jennifer hurvitz weintraub

download-1

Where do I start?

From the top.

And 5, 6, 7, 8…

The beginning.

Doe, rae…MEEEE!!

Look at that! How do I always seem to bring it back to who’s important here? ME. As I’m singing “Let’s start at the very beginning, it’s a very good place to start…when we count we begin with one, two, three. When we sing we begin with DO RAE MEEEE!” Yes. Me. I love it. Maria Von Trapp got it all right. That Nazi bitch making those queer-matching-ass shorts outta curtains is good for something, people. She is starting my blog today.

My blog about me. 

images-2My ass is flat.

My tits are saggy.

My arms jiggle.

My kneecaps are loose.

My left pinky toe is crooked.

I mean, is there anything I like about ME?

Oh, ya!! I kinda, sorta…maybe like my legs. Oh, and my hair. I have great hair. NO, strike that! I USED to have great hair, until last week. I went to a new guy that chopped it off and now I look like a fucking dyke. A southern-bell dyke. NO offense gay women. I love you, and one of my very best friends in San Fran is gay. And she told me I could say “dyke”. Although when I texted her to ask, I spelled it “dike” which made her laugh. Ha. I thought it was DIKE. I’m so not a dyke. I can’t even spell it right! She’s a sexy-punky dyke, though. She has AMAZINGLY-hot short hair. It’s so hot. And she is hot. But I am not. I look like Barbie-dyke….so I digress, I used to have great hair. Now I don’t even have that going for me. But I could be a lesbo. #dropthemic

Why do we do as women beat ourselves up so badly?

images-1

I have a date.

For Valentine’s Day.

I mean I had a date.

I don’t anymore…

I dumped him.

Whatever, he was a douche. I dodged a bullet! Let me explain, ok? It’s not that hard to figure out…I had a date, with this hottie. He was young, and cute. And we were supposed to be going out tomorrow night, right? But I cancelled. What? Come on…It’s too much pressure for me! I can’t do it. Shut up! You just don’t get it, it’s too much pressure to go out on a FIRST date on Valentine’s Day, ok?! Jeez0-peez-o. I just felt stressed by the whole thing, so I cancelled. I was nice about it, though. I texted him, and said it like this…

imagesI love you.

I miss you.

I want you.

I’m sorry.

I’m thinking about you…

I hear you, now show me.

Words. All just words. Words on a page, or in a text…or via email. Whatever, they are just words. Which is funny, coming from a writer. You would think words would be just fine in my book. You would think that when a person tells me how he or she is feeling, I would take it for face value, right? I mean, why wouldn’t I? After all, if you say it, you must actually in fact…mean it? But what happens when the words and the actions don’t match up? The words are saying, “You are important” but the actions are saying,”You mean nothing”. What is a girl to do?

Should actions always speak louder than words?