Raven-haired, silver-tongued-yet-mute, alabaster-skinned and loving it

I wore four symmetrical peacock feathers in my hair today. Was told in many capacities that I am... er.... uhhh... ahem... pretty. FUCK. It induced everything from wanting to be obfuscate and punch soft fluffy things, to swooning and lowering eyes in feverish overly-pink blushes.

Tried to make ugly faces to ward off wanted and unwanted compliments alike.

I don't know why I do this. I am on a slippery slope, and strange mental ground and have been for some time in my life, where I am very comfortable with this strange shell I carry my soul in and about, but find if I teeter too long in compliment/ego land, I get called conceited and many bad things are brought to my attention, about myself, leaving me questioning that pretty terrain I climbed through in my head to get to that comfortability with the carrier of said soul (which is all that fuckin matters.... i.e. ECKART TOLLE.....)

Anyway, got a job. My adulation precedes my ambivalence, lol. No, I am happy I can mentally check out and live in crazy-Jenna-fluff-artsy-Kahlo-esque-swirly Land for a few hours a day. And get payed for it. I go on auto-pilot (ahem... tattoo on left hip....) better than anyone I know. When I worked at Sephora I regularly drifted into "Urban Decay" and hopped from one frosted-eyeshadow color to the next. I would "Benefit" from ripened reds and orgasm-blushes and pubescent neons, parlayed pastels, slipping in and out of reality, from customer to makeup-inspired comatose with Kat Von D getting flogged by Jews while demo-ing her newest nailpolish and whore-wreaking fragrance. Saint? .... or Sinner?

I so loathed the general public, working at the mall. Watching these wrinkled-up, faux-tanned to the color of keratin fuckin orange, with rocks on their finger so big they could skate on em, putting $5000 purchases on their husbands' credit cards, and everything on that sale fitting into a bag no bigger than a cd case (remember those, kiddles?) and thinking..... "That could clothe, feed, and house my children for some time". But no bitch, get that wrinkle cream avec France, you so need to care that much.

I am a little more psycho-eccentric than normal, tonight. And I sound way worked up and angry, when in reality, I have had a GREAT day. It was beautiful, sunny, warm-to-hot, went shopping (hello 5 1/2" stilettos!!!! Sequined like Michael's beloved singular glove), black leather mini-jacket, rainbow packet of socks, pants that every girl would covet if they fit how they fit me, blue shirt that landed me my job, lol, peacock feathers all in a row, or rather, a clover-shape.

Madeline and Desi had fun at Playtime Plus. Had dinner at CiCi's. Went shopping. Tried on Fedoras and fell in love with the newest shipment of our guilty pleasure- Littlest Pet Shop toys. Went for a walk with Grandma and the dog, and took pictures of the landscape, as rolling and budding as a 12 year old's chest. Pre-hormone-swollen-milk, might I add. Like 12yo from the CD CASE days. Ha.

I am ever-impressed with this lad from the bus that I met. I feel like it will all come crashing down around me, because I am bi-polar and so unstructured and all over the place, and can be very irresponsible with correspondence, and some days I talk his fucking ear off and the next I want to take the girls and retreat into a tiny hole and listen to frickin Morphine and Lynch-y soundtracks, and Nin, and create paperdolls and give them names and too-much detail. He's creative and so much we have in common, except he seems level-headed and even-keeled, whereas I cheer on Ihop's chicken-n-waffles new meal-deal strictly due to my sever bi-polarity; I just like to finally have a 2-in-1 menu choice. Even if I think it's gross, lol. I kid through much more of this than I am serious. But am I becoming so sardonic it's blurring the line?

I cannot stop listening to NMH today, btw. Oh Comely speaks so effortlessly and to my heart. It tugs at strings that were cut a long time ago. Aghast! Emo-baby rubs off on me....hahaha that's ridiculous

All in all.... good day. Great day. Thoughts of NM are being taken out to sea slowly each day. I always coveted that damn forbidden fucking fruit. Bad, bad Jenna. Tres mal.

Justin, Stephanie, Britt, Anna, Evan, Ace, Sam, Benny, I fuckin miss you guys. Go out on the street corners and raise a ruckus or at least play some good fuckin music in my absense and your drunk raspy lyricist (BARELY) will return someday. I'll have a whole new set a' heartbreaks for Bham by then. OMG My Bellingham. Fair gem on the sea. My Pacific-Northwest secret-yet-not treasure. I long for you already it's not been but a month.

Kiss the morning air and the morning dew for me.

Re-rangled into normality, family congruent, false hope ahead

le sigh.

Fucking Oklahoma. I missed it, and I didn't. Been back now for a minutem and yet I don't  and never will understand the lack of creativity, total absense of steampunkers, threadbangers, crafters, artists, musicians, hipsters even. Fuck, at least they give us "un-cool" kids something to look up to LMAO that was a joke. The fact that I have to be pointing out when I go from level orange to level red in sarcasm will mentally give you my geographical location these days I figure.

At least the girls and I are settled, together, for the moment. Nothing here really gives me any idea to be long-term excited. People go through other people like fucking dixie cups down here. They pick you up. They entertain you or vice versa, they want to know you for the night and then not know you again in any miniscule form 'til "next time". I feel like a fucking rag doll.

No one here wants to know the newest fucking SXSW band found this year. Robin Pecknold? His illustrious girlfriend maybe. The female protagonist in "Skinny legs and All", or what you'll be wearing to the Neo-Victorian steampunk exhibition next month. They just want to make small talk and find the quickest route from point A to point B(ed). They'll wipe their hands on your soul if they thought it'd make you cum or go quicker. When boys realize they can ask me to jump into bed with them all they want, but I still say no, they are often never heard from again. Good riddence to bad rubbish.

For two days later, when you're "Better Than Fine" (yes, a waltz lol), and just are inquiring to the how-goes-it of their day, they can't even answer out of what- fear they might have to suspend frivolous conversation and faux caring? I guess.

I talk to a couple people back home, they are all well. Dabbling in the DARK. *Grumbles and mutters obsenities under breath* They'll all kill themselves on it before I return. They'llhave terrible twisting downfalls, with gorgeous young corpses.

Yet, I get one fucking line of positive, eased humor from the infamous NM and I fucking swoon like a damn pubescent idiot. How the fuck did I leave out the instruction manual of how to fuck with my heart around that boy. It was a bad mistake. And yes if I could make you a damn guitar that turned into a chainsaw i.e. Black Keys epic video.... I would have it done already.

I have been drinking bottled water and chugging coffee. Barely smoking. Baking from scratch. Riding bikes with the girls. They're all that matter. Hopefully I will instill in them the importance of self and righteousness and music as an outlet from your soul. maybe they'll grow up to hate music. Play sports. I would find that only fitting honestly. For love is so tepid and would only support anyways.

I am going to Arkansas (hopefully, God Willing, right) this coming weekend. Never been. It will be the farthest East I've ever been. I am such a West Coast girl. I plan on dissecting the 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar, with another soul who admires words and other linguist's potions. Making some spats and finishing my corset with the cog-and-gear tapestry pattern. Time to dust off the ol' top hat.

But yes, I am back in Oklahoma. Girls and I under same roof, as should be. Expecting turbulence and warmer weather than Seattle.