Saturday, July 31, 2010


You know when you wake up at 8:30am on a Saturday and you have all these texts from 2:30am saying "seriously where did you go, you didn't pay for 2 bottles of champagne." And you're up this early in the first place because you're waiting on Mexico to send you something for work. And then you remember the joint that's in your purse and you smoke it and fuck it's 8:43am on a Saturday now, and it's all gonna get better from here, and you're listening to the new Arcade Fire album and it's so fucking good? And THEN you're going to the beach? And FINALLY you say "fuck Mexico."

Yeah, that's where I'm at right now.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Doctor Love

The other day, I was having a discussion with Gandy about how we need to bone down with some doctors. He said he wanted to so he could yell "Doctah Jones, Doctah Jones!" like a small Asian boy named Short Round and I said so I could say "The doctor is IN" when we're gettin' busy.

But this is not the real reason I need to be Mrs. Doctor Jenny, and it's not for the money either (as I have made my peace with being a poor) like most people think. See, I am not a hypochondriac per se, but whenever weird shit goes wrong with me I naturally freak out and assume the worst. Common cold? No, AIDS. Bug bite? More AIDS. Stubbed toe? All the AIDS. In actuality, none of those things that happen to me are really the HIV, you see and this is why I need a doctor to calm my irrational health fears or simply slip me some Xanax.

Things go wrong with me all the time, like right now:

-My teeth hurt when I walk. Shanon asked me hurt how and I said they feel like they're going to fall the fuck out of my head when I step down, then she asked me to find anyone under the age of seventy who has that problem. But she is not a real doctor. Looks like I am gonna have to get a side piece who is a dentist to give me root canals on demand and in turn, I will let him go to second base while I am passed out on laughing gas.

-My knee hurts. I may or may not have jumped off a rope swing into about two feet of water (I did) and it is all kinds of hurty now. Then just when it was getting better, I did some knee slides at karaoke the other night since I always give 110% whenst performing and now that shit feels like I got Tonya Hardinged. Vicodins and surgery is the only solution I can think of and I currently have access to neither. 

- The hangovers. Hungover is just my default setting these days. But I firmly believe that doctors MUST have some secret hangover cure or pill or drug that they are sworn to keep under wraps because there is no way I'd be able to deal with sick complainy people and their weird issues all day and not drink every night, but there is also no way I would be able to do doctor work all hungover.

Bonerkiller of the Day

Dudes with long fingernails. W. T. F. I really don't understand this. Oh, you play guitar in a band and it's easier to strum chords? Buy a fucking pick. They cost a dime. Your band will sound just as shitty, but at least now you'll actually get laid. I saw a hot guy the other day, but then saw his long nails and wanted to throw my phone in his face. Only moms are allowed to have long nails, cause then they can scratch your back when you're 5 and that shit feels GOOD. I think I actually pissed my mom off asking her to scratch my back all the time, but whatever. That relationship turned sour long before that.

Bros, cut your nails.

Boner of the Day

Today is all sorts of bullshit, but this is makin' it alllllright. Plus it got me remembering what a boner I had for Chris Isaak! I'm gonna toss the actual video in there too, because it helped me become the woman that I am today.

Essence of Slappy Cove from Rob Harris on Vimeo.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

All Cats, Only Cats

Wow, my friend Andrew just called me out on responding to three of his emails with cat pictures today. Hadn't even realized it. So this post is gonna be all cats only cats. Yay Tuesday.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Rapey Bo Bapey

Hangover city. Population - Me.

Being hungover is nothing new, but what IS new is the level of awesomeness I took things to last night. After running an event, I took my drunk-ass to the after-party, bought a bottle of champagne, parked myself in a corner and then proceeded to be a heinous bitch. A RAPEY, heinous bitch.

My boss had to walk me out, give me my credit card (which he was holding onto) and put me in a cab. Then he had to go back inside because I "lost my phone" when it was actually in my purse. But I woke up to a text from him that said "If you find this phone, call xxx-xxx-xxxx, CASH REWARD." Then my other coworker handed me my debit card AND my ID this morning. Didn't even know they weren't on my person!

I don't remember anything from the bar, but yet another coworker told me I was a classic asshole and kept shooing people away with my hand. I have a drunk goggle crush on him, and some girl was all up in his shit, so me and my buddy told the girl that we had paid to reserve the table she was sitting at so she had to buzz off. CLASSIC.

This morning my boss said that when the waitress came over with my bill for $150 I couldn't figure out how to sign my own name and that she "wanted to skull fuck me." His words, not mine. Then he said I got rapey with all the young boys at our office, that if I were a dude I would've been arrested "for sure." If I had a nickel...

Boner of Yesteryear

Yeah, I went there. Back to back Boners of Yesteryear. Sweet baby snakes I am hungover today, so this is about all I can manage. Been at work for three hours and about one third of that time was spent looking at pictures of Paul Newman. This is Gandy's fault, as he mentioned not only how hot Pauly News is, but also that he makes the most delicious salad dressings around. It is seriously crazy how slammingly bonerrific dude was. Young Paul Newman, I will make all the babies with you. All of them.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Boner of Yesteryear

Kris Kristofferson. I'm not sure how I feel about people who give their child the same first and last name, I mean, I'm lazy but would like to think I could rally the few brain cells that Lady Booze hasn't yet claimed and muster up two different names for my offspring. But you know what, Double K's parents did sumpin' right, cause he used to be so bangin' back in the day that I don't even care. Dreamy Bo Beamy. Not that he has aged badly, but I get the vibe of "cool friends Dad I want to smoke pot with" more than "silver fox I wanna pay a visit to Bone Town with." I thought that maybe I could do a double header BOYY with K Squared's roll-dog Willie Nelson, but my research has shown that Willie actually gets better looking as he gets older. Them braids must be woven with virgin unicorn hair or something.

But imagine waking up in your weird hippie loft circa 1970 with this piece though. Scha-wing. Breakfast is served.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

The Perfect Email

This week I've found the perfect solution to all of my "I hate emailing" problems. I now respond with image only. None of that text mumbo jumbo. It matters not the subject or importance of the email - no matter if the pope himself is asking me for something, all of my coworkers and clients are cc'ed, or my "best friend" Jenny wants me to do something ridiculous like wait for her fridge delivery.

Here they are, in no particular order:

This is my "job well done" / "sittin' pretty" response. Look at that smug Garfield!

Here's my "what can I do for you today, hmmmm?" response. Works like a charm.

This one is actually my coworkers go-to. He sends it to me every time he's wondering just what the fuck he's doing with his life, or if he's hungover and having a "why am I here" moment. As you can see in the blog below, I also send this to Jenny when we have a particularly shameful discussion that reminds how I'm 28 but nowhere near adulthood (ie the dookie rules talk).

And everyone loves this shit! Look at what a client sent me back out of the blue. Pure gold.

Shannie's Music Poo Baw Whatever

I've built up so many karma points today it's ridiculous. Here's what I did to earn my ducats:

1. Bought an intern lunch (he cleaned some toilets for me).
2. Bought my office team tofuti cuties (as preemptive apology for the drunk emails I will be sending at some point).
3. Gave my coworker $5 for food cause he spent of all his on drugs (did you know that you can use paypal to buy drugs now?).

So you see, I am due for a karma bomb. Or at least some get-out-of-jail-free drunk emails/texts/voicemails.

Here's Big Boi's "Follow Us" video and "General Patton" (not a video). General Patton is so good cause it's like a rap for Lord of the Rings. Trust me, just listen to it. And yes I have only been listening to Big Boi for the past two days.


In case no one has noticed, it has been hotter than Satan's taint lately and this has proved problematical for me in many ways, especially in the dinner party department, specifically relating to wine. See, I really can only drink red wine. White wine not only gives me such crazy heartburn that I barf, but the last time I drank enough of it to get drunk, I blacked out at Easter dinner at Nicky's parents house around 4pm and her Grandma had to take me outside for a cig to prevent me from clearing the table and breaking shit (so I hear). Yet I can take down a magnum of red like a champ. I dunno why them's the rules, but I'm not arguing with science.

And herein lies my dilemma; when I go to a dinner party, like most people, I bring a bottle of wine to quell the shakes and combat boring friends. In Wintertime, everything's gravy, but come Summertime I am up Dooky Creek without a paddle. My solution? Red wine with ice cubes.

People put ice cubes in white wine all the damn time so why does everyone's panties get bunched as the Bradys when I put some cubes in my glass of cabernet? I have drank sangria that came in a box and cost 99 cents with my friend before and yet she acted like I farted in her purse when I offered her a glass of chilly red last night. And real talk, in all likelihood we're drinking Trader Joe's three-buck-chuck anyways, so they should be thanking me for putting the deep freeze on their taste buds. Shanon informed me that this was a faux-pas and "the rest of the civilized world doesn't do it" and I had something about it as my facebook status to which my friend Cary commented, "Like school in summer. Baby." which I think is supposed to mean I have no class, but I am tired of this bourgeois "I saw 'Sideways" wine attitude and right now I'm running on 2.5 hours of sleep here, so Ima go drink red wine with ice cubes on my couch until I pass out, like the winsome wino I am. Get over it, jerks.

Boner of the Day

Joseph Gordon Levitt. My pants just exploded, Ka-Boom. Haha, wait, gross!

I've already mentioned that I saw Inception last night, which was fucking awesome and gave me a serious boner for Joseph Gordon Levitt. Dude is smokin. I always loved him in "30 Rock From the Sun" and of course one of the greatest movies of all time, "10 Things I Hate About You." But boy is lookin goooood all growned up. I. Will. Hit. It.

The Munchies

Last night I went to see Inception (the best mind fuck EVER) with a whole mess of people at Kips Bay, which I actually thought was in the Bronx until I looked it up. 31st street and 2nd ave, who knew! Normally I hate seeing movies with a ton of people, but my buddy Andy promised to get me blazed so I said what the hell.

He was actually being kind of nazi about it and made everyone show up at 7:30 for an 8:55 movie. He and I were the only people to show up on time so we dipped around the corner to smoke by ourselves. You snooze, you lose, am I right? We smoked this giant keef joint that got me good and weird. I was so stoned that when I was waiting in line for refreshments, I had to text for backup cause I just couldn't deal, nah mean?

Anyway so when we finally got our seats (and still had half an hour before the movie started), we started snacking. Hard. Our other buddy brought some weird Canadian salt and vinegar mix to put on the popcorn and that shit was amazing. Then Andy handed me a bunch of raisinettes and some popcorn and said, "Prepare to have your mind blown." And let me tell you, that shit is my new JAM.

It has been well over a decade since I've had the serious munchies, and god bless that raisinette / popcorn mouthful for bringing it all back. I looked over at him and said "Why don't they have chocolate covered raisin popcorn?" To which he replied, "I'm going to text you what you just said to me."

But seriously the last time I was jonesing for some stoner food that bad was when they came out with the Reeses NutRageous in 1994. Does anyone else feel me on this one?


You may recall that many moons ago, whilst on our road trip through the Dirty South, Shanon acquired the nickname "Dookie Hands" (courtesy of Chris of course). It has since not only stuck, but evolved  and taken on new meanings.

See, the other weekend Shanon was supposed to come over and write with me. What actually happened was she watched the soccer match and got drunk. And I was MIFFED. So I went to the BBQ to meet her later, thinking I was over it but I was actually way under it still and proceeded to yell at her and she yelled back and I think we told each other to fuck off (best friends!). I was off pouting and texted Chris about said miffed-ness, to which he responded, "You got dooked." And I did! This was too funny to not tell Shanon so we patched things up over some shots and I informed Shanon that I now owed her a dooking. Which I cashed in the next day by bailing on her for the beach.

We was all even stevens until I asked her to do me a solid this past Sunday and stay over my house to let the fridge guys in. She agreed and then totally bailed. Dooked again. Just now I reminded her that she is now owed a serious dooking from me and that dookie is a dish best served cold. Sure, I don't really know what that means, but she has an icy turd headed her way in the not so distant future.

This scared her, because she then busted out a list of Dooking Rules and dubbed herself Mayor of Dookytown:

Then she sent me this picture.

Deep conversations. We has them.

Monday, July 19, 2010

New Beginnings

My new fridge got delivered this morning and lemme tell you, it felt like Feliz Navidad at Casa de Jenny this morning. It's so shiny! And nary a stink wave in sight. I can't wait to go home and play with it.

Last night I threw out everything from my old fridge and upon the discovery of a hunk of cheddar that was completely black, made the decision to change my sad fridge ways. No more expired milk and mystery leftovers. I will treat my fridge with the respect and admiration it deserves, because I am a GROWN. UP.

A grown up who just rolled into work with a limp and what appears to be half of a mustache made of herpes, but is really a battle wound from the rope swing that kicked my ass yesterday.

Friday, July 16, 2010

What I Did When I Got Home

It turns out I was wrong about the uncapped milk being the source of the stink waves coming out of my fridge. Turns out it was some kale I had bought a couple weeks ago, as I discovered with Shanon and Gandy the other night. And as if that wasn't enough of a fuck you from sad fridge, I put my AC on yesterday and I guess EL Fridge-O did not like it because that shit broke down. Now I have no fridge and let me tell you, the timing COULD NOT be better, seeing as it's 95 degrees today.

But yes, upon my arrival home last night:

-Moved my fan from the kitchen to my bedroom and told it, "Your oscillating days are OVER, my friend."

-Wanted to make sure I remembered to call my landlord in the morning about getting fridge fixed, so I decided to write myself a note. Problem was I could not find a scrap of paper anywhere. What I did find, was a paddleball racket on my kitchen chair. So I wrote myself a note on the back of it and halfway through, I thought to myself "What the fuck is wrong with this picture, you are writing to yourself on a paddleball racket, get it together." So then, below where it says GET FRIDGE FIXED, it says GET SHIT TOGETHER. Then, for reasons unbeknownst to me, it says "What is this a Cathy cartoon?"

-Sent a text of this picture to my friend Wes, at 3:30am, saying only "Well?"
Luckily, the key to crazy drunk texts, I have discovered, is sending them to equally crazy people. He wrote back to me at 5:40am "That sonofabitch owes me 13 dollars, that is what."

-Wrote a note to myself on my phone that just says "Giant squid."


In the name of Sir Georgi, I dub this week "the most drunk ever." Also doesn't help that me, Jenny McPippin, Christobuns of Steel and Gandy did mushrooms last night. My favorite part of the evening was when Gandy said goodbye to everyone then immediately bit it and fell onto not one but two beers. Wiiiiiipe out!

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Fort Meth

Last night, Shanon and I had planned to go watch "Labyrinth" in the park by my house, since that movie rules, but the rain decided to pee all over our Spandexed Bowie party so we did the next logical thing; bought a handle of vodka, built a fort in my living room, put Jurassic Park on the VCR and invited Gandy over to make collages with themes we picked for each another.

After about an hour, we looked around at one another, each huddled over our pile of magazine scraps in what looked like a hamster den and dubbed our structure Fort Meth. Crocodile Dundee seemed like a good choice for our next feature film, so we put that bad boy on and continued our collaging. Then I knocked over Gandy's drink. Then he kicked over my drink. Then Shanon spilled her drink on the couch. And at one point I remember crawling out of the Fort on my hands and knees in order to dodge carnage from a fart-bomb Gandy set loose. Then we had a slumber party. The end.

But! Luckily I documented our methy arts and crafts night this morning. Let's start with Shanon's masterpiece, whose theme I chose to be "Waycism."

Nailed it! She said she was going for a "Seventeen" magazine feel and I think she killed it. Even made racist fun of a baby! And I have no clue what pants shitter has to do with racism, but that made me laugh so hard I almost earned the title myself.

My theme, thanks to Shanon, was "Raining Peen." But you don't have to take my word for it...

Obvs had to make it dong-shaped and threw in a sprinkling of racism in myself, you know. Because.

Now we jointly agreed that Gandy's theme would be "Surprise Sex" ("Rape" in layman's terms). And oh. Muh. Guh. He made it huge, so it's a two parter...

Yes, he went there. Baby fisting. When in Fort Meth...

Portraits of us and our pieces de resistance:

Balls-out racism.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Shannie's Music Poo Baw Whatever

I've been real sassy today, so much so that 3 different coworkers have said the following to me:

"Go fuck yourself."
"Eat my asshole."
"You're the cunt, CUNT."

But you know what? I care NOT. I've been listening to this shit all day and I'm so happy / hungover. I don't even care that the boy I was just starting to like dogged me last night and didn't show up to meet me. My response? Drunks texts and letting another boy touch my boobs. Take that, you just got dooked by Shannie. Enjoy these tunes.

Restless People - Days Of Our Lives

Tanlines - Real Life

Best Coast - Boyfriend
(I realize the irony of this song and what I just wrote above, but I don't give a shit, this song is the tits. And for all of yalls informations, I picture Paul Rudd and this guy below when I listen to this song.)


It's no secret that I like the short fellas, but the real secret is the reason why. Shhhh, but short boys tend to have giant dongs. This is a scientific fact, but also a mystery. "You were born short, so here's a baby arm dick," seems to be nature's way of correcting the bummer height situation. I also like them because they say funny things to me like, "I love to climb things" (because I'm so tall, get it?). One time I made out with a short boy on some stairs so we could be the same height and it was so fun! And everyone's the same height when you're doing the horizontal mambo, nah mean?

Why I'm Late

I generally like to think I'm on time to shit, but I also have many perceptions of myself that just aren't true. The reasons I'm late aren't cause I overslept or was getting my hair/makeup did, since I am really unskilled at both of those things, but they're for obscure reasons that always seem to feel like there is no other possible time I can do them except right at that moment. Here's how I spend my time until I say  to myself what he fuck are you doing? Quit dicking around and get to the office/bar/cockfight.

Putting things in jars. I kept Shannie waiting for me the other day because I really, really needed to get the 18 million q-tips I bought at the dollar store out of their package and into a jar. She was a miffed when I gave her the explanation for my tardiness. I have done this with jars of flour and past as well. Also, it pays to spring for brand name q-tips, as I learned when one broke in my ear.

Taking pictures of my fridge. Check out this other one I took this morning, to try and remember when this food is from. I used that honey on some toast, then didn't feel like dealing with the wooden spoony thing so put it in the fridge for safekeeping til after work. That was two months ago. Those pickles are from November, as I thought about bringing them to Thanksgiving dinner, but then thought I might get called a weirdo (Burnt my nose trying to smoke pot out of an apple instead. Just like the pilgrims).  That plastic wrapped bowl is oatmeal Bennie brought me six months ago, now covered with a fine mold. The other container is a straight mystery. Pina colada in the back is about to turn two years old and I think for its birthday I will open it and get drunk because that shit must be fermented by now.

Organizing firework arsenal. Don't you judge me.

Looking for glass in my feet. My feet are like magnets for broken glass. And I am really clumsy so there's usually some hanging out on my floor most of the time. Right now I'm pretty sure there's some in the lefty, as I am walking with a limp.

Looking for stupid shit. I always know where my keys and phone and wallet are, but things that I absolutely needed to find before leaving have included: Yo MTV Raps collectors cards, aerobie frisbee, middle school yearbooks, fart bags, eye patch,  fortune telling fish, James Bond theme songs CD, to name a few. What's weird is I usually don't need these things for wherever I'm going, I just like to know they're safe.

Egg & cheese sandwiches. I go back and forth between saying fuckit, I'm already late so waiting a few more minutes for a sammie won't matter, or looking like a total asshole for trying to blame my lateness on the trains and getting the "clearly you had time to stop for an egg & cheese" stink eye. It's extra tricksy when I have the hangovers, since I am probably running late already but will physically not be able to operate without that sammich. Rock and a hard place.