So my latest obsession – Mad Men – has brought on this latest post. With each passing episode, I am learning that Don Draper (the show’s protagonist) is a huge, huge slut. I talk about 16 women in this post alone, and I’m not even up to Season 5 yet. I’m also learning that the women around him – women who are breaking stereotypes by entering into the workforce mind you – are also huge, huge sluts. Susan B. Anthony must be rolling in her grave watching these “ladies” behave! In additional to the constant fornication going on throughout each episode, it’s unbelievable to me that these professionals can drink hard liquor throughout the day, have several extra-marital affairs throughout the evening, and still make it home to kiss their wives good night.
Oh, how Don loves his women. And when I say “love”, I use that term loosely. After all, Don doesn’t feel love. He believes it’s something he invented to sell nylons. I would use my many Psychology classes to classify him as a serial cheater, who was perhaps even scarred for life by his prostitute mother (who died in child birth) and mean-spirited cheater of a father. Who knows, maybe he even inherited a cheating gene, causing him to cross every woman he encounters. Actually, I take that back. I’m not excusing all his terrible behavior with a simple, “Poor Don, it’s probably not his fault.” I’m not giving this guy any wiggle room here. His many, many hoes give him enough of that already.
I was elated to see the above e-card because it proves that there are others out there who feel the same way I do: 50 Shades of Grey is really 50 shades of effed up. If you haven’t read the books – aka housewife pornography – or seen the movie, you may be slightly lost. Then again, if you’ve watched any sort of dominant porn in your life, you can follow along just fine.
Christian Grey, 27-year-old billionaire (because millionaire would be too ordinary) takes a shining to poor, little Anastasia Steele. Not because she’s beautiful (she’s not), not because she’s special (she’s not), but because she is mousy, quiet, and introverted, with an unusual amount of sexual inexperience. She’s the type of girl that’s doe-eyed and eager to please, which are perfect submissive qualities in a dominant/submissive “relationship.”
Naturally this 21-year-old virgin who’s possibly never been kissed falls straight in love with this gorgeous, strapping, never-been-seen-with-a-female corporation owner. It probably doesn’t hurt that he’s buying her affection with a brand new 2015 Audi R8 and an invitation to live in his 5,100-square-foot custom-designed penthouse apartment.
Once Ana signs a contract – a contract – that basically legally allows Christian to beat the shit out of her and rape her on a daily basis, he will essentially own her. Well, well, that doesn’t sound very Christian-like at all, does it? Which brings me to the point of this post. Instead of focusing on how 50 Shades of Grey is hot and steamy and something to yearn for, shouldn’t we be thinking, Holy shit, am I really reading/seeing this?
Lately I’ve been trying to save money so that I’m not completely broke before I hit thirty. In my efforts to not break the bank, I’ve learned that I have two modes: I Am The World’s Greatest Saver and Never Have to Spend Money on Anything Ever Again Because I’m Just So Zen with Living Off of the Earth & Fuck This Shit, Where’s My Credit Card?
My Zen Mode: On the days I am Zen Jen, I truly believe that I can save 97% of my paycheck. Food? Pshh, what’s that? Clothing? I’ll wear the clothes I bought in junior high. Shoes? I’ll walk barefoot in the snow 5 miles uphill. I check over my finances and physically cannot understand how I am seeing the amount of red charges on my screen. There must be some kind of mistake. Maybe my card was stolen. $8.07 for a salad at Prett? $39.45 for a tank top at Ann Taylor? $29.99 for a phone case from Amazon? No, no, no. Completely unacceptable. Never. Happening. Ever. Again.
My Credit Card is on Fire Mode: On the days I couldn’t be further from zen, I basically act as though I am single-handedly keeping the United States Stock Market afloat. I purchase everything from chewing gum (even though I have a huge box from Costco) to heels (which I will never ever ever wear) to exercise clothes (if you’ve read this blog even once you know that’s just laughable). I’ll buy a Groupon for a new restaurant, book a massage at a local spa, or sign up for Amazon Prime because, hello, who doesn’t like free 2-day shipping?
I sit and think to myself Why should I hold myself back from living my life? Do I work to live or live to work? (Also a very easy answer if you’ve read this blog.) Do I really want to eat frozen lunches every afternoon and skip the caffeinated Starbucks’ Caramel Macchiato that could very well save someone’s life when it enhances my mood significantly? I can’t imagine being one of those people who dies with a huge bank account and no plane miles under my belt, designer bags on my arm, or expensive perfume on my neck. What’s the point of going to a job day after day to earn a paycheck, yet all the while denying myself the tiny luxuries that make me not want to kill myself – I mean, um, the tiny luxuries that make my day better?
In the end, I have basically decided that the only healthy way to live is to be a mix of both Zen and Fire. If you are always frugal, you will not only be unhappy, but you’ll also get a reputation among your friends as the cheap, boring one who never comes out or gets anyone birthday gifts. If you are always quick-with-the-card, you’ll be in debt up to your eyeballs and will constantly have anxiety when every paycheck is spent before it’s even in your grubby little palm. Plus you’ll probably be a little fatter if you’re anything like me.
My actual boyfriend, Mark, and I went to Trader Joe’s after a coworker of mine suggested I try out their frozen lunch section. I had been telling her that I’d like to stop spending $6+ a day on lunch, without actually having to stop eating. She was heating up a Trader Joe’s pad thai lunch at the moment, and shared her enlightened ways with me as the smell of her delicious noodles wafted their way into my nostrils.
Needless to say, my copycat butt was in Trader Joe’s the very next weekend. With Mark watching in astonishment – which is kind of nuts, considering he Continue reading →
Years ago, my friend Ellie used to work with a cute, quiet, tech guy named Justin. They never actually spoke to one another, but two years ago, Justin got Ellie’s email address from a mutual friend, and told her that he’s always had a huge crush on her. After chatting for a few days, he told Ellie that he really wanted to wine and dine her and get to know her. She finally agreed to meet up with him late last week after work at 9:30PM.
When she got to the bar, she found out that he had been waiting for her for four hours! Apparently he had convinced his friend to go out and wait with him. When Justin went to the bathroom, his friend told Ellie how nervous he was to see her, how much he liked her, how he insisted they wait for her, etc.
Usually this kind of thing would be a turn off for Ellie, but since she’s trying to give “nice guys” a chance, she chose to see it as adorable and charming, instead. They started talking, and actually began hitting it off.
About an hour into the conversation, Justin says, “We just moved to Dumbo, Brooklyn.”
“Who’s ‘we’,” Ellie asked, confused. A roommate? A family member?
Senior year of college, after four years of sleeping together, Ellie saw John in a local bar (where he now worked). After a few drinks, John asked Ellie if she wanted to go back to his place to hook up. A few minutes later, they were driving back to his house. Halfway through the car ride, John received a text message.
All of a sudden, he started slurring his words and acting wildly drunk.
Are you okay?” Ellie asked him, seeing that he was tipsy at best just a minute earlier.
“Yeah, I’m fine!” John drunkenly yelled, and stuck his head out of her sunroof.
When they pulled up to his house and walked through the door, a girl, Marie, sat on the couch in the living room.
“Hi John,” she said coldly, and gave Ellie a death stare.
A friend of mine told me a horrifying story last week that put many of my bad dates to shame. Every time I thought my jaw couldn’t drop any further, a new detail shocked me again.
Back in freshman year of college, Ellie, a really pretty, petite girl, had her eye on a hot junior, John, who lived down the hall in her co-ed dorm. The two started making out at a party in his room, and before she knew it, everyone was gone and it was just the two of them. Things got hot and heavy, and they ended up naked on his bed with the lights off. That’s when he got up to get a condom.
When he got back on top of her with the condom, she opened her eyes to a terrifying sight — the naked guy sitting on her WAS NOT JOHN. Continue reading →
If you read this blog, you know that I am not exactly the most upbeat person in the world. I’m not a Debbie Downer or anything, but I tend to have a pessimistic or, as I like to call it, a realistic view of what I see around me. I’m sorry that I can’t view a flat tire as an opportunity to be outdoors for a beautiful sunset. I can’t see having a job as a reason not to complain about a terrible commute. And I can’t stop myself from wanting to smack whoever can see the good in horrible situations.
That being said, my boyfriend, Mark, and I took our dog, Abel, hiking this weekend. After a two-hour hike to a beautiful lake, I thought, Yes, I can finally rest on the shore and EAT. However, instead of seeing a big, open space and stunning view of the lake I have seen so many times before, I saw what can only be described as a tribe of women. “Why a tribe, Jen? Why not a group?” you might ask. These chicks had lines and symbols painted across their faces and bodies, and they were standing in a circle, chanting. So, yeah, I’m going with “tribe.” Continue reading →
Can you meet a guy at a car meet? I say, why the heck not? Think about it: A guy goes to a bar…why? To meet a girl. But there are 25 guys and 238,978,274,893 girls, most of whom want a husband. The competition alone is enough to make you want to set your extensions on fire. BUT a car meet is made up of 99% guys and only 1% girls! That’s virtually no competition at all. Aka the best place in the entire world to meet someone!
This past weekend I sat and listened to 5 guys (one of which was my boyfriend, Mark) discuss cars for two hours straight. I turned to the person next to me and asked, “Do they always talk about cars?” He said, “Well, to be fair. They all love cars and when guys get together they’re going to talk about what they love.”
It got me thinking: What do girls talk about when we get together? Oh yeah — we talk about our guys who only talk about cars. Continue reading →
I’m trying to decide if I love or hate the idea of a themed-wedding. And when I say “themed,” I don’t mean vintage, rustic, or floral, I mean themed. I came upon an article on the knot, showing how a bride went all-out for her Disney wedding. In other words she may or may not have topped Ariel, herself.
Things I loved:
1. Her bright red hair (duh) and seashell clip-in.
2. The fact that her husband actually participated in this.
This post is inspired by a JenAndMen reader, who I’ll call Michelle, who wrote me the following message:
I’m going through a divorce and all my friends are married with kids. Can I just go to a bar by myself? Is that Lame Sauce or A-OK? Love your blog!
This is a really great topic to debate about: Is it okay to go to a bar alone? I’m going to say “No” — and not just because of the lameness factor. I have compiled a list because (a) it’s easy to read and (b) it’s really fun for me to both compile lists and use the word “compile” on a daily basis.
1. Bars are filled with horny, possibly crazy people…who now have access to alcohol. I honestly just don’t think it’s safe for a chick to go to a bar all by her lonesome. I mean, if the night goes really well, and you end up meeting a guy, who’s going to be able to tell the sketch artist what he looked like if you should suddenly go missing when he walks you to your car?
2. Who’s gonna distract the ugly friends? It’s also good to a have a wing-woman with you — someone to keep the gross friend or friends busy while you mack it to the guy you like. Guys think having a wingman is where it’s at. They haven’t met me as a wing-woman, yet.
One of my best friends, Marie, texted me, infuriated. “It’s not us, it’s THEM!” She proceeded to tell me a story about the guy she’s dating, Max, and what just occurred.
Max couldn’t figure out how to upload the photos from his phone onto his computer (why, no one knows), so he asked Marie for her help. While she plugged it in and did it for him, she obviously watched the pictures begin to upload onto the screen. Continue reading →
Let’s talk about Oscar speeches, shall we? It seems like every winner I see get up there grows a damn beard while making his/her speech! I don’t know about you, but about 10 seconds and 10 “I wouldn’t be here without [insert unknown name]” proclamations, I pretty much pray for the Oscar gods to start playing their legendary “Get your ass off the stage” music. Yet…sometimes…they…don’t.
I just can’t understand how someone can literally believe that anyone besides their own mother would actually care enough about them to listen to them thank every person they’ve ever come across since birth. Let’s list all the winners I don’t care to listen to: Continue reading →