I might be the only one still amused by my inappropriate @replies to Apolo Anton Ohno, but this is seriously like the one promise on this blog that I haven’t immediately abandoned to go watch The Wendy Williams show or eat Sour Patch Watermelons or something. So you must give me that.
You think he’s not keen to my advances, but I’d just like you to turn your attention to my Google Analytics:
JUST SAYIN’.
One of my blogger pet peeves is when a writer gives excuses or apologizes for a month-long hiatus. I’m sure I’ve done it on the many, many “breaks” I’ve taken at this here blog. Usually, I’m going through some sort of existential crisis (I haven’t gotten any less dramatic in the past month! How ’bout that!) where I throw my head back and cry, “Write?! Lo, I can barely BREATHE!” Actually, no. It’s not like that.
My response to crisis lately has been the following:
1) Put Plastic Ono Band on the turntable.
2) Put the needle on track two.
3) Lie supine on the hardwoods.
4) Breathe.
5) Repeat.
I might get up to smoke a lone cigarette in between 4 and 5. Might.
BUT! BUT! BUT!
Those moments have become few and far between in the past couple months.
I haven’t written because…well. I’ve been writing. Not for this blog. You’ll hear more on that later.
I haven’t written because sometimes I think I’ll forget how. I don’t think this ever goes away. I’m learning to deal with that.
Those who have stuck with my flighty blogging habits know that when I break out of hibernation it’s for something truly superficial.
THUS. I PRESENT:
MY NEW FAVORITE THING.
B4-4.
Yeah, you grip that futuristic hula hoop.
B4-4 was a boy band from Canada. There are three of them, which I guess is the INGENIOUS WORDPLAY behind their moniker (Before Four = Three? Maybe I’m giving them too much credit.)
Anyway. This is my Favorite Thing This Week:
Oh, HOW I LOVE THIS VIDEO. Let me count the ways:
0:13 WHO THREW AWAY THIS PERFECTLY GOOD VIEWFIN-- UH-WHAAA SCARY ORANGE GUY!
0:24 BOOM, Foreshadow’d: “Setting your spirit free” is a motif of this video. Just a For Your Information.
0:36 CHORUS:
If you get down on me
I’ll get down on you
I will do anything
That you want me to
It’s a game of give and take
To make it through
So if you get down on me
I’ll get down on you tonight
YOU GUYS. YOU GUYS. It’s about ORAL SECKS. Wearing only puka shells, no doubt.
0:54 - “Nighttime turns to day again.” Funny how that happens.
1:05: I’m convinced that guy is only there for creepy call-outs.
1:35: Um, pedophiles?
1:40: “Gonna make you come tonight” “Over to my house!”
3:08: PEEYIMP!
So what happened to these guys?
After breaking up from the band, twins Ryan and Dan Kowarsky formed the group RyanDan together and have been working on an album consisting of pop and classical music. Ohad Einbinder (who is now a model) has also worked on pursuing his musical career in Los Angeles.
In July 2007 RyanDan recorded a collaboration with solo artist Ryan Richter. The subsequent concept album was titled RyanDanRyan.
-- Wikipedia.
Sometimes this sh*t writes itself, people.
It’s good to be back.
So yeah, domain names. Apparently you have to renew them. Apparently not with an expired debit card number.
If you know me, you’re not surprised when you popped on by and saw my domain had expired. I have about $50 in overdue fees at the library and I probably just should have purchased that Red Box DVD of Adventureland at this point (WHICH I WON’T BECAUSE THAT MOVIE WAS ATROCIOUS.) I’m just…not good, at that sort of stuff. Organizational Life Stuff. And the worst part of it is that I’ve just sort of… succumbed to it. I half-expect people to shake their heads and patronizingly say, “Oh, that Jenn!” like in a sitcom. “What a lovely, endearing state of disarray!” It never happens like that. No one ever calls anyone a “whirling dervish” in the romantic sense, these days. If you’d like me to change, send a life coach, Oprah.
Still, this blog is my little project, my baby. My little project baby. So you’d think I’d know better than to let it fall by the wayside for a few days, exposing it to predators that might snatch it up, turn it into something other than my witty quips and breathtaking photography (cough). I’m not sure who would pick up theresyourkarma.com but I like to think somewhere in the world there’s a porn star named “Karma” who is just WAITING to stake her claim. On second thought - a porn star who reads Kerouac?
SUBSCRIBED.
Okay, I got kind of Mopey McMoperson there, as I am wont to do. Sometimes when I intend to end an entry with “and then I cried,” I don’t want the entry to start off all cheery and then spiral down into it.I take the balls-and-glory approach of “BAH! SAD! READ ABOUT IT!” However, I just tapped into my neighbor’s unsecured wireless network, which totally just gave me a boost, so let’s go with it.
I went home over Memorial Day weekend. An extended stay at the Rockford homestead is more or less like rehab. But, you know, in a good way. In that I understand how much NOISE is in my life, both in my environment and in my head. My parents’ home is set back in the woods on ten acres of quiet. There are turkeys and raccoons and hummingbirds and my mom talks of cheeky tree frogs that climb the screen doors. I planted petunias and sweet woodruff alongside the house, and it was breezy and cool and I played the oldies radio station. It was one of the most rewarding things I’ve done, to sit on the ground, feel the earth, cultivate.
I also spent some quality time with old friends, and completely fell in love with them, all over again. On Friday, Matt and I gathered together a random smattering of people from various eras of our lives. I sipped on ale and laughed and laughed and everything seemed…right. I catch myself on such nights, looking contentedly around the room, my brain manufacturing the memory.
I wish I could bottle nights like those.
I’m getting a kick out of the keywords that caused people to land upon my blog. Obviously, these people were not looking for my random opinons.
My apologies to the following people, who searched for:
#1. “Johnny Angel Gay”
Sorry this led you to my page about that dream I had where I made out with Johnny Depp in a golfcart. It was very hetero.
#2. “Jess Bloomington Stripper”
Yes, all three of those things were discussed here. I have two friends named Jess, and I used to live in Bloomington. And okay, there was that ONE TIME I GOT DRAGGED TO NIGHTMOVES.
#3. “Sharon, Lois & Bram”
Apparently, there is still much interest in them. Get those Canadians back TOGETHER. I smell reunion.
#4. “where did celine dion spend christmas 2008″
Sorry I crushed your heart with my “How Celine Dion Ruined Christmas” story. (PS “RUIEENED!”)
#5. “Pie chart of my favorite bars” + “Bar graph of my favorite pies”
Hi. I love you, because, I, TOO found this to be HILARIOUS and WONDERFUL.
[If above video doesn't work. Click Here.]
While I’m not entirely sure my mom knows how to use the internet in order to GET to my blog, I write it as though she reads every single entry. I know that may be hard to believe, since many of you have no doubt thought, “Does she speak to her mother with that mouth?” knowing that the f-bomb used to be my number one blogged word of all time. Aunts and uncles and other respectable adults have told my mom they’ve read my blog, and so I think she’s always nervous that I’m going to disgrace myself or shame the family or whatnot. Running into my high-school-friend’s mom at the D&W, she’s met with: “Oh, yes, I read all about Jenny and how she threw up all over L.A. last month!” That day I will get a call: “Mrs. So-and-So reads your blog, Jenny! So be careful!” and I’m all “Okay, mom.” Eye roll.
This conversation echoed through my mind as I mentally started writing a blog entry about boobs in the sports bra aisle of Dick’s Sporting Goods.
Every person hits a point with their personal weight when enough is enough, and MY “enough” was when my bra size became too big to still be considered “cute” by consumer apparel standards. I think I was at a Target and some little polka dot number caught my eye. I fumbled to the back of the rack, pulling at tags, looking at sizes, until I realized that it only went up to a certain size, and I literally and disappointingly said “Ohhhh,” out loud and looked to the bottom row, with the odd-looking 56 double-Gs or whatever — the bras that could be used to slingshot watermelons — and thought, THAT IS WHERE YOU ARE HEADED, JENNIFER LYNNE, IF YOU DO NOT TAKE ACTION.
“Action” means exercise, which in my case means running, something that I’ve yet to convince myself I really enjoy. My current sports bras are of a lighter time, when my cups didn’t runneth over so. After a couple not-so-comfortable runs, I literally had to pull one aside and say, “C’mon, brah. You’re really not even trying, anymore.” And it was all, “I HAVE A MUSTARD STAIN ON ME, THAT IS YOUR FIRST SIGN, BUSTY MCBUSTERSON.”
So there I was, in Dick’s Sporting Goods. For once I was thankful that I was NOT helped by a sales associate — I didn’t want to reveal that I had trouble discerning whether my ladies needed “medium control” or “maximum control.” I mean, how much boob movement distinguishes the two? I mean, I do want these puppies on lock-down, but if they’re gonna be large and in charge for a while, I don’t want them squashed into non-existence as I’m traipsing down the Monon Trail, am I right ladies?
Listen, it took a lot of macaroni and cheese and Jack Daniels to get me here. It would be easy to get down on myself for having to pick the sports bra WITH the built in underwire (totally the special needs sports bra). But I would be remiss if I didn’t have that Beavis-and-Butthead, sixteen-year-old-boy moment of, “Heh. Heheheh. My boobs are HUGE. Awesome.”
I’ve been racking my brain about these “25 Things” lists, as I’ve been tagged too many times to avoid. I can’t, for the life of me, think of 25 unique things that most of you don’t already know. I guess I’m just an open book, I tend to conclude, pointing to this online journal holding my hopes, my neuroses, my experiences ….and neuroses….[mostly neuroses].
I’m more than an open book. I’m like one of those guestbooks left at tourist attractions — flourishing and sentimental lady-cursive adjacent to that asshole that scribbles in chicken-scratch, “Joanie is a slut.”
Bess convinced me that NaBloPoMo was stifling my creativity, and my refusal to follow its rules for more than FIVE CONSECUTIVE DAYS was pure rebellion. Because I am the James Dean of blogging. That’s what friends do, right? Justify things for each other? Excellent.
Here’s a graph to show what I’ve been up to. I had intentions of blogging about each pie piece, but alas, American Idol and a shower will have to do for tonight. I’ll have to follow up tomorrow. Or when I feel like it! I have a leather jacket and a cigarette to attend to.
There was a moment at about 11:26pm last night that I actually thought, “THERE IS ONLY THIRTY MINUTES LEFT IN WHICH TO BLOG TODAY!” but then someone gave me two dollars for the jukebox and I didn’t care.
One would think, stumbling upon the comments of this blog, that I have, oh, about five readers. But you know what Google analytics says? THERE ARE A LOT MORE OF YOU, a LOT MORE that read and (hopefully) enjoy and KEEP COMIN’ BACK for some hot hot blog action.
Luckily, there is a day for this, and it’s called Delurking Day.
I delurked twice today, leaving comments for bloggers that I’ve read and respected over the past year. Do it; it feels great. Just make a comment to say hi, even if it’s to be like, “Hi, Jenn, this is your fifth grade crush, and I don’t appreciate stumbling upon your creepy retropections when Googling my name.”
Sincerely,
Jenn
There’s Your Karma.
When I imported my livejournal over here, I used this program called LJ Archive, which uses some sort of voo-doo magic to package YEARS of my documented life and spit it out chronologically into Wordpress. There are some random plug-ins that analyze the data, and one that I found particularly interesting was the “Word Count Analyzer” which actually ranks your most used words.
MY MOST BLOGGED WORD OF ALL TIME?
Fucking.
[Sorry Mom and Dad. I've used the word "fucking" 144 times.]
Here’s the top ten
1. fucking
2. actually
3. Jenn
4. today
5. favorite
6. song
7. yeah
8. music
9. fuck
10. someone
Nice work.
Jenn is a 26-year-old writer from Indianapolis, Indiana. She lives downtown in a Civil-War-era house that used to be a brothel. It is now referred to as "The Cockpit."
More? Mosey on over to the About Jenn page.
