The Windows To My Soul

The eyes are the windows to our souls. Or so they say.

My eyes are impaired, bloodshot, teary and have these weird discoloured spots on the whites, between the iris and the inner corner. My right eye has a freckle in it, right in the middle of the green/grey/blue.

I’m not sure if that gives anyone any sort of insight on the depth of my inner being.

All it indicates to me is that I’m clearly exhausted, I can’t afford glasses, I probably suffer from early-onset glaucoma and the first lines of this song make me pine away for my imaginary freckle-eyed soul-mate:

Windows into my soul, however, would more likely be…

My Style Boho-Shabby-Chic meets Fat-Assed-Single-Walmart-Welfare-Casserole-Mom. (Old habits die hard)

My favourites:

Naked – David Sedaris, Life Among The Savages Shirley Jackson, My Family And Other Animals – Gerald Durrell

Red and Pink

Foods: Sushi and Mexican

Dogs: Squishy-Faced Droolers (Boxers, Bostons, Bulldogs etc…)

Televisions shows: Weeds, Mad Men, True Blood, and Echo: An Elephant to Remember (I cried like a baby)

Season: Fall (even though it makes me cry)

Lovers: Joe Manganiello, Ryan Kwanten,Russell Brand, Alexander Skarsgård, Emma Stone, Jon Stewart, Jack Black… what?

My observations:

To my boyfriend:
“Is it just me or are the people who don’t find me funny kind of stupid?”

My Blurts:

Thing 3: Mom, was I a mistake?

Me: More like the immaculately conceived spawn of Satan.

My bank account: Empty

My discoveries:
…in preparation to move from my apartment last week, i was packing up my sex toys, and among the vibrators and massage oils I found an IKEA catalogue.

This blog post has been interrupted by my sudden realization that my soul might be lost and I will be sending out for search and rescue – effective immediately. I’ll be sure to let you know how that pans out…

Jennifer June

I’m Cheating On You And Other Forms Of Useless Blackmail

Me: So are you coming over tonight?

Boyfriend: I have to keep working on this track for blah blah blah and I have to polish up the sample pack for boodittybooblahbooregefad and…

Me: I know this isn’t the best time to tell you but I’m cheating on you and I’m sorry but I am probably not going to stop.

Boyfriend: You’re watching True Blood now? While you’re talking to me?

Me: I’m just saying…

Boyfriend: Didn’t you already watch that episode 5 times yesterday?

Me: I knew you wouldn’t understand.

Oh by the way, I talked to that guy in blah blah blah and he wants to put together a video for blah blah blahblhablafksalfdhasrfhajkf and…

ME: I’m not coming back from Sweden when I go. I’m going to hunt down the family of Alex Skarsgård and bribe them to arrange our marriage…

Boyfriend: which is cool because I only have to…

Me: I’ll probably have his babies and I wanted you to hear it from me first so…

Am I talking to myself?

Me: Hmm? No, I heard you. You have to change the BPM if you want blah blah blah…

K, I should get back to work.

Me: I should get back to cheating on you.

Boyfriend: Have fun with that.

Jennifer June

True Dat

I confess.

The reason why I missed days and weeks of blogging is because I submitted myself to my most dangerous blog research experiment to date.

True Blood.

There, I said it and I honestly felt the weight lift off me with each word. I feel safe now, less alone.

“Why Jen?” You might ask.

“What were you thinking?”

Well,  I was thinking I might find the answer to why every time I make light of the show or (heaven forbid) dis it in any way, my friends and acquaintances turn on me, gnashing their terrible teeth and roaring their terrible roars.

“SHUT UP! True Blood is the best show ever and you don’t even know what you’re talking aboutandifyoueverwatchedityouwouldknowthatyouf$&#*YRH#@!!!!”

I figured that anything that causes grown adults to react this way over a silly HBO special was worth investigating.

So I did it. I downloaded all three seasons. And what I discovered was that True Blood is basically, for all intents and purposes,  crusty accents, weak acting and really gory yet soft vampire/human/shifter/werewolf  porn.

The first episode was unbearable. I had to stop it 27 times to get snacks, play with the cat, pretend to pick my boyfriend’s nose etc…

I turned the second episode off 1/3 of the way through because I couldn’t take it any more.

I returned to the show the following afternoon and the next thing you know, I was watching it day and night and day and night and day and night.

I didn’t eat. I barely slept and when I did I dreamed of Sookie and Bill and Lafayette.

I’m not sure if it was the sleep deprivation or malnourishment but I felt sick when I watched it, literally nauseous. Yet I couldn’t turn it off.

As my addiction grew, my body adapted accordingly. I’m pretty sure my ears grew tiny protective hairs in them  to block out the sound of Bill wheezing/coughing “Suukè!” every time he talks to her.

Speaking of Sookie, can somebody tell me how a woman reaches the age of 25 without ever having heard of hepatitis?

Oh and speaking of Sookie being 25 and Bill being two billion years old and their sex being the only sex that was totally unbelievable on the whole show because there is no obvious chemistry; how hilarious is it that those two are actually married in real life?

I’m not squeamish but I find the amount of blood shed in each episode overkill.  And honestly, after having 12 blood transfusions, it’s hard for me to see drinking blood as sexy. It doesn’t freak me out but it looks about as sexy as drinking a bucket of saline solution in my world.

Speaking of sexy, the sex in the first few episodes was SO BAD and BORING it made me want to cry. They all must have taken porn lessons before season 2 started up because that’s around when I got hooked. It’s also around the time that Coco joined in on my obsession with me.

“Don’t watch it while I’m at school! Promise!”

She and I both concluded that the high points of the show included Lafayette, seeing  Eric Northman naked, understanding most of the Swedish and thinking for almost an entire episode that Sookie was finally dead.

Low points are too numerous to list but certainly include chronic continuity issues, Stephen Moyer, (aka Bill Compton) covering up his sexy British accent,  scads of virtual bestiality, hearing the term “fang banger” 890,987,095 times and finding out that Sookie was still alive.

Did I learn to love the show? Not even a little bit.

Did I feel like my umbilical cord was being cut when season 3 abruptly ended?


Was this feeling accompanied with a deep sense of relief?


Did I figure out why it’s so addictive?

Nope. I guess it’s like MSG that way.

If there is one thing I have learned from subjecting myself to this tragic episodic series it’s that I am not even remotely opposed to birthing Alexander Skarsgård’s beautiful little Swedish babies.

Oh! and also, that True Blood addicts fans are maniacal, brainwashed lunatics.

Oh! Plus that if you watch enough episodes back to back without leaving the house or sleeping you also feel like your eyes are bleeding.

Så ja lilla gubben… kom till mamma.

Jennifer June