Oh, hey stranger. #reboot

I've been wanting to revisit my blog for an uncomfortably long time because I like that it draws from me things I want to process and feel and document and reflect on later.  I think I've been putting off a new post (for like 3 years) because so much has changed.  There have been developments in my world. Big and major changes.  But, with that, my head has changed.  My previous ideas have evaporated or evolved and my concepts and goals have completely shifted and altered. 

[If you are reading this and thinking "well, no duh," you aren't wrong.... but I'm saying it the way I say everything here- for a personal purpose.  This blog was a personal outlet and something I was proud of, so it lives in my mind, preserved in jade, like a bug, perfectly unaffected by time and untarnished, like a love story. How do you revisit that without feeling unworthy of maintaining its beauty (beauty is relative - I love it, STFU it's my art)... that's where I'm at.]

I guess what I am poorly attempting to say is that it's taken me time for me to understand that I can revisit this with my new voice.  I think the mirroring of my past voice was, for good reason, my biggest hurdle, but I've accepted that adding to something, even if in a new and different way, doesn't necessarily mean it's going to destroy the original.  So here I am. 

Back.

Where to start?  [not at all a hurdle - I'm creating suspense]

One thing I think I knew about myself when starting this blog but has become more a part of my core identity as I've aged is that I adore transparency.  From & for myself, and from other people.  I'm one of those people that really hate surprise parties.  Not the end result, that's crazy!  The idea is gorgeous and thoughtful and has lots of charms... but I like to know what I'm in for so I can properly prepare.  When it comes to emotions and relationships in real life, I want to know what I'm in for and what I need to do to rise to the occasion. 

[Not to be confused with a doomsday prepper.  Don't fooled into coming to my front door after the "big earthquake."  I literally only have condiment packets, alongside expired batteries and 2 inches of filtered water, in my fridge.  *Remind me to do something about that- please, and thank you!*]

I, in turn, try to be an open book, and on the surface level, I am. However, [I say this with trepidation because it's my first time admitting it] I am only recently realizing how much is under the surface that I don't share (for one) and other stuff buried so deep that I don't even know if I'm aware of it.  All this time I've been preaching "open book," and then come to find out that my own book has invisible ink in between the lines, in the margins, and on all those pages I thought were blank for a purpose. 

I'm listening to Devendra Banhart 'Mara' and "something I cannot control" is on repeat and ringing so true. 

Some of these private, hidden entries are intentional and for my own self-preservation. 

Side note: I do a lot of what I do for self-preservation.  Some can be described as trial and error - already learning where I can be damaged or do damage and therefore changing behavior, hiding pieces of my self, or repressing memories, all to avoid future discomfort.  Some I think are completely out of my conscious control, and I'm a victim of... emotional roofie? 

But I think these pages (of my personal mind book- if that wasn't evidently clear, HELLO!!) have a lot more than I ever expected hidden within them.  It's terrifying! 

What do you think it means when you hear 40 seconds of Lena Dunham's podcast episode about 'Aging' and burst into scary tears?  What does it mean?  Why does singing a song out loud, in my car- not my house, or the shower, or in public - make me weep?  Why do you think that is? 

Anyways, those were totally rhetorical questions.  I definitely don't want to hear your insight because I'm too happy floating on this cloud of denial and avoidance to get to the answer too fast, but, if all goes well, and I don't build a digital moat around me, you'll get to go on a little journey of my own exploration with me - here. 

I should be less self-deprecating. I am taking a sexual mastery course, with one of my old & dear friends, that has been great so far and is helping me to better understand the modern day me a little better.  That entry will be soon because I'm actually really excited to talk about it. 

Long story short.... I feel like I was so convinced of who I was for a long time that I forgot to keep checking in with MYSELF for updates.  An outdated blog and outdated personal software, are we detecting a trend? 

UPDATING ALL OF IT and then onward & upward with the reguarly scheduled program.   
Thanks for tuning in.  xx

Direction unknown

We both reflect and meditate
Internally
With grandiose ideas and plans
We look towards the future

Sun in ours eyes
Waiting for the sky to break

The egg yolk of mistakes

Welcome upon our head

In a new beginning

With so much at stake

It's hard to take the future as it's planned

The compass is in our hands

Who has the map

And what is this fork in the road

In which direction should we go

We hold on tight to the idea

Like a wheel

In our mind 

The outcome surreal
The future undefined

But where we go

No one will know

Because we leave no trace behind

We're always one step ahead of time 

Sunrise, Sunset

Have you ever listened to that song, from Fiddler On The Roof?  It's lovely and heartbreaking.  Like a story it's a male and female wondering how time flew by so quickly, day after day, sunrise and sunset.  It's been playing in my head for several weeks now.  After subconsciously humming something I didn't recognize, aside from the words Sunrise, Sunset I finally downloaded it.

I've never seen Fiddler On The Roof, and I'm not sure where I would've ever heard the song before.  How did it wind up in my head?

It's been a long while since I've been here, mainly because I can't so easily direct my thoughts lately.  Beginning at the start of 2016 my uneasiness, which I'm actually very used to, if even comfortable with now, became unbearable.  I looked for other job opportunities and in July I transitioned to a new company after nearly 6 years with my former company, which had been my first real big-girl job.  The transition was seamless, simple, comforting, inviting, and exactly what I needed....

It's amazing the trickle-down effect, and how I've witnessed it happen since that first big step.... and no, this will not be political, no intentional reference to Reagan.  I'm referring to the trickle-down effect that soon happened in my life after making one momentous change.  Like opening Pandora's box, soon other areas of my life seemed to wreak havoc on my psyche and mentally.

Come November I began looking for an apartment, which I found and moved into in December.

I'm learning a lot about myself, very quickly, living in my first place, YES- 1st place of all my own at 30!  I am very independent, as I've always known, but I am ridiculously dependent at the same time.  I love my space but I also love somebody standing by as I bore of myself and my antics.  This, and a special request from a friend to update my blog because they "are bored at work," led to this post.  Dear friend, I FEEL YA!  I'm bored as shit right now and have been for about 3 straight days.  The habits I employed to help me decompress after work -- if you know me at all, you know that's drinking bud light and smoking parliaments -- have even tired.  [But, yes... of course I AM drinking a bud light right now.  Thank you]

So, with the boredom numbing my brain, and the independence wearing, I imagine the trickle-down with very soon take effect once again.

Don't get me wrong, I am very happy.  I think I'm starting to feel more and more like myself everyday, regardless of if I know who that person is anymore.  Spending nearly a decade, as I was recently reminded, in a situation is incredibly significant and inevitably altering.  Friends have asked me if "single Jenna" will be back because she was such a riot, or so much fun to drink with.  Ha!  Well loves, and strangers, every Jenna will always have a drink in her hand when appropriate, and fairly often when not.  Not to worry there.

But I too question, once all the layers of a one, who was for a long time a two, shed and wash away, what of me will remain?  What has changed?  What will go back as before? What has been permanently altered?

The last question I can answer indefinitely with my waistline.... and I don't think the wrinkles in my forehead just pop back out very easily either.  [it's fucking depressing getting old -- Sunrise, Sunset]

I haven't been bored in a very long time and I texted my best friend tonight about how maybe the alleviation of pressure has wiped my brain clean of all the thoughts that kept me busy.  I should feel rejuvenated with my clear head, but like any change, good or bad, it takes a little adjustment period to fully accept it.  I'LL WAIT.  [are we there yet?]

Truth be told,  I'm not all that confused or concerned.  I welcome the future with open arms and I'm excited for everything that comes next... after 30.... AFTER FUCKING THIRTY [are you kidding me?] -- I really do.  However, it feels good to outline these feelings that do sometimes scare me, and for the time being, make me feel a bit like a fish out of water.  A good reflection on such a momentous time.  A time of growth.  A time of anticipation.  A time of boredom [which if I'm being honest, might kill me by morning.]

If I survive myself to see tomorrow, I promise to narcissistically update my blog more often... to ward off the boredom and pacify my one fan.  [Kim -- I love you, mean it.]

Past revelations or present truths?

This was written in sept 2011. Guess we don't change all that much because this all still stands. Wise beyond my years? No. Just conscious of who the fuck I am. 

Welcome to the past/present me: 

I'm the girl whose bedroom looks like it was hit by a hurricane. 
I'm the girl who always has to have the last word.  
I'm the girl that spends ridiculous amounts of money on Polaroid film, takes crap photos when I'm drunk and then puts them in a pile, in a corner to collect dust. 
I'm the girl that has to have my own way. 
I'm the girl that makes mistakes even when I know they are mistakes before I make them. 
I'm the girl who loses her cool, throws a tantrum and is on cloud nine less than 30 minutes later. 
I'm the girl that makes friends with bouncers, because I'm the girl that loves to be at the bar, any bar. 
I'm the girl that drinks and smokes too much but never gets sick. 
I'm the girl that knows almost every song by heart but couldn't tell you who sings it. 
I'm the girl who has my head in the clouds but my feet on the ground. 
I'm the girl that is destined to become your best friend, but if you ever leave me, I'm the girl that won't call you out of spite. I'm the girl that can count my flaws, and admit to each and everyone, with a smile on my face. 
I'm the girl your parents know of but don't want you to end up with. 
I'm the girl that changes my hair color whenever something remotely drastic happens in my life. 
I'm the girl you can tell anything to, and even though it seems like I'm judging you, I'm the girl that has your best interest at heart.

The Archives, Saturn's Return, and the rest of the nonsensical nonsense

Depending upon what decade you were born, you may or may not remember the rolodex. You may or may not remember your first research assignment in grade school on Queen Elizabeth I or George Washington where you actually had to visit the local public library and check out {yes with a library card} numerous books on your topic.

I just felt a major pang of nostalgia writing those words. Walking through the aisles, the smell of the old leather-bound encyclopedias, wood bookshelves of decades past and the musty smell of paper touched and thumbed through by so many children, scholars and bookworms over countless years. Oh, that smell was something wonderful. {I should probably visit a library}  

Now we have iPhones for our contacts that we've collected for years, and wellofcourse the Internet, which turns a week of library-perusing and paper cuts into a a couple hours on Sunday afternoon scouring a database so vast it rivals our universe.

The archives in our brains and our very memories are a combination of the two- prehistoric {in current opinion} and advanced.

I spent a good hour a few nights ago, on my iPhone, reading one of my best friend's blogs, on the Internet, that she hasn't updated since 2013.

I remember reading all the posts years ago. I remember many of the conversations post-post and all of the events that led up to each entry. I remember the feeling of reading my pseudo-persona on her blog for the first time and how flattered I was to be detailed in her very personal thoughts in a very public arena. I don't, however, remember the words really. Not just the exact words, but I felt like I was reading it all for the first time. It wasn't like reading your favorite novel every summer at the beach, I was reading her words and they were foreign.

This reflection of the past is very much like a weekend visit to the library or finding your old Rolodex in a box in the attic. It exists but it's not easily accessible like your photos from the weekend collecting in albums on your iPhone. It's sandwiched between countless aisles, shelves, books, bindings, pages, chapters and finally words in the deepest archives of our psyche. 

One of her entries described the struggle in understanding how even after life chapters have closed, those people characters keep on existing and living out their story. No longer in your story, but still progressing in parallel. {it's one of her bests, and one of my favorites. It can be found here:  http://stylesaturnreturn.blogspot.com/2013/04/as-world-turns.html  }

Another reflected on her past relationship, the most significant and  impressionable until her current beau, and featured a photo of her on the beach with him many years ago. It got me thinking about all the photo boxes I have, a collection established before the cloud, when actual film was the medium, in my bedroom at my childhood home.

Those boxes hold the archives of my past, much like a library. Harboring moments frozen in time of past loves, significant events, and regrettable fashion choices. Illustrating a lifeoncelived that is rarely if every visited. Moments in time that once seemed important enough to document, but never get revisited. Never reseen.

My best friend started her blog when she was in her return to Saturn. An astrological event we all experience, typically thrice in our lifetimes, where our lives shift and things realign, adjust and change. 

Because I don't focus much on astrology & astrological theories, other than for a work-escape to read my weekly horoscope, I only found out yesterday that I am now in full blown return of Saturn. I've felt an uneasiness lately. A feeling of Jewish guilt for choices I've made, family I've neglected, and my very cavalier attitude about life, behavior and consequences. I've never regret anything in my life, but maybe it's Saturn churning my insides and leaving me with a feeling of looming change that's causing a very vivid reflection of my past, dissection of my present and questioning of my future. It's impossible to decipher if it will be positive or negative. It's difficult to figure whether or not I have control over it. I think I do. I think the guilt is an emotion indicating personal change, but I've never been very proactive... So currently it's just looming like a raincloud on the brink of bursting on my head, the very morning I woke up early to actually straighten my hair.



So it looms, the way the Rolodex stays tucked away in the attic, the photos lay dusty in the boxes, the books remain tightly shelved in the library, it will loom. For now, I'm not inclined to address it. I'm not quite ready to revisit the past or evaluate the present with highlighter, researching why it looms. However, I anticipate that one weekend afternoon I will find the urge and energy to filter through the archives of my mind, reflecting, to pinpoint that hidden piece of information that completes Saturn's purpose for return.

Change is coming, that is certain. The past can be safely tucked away, for the most part, but the future, with all of its mysteries and secrets, is inevitable.

Missing the days of simpler times, less thoughts & void of rainclouds.

My Story of the Mercedes...

I've always wanted a Mercedes and about 2.5 yrs ago, I got mine. Baby blue, sleek, vintage, used, worn, warm, strong & bold. A 1973 280se following a rather nasty car accident where an idiot college student, paired with an inconsiderate driver-- me in the middle-- led my Jetta to the junk yard. Luckily I walked away unharmed, but if you've read this far you know my little black Jetta, meant for ex-girlfriends, and once my mom, didn't make it out in quite the same condition.

Flash forward 6 months when my beautiful little blue beast is giving me car trouble.....

*At this point blue bell has seen the shop across the street from my work too many times to count. I swear the mechanic is a huge crook. My bank account is counting, however, backwards while I dig myself out of vintage hole after vintage hole.*

I have a filming for a work client in Newport Beach, with Inside Edition no less. As I gear up to race down PCH the day before the 4th of July I realize it's too close of a call to drive my buggy. If something goes wrong and I'm not able to show up -- both my bosses are out of town -- I'm screwed. Sooooo, I opt for the company car.... A 2012 350E coupe.

As I drive down PCH I'm feeling rather posh. A 26 year old PR executive in a beautiful car, driving along the ocean on a coast I love and know.

*Only if you're familiar with PCH in Southern California will you know what the fuck I'm referring to next, but either way I'm going to try to paint a vivid picture.* 

As I cross main street and sift through the shuffle that is 2 lanes becoming 3, then 2, then 3 again after Beach blvd. I've been driving on the faster side to get past cars but once the ride opens again and I look at my clock I realize I can relax and cruise the rest of the way.  Now I'm at the back of the pack and just miss the Magnolia light.

Stopped at a red I'm in the middle lane- 2 to my left, one only turning, 1 to my right. I'm looking in my rear view mirror and I see the next pack coming towards. I look at the dash and SLAM!

My body convulses forward, my legs brace the impact. My foot on the brake, glass flying around me, my eyes closed. I open them to find my car & I across a 4 lane intersection, basically on the curb. Stunned, I try to get out of the car. Heart racing, mind blank.

A lifeguard comes running from the beach and yells for me to stay in the car. I can feel the blood dripping from my forehead and the pain radiating in my torso. I look to the back right and see gasoline flooding from the vehicle. At that point I came to, fuck you douche lifeguard.... I'm getting the fuck out of this possible bomb!

The rest is as imagined. Cops, paramedics, nothing severe getting filed even though a suburban hit me  going 60 mph and demolished the Mercedes. The clean up crew throws sand on the gas and the ambulance transports the driver & passenger of the other car to the hospital. **they left me on the side of the road to bawl and have a co-worker race from Long Beach to retrieve me. Wonderful group are the HBPD, in case you were wondering.

Fast forward to a year ago....

The company car had been replaced but my ol' vintage baby had been on the fritz again. After pouring nearly 3k into it I went to a friends mechanic who tuned her up for $150 and she still works to this day- in fact, the 8k (total money spent on buying her and fixing her) vintage blue bell is still sitting in my moms driveway.

*Later last year I bought a new Audi for a more reliable ride.*

Once more, fast forward to last weekend.....

I arrived at my hair dresser's, who quickly exclaimed that he's dying to buy blue bell. As much as I love her, he's welcome to her. As he was coloring me I got an impromptu call from my boss asking if I took the company car. At this point the notion seems ridiculous. I have 10 cars in my arsenal- boyfriend, mom, grandparents 3, my moms BF 3 & my car + blue bell. The last thing I need to borrow is another car.

*We had a new assistant start at the business a month ago on the 18th.  A sweet 22 yr old boy from Wisconsin always carrying a Louie Vuitton bag and decked out in True Religion jeans. Once I had to tell him he couldn't use the car for errands, and once our tenants downstairs said he was photographing the company Mercedes.*

I quickly ask if he might have it and then text him. No reply. Police report filed, no word- from either assistant or police. Monday rolls around and our assistant doesn't show, no call, no text. Tuesday & Wednesday fly by but at this point we know what happened.

This is my experience with Mercedes. Maybe I'm cursed because I wanted one so badly for so long and then turned my back on blue bell. Or maybe you can never know someone. Or maybe everything happens for a reason. Or maybe blue bell is perfectly happy in my driveway with a potential new owner on the way and the suburban driver, crook mechanic & new assistant are all just mega assholes!

I will never know. But I do know one thing. I will never, ever, ever buy or drive another Mercedes. 

**THOUGHT: I should probably stop applying for KTLA's Mercedes giveaway**

Books & Beanies....

The Art Of Accepting Winter

I've opted for beanies lately, and I'd never felt better about any fashion or lifestyle choice.  If that seems funny to you, I'm seriously not joking.  It's amazing how much better I feel keeping in the heat.... and possibly the thoughts in my head. 

That's really not the purpose of this post.  This post is about family.  Not the family you make but the family you are born with, blessed with.  The family you can't change.... well, that's not true.  You can change anything you bloody want, at least mentally, but I'm talking DNA -- The crazy lot you are born into.  

**For this post I may go in and out of British.  I'm not suited to apologize for being partially, in a blog post, British... but know it's temporary and only reflective of where my head is here and now.

And so on with it....
I recently finished an amazing book.  One that resonated with me but didn't literally mean anything to me.  It's called A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby and it was brilliant.  It focused around around 4 people who met on the top of a building the evening they had all committed themselves to suicide.... but the story comes with what happens next.

I was amazed at how I was sucked in and wasn't able to put it down. I'm always like this with books but it was the first time I'd read in a while and it felt like I had gone home.

Once I finished that book I moved on to the next.  **I should mention that I had a little book-to-movie shopping spree on Amazon, and all these books will be films this year.  That's why I'm reading them.  As much as a I can be a bookworm, since I wasn't born in another decade as I had hoped, I am still slave to modern technologies.

The second book, which I've only indulged in 41 pages thus far, was a lot less enlightening and much more heavy.  I absorb much of reality like a sponge, but if it even mildly hurts I instantly turn to glass, it wipes away and I move on.  What I didn't discover until tonight was that the sponge part doesn't ever really go away.  I thought it had!  I never had ill feelings about the past for the most part.... and tonight while reading the first three chapters of This Is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper I had the most sickening memories of witnessing my significant other in bed with someone else.  This was years before Sean, but I remembered it vividly.  With every emotional slice to the character, which is incredibly descriptive and graphic in this book, I begin to feel like I was feeling it in person all over again --  the vomit arose in my throat while the tears swelled in my eyes. 

It was still agonizing, even as I repeatedly told myself IT wasn't me.  THIS wasn't my situation!....

But, that's the thing with books, movies.  I remember seeing the Titanic and even though there was NO correlation there, I cried for 3 nights thinking of had it been me (I was like 12.  No judgement!) 

What can I say.  I'm emotional.... but also emotionless.... either way, it never seems appropriate.  **But that's completely different topic.  WHAT this post is about is something, that as much as they were different, the books had in common.

---------------------------------------------------

I hardly ever blame my family for anything.  I don't scoff at those who do.  Maybe I rreally am as fucked up as I see myself, but I don't see the blame for any of my troubles in the direction of any of them.  And I could be wrong, but I doubt it.

Both books I read some of the characters were crass and negative towards there upbringing.  Evaluating, breaking down the way their parents acted, their personalities.  Critiquing their qualities and flaws and then relating to them and saying "well, that's why I am who I am."  

Maybe I'm not old enough to feel that way.   Maybe I just don't hate my family -- yet.  Maybe I haven't seen the similarities in our flaws -- yet.  Maybe I don't want to.... but again, that's not really the point is it. (rhetorical -- I want to answer it for you, since this is about me after all.)

I attribute it to the fact that why would I blame the people I care about most for my problems?  I've had just as much chance to be my own person as Adam & Eve were.  I've made my own choices.... but it's really not about that either.  [excuse me.  I'm working this out in my head as I go]

When it comes to MY life it's never going to be anyone's fault about where I end up or who I end up being.  I guess I'm just trying to say that I'm happy, in fact obliged to take responsibility for my actions, demeanor, character, etc.  

I would like to stay decades away from blame and comparing myself to someone else, especially those I love most.... my family. 

I guess, long story (not so short), I own up to my downfalls.  I'm hardly an amazing person.  Sometimes I'm hardly a person.  I have incredible flaws, but THEIR MINE!  And I don't want to share them with anyone.  Maybe that's a huge problem within itself, but I don't care.  I'm happy being selfish with my flaws, my downfalls, my problems.  With them, I'm one- Me.

If you got nothing from this, and it's very likely you have (or haven't -- not sure what's correct grammatically -- another flaw), I hope you take possession of your mistakes, your problems and your character.  I don't want you to be a character in a book blaming your elders for your misgivings. We are lucky to BE OUR OWN.  Don't give an ounce of that to anyone else, ever... well unless it's positive, then THANK AWAY!

***