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Category Archives: Things I Overheard In My Head

Another New Year’s Wish

In 2009 I hope to become a referee in a professional sport.

Not because I like sports, which I don’t, but because I figure it would be fun to be an idiot.  What are they going to do, fire me?

Sports Commissioner:  “Dan, you’re fired.”

Me:  “You’re off side, buddy.”

Commish:  “No, seriously, you’re fired.”

Me:  “I call foul.”

Commish:  “Dude, what are you, retarded?  You’re outta here.”

Me:  “No, YOU’RE outta here.”

Commish:  “God, you’re retarded.”

Me:  “To the penalty box sir, you get 5 minutes for unsportsmanlike conduct.”

Commish:  …

Me:  “Kidding, I get two weeks pay still, right?”

A Christmas Card

Happy Holidays Everyone,

We had a busy year this year.  Johnny made it to grade 7 this year after three attempts, and Sarah is in grade 11 now, although she would have been in grade 12 if it weren’t for her septuplets that she had when she was 13.

This also marks the year that Terrence would have been ten years old, unfortunately as most of you recall he went missing three years ago when we were on holiday in Grand Cayman.  They still haven’t found him, but we have high hopes because it’s a small island and he could turn up anywhere at any time.

Plus miracles always happen at Christmas.  Some of you may recall last year when my back was broken from the tragic zoo accident and I was laying in the hospital bed and I woke up and some stranger had left me flowers.  It’s the little miracles that mean the most.

As you can imagine, being the Catholic wife of a practicing Satanist like Ted has its drawbacks around this time of year when it comes to mixed traditions.  But God bless his soul for staying true to what he believes in, like ritual sacrifice and bloodletting, yet he still has time to be a stockbroker and attend his lodge meetings and spend a little time with his family this holiday season.

This year we will be spending Christmas day at my mothers, like every year.  Her senility has thankfully subsided somewhat this month, and now she has stopped imagining herself to be Elvis and the Dali Lama enough to help with the turkey this time around, hopefully.

Dad is still married to six prostitutes out in Utah and of course will be too busy with his rather large family to be able to join us this year.  He did send us a card, although he got my name wrong and I think the card was written in what appeared to be feces, the sentiment was nice and I always look forward to seeing him every time he goes to court for one of his many vices, marriage being one of them apparently.

Healthwise we are all doing much better this year.  Of course I am finally out of my body cast which is a nice change of pace.  Ted sliced one of his fingers off by accident on the table saw when he was building Johnny his tree house this summer, and also his incurable drooling issue has been less of a distraction this year thanks to the medication he receives downtown from his doctor named Carlos, who practices out his El Camino with furry leopard skin seats.  I always laugh a little bit when we go to pick up Ted’s prescription, Dr. Carlos has a thing for big furry pink hats and lots of silver chains, it makes me smile.

This year also had its sorrow and heartbreak.  I lost a lot of good friends when my office building collapsed due to being built on a sinkhole.  This also has kept me unemployed except part time at the pharmacy stocking shelves and greeting Christmas shoppers.  Not to mention my brother Jerry was finally executed after being on death row for so long which is sad, but understandable considering what he did to all those children.

But it’s also had its wonderful times.  My husband’s ex-stepson won the lottery, good for him!  It was $10,000 and he had a big party that he invited Ted to and of course Ted was over his STD’s really quickly after that.  I guess he’s getting too old to get into too much trouble, hee hee!

Well, I guess I’d better get back to making dinner for all of us.  From myself, Ted, Johnny, and Sarah, we wish you and yours a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and hope to see you and yours in 2009!

Jane

T’was the Night Before Christmas, as read by Jack Nicholson to sick children

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Heh heh, the dirty bastard was sleeping with his mistress in a different house altogether, I bet.  Moustress?  Heh.  Sly dog him.

Did I ever tell you about the time I was bangin’ Lara Flynn Boyle?  Can I say “bangin’” in here?  Man, she was good in the sack, heh. She only weighed about 30 pounds so I could throw her all over the place.  Kids, you young gennnnntlemen, there ain’t nothin’ better than some vacant chick you can make your plaything.  Remember that. Old man Jack never lies.

Hey, kids, wanna look at pictures of my exes?  Whoa, I’m just kidding, we’d be here all night.  Heh, you know, I’ve slept with over 2000 women.  Not ONE of them was smart enough to figure out that I had mistresses all over the place, heh.  Bobby Dinero can bite me, he’s a damned lightweight when it comes to effin’ broads.

Hey, this hospital reminds me of one movie I did called “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest”, you little fuc…. angels…. ever watched it?  It was my best.  Heh.  The best of me.  Put up your hands if you’ve watched it.  Ohhhh, right, ’sick kids’, you probably don’t want anything to do with hospital movies, heh.  S’okay, someday you’ll grow up and watch it in reruns or rent it from Webflicks or whatever the hell… heck it’s called.

So let’s go over this poem again.  Heh, I got off track there.    Let’s see….stockings, visions of sugar-plums, heh, sugar plums remind ol’ Jacky boy of …. well, you know.  Titties.

Right, poem.

Eight reindeer, blah blah blah….on Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen.  These sound like stripper’s names, heh heh.  You kids ever been to the strippers?  Heh, I didn’t think so.  Hey, maybe some of your mommys are strippers?  Anyone?  Anyone know if their mommy’s a stripper?  No?  Allllright, let’s move on then, shall we?

Okay, so Santa shows up, goes down the chimney, he looks like a goddamned cherub with his cheeks all red and rosy.  You kids believe in Santa still?  Hand up if you do?  Good good.  Innocent and lovely.  You kids stay that way, especially you girls.  You sweet little things, when you get through whatever you’re going through and grow up a little bit and turn 18, you call uncle Jacky alright?  I’ll still be around.  You watch, I’ll be grabbing butts till I’m 150, heh.  Hey little lady over there by the radiator, how old are you anyways, you gotta be goin’ on 13.  14??  No shhhhiiii….right, right.  Look, I’ll give you my number here, why don’t you call ol’ Jacky up in four years when you get through your…whatever it is you got, you look like you’ve got promise.

Blah blah, so Santa did this thing with his nose and went up the chimney after dropping off some loot.  You kids got loot this year?  Hands up if you don’t.  Hands up?  Heh, great, none of you. That’s the poem, all over then.  Done.

Well, I have a Laker’s game to go to.  You kids ever been to a Laker’s game?  What?  None of you?  Well, no sense starting now.  How the fu… heck…do I get out of this place anyways?  Is that the door there?  Damn it smells like contagion here, none of you have anything…communicable, do you?  Oh yeah, Merry Christmas you little darlin’s you.

Four years from today, we’re going to be ashes!

I’m still hanging on to the ancient Mayan/Chinese prophecy that says on December 21st 2012 the calendar ends, meaning something catastophic will happen.  Surely ancient cultures on opposite sides of the worlds predicting the same thing can’t be wrong can they?

Although I don’t REALLY subscribe to any sort of nonsensical prediction, it’s fun to think about.  Really, it is!  Maybe our civilization will come to a grinding halt because of an asteroid impact?  Fine by me, as long as the credit report keeping computers are wiped out, I’m happy.

Sure, I’ll have to ride around in a homemade dune buggy that runs on cooking oil I killed a mutant for, scrounging for rotten lettuce in a post-apocalyptic world, but at least there’ll be no record of my unpaid student loans anywhere.   Also, I think wandering around abandonded shopping malls and finding the most garish clothes to wear would be kind of liberting in a way.

I could drive my dune buggy to somewhere tropical and set up shop in the biggest house remnant that I could find, then instead of cleaning it when it becomes dirty, I can just move next door and so on. And of course I could have a dog and not worry about licensing it or anything.  And a parrot.

Say what you will about the Mayans and their prophecies, but secretly on the inside a little bit I’m hoping for the kind of change that Obama can’t even bring!

What Not To Wear: Homeless Edition

George is a homeless man in Washington, his friends call his choice in clothing ‘abhorrent’ and ‘abysmal’. We sent Stacy and Clinton to Washington to confront George, the fashion disaster.

faux-suede Stacy:  George, what were you THINKING when you woke up in your cardboard box this morning??

Clinton:  Yeah, did you THINK, “Hey, these pants that are twenty sizes too big for me really go well with this fake suede jacket with boogers and orange juice stains all over it?”

George:  I was uh, thinkin like uh, where’m I gonna find food this morning, I’m starving.

Stacy:  You need to make yourself a priority.

Clinton:  No one’s going to give a guy in this outfit dollar bills.  They’re going to give a guy like THIS - dimes and nickels!

George:  Well uh, we don’t have much to choose from ‘n the Sally Ann bins…”

Stacy:  …bins blah blah Sally Ann…blah blah.  You people always have excuses.  Instead of facing your body issue images, you hide yourself away in unflattering parkas and t-shirts left over from like, spring break!

Clinton:  Seriously.  What is it about yourself that you don’t like??

George:  I [sniffling] look, I’m cryin’ here… I guess I just never felt good about my midsection.  An’ I have no chest to speak of.

Stacy:  Yeah well buckle up buddy, we ALL feel like that.

Clinton:  Yeah, there’s nothing saying that you can’t look good while scrounging for half eaten cheeseburgers from the bin.  AAAAND your shoes and the color of the garbage bin don’t have to match.  Now let’s get you straaaaightened out.  We have a Bank of America card with $5000 on it, but there are rules.

George:  Huh?  What are the rules?  No crack?

Stacy:  Rule #1 - you have to bring your entire wardrobe to New York and WE get to throw everything away.

George:  All I have is ‘n this here bag….I…I guess I can do that.

Stacy:  Rule #2 - You need to shower in the hotel room before we talk again.

Clinton:  And NO CRACK.

George:  Done.

——————————–

Stacy:  Let’s get you in front of this full-length 360 degree mirror.  Tell us what you were thinking when you wore this outfit.

360George:  I guess uh, I was thinkin’ that this kinda like defines me an’ what I’m all about.

Clinton:  You’re about breaking out of a war prison?

George:  No, like comfort and bein’ sensible n’ militant when it comes to gettn’ dressed.  An’ coffee, I’m all about drinkin’ hot coffee.  But like I never get OUT of these fuckin’ clothes either, so like, there’s that too.

Stacy:  Well we’re going to change all of that.

George:  Okay, I guess it couldn’t hurt.  Did you hear that?

Stacy:  Hear what?

George:  Bats.  Fuckin’ bats are everywhere in here man.

Clinton:  [Looking fed-up and towards Stacy] Again with the invisible bats.  Well, there’s nothing saying that you can’t look like a well-dressed crazy man.  Sheesh.

Stacy:  Now get out there and spend that $5000 and remember our fashion rules!

George:  Right.  You sure I can’t spend some of this money on getting work boots so I can get a job or somethin’?

Clinton:  Get out of here.

George:  Anythin’ to get away from these fuckin’ bats, man.

——————————–

Our cameras followed George through his shopping adventures, following the rules of fashion Stacy and Clinton have laid out.  After a hair cut and makeup lesson, George reveals his new self to them.

george-doneStacy:  Okay, come out here George!

George:  [walks out and reveals himself]

Stacy:  SHUT!  UP!

Clinton:  Oh. My. God.

George:  I feel really good about this new look.

Clinton:  Do you think you REALLY need to look like a slob when picking up pieces of used chewing gum?

George:  No way man, I guess I can look good too.  An’ look, the jacket has pockets without holes in them an’ I can keep my syringes in ‘em without ‘em fallin’ out all over the place.

Stacy:  Have you got anything else to say about your new look?

George:  Got any spare change?

Tech Etiquette From an Introvert’s Point of View, For The Introvert

http://www.cnn.com/2008/LIVING/personal/12/18/tech.etiquette/index.html

1. You’re walking down the street and listening to your iPod when you run into someone you know. Do you need to remove both earbuds to talk to her?

First of all, if you encounter a female acquaintance on the street, chances are she’s got nothing interesting to say if you only classify her as an ‘acquaintance’ instead of a ‘friend’.  If it were a male acquaintance he might have something functional to say, like “Hey, there’s a nuclear explosion down the street, run for it!”  But, seeing as how she’s a she, you’re probably better off keeping BOTH earbuds in because it’s bound to end up, “I’m so hurt that my boyfriend left me because….and oh yeah, the nuclear bomb that went off down the street upset me also.”

Kidding of course.

This is a hypothetical question also, so my hypothetical answer would be “Don’t take your earbuds off at ALL unless you see money or an Xbox with a ribbon on it in their hands.”  They’ll get the hint.  If they’re not the type of person that gets the hint, don’t stop walking to begin with, keep looking at the ground or the sky.  Easy!

2. Is it rude to check your PDA at a friend’s house?

First of all, you’re an introvert, what are you doing at a friend’s house?  There are more interesting things to do with your time than being at a social gathering.

Second of all, you’re still an introvert unless something happened since I wrote the last paragraph, so what are you doing with a device that allows people to contact you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, wherever you are?

This question is completely bogus - the true introvert would never end up in this horrible horrible situation to begin with.

3. How quickly must I respond to an e-mail? Are the standards different for work e-mails versus personal e-mails?

First of all, if the person that is emailing you knows you, then you can rest assured that they understand that you may NEVER get back to their email.  Sometimes people aren’t cool like that though and they expect a timely response.  My recommendation is to finish whatever you’re doing - like curing cancer or building your rocket ship, THEN get around to emailing them a very terse and cryptic response.  For example:

Them:  Hey, I’m having a party on Friday, want to come?

You:  [four months later] Nah, was busy that night.  Genome sequencing & listening to new GNR album.  Thx.

No, wait, we never tell people what we’re actually doing, so it would rather be:

You:  Sorry, was busy that night.  Oops.  Somehow this email ended up in my junk email box.

If it’s an email from a work client, you have no choice to respond quickly, or you may soon become the unemployed introvert.  Respond as quickly as possible, but make it clear that you wish to not continue the conversation and that they should definitely NOT call you on the phone to ensure you got the message.

Them:  Can you send me a copy of my TPS report please?

You:  The moment I have a chance, I will.  I will be out of the office until the moment it’s done, then I’ll send it to you.  You’re next on my list.  Sent from my Blackberry and my battery is almost dead.

4. If someone calls you, can you e-mail the person back or send a text message if you’re not in the mood to talk? What if you text or e-mail someone and the person calls you back?

Duhhh, this is a stupid question.  First of all, you ONLY email to begin with since talking on the phone is something inferior extroverts do because they lack the intelligence to set up their own email accounts.

Second, no one ever CALLS you really, or they DO but you never answer and they eventually learn not to call you.  You’re in the other room painting, listening to music, or building your time machine.  Having a phone nearby would be suicide for your mental well-being.  Nothing ever gets done when a phone is near them.

Third - you wouldn’t text or email them to begin with so them getting back to you is a non-issue.  But sometimes it DOES happen, so what you do is answer the phone in a hurried and agitated tone, thereby letting them know that you’re in the middle of something important and that they should hurry the fuck up with their response.  If they tend to drag on, pretend something exploded in the garage and hang up.

5. Is using BCC (blind carbon copy) on an e-mail considered sneaky?

Hell, us introverts don’t even CC let alone BCC.  What the hell are these extra email options for anyways?  Oh yeah, people who like saying “You the receiver are more important and this message is for you, then the next person on the CC list isn’t as important but they should read this anyways, and the BCC person is the MOST important, but the most likely to be amused or upset at whatever this email is about, so they’re BCC’ed.”

Introverts don’t play this sneaky game that unintentionally categorizes people in terms of importance.  Smart people (introverts) say whatever the fuck they need to say to everyone that needs to hear it and let everyone else sort it out.  So every single person is in the TO list.

I hope you enjoyed my advice - stay tuned for my next series of advice, “An Introvert’s Guide To Staying At Home On a Friday Night”!

I can be progressive too…

I would like a hybrid car.  Not just ANY hybrid car like a Prius or something though.  I want a car that’s a hybrid between a pig, a tank, and Will Farrell.

I could just peel bacon off the insides and nibble on it while I drive, making those icy cold morning commutes a whole lot nicer.  If anyone got in my way, I could drive right over them or blow them right off the road, and with all it’s curly hair like Will Farrell, it’d undoubtedly be warm and cozy.  Oh, it’d have to be easy on gasoline too.

No one said we had to sacrifice function to be environmentally friendly.

Rock climbing - not just for same-sex lovers

If you’ve ever listened to rock climbers on TV with your eyes closed, it might remind you a bit something you’d expect to overhear in of one of those clubs with a name like “Boomtown” or “The Bus Station” that has loads of shirtless men everywhere that wear latex pants and dance to Mariah Carey songs.

“I’m just going to wedge my hand in this crack here.”

“I should be able to get my leg around, then work myself in tighter.”

“When you first look up, sometimes you get nervous and intimidated, but you’ve just gotta go for it.”

“You need to press yourself tight or else you could slip and end up hurting yourself.”

“If I can figure out the right knot then I should be able to tie myself up safely.”

“There is no right or wrong way to do it, the only way you know you’ve done well is when you end up on top.”

“When things get wet and slippery, you’ve really just gotta hang on tight, be careful, and go for it.”

“I’m just going to stop at this warm spot and take a nice little break.”

“Don’t look down, whatever you do.  You’ll drive yourself insane.”

“I’m going to stick my cock into this hole here and just pump away on this fine man-bum.”

Shoes and the unfathomable stigma

So George Bush had a shoe thrown at him.  Wow, that’s quite the insult.

In some cultures, there’s a lot of negative stuff that surrounds the shoe.  For example, they say in Tibet that the shoe is reincarnated after it’s death and comes back as a  paper cut.    I’m not sure how they come to this conclusion, but I think Tibens are pretty wise so I refuse to throw my shoes away for this very reason.  I hate paper cuts.

In Swaziland, a shoe is considered an insult if it’s worn on the weekend.  For this reason, a lot of people in Swaziland (Swastikans?) refuse to walk anywhere on Saturday and Sunday for fear of hurting someone else’s feelings.

In Germany, the shoe is considered a dirty thing, you don’t want to be caught making love to a shoe, you’ll be branded a filthy person for the rest of your life.  Stupid really, putting your peen in a Sketcher makes you a pig?  Excuse me Germany, what I do in the privacy of my own home is my own business, and your labels don’t change who I am.

In Malaysia, shoes are outlawed along with cursing and nudie magazines.  Well, I can tell you that I sure don’t want to live in Malaysia ’cause you can forget about walking down the street and finding a mag that features “fucking”.  Not gonna happen on so many different levels for so many different reasons.

In Mexico, the shoe is a symbol of war.  Before Mexican revolutionaries go to battle, they throw shoes in the direction of their enemies’ evil villas and dance around barefoot before heading off to war.  It may seem strange to us, but they also have a holiday in Mexico where they go out to the graveyards and hang out with the dead, like Aunt Maria needs company in the afterlife or something.  If I were dead, I’d rather hang out with John Belushi or Evel Kneivel (is he dead?) or Winston Churchill than hang around wherever shithole I was buried and wait for my family to show up one day a year.

In Norway though it’s reversey world.  Shoe boats were thought to ferry the dead to Valhalla.  They would bury their dead in giant shoes along with their swords and their still-living viking wives.  I guess they weren’t sure if the ride would take a long time, so they buried the wives too in case something needed to be cleaned or dusted along the way, and the sword was included in the burial in case she got naggy, then the viking warrior could kill her.  Whoops though - killing her would mean she’d show up in the next boat and undoubtedly pull up beside the viking and complain about the garbage that wasn’t taken out on his way to the afterlife.

I guess in Iraq throwing a shoe means you’re mad at someone.  This seems odd to me, a preferable way of expressing your contempt might be to say to someone, “Hey, I feel contempt for you”  instead.  Seems more direct, plus you don’t want to be walking around with only one shoe until you get home.

Maybe that’s why so many Iraqis live in poverty today? They’re so pissed off at things that have happened for the last 30 years in their country that they just kept throwing their shoes around all the time, and they’d have to spend all their money on replacing shoes.  Forget buying olives for supper, they have to spend the money on Dr. Scholls instead to get their points across.

As a sign of solidarity, I think that if you oppose the war in Iraq you should take off your shoes today at some point.  Hah, 50 million republicans are going to have to wear their cowboy boots and oil-exec slippers to bed tonight because of me.

I want to be a survivor too.

Look at this - TONS of shit to McGyver with!

Remember the story of the plane load of Bangladeshi soccer players that crashed in the Swiss Alps on route to a big soccer game in Australia?  (Screw details - details are for nerds.)  They survived by eating the dead (in some cases their own relatives), which is as mundane for me as cheese but still, some people find that fascinating.

They were stuck up on top of the mountain for 5 years eating each other’s frozen asses, and when they were finally spotted and rescued, they returned to civilization and moved to Ecuador and started a little Argentinian grille restaurant.  Guess what was served as their star entree?

Steak, you fucking idiots.  Steak.

I was thinking tonight about how awesome that would be to survive a spectacular plane crash in the Andes.  You could sled around a lot on a seat you ripped from the plane, go for months without worrying about bills, cry at night before you sleep and no one’s going to think you’re weird, and best of all, no parent’s phone calls when you’re trying to have a nap.  I think it would be liberating.

Sure, you freeze your ass off, live on the edge of starvation and dehydration, and live the rest of your life with the moments of a horrible plane crash replaying through your thoughts every day.  But you know what?  I was bitten by a dog when I was a little kid, but you don’t hear me dwelling on that kind of shit every day do you?  Nope.  I moved on.  I didn’t write a book about it or anything either. (Now that I think about it, that was my brother that was bitten by a dog, but whatever - details are for nerds.)

Let's tear off a quick one before our boat sinks, shall we?

Same with Titanic.  The survivors of that tragedy lived like rock stars after that, but really, what did they do?  Nothing!  They floated for a little while in cold water pretty much.  If my memory serves me right, they all lined up and had sex with Kate Winslett and then got on boats and became floaty-shipsinking-kings for the rest of their lives.

God it’s easy to be a superstar when bad shit happens to you.  Look at Lot, he was assaulted by God and the Devil (who were both acting like cocksuckers), and has since lived on in the old testament for the last X thousand years as a hero/idiot.  He didn’t even do anything, he just kept on keeping on.  Who DOESN’T keep on keeping on?  (I guess people that have committed suicide, maybe they’re the smart ones?)

And when you survive something really horrible, people think you’re tough and have character and you’re practically Jesus.  I’m sure SOME of these people are pansies and crybabies even though they battled through some pretty serious shit.

Having only one ball attracts freaky children, apparently.

Having only one ball attracts freaky anorexic children, apparently.

A guy I know had some sort of ass cancer and lived through it and people treated him like he was God.  But you know what?  He was a dick.  A big, bloated dick.  He swaggered around the place like his ass-cancer was some sort of kiss from heaven, women swooned over him, people treated him like he was super-important, and what did he really do?  Nothing.  Lived like anyone else.  Okay, I made this part up, I’m thinking of Lance Armstrong though.  I think he’s a dick.  But I’m not supposed to say that because he made a bunch of yellow rubber flea collars for people’s wrists to ward off the cancer.  Jolly good Lance, jolly good.

Now that I’ve said this, I suppose tomorrow my car will careen off a bridge and I’ll be submerged in icy water for a few hours, come out of it fine, write a book, raise some money for a people-in-freezing-water charity, and be a world-class dick after going on Oprah and crying on TV twice.

I hope so.  Better than being famous for eating dead people’s frozen ass-meat.