Bubble Letter Life

Sometimes people say "You get hit on all the time!" like it's flattering in some way. The people who hit on me are always disgusting. Here's an example.

About ten minutes ago a man came into my office with "Thug Life" tattooed on his forearms. Was it in Old English? Some weird intimidating font? Nope. It was in bubble letters.

Strike one.

"MMMMMMMMMMMM. I see you're not married." The old dinnertime noise/reminder of time slipping away combo. It's a wonder you're randomly hitting on women.

Strike two.

"Your boyfriend is truly blessed." You think God is real.

Strike three.

So there you have it, getting hit on is not awesome.

Smash Mothers

So tonight an old lady hit my car while it was parked. She managed to hit it so hard that it's most likely totaled. Phone calls were made, her grandson and kids showed up, and his parents forced him to lift up his shirt and reveal his yin yang sun hip tattoo.

This poor lady told us that her husband was at the hospital up the road after having a stroke. She was way too old to be driving and cried that she was going to lose her license and independence. I felt so awful for her. I can't even imagine dealing with the loss of freedom and having to look mortality in the face like that.

Fortunately, this happened right after an improv rehearsal, so we were able to just stand around and joke as much as we could. Even the stressed out family had fun. The cop that came out was a level 10 illegal babe.

I have no idea what the insurance company will say tomorrow, but I am really glad that even though my car is probably totaled, I can make the best out of a shit situation. I'm glad everyone around me is healthy and that I am not anywhere near having my independence taken away. Bringing a little levity to the situation and being around other people in the same mindset made me feel even more focused and confident that pursuing comedy is the right thing for me.

Cheesy, I know.

The tow truck driver told me that his wife left him for a pizza man. I said "she probably had some weird pizza sauce fetish or something." He laughed and said "Mushrooms and shit." I said "I bet you'll miss her less if you imagine her as a pizza," and he agreed.

I will keep my fingers crossed for insurance money and the possibility that officer Keith will use the phone number the took for the police report to make contact and carry me around like a fragile whispering flower.

Funny/Not Funny

Me: I love my parents a lot

Person: that is cool, my dad is dead and my mom is crazy

! (?) !

So, this one time in Ann Arbor...

Oh, Hello!

Sometimes when you're young you tell lies. Usually they just float off into the Cosmos, never to be seen again. Occasionally they are remembered and you have to deal with them. The link below will take you through the wardrobe to an audio snippet of an example of the latter from the archives of my personal life.

http://oralfixations.tumblr.com/

Compliments... I don't understand.

Dear Future Jenny,

If you are trying to compliment someone, don't say "when I first met you, I didn't think I'd like you," just go straight for the "you are cool," or leave it alone altogether.

Thanks,

Past and Present Jenny

Social Networking Triumph

The second human male I can remember having a crush on is my facebook friend. He's very sexy, and he's very stupid. I'd like to, once again, take a minute to thank the technology Gods for helping me reconnect. He posted this today:

"NAME THIS PERSON... A radical, left wing, anti America, SOCIALIST running who threatens to undermine the American family and the American way of life with liberal policies. One who can't provide a US birth cert and used mainstream media to get elected by the uneducated, and the scared people falling fast into foreclosure. One w/racist ties who won't put his hand over his heart during the national anthem."

Yes! He's a birther! Best day ever.

Ha-rumph.

The first time I ever really kissed a guy with tongue I was in my parents' basement attempting to sneak some cookies while he went to the bathroom. He got back more quickly than I anticipated and ended up shoving his tongue in a mouth full of chewed cookie. Today I noticed that he has a picture of himself with a faux hawk holding some sort of huge snake around his neck. I'd like to thank social networking sites for taking a gross situation and making it completely vomit inducing.

Mad (TJ) Maxx: Post Apocalyptic Bargain Hunting, Jean Spirit Posession

I am not a bargain shopper. I like deals as much as the next human, but there is always a hidden price to pay- and in the case of deals, that hidden price is having to deal with bargain hunters. They are a terrifying breed, usually foaming at the mouth and accompanied by several starving and damned creatures (typically in child form). Overall, I think it's worth paying a 30% mark up to avoid dealing with them. True as that is, yesterday I came to a devastating realization- I'm pretty broke. I'm pretty broke and I yearn for new clothes.

My mind immediately flashed to my childhood. Memories of bargain shopping at TJ Maxx with my best friend and her mother flooded my mind. Discounted Polo socks, a tempestuous sea of closeout Tommy Hillfiger shirts and people who desperately need them... everything the department store couldn't sell, thrown to the vultures. Next thing I knew, I was on my way to TJ Maxx.

Pulling up, I reassured myself that it was my tendency to over blow the true horror of everyday situations that was causing me to cringe at the thought of sorting through racks of clothing for that Special Find. My best friend is still a dedicated bargain hunter, and although she's not quite to the foaming mouth stage (she'll definitely get there as she ages), she insists that if you search hard enough you'll find a reasonably priced hidden gem. She also has a tendency to make better life decisions than I do, so I take her recommendations pretty seriously. Channeling her bargain hunter patience and spirit, I walked through the dirty glass doors. Inside: End times.

Blinding fluorescent lights, the scent of anticipation and grandma perfume. Packs of creatures banding together, wildly grabbing tags. Female humanoids snarling, feasting on gaudy handbags. Shoe fortresses, forests of active wear. Unaccompanied children, a surprising array of candy from around the world. The sounds of children, old shopping carts, and Rod Stewart. At the end of it all- me. Wide eyed, heart pumping, attempting to map the place out as quickly as possible.

My main goal was to purchase a white t-shirt and a pair of jeans (and live to wear the items). My eyes darted to the t-shirt selection- taken over by a tribe. A female leader, six small tribesman. They looked vicious, like they wouldn't have a problem chewing through my ankles if I were to impede their perusing. No bueno. I immediately turned to the denim. A shapeless creature molesting every pair. I'd rather risk molestation than being nibbled by potentially cannibalistic t-shirt hunters. I slowly closed in the the denim, then, to my size. The molester was breathing heavily, but safely four sizes on the other side of me. The cannibal tribe spread out, war cries echoed throughout the open aisles. I immediately felt a sense of familiarity... these are the same jeans from my childhood.

I stared into the prehistoric jean rack and remembered walking with my thumbs through my belt loops. I remembered loudly declaring that I would only wear JNCO's (self expression). I remembered purple and red and green jeans so tight that my bones were almost too constrained to properly develop. I remembered that my middle name is Jean, and that my last name is Bloomer. I considered that my name could translate to Jennifer Pants Underwear. I remembered peeing my jeans at the age of 13. I remembered wearing bell bottoms. My whole life in jeans was swirling around my head. Possessed by the great spirit of jeans past, I felt my hand being guided toward one pair. My hand landed on the soft denim. The one pair from this century left standing. I looked down at the tag- nay, the tag looked up at me, and it read my size. "COMPARE AT 99.99. " This was indeed a deal. A deal that would fit over my ass... the best kind of deal.

The native screeches and cries of the cannibals, the heavy breathing of the denim molester, the throaty crooning of Rod the Mod- all drowned out by the wholly encompassing euphoria brought on by a huge discount.

I purchased the jeans and walked out into the crisp evening air. My gaze was drawn to the beautiful cotton bargain folded neatly in my right hand. I'm still not a bargain shopper, but tonight, jeans, I'm Yours.