tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40837560475100357982012-02-16T12:09:38.647-05:00jen lovelyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06614852375191108552noreply@blogger.comBlogger91100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4083756047510035798.post-51664019597478866992009-10-08T00:51:00.000-04:002009-10-08T00:52:01.131-04:00

the house i grew up in was haunted. i have no idea if it still is seeing as how we moved out more than ten years ago. for a while i thought it was all in my head seeing as how i was doing a lot of drugs at the time. after we moved out there was a random electrical fire in the basement. i think the ghosts were pissed.i’m not really sure when the hauntings became evident. and i could probably fill

jen lovelyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06614852375191108552noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4083756047510035798.post-83716728440145762572009-06-28T22:31:00.002-04:002009-06-28T22:35:50.735-04:00

It was a sunny day in mid April 2007 when she got a phone call from her dad. He was changing their plans, instead of going to his house for lunch they were gonna meet at the Olive Garden. It was her first time there, and her last time. She knew he hadn’t been feeling well, and that he had something he wanted to tell her. She was hoping this was cause of celebration. No one knew just how sick he

jen lovelyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06614852375191108552noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4083756047510035798.post-39920794138484404902008-11-13T17:22:00.001-05:002008-11-13T17:33:18.166-05:00

jen lovelyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06614852375191108552noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4083756047510035798.post-88540840459050748092008-08-15T21:47:00.004-04:002008-08-15T22:01:13.771-04:00

There was a time when I was daddy's little girl. When the sun rose and set around my father. My mom loves to remind me of the time when I was 5 and very specifically told her so. Even when they divorced all I wanted was to be daddy's little girl. It didn't work out that way. My dad went on to start his 2nd life. I went on to start my 1st. It's over 10 years later. Now I look at my daughter, who

jen lovelyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06614852375191108552noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4083756047510035798.post-1945627479632213912008-06-09T02:08:00.007-04:002008-06-09T03:48:06.919-04:00

Dear Dad, It's a little over a month since you passed away and every night that I close my eyes you're all I see. Sleeping has become an effort. I have no idea how to process this anymore than I already have. I was with you when you passed, and it was so peaceful. You took your last two breaths looking into Carmen's eyes and then you were gone. When the priest came in to give you your last rites

jen lovelyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06614852375191108552noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4083756047510035798.post-26148053354804778412008-04-11T00:01:00.004-04:002008-11-13T17:35:26.676-05:00

I have no idea how to really even begin this. I stopped writing in here a little over a week ago. I was sick with another throat infection. That was Thursday? Whatever the first day i didn't write. Then Saturday night I got the phone call from my step-mom telling me to get to NJ my dad was in bad shape. Dylan, Emma and I caught the first flight out on Sunday morning and I'm glad we did. Saturday

jen lovelyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06614852375191108552noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4083756047510035798.post-69544906173081722722008-03-27T01:52:00.002-04:002008-03-27T02:16:02.098-04:00

So I started this blog hoping that maybe just maybe, I'd actually write more. Obviously I'm not keeping up with it. Which is why I signed myself up for NaBloPoMo. April's theme is letters, and god knows there's nothing more that makes me happy then composing open letters to various people. But before this month long journey starts, I feel that I should say something about my last post. My dad

jen lovelyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06614852375191108552noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4083756047510035798.post-64272748200009517362007-10-06T20:36:00.000-04:002007-10-06T20:57:20.000-04:00

My dad has always been super hero strong. When I was growing up, he was my hero. There was no stopping my father. No one could beat him up, and if you thought your dad was tougher, than I'd have my dad come pick me up and you'd see his size and change your story. My dad stands 6'4" tall, and looks like he has just swallowed a basketball. Even if you saw my dad today, you'd never know that come

jen lovelyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06614852375191108552noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4083756047510035798.post-88729773209538924632007-05-20T04:18:00.000-04:002007-05-20T05:18:00.430-04:00

Perhaps it's because I live in conservative South Carolina, or maybe it's my noticable tattoos, yet when I walk into a room that is filled with mothers I panic. I am a loud, foul mouthed, tattooed, yankee mother. Yet even when I go back to New Jersey I have the same feelings of panic and paranoia. If ever the reason for the North and the South to revel in unity it would be against mothers like me

jen lovelyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06614852375191108552noreply@blogger.com0