Choking on Self-Expression

I am tired of not being myself. I don't really remember a day where I feel completely like myself and I'm tired of waking up knowing that it'll just be another Fake Jenna kind of day. I mean, yeah, I'm mostly myself. But is a "mostly a boat" which is cut in half sea-worthy? Does a "mostly book" with only 56 out of 101 pages have a good ending? Will a "mostly safe" insane asylum with one murderous fiend running around naked with scissors still be a good idea to visit with a bunch of middle school girls? No.
    I want to grow up. Somewhere, Peter Pan is laughing his green tights off at me, but I'm tired of waiting for things to happen. I don't really understand what wise old sage set all these limits of growing up so that when you're just a teenager in high school you can't really do anything. I don't understand why I can't get the things I want most in life. Which, yes, sounds completely and utterly selfish but who doesn't think that? Who hasn't wasted precious seconds on eyelash wishes that'll never come true and precious minutes waiting for 11:11 to come just so nothing can happen? Raise your hand if you've never really really wanted a magic genie to pop out of thin air. Raise your hand if you've never listened to Jiminy Cricket and wished upon a star. We're all raised with these bright Disney-centered fantasies of us growing up with everything we ever dreamed of. I'd really like to meet someone who has that. Not even being sarcastic.
     Nothing tragic has ever really happened to me. I don't really think myself depressed or crazy-pessimistic. I just look at things different and I see everyone just has this gaping emptiness and it's choking me. This junior year of high school has been almost literal insanity to watch. People have warped themselves into things that barely resemble who they used to be. Like a Picasso painting except freaking scary as crap. The world I live in...I feel like I'm the only one watching it as it crumbles into microscopic pieces. And I'm not shootin' any political crap your way. Honestly, I could care less who you're voting for. I'm saying as a whole. I see it in everyone. There's something dark in everyone, no matter who you are, no matter what you say. It's in you and it's crouching behind your eyes and it's waiting for you to snap. And this year, I saw it snap. Like a dragon's jaws, SNAP SNAP SNAP, people who I cared about turned into things I don't even try to understand.
    But I'm okay. I have two loving parents who spoil me way too much. I have an amazing boyfriend who makes about everything cliche a reality (in the best way possible). I have two churches now (Thanks Skiatook for welcoming me back home). I have the...wait for it..."bear necessities, the simple bear necessities". I'm not gonna lie to you and say my friendships are fine. I think the thing I've learned out of this whole year is I need new friends. Or maybe I need to be a better one. I just don't even know.
   Can you tell I'm lost?
That's my point.
  Everyone is lost.

Thanks for listening.

Church Confessions

I'm going to talk about a little something I rarely ever discuss with other people. Church and religion. *just lost 6 readers, I'm sure*. But not necessarily my faith or what I believe. More like what I've been going through the past few months. 
 Usually I try to write a little bit cynically funny, but tonight I'm feeling like I just need to lay this out on the table for someone to see. I don't quite know for who to see, but just someone to acknowledge it and say "I understand". That's really what I think people want most in life--someone to understand.
   Some of you readers may know that I've changed churches in the past few months. This wasn't my choice. And that is what this blog is about.
    Let's back up a bit. I had been going to my former church since I was six years old. I was the veteran in the youth group--I had been going the longest. And for many years, I felt spiritually dry as a bone. Sure, I could regurgitate Scripture back to anyone who asked, but I wasn't feeling it. I wasn't excited to go to church. I only went to activities that sounded fun. I was going because I had to and had a stinky attitude about the whole ordeal. For years and years this happened. 
   I dated my former youth minister's son for a year and a half. And, yes, my former youth minister was really nice and I know he wanted what was best for us. But, unfortunately, knowing the innermost thoughts of his son tainted my image of how effective his teaching was. That and I found him to be a little too right-sided for my taste and really too bland for me. (As we all know, I can be quite spunky...) When he left, I was bitter as all get out. I was bitter about the hypocrisy of Christianity and those who followed it, and I had no hope for a better youth minister to come into the picture. In fact, I was thinking it could only get worse. I attended church less and less and was trying to find a new church to go to.
   Then Josh came. 
Josh was totally different. He was Radical with a capital R, and was sometimes even too radical for me to handle. But in a good way. Unorthodox methods of teaching, bringing up topics in the Bible I didn't even know existed, and planning events that were actually a guaranteed good time. It was crazy. I found myself craving church even more, for the right reasons. I found myself growing closer to God and loving this feeling of excitement and community. Everything was going excellent.
   I got super close to my youth group. See, my family is no longer really a part of my life. Basically, I have my mom, one aunt, my dad, and my sister. Everyone else is dead or disowned. I had never really had a love for family. But my church turned into my family. A lot of the kids I considered to be my very own siblings, and to this day, I would fight to the death for any of them. They are amazing kids who are fun and silly and yet still are mature enough to take things seriously when the occasion calls for it. Guys, I can barely put this all down--I loved my youth group so much. Scratch that, I *love* them still. Every single one of them. They were everything to me. I would leave church grinning all the time because of these kids and I'm grinning now just thinking about all our crazy adventures in our big ole church bus. 
     And then in the peak of things, something happened. I don't know what. I don't know if people realize that, either. I have literally no idea what happened, everyone. I wish I did. All I know is feelings got hurt. That's it. And because of that, my dad decided me and my mom and himself would relocate and not be members of my old church--my home church with my beautiful and amazing family--to go somewhere else.
   I am broken because of this. I go to my boyfriend's church now. And everyone there is super sweet to me and I especially am liking their new intern. And it's great to spend church with my boyfriend. But let's be honest.
   It's not the same at all.


The lessons aren't deep enough for me. The singing is TOO refined. I haven't sang in church like I used to. My church, we would clap and yell and rejoice in worship. In this new church of mine, I'm scared to. I just stand there and sing as quiet as possible, and that's when I'm feeling rebellious. Most times I stand there, staring at the projector screen, feeling this knot in my stomach growing into a boulder in my gut and my eyes glaze over and I'm wishing I could be somewhere different. 
  I mean no offense to the people there. They're really great people, not even saying that to be polite. But when you feel like you got a divorce from your church, it's a gut-wrenching feeling. Something I don't think any new church can bring back in me...
   The worst part of all of this is that I don't even know if anyone cares. I had waited for my old friends from my church to text me or call me and ask where I was. Heck, one of them is my very own neighbor, and I was praying he'd call and ask to drive me back to where I thought I belonged. But no one said anything to me. And I try to visit as much as I can. But people treat me different now. Guys, I'm the same old Jenna! I still dance like crazy to pop music in the car, I still laugh obnoxiously, I still like talking in the wee hours of night, I still watch horror films, I still play dubstep...I'm the girl you guys used to want to sit by on the long rides home. I'm still the girl you video-taped jumping into the ocean for the first time. I'm still the girl who wrote your play last year. I'm still the girl who was there when you needed me. 
   I got my mom to ask my former minister's wife if I can come to church camp with all of my old group this year. This family was like my family as well. Russell and Jennifer would be my legal guardians if my parents passed away. But now I never even talk to them.
  I asked my friend if it'd be cool if I came to camp with her. This girl and I, we were the very best of friends. Yeah, I probably didn't appreciate her as much as I should have, but, my goodness, she was amazing. No one was as sweet as her. She could make me laugh all the time and she is SO creative, it's insane. She also loved to read. None of my friends read. She and I would yell about character's love triangles till our throats hurt. I asked her if me tagging along with her would be fun. She said "lol, yeah". 
   And that is why my heart is broken and that is why I sometimes feel like God has turned his back on me. 

Dreams

What would my dream life look like? A lot of kids say this:
I wanna go to college.
I wanna get married.
I wanna have babies.
I wanna die in my sleep.
How boring! This is my dream life.
I graduate high school and get into mischief. Not anything immoral or illegal, but the kind of adventures that make people's jaws drop and say "Wait, you didn't REALLY do that, did you?!" Dying my hair completely blue and wearing tacky Goodwill shorts and being thin and wild and crazy. That's how I'd graduate. I'd hop in my car, which is thus far imaginary, with its back plastered with bumper stickers. I'd crank up my radio full blast to "Fight for Your Right" and drive off with all my friends drinking energy drinks, screeching with laughter and headed to wherever the wind takes us.
          I go to college and read books that stuff whatever dorm space I have. I go on weekly random quests with a group of friends who seem to have jumped out of the pages of a John Green novel. I learn stuff, sure, but the time goes quickly so I can do what I really want.
              I do get married. With the big dream wedding I've had in my head since I was thirteen. Everything is perfect, and if not, the little hitches are the kind that make my sides hurt from laughter. It would only be described as magical. Something people think about in the quiet moments of their lives. 
           But what I really want is a bookstore. Full of dusty and new books. Beloved paperbacks and treasured hardbacks lining the walls and smiling down at the eager customers hunting for them below. Music that strikes my mood playing over speakers as booklovers unite in my own little piece of heaven. Today I finally thought of the name I would pick for it. It would be "The Henry Bemis" after the famous Twilight Zone episode "Time Enough At Last". You'll just have to watch it. 
           There would be a coffee bar which my dad could most definitely run easily. (He's a coffee maniac.) I'd also serve muffins and ice cream. I'd have used Bibles tucked in a special shelf that would say "Please take free of charge. I'd rather lose a book than lose a soul." and "If not to take, please highlight a special passage you have in mind for the one who will take this later."
       Then I would let people buy a song on iTunes to play over the speakers if they had one stuck in their head. They would donate $2, one for the song and one for charity. 
        I'd have specials on random book subjects, such as "Distopian Novel Day" and "Cheesy Romance Thursdays" and discount randomly, such as, "50% Off Anyone Who Can Quote a Poem by Heart". 
It would be absolutely lovely. <3 Absolutely. 

Birthday Dilemma!

My birthday is slowly creeping towards me, and honestly, I can't wait. And yeah, it's two months away, but folks, I'll be a LEGAL ADULT. Can you believe that? I can't. I still can't believe I graduated second grade, never mind being able to buy lottery tickets or cigarettes for small children! (I jest. They at least have to be 12 ;] ) Anywho, I am absolutely and totally conflicted about what sort of awesome party madness I want to partake in. Sure, parties are for kids, but folks, I only get a few shots left at being absolutely immature without judgement! 18! It's a big deal! I gotta live it up! So, I'd like a lil feedback. Just say which of these you find appealing:

• Alice in Wonderland
• Rainbows
• Books

YOU DECIDE!!!! (Although I may do something completely opposite of your opinion ;] )

A few other minor notes:

You know what sucks about being in the musical Beauty and the Beast? Having the music stuck in your head at a constant basis. Really, the song "Gaston" is only funny the first 150 times...But yeah, the play is in a week and God is pretty much the only thing that can shape it up to what it needs to be.

ALSO.

My schedule has been cray-cray. I am ready for summer and dying my hair blue, that's fo sho.

Alright, that's it folks. Please, holla back.

A Story for You

I love telling people stories. Being a writer, that's what I practically live for. And I'm pretty decent at it. I always can get a smile out of all my stupid adventures I go through, even if it's me describing the weird look I got in-line at Target or how my shoe fell off once. So, I thought I'd start sharing some of my adventures with you. I found a quote today that goes "I got this idea of doing a really serious big work--it would be precisely like a novel, with a single difference: Every word of it would be true from beginning to end." (Truman Capote). So, my big work of the day is telling you a little funny truth, from beginning to end.

I was 12 years old and it was the last day of school. Our school always put on these giant festivals on the last day, full of jupiter-jumps and slides and this year, they even had a human hamster ball to run around in. It was a big deal, especially to a 12 year old itching to wreak havoc on the world. I was in a particularly rebellious mood that day. Something about finally being freed from my toughest year yet (If I only knew how insane eleventh grade would be...) and the heat of the summer not only was frizzing my curls but making me a little restless.

That feeling peaked when my very best friend, who had been kicked out of school a few months back, appeared to partake in our Last Day festivities. Now, I don't know if you've read my last post, but I had a mega-crush on my middle-school best friend, David Pilgrim. He was rowdy, loud, smelled like beef jerky, loved the colour orange--everything I wasn't. So of course I was extremely obsessed with him.

One thing I *was*, though, was crazy. So when David's mom offered to have me come over I jumped on the opportunity. Spending my last day at my true love's house instead of having normal fun was the best idea ever! (Every bit of that sentence was coated in seven inches of sarcasm.) We drove over and began to do what we did best--be total and complete morons.

David's older brother, Reese, got a car for his 13th birthday. Apparently to the Pilgrims, not only was 13 the beginning of teenagedom, but also the appropriate time to introduce your child to illegal driving practices. I remember it now--a grubby, crappy, green Geo-Trakker with a clutch. It was the ugliest car I had ever seen and I wished my parents were cool enough to buy ME my own ugly car at age 13! (Unfortunately, I am almost eighteen and I still don't have an ugly car to call my own...) Reese had a fantastic idea--let's all drive in his birthday gift!

We did. Reese drove. His older brother Dylan drove. Then, suddenly, a fantastic idea was made, even MORE fantastic than letting under-age tweens drive a car illegally all over a residential neighborhood without adult supervision! It was collectively agreed, that I, Jenna Buschmann, should take the wheel and drive the band of brothers around merrily. This was *such* a brilliant plan, because, not only did I not know how to drive clutch, but I had never drove any car EVER in my entire life. Obviously, this was the brainchild of people having the characteristics of head-trauma victims.

David, my usually wild friend, sobered down enough to tell me this wasn't a good idea. I, trying to impress my extremely freckly best friend, cast this bit of sage advice out the Geo-Trakker's window and went behind the wheel. This is what I remember:

• I was driving great when it came to straight lines
• Oh look! A cul-de-sac!
• How do I turn?
• Is this the clutch? What's the clutch for again?
• THIS IS NOT THE CLUTCH!!!
• THIS IS THE GAS!!!!
• NOT ONLY AM I DRIVING IN A STRAIGHT LINE, I AM DRIVING IN A STRAIGHT LINE HEADED FOR A WHITE METAL FENCE!!
• THERE GOES THE FENCE!!!
• I RAN OVER SOME DAISIES!!!
• OH CRAP I'M NOT WEARING A SEATBELT!!
• OH CRAP, HERE COMES A HOUSE!!!!
• OKAY, I JUST FREAKING HIT A HOUSE!!!
• ROCKS ARE FALLING ONTO REESE'S CAR AND I JUST HIT A HOUSE!!
• "Crap!!!! Holy crap!!!" I am saying a word my mom does not allow me to say and if David tells my mom I said crap, I am screwed, which is another word my mom does not allow me to say.
• WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT?! I'm not getting in trouble for saying "crap", I'm getting in trouble for HITTING A HOUSE WITH A CAR AT AGE TWELVE.

A little girl who had been swimming in the house's backyard came out and basically looked like I had just killed Santa Claus before her very eyes. Then this old man walked out and said

"What the f--- do you think you're doing???"

"Driving...."

"NOTHING?! S---, you call this NOTHING?! You ran into my house!!!"

(me, thinking: I said "driving", obviously this isn't "nothing", I just said the word "crap". I don't disobey my mom for "nothing".)

The rest is a blur. I found out that Mrs. Pilgrim was this guy's friend. And we somehow made a deal so that he didn't call the cops on us. I know the boys got in more trouble than I did because they told me to drive. I also remember I refused to drive go-carts for 4 years because of this.

I remember going back to David's, waiting for my mom to get me. We were sitting alone in his room, which usually I would've been thrilled about except I felt like I just swallowed my own lungs. And I remember him turning to me. And he looked very handsome to a 12 year old girl who got in a car wreck. And I thought, "Gee, this may become a moment where he realizes I could have killed us all and he wants me to know he loves me because our near-death experience made him realize he can't live without me!" And he opened his mouth and said these very profound words:

"Jenna. I know you have had one rough day. And I want you to hear something that I think will help you...

Jesus take the wheel!

Take it from her hands!

Cause Jenna just ran into a house!

And almost killed us alllll!

I just thought you should know."

So my best friend not only did not cheer me up, but now has ruined Carrie Underwood songs even more than they were ruined before I crashed a car into a house.

So there's my story.

I'm getting my license this month.

Feel assured.

An Open Letter to Younger Jenna

A few days ago, my dear readers, I had come across a rare find--a diary. Whose, you may ask? My own. From when? 5th-7th grade. My dear readers, I eagerly read through those pages with such fervor you would have thought I had stumbled upon the Dead Sea Scrolls. Instead, I discovered a frightening truth...

At age 11-13, I was most probably certifiably insane.

Example A, I had "Fallen MADLY in love!!!!!!" with about 8 boys every week. Apparently, I've had a lot of soul mates in my time, all of which never knew (and still do not know) that I even considered them to be possibly candidates for fathering my young. Which is fine by me, because a lot of them are either pot heads now or noodling someplace that no one's ever heard of.

Example B, I had an extreme love/hate relationship with my best friend for 11 years, Allison. I apparently bought her chocolates and fine jewelry and then she slapped me and called me a witch. None of which, by the way, is probably true, so this means not only did I make connections with males quickly but also I was a sociopath...all the makings of a great gold digger someday, my friends.

Example C, I was madly in love with my best friend for two years, who was my "super hot boyfriend". Let's just clear this up. The kid called me 5 times in my life, liked to sing a song about butt paste on a constant basis, and for my birthday had his mother give me his toys from when he was 5. Needless to say, it was a shame to see such a heartthrob leave my life. I have no idea how I carried on.

Example D, I believed I had telepathic powers for about a week. I have no explanation for this. When you know, you know, I suppose.

SO, looking back at this tragic and dramatic time of my life where every single stinking detail was crucial to my very essence ("I have a scab in my nose! OMG, my dad made me take out the trash! WHEN AM I GONNA GET A PHONE!?"), I decided that I would write this very amazing Open Letter to myself just in case time travel ever happens and my tween-self decides to venture past the time/space continuum.

Dear Younger Jenna,

I hate to tell you this, but that entire songbook you made with the lyrics "I'm like a pie, get it while it's hot!" and "My soul is full of cobwebs and screaming" will not be produced into a multi-platinum album. Also, David Pilgrim will NOT marry you, so forget about writing your name as "Mrs. Jenna Pilgrim" about five zillion times, because you're just killing trees. Oh! Good news. I read the notes you wrote to "Future Jenna" and I'm pleased to inform you that not only have you NOT ever smoked or drank, but, in fact, you also have managed from employing yourself as a stripper and you've never done it either, so, yeah, thanks for the memo. It sure helped contain myself from signing onto the Night Tripps 7:30-12:00 shift. Also, your band? "Smashing Walls" (totally NOT a knock-off from Smashing Pumpkins, I'm sure)? Didn't make it. I know it's tough to hear, especially since you made that band after your first guitar lesson and knowing only how to play "Brain Stew" and then forgetting how in a matter of hours. But I have some good news. You have an awesome boyfriend now (you've had to meet a few jerks beforehand, though). That kid who you thought you were in love with because he liked dragons too? Yeah, him. Oh, and your parents? They still love you (but also still yell a bit). And Allison turns into a very sweet girl who has impeccable taste in fashion (because you and her are about to discover Seventeen in about 2 months). And Briana, who is "really nice but not sure if she likes me", yeah, she's one of the best friends you're ever going to have. And you're going to be even better at writing. And you're going to get a phone. So, congrats. You did things pretty well. :)

--Older Jenna

200th Post!! Prom Edition

Wow! I just looked at my profile and this will be my TWO HUNDREDTH POST on My Mother Was a Rose! Sorry I haven't kept up lately. I know the followers are few because this is a wordy blog and I'm not fashion-acceptable or quirky or whatever, but I really appreciate all you who tag along with me :) Here's to you and here's to me blogging every so often! *pops open a bottle of IBC Rootbeer*

So, as you can see, it is the ****PROM**** edition of the blog! I'm a junior in highschool now (can you believe I started this blog as a naive little freshie?) and my first prom is in ...wait for it...

TWO DAYS. As you can tell, I love making lists. Really, you've had to see this coming--

WHAT I'M WEARING:

1. Cobalt blue dress. I wish I could delve into detail on this one, because it is *quite* smashing but alas, I won't because my boyfriend and I are keeping our dress/tux matters a surprise till the night of. I actually thought this was the tradition, but apparently that's strictly a wedding kind of deal...Watching "Say Yes to the Dress" has ruined my perspective of how teenagers actually deal with formal attire, so...yeah. I will tell you that I got it for a steal. Originally $288, down to $99, never been worn, brand new. Got it at a place that closed the DAY I walked in. It was like my fairy godmother popped in and hung that on the rack. Which kinda creeps me out, because obviously she follows me at a very close proximity...
2. Shoes. Also, a secret. Apparently Tyler has "sick treads" which means "cool shoes" and will not share, so, I cannot say much but I will say this: I will fall down because I hate heels. The end.
3. Jewelry. If I did actually have a fairy godmother, it would be my "adopted grandma", Brenda, who surprised me with vintage rhinestone jewelry. I hate shiny and rhinestones, but somehow, these are a great vintage glimmer that I couldn't resist--oh gawsh, how girly did that sentence just sound? I need something a little more macho before I start waving my hands around squealing. I'm gonna go pump some iron or something, bro.
4. Nails. Doin' it myself because I'm part Asian (racist? More like admiring). They'll be pink. Once again, SHALL BE PUMPIN IRON SOON, BRO.

My open letter to the dress code of prom:

Dear Prom Dress Code,

Go swallow fish whole. You are making all these lovely ladies look like the poor homely woman from 19 and Counting. We're not Amish spinsters--we are women. So excuse us for having boobs and hips and legs. Point is, if a man wants to lust, no amount of fabric can stop that horndog. I'm not saying "Hey, let's show up in a g-string and dance like we're reproducing!" But what I am saying is, I dress modestly for school--more modest than a lot of the sophomore study body (men included). If this is a Christian school, let's have a little faith in our own student population to work within certain restrictions without looking like someone who can churn butter without hesitation. Seriously. If this keeps up, pay for my dress alterations yourself, because I for one do not like paying for a crap-dress.

Sincerely,

I Used to Have a Womanly Figure Until You Eclipsed It with Your Crazy Conduct Rules

If I could chose 3 songs to play for prom they would most definitely be:

---Kids by MGMT

---Internet Friends by Knife Party

---Sandstorm by Darude.

Your three?

Have a fantastic time and I'll upload pictures on some sort of place where you can creep with ease!

xoxo,

Milo