Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. I’d like to think it’s because of the time spent with family eating good food, and giving thanks. It’s actually because I was born on Thanksgiving the year I was born, and I enjoy focusing on things relating to me.
I’m sure there will be several posts today talking about what bloggers are thankful for. People will mention their family, their health, their children. All the posts will be beautifully written, and at this point in NaBloPoMo, my brain is in meltdown mode. I can’t compete.
This is why, instead of telling you what I am thankful for this Thanksgiving, I’ll just tell you what I could really do without.
When most people think of hell, they imagine a fiery inferno that they’ll be enslaved in for the rest of eternity. When I think of hell, it looks like sharing a jail cell with Rush Limbaugh while Christmas music plays 24 hours a day. “Jingle Bell Rock” makes me want to kick myself in the face, and I’m pretty sure “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” is the inspiration for many a serial killer. The fact that it begins playing earlier every year actually makes me think conspiracy theorists might be right, and the government may actually be practicing some form of mind control on the masses.
I know it’s hard to believe, but there was a time in my life when I cared about what I looked like. I wore nice clothes, carefully painted my face with makeup, and even managed to brush my hair daily. Obviously those days are long gone.
100% real picture of me from this morning
There was also a time when I did juice cleanses because I cared about health or something like that. A juice cleanse is when you only drink liquids for a certain period of time as a way to
kickstart an eating disorder remove toxins from your body. It’s also a great test to see how long you can go without eating before seriously considering robbing someone at gunpoint for a piece of pizza.
While the cleanses themselves were often different, the outcomes of them were always the same.
My birthday is in a couple of weeks, and I’ll be waving goodbye to 31, and saying hello to 32. I’m not one of those people who dreads her birthday; in fact, I’ve enjoyed getting older. There’s a certain confidence and wisdom I’ve gotten after experiencing a few things, and settling down a bit.
There’s no denying that you can run from aging, but you certainly can’t hide from it. I think I’m still pretty young at heart, but I’ve definitely noticed that some things have changed over the last 10 years.
21: Want a guy who is in a band
31: Want a guy who won’t ruin my credit score
21: Above my waist
31: Saying hello to my belt buckle
I am almost always the last person to watch a hit television show. I saw my very first episode of Breaking Bad a few months ago. I’ve been saying I’ll get around to having a looksie at Dexter. It’ll be another 20 years (and gut-wrenching boredom) before I watch The Walking Dead.
As one would expect, I was very late to the game when it came to viewing 30 Rock. I wasn’t interested in the premise of the show, and it wasn’t until a friend encouraged me to watch it that I finally did. “I think you’d really like one of the main characters, Liz Lemon.”
To say she was right is a very serious understatement. I mean, we’re practically the same person.
Neither of us understands how to meet a men:
If you’ve been following this blog
for years awhile this week, you know that I work from home. I’ve been telecommuting for the past year, but prior to that, I was part of the daily grind just like everyone else. This was before I started barking at strangers, and considering brushing my teeth optional.
I am not a morning person in the least bit. I was meant to go to bed at 2AM, and wake up at 10AM. Anything deviating from this means you’re not getting me at my best, and by “best” I mean everyone else’s version of mediocre.
This is how my mornings used to look:
- Alarm goes off
- Curse myself for not being born a Kardashian
- Get up and drop a couple F-bombs on my alarm
- Look in the mirror and wonder if science will one day be able to help me
- Wash face/brush teeth/pee while checking Facebook on my phone
- Pick out an outfit that screams “you don’t pay me enough to dress well”
- Head to work vowing to find a rich husband because I’m too awesome to work
- Get coffee because my hypothalamus is bossy as hell
I’m always worrying about something. If the lid on a medicine bottle comes off too easily after just purchasing it, I’m convinced someone has tampered with it. If my shower curtain is slightly askew, there’s obviously a murderer behind it. Don’t get me started on how I panic after the lights go off during a blackout.
Some fears are normal. If you’re traveling at high speeds in a car, it’s reasonable to be afraid that you’ll spin out of control and injure yourself. It’s not reasonable to believe that the neighbor kid is actually a small Russian spy, and the laser pen he’s playing with is actually a high-tech death laser.
Here are my Top 5 most irrational fears as voted by me…and my therapist…and everyone else. Continue reading
I know this is hard to believe, but I’m single. I KNOW! What, with showing strangers my hershey kiss, and accusing random men of being murderers, you’d think someone would have locked this down by now.
I am not actively pursuing a relationship, but from time to time I like to look at what’s out there to see what I’ll be working with once I’m ready for it. Most ads are filled with the same things: age, physical traits, kids/no kids, smoking/no smoking, and a list of things he or she is looking for in a partner. Very benign stuff.
Experts say the key to standing out is to write punchy, attention-grabbing lines. I think the men below misunderstood what that meant. Continue reading
My name is Jennifer Sharp. My online persona is Jen and Tonic, and my friends call me Jen. My youngest sister calls me Jesher, and my hot neighbor refers to me as the girl who stares too hard when he jogs without his shirt on. These are my names.
What’s in a name anyway? I began thinking about this when I Googled myself the other day. I read an article about people losing out on jobs after employers did simple internet searches on them. It got me thinking about what someone would find out about me if they looked up my name.
What I found was appalling. They’d find next to nothing on me; instead, they’d find a wealth of information on other Jennifer Sharps around the world. These women are everywhere in internet searches because they’re doing things, and making a difference in the world. I’m writing this while wearing “Sunday Underwear” (which are called that because they’re holy as hell,) and hair that looks as though it’s terrified of brushes.
Who are these other Jens, and why are they hijacking my identity? Not only hijacking it, but making me look badly while they’re at it. Continue reading
The fact that I’ve been steadily employed since my first job at a Hallmark store is as much of a surprise to me as it is to anyone else. I’m the kind of person who drinks cereal instead of eating it with a spoon, and laughs when narrators say ‘Homo Erectus’ in documentaries. Not exactly the kind of stuff that makes employers jump at the chance to pay me every two weeks.
I started working for a local publishing company in 2009, and in early 2012, they were acquired by a corporation in Boston. Roughly six months after the purchase, our office was closed, and the Portland team members began telecommuting. This day is also referred to as “The exact moment I started devolving as an employee and human being.”
Dedicated working spaces no longer have meaning to me.
One of the greatest joys of working from home is getting to decide where you want to work. Gone are the days of parking in the same space, sitting at the same desk, and shivering from the air blowing from the same vent directly above my desk. Now you’ll most likely finding me sending e-mails while on the crapper, regretting the Indian food I ate last night.
It’s no secret that I embarrass myself on a regular basis. I’ve farted in a trainer’s face, a woman once congratulated me on my diarrhea, and I even confessed to taking a dump in an empty Porta Potty. Needless to say, I spend the majority of my time and energy trying to see if a person can actually die of humiliation.
Something else that people know about me is that I love to hike. I love the smell of the mountain air. I love the view at the top. I love being one of those annoying people on Facebook who posts dozens of photos to prove that her ass hasn’t yet melded with her couch.
“Come on Maury, hurry up. I need to know if he’s the father.”
I had been wanting to do one particular trail in the Columbia River Gorge, and finally managed to get out there a few weeks ago. Most hikes have bathrooms at their trail heads, but once you’re out there, you’re on your own. Continue reading