I am a mother. I am a wife. I work full time. I am an almost thiry something and loving it, which I guess makes me insane. I love my life, but it scares the hell out of me. I find myself wishing for a better me but hoping nothing ever changes.

I am Back

Jenn July 15th, 2008

I just returned from a five day vacation in Arkansas.  Yes, you can vacation in Arkansas, in case you didn’t know.  It is a lovely area that I called home for 18 years.  My family still lives there and I go back a few times a year to reminisce and drink myself silly.  God, I love my alcoholic family.  They are amazing and completely insane.  Its great.  Except of course when they don’t try to blow me to bits with fireworks.  Specifically my brother and brothers-in-law.  Yes, my father actually left these idiots in charge of fire and explosives.  What the hell…. and they fucked it up as usual.  Ok, that isn’t entirely true.  The weather played a part in it.  Right before we started in with the fireworks for the lovely (read: hotter than fuck) holiday the wind picked up and it started sprinkling.  I suppose this did not indicate to the geniuses to either bolt the fireworks holders (what are these things called?) to a piece of plywood or, I don’t know, move the big stack of explosives away from stray sparks or a tipped over canister that shoots a giant rocket into the big stack of explosives; therefore, igniting the entire batch of fireworks at once, killing everyone in a firey explosion, setting my father’s beloved garage on fire and orphaning many children all at one time.  My sister and I were lucky enough to be sitting right in front of the giant stack of explosives.  EXPLOSIVES!  They exploded!  That’s what they do when they are ignited with fire.  FIRE!  They caught on fire!  Ok, so nobody died or even got hurt really except for my brother because he fell over his own foot and twisted his ankle, but technically that was before the explosion so that doesn’t count.  Oh and on brother in law got hit with a tiny spark that caught his shoe on fire and burned a hole in his foot, but the hilarity of that discounts it as an injury from the explosion.

**************************************************

 The garage is about 200 yards from the house so everyone that saw this scene of bodies flying (hitting the ground to avoid the blowing up of limbs) and the firey explosion pretty much thought we all died and they called 911.  So the fire department showed up…. I went inside the garage and hid behind the corvette.  I figured if the corvette was injured we would all be killed.  Screw the idiots lighting shit on fire, if the corvette was blown up they would all die anyway.  When I walked back outside it looked like a war movie.  Not even kidding… everyone was laying on the ground, shit was on fire. 

 ***********************************

A few take aways:

- We lived.  Yay!

- Do not let anyone under the age of 50 handle explosives in this family

- Congratulate yourself for the brilliant decision to make all the kids go back to the main house.  The women really do keep people alive.

- Tell your family you love them more often.  You never know when you may get set on fire by a bunch of idiots with a lighters.

- Go back to confession and cleanse your soul.  Just in case.

 *****************************************

That is all.

I am going to file this one under: What was I thinking?

Jenn July 1st, 2008

A few weeks ago I was sitting watching Little Women with my daughter.  Well, I was watching it in between her whining to change the channel to Spongebob (AKA - The Devil).  I have no idea why I like that movie, so let us not discuss my taste in programming.  Moving on…  At one point, she sits straight up and begins to gesture wildly at the TV, “KITTY CATS!!”  She calmed down a bit to give me the saddest face in existence to proclaim that she would love to have a kitty cat ever so much and if I would get her one I would be the most amazing mother ever.  Oh, and did she forget to mention she loves me so so so so so so much, the mostest in the whole wide world, bigger than this [stretches across the couch in the most spreadeagled (arms and everything) position ever].  Not one who wants to dash the hopes and dreams of a 4 year old, I told her I would think about it.  This is the parental equivalent to “No chance in hell, kid.”  But once again, not a hope dasher, not me. 

*********************************************

About a week later, I was telling a friend this story of cuteness and she proceeds to send me a flyer from a friend of a friend who wants to get rid of two kittens that her whorebag cat produced.  These are by far the cutest fucking kittens on the face of the earth.  I was disgusted by how cute I thought these cats were.  One was a white Siamese with the bluest of blue eyes.  The other was a little puffball of a tabby.  I seriously wanted to gobble up these little kitties in all their glorious cuteness.  I would like to note at this point that I am in no way an animal person.  I do not hate animals, I just do not really have thoughts about them one way or another and I do not form relationships with animals.  Mostly because they are food.  Yes, all animals.  All types of animals serve as food in one country or another.  Meat = Yum.  I am not saying that I am going to poach your dog and fry it up for lunch, but if I did I bet it wouldn’t taste so bad.  Nor do I drop kick puppies in my spare time.  I think animals are ok for the most part, but only because other people have to deal with them.  Animals require attention, feeding, exercise, cleaning, sterilization, petting and worst of all, someone to clean up their by products (I cannot even begin to discuss this).  I do not want to do that.  My husband wants a dog and as long as he travels there is no way in hell I am taking care of a goddamn dog.  I like dogs way less than cats. 

************************************************

So, back to the story.  These kittens were flippin’ cuter than hell, so I forwarded the flyer and mentioned it to the Man Unit and he said no way did he want a cat.  Most of the reasoning because he was scratched or something and he got some sort of cat disease that left a blind spot in one eye.  Tragic.  Whatever, it is in fact a good reason not to want a cat.  So I said fine, I was just trying to make a little girl’s dreams come true and you can just go ahead and be all selfish with your blindspot.  Yes, I am an evil, evil bitch.  I said it with humor.  Suck it.

*************************************

So, no cat.  I had a moment of weakness while viewing a flyer of two cute kittens.  It passed.  I was saved.  Oh wait… not so much.  A week after THAT, the little urchin brings up the kitten again.  This time as I was making dinner and she says to her father, “Daddy, can I have a kitty cat?”  AND HE SAYS, “Ask your mother if you can have one.”  Wanting ME to be the bad guy.  Making ME break the terrible, awful news.  As if I wasn’t the bad guy enough.  For fuck’s sake!  So I say, “Ask your Daddy why he doesn’t want or like cats.”  Remember me?  The evil, evil bitch?  Right.  She produces the saddest little face I have ever seen in my life and cries out “But… but… wwwwhhhhhyyyyyyy?  I really want a kitten.”  Seriously, your heart would have exploded if you witnessed this scene.  It was so tragic and awful.  Did I mention dramatic?  She is, after all, my daughter.

***************************************

So, get this!  This man, who told me no fucking way we were getting a cat and TRIED to make me look all bad by making ME break the bad news, tells our daughter that if she can keep her room clean for two weeks and help take care of the kitten that she can have one.  What the fuck?!  I am the one that championed for her!  I am the one that tried to change his mind and with the whole blindspot sad sob story, I backed off.  Then he goes and gets to be the hero?!

**********************************************

My life is some sort of sick and twisted reality show.  That is all.

Mount Everest

Jenn June 25th, 2008

My husband wants to go see a marriage counselor.  Frankly, I am annoyed at this point.  Ok… just consider the rest of this blog a vent for me.  You don’t have to agree with anything I say.  You can think I am a complete asshole.  I don’t care.  I have things going on in my life that I am unhappy about.  I cannot make them change.  I wish I could.  I can only change myself and quite honestly, I do not want to change.  I am happy with the way I am right now.

 **************************************************

Matt and I have been having trouble for a while.  I have slowly been drifting away.  We would talk from time to time and I would make it clear what I needed and things that bothered me and why I am not happy about certain aspects of our marriage.  I tried.  Seriously, I absolutely tried.  I married this person and I was determined to figure this all out.  I realize marriage is difficult and each person has to work for it, but if you want to know the truth, I don’t think he worked on it.  Well, wait.  That isn’t entirely true.  He did the things that he thought were helpful and what he was supposed to do.  He worked like a slave and brought in loads of money.  He has been the financial support of this marriage.  I make peanuts compared to him and I am doing pretty well for myself.  He traveled.  A lot.  Still does.  That was his contribution and its a great contribution, but guess what, money does not make a marriage last.  Money makes things easier in a way, but adds another burden, simply because once you have money you strive to make more and its a constant struggle to ensure you never not have money.  Damn, I am exhausted thinking about it and I know he worries about it 24/7.  However, all these years that I have been saying the things that I need, never once did I say that I needed more money. 

 ********************************************************

Here is what I need.  I need someone to listen to me.  I do not need someone to fix my problems.  I am a big girl, I can fix my own problems.  I am so fucking capable of taking care of myself that I take shit for being too independent.  I don’t need help with issues at work and when I have an argument with a friend or when the dry-cleaner ruins my favorite pair of pants.  I can handle those things.  I just want someone to listen to me, be it whether I babble on for 20 minutes about the injustice of corporate America or the fact that capri pants were manufactured by the devil.  I know it may get tiring listening to this bullshit, but I listen to you talk about the stock market or MMA fighting day in and day out and I don’t say anything. I listen even though I would rather talk about the history of mummification or Jackson Pollock.  Whatever, I listen because that is what you do.  I listen because I care.

 **********************************************

I need someone to stand up for me.  Remember that part how I said I can take care of myself.  Its true.  I am an independent motherfucker.  However, I need someone that is going to stand up to your family when they won’t listen to me (especially in regards to the kids) or when they ask me questions about our plans to move to Alabama.  You should have told them we weren’t moving there.  Yet, I had to be the one to dodge the bullets and break the bad news.  Its no wonder they hate me.  Not only am I not good enough for the prodigal son, but I am also of the wrong religion and the spoiled bitch that won’t let you move back home.  The fact that I do not fit in with them is much more pronounced with all of this shit hanging over my head.  The more I am perceived as a bitch, the more I am going to act like one.  Doesn’t make much sense, but its definitely going to happen.  Another facet of that support is in regards to things I want to do with my life.  When I was going to school you went on and on about how you were going to support me, but every time I mentioned that I had to write a paper or post to forums you bitched about how its been a month since I had been to Alabama with  you.  That isn’t supporting someone.  That was making me feel bad that I was trying to educate myself, something important to me, something that would help further my career.  The same applies to my job now.  I am FINALLY able to say that I can support myself financially and I am working my ass off to make even more money and to further my career.  I have a chance to make a difference in the company right now and I LOVE my job.  The downside is that I have to work a lot.  I have to be on conference calls at 6 in the evening, I need to answer emails at 9 PM, I need to work at night in order to catch up on all the things I missed in the day because people will not leave me alone at the office.  Don’t get all pissy that I am answering emails because suddenly you realized I was over working on the relationship and you have begun to resent my Blackberry.  Not my problem any more.  It was my problem a year ago when I mentioned I needed help working on our relationship.  Now that I have given up, you want to talk?

*******************************************

That is my problem.  I have given up.  I gave up because I wasn’t getting anywhere.  I gave up because you can only ask for help so much and when you keep getting rejected or placated for a short period of time, well…. after a while you just stop trying.  I can pinpoint the exact moment I gave up.  Now all of the sudden that I am ready to walk away I have to be dragged into counseling.  Ok ok ok…. its the right thing to do.  I know this.  This is not just about me and my husband.  We have kids.  The kids lives are stake here.  I come from a divorced family, I know what it can do.  Of course, my parents did not exactly handle being divorced very well.  The sued each other.  Did you hear me?!  THEY SUED EACH OTHER!  They still cannot be in the same room together and its been over 15 years.  Well, maybe that will change.  My mom went crazy and emailed my father and he actually emailed her back.  They were civil.  I guess this means hells has frozen over and the world is coming to an end.  I am pretty sure it states somewhere in the bible that Armageddon would be ushered in with the reconciliation of my parents.  I am just waiting for the locusts and frogs…

******************************************

Should I be so bitter?  I am bitter.  I am angry.  I haven’t slept in weeks, maybe months.  I don’t want someone to analyze me.  I don’t want someone to tell me that if I just choose to be happy in this marriage, in this life, that I can be.  I know that!  Does that mean that I should?  Does it mean that I should give up a life that I know could be better?  Does it mean that I should give up my dreams and who I am?  Because that is what is going to have to happen.  I am going to have to accept this life like it is and I don’t want it.  That is a terrible thing to say.  I know it is.  I hate that I said it, let alone think it.  Its wrong.  I got married.  I promised to love someone forever.  I don’t know if I do anymore.  Well, love can be many different things.  I still love him.  I will always love him.  He has been such an important part of my life.  Eight years of my life.  But that love changed.  I used to love him as a partner.  As a lover, friend, companion, mate.  Has that changed?  I don’t have the answers…

***********************************************

Here is the thing.  The thing that haunts me.  I do not think I was meant to get married.  Seriously.  I know what you are thinking, that I am just saying this because of the current state of things.  No, really.  I thought this before I was married.  So why did I get married?  Oh how complicated that is and there are a number of different answers.  First, sweet lord, the pressure.  Pressure from his family, from mine, from friends, from society.  Pressure pressure pressure.  You have to get married if you want to please everyone, if you want to be accepted as a woman, because you have a child together, because you live together (IN SIN!!!), because you have been together for so long, because God says so, because because because….  Do you realize, for a woman, after a certain amount of time in a relationship everyone begins to ask when you are going to get married.  I am not kidding.  Its exhausting.  Heaven forbid might a woman be in a relationship and NOT get married.  Sweet Jesus, NO!  Society pissed me off in that aspect.  Another reason I got married, I really did want what was best for my daughter.  It was not the right way to look at the situation, I am aware (now).  I wanted her to have a family.  There are other reasons but they are kind of fucked up and do not really make sense.  You know, if I had been the person that I am today, I would have never done it.  I do not mean that in a bad way.  Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband.  He has been a part of the reason I am who I am right now and even he has said that.  He told me the other day, that if I had been as confident in who I am all those years ago that I would never have married him and he is right.  Not because I didn’t love him, but because I know who I am now.  I don’t think I had a clue back then.  Retrospect is brutal. 

******************************************

It makes me wonder if it would be so much easier now if we had never gotten married and I think it would have.  Meaning, that I think we would have more of a chance of making it as a couple if we had decided to just be partners and not spouses.  I honestly believe this.  Getting married is part of what has ruined my marriage.  That is a sad sad thought, but so are many other thoughts I have right now.

 ***************************************************

I am not writing this to get advice.  I am not writing it to place blame because the blame is on both of us.  I am sure I have done things that have put us where we are today.  I just want someone to listen to me.  That is it.  I just need someone to listen and there is nobody. 

Dementia

Jenn June 19th, 2008

I really don’t have anything profound to say today, but there are some random things that I need to make note of…. Bear with me.

 - Profound lyrics of the week: “Your mistakes do not define you now, they tell you who you’re not.”  Brad Armstrong you are brilliant.  Thank you.

- My pants are always wrinkled.  ALWAYS.  I can iron them and 2 seconds after I have them on they are wrinkled.  Its a talent really.

- Jimmy Page’s guitar solo in Since I’ve Been Lovin’ You has the ability to make me cry.  Seriously.  Its the only song that makes me cry (because of the guitarical genius of it) except for that one time when I was pregnant and I cried because of a the Bon Jovi song Livin on a Prayer…. um… I was pregnant.  No other excuse for that kind of ridiculousness.

- I am fully aware when I am being irrational; however, when the crazy sets in, I have no ability to stop it.  I KNOW I AM BEING CRAZY!  The worst thing to do in a moment such as Jenn’s craziness is to say “You need to calm down.”  Unless of course, you really don’t want me to calm down and you really want me to flip the fuck out because that is exactly what will happen.  Those five words form the worst phrase in the history of the world.

- Speaking of… the word ‘moist’ creeps me out.  If someone were to say moist fluids to me I will make a gagging noise and my hands will take on a life of their own trying to keep those words from penetrating my mind.  AUGH!  Moist fluids penetrating.  I am SOOOOO creeped out right now.  *Side note: I wonder how many creepy motherfuckers will make it to my website for googling ‘moist fluids penetrating’.  GAH!

- Some people are not meant to be married.  I am one of those people.  Some say its because I haven’t met the right person, but I do not think that is necessarily true.  I believe that you can choose to be happy or choose to keep looking.  I could very well accept my life as it is and be happy with it, but I know my life can be so much more and; therefore, I intend to find it within myself and within the world. 

- My confidence makes me appear much better looking than I am. 

- One of the main reasons I go to Starbucks so often is because the under-age hottie that serves me coffee is so damn hot.  He really may put me in the poorhouse with his muscley hotness.

- Most depressing thing I think: I always expect people to leave me because they always have in some way or another. 

- I am so good at compartmentalizing my life that I am sometimes shocked when I realize that I am a parent.  Like I forgot I ever had children.

- I know the exact moment my marriage ended and I am still married.

- I have only one true regret in my life and it happened thirteen years ago.  Not a day passes that I do not think about it and much of my life is defined by that one moment.

- The only person I cannot forgive is myself. 

- Last night I went to take a shower and realized I had a tiara on my head.  What’s more is that I had it on for about three hours and had eaten dinner, bathed the kids and worked out with it on.  I felt like a true princess.

- I “entertain” myself probably more than most married couples sleep together.

- I can eat 4 lbs of crab legs by myself and I am a tiny, little person.

- If I were single, right now I would be making out with the under-age hottie from Starbucks on top of the drive through counter. 

When God Doesn’t Hate Me. On Second Thought…

Jenn June 18th, 2008

Granted I didn’t get very much sleep last night, but all in all this is shaping up to be the best day I have had in a long time and since I don’t have to many good days these days, I am going to embrace and make out with my good day all day long.  Only a few bad things have happened and they were expected so I was ready for it and just accepted that bad shit happens like not sleeping,  buying gas that costs a fortune and falling on my ass because that is what clumsy people do. 

********************************

I worked last night, until about midnight because my boss is sucking all my blood during the day and expecting me to perform miracles like a goddamn magician.  I accept this and move on because I really and truly love my job right now and in a position to continue kicking serious ass and have people adore me and try to sleep with me to better their positions.  I am all about people kissing my ass and yes, I take bribes as I have established I have no morals.  Yay me! Anyway, so I get done working and I can’t sleep so I commenced to reading an entire book and I wish I could say it was something profound and added oodles of meaning to my life, but it was a romance novel and I gobbled up all of the trashy nonsense and loved every minute of it.  Shut up, I AM smart.  I fell asleep around 2 AM, woke up at 4 AM and proceeded to drag my sleepy ass through the house like a zombie and get ready at an ungodly hour because its what I do.  Whatever, then my day just got crazy awesome.

 *************************************

I woke up the kids and they were perfect angels and did everything I asked them to and gave me a million hugs and asked so sweetly to take blankets to school and we all danced our way through the morning like the clowns that we are.  Isabella told me I was the prettiest mama in the world so I gave her 12 lbs of chocolate for breakfast and a million dollars.  Then Warren sang the Itsy Bitsy Spider in a tune that in no way sounds like the Itsy Bitsy Spider, but being his mother I know that is what it was and it was so fucking cute that I died right there on the spot.

***************************************

Then we got on the car and there was more singing and rejoicing and loving life going all around.  There was a brief moment when I stopped to get gas that I wanted to kill myself.  I paid $4.39 a gallon and cried the jagged sobs of those that have been wronged in the way that is the wrongest of wrong.  Then I cut off my arm to pay for it because I couldn’t promise my first born since she is kind of cute and I like to tickle her.

******************************************

I took the kids into the school.  Isabella hugged my neck and reminded me that she loves me more than anyone else in the world so I bought her a new wardrobe and promised to take her to the hamburger house (this is what she calls McDonald’s.  there is a waffle house, why not a hamburger house?) every day for the rest of her life because that is what perfect mothers do in her book.  Then I took Warren to his class and he hugged my neck and told me he loved me for the first time, so my heart broke into a million pieces and I smeared butter on his cheeks and ate him for breakfast because he is so deliciously cute and I love yummy baby fat. 

**************************************

I get in the car and congratulate myself on the amazing children I have and that I have great hair and so well put together and I just can’t believe how perfect I am.  So to reward myself I went to Starbucks to get myself a $100 coffee because that is what perfect people do.  I was greeted by my perfect and wonderful (albeit under age) coffee hotty.  He leaned over the window with his giant muscles all muscly and muscled up and flirted with me, saying something along the lines of wanting me to be his sugar mama and of course I pulled him into my car, covered him with chocolate icing and licked him clean, because that is what any self respecting, totally hot chick would do to a man that fucking manly.  Ok, technically I didn’t do this because he is under age and I still have a few morals left.  Not many, but a few and one of them is don’t sleep with teenagers because not only is it creepy but I would go to jail and perfect people don’t go to jail.  Therefore, I only drooled over him.  I can do this.  I have every right to drool and I only drool over about 3 men.  One is David Beckham because the man is a gift to the world, specifically from God.  The other is my hot little coffee maker and the other… well… Ok, this is getting way to personal.  My point is, I only fantasize over a few men so let me have them OK?!

****************************************

Moving on…. My life is perfect and my entire drive to work I am thinking how goddamn perfect I am.  I pull into the parking garage and still thinking, “fuck, I AM PERFECT” and open my car door to get out, catch my foot on the side of the car and fall out of it, spilling every single thing out of my laptop bag and purse.  THREE people walk past me and get a view of my bare ass, as I wore a skirt today and when you fall out of your car like I DO then  your skirt will commence to fly up over your head and show your bits and pieces to the world.  THREE people walked by and laughed at me.  THREE people walked by and in no way offered to help pick up the perfect moron off the concrete floor.  THREE people did not offer to help the idiot scramble for her shit underneath the other parked cars and THREE people did not bother to hold the elevator door.  These THREE people work somewhere in this building and I will not rest until I hunt them all down, kick them in the shins and push them down the escalators. 

Laid Back

Jenn June 16th, 2008

I am really getting sick and tired of people telling me that I am not going to be as laid back as I am now when my children get older and start fucking with my mind.  These people, mainly my sister, like to tell me nightmarish tales of how her children are getting to be teenagers and into all sorts of mischief and mayhem.  She talks about boys, kissing, cheerleading tryouts, eating habits, drugs and college as if every turn and twist of adolescent life is wrought with pain, heartache and worrisome worry that scares people who worry the hell out of life into worrying. 

********************************

I get that parenthood is cause for worrying.  I know I will worry.  I will worry my little heart out like all parents worry.  That doesn’t change the fact that I am not going to flip the fuck out when my kid doesn’t make the dance squad or decides to kiss a boy or even get felt up by one or smokes pot or ditches college for a band named “The Tiddlewinks”.  I may call her a dumbass or worry that she is out doing all these things or just sit back and remember how much I used to fuck up and that I LIVED!  I don’t mean I lived as in I survived this period of my life, which obviously I did, but I mean I LIVED.  I had a fucking good time screwing up all that time.  I made a lot of mistakes and I made decisions that probably should have ended with me being dead or maimed or jail, but I didn’t end up there and if I had of then I would have learned a valuable lesson or been dead in which case it wouldn’t matter what I learned.  Granted, I want my children to grow into responsible adults that have all limbs and both eyes, but I am not going to freak out when my daughter comes home with “Property of the US Army” tattooed on her ass.  Let’s face it, I love a good soldier just like the next person, more so actually, and I too wish I were property of the United States Army.  I love men in uniform so much that I still cannot figure out how I never dated one.  Never once has a marine, sailor or even a police officer crossed into the land of Fancypantsdom and it wasn’t from my lack of hoping for one to conquer this land… it just never worked out that way.  In fact, I am pretty sure that I have missed out on a lot in life by not being manhandled by a sailor, but there isn’t much I can do about that now.  I keep threatening to leave my husband and family to run off to Chicago and jump ship with the next available sailor shipping out, but it just hasn’t happened yet.  Maybe soon….  The point is, beyond the fact that I heart men in uniform, is that I am pretty much ok with my children screwing up and landing themselves in situations that generally suck or that are so fucking fun that they should be and probably are illegal. 

**************************************

Recently a family member’s step daughter got arrested for possession of marijuana and this family member called me to tell the tale of woe and ask my advice.  Basically I just said that I hope she learned her lesson and to not get caught next time.  This earned me a tongue lashing (not the good kind) about how I don’t understand what its like to have older children and one day I will regret all that I said and that I worry my socks off and flip out when my day comes, oh and it WILL come one day.  The day will come when my children turn into devil worshipers and sacrifice cats on the alter of evil drug doers who probably do not go to confession, say their hail Mary’s or recycle their paper products resulting in sinful repression and the needless killing of trees.

********************************

Look, I know I will spend many a late night waiting for my kids to come home when they have broken their curfew, made out with motorcycling bad boys, gotten drunk, peed into oncoming traffic in the middle of downtown, smoked a joint, tatted their bodies with inappropriate phrases, ran over a mailbox, punched out the jackass who kissed their girlfriend, or just had a shitload of fun with their friends.  I will be worried and I will freak out from time to time and it will probably suck just like it does now about things that affect toddlers.  Its just part of parenting.  That does not change the fact that I am not going to obsess over it or get upset just because a teenager is being a teenager.  I am ok with my kids doing those things that makes adolescents who they are.  I am ok if they try drugs or drink or get arrested or make out with boys or heaven forbid have sex.  That doesn’t mean I want them to, just that I know what its like to be a kid and to do all of those things and I can deal with it if my kids end up doing it as well.  Want and acceptance are two different things and I believe that I can accept the fact that my kids may do things that I have done. 

Senior Project Manager Bitches

Jenn June 11th, 2008

A couple of months ago I received a promotion.  Yay me!  I didn’t write about it because I wasn’t writing about anything at the time.  Really, I just wanted to crawl under a rock and come out when life didn’t suck so damn much.  Well, life still sucks and I am going to have to stop avoiding it; otherwise, I will go insane and the only way to fix will be to climb on a roof top and blow my brains out.  Pleasant, huh?  Yes, I am all rainbows and unicorns.  You should see me after I come out of confession or a long nap.  Anyway….

*********************************************

What was I saying?  Right!  The promotion.  I have been working my tail off at this company trying to make something of myself and make my parents proud (yes, I am nearly 30, shut up) and all that fun stuff.  I got my promotion and now I have the opportunity to sink or swim.  In additional to my promotion, I was just given the government funnel.  Not only am I a Senior Project Manager for National Accounts, but I also own the government side of the business now for my department.  Which means that when we launch our services to the Navy and Coast Guard, I will either be a hero or have no job depending on how the projects go.  I fully intend to kick ass and make a success of myself, but these projects have been going on for nearly 8 months and as there is no project manager around to handle them (before me), nothing was done.  So by now, the customers are upset, the processors are upset and I just provided the world a whole lot of information that doesn’t really matter to them and you have probably stopped reading because I provided details that you just don’t care about.  Ok, fine.  Be that way. 

*************************************************

My point was this, I am a badass.  I mean really, I kick ass at my job.  They don’t call me Senior Project Manager for nothing and in fact nobody actually calls me that.  They call me Jenn.  And Jenn is going to make something of herself if she has to claw and drag her way to it.

********************************************************

Update on the school front.  I just finished the very last significant paper of my college career.  I didn’t even write it well because I knew it was my very last significant paper and I just bullshitted my way through it like I have every other paper and I will still get an A because I am awesome like that.  I will be graduating with a 3.7 GPA.  That’s right.  I am so awesomely awesome.  It should be higher, but I had a few C’s because I realized how much accounting sucks and I don’t want to be an accountant and that’s a good thing because who would want an accountant that made C’s because she didn’t like doing it?  I didn’t think so.  I have only 5 more days left of school.  5 DAYS!  That’s less than a week!  I know most people know that, but do you understand the significance?  By the weekend I can wrap up what is left of this shit and be done FOREVER.  In 5 days I will have accomplished what no one else in my family has been able to accomplish.  I may be nearly 30, but I am a achiever.  Haha!  I feel a little drunk about it all.  I may go do a shot of tequila and dunk my head in the toilet and I would still feel giddy and probably congratulate myself on how well a near-college graduate was able to so successfully put her head in the toilet because clearly I am brilliant.  The issue is that its only 8 in the morning and I have no tequila.  I have a toilet nearby, but without the tequila it just seems stupid.  Plus, I am having a good hair day.  Good hair beats out needlessly putting your head in the toilet, hands down… every time.  However, for the life of me, I cannot remember why.

*****************************************************

Did that make any sense?  It didn’t to my either.  Moving on….

Humiliation

Jenn June 7th, 2008

I took my kids to dinner at the neighborhood Italian restaurant.  Something must have happened to the air conditioner because it was hot as hell and they had all the windows open and fans going everywhere.  Given that we live in Atlanta this means it was 240 degrees.  Normally, I would not have stayed in such heat, as I am a delicate flower and could have wilted in the sultry environment, but the kids love the place and I know the owner so they spoil us.  One thing that trumps my girly delicatness is being pampered.  I can be a spoiled bitch.  Shut up. 

 *************************************************** 

Anyway, point is… its hot.  We eat and there are very few incidents that normally plague a meal with small children.  I only had to threaten death 8 or 50 times.  We get up to leave and almost out the door when my daugther announces (read: shouted) to the ENTIRE restaurant, “My ass is sweating!”  I just straightened up and corrected her, “honey, we don’t use that word.  You should say your ass is perspiring.  Let’s go.”

 ***************************************************

Next time we go out to eat I will be sure not to forget the duct tape again.  They can’t talk if they are bound and gagged. 

Fancypantscicles

Jenn June 6th, 2008

It is officially 7 degrees in my office.  I am slowly freezing to death.  I am never cold.  I walk around my house half naked and the thermostat is generally around 65-68.  How am I possibly expected to work in subarctic temperatures?  Not to mention, I am bundled up in the ugliest sweater known to man.  The only way this sweater could get any worse is if a snowman was embroidered on the front.  In which case, not only would I kill myself, but I am pretty sure my best friend would stop by to stomp all over my dead corpse for wearing such a hideous thing.

 ******************************************* 

I am wondering if mainlining hot chocolate would make me just a wee bit warmer.  That could also provide the chocolate fix that is necessary to keep me from jumping out the window to an untimely death because the person in the next office will not set the temperature to a reasonable level.  It is either freezing fucking cold, or island balmy.  Can we just set it at 68, hold hands and be friends? 

 *******************************************

On second thought, I forgot that I don’t like touching people I don’t know and I don’t want to be your friend.  If you touch me, I will staple you to the wall.

Cake and its EVIL, Vicious Hold on Me

Jenn June 5th, 2008

I would sell my house for a piece of cake right now and not just any piece of cake, but A Piece of Cake.  Ok, that isn’t true.  I will take any cake right now.  If you would like to put in an offer, please do not tempt me because I may get all crazy and take it.  No guarantees, but I am really flippin’ close to signing away my rights to residential independence on the off chance that I can indulge in the evil goodness of my beloved.  If my children were not asleep in bed, I would drive to the store in my pajamas and flip flops, but a box of cake mix and whip myself some yummy, chocolate and vanilla baked goodness.  I am mere moments away from waking up the children, forcing them into the car and dragging their sleeping, lifeless bodies through Publix just so I can get one ginormous slice of sweet sweet ecstasy.  I think I have a problem.

***********************************************************************

We do not really keep sweets in our house so when I go into these crazed, PMS cravings, I end up having to eat Frosted Mini Wheats just for a hit of sugar.  I once poured a pack of Splenda in my mouth.  Shut up, I had to, I was going insane.  I needed sugar and there was no fucking sugar in the house.  I was forced to endure Splenda.  Ok, I didn’t really do that.  Ahem.  Moving on…

***********************************************************************

The point is, I need some motherfucking sweets here people and I DO NOT HAVE ANY.  My love for cake is ridiculous, I am aware.  But come on!  Cake is like God’s personal little gift to me, a mere moment of delicious and yummy perfection.  If someone wants to charm me, the best way is a good piece of cake.  Not fancy cake, don’t ruin it with coconut or nuts or something weird like pineapple (don’t get me started on the evils of a fruit and cake combination).  Just give me a vanilla cake with chocolate frosting and I will love you forever.  Perhaps my views on love are skewed.  Fuck it.  I WANT CAKE!  GIVE ME CAKE!

Next »