Tonight, I write to you from the comfort of a place that is not my computer desk. Why, you ask? Well, my friend, it is because of the grace of the College of Liberal Arts, who decided to rent out, free of charge, 55 stellar laptops to the first 55 CLA students who applied.
I haven’t been extra quiet here on purpose, or maybe I have. I compose about seven thousand entries in my head during the course of the school day, but they all somehow slide out my ears by the time I reach my keyboard. On the drive home today, I wanted to tell you how I was reading Thoreau’s “A Natural History of Massachusetts” and how boring I found it, despite his beautiful language. I wanted to say: while nature itself is majestic and exciting, reading about it is not. Then I was going to tell you about my drive home this afternoon, how the lake was white and frozen, except for a brilliant blue strip cutting through the middle, and how the hills beyond East 4th were glowing pale lemon and apricot, the skeleton of Enger Tower on the highest hill almost blinding in the 4:30 sunshine.
I also wanted to tell you about my Women’s Studies courses and how I feel like my heart is pumping wildly in front of my face, proclaiming, “See? See what you’ve been missing?” I’ve always considered myself a feminist and outspoken about women’s rights, but I had no idea how deeply I felt those convictions until I took these classes. There’s a lot in feminism I don’t agree with, but the core beliefs in it - wow. I feel like a woman who just received her call from Jesus, though I’m not quite sure what that would be like. I want to be a writer and I want to be an actor, but I also want to be an activist, and use both of those former tools for that cause.
I wanted to tell you a million things, from the parties I went to where I mixed my own 7&7s (much sweeter with real 7UP) and engaged in fierce political discussions. I wanted to write about playing Battleship at the coffee house while sipping a turtle mocha with chocolate shavings and listening to Dane and others play jazz on stage. I want to tell you about naps under my cloud comforter, cold arguments about new lovers, frostbitten fingers, two gigantic alien pimples invading my face, stopping on 12th St at 3 AM to throw shredded paper onto the street, my newfound interest in Edgar Allen Poe and his propensity to kill off women.
But instead I’ll just tell you that this laptop fucking rocks, and I think if I had acquired it years ago, I would’ve avoided all the smashed hearts I claimed to have.
You are struck, underneath the ugly words and faces, by his lone figure hunched over the table, spooning red microwave pasta into a white bowl. This image doesn’t come until later, until you are laying back to back in bed with your lover - the flannel tickles your cheek and suddenly: his crouched back, his too-short plaid pajama pants, the red pasta, the white bowl. A complete sadness. You turn over, cover your eyes with your fingers.
Later on, leaning against the doorjamb, a splinter sneaking into your thumb, you think, I hate him. I hate him and I’ve never said that about anyone before.
I hate him, I hate him.
Hi, it’s been a while. And I’m Staind , apparently. I spent the last five days making up for about 20 years of being an antisocial internet nerd. How you ask?
I played a Scotch-induced game of Clue, in which I completely managed to tarnish my Clue Strategist Master title by forgetting to show a card, which is certain death in Clue Cult circles. I also was given a very classy birthday toast of Crown Royal in a fancy flared glass, which resulted in a whiskey-induced Cranium game. I hold no title in Cranium, which is fortunate as instead of answering anything intelligently, I think I just swore a lot and pulled Dane’s hair.
On Saturday, my entire household, plus Dane and Jesse , invaded our town’s midriff-showing-sleazy-frat-boy-infested bar and did what only nerds can do, which is drink pitchers of neon green sugared-down vodka and booty-bump everyone on the dance floor. During that excursion, I managed to give Erik a very astute Kamikaze-induced lecture on shampoo by a pinball machine, spend an hour talking with guy whose opening line to me and Beth was, “Which of you has the real red hair?” - an odd choice for an opening line considering Beth’s hair is neon pink.
The guy claimed to be in law school and then booty-danced with me, all the while lying about his birthdate (not the year, but the month, which is very very strange indeed). That night ended up a bit messy, with my veins filled with sweet Jalapeno poppers and weepiness.
Fortunately, I cured the Stage Four Drunken Blues by celebrating Martin Luther King’s birthday at a friend’s house the next evening. Celebrations included mumbling into purple batteryless walkie-talkies, Jenga on a wobbly table (eventually knocked over by a boy who looked like Hermie the Elf from Rudolph and coincidentally, also wanted to be a dentist), and a two hour game of “let’s get to know each other with these fun questions.”
I won’t be drinking for many months after this as I saw my liver’s life flash before my very eyes.
Today was the first day of school. I want to make sweet love to my classes, and possibly a few people in my classes.
I just took a vitamin. So this update, you could say, was brought to you by 1000% of Vitamin C.
Here’s a sign that I don’t call home enough:
Me: Hi, Mom.
Mom: Hi! (to my dad) Charles, did you call Jenn?
Me: No, Mom, no one called, I’m just calling to say hi.
Mom: Did I call you and forget?
Me: Nope, I’m just calling -
Mom: Are you okay? Is something wrong? Oh, honey -
Me: No, really, I’m fine, I just called to say hi.
Dad: (in background) Is she okay?
Mom: I think so, but I’m not sure. Are you sure you’re fine? Are you sick? Broken heart? Do you need money? WHAT’S WRONG?
Me: I’M FINE, I JUST WANTED TO SAY HI.
Mom: Oh, you just wanted to say hi?
Alright, I believe I’ve tidied up everything I’m going to tidy on the site. For those who were looking for drastic beautiful changes, I’m so sorry to disappoint you this early in the year. I just tweaked each part of the site slightly, so feel free to look around and let me know what’s broken or not to your liking.
. . .
1. My new bed
2. My snazzy Martha Stewart nightstand, which is in fact, not so snazzy at all. The original red polo shirt used as covering has been replaced by a lowcut garishly blue Victoria’s Secret shirt I bought in a moment of blindness.
3. Pretty flowers from my parents
4. Beth with cute hair
While I continue to tidy up zosiablue.com, here’s some fun facts for you:
- For reasons unknown to me, the knees of my recently washed jeans smell like dead skunk.
- For my birthday, a Timothy sent me an e-mail in Finnish, a language, to my knowledge, he doesn’t speak.
- This prompted me to have a dream that I was on the phone with my brother asking him how to pronounce the phrase “cherries jubilee” in Finnish. I have no idea what cherries jubilee is.
- I told my sleeping buddy about that dream when I woke up this morning, which prompted him to excitedly tell me about his dream, which included babies with handlebar mustaches climbing underwater poles.
- My new sheets and comforter for my new bed make me feel like I’m wrestling a cloud.
- One time during a particularly zesty game of Truth or Dare sophomore year, Dane ended up naked and handcuffed to our kitchen table.
- Ten minutes ago I was by myself in Wal-Green’s buying a reading lamp because I decided I needed it right now and it couldn’t wait until morning.
- There is a blackmail-worthy picture of Erik sprawled naked on a couch with a dinner plate engraved with the words “Cookies for Santa” covering his private parts.
- I used to eat whipped cream and honey sandwiches because I was a very very confused teenager.
- Tonight I rented a movie from Blockbuster only because I was returning movies and didn’t know if I could just drop them off in the drop box or if I had to go inside, so I went inside, but suddenly became too shy to just hand the clerk the movies and then walk out again, so I ended up distractedly browsing the aisles until I picked up In the Bedroom , which Chris didn’t want to rent because he said it looked boring, which, despite great acting and good intentions, it was.
- Right now, my hair looks really terrific and sex-kitten like and the only person that will get to see it is my pillow, if pillows are to be considered people.
- I took four years of French and can say one phrase: Je voudrais une menthe a l’eau, which means “I would like a mint water.” I have no idea what a mint water is, but I could guess.
- Last night, Chris and I went outside at 3:30 AM in -15 degree cold without coats for the sole purpose of beating the dust out of my bedroom rug.
- I was an extra in the movie First Kid for one day.
- Freshman year, Corina and I stole a bottle of vodka from a frat house and consequently, Corina sat on my dorm bed puking while I fed her my roommate’s cereal from a baggie.
- Once, before we were dating or even good friends, Chris called and yelled at me for leaving in the middle of our IM conversation. I hung up on him and then called him back and yelled at him for yelling at me.
- I have really fat big toes. We’re talking obese.
- I am Martha Stewart because I just made a nightstand out of an old plastic storage bin, a stolen red polo t-shirt from Erik’s closet and my American and British Literature books.
- I just now couldn’t remember how to spell “Stewart.”
- Today I ate: a half a bagel, four slices of mushroom pizza, Cheddar Jack Cheez-Its and ten gummy worms.
The gummy worms were a birthday present, given along with a Penthouse Forum
With that, I’m off to sleep in my cloud.
This may just be a cheap way to mention my birthday, but I’ve decided what I really want for my birthday is for Chris to be a Mogwai, specifically Gizmo. There was a Gremlins-watching party in Duluth these past few days, and I will never turn back. I have Mogwai wallpaper and a Mogwai-imprinted heart.
I’m not big into birthdays, but this year, I’m in Duluth in an entirely empty house for the weekend (please, don’t burgle me), so I feel a tad bit lonely, which may or may not translate as “desperate for attention.” I keep making up spectacular movie montage fantasies in my head. I hear cars outside on the street and when I peek out my blinds, I expect to see not only the Vienna Boys Choir angelically singing Happy Birthday, but sparkling backlit fountains and Rockettes in cute matching earmuff-and-mitten sets.
However, I’m a low maintenance girl, so birthdays are just another day to me, which may or may not be a sweet sweet lie I’m telling myself tonight. I’ve already received the sweetest presents yet, which are a beautiful flower arrangement from my parents, a 12:03 AM birthday wish from Timothy , a treat to a movie from Abbey and the rental of a comfortable slept-in rockstar-scented blanket for my new bed from Chris , which arrives tomorrow.
My brain does want to throw me into a tarry hole of self-pity, however, by whining, “You’re 22 and what have you done! Nothing, foolish mortal, nothing!” And I say back to my brain, “Shut up and get this scotch to the appropriate cells.”
All in all, the hour and 17 minutes of my birthday so far has been calm, peaceful and cold, as my bedroom shuns heat. I’ll be working on the site this weekend, no lies. Godspeed.
Addendum, 3:05 AM: I take back the loneliness. The rockstar himself just completely surprised the hell out of me by driving straight from his gig in St. Cloud to be with me on my birthday. I am giddy, and he is wonderful.
Hi, hi, hi. I’m very much alive and in Duluth. This site is a wreck right now, but this week is housecleaning, both digital and real, so everything will be shiny shiny shiny by the weekend. Don’t abandon me quite yet.
Playthings:
I play with the effects on my new camera: sparkly me , sparkly half-eaten dog (bigger files).
Also: I ordered a bed! No more huge blank wooden space in my room and no more sleeping on my couch. Also: Sunny Wicked at the Fine Line in Minneapolis, January 6th, 8 PM. Go to the Fine Line website to print a comp ticket, and make sure to circle Sunny Wicked. I’ll be there chatting incessantly about my new bed. You’re welcome to tap me on the shoulder and then we can flip for who buys who a drink. Also: last night, I had a dream that Mark , whom I’ve never met, did exactly that.
. . .
The site is going to be on a sort of hiatus until January 7th or so, when I get back up to Duluth. The changes I want to make on the site just aren’t possible on this broken down molasses-slow computer in Virginia.
Guess what. Of course, the first thing I want to say to you is HAPPY NERD YEAR, as we yell around these parts. But I am the ultimate nerd, as I found a way to update at this time of night. Tomorrow I will have a new archiving system and the rest of my site neat as button, but tonight I wanted to to say: listen, I may be slightly drunk on Wu Wus and Rum Runners, but I am absolutely grateful to be alive. Absolutely grateful, you hear me? I have had an amazing New Year’s, full of hip happenin’ parties and enough liquor to last me until the end of time.
I kissed someone at midnight, but it wasn’t the person who was on my mind - my lounging buddy , as much as we’ve been through, was the only person truly on my rum lips. When I walked out of the party tonight, in my favourite gray sweater and jeans, the Virginia rain soaked my red hair and pale skin, and I’ve never been so thankful to be a part of a new year. I hope this year is wonderful for you and for me.
Look for my Year in Review tomorrow, and a million exciting things. Hugs to all of you. Thanks for sticking with me this past year.
