Friday I got into a heated “discussion” with the boss lady at work. She got on me for not oiling the shredder daily and suggested I create a big red sign (she is partial to signs) to tape to the wall so I won’t forget. I usually try to just be nice and cooperative but that day, I just couldn’t. I said I didn’t think it needed that much oil. She’s the only one who uses it…to shred literally one piece of paper a day. 


    All I could think about the whole time she was criticizing me was how much I wish I had stayed home all day to play Rock Band. Because I could easily do that. My brother and I named our band Puppy Breath and we rock the shit. For real. And I need to get some valuable drum time in. But no…like every other lame adult I have a job.


    I played the game of LIFE with my brother and his girlfriend. I think they’ve actually changed it up a bit. Like, in the beginning you can choose to go to school but be $100k in debt or you can opt out of school and get a weak ass “career” like an “entertainer” (clearly a euphemism for ESCORT) or a mechanic. The first game I decided to just join the ranks of the working class and not have any school debt. I also decided I would take a female life-partner and lead my alternative lifestyle raising our twins and bringing home the bacon working hard as a grease monkey. And boy howdy, did I get a dose of hard core reality. Lesbians have it rough and I was not able to excel! There were no cruises with Rosie for my pack. But I did (for whatever horrible reason) have to buy awesome seats at a sporting event. And at the end I had to pay $50k for some life-saving surgery and basically retired broke. My wife fell out of the car a few times which I think was some sort of a bad omen.


    The second time ‘round I decided to go to school and I came out a teacher. Which sucks because, as in real life, you get paid peanuts. In some reversal of fortune I became the doctor and whooped on everyone mercilessly. I got people to pay for half of my life-saving surgery, took my kids on that cruise, and sued my brother three times. Lesson learned: unfortunately, to win in LIFE, you’ve got to be an asshole.


    I saw my granny today who tried to unload a crap-load of very bad harlequin romance novels on me. She used to be hooked up with some scam artists who send you boxes of these terrible books monthly. She finally cancelled but is now trying to catch up with her reading. I picked out two: The Sheikh’s Secret and Having the Frenchman’s Baby. I picked them for their titles and groovy cover illustrations. The sheikh does not look at all ethnic and he’s hugging some blonde lady by a waterfall. They even tell you what Talique’s secret may be: he wants her to be his bride! Oh grandma. I asked her if they ever have unhappy endings and she looked at me like I was the crazy one and said, “NO. THAT’S WHY I BUY THEM! WHO WANTS SAD ENDINGS?” True that.


    Just a bit ago I got a strange little text from my friend that read: “I’m meeting my date and if he turns out 2 be a killer his name is John Wang* and his number is xxx-xxxx cell and his home is xxx-xxxx.” I like precautions. But this one seems a little bit after-the-fact. Still, I’m saving this message.

    *Name has been changed to protect the potential killer.

  • Stripper-ific Drunk E-Harmony Messaging and Rejection!

    Remember that old dumb game to derive your stripper name? First pet name + first street you lived on? Mine would be AppleHead College. Which isn’t really going to get me anywhere fast. Anyhow, my boyfriend’s brother found out his best friend’s little sister has an internet porn site. It isn’t a very good one. I guess Marcus found out that this girl has an alias, Candi M., and so, like a good 21st century digital boy, he Googled it and lo and behold. The friend does not know. And Marcus has no intention of telling him because the guy will go all kinds of crazy. I want to anonymously write Candi M. and tell her she might want to consider some kind of artistic director. For example, maybe don’t wear a stained jean jacket while half-naked in the backyard? I might also consider removing the tag from the inside of the see-through undies. That is me, anyhow.


    The internet is a crazy, mixed-up place. I think sometimes it can be wonderful and I can find recipes for strawberry jello-and-pretzel salad and reconnect with people who knew me during the banana-clip phase. But you also come across weird things. Dark things. And then there’s that thing about losing touch with human-kind. Many of my friends have gotten signed up with sites like e-Harmony and the like. And then one of them got drunk e-Harmony messaged. What happened to the good old-fashioned drunk dial? I wouldn’t trust myself drunk in front of this thing. I suspect these things do so well because rejection seems slightly less terrible online. We are slowly growing all soft and losing our coping skills.


    Still, I know the sting of rejection. It happened just last week in tap. We were supposed to all pair up and practice this new move. Everyone but me had a partner—even Unibrow Cosby-sweater—and so this nice old math teacher took pity on me and asked me to join him and his partner and it was nice but I felt so damn dissed! If the mulleted woman with the sports bra and camel toe were there, I’m sure she’d have asked me.


    My friend goes on all these service calls to god-forsaken places like Bakersfield. He made friends with some lady named Sunshine who asked him to dinner one night which was great until he realized she wanted a baby-daddy for the three rugrats she had at home. He saw her a week or two ago and she asked him to dinner as usual, but he told her he couldn’t…he had to get home in time to vote. That is a new and original rejection that I think must be used sparingly.


    Ugh. So I was sick a bit ago and I mean sick-sick. Like for two weeks. I thought I had the strep and so I went to the doctor who looked at my throat and groaned and took a culture but said it wasn’t strep. “Just some weird viral thing. Swish with this Magic Mouthwash,” (yes, that’s its scientific name) “and don’t eat for a couple days…don’t worry it won’t kill you.” Ouch. It didn’t kill me but it made my throat shed which is something new to me. I don’t honestly care to repeat that again. Pieces of you should not fall off.


    So Wayne sent me this link to the 90-day Jane blog (http://90dayjane.blogspot.com/) which is basically a chronicle of the 90 days before this gal Jane offs herself. She hasn’t picked a method yet and she isn’t exactly depressed, but she wants to exercise her right to kill herself if she pleases. My knee-jerk reaction was…what an asshole. Give me a freakin’ break, you lunatic. And then I really gave it thought and decided she was sort of brilliant. Well, assuming this is a social experiment and not really some poor girl’s suicide blog. Because…if you read the comments people leave on her blog (and there are SO many) you’ll see this incredible range of reaction. Of course some are sympathetic. Some want to exploit this by asking for an interview. And others are (big surprise!) hateful and lame and suggest good and creative ways to kill herself. Lots of people suggest she do a shit-load of drugs and have lots of unprotected sex because, well, if you’re already at day 83, what does it matter? I kind of suspect it’s a reflection of the sort of vapid people who troll the internet (and I am guilty as charged) more than anything else. I mean, these people are who make this newsworthy: