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A few days ago Dan and I saw singer/songwriter Molly Dean at a cute little coffee shop (the kind that all artsy early twenty-somethings dream of opening) doing her singer/songwriter thing. She was very cute, had a lovely voice, knew how to manipulate music-y pedal things (See? I know music.) almost as good as my absolutely favorite local musican Bill Mike, and was wearing freaking leg warmers (I must buy leg warmers!).  But…I don’t want to say she was one twelvth of a dime a dozen, but I will say I’ve seen her before without actually seeing her before. Meh. As I said, she was cute. Observe:

But! She was followed by the wonderful Alicia Wiley, who is a big ol’ rolled-up burrito of lovely, adorable and fabulous-ness. She’s a jazz musician with a deep, throaty voice and mad songwriting skills whom I must find and see again. I suggest you do the same. Plus I spoke with her briefly after she finished and she really was lovely. I wanted to hug her, but I was afraid she might file charges. Hugging charges. Observe (and feel the colors fry your brain):

Oh the lovely and the music. And I had fun taking pictures.

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Everything was so frosty and pretty this morning. The trees surrounding the office parking lot were completely covered in sparkly frost and were very *insert your favorite Disney movie involving a princess*-like! And, silly me, I thought it was going to stick around for a few hours as it is absolutely freezing outside, so I decided to wait until lunchtime to go out and take pictures. Alas…the frost melted before I had the chance.

This blows, but I suppose there is a lesson here. Something about seizing the moment or putting photography and trees above silly work. Or some other lesson more likely to result in my continued employment…

I have tunnel vision in just one eye. I didn’t know that was possible, but it’s mildlyextremely annoying. And my head is floofy. Uni-tunnel vision and head floofyness does not equel a productive Jessie. No, not at all. And there is so much work to do. So much. And I’m trying…lord knows I’m trying (this is where I break into song).


We went bowling this weekend with some folks and I kicked arse! I bowled a 40 the first game and a 69 the second game! And came in dead last both times! Are you intimidated by my mad bowling skills?  

That bottom J there? That’s mine.

I rock!

Fear me!



It’s 11:06. I think that means it’s lunch time. For the uni-tunnel-vision.

Trying to post because I don’t know how spotty my internet service will be at home tonight. But…I feel blegh. Too blegh to blog, as the title aptly puts it. And I’m annoyed. Not for any particular reason or at anything/anyone in particular. Just blegh and annoyed. It’ll pass.

 So instead of reading my silly little whining (which could go on for awhile, even though I don’t have anything particular to whine about) here is a picture of one of my cats, Miss Banjo, being a hoodlum. Silly cat.

 I’m annoyed. Too annoyed to make any sense or write coherently. You’ve been warned.

I think I may be a bit sadistic. Just a smidge. For example, I can’t seem to stop reading Katherine Kersten’s blog in the Star Tribune. She routinely angers me, so I shouldn’t be surprised that today’s installment, Battle for the Soul of St. Thomas Takes A Turn for the Worst, once again made my blood boil.

Kersten loves taking shots at St. Thomas, my alma mater, almost as much as I love using the phrase alma mater. And I really love using the phrase alma mater. Her whiney “It’s just not catholic enough!” battle cry is both ironically correct for reasons that she would never understand, and incredibly incorrect for reasons she would never admit to.

First, why Kersten is right for reasons she doesn’t get. St. Thomas is shockingly low on traditional Catholic morals; there was sex to be had, alcohol to be drunk, drugs to be taken, judgment to be passed, tiny clothes to be half-worn, greed to be…greeded…everywhere! I’m not complaining; I definitely had the sex, drunk the alcohol, past the judgment, and greeded the greed (seriously, what’s the word I’m looking for here? Gred?). The school, like the rest of the world, was an advertisement for the seven deadly sins. (Again, not complaining. By the way, read Dan Savage’s Skipping Towards Gomorrah; it’s awesome!) It’s almost as if St. Thomas was a college or something, largely populated by the 18 to 22-year-old set.

Religion certainly wasn’t intertwined within all the curriculum, either. All of my English professors (except for that one priest, I guess) were incredibly liberal and wonderful. For my three required theology classes I lucked out in getting a very art-centric former nun for my Theo 101 class (we spent the majority of the class discussing renaissance art and stained glass windows), a British history professor for my second class (the whole class focused on the history of Sir Thomas More and the history of England in the late 1400s – early 1500s) and my third class, the Old Testament, was taught by a wonderful woman who focused on reading the bible as literature. All three classes were incredibly interesting and educational and in no way biased or Catholicism-skewed. And this at a Catholic school! What is the world coming to? Ms. Kersten wouldn’t approve, I’m sure.

Of course other folks I know had different experiences in their theology classes; experiences that would make Kersten dance in glee, the vile woman. And thus leads me to how Katherine Kersten is straight up wrong. And a poo head. (Why yes, I am willing to lower myself down to immature name-calling.)

Religion rears its ugly head at St. Thomas. (Although with a bit of searching and perseverance, one is able to find some wonderful groups of people there. More about that in a different post.) There was a lot of judgment and narrow-mindedness in the name of religion, bright and shiny in the spirit of Katherine Kersten and her blog. There were theology professors who focused more on shaming their non-religious students than teaching them. There were students who were so threatened by one of the clubs I was in my freshman year, The St. Thomas Alliance of Humanists and Free Thinkers, that they shut the group down. There were groups who gathered to protest outside of Planned Parenthood clinics. There were many mini-Katherine Kerstens running around loudly spouting their opinions with their ears plugged and brains closed to any open dialogue. Congratulations, KK, St. Thomas isn’t as bad as you think.

All of this aside, I thoroughly enjoyed my time at St. Thomas and I wish Katherine Kersten would find a new topic to focus her evil energy on. Go on, Katherine, leave us alone. Some of us were just trying to get an education.

The recent snow storm has affected me in a way I didn’t really expect…it killed our already spotty internet service, which, in turn, killed off my already spotty mental stability. And since I took yesterday off of work to celebrate the national holiday that is my husband’s birthday (why didn’t you take it off?) I was without blogging access. All day. Do you have any idea how emotionally scarring that was? I’m still shakey and teary, but slowly, slowly, I’m healing. I’ll get there.

* * * * *

This is my husband, Dan. He doesn’t have much luck getting cell phone service in elevators.




I’m married to him and I want to have a million of his babies.

Yesterday Dan turned 29 so we celebrated by seeing the Frida Kahlo exhibit at the Walker Art Center. It was amazing, so moving and emotional; go see it! Right now!

And then, even though it was snowing like a crazy snow person we braved the sculpture garden.

It was cold and wet (surprise!), but absolutely worth it for the beauty and silence. (Except for a couple of loud, immature people who were running around, making noise. Oh wait, that was us.) It was one of those days when I don’t mind Minnesota winters because wow, snow is pretty! And fluffy!

We also ducked into the Conservatory to warm up a bit and see my beloved giant fish. I love the giant fish.

We also had a taste of the tropics. Just ignore that pesky snow on the roof. Banana, anyone?


I’m a straight-up city girl; heading out into society’s nether regions actually makes me mad! Wide open spaces, grr. But! Lately, ever since I’ve started using my camera as a pseudo-serious instrument of torture art instead of something to stick in people’s faces, click clicking away, to annoy them (not that I’ve stopped this particular hobby), I’ve been feeling more accepting of Small Town, USA, and the beauty one can find there.

And now, after reading The Daily Coyote I want nothing more than to buy a little cabin in Middle-Of-Nowhere, Wyoming and adopt a baby coyote. And take pictures. Lots and lots of pictures.

I’m really nice. A couple times this weekend I even let Noah take a break from manual labor and have a bit of fun. See, I’m not one of those evil stepmothers; I let the boy do arts and crafts and make Christmas tree ornaments! Do you recall that scene in Cinderella where the family gets together and paints Popsicle sticks? Me neither, because it never happened! The stepmother was too evil!

And I discovered something very, very important about parenting: one of the main reasons people have kids is to play with glitter. Glitter! And teeny tiny buckets of paint! How did I not know about this great fun before?

I felt like a giant next to the tiny paint buckets

But even if I was evil, how could I possibly deny this face glitter? Impossible.

Did someone say glitter???

My lil guy is one hard worker! After he finished shoveling the driveway, he re-shingled my roof, gave me a pedicure, and cooked me up a lovely rump roast for dinner. He’s a good kid, that one.


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