No, Seriously.

Hi, all 7 of you followers. I truly 'preciate the support.

It's been quiet here on the littlebit front, and I'd like to let you in on a little secret as to why.

http://www.noseriously.net

We don't know what it is just yet -- All I know is, there's a sarcastic betch inside of me that's been waiting to talk like this forever.
It's definitely not open to the "public" yet, and at this point it's just me ranting, but I want your opinionz. We have LOTS of ideas.
And on that note, I have a lot of other ideas - many that are somewhat youth-targeted, career-oriented, Freshman-15-y, dyou remember that? - that I want to bounce around with all 7 of you. D'you mind?

Check these first few posts out (ignore the first two; they're testers), and tell me: Whatcha think?

Lovin' you is like food to mah sooouul

If there's one thing,
one
thing
I'm most thankful for in the entire world,

it's having extraordinarily nurturing, hilarious, supportive, un-overbearing and loving parents.



My childhood was, truly, only happiness.
The only thing I can blame them for is my irritating optimism.
Hopefully I can carry on the tradition.

THX, MMY.

Why do you lv yr mmy?

You hab... a long hair. You hab... a byootipul eye.

I realize this daunting block of letters is mad faux-paus in the rulebook of blogging (under "Things That Make People Say, '(scrollscrollscroll)'")...
But blackhockeyjesus wrote it.
And blackhockeyjesus supercedes all rules of blogging (mostly because he writes a Daddy blog with "Vagina" in the title, and we in the blogosphere think that's just fine).

"Jenna. What beauty is this? Is yours a face or is it but a dream reflected off the silver glass of a mountain lake? Your hair my dear is the yellowest hay, too fine and wonderful for the mouths of stupid horses. Neigh. It is a bird's nest of gold. But so fine and soft that one would never know it's actually precious metal. Rather, it feels like hair. Your hair is soft like hair. It's a golden tautology. Your lips are two spilled puddles of red wine that call for me to drink them, to lap them up with alcoholic enthusiasm. For some the essence of the mouth lies in its capacity for speaking or eating or breathing - but for you these are merely secondary, tertiary, and fourthiary. For your mouth, my Jenna, was made to kiss. (And to say dirty hot things but I guess that would be speaking.) It's primary function revolves around the business of making out. And good God your regal nose of Italian stock! Lodged (daintily) between the two deepest seas ever discovered upon the face of a woman. Who would dare try to speak with any substance about the mystery of your eyes? Here a moment clear blue. A murky grey the next. They shift like your mind, woman, when we're trying to find a place to eat. But to speak of your face in parts like an 8th grader dissecting a frog is a crime against the wholeness of your face. For it is only when your face is apprehended in its totality that a man swoons and gasps and wonders by what ghost he is haunted. Fireworks explode overhead. That little boy soprano choir sings. Angels smile and people do not bristle at the knock of strangers at the door. All for your face, Jenna. Your face restores my faith in the sacred power of prayer."

... JOHN WHY DON'T YOU EVER TALK TO ME LIKE THIS.

Corporate face with a non-profit booty

"Sunlight is the best disinfectant."

- PR Squared;
on perpetuating the ideal that PR professionals
are not
and should not be
and do not have to be
unethical.

I think it takes an advanced level of stupidity to believe that there aren't bad intentions behind most of what we consume - crooked politics, slanted media, money. Money. Money.
Bueller. Bueller.

Maybe it was something I ate as a child, but I can never let go of the idea that good begets good.

Or should.

Beget good.

If you run an ethical practice, you deserve an ethical reputation. If you weed out the... weeds, expect juicier garden tomahtoes. Yes, I know there are gophers and neighborhood-dog pee. But if you whip out the hoe of perseverance (...grow up) and, y'know, beat those little shits out of the way...

Alright, that's enough.

Is anyone else out there an hopeless optimist, like me?

Yeah? How's that workin' out for you?

& Is there a place in the professional - namely, PR - world for a HO?

(...Aw COME ON)

@mileycyrus @lindsaylohan @bbv @uscfemales

“In bathrooms, boardrooms, buses, bagel shops, and everywhere else, we all need to imagine a little girl following us around, repeating everything we say and everything we do. Think about all of the things you want for yourself and your daughters, granddaughters, and girls everywhere - and teach them by living it yourself.”

- Nell Merlino, In Stepping Out of the Line: Lessons for Women who Want it their way in life, love and work.

It stings.

"Creating your own blog is about as easy as creating your own urine,
and you're about as likely to find someone else interested in it."
-- Lore Sjöberg

Whatchu think, bloggers? Si o no?

Give us this day, our daily Wonka Bar

From my first blog obsession, PostSecret:

"When I was younger I used to believe that

God and Satan were like
Mr. Willy-Wonka and Mr. Slugworth.

That they were really working together to see who was honest,
and I thought that if I told anyone, and exposed God's plan,
that I would be blamed for blasphemy."

-----------------------------------

Now, I was born and raised Catholic. I chose to be confirmed, and I chose to join youth group, and I choose to pray. Sometimes I even choose to go to church.

I was taught to never question.
Especially not to question why I couldn't ever question.
Don't get me started on that idea.
So would our God hate me for saying... "What if?" (Christians, you don't get to answer this one)

I know this is probably making you uncomfortable in some way. It makes my four-year-old white poodle-dressed smiling-with-all-of-my-8-teeth-in-my-communion-picture self a little uncomfortable, too.
But the model suggested in the quote is pretty simple:

• You're taught to believe that there's a binary around which you order your life: Good and bad; right and wrong; Godliness and Satan worship. You can't bat for both teams.
• The end game in all of this is, uh, eternal... something... about happiness... and a lot of bright lights and white clothing and hugging. Better Catholics, fill in the blanks.
  
• You're living your life struggling from temptation to temptation to temptation, avoiding discolored choir midgets, endeavoring to reach this end, and some people fall to the wayside. (Veruca, Fat German kid, Chick who picked her nose)

Nothing blasphemous there, right? That about aligns with Catholicism, doesn't it?
And when you think about it, so does Christianity, and Judaism, and Scientology... (BLASPHEMY ALERT, peeyooo-peeeyoo said God's smite beam)

Here's the kicker:

Ideally, when your squeaky-clean soul gets to the end, Good Cop and Bad Cop are smiling back at you. Next to each other.
And Lucifer's like, "Dzang kid. You ain't take any of the candy I hat offered. You harder to break than mah PerezHilton habit."
And God's like, "You mah ride or die. Foreal-foreal. Das' how we be knowin' you legit."

Wouldn't you then be most deserving of, y'know, Hev'n?
When even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-...Listened-To can vouch for your goodness?
Que, Willa Wonka based on a radical Catholic alternative suggestion, like how you play Pink Floyd albums backwards and you get crazy messages?!

I'm just sayin'.
BRB, anticipating swarm of locusts from my closet or something.