Thoughts in the Club

So you guys are so faithful!  I literally hadn't updated for two or three months and I had several dozen page views in under an hour for "Thoughts at the Gym"

You guys are either awesome or have no life but I'm not judging.
Mostly because I fall into the second category myself.

So you guys may or may not be the type of people to go out to bars and clubs but here's the deal: if you're female and you like to dance you will get hit on. If you're single this can be a good thing. Sometimes.  Maybe.  If the guy is attractive.  Which occurs when the planets align and you sacrifice a virgin under the full moon.

Nah I'm just kidding, it's not THAT uncommon, I'm just picky and I happen to like dancing alone. Guys can't keep up with me.  It's a problem.  I had a guy friend in college that had also been in band in high school and we would dance together while out because if I wanted to dance faster all I would have to say was SUBDIVIDE and the joke was understoood instantly. He could keep up with me and it was actually fun.  But I digress.

Anyway.  I've actually started to have a social life again after graduation.  Shock. Awe.
I know.
I go out in Hartford, and it's quite fun.  I love to dance.  I'm not much of a drinker, and since the last two times I've gone I've been driving I've actually been completely sober.  This primes me for people watching and for of course..."Thoughts in the Club."  Enjoy:

When guys look you up and down like that, is it necessary to look alllllll the way down? I mean, do you really care that much about my shoes? 

I think it's a rule that bar/club bathrooms never actually have enough stalls to actually function properly.  It's a thing.

And that girl is hugging the support beam.  Gotta tell N.

What is with the chanting? Guys never chanted in Worcester. HEY HEY HEY!

It smells like hot dogs. Goddamn hot dogs.

No. It's not happening. It won't happen. Stop trying to make it happen.

That dance.  It's like swan wings mixed with seizures.  Swan-Seizing, the dance craze.

This DJ is compensating for a very small body part. Two guesses and you've already used one.

*PEACE UP! A TOWN DOWN! YEAH YEAH YEAHHHHHHHHHH*

I feel like a sardine. In a bad way.  Time to break out the funky elbows.  This. is. MY. SPACE.

That girl is still on the support beam.  She's humping it.  Or grinding. Kinda, spinning? 

Boys. Just say no to fedoras.  Just. say. no.

Holy shit that's where all the sex appeal has gone.  He's absorbed it all for his evil plan to take over the world.  Side note: now Pinky and the Brain is in my head.  Pinky and the Brain brain brain brain...

*GAS PEDAL GAS PEDAL GAS PEDAL*

No touchy.

No touchy her either.  She's with me.

No don't give me that look.  You've had to be rejected before, you clearly have no game, move along. Try to smile and ask nicely next time, instead of grabbing things.

I don't KNOWWW THIS SONGGGG but everyone else doesss so I'll act pumped anyway!

I know you've been trying to get my attention for 5 minutes dude but it's not happening so move along.

Girl is still on support beam.  She's sort of twerking on it.  Gotta give her props for her commitment to the idea.

Hair in face. Hair in face. In mouth. Out of face. And where's my hair tie. Dammit.

*GET OUTTA YOUR MIND GET OUTTA YOUR MIND*

And I just pulled a muscle.  Shoulda stretched more.  Damn.

Did that girl just fall? And she'ssssss up! 

Hahah is the song speeding up? Watchhh this suckasssssssss you about to learn a thinggggggg.

Booty SHAKE!

And: head count.

Note to self: you cannot growl at people.  As much as they deserve it.

*NANANA COME ON. I LIKE IT, LIKE IT. S S S AND M M M. *

Heyyyy gorgeous dudee....and gorgeous dude's girlfriend goddamnit just stay home.

How am I already hungry?

That was my foot.  Ow.

Oh he's cute!.....From a distance.  That's a syndrome isn't it.  An actual thing.  

Wanna start feeling self conscious now? Just, randomly?

I want nachos.

You look like my not-ex.  So let's not-dance.

What is the DJ even doing?

You are EXTREMELY FRIGGEN' TALL DUDE.

Are the lights coming on? The lights are coming on.  Damn.

Thoughts at the Gym

So.

I haven't updated this thing in forever.  I'm well aware.  So this will be rusty.  Very stop and go. Probably hard to read and the flow will be off and my humor will not be top notch. Also I'm swearing in this one deal with it I'm not censoring myself I just don't care.

Deal with it.  You don't have to read.

So for those of you who actually perpetuate the idea of friendship with me after the big G .... graduation...you all know that I've become kind of a workout junkie.  Not in an extreme way.   Jillian Michaels isn't my BFF and I don't drink green smoothies with questionable ingredients from countries that I can't pronounce but I go fairly regularly.  I mean, my graduation present was a gym membership.  And I was very happy about that.  (Thanks Mom)

So I look like this now:

Woot Woot.

But that's not the point.

My workout playlist needs updating.  My damn ipod is old and won't run Spotify so I have a limited playlist and it's just not cutting it. 

So I'll be running and leg-lifting and sweating to my heart's-content and quite frankly I get distracted. 

And the internal commentary starts:

Ugh, Pitbull what IS that lyric? YA NASTY!

Creepy dude.  You had to pick that treadmill. That one.  There's like, 15.  All empty. But the one right next to me, yeah?  I'm gonna start walking now.  Take that.  

Don't sing.  Don't sing. Don't sing. You're singing.

...And I'm pretty sure that was my knee that just popped.  *Pop lock and dropp* OW FUCK.

And so on.

I mean, it doesn't stop.  

KE$HA is my spirit animal.  If spirit animals were made of glitter and whiskey. 

Why do they have mirrors in front of the treadmills? This would be more fun if I was a narcissist.

And you're not running any more.  Power walk.  Work. Fierce.  No not like that you look ridiculous remember the mirrors oh my god.

I have a headache.  Is it because of the ponytail? It's because of the ponytail. Ponytail is down and....BAYWATCH.  Look at this hair flowing in the win----no wait stop staring.  It's not that awesome.

Andddd I knocked my Ipod off the treadmill....there it goes. That was graceful.

I said that out loud. Awesome.

Slipknot what IS that lyric? YA NASTY!

Don't dance, don't dance.  DON'T DANCE.  You're dancing. Great. Go on.

I think I recognize her...from high school...soooo working out on the other side of the gym for the next half hour sounds good.

Did I shave both legs this morning?

Whatever I'm not meeting my soulmate at the gym anyway.

I TAKE THAT BACK YOU'RE MY SOULMATE HOLY SHIT.

...nevermind you only look good from behind.  It must suck going through life like that dude.

.

.

.

And I could do more weight today I'm a total boss. NO I CAN'T I'M A WIMP. More reps it is.

My abs are writing documents listing their many grievances to the queen.  The queen is a masochistic bitch that says DEAL WITH IT. 

I think that's a teacher from high school.  But it's during school hours. Wonder if he got fired.  Probably.

Creepy Dude Alert.

For the final time.  Stop Dancing for the love of god Jenny.

And it just goes on and on like that.  This running commentary.  It gets me through though.  I can run an 8-minute mile on a good day.  But just imagine,,. I make all the accompanying faces for these thoughts, because my face is an open book.  And I know this because of those damn mirrors.  And I laugh my way through my workout, and I think the damn gym population thinks I'm crazy.

They'd be right about that.

Stay tuned for thoughts at the Club. 

Holy Self-Confidence Batman!

Normally I get an idea, and I want to blog about it. It nags at the back of my mind and I can't let it go until I've typed it away.

For whatever reason, today I got the urge to blog...but no idea.

That was, until I realized I haven't blogged about some big changes in my life, according to my blog, it hasn't happened.

I'm referring of course, to the new me!  It's not just weight, it's personality.

...but the whole weight loss thing is pretty good too. 

Since January, I've lost around 30 lbs.  I look awesome.  I spent practically all day today in a bikini and the rest of my time in daisy-dukes and a tank top. And you know what? I rocked them.

If we're honest, I know what started me on my "new me" mission.  It was a breakup.  I refused to do the "breakup haircut" and instead decided to hit the gym.  

And wham-bam...HOT DAMN.

This was me, before:

Now mind you, this is a FLATTERING picture, courtesy of my cousin Rachael.

Holy Huge.  At least my truck is sexy.
Those jeans are size 13.

Alright, it wasn't terrible.  Or so I thought.  Turns out, I was kinda kidding myself.  And wearing baggy shirts and hiding the weight.

Now, for all the afters:

My tan lines are the only thing embarrassing in this picture.

I bought this dress without trying it on:
I purposely picked a size smaller than I thought I would be and...well you see.

Progress shot! This is late March.

My legs are literally my favorite part of my body.

Skinny little waist!

That dress? It's a size 6.
The dress I THOUGHT I was gonna wear was a size 14.

You guys get the idea.  But it's so much better than that.  I ran my first 8-minute mile the other day.  I couldn't run a mile in January...I would have to stop and walk.

I try new things.  I'm more comfortable meeting new people.  I smile more. I strut like it's my job.  I don't mind my picture taken because I'm damn proud of my work. 

When I go shopping I automatically grab size XL shirts.  Old habits die hard and all.  But you know, it feels so good to go and put that shirt back, and grab a medium, or maybe even a small.  

I went swimsuit shopping before vacation.  It was the first time in years that I didn't feel like bursting into tears.  In fact I kinda had a fit of giggles in the dressing room. If something didn't work on me, it wasn't ME anymore...it's just a damn weird bathing suit- whatever!

Hearing "have you lost weight?" doesn't bother me like it does some people.  I smile really big and answer "yes!".  I'm glad people notice.  I feel for the first time in years that I'm noticeable.  

I'm not shaming my old body.  I'm not even mad that I went through that period in my life.  Hell- It's not like I have six-pack abs now.  I have a small layer of resistant cushy-ness.  Whatever.  I don't care that it stays there as long as I know my body can do so much more now. I can run, dance, hike: longer, better, stronger.  

My whole lifestyle is different.  It's better.  I'm happier.

Some people might think that I'm too proud.  But let me ask you this:

What kind of society do we live in, where it's more acceptable to hate your body, than to love it?

That doesn't mean that you have to love your body as is.  You can change whatever you want about yourself because that's the thing: it's YOUR body. Gain weight, lose weight.  Pierce yourself. Cut your hair.  Leave it long.  Just understand that what you leave behind isn't toxic.  It's just a different part of your life, and you can be proud of changing, or staying the same.  It's your choice because it's YOUR body.

I guess in the end it just means you do what makes you happy: do what makes you love yourself.

The rest will follow.

Driving is the most expensive prescription for my obsessive anxiety.

I think gas prices might far exceed the cost of any pill that would help.

But you know, I feel like the pills might be far less effective.

My truck roars when you crank the key in the ignition.  I know it's cliche, but it does.  It's a '94, so I crank my window down manually... but it's worth it when the air is rushing past the windshield and into my lungs.

While I love driving in general, it's the most cathartic at night.  I can forget there is a world past the barrier of light my headlights create.

Maybe I just drive at night because that's when I'm the most anxious.  I try to sleep and I find that my mind won't stop reeling. I can't stop worrying and obsessing and my heart clenches tight in my chest until I'm forced out of bed.

I used to drive the back roads back and forth between my school's two campuses...
Now I drive a route that takes me to a place where there are no streetlights, no houses, and plenty of fog.  When the sky is clear, it's the starriest sky I've ever seen.  When it isn't, it's the blackest place and it's like no one can reach me.

Sounds peaceful right?

Well, not exactly.  If driving was too peaceful, too quiet: well, I'd be right back where I started.  I might as well have stayed in bed and let my thoughts burn me down.

So I give myself a musical lobotomy, courtesy of my "Clear My Head" playlist, which I'm sharing with everyone:

Eyeless- Slipknot

Sic- Slipknot

Duality- Slipknot

Shameful- Atreyu

Bleeding Mascara- Atreyu 

You Eclipsed by Me- Atreyu

Unholy Confessions- Avenged Sevenfold

Desecrate Through Reverence- Avenged Sevenfold

Second Heartbeat- Avenged Sevenfold

Almost Easy- Avenged Sevenfold

Scream- Avenged Sevenfold

I Won't See You Tonight (Part 2)- Avenged Sevenfold

Bat Country- Avenged Sevenfold

I'm a Fake- The Used

Take It Away-The Used

A Box Full of Sharp Objects- The Used

Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums- A Perfect Circle

4 Words (To Choke Upon)- Bullet For My Valentine

All These Things I Hate (Revolve Around Me)- Bullet For My Valentine

Tears Don't Fall (Part 2)- Bullet For My Valentine

Just Stop- Disturbed

Diefy- Disturbed

Stricken- Disturbed

Down With The Sickness- Disturbed

Ten Thousand Fists - Disturbed

I have been known to "sing" along to this playlist, and lose my voice for a couple of hours afterward.

If you don't like screaming, I don't recommend my music. I, however, do like it.  I like to let my music scream for me, when I can't. Or...when I just can't scream loud enough.

The lyrics just take my random, cluttered, persistent thoughts and order them into words, lines, stanzas, choruses:

"Far away, you keep on trying...
Holding me down, breaking away,
trying to distance my life.
Not one in the crowd, but one with the answer
the one that could change your mind

It's not true, I don't need you
Don't waste your time, and don't waste mine
I'm not your friend, won't soothe your soul
And in the end you're all dead to me...."

"Here's to lowering caskets of old friends, 

through choice and consequence we'll birth a new day 

with the death of an old and (Start over, start over)

here's to burying hatchets in those 

who you'd never call your friends

we'll birth a new day with the death of an old and (Start over, start over)"

"Did you take me for a fool
Or were you just too blind to see
That every effort made has failed
And there is no destroying me"

"Here comes the pain!
Enemy, show me what you wanna be.
I can handle anything, even if I can't handle you."

"I feel insane every single time I'm asked to compromise
‘Cause I'm afraid and stuck in my ways and that’s the way it stays
So how long did I expect love to outweigh ignorance?
By that look on your face I may have forced the scale to tip"

You get the idea.  I like my drama.  I like my screaming.  I love my truck.  I love empty road. I love speakers that shake the whole car and rattle the anxiety from my spine with every crescendo.

The road gives me something to focus on.  The music guides my breathing and lyrics replace thoughts.

After I get back from my drive I'm emotionally exhausted. I feel like I've let my thoughts and feelings get physically beaten from my body.  I feel comfortably numb...at least enough to sleep.

Some people might say I'm running from my problems.  I disagree.





I'm doing so much better than that.  I'm driving from them.  I hope my problems enjoy the acrid smell of burnt rubber and the sting of flying gravel as I leave them in the dust, because I won't stop anytime soon.

"Maybe I Just Like Talking to Myself": a reflection on my obsession with social media.

Because let's be real.
"Social" Media?  That would require me to be social.

Which you know, I want to be.  It's the rest of the world that's the problem.  I have yet to find the sign taped to my back that says "avoid at all costs" but I'm convinced it's there anyway.

But this isn't really a discussion of why I have no friends.

Social media users can be broken down in one of two ways:
You're either:

The Talker

Or

The Stalker

The Talker wants the world to know their story.  All of it.  Including the editing, revising, and publishing of that story.

They want you to know when they breathe, eat, sleep, etc.  Their thoughts, feelings, emotions, dreams, aspirations, temper tantrums.....

The Stalker gets his/her kicks from watching the Talkers.  The Stalkers amass information regarding the many people they are connected to on these social sites.  They're often heard saying "Did you hear...?"  They know everything.  Everything.

There is,of course, the in-betweens.  You can really think of a spectrum existing between the Talkers and the Stalkers and that would be pretty accurate.

If I were to put myself on that spectrum I would lean very heavily towards the Talker.  I mean really.  ...I have a blog.

...not only do I have the blog, I also have facebook, tumblr, skype and most recently, twitter.

You can find me anywhere, really.  I'm most definitely a Talker.

I like to vent.  I like to have my thoughts and feelings in writing.  I prefer typing them over writing them.  I don't think of my blog like an auditorium, where I know tickets have been bought and I'm going to take the stage.

No.  I think of my blog more like I'm standing on top of a building downtown where there's a lot of foot traffic.  I'm yelling my thoughts and it feels good.  Most people either can't hear or ignore me, but every now and then someone stops and listens and laughs, then goes on with their life.

For me, it's not about the number of followers or friends. I routinely do facebook purges because I just don't care about that little number trying to tell me how many friends I have.  I sure as hell know I don't ACTUALLY have 277 friends.

I know the majority of those 277 could care less about me.  I'm realistic.

I think if I lived in a different time I would have journals.  Lots of them and the majority filled with nonsense.   I think the point of my blogging is to get these thoughts out of my head. I can look back and reflect later. I can see how my feelings have changed and grown because I wrote it down.

I don't care who is listening.  I don't care what you think, unless you're one of my closest friends and I actually value your opinion.  Which, you're probably not.

So really.  Whether it's a long post like this or 140 characters, my social media activity has a lot more to do with ME than it has to do with...being social.

To sum it up: Maybe I really do just like to talk to myself.  Just with social media: people overhear.

A gem from my ride back to CT:

....like, a semi-precious gem.  It's not much.

So we’re on our way back to CT, as of this writing we have 11 hours to go before we get home.  With Michelle back in the car after bassoon camp (because I have a sister that enjoys things like…bassoon camp in the middle of bumfuck nowhere), it’s becoming a very interesting ride.

Michelle has a habit of making noise.  It’s really no wonder she decided to go into music.  When an instrument is not made available to Michelle she will often make her own peculiar vocalizations.  These vary from “injured goose” to “screaming yodel”.  She also has this creepy voice she does…but that’s beyond explanation and really something you have to experience. 

It was only around 10 minutes into the ride when Michelle decided she was bored enough to start…being Michelle.  I turned to my dad and told him about a game I play in my head when I’m bored.

It’s called “Discovery Channel Narrator”.

When I’m bored, I’ll often people-watch and narrate their story in my head…as if they’re a wild animal species and I’m from Discovery Channel or Animal Planet.

Because I was telling my dad, I gave an example.

“The Michelle is a curious creature with an affinity for all things noise.  This species( playus bassoonus)will often find substitutes for her instrument of choice.  The instrument The Michelle has become most skilled on resembles a large piece of wood, such as a bedpost.”

My dad laughs and we start adding more and more species characteristics to our discovery channel special on “The Michelle”.

This goes on for awhile and, as is the case with most road trip conversations, we eventually lull ourselves into another silence.

My brother Ben slurps loudly from his milkshake.

I turn back to my dad.

“The Ben is a reclusive species with a disdain for the outdoors and physical activity.”

My dad supplements: “Like the Koala, The Ben has a very limited diet”

I interject:

“This diet of chicken products such as “nuggets” or the larger “fingers” and the required chocolate milkshake make McDonald’s a favorite hunting ground for The Ben, though he still requires his parental units to hunt for him in these instances”

Ben has caught wind that we are no longer discussing “The Michelle” and objects by trying to direct the discovery channel inquiry onto me.

I tell them go for it.

Ben tries:

“The Jenny is a very aggressive species”

My dad adds:

“The species defining characteristic is a well honed and sharp wit, as well as one of the sharpest tongues in the animal kingdom”.

At this point the car becomes silent.  I raise my eyebrows, and my dad supplies:

“I think they’re too afraid.”

So I supply my own:

“The Jenny has a particular ability to get along with animals of all species: with the exception of her own.”

…..We didn’t even try to narrate my dad’s species.

The trip generally went downhill from there.

A picture is worth a thousand words...

...but I'm not gonna say anything and tell a story just through webcam selfies.  They may have been used for this blog or tumblr or something random, but I'm gonna post them with absolutely no context.  Here's me: with a webcam...

Oh my god I'm insane.

Jenny versus the Energy Drink

So in a series of unfortunate decisions, (procrastination, mostly....and entertainment, partly) I happened to be awake this morning at 5:15, knowing I was going to get an hour and a half of crappy sleep, if that.

It was a bad life choice, I'll give you that.  But I'm a senior in my last weeks of college and if I can't pull all-nighters I don't know who can.

I woke out of my half sleep 15 minutes before my alarm and got dressed, got back in bed, and waited out the hour I usually take to make myself presentable.

....in other news, I look like crap today.  

That's besides the point.  The point is I left my room feeling like death slightly warmed over: and then frozen again by the rain that was pouring from the gloomy skies that made no attempt to brighten up my mood. 

Today is one of those days that needed to be bright and sunny for the sanity of the sleep-deprived.

I'm sitting in the dining hall eating my crappy pancake and generally feeling miserable and I get simultaneously the best and worst idea ever:

I'll have a Monster.

Yeah.  An energy drink.  I haven't had an energy drink since a battle of the bands my freshman year of high school.

I sorta remember feeling my heart pounding and bouncing off the walls with my best friend at the time. 

I vaguely remember losing my shoe for an hour.

I strongly remember saying that I wouldn't ever drink an energy drink ever again.  

Back to this morning.

I'm walking death.

I make it on the shuttle.  I'm drifting in and out of consciousness, and I feel like absolute crap, and I decide:

I need to wake up.

Party music time.

Let's goooooooo.

To the window....to the wall...

Go little bad girl...

Shawty get loose...

Heyyyyyy Yaaaaaa...

You get the point.

I go to the snack bar, and buy my energy drink.

Let the games begin.

I drink a couple sips waiting for class, sit down, and immediately regret my decision.

My body feels like it's thrumming.  I can't stop bouncing my leg.  I'm talking way too fast, and I'm saying silly things.

I'm moved on from modern pop and into bad 90's pop.  Britney Spears is providing the soundtrack to my energetic demise.

...You drive me crazy, I just can't sleep....

...Livin La Vida Locaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa....

...I want it thattttttt wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy....

....Musical Interlude....

And it's getting worse. Anything I write now is going to be a mess, be forewarned.

I feel like I'm writing a post-apocalyptic diary entry, watching my descent into madness.

I feel like sitting still right now is a crime.

Against humanity, specifically mine.  My very very important humanity.

...What's left of it after this senior year.

(I'm gonna need another one of these.)

(That's an AWFUL idea.)

I can't wait to play dodgeball all hyped up on Monster.  I'm gonna be bouncing off the walls more than the dodgeballs themselves.

(Dodgeball is a whole different story, I should dedicate a post to how I first got roped into going and then addicted to playing, and then actually started to get pretty good for a girl.)

We play brutal dodgeball at Becker.

I have to present a case.

Like this.

....in probably less than 10 minutes.

I can't even sit still.

This will be interesting.

I bust out my moves at the bus stop, no big deal.

This post will be starring my friend NICK, who insists on being recognized in my blog.
I think the all-caps may have been my idea, but that is beside the point.

To start, let me explain my Thursdays:

Ethics.  Way too many words I don't know and haven't been taught, mushed together at 9:25 in the morning when I could really care less.  An hour and 15 minutes of boredom warring with exhaustion, warring with the need to be a good student (fading fast).

Constitutional Law: Supreme Court Cases.  Taught by other students.  In mumbled and often rushed tones.  Basically look it all up later, Pinterest now.

U.S. History: Professor has a heavy accent.  I don't know how many times I've gone over WWII in my life, but enough already.  Actively battling sleep.  Post-lunch food coma is threatening my consciousness.

American Cinema: Taught by the worst professor I have ever met.  You think watching movies is fun? Try a darkened classroom from 3:15-5:45, where really, you just have the perfect environment to nap.  And nap I do.  And then I deal with the guilt.  Whatever.

Then FINALLY: done with classes, about 8 hours later.
I get out of class and walk to the shuttle stop with my friend NICK.  And by walk, I mean dance.  And by dance I mean awkwardly flail my arms in happiness and attempt not to:

a. Drop my Kindle
b. Trip

I have so far been successful in my efforts.  I make no effort not to embarrass NICK, in fact, quite the opposite.
Luckily he's used to my antics from a semester of theatre with me.

Fast forward, I'm dancing to Britney Spears at the shuttle stop, straight up not giving a fuck.  I had this moment a couple months ago where I realized:

(Guys this is about as deep as I'm gonna go with this post so get ready)

You can work your ass off.  For days, weeks, years.  You can be everything anyone else ever wanted you to be.  You can. And those people? They can still treat you like shit.  And they will.

So what's the point?

The thing is: there isn't.  Living your life for other people is never okay.  Changing yourself for other people isn't okay.

It's hard.  We're taught from a very young age to meet certain standards to please certain people to get to certain places.  We're taught to bend, manipulate, and break ourselves.

Yeah, don't do that.

Enough.  If you feel like dancing to your music in front of a bunch of people, just do it.  It's none of their business how you run your life; you're not hurting anyone.
Sing in the shower.
Eat what you want.
Do what makes you feel good about yourself.

It's that simple.

So anyway,
I'm dancing to Britney Spears at the shuttle stop ("You Drive Me Crazy" for those who are curious) because it makes me happy.  My little dancing session is my reward for making it through my hellish day.

(NICK doesn't feel so rewarded, but he doesn't have to hang out with me if he doesn't want to, and he does.  So what does that say about you NICK?)

I don't stop dancing when I'm confined to a shuttle seat either.  Have faith friends, I find a way to dance there too.  To increasingly embarrassing music.  NICK looks over constantly and it's become a game to outdo myself every time.

Examples? I'll give you examples:

Baby One More Time
Bye Bye Bye
Baby Got Back
I Like to Move It
Dance (ASS)
I Just Had Sex
Hot in Herre
Ms. New Booty

....you guys get the gist.  There's no way not to laugh and smile when you're listening to that kinda crap. You feel ridiculous but you don't care.  Try it sometime, it's oddly liberating.

So if you're a Becker person and you see a girl smiling to herself and moving to her music, judge all you want.
Go for it.
I'm having fun with my life.

And you'll hear...softly in the distance...


booty booty booty booty rockin' everywhereeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

My naked rebellion was uneventful, so now I'm doing ethics homework.

So if you're showering, and there's a person in the shower next to you:
When you leave the shower area- you close the curtain to the shower area.
Seriously.  You got out of the shower and enjoyed the privacy the curtain provided.  You got that little privilege. Why the hell, then, when you leave did you leave the curtain wide open?
I can't reach my towel.  I have to get OUT of the shower to get to my towel.  You little shit. Anyone could walk into the bathroom. And there I'll be, naked, reaching for my towel.

Then I just had a moment.  Fucking let them.  I shower naked: WHOOP DE FUCKING DOO.
So I proudly strode out of the shower and reached my towel....uneventfully.

Seeing how much thought and epiphany went into that action it was almost disappointing.  Almost. Sometimes I question how much thought goes into my everyday actions.

So now I'm listening to ethics videos online.  I think that people that make these videos actually practice their boring voices.  They sit there and record themselves and if they don't fall asleep, it's not good enough.

True story.

Let me be very clear:

if I don't know you,
and you sit next to me on the shuttle,
and you start to FALL ASLEEP ON ME:

I really am resisting the urge to break your nose.  Like get off. What are you doing.  There's a divider in the seat.
Two separate places.
One is mine, one is yours.

I don't want to see you sleeping. I don't want to hear it, or have your head end up on my shoulder.

I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU.

What if you were a drooler?  That's disgusting.  Get away.

I know that everyone has a different concept of personal space.  That some people have no concept of personal space at all.  I'll even acknowledge that my concept of personal space might be broader than most.

But still.

We do give up some of our personal space when we use public transportation.  Absolutely. But I DID NOT sign up for a cuddle session with some random weird stranger on the shuttle.

He may have gotten a shoulder bump to the face.
Maybe.

Guess who's back.

Back again.
Jenny's back.
Tell a friend.


So basically Reslife has had their hands in my business far too long.  You can say this, you can't say this.  You need to walk, talk, act like this.  And I did.

But it didn't matter, and I'm no longer part of Reslife.

So this blog, my venting space, that should have been all mine?  It's back again.  And it's gonna be better than ever.

Like one of my girls said:

"Keep your head high and your middle finger higher".

I intend to do so.


Get ready.

Take me away, a secret place: A Sweet Escape.

Mine, when I can't go hiking, is this little nook in the Worcester library.  It's in the children's book section.
When I'm stuck in Worcester I can often turn around and read Shel Silverstien.  Gotta love silly poetry.
...I know it's probably weird that I chose the children's book section, of all places.  But the bookshelves are slightly narrower there.  I feel a little more enclosed.  When I huddle closer to the desk I can almost disappear.  And I have this great view of the sky out the window, but I can't see any of the people walking outside, and there is something wonderful about that.

The sky right now is blue with the brightest white clouds.  It was raining a second ago, but I got distracted and when I looked back up it was gorgeous outside.

That's New England for you.

That's my life for you.

It's time for my blue skies and white clouds.

Music is like a heartbeat.

And right now I want it pumping fast and strong.
So Rise Against it is. (For those of you who don't know, that's a band.)

I've left this blog alone for so long. My life's been strange and up-and-down and honestly not funny.

Just being real here.

Back to the music.

Everyone knows music can change your mood.  Some people use it to wallow when they're already sad (and by some people, I mean me, let's be real.)  Other people have inspirational music designed to pull them out of a rut.  Congratulations on your positivism, I'll be over here sobbing into my pillow.

My best friend gets it though. You don't always want to be cheered up.  You might want to just let the sadness (or anger, or hurt, or bitterness) consume you for a little while.  Listen to lyrics that flow from one side of your brain to the other and make you feel like someone else has felt the same thing.

Lyrics, or pictures or words, isn't that what art is?  Reaching something inside you that makes you feel less alone?  More validated?

Like she said "Let me feel."

So when people ask me what my favorite bands are, I can't really tell them.  It depends on my mood.  A sound I love one week might make me want to throw my laptop out the window in another week.  It depends.

I've always thought asking about music preference was a very personal question.  My music is a direct link to my mood.

It's not as simple as whether or not the lyrics describe what's going on in my life.

It's more like...am I listening to popular music? Are the lyrics vulgar and just kinda dumb? I probably don't want to think about what's bothering me, so I'm burying it under mounds of Pop music that means literally nothing to me.

Or am I listening to something I listened to in high school?  That's never a good sign.  I wasn't in a good place then, it means that I feel just as lost.

Is there screaming? I probably wish I could scream.  Living vicariously through music I guess.

And then of course there are those songs that remind me of a specific person or event and there is no possible way any random person could know what they mean to me.  But it still feels exposed.

Not everyone knows what a good heartbeat should sound like. I guess I don't know what mine should sound like either.