jen statsky.

Tonight Is The Night I Destroy My Frontal Lobe

2010-12-30T07:23:00.000-08:00

I cannot wait to get totally, utterly, face-bendingly SMASHED tonight.

I'm talking absolutely obliterated here. Oblit to my obit, that's how tonight is gonna go.

Seriously, I am gonna get so ridiculously plastered. I'm probably going to get so out of control that I have to remove my own shoelaces with my teeth and tie myself to a chair. That's how outrageous tonight is gonna be.

I hope that before this night ends, my skull EXPLODES; that is how insanely tanked I want to get. And then I want to go around and pick up all the pieces of my skull and put it back together with only the sticky stuff from the back of used post-its, just so I can just keep on getting more and more positively HAMMERED.

I don't think you understand what I'm saying here: I enrolled myself in a thirteen-week long SAT practice class, just so I could create more brain cells, which I will now proceed to absolutely DESTROY on this very eve. If that isn't absolutely corybantic, then I don't what is.

Listen, after tonight, you might as well tell everyone that you’ve been to ancient Greece, cause I am going to turn my entire body into one giant pit of RUIN.

For real, though, my head is going to be like a car crash you see on the side of the highway, but this time, traffic will actually speed up, cause it’ll be so bad that people can’t even look. Yeah, yeah, that is EXACTLY how absurdly sloshed I’m going to be in a mere matter of hours.

I don’t even KNOW what blitzkrieg means, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to be doing a total and absolute blitzkrieg on my mind tonight. (Side note: they should really cover ‘blitzkrieg’ in an SAT prep class, don’t you think?)

Whatever, DOESN’T MATTER, because after tonight, I’m gonna thoroughly annihilate my ability to formulate new thoughts, ideas, sentences, words, even noises. Do you realize what that means? After tonight, I probably won’t even be able to produce a single sound that resembles something a human makes, cause I’m getting so ridiculously, wildly, insanely, totally FUC --

Oh, what? You think you’re just gonna stay in? Yeah, no, that’s fine. I think there’s a “Big Bang Theory” marathon on, anyway.

A Few Simple Rules Before You Enter My Moon Bounce

2010-04-06T20:32:00.000-07:00

Hi there! Glad you could make it, and glad I could squeeze you in. Moon Bounce Mondays have really been taking off ever since that write up in my diary.

I see you’ve begun to untie your shoelaces. That’s a great start. It goes without saying that my Moon Bounce is a no shoe-zone ... unlike my wife’s closet! Ha! Ha!

I don’t have a wife, but the joke doesn’t work as well if I say “my landlady.” I’m allowed to do that out here, but inside the Moon Bounce, there’s a pretty strict rule against hyperbole, especially in regards to how high one may have just gotten on his last in-air-somersault.

Which brings me to a few more quick, simple rules before you step into my Moon Bounce. Please pay careful attention, because I’ve unfortunately had to kick out more than one bouncer who did not properly adhere to the very thorough, but nevertheless very reasonable, rules for entering my Moon Bounce.

1) Absolutely no sharp objects. No pens, no scissors, no pocket knives, no outside-of-pocket knives, no antennae, no hair-dos done at a trendy Japanese salon, and no tridents (with the exception of any Greek God-themed Moon Bounce days.) Now, I know what you are going to say. “But I have a life-threatening allergy to peanuts, and I need my EpiPen in the case that someone comes into the Moon Bounce and shoves a fistful of peanuts down my throat.” Well, I’m sorry, I really am, but that is the risk you’re going to have to take. I’m of the belief that allergies can be overcome with the mind, anyway, which is why the end of My Girl is particularly frustrating for me to watch.

2) No cursing. The Moon Bounce should be a place where naive, innocent children can roam about freely. Which brings me to rule #3 ..

3) No children. They’re neither innocent nor naive anymore, and I’d rather not infect my Moon Bounce with sin and Robert Pattinson and sexting. Save that smut for the ball pit at McDonald’s Playpen.

4) No socks with individual toe holes that make your foot look like a hand. I know they’re fashionable, but it makes it too hard to judge handstands properly.

5) Treat my Moon Bounce as you would a public pool. Meaning: wait 2 hours after you eat before entering, keep your hair tucked back neatly with a swim cap, and if a stranger hops on your back and screams, “CHICKEN FIGHT!!”, just go with it. Even if you’re the only ones in there.

6) No jumps that end in a split landing. I loan out too many personal pairs of pants to risk the type of tearage that often occurs when an inexperienced Moon Bouncer attempts a split landing. (Note: Really not my rule, more my tailor, Christof’s. If you really feel passionately about being able to attempt a split landing while in my Moon Bounce, please contact him directly. Also, if I have any shirts that are ready when you visit Christof, please pick them up and bring them to me the next time you are to enter my Moon Bounce.)

7) No pets. If you don’t have the ability to reason, then you won’t be able to make the proper decision as to who to save and who to forsake in the unfortunate event that my Moon Bounce should deflate.

8) No gum chewing. I didn’t install a chewing tobacco spit bucket for my health, you know.

9) Please remain cognizant of even weight distribution at all times while in my Moon Bounce. If, at any point, you look around and everyone else is at a significantly higher altitude than you are, then perhaps it is time to consider pursuing a higher-intensity workout regiment than playing on my Moon Bounce. Or, perhaps you did not pay attention to rule #9, that being ...

10) Please empty your pockets of all solid gold bars before entering my Moon Bounce.

11) Please keep any and all jokes told within my Moon Bounce topical. There has been some chatter amongst the Things-That-Inflate community that Moon Bounces are becoming out-of-date and obsolete, and telling Leno-style monologue jokes while in my Moon Bounce is the best way I can think of to combat this fallacy.

12) If my Moon Bounce is to deflate, do not panic. For I will be panicking, and your panicking will only further cause me to hyperventilate, and available air will be precious and fleeting as is.

Ok, then, I think that just about covers everything! You may now enter my Moon Bounce! Enj --oh, wait just one gosh darn second there! What’s that in your back pocket? Is that a ... oh my God. A pineapple.

Just get the hell out. Get the hell out right now.

Frequently Asked Questions By Rejected Applicants To HottPeople.com

2010-02-05T12:18:00.000-08:00

Frequently Asked Questions By Rejected Applicants To HottPeople.com, the Internet’s Premier Dating Website for the Genetically Blessed and/or Cosmetically Enhanced

Thank you for your application to HottPeople.com, the dating site designed exclusively for Hotties. Unfortunately, we regret to inform you that our team of incredibly chiseled judges has deemed you unworthy of becoming a member of our site.

Often rejected applicants will inquire as to why they were denied acceptance to HottPeople.com. Please allow us to tell you why you were determined to be physically inferior and rejected before you even make this inquiry, by referring you to the FAQBNAP (Frequently Asked Questions By Not Attractive People) below.

Was I rejected because I'm ugly?

This is a concern that you should banish from your possibly misshapen head, for only about 49.6% of our rejected applicants are what we would call 'ugly.' So there is a good chance that it's not that you are ugly; it's just that you simply are not Hott. Also, in a few rare instances, it may be that you ARE indeed Hott, but are not a Person. We are hard at work on a system that will enable our server to automatically filter out applications from animals, plants, and anyone who has appeared on an MTV reality show.

How many people apply for membership to HottPeople.com?

Too many to count, but a good estimate would be the entire population of Brazil, both in number and in the level of knock-your-Crocs-off-hott. Our application pool consists of an incredibly high volume of incredibly attractive, hard-bodied, certified grade A Hotties, and if we accepted every single one of them ... well, then our site would remain exactly as is, because that is what we do. Nevertheless, rest assured that you were fairly denied acceptance to HottPeople.com based upon the faults of your physical appearance alone, regardless of anyone else’s Hottness or Nottness.

How are applicants rated?

HottPeople.com utilizes a very dependable and thorough Flame Rating system. Each applicant's set of three photos (one headshot, one full body, one wearing a bathing suit while mounted upon a roaring wild tiger) is reviewed byHottPeople.com's panel of judges. Each judge gives an applicant a score from 1 to 5 Flames (1 being the type of flame that could be blown out by your dying grandmother on her last birthday cake's candles, 5 being what killed the dinosaurs.) The highest ranking applicants are awarded membership to HottPeople.com, as well as an exclusive graphite HottPeople.com member card that gains you free, unquestioned entry into 50 of the participating hottest clubs in the continental United States.*

Who are these judges that are determining I'm not attractive enough, anyway?

We assure you that our judges panel consists of five of the hottest employees at the Santa Monica branch of Hollywood Tans.

I'm embarrassed that I was rejected by HottPeople.com, and I don't want anyone to know about it. Do you keep your applicants' personal information secure?

Of course! We take great care to make sure that the identity of each and every HottPeople.com applicant remains confidential. The only way anyone could retrieve information about rejected HottPeople.com applicants would be to log into the password-protected "Bottom of the Barrel" section on our website.

Well, who knows the password to that?

The password to our highly secure Bottom of the Barrel section is your favorite word.

Wait a second ... how do you know what my favorite word is?!

Don't be silly; we have no way of knowing what YOUR specific favorite word is. The password is the favorite word of the person who happens to be entering the password. Any word will do, as long as it the person's favorite.

This is a load of crap, I know I'm a hott person!

Yes, that's all well and good, but this is a dating site is for Hott People, not just hott people. And please, don't even try to plead your case by telling us that you are merely a HOT person. The extra T isn't just there for the sound it makes, you know.

C'mon! Just let me reapply.

Sorry, but we think we've been through enough having to look at your set of photos ONCE. Please don't make us do it again. They're only funny the first time, then it just becomes depressing for us, and we've learned that no amount of Muscle Milk can help that type of sad.

OK, that's fair. But can I work on losing some weight, getting my dimpled butt that had no business wearing a bandeau top in the first place in shape, and possibly purchasing a new nose, THEN reapply?

Now you're talking! We whole heartedly encourage applicants who are branded as Un-Hott People to reapply once they take the necessary steps to stop focusing on what's just on the inside. In the meantime, we encourage eligible rejected applicants to consider applying to our sister dating site, LoadsOfMoneyWhereShouldIPutItAll.com.

But wait; don't you care about my mind, my personality, or my overall benevolence towards every human being I come in contact with? Are good looks all you really want in a partner?

No, and yes. In that order.

*No clubs currently participating in this offer. However, we have received an exorbitant amount of interest from an establishment by the name of ‘SnowBallz’ in Bethel, Alaska, if any Hott Person should ever decide to travel to Alaska.

McSweeney's: Excerpts From My Mother's Editorial Notes On My Letters To Santa, 1987-2000.

2009-12-22T09:07:00.000-08:00

New holiday themed McSweeney's piece here.

If you're the type of person who loves heart-warming Christmas movies like It's A Wonderful Life and Winter Wonderland ... you should go watch them instead of reading this.

--

EXCERPTS FROM MY MOTHER'S EDITORIAL NOTES ON MY LETTERS TO SANTA, 1987-2000.

BY JEN STATSKY

- - - -

1987

Jen,

I think there's some good stuff here. It's too bad that it's buried under a pile of holiday clichés and trite generalizations. You've been a "good girl?" What is the reader supposed to gather from that? Is that the author's subjective opinion about her behavior over the past twelve months, or rather a more objective assessment based on society's standards of what qualifies as a "good girl?" A little clarification would go a long way and most likely garner better results for what the author is trying to get, which, at the most superficial of levels, is apparently a Teddy Ruxpin doll.

With love,
Mom

PS. All your "J's" are backwards.

- - - -

1989

Jen,

I've always made it a point to start off any notes I give with some positive comment first. Unfortunately, your work here has made it virtually impossible for me to do that this time.

This letter is meandering, lacking in structure, and just an overall mess of what should be a very personal, intimate correspondence with Santa Claus. One gets the sense that the author was high on pixie sticks while writing it, and upon review of the mess that was discovered underneath your bedroom this morning, I gather that this was exactly the case.

You begin the letter with what is perhaps a pure intention of inquiring about the reader and turning the focus onto him. I am all for work that breaks the audience's suspension of disbelief and forces them to become a participant in the art itself. However, asking questions such as, "if it's really cold up there?" and "where do all the reindeer sleep?" are completely offensive and demeaning to the reader's intelligence and show an utter lack of real concern for who your audience is. Sure, if this was the first Christmas in the history of the world, then those are perfectly valid, wonderful questions to present, ones that surely need to be ask. But, as timeless readings of The Night Before Christmas, have surely informed you, those questions are old, outdated, and a literal waste of ink and paper, not to mention cookies.

And while we're on the topic of baked goods, I was also disappointed with your choice of Lorne Doones in lieu of the traditional homemade chocolate chip. Though, in retrospect, I suppose the leaving of a bland, tasteless, out-dated cookie was the perfect fit for this letter.

Merry Christmas, honey!

With regards,
Mom

- - - -

1990

Jen,
I am so glad you decided to resume writing again this year. Very much so welcomed, especially after last year's lock-yourself-in-the-closest-with-all-the-egg-nog fiasco.

While this letter is far from perfect, it is certainly an improvement from past work. I get a real sense that you are coming into your own, and learning the difference between nouns and verbs. That's a big step forward for you. I also sense an inclination to a more subversive tone and overall direction. Your hesitance even to believe in the validity of your audience is right on-point. Let's take this premise and expand it further in your coming work, yes?

Oh, one last thing: The forgetting of the milk: intentional or not? If intentional, I think it's a great utilization of withholding something from your audience to achieve a desired effect. If unintentional, it's probably because I asked you to get milk on your way home from Laura's the other day and as per usual, you used the money to buy Fanta.

Also, why even make mention of your cousin Zach? He's Jewish.

Love,
Mom

- - - -

1993

Jen,

This one seemed a little indulgent to me. You devote an exorbitant amount of time to discussing your activities visiting your grandmother at the elderly home this year. It just came off as transparent and needy to the reader, an obnoxious attempt to TELL him what you deserve, rather than allowing him to decide for himself. Also, bringing the death of Lucky into it? Please. You might as well just have written "Toys! Give me toys!" and saved yourself the wrist work. I'm surprised the paper wasn't artfully decorated with tears to drive your overly sentimental point home.

Love the Rudolph stickers, though. Great use of empty space there.

Love,
Mom

- - - -

1996

Jen,

I'm not one to make accusations, but this letter read eerily like your sister's 1988 piece to the tooth fairy. I hope you would have the character not to have simply switched around the names and details to plagiarize your sister's hard work and dedication for your own gain. Don't bother answering this question; I'd rather not know. For the record, I just have a hard time truly believing this is your work.

That being said, it was brilliant. A tour-de-force of Christmas wishes.

Love,
Mom

- - - -

2000

Jen,

Your leaving of rancid milk and dog biscuits were noted, and highly unappreciated. A writer who can't take cannot accept criticism is no writer at all.

Best,
Mother

P.S. Mark Twin wrote that. Yup, both of those sentences.

I don't know, either.

2009-11-09T08:27:00.000-08:00

I Simply Cannot Meet You On The Canadian Side Of Niagara Falls.

Listen, I think I've been MORE than accommodating when it comes to your requests and needs in regards to making this relationship work.

I've done things I never thought I'd do for myself, let alone for another human being, over the span of these past few months. Looking back on everything, it's a little shocking, in fact. There's been blood. There's been sweat. And there would have been tears, if I hadn't have had that highly involved tear duct removal surgery you so vehemently suggested at the start of our courtship. You've pushed me to my limits, and at every step of the way, I allowed those limits to be nudged a little further back, all for you. So, that being said, let me make this perfectly, absolutely, beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt clear: I simply cannot meet you on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls.

When you said you wanted to go see Bruce Springsteen in concert with me, but that you needed to sit four rows behind me so that you could properly observe how I act in the presence of an icon, I said fine. Keep in mind, I had told you that I do not particularly enjoy events that feature assigned seating or large group activities that do not involve some sort of prize that can be won and/or bartered for. Most of all, I had specifically told you that I do not like Bruce Springsteen. I used to tell people that I wasn't a huge fan, but that I did like that one song by him, "Hurts So Good." Then I found out that that song is actually sung by John Mellencamp, and that I didn't actually like ANY of Bruce Springsteen's music. But, nevertheless, I went, because I knew it was important to you. Did I enjoy myself? Not one bit. It was hot, it was loud, and I was forced to hold some large man from New Jersey's "sweat towel" for a good portion of the evening. And he didn't even play "Hurts So Good."

When you asked me to take a CPR certification course, not so that I would be able to save another human being’s life, but rather to confirm that I did not have any sort of strange, latent mannequin fetish because you “had been burned before,” I said fine. A big fat waste of a Saturday afternoon that was. All I can remember thinking was, “I canceled brunch plans for THIS?” It wouldn’t have even been so bad had we not been partnered up at the beginning of the SIX hour class. Lucky me, I got to do the whole thing with some Long Island kindergarten teacher who insisted on asking question after question about me and what I do and where I got my boots and what did I mean by saying her husband couldn’t be blamed for leaving once the baby weight didn’t come off. It’s sick, really, how some people use a nice, well-intentioned activity just to talk the ears off of innocent people. But I stayed there, all six, long, compression-filled hours, because I knew you wanted me to. And did you even ask me how it went when I came over that night? Nope! You just said, “Pool needs cleaning,” and went right back to stringing your cello.

When you told me that you wanted me to meet your parents, but that you didn’t want to introduce me to them, but rather, to have me assume a position as a waitress at their favorite local Cracker Barrel and get to know them through the development of a warm, tender client-patron relationship with them, I said fine. Every Friday night, they would saunter in at the cool dining hour of 5:30 PM, and I would serve them, under the alias of “Racquel.” In retrospect, it was a bit cliché of me, “Racquel the Cracker Barrel waitress,” but what could I do? You threw me into the situation before I knew which end was up. Nevertheless, your parents were absolute horrors. Your father with his blatant, reckless abuse of the free refills policy and your mother with her never-ending critique of Cracker Barrel décor. And don’t even get me started with their inability to remember the specials. Every time I came back with another Diet IBC, it was “Now, was there a WHITE fish on those specials you have?” But I kept up with it, because I knew you wanted me to get to know your parents without them ever getting to know me. Well, you and your parents can just kiss Racquel the Cracker Barrel waitress goodbye, because I’m putting her to bed. I don’t care how many embroidered souvenir pillows they’re paying me in.

Let the record state that I have really, truly bent over backwards for you. And I mean that both figuratively and literally, because let us not forget how you demanded I play Keanu Reeves in your regional theater production of The Matrix. And now, even after all this, after I have more than proven myself to you, you still come to me with your demands. Well, I’m sorry, buddy, but this well has dried up (again, I have been rendered physically unable to cry.) Do you get it? The buck stops here, the jig is up, the cheesecake stays in the glass display, whatever. Point is, I simply cannot meet you on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls.

I am willing, however, to take a trip to the American side of Niagara Falls. If you so desire, you may remain on your side, and when I arrive, I will make myself known to you with a hearty wave. Perhaps we can work things out from there. Let me know. I’ll be wearing that Hazmat suit you like me to wear on Tuesdays.

Another video, another set, another dollar (minus the part about the dollar)

2009-11-08T18:10:00.000-08:00

Click here to watch my set at the Bleak! show at The Creek last Thursday night

Thanks to Bleak! for a super fun show and for having me on. Hey, while you're in the clicking mood, why don't you check out some of their awesome videos here.

My "We're Nice People" set at Parkside Lounge, 10/21/09

2009-10-27T15:54:00.000-07:00

Here's my set from "We're Nice People" last Wednesday.

One of my favorite things ever is Robin Williams' character in "Deconstructing Harry." In the movie, he contracts a disease that renders him out of focus to the outside world.

I do a really great Mel impression for the first 5 1/2 minutes of this video (sorry.)

A Tribute

2009-10-23T10:12:00.000-07:00

My newest Onion headline:

Every Day Of Local Dad's Life An Endless Battle To Hold On To Good Pen

Inspired by 18 years of my Mother asking me "why do you take all our good pens?"

Because I need something, Mom, OK?!! I need... something.

2009-10-18T16:49:00.000-07:00

I've begun contributing jokes to a new app for the iPhone called "This Just In."

Read all about it here.

Aaaand after you do that, download the This Just In app for the iPhone. Oh, what's that? You don't have an iPhone? Buy one, please. For me. Thanks.

Don't Hate Me

2009-09-29T09:02:00.000-07:00

I'm doing enough of that for the both of us...

I made a MySpace

I'm Not Going to Be A Jerk!(For One Night Only)

2009-09-15T13:46:00.000-07:00

For those of you who aren't seeing enough of me these days (so basically everyone except my therapist), I'll be co-hosting We're Nice People: A Night Of Doucheless Comedy next Tuesday, the 15th, at 7 PM. There's a great lineup of people performing on the show ... so great that you will be laughing so hard, you won't even notice when someone steals your wallet right out from under you.*

Lineup and details are here: We're Nice People

*This is just a random example I am providing of how much you are going to enjoy this show. It has no bearing on any actual events that may occur the night of the show, if you choose to attend. And if you do choose to attend, please bring only crisp bills. I'm tired of looking like an idiot at the arcade.

True Life: We Make Very Bad Decisions About Our Programming

2009-06-24T06:20:00.001-07:00

Just read the press release MTV's upcoming development slate and one particular project stuck out at me:

"UNTITLED SKETCH COMEDY SHOW (WORKING TITLE)

Jamie Foxx executive produces the next generation of "In Living Color."'

The next generation of "In Living Color?" Who asked for this? (Besides out of work fly girls.) Here's what I'm going to start developing as to be ahead of the curve:

-The next generation of polio
-The next generation of not having electricity
-The next generation of Jennifer Lopez starring in movies
-The next generation of MTV if you see this please still let me write for this show?

The Women of McSweeneys.net

2009-06-22T03:10:00.001-07:00

The Women of McSweeneys.net

Posted using ShareThis

Thanks to Elisa Bassist for her mention in this article from "The Rumpus." A lot of the other articles she mentions are very, very funny and worth checking out. Though I am a little worried that all the other women on the list and I are gonna get on the same cycle now. Oh well, nothing gained, nothing lost, am I right? (except lots and lots of menstrual blood.)

The Sound of Settling

2009-06-02T12:19:00.000-07:00

Here's a link to an idea of mine that The Onion used for their Radio Network.

Record Number of Americans Settling for Sex at Home

Brings Me Back to My Doom Days ...

2009-06-02T12:17:00.001-07:00

Me < Frogger

2009-05-14T08:11:00.000-07:00

I discovered recently that there is a "Barista" application on the iPhone. As in, what I do for a living. Is an application. On a phone. That you only need an index finger to use.

At least it costs $2.99. Meaning I'm worth more than "Lemonade Tycoon," but less than "Pocket God." I think I can be OK with that ...

Hail to tha Motha F'N Chief

2009-05-08T12:00:00.001-07:00

New Landline series, "Obamtourage."

I had this idea a few months ago and thanks to the hard work and vision of the Landline folk, it came out pretty darn impressive (that is a DIRECT QUOTE from the 75 year old man I showed it to.)

Waiting for Jim Carrey

2009-04-28T07:00:00.000-07:00

Time Warner has got my balls in quite the death grip and alas, I am waiting for the cable guy this fine Tuesday morning. Not that exciting. What IS exciting is the Pandora station I currently have going ... If you are ever really down, like if you've had a tough Monday, or they were out of peanut butter Twix bars at the bodega, or a close family member has passed, I suggest creating a Hall & Oates station on Pandora. Instant gratification. So far, I have heard "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing" by Leo Sayer, "It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over" by Lenny Kravitz (who will be my next station, by the way), and "The Heart of Rock & Roll" by Huey Lewis & The News.

I sorta hope the cable man never comes ...

Battle-Ax. Damn Straight.

2009-04-26T07:05:00.001-07:00

Bea Arthur, TV Battle-Ax, Dies at 86

This is a hard pill to swallow. See you on the other side, Dorothy.

So That Happened

2009-04-24T16:18:00.001-07:00

I was walking down the sidewalk the other day when I was stopped by a reporter for AM New York (aka the intern who was the best at getting lattes and got a special end-of-week treat) who said he was doing a report on "whether people are becoming more and more narcissistic."

I kid you not, at the time I was thinking about my hair and if my new conditioner made it look shiny or greasy.

Yep.

Me and Bill O'Reilly = BFF

2009-04-22T10:40:00.000-07:00

LandlineTV Reel from The Landline on Vimeo.

One Step Closer To Living My Dream of Being In "Dead Poets Society"

2009-04-15T17:57:00.000-07:00

Last night, I received an email asking for permission to reprint my latest McSweeney's article in "Backtracks," which is a student-run publication at Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts. Yes. You heard me. ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS!!! The cultural hot bed of .... other towns around Andover, Massachusetts. This is VERY exciting. I will be intellectual masturbatory material for dozens and dozens of literary journal-reading, bowtie-wearing prep school overachievers. I am like Racquel Welch, but in word-form.

Here's a new Landline video, which does not feature Racquel Welch. She was strongly considered for the role of "homeless man," but her boobies are just too darn big! Also, she's SAG-eligible or some shit.

New McSweeney's

2009-04-11T07:28:00.000-07:00

New thang of mine over at McSweeney's:

http://www.mcsweeneys.net/2009/4/10statsky.html

CLASSIC NURSERY RHYMES, UPDATED AND REVAMPED FOR THE RECESSION, AS TOLD TO ME BY MY FATHER.

BY JEN STATSKY

- - - -

Jack and Jill

OK, so Jack and Jill went up the hill, to fetch a pail of water. But, listen, even water is expensive nowadays. So Jack just innocently asked, "Do you really have to wash your hair every night?" Then, of course, they started getting into it, and Jill became pretty damn passive-aggressive, and unnecessarily, I might add. So then Jack fell down—maybe on accident, maybe on purpose—and he broke his crown. And, with no health insurance, they were both shit outta luck.

Humpty Dumpty

Sure, in a perfect world, we'd all help put Humpty Dumpty back together, whether we were on the king's payroll or not. There's no question about that. But the world isn't lilacs and lollipops anymore, kid. I can barely afford all your mother's pill ... pillows, all the pillows she insists on sleeping with at night. So, if there's some sort of freak accident with a wall? Forget about it. But everyone needs to take a certain level of responsibility for themselves in a time like this, and let's face it: Humpty was carrying—what, 20, 30 extra el-bees on him? That's just reckless. I don't care if you are the king, you can't cover that premium and sleep easy at night.

Old Mother Hubbard

If you want to talk about being irresponsible, this Mother Hubbard is the Cadillac of not thinking about anyone but herself. What is this old woman doing owning a pet in this economy in the first place? You know she's tearing through her retirement funds like nobody's business, so of course her cupboards are bare, cupboards that are probably made of mahogany with gold-plated handles, since people believed in unicorns before they believed that this bubble would ever pop. But, OK, it doesn't all fall on her. Where are her kids? You work hard to raise children, set them up nice in the world, and once times get a little tougher than usual they abandon you. Well, I feel sorry for that damn dog. He's the only innocent one in this whole stinkin' mess.

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky ..." Ha! A diamond. Give me a break. The only place anyone's going to see a diamond nowadays is in a geometry book. And, if some guy proposes to you and shows you some ring with a shiny rock, you run the other way. And fast. Like a gazelle. Because he's mixed up in some kind of silly racket, let me tell you.

Jack Be Nimble

Jack is clearly on drugs. And, sure, the temptation to do some uppers and escape from all this lousy stuff is there. I'm not immune to that; I'm a human being. But, honey, look where it gets you. You spend your days jumping over some candlestick like some sort of circus monkey, but who's taking care of your family? Jack's probably got three kids wearing Ziploc bags for mittens and banging pots and pans on the subway to make a dime. It just ain't right.

Rock-a-Bye Baby

It's sick, it's freakin' sick, honey. I couldn't hold down a tuna melt for days after hearing this one. But it's the sad truth in times like these. People get desperate, they don't know what to do or where to turn, and they do twisted things, like putting some poor, defenseless baby up on a rickety tree branch. Priorities, that's the real problem here. People get their priorities all out of whack, and we end up in a situation like this. Why did they need some fancy rocking cradle in the first place? People get so caught up with image they never stop to think that maybe that poor little kid would have rather just been held in his or her own parents' arms, instead of some high-tech Sears and Roebuck baby palace.

Little Bo Peep

Now, I didn't do none of that collegiate stuff that everyone does nowadays, which I think was the start of this whole mess in the first place, but I'm pretty sure the lost sheep are meant to symbolize hope, promise, and, more specifically, the American dream. I like that part, I do. You can relate to it. But then this Bo Peep chick falls asleep, and at first I said, "Whoa there. Are you trying to say that Americans collectively took a nap at the wheel of the vehicle of their own success and prosperity?" Harsh stuff. But then I thought more about it, and you know what? That's exactly what we did. And, sure, we were following the crooked street signs put up by the banks and investment firms, but that's no excuse to go on autopilot. So, you know, I like this Bo Peep one very much.

There Was an Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe

Yep, sounds about right to me. But, for the love of God, use a rubber.

Ohhh, Yes.

2009-04-08T14:50:00.000-07:00

I hardly ever put up trailers to movies I am excited to see on here. This is mostly because I only recently learned that trailers are not, in fact, movies in their entirety and I was afraid to be put on the fed's black list for pirating. Who knew those gigantic popcorn and fountain soda stores had talkies playing in the back?

Anyway, I am forgoing this trend to share the trailer for 500 Days of Summer. This is the type of movie for which I will count down the days until it opens, go see it immediately by myself, and then go to a trendy coffee house afterwards, making eyes at any and all male customers with hopes that we fall in love, until I am asked to leave by the head barista because the constant dropping of my handkerchief is disrupting their attempts to mop the floors. At least, I imagine that's what would happen.

If the trailer itself wasn't enough, I googled the film after I watched and guess who else is in it? Minka Kelly (Friday Night Lights), only my biggest crush on television since Dick Van Dyke (From Dick Van Dyke to dyke, am I right?)

Hurray for there being a reason to keep breathing, at least through one nostril.

Straight Up, I Had NO Idea

2009-04-07T17:14:00.001-07:00

New Landline!

To Tweet is To Skeet Upon The Internet

2009-03-25T08:22:00.000-07:00

New Landline!

Brief Thoughts About Sheryl Crow As I Run Out The Door, Volume TheOnlyOneEver

2009-03-19T08:31:00.000-07:00

The line "If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad?" is about her own music, right?

Ohhh, look at me and my Thursday afternoon. Spent shitting on a 90s pop star who has had cancer and been dumped by Lance Armstrong (IN THAT ORDER!)

This Recession Shit Is Getting Outta Hand

2009-03-17T06:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I was walking on the 'ol isle of Manhattan when I passed an apparently homeless woman begging for change. As I wound up my right leg to kick her cartoon-style, like I do with them bums, she said something that made me stop in my Roadrunner'esque place. She said, verbatim, "Can someone please help me out with some change? I just ran out of my house this morning without my wallet."

... WHAT?!? Now I'm supposed to bail out the absent-minded? Go home and get your wallet! Because you 1) have a home and 2) have a wallet, two of the criteria I consider most important when deciding whether I am going donate my hard-earned karaoke money to the poor.

People these days, am I right!

Oh, Life.

2009-03-09T08:08:00.001-07:00

Here are a few things that have happened to me recently, things that are pretty insignificant, but significant enough to write about on my very own personal blog.

* There is a new Landline video, and you should watch it. Why? Well, I'm not saying it features a naked Angelina Jolie ... but I'm also not NOT saying it features a naked Angelina Jolie, you dig??

* I recently saw a piece of cinema, aka a film, aka a movie, aka wasted money that I could have gotten 3 footlongs at Subway with. During said activity, I received a text message. In a questionable move on my part, I read it and responded to it during the movie. I'm the worst, I know. Fine. I would have never done it if it wasn't about something important. Or if my phone hadn't been in my pocket. Or if it wasn't a day that ended in "y." Or if I wasn't a rude, inconsiderate piece of crap. Either way, it was wrong, and I won't do it again. And why won't I do it again? Because, upon exiting the theater, I was stopped by a very vocal foreign woman who informed me that, "When you take out your phone during the movie, you may think it is just some glowing thing, but it is really distracting. Other people can't watch the movie when your glowing ..." and so on and so forth, I think, but I kept walking up the aisle at a speed so rapid it was as if I had just seen Mamma Mia. Or texted my way through a Brett Ratner film, as it may be. Ever since this occurred, I have wavered between incredible anger at this woman for giving me gruff after the fact about my "glowing thing," and feeling like a big, rude jerk who deserved to be reprimanded. Please, faithful readers, weigh in in the comments section. Am I a jerk?! Keep in mind that I know how fast one would walk out of Mamma Mia because I have, in fact, seen it, and thus, feel that I am indefinitely owed many, many reparations from the movie world.

* I was walking down the street the other day, on my way to Duane Reade to buy some new gum, and thought that one of those Children's International people were trying to talk to me about buying like, a billion children, so I stopped, took off my headphones, and proceeded to tell them I just simply did not have the time, I was very busy, and on my way to work. I then realized that the young, benevolent man was speaking to the person behind me. Nothing kills your self-esteem like realizing that the people who's job it is to harass everyone on the street doesn't even want to talk to you. Needless to say, I drowned my sorrows in sugar-full gum.

* Continuing with the theme of telling you what a good person I am, I recently got a full-body massage. Professionally. Like, I paid him money. Strange to be on the other side of that! Right ... anyway, after this massage, I paid at the front desk and and asked if they had an envelope where I could leave a tip for my strong-handed masseuse, Sergei (who was a man of little words, let me tell you. But I think he really enjoyed hearing me debate the merits of various birth control options.) I expected to just hand over some cash to the receptionist and she would take care of the rest, but no, no, she handed me an envelope and a pen. This struck me as strange, but I thought, "OK, they must be into developing really deep personal connections between masseuse and client here. Like the jetBlue of massage places." So I wrote Sergei a personal note, which went a little something like this, " Segei - Thanks so much for everything! -Jen" Well, needless to say ... they don't write personalized notes at this place. The receptionist gave me a look that said it all, it all being, "What the hell went down in there between you and Sergei that you felt compelled to leave him a note that one would find on Ashley Dupre's dresser?" I think that will be my first and last time with Sergei. At least HE didn't mind when I texted during it, though!

Happy Monday!

New Meaning to the Term "Bail Out"

2009-02-12T13:55:00.001-08:00

Funny Videos | Funny Cartoons | More Video Clips

Disturbia'ing

2009-02-11T11:04:00.000-08:00

Anyone else think this picture was a really poor choice by the UK's Telegraph online site to run about the Chris Brown/Rihanna domestic abuse story? He looks like he is auditioning for a bit part on "True Blood," and she looks like a naive little doe who doesn't deserve to have a kiss blown at her too hard. So much for objective journalism! Then again, what do British newspapers know, anyway? I hear they deliver their papers on the wrong side of the road!

Ziiiiiing!

It's Not You, It's Your Jeans

2009-02-06T10:13:00.001-08:00

This one got a big 'ol rejection from McSweeney's, but it did get accepted at jenstatsky.com, so I'm feeling pretty good about myself ...

"A 25-Year Old Fashionista Holds an Intervention for her Boyfriend and his Skinny Jeans"

Hi, honey! How was work? Thats nice. Yeah, it was ham. Oh, whats up with all the empty chairs? Well ... I just thought Id try something new in the living room today! OK, OK, why dont you have a seat, I have something I need to talk to you about. Yeah, any one of them is fine. But, oh, careful, I dont get the security deposit back from the rental place if theyre all scuffed up.

This is an intervention. I know theres no one else here and thats kinda a standard intervention thing, but Ive gotta tell you, Ive been trying to organize everyone for weeks now and no ones calendars ever seemed to match up. Its crazy, we are all so busy. Todds doing that freelance design work until the holidays and just doesnt have a minute to spare, Craig and Jessie just got the puppy which we have to go see before he gets too big so their hands are tied. Nick emailed me last minute to say that he pulled a groin muscle of all things for Nick to pull, right? at the gym, so he couldnt show, and it was so weird with Leslie, she never answered any of my texts, but she said her phone is really weird about that stuff, especially when shes been on the subway or whatever, so I dont know. I keep telling her to get a Blackberry well, I guess I keep texting her to get a Blackberry, so now I dont even know - but she likes her big ugly old phone, and you know how she doesnt listen to anyone else, like, ever. Oh my God, do you remember the other day, when we were at brunch and Jeff called it the Zack Morris? How funny was that?! You remember that, right? Sooo funny. Jeff really should do stand up. I keep telling hin.

But I know from everyones responses to the mass e-mail I sent that theyre with me on this, and more importantly, they want you to know that theyre behind you. Well, I guess thats a good place for me to start from behind you. What everyone sees when theyre behind you. Honey, its your jeans. Your skinny jeans. Your ass tight skinny jeans. Theyre just too tight. And skinny. Other than that, I guess theyre OK, although you probably could have picked a more flattering wash.

No one is blaming you here. Its not your fault that you probably said, hey, these are pretty popular, Orlando Bloom looks great in them, Ill buy a pair. But honey, Orlando Bloom is an ectomorph, and youre a mesomorph. Do you know what a difference that makes? You guys shouldnt even really be shopping at the same store, let alone the same rack.

Baby, the thing is, Im really not going to be one of those overbearing girlfriends who tries to run your life but do you remember your Moms birthday last month, when I told you you had to come to my cousin Lisas house for her Arbor Day barbeque? Well, we were all playing Bocce Ball in the backyard? Well, you wore your skinny jeans, and every time you bent down, you had muffin top. You know, when the fat spills out the side of your jeans and it looks like yeah, OK, well you get it. I dont have muffin top, and Im a girl, honey. Its weird for a guy to have muffin top. Its like seeing him order strawberry ice cream, or cry.

Youre speechless, I know. Its really hard hearing someone tell you what youve been doing, fashion-wise, is hideously inappropriate for your body type. And when I say I know, I mean I really know. Remember my ex-friend Kristen? One time she told me that she liked my hair better wavy than straight. And I had been wearing my hair wavy for, like, two years. You should feel good about the fact that youve only been wearing skinny jeans for about three and a half months. And I know that its been that long, because it was right after my birthday, and I remember thinking, ugh, first twenty-five, and now this?

Sweetie, where are you going? Oh, okay. Great. Thats perfect. You just pack those skinny jeans right up and well bring them to the Salvation Army on the way to the mall. God knows someone there will be skinny enough to pull them off! No, Im totally kidding, that was bad.

Wait, honey, you dont have to get rid of your other clothes too, those are fin hey, dont be silly, we can just throw them in a trash bag, you dont need to use your big old suitcase!

Oh, oh, okay, you want to go alone, thats fine. Dont worry about the chairs you knocked over, I can pick them up! Im so proud of you!

Hey, babe?! Could you pick me up some strawberry ice cream while youre at the mall?

25 Fascinating Facts About Me

2009-02-04T22:21:00.001-08:00

1) I have legs.

2) As a child, I liked candy and giggling.

3) When someone close to me dies, I cry.

4) Often, on two consecutive evenings at the conclusion of the work week, I will drink more alcohol than recommended for my body weight. I will then become inebriated, allowing me to free myself from my inhibitions and feel more comfortable in social situations that would otherwise be awkward for me.

5) I love my grandma.

6) When I'm angry, I curse.

7) My blood type contains a letter.

8) I can text message.

9) When I go out to eat at a restaurant, I will pay my bill, and then, on top of that, I will give my waiter or waitress some extra cash.

10) Before I go out for a night on the town, I put on different clothes than what I was previously wearing that day.

11) Sometimes, I will use go on the internet with no specific purpose, and let myself wander from site to site, not doing anything of actual value or productive.

12) If my body does not get water, I die.

13) I think babies and puppies are pretty cute.

14) I have many, many memories involving people with whom I grew up.

15) When I am out with my girlfriends at a bar, club, or party, I will make a fake fishy face when posing for pictures, as to make my face appear skinnier and more attractive. I think that no one has caught on to this.

16) When I'm cold, I will put on a jacket, or a blanket, depending on where I am.

17) I get sad if my own father forgets my birthday.

18) I think Europe is really just amazing.

19) I can grow hair.

20) It would be very traumatic for me to see someone get their arm bitten off by a pack of angry muskrats.

21) I like to listen to music.

22) Once, in high school, I took the SATs.

23) If I am watching TV, and all of a sudden my remote stops working, I will press all the buttons really hard. If that doesn't work, I will hit the remote a few times with the palm of my hand. If that doesn't work, I will replace the batteries.

24) I'm not a lesbian, but no, like, seriously, I would have sex with Angelina Jolie.

25) On the third Sunday of every month, I will dress up in a black-and-white striped leotard, rent a salmon colored PT cruiser from my local Budget Rent-a-Car, buy a few dozen boxes of veggie burgers from local grocer, head down Route 1 all the way to South Carolina, stopping at every McDonald's rest stop along the way, at which point I frisbee-toss a veggie burger pattie at the drive through window attendant and exclaim, "Who's the Hamburglar now, Mr. Roboto?!?" Then I listen to The Beatles, because they are my favorite band of all time.

The impulse to use a David Bowie song lyric here is overwhelming ...

2009-02-04T09:37:00.000-08:00

So, being February and all, the time for fresh starts and big changes, you may have noticed that I have once again redesigned the look of "Stats 'N Tats," using my advanced knowledge of HTML, web design experience, and ability to click on the little bubbles Blogger provides to change the pre-designed blog templates. Ah, February. Maybe it's silly, but I just love the idea of getting to start anew, another year ahead of me, the promise of change and possibility ever so close.

Wait, what? The year starts in JANUARY?! God dammit. Twenty-three years and I still can't get this shit right.

In other news, I know I have been a little lax on the posting lately. A lot of you, mainly the ones who I either share genes with or have shared jeans with, have complained about that. The other that are not obligated to care about what I do or if I succeed in life, well, you're OK with it I guess! But I am going to try to be better about it. This country has been through enough in recent months, and the last thing its fine people need is me to take away my hilarity and wit from them.

I wish I could say that my absence from blogging has been due to some really wonderful projects I've been working on, but I just can't say that. Some people (who I won't mention due to legal reasons, but let's just say he's a Scientologist and his name rhymes with "Tom Cruise") are so secretive about the stuff they are working on, especially if the project is a sequel to one of the greatest movies to ever be set in a bar/houseboat in the 80s. But I guess you have to put up with some crap to get "Cocktail: This Time, Make It a Double" made.

I also am considering that 2009 be the year of "Stats 'N Tats: This Time, It's Personal." I feel like I'm ready to really show my readers, who are already my closest friends and family members, who I really am. So let me delve into a little bit about my personal life these days ...

I'm contemplating buying an Amazon Kindle. Let me be honest, I don't even really know what a Kindle is. It either sounds like something your grandmother would tell you about using to keep warm during the early 1900s, or the newest dildo on the market (which I guess are the same thing, anyway.)

The thing is, when I searched for "kindle" on Amazon.com, the first result it gives me is "The Complete User's Guide to the Amazing Amazon Kindle" by Stephen Windwalker. Which is a paperback book. That's great, Amazon. Isn't the whole point of a Kindle that I don't NEED to read paperback books? That is like getting a boyfriend and still going to the gym. You do one thing to eliminate the other, not both.

Then it has a link to the Amazon Kindle Store, where the sublinks tell me I can buy "Kindle Books, Kindle Magazines, Kindle Accessories, Kindle Newspapers, or Kindle Blogs." Again, superb, Amazon.com. Because all of those things will be very much so worth my time and money without the actual Kindle product.

Anyway, you get the point. Amazon.com needs someone to work on their search engine results. No big deal. But, just as I was about to close out the window and go back to googling my own name, I saw result #10:

Kudos to you, Rick Munarriz. You wrote "Why The Kindle Will Fail" as a KINDLE BOOK. You jackass! And, you managed to squeeze your work in right before number 11, "The Uncensored Amazon Kindle Buyer's Book." God knows that censored version left me crying for more. Oh, and number 12, which I'm pretty sure deserves a picture as well:

I was pretty positive that anyone who owns a Kindle and uses it to purchase "The Low Down on Going Down" would need more than this guide to sufficiently please a woman, but then I ventured over to the reviews, and found this gem from "Papi Lopez":

"after completely reading this book it gave me the urge to romanticize my lover Ling Ling all night till morning long. this book illustrates the ins and outs of master the way of the tongue. it shows how to use the vibrant tongue muscles that i never knew i had. now i get to taste the oh so sweet nector of Ling Ling which is the ultimate cloud 9 in my life. Ling Ling can't get enough of my vibrant tongue. when i get home from work she is preparing herself for me to go down on her. i think i'm going to have throw away my gym membership because i get all the workout at home nowadays. Man this book is so great! =)"

"Now I get to taste the oh so sweet nectar of Ling Ling which is the ultimate cloud 9 in my life." Has there ever been a better book review, anywhere, ever? Harold Bloom's got nothing on this Papi Lopez.

I'm In Your Head!!!

2009-01-26T12:32:00.000-08:00

Well, not exactly. But I CAN be in your iPod ...

Brendan McLaughlin and I are now doing a weekly comedy podcast, Babomya. Which is a really good explanation for why I now post on here about twice a month ... riiiight. Anyway, you can (and should!) check it out by clicking here, which will take you to the official Babomya website (watch out for all those unofficial Babomya sites that have been popping up.) Or, if you're one of those podcast purists, click here, which will bring you right to it on the iTunes store.

Hope you check it out and enjoy. Brendan and I get paid literally zeros of dollars each time someone listens, so, you know ... here's to the economy!

River of Dreams

2009-01-09T10:06:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, in the dead of the night, I get to play a fun game called, "Is that a baby or cat shrieking outside my window?" I don't always get it right, and sometimes, I don't even get to find out which one it actually was. All I know is that I'm happy I get to live in a residential neighborhood which features both cats and babies nearby ...

... Dying. Cats and babies DYING nearby.

The Fourth Wise Man Speaks

2008-12-25T10:54:00.000-08:00

"Guys, what the fuck??? We said no presents! You let me walk all this way and didn't even think to mention, just once, that you had all just so happened to decide to go and bring gifts? This is such bullshit. Gold? You brought gold, Pete?!? That's just fucking fantastic. I'm going to look like an asshole. I've sweat all the way through this friggin robe, my walking stick is a piece of crap, and now you're bringing GOLD?!?! Real convenient, you just had gold lying around the manger, huh? You guys are unbelievable. I'm gonna become the Ringo Starr of this operation, no one's going to remember the guy who didn't bring a gift! What am I supposed to do when you're all standing there, giving him your fancy gold and God dammit, is that frankincense? This is going to be so fucking awkward. Jesus Christ, you guys."

Merry Christmas.

The One Thing That The Internet Was Missing ...

2008-12-18T19:54:00.001-08:00

... Was me, in a bra.

Hold your breath no longer, world wide web.

New Landline video:

I Want To Be a Part of It ...

2008-12-16T08:54:00.001-08:00

Oh, the Big Apple.

Last night, in this grand 'lil town we like to call New York City, I had the privilege of seeing my favorite band, Wilco, open for Neil Young, who could impregnate you if you drank from the same cup that he did 25 years ago.

After this once-in-a-lifetime show, I boarded the trusty A train to head home. It wasn't long into my trip before my travel partner and I noticed a large, possibly homeless (I don't want to be judgemental, but he didn't look like he had any place to keep a set of keys. Oh, except maybe in his open sores.) man had taken his pants down and was urinating/defecating on the other end of the train.

Deciding that Neil Young was the only person who I would have allowed to defecate on me that evening, we decided to move to another car at the next stop.

And we did. And upon entering and moving to an available seat, I stepped right in something a previous passenger must have forgotten on the train. Their vomit.

Only In New York, right?!?!?! Oh, probably also in prison. I bet this type of stuff happens there all the time.

WHY?!, Volume I

2008-12-12T22:45:00.000-08:00

Hall & Oates never put out a brand of cereal called "Hall & Oats."

WHY?!

I'd Shoot Myself if My Name Were Plaxico, Too

2008-12-05T05:45:00.001-08:00

New Landline video. Do watch!

Stain Removal For the Sloth-Inclined

2008-11-29T12:21:00.000-08:00

On a recent trip to my building's laundry room, I happened to find this piece of literature lying next to my upstair neighbor's washing machine:

"Virtually Every Stain Known to Man," eh? Now, I couldn't help but wonder if the Field Guide to Stains had actually included every stain known to man. Snickering, I turned to the index, expecting to find a significant lack of bodily function-related stains.

What did I find?

Right after "Garage and Yard" and before "Bathroom and Beauty Products" ... the "Bodily Functions" chapter. I repeat, chapter.

Well, now I felt a bit silly. It was juvenile of me to think that a standard guidebook on stain removal would not feature the very practical, albeit DISGUSTING, section about removing bodily functions from one's clothing. But then I delved further. Allow me to highlight some of my favorites from the chapter ...

"Stain #88: Blood

TIME OF OCCURRENCE: Bloodshed can happen at any time of the day or night, but stains resulting from malicious acts are more likely at night, in dark alleys and places better left unvisited. Benign stains caused by cuts and scrapes, as well as from menstruation, occur year-round."

How mad would you be if you had been stabbed in a dark alley or a place better left unvisited, and then wobbled home, blood pouring out of you, only to refer to your handy Field Guide to Stains and gotten this "I told you so!" Just shut up and tell me how to get my spleen blood out of my corduroys, would ya?!

"Stain #91: Semen

On average, a man ejaculates fourteen gallons of semen in his lifetime, and reproduces only an average of about 1.2 children, in the United States. That amounts to quite a bit of semen that does not reach its destination, which in turn leads to quite a few stained sheets."

Uh, news flash to the chastity-belt wearing authors of this stain guide: Not ALL the semen not intended for baby making is a "misfire" and ends up on wedding night bed sheets.

Stain #94: Vomit

"AREAS OF OCCURRENCE: "... The school year is a sickness-prone time for some college students who go to frat parties or formal dances, so fancy dresses and tuxedos, as well as any party clothes, are at risk then."

Oh, silly Field Guide to Stains. My prom dress was always well off when the vomiting portion of the night began!

Side note, my neighbors had the "Stain #96: Blush or Rouge" page dog-eared. They now have Stain #91 dog-eared with an accompanying "Sorry!" post-it note attached.

If A Tree Falls and A Lot of People Hear It, But I Don't Because I Was Asleep at Noon, Did It Really Make OhGodI'mSuchALoser?

2008-11-26T09:23:00.001-08:00

A very large tree, a tree that can only be described as larger than life, decided it was done with it's treedom today. It fell to the ground and it just ... didn't get up.

This tree resided right outside my apartment building for as long as I can remember. Also, 6 months, which is as long as I've lived in this apartment. Every morning, every afternoon, and yes, even every night, Tree would be standing outside my building, ready with a cheerful greeting or, on most days, a clever quip to perk me up.

"How it's going, Tree?" I would say.
"Hard to go anywhere when you've got sixty feet of roots planted into the concrete ground that was once the beautiful, abundant natural land that your people brutally stole from my ancestors!"

Oh, Tree. How you loved Thanksgiving. This is all too ironic.

Tree had seen a lot in his 344 years on this planet. And yet, I could see it every time I left my house and watched him, hunched over our street: He wanted to see a whole lot more.

Tree was always quiet and contemplative when I brought a new friend or even a lover around. He just watched them, silently, and I knew, deep down, that he was judging their character for me, making sure that I wasn't "cruising for a heart bruisin'", as he'd say. Tree had a real big brother instinct inside of him, though he'd never admit it. But even though Tree never said much to my companions, they still knew a great deal about my wise friend. Usually, I had rambled on to him or her for days about Tree, his wise words, his love of amateur theater productions of Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales, and how that Kevin James made him "bust a gut." He was a lover of the arts, a true Renaissance tree. He would frequently call me over to his lower branches and implore me to listen to the newest Coltrane vinyl he had picked up that morning.

"Tree, I'm going to be late for work!," I would say.
"The only thing you're late on is a little bit of culture in your life," he would reply, not missing a beat, in a way that only the brilliant jazz musicians he so admired could have done.

But Tree had pain in his life, and I knew that, and yet I couldn't touch that part of him. There were nights I would come home from work, often cold, winter evenings, the kind that make you want to curl up inside with a loved one and watch The Shawshank Redemption. It was those nights that I would offer tree a friendly greeting on my way inside, and ... nothing. He would just stand there. No hello, no shake of a leaf, not a single word. I didn't say anything, and at the time, I thought it was because I thought Tree just simply would not answer me and my naive attempts at consolation.

But now, looking back, I realize I didn't say anything to Tree, not because I was afraid he wouldn't want to talk, but because I was afraid he would.

I was afraid that this mountain of a tree would expose himself in a moment of weakness to me, a 22 year old kid with no idea what it could possibly feel like to see your friends and family chopped down to make Ladies Home Journal. What could I say about life to someone who had given me my own, both theoretically through teachings of life wisdoms and introductions to great works of art, and scientifically through the production of oxygen?

I probably couldn't have said anything. I would have stammered through a few half-hearted attempts at cheering Tree up. Maybe I would have even come up with an inspiring quotation from FDR, Tree's favorite U.S. president (Tree had this great bit about him being so tall and FDR being so short in his wheelcha -- nevermind, I'll butcher it.) But, in the end, probably all I could have done was extend my arm around Tree's solid trunk, and give an ever so slight squeeze, just to let me know he wasn't alone. He wasn't alone. He wasn't alone. You're not alone, Tree. I'm with you today. I'm with you tomorrow. You may have fallen to the ground, but your roots ... your roots are deep within the soil of my soul. Thank you, for that. Rest in peace, big man.

Seriously, though, can someone come clean up this dumb fucking tree in the middle of the street?!?! People have to get to work, you know!

If Only Liz Taylor Had Been a Temp

2008-11-10T22:32:00.001-08:00

I just read an article on CNN.com, entitled "Seven signs you have a work spouse." You can read it for yourself here, but let me break it down for you ala mid 90s Mase before he got all holy and what not:

-A "work spouse" is defined as a co-worker of the opposite sex (but not the same sex. Thanks, Prop 8!) with whom you have a close platonic relationship that resembles a marriage.

-Signs of this co-worker marriage can include finishing each other's sentences, having the ability to be totally honest and upfront with each other, without any risk of fighting or hurting the other's feelings, and being able to depend on your work spouse for supplies, snacks, aspirin, condoms, whatever you may need. Well, maybe not the last part. Married people don't use condoms. Well, OK, they do, but not with each other.

-A "work spouse" can be a great source of support and comfort in the workplace, but one must be careful not to cross certain boundaries with his work spouse, or let the relationship threaten or harm a real-life marriage or romantic relationship.

Here's my question ... has anyone from CNN.com ever been married? And like, lived with the person, not just for a green card or something? Because the list seems a bit ... off. It reads like an actual healthy, enjoyable romantic relationship, not a marriage. Here's some key points they left out:

Signs You Have a Work Spouse:

-You want to sleep with all their clients, even the ugly ones.
-You do not want to sleep with them.
-You desperately want to move out of your shared cubicle, but you've already decorated it, and all your stuff is in order there, and where would you go and, ugh, what about the plants?
-When you were just a temp, you thought all you ever wanted was to be on staff. Now you stay late, until your work spouse has gone home, and hide Craig's lists postings for maternity-leave office assistants behind desktop windows. Of porn.
-Their face is the first thing you see in the morning, and the last thing you see at night. Because you work in a sweatshop and sleep on top of a button fastening machine.

Just kidding about that last one. I sure hope they don't have machines in sweatshops. Kids these days need to learn how to do things for themselves, not just rely on technology, you know?

OK, so November has been all about good change but ...

2008-11-10T19:41:00.000-08:00

... apparently October was nothing but TERRIBLE change, because look what I just discovered while reading up on the Wikipedia page for "Zima:" (What? Don't look at me like that. What else are you supposed to do to take the sting off of a Monday?)

"Zima is a lightly-carbonated clear malt beverage made and distributed by the Coors Brewing Company. Introduced in 1993, it was marketed not as a beer, but as an alternative to beer, an early example of what is now often referred to as alcopop. Its production ceased in October 2008, but it is currently still in distribution."

WHAT?!?!?! One of our country's greatest natural resources is running out, like a ticking time bomb, and yet, we remain ignorant and wasteful, hastily consuming Zima like the well will never run dry. Well, I've got news for you folks: the well will run dry, one day, and it won't be us that will have to suffer from the lack of "alcopop," it will be our children.

Grow up, America. Find an alternative source of non-alcoholic beverage that tastes like crap. It won't be easy ... oh, look, a Red Bull. Nevermind, that wasn't so bad.

Racism? Over!!!

2008-11-06T10:57:00.001-08:00

Election Parties and Crow's Feet

2008-11-02T22:33:00.001-08:00

First off, new Landline video ... Check out my debut appearance on the internet as "racist."

Second off (not a term), I bought old lady face wash. I didn't mean to (obviously), but now I am paying the price. Every time I wash my face, I smell like a divorcee whose homemade greeting card business will be "really starting to take off" until the day she dies. Which will probably be very, very soon. But hopefully not as soon as when this face wash runs out and I can start smelling like an acne-ridden teenager again.

And that's really all I got.

I Just Can't Stop With The Halloween Posts

2008-10-31T06:47:00.000-07:00

Here's a new piece I have up at Yankee Pot Roast today. Side note, someone who says "here's a new piece" and doesn't find it ironically pretentious is my Halloween costume today.

Link to YPR's flashier, prettier version: My Rejected Submission to Cosmo's Halloween Issue, Entitled "How To Lose a Guy In One Spooky, Scary Night: Halloween Costumes For Those Wanting Out"

Or, Amish version:

My Rejected Submission to Cosmo's Halloween Issue, Entitled "How To Lose a Guy In One Spooky, Scary Night: Halloween Costumes For Those Wanting Out"

The leaves are changing in color, the air is turning crisp and chilly, and you're finding that Jeff from Accounting has a newfound interest in you ever since you got side bangs and stopped eating croissants. All this can only mean one thing: it's time to kick your deadbeat boyfriend to the foliage-covered curb.

Halloween is the perfect time to give that final underwater push to your drowning relationship. The cold weather has arrived, and you'll no longer need a mate so that you'll have someone to accompany you to go get frozen yogurt, summertime's lubricant of love. And you can't get caught waiting too long after the balmy summer days have passed to move on with your life, for delaying the inevitable will bring you closer and closer to the holiday season. No one wants an ex's turkey-coma induced suicide on their conscience; plus, you'll need adequate time to develop your new relationship in time for all the candle lighting and tree trimming festivities. Jeff from Accounting isn't going to spend the first three and a half nights of Hannukah at your parents' place in Connecticut after one lunch date, you know.

So, just how can one effectively and easily end their pitiful excuse for a relationship while keeping her pillow case full of delicious candy and treats, not guilt and remorse? Well, as with anything in life, it all comes down to simply dressing the part. And this time, the part is one of a cold hearted wench of a woman that no man, no matter how low his self esteem or "free" his freelance writing happens to be, would ever consider crawling back to! Without further adieu, we present you with Halloween Costumes To Scare Your Man (Off, Forever.)

-His Slutty Mom

Every man grimaces at the mere thought of any sexual thought involving mommy dearest creeping into his brain. Well, you'll really drive him nuts when you show up at his door, wearing his mother's most favorite puppy-patterned turtleneck turned halter top and wide leg corduroys turned ass-less chaps. You'll have 'ol Oedipus running for the door in no time!

WHAT YOU'LL NEED: Scissors, ex-con and hairpin specialist to gain entry to mother's condo in Westchester

-His Slutty Childhood Golden Retriever

He may be all grown up and almost able to grow facial hair, but your man will always hold a tender spot in his heart for Lucky. Is there any better way to drive your guy to wanting out than conjuring up the image of Lucky in a too-tight tube top and booty shorts?

WHAT YOU'LL NEED: Access to local Forever 21, pictures of Lucky (possibly retrieved from mother's home with above said ex-con and hairpin specialist)

-His Slutty Pregnant Girlfriend

Any decent man will be a bit put off seeing a woman, carrying the gift of life in her blossoming belly, tossing back PBR's, ripping butts, and donning a tramp stamp with her "best guess" at the father's name. Still, he may excuse you for your costume choice, seeing that he loves you, supports you, etc, etc. ... that is, until you tell him that you'll still be sporting that baby bump come November 1st!

WHAT YOU'LL NEED: Expired condoms

-His Slutty Boss That Laid Him Off

The constant reminder of his professional failure and inadequacy will surely have your beau not wanting to come up for air during the apple bobbing portion of the evening!

WHAT YOU'LL NEED: Slacks, Suspenders, Weight problem

-Slutty Hitler (BONUS! Historical Context Costume Crossover)

Works particularly well if your man is of the non-gentile persuasion.

WHAT YOU'LL NEED: Mustache, low-cut Sturmabteilung uniform

-His Slutty Ex-Girlfriend and Jeff from Accounting's Slutty, New Girlfriend

It's you, fucking Jeff from Accounting.

WHAT YOU'LL NEED: His mailing address, Camcorder, Two (or three, depending on Jeff's prowess) U.S. postal stamps

So Many Videos, It's Like That Shoebox Your Dad Keeps In The Shed

2008-10-29T23:04:00.000-07:00

Yeah, that's right, I found it!

New Landline video:

Also, remember how it came out that Julia Child worked as a spy for the C.I.A. B in the D (that's back in the day. Sorry, I got all acronym'y.) Well check THIS out ...

Done by very funny comedian Brendan McLaughlin, who may or may not be my friend. OK, fine, he's my friend, but listen guys, I don't put up just ANYONE'S video, OK!? I'm not easy or anything. Oh, what's that? You have a video of your cat thinking there's like, a bug on the floor, but there's not really a bug, but she acts like there's a bug there? Yeah, sure, send me the link.

Halloween is For Lovahs

2008-10-28T22:37:00.000-07:00

How Not To Get Laid This Halloween

Many look forward to Halloween for the thrill of coming up with a clever, unique, fun costume to wear to a friend’s party. Others circle October 31st on their calendars with their sights set on delicious candy corn, chocolate bars, and caramel covered apples. And last but not least, some people enjoy this fall holiday because it provides them with another excuse to have random, dirty, promiscuous sex with strangers in costume. Because people seem to have already mastered the whole costume and candy portion of the evening, I’m going to provide you with a bit of a guide to sealing the deal on that last part. Or, rather, I’m going to provide you with a guide as to how NOT to seal it. Without further adieu, I present you with ….

The Top 10 Pickup Lines NOT To Use On Halloween

“You know, last week when I saw you here, I couldn’t even imagine wanting to have sex with you. But now that you have that sheet over your head…”

“That’s a great fat chick costume you’ve got on.”

“You know, I knew there’d be so many scantily clad women walking around tonight, I only masturbated twice today.”

“Yeah, I love Halloween too. Any excuse to hide my face, I’m actually not that attractive.”

“Your boobs look really great in that … oh, I guess you’re just completely naked, huh? Boy, do I love Halloween! So many sluts.”

“My penis is already in costume, too.”

“I just wish random children would come to my house every day of the year!”

“So, I was thinking, I’ve got way more candy than this back at my place, and you sure look like a girl who eats her feelings … “

“Halloween is kinda lame, in my opinion. Do you know how hard it is to get a roofie into a SKOR bar? Oh, no, that’s right, you were in the bathroom.”

*drop pants* “Hallo, it’s my ween!”

"No, really, it's OK. I worked out a deal. I save AIDS babies."

2008-10-27T12:32:00.000-07:00

What will St Bono's wife say about him partying with two teenage girls?

Ohhh, Bono, when will you Find What You're Looking For?

Can't you be happy with just One?

Is it just too hard to resist Young Teenage Vagina? Oh, wait, that one's by Coldplay ...

Craig's List will never disappoint

2008-10-21T22:04:00.000-07:00

Post title I just came across:

"National Tv Show Looking for Parents Who Spank Their Children"

Also looking for these parents? The department of social services.

How You Know You Need To Step It Up A Bit in the Not-Being-a-Slob Department

2008-10-21T11:29:00.000-07:00

At work yesterday, one of our regular customers told me that I looked like I had "walked right out of a wackier version of the LL Bean catalog."

Wackier than wool pants with wool socks, wool covered Crocs and a wool sweater with ironic pictures of sheep on it? Ouch.

New Landline videos, y'all:

Adventures in Entrepreneurism

2008-10-15T23:49:00.000-07:00

I want to start a website like Twitter, but it will be called "Shitter" and it will follow people blogging from their bathrooms.

Also, John McCain rolled his eyes more tonight than a 13 year old girl shopping with her mom at Filene's Basement on a Friday night.

These are literally the only two thoughts I had today "worth" blogging about. We really are in a recession.

Don't Worry, "This One's" Not About Sarah Palin

2008-10-13T11:48:00.000-07:00

New LandlineTV video:

Also, I lied. It is about Sarah Palin. But lots of people lie, like when you're throwing your best friend a surprise birthday party and just to throw her off the trail you call her and say "I hate you and I was never really your friend, especially when you were real sick in the hospital, I don't care that tonight is your birthday, you smell like a just opened can of tennis balls and I hope you die a fire'y like death, oh yeah also I slept with your boyfriend" and then you go and actually sleep with her boyfriend just so you're not like REALLY a liar. But then, later on everyone's all "YAY! Surprise party!" And she's all "Yay! OMG I had no idea I wish I hadn't drank all this Draino!"

So yeah, I think this is kinda like one of those situations.

Always a Bridesmaid, Never A Teet Suckler

2008-10-09T23:06:00.000-07:00

Can you imagine the emotional damage that is going to be done to one of Angelina and Brad's twins when he or she discovers that their breastfeeding wasn't good enough for the cover of W magazine? The years of therapy that kid will have to go through, man. Sucks to be you, forsaken Pitt-Jolie baby!

... Not literally, though! Oh snap! I really stuck it to you, baby-that-won't-be-able-to-read-this-blog-for-seven-years-and-wouldn't-now-even-if-he-could!

MTEh?, Volume One

2008-10-06T22:37:00.000-07:00

So let me get this straight: This subway artiste blacked out what I can only imagine were the words "sass" , or maybe "sea bass, or perhaps "bike handle tassles," so that it would read "She's got the ass." Then he blacked out another part of the poster to form the shape of a penis going directly into her mouth region. Also, might I add that this part was done rather hastily with little regard for the nuances of male genitalia. Guess an express train was coming and he had to be in Times Square ASAP to Sharpie a vagina onto Montel Williams' face.

But then, THEN he blacked out her name from where it said "Judge Jeanine," because, hey, no need to disrespect the woman, right?

Fill in the blank: "Just a cell phone?!?! That's it?! That's crazy! You need to get a _____" - My Mother

2008-10-02T10:08:00.001-07:00

I posted the "Hockey Moms Against Sarah Palin" video a couple of weeks ago, but you should check out the other really funny LandlineTV videos here:

LandlineTV

This fills my post quota for the day. It required very little thought or effort on my part, which is my favorite kind of post. Also, my favorite kind of unplanned pregnancy.

Nuh Uh! It's OCTOBAAAAAAH?!

2008-10-01T09:31:00.000-07:00

Every day, I do the writerly thing of telling myself I need to write, finding something to distract myself from writing for oh, five hours ("boy, that litter box sure does need a fresh coat of paint!"), then lambasting myself for not writing. Though, I do usually give myself some credit for using the word "lambasting."

This got me to thinking about what it would be like if I had to motivate myself to do the things I do every day with ease.

Exhibit A: "Jen, you have to eat a bagel today. No excuses. You want to be slightly rotund, don't you? So just go out, get a bagel, and eat it in all of its delicious butteryness. C'mon, the first bite is always the hardest."

Exhibit B: "Jen, lose your pants in a pile of your own filth. Just get up off the pile of said filth and search around frantically like you just lost your adopted Ethiopian baby in the grocery store. Don't put pressure on yourself to break down into tears about the fact that you are so inept at life that you cannot find your own bottoms ... though, it would be nice."

Exhibit C: "Jen, do not bathe today. Just stay away from water and cleaner of any kind. Don't even go near a candle until you have not bathed."

Exhibit D: "Jen, just do it. Even if it's just for three hours straight, Just. Nap. You have that little index card with "NAP!" written on it above your computer for a reason, don't you? So stop being such a waste of space and NAP! I mean, c'mon, what's the point of going to college for it if you're never even going to attempt to fall asleep mid-afternoon while standing up at your kitchen counter?!"

Ugh. Did this count?

Underheard in New York

2008-09-26T09:00:00.000-07:00

"That homeless man just said the NICEST thing to me!"

"Oh, we can just take the G train there."

"You're right. It does remind me of Bermingham."

You Know What Would Suck? Volume Two

2008-09-23T20:59:00.000-07:00

If your whole life you always wanted a puppy, but your mother kept telling you she was allergic to pet hair so you couldn't get one, so you developed a love of all animals, big and small, and all you ever wanted to do all day, every day was be around animals, and you bought all sorts of sweaters with little cute animals on them, and you had all these big adorable golden retrievers wearing rain boots on your computer wallpaper, and then finally you scored your dream job working at an animal shelter, and on your first day, your very first client bought the cutest little chocolate lab puppy, and then just as he was walking out the door of the shelter with the puppy, he turned around to you and said, "This is is going to be delicious."

Bummer.

You Know What Would Suck? Volume One

2008-09-22T21:18:00.001-07:00

If you saved up all your vacation days and took the time off from work and bought a plane ticket to China and got new luggage and you were all vaccinated and found out all your family and friends' T-shirt sizes because you were supposed to be going on a trip to help Youth in Asia, but then you got there, and you found out you were there to help Euthanasia.

Bummer.

What's Love Got To Do With It?

2008-09-19T10:58:00.000-07:00

Their house survived Hurricane Ike, but it's the only one left

This house's new nickname? Tina Turner.

Bucket List, Done; On to Groceries

2008-09-18T21:27:00.000-07:00

The NewsGroper video I wrote, Hockey Moms Against Sarah Palin, was shown on The O'Reilly Factor tonight. Considering it has long been my life's goal to have a work of mine featured on a program known for being fair, balanced, and hosted by the human equivalent of a public enema (which is, by the way, up for grabs for the name of anyone's next hip hop group), I'm going to start chewing tobacco, eating red meat, and putting my head real close to the microwave, cause I'm done, baby, I'm done!

Don't Say "Too Soon", Because I Waited a Good Ten Minutes Before I Posted This

2008-09-16T21:08:00.000-07:00

From News9.com:

"Escapee Caught While Buying Potato Chips

CHANDLER, Okla. -- A convict who escaped from the Lincoln County Jail on Monday was taken into custody Tuesday morning when he went to buy a snack, officials said.

Michael Washburn, 28, escaped from the Lincoln County Jail on Monday during a meeting with his attorney. Washburn recently was sentenced to 20 years in prison for shooting with intent to kill."

Shooting with intent to kill? Well, I guess it really is true. Once you
pop ...

(Don't you look at me like that. When Michael Washburn turns his life around after signing a multi-million dollar sponsorship deal with Pringles, I'm going to feel really great about myself. Until then, I'm off to scream and cry hysterically in a phone booth while it's pouring raining out. First I just have to find a phone booth ... self-loathing sure is tough in this here 21st century!)

Sarah Palin and I Are Getting Dangerously Close to a Locker Room Catfight

2008-09-15T09:02:00.001-07:00

Here is a parody of the Kerry Swiftboat attack ads that I pitched/wrote for NewsGroper's new video "joint:"

Hockey Moms Against Sarah Palin

Then, after you watch it, write some snarky comments on it with lots of exclamation points.

In other news, how good is oatmeal? Man.

Turn Those College Loans Into Moans!

2008-09-11T10:56:00.000-07:00

There is a girl from Sacramento State college who is going through a legal brothel in Nevada (one-way ticket to Nevada, check!) to sell her virginity in order to earn money for grad school. I kid you not:

"Natalie is a very smart girl. All she wants to do is get her master's degree in family and marriage counseling and be a psychologist. She's selling her virginity to accomplish that," Hof told CBS13. "She's smart enough to sell it. This is empowering her."

Empowering her. Right. I can't imagine why I wouldn't want to go to a family and marriage counselor who SOLD HER VIRGINITY TO SUPPORT HERSELF THROUGH SCHOOL.

Me: "I think my husband has been buying sex from prostitutes."
Dr. Natalie Sheen (she will most definitely be married to Charlie Sheen at this point of her life): "Oh, really? Because I've been thinking of going back to school for theater. Did you know I played Julia Roberts in my high shool's stage production of Pretty Woman?
Me: Could. Have. Guessed.

I actually don't have a problem with someone selling themselves for money. What I DO have a problem with is this chick coming along with a real gimmick'y sell and taking good money and good work away from experienced prostitutes who have been in the game for years and years. Man, is she gonna be hearing it from the union!

Me > Stephen King

2008-09-10T10:27:00.001-07:00

HORROR MOVIES OF THE 2008 ELECTION SEASON

McCainia!
The Goodbye Den
Ba(ra)ck to the Future (And In the Future, You're Dead.)
When Palindrones Attack
Cheney: I'm Running for President.

What I'm Masturbating to These Days

2008-09-08T10:00:00.000-07:00

Despite the fact that there was not one mention of Mitch Hedberg, this is the best thing I've read since James Joyce's Ulysses. Oh? What's that? What did I think of the thirteenth episode? Um, I meant since I've been planning to read Ulysses. Right.

This Lady Deserves a Swift Check to the Boards

2008-09-04T05:24:00.001-07:00

"I guess a small town mayor is sort of like a community organizer, except that you have actual responsibilities." - Sarah Palin

You know how there are bold and an italic font buttons? Well, if there was a big "S" button for snarky, or an "R" for ridiculous, or maybe even a "J" for just shut the fuck up, I would have clicked those for the above quote. But there isn't, so I can't. Maybe I should put it in teal or something. Teal is a really gross color.

Anyway, I'm glad Sarah Palin had the balls (metaphorically, guys!!! She's a woman. A WOMAN!) to finally target the people in America who deserve the most criticism in this election: community organizers. Ugh. Community organizer. The very words together make me ill. Community alone? Great, fine, makes me think of those polygamist villages in Utah. Organizer? Even better, makes me think of a Trapper Keeper. But together?! It sickens me. Just look at these events that were motivated by the laziness and sloth of community organizers of the past:

-The American Revolution
-The American Civil Rights Movement
-Women's Suffrage
-The Gay Rights Movement
-Me not eating my 5th slice of pizza in one nigh - fine, whatever, hour.

If that wasn't enough, do you guys even know some of history's more high-profile community organizers? Probably not, because this is the kind of dirt they like to hide from you. Well, call me Woodward & Bernstein, because take a look at what I've uncovered:

Community Organizers You May Have Heard Of:

-Dorothy Day (Named a "Servant of God" by Pope John Paul II. Nothing says "lazy ass bitch" to me like the word "servant.")

-Jane Addams (First Woman to be awarded Nobel Peace Prize. First WOMAN. She wasn't even the first person. Barf.)

- César Chávez (He is on a U.S. stamp. Regular POSTAL mail? Gross.)

-Martin Luther King, Jr. (The worst one. Do you know how lazy Martin Luther King, Jr. was? First off, he did NOTHING but sleep and talk about his stupid dreams for all I can tell. Then, he just like, died when a bullet entered his body. Can you get any more lazy than that?)

I think I've really illuminated Gov. Palin's point here. Republican, Democrat, or Ralph Nader, everyone can agree on one thing: We can't let those God damn community organizers win.

The Labor Day Comic

2008-09-02T10:54:00.001-07:00

When I was but a young girl, I had a Labor Day joke that really, really got my Mom's goat. Every single Labor Day Weekend, I would roll out this zinger and without fail, she would laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and then she would take another quaalude, and then she'd laugh some more. It was rich. Oh Mom, how I miss you. You should call me sometime, seriously. Really, I'm not even mad about the identity theft thing anymore, honest. I even sort of like getting six of the same subscription to Highlights magazine.

Anyway, I thought I would roll out the 'ol Labor Day jokie one more time, see if it plays to this crowd as well as it did to the "reared me out of her uterus" one. Here goes ...

ME: How about Labor Day, huh?!
MOM: Yeah?
ME: You know what I don't get about Labor Day?
MOM: What?
ME: It's called LABOR day ... but nobody works!!!
*gasping for air in between raucous laughter*
ME: Anyone take the subway here?!

That's all for now, kids. Now get back to work ... after all, it's not LABOR DAY!!!!!!!!!!!

"A Bid for Biden", says dependably kooky New York Post headline

2008-08-23T11:58:00.000-07:00

Barack Obama has chosen Joe Biden as his running mate, something I learned last night via text message at 3:30. In the morning. You'd think you would feel pretty good about yourself once you start getting dead of the night booty calls from JFK 2.0, but I was a little too groggy to be flattered. Anyway, sorry I didn't write back, 'Bama.

The spin that the McCainiacs are putting on this is that Obama's choice of a running mate with a wealth of experience in foreign policy is an "admission" of his own inexperience and weakness in that area. Um ... what? That is like if I announced I was getting married and someone pointed out that my choice of a husband with a penis is an admission that I don't have one. Yup. It's just. Like. That . It's like, no kidding I don't have a penis, but it sure is something I could get some use out of, right? It's all about complimenting one another, whether you're aiming for the White House or a white dress. And that's my joint political/love advice column for the week. Time to send it off to Cosmo/The Nation!

Anyway, Biden has foreign policy covered, so I guess Obama is free to take over the reigns on that whole "being able to wink" thing. Biden looks like he's watching Open Mic night at the Senate, and everyone's had a few more Twisted Teas than he has, and Ted Kennedy's doing "Livin' On a Prayer" AGAIN and Hillary has some kind of feather boa and John Edwards, you have the NICEST hair, no really like it's just so NICE. Do you know how nice your hair is, John Edwards? I would kill for hair like this! Can I touch it? ohmygosh, come feel John's hair, it's like he's Asian or something!

Smacked, by Comedy

2008-08-20T18:28:00.000-07:00

The fine people over at ComedySmack, who are, you guessed it, reaaaally funny people who beat their wives, found my "Neurotic Baby" list and put it on their daily comedy newsletter today.

So, I'm getting all Haley Joel Osment and paying it forward and telling you (while driving drunk), my loyal readership of 2 1/2 people, to go to ComedySmack.com and sign up for their e-mail list. It's like spam mail, but funny. Kind of like how spam is like ham, but funny.

I Wanna Hold Your Van

2008-08-19T06:53:00.000-07:00

I spent a lot of time in a quant little area of New England this past week, its only downside being that it is as white as Julia Stiles in Save The Last Dance (as opposed to Julia Stiles in all her other films.) I think the ratio of vanity license plates to minorities in this place was, oh, a million to one. Oh, what is that? You're wearing black face as a joke? Totally inappropriate, guy. And those seer suckers are way too tight. Anyway, a million to zero.

I did a lot of thinking during my time in the Douglas Sirk film that was my vacation. One of those thoughts was, "Wow, I am a lot better than people who don't know who Douglas Sirk is." Another was, "Don't you people look at me like that, like you've never ridden a tandem bike by yourself!!!" The beach really can be so relaxing, can't it?

The third and final thought I had this past week was, "I want to be someone's Friend With A Van." Think about all the jams one can get into in this peanut butter and helly sandwich that is life. There are many situations in life that are positively unavoidable and require the use of a van. For instance, people are always needing to move large things, whether it be furniture or flat screen TV's or, sure, I'll say what you are expecting me to say ... bod, wait, no. Spell check! Baudelaire anthology. Only your most naive of friends will think they can keep their poetry collections in the same place for more than two motnhs.

People also need to go on expensive, overly planned trips with lots of friends from college and acoustic guitars and hummus dip. You think you can fit all that in a Saab? Think again. When all these situations arise, what happens? Someone says, "Oh, OK, I'll rent a van!" and then once that person has already given Budget a pretty hefty security deposit on their MOTHER'S CREDIT CARD and picked out a really fun ride with leather interior and a 6 CD changer, another person will pipe up, "Oh, hey, we don't need to rent a van! I'll just call my Friend With a Van!" Because some people are fucking selfish and self-centered and don't understand that that the tandem part is merely a suggestion. But I digress.

We can assume people generally fall into three categories based on this universal truth. They are as follows:

1) People Who Own a Van and Are Thus, The Friend With A Van
2) People Who Have a Friend With A Van
3) People Who Don't Want a Friend With a Van.

Ha! I tricked you here. Impossible. Everyone wants to have a Friend With a Van.

REAL 3) People Who Want a Friend With a Van And Do Not Yet Have One

I'm obviously concentrating on people in category #3 for the time being. Sure, those folks in #2 may turn into #3's once their Friend With a Van dies in terrible car crash in said van because no one should ever transport wild game for a long distance without some sort of substantial entertainment for them, but sometimes even I cannot keep up that kind of pure, unbridled hope and optimism. No, at present, I will focus solely on the #3's.

First step: acquire a van. I've been shopping around, both on the 'net and in parking lots at youth soccer league games. Funny, isn't it? Seems like everyone watching a youth soccer league game has a van! I just don't know why some moms opt for such heavily tinted windows. Anyway, I've been struck by this beaut':

What else can one call this but a modern day chariot? And it's already in my favorite color for a vehicle, "deep depression." Consider that car lease as good as signed.

Next step: make it known to all my friends that I have purchased a van and am now open for business and taking requests to be The Friend With a Van. One way would be to write a blog post about it, letting everyone know.

Yaaay ... I'm done! Oh, what's that? You need to take a trip to IKEA and I'm just the person you so happen to want to go with? Sure thing! But first, how's about a little bike ride?

OMG, it's your birthday?! 'Bama!!! Why didn't you tell me?! You whore!

2008-08-04T11:31:00.000-07:00

It's Barack Obama's birthday today! Yaaaay! Wait a second ... where are all the festive lights and presents under the tree?!?!

LOLOL, I know, I know, I'm so bad you guys!!! I'm just totally in one of those moods today. I had, like, twelve Lorna Doones ... AFTER lunch!!!

"I'm Beginning to Think the Author of my IKEA Self-Assembly Guide Just Went Through A Soul Crushing Breakup"

2008-07-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

Congratulations on your new purchase from IKEA! The Väarkenbark birch 8-drawer armoire is sure to add just the right touch of mass-produced European'ness to your home. Wow, 8 drawers! That sure is a lot of drawers! Way more drawers than I need, even if all my sweatpants weren't dirty. This piece must be for sharing! That's ... nice....

1) Carefully set down your new piece of IKEA furniture onto a level surface. Take caution; this IKEA piece is very heavy and requires at least two people for lifting. Funny, isn't it? Seems like everything these days is designed for two! I'm sure you've got it covered though. I mean, who would buy an 8-drawer armoir for one? Now, If I were doing it, I guess I'd have to ask Hans over in 2B to come over and help me. He's been a big help lately, though I do always have to refill the hard candy bowl after he leaves. I don't want to accuse him of anything, but last night I detected the slightest hint of butterscotch scent coming from his apartment.

2) Open the box using a sharp cutting utensil. Take extra precaution with this step, as you could cut yourself with the knife and then start bleeding all over the floor and then he'd really be sorr ... It's just too soon to stain that nice birch finish, don't you think!

3) Remove all enclosed plastic bags with necessary screws and assembly parts. Set them aside to refer to during assembly. I think you've got this part covered, it's pretty basic. Nothing like relationships! Boy, those are tough to figure out, huh? One minute you're all two straws, one frozen margarita at Chili's and the next you're riding the New Jersey Transit up and down the Northeast Corridor Line just so you have other people to cry with!

4) Screw in boards B and C to the main frame, piece A.

5) According to my mother, I'm eating my feelings, but if I'm feeling like delicious Swedish meatballs, well so be it!

6) Attach security mounts to piece D. Place piece D atop of B and C to form the top of your armoir. Security, ha! You'd think even the smallest bit of basic security that comes along with any monogamous relationship wouldn't make purchasing Michael Buble tickets a couple, or maybe even nine, months in advance such a big deal, right?

7) Wrong.

8) Now that the base of your armoire has been assembled, you're ready to move on to the drawer assembly. Hurray! But listen, don't let me tell you when you need to or have to move on. I get it, you move on WHENEVER you're ready, even if it is "turning you into a miserable pile of self-pity and unwashed hair grease."

9) Maybe two dozen meatballs was too much. Though this Absolut has liquified them quite nicely.

10) Each drawer should contain three boards, a metallic handle, and seven E-Z fixed screws. It should not contain a pile of pictures from your vacation to Atlantic City with strategically scratched out eyeballs and three and a half pairs of stolen tube socks, but who's to say what should happen anymore, anyway?

11) Wouldn't YOU have taken things a little more seriously if you heard the words, "If you walk out that door, I'm moving to Sweden?" from a loved one? Well, who's bluffing now?, Or, should I say, "som är bluffa nu?"

12) Oh, the drawers, right. Guess you need somewhere to put all your stuff, huh? Though I bet you're like, "so in love" and you'll just end up mixing it all together and then you'll wear each others' tube socks to work and then laugh about it over a bottle of pinot later that night on your overpriced Swedish futon bed. Well, just be careful because ... because ... because red stains, OK!?!

13) Attach piece E1 to F1 and G1 using the included seven E-Z fixed screws. Repeat for each drawer. But really, what the hell do I know about keeping anything together, anyway? If it were up to me, I would probably tell you to put the drawers together with an unconditional support of one's acting career despite an uncanny inability to memorize lines, a stoic dedication to remaining under 130 pounds, and a willingness to feign interest in "Battlestar Galactica", but then you'd probably end up with your clothes all over the floor. And not in the good way, either.

14) Congratulations! Your IKEA Väarkenbark birch 8-drawer armoire is complete and ready to be used!

15) I don't want to die alone. God, why is this chocolate so damn sweet?!

The Summer I Didn't Lose An Ear, or, The Summer I Lost All My Self-Respect.

2008-07-24T21:55:00.000-07:00

Sometimes in life, you have to learn how to just say "no." And that time should come way before you find yourself having a medical professional take Polaroid pictures of you in his personal office space. What follows is the long and torrid story of how I learned that very valuable lesson.

It was the summer of 2007. And it was hot. That's really the only characterization I can give you about the time, because that's all I remember, but I understand that that's like saying, "She worked at Hooters. And she had breasts." Charles Dickens, I am not. Regardless, it was the summer and I had just returned from a wonderful five months abroad in Europe, racking up my cliche college-memories quota. All that was left for me was to do a little sexual "experimenting."

At this point, this story can go one of two ways. One, I can go proceed to tell you about the summer I was a lesbian, and hope someone from penthouse.com is reading. The other way involves no sort of sexual activity whatsoever. My apologies to Larry Flynt, but this story is the latter.

Anyway, I had come home and all was well, except for the fact that, oh, my left ear was in danger of falling off. I will spare you the grim details, but I had developed some sort of strange cut behind my left ear that was in desperate need of medical attention. And five months later, from the time I first realized it was in desperate need of medical attention, I was a few paint brushes short of becoming a modern day Van Gogh. Or Evander Holyfield. Well, minus the whole painting thing. Or being able to box. God, doesn't anyone become famous for just losing an ear anymore?

So, I decided the first thing I needed to do upon reaching US soil was to find a good doctor to take care of my little ailment.
And I had found one. Her name was Betsy and she had been with me through thick and thin, through strep throat, through the flu, and even through 'da Pox (chicken, not small.) That's right, I had found Betsy about 22 years ago, at about the same time when I had found my way out of the womb (and not just any womb, mind you. My own mother's!) And apparently, a 21 year old wishing to still see her pediatrician is a problem. Like some slutty ex-girlfriend who had "found herself" during the first few months of college and came to see me at Thanksgiving break only to dump me, Betsy wanted to terminate our relationship. "But what about the free lollipos?!?", I thought, but then again, who doesn't at the end of any great relationship? Despite my pleas, Betsy wasn't having it. No, take that back, her front desk ASSISTANT wasn't having it! She didn't even have the decency to tell me herself that she wanted to start seeing younger people.

Once I dealt with the painful sting of that rejection, I picked up my self-pride and what free lollipops I could fit in one small, stubby fingered handful, and set out to find someone new. Now, everyone always tell you that there are "other fish in the sea," but that is not the case when the sea is the private health care industry, and the fish is someone who has been denying the onset of adulthood for years and years. I couldn't find anyone within a 50 mile radius who wanted to look at my ear-ailment. Finally, help came in the form of a public health clinic who agreed to fit me in with their resident physician. OK, OK, I know what you're thinking ... I should have known, right? Well, listen, when you live in fear of the day a magician tries to pull a coin from behind your ear and gets just the whole ear, you'll understand why I did what I had to do.

I came for my appointment with ... well, let's call him Dr. Unicorn, because much like unicorns, this guy was UNREAL. He wore Coke bottle-glasses and I kid you not, his business card read, "Dr. Unicorn. M.D.D.D.S" That's right. He was both a physician AND a dentist. I've done the calculations and that meant he had been in school for ... sixty-three years. Give or take a few. But, allow me to get this out right off the bat: The man fixed my ear drama, and for that, I am eternally grateful, as are the many people who speak to me my left side every day of my life. For that, he earns no flack from this lady. But his "bedside manner" ... well, that is a different story.

From the moment he came into the room, he was very intent on telling me about his son, who he reminded me repeatedly, "was about my age." "Wonderful! But now save my fucking ear!", I thought. His son, who was about my age, I mind you, had recently graduated from college and was back living in the area. He son also liked music. Which was a real mind blower, because hey, I like music, too! As does mostly every other human being on the planet. Well, all the ones with fully functioning ears.

After the most awkward doctor's visit of my life, one in which, during the standard doctor-patient dialogue of "are you sexually active?", Dr. Unicorn M.D. D.D.S deemed it necessary to add in, "I'm not trying to suggest anything here," I was all cured. I left his office with Dr. Unicorn telling me that he'd, "tell his son about me" AND giving me his son's e-mail address. But despite all that, I was like brand new and ready to show off my perfectly attached ears in front of Betsy. Life, however, had other plans for me.

Within a few weeks, I found myself sick. Very sick. The kind of sick one only gets from ... visiting a public health clinic? Perhaps. But I needed meds, and the only person I could turn to was, yes ... Dr. Unicorn, M.D. D.D.S.

Despite the promise I had made to myself never to see that man again, I returned to the clinic, hoping Dr. Unicorn would be off at some sort of convention for crazies and I'd be home free. Not so, I learned as I walked into the office and immediately locked eyes with him from across the waiting room. I waved, thinking that would be the appropriate thing to do. Dr. Unicorn, however, took the route of acting like a geeky 6th grader who checks behind himself to see if the cool girl really is waving at him from across the cafeteria. The man was standing in front of a wall. This is the man whose hands I was placing my well-being into. I clearly have a pretty high opinion of the value of my own life.

Dr. Unicorn was not my medical saving grace this time, however. To be honest, I'm not sure his first concern was my illness, either. Why do I think this? Well, perhaps it's because his first words to me were not the standard, "How are you feeling?" or even a "What seems to be the problem?", but a "You never e-mailed my son." Honestly, when is the last time you heard that on House? (I don't actually watch House, so if there is a story line involving House pushing dating his son onto one of his patients, I'm going to feel preeetty foolish.)

As Dr. Unicorn continued to go on about his son's current job situation and how we were, yes, still about the same age, I thought, "how far am I going to let this go?" I also thought, "I think I just coughed up my uterus," but I digress. Dr. Unicorn gave me a medical examination about as thorough as one you would expect from a sorority girl dressed up as a nurse on Halloween (with way less cleavage and way less eating disorders.) He did, however, casually drop in that he would "take a picture of me to show his son."

A picture. Of me. To show his son. And yet, did I run for the door? Did I punch him in the face? Did I report Dr. Unicorn to the authorities in his hometown of LalaLand? No, no, and no. I sat there and I took it. Like a chump. I took it all the way to his office, where he got out a Polaroid camera and actually did, in fact, take a picture of me. Two, to be precise. The first one was a straight headshot, whereas the second was a more artistic half side-profile. This guy was Annie Leibowitz, M.D.D.D.S. I wish I were kidding. So very much. But I'm not, and there's photographic evidence to prove it.

A few weeks later, I got a phone call from a certain individual who is about my age and likes music, apologizing for his father's forwardness. He did not, however, apologize for his father going into my sealed medical records and giving out my phone number, but what can one expect from someone with a horn sticking out of his forehead?

Moral of the story? Never let your fear of losing a body part, even if it was one that can be adorned with jewelry, compromise your morals. Also, I'm a big dumb idiot. Also, you ruined me, Betsy, you ruined me.

Side note: I warned you that it was long and torrid, didn't I?

Now With a Little Bit of Tats

2008-07-20T10:37:00.001-07:00

Tattoos I Am Strongly Considering Getting

-"If you can read this, you're naked."

-"Buy milk"

-"Permanent. Do not scrub."

-"I finally got that tattoo I've be (turn over to other side of arm)-en wanting!"

-"Rosebud=sled."

I Heart the Service Industry!!!

2008-07-17T17:55:00.001-07:00

Today at work, a celebrity who will remain unnamed came in and ordered an iced coffee from me. I prepared his beverage, then rang him up at the register while he stared at my breasts. He then tipped me fifty-six cents. That's right, fifty-six cents. That's a dime short of being a full house of change, my friends.

Now, normally if a customer were to ogle my chest and then tip me fifty-six cents, I would try to convince myself it was all he could possibly afford to pay for such a view, if only to save the precious little that is left of my self-esteem. Not something that can be done with Mr. Celebrity Pocket Change.

Anyway, point is ... I'm fifty-six cents closer to my boob job!!

Concerns of the Neurotic Baby

2008-07-13T23:16:00.000-07:00

"These ceilings are just ... unreasonably high."

"Come here, feel this fontanel. I should really be wearing some sort of hardhat, don't you think?"

"I haven't slept a wink. I keep thinking, what if, one day, I wake up and I can't put my foot in my mouth?"

"It would just put me at ease to see some sort of identification. Sure, they claim to be 'Mom' and 'Dad', but the other day I could have sworn I heard someone referred to as 'Mr. Passive Aggressive.'"

"I mean, I could just wake up tomorrow and bam, I'm allergic to applesauce. Then what?"

"I look ridiculous. Unless we're having lobster, I'm not wearing this."

"Who's going to hire me with this pansy-ass handshake?"

"What if I have to chew my way out of something?"

"Be honest. Is that puppy cuter than I am?"

Antonym for "iPhone"

2008-07-06T22:58:00.000-07:00

Someone plugged a black and white TV into a telephone pole on the corner of 7th and Greenwich Ave. It was pretty awesome, until the homeless guy next to me didn't want to watch another episode of Law and Order because, "he's seen 'em all." First of all, I HIGHLY doubt it, and second of all, some people are never happy, are they? Also, some people eat their own hair, so take that for what it's worth.

Bee Cool

2008-07-02T13:30:00.000-07:00

Today being Wednesday, the metaphorical cream to the Oreo cookie that is my week, I decided to venture outside (!!!) and eat lunch somewhere I had never been. Considering I try to restrict every meal I eat to the restaurant where I work so that it's free, I figured this wouldn't be too difficult. It wasn't, but what followed ... was.

So I walked as long as I could, fighting the pains of hunger, and ended up at this place that is about three minutes and twenty-five seconds from my apartment. I was immediately taken aback upon entering this establishment, which will remain nameless to protect the innocent (also, I don't remember it), because there was only one customer in the entire place. Always a good sign. Then, when I got close enough to the counter, said customer closed his newspaper and proceeded to go underneath the counter in front of me, because he, in fact, works there. Even better sign. After I adjusted to this role reversal and ceased treating him with respect, as to adhere to the rules of the service industry, I took a look at the menu. At least, what I think was the menu; to me, it more closely resembled a list of trees and plants I had to memorize for my 7th grade science class. Suddenly, I was unsure if I was there to eat or build a terrarium.

He invited me to ask him any questions I had about the menu, which luckily answered my original question. Now, here is where a common problem I run into took over. Any other normal person who isn't accustomed to eating things they can't pronounce ("sub-way." So easy.) would have just walked out. However, I have a strange need to "play it cool" in situations and thus, the urge to make it look like I knew exactly what I was doing and had meant to come there took over. The thing is, I don't usually make much of an attempt to be cool in front of people who know me; that is a lost cause. Yet, in front of total strangers, I usually aim to make myself look like I walked straight out of a Virginia Slims ad, which is like some uber-level of coolness, because 1) everyone knows smoking cigarettes is cool and 2) it makes me vintage-cool, because I'm pretty sure they stopped advertising Virginia Slims in the late 80s.

Anyway, I caved under the pressure and ordered the first thing I could pronounce. After the owner told me that the "delivery hours" weren't for sale, I went for some sort of salad. I'm sure you hear salad and a few various things come to my mind: for sure lettuce, tomato (hopefully salmonella-free), cucumbers, carrots; maybe you're the wild and exotic type and you hear "avocado, feta cheese, portabello mushrooms"; or maybe you're batshit crazy and you think of those McDonald's Salad Shakers. I don't know, but I'll tell you what you probably don't think of: sprouts, sprouts, sprouts, nothing but sprouts. Fine, I understand that sprouts are something that comes on salads and sandwiches often, but to be honest, if I didn't know better and I ordered a salad with sprouts on it, I would probably call the waiter back and say, "I'm sorry, but there is vegetable sperm on my salad."

Point is, this salad had nothing but sprouts. There were a few things on top of the sprouts, but there were so few that it looked like they were there by accident, like they had taken a wrong turn on the way to fertilizer they belong in and ended up on my sprout salad. As I ate my heaping bowl of sprouts, I began to wonder if my body was going to go in fat-storing mode, thinking that I must be trapped out on the side of a mountain or in the middle of the woods with no rescue squad in sight and no human companion's arm to gnaw on.

Let me interject to say that I am not trying to knock people who eat this type of thing on a daily basis or the kind staff at this establishment. It's just that I am not used to eating meals with less than 264% of my daily sodium intake. And trust me, for all my confusion at how this could serve as a suitable lunch, I ate my sprouts right up, like I was on death row and it was my last meal at Woodstock prison. And shocker, once I was done, my processed-food-loving American stomach wanted more. So I looked at the "menu" once again and decided to go for a smoothie. This one didn't have sprouts, and all the ingredients were fairly standard smoothie-fare, except for the ... bee pollen? Now, I know bee pollen is something people do eat and there are much stranger things people put in their bodies (opting out of the easy joke on that one), but I had never had it before, and all that kept running through my mind was how recently someone told me that bees are the most vital of insects because, quote, "if the bees all die, we all die." I don't know how much validity there is to that statement, but let's just say that the image of a T- rex telling his buddies to "lay off the bee sandwiches, bro" in vain until shit really hit the fan has crossed my mind.

My bee pollen-infused smoothie, nevertheless, was delicious. I was enjoying it whole-heartedly and was even about to ask where I could find a good pair of Birkenstocks in the neighborhood when I heard a buzzing sound near my right ear. I kid you not, it was a bee. You can imagine how awkward this was for me. He was just hovering there, like I owed him something. And sure, maybe I did, but I've never had a wild turkey give me the evil eye when I was enjoying a fresh-toasted (sprout free!!!) 12" delight.

Let's just say I'll be "staying fresh" from now on, if you know what I mean.

The Presidential Seal

2008-06-24T03:42:00.000-07:00

This little guy would have been a far better choice, Obama.

When the Obama logo and presidential seal collide

Steve Jobs DJ'ed My Bar Mitzvah

2008-06-22T22:51:00.000-07:00

Do The Shuffle

One of the most important and most nerve-wracking parts of event planning is music selection. Playing even just one ill-chosen song can scar a young child for life, doom a marriage, or really bring down the mood at a funeral. Well, those worries are a thing of the past, much like books, because Steve Jobs and his posse have done it once again. iTunes' Party Shuffle feature takes the guesswork out of planning the song list or hiring a fancy DJ for your next bar mitzvah, quincineria, or wedding (and by next, I mean first, because you should really be aiming to have only one of all those events.) To demonstrate this technological marvel, I have included a sample of a real-life Party Shuffle playlist selection that my iTunes produced, along with what I feel is a pretty accurate depiction of how the said party would go.

NOTE: This is a 100% authentic, verbatim Party Shuffle list. The list has not been altered in any way. I am not David Blaine; I am not about trickery.

1) "Desperado" by The Eagles

A real classic to kick off the festivities! As the guests begin to arrive, they are greeted by Don Henley telling them that they "better let somebody love them," and there's no better place to do that than one where you find youself surrounded by alcohol and farm animals (you weren't planning to have a party without a petting zoo, were you?) This selection is also the perfect choice for those smooth talkers whose pick up line of choice is the classic, "Don't you think it's cold in the wintertime?"

2) "What You Wish For" by Guster

Neither you nor your party goers will know this song, but the "No, no, I'm telling you, it's O.A.R.!" "No way, it's Dispatch!” dialogue really brings people together.

3) "High and Dry” by Radiohead

And the party continues to rage. Party Shuffle has made another solid move in its selection of one of the many heart-pumping jams of Thom Yorke and co." At this point, it's like, "get a room, people!" Am I right?!

4) "Sometimes Love Just Ain't Enough" by Don Henley & Patti Smith

At this point, the party has about as much Don Henley as it does goats, and that’s never a bad thing. A heart-wrenching duet ballad rocks the house as The Don and Patti Smith remind our guests that sometimes love just ain't enough. However, sometimes six Long Island Iced Teas is and an adequate knowledge of modern day politics is, so fingers crossed!

5) "ABC" by The Jackson 5

We know what you’re thinking. The Jackson 5?! A bit of a downer after we've had our spirits lifted with the message of "There's a danger in loving somebody too much", but oh, ye of little faith!. Apple has included a time-sensitive "Bathroom Break" tune, and conveniently planted it in just the right place. But remember, keep an eye on your drink at all times! Those potbelly pigs sure are thirsty.

6) "Buckets of Rain" by Bob Dylan

A mumbling folk singer on an acoustic guitar? Now that's more like it! Don't be alarmed if your party is starting to look an awful lot like MTV's "The Grind" (Spring Break Edition!) Rest assured, all that whipped cream comes out with just a little seltzer water.

7) "Sweet Home Alabama" by Lynard Skynard

This is a particularly well chosen selection for us Yankees, because there is nothing modern day blue state folk like more than throwing their PBR-clutching hands into the air and ironically singing along to a classic rock song about a state that they most likely think was abolished during The Civil War. Kudos to Party Shuffle for entertaining and enlightening the masses. Even The Governor would find it hard not to break into a two step.

8) "Bridge over Troubled Water (LIVE!)" by Simon & Garfunkel

At this point, party goers will surely be begging you to turn up the volume on this bumping beat, but alas, it would be to no avail, because Party Shuffle has wisely chosen a song that was recorded at a volume that only canines can hear. Not surprisingly, the sheepherding dogs in the petting zoo really start to get down at this point.

And ergo, the glory of Party Shuffle. I hope you will employ this wonderful tool for all future party'esque ventures of your own. As for me, it's time to go cry myself to sleep in the fetal position while wearing Converse All Stars, because based on my iTunes library, that is clearly my favorite activity.

The (HTML) Path to Enlightenment

2008-06-19T13:00:00.001-07:00

Today, I checked to see if anyone had registered the URL "http://www.buddha.om"

No one had. Sometimes I wonder about this world. Other times I wonder, "could I pull off a onesie?"

(The answer, by the way, is no, and certainly not at a funeral. Big fashion faux pas. Who knew?)

My Mind or Yours, Mencia?

2008-06-17T12:23:00.000-07:00

Things I Suspect Carlos Mencia Has Stolen From Me, Other Than Jokes

My original television series concept, entitled, "Central Nervous
System of Mencia"

My drive to succeed beyond being named "Barista of the Month"
five out of the twelve calendar months.

My George Lopez show DVDs.

My conclusion to my five year old dissertation on the necessity and imminent success of the Iraq War.

My ability to love.

My guest spot on Moesha.

My good pen.

My fast metabolism.

My memoir about life as a Honduras-born stand up comedian gaining fame, success, and accusations of plagiarism in the United States.

Twenty-three bucks.

True Life: I'm Really F'n Good at Killing Mosquitos

2008-06-14T20:56:00.001-07:00

You know how when a mosquito is flying around and people clap their hands in the air to try to get it, but 99.9% of the time they end up missing and then they're really just clapping randomly, like they're at an Aretha Franklin concert? I don't think anyone ever intends or expects this to actually work, because it's absolutely disgusting when it does.

Well, let me tell you something: when I do it, it works EVERY TIME, and it's both my gift and my curse in life. I feel like the Hulk. Expect instead of me getting angry, it's me getting mosquito insides on my palm, and instead of liking it, I don't.

Yeah. This post is why the internet shouldn't be free. Or why health care should, because I'm pretty sure this is the scurvy talking.

Anatomically Speaking

2008-06-09T15:36:00.000-07:00

An Erectiley Dysfunctional Penis Speaks Candidly to His Owner

Listen, I just can't do it. Not this time. Not tonight. Stop it, just stop it. Don't touch me. What do you mean "what's wrong with me?" You've got some nerve. I've given you everything I've got. I've been on call, day and night, whether we were at home, at work, on vacation, or even in the men's dressing room at Eddie Bauer (I still can't believe you put those pleated front khakis back on the rack.) For years, I've been like a rock for you. And now this is how you treat me? Like I'm a broken piece of equipment, something you ship off to tech support in India and forget all about? You make me sick. I said don't touch me! You're unbelievable. Well, I'm sorry, mister, but I just can't tonight. I simply cannot become erect for you.

Why is this happening, you ask? Why you? Well, let's think, Nancy Kerrigan. Maybe it's the fact that not ONCE have I ever told you no, or that I was tired, or that maybe I just wanted to veg out on the couch and watch an episode or two of “Top Chef.” Maybe it's the fact that you insist on wearing those damn Spanish cut briefs a size too small (which makes things muy caliente down here, FYI.). Maybe it's the fact that I'm not just some piece of meat, yet you insist on treating me like one. Oh, here we go with the lube again. That's just great. I feel like I've been swimming in a pool of jelly. Speaking of which, that time you went swimming in that pool of jelly? You know very well that I'm mildly allergic to artificial watermelon flavoring and you ... Just. Didn't. Care.

Oh, come on. I'm telling you, it's not gonna happen. Didn't I make this clear? Are you thinking with your brain? You are so selfish. You want to know what our problem is? Well, that's it. You are so selfish, it's suffocating. Even more suffocating than your underwear. You and I, we used to spend time together. A LOT of time together, if I remember correctly, it was literally hours upon hours of quality time together. There were days when you couldn't get enough of me! To be honest, it was a bit much, even for me. Your track record could alleviate a lot of thirteen year old boys’ fears about going blind or not needing to buy winter mittens. But I digress.

Ever since you left Barnes & Noble (where I was perfectly happy, by the way. Thanks for asking.) and took this job as a real estate copywriter, all that has changed. You're some big stud now, huh? Walking around in your fancy, unsoiled chinos, assembling your high class Ikea furniture, wearing a fedora. That's right, you tell her this has never happened before. Tell her how I've never once taken a job lying down! You've become unbearable, you know that? I almost lost it the other day when you told your precious locker room buddies that I'm "a grower, not a shower." You and I both know that's not true. I've NEVER been ashamed of who I am, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you make me start. Look at you, you're pathetic. You can barely even put together a full sentence. Did you ever think that throwing back five Long Island Iced Teas and one strawberry daiquiri might present a problem for us later on in the evening? You've got less foresight than I've got foresk -- well, you know, it was your Bris, after all.

What?! What did you just say? Did you just tell her that maybe you're just not attracted to her?! Oh, no you do not, mister! You've made me put up with a never-ending barrage of sub-par women these past few months. It's like you've been marching the entire Dove Real Women campaign through your bedroom. And now, you FINALLY manage to fool a somewhat attractive woman (I'd say a young Audrey Hepburn but with a darker complexion, wouldn't you? Lovely cheekbones.) into coming back to your place and you're going to treat her like this? Did you ever think about maybe just talking with her, see what she's interested in, what her goals are, why she insists on wearing that dreadful tube top? No, of course you didn't! Because you don't talk to anyone else. Not even your own anatomy.

Well, there you have it. There she goes. Happy now? Here we are, again, just you and me. All alone, the two of us. I said don't touch me! Are you ... oh my God, are you crying? Listen, I don't ... I didn't mean to hurt you, alright?! It's just that I've felt so awful lately, and maybe it's my own fault, maybe I'm just projecting, I don't know. Stop it, I said don't ... don't touch ... hmm... that feels ... nice … you promise? You promise it will be different this time? I mean it this time, I'm not just going to be here for you whenever you decide you want me. OK, fine, go put in the Designing Women tape ... oh, I don’t know, just one where Delta is extra sassy.

Giant Fake Breasts, Yuk Yuk Yuk!

2008-06-03T15:28:00.000-07:00

When You're Done Staring At My Chest, Check Out My Ring Finger!

This is a WILD one ... haha, get it?!?! Wild, like wildlife??!?! What do you mean "no"? Oh, whatever, you just don't get me!!

2008-05-30T10:45:00.000-07:00

BREAK UP LINES MOST OFTEN HEARD AT THE ZOO

"I think we should start letting other people see us."

"You are a beautiful, intelligent, caring goat, but I just don't want kids."

"It's not me, it's ewe."

"Of course I love you, but I just don't think penguins should mate for life, like humans or something."

"So, I brought you here to the zoo. To break up with you."

An Important Question to Ponder This Memorial Day Weekend

2008-05-25T11:06:00.000-07:00

Stirrup pants ...

Intentional fashion trend of the 80s, or misassembled midget suspender pants?

Hurray for a country that allows us the freedom to ask these questions. In China, they just have to take this stuff at face value, you know.

Who Wants to Be My Fake LC?

2008-05-16T13:38:00.000-07:00

I've started writing for NewsGroper, which is a site that features fake blogs (flogs, if you will, and I think you should) written by celebrities, politicians, etc. I'll be tackling the difficult, complex character that is Heidi Montag. I'm very much so looking forward to The Hills episode where they sue me for libel and slander, or as it's known in a court of law, "talkin' some shit." In preparation, I have been perfecting my empty, five minute stare into the camera daily. There are still some sparks of life in my eyes, but I'll get there, just you wait.

NewsGroper - Heidi Montag blog

Call Now, Before Someone Pries the Hope Out of Hillary's Cold, Dead Hands

2008-05-13T21:57:00.000-07:00

I wrote something. You can read it by clicking here. If you do, the title of this post will make sense to you.

You can not read it by not clicking here. If you don't, the title will continue to not make any sense whatsoever to you. You'll also have far more time to finish up that game of backgammon.

This concludes today's lesson in common sense.

Being Hard Up for Work is Hard Work

2008-05-08T22:01:00.000-07:00

How to be Willingly Unemployed

Today, over 8 million people are unemployed in the United States. With our country on the verge of a recession, with hundreds of thousands of people finding themselves needing to foreclose on their mortgages, times are difficult. However, if you are someone who finds yourself unemployed, not due to being unable to find work or some sort of injury, but simply because you are suffering from a self-indulgent, existential life crisis, none of that matters to you! Because you live in la la land, population you. Still, that doesn't mean the willingly unemployed don't need expert tips to help with some of the more difficult challenges that present themselves when one is doing the bare minimum in life to still be considered a human being.

1) Obtain a good, quality pair of sweatpants, preferably grey ones.

Quality means versatility, i.e.sweatpants that can be worn in any and all situations. Those situations include: lying on your bed, lying on your couch, lying in the middle of traffic hoping someone will end your miserable, miserable life, and lying to your friends and family about why you are not worried about not having a job and all the good "writing" you've been getting done lately. Most importantly, the sweatpants MUST have ankles with elastic waste bands. If you wear regular, loose fitting sweatpants, you run the risk of someone from afar thinking that you are wearing jeans and perhaps work at a hip, trendy company without a dress code.

2) Perfect delicate balancing act of self-loathing and self-pity.

There are people who work for soul-sucking, big business corporations who exist solely to make the rich richer and the poor look more like American Apparel models. They will ironically comment that they work for "the Man" and after a few glasses of wine followed by PBR cans (to bring em back to their roots!), these people will perhaps comment on how they dislike themselves for working for such an amoral entity. These people practice self-loathing. Other people, those who have been recently laid off or work for less financially fruitful companies, are entitled to the practice of self-pity. As a member of the unemployed community, you must work incredibly hard (ha! the irony) both to hate the living shit out of yourself and feel an overwhelming sense of pity and empathy for yourself. It sounds easy, but don't get caught in the trap of feeling bad about yourself for days upon days without ever letting a healthy dose of "I'm sucha fucking loser" creep into your inner dialogue. Many people have difficulty with this one, so you may find it helpful to enlist the help of a friend who particularly hates your guts or likes to pretend to sympathize with your BS problems so he or she doesn't really have to put much thought into your friendship. In difficult times, you may find it helpful to call him or her up and ask, "Do I even deserve to breathe air?" A good friend will be there to say, "No, no you do not."

3) Develop cliche relationship with your neighborhood deli employee.

Many unemployed folk will find this tip especially hard because it involves leaving the house. Don't panic; if you have followed step #1, your ankle binding sweats and predictably bad body odor will be a clear indicator to almost all functioning members of society that you are NOT someone who wants to make small talk, give directions, or help them with that nasty tiger bite. Once you have safely made it into your deli, you must make it a point to strike up conversation with the cashier. "Why?", you may ask, since you are a lazy waste of space who doesn't, as previously discussed, deserve to breath (or maybe because things are so hard for you and nothing ever goes your way, it's like there's someone out to get you, etc. etc.) Either way, we know you probably aren't excited about this task, but it is essential. As a member of the unemployed force, you will eventually run out of whatever source income you have been leeching upon so far. And when that happens, you will need to rely on your solid, deep seeded relationship with your neighborhood deli cashier to get you through. If you are able to forge a strong enough bond, he will most likely be lenient when you want "freesies" on your normal diet of pastrami on rye, cheeze puffs, and Red Bull (you don't really need the energy component, you just like the way it tastes, which maybe should have been the first indicator of why you would have difficulty integrating yourself into society.) But, be careful; by "relationship," we don't mean your neighborhood deli worker really should be looked at as a confidant. Never attempt to discuss your job woes or life crises with said person, because guess what? He's WORKING. Like some sort of mythical creature, he gets out of bed in the morning and makes money. What he does have time for is to exchange cliche small talk and good-natured yet somewhat non-sensical banter. A good template for conversation is as follows:

"How's it goin', man?"
"You know how it is."
"Yeah I know. Gotta make the money though. Put it on my tab." (this is humorous, because you are a) at a deli and therefore there is no tab and b) you are unemployed and thus could not pay your tab if it existed)
"OK, will do, boss."

The end.

4) Don't shave. Anywhere, ever. This applies for both males and females. If you must, shave one half of your face and leave the other half with a full beard, then tell others that, in the middle of shaving, you thought, "What's the point?"

5) Prepare to develop an atypical amount of knowledge about reality TV shows. Also, be prepared to fight any glimpses of ambition when, upon watching your twenty-third episode of "The Hills" in a row, you think, "I could do this. I could showcase my stupidity and embarrass myself in front of an entire nation. I should audition." Trust us, you're doing plenty. And you'd look terrible in HD.

Follow these helpful tips and you are sure to find yourself gainfully unemployed for many, many years to come. But remember, let those ankles breath every once and a while! Because your deli buddy is far less likely to help you out with the medical bills for your gout.

Sometimes, craig's list is too good to be true

2008-05-07T18:19:00.000-07:00

Favorite post of the day:

"I buy possesions from people getting divorced (Long Island)

Reply to: sale-672181378@craigslist.org
Date: 2008-05-07, 7:58PM EDT

If your getting a divorce and you are in need of selling your possessions I will buy them from you."

ONLY if you are getting divorced, however!!! I like my possessions to have a fresh coat of pain all over 'em. I'm glad that in the midst of this, the most difficult and heartbreaking time of your life, I can provide you some sort of comfort as I take away the few memories you have left of your failure of a marriage.

TTFN! (That's ta ta for now, you idiot. No wonder your husband left you.)

So, A Cat Walks Into the (Genius) Bar ...

2008-05-04T18:32:00.001-07:00

Today, my cat walked across my keyboard and created a Widget. I repeat, my cat created a Widget by walking across my keyboard. I, a 22 year old university educated female who has the ability to reason and doesn't clean myself with my own tongue (that often), has yet to figure out how she did it, nor how to remove said Widget from my desktop.

I'm starting to think LOLCats is the feline species' first effort towards total domination of the human race. Or, maybe it's just an internet phenomenon with pictures of adorable kittens with idiosyncratic captions written in broken English. Oh yeah, right, it's just that.

Just Ask the Locals

2008-05-03T15:39:00.001-07:00

Something pretty amazing happened to me yesterday and if not for the "Missed Connections" section of craig's list, I wouldn't have known where to go. 100% true, 100% love at first assault:

"I was walking up Bowery at about 2pm on a Friday afternoon -- I didn't know love was headed my way, but you did, and you were. You screamed "Get the fuck outta my way!!!" as you approached me on your bike, which had an extra wheel attached to the handlebars (clever.) Your unkempt, fly-ridden long mane of hair was blowing in the wind, or rather, I imagine it would have been, if not for the layer of crust upon it. And then, just as you got close enough to whisper a sweet nothing into my ear, you reached out with your left hand and punched me. In the head. You punched me in the head, and then continued on your magical journey, still screaming "Get the fuck outta my way!" Well, I just wanted to say thank you, thank you for getting into MY way on that providential afternoon."

click here if you are the man who holds my heart in your tight, closed fist

Are you listening to me, Tonto? Dammit, Tonto, stop being the living embodiment of an archaic stereotype and listen to me!

2008-04-29T14:36:00.000-07:00

The following are observations I have made today that I imagine are the types of things I would comment on to my sidekick and, upon hearing them, he would nod in agreement, re-affirming my worthiness of being someone whose awesomeness is so great that it can do nothing but spill over onto another human being and thus render said human being as my sidekick. But alas, who can afford a sidecar for their moped in the midst of an economic recession?

1) Barnes and Noble has their Wine & Spirits section directly next to their Self Help section. I commend you for your devotion to non-sublety, B & N! However, they do lose some points for the redundancy of having both a Diet AND Women's Studies section.

2) NY1 may be the most self-aware news channel around. My cable box always somehow finds its way to it automatically (NY1 also may be the only channel whose head executive is sleeping with someone at Time Warner cable, but this is not Page Six, so I'll hush up.) Anyway, I inevitably will come home, turn on the TV and then go do something else, mostly because I like to run up the electric bill secretly and then yell at my roommate that she really needs to start charging her wheelchair at work.* Point is, every ten minutes or so, a really cheesy sounding lady comes on and sings, "You're waaatching Neeew Yooork Ooone." It's as if it some sort of PSA because I immediately stop what I'm doing and realize, "Oh my God, I'm watching New York One?!" *click* So, I commend you for your devotion to giving your viewers what they want, NY1! Which is nothing that would ever, ever be on NY1.

*This is not, of course, actually true. My roommate doesn't work.

3) You really can't start writing a list of observations you have made in one day if there are only going to be two. It makes you look like you have only had two original thoughts all day. And it's 6 o'clock! Some people have recovered from meth addictions by now. It makes you look pretty unintelligent. You should at least have an even number.

4) People wearing turtlenecks with puppies on them do not appreciate being petted on the sidewalk nearly as much as the actual puppies would.

Oh, what's that, Tonto? You have my under eye cream? Thaaaank you.

Don't Worry Mom, It's (Half) Fictional!

2008-04-28T08:31:00.000-07:00

You can read this here, OR you can read it at McSweeney's by going here.

The difference is here you can read it on a yellow background, there it's a white one. It's options like these that make this blog more and more like IKEA every day.

Conversations My Parents Must Have Had While Planning to Raise a Child.

- - - -

DAD: I don't think we should ever talk about feelings.

MOM: Never.

- - - -

DAD: I'll take the greatest number of photographs of her when she's in her most awkward stage, right in the depths of puberty.

MOM: Good idea. I'll make sure to send them to all our immediate and all our somewhat distant family and friends. Oh, and make sure you forget your camera the one night in her life that Billy Sherman talks to her, so that no proof exists of said event.

DAD: Got it.

- - - -

DAD: We should talk very loudly about the truth about Santa Claus.

MOM: Yes, and let's not make any attempt whatsoever to disguise Santa's handwriting from our own.

- - - -

MOM: Let's make sure we avoid the topic of sex so masterfully and so consistently that she begins to wonder if it's something made up by people on TV.

DAD: Good idea. Let's also ignore the existence of any of her long-term boyfriends, no matter how harmless, awkward, and acne-prone they are.

- - - -

MOM: She should never have to worry about money, especially when she's young.

DAD: I agree. That way, she can spend all her time worrying about us getting a divorce.

- - - -

DAD: When I teach her to ride a bike, I will tell her that my hand is on the seat, but then I will take it away just as she is getting the hang of it.

MOM: That will not turn out well.

DAD: No.

- - - -

MOM: I'll make sure to give her a haircut that matches mine. Mine in 1972, that is.

DAD: Great. I'll wear an awkward comb-over.

- - - -

DAD: I think I'll always be a little bit weirder than necessary around her friends. Especially the "cool" ones who are just over to copy notes for Ms. Reardon's AP Physics midterm.

MOM: Sounds good. I'll always talk one decibel louder than a normal person.

- - - -

DAD: She will beg us to get a dog for many, many years.

MOM: And I will repeatedly tell her how I am allergic to animal hair.

DAD: You will wear a fur coat.

- - - -

MOM: Whenever she does something that really upsets me, I'll always make sure to tell her that "her grandmother is rolling over in her grave."

DAD: Even though we will cremate her.

- - - -

DAD: I will demonstrate a total lack of understanding of the proper grammatical way to use quotation marks, and sign every birthday card with "Love."

MOM: That will keep her on her toes.

- - - -

MOM: I think the most important thing is that we will criticize her, no matter what she does or who she becomes.

DAD: And that she knows we criticize her just as much as we criticize each other.

- - - -

DAD: Let's not give her a little brother or sister.

MOM: No. That might function as some sort of coping mechanism.

- - - -

MOM: We can't take her on those classic but trite kid vacations that every other child in the Western world gets to experience, like trips to Disneyland.

DAD: No, for she will gain great popularity and respect from her second-grade classmates when she wears her "I Went to Vermont and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt Made From 100% Recycled Compost-Heap Materials" T-shirt.

- - - -

DAD: We should always give her what she wants.

MOM: That way, we can hold it against her when she's older and can finally provide for herself.

This Video is Like Where's Waldo

2008-04-22T21:18:00.001-07:00

If I were Waldo, and wearing vertical instead of horizontal stripes.

Needless to say, the other, non stripe wearing folks in it, including Seth Herzog, are quite good.

Click here if you're so inclined. I won't know if you don't, though, so no hard feelings.