Sorry Jen, I'm Un-Stalking You

I MAY be stepping in a big steaming pile of poo with some hardcore fans to say this, but I've been thinking about it for a while, and I can't it hold back any longer.

I'm Un-Stalking Jen Lancaster.

There.  I said it.  I'm out of the closet.  This has been a difficult decision, one in the making for over a year. 

My college friend, known here as "Pat", turned me on to Jen about five years ago.  Pat is pretty cutting edge on her pop culture, and knows I appreciate edgy, cool stuff, so she sends tips my way.  She sent me an e-mail in late 2007 that said, "If you're not reading Jen Lancaster, you need to - you are like a version of her with kids."  I clicked on the link to Jennsylvania, and I was hugely flattered that she would say that at all.  I was hooked.  Jen was awesomely hilarious.  I immediately began stalking her, because OF COURSE we would be besties if we met in real life!

I read "Bitter Is The New Black".  Hi-larious.  I want to be a writer.  I can relate.
I read "Bright Lights, Big Ass."   Completely Awesome.  She's like Every Woman.
I read "Such a Pretty Fat."  Love, love, love.  Who likes to exercise?  I love food.
I read "Pretty in Plaid."  I crushed on Jake Ryan.  I got all the '80s references.  Funny stuff.
Then "My Fair Lazy" came along. Hmm.  Not so much.  Not bad, but not like the others.But I still loved Jen, because she was Jen.  I went with Pat to Chicago to Jen's book signing, where we got completely shit-faced drunk and I nearly passed out in Borders waiting for her, but had the besttimeeversomuchfun.  You can read here, but try to respect me in the morning.  It was fun!  Because we were hanging out with Jen!




Then came "If You Were Here".  The fiction book that wasn't fiction, it was more like "Jen and Fletch's crazy hijinks, under false names, with some exaggerations."  But it felt disingenuous.  I felt like she thought she was being smarter than her readers, and it wasn't really fiction, it was creative non-fiction.  I was distracted during the whole book thinking "Yeah yeah, the dog Daisy is Maisy and Tracey is Stacey and Maya is Jen, just own up to it already!"

But it was Jen, so it was okay.  Sort of.

Then her blog started turning ugly. 

I loved her blog, Jennsylvania.  It was funny and snarky and wonderful.  Jen has always done a great job of being funny while poking a little fun at herself.  She's always bitched a bit, but shown some compassion, or tried to understand the other side.  The whole point of Bitter was to show how she had been this materialistic bitch who got her comeuppance, and now she was a writer and happy without the crazy high maintenance life she had been leading.  In the last year, I feel like her blog has become this personal venting area where she can throw around her celebrity to bully companies into doing what she wants.  Some of the gripes she has are legit, but they all just feel so...so....BITCHY. 

She goes after commenters on her FB page personally and then outs them to her other 54,000 followers, who then go crazy on that person too so they can impress Jen.  Usually these individuals get called out because they've expressed an opinion, sort of like how Jen does, but the backlash on these people who are called out is horrible.  I can't believe the things people will post to total strangers, just because someone famous tells them to.  If for some crazy reason she finds this blog post, she'll probably announce on her FB page "If you don't like it JULIE, then stick it!  That's why I've blocked you!"   Look on her page right now, she did it to someone named Krista last week. And that is her right.  But it just smacks of meanness, and while I love me a little bit of bitchy and bitter, I'm not interested in being one of the Mean Girls.  I don't visit Jennsylvania much anymore.

It seems, dare I say it, like she's gone full circle back the Jen in the beginning of Bitter, who had it all and ordered her minions around without thinking about the reprecussions, because she was better than them.  I like the old Jen, who was funny and snarky and fun, and who invited us all in the good times with her.

Her new book, Jeneration X, is out.  In the past, I would have pre-ordered the hardcover copy on Amazon and waited to see where I could drink a chardonnay in her honor on the book tour.  The other day, I walked past the book in Barnes and Noble, paused, and then kept walking.  Maybe I'll buy the paperback.  Maybe not.

I'll miss you, Jen Lancaster!

Actual Texting Convo With OD

We returned from Disney World on Sunday evening, and the kids had yesterday off due to President's Day while I trudged off to work (triple venti skinny caramel macchiato time).  Today, the kids went back to school, and Oldest Daughter has rehearsals for the musical tonight at the high school until about 8 p.m.  I get this text from Oldest Daughter at about 2 p.m.

OD:  Can u bring me fried rice after work?  Didn't bring money.
ME:  Sure.  What to drink?
OD:  Sprite.  And can you bring a t-shirt?
ME:  What do you mean?  You need a new shirt?
OD:  No, a crappy one I can move in. We have dancing rehearsal too.
ME:  I'm not driving home before I deliver your rice.
OD:  Crap.
(Note to self - must discuss overabundance of the word "crap" in this conversation.)
MOM HORMONE KICKS IN.  THIS TOOK THREE TEXTS TO GET IT ALL OUT.
ME:  I'm sorry, but I have to drive YD to the mall to find an outfit for the Variety Show on Fri night, I'm losing my mind over getting the show coordinated, and I'm trying to get caught up at work.  You're going to have to be a little more responsible for your own things at your extra-cirricular activities, because we don't have time to drive all over town delivering food and clothing to you at various satellite locations.  I have shirts at work that say "Bee a Happy Hooker" and that is your option.  Do you want a hooker shirt?  Do you?!
*texting silence*
ME:  Seriously, do you want the hooker shirt or not?  Because that's all I got.  Hooker shirt and fried rice.  I'm out of options.
OD:  No hooker shirt.  I'm sorry.

Which honestly I was a little relieved to hear, because not only do I not want my teen wearing a hooker shirt, but I would've had to sort of lift it from work, and then pay for it later, and then hope no one saw me on the surveillance cameras walking out of the building with it before I paid, and then have to explain, "Oh, I was stealing it for my teenage daughter.  She is in a dance number."

In the interim, I'm a little frazzled.  Re-entry into the non-vacay world has been harsh.  I'm going to call my mom and ask her to bring me some fried rice and a new shirt and see what happens.

When I Started Stalking the Kids

I'd like to start this post with the thoughts that plague me all the time anymore:

I'm so, so sorry, Mom and Dad.
I was wrong.

Oh, that's right.  Twenty-five years later, I am finally contrite.  Allow me to make a short list of things for which I am sorry, and these are just off the top of my head:

1. Fake orthodontist appointments
2. Beer bongs
3. Street sign stealing
4. TP-ing
5. Prolific swearing
6. Distracted driving
7. Unfinished homework
8. Skinny jeans that weren't purchased as skinny jeans
9. Last minute rides
10. General behavioral issues

And that was all before I was 18.  Much of it before I was 16.  Oy. I remember when I was in Junior High, as we used to call it in the olden days, and my group of friends would get together, and we would say we were going to the movies, get dropped off, wait for the parent to drive away, and then go hang out outside the bar down the street or just generally roam around.  One girl, whom I loved then and still love now, had a mom who was rightly suspicious of us.  She would drop her daughter off, and then we would see her gray conversion van across the street and think, "Oh Christ, now we HAVE to go to the movie!!!"   I look back now and think, "I would SO be in that conversion van!!"

I'm old enough now that I can look at the Courtney Love v. Courtney Love's parents showdown and think, "Those poor people."

Nah.  I was always Team Parents on that one.

And I even liked Hole.

This weekend, I became Stalker Parent.  Helicopter Parent.  Parent hiding in the bushes.  Parent in the van across the street.  And it's really not because I don't trust my kids - it's because I don't trust THE REST OF THE WORLD.

I started the weekend by watching Youngest Daughter perform in a dance team thing a the football game, one of those grade-schoolers-hang-out-with-the-dance-team-for-an-afternoon-and-get-a-shirt things.  The little girls finished, and YD wanted to run around the football game with her friends.  Luckily, another parent offered to take YD and her friends away from the game and have an overnighter at their house.  (LET'S PAUSE WHILE I PLACE THIS "MOTHER OF THE WEEKEND" CROWN ON SAID MOM'S HEAD.  Applause. ) I had to volunteer in the concession stand, so Current Husband was in charge.  Then Oldest Daughter informed us that a group of her friends made plans to go to a haunted house, and they needed a ride, so CH offered to drive them.  He lined up another parent to be the go-to group for The Son and his posse of kids running around, and left. 

Soon, concessions were over, and then the game.  I was walking out with the three boys, all middle schoolers, when some high school boy yells down from the top of the bleachers, "Keep walking, Motherfucker!"  I was on my cell phone with CH taking a crisis call, and I said, "Hold on, CH".  I marched back to the bottom of the bleachers and yelled like a mom should - loudly and awkwardly and full of momma bear bravado.

ME:  "WHAT did you say?"

KID:  *****

ME:  "Do you want to tell me what you yelled at those boys?"
KID:  ***** (possible contemplating spilling his slurpee on me)

ME:  "Well you keep that up and see where it gets you in the future!"
KID:  *****

BAM! 

You TELL him, Julie!  I bet he is shaking in his boots!  Yes!  The dreaded FUTURE comeback!  I'm sure that moment changed that kid's life.  He probably looked at his skanky girlfriend standing next to him and said, "She's right.  I DO need to think about my future.  I should stop with the language and the methamphetamine and pick up a copy of Henry James' 'Portrait of a Lady' for my English report, and then clean my room and get a job and cut back on the red meat.  I'm so glad I attended this football exhibition."

The boys were impressed.  "Dude, your mom is AWESOME" and "It's like having your own bodyguard!" was overheard.  TRANSLATION:  "Dude, your mom is crazy!" and "It's like Thanksgiving when my Aunt Karen gets drunk!"  Middle school boys only get impressed when someone else's mom goes apeshit.

I get back on the crisis call with CH.  He is nonplussed, as he's heard me come unhinged on people before, and by 'people' I mean him.

CH:  "When are you getting home?"

ME:  "Now.  What's up?"

CH:  "You need to drop the boys' off at G's house, and come with me."

ME:  "Where are we going?"

CH:  "Did YOU know where the haunted house is?"

ME:  "Skellington's or Scarington's or something."

CH:  "Did you know it is smack dab in the middle of gangbangerville?  On a Friday night?"

ME:  "It's in Rock Island?"

CH:  "Yeah.  And I saw about 40 cops and a guy trying to break into a car when I left."

ME:  "I'm on my way."

I dropped off the boys and picked up CH.  We drove to Rock Island, which reports a shooting about every three days, and went to the haunted house, which was right on the edge of the bar district on Friday night.  We passed a closed off street with about 10 cop cars and a fire truck where a car had smashed into a building, and a number of other squad cars patrolling the area.  We parked directly across the street from the haunted house, facing it, and I texted Oldest Daughter that we were outside.  We sat in that van and fretted for 40 minutes until the group came out and got into the van, laughing. 

Not wanting to freak the kids out or embarrass OD, I engaged them in conversation about various things while CH clutched the steering wheel in a death grip, imagining it was each of their heads, but as each kid got out of the car, I asked, "So did your parents know you were haunted housing in Rock Island tonight?" every one of them answered, "They knew I was going to a haunted house, but not in Rock Island."  Like DUH, I wouldn't tell them I was in THAT town!

We got home and had a lovely discussion with OD about her new regulations requiring her to submit her social plans in triplicate forms, 72 hours in advance, and that if we find out she left the city without telling us she would be spending a lot of time watching The Golden Girls and eating Milk Duds with her parents on Friday nights.

We went to bed and spoke in whispers about what rotten teens we were, and how lucky we are that OD doesn't do a fraction of the things we did....yet.  And then we made an appointment to get all of the children micro-chipped.

The end.