I’m smoking in my apartment. I’m smoking in my apartment. Waiting for someone to flog me. Namely, me.

I’ve decided that I do my best bitch thinking when I’m smoking, because smoking makes me feel cynical. I’ve designated my ‘office’/den/mancave that exists in the corner of my apartment as the place I can let loose. To smoke and do lines and make my cat chug beer and masturbate to taboo porn and….flash the recently moved in Indian girls on the first floor.

I think they’re like 7 years old. Is that wrong? I mean, it’s an education, right? Doing my part.

And since I’m not physically like a man (although my heart penis I have inside me says otherwise) I guess I’d call this room my womancave. If we simplify that, break it down to its prime number, I think I may have officially designated this room VAGINA. Isn’t that what we call our womencaves? VAGINAS. Yes, in capital letters. Because my vagina is noisy and it yells when you poke it. No, I don’t have herpes. I just have an opinionated crotch.

I’m totally listening to electronic music right now. Much as I enjoy it from time to time, I can never escape how fucking pretentious it is.

Oh, and if you’d like to know if I’ve ever had anal sex, check out the recent podcast titled “No More Tears” from my amigos Alex and Kevin. They’re my favorite man friends.

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I opted to go mic-less, which is just as well because I couldn’t really talk as I was busy giving them blowjobs. And I’m still not their favorite chick friend.

It’s worth your time. Really. I fully endorse the product No More Tears. Damn, I gave it away.

A day ago someone I went to middle school and high school with died. From a drug overdose.

We were not close, at all. Never really hung out, talked much, whatever. But when you know someone for the formative years of your life, its important, and memorable. And it makes you remember that life is life, it’s fleeting, altogether too short, and gives you a moment of “What the fuck am I doing?”

I’ve had such a moment before, sure. I’m sure we all have. Death usually spurs this on for most people. Pretty typical.

Maybe its the events of the past year, but today that death is kicking my freaking ass.

I’m in limbo. An enjoyable limbo. Which is a surprise to me, because limbo has never sounded like a fun place to be, either spiritually or actually in life. I’m mostly enjoying it because I’ve never experienced it before. The hazy fuzzy feeling of floating where I am in my life, without an actualized purpose. I know I have purpose. Thats been on constant I’ve had my entire life. The feeling of “Hey Jen, you’re supposed to do something. And unfortunately for you, it will involve a lot of work. Because its going to affect a lot of people. Get ready.”

So…that actualization part. What a bitch.

A lot of things that have happened to me and/or I’ve done in the past year have made me reprioritize. Again, and again. And here I am, not doing that again, necessarily, but reflecting on what I know is important to me. And I’m thinking today might be the start to me getting out of limbo, and taking every step like I mean it.

I’ve never been one to waste time. When I know where I’m going, I prefer to get there as soon as possible. Because I have a destination. Me lacking destination has enabled me to enjoy the walk more.

And I know that when I do take these next steps, I’ll be able to appreciate the walk. Because it counts.

I used to think wisdom was an experience that people learn from. That it was a noun, this concept that just happened to those people who choose to think about what happens, and learn a lesson from it. Now I think it’s more of a verb, this action that you can choose to take. It’s a choice.

When something happens, you either learn from it or you don’t. The choice to learn is always there, and the more time you take to reflect on what happens, that makes you wiser, you are practicing wisdom. And I like my concept of wisdom. Its better than me thinking that wisdom is something attainable, that you ‘get’. Nope, it’s definitely you deciding to be wise. And it definitely helps you when you are.

Oh, a week later. How time flies, and how it kind of nosedives into the ground.

Its amazing to me how much we critique ourselves. Me, in particular, I think I do it to a fault. When we’re faced with situations like this, where people that have loved you and have spent as much time with you choose to go a different path with their lives. One that doesn’t involve you as much. You wonder why, what the hell happened, aren’t I somewhat ok? You’ve been with me for this long. What happened?

The funny thing is that I chose to do the same thing a year ago, and it all made sense to me then. It never made sense to Wade, and he still doesn’t understand it. I think when we can talk again I’ll use this situation as an example. Like, hey man, you know how you needed to go? I did, too. Do you get it? Now? And if he doesn’t I’ll chalk it up to a lack of empathy in his personality. I’ve always been good at that, though.

Speaking of what I’m good at, I had a fantabulous day. Yesterday was Cinco De Mayo, and I work at a Mexican restaurant. As such, it was a freaking Corona-tequila-lime-hey you-hey-hey-what?-fuck off festival all day. I worked from 10a.m. to 3:30 a.m., and didn’t hit the sack til 5amish. Which is probably why I’m awake at 2:30 a.m. I got to sleep in split shifts today. I don’t recommend it, by the way. The only thing good that happened is that I cleaned my house at 1 a.m.

So I made good money yesterday, my car payment actually, and spent today wandering around Tampa. Ran into someone awesome, and we had a good time relaying our life stories over the past year. It definitely started with a major “OH, girl, let me tell you..” We’re so predictable sometimes.

She’s in the same place, I am. Starting over. This starting over thing sounds like its cake, but its kind of intense somedays. You wonder if you like the things you like, or they’re just there because they always have been. She bought a convertible because she felt like being impractical and she never gets to be. She wants me to go to IADT for photography school, which is something I’ve always wanted to do but never did because, hey Jen, whatcha gonna do with it? I say that, but I got my undergrad degree in drumroll please….Anthropology. Practically awesome, practically not good if you want to get a big girl job. I’ve already done the impractical, fuck, I might do it again.

Thats cool part about all this. When I ask life’s big questions, I just ask me. Not that I don’t value advice, but I only have myself to consider. Probably a good age for this to be the situation. I think. We’ll see.

I’m off to import blogs all the way back from….2002. Jesus. And then to bed. The cat wants my body.

It’s really strange what happens…when this happens. The little things you notice, the friends that you have, the friends you don’t have. What people say and what happens.

There’s a story behind everything I have that has to do with Wade. Everywhere I look, he’s everywhere. Everything I listen to, we’ve listened to. I know if he likes it or doesn’t like it, or what part of the song he likes because of that sweet bass line.

I came home last night and saw a glimpse of a pickup truck in the parking lot…wrong color. I woke up this morning and called out his name because I couldn’t hear him watching TV. The cat scratched at the door frame and Wade didn’t lecture her about “NO, NO, Bad kitty, use your scratchpad.” His dirty dishes are still in the sink, all the food he eats is still in my pantry, the door is still unpainted.

Friends, acquaintances, they all say that eventually I’ll be fine. Soon I’ll be okay. I want to believe them, and part of me does. I just don’t know what to do to get there. I want to move out of this apartment, get rid of the bed we slept on, the stuff we laughed at. But if I do that I feel like I’ll have nothing left, because its pretty much all I’ve ever known.

Its strange to think about the other extreme. The feeling of being in love, the giddiness, the feeling of invincibility. I never thought about how strong that was, and how terrible it is to be on the opposite end of the spectrum.

I think that everyone that loves me probably talked to me yesterday. I talked to my family, Kyle even called me from Korea. Julie sent her brother to come check on me, to potentially “Baker Act my ass”. Tony and Julie sat with me while I sat miserably at the bar and zoned out to bullshit TV and waited for the stabbing pains in my stomach to go away. Ivy and me are comforting each other just by staying within 5 feet of each other.

I’m going to go try and clean. Fold some laundry. 4 hours until I go to work.

Wade told me several times that he’s been where I am, and he’s okay now. He knows what I’m going through. But he doesn’t. When he was getting over me, he knew I still loved him. Now that I’m supposed to get over him, he doesn’t still love me. He had me the whole time, the option. My option isn’t there. So fuck you, Wade. Fuck you trying to make me feel better with words. I knew this would have happened eventually, when he left. I wish he had just left instead, so I could just accept that hey, its definitely over, instead of him doing all these terrible things, saying all these things. I’m already on the floor crying, and you’re just kicking at my ribs, my kidneys, stomping on my face. I asked him to give me a break, and he said no, no breaks.

Well, okay then.

It is decidedly cold. DECIDEDLY. Goosebumps, nipples, teeth clenching…..hang on a minute. That sounds like good sex. WERD. See how I did that, internet? See how I turned that around? Yeah? That’s called positive thinking. I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little surprised I was able to pull positive thinking out of my ass as a result of recent situations, but I did. Woot.

So, after much internal debate, well, external, too, but I really pay little attention to external debate, because I’m always right, I have decided to go forward with grad school. If they’ll have me. Oh, wait they will. Sweet. It’s like going to the grocery store and swiping your card, and Verifone has APPROVED me, I get a little lick. Because, look at it this way, 1 800 HOPELINE, if no one else approves of you, your debit card does….and if it doesn’t, continue with previous planned actions, because you’re broke.

Was that inappropriate?

Alright….so here is my earthshaking point I’d like to make.

Why would anyone want to live in Carrollwood? I mean, REALLY?

Far away enough for Downtown to be annoying, close enough to grocery store to feel like you’re in BFE. BECAUSE YOU ARE. That being said, can we petition for Craiglist to delete all Carrollwood postings? Thank you for your support.

I cant be buggered to write more.

Today was my first day of what I like to call my “big girl” job. Most people give me a puzzled look when I refer to such jobs as that, but if you think about it, my current job, which is serving in a restaurant, is pretty much a dead-end endeavor. Unless I wanted to go management, but, no thanks. Props to those who can work 50 hours a week for a salary and deal with idiots like me. I’m not so brave.

So, today I walked into a world of high heels, classy clothing, coiffed hair, and sunny smiles. I now have a break room, equipped with a microwave that doesn’t have a chart for reheating enchiladas and steaming vegetables on it, cabinets full of girl crap (Splenda, powdered CoffeeMate creamer, and tupperware out the ying yang), and a vault room that definitely has female written all over it. By that I mean it looks like a damn paper nest. There is “stuff” everywhere. I feel as though if a boy worked there, he’d walk into the room, take one look at it, and walk right out. Women are pretty weird in the way they lay things down in a spot and are able to find it a week later. Some women. Not all. Julie loses her keys, cellphone, and earrings on a regular basis. I find her stuff and she finds mine. We work well together that way.

I’ll be working this big girl job and my serving job, to make ends meet, and my end goal is to get my own cheap apartment, where me and my cat can chill on the patio, drinking beer and water, eating kibbles and hummus, and where I can keep throbby lounge music playing while I nerd away at Visual Studio, work on my thesis for my master’s, and make pillows to chuck everywhere I need coosh (coosh is a term coined by either me or Julie, in reference to her dog Toby’s infatigable desire to have somewhere cushy to lay down) which will be….everywhere.

I’m still considering joining the military. The most appealing part of this consideration is the awesome leadership training I will get, because I know for damn sure it will pretty much land me a job where ever I want (Marine Corps officers are some of the most sought-after employees for companies). I’m tossing it around. Or, I like to think of my options as pretty bubbles bouncing around my head. I can blow it up, or let it pop. It’s all in my control.

This past Thursday I was invited to Alex and Kevin’s phat pad, where podcast magic happens in their living room with Kevin’s techy geekness laid out on the coffee table, and whiskey, beer, and cigarettes flow at a nice rate. It was good stuff. I’m more opinionated than I realized, because I had lots of questions about their topics, but was in a non-participatory role for this one. I did get some air, even though I’m white. Oh, jokes. Check it out, should be posted today or tomorrow, I hopes. Grab the Nub

I’m off to Ross to exchange a pencil skirt I accidentally split. I split the slit up the back by spreading my legs too wide. I feel a fashion rename is necessary: Chastity Skirt. Much better.

Ta!

The past 6 months of my life has been all about making decisions. We all make decisions, on a daily basis, but these decisions I’ve been faced with are made without all the required intel. It’s the hardest thing to do. I’d liken it to being an infantry officer in the military. Making decisions, with peoples’ lives at stake, without all the information. Crazy stuff.

I’ve been thinking a lot about mistakes. Is there ever really such a thing? Depending on your attitude as far as regrets go. You can live with regrets or without them. A mistake is the result of a decision you made, like the wrong one. But if you don’t regret it, because you are living your life without regrets, then was it ever really a mistake to begin with? Perhaps it was a situation you learned from, as we learn from all events in our lives. No mistakes are possible then.

So, I don’t know if I actually made a mistake or not. Fate is then part of the discussion. I’m still not sure how I feel about fate.

So, speaking of Mistakes and Regrets, I feel a song reference coming on (Cooey, Damon!)

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Wednesday morning I woke early, to help my parents out with my younger siblings. My dad has hurt his back, his L1 through L5 look a little fucked up, according to the radiologist, so he is now in the first stages of pain management. My mum went through this when she had her back injury several years ago. You talk to a pain management specialist, and decide the best route for you. In both my parents’ cases, steroid shots was the way to go.

If you don’t know what steroid shots are, don’t think my parents have the “rage”. Its cortisone, that wonderful stuff that makes the body feel better, just like hydrocortisone cream heals the skin. I have been told this by my beautiful friend Brandi, who is an esthetician, and knows all kinds of fun facts about the human body.

I had to get up early to make sure my brother got up for school, as he is all kinds of nasty when in bed at 7:30 A.M., and my mum wasn’t here to do the job. Then I had to take him to school, make a deposit, buy some smokes, and then I headed off to the gym, where I flailed around, unchallenged.

On the way home from the gym, which is one block away from my house (convenient!), I saw a black dog’s body laying on the sidewalk, with a white dog sniffing and poking at it. The white dog, which I later discovered was a pitbull, was running in frantic circles around the dead dog, in and out of the road. I made a U-turn, pulled into the closest parking lot, and ran over to see what the hell had happened.

The dead dog had clearly been hit by a car, and I say this because blood had leaked from its mouth all over the sidewalk, and the impact could be seen on the road–blood splatter, then tire tracks through the impact spot. I’ve never seen a dog thats been hit by a car before, and before I could really reflect on what I was seeing, a truck pulled over. A man got out and eyeballed the situation, same as I did, and mentioned animal control. I pulled out my cellphone and called 411, which directed me to K911.

K911 isn’t really an emergency hotline, it’s a voicemail that promises to call you back within 30 minutes. Nice. Not.

Within two minutes of thy friendly neighbor stopping his truck, the pitbull that had been whining, sniffing, licking, and nuzzling the dead dog then started to hump it. All over. Butt, face, torso, whatever. Dick had sprung and the pitbull was gyrating all over the place. One of the stranger things I’ve seen. Me and stranger look at each other like “What the fuck?” and then we both try and coax the pitbull verbally to stop doing that, it’s wrong, messed up, oh shit, stop, not in the face, yuck, ew.

After about 5 minutes of us standing there in a quandary over why a live dog would hump a dead dog, a police officer shows up.

He sits in his car for a few minutes, doing nothing, until stranger goes and sees what the hell he’s doing. Oh, he’s calling animal control, so strange man leaves, he has to work. Cop finally walks over and says that animal control is on its way, but for now he thinks we should put the dog in the back of his car. Ok.

Ok. Not really. The dog is some kind of pitbull. Which is fine. I like pitbulls. But, its emaciated, its ribs are sticking out, it has a choke chain and a spiked collar on with no tag, as the dead dog had a collar with no tag also, and its horny and hungry, and it ain’t going nowhere. Even me practically doing cartwheels and showing my carotid artery like I was enticing a vampire didn’t work. I danced, sang, whistled, made baby faces and sang songs….he’d get two feet away from his new necromanic toy and then book it back over there, to do the wild thing all up in the dead dog’s face. I half expected The Horny Necro Dog to start doing the electric slide in the puddle of blood me and the dead dog were in.

The cop mentioned to me that “We don’t know how aggressive the dog will be”. And I totally agreed. Obviously the owners didn’t care enough to make sure THND (The Horny NecroDog) stayed inside, was fed properly, or neutered. To that conclusion, with the spiked collar accents and the dog’s stocky build, I had a feeling the owners were some of the twisted individuals in this world that truly have ‘pets’, as in ownership of a being that you feel owes you something, similar to slavery. Basically, this dog looked as though it may end up fighting at some point. And considering he was horny and hungry, I didn’t know he would respond to us using physical force to come with us and take him away from his new plaything.

Inspired, I asked the cop if he had any food. I did not say donut. I should have.

He went to his car and found a pack of cheezits (Cheezits has not in anyway asked me to namedrop their crappy crackers), which I then opened and got THND’s attention. After I fed him one, I kinda crabwalked backwards, placing a single cheezit every three feet. Until he got right next to the car door, and I was thinking “Victory!” he turned back around and started humping again. Sigh.

I tried this like 3 more times. I have to go home and shower for work. I don’t have time for this. The cop wasn’t trying to force the dog anywhere, the pansy, so I just grabbed THND’s collar and dragged him slowly to the car. He was a stocky motherfucker, too, and trying to make him walk was like trying to shove a boulder. What happens when you cross an immoveable object (THND) with an unstoppable force (Jen)? Cheezits get crushed on a sidewalk.

Me and the horny dog got to the door of the car, but he didn’t want to get in. He actually liked me, enough to his wag his tail happily when he sniffed me and such, and I totally saw him giving the cop evil looks, ha. So I just looked at El Hornio and sighed, and I climbed into the back of the cop car, where there were cheezits waiting on the seat, at the end of the Hansel and Gretel trail. Of course, he hops in with me, wags his tail, and the cop shuts the door with us both in the car. It was a brief moment, lasting only about ten seconds, but I swear that dog looked in my eyes and I looked in his and we both knew what was going to happen.

It was like we were both old, so old, and so tired, and just sick of how it all ends up. We mentally exchanged a thought of “We know whats happening next. Human gets out of the car, leaves me here, don’t have a family, going to animal control, more than likely will never get adopted, because of the way I look, and I will die.” Dramatic as that may seem, when I slid out of the other side of the car, I felt horribly guilty.

I still do. Its not specific. Dogs, cats, bugs, humans. When innocence is manipulated by greed or ignorance, and the innocent suffers the repercussions, we should all feel guilty.

Spay. Neuter. ADOPT. Do not BUY purebred dogs, and then make money off their puppies. That is disgusting. Thats the same as slavery in the U.S. A female slaves gives birth….awesome. In ten years you’ll make a buck.

Realize that when you vote for tax breaks and help with your mortgage, the money comes from somewhere, and it typically comes from libraries, animal shelters, and other GOOD things our local government offers.

And also realize that means that instead of being able to give a lethal injection to an animal, because of budget cuts that YOU voted for, more than likely 20 dogs will be piled into a box and killed slowly with gas….like the Jews in the Holocaust.

I’ll never forget his eyes, his patches of colors on his face, how his paws looked tinted pink from blood, the blood on his legs and face, and the ribs that stuck too far out of his fur.

I’m sorry I couldn’t take you home with me. I can’t afford to buy you food, and give you a place to stay. I’d come see how you were doing at the shelter, but if you weren’t there and I was told you got put to sleep, I don’t think I could handle having my heart broken another time this year.

And I’m breathing and it’ll be ok.