ww.

Yes, another lovely thing to add to the blog.  People always do these cutesy things with their blogs, like Free Friday, or Wordless Wednesday.  I'm going to do that, too.  Except instead of giving you something beneficial, I'm giving you Wasteful Wednesday, also known as the various ways in which I waste my time.  We all have them and they're basically the things that make the world go round, yes?

So what's made my world go round when I'm not standing on five inch heels at work?

Lest you think I'm starting from the beginning, I'm confessing that way back when I watched One Tree Hill religiously.  I loved it.  More than anything, I loved Brooke Davis.  A couple of years ago it started getting REALLY bad, so I stopped watching.  A couple of days ago I was bored.  Really bored.  REALLY bored.  So I decided to get back to it.

Oh it's so bad.  Not even remotely what it used to be (which is only marginally bad).  But I do find some sort of comfort in the reality that Brooke Davis has found a way to be happy, even if it's only in television.

Calling All Pageant Girls

A few years back I competed at Miss Utah.  I did okay...nothing too special.  I didn't win or anything.  But I realized that my technique for a few things is a little bit different.  I walk a little differently than the other girls do.  I interview a little differently.  I formulate my paperwork a little differently.  Dare I say it has a little bit more individuality to it?  One time I did all of that, but I did it the way someone else told me to do it.  Miss Utah was not a good experience that year.  The next time around I had a group of individuals who wanted me to discover who I was.  Since that time I've continued progressing in that individuality, and I'm excited to help others find that, too.

It all started with helping girls with their pageant walk.  Then some mock interviews.  Then I judged a little bit.  And then I realized... wait a second.  Why am I judging, and giving critique that will probably be ignored, and doing basically nothing to help these girls in their journey?  My favorite part of pageant involvement was born.

One day I'll formulate an official name, and a title, and a website and all that jazz, but until then, just know that I'm sort of a pageant coach - if that's what you want to call it.  I've helped a few girls here and there, and sometimes it makes sitting through that pageant nearly impossible because I'm so stressed out of my mind, but it's been really rewarding to create bonds with some really remarkable young women.

Because I have a tendency to get a little emotionally attached, I can only take one girl per pageant.  I don't feel comfortable helping multiple girls while editing paperwork, honing interview skills, and making judgments on wardrobing and talent selections.  I want you as a contestant (and possibly even a parent) to know that the advice I am giving you is motivated purely by my untarnished perspective; your information is also safeguarded.

If you're interested in a little help here or there, please feel free to contact me at jen.gulbrandsen@gmail.com.  I'm happy to provide a resume and references.

Not winning Miss Utah was really hard for a while, and it wasn't until a few years ago that I realized how many wonderful things came of my experience in that often harsh world.  There's no question in my mind or heart that being a part of the Miss America Organization has provided me with multiple skill sets that enable my career path and personal growth.  You can take some frustrating and tough things away from pageantry, and I want you to know that my motivation for you will always be to bring out the remarkable talents and strengths you already possess.  In short - I'm not molding you to be me 2.0, but encouraging you to unearth and discover facets of who you are, but perhaps haven't quite found on your own.  Because in the end, a pageant is a pageant, and one person walks away with a metallic rhinestoned crown.  But if you take advantage of what it can offer, you will walk away a stronger and more prepared individual, ready to tackle your future.

only the young.

It's becoming a bit of a habit for me to write up a little blurb for my birthday, and let's face it, I love routine and tradition and nostalgia, but while the years before have been a little more humorous, I'm a little more subdued this week.  I'd blame it on old age, but seeing as the only thing I wanted for my birthday was the Bloomsbury Harry Potter set, I don't think that's it.  If anything, on this day upon which I hit that quarter of a century, I feel really young.

Recent events have had me quieter than usual, pondering how everything has come about and what my involvement has been, or in some cases hasn't been.

Yesterday was an exhausting day as I left Provo early in the morning with college friends and roommates to go help our college roommate and friend say goodbye to her beautiful and sweet husband.  His death isn't one I feel comfortable writing about, but I will say that it was tragic and happened far too soon for this world.  I sat marveling at the remembrance of such an extraordinary human being, and then marveled further at my friend's remarkable courage and strength.

I felt a lot of shame, too.  I've not always been the best sort of friend.  I don't always keep in touch, and sometimes I let my selfish desires get in the way, and there are times I'd rather be alone than cultivate those relationships.

It was humbling.

My 25th year was relatively easy.  I found a job that I love, made new relationships that I cherish, and rebuilt the support system that has been so integral to my functioning as a normal human being.  The mistakes I made were a little bit different than those I'd made before - to the extent where I feel as though I actually am beginning to grow up and be an adult.  In a lot of ways I feel as though I've come full circle.  My hopes used to be along the lines of finding a husband and making money and improving my makeup collection and learning how to do new things, and in a lot of ways I still hope for those things (although I don't have any room left for more makeup), but my desires for the year during which I say I'm 25 are different.

I'd like to become the person you can count on.  I want to be someone you can reach out to when you're troubled, or when you need a listening ear.  It means I need to stop talking so much, and I need to stop being so selfish, and I need to be a more charitable human being.  I want you to feel confident in your trust of me - that you know I will always be genuine and real.  I want to be more aware of my surroundings and those within the vicinity, that I can be an emotional force for good in the lives of those who might need it.

Don't you worry.  I'm not entirely just solemn today.  I bought myself new Pilates reformer classes and I got to help a girl for a pageant (and people, she's going to be a force to be reckoned with) and I ate a cupcake and I'm tempted to go take a nap and I get to see my unique and wonderful version of family later tonight.

Because in short, life is good.

bad bad gulbrandsen.

For the most part I'm a fairly agreeable person.  And I get along well with people.  I just tend to like people, and conversing with them, and getting to know what makes them tick.  Unfortunately there are a few that I'm not particularly fond of.  Truthfully, there are three.  Yes, I recognize this makes me a bad person to admit that I don't care for three individuals out there in this world, but after 25 years on earth, and only disliking three other human beings who I know personally, I feel like that's kind of a success.  If I end up leaving this world disliking around 9-12 people in total, then I think that's a total triumph.

But here's the kicker: I love being a writer and sometimes I really love it because when I have to name a character (or give a pseudonym to a real individual for privacy) who I mildly despise... guess which names I have to choose from!

Ha!

Elena/Katherine/Doppleganger/blah blah bob loblah.

A few days ago I was organizing something when I heard a man's voice holler out to me.  I'm not entirely sure that I was organizing something, but knowing how I am at work about anything being present on the cash wrap at all (especially during this current period of drought), I assume I was putting stuff away or making sure the pens were all facing the same way or pushing the hangers all to the same side or making sure that nothing was present at all on the computer screen (yes, I'm aware that I have a problem).  Anyway, point is some dude yells, "hey Nelly Furtado!"  I ran over and he said, "hey... it worked!  My wife needs your help."  I sort of stared at him for a second and he added, "my buddy and I said you look like Nelly Furtado and it seemed like the best thing to call out since I don't know your actual name."

This happens to me ALL THE TIME.  Except there are a few different people I get quite frequently.  Like two-times-a-week-frequently.

So without further introduction: Who I Supposedly Look Like.

My freshman year we were all obsessed with One Tree Hill, and one day a girl (I can't remember who...maybe Maclaine?) said, "Jen...you actually look a lot like her!" and it never really ended.  From time to time a teenage girl who's into OTH will tell me I look like her.

Nelly Furtado.  This began freshman year, as well, when one of my boyfriend's friends upon meeting me in person said, "oh you're right - she totally looks like Nelly Furtado."  Probably the most common celebrity look-a-like that I get.  She even has a wonky eye like I do.

This started last summer, mostly from random customers at work, and I'm fine with it because I'm pretty sure Courtney Cox has the fountain of youth in her kitchen.

I've never thought that I look like Amanda Peet, but this is the one that men mention the most.  A few months back, a certain fellow kept going on and on about how he thought he was watching me in the movie 2012.  And I got a little chuckle when an ex-boyfriend who sorta broke my heart tweeted about how she's perfection.

And finally, for the love of everything that is beautiful and good in this world - STOP COMPARING ME TO KRISTEN STEWART!  It only happens occasionally, but when it does it causes my blood to burn and boil and my head to ache and God to kill a puppy.  The most recent time was a month ago when I was sitting in the hospital bed, coming out of my anesthesia following my surgery and the nurse said, "has anyone told you that you look like Kristen Stewart?"  I would have punched her in the nose, but I felt like I had an elephant sitting on my chest and couldn't even breathe enough to nod.

So really.  STOP.  I do not look like this hot mess.

Never-Brushes-Her-Hair is not amused, and neither am I.

So what say you, friends?  

little updates.

I did a photo shoot with my friend Kurt, which was really entertaining, really freezing, and really awkward to look at.  I'm just not a model.  There were a few photos that I didn't look entirely embarrassing in though, so I figured I'd update a few things on my layout here.  Not a huge change or anything, just a way to freshen up a little.

Oh, and here's where you can find more of Kurt's work.

It's obvious already that this little thing I'm writing is going to end up back on the cutting room floor when I come to my senses, but for right now I'm going to write it and let it be, because there's nothing else that will help me at this hour.

You've probably figured this out, but I'm better in larger groups of people.  With dancing or singing or writing and sharing details.  Not having to look you in the eye or see your responses to what I'm doing or saying or performing is preferred.  It means I can be open without seeing singular reaction.  You're a collective sort of you, therefore it's relatively safe.  I was that way as a kid when singing, I was that way when I was 12 each time I had to play that piano, and I'm that way as an adult when having to work through pain.

Sometimes life is so insanely hard.  We have to disappoint people who disappoint us and we're all just sad and hurt and disappointed and apparently I'm a bullet who ended up not hitting someone which ironically hurts me more than you.

Stick with me for a moment.

I'm a good person.  I care about people.  I want them to be happy and content and successful.  I work hard to keep people feeling good about themselves, and I do my very best to always be genuine.  So when I have to make the hard decision that breaks my heart, even when I know it might break someone else's, know it's not done out of malice.  It's done because I care too much to let bad feelings grow.

I'll be fine.  I've been here before.  3 years ago.  2 years ago.  I got through it then.  I'll get through it now.  But it feels different this time.  And I hate that.

Can someone find a way to bring Whitney home please?

whhheeeeee.

The last few days have been sloooooooow.  It's proof and a further reminder that I actually LIKE being busy.  I like having things to do.  I like going to work and to pilates and practicing with my partner.  And I miss all of that.  Just a few more days and then I can start easing all of that back into my life.

So the quick update is pretty basic: surgery went well, no complications, and it's going to take a few months for things to, errrr, calm down, but I think I'm going to be very happy.

And not embarrassed or shy at all...

I even managed to shower and dry my hair all by myself today - progress!

My doctor told me there was a chance I'd be a little depressed after surgery, just because everything is so out of whack for a while, and I see what he meant.  You go through all of this build up and anticipation only to get immense pain and swelling on the other side.  Not to mention the intense hormones that are going all psycho right now.  A couple of you have been really good about reminding me that things are going to get better the further removed from surgery I am, and I thank you for that.  I'm sorry that it's all-consuming right now.  A few more weeks and it'll be like it never happened!

.....right?

Thanks to my dad for being my nurse and to all of my friends and family who've been by to visit or who've left me text and voice messages.  It means a lot.

I really have no idea how I wrote this as I'm fighting to keep my eyes open and my finger typing.  Silly pain killers.

a plea.

Dear Audi.  Dear, sweet, wonderful, kind Audi.

I really need something from you right now.

I need you to last for a few more months.  I need you to stop pretending you're going to stall and die.  I need you to stop shaking so bad.  I need you to stop eating through gas twice as fast as you used to.  I need you to make it just a little bit longer.  I know it's hard.  You're at the end of your life; it's been such a good one.  Think of all the places we've been!  California, several times.  Vegas.  Arizona.

That's probably it.

But really.

It's been so wonderful driving you.  You've taught me patience and understanding and budgeting and how to drive a stick shift.  Invaluable lessons.  I will never forget you, Audi.  You were my first car that I actually liked.  You made the end of my freshman year at BYU such a wonderful experience, even if you were already old at that point.  You were new in my eyes.

So just do me a solid, okay?  Last for a few more months, because you see, I'm getting elective surgery in 10 days and I could have used that money for a new car, but well... I'm just too vain at this point.  Unfortunately you're dying at the worst possible time.  So I just need you to last until about July or so.  Then you can rest from your labors.  I promise.

Love always,

Jen, your owner who may have not always changed your oil right when she was supposed to, but it was only because you never seemed to need it...

true update.

hey there kids - I meant to do this a few days ago, but work and life have been stressful and so instead of writing I've been eating my feelings and I promise that I'm going to go to my pilates class that's in 6 hours.

BUT.

Cool things are happening!

1. I'm officially a ghost writer!  Someone wants me to write as if I were a teenager!  It's awesome!  Really though - it is.  I'm writing for a local (to Utah) organization called Utah's Teen Icon, started by fellow pageant alumni (alumna?  female form anyone?) Stacie Kingdon.  I get to write using the voices of several different girls, which is an interesting combination of fiction and nonfiction.  You might remember that I absolutely positively hate loathe suck at writing fiction.  This is a good compromise, because a lot of these things are based on my experience, or experience of those I know, and they're still technically "essays"... even if they're not MY essays.  It's been such a fun thing to do, and I can't wait to continue.  Clicky clicky for my first ever entry.  It's just a tad fitting.  I mean, I'm currently listening to Taylor Swift, and I'm still angsty, and sometimes I still wish I were a teenager, so really I'm just getting out my potential for living through a theoretical child.  [yeah.  that sentence makes no sense.  oh well.]  Oh, and I'm pretty sure Taylor Lautner was in my dream last night - which also makes no sense because I'm purely a Vampire Diaries girl.

2. I'm also the ambassador for the Fashion Place Personal Stylists to the wonderful world of Pinterest and Polyvore.  I've basically been doing this sort of thing for quite some time, but now I get to put my employer's name next to it.

Polyvore
Twitter
Pinterest 
Facebook

Confused by all the different names for each social medium?  Yeah, me too.  My real reason for linking to them here is so that I can actually find them tomorrow, because I'm sure I'll forget where they are.

They're fresh, and seem a little sparse - but trust me when I say those boards so far are a result of about three hours of work.  Not that it takes me that long to put outfits together, but it does take me that long to upload a bajillion pieces from Nordstrom.com to polyvore.  And then I realized that a lot of it wouldn't necessarily work how I want it to, so I had to head back and find unique pieces for each look.  It's going to be especially fun because this is sort of my way of fashion blogging (we all know how much I hate that - unless it's going to involve a blog that might feature my favorite J. Oliver in the potential future) without actually fashion blogging.  It also gives me an opportunity to be even stronger with my job.

Finally, it is a little peek into what working with a stylist is like.  I do all the work for you.  You just sit there and try it on and then go look fabulous while you receive four thousand compliments about how that "entire look is just so perfect".  and everything I know I learned from Tina Christensen, Cindy Speters, Amy Wolf, and Whitney Tanner.  But really... this is what my life is: researching for hours outside of work, knowing trends, learning terms that you learn in design school, and then interpreting it for you.

So check it out!  Like it!  Re-pin!  Tell your friends!  I have to report back to my boss and my boss' boss and probably her boss too!  Please!  only slight desperation here folks.



3. April 19th.  The day of happiness.  The day my life changes.  Kind of.  Wait, you want to know what it is?  Eh, you're going to have to wait for that until after the commercial.

look at your life, look at your choices.

The only prominent New Year's celebration I remember is when I was probably about 6 or 7 years old.  We had been living in Utah for a little while (this was in between Dallas and New Canaan), living in a condo in North Provo, up on the mountain above Timpview High School.  A lot of the memories I have surrounding that house involve really embarrassing things, like the time I harassed my brother Jim while he was on the phone with his fiance and got in BIG trouble from my dad, or the time I told my brother Erik's date she was ugly, or the first time I ever said the word bitch (how was I supposed to know what it meant?!).

Obviously I have an ability to remember the more traumatic moments in my life.  Like the game of Clue we had that New Year's Eve.

One of my brothers had to have said something to scare me so much.  Don't ask me why, but Clue freaked me out that night.  I was scared for my life as I was going to bed, thinking that Mr. Green was going to come find me and kill me with some non-traditional murder weapon, and that my remains would be stashed in some crawl space in the house that no one knew existed.

I think of this each time I play Clue.  And I've never told anyone.  Until now.  It feels like I'm unearthing what has been a burdensome secret.  Because if you can't say it at New Year's, when can you, eh?

As I was playing Clue the other night with the kiddos, I realized what I must have been like as a kiddo myself, trying to be a part of the older crowd around me.  My nieces and nephew seem so much younger than I was at their age, and maybe that's the commonplace thought we have as we grow older, this idea that surely we were much more mature or well-adjusted or behaved when "that age".  In my head I justify thinking this by reminding myself that I was surrounded by adults; my oldest sibling is 14 years older, so I've never really been in a family with children.  But then as I play with these really darling kids who sometimes play the piano too loud in the morning when I'm trying to sleep, I sincerely hope that I was just as naive and innocent as they are now.

It's fun to remember each passing year with a theme, because it's nice to succinctly argue the case for one's maturing.  I don't know if I have a theme anymore.  2009 was In Repair.  2010 was Golden Years. 2011 was... what?  Another song with a great melody?  A catchphrase to boost my good choices and gloss over my poor choices?  Let's see if I can find a common thread somewhere.

In January I took a giant step forward in my spiritual journey and progression, one that was completely my own, and one that wasn't even necessary.  I did it because I enjoy doing things on my own terms (but you all know this), and because it was absolutely the right thing to do.  I also kissed a friend who I will continue to kiss for life, because it is true love.

February was full of relapse and frustration.  Like I've said before, I hate February.

I won a crown in March.  That was neat.

April brought me a boy after a dance party.  It was very BYU, the way it all happened.

May was a whirlwind of road trips, plane rides, and insecurity, capped off with a resignation from what probably would have been a trip to Miss America after finally experiencing that weird and unsettling and intoxicating feeling of quite literally falling in love with someone.

June generated employment, which I now see as the second greatest blessing God gave me this year.  If it were not for that job I would have been stuck in the abyss of what happened in the middle of June, when I realized why I should not fall in love with people.  I also realized that even the people you love the most, and the people you give the most to will still fail you.

July sounded like Lady Gaga.  Also, no more radio show.  Sad, but sometimes you have to give your time to that which pays the bills.

August had pool parties and giant sleepovers in the party house and permanent employment and new roommates and new friends and girls in bikinis and boys in euro-shorts.

The coolest part of this second greatest blessing came to me in September.  I'm never content with mediocrity (despite what my abysmal blog has shown you this year) or stagnancy, so when the opportunity to be promoted came, I jumped at it.  Never would I have imagined myself in retail, and never would I have imagined myself as someone with style, but the opportunities keep on coming and I am one of those lucky people who can say she genuinely loves her job.  All because of a little interview with Mama Speters.

I was Black Swan in October.  That is all.  Actually, it's not.  I kissed one of my best friends, which wasn't really the smartest thing to do.  Whoops.  Oh well.  Still love him anyway.

I'm sure something cool happened in November, like some sort of life changing event, but all I can really think of right now is that I had a lot of really delicious turkey on Thanksgiving Day.  Oh yeah, I had to quit dancing.  That wasn't so cool.  But a necessary thing to do in order to be the person that I want to be.  Mike McShinsky is one of the best people I know - I'm a better person for the time I got to spend with him.  It was an honor, Michael.  Also, I think my addiction to Dr. Pepper hit full force in November.  No turning back.

So how's this last month been?  Long.  Hard.  Exhausting.  I gained some remarkable clients, have gone on more formal dates than the rest of the year all-together, went to Disneyland for 40 hours, bought a designer handbag (and no, not the low-end part of a label), and became less of a pansy and a little more bad A all around, mostly thanks to a well-timed haircut.  All of the above have been surrounded by a lot of family... a lot more family than I'm used to, and it's been so wonderful.

You know what?  This may be the first time that I don't regret anything I did this year.  I mean, maybe I regret some of the nights I ate Taco Bell instead of Del or all of the Mr. Pibb I had to drink instead of Dr. Pepper because my employer doesn't carry any.  And I did regret a couple of purchases, but I rectified those by returning them.  Outside of that, I look at my life, and I look at my choices (I see what I did there!) and I'm really content with how I've allowed some things to happen to me and how I've taken charge when things got a little too far outside of my control.

2011 started really well, and it took a couple of sharp nose dives, but I managed to find ways to pull it all off eventually.  Lots of tears and fruit snacks were needed, and I became really grateful for a temple recommend.  But mostly I see the common thread of what I know without doubt or insecurity: I have faith in a loving God who enables us with multiple pathways, many of which are good ones.  I've been allowed to choose my path, and while some of my choices have been rash, I'd like to believe that even though I'm not always the person I want to be, God knows my heart and what my end game is.  And helps me to get there.

In many ways I'm just trying to do what I knew to be true as a little girl - move with faith knowing that I'm loved and cared for.  Hopefully my nieces and nephews have the chance to learn that, too, because even the young and innocent deserve to see where faith can take you through the years.

A toast to more water drinking, gym going, sleep acquiring, Brandon Flowers' listening, money making, and spiritual training in 2012.

Cheers.

baaaaaangs.

they couldn't come at a better time.  I'm feeling SUPER bad-A right now with how I'm handling myself in certain situations, and I love what bangs give me.

BOOM.

menace to society

Hey guess what - it's my birthday!  Let's do a recap of the last year of my life, shall we?  The first thing to do is look at the wishes I had last year:

1. Stop being baby hungry.
2. Enjoy squash.
3. Place top 3 at nationals.
4. Find a way to compete at a state pageant.
5. See more of my family.
6. Be a better bowler.
7. BYU football not sucking.
8. JGL at Sundance.
9. Snowboarder extraordinaire.
10. MAC in abundance.

The results?

1. Still baby hungry.  Severely so, actually.
2. I still hate squash.
3. We didn't even make the finals at nationals, much less placing in the top three.
4. I did find a way to get to state.  And then I dropped out for reasons that are painfully obvious to those of you who actually know me [lest you get the wrong impression from my biting tone, I regret nothing].
5. I see my dad daily.  And sometimes my brother Scott, but that's kind of it.
6. Haven't been bowling since my birthday bowling last year.  For reals.
7. BYU SUUUUUUUUCKED.  Jimmer helped a little.
8. No JGL.  But that's still an option.  CC from GG (Mandy knows what I'm talking about) is also still an option.
9. I went snowboarding once again and I hated it.  I'm done trying.  Skiing it is.
10. I bought lip gloss this year.  That's it.  How sad is that?

The final thing on the list?  I didn't want to become a bitter, single, lonely Provo girl.

I think I did.   [Proof: here, and here, and here, and here, oh and here, yeah this too, and yup, there's more]

Whoops.

I wasn't always single and alone, but each time I became single and alone again, I became more and more bitter.  Thankfully this summer has chipped away at that crustiness and I'm managing to find contentment - somehow.

If I had to sum my 24th year into a lesson, I'd say that I've learned that my trust issues are only squashed when I put all of my trust in God, and not in man.  Unfortunately there are a couple of individuals who have proven that all too painfully over the last few months, and it sucks, but then I'm able to find peace in the most trustworthy place I can find.  So we move on and deal and hopefully I become a better person.

Seeing as nothing went the way I wanted it to, as I am in a completely different position than I imagined, and as the future mostly involves writing my memoirs and convincing myself to not buy everything I see at work, I think I'm going to not tell you my wishes aloud.  That's why they didn't come true... right???  I always thought that cardinal rule of birthday wishing only implied to wishes over a cake with candles, but that rule predated the internet, so I guess extenuating circumstances must be taken into account.

I think I can risk this though: thank you to everyone who makes life lovely amidst the things that try to make life loathsome.

I know what I want for this next year, but do you really think I'm going to tell you after what happened this last time?????

See you all at the White Party on Friday!

for those who know.

remember this guy?

I wouldn't say no to anything.  Just...saying...

Really though.

My birthday is in 13 days.

Think about it.

hey guess what?!

The Universe answered and said, "C, C, and J - you deserve this place.  Have it.  Take it.  It's yours.  Now don't have sleepovers with boys."  To that I say thank you, and now I have another eensy teensy favor.

We've got an opening for one more roommate.  The place is gorgeous [she said not having actually seen it with her eyes] and there's going to be a ton of room and it's in a really great area if you're over the age of 22.

A few other incentives for you:

Roommate A is a nurse.  She can save you.

Roommate B works at Vivint.  She can hook you up with all the Sweet Bros you want.

Roommate C works at Nordstrom.  She can put things on hold for you and entice you with all the latest and greatest (and no, for the nth time, she can't give you a discount).

Also, it's fully furnished, lots of storage space (so I'm told - my one requirement for a place is that I have enough room for my shoes), and has two (TWO!) family rooms.  Parking, etc, etc.

You'll love it.  So call me.

One last incentive: I wear size 8 1/2-9 in shoes, a 27 in denim, and I can rhinestone whatever your heart desires.

DEAR UNIVERSE

You've been oh so kind to me this summer.  Friends and fun and fattening food and more friends and more fun with fattening food.  Seriously.  It's been great.  Summer of Dreams 2011, indeed.  not to mention the super sweet job that has enabled my shopping habit.  Here's the thing.  Two of my new lovelies and I are moving in together because we love each other and we're a little bit older and we're crazy single and well, in order for that to work we kind of sort of actually need a place we can move into.

Please please please.

We have searched high and low (and do I mean LOW) for a great place to call home, and every time something has seemed promising, it's been snatched away by someone else.  Even the crappy places have been taken.

I'm almost too scared to post this for fear of the jinx (because heaven knows I jinx EVERYTHING in my life), but I feel like some good energy and vibes, and well, PRAYERS are in order here.  We have a place.  It's great.  It's going to be wonderful.  I haven't even seen it yet but I don't care because it physically is available.

Please please please let us have it.

Love,

C, C, and J.

post script.  If it comes down to free Adele tickets or this apartment, give me the apartment.  Thanks.  You're a gem.

calling all friends.

My birthday's never really been a big deal.  It's usually involved a nice dinner with my family, and maybe bowling (or something similar) with friends.  One year my mom threw a surprise party for me with a bunch of her friends.  That was neat.  [and mildly a lie.  Erika, Cam, and Whitney were there.  And some family.]

Not this year.  I want to celebrate being alive and happy and filled with future alive-ness and happiness.

We're going to begin it on Sunday, August 21.  Adele, at the Gallivan Center.  Yes, I'm aware it's a Sunday, so for those of you who don't believe in listening to beautiful music on a Sunday evening don't need to come.  I'll go by myself if I need to.  Tickets are sold out aka we have to pay 50-something dollars on Stub Hub (which is what we would have paid on Smith Tix).  It's going to be gorgeous and wonderful, and seeing as she is one of my favorite artists who has also given me hope this entire summer (or at least a lot of songs to feel sad to), I have to be there.

Tuesday, August 23.  The day of birth.  Dinner with friends.  Location forthcoming.  Leave suggestions.

Friday, August 26.  Dance party.  More specifically, Lady Gaga/Britney/Kesha dance party.  Costumes not mandatory, but preferred.  Location to be released in a more private way (just for the owner's sake, but you all love him and it's going to be freaking sweet).  I'm already doing a star for Nick's face, so let me know what glorious makeup I can do for you (but I call Bad Romance Gaga).

I can't wait to see you there enjoying great food and great friends :)

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.

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.