November 2010


My favorite movie depends on the season.  In springtime, I want to watch the original Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory because it is colorful and childish and fun.  In summer. . . uh . . .I’ll have to get back to you.  In autumn, I love Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility.  They’re just so very British, and the austerity of their words and language matches the crispness of the air and leaves (on a good day).  In winter, I want Claymation Rudolph and White Christmas and Charlie Brown.  There are rules to these things.

I avoid the themes that are difficult or painful.  It all makes sense now.  See, I don’t want to post a picture of myself last year and from now, and then compare and contrast the two.  I like to leave the past where it is, thanks ever so.  Also I don’t have any pictures of me from last year.  Ahem.  Totally none at all.  Because that would require some effort out of me and I just don’t roll like that.  So,

last year I was different.

This year, I am the same.

Last year, I was a fiancee.

This year, I am a wife.

Last year, I weighed less.

This year, I blame the sex.

 

end scene.

This place is magical.  This place is where I found (with my mom and sister) a family plot with my last name.  This place is where I saw tombstones inscribed with “A Confederate Soldier” and “A Yankee Soldier”.  This place is the Historic Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta, GA, where this beautiful, heartbreaking statue rests:

Ignore the angel. Look at the lion.

That lion is lying on his side, dying, with his great maw open in pain, a sword broken off in his back.  The inscription says something deeply moving, and I cannot remember what it was.  Something to the effect of: lots of men and boys died in this war (Civil) and it was horrible and we’re all sad because everyone lost someone.

What’s in my “handbag”?  I prefer to call it a purse, you see.

There’s my wallet, two different lipsticks, two lipglosses, two nail files, nail clippers, cuticle oil, assorted receipts, assorted tampons and brightly-colored pantiliners, my keys, possibly some business cards. . . uh. . . gah, so much junk.  I think a couple tea packets.  Good luck.

 

Hmmmm. . . should I try to find a picture, should I take this task seriously?  Naaaah.  WINE IS ALL I CARE ABOUT IT IS MY LIIIIIIIIFE.

  1. My eyes change color through shades of blue and grey, and I don’t know what changes them.
  2. I imitate cats whenever I see fit.
  3. I have 6 or 7 birthmarks.
  4. I love herbed goat cheese.
  5. I am eating herbed goat cheese.
  6. I make popcorn on the stove all the time.
  7. I have yet to get popcorned out.  (tired of popcorn)
  8. When asked my favorite food, I often say, “potatoes,” but I probably like something else more, I just can never think of it.
  9. I have adopted for myself an older, twin, and younger brother because I don’t have any biologically.
  10. I love Christmas as a holiday.
  11. Horror movies give me nightmares.
  12. I am a morning person.
  13. I don’t like watching movies in the theater because I either have to pee and miss something, or I hold it and then am not properly affected because I’m focusing on my bladder pain.
  14. I don’t really like ice cream.
  15. I do “The Raptor” every time I’m at the beach.
Dear “friend“,
You hurt me.  You’ve openly belittled my choice of life partner, but just because your man has a tongue ring doesn’t mean mine needs one, nor does it mean that he’s lacking!  I can’t count how many times you and I have gone to a movie and you’ve just sat there texting, or talking the whole time.  And I care about the movie watching experience, okay?  This is a big deal.  What about that time in high school when we went to Portland City Grill, and you walked out and left me with your tab?  No one should be able to drink six vodka martinis and still walk, but you managed it.  AND THEN I get out to the car and see you passed out in the back seat.  It’s like you knew I’d just drive you home or something.  And I cannot overlook what you did at my wedding.  You flipped off the minister, stood up and objected on the grounds that “the bride is a bitch and the groom just doesn’t know yet,” you drank wine from the bottle, and decided it was a Greek-style wedding so you broke the bottle when you’d finished and shouted, “Opa!”   A shard of that hit me in the face. THE FACE.  AT MY WEDDING.  And seriously, attempting to ride the limo as we drove off was in very poor taste.  As was vomiting off the top of the limo, before falling off. 

You suck,

Jenna.

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