“…Though it was fantastic love, though it was never applied to anything human in reality….there was so much of this love that one did not feel afterwards even the impulse to apply it in reality; that would have been superfluous."
at home in ohio on christmas morning, i’m tinkering with my computer, looking to track down a top 100 list of science fiction books to expand my collection. i come across the time machine, and i smile and laugh and ask my bookworm family if they think h.g. wells would be a good read.
my aunt chimes in, “yeah, she wrote some pretty good books.”
i look up and blink at her.
my mother adds, “well, surely you know h.g. wells is a woman.”
“yes, i know that. but how do you know that?”
and that’s how i found out my entire family became warehouse 13 nerds while i wasn’t looking.
My grandparents have had an extra car for several years now that they’d been leaving in one place to use when they commute back and forth between their two houses cross-country. It’s this little old Saturn. It barely sees the light of day. I’ve had my eye on it for a while, but they’ve never said they were interested in letting it go.
Last week, I got an email completely out of the blue from my grandmother asking me if I was still interested in it (they’re selling one of their houses). After two years of waiting, they were finally ready to get rid of it.
YESTERDAY I called my grandmother to ask her for some more details on it so I could figure out how much it was setting me back, and she said that because I had been patient, and honest, and hadn’t been taking full advantage of their college trust fund, that I could have the car.
So, long story short I don’t have a license or insurance, but… I have a frelling free car.
And that was what I wanted to share. Feel free to resume your regularly scheduled tumbling.
Bless you all. I have a pretty epic queue set up for the next day or two. Since apparently internet people fail and don’t like to show up when you pay them to, and like to give you crap about installations and speak barely discernible English and make you sit on the phone with customer service because they screwed up and now this is turning into a rant. I didn’t mean for it to be a rant.
My name is Jennifer. Jen for short. The only person who ever escaped alive from calling me Jenny was my 6th grade advanced curriculum teacher (and that was because I finally gave up). I was born in a midwest American town to a school psychologist and a college graduate of the dying trade of home economics. My two younger sisters were born when I was 4 and 8, respectively. They were–and are still–some of the most amazing, brilliant, almost sickeningly talented women I know.
My parents went through a complete 180 during my rearing; at first my mother was the indulgent one, and my father the authoritarian, and one day they seemed to wake up to a new way of looking at things. Not that I minded. As we grew to a schoolin’ age, Mom would bring home arts and crafts, make homemade lasagna and teach us how to bake and paint and rollerskate. Dad would read trivia books aloud to us, bring us photos from the Hubble telescope, encourage us to think outside the box of what we learned in church or school.
My education, especially high school, was sort of a love-hate experience. I was homeschooled until I was 7, and I skipped the first grade, so I was always a year and a half behind all the other kids. Got me a hardy lifelong complex from that. Went to a performing arts high school. Caught the theatre bug, bad. Discovered fandom (and the epic relationships therein). Lost friends I’d known most of my life when I found out they weren’t real great people to begin with. Replaced ‘em with a few that wedged their way into my heart for keeps, after I had an epiphany during lunch hour one day junior year.
“Hey guys?” I remember saying directly into my plate of french fries. “Yeah, Jen?” “I think I might be a lesbian.” Without missing a beat, B. raises her eyebrow and replies, “Really?” “Yeah.” “Sounds good to me.”
Can’t ask for a better reception than that.
University numero uno turned out to have only three good things about it: my dear friend Ari, Ani DiFranco, and Lesbian Pool Night. Everything else was utter shite. I didn’t meet a single other person I fit in with, the classes were early and often and colossal in enrollment, and at that point I was so addicted to World of Warcraft it was a wonder I wasn’t suffering from a vitamin D deficiency. It’s worth noting, also, that I had already met and properly seduced the woman I would eventually be shopping at IKEA with. But she lived 300 miles away, naturally tacking on another layer of depression. I digress, though (she deserves her own essay anyway).
After I discovered that perhaps spending my parents’ hard earned money to attend a school where the only things I hauled my despairing ass out of bed for were sandwiches was probably not the best idea ever, I came home.
When my brain came round to the idea of learnin’ again the next year, I moved to North Carolina to turn my long-distance relationship into a roll-over-and-say-'hi!’ relationship. We lived in her parents’ house, I got myself a shiny Vespa, a seasonal job at GameStop that turned into a steady job at GameStop, and a half-finished college education (that yes, I do actually plan to continue).
The latter two led to my now flourishing geekery; up to and including: anime, tabletop games, action RPGs, LEGO structures, and my ever growing subconscious catalogue of pop culture references.
Nowadays, I live in a cosy little apartment with my better half of nearly five years, with a lifetime supply of ramen in the pantry, a dozen obscure graphic tees in the closet, and–best of all–a kitchen in which no one stares at me whilst I make toast. I have a promising future which feels like a long, drawn out Thursday night: the good part’s almost here, but I probably have to get some sleep first.
Last weekend was amazing, no joke. I took a lot of chances, got a lot of payback, made a few more friends, had an out-of-body-fandom-colliding experience, was hugged twice by famous ladies, saw a Kiwi I had no idea I’d see, got drunk three nights in a row, and got flashed by a Canadian. While sitting next to a slew of businessmen on their way to the airport.
So, here I am, up at late o'clock in the morning, thinking about life and circumstances and choosing now to make some kind of inaugural thinky thoughts post.
I don’t talk a lot about myself or my personal life on my blog, because I don’t think that I am the focal point of a lot of what goes on in it. I am, however, in a bit of a mixed up place Life Decisions-wise and maybe in lieu of psychotherapy (for which I have zero dollars) I can have you lot.