Change of Pace

I thought my blog could use a bit of a makeover. I've noticed myself branching out to writing about topics other than marriage; and I'm not even quite sure I would be considered a "newlywed" anymore anyway. So I took the satisfying liberty of registering the domain name jennaclark.com and ditched the title Reflections of a Newlywed in favor of something more inspirational and dear to my heart. Across the Universe is not a nod to the less than stellar Beatles musical or a random title of a Beatles song I decided to rip off. While trying to decide on a new title for my blog I found the lyrics of this particular song really spoke to my heart as a writer. Lennon wrote this song as a response to something his wife was talking about that he wasn't really paying attention to (so I guess it somehow winds its way back to marriage in a way) but I find these brilliant words to represent the art of writing for me. So I'll leave you with them and also the intention of bringing more facets of my life to this blog in the future than just my marriage.

Image from: www.deviantart.com

This Is My Generation, Baby

As part of the research and reporting process I'm undergoing for my book I was instructed by my writing teacher to construct a timeline of my life. This involved contacting old friends (which was an epic disaster), interviewing family members, studying old photo albums, listening to music, and rummaging through the dusty dark attic of my memory in an effort to document as much of my nearly 26 years on this planet as possible. So I sat down and got to work with a yellow legal pad, a pencil, my photo albums, and You Tube; because none of my old CDs function anymore and who the hell still has a working cassette player? Since my high school years are essentially the focus of the book, I began there.

What a phenomenal mess that period of time was! Stuck in limbo somewhere between innocence and accountability lies what can only be called a teenage wasteland (chill, Pete Townshend, the check's in the mail). Miserably unaware of our own ignorance, we were convinced we had the whole world figured out. That ridiculousness of that idea should have been clear from our questionable fashion choices. We were so self-important, trying to rebel against the boundaries of middle class oppression. The following is a list of causes I felt entitled enough to battle my parents to near death over:

1. My right to listen to any music I wanted, after my father confiscated CDs by such timeless artists as DMX, Wu-Tang Clan, Bone Thugs -n- Harmony, and Eminem
2. The injustice that was my mother shredding a tee-shirt I had purchased with the Playboy bunny logo massively displayed in red glitter
3. How incredibly unfair it was of them to ground me and keep me from seeing my boyfriend after finding a homemade bong in the backyard
4. And this is one of my favorites... delaying me from getting my driver's licence for an entire year because, at 14, I snuck out my bedroom window in the middle of the night, walked 2 miles to my friend's house, stole her mom's car, picked up our friends, and went joyriding for 3 hours when none of us had a license.

This list could go on but I had to stop before I gave myself brain damage from rolling my eyes so much at my own idiocy. Since when does a group of kids who spend their weekends drinking Mad Dog and Popov and smoking cheap weed out of a hollowed out carrot have their lives figured out? Logic and reason were grand acts of futility and were often met by vacant stares or razor sharp insults fired with surprising accuracy. 

I am amazed to this day that I somehow got out of that period alive. My Wu-Tang CDs died a slow death in the back of a closet somewhere, my Reebok Classics and JNCO Jeans have long since been retired, and I like to think my English skills have improved since the days of using the words "wuz" and "fug". I'm just lucky there are people in my life that still wanted to talk to me after that.

It's all worth the effort if lessons can be learned. As embarrassed as I am that I used to be that person, I learned so much in the process of growing out of it. The most important lesson, I think, being that teenagers know essentially as much about life as a hamster knows about physics. That, and the fact that gangster rap is not appropriate or relevant for a middle class white girl in Towson.

The Dreaded Day Job

It was perhaps idealistic and a little naive to think that I could transition seamlessly into being a full time writer without encountering a few road blocks. I have unavoidably fallen into the curse of the aspiring writer- the day job. (Gasp!) Yes, it's true. There wasn't the miraculous appearance of a book deal or an awaiting literary agent dying to represent me the minute I devoted the majority of my days to my laptop. Now before you all start laughing at me I'll stop here to assure you that I never assumed this would happen. I hoped, sure, but realistically I was aware that my new career wouldn't be rocketing me to fame and fortune any time soon. So after a few months of focusing solely on my writing while Brandon dragged himself to work every day I had to face facts.

The first thing I realized after just a few days was that writing is hauntingly secluded work. I love my house but spending all day every day in one place will make anywhere start to feel like a prison cell. Brandon would come home from work and I would somewhat resemble a zombie. He would smile and ask me how my writing went that day and I would stare at him with little to no idea of how to respond. After about a month I had all but forgotten how to communicate with actual people. The second thing I realized after the a few more weeks was that if Brandon and I had any chance of achieving the financial goals we set for ourselves when we got married I would have to start bringing in some actual money- on a regular schedule. Bummer. As isolated as I was beginning to feel and as much as it sucked not making money for my work, I was really enjoying working when I wanted to and not working when I didn't want to. Yeah, there's that naive idealism again. 

So after throwing a minor internal temper tantrum about the nasty realities of being a functioning adult and an under-appreciated writer I begrudgingly re-entered the work force. I now bear the obligatory slash in my occupation that so many struggling artists have to endure. My name is Jenna and I'm a writer/bartender. At least I didn't have to take a job at McDonald's; but trust me, we were about 2 weeks away from that. The bartending thing is actually a pretty cool gig, which is I guess why so many actors, writers, painters, etc. do it. It gets me out of the house, I get to talk to some nice people, and I get to make a whole lot of money in a very short period of time. All in all, not a whole lot to complain about; aside from the truth that my career goals have literally nothing to do with working for tips. 

So, here's hoping that one day soon I get to drop to dreaded occupation slash and I get to be Jenna the Writer again. Because the fact remains that I flat out love to write. Even with all the solitude and the frustrations I just have to do it. I never had a choice.

Wanted: Marital Social Director

Ladies and Gentlemen: for your consideration, I present to you the classic marriage dilemma; or one of the classics as it were. Maybe some of you can help me out with this little conundrum. I swear, even after all the tricks, procedures, secrets, landmines, and loopholes I've  discovered in and about marriage (and believe me, they're none too few) I still can't for the life of me navigate this issue clearly. So someone please tell me; what the hell are the rules when it comes to your outside social life as a couple?

I feel as though this issue doesn't receive enough attention in the matrimonial "how-to" literature. Perhaps this is because no one in their right frame of mind would consider this particular problem a deal breaker. Regardless, I still find the whole scenario irritating. It's hard enough for me to figure out my own social politics without having to work my husband's in as well. Let me present an example of this dilemma that presented itself relatively recently in my house.

Author's note: Some details of the following story have been altered to protect the privacy and feelings of those involved.

Brandon and I had been invited to a party thrown by Alex, a mutual friend. The invitation arrived in the mail four or five weeks before the party was to take place and neither Brandon nor I made any sort of immediate commitment to attend or not. The invitation requested we RSVP regrets only therefore we were still within our boundaries of party etiquette. Three days before the date of the party Brandon and I both received a mass email from Alex requesting that we reply if we would not be attending the party. The conversation that occurred that morning over coffee went as follows:
Me: "Hey, Bran- are we going to Alex's party this weekend?"
Brandon: "No."
Me: "Why not?"
Brandon: "I want to go to the Oriole game."
Me: "OK, whatever, I'm fine either way. But can you let Alex know we won't be coming?"
Brandon: "Why do I have to do it? You tell Alex."
Me: "Uh, because you're the one who doesn't want to go."
Brandon: "Fine, then I guess we're going."
Me: "What? That's not what I meant. I'm fine with going to the O's game I just think since you're the one who doesn't want to go to the party you should be the one to tell Alex we're not coming."
Brandon: "I don't want to."
Me: "What makes you think I do?"

And so on, and so on... you get the idea.

Now, this was by no means a huge ordeal- minor banter really. But it was clear to me at that point in the conversation that we were at a stalemate. Neither one of us was going to back down any time soon, yet I was still unclear if we were going to a party or a baseball game that weekend. And I was fuming with frustration at the clear power play that was unfolding in my living room- not enough to back down though, of course. I thought I was making perfect sense and the situation was pretty straight forward:
- Brandon didn't want to go to the party
- Alex is a mutual friend that invited both of us, Mr. & Mrs.
- Brandon should be the one to make the uncomfortable phone call or write the uncomfortable email that explains why Mr. & Mrs. will not be attending
AM I RIGHT?

Eventually the point was moot because we attended Alex's wonderful party and had a great time. But I can't help musing about the vastly under-appreciated issue of who is the social director of the marriage and what the guidelines are that exist within that position. If you have managed to figure it out in your own relationship I tip my hat to you- congrats! I'm still working on this one.