Dear Dad…

Smiling to my toes and happy… I got ready for work with the music blasting, dancing through the house between the bathroom and my bedroom looking for something to wear. High on love and anticipation.

Make-up done, hair in pigtails… and my phone rings. My little brother!!! I love him the best and we connect even though we didn’t grow up together. I answer and he’s quiet.

B- I have bad news. Dad died.

Time stops for a second when you hear this sort of news. Everything seems too loud….and I have 20 minutes to get to work. Totally and completely in shock and facing a busy night with the BCS Championship game on.

I was on autopilot all night. Coasting through a packed restaurant and somehow ending up with all the little tables. Thank God too, because I’m definitely not very chipper. Everybody was happy and watching the game, so it was easily managed chaos all night. My last table was my favorite Ms. Sassypants- who I’ve missed. I swear she tipped me more than the total of her tab, lol… I sat down at the bar with a beer and sunk into it finally. Grief… such an overwhelming feeling.

I met my Dad for the first time when I was 8 years old. I’d asked my mom if I could meet him and we were visiting family in Utah. He agreed and we had lunch at Wendy’s. First time I ever had a chocolate frosty and a cheeseburger. He didn’t know we were vegetarians and didn’t ask what I wanted. My only clear memory beyond the food was that nobody said anything. Super awkward… and we parted with a wave. He sued my mom for custody a month later, and won holiday visitation with me every year. Spring break, summer vacation & Christmas.

I remember it being a strange feeling to see someone that I looked so much like, and didn’t know. I was never comfortable with him, ever. He just never really was my dad. My dad was the one who drove me to school and baked my birthday cake.

He blessed me with a brother and two sisters that I love more than anything. He gave me another mom in my siblings mother. Then he divorced her and never took care of any of us ever again. No child support, no call on your birthday. Nada. King Deadbeat.

There’s really no other way to put it. These are facts…

I bought myself a ticket to go see him when I was sixteen. It was Christmas, and I missed my siblings and knew he’d have them for the holiday. He spent the entire time with his girlfriend and I left and went to stay with my Aunt instead. He never forgave me for it.

I tried to mend things with him after my son was born, about 4 years later. We stopped by my grandparents house for a visit and he spent a half hour calling himself Grandpa to a two year old that clung to my thigh and eyed him warily. For good reason, considering it was the only time he ever saw him.

He never met my daughter. I sent pictures when she was born, and we sent him a Christmas package. I sewed him a quilt, and tried one last time to salvage some sort of relationship with him. Something about the birth of my own children made me want to fix everything. He said he never got it… but the confirmation came through that he had. I’m not sure why he’d lie about it… but he did… and it was the last straw.

I wrote him one last letter, and never spoke to or saw him again. I told him about all the holes his absence left in my childhood, and about the dad I made up to tell people because he was so unmentionable. I gave all the hurt and the pain and disappointment every kid with a deadbeat dad can empathize with- back to him. I told him how much I hated him for what he made my mother go through & thanked him for my promiscuity and early entry into parenthood.

Not necessarily what every dad wants to read, and certainly not entirely his fault on every level… but I went above and beyond to hurt him in return.

I never heard from him again…. so those angry hurtful words are the last thing my dad heard from me. He was 56, and died alone, when he had four of the most loving people in the world as his children. Talk about the definition of tragic.

I’m too happy and too much in love to be angry or hurt by him anymore. I feel sorry for him more than anything, and I wish I’d left him with nice words in his heart instead of the rant he got. He deserved it- for sure- but on a personal level it’s hard to fathom that there’s not time to fix it anymore. He’s gone, never having been my dad… or my children’s grandfather.

I can’t mourn him like I should because I don’t have any way of knowing what a loss it is.

So I’m tossing words on up to heaven… or down to hell if that’s where he ended up. I’m on the fence about either place but if the rumors are true and you have to be virtuous to get in? He’s heading south. Sorry, but it’s true.

Dearest Dad,

Whoa… time ran out, huh? I didn’t see that coming, and I’m sorry that you died alone like I told you I hoped you would. It could have been so different, and I’m sorry you died with so many things left undone and so many apologies left unsaid.

You missed all of your children’s weddings. All three of your daughters were given away by someone else. You didn’t know any of your seven grandchildren, many of whom look like you. I am so sorry for you that you missed so much.

Thank you for our beautiful smiles- that look just like yours. Thank you for the strength you taught all of us in not being reliable. Thank you for the fine examples of women you gave us by forcing our mothers to raise us alone. You had amazing taste in women, truly.

You fed me steak and crawdads for the first time. Thank you- I love both ♥  You taught me how to fish in the summer and spent days in the sun chasing lizards with us at Flaming Gorge. You were a pretty awesome Disneyland dad when you wanted to be. You bought me my first designer jeans… bright red even. You spoiled me rotten when I was in front of you, and you always told me you loved me.

More than anything though… you get out of life what you put into it. You taught me to love out loud and sincerely, and to follow up my words with actions because integrity is rare.

Though you didn’t help much in the shaping of who I’ve become, you gave me life and the tools I needed to make mine a happy one. I love you- and I hope your soul is at peace.

The Vagina Doctor


Quadruple UGH.

How is it that I am 35 years old and still dread this like the first time, every time. It never gets better. It never gets easier. I’m absolutely neck deep in dread just waking up this morning.

Oh no… it’s THAT day. That one I’ve seen looming for weeks.

I’m forgetful. I forget my eyebrow wax appointments enough that I spoil and overtip my esthetician.

I don’t forget a vagina doctor appointment. I panic. I cross my legs twice, and my fingers even.

Noooo… ugh. Damn it men have it so easy sometimes.

I walk in reluctantly… hating every single second…ugh. They’re so nice- really- and nobody loves the vagina doctor experience, so they’re sensitive about it. She hands me the clipboard and I fill out every detail of my family history of every damn disease known to humankind, and every detail of my sex life.


My favorite question?

* Have you been with a partner who had multiple partners?

Thank God they don’t ask for a number next to that one… I think I’d have to dig a hole, climb in & die. I think Nathan and the Hoarder should have to have prostate exams just cause.

At any rate- the details are down in ink and it’s my turn. Oh joy. My hands are so cold she can’t prick my finger, so I have the pleasure of reading the STD poster while I run them under warm water.

Who needs a poster to get them to go to the doctor? If you have any of the symptoms listed on this chart, nobody is going anywhere near you and you should be very worried. Yikers.

By the time she finishes the AIDS test I’m positive I have it, and this is going to be one of those days like in a Lifetime movie, where I go in for a pap and end up HIV positive.

Weighed- oh joy… and hey… I’m still 5’4″… shocker.

Ugh… crunch time. Ugh. She gives the usual schpeel.

V- Take all your clothes off, you can leave your socks on. Put the wrap over your lap.

Gee, thanks… my socks are going to make me feel so much better. Oy.

This is the one moment I hate being a woman. I’d give anything for a penis right now, and not in any way sexually. They give you a thin paper tablecloth to somehow make you feel covered, while sitting your naked ass on a paper covered table. It’s as cold as Siberia, not that you’d ever be comfortable enough to feel warm anyway. Those dreaded stirrups may as well have flashing lights and sirens, because you can’t help but look at them with increasing dread.

I think they listen to your heart and lungs and grope your boobs, just to ease you into the most dreaded moment of the vagina doctor.

V- Go ahead and put your feet in the stirrups and move your bottom down to the end of the table.

Hey hi there. My gawd it fucking sucks- worse than any other part of being a woman. Give me an abscessed tooth over this bullshit, any day.

But… ya gotta love your vagina… and if you’re going to play with her then you have to take care of her and make sure she’s healthy. It’s the price of being sexually active- and hey…

I don’t have AIDS!

… and it’s out of the way until next year!

Make the call ladies, maintain your vagina.

…and gentleman… take a moment on my behalf and thank God for your penis because you will never know the joys of the vagina doctor.

Eleven lessons learned…

To say I’ve had a hard year is like saying Bernie Madoff only borrowed a few bucks.

I’ve spent enough money on water that I could have bought a new car. A nicer car than I drive… lol

I’ve dated King Douchebag…  and several of his minions. To be compared to Nathan Steinbauer means you’re worthless, for all the minions that read my blog, and yes, I mean you- if I haven’t told you to your face <yet>, you were a total waste of my time. ALL of you.


In making mistakes you gain wisdom… and I’m sharing my favorite eleven lessons I learned this year….

1. Men don’t lie. Boys do… and generally because they’re compensating for <cough> failures in other areas. Especially the men with equipment failure. Dude… we notice- FIX it. In this day and age, it’s just sad not to. If it’s not a problem with your dick, just that you are one? You serve a purpose in teaching all of us how to avoid you. Way to be an anti-role model. Way to aim low.

2. Marriage isn’t captivity unless you marry the wrong guy, and then it’s a life sentence. I swore I’d never do it again- but I’ve learned precisely why people get married recently. When you love someone so much that you want to be the only one privy to their heart? You lock it up. I claimed wife status again tonight after a customer was being rude.

DB- Nice rock, did your sugardaddy give you that?

J- No, my husband did, but maybe I’ll call him that later and see how he likes it.

DB- Hey I’m sorry, no offense to you or your husband. He must really love you.

J- I’m the lucky one, thank you.

DB- It’s cool when it works out like that. I’m divorced.

Shocker… lol… he was actually really cool after that- and apologized again. All I needed for him to respect me, was a husband. <eyeroll>

3. Any bad day can be fixed. Drop your clothes at the door and dance in your heels & panties with me to a little Biggie Smalls Hypnotize… I promise you’ll feel better.

4. Tomorrow really is always a new day. I’ve juggled so many damn bills this year it’s scary- and if I can do it, anyone can. If you’re willing to make the effort, you can pull it off, some way, some how. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy… well… yeah I would… cause it sucks… and I got a brand new pair of bitch panties for Christmas. It’s never too late to learn to stand up for yourself- and it only pisses off the people accustomed to taking advantage of you.

5. Fleas are forever… these damn dogs will be the death of me, I swear- or at least the cost of the Advantix.

6. People who rent say “NO PETS” for a reason. If you thought you didn’t love anyone’s children as much as yours, try loving a dog who requires that you pick dog hair off the milk carton IN the refrigerator. I rest my case. Want me to love your dog? Vacuum up the fucking hair. Every day, like it needs to be, but I shouldn’t HAVE to do.

7. Wear repellent. Want to scare off the douche bags? Put your favorite diamond on. Now when they smile and say “Ohhh holy shit, she’s married and what a rock” … I can laugh and say… “No…. What. A. Man.” It doesn’t matter it’s not from him. It doesn’t matter that I’m not married. My boyfriend is so good, that no one else will do…now that’s a job well done.  What matters is that men do have a healthy respect for the fact I’ve gleefully taken myself off the menu, and clearly- I’m expensive. Bonus- I get to wear something sparkly & pretty. Two birds, one rock, Amen.

8. Don’t shit where you eat. Now you’d think I’d have already learned this one, but what can I say… he was charming and attentive and I fell for his hoarding bullshit game. I’m reminded what a mistake it was every single time I have to run into him again. What was I thinking…. ???? More importantly, wtf was he thinking? It takes a whole new level of stupid to disrespect the girl writing the words your friends are reading. Read ’em and weep, Hoarder- and hey… pick yourself up a tshirt while you’re at it.

9. Thou shalt not borrow without asking. Especially if it’s something of mine. I don’t share. I don’t have to, and I don’t want to. I’m nice enough that I’ll probably say yes if you ask, but I’d rather not. All bets are off if you make the decision for me and take something without asking… that’s right up there with pouring lighter fluid from the bottle into an open flame… you will get burned. I’m a huge fan of painful consequences.

10. Asking for help when you need it is the most grown up thing you can learn how to do. I die trying to do everything myself… and sometimes end up in a bigger mess as a result.  Help… my least favorite four letter word… is the one I need to learn most.

11. Real friends are priceless. These are the friends that don’t touch your things… regardless of whether we’re talking about men, makeup or your favorite sweater. Yes, as a matter of fact… I do expect them to hate the people I hate. Nobody’s  holding a gun to your head, but if you’re one of my true friends, you will know exactly how that sort of loyalty feels in return. I’m the one that helps you bury the body, but if you betray me? Brace yourself. It’s cold on the dark side of the moon, and you may as well move there because I do not forget and I do not forgive. I wont hate you- but if you were on fire and I was holding a glass of water? I’d drink it.

Rough year… holy shit… but it’s only getting better. I have amazing friends, amazing Love and a family that makes the chaos of it all, worthwhile. My family is still broken, but the details are falling into place and life is about to get easier. Hopefully at some point I’ll be able to say the same about the fracture in our family. Until then, we will strive to be happy.

My New Year started with a message of my favorite variety, and I’ve been smiling since.

It’s a good sign.

It’s going to be a good year…

Happy New Year, y’all… I hope you all have the same love in your life that I woke up to, on the first day of the new year. I already like this year better.

Kiss Me Slowly…

Oh the magic of the perfect kiss…

Is there anything that comes close?


Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the only factor…

Actually…. hmm… yeah it is.

I’ve dated some bad kissers in my life, thinking foolishly that I could gently coax them into new moves… with absolutely no luck. Not to mention, if you have to teach him, do you really want to keep him? No.

I could burn an entire day kissing, though I’m fairly confident that doesn’t qualify as burning a day…


We’ve all had some pretty horrible experiences kissing too, I’d be willing to guess. I sure have, recently even.

The Dog: If I never kiss this guy again it will be too soon. This is the guy who coats your entire face, quite possibly to your forehead; with his saliva. If you feel cold wet slobber from your chin to your eyes…. you’ve had the misfortune of meeting the guy who got his moves from his dog. Run, there’s absolutely no way to retrain this guy, his only hope is to find Ms. Saint Bernard.

The Snake: Oh dear God in heaven… these are the worst, and there’s no nice way to say:

J- Excuse me sweetie, but would you please quit sticking your very snake like tongue into my mouth. It’s a muscle, work with me here before I panic about the thoughts in my head which are likening your tongue to some sort of immobile pointy head of a reptile. Stop pointy-tongue-jabbing me.

The DBSA and the Vagina Hoarder own this title, and if I never kiss either of them again (which is a safe bet, since it’d have to be with a gun to my head) it’d be too soon. Some boys should have to take remedial classes…. from someone else. Just thinking about kissing the boat thief gives me the shivers.

The Oral Explorer: Not the guy to go anywhere near if you’re tired or sick. This guy is either too excited about you or figures he can violate your mouth to the point you beg him for sex instead- anything to stop the full frontal assault on your mouth. Less is more fellas, less is more. If I can feel your molars on the corners of my mouth? You’ve gone WAY too far. Think of me as an ice cream cone, not an apple.

The Teeth Bandit: Ok I love a biter, but this guy gets an F in one of my most desirable categories. He bites your lips, your chin, your tongue even. Yeah. It’s awful. Nothing is worse than crashing teeth when you’re feeling soft, sweet and intimate and this guy could chip a tooth if you aren’t careful. Cut and run at the first signs, he’s destined to do nothing but gnaw on you… or worse, land you at the Dentist.

The Amputee: Someone must have cut off his tongue because it’s missing. He’s the dry humper of kissing and it is a deal breaker deluxe, not to mention painfully awkward to navigate out of. It’s the equivalent of kissing a fish.

The Creeper: The guy who stares at you the whole time. Umm… close your eyes and focus on kissing me until I can’t see you, even with my eyes open. This just creeps me out, I could be alone in this.

Mr. Toxicbreath: Nothing, absolutely nothing on earth is worse than kissing someone with horrible breath. I’m a teeth girl. I love beautiful teeth and I love to kiss and you had better not make me regret it when you’re an inch from my lips. This guy makes you want to duck out from underneath him, just to guarantee you don’t have to smell his breath again. Breath mints are $2, invest. Taste so good I crave the flavor of you, after you’ve gone. It’s incredibly easy and affordable.

Mr. Limp: Please, if you only intend to stick your tongue in my mouth and let it take a nap? Don’t. It isn’t fun… in fact it feels like I have to force it back into your mouth. Eww. Horrible visual, and even more awkward of a task.

Sigh… there really are some bad kissers out there. I know many of you will relate.


There’s some really amazing men too, and we can all smile a little and think about him any time someone mentions how nice a good kiss is.

The guy that pulls you in to kiss you by lacing his fingers through your hair, or holding your face.

The man who thinks about kissing as much as he thinks about sex. We’ve all known one.

His lips are soft and he smells good. He’s not in a hurry & he has all day. He’s not searching for your tonsils, he’s tasting you.

The guy who eats you like a peach, not an apple.

The best kissers, kiss you slowly.


Well hi there… I’m Jenni.

Face and everything… yikers. Don’t buy the smile… I’m really quite sad this morning.

I have an amazing knack for putting myself in situations that result in me feeling worse, and thankfully- enough brains to get out of them, even when that makes me even sadder.

This sort of shit reminds me to remember who I am.

I’m fucking funny. Make you laugh till you puke, funny. Especially if I’m making fun of myself. Which perhaps explains why I keep putting myself in situations destined to hurt me? Who knows.

I’m the best friend you could ever have, and the worst enemy.

I cook and bake like Betty. As in Crocker. I spoil the people I love with their favorite things. I’m ridiculously thoughtful.

I’m pretty… and flirtatious. More than that? I’m nice. I say and do nice things. I’m a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold AND sexually? I cripple a man and rock a mean blow job. Proudly.

I fly a few fingers in the direction of anyone who judges me for being exactly what I am. Read back a ways… I burned my people pleaser panties.

I have a lot of friends who love me dearly. I’m adored by amazing people. I can handle a few enemies…hell, when people you don’t know hate you? You’re famous.

A dear friend posted this on my “wall” the other day:

That about sums it up.

I’m a great mother, with amazing kids. I’m already sewing my daughters Halloween costume. I already have Christmas presents in the closet. I’m that mom. The cool one. The one who sews things so you believe in Santa forever.

I learned to let shit go this year…. more out of trial by fire, but sheesh… at least I learned. I realized how unimportant the garden was, and how very little I missed the stupid Farmer’s market all summer. I fell in love with Saturday mornings with my daughter.

I trusted a lot of the wrong people, and made a bunch of new close friends. I learned how to tell the difference… though not when it comes to dating.

I really dated some assholes. My word. I still really leave myself open to being hurt all over again.

I refuse to be bitter. I refuse to carry bags from one relationship into another.

I refuse to be limited by my past failures.

As a result…

I cry a lot… lol 🙂

I laugh a lot… and I get my heart broken equally as much.

I fall in love too quickly and I trust too freely. I’m a walking target for mean men.

I love Coach bags and hate spiders… and know how to fix the hot tub, the lawnmower and the tires on a car. I’ve had to learn how to be completely self sufficient, and I’m delighted that I can both install a new light fixture and sew anything I want. When it comes to women, I’m exceedingly well rounded.

I’m also really fed up. Really tired of gossip and drama. Tired of feeling lied to or misled or just unappreciated in general. Tired of hearing about it.

More than anything? Tired that there’s anything TO hear.

When does it get easy and when does it benefit you to be nice? I don’t like being a bitch… and I prefer being happy.

So… hi…. how are you? Got a joke to tell me or something funny? You read my journal… so I figured it’s fair to ask you to cheer me up, tell me something I need to hear or just slay me with truth.

I’m discouraged on an epic level this morning…