Tag Archives: Abraham Lincoln

Magical Dinner Guests

I’ve been granted a wish; by a leprechaun, genie, whatever… I’m told I can have a dinner party with any three other people, living or dead. Naturally, this is very exciting but I have to speed dial some cleaning folks and caterers cause if there are two things I don’t do, they are clean and cook. On to the guest list. With so many choices, I feel like the best way to make such an important decision is to throw a few back first. I need my judgment to be slightly impaired and my intuition heightened. Plus, it’s Friday night and I’m thirsty. No one likes a sober hostess; cheers!

Guest list… I think to create a truly interesting dynamic, perhaps I should mix up some right-brained, left-brained type thinkers. Stir the proverbial pot. [Speaking of pot, note to self, if any of the J’s (Jim, Jerry or Janis) make the cut, figure out how to obtain pot.] I consider some of the more obvious choices – Honest Abe, who was my first crush (yes the 16th president); Marilyn Monroe, who just about everyone finds fascinating because she sang “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” with barely any air in her lungs; my grandma, cause well, I miss her terribly.

But it’s just not that simple. There’s a lot to consider here. I don’t want to bridge too much of a time gap, for example. Like what if Zac Efron’s cell rings during appetizers and Wyatt Earp, having never seen a cell, is all, “You tell em, I’m coming… and Hell’s coming with me!” and shoots the shit out of Zac’s iPhone? Uh, awkward.

Likewise, I don’t want such polar opposite personality types that it creates tension, resulting in uncomfortable silence. Nothing kills a good dinner party like uncomfortable silence. That and your Uncle Bob’s “bat wing” trick. So Mother Teresa and Quentin Tarantino place settings will not appear on the same table.

Ultimately, a decision must be made. I lick invisible invitations and mail them off by whatever magical means this wish has been granted to me. Typical. Now, I’m nervous; what if no one shows up?

The clock is ticking and I haven’t found suitable attire yet. What do you wear to such an unprecedented event? Jeans. I wear jeans and a black shirt. It says, “I’m relatable. And too drunk to properly dress myself.”

Ding Dong. Guests have arrived right on time. I sort of half-stumble, half-gallop (cause I’m a pretty pony) to the door and swing it wide to reveal… What in the HELL? Why is my whole family here? A better question is where are Anna Kendrick, Marc Chagall and Susan B. Anthony? I must have pondered that out loud, because my dad just shook his head at me and said, “Jenna, you really should drink less. And dinner better be ready soon.”

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Early Indicators

Hubba, hubba!

Hubba, hubba!

Last night, while watching previews for Night at the Museum II with my friend Kathryn, I recalled an early childhood ambition. When I was a little bit, I had my sights set on an unusual profession. I didn’t want to grow up to be a doctor or a veternarian or a teacher like the other kids I knew. See, at a very young age, I fell in love with dinosaurs. I drew them, played with them, and was basically enthralled with the concept of them. The Triceratops and T-Rex were of my favorite species – the Triceratops being an herbivore seems suiting now. Anyway, it was then I decided that when I grew up, I wanted to be an archaeologist. I am not an archaeologist. My dream didn’t come true.

In addition to my first dream job, I’d like to share my first crush. My first ever crush was not on Greg from The Brady Bunch nor either of the two Coreys. It was on Abraham Lincoln. That’s right, good ole’ Honest Abe. My parents took me to D.C. several times when I was younger and I saw Ford’s Theater and the home where Lincoln was taken to after he was shot. They had the blood-stained pillow under glass but on display. I was hooked. He was a hero with a huge hat. What a hottie!

Thinking back on these childhood perspectives, I think it should have been obvious from the get-go that my little mind doesn’t work like other “normal” people’s. What kid crushes on Honest Abe and fantasizes about digging up dinosaur bones in sweat-soaked khacki’s?