July 07, 2008

Head Out of the Sand for a Moment

Suddenly work isn't so bad, HOLY CRAP, I had Friday off!, and it gives me time to think.

I spent Independence Day, well, independently, watching from my balcony about 5 different displays of fireworks from afar, none of which I managed to capture as more than a blur, before I returned to the task at hand, moving everything out of one of my bedrooms to accommodate incoming Neeta (she's like a missile, yo!).

Then I hung out with Penny, Jeff, Jeff's wife Jen, Mom and Dad in SF for a day, site of the groundhog? above, before driving back down to LA.

And having this whole weekend to myself, it gave me a lot to chew on, aside from the beef jerky, my ABFAV and ABNEC road trip treat, that I gnawed on as I headed there and back across the Grapevine with my windows down and HEAT ON to protect my 111,789-mile Subaru.

Soooo.

Questions for you:

1. [Question removed because I've already made up my mind and if you disagree with my choice, what is the point in knowing that? Instead, I will tell you that I could really go for some ice cream right now! And it's 8:30 a.m.!]

2. Signs that I am grown up: (a) I have kept a basil plant alive for a couple months now; (b) I eat fruit on a daily basis; (c) I make my bed; (d) I stopped finding two-buck Chuck tolerable about 2 years ago; and (e) I take 6:00 a.m. Pilates Plus, with all the moms. The hotties take the 7:00, so they stroll in and watch me and the moms grunt through the oblique teasers in our (ok, MY, the moms in my neighborhood are quite fashionable) 1992 (really!) holey Champion tees and Target sweatpants, while they're in their tank tops and Lululemon pants (OK, I am totally getting a pair). What are the tell-tale signs of adulthood for you?

3. Do you think there is an innate level of Cheese that you just can never get accustomed to? Like, for instance, I have never begun an email, "Hey, handsome." I have, however, begun and concluded an email with, "DUDE! I think I may have a hernia. You are the funniest person I know. xoxo, Gossip Girl," or started off with, "Dear Crazy Person." You know what I mean? I am not just talking about emails to dudes, here, although for some reason (maybe because I watched it with Penny this weekend), that episode of SATC is coming to mind where Carrie freaks out because she just can't handle The Russian's largesse of romantic gestures and has to go to Mickey Ds for a sodium-laden reprieve. Anyway, maybe that is the wrong term, Cheese, maybe I just mean, you know, earnestness when it comes to being affectionate. Can you get used to someone who's more earnest than you?

Also, do you want fries with that?

Inquiring minds want to know.

xoxo,
Gossip Girl

Posted by jen at 09:13 PM | Comments (4)

May 21, 2008

In the Words of Randy Newman

I love L.A.

Of course, everyone I know and love who doesn't live here hates it. And tells me so. Repeatedly.

And due to my recent existential crisis tentatively titled, "I hate my job" (apparently, not the first job I have felt this about?) I've thought about moving elsewhere.

Just like I have, oh, every 6 months since I started living here in 2001.

But L.A. always calls me back.

I know, I know, the traffic, the superficiality, the necessity of a car, the incessant SUN, oh December, you disappoint me with your 70 degrees and balmy so I will go to The Grove where there is fake snow and also, Nordstrom. Yay, I feel Christmas-y again.

The other day I was driving along Beverly, though, and passed by the hotel I used to always stay at before I moved here, the Beverly Laurel (downstairs is Swingers where apparently Drew Carey treated all the Writers' Guild to a hefty discount during the strike and also where Romy & Michelle from Romy & Michelle's High School Reunion decide to go to their reunion) and I remembered why I moved here.

My then-boyfriend Allan and I came down here for work, and we walked (oh yes, we WALKED, crazy San Franciscans; I believe Baudriallard said it best in America, when he wrote, "If you get out of your car in this centrifugal metropolis, you immediately become a delinquent; as soon as you start walking, you are a threat to public order, like a dog wandering in the road" (ok, maybe Missing Persons said it best)) around the hood. And we headed out to Largo on a random Tuesday and saw Jon Brion. Hello?! And maybe we bought me some freaky flame underwear on Melrose slightly (ok, really) drunk after JB and what is that if not impetus to make a life change?

And then we drove everywhere, and I saw all the LA people doing their freaky shiite. And I fell In Love.

In. Love.

People in LA are weird. I understand if you don't find want to hear about someone's latest master cleanse when you're having a Wednesday night cocktail at your local wine bar, or aren't down with the fact that most of our best restaurants are in strip malls, or can't get past the smog.

But I walked around and saw FUN. Light, fluffy, FUN.

And you know? I tend naturally toward the morose and introspective. I spend too much time playing my own private detective, toeing up stones and gently prying open drawers to see what I've been hiding even from myself.

Los Angeles is a good balance to that.

And you, recipients of the angst, should be grateful.

I may not be entirely happy (yet), but looks like another perfect day.

Posted by jen at 11:53 PM | Comments (4)

April 16, 2008

I Guess I'll Just Check the Box for 25-45 and Not Worry About It

Well, today was awesome.

I got up early today to drop off my car at the Hollywood Pep Boys before work so that I can drive to my weekend work retreat (yay! a weekend with the same people I see 10 hours a day, FABULOUS!) without my car overheating.

And while for the first five minutes on the train to work, I was thinking, hey, I should just brave the extra 30 minutes a day to take the bus (public transport is awesome, Steely Dan and I are ONE, I'll be saving the world, yay!), then the train sat in the station for 15 minutes and I watched two people PICK THEIR NOSES and then grip the Metro poles and I was like, well...

And then! tonight on the way back I made the mistake of taking my earbuds out to respond to some dude who then proceeded to TOUCH MY LEG in the context of telling me how I looked like I played high school sports (?), and I was like, NEVER AGAIN.

But I wouldn't be me if I didn't take life lessons from the dude who molested me on the subway. No, this very-same totally stoned-out-of-his-mind, DJ-cum-budding entrepreneur made me think. He (2 minutes after meeting him) mentioned the high likelihood that we would eventually be married (I think because I was wearing, as Laurie calls it, my Cardigan of Constant Sorrow, which in the minds of men apparently ups the odds you'll take them home and bed them at even the hint of matrimonial intentions). And I was like, "I'm not really looking for that right now, thanks."

Which, you know, is a total lie.

And yet, you would not suspect it was a falsehood given what I'm up to in the dating sphere these days. For some reason (well, he makes me laugh), I'm seeing this 40-some-odd-year-old artist who's relocating to a desert yurt in a few months, and the other prospect is a 25-year-old friend of a friend, who, while cute as an incredibly handsome button in my eyes, doesn't believe that wine really CAN have a hint of apricot, and who after (so I hear) finally working up the courage to ask for my number, proceeded to tell me, "But work is crazy right now, so don't be surprised if I don't call you for a couple weeks."

Uh-huh.

I guess my face must have betrayed my incredulity because this was followed closely by, "You make a lot of funny expressions."

And really, what I wanted to say was, "How do you expect me to respond to that?" or DUDE, the COMPLETE LAPSE in judgment I'm currently suffering in giving you my number will have resolved itself in two weeks and I will likely be COMPLETELY HORRIFIED at my own idiocy and pretend we never met.

Instead, I said, "I suppose I do."

This neutral statement must have conveyed the intended message, however, because (miracle!) I got a call a couple days later.

So now, here I am, dating two totally inappropriate people, no idea what I'm doing, not sure why I'm doing this, and if you have any ideas, I'm all ears.

For right now, the only judgment I'm going to exercise is the decision not to take public transport again. Makes me think too much.

Posted by jen at 10:27 PM | Comments (11)

February 24, 2008

I Take It All Back

Well, no sooner did I declare my intention to Live Healthily and Coat My Underarms in Nature's Sweetness Only than I spent the next three days eating dinners consisting of either Cheez-Its and Froot Loops or Trader Joe's buffalo wings. You, like most everyone I know, may already have been suspicious of any grand pronouncements I make, but if you weren't: SUCKAH!

Back on the wagon as of tomorrow, however, EXCEPT FOR THE DEODORANT.

It's all well and good for work, I guess, but if you'll remember, my need for aluminum-free pits came second to my desire to instigate a torrid affair, and I have discovered that the two Do Not Mix.

Imagine my horror, engaging in some perfectly innocent kissing this evening when a whiff of, oh, hang on a sec, what is that, OMG, it's MY OWN BODY ODOR, hit me. Jeebus.

Hello, my sweet little Dove. I love you, I want you back, please forgive me. Real Beauty may come in many colors and sizes, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't come in Stank.

Also, have you seen that horrible Billy Crystal vehicle, Forget Paris? One of the few incredibly funny moments in that scene is when poor Ellen (Debra Winger) is driving Mickey (BC)'s geezery dad around town and he's droning out very single road sign he sees, Wannamaker's Tires, Benny's Donuts, etc., not realizing he's doing it and driving Ellen to hari kari.

Um, I have a similar tendency. Sometimes I'll have a thought in my head and say it out loud and not realize I did it, and then, two minutes later, I'll realize, oh hey, I wanted to say that thought out loud and then I'll do so -- and the person I'm with will look at me like I'm totally insane, like, yeah, you said that two minutes ago.

And it's like a reflex! I cannot be stopped. If you drive me past a landmark that has a particular association with me, I will tell you about it. Even if I have told you 12 times before, one of which was two minutes ago when I first had the thought and said it out loud without realizing.

In Argentina, with The Boy, he once idly mentioned that he could get a haircut while we were there, and once he did, damn it if every time we saw a salon I didn't say, "oh, you could get your haircut" -- even after he told me, more than a little pointedly, that he had decided he didn't want one. My little mind just couldn't be rerouted: hair salon = hair cut for The Boy --> "oh, you could get your haircut." It was horrible. Finally he told me I was giving him a complex and I was able to move on. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

I bring this up because in addition to smelling to high heaven this evening, I believe I also told my date twice: "this is the same street where I bought my flamenco shoes." I thought it once, then unconsciously said it out loud because I have no filter, and then thought to myself, gee, wouldn't he like to know this is where I bought my flamenco shoes, EVEN THOUGH I DON'T FLAMENCO, and told him again.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

If I am date-free again in two weeks, you'll know the cause: because I'm really an eighty-year-old man with a slight case of dementia and a severe case of B.O.

Posted by jen at 10:51 PM | Comments (16)

February 19, 2008

In & Out

First, I have to say that I love the movie In & Out, because I love Kevin Kline, primarily because of Soap Dish and The Big Chill, but also because he is still married to Phoebe Cates, one of the most beautiful doe-eyed women in the world, and if they ever get divorced I will be a little depressed.

I also love In-n-Out Burger, but not their very real but very soggy fries. Burger King, you will always have my road-trip heart.

Anyway, here is the out(side) of the precious journal that Neeta got me for my birthday to keep track of all my potential blog entries/thoughts:

And here's what I have so far on the in(side):

I am still working on (1), but I am loving (2). I never thought that I could wear just deoderant, not antiperspirant, Tom's of Maine no less, my nemesis during my post-UCSC anti-hippy days, but it's working out fine. Who knew?

Which brings me to the real point of this, my in/out thoughts.

For some reason, at 30, it never really hit me, the desire to better the state of my health. I figured as long as my clothes still fit and my crow's feet hadn't taken over my face, who cared? I was only focused on the Out.

At 31, however, for some reason things changed. I'm not sure what, but one morning I woke up and decided I could no longer subsist on Cheez-Its, Lean Cuisine pizzas and peanut M&Ms. Oh, and my mainstay, sweet, sweet Coca-Cola. Oh sure, I've gone through phases before where I tried to eat some fruit, but they always lasted about 2 days and were prompted by the desire to please my friends and family.

Now, for some reason, it's me who actually like, CARES, what I ingest! It's so weird, and so fun I really can't believe it. I've been eating these weird things called leafy greens, and buying organic, eating OATS for goodness sake, and now I'm wearing some freaking aluminum-free Tom's of Maine. OK, yesterday I ate a mini-box of Froot Loops for desert, but in general, I would say I'm finally starting to care what I put in my body. At 31. Hope it's not too late.

Posted by jen at 09:39 PM | Comments (10)

December 18, 2007

Starts and Stops

The last couple weeks have been full of starts and stops.

I've moved, progress.

But my apartment is too big and lonely for one person, my movers told me, which I hadn't thought about until then (thanks!) and now think about a fair amount.

Pause.

Of course, I shouldn't give anything my movers said credence since they spent the entire time complaining about my stairs and the hill that had to be ascended to reach my new apartment.

But whatever. I unpacked that first weekend, progress.

Yet I have no real bed, a side effect of a narrow staircase (box spring wouldn't fit), which has the extra side effect of making me wake up with one wonky eye every morning (weird, no?).

Pause.

I have painted all of one wall and my dresser, now serving as a buffet and bar because I have no room in the tiny kitchen. Progress, sort of.

I have gone out a few times, including to my firm Christmas party, at which I gave new and fabulous life to The Dress I Wore To My Boyfriend's Work Party That He Didn't Like The Night Before He Broke Up With Me. I got an updo! and my lovely new stylist put on fake eyelashes for me!

And afterwards, I met up with Neeta at Little Joy in Echo Park, where I worked my bouffant updo among the hipsters and punksters with pride.

Progress.

And I have wrapped all the presents that aren't arriving via the magic of the interweb.

Progress.

But I have yet to make the 15 batches of nut brittle for my coworkers, deadline Thursday. A result of my grumpy movers throwing away my baking soda without warning me (WTF?). And if you think I'm going out again tonight in the rain? In LA? Dude, I would not return home by morning.

Pause.

Progress, pause, start, stop, start, stop.

I love the holidays, as I've mentioned before, but I can't wait until it is 2008, when I can build a new routine in my new place, a new rhythm.

When I can just GO, no (or at least fewer) starts and stops.

Posted by jen at 10:02 PM | Comments (9)

November 02, 2007

Apparently I'm Going for More of a Matte Look

Well, all my shiny-ness lasted for approximately 1 day, woohoo!

I am not going to bore you with the details of The Matte Period of my life in in the interim.

BUT I went to dinner tonight with a friend for the first time in oh, FOREVER, it seems.

And -- shocker -- I've got plans this weekend. Who knew?

The guy (friend) I went out with tonight also went through an enormous breakup a while ago, and he was telling me that one of the best things that he learned from it was that people DO NOT CALL YOU, you have to call them, and that is A-OK! It is GOOD to reach out, it's alright to email, you are not bothering people, they are wrapped up in their own lives but are happy to hear from you and will make room for you where they can.

So true.

And! Speaking of surprises and prophetic, awe-inspiring insights, can I tell you that I have hit upon one of the great catch-22s of mankind?

No, really, I have.

This week I tried to, in addition to, via scones, depriving Starbucks of $1.75 or whatever in breakfast food revenue a day, hit its uber-chain bottom line hard by making my own coffee. And apparently? Um, you have to have already have HAD your coffee in order to remember to BRING the coffee that you have spent 10 precious minutes making -- that you could have been SLEEPING through, fyi -- with you to work?

Ah, the irony. I've got one hand in my pocket and the other one is drearily shelling out $1.60 for my small coffee in medium cup, please (I use a LOT of cream).*

But, people! Go forth and scone yourselves! By people I mean cowpuppetsofdoom and margaritavillain (nice names, man, i am so creative with the "jen" i use everywhere). All it takes is a scone mix from Whole Foods (my favorite, actually ended up hating the scones I made with my Ralph's currant scones mix), some whole milk, some eggs and if you are super ambitious a scone pan and some fennel seeds on top (my favorite), and you are in scone heaven.

Anyhoo, that's as much as I can manage, my shiny-ness being on hiatus and all. I hope it's enjoying itself, the missing shiny-ness. I hope it's just on a quick vacay to the BVI but is back on Friday with a tan and perhaps a yacht owner it's tired of and is ready to swing my way. But I'd be happy if it just had a slight sun-kissed glow, is well-rested, and is ready to shine up my life again. Too much matte isn't good for the pores, you know.

* Yes, I realize I have adopted Alanis' horrible definition of irony, but this is what happens to you when you are too lazy to think on your own.

Posted by jen at 09:41 PM | Comments (8)

October 28, 2007

Put Your Shiny Suit On, It's Monday!

First off, thank you all for your lovely comments. They definitely lightened the mood of this weekend, which was generally, um, not light.

Second, one (of the only, the other being decreased hair removal management) good thing about being newly single is the opportunity you have to reinvent yourself, to become the (bright! shiny!) New Single You.

Of course, becoming the (bright! shiny!) New Single You isn't terribly easy when you're miserable, but as one of Laurie's favorite sports metaphors goes, sometimes you've got to suit up, show up, and act as if.

The thing I'm struggling with is that historically, becoming the New Single Me has always involved going on a nutty diet, getting myself out there every weekend, adopting a new hobby, and dating someone incredibly inappropriate for a while until I end up with someone more long-term.

But you know? I'm too damn old for for that crap.

I've no idea who the (bright! shiny!) New Single Me is going to be.

Should I get a moped? (NO.) A tattoo? (NO.) Become an artisanal cheesemaker? (Saving that for retirement.) Move? (Maybe.)

No clue what I'm doing, but for now, I'm suited up.

I borrowed some library books for the bright! shiny! New Me Who Rides Public Transportation.

I made some FREAKING AWESOME (thank you, Martha's Great Food Fast) acorn squash with rosemary and shallots for the bright! shiny! New Me Who Cooks for Myself, Not Just for Others.

And I made some scones, for the bright! shiny! New Me Who Doesn't Pay Starbucks $1.80 a Day for Breakfast.

That's enough, right (please say yes, all this shininess has me exhausted)? That qualifies as acting as if, yes?

I don't know who exactly I'm asking -- you the reader, myself, the gods, who knows. But whomever it is, I bet the answer is more likely to be yes if I gave you that squash recipe, no?

Roasted Acorn Squash, Shallots and Rosemary

2 acorn squash (2 pounds each), halved
8 shallots, peeled, roots ends left intact (separate into lobes, if large)
6 small sprigs rosemary
3 tablespoons olive oil
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
Coarse salt and fresh ground pepper

1. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees. Carefully cut each squash half into four wedges.

2. Combine the squash on a rimmed baking sheet with the shallots, rosemary, olive oil and vinegar. Season with 2 teaspoons salt and 1/2 teaspoon pepper; toss well to coat and spread in a single layer.

3. Roast, turning the squash halfway through, until browned and tender, 35 to 40 minutes.

SERVES 4. (Or just one, Shiny New You.)

Posted by jen at 08:44 PM | Comments (18)

September 23, 2007

The 100 Kajillionth Anniversary of Your Mother Is Always Right

A couple weeks ago was the three-year anniversary of this here blog.

Realizing this set me thinking about what I was doing three years ago, just starting law school.

I went to law school because a) I was bored, b) I wanted a three-year break from working, c) I had hit the glass ceiling of the financial services industry, and d) I thought I might meet a nice boy there.

Three years later, a) I am certainly not bored, just anxious to do well, b) I miss Fridays off, why aren't all jobs on a four-day work week, TELL ME PEOPLE? doesn't four days seem more reasonable? c) yeah, I make a lot more, but I OWE MY LIFE to Sallie Mae, and d) I met the most wonderful man ever, but he lives in a different city.

But you know what? I am still OK with it all. You know why?

Because my mother tells me it's OK.

My mother has told me since I was 6, outlining my strategy for ascending to the presidency (pretty sure it involved cookies for all), that life doesn't turn out exactly like you were thinking, but it turns out OK. And she didn't tell me to discourage me from my path of being becoming the first female POTUS; hells, no, she is ready for any non-white, non-male to lead us into something better (I believe she last told me that if we could just a black lesbian in the office, all would be right with the world).

No, she told me that because it's true, and because if you plan too much, you miss things.

More recently, she told me not to act like my life is on pause. With The Boy in a different city, life sometimes feels unreal here, like I'm just going through the motions, waiting for something to happen that reunites us, somewhere.

But whatever, you can't live that way.

So last week I decided to re-engage. Not with the world, that's next week when I finally start calling people (baby steps), but with my home and my health.

For the home:
Dude, I cleaned EVERYTHING. And cleaned OUT everything.

This is my Goodwill pile:

I know what you are thinking: "Jen, wasn't one Goodwill debacle enough?"

But I'm totally over the loss of all my black shoes. You know why? Because it was an excuse to buy these!

(I paid only $49 for them at Shoe Pavilion, snap!)

Besides, I finally have room for all my clothes to fit on hangers, I've got my purses down to the bare essentials:

Do you see all that lovely space, enabling me to actually FIND something to wear in under 5 minutes in the morning?

I am so excited!

For my health:
I started knitting and running again, both of which help relax me after work. And I have astonished my friends and family by purchasing, and eating!, fruits and salad.

The latter part might be because as part of this whole getting rid of non-working clothing, cosmetics, etc., I also decided to get rid of my analog scale and replace it with a digital one. And, well, I'd always suspected that my analog scale broke the news gently to me. Alas. My suspicions were confirmed when my weight suddenly jumped up five pounds. Part of me was like, "Oh, the horror." But the rest of me shrugged a whatevs. I've been marginally contented with my weight for the past few years, and that it's heavier than I thought doesn't change the way I look.

Nonetheless, pass the salad! And the fruit.

They're good for you.

Just like your momma always told you.

Posted by jen at 09:00 PM | Comments (5)

September 13, 2007

Dude, Don't Get So Butthurt, Just Chillax...

So tonight I "made the mistake of" just "accidentally" "happening upon" an old episode of Laguna Beach on The Noggin/Nog/Whatever It Is The Kids Are Calling It These Days.

Anyway, there was Jessica, talking about how Kyndra would be totally "butthurt" that Jessica and Cameron were hooking up. And a) we all know that Jessica is the one in Laguna Beach who gets consistently butthurt by boys. And b) "butthurt?"

I was so grateful at that moment that "butthurt" didn't take a stronghold on the vernacular of Southern California girls.

I am, however, grateful that "ginormous" has. I know, it's an abomination of the English language, but it conveys so much, no? The Boy hates it. Thus, I try to limit my use of it around him to situations in which, um, it might be helpful and flattering. Like, say, when describing someone's arm muscles: a trip to the gun show, ginormous, etc. Luckily, my girlfriends love the ginormous in all its varietals, so I am free to use it to describe the size of our salads, our wine glasses, my zit, etc.

The Boy also hates the term, "chillax." And you know, when he first told me that he hated it I think I nodded my head, so sympathetic, like, whoa, man, that is awful, I am so sorry you even had to hear that word uttered. But later I was like, wait, where did he hear "chillax?" I mean, tell me people, have you heard it? I think he watched one TV show 15 years ago that featured it and was so appalled that he has imagined it infecting American slang like "fugly" when in fact it hadn't been Spoken By Man since 1992. p.s., love you, The Boy, totally understandable given the GINORMOUS ridonkulousness of the word.**

The one word I have not been able to cleanse my verbal palette of in the last 15 years is, "dude." I mean, DUDE. I don't even know how it happened! In Redding, not at UC Santa Cruz as one might suspect. (But then, the other biggest fan of dude I know is from Chicago, with nary an ocean in sight). Perhaps I watched Point Break too many times. Perhaps I love to emphasize a point, and what better way than with a "DUDE!"

Am I right? Right? Dude, I am so right. Don't get so butthurt. Just chillax.

**UPDATE: Apparently "chillax" is popular enough to warrant an Urban Dictionary entry! And TMZ was using it as recently as May 2007! I am shamed. And scared. DUDE.

Posted by jen at 10:53 PM | Comments (13)

June 25, 2007

The Good Book, Chapters 1-4 (a) and (b)

1.
I was worried about Brenda Leigh Johnson. Her show ROCKS, but I have been deeply worried that she was not treating her man Fritzie right and that he couldn't handle her and would high-tail it and leave her and Kitty all alone. YES I KNOW I AM WORRIED DEEPLY ABOUT A TV CHARCTER'S LOVE LIFE. AND THE FATE OF HER CAT. I feel much better after tonight's episode, however, whew!

I am still worried that Brenda Leigh was chomping on some Keebler's whatnots, which turned out to be the sponsor of the show and received a very weird 30-second close-up, but I am trying to ignore the scourge of product placement infecting all shows I love. (sniff).

2.
I think I might purchase a pair of Tevas, and I am a little scared. I HATE TEVAS. I have told you about The Teva Gauntlet, thrown down on my last vacation with The Boy. But damn, if those REALLY UGLY mofos aren't convenient for crossing streams and hiking, which I'll be doing in a month in Brazil/Argentina, woohoo! This doesn't mean I've lost all sense of chic, right? Right? I'm comforting myself with the thought that I'll find some cute teva-equivalents. Jeebus.

3.
On Saturday I went over to Laurie's for a low-key, belated birthday celebration with her and Amber. And it was wonderful, not only because it was nice to realize there is life beyond studying for the bar, but also because it's so nice to sit down with women you love, with some green chile tamales (thanks, Amber!), and talk about IMPORTANT STUFF. To have conversations you won't forget because they are REAL, about love, tv, life, and sex and everything we all yearn to talk about all day long. The best.

4.
What was also cool is that Laurie sent me home with some fresh basil and thyme from her garden, which spiced my eggs and home fries the next morning, and also: HER BOOK.

I started to read her book this evening. I had planned to just take in a chapter or so during the commercials of The Closer. I paused the DVR when I hadn't finished a chapter at the end of the commercial, and next thing I knew I was at p. 79. And I already know how it turns out! I know almost every turn of the story! I was there! Yet I found it riveting.

It's really weird to realize that, while you have known that your best friend is an amazing writer (b/c you read her blog every day), she can write A BOOK. A GOOD BOOK. That you can't put down.

It's also weird (in a good way) to see on paper the role that you play in someone's life, even when you were just doing what came natural at the time.

It reminds me of how my one of my best high school friends Tina and her college roommate Anita, came to visit me when I lived in NY. Anita was there to interview for the Soros fellowship, which pays all of your law school expenses. When Tina and Anita asked, I was like, sure! of course come stay with me! It will be fun! I had no idea what a difference this made in Anita's life (she got the scholarship, she's awesome that way) until years later, when she referred to it in a way that conveyed the importance of the weekend, while for me it was like, THANK G-D, someone I know in NY! It made me so happy to realize later that I'd played a role in someone's pivotal life moment.

Thus, two lessons learned (and I'm only on p. 79!):

a. Even someone that you've known for years is amazingly talented can still surprise you with the depth of that talent.

b. The little things that mean something to you? Can mean everything to someone else. Life is awesome that way.

Posted by jen at 10:58 PM | Comments (13)

June 03, 2007

Adulthood, Dead Wood, Rhyming Takes Me Back to Childhood, Can I Stay There?

Is it just me, or is adulthood a LOT OF WORK?

I know, I have been an adult for a long time now, oh, twelve years. But tonight, scrambling to take care of the bare necessities of paperwork -- paying my bills, harangueing Blockbuster for credit card charges for the full value of the movie, just because I had to watch Jagged Edge NINETY TIMES for my stupid Law & Popular Culture paper (hello! no late fees = bullhonkey*), etc. -- I was struck by how much time it took. And how many dead trees.

I have done my best to sign up for only online statements for everything, but still some companies aren't doing it yet. I mean YOU, all my student loan providers! And I put EVERYTHING on auto-debit. That has helped immensely.

Still, the accoutrements of adulthood are often overwhelming. You've got your debt, your 401(k), your car, thank-you notes, dinner parties to buy wine for, calls to friends you've neglected, SO MANY THINGS.

And I don't even own a home! I cannot even imagine the added burden incurred by a real estate purchase.

Tell me I am not the only one drowning in a sea of responsibilities and dead wood. It's hard, right? Any strategies to keep afloat?

*Haha. I totally used the phrase "bull honkey." I have not done that since sixth grade. I am immediately incorporating it back into my daily lexicon.

Posted by jen at 10:53 PM | Comments (10)

May 21, 2007

Real Women Have Curves. Or Not.

Well, I finished painting my living room and kitchen:

And I finally feel like a real person again -- just in time to start learning THIS:

In the next eight weeks. Crap. Thank you, CA bar examiners! Ack.

I think I'll be returning to my finals routine, where the only non-studying activity I have to look forward to is watching "The Barefoot Contessa" every night at 11 after I've had enough.

What I love about Barefoot Contessa is that she seems like a normal, if slightly uppercrust gal, but kicks ass in the kitchen.

Occasionally, though, I find myself thinking thoughts like, "Oh, yeah, of course her food is awesome! She has her own freaking GARDEN and lives in the HAMPTONS and what does she do all day but cook?"

This is an unattractive part of me. Unfortunately, I have noticed that it's not a trait I hold alone.

I don't know what it is, but women just really seem to cut one another's accomplishments down all the time. Have you noticed this? I don't know quite what the source is -- maybe it's because we're told all the time we can't have it all (professional or personal success: choose one, bitches!). So if someone seems to have it all, it feels like an indictment of ourselves. We have to find the ways in which she DOESN'T have it all to feel better. Whew! She's just as incomplete as I am!

I don't think men do this same thing, do they (hello, three male readers, can I get a wutwut?)?

You hear about the Mommy Wars. Either life path or combo you choose, you come up short in someone's eyes. And this blogger I read, Jonniker, recently posted something about how we look askance at women if they're too heavy, and accuse them of anorexia if they go on a diet. Again, you're one or the other, screwed either way. And I'm embarrassed to say that in that very small, mean black place in my heart, when single in the past, I've comforted myself with, well, she only has a boyfriend because she settled. Like, she couldn't have one because, as is more likely, she rocks and happened to find someone who noticed! Because what does that say about me?

But you know what? THANK G-D, unlike the #$$^^% California bar, LIFE is not graded on the curve! Our successes are not diminished by someone else's! We don't lose our chance for love because someone else finds it. We aren't destined to mediocre cooking just because someone else is lucky enough to have an herb garden she can roam around barefoot in. And just because someone else goes on a diet doesn't mean that we have to get defensive about our own weight and accuse her of anorexia.

This is what I'm trying to remember, in any case. The Barefoot Contessa doesn't deserve any judgment, any more than I do, or you do.

Some women have curves. Some don't. But we certainly are not graded on one.

Posted by jen at 09:50 PM | Comments (8)

April 01, 2007

Grading on the Curve

Last night, The Boy headed to Quentin Tarantino's Grindhouse Film Festival, while I was stuck here writing the same freaking paper. I have gone to a few of the films with him, mainly kung fu. And DUDE, can I tell you, the ladies of 70s horrible, campy horror and kung fu films? They have NO BOOBS. By which I mean, they have boobs MY SIZE. How is it that today's film stars not only have to wear 2.5 lbs, but 1.5 of those lbs have to be BOOBS?

In any case, all this has me realizing (perhaps it is the paper and the F I foresee talking), that the bra sizing system in the US is THE BEST FREAKING EVER. It is like THE REVERSE GRADING SYSTEM. I am always guaranteed at least an above average grade in Tits 101! Which perhaps, I will admit, is not good for you ladies who have to actually wear a bra, but I have been writing a paper in my pajamas for seven days, interrupted only by two (awesome) days of camping during which I did not shower; any quantifiable evidence that I might be something other than a frumpy warthog is manna from heaven. Just be happy for me and my B+/A-s.

Posted by jen at 12:29 AM | Comments (2)

March 13, 2007

WWMTTMTD?

One of the things I miss most about having some disposable income is seeing a therapist. Now, when faced with a big decision, I have to play the game, "What Would My Therapist Tell Me To Do?" Usually with my friends and family as arbiters, which THEY LOVE, LET ME TELL YOU.

Actually, my therapist never told me to do anything. But she knew how to ask the right questions to help me figure out what I wanted to do, what was best for me. In fact, by the time I made it around to our weekly appointment, often I'd already figured it out -- I just got the thumbs up and usually some AMAZING advice on how best to proceed to leave the fewest hurt feelings/bodies in my wake.

So I guess what I really miss is the cooling off period. And I find as I age (like a fine wine, foo'!), the more important the cooling off period becomes because, blech, the stakes for my decisions are much higher.

Lately, I've been trying to reinstitute the cooling off period, but it goes against my intense desire for resolution, so it's a battle. Still, I think my old therapist would be proud.

Maybe. We'll see in September, when I can afford to pay her to listen to my angst again and my friends and family will be free of participating in WWMTTMTD? Just as long as her response to what I've been up to isn't "WTF?", I'll be happy.

Posted by jen at 09:03 PM | Comments (5)

February 20, 2007

My Milkshake Brings All the Girls to the Yard

Dagny tagged me to name six weird things about myself or habits I've got. Which is awesome because so far I've revealed absolutely nothing compromising about myself on this blog and need to spice that shiite up.

1. I realized at my party, a serious estrogen-fest, that I have very few male friends. In fact, I have never had any male friends who were not:
- Someone I wanted to get wit' or who wanted to get wit' me (I'm sorry, but I am in the middle of watching The White Rapper Show, hallelujah holla back, dog)
- Friends of a boyfriend, therefore off-limits
- Boyfriends of female friends, ditto
- Gay
- My brother

Not to go all Harry on you, and I know there are a lot of girls who manage male confidants just fine thank you, but for me, the sex part always does get in the way. I'm all yours, Freud.

2. On a daily basis, I clean the toilet paper holder of TP dust. It's a compulsion.

3. I can't stop watching What About Brian. I have no idea why. IT IS HORRIBLE. I can predict the outcome of 90% of the plot developments, and about 35% of the content of any dialogue. But still, I watch.

4. I have three sets of days of the week underpants, which I store in chronological order in my panty drawer. So there.

5. I've said it once, I'll say it again, and my sitemeter stats are sure to get interesting again. I've got webbed toes. And NO, you idiot from Whitehouse Station, NJ, who wrote me from your corporate! e-mail! account!, I WILL NOT SEND YOU PICTURES.

6. I think I have mentioned my undying love for Coca-Cola before as well, but it bears repeating. I drink Coke most mornings for breakfast, usually paired with a healthy dose of Hershey's kisses, or, at the moment, Vanilla Wafers. I have been known, after going most of the day without a Coke, to take that first heavenly sip and say aloud, "Ahhhhhh. Sweet, sweet Coca-Cola." Or, during the months following my first viewing of Old School, "Once it hits your lips, it's so good!" I know it's wrong, it rots my teeth, you can clean your tub with it, and apparently its executives are killers. But it is my lifeblood, and my like it's better than yours, damn right it's better than yours, I could teach you, but I'd have to charge.

Posted by jen at 07:27 PM | Comments (9)

February 08, 2007

And?

It seems like everyone I know is an And. Laurie is a kick-ass writer and a blogger And, apparently, an Advanced Basic Knitter. Gloria is a student, a girl about town, And a chef.

When I was younger, I didn't need to be an And. I was just A Nerd. Really, I had no And options. The only thing aside from a 4.47 I had going for me was a massive collection of Esprit t-shirts and I was kind of nice.

It's only once I started working I needed more, but then I think I focused entirely on being the And of either Single Girl or Girlfriend, depending on the season.

1L year, I returned to my And-less state by necessity.

And now, a 3L, sometimes I don't even feel like I've got the pre-And descriptor of student. Sure, I'll attend some classes and apparently write three 30-page papers in the next 12 weeks, but half the time I feel like I'm on vacation.

This leaves me ill-at-ease. And also unable to write anything for this-here blog sometimes. There are a lot of things I enjoy peripherally -- running a few times a week, tennis once a week, cooking, reading, beginning embroidery, too much TV watching -- but all my Ands are still in their nascent stages. I don't feel qualified, at the moment, to comment on much of anything.

On the other hand, despite my discomfort with it, vacation rocks! I love that I'm watching too many movies, that I'm exercising muscles I haven't worked in years, and that classes seem like pesky impediments to my real life.

And really, I should be grateful. I just signed up for bar review courses, which will probably be hell. And everyone knows a first-year associates life isn't even close to 9-to-5.

All the same, most days, I'll go to write something here, maybe about my sad attempt at wok-ing, and I'll stop because: And?

Posted by jen at 11:52 AM | Comments (8)

January 31, 2007

Movin' On Up

The thing I'm most excited about graduation is that I can finally MOVE. I'm looking forward to a functioning dishwasher, hardwood floors, direct sunlight, and a neighborhood that doesn't scare my friends and family.

Also, I can't wait for stairs! The other day a classmate asked me if I'd be staying in Hollywood or moving closer to work and I was like, "Um, I don't know -- I just want to find someplace where I can afford two stories so my cats can get some exercise." I think this threw him off because, uh, who selects their abode based on their cats' needs? AWESOME people, that's who.

Anyway, he looked at me funny and replied, "Uh, yeah, cuz there's nothing worse than a fat cat." The first words my brain sent toward my mouth were, "Yeah, totally, a woman knows no pain like a 20-pounder walking across your full bladder at 4:30 in the morning." Luckily some sense that I didn't want to come off like a total weirdo intervened, and I stuck with, "Yeah."

My mom has even grander ideas for what Fred & Ethel need in a new home. She is the Virginia Woolf for cats. "What Fred needs is a big bay window, with a view out into some trees, or where he can see people passing by. And his own little perch, so he can feel engaged with the world."

I don't know why I'm so excited. Last time I tried to search for an apartment I ended staying where I am because it was too stressful to find a new place. I called Laurie frantically trying to decide whether to take a place. Her sage words: "Jen, if you are tearfully debating the merits of a ceramic vs. a plastic tub, perhaps it's best to stay where you are."

Oh. I know why I'm so excited. I've forgotten the trauma. Because, as I've noted before, hindsight is legally blind.

Anyway, who cares! I just can't wait for a place with an oven light. That, my friends, would be worth any price.

Posted by jen at 07:19 PM | Comments (8)

January 23, 2007

State of the Union

Oh, I don't know. The State of the Union is vaguely depressed. Coming back from vacation is not fun.

I don't wake up to this:

I wake up to class I don't want to attend, dishes I don't want to do, a long to-do list filled with embarassingly overdue items.

And it's not like I haven't done anything fun! I've seen Laurie at SnB, been to a bunch of parties, including Gloria's, seen Cut Chemist, Honeyboy Edwards, and attended my first college basketball game. Why can I get no satisfaction?

Basically, I haven't made it over the hump. There's a post-vacation hump you have to pop over, I think, where you settle into pleasant routine and the little pleasures of a good meal are enough. Where you don't require majestic sunsets and fireflies and howler monkies and more stars than you've ever seen before to feel moved and engaged with life.

It would help if I attended and read for class. And started blogging again. I'd feel moored.

So that's what I'm going to do. That's my big plan. It's not universal health care, but Bush didn't manage that either.

+++

Also, for something that has moved me recently, check out my friend Julie's band, Needle! She rocks!

Posted by jen at 08:07 PM | Comments (4)

December 22, 2006

Footloose and Fancy Free

Every year I make a list of resolutions, half of which I never keep. This year I've decided to make only one. That way, you know, if I fail, I can fail completely, woohoo!

Basically, I want to worry less.

I worry about everything. My grades, my weight, my cooking skills, whether or not I'm a good person, this adult-onset acne Laurie keeps saying sets in at 30 (thanks, BFF, LYLAS), the list extends interminably. In fact! I often worry about my worrying! Is it still in the normal range, or have I ventured into neuroses? Luckily, reading your blogs tells me I am just like everyone else, you worrywarts, you!

In any case, 2007 will be The Year of Less Worrying. I think it's appropriate I'll be ringing it in snuggled into a hammock in Belize.

So if you don't hear from me for the next few weeks, it's because my parents still have dial-up, or I'm out of the country.

I'll leave you with a wish of happy holidays! And a happy, WORRY-FREE new year!

Posted by jen at 11:17 PM | Comments (6)

December 21, 2006

Magazine in the Bathroom?

First, this title reminds me of one of my favorite songs of all time, "Mirror in the bathroom" by The English Beat. The problem is that in the context of a magazine in the bathroom the lyrics transform into:

Magazine in the bathroom
I read freely
The door is locked
Just it and me.

Which brings us to the larger problem, the (ridiculous) question driving me to post this entry (against my better judgment, but then, aren't the best parts of life against your better judgment?), which is:

Are magazines in the bathroom OK?

Let's set aside the germ aspects for a moment. Let's assume the only people (ok, living beings) who enter your bathroom are you, your man, and your cats because HEY LADY, you CANNOT leave us out here long enough to brush your teeth. We NEED you. In this instance, germ circulation can't be eliminated by the absence of reading materials in the loo.

No, let's talk about the other logistics.

Basically, I rarely get to my issues of The Economist. And I think I might if they were readily accessible while I was taking a bath, or, you know, otherwise spending time in the bathroom.

But the problem is, if I have magazines in there, aren't I basically ADMITTING that I spend more time in there than the two seconds necessary to powder my nose?

In high school, my (brief, poorly fated) boyfriend Dave was of the stridently asserted belief that women NEVER spent the more than two seconds necessary to powder their noses. He also once won a contest for removing his underwear without removing his pants, so should he really be haunting me as a yardstick of ladylike behavior? Perhaps not.

In any case, I have been waffling on this issue. Part of me thinks, dammit, I am THIRTY in LESS THAN TWO WEEKS. I am woman enough to admit to being, oh, HUMAN, right? And I need to be aware of what is going on in the world!

The other part of me thinks, are certain things supposed to remain a mystery?

What do you think? To Mag or Not To Mag? That is the question.

Posted by jen at 11:05 PM | Comments (13)

November 28, 2006

Moldy Rolls, Minnow Water, Happy Tuesday!

It's nearly a week after Thanksgiving, you know how it is. You don't want to eat anything remotely resembling turkey again, like, EVER, and yet you want to cook something new even less. So, you're still eating leftover dinner rolls for breakfast. Only this morning? You discover, AS YOU'RE CHEWING, that they're moldy.

I ate a moldy roll this morning, happy Tuesday!

I didn't really know what to do as I discovered mid-chomp that I was eating bacteria. It was still dark in my apartment and I wasn't quite awake. What Would Joan Jett Do? Eat it, obviously. But I am no Joan Jett.

I am, however, certifiable. For some reason, I have agreed as part of my Belize winter break vacation with The Boy to stay in a place WITH NO TOILETS. FOR TWO DAYS. AND! And! Check this out:

"Our accommodations included a Swiss Family Robinson style thatched two story 'hut' perched out over a pristine waterfall. Water for brushing teeth and washing your face came via a bucket that was dropped via a pulley and rope into the pool at the bottom of the waterfall. (Be sure to check for minnows before drinking.)"

BE SURE TO CHECK FOR MINNOWS BEFORE DRINKING.

I'm not sure if you got that.

BE SURE TO CHECK FOR MINNOWS BEFORE DRINKING.

My friend Ali: "It'll be like Survivor." Me: "Except maybe I won't survive."

People, I cannot even check my own damn rolls for green fuzzy crap before eating them!

So if you don't hear from me in 2007, you'll know why. I've succumbed to moldy rolls, minnow water, a rare tropical disease contracted while making it in the bushes, happy Tuesday!

Posted by jen at 09:53 AM | Comments (8)

November 15, 2006

Marion the Contrarian

I don't know about you, but I make a lot of decisions about what I need to do. Things I need to do better, ways I need to be better, whatever.

But if someone else advises me? My immediate impulse is to retreat into my twelve-year old mind where I WILL NOT EAT THAT BROCCOLI! I WILL TOO EAT THAT KIT KAT BAR. I will not take that exit, I want this exit, and I like to store my vegetables that way and DAMMIT, I don't wanna (spoken in plaintitive whine of a small child).

Please tell me I am not the only one who reverts to childhood at the slightest hint of instruction -- whether from my best friend, my mother, my boyfriend. Please tell me I am not the only one who houses a pre-teen soul in an almost 30-something body.

Posted by jen at 11:06 PM | Comments (12)

November 10, 2006

Comfort Levels

My family is coming to LA for Thanksgiving this year, and the issue of where they're going to stay has caused some hurt feelings. Mine, specifically.

I guess hurt feelings might be too strong a phrase. Slight indignation morphing into resignation might be more apt.

Because, well, it appears that my neighboorhood is just a little too ghetto for my family.

My mother didn't mince any words in refusing my recommendation of the hotel right down the street from me. "I don't think we want to stay in your neighborhood, Jen. It's just not safe."

I didn't say anything, but I did harumph later to my brother about it.

Me: "Can you believe that?"

Jeff:

Me: "I guess I should lay off on those stories about the homeless sleeping in my stairwell, yeah?"

Jeff:

Laurie tried to be more diplomatic. "Well, Jen, you have to understand, I mean... well, remember after your birthday when I went outside to find someone trying to break into my Jeep?"

Hm.

I tried to elicit support from Gloria, but she laughed and reminded me about the homeless people having sex in the parking lot across the street.

It's funny. I like living in Hollywood most of the time -- I've lived here so long that I don't even really notice the filth and vague danger any more. Occasionally I fantasize about a SARS outbreak in LA so that the tourists won't clog my streets with their Chrysler Sebrings and their total inability to make a left turn across traffic, but most of the time I'm OK with where I live.

In any case, the wide gulf between my experience of my neighborhood and my friends and family's experiences surprised me. At first, out of defensiveness, I decided everyone I knew was either an old fogie or a snob, but then I realized that I am often a big ole crotchety snoot so that couldn't be it. I mean, I relish my creature comforts. I find anything less than Quilted Northern unacceptable. Yet I don't really mind seeing the occasional vagrant taking an early morning piss in the alley next door.

So I decided, as I often do, that people are weird. We make odd choices about what we let bother us and what we ignore. For instance:

I don't mind:
- A TV so covered in dust you can barely see the screen
- People with social disorders, unless they're mean
- Giving people rides
- Kids on planes who kick my seat
- Generic paper towels

I can't stand:
- Dirty dishes
- People who stand too close to me in line
- Sharing my Coke
- People on planes who talk to me
- Generic Rice Krispies

Is there really any sense to that, I ask you? No. But I'm sure you're the same way, right? Can't stand two-buck Chuck but love you some PBR? C'mon, I know you're a weirdo, too.

Posted by jen at 02:11 PM | Comments (9)

October 26, 2006

Cold Feet, Warm Heart

I don't know about you, but every time I take a trip, ANYWHERE, the night before I decide I really DO NOT want to go. Paris? Couldn't peel me away from my Con Law II reading. Rio? Needed to spend some quality time with my cats.

I don't know what the problem is. Usually once I start packing I'm fine, I'm ready. I can face whatever might happen THERE. Wherever it is I'm going.

Tomorrow I'm heading to a place I've LIVED BEFORE, for goodness' sake (NYC). To see some girls I've known and loved like sisters since I was 16. But still, I get scared, I guess. My routine is gone, I won't have access to my full closet and pantry, and WHAT DO I THINK COULD HAPPEN THERE? AM I 80?

Now that I'm older, it's a little better. I have enough disposable income (we'll pretend I'm not a student who called my parents for a loan this month, eek!) so that I can buy the missing toothbrush, socks, whatever.

But still, there's fear. Do you know what I mean? I know Laurie does. And she's a world traveler! We talked about it this evening. What about you? Do you get that sudden pull in your stomach? I have felt that way before driving up to Redding! To see my parents! So silly.

Maybe though, just maybe, my feet are EXTRA COLD this time. Maybe because I'm not wearing tights. Nay, I'm wearing.....

LEGGINGS!!

Oh yes, I succumbed. One soy chai latte and a burst of insanity later and I've ignored ALL OF YOU and purchased a pair of leggings. WHICH I'M WEARING ON THE PLANE. And if you could just pretend, despite the fact that I have foolishly ignored all of your advice, that my legs don't looks like stumps, then I would love you forever. Because the last thing I need is to feel no confidence on the plane tomorrow. Since I've decided I don't want to go anyway.

Also, The Boy and I made jack-o-lanterns last night. Mine is the sloppy-looking one on the left.

Posted by jen at 10:27 PM | Comments (8)

August 27, 2006

Dating for the Novice

Somehow I got listed as a dating blog on the Yahoo! Personals blog. Puzzling development, considering that until recently, the last date I had was an ill-fated Thursday night in February and before that I said auf Wiedersehen to the Austrian in July 2005.

Maybe I've been dating in my sleep. Or maybe Yahoo! sought to provide a sampling of skillsets -- the uber-dater, the semi-pro, the novice.

In any case, I thought I better come up with something. So I give you: my least favorite and most favorite dates.

Least Favorite
New York, winter 1999. I've been dating Jon sporadically for a couple months. We have dinner at Avenue A Sushi, then a drink at Korova Milk Bar. We head back to his place to watch a movie, and pick up some beer at a bodega on the way. I select Amstel Light. His comment, "What is up with girls and Amstel Light? Do you ALL drink it?" We end up with it anyway. I walk into his apartment, and there on his kitchen counter are six empty Amstel Light bottles.

The End.

Most Favorite
This isn't really a specific memory, just a general favorite: the first time a man takes your hand. It's such a throwback to junior high and high school when All You Wanted was for someone to hold your hand.

There is this moment in My So-Called Life when Angela keeps ditching her geometry review sessions to make out with Jordan in the boiler room, and Jordan keeps Angela a secret, ignoring her in public, and Rayanne tells Jordan he can't treat Angela like that, and then finally, in a moment that burst my heart to watch, Jordan takes Angela's hand in the hall, for all to see.

The first time a man takes my hand, I'm 14 again, when I didn't yet know my first hurt was only that, the first.

Lulled into novice-hood by the heat of someone else's palm against mine.

Posted by jen at 11:33 PM | Comments (11)

July 30, 2006

Drastic Measures

So, if you hadn't guessed from my lack of posting, there is a lack of SOMETHING in my life.

Last time I felt this way, I applied to law school. I decided in September, took the LSAT in October, applied in December and whoosh, now I'm in my third year!

The time before that I moved me and my ex from SF to LA (in a month). The time before that, I got this haircut:

Once, I got a tongue ring.

In any case, usually when I feel this way, I do something drastic to my body or locale. But now, I won't do a tattoo, I can't move.

So what do you do? What do normal people out there who don't move or make permanent/semi-permanent (damn, it took a long time for that cut to grow out!) changes do when they need to transform their lives? Become buddhists? Take up golfing?

What do you do?

Posted by jen at 10:58 PM | Comments (13)

July 11, 2006

One Fish, Blue Fish

So maybe tonight will be the night I write something honest, if kind of depressing, and not delete it in the morning. Usually I do. Delete.

It's been one year since I've, ahem, had any manly anything in my life.

This is the longest I've been in, well, a long time. During the first long break, college, TWO YEARS, I had pretty much lost all hope. I was eating a lot of Tacqueria Vallarta burritos and watching movies from Flick Stop, the video store where Ursula and I worked. Which, truly (T**ty Slickers: The Search for Gold Curlys, LOVELY, oh, and don't forget, John Wayne Bobbit Uncut), had practically the largest porn selection in Santa Cruz County, but that only served to place in stark relief the lack of lovin' in my life.

Anyway. Then, as now, I had passed up one fish, two fish and red fish before finally I caught one. And he threw me back.

Then, as now, I couldn't really figure out why I took so long to try to reel something in. What was I waiting for? I certainly didn't choose the best time to tug on the line. A Flick Stop customer no less. Who, BTW, now lives in Santa Monica and works in a board shop on Main Street. I was on a hunt for flip-flops and saw him on a ladder getting a board down for someone and nearly lost it.

So. I wonder if I'll land as poor a catch this time, whenever it is I get myself out on the water again. What am I waiting for? What if I'm just waiting and sending no-thank-you vibes out now just because I'm in the same, miserable state I was then? And I'm going to repeat my same, 19-year-old mistakes?

I hope not. I hope I'm holding out for something Real (reel!) and Good this time 'round.

And. More importantly, I hope that unlike last time, I don't have another year to go.

That would make me one blue fish.

Posted by jen at 10:39 PM | Comments (13)

July 06, 2006

Starry Night

My neighbor has an oil replica of Starry Night on his wall.

Also, this post might sound snobby, even though the whole point is I'm not. A snob.

When I was younger, I reveled in Madonna, Michael Jackson, Boy Meets Girl even. I was Waiting for a Star to Fall.

Then teenagehood happened. And my 20s.

And I abhorred the mainstream.

If there was even a whiff of NYT Bestseller, I wouldn't touch that book with a 10-foot pole. When I was reviewing Oprah's Book Club recipients for an entertainment site in the late 90s (OMG, I just wrote "late 90s" like it was a decade in which I WAS OLD ENOUGH to be doing something substantial. Or at least something that SEEMED substantial in my 22-year-old mind.), they all started out in the dog house. Their artificial success smacked of failure to me.

I remember sitting in the parking lot during college, belting out the lyrics to "Glory Days" (then, no one I knew was patriotic, so listening to Bruce was like, the Anti-Cool), and thinking, "If only I could be one of those people. Those people who shop at The Baby Gap. And have babies. And live on a cul-de-sac for chrissakes. And not think about it. Just read 'Like Water for Chocolate' and that's the closest they get to world travel." One of those people whose glory days were in high school, when they were cute and blonde (no offense, Laurie, you lovely blonde!), and could just wink their young girl's eye and the night was theirs.

I still have that thought now and again, I won't lie, when I look around at people seeming to enjoy themselves when their primary extracurricular activities are the gym and shopping. It's LA.

But for the most part, I've grown up.

Proof positive? The British version of The Office? I used to think it was the best. I was all like, "Yeah, dude, I watched that on the BBC? Like two seasons ago? Yeah." But now? I am so into Pam and Jim. I don't care it's the watered down, less-controversial love-story version of the original. And you know what, high school D&D friends? I liked Terminator 2 better! I admit it! Even with the overblown special effects! I even liked the second Bridget Jones book! Better! (Not the movie, tho, even us pop-culture converts have our limits.)

Each year I get closer to cul-de-sac. And I don't care any more. Because you know what you crave sometimes, in LA's smog-hazed, celebrity-filled, car-choked streets?

A starry night.

Posted by jen at 10:52 PM | Comments (7)

June 26, 2006

It's Just Four Doors and a Couple of Axles, But To Me It Will Always Be Me*

This weekend we celebrated Laurie's 35th over on her gorgeous patio, with Karman & Shannon, Penny, Gwen, Faith, and Amber in attendance. There was plenty of wine, girl talk, and righteous indignation. At least on my part.

You see, Laurie was telling this story about this harmlessly nefarious character from her past, not letting her drive his car because, OMG, it had a SPOILER. Because girls can't drive cars with spoilers.

And anyway, I pipe up, "My car has a spoiler!"

And Karman is all, "Yeah, a spoiler. But a spoiler on a granola-eating, Birkenstock-wearing car."

I GOT SO OFFENDED. In fact, I was embarassed later about how all sorts of LOUD and offended I got. BUT THAT IS MY CAR.

Yes, it is a 2000 Subaru Outback Impreza, but it is an Outback Impreza SPORT, people! There is like one of those scoopy, drafty things on the front to draw in air for when I overheat it in a race! The Subaru wins the rally championship practically every year!! How many more exclamation points should I put to indicate my outrage??!!!

Bollocks.

Driving is a Big Deal in my family. My dad races vintage cars for a hobby. That's him:

The time your family spends around the table talking about the weather or movies or whatever your filler conversation topic of choice is? Is the time my family talks about bad drivers and the latest car models. Your car is WHO YOU ARE.

LA just exacerbates this familial oddity. What do you drive?

So when Karman told me I was the equivalent of a Volvo driver? I FREAKED.

Poor Karman.

Little did she know that a lot of my freakdom came from the fact that my car hit 90,000 miles a few weeks ago. And that I'm starting to realize I'll need a new one. At least I will after I graduate.

So I drive along the highways of LA, to Laurie's in the Valley, across town to work and back. I peer into people's windows. The Honda CRV, the Prius, the BMW wagon, the Toyota 1983 Land Cruiser, what will I be? Will I pretty? Will I be rich? Here's what they said to me: Que sera, sera.

I thought that by 30 I'd have it all figured out. But nope, I'm just 6 months shy and still don't know what I will be.

But dammit. It will be rockin'. And so will my car, whatever it is. Que sera, sera.

*That line, BTW, is adopted from one of my favorite movies ever, Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House, with Myrna Loy and Cary Grant.

Posted by jen at 11:32 PM | Comments (11)

June 01, 2006

Weltschmerz

I don't know if ABC understood the irony of what it put on TV tonight. First, the national spelling bee, where one little genie lost on the word "weltschmerz."

Pronunciation: 'velt-"shmerts Function: noun Usage: often capitalized Etymology: German, from Welt world + Schmerz pain 1 : mental depression or apathy caused by comparison of the actual state of the world with an ideal state 2 : a mood of sentimental sadness

Then, a special on our foster care system. Which really, anyone encountering would be filled with weltzscherz. Our lost children. 500,000 who don't have the curse of over-concerned parents coaching them through the dictionary, nagging them through the Ws.

Verdammen weltschmerz.

Posted by jen at 10:40 PM | Comments (3)

April 28, 2006

Showing Your Cards

Today I went down to get my mail and my landlord asked me how I was doing.

My reply? Not "Fine, thanks."

No, I said, "It's finals. I'm unwashed, my apartment is a mess and I won't be leaving my house for the next 5 days."

This is a problem I've had for years. TMI. Not that it matters with my landlord. He's a dad type, and seems proud that I'm making it through law school and tells me about his son's soccer team championship.

But other times, it has mattered.

For a long time, I overshared on dates and with new friends. My sexual history, my feminism, my feelings on a unified European currency (dating myself much?).

And it wasn't working. Guys get scared if you share too much. They think your openness is a sign of weakness, not of strength. They look for flaws. Either to ditch, if they are normal, or to exploit, if they are cruel.

Then, my friend Amber shared with me a great tip she'd received from some seminar. That you monitor your sharing. It's a card game. You wait and see, is he sharing his 3s, his 4s, or has he moved on to 7s? And you follow suit (ha!). You save your ace for when things are safe. If you ever share it at all. Some things are better kept to yourself.

It's so funny. Laurie has been learning to Live Out Loud, and I have been learning to keep quiet. Somewhere, there is a balance. The sweet spot.

Learning to keep quiet been a miracle worker for me. I may still overshare with my landlord, and I often regret the things I share with friends and dates even still. But at least I am no longer projecting the image of Who I Was Then, now. By sharing who you were too much, somehow you can send the message that you're still that person -- if your memories are close enough to share, perhaps they are more than memories, yes?

So I protect myself. I don't lie. But I hold my cards close.

Posted by jen at 10:11 PM | Comments (7)

April 13, 2006

Spring Forward

One of my favorite Eleanor Miller paintings, Wake of Boticelli

I know we're all supposed to be living in the moment and crap, but really, I'm only happy when I have something to look forward to. And I know I'm not the only person who feels this way. That's one of the nice things about blogging. You learn that you're not the only one who feels something about anything.

I can catalog 2006 via what I was looking forward to:
First my birthday, then Barrister's Ball, then Paris, then my SF trip, now summer.

The bummer is when there's too long a lag between things to look forward to, when it's just too ridiculous to be planning for something that's months off.

And right now, summer is still a bit away, but spring? Spring is in the air! Today was the first real, spring-y day in LA. I went for a walk in my neighborhood and all the West Hollywood home-owners (luckies!) were out walking their dogs, the men having dusted off their cargo shorts and given their pasty gams their first look at the sun in many moons. The women of course were still covered up -- wisely waiting for the tanning booth to remove the wintery white.

I still have a month of finals hell to go through, and I'm sure I'll be (even more) unwashed and Coca-Cola-addled over the next month, but already I hear, smell and taste the siren call of summer:

• Coconut lotion
• Laurie's summer barbeques
• Laying out on my patio
• Bad sunburns
• Baseball games with Penny
• Hefeweizen
• Jeff's's wedding, and his affianced's bachelorette party in Vegas, baby, Vegas!
• Tanktops
• Kickball and general shenanigans with Gloria
• Strict, flip-flops only dress code on nights and weekends
• Nights and weekends! With no studying!
• Sun, sweet sun

I can't wait. If only I could fast forward....

Posted by jen at 11:07 PM | Comments (10)

March 19, 2006

The Math of Fantasy

There is a science to my fantasy life, apparently.

It goes like this:

When there is some hint of romance and intrigue in my own life -- perhaps dating someone new, interviewing for summer associate positions, etc. -- my fantasies are very pragmatic. The perfect outfit I wear for said date. The incomprehensibly unblemished thing will I say that will solidify our fate forever. My impressive response to that surprise interview question. My deft response to my professor's question tomorrow.

But when there is, alas, no romance or intrigue, somehow my fantasies get more grandiose! The ultimate converse relationship.

And by fantasies I mean those little scenarios you set up for yourself as you're in bed, trying to fall asleep, and hoping to shape the path of your dreams.

Of course, you actually end up as Patty Hearst, robbing banks with some really ugly kidnappers, or your mother is taking high tea with an ex-boyfriend in his underwear and she has some watercress in her teeth, but you know, you try to at least get the party started right.

Anyway. When the facts of my own life lack the necessary potential, suddenly I find my bedtime stories involve things like:

• Winning the lottery
• Being discovered as the heretofore unknown heir to the throne of some country where being queen involves wearing a lot jewels and making Serious Policy Decisions about the fate of the nation
• Being discovered by George Clooney (and by being discovered I mean, Being Discovered, much like Columbus plundered America)

Anyway, I know these fantasies are ridiculous. And to tell you the truth, I just made up the Heretofore Unknown Heir to the Crown fantasy while I was writing this just now. But don't think I won't be using it these evening! Do you think heirs to the crown get to spend most of the time playing baccarat and drinking martinis? I kind of do. And maybe they have their own chauffeurs who get to drive them to clandestine make-out spots with their wrong-side-of-the-tracks, tough-with-a-heart-of-gold-and-six-pack-of-steel boyfriends? Yep! I'm pretty sure they do!

'Night. I know how I'll be spending the next 7 hours. Playing some baccarat and trying on the crown jewels. Unless my mom shows up with watercress in her teeth. Damn her.

Posted by jen at 11:07 PM | Comments (7)

March 05, 2006

A Quiet Holiday

Hollywood is eerily quiet this evening. Aside from the noise of the whirlybirds hovered above the Kodak for the two-hour red carpet arrivals, the streets were DEAD when I walked to the grocery store this evening. This is the thing about living in a one-horse town -- when it's the Kentucky Derby of that horse, EVERYONE is at home watching.

This weekend has been eerily quiet as well. Too quiet. I managed to get out both nights:

Friday:
Barrister's Ball, aka prom for law students. For which I found a rockin' dress that I can now also use for my little brother and Jen's wedding in (holy crap!) May.

Close-up (and, yes, Penny, it's totally a MySpace money shot (except, what is going on with my side-nose-bags, I didn't even know they could exist)):

Gorgeous Neeta, in the car. Of course, because I am me and Neeta is Neeta, before we even got INTO the ball we managed to:
a. Lose one ticket for entry.
b. Have THREE awkward social encounters.
c. Develop static cling (me) and spray too vigorously with Febreze to combat (Neeta).

Hanging out with lovely Jinny, Maggy and Neeta.

The mediocre food (included this pic just for you, Gloria and Dagny):

And then I danced the night away. Or until 11:30, which is as much of the 1Ls puking in the bathroom as we could take.

Saturday:
Gloria, Amber, and I convened for some pre-Paris French movie watching. Shannon and Laurie, our other travel companions, apparently cannot be pried from the Valley on Oscar weekend (the traffic, oh, the traffic), and I do not blame them. Also, they had to work. Yet again, there was no French movie watching, aside from La Boum in the background, but Gloria prepared a dish reflective of her name and I will leave it her to her to describe the wonder later.

But then.

Sunday:
This, I guess, is where the problem came in. The problem of too much quiet time, which I believe is what this post was originally about. Twelve kajillion paragraphs ago.

Too much quiet time for me means too much time left to question myself in every single area of my life. Which is, of course, what I have done. And I was going to make a list, a chart! even, describing all my questions (Am I a good kitty caregiver? Do I talk too much? Am I a good friend? Will I ever be able to date someone again without wondering about the ultimate outcome way too early?), but it was too embarrassing.

And then tonight I received my March 6 Thought for the Day from Sri Eknath Easwaran from the Blue Mountain Center for Meditation (also the sender of this quote):

In those moments when we forget ourselves – not thinking, “Am I happy?” but completely oblivious to our little ego – we spend a brief but beautiful holiday in heaven. The joy we experience in these moments of self-forgetting is our true nature, our native state. To regain it, we have simply to empty ourselves of what hides this joy: that is, to stop dwelling on ourselves. To the extent that we are not full of ourselves, God can fill us. “If you go out of yourself,” says Johannes Tauler, “without doubt he shall go in, and there will be much or little of his entering in according to how much or little you go out.”

And you know? I am not a religious person. I don't believe in A God, The God, whatever. I believe in SOMETHING. But I mean, I know I AM a Capricorn, body and soul, for goodness' sake. Might as well believe in witchcraft or pro forma accounting.

But every day, I get this damn e-mail (which I signed up for because of my mother), and EVERY DAY it makes me feel better. And makes me try to BE better.

Because you know? I NEED a quiet holiday from my quiet-time thoughts these days. Don't you?

Posted by jen at 10:32 PM | Comments (11)

February 22, 2006

Un-Easy Chair

So on my recent date, I accidentally admitted I had interned at NOW for a semester during undergrad. I say accidentally because this is usually something I save for oh, say, date 12 to reveal. I think I also revealed that I knit, but I am saving the two cats for dates 5 or 6, if they come.

Not because I am ashamed of any of these things, but hello?! I may have ideals but I am also a realist and I know the first thing a man wonders when he hears you're a feminist is whether you shave your 'pits (answer: yes, for the sensory comfort of all around me).

Anyhoo, I also admitted on this date that one of my favorite hip-hop songs is "Ain't No Fun (If the Homeys Can't Have None)." Which. Seriously? ONE OF THE MOST MISOGYNIST SONGS EVER. But SOOO fun to dance to. Urs, you know you freaked to this one with me during some Market St. party, yes?

And my date wondered how the hell I reconciled the two and you know? I have no idea.

But this did get me thinking about how far from or close to my feminist roots I remain.

So (of course!) I made a chart.

And also, I thought of my mother. Who was a card-carrying member of NOW for years, and who was the only woman in Tennessee in the early 1970s that my dad had met who lived on her own, and had two pets, and thought for herself. And who, when I left for New York, as (finally) A WOMAN, gave me a cashmere sweater and pearl necklace and earrings. Which is what Every (Good) Woman Needs.

So. I didn't come up with any grand realizations about how much of a feminist I am. I try. I hope I'm not an armchair feminist. Sometimes I may take a seat, sit down on the job, it's true. But sometimes I get up to send $100 to NARAL, or refuse to date anyone who watches porn, or tell someone I'm not his fucking vessel.

For now, that's as much as I can do, and definitly NOT as easy as it seems. 'Cuz it ain't no fun, if the ladies don't have none. Respect, that is. And a comfortable place to sit and paint our nails.

Posted by jen at 08:33 PM | Comments (12)

February 20, 2006

Those in Glass Houses...

So tonight I was (what else? I am SICK) watching The Bachelor: The Women Tell All, and smugly thinking about how much better BEHAVED I would be if I were on national television. I mean, were these women all raised in a barn? And I realize that "were you raised in a barn?" is usually what (my) parents say when you leave the door open, but somehow to me the phrase has come to represent a reprimand for all the other things I was not supposed to do in life, like:

a) Leave the lights on when I'm not in the room.
b) Forget to thank someone for, oh, ANYTHING.
c) Be racist.
d) Be catty.
e) Talk with my mouth full.

So anyway, I was sitting there, smug as a bug in a rug, like, I would totally not talk smack about my housemates, or about my eggs rotting, or try to steal a man away from others.

And you know what? I would. Or rather, I have. I have talked smack about my housemates. I have freaked out about my reproductive health. I have (twice) kissed the boyfriend of another (to be fair, one of those times was only after she had slept with my boyfriend less than EIGHT HOURS after I had slept with him for the first time).

So I am not going to throw stones.

Instead, I am really going to try to remember the words of Sri Sarada Devi:

I tell you one thing – if you want peace of mind, do not find fault with others. Rather learn to see your own faults. Learn to make the whole world your own. No one is a stranger, my child; this whole world is your own.

Because what's cooler than that no one is a stranger? It certainly makes this odd innernets thing we do that much more warm. And also explains why every time I post something about myself I think is weird, or silly, or overkill (like my recent date preparation), someone else has done the same damn thing.

So we all live in glass houses? At least we don't live in barns!

Posted by jen at 11:24 PM | Comments (6)

February 16, 2006

Sir, Yes, Sir!

I don't know if it's the Capricorn in me. Or the first-born. Or what.

But I tell you, I prepare for a first date like I do an interview. I research. I consult (to the chagrin of all my friends and loved ones, I'm sure). I train:

Three or four outfits ready?

"Sir, yes, sir!"

All unwanted hair plucked, depilatorized or bleached?

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Teeth whitened?

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Friends consulted 29 times re: said outfits?

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Sit-ups complete, callanetics exercises done?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Toenails and fingernails freshly buffed, painted and clipped?

"Sir, yes, sir!"

I don't know why I put myself through this. It's not like if my third fingernail is cut square while the rest are cut round I'll be on KP duty for a week. Or, you know, I don't THINK a girl has ever been passed up for a second date for such a transgression.

Wait.

I do know why I do this.

It's because it's FUN. An agonizing, I'm in love with my AP chemistry lab partner so I have to pretend like I can't figure out how to work the bunsen burner so he can rescue me and I can giggle (can you EVEN BELIEVE I AM A FEMINIST? Egads!) kind of fun. But fun nonetheless.

So I'm not going to tell you how my date goes probably. Unless it's so atrocious I'll never see him again. Or unless, eventually, it goes so well I have to tell you.

But in the meantime, I'll be reacquainting myself with this thing called SHOWERING. And plucking my eyebrows. And buying more clothes I can't afford.

IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL FUN, PRIVATE?

"Sir, yes, sir!"

p.s. Gwen found the funniest thing ever.

Posted by jen at 12:03 AM | Comments (7)

February 14, 2006

Ah, Sweet, Sweet Indifference

I might be more inclined to be grumpy about Valentine's Day being today if all the bizarre, misshapen heart jewelry they're hawking on TV this year weren't SO DAMN UGLY.

Posted by jen at 12:01 AM | Comments (3)

January 24, 2006

Petit-Fours

I forgot I had been tagged forever ago, and thank goodness because I have nothing to write about. Except maybe how the guy next to me in CrimPro SMELLS SO BAD I am sometimes tempted to hold my nose but know that would be wrong.

Four jobs you have had in your life:

*

1. 24 Hour Fitness Kids' Klub babysitter (BEST JOB EVER, I had my own song for the wee ones)
2. VP & Product Manager
3. Video store clerk
4. Secretary

Four movies you could watch over and over:

1. Before Sunset
2. The Bourne Identity
3. Manhattan Murder Mystery
4. Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House

Four places you've lived:
1. NYC
2. SF
3. DC
4. Sac-Town

Four TV shows you love to watch:
1. Project Runway
2. House Hunters
3. Lost
4. Blow Out

Four places you've been on vacation:

**

1. Rio de Janeiro
2. Victoria BC
3. Vegas
4. Franklin PA

Four websites you visit daily:
1. Gmail.com
2. Hotmail.com
3. Nytimes.com
4. All my bloggy-lovies over on the right

Four of your favorite foods:

1. Duck in absolutely any form
2. Chocolate
3. Hamachi
4. Is Coca-Cola a food? if not, any cave-aged cheese

Four places you'd rather be right now:
1. Paris already!
2. Being left to my own devices to scour the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum
3. On a beach reading a book and free from school reading and to-do lists and every worry that's haunting me
4. In the arms of a lover

Four bloggers you are tagging:
Everyone I know has been tagged already! Wait. I think. I can't remember which tag went to which blogger circle. So I am just going to tag my siblings because they both hate tags and I LOVE THEM THAT MUCH.

*Picture that one of my old (and tall, pbblt) Razorfish colleagues drew for me upon hearing I would be leaving them to be a VP in LA.

**Note Kates & Cassie had waiting for me when I arrived in Rio. Yes, I save that kind of crap. Call me a sentimental ole fool. I dare you.

Posted by jen at 08:53 PM | Comments (11)

January 10, 2006

Right-Ho, Jeeves!

One of the only books I made it around to reading over break was P.G. Wodehouse's collection of Jeeves stories, Life with Jeeves.

And I've decided. I need me one. A Jeeves.

He could wake me up in the morning to tea and scones, or with one of his miraculous eye-openers after a long night cutting it up at the club. He could tell me my jeans don't look cute with that top, and if I ignore his advice, donate the top to charity (but of course I'd have to forgive him because he helped me escape the wrath of a jilted lover), and wee, life with Jeeves is the good life!

Sigh.

Instead, I guess I'll be washing my own car tomorrow (still has cat litter in it from taking F&E up to Redding, CLASSY!). And no one will save me from having to watch all the bachelors of the 2L class make googly eyes at the It Girl who sits in front of me in CrimPro. And probably lunch tomorrow will be Cheez-Its instead of steak au poivre.

Sigh.

You know you want a Jeeves, too.

Who would your Jeeves be? A pool boy -- Raoul or Jean-Luc, perhaps? A personal assistant -- Barbie? Gary? Sandra? A life coach -- Phil or Deepak, anyone? Or, if you are soooo LA, perhaps a "satisfaction consultant." That's a new one I just heard about -- to me, it sounds like a hooker, but whatevs! Not a judger!

So who is your Jeeves?

Posted by jen at 09:53 PM | Comments (9)

January 03, 2006

Happy Birthday? Yes, Happy Birthday!

I am 29 today. And really, that's cool, it's not like that means I'LL BE THIRTY IN A YEAR. No, no, not worried about that at all, nooney-noo, nooney-noo (an Ursula expression, she who sent me that cute b-day card above).

But you know, JUST IN CASE turning 29 does in fact mean that next year I'll be 30, I'm taking some preemptive measures (e.g., see NY's resolutions) and I'm doin' some research.

I mean, what does being almost 30 MEAN?

Do I have to stop watching Laguna Beach? Is it wrong that I only waited until 11:55 p.m. on my birthday's eve before opening my presents? And that I only achieved that degree of self control because I hadn't removed the gifts from the trunk of my car since my mom gave me them over Christmas?

Do I have to stop wearing mini-skirts and cowboy boots? Because let me tell you, that will be a HUGE BLOW to my self-confidence because that is the only time people ask me out in grocery stores. And I really NEED to be asked out in grocery stores because I hate going there and having a Hercule Poirot look-alike tell me he wants to take me to dinner makes it much more bearable.

Will this be the year that all my friends get engaged and/or preggers and I have a mini-meltdown?

Does this mean I can never dye my hair jet black again or get my tongue repierced? Answer: YES, but only because that would be SO WRONG.

Is this the point when I no longer look like I'm playing dress-up when I put on a suit?

Ack. I just extinguished my desire for research.

Anyway, 29 years ago, my mother, then aged 29, had me.

And even though she had been married and a home-owner for four years at that point, our 29-year-old selves share some similarities. She was also going back to school after years of doing something she wasn't particularly fond of, didn't really cook (that came later), and was still searching for SOMETHING (also came later).

And now, she and my dad are still giving me ridiculously generous birthday goodies.

As long as I'm not too old for that, all is well. Happy birthday to me!

Posted by jen at 12:19 AM | Comments (26)

January 01, 2006

Happy New Year!

It's nearly 2:00 a.m. on this first day of 2006, and I'm sipping a little of the homemade limoncello that Gloria gave me for Christmas. They (Laurie) say how you spend New Year's Eve sets the tone for how you spend the rest of the year, so this makes me happy because today I:

• Learned from Laurie that not only is my wonderful friend Amber joining us in Paris in March, but so is my equally wonderful friend Shannon
• Exercised my crafty gene, making one successful and three really ugly 2006 shot glasses (see pic of ugly one above)
• Went to Target (because really, could I have any entry that doesn't involve a trip to Target?)
• Groaned about 80 times, every time I moved, because I'm still sore from my first attempt at Tae Bo at Billy Blanks' gym in Studio City
• Was well-wined and dined by Gloria at her NYE soiree

So I think this sets a good precedent for me making good progress on all my resolutions for this year, my 26 for 2006:

1. Listen to Pimsleur's enough to reawaken The French
2. Eat salad three times a week
3. Drink 64 oz. of water a day
4. Cut down to one Coke a day
5. Replace coffee with tea
6. Exercise five days a week
7. Apply for an externship in DC for fall semester next year
8. Never skip class
9. Have the time of my life in Paris
10. FINALLY exchange my reals and pesos
11. Send out those overdue wintery music mixes this week
12. Knit more often, and knit something for myself
13. Go ONE WHOLE MONTH with no frozen food
14. Moisturizer and sunscreen
15. Replace my watch batteries
16. Read 10 non-school books
17. Stop second-guessing everything I say
18. Read The Economist every week (Santa got me a subscription, woohoo!)
19. Kick ass at my summer job so they offer me a real one come graduation
20. Try sweaty yoga
21. Stop worrying about being almost 30 (29 in TWO DAYS!!)
22. Be there for my family and friends
23. Switch Fred & Ethel to pine litter
24. Get F&E a cat tree so they can lose their cute little guts
25. Go to a live show
26. Don't worry, be happy

Happy new year! Hope you and those you love have a ridiculously fabulous one!

Posted by jen at 01:21 AM | Comments (4)

December 01, 2005

Something To Remove the Taint...

...of yesterday's post. But because finals has left me still scrambling for anything interesting (unless you want to hear my thoughts on maritime law or how all law students are A-HOLES), here's a me!me! from Laurie, since she tagged the whole world.

TEN random things you might not know about me.
1: I am the worst know-it-all EVER. Except maybe all my friends.
2: Sometimes, in the quest to know it all, I might make stuff up.
3: I got kicked out of Model UN in high school.
4: I (gasp!) really enjoy country music.
5: I'm a serious feminist.
6: I'm convinced one arm is fatter than the other and often do contrast-and-compares when I'm getting ready to go out.
7: I love spy novels.
8: I would always rather park far away or on the top level in order to avoid fighting for a spot. This is also why I rarely will bid at an eBay auction -- I only use the Buy It Now feature.
9: I feel naked without earrings, but this is a new development. I didn't wear them for years.
10: I have a surprisingly huge noggin.

NINE places I’ve visited.
1: Rio
2: Vancouver and Victoria
3: All but about 6 of the 48 continguous states of this union.
4: Plus Hawaii
5: Ensenada
6: London
7: Bits of Scotland
8: Cancun
9: And I've lived in DC, SF, LA, NY, Sacramento, Santa Cruz, Redding, CA, and Kirksville, MO.

EIGHT ways to win my heart
1: Touch me (really, it's been so long, that might be all it takes).
2: Cook me stuff.
3: Scratch my back (this is a female family weakness. My poor dad is hit up hourly when my sister, mom and I are all around).
4: Hold my hand.
5: Listen.
6: Make me a mix CD with lots of amiguously meaningful songs I can spend like 80 hours deciphering the meaning of.
7: Get me REAL drunk.
8: Be governed by a strong code of ethics.

SEVEN things I want to do before I die
1: Get my law degree.
2: Pump our a couple munchkins.
3: Get married. Oops, probably #2 before #3.
4: Travel lots.
5: Own a home.
6: Make an (good) impact in my community.
7: Sleep with a professor.

SIX things I’m afraid of
1: Debt.
2: The day I wear sweaters with Christmas applique non-ironically.
3: Anger.
4: Finding out I'm really of only average intelligence and it's all been a fluke so far.
5: Oh, the Briget Jones fear of dying alone, eaten by wild dogs.
6: Being found out as the nerd I was in junior high and in fact always have been.

FIVE things I don't like
1: Anything low-fat or non-fat.
2: People with an ill-founded sense of entitlement.
3: Cheaters.
4: Left-lane drivers.
5: Polyester.

FOUR ways to turn me off
1: Be mean to my friends.
2: Don't call when you say you will.
3: Have no aspirations or ideas about what you'd like from life.
4: Have a tongue ring (even though I used to have one myself).

THREE Things I do everyday
1: Take a bath.
2: Hit snooze 8 kajillion times until I finally convince myself to get out of bed. Not due to depression but because I REALLY love to sleep.
3: Fantasize about what my first post-school purchases will be.

TWO things that make me happy
1: Knowing I made someone feel better.
2: Talking out my ass and not getting caught doing it.

ONE thing on my mind right now
1: Finals. Egads.

And now? I tag the rest of you!

Posted by jen at 12:12 AM | Comments (7)

October 10, 2005

Idiosyncrasies, Schmidiosyncrasies

So Gloria tagged me (yay!) to come up with five ways in which I'm a weirdo. Or you know, five idiosyncracies I have and am willing to own up to. So here goes.

1. I still have a sticker collection. Yes, I am in fourth grade.

2. First thing I do when I get home is to put on pajamas. I like to think it's just because, as Cher Horowitz once said, "My party clothes are so binding." And this might have been true when I wore a suit every day, but now it's just because: how wonderful are pajamas? I know this luxury has to end some day. I can't pass this habit onto the children I'll allegedly produce one day. Can I? No. Yes? No.

3. I take a lot of baths. The first one I take is in the morning, sometimes preceded by a shower, but most times not because:

a) I am not awake enough to stand, and
b) A bath affords at least 10 minutes of extra psuedo-sleep.

I also usually end the day with one. And in the winter, I have such a hard time maintaining a normal core body temperature (poor circulation), I often take an extra one when I get home from work/school to warm myself back up. My record is winter 1997 in D.C. when one day I had to take five. I know! you could bathe an entire country in the water I waste! And I'll take that guilt to my grave. But at least since I'll probably be in hell for my lack of water conservation, I'll be warm there!

4. I usually buy my shoes one size too big. I'm not quite sure why this is. Maybe having visually larger feet lengthens my ridiculously short frame in my mind's eye. Maybe it's the same reason I also like to carry packages that are too big for me, and am secretly proud I have an abnormally large noggin. I'll leave that to Freud.

5. OK, this one is really like a few idiosyncracies in one and if you've read this blog with any regularity you already knew these, but I take perverse pleasure in the following, totally useless skills I possess:

a) painting my own nails
b) maintaining a constant speed on the highway
c) cleaning my apartment thoroughly
d) spotting D-list celebrities

So who's next? How about Laurie, Gwen, Crystal, Carolyn and Neeta?

Posted by jen at 10:18 PM | Comments (9)

October 02, 2005

I'm Young Again

Saturday night I was host to my sister and her three friends, celebrating her roommate Rachel's 21st. After a day of Beverly Center shopping, we took her first to Chi because they all love The JT. And then back here for a slew of assorted drinking games that I'm apparently too OLD to have heard of -- F*ck the Dealer, Hi or Lo and King's Cup.

But I had my revenge by making them first listen to Hot Rod Power Ballads and then to an 80s mix from Ursula's bachelorette party. Although truth be told, they seemed to love it.

Watching these tanned lovelies celebrate their youth was fun, but I'd been feeling a little used up, passed over after weeks of fruitless, demoralizing interviews.

Then today I realized. You know, before we all headed out to Chi, I had given favorite bag, my over-loved Allison Burns a little superglue and shoe polishing. And dammit if she wasn't as good as new!

So this week my resolution is to be new again. Young again. I used to be a contender, dammit, and I will be again. By which I mean, I just plan on ending the 24-hour pity party and start to remember what it is I love in life.

Meaning good food, reading the Times, feeling like I'm in control of my life (read: doing my homework), and engaging in discussion of what makes life interesting, preferrably over drinks. Isn't that what youth is all about? Feeling open to possibilities because you're not so cynical that you've decided anything that comes your way you've seen before?

So there you go. I don't know how easy this new MO will be to sustain, however, so I plan on finding more purses and shoes in my closet I can resurrect through a little TLC. I know I've got this cute little beaded clutch in there that's just begging to see the light of day.

Posted by jen at 12:48 AM | Comments (7)

September 21, 2005

Speaking of Exes

Penny and Gloria have both blogged about their exes recently. Which brought to mind mine. Well, that and the fact he is STAYING WITH ME. Weird!

But it has gone surprisingly OK. Allan is off now, watching his friend Barbie (yes, Barbie) play a gig in her punk rock band. And I am at home, supposed to be packing to go see the first of my high school friends, Tina, get married.

Instead, though, I am catching up on my blog reading, too keyed up from the nerves that come from seeing your ex-boyfriend for the first time in a few years. An ex-boyfried of three years, who I lived with for two of those. That's a lot of proverbial water under the bridge.

There were only a couple of tense moments this evening. Mainly due to hurt between both of us as to why it ended. And I hate to say it (Capricorns KNOW EVERYTHING), but I think Allan is right. I think a lot of it was because I changed. I was only 23 when we first started dating. He was 29. And when I was 23, I thought I was an adult, fully formed, ready to take on marriage and everything else that follows. And I didn't think any of that would change, so what did it matter that I was only 23?

Now that I'm 28, I still plan on getting married and settling down one day. But I'm a very different person than I was at 23. Not in big ways. But in little ways that add up. Ways that end a relationship you started when you were 23.

So I guess Allan was right.

But he's having his just desserts, staying here while I'm gone. Mainly because he's been threatening me to bring a harem back each night over the weekend and have them do all sorts of horrible things IN MY BED.

Remind me why I thought it was a good idea to have him stay here again? Oh yeah. To watch Fred & Ethel. Do it for the kids.

Posted by jen at 11:18 PM | Comments (11)

September 03, 2005

Waiting for Godot

Sorry I have not written in so long. Every spare internet second I have had has been spent refreshing CNN.com and NYTimes.com for news on my southern brethren.

I have been waiting, waiting for the news that everyone is safe, that the cavalry has arrived and has removed the people to their salvation. But that is not the news I see. No. Still more waiting, waiting. And dying.

Still more politicians saying thank you to so-and-so governor and so-and-so public official and still nothing. A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

I am thankful that my family in Louisiana is safe. I am thankful my school is doing its part. And I am thankful that millions of Americans are reaching into their pockets and hearts to help.

But in between the thanks comes anger. The anger shared by Kanye West and New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin.

And then comes the fear.

So I am doing what I can. I