Autobiography...

I Am:

A Female…

…whatever that means. Yeah, I love clothes, the color pink, pointless roses, and Pretty Woman. But I also love football, old G.T.O’s, eating pizza without a fork and knife, sweatpants, and throwing elbows when I play basketball. I worry way too much, and I eat way too much chocolate. I love eating fat cheeseburgers, but I can’t make them…I literally started my grill on fire. I hate myself for mouthing off to my parents as a teen because, in retrospect, I know how much they care.  Dying my hair a shade other than my natural blonde terrifies me most likely because I have a moderate self-image problem. I hide my emotions behind big sweatshirts and my favorite red baseball cap…but I swear I am not emotional. I have no idea what it means when I check the “F” box under “Gender” on a standardized test—I just know who I am.

A “Bug”

He is the man of few words and she is the obsessive worry-wart. They are the reason I try so hard at everything I do. He sends me YouTube video’s once a week, and she sends me “Have a good day, I love you!” text messages each morning. When I ran my first half-marathon, they were the first ones to give me a high five at the end. He taught me how to shoot a basketball and she taught me how to curl my hair. They take me out to dinner every Saturday if I am home. She will scold me and tell me to, “worry about what my father will say”, and he winks and says, “Don’t tell mom,” when he reminds me he was young once. They are the perfect parents, and I am their “Jen-a-bug”.

A Closet-Robber

I creep out of my bedroom and tiptoe down the hall. She is at work, so I’m not worried about her catching me—it is my dad sitting in his “easy chair” watching golf that I am concerned about. I am in terrible need of a black shirt to go with my new skirt; so naturally, I sneak over to my own personal shopping center: Steph’s Closet. Just as I reach the white light gleaming from the infinite amount of cotton designs, I hear “closet-robber!” being yelled from the general direction of that annoying “easy chair”. I stretch out my hand and quickly grab the black shirt I was destined to wear before moving my feet quickly back to my own room. Little did I know she would be coming home from work early…in just enough time to see my wardrobe. And so the argument begins. I am the “closet-robber”, and she is the melodramatic older sister—my best friend. Don’t worry; I love her for more than her lack of self control at the mall.

A Wine-Drinker on Thursday Night’s

Don’t turn me in to the cops please. I am not yet 21 years old, but it is tradition for my roommates and I to watch Grey’s Anatomy on Thursday nights while drinking wine. I will not let my birthday remove me from this fun. Thursday nights are the most relaxing nights of the week. We share our “Iowa City Idiot” anecdote of the week before we proceed to complain to each other about the amount of crap we have to get done for class.  I was once told that a girl doesn’t come to college to get her M.R.S degree, she comes to find her bridesmaids. I could not agree more.

An Infinite Amount of X’s and O’s

I sign each card each week with “XOXO” before slipping it in the mailbox and sending it to Pella, Iowa. That’s where he goes to school…exactly one hour and thirty minutes away from me (exactly one hour and thirty minutes too far). It happened freshman year of college. I came home to this dark-haired boy playing guitar in Emily’s room. I fell in love. I know what you’re thinking: yeah right…she’s just saying that. But no, really, I still remember the first time he turned his head toward me and said, “Hey, it’s nice to meet you”. He had on a cream button up shirt and khaki pants, and he looked so…content. We were introduced, and after asking him to marry me on site, he left and I didn’t see him for awhile. He came back, though, and before long, I had myself a brand new boyfriend.  Two years later, Jeff is my closest friend, my cheerleader, the only person I know who is capable of listening to me rant for a solid hour. He makes me laugh so hard I literally cry, and he never complains when I make him watch National Lampoons Christmas Vacation with me five consecutive times in a row. Young love is fun, free and exciting, and I thank God everyday that I get a chance to experience it.   

A Whitey’s-Monster

You read right. Not a “cookie-monster”, a “Whitey’s Monster”. Do NOT…I repeat…do NOT get in between Whitey’s ice cream and myself. Being lactose-intolerant does not even stop me.

A Dreamer

Someday, I will settle down, have kids, live in a small town much like the one I grew up in because I wouldn’t trade that childhood for anything. But first, I have dreams. I want to see the world. I want to strap on a brown backpack with cash and peanut butter shoved inside, hop on a plane, and wander. Before I go have lunch with Elvis and Gramma in Heaven, I need to live on a beach. I want to have a solid week where nothing demands my attention but “Say Yes to the Dress” on TLC. I want to crash a Bar Mitzvah just because I think it would be fun. I have way to many dreams to settle down any time soon.