I think I may be the neighbor from hell. I don’t throw raucous parties, or drive like one of those douchebag Audi owners through the parking lot. I pick up other people’s trash, and have even been known to say hi when I’m not daydreaming about almond croissants.
Despite my best efforts to be a decent member of society, some apologies to current and former neighbors are definitely in order.
To the neighbor who saw me topless:
Your expression really said it all. It was a mixture of pity, lust and confusion. Coincidentally, that was the same look I once gave to my reflection after eating an entire Little Caesar’s pizza by myself. I’m sure you had no idea that breasts could double as suspenders, or have so many stretch marks that it looks like there’s a freeway system tattooed on them. The truth is, puberty was not kind to me, and my breasts are now registered weapons in nine states. I guess I should’ve rushed to cover myself up, but I was pretty sure it was the last opportunity I’d ever have to show my chesticles to a man, and I had to soak it up. I’m sorry if this has stirred up a weird fetish, and your future wife finds you searching for “low-hanging tits” on the internet one day.
There is this little blogger named Le Clown, and he runs a small operation here on WordPress called A Clown on Fire. If you don’t know of his blog I’m going to assume that this is your first day on the internet. He recently approached me to participate in a guessing game on his blog. The conversation went like this:
Le Clown: “You are the most magnificent™ writer on the planet, and my blog needs you.”
Starting today, he will be posting five holiday posts (one each day) from five different bloggers who will remain anonymous. Your job is to guess who the author of each post is. The participants are (in alphabetical order): Continue reading
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