Sometimes I wonder what I would do with my life if I actually had the ability to control everything in it. What does it say about me that I had a cry that was so "executive" and that I want to manipulate the world to my preference??? *chuckles quietly*

Alright, so I KNOW that I can't have the world pander to my every whim, but I mean, why not? I am Jennifer. I am the queen of the world. I am the most precious and loved person in this entire universe. And if you buy ANY of that, I've got a bridge to sell ya.

So... the point of this. I want to pick up where I left off with my personal history. Just for Russell, cause he's the one who's been pestering me for it. I mean, Damn, the man thinks I'm the only person here to serve him, I guess. Like I don't have anything better to do than pander to his whims. Cmon folks, let's all say it together... Jennifer is the Queen of the World.

Thank you.

Now, on with the story...

so, I was born. And I was born a girl. And I grew up. When I was bout six days old, my Grandmother was looking at my mother, as she was fussing with me. Gram asked what was wrong, Mom said she thought I was hungry, but that she'd already fed me and didn't know exaclty what was going on. That started me on my regimen of Orange juice at age 6-days. by the time I was two weeks old, maybe less, I was being fed mushy oatmeal.

*shrugs*

Tho I don't remember it, seems I was my great-grandfather's favorite. I've heard the story that he would sit in the rocking chair (the one that's downstairs right now) and rock me every day. That he would talk to me. *shrugs* Dunno what we would discuss. Hell, I knew the concept of language, but these foriengers didn't understand what I was saying.

You just can't find good help these days.

so... I was carried a lot as a baby. Hell, that's the big people's job, you know... to pander to my every whim. it is. I promise you. I have the contract here somewhere.

When I was about a year old or so, perhaps two. Dunno. I was in a daycare place... when mom came to pick me up, she noticed that my eyes were all puffy and swollen. She was scared and didn't know what was going on. She asked the daycare folks what happened, and they didn't have the foggiest idea.

See? Ya just can't find good help these days.

So, that was our introduction to the wonderful world of Grass Allergies. *chuckles quietly* Sometime in that era of my life, I had another mishap... We're not exactly sure what happened, or what injury/event caused the reaction... but, there was a time when I came back from day care crying and fussy.

Through a few comments and aborted attempts at holding my hand above my head, we found out that I'd broken my collar bone. Now, this is not that easy a bone to break. Imagine it... you're a kid... of all the bones in your body... which one are you most likely to break? NOT the collar bone.

However, Me, ever being the pioneer... I Did the unexpected. Hell, I was able to stay in the womb for nearly ten months,. I had to have an encore. Now, the supposition is that I either broke my collar bone by being jerked to my feet by some day care attendant. or by falling off the stage coach.

Before you think I'm so ancient that there was nothing but stage coaches for transportation... *chuckles* My brother and I had a bunk-bed set that was in the shape of a stagecoach. Not just some dorky metal bed, but real wood and really, honestly shapped like a stage coach.

Anyway, I slept on the bottom bunk, and it is assumed that I might have broken my collar bone by rolling out of the bed. The walls of the bunkbed were the sides of the stage coach, and the "front" of the thing was against one wall. the "back" of the thing was not against anything, but there was a flap that hung down, so it would look as if it were solid.

I figure I was chasing cowboys and indians or something and tumbled through that flap. *shrugs* Hell, I don't know. I was less than three years old.

Um...

Anyway... so before I was a year old, my Mother and Sperm-Donar divorced. He left on a run and never came back. He called about six months after that and told Mom where to send his stuff. *shrugs* Dunno. don't think about that too much.

Erm... Round about two months before my fourth birthday, Mom married Dad, my Step-father. They got hitched in Ohio, then drove cross-country to Washington. I wasn't all that impressed. *shrugs* I remember Mom telling me bout one place we stopped during that long-ass drive, where I really, really, really had to go to the bathroom.

We were out in the middle of nowhere. I mean, literally nowhere. And I said I had to go. *shrugs* Well, Dad found a place... it was a building... long since burned to the ground. He pulled over and took me out there. I was just about to go to my business... Dad had said this place had been an old gas station... well, I looked up, unsure... and I asked, before I would go... if this had been the ladies room.

*chuckles softly*

Mom says it was funny. I don't see it as funny. I see it as a little three year old girl wanting to be sure she was not going potty in the men's room. That's totally understandable, isn't it? I mean, really... think about this... You've got a little, three year old kid, who desperately has to go. So bad that she can't wait another ten miles for the rest stop... she has to go NOW, but she WON'T go until she knows if she's in the lady's room or the men's room. *chuckles* And the "room" she's in is just a charred outline on the ground.

Hmmmm... We get to Washington and the house that Mom and Dad had been planning to purchase wasn't purchase-able as Dad had somehow lost his Job as the Vice President of Marketing for some computer corperation. *shrugs* He didn't bother telling Mom he'd lost his job before getting married. But hell, who wants to know something depressing before they tie the knot?

*shrugs*

So, when we got to Washington, we lived with Dad's folks (I'm telling you all this from my Parent's stories. I dont' remember jack shit) then some friends of Dad's from church... Then we got into a nice, three bedroom apartment or something... It was welfare housing, I guess. But, hell, I was three, I didn't know any better. I remember Mom and Dad saying that it was one of the nicest appartments they'd ever seen. And I suppose it was. *shrugs* The welfare housing in this era is not as nice... not as clean and the welfare families (very generally speaking) that you hear about, are not in the same situation.

But, I suppose if you looked around, you'd see that there aren't really that many newly-married couples in their early thirties on welfare. *chuckles*

Anyway... we moved on from their after a while... dunno exactly when, but Dad got another job and was doing well. I mean, really well. By the next summer, we'd moved into our own house. It was a really, really nice place, in my opinion. And I had the coolest closet. Seriously.

It was a huge, two-story deal. Four bedrooms, a bathroom and long storage room upstairs. Livingroom, diningroom, kitchen, breakfast room, den and bathroom downstairs. There was a large garage and about a quarter acre back yard with a Japanese Cherry tree and an apple tree. It was really, really cool. And I loved my room. I loved it most because of the closet. But I also loved it because out my window there were trees, two of them, as I was laying down, I could look out my window and watch the trees... they were cool. They had an odd shape about them and one was bent at a slight angle (these are the tops of the trees) they looked like Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner.

I would lay there in bed, watching these trees as the wind blew... it was way cool... it was the perfect statement for wanting something you could never catch. *chuckles* However, at that age, I just thought it was cool to have my very own cartoon characters (from my favorite cartoon, no less) playing outside my window.

*shrugs* So, that's about all you need to know right now. Again, if you have any complaints or comments, anything negative at all... if you're board out of your mind... it's all Russell's fault. So bitch at him.

*grins, waggling her eyebrows*

Peace unto thy hearts, folks.