5/23/2007

Update on the haircut.

(actual call)
911: Hello, 911, what's your emergency?
Me: I have bangs.

For those of you that need a visual, here is what I feel like:

And in 10 years, I will look like Liv Tyler's birth mother.


Oh man. Let's just say that in the first 2 minutes of meeting her, she referred to herself as a Lesbo because she was liking the smell of all of her client's hair today. But I'll totally go back. Jana tells me this place was featured in Vogue. When I left, she had sprayed my bangs all the way across my head. I looked like I gained 60 pounds in my face and like I should be fronting an 80's band while wearing one of those really skinny headbands across my forehead.

No, but seriously, I push it to the side and it's the old Jenn, only better. I think when Brian gets home I'm going to blast the song "She Bangs" by Ricky Martin as I go down the stairs to meet him.
I hope he doesn't lose control of his bowels.

Well, I haven't been sleeping too good lately. Partly it's because Brian likes to do the Chinese splits across the width of the mattress while he's sleeping, leaving me room for exactly one buttcheek.

But I've also been having freaky dreams. Like last week I dreamed that all of these domestic airplanes were dive-bombing our town. Every four hours. So me and Brian were running all over the town trying to find a safe hiding place that wouldn't get hit. The last plane I remember seeing, landed on the street, totally flipped upside down and drove into a building at top speed. But then that dream stopped and immediately I had three guys that asked me to prom and I was trying to decide which one to go with. I ended up going with the guy that send flowers in order to help with the decision. Jesus. Here's a fun fact: I DID NOT ACTUALLY ATTEND MY OWN PROM IN REAL LIFE. Why? Because I was mildly retarded in high school and didn't even pluck my eyebrows.


So time for an update on my awesome life.
Let's first start with a good quick trip to the town of Kansas City for The Killers concert and a reunion with my pals Court and Tyler and his girlfriend that has the cutest hair in the solar system.



It really was a terrific show.

Good to be outside at the City Market hearing good music. Especially because all they play on the radio here in Nebraska is just a loop of people throwing up mixed with barnyard noises.

God, I think Brandon Flowers winked at me and I was instantly pregnant.

And now for some general things. Like how I'm averaging 2 spider bites a day or how my farts smell like hot mustard. But honestly, who is in the market for this outdoor wooden over-priced theater screen from Pottery Barn Kids:

I mean, are you serious? For two grand?
I would have a hard time not setting this on fire if I saw it in someone's backyard.


Since last time we talked, I've become obsessed with gardening. Oh my God I can't plant enough flowers. That's one of the best parts about our new house. It's the springtime and everyone is outside and working on their lawns and gardens. And I'm part of that. Except I'm the person that's literally talking to her plants.

So feast your eyes on the splendor of the Scott Gardens:





Check back with me well into the summer and I'll tell you that you can't even see the front door because the blooms are so massive. It just makes me feel good. Brian's Mom has a friend that said you should touch the dirt once every day to make you feel happy. Well, I'm so happy that I'm literally eating dirt.

Well, it's about to pour outside. It's really dark and I just love the feeling of the rain coming. I'm about T-Minus 1 hour until I get a haircut. You heard me. I'm not going to Kathy at the Hawks Nest like I have for the last fifteen years and ever since I moved to Kansas. I kind of feel like I'm cheating on her.

Instead, Jana has signed me up with her hairstylist. And I respect Jana's hair, so I'm going for it. She tells me this girl has had two boob jobs and is very stylish. So it sounds like we have a lot in common. To tell you the truth, I'm about to puke. Even though I have the most boring hair cut in history, I still freak out whenever I get my hair cut, which is seriously usually once a year. Sometimes a year and a half. So, I can't wait to see this girls boobs and I can't wait to see what she does. Because I'm kind of in the mood for something different. Something that doesn't maybe look like a hippie mixed with a historic indian.

5/09/2007

Not much new going on over here in Nebraska.

Tonight, I forced Brian to sit down with me on the couch and watch American Idol.
He was pretty much pissed, probably more so, after realizing the guest singer was Barry Gib:

Or perhaps most of you may recognize him better from this lovely portrait:


Anyhow, he doesn't quite look as vibrant as he used to. But upon futher inspection, he still has a shitload of neck hair. He sang with the Bee Gee's and was the dude who contributed the parts where his voice went so high it sounded like his pants were cutting off the circulation to his hairy bean bag, thus giving him the gift of the brown note.

Sadly, now, Barry is older and sings like someone is hitting him in the throat. Brian was struggling through his performance and started singing along. Which in turn, started me running for my camera to capture it.
I do it all for the blog.



He, and I mean both of them, sound like a deaf person mixed with a seal at feeding time.
But spot on, Brian. Way to go.

Other than that, the only things that have been going on are me gardening, mowing, running, working and changing things up a bit for the lunchtime meal. I've been bypassing the traditional english muffin/raspberry jelly/goldfish for the turkey deli meat infused with buffalo flavor, wrapped in a mini tortilla and paired with a heaping side of lime-flavored tortilla chips. And a tall, crisp Dasani.

Going to see The Killers on Friday at City Market. I was put kind of in an awkward spot when I told my Dad I was going to see a concert on Friday. He's like, "Oh yeah?! Who you going to go see?!" Try telling your straight-laced Dad that you're going to see a band called "The Killers".

5/02/2007

Let's chat, shall we?

First off, I just pooped my pants:

This is a shot of the new Martha Stewart scrap/craft line items that I purchased at Michaels last week. They just came out. I wanted to take a picture so badly of the isle display. My god was it delicious. Everything about it is perfect. Even the little silver hangers that the product hangs from.
I'm not sure, but I think they dropped from heaven.

Second of all, I'd like to point out that I've added a mp3 player over there to the left. It's blue and it's gonna change your life. This will continually be updated with songs that will make you want to lick your stero. Might I publicly thank, Mary C-money for setting me up with the knowledge to take this blog to the next level. Visit her blog and visit it often, people. Her blog, along with shea butter and Lucky Charms cereal, are like my favorite things lately. Seriously. If she quits blogging, I quit living. No pressure, Mary.

So, this weekend on Friday, the first Scott BBQ was held. We tested the weight limits of the deck, complete with pony (ah, not the kind you ride), and basically kept receiving pissed-off deck lights flashing from our next door neighbors. I'm so sure that after this weekend they think we're 13 and owning a house.

But ask me if I care because I mowed that lawn and I mowed it good. That's the first thing I did to prepare. Took off a half day. Weeded, cut the shit out of my hand on various rose bushes that we have in the front that I do not know how to care for and that will probably die or wind their prickly vines around my leg when I'm not looking and suck me down through the mulch and into hell.

After a power-shop at Hy-Vee and, I'm serious, a 911-full-steam-ahead-maxium-Bobby-Flay-cookoff, I cooked and arranged everything. Seriously. We didn't get a good picture of it, but just open any cookbook and that's what it looked like. It was awes and I am so proud of myself. Ask me if I could pull off entertaining a year ago and I would have told you to go pound sand.

People arrived, the grill was fired up, I had my face in a bowl of dip somewhere, and the flip cup tourney was ON.
All in all, I think everyone had a really nice time.

I don't have a lot of pictures, so deal with it.
I did, however, manage to capture the single most greatest pair of pictures since the camera was invented.



Apparently I felt like it was highly appropriate to bring out a few chest bumps throughout the night. God bless you Brian for capturing my greatness on film. If you look close, I think you can even see my bra cheese. Sexy.

And into the wee hours of the morning, Joe, Brian and I retreated to the basement studio. Joe and I shared a mic and sang while Brian played guitar, then Joe fixed me a turkey melt, then me and the boys sat on the couch and watched the end of Brokeback mountain. I don't care whose gay, that part where he switches his shirt back so that his wraps around the other one just kills me. Instant tears and heartache.

The next morning me and Bri awoke at the crack of 2. We packed our shizz up and hit the dusty trail. We were headed to KC, and don't laugh, we were headed to the Kansas International Speedway. Yes, we were invited to take along some of Brian's key accounts to celebrate the excellence that is INDY CAR.

Well, I should back up here and say that on Saturday night we were put up at the Marriott down on the Plaza. Room 1000, seriously it was the penthouse. It was getting late so we took the free shuttle down to the Plaza. It was hilarious because there were three sets of couples in the car including us. It was 7pm and here's what each husband yelled out as the driver wanted to know our destinations:
"Bucca Debeppo!"
"Houstons!"
"Paper Source!"

Ha. That was Brian there at the end. I'm sorry, but I needed paper goods more than I needed food. Sadly, we arrived there and they had already closed for the night. And I puked all over their front door.

I did manage to pa-ruse the local Gap and hit the jackpot at Urban. More pictures of my findings, later.
I've got to get some sleep tonight.

We caught a late dinner at the new 810 sports bar where I feasted on the tastiest burger in the universe.
Then we went back and crashed hard. Because we had to wake up the next morning at the butt crack of dawn.

Race day was upon us and boy was I skeptical. Let it be known that I haven't attended any car race before in my life. I hope I don't offend any NASCAR/INDY CAR crazies, but my sweet God.

T-shirts seen:
1.) "I love strippers."
2.) "I pee in pools."



We began the morning by walking directly into the pit, which is the grass in the middle of the track (we had passes). We were with Team Penske. Marlboro doesn't advertise or put there name on anything anymore, but their "red roof" was all over logo, uniforms, and cars.

So we head into this tent that rigged up in between two semi trucks. I swear, this set-up was nicer than most houses. We were fed made-to-order omlettes, the best bacon I will ever lick, and basically every kind of pastry, salmon, smoothie, or breakfast item that you can imagine. Thinking I had died and gone to heaven, Brian shook me, as we were eating right next to the two Marlboro drivers. A titch later on, we got to hear them each talk about the strategy of the race along with a warm welcome from Mr. Penske himself.

The guy on the left won Indy last year and during a later tour, I got to hold the steering wheel that he did it with. I also got to hold his sweaty helmet. A true treat. He was kind of quiet and the other driver, a spanierd, was like the life of the party. We got to watch this video about the two drivers. The quiet guy was shown playing with his kids and reading the Bible. And then they got to the Spaz and they just flashed through millions of pictures of him kissing the Popes hand, modeling against a fountain, shaking Arnold Schwarzenegger's hand, and riding a unicycle in a speedo. It was literally the weirdest thing I have ever see set to techno music. Changed my whole life.

Later on, we got an exclusive tour of the pit where we got to see where they change the tires really fast, the garages where they put the cars together, and we could even walk around the track. Some people got rides in the pace car, but I stayed the hell away from that. Do I need to be going 200mph where some strange driver could sneeze, ram into the wall, and end my life? I don't think so, Tim.






After we got lunch and sunburn, we walked around looking at all the cars and semis and this little world that I didn't even know existed.

Then we made our way to the grandstands where we took our seats amongst the fans. So, the race started and let me clue you in on something: FORGET TALKING TO ANYONE FOR THREE HOURS. You put ear plugs in unless you want to be deaf and then you watch them go around in a loop and lap each other as you begin to yawn and notice that some 50 year old lady in the front of your bleacher section has turned around and is now taunting the enormous crowd with her little zipper on her little leather vest, that is holding in her freakishly huge boobies.

Yes, this really happened. She was all decked out in her cowboy hat and only a leather vest that probably wouldn't fit a Barbie. Now, before all you males out there pitch a tent, she was about late 50s, with gravity not on her side. But did that stop her? No. She showed me and the other 200,000 people there, her huge nipples. I saw it all. I got an education. So did all the little kids around me, and I think I looked over and saw Brian's account taking pictures of those sweet nips. She won the world record that day for amount of times that one person can show their cans. The lady behind me was getting pissed and eventually told the police. Hours later on our drive home, we saw her walking on the side of the highway.

I can't say that I'm going to be rushing out to purchase season tickets, but I'm glad we added that to our list of adventures. Something new is always good. Even if it involves a trip to Titty City.

I'm gonna go to bed now. And dream of Bon Jovi. How good was Idol this week!!! Seriously, I could have schooled all of the contestants in any Jovi song. In fact, that CD is coming out of retirement tomorrow.
With an iron clad fist, I'll wake up and french kiss the morning.