Hunted by the Jensens

Do you ever feel like you’re caught in a pattern loop? What I mean is, once you recognize something, once something is brought to your attention – it seems to be everywhere.  If you buy a Volkswagen bug – it seems that every other car on the freeway around you is a Volkswagen bug.  If you notice a lovely pink flower in the supermarket – suddenly the same pink flower is on a stamp on your envelope, a sticker on the bumper of the Volkswagen Bug in front of you at the red light or on the cover of a magazine you see while waiting line somewhere.

I seem to have a weird synchronicity with names. Names are the easiest to recognize. In the fall of 2005 I ran in to Andrews left and right.  In fact, this will show up my slutty side, but I dated three Andrews in three months. Weird – they’re everywhere. Entirely unintentional, as one guy went by his last name, and the other a nickname, so I didn’t even know I’d been Andrew jumping till much later. Anyway, when I’m not whoring around, I still notice a lot of names intersecting my day to day choices. 

For example – the name I seem unable to escape for the last five months is Jensen. It’s starting to freak me out.  I can’t seem to escape it, like I’m being stalked by a name.

Before I came to Utah I watched an episode of Supernatural whereupon I noticed the hot guy on the show was named Jensen Ackles. 

“That’s an unusual name.” I thought. “You don’t hear that one everyday.”

Well, the next week I settled in Hyrum and wouldn’t you know it – Jensen is a very common last name here.  Jensen Tire Supply, Jensen Carpets, Jensen Automobile Services – etc.

While I tried to brush it off as one of those synchronistic time space continuum cluster fucks – I ran into a Jensen Ackles on Myspace.  Believing it to be a fat-bald man living in his mother’s basement and acting like another person to live out some tragic fantasy – I went ahead and added him to my friends list and started chatting on the IM. This is where it gets weird - -er.

I actually liked talking to the guy.  Whoever he was, thinking it was a mutually entertaining back and forth session of snarky comments and friendly banter – I started to look forward to his responses. On his page there was a link of where to send off for an autographed picture.  Tia-Bobia, my niece who is 14, is so smitten with him that I have to keep reminding her – “Honey.  You’re jail bait.” - so she wont run off to LA and stalk him.  Because I’m her Auntie, however, I sent off to this address for a picture for her – knowing it would cheer her up.  Then I promptly forgot about it.  Me and the faceless guy in his mothers basement stopped chatting and I forgot all about it.

Yesterday, as I was coming home from town I seemed to notice for the first time in at least a month – Jensen Motors, Tires, Carpets and so on.  The plaque at the store for employee of the month, Alan Jensen. Blah, Blah, Blah.

I got home and a letter from the studio had arrived – with – you guessed it – an autographed picture of Jensen Ackles.  Of course, Tia-Bobia has been carrying it around in her shirt and gazing at it longingly ever since. Kids.

All this isn’t so bad – weird and irritating that my awareness is so frequently drawn to a name, but not bad, really.

Not until a package showed up at the house an hour ago. It was from the Scrapbook company I really wanted to work for but they refused to negotiate a stipend for food when I’d be traveling 5 days a week in major cities.  So I pick up the box wondering why they would have sent me scrapbook supplies and guess who it’s addressed to:

Athena Jensen.

I sighed. I just can’t seem to escape it.  It’s a name that’s stuck to my pattern in this part of the country and I just can’t figure out how to get away.

For those of you who don’t know – my name is Athena.  Just Athena.  I don’t legally have a last name.  Something the lady at the scrapbook company even commented on so I can’t fathom why they would send me something – much less something with the wrong name.

So there you have it.  This is my rant about how once your attention is captured by something – it seems to be all around you.  Everywhere you look.  Does this sort of thing happen to you? Do names or places, or objects get injected into your consciousness and rattle around until your head hurts and the hair on your neck prickles?