my mother- my mother is a complex woman as i have come to suspect most women are. she is both the strongest and most helpless woman i know. she has been the breadwinner, the ruler of the household, and the one to count on for as long as i can remember. she is also the most emotional and irrational person i have ever had to deal with. that is my mother. the rock of our family that cannot so much as pump her own gasoline. well, will not pump her own gasoline anyway.
my mother has perfected the art of manipulation. she perfected it long before i was born. she has always been able to get my dad to do anything she wants even though he may be grumbling the entire time. other people too, but especially men. i remember being a little girl and going to my mother whenever i wanted something. not that she would actually do it for me, but she would go to my dad and get him to do it. and he did every time. at some point she began to train us girls in the sacred art of feminine manipulation. "feminine wiles" as my boyfriend refers to it now.
she began to make us go to our dad first and try to get him to do whatever it was that we wanted. it never worked. eventually we would have to go back to her as always and get her to talk my dad into it. she, of course, never failed.
at some point i gave up in my ability to manipulate. i just could not, for all of my mother's efforts, get others to do what i wanted. and then, later on in my teen years, i began to get angry at my mom for not doing things for herself and at my dad for not standing up to her. i didn't respect or understand the necessity of this interaction in their relationship. also, i failed miserably in my many attempts to manipulate and i've always hated everything that i'm not good at. sports for instance.
my disdain made me believe that i had escaped the fate of so many women. all of those women that flutter their eyelashes just so, pitch their voices into a sweeter cadence, act helpless and weak. as a feminist that disgusted me anyway and i wanted nothing to do with it.
but a woman cannot really hope to escape her fate or her childhood training. my feminine wiles have somehow snuck their way into my interactions and manage to manifest themselves without my conscious awareness. just ask my boyfriend. but now, instead of denying my heritage i go with it. i have no choice really. i was born and raised for this it seems. i have even been told that somehow, i also have a southern accent whenever i am asking ever so sweetly for a favor. now, i don't normally have a southern accent but my mother does. i think, if i were to tell her, she would be so proud.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Friday, December 17, 2004
now you know why i called it "nonsense"
we got off of the phone and i thought about it some more.
a few months ago i had a conversation with a friend and we agreed that people never really change. at first i tried to argue against the idea but i knew i was wrong.
i thought about that some more, too.
and here i am now.
still thinking.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
family pee stories- part two
how i almost made my sister pee in her pants
picture, if you will, me at sixteen years of age. i was not only a late bloomer; i was also a slow bloomer. meaning that my "awkward phase" had already lasted for over a quarter of my life and was showing no signs of letting up in the near future. maybe it had something to do with my coinciding "braces phase" that lasted just as long, but i had, by the age of sixteen, cultivated an attitude that i, and only i, considered mysterious and interesting. the attitude i'm referring to involved talking very little and smiling even less in the hopes that my graceless braces would be overlooked in light of the intrigue i cultivated around me wherever i went. it also involved sitting down a lot to mask my gangly and ever-growing limbs and staring off into space so others could imagine the many fascinating thoughts running through my head at all times. needless to say, all of that staring off into space and not talking led to a rather slow social agenda and so at some point i no longer had to pretend to spend most of my time daydreaming.
not that i was an airhead or even antisocial. i was just, at any given moment, somewhere far away in jenna-land where everything was always exciting and suburban life was not part of my experience.
now that i have set the stage- picture, if you will, my sister dropping me off to pick up something at the drugstore after school one day. she stopped the car in the emergency fire lane while i ran inside to get whatever it is teenage girls get at the drugstore. the new sassy magazine perhaps? hot off the press. anyway i bought my magazine or lip-gloss or wax for my braces or whatever it was and wandered back out to the car that was supposed to be parked in the fire lane right outside of the entrance exactly where it was when i went in. i was, as usual, lost in my own thoughts about how much roswell sucks and how cool my life was going to be once i got away and everyone discovered how amazing and interesting i really was beneath my boring suburban facade.
i went up to the car that was parked in the exact same spot, opened the door and got in. that was when things got a little weird. i swear to you, time slowed down. as i shut the door of the car, disturbing details began to seep into my consciousness. for one thing, my sister was driving a two-door thunderbird (can i get a "hell yeah!"?) and to properly shut such heavy doors you have to really slam them. so i got in the car and slammed the door in one unthinking motion, still lost in my teenage angst. oddly, the door was much lighter than usual and it really made some noise when i shut it. quite unusual. looking at the door wait a minute, why is there an ugly green umbrella in the side pocket of the door? i don't own an ugly green umbrella. scanning the dashboard in front of me why is the dashboard maroon? i thought it was grey. looking farther to my left why is there a cross hanging from the rearview mirror? my sister isn't religious. looking at my sister why is my sister a middle-aged, matronly african american woman looking at me like i have completely lost my mind!? oh shit.
yes, that's right. wrong car. my eyes got approximately as wide as the woman's eyes i now confronted. my mouth dropped open in solidarity with her own extreme surprise and confusion. i mumbled some incoherent apology and got out fast. the whole incident may have lasted five seconds, but it felt more like well, at least thirty seconds. maybe forty.
here's what happened- while i was inside the store my sister had pulled the car ahead about twenty feet and this poor, unsuspecting woman had taken her previous spot and i had gotten in her car and shut the door. i have no idea what she must have thought. at least i wasn't very intimidating. all gawky, brace-faced 100 pounds of me. she could have totally taken me and we both knew it.
by the time i high-tailed it to the thunderbird i had decided never to tell another soul about this mortifying incident. unfortunately my dear sister had other plans. she had seen the whole thing and was laughing so hard when i got back to the correct car that she was crying and couldn't see to make the quick getaway that i had hoped for. we sat there for ages while she laughed and cried and threw in a few heartfelt snorts here and there but she did not lose control of her bladder. damn her. she was close. i think she even said "i'm gonna pee in my pants" a few times but to no avail. if she had things may have turned out very differently. this story would not be fondly recounted at my expense whenever she gets the opportunity because she would have to pay the price of retribution. as it is i have no retribution for this story. well, actually, i do, but most of the stories concerning her exploits are x-rated or at least r-rated and i certainly can't tell them in front of my parents and grandmother... or can i?
picture, if you will, me at sixteen years of age. i was not only a late bloomer; i was also a slow bloomer. meaning that my "awkward phase" had already lasted for over a quarter of my life and was showing no signs of letting up in the near future. maybe it had something to do with my coinciding "braces phase" that lasted just as long, but i had, by the age of sixteen, cultivated an attitude that i, and only i, considered mysterious and interesting. the attitude i'm referring to involved talking very little and smiling even less in the hopes that my graceless braces would be overlooked in light of the intrigue i cultivated around me wherever i went. it also involved sitting down a lot to mask my gangly and ever-growing limbs and staring off into space so others could imagine the many fascinating thoughts running through my head at all times. needless to say, all of that staring off into space and not talking led to a rather slow social agenda and so at some point i no longer had to pretend to spend most of my time daydreaming.
not that i was an airhead or even antisocial. i was just, at any given moment, somewhere far away in jenna-land where everything was always exciting and suburban life was not part of my experience.
now that i have set the stage- picture, if you will, my sister dropping me off to pick up something at the drugstore after school one day. she stopped the car in the emergency fire lane while i ran inside to get whatever it is teenage girls get at the drugstore. the new sassy magazine perhaps? hot off the press. anyway i bought my magazine or lip-gloss or wax for my braces or whatever it was and wandered back out to the car that was supposed to be parked in the fire lane right outside of the entrance exactly where it was when i went in. i was, as usual, lost in my own thoughts about how much roswell sucks and how cool my life was going to be once i got away and everyone discovered how amazing and interesting i really was beneath my boring suburban facade.
i went up to the car that was parked in the exact same spot, opened the door and got in. that was when things got a little weird. i swear to you, time slowed down. as i shut the door of the car, disturbing details began to seep into my consciousness. for one thing, my sister was driving a two-door thunderbird (can i get a "hell yeah!"?) and to properly shut such heavy doors you have to really slam them. so i got in the car and slammed the door in one unthinking motion, still lost in my teenage angst. oddly, the door was much lighter than usual and it really made some noise when i shut it. quite unusual. looking at the door wait a minute, why is there an ugly green umbrella in the side pocket of the door? i don't own an ugly green umbrella. scanning the dashboard in front of me why is the dashboard maroon? i thought it was grey. looking farther to my left why is there a cross hanging from the rearview mirror? my sister isn't religious. looking at my sister why is my sister a middle-aged, matronly african american woman looking at me like i have completely lost my mind!? oh shit.
yes, that's right. wrong car. my eyes got approximately as wide as the woman's eyes i now confronted. my mouth dropped open in solidarity with her own extreme surprise and confusion. i mumbled some incoherent apology and got out fast. the whole incident may have lasted five seconds, but it felt more like well, at least thirty seconds. maybe forty.
here's what happened- while i was inside the store my sister had pulled the car ahead about twenty feet and this poor, unsuspecting woman had taken her previous spot and i had gotten in her car and shut the door. i have no idea what she must have thought. at least i wasn't very intimidating. all gawky, brace-faced 100 pounds of me. she could have totally taken me and we both knew it.
by the time i high-tailed it to the thunderbird i had decided never to tell another soul about this mortifying incident. unfortunately my dear sister had other plans. she had seen the whole thing and was laughing so hard when i got back to the correct car that she was crying and couldn't see to make the quick getaway that i had hoped for. we sat there for ages while she laughed and cried and threw in a few heartfelt snorts here and there but she did not lose control of her bladder. damn her. she was close. i think she even said "i'm gonna pee in my pants" a few times but to no avail. if she had things may have turned out very differently. this story would not be fondly recounted at my expense whenever she gets the opportunity because she would have to pay the price of retribution. as it is i have no retribution for this story. well, actually, i do, but most of the stories concerning her exploits are x-rated or at least r-rated and i certainly can't tell them in front of my parents and grandmother... or can i?
Sunday, December 05, 2004
family pee stories- part one
how i made my grandmother pee in her pants:
when i was about five i went on a trip with my family to the mountains to see some "indian mounds" as they were (and maybe still are?) referred to. it is possibly at this point in my life that my fascination with all things native american began. that i can't remember, but i do remember this trip vividly for other reasons as you shall see.
at the age of five i was a very willful and spirited child. (actually, according to my parents i was very willful and spirited from the moment of my birth which i think is their way of implying that i was basically a holy terror from infancy on. hard to imagine, i know. my sister, on the other hand, was the golden child before she was infected by that demon known as "puberty". always right at my mom's heels. very demure and well behaved. my how things have changed.) so, while my parents and grandmother strolled slowly along absorbing the history of the place with my sister at their side, i was on a fast track to the end of that endless serpentine mound. i couldn't see it, but i knew it had to be there and i was going to get there first and win, you know? i took off running and could hear my grandmother yelling at me. my mom, too. they were convinced that i was going to fall and roll off the edge of the mound. i ignored them as usual. i had confidence both in my ability to stay upright while running at full speed and in their ability to be overprotective. so i kept running and, wouldn't you know it, fell and rolled right down the very steep side of that indian mound.
the next thing i remember is being at the very bottom and looking up and seeing my dad peering down at me from what seemed like a million feet away. he was telling me that i had to climb back up because the sides were too steep for him to come down and get me. i thought he looked appropriately worried about my predicament.
by this time i was no longer feeling so confident about my athletic abilities and thought there was no way in hell that i could climb back up. i think i really though "there is no way in hell" because i cursed like a sailor when i was a kid. even as i thought this it was apparent to me that i really had no choice but to attempt the climb, so i bucked up and grabbed onto the ivy growing up the side of the burial mound. at heart i was a survivor.
i made several failed attempts and kept ending up unceremoniously back at the bottom. on my bottom. each time i grabbed back onto that damn ivy and tried it again. i think i was pretty close to tears by this point, but just when all seemed hopeless and i though my family would abandon me to the wilderness, i made one last desperate grab for my dad's outstretched hand and felt myself hauled up and deposited back on the top.
the reaction i expected (my mother and grandmother in tears, swooping down to comfort me and make me feel better) was certainly not what greeted me upon my return to the beaten path. my mother was trying to look stern and worried at the same time but was failing miserably because she was too preoccupied with trying not to laugh. my dear, sweet grandmother, on the other hand, was not even attempting such pretenses. she was laughing so hard that she was on the ground, had tears streaming down her face, and, get this, had peed in her pants.
she tried to stop and to apologize and act like she was all worried and shit but i knew better. i had seen the truth and it was not pretty. it involved my family laughing at my expense and my grandmother wetting her pants. i mean, seriously. she was way older than me and even i never wet my pants. my pride was injured and my dignity was offended (yes, even at five i could be pretentious). i vowed to remember this day always and, as you can see, i did.
the threat of this story comes in handy at family gatherings when my grandmother likes to tell the same embarrassing stories about me over and over. and over. like the ones where she compares me to my mysterious great uncle richard that i never had the pleasure of meeting. he was known as the "peculiar one" and i am, according to her, "just like him". she knows that she can't take this type of storytelling too far however or i might just smile and say "remember that time you..." and she would have to start telling the other stories that i like better. the ones where i was a prodigy child and everything i did was golden.
when i was about five i went on a trip with my family to the mountains to see some "indian mounds" as they were (and maybe still are?) referred to. it is possibly at this point in my life that my fascination with all things native american began. that i can't remember, but i do remember this trip vividly for other reasons as you shall see.
at the age of five i was a very willful and spirited child. (actually, according to my parents i was very willful and spirited from the moment of my birth which i think is their way of implying that i was basically a holy terror from infancy on. hard to imagine, i know. my sister, on the other hand, was the golden child before she was infected by that demon known as "puberty". always right at my mom's heels. very demure and well behaved. my how things have changed.) so, while my parents and grandmother strolled slowly along absorbing the history of the place with my sister at their side, i was on a fast track to the end of that endless serpentine mound. i couldn't see it, but i knew it had to be there and i was going to get there first and win, you know? i took off running and could hear my grandmother yelling at me. my mom, too. they were convinced that i was going to fall and roll off the edge of the mound. i ignored them as usual. i had confidence both in my ability to stay upright while running at full speed and in their ability to be overprotective. so i kept running and, wouldn't you know it, fell and rolled right down the very steep side of that indian mound.
the next thing i remember is being at the very bottom and looking up and seeing my dad peering down at me from what seemed like a million feet away. he was telling me that i had to climb back up because the sides were too steep for him to come down and get me. i thought he looked appropriately worried about my predicament.
by this time i was no longer feeling so confident about my athletic abilities and thought there was no way in hell that i could climb back up. i think i really though "there is no way in hell" because i cursed like a sailor when i was a kid. even as i thought this it was apparent to me that i really had no choice but to attempt the climb, so i bucked up and grabbed onto the ivy growing up the side of the burial mound. at heart i was a survivor.
i made several failed attempts and kept ending up unceremoniously back at the bottom. on my bottom. each time i grabbed back onto that damn ivy and tried it again. i think i was pretty close to tears by this point, but just when all seemed hopeless and i though my family would abandon me to the wilderness, i made one last desperate grab for my dad's outstretched hand and felt myself hauled up and deposited back on the top.
the reaction i expected (my mother and grandmother in tears, swooping down to comfort me and make me feel better) was certainly not what greeted me upon my return to the beaten path. my mother was trying to look stern and worried at the same time but was failing miserably because she was too preoccupied with trying not to laugh. my dear, sweet grandmother, on the other hand, was not even attempting such pretenses. she was laughing so hard that she was on the ground, had tears streaming down her face, and, get this, had peed in her pants.
she tried to stop and to apologize and act like she was all worried and shit but i knew better. i had seen the truth and it was not pretty. it involved my family laughing at my expense and my grandmother wetting her pants. i mean, seriously. she was way older than me and even i never wet my pants. my pride was injured and my dignity was offended (yes, even at five i could be pretentious). i vowed to remember this day always and, as you can see, i did.
the threat of this story comes in handy at family gatherings when my grandmother likes to tell the same embarrassing stories about me over and over. and over. like the ones where she compares me to my mysterious great uncle richard that i never had the pleasure of meeting. he was known as the "peculiar one" and i am, according to her, "just like him". she knows that she can't take this type of storytelling too far however or i might just smile and say "remember that time you..." and she would have to start telling the other stories that i like better. the ones where i was a prodigy child and everything i did was golden.
don't let the familial stance fool you. these people laughed at me. and look at me- i'm so small and innocent.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
freak out!
it's been a while, has it not? some of you may be wondering, "where the hell has jenna been? she's gotten me all used to her charming, witty, etc., etc. posts on her blog and now she's left me high and dry. what a bitch."
well maybe not, but i like to at least pretend that someone, somewhere might be thinking that. actually, i'm pretty sure that a few someones might be thinking that last part anyway. even if they don't read my blog.
so here's the deal. i'm freaking out. completely freaking out right now so you'll have to forgive the sporadic nature of my entries for the next few weeks. i'm trying to hold onto my sanity at the moment and that is taking up quite a bit more of my time than it usually does.
why?
(perhaps you've already begun to notice my fondness for lists which i never realized until i read my own blog. funny that. so here's another list for you.)
a list of the reasons jenna is currently freaking out and wishing she had some valium and that if she did that she would not be afraid to take it because she is weird like that:
1)
2)some of these stupid schools aren't satisfied with just the general version of the gre. nope. they want the biology subject test also. another standardized means of judgment i suppose. didn't seem too awful until i talked to my friends that studied for six months for the damn thing and still failed. six months!? who thinks that far ahead anyway? luckily i have those same fabulous two weeks to learn about biochemistry, microbiology, genetics, plant physiology, animal physiology, ecology, evolution, and some other biology related crap that i can't even remember the names for because i haven't studied yet!!
3)um, i think i might happen to have a final that same week but i can't say for sure when because i haven't been to class in recent memory. actually, i know i have a final but i have chosen to ignore it for now.
(i bet you're hoping this whine-fest is going to end soon aren't you? not such luck buddy. after all, i'm not forcing you to read further. stop now before you realize how pathetic i have allowed my life to become. now you're interest has been renewed hasn't it you sick fuck? ok then.)
4)i have to move out of my apartment sometime this month because my vampirous car has finally sucked my finances completely dry despite the fact that it still needs a new starter, a transmission flush, and a couple of new door handles. since i don't have anything holding me to athens at the moment i thought this might be a grand opportunity to go somewhere new and improved for a while. of course, i have no idea where to go and even if i did i have no money and a broken car to (not) take me there. hmm. life's looking good. do you know anyone who needs a place to live or wants to buy a fabulous '91 buick skylark or a money-pit '88 jetta?
ah, venting feels good. good for me. maybe bad for you? now you know more about my life than you had ever hoped or feared. at least now you can see why i am a basket case and not posting much online. busy, busy, busy. to make you feel better, i will tell you about the bright side of this situation. on the bright side, once this month is over things will seem way better than they actually are because i won't have quite so much to freak out about. i should know where i'm going to school, where i'll be living for the next six months and, after that, the next five years. once i sell one car, i should be able to fix the other piece of crap and hopefully buy some groceries and maybe some beer. all of my shit will be in storage so i will be free. free! for the next few months anyway. san fran? new mexico? who knows which way the wind will take me. don't miss me too much athens. i may be back come august.
(ok, it's time for me to sign off until next time. i've got a 40 of icehouse and 1000 pages of biology to get through before i declare this evening to be over.)
p.s. just so you don't feel too bad for me, i spent my thanksgiving break in new york. here are some photos from the trip for you to enjoy. don't worry, be happy.
p. diddly!
somewheres in nyc
aw(e), ain't it purty?
tiny elvis says: "look at that van boys. that van is huuge!"
spying on others at the moma. sans flash of course
kgb intrigue
self (satisfied) portrait
"stop taking my fucking picture"
heading out of the city on sunday...
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