Climbing in Skirts

I have lived in Texas for the last 12 years and I am still confused about the purpose of the gigantic stacks of white bread. I don't complain that it is there at every banquet, luncheon, buffet, wedding, etc... It's one of the few things (or sometimes the only thing) that I am able to eat if barbeque is being served (I've been a vegetarian since '98). The other night at a party I referred to white bread as a condiment. I think I was wrong in that judgement. Condiments are applied and I am quite sure that the bread isn't.

At some places, the bread is listed on the menu (stack o' white bread). So, you might call it a side dish. At times the white bread could be considered a utensil for obtaining the last bit of sauce from your plate. Or maybe you could use it as a napkin? There seems to be some consensus on the net about the use of the bread. Sandwich making seems to be ahead in the counts. Second was a vehicle for the spicy hot sauce.

Um, no. You are wrong.

I am not a hug person. I like my personal space. A nice safety circle with a radius of an armslength (and I have long arms so move back).

I wouldn't mind hugs so much if I got them from a) really cute boys or b) people I am friends with or c) really cute boys that are my friends. But no. Last week at a stakeholder meeting I got a hug and ew, a kiss on the cheek (I tried to turn my head around quick enough so he would get whacked in the face with my hair) from a scary old man. I tried to block and go for the handshake but I failled. I was a party last night and had a very long uncomfortable hug from an acquaintaince that always creeps me out. To make matters worse this person has been told on a number of occassions that they have absolutely NO CHANCE.

This is what Jordan emalled me yesterday. I called him for clarification and he said, "aim high, and to the right." Ok. I can agree with that. I tend to hover around the awkward zone. Jordan is trying to keep me out of the zone of pain. Why? Because I am "his" Jen. And he has been there post-break up to pick up the pieces of Jen (and prefers that we not have to go through that again).

So I am quickly approaching 30 and I still have the debate over what is and isn't appropriate for a person my age to wear. Not that I take it all that seriously. But I do think about the look that my mom gives me when she sees some of my ensembles. I can't help but think of the classic, "Look Mommy, I dressed myself".

How bad could it be? Sometimes it can become a little Punky Brewster/Pippi Longstocking-ish. I blame my mom for how she dressed me as a child. The overalls and jumpers, clothing with cartoons, etc.

Now that it is getting colder I look forward to sweaters, tights, lots of LAYERS. Baby tees over long sleeved shirts (of various patterns). Stripey socks. Hoodies.

How long can I keep this up? Until it all starts to sag. Or until I get a job that pays me enough to dress more respectably.

Cellphones should have a breathalizer attached to them to prevent people from drinking and dialing. Why? Because no good can come from it. Alcohol is either liquid courage or truth serum. Pick your poison. What makes it worse is that you can do the damage of a nulclear weapon and have no recollection of it the next day (unless your friends save the voicemail messages that you left).

Em and I make a point of deleting numbers that we could potentially call PRIOR to going out and drinking. The first to go are ex-boyfriends, then ex-fuckbuddies, then people that you really shouldn'tbe calling in a drunken stupor.

Friends don't let friends dial drunk.

I will save drunken email stories for some other time.

I retook the Social Styles Questionnaire (aka the how to manipulate your co-workers test) a few weeks ago. I've been using style flexing more than ever now. I check out the chart before meetings (it's like a security blanket).

How did I score??
25% Expressive
15% Analytical
60% Driver
0% Amiable

I was a little concerned that I got 0% in the amiable category. Amiable doesn't get you that far at work so I don't feel too bad anymore. As far as my personal life goes, I think that being amiable hasn't gotten me all that far either.

So, Megan sent this to me today. She thought that I would find it amusing... especially with all of the rules for dating she has given me over the years (wear pants and underwear at all times, the sex talk must happen BEFORE the clothes come off and it should not occur on a couch, etc...).

I don't have a consent form but there is an evaluation after 30 days.

I mean, really, honestly good and kissed? (a cheesy movie quote but something I've pondered myself lately).

It's been awhile. Almost 9 months ago. I remember it well but I won't go into a big description because a) it would deserve it's own special entry and b) I don't really feel like rehashing old relationships.

I suppose I should clarify what counts in my book as being decently kissed. It should send chills down your spine. It DOES NOT have to involve someone else's tongue down your throat (although many of mine did involve someone's tongue down my throat). There have been some sweet 1st kisses that have sent chills down my spine. There have also been kisses on the back of my neck that have done the same thing.

I will say that I have been decently kissed by more girls than boys. For some reason kisses with girls are a sure thing. Boys, it can be hit or miss. I don't have any theories on this, it's merely an observation.

Everytime I see a futon I am reminded of a few key futon experiences. I don't know that the experiences could be duplicated but I am constantly reminded of things that can happen with a futon. It's a couch AND a bed. You could be innocently hanging out on a couch and the next minute you are close to naked on a bed.

Scenario #1
You are hanging out on a futon, with a boy, listening to Beastie Boys and watching cartoon network on mute. You are drinking rum and cokes and all of a sudden you move from vertical to horizontal. Not only that, but the futon was converted with you on it, and the boy did it with one hand. This boy was a Jedi. He could have your blouse unbuttoned and your bra unhooked without you even knowing. I've helped this guy clean his apartment on a few occasions and based on the fact that several pairs of panties were recovered from under the futon, he had time to work on this one handed technique [aside: how can all these girls forget to retrieve their panties?]

Scenario #2
NYE party. Spare room at someone's house has a futon. Yes, 5 people can fit on a futon, especially when it is a bed.

Scenario #3
Birthday party. It's the end of the night and things are winding down. People are clearing out and the people who own the place decided to convert the futon so we could all be a little more confortable.

I guess what I am saying is, I fear futons because I end up horizontal and mostly naked. Who ever knew that furniture could be so dangerous.

I recently admited that I am a neat freak. My mom thinks I have OCD. I chalk it up to the need for order in my slightly-topsy-turvy-at-times life. I don't really have a problem with other people being messy I can understand that not everyone uses cleaning as their comfort activity.

Messes/clutter to be avoided:

• Things that could potentially become a science fair experiment: I had a roommate who horded dishes in their room and I lived in a co-op where there were several people who seemed to forget to put the dishes in the kitchen to be washed.
• Clothing: The dirty stuff that could probably walk on its own.
  
• Things that you don't want other people to know that you have: don't leave your unmentionables lying around if you don't want to answer questions.

I must confess, this blog is not exactly real time. I, like many broadcasting companies, have chosen to delay posting to avoid uncomfortable situations (like when people figure out where things fit in in space and time). The only person that gets my confessions real-time is Megan.

If only there were a better way of keeping people anonymous but at the same time make it clear enough so someone knows it is not them. The boy in this post, was not the same boy in this post, the boy in my dream that drove me to orgasm (a real boy) has a tongue bar.

Anyways, because of the delay thing, I have forgotten to post a few interesting tidbits about what is going on my life.

So here it is, the best phone confessional session with Megan I have had in the last month or so.
Jen: Bless me Megan for I have sinned.
Meg: Do tell.
Jen: I just had the best orgasm ever. Well not EVER, but it was up there.
Meg: and...
Jen: So I was out with some people and I was really horny... (yes, it was bad decision making week). If it were a party I could have probably slipped into the bathroom and taken care of things, but it wasn't, so I NEEDED to get out of there.
Meg: Did you get all the way home or were you in the car?
Jen: I went home. It was much easier to say that I had to go. I couldn't see going out to the car and coming back. Besides, at home there is no one to hear me screaming.
Meg: Good point
Jen: So I get home and put on some NIN and grab a toy. There was a minor energy crisis but I was able to get it solved and take care of business with an old standby.
Meg: A happy uterus is a healthy uterus.

Another tidbit from phone confessionals was Megan's advice to me in my spinsterhood.
"I think it's time for this stalemate to be over. It's time for things to stop being stale. Get on with the mating."

I agree, but at the same time I know where my toys have been. I don't know exactly where all boys have been. Would they be offended if I were to ask for a doctor's note?