And now to make myself “Unattainable”
in hopes of the day that you will inevitably return.
if only for another first chance at the dream.
You’re looking so hard at the tree, but you’re missing the forrest.
Things I need to get as of this week:
Miss Hannah Wingfield of Dundee Scotland asked for postcards with 10 things that make me happy written on them. Since I’ve recently started a series on List Blogs, (not to diminutize you Miss Hannah) I thought it would be fitting to share it with you as well.
!0 things that make me happy are (in no particular order):
This right here is the culprit of today’s mystery. Much of which, was not eaten by yours truly- as I gave most of it away to friends that didn’t have anything for breakfast.
A friend of mine, to remain nameless as to retain her identity, helped me to smuggle this delectable treat. But smuggling bacon and other breakfast tasties is a very delicate feat. You must be very careful. You must keep your guard up.
You must.. be sure you carry some Pepto Bismal.
I only ate 2 pieces of the bacon and half of the bisquit shown here. However that was enough to result in not one but two trips to tinkletown but not for the tinkle.
My tummy hurt. There is only one bathroom up here on my floor for the girls. Working with boys and it not being out in the public atmosphere, I couldn’t just walk into the Men’s bathroom and dump off the jobs.
Instead I had to perfect a very specific dance style. I call it the gopher. Go-fer- the nearest restroom you can. It’s kind of like Frogger actually. You have to dodge all the people walking by in the hallways and entry ways. In hopes that you will get to that which is coveted at the end of the level…
the glory that is the toilet. The glory that will be released from your bowels as you finally get there.. to the nearest available john that you have to hover over.. because women are just as bad about dumping their jobs as men.
I’m completely serious.
I’ve had to go in many a mens restroom in a dive bar to find not only that the line was shorter.. but the men had cleaner restrooms. Thank you Jesus for the metro age.
That was my day yesterday. However despite it all, I will never give up on this second profession of mine. Bacon smuggler has a nice ring to it I think… even if there are a few consequences to be had. Sacrifices must be made.. in the name of zod. Bacon!
Sidenote: I was the only one who got sick from said breakfast food. The other two people were not effected at all. God I love my life!
Random factoids o’ Jena:
I have always had a fascination in all things underwater and scientifical. My favorite animals are octupi and seahorses. I find them to be creations of magic and wonderment that somehow managed to make it into reality, as if by mistake.
I’ve milled over getting tatoos of them many times. I currently do not have any tattoos, which also shocks people upon hearing. I haven’t ruled it out yet. There is still more than enough time for it. So who knows, right?
I love the ocean so very much that at one point I also considered being a marine biologist. My father told me later that one of the best schools in the country for that is in San Diego.. so regardless of which career choice (I’ve known I’ve wanted to be in entertainment since I was born.) I’d made, I was destined to live there someday.
Ah San Diego, my home… how I miss you so.
And my dearest ocean? It’s been days. Let’s make a date alright?
The brightly colored large tacks that hold up my French prints have been falling off mysteriously. I’m not sure as to why exactly. They’ve been on the walls months. It’s only been starting recently.
Perhaps gravity is setting in and the weight is pulling on them.
Perhaps it’s something else entirely.
But when another tack and picture fell he instinctively went to fix it.
My room is still in shambles from the Holiday activities. You didn’t think that just because I’ve been off the radar meant I’d become a nun did you?
It had been a romantic evening. Dinner and then a moonlit walk on the pier. It hadn’t been completely perfect, but it was damn near that way.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. After everything with Mr Parker.. of saying my goodbyes and throwing pennies to the air on New Years.
Sometimes it’s.. not the greatest experience for my lovers, specifically for him.
We were about to lay in bed. We looked up. He noticed the line print fall. It was the second one to fall this week. He went to fix it. I told him not to worry about it. He was trying to be a gentleman.
He fished around the clothes near the side of the bed looking for the brightly colored tack. He didn’t find it.
He found something else.
And there was a moment of silence as he picked it up off the floor and looked up at me.
“I always get up afterwards and go to the bathroom.”
I couln’t breathe. For a moment there, despite my honesty, I was worried that I’d blown it.
“It’s probably from one of our multiple sessions. I’m sure it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
He went to the bathroom and threw it away. The silence was deafening. I hung my head a little lower.
Please don’t tell me I ruined it. Please don’t tell me I ruined it. Please don’t tell me..
I did didn’t I? God damnit.
To be continued…
It drives me nuts if theres not a window in a bathroom. I have specifically not lived places because they didn’t have one.
I’m near positive I’m hypoglycemic. Beware when I haven’t eaten in awhile… it’s not pretty. Can haz cheeseburger pls?
The last time I seriously dated someone local was when I was in San Diego in 2006. I’m a repeat offender to long distance relationships. Ironically the last person I dated semi seriously is currently in San Diego.
No matter how often I tell people how short I am and/or that I have 3 kids, they are always shocked.
I’m a natural blonde. My hair gets lighter in the sun. I haven’t had it my true natural color since high school.
I will not sleep with anyone until I know the answer to 2 simple questions. What they are, I don’t reveal until after I’ve gotten the answers.
Even though I love the ocean, I’m still afraid to learn how to surf. (I want to conquer that phobia this year though)
I rarely memorize a phone number. My dad has had the same cell for years… I still couldn’t tell you what it is without looking it up.
My favorite actress is Audrey Hepburn. (Like you didn’t see that one coming)
The game that got me hooked onto RPGs was Dragon Warrior on the NES.
Norman Bates and I share a common interest in taxidermy. I own a kit but don’t believe in hunting for sport- so haven’t used it yet. (Feel free to tell me when Fluffy dies- I’d love to practice)
I have never owned a sex toy.
I remember more of the 80s than the 90s.
My favorite song is by a band that has long past broken up: B side by Korea Girl
My best friends live in Alaska and the Chicagoland area respectively.
In Jena time, “I’ll be ready in 5 minutes” means 45 mins. Not because it takes me that long to actually get dressed, but because I wait until the absolute last minute a majority of the time. (Usually I’m fucking around on the computer.. erm working)
I can pick objects up with my toes.
I have driven naked on more than one occasion.. in broad daylight.
If a man doesn’t drive a stick, it’s huge minus points with me.
All of my children’s names are net/comic/anime/video game references.
I have never not played a lead in any onstage performance that I’ve been in.
My first kiss was in kindergarten, when 3 boys tackled me and kissed me at the same time. Yes, orgies started young… just kidding.
My first celebrity was Leisha Hailey from the Murmers, the L Word, and the Yoplait commercials.
When I lived in IL, and was upset I would often disappear. However I would always end up in the same 3 places afterwards: a store to get a Pez dispenser, driving down a road near an oil field to look at the lights, and then at my cousin’s grave.
Going red this time around was an accident that just sort of stuck. I’ve debated going back to black again but have chickened out everytime since then.
I have a particular fixation for really badly done horror movies.
I have one sister and one brother. There is very little family resemblance.
I have worn the same ribbon in my hair for 2 consecutive birthdays. I will most likely wear it again for the next one.
I’d rather not smoke then smoke unmentholated cigarettes.
If its obscure or independent- music, art, comic book, or movie, you are halfway to sold for me giving it a shot.
I have a scar on my chin that matches my dad. He got his falling on the edge of a bar. I got mine when I was dropped in a cheer leading lift in 8th grade.
“Do you have to take your camera in the bathroom? Are you going to take pictures? Seriously, you should never take pictures in there…”
Sure, Dan was just joking. I laughed. We all did. And I went to the restroom.
And then I saw this:
Nautical theme gone.. too over the top for me. You could actually see through that little window. Someone was in there before I was.. I could see her face. Suddenly, my urethra had stage fright. I waited it for it to get empty before I went, then had to come back to the table to grab my camera again.
“You assholes jinxed me. I’ll be right back…”
So, yeah.. the last thing I want is to see that ever again. No one is going to watch me wrangling a.. or ___. Fuck a bunch of that.
Inspired by a quote from a tumblelog via Maia Bittner:
Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.-― Albert Camus
Enter another series of life story interjections.
A few months back I lived in this hellhole also known as the armpit of California or Bakersfield to the locals. I have never fit in anywhere. I’m not complaining at all. However when trying to get a job somewhere, specifically in the middle of nowhere, you need to look as non-abrasive as possible.
Bakersfield is the epicenter of not only nothing, but an undeserved “better than you” conservative nightmare. If you are not from there, you are snubbed. Even worse if you look anything less than unfashionable lemming. Not to say that everyone from that locale is that way.. but, well, there’s never going to be a major runway show coming out of there.
In an yet another failed attempt to “act normal,” my friend John rolled his eyes. He’d told me that I should downplay my attire for a day out job hunting. I wore a blue collared button up shirt, khacki’s, a plaid scarf, and a brown houndstooth jacket. It was business professional in my mind. However, that was enough to merit
“Oh you have it all wrong. Better, but still no. No one dresses [in this town] like Audrey Hepburn Jena. I mean, look at that coat. It looks like you robbed her grave for it…”
I chortled. Ah I love gay men. Even indirectly, the best compliments come from them. John is a character of himself. Far from normal, but appears it from the outside. He’s not only accepted in the biggoted area there, but welcomed with open arms. For him, acting normal, even if he isn’t, comes easy.
Months later, let’s go back to my last visit to my beloved San Diego. This time I was in the Marina district visiting a lover. Downtown San Diego, as many of you know, is full of that standard “normal.” You can operate well under the radar if you want to… but not me. As he did, quite easily when I wasn’t around. I lived in San Diego for years, but never fully felt like I fit in there either.
I take into account many different fashions and don’t really have a classification. I’m a bit of a chameleon. I have been referred to as a Madonna on more than one occassion. I can’t stand to look at the same face in the mirror for too long. I am addicted to buying hair dye. I’m indecisive. It’s what I do when I stress.
(What’s funny, is that I don’t even think I look that weird.)
For someone like me, to be “normal” is not only work, but it’s damn hard work sometimes. It’s not that I don’t know what society deems as socially acceptable or that I don’t want to fit in. To some degree, it’s human nature to want to.
It’s a double edged sword. You grow up being told to be different. You have to do your best to stand out from the crowd. Then when you do, you are snubbed.
Enter church. Sunday morning Catholocism. My father… the ever vigilante. I didn’t want to go for a colon cleansing. However, after some bucking, I decided to bite the bullet and take one for the team. I was dressed like a Pinup, but essentially conservative. I do not agree with everything being said in the service, but observed and took notes like the normal journalist. When it came time for the Our Father, everyone in the church will hold hands and pray this one prayer as a unified sect. The woman standing next to me was an elderly woman. She snubbed me.
Flashback yet again to when I had my son baptised. A single mother, but doing what I was brought up to be the best thing. I went to a class for parents getting the sacrament. What they want to do is educate you as to why you are getting these things done for your child, and educate you on some of the basics.
Ten years of Catholic school rhetoric. Of course, I was the one to answer nearly every question. The deacon came around to ask everyone about the names on the certificate. He asked the father’s name of my son- whom went MIA immediately upon me telling him I was PG. This was not necessarily my fault, but oh man did I get to hear it. Again, I was snubbed.
However still, despite the nose turning that I had gotten when I did step 1 for my son, when I got married later, I attempted to yet again try and do this “normal” thing. I went to church with my family. I did the aerobics.. not one church besides the one I grew up in, I didn’t get snubbed.
In transverse, I have had a few great moments in not being normal. They far outweigh the bad ones when you think about it.
I was in Venice last summer, when I nearly moved applying for a gaming company. (My housing arrangement fell through so I didn’t end up taking that job unfortunately) I had on an animal print top, black capris, some black and white polka dot pumps with red heels, a red ribbon round my neck, chandelier earrings, and what I call my “Lucille Ball” hair wrap. To me, this wasn’t anything majorly different. And in Venice, even more so.
I was walking around on the canals headed to my interview though, and needed to make sure I was going the right way. I saw someone watering their garden outside. The woman told me that I was indeed going the right way, and I thanked her and carried on. I heard her utter the words
“Desperately Seeking Susan…”
Moments later, she rushed up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. She wanted to know if she could take a picture with me. My immediate reaction was
“I don’t look that weird do I? I mean this is Venice…”
“No no no. You look great. I love it all!”
The whole day went like that, and I was offered that job. When my living situation changed, I had to tell them that I was taking a class and unfortunately could not take them up on the offer. They said that they were disappointed and gave me 2 weeks to change my mind! I wish I could have taken it, and even now, I still consider trying to find an arrangement to pick up that job.
Another day of applying was similar. I get told I look like a movie star. I’m not quite sure why. This happens in spurts. Even though it does seem to be a reoccurance, it always shocks me a bit.
But if not being normal is wrong, well.. a majority of the time, I’ll leave it to those people who can pull it off without worry. Pretending when you’re not on a stage? Fuggetaboutit!