Doctor, Doctor give me the news! I've got a bad case of...sprained ankle

Now, as you may have guessed from previous entries, I'm very athletic and agile. Unfortunately, during my favorite sport, extreme Siberian husky walking, I tripped and sprained my ankle.

She looks sweet and innocent, but she's trying to kill me.

Now, my ankle was already weakened due a previous injury during hardcore going up stairs with laundry. Then, not 2 weeks after that, I managed to hurt it again during zumba... the aerobic dance class that is the latest craze among 40 year old soccer moms. Basically, through a series of unfortunate events, I have come to the conclusion I am not meant to have a right foot...nor, was I meant to be athletic in any way (besides eating competitions), shape (besides round) or form (I eat a lot, I must have good stomach muscles right?). But, in lieu of having Jigsaw trap me in a bathroom chained to the wall with only a dead body and a hacksaw, I decided to just pump myself full of pain pills (aka half a bottle of ibuprofen from Aldis) and wear sneakers to work. Unfortunately, I still have not received my magical pass into the doctor's office so I can't get an official note to break the dress code and actually comfortable at the hell hole. Because the only thing more offensive than talking about Lost in the fitting room, is wearing sneakers... but doctor-approved sneakers are ok. So what's a gal without health insurance to do?

...

.... Dr. WebMd is totally legit AND you can print out the pages after you've finished the symptom checker= Valid doctor's note. At least in my mind. Besides, what are they going to do to me for wearing sneakers? Fire me? But then I wouldn't be able to support the one who started this whole mess...

...Bitch.

(It's ok, she's a female dog, I can call her that.)

Health Insurance? I don't need no stinkin' health insurance...

It's finally happened. The day I've been waiting for since June 1, 2009. Once that magical card comes in the mail, I will officially have health insurance. Looking back, it's been a harrowing two years with a few narrow escapes...

I remember it like it was yesterday. May 31st came and went and June 1st dropped like a bombshell. Sometime as a child I must have opened up an umbrella inside while standing underneath a ladder that a black cat ran in front of... then broke a mirror. It's the only explanation I have for the kind of luck I have. My first day without health insurance, I worked in the lingerie department, which as I have previously stated, is the lowest level of hell... which I barely escaped from. Somehow I always get the crazy people when I work there- elderly women gone wild and flashing me, asking me what size I think they are, women who don't like taking "no" for an answer when they ask for a bra fit... but this one special lady takes the cake. And she just happened to wander in the first day I lost my health benefits. I'm a little bit foggy on the details- I'm guessing it's my brain's way of protecting itself. I do remember I was with this woman for quite sometime, she walked into the department talking on her cell phone... while it was on speaker and while I was actually trying to help her find a bra, she called me a slut because I have a black bra. Anyway, the entire time I was trying to help this crazy loon, she was hacking up a lung. I tried to ignore it, but then at the end of the transaction, she mumbled something about the swine flu.

Luckily, I escaped that contagious disease so I decided that I could use my six allotted call off days for Ferris Bueller type escapades. Unfortunately, I didn't get a parade- but I did get to see the Pens parade when they won the Stanley Cup... which was televised, but I needed to be there in person. I even got there on time, donned in Pens gear, camera in tow and I made it to the second row. Almost kinda sorta right out front. Did I mention it was televised?....

..Oops. (Yes, this is one of my real pictures from the parade)

On a slightly more serious note- raise your glass of lemonade or toast some cotton candy in honor of Mr. Kenny Geidel (aka "Lemonade Guy" or "Cotton Candy Man"), a true Pittsburgh legend who passed away today. Going to any sporting event in Pittsburgh will not be the same...and Pirates games are even more pointless.

The Mother's Day Prank that Wasn't

On this hallowed eve of the celebration of mothers, I can't help but feel a small space in my heart for the amazing Mother's Day I could have given my mom. For while other more disgruntled spawn go out shopping trying to find their old lady a new top or flowers or some small knick knack to gather dust, I try to find something more along the lines of "Serves you right for picking me as a daughter." Maybe it's still a bit of the post-April fools hangover, but I think Mama Leonard needs a bit of a reminder that for God knows what reason, she raised me to turn out this way- a cynical, self-depricating, yet narcissistic fool. I had the perfect plan too...

I cannot fathom why this woman would tell me or my dad anything because it turns into an endless stream of mocking. As I have mentioned before, she is working on getting Sid the Kid to file a restraining order against her (now she has also a shine to his partner in crime, Evgeni Malkin. Lord knows when this will end). Originally I had a plan of giving her the clearance heart shaped box of Godiva chocolate I snagged as a part of the Valentine's day clearance. But I thought it's kinda weird to give someone a heart shaped anything after Valentine's Day...unless it somehow involved Nirvana. So I was going to scratch the idea. Then, as if it were somehow planted there, the perfect plan came to me in a dream. I could forge Mr. Crosby's signature on the box and say that through some twist of fate I found him when my father and I were at the Pen's game and I just happened to have the chocolate with me. I knew my dad would go along with it and my mom still believes "gullible" is written on almost every ceiling in America. Then, just like the real Inception, we had to take the plan deeper...

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!

So I was hoping and praying that the Pens at least continued to the next round of the playoffs so I could pull of this little stunt. I was going to invite my mom to Pittsburgh to go out to dinner and try to find a Sidney Crosby look alike to just happen to be in the same restaurant. Really, all I would have to do is get a black Pens cap, throw it in some salt water and leave it in the sun for a few days and make some guy of about the same stature wear it. She would never know the difference. Or I suppose I could have asked the real Sid. He was out of work for awhile, I'm sure he would have enjoyed the extra 20 bucks and dinner in the fanciest lower middle class restaurant in town. Unfortunately, and I blame MC Nickels for not supporting my boys in their playoff run, the Pens did not make it past the first round so this little prank would not have worked so well. And why do I blame MC Nickels? Because some genius ordered too many Steeler AFC Champions shirts and they ended up selling for $1.97 so no Pens shirts unless they actually won the Cup. Somehow it always goes back to the hell hole for ruining my life... and that one special day dedicated to the woman who gave me the gift of life. Way to go, poopyheads.

PS. Christopher Nolan, see how I gave Inception like crazy mad props in this entry? I bet I got about 3 or 4 people add it their Netflix queue. I think that earns me a position on The Dark Knight Rises when it comes to the Burgh. Oh. And please disregard I used the term "poopyheads."

We Can't Stop Here. This Is Yinzer Country.

I made my escape from the seventh circle of hell... for a week. I assumed that since for some reason the burning fluorescent lighting and the malevolent demons... err, customers running amuck serve as my inspiration that I wouldn't be writing for awhile. I was right. Even my crazy, kooky family was relatively normal for Easter. The main exception was the Easter vigil mass,

which serves as sort of a young priest museum- you can look, but not touch. Such a shame, sometimes. I'm usually like the restless 5 year old in church, but I was pretty exhausted thanks to suffering in h-e-double hockey sticks for eight hours. And speaking of hockey sticks, that was also the day that my Pens decided to horribly disappoint me with scoring 2 goals against Tampa's 8, so that didn't motivate me to stay awake. Luckily, my mother took over as the inappropriate one in the family for the night. Apparently there is an Irish priest visiting and every time he went up to the altar my mom exclaimed "Ooh! It's the little leprechaun." It didn't help much that the poor man was rather vertically challenged... and wearing a green vestment. Now, if it would have been me, I would have referred to the Eucharist as "Lucky Charms," but my little protege is learning.

Anyway, Saturday I realized that the crazy, kooky city I live in is a muse in itself. So I decided to take a walk to every fat kid's favorite part, the Strip District. My day started off with taking the incline down "da mount." The incline is a favorite tourist destination... and an actual mode of transportation for the locals. This just seems to astound the out of towners because every time I ride the damn thing, I get asked a million questions that always ends with "You're so lucky you get to take this all the time." Yup, paying over $3 to ride a car down a hill is FANTASTIC! But I usually just nod politely and put my headphones back in and try to muffle the sounds of "What if the cable snaps? What if the brakes don't work?" (never fails, at least one person says one of these things). Luckily, our car made it safely to the bottom and I continued on my way.

As soon as I stepped off the bridge, I heard sirens in the distance. And a lot of sirens. Now, I'm pretty sure that I picked the wrong major because every time I hear the police car/ firetruck/ ambulance's wail and flashing lights, I decide it's a brilliant idea to run after them. These sirens lead me straight to the convention center, which was housing the NRA convention for the weekend. Not as good as Anthro Con...

(Pittsburgh should be so proud)

But I'll accept it. Not only was the NRA there, but some protestors (of course) arrived in a parade! And who doesn't love a parade, especially in the Burgh?! Unfortunately, my requests for candy or at least a high school marching band were not met. Then a large caravan of many buses and trucks proclaiming that the date of the end of the world is May 21st appeared. They drove right up to the convention center and ANOTHER parade of people piled out of the bus. I suppose if you need to let someone know about the impending apocalypse, it should be the folks with the guns. I kept my distance, but secretly I just wanted to run skipping through the crowds singing "It's a small world, after all..." Unfortunately, I have a sprained ankle that still hasn't healed so I was walking with a hint of a limp. In case anyone asked what happened, I was prepared to say that I was shot and it hasn't healed properly.

At this point, my transfer was about to run out so I grabbed the Polish Terrible Towel I bought and headed back to the incline, which had a line of tourists out the door. As soon as I got a seat, I began digging for my transfer. The woman across from me saw a flash of the Terrible Towel and asked me if I carried it around all the time. I replied with "Yes, everyone in Pittsburgh does."

So I finally made it home, thinking the events of the day were rather amusing, but not a great reflection of the quirkiness of the city. Then, on Sunday, a major news event happened- Osama Bin Laden has finally been killed. Most people just watch the news channels or the major news programs or just tune in for the presidential statement. But I wait around for the good stuff- the local news. And I was not disappointed. For some reason, WPXI thought it was a fantastic idea to go out and interview the good citizens of Pittsburgh... at midnight. On a Sunday. In the city that goes to bed by 10. The nice interviewee, donning the latest Pittsburgh fashion in flannel and a trucker hat, stated "Well, there's gonna be rep'rcussions, n'at." Yoi! There's the yinzers I love.

Move over, Kate Middleton

My parents used to call me "Princess" all the time when I was a child. Then I grew up and realized that other people did not agree with this title, nor did they realize I was actually royalty and would not treat me like one. So when I got to work today and the salon needed guinea pigs to try out prom up-dos, I was actually OK with being a test subject. I never went to prom so I didn't get to go through the whole "Princess for a day" thing. I just never saw the point of having to pay to get back into the school dressed like a cupcake-human hybrid that escaped from Candyland. So I decided that today was going to be my one day of royalty. Of course, things never go my way and I attracted every crazy in the store.

The first peasant travelled far to see her princess. Unfortunately, I couldn't understand her accent from a foreign land. However, I did understand a little bit that this Asian lass said to me while I was waiting on her. I believe this bit was "Oooh. Sexy lady."

The second subject I encountered could possibly be a good jester in my court. A young lad walked up to me, shoved his wrists in my face and said "Smell these." First of all, peasant, please address me by my full name and title, Princess Jen HiremeChristopherNolan from the land of Gotham City. Second of all, please tell people what is on your wrists before they smell them. (No, this one is real advice. That was a bit of a super creep move right there, sir). Turns out it was cologne, but I still didn't smell it in fear that I might catch the Black Plague.

The third and serf with a bad dental plan walked up to the register and had the audacity to look me in the eyes. It was slightly more audacious that he asked "Is everything in this store for sale?" I took pity on him and replied with "Yes, except for the mannequins." Then, as if he stole a line out of The Blues Brothers, but made it less funny and more creepy, he replied with "Well, babe, I'd like to buy you." Maybe I should learn to shut my mouth sometimes, but it was my princess day, damnit, so I said "I think that's called human trafficking and I'm pretty sure it's illegal." Oh, and this man also had no teeth. I'm not sure what it is about me, but I sure know how to attract those types. If only they were toothless men worthy of my princess-dom. Say, maybe, a hockey player?

And finally, one young lady finally saw me for the royal I am. She and her mother were buying a flower girl dress. The young talkative girl said that she is going to have her hair up and curly, like mine, so she could look like a princess too. But then she paused for a bit and said "I don't know if we both could be princesses though." I was quite nervous that she was going to suggest a joust or a duel to the death, but rather she said, "You might have to be a queen." Queen, huh? I like that better. Move over, Freddie Mercury.

Oh, Canada, My Pretend Home and Native Land

In preparation for my upcoming role as Robin in the back of a police car speeding away from The Dark Knight Rises set, I have decided to pretend to be a different person every day I am stuck in retail hell. No, I did not give up on my dream of the behind the scenes drudge work for the glamour of the silver screen. I haven't gone all Norma Desmond yet. Actually, I prefer the term "dramatic lying" instead of acting. You might also think I've gone even more insane. Well, as the oh-so-dreamy Fox Mulder once said "Sometimes the only sane answer to an insane world is insanity."

So, in honor of the playoffs, since I can't grow a beard, I am going to develop a Canadian accent, eh? I figure this will also be useful for my upcoming web series featuring 2 Canadians stuck in post apocalyptic Pittsburgh (the only drug I was on when I came up with this gem was an overload of caffeine. I wish I knew how my mind works) Also, thanks to the nightmare I have of Sarah Palin (or Donald Trump) winning the 2012 election, I may have to flee to the igloo neighborhood of the north. But let's not get political, eh?

Thanks to Netflix watch instantly, I have spent many hours studying the Canadian people. I'm not sure I'd be able to survive their high school though. It appears as if many of the students are addicted to pretty much any drug imaginable, teenage pregnancies, and the rapper Drake in a wheelchair. All my high school had was one girl who popped out a kid every year and a girl that tossed nachos onto a guy's lap and that's what got us dubbed as the "worst class in Latrobe's history." An honor everyone in my class was proud of. I also don't know if I can pull of the "nice and polite" Canadian stereotype. Because...well, I'm neither of those things. I can't help it. If MC Nickels is retail hell, I'd rather be one of the demons than just some helpless soul.

Perhaps I can just start out with learning the Canadian accent and work on my character's backstory later. Maybe I witnessed my parents' murder as a child and I swore to seek revenge by fighting every criminal master mind in the city. No one would expect your local retail associate would actually be a heroic crime fighter. Since I am Canadian, I would shape my costume as a moose, in order to strike fear in the hearts of evil-doers everywhere. I am... MooseWoman.

Addendum:

Dear Christopher Nolan,

If you get bored after you finish this whole Batman thing and want to go back to the superhero genre, feel free to use my "MooseWoman" idea... Just let me work on it... in any capacity. I have a Keurig, I could make you coffee!

Love and Bat Signals,

Jen

Na na na na na na na na N'Atman!

It's official. Our pierogie races and sandwiches topped with fries and coleslaw lured Christopher Nolan and his posse here for the next Caped Crusader flick. I am bound and determined to at least see the set of this film... and maybe grab onto Mr. Nolan's leg and refuse to let go. So there is a chance that I might get arrested. Please click on the ads to donate to my bail fund. Speaking of Bale, if I can't work on the set, be an extra, or get adopted by Morgan Freeman (because who doesn't love a madcap Punky Brewster-esque situation?); then I want nothing else for Mr. Christian Bale to get angry, yell, and throw a light at me (all so someone can record it and make a techno remix). Once again, please click away to support my bail (Bale?) funds...

Ways I am capable of making Christian Bale angry...

- Screaming "Hey! Hey! Heeeey! King of New York! Yeah, you! Open the gates and seize the day!'

- Sneak into the back of the Batmobile and ask "Are we there yet?" a million times, sing "99 bottles of beer on the wall" and/ or the "song that never ends," or try to engage him in a thrilling game of "I, Spy"

- Dress as Robin and demand to know where my trailer is

- Claim that Jean Claude Van Damme is the true hero that the 'Burgh deserves and Christian Bale would never match the action, drama, or true passion of "Sudden Death." All this while dressed as Iceburgh, of course, because who doesn't love seeing the NHL's most lovable mascot being punched in the face?

- Dress in a raincoat and dance to "Hip to Be Square"...with an axe. And then hand him my business card that will surely look better than his business card... but then he might kill me.

-If these do not work, I am prepared to go after Michael Caine and his best role yet as Ebenezer Scrooge in A Muppet Christmas Carol. I have a Kermit doll and I'm not afraid to use it.

In conclusion, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE LET ME BE ON THIS FILM! EVEN THOUGH THIS BLOG READS TO THE CONTRARY, I ACTUALLY AM QUITE SANE AND COMPETENT.

(If I type in all caps, that construes yelling, correct? So maybe Mr. Nolan will hear me? Hopefully?)