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

From here to nowhere in 3 days…

Not that I think my life is a T.V. show or anything but…

After 2 24 hour days straight of packing the hell out of my house because I can’t deal with the on going harassment of my landlords a minute longer, I shower, make some tea and curl up on the couch to finally watch Monday night’s episode of Weeds.

During this week’s show, Mama packs up her kids because the middle child had brutally murdered (or clubbed to death with a croquet mallet) a crazy Mexican mafia crime boss lady.

What? Jen! That’s nuts! That’s like totally what Thing Two did like… last week!

I know right?

Basically, the whole family, much like my own, had to give up their entire lives, friends, identities etc… to start afresh and begin their new lives, secretly running from Mama’s crazed baby-daddy and his entire mob of muscle (and guns) and, of course, the FBI.

All of this is so eerily similar to us moving all of our stuff into storage and then staying with friends and family or whoever will have us (any takers?) for the next week or two while renovations on the new place are finished OR the co-op of our dreams calls with a deal we can’t refuse. With the exception of the Botwins Newmans not having a dog, a cat and a siamese fighting fish in tow of course but then we also don’t have the totally irresponsible and a bit too skinny yet strangely sexy uncle Andy Crap… I can’t remember his new name. Rog.. Randy? Randy. Of course, Randy Newman.

So after we watch the riveting 20 minutes of crime, chaos and all around family melt down, I send the kids to bed. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Thing Three completely turns on me and starts giving me what-for.

Apparently she has had enough of all this destabilizing moving nonsense and finds it unfair that while she has friends who are still living in the homes their ancestors were born and raised in, I have uprooted her one too many times and this is the last straw!

“Yesterday my teacher asked me to fill out my medical form and when I asked him what to put for an address, since I’m homeless AGAIN, he thought I was joking and laughed at me!!!”

She ranted about living out of backpacks and something else about where her fish was going to live and perhaps a word or two about social services or youth protection.

I gently pointed out that we aren’t technically homeless and that escaping high rent and hateful landlords isn’t exactly the same as running from murder charges and drug lords but still…

“And my back hurts!!”

I rubbed her back and reminded her that for the last 6 months she has been begging me to move so she could be closer to her friends and the skate park.

“You’re pretty irresponsible to have gotten us into this mess!”

And because we aren’t allowed to scream and cry, “Oh yeah? Well do you have any idea how hard this is for ME?” much less throw our kids out the window, I put on my best mommy voice and consoled her. I validated her feelings and talked her down for at least a minute before starting to feel attacked.

“Sweetie, I know this all feels a bit destabilizing and I understand that it’s hard for you. I need you to remember that it’s temporary and I’m your mom and I am doing what is best for our family and I am trying to do it in a way that is as quick and painless as possible”

“Well you’re obviously not trying hard enough!!”

“OK, good night.”

Because I’m exhausted and drained have lost perspective entirely, but mostly because I’m immature, I look to Thing Two for validation.

Thing Two: “She’s totally being dramatic. It’s not a big deal. It’s not even that stressful”

Me: “It is stressful honey but it’s not like we’re moving into a refrigerator box”

Thing Two: “Well it’s only stressful because of all the things we have to do to help”

Me: “We? I have packed every single box and bag myself without an ounce of help. What have I made you and your sister do exactly?”

Thing Two:”Well, nothing…”

She dangles her head and right arm off the couch and without taking an eye off the television for even a millisecond.

“But just the idea that you might at some time possibly ask us to do something to help is pretty stressful mom.”

I went in my room and had a little meltdown of my own. For a moment I wished we really were on the run, because I wouldn’t have to pack any of this crap, I could just leave it all behind and go, with my kids, the dog, the cat, the fish, a few pairs of my favorite shoes and… Oh yeah, another thing Nancy Botwin Nathalie Newman are has that I don’t… a vehicle.

But, discounting the fact that she has a van, and a slightly more defined jaw line, Nancy Botwin Nathalie Newman and I are basically the same person.

Jennifer June

Minus the drug lords and the death threats that is…

I did a great job of organizing my agenda this week. I’m trying to give myself a chance to rest and recover but also set one or two reasonable goals for each day of this week and somehow, even though we are only Tuesday, I’m already behind.

I blame you Nancy Botwin!

Weeds. Is anybody else as hopelessly addicted to this show as I am? I went through 2 and 1/2 seasons since Saturday! This has to stop or my poor children will have to start foraging for food out in the alley.

Not only do I want to do nothing more with my waking moments, then act as as a voyeur to the entire California suburb of Agrestic, or at least it’s starring cast, but I actually want to be Mary-Louise Parker’s character.
We already have so much in common.

We are both widowed single mothers of disrespectful bold faced teenagers, plagued by bill collection and disconnection threats (well, she was in Season one anyway…) and…um..and we’re both brunette…ish.

No, I don’t have her amazing house, pool with a mini waterfall, Land Rover, or the MAID but I aspire to.
No, I didn’t accidentally marry a DEA agent at an Elvis church in Vegas, impulsively have crazy hot sex with a dealer in an alley, on the hood of a car, mere moments after he threatened to kill me and my family and I didn’t accidentally get myself all tangled up in human trafficking mess but let’s not fuss over little details.

It’s not that the constant state of stress she is in that appeals to me, I already have that. I’m on the eternal search for Zen and tranquility. Hence the 13 yoga DVD’s, 16 different herbal teas and remedies and the mountain of detox/destress/self help books that chaotically litter my apartment.

But I can relate to it.

I can relate to coming home to find the phone disconnected and wondering where I am going to find the money to pay it.

I can relate to sitting at an intersection, banging my head on the steering wheel and crying to the universe “What am I doing???”

I can relate to staring at my children, through my 4th glass of wine and realizing that I have absolutely no control of them whatsoever, and that if I wasn’t on my 4th glass of wine I would probably be hyperventilating into a paper bag, while my family’s doom future flashes before my eyes.

Now if only I could look as sexy and adorable as Nancy Botwin doing it. She is sensitive and sweet but ballsy and bad ass at the same time. Who doesn’t want to be all that?

I’m not saying I want to deal drugs on the sly, to pay the tuition at my kid’s school, I’m just saying that there is something kind of sexy about it.

The bigger thing is that despite the general scenario basically going against my basic values and principles, it still excites me. Oh the shame.

What is it with these shows that I plan to hate because they emit negative energy and condition people to think that wrong is not so bad?
Why do I end up not only watching, liking loving them but completely addicted to them? Damn you Weeds, Dexter, Mad Men! You creepy disturbing, temptresses. Shame on all of you and Damn you straight to hell!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to cut this post short because season 3 just finished downloading My agenda is calling and I have some shit to take care of.

Jennifer June