clarification.

That entry about missing someone and loving them unconditionally and being here for them always?

Perhaps I should have written that I miss her and I love her and will always be here for her.

Her.

A girl.

Just for those of you who are scratching your heads.

edge of not-glory.

Here's a story for you.  A few weeks ago I had a late night and as I was walking out of my friend's apartment with a few other people, I hit the curb funny with my right foot.  I felt it twist slightly and somehow, magically, I didn't actually go down.  I twisted and contorted and made up some new way to avoid a tumble, and it was awkward as hell, but I stayed on my two feet and managed to avoid landing on my butt or knees.

As I tell people every time this happens (yes, this happens often), I'm the clumsiest person you'll ever meet, but I have such fantastic balance that I never actually go down.

You might have heard of the Nordstrom Anniversary sale.  It's kind of a big deal.  It has leather bound books and it smells of rich mahogany and it's basically 40% off of fall fashion.  I got some really cool jeans on this sale, and having not actually bought jeans that weren't skinny jeans since 2009, it was pretty fun to wear my Baby Boot jeans.  Today was an early day, and I was sleepy, and I forgot my key in my car.  Luckily I had time to run outside.

Speaking of Bad Decisions.

Three running-ish steps outside of the door, I catch the curb with my right foot.  Because I usually get out of these things unscathed (and since I no longer have an ego with regard to my clumsiness), I counted on my impeccable balance to kick in.

It didn't.

I went down.  Hard.  Awkwardly.  In slow motion.  Like an old person.  With an old person watching.  After hitting the ground, I did this ninja-like roll onto my backside and surveyed the damage.  Two clean rips in both knees of my brand new jeans.

When I walked back in and ran into a friend who works downstairs, he saw my face and looked concerned.  "Jen!  What happened?  Are you okay?"

"Noooooo," I whined, holding back tears.

He took note of my bleeding knees and my ripped jeans and asked if I was hurt.

"No.  Well, yeah.  I don't even care.  But...but...but...my brand new jeans."

And then I walked away and started crying.

Luckily, all's well that ends well.

edge of glory.

Summer of Dreams 2011 is continuing in fine fashion.  Bad Decisions Weekend was a great success, and let's face it, the supposed-bad-decisions that we made were actually really great decisions.  I'm so blessed, I don't even really know how to adequately express it.  The summer had a mild hiccup in the middle that was actually a crater of a hiccup in my life, and thankfully I've rekindled friendships and made new ones that are reminding me that God does indeed take care of us.  I always know that - it's just that during the darkest time of our struggles it's easy to wonder why He lets things happen.

Despite my contentedness, I still don't really understand.  Out of respect and privacy for the situation, I'm never going to give you the full details (sorry), but what I can say is that I really miss this person and I don't know why they are gone.  Other situations have found resolution and I feel comfortable enough with myself and the past to move forward happily, and hopefully as friends (whenever the other party is ready, I am too).  This particular friendship has been such a beautiful and rewarding one, and to have its endings still a complete mystery to me is a bit maddening.

Like I said above, God does take care of us.  And I don't get it.  But to my friend, you know that I love you unconditionally.  And I miss you.  And I'll always be here.

Readers, I sure hope you're having a great summer of friendship and family and fireworks.  If it's not, I hope you're at peace with why it's not.  Keep on fighting.  You'll get there.  And I'm here if you need someone.  Heaven knows I rely on all of you; the least I can do is be an empathetic ear every once in a while.

sooooooooo.

Like I've said, I blog a lot more when I'm sad.  The crappy thing is my last reason for being sad was a little more visible than I would've liked - meaning EVERYONE KNEW ABOUT IT.  So instead of vague references, each little inference became a desperate cry for attention and pity.  LAME.  I'd like to stay mostly private until I release my first memoir in which I name names and tell you which ex liked such and such and all.  Classy, right?

So the logical thing to conclude from all of this is that I am pretty damn happy.  In the rollercoaster ride of Jen's personal happiness level, we're on an upswing.  Much like a few months ago, life is blissful.  Which means something SUCKY is going to happen and happen soon.  So not to worry, friends/foes/exes/SWFs/stalkers/pageant people.  More emo wah wah wah my boyfriend broke up with me wah wah wah my shoes didn't come fast enough wah wah wah George lives far away wah wah wah white girl problems will come around soon enough.

Just to catch you up on the last few months:

1. BLISS.  Bliss included great hair and good taste in entertainment.
2. Bye bye MAO.
3. Bring it on almost dream job (The New Yorker hasn't called.  Yet).
4. BIEBER.
5. Bbbbbbbbbbbye.
6. Blubbering.  For approximately 9 hours.  Haven't blubbered since.  Or anything even remotely close.
7. Bad choices weekend part 1.
8. Bye bye bye.
9. BABY.
10. BAM.

Next up: Bad choices weekend part 2.

Hopefully that's vague enough for my good friend Matt.  Matt, if you'd like some @ mentions in front of each category of my summer, I'd be happy to oblige.  See, he (and presumably many others) finds my open door policy to embarrassing moments of mine being blasted through twitter a bit, well, embarrassing.

Secret: it hurts a little less if I can laugh.

Summer of dreams 2011 isn't always dreamy.  But I'm pretty sure that's because I remember every single dream I have, so they tend to lose a little lustre.  It's okay.  I bought Frye boots, so all is well in Whoville.

14 hours of sleep later.

.

all I've ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you.  it's not a cry you can hear at night, it's not somebody who has seen the light.  


it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.

ringtones.

Maybe it's silly, but I have specific ringtones for those of you who are important to me.  And I'm probably never going to reveal the reasoning behind such choices - best to not hurt people's feelings right?  Especially since we've now established that I am indeed a nice person.

If there's a specific song you want me to remember you by, post that here.  Otherwise, don't be mad at how I categorize you.

flashback.

This is one of my favorite posts of all time.  I seriously miss her.

The day Whitney got home.

days like this.

You know those rubber band balls that are massive?  It's the ultimate tease, because there have to be like 438 rubber bands in there and all you need is ONE, but of course you can't even get one at all because they're strangely interconnected and have somehow grown into one another.  So you're stuck needing a rubber band, probably with a bunch of stuff in your hand, and instead of this wonderful accumulation of rubber bands satiating that need, they just sit there.  Mocking you.  In a spongey ball of staying power.

I've been really terrible at writing over the last couple of months - at least I'm hoping that's why I'm finding it difficult to articulate things well.  I'm usually so much better in writing than in person.  Aside from the obvious computers-have-an-edit-function, I just enjoy the process of typing while also trying to create some sort of art in a sentence a la Hemingway or McCarthy.  But while I have some really cool things to write about, it's just not coming out.

So I guess I'll tell you the story of how, six years later, I've realized that I did indeed answer a pageant question appropriately.

It was the very first question of my Miss America's Outstanding Teen interview, and the head judge in the middle (I honestly can't remember who she was - just that she seemed to HATE me) looked straight at me with this intense fire and challenge in her eyes and said, "Do people like you."

Not a question.

It was a statement.  It was loaded with subtext.  Oozing out subtext that began with your resume makes you look like you're the bragging type and ended with puhlease; there's no way in hell people actually think you're a real person.


So yeah.

"Do people like you no way am I going to let you have the easy interview we gave to the girl we may or may not later crown." [which I know because they released our interviews on DVD]

After that day, I never discounted the value of the random, almost silly pageant question ever again.  It threw me so far off balance and has haunted me ever since.  Thankfully they still liked me enough to give me a talent win and 4th runner up, but I remember performing at Miss America the same year that same woman judged it: GLARES AND CRUSTIES.

Whatever people think of me, this much is true: former Miss Louisiana (I think?) who judged MAOT 05 and Miss A 06 did not, and probably still wouldn't, like me.

About a year or so after that I started dating someone, and well... since this blog is no longer a safe zone (silly me for publicizing it), let's just call him Numero Dos.  ND really knows how to work it with people.  He's got this power of making every single older woman in the room fall in love with him.  He is the ultimate schmoozer.  Whenever people reminisce about him, the comment usually lies along the line of, "Oh yeah...that kid is soooooooooooo friendly with everyone."  He probably should have done summer sales.

So I'm dating ND for a little while now and anytime we go to meet someone in his close, inner circle, I get a lecture.

"Now, be nice."

At some point in our relationship we went to a Twilight movie with some friends and I was proudly mocking because ... well, duh.  The entire time: "Oh my gosh Jen just BE NICE."  We'd walk through BP at Nordstrom and I'd see the New Moon merchandise and I'd groan and I'd get, "Jen, some people like it.  Just BE NICE."

A common theme during our relationship: "just because you don't like Twilight doesn't mean it's actually bad.  A lot of people like it so it obviously has to be okay!"

Yeah, I don't know why I let myself be with someone who felt that way about that sort of monstrosity.  Live and learn, I guess.

Anyway, I'm making light of it, but this really screwed with my head.  This guy that I am crazy in love with doesn't think I'm a nice person because I can be a little shy sometimes and I am opinionated.  It was around this time that I stopped telling people what I thought.  He probably didn't mean to do this (in fact, I'm sure he didn't - for the record, Numero Dos is a really great person), but I lost a lot of confidence in my ability to make friends, be a friend, make conversation, and have opinions on even the most mundane things.  What if I didn't please everybody?  What if someone had a problem with my conflicting political leanings?  What if she found out that I drink Dr. Pepper, and therefore am imbibing of a substance she deems inappropriate?

I mean... that's just not very nice, is it?

(I'll bet his mom STILL doesn't know that he drinks caffeinated sodas.)

It became this weird West Coast - East Coast thing.  Apparently everyone thinks they're better when they're from the East Coast and West Coast kids get all bent out of shape about it.  And apparently because I really loved growing up in New Canaan, CT, I'm a snot who thinks she's better than everyone west of Pennsylvania.

Seriously, kids.  We broke up and I thought I was a grade -A beeyotch (which, by the way, is a word I detest, but I'm censoring myself tonight) because I didn't automatically feel comfortable in uncomfortable situations.  Not only did he not want to marry me, but I wasn't nice, and people didn't like me, and I wasn't ever going to find someone ever again, and basically my life was over.  Wah wah wah.

Waaaaaay back in Orlando, in that conference room for my interview I got my first question, and after blinking, asking her to clarify, and getting a, "No.  Really.  Do they like you," I responded somewhere between Boy-I-Sure-Hope-So and Yes-I'm-Pretty-Sure-My-Friends-Like-Me.

Yesterday at work I ran to grab some Spanx for a girl who was in such a rush she was trying the dress on over her clothes on the sales floor.  While ringing her up she asked about the Early Access we provide for the big sale that's coming up, and asked if I could take her through more departments than just the one that I work in.  When I told her that, of course I can [interruption for a sales message: text me if you want to do this], she told me about how she saves up for this every year, and then does it with her friend who works in the store.  Except her friend doesn't work there anymore.  And then she says, "But you're the nicest person I've met here, so could I come shop with you?"

Today at work I'm putting away shirts on hangers while telling one of our cashiers how much I love working with this girl Heidi, and she says, "You know - you and Heidi totally remind me of each other.  When I met you this morning, that was the first thing I thought.  You both are just so happy-go-lucky and have such an awesome vibe about you!"

SUCK IT NUMERO DOS.

PRAISE

I have internet again!