Would you agree with me when I say that females are hardwired to remember certain things?  Not EVERYTHING, mind you, but only certain things.  Things that generally get other people stuck in the dog house.  Or, the woman fretting about the memory for YEARS.  Shit like this:

• Remember that time that you told Mom that I was wearing her clothes?
• What do you MEAN you think I look great in this dress?  Don't you remember when you told me I needed to start working out?
• How could you FORGET that you told me you wouldn't play poker/craps/baseball/hockey on our planned date night?
• Oh, I remember you specifically telling me that you thought she was a bitch. 
• Oh God. I didn't really strip down to my lime green bikinis that say "Cum and Get Me" and dance on the bar in '99, DID I??!!
• Honey, you TOLD me that I could have these Minolos...remember?  After the 48 hours of childbirth??
• Wait.  Oh God.  I did.  With him.  And our reunion is coming up.

While not all memories are bad, not all memories are good.  While I move further into this story, I want to throw a few disclaimers in.  Some of this may be made up.  Some of this may not.  I won't confirm nor deny.  Let's journey.

I can remember the first time I 'felt funny' at seeing another woman's body.  It was during a slumber party and we were watching Benny Hill.  His voluptuous model kept taking off tee shirts with words on them, like signs.  Until she was nude.  

I guess these are some of the models:

HA!  No, I lied.  THESE are some of his models:

And I was the one that describe the model as voluptuous.  Huh.

Moving on.

I don't really remember my first kiss.  I know I probably should because you guys think that I'm like this uber romantic chick because I post smarmy stuff on Facebook.  But I. Don't. Remember.  I remember my first 'french kiss' though...different?  

I remember because I was in the upper living room of my parent's house (my house) which was cream and peach and so proper (even though we weren't) and  I remember that my parents were in the 'mother in law suite.' And it was gross.  And it was with a drummer in the marching band.  (I was a coronet player).  When I saw him at HIS 20th, he caught me up to date on a BUNCH of history that I had missed.  Yikes.  Who knew first (french) kisses caused so much division.

I know you would LOVE for me to touch on my 'first time,' as it applies to the sex world (ha ha ha ha).  I can't.  Well...maybe I can as I just looked ahead to the next topic I've laid out.  (there will obviously be no pictures accompanying this..that habit came MUCH later in life!)  I'll tell you that it was awful.  I'll tell you that it wasn't planned.  I'll tell you that I was tipsy and he was stoned.  I'll tell you that I'm glad I don't have daughters and that I'm hopeful my son was much more respectful.  I won't tell with who because there were two people t here.  (actually there were three, but the third was oblivious inside the house).

So there IS a difference between having sex and making love...ALL women know this.  And the smart men do too.  Embarrassingly, I remember going to a party and actually TELLING someone that I had FINALLY made love.  I was 17.  (Gosh, Mom and Dad, I hope you've signed off by now...)  I was oblivious.  Clueless.  A sheep.  I really didn't know what it meant until I was much much MUCH older.  Significantly older.  Remember what I keep harping about?  That sex in your late 30's is ALL THAT?  That happens with love too...

But first...

You can make mistakes.  And I make a lot of them.  There are times when you seduce the wrong person at the right time and feel the worse for it.  You KNOW that you connect with this person on various levels...you're both the same, just with different chromosomes.  But he or she is married and you know that you need to watch.  But you don't.  And maybe you let shit happen...or you nudge it to happen...and even while it's happening you know that you wished you could have just held on to the friendship that was budding.

Because what can also hit you is the payback for messing around.  In comes in the form of a devil walking that shoots lust at you and takes you at your knees.  I'm not saying that i know this in payback form...but I will say that I know this exists.

And here lies my last memory of the day.  The moment that I became completely and totally aware that my body had been overtaken by an extreme alien being.

I was walking out of the bathroom at work and I heard a voice.  All of a sudden, I can't speak, I can't breathe, I'm shaking violently and I'm wondering how i'm going to make it back to my desk.  I do so, my avoidance.  Even though I'm an adult, I can't do much better than that.

I can't. Because I have been completely, fully, knocked out of my loop by lust- pure lust - for the first time in my memory. I IMMEDIATELY contacted two of my friends who laughed knowingly.

Memories.  That's what I was talking about, right?

I forget.

By Formal Invitation...

Yesterday for work, I hand-wrote 19 invitations to an event coming up for the team's booster club.  HAND-WROTE.  With a pen.  In cursive.  In part, I did it because I was tired of the generic flyers that  I've been creating.  In part, it was because some of my boosters don't use email.  I KNOW!

I worried that the hand-written invites would seem gauche, garish and pedestrian.  But maybe I worried for nothing. One of my boosters called today to RSVP and proclaimed my invites 'wonderful.'

Of course, he's one of the ones without email.  Or a cell phone.  Which means he doesn't text.  So OF COURSE my antiquated method would be wonderful.

But.

HAHA!  Hand-written invites.  Perhaps I can use this in my personal non-existent social life.  I mean, it's not like I've ever really INVITED anyone to go out with me.  With a purple-cursived invite.

So here goes:

Maybe I should rewrite it?

Well, it's a place to start.  Pass it along!!

I'm Just a Foodie Wanna-Be

From the archives:

Bulgar wheat.  Flax seed.  Agave Nectar.  8 jars of homemade jam from Georgia.  Champagne from 5 years ago.  Two bags of low fat Mexican shredded cheese - and one of low fat Mozzarella.  Candy from last Easter, last Christmas, last Halloween, TWO Easters, Christmases & Halloweens ago.  Jumbo sized bag of frozen Tilapia filets.  Three frozen bags of rice.  Frozen quarts of homemade soup.  Edemame.  And so goes the never-ending list of contents from my 'pantry', refrigerator and freezer.  I realized today that I may (may) have an issue (certainly not a problem).

I can probably whip up a meal for about 10 right now without batting an eyelash.  Even if I didn't have a fresh baguette of bread on hand, I have plenty of 'sandwich thins' to be creative with.  If I didn't have any canned spaghetti sauce in which to dress the 6 boxes of pasta in the pantry (which are now forbidden due to latest diet), I have canned tomatoes (regular, salt-free or spicy), olive oil, spices and probably a little red wine.  Unless I drank it.  And then it's off to the store where, oh wait - don't I need some tomatoes?  And some spaghetti sauce??  See the problem?

This is what my fridge and freezer look like:

Here is my pantry:

I proposed to my BFF that he produce a new show (HE is a TRUE foodie).  It'd be called "A Meal from your Pantry in 30 Minutes" (but infinitely more clever).  I'd claim to be his muse (hey, there's a first time for anything!!).  LOL!

Wanna come over?  I've got plenty of food.

Pokemon Hell...

From the archives:

Meet Peitilil.  He/She/It was involved in the torture that I went through tonight.

Oh crap.  Did I say that out loud?  Help ME!!!  I just can't do Pokemon.  Or Dragonball Z for that matter.  Power Rangers Dino Thunder was okay because Dr. O was H.O.T.  

Pokemon.  WhoTF decided to create these little bastards and named them?  Hang on...headed to wiki...

Okay, so there is a lot of mumbo jumbo about it being a Japanese company that was started in '96.  Hooked into Nintendo.  Blah blah blah.  Here's what I was looking for:

The name Pokémon is the romanized contraction of the Japanese brand Pocket Monsters (ポケットモンスター Poketto Monsutā^?),^[7] as such contractions are quite common in Japan. The term Pokémon, in addition to referring to the Pokémon franchise itself, also collectively refers to the 649 fictional species that have made appearances in Pokémon media as of the release of the fifth generation titles Pokémon Black 2 and White 2. "Pokémon" is identical in both the singular and plural, as is each individual species name; it is grammatically correct to say "one Pokémon" and "many Pokémon", as well as "one Pikachu" and "many Pikachu".

THERE ARE 649 OF THESE LITTLE THINGS.

Remind me that I'm so happy I don't have girls.

I'm so screwed.

Public Domains

A little more than 14 hours ago, I put forth a challenge to myself to be less 'public.'

I did it publically, of course. 

Some may find that ironic, but it's like telling everyone that you're going to quit smoking so THEY can also hold you accountable.

1981.  No joke.  NO, not me :)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I immediately turned off Facebook, since that is my primary day-to-day divulging arena (I get a bit spicier here...) but saw from a few emails that I was getting some comments.  Understandably, there was a lack of conviction that I could do it.  Fact is, I'm a blabber!

But in addition, I also got a response saying I WAS a private person...based on the amount of info I left unsaid.

So let's look at this a bit more starting with S. E. X.  (Haha, like I'd start anywhere else!!)

Did you know that out of all of my current Facebook friends, I have been in an non-platonic situation with 4% of them?  Of course you didn't.  I don't kiss and tell.  While I may HINT to having an intimate exploit, you never know if it is truly something that happened or something that came to me in a daydream...that's what makes it fun!  (and no, I'm not saying I did the horizontal mambo with these blokes...'non-platonic' could mean a simple date.) 

Also, if in fact I HAVE had a mind blowing experience, you don't know what Dick, Peter or Johnson I'm talking about. 

If I were to say, "OMG, his EARS were so big!" you'd be able to figure it out.

But here's a fun stat about this 4%...almost universally, the adventure didn't happen BECAUSE we were Facebook friends...

...It wasn't like me sharing that the bus had come five minutes early caused someone to have such an uncontrollable bout of lust that they immediately decided I needed to be taken against the nearest wall...

In a vast majority of the cases, the date or smooch or what-not happened YEARS before Facebook even became popular.  (Told ya, it's been a long drought...)


10 or so years ago, my PD at Extreme Country said, "you need to decide if you are going to live your real life on the air or if you are going to hide behind a character."  Seeing as I'm not a good actress, I chose to stick with what I knew, for better or worse - Jen Marr.  And I've carried that tendency with me.  Can't (won't?) apologize for that!

I don't share because of narcissism or because of the need for attention.  I share because those of you that read this are in my sphere of influence. 

• Perhaps you're parents and can identify with something I'm going through with the boys. 

• Perhaps you're shaking your head at me thinking, "God, at least it's not only me!" 

•  Perhaps you're a bit younger than me and wonder if sex truly DOES get Out-Of-Control-Amazing after the age of 40 (Oh, it does honey.  It REALLY does!).  

• Maybe you're a single male on Facebook and wonder if I'll go out with you even though we've never met (chances are slight).  

•  Maybe I just want to see if I can get a chuckle from someone.

So bear with me.  I can't be bottled up.  With no spouse, boyfriend, significant other, stalker, cabana boy or masseuse in my life, I NEED YOU!

We'll start with some conversation and move to your soul

...eventually :)