We’ve Gotta Stop Meeting Like This

I’ve logged into this blog at least sixty-seven times since my last published post, and haven’t felt that “thing” that moves me to write.

Relationships, friendships, hard work, school work, and life all seem to get in the way.

That said, I’ve been haunted by blog starts that pop up in my mind constantly for the last few weeks, and I’m finally ready to metaphorically dust off my WordPress dashboard and spill out the everflowing trickle of ridiculous shit I think of or ponder as I navigate my way through 2013 and everything life in general loves to shower me with–both good and bad.

In the last few months, I’ve been beta testing one guy, exchanging excessively flirtatious and phenomenal texts (texts I would absolutely not share with anyone) with another (who is a crush I pretty much need to just decide to pull out of the crush category and find a new place for), and hiding from a number of others who I dodge like a non-compliant parolee dodges their Department of Corrections Officer.

One-hundred-and-seventy-six boring thesis paper pages ago, I was actively social and out in the world pondering love and all it has to offer.  Today, I’m like a seventeen year-old who’s just given her parents the report card that frees her from a semester of being grounded–I’m ready to take on the world, and I have mildly revealing clothing and a stash of the fives grandma’s been sending me in pastel-flowered greeting cards for months.  I’m ready to be back in the world, carefree and walking the thin line that separates Saturday night and church service on Sunday morning.

Besides, I’ve missed you.  Yeah, you.  I’ll just say it.  The funny ways you guys relate or have stories that parallel what I’ve written about…the laughs I share that get brought up months later at a random dinner party…the texts I get from someone saying “Is that about me?? No?  Ok, which one is about me?!” (Ok, not those so much).  But dammit, I just can’t stay away.princessothercastle

This round, I will not spill everything that happens in my love life as it happens, because Taylor Swifting is soooo 2010, and I also plan to venture out of strictly dating and relationship-related topics, and delve into any exciting topic that makes me feel the need to increase my typing speed or install a WordPress app on my phone so I can update the blog on breaks at work.  I will, however, still do my best to make people laugh, cover their mouths in horror, or actually yell something at their computer screens as they read.

Lastly, I do pledge to find a song to fit every post, as I did when I started this little thingy I call a blog.

Starting now.



First, may I say how incredibly glad to be back I am?

Between this post and the last, I mostly ranted and gushed the typhoon of ridiculous things I think about into a friend or family member’s ear via cell phone, text, or Facebook wall. (By the way, thanks to the friends who still listen to me babbling on about love, vengeance, work, or people who sneak fart and think I don’t know what’s really going on.)

However, before I can proceed with bloggery, I have to right a wrong.

When my blog was ablaze with loves, likes, and trainwrecks, and it was at its peak in whatever form of “popularity” you can divulge from a blog (1K hits per day), I posted a lengthy discussion surrounding a topic I was ever-so-firmly against, and I stated a number of facts to support my argument.

As time has gone on, and I have had an openly frank discussion with the other person I spoke of, I learned that for the most part, I was very misinformed, and the fact that I blasted pieces of what I felt was incredibly shiteous fuckery caused a great deal of hurt to the person (who I of course, did not name, nor shall I here).

Although I merged in pieces from other experiences with others, who I do absolutely see as queens of fuckery, this individual was not party to the Gold Digging behavior I had perceived her to be such a major producer of.

And so, it is with complete humbled apology, I extend an expansive “I am very regretful to have hurt you and I apologize for misinterpreting what goes on in your life.”

And I’m sorry for laughing at you the time you got diarrhea at Barnes and Noble. And for telling everyone about it. And for repeating it now.

Even with wisdom from life situations, we all sometimes need to take a moment and regain perspective on a situation. Even when you think you know, you may have no idea whatsoever. So this is my first challenge to you right now. If there’s a situation in your life you’re displeased with, a job you hate, a friend you think is no longer your friend, or a person who has stepped back from your life, take this moment and try and see a 360 degree view of the situation. You may, like me, find yourself much happier you did.

And from here forward, I promise to mostly just stick to the funnier side of things for my blog.


“The Girl Can’t Help It: Love, Loss, & What I Drank” Excerpt–

Meow. Purr. Hiss. Oh, Fuck It. I Give Up.

Ok, so let’s catch up.

Since we last met, I’ve met someone, met and loved someone, fought off the return of LaundryMatt, drank Hennessy, acted like a top-notch asshole, hurt said someone, apologized, and then rinsed and repeated.

I could give you all the juicy details of the relationship, but I’m not gonna.

True to my style, I’ll tell you what’s most important.

He was super fucking hot. I mean tell your grandma to her face you have to go do some nasty things with a very hot man, wear your sexiest heels even to 7-11 just in case you see his ass, cast aside all previous standards you ever had for yourself hot.

He was a big, tough, caramel macchiato skinned bad boy. His personality fit right in line with mine…sarcastic, hilarious, all about business and making money, wild the fuck out sometimes and work your ass off others.

And we were practically inseparable from the start.

Blah blah blah, here’s the rest. I cooked, we watched movies, got drunk, went out, ate out, did stuff, hung out with his friends, went to barbecues in the summer, laughed until 6 in the morning, texted dumb shit to each other all day.

When things got to the point where we were living each day in sync with one another…”Good morning. Want some coffee?” , text updates all day, meeting up in the afternoon out of habit, just crashing at the end of the night and doing it all again, things began to fall apart.
Now, I’m not blaming either of us. His inner dickhead met my inner bitch, and the result was “Jenga!”.

So let’s skip the dumb shit, and get to the fun stuff.

Here’s how I got him back after he acted dumb, I acted dumber, told him to fuck off, then listened to what I thought were pretty genuinely sincere apologies, and a confession about really
loving me and not being ok with letting me go. (Please don’t puke, I swear it gets fun…just setting you up to understand my reasons to go to this extreme).

So, we hadn’t spoken in four days. I lived in City A, and he was now living in City B, 26 miles away. He was in Scuba Diving school (yeah, really) and I was still bartending.

I woke up to another string of text messages void of his name. I lay emotionally defeated and buried under a big white goose down comforter, and slowly peeked my head to the surface, glancing up at the shelf with his things neatly stacked and his spare car and house keys laying on my desk. Damn, he hadn’t even snuck in and taken his shit while I slept.
Ohhhh, that’s right, yesterday he left my spare house key at the bar under my tip jar while I was in the ladies’ bathroom staring in the mirror telling myself to just fucking call already and say I missed him. I had missed seeing him by two minutes when he texted me to say he had stopped in. FML.

I had the day off, and lay thinking about what to do; get out of the house for the first time in two days…watch shitty daytime tv…eat a pack of Pop Rocks and chug a soda and pray for death so I wouldn’t miss him anymore.

As I alternated between sighs and screams into my pillow, I stared at all the shit in my room that reminded me of him. And then I saw it…my power source…The Catwoman Mask.

In an instant, I had a plan. Somewhere over the next hour, I had gone from invertebrate failure wallowing in lost affection to a crimson lipped vixen in knee-high black leather stiletto boots, second-skin-tight black pants, a black button up blouse with an unbuttoned ratio of 2:1, and a cat mask bombing north on I-5.

It’s like every plan ever plotted by Catwoman, the girls from Charlie’s Angels, all the strippers in Las Vegas, and female Navy SEALs had somehow magically come to fruition in my perfectly groomed head.

“Hello, Diving School, this is
Lisa, how may I help you?”

“Hello,” I purred. How did my voice become so incredibly sultry? “My brother is in classes today and I’m meeting him after. I don’t want to call his cell and interrupt him during class…what time is the day over for students today?”. I was fucking flawless.

“Oh,” she chuckled. She had no clue who was tapping her claws on the other end of the line, “2:45.”

I thanked her and hung up, just as I passed Boeing Field. I glanced at the sunny sky and cranked up “Return of da Baby Killa” by Brotha Lynch Hung. I had snapped and I knew it.

Cars passed, most didn’t look over, but the ones who did took a fast second glance. I blew kisses to some and nodded at others. I had nothing to lose, including my mind.

Twelve minutes, six “Daaammmmmn baby!” shoutouts, and fourteen right turns (not necessarily fourteen, I just thought it sounded cool) later, I was in the school’s parking lot. Twelve stalls, no Cadillac.


I hadn’t come this far to lose, so I pulled into the adjacent grocery store parking lot to reassess the situation. As I rounded the corner, there it was…the car I had helped him pick out just three weeks ago. I dug in the BCBG shopping bag in the passenger seat past his shirt (that still smelled like him….mmmm….ok, ok, distraction), his cds, toothbrush, the shirt he had given me to sleep in (which I had cut the shit out of and sewn to custom fit me…open backed and bad as hell), and the bottle of Hennessy VSOP we had bought over the weekend to his car keys.

One click and the lights flashed. I was in. I parked one row over because I’m no dumb bitch. I pulled out the cd with the perfect song that was silly and funny and poured out my apology for being so obnoxious and pleaded for him to not leave me. Without being too pathetic. (Thanks, Pink).

I walked across the lot with my sexiest strut, and with a proprietary flair opened the door and dropped his bag in the passenger seat. I glanced at my watch. 2:00. I had forty-five minutes to wait. Sigh.

I popped the cd in the cd player, skipped to the appropriate number, and turned the car back off.

Where should I sit. Passenger seat? Back seat? Trunk?

He wasn’t answering my calls two days ago. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t today, but I don’t call motherfuckers like that. I usually don’t care. I wasn’t about to be fired, and “time out” just never was my thing.

I settled on the back seat, and, seated sideways, kicked my feet up in the back window. But as I sat, it didn’t take long to get bored. I glanced at my watch. 2:12. Well, this sucks.

As I sighed with frustration and dropped my head back on the back seat side window, I remembered I was in a grocery store parking lot. I decided to go get survival rations of some kind. Anything to pass some time.

I took the mask off this time, assuming I would be mistaken for an armed robber. As hot as SWAT team men can be, I’m here for someone else and intended on going home with him today.

I strolled through aisles, still strutting along, free from even the slightest concern about the judgment of others.

I settled on a shitty gossip magazine–the kind I don’t read for a reason. As I approached the cashier, my glance was stolen away by the one missing link to my day of emotional lows, followed by insanity and inhibition…booze.

I snatched up the bottle of cheap white wine and snagged a bottle opener.

I swear the cashier heard the harps, too, because she smiled. I explained that I didn’t need a bag and winked. She smiled bigger, as if she got the memo that I was balls-to-the-walls fucking awesome right now, in a mildly frightening way.

As I pranced to the car, magazine and purse under one arm, I cranked the wine key into the bottle’s cork. Who needs a glass? I’m on a fucking mission here, and don’t do “middle men”.

I made myself comfortable in the back seat, sipping straight out of the bottle and flicking through the pages of smutty gossip I didn’t care to engage too deeply in.

I checked my twitter, sent a few tweets, including one to a fellow badass, saying “In a Cadillac in a Catwoman mask drinking straight out the bottle”.

And again with the magazine.

Halfway through the bottle, I noticed a small trickle of mid twenties hotboys coming from the other side of the lot. I glanced at my phone…2:47. Fuck yeah, it was GO TIME.

I continued flipping through the magazine, sipping away. I wasn’t even nervous. Maybe it was the booze, maybe just my mental state, but I had to do it big or he may never have spoken to me again. I’d rather have him tell me to die in a fire than just disappear. At least then I’d know where he stood.

In the swirl of thoughts and wine chugs and pages of “Stars with Cellulite” and “Lindsay’s Binging” headlines, it happened…

The trunk opened.

Now I had butterflies. They were quickly chased away by an uncontrollable chuckle and fast inhale…..I think I had actually become Catwoman.

As the driver’s side door opened, I flicked another page of my magazine and without thinking, the silky sultry voice I’d suddenly developed spilled out, “Meow.”

Read more in “The Girl Can’t Help It: Love, Loss, & What I Drank” by Jenburger. Available on Amazon here:    http://amzn.to/hpByKF


“The Girl Can’t Help It” Excerpt….

Brand Recognition: The Heartbreaker
Take a moment with me, and let’s talk marketing.

Stay with me. I assure you this relates to love.

Let’s go on a test drive of a new car. Walk up and see how deep and rich the color of the paint is. The clear coat is fresh, and the curves of the car are defined and even highlighted by the new paint.

Slide your hand along the handle of the driver’s side door and open it up. The smell of new car wraps itself around you and begs for you to take a seat.

As you sit, you feel the soft, supple leather caress your body. Slide your hands on the steering wheel. You wanna take this shit for a spin.
Now, the salesman starts his pitch:

“Yeah, this thing will do zero to sixty in five seconds. It gets 30 miles per gallon and has a deluxe racing package.
On the other hand, you should know some facts about the car. It has been in several accidents; it did run over and kill a man. It also won’t start quite often, so you’ll be shit out of luck if you’re trying to get anywhere.

It may or may not make you sick, as it’s had lots of dirty drivers before you and it hasn’t been sanitized, just detailed.
Oh yeah, and the interest rate on the financing is shit, and you’ll be paying a lot to maintain it, since it has no warranty.
But despite all the danger, unreliability, and cost, it’s gonna look soooooo great in your driveway!
Do we have a deal??”

I hope you’re completely turned off by this right now.


Because men and women do this all the time in relationships. They tell you exactly who they are, and expect you to sign up. Most of the time, they’re almost proud of it.

I’m great at recognizing jerks. Typically, I easily spot them because, just like a familiar logo, I see the “Made in the Land of Assholishness” tag.

Talking with a friend last night about Taio Cruz’s song “Break Your Heart”, I realized how often we all over look the blatant advertising of others.

I am not one to hide the fact that I have commitment issues. I don’t disguise it or sugarcoat it, and, most importantly, I’m working on it. I don’t find it to be my favorite character trait, nor have I ever, at any time, bragged about it to a man.

This song makes me crazy because it throws out the following message:

“I’m pretty much premeditating to do some mean, cold hearted shit to you, love you and leave you, and then nonchalantly move onto the next to repeat this process. In the end, I will continue to solidify my title as a heartbreaker.”

I’m bothered not by his honesty, but by the fact that he’s committing premeditated fuckery.

Coming from the side guilty of what I’ll call “Accidental Assholishness”, I know sometimes you don’t mean to be harmful, it just happens. And you don’t wear a badge of honor from it; you wear what is more like an orange safety vest, warning others to be cautious of what’s ahead.

When my friends meet this kinds of guys (and girls!!!), I’m always so frustrated that they keep talking to/dating/having sex with these assholes. Why? What on earth would make you sign that kind of contract??

It’s one thing to have someone who is working on becoming a better

It’s something completely different for someone to unapologetically announce their premeditated fuckery and expect you to be on board.

Take what they say at face value and decide if you want what is being placed before you. And don’t dabble in “what if’s” or
take on a fixer-upper if it doesn’t seem ready and stable enough be fixed.

Maya Angelou once said, “The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them.”

Didja hear that?? Believe them.

Love Séances

Sometimes, we try to bring love back from the dead.

We hold a cell phone séance, calling or texting the other half of our dead relationship.  We send emails.  Letters.  Facebook friend requests.

I say “we” because I’ve done the shit, too.

In the face of relationship change, we often reflect on what’s behind us.  It’s normal, and even healthy, to look back on past love and think about how it ended, what we did wrong (or didn’t do), and what could’ve gone differently.  Sometimes it’s hard because you feel like it’s possible you could’ve made it work.  They could be the one and you’re passing them by.  I’ve ended relationships because as time went on, I knew I didn’t love the current as much as I loved the last.

But staying focused on the rearview mirror, like holding séances and playing with Ouija boards, is either A) Going to get you nowhere or B) Going to conjure up some dark spirits.

Don’t play with the dead.  There’s so much that is alive and fresh and new, not dead and decaying.

It’s hard when you face new love, or worse…no love, and you still are holding onto connections with a past love (or loves).  You have to remember that every tie you keep to old love is like a tiny force pulling you back and keeping you from moving forward full-speed-ahead.

Cut the ties tonight.  Let them go.

In the end, the things ahead of you are new, fresh, and full of life.

Pull the Ouija board planchette to “Goodbye” and throw the box in the trash.  It’s a brand new day in the land of the living.

The Guy The Dos Equis Guy Wishes He Was: My Dad

When he was ten he had two things:  a mustache and a job.

When he was fourteen, he had four things: a mustache, a job, a girlfriend, and a car.

No, seriously.  He did.

In fact, he bought a 1962 Thunderbird convertible that was falling apart.  But he bought it with lawnmowing money.  Money that was earned by negotiating so many mowing accounts, he had to hire a friend to mow and he took a cut.

My Dad is a rare specimen in today’s society.  He is of Sicilian and Italian descent, and he grew up in South San Francisco.  He left home at a young age and overcame all the odds to build a great life for my family.

Beyond all the wisdom, toughness, and general badassness is some funny shit.  Because just as soon as my Dad will tell me how to fix a problem, he’ll tell me exactly what I did that got me there.  He is not a mincer of words, and he is incapable of blowing smoke up someone’s ass.

And if you’re buying a car, bring my Dad.  He will walk out of the dealership and collapse the deal with one signature on the loan docs left if he finds one number “accidentally swapped” or catches one hint of anything less than full respect from the sales staff.  He will turn salesmen to whimpering bitches and will have sales managers asking him what to do next.

Once, while selling antiques, a man lowballed him for a vintage lamp.  It was such an insulting price, my Dad refused, and when the man continued to bitch at him, my Dad turned and asked some woman shopping nearby if she liked the lamp.  When she said yes, he gave it to her.

Other Badass Things My Dad Has Done:

  • Had a bad ass brand new Monte Carlo SS at age 18 (which he owned outright).
  • Bought me a 1966 Rambler for my first car.  While painting and restoring it, his friend showed him a “Cool” feature…the back seat folded down.  The car was up for sale the next day.
  • Let me drive his 1967 Corvair Monza for my senior year in high school. 
  • Pistol whipped a guy who broke into his house last summer.
  • Bought his second house at age 30.
  • Taught me how to change tires so well, I was able to do it before my boyfriend got there. (I had to stand on the tire iron to tighten it, but who cares about the technicalities).
  • Bought a house that literally was on the verge of being condemned.  It had no plumbing or electricity, and he fell through the stairs while showing it to us.  He restored it himself. And by “himself” I mean, by himself.  A year later, it was completely restored.  It still is standing today.
  • Has owned well over 200 cars, and has a story for every one of them.
  • Made little fake thugs cry like bitches after asking him for a cigarette at a stoplight.  He politely declined, they tried to act like they had a gun.  He threw his truck into reverse, backed up, then slammed on the accelerator at them.  They scrambled and cried.  He won.
  • He’s had a mustache for my entire life.
  • The night before my 18th birthday, he followed me to a party on Dawson in South Seattle.  He removed me from the vehicle, hung up the phone as my friend was talking, and told her to never show her face at his house again.  On the ride home, he threw an envelope of cash in my lap as my birthday present.  Man did I feel like an asshole.
  • Has, and has had at all times since I was a kid, a badass roadster.  Currently, its a Mercedes Benz.
  • He always brings me cool shit back from Italy or Sicily when he goes.
  • He can make anything look like something completely different with nothing more than paint.
  • He says “I’ll knock your dick in your watchpocket.”
  • He says “He looks like a jackass eating thistles.”
  • He says “I don’t give a fuck” and means it each time he says it.
  • October 1998: he called me from an auction in my city and said he needed to store something in my garage.  Twelve minutes later, I heard an ice cream truck behind the house.  He eventually had two carts he leased during the summer, making a few hundred bucks a day in side money with no overhead costs.
  • Gave me a gun as a housewarming gift.
  • He can play “That’s Amore” on the concertina or accordion.  He also owns a System of a Down t shirt.
  • He can fix anything.  And I mean anything.
  • He doesn’t take no for an answer.  But he’ll give it as an answer, nooooo problem.
  • He texts things like this: “That fat ass television cook who does Southern style cooking just shows Jimmy Kimmel how to make ghetto Mac and cheese.  When she pulled the Mac from the boil, she said “you know how the Italians say cook it El dente, well we in the south we say cook it till its done…” (Yes, “EL”), not “al dente”.  Ignorant culo grasso cagna.  Putana Brutta.” <—That means fat ass whore.  Ugly slut.  🙂
  • He never danced disco.  Nor has he ever had a mullet.
  • He had Commodore-era Lionel Richie hair when I was little.
  • When I was very little and our family was struggling, he washed windows in addition to two jobs.  He took me with him.  I’m pretty sure that’s where the hustler in me was born. : )
  • He is a bawse at the casino.
  • If Parliament Funk, “The Dip” by Freak Nasty, or “Boogie On Reggae Woman” by Stevie Wonder comes on, he will call and leave it on my voice mail.  Regardless of time of day or night.
  • My Dad always has cool random shit in his garage.  I promise, if you need something, if he doesn’t have it, he knows somewhere to get it on the cheap. “Guillotine? No problem.  I think I have one in the upstairs storage in the garage…”

That’s why he’s my hero.

Badass Trait #546: Making Changes

Life brings me full circle so often, I can’t help but wonder what the message I’m being sent is.

Is it:

  • You did it wrong.  Here’s your chance for a do-over.


  • Bitch, you are STILL in the same place because you are being punished for chronic poor choices.


Don’t laugh at me. It’s the truth.

So in the last week, I’ve decided to do some things differently.  Like  that phrase my friend @Nikki206 tweeted a while back:

To get something different you have to try something different.

Or something like that.

Badassness is the ability to step up and claim what you want by stepping out of your comfort zone and moving towards it.

Anyway, I’ve started the blog again, I’ve started running again.  I’m trying to be more disciplined, more free, and above all, more open to the possibilities of the world.  In that quest, I’ve had to make some choices…who goes, who stays? Who do I invest in and who do I protect myself from?

It’s hard sometimes to know the difference between who is out to steal your joy and who just accidentally fucks up.  Either way, I’ve got to take from the less-than-worthy so I can give more to those who deserve the best of me.

If you’ve been dragging your feet on a decision, debating whether to let someone in (or push someone out), or regret making a choice in love, FIX IT.  Today.  In fact, why are you still reading? Pick up the phone and just dive into the decision.  You know it’s just gonna bug you if you don’t.

And if you’ve been letting someone slide and get away with some fuckery for a while, maybe it’s time to end the game before they check-mate your ass. 

PS, I heard a song today and I had to post it.  The phrase “With a player like you, I don’t have a prayer…..and that’s no way to live” immediately reminded me of my friend’s situation, so,I texted her about it…  She texted back “:) Thanks.  I needed that exact song right now”.

Hope someone else here did too.


Happy badassness!!!



Im Not Dead

So, I’ve been writing and editing and publishing and, against my initial instinct, NOT blogging.

But I’m back. I’m ready to share my guts with everyone who wants to read it.

No, it’s NOT about love and commitment phobia and janky dudes and skeevy broads. It’s about life.

I’ll talk about everything and nothing, but mostly just have fun with you guys like I used to . So here it is….the new and improved blog.

I’m here to answer your question……..What Would Jen Do??



Where The Hell Is The Blog??

It’s now a book!!!! : )

email me at DownToMarsInfo@gmail.com for ordering information.

Paperback: 17.95 + 5.95 Tax & Shipping

Or: No personalized message, here’s another printer:


Hardcover: 21.95 +5.95 Tax & Shipping

or no personalized message:


All copies ordered via my paypal account will be signed and a personalized note written to you.  : )

Delivery time is approximately three weeks, unless I still have stock on-hand, in which case, 7-10 Business Days.

I’m working on a direct order site, but it eliminates the personal note inside.  I’m also working with a different printer to reduce print costs, which means lower price.  As it is now, I’m not laughing all the way to the bank or anything.  ; )

The Girl Can't Help It: Love, Loss, & What I Drank by Jenburger

Publisher’s Description:

From the beloved blog of a commitment-phobe known simply by the name “Jenburger”, over seventy-five rants, recollections, inspirational offerings, and general observances of everything from romance to the human condition can be found within the pages of this book.

Fall in love, fall back out, hide from stalkers, and laugh through ridiculous logs of text messages and emails, all the while climbing into the head of a young woman who calls it like she sees it, tells it like it is, and most of all, finds a way to maneuver through the bad and come out the other side smiling.

Within just a few minutes of reading, you’ll know why her popular blog made the WordPress Blogs of the Day “Growing Blogs” several times, and had subscribers on the edge of their seats and buzzing about it on popular social networking sites such as Twitter and Facebook.

***PS……Now working with Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble….I’ll keep you all posted.  Much easier to have them do the sale! : )***