I may not be as classy as I thought.

The conversation that happened last night while David and I were cleaning up from dinner.

David: “Do you want the rest of my beer?”

Me:  ”Sure.”  (Picking up his glass and seeing five or six fruit flies swimming around in it.)  ”Oh holy fruit flies batman!”

David:  ”They’re back?  They always get in my beer.  It’s gross.”

Me:  ”I know.”  (as I walk to the sink and start fishing the fruit flies out with a spoon)  ”They get in my wine all the time too.  If it’s just one or two I pretend I don’t see them, keep drinking, and count it as some extra protein in my day.  But since there’s so many and this is the expensive beer I guess I’ll do the classy thing and fish them out before I keep drinking.”

David:  ”Wait… in your world the classy thing to do is fish the flies out… and then drink the rest anyway?”

Me:  ”Oh… well when you say it like that…”

David: (interrupting me) “Nope, I take it back.  In your world that is classy, I’m not sure why I even doubted you.”

Babies on door steps… I’m a Hobbit

Recently David and I have been looking into our family histories to see what we/the kids are… genetically speaking.

David’s is really straight forward; Irish, Scottish, and a few British guys thrown in for good measure.  Mine gets a little trickier though… I don’t know who my biological father is but according to family legend the best guess based on a compilation of incomplete accounts (did I mention my family is super weird and complicated?) is that his name was Plunkett Beaumont, so that’s where I started.  An afternoon of cyber research led me to the conclusion however that either A)he’s been dead for the majority of my life, B)he’s been living completely off the grid for the majority of his life, or more likely C)that’s not really his name.

Although on the upside, “Plunkett Beaumont” is basically the best name ever for a mythical father figure.

I decided “Meh, I’ll just learn everything about my mom’s side.  That’s half of my DNA, and half is probably plenty.  I’ll figure out where my ancestors come from on that side!”  No, no I won’t.  With the except of a great grandpa who came here from France every branch of my family tree on that side is snapped off in some weird, untraceable way… mostly of the baby-in-a-basket-left-on-the-steps variety.

So it’s become a running joke that David’s family history is Irish and my family history is abandoning our young.  Although, if you look at it the other way maybe my family history is just bringing home strays… and that explanation makes all sorts of things make sense.

I figured everything beyond that 1/16th French would forever remain a mystery.  That is until this afternoon when a giant storm rolled in and (instead of doing all the productive things I was planning to do) I spent most of the kids nap sitting on the porch and watching it while I smoked a pipe.  And it hit me… who sits on porches and smokes pipes?  Hobbits… Hobbits are the only people who do crap like that.  Need more evidence?  My feet are pretty big compared to the rest of me (and somewhat hairy, but don’t tell anybody), and that whole idea of second breakfast is right up my alley.  We don’t need to wonder about my heritage anymore… I’m obviously a Hobbit.

This is exactly what I looked like.

Edit: Kristen came over to play and took an actual picture of me.

How I Grieve

There are several normal ways people process terrible news.  Some people get angry, some people cry and get depressed, some people get drunk so they don’t have to think about it.

Always the rebel I don’t do any other that (at least not at first), I have my own system.

First, I have a small break down where I twitch, laugh like a crazy person, and talk about what’s happening very loudly and making inappropriate jokes.   Usually I can contain this enough to only do it in front of people who know me well enough to not be horribly offended, which is good.

Then I get a hold of anyone and everyone I know going through something rough who don’t know what’s happening to me, and coax them into telling me everything about their terrible situation cause I feel a lot better being the comforter than the comforted.

Finally, I go about my normal life, but insert whatever’s happening in my life into every conversation in my mind.

(Anyone who knows my family, my grandpa did not die and my mom does not have cancer. I’m just using them as examples. Don’t panic.)

That Time I Abandoned Y’all

I’m sure you’ve all noticed, since reading this blog is probably the most important thing going on in any of your lives, that I haven’t been here for a while.  About a month to be exact.  I’m glad you survived.  Here’s the quick run down of what I’ve been doing the past month.

1. I wrote a book.  The main reason I haven’t been here is because at the very last minute I told someone I would do NaNoWriMo with them.  For those of you who don’t like to put yourself through completely unnecessary torture, NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month and every November a bunch of crazy people try to crank out a 50,000+ word novel in those 30 days.  They call it “30 days and nights of literary abandon”, I call it “30 days and nights of wanting to punch my laptop”.

I broke away from the hilarity I normally write and tried my hand at a tragedy.  That’s right, the woman who brought you such literary masterpieces as “The Night Of Bodily Fluids” and “Jesus Scratched His Balls” wrote a novel about death and sadness and teenagers burning themselves with cigarettes.  There was lots of late night crying into wine… and when you’re writing so much so quickly you’re kind of forced to eat and breath your story so it was really hard to get away from it.  It was a weird month.

Also, because it’s not what I normally write there’s a good chance it sucks.  Like, a lot.  So there’s also a very good chance I will never show it to anyone, but I still did it… hurray!

And for all of you wanting a funny Plaid Sheep book don’t worry, a book of hilarity much like this blog (some straight from this blog) called ”The Foul Mouthed Mennonite” and a parenting book called “The Zen Art of Chilling the Fuck Out” are still squshing around in my mind grapes.  And those I will definitely show you when/if they’re done.

2. Thanksgiving.  I’ll spare you all my Thanksgiving rant, but I will say it’s my least favorite holiday.  I don’t understand the point and I hate the food.  I’m weirded out by meat that still looks like an animal because I’m the most hypocritical kind of omnivour, so the turkey is just upsetting, and it seems like the theme of typical Thanksgiving food is taking something good and adding more things to it till it’s just weird.  Sweet potatoes are delicious on their own, they don’t need marshmellows, go put those in some hot chocolate where they belong.  And green beans are a tasty side dish, I will never understand the insistance on drowning them in cream of something gross soup… you can leave the crispy onion on top though, I approve of those.

And as it turns out I didn’t spare you my Thanksgiving rant at all.  You’re welcome.

3. I taught myself to knit.  I haven’t decided yet if knitting makes me an old lady or a hipster, because on one hand I did have my hair in a bun while I did it, but on the other hand I did instagram a picture of it… so the jury is still out on that one.

4. I learned that I hate knitting.  Knitting is just crocheting for people who like unnecessary work and are wayyyyyy more cordinated than I am.

5. I attempted once again to get organized and whatnot.  Read this if you want to know what my life looks like.  Choosing to dive into that again while attempting the novel business was a bad idea but, ya know.

6. I went to the fair multiple times where my daughter kissed all manner of barnyard animal,

Finn and a goat fell deeply in love with each other,

and I took a million gratutitous pictures of the most awkward furry creatures I could find that I now have no use for.

If I Die Young… Or Hopefully Old

I am well aware how morbid this is, but the truth is there is a very good chance I will eventually kick the bucket (although a chance I won’t… I’m not ruling out the scientific advances we have to look forward to), and in light of that realization it seems only fair that everyone have no doubts about what to do when that happens.

So here are my rules for what to do if I die young, or old… hopefully old.

1. No viewing of the body.  By anyone I’ve ever known.  At all.  Ever.  Have you ever seen a dead body that looked good?  No, you haven’t.  Dead bodies always look terrible and the last thing I want is everyone’s final memory of me looking like shit.

2. I don’t care what you do with my body as long as it doesn’t violate #1.  Donate it to science, cremate me, throw me in a lake, leave me at the morgue and never claim me so I’m the city’s problem.  I’m dead… which means I’m guessing I’ll have more important things to deal with.

3. No sad funerals, I want a fun Irish wake.  I want a band, I want a variety of awesome food (at least one of which involves wing sauce), and freely flowing whiskey and margaritas… preferably from a whiskey or margarita fountain.  I want drunk family members slurring speeches about how awesome I was and pouring shots out on the ground in my honor (I know I’m mixing Mexican with the Irish now but I don’t care, it’s my FUNeral and I can do what I want).

4. Somebody needs to pick out the drunken slurring mourners who can publically tell the following true stories,

• That time in college when I was a nude model for the chest portion of a statue the sculpture class was making, specifically how they chose me because they unanimously agreed I had the best rack on campus.
• How I speak the most fluent pig latin of anyone.
• How I once ate hot wings every single day for 10 whole months (it was when I was pregnant with Finn).
• My epic alcohol tolerance.
• How I had a habit of acquiring unloveable pets… this story should be told with the angle of “she was such a saint” instead of “she was completely insane”, despite the latter probably holding more truth.
• The hilarious lies and alter-egos I would make up for strangers when I had a few too many drinks.

Did I miss anything?  Anybody got more ideas for death related plans I should be making known?

I’m Boring… So Here’s Some Memes

I haven’t written anything in a while and feel bad about it, but I also don’t have anything of value to say at the moment (or anything hilarious… cause let’s face it, I rarely have anything of value to say)… so instead, here are some memes I made of my kids based on the Dos Equis Most Interesting Man.

5 Things You Don’t Know About Me

When I saw this link up my friend Jessica Bowman started I thought it was super cheesy.  Then I remember that I’M super cheesy, so it was only fitting that I join in too.  And hey, I never pass up a chance to overshare.

So, without further ado, five things you probably didn’t know about me!

1. I’m fluent in pig latin.  I don’t just know the rules like most people do, I’m 100% fluent, I could hold a conversation with you in it as easily as I could English.  True story.

2. I have a birth mark that looks like Toto frolicking on my hip, which is even cooler cause I’m from Kansas.

“Woof! Everyone who sees you naked gets to see me too!”

3. My all time favorite color is olive green.  I loved it to begin with, but then my dad’s bff Monte and later my dad had the most fabulous couch of all time that was the perfect shade of olive green and if there had previously been any doubt in my mind about the color that ended it.

4. I am a direct descendent of Johann Friedrich Böttger, the famed German alchemist who invented porceline in Europe.

“I would have rather gotten the gold thing right, but I’ll take what I can get.”

5. I was a tween model.  Junior High Jenna was adorable, straight up adorable, and the world at large agreed.  I didn’t do anything that you probably would have seen, but I made good money (that later helped pay for college) and got to go to L.A. twice for shoots and auditions and whatnot.  I quit the biz because the industry is really awesome at giving even the most self confident girls a complex about their weight, luckily I saw what was happening early enough it didn’t turn into something worse, but that was the end of that career path.  I wish I had a picture to go with this but I didn’t keep any of my print work and all my headshots are buried in a box somewhere, probably in my mom’s attic.

I’d love to hear things about you so if you want to play along write your own list, let me know where it’s at so I can check it out, and don’t forget to link up on Jessica’s site too.

Sex, Holograms, and being a nerd.

The nerdiest conversation you’ve ever heard, starring my friend Mark.

Me:  In Star Trek world, what do you think the social convention is about having sex with a hologram?

Mark: Are holograms solid enough for intercourse or is this just a voyeuristic thing?

Me: Solid.  Fully intercourse-able.  They don’t generally hold holograms to be the same as for-really-realz people but do you think their culture would equate it more to fucking a prostitute or just good old-fashioned beating it to porn?

Mark:  I would assume it’s like porn, because it’s not a real person.  It’s full sensory porn.  Somebody is making a killing off that.

Me: Makes sense.

Mark: How do you think that applies to an android like Data?  To me a hologram seems more like porn and an android is more like a crazy sex toy.  What exactly prompted this conversation if I may ask?

Me: What else… watching Star Trek and being weird.

Mark:  Fantastic.  I was hoping you had gone to Comicon and come back with suggestive souvenirs.

Oh I wish Mark… I wish.

Dear Teenage Me,

I feel like I should start this off with some really meaningful and inspirational thing about life or whatever but I know you well enough to be aware you want me to get to the good part so here are some words of wisdom from someone who has (literally) been there.

1. Quit bitching about your weight.  You’re really freaking skinny so when you get all self-conscious you just sound dumb.

2. On that note, quit bitching about everything.  I know you think it’s cool to be all angsty but that’s only because you’ve been listening to too much Dashboard Confessional and it’s melting your brain into emo mush.  Just cut that shit out.

3. You know all the fabulous ideas you have?  The movies you and your friends are going to make, the road trips you’re going to take and lie to your parents about, the rebellious adventures that involve rooftops or spray paint or whatever?  Those are actually really cool ideas, but you only going to end up doing a small portion of them because you get lazy.  Just do it… trust me, you’ll have a blast and if you don’t do it now you’ll wish you would have.

4. Once you graduate nobody will give a shit what grades you got in high school.  Do what you need to do to pass and spend the rest of your time on #3.

5. You have all sorts of baggage and issues about sex resulting from the religious ideas you’ve been fed… you haven’t realized that yet but you totally do.  If you make a conscious effort to get over that now maybe you’ll make better decisions that I did which would be AWESOME, but even if you don’t you’ll turn out fine anyway.

6. You’re a really unsafe driver.  To be honest it’s a minor miracle that you’re still alive.  Keep your eyes on the road!

7. Appreciate every single moment you have with your friends.  I probably shouldn’t tell you who because it will just mess with your mind, but some of the people you love and value most in this world aren’t going to be alive in a few years.  Instead of wasting your time with people who are lame because you’re too angsty (#2) or in relationships with guys who treat you like shit (#5) spend it with the awesome people around you, it’s not like there’s a lack of them.

Don’t let this letter make you think your life will be full of regrets or that you’re messing everything up.  You’re a pretty cool person, and you’re going to grow up to have a really fabulous life.  Life past high school is so much more your speed, you’re going to have a blast with it.

Oh, one last thing, when you’ll-know-who asks you to pierce his nipples Just. Say. No.  It is not like piercing ears… not even a little bit… and the sink in your dads poor bathroom is going to look like it hit a deer from all the blood once you’re done.  I repeat, just say no.

Have fun, I’ll see you be you in a couple years.
-Jenna B

How to fuck with your dog

Daisy, every night for the past five years or so, has slept happily by my feet on the bed.

I gave the dogs an IQ test a year or two ago to find out once and for all whether Barney is really retarded or that’s just a big mean joke, (he actually is retarded… it didn’t surprise anyone) which is how I know that Daisy is a really smart dog.  She just over thinks things and isn’t very good at change.

Which is why occasionally I like to fuck with her by randomly sleeping the wrong way in the bed.

Then I just lay back and watch how messed up it makes her.

After looking back and forth from one end of the bed to the other for a good ten minutes she’ll half heartedly go lay by my feet.  Then a few minutes later she’ll come lay by my face where she normally is, toss and turn and stare at me like “goddamnit mom.”, then end up flopping somewhere in between and moving around all night long while I laugh at her.

I’m so mean.