Edit

I have several ideas brewing for summer. I feel oddly mischievous about them, even though none of them are actually harmful. My brain is probably processing the nerves and overwhelmed by my imagination and interpreting it as sneaky. Regardless of my possible malfunction, I'm enjoying the prospects.

I spoke to my friend Amy about writing a picture book. About Rapunzel. I don't want to reveal anything more, because I have a suspicion that more people read my blog than subscribe to it publicly. That's okay, but I would much prefer my style to remain un-cramped.

I'm also considering abandoning this blog and creating a new one - a more impersonal one. It's a project that will require some effort and some time, but it intrigues me.

What I would really like to do is stop being cryptic and discuss my projects with my friends to get some useful feedback. That would be wonderful. But I have received an unkind response or two to things I have posted in the past, which leads me back to the inevitable traits of humans.

Basically, if I speak to you in detail about my projects, then I trust you and I want your feedback. Not feedback - your feedback. It's an intimate topic usually broached with barriers made of paper and classroom dynamics, but I suspect that it's harder in real life and much more reliable.

Labels for this post: thoughtful, sneaky, distrust

Hungry

Through many years of academy training, I have discovered that I turn into a monster when my blood sugar gets too low. Like a monster, I rip off the arms of anyone standing near me with no regard as to who that person might be. Or I would. Maybe.

I have also discovered that milkshakes contain the keys to confidentiality, and I firmly believe they have shakes in Heaven.

There are cats, too. :)

Labels for this post: brief, short, miniscule

Half-Poet

I know why you drink and write,
you poets of depressed night.
You feel empowered, which I'm sure
will not linger in the morn.
The word will flow in ceaseless praise,
to your fingers on the page,
and everyone will doubt no more
the reverence that you implore.

I know why you drink - to die,
because your poems of death are nigh,
Emily's gone, and Sylvia too,
so what now will we do with you?
We too are in the human race,
given you your time and space,
all the classes you could take
to keep at bay your real-life wake.

I know why you drink and time
your syllables to match with mine,
and though the company you keep -
Butler, Yeats, Cummings E.E.
will hardly make you one of these,
prestigious though it is indeed.
If you must practice what you preach,
then hope to God it's within reach
of Man's affluent companies
in this hopeless economy.

Hello, please edit. Thank you.

Labels for this post: leave, a, comment (please)

Myspace

After many frustrating arguments with my father over winter break, I decided to allow him to purify my computer and conceded to working with my personal account, aptly titled 'Jennifer', instead of the administrator's account. Generally, it's a good idea, except that it sort-of reminds me of training wheels.
Anyway, the real point is that I have seldom used my Jennifer account since my freshman year of college for any substantial work, so all my bookmarks remained, no matter how outdated (Tiffany's? Seriously?). Another one of these unexpected twists was my Myspace page. It was outdated, and in a bad way. At the very least, it was a picture of me and a former boyfriend, and I couldn't remember my password for the past, I don't know, 3 years? So I couldn't change anything.

Gah.

It is way more surreal to find a photo than a note. Your brain registers a thousand words at a glance, allegedly.
Thanks to my account switch, I've been able to successfully eliminate the photo.

Thanks, Dad. I guess parents really do know what's up, sometimes.

Labels for this post: dusty, tattered, page

Wall

I realized today in one of my classes that I don't think I'm going to be able to write a memoir-like piece for my nonfiction class. It is nonfiction, but I'm not sure that I'm going to be able to research the topic. Maybe I'll write about hair and female sexuality. Hmmm.

Lately I've been randomly writing poems. They don't really mean something veiled and significant, but I have discovered that writing poetry comes more easily to me than other things. I like to write silly poems, and typically they rhyme. I think having a strong musical background helps. Sometimes I forget that I love poetry, so it's nice to remember.

I am so happy with the weather right now. I'm not sure we could have asked for a more beautiful day, unless it was a day on which I didn't have gym, and could have worn a dress.

My recital is in about a week and a half, and I predict much neglecting of attention in other classes immediately following it. I also predict cake.

Labels for this post: oh hey March what's up?

Crushes

I feel as though this title needs a disclaimer, but I also think that life needs a disclaimer, or maybe a few.

"Life is not responsible for whatever happens to you," or "Employees must wash hands."

That sums it up pretty well.

Anyway, one of my beautiful girl friends always brings up how handsome or how beautiful she finds someone. She openly admits to having crushes - on everybody. Naturally, she would rather bring home Eli Roth than myself, but therein lies the difference between a crush and a crush. I have lots of girl-crushes, and usually crushes stem from an attraction based on someone else's humor or intelligence or something else I admire. The ones that have been sexual have been boyfriends or something like it.
I don't believe you should feel guilty about 'extracurricular' attraction if you're in a relationship, because it's really just part of your genetic makeup as a human bean. Similarly, you shouldn't rail on someone else for it unless it's actually a problem. You also shouldn't act on it unless you're unhappy in your relationship. I'm not advocating cheating or even an open relationship. Just honesty.

Speaking of honesty and crushes (even pre-pubescent Twilight ones) did anyone else hear about what Robert Pattinson said regarding his photo shoot in Details magazine? If not, look it up. I'm refusing to repeat what he said, but I will offer this as my reply.

Dearest Edward,

I would call you a cunt, but you possess neither the depth nor the warmth.

Labels for this post: crush, fiery, life

Bakery or therapy

For some reason, some of my most favorite people are the adjunct professors of the music department. Few of them are or were ever my professors, but they all seem to enjoy my company, which makes me feel like we're friends.
I really like being friends.

Anyway, one of my very favorite not-personally-my-own professors and I occasionally run into each other at the Bakery. Last week, she remarked, "The Bakery, or therapy." I said it was less expensive. We're both like, totally right.

It's interesting to see the way food reflects people. I personally can't stand picky eaters, because for some reason I keep thinking they're afraid of everything. Holy shit, don't eat that cake, it's totally poisonous! See what I mean?

My friend is right. I would so much rather have a sandwich than a session.

Labels for this post: Bakery, picky, friends

Absent

This morning, one of my professors told me that I was going to have to stop being late to their class. I asked if they had marked me absent again, and they said they had, to which I responded that I was actually there.
I can't really tell you how much this bothers me, mostly because I never miss anything of substance in class. I was about 8 minutes late this morning, and we didn't even begin to discuss anything of importance until probably quarter after. It was immensely frustrating - I'm just a naturally late person and I accept that, but I am not absent in mind or in person.

If you're going to count me absent, give me the option of leaving.

I am also unhappy because the windchill is 24 degrees, and I'm expected to power walk in it. I already have a cold, and it's difficult to sing, and my hearing is NEXT WEEK, and I haven't heard back from my cellist.

I think the world is probably against me today.

I also think that later, I am going to get my work done and watch a movie.

Gahhhhhhhhhh.

Labels for this post: discouraged, cold, sniffly

Watch

For some reason, I can't stand being watched or scrutinized. I suppose the only difference there is that scrutiny implies judgment. I don't really care, because it still bothers me. Maybe I'm just crazy.

Nah.

I've discovered that I'm an okay cook, but I'm a pretty baller baker. It could be that I'm just not that good at improvising, so baking is ideal. Either way, I really enjoy it. Thanks to my wonderful boyfriend, I now have a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking and I read through recipes pretty often. The next thing I want to cook is an artichoke, and the next thing I want to bake is a strawberry tart, which requires a pastry crust and a spring-form pan. It'll be the first time I've attempted to make a pastry crust, but I can always call my mom. She knows, man.

I'm not going to cook my way through that cookbook like Julie Powell. I admire her writing, for sure, and I can't wait to try some recipes, but I am absolutely certain that I would utterly lose any patience I possess trying to clean the food processor or something.

However.

I am seriously considering taking a few culinary arts classes, and I have a vague lifetime goal of owning a small shop selling local products/bakery. Seriously. If you don't believe me, you should try my apple crisp.

Labels for this post: Julie Powell, watch, bake

HBO

In my house, "HBO" isn't an acronym for Home Box Office; instead, it stands for Honey Bunches of Oats.
With almonds.

Regardless, I've been lucky enough to watch some of HBO's 'Californication', which is not actually about the Red Hot Chili Peppers. They might do enough drugs on the show to qualify, though. Basically, the main character is a sex addict living in LA and hopelessly attached to his baby mama, who continually refuses him. It's a pretty typical story, of course, so it hits home in all the right places. It's brilliantly written. It made me think about toxic people.

When I speak to my friends about relationships, they usually have had one relationship where the other person didn't treat them very well at all, and yet they stuck around. Of course it's a bad decision. No, you shouldn't expect it to go anywhere - even if they promise you it will - but when it comes down to it, are you going to listen to yourself?

Nope. When you're in love with someone, that's it. Even if they constantly pick fights with you, break you down, and barely touch you. They will tell you they love you more than anything, and you will believe it. Them. Whatever.
I know that I never want to go there again, yet something in me stirs when I review that relationship. It's like all the best prose I have gushes from my fingers and sits there, naked and without apology. It's not patient or kind.

It is completely wasted - utterly useless. That doesn't matter, as it's good practice. I'm not angry, I just don't care.

Labels for this post: a, little, different

Heavy cream

Ever since I was able to eat solid food, my mother has been a zealous disciple of healthy eating habits. As a result, most of the things I don't like to eat are unhealthy and usually fried, and I gravitate toward healthier choices naturally. In most ways, I am grateful for this. I love vegetables, and I like to eat things that make me feel great. Except pizza. I love pizza, and we only eat it about three or four times a year. Mmmm.

However, right now I'm experiencing a distinct lack of gratefulness, because I seem to have convinced myself that it is possible to make delicious, perfectly peaked whipped cream without using heavy whipping cream. I'm trying to make it with 2% milk and it just won't whip it. Where is Devo when you need them? Seriously.
But the worst part is that I KNOW THIS IS POSSIBLE. I KNOW IT. My grandmother is lactose-intolerant and can make wonderful whipped cream which isn't even cream. So there must be a way to do it, and I am most stubbornly putting this delicious frothy milk into the freezer to set. If you want to know the mixture, it's just milk, sugar, a little espresso and dark rum. It's the tastiest destroyer of self-esteem I've ever met.

So help me God, I am going to eat you, tasty cream.

Labels for this post: sweet, frothy, frustration

Ms. New Booty

Happy New Year, everyone. I've been reading some great status updates on Facebook and Blogger about the upcoming year. I really enjoy optimism.

My personal resolution is to purchase my meat and dairy from organic/local farmers. I know it's more expensive, but I really believe it's worth it. It's so much better for your body and for the environment. Speaking of bodies, let's talk about them.

Last spring, I had a rough semester, and in response to it, I either didn't eat, or I ate a piece of cheese. I barely slept, and I walked constantly. It was incredibly unhealthy in most aspects, and I shrank down to a sickly low weight for my body. Now, I'm not advocating that the exercise was bad - in fact, that was the only healthy thing I was doing. The shadows under my eyes looked like tattoos, my boobs swam in my bras, and my legs were stilts. My fingers shrank and I could hardly play the piano. I lost my period for months. And the very worst part of all of it was that I loved it. I could sleep next to a boy in just my underwear and not worry about 'back fat'. I loved being so skinny, the way that clothes hung on me and the absence of love handles. Ironic, that I should lose both love and handles at the same time. Once, I got myself a Shimmy Shake from Sheetz (one of my favorite things) and my body literally would not process it. I think it forgot how, and I felt awful. But I still didn't eat.
I used my appearance as venom. I used it to play upon the insecurities of other people. I would feel so proud that I could pull my skinny jeans out of the dryer and onto my body and still pull them off without unbuttoning them.
It was bad.

I'm sure that a certain friend of ours who frequently comments on the weight of females has said some nasty remarks about my rediscovered curves. Probably something like, "Well, now that Jenni has a boyfriend, she's letting herself go." Haha. Yes. Because I love negative attention, and I was starving myself to get it. Clearly.

The other day, as I was getting dressed, I was looking at a birthmark on my back to make sure it wasn't trying to be funny, and I had a revelation. I love my butt.
Really, I know that society says as a woman that I'm not supposed to like being so curvy, but I was looking at it, and it's so cute! It fits the rest of me, and it has a little "booty mark" to boot. It's like the Marilyn Monroe of butts or something. I'm kidding, but really, I love it, and it makes me love the rest of me too. Maybe not all the time or in all outfits, but all the same, I know where I should be, and it's not skinny.

Labels for this post: love, of, self