Have you ever been listening to the radio and heard a contest where if you called in and told the last 10 songs and who sang each of them you'd win a prize. Usually it's a hat or a snow cone gift certificate; something like that. It's never been that big of a deal, however, I can remember thinking how much I wanted to win a contest on the radio when I was a little girl. It has become apparent to me since I have moved to Vegas that I still have that desire, and now more than ever. The radio stations here aren't giving away styrofoam dollars that triple in size when you place them in water, or collapsable cups that you can fit in your purse. No, they give good stuff.

I realized my new desire to win when I was listening to 94.1 on the way to work and they announced they were giving away a designer handbag with show tickets and coupons to spa's and restaurants around Las Vegas. HELLO!!! Of course I wanted to win that. You just had to be the 29th caller and then listen to the contents of the bag and guess the prize without going over... The Purse is Right... Well, I never got my chance to do that because I always missed the cue and they quit about a week ago. Feeling a bit disappointed, I returned to the radio, this time switching stations because they are always playing the same stupid song on 94.1.

This time it was 95.5 KWNR, The New Country. It's a good station because they play some new country with some older and that was good. Well, on the way to work I hear ... be the 9th caller right now and win tickets to Martina McBride, in concert at Mandalay Bay on Saturday! What!!???? I'm thinking now is my chance to really get something, so I think I hear the number and I call and end up getting some poor guy out of bed with me asking ... "Am I the 9th caller??" He was like, "what the..." uh.. sorry, wrong number.

Well, I come into work and explain the situation to my co-workers. We look up the phone number (I was way off) and I program it into my cell phone. We turn the radio on and proceed, as monkeys in the zoo, pounding away at the 10-key. Soon, we think we hear an ad to call in and get the tickets. I quickly grab my cell phone and press the speed dial. The phone is answered by the corporate office who then gives me the correct number to the radio station D.J. As he answers, he says that I have not called at the right time and should listen for the sound and then call back when that is played on the radio. I ask... what's the sound. He replies ... now pay attention because it goes fast...

"it's like ... summer summer summer... blah blah blah.. and its a quip put together, thanks bye"

WHAT! WHAT??? How can I listen for that? What is that supposed to be? Well, it became a quest in the office. By yesterday afternoon we were listening intently and stopping typing every time we heard the D.J. beginning to talk. Never knowing if we'd heard the sound or not, but occasionally hearing someone on the radio saying they had won the tickets. They give the tickets away every hour supposedly... so we keep listening. Today, as 4 o'clock approaches, everyone in my office has the radio station phone number programmed into their speed dial and we are all waiting for "the sound" to play. Several times, I thought I'd heard the sound and so I called in ... "am I the 9th caller, did I hear the sound?" The D.J., less and less enthusiastic, and I'm sure a supporter of caller i.d. replies each time ..."no, not yet. keep listening." We we listened and we finally heard the sound and called in...

Drum Roll!

Busy Signal.
Busy Signal.
Busy Signal.
Busy Signal.

All of us, getting the busy signal. No matter how many times we called back... Same thing. Busy signal. So, no tickets today.

Don't you just love free stuff? (It probably cost the amount of the tickets in phone charges and lost work time by now.) Keep posted to hear about when I win.

Ciao.

The Ones You Love

Recently a new friend of mine was driving home from a movie here in Las Vegas. She was with her husband and it was about 1 am on a Friday night. As they were headed home, they were struck from behind by a drunk driver who had been exceeding 120 mph. Luckily, her husband was able to control the vehicle enough to keep them from hitting the semi in the next lane, and instead they plummetted into the cement wall on the other side. The other car also hit the cement barrier. When they hit the barrier, their truck bounced off and and turned around, now facing on coming traffic. As the airbags deployed and the cab filled with dust/smoke, they could see the headlights coming towards them and were sure that if they were hit, they would lose their lives. Fortunately, the approaching lights was an off-duty officer who had been following the drunk driver and had seen the accident minutes after reported the man. When the truck came to a stop, my friend said that she immediately reached for her husband and called out... are you there, are you alright. Because the cab was filled with smoke and dust from the airbags, neither of them could see the other. He answered back, "I'm here, I'm ok".

As I sat there, jaw-dropped and stunned from her story I thought to myself, Wow. I'm so glad she's alive, well, and unharmed, and that her husband is as well. But I was also struck by the realization that in the face of tragedy and uncertainty, it's the ones you love who are most important. Her safety didn't matter. Her condition didn't concern her. But what she wanted to know, the minute she could find out, was if her husband was okay. She told how the driver got out of his car and they got out of theirs and the man kept asking them if she was alright. They were not injured, amazingly. But she did tell that man that he would have devistated their lives if he had killed one of them.

Another girl I work for told me about her fiance and their love for one another. As a Staten Island resident and someone who was working in NYC at the time of 9/11, she explained that her and her fiance realized the only thing that matters in this life are the ones you love. Now her family is close, and they are getting married, and her goals, and his, have changed. They spend time with one another, forgetting the petty things and working through the difficult problems with a commitment to making it work.

If anyone watched the news and the following broadcasts after Hurricane Katrina or the Tsunami, they could easily see the one thing on everyone's minds. These people had lost all their possessions, all their money, their pictures, their homes and some didn't even have shoes on their feet or food in the stomach. But when they were given a chance to ask for anything, they were asking for their families.

As I think about the people in my life and the ones I love and have loved through the years, I realize they are the first people I would be concerned with in a tragedy. I think we take our loved ones for granted. All too often we treat strangers with more kindness and courtesy than we do our loved ones because we know that our loved ones will still be there in the morning. Consider today, what if they weren't. Cherish the ones you love and keep them close. Reach out for them when they are right beside you and when you can see them. Don't wait until you aren't sure if they are there or not.

On a more serious note than usual, just takin' a minute to say...

I LOVE YOU to the important people in my life.

Love, Jessie

Diet Explosion

Dang. I saw this online after my roommate told me about a news broadcast. It's called the Diet Coke/Mentos Challenge. I thought it was something that might help me lose weight. Well, maybe if I'm running from the spray. Anyway, in light of being from Las Vegas now, I thought I'd put this great clip. Enjoy! As for my nephews... Michael, Tanner, Andrew, Isaac, William, Brian, Colin, Caleb, Josh, Mathew, Mark, Brady, and Ethan ... give this a try over the 4th of July.

Take pictures and let me know how it goes.

It takes a minute to load and then press play. (the triangle on the left side)

"The Movie Talker"

Most people have their pet peeves. I am no exception to this rule. I have many pet peeves, probably too many, which may be a main reason I sit home every Saturday night admiring the cleanliness of my apartment and finding things to straighten. (Did you see the Wedding Planner with J-Lo... when she is vaccuuming the blinds with the attachment ... ---->ME!) Back to my peeving...

Yes, I have pet peeves. Some that are not worth sharing for the sake of you keeping your lunch down, but others have their place on the blog. I hate it when a person's brake light doesn't work on their vehicle and you find yourself in their back seat and wondering ... when did they start to stop! I hate it when there is food on the couch or someone wiped their dirty, greasy hands on the couch or pillow as if it was a napkin, which was less than 50ft away (face it, the apt. isn't that big ya lazy). I really hate it when someone takes the remote out of your hands and changes the channel, or if they turn the radio station, or worse, when they simply turn off the radio/cd without asking! WHAT! Who does that you say, well, I know plenty of rude people that have done that. However, I have a pet peeve that kills me and seems to be one of my many plagues recently. ---- Update on the bugs, Roach Motel's work and so does the Blackflag Spray! Thank you Walmart.-----

My pet peeve of the week is "the movie talker". Yes, I said it. The movie talker is a person that feels the need to comment, question, suggest, or narrate a movie while in progress. Now. This cannot be tolerated under any circumstances. Recently, I was watching a movie with my un-named co-habitator and her counterpart. Enjoying my popcorn and diet pepsi, I was suddenly stunned from my brainless state by questions and comments coming from the couch.

"What's that?" she asks.
"It's the guy that's coming to teach her about her powers." he replies.
"What is she thinking, doesn't she know that's dangerous?" she continues.
"Well, it's a room where the floor is just those panels ...." her clammer on.

PLEASE BE QUIET! I felt like screaming, but didn't. To my own detriment, I find myself in torture for a long six hours as we proceeded through our previously planned X-men marathon before going to the theatre to see the new one. (which I loved!) The two commented, and gave a narrative ... seriously saying things like, "she's going to the door", "he's using a fire ball to blow up those trucks", and "her hair is gray now".

This is not a baseball game being broadcast on the radio. It is not a golf tournament where the commentator whispers to the on-lookers about the strokes that have been made and whether or not he needs this birdie. NO. This is a movie. You are supposed to stuff your face with butter and caffine and sit mindlessly while allowing your dormant emotions to be rocked by the ultimate action packed, epic romantic comedy you paid $9.50 to see. (yes, it costs $9.50 to see a movie here in Las Vegas) The only thing worse than this is when a person comes into the movie late and wants to know everything about what's going on and whenever a new character enters the screen, they say "who's that". Dang Gina... that bugs!

Well, you might be giggling a little by now, but I know you know what I'm talking about. We have all been there. If not, you will experience it and when you do, you will be thinking, where is my blow-horn and hand-held sledge hammer? These people need a muzzle and I'm telling you that next time, if I'm not too hard up for company, I'm going to the movie by myself. (Which is a totally liberating experience for anyone who hasn't tried it. Just talk on the phone until you go in and sit down and then enjoy the row, seats, popcorn, soda, candy, and NO TALKING to your hearts desire, ... or two hours, whichever comes first.)

Now, to all of you out there who are movie talkers, and you know who you are.

<<<<>>>>>




Here is my Russian lady friend as a helpful reminder. If you continue your movie talking madness, I will send her to your house.

Until later, enjoy, comment, and stay out of trouble.

Ciao!

"Bugged"

Ok. Will someone please answer this question.... WHY MUST BUGS PLAGUE MY LIFE?

I hate bugs. Anyone who knows me knows that. This is the same person that worked and lived in the BigHorns for an entire summer, with bugs, spiders, and the like. Even mice ate my socks, however, I am now suffering from a form of phobia and neuroses caused be living with bugs. Some of you may be calling this ridiculous, and I will admit, it is at times, a little. But I must plea my case in telling you that I feel entitled after my experiences.

Apt. #1

The year is 1999 and I have chosen to live in Orem, UT. Not a bad choice, considering that anything seemed better than WY at the time. But after a couple of nights in my new apt. which was actually a townhouse down by the river (not be confused with a van) I retire to my bed to find *dum dum dum* EAR WIGS!!!! *SCREAM! yes.. lots of them. Earwigs are crawling around in my bed. Of course, I can handle a bug or two, but not in my bed. I killed the earwigs, one by one, and then crawled into bed after hearing my mothers voice in my head telling me to get over it. After a nights sleep, somehow, I awake to the sight of yet another earwig crawling across the pillow towards me. YES, my worst fears are coming to pass right before my weary eyes. A bug is going to burrow inside my ear canal and I'm going to go deaf and find the hatching egg sack when I go to the Dr. for a cure. I jump out of bed to find they are everywhere. I also was pleased as punch to find centipedes, spiders, and other creepy crawly things in my room, bathroom and living room. That place was a dump and it was so disgusting. I was able to get out of that gross place, but not until I faced the Wicked Landlord of the North and her Biology degree that proved there was no possibility of bugs in a bed. Moving on.

Apt. #2

Several years later, and after much therapy and soothing night sounds, I find myself, despite better judgement, moving into a basement apartment in Worland, WY. At first, it seemed fine. I told myself I might see a bug or two, but if the place was clean, and so it appeared, I would not have a problem with the gross bugs. This time it was Silverfish that kicked it off. All over the kitchen and bathroom. Yes folks, again, I found myself sobbing like a baby and swearing like a trucker as I began to clean them up. This time, keeping the dead carcasses for evidence. After many spiders and a return of my neuroses, I am trying to talk myself out of just abandoning everything I own and moving to a highrise in a cement village. Unfortunately for a person just above the poverty level, I could not afford that. More unfortunately was the moment I knew I had to call the landlord. The time was 11:00 p.m. and I was heading to bed. Closing the window so that I may sleep in peace and quiet, a spider ... HUGE AS LIFE jumps for my hand making a loud thud as it lands on the wood frame of the window. As big as a 50 cent piece, I scream, hoping the wake the old lady that lives above me and happens to double for the same woman in the movie Duplex with Drew Barrymore. Unfortunately, no one awakes and I have to kill the dang thing, abandoning my post as spider-watchperson and breaking the cardinal rule of "never lose sight of the spider". My landlord didn't believe me, but after a tearful breakdown, and the threat of moving out, agreed to have an exterminator come. This did not help much because after about three weeks, the spiders and their families were back in full force. I eventually moved out, but not until I paid over $300 in bills to have the pest control guy come back every month until October ... all summer! I believe the apt. has been vacant ever since, or at least it appears that way whenever I am home and drive past.

Apt. #3

So, the reason for this tirade... COCKROACHES! I live in Nevada now, and while I knew there would be a cockroach or two, I believe we have a problem on our hands. One or two in a week, I can deal with it. They are gross, but the explanation that they are coming in from outside when we open the door makes perfect sense because they are right there, waiting with their little feelers and their tiny gross brains that plan how to torture adults. (That is what they are thinking, I saw it on t.v.) But tonight, after seeing a HUGE one make a break for the kitchen my roommate attempted to kill it with a bottle of Lysol Kitchen cleaner. As she sprayed the darn thing, it sat and squirmed, probably laughing in and evil comic book comeback as if to say, you can try .... ha ha ha. When she put her foot down to stamp it, it crawled on her shoe, at which point she began kicking in the air screaming and I began screaming out of fear that it would land on me. Well, we cannot find the stupid thing anywhere. Either Lysol has a magic ingredient that disintegrates cockroaches (which I proved false later in the evening on another one) or that stupid thing is going to turn up somewhere. But either way, I'm sitting on the couch wondering why I'm not tired, and suddenly my keen sense and cat-like reflexes send my bug radar into overload. I look over and see a HUGE cockroach, not the same one, headed for my room. I go to the kitchen to get something to kill it with and see another one, peering out from the laundry room door. Well, it's clear we have a problem. I cannot tolerate this at all. I kill one with violent swings of my swiffer-wet jet, and trap the other under a plastic cup that I can see into. I dont' know what I'm going to do with this one, but the other is dead, and no, the Lysol didn't do anything to it except make it foam a little. I guess my landlord will be hearing from me tomorrow.

Have a great, bug free night at your house!

Everything I need to know, I learned from T.V.

After many many years of college, countless classes, listening to professors and somewhat reading the textbooks that cost a fortune, I realize now that I could have admitted that a quality education was taking place at the monthly low price of $49 from DirecTV. Yes, I am saying, and have said before, that everything I need to know about life, I've learned from T.V. While I'm sure this is provoking a giggle or two from those of you who know me, and a shock from some of my family members or those of you who don't know me, it is the truth and not meant as a joke.

Television's catch-22 personality has been a member of my life from as far back as I can remember. As a small child, I hid in the corner of the living room watching M.A.S.H with my brother and sisters when I should have been in bed. I discovered at an early age the the Army wasn't for me. Watching Murder She Wrote, despite my sisters plea's that I change the channel taught me how to solve a mystery when I'm in my 60's. Mom, if you're curious, let me know. Magnum P.I. was a favorite of my brothers, however, I'm not sure what learned from that, except that Tom Selleck made the mustache look about has hot as a mustache can look on anyone. And last, but definitely not least, of the childhood favorites is the Cosby show. Of course, watching Cosby helped me to solve all kinds of family problems. I learned that a child can never get away with a lie, because the parent always knows, that having a doctor for a father and a lawyer for a mother would only get me a brownstone in New York, but would also create a world of family courts and medical lessons, and that if my dad ate too many hogies, he would have funky dreams and think he was having a baby. (One of my favorite episodes)

So, as I grew into a teen-ager, the sick twist of life's lessons continued with an addiction to Wednesday nights and 90210. Yes, I even bought the soundtrack to the show and still have it in my c.d. case. Life in Beverly Hills could be mine vicariously through the lives of Kelley, Donna, Brenda, Andria, and I would learn that drugs, money, fashion, popularity and life on the beach in the summer wasn't everything it was cracked up to be, but I could still look good doing it if I had all that money. Fortunately for me, as a teen-ager I didn't realize all that I was really learning from these shows, it would have counteracted some of America's best viewing possibilities of the future.

I'm talking about Dawson's Creek, Alias, and of course, Buffy. Seriously, these three shows have been just what I needed to catapult me into adulthood.

Of course, Dawsons Creek is the show about dating. When in the confusion of whom to choose, it is always best to date each person that is madly in love with you several times through the years, stringing them along, breaking their hearts, and then somehow, reeling them back in for more until you finally decide. Now, I knew all along that Pacey was the one for Joey, or me, whomever he decided on, but Joey seemed to think she needed Dawson's hair to run her fingers through. Unfortunately, when he started looking like a girl, the attraction had to stop there. But as far as dating goes, I know in my life, when faced with any dating challenge, I turn to a good episode of Dawson's Creek before making my next move.


Now, of course, a lesson or two has been learned from watching Alias. There are so many times in my life that I have been faced by a secret faction of the government, claiming to be the CIA and wondering if I should join or not.
Of course, the answer is yes, because without this decision I would never meet that hunk of my life, Vaughn. Here's another t.v. star that just doesn't know what he's missing in his life. But back to the lessons learned. Should I go with the red wig, or the red leather jump suit.... wig. Do I sneak up behind the guy that is trying to kill me, or swing in from the chain overhead ... swinging, of course! And what should I do when I find out my best friend and roommate has been doubled ... (this has happened so many times I can't even count) ... well I have to kill her of course. Sad, I know. But when it's best for the government, it's best for me. When I found out that I was actually working for the wrong side, I watched season three of Alias and learned how to cope with this betrayal. Now that it's over, I'm not sure who I'll turn to for all my agent needs, but I'm sure NBC will not disappoint me. (A tribute to the show and the love of my life, Vaughn, will come later, so keep checking back.)


But over all, the one show that has taught me everything I need to know, and has been a blessing to others... especially those that have frequented a Sunday School class or two, is ...........BUFFY!


Not to be confused with the crappy movie made in the early 90's, no... this is Buffy the t.v. series. Sarah Michelle Gellar, you have taught us all so much about courage, friendship, loyalty, and fighting off every vampire that comes in your path, (unless they are hot of course). When ever faced with evil, Buffy looked inside herself and found the courage to fight. I am almost teary-eyed now just thinking about it. Because of my low income status, I'm unable to afford cable, and so I miss any possible re-run of Buffy, but the lessons linger in my mind as I try to make decisions facing the evil that lurks in this city of sin. Thank you Buffy, Thank you Alias, Thank you Dawson's creek. I could not have learned a thinkg without you.

As for the rest of you non-t.v. watchers, you don't know what you're missing, but you can find out by going to the DIRECTV website and checking out there programming prices. It's worth it, trust me!

Chao for now. - Jess

Work!! Or not?

Another week of work has come to an end. This week wasn't very hard, but what week is at this job. Temping is the apparently the first job the post graduate, pre-career platform job. Data entry is apparently the only job that they actually pay humans to do even though a monkey could do it just as effectively. I suppose I should be happy about having a job that requires no thought, no training, and absolutely no energy. Instead, I find myself wondering if the last few years of school are draining out of my finger tips with every keystroke. I hope I don't lose everything I've learned before I begin teaching.

I'd like to take this opportunity, however, to share about my fellow-employees. Working in the tight, non-airconditioned cubicle village has created some of America's Finest Employees. The tension that exists in this smoke/coffee filled air could be cut like a knife, but provides for a little humor in the process. Only nicknames are used, of course.

"Hugo" .... try Hu--not! Muscle shirts should only be worn by extremely HOT guys who work out more than they breathe. Hugo, with his slick, black muscle shirt stood in the filing room, flabbily hanging out over the belt that was holding up his highwater Levi's. This is absolutely not allowed. As I tried to walk by to put a file away, he barely moved out of the way and rubbed his chest looking down at it. ARE YOU SERIOUS! Please!! Gross doesn't begin to say what was running through my mind. Someone call the fashion police. Hurry!

"Computer Carl" -- this guy is classic. Sitting at the chair across my desk, I notice his bare love handles hanging out from under his raggidy, dryer beaten, polo shirt. Now, I don't know about you guys, but bare love handles are extremely attractive, especially on a mid-50's beer guzzler from Denver. I don't know what I ever saw in guys my age. I'm switchin' to the older crowd.

"Wanda the WACKO" -- My favorite! If you ever saw a woman in her mid 40's with OCD working in payroll, then you will know what I mean when I tell you this lady is a freak. If the stamp on the time sheet is not angled exactly at 90 degrees, she will politely and condesendingly pull you over and explain the process to you. As a germ-a-phobe she points out potential office procedures that could lead to sickness. As a hypocrite, she sits at her desk with her bare feet and also sits on the floor as well. I wouldn't touch the floor with my bare-anything and I feel like disinfecting my shoes at night. But my favorite action of Wanda is when she asks her Magic 8 ball for advice. I am serious folks. She actually reaches for her 8 ball and asks it questions throughout the day. I've never met a person over 10 that asks an 8 ball a question about anything remotely serious. This new source of office consulting may be the wave of the future and you may want to get an 8-ball for yourself.

TGIF... back to the monotony on Monday.

Ok. Let the battle of the bulge begin. Yesterday, after forcing my Pillsbury Dough tummy into my pants one more time, I decided ... that's it! I have heard of so many people that are losing weight at Curves ... CURVES? Really? Is it a diet? Is it a gym? Does 30 minutes really work? So, I went in and signed up, luckily they had a special for only $3 sign up I could get started. So, before I knew it, I left feeling Gung Ho! Today was my first workout. It is a gym ladies. It is a workout and it is a new way of life. I loved it! There were women of all sizes and shapes and they were talking and laughing, working out, and even some of them were complaining. One lady said ... "I'm doing the leg crunches" and everyone cheered. By the time I finished my workout, I was sweating, I felt like I burned those french fries off that I ate for lunch, and I think I'll go back. So, that's good. The ad asks ... can 30 minutes really change your life? Well, I'll guess we'll see.

Who said FAO Schwartz was just for kids?

http://www.fao.com/home.jsp

Go check out the site.

What would a TwentySomething have to say that others would be interested in???? Nothing. In lou of endless amounts of time on my hands after work, I'm writing it anyway.

Enjoy many more posts to come ... or don't.