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

80

For some reason that is completely unknown to me, seeing that I have 79 posts on this blog annoys me to little bitty pieces. I'm pretty sure that isn't right anyway, but the cliffhanger just kills me. There really is something unsettling about the number 9. Maybe it's just top-heavy. Aw.

For some reason, I've felt super body-conscious lately. I think it has something to do with the fact that I left all my good jeans at school and now I wear clothes from an era of my life where I tried to be something that I'm just not. Or not yet, anyway.

Hello. My name is Jenni Schweitzer, and I do not have a vested interest in polo shirts, florals, surfer dudes, or Lilly Pulitzer. I just don't know why people pay so much money for something so unoriginal. Hollister, anyone?
I would so much rather wear costume jewelry and candy pink lipstick with menswear. Really. That or something extremely feminine. I like wearing the two looks and not caring about whether or not it's balanced.

That sounds like a Longwood Look article. Does anyone have any thoughts for other articles? Things they want fixed? Please leave a comment here, on Facebook, or on the actual blog. We heart feedback.

Labels for this post: frame, uneven, contradiction

No-shavember

I know that it's December. I like December very much. But I want to talk a little bit about November, too.
November is a weird month for me. I think it's because I notice that instead of the trees gradually fading, they're becoming the stripped, skeletal supermodels of the winter foliage line. Yes, I can relate most things to clothes. Don't be impressed, because it's actually kinda lame.

Anyway, the most popular thing I heard people discussing in November was not actually Thanksgiving, but a popular movement called "No-shave November", or No-shavember. The idea behind No-shave November is that men will not shave their faces for the entire month, enduring the sympathetic ribbing of their peers due to their mountain mannerisms. All they need are some flannel shirts, which are in style just in time for No-shave November. Hmmm.

Of course this movement is funny, and personally, I like it. I like that we're starting to open up to how humans really look - men have facial hair. It can be a great look.
But.
I want to know how many women participated in No-shave November. I want to hear the comments their friends made to them. Maybe something like, "Gross" or "disgusting" or ironically, "manly". Why must we be so embedded in our cultural expectations as women that we can't allow our bodies to be in their most natural, 'imperfect' states? Or if we do, why does it then become acceptable to call us gross, disgusting, maybe even throw out a derogatory term for homosexual females?

I didn't participate in No-shave November. Maybe I will next year, and maybe you'll think it's gross, but I think this double standard is what is truly disgusting.

Labels for this post: progressive, girls, double-standards

Repetitive

So, I like dresses. And shoes. And makeup. I'm sure you've picked up on this about me, and for goodness sake I hope so.

What you may not (well, probably don't) know is what I'm currently getting into, which is jewelry.
My mother loves jewelry. It's her thing, and for some possibly subconscious reason, I've never had a vested interest in it. But I'm really starting to appreciate certain kinds of it.
My mom's style in general is classic. She really loves work clothes, silver, and she's the only woman I know whose primary stone in her engagement ring isn't a diamond. It's a beautiful oval-cut sapphire winged with two tiny diamonds. It's super beautiful, and I'm ridiculously proud that she didn't bow to the Tiffany montage of huge rocks and huger prices.

Anyway, I've really gotten into Betsey Johnson's jewelry lately. It's adorable. Fortunately (for me) there is a fantastic place called Nordstrom Rack, where they sell some of her adorable jewelry for much, much less than her boutique prices. I found a super-cute (redundant) necklace there this morning. I'm wearing it on Monday, so you'll see it then, if I remember to point it out. As if I'll forget.

I also (and contrarily) like vintage jewelry. Around Christmas every year, I ask for one nice thing. I usually only want one or two 'nice' presents. This year, I'm asking for a pair of vintage cameo earrings. I'm fairly certain you can find them on eBay, at estate sales, or antique stores. They're so graceful and timeless. I really love cameo jewelry.

I find that I'm drawn to certain things because I enjoy the history. I love thrift stores because they're crazy kaleidoscopes of life in many stages. I love my piano because it was my great aunt's. I love the Bakery in Farmville because I can't read most (or really all) of the labels on their products. And I love poetry, because it takes discovery.

I do not love that I'm hungry and my dad wants to meditate before we go eat.
I'm not really sure what great mystery there is to ponder.


Labels for this post: brief, shiny, Mom

Conformity

You know, sometimes you see people you know pretty well, and you realize something about them at that moment. It's interesting. I have a friend who I used to think had really great style, and when I saw them recently, I realized that everything about what they're wearing is the utter sameness of most other people our age. It's not inherently bad, but I'm still disappointed. Mostly in myself, because the lack of individuality about this person is so expected that it's more exciting when it rains outside. At least then I get all worked up. I think maybe I'm part cat.

My Mom is coming to town to see our choir concert tomorrow, and I wish I had more time to spend with her so I could take her shopping. She loves shopping in Farmville; she's a total sucker for downtown touristy ambiance. It's something I love about her, and I'm glad she accepts it and lovingly drags me into Ye Olde Overpricede Crafte 'R Us.

I would highly recommend taking Children's Literature. It's such an awesome class, and you can read some of the books in an hour. Plus, they're really cute, and you get to over-analyze them like a mofo. I would also really recommend hot chai tea from Starbucks, and perusing the "Women of the Year" article in this month's Glamour. I read them and got a little teary at the bookstore and into my chai tea. It's a beautiful story.

Don't embrace the ideologies that are fed to you. Wear tuxedos like Marlene Dietrich and speak out when someone calls a girl a bitch for speaking her mind. Actually, be that bitch, and don't apologize for it.

Labels for this post: time, for, class

Scroll

I think it's interesting that the windows on this Mac will respond to the scroll button on the mouse only if it's used in the down direction. For some reason, it won't go back up. I'm pretty sure there are many people who could identify with this scroll button.

I also like the way "scroll button" sounds. It's a crunchy and satisfying elocution.

I realize I haven't written for a few weeks; I'm sorry. I've been really well, I'm very happy, keeping busy, and of course trying to go shopping. I think I might be getting sick, but I'm not sure if it's a little thing and what I really have is psychosomatic in nature. Mostly I'm dizzy and I can't sing that clearly, and I cough a little bit. I probably just need some soup and daytime television.

I'm considering writing a brief essay to Real Simple magazine about how a major step in my growth as a woman was finding a good guy. They like questions like, "When did you realize you were a grown-up?" and "What's the greatest love story in your opinion?"

I actually responded to the love story one. Taylor Swift.

I think I'm going to apply to be a Glambassador in the spring, because I pretty much want to be Megan Flynn. The title is acceptably cutesy, too.

I'm going to avoid doing anything productive for 20 minutes and look at vintage cameo jewelry online. Yeah, that sounds nice.

Labels for this post: nice, witty, update

Details

I would just like to say that I Very Much Like Macs, and I plan to get one when I achieve financial independence. So, basically, in ten years or so.

Hello everyone.

Today I was walking down Brock Commons to practice with my accompanist, and I saw a girl I sat next to in one of my classes in the spring. I was maybe fifty feet behind her, but she was walking quickly and carrying lots of stuff, so I didn't bother her. I remembered her name, her year, that she was manic depressive, used to cut herself and sucked at math. I couldn't remember her boyfriend's name, but I remember that he was working on a project for abnormal psychology about the emergence and cause of paranoid schizophrenia, to help diagnose his mother.

I think maybe something is wrong with me. Why should I remember such gruesome details? Is it shock, or do people just inherently want evil things to happen to other people and instinctively focus on the negative?

I'm a nice person. I swear.

How cute is this bracelet?? It's Betsey Johnson. Of course.

Labels for this post: Mac, gruesome, Betsey

Titles

I like titles. In fact, I've thought of several good titles for my book.

If I ever write a book.

And therein lies the problem: I can think of witty phrases that can suffice for titles, but where is the content when you wipe away the wit? I know for sure that if/when I write a book, it'll be a collection of essays and not a continuous story. Unless it's a children's story, and then I'm not really sure what's going to happen. Maybe I would have a better idea if I could draw with my eyes open.

Regardless, I very much want to write a book someday. Even if I'm too young to have worldly experience or cultural competence. Even if I really have no idea how I define love. Even if I can't tell you the barest definition of quantum mechanics.

Possible titles:

You Eat Underwear (and other funny things that have happened to Jenni Schweitzer)

and

The Diary of a Got Away Girl

[all of these are mine, so don't even think about taking them]

I'll let you know.

Labels for this post: brief, titles, uncertainty

Steady

Everything has felt pretty steady to me for several weeks, and I like it. The leaves are steadily changing, the weather is steadily getting colder, I'm steadily improving in my writing and my weirdly stylish clothes. Now if I can just figure out how to be warm and wear dresses, I can deal with the cold. But not the rain. Not ever the rain.

By the way, I saw "Where the Wild Things Are". It's definitely good, and I would recommend seeing it, but it didn't change my life or make me cry. That's something I kind-of pride myself on as a woman: the tendency not to be upset by some stereotypical romantic comedy's (usually neither funny nor romantic) contrived heartwrenching moment. I'll put up with watching them, but I feel bad for not having the correct response.

But I cried like twice watching "Up".

Labels for this post: passage, warmth, Up