I have learned to accept the fact that my slender face, dark hair, big blue eyes, petite physique and sometimes very tan – sometimes very pale skin colour confuses people as to what ethnicity I am. I have to admit, I quiet like the guessing game. Though, when I say, Canadian!, it never really answers their question. To add another mind fuck to that equation, my name is Jerrica Zeron. How left field is that? So clearly, my name is not attached to my ethnicity, which, other than white, is actually a big question mark. My father’s last name is adopted and my mother is French. Which in some crowds, is better to leave out.
My parents named me after a cartoon character. If you were around North America in the 80s, you may have heard of a cartoon called Jem and The Holograms. Jem was a super kick-ass rock star chick with huge pink hair, magic earrings and two identities. Her alter ego was her daytime self, Jerrica, the owner and manager of Jem’s (her own) recording company. Basically, my parents named me after the coolest female con-artist in television history.
Yes, my parents were hippies. Unfortunately they’ve stopped doing drugs so they are a little boring now, but I have high hopes for after their retirement. And by drugs I don’t mean the Whitney and Bobby kind. Just pot, and possibly the occasional acid drop. I don’t judge. Yes I do. Well good news is, because of their no-addiction lifestyle, their four children turned out pretty spectacular with minimal personality disorders. I have one older sister, one younger sister and one younger brother. They are all freak-of-nature talented at their respective careers and insanely beautiful. I am the runt of the litter but that hasn’t stopped me from trying to be even more spectacular. Yes, everything is a competition.
After a fast-paced career in politics, I moved to Sweden to live with the luckiest man on earth, who happens to be a very fit and handsome Swedish pilot and engineer. We live in Sweden right now but as the amount of times I punch holes in the wall grows, frustrated with the impossible-to-learn language, our future location of residence remains a mystery. After a few months in a foreign land, I decided my real talent was making fun of people and situations and writing them down on paper.
I recently finished my first book entitled Axing My Exes. It’s about a 28-year-old woman trying to get over her exes in a very unique and entertaining way; by imagining them all in one room, fighting to the death. It was fun to create an alter-ego in honor of my namesake. I put myself in my character, Alexandria’s, shoes and thought, out of the ten men she dated, who would win? Would it be the best man, the strongest man, the oldest man, the smartest man or the man who loved the deepest? Through a comical, albeit drunken, exercise with her friend Scarlett, she metaphorically fights her exes to the death and begins a journey of self-reflection. Will she be able to let them go and move on with her life? Sometimes my writing has meaning to it. Sometimes it doesn’t. More on that later.
So before I get into the juicy past, imaginary future and truthful day-to-day stuff, let me tell you one more thing: I already feel so close to you I could lick your face.
I hope we can chat more soon. High-five, don’t forget to line up the elbows first. Perfect.