Tag Archives: comedy

Five Truths and a Lie, Round 2

Five Truths and a LieIt’s time for another edition of…

Five Truths and a Lie!

The game where I tell you six random things about me and you have to guess which one of them is a lie.

Last time, I gave you pretty outlandish facts about myself. Many of you are still in awe over my winning a year’s worth of chicken wings. This time I thought I’d go a little more subtle. See if you can figure out what the lie is.

All correct guesses win you bragging rights – let your friends know you are an amazing guesser and they should put you on their trivia team dagnabit.

Y’all ready for this?

Five Truths and a Lie

1. I own two mini staplers.
2. I wear men’s deodorant.
3. I have a fear of kayaking.
4. I built my own Little Free Library.
5. I dislike spearmint flavored gum.
6. I am medically allergic to the sun.

*****

What say you? Which is the lie? Answer revealed in next week’s blog!

Wanna play along? Give me five truths and a lie about you in the comments and I’ll try to guess which is the lie.
Or write your own blog post and link back to mine so I can try to guess too! 

#WhatIf: A Strange List of Jobs I Almost Had

What if, in an alternate life, I was just like James Bond???

What if, in an alternate life, I was just like James Bond???

Do you ever look back on your life and consider the alternate routes it could have taken? What would have happened if you’d said yes instead of no to a question?

Maybe I’d be living in a different city, maybe I’d have lost or gained significant friendships, maybe I’d be driving a luxury car, and by luxury I mean one that came with cruise control…

I’m a storyteller and writer at heart. I often reflect on the choices one makes and the ‘what if’s’ had the choice been different. After all, that’s really just plot we’re talking about. How will the world around you change by choosing x instead of y?

My day job is in the process of transition and it got me thinking about the many different transitions my career has had to date. If I ignore actual position titles, and go by the tasks I completed day to day, then I have worked in the following fields:

  • professional alphabetizer
  • storage room cleaner
  • napkin folder
  • duster of knick knacks
  • pizza maker and garbage taker-outer
  • gift wrapper
  • sales auditor
  • bra fitter
  • coach and counselor for commission sales team (AKA: the shark pit)
  • latte maker
  • social media guru
  • sex trivia host

And that got me thinking to what I could’ve done in my career had a few application processes gone different. Imagine it, somewhere in an alternate universe, I am known as Jess Witkins:

  • district level lingerie manager
  • Catholic school secretary
  • organic farm office manager
  • grocery store deli worker
  • hotel night manager
  • bank teller
  • or if my father had his way, cake decorator  – which could work if y’all are in the mood for an “abstract” trend in the bakery business. God, remember that time I attempted to bake a tart??!

I can’t say I regret any of these “lost” positions. But I found it most entertaining to consider what life would have been like had I…worked in close proximity with nuns or spent eight hours shaving a honeyed ham.

Life would be very different. I might even pick one of these faux jobs and use it as a writing prompt just for giggles.

What about you? What alternate life would you lead had a past job application worked out?
Do we share a pension for habits and ham? 😉

Top Five Things I’ve Learned About Married Life

Break out the champagne and candles! We’ve been married for one year!

DSC_0201

I know it’s hard to fathom. Two youngest children forced to play nice together. Most odds would have us laying tape lines around the house, each sticking to our respective sides. Or at the very least, using a conch shell to determine whose turn it is to talk.

“Sucks to your assmar!”

But we’ve managed to co-habitate with relatively little violence and debauchery.

(In case you’re wondering, the violence is from our new set of kitchen knives. Every time Joe uses them, he manages to cut himself. Either those knives are sharper than a Lady Bic throwaway razor or Joe has the skin of a flower petal.)

In contemplating our one year anniversary, it occurred to me there were many learning lessons along the way.

Top Five Things I’ve Learned About Married Life

1. Simply Being a Wife Does Not Make You More Domestic

I admire those women who are able to keep perfect households where everything matches and dinner is on the table at 6. When we first got married, we needed to buy a couch. One year later, we still need to buy a couch. And Joe does all the cooking. I am, however, an exceptional take out orderer.

2. Being a Wife Does Not Make You More Medically Intelligent 

You know how some women just know all these natural, home remedies for how to fix everything? They can cure fevers and soothe upset stomachs with nothing but a nail file and a half a lemon. (I don’t know if that’s what they actually use, I told you I’m not one of them!) My husband once suffered a sneezing fit, and I treated it like the hiccups.

“Hold still, and I’ll come out and SCARE you!”

3.  Some Decor Ideas Do Not Find Compromise

You know that scene in When Harry Met Sally where Bruno Kirby and Carrie Fisher are arguing over whether or not a wagonwheel coffee table goes in the living room or not. Well, I’m Carrie Fisher in that scenario, and it doesn’t.

4. All Those Times You Blamed Your Roommate, It Was in Fact Your Spouse

If you and your spouse ever shared living quarters with a roommate, you may have bonded over a mutual frustration with said roommate’s bad habits. Now that said roommate is gone, you may have discovered your spouse has extremely similar bad habits as your roommate once did. What are the odds? 

5. Date Night is Still a Thing

You may think by “putting a ring on it,” you’re work is over. The reverse is true. Married life requires more creativity, more compassion, and more commitment. And this is where I publicly thank Joe for creating the #Appetour date night – wherein we hop from stop to stop in town and enjoy a drink and/or appetizer, maybe some live music, and then head to the next place.

Side note* If your spouse leaves you to play on stage, they pay for the next round. It’s not technically in our vows, but now I’ve got witnesses. 

So thank you, Joe, for that last date night. It was most enjoyable.

*****

What are some lessons about love you’ve learned, whether married or not? 

Do you think we’ve earned our paper anniversary?
Maybe I’ll print this post out and put it in an envelope for Joe. ❤

And, you can relive the magic from Our Big Fat Secret Greek Wedding.
Or hear us sing “Home” from our stateside ceremony
below. Enjoy!

Zen and the Art of Teeth Whitening

Drooling onto my keyboard is not what I had in mind when the dentist gave me the teeth whitening trays to take home. Oh well.

Have you been to a dentist lately? I recently went after a two year hiatus. I was positive I had a cavity because there’s a dark spot on one of my back molars. Turns out, my tooth is just dirty! That sure made me feel better. Almost as good as that time my chiropractor told me I am deformed or when the ER doctor laughed at my face injury.

Teeth WhiteningI was in the market for a new dentist, since I hadn’t gone in forever and my insurance had changed. I settled on a business that I heard about through the radio. They advertised free teeth whitening for life for all new clients. Sounded like a good deal to me.

My how dentist offices have changed. I remember when you had to come prepared, teeth brushed and flossed before your appointment, no food or drink. I walked into this office and they offered me coffee and free wi-fi. Um, I’m good for now, but can I come back tomorrow just to write in your lobby? 

Their bathroom was full of not only toothpaste and toothbrushes, but hair products and lotion too.

When the dental hygienist came to get me, she gave me a tour of the whole agency. I saw all the offices and the cleaning centers and the “sterilization station.” And then I was asked to stand underneath a contraption for X-rays that I fully believe was a spaceship.

The hygienist asked me to step forward and underneath a large gray and yellow space shuttle. I had to bite down onto a marker while three prongs lowered over my head and clamped down. Then a side panel started whirring around my skull really fast.

“Will I be flying somewhere?” I asked.

“Oh no,” she laughed. “But I can see why you would think so.”

You and I both know that thing was a spaceship, and I was probed, G-dammit. 

When we got to the room where she would clean my teeth she handed me a “spa card.” That’s actually what they called it. I had the option to watch a TV in the ceiling, use headphones for music, and request a blanket and neck pillow!

Tell me again that I WON’T be needing my passport for this. 

Both the hygienist and the doctor let me check out my X-rays, which was both fascinating and disturbing. I have a newfound respect for my sinus cavities now that I’ve seen them on a computer screen. And I could see her marking off teeth that I no longer had on a separate chart. I don’t have any wisdom teeth and several others have “gone to pasture” as well. I think she was a little freaked when I told her I’d had a total of nine teeth pulled.

“That’s a lot,” she said.

“Well, you know what they say, big teeth, big talkers. Had to get some pulled to get a word in edge-wise.” I joked. “It’s a family thing, really, we all have giant teeth and not enough space for them. I’m grateful. The tooth fairy was my main source of income for years!”

I’m lucky I had a hygienist with a sense of humor.

Anyway, I came out of my appointment with a good report card. I wanted to get my picture taken and put up on the “No Cavity Wall,” but there seemed to be an issue about my age. That’s fine. I’ll bring my own crown and a selfie stick next time. #GrillOnFleek

Since my mouth probing went well, I qualified for their teeth whitening package and went home with 5 kits. I’m willing to believe there’s a learning curve with these things. I’d give myself a 7 out of 10 for technique, and an 8.5 for style. I inserted the upper and lower plastic trays filled with the whitening strips and made the smooching face I was told to make in order to adhere them to my teeth. I was not anticipating the frothiness and goo-factor of the strips and now regret trying to type this as drool falls on my keyboard. But it’s ok, I too have a “sterilization station” in my house.

Been to the dentist lately? What was your trip like?

And There’s a Side Pocket for Snacks!

Some of you may know that I work in a reproductive health clinic. A large part of my job involves volunteer coordination, some marketing and outreach, working closely with our board of directors, and managing our social media. (I post cool stuff, you guys, check us out on Facebook and Twitter!) Additionally, I can be found handing out condoms on campuses and in area bars, hosting the occasional evening of Sex Trivia, and shouting things like “No Karolee, I DON’T know where your balls are!”

(Relax, it was just the fake set of testicles we have for educational purposes.)

Sometimes when I’m searching for interesting things to post online, my coworkers send me ideas. One such idea happened upon my email, and while it wasn’t quite right to share on our clinic page, I knew two ladies who HAD to see it.

August McLaughlin is an author, blogger, and  founder of GirlBoner radio and a huge proponent of women’s sexual health and empowerment. Jenny Hansen works as a freelance writer, technical trainer, and blogger with a reoccurring little series called The Undie Chronicles. These were clearly the women who would appreciate the following tweet I sent.

https://twitter.com/jesswitkins/status/560971120502120452
 

What I sent them was the link to this product…

You guys, for just $35 you can have your very own condom sleeping bag!!

Turns out, I was right. August and Jenny did appreciate my tweet.

Or for storing actual condoms, but I would use it for snacks!

The product includes a pillow and zip compartment for storing the actual sleeping bag, which can be rolled up just like a condom.

August and Jenny and I were making plans for our virtual sleepover that included birth control themed brownies and trivia.

 

Do you know it? I stumped these gals, though their guesses were admirable.

The correct answer is Little Richard’s “Tutti Fruiti.” The original lyrics read “Tutti fruiti, get booty.”

What do you think? Do you find the condom sleeping bag as amusing as we do?
Will you be joining us at the sleepover? It’s BYOS, bring your own snacks. 😉

The Jan Brady of Generations

I don’t fit.

According to the “scientists” at Buzzfeed, I don’t fit anywhere. Specifically, Buzzfeed experts told me I’m “the Jan Brady of generations.”

See that Buzzfeed? That’s my Jan Brady side eye telling you to watch your step from now on.

But I get it. I really don’t fit in. I’m neither Generation X nor Y. I am somewhere in between.

I can’t really blame Buzzfeed. I mean, here’s just a smattering of the data they had to work with…

Things That Make Me Somewhat Generation X

  • I played with Popples and Pogs as a kid
  • I listened to En Vogue and Smashing Pumpkins
  • I wore a lot of side ponies, stirrup legging pants, and curled my bangs (picture it, I’m HOT)
  • I was spanked and hit with a wooden spoon (and no one could’ve cared less)
  • I typed my school papers on a word processor (that I believe was possessed by the Devil – but that’s for another blog post…)
  • I downloaded songs on Napster
  • I had a MySpace page
  • I watched movies like Reality Bites and Singles and The Truth About Cats and Dogs over and over again…on VHS
  • I had an email that ended in @magicfishfood.com (WTF? really?? Yes, really.)

Things That Make Me Somewhat Generation Y

  • I want all the things and I want them now
  • I like Taylor Swift songs and Katy Perry songs
  • I had a Tamagatchi pet
  • All my school supplies were decorated in Lisa Frank artwork
  • I want all the things and I want them now
  • I grew up with computers in my school
  • I had a plethora of beanie babies
  • I now share my entire life on social media and I like taking selfies
  • I got my best fashion advice from Sabrina, the Teenage Witch (let’s talk butterfly clips, shall we?)
  • I owned about 100 Dr Pepper Lip Smacker chapsticks over the course of my early teen years
  • I want all the things and I want them now – (Seriously, where are all my things? Shouldn’t I have them by now? Ugh…waiting sucks.)

So, what am I?

Fuck, I am the Jan Brady of Generations.

I was born smack in the middle of the 80’s, as an oops baby no less, which means I was raised by my Gen X siblings while my Baby Boomer parents worked all day and only had enough energy to instill two rules. 1) Say please and thank you around all grown ups. 2) Drink coca cola. (But I’m partially Gen Y, so I rebelled and prefer Pepsi when given the choice.)

Now that I’m an adult, I look around at who my friends are, and apart from the handful of High School chums I still see around major holidays, my two best friends are exactly the same ages as my older sister and brother. How weird is that? That I picked the exact number of years in age gap as what I grew up with? This sets my besties firmly in Gen X. That means I can count on them to throw a super rad 80’s party, to never being afraid of playing with eyeshadow, and to tell me when it’s appropriate to cuff or not cuff one’s pants. (Of course, I’m part Gen Y so they’ve gotten use to me documenting all of this.)

2013-01-17_19-35-45_936Oh gosh, how did that get there?

I can’t claim total belonging to just one group, but I can claim just enough of the good stuff to make me believe that I’ll always have someone talk to. And that I won’t have to eat my lunch from the inside of a bathroom stall. And I think that’s winning.

How about you? What generation do you fit in?
Let the experts at Buzzfeed be your guide.

 

Sh*t My Husband Says While Sleeping

Set your coffee down, folks! It’s time for another round of “Sh*t My Husband Says While Sleeping,” the reoccurring blog series that pops up…whenever I remember to write down the batsh*t things comin’ outa his mouth!

First, meet my husband.

photo(4)

This is Joe.
He likes short walks through the grocery store, old school Keanu Reeves movies,
and growing facial hair.

***

Now, Joe talks in his sleep. When that happens, he occasionally refers to me as “his little pear juice.”

It isn’t all the time, and he can’t control it, but he says the WEIRDEST things when he sleep talks.

Here are a few of his latest sleep disturbances…

Example No. 1

***

Joe: Did you wanna take the bear?

Me: What bear? What’s his name?

Joe: Holia.

Me: Where’d you meet him?

*silence*

Me:

Example No. 2

***

Joe: Mmmm Mmmm good! That’s what it is.

Me: What’s good?

Joe: Crackers… And email…. Just kidding about the email. *giggles*

Me:

And this is what I deal with on a somewhat regular basis.

On the flip side, if his REM antics become popular, I might consider switching the tag line of this blog to “Mmmm Mmmm good. That’s what it is.” How do you think that’ll look on a business card?

Do you know someone who talks in their sleep?
Where do YOU think Joe met the bear?

My Reigning Days as Miss Midwest Afro Queen

When talking about a girl’s body image, you have to go back. Waaaaaay back. All the way to the early years. Because a child will remember if people noticed her and whether they said nice things or a plethora of backhanded compliments. You know the ones.

Oh she’s as skinny as a beanpole!”

WHAT THE HELL IS A BEANPOLE???

She eats just like a bird!”

THAT’S CAUSE YOUR EGG SALAD HAS SHELLS IN IT, LADY!

Thankfully what I remember hearing is comments about my hair. I had long strawberry blonde hair and strangers would often comment to me or my mother how beautiful it was. They also commented occasionally on my freckles, which when you’re 6 are adorable. I can’t say the same at 28 because now I only have them on my arms and they’re called moles.

*le sigh*

Back to my hair. On nights before big school days, my mom would often braid my hair in two pigtails. Then one or both of my older brothers would grab hold of the braids, making motorcycle noises as they “drove” me screaming around the house.

The next morning, my mother would help me get dressed in some sort of skort or jumper, as that is all my closet consisted of. Then she would take out the braids and begin brushing my hair.

Then she would brush even more…

and brush just a little bit more…

until my hair was the equivalent of one of those static electricity balls you see at science fairs.

And that is why I held the title of Miss Midwest Afro Queen, circa 1991.

Exhibit A:

Afro Hair 1Exhibit B:

Afro Hair 2Exhibit C:

Afro Hair 3Exhibit Holy Friggin D:

Afro Hair 4Thank god there was no such thing as selfies then! My hair wouldn’t even fit in the shot!

 Afro Hair - close upI used Xpro II to make me look tan.
What do you think?

 Tell me your thoughts! What comments did you hear growing up?
What fashion choices make you happy instagram wasn’t around then?

Should my mother be allowed to touch anyone else’s hair?

I’m Sorry, You Want My Dunce Number?

It began as one of those mornings. Nothing was going to be easy. Still, I mistakenly started my workday by making what I thought was a simple phone call.

Me: “Hello, I’m calling about completing our SAM registration.”

Woman on Phone: “Certainly, first may I have your name – first and last – your email, and phone number in case we get disconnected?”

I spell out and listen to her repeat all my information back to me.

Woman on Phone: “And do you go by Mr. Witkins?”

Me: *silence* … “Um, I’ll respond to MS. Witkins.”

Really?? I know it’s early in the morning, but my voice isn’t that low?
Have you listened to my vlog? I sound like a Jim Henson muppet!

Woman on Phone: *loud laughter* … *no apology given* … “And how can I help you today?”

Me: “I need to complete our SAM registration.”

Woman on Phone: “Alright ma’am, and what’s your dunce number?

Me: “My DUNCE number?”

This lady is not making friends with me this morning.

Woman on Phone: “Yes, ma’am. Every organization has their own Data Universal Numbering System (DUNS) number.”

Me: “Oh, DUNS number. I have no idea.”

Shit. Maybe I should have a DUNCE number.

Woman on Phone: “No problem, I can give you the number to look up your DUNS number and you can call back here when you have it.”

Me: “So, I look up my DUNS number and then I can call back here to complete our SAM registration?”

Woman on Phone: “Yes, ma’am.”

Lies! She told me lies!

The next half of my morning was spent taking a variety of background checks and chatting on the phone with more women assuring me this was how I register our SAM account.

FYI, a SAM account is used for any agency that receives federal funding. It’s the registry that proves you are who you say you are, and funds are sent through that registry. My nonprofit employer needed to update our account, but the problem it seems is that our registry was logged under an employee who is no longer with our agency. So I was trying to access our account and update the necessary info.

These are the faces I made during the following process.

Dealing With Customer Service Reps

First step: Call 2nd phone number and ask for agency’s DUNS number. Get told they don’t give DUNS numbers out over the phone, but they’ll email me the website link to look it up online.

Second step: Go to the website which forced me to complete an online background check in which I was asked a series of multiple choice questions about my identity – not my agency – MY identity. What are the first two digits of my social security number? What county was I born in?

Third step: Now answer 4 more random security questions.

Fourth step: Pass the background check! Acquire DUNS number! Find out DUNS number was in original email requesting SAM registration all along.

Fifth step: Hit head on desk.

Sixth step: Call back to original SAM registration line. Give them DUNS number.

Seventh step: Become informed that I must create an account on the SAM registration website.

Eighth step: Do that.

Ninth step: Become informed I must submit a notarized letter signed by the head of my agency confirming I am who I say I am in order to be approved as the new agency account administrator.

Tenth step: Hit head on desk more.

Eleventh step: Write letter to be notarized. Get boss to sign it.

Twelfth step: Get letter notarized by a lady at the bank.

Thirteenth step: Discover the bank lady uses an embossed notary seal, not an inked one. So this will never show up when I scan it and send it to the federal government.

Fourteenth step: Scan letter anyway and email to government. Become informed I must create an account on a third website for that day.

Fifteenth step: Go home. The federal government hates me.

How was YOUR morning?

Five Truths and a Lie

Mandi

This is Mandi.

Thanks to the sweetest mother-daughter blogger duo, InionNMathair, I’ve been introduced to some awesome new bloggers via their post, The Sisterwives. One of these amazing women is Mandi of the fabulously named blog – Cellulite Looks Better Tan.

I’ll have to take your word on that, Mandi!

*stretches toes into ray of sunlight* Sizzle *withdraws immediately*

For now, this redhead is still sun-combustible. And my cellulite looks like a  marshmallow.

Then again, Mandi prides herself on being a good liar. Perhaps this is true about sun-baked cellulite. I can’t be sure.

What I am sure of is that Mandi is a really funny gal. And she just shared five truths and a lie in her blog post, True Story…,  for readers to figure out which thing on her list is the lie. Interested yet? You should be. After all she includes tuna, stitches, and dead people! What more could you want?!

Inspired to play along, I’m sharing five truths and a lie for all of YOU to guess which one is the lie about me.

Have at it!

1.  I once won a year’s worth of chicken wings.

2. My first boyfriend collected horse figurines.

3. I quit smoking by drinking tea.

4. My parents’ backyard once kept 7 toilets, 1 urinal, a washing machine, a keyboard, and a caution – slow down – crosswalk person inside it.

5. I love to cartwheel.

6. I whistle by breathing in instead of out.

So, whatd’ya think?
Which one is the lie?

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