What I Learned Over Summer Vacation

I've learned such a great deal about myself and the universe I live in over the last few weeks. As I do not have the time today to compose a truly eloquent treatise on the subject, I shall elucidate my experiences using the classiest of forms, the bullet point. Enjoy.

• My name is Jennifer, and I'm an adrenalholic. It's quite frustrating when beginning your new life of leisure to realize you're not healthy enough yet to be incredibly self indulgent. Apparently living on lots of work and little sleep, loads of caffeine, occasional sugar binges, too much exercise and too little food (especially protein) can make these tiny things called "adrenal glands" implode in on themselves; mine nearly created a quantum singularity. And seriously, there's nothing like a good, old fashioned panic attack every day to get the heart racing like you've just done the Ironman but without all of the silly Power Bars stuck to your bicycle. I should be able to enjoy the fear of death on a relaxed, fun, casual basis, not with endless blinding hysteria. Now I have to amend my secret plans to include schemes in restoring my adrenals before I can set about destroying my liver. This involves nutrition, meditation and lighter exercise. I have already begun eating four times a day at regular intervals with measured portions of actual foods. It's so exhausting, but I have already ceased experiencing my rampant anxiety. This means I can do shots this evening, right?

Hot glue burns never felt so good.

• My scarf still didn't have enough bling. I fixed that.

What do you mean I don't need the stirrups today?

• Never attempt to break one's toe merely to fit a foot into a pointy toed shoe. Perhaps I could mention that I broke my little toe slamming it into a box spring that was sitting on the floor as I exited the bathroom whilst half-asleep, but that's not glamorous at all, dear fans. In order for my devotion to fashion to sound more impressive, I will claim the first story as truth and add that I subconsciously did it on purpose since I was bored. 

• I don't know anything about soccer. Silly me, I thought you were supposed to hold onto your best players and build from the back, but have good service from your midfield that connects with your strikers, and then you actually score goals while keeping out your opponents'. I have this thing all wrong, apparently. Good. I actually have no need to be smart at anything anymore.
• Michael Phelps was the only person at the Olympics. Wait a minute, I'm wrong. Costas and Seacrest were there, too.
• Feral cats like to abandon their runts in my yard. One precious mama had six children on my covered patio, and only took four of them with her when she moved house. The other two were left behind and by my observation she did not attend to them. She returned at one point and watched them cry, but left again without them. They became increasingly sad and lethargic, and had been neglected for 24 hours when I finally went to retrieve them; I believed they couldn't wait any longer. I now have the most wonderfully erratic sleep schedule and the constant pleasant aroma of kitten milk replacer about me, but it's all worth it knowing that I can eventually provide a couple of chic accessories for someone. I raised my own dear grey boy Broots by bottle 13 years ago when his mother left him in the front garden and was then hit by a car. He is currently too big to fit in a bag smaller than a rolling duffel so I need to put him on Atkins or The Zone. Right now, the new ones could fit in a clutch.

Manipulative attention whores.

Week in Review: Favorite Naps Countdown

After a few weeks of starting my new, fabulous lifestyle, I began to experience a strange phenomenon that at first deeply concerned me. During the day, I found myself becoming drowsy, with my eyes urging me to allow them to close for longer than their regular casual blink, and I was losing control of other assorted motor functions. This would seem to occur most often in a comfortably warm location, with soft surfaces on which I could choose to repose. It came to me one gray, misty afternoon, as I slowly began to recall a long-forgotten luxury I used to enjoy on occasion in my youth: sleeping during the day. I believe you people call it a nap.

During this last week, I endeavored to take as many naps as possible, considering I had nothing better to do, and that I really had no choice as my adrenal glands are 4000X overstimulated after living go!go!go! for 24/7/365/17. The following is a ranked order of my day sleeps with scandalous details and valuable tips for optimizing your own nap experience.

DISQUALIFIED: CAT NAP

Jerks.

Unfortunately, this nap was over before it began. I had noticed that a couple of my furry accessories quite prefer this basket as a location for their frequent respite periods. I mistakenly believed they might allow me to share the comfort of their fur-covered blankets and faintly urine-scented pillows, but no, these greedy little bastards had no room for their weary guardian.


NUMBER 3 FAVORITE NAP: COUCH

Face into the couch for maximum skin creases.

This slumber fete occurred on the shredded brown leather couch, which is now surrounded by a splendidly fur-enhanced Sure-Fit cover, so it is the closest possible experience to that of the cat nap that I could manage. I should also mention that the State of Oregon throw blanket is also completely covered in cat remnant, providing maximum warmth and odor potential.

I decided to forgo a pillow and merely placed my head against the rock-hard armrest, resulting in a very uncomfortable yet sassy head tilt for the remainder of the day. For a better sleep interval, I would recommend ear plugs so that you don't hear the ambiance of your neighborhood. Although, that means you may miss out on such wonderfully soothing sounds such as leaf blowers, the loudspeaker at the fruit outlet you can hear a block away, the extra intense car stereos, and the couple across the way at the apartments having their biweekly shouting match about money and leaving them kids alone.

RUNNER-UP FAVORITE NAP: WINERY

Stabilize yourself with pointed toes as to not roll down the hill.

Last Sunday, I spent a fine evening at a gathering for my husband's football team. This gathering happened to be at a winery, which is a perfect location for a posh WAG like myself. My footballer husband plays for an over-40 squad, a designation that means each player scores over 40 goals per season. As you can surmise, this makes me quite famous already. I will further develop this WAG identity as part of my new life.

My red vintage purse was surprisingly comfortable as a head rest for my impromptu slumber. Make certain to choose a soft portion of grass for your nap, as upon my inspection, the ground between the rows of vines themselves are dusty and that can dull even the shiniest of lip glosses. Be ware.

FAVORITE NAP: BED

A high thread count is essential.

I could immediately tell this was my favorite nap of the week, because although it had lasted a mere 30 minutes, it provided an overwhelming sign of enjoyment. Any physical activity that results in a fluid release immediately goes down as a winner in my book, I dare say. Stay hydrated, my friends.

Becks, I'm Afraid We're Through

I could have been doing many important things over the last couple of weeks, such as visiting my best friend and her newly-expelled infant, cleaning up the aftermath of what seems like a tornado's destructive path through my home, or attempting to tame the savage overgrowth surrounding my abode, but no, I had something much more significant to attend to: preparing for the arrival of my true pookie poo, David Beckham.

I'm certain Becks can sense me when I wear this.

There was just so much to do in the days leading up to when the LA Galaxy were coming to play footsie with the Portland Timbers. My Manchester United shrine with my 2002-03 kit hadn't been dusted in a whole day and the candles had to be replaced. I needed to practice my endless shrieking, knowing I'd have to compete with so many other females uttering the common mating call. My headband collection had been stolen in a previous burglary, so I had to go shopping for some more to bring for him. I also needed more glitter spray because I only had six bottles remaining and that simply wouldn't do since I was sure to use all of it when I painting my stomach with the Burger King logo.

On a serious note, my relationship with David began in 2002, when I moved to England to teach in an elementary school. This was when I was still doing things of consequence and attempting to change the world. My classroom had experienced many troubles before I arrived and I endeavored to find a way to gain their trust. The bonding began after I asked the dear little ones about what they enjoyed most in the world. The top two answers were West Ham United and Manchester United, with David Beckham himself mentioned due to his play for Man U and being captain of the England national squad.

I soon found myself enjoying far too many hours sitting in front of televisions at home and in pubs, and racing back to school to talk to the children about the magic of football. The fact that on match days, seemingly everyone I saw was wearing a kit or scarf, only made the world of football more inviting and exciting. When I moved back to Portland, I spent nearly every weekend watching matches at the Horse Brass. Unfortunately, West Ham was spending one of their many spells in Championship level play and they weren't on television here, and Beckham had moved to Real Madrid, so my only outlet was watching Manchester United with Ruud van Nistelrooy and trying to focus on his legs so I wouldn't have to be scared by his face.

This very moment defined my entire life.

One day at work at one of my many jobs in 2004, the UPS guy told me about the Timbers, and that I should go to a match. I immediately knew in my heart that if I went to a Timbers match, that some day they would move from USL to MLS, and that Beckham would also someday come play in MLS, so all I had to do was wait. I also knew I had to get with someone who would write for a news organization, so then I could get press credentials, and then I could be on the pitch with Becks.

Of course, all of this occurred according to plan and I first got to breathe the same air as my dreamboat last year when he took a corner kick right next to me. Our minds became as one and I suddenly felt inadequate as a devotee. I just wasn't shrieking enough to get his attention. I should have fainted. I should have asked him to sign my chest. I know he was disappointed that I wasted our time together. I then plotted that when he came back, things would be different.

The couple of weeks prior to the match were the most strenuous and agonizing. What would I say? What would he say? Would I have prepared amply to attract his attention? Have I watched those Burger King commercials sufficiently? Have I practiced not smiling enough, since he seems to find that alluring? Despite hours of practice, my duck face look still seemed flawed and not suitably off-putting.

Game day arrived and I threw up even more than I usually did. I arrived at the park and took my regular position on the pitch in the North End. I had done my hair and makeup even better than their ordinary brilliance, with Sharpies and everything. This was about to be epic. But guess what? It turned out to be the biggest letdown of my life. Sure, he looked in my direction a couple of times, but did he ever come over and say, "Keep screaming, I love it." or "I'm leaving my wife for you." or "I made sure my hair was extra greasy the way you like it." or even, "Hey Jen, you don't look as fat as last year."? NO! I guess I lost those 40 pounds for no reason, then, huh? Did you even see the duck face I was doing? It was freaking hot! Your loss, pal. I'm done. Have fun with your new best pal Landon. You guys totally deserve each other.

I didn't think it was all over. It is now.

Happy Birthday, 'Murrica... Gresham Style!

Pickup trucks, BBQ, blowin' shit up: welcome to Gresham

Although I usually like to party in exotic faraway places, I decided to go bestow the charming, hardworking 'Murricans in my East County neighborhood with appearances at their festivities. Of course, to fit in, I was going to have to go with something a little more simple for the evening: little black dress and pearls!

The first gathering I dropped in to left me with quite a puzzled impression of my area's youth. Numerous young lads on bicycles seemed to have a major problem with my manner of dress and the fact I had brought along my cat, Mingette (it's French), to mingle at their function. Assorted adults also appeared to disapprove of the shaker of martinis I brought along to enhance the evening.

Martinis and Mingette

As I reluctantly departed from the first event, I encountered a darling little old lady, who slowly walked down the street with her stylish bamboo cane and scrunchy, angry face. I greeted her in my customary way of inquiring if she wanted an autograph, and she responded with a compliment for our community.

"Damn idiot fools!" she said, wobbling in fury, "They're going to burn everything down!" How charming, my new friend, you dear sweet lady. Truly, what a treat that would be for us all. Mingette meowed sadly that her buzz was wearing off and I gave her a sip of the martinis.

A quick stop at the ATM

The shaker was soon depleted as I sojourned from house to house, watching the residents of my area set fire to everything in sight. I was pleased to see fathers handing their nine-year-olds lighters, educating them in the delightful tradition of explosive digit removal. This value of this type of bonding and education must never be underestimated.

I admit, I had been somewhat dismayed at society's current propensity for downplaying the importance of a father figure in a youth's life, but what I witnessed repeatedly this evening gave me a renewed sense of hope. The influence of my own father essentially assured that I would someday be on my current path to righteous do-nothingness. Filled with pride and optimism for the future, I headed off to find some more money for the next round of martinis.

The regular fireworks social hotspot, the middle school track, was a strangely desolate place. This was disappointing as I so looked forward to tripping over the endless spent fireworks all over the running surface the next day during my laps; it's become a special annual tradition. Fortunately, a family poured out of their minivan and started dancing with Roman candles in the parking lot, so all was not lost.

Light meal for my purse pal

On the way back from the middle school I joined up with a jovial group of my neighbors that choose to perform their incendiary arts in the driveway of their apartment building along the high street. I was surprised that unlike the last 10 years, the smoke cloud did not envelop the entire block.

Further disappointment began to taint my celebratory mood, until I noticed that a kind resident had left a scattered meal of a piece of juicy steak, a half-eaten corn cob, some delectable BBQ chicken, and fine utensils and a platter on the ground for little Mingette. I helped her out of my handbag so she could take advantage of the bounty. Tempted to join her, I then recalled the handful of Special K I had dined upon earlier, so my kitty had to feast alone.

I arrived back to my posh abode to spend the evening listening to the outrageously loud explosions, the resulting car alarms, and the assorted other bangs and gunshots. In total, this year seemed far noisier with a great deal many more rockets exploding in the sky than years past. Let's hope the trend continues and my assistant remembers to buy glow sticks for me. I also need to get started on planning my outfit and signature cocktail for next year. Kisses, everyone!

My handler says my nap "Looks like a Hollywood crime scene."
It certainly is a crime I'm not in Hollywood. Seriously.

Title Change and Weekend in Review

Changes...

I've had to make the decision to change the blog title. Although I had been writing under the title of A Jenny for your Thoughts in some way since 1996 or so, there are simply too many other people with my name, diluting my impact. Some dear thing even bought the .com. How rude, indeed. My own .com will be appearing soon.

In response, I've renamed my project with the term bestowed upon me right after I graduated college. In celebration of all my hard work, family hosted a swanky soiree at the fabulous Village Inn, where I devoured a top notch breakfast skillet and was referred to as "Do-Nothing" by dearest Grandmother. Although I was greatly insulted at the time, I must have been blind to not recognize the universe was revealing my destiny. I will stop wasting time and willingly accept your challenge to in fact, do nothing.

Weekend in Review

Saturday, June 30 was a day filled with sleep, style and social engagements. In the afternoon, I awoke refreshed and even more beautiful than the day before. As a rare treat, I enjoyed an exquisite bowl of Chocolate Chex. I vividly recall the bag whispering its blessings to me as I peeled it apart to reveal the delectable treasure within. The morsels dropped into the bowl, creating a symphony not unlike a classical pianist's masterpiece for a just departed lover. A quick splash of Silk soymilk completed the feast and provided me with my complete caloric needs for the day.

That evening, I was to attend a private viewing affair, that of the Portland Timbers at Colorado Rapids. Although I am somewhat aware of this whole "soccer" phenomenon, I had accepted the invitation mainly to keep up my stellar public profile.

Paparazzi follow me everywhere.

After a beauty regimen involving an obscene amount of glitter that would do any girl dancing her way through a pre-med program proud, I pre-funked at the most exclusive ultra lounge in town. The owners, knowing full well how my frequenting of their establishment provides them with such advantage in the realm of publicity, ensured that the champagne was flowing.

My driver kept me reasonably on schedule and assured that I arrived to the main destination a punctual one hour late.

I don't remember much of the actual Timbers match as the goals started happening in the wrong net again and I found solace with some crisp Viognier.

Living it up in the VIP section at Rock Band Beatles show.

After the carnage had subsided, I was treated to an excellent performance by the Rock Band Beatles. They played all of their famous ones like that one song... na na na and such... and the other one, too. It was marvelous. The band seemed so enthusiastic to perform with such a distinguished guest as me in their midst. I am slightly confused as to why their guitars had brightly colored buttons instead of strings on them, but I'm sure it's all Ringo's fault as usual.

My white vintage clutch served as an ideal accompaniment to my navy blue dress and red heels; it was also a perfect location to store the assorted nuts and sweets I found in quaint little dishes on the bar.

All in all, the evening proved to be quite a success and I always love meeting new fans. Who knows, perhaps sometime you will see me grace your festivities. Until next time, my lovelies.

I was merely getting a start on my beauty sleep.

The Rules of Engagement

As I sit here daintily sipping my glass of blush wine, eyes casually surveying the brilliance that is Fashion Police, I can't help but let my thoughts drift over to the many possible trivialities to come in my sure to be disastrous future. Although I am choosing to keep most of my plans clandestine, an elementary delineation of the basic ground rules for my new life plan seems to be in order. This will likely to not only prove valuable to myself, as my oncoming fame will certainly be swift and blinding, but also to my family, friends and acquaintances so that they may know best how to assist me in my quest. Please know that although I care for all of you greatly, as I do all of my dear fans, my focus shifting overwhelmingly to myself may, in fact, require you to contract the services of a mental health professional or narcotics dealer so that you can cope with the jarring change in our relational circumstances.


First, what I refuse to do no matter how jaded I become:

1) Make a sex tape with a D-List celebrity. This will not happen not because I'm married, but because I feel it's cheating in the game. The rise to stardom would occur so quickly, I would not have time to accurately vet my publicist, lawyer, stylist, and hair and makeup team. Priorities, people.

2) Be photographed in a short dress without knickers. I think this is something we as a society are seriously finally over. I wouldn't get the same attention as I would have gotten a few years ago so it's not even worth it.

3) Carry a small dog with me everywhere I go. Although I personally think using a canine as an accessory is cruel and ridiculous, the act itself would not be noticeable in Portland; most people cannot even attend a funeral without bringing their pooch escort.

4) Get a DUI or go to rehab. Not even funny. Not happening.

Now, the few aspects of my plan I can reveal:

1) Never go out in public unless well put-together, with fab clothes and makeup. This means that I must look ready for photographs or personal appearances anywhere, anytime. The only exceptions to this rule are workout wear, as exercising in heels is dangerous and counterproductive in the long term, and when I'm arriving at the airport after a 12 hour flight wearing my track suit and giant owl sunglasses, because my eyes will look super puffy after all of the free chardonnay in first class.

2) Get things for free. This is one of the best parts of being famous. I've never quite understood how the people who get expensive items for free usually tend to be only people that could afford them in the first place. I will have absolutely have nothing to spend at all on anything fabulous at the start of my adventure, so I will simply have to assume that the world's financially endowed will continue their rampant generosity and willingly let me join their ranks. I am certain they will be more than happy to do the same for anyone else of my caliber.

3) Drink champagne. I will pop open a bottle and make toasts at any time I wish, for any reason at all. In addition, I am required to drink any glass of champagne someone offers me. The exceptions to this rule are that my husband has the right of override, so that he can refuse to allow me a delicious sparkling beverage if he thinks I will evacuate my stomach all over myself or drift into unconsciousness in a public location; the other exception being that I start urinating under stairs, in alleys, or in potted plants.

4) Start a trend, launch a fashion line, or create a perfume. I will choose one and move forward with real plans. More details to come at a later date.

5) Photobombing. I will find my way into nearly every picture being taken in this town. Believe it.

6) Attend 90% of social engagements I am invited to. However, I will be late and act offended if anyone doesn't know who I am. I have had to turn down most invitations to gatherings and events in the last decade, but since I now have nothing better to do, I suppose you will now be graced with my presence.

7) Document everything in a visual medium. This is fairly self-explanatory but I assure you there will be plenty of pictures and film to accompany my written accounts.

That's enough for now. It should be enough to keep my fans happy. Chelsea Lately has started and my glass is empty. Time to send my husband for a refill and contemplate my look for tomorrow.

A Reintroduction

This blog was once an exercise in the absurd, in the sense I would transcribe my dreams and embellish some details for dramatic effect. At the time, I was merely working at one place of employment and felt the overwhelming sense of relaxation that provided. Since the age of 14, I had always been employed in some way; after 16 I was full time and beyond. I usually attended school, worked full time in one place and worked at least 20 hours somewhere else at the same time. Sleep was truly a luxury. At the time of my first blog post, I was thrilled to finally have time to return to my creative roots, but only a few months later I would be working upwards of 80 hours a week. Exhaustion soon set in and my diverting enterprises were long forgotten.

A deep sense of responsibility and drive to assist others had always made most of my decisions for me. I took any AP class I could in high school so I could enter PSU as a sophomore. I took overtime classes and worked two jobs to finish my undergraduate courses without any debt. My social life suffered but I assumed I could make up for lost time in the future. I worked & volunteered at non-profits, then spent years as a teacher (first in England and then in Beaverton), edited grants, and then performed data collection for educational projects. I always wanted to make sure that what I was doing made a difference in someone's life. The sad part of this is that somewhere along the way I stopped enjoying it. As much as I could do, as hard as I tried, it just was never enough. There was always someone to complain, someone to demand more, someone to comment on how different I was at how I did things, no matter how well I did. I struggled with remaining altruistic.

My last place of employment started to decrease its number of hours available and yet involved a great many hours of driving to far away schools. I enjoyed it but I was spending a significant amount of time in the car and too much money on gasoline. I found a job ad for something entirely different, where I was certain I could do a great job, and applied. It was near mass transit yet only 15 minutes from my home by car if I chose to drive. It involved working closely and forming relationships with all sorts of different people but yet would allow me to take full benefit of my extreme need for organization and attention to detail. I was truly excited to apply and further delighted to have two interviews and my references were called. The future looked fabulous as I could earn a great living working at *gasp* one place not far from where I lived. I sent an interview thank-you letter and waited. And waited. Annnnnnnd waited. To this day I've heard not a word.

As the weeks went by, I was more and more reminded of all the hundreds of job applications I submitted for teaching jobs, all the interviews I attended, all of the "we've decided to go in another direction" letters I've read over the years. I also remembered all the parts of myself I've ignored and let die while being concerned about the world and everyone in it. A couple weeks ago, I awoke from my fitful slumber with a splitting headache and a terminal case of the "fuck-its". A few days later, my mother fell unexpectedly ill and I needed to take her to the emergency room. After she was admitted to the hospital, I spent the next few days ruminating on how fortunate it was that I didn't get that other job, because I wouldn't have been able to handle everything. I took it as a sign from the universe that it was okay to take a break and I tried to get my brain to understand the concept of a course diversion into funtown. A couple of panic attacks later, I think I've just about accepted my destiny:

I've decided to become the most famous person ever for doing absolutely nothing. In a time where anyone can become a celebrity for absolutely no good reason at all, I will be the champion of doing the least. I'm going to perform exercises in pure indulgence and revel in every moment of my newly useless existence, all while sharing every moment of my non-inspirational journey with you.

I have deleted my fictional compositions on this blog and have left the first post only as a reminder to myself how it could have been, how it should have been, and how it's going to be. Get ready world, this is going to be TERRIBLE.