A girl can’t say anything anymore.
I might as well just stop blogging.
Throw in the towel.
Become a shut-in.
Zip my lips.
I say whatever I want, because I can. And if you want to be a hater, you are totally free to hate. But it still hurts my heart. And yes, you assholes…I have a heart. I am not just some bat-shit-crazy-bitch that sits here all day long spewing out bullshit for shock value. I am a woman, with feelings. And most of the time, I share them…good or bad. And about every three months or so, I get on here and give this same old song and dance. The “Oh Please Be Nice to me Mambo” and really, it’s getting stale. I am over it, and over you. Not you specifically, but YOU the peeps who are nasty. And mean.
The guys that say stupid shit.
The guys that look at me and have the big, elephant-sized balls that say things like,“Well, I really thought I was getting the Jennifer from the blog. Not this Jennifer.” Wow. Ya. How about that for a first date? I loved hearing that when I landed in Chicago for the weekend. My bad. Serves me right for trusting a guy from Jdate again. Silly me for assuming he knew the “Jennifer” he was getting, after talking to me for 3 straight weeks. Every second, of every day. But alas, I was mistaken. He actually wanted Blog Jen. Ya know, over-confident and racy. Sassy, and sexy. The girl with the potty-mouth. But when I showed up, I was just boring me. The real Jennifer. You mean the Jennifer that actually breathes, and has a beating heart? Kiss my ass, Mr. Stoopid. I am all those things, but not all the time! Yikes. I have a softer side, ok? And I could have gone my entire life without hearing that crap. After the connection we had, I was in shock. And numb. And over it.
So, I got back on the plane, and left. As fast as I could…and I never looked back.
Mr. Stoopid, you totally suck elephant-sized balls. Big time. But you already know that. You can’t be that stupid. Blog Jen is a persona. The girl I want to be when I grow up. She is what’s in that thought bubble over my head while I’m walking down the street. Blog Jen is me, on crack. She is like a total bad-ass. Blog Jen is my alter-ego. Why don’t people get that? Do you think I walk through Harris Teeter swearing like a truck driver, and talking about manscaping? Rhetorical. But you all get it. It’s for me, and it’s cathartic. I mean I feel so much better telling you what a schmuck Mr. Stoopid was! Why am I constantly explaining my damn self? Shit. I am so sick of explaining myself. I am exhausted, and tired… and done.
I am done.
Ok, maybe not done. I am never really done.
I like men way too much to be done.
So, I went out with a really great guy. He didn’t read the blog. He didn’t know about the blog. And he didn’t even ask about the blog. I was kinda surprised! It was the very first guy that just really didn’t care. In the best way ever. I was so happy, and we talked about lots of other stuff. It was flipping awesome. He was awesome. All of it was awesome. And eventually, he asked what I did…so it came out. But whatever. I was pleased as punch to tell him all about it, BEFORE he read it. On my terms. And he got to meet the REAL Jen, first. Yes! Even if we never talk again, I got to make the first impression…not The Truth Hurvitz.
And I think he liked me. I mean, come on…what’s not to like? I’m cool in “real life”. I’m 3-Dimensional, and squishy. Or am I 4-dimensional? Whatever. I smell good, and I have a nice voice when I don’t get overly excited…then it gets all squeaky and shit. And no one likes a girl with a fucked up voice. Ha. Anyway, you get my point. The Real Jen is just so much better than the Blog Jen, right? Right. So Mr. Stoopid, thanks for being well, so…stupid! I would never have met Mr. Awesome. Hope he likes his name. And I hope he asks me out for a second date. Hint, hint. Blog Jen would like you to call Real Jen and ask her out, Mr. Awesome. I feel like Sybil. Where is my purple crayon? ;)