JENenergy--Life, Love, God and Other Stuff

I am in a very intense film acting class. It is like group therapy, and I mean that in the best sense possible. But it took me a half-hour of crying last night, sad that I had chosen a stupid monologue, I wasn't one of the cool kids because I was old, and all the other crap that came billowing out of my crying heart to hear one of my patient classmates say: why not choose a new monologue? I was like, can I do that? I think back to this and wonder, why was I so afraid to change my monologue? What was holding me back? There are implications here. Big Implications. I consider myself a strong person. I've been told by gazillions of people that I am a strong person. Except I have you all fooled! I am an insecure person who waits for permission all the time, permission for things that I have complete control over! I look for validation, stamps of approval, and a big ol' nod for things when all I would have had to do is ask, is this okay? Or even better: Here's what I&

On Facebook, they have this, look back and see what's happened in years past thingie. "Your Memories on Facebook." I've enjoyed looking at my memories--what the weather was like it years past, when I've been able to ride because the weather was great, when I had to stay indoors when the weather wasn't. I have some weird posts like, "I have a secret and soon I'll be able to tell it," and I think, JEN, what was the secret??? I also have some, boy, this show I'm in is great, but there's been so many shows I can't remember which one it was. The posts that make me the saddest, though, besides the ones about my son who passed away, are all my hopeful, amazing #Bernie posts. WE HAD THIS, PEOPLE. He was so the clear winner. The rallies! The little bird! The momentum! WE HAD THIS.  Then, as the days go by, my "memories" relate post after post after post of voter tampering, voter fraud, polls closing, registrations getti

As is often the case these days, I was reading a funny kid story on a friend's Facebook wall and remembered something that happened when I was around 6. My mother was selling a big Leatherette couch, and even though I was little then, I do think the couch was like, seven feet long. It was light gray, and sticky and uncomfortable to sit on. I remember vividly when the seller came to pick up the couch and they pulled it away from the wall. On the back of the couch, in big huge permanent black letters read: J e n n y. But the J was backwards. And when I say the letters were big, I mean they stretched the entire back of the couch. I do not remember doing this to the couch. How did I even pull it from the wall to write those big letters? I do not remember if that particular buyer took the couch. I do not remember if my mother had to lower the price or even give the couch away. She is gone now and I can't ask her. I do remember the look on her face and the sputtering she did wh

Before I converted to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I went to the Catholic Church. While I obviously had some disagreements with Catholic doctrine, I loved--LOVED--the pageantry they made of Easter. To this day, I practice Lent and find it does remind me of the Savior's sacrifice a great deal. So, to get to the point of this blog, I miss my Catholic Easter celebrations. I realize there may be a bit too much spectacle. They cover all their effigies with purple cloth. The LDS Church doesn't have effigies to cover up (and I don't miss the bloody Christ on the cross AT ALL--just fyi.) But Lent, Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday, all of that? Yes, I miss it. I miss it very much. See, the thing is, we Mormons don't even believe Christ was born on December 25th. We believe that since there were lambs in the field, it had to have been Spring and that makes a lot more sense. But we Mormons still really DO Christmas. All the temples are decorated with a creche in

( Elder Renlund's Talk ) Tonight I am pondering the last two days' worth of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints ' Semi-Annual General Conference . In recent years, this Conference has gotten better and better. More love, less judgment. More kindness, less reprimand. I admit, I had become used to holding my breath, hoping speakers would say nothing that would break the hearts of my gay friends, my women friends, my non-member, less-active, or no-longer-LDS friends. In years past, it was sometimes brutal. This Saturday dawned bright and early, as we were going to gather with the over 20,000 others who were coming to see the prophet and other speakers. We were in nosebleed seats, so we didn't have an up close and personal experience, but it didn't matter. The gathering of the Saints was heartening and peaceful. I loved it there. ( Elder Bragg's Talk ) The speakers were even better that I could have imagined. My all-time favorite GA (that&

A few weeks ago, Emma Watson posed with a ridiculous macrame shawl and nothing else under it. I can't say she looked sexy because she didn't. But what I did say on Facebook, that I felt she was not representing the Feminist world properly and she needed to go back to Hermione, ruffled a bunch of feathers. The feathers were mostly from women who basically told me I know nothing of Feminism. Which isn't true. But several of the people chiming in were white, gay, male friends of mine. Here are these men who have never dealt with issues that only women know about telling ME I don't know Feminism. The thing is, one of these friends later wrote that he LIKED objectification. He would be happy if he was objectified. He doesn't get it. To be objectified means that all the other stuff that you are, every other role you play, everything you consider good about yourself is thrown aside and you become just one thing. In most cases, it means that women become their looks