MY kind of porn (aka red boots)

Today I ordered a pair of red boots. A good question at this point would be: Jenny, how many pairs of boots do you already own?

I can think of five right now. To be fair, I really only wear 2 of those pairs and one really needs to be thrown out. I also fell and scuffed my good church boots last week.

Did I need red boots? No. These caught my attention from the tiny laptop screen and called to me. They are a very safe, simple design. I can order dark brown or black and wear them to church every week...but red. Red is what I need. $70 red boots are the only thing worthy of a 33 year-old who is trying to figure out who the hell she is supposed to be in life.

A simple red boot says, "Hey, I am grown and responsible but you don't know me. I am still a woman of mystery."

At least that is how it goes in my head.


These are not the boots I ordered, but this is how I expect to feel in them...without showing my panties to strangers.

p.s. The boots are already improving my life. I researched and learned the proper use of "pair" and "pairs" for this post.

I do not like porn

Yes! It is official! I don't like porn.

What brought on this revelation? A three step process:

1) I have a friend who likes porn. She is a very healthy, godly, married Christian woman. I'd forgotten about porn (not about its existence but is possible existence in anything near me) until she told me she likes it. I haven't rented or seen porn in probably seven years.

2) This was my birthday weekend and everything awesome or busy or important that I had planned fell through. An awesome concert...cancelled. A blind date that I've been emailing daily for a month...cancelled. All of my friends? Busy. Lock-in with youth...cancelled. A pity party combined with too much time and a bit of pint up sexual needs all led me to rent a $13 movie through my TV. It was more expensive but sounded like the only one that wasn't just lesbians.

3) I watched 60 seconds of hard core porn. I probably would have been better off if there was some sort of storyline, like a pizza delivery driver. How was I supposed to know?

60 seconds is all it took to totally gross me out and confirm a life-long dislike for porn. $13 well spent? That is arguable.

I am already learning fun new things as a 33 year-old. What an exciting year this will be!

Cake

I love cake. My favorite cake is a simple white (NOT yellow) cake with white icing. I'd call it "wedding cake" but somehow wedding cakes seem to be messed up. They are dry or have a strange ingredient like raspberry or almond extract.

When I am craving cake, however, it is always chocolate cake. Chocolate cake with fudge icing. There is nothing more satisfying than chocolate cake when I am hormonal.


(lust = chocolate)

Every now and then, I'll buy something different, like pineapple or cheesecake. If someone offers me a spice cake, I enjoy it but I'd never drive to the store looking for one.

When I was little, all of the women in my life told me that carrot cake and red velvet were the best. They always made a big deal out of it if someone had a carrot or red velvet cake. I've experienced too many bad, dry, nasty carrot and red velvet cakes to ever seek one out. When they are bad, they ruin the hope of ever finding a good version.


(Don't believe the hype. I will disappoint you)

There are a lot of people who claim to like cake, but really they just like something to hold the icing. Those people are not worthy of the awesomeness of cake. Icing should never overwhelm or try to hide a cake's quality. Really dry or bad cake with a lot of icing is not good cake. The distraction does not work for me. On the same note, a really good cake doesn't need icing at all. The icing is nice, but it is just an added bonus.

People who are distracted by pretty icing will buy the really cool looking cupcakes that sat in the baker's display for 2 weeks. Those will almost always be a really well decorated lump of dry crappiness. Children usually fall for this and really shallow adults.


(I am cute and utterly useless for anyone seeking real cake)

I was in the car with friends on Saturday and a man drove up next to us. I didn't notice, but my friend said that he looked over and pulled down his sunglasses to get a good look. They caught up so I could see (yes, just like in high school!). He was a really good looking black man.

In that moment, it hit me! My passions for baked goods and the opposite sex are profoundly parallel. I love my men. I love my cake. If I try too much of either, I eventually get sick and want to quit althoughter. The craving comes back eventually. Right now, I am looking for a good man:

There are different flavors that I seek for different reasons
None of the types of men my mom wanted for me when I was little are actually good for me
I go for substance over fluff any day. Give me a poor black man with a great heart, strong work ethic, and a loveable personality over a wealthy asshole any day!
I don't go looking for spice, but I'll probably take it if it is offered.

oh, so that's how you want to play?

I have to admit that I am on the short path to burnout. I need to find some quality spiritual restoration. That being said, here is my attitude tonight:

A dad emailed this to me:

Hey jenny. Thanks for taking Hannah out tonight. I do wish you had waited until a weekend night. Hannah was so tired when she got home that she did not do her math homework. We usually try and keep her in on school nights.

My thought? Fuck you very much, asshole. I took your daughter and her friends out because they texted me at 3:30 on a Friday wanting me to give up my evening to be their entertainment because you wouldn't take them anywhere. A Monday dinner was my way of saying "I love and value you" while keeping my boundaries. I was exhausted when I picked up your daughter and her friends. After dinner her quote was, "Let's do something else! We can't just go home! I don't want to go do homework yet!"

So? I let them come along to Kroger for 10 minutes while I bought Crystal Light. I dropped your daughter off at 8pm. YOU weren't home. Neither was your wife. Or your 8 year-old daughter. Where were you with your younger daughter on a Monday night?

What time did you finally get home? What time did your 15 year-old say that I dropped her off? Did you know that 15 year-old girls are lying bitches? They are. And yours wants to get pregnant by 18....

But I'll honor your wishes and try to invest in her less. Obviously math was impossible for her after 8pm. BTW- she was on Facebook at 10pm. Go fuck yourself.



Of course, I didn't say any of this to the clueless bastard of a dad. What did I do instead? I emailed the woman in charge of my denomination's reference and referral and asked her to send out my resume across the nation. Agressively.

Yes, I think I might be burnt out.

No! Really?

Today I've decided to take offense at society in general. I turn 33 in two weeks. Apparently 33 is the age that pushes a single woman from being young to being shockingly old for having no family.

Here are three instances that lead to my offense. They all happened in the last 24 hours:

1) I meet a 23 year-old pharmacy student at our college house tonight. I mentioned that I was in my 30's. She looked shocked, as if I said that my right arm was made of wax and chocolate. "NO! Really?...Wow, I wouldn't have guessed that. I would have said you were, like, 27 at most."

Thanks? Being 32 is now something that I need to be comforted over? Those 5 years between 27 and 32 shifted me into a sad, pitied spinster?

2) In a conversation with other college students, we were explaining to someone the new phenomenon of planking. They played this stupid game on "The Office" and now college students take pictures planking everywhere. We decide to get a photo of a girl planking on a chair. I give her tips and tell her where to lay her arms.

Her friend says, "Um, no offense but I was just wondering...now don't take offense to this, but is this something that people did when you were young?"

Me: NO

Her: Then how do you know so much about it?

Me: I watch "The Office" too.

Her: Oooooh.

When I was young? Back in the olden days? Thanks, 21 year-old. Offense taken.



3) My mother. Yes, my mother. The woman who gave birth to me called yesterday:

Her: You have a birthday coming up! In two weeks! What, are you going to be 31?

Me: No, mom. I am turning 33.

Her: Really? Wow. I can't believe that. I guess that I still see you as 27 or 28.

Thanks, mom. Now I know that you will be praying to Jesus about the fact that I will die alone.

I know that 33 is not 21. Yes, at 33 I am a grown woman and I do have limited years to find a husband and have children. Society still sucks. 33 is NOT 40. How did I reach an age that requires strangers and mothers to comfort and pity me? Fuck you, society.

Big changes?

I've officially gotten back "out there." Well, sorta. I've taken the step to go back on the free dating website but am not yet serious enough to pay money for bad dates (from match or eharmony). I've only had my profile back up for a few days.

Last night my ex messaged me on the site. The funk musician ex. It has been 1 1/2 years since we dated and I haven't really looked back since we broke up. Chatting was light and pleasant until he threw out the phrase "I've gone through some big changes lately but I'm still the same guy."

Stupid me. I had about 4 seconds of hope after that phrase. Big changes?

Has he gotten a real job?
Quit smoking pot every day?
Does he have car insurance?
Is he no longer in love with the girl downstairs?

Maybe he has really changed and now he is going to get me back and we will get married and have beautiful intelligent and muscial mixed-race children.

All of that in four seconds. I forgot how much false hope grows out of getting back "out there."

Me: Really? What changes?
Him: Well, I finally finished my masters degree and moved to Asheville

Maybe he has straightened his life out! We won't date, but I now know that people can change!

Me: Awesome! What are you doing in Asheville?
Him: Working in a kitchen and getting to know local musicians.

Oh, the same minimum wage job and loser dreams you had before. Excellent.

Me: I love Asheville. You are lucky. Is it as wonderful as I think it is?
Him: It is a cool city. Everyone here is full of themselves, though. I've also moved around a lot in 6 months. I've had a lot of wierd live-in landlords who were crazy but finally found a 38 year old woman as a landlord.

Whaaaat?

Me: Where do you find these people?
Him: On Craigslist.

Ooooh, that's right. Nothing has changed. You have no credit and don't pay your rent so you are reduced to finding creepy roommate situations on Craigslist until you find a woman to live with that you will secretly fall in love with and never date.

Same job. Same resentful attitude toward society. Same irresponsiblity. Same fucked-up approach to love. Your big change is that you are now an irresponsible loser in a different city.

The ex then tried to arrange a booty call that required me to drive 5 hours to see him. It was offensive on so many levels.

So now I am back out there! The adventures already begin!