Touché Tuesday Advice Column

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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.

Touché Tuesday Advice Column: On Anger

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Dear Jen,
Help! I have anger issues. I tend to break things to make myself feel better. My roommate upset me recently and I broke her favorite glass figurine. I need a better way to deal. How do you handle anger?
Sincerely, Hot Headed

Dear Hulk Smash Hot Headed,
First of all, unless your roommate is 80-years-old, she shouldn't have a favorite glass figurine. Tell her that she is welcome. Next, how do I handle anger? I usually cry and/or verbally vomit all over my sister (because she has to love me anyway) and/or ex-boyfriend (because OMG what is wrong with me) - but these methods aren't much better than breaking stuff. 

Maybe try:

• closing your eyes and counting to ten. I rolled my eyes just typing that. Don't do it.
• exercising. This requires that you also be insane.
• writing in a journal. Be careful. If people find out, they'll make fun of you and you'll just get angry all over again.
• getting the e-Pressed shirt past the conceptual stage so folks can feel you up and out of your anger.

Let's get real. Just post vague Facebook statuses that make your "friends" consider hiding your updates, like a normal person. 

Man. This was a terrible attempt at providing advice. You mad?

Communication Breakdown: My Apologies to Mexico

Well, not really Mexico. Not everyone who speaks Spanish is from Mexico. Everyone who is me is sometimes a real jerk though. 

My little bro moved to Washington last Monday, five days prior to our dad's birthday. This happened:

You see, what had happened was...my brother got a new phone number a while back. Apparently I had both his new number and his old number in my phone. I accidentally sent a couple photos to his old number and received the response "Hola quien eres". 

It did not register with me that I had the wrong number until after I sent "Bless you?" in return. No, really. Thankfully they didn't say anything else. Probably because they were busy telling their amigos about the puta on the other end of the textersation.

I was in the midst of Panang & Sushi Night with the fam so I mentioned what was transpiring on the ole tele. Due to a recent numbers mix-up, they knew that little bro's old number had transferred to a Spanish-speaking woman. NOW they tell me.

In case you (like some people writing this blog) aren't fluent in Spanish, "Hola quien eres" means "hello who are you" in English. 

I would argue a case for not expecting someone texting you in English to understand your response in another language but I have to write an apology letter to everyone who speaks Spanish and is not from Mexico. 

DIY: How to Speak to Single Women on Valentine's Day

The same way you do every other freaking day.

Here's something crazy: I'm a 31-year-old single southern* woman and I don't hate Valentine's Day. I don't hate men. I'm not waiting for marriage so my poor little life can start. And I bet there are more of my kind out there.

As Valentine's Day drew near this year, I began to hear things like "control yourselves on that day, single ladies", "it's almost singles awareness day", "Valentine's Day won't be very fun for you, huh - maybe you'll have someone next year"...

It's okay to be okay with singleness. A simple "hey, what's up?" is still a lovely way to start a conversation, even on VDay.

*Southern is an important distinction as people here seem to think you are a spinster if you don't marry your high school sweetheart the day after graduation.

 Not a commentary on VDay. Cheese was my first love. We're still together.