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
Monday, March 1, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
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.
"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.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
I'm still alive. I'm a creature!
This probably doesn't come as a surprise to anyone who follows my blog, because I see or speak to most of them on a semi-regular basis. However, for any creepy lurkers out in the universe, I'm still around, I've just been too wrapped up in a lumberjack to post anything (literally).
Anyway, a lot of really weird things have been happening to me, as usual, but I fucked up today and thought it was worth blogginn'.
I get the same thing for lunch every day, from the same restaurant. When I call, I say the exact same thing every time. It's to the point that the girl just says my order when she hears my voice. I like that, because I completely hate ordering food. It's awkward and I mumble, then have to repeat myself, etc. Every day I pay with my debit card, and leave the same tip. I say "Hi" to the people working regularly, but lately I've been feeling like I should engage them in a little bit of conversation, to avoid seeming like a pedophile or serial killer or something. This can be filed under "incorrect urge" in my brain, just like humping stuffed animals throughout my youth. Similar to my urge to hump stuffed animals as a child, I was unable to resist. For what it's worth, I had better luck violating my toys.
My first mistake was switching up the routine. Yesterday I marched in there and paid in fucking cash. The girl looked like she might explode a little bit and said "I don't think I've ever seen you pay with cash before!" I really didn't know what to say, so I just responded with a simple "Yeah, but I do sometimes.... haha," and then I wanted to die. Instead of throwing myself into traffic, I went back to work and ate my lunch while reading the same blog I read every single day.
I guess, in order to paint this picture more vividly, I should probably note at this time that the restaurant I frequent is in a strip mall in Redford. It's right next to a "career placement/advancement" agency so it's always teeming with fuck ups and people trying to run me over. This is the kind of strip mall that pays homeless people to hold up signs touting exciting deals. There are always multiple felonious skanks screaming on their cell phones, etc. It's a total cluster fuck and if the food wasn't amazing and I wasn't such a fat ass on the inside I wouldn't bother.
ANYWAY!
Today I went back, and decided not to throw anything off. I pulled out my debit card to pay, but since I had paid with cash the day before, we had to talk about the fact that now I'm back to debit. I started to tell the girl that I'm a "creature of habit," (which is one of the million stupid phrases I use that I should quit) but I didn't get any further than "I'm a creature..." when this mammoth bitch crashed through the door using her "outside/ lost in the middle of the woods and desperately needs rescuing" voice demanding a refund on her $5 hamburger lunch special. Who fucking orders a hamburger at a middle eastern restaurant?
So this Goliath is losing her fucking mind about the hamburger, and I have absolutely no time to finish my phrase! I'm standing there, and the girl is looking at me like I'm retarded or something because I just told her I was a creature. I felt so creepy! I was completely startled by bad burger rhino and I couldn't find it in myself to correct the situation. I paid, left, and now this girl I see more frequently than most of my friends and family thinks I let her know that "I'm a creaaatureeee" with heavy purpose and seriousness.
Fuck.
Anyway, a lot of really weird things have been happening to me, as usual, but I fucked up today and thought it was worth blogginn'.
I get the same thing for lunch every day, from the same restaurant. When I call, I say the exact same thing every time. It's to the point that the girl just says my order when she hears my voice. I like that, because I completely hate ordering food. It's awkward and I mumble, then have to repeat myself, etc. Every day I pay with my debit card, and leave the same tip. I say "Hi" to the people working regularly, but lately I've been feeling like I should engage them in a little bit of conversation, to avoid seeming like a pedophile or serial killer or something. This can be filed under "incorrect urge" in my brain, just like humping stuffed animals throughout my youth. Similar to my urge to hump stuffed animals as a child, I was unable to resist. For what it's worth, I had better luck violating my toys.
My first mistake was switching up the routine. Yesterday I marched in there and paid in fucking cash. The girl looked like she might explode a little bit and said "I don't think I've ever seen you pay with cash before!" I really didn't know what to say, so I just responded with a simple "Yeah, but I do sometimes.... haha," and then I wanted to die. Instead of throwing myself into traffic, I went back to work and ate my lunch while reading the same blog I read every single day.
I guess, in order to paint this picture more vividly, I should probably note at this time that the restaurant I frequent is in a strip mall in Redford. It's right next to a "career placement/advancement" agency so it's always teeming with fuck ups and people trying to run me over. This is the kind of strip mall that pays homeless people to hold up signs touting exciting deals. There are always multiple felonious skanks screaming on their cell phones, etc. It's a total cluster fuck and if the food wasn't amazing and I wasn't such a fat ass on the inside I wouldn't bother.
ANYWAY!
Today I went back, and decided not to throw anything off. I pulled out my debit card to pay, but since I had paid with cash the day before, we had to talk about the fact that now I'm back to debit. I started to tell the girl that I'm a "creature of habit," (which is one of the million stupid phrases I use that I should quit) but I didn't get any further than "I'm a creature..." when this mammoth bitch crashed through the door using her "outside/ lost in the middle of the woods and desperately needs rescuing" voice demanding a refund on her $5 hamburger lunch special. Who fucking orders a hamburger at a middle eastern restaurant?
So this Goliath is losing her fucking mind about the hamburger, and I have absolutely no time to finish my phrase! I'm standing there, and the girl is looking at me like I'm retarded or something because I just told her I was a creature. I felt so creepy! I was completely startled by bad burger rhino and I couldn't find it in myself to correct the situation. I paid, left, and now this girl I see more frequently than most of my friends and family thinks I let her know that "I'm a creaaatureeee" with heavy purpose and seriousness.
Fuck.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Driving Too Fast In Parking Lots
When people whip into parking lots at 85 mph and then back into parking spaces, I want to fucking kill them.
That's all.
That's all.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Not All The Way Blind/ I hope Hell is fake because I think I'd go there if it is real.
Metro-Detroiters- I've got some bad news. I'm sure most of you have seen the Sam Bernstein commercials featuring his whole wonk-eyed family. If we've ever talked about the commercials, I'm sure I've screamed something about how fucked up Richard looks and how hilarious it is, etc. I'm sure I've bellowed "Aahhhhhh MANNN Richard is my Bernnnstteeiinnnn" over the hills and magical Jesus cloud mountains into the vengeful ears of God Himself.
Well it turns out that Richard isn't just weird looking, he's fucking blind. Foot in the mouth, for the 14,125,425th time. I need a muzzle.
Anyway! The way I found out about this is worth noting.
Not since the great "snuggies are backless" scandal of Christmas Eve 2008 has there been such an uproar in my kitchen.
The scene: Tuesday night, pizza on the table. My mouth is completely full. A Sam Bernstein commercial comes on before final Jeopardy. Dad sits silently in the recliner.
I scream, with my mouth full of pizza "Faackin Richaaaadddd! Dass my boyyyy!" My brother scolds me- "He's fucking blind, you bitch!" My Mom jumps to my defense by interjecting "He's not all the way blind." Nick (my brother) yells back, "Yes he is! He walks with a fucking stick! He was is a professor at U of M! I sat in on a few of his lectures, he's very inspirational!" Mom, still not having it, says "He's just not all the way blind. No he's not."
If there is a Hell, I'm going there. Not just because I've been making fun of a blind guy for a while, or because I have premarital sex, or because I think it's funny when kids fall and break their teeth. I've been dealing with a lot of Jesus/religious stuff lately, and by pretty much every measure that has been presented to me, I'm going to Hell. This is a total bummer because I think I'm pretty nice. If I were in charge of whatever alternate to Hell there is- I'd let anyone in who was pretty nice and not a magician/circus person/carny/David Lee Roth. I'm going to be very upset and out of luck if God does exist and he's not like me in that I can't hate or be mean to (or condemn to Hell) anyone who is nice to me. If I am ever put before God, I'm relying on his acceptance of such phrases as "You know, I really love what you did with that whole Appalachian region of the U.S.- The mountains look great!" or "Where did you get that robe? You look stunning," or "Since you're omniscient, you must know that I'm a HUGE fan of beards." to keep me out of the infernal circle. Ugh. This sucks. Religion just needs to smoke a bowl and chill the fuck out.
Anyway, stop making fun of R.B. because he can't see anything.
Well it turns out that Richard isn't just weird looking, he's fucking blind. Foot in the mouth, for the 14,125,425th time. I need a muzzle.
Anyway! The way I found out about this is worth noting.
Not since the great "snuggies are backless" scandal of Christmas Eve 2008 has there been such an uproar in my kitchen.
The scene: Tuesday night, pizza on the table. My mouth is completely full. A Sam Bernstein commercial comes on before final Jeopardy. Dad sits silently in the recliner.
I scream, with my mouth full of pizza "Faackin Richaaaadddd! Dass my boyyyy!" My brother scolds me- "He's fucking blind, you bitch!" My Mom jumps to my defense by interjecting "He's not all the way blind." Nick (my brother) yells back, "Yes he is! He walks with a fucking stick! He was is a professor at U of M! I sat in on a few of his lectures, he's very inspirational!" Mom, still not having it, says "He's just not all the way blind. No he's not."
If there is a Hell, I'm going there. Not just because I've been making fun of a blind guy for a while, or because I have premarital sex, or because I think it's funny when kids fall and break their teeth. I've been dealing with a lot of Jesus/religious stuff lately, and by pretty much every measure that has been presented to me, I'm going to Hell. This is a total bummer because I think I'm pretty nice. If I were in charge of whatever alternate to Hell there is- I'd let anyone in who was pretty nice and not a magician/circus person/carny/David Lee Roth. I'm going to be very upset and out of luck if God does exist and he's not like me in that I can't hate or be mean to (or condemn to Hell) anyone who is nice to me. If I am ever put before God, I'm relying on his acceptance of such phrases as "You know, I really love what you did with that whole Appalachian region of the U.S.- The mountains look great!" or "Where did you get that robe? You look stunning," or "Since you're omniscient, you must know that I'm a HUGE fan of beards." to keep me out of the infernal circle. Ugh. This sucks. Religion just needs to smoke a bowl and chill the fuck out.
Anyway, stop making fun of R.B. because he can't see anything.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
