BRIDE DISH | HOROSCOPE | ADVICE FROM THE GODMOTHER |POSTCARDS FROM PARIS | SCIENCE | TRAVEL JENNA'S DIARY
FEATURES |CELEBRITIES| RELATIONSHIPS | BEAUTY &STYLE | TIPS AND TRICKS | DIY | SPECIAL REPORTS |HEALTH & FITNESS
I hate my life. I hate my apartment, I hate my job and my friends hate me. I've got to get out of this rut.
· Not fat
· Has the potential to be a bestselling novelist if only she had time to write
· Of superior intelligence
· Extraordinarily empathetic
· Extremely talented in most artistic fields but most especially writing
· Could lose 10 pounds
· Has worst job in the world.
Perhaps mining is worse but I'd like to see a miner work for my mother and her boyfriend distributing Precious Moment knock offs. My lungs may be better but their souls are intact.
The weight and job things aren't really my fault. Of course I gained 10 pounds in my job—I challenge anyone to get through a day with my mother without a daily Mint Mocha Chip Frappuccino. And the job – Not my fault either as I only took it because my unemployment was running out and I was completely flat broke and there aren't a lot of jobs open for somebody who doesn't know how to do anything.
It was only meant to be temporary. I told my mother (after she refused to loan me any more money) that I was looking more for a career than just a job. She said that I'd better start drawing more pirates. My mother is a very mean mother. Most women would be delighted that their child got into to art school but no, not my mother, she has to ridicule the entrance exam. So what if it was on a matchbook?
I've been here for a year now and unless I sell my novel for huge bucks I'll probably be here much longer.
I really should write that thing.
I finally got the nerve to call Christine. She was very cool to me but I cried and apologized and cried some more. I told her I was not attracted to her husband in fact the exact opposite and that I was sorry for the way I behaved at her wedding and that I am sorry that I always seem to be disappointing her.
"Jenna, I don't know what's going on you. I really don't know if I can take it anymore." Then she told me that she and Julie were sick to the teeth of my irresponsibility and my self-absorption—or something like that. I didn't hear all of it because I was painting my toenails but I got the gist.
"You're right Christine. I have a lot of issues that I've got to work out. I've been unfair to both of you."
Whew! When my book hits the New York Times list and I meet Oprah in person, I will thank her for helping me mend relationships. I'll say something witty like "O here has saved a few of my friendships from crashing and burning" (and then I'll slap her back to let her know that I'm kidding because really Oprah does look like the kind of person who would take credit for everything. I did learn the issues thing from her though so I'll give her props.)
Christine told me all about her honeymoon (it sounded wonderful except for Paul being there.) She suggested we all get together Tuesday and have a good old-fashioned "Girl's Night Out."
I am so glad that's over with. I'm dying to go out get drunk and cut loose. It's been a while if you don't count her wedding.
I'm going to have to find a new name for my mother's boyfriend. When I first met him, I insisted on calling him Mr. Van Heusan just to show my mother that she couldn't replace my father that easily. But now a year later and especially now that I'm working for him it sounds stupid. I tried to balance it by calling my mother Mrs. Thompson but that didn't work out. Charlie just doesn't sound right and that's a problem because it's his name. I tried Mr. VH but that sounded like a juice commercial so now I don't call him anything and that's a lot more work than you'd expect.
Even though I was half an hour late this day is dragging on like crazy. We have a zillion Xmas orders to fill but I'm just not in the mood to work. I can't help wondering who would buy the crap we sell. Precious Moments on their own are hideous but the knock-offs are worse. There is something so creepy about them. Every single Tender Tears figurine that we sell seems to have something wrong with it. Mary, of Mary's Rose Petals, has a lazy eye if you look close enough and Jesus (of Jesus's Children) has no thumb. Blech. But they are hugely popular with people I assume live under bridges and it pays the bills so who am I to complain.
My mother's desk is behind mine so I can't even update my Facebook status without her commenting on it. I tried turning the desk around so that I was facing her but that was worse. Seriously, who works with their mother? If something doesn't happen in my life soon this is going to turn into a Grey Gardens type scene.
I wore my brand spanking new pair of Christian Louboutin shoes --I am not sure they are authentic because I got them from a guy selling them out of his van and they are misspelled but they look great anyway. I threw on a sequined metallic tank, some skinny jeans and a tailored tuxedo jacket and Voila! I looked so hot!
I felt absolutely great--until they picked me up and told me we were going to the Olive Garden.
Julie, the same Julie who once got so drunk while she was hosting a party that she passed out in her front hall closet while she was hanging up a coat, sat there nursing a soda water and waving away cigarette smoke from a restaurant 15 blocks away while patting her stomach contentedly and smiling. I wanted to whack her with a bread stick.
Christine was no better droning on about her wedding and honeymoon. She must have taken 5000 pictures and I'm grateful we had wine because there is a good chance I might have hung myself in the bathroom otherwise. It didn't take long for the conversation to turn to me and my "behavior" at the wedding, Julie said she was shocked and Christine said she was disappointed and I said I was sorry. Bing, bang, boom.
It was a completely BORING night. I'd really looked forward to an evening of dancing, wild drinking, and promiscuity instead I was jammed in a booth looking like a parade float while my two old friends chatted inanely and swirled down the drain to matronhood.
How could they do this to me?
Jayde strode purposefully across the boulevard, her green eyes blazing with anger and her long wavy auburn hair swinging in rhythm with the sway of her well shaped derriere. She looked around in disdain as she waited for the light and lifted a well-manicured hand to hail a taxi who squealed his brakes the moment he saw her beckon.
"Take me to the White House" Jayde purred while texting special agent Trevor McIntrye on her Blackberry.
She reflected on the luncheon. She sighed when she thought of her two friends Lucy and Irene and how small their lives were and how fat they both looked. As the streets of Washington DC whizzed by the cab, Jayde felt a tremor of pity in her ample bosom. "Poor things, they have nothing." She murmured in her French accented purr.
Lucy and Irene's eyes boinged out of their heads when they saw the tip that Jayde had left for the waiter and the sommelier as it was more than either of them earned in a week as they did not work. Irene was tempted to take the tip and use it for household bills but Lucy pointed to two envelopes that had been tucked under the bowl that held both sugar and Splenda. "Look" she uttered.
There was an envelope for each of them. Each contained a note and a 500 dollar bill. Lucy's small and rather droopy chest swelled with gratitude and Irene burst into tears of joy. Jayde had saved them again.
Wow. The first paragraph of the first page of my first best-seller.