tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145012282012-01-28T11:26:43.141-08:00Because You're Worth It.Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.comBlogger1121100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-26356123637165616892012-01-16T12:25:00.000-08:002012-01-16T12:25:54.008-08:00

Me amidst my fellow Starbucks patrons Happy new year and all of that. And like every year, I'm making the exact same resolution to write more and complain less. But since all of my writing is actually (not so) thinly veiled complaining, I'm splitting the difference which is to say I'm probably going to do exactly what I've always done and just post when I have something to bitch about.

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-68116173371799022752011-08-10T20:04:00.000-07:002011-08-10T20:04:26.917-07:00

Today was a mighty crap-storm of a day and I came home seriously considering throwing it all in and joining my beloved assortment of locals, most of whom have been drinking since...well, they haven't actually stopped drinking...and raising my own bottle of Boone Farms. A nice sunny afternoon usually perks me up, but not today. And then there was the matter of my hip which I completely jacked

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-53670882283628253492011-02-04T20:58:00.000-08:002011-02-04T20:58:22.993-08:00

My Friday night gym mate without his pajamas. Thanks to J.'s wicked stomach flu, I got to hit some real Friday night hot-spots tonight: the Duane Reade super-sized drug store, and our building's gym. This is the stuff that overdoses are made of. Let's start with "The Duane Reade": 1. Upon entering I notice that Barry Manilow's "I Write The Songs (That Make the Whole World Sing)" - also known

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-83809157470579473092011-02-02T07:21:00.000-08:002011-02-02T07:21:43.356-08:00

There's a whole lot of government stupidity in the news right now: civil unrest in Egypt and the government's "take that" approach of unplugging the internet; ultra-conservative American morons attempting to redefine rape to insure that only women who fought back extra, extra hard will be entitled to a subsidized abortion or, if you're a kid, if your father impregnated you, but not if the creepy

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-70628045456330764292011-01-29T13:00:00.000-08:002011-01-29T13:00:38.139-08:00

What's a poor therapist to do when the overblown "arctic blast" evaporates the weekly client roster? Answer: Buy coffee. And then buy some more coffee. Also offer to pick up coffee for other people.  This week has been what those of us in fee-for-service clinical social work refer to as A Crappy Week. Thanks to the snow and the news media's insistence on referring to it as "practically the storm

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-52235858735657865042011-01-26T07:25:00.000-08:002011-01-26T07:25:26.902-08:00

Ouch. Wasn't it bad enough that I woke up at 5am to the sound of about 100 enormous metal pipes being dropped, one by one, in the street? A sound that in half-sleep almost sounds like a sitar and had me convinced that I had truly teleported myself to Bombay as I knew that I could if I just tried hard enough? By the time the 50th pipe had dropped, I had long realized that I was not in Bombay,

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-76029931879560070812011-01-25T08:05:00.000-08:002011-01-25T08:05:14.023-08:00

+  = I'm not ashamed to admit that I didn't watch the "big" Jets-Steelers/Packers-Bears games on Sunday. I didn't paint any part of my anatomy, eat a platter of chili dogs, or stretch a team jersey over my jeans and sweatshirt like the sad chubby white man's version of American Girl: "Mark Sanchez and I are wearing the same shirt. Mark Sanchez likes football, I like football. Mark Sanchez is

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-15691538723934360992011-01-22T09:11:00.000-08:002011-01-22T09:18:45.172-08:00

Because malt liquor grows on trees (aka Not My Photo) So last night we had a couple of excellent, very gainfully employed friends over for dinner who, along with a lovely complement to the meal, gifted us with an enormous can of watermelon flavored Four Loko - a caffeinated, 12% alcohol malt liquor that has apparently been banned in New York State but not in the protected territories known as

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-59640014921510959492011-01-20T08:55:00.000-08:002011-01-20T08:55:12.462-08:00

Unusually, yesterday was a day without incident until I encountered a hairball the size of a cat rolling around like a tumbleweed on the R train. 8:30pm. I'm settled comfortably (relatively) in my seat, thankful that a ridiculously long day is over, barely skimming the newspaper I've been carrying around with me all day, and trying really hard not to fall asleep. I'm alone in the subway car

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-24314217577199980432011-01-17T19:50:00.000-08:002011-01-17T19:54:22.759-08:00

Sometimes, when I take a moment and realize I'm working 6 days a week and spending three of those days working in Bay Ridge; when I exit the R train at the last stop and nearly get soaked walking past the car wash; or overhear a muscle-bound guy with a smoothie standing outside the Harbor Fitness talking about how his abs are "almost The Situation;" I think back on a time when I was maybe,

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-47077658423678812852011-01-15T10:15:00.000-08:002011-01-15T10:15:39.072-08:00

When getting dressed to go out in public is just too much of a hassle, you need Forever Lazy. The one piece fleece jumpsuit intended for those days when all you want to do is sit around and watch TV. Even if you have to be out in public. Like, you know, at a stadium football game and tailgate as seen here at 1:05. "Sorry guys. I couldn't (insert ridiculous reason for not getting dressed here)

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-66046630735032687752010-12-30T20:45:00.000-08:002010-12-30T20:45:13.728-08:00

God, I love the holidays. And not just because they make eating a week's worth of food in a sitting seem entirely reasonable. No, the holidays - every last one of them - give me the opportunity to do one of the things I love best: Reflect on all the bizarre crap my family likes to do in the name of celebration. This year, I happened to be going through a pile of old photos while sipping on a

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1430917243911206462010-11-28T19:24:00.000-08:002010-11-29T05:44:42.180-08:00

Santa on Spring Street We've got a lot of interests here at Touch My Ennui central and taking photos of the randomness that is New York City is one of them. Another love: a comfortable t-shirt. Perfect for sitting around with the one you love and reading poetry into each other's eyes. Or just chilling with a platter of holiday cookies and the Yule Log on DVD. We've come up with the holiday

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-47261462006809717442010-11-17T07:40:00.000-08:002010-11-17T07:49:00.053-08:00

You never know when you're going to have to have a mole removed or accidentally shave your collar bone (Hey, everyone slips now and then). What do you do when you're just about to step in front of a green screen and sing your heart out for the video that will launch you into the dreams of a million web-surfing insomniacs and the folks who've been hoping that Tiny Tim was just on vacation? When a

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-65848176181428711112010-11-15T07:08:00.000-08:002010-11-15T07:18:01.509-08:00

Yesterday was my mother's 65th birthday and here's the one photo I was able to take. A stunning portrait of the woman who gave birth to me in a moment of great anticipation about her wish before blowing out the candles on the gorgeous cake my sister had made? Not here. No, here we have the demonic glow of the last two candles to give up the ghost. My mother is in here somewhere. So's the cake.

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-993731860422328722010-08-09T07:26:00.000-07:002010-08-09T12:17:13.128-07:00

Maybe I shouldn't admit that I base the prospects of my day on the outfit I'm able to cobble together first thing in the AM, but here I am admitting it. I had three decent shirt/pant/shoe combo choices this morning and, like the Oracle of Delphi, I picked the one (or did it pick me?) I thought insured that this particular Monday would not blow as hardcore as most. So I'm feeling good. The belt

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-64181478127635935492010-07-10T16:43:00.000-07:002010-07-11T10:07:27.438-07:00

Because only losers eat dinner.There are few things more ludicrously absurd than brunch. I hate it. I hate it with a stupid kind of passion. I have no idea when this loathing started. Probably the first time I was forced to delay my first meal of the day until "11:30 or Noon-ish" for someone who couldn't care less about low blood sugar (aka The Stuff That Murders Are Made Of) or, you know,

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-70615553020719763202010-07-05T15:28:00.001-07:002010-07-05T15:30:12.285-07:00

Jackie and I rotating through Manhattan. Almost done!It's 100 degrees out today in NYC. Perfect day for an 8 mile walk through steaming concrete. This is us, somewhere between mile 1 and 8.

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-29297386196562411862010-07-05T13:22:00.000-07:002010-07-05T15:28:11.335-07:00

I'm not a stud when it comes to goodbyes or hellos. So even though it's been more than a year since I barfed my life on here, let's just pretend I've been around all along, just uncharacteristically quiet and invisible. You know, like a cat or a stalker. Anyhoo, I'm back like the week-old Chinese food in the fridge that you decided to eat because what's wrong with a little mold anyway. Penicillin

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-60247394314965740312009-03-06T17:28:00.000-08:002009-03-06T17:44:57.165-08:00

I used to joke about being the most accident prone person on the planet and then 2009 rolled around and I realized the time I broke my arm playing dodgeball and broke my leg tripping on a twig were nothing compared to the tremendous physical cosmic joke going on in my life right this very minute. Let's take a look, shall we?1. 12/30/08 (basically 2009): Fell down the stairs, broke elbow,

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-8653445634922040342008-10-23T09:29:00.000-07:002008-10-23T10:11:25.906-07:00

A sample of my famous pumpkin muffinsSince I know that only two people read this blog and both of you know I'm interning in a hospital-based hospice, I don't need to say it again. I guess I just did. So you're hearing it twice. Not that this is unusual. As you also know, I frequently repeat my favorite stories or biographical facts. My sisters refer to this as "Oh no, Jenny's Telling an Ireland

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-70190171336071689302008-10-02T10:06:00.000-07:002008-10-02T10:25:55.529-07:00

You know when people tell you "I had the weirdest dream last night!" and then proceed to regale you with 5-10 minutes worth of nonsensical detail, peppered with the occasional chuckle at their own wackiness, and the disclaimer (when they notice you're considering falling asleep yourself) "but here's the REALLY weird part." Well, I'm about to do just that. So sue me. Last night I had a dream that

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-21011869137543201112008-09-08T09:42:00.000-07:002008-09-08T10:32:13.433-07:00

Sweaters "Sebastian" McTubeSocks, who brought his love of food, baggy fur sweaters, and fuzzy "tube socks" to the suburbs of New Jersey, died today near his home in Montclair. He was 16.Mr. McTubesocks was the leader of the Grobowitz Gang, a comedy troupe of feline gastronomes who enjoyed troublemaking almost as much as they loved eating.He was perhaps best known for his oft-quoted phrase "If you

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-40859691544797609302008-08-29T11:00:00.001-07:002008-08-29T17:21:27.914-07:00

Sarah Palin f*ing terrifies me. I don't know if it's her "sexy librarian" glasses, or the fact that she named her kid with Down Syndrome "Trig." Maybe it's the fact(s) that she's an NRA lifer who used to hunt moose with dad before school in the morning (who didn't?). Or that she's staunchly pro-life and supported a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage and only happened to give Alaskan

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-69093269997556885912008-08-03T08:14:00.000-07:002008-08-03T08:31:53.788-07:00

Amy Winehouse and I have a lot in common. First, there's our choice of hairstyle. The Dirty Beehive is a look I'm proud to say I've been sporting since way back in 1987 right after I got the worst perm of my life. Then, there's the body and the voice. As anyone can see, Amy is a little chubbier than I am and a slightly less talented vocally than myself, but not everyone can have it all. Amy and I

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-84090780556467761632008-07-30T18:38:00.000-07:002008-07-30T19:17:53.028-07:00

Yesterday, I was heading home from The Paid Internship (vs. The Unpaid Internship) with two fake boobs in what looked to be an insulated lunch bag. Both boobs are covered in a nylon material reminiscent of a nightgown that my mom used to wear back in the late 70s except one is supposed to be a "white" boob while the other is a "brown" boob. To top it off these boobs have little fake cancer lumps

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-4574730228985501772008-07-29T17:31:00.000-07:002008-07-29T18:08:30.234-07:00

Big sorries to my two occasional readers for the extended blog silence. Here's the thing: When I get home from a long day of being The Oldest Intern On The Planet all I really want to do is strip down to my skivs and stuff ice cream in my face. Ice cream and the occasional hit of crack. In case you were considering changing careers in mid-life, here are some highlights:1. You get to share a desk

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-19428120069991079022008-07-08T19:26:00.001-07:002008-07-08T22:16:34.461-07:00

Years ago, my sister Merry and I used to play "The Depressing Game" while stuck on long car trips with our parents. The game involved the two of us peering out of our respective car windows looking for sadness incarnate: stray kittens, old men sitting alone on park benches, heavyset women in denim mini skirts. This was car bingo for neurotic, Upper West Side kids. By the time we reached whatever

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-50213276056880913732008-05-29T08:39:00.000-07:002008-05-29T09:14:55.251-07:00

Check it. I'm walking down the street and what do I spy but a sparkly granite headless angel torso leaning just so against a trashcan. As you can imagine, I have a couple of questions:1) Did someone actually have this thing in their house and did it, once upon a time, have a head?2) What suddenly made them want to get rid of it? In a mad fit of spring cleaning did he/she wake up and say "Honey,

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-38047798078847691132008-05-23T08:14:00.000-07:002008-05-23T20:06:59.957-07:00

Here I am trying to look attractive at the second of two "sleep studies" I was forced to go to by my doctor whose latest theory on my fatigue is that it's compounded by some kind of narcolepsy. Having never fallen asleep in the middle of a road or, say, on top of Keanu Reeves a la River Phoenix in "My Own Private Idaho" I'm not quite feeling this. I have, however, definitely considered nodding

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-59543229115083598992008-05-12T11:03:00.000-07:002008-05-12T11:53:23.792-07:00

Jackie and I just returned from our Big Gay Pilgrimmage to see Dolly Parton in Chicago and all I have to say is if loving Dolly is wrong I don't want to be right. Sure we were the only people in the entire crowd not wearing cowboy hats and/or blazers (women included). And no, neither one of us is a gay man with a spray-tan fetish (at least, not technically). It takes all kinds and Dolly - that

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-29474980105896188442008-04-26T10:43:00.000-07:002008-04-26T10:48:45.489-07:00

As further proof that my ridiculous level of school work has robbed me of all sense of humor, here's a photo I managed to take of some Orthodox gents getting their Shabbos on. Let's just say it's not exactly an L Word rant. P.S. The guys were not amused by me.

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-35303353536968253522008-04-14T13:00:00.001-07:002008-04-14T13:14:32.960-07:00

So overwrought was I by the throne-plosion, I neglected to mention another similarly-themed event that happened to me just a few short days before.While plodding through my day as The Oldest Intern On the Planet, the most unbelievable stench started flowing through the halls and, as far as I could tell, set up residence exclusively in my cubicle. Seeing as how this is an organization for homeless

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-51513911382521348532008-04-10T10:51:00.000-07:002008-04-10T11:08:20.846-07:00

Today I learned the true meaning of fear. Hard at work trying to finish up a paper mere hours before it was due, I retired to the bathroom to, you know, use it. I closed the lid and stepped on the flusher which I like to do for a few seconds because - in the immortal words of John Cage - "I like a fresh bowl."I must have blinked because the next thing I knew the toilet suddenly became the closest

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-53728704348213074172008-04-07T06:53:00.001-07:002008-04-07T06:53:21.789-07:00

Big day this Monday is. Besides being the day of the 100th post of "Touch My Ennui," the following unparalleld events happened:1) Charleton Heston - a guy who pretended to be Moses and loved guns almost as much as he hated homosexuals - died over the weekend. Rednecks throughout the country are rending their flannel shirts. 2) My mom - a woman with an uncanny skill for hyperbole and

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-49161994527377327552008-04-02T19:28:00.000-07:002008-04-02T19:54:10.558-07:00

#1: Reading About a White Guy Who Only Started Blogging 4 Months Ago and Already Has a Book DealOk, so his "Stuff White People Like" blog is brilliant. Who cares? As all two of you who read "Touch My Ennui" know (hi mom and dad), we've been(that would be the royal we) updating our little nook of the blogosphere - albeit sporadically - for going on three years now and Random House hasn't once

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-32251533343781728422008-03-23T18:20:00.000-07:002008-03-24T06:46:15.854-07:00

This Easter began like every other: in a sugar blitz. While Christians throughout the world are celebrating the holiest day of the year, the Warners are gorging on baskets overflowing with every conceivable kind of homemade chocolate that my mother has handpicked from Mondels, the 40-year old chocolate shop on the Upper West Side. The other day my dad alerted me over IM (I was up doing homework

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-41112030821623387382008-03-21T06:40:00.000-07:002008-03-21T06:46:03.742-07:00

Another random pic from the 15th St. F stop station. Looks like someone was trying to climb out; a thought I have every time I ride the train.

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-42999462101587823642008-03-18T10:49:00.000-07:002008-03-18T10:57:04.868-07:00

Jen takes a study breakFor all of you who have heard me talk about the trials and tribulations of my family's hugely obese cat, Ham, I'm sad to say she was put on a diet about 6 months ago and now looks like a bone in a baggy sweater. This photo, then, is representative not of her but of me on vacation with my hand in the starburst jellybean bag.

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1838336536602760412008-03-17T14:23:00.000-07:002008-03-17T17:48:25.396-07:00

Dear Tal, let's face it. A talent this huge doesn't come along every day.

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-6992697438350288662008-03-17T13:02:00.000-07:002008-03-17T17:49:33.331-07:00

Elizabeth Ziff in her natural habitatSorry about the lack of post last week. I can't remember if I was too busy or too bored to actually write something, but it was nice to see that I could roll right into last night without missing a beat. Speaking of, Ziff gave it a rest this week, so the show didn't feature any lengthy slo-mo montages set to wailing guitars. Instead, Chaiken herself took over

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-57108811655027245512008-03-12T14:29:00.001-07:002008-03-12T14:29:16.055-07:00

What does George Bush do while waiting to introduce John McCain to the press corps? He gets his tap dance-on. Seriously, there's nothing else he could have done while he was standing there? For god's sake, if nothing else, pretend to look presidential. You know Osama bin Laden has a cramp in his side from laughing.

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-15381183800325546932008-03-03T06:24:00.000-08:002008-03-03T07:11:07.302-08:00

Not sure I've ever told you this, but I LOVE television shows which use the proverbial heat wave as an excuse to get everybody hot, bothered and into the sack. Throw a nice amber gel over the lens and you've got yourself desert conditions, just perfect for a little roll in the toasty hay. I especially love this Hollywood device when, in the real world, it's approximately 25 degrees outside and

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-68651231914943450812008-03-01T23:06:00.000-08:002008-03-01T23:15:14.912-08:00

Roger C.: Just chillin'Just because I haven't had the heart to update I Heart Roger Clark since he decided to lose a few lbs and most of his sense of humor, doesn't meant that I don't still love the guy. Roger, you are NY1. Hell, you are New York City. What good are the five boroughs and all the lunacy that exists within them without you there to "report" on it. Come on back and we'll forget all

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-35908685922409920932008-02-28T10:21:00.000-08:002008-02-28T10:26:53.146-08:00

As I've mentioned before, the other woman I'm also now regularly compared to is Julie Andrews. Here she is blissfully gesturing at a ship in an awfully pretty pink suit. It's totally understandable that folks would say I remind them of her. I do this kind of thing all the time.

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-10997434001932305592008-02-27T08:36:00.000-08:002008-02-27T08:40:27.631-08:00

For the millionth time this month, I've been compared to Ellen Degeneres. I'd like to think it's my sense of humor, but I'm thinking it has something to do with my hair, my penchant for trouser pants, and the total deterioration of any youthful good looks I once had.Of course, Ellen is a whole lot better than the other lesbian comic everyone seems to think I resemble: that burnin' hunk of 6'4"

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-55306585018736696382008-02-25T05:35:00.001-08:002008-02-25T06:04:36.407-08:00

Sunday was a big night. Not because of the Oscars - which from the bits and pieces I caught while combing through a lifetime of family paperwork may be the worst one on record; or even The L Word - which I turned on long enough to see Kelly McGillis looking like a haggard serial killer working the speed bag. No, last night was big because I was introduced to a new ailment in my family's

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-29190585823212474312008-02-24T13:16:00.000-08:002008-02-24T13:18:54.349-08:00

I call this one...Laughing Bike.Ex Lax is incorporated? And housed in an ugly building on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn?

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-64528465605733128982008-02-23T12:49:00.000-08:002008-02-23T21:46:32.937-08:00

Some prankster did a little switcheroo with a sign at the F stop. Though I wish I could take credit for this flash of inspiration, I'm just not creative enough. However, based on the reactions of the other folks on the platform who shot me disgusted looks when I started snapping photos, I might be the only one who thinks this is funny. But please, when you're trapped underground waiting for the

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-21322219061189628062008-02-20T13:11:00.001-08:002008-02-20T13:11:22.801-08:00

Behold, the commercial equivalent of nails on a chalkboard and the original reason I couldn't stand Leisha Hailey long before I noticed her rainbow star tattoo and/or she became Alice, the gayest bisexual you ever did meet. I will admit, there was a hot minute there when I ignored The Chart and glimpsed her charm. And then I stopped drinking. Seriously, watch this at your own risk and ask

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-50000917203758077592008-02-17T19:02:00.000-08:002008-02-17T21:02:58.192-08:00

The L Word is making me fat. The only way I can get through an episode is with a pint of Ben & Jerry's in each hand. A little known fact: ice cream doesn't have any calories when it's ingested for the sake of self-presevation. And don't ask me why I continue to watch even though I hate myself later and bitch about it here. I'm an addict so sue me and last I checked there wasn't a Bad TV Anonymous

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-61138820905269616972008-01-30T14:00:00.001-08:002008-01-30T14:36:00.148-08:00

I know it seems pointless to post my thoughts on a TV show so many days after it aired, but pointless things - especially pointless things involving lesbians - are my bag! Here are my thoughts on some of the matter (Give me a break. I've got a ton of homework):1. I thought the military showing up at Alice's apartment to scope for lesbian paraphernalia and somehow identifying "The Chart" as

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-50074198022797091852008-01-22T18:13:00.000-08:002008-01-22T19:06:53.986-08:00

What's that you say? The L Word blew again? Imagine that. Here's the thing, this damn show reminds me of the time I was working twelve hour days on a shoot in a one-stoplight town in Nebraska and the locals told me if I did nothing else I had to go have myself a bagel at the corner diner that also specialized in those Jello mold salads made with Miracle Whip and canned fruit. I'm sure you know

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-12896317526755850902008-01-13T18:56:00.000-08:002008-01-14T05:55:18.834-08:00

Once in a lifetime a TV show comes around that is so masterfully crappy it holds the rare distinction of jumping not one but an entire school of sharks. The L Word Season 5 is no Arthur Fonzerelli in a leather jacket and a fly pair of speedos on water skis hurdling a single dorsal fin. No, this show went airborne over the aquarium the second Shane started scoring entire bridal parties, including

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-24395037615093268332008-01-11T08:54:00.001-08:002008-01-11T08:54:35.854-08:00

The last time I had Jimmy Dean sausage I was about two years old and according to family lore, my mother and I got a wicked case of food poisoning from it. Since my father is a master of getting things for free - including, apparently, food that can kill you - he contacted Jimmy Dean and told them the sad tale of his wife and child who became pooping machines as a result of their dangerous

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-34045593914976431412008-01-10T07:55:00.000-08:002008-01-10T08:18:45.469-08:00

My main NY1 news man has been letting me down as of late with his "I'm a skinny, serious reporter dude" persona so I've abandoned writing his blog and will pretty much do anything but watch the screen when I hear his voice. Then yesterday's report came on and I found myself glued to the screen. Not because Rog was back to his old antics. Sadly, Clark believes that dropping a few lbs. and sporting

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-47588723539543081512008-01-07T08:48:00.000-08:002008-01-07T09:26:04.284-08:00

The L Word is back. By now, you probably noticed that no fantastic cosmic events accompanied this, though I'm pretty sure I heard some dogs howling when the Betty theme song kicked in. For the first time since my third cold in as many months kicked in (this is what I get for snuggling up to strangers on the A train), I was ecstatic to have been rendered virtually deaf by my clogged sinuses. And

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-50577369277172006232008-01-03T15:08:00.001-08:002008-01-03T15:08:10.370-08:00

Another all time great video. Miss Teen South Carolina and R.Kelly should totally hook it up. Maybe she's already writing his lyrics for him because this is the ultimate "real talk."

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-72507383487401608172007-12-04T07:37:00.000-08:002007-12-04T07:50:03.147-08:00

I am sick (again) and have a paper due in approximately 48 hours. This fact is cramping my ability to sit in my sweatsuit on the couch and watch Cary Grant films while wrapped in a blanket drinking cocoa and eating the entire box of Williams-Sonoma peppermint bark that keeps staring me down. Right now, I feel a little like Big Edie from Grey Gardens. I sound like I've spent the past 50 years

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-60916544848386871562007-11-19T08:02:00.000-08:002007-11-19T08:19:00.892-08:00

I am sitting in the Park Slope Starbucks trying to finish up my Social Justice paper. Babies are yelling and pooping, reggae is blaring, and I just witnessed someone buy four venti frappucinos with extra whip cream...for himself. I know this because he's sitting right next to me and has all four heart attacks lined up in front of him while he peruses the pages of Maxim. If I see even a hint of

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-84694596079912861282007-11-16T12:06:00.000-08:002007-11-16T13:40:10.307-08:00

Don't trust anyone who starts a conversation with "Did anyone ever tell you you look like..." At least in my case, this one always ends in tears.I was stopped in the kitchen at my internship by a gentleman who told me I reminded him of Victor/Victoria herself: Julie Andrews.Jackie's feel-good remark was "At least he didn't say Carol Burnett." Yeah, at least.I've been compared to a lot of

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-12734013400940332582007-11-06T19:39:00.001-08:002007-11-06T19:54:44.646-08:00

The maintenance guy at the homeless organization where I'm interning is named Jesus, as in Jesus Christ. I failed to make this connection for the first month I worked there so every time a toilet overflowed or someone needed their garbage wrangled and the alert would go out over email that "Jesus is working on it" or "Ask Jesus, he'll take care of your garbage" I just assumed the place was a

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-8360102925082248322007-11-05T12:03:00.000-08:002007-11-05T12:26:27.525-08:00

I am currently sitting on the second floor of the library at Barnard College (my alma mater), staring out at the square of greenery only a city school could call a lawn, listening to the extraordinarily loud construction being performed on the now defunct MacIntosh Dining Hall (or whatever that 70s throwback was called). I'm here both because writing a midterm paper made me a little nostalgic for

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-71384704740302770302007-10-31T06:41:00.000-07:002007-10-31T07:23:44.271-07:00

The older I get, the more trouble I have dressing myself in the morning. Gone are the days of "outfits" picked out Garanimals-style the night before. Each day I get up, note the stiffness in my back with a vocalization that sounds way too much like my father, and head on over to my closet where I slip into a fugue-state staring at the huddled mass of pants and shirts hanging in front of me. I can

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-86325014436570059302007-10-11T12:58:00.001-07:002007-10-11T12:58:44.345-07:00

Roughly paraphrased, my mother used to say that there's no use being embarassed because everyone screws up. Of course, she also used to say that just because you're paranoid doesn't mean everyone isn't out to get you. Here we have Stacy Hedger, a beauty pageant contestant, who chose as her "talent" to play the chorus of the Star Wars theme song on the trumpet and mime a variety of Star Wars

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-90843392749692159652007-10-08T09:18:00.001-07:002007-10-08T09:18:47.092-07:00

There is so much wrong with this. Check out 01:55 when he reminds his girlfriend - the "`ho" in question - that he just gave her money to get her "hair, toes, and nails done". What a guy. I've got to start setting my phone conversations to music.

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-91432887220023257202007-10-07T16:56:00.000-07:002007-10-07T17:06:02.716-07:00

On yet another walk through the Brooklyn `hood, discovered this flowers-in-the-middle-of-Abbey Road scene. In the process, I almost got run over by a jackass in a Chevy Malibu with a rim job who cranked down his window and shouted "Get your hippie ass outttta here!" Clearly practicing his umpire skills since the "outta" was extended in such a way I wondered if he thought I was trying to steal a

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-60726818372267922392007-09-30T17:02:00.001-07:002007-09-30T17:29:55.869-07:00

Standing on the steaming hot 2nd Avenue F train platform at 1am - a guaranteed stage for Way Off-Broadway entertainment - Jackie and I caught quite a variety show last night. On one side: Two extremely attractive ladies making out in full view of us and every homeless man in New York City. Note, we were the only ones who didn't harass them with intellectually stimulating questions like "Wanna

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-54089015107282553002007-09-24T07:35:00.001-07:002007-09-24T07:58:34.558-07:00

When you share a name (sadly, not a bank account) with a major telecommunications conglomerate, it's easy to think no one's going to have any trouble in the pronunciation/spelling department. This, however, is not the case and gives me undying sympathy for those folks who actually have a name other than Smith or Jones; or - good lord - a hyphen or a click (The Gods Must Be Crazy still fresh in my

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-31485277159861772072007-09-17T13:58:00.000-07:002007-09-17T14:22:31.883-07:00

Today was my unofficial first day of field work as a 34-year old intern. This turn of phrase illicits the kind of visceral gag response that, say, 40-year old virgin does. The last time I interned I was 19 and my breasts didn't look like balloons that had given up the ghost. I can't lie and say I'm psyched to pretend to recapture my youth in this way; that I've longed for nothing more than the

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-21384408222525923032007-09-07T07:34:00.000-07:002007-10-08T09:35:08.248-07:00

I spotted this sign hanging off the side of one of those Midtown coffee trucks and seriously considered ordering myself a "cheese danis" and a steaming hot cup of "Snaka." And then I wondered, perhaps Snaka isn't just a righteous misspelling of Sanka (My great-aunt Lenny's decaf coffee of choice which isn't saying a lot since the woman didn't abstain from anything especially food stuff) and is

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-68447107285680907552007-08-31T07:47:00.000-07:002007-09-07T08:12:00.678-07:00

Jackie and I decided to get our culture-on last Sunday and visited the Museum of Natural History. It's no MOMA, but it worked in a rainy day pinch and, besides, it's right by the gym. I haven't been back to the AMNH in about 20 years and was horrified to discover that they have decided to carpet the place with children. The expressions "kids under foot" took on new meaning as we tried to navigate

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-49361165324456918162007-08-31T07:26:00.000-07:002007-08-31T07:41:29.091-07:00

Yes, that really is Abraham Lincoln tossed out like so much trash in the broiling Brooklyn sun. After recovering from the heart attack I had when I thought that some lanky gentleman in a tuxedo had gone and chosen my walking route to unfurl his mortal coil, I snapped this pic while pretending to be a CSI getting crime scene photos. The ultimate in nerdcore.

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-5126511279277258652007-07-31T21:11:00.000-07:002007-07-31T21:49:56.404-07:00

I have always been an old lady in a not-so-old body. While kids my age were climbing trees and playing in traffic, I was familiarizing myself with Emergency Exits and making sure I didn't catch a chill. Others called me a hypochondriac. I like to think I was merely a realist and if portable hand sanitizers had existed back in the day, you can bet your patooty I would've been stocked up and ready

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-61391116567671843512007-02-19T16:33:00.000-08:002007-02-19T18:26:31.835-08:00

I can't go on like this, having an affair with a TV show that's about as good for me as a deep-fried bucket of Crisco and a spoon. Every Monday morning I get up feeling, well, dirty; like my beer goggles were on too tight for the third year in a row. "The L Word" is becoming the bad relationship that wouldn't end. If I have to wake up after one more Sunday night encounter and take six showers, I

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-13871751470396570252007-02-04T20:02:00.000-08:002007-02-04T21:22:46.884-08:00

There's a little known rule in cable television about opening a show with floppy boobs and overgrown pubic hair. Apparently, The L Word didn't get the memo. After howling in horror at Max/Moira silently removing her/his "packie" and disrobing before standing in the buff and glaring at her soul patch (the little one and the big one) in front of a mirror, we cut right into the godforsaken Betty

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-57203436751644240522007-01-26T09:57:00.000-08:002007-01-26T10:23:56.308-08:00

The average New Yorker's brain must have tiny little temperature receptors that tell it to become totally bizarro when it gets really hot or really cold outside. I was on the F train yesterday afternoon sitting next to a woman wearing a sizaeable MP3 player and a python-lenth scarf wrapped around her neck, head, and chest with plenty of scarf left to spare. While rocking out to her tunes, she

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-15720349060551410072007-01-23T05:31:00.000-08:002007-01-23T06:49:35.995-08:00

It's taken me two full days to recover from this past Sunday's "L Word." Any show that opens with a recreation of "Streetcar Named Desire" - especially when that recreation features the most annoying female character on television, who only recently stopped hallucinating about Hasidic Jews and the circus, doing the Stanley Kowalksi-style shouting - has some serious cojones. And when that

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-60433840752747229162006-12-05T15:00:00.000-08:002006-12-05T15:30:44.279-08:00

TV commercials are incredible things, especially when they suck (Definition of suck: To be really bad; To blow hardcore). And by suck I don't mean bore to tears. Car ads, for example, are stultifying creations replete with expensive locations and pretentious yammering about 4 wheel this and horsepower that. No, by suck I mean to be unwittingly awful because of a powerful combination of low

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1161952619049016552006-10-27T05:06:00.000-07:002006-10-27T05:36:59.186-07:00

Every now and then I think that the news is written just for me. That is, the story (or stories if I'm lucky) are so bizarre that they seem tailor-made for a person whose life is a series of ludicrous misadventures and mishaps of epic proportions. I am the person who broke her arm playing dodgeball in fifth grade. Nobody really gets hurt playing dodgeball. It's like getting whiplash playing golf.

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1161208859311393872006-10-18T14:01:00.000-07:002006-10-18T22:34:58.546-07:00

Since quitting my high-paying TV job and re-inventing myself as a stay-at-home "hypoallergenic baker" with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, I've had a lot of time on my hands to reflect on many, many, many things. Important things like what will I have for lunch? When should I take my nap? Does this wifebeater match this pair of sweatpants? How many people have viewed my Myspace page? In between talking

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1155932179708115962006-08-18T13:12:00.000-07:002007-03-02T09:42:50.743-08:00

Ever since Friendster bullied its way onto the scene, striking fear in the hearts of every former nerd who foolishly thought that high school was behind them, I have hated the very concept of “Virtual Cliques.” Nothing made my skin crawl more than hearing the phrase “how many Friendsters do you have?” Since most folks over the age of five don’t usually ask each other to quantify their friends,

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1155736355709830162006-08-16T06:39:00.003-07:002006-08-16T06:52:35.723-07:00

Even by New York City standards, this listing for an apartment rental takes the cake.Here's the link: http://newyork.craigslist.org/brk/nfb/194349381.htmlI've posted the ad below for posterity's sake in case the link doesn't work and/or the person who posted it came to their senses:$1500 / 3br - █ PERFECT 3 PERSON LOFT IN E. WILLIAMSBURG WITH ALMOST NO LIGHT!THIS HIGH-CEILINGED (13 FEEET!)

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1155575310969721112006-08-14T09:46:00.000-07:002006-08-16T06:57:53.066-07:00

There have been a lot of reports in the local news as of late about the blooming of the Amorphophallus titanum (aka Corpse Flower), for the first time in NYC since 1939, at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. My friend Ali and I were convinced that our fave crack reporter Roger Clark(iheartrogerclark) would certainly be all over this story. For a guy who has rapped about his reporting skills and

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1153926852407583022006-07-26T05:31:00.000-07:002006-07-26T08:22:36.326-07:00

The older I get, the longer my "list of things that I swear I will never do again" grows. Mostly this list has consisted of food that has done my body wrong, jobs that were just laughable, and places that made hell look cozy and enlightened. On Sunday, this list grew to include (insert drumroll here) AMTRAK.Last week, Jackie and I went to Chicago after a multi-year absence. We had a fantastic

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1150741208015411242006-06-19T11:11:00.000-07:002006-06-20T06:38:36.026-07:00

Jackie and I lost our minds last weekend and walked from our apartment in not-quite-Park Slope over the Brooklyn Bridge up through the West Village. After MANY close calls with the various and sundry Lance Armstrongs who cross the bridge at full speed in the pedestrian lane, and the tourists who should wear some kind of brake signal so one has some advance notice that they will be taking a photo

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1149104313323860142006-05-31T11:53:00.000-07:002006-05-31T12:38:33.383-07:00

Folks, some monumental things have been happening in The Land of Queer:1. Today, the NY State Court of Appeals is listening to oral arguments for and against the Constitutionality of same-sex marriage.2. Batwoman is a lesbian and a "lipstick lesbian" to boot (Source)3. Anderson Cooper TiVos My Super Sweet Sixteen and Tiara Girls and he's not afraid to admit it. (Source)4. Michelle Rodriguez was

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1148571292298080272006-05-25T06:11:00.000-07:002006-05-25T08:39:18.846-07:00

Like being the only witness to some fantastic astronomical event, I actually felt a little bit giddy reading the news today. I spotted an article on an issue so bizarre and convoluted I actually had to read it twice: Congress is passing a bill preventing demonstrators from protesting at military funerals. You're probably asking yourself if I've lost my mind and chosen to ignore the fact that the

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1148328124918697542006-05-22T12:32:00.000-07:002006-08-16T06:59:14.706-07:00

While Britney was finding new and improved ways to get on Child Protective Services Top 10 Hottest People Who Shouldn't Be Parents list, Jackie and I were living it up at a children's birthday party where I almost lost an eye to an overzealous kid wielding a bat originally aimed at a pinata. We also got to sacrifice a little bit of dignity during our life insurance medical exam. We were awakened

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1148052606802771162006-05-19T08:25:00.000-07:002006-08-16T07:09:43.083-07:00

I've spent the past 6 months writing a lot about what it feels like to leave a high-paying career (in my case, TV producer) to become an entrepreneur (in my case, a sweatsuit wearing dairy/gluten/nut free cookie baker). I've rambled about how there's not enough light in my apartment, how everyone in the building is crazy or consumptive, how pathetic I feel when I look in the mirror and realize

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1148046405332794102006-05-19T06:11:00.000-07:002006-05-19T08:44:56.750-07:00

Oh Jorja Fox. Why don't you come right out and say it? After last night's CSI season finale (a show I adore to the point of obsession), I'm sorry to say but there was no longer a doubt in my mind that Ms. Jorja is a lady lover. Not that I've been thinking about this a lot. Unless wondering about it since 1999, when she played lesbian Dr. Maggie Doyle on ER, counts as a lot. Don't answer that.

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1148043959698036392006-05-19T05:34:00.000-07:002006-05-19T06:05:59.796-07:00

You know when you see the name of a restaurant posted on an awning or a billboard and you wonder who fell asleep at the wheel? When your stomach turns at the mere thought of dining on anything from a place with a name so ridiculous that you figure the only reason it hasn't been shut down yet is because The Health Department was laughing too hard to bother? Case in point, Jackie and I were in

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1146493797785447842006-05-01T06:54:00.000-07:002006-05-31T12:42:23.520-07:00

When I was a teenager, I'd look at people in their thirties and wonder how they felt about being just inches away from old age, retirement, death. For sure, there are benefits to being a member of AARP and, hey, who doesn't like a senior discount? But it always struck me as tragic when I'd see a guy in his thirties craning around his Wall Street Journal to check out the high school cutie in a

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1146257911806924192006-04-28T13:23:00.000-07:002006-04-28T13:58:31.853-07:00

Jackie and I are in the process of looking for a new place to live. Maybe it's the lack of light. Maybe it's Typhoid Mary and his chronic cough. Maybe it's the heavily sedated woman with the shopping cart and three inches of grey root sprouting from her otherwise four-toned brown hair who spends the better part of every day banging her cart down the stairs one step at a time. Two summers ago,

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1145975991322852352006-04-25T07:04:00.000-07:002006-04-25T07:41:42.240-07:00

I have never claimed to be a tree hugger. Sure I grew up on the Upper West Side of Manhattan where the average age of most first time parents is 45. And ok, my parents liked folk music and my mother still wears far too much patchouli oil. And yes, I did go through a tie-dyed period in 8th grade during which I believe I also wore a sizeable peace sign earring (Just one. It was the `80s after all.)

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1145770538789455882006-04-22T20:19:00.000-07:002006-04-22T22:35:38.836-07:00

The past two days have been ridiculous. My sister is back in the hospital and I've been avoiding the hole that Jackie and I call our apartment like the plague. It's dark, it's cold, it makes you want to watch tv all day, eat entire cheesecakes and then stick your head in the oven. I started to feel like being productive meant putting on my sweatsuit (versus wearing just my underwear) and making

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1145467305327786992006-04-19T10:08:00.000-07:002006-04-19T10:21:45.340-07:00

I knew it from the moment I woke up this morning and put on my brand new pink sweatsuit that I would spend the better part of this otherwise fine Wednesday obsessing about stupid sh*t. Jackie calls it "looping." I call it being trapped in my own personal hell. FDADepartment of HealthWater ActivityCommercial KitchensThe list goes on...All I have to say is I will never look at a box of cookies on a

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1145377468493259202006-04-18T08:58:00.000-07:002006-04-18T09:24:28.536-07:00

As an unemployed bum struggling to make cookies for a living, I realize I have an incredibly shaky leg to stand on when it comes to commenting on anyone just trying to make a buck. I'm not sure this rule applies to blown out former TV stars. I'm thinking in particular of one Erik Estrada. In his heyday, Estrada played a C.h.i.P, a choice I'm sure he believed would eventually lead to an Oscar in

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1145294525245305782006-04-17T10:20:00.000-07:002006-04-17T10:22:05.246-07:00

This entry will be brief because my hands have grown too fat from yesterday's food blowout to type. I feel like The Nutty Professor. Every year, my mother, bless her heart, makes Easter baskets overflowing with candy and weird incidentals (one year it was Smurfs, another it was shower caps and a tooth flosser). Every year I tell myself I will exercise self-control. And every year, I throw caution

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14501228.post-1145294175791928832006-04-17T09:41:00.000-07:002006-04-17T10:20:08.013-07:00

After a fine, fine night of sushi dining, my friend Joey and I decided to go wile away the hours and wait for him to get a cluster headache from the avocado he knew he wasn't supposed to eat in Tompkins Square Park. There was a time, not that long ago, when parking ass on a bench in TSP after dark was a sure sign your life didn't mean all that much to you and you were willing to get shiffed all

Jen Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09553070438123520328noreply@blogger.com0