Want to feel stupid? I have the answer!

There's really nothing else in life that will put you in place quicker than taking a really hard test, such as the SAT or the LSAT. You know that feeling--you go in thinking you're confident and smart, and you leave feeling like a dumb mouth drooler.

I've decided to pursue a Master's Degree in Journalism from Northwestern University. There are just a couple of obstacles in the way-one is the $40,000 I don't have, the other is taking the GRE test before I can get accepted.

I wish I would have studied more as a kid!

I had a moment of panic when I realized all of the math equations I didn't understand in the 8th grade are coming back to haunt me. Yep, even though I've never used any math problems in my adult life, and I'm 99% certain I never will, I still need to learn the value of (x-2)(x+3)-(x-4)(x+5). Dear God, help me now.

Think that's bad? How about his....
If 1 micron=10,000 angstroms, then 100 angstroms is what percent of 10 mincrons?

My answer=Who cares?

What also cracks me up is the vocabulary I'm studying. Some of the words I'd never use in everyday life...this I know for sure.

Auroral- Adj. Pertaining to the aurora borealis. (What?? Oh wait, they give an example. Hopefully this helps!) Example: "The auroral display was particularly spectacular that evening." (Picture me with my mouth wide open right now. It ain't pretty.)

Avuncular- Adj. Like an Uncle. (Huh? Like an Uncle? Is he or isn't he my damn uncle? Is Mike "Like my husband? Are you "Like Reading a Blog?")

Bedizen- V. Dress with vulgar finery. (Isn't that a contradiction?) Example: "The witch doctors were bedizened in their gaudiest costumes." (Yep, pretty sure I'll never need to use that line.)

Bugaboo- N. Bugbear; object of baseless terror. (What???) Example: "If we become frightened by such bugaboos, we are no wiser than the birds who fear scarecrows." (A wise man once told me the same thing...oh wait, he wasn't as much wise as drunk, it was in a bar and really what he said was,"If I controlled the alphabet, I'd put "U" and "I" closer together.")

Uh-oh, I'm taking this test in a month, and I'm bristling in fear. I'll be unmitigated until I take it. I hope that if I don't have the right answer, I'll at least have some witty repartee.

St. Patty's Day in the Chi

Source: Chicago Tribune

Another St. Patrick's Day celebration in Chicago is over, and I say thank goodness. This entire city goes nuts for this holiday, and I've seen enough green vomit and boobs to last me until next year. (Not even exaggerating...keep reading.)

Even though the holiday isn't officially until Thursday, Chicagoans celebrate it the weekend before with a parade, bar hopping and plenty of drunken debauchery. The entire city goes nuts with green t-shirts, painted faces, green beer...even dying their dogs fur green. Starting at the crack of dawn, people start drinking and partying, so by noon they are super annoying if you aren't drunk with them.

On Saturday, my mom and stepdad came into town to hang out with Mike and I for the weekend and they weren't aware that the entire city would be going nuts. As I was walking to meet them at their hotel, I saw dozens of 20 something's nearly getting hit by cars. Apparently drinking all day does not equal common sense, and therefore, looking both ways before crossing the street is not a top priority. (It does crack me up when a drunk person crosses the street illegally, but puts up their hands in a stop motion to all traffic in the street. Suddenly by drinking Jim Beam all day, you now have a police officer's authority.)

I kept on walking towards the hotel, and my mom and stepdad saw me on the street and starting yelling and honking. Honestly, the city was so loud, I didn't even hear them. I continued walking, and literally had to step over bodies of people passed out in the streets or girls who were too tired to keep walking in green high heels. I also stepped over vomit and green liquids which was? Not fun.

Then as I was walking into the hotel, a drunk woman across the street starting yelling "Whoo, hoo!" as she pulled up her green t-shirt and exposed her Ta Ta's. (She apparently predicted this would happen when she dressed that morning, which is why she chose to go sans-bra. Mike is bummed that I didn't get a pic.)

I finally connected with my parents around 2 p.m., and quickly said, "I need a drink."

Next year I've determined I either need to a) start drinking at 7 a.m. or b) lock myself in the apartment or c) leave the state. (Unless by then scientists develop a time machine that shoots me back to 1999 and a time where day drinking rocked!)

Trying to get Health Insurance? It's Not Fun

The health insurance hunt continues, and man, it stinks. As I mentioned yesterday, since I'm a freelancer and Mike is starting his own company, we need to find our own health insurance. I thought it would be easy considering we're young-ish, healthy and not trying to have children.

Boy, I was wrong.

I started looking for quotes online yesterday because I avoid human interaction as much as possible. All I remember is filling out our zip code and my name, but all of a sudden my home phone started ringing. Then my cell phone. Before I knew it, both phones were ringing every couple of minutes with different insurance agents offering me coverage. Sheesh, it was like I was a bleeding surfer and they were the sharks. I continued filling out the online paperwork, and the phone continued ringing. When I answered a couple of calls, they started asking me about my health history, and I freaked out, not sure who I was giving my info to.

Finally, I got a quote that seemed decent (especially considering our Cobra is $900 a month), so I applied for that. We're now in the process of getting approved, but only after I took part in a health interview today. I was asked about illnesses I literally had years ago, and they asked if I had any intention of going to the doctor in the next 6 months.

Um, no? How am I supposed to know? And forget about even trying to have a family. That's not covered.

Hopefully health care is just getting worse before it gets better because if two healthy adults like Mike and I have a hard time getting covered, I can't imagine the struggle many other Americans face.

Dear Mr. Obama

Dear Mr. Obama,

You're right sir, getting health insurance in this country is the biggest pain in the butt ever. I'm 32, healthy, thin, I don't smoke, I work out 5-6 times a week, and I rarely go to the doctor. I obsessively wash my hands, use anti-bacterial hand wipes and I never touch an L-train pole with bare hands. (Ew, gross.) With those cautions, I've only been sick once this year, but it wasn't sick enough to see a doc.

My husband is even lower maintenance. He's younger than me (I'm what you call a cougar), he's thin, works out and hasn't seen a doc in 13 years. He can be around 95 sick people, but he'll somehow avoid even getting so much as sniffle.

So considering our circumstances, why is the federal government asking us to pay $899 a month for COBRA health insurance? Seriously? We don't even use $899 worth of medical services in a year, so why should we pay that for a month?

Mr. President, the reason my husband and I don't have health insurance is because we're trying to make it on our own as a freelancer and an entrepreneur. We're what drives this country's economy. We pay our taxes, we work hard and we're good to others. And this is how we get re-paid?

Please fix this system soon, or else you might drive me to drinking, smoking and eating, and then I'm guessing I'll never get covered.

Best,

Jeannie Crofts

Fun Times in Fort Myers, Florida

White pants in March...so great!

This past week has been ridiculously fun. I'm in Southwest Florida (Fort Myers to be exact), enjoying the place where I lived and worked for three years during my journalism career. Many of the good friends I worked with at WINK-TV have moved on and moved away, but we all meet during the winter months to escape the brutality that is winter in most parts of this country. And for those of my friends who still live in Fort Myers, we quickly pick up where we left off and laugh about the good ole' days.

Since Wednesday I've been laying by the pool, eating out, meeting friends for dinner, going to the beach and shopping. I've nearly wiped away all the memories of snow and gloomy skies that are inevitable in the Midwest right now.

Perhaps it's revisionist history, but I've always looked back at my time in Fort Myers at the best of my life. I met Mike and three women who would eventually become bridesmaids, I soaked up the sun, grew professionally and learned a lot about myself. It's funny though how time magically erases the memories of the miserable salary I made, the awful traffic during tourist season and the hurricanes I spent many an hour covering with rain-soaked clothes and a worry that my condo might be wiped away or my dogs injured.

It's interesting to come back now as a person who's no longer a local, because I've made some interesting observations this week. If you've ever been to Florida, you'll probably enjoy these...

* Everyone with an Ontario license plate is a terrible driver who goes 20 under the speed limit. Always. I'm guessing the trip from Canada to Florida must take an entire month at that snail's pace. (By the way Ontario drivers--a middle finger in the U.S. is not a good thing.)

* When I look around at all the people with snow white hair, I'm amazed that Florida is the spot where I met my husband. (Really, it's somewhat of a miracle.) To anyone still looking for that special someone, this is proof that miracles really can happen.

* European visitors love tanning their skin until it's of a dark, leathery consistency, and clothing is minimal (think speedos), if not all together optional. Plus, they are either really confident in their bodies, or they don't own full-length mirrors.

* My cellulite is not as bad as I thought.

* Give yourself at least 30 minutes to get anywhere. At times, it seems like you're spending more time sitting as stop lights than lounging on the beach. (It doesn't help that many drivers are older/don't know where they are going/always drive in the left lane.)

* There really is something magical about eating outside and laying by the pool in March. It's also amazing how quickly you forget that it's snowing and cold in many other states.

* Finally, It stinks that the most relaxing years of our lives have to come with arthritis, health problems and white hair. Why can't we retire in our 20's, and then work later in life, like our 70's?

Tomorrow, I'm trading sun for snow and heading back to Chicago...ugh. Yet somehow I'll get by, knowing there will always been good friends and good times waiting for me in the 239 area code.



Jeannie Crofts is Sweaty

Recently I found a cool feature on this blog that allows me to see how people find me, meaning what words they typed into google to find this blog. There are the usual suspects like "Jeannie Crofts" and "Jeannie Crofts blog," but some of these really crack me up.

Who typed in "Taylor Swift Sweaty Armpit" to find me? Does Taylor Swift even have sweaty pits? Perhaps she's like me and gets a little nervous when she sees Taylor Lautner without his shirt on.

A couple of weeks ago someone typed in "Bill Murray Armpit Sweat," "Bill Murray Armpit Sweat?" (one with a question mark, one without), and "Bill Murray Armpit." Have I ever blogged about Bill Murray? Hmm, I don't think so. Someone else typed in "Jeannie Crofts Sweaty" (thanks a lot people), and another one typed in "Brad Womack's Pits" (You know, the Bachelor. He does sweat a lot. Particularly on the forehead. He also says, "I like her, I really do" quite a bit. Have you noticed that?)

Some of my other favs..."Sweaty Chihuahua Armpits" (Good memory...I've blogged before about how my chunky Chihuahua sweats in his 'pits), and someone actually found my blog by typing in "20-year old who's 350-pounds blog." Okay, now that's just weird. Everyone knows I'm clearly not 20-years old.




Is Tuna Shrinking Your Balls?

Be aware, be very aware of what you're reading and/or looking at on an airplane, because people are watching you.

I posted this on Facebook yesterday, but it's just too good not to mention here. As I was flying back to Chicago yesterday, I sat in the aisle seat and I noticed the man sitting caddy corner to me was reading an article called, "Why Tuna May Be Shrinking Your Balls." What in the world is that? As I said on Facebook, now I know Mike will never eat my tuna casserole. (He claims to hate tuna. I think he must have already read this article.)

Here's the thing: I often take magazines like Cosmo on board with me and they have risque articles like how to find your inner sex kitten, but I'm not going to read that when I know people around me can see it. Remember my experience a couple of months ago? The man sitting caddy corner to me then asked the flight attendant to get his laptop for him while we were still ascending so he could do some work. Well that "work" turned out to be looking at pictures of nude women. (All the while, his son and wife were sitting next to him. His wife may not have seen, but I sure did. Gross. Plus, when the flight attendant opened the bin, the man's bag fell on my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. So I got injured so this ding-dong could look at happy sacks. Nice.)

So men, I know it's tempting to read about your man parts or to see women parts, but can't you wait until, oh I don't know, you're in the comfort of your own bathroom?