A million little pieces…

Blogging for the past 11 years has given me plenty of reason to feel a little exposed- but more than anything it’s given me a whole bunch of nameless, faceless friends and cheerleaders. The heartfelt emails I’ve received have gotten me through some epic nightmares, the gifts always blow my mind  (especially Candace’s magical granola) and I’ve made some lifelong friends out of complete strangers who happened to stumble on my stumblings..(Sarah of Silvi!! Girl, I’m looking at YOU!).

I still feel like a deer in the headlights anytime someone smiles at me whilst out and about and says…

E – I love your blog. I think I know who * is!

Gasp. Why are you people still reading this? That’s still so foreign to me, which could explain why I’m still too damn candid. At any rate- hi, and why on earth is any of this interesting enough to read? I write for my own cathartic pleasure and to deal with the ridiculous amount of things I juggle in a day. I never really think about people reading it, if that makes any sense at all. I wrote a book I’m too mortified to publish. I’m really shy, if I’m going to be completely honest. I hide it well, but the people closest to me know how incredibly out of character it is for me to be putting my personal life, in print.

I’m a lot better at investing my heart in the wrong place, than loving the men who really have my best interests at heart. I’m not really interested in happily ever after if it means wondering where he is when I’m not there. I had 6 cheating boyfriends in a row and realized that I was the one to blame for caring so little about myself in picking such sad excuses.

I did one thing differently this time in the pool. I only got involved with what, or whom, I’d deemed as my favorites. Absolutely NO chance of a douche bag. Cream of the crop men I’d sentenced to the friend zone. The best of my best.

lol…. Go ahead… laugh. I deserve it.

I think when it comes to my crafting skills, my ability to make even the nicest guy into a garden variety douchebag makes me more villain than superhero. I am incapable of choosing wisely and frankly, being celibate was A LOT less frustrating. Just as you can’t unring a bell… you can’t easily force Pandora back into her box. She’s loud and angry about the situation and I’m running myself into oblivion.

The stats stun me to silence sometimes. I get an occasional nasty comment or puritanical sexual judgement. I delete them. This is my world- and I have every intention of keeping it kind. Sidenote: You can’t make me feel worse about myself than I already have, save your breath. Luckily it’s one click of the “Trash” button and they’re gone. If only it were so easy in real life…

The people who approach me are incredibly sweet and complimentary. They relate to my worst moments and the constant struggle we all face every day. It isn’t easy for anyone and everyone wants more love in their lives. The only difference between you and I is that I put mine in print for a few hundred strangers to read every day. I recommend it, it’s incredibly liberating.

I used to worry so much about what people thought of me, then someone created an “I Hate Jenni” group on Facebook, complete with a profile picture of me kissing the guy I’d had a horrible relationship with, and a link to my blog. Decades of alumni from my high school were invited to like the page. Everyone I knew locally. It was ground zero. Several thousand hits that day, and 3 more days before Facebook would take the page down. January 2, 2011. You never forget those days.

It taught me how little someone’s opinion of me, actually mattered. Even more so, that I’m not that different than anyone else and most people wanted to tell me how much they related. I no longer care what anyone thinks, and if that’s all I walk away with from blogging, then it’s priceless in how that applies to the rest of my life.

You’re here by choice. Don’t like me? Well.. fuck off then.  If you’re here because you don’t like me and you’re enjoying my failures, buckle up. I outdo myself regularly and I have so little fucks to give that I’m going to arm you with my dirty little secrets.

One of the first people to start reading this has always emailed me to ask how I’m doing when I go silent… and I had an email from her this morning.

H- Hey lady, just wondering if the million little pieces of you are feeling loved? Hear a sad sound in you these days and wanted to check in and send some. Kisses. H

Here’s the gift of sharing your journal with strangers. She’s read my thoughts for so long that she’s a physical conscience who remembers how many times I’ve done the same stupid thing and been devastated by the same results. She attached a blog prompt that asks you to dissect yourself a little. I’m in a particularly sad headspace as our missing Uncle’s status has been changed to presumed dead and the search has added cadaver dogs. I adore true crime, but when it hits close to home, it’s different. So along those introspective lines, I’ve decided to overshare. Fun.

A million pieces of me…

* I hate the act of getting up and getting ready for Mass, but after I’ve gone? I feel like God himself pressed the magic reset button on my life. I love being Catholic and am the only one in a huge extended Mormon family. Catholic with Mormon Roots, as my Grandpa loved to say. Also, I’m an atheist.

* I laugh at women who drink white wine. Especially if they mention not ruining their bleached teeth. Good Lord… if there were ever a sign that we won’t get along well, it’s watching a woman drink a beer or glass of wine with a straw. Definitely not my tribe.

* I have two blogs, and a book sitting in my laptop. My Puerto Rican nightmare might never see the light of day, because I feel like a damn idiot for flying 15 hours to be catfished, drugged and terrorized. That loser STILL reads my blog, and that is the ONE thing that will motivate me to publish.

*My children are fairly off topic. If they want to start writing about themselves, they have the right. I am very careful what I share, otherwise. Privacy: we all deserve it. ♥

* I vote- for every election, always. I am very liberal, and a huge fan of the death penalty. I have an adopted gay son and my favorite aunt is black. I have zero respect or time for racism, homophobia or ignorance. Also, if you own a red MAGA hat, you’re dead to me.

* I steal the covers but usually because I want him to be closer to me. Truth be told, I want him to wake up. If you poke me with it, it’s mine. If you’re exhausted and need to sleep, go home. I’m not being rude, but really…drive safely. Along those same lines, I dream about stabbing you in the eyes if you snore and keep me up all night. I’m not sad in the slightest if you leave and go home to sleep (or pollute the silence) in your own bed.

* I can’t watch scary movies. At ALL. I grew up without television and yes… I still have nightmares. I am the original movie virgin. If I told you all the movies I haven’t seen, you’d ask me the same thing a friend of mine always does…

F- Did your parents hate you, or what???

On the contrary… they wanted us to go outside and play. Live our childhood. Be kids and all that good stuff. I grow an acre of vegetables every year, so it all worked out.

*I LOVE true crime. I had front row tickets to My Favorite Murder this fall, and I am counting the seconds until I can go again. #Murderino

* I hate the noise of the television, but I turn it on if a football game is on. I love every single bit of football season. I was a cheerleader for as long as I could be.

* If you overcook my steak? I know you’re not the one. Try as I might to get past it, it’s just the kiss of death. I have yet to meet a man that can cook my steak and I dated several chefs. None of them could do it. How sad is that?

* Nothing makes me happier than seeing Pomegranates & Egg Nog show up in the grocery store each Fall. I buy at least a dozen pumpkins if I haven’t grown them myself. I make the best roasted pumpkin seeds and love the smell of roasting pumpkin in the house when it’s cold outside. Pumpkin spice cookies, pumpkin cream cheese everything… fall could only be better if it were warm outside. My Mormon roots come out swinging in the fall.

* I’m eerily psychic and generally know what you’re going to say to me before you say it. I resist the urge to finish sentences. It makes me uncomfortable.

* When I’m lonely I remind myself to listen to my mom & reread the Desiderata.

M- Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Take a nap, then come over for dinner.

I always feel better if I’ve had enough sleep and good company- so I know she’s right.

* I’m allergic to beer. I drink it anyway. Tanqueray is my poison of choice if I’m out- red wine at home. I gave up vodka entirely because it makes me act like an asshole and there are enough of those in the world. Grey Goose turns me into another person, entirely. I’ve issued a permanent ban.

* I took French for three years in high school… and barely remember much beyond Pamplemousse… (which means grapefruit.)

* I miss the Ocean every day. There’s something so much greater than yourself or your struggles when you feel the sea come to life beneath you, reminding you how very small and insignificant you actually are. The nearby lake is a stagnant sort of compromise. I miss seaweed, seashells and uncertainty. Someday soon.

* Loyalty = Love  and  Betrayal = Suffering when it comes to me… but then I suppose that’s not news if you’re reading my blog. I’m a huge fan of the truth because it never changes. With respect to the secrets I carry for my friends? I’ll take them to the grave with me, however…sell me out and I will lay your shit bare- to quote Adele. I’m a priceless friend and a dangerous adversary, which I happen to believe makes me well rounded and my friends, loyal: or at least quiet. Either one works for me.

Ok friends…. your turn. What makes you tick?

2 thoughts on “A million little pieces…

  1. Most things don’t surprise me these days. I’ve seen (and lived) a lot. You managed two in one blog post.

    Six cheaters in a row? That takes some special selection technique, even if it’s definitely not something to remember.. 😦

    HE, Mr We-Know-Who still reads your blog? He may be the very definition of obsessed..

    1. I’m way too nice… and they all still contact me. That’s an ashamed confession, not a boast- for the record. lol…

      I’ve cheated. I know it had nothing to do with my partner and everything to do with my own flawed character and search for what was missing. I still NEVER want to be back in those shoes again. As much as I miss physical and emotional intimacy on a regular basis… I’d rather knit more and sleep less than feel insignificant and disposable. Single beats worthless, any day. 🙂 ♥

      Yes. He still reads. Almost daily. 🙂

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