I kissed a girl

I finally got around to watching this week's episode of Glee. While it wasn't perfect (Finn annoys me, so I don't really believe him as gay-rights-crusader-guy), it was kind of great. I should first say that I am a huge Marti Noxon fan. When my girlfriend told me that she was joining Glee as a writer/consultant, we both were all like, "hey, maybe she will make it suck less this season!" Not bad, so far.

I am just really happy that Santana has become more than a hot bitch who makes out with chicks sometimes. I'm so sick of random girl-on-girl kissing to boost ratings. It's degrading and cheap and disappointing.

It's disappointing because ever since I can remember, I have craved seeing gay and lesbian couples on TV or in movies or on stage. And when I would see two chicks make out randomly for a few seconds (often for the benefit of a dude), it said to teenaged-Jenna, "I guess you can kiss girls (if they're hot), but it's not hot or normal to be in a relationship with one."

So when, in high school, I finally saw "real" GLBTQ couples, I was floored. Specifically, I remember two things that really opened my eyes up (and they happened right around the same time). Willow and Tara got together on my favorite TV show Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I discovered Rent. I remember being so into these story lines and so excited and telling myself that I was just really into equal rights and I was very open-minded. Because, you see, I had lots of definitely straight friends who liked these things, too. So it totally didn't make me gay.

Obviously, I eventually realized that I had a different connection to these stories than my straight counterparts. And, even though me realizing my non-straightness wasn't quick or totally easy, I bet it would've been even worse without these characters.

Anyway, back to Glee. I have something of a love-hate relationship with the show, but I'm really kind of pleased with Santana's (recent) development so far. I think it might've been something that helped a younger version of me.

why cats are okay now

I've hated cats for most of my life (not to be confused with puppies dressed as cats... because who could hate them?). I think this was probably because when I was young my neighbors had a super mean cat. We would have to go over and feed it when they were away on vacation and it once sliced open my dad's hand. Ungrateful bastard. After that, my brothers developed a system of throwing treats into the basement to lure it away while they opened the cat food. I mostly just remember being terrified. My fear turned into hatred and I have spent my life as a "dog person."

The unexpected happened about five years ago when my girlfriend's roommate brought home a tiny motherless kitten. Overwhelmed by cuteness, I opened my heart to Elizabeth Flapjack Bennet. Almost immediately thereafter, she climbed up my body with her tiny claws and bit my face. Somehow, I did not murder her (and I still haven't, though she continues to pull shit like that). Flashforward to now- I share a home with both Flapjack and her sister Elinor Ellie Dr. Pajamacat Dashwood.

Though occasionally I want to somehow remove Ellie's meowing capabilities and end Flapjack's life, I love them. Here are some of the top reasons why:

1) We have never had mice. If you know me, you know how important this fact is to me.

2) Yesterday morning, I unsuccessfully tried to kill a small fly. A moment later, Flapjack came and snatched it out of thin air, batted it around a bit and then ate it. ATE. IT. What a fucking badass.

3) Flapjack stopped growing after a few months and still looks like an adorable kitten pretty much all the time.
3b) She lets me lift her up like Simba and sing Circle of Life.

4) Ellie literally purrs if any person looks at her or gets close to her.

5) Ellie has really cute spots.

There are probably other reasons, but I'm going to cut if off here in an attempt to not look like a total crazy cat lady.

Also, this tumblr my boss made.

hangover cry, revisited

So, this happened yesterday:

[Scene- Steph and I laying on the couch (ok, we pulled out the bed... yeah, it was a rough day) and I have put on sports center. I turn it on halfway through a story about an inspirational halftime speech from last year's super bowl. I start crying.]

Steph: (looking at me) No.
Me: What? [sniffle]
Steph: No. You can't cry at that. You literally don't have enough information. All you know is that there was an emotional speech- you have no idea what the content was.
Me: But, he was hurt! And it was emotional! [sniffle]

That was just one of several cries from yesterday.

In other news, I think I'm getting to old to binge drink. I never used to get quite so hungover so regularly.

ships

"Some ships are old ships, some ships are wooden ships, but the best ships are friendships." - Dan Brown (my friend- not the author of "Angels & Demons")*


I've decided (in my old age and infinite wisdom) that friendships are mostly convenience-based. People, including me, can be selfish and isolated.

It's like when your best friend moved away in fifth grade. Even though you spent almost every afternoon together and you stayed up late talking between bunk beds, you don't know her anymore. And even though you were convinced she must have died (because how else would you have not kept in touch?), the truth is this: she moved to Alabama and she made new friends and she probably doesn't think about you anymore.

I'm not really sure what I'm trying to say. I guess friendships are either convenient or they take work. I guess I just want to be the type of person willing to do that work, but I also want to be the type of person that people work for.



*I can not guarantee that I quoted or attributed that properly.

she's crafty! (alternative title: let's get butch)

Author's note: this first part was written over a year ago. I recently found it and decided to post it.

I like to think that I'm defined by so much more than being a lesbian. In fact, I feel like I'm really not that gay (as far as stereotypical character traits). I mean, sure, I love watching football. And drinking beer. And most of the time I wear t-shirts and jeans. And I would totally get a pair of Doc Martins. And I love Ani Difranco and Indigo Girls and am probably going to Lilith Fair this summer (If they can get it together. I'm looking at you, McLachlan.) But, I mean, it's not like I wear flannel or anything, right?! Wait...

Anyway, I've been bursting with dyke-y-ness the past few days. Steph and I are moving to DC in a few weeks and I'm all like, "Oh hey, let's build a headboard for the bed! It'll totally be easy, I'll use my dad's tools at home." And Steph is like, "Sure!"

So I've been home for over a week and a half and of course I leave the big building project for the last few days (why wouldn't I?). I do some research online and, after discussing plans with Steph, I have a clear vision and plan set up. Of course, nothing has gone according to plan.

First, my dad and I went to Home Depot to get supplies. Can I say that I love hardware stores without being mocked? Well, whatever, I said it. We got a big piece of plywood and some 1x4 boards. My initial plan was to upholster the plywood and then create a frame from the boards. I took wood shop in high school, so I figured I was an old pro at carpenter-ing.

Issue #1: The plywood does not fit in the back of my dad's car. You would've thought we measured first? Hah, I laugh at the notion. So my dad has somewhere to be in like 45 minutes and both of us are trying to force a giant piece of plywood into the trunk. Fail. Finally, my dad is like, "Well, it is wedged in there pretty good. We can make it home on back roads." I'm understandably nervous, but I realize there is no other option at this point.



Yeah, that is how far the wood was sticking out. We had no bungy cord or rope or anything. I had visions of plywood flying into another car's windshield. Luckily, we made it. So we get home and I'm ask my dad where the table saw is.

Issue #2: There is no table saw. Now, I had been planning on cutting the boards at 45 degree angles so they could fit together (like a picture frame). This is clearly not an option anymore. But, hey, I'm flexible. I adapt the plan to just make straight cuts on the wood. It won't be exactly what I envisioned but that's okay.

The next morning my dad and I start to get ready to cut the wood. I am exhausted because I've been painting my parents' bathroom and haven't been sleeping enough.

Issue #3: I don't have the skill or patience to make straight cuts on the wood. So, I crankily freak out and actually swear profusely in front of my dad because the wood isn't perfectly straight. I storm away muttering, "Why the fuck would I do a project that is not going to even look good" when my dad is just trying to be nice and tells me it is fine. Listen, I'm not proud of my behavior. I apologized for being a bitch.

Luckily, my buddy Linds' boyfriend Jack has better tools than my dad. They graciously say they will help me out with the cuts the next day because I'm going to be over there anyway. Satisfied with this, I start thinking about how I'm going to fashion the frame out of the wood. I start bouncing ideas off of my dad.

Issue #4: "Oh," my dad says, "if you want to connect those boards like that, you'll need big clamps. I don't have any though." Of course not. So I decide that I'm going to just pre-drill the boards and the plywood so that they're perfectly positioned (although separate pieces). This way after I upholster the plywood, I can just screw the frame boards to the back.

::screeeeeeee:: (That is the sound of a tire screeching or a record scratching that happens in a movie trailer when a huge plot point is unveiled. Example: movie about a good looking, popular, rich high school guy. ::screeeeee:: All of a sudden, we find out his family lost all their money and now he has to work 3 jobs to keep his status at school. Or something.)

Anyway, I wrote all that over a year ago (hard to believe Steph and I have been living in DC for a year!)... and now I don't remember much of the rest of the misadventures that occurred while I was building the headboard. I do remember it was a pain in the ass at every step, though. Here are some photos:



Trying to make a frame out of boards...



Stained boards!

I apparently did not document upholstering the plywood with photographs... needless to say, it was a little harder than I thought.



Finished headboard! Ta da! For those of you keeping track of this sort of thing, I would guess we spent around $100 on this.

oh, bother

Why do so many graphic design/marketing firm websites sound so pretentious. It's all: "we're strategic thinkers," "our goal is to make your business succeed." But it's mostly all bullshit and recycled work.

I'm starting to worry that I don't have it in me.

new portfolio

So, I finally bound my new portfolio last month. I got this book, Making Handmade Books by Alisa Golden, because I was scammed into a book club thing and had to buy something. (Overall, the book is a little too homemade-arts-and-crafts-time for me, but there were some good bindings.)

I opted for a hardcover sidebound book. Exciting!



Basically, you just wrap your book cloth around a big cover board and a side spine type board and then put end paper on the other side. I have this square/grid thing happening, so I was totally digging the paper I found.



I decided to carve out a square indentation on the front cover, which mimics the grid I used in the portfolio.



Let me tell you, sewing this thing was a bitch. First, I wasn't using hardcore enough thread and so it broke. Then, I actually broke a needle as I was passing it through the last hole for the last time. (Luckily, Steph is resourceful [and didn't storm around saying "everything is ruined" like some people would, don't want to name any names...] and we figured out a way to finish it.)









The end. Hopefully the $90-something I spent (damn you, Paper Source) on making it will pay off with a job...

woah

Star Wars storyboards

These drawings put any "storyboard" (and by storyboard, I mean quickly scribbled stick figures) I have ever worked on to shame. SHAME, I say.

new music

Finally started listening to Heartless Bastards today. I feel one of the best telltale signs of a musical artist I will really like is if I listen to their album all the way through and then decide to start it again.

Check.

In other news, I am employed at a vegan bakery. More to come.

beaver + selima 4eva

[Enter scene. I am walking down the street on the phone with my mom. She is talking about a game played at a baby shower.]

Mom: So every song had the word, "baby" in it and you had to guess it.
Me: Oh. Fun.
Mom: Like that song, "Baby, baby!" [song sort of to the tune of "Baby" by Justin Bieber]
Me: [laughing] Do you like that song, mom?
Mom: Sure. It's that beaver guy.
Me: [laughing way more] Wait, what? Who sings that song?
Mom: Beaver!
Me: Can you spell that for me?
Mom: Jenna, what? It's beaver. He and that Selima.
Me: [laughing too much to respond]
Mom: Is it Selima? Sarena? Which is it?
Me: [laughing] Yup, you got it.
Mom: Jenna...

neko, you cut to the core of me.

Magpie comes a calling,
drops a marble from the sky.
Tin roof sounds alarm
and wake up child.
"Let this be a warning," says the magpie to the morning,
"Don't let this fading summer pass you by.
Don't let this fading summer pass you by."

hiring etiquette

I know people are busy, but I wish more places would reply to a resume/application and at least let me know I didn't get the job. I hate having things up in the air.

the hangover cry

I'm not sure if you know this about me, but I cry a lot. Mostly, I cry at entertainment (movies, songs, tv shows, etc.) and sports (I straight up sobbed when the Giants won the Super Bowl), but sometimes real life stuff gets me choked up.

For some reason, being hungover makes me 3x as susceptible to tears. I think my body is too busy helping my liver clean shit up to worry about a few tears.

Without further ado, here are some of my favorite "hangover cry" highlights:

+Once, I cried at an episode of Tough Love. Yup, that's right, the show where the host (a guy who is way too close to his mother, by the way) gives advice to "undateable" women. Most episodes are ridiculous and demeaning, but there is one where one of the women writes a beautiful and moving letter to one of the other contestants. They used to hate each other and then they became friends! Come on, that is emotional.

+The other week, Steph and I were laying in bed, having just woken up. Apropos of nothing, I exclaimed, "Steph, what if there is no NFL season this year because of the lock out!" and started to cry. I actually think I was still drunk for that one.

+Literally any time I watch Outside the Lines on ESPN. Example: this heart wrenching story. If you don't cry at that, you probably have no soul.

+Way too many sappy rom coms. Usually, my hangover game plan consists of sitting on the couch, drinking as many different types of beverages as possible (juice, tea, flavored water, choco milk, soda, etc.) and eating approximately every 45 minutes. This usually means I end up watching movies on TV that I would normally not watch. Then, I cry at 27 Dresses or some equally shitty movie. Then, I am ashamed.

bahaha

On a whim, I went to whatamidoingwithmylife.com, because, well, WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE? It exists! Fantastic. That is great to know for future reference.

french press

If you know me, you probably know how I feel about coffee. Phew, I'm hot just thinking about it.

Anyway, ::fans self off:: I've realized today that having too much time on my hands isn't all bad. Now, I'm able to indulge in delicious french press coffee in the morning. Pressing coffee is one of those things I always tell myself that I'm going to take the time to do everyday, but inevitably end up running 7 minutes late (no, seriously, almost every morning I wish I had exactly 7 more minutes).

Now, if you'll please excuse me, I'm going to go enjoy my Costa Rican coffee in my PANTONE (3025 C, if anyone is a nerd and wondering) mug.

unemployment.

Holy shit, I'm done with City Year (that is a blog post for another day...).

I'm unemployed and absolutely terrified.

Being an adult is stupid. I quit.

my dream last night.

driving in a blue convertible, the driver was no one i know in the real world. a man with dark hair. there were one or two people in the backseat. he was driving recklessly, speeding and tailgating and messing around with two other blue cars. we took a turn downhill quickly and took off into the air. then i was alone in the car and falling down, we must have been on a bridge. i hit the water and the car was gone and i kept plummeting down. underwater, i finally tried to swim and i started gliding rapidly in the direction i thought was up. i started panicking because i had been holding my breath so long. i finally gave in and took a deep breath, but only air filled my lungs. i paused and looked around. the light was coming from the opposite direction i had been gliding in. i turned and headed toward it. i entered an area where a three dimensional grid was formed by all different forms of beautiful typography. i moved quickly and fluidly through it and don't remember what any of them said except one piece said "The New York Times" and one said "Rolling Stone," though i don't think they were all journalistically themed. i couldn't get out of this new type world and i didn't want to. there was a large touchscreen in the center and it held all the information in the world. i played with it a while and then i woke up.

the ghost of st. patrick's days past

(I wrote this on St. Patrick's Day but forgot to post it, oops.)

So, I'm working at my office today. This sucks for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that I have had some epic St. Patty's Days in the past few years.

Highlights:
+ shots pre-7am
+ drinking in class
+ car bombs galore
+ falling asleep before noon, only to be woken up 30 minutes later
+ chain smoking on the stoop
+ watching Boondock Saints
+ being completely blacked out in the dining hall
+ cookies to the UPS man... "thank you green woman!"
+ the year I got too high to really enjoy St. Patrick's Day
+ never quite being able to make it to the Boston parade

Being a grown up is balls.

restless

Since I fucked up my ankle, my limited mobility is really pissing me off. I feel like I want to claw my way out of me.

i love three-year-olds.

So, a little buddy of mine from after school playtime and I had the following conversation.

(Also, he had pinned me down on my back on the floor and was sitting on me.)

Little dude: "I'm going to give you a kiss!"
(He gives me a kiss on the cheek)
LD: "But you can't tell anyone!"
Me: "Ok."
LD: "Not even your wife!"
Me: "Ok? Not even my wife."
LD: "Also, Molly is my girlfriend."
Me: "Aww, that's cute. Are you a good boyfriend?"
LD: "Yes! But you can't tell anyone that either!"
Me: "Got it."
LD: "Not even your wife, ok?!"
Me: "I will not tell my wife."

That kid either thought I was a dude, is confused about husband/wife wordage or is very perceptive. Yeah, he probably thought I was a dude.

an open letter to coffee (rated pg-13)

Dear Coffee,

People are so wrong about you. They say you're bad for me. Well, you know what? If you're bad, I don't want to be good.

Don't get me wrong- Tea has been really good to me. Someday, I'll probably settle down with Tea. I can imagine us cuddled up on the couch together on rainy Sunday afternoons. We'll read our books, or the Times, and listen to the beating drip-drip-drop against the window. Tea makes me feel so comfortable; I have this safe warmth radiating out from my belly when we're together.

But, Coffee, please don't get jealous. Tea doesn't keep me up all night- you do. It's incredible that even your scent gets me going. When I know you're close by, I just have to have you. How many times, late at night, have I moaned my appreciation of the things you do to me? You're the one I need at this point in my life.

I guess what I'm trying to say, Coffee, is that I love you. And you are so fucking hot.

Unabashedly yours,
Jenna

uber feminist

Yesterday, I described something as both patriarchal and hetero-normative. Hmm. Someone get this girl some combat boots... AMIRIGHT?! ::nervous laughter::