You Can Forget the Bow...

For the past few years, I have struggled to come up with a Christmas list.  Sure, I can eventually come up with a few things like I did this year:  A bulky sweater to keep me warm, some wool socks, a blanket, a pillow rest thingy so I can read in bed, some cheese and sausage for my low carb diet.  But really, to be honest, the things I want don’t exist in a store.  Can I bore you for a moment?  

What I want, if I’m being completely selfish, is that when I close my eyes for the last time each and every night, I  know that those I love are safe and warm and happy.  If they are facing troubles, I wish for them to know they truly aren’t alone, that they can feel my arms around them.  

I want my children to be unafraid - of anything, but especially their future.  And I want them to realize how fortunate they are and be compassionate to those less so.

I want to know that if I have extra patience or compassion on any given day that I will KNOW to share it with someone that may need it.  I want to make someone or someONES smile on a consistent basis.  

And I want to know that there are hands that will reach to me if I’m the one feeling low and insignificant. 

On top of it all, again if I'm being greedy, I want those that I love to never doubt how I feel and know that I will always be by their side.  

Self love, neighborly love, compassion, patience, consideration - I want it all.  No extra gift-wrapping needed.

[shouting in desperation]

Charlie Brown: Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?

Linus Van Pelt: Sure, Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about.

[moves toward the center of the stage]

Linus Van Pelt: Lights, please.

[a spotlight shines on Linus]

Linus Van Pelt: "And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, 'Fear not: for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.' And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.'"

[Linus picks up his blanket and walks back towards Charlie Brown]

Linus Van Pelt: That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

Time for New Tricks?

For most of my post prepubescent years, I've made a point of looking in on other couples' relationships from the outside, all judgmental and opinionated:  How in the world can she SHARE an email with him?  The same Facebook account?  A bank account?  Doesn’t she want her own life?  Her own secrets?  Space from him?  How can she not worry when he’s at the bar with his buddies? Doesn’t she get jealous that he’ll flirt with someone prettier (younger, with bigger boobs and no saggy belly?).

This ‘sharing’ people do was so foreign to me, even with being married twice.  I needed MY space. MY time.  MY life.  I was ‘set in my ways.’  I’ve never ‘felt like’ fighting for any relationship I’ve been in.  Counseling?  Waste of time.  I know, not the romantic me you’re used to.  Imagine when I learned this:

Turns out you can teach an old bitch new tricks.

Come to find out, 99.9% of the issue has been within my own personality: the penchant to ‘pick’ the easy guys that were so unlike me that it was easy to keep ‘my space.’  Men who wouldn’t test me because they probably didn’t really care either.  I positioned myself as the ‘disposable wife’ and found the perfect niche for myself.  No real demands.  But no real gain.

Until now. 

Imagine my bafflement when I find my thoughts headed now down unfamiliar and thoroughly terrifying paths.  Paths that, best case scenario, will lead to a complete refurbishment of what I have ever known relationships to be.  Fight?  Damn straight, I'll fight.  Ha, worst case scenario, I dangle myself over the edge and freak out at the last minute.  Wait.  That sounds like a skipping record…

Sounds positively Donna Reed.  Time to bring out my Park Lane pearls.  Buy a pair of Stuart Weitzman pumps.  And rewrite the manual of Jen Marr.  

I'm pretty sure one of the chapters will focus on how to change your Facebook relationship status and how to take 'couplesies.' ;)

Winning

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There are a lot of things that I was poised never to believe possible:  that I could go a week without wanting a glass of vino; that I could get my kids up and out the door on a consistent basis in time for the bus (7:00 am departure time); that I would stop snoozing the alarm 5 times in the morning; that I could drop a few pounds and feel great while doing it; that I would find the courage to start believing…

And when this believing began, so did the panic attacks.  The tightening of my chest, the shortness of breath - every time I’m with my kids or think about …well…not so fast as THAT’S another story.  I realize now, of course, that they aren’t ‘panic’ attacks but the love and strength and peace I feel inside of me attacking the fear that I’ve used as a shield for so SO long. 

I pray that I feel those ‘attacks’ forever.  They are my proof that I’m winning – not the Charlie Sheen Tiger Blood-type of winning, of course, but the Jen Marr-I’m Gonna Be Just Fine-type of winning.

Love.

Strength.

Peace.

The trifecta.

Enough to Fit a Tea Cup?

I really think every person has something that they HATE to go shopping for. That item that they need, but break out in hives just thinking about stopping at the store and grabbing it off the shelf/rack/wall/bin.  A scientific quick poll at the office unearthed these detested shopping items:

household furnishings 

This guy was VERY anti Bed Bath and Beyond - it was a bit scary

shoes

This guy's Fred Flintstone feet make shoe shopping sucky.

 jeans

The nice ones are all too long which is royally shitty when you're slightly height-challenged

 condoms

Remember the story of me trying to 'hide' the condoms in my general purchase by also buying Vaseline and a ruler?  No freaking lie.

For me it's bras.

Especially since I found out Victoria's Secret:  she doesn't like top heavy ladies with cantaloupe-shaped girls.

I'm pretty certain my bra angst stems from deeply instilled trauma from my first bra-buying experience.  I think the word I shall use to describe it is...MORTIFYING.  (Cue really sad and depressing music) I was in 5th grade and my mother decided that my bee-sting breasts needed to be covered.  Off to Hills we went.  Where we saw almost every person in our extended family and a handful of classmates to make sure there was maximum embarrassment.  Ah, life in a small town.

To make matters worse, the next day I wore my favorite blouse which happened to be a little see through.  SO EVERYONE KNEW I HAD A BRA ON.

UGH.

And it hasn't gotten any better.  Stores use abysmal lighting and fun-house mirrors - you might as well bring the flask right into the dressing room with you.

Add the little old lady with the measuring tape around her neck who wants to fondle you and lift you (Hey, my doctor ALWAYS tells me that my boobs are perky...) and bra shopping is a nightmare.

Fran, she's gotten her boobies. Oh, and they are so perky! 

It was out of desperation that I decided to turn toward an online company.  Really, it is the first step in becoming socially awkward and never having to leave my house again.  My cat could use a few friends...and I could wear that hat I saw online...whoa.  But, when I read the company's motto, I was hooked: "No Fitting Rooms. No Measuring Tape."  I sighed in relief.  I could go another day without seeing the wide expanse of my ass in the distorted mirror.

There was a 'fit quiz' to see what size you were.  To me, it was a little like Match.com - why are you asking me what type of guy I like when I am on a FREAKING dating website to cure my bad taste in men!  But I took the quiz anyway - spent a LOT of time looking at my girls.  Lifted, felt, compared, contrasted...it was like being in a relationship again. Rejoice!  I've posted parts of them below.  I mean, I've posted parts of the quiz...not THEM.  And really, it's a quiz you can't fail because it's all about you, right?...

What do you mean what shape am I? I'm globular.

I checked to see if they were happy or if they needed another cocktail while they were resting.

Yes, I checked.

...WRONG.  My five bras came last night and, just like my taste in men, weren't even remotely right.  I overflowed every damn one.

With a deep sign, I capitulated and came to the brutal realization that this weekend, I will have to go visit a little old lady with a tape measure around her neck.

But at least I'll get some action.

Kicking at the Tall Grass

So when I was in high school, I was a major nerd, a band geek, an innocent wall flower (until my parents moved out of state).  Wasn't in the popular group, wouldn't have ever made homecoming court (well, I didn't, so that's a fact) and got dance invitations by default (until they made me that fake ID in my back yard. What was my 'new' name?  Oh, just 'Jenifer Cox' - they thought it was a joke, I took it on as a lifelong challenge.  I KID I KID I KID...just a challenge for after my 40's)). That's what I remember, so that's what's gotta be true. Right?

The past is truthfully depicted in this artist's rendering:

Please notice the look of sad angst on the Wallflower's face as the popular kids (with the big hair) dance around her.

But then, a ghost from my algebraic past, a dude (not a dude-ette) who knew me before I started putting out (the garbage and doing other daily chores), told me there may have been another version to the story.  Something along the lines of this:

Please note the extra detail in the stick people.  The artist is quite proud of this. (And yes, the artist may have been a little soccer-player-obsessed back in the day.)

My Daddy putting a (non-violent but totally intimating) field around little old me?  His oldest daughter?  The one he thought would be virtuous until she was 35? (Hmm...42 now, subtract, carry the one...)  Say it isn't so!

Yet, I know it to be so.  Or at least I can move along that way of thinking.  Exhibit A is the above testimony.  Exhibit B is the testimony I received on a hot night in August, the year of 2007.  I was wearing a really crappy peasant blouse that did nothing for my figure.  But who cares.  The Class of 1987 was at Ziggy's celebrating their 20th.

Gratuitous shot from that night...I'm on the left...Yes, I have cured that problem and have eaten 200 sandwiches...(I also got rid of the shirt)

I ran into a guy I hadn't seen for...well, over 20 years.  Had thought about him here or there, but to tell the truth, at least the truth my friends remind me of, we pretty much couldn't stand each other at the end.  BUT.  Over lukewarm beer in plastics glasses (OOOOOOHHH.  Sing to the tune of  "Short skirt and...long jacket" by Cake!! LOL!), I was told a sordid tale.  One of misery caused by intrigue.  One of two parental units stopping at another parental unit's house and telling her, in no uncertain terms, that her son was to stay away from their daughter.  Well, THAT sucked.  That dude gave me my first French kiss...oh.  Maybe that's why.

Parents are sneaky as shit.  I didn't hear about Exhibit A until this past weekend and proved it by water-boarding my dad.  Nah, I just texted him:

Gotta Love a Wise-Cracking Dad! :)

Exhibit B was 6 years ago. Could I hold anything over my kids' head that long?  Would there be a time when I'd go behind their back to change what was happening in their lives?  Would I?  Would you?

I don't have girls.  Thank the Dear Lord in Heaven.  (SOMEONE loves me!) The hardest job I have is to raise decent boys and make sure they know how to give a compliment, how to work hard at what is right, how to show true affection, how to put the seat back down and what a condom is, when and if the time comes. The oldest knows that I can't be a grandma before I have sex again (...and the way that's going...)

Did Daddy save me or not?  Maybe I should go back and give it a shot with the ones he swore off....or maybe all of this was like rustlin' up 'sum 'rattlers in the tall grass.

Make sure your boots cover ONLY where you don't want to get bit.

Oh, and all artist renderings are on eBay.  At least until the 7 year old gets up and sees them and laughs me out of the house!

No More Safety Net?

Just some musings on this childless Sunday evening...

Twenty-four years ago, I was a small town girl deposited on the campus of a small town/big town university.  Back then, there wasn't a doubt in my head that I would make friends, be happy, succeed and have a blast.  And I did.  And that had a lot to do with my friends.

I remember being sick or upset or having just been dumped - who cares of the circumstance, one was as common as the other - and one of my friends made me a gourmet snack: Stouffer's Mac and Cheese and a piece of (I'm pretty sure it was) Pepperidge Farm white bread.  It was DIVINE.  Perked me right up!  Was the friend Jenn or Allison or Brooke?  Nope, it was Dave.

Dave was one of the oodles of 'brothers' of Ex Hub 1.  Even though EH1 was no longer a student on campus at this point, these young men continued to look out for me.

Trouble with paying my tuition sophomore year?  Two of the guys loaned me enough to register for classes. Have a need for a therapeutic trip to the mall?  One of them had a car handy.  Felt like a wall-flower at a kegger?  Sure enough, there was one of the guys.  

Once EH1 came back on campus my senior year,  they were even more inclusive...and kept their skepticism to themselves until first, we broke up and then second, we got back together, got married and then broke up again.  It was then and only then that they came clean.

I guess what I'm trying to say, and not with my usual pizzazz, is that these guys were like brothers to ME. (Well, not in a few individual cases - that would be too creepy for words ;) )

Mid Senior year, after a pretty volatile break up, EH1 and I got pregnant...I still went to Darts but drank water instead of my usual vodka.  He still smoked; I quit.  I got huge, he still partied.  And he dropped out again.  I lost my connection with the group this time.  I got it though.  Things were different.

And then after graduation, I had a frat baby.  One of them.  The DNA of the house. (Well, not the ENTIRE house because that would be too creepy for words ;) )

The wedding happened - some were there.  We divorced.  Some were still there.  It's been 20 years since the Class of '93 graduated.  And some are still here. 

I've gone on dates with a few, both platonic and otherwise.  I've been included in fraternity events. They have donated to my children's school. They've fed me, employed me.  And I've thought I might have had my toe over the edge with a couple...

Lately, though, there's just something that's a bit off.

I think it's a fair assessment to say I've been 'using' them.  They are my safety net of sorts.  I tell myself that I haven't found anyone to date because they are not as smart, handsome, witty, fun, blah blah blah, as these men that I've known for 24 years.  (If I'd known in college what I know now!  lol)

I've been scared.  Looking to keep some link to the past, before life got hard and I was still Jeni.  Before I let doubt seep into my head and I was no longer sure that I would succeed.  My link.  To before.  And if you know these men, you certainly wouldn't blame me.  Incredible.  Each and every one.

But maybe...just like the 40 pairs of shoes that I must give up because they no longer fit...just maybe it's time to jump without a net...remember the good years but don't try to make them fit into my NOW life.   

I'm NOT Jeni anymore. I'm older, a little more emotionally beat up, but more determined than ever. Perhaps instead of trying to link to the past as a GOOD THING, it's really been holding me back?

Like everything else in my life right now, it's up for scrutiny.  Early resolutions, maybe? The process of change has begun..I'm intrigued to be on this journey.

Ya know, there WAS that one creepy dude on Match...maybe I should give him a ring!  ;)

ONE?

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Timothy Oliveira sets the stage for my thoughts with this quote: There are two kinds of sparks, the one that goes off with a hitch like a match, but it burns quickly. The other is the kind that needs time, but when the flame strikes... it's eternal, don't forget that.

Why do some people bother us and other people leave us hot and bothered? Why do we want to wrap our arms around one but only our legs around another?  Why does it take so long to warm up to one person while the other occupies our thoughts from the starting block? There’s the one you can cut out of your life without another blink juxtaposed against the one that haunts your heart for years.  The one that you feel differently about now than you did before.  Why does one person capture our attention but not another?

Why him and not him? 

Why her, but not her?

Why one night?

Why forever?

Is there a ONE?  Or are there several small ones?

I keep banging into these thoughts like a defective bumper car.  I can’t say, definitively, that I know if there is a ONE.  At least I haven’t successfully met mine yet.  Or maybe I did and I was too busy with replacement or 'scrub' ones.  I think I would have preferred there be a picture in my baby book along side the date of my first tooth, first shot, first bath…a picture of my predestined ONE. 

Some like the thrill of the hunt but where I’m concerned, the hunt can stay in the jungle. 

The process is so tedious.  So demeaning.  So revolting.  So frightening.  So tiring.

So sad.

I love that I am surrounded by couples who have managed to find each other.  They are each others'  ONE, the ONE that they will fight to keep. 

I hope that once I have fought through the jungle, participated in the hunt, fumbled with my matches, I will still have the energy to fight for the love I’ve found.  I haven't yet.

I’ll take a nap now just in case and leave you with some more good words from more famous people:

Mignon McLaughlin
Love unlocks doors and opens windows that weren't even there before.

Helen Rowland
Falling in love consists merely in uncorking the imagination and bottling the common sense.

Mandy Hale
Don't ignore the love you do have in your life by focusing on the love you don't.

Charles du Bos
Love does not care to define and is never in a hurry to do so.

Anonymous
It's so easy to fall in love but hard to find someone who will catch you.

My "Work Bag"

Along with my purse, I carry a "work bag" with me every day.  Ordinarily, it's the bag that holds the bills I forget to pay or the banana that's gone bad.  There is no real NEED for me to bring this bag, unless I should happen to need one of the following items, as detailed during this morning's "work bag" inventory:

 

Plastic container with chicken, potato and salsa

Baggie of cantaloupe and pineapple

Umbrella

Ear buds

Antacid pills

Prescription bottle

Fat burning pills

Almonds

Lint roller

Extra wallet

Can of Diet Coke

Baggie of pretzels

Box of Nerds

Pay stub

Extra iPhone case

Roll of packing tape

Empty Ritz Bits wrapper

Empty gift card envelope

Emory board

Sunglasses

Empty trail mix wrapper

A package of two blushes with a brush

Hershey bar

Condom

Snickers with almonds

A ring

An apple

Nasal spray

Cosmetic powder

Raspberry fruit strip

Miracle Nail

Plastic fork

Barrette

Hair tie

Lip gloss

Tampon

Red pen

Purple pen

$1.36 in change

Because you just never know!

An X-ray of Me...

On the inside, should you take an emotional x-ray, you'd find a molten mess of a romantic wanna-be.  A heart that's been duct taped, super glued and hand stitched back together.  I pride myself in that it's whole.  For now.

Oh, I play a good jaded game on the outside...as I deserve.  I've not had much luck...so I pull that Crab shell over me and pretend the world is peachy, hunky dory, righteous.  (Yeah, I just pulled out the astrology on you.)

But, bless my heart, I keep going back into the ring to take more beatings.  (maybe this is a blog about cliches...)

A friend of mine shared something he had written about me while he was attempting to explain to another friend why he had sent me flowers.  Disclaimer is that he and I have known each other since we were 4 and in preschool together.  I love his wife.  We are friends.  NOT with benefits.

He wrote, not in entirety:

While she is attractive on the outside her inside needs a lot of help. Most people she encounters push a bullshit story her way because they are just looking at the outside. There is no value in those friendships. She has been hurt so many times by guys that she is very jaded about love but she keeps trying to meet someone. She has been slowly getting her life together in a way that is building confidence, self-worth and self-acceptance.

Ouch.  And that's even with the parts I deleted.

The truth hurts.

I was trying to find ways to make this funny, but it isn't happening.  But maybe it can be a lesson to someone reading it.  

Milk is free as long as you let it to be.

We all have our personal demons.

I love like I sing....totally engaged, but a little off key.

If I can get a better toe-hold by asking for advice, I will.

I had a chance to be a part of something recently.  I'm not sure the reason I'm not makes much sense to me, actually. (If you could follow that one, you know we well!) I mean, I can pretty much document every time I've fucked something up...and this time I fucked it up because I was trying hard NOT TO?  I'm 42 not 16 but the dating world still doesn't get any easier.  Maybe a break could be given now and then.  I just know I'm really sad about it. And one day, it too will move behind me.

But that last experience led me to this.  And led me to my friend sharing his thoughts.  And led me to learning how my true friends see me.  This is NOT a bad thing.

Thank you.

Santa

I enjoy a lot of the things that Buzz Feed publishes.  I've groaned and moaned and cried and twitched to many of the 'lists.'

I've seen this one before but it popped up on my Facebook feed again:  http://www.buzzfeed.com/awesomer/people-who-are-really-nailing-this-parenting-thing

Read it.  I'll wait.

So imagine how bummed I was to find out I didn't make the list.  TWICE.  I offer evidence A and B.

Last Christmas.

Evan told Santa Claus that he wanted a REAL Pokemon.  Not a real figurine. Not a real video.  He wanted a REAL FREAKING POKEMON.

Santa got him an assortment of Pokemon essentials and left him THIS note (Evidence A):

Ethan was a little more specific with his desire of everything Dragon Ball Z:

Santa had to think on his feet for this one as well (Evidence B):

On second thought, I don't need to be on some list to know that Santa could take care of it all! :)

The Three Es

I'm an adaptable person...but often one the gets sidetracked by self-imposed intimidation.

Wait!

Backing up...beep! beep! beep!

Aside from a photo shoot for a German bike magazine when I was 19 - NO I don't have the pictures...UGH - the below pictures are as close as I've EVER gotten to being a 'biker chick':

I know...super super hilarious, right??!!  WTF was up with the side Pebbles ponytail??!!  And the pants that ride up to my boobs?  (You know I love you that I'm sharing these pictures HA!)  But look at how BADASS I am glaring at you over those dime store shades.  I. Am. JEN, MF.

And the term I used:  'biker chick'.  I definitely don't mean it to be derogatory... that phrase actually hums in my head...whispers like an offered promise.

It's not that I WANT to ride a bike.  Or be on the back of one.  It's just that, ya know, maybe I think they're cool with all of their confidence and what not.  Like, who wouldn't WANT to be Brigitte Bardot??!!

Holy hell she's hot.

Or Elizabeth Taylor...or Sarah Ferguson...

Which leads me back to the point of this.  There was a band I wanted to see...for ABSOLUTELY professional reasons only ;)  and they were playing a few Saturdays ago at a 'biker bar.'  I thought, NO PROBLEM.  I got this.

Dressed in what I jokingly called 'classy groupie' wear - short white shorts, Banana Republic top, black leather BLAZER. - Oh wait, I have a picture:

And SO missed the mark.  I waited in the parking lot until my GF got there because I was so freaking intimidated by the struts of the women and the possessiveness of the men.  What I  perceived to be a clique-ish atmosphere.

Dumb.

Dumb.

Dumb.

That was 30 minutes I spent being self-doubting that could have been used MUCH better.  As evidenced above, I shook my booty that night and met a gazillion great people.  What did we learn, class??!!  To expand, experience, and explore. :)

Reality

I started my morning with a short hispanic woman named Dorito fondling my breasts.

Dorita.  Not Dorito.  (I was hungry this morning)

And she wasn't actually fondling them...she was positioning them between two pieces of plastic so she could smash the hell out of them.

(How in the world do women with A cups get mammograms?  That would be a bitch.  Not that it's any more fun when you're my size.  There's a lot more to SQUISH.)

I found myself being a stage mom when I happened to catch a glimpse of the screen.  "Geez, that's really not the right one's best side...it just doesn't look perky enough...maybe I should ask for a re-do."

I kid because I'm terrified.  I've been through ultrasounds, MRIs and even a biopsy in the past decade.  One of the most riveting female body parts to men is the cause of such concern to women.  My test today wasn't scheduled out of concern; I'm simply of a certain age that needs to get checked once a year.  But look at the seemingly outbreak of celebrity breast cancer:

Olivia Newton-John, Edie Falco, Melissa Etheridge, Giuliana Rancic, Cynthia Nixon, Sheryl Crow, Robin Roberts, Christina Applegate, Kylie Minogue, Sharon Osbourne, Judy Blume, Richard Roundtree, Suzanne Somers, Betsey Johnson, Kathy Bates, Jaclyn Smith, Angelina Jolie.  

Cancer can hit anyone.

And it hit close to home for me.  I woke up one day from a dream that I was going to die from breast cancer at the age of 46, to a phone call from my mom that my aunt had been diagnosed.  I want to say she was 45, but I could be wrong.  I was 30, maybe.  My aunt is now a 10+ year survivor...and Evan's godmother.  Only made the most sense:  He was born on her 50th birthday!

Because of my aunt, I know that, should bad news come up, I will be able to survive. She is one of the strongest women I know...and a perfect example of survival with the help of grace.

A brief moment of clarity

By scrolling down my Facebook newsfeed this evening, I was suddenly hit on the head with the realization of what it  is I think I want.

No joke.

I want to be able to look at a picture and be able to focus NOT on how much I want to change about myself but how much happiness I see in all of our faces.

THAT will do it for me.  The second I stop thinking my upper arms are gross.

From the Archives of FB...

Wacky Dream from the Past

by Jenifer Marr (Notes) on Wednesday, September 12, 2012 at 9:07am

PublicFriendsFriends except AcquaintancesOnly MeCustomClose FriendsNorthwestern University AthleticsSee all lists...Waukegan, Illinois AreaNorthwestern University Men's BasketballPARK LANEThe BreadwinnerNorthwestern University - Materials Research InstituteSt. Martin de Porres High SchoolNorthwestern University95 Wiil rockJewels by Park LaneFamilyMarion L.SteeleAcquaintancesGo Back

Because of all my dream talk lately, a friend of mine sent me a recount of a dream I had in February.  At first I didn't remember it at all and then the 'pot luck' made it allllll come back!  Here's what I told him:

"So it started with me hanging out with the young guy and hugging him...his body was VERY thin...then he kissed me after taking out his gun and transfered a penny into my mouth because 'it was the third day anniversary of us being together.'  Next scene, it was like 3am and we were having a little fun...my mom and uncle walked into my room.  I covered him and had to listen to her ridicule me because i had two HUGE hickeys on my neck.

So next, I'm driving a U Haul and get stuck in the snow.  The cops come, look at my drivers license and tell me that I do not have the proper authorization so I have to go to jail...I had an 'A' and I needed a 'K'...but that I could show up later or tomorrow so that I had time to go to the store, pack a bag and get my item for the pot luck.

I get a phone call from the young guy, after I'm done shopping at Target, where the cashier is flirting with me but I have to tell him I am going to jail...and he tells me that he is on the way to a first date with someone who said she was referred by me...and he even wrote her a good insurance policy because I recommended her!

So, I'm in jail...with Max, who did something too...and my cousin and some peeps from high school...and the warden asks me and Max to read this poem...which is actually a song.  So we do.  and then I woke up."

This, my friends, is what goes through my head at night!  Thanks, Jim, for sending it back to me!!

Radio Silence to Full Access

Gosh, it's so damn hard to go radio silent.  But when  you find out your bosses 'follow you,' it's generally a phenomenal idea!

So I waited out the trivial stuff, until I had something really GOOD that I wanted to share.  Because that's just how I roll, darlin'.

I. DID.  IT.  (Not HIM, IT!!)  I swore I wouldn't and yet I did.  Sometimes I think I did it just so I could manipulate my public persona.  Create a ME that was new and improved.  Be Jen 2.0.

I joined an online dating service.

For one month.

But, I wimped out on the Jen 2.0.  I am me.  Just me.  Jen 1.0.  Bugs and all.

I used this as my profile picture:

Actual Profile Picture

And also added this picture:

and this one:

The response has been tepid at best.

I wonder why.  Sigh.








KIDDING!!





I should have said I was the DirecTV Genie!

Holy God she's hot!  And so so SO not me!

I really did join a dating service.  Gosh, it was hard.  They ask you these questions about what you want (are you talking in REAL life or in my dreams?).  Like the age thing.  I woulda put 26-28, but I didn't want to be creepy.  So I put 35-45.  Much more realistic right?  (How the HELL do I know?  I'm the one that had to join a dating site!)

And the winks?  Who winks anymore?  At least it's not the Facebook 'poke' but they should have thought it out more.  Maybe a 'salute' or a 'head nod.'  A 'Hug.'  Or a 'Toast."  That's it.  A 'Toast'  I could sure as hell use a toast more than a wink at the end of the day (or during the day as I'm checking out my winks.)

I've gotten response, like a piece of bloody meat would get in a shark tank.  Most of them are warning me about the scammers, which makes me certain that they are scammers. Some seem desperate.  NO NO I won't babysit your nephews so you can go to Finland!!!  But no one has shown up at my door.

Good thing for them.  Bad thing for my dog.  (She's in desperate need of a date, too)

I started last Saturday. Today is Tuesday.  My stats are:  viewed by 372.  Favorited by 6 (wth).  Winks (eek) received: 35  Winks sent:  1 (what can I say, I'm passive!!).  Emails received - which was the damn reason I had to plunk down the cash:  74

This ISN'T about numbers, of course.  It's about our own version of quality.  And I'm sure I'll be butting heads with different versions along the way.  But.  Unless you've gotten some directive from above, it's hard to find quality in this type of venue without quantity.

I have a date coming up by doing things this way.  Without it, I was averaging a date a year.

The $35 was earmarked for a tanning membership.  This is SO much less fake ;)

Foibles to Hide the Visuals

A projected high of 41 is a certifiable HEAT WAVE in the Midwest after months of subarctic temps and mounds of delightfully despicable snow.  While I didn't break out the capris and flips (even though it IS the end of March) I shimmied into one of my favorite outfits.  The authentic brown retro dress floats down my (more and more so) curvy body.  The front has an extra little kick.  And the piece de resistance are the thigh highs and boots.  You may remember it from here:

Not me!  But I got my idea for the outfit from this pic!

I've worn it before with out a hitch.  Several times.  Today, not so much.  Today, it felt more like this:

You get the idea, right?

 


than this:

In my dreams.

When I walked more than three feet, they - the dastardly thigh highs -  gave me elephant knees before pooling at my ankles.  Imagine me walking down the hallways, a hand on each side of my thigh, grasping the elastic for dear life.  (It's okay, you can snicker.  Guffaw even if you must.)  The last time I was in this position was doing the polka at my first wedding.

No, they didn't play at ANY of my two million weddings.

I think there has to be some sort of extra cardio involved in all of that.  Shuffle Shuffle Grab! - Jen's Fashion Foible Carbio - only $19.99!  Not sold in stores!

Why am I telling you this?  Because I needed to get my mind off what I REALLY wanted to talk about - errr - show you today.  And that's this:

http://oliviacunning.wordpress.com/2013/03/27/hottie-hump-day-60/

Think of what I did for you up there as a preemptive cold shower.  If you didn't need it, you're not breathing!

Can I blame publicity?

Holy crap, I figured it out!

While I was bleaching my bathroom floor, thinking about the next nugget of NECESSARY knowledge that I was going to tweet out (which has been really really really hard this weekend due to the muzzle I've strapped on to keep my inner snark silenced - if you know me outside of this drivel, you'll know why this was necessary.  A topic I WON'T talk about - maybe more like CAN'T) like the fact that I was bleaching my bathroom floor, it CAME to me.

The reason.

The reason I'm single.

I read hundreds of passive aggressive Facebook statuses every day (did you think I was BORN this way?!).  That may be the ONLY category that outweighs the mushy statuses..."I'm at the DMV...with my love (tag reluctant boyfriend here)."  "OMG, my love breathed.  I'm SO in love."  "Awww, I'm ironing my love's underwear.  I KNOW there's a ring coming soon."  "I love (insert name here) so much I don't care when he farts."

If I was a valley girl, I'd say Gag Me with a Fucking Spoon.

But that HAS to be the issue.  My public job.  My penchant for publicity.  For all the dude knows, I'll publish the transcripts of the first phone sex call.  Shame on him.  (Oohh...wait. that's a GREAT idea!!)

TEASING.

I'm MUCH better on video.

I'm not 16.  or 23.  or 30.  I don't need to make my every romantic move known.  Case in point, who here knows the last time I actually went on a date?  Kissed a guy?  Had sex?

SEE?

Preaching to my 22 followers, I know.

And if someone here says I'm single for reasons OTHER than what I stated, you're disowned.

LA. DI. DA

A ton of my friends (well, in all honesty maybe only one or two, three at the most - it just sounds more dramatic to say a TON - oh, and cue the 'Adopt a Pet' stock music in three, two, one...) have been expressing concern lately that I am too jaded, too cynical, being too self-deprecating and making fun of myself too damn much.

I think that if you're good at something, REALLY REALLY good at something, you should keep doing it.  Unless it's snorting coke.  Then you should stop.  Or eating deodorant.  Yep, you should stop.

Making fun of myself is on my short list of things I do REALLY REALLY well.  And like the other things I do REALLY REALLY well, I'd like to keep doing it.

Not to mention, there's a new word out there that ya'll should keep in mind.  SARCASM.  The 'c' sounds like a 'k' for you newbies and it ends in -asm, just like one of my all time favorite words.

Come to think of it, my other favorite -asm word is both a noun AND a verb!  How did I get so lucky?!?!

But because these TON of  people are my friends, I wrote them a little ditty:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

No need for a straight jacket

Any time soon.

Oh, and...

Pbllllffffttt!

It's sweet that they're concerned and all, so to show my appreciation, there will be a detour today from the normal content of this blog while we enjoy some f#@king kittens and rainbows.

Soft Kitty, Warm Kitty, Drank up all the wine...BAD KITTY!

And because you deserve it, a bonus UNICORN!  Score!