It's a quiet Monday evening. It's not an ordinary Monday evening as tomorrow morning Americans will wake up to the inspirational call of a new President by the name of Barack Hussein Obama. Before you stop reading, I assure you this entry is not going to be about politics, nor the impending celebration, and I did not type out his full name to make a point, I just think his middle name makes the guy even more of a trip, even cooler than I already know he is. However he tries to dispute it, he's a rock star with a franchise... Yes He CAN Sell A Bobblehead for $9.99! His line of merchandise alone can stimulate the economy.
Back to this being a quiet Monday evening and the subject of this unremarkable entry: Jessica Darling. She's a living breathing fictional character from a series written by Megan McCafferty. She is awesome. I hate her. I wished I was her. How pathetic it is to wish oneself to be a fictional character? One who isn't a super hero, a fashionista, a magazine magnate, a cherubic teacher, a brilliant doctor or a damsel in distress rescued by some hot dude with a heart of gold? Well we can debate the latter, but mostly she's just an uber-brainy socially-detached if not downright awkward drama-ridden hormonal too cool of an 18-year-old (at the end of Book 2 of the series) who keeps a crazy journal. I literally feel like speed-reading through book 3 and 4 so she can shed some light on what I'm supposed to do with my impending thirties. (Book 3 and 4 follows her through college and beyond... I am in the midst of my beyond... which at the moment is in a state of fog with no more than 10 feet of visibility. ) Somehow I blinked and I'm in my late-twenties. Granted, my early twenties was not 'boring'. It would make a terrific case study of what one should NOT do. My 'smartness' (as intelligence had nothing to do with my life, clearly) was my undoing. I wanted to 'make my own mistakes' and I was quite successful and accomplishing this... which is more than I can say for the rest of my lack of accomplishments. I beat myself up at regular intervals which is why I CAN'T, MOVE, ON. Or haven't been able to move on. That's a more hopeful way of looking at it, and being an eternal optimist, there is yet light at the end of this foggy tunnel of beyond.
Now some of you must be saying, "Dammit Frances, just what the hell did you do in your early twenties that you can never get into details about?" Hey do I ask to read YOUR journal? Unless you're a fictional character, no thanks! There's a reason why TMI has become such a popular acronym!
Pick up the book - you must start at the beginning - titled "Sloppy Firsts". Then come back to me and tell me what you think about her. By which time I may have already finished book 3 and 4 and perhaps Jessica Darling would have cast away her demons and mine all in one fell swoop. These books - her journal - would be the best non-self-help book I've ever read. Pinning my hopes on a fictional character? You betcha.
Meanwhile, I will be tuning in tomorrow morning at 8:00am PST to listen to President Obama's (YAY!) speech to the nation... the first President I've successfully elected into Presidency. (OMG!) (Yes 'OMG' can be be used in a ridiculous shallow manner but you must account for the source, or the user of OMG as well as the intended 'usee' whom I suspect are NOT shallow as they are reading this illuminating blog. Wink. I will resort to flattery!)
Happy Inauguration Day. Good riddance Dubya, GOOD RIDDANCE!
