To the Underappreciated:

I am so sick and tired of people taking advantage of me.

I'm so sick of people saying they do when they don't, saying they will when they won't. I'm sick of people telling me that they'll do something and then not doing it, or making promises they don't/can't keep. This is what it feels like:

"It's just Jenny. She doesn't mind. She's at the bottom of the list. I'll take care of her last. If I can't really do it then she'll just be there next time."

Well I won't. I won't. So eff you untrustworthy people. Eff you with something hard and sandpapery.

I'm done. Leave me alone. Stop opening up my hope boards and then breaking them in two.

Life Is...

Sometimes full of lucid, steaming, mind-fulls of craaaap.

So here's how the day went in no particular order:

English- check. Professor seemingly loved my paper. He says I have a lot of "voice" and "character" and I'm good at being funny, which is hard to be in persuasive research essays, apparently.

Made comment about my hair.

Him: "Are you aware that your hair matches your shirt?"

Me: "What?! No way! What color is my hairs?!"

If you're wondering its now dark blond with bits of light blond, purple, turquoise, and pink woven in. I have run away from myself yet again. I'd post a picture, except I don't have any yet. It's pretty much a work of Kim Art. And I'm crazy PMS.

Like literally crazy. Don't let me near dye or scissors when I'm in this state. It is when I most often run away from myself.

Guy from lunch on my hair: "I reeeeeally like it. It looks like a blueberry muffin. I like blueberry muffins. Mmmmm."

Kim on my hair: "Funfetti."

Sweet action. I'm a pastry.

Watched the new Grey's Anatomy. Man that show is my downfall. I cry every time.
Because I am Meredith Grey.
That's right. If you know me and you know her. Bingo.

I'm also Clementine from Eternal Sunshine. I don't need to explain myself.

I went to the most boring speech of my entire life also. Tabernacle. 7 PM. Wanted to kill myself.
These were my thoughts:

"I have to write a paper on this shit?"

That's about all I can say for this speech. Do I remember any of it? No. I fell asleep. Twice.

Okay about five-nine times. Lack of sleep sometimes does this to you. Especially when some old guy is muttering about how the the future will speak of the Utah War. Does he tell us any facts? Any stories? Any history? No. He tells us books that are coming out that will tell us about it... in about three years.

Great man. Not helping. Thanks so much.

Also my hair in a tabernacle= not so good.

The People: "Oh no! Her hair! It's colored. That's bad. We can't go to the temple with hair like that. She's doomed."

Can't wait till I go to church on Sunday. I love Utah Mormons. They think I can't feel the spirit because my hair blocks its rays.

I wish my sunscreen were that good.

Next order of business:

If your girlfriend is angry that you once dated other girls and possibly took pictures with them I'll tell you what you do.

Don't date them.

It's inevitable that someone you date is going to have dated/kissed/? /?????? another girl/boy. It's called life and love, hormones and lust. You weren't with her/him so honestly you need to look past it. If you get angry just because somewhere in the wide world is a picture of them together, if you're so angry you yell and say biting things I have one thing to tell you.

You're a crazy bitch.

One more thing:

Somebody please. I want to see Burn Notice.

JUST SAY NO:

A Public Service Announcement

It is an undeniable fact that every single person growing up must embark upon that treacherous and impossible journey that is teendom. The friends, the drama, and the insecurities are all normal liberties of every human being to pass through puberty, added with the hope of three goals to help them not die a social death: to fit in, to not stick out, and to be accepted. Sometimes the trends we follow are an integral part of being one of The Pack. This was always a very hard thing for me, considering I've always been a little goofy, outspoken, dramatic, and stubborn to do what everyone else is doing, especially when it makes them appear to be insane. But it was made terribly clear to me (or maybe not so terribly?) that I would never be like those girls that everyone admired so much, but no one dared touch, when I was in 8th grade. Those girls had everything: the latest styles and fashions, backpacks, folders, even their braces looked fabulous until this day.

I remember I was 13 years old, just barely entering the “age of wisdom”, when I noticed the trend that had started to sweep across the Utah borders, taking every one of my friends with it. This is when I realized those girls would never be as cool as they had once been, for they carried a dark monster above their heads. I had seen pictures of my sister with similar aspects, but never this intense and ferocious. In recent years it had been taken to new heights.

Walking through the halls of my junior high I came face to face with “the monster”. It was consuming the queen bee’s head, holding firm through mounds of whatever adhesive she could find, raised high above her in a triumphant beckon to all that dared enter her world.

It was the "poof".

And not just any poof. The UTAH poof. The worst thing to cross our borders since the Black Hawk Indian wars of the 1800’s. Before this time in our lives our parents had done our hair, so we could not be blamed for the disaster that was our big bangs and ridiculous braids. Even in eighth grade, those little thirteen year olds, clinging desperately to whatever they thought was "cool", should not be held accountable for destroying their hair and making themselves look like idiots. That's what I figured—until I got to high school, even college, and found out that the "poof" is not just a heinous act for retarded, prepubescent girls to infringe upon. It's also a crime committed by stupid, post-pubescent moms, college students, high school seniors, dramanoids, cheerleaders, sports players, and pet owners alike. Point-blank it's an outlandish tradition that has been hailed upon for centuries in Utah and Utah alone.

Though big hair really took off in the 1950’s and 60’s, women have poofed their hair for centuries. Whether it was by use of wig or comb, they donned the unnatural looking headpiece with ease. In the 18^thquite large enough, they sometimes used switches of fake hair and wigs to make it look even more grand. century, women wore big powdered wigs to show power, authority, and class (hence the nick name “big wigs”). In the sixties though, it was all about the new wave of “poof”: the bouffant, or the B-52 as it is sometimes called for its uncanny resemblance to a B-52 bomber’s nose. Other nicknames include: the “rat’s nest”, “the beehive”, and the “hider of non-existent brains” (the last one is my own creation meant for the newer, uglier versions of this ‘do). It was discovered because women needed a more “conventional”, less “time-consuming” way to do their hair as they were entering the work place. And as if the hair wasn’t

The hair-style eventually gave way to the 80’s big hair which was also a nest of back-combing into much less controlled, straighter or even much curlier looking hairstyles. In the nineties it was big bangs that were the popular choice. Which leads us into the late nineties, early millennium era where some genius in Northern Utah got the idea to combine all the old “big hair” styles into the catastrophic new hair-do that we now see on practically every stilettoed, cake faced female today. This is called too much of a good thing, and it has always been known to entail disaster.

When attempting the “back comb” or the “rat” to achieve this new look (though I’d never recommend it) one must first grab a comb, a large bottle of Rave x3 hairspray (for better holding, worse looking purposes), and a clip. She then proceeds to separate her hair into four sections and back-combs every layer except the top and fourth one, which she then smoothes flat over the other layers, creating a sort of square or butt-headed look in the back portion of her cranium. Please know that this is a horrible disease, and should not be taken too lightly. This description is only provided for your protection and avoidance of its fundamental steps. I place this warning: CAUTION—DO NOT TRY AT HOME. MAY CAUSE DUMBING DOWN OF IQ AND USE OF TOO MANY “LIKES” IN ONE SENTENCE.

This is a serious problem people. Not only does it break just about every established law of physics, but it also violates our deepest mores as a society. Aerosol hairspray contains many chemicals such as isopropyl myristate, diethyl phthalate, propanol, ammonium hydroxide, and butane or propane to expel it from the can. It’s not only highly flammable in high concentrations, but it can also cause brain cell loss and damage when breathed in large doses (which explains the drop in IQ scores), and is used by many as a “new way of getting high”. We have more important things to worry about than whether or not our hair is going to light on fire or if we’re going to be able to make coherent sentences in the next hour.

I blame the parents and older siblings of these children for allowing them to leave the house in such a manner. Did they never question whether or not their children are hiding something under these “poofs”? What other reason could you have for building your hair up so much? If you’ve seen the height these things pack you know it would be an easy task for a minor to slip a bag of pot, a pill bottle, maybe a Corona, and some carrots or just water for lunch into these bad boys. Back in the 1700’s women would even stick bird cages in their ratty messes. As parents you are possibly promoting unhealthy lifestyles full of binge drinking, brain damage, and anorexia in your young adult daughters.

For those of you who commit the “poof” crime all I can tell you is get out now, while you still can, before it’s too late. Snap out of it. Not only does your hair look stringy, trashy, and fake, but you constantly smell of hair products, which does not help your classmates, colleagues, professors, and boyfriends, especially if they have allergies or sinus infections. Stop this ridiculous fashion faux-pas before it spreads to the rest of the world in what could only be deemed as The Apocalypse. If that’s not enough for you chew on this:

“The use of hair products and back-combing also sends your hair into a frenzy. Hairspray makes the hair dry, while ratting breaks the cuticle and surface of your hair, causing breakage, split ends, and that straw feeling that no one likes at all.” –Kimberly Orton, Cosmatologist.

I propose that all those that think that this is “cute” or “pretty” be rushed immediately to their local rehab center for treatment and reversal of the brainwashing that has been done to them by the Utah society. It is not fashionable, nor is trendy. It is just a gnarled lump of tangled hair disguised by one square layer and a can of hairspray. Do not let it fool you. It will become habit forming and addictive to you, the user, if let go untamed. Just look at all the young mothers in the area that cannot grow out of their childhood “poof” addictions, still basking in the non-existent glory of their high school hair.

Poof is a menace to society. It’s horrible for every inch of your hair and uses dangerous and flammable chemicals to maintain its illustrious height. I watched countless numbers fall victim to its attacks as a thirteen-year-old, but now I’m back to declare revenge. We can’t let it go unnoticed. Educate your children. Educate your friends. Educate you grandparents. If you don’t stop it, who will?

SAY NO TO POOF.

Welcome to Me!

This is Me.

Let's just get the introductions out of the way shall we? Even if you know me, you might as well know ME me and not the me that I am sometimes when I'm hiding? Sometimes I hide. It's just part of how awesome I am.

I'm Jenny, pen name Ducky, nickname Tink. I love mini candy canes, sushi, lilacs, and beaches. I love the rain and the way it smells after it rains, and the way it smells before it rains, and the way it feels on my skin when I walk in the rain... you get the point.

I change my hair frequently in order to run away from myself...












Kissing is my art form, lips are my pallets or something ridiculous like that. I write what I feel. I say what I think. It's the only time I'm really free to express myself without anxiety or worry about what others will think. I can say more in a couple sentences on page than I ever could to most people in person. I love everyone except some people and I tend to be overly loud, and a little too into personal space.

I'm impatient, stubborn, and sometimes just a plain annoying. I'm a hypocrite sometimes, and pretend I don't like boys, and don't want them to touch me, but really all I want them to do is touch(?) me.

I could say something good about myself, but honestly what is there to say really? If you actually know me you might think something good, but if you don't what's the point in building myself up when in reality I'm probably just a bla kind of a chick?

But I love God, and God loves me and He knows I'm trying my best, even when it comes across as completely effed up.

Cheers.

Okay, so for starters, today I read an online article about this guy who just got off death row a few days before he was set to die. Now they think there's enough question on his case that he shouldn't be there in the first place. He gets a retrial cause all these "witnesses" that testified against him changed their minds and said "JK".

Damn it People.

This is how I feel about Capital punishment.



And if you're wondering yes I am an Asian dude. This Asian Dude.

Anyway it's a ridiculous piece of trash. I despise capital punishment. It's the most hypocritical technique the world uses to get rid of people. It's like saying, "Hey killing people is BAD. So to teach you a lesson we will kill you."

What?

Honestly I don't believe it's right for anyone to take another person's life, even if that person was disillusioned enough to murder an innocent person. It's not eye for an eye people. We don't live back in the Old Testament. The only person, in my opinion, that has the right to decide to take a life and decide when it's your time to go is not a person at all.

It's God.

I'm sorry if someone reading this isn't religious, but honestly, it pisses me off when someone looks at another person and says "You have to die." How do you know that he committed the crime? How many people have died in vain, because they were innocent? Because they never committed a crime? I'm going to go out on a cheesy limb here and say that my Heavenly Father is the only All Seeing Eye that I know of.

I mean how many times has DNA let someone on Death Row or in prison off the hook, but because prison destroyed their life they can't go back to anything? No family, no friends, no employment opportunities, stuck in a rut after they were -- this close to death. To me, one of those innocents is not worth the whole shit load of guilties that pass through there either.

Democracy? Freedom?

How unfair it is to brand people with a permanent, but invisible mark and send them through their life with it tattooed to their chest for all to see.

The Scarlett Letter will never leave. And Hester is a symbol of lives even now.