Dear Wii Fit,

Dear Wii Fit,

Please read and understand the following notice of dismissal from my life, effective Monday, November 24, 2008 at 12:00 a.m. EST. If you have any questions or concerns please feel free to call me between the hours of 8:01 a.m. EST and 8:05 a.m. EST.

Mr. Wii, unfortunately, it appears that you have been having some difficulty fulfilling the original terms of your contract. Your motivational skills are poor and your clients complain that you practice weight discrimination and posess an inate inability to increase morale.

Since your hire date, on or approximately September 15th, 2008, you have only shown up to work approximately eight days of each month. Each of these days, you had the gall to ask a client why s/he had been gaining weight. Was s/he wearing heavier clothes? Had s/he been late night snacking? Was s/he stressed? Perhaps s/he was not getting enough sleep?

When your client informed you that she was extremely guilty of all of these offences, you proceeded to ask her what else s/he had done today. Had s/he been "heavily" exerted today? For how many minutes, approximately? When client complained that she felt these questions were highly inappropriate and perhaps of a disturbingly sexual nature, you advised her to practice Yoga positions to be more flexible. You then called the client "extremely left of centre" and unbalanced.

While we do appreciate the unique skills and assets of every team member, you have proven to lack personality and make things awkward for everyone in the room. You have breached confidentiality a great many times, by announcing a client's weight and then stating very loudly, "THAT'S OBESE". Quite frankly, Mr. Wii, we feel that we have given you more than enough chances to redeem yourself.

An attempt was made to present you with this information in a more personal manner. However, upon our arrival you advised us to "run on the spot" for several minutes. When we were completely finished phase one of your distraction strategy, you proceeded to throw hula hoops at us.

You may pick up your batteries and software at the reception desk, anytime before noon on Friday. We ask that you hand in all company property at that time. You will be escorted by security if any issues should arise.

Kind Regards,

Jennifer

Don't be fooled by the rocks that I got, I'm still I'm still Jenny from the block.

My name is Jennifer.

Yep. That's right.

Just like at least 1,440,203 other girls in the world. Oh no! Not the world, at all! One country in the world - the great USA!. No, seriously, I have a source: Jennifer - Its Origin, Meaning, and Popularity.

So when you call my office and I say Jenn is speaking, and you say "Oh, great! That's just who I'm looking for!", undoubtedly you are going to start talking about something and I am going to have no idea what you are talking about. And I'm going to say, "Excuse me, I'm not really sure that I can help you with that. Do you know which Jenn it is that you are looking for?". And then you are going to say, "No!" and I'm going to have to go through a big long list of everyone named Jenn who works with me or is affilated with the organization for which I work. This could take hours. This could take years. This could take decades.

Facebook: Providing A Mother Near You With Unlimited Passive Aggressive Opportunities to Stalk You

I won't soon forget the night my mother phoned to tell me about this new website she'd inadvertently discovered... the "Facebox". I was not living with her at the time. When I logged on next, I had a Friend Request sitting there mocking me. This resulted in a thorough sweep of the Facebook page. Drinking pictures removed? Check. Smoking photos removed? Er, check. Photos of me in bars in awkward positions? Removed. Friend Request? Accepted.

My mother adores Facebook. Though I live in her basement, she posts things on my wall such as, "What time are you working tomorrow?", when undoubtedly she knows that she can probably ask me that next time I come up to use the loo. And that I typically work from 9 - 5. She writes scathing messages with subjects like "kitchen" with brilliant content, including profanity and extraneous punctuation, that she will relay to me again once I wake up. It is hard to hear the extraneous punctuation in her speech but once accustomed to the language, the listener can quickly determine if it is a "WARNING!" warning or a "WARNING !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" kind of warning.

My every move is tracked. "Why did you accept so-and-so's Friend Request? Why are doing this? Why are you doing that? What does this mean? What does that mean? Why is so-and-so's status set to ________________? Is that from a song? I don't like it. You should take it down. Write a new blog. Please, write a new blog. JENN, write a blog."

So I was a little dismayed to see Facebook's new feature that allows you to comment on people's status messages and Mini-Feeds. Any song lyrics will now be followed promptly with "What does that mean?". All random jokey statuses will be followed with "Explain?" and I really, really, really hope it doesn't let you comment when someone accepts a Friend Request. Hoooooboy. "Why did you ad this person? BE CAREFUL, YOUNG LADY!".

Besides the fact that I am 22 and still receive cute little messages on my wall such as: "Note to self.....if I sleep after supper then I can't sleep at bedtime. I figured you would of caught on to this by now." Yes, mother, I know you have a severe disdain for my napping habit, but now my friends are probably wondering if I sleep in footie pajamas and with a teddy bear. But that's totally wrong. I sleep in duckie pajamas, with a Cabbage Patch Doll. Yeah. Don't make people get the wrong idea here.

Why Some Days I Am Sure I Was Put On This Earth For Someone's Sick Amusement

Life is a joke, it has to be.

In no other animal society, do individuals hoard all they can, selfishly and ignorantly , as we do. Okay, well, I'm sure they do. But damn, am I cynical tonight.

It started off as good a day as any day could possibly be. The coffee was hot. Cigarettes were in supply. (Not abundant supply, but supply). Lucky (well, not so lucky anymore!) pink lighter had been found at the depths of the pockets of the sweater that I had borrowed. The cat hadn't puked on any of my belongings, which is how I measure the awesomeness of an upcoming day - because not stepping catsick is certainly a normal way to gauge how optimistic you should be. My spirits were high and, by golly, by 4 o'clock this afternoon, I was going to have my driver's license.

FULL STOP, BITCHES. No. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. And do you know why? TRAINS, my friends. TRAINS. Apparently, all those little cautiony things they have at train crossings, which to my knowledge include ARMS and LIGHTS and CHIMES, you still have to be observant at these crossings, which I had thought I was being, but no, apparently not observant enough, because my head cannot do 360 degree turns or something.

Nevermind the reasons, which I can assure you are stupid and idiotic, such as: the Ontario Government does not want you to collide with a train, and the Ontario Government does not want you to collide with anything else, and the Ontario Goverment wants $40. Whatever. I mean, I don't mind paying $40 to take my road test each time, because I figure THE ONTARIO GOVERNMENT DOES NOT HAVE ENOUGH MONEY. You know, besides the money they get from GAS and from my PAYCHEQUE and from EVERYTHING I PURCHASE, they are poor.

But seriously now. Does the Ontario Government think I WANT to fail my roadtest? I mean seriously. There isn't much that sucks more than people being all happy and like HOW DID YOUR TEST GO, than to have to shake your head and say, "AWESOME. IT WENT AWESOME. AND IT WAS SO AWESOME AND I HAD SO MUCH FUN THAT I GET TO GO AGAIN."

I propose a card system, like they have at sandwich shops. You give me a card, Ontario Government, and stamp it every time I fail this fucking test. Every three stamps should be free. I CAN'T PAY FOR ANY MORE ROAD TESTS, ONTARIO GOVERNMENT, BUT IF YOU CERTIFY ME THAT I CAN DRIVE, I CAN GIVE YOU MORE MONEY VIA GAS TAX.

I'm not too familiar with academic failure, besides mathematically. I have not failed any "tests" per se, until now. I can study things and memorize things and take great pride in my ability to spell big words and correct errors of people who are smarter than me. BUT BOOK SMARTS DO NOT HELP IN A ROAD TEST.

In closing, I did not hit anything. I did not hurt anyone. No horns were sounded. No animals were hurt in the production of this road test. Looking forwards to seeing you again, Ontario Government and Your Delightful Minions!

Yours,
Me.

PS: Don't ever say WHY DID YOU FAIL YOUR ROAD TEST. I did not set out to do it. kthx.


Another topic of Why Some Days I Am Sure I was Put On This Earth For Someone's Sick, Sad Amusement: EYEBROWS

Eyebrows are stupid.

The more you look at them, the stupider they look.

You try to tweeze them and get them looking not stupid.

But they still look stupid.

They are a strip of hair that goes OVER your eyes and looks STUPID.

And the more you look at them, the stupider they look.

The more you yank at them, the more they get red and owie.

And the more you yank at them, the more profane you get.

I HATE YOU, EYEBROWS.

Ahem, you may now return to your originally scheduled Wednesday evening.

Stress Dot

I went to a meeting tonight about effective ways of dealing with stress and such.

We were each handed these tiny black dots and told them to put them on a pulse point.

I took one and placed it on my wrist.

A few minutes later it was still black.

I took another one and put it between my thumb and index finger.

A few minutes later it was still black.

I was laughing and such, pretty relaxed, no dice.

I came home, chilled out, still black.

Now, what are the odds that two dots are defective? Not too hot, no.

I drank a couple cups of tea, figuring sure, that'll relax me.

Nah. Still black.

I fail at relaxing.

So I do some googling, right, and find this: http://www.onlineorganizing.com/PopupProductInfo.asp?page=249&info=182

HOW TO USE STRESS DOTS

• apply a dot to the back of your hand between the thumb and forefinger
  measure your present stress level by matching the color of your dot to the chart
  colors corresponding to higher skin temperatures signify deeper levels of relaxation H'okay. Done and did.
  
• increase your level of relaxation by practicing the simple techniques on the card
  Oh yeah? Simple techniques on the card include laughing, and spending time with a loved one. So I go down to see Socks and I notice she has vomited on my wicker chair. Still black.
  
• measure your stress level again by matching the color of your dot to the chart
  if your dot has changed color to a higher skin temperature, you are more relaxed Right. But what if that doesn't happen? If your dot stays black, do you have a black heart of darkness? What did I dooooo?
  
• leave the dot on your hand to monitor your stress level throughout the day IT IS JUST STAYING BLACK.
  
• will increase your awareness of your response to stress YES. IT WILL STRESS ME OUT TRYING TO MAKE IT TURN A PRETTIER COLOUR.
  
• if you note a change to a colder color, practice a relaxation technique HOWS ABOUT IT JUST STAYS COLD, YO?
  

FACTORS INFLUENCING YOUR RESULTS

• dots will react to any mental or physical stressor Yeah, one like CONSTANTLY WONDERING WHY THE DOT IS STILL BLACK?
  
• you will register a cooler temperature if you are sick SO NOW I AM SICK? THAT DOESN'T STRESS ME OUT AT ALL!
  
• you will register a cooler temperature if you drink 2+ cups of caffeinated beverage DING DING DING DING DING WE HAVE A WINNNNNER!
  
• you will register a cooler temperature if you have just eaten
  
• you will register a cooler temperature if you have not eaten in a long time
  
• you will register a cooler temperature if you just finished exercising PSHAW. THIS IS NOT WHY.
  
• check your skin temperature at least 1/2 hour after exercising or eating
  
• designed for use in ambient temperatures of 68°-78°F.
  
• the temperature you start at is not as important as the learned ability to relax
  

I hate you, stress dots. You cause me insane amounts of stress.

I NEED AN ADULT!

Knock. Knock. Knock.

My chicken fingers are burning, the cat is on the television, my mind is completely elsewhere. I'm hoping for Publisher's Clearing House to tell me I won the big bucks. The Ontario government to come by and tell me they owed me money. Some random person to tell me that their Mercedes ran out of gas in front of my house, and that now it is my problem to deal with, here are the keys.

No. No. No. And No. It is some random woman. I open the door. She does not immediately tell me why she is here. "I'm looking for an adult", she explains. Wonderful. "I'm uhm, 22." "That's great, honey, is your mommy or daddy home?" Fail.

What does she want? She wants to make sure we bought a dog tag this year. My dog has wandered up to the door and is barking at her, clearly displaying his dog tags. I show her said dog tags.

"Where are your parents? Are you sure they can't come to the door?"

"The dog has his tags."

"You're right, but I need to confirm..."

"What? That he's wearing a collar? With TAGS ON IT?"

"I guess you're right, have a good night."

Awesome.

You are old. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

I worked 9-5 today.
I made a dentist appointment.
I got a $87 tax cheque.
I went to the grocery store.
I bought granola bars.
I bought oatmeal crunch cereal.
I bought gingersnaps.
I bought Wool-Lite to wash my dresses in.
It was fun.

And then I realized.

I am not 22.

I am at least 40.