Names considered for a Match.com profile by Meg and Jess

EZHornee69
Lvz2GiveHed
DblVGina
buttsexlvr
ShgrMamaLixALot
FuckMiNMyFace
2Holes4U
LetMiPlugUGud
RetrdedNymfo
BlindButHORNee
cumlckngquadplegic
DoMiButtHrd
SxyPsoriasis
RngWrmyNRdy4U
FckMiGoiter
grannylvscock
HalitosisKleptoQT
LuvsDickNHotDogz
Luvmewrtsnall
Boyngrl24u

Because I Would Have Posted it if She Didn't

Curly and I tackle the very important topic of dance as it pertains to religion. My title wouldn't have been as good, I'm guessing.

Jess, Meet Your New Stepmom

Meet Dilana:



She's one of the contestants on Rock Star: Supernova, a show Mama Cavefish is completely obsessed with. Seriously, she got all the girls at work to start watching it so she'd have people to discuss it with incessantly. She discusses it with me incessantly, despite the fact that it conflicts with So You Think You Can Dance and therefore, I will not be watching it.

Anyway, I have been subjected to weekly updates on what song Dilana performed, what Tommy Lee thought of it, how nervous Mom was when she learned what song it would be and how awesome it ended up being. She's been taping Dilana's performances, and will be forcing me and Curly to watch them next weekend when we're up in Schenectady. She also said that the show was really bringing her "back to rock 'n' roll," and that if Dilana wins the show, she'll be seeing the band when they go on tour. She also said, "Man, if I was gay, I'd be all over that."

I haven't seen Mom gush over a celebrity like this since Lee Horsley.

An Open Letter to Tylenol PM

Dear Tylenol PM:

I've given it a lot of thought, and I've come to a difficult conclusion. We need to break up.

When we met, Tylenol PM, I thought you were everything I'd ever wanted. You tasted like vanilla, you helped me sleep soundly, and that dream where I was a lusty wench and Johnny Depp was Captain Jack Sparrow? Hot, Tylenol PM. H-O-T. After years of insomnia, nightmares and the occasional sleepwalking stroll, I thought I'd finally found my non-addictive answer.

After one month, two weeks and three blissful days in your more-nights-than-not company, however, we seem to have a problem. Where before I had trouble sleeping without you, now I am completely unable to do so. And when I wake up, I never really wake up -- I just kind of glide through my days with a cloudy focus and a dull headache. I'm not tired, exactly. I just feel like a walking ghost, despite the fact that I drooled all over myself for approximately nine and a half hours last night.

Please don't take this personally, Tylenol PM. I think you're just swell, but I have to stop depending on you. It's not you, it's me. My life before you wasn't a great life. It was a life where I slept about five hours on weeknights and then crashed for twelve hours each weekend night, traumatized by nightmares and occasionally taking off all my clothes while I slept and trying to climb on things, but it was mine. I hope you understand.

Love,
Jess

P.S. You didn't like, ruin my liver, did you?

Hooker in the Pool

I just got back from seeing Lady in the Water, or as The Roommate calls it, Hooker in the Pool. Linus, The Roommate, The Boyfriend of the Roommate and myself were all profoundly disappointed by it. Why, you ask? Because it is not, in fact, a horror movie. It is not, in fact, even the slightest bit scary. Nor does it try to be. I haven't felt this betrayed since I saw Dude, Where's My Car? and realized it was about fucking aliens.

Oh, and M. Night Shyamalan cast himself as a writer who is going to change the world. Methinks what with the writing, directing, producing and giving himself bigger and bigger parts in each film, Shyamalamadingdong is *this close* to becoming Vincent Gallo.

Regarding Boobs

Him: I can't wait to see your boobs.

Me: What makes you think you're going to see my boobs?

Him: Oh, I will.

Me: You're awfully sure of yourself.

Him: I guarantee I will see your boobs by … August 15th.

Me: You really think so, huh?

Him: Yes.

Clearly, I'll be keeping the girls under wraps until at least August 16th.

Bad poetry I wrote as a teenager, Volume XXXIII

Awhile back, I was chatting with First Love and the subject of my bad poetry came up. I mentioned that despite the volumes upon volumes of bad poetry I wrote about him from 8th grade to 11th grade, I've never posted it. Partly because he reads the blog, which is a double dose of embarrassment because I barely showed him any of it at the time. Also, even though he's just a character in a blog with a nickname, I didn't want to make him uncomfortable. He said, "Oh, please. I don't care. Just don't post any of my old love letters."

Now, people. I've reached something of a crossroads with the bad poetry. Everything left after this poem is so embarrassing I seriously don't know if I can go there. That's right, this is the least embarrassing of the poetry. So I either have to get over it, or start posting "Bad poetry I wrote in college," which was mostly written under the influence of marijuana and was in some cases very very very feminist. Might be amusing. I'll decide next Friday.

Anyway, without further ado, I present a First Love break-up poem, written after our first break-up in 8th grade:

All Because of Love

Yesterday
A time when I could laugh and smile
And feel the joy of a child *
All because of love

Yesterday
A time when you were there for me
And I had no insecurity
All because of love

Yesterday
A time when all my dreams came true
And I owed it all to you
All because of love

Now
That happiness has disappeared
My smiles have turned to tears
And my dreams have given way to childish fears

... All because of love **

* I WAS 13
** Never underestimate the power of a dramatic pause

Hungry for more of my bad poetry? Gobble up Volume XXXII. I accept no responsibility for food poisoning.

Mercury Retrograde, Explained

The Roommate: Is Mercury still retrograde?

Me : Yes. Until the 28th.

The Roommate: Okay, that's why people are being freakazoids. Man, that's a long-ass retrograde. I think scientists have been known to say that.

Me: Ha!

The Roommate: Hasn't it been in retrograde for like weeks?

Me: It's usually three weeks or so. Three times a year.

The Roommate: Space periods.

Me: Totally. Space is on Seasonale.

The Roommate: Yup, and it's making her CRAZY.

The Roommate: Dear Space: Stop acting like a crazy bitch.

A Warm Welcome to the Department of Defense

Like most bloggers, I have a statcounter on my site. Today, I noticed I was getting an alarming number of hits from the "Dod Network Information Center." I noticed the .mil in the IP address. A quick Google search confirmed that someone from the Department of Defense was, in fact, reading my blog.

A couple more minutes on Google turned up some posts on blogs claiming that the Department of Defense is, in fact, monitoring blogs. I'm not surprised by that fact, what I am surprised by is the fact that my blog is currently being scrutinized. Hi Department of Defense! *Waves*

To save you the trouble of going through all my archives, Department of Defense, I decided to present you with a list of the most incriminating or politically-charged posts I have. You must be terribly busy, after all. In no particular order:

Accessory to Murder

I'm a BBC American

I'm Going to Hell

Nothing That Vibrates in Texas, Y'all

Free Martha

Stalking Ex-Boyfriends

My Bush is Going to be Alissa's Running Mate

On Activism

Hangovers and Young Republicans

Bill O'Reilly, Why Won't You Love Me?

My Sexual Education

That should be enough to get you started. I'll be sure and pull together some more next time you stop by. Thanks for reading!

Amen, Sister

From Overheard in New York:

Woman: The problem is that men are paradoxically both a reason to be celibate and to have large amounts of sex.

--140th & Broadway

This just in… everyone wants to have sex with Angelina Jolie

Not only do The Roommate and I watch a lot of Lifetime movies, but during the commercials of said movies, we usually go through all movies for the upcoming week, on both channels, and DVR ones that involve stalking or eating disorders or unruly teenagers, to save for those weekends where they have a theme that's more heartwarming and less murdery. Last weekend, we taped Foxfire, not a Lifetime Original Movie, per se, but one we'd both always wanted to see, having both read and enjoyed the book many years ago.

The movie was actually terrible enough to be a Lifetime Original Movie. The plot was thin, the progression of characters and relationships was off, and it bore little to no resemblance to the novel of the same name. But then again, Angelina Jolie. Since the film wasn't enthralling enough as is, we had a great deal of fun making jokes at the expense of Angie's sex appeal. Par example:

- Angelina, or "Legs" as she was known in the film, makes her grand entrance, while the high school class she crashed was dissecting frogs.

The Roommate: Angelina enters. The entire class immediately takes off their pants.

- Angelina is placed in a juvenile detention center, where she appears to be the only resident.

The Roommate: She really has the run of the place, huh?

Me: They had to isolate her. Everytime she walked into a room, everyone would start openly masturbating and it was mayhem.

The Roommate: You'd think she could harness that sexual energy and break out of there.

Me: Like, blow up the whole building with it.

The Roommate: Yeah. The building would see her and start masturbating and then it would just blow up.

- Angelina and crew are involved in a high-speed chase with the local P.D. They drive over an embankment and the car rolls over no less than five times. In the next scene, the girls are all in court, nary a scratch on any of them.

Me: How do none of those girls have any scratches on them?

The Roommate: They were saved by Angelina's sexual power.

Me: Like airbags, only with sex.

Later:

Me: How did I ever watch Lifetime without you?

For the record, I think the new Angelina "I want to save the world and adopt ten thousand third-world babies" Jolie is not nearly as hot as the old Angelina "I might have a psychotic break and get stabby in my sleep" Jolie.

Reunited and it feels so good

I believe it was my good friend Petey who once crowned me "The Queen of Regression." It's because I have, on occasion, been known to sleep with exes I'm still fond of when it's convenient and sometimes, when I get really fed up with dating, which is roughly every three seconds, I take inventory of all the available guys I know and try to figure out if I could date any of them, or at the very least, have an unhealthy crush on one of them. It's easier. It's a good distraction. It's why I've been single for three years.

Say what you will about me, but I'm no Pam Anderson (Whose astrological profile I edited today and, if you were wondering, she's a Cancer). First of all, I'm an Aries. Second of all, I'm a natural blond and third of all, the rack. She recycles guys like nobody's business. From TMZ:

Pamela Anderson officially announced today she will marry ex-fiancé now financé again Kid Rock.

You can read the rest here. Despite our differences, Pammy and I do some things in common, though. Those being completely disgusting and shameful crushes on Kid Rock and Tommy Lee. She's the one who actually has to touch them, though. I'm not sure if I'm grateful for or jealous of that.

Chris Daughtry has also rocked them all

I'm not just lazy, I'm busy. I was home sick from work Friday and I'm trying to play catch up at work and I have SO MUCH I need to say about the "Idols Live Tour" that Mejack, Curly and I attended yesterday at Nassau Coliseum that I'm just going to have to neglect y'all a little bit. All I'll say about it here is that 1) Middle-aged moms are so hot for Chris Daughtry it's not even funny 2) Not only were we the only childless 30-somethings at the show, we were also the only people of any age group to drink in the parking lot beforehand and 3) If you are about to make fun of me in my comments for going to the "Idols Live Tour," then you can meet me out on the hill after class where I will so be kicking your ass while everyone watches. We'll be writing about it much more than necessary where we normally do that sort of thing.

Anyway, because I'm sworn to entertain you, I present to you one of John Moe's Pop Song correspondences on McSweeney's. They're all funny, but this one is my favorite, "Concerning Jon Bon Jovi, Wanted Dead Or Alive." Here's an excerpt:

So why are we looking for Bon Jovi? Why is he wanted, wanted dead or alive? A spree of face rocking. Estimates vary as to how many faces have been targeted—some say 800,000, some say 1.2 million—but it is accepted as a fact that he has rocked every single face he has seen. Every one of them. We're not even clear on a motive for this mass face rocking, although there are reports of Bon Jovi complaining of faces that "are so cold."

Take your muffins and go, Rachael Ray

I just got done watching an episode of 30-Minute Meals. I don't watch this show despite the fact that I hate Rachael Ray with the fire of 1,000 suns. I watch it precisely for that reason. I can honestly say that I have never been as offended by a meal as I am right now.

On the menu: Spanish Pork Chops with Linguica Corn Stuffing and Cherry-Rioja Gravy and Green Beans with Olives, Raisins and Almonds.

First, let's discuss the ingredients. For the gravy: red wine, butter, flour, cherry preserves, salt, pepper and beef stock. Totally disgusting right? Beef stock and cherry jam?

For the green beans: pimento-stuffed olives, golden raisins and smoked almonds. I bet that tastes like my vomit.

Before she got to work on the stuffing, I was thinking, "Wow, gross meal." Nothing could have prepared me for what was about to happen, though. She started the stuffing in the pan. Linguica (a type of sausage), celery, onions, peppers and garlic cooked up in some EV-Fucking-OO. Then, she got the muffins. MUFFINS! She crumbled them up into the pan, and then drenched them in the rest of the beef stock. She also said some things I found horrifying:

"You can use any kind of stock in the stuffing, chicken, vegetable… you know, if you want to make it healthful." [MUFFINS!]

"I like to make a celery and leek stuffing with lemon poppy muffins." [MUFFINS!]

"I always use muffins when I make pan stuffing." [MUFFINS!]

I couldn't finish eating my dinner. Okay, to tell you the truth it was a big fucking sandwich and I was full, but I probably would have made the effort to finish it if Rachael Ray hadn't assaulted me with her muffins. MUFFINS!

Everything's Melting

Because when you're home from work with a migraine, the absolute smartest thing you can do is watch something that will make you dizzy, nauseous and hallucination-prone. Twice. Awesome. It's like that time I dropped too much acid back in the 60s and thought I was a two-headed inch worm.


As seen on Break.com

A friend in Jesus

I was reminded of the ex today, who has been an ex for long enough that he needs an actual nickname, and that nickname shall be Red Sox, because he very nearly ruined baseball for me while we were together.

Red Sox was a sentimental guy. For our first Christmas, I bought him a sleep-over-at-Jess's stocking, complete with boxers, a toothbrush and a razor. He thought it was sweet, but it was nothing compared to his reaction when he opened his other present, this:



He stared at it quietly for a minute. Then his eyes started to well up.

"You really get me," he said, his voice shaky. "No one's ever gotten me the way you do."

There's a first. A nice post about the ex, I mean Red Sox.

Who are you, and what have you done with Jess?

For someone pierced and tattoed, who usually sounds like a very profane teenager, and who just spent the day listening to Brazilian speed metal in a wife-beater, I'm not sure where I just pulled this work-related email to my boss out of:

I'm thinking that maybe after our Monday and Wednesday calls, someone should compile a summary of all of the action items and email them around so we're all on the same page and have something to refer back to next time we meet. Do you think this is a good idea? If so, I'm happy to do it, unless you think it should fall onto someone else's plate. Please let me know.

To review:

• Action items


• On the same page


• Someone else's plate

It's a good thing I actually love my job, or I might have to quit and deprogram myself.

Meet my new friend

It's a very exciting day over here. Why, you ask? Because Tommy Kelley is now officially my friend on MySpace.

Tommy Kelley is the host of "Love Around the World," an "international dating and culture show" that airs on Manhattan public access at 9:30PM on Wednesday nights. The show matches up people who live here but are from elsewhere (very loosely stretching the definition of "elsewhere" is some cases). Contestant ask each other questions "Dating Game"-style, and then there's a show-and-tell, talent portion and my favorite, the Group Dance, which may be the best three minutes on television each and every single week.

So naturally, I was beside myself when I found Tommy Kelley on MySpace. I sent him an invitation to be my friend, and then I waited. And waited. And when I'd nearly given up, he finally accepted my request. I cannot possibly convey to you the glee I am feeling right now. And now, Alyssa and I will apply to be contestants on the show, using our Polish and Russian accents, respectively. Look for me on MNN. I'll be "Natasha." And now, behold the awesomeness that is "Love Around the World."

Two conversations

First, with Curly, regarding the saw-wielding subway attacker:

Me: [makes joke]

Curly: [makes joke]

Me: Are we heartless?

Curly: No. Being heartless would be seeing it go down and not doing anything. Making fun of it after the fact just makes us bitches.

Me: Thank god.

Second, with my new gynecologist, who is completely awesome:

Her: So what are you doing for birth control?

Me: Uh, abstinence?

Her: For how long?

Me: [tells her]

Her: What? Why?

Me: [shrugs]

Her: Stop it! Get out there and have some sex!

I could be wrong, but I think that when even your gynecologist is telling you that you need to get laid, the situation is pretty dire.

One of Life's Great Mysteries

There wasn't much to like about my last job. The boss types were evil, the job was tedious and boring, we ate low-carb cake and fucking fruit plates at birthday parties, and the cute, straight boys were few and far between. The one thing that rocked, the only thing, really, was the people I met there. Like Curly, Sheila, Miss Tanya and The Cook, for starters. There's more, but give me a break, people. It's almost the end of the day here.

So my point, and I promise you there is one, is that on the days when I'd be sitting at my desk, tears streaming down my face, trying to figure out how long I could support myself if I just grabbed my bag and hightailed it out of there for good, of which there were many, I had some good, solid peeps to turn to. In the end, I made the evil boss types fire me with a big, fat severance package that I was able to live off of for an entire summer, so who won? Me.

Since I enjoy planning in a way that suggests I might have a bit of the OCD, I routinely made sure we'd have "Ladies Nights." The Cook was invited too, despite the fact that he was not, in fact, a lady. I did explain to him what spotting was one day, though, so he's part of the club. This tradition carried on once I was fired, and still carries on now that I'm gainfully employed at a place I actually like, and where I don't report to a crazy person. Today, I sent out a mass email inviting everyone to the next installment, and received this one in return:

I'M IN! Thank you so much for organizing, Jess! I can't wait to see you and WGC!

I scratched my head and eyed that last bit quizzically. WGC? I sent Curly an IM, asking if she knew what it meant. She did not, but she had some suggestions:

Women Gone Crazy
We Got Cheese
Wacko Girly Conference
Wily Guido Cooperative
Wheezy Gaelic Caucasian

All valid suggestions, but I didn't think any were right. So I asked Google. Here's what G-Love had to say:

World Golf Championship
Writers Guild of Canada
Willard Grant Conspiracy
Walnut Grove Chapel
World Gold Council
Windows Genuine Chat
World Gujarati Conference

I'm stumped. I could always email her and ask her, of course, but instead, I think I'm going to go with We Got Cheese, since we'll be chowing down on nachos and Frito Pie.

Why Jess and My Sharona Might be Single

My Sharona: I LOVE HIM. I want to have ten thousand of his babies.*

Me: Of course you do. He doesn't live here.

My Sharona: He's probably a dick.

Me: Or he could have an annoying laugh. Or a really high-pitched voice. Or scabies.

My Sharona: Or all three.

Me: And a wife.

My Sharona: And two kids.

Me: And two more from two different baby mommas. Crazy ones.

My Sharona: And he only joined the army to escape an armed robbery conviction.

Me: After he killed someone so he could assume his identity to get into the army.

My Sharona: Or maybe he's just writing to me from his mom's basement in Ohio.

Me: Word.

* Any mention of ten thousand babies in the most recent Cosmo Blog post is entirely coincidental.

Me, me, me. Oh, and Linus, too.

Linus is something of a brilliant photographer. He's been wanting to photograph me for quite some time (no, not that way) and I've always said no, because while I can certainly ham in up in front of a camera, I'm not so comfortable sitting still and being serious and shit.

Then I spent some time looking at his collection of portraits. And well, they're amazing. So I decided to go for it, and we spent an afternoon walking around Williamsburg shooting. It was a jolly good time. Well, it was also uncomfortable, but I like to make myself do things that are uncomfortable to me, like that one time where I … never mind. I was going somewhere very high school with that.

Anyway, here's one of me being goofy.

And here's one of me not being goofy. This may have been the period of the day during which I was pissed at him. I was right smack in the middle of an ill-advised crush, see, and he did not approve at all. He told me this in a rather blunt fashion, and then continued telling me until I wanted to beat him. There was much scowling into the camera. On the bright side, I've since realized that he's right and gotten over it. He's always right. I fucking hate that about him.