It seems like everyone these days has written a book. I just never thought I'd be writing mine.

Chick Lit. The newest craze. Started, by either Candace Bushnell or the Bridget Jones' Diary...I'm not sure which. Today, as I was standing in Barnes and Noble, trying to buy a "fun" book for a friend and looking for one which would cause her to say "Oh My God! That's Us!" I realized there isn't one that's us. Or at least me. Often times in the last two years I've read "Chick Lit" or seen shows and thought, "If I wrote a book about my last two years, people would be crying, laughing and trying to figure out Fact or Fiction." However, Bandwagon jumping has never been my forte. I was always one to root for the underdog and then, once I a sufficiantly cheered them on to the brink of victory, I'd jump off the wagon and choose, the underdog. Perhaps it is this exact train of thought that has doomed me from the start. Perhaps it is this pattern in my life that has me sitting down and writing my story, our stories. Somehow I guess, I'm looking for validation in that someone might read this and go, "Oh My God! That's Us!" Then at least my friends and I will know we aren't alone.

I think my biggest reason is to keep women from turning out like me. I, like other friends of mine and possibly lots of women all over, loved to play make-believe growing up. I remember being upstairs with my friends, pretneding I was a successful business woman, with a terrific boyfriend, a great car and a nice apartment. We picked names we wished we'd had, picked famous people to look like, who our boyfriends would be, and how old we were. I was ALWAYS 25. It just seemed old and sophisticated. Sometimes I had kids and was married, some times not. My friends and I would meet at a bar after work. Some how, at 12 or so, that's just always how it played out. We'd catch up and our boyfriends would join us later. Life was wonderful at 25. As least, that's what I thought when I was 12.

As I got older, and approached 25, I began to feel a bit disappointed. I was living in a great townhouse and had a pretty decent job. Not a great car, but I didn't pay for it and it ran. I had a non-boyfriend I couldn't admit to because, even though in hindsight I loved him then, he was still attached to someone else and we hadn't admitted to ourselves that what we were doing really resembled a relationship. It just wasn't completely the way I planned it in my head, when I was 12.

Twenty-five came and went. I began to get over my disappointment because I was happy and in love. It still wasn't perfect, but the only thing that wasn't great was the car. I decided I could live with that.

The thing we forgot to "pretend" when we were 12 was the "boyfriend" you are in love with leaves you for another woman because she's pushier than you are and he has no tolerance for static in his life. We didn't play out scenarios that included packing up a house and quitting a job because you are devestated and it takes every ounce of your being to even get out of bed to pee. Let alone moving back in with your parents and "floundering" in a job for 2 years while falling into a routine less exciting that your grandparents have.

At 12, it didn't occur to us our "closest" friends would not live close enough for a short weekend stay, let alone to meet at the bar every night after work. Or that what we would talk about would be our friends who were divorced or having marital problems, their kids (or lack of and for what reasons) and how our job was just a job and not a passion instead of how fantastic our boyfriends were, when we would marry, our perfect job that just gave us a raise and the fabulous dinner party we should have the following week.

I think I still hold out for my life to play out like a movie. Nice, then crap, then nice again. I wait for Prince Charming, Harry Burns, Edward Lewis, or (just for Kare) my Doug Doresy. For that moment, at the end of the movie, or the end of the book, when the heroine's life - job and love fall into place. I'm willing to work for the evil stepmother, have Joe marry someone else, get slapped by my boyfriend's friend for being a hooker or have my father, coach, and former hockey player turned partner all yelling at each other (after the partner slept with another woman the same night I threw myself at him) because these "turning points" were necessary to get to the Kleenex ending.

What I realized as I was shopping for an "Oh My God!" book, was there are none without a Kleenex ending. Sometimes hookers end up just being hookers, your partner is just that, a partner and you marry the banker because he's comfortable, that some women work for evil stepmothers with no benefits package, 401K, or chance of ever meeting a prince and not once have I heard of a male friend finding you to tell you the little idosyncrases about you are one of 10 million reasons he just realized he's in love with you.

Maybe I shouldn't write a book. Maybe the reasons people don't write books for those of us looking for an "Oh My God!" book we can identify with is that, people don't want to identify with our lives. They want to know that the rough spots will pass. To hold out hope that there is better out there because Disney, Julia, Meg and Moira showed us there is. Maybe people don't want to read about the life someone has lived (unless, of course, you are famous). Maybe only the lives we wish we could live.

I want to run away to an island. Today felt almost tropical...it was a balmy 45 degrees at one point today. Woo Hoo! So...in honor of the dreaming of warmer temperatures.....

Boat Drinks

Boat drinks. Boys in the band ordered boat drinks.
Visitors just scored on the home rink.
Everything seems to be wrong.

Lately, newspaper mentioned cheap airfare.
I've got to fly to Saint Somewhere.
I'm close to bodily harm.

Chorus
Twenty degress and the hockey games on.
Nobody cares; they are way too far gone,
screamin' "Boat drinks," somethin'
to keep them all warm.
This morning I shot six holes in my freezer.
I think I got cabin fever.
Somebody sound the alarm.
I'd like to go where the pace or life's slow.
Could you beam me somewhere, Mister Scott?
Any old place here on Earth or in space.
You pick the century and I'll pick the spot.

I know I should be leaving this climate.
I got a verse but can't rhyme it.
I gotta go where it's warm.

Boat drinks.
Waitress, I need two more boat drinks.
Then I'm headin south 'fore my dream shrinks.
I gotta where it's warm.

I gotta go where it's warm.
I gotta go where it's warm.
I gotta go where there ain't any snow,
where there ain't any blow,
'cause my fin sinks so low.
I gotta go where it's warm.

There is a new epidemic in Marlton. I'm sure it's in other places too, but I've only really noticed it in my world. Now, I'm sure the government won't help me, and I don't think the CDC can do anything either. I guess I'm just going to have to live with it and protect myself against it as best I can!

This morning I woke up and everyone around me seemed old. Aging is supposed to be a gradual process, so why does it strike you so out-of-the-blue like this? Let me clarify....

I had a doctor's appointment this morning. I have been seeing the same general physician since we moved back to New Jersey in 1986. The only doctor I've seen otherwise was our team physician when I lived in North Carolina for about 5 years. Otherwise, Dr. Puleo has been it. (Not to bring up the time I decided he thought I was a hypochondriac and decided to see my dad's doctor, only to get the strange "Helen Keller disease" and he diagnosed me right away. But that's another story for another blog.) So, I went to see him today to see if we could change my allergy medication because I'm too tired all the time for a 28 year-old woman who gets 8 or more hours of sleep each night (my medical opinion, anyway).

I had just seen him in June, so it hadn't been all that long since I was last there. When he walked in, he just looked old. His hair was missing. There was still some left in little strands to comb across the top of his head, so I had to rule out that someone stole it while he was sleeping. He looked tired, but I guess a general physician with a pretty hefty practice during cold and flu season would look a bit tired. And I just couldn't help but think...When did he get so old?

I was supposed to go to the hospital in Camden after my appointment to finish up some work related stuff. The last time I was there I worried the whole time about someone stealing my car (Camden is 3rd in the US for crime) and driving in and out I was more worried that a cute blonde in a nice car was PRIME MEAT for carjacking. I was going to meet my mom and my grandmother's doctors appointment and switch to take HER car to Camden. (Not that it's not nice, but it has a GREAT alarm system!) Since my work appointment for noon was cancelled, I decided to stay and have breakfast with my mom, grandmom, and grandpop. Sitting across the table I realized, my grandpop has gotten old. His hari looked more grey than usual (probably because he's been running around like crazy taking care of my grandmom, who's still up and running, but after breaking her leg/hip this summer is a bit slower, not to mention almost completely blind and going deaf). It could also be because he usually wears a hat, but in any case...he just looked old.

I've been noticing it in my mom and dad more too. Mostly in their driving. They've slowed down, become more indecisive. I was trying to decide if they've always been this way and I'm just noticing it more because I drive alot (and alot more with them) or if it really is the old age disease infecting their bodies. There are other signs too...the constant saying of "Huh?" around our house, the losing of keys...or Monday when my mom swore she couldn't find her shoes...which were sitting right beside her.

I've noticed it in myself now too and am determined to stop it. Trish and I say all the time how we have the insides of an 80 year old. I don't really like the cold (not that I ever did, but I swear it gets worse every year); Don't like to be in crowds or around loud noises much; bars don't appeal to me anymore; I have done all the settling down you are supposed to do, but without any real reason behind settling down. The two key things for me have been the misplacing things, talking to myself (and answering) and not being able to remember things that happened 5 minutes ago, but I can remember years ago like they were yesterday. When my grandfather lived with us, I remember him saying he didn't shower every day because he didn't like getting wet. At the time, I thought that was an odd thing to say...but every once in awhile, on a weekend, I think the EXACT same thing! I wouldn't MIND taking a shower, but I just didn't want to be wet.

Maybe age can't be stopped, but sometimes, some days, perhaps, a little refresher of what it meant to be young and care free would be good for the soul. De Leon would have thought so!

Hey Everybody!

OK, here's the deal....I'm tired. Writing this blog takes alot of fun, spunk and after a long day of work, I just don't have as much as I used to (not to mention after the last two years beating up on me). So, I am no longer going to promise to write in here more. However, I have friends who need to be entertained. So, I am just going to say I will TRY to write, so I can amuse you (and give you guys something to do during your days)! :)

A strange thing happened to me a couple weeks back. No, not as strange as a turkey falling out of the sky almost on my car. Or as the football player vs. the midget fight (as a result of road rage) my friend Trish once witnessed on the highway, but strange nonetheless.

After having my car vandalized with eggs by hoodlums who should be locked up with no key, I learned about some very strict highway rules they were implementing on a major traffic jam highway in our town. I emailed my friends to warn them, and threw in everyone else I knew who might travel that road. I threw in my old boss from Destination Imagination, Bob. The following night, my mother and I were having dinner and we were talking about me emailing Bob. I was talking about how I needed to stop over there, etc. I looked over to my left, while speaking, and there he was. Bob and his wife had just sat down for dinner.

I went over to say hello. Bob was speechless. I was thinking it was because he doesn't recognize me (I was looking a little less than my fabulous self). A little further into our conversation Bob said he and Susan Beth (his wife) were just talking about a new position they were thinking about hiring for and Bob said, "I wish I had gotten Jenn's number before she left." And there I was. :)

Bob and I met about the position and I really wanted to take it. My heart was screaming yes. My head - not so much. I debated it back and forth. Eventually, I decided (as you guys probably know), to listen to my brain and stay at Lanier. I figured I've had SO many times I listened to my heart and have been hurt, I needed to play this one a little safer.

Why is it, that listening to our heart is so bad for us?

I would like to think I'm pretty in tune with my body. My doctor would probably agree. While I'm always afraid he's going to think I'm a hypocondriac, I think it's closer to the fine tuning my brain has done. When my body is a tad bit "off" I know it immediately. I think it is this intuitiveness that leads me to take the "give it whatever it wants" attitude. This more applies to cravings - like if I feel like I want chocolate, I get it - but it also applies to rest, aches and pains, and other areas of life. This intuitiveness, however, can be difficult on others - especially doctors. How can you diagnose a problem, based on a "I feel I'm off" complaint? This rolls over to my heart. When my heart falls in love, I follow it. Sometimes, it is the worst circumstances or causes me much grief. And even when my head is screaming "Don't!" my heart tunes it out.

In alot of other instances, listening to my body, I'm convinced, has done me right. Days when I eat lunch late and crave a soda - my body is telling me I need sugar NOW! Or those days you just know you need to eat something with protein. (Never did figure out the garlic craving.) Or when my body screams, you need sleep, I listen. (Not that I ever need an excuse to sleep.) So, why, after all this time is it steering me wrong?

Or maybe it's just that the heart is so much louder than the brain. I was talking to my friend Kate tonight. I told her I just wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life. "Jenn" she said, "You've NEVER known what you wanted to do!" I screamed "I KNOW! That's just it!" I was always so jealous of those people in high school who had a dream college. I didn't really care where, just so I went and liked it. No dream job or major (although I did like althetic training as much as anything). Again, I envied those who had a job they always wanted to do (like Mike with Baseball) and they did or were doing it. I just wanted to like it, make money to support my family and be able to spend time with them. And there it is, what Karen said to me years ago..."Jenn, you do have a passion. Family." So, how do you fulfill a passion for something you don't, and may never have? Career and life-wise, how can I find my field full of misfit bees? (see No Rain video)

How can my heart be so passionate about something it's never had, but can't find a passion out of things it knows?

And how can listening to it be so bad?