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This is really only funny if you work with me...

2011-08-18T20:15:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows the story; sweet, innocent and caring Sam.I.Am pressures an unnamed man into sampling green eggs and ham. But is it really as simple as that?

No.

Sam.I.Am was no kind verde-food loving kid. Sam.I.Am isn’t even his real name. It was a nickname given to him by Klaas Bruinsma, the famous Dutch drug lord. Green eggs and ham were code for black tar heroine. Sam.I.Am’s real name was Hans-willem Verver.

Hans-willem/Sam worked for Klaas as a mule, bringing drugs into the United States. But Sam was greedy and craved a higher commission. The kind of commission that could only be earned by selling product.

Unfortunately for Sam, the FBI had their eye on him. They’d heard of his connections, and sent an undercover agent to try and turn Sam. If they could get Sam to snitch on what he knew about Klaas they would be able to bring down the whole operation. The FBI sent in their best agent, Gage Preston O’shea.

It was a tough assignment. Agent O’shea had to keep Sam believing that there was a chance that O’shea would make a large purchase, proving that Sam had what it took to be a big-time dealer. But Agent O’shea also had to chip away the loyalty Sam had with Klaas’ operation.

It took almost 18 months, but Sam finally broke. And with Sam’s testimony and O’shea’s reports of what he had seen Klaas was put behind bars. But at a cost.

Klaas’ trial was extremely high profile, and garnered much publicity. O’shea’s face was plastered on newspapers all over the country. His career as an undercover agent was over. But worse, other member’s of Klaas’ cartel began threatening O’shea’s family. After an arson attempt on the O’shea family home, the FBI chose to put the O’shea family into witness protection.

O’shea and his family were relocated, given different names, and even had cosmetic surgery to disguise themselves.

Mr J doesn't understand how epic of a song this really is...

2011-08-10T19:29:00.000-07:00

There's a song my mother use to sing me. According to YouTube, which is the most reputable source I know of, it's called Six Little Ducks. I was drunk and trying to explain why this song is about empowerment. And I'll argue with you even while sober that this is so.

It's a song, about this duck. It's bald. It only has ONE little feather on it's back. (The chorus isn't "But the one little duck with many feathers on his back" it's THE feather. "THE" as in, the only one.) And you know what? He overcame his anxiety, insecurities and GOD DAMMIT HE ROSE UP TO BECOME A LEADER! To quote President Obama, YES WE CAN! But this song was written well before Mr. President even ran for office in his Elementary School. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he was inspired by this song as a little boy....

I may be putting too much thought into this...

2011-07-23T21:38:00.000-07:00

As I'm typing this, Mr J is watching a movie, Lionheart. The plot summary, according to Imdb, "Lyon Gaultier (Jean-Claude Van Damme) is a deserter in the Foreign Legion arriving in the USA entirely hard up. He finds his brother dead and his sister-in-law without the money needed to support herself and her child. To earn the money needed, Gaultier decides to take part in some very dangerous clandestine fights."

Now, I don't mean to find plot-holes in movies, but I have a problem with this basic outline. Mr. Van Damme's character is making money in an underground fight circuit and giving his profits to his brother's widow. This money is all "under the table" so to speak. So how is the widow suppose to claim it when she files her taxes? She's been told that the money is coming from a life-insurance policy. However, when the IRS audits her (and judging by the look on her face upon seeing the check, it's a lot of money, she'll be a prime target for an audit), they'll see that there is no such policy. She'll have to explain where the money came from, and she won't be able to. With no explanation, she'll be sent to prison Wesley Snipes style. Her daughter will be sent through the foster care to be neglected, abused, and molested. Thanks Uncle Van Damme!

Potty Training (Part Two, The Peequeal.)

2011-04-24T15:06:00.000-07:00

In my last post, (which I strongly suggest you read before you read this post) I wrote about how I had peed in my bathtub. Not a lot of pee. Just a few drops. (I chose the bathtub because if my pStyle experiment went horribly wrong the clean up would be a lot easier in the tub than my bathroom floor.) A few days after I posted that, I tried again. I had been paying more attention to the act of urinating. I focused on what my body was doing, and discovered that peeing is less about pushing the fluid out of your body and more of an opening sensation. So I tried the pStyle, not with an overly full bladder, but with just a regular need to pee, and had complete success! I didn't get a drop on my hand, and initially none on my legs. But as the flow began to hit the tub floor, I realized just what a horrible idea peeing in the bathtub really was.

The laws of splash back are, I found out, that the the longer the distance the fluid travels before hitting a solid surface, the higher the splash back can bounce. Which translates to pee splattering my legs from the mid-calf down. I should have bought stock in soap and bathtub cleaner before I started this.

~~~~~

So now I can do the act. What's my next step? Toilet training obviously. But I wasn't going to go into this blindly like I did the first step. I did my research. I googled "potty training tips". I'll admit, I was nervous about what I would find. I was worried that the information I would uncover would make me lose respect for my parents. After all, I'm 25 years old. They really should have trained me to use the toilet by now. But on the first website I found, I read "The pressure is off parents to toilet train early. Don't equate toilet-training with good mothering. The idea that the earlier baby is eating three squares a day, weaned, toilet trained, and independent, the "better" the mother is nonsense." Thank god. I can't wait to console my parents that they were, are and always will be good parents. Free thinking parents, who let their children choose when they're ready to use the "big girl" potty and even let the children teach themselves. Imagine what a wonderful world it would be if all parents took this approach.

Everything I found online listed two main approaches to toilet training. One being a gradual weaning of the use of diapers. The other being an intensive training over a few days. I felt that 25 years was long enough to wait to be trained, I wanted this to be over as quickly as possible. Potty boot camp was about to begin!

I waited until the weekend, so that I could spend as much time at home as possible. Since the weather was nice and warm, I also chose to wear no pants. There would be no "accidents" just because I couldn't get my overalls unsnapped in time. And every hour or so I would ask myself if I need to go potty. Even if I said "No", I encouraged myself to "just try". After the first day, I was accident free and using the toilet exclusively to poop and pee. To poop, I sat on the seat of the toilet, and had set up a stash of picture books to flip through so that using the toilet would be a positive experience. To pee, I made a game out of aiming. A few cheerios dropped into the toilet bowl became targets! I also rewarded myself with stickers every time I successfully went to the potty. By the second day I was still accident free, and aiming like a champ, no cheerio was left un-peed-on. And as it turns out, splash back is GREATLY reduced when liquids are hitting another liquid.

~~~~~

It's been a week since I toilet trained myself. I have been wearing pants again, and still no accidents. I am so proud of myself! I may never pee on myself again. Unless I'm stung by a jellyfish. Then I'll just have to put cheerios on the sting.

Aim is the least of your worries. (Part One - The Peegining)

2011-04-06T14:45:00.000-07:00

I peed in my bathtub.

Let's rewind. A while ago I got this in the mail. It's a pStyle!

To quote the manufacturer's website directly, "The pStyle is a plastic device that allows you to pee standing up without undressing. It is a simple design that works exceptionally well. The pStyle is easy to position properly and the rounded edges are very comfortable. Because it is made of rigid plastic, the pStyle is easily maneuvered into the clothes you are wearing. The rounded back edge can be used to wipe with so there are no drips! It is easy to clean by shaking vigorously or rinsing."

I've been obsessed with these for a while. and have forever envied the fast moving line heading towards the men's bathroom at public events. No matter how hard I try, I have never been able to write my name in the snow with urine. Sometimes I can get the first letter or two, but after that, my knees hurt from the squatting and crab-walking; by then I've usually run out of juice in my bladder anyway.

Finally. I could experience the sublime joy of peeing, standing up, still wearing my pants, unashamed. If Fergie had had one of these, maybe she wouldn't have had to resort to singing songs about blankets to stay famous.

So I open the pStyle package, eager to try this thing out. I even mentioned it on Facebook. I knew that this was going to be an epic chapter in my life. And then a note fell out in the packaging.

"Aiming takes a little practice at first, but once you get the hang of it you'll love this. Enjoy!"

Then I get to thinking. Is aiming really that hard? I hear, from time to time, from men that it actually can be! Especially when the bladder is full and the flow is heavy. (But not like menstrual flow heavy, because that usually has chunks of uterine lining, and if your pee has chunks in it - aim is the least of your problems.) I have also heard women complaining of having to clean up after poor aimers (small children, lazy/drunk/stupid adults). Suddenly I recall a friend who worked as a maid, telling me how much she hated cleaning toilets and the "splash-back" that collects on the porcelain.

Maybe sitting down to pee isn't such a curse.

But I'm brave. I can do this!

However I don't want to this is a public bathroom. After all, it'll be my first time. Like all virgins, I'm nervous. What if I do it wrong? What if I'm bad at it? No, I'll stick to my home bathroom, just in case I accidentally pee on the floor or myself.

On the other hand, like all girl virgins, I do want it to be special. This is turning point in my life. I'm taking the next step in becoming the person I'm meant to be. It's an important event. How can I memorialize it?

In an astounding EUREKA moment, I realize that I can solve all of my concerns at the same time. To make any possible cleanups easier, I'll pee in the bathtub. And since the acoustics are amazing, I'll record the sound of my first pee and turn it into a ringtone; available for all of my loved ones (and complete strangers) to use.

So I pick a day (Sunday), drink a lot of diet dr pepper (so much more nutritious than sucky water), and at the first sign of needing to go, I position the pee funnel according to the directions it came with, stand in my bathtub and..... nothing. Nothing comes out. I can feel my bladder getting fuller and fuller by the second, yet not a drop is leaving my body. I can't remember how to pee. Am I suppose to relax? Tense up? A combination? I've never had this problem before.

I try to think about the steps I normally take to pee. But all I can think of is this.
Step 1: Sit Down
Step 2: PEE!

The rest is cleanup, and won't help my current predicament. I'm left with no option but to zip up my pants, and try again later. So I drink more, and switch to wine. I wait until my bladder is painfully full. It wasn't until I feared peeing my pants on my couch, that I raced again to my bathtub. I flung off my pants, there was no time to worry about zippers, grab the urine flow director, and let it go.

Or at least that was what I had hoped would happen. Again, nothing came out. At this point I was getting frustrated. Why is this so difficult? I tried sitting down, to start the flow. Nothing. Bending my knees. Nada.
I tried pressing down on my bladder with my free hand. This resulted in two drops onto the bathtub.

It was getting late, and I had to get up early in the morning. So I decide that maybe baby-steps are what I need. First I'll use the tool while sitting on the toilet. To get use to the feeling of the plastic being there.

That's where I peed on myself. I had waited too long to pee. I sat down, positioned the pStyle exactly as I had been, but once the flow started, there was no directing the stream. It completely missed the plastic trough, and aimed directly for the palm of my hand. If I was kinkier that could have been the highlight of my week. But I gave up for the night. Washed my hands, the bathtub, the pStyle, and vowed to practice more next weekend.

To be continued...

This is going to get confusing.

2011-03-16T16:55:00.000-07:00

A lot of people have started following me on twitter this past week. Which I found interesting since I haven't tweeted since December, and even then it was rare. At first I thought this was sight that the world only likes me when I'm silent. (Hurtful world. Not cool.) But then I thought I'd check further into this.

Turns out there is now another @SuicidalJane on twitter. One with an additional character in her screen name. that actually tweets. This all not to be confused with a German metal band that also enjoys the name SuicidalJane.

Does this mean I'm famous?

Things I talk about in therapy

2011-03-08T17:34:00.000-08:00

While watching reruns of South Park, Mr J asked me what a trapper keeper was. I guess he's just too old to understand the social pressure it was to get the coolest trapper keeper in elementary school. Picking out the one would last you the entire school year was very stressful for a 2nd-5th grader. What if you picked one with a cartoon character, and the show got cancelled a month later? What if you picked the wrong ninja turtle? (Never pick Donatello, he was lame "smart one". It was only acceptable to like Donatello if you were a girl, because he had a purple mask. Duh!) Should you coordinate the trapper keeper with your lunch box? Or what that too "matchy-matchy" dorky? And what if your parents were cheap asses and refused to buy you the name brand trapper keeper? (Even though it only meant saving them three dollars.) Those of you that remember that kind of panic attack inducing stress, will join me in the guffaw mixed with shock and mocking, when Mr J asks, "It's just a notebook, right?"

One year, I had this one, I RULED that 4th grade class room.

All my friends had this one, or this next one.

What a bunch of losers, right?

And in nine months I'll be born again.

2011-02-26T21:49:00.000-08:00

So, you may or may not know that I'm currently on vacation. A group of friends and I have rented a condo in Durango, Colorado. They are spending their days skiing, I am spending my days pampering myself. Yesterday I told you all of my newest love, the bathtub. Today, I had a spa treatment. Things were scrubbed, rubbed, oiled, massaged, and I was promised that once it was all done, I would feel 10 years younger.

They lied.

I feel 26 years younger. Forget having baby soft skin, I have the skin of a fetus! This is the new standard of beauty. I'm extremely sensitive to light, air, contact and my fingernails have fallen off... but I've never looked younger.

I'm going for a world record!

2011-02-25T11:49:00.000-08:00

Everyone with writer's block knows how easy it is to claim that you're too busy to write. Work is taking up all of your time. You're training for a marathon. You're focusing all of your energy on constructing an exact replica of Seth Green's character's apartment from the television show "Greg the Bunny". Life happens, and it's easier to make excuses, rather than write. Lazy is comfortable, yet uncomfortable.

So what's my excuse?

I have fallen in love with a bathtub. It's big enough for two people (not that I'm willing to share), and as soon as I can figure out how to stretch my vaginal walls enough, I'm going to make love to it. All of it.

Saving it for later?

2011-01-18T16:11:00.000-08:00

I am slightly obsessed with bathrooms. I have spent a large portion of my life in them. Washing myself in them, washing them, having panic attacks in them, recovering from the crash after a manic episode in them, never poo-ing in them (as I, of course, don't do that), they are very versatile rooms; bathrooms.

And when visiting people's homes you should always check out the bathroom. A bathroom can say a lot about a person/group of people. How clean is it? What did they leave out for guests to see/use? I theorize that this what the bathroom owner perceives as "normal". What did they shove under the sink, hoping no one would look? What prescriptions are they on? How many pills could I steal without anyone noticing?

The most interesting thing I ever found in a bathroom was in a bathroom I shared with a former roommate.

He and I had just moved in, all the boxes were piled in what would be the living room, nothing was unpacked, and we were hungry. Lugging those heavy boxes up a flight of stairs was exhausting! (Almost as exhausting as watching him carry them. Which is what I did, instead of helping.) We needed to refuel before unpacking. So we called for Chinese.* The food was delivered, along with 6 sets of disposable chopsticks.** And after finishing his food, my roommate took one chopstick (not a set, just one stick) into the bathroom, placed it on the tank lid of the toilet and walked back into the living room.

I never found out why. I even asked, "Dude, what's up with the lone chopstick on the toilet?" His only response was to stare, blankly, at me. Like I was the mentally handicapped one. And I think a part of me knew that I didn't really want to know.

*When you move to a new neighborhood, one of the first things you do is find the best Chinese restaurant in the area. Taste is not nearly as important as afford-ability and delivery. This makes you seem much more cultured than your loser friends who just order pizza when they're too drunk/high-on-stolen-prescription-drugs-they-found-in-your-bathroom to drive for food.

**Was this a passive-aggressive gesture, implying that we were ordering enough for that many people, or just free utensils for new customers?

Oh.

2011-01-11T14:51:00.000-08:00

Mr J recently sent me flowers. It's not our anniversary. It's not my birthday. He's not in trouble, and no one died. He did it JUST BECAUSE.

Just read the note...

He means so much to him. How sweet.

You must be 18+ years of age to look at this post.

2011-01-04T14:51:00.000-08:00

This is my new purse, that I bought at a silent auction at work.

Here is a close up of my purse's nipples. I must work for a really liberal company.

Should I cover them with band-aids? Electric tape? Pasties? Does my purse need a training bra?

Stream of Consciousness from the beach

2010-11-05T13:11:00.000-07:00

10/28:
After months of planning, I have arrived in Hawaii! It started out as a pipe dream that I never thought would happen, and now I'm here!

This trip is either going to be amazing - making me believe in paradise, Eden, God, romance, true love and all things fairy tale (maybe not in that order). OR, it will reveal that reality, suffering, boredom, agony and general sucky things about LIFE exists everywhere, ruining my belief in all things beautiful and magical forever.

Just saw a "Honolulu Waste Removal" van. Hmm... It does have a rainbow on the license plate. Not sure if that's a sign, or what it is pointing to should it be a sign?

Passed by people holding signs begging people to vote someone into political office. I'm on a shuttle from the airport to the hotel. This shuttle is clearly marked. Obviously no one on this bus is a local. But I appreciate their waves and smiles anyway. Still unsure about the tone of this vacation.

I have decided to look for clearer signs. Looking for either a unicorn or a hooker. If I see a unicorn, it's gonna be a great vacation, full of amazement and wonder (kind of like what the circus always promises, but without the animal abuse and disappointment). If I see a hooker first, I'm going to spend this trip drunk. Really, really drunk.

I'm enjoying playing my newly invented game. Unicorn or Hooker? No one on the bus wants to play, including Mr J. Fuck him.

We made it to the hotel, so far no confirmed sightings. On a completely separate note, I always travel with my teddy bear, Toby. I find that carrying him around not only puts me in a more mellow mood, but makes people act nicer, friendlier even, towards me. Probably because they think I'm retarded.

So we're at the hotel, but can't check-in yet, because they haven't cleaned my room yet.

Who was in it last??

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
10/29

Lady Gaga tweeted a picture of a unicorn. That must be the sign I was looking for. On an unrelated note, Mr J thinks he might have pink eye. He is no longer allowed to touch ANYTHING!!! So much for my romantic getaway.

It's official. Mr J and I went to urgent care. He does have pink eye. In both eyes. I thought they were more of an orange, really. However I didn't go to medical school, and therefore cannot diagnose color. This means we can not go diving, snorkeling, sunglasses shopping, or anything else that involves eye-wear. I also have to drop some stingy, milky, substance in his eyes every three hours. Oh well, at least there's a beach, and penguins.

Why are their penguins in Hawaii?

Penguins! We saw motherfucking penguins! To be fair, I did not actually see any of the penguins fucking any confirmed mothers. Nor did I see any penguins fucking anyone. But I also wasn't watching them 24/7. It's entirely possible that they were fucking mothers while I wasn't around. What did they do when I was there? Mostly lie on rocks and smell of fish. But penguins man!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
10/30

I like it here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
10/31
Oh hey! Did I mention that my brother lives here? Radio Active Slog found time in his busy marine schedule to party it up with us on Halloween!

I went as Lady Gaga. He went as two horses in a man suit.

Mr J didn't have a costume. So I bought him a mask, and we told everyone that he was a member of the Crazy 88.

We went out for sushi, and drank sake. I had never had it before. I can now say that I really, really like sake. The combination of drinking too much sake, and Hawaii being FOUR HOURS behind my home of New Mexico, I was passed out asleep in my bed by 9:30.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11/1

Our last day in Hawaii, and suddenly we realize that perhaps some of our friends are expecting souvenirs. In a rush, we ran to the local corner store. Picking out souvenirs is tricky. You want to pick out something thoughtful, and personal so that they all know you were really thinking of them. But you also don't want to appear to be playing favorites. At first you set a budget. Okay, you're not going to spend more that 5 dollars on anyone. But you can't find a unique, perfect gift for EVERYONE on your list for $5. Some of the perfect gifts only cost 2. So you think, I'll just buy that person two things, to even up the bill, and everything will be fair. But then, you worry that someone will think, hey, how come they got two things? I only got one. Maybe she doesn't like me as much as she likes that other person. And then you start stressing, and getting anxious, when it's drama like that that made you have to take a vacation in the first place!

Eventually, I decided to get everyone Spam. Enjoy your... erm.... meat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11/2

Sitting at the airport, to begin the long journey home. Waiting, and I am not happy about this.

Let me explain how leaving Hawaii works. Before hitting the airline's check-in desk, you must get all of your bags inspected at the Agriculture Inspection Station. Then you check-in, deposit any bags you'd like the airlines to lose for you, and make your way through security, walk to your gate, board the plane, and finally take two Ambien and pass out on your tray table.

As smoothly as I just made that all sound, it does not go smoothly. At. All.

The airlines open at 4am. Agriculture Inspection opens at 5am. The airport shuttle you took to the airport drops you off at 3am, because is the only time they could schedule you. So you sit, for two hours outside the inspection area, waving at the attendants at the airline desk for the last hours. They wipe down every visible surface, presumably disinfecting ones, rudely ignoring your waves. You get through agriculture quickly. Since you got there two hours early, you were second in line. The x-ray machine scans your bag, takes pictures of all the exotic sex toys you are taking home from the island. It's all deemed "OK" to leave the state, and you're off to check-in with your airline. Except, wait, suddenly all the desks are empty. All of the clerks have gone missing. So you stand in line, again. Still in that second spot. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

After 30 more minutes, the airlines reopen, they weight your bags to make sure they do no exceed 50 pounds. Heaven help you if they weight more that 50 lbs. They have a tiny Asian woman ready to screech at you if you dare go over 49.9. I know, I saw her go after the one person ahead of me. Claws, teeth, ear splitting sound. I was horrified, yet I couldn't look away. My bags were under 50, so I was ushered to the check-in desk. It's one of those self serve counters. Like the ones you see at the grocery store. The ones that make you scan and bag all your items. The that remind you how much hated working cash registers at your retail job back in high school. And aren't you happy you got yourself a real job? Except wasn't that employee discount great? An hey! If you're doing all the work, scanning and bagging your Doritos, and even looking thought the touch screen to identify what type of product you have before the scanner weights it, why are you paying full retail price? Isn't a discount in order? 10 percent, AT LEAST! FUCK! THEY SHOULD BE PAYING YOU! You're doing more that the self service assistant who never even checks your ID when you're buying vodka. And most likely you'd give less backtalk than the stock boy with the ear bud headphones shoved in his ear holes, with NOTHING PLUGGED IN TO THE CORD.

Anyway..... Mr J and I were on the first plane ride home, talking about the trip, how much planes suck and other such nonsense. Then Mr J confesses that he's sad that we didn't do anything much more adventurous than visit a marina and watch jelly fish swim around not eating other fish, despite my encouraging "FISHY DEATH" chanting. So we decide we will LIE. It's my job to come up with an amusing anecdote about some adventure we had. We will then tell everyone it, swear it's the truth, and bring light into every one's otherwise dark and joyless lives. You may have already seen the flaw in this plan. I'm not the best liar. I always take the lie one step too far. I know this is a problem for me. So I came up with a brilliant plan of my own. I will come up with something ludicrous, and see if Mr J thinks it's believable. He's overconfident in my lying abilities. If he hears the story, and green lights the falsehood, I will turn double agent. I will tell EVERYONE that we have a lie about Hawaii. That Mr J was feeling insecure about our boring trip, that he asked I invent a fake story to dazzle everyone. And that if they hear it, to please play along with the story. No matter how ridiculous.

This now means that I can continuously take the lie farther and further down the rabbit hole of crazy. Oh sweet Jesus, this is the best thing that I have come up with. I would love to recite the story here, however it changes every time I tell it. The only constants are Carrot Top, tampons and para-sailing. Next time you see me and Mr J, ask us about it. He still doesn't know that everyone is just pretending, and enjoys pulling the wool over your eyes.. Feel free to come up with your own version and send it to me. I'll see if I can get a room full of people to pretend to believe it.

Cuming in 2011

2010-10-07T18:06:00.000-07:00

Tired of having to having to filter through so called "voyeur" websites to find the good stuff.

Now you don't have to.

Coming Soon:

Soon, you'll be able to view unedited photos and videos of the worlds most sexiest ladies, practicing good oral hygiene.

Oh yeah.

You know you want it.

Almost there!

Don't just tease me!

Harder! Harder!

You like that, don't you?

I can't wait to see her spit!

Just turned 18!

Your welcome internet weirdos.

But I'm a cute one

2010-09-11T11:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I achieved one of my teenage dreams. My grandmother called me a bitch.

SCORE!

Busy growing, and not in width.

2010-09-07T21:52:00.000-07:00

You may, or may not, have noticed my scarce appearance in this corner of the internet. It's not that I don't have much to say, it's just that I don't have much time to say it! Work and school are quickly absorbing all of my free time. But please don't give up on me, I'll figure how how to juggle work, school and writing eventually.

Until then...

An ex of mine has recently been e-mailing me spam. Specifically, ads for free samples of Viagra. I have to admit, as far as things-people-do-to-annoy-their-exes, that's pretty damn funny! Good for him.

I'm not so good at keeping secrets

2010-07-31T21:31:00.000-07:00

I used to date this guy, let's call him Virgil. He was overweight, and had been that way for as long as he could remember. He made the best german chocolate cake. But that's not the point of this story. After a few dates, and more than a few drinks, he felt the need to open his soul and tell me his deepest, darkest, childhood fears.

Why Virgil? Why? I didn't particularly care to learn about what made him into the individual person he came to be. Aside from his cake skills, he wasn't that good of a boyfriend. I wasn't that good a girlfriend either. But he wanted to share, and I was too drunk to come up with a reason why he shouldn't.

Virgil confessed that he'd been a fat kid. As a young boy, he had reoccurring nightmares; where he would have a feast set before him. He would eat, eat and eat. Until, a la Monty Python, he would explode! He would wake up crying, screaming for his mother.

I asked him what she would do to comfort him, and "make it all better" in the way that only mothers know how.

Virgil told me that she would let him have all the ice cream he wanted, until he felt better.

He then asked me stop laughing. It wasn't funny. But like I said, I wasn't a good girlfriend.

Plus those special 3D TVs are too damn expensive.

2010-07-25T19:34:00.000-07:00

Remember back in the day when VHS and Betamax were battling it out for dominance in the home video market? (I sure don't. But good for you if you do.) How about when Blu-ray discs were competing against HD DVD's? It's no secret that the porn industry helped sway that decision for consumers. Porn favored VHS, and Blu-ray.*

So far, I've never send a 3D Blu-ray porn, which means that my well-endowed brothers and anus-bleached sisters are supporting me, in my fight against 3D technology. Because no guy needs to see "the money shot" in 3D, flying out of their TV towards him. It smears those special glasses, and you have to keep replacing them. Consider the money that you constantly have to plug into that investment; it's not worth it.

*Porn beat Betamax so completely**, that my spell check doesn't even recognize it.
**It's has frequent crier miles at the local S&M dungeon.

Are you a Mexican or a Mexican't?

2010-07-22T14:53:00.000-07:00

I use live in an apartment complex, with a neighbor that spent most of his time outside, talking to anyone and everyone that walked by. If he could see you, he'd strike up a conversation. He didn't have many interesting things to say, so if you were like me, you'd pretend you couldn't hear and walk very, very fast. But usually this would only make him shout at you louder and follow you. This left me with few options. Typically I'd wait until someone else exited their apartment, watch out my peep hole to make sure he was busy chatting away them, and then sneak out. Or, I'd leave at the same time my roommate needed to leave, I could outrun her, forcing her to deal with him. I'm not a people person. For six months I lived like this! Avoiding my neighbor, who I'm not even sure lived in one of the apartments, since he was always outside.

He was missing enough teeth to make eating an apple impossible, but he didn't smell like booze. He seemed like a nice guy, who I never caught trying to look down my shirt/up my skirt. He really just seemed like a lonely guy who was just trying to be friendly. I just didn't see how we could have anything in common. I like the inside of my apartment, I keep to myself, and I have a job. He didn't, at least not that I could tell. It would be very sweet if I could say that he and I finally did have a conversation, and I realized that we really did have a lot in common. How inspiring would it be if I wrote that I overcame my prejudices and we became friends? THAT'S NOT THE KIND OF STORY I TELL, PEOPLE.

Despite my careful planning, I would occasionally find myself forced to talk to this old man. The conversations, almost always went like this.

Old man : "Buenos dias!"

Me : "Hello!"

Old man : "No, no! Buenos dias!"

Me: "B-when-nose Diaz?"

Old man : "Buenos dias! It means g'morning in Spanish. You speak Spanish." It was a statement, not a question. Every time it was a statement. Never a question.

Me : "No, I'm afraid I don't speak any Spanish."

Old man : "But your father, he speak Spanish."

Me : "No, he doesn't speak Spanish either. Please excuse me, I really need to get to work."

Old man : "Your father, he speak Spanish. You should learn Spanish."

Me : "I know, I should. But I'm going to be late. Excuse me." And I'd run hastily away. Far, far away.

Every time I was stuck talking to this man, who was obviously extremely proud of his Hispanic heritage, the conversation would go the same way. He'd say some greeting to me in Spanish, I'd mispronounce it back to him and he'd feel shame for me. I was not embracing my Hispanic heritage. I should be proud to come from such fine stock, but I was shaming my family and my people by not learn my culture's native language.

Except the last time I talked to him, I was late for work, and was heading out to my car. He yelled out, "Buonas tardes" (Good afternoon).

I pretended to be hard of hearing and hurried to the parking lot. HE FOLLOWED ME! "You should learn Spanish, your father, your mother, speak Spanish." He was smiling, and I wasn't threatened, I just had to go to work!

"No, my parents don't speak Spanish."

Still smiling, "But your grandpa, grandma, they speak Spanish."

"No, no one in my family speaks Spanish."

He looked smug. He knew what to say to prove to me that learning Spanish was the best way to honor my ancestors. "You are Spanish. I'll show you, what's your last name?"

"Anderson."

The smile was replaced by shock. "Anderzen?"

"Yup. Anderson."

He smiled again. "Oh! Then you must learn Norweeeegian!" He chuckled and left me alone for the rest of the time I lived there. He'd still wave at me, and I'd wave back. But he was no longer interested in being my friend.

Racist.

Why does my head hurt?

2010-07-18T11:07:00.000-07:00

This morning I awoke with a headache. This could only be the result of one of two things.

Last night a catholic priest and a rabbi strolled into my bedroom. The rabbi watched as the priest punched me in the face.

"What the fuck was that for?!" I screamed.

"You never go to Sunday church anymore." The priest replied.

"I'm Jewish! You cannibalize your God! Leave me alone!" I screamed again. I then rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

Then the rabbi punched me in the face.

"JESUS CHRIST! What was that for?" I was starting to get pissed.

The rabbi calmly said, "You never go to temple, and you celebrate Christmas."

The priest then slapped me upside the head, "That's for taking the Lord's name in vain." He said "lord" with a capital "L".

"Yes, I'm a bad Jew, now leave my house."

OR.........

I'm hungover from all of the margaritas I drank with my family last night.

You decide.

Breaking blogging rules, blogging about work.

2010-07-09T14:18:00.000-07:00

I work in a office full of cubicles. And today I was finally given permission to cover my dull grey cubicle walls with fabric. As long as it isn't political, religious, have nude pictures, have swear words, and isn't offensive. That limits my options greatly, but anything is better than grey. I now have a zebra print cubicle! There is now one more tick mark in the "I have the best job ever" column of the score board.

My cubicle is grouped with three other cubes. I call the four cubes a "quad", because I have no desire to look up the actual term. Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in the work going on my cubicle, that I ignore what's going on in the rest of the quad. This leads to awkward conversations, like "What are you three laughing at?" "You went on vacation?" and "Why is there a dead chicken, lying in a pool of it's own blood, on your desk?" Add a tick mark in the "I have the worst job ever" column of the score board.

In the four plus years that I've been working for this company, I have had to ask "Why is there a dead chicken, lying in a pool of it's own blood, on your desk", twice. Each time to a different person. ................... uh...at least my score board is now zebra print!!

I won! I won!

2010-07-08T15:15:00.000-07:00

Last night I dream't that I was going back to school. Which I am. In my dream I had to choose my major. Which I do. In my dream I chose to major in Canada. Not Canadian history, literature, all of Canada. Then, this morning, I got an e-mail. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Subject line & contents:

Your Mail Id Has Been Awarded £1,000,000.00 In The British Tobaco Online Promo:‏For Claims

vaughn-c@sbcglobal.net

6:16 AM (9 hours ago)

Send Your Details
Name.. Sex.. Location..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's weird that The British Tobaco (one "c") Association has it's spies tracking my dreams. But if they want to financially support my relocation to Canada, who am I to ignore such an obvious sign, ey?

Oh, Canada!

2010-07-05T11:20:00.000-07:00

Last night Mr J asked me why I hate fireworks. I feel that this is an unfair representation of my feelings towards fireworks. I don't hate them. I don't love them either. My true opinion on fireworks? They're loud. Not bad, or good, just loud.

If I were to guess how the rumor of my hatred of fireworks began, I'd bet my last dollar that it got confused with my hatred of drunk people with fireworks. Especially if they're in my neighborhood. If you are yelling, slurred lyrics to a Bruce Springsteen song, and shooting bottle rockets at your fence/your neighbor's garage, you deserve to have the cops called on you. I find it ridiculous that once a year, in the United States*, this is acceptable behavior.

Drunk people with explosives is definitely on my hate list. Right up there with arson.

*I can already see the nasty e-mail now. "If you don't like it, you can leave! Unpatriotic bitch!!" And while there are many clever responses, that I could say. I'm just going to tell you all "Go back to blowing your cousin Earl, you aren't finished yet."

Job Posting

2010-07-01T18:58:00.000-07:00

I have been so busy at work. How busy, you probably aren't asking? I'm too busy to go shoe shopping! Do you have any idea how much I have to have going on in my life, to prevent me from buying shoes?!

I'm thinking of hiring a personal assistant. You know, to pick up my groceries, do my laundry, wash my car, screen my phone calls, shower for me, go to the gym for me, take my cats to the groomers, fetch my lunch, and separate the border pieces of my puzzles from the rest of the puzzles so I can get to the fun part faster!

The pay will be next to nothing... actually, it may be nothing, with no benefits whatsoever. Any one interested?

So You Think You Can Talk

2010-06-06T12:32:00.000-07:00

Have you ever dreamed of being a professional voice actor? Being the voice for beloved characters, like Mickey Mouse, Porky the Pig, and Gir? I can't promise you that you'll be beloved, but I do promise to pay you. I promise to pay you a whole $0.10, if you so much as audition for my next stop-motion video. How do you audition? Send me an e-mail at suicidaljane@gmail.com asking for a script to audition with. I will send you two of the character's parts of the script. Record yourself reading the lines for both characters, as many times as you'd like with different accents, afflictions, pitches, whatever you'd like, and e-mail me the recordings.

Include how'd you like your payment (PayPal, check, cash) and how you'd like to receive it (PayPal, mailing address, or even if you'd like me to donate it to the charity or your choice), and you can truthfully call yourself a professional voice actor. Then once I've completed the video, I'll post it here so you can see if your talents made the cut.

Oh my GOD!

2010-05-28T14:34:00.000-07:00

In my free time, when in a crafting mood, I knit, crochet, make yoda ears, etc.

Mr. J makes........

2010-05-23T07:35:00.001-07:00

I think I just got propositioned on Facebook, by a man who lives in Turkey.

He told me "humidity waiting for you I want you". I have no idea that what means.

Be honest. Y'all would tell me if I look like a Turkish prostitute........ right?

Conversations overheard

2010-05-05T16:16:00.000-07:00

Mr J: "Did you hear? Corey Haim died!"

Jane: "Yeah, I heard."

Mr J: "When did you hear? I only just found out."

Jane: "About a month ago, you know, when he died."

Mr J: "He died a month ago?!"

Jane: "Yeah...."

Mr J: ".........Which one was he again?"

Jane: "Uh... the one who wasn't Corey Feldman?"

Mr J: "............................. Thanks."

I suspect he was being sarcastic.

I'm FDA approved!!!

2010-04-22T15:48:00.000-07:00

Y'all, I've got news! After years of experiments, I have found the cure to "Rage" (the highly contagious virus that infected a large portion of Great Britain. Anyone infected took on severe zombie-like, cannibal symptoms). And after even more years of testing by the FDA, I am proud to announce that it can now be bought, over the counter, in single serving juice boxes.

They're berry flavored.

And recyclable!!!

I suggest you stock up. Just in case.

Itchy Eyes - Open letter

2010-04-21T15:13:00.000-07:00

Dear Scientists,

It's the year 2010, have you noticed? I don't want to sound ungrateful, like those whiny bitches who want a jet pack, but I'd like an explanation. Why hasn't an allergy medication been invented that works?! One that stopping the urge to scratch my eyeballs out, just because the grass is turning green. One that doesn't leave me so doped up that I forget it's not Monday, it's Tuesday and I've forgotten to pick up my mother at the hospital. Mankind has been patient for this kind of change. And I think we're ready and responsible enough to handle the kind of power that being allergy free would give us.

Please?
Suicidal Jane

P.S. If you could also get to work on chocolate that makes women lose weight, I'd be forever grateful.

Split Personality

2010-04-07T17:24:00.000-07:00

While sitting in the bathroom, moaning about menstrual cramps, I voice in my head appeared. A new voice. One I had never heard before. One that had her own life story and opinions on everything thing.

And she wanted her own Twitter page.

To suddenly be making demands of me, I thought she must be very powerful. I hoped that if I gave her an outlet to voice herself that she'd be satisfied for a while, and would let me be.

I was wrong.

She's taken control my life and says she won't get me back my body for 3-5 days! She says that even when she does leave, she'll return in a month. Every month. For many, many years to come. I'm afraid. I'm afraid of things she'd do to me, my friends and family, my co-workers, every one. What will she do while she has control? Will she ruin my life? Do things I'll regret forever?

HELP ME!

She died for your sins.

2010-04-04T10:53:00.000-07:00

Scurvy

2010-03-24T02:48:00.000-07:00

I'm thinking that I need my own cereal brand.

I'm thinking of naming it Scurvy. The bits of cereal would be lime green, and it would turn the milk lemon yellow. If eaten with a glass of orange juice, one could get 10,000% of your suggested vitamin C.

*Photoshopped from a picture loving stolen from cerealfreak.com

2010-03-23T14:47:00.000-07:00

You're so vain. You probably think this post is about you.

Vietnam War Barbie

2010-03-19T17:51:00.000-07:00

Mattel, the makers of Barbie, have produced many versions of veterinarian dolls over the decades. But why do they insist on labeling her as a "Pet Vet"?

Do marketers fear that consumers will mistake what a "Vet" is? Are parents worrying about their children playing with a doll that, due to traumatic events from the Vietnam War, suffers from flashbacks, guilt, hyper-vigilance, and unpredictable outbursts of anger that prevent Barbie from holding down a job and supporting herself financially? A doll that is forced out to live on the streets, making the therapy and medication she desperately needs that much harder for her to get?!

That seems like discrimination against the disabled to me.

Oh, and Happy Birthday Opera Mom. I bet you can't guess what your birthday present is!

You guessed homeless Barbie? Damn, I suppose you've proved me wrong, you can guess.

High on life!

2010-03-18T04:33:00.000-07:00

Dear Me,

I know that you're still not use to the dang daylight savings time change. However you keep trying to open your car with your office's security badge. You also frequently attempt to unlock the front door of your apartment with your car's electronic key. Your neighbors and co-workers think you're high. Maybe a color coded system is in order?

Love you anyway,
Me

Completely original post. I totally don't repost this every year with just a few new pictures.

2010-03-17T06:04:00.000-07:00

People who don't have to worry about being pinched on St. Patrick's Day.

Kermit

Charlton Heston

The Matrix family from Reboot! I miss that show....

Even though he's wearing purple, which clashes...

The Incredible Hulk

Jolly Green Giant

Yoda

Shrek

Gumby

Wicked Witch of the West (Elphaba) and anyone who lives in the Emerald City

Godzilla. No one pinches Godzilla.

Michelangelo, Leonardo, Raphael and Donatello (but not Splinter)

Cthulhu (like you'd try to pinch him if he wasn't green)

I would be so happy, I'd pee.

2010-03-16T18:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Hollywood,

I've heard it said that you are out of ideas. I don't really believe that, however I do acknowledge that you've been making a lot of remakes lately. There's nothing necessarily wrong with that. It can be a great way to make money, and there are several remakes that I like better than the original.

That being said, I ask for a favor. I beg, I plead, I implore! Please remake The Last Unicorn. I loved this movie as a small child (Of course I did, I was a girl, and it was about a unicorn, you don't have to be a genius to guess that was going to happen.), and as an adult I don't believe that the great story was given the chance it deserved. Much of the animation was horrible, and holy shit, did they seriously let Mia Farrow sing?!* It's like the original film makers set their creation up for failure. I don't care if it's another animation (and let's be honest, an anime version could be amazing), computer generated, live action, claymation, a mixture of some or all... it could even be in... dare I say it... 3D.

C'mon, make the little girl in all of us, happy.
Jane

*Not that Jeff Bridges was much better.

Happy Pi Day Everybody!

2010-03-14T17:18:00.000-07:00

Going to the grocery store hungry is usually a bad idea.

Unless is Pi Day! Then it's totally acceptable to buy stacks and stacks of pie. Even if you end up with twelve pies and an odd tray of brownies*, despite the fact that there are only two of you attending the Pi Day party. You may end up eating leftover pie for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next week. But what's wrong with that?

*And who the fuck brought the brownies to my Pi Party?

While watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles..

2010-03-13T10:38:00.000-08:00

Conversation heard from my home between Mr J and me.

Mr J: "What?! This is crazy. A group of super powered heroes couldn't save the world, but four ordinary turtles that know karate can?"

Suicidal Jane: "Does the fact that they know karate make them not-ordinary?"

Mr J: "No, all turtles know karate."

Oh.

I don't care what you think, as long as it's about me.

2010-03-08T17:27:00.000-08:00

If the blogverse was a high school on prom night, then this man (Nameless Cynic) (who just so happens to be my father) would totally win Prom Queen. Not because people like him, but because his blog is infinitely more popular than mine. When I say he's not well liked, I mean there are people who HATE him! There are people who claim to be spying on his house from Google's satellite images waiting for their sniper rifles to come in the mail so they can murder his puppies, that's how much they hate him! They are going to buy him cute puppies, just so they can kill them!

That's popularity dude!

And despite the fact that I don't want anyone to buy me a cute puppy, since I'm allergic, and would probably drown the bastard dogs myself just to be free from their dander, I am totally jealous. I want people blogging fake interviews of me. Hell, if they want, I'll write them one myself. I talk to myself all the time.

I don't think I'm being unreasonable either. I'm just as hate-worthy as Nameless Cynic. I voted for Obama. I'm pro gay marriage. So pro-choice I might as well call myself anti-baby*. I spell "catholic church" with lower case "c"s. I also ask my wife to use a strap-on dildo on me. I'm so mean that I'm afraid to visit Canada! (Because I've heard they are a friendly people, and I'm sure six hours into my visit they would throw me out.) Plus, unlike Nameless Cynic, I do very little research on the topics I write about. That's assuming that I'm not blatantly lying my way through an entire post (which happens on almost every post except the ones about Don Tolman). So yelling at me in the comments of this blog would be so much more rewarding, right? Stalk me. Please! Fill my e-mail box with your hate. I welcome the months/years of you calling me names. I look forward to the exchanging of threats.

*Seriously, babies are evil. They'll gum you to death and suck your vital organs out through your fingers.

The world confuses me most days.

2010-02-28T19:08:00.000-08:00

Dear Samsung,

I've noticed that you recently have started an advertising campaign partnering you with the 2010 Winter Olympics. That's groovy, and I'm sure the idea is a great one. However airing your commercial on a network that isn't airing the games, means you're advertising to people who aren't watching them. People who don't give a shit about the Olympics.

Does this seem like a valuable investment?

Just sayin',
Jane

P.S. Visa and McDonald's, this goes for you as well.

What is my city coming to?!

2010-02-05T12:31:00.000-08:00

Everyone thinks that the drivers in their town/city/village/commune are the worst drivers in the world. Whenever someone would complain to me about how horrible the drivers are, I would counter with the drivers in Paris. On a brief visit to Paris with my family, we saw people driving on the sidewalk, sidewalks full of pedestrians. The cars would honk their horns to get people out of the way, as if they obviously had the right to be there and what did the pedestrians think they were doing there, in the cars' way.

But today I saw a yellow and black mustang driving on the sidewalk, here in my beloved city of Albuquerque..... all I can think of to say, "Care for a baguette?"

Google made me smarty-pants.

2010-02-01T17:56:00.000-08:00

Someone once told me that if you pick up a cow, every day, starting from the day it's born, you'd be able to lift it when it's full grown. I believed it, and was then mocked, (mocked I tell you!) for years for being so gullible.

Gullible? "Why?", I thought. It made sense to me, slowly you'd build up your strength, until presto, you can lift an adult cow. Plus, the cow would get use to you picking it up everyday, so after it's calf-hood it would come to expect this every day. I bet it wouldn't even struggle after a while.

Today, the topic came up again. I asked Mr. J to explain it to me. (Because none of those of laughed at me were ever willing to.) He told me the average cow weighs several thousand pounds, and that the human body, no matter how well trained, is incapable of lifting such an amount.

Thanks to WikiAnswers I am thrilled to tell you, Mr J is a liar. The world record for weight lifting is a whopping 1250 pounds. The weight of an average cow? Depending on the breed, anywhere from 600 to 3000 pounds. As long as the cow wasn't one of the largest breeds, you totally could pick it up after a few years of conditioning.

Who's gullible NOW?

Free comedy gold

2010-01-28T15:18:00.000-08:00

What would happen if a young Mormon, going door-to-door to spread the good word, were to knock on a door of a Jehovah's Witness?

I think that would make a great skit on a comedy show.

Facebook won't let me throw me syphilis at people, I have to settle for sheep.

2010-01-25T19:19:00.000-08:00

This year just keeps sucking more and more. And as the vaccumm continues, I keep reminding myself that there are great things in my life. Family, friends, friends I consider family, readers, caponies...

However, if through some freak accident they all went away, I think I would become a super sexy, super evil villain. Since I would be so villainous, I'd use my super sexy and evil-ness to spread syphilis to every hot man and hot woman alive.

Mr J just told me that was hot, and that he'd totally let me give him syphilis. I think he misses the point.

Dreams of Playing Music

2010-01-22T17:32:00.000-08:00

I don't think it's a secret, I love radio! I have been known to start fan clubs dedicated to my favorite DJ's and radio personalities, go to radio remotes just to hang with said DJ's, I'm always listening to the radio, singing along with the radio, and frequently when I'm not listening to it, I'm telling friends and family what I just heard on the radio. It's my source for news, weather, gossip, interesting tidbits and occasionally relationship advice**.

That being said, or written would be a more appropriate phrase, I have a recurring dream involving the radio.

I'm an intern working at a radio station. I'm an intern among many, on my first day, being shown around the radio station building. Our tour is near the end and our guide is about to lead us into the final studio, where a famous radio personality is just wrapping up his show. (The famous personality varies, it's either Bobby Box, or Casey Kasem. I can not stand either one of them, both in the dream and real life. Their voices threaten to make my ear bleed, and give me mono.) Excited to meet a "pro" in the "biz" all of us interns huddle around the door to the studio as it opens. And inside is.... my father. Upon my discovery that my father has been leading a secret life as a radio legend, I ask him why, why has he never told me? All he responds is that he wanted me to make my own way in the radio industry and not to ride on his coat tails.

So since I keep having this dream, I'm starting to wonder.. what does this mean? Is the fact that my father is representing these two men that I can't stand mean I have "daddy issues"? Since I continue to dream about this, should I peruse a career in radio? Would anyone want to hear my Minnie Mouse voice on the radio? Is my subconsciousness trying to tell me something? Has my father really been leading a double life? If so, why can't I ride his coat tails to success? It's only fair after he's been lying to me for twenty-two years!

*Tell me your car isn't really just an expensive karaoke machine and I'll call you a liar.

**Though, not always good advice.

Why I haven't been writing, and will probably continue to be stuck in a writing-less void of sad.

2010-01-20T15:15:00.000-08:00

Ugh. I have written this, and rewritten this in my head hundreds of times. But it just never comes out right. I try, I really fucking TRY to keep everything I write here as upbeat and positive as possible (with plenty of sarcasm mixed in, of course). Hell, I don't want to write depressing entries anymore than you want to read them! However I've gotten a few questions, and I've been experiencing severe writer's block that I don't think will go away until I get this off my chest.

Operation Cupcake aka Jane-is-going-to-carry-someone-else's-baby-in-her-uterus-for-nine-months (Relax, it wasn't going to be an already-born baby, that'd be weird... have scientists even checked to see if that was possible? Perhaps I should have use the word embryo, or fetus.) has been cancelled. Permanently. Mr Dad provided sperm, Mrs Mom provided eggs, but things didn't mix and science can only aid nature so far before it goes out of the doctor's hands. Which means EIGHT MONTHS of hormone injections, weekly ultrasounds, blood screenings, lawyer meetings, therapy sessions, video recordings of my uterus and uncomfortable thoughts about of my closest friend's having seen my vagina up close and personal, WERE FOR NOTHING.

Yes I'm mad, bitter, and depressed. Thank you for reading. I feel a tiny bit better now.

The Universe looked me square in the eye and said "Fuck you Suicidal Jane"

2010-01-05T14:30:00.000-08:00

Today sucked. No specific reasons, just all around, mopey-ucky-suck-i-ness. Then I discovered that the universe was just making me pay for a blessing it was about give me, because I'd open my e-mail and saw this:

I realized that it's in the UK... and I am not. Fuck you too Universe, fuck you too.

Om nom nom nom nom nom

2009-12-29T23:00:00.000-08:00

The end of today marks the halfway point of my ten day long vacation, and I really don't want to have to go back to work. Normally when I return from a vacation, co-workers will ask me, "so what did you do with your time off?" On those occasions, the only honest reply I can give them is "Slept a lot and watched an obscene amount of television." There is nothing wrong with that, and I enjoy spending my hard earned PTO that way. However this time, when asked what I did during my Christmas vacation, I am very excited to respond, "I INVENTED A COOKIE!"

Yesterday, the cookie that my brain and tastebuds have been fantasizing about for weeks finally came to life. With the technical advisor skills of Opera Mom, we have brought forth to the world the first red chile flavored cookie. (I know it sounds unconventional, but trust me it's fucking amazing. It's so fantastic, that I don't have any pictures to show you the finished product. They were eaten that fast. I'll try to take pictures of the next batch.)

What have I named my cookie legacy? Albercookie of course.

Coooooookies!

2009-12-28T13:48:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, I will begin experimenting in the kitchen with OperaMom to invent a cookie!

This going to severely cut into my WoW gaming time. Sacrifices must be made.

Also, let me know if you want to sample my cookies (once they're made)! Email me your address and I'll send you a batch!

suicidaljane at gmail dot com

I've been infected, help me!

2009-12-26T18:06:00.000-08:00

If you follow me on twitter or are friends with me on facebook, you might have seen this coming. It happened today. And I am so, dreadfully, sorry.

I bought my first laptop.

That's not the part I'm sorry about. I saved up for an entire year, and asked my family to forgo birthday and Christmas gifts in favor of money to help me buy this computer. It's the first computer I've ever owned. It doesn't belong to a roommate, my parents, siblings, my significant other, it all mine.

What I am sorry for.... I started a 10 day free trial of World of Warcraft today.

And so far, I like it!

So you might have thought that now I no longer have to share a computer with anyone that I'd get a lot more writing, social networking and blogging done. If you thought that, you'd be wrong. Sorry!

RAWR! vs ROAR!

2009-12-22T14:12:00.000-08:00

For reasons I don't care to disclose, a doctor has prescribed me a shit load of hormone treatments. (Maybe I'm taking steps to become a real woman, maybe I'm trying to grow a horn out of my ass, it doesn't matter why.) And like a good girl (or soon to be girl?) I've been diligently swallowing pills, injecting shots into my thighs and ass, applying patches to my skin, despite some of the horrible side effects.

I'm bloated, I think I gained 60 pounds last night alone, I'm grouchy, I think I'm funny when I'm not, my poop is green, I can't stop burping and I'm experiencing horrendous heartburn.

Obviously I'm turning into a dragon.

It explains everything. I'm gaining weight because dragons are typically large. Dragons are grumpy and notorious for having a poor sense of humor. Green poo just means that my digestive tract has turned green. Soon the rest of my body will turn green and scaly. Burping and heartburn? Hello! I'm preparing to breathe fire.

This was not the original intention of me starting these treatments. However as far as side effects go, "turning into a dragon", is pretty cool.

I admit it, I'm addicted to print screen shots.

2009-12-22T00:06:00.000-08:00

Last night I received an anonymous phone call. "UNK-NOWN", was all that appeared in the caller ID.

I answered, and it was a bail bondsman calling to ask if I was willing to bail out some guy I'd never met.

I knew I was going to regret giving @michaelrholmes my phone number. (picture after the jump)

Sing me a snippet of a holiday song from the slammah!

Also, if you aren't watching his web series, Duck N Cover Show, then I don't see how we can friends anymore. It's only been a link on my sidebar since forever. Shit, I get bitchy (and tiny) when I get hungry. I need me some more green cookies.

G-baby!

2009-12-21T16:55:00.000-08:00

Dear Google,

My friend is in the first stages of pregnancy. I'm trying to convince her and her husband to name their child the greatest name known to man, "Google". What arguments would you give her to use such a splendid name? Any chance you would sponsor the baby like Nike sponsors athletes? The "Google" logo on some onesies would be so gosh darn cute!

A fan,
Suicidal Jane

I know it's really lazy to blog using a print screen of facebook.

2009-12-20T15:16:00.000-08:00

But I'm really lazy.

Crayola Poop

2009-12-16T14:05:00.000-08:00

Last night, I was ravenous. I needed FOOD!

Wait, I'm going to cut to the end of the story, so you can decide if you want to continue reading or not. I just pooped GREEN. *

Still interested? Good, I'll continue.

I was hungry enough to start looking at the cat's food, wondering "The cats seem to like it... I bet it can't be that bad." But the man who was put on this Earth with the sole purpose of making sure I get fed around a set schedule, refused to get off the computer so we could go get dinner. Sure, I could have gotten off my ass, driven myself to the store, and gotten my own damn dinner. However by dinner time, I had already had far too much to drink to drive legally. (I like to get my drinkin' started early.) Starving, I searched the entire apartment, looking for something I could eat to keep my body from devouring itself. I found cookies.

This would not be the first time I had cookies for dinner, and god dammit, it won't be the last. But it will be the last time I eat dark green cookies.

BECAUSE I JUST POOPED GREEN!* I'm not saying that my poop was green, I pooped out a color. A solid color. (I'm not including a picture, that'd be gross). You could have painted with this shit. (Which reminds of a story about my brother, but that's for another time.)

*Not that I poop. I'm a girl, and girls don't do that. Ever.

This is how rumors get started.

2009-12-15T18:07:00.000-08:00

I can neither confirm nor deny that a certain B-list Hollywood actor, who may or may not have autographed my left breast (and I may or may not have gotten it tattooed there), may or may not be here in town directing a web series pilot. I can am also unable to confirm or deny that I have read the script for this pilot/non-pilot. If I had, and I'm speaking completely hypothetically, I would definitely not have printed copies of it to use to wallpaper my kitchen. That would be weird. And if this was all really happening, and I'm not saying it is, wouldn't it awesome if my little brother, Monkey Lord, (who is currently enrolled in a kick ass film program) were working on the set of this project?

I bet if this dream was all real, he'd bring me home a mini muffin that this B-list Hollywood actor touched.

Or he'd make me come over and get it. Either way, he's enabling me to stalk awesomeness. I love you Monkey Lord! (I'll pick it up Friday, don't eat it.)

Sugar Plum Fairy during the off-season

2009-12-09T15:45:00.000-08:00

She has no dollar bills in her G-string, because she's not a very good dancer.

Best Christmas Gift EVER!

2009-12-06T16:50:00.000-08:00

This is a non-farting hippo. Purchased from Amazon.com, who does not sell farting hippos. What the fuck, Amazon? What kid wants a stuffed hippo that doesn't fart? Know your demographic!

Because I wanted to send a certain little boy (not so little anymore) a farting stuffed animal, and I decided to make one myself. (Sure I could find farting dogs, and really expensive farting hippos, but this one will have the personal touch of being homemade. So quit poo-pooing my gift!)

A self-inflating Whoopie Cushion is needed. Pictured is my cat, Vixen, inspecting the Whoopie Cushion, tomake sure it's a high-quality product.

You'll also need a sharp cutting utensi. Scissors, seam ripper, scapel, or a knife for dramatic effect!

I find that laughing manically helps the guilt you feel when violating a

plush hippo from behind.

Tear/cut the stitches of the back end of the stomach.

And pull out about half of the stuffing in the stomach.

From a shoe box, poster board, thin cardboard, trace the shape of whoopie cushion and cut out two.

Sandwich the whoopie cushion between the two pieces of cardboard you just cut out, and insert inside the hippo.

Stitch the hippo's stomach up with the whoopie cushion enclosed. Leave the flap sticking out of the animal, under the tail. Cut off the cardboard's flaps once you're completely done sewing the hippo closed.

Begin farting!

Open Letter

2009-12-06T16:37:00.000-08:00

Dear Chicken shit-who-hit-our-car-and-drove-away-unwilling-to-exchange-insurance-information-or-even-check-if-we-were-okay,

Merry Christmas.

I hope you get herpes,

Jane

Fillin' you in... That sounds dirty!

2009-11-29T16:00:00.000-08:00

Sweet baby Jesus, I think that was the longest hiatus I have ever taken from blogging. Let me catch you up.

I spent two months working on a Halloween costume (see the previous post). Blood, sweat and tears were shed in the making of that costume. A few were spread around just writing about it!

The same day of the costume contest (October 30th), Mr. J and I celebrated our two year anniversary. He wanted to spend the weekend at a sweet bed & breakfast. I wanted to go bowling. We compromised by having a romantic dinner at a restaurant we can rarely afford to go to and watching a movie of my choice while drinking wine. (We watched The Boondock Saints because I'm a fucking romantic.)

October 31st, my twin brother flew into town! He's a Marine currently stationed in Hawaii (lucky bastard), but was getting ready to fly out to Afghanistan. I guess Albuquerque was on the way? He stayed here for two weeks, during which my parents threw both him and I a Murder Mystery surprise birthday party (since he wouldn't be here for our actual birthday). He also showed everyone just how disgusting public displays of affection are when hanging out with your family. (Seriously, his girlfriend and him were attached with magnets that would pull satellites out of orbit. All. The. Time. I'm pretty sure they even went to the toilet together.)

After the first week he was here, more relatives dropped by. A cousin I hadn't seen since I was four, and her husband... who I'd never met. I had my doubts. Serious doubts. I don't like much of my extended family, but happily I discovered I really like them! Even though the night they got here my mother tricked me into stopping by for dinner. Dinner she told me! She failed to mention that it was going to be an early Thanksgiving Dinner. A pointless holiday that I refuse to participate in. (Woo-hoo! Let's celebrate how prudish pilgrims landed in a country that was already inhabited. Nearly starved to death, and were save by a group of people they eventually exploited. Plus, I really hate stuffing. Nasty stuff.)

Once everyone left, Mr. J and I struggled to clean our apartment spotless before, one more relative came to visit.

Mr J's Mother!

She was only here for three days, and she really is a nice and pleasant woman, but I was so nervous I STOPPED POO-ING.* From the night before she got here, to three days after she'd gone, I didn't have a single bowel movement. And we ate, a lot. I was briefly convinced that my colon must have so much poo stopped up it that the pressure was going to turn the poo into a giant diamond. A poo diamond, that while very beautiful, was going to tear my insides apart.

She flew back to her home, but before life could return to normal I had to prepare for Black Friday. For those of you lucky enough to not know what Black Friday is, Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving. The day most retail stores have ridiculous sales that cause overly desperate people (usually housewives) to stand outside these stores for NINE HOURS (rain, sleet or snow) to buy a 300" LCD television for twenty bucks. It is also the day that the Mayans predict the world will end in 2012, but I'm not taking any chances, just in case they miss calculated the year. I buy canned food, bottled water and ammunition for my shotgun, a few days beforehand. I create a bunker in my bathtub. I hide out with my two cats and wait for the end to come. Mr. J thinks I overreact, but when the shopping zombies drink his brains through a straw, he'll be wishing he'd worn the metal helmet I gave him for our anniversary.

Because nothing is more romantic than head protection.

*Not that girls do that.

Halloween 2009

2009-11-29T15:05:00.000-08:00

How-to Make a Pac-Man Costume:

First off, you need to ask yourself, just how badly do you want to have a homemade costume? Are you willing to risk your relationship with everyone you love? Are you on any medications that make you emotionally unstable? Are you emotionally unstable if you don't take your medications? If after answering these questions, you still think making this costume is a good idea, please read on.

Step One: Buy Two Hula Hoops.

When I first decided to be Pac-Man for Halloween, I read this. Written by Geoff42, he suggests that anyone trying to create a Pac-Man costume creates a frame out of PVC that he curved using a ring roller. But those things are dang expensive, I figured I could take a shortcut, and use hula hoops.

Step Two: Throw Away Hula Hoops.

Buying hula hoops was by far the stupidest decision I have ever made. Unless you are incredibly short, if you use hula hoops as the frame of your costume, you are going to have no room in your costume to move around in. A bonus frustration in using hula hoops is that the plastic they are made of is very pliable. It bends and warps just by looking at it. Because of this, it's almost impossible to find one hula hoop that's a perfect circle, forget about finding two. But if you're like me, you bought two hoops, thinking that they would be the same shape, and didn't realize how mismatched they were until you got home.

Step Three: Buy two foam core boards in the biggest size you can find.

I managed to find some at a hobby store that measured 5'x3.5', that's pretty gosh darn big. Perfect for drawing a perfect 3.5' radius circle. That is until I discovered that I can not draw a perfect circle. Not even using these "simple" instructions.

Step Four: Find a smart person to draw a circle for you.

Mr. J was not only the closest person to me physically at the time, but he's one of the smartest people I know. Surely he would be able to draw me a perfect circle. For Christ's sake, he saves lives for a living, a circle should be easy.

It wasn't.

After a few hours of sobbing into the shower curtain, because you're never going to be able to leave the bathroom, because the bathroom is the only safe place in the world where no one would ever think to judge your Halloween costume that is not perfectly circular, come out of the bathtub, come to terms that it's just a Halloween costume, no one will ever be able to tell that it's not an exact circle, and accept the sub-par circle Mr. J has drawn for you.

Step Five: Cutting (not your wrists).

You thought you freaked out when the drawing of the circle wasn't perfect?

You're going to absolutely die trying to cut out the sphere with an x-acto knife. You are going to slip, you are going to end up with an even less perfect circle than you started out with. You are going to cry for so long in that bathtub that you are going to wipe the skin around your eyes raw.

Step Six: Painting.

I'd read somewhere (because for the life of me, I can't find the link) of a guy who made a kick ass costume, but wished he'd painted the inside black. To make it look a little more polished.

Using poster paint, I slathered black all over one side of each of my two freshly cut out circles. And that's when they started to warp. Not just a little warped either. My two circled warped into giant sized replicas of Pringles.

At this point the urge to cry will be gone, because by now you have opened the day's third bottle of wine.

Step Seven: How the fuck am I going to fix this?

You've already spent a lot of money on useless hula hoops, paint, warped foam core board, wine and Xanax*. You can't afford to buy new foam core board, it wasn't cheap, and you are poor. So you go to the hardware store and buy PVC pipe and some joints for the pipe. You created an elaborate skeleton for each board that will force it to be flat, or at least close to flat. I used stick-on Velcro to force the warped board onto the PVC pipe. For some reason it worked better than mounting tape, go figure.

Step Eight: Making it look like Pac-Man!

There was no way I was going to paint the outside of this costume yellow. I'd already been burned by the evilness known as poster paint. Using spray adhesive from an aerosol can** I glued yellow felt to the outside of my costume. On top of the felt I painted (despite my anger at the paint) the mouth and the eyes. Using extra felt and Velcro, I made straps to hold the costume on my person.

Step Nine: What do you mean you want one too?

Since it was a group costume that I was making this costume for, I tweaked a few of these steps to design a few ghosts, fruit and even a wife for myself that others in my group made. As shown in the video below.

It was hell to make this. But we did win first place in our company's costume contest!

*and yellow pool noodles, I don't even remember how I was going to incorporate those.

** Sorry environment!

Don't judge, just because you never thought of it.

2009-10-28T17:37:00.000-07:00

I know I have been scarce lately. But until I get paid to blog, writing can't be my top priority (hint, hint). Just stopping by to say this.

Friday is Mr J and my two-year anniversary. While we are very close, there are still some boundaries we have yet to cross. I have to have the bathroom door closed, while I'm doing my business.* That door may not open under any circumstances. Even when I'm out of toilet paper and I don't realize this until it's too late. Even if it means sacrificing my underwear or a sock to wipe with.

I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing, all I know is I really need to go underwear shopping.

*My business being, of course, toilet paper origami, because girls neither pee or poo.

I haven't posted in forever, because I'm still feeling sick from eating one of these.

2009-10-11T06:00:00.000-07:00

This girl challenged me to make bacon cupcakes. Yes, you read that right. Bacon Cupcakes. Not just any bacon cupcake, I make Chocolate Peanut Butter Bacon Cupcakes.

So here is a step-by-vomit-inducing-step picture diary of my culinary adventure.

The cupcake recipe: A chocolate cupcake recipe taken from here.

Ingredients

2 cups sifted all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (preferably Dutch process)
5 1/3 ounces (10 2/3 tablespoons) sweet butter (I had no idea there were different types of butter.)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
3 eggs
1 cup milk

Heat the oven to 350 degrees and line muffin tins with cupcake liners. Sift together the flour, soda, salt, and cocoa powder and set aside. (I don’t have a sifter, so I just dry whisked the ingredients together.)

Use a standing mixer or hand-mixer to cream the butter. Add the sugar and vanilla and mix to combine. Add the eggs one at a time, beating after each one until smooth. (I don’t have an electric mixer either. What kind of caveman kitchen am I running? I used my whisk again, and whipped the crap out that mixture. I now suffer from tennis elbow.) On the lowest speed, alternately add the dry ingredients in three additions and the milk in two. Beat only until smooth and fully combined, you don’t want to overwork the batter.

(At this point in the recipe, I realized if I followed the recipe exactly, there would only be bacon in the frosting. If anyone wasn’t willing to try these cupcakes, they could wimp out , scrape off the frosting, and enjoy a chocolate cupcake! I wasn’t willing to give those cowards the option. So I added six chopped up pieces of bacon to the batter.)

Scoop the batter into the prepared pans filling each about two-thirds full (don’t bother to smooth the tops--the batter will level itself as it cooks). Bake the cupcakes for about 25 minutes, or until the tops are puffed and spring back when lightly pressed. Be careful not to over bake the cakes, but know that if you take them out too early they may sink a bit. Cool the cakes in the muffin tins for about 5 minutes and then remove them to a rack and let cool completely. (I only had to cook mine for 15 minutes.)

The frosting recipe: A peanut butter bacon mousse topping recipe taken from here.

Ingredients

4 oz cream cheese at room temp (about half a standard package)

4 oz peanut butter

½ cup heavy cream

½ ounce butter, melted (about one tablespoon)

½ cup confectioners sugar, sifted

Applewood smoked bacon (or other high quality, thick cut bacon) to taste

Melt butter; set aside Cook bacon to the point of crisp but not burnt. Thoroughly drain the fat and then pat bacon with paper towels, trying to remove as much of the grease as possible. Allow to cool, then chop into pieces. (Did you know you can cook bacon in the microwave? Clean up afterwards is so much easier.)

Whip cream to soft peaks; set aside. Using a mixer, blend together cream cheese, peanut butter, butter and sugar until well combined. Fold in whipped cream by hand. (Is that not the most disgusting thing you’ve ever seen?)

Peanut butter mixture will seem too stiff before the cream, but once the cream is thoroughly incorporated, the mousse should be a smooth, homogeneous texture. Then fold in the bacon, leaving out any pieces for cupcake toppers.

Ice cupcakes immediately and top with bacon garnish. Inhale. Horde from others. Or share, if you’re nice

To anyone worried about my health, I used reduced fat peanut butter. That made these healthy, right?

Mr. J tastes the first cupcake

Pregnant, but still cool?

2009-10-03T09:58:00.001-07:00

Quickly checking in, because I need your opinions on this.

Body Jewelry for Pregnant Women

Featuring flexible barbells for your belly button ring and your ever growing baby.

A brilliant product, that should have been invented years ago?

Or just plain odd?

I don't know... But I'm following them on Twitter!

I wouldn't do well in prison!

2009-09-30T17:27:00.000-07:00

I dedicate this post to all the pictures I haven't posted. To the ones still waiting to be uploaded to my computer, and to the one that I just didn't have the balls to take.

On our way home from picking up dinner, Mr J and I found ourselves driving directly behind a school bus. A large YELLOW bus, that had a bumper sticker. An amusing bumper sticker, at least to us, that read "Powered by Mercedes Benz".

"Quick! Take a picture of it!" Mr J cried.

I fumbled for my camera phone, but was unable to snap a picture of it before the bus turned off our course home. "Follow it! I'll take a picture at it's next stop."

But let me tell you, for those of you that don't know, following a school bus full of kids just to take a picture of makes you feel beyond creepy. When the bus pulled over, and kids started piling out, I had images of my name on a list of child predators. We left as soon as we could without hitting any children, picture untaken.

2009-09-23T17:07:00.000-07:00

Sunday, I made bacon cupcakes.

I promised Pagan Lizard that I would write about it, in great detail.

This is not the promised post.

Why?

BECAUSE I'M STILL VOMITING BACON!

More to come... Sans vomit.... Maybe

She's such a bitch.

2009-09-18T15:43:00.001-07:00

When I get depressed, or "poopy", I can't think of anything to write about on this blog. I try to keep everything here positive. I don't succeed, but I try. But whenever I'm happy and things are going great, I don't have time to write.

This is all her fault.

Is there anybody out there?

2009-09-13T12:39:00.000-07:00

Do you ever start talking to someone, and ten minutes into the conversation you realize you're talking to an insane person?

A few days ago, I found myself talking to a co-worker about instant transportation devices. (You remember, from Star Trek? "Beam me up, Scotty.") My colleague informed me that there was one, at a local laboratory. I assumed she meant that they were working on creating one. But no, according to her, they are merely in possession of one. One that was invented almost forty years ago. How did she know about this? From a series of videos she watched on YouTube, interviewing a man who has used the device to go Mars. He's gone to Mars to visit the government run laboratories operating there. It's no big deal to travel to Mars, as there is a breathable atmosphere. Apparently the secret government has been altering every photo received from the Rovers we send to the red planet, to change the color of the sky, so that the rest of the world won't realize that humans could live on Mars with no difficulty.

I'm guessing these aren't the same people who think the moon landing was faked?

Visiting the bank

2009-09-09T14:40:00.000-07:00

This really happened to me. Kinda.

What you're missing, while playing WoW

2009-09-07T14:10:00.000-07:00

Conversations from my house, put in a cartoon!

Public Service Announcement

2009-09-06T09:53:00.000-07:00

Taken from the Suicidal Jane Best Of Archive:

Soylent Green, is people. It took some of us years to accept it. But can mankind ever accept the next layer of lies debunked?

If you can, here it is:

FLAVORED WATER IS JUST CLEAR JUICE!

It tastes like fruit. The most popular brands aren't even made from fruit, and have sugar, sucrose, or high fructose corn syrup added. Flavored water is healthier than soda. Because juice is healthier than soda!

Wake me up when September ends*

2009-09-01T14:02:00.000-07:00

Three years ago, I was in a relationship with a bad man. The relationship was what polite circles call "abusive," in more than just one way. This relationship (or as an overly hyper comedian would call it, "relationshit") ended when I packed up my things and left. We saw each other a few more times, to work out financial things, we had a lease on an apartment that was only in my name, I didn't want to break the contract and ruin my credit, we agreed that I would continue to pay half of the monthly rent, despite the fact that I wasn't living there, for the rest of the lease (3 months). Because he was, as I have already written a bad man, he paid none of the rent. Still in an effort to protect my credit score, I ended up paying the full amount. In later meetings (which involved a lot of yelling), he swore to me that he would pay me back. He promised that he would not only pay back the missed rent, but the other several thousand dollars he owed me from me paying other bills of his (car payments, insurance, food, etc...).

Back when we dating, I was in charge of the household's finances. We pooled our individual incomes together, and I paid both of our bills from that pool. Once I had paid his bills, I would tell him how much money we would have after I finished mine, he would then go out and spend all the remaining money plus a few hundred we didn't have on broken motorcycles he couldn't fix. All the money he spent, that we didn't have, had to be made by me working addition hours at my job. I would work six days a week, 12 hours or more a day, to make up the money he recklessly spent, in an effort to keep our heads above water and food on our table. The last few months that we were together, I cut him off financially. I told him how deep in debt he was making us, and that if he wanted me to pay his bills he was going to have to sign his paychecks directly to me, and not spend a single dime unless I was there to sign the credit card receipt. And it worked for a while, he didn't have an ATM card for my bank account, so he couldn't spend my money. But I still wasn't able to make ends meet. He wasn't signing his paycheck over to me. He was going to a bank, cashing his check, and paying me with whatever cash he had by the time he came home.

There are a lot of places to spend cash just on the drive home.

We came up with an idea, to help him with the temptations of spending. I would give him access to deposit his paychecks into my bank account.

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.

He never actually deposited any money. Even after we broke up, and he swore on his life that he would make deposits to slowly pay off all the money he owed me, I never saw a dime. Which was fine with me. I had long since come to terms with the fact that I would never see that money again. And he was out of my life, completely. Thank the gods.

August 31st, the same bad man, who beat me, who convinced me I was worthless, who tried to turn my kitchen into a mescaline lab, who is responsible for the worst years of my life, cleared out my bank account. Every penny, my entire life savings.

The bank manager I spoke to said there's nothing they can do, if he had access to deposit checks, he could withdraw money too. (Not what I was told when I gave him the security, otherwise I wouldn't have given him that access. I may be stupid, but I wasn't that stupid.) I've spoken to the police, but because he had signature rights to my account, nothing he did was illegal. I can only press civil charges. I plan to, but I've been told by a county court clerk, even if I win, there's no guarantee that I'll ever get any of that money back. Every scrap that I've been able to save up, gone, probably forever.

Don't ever fall in love with a bad man.

*If that didn't suck enough, yesterday was the anniversary of the day my Uncle commited suicide by shooting himself in the head.

A rant heard around my house, frequently.

2009-08-20T17:40:00.001-07:00

I am about to write about something that could possibly lose the few readers I have.

I prefer the remake of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory over the original Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

This isn't to say that I dislike the original. I think it's good watching. Gene Wilder's Willy Wonka is legendary. (Johnny Depp was fantastic too! Even Gene Wilder says so.) But the movie takes forever to get going.

This song, "Cheer Up Charlie", belongs on the cutting room floor. Tim Burton's remake, gets to the fun parts (the factory) much quicker.

I have no issues with the newer portrayal of Charlie Bucket. But, something about the boy who played Charlie Bucket, originally, pisses me off. Even as a small child, watching the movie with my parents, I didn't like him. Was it his too blonde hair? His teeth? Or was it the fact that in the original movie Charlie Bucket broke the rules. Charlie and his grandfather, Joe, drank the fizzy lifting drink, floated around room, were nearly killed by a completely pointless ceiling fan, and had to burp to save their lives. IMDB.com wants me to believe that Charlie shows humility and grace at the end of the movie, redeeming qualities that prove him worthy of Willy Wonka's inheritance. But I am not buying it.

You reading this, may think that I have no taste, and I'm shitting all over your favorite childhood movie. You are entitled to your opinion, and me to mine.

So true

2009-08-16T12:04:00.000-07:00

Quote of my week:

"It's hard to snort cocaine through a nickel."

Super Strength is Over-rated

2009-08-13T16:23:00.000-07:00

Last night Mr J and I were discussing super human powers, and how over-rated super strength is. Because really, if that's your only power, and all your super hero friends had cool powers like flight, telekinesis, or time travel, you'd be pretty jealous. Mr J announced that if he could have any super hero power, he'd like the ability to make any one's asshole bleed instantly. His super hero name would be the Red Anus.

Sounds more like a super villain to me.

Disclaimer

2009-08-09T16:26:00.001-07:00

I have never considered my blog appropriate for all ages. I have posted pictures of Barbie porn, dildos with faces and cunnilingus being performed on care bears. But I am not the one to judge if you are old enough, mature enough, or hell, immature enough to read my blog. I won't ever block this blog from people that are under the age of 18 (I censor everything that would force me to) because I trust you.

That being said, I think I should write a disclaimer.

*** This blog is meant for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is probably on purpose, however in a court of law will be denied. Some assembly required. One size fits all. Apply only to affected area. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. May be too intense for some viewers, especially your 15 year old niece. Never mind, she's already scarred for life, huh? Batteries not included. Be kind, rewind. Do not write below this line.

My city is better than yours.

2009-08-07T20:31:00.000-07:00

Tonight, on my way home from a friend's party, I saw this driving down the street. And I nearly crashed my car into a light pole.

Picture courtesy of Dukecitybmx.com

Once I got home, I immediately googled "Bat mobile in Albuquerque". It does in fact belong to an Albuquerque resident. I LOVE THIS TOWN!

My weekend

2009-08-03T15:47:00.000-07:00

This weekend I fixed my wireless router, Pagan Lizard's cell phone network and I tried to solve world hunger. But when I was at the drive thru at Whataburger, some asshole pumped up on steroids thought it would be cool to BLARE HIS MUSIC AND START SCREAMING AT ME, that I decided to just drive away.

I'd already paid, so couldn't afford to buy the world food again. Sorry world, you'll just have to stay hungry.

Am I going to hell?

2009-07-25T19:46:00.000-07:00

I am a thief! Well...

I am an accomplice!

Mr J stole a glass from Red Robin in my purse. So tell me, is it cool enough to risk hard time?

Update 7/26/2009: Mr J is now FREAKING OUT that he paid for our meal with his credit card, and that they might charge the cost of the glass to it. (I have estimated the cost to be $50.) Silly man, you always pay cash if you don't want something to be traceable.

Warning - Spoilers

2009-07-16T15:37:00.001-07:00

Harry Potter! Why is everyone talking about Harry Potter??! I work around many people, who are threatening death to anyone who "spoils" the end of the movie. Anyone who was actually interested in the storyline has already read the books. Everyone who read the book, knows how this book ends. Everyone realizes that they're really ghosts, Hermione is really a man, Darth Vader is Harry's father, and SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE!

Less pollution?

2009-07-13T18:34:00.000-07:00

Car update:

I am never getting my car back. The technicians at Carmax are using my car to smuggle illegal Mexican gummy bears into the country.

Whatever, it's cool. I can walk everywhere, right?

Summer niiiiiiiiights.

2009-07-05T09:41:00.000-07:00

Something about summer queues all the family television channels into playing the movie Grease ad nauseam. Like many people in the country, I will stop whatever I am doing to watch this movie when I see that it's being played. The movie has some sort of hypnotic power, that if it wasn't for the commercial breaks, I would starve to death on the weeks that it's played 24/7.

But it got me thinking about a post I wrote in April of 2008:

Sandy and Danny, two teens crazy in love. Unafraid of what the rest of the world will say, a preppy girl dating a bad boy. But to those of you scoffing at them, thinking Sandy's throwing her life away being with Danny, remember: Danny and his friends invented the flying car!

Go Greased Lightning!

Don't believe that it flies? Watch this video. (The car shows up about 2:30 in)

Our founding fathers weren't as cute as David Cassidy

2009-07-04T09:05:00.000-07:00

July 4th, the United States of America's Independence day. Back when I lived in Germany, with my Air Force family (and we only had one American TV channel to watch) my mother and I would watch "1776" on this day, every year. While I fondly remember it, any conversation about that movie with Opera Mom always ends up turning towards the movie "The Spirit of '76", a movie I'm sure David Cassidy wishes we would forget.

And thanks to the joys of YouTube, you can join me in spending the holiday thinking about stupid movies and their trailers. (Instead of blowing your arms off while trying to set off illegal fireworks.)

A synopsis of the movie provided by imdb.com, "Future Americans decide to time travel to 1776 to ask the founding fathers for the solutions to their problems. A glitch in the time machine changes their destination to 1976. Still believing themselves to be in 1776, the time travellers attempt to study this "ideal" civilization. 70's jokes, props and stars abound."

I miss my car.

2009-06-30T15:27:00.000-07:00

June 17th, my car stopped working. The car I bought only 18 months ago, stopped working. Freaking out, Mr J and I rushed it over to the dealership, to find out if it was still under warranty. If it wasn't, I was screwed. I'd have to rob a bank to cover the costs of fixing it; and if the cop dramas on TV have taught me anything, I would get caught. I'd spend several years in jail until I was released. At that time my credit would be shot, I would never be able to find a decent employer willing to hire a felon. I'd be stuck living in a ratty old trailer with a butch, German, chain smoking lesbian who likes to put her cigarettes out on my forehead.

It was under warranty.

The dealership's repair techs looked over my car and couldn't find the problem without taking it apart. However my warranty doesn't cover taking my car apart just to investigate a problem. We were assured that just taking it apart to look for the issue would only cost $60, and it was incredibly likely that whatever problem they couldn't find would be under the warranty. Mr J and I talked, and decided to let them go for it. After all, the car wasn't running, taking it apart wasn't going to make it run any worse.

In my car they found rat nests. Rat nest-s.

Rats had chewed through wires. Wires that were connected to the dashboard sensors. The sensors that make the lights go on on to let you know "Hey, your oil is low!" Or, "I could sure go for some transmission fluid." Or, "Were you aware that your airbag isn't working?" Rats are not covered in my warranty.

As horrible as all that was, that wasn't reason enough for my car to stop running. They finally found the problem on Thursday, the 19th. Last time I got my oil changed, I went to a chain that specializes in doing all the work in a jiffy. (Now I'm not saying that it was Jiffy Lube.) When they changed my oil, they changed my air filter, like they should. However, when they replaced the cover for my air filter, they pinched a wire. This wire was pinched under the cover where it rubbed and wore down the insulation around the wire. Suddenly there is a naked wire in my engine. And my modest car just can't handle that. Not Jiffy Lube's inadequacy's aren't covered in my warranty either.

It's been 14 days since my car had it's nervous breakdown. And the car shop has ordered the wrong part twice and the only tech who can work on my car has called in sick several times.

Luckily ridiculously long periods of waiting is covered by my warranty.

Share the computer dude!

2009-06-28T09:31:00.000-07:00

I have been trying to write yesterday's post for over a week! Please blame my lack of posting on Mr. J's increasing addiction to World of Warcraft.

Bruce

2009-06-27T08:54:00.000-07:00

I have a tattoo.

No, not that kind. It's a tattoo of Bruce Campbell's signature. A few years ago when I met him at a book signing he signed my chest and I got it tattooed. I love it, because it helps me figure out what type of movie watcher a person is.

"What's your tattoo of?"

"It's Bruce Campbell's signature."

"Who's that?"

Sigh, "Have you ever seen the Evil Dead movies?"

"Huh?"

"Brisco County Jr?"

"No."

"Xena? Hercules? Jack of All Trades? Burn Notice?"

"Nope."

Crap... I did not want to have to pull this "The Spider-Man movies?"

"Oh yeah! Who was he in that?"

Sigh, "In the first one, he was the wrestling ring announcer who gave Spider-Man his name. In the second one, he was he theater usher who wouldn't let Peter into the theater to see Mary Jane's play. And in the third one, he was the maitre d in the restaurant where Peter proposes to Mary Jane."

This is where the true test is. If the person in question nods, and shuts up, realizing that they just don't understand the ways of Bruce yet, we can still be friends. But if the person then says, "Why would you get an extra's signature tattooed?" It's over.

Bruce Campbell may never be a mainstream celebrity. But he's never given up on being an actor. He's made some great movies, and he's made some horrible (really horrible) movies, but he's always working. He's never given up, and that's why I have his signature permanently on my chest.

Don't call me!

2009-06-16T17:49:00.000-07:00

Some of my distant family members have come to visit my immediate family members this week.....

Which means I suddenly have to leave town on a business trip.

No, really, don't call my office, I won't be there.

And the girl who's taking all my calls thinks it's funny to answer the phone with my name. But it's not me.

I'm out of town. Out of state. In fact, I'm in a business meeting with Martians. I could be gone a while.

Happy Birthday Tetris!

2009-06-06T09:51:00.000-07:00

Tetris is celebrating 25 years of Awesomeness!

So I give you my tribute to Tetris.

Why I hate ducks.

2009-06-02T15:22:00.000-07:00

Just moments ago, I schedule myself for a pap smear.

I will now wait while all the men reading this scream "EWWWW" and navigate away from my blog forever. I'll miss you. (But I'll try to not write about such grossness again for a while.)

The thing I absolutely hate about these appointments, is that I am paying someone to stick things in me that I don't want stuck up inside me. It's NOT CONSENSUAL. I'm paying for violation. The perky woman at the appointment desk may as well ask, "Would you like to raped in the morning, or the afternoon?"

But it's better than cancer, so ladies, schedule your yearly check up!

Let's make a baby!!!

2009-06-01T15:45:00.000-07:00

Just an hour ago, I told Mr J that I want to have a baby. This is something we've talked about before. I think every couple has had the "Should we have kids someday?" conversation. Every other time we've talked about it, I've said "No way." And he's said, "Just think about it, okay?"

Not this time. This time I said, "Let's have a baby!"

He said, "Huh? What started this line of thought?"

I said, "Because I'm sick of going to work, I want to be a stay-at-home mom!"

He said, "........ uh....."

I said, "Plus, I hate these monthly cramps. I can't wait for the 9 month relief."

He said, "No way. You're just delusional from all the Midol you've been taking."

Yes, yes I am delusional. More chocolate please!

I'm sending Bruce Willis a helmet.

2009-05-23T10:10:00.000-07:00

I am completely insane when it comes to car safety. My screen name may state that I'm suicidal, but I have no desire to die in a car accident. I don't speed, I always use my turn signal, and I drive as if every car around me is trying to hit me. On my drive to work, I often find myself wondering if I should buy a helmet, just in case.

Imagine my horror, when I was watching an episode of Moonlighting, one of my favorite shows of the 80's, and noticed that the two main characters never wear their seat belts.

Cybill Shepherd is crying over her foolishness.

I <3 nerds who do it old school

2009-05-20T17:00:00.000-07:00

Steve Wiebe is going to attempt to break the high score world record in Donkey Kong, at E3 this year.

I would like to know if Steve Wiebe has ever gotten laid.

Is he hoping that the highest score in Donkey Kong will help him score with the ladies?

.....

If he beats it, I'd totally do him.

Don't judge me.

Winsor Pil-kitties

2009-05-19T16:41:00.000-07:00

I try to work out everyday. I try to work out everyday. My current record is nine days in a row.

That's not the funny part, please stop laughing.

Yesterday, one of the cats, Eve, decided to work out with me. Which would be cute, if it weren't for the fact that she's the skinny cat. The cat that can eat whatever she wants and not gain any weight. She is not my cat. She is Mr. J's cat. But she stretched and curled on the living room floor along with me.

Today, not to be outdone, the other cat worked out with me. Vixen, the sweet cat. The cat with an eating disorder. The cat that eats her feelings. My cat.

I think it really worked for her too. See the after and the before picture!

After

Before

Serious results!

How to make your own Yoda ears!

2009-05-12T17:19:00.000-07:00

May 21^st is Talk Like Yoda Day! And what better way to celebrate than by your wearing your very own Yoda ears!

You will need :

8" x 11" piece of green felt
8" x 11" piece of paper
Scissors
2 green pipe cleaners
Fabric glue
Stapler
Staples
1 writing utensil

Take your piece of paper.

Fold it in half.

Draw the shape below, and cut it out.

Take the cut out, which looks like an over sized sperm and put it aside.

Take your piece of green felt.

Fold it in half.

Take your cut out, place it on top the folded piece of felt, and cut out the shape of the sperm from your felt.

Now you have two green sperm!

Cut an “x” out of the middle.

Just big enough to fit your ear through.

Notice how the ears just hang limp?

That’s what the pipe cleaners are for!

Curl the pipe cleaners around the ear holes, with the excess pipe cleaner running along the middle of the “sperm’s tail”. One cleaner per sperm.

Use the fabric glue to stick the shaped pipe cleaner to the green felt.

Let it dry.

When that doesn’t work, or you get tired of waiting, use your stapler and staples to staple the pipe cleaner to the green felt.

Now your ears will stay up!

And you can bend and shape them however you want.

Now I have 52 more pairs to make. Anyone willing to help?

Feel free to steal these steps I have written and photographed for you all. Just please give me credit and link back to me.

Mother to da' hood.

2009-05-10T09:46:00.000-07:00

I've posted this before. But I couldn't think of a better story to describe how frickin' cool my mom, Opera Mom, really is.

When I was a little kid, Radio Active Slog (my twin brother) and I once had a hugeargument about cookies. They were chocolate chip, we had a huge plate of them andwe were sharing them. Oh, and they were imaginary.

We got into a fight about the imaginary chocolate chip cookies, because it took me three bites to eat each cookie, while it only took him one. I don't remember who started the fight, and why. Was it that my cookies were bigger? Was it that Radio Active Slog was eating more cookies? I may never know. But the way the story goes is that after hearing my brother and I fighting Opera Mom, our mother, took away the imaginary cookies, and the imaginary plate they were on, threw the imaginary cookies in the trash and put the imaginary plate in the sink to be washed later.

Thanks for not aborting me when you had the chance, Opera Mom, I love you!

Where does he find these people?

2009-05-09T09:13:00.001-07:00

Mother's Day is tomorrow. But screw that, I'm going to post about my father.

Nameless Dad has an ongoing series on his blog, of him arguing about politics, religion, ancient languages, etc, with people who have the debating skills of an eight year old. (I'm not putting them down, as mine aren't much more mature... Nameless Dad just has years and years of experience arguing. He has two sisters, I guess it's just nature.) If you read some of these entries, and I suggest you read some of them, you will see that he has limitless patience with them. He will endlessly explain his point of view over and over again, in new angles, with new evidence, and smaller words. He'll do this until his IP address is banned from their website forever.

I completely agree with what he's saying, and I'm glad he's finding his own way to fight for gay rights, but these online battles make me think. Where was this man when I was eight and trying to extend my bedtime? I don't recall him trying to make me understand why it was so important that I was in bed at 8:00. Were there any well thought out rebuttals to my claims? Nope, all I was told was "You'll go to bed at 8:00 because I said so."

Lesson for today: Life's not fair.

Is anyone else sick of Don Tolman yet?

2009-04-29T19:48:00.000-07:00

I don't think my one-sided battle with Don Tolman* is the most controversial thing I've ever written about. It is however, the one topic that I've gotten the most attention from. Those posts are the most clicked upon, and have gotten the most feedback. I get a lot of nasty e-mails, and a few polite ones, telling me where to shove my opinions. Today, I got a very polite comment on this post. I'll post it here as well (See what happens when you're nice to me? I publish you twice!):

There are many others who speak of Apricot Seeds as a cure for cancer.

G.Edward Griffin for one. Check out this short film- quite interesting to say the least.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=4312930190281243507

My Girlfriend's mother was diagnosed with breast cancer last year. She was incredibly willing to try the apricot seeds and after only two weeks of taking them the cancer before had decresed by almost half it's originally diagnosed size.

After the surgery to remove what was left the doctors told her that they were suprised to see that it had shrunk so dramatically in such a short time. She didn't however mention anything to the Doctor or her GP about the seeds because of the controversy over vitiman B17/leatrile/amagdalyn as the active chemical compound in apricot seeds is known as.

I highly recommend them even if you don't have cancer. about five a day is sufficient for prevention.

Here's to a world without Cancer!

J.

Here is my response:

J,

I'm glad your girlfriend's mother's cancer shrank, and I hope she is recovering well. I do hope she does decide to discuss any homeopathic treatments with her doctors. Whether they agree with her decision, I believe it's very important that her doctors know so that they don't prescribe anything that might counteract with such methods. Since, we're giving each other links to follow. Please feel free to follow this path:

http://www.cancerhelp.org.uk/help/default.asp?page=21859

I would like to paraphrase the part that reads "The active cancer killing ingredient in laetrile is cyanide. Cyanide, as you probably know, is highly poisonous." The page does go farther to explain why laetrile has been used as an alternative cancer treatment, and the several decades of research (in Russia, USA - National Cancer Institute) that have been put into this possible cure. And as of 2006, this treatment has been found to be inconsistent. "The second study looked at whether laetrile had any effect on shrinking cancer tumors in 175 patients. Of these patients, only one person had any apparent response to laetrile and this only lasted for 10 weeks. Seven months after the study, all the patients’ cancers had continued to grow." I sincerely hope that your girlfriend's mother is a great exception. I also support more cancer research into this. However, I hope that anyone considering trying this method understands the risks. If you're not careful, you can die from cyanide poisoning. And you thought cancer was your biggest worry!

Bless,
Jane

A few more notes I feel important to mention.

"Side effects of laetrile

Laetrile contains cyanide, which is a type of poison. So the side effects of laetrile are the same as those of cyanide.

These include

Sickness

Headache

Dizziness

Liver damage

A lack of oxygen to the body tissues

A drop in blood pressure

Drooping eyelids

Fever

Nerve damage, causing loss of balance and difficulty walking

Confusion, coma and eventually death

If you do take laetrile as tablets, it is very important that you avoid eating

Raw almonds

Crushed fruit stones or pips

Celery

Apricots

Peaches

Beansprouts

Carrots

High doses of vitamin C

Beans - mung, lima, butter and other pulses

Flax seed

Nuts

All these can increase the risk of cyanide poisoning if you take them with laetrile because they contain low levels of amygdalin. (These foods are safe when you eat them without laetrile because the levels of amygdalin in them are low.)" All of that was taken directly from (without permission, because I am a naughty girl): http://www.cancerhelp.org.uk/help/default.asp?page=21859#sfx

*This all started here. With a stupid forward I got sent at work.

Still sick

2009-04-28T09:45:00.000-07:00

Mr. J brought this home from work yesterday. Awesome!