It just struck me last week that I reached my one year blog anniversary this month. (I can’t bring myself to call it a blogiversary. Oh crap, I just did, didn’t I?) Like any important event that marks the passage of time, it is only natural that I would take this opportunity to reflect upon this past year:
What’s happened in this past year?
• Threw myself into the downward spiraling depression that is unemployment
• Launched myself into the self-esteem boosting thrill that is a new job
• Got burglarized and developed hatred for all mankind
• Fell in love, got married, and divorced to a stranger on a train
• Dropped out of tap dance due to creative differences
• Joined a jug band and experienced the highs and lows of life on stage
So all in all, this has been one unpredictable year, and the great thing is that it’s all documented right here in this public forum. Every last story. My whole life. All my quirks and neuroses on display. My successes and failures, here for your amusement. You know me better than I know myself. Why are you looking at me like that?
And the other nice thing about celebrating a one year blog anniversary is that it gives me a built-in reason to post an entry today. So in honor of this auspicious occasion, I am dusting off some of my personal favorites. Wait a minute – selecting my own personal favorites? Egotistical? Perhaps. Lazy? Most definitely. But if it counts for anything, it did take me a long time to put all these links in this post. That counts, doesn’t it?
More than anything, I want to thank you all for stopping by – it’s been a fun year!
Golden Oldies:
Working Hard, or Hardly Working?
Will Tap for Food
A Fowl First Day
On Being a Woman: Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny
Cupid Is as Cupid Does

Filed under: General on June 27th, 2005 | 7 Comments »

The funniest thing a complete stranger has said to me in a long time:
Friend: Hey Jenny, this is Stranger. He’s my evil co-worker.
Jenny: Hi Stranger. So, you’re evil?
Stranger: Yeah. I’m so evil that they killed me off two seasons ago.
Jenny: Wow. That is evil.
Stranger: But don’t worry. They’ll bring me back for mid-season sweeps.
Jenny: Will you be seeking revenge?
Stranger: Definitely.

Filed under: General on June 22nd, 2005 | Comments Off

So – I realize this isn’t my usual type of entry, but I am in need of a release because I have become mildly obsessed with figuring out Tom Cruise’s relationship with Katie Holmes. What the hell is going on? He has gone insane, and he’s taking a 25 year old girl with him. Was he always this crazy, and we just didn’t know it? What’s wrong with her? She’s dating a lunatic, and he already has her going to Scientology centers. Won’t someone intervene? Why is Oprah condoning this lunacy? Has the whole world gone mad? Nicole Kidman and Penelope Cruz must be breathing great sighs of relief right now. I want Brooke Shields to punch him in his face.
Run, Katie! Run!

Filed under: General on June 7th, 2005 | 8 Comments »

As I may have mentioned before, I am not a skilled gardener. I am as neglectful of my plants’ health as I am of my own. So upon returning from my Memorial Day weekend getaway, I realized that I had forgotten to water my plants before I left, and most likely for several weeks prior to my departure.
My Easter cactus was shriveled and dark green. My bamboo was puckered and yellow. My jade was droopy and slightly purplish.
I immediately saturated their pots with tepid water, and within a few days, the most amazing thing happened. I noticed some healthy green new growth on my jade plant. My bamboo looked plump and vital. And springing forth from the tips of my Easter cactus were bright pink buds, eager to bloom. Not once, in the two years that I have owned this cactus, has it ever flowered. Despite my neglect, or perhaps because of it, my plants were suddenly thriving.
So what am I to take away from this experience? Is it possible that my houseplants were trying to send me some sort of subliminal message? Could it be that, sensing their impending doom, my plants suddenly realized how amazing life truly is, and therefore when given a second chance, leapt at the opportunity to make the most of it?
I have to wonder if my plants were trying to teach me a life lesson. Over the past several years, I have watched my body slowly erode and shrivel into a state I assumed was permanent. But what if, like the sturdy bamboo, I, too, can grow new shoots once again? Is that what they were trying to tell me? Perhaps there is much to be learned from our leafy friends. Lessons like:
1. Only through adversity do we reach our full potential
2. What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger
3. A near death experience makes you truly appreciate the value of life
Of course, I quickly rejected this theory and instead, determined that all of my plants were suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. For years, I had held them hostage on my windowsill, their fate teetering between life and death, dependent upon my god-like hands to bring them water and Miracle-Gro. As could be expected, they have all begun to sympathize with me, their captor. I think the Easter cactus might even be in love with me. I have consequently decided to name her Patty Hearst. We are going to rob some banks together later this weekend.
While I was momentarily impressed with my plants’ physical fortitude, I ultimately became disgusted by their spiritual weakness. I mean really, what does it take to find a plant that will actually stand up for itself? Every last one of these pathetic plants caved in to my abuse. And now they’re all trying to teach me some sort of Reader’s Digest life lesson about the strength of the spirit? I don’t think so! I have enough people telling me what to do with my life – the last thing I need is to have a bunch of insecure flora telling me I can be a better person by just letting people abuse me.
You know what I would do if I were one of my plants and I were that neglected? I would form dozens of beautiful flower buds and let them almost open, then I would go on a hunger strike until they all dried up and fell off, never allowing my abuser to witness their splendor. I would drop leaves into her coffee cup, and shrivel up when company was over, just to embarrass her in front of her friends. I would suffocate myself rather than emit the sweet, sweet oxygen that my captor so desperately craved. That’s what I would do. And I would respect the plant Jenny for having the guts to do just that.
This bunch of low self-esteem, preachy plants makes me sick. So I decided that this weekend, I’m throwing them all out and getting a plant that has some attitude – a Venus flytrap. Venus flytrap takes crap from no one. Venus flytrap is at the top of the food chain. Venus flytrap just says, “What? You think you’re gonna forget to water me and let me die? You think I need you? Shit – I’ll catch my own food, sucka! I’m a carnivore – I kill what I eat. And lord knows you got enough flies in this pigsty apartment to keep me living large for months.”
Yeah. Me and Venus flytrap are gonna get along just fine.

Filed under: General on June 6th, 2005 | 1 Comment »

I spent Memorial Day weekend at my brother’s house in Wisconsin, working desperately on my never-ending quest to achieve Favorite Aunt status with my two nephews. My plan entailed a carefully structured regimen of:
1. Candy distribution
2. Lego’s construction
3. Ant-farm observation
4. Star Wars viewing
I was well on my way to accomplishing this goal when Elliott and Anthony begged me to play baseball with them again in the back yard. Having spent a few summers on a neighborhood softball team as a kid, I figured this would be right up my alley. Both boys wanted to bat, so I alternated pitching to them and cheering them on with each hit. I taught them all the good banter:
“Hey, batter, batter, batter. Swing!”
“Whoa! I felt a breeze from your bat, you swung that so hard!”
“C’mon! Put a little pepper on that baby!”
“Yeah! You really got a piece of that one!”
“Hot grounder, coming at you!”
“And he knocks it out of the park! The crowd goes wild!”
After a couple times at bat each, my older nephew, Elliott, suggested that I start hitting some balls to them so they could practice their catching. He ran out to the outfield for the pop flies, while Anthony stayed a little closer to catch the grounders.
And this is where my quest for Favorite Aunt status took a serious detour: Elliott was yelling for me to hit him some more fly balls because I had hit three grounders in a row to Anthony. Ever the fair and balanced aunt, I tossed the ball up, swung the bat, and watched in horror as the ball rocketed straight into the wide-eyed and unsuspecting face of my five year old nephew.
I paused a second before reacting, waiting to gauge my nephew’s reaction. And then it came – the silent, tearless cry that signals great tragedy. I dropped the bat immediately and ran over to him, pulling his tiny mitt away from his face. Oh god. Please not his eye. My brother’s an ophthalmologist – he cannot have a one-eyed son! Oh, his eyes are fine, but welling with tears. Nose! Not a tiny broken nose! How would they even set it? But his nose looked fine. Oh shit. He’s holding his mouth. I hit him in the mouth. Good god, I knocked all my five year old nephew’s teeth out! His tiny, sweet, baby teeth. His mother will never forgive me! But… there was no blood! All his teeth were intact! Not even a swollen lip!
I hugged Anthony tightly and asked him if he wanted to go inside. He just held his hand to his mouth and said, “No… [sniff] I… [sniff] just want… [sniff] to bat… [sob!]”
“You want to bat some more? Of course you can bat! You’re such a tough little guy, aren’t you? I’m so proud of you. And you know what’s great about this? Now you and I have a secret, don’t we? Yeah. We won’t tell anyone – especially not your mommy or daddy – that I hit a line drive into your face, will we? That’ll be our little secret.”
He shook his glove off and rubbed his eyes with both hands. “But mommy says secrets are bad.”
I looked around the yard, then leaned in close to Anthony and said, “No, honey. Secrets aren’t bad. Lies are bad. You should never lie. But secrets are good. Secrets are what good friends share. It’s like in that movie Spy Kids – they had to keep secrets in order to catch the bad guys, didn’t they?”
“Spy Kids is Elliott’s movie. He never lets me watch it. I don’t like that movie.”
“Oh. Well, you like Lord of the Rings, right? With Gollum? And you know how the hobbits – Bilbo and Harpo – had to keep the ring a secret from everybody? That was a good secret – see?”
“His name is Frodo. I like Lord of the Rings. I saw that three times already.”
“Right – Frodo! So you and me, we’re going to be just like Frodo and Harpo. Keeping secrets, and finding treasure, and killing bad guys. Now why don’t you go grab that bat and show me how you can knock it out of the park?”
The entire time I was tending to my wounded warrior, his older brother was pacing around the back yard and rolling his eyes. When he saw Anthony grab the bat, Elliott threw down his glove and came running over to me.
“Aunt Jenny! Anthony can’t bat! It’s my turn to bat! He just got to bat!”
“Elliott! Your brother just got hit in the face with a ball, and I told him he could bat. You can bat after him.”
“That’s no fair! So what if he got hit. He’s a big baby! I want to bat.”
“Look, Elliott. I hit Anthony in the face with the ball, and I feel really bad about that, so Anthony is batting right now. And if I hit you in the face with a ball, I’ll let you bat twenty times in a row, okay?”
“Do you promise?”
“Yes, I promise.”

Filed under: General on June 1st, 2005 | 7 Comments »

No matter where I travel, whether for business or pleasure, there’s nothing quite as comforting as stepping off that plane in O’Hare, knowing that I’m but a short drive from my home sweet home. Within minutes of hopping off the plane after my recent trip to Arizona, I found myself zoning out to the soothing sounds of the Beastie Boys on my iPod and watching strangers’ luggage float past me on the baggage carousel. As I lunged forward to grab a black carryon that turned out to belong to someone else, I noticed a sign on the wall that said:

We’re Glad You’re Here!
Digestive Disease Week
May 14-19, 2005
McCormick Place
Mayor Daley Welcomes You to Chicago!
Now, I realize that I don’t work for the Chicago Board of Tourism, but if I did, I’m pretty certain that even on my worst day I could find a more welcoming enticement to weary travelers than touting Digestive Disease Week on the luggage carousel at O’Hare airport. And, I don’t want to seem unfriendly, but are we really glad you’re here, you devoted attendees of Digestive Disease Week? I mean, really – this country has already taken in the tired, the poor, and the huddled masses. Isn’t it about time Canada takes one for the team and opens their borders to the sufferers of explosive diarrhea?
The other thing that struck me as odd is the fact that the city is advertising this event as though it might have some sort of draw for the general visitors to our fine city. It kind of seems to me that most attendees of Digestive Disease Week already knew about the event before arriving in Chicago, and as a city, we could have much more effectively spent those coveted airport marketing dollars. Is this really the scenario Mayor Daley had in mind?

“Honey, do you see our bag yet? Remember – ours has the rainbow strap around it to make it more noticeable.”
“No, dear. It hasn’t come by yet. Phew, my dogs are barking. That was one long flight. Nice stewardesses, though! That Cheryl sure was a sweetheart. You know she gave me two extra bags of pretzels? I didn’t even have to ask for them!”
“Gosh, Jim. I just cannot wait to see the city. My first trip to Chicago, and there’s so much to do – the Sears Tower, Navy Pier, Millennium Park, the Museum of Science and – wait a minute! Oh for the love of – Jim! Look over there!”
“What’s that, June?”
“Over there – that signs says that it’s Digestive Disease Week May 14 through the 19th! Can you believe the luck?”
“Oh, for crying in a kerchief! After it was sold out in Tampa, I never thought we’d get a chance to go to Digestive Disease Week again! Please, please, please let there still be tickets! June – quick! Get the cell phone!”
“I’m way ahead of you! I’m going to see if we can still get the four-day unlimited passes. Won’t the boys be thrilled?”

Although, really, who am I to talk? I just spent four days at a marketing conference in Scottsdale, Arizona. In the grand scheme of things, with my poor eating habits and delicate constitution, attending Digestive Disease Week at McCormick Place probably would have been a better use of my time. Huh. Wonder if I can still get tickets to next year’s conference? I hear they’re holding it in Des Moines!

Filed under: General on May 23rd, 2005 | 4 Comments »

Since I used to work in the travel industry, and my new job brings me to exotic destinations such as Seattle, Scottsdale, and Skokie, I felt it would be a good idea for me to share some of the travel tips I’ve learned over the years. And particularly in this time of high gas prices and still sluggish economy, advice for the budget-conscious traveler is more important than ever.
So with that in mind, I bring you the first and potentially only installment of Jenny’s Money-Saving Travel Tips. A penny saved, as they say!
How to Save $10 on America West Airlines
By Jenny Amadeo
As some of you may know, one of the great many perks of traveling on America West flights that are three hours in duration or longer is that you get to watch semi-popular movies on the little TV screens that flip down from the ceiling. I recently learned that in order to accommodate these TV screens, America West had to remove the oxygen masks, but really, I think we all knew they were there just for show anyway.
Imagine my excitement when I thumbed through my well-worn copy of the America West Airlines magazine – which is cleverly titled, America West Airlines Magazine – and realized that my southbound in-flight movie would be the critically acclaimed film, Coach Carter, starring Samuel L. Jackson as the controversial high school basketball coach who benched his undefeated team due to their collective poor academic record in 1999.
As eager as I was to enjoy this cinematic experience, I couldn’t help but remember the wise words of my Grandmother, a woman who never paid for a newspaper a day in her life, as long as she could read one over the shoulder of someone on the bus. If they got angry at her, she would just smile her innocent smile and say, “If the good lord didn’t want me to read your newspaper, he wouldn’t have given me such keen eyesight.”
As we would collect bottles and cans out of the neighbors’ garbage together, she would say, “Jenny, my little wren, don’t you ever pay for something you can get for free. You hear me? Now wipe the maggots off that pickle jar. Good girl.”
Her words kept running through my head the entire time the flight attendants were walking down the aisle collecting $5 for the headsets. Just as I was about to pull out my wallet, I stopped, looked up at the TV screen, and realized that if the good lord hadn’t wanted me to watch this movie for free, he wouldn’t have given me Lenscrafters and an iPod.
I waited until the flight attendant passed me by, and then I tried to shove my iPod headphones in the headphone jack. Apparently, America West armrest engineers were more clever than I had anticipated, as my headphones did not fit. Now, flight attendants long gone, I had no choice but to watch this film without sound.
Being a fairly sharp student of human nature, I figured that I could probably understand what was going on during the film. I quickly realized that not only could I get the general gist of the movie, I had absolutely no need to ever hear anyone speak again. I knew exactly what was going on the entire time, and I am here right now to share this fine film with you all.

***SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT!***
Read no further if you are one of the stragglers who has yet to see this masterpiece! I now bring you my interpretation of Coach Carter!
Hey! There’s Samuel L. Jackson. I loved him in Pulp Fiction. “And I will strike down upon thee…” Ha.
Wait. Who’s that guy? Did he just buy drugs, or is he a drug dealer?
Oh. There’s a kid the other kids don’t seem to like. I wonder why. Is he Coach Carter’s son? They were in the same car together. How come they won’t let him play basketball? Maybe because he wore a tie to school. Maybe he transferred from a Catholic school.
Wait a minute – is that guy with the baby the same guy who’s on the basketball team? How come everyone is mad at that one guy with the afro? Maybe he really is doing drugs. Now Samuel L. Jackson pulled him out of the game. He’s pissed.
Huh. I guess that little guy who wore the tie before must have proven himself because now the team seems to like him. He’s really fast.
That woman’s mad at Coach Carter and yelling at him in the grocery store. I’ll bet her son is one of the players, and maybe Coach Carter kicked him off the team. Probably for doing drugs, maybe. Boy, she won’t stop talking to him – she must be really peeved.
But now the Coach is shaking hands with that player he kicked off. I guess he must have let him back on the team. I bet he just made a promise to stay away from those gang kids, or to get better grades.
Ooh – they’re all dancing in a club. Bumping and grinding. I should switch my iPod to some Prince. Gotta not talk dirty babe, if you wanna impress me. The sexual tension is really high.
Jealousy!
Anger!
Breakup!
Don’t let her go!
Make up!
Now we’re back at another basketball game. Oh – it’s the championship game. Says so right there. Backwards slam dunk! In your face, opposing team!
Oh I feel sick with suspense. The game is 79 to 78, with Coach Carter’s team behind. Only 9 seconds left on the clock…
And he makes it! Those Oilers can’t lose! I’ve never seen Coach Carter so happy!
Uh oh. This looks like trouble. That girl from the other school just gave her phone number to the star player on the Oilers. Now there’s a bunch of rich white girls throwing a wild party. I’ll bet their parents aren’t home. And I think a fight might break out because there’s drinking and dancing and lots of teen sex.
How the heck did Coach Carter know where they were? And are those the parents? Strange that they both got there at exactly the same time. Uh oh – Coach Carter’s possible son is in a hot tub making out with two different girls. Now he’s yelling at all the players on the bus. I’ve never seen Coach Carter so disappointed.
How come the students are all taking a test? Is that the SAT? They’re smiling at Coach Carter. Is he a teacher and a Coach? I wonder what class he teaches.
Now they’ve made it to the final championship game. It’s back and forth all night. The Oilers are making a comeback. Wow, these kids are good. I’ll bet colleges are already scouting them.
Oh the tension again. The teams are tied, the Oilers get the ball. Go! Go! Run, dammit! Oh my god! He made it! He made the basket! The Oilers are ahead by two! They’re going to win the championship!
I’ve never seen Coach Carter so – WAIT! Now the other team got the ball with just 4 seconds left! They’re all running, but it’s in slow motion. The guy shoots the ball. Oilers jump up to block it, but they miss. It’s nothing but net! Are you f*ing kidding me? The Oilers lose?! I paid none of my hard earned money to see the Oilers lose the championship? What’s the message here? Work hard, stay off drugs, take that test, and you’ll still lose?!
But wait? Why does Coach Carter look so happy in the locker room? It’s almost like he’s really proud of his team. In fact, I’ve never seen Coach Carter so proud. What’s he saying to them? Probably something like, “You did what no one thought you could do. This is the proudest moment of my life. Each and every one of you is a winner today. You all won the second you stepped onto the court. I love you all.”
So there you have it. I successfully saved $5 yet still thoroughly enjoyed my in-flight movie. I must admit, however, that I liked that movie a lot better when it was called Hoosiers and Lean on Me.
What’s that? I promised to save you $10, but that was only $5? Well, stay tuned for my next installment, where I recap my northbound in-flight tearjerker, Racing Stripes, where an abandoned zebra, with the help of his barnyard friends and a teenage girl, sets out to achieve his dream of racing with thoroughbreds.

Filed under: General on May 20th, 2005 | 4 Comments »

Woman: heavy set Russian woman, early to mid 50’s; O’Hare employee
Man: tall, late 30’s; O’Hare employee
Woman: “She make dat face (scrunches face tightly)… you feel like slapping her! How she make you feel?”
Man (visibly uncomfortable): “Well… uh. Did you ever talk to her about this?”
Woman: “Talk?! How I am talking to her when she making dat face?”
Man (looking at watch and around terminal): “Well… uh. I’ll see what I can do. But you’ve got to talk to her.”
Woman (throws hands up in air): “Yeah, sure.”

Filed under: General on May 19th, 2005 | 6 Comments »

Monday’s Temperature in Arizona: 100 degrees
Monday’s Temperature in Arizona Felt Like: 100 degrees

Filed under: General on May 17th, 2005 | 3 Comments »

Last week I was able to break away from the hustle bustle of my busy high-powered marketing job long enough to run out for a quick lunch at the sandwich shop down the street. I had about ten projects due by the end of the week, so I knew I would only have a few minutes to eat. I ordered my usual sandwich – buffalo chicken with bleu cheese spread – and sat down at a table to gobble it up.
With each bite, I kept glancing down at my watch to make sure I was back in time for my 12:30pm high-powered marketing meeting. All of the sudden, I bit down into something unexpected. To my keenly sensitive palate, it felt like neither bread nor buffalo chicken nor bleu cheese spread. I slowly pulled the sandwich away from my mouth, and had to choke back a blood-curdling scream when I realized that I had just bitten into a bleu cheese covered human index finger.
Fighting the urge to retch, I carefully wiped the bleu cheese off the finger, and soon discovered that the digit was my own, still firmly attached to my hand. I could clearly see the irregular teeth marks just below my first knuckle, leaving a vaguely pink line that throbbed with pain. Realizing that this atrocity committed against my being was far more important than any high-powered marketing meeting, I sought solace in the only place I could think of: my friend Seamus’ law firm, which is fortunately only a few blocks away from my office.
Seamus was able to get me an appointment with one of their top attorneys who handles restaurant chain lawsuits, and although his specialty is rat droppings, the attorney was willing to see me immediately.
Handing me a tissue, he leaned in and said, “Ms. Amadeo, I’m so sorry for your trauma. You must still be in shock. You did the right thing by coming here. But tell me, were you able to retrieve the finger from the sandwich?”
“Well, yes. I have it right here,” I explained, pointing my left index finger at my right one. “You can just make out some of the bite marks here.”
He looked a bit puzzled, and asked, “Wait? Do I understand this correctly? You bit into your own finger?”
I held my face in my hands and just nodded, sobbing softly. It was all still too fresh.
My attorney cleared his throat and said, “This is highly unorthodox, I’m afraid. When I agreed to see you, I assumed that you had bitten into a severed finger. The severed finger market is really what our firm is looking to get into. I… I just don’t know that-“
I wiped away the tears with my slightly red finger, and said, “Is my horror and disgust any less real than if the finger had belonged to a stranger? Am I not still a victim here? If I bite me, do I not bleed?”
“Yes, yes. I’m certain that this was a traumatic experience for you, but I just don’t see that you have a case. In fact, I’m not sure who the case would be against, if I were to file one.”
Shaking my head in disbelief, I said, “Why, the sandwich shop, of course! That sandwich had at least twice the normal amount of delicious bleu cheese spread on it, causing it to drip all over my hands, thereby making my own finger look exactly like a tasty piece of buffalo chicken. If that isn’t gross negligence, then I don’t know what is, sir!”
He leaned back and scratched his cheek a bit, then probed, “Interesting. Twice the normal amount, you say? Was there anything else that caused you to mistake your finger for chicken? Perhaps an extra tomato or some lettuce?”
As emotionally painful as it was for me, I tried hard to think back to the time of the incident, approximately twenty minutes earlier. “No, lettuce doesn’t come with that sandwich. And I don’t remember if there were any tomatoes – some of the details are foggy. Everything happened so fast – I mean, I kept looking at my watch because I had to get back to the office. I don’t know, there might have been a tomato, but I can’t be-“
He stopped me and said, “Wait a minute. Go back. Did you say you were rushing because of a meeting?”
“Why, yes. I only had a few minutes to eat because of a high-powered marketing meeting that was at 12:30pm.”
“So would you say that the stress of this upcoming meeting, inconsiderately scheduled during the lunch hour, coupled with the excessive bleu cheese dressing, both caused you to bite into the finger?”
“Well… yes. Yes, I guess that’s true.”
“And this company of yours – how big is it?”
“I work for Valhalla, Inc. It’s an international company – we have over 18,000 employees worldwide.”
My attorney quickly picked up his phone and dialed his assistant. “Gene, get Richard on the phone immediately. Code Deep Pockets. Repeat, Code Deep Pockets.”
Tomorrow I have to go in to have plaster casts made of my teeth and finger so that the forensic experts can reconstruct the crime scene. My new team of attorneys has advised me to stay out of that sandwich shop until after the trial date is set. Until then, I’m just sitting tight, trying to shake the memory of the day I discovered a human index finger in my sandwich.

Filed under: General on May 9th, 2005 | 4 Comments »