Saturday, October 3, 2009
Fella: "Safety goggles, hockey mask. You know, for safety."
Me: "And what exactly is all this safety for?"
Fella: "Cutting down the tree out back."
Me: "So you'll have a chainsaw?"
Me: "And a hockey mask with safety goggles?"
Me: "You look like a special needs serial killer."
Fella: "You know what would be funny, if I was naked."
Me: "Yeah because I think most men believe the safest thing to do is have wood shrapnel and a chainsaw near their exposed man parts."
Fella: (totally ignoring me) "Oh man, then all the neighborhood kids would be totally afraid of playing on our lawn."
Me: "Yeah and that whole 'Meghan's Law' thing will make it even scarier."
Monday, September 7, 2009
Okay so there is some chatter on the internets about this pole dancing doll and whether or not its real.
Either way, welcome to the apocalypse.
(image from www.gizmodo.com)
Friday, September 4, 2009
I naturally assumed it was part of good-natured teasing amongst the teenage staff. You know how it goes. Two teenagers work together and flirt by throwing shit at one another. Ah, young love. So I ignore the smack and go about my business. A minute later I hear it again, only this time louder. I look up.
What the crap?
A motherfucking duck.
A duck had somehow wondered his duck ass into the back door of the pizza parlor, marched his ass through the kitchen and was now attempting to fly out of the glass window.
This attempt to fly through glass happened not once, not twice but three times.
On the duck's third attempt to fly to freedom through the glass the crazy, ass, old Italian guy who owns the place starts trying to get the duck with a pizza paddle. Oh, right so on the third attempt the duck actually falls behind the "pizza assembly station" and is no stuck. So the crazy old Italian guy is attempting to get the duck out from behind the station with a pizza paddle. And yes, it is the exact same paddle they normally use to extract delicious cheesy pizza from the oven.
Finally the duck comes out from behind the station and the COIG starts doing what could best be described as spanking the duck (and no that's not a euphemism). The whole time he is spanking the duck he is yelling at it in both English and Italian (because I guess some ducks are bilingual.) It goes something like this:
COIG: (Unintelligable Italian - potentially cursing)
COIG: Hey ya! Stupid duck!
COIG: Hey-a duck! Why you NO MOVE?
COIG: (More unintelligable Italian - definitely cursing)
While this is all taking place the young Italian guy continues to make pizzas. I shit you not. He just keeps flipping out dough, spinning it out, dumping on sauce and toppings and throwing them in the oven. The best part? The young Italian guy does not even acknowledge what is going on right behind him. Like this is total old hat. As if everyday he watched some old guy spank a duck and curse at it in Italian. And if thats the case we are so NEVER getting pizza from this place again because I highly doubt they have a pizza paddle exclusively devoted to duck spanking. Even if they do chances are high they could get those paddles mixed up. It's not like one says "duck spanker."
After about five minutes the COIG realizes that spanking the duck is doing nothing. In all the time the duck has maybe walked five inches. As if a lightbulb has gone off in this guys head. He starts screaming for a broom. Then he basically plays shuffleboard with the duck. He would sit the broom right behind the ducks butt and just slide the duck across the floor. I'm guessing the duck was okay with it because it never moved or quacked or anything.
Finally the COIG gets the duck out the front door. He walks back in and looks at me and goes "You see that duck?" and makes a shrugging motion with his shoulders and walks away. I then watch him take the broom that was just maybe raping that duck and puts it back in its place. Uh? Shouldn't that be thrown out or disinfected or something? And I'm fairly certain no one has removed the duck spanking paddle.
So basically there is a 50/50 chance we may have gotten botulism from the duck spanking paddle. And you can bet that I didn't eat a slice of that.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Fella: "Yup. Laid off. I have to go to the union hall to see what's available now."
Me: "Oh I'm sure something will come up."
Fella: "Yeah or else I'm going to have to take a side job like that guy in Hung.
Me: "Okay. Well, if you start hooking than so will I. Then we'll see who is a better whore."
Me: "What? You think you'd be a better whore than me?"
Fella: "No, naturally you'd be the better whore."
Fella: "You know, guys will sleep with anyone."
Me: "What? Oh so I'd be a charity fuck as a whore. Is that what you're saying?"
Fella: "No, I just mean its easier for girls. You know, you guys can sleep with anyone."
Me: "Uh-huh. Interesting hole for you to dig yourself out of here."
Fella: "You know, I don't think I'd be a very good hooker. I have to be attracted to someone to sleep with them. Like remember Leona Helmsley? I don't know how guys did her."
Me: "So basically you're giving up because you already know I'd win our hooker competition?"
Fella: "If that's what you need to believe."
I would just like to say that I would totally be the better whore. And I'm not sure if thats a win but let's just call it that, okay? I mean Fella is handsome and ladies check him out all the time. But I mean really? Let's think about the kind of woman who can't get laid on her own and a requires a hooker.
Plus dudes solicit male hookers and I just don't see Fella working with that.
Monday, August 10, 2009
I understand the economy has fallen on hard times but are soap and water in desperate short supply? Is it impossible to find laundry detergent?
I only ask because based on my experiences today I would say yes, yes it is in fact all in short supply.
I mean, I know I showered, applied deodorant, and even wore freshly laundered clothes. I was JUST at Target and they still had aisles FULL of the stuff. I mean it was right there all on the shelves. Anyone could have just walked into the store, put some in their cart, paid for and it went on their merry way.
Maybe for some this is a highly guarded secret. I don't know. I'm not God. But when you come into an enclosed space you must know that you reek? Apparently for this guy. No clue. Just sitting there on his happy ass stinking like a donkey after a days work. Except, hi, it was morning.
I wish social decorum was such that I could have turned to him and ask him to vacate the car wash waiting area due to his unholy stench. I could have asked if he ever considered running himself through the car wash but that might have been too rude.
And on a side note. You don't wash your own ass BUT you are washing your car? COME ON.
Some of you might be thinking "Oh Jane, he just came from the gym or something. Stop being a judgmental bitch." Well, hookers you're wrong. The dude was in business attire meaning he was planning on taking his stench and accosting people with it in a workplace environment.
While it did feel like my olfactory senses were raped it did give me an idea.
I could help these rank individuals. I will begin to carry with me (at all times) travel sized soaps and deodorants. After all, if we learned anything from my hobo ninja post it's this - Be The Change! See a need and fill it!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Then Fella pulled out his trump card and slammed it on the table. So, I got drunk once (shut it) and bragged to everyone at an intimate get together about how hilarious I am on my blog. Of course, in my recollection I was simply defending myself since I was, in fact, being hilarious but no one seemed to agree. Of course people we knew THEN started reading the blog and apparently some of Fella's friends made fun of him. Which led to the request that I "stop posting our conversations verbatim." Which was confusing to me because I wasn't sure if that meant I was now able to take artistic license or just start making shit up.
Anyway. I told Fella that it was good for me to post stuff because people always look at us as a couple all side eyed since I'm usual drunk and blabbering on the outside but they NEVER realize that HE is drunk and blabbering on the inside.
"That doesn't make ANY sense."
Me: "Pretty sure it does."
Fella: "Whatever. Maybe you should start taking meds."
Regardless of whether or not I should be on meds I will cease writing about Miss. Sassafras but I REFUSE to stop writing about Fella. He is just too damn hilarious to not share with the world.
Monday, March 30, 2009
"Does anyone else find the new cheetos commercials completely disturbing?
What I basically get from these commercials is that eating copious amounts of cheetos does NOT make you obese, as previously believed. No, no, no. What it does is make you insane. My guess is that something inside of the orange powder conflicts with your neurons, adapters and chemicals in your brain effectively “shorting you out.” The result? You begin to see a tiny, smooth talking Chester Cheetah everywhere you go telling you to do bad things to people.
Granted the overly trendy girl saying “ew” ad nasuem was totally asking for it. But come on, wiping orange cheeto dust all over someone’s white jacket? That’s just uncalled for no matter how annoying they are. That cheeto dust is no joke. That stuff barely comes out of black sweat pants let only anything white. I basically throw a tarp down and eat on that whenever I choose to indulge in cheetos. I think its only smart to be responsible and hey, safety first! Right? If that’s the case maybe a bio hazard suit is more appropriate.
Those commercials are creepy as hell and seem more like they should be commercials for some sort of anti-psychotic. Because its not normal for a snack food to cause delusions. Isn’t that how that whole “Son of Sam” thing started? I’m not saying Cheetos caused that whole mess but you know, the whole “my dog told me to kill people” think is awfully similar to Chester Cheetah telling those enjoying his snack to do horrible things."
Is it just me or do most foreign languages sound like complete gibberish? I’m serious it just sounds like someone just making it up as they are going along. You know who is the biggest offender of this? Asian countries.
And while we are talking about it why do all Asian people smoke? Okay maybe not ALL Asian people but far and wide I always see Asian people smoking. Is it because they are trying to look cool? Because its not working.
Is that racist?
Just asking. "
So my question to you is fewer posts or crap like this?
Monday, March 23, 2009
Yeah, it's EXACTLY what it looks like. Someone has created stickers that you can place on your iPhone that make it look like you have a text message. You know, for when having a tea party with your cats just isn't cutting it anymore.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
1. PUSHES FOR QUICK INVOLVEMENT: Comes on strong, claiming, "I've never felt loved like this by anyone." An abuser pressures the new partner for an exclusive commitment almost immediately.
2. JEALOUS: Excessively possessive; calls constantly or visits unexpectedly; prevents you from going to work because "you might meet someone"; checks the mileage on your car.
3. CONTROLLING: Interrogates you intensely (especially if you're late) about whom you talked to and where you were; keeps all the money; insists you ask permission to go anywhere or do anything.
4. UNREALISTIC EXPECTATIONS: Expects you to be the perfect mate and meet his or her every need.
5. ISOLATION: Tries to cut you off from family and friends; accuses people who are your supporters of "causing trouble." The abuser may deprive you of a phone or car or try to prevent you from holding a job.
6. BLAMES OTHERS FOR PROBLEMS AND MISTAKES: It's always someone else's fault if something goes wrong.
7. MAKES OTHERS RESPONSIBLE FOR HIS OR HER FEELINGS: The abuser says, "You make me angry," instead of, "I am angry," or says, "You're hurting me by not doing what I tell you."
8. HYPERSENSITIVITY: Is easily insulted, claiming hurt feelings when he or she is really mad. Rants about the injustice of things that are just a part of life.
9. CRUELTY TO ANIMALS OR CHILDREN: Kills or punishes animals brutally. Also may expect children to do things that are far beyond their ability (whips a 3-year-old for wetting a diaper) or may tease them until they cry. Sixty-five percent of abusers who beat their partner will also abuse children.
10. "PLAYFUL" USE OF FORCE DURING SEX: Enjoys throwing you down or holding you down against your will during sex; finds the idea of rape exciting.
11. VERBAL ABUSE: Constantly criticizes or says blatantly cruel things; degrades, curses, calls you ugly names. This may also involve sleep deprivation, waking you up with relentless verbal abuse.
12. RIGID GENDER ROLES: Expects you to serve, obey, remain at home.
13. SUDDEN MOOD SWINGS: Switches from sweet to violent in a matter of minutes.
14. PAST BATTERING: Admits to hitting a mate in the past, but says the person made him (or her) do it.
15. THREATS OF VIOLENCE: Says things like, "I'll break your neck," or "I'll kill you," and then dismisses them with, "Everybody talks that way," or "I didn't really mean it."
This is a very important list and it is being posted for a very specific reason. The above list are the signs of being with an abuser. Keep in mind that not all points on the list must be "hit" just a few of these are symptoms of being with a very unhealthy person. Please everyone read it and forward to everyone you know.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Top. Tier. Literary. Agent.
That's right bitches, I got a partial manuscript request from one of my top tier peeps. This has yet to happen in this tireless pursuit of a book deal. I've gotten requests but its been mostly from my bottom rung people. But this guy? Grade A Filet Mignon.
This is so exhilarating. I'm trying desperately to live in the moment and not spiral down into "what if" scenarios. It's imperative for writers to live in each moment fully. So right now I'm glugging down a big, fat glass of "woo-hoo!!!!!"
Thursday, March 12, 2009
1. Bod Man Body Spray
2. Bitter Pudding
What does this say about me as a bloggess? I don't know. But I find it deeply depressing. Because see, I don't know if the people who are searching for bitter pudding are looking for my blog or if there is something awesome out there called bitter pudding and they become totally despondent upon stumbling upon my blog. I also find it pretty hard to believe that someone would have to google my blog name to remember how to get here since it is just bitterpudding. So either my readers are retarded (which I refuse to believe since I know all of you are sexy and have super cool ninja moves) or there is something out there called bitter pudding.
According to Google.....people who search for "bitter pudding" tend to be looking for bitter chocolate pudding.
I'm so screwed.
So to those who land here looking for a bitter chocolate pudding recipe, I'm sorry. I know that me talking about how much people suck and fake hymens may not be exactly what you're looking for but I KNOW I'm funnier than Martha Stewart.
As for the Bod Man people.....I have no words for you. Why the hell are you searching for it? Maybe you should land here and get taken to school a bit. Learn a little bit about douchebags and smelling like the old, desperate guy at the club.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
After a bit Miss Sassafras decided she was Captain independent and wanted to bounce all alone. I was standing next to a group of woman and was being super polite and smiley and nice and they would have no part of it. I began to draw a conclusion that these women were pretty, jealous whores. Why? Because they looked like moms. You know, bad clothes, light colored high waisted tapered jeans, no makeup and“easy” hairstyle (read short minus product). Meanwhile, I looked fabulous in my stylish top and dark denim with my perfectly made up face and styled hair. Just because you push out a kid doesn’t mean you instantly have to start having a Chico’s kind of a day.
I started to feel really uncomfortable because the woman next to me kept looking me up and down and whispering amongst themselves. I try super hard to not turn into “Mega Bitch Jane” around Miss Sassafras. I’d rather have her believe that I’m always calm and a total lady. I wanted to turn around and step up and by like “What hookers? WHAT?” Then they would be all embarrassed and mutter something about liking my top and I’d be all “Bullshit sluts. I doubt you’re thirsty because you’ve been guzzling haterade. FACE!” Then I would storm away and start bouncing with Miss Sassafras all the while giving them the “I’m watching you” hand signal. Then THEY would feel all uncomfortable and pack their rude ass kids up and leave.
Who’s the winner? ME. That’s right.
On a side note if anyone should have been giving anyone the side eye it should have been me giving it to them. Their nasty ass kids were rude as hell! They would cut line and knock Miss Sassafras out of the way. My chicky cut line once and I snapped her ass into order quick. I told her to wait her turn and go to the end of the line. It’s called parenting. Meanwhile these hens kids spent the whole time being rude while the moms thought it was cute. Guess what? Maybe its cute NOW but lets see how cute it is 10 years from now when your kid is a total psycho and mine is awesome.
Again, I win.
Monday, March 2, 2009
No one even deny the Target love. I mean seriously, when was the last time you went to Target and didn’t spend at least $100. Never. That’s when.
Today reminded me of another reason I love Target. I mean other than the low, low prices and cute, cute stuff. People watching. I was checking out and waiting patiently in line. The woman in front of me whips out her checkbook and I groan loudly on the inside. Such an action typically causes me to consult an calendar and make sure that it is in fact, not 1954. Today it was in fact 2009 but this woman was in her 80’s so who the hell knows. She could have dementia and think its not 1945 for all I know. Who am I to judge? (Shut it).
The old lady asks the clerk how to spell Target. Which completely catches the clerk off guard and she actually pauses to think about it for an unusually long amount of time. Here’s a tip – look at the freakin 4 trillion plastic bags next to you with TARGET emblazoned all over them. I decide to let it mentally slide because how many times do I forget my own zip code and age? Answer? All the time. So I keep smiling and waiting patiently in line. Then the old lady asks the clerk how to spell “twenty.”
The meeting of the minds begins.
These two Mensa members go back and forth for what feels like eternity trying to figure how exactly to spell “twenty.” I, could have, of course, jumped in at any time and assisted but where’s the fun in that? These two go back forth consulting with one another over the placement of the “w” and what have you and the whole time I’m laughing my ass off inside my head. They finally reach a consensus and the check is written.
So, just a side note…..if you can’t fucking spell do not write fucking checks.
Monday, February 23, 2009
But there is a dark side.
I know. SHOCK.
The problem lies in when people want to "friend" you and you have no damn clue who these people are. You investigate them as much as possible and find that they graduated from high school, college or elementary school - whatever- with you. You are drawing a complete blank on this person. You begin to panic and wonder if this person has been holding onto some special bond that you two shared. Which is kind of creepy that after all of these years of NOT talking NOT being friends.....anyway.
I always think that these people see me and begin flipping out "Oh My God there is Jane! We totally had AP French together and we were SO close senior year. Oh man, we had the bestest of times EVER! Oh man, I better friend her immediately!"
Then I get the request and I'm all "Who the hell are YOU? Let me take a look....oh we went to school together? Oh crap.....s/he looks vaguely familiar. .Oh no what do I do?" At this point I tend to vacillate between declining and accepting. Of course accepting gets me every time because I'm hoping that they will give me something, anything that explains just who the hell this person is.
Now I need a Xanax prescription because I'm scared to death that I'm going to run into people at the grocery store or Target who I'm now "friends" with. They'll be all "Jane! SO Good to see you!" I'll be all "WTF?" and throwing candy in my cart then having a total internal panic attack and just have to fake it through the whole thing. You know "Oh you! Hey! How are YOU?"
Of course during the whole conversation I would be trying to figure out how to get the hell out of this conversation. My eyes skirting the landscape looking for any kind of out. I would naturally begin franctically waving to a stranger and announce that "there's my ride - gots to biz-ounce" (because I think its important, when speaking to someone who YOU don't remember to make yourself as annoying as possible in order to ensure that the awkward "hey let me get your number" exchange doesn't happen.) Of course, since its me this person would inevitable follow me and check out right behind me thus ruining my "hey theres my ride" cover when the stranger I'm using begins to run away when I begin talking to them like we know each other. I mean really, why can't people just be cool?
Then I would be trapped in line for some long ass period of time while some person in front of me pays for their stuff in pennies. Thereby sucking me into a longer conversation with someone I don't know and then it gets to that awkward "we should SO get together again - this is JUST like old times." Really? REALLY? Back in high school did we awkwardly run into each other in public places while you corned me to ramble on about your boring ass life? Because if thats the case, no wonder I've forgotten all about you because, I know this may be a shock - but this? This? Not fun.
I would of course feel guilted into giving out my number and would do so. Then I would spend the next week or so freaking out every time my phone rings and refusing to answer calls from unknown numbers. Of course I would only be able to keep up the charade for so long before I would run into the "Unknown High School Chum" again and it would be awkward. But I think I know what I would say - you have to have a plan in situations like this. I would explain that I lost my phone and since I didn't have her number there was no way to call her and explain. Especially since my cell phone is my only phone. Then I would pretend that my new phone was vibrating in my pocket and pick it up and say convincingly "OH NO!" give my "chum" a concerned look and tell her that I have to go right away. I'll have tears welling in my eyes as I run out so that she won't chase me for my new number. Then I simply move to a new town and I'm out of that situation.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Alright someone needs to say this and apparently it has to be me.
Guys. When you walk into a Victoria’s Secret could you possibly attempt to not be super fucking creepy? How about you walk in and not give some naughty look to every woman purchasing underwear and bras.
Yes, yes I know. To you these are the sexy little undergarments that you get to see during special times. But guess what? It’s just underwear. No woman has ever skulked around the men’s underwear section of a store giving men the side eye and staring at their junk.
So how about you don’t do that either?
What if you just walked into VS like it was any other store and just purchased what needed to be purchased instead of walking around the store with a big retarded grin imagining every woman in her recent purchases?
And you know what makes it extra creepy? When you are with your teenage daughter.
Think about that for a minute. If you are in Victoria’s Secret being a pervert don’t you think that other guys could be in their having perverted thoughts about your special little angel?
Let that sink in.
So let’s all agree that if you can’t contain yourself for 10 minutes or at least make a reasonable attempt to hide your….um…..lascivious behavior that you do not enter said establishment.
UPDATE: Okay so I was at Victoria's Secret again this weekend making a return. I was strolling around the store to see if there was anything on sale when I heard the following exchange:
75 year old Customer: Yes
Customer's Old Ass Husband: Can I watch?
Theoretically, this is a good thing. Because how cool is it that after presumably many years of marriage this man is still totally hot for his wife's body. But on the practical side, EW.
I was the only person who heard the husband say anything so I look inappropriate when I'm laughing my ass off at the panty island.