Babies In Bars.

My legs hurt real bad.

2008-07-29T08:48:00.000-07:00

A couple Fridays ago I swallowed my pride and committed my evening to standing in line for the new iPhone. A slave to aesthetic and enticed even more by the incredible demand of it all, I had to have it, but passed by the lines and vowed I would not stand in one. There were better ways to spend my valuable time. But from a raw "needs" perspective, my shit Razr was on its last legs and soon I was to be without phone. Sure I could have selected any number of phones as my next purchase, but don't be ridiculous. I'm a Scorpio and I'm totally stubborn.

As I walked over to the 5th Avenue Apple store after work, I wondered if I really knew what I was getting myself into. I had a bottle of water. A book. An iPod. Essential things to occupy and hopefully expedite time. I queued up. Estimated wait according to the friendly, apathetic Mac dude: 4 1/2 hours. Here we go.

My iPod had a good run. And the post-work people watching was very enjoyable. But I can't read a book standing up and soon my wandering mind was bored. This was hour 2. Luckily the guys behind me were equally bored. We started talking. We became buddies. I never got their names, but for the next two and a half hours we were the most animated part of the line. There were four of them plus me, all strangers. I gave them advice on the ladies, they traded secrets on dudes. We bitched about the economy. About MTA. About what we'd say to Bloomberg if we ever came across him. How to know what theaters will show Batman in IMAX. How to get the food cart guy to walk over a $2 can of Diet Coke so we don't have to move. Realize that the $2 can smells like garbage. Stuff like that.

Once I struck up my newfound friendships, the line passed by faster than ever. We never formally introduced ourselves or exchange numbers and make bullshit plans to hang out again soon. No way. We knew we were all using each other in pursuit of a common goal. We were all we needed to get by and I don't think any of us could have been more thankful for the company.

Brooklyn is neat.

2008-06-11T20:00:00.000-07:00

The past weekend opened my eyes to what New York has to offer in the summertime. Each day well above 90 degrees, it was hard to walk out my door and not start to sweat at the first blink of an eye. I really must invest in more dresses.

On the plus, this weather gave me a glimpse at what people do here to combat the heat. Yes, mostly we sit inside directly in front of an air conditioner, palms out, eyes closed, relinquishing all control to the mighty god that will provide cool and stop stop stop the sweating for five minutes, at least.

But I did things too. Friday night I snuck into McCarren Park Pool in Brooklyn to see M.I.A. And it was awesome. Awesome because tickets were over $4o and I saw the same show for free. Saturday I met friends in Central Park to watch Euro Cup. Then trekked out on the L train and BBQ'd in Brooklyn. Watched the Belmont. Played frisbee in a Williamsburg park. Got some awesome Cherry Cola italian ice. Arrived back in Manhattan, tired, only to sleep the best I have in quite some time.

My shoulders may be atomic pink, but I've experienced the first glimpse of summer in this sweltering city. And it's fun. So I look forward for what's to come.

Looks like rain.

2008-05-20T17:34:00.000-07:00

During my walk home from the gym tonight a man started walking behind me right around the Bowery. Not caring enough to turn around to look for myself but fully glued to what was going on, I deducted he was having the most amazing conversation with whomever he was speaking to on the phone--he was laughing and joking and I suspect making grandiose hand gestures. It was intense.

My curiosity piqued. I had had enough. I needed to know what he looks like. He was just that entertaining. Was he a young professional on his way home from work as well? I turned around. He was older. And talking to an umbrella. We made eye contact. He smiled, laughed and continued on with the discussion. I smiled right back at him.

Hey, whatever works, right?

The first visitor.

2008-05-19T10:34:00.000-07:00

My mom came to stay with me this weekend.

It was her Christmas present. I am kind of an awesome daughter.

When she first got there, the sight of her stuff clogging up my cozy bathroom and bedroom and closet and floors was unnerving to my inner neat freak.

Now that it's all packed up and gone, I wish it was still around.

To Lulu.

2008-04-28T20:38:00.000-07:00

I got a letter from the place where I used to get my hair did back home today informing me that my stylist passed away unexpectedly a week ago. Ridiculous. Shocking. Untrue. Unfair! Not someone like her.

I knew within the first five seconds of meeting Lulu that we were going to click. We got along effortlessly. We talked about everything. Swapped unrequited love stories. Shared favorite music. Swore like sailors. She was unbelievably cool and infectiously energetic. She became my friend. And she was only 22.

This one's for you, Lulu. You are missed.

Neighbors.

2008-04-09T19:06:00.000-07:00

I recently met my new neighbors. This past Tuesday at 1:30 AM, I was awakened from my slumber by the sound of drunk girls screaming. Loud, high-pitched "WOOOOOOOOOOOOO's!!!". The kind of shrieks you left behind at college once that diploma was in your hand. Or rather, the kind you never chose to emit because it's obnoxious and unflattering.

This wasn't coming from inside my building--from the girls next door who walk around like horses--no. It was coming five stories below my bedroom window.

My friends, allow me to introduce you to Boss Tweed's: http://www.bosstweeds.com/

A sad homage to an even sadder historical figure, this is my unfortunate neighbor. Buffalo wings. Flip cup. Beer garden open 'till 4 AM every day. Beer garden below my bedroom window.

Please, do not let this dissuade you from your impending visits. All of you. Are visiting. Me. Because that's what friends do and I like visitors who are friends. Maybe we can create a dumbwaiter and get some free beverages out of the whole situation. Just be sure to pack some goddamn ear plugs.

I'm new.

2008-04-07T18:46:00.000-07:00

Not long ago, at my first meeting of my new job with a certain chocolatey candy company, I used the phrase "ride the chocolate train" during our presentation to describe some creative influences for why we came up with what we did. Do not ask me for more context. It just sort of slipped out--I was babbling nervously, like you do as an account person, albeit a new one at that. There was a brief moment where I didn't think anyone noticed. I was safe! But sure enough a hearty guffaw was emitted from my tall, attractive african-american account counterpart, D. The room erupted. Presentation delayed five minutes while they all caught their breath. I had made an impression, at least?

From that point forward, I vowed to remain conscious of any opportunity where "riding chocolate trains" could word vomit from my lexicon. I was doing very good. Until today. Until I did it again. Right outside D's office. On my way to the magical closet filled with candy and chocolate that he just happens to sit by.

Sonofabitch.

Why I don't have cable.

2008-03-24T20:57:00.000-07:00

The Real World turns 20 this year, apparently. They really need to stop pooping these seasons out. Gone are the days of dealing with societal issues like AIDS or homophobia. Nowadays these sluts get drunk, choose not to do their assigned job which is usually the easiest job in the universe, and bitch when MTV sends them on a vacation to places I can only dream about. They come away from the show thinking they're hot shit and continue to slut it up on reunion shows like The Gauntlet. Or tour the country getting drunk at college bars.

Looks like their upcoming cast aims to be nothing less than poignant and thought-provoking.

I especially enjoy the dramatic spin of the trailer:

http://www.mtv.com/overdrive/?id=1583682&vid=218002

Lame.

2008-03-11T19:11:00.001-07:00

I'm all caught up on the "Lost" show.

Now what?

Pretty sure waiting for these mysteries to be solved week after week is going to get real old real fast.

Rant. Rant. Rant.

2008-03-10T18:38:00.000-07:00

It took me seven days to log into my blog.

Seven full days of dumbness and frustration and troubleshooting which ultimately lead me to a message board of other bloggers that Google reassured me would help me answer my question. Why didn't they just answer me instead of passing the buck? Having dabbled in the world wide interwebs for a good year and a half, I know the difference between intuitive user flow and shitty user flow. I promise I'm not e-tarded. This is not my fault. I could not sign in and no one but Google was going to fix that for me.

Back in 1999, I was a senior in high school and started using Google for research and whatnot. Back then it was sort of underground and appealed to me because I thought it had a funny name. My ex clued me in. He said one day it would be better than sliced bread.

He was right. I should have bought stock then and there. I'd use Benjis to light my Cuban cigar. And get one of those French organ grinders with the dancing monkey to entertain me during the dinner hour.

Because that's what rich people do.

Since then Google has blown the fug up. Nowadays it's too cool for me. No direct contact. A maze of troubleshooting questions that don't resolve my pressing issue. Why you gotta make a sista search endlessly for seven days? Why?

I'm over it. Because I'm writing on my blog. And that's boss. And the above is slightly melodramatic. Changing rants, as I write this, "Deal or No Deal" is on in the background because NBC is the only channel that is marginally fuzzy on my tiny TV with no cable. This show is dumb, the contestants really should shut up before they embarrass themselves further--for example, the loud, large woman on tonight is toting a fake hair weave and claiming it's her luck charm. Additionally, I think a cinder block has more personality than Howie Mandel. That or he hates his job so much he can't even try to feign the enthusiasm. Maybe I should just read instead.

My Hood.

2008-02-24T19:49:00.000-08:00

Is a great place to live. The boxes may still be packed full of shit I probably should have left in a dumpster in Minneapolis, and my couch may need to be cut in half to get it up the five flights of old tenement building stairs, but I'm settling in nicely, thankyouverymuch.

One thing that makes this place so damn cool is on the corner of my block at Ludlow and Rivington. Now it's a horse shit falafel house called "The Three Monkeys", but back in 1989, it graced the cover of a Beastie Boys album we all know and love--Paul's Boutique.

It's good to be here.

God. Dammit. All. To. Hell.

2008-02-19T17:44:00.000-08:00

Tonight I bought another pair of yellow shoes. Without thinking the slightest. Flats. This time they're yellow flats.

The count is now up to four. Four pairs of yellow shoes is three pairs too many.

Survival.

2008-02-18T15:57:00.000-08:00

It has come to my attention that I own three pairs of yellow shoes. The reason it's come to my attention is due to the fact that I've unconsciously piled then into an empty corner in my new bedroom. I've also put four pairs of black shoes in another corner...

???

I blame it on "Lost". I've always been a skeptic of the show. I've always thought it was pretty lame. But since I've moved into my new place--all of three days ago--I can't stop watching episodes (in HD!) on the internet. I guess having no furniture or books or anything but a Mac laptop will do that to a person.

But maybe I should stop.

Correction.

2008-02-11T12:41:00.000-08:00

The allergy accusation below is not really Brooklyn's fault. Instead, it actually seems to have morphed into a rather wicked cold.

Apologies to Brooklyn and its supporters. Must not bite the hand that feeds.

I'm allergic to Brooklyn.

2008-02-10T15:24:00.001-08:00

Puffy face. Faucet nose. Foggy head. This shit won't stop.

On the plane.

2008-02-09T18:28:00.001-08:00

I'm alive. I'm here. I'm homeless. While I do promise, my children, to recount to you my tales of hijinks and hootenany in the city that never sleeps, this first East Coast entry is a more melancholy one. I wrote it on the plane, the skyline of Manhattan as my backdrop.

"Ten minutes from landing in my new home. I can't help but ponder all that I've left behind. My family. My friends. Routine. Comfort. Safety. I can't help but feel like I've made a mistake.

Clearly every single one of you would slap me upside the head right now and exclaim: 'Don't be such a shithead,' but that doesn't mean I can't feel like I have in this very moment.

But I miss my family. So much. I'm not much of a talker when I'm with them, but their closeness and proximity--in the other room or a 10 minute drive away--keeps me calm.

Missing my friends. Impromptu drinks at the Bulldog. 6 AM 'Rock Star' jam seshes. Drinking wine with the roomie. Jumbling and garbling words after a stressful day to the point of misconstruing my meaning, but still somehow they understand exactly what I mean.

Missing the city. My apartment. My routines. Calming drives. The one home I've really known up to this point.

I'm sure once I'm not homeless there's a shiny hearty paycheck in my new bank account, I'll look back on this post and give an understanding nod of nostalgia while uttering 'What a shithead.' But tonight, right now, I miss Minneapolis. And everything familiar it holds."

It's time.

2008-01-18T07:49:00.000-08:00

I've been spending a lot of my time at the home of the parentals.

It all started when my grandma got sick--the need and desire to be close to the people who matter most. I'd pack up my overnight bag, head over and sleep in my mom's room. Waiting and hoping that everything would turn out OK.

This week the roommate packed up and moved out leaving me alone in our humble Uptown abode. And it's a fucking cold place to be--literally--because the windows have no insulation, we pay for our heat and as result keep it low because it's expensive and we're cheap bastards. So I again seek out the warmth and comfort of the place I grew up. Emma is a added incentive too. Nothing like taking a nap with a snoring bulldog. Soon it'll be the only place in Minneapolis I can still call home.

And it's all very surreal. But it's also very much time to move on.

"The days get shorter and the nights get cold. I like the autumn but this place is getting old. I pack up my belongings and I head for the coast. It might not be a lot but I feel like I'm making the most."

Uprooting.

2008-01-08T15:00:00.000-08:00

The time has come.

Two and a half weeks from now. Pack it up. Move on down the line. Uproot out of the comfort zone. Give it a go at a big new job in a big new city with all new faces and things. All by myself.

It'd be a lie if I said I wasn't scared shitless.

To Phyllis

2008-01-07T11:18:00.000-08:00

One of my top five favorite people of all time.

I miss you every day.

Can't Fool Me

2007-12-06T12:59:00.000-08:00

Melissa: we may have diff tastes in music
Melissa: like sometimes we like the same things
Melissa: like josh grobin
Melissa: and other times we don't
Melissa: like your fascination with showtunes
Jenna: i don't like josh groban
Melissa: oh
Melissa: you don't?
Jenna: i don't like showtunes
Melissa: i thought we had a convo about this
Melissa: how we are embarassed to say it
Melissa: but we secretly do
Jenna: hmm
Jenna: not me bubs
Melissa: oh
Melissa: strange
Jenna: yep
Melissa: i looked in the history
Melissa:
Melissa: I have a confession
Jenna: shoot
Melissa: i really like josh groban
Melissa: its kinda embarrassing cause he’s so annoying looking
Melissa: but his voice is awesome
Jenna: can’t lie, i do too
Melissa: really?!
Jenna: yeah, but let’s not talk about this to anyone ok?
Melissa: done

Jenna: um
Jenna: what?
Jenna: i don't remember that
Jenna: at all
Melissa: well you said it
Melissa: i knew i wasnt' going crazy
Jenna: hmm
Jenna: when
Melissa: last month
Jenna: NO WAY
Melissa: yes!
Jenna: i think you made that up
Melissa: (i did)
Melissa: hahahahha
Melissa: i'm SO bored

Last Night Was the Best.

2007-12-05T11:50:00.000-08:00

Wine with the roommate. Reminiscing on the old times. Laughing.

Glad to have that back. Maybe things aren't always as bad as they seem in one's head.

Thanks for the wine, Wallace. I'll miss you.

What happened

2007-11-30T20:58:00.000-08:00

I have lived with the same person going on six years now.

We met at Madison, School of Journalism, junior year. Both incredibly wry and cynical with high hopes of conquering the world of advertising until it was mere putty in our hands. We became inseparable, instantly.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly where it started to fade, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt as much a rift between us as I have recently.

“Two ships passing in the night.” That’s what we say, jokingly in email or during a five minute catch-up, both intently aware of the truth that cliché holds. There was a point in time when we spent virtually every waking hour together--now we just live together. She spends her time in her room watching TV. Or out with her set of friends. I stick to the living room. My car when I need a good drive. Or out with my peeps. Not sharing much else aside from an address.

Maybe I was the impetus that began this divide. A few years back I started a job I loved and coworkers I loved even more. Sometimes I extended an invitation to a happy hour her way, but mostly I kept the two worlds apart. I’ve never been a fan of large groups. I don’t think I have the attention span for them. I find I’m much more attentive and engaged with smaller interactions. Even when hanging out with many. I’m sure most of the time you could probably find me in a corner booth, with a select few. Quality. Not quantity. That's just how I roll.

That could have been the start of it. There also weren't many reciprocated invitations on her end...hmm... But perhaps we also just grew up a little bit. The days of building beeramids out of Milwaukee’s Best cans or creating interpretive dances to “Renegade” are reluctantly past us. That’s bullshit. I don’t even believe it as I type it. Relationships are only supposed to get better as you grow up.

So when one falls into the gutter, how do you get it back?

Wheels in Motion.

2007-11-28T13:50:00.000-08:00

Things happening.

Rumbly tumbly.

Ode to Being Smitten

2007-11-11T18:14:00.000-08:00

He's really quite lovely in person. Small, but lovely.

Swoon...

Too young

2007-11-02T18:47:00.001-07:00

Close your eyes and focus on the good. All the grief and sadness will be gone when you open them up again.

That's what someone told me once.

It doesn't work this time.

La Musique Française

2007-10-29T14:43:00.000-07:00

Justice. C'est top!

Nous avons eu l'amusement!

Il faisait chaud. Nous étaient chaud.

J'ai bu de trop de vodka.

Et enfin, nous avons dû aller à la maison. Mais pour ne pas travailler le jour suivant. Success!

The Essence of Me...

2007-10-11T19:35:00.000-07:00

Being as it’s near one month until I age another graceful year, I’ve spent quite a bit of time taking “stock”, if you will, on what I’ve been doing up to this point. Not entirely comprised of that existential “who am I” and “what does this MEAN” bullshit, moreso of the “am I living up to my potential” variety. And in my jet-lagged state of mind tonight, the answer is a resounding “no”.

As of late, work has become my significant other. I’ve enmeshed myself in my career because I’m driven to be successful. And that’s not entirely bad. Not just in the feministic sense. This path I’ve taken has brought with it lasting friendships with people similar to me in many respects. You can’t always say that about a job. They bring joy and smiles to me and to children of the world.

Recently, though, it’s turned me into a solo being. Wanderlust through terminals. Seat back. Seatbelt fastened. Cabs. Cubicles. Conference rooms. Solo slumber in a sterile king size bed. Rinse and repeat. Free time spent aimlessly wandering through a magical and hopelessly romantic city. Alone. Head full thoughts. Eyes glued on the spectacles. Commentary wasted on a crisp night air for I am an Amex army of one.

Has the drive for success subdued the other goals I have? Has it compromised my opportunity to meet and laugh with my like-minded friends? To grow those relationships? Worse yet, to have the time and occasion to fall in love? Sometimes I think it has. If you wanted to engage in conversation with me these days, I can talk a mean game of shop talk—great work that’s come out of so and so recently, blah blah. But can I discuss with you at length why enjoyed the most recent book I read? What the name of that fantastic director was? Or how my “best-seller-ticket-to-a-home-in-Provence” novel is coming along? What about the most recent exhibit at the Walker? Nope. Nope, because at the end of a long day, the only thing I can focus attention on is The Hills. And Bubblebreaker, which is a game. On my company-issued Motorola Q.

Maybe I’m just lazy. Doubt that’s close to being true. Think it’s just time to make some adjustments. This is the year to do so.

Aaron had a party.

2007-10-08T15:40:00.000-07:00

We had lots of fun.
Inda ate Ding Dongs.
We're not sure chocolate teef is a good look for him.

Why didn't I think of that?

2007-10-07T19:56:00.001-07:00

This past Friday I found myself among the rest of the Minneapolis hipster community dancing my socks off at the Girl Talk show. Ironic moustaches, mullets and American Apparel abound.

This guy, this Girl Talk guy Gregg, is my age. He's energetic and committed to making sure you have as much fun as he's about to. He bounced out onto the stage in a crisp white hoodie and by the end looked like a sweat-drenched, shirtless Jesus. Literally. Not saying he's god. He had a beard. And long dark hair. Jesus looked like that too, I'm told.

Anyway, I'd stare up at him periodically throughout the night, playing with his laptop putting together the next seamless booty shaking jam. I'd stare and realize he's a dude with a laptop. One dude. With a laptop. Just as any of us were dudes with laptops in college. Spinning our newly-downloaded Napster gems so our friends could sort-of dance and spill Icehouse on shitty futons. The only difference is this past Friday he threw one giant dance party to a sold out crowd at First Avenue and moves from city to city doing just that. Pretty sure most like me gave it up once the diploma was in hand. And we were offered big people jobs.

But maybe not. Whatever. Guess maybe I'm a little bit jealous for him being so cool. As just a dude.

The end

2007-10-02T08:00:00.001-07:00

Is incredibly fucking nigh...

In a good way, that is, unless I have just jinxed myself.

The first rule of Fight Club...

2007-09-27T15:03:00.000-07:00

I hope this is true. Somebody needs to spice things up around here.

Mid-April, 2008

2007-09-23T19:24:00.000-07:00

Start the clock now...

The One, Once

2007-09-21T10:05:00.000-07:00

I was lucky to have an amazing, ideal first love experience. We met young, stuck with each other for years, and in the end helped each other grow older and wiser in many ways.

But you're not always destined to end up with the first love, despite the wishing and hoping and manifesting that comes about during it. I wanted nothing more than to end up with him and my world was completely shattered when I ended up with nothing.

People change. Lives change. Interests change. I dove head-first into my career, he into the Air Force. I'm trying to figure out what I want to accomplish in my years, he found someone to settle down with forever. We've grown apart, but he's always with me in some way. And always will be.

Now he's off on the other side of the world living in a giant sandbox for way longer than anyone should have to be there. I don't know anyone else over there fighting, really, so when I found out someone who had comprised my entire life for so long was there, it was a hard realization to face.

Be safe, Mark Richard. You have a wife and a life here to come home to.

Distracted. At work.

2007-06-05T08:10:00.000-07:00

[10:07] Melissa: what does a mental hunger strike entail
[10:07] Jenna: now i have to start from square one
[10:07] Jenna: read the asterisk
[10:07] Melissa: oh
[10:07] Melissa: hahaha
[10:07] Melissa: didn't see that
[10:07] Melissa: lazy
[10:07] Melissa: scroll down melissa
[10:07] Melissa: for gods sake
[10:07] Jenna: sigh...
[10:08] Melissa: sigh
[10:08] Melissa: big time
[10:08] Melissa: my mom and i were rockin out last night
[10:08] Melissa: hahaha
[10:09] Jenna: i bet you were you dirty girl
[10:09] Melissa: then sebastian got a boner
[10:09] Melissa: and we didn't know what to do
[10:10] Melissa: i scolded him for being turned on by his mother and sister
[10:10] Melissa: he gave me sadeyes

Spring Cleaning

2007-05-16T08:55:00.000-07:00

That’s a dumb cliché of a headline. But spring is here, and here’s where I’m going to evaluate a previous post listing winter “to-dos” to judge how productive I was:

1. Learn to snowboard.
Yeah, this didn’t happen. We didn’t get much snow this year until April and by that time I was like, sooooo over it.

2. Become a regular at a coffee shop. When there, spend more time on crossword puzzles and re-sharpen my wicked skillz.
Yes, I did sharpen my crossword skills. Keeps the Alzheimer’s at bay and whatnot. But no regular appearances at a coffee shop. Maybe that’s a springtime sit outside sort of gig.

3. Mail Melissa her birthday present. Because her birthday was in October. And I'm an ass.
Meh. I’m still an asshole. Maybe next year she’ll just get two presents. Unless I just decide to keep this one. I'm selfish.

4. Take advantage of free Thursdays at the Walker.
Nope, didn’t happen. But there’s a Picasso exhibit opening this July, so I be dere.

5. Enroll in a remedial French class and work on becoming fluent again.
Cette merde coûte beaucoup d'argent.

6. Purchase Super Mario Bros. 3 off of eBay. Prove that I can still beat Koopa. With no warp whistles.
Yep. Purchased the game. Play it often, but have to use warp whistles because otherwise, the fucker goes on the fritz by World 5.

7. Discover new authors. Grow my book collection.
Yep. Did this. Reading is fun.

8. Purchase things of the nesting variety. Start with a couch. Maybe some art. Things that make me more of a grown-up and less of a college student living off of ramen.
Nope. Still need a couch. And a dining room table. And other cool things like art. But if the plan is to move to NYC, how much ish do I invest in, huh? How. Much.

9. Discover new music. But not go to many shows. Because it looks like people don't like to come play in Minneapolis when it's cold outside.
This happened. Lots awesome Euro hipster ish. And hip-hop. And mixtape DJs like Flostradamus. And rediscovered my love for old school soul and funk. Yep. Good stuff.

Rainy Sunday. Working Hard.

2007-04-22T14:22:00.000-07:00

Well, it's not nice outside, so that makes it more acceptable that I'm inside doing work stuff. But really, this is what happens when two ADD friends talk on IM.

Spanks a lot, Lavasani:

[16:13] Melissa: would you
[16:13] Melissa: hook up with
[16:13] Melissa: a geico caveman?
[16:13] Jenna: hmm
[16:13] Jenna: maybe i would
[16:14] Melissa: noice
[16:15] Jenna: would you
[16:15] Melissa: oh totally
[16:15] Jenna: just checking
[16:15] Jenna: i guess theyre gonna have a sitcom
[16:15] Jenna: ...
[16:15] Jenna: in which case, RIP cavemen
[16:16] Melissa: well we should jump on that shit before they hit the big time
[16:16] Jenna: yeah
[16:16] Jenna: hmm
[16:16] Jenna: where you think they are?
[16:16] Jenna: LA?
[16:16] Melissa: cause they are going to have tons of sluts all over them
[16:16] Melissa: no
[16:16] Melissa: they are in that place
[16:18] Melissa: pangaea
[16:19] Jenna: what?
[16:19] Jenna: how do we get there
[16:19] Melissa: travel in time
[16:19] Melissa: THOUSANDS OF YEARS
[16:20] Jenna: millions, more like it
[16:20] Melissa: right
[16:20] Melissa: make it happen crapentar
[16:20] Jenna: that rob guy
[16:20] Jenna: you know, the rob and big guy
[16:20] Melissa: yah
[16:20] Jenna: is he just a skateboarder?
[16:20] Jenna: with an endorsement deal from DC
[16:20] Jenna: or
[16:20] Jenna: does he own DC
[16:20] Jenna: shoes
[16:21] Jenna: help me clarify
[16:21] Melissa: ????????
[16:21] Melissa: i got a skateboard though
[16:21] Jenna: he has a bulldog
[16:21] Melissa: i'm gonna rock that shit out
[16:21] Melissa: and break my legs
[16:21] Melissa: prolly a rib or two as well
[16:21] Jenna: okay but tht doesn't answer my question
[16:21] Jenna: don't die

Are you there, God?

2007-02-04T19:46:00.000-08:00

I was born and raised a Catholic. A religion steeped in tradition, doctrines, history and routine. And I can remember exactly when I lost it.

I was a sophomore in high school. A private, Catholic high school. And I loved my high school years. But it was in 10^th grade that Father Custodio (I don’t even know if that’s his name--I made it up but it sounds right) made us watch a video of a woman documenting her abortion in our religion class. It was required. It was called Silent Scream. And it was horrible. No one really discussed it afterward; I think we were all in shock. I hadn’t thought about it for a long time until recently. But I do remember, aside from being disgusted with the physical images of the act, feeling quite sick that such a graphic scare tactic was forced upon me and my classmates in an effort to sway our beliefs the Catholic way.

The second instance that made me question the intentions Catholicism was at my local church, still sophomore year. It was Confirmation time, and I was really excited because my high school friends and my old public grade school friends would all be in the same class with me. More importantly, Michael Periolat would be sitting right next to me every Wednesday. After our first class, Father Campbell pulled me aside (though not entirely aside as my friends still heard him) and told me that I was not welcome back because my parents did not contribute monetarily to the parish during collections each Sunday. I knew that. We didn't even go to mass every Sunday. We were lucky if we were awake before noon. Either way, he coldly asked that I not return next week. Or the week after. Or the week after that. I was 15 and I was mortified. He made me cry in front of my friends.

Father Campbell was a big jerk.

There are still moments when I feel a strong connection to Catholicism. I don’t think it's a connection based on my agreeing with the beliefs and doctrines of the Church so much as it is a part of the traditions and values within my family. It's memories of taking my 91-year-old grandpa Cornelius to church every Christmas Day and watching him recite mass in perfect Latin. My grandfather amazes me every time I see him. His memory ten times sharper than mine. And his faith so strong it helped carry him through a Great Depression and the death of a young son. It's listening to my mom and aunt recite horror stories of the nuns from their school days--the ones who told them they were stupid and slapped them on the wrist with every incorrect answer. But all the while my mom and aunt laughing deep from within their bellies as they share their tales. It’s my brother, sister, cousins and I looking around the dining room table all shifty-eyed and mumbling over forgotten words in an attempt to recite grace. It's having something be such a part of me and compose who I am, yet not all at the same time.

That’s not to say I don’t believe in anything. I still think I’ve got faith. It might not be organized faith, but I do think there’s something bigger than me at work in this world. And I believe in being a good person to the best of my ability. And that failure is sometimes inevitable. But overall doing good brings good back. I don’t know. I figure I have to believe in something. Because without the bigger picture, I’m just an over-worked, underpaid consumer living life to a lesser extent. But that's the great thing about my faith. It's always evolving. I’m young. And as much as I may think I do, I don’t have all the answers yet. But I look forward to figuring them out.

So you like, want to LIVE there?

2007-01-22T18:07:00.000-08:00

Recently I visited my good friend Terese in New York City. It had been far too long since my last trip there, so it was good to be back. It made me realize that no matter the time span between visits, that city always fits. Soon it will be home. Temporary, but home. Because grass and trees and open space is nice from time to time.

In the meantime, here are my cultural observations:

(Editor's note: Not long after penning this entry, I went back to NYC for business and pleasure. Last weekend, in fact. My Friday night consisted of me, Grey Goose, no dinner and falling down in the Soho House lounge. Super rad to act like a 15-year-old drinking for the first time. Maybe I'll write about that. But at the speed I write entries, that'll be in six months.)

1. New Yorkers love to talk about "the BEST (fill in the blank here) you'll EVER have. EVER." If you're gonna put it out there and say you know where to go for the best slice of red velvet cake in town, you better fucking pray that someone else doesn't pipe in and trump you with an even more obscure locale.

2. Think you've discovered the shortest, most efficient train route to get where you need to go? Bullshit. Guarantee someone has a better way. And they'll tell you that too. And I guarantee the two or three of you will go back and forth on the feasibility and efficiency of your routes for a good 20 minutes.

3. Saying "Excuse me" on the street or on the train or wherever you may be has the same impact if you were to say "fuck you" instead.

4. New York is your own giant toilet. Literally. A plastic cup on the F train can be used as a urinal. And the '85 Chrysler LeBaron parked on 9th (between 5th and 6th) in Park Slope is the perfect place to drop trouser and squirt out some wicked diarrhea. Or the lady. On 9th. Who started coughing and ended up unleashing eighty gallons of vomit on the street and then walking away. It's yours if you want to use it. And if you've ever heard eighty gallons of vomit hitting the street, you may need to.

5. Apparently wearing flip-flops on the train in December is cool. Granted. New York has had an abnormally warm winter. But still. If you don't get AIDS, I know of a plastic cup full of urine just waiting for the next sharp turn.

6. Drunk Jewish kids twisting and bopping away to soul and R&B music is funny.

7. Cool cat DJs spinning the soul and R&B music those aforementioned drunk kids were dancing to is not as cool as he thinks he may be if he doesn't have Curtis Mayfield's "Move On Up" single on 45. And he probably just lost six customers wanting to groove to that JAAAAAM.

Now, I've never posted pictures to a blog before. Right here is where I think I will post some of me doing the tourist thing. Which wasn't really the tourist thing, as we didn't sight-see or do things like that. Unless you count the time Terese needed to go to work and left me to my own trouble in Midtown. No. These photos consist of posing, which I suppose is something tourists do, so there you go:

What to do when one comes across an American flag crafted out of milk crates? Show those Brooklynites you can party like an American girl, obviously.

Do not be distracted by my model-esque abilities. For the mannequin behind me has had a boob implant. No way those fuckers are real.

Nothing clever to write here. Just another photo of me. Posing as an American girl. Which is sometimes only really, really funny to me and Terese.

Happy New Years from 2/3 of Knife Club. Stab. Stab. Stab.

Workplace Theatre, Part Deux

2006-12-23T16:10:00.000-08:00

[We pan on to a row of tightly packed-in desks. People typing feverishly; working to make another dollar for the man. Suddenly, someone sneezes.]

Jenna: "Wow, with no dividers between our desks and winter upon us, I daresay the probability of getting sick is highly in our (dis)favor."

Chad: "Yeah, I know. It's like we should just live in Germany already."

Jenna: "Why Germany?"

Chad: "Because that's where the GERMS are. In Germany."

Jenna: "Right. Well, I think you need to get back in your car, drive in reverse and try to start this day over again. Without comments like that."

Chad: "Ok. But I ride the bus."

[Fin]

Shit List

2006-12-06T15:21:00.000-08:00

Recently Veda told me she's throwing out the old and starting her shit list from scratch. That's a good thing, because I'm pretty sure I was on the old one for something I did seven months ago, like not getting coffee. Or forgetting to pick her up for carpool. Or leaving her to talk about utility knives with some weird guy instead of playing wingman. Stuff like that.

I don't have a shit list. Sometimes I think I should, but usually I'm over being mad soon after anything happens. Being mad takes so much effort. However, if you really piss me off, I'll remember forever. And I don't need no damn list to remind me. No siree.

If I were to carry around one, girls who say they'd just DIE without shoes and/or chocolate would be at the top. So would people who wear leopard prints or decorate their homes with animal prints. And a certain person who continually fucks me over. And also me for allowing myself to get continually fucked over.

Hmm...I'm on a roll. It's time to flush out a shit list of my own.

Workplace Theatre

2006-12-05T12:13:00.000-08:00

Chad: "Hey Jenna there's a wine tasting at that wine shop on Washington this Thursday. Wanna go?"

Jenna: "Hey thanks for the offer, you're neat. But I think I'm allergic to wine. Makes my tummy feel funny when I drink it."

Chad: "What? That sucks. Wine is good. And good for you."

Jenna: "True story. You know, lately when I've been drinking beer, I feel sick too. I think I'm allergic to beer as well."

Chad: "Maybe you're just allergic to fun."

[FIN]

Keep it Fresh

2006-12-05T07:28:00.000-08:00

Winter is upon us. This year, I've made a list of things to entertain me and curb boredom. Because I get bored easily. And that's no fun.

So here they are, in no particular order:

1. Learn to snowboard. I ski. Skiing is great, but surprise, I've grown bored. Time to make the ass hurt so bad I can't sit for six days.

2. Become a regular at a coffee shop. When there, spend more time on crossword puzzles and re-sharpen my wicked skillz.

3. Mail Melissa her birthday present. Because her birthday was in October. And I'm an ass.

4. Take advantage of free Thursdays at the Walker.

5. Enroll in a remedial French class and work on becoming fluent again.

6. Purchase Super Mario Bros. 3 off of eBay. Prove that I can still beat Koopa. With no warp whistles.

7. Discover new authors. Grow my book collection.

8. Purchase things of the nesting variety. Start with a couch. Maybe some art. Things that make me more of a grown-up and less of a college student living off of ramen.

9. Discover new music. But not go to many shows. Because it looks like people don't like to come play in Minneapolis when it's cold outside.

On the Road

2006-12-04T12:34:00.000-08:00

I spend a lot of my time in my car.

Not commuting to and from work, although that's part of it. I just spend a lot of time driving around. And this habit left me feeling like a giant asshole after seeing An Inconvenient Truth, but driving calms me. If I have a bad day at work, or a bad fight with someone close to me, all I need is some good music and my car. It's cathartic, calming and provides perspective. Most importantly it keeps me sane. Clearly I could do other things, like take a walk. But fuck it. This is Minnesota. And right now it's cold.

Recently the music was stolen from me. That's a bit dramatic and really just a euphemism for the fact that someone broke my back window and ripped my stereo out of the console. And my Interpol CD. That was in the stereo too. Oh, and a bag of clothes. But whatever. No one was hurt. And it's just stuff. Stuff can be replaced. Stuff is nothing to get one's knickers in a bunch over. It's the selfishness that saddens me the most about the whole situation. And the fact that I cut myself 20 times sweeping up shards of glass. Those fuckers.

So, with no music, my drives have become a stream of consciousness free-for-all. A recess for the mind with nothing in particular to concentrate on, aside from driving. It's funny the things that pop into your head when there are no boundaries or topics to think on. Recently my mind has focused on digging up the most obscure songs from my past and playing them as my soundtrack. These include, but are not limited to:

"Manah manah" --The Muppets
"She's Got Skillz"-- All 4 One
"Hangin' Tough"--New Kids on the Block
"Malibu" --Hole
"Uno Noche"--98 Degrees

Songs like these lead me to believe I ate crayons frequently as a child. I like to think that overall, I have a pretty good taste in music. That I've built an amazing library of past, present and future hits. So if this is what I come up with, with no mental restriction, something is wrong. At least it's another way I amuse myself. So here's to looking forward to the next drive.

Sugar and Spice

2006-12-01T07:48:00.000-08:00

Somehow, during the past three years that I've worked in the advertising industry, I have developed a knack and frequency for swearing. Maybe it's the late work nights, the sometimes unreasonable timelines, or the fact that you have to be crazy on some level to want to work in the business.

Maybe.

Or maybe it's just fucking fun.

Last week my mom told me to cut back on my swearing. She thinks it makes me sound crude and un-ladylike.

"Hmm," I replied, feigning introspection.

"I suppose running around with a hockey stick in a hockey helmet and North Stars jersey, or choosing Star Wars action figures over Barbies when I was a kid also didn't do much to lay the ladylike foundation."

Fuck that. Swearing stays.

Hello, my name is Jenna

2006-11-30T14:47:00.000-08:00

and this is my first blog. Clearly I'm not what Marketing textbooks refer to as an "early adopter" when it comes to technology trends. But I like to write. And I often over think everything. This is my forum where I will do both. Sometimes there will be profound insights. More often a collection of hungover half-sentences. Either way. This is my blog.