and time in front of the television. 

I tend to stick to my guns a little better when I tell the internet about them. So this new blog is my proverbial trek.  I'll be posting research as I learn more about the Mediterranean lifestyle, reviews of food products, recipes, etc.

So there's that.

Call to action! New Orleans! Lomography! What?!?

Twenty-twenty-twenty-four hours to go and Misha needs your help to fund her Kickstarter project. I backed her first project, "Adventures in Lomography - New York", a couple years ago and she did not disappoint. Now she's putting together a lomo New Orleans book. Imagine how cool people will think you are when they see this book on your coffee table. I mean, whoa.

Go to there, like now.

Misha Ashton's first book, Adventures in Lomography - New York.

Bully for you, bully for me.

Bullying has been a major buzzword over the last few years. Journalists are writing about it. Celebrities are making videos. Is it helping? I don't know. Pretty sure I'd be arrested if I started asking random school children if people are mean to them.

This week, I came across the lovely video embedded at the bottom of this post. About bullying. This week, I also posted an article to the company Facebook page. About bullying. I thought I'd come here and share a little story about young Jen. About bullying.

This isn't my only story. And there are far worse stories than mine. I'm a grown up now and most of the bullies sunk to the bottom. It got better. They were wrong. I wish I had understood that when I was a child.

I can't remember if it was ninth or tenth grade. My bus arrived at school before most. I got off alone while the sky was still semi-dark. She waited. Every morning, She waited. For weeks. With her friends. She was obviously the leader because the others were scared. They never said a word. They were scared and I was alone and She probably had a miserable home life. 

They would make a circle around me and She would hold out her hand. "Lunchbox." I carried an old metal lunchbox because my very small circle of friends, who wouldn't arrive at school for another twenty minutes and would have been just as passive and squirmy as me, was into vintage. It was an awesome lunchbox. Care Bears. An awesome lunchbox that, by lunchtime, only contained the things She didn't want.

She would take the food She wanted and eat it right in front of me. Make fun of whatever was left. Liking those things made me stupid and ugly and a freak.

"See you tomorrow. Don't miss school."

After weeks of the same. damned. thing. I finally told my parents. I guess I just needed to talk about it and I was too embarrassed to tell my friends. My mom wanted to call the school. My dad wanted to make Ex-lax sandwiches. I begged them not to do anything because She would beat me up. I had never been in a fight and the thought of being punched terrified me. I would rather be humiliated and hungry.

"Stop packing your lunch, buy it." "She'll beat me up." "Stand up to her." "She'll beat me up." "Tell a teacher." "She'll beat me up. At this point, I want her to take my lunch. Taking my lunch means nothing worse than a stolen lunch will happen to me."

My parents phoned the school. I cried.

I was called to the principal's office. I didn't even know how to go to the principal's office. I watched his angel fish. He asked me about She. I told him the what, when and where. As for the who, I didn't know her name. He had a clue. He said "I think I know who would do this." He had me stand in the hallway while he called her out of class. "If that's the girl, give me a sign. Scratch your nose."

I thought about how nice it would be to just die. I wondered why none of the adults could understand that I would be beaten beyond recognition after this. They thought they were helping but they were sentencing me.

I positioned myself in the hallway. Down-wind from where she should emerge. If all went according to plan she would turn right and not see me. I have never been the girl who believes that all will go according to plan. "I'll hide to the side of the lockers," I thought. But there were no lockers in that part of the hallway. That's the first time I remember thinking a curse word. I darted around like a cornered animal until I noticed a water fountain. I stooped next to it and untied my shoe. And retied my shoe. And untied my shoe. And retied my shoe. I repeated this until She emerged and turned right. It all went according to plan.

I scratched my nose. His hunch was correct. He had the right girl. I wondered what had to happen to a 14-year-old girl for people to recognize her by her cruelty? Then I wondered how it was going to feel when She shattered that nose I just scratched. Would I look the same after it healed?

I never saw her again. I don't know if She continued to attend my school or if I was the last straw that sent her somewhere else. I still don't know her name.

P.S. If you are She and beating the million-to-one odds that She would ever read this AND you are still mean, I currently live in Oregon. As a man. And a vegan. Come and get me.