All Hands On the Bad One

I just thought I'd share a little story about my day today. It's all about how just when you think you are cool, something or a series of events reminds you that in fact your NOT. So I'm gonna talk about myself in third person because I'm just that freakin' cool.

Jen notices that today is fucking gorgeous, and so rather than do the piles of laundry that are staring her in the face, she decides to take a couple of rides. First ride: Jen hops on her mountain bike and pedals away into Forest Park. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and little kiddies are playing in the grass. Sounds good, huh? Right, that was all until Jen hears her name being yelled, turns her head as she is traveling downhill along a bike path, hits a big ole rock in the path, loses the bicycle out from under her and lands flat on her brown ass. So the park isn't exactly empty. And, as it turns out, the kind voice that hollered my name was of course directing their yelp to a completely different Jen altogether. Bravo, Jen!

Second ride: Jen dusted herself off as she usually does, and pedaled home with nothing but her ego a little damaged. Luckily, she was wearing those butt padded bicycle shorts, so that padding plus her natural padding resulted in nothing more than a temporarily sore bottom. She puts up her mountain bike and decides that it's Nietzsche's turn to come out and play. To save daylight, she goes upstairs to her apartment and throws on a pair of baggy pants over her butt padded spandex, grabs the rest of her gear, and returns to the garage to crank up the old Vroom Vroom. Jen's smile is fully engaged as she winds along new roads and takes in the air around her. About 20 miles into the ride, she needs to stop for gasoline. Nietzsche gets thirsty about every 100 miles. Aha! A BP lies ahead! There is just one problem. The left turn she needed to make into the BP was on a crooked incline. Note: Don't try to stop a 550 lb. motorcycle on a crooked incline. The motorcycle stopped just fine, but as Jen put her feet down to balance the bike before making the left turn, Nietzsche thought it would be a great idea to lean. Oh Fucking Hell! Down they went, like slow motion. Neither Jen nor Nietzsche were hurt in the situation. But since Nietzsche doesn't have arms, Jen had to lift his heavy ass off the street. He was quiet, and I hugged him to make sure he felt okay. Add one more chip in the ego.

So, as dinner approached, Jen thought a good cure for the mental damage of the day would be her favorite sushi joint! She parked Nietzsche in his new free spot provided to Jen by her lady in the parking lot who thinks Jen is the shit... aww yeah! Anyway, her dinner was fabulous and it was time to head home. Now recall Jen's choice of clothing. Mountain biking shorts under baggy pants. That outfit coupled with a belly full of sushi obviously results in embarrassing moment number three. Jen walks up to Nietzsche and begins to strap on her riding gear (helmet, goggles, gloves, etc.). The entire process only takes a couple of minutes, however it takes less than a second for Jen to make a complete fool of herself. Just as she was swinging her right leg over to mount Nietzsche, Jen realized that her leg would not rise. Why, you ask? Well, her baggy ass pants are down at her ankles! Bravo, Jen! Beautiful encore for the evening of entertainment she regularly provides to her friends and cohorts in the neighborhood. Note to self: Those baggy pants are obviously too baggy ...

Today, despite my moments, I'm listening to some rockin' jams. Have a listen to the album All Hands On the Bad One by Sleater-Kinney.

This Is No Mix Up, I'm Wide Awake

Sleepless, once again. What is up in my noggin tonight? Honestly, I'd love to just jump on my Harley for a night ride. Hmmm, maybe I will if this blog doesn't put me to sleep. A kind voice commented on my last entry and said to me, "Happiness is a journey, not a destination." I have no idea if that is an original quote or not, but it makes total sense. I've always been the kind of person to throw caution to the wind and go for shit if I think it'll make me happy. So why not this time? Is it because being older has made me wiser? Obviously not, since I did buy a motorcycle. As a side note, I find it quite ironic that while this new found joy of riding without a cage has made me feel as wild and free as I did when I was five years old, I just sat here thinking that maybe I have gotten wiser with age. Wow, I'm getting really good at bullshitting myself.

Okay, so "back to the lecture at hand. Perfection is perfection, so I'm 'a let 'em understand. From a young G's perspective ..." *cough cough* Pardon my slight Snoop Dogg deviation. Where was I? Oh, right, what is it that holds me back from taking action this time? Is it because I fear the consequences of acting on a passion? Or is it because I just don't believe that what I want right now is real? I've never questioned my passions so meticulously before. I've always had a "balls-to-the-wall" attitude, even in matters of the heart. What is it that scares me this time? I think maybe I fear not that what I want isn't real, but that it is very real. With that, I'm torn. I don't know how to act, if at all. "Sippin' on juice and gin. Everybody got they cups, but they ain't chipped in." Okay everybody, friends and randoms, join me in my sleepless confusion. What are you passionate about, but are afraid to act on? And does that make it a true passion if you are honestly afraid to act on it? Should passion be defined by a desire upon which one is not afraid to act? Think about that over your coffee and bagel and hit me up.

In the meantime, check out this Beastie Boys release. It's an instrumental album called The Mix Up. Ahh, true Beastie form. Enjoy! I love me some B-Boys!

Shades of Gray, Clouds of Smoke, Louder Than Bombs

Recent events have brought me to this incredible place of both new understanding and grand confusion. Wow, don’t you love life??!! If things were outlined and filled with black and white, things would be easier but freaking boring. I could sit here and say to myself, “Jen, you are a model, law-abiding, productive, and conformed member of society.” Okay, yeah, so I can also look at this pile of work beside me and actually tackle it, but I’m not going to… tee hee. I’m no model by any stretch, for the most part law-abiding, far from productive, and in no way a conformed member of this society. A good friend of mine said that she doesn’t always color outside the lines, she just has different lines. I like that. I think we all strive for different lines. Wait … I take that back. Many people are content living and coloring inside the lines, I just don’t think I am.

Can I put my head on my pillow at night knowing that I am where I want to be? No, I’m f’ing restless and ready to explode! Am I going to have job security in 2 years? Am I going to figure out who I am, what I want in life, and what I deserve? Am I seriously 32 years old and still trying to answer these questions? Will I find happiness and then successfully maintain it? I’ll probably never answer any of these questions … ever.

The album I’ve got in my ears is probably the main reason I’m being such a Negative Nancy today. The Smiths compilation Louder Than Bombs, listen and you will understand.