The Jen Show

(Wendi has lady bug issues, Laura is all over H1N1, Kate wants an invisibilty cloak and Bonnie hit a deer. Check them out.)

Do you ever feel like your life is a sit-com? Not like 'Friends' with their fancy apartments and designer clothes, but more like something on HBO...gritty, darkly funny and rather unbelievable?

I do. There isn't a day that goes by in my life without incident. A friend of mine said to me the other day 'You know what I like best about being your friend? It's never boring.' See, for the people around me it's a blast. They make themselves a little snack, curl up in front of my life and let the hilarity ensue. What will I do this episode? Will I fall down the front steps of a church, bringing an old lady - and her cane - with me? Done. Will I have too much to drink and 'drunken dial' an old boyfriend, maybe cry a little and tell him things I never, ever should tell anyone? Maybe. Will I go out on a first date with a lovely boy and snap a bra strap on the way to dinner? I mean, what the hell does one do in that situation? Say, 'Must go, I've just lost half my bra and I don't want the girls swimming in my soup.' No. Just hold tight to the half you've still got and pray for the date to be over. Which was a shame...he seemed lovely.

The thing is, regular sitcoms only last half an hour or so, which is why they're funny. My sitcome never, ever ends. Ever. It's like I'm Lucy, and Ethel and I are running around town causing mayhem but Ricky never jumps in to save me before I fall flat on my ass. We're at the chocolate factory, stuffing our faces with chocolates but the damn conveyor belt never stops. Ricky never asks me to 'splain anything. He just lets me screw up over and over and over again.

And it's not just always me screwing up. Things always seem to happen to me. Or around me. I'm a bad omen. I was in a friend's car recently - a car that seems to work just fine on a regular basis - and her hood came flying up in our window while we were doing, like, 80 clicks. She says she doesn't blame me...

Then there was my wedding dress, the Mother of all Bad Omens. When I was going through some things years ago, I came across my dress. I have to tell you - my dress was kick-ass. Gorgeous. This filmy sort of thing that was as comfortable as a nightgown and made me look a billion times better than I've looked since. I was looking at my dress and thinking, What do I do with this? It's not like I want to keep it- once you've gotten rid of the husband, you probably shouldn't keep the dress. So, in a moment of pure selflessness, I donated my dress to a local not-for-profit second hand store. Filled my head with dreams of some woman finding that dress for fifty bucks and weeping with gratitude. Sigh.

The building burned to the ground the next day. Seriously. I still wonder if I should write them some sort of formal apology.

Well, that's all for now. Off I go out into the world...gulp. What the hell will happen today? And when does this show end? I'd even settle for a commercial break, honestly.