oy. had a 12 hour day yesterday and a 10 hour day today and i’m beat to hell. tomorrow night dad and i leave for good ol’ rocky top, rocky top tennessee. well, not actually rocky top. is there a Rocky Top? i thought they just meant like how TN has mountains? (and the Dumbest Sentence Ever award goes to…) anyway, we have to go up there for the weekend to paint li’l bro’s house. because apparently painting is hard and he and his lady friend can’t do it by themselves. his main excuse? “i don’t have a ladder.”
my response?
“go buy a goddamn ladder.”
i really don’t want to drive up there for the weekend AND WORK the whole time, but if you read the previous post well…i suppose since i can’t be generous with my money (money?) then i could be generous with my time and abilities.
shit. yes, Lord, i’m paying attention. i’m trying to be more “yay! i get to help my brother!” and less, “but it’s my weekend! and since i worked extra late yesterday and today i didn’t get to see jimmy…and now i won’t see him for 3 MORE days! NO! the last time i didn’t see him for 5 days was like 1995 or something. gah! monkey hate paint!”

and yes, i sound like a whiney whine-hole. but it really makes me mad that i won’t see him for so long. that’s the main reason why i’m hating having to go this weekend. it’s not the work, i don’t actually mind painting. painting won’t kill me. but 5 jimmyless days in a row?
i feel killed already.

what? i’m being melodramatic? me?
shaddup.

so probably no more posts until monday.

oh now who’s being melodramatic?

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Tags: leetle brahther, painting

May 31, 2005
i’m working in the Clubview area this week. Clubview is one of those Bermuda Triangles of Gadsden for me (like Whorton’s Bend, huh tami?), everytime i go there i get lost. it’s like i know where i should be, and i know what direction to take, hell, there’s a major highway right there, and i still get lost. i even roll down my window to try to hear the highway. not like it matters, i know that i need to go down to get to the highway. i’m all like, “arc II?! what the hell kind of street name is that?!” and everytime i pick a road that goes down it ends up curving back up. damn you, clubview! with your “alpine view”. please. alpine? you’re on a hill (at best), don’t “alpine” me.

so at lunch time i go pick up dad at the Holy House. he needs to run by the locksmith’s place before we eat lunch so we drive over to 3rd skreet. when we get there we’re the only one’s there, but when we left there were several people in line. anyway, we’re waiting on a lock to be changed, i guess one of the oldsters lost his mailbox key. so we’re waiting and this old lady walks in. i don’t know if it’s from working at the holy house or not, but dad and i both smiled and said hello to the old lady. it’s habit.

so she starts in telling us about she needs two keys made because when the man came out to her house he didn’t have the right cutting machine and he said that if she brought in these two blanks he’d make them for her for free. so if we could please make her those keys she’d be on her way.
“oh. uh.”
“we don’t work here, ma’am. you’ll have to talk to that fellow over there.”

so now there’s three of us waiting. and this place is filled with crap. crap is everywhere. papers, keys, safes, papers, signs, papers, folders, stuff, three opened Bibles, papers. so she sets her purse down and was all, “what what is this under my purse? oh! why, it’s someone’s Bible!”
dad says, “yeah, there’s one over here too.”
“well, it looks like…oh yes, they’re reading from corinthians!”
they? hmm? who is reading from corinthians? my spider-sense starts tingling.

so there’s this pause for a second and the air changes and i’m thinking, uh oh, God’s here.
i wonder what he’s doing at a locksmith?
and the lady says, “oh, it’s about whoever sows sparingly reaps sparingly. that’s true! they’re reading about “he who supplies seeds to the sower and bread for food will also supply and increase your store of seed…you will be made rich in every way so that you can be generous…” when we’re generous it’s like we are thanking and praising God. it goes on to say that… when other people see your generosity they will praise God.”

dad nods his head that way in which we nod our heads at the elderly and the very young.

“and then they’ll read, “And in their prayers for you their hearts will go out to you, because of the surpassing grace God has given you.””

dad nods some more. i’m about to pass out. but i’m also thanking God for taking time out to do…whatever this is…and also thanking him for FINALLY letting me have a witness to the CRAZY things that happen to me. but before i get too deep into thinking, “am i supposed to be more generous?” the telephone rings, and it’s for dad. I REPEAT. WE ARE AT THE LOCKSMITH’S. AND THE LOCKSMITH’S PHONE RINGS. AND IT’S. FOR. DAD.
WHAT THE?!
he goes to the office.

she turns to me and says, “someone will read about how God loves a cheerful giver. and God is able to make all grace abound to you…so that in all things at all times, having all you need, you will abound in every good work.”

“sowing generously, huh?” i say. for lack of ANYTHING coherent in my mind at this point. and it was also at this point that the moment was over. instantly.

“and i like to dig. i gotta dig. i grew up on a farm, you know.”
“you… did?” i ask.
“yes, so now i have a vegetable garden. it’s not very big, but i gotta dig.”
“neat.”
“i’ve got tomatoes, and bell peppers. and this man gave me a chocolate pepper plant. it’s a sweet pepper.”
“i’ve never heard of a chocolate pepper.”
“oh, and some cucumbers and squash of course. and he gave me some brussel sprouts to plant but it turns out that it was really cauliflower!”
“no kidding?”
“but it’s growing! and that’s all that matters.”
“…that’s true.”
“so you paint?” she could tell because my clothes are covered in paint.
“i sure do.”
“oh, well do you know a good electrician?”
“um, i think my dad has a number of a good one. hold on and i’ll get it.”
“well, don’t ever use christian electric. they are no good.”
“did they rip you off?”
“they sure did! the Lord saw fit to drop a tree in my yard and…” she went on a tangent. and dad gave her the number of an electrician we know.

as we left the place i said to dad, “man, we just can’t get away from elderly people. they seek us out somehow.”
“i know! jaimie, i think that it’s our calling for right now.”
“yeah. you… might be right about that.”

reefer log:
witch next door L-O-L-A, lola!
marla hawkins
benjamin moore paint popular bathroom wall color
deglosser walmart
how was ice cube killed in boys in the hoo
cool thinds for your room
devil mrs. jones *gasp* jimmy’s mom?! NOOOOOooooOOOOO!

May 30, 2005
internet radio is my new boyfriend. the Rollingstone 500 channel is totally making me happy right now. “get up, stand up! stand up for your rights!” yeeeee!

i saw Kingdom of Heaven today. it was okay. i enjoyed it a lot, but i realize that it wasn’t that good of a movie. it was basically Ridley Scott’s antiwar movie. which, i can appreciate. jimmy did not like it. what i didn’t like about it was that orlando bloom’s character didn’t make any sense. he goes to jerusalem to get forgiveness for…his wife killing herself, and then he kills a priest. so he goes to jerusalem with his new dad (liam neeson) and then he…becomes a knight. and then he sleeps with the queen person. and then when he has the chance to kill the queen’s husband (a bad man) he won’t do it ‘cos…it’s wrong? even though he knows that the king dude wants to have a war in jerusalem and orlando’s character wants to not have war so that the people don’t have to die.

but? it’s wrong to kill the guy (king man) who is trying to kill you? because it’s… wrong? and you want to be the perfect knight? well, okay but. i might believe you more if you HADN’T committed ADULTERY by sleeping with the queen lady already. i mean, i’m willing to forget about the murder of the asshole priest because that was done in france before you became a knight. but you slept with her afterwards, and you were in jerusalem so…sorry dude. no perfection. so you should’ve been a pal and killed that guy and saved everyone from dying.
idiot.

oh! jimmy! edward norton was the leper dude!

May 29, 2005 part II
Dante Manglehorn came by the house today as i was clearing out some of beth’s stuff. he liked the house. i said, “hey let me show you the outside.” and we were walking down the stairs and he said, “yeah, you know my aunt margaret lives a couple houses down.”
and i was all, margaret? oh my god. Crazy Margaret is his aunt?! and my face clearly showed shock. and then i said, “oh you jerk! you read the blog didn’t you?!” and he laughed and laughed.
it was pretty funny.

dan, i told mom and dad about that and man, did they laugh. dad lost it.

apparently dan has run into Crazy Margaret on some of his Amazing Gas Company Adventures. so he knew all about her Craziness.

***

Crazy Margaret came by this afternoon (before dan came over) and she was talking about i don’t know what and she tried to come in my house. that’s right, she breeched the fence. shit!
so she starts to come in the door.
“hey, hey, hey! no! you’re not coming inside. what do you want?!”
so she goes on about something and then she says, “beth told me you’re getting married soon.”
“uh…yeah?”
“well, i hate to hear that.”
“…what?!”
“your hair sure is pretty.” she says as she reaches out to touch my hair.
“no! don’t touch me!”
“oh, so you’re going to marry that guy who was here the other day?”
“yeah.”
“well, i-”
“look, i’m going back inside. you have to go now.”
she was chuckling as i shut and locked the door.
ew, bad vibe.

so now i’m locking the fence at all times. if you decide to come and visit me either call first or ring the goofy farm bell in the driveway.
i’m wondering if Crazy Margaret could overpower me and kill me. i’m thinking she probably could. she’s bigger and she probably has some kind of Crazy Strength that kicks in when she corners her prey. this is unsettling.

May 29, 2005
“i’m a JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAZZ baby! li’l jazz baby ‘at’s meeeeee!”

i just discovered internet radio. ‘cos i get some kind of free thing with comcast. so after trying out some christian channel (i know. it was really good though.) and some kind of other station that made no impression on me whatsoever…i found a BROADWAY STAAAAATION!

what is it about hearing Carol Channing scratch a song out of the back of her throat that makes me smile? and then next! they played a Judy Garland song! and it WASN’T over the rainbow! which, i love, because i’m a gay man, but it’s always a special treat to hear something, anything by the Jude.

Dear Broadway Radio Internet Station on Rhapsody Radio,

i love it. (omg! you’re playing impossible dream! marry me?) you make me smile.
don’t ever change! well, except maybe not so much andrew lloyd webber, huh?

Love,
jamoo

reefer log:
how to paint over wallpaper spackle any bad spots and obvious seams. then kilz it. then paint it. two coats!
latex douche bag
what color should i paint my entry way
paint monkey sweet!

May 28, 2005
i need to get a picture of my house. that way, when i describe things you’ll know what i’m talking about. anyway, my house is fenced in so people can’t come and knock on my door which is up a flight of retarded stairs. but there’s an old bell on a post that if someone wanted to talk to me they could CLANG CLANG the bell and if i wanted to open the door i could. or. i could look out the window and see that it’s Crazy Margaret on her Crazy Bike and not open the door.

but. where’s the fun in that?

so Crazy Margaret is out there ringing the bell. so i thought, oh hell. just go see what she wants and then tell her to go away.
so i go out there and she says my neighbor (Crazy Lola) wants to meet me. ah shit. Crazy Margaret also wants five bucks, because she won’t get her Crazy Check until wednesday. i gave her some quarters. so i walk to the corner of my yard, within the fence, leaving Crazy Margaret on the outside of the fence. because i don’t want her inside my fence. ever.
and Crazy Lola is in her car, she’s always in her car driving around. which is not good, because she’s crazy. and she drives down the alley by my house, which is where my air condtioning unit is. and let’s all everyone pray that she doesn’t hit my unit. (huh huh, i said unit.)

ANYway. Crazy Lola is not only crazy, but i’m pretty sure she has alzheimer’s. which is sad.
for me.
because talking to crazy is one thing, and talking to alzheimer’s is another thing. and when the two are mixed? you end up answering the same crazy questions over and over. after the third round of questions i said, “okay, well you have a good day.” and i waved and walked back to the “safety” of my house. and she drove away in a haze of crazy oblivion.

meanwhile Crazy Maragaret followed me on her Crazy Bike (on the outside of the fence, mind you.) and she said, “hey i want to tell you about Lola, okay? she’s crazy. don’t trust her. ‘cos she lies and then she accuses you of stealin’. she’ll ask you to help her find her keys and then next day she’ll have the police on you for robbing her. so don’t ever help her.”

“okay.”

“and don’t go in her house either. it smells bad ‘cos she just shits everywhere. she doesn’t clean herself. and she’ll accuse you of stealin’. but don’t be mean to her. don’t make her hate you. ‘cos she’ll send spiders over here.”

“…”

“i ain’t kiddin’. she talks to spiders. she can control them.”

“…”

“and i think she can talk to snakes ‘cos i was over at her house and there was a snake in the fireplace. and then later that day the snake came and bit beth’s dog.”

“okay, i’ll keep that in mind.”

“she’ll tell the spiders to come and bite you. i guess she used to be a witch. that’s what people say. they say that ‘cos they think she was a lesbian too. because of her tongue always out and all.”

then she stuck her tongue out and licked the air. i’m absolutely serious.

see, Crazy Lola has (or had) one of those nervous tic type things where her tongue is/was always out of her mouth and moving around. i know, it’s not bad enough that she’s Crazy, but she’s got The Tongue AND alzheimer’s. yay!

“but she don’t do the tongue thing around me no more ‘cos i rebuked her in the name of jesus’ blood and now she don’t do that. but i guess she used to be a witch or practice witchcraft.”

“okay. well, thanks for the warning. have a good one.” and i walked into the relative safety of my own house and locked the door.

Lord, have mercy.

***

CRAZY LOLA: FORMER LESBIAN WITCH.
SHE CONTROLS SPIDERS AND SNAKES, AND SHITS HERSELF! she hypnotizes you with her wandering tongue of lies!
best of all! she lives right! next! door!

***

one thing i should mention. Crazy Lola gets one check a month just like Crazy Margaret, however, i think it’s a retirement check from Goodyear. plus she’s got a car. i think Crazy Margaret is jealous of Crazy Lola’s near lucidity and wheels.

reefer log:
liquid deglosser fumes
penny big sausage pizza
meaning of i’ve got a brand new pair of roller skates
pitchers of math stuff
cell phone wallpaper monkey
slap the monkey
how to hatch a bad egg to steal from Cowboy Zydeco, “bwuh?”
poop stencils see above
give them the pickle
practical joke ink
hardest plastic
mod wall stencils
pictures of dog piles
four inches christina
girls bursting to poop

May 27
new weekly

May 25, 2005
jimmy and i met one of the neighbors last night. Crazy Margaret.
um, like the name implies, she is crazy. not the fun kind of crazy. she’s the real kind of crazy. she gets a Crazy Check from the gubment, crazy.

she talks.

a lot.

what about, you ask? honestly, it’s hard to describe. it’s amazing, infuriating, and uncomfortable all at the same time. she started crying at one point. then she switched over to how god talks to her and tells her where to ride her bike. at night. in the ‘hood.

look, i’m not going to lie to you, i live in the ‘hood. i wouldn’t walk around my block at night if i had a gun in my pocket, a mean dog on a leash, and jimmy. and god is telling her to go out at night on her bike? god is trying to kill her.

it’s obvious that she hears voices that, thank God, we don’t hear. and it’s also obvious that this lady is going to be a problem. i’m thinking i don’t have the patience to deal with her. i’m also thinking that i need some kind of recording device so’s all of you can enjoy the crazy.
is there such a device out there? some kind of digital “tape” recorder with a usb port? something small, sleak, and james bond-ish?

reefer log:
thomas pynchon wallpaper what?
singing dutch boy
cat puking whole food
how to tell if paint is oil or latex usually the smell is a dead giveaway. if, it’s dry paint, then see how smooth the finish is. if it’s really hard, smooth, and you can’t see any brush strokes then i’d say it’s oil.
elephant testicles
red devil deglosser
women needing to pee
styrofoam sculptures
can i paint my stone fireplace you can but…why?
is eggshell paint better than flat pain hee. pain. not “better”, it’s just a different finish.
canseco juiced sales
powered hack saw

May 24, 2005
well. i’m mostly moved. sort of.
my back can’t take anymore.

at the Holy House yesterday (i went to pick up dad for lunch) i got out of the jeep and right away this lady grabs my arm and says, “i need you to come with me. i have to move a mattress.”
oy.
oh well, three mattresses in four days. my body is all, “you suck, jaimie!”

***

i mowed the lawn! is there anything more satisfactory than standing back and looking at your lawn, the one you just mowed? what?
well, yes. of course, beer. but i’m talking about-
what? yes, okay, cable television.
look, i get it. i’m sure that mowing the lawn will get old fast.

***

we got kellyfish moved in to the dreamplex 1.0. i’m glad she’s living there ‘cos she’s closer now, and that means i’ll get to see her more often. especially since i still have a key to that side of the ‘plex. hee.

May 21, 2005
posting will be spotty, if not nonexistent, for a bit. i’ve got to figure out what kind of internet service i’m going to get. oh, and move the computer and set it all up and gee, that sounds like no fun right now.

moving went well.

i ate some bad chicken salad today. i am now paying for it.

May 19, 2005
moving sucks. you know this. i’ll not bore you with details.

***

would you like to know something that bothers me TO NO END?!
ok, first, you should know that i love sinead o’connor. i mean, i don’t love all that she believes and stuff, but i love her voice and most of her songs. HOWEVER. she does a song called Success Has Made A Failure of Our Home, which is basically a Loretta Lynn song (called Success) and at the very end sinead screams a paragraph of something and then “am i not your girl?!” over and over. which, i love that part. but. NOWHERE ON THE CD DOES SHE GIVE CREDIT TO LORETTA LYNN FOR WRITING A BRILLIANT SONG.

of course, i’m looking at the credits on the Greatest Hits Cd and not the Am I Not Your Girl CD, maybe she gave her credit on the original. still, it bugs me. she admits it here though…so she’s not a douchebag like jose canseco.

wanna know something else that’s kinda douchey? iTunes only has one sinead song. whafuh?
i splurged and bought Spitfire by The Prodigy. iTunes also disappointed with The Prodigy as i was looking for Voodoo People but they didn’t have it. derp.

reefer log:
dutch boy singing
pickle server
paint stripes on ceiling
pink duct tape
slutty neighbors
pickle the food pictures

May 18, 2005
updated the fiddy.
this evening liznchris helped me move some boxes from Dreamplex 1.0 to er, My House? laura, i need a cool name for my place. i’ve been referring to it as my Fortress of Solitude, but that’s not cool. also, my numbers aren’t even cool. 1101. the 1101.
lame.

point is, some boxes were moved.

later this evening laura came over and packed 6 boxes. 6! boxes! while i packed up my ninetendo and ps2 and a ton of paint.

Dear Jaimie,

You are not allowed to buy more acrylic paint until you use up the colors you already have.

Love,
Jaimie

Dear Jaimie,

But what about oil paint?

Sincerely,
Jaimie

Dear Jaimie,

You don’t need any more oils either.

Hugs & Kisses,
Jaimie

Dear Jaimie,

But you know what? I do need a phthalo blue kind of color, something brighter than just ultramarine. I really, really need it. Please?

Please,
Jaimie

PS. Please?

Dear Jaimie,

Fine. Whatever. You’re going to go buy it no matter what I say anyway. Why do I even bother?

Love,
Jaimie

***

here’s something awesome that happened today. while eating lunch at momndad’s house the phone rang and it was for…me? it was some saleslady at Credit Card Company and she was wanting me to buy some kind of insurance for my credit card in case of id theft. well, i told her i wasn’t interested and was going to hang up but she kept at it and i said that i really, really don’t want that service, and she was all, “buh…” and i was all, “hey wait. you work for Credit Card Company?”
“yes, miss pickle and-”
“well hey, i’m moving this weekend can i go ahead and change my address right now? can you do that? or do i need to call a different number?”
“oh. well, no. i can do it.”
“hey great! i’m glad you called!” and i proceed to tell her my new addy and dad is sitting mext to me with his mouth dropped open, stunned, that i turned a sales call into something actually helpful.

my phone calls have been interesting lately, huh? and i’m very pleased with my new phone personality too. i’m all attitude and ruthless efficiency. take that, Credit Card Company!

reefer log:
kilz paint review ladies and gentlemen! it’s the Kilz Paint Revue! For tonight’s entertainment we have 3 musical acts, 1 comedian, aaaaaand… Gomez Pumpernickel and his Amazing Dachshunds!

heh. Kilz Paint Revue. comes on after the Big Joe Polka Show. eeeep!

May 17, 2005
new weekly.

my two best buddies in the whole world tried to JINX ME!
i had a pretty bad day today, what with cramps and a hangover and then the slut across the street knocking on my door right as i was leaving for work needing to use my phone ‘cos her baby daddy or brother or whoever is in jail and blah blah and she can’t find anyone to take her to work and can i take her to work? it’s her first day at a new job (it. is. always. like this.) and so sure, fuck it. i’ll take your sorry ass to work but we are leaving RIGHT NOW. (one time she asked for a ride and i said sure and then she disappeared for 15 minutes. wha?).

so then i get to my job and my cell phone rings and i’m expecting a call from the bank and so i answer it all, “hello?”
“…”
“hello?”
“uhhhh. yeah. wassup?”
“you have the wrong number, g.”
“aw yeah? this was on my callah id.”
“oh. yeah, christina somebody used my phone.”
“aw yeah? das mah sistah.”
“yeah that’s great.”
“well, lemme talk to her.”
“… i took her ass to the mall.”
“oh. well…”
“yeah. so call the mall.” and then i hung up ‘cos i was shaking with rage.

5 minutes later the phone rings. i’m rooting for the bank. it’s the brother again. canyoubelievethisshit? do you know what horrible things ran through my mind. what horrible racist words were on the tip of my hateful tongue?

“hello?!”
“uh yeah hey. dis christina’s brother.”
“what.”
“well i gotta pick her up from the mall at 5.”
“really? well that’s fucking awesome. what do you want?”
“well, where do i pick her up at?”
“the. mall.”
“but where she work?”
“she’s a janitor. for the mall.”
“well, do i pick her up in the back of the mall or the front?”
“how the hell would i know? look, i dropped her off at the front entrance, m’kay?”
“oh. aw now, the front like the food court entrance? or like, the one wif the ruby tuesdays?”
“ruby tuesdays. don’t ever call this number again.”

i am mean and hateful. but c’mon. this shit only happens to me. this NEVER happens to laura or liz. you dirty jinxers! they jinxed me by blogging about my new house before the deal was done. see?! SEE?!

and yes, i did buy a house today. but i don’t want to talk about it right now. in fact, i feel sick about it. that’s pretty normal though, right? the Post-House-Purchase Blues. the Holy-Shit-How-Am-I-Going-To-Actually-Pay-For-This Doom. the My-God-A-Real-Live-Bank-Lended-Me-Money?!-Are-They-Crazy?! Woe.

ugh, just…i’m going to deal with this tomorrow. no, i’m going to wait till next monday to deal with it. that’s what mondays are for.

reefer log:
cat puke i have arrived.

May 16, 2005
“You’s a player, and when I say player I mean player cuz your daddy was a player and your uncle was a player.”
i really, really love that song.

***

a tip from the Paint Monkey: Benjamin Moore paint is overrated. it’s expensive and always takes two coats to cover. ALWAYS. trust me. i use it all the time. it’s a status thing. people use bm paint ‘cos of the name. they think it’s better paint. <whisper> but it’s not.</whisper>

i used some Dutch Boy primer once.
once.
what a crock of shit that was.
Benjamin Moore does have a decent primer. Kilz, is of course, awesome.

other things i’ve learned while being a Paint Monkey:
1. use good brushes. yes, purdy, wooster, and benjamin moore brushes are expensive, but they are WORTH EVERY PENNY. also, WASH THEM OUT, YOU FOOLS. i have used the same 2 and a half inch angled brush for the last 5 months.
walmart has a rubbermaid brand paint brush and they’re okay. mod.

2. using the blue or green masking tape is for suckers. although i have used it once or twice.

3. do you want your cabinets painted?
I HATE YOU.

4. if your ceiling has turned off-white, it does not need painting.
if your ceiling is brown, it does need painting. also, stop smoking in the house.

5. YOU CAN MOST CERTAINLY PAINT OVER WALLPAPER. YES. YOU. CAN. LISTEN TO ME, YOU IDIOT. if the wallpaper is not falling off the walls then yes, kilz it and paint it. you can’t tell, and it looks hella better than tearing it off and having to paint over messed up drywall. YES YOU CAN.

6. there is no number 6.

7. if i have to tear down wallpaper i’m charging you triple JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE AN ASS FOR NOT BELIEVING ME. THE LABOR HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. okay, it has a small part to do with it. but mostly it’s for acting like i don’t know what i’m talking about.

8. if you have to paint latex over something that has previously been painted with oil based paint, then you NEED to sand the surface (nothing major, just take the shine off. you don’t have to use a sander or anything.) and THEN wipe it down with a liquid deglosser or acetone. trust me, it’s better this way. plus, you get to breathe the fumes from the deglosser.

9. it’s called a drop-cloth. you should use one.

10. using flat wall paint for interior walls is NOT a sin. you probably shouldn’t use it in a bathroom or kitchen (use a semi-gloss, or at least an eggshell.). flat paint covers WAY BETTER than something with a shine, and the shine shows EVERY FLAW your wall has. once you go flat you’ll never…eh, anyway, all i’m sayin’ is flat paint isn’t a bad thing.

reefer log:
she’s been on big sausage pizza
girls bursting to poop.
orajel hemorrhoids no! don’t do it!
candy paint rims
tom and jerry tattoos

May 15, 2005
wow, i thought i had only missed 3 days. i’m missing two other days.
wrote an entry in the 50 Books about Jose “douche bag” Canseco’s “book” Juiced. what a douche.

reefer log:
someone spray painting
cartoon puke
i got a brand new pair of roller skates
outside yard lizards
gross stuff in people’s food
craftsman tool box
bad ass stencils
the screaming pickle
watch sex poop
laundry stencils
hack saw blade
pictures of the cars on juiced
boys-n-the-hood pictures
women make love with horse make love? heeeeeee.

May 10, 2005
i was sitting out back with the fam this evening and mom had this wacky song in her head, and she kept singing it over and over trying to figure out some of the lyrics and i wasn’t paying that close attention to it ‘cos i was talking to my sistah, kelly ree, and then i heard what mom was singing and was all, “oh yeah. i’ve heard that song before. it’s crazy!”

and the song is that screetchy melanie singer from the ’60s/’70s, and it goes, “I’VE got a BRAND new PAIR of ROLLER skates and YOU’VE got a BRAND new KEY!” which then got us on the topic of the roller skates we all had as kids.

i had a pretty sad pair. they weren’t the awesome boot skates with the rubber wheels and clicky ballbearings. nay. my skates? were the kind like in the doofy melanie song. with the key? did you have those kind too? i mean, yes, if you were a kid during the ’60s and ’70s then yes, you had those, but you guys in the ’80s? did you have those? or did your parents love you and buy you REAL skates with ballbearing clicky wheels of smoothdom?

the neighbor girl had skates JUST LIKE THE BLUE ONE.
at the time i thought she had probably never sinned in her life
to have had such an awesome pair of skates.

my skates were red plastic and scuffed to hell because they were bought second hand. they had frayed laces and you slipped them on over your shoes. they adjusted with a half inch wrench dad kept in the red craftsman toolbox that has forever been in my parent’s laundry room. and the wheels? while thankfully, they were not metal, they were made of the hardest plastic that NASA had invented at that time, meaning, if you hit a pebble, it was all over.

this was my skate. note the absence of the handy rubber toe stop.
meaning the only way to stop in my skates was to hit a wall.

anyone crying yet?
didn’t think so.

incidentally, you can’t get the melanie version of Brand New Key on iTunes but you can get the cover by rasputina which, no thank you. i don’t hate rasputina, i just, no. not Brand New Key for crying outs.

reefer skate:
flat slap building
pickle ass
duct tape gag as in a practical joke? or like what kidnappers use? bah.

May 09, 2005
i can’t think of anything notable that happened today.
work.
video game.
beer.
Medium.
beer.
blorg.

i’ve been playing Super Mario Bros. 2 on my gamecube. i’m on world 3-3. i’m having probs with hanging on to the key and dying right as i get to the door. i hate crap like that. i should be working on my gear sculptures but no, i’m playing mario. slob. DO SOMETHING CONSTRUCTIVE! STOP WASTING TIME ON THIS CRAP!

***

while talking to liznchris this evening i mentioned something about that line from Boys n the Hood. (which, PS, i called Boys From the ‘Hood. yes, i’m just that white.) but i couldn’t remember the quote exactly so i called my brother because he says it best anyway. he didn’t answer his phone, so bummer, right? but then he called back 2 minutes later and was all, “hey! what’s going on?”
and i was all, “hey. i called ya ‘cos i couldn’t remember that quote from boys from the ‘hood.”
“what? that’s all you called me for? no, “hey justin! how’s my favori-”
“nope. just the quote from boys from the ‘hood.”
“it’s n the Hood. N. not from. N.”
“boys n the hood?”
“yeah.”
“oh. well, anyway. that quote?”
“um, lessee, it’s <ice cube impression> “They either don’t know, don’t show, or don’t care about what’s goin’ on in tha ‘hood.”</ici>
“yeah! that’s the one!”
“what the heck brought that up?”
“i saw ice cube on tv.”
“oh. you’re crazy.”
“love you.”
“love you too, bye.”

what do you suppose the N stands for? and? i guess? but shouldn’t the n have the thingies on it? ‘n’? it’s Rock ‘n’ Roll. innit? boys ‘n’ the hood.
could it be for in? boys in the hood?
i don’t think so. i mean, there’s boys AND then there’s the hood. it’s not like, there’s boys IN the ‘hood. ‘cos, i mean. i just don’t think it’s in.
maybe it’s just N. it’s code. ‘hood code. i live in the ‘hood, but i don’t know the code. all i know is that they either don’t know, don’t show, or don’t care about what’s goin’ on in tha ‘hood.

and don’t try to be all polite and, “oh, jaimie, you don’t really live in the ‘hood.” because have you seen the monstrosity that is the Chevelle that’s been across the street? not only is it two-tone (body maroon-gold iridescent, hood and trunk gold-maroon iridescent, and yes, there is a difference.), but it’s got 22 inch rims. it looks like a joke. the wheels are just too big. it’s up too high. like, you could drive a car under that car. it’s ridiculous. it’s not blinged it’s blonged. i saw it yesterday, well, i heard it first. it needs a new engine, but they obviously thought to do the body work first. oh heck, why should i care, right? let the neighbors have their loud broken cars. i’ve lost my steam. but if the car is out there tomorrow i will take a picture of it, because it’s not smooth at all, but in fact, awkward. it looks like it’s on it’s tip-toes.

reefer log n the hood:
ass burstin
math races
parkinglot spray painting

May 08, 2005
i’m currently reading Juiced by Jose “douche bag” Canseco. gaad, he is SUCH a whiner. i mean, what kind of REAL MAN whines? i guess it must be his shrunken testicles.
shut up, jose canseco, you bag o’ douche.

as soon as i finish it you’ll get a scathing review in the 50 books section as well as a Weekly. yes, it’s JUST. THAT. BAD.

***

we watched the first part of the ELVIS movie on CBS. dude, what is with his relationship with his mom? it’s like, eeeeauh. it reminded me of the mary magdalene/jesus relationship in Jesus Christ Superstar. eeeeeauh.

May 07, 2005
True Confessions
when i was in the 6th grade i hated a girl named marla hawkins because she always won the fucking math races. it wouldn’t have been so bad but it was like she relished it. she was so superior about it. i mean, math races, for the love.

***

in other news, the cat just puked again. this time, it was a mouse.

Dear Toonces,

You have lost ALL OUTSIDE PRIVILEDGES.

Hate,
Jaimie

i cannot win! God? is this preparation for when i have kids or something? like, if i can handle a cat puking every other day i can handle kid poop and vomit? huh? because let me be honest, I CAN’T HANDLE CAT PUKE EVERY OTHER DAY.
cheeseandcrackers. damn cat. i buy the special food. i brush her SEVERAL times a day with the pretty pink brush JUST so she won’t get the HAIRBALLS OF DOOM and then PUKE THEM ON MY CARPET. and she repays me by being a TOTAL DOUCHE and eats a mouse. THE WHOLE THING. like, what cat eats the WHOLE DAMN MOUSE?! it looked like…like she pulled a Tom and Jerry and drew a door on her mouth and the damned, stupid mouse just WALKED RIGHT ON IN.

THEN she comes in and eats a bowl of cat food and promptly pukes everything up in two GIANT PILES. ON! MY! CARPET!

i know what you’re thinking. you’re thinking i’m a horrible cat owner. that i’m so mean for not feeling bad that the cat is sick. well, I DON’T FEEL BAD. BECAUSE SHE DID IT TO HERSELF. SHE ATE A WHOLE MOUSE. IT’S NOT LIKE I DON’T FEED HER!

SHE IS OLD. SHE KNOWS BETTER THAN TO EAT MICE WHOLE.

YOU WOULDN’T FEEL BAD FOR ME IF I DID IT! YOU’D BE ALL, “GAAD, WHY THE HELL DID YOU EAT A MOUSE? IDIOT.”

TOONCES, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU.

***

other things i am hating right now:
thomas pynchon
v. by thomas pynchon
thomas pynchon’s buck teeth

reefer log:
the pickle barrel phone pranks

May 05, 2005
update: 50 Books (i’m up to 25! and it’s only been 5 months. pshaw, it’s in the bag.) (um, actually, yes. this would be considered counting my eggs before they hatch.) egg counter!

***

due to some unfortunate events, dad has become the temporary superintendant of the apartments, while i am now the solo Paint Monkey and Ass. to the Superintendant (or super ass). today it rained so i didn’t have to paint on the parkinglot. so today my duties were the super ass. i got to fix a faucet, rake the parkinglot drain (in four inches of standing water), and replace a toilet seat. to be completely honest, i’d rather stand in 4 inches of cold rain water scraping a rake across a clogged-up grate than change out an ancient, nasty toilet seat. gag. it’s bad enough when it’s your own, right?

Popsicle’s day included much more plumbing and grossness.

i hope it’s sunny tomorrow so i can break my knees and back painting the parkinglot. anything but plumbing.

***

cat blog.

the cat has been puking in the house more than i’m comfortable with. i’m pretty sure it’s just hair ball pukes, but still, it seems odd that she’s doing it so often. so i’ve bought some of that fancy hairball reducing food ($10?!) and also a pretty pink brush with which to brush her once or twice a day. i figured she’d hate the brush since she’s been so nervous for the past couple of months (hey guys, remember when toonces would run up to you and be all, “yay! pet me! i’ll drool! yay!”) and has turned into Hidey Kitty. but, let me tell ya, she loves the pretty pink brush. damn, does she love it. when i brush her she’s all, “ooh…yeah. there it is. YES! YES!” then she sticks her ass out at me all, “do me! do me!” and i’m all, “are…are you gay or just slutty?” but oh, her joy. she almost acts like her old self. she even let jimmy the hater brush her.

reefer log:
thinds things have sex with
www.coloraado.com

May 03, 2005
Mutual Admiration Society
liz blogged about my website. wow, was she reaching for an entry or what? hee. but when i read her entry for today i thought, “hm. make a bound edition of the website…. interesting.” and then i promptly followed up with, “yeesh, what a waste of ink and paper.” i think that if someone gave me a book to read and it was this website i’d say, “yeah, it had some funny parts, but god, the author needs to get over herself. what an ego. and? just what is this “fleegan” thing anyway?” because to me, the website is mine, and the blog is like a diary anyway right? so of COURSE it’s ALL ABOUT ME.
ME, ME, ME!
that’s what a diary IS.

but a book? that’s…that’s different. plus, i’d probably have to capitalize proper nouns and use real punctuation. and frankly, i don’t think that would work.

***

i’m still the Parking Lot Paint Monkey. today was a little harder than yesterday. today i was spray painting space numbers on the asphalt. space numbers? hee. anyway. i was nervous because it’s spray paint and i know how these old people like to blame crap on the paint monkeys.
<old lady voice> “hey! that paint monkey got white spray paint on my car!” </olv>

which would be bad. i DON’T want to get paint on people’s cars. and, since the building is the TALLEST building in GADSDEN it creates this er…thingy…where it’s windy all the time? what would a smart person call that? anyway, wind and spray paint: nemesis.

the other bad part was being on my knees all day hunched over stencils, spraying, then getting back up to move 4 feet over to hunch back down on my knees to do it all over again. i think there’s like, 110 spaces. maybe more counting the VISITORS parking. and i’m not close to being done.
my back is hurty.
my knees are hurty.
wouldn’t you think i’d be used to PAINTING THINGS BY NOW?

***

also, my ass hurts. do i have hemorrhoids? silent ‘h’? i shall now pronounce them hemmer-hoids. i just want to sit in a tub of aloe or something cool and cream-like. ice cream. sour cream. hell, i’d even go for cottage cheese at this point. i have no soothing ass creams in my medicine collection. wait…maybe some orajel?
nope. i don’t have any of that either.
i am totally not kidding when i say that it would be HEAVEN to sit on sour cream. in fact, the more i think about it, i’m pretty sure that’s the reason God invented sour cream, for hurty fire ass.

how did this happen?

i promise this won’t turn into ‘rhoid blog.

well, no i don’t.

because if i do have hemmer-hoids, and it ends up being funny in some way, you’ll be hearing about it.
sorry.

reefer log:
beer polka
big joe polka show i got to watch it on sat. with jimmy, chris, liz, sara, and west. do you know how much fun that was? it was LOTS. because we are very mean people.
big sausage pizza this has been a very popular search lately. why?

May 02, 2005
updated 50 Books

today i painted parking lot stripes (yellow ones). i’ll probably be doing it all this week. it has killed my back. i feel so old and hurty. i have self-medicated my sore back with beer. the pain has lessened but i’m thinking that tomorrow will be a Slow Jaimie day.

in other news i’m working on some gear sculptures. i. am. so. excited. i’m going to make them different sizes and stuff. i’m going to make an installation with them for my living room. i should find my camera and take some pictures (not pitchers, you idiots) of the SECRET PROCESS which involves:
beer
shop vac
hack saw blade (just the blade, not the handle)
knife
styrofoam
spackling compound
gesso
flat black spray paint
sharpie
string
yard stick

i bought purple duct tape yesterday. FINALLY, duct tape for girls. they had pink and green and blue and yellow and camo, but i went with purple. it’s candy tape.

reefer log:
tybalt cat
elephant tattoos
pitchers of monkeys
fukker

May 01, 2005

wow. things have been busy lately. i’m not sure what to even write about.
work?
A. nearly killing an old lady with sulfuric acid
B. being forced to paint a STONE FIREPLACE. I REPEAT, A STONE FIREPLACE.
play?
A. i bought the original Metroid for gameboy advance/gamecube.
B. the adventures of getting a bank loan
other?
A. the crazy dinner with jimmy’s fam.
1. the one hour wait at Red Fucking Lobster
2. the Winn Dixie cake jimmy had me get instead of baking a REAL cake like i had offered.
3. mrs. jones telling me the reason she voted for “president” bush was because he said he’s a christian and that he was for saving little babies. (le sigh. because kerry was a devil worshipping-baby eater, right? gaad. the south.)

B. the crazy demon nightmare i had where i woke up screaming about the Four Corners of the Earth. (sorry liznchris, i hope i didn’t disturb you. although, it disturbed the heck outta me.)
1. i had also drooled all over the pillow
2. the poor cat

reefer log:
stupid day cards every day is stupid day!
dog ugly women
horse typewriter cartoon
jimmy hot sausage my new nickname for mr. fleegan.
what’s the difference in junior drum set it’s…smaller?
pregnant shirt
was the movie locusts by cbs also a book and if it was?
the pickle guy
baes sex pee
found tux cat
allowicious
what does mother’s day mean
called slap the monkey game
horrilbe science homepage
how to catch lizards
gross stuff or rotten
barefoot golf

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The One About Sleestaks
May 27, 2005

hi kids,

so i was talking to laura the other day (SHOCKING) and she said something about something getting acclimated to something. maybe she was talking about one of the cats? then she says, “acclimated is my word of the week.” and i replied with, “really? that’s a good one. my word of the week has been sleestaks.”
and she said, “yours are always better than mine.”
and i said, “yes, but yours are always smarter than mine.”

now. what we mean by “word of the week” is that’s the word that seems to be used or said over and over. it just keeps popping up somehow. sometimes, the “word of the week” has even been known to be a complete phrase.

one day i should totally make a list of phrases/quotes that we all say over and over. the one that is stuck in my head today is “i don’t know; he just keeps hanging up.” it’s from Pink Floyd’s The Wall. laura and i say that one a lot. and if you’ve heard us say it and you have no idea why we way it, well, we don’t either (i think it’s ‘cos the tone of voice is so funny), but at least now you know where it’s from.

anyway, you don’t care about that. what you want to know is… sleestaks? but…how?

well, at the last art class (it’s not really an art class. the word class implies that i teach something. i mainly just assign things and if my two pupils have a question i try to answer. i just supply them with paint and food.) sara was the only one to show up. so while she worked on her project we watched tv.

we usually don’t watch tv while we work. but this time we did, ‘cos i was already watching vh1 when she got there, and you know how that is. anyway vh1 was showing some kind of I Love the…show. it was probably one from the ’70s. anyhoo. they start talking about The Land of the Lost and i had a ‘nam flashback. it was terrifying. because, sleestaks.

sara had never seen the show as she is 10 years (okay fine, 11 years) younger than me, and when i watched the show on saturday mornings they were already reruns. so she had no idea why i was freaking out and yelling, “oh my god! sleestaks! noooooooOOOOOOooooooo!”

and she was all, “why are they scary?”

okay. so.
do you know how hard it is to describe why sleestaks scared the bejesus out of you when you were a kid? i started out like this, “oh man! they were so SO scary ‘cos they were like these alien things with big eyes! but they were lizards too. and they made this awful hissing sound. i hated those things. that show was so stressful.”

“did they have sharp teeth and claws?”

“oh man! they TOTALLY…had no teeth. and their hands were like…these really scary…limp…flippers? oh.”

“…”

“…”

“well, did they kill people?”

“um. well. actually, i can’t remember them actually getting caught by a sleestak. the sleestaks kind of shuffled around awkwardly. they were kinda… slow.”

“yeah, sounds terrifying.”

“NO! BUT! but they HISSED! it was all about the HISSING!”

“uh huh.”

“REALLY! i mean, i would get a stomach ache watching that show ‘cos it was so nerve-racking. and they had to get to these caves where there were these jewel-like buttons and…i don’t really know why. i guess they were trying to get back to the Earth or the future or whatever. i don’t know. all i do know is that the sleestaks were just terrible!”

“…”

“i would watch that show all nervous and twitchy and yelling, “holly! no! lookout! i’m talking ulcers here.”

“…”

“hissing!”

later that night i saw flippy chinchilla and i said, “hey flippy, do you remember The Land of the Lost?” and she said, “oh yeah! oh! remember the uh…sleestaks! oh man! i hated those!”

and we went back and forth about how scary they were and blah blah. i was just glad that she also thought they were terrifying.

so anyway, those of you between the ages of 25 and 50, admit it, the sleestaks scared you. it was the hissing.

i think that the sleestaks are in the same category as Medusa from Clash of the Titans. there is not a single one of you who don’t get the chills when you hear Medusa’s snake rattle. i mean, to this very day.
don’t lie about it. there’s no shame.

You use Evian skin cream, and sometimes
you wear L’Air du Temps, but not today.

the Predator sound and Darth Vader’s (my secret boyfriend) breathing are right up there, but not so much with the terrifying as just with the This Sound Symbolizes Danger.

although, i guess that Medusa was actually dangerous and the sleestaks were actually, not. but at the time they seemed more horrible than just about anything. i mean, i’m talking about, “dear God, please bless mommy and daddy and justin and please don’t let the sleestaks get me. amen.”
yeah.

now? now i guess the whole thing seems pretty silly.

next epitomb: my haunted house

jaimie “holly! no! look out!” pickle

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Tags: flippy, nerd, sleestaks, TV

The One About Jose Canseco Wrote a Book

May 17, 2005

hi kids,

Jose Canseco wrote a book called Juiced: Wild Times, Rampant ‘Roids, Smash Hits, and How Baseball Got Big. Jose Canseco wants you to know that steroids are great! Jose Canseco says so. Jose Canseco wants you to know that many baseball players are “juiced”. That means that they are on steroids, like Jose Canseco. Jose Canseco is not a doctor, but is a self-proclaimed expert on steroids, and he says that steroids are safe. Jose Canseco’s word is his bond.

Jose Canseco can run fast.

Jose Canseco likes talking about steroids. Jose Canseco likes talking about other people who use steroids, and he also likes to laugh at the ones who used them wrong. Jose Canseco likes to laugh at Jason “Moon Face” Giambi. So does everyone else, especially Jose Canseco.

Jose Canseco is attracted to beautiful women who take care of their bodies. Jose Canseco does not mind giving grown men a shot in the ass. Jose Canseco is comfortable with his own sexuality, and knows that giving a shot to another man, in the ass, does not, in fact, make him gay. Jose Canseco has had sex with lots of women. However, Jose Canseco wants you to know that he did not have sex with Madonna, because she came on too strong and kinda scared him. Jose Canseco actually wants you to believe that.

Jose Canseco loves steroids and would probably marry them if he could. He says that steroids get a lot of bad press. Jose Canseco says that there are no negative side effects to using steroids properly. Jose Canseco does admit that using steroids makes your testicles shrink, but Jose Canseco thinks that isn’t such a bad thing ‘cos it makes your penis look bigger.

Jose Canseco is from Cuba, and his father was domineering and never gave out compliments. Jose Canseco loved his mother very much. On Jose Canseco’s mother’s deathbed, Jose Canseco told his mother that he was going to be the best baseball player he could be. Jose Canseco did not tell his mom that he was using steroids because he didn’t think she would understand what he was talking about. Jose Canseco lies by omission.

Jose Canseco will never go back to Florida (except to check in with his parole officer) because Florida put him in jail for being Jose Canseco. Jose Canseco thinks that if it had been Cal Ripken Jr. who had beaten his wife and driven recklessly on the Interstate, that Cal Ripken Jr. would have merely gotten a slap on the hand. Because Cal Ripken Jr. is white. Jose Canseco may have a point, but we’ll never know for sure because Cal Ripken Jr. hasn’t been caught beating anyone and driving like an asshole on the Interstate. Jose Canseco says he’s never had ” ‘roid rage”.
Jose Canseco thinks you’re an idiot.

Jose Canseco wants you to know that he’s a nice guy. Jose Canseco donates time and money to charities. He won’t say which charities, because he doesn’t want you to think that he needs to validate his charitable givings to you. Jose Canseco has a point, but if he doesn’t want validation, why did Jose Canseco mention giving to charities at all?

Do you like Jose Canseco?
Circle YES or NO

In the late 1980s Jose Canseco and Mark McGwire were called the Bash Brothers because they played for the same team and would hit homeruns. Jose Canseco wants you to know that Mark McGwire is not his actual brother.

Jose Canseco says he’s never done drugs. Except steroids. Which, Jose Canseco says should be legal in sports. Jose Canseco doesn’t understand why people have a problem with steroid use in professional sports. Jose Canseco isn’t very smart.

Jose Canseco has a daughter whom he loves very much named Josie. I wouldn’t dream of making fun of Jose Canseco’s daughter, but I can’t help but notice, that you named her Jose with an I. Jose Canseco is an egomaniac.

Jose Canseco whines a lot for being Latino. He says he is treated differently in baseball than say, Mark McGwire or Cal Ripken Jr.. He thinks it’s because they are white. But maybe Jose Canseco should look at the big picture and see that perhaps they played ball more consistently than he did. No, Jose Canseco assures me it’s ‘cos he’s Latino and they are Irish or whatever.

Jose Canseco made tons of money from baseball and endorsements. He has many fast, expensive cars. Jose Canseco could have slept with Madonna if he hadn’t pussed out. Jose Canseco, the Latinos called, they told me to tell you to shut up.

Jose Canseco never used a corked bat. Because to Jose Canseco, that is cheating.
Jose Canseco never soaked cork, according to Jose Canseco. However, he did sneak into bathrooms with other men to give them shots in the ass. Jose Canseco says it was no big deal and was happy he could do it. Jose Canseco is not gay.

Jose Canseco feels ripped off that he couldn’t stay in baseball longer so he could hit over 500 homeruns so he could be in the Hall of Fame. Jose Canseco thinks he didn’t cheat.

Things that are completely untrue but fun to say:

Jose Canseco is half man, half god, and half Alaskan Malamute. He can make fire with his breath and stays crispy in milk. Jose Canseco likes seafood. He can dance like nobody’s business. Jose Canseco is a lover, not a fighter. Unless you marry him.

In a steel cage match between Jose Canseco and Pete Rose, Jose Canseco would win, but Pete Rose would bet on Jose Canseco.

When Jose Canseco makes love to you, he makes sure that you’re satisfied first. Jose Canseco wants you to wear the skimpy outfit for him. He doesn’t mind chains.

Jose Canseco wrote the book of love as well as the bible. He knows karate and has a black belt in steroids. When he flies in a plane he has to check his hands in as deadly weapons. Jose Canseco has wings and can fly without the aid of a plane, but he prefers to fly in a plane because he likes to flirt with the flight attendants. Jose Canseco is a lifetime member of the Mile High and Sweet Pickles Book Clubs.

If given a choice between chocolate and vanilla, Jose Canseco will gouge your eyes out. Jose Canseco is made of magic and can balance a stack of plates on his head.

Do you know the Muffin Man? Jose Canseco does. Biblically. But he’s not gay. Jose Canseco has to wear a sticker that says, “CAUTION: filling is hot.” This amuses Jose Canseco, and his laugh sounds like a cat in heat, and his breath smells like baby powder.

Jose Canseco never learned to read or write; he prefers to express himself in song. Jose Canseco actually wrote Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and then went back in time and gave it to Beethoven because he felt sorry that Beethoven was deaf. Jose Canseco is a cool dude in a loose mood, and prefers bacon to sausage.
Jose Canseco is half Jewish.

Jose Canseco once swam the whole English Channel completely underwater. Jose Canseco has gills and he doesn’t think that’s cheating. Jose Canseco thinks the Olympic Games are rigged. Jose Canseco craps candy canes and gives them to starving children. Jose Canseco wears his heart on his sleeve because he doesn’t need it to live anymore as he is more machine than man now.

If you had a room with an infinite number of Jose Cansecos and an infinite number of typewriters, odds are Jose Canseco would win. If you think that Jose Canseco can’t rap, then think again. Dr. Phil cannot outwit Jose Canseco. When Jose Canseco performs surgery he listens to the Bangles. He’s actually listening to the Beatles, but he calls them the Bangles. The last person to correct Jose Canseco woke up in a dark alley with a busted lip and a sore butt-hole.

Jose Canseco wants you to be comfortable but likes it when you wear that black number. If it looks like a pump and feels like a sneaker, that’s okay with Jose Canseco. Jose Canseco is a topical ointment that relieves itching and swelling. When Jose Canseco asks what he can do for you, the correct answer is, “Nothing, My Liege.”

Jose Canseco gets as many do-overs as he wants. Jose Canseco thinks that chess is cute, and once ate a raw human kidney on a dare. Jose Canseco has been partyin’ like it’s 1999 since 1988, that’s how ahead of the game he is. Jose Canseco can predict the future. Jose Canseco didn’t think that Star Wars: Attack of the Clones was that bad.

Jose Canseco rules with an iron fist of fury and a concealed weapon. Jose Canseco doesn’t take vacations; he takes whatever he wants. Jose Canseco is rubber and you’re glue. Jose Canseco would trade all of his tomorrows for a single yesterday. Jose Canseco has become tiresome and boring.

next epitomb: Jose Canseco sings Billie Holiday’s greatest hits.

jaimie “meh.” pickle

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Tags: baseball, books, rant

4.27.05
did anyone else watch the Yankees get their asses handed to them by the Angels?
i mean, what? you guys have one good game and decide to quit?
if i were George i’d tell the pitchers that they better start earnin’. gaad.

***

oh the poor kitty. i accidentally scared Toonces Whorecat today. i was running the sweeper and i thought she was outside. she wasn’t. so when i swept under my bed i was startled by a cat running out the other side jumping 6 feet in the air onto the top of the screen door, with such force that the door opened, and then jumping off and out the slamming door. this happened in like, one second. it took about an hour to get her back inside. even then she wouldn’t go near my room. and she kept hanging around jimmy and not me. and she hates jimmy.

she hates jimmy because he’s mean to her. he calls her names and won’t let her sit on his lap. one day he even called her gay.
“toonces, you stupid gay kitty.”
“what?! she is NOT GAY. toonces, don’t listen to the bad man. we love you. and, if you are gay? we still love you. we love you because you’re you.”
“that’s also why we hate you.”
“no! *hitting jimmy* hater! toonces, attack!”

jimmy is mean and you should all go to the message board and tell him so.

in fact, he just called me and said, “what are you doing?”
“i’m blogging about how you hate the cat.”
“i don’t hate you!”
“i said the CAT.”
“oh. yeah i hate her.”
“you are so mean!”
“your cat is a freak!”
“no way!”
“she runs and hides if you so much as sneeze!”
“she’s a ‘special needs’ kitty.”
“she’s retarded alright.”
“no! she’s just old and nervous.”
“she didn’t used to be.”
“well she didn’t used to be old either.”
“she’s a freak.”
“no!”
“she’s a narcissist. she thinks the world revolves around her.”
“no, she doesn’t. well, i mean, yeah. she’s a cat. that’s what cats do.”

reefer log:
too fat polka
eddy’s famous ice cream
alternate ending for romeo and juliet
the hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy would be a good alt ending for romeo and juliet.
sweetie ring tone
fetuses
funny pictures of bumble bees
rattlesnake sex
jesus pickle
whoa lady
big joe polka show

oh, and what was with yesterday’s RL? “shirley jackson and the holocaust”? what?!

4.26.05
old people.

i was at the Holy House today and an old lady walked up to me and said, “what color is your hair today?”
i said, “yellow.” as she SNATCHED THE BASEBALL CAP OFF MY HEAD.
“hee hee,” she cooed and patted my face. only she didn’t “pat” my face. it was one of those, like in the movies when the old person pats the kid’s face…a little too hard? not quite a slap, but also, not a pat. yeah. to me. how old am i?
my life is a movie.
and i’m not getting enough money for it.

***

Cowboy Zydeco mentioned that he’s doing some kind of video game thing (i’m a girl) with Hansel and Gretel. well, my brother and i love the looney tunes cartoon when bugs bunny saves hansel and gretel from witch hazel. it cracks me up how the kids scarf the food. and how they’re blonde haired and blue eyed. and i couldn’t find a picture but i did find these sounds (thanks to the Looney Tunes SoundSource.)
my name is gretel…
hansel?…
kids eating

the only picture i could find:

what a crazy cartoon. why is it i can remember that stuff so easily, but i can’t remember important things like, where my 2003 tax return is, where did i hide those savings bonds, and where is my other blue argyle sock?!

reefer log:
corn poopy
pickle eating old men
popes ring and scarf
chasing far rah
funny fetus
whore caught in the act
i don’t want her you can have her
she’s too fat for me
painter named roma
shirley jackson and the holocaust
give them the pickle
greek gypsy with a monkey

***

4.25.05
updated 50 Books.

so. locusts, huh? slackers. i don’t think they even tried.

listen, that movie was awful. not that i thought it was going to be great or anything, but at least make it make some sense.

the very first scene dad says, “nope. it’s already hokey.”
“why?”
“those two people are too gorgeous.”
“you’re right.”
“i mean, look at that guy.”
“trust me, i am. i think i found a new john stamos.”
“huh?”
“nothing.”
“are you sure that’s xena?”
“pretty sure, dad.”
“this guy is a tool. he’s whining. he’s married to that beautiful lady and he complains?”
“i think he would look better if they didn’t have his hair slicked back. it makes him seem even more toolish.”

later on, “ah, see? i told you. his hair is better now.”
“i can’t tell if they still love each other or if they’re getting a divorce.”
“i know! what is it with the hot and cold?! and it’s him! why does he have to be all oogy?”
“and what’s with her dad?”
“and why aren’t the locusts eating people?”

***

today i washed my jeep, and replaced the wipers. then dad and i cleaned out mom’s two fish ponds. oy. what a pain. the hardest part was catching the fish; the rest was just gross. dad picked them up with his bare hands! ew! i wasn’t able to do that. once i had them in the bucket of water i was able to reach my hand in there and ew! they feel gross. bah.

also today there was some plumbing drama. dad knows a great plumber though, so it wasn’t too bad.

***

on thursday we are painting in t’ville. what? i know. but the guy was all, “we must have one room painted on thursday. name your price.” so i guess we’re trekking it on thursday. it’s mostly out of intrigue.

reefer log:
popes rings
coulter kitchens akron ohio
deep fired okra fired?
cow sling
history of tybalt
juliet stabbing herself picture
locust movie wrong cbs
foreign tv shows
wolf agotta
jimmy dean sausage
freddy couples
lucy lawless locusts body
gypsy mythology

4.24.05
where is Cowboy Zydeco?! hello?! Cowboy Dewayne Zydeco? where are you? did that video game suck you in? and now you can’t talk to us regular mortals who don’t play that game? you haven’t updated your blog in weeks. please come back. don’t make me sic the locusts on you.

in today’s entry i make fun of polka (again), lesbians, black people, nebraska, myself, fat people, polka, fetuses (fetusii? feti? fetusases?) greeks, babies, and polka.

i had mr. fleegan watch the Big Joe Polka Show with me last night. i think he liked it. he asked many questions. some of them i had answers to.

“does big joe play any of the polka songs?”
“i don’t think so. he just sits there and… breathes.”

“he doesn’t dance?”
“can you see him dancing? it would kill him.”

“is this from the ’70s?”
“nope.”
“are you sure?”
“pretty sure.”
“but look at their clothes.”
“oh i know, trust me, they’ve had those clothes since the ’70s and before. but no, it’s recent.”
“no way.”
“yes way.”

“do you know any polka songs?”
“uh, just one or two. probably the same ones you know.”
“i don’t know any polka songs!”
“c’mon, everyone knows the Beer Barrel Polka.”
“oh yeah.”
“and then there’s Who Stole The Kishka. and also the Too Fat Polka.”
“too fat polka?”
“yeah. dad used to sing it all the time when we were kids, didn’t yours?”
“…”
“oh. right.”
“how does it go?”
“er. something like, ‘i don’t want her; you can have her; she’s too fat for me! hay! she’s too fat for me. hay!’. i used to think that was so funny.”
“you’re making that up.”
“heh. no, i’m not.”
like i could make that up? the truth is stranger than fiction, my friends.

“hey. i just noticed something. there’s no black people.”
“well, i think it’s taped in nebraska or something. there’s no black people in nebraska. but more importantly, black people don’t polka.”

“hey look! lesbians!”
“jimmy, no. nebraska, remember? they’re probably sisters or something. just because you see two ugly women dancing together doesn’t mean they’re gay.”

“where did polka come from?”
“it’s an eastern european thing. like poland, czechoslovakia…but the one that’s playing right now sounds like a mariachi band doesn’t it?”
“isn’t that ring of fire?”
“yi-yi-yi-yi!”

“hey jimmy!”
“no.”
“but-”
“no.”
“oh, come on. we should totally learn how to polka.”
“well, it doesn’t look hard.”
“let’s polka!”
“okay.”

so we got up and did the Fleegan Polka. i’m sure it sounded like a herd of bison was in my kitchen. i wonder what liznchris thought. probably, “what the hell are they doing? herding bison?”

***

i got this picture in the e-mail box the other day.

there’s a stamp on the baby’s forehead. and i thought, “aw, hey cute, they got a baby in the mail, aw. babies come from the United States Post Office. that’s so cute, aw.”
but no! ‘cos see?! the flag is up! they’re SENDING the baby! WRONG BABY! SEND IT BACK!

reefer log:
pics of poopy pants gross
big sausage pizza gross
greek curses they’re the same as english curses only with pointier letters. !#@$! in greek looks like: e??????? p????!
fetus 3 months gross
big joe beno gross
jaimie king it’s queen, you fools!
rewrite ending romeo and juliet gross! die!
rosemary clooney
silver gay dad and dad

4.23.05

of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy previews i’ve seen (2), i’m left with a nervous question:
is that zaphod? and if so, where’s his other head and arm?
i am SO excited about this movie, and also, i’m quite scared. because deep down in my mushy, girlie heart, i know that they are going to screw this up. i just hope they remember that it’s all about the dialogue and not about being an action film.
yeah, i know. it hasn’t got a prayer.

***

i love stuff like this (thanks, tami!). makes me laugh. that music makes just makes you so happy, for a bit, and then it’s like…okay this crap is old and must die now. not unlike the Vengaboys. don’t get me wrong, it has it’s place.
…gay bars?

***

does anyone else think that marianne faithfull is the female david bowie?

***

the other day laura was talking about how she calls a curling iron a curling wand and that no one else in our “group” of “friends” calls it that. i run into that crap all the time, mostly with pronunciation. i have that midwestern goober sound. like, my friends say nevahdah, and i say nevaadaa. coloraado.
but sometimes i am teased for saying things that i don’t think are wrong exactly. like, i was teased by laura and mr. fleegan because i say Grapico. they say it Grape-uh-co. mines more like, Grape-ee-co. they were all, “aw, isn’t that cute?” i couldn’t tell a difference at first so i had this conversation with jimmy:
“what? all i said was Grapico.”
“ha! that’s so funny!”
“what?! how do you say it?”
“Grapico.”
“that’s what i said!”
“no you said Grapico.”
“i know!”
“but i said Grapico.”
“that’s what i said!”
and so on and so on. i finally see the “difference” but really, i say it so fast i don’t see how anyone picked up on it.

today laura and i were discussing the new caramel filled junior mints (stick with the mint ones, m’kay?), and laura asked if they were any good. i said, “eh, kinda like a Rollo.” and she’s all, “ha. you say Rah-llo. i say Roe-llo.”
i do call them rah-llos. i got to thinking about it, and i guess they probably are supposed to be called roe-llo. weird, huh? well, it’s not like anyone eats those anyway. oh, i like them. i just never buy them for some reason. do they still make them?

jimmy has gotten used to me saying that i’ve run the sweeper, but he loses it when i say oregon or buttons or rotten. somethings i just pronounce like a dork. bad habit.

reefer log:
baes fucking
i need an o
the popes in the pizza with the silver spoon…
pics of euthanasia sicko
light baes
joe beno polka! polka!
cbs locusts april 24
iraq paramedics
bastille painting
really really hard sex the two reallys got me.
salamanders
how long king cobras live
popsicle puzzles is that like a Chinese F*ck Puzzle?
pickle girl me!
kill lizards
pbs kids
waether in iraq
big joe polka show sweet! took 6 days!

4.22.05
new weekly

the cover of the latest Cabinet magazine is kinda wigging me out. i love Cabinet. i think it’s pretty smart. i think i’d like to work for that magazine. yes, i’m sure i would.

from their website i followed this link. where they take classic literature and put your name in it instead of the real character’s name. apparently Romeo and Juliet is a fairly popular choice. but i was thinking how odd that is seeing as how they both die at the end…suicides no less. but not to worry. they “thought” of everything.

The ultimate romantic, wedding, anniversary or mother’s day gift — now available in a personalized “happy ending” edition, with optionally your pictures on the cover!It’s the way Romeo and Juliet should have been – true love with a personal twist!

what the-? no! but wait, IT’S EVEN MORE MINDNUMBINGLY STUPID THAN I THOUGHT.

What’s more, if you choose the Happy Ending Version a new scene is added with an unexpected plot twist — the lovers live happily ever after! A short scene is added after Act V Scene III. It turns out the apothecary’s poison didn’t work and Romeo survives, and Juliet’s stabbing of herself merely made her pass out. (With sincere apologies to William Shakespeare, Mercutio and Tybalt!)

“sincere apologies”, what? oh hey, listen, do not apologize if you don’t mean it. and trust me, YOU DON’T MEAN IT. ‘COS IF YOU DID? YOU WOULDN’T BE PRINTING THIS CRAP. PS, WHO CAME UP WITH THAT GENIUS ENDING? HOPEFULLY IT WAS ONE OF THE MONKEYS WITH A TYPEWRITER, HUH? BECAUSE IF AN ACTUAL HUMANBEING CAME UP WITH THAT? I’D SAY WE HAVE GROUNDS FOR A PUNCH TO THE THROAT.

“hey sam, we need an alternate ending for Romeo and Juliet.”
“really? i have an idea about a spaceship-”
“no, nothing so fancy as that. we just need the two lovers to uh, live at the end.”
“ooh. that’s a toughie, ralph.”
“yeah.”
“okay, well, how about Romeo wakes up and-”
“how?”
“well, the poison was uh, mixed wrong. so it’s not as potent. he just gets a nap and a bellyache.”
“m’kay. well, but what about juliet? she uh…stabs herself.”
“oh well hey, no problem. she uh…she passes out. and then Romeo wakes up with a stomach ache and saves her. tourniquet or something.”
“tourniquet, huh? tourniquet? TOURNIQUET?! SHE STABS HER OWN HEART! WE’RE DOOMED!”
“well, okay, see, what if okay, here. what if she has a, now stay with me here okay? she has a, her lucky deck of playing cards in her shirt pocket, huh? so the knife doesn’t go in too far, see?”
“playing cards? did they even-”
“oh better yet, see. Romeo gave her the cards earlier in the play, see? like a gift, right? so it’s like, he saves her, you know?”
“well, okaaay. was the shirt pocket even invented back then?”
“i dunno, see? but who cares? the idiots buying this crap have probably never read it in the first place. now, i was thinking about this spaceship…”

do you know what’s sad? i could’ve written dialogue for sam and ralph all night long. get it? sam and ralph? the sheep dog and the wolf from looney tunes? because there’s not an original bone in my body.

****

speaking of classic literature…

remember Huckleberry Finn? okay, now remember the slave, Jim? okay. good. now, put on your thinking hats. do you remember anything about Jim having this weird lucky hairball thing? that he got from a horse or cow or something? it’s like a rare, gross voodoo thing? please? please tell me this is real and that i didn’t dream this. forum me, and i’ll love you forever.

because i was talking about this with my fam and they looked at me like i was some strange freak who was trying to rewrite the ending to Romeo and Juliet.
“what?” i asked, “you mean you don’t know ANYTHING about that weird lucky hairball thing?”
“…”
“this rings no bells? none of you?”
“…”
“please stop looking at me like i’m a lenny. i don’t want your pity.”

4.21.05

tami sparks sent me a present that her special man friend scottie made for me. and let me just say very loudly, I LOVE MY PRESENT, SCOTTIE!

scottie is rooting for the locusts…

and as if that picture wasn’t funny and awesome enough, there’s an awesome BONUS PICTURE!

…and so is xena. it’s all about fighting for the “greater good”, y’all.

the way i see it, the score so far is Locusts: 2, Humanity: 0.

locust log:
book about popes an illustrated book about popes?
what is the most popular flavor for a pop
hello kitty air force ones sometimes, i am ashamed of america
elephant mound see also: ann coulter
biting grasshoppers
bees swarm fighting
lizards of iraq great band name

4.19.05
what?

you won’t believe me, but i swear it’s the truth. today the lady calls dad complaining that she can’t get into that house because i’ve locked all the doors and i have the key.

i realize that i’ll never win. never. ever never. i should probably just go ahead and sell out humanity to the space robots.

Dear Space Robots,

Over here! *waves arms*

Love,
Jaimie Pickle

only 5 more days until Locusts! i’m rooting for the locusts. like, with a big foam finger that says Locusts are #1! on it. why do i want the locusts to win? because of people like her. i believe i’ve mentioned my complete and utter hatred of that bitch before. what i don’t understand is that, if everyone who has ever read anything she’s ever said or written can tell immediately that she’s completely and totally insane…how does she still have a job? or get book deals? she’s crazy. and i don’t mean it in a funny way. i’m serious. i’m afraid of her.

and you know what else i don’t get? people think she’s pretty.
really? i mean, yes, she’s blonde; yes, she’s skinny. but also? a rattlesnake with a blonde wig is skinny and blonde. and, in case you’re not getting what i’m saying? ann coulter is a snake. A CRAZY SNAKE.

enough, enough. i could bitch about that crazy, vitriol-spewing gorgon all night…and still not feel any better. oh! but did you see where the article mentions she’s been engaged 3 times but never married? gee, i can’t imagine why she’s never been married. oh wait. no. i can totally see why. but i’m not such a mean person that i hope that she stays alone and terribly, terribly, suicide-inducingly lonesome forever. nay, i am ALL HEART. in fact, i hope she gets to marry soon. and i hope he’s a crazy, right-wing neoconfundie just like her. and? i hope he keeps her barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen where women belong.

or no, maybe she’ll finally find the love of her life. the love she can’t live without because she’s finally found the other half of her soul….and it’s a lady. whoa, whoa, whoa she’s a lady.

hee. i actually do feel better now.
because i’m shallow and hateful and for the love, c’mon you stupid locusts! hurry!

reefer log:
name the parts of the snare drum
giant strawberries
hot water stingers
rosemary coolney what? i was drinking, right?
funny popes names
ancient gypsies curses
nicotine off painted walls i don’t know what to tell you. that stuff is like grease and wax. you could try washing the walls, but it’s just gonna make a mess. we just put 3 coats of paint over it. i know.
no poop flags hm?

4.18.05
i would forget about my head if it wasn’t sewed on my neck.
is that how that goes? i dunno. all i’m trying to say in a fancy way is: i’m an idiot.

so i had to work by myself today. popsicle was sick. so i paint at this place and it’s an empty house because the folks haven’t moved in yet. so i paint and then i leave and i lock the front door with the key and go home.

later on mr. fleegan and i go to the movie show. i didn’t take my cell phone ‘cos
A. movie and
B. the battery was soon to die.

i get home and i’ve got 3 messages.
i mean, hell. no one ever calls me. and now i’ve got 3 damn messages.

one of the messages was the lady with the house (it’s not her house. it’s her daughter’s house. still, it’s empty.) she’s all, “jaimie, i notice there’s a light on in the house? are you still painting? i’m going to check it out and make sure the doors are locked. do you have the key?”

the next message was left 25 minutes later, it’s Popsicle, “jaimie. the lady called. i’m going to kill you.”

so i call dad:
“hey, am i fired?”
“heh. no. but i’m going to kill you.”
“whatido?”
“you left the kitchen light on.”
“ah. punishable by death, i suppose?”
“and the back door unlocked.”
“hm. that one’s more serious. or, it would be if the house was in MY neighborhood.”
“yeah.”
“was she pissed? are we fired?” i asked, hopefully.
“nah. i’m going to kill you because she called over here to tell me that she turned the light off and locked the door.”
“i see.”
“you’re dead.”
“m’kay. i’ll see you tomorrow?”
“okay.”

i just. i mean. this lady. she saw a light on and just…what? and then the back door was unlocked? really? my bad. honestly. i thought i locked it. but also? there’s nothing in the house to steal. except, maybe the painters’ boombox. or paint. perhaps she’s worried about vagrants wandering in and cleaning themselves? i’m sure it happens all the time at the White People Subdivision/Farmland Next to the Expensive Private School.
not. not ever.

to sum up:
yes, i’m a forgetful dumbass idiot. but also? you don’t have to tell on me, for. the. love.

reefer log or bust!:
reefer day song
eddy’s ice cream oh yeah! i forgot i bought ice cream! yay!
locust jump
history of the popsicle the popsicle was born Patricia Allowicious Pickle on august 10, 1954, in a little town called akron, ohio. or, as i refer to it, hell. skip ahead a few years and uh, there you have it! Popsicle!
salamanders fuck the salamanders? they no fuck! the salamanders? they make love.
mush balls
what’s worse than finding a worm in your apple the holocaust you are kidding me!
pickle king new york
how to make a scarf clip

4.17.05
kristie mentioned The Big Joe Polka Show on the message board. i watched it. it was…i couldn’t change the channel. i smiled the whole time i watched it. it claims to be “happy music for happy people” and true, the people dancing sure seemed happy. maybe it’s open bar? i know i was plastered.

i’m not sure where the show was shot at, it seemed at first that it was in a high school gymnasium/auditorium, but as the shots panned around it seemed way too big for that. the “dance floor” was plywood and it stretched out to an area with tables and chairs, beyond the tables and chairs was just…blackness…as if the place was so big that it actually sucked light into it’s inky, blackhole. the “stage” was a raised platform, and the rest of the space? i don’t know. i think maybe it’s the soundstage where they filmed the lunar landing. or maybe the show takes place on the actual moon.

it has to be a moon show. where else would Big Joe get his vests? moon vests. it’s crazy. each side of the vest has the keys and buttons part of an accordion sewed on it, then he wears a ruffled tux shirt…so the ruffles look like the middle part of the accordion. get it?
and if the ruffled shirt wasn’t bad enough…the sleeves, my god, the sleeves. poofy. and sheer.

sheezus, Big Joe, i do not need to see your pink, ham-like arms through sheer sleeves, m’kay?
and? sheer, poofy sleeves are for women. maybe no one told you.
so i’m telling you now.

as far as i can tell, Big Joe is like the Rod Roddy of polka.

here’s something else, while i watched these old people dance to the polka music, i couldn’t tell if it’s really hard or really easy to polka dance.

i called dad.
“dad, you won’t believe what i’m watching.”
“uh….”
“The Big Joe Polka Show.”
“there’s a polka show? on tv?”
“isn’t satellite weird? it’s not even PBS.”
“what’s the band’s name?”
“uh…i think it’s the Joe Beno Polka Band.”
“out of cleveland, ohio?”
“yes! holy crap! how did you know that?!”
“just a guess. cleveland’s like, the polka capital of the world.”

4.16.05
update: 50 Books. this week i finished a Shirley Jackson book and a Kay Hooper book. and i quote TG:II. a typical week for jaimie.

at work yesterday there was a sweet four year old girl who talked nonstop. she had a cute squeaky voice and was just the most adorable thing ever. “the bumbles are chasing me!” she said.
“oh yeah?” i asked.
“yeah! that bumble with the long tail.”
“that’s a dragonfly, honey.” i said.
“haha! no, it’s not. it’s a bumble with a long tail!”

“i like to catch lizards!”
“you do?”
“yes! that’s my favorite thing! catching lizards! but i don’t squeeze them!”
“that’s good.”
“i know! i love catching lizards!”
“do you name them?”
“what?” she said, in the “are you fucking crazy?” tone.
“do you name the lizards you catch?”
“no! you silly!”
“oh.”
“i don’t know their names!”

“i didn’t know that my mommy has a little brother inside her.”
“she does?”
“yes!”
“well, neat. so you’ll have a little brother soon, huh?”
“yes. in 20 more months.”
“so she’s an elephant?”
“what?”
“what’s your little brother’s name going to be?”
“well, Daddy wants to name him Freddy Couples because of the golf course. But Mommy wants to name him Sweetie.”

four years old, y’all.
my stony, ice heart grew three times that day.

4.14.05
Dear New York Yankees,

It’s called baseball; look into it. Perhaps you could find a coach, and you could practice the game every once in a while? I’m just sayin’. I mean, you already have the uniforms and the GIANT HONKING PAYCHECKS. MAYBE YOU COULD START EARNING YOUR MONEY?

You bums.

Love,
Jaimie Pickle

***

i got an awesome e-mail from the World Famous Cookie Magoo today. and in this precious e-mail was a joke. a joke, she said, that i would appreciate. and let’s just say, Cookie knows me so well. so i MUST share this joke with you.

Q. What’s worse than finding a worm in your apple?

A. The Holocaust.

(you gotta highlight the answer.)
this joke made me laugh the silly laugh that scares small animals and children.

***

and i now see the reason i couldn’t find the chiska song was because it’s Who Stole the Kishka. you’ll just have to excuse my ignorance, i live in the south, and sadly, polka is nonexistent. i realize that frank yankovic was a god in certain parts of the country, but here there is no place for the accordion (well, wait. there is zydeco, huh?). we’ve got our own dumbass instruments.
exhibit a. the banjo.
it’s like a snare drum had sex with a guitar and…here put these metal things on your fingers.

but it saddens me that i’ve just now realized how regional things are. no polka in the south. but oh, can you imagine the song titles?
Deep Fried Polka
Okra Polka
Sweet Home Alapolka
Polka Salad Annie
Sweet Tea Polka (cos it would be vulgar for the baptists to dance to the Beer Barrel Polka. wait, it’s vulgar for them to dance at all, innit? hee.)
Who Stole the Jimmy Dean™ Sauage Links?
The Warsh Rag Polka
Hootenanny Polka
Hey Y’all, Let’s Polka!
Polka, Polka, Polka, Sweet Potato Pie Polka

i’m sure there would be others. why don’t you make up a fake polka title and share it with the forum? they are huge polka fans. especially liz.

reefer log:
lucy lawless bees i know! me too. but no, it’s locusts.
cute baes
beards biblical use of

4.13.05
it ALWAYS rains on wednesday night. i know this to be true because EVERY TIME i take the trash out to the curb, it is raining.
“jimmy! it ALWAYS FLOPPING RAINS when i have to take the trash out.”
“hey…you’re right.”
“it’s a conspiracy!”
“it wasn’t supposed to rain tonight.”
“i know!”

2 minutes after i took the trash out? stopped raining.

O, ye foul waether!
Thou fickle hellcat,
Damn thee.

***

because of the Great Psychic Cat Puke Adventure last night i did not get any sleep. well, that’s not true from 5:30am-6:30am i got some awesome sleep. just not enough.
every time the kitty moved, twitched, licked, breathed, jumped off the bed, etc i would jolt awake, “wha? huh? kitty? puke?” and then lay there waiting for her to get back on the bed. then drift off again. EVERY. 20. MINUTES.

***

tomorrow i get to work outside. i’m pretty excited about it. but i am dreading the bees.
O, ye foul baes!
Thou winged douchebags
With stingers! And venom!

The thorax!

***

jimmy and i bought ice cream tonight (Eddy’s). it was a deal, buy 2 for $6. he always gets rocky road. and i always get something new and awesome and cool and new. one time i got caramel popcorn (Mayfield). i know! it does sound gross! i thought so too! but it was REALLY QUITE GOOD. and i haven’t seen it since then. but tonight i got the latest special flavor Girl Scout Cookies with REAL, ACTUAL, GENUINE PIECES OF SAMOA COOKIES AND CARAMEL. God really does bless us all, everybody. even if he does play tricks with the rain on Garbage Day Eve.

reefloger:
pics on use of deadly force
how to say pickle in italian wow. i don’t know. according to babel fish it’s sottaceto. so-tuh-che-to?
king cobras
police riddles
greek dance on the table i immediately thought of the Who Stole the Chiska song/dance that is so popular at weddings, unless you live in the south, in which case you’ve never heard that song before. but now that i think about it, it’s probably not greek. probably polish? if i had to guess. why can’t i find that song on the internet? i thought you could find anything on the internet!
curses international we’re global!
free what am i riddles for kids
gadsden times sounds familiar…
jerkhole yay!

4.12.05
juan’s taxes are in the mail.

painted the dreaded Mr. Pissy Pants apartment today. this old dude reeked of pee. and finally he had to move out and go to a home of some kind. pretty sad i guess, but also if i can smell piss and you’re 30 feet away…you have a problem. so he can’t take care of himself obviously. i’m glad he’s at a place where SOMEONE will clean him up.
it was so bad that when he fell or whatnot and the paramedics came to get him the girl paramedic walked in to the apartment and promptly puked her guts out. that, my friends, is a problem.
lucky for us the room was fumagated and the carpet ripped out so by the time we got there it wasn’t so pee-y.

***

a few minutes ago i thought, “i bet the cat is going to throw up.” i don’t know why. she wasn’t acting weird or anything. sure enough, not 30 seconds ago, she puked. a gigantic yellow mound of mush.
warm.

why, toonces, why do you HAVE TO PUKE ON THE CARPET?! ALL OF THE OTHER ROOMS HAVE SMOOTH SURFACES, BEIT WOOD OR VINYL. WHY THE CARPET?
poor kitty.
there was something in the puke, other than food bits. a dark something. maybe she got a mouse? she was inside all day so i don’t think she ate another squirrel or anything bigger than a mouse. maybe she ate some yarn. who knows.
hm. poor kitty.

psychic cat puke.

4.11.05
haapy birthday to laira! hapy birhtday too yoo!

sluhtwore.

as you xcan see, no bakcspace! i must ne drinkigs.!

sometimes yo uhave to let thinds go. for exxxmelplo: you knwo when you eating a box aod (igoner) of junieor mints? and the last tow aer melted to eht box? inthe corner?
let them go.
you agotta let “em go. oterwise you’ll be bnanging the box and getting mad and fr o what?! junioer mints? plase. there are more oter thigns to get mad abaout.

other times youhave to let go? i’l tlell oyu. forin stance. i’vce had MAMmbo ItAliano on my head all day long. hvae you ever? i hat that that song os in my head, but wha can uo do? gt mad?
you gota let it og!

anotehr one: the newyork yankes have lost liekm. 3 in a row, come on you idiouts! all oyu have ot do is win. YOU LETT BLATIMORE BEAT YOU!?
let em go, jiamie. let em go.

ROSEMARY CLLOONEY GET OUT OF MY HEAD!

see what happends when you dont let go?

i have a funny story to ell but ican’t tell it now ‘vos i’m not using bcakspace. it would be too horrilbe looking. tomoreow

this pant job now i s anightmare but i AM THANKTING YOU GOD JESUS THAT TERE’S NO POOP OR PEE SMELLS TO SMELL.

hay on line 6 of juans; taksxes YOU REALLY do put a 0 ((zzzzzeoreo) ! i thougth that -0- meant ‘whatver number you get when you stubtract the other fucking numbers” beca uethat’s how much i OVERTHINKGS THINKGS. they realy menat 0. zreo zero.
see why i’m not alwoed to do mine own tazxed? i;d lose evrytime!
but sinece juan’s mom did her taxes she getss bakc monkey,. HAAAAAAAA! money.

juan! you are a stupiefd dumbhole full of thigns that arent’ smart like, rocks and water skiis. i hate you/

rsoe mary coolney@! out now! rosemary clooney, i mean. go!

i am reading books! dno’t! pressuure! me!

4.10.05
mr. fleegan and i were watching the Hitler Channel this evening, and i asked him who was hitler’s girlfriend, and he said it was eva braun which i then said that oh yeah, for some reason the name lizzie borden was in my head but i knew that wasn’t right, and his reply to that was, “bastille?”
and then we laughed.

because on friday mr. fleegan was talking about the pope and i asked where they were burying him (i haven’t been paying attention) and he said under the Bastille.
“what?”
“you know, that Bastille thing.”
“in france? why? does it even exist anymore?”
“no, in italy. where they bury popes and things.”
“honey, you mean basilica. St. Peter’s?”
“yeah, basilica.”
“thank god for art history. you realize i have to blog about this, right?”
“you realize i can destroy your website with one click, right?”

we have the best conversations.

the reefer log is swamped with tax searches. i apologize for those looking up 1040ez forms and pages 24-32 in the tax booklet. go here: www.irs.gov

tomorrow is LBC‘s B’day. i got her something orange.

4.09.05
update: 50 books

today was KID’S FUN DAY at Gadsden’s own Convention Hall of Rentable Space. it’s a free event that my mom’s pre-school does every year. they give out free pizza and soda, and lot’s of sponsors come out and give free stuff to the kids. like, the Lion’s Club does free eye tests, and there’s usually some group giving away free fish (poor fish). and there’s dance groups and talent groups and things that perform on a stage. and there’s just lots of other stuff too.

usually i have to sling free pizza, but this year more people from the church decided to volunteer, so i wasn’t even going to go. ah, a blessed saturday of nothing pressing to do…right. but mom caught me yesterday, “i talked to your brother today.”
“oh yeah? how’s he doing?”
“he said since you have bright yellow hair that you should go to the FUN DAY tomorrow and juggle for the kids.”
“oh he DID?”
“yeah. it would be a good idea, you know.”
“why that little…selling me out like that!”
“would you? please?”
“ohhh….i don’t know.”
“c’mon?”
“he’s got a lot of nerve. i mean, how many FUN DAYs has HE volunteered at??? huh?! NONE! THAT’S HOW MANY!”

jerkhole.

so anyway. since i’m the BEST PICKLE CHILD IN THE LAND i went and juggled and wow, my arms with the soreness. thanks be to Nicole Papa for taking many pics of me juggling.

it looks like i have to pee

so there it is. my good deed for the month.

***

i woke up this morning and when i stretched in bed my hand hit my right earring and i heard a pop! sound and ah crap, there went the back of my earring. gone. into the Oblivion of Nothingwhere. i couldn’t find the damn thing anywhere. so i figured it was time to buy a new pair seeing as how i’ve been wearing the same silver balls since i got them pierced. which, by the way, i thought was last year, but i see that it’s been two years and holy cow, where does the time go?

unfortuneately my ears are persnickety, and they ooze and bleed unless the earrings are made of The Purest and Finest Metal In All The Land. but i went to Claire’s this evening and it was buy two pair get one free, and so how could i pass up a deal on cute earrings? i AM a girl after all.

so i got some silver crosses, because, why not?
some silver salamanders, because, also why not?
and some small circle ones…hoops? but they’ve got a glass ball in the middle. they look pretty cute.

i wanted to get these little turtles and there were these adorable strawberries too. but since
A. i’m not sure just how oozey and gross these are going to make my ears (although i did get the ones marked for sensitive ears) and
B. i’m not really great at changing them out (you mean i’ve had these silver balls in for nearly two years?! i am consistent. and boring. consistently boring.), so what’s the point of having cute earrings that sit on my dresser for years?

right now i’ve got the crosses on. and everytime i look in a mirror (okay, twice i’ve looked) i’m all, “what the hell?!” because they look so foriegn. so drastic. so much bigger than the silver balls. but they’re really not that big. maybe i’ll get used to them.

i should probably work my way up to the hoops, huh? i can see laura and i having this conversation,
“gah! i look like a GYPSY!”
“you do not look like a gypsy.”
“i mean, throw a colorful scarf on my head and i’m there.”
“honest, they are too small to be gypsy hoops.”
“this screams, “i have the blood of the Roma!” ugh. i’m a filthy gypsy whore.”
“you’re an idiot.”
“a gypsy idiot.”

no offense to gypsies, tramps, or thieves. no curses please.

4.07.05
what? jaimie didn’t finish another book today?
no. jaimie actually worked today.

i worked at an apartment at the Holy House. a lady there had some leak problems that were fixed, but the sheet rock had to be ripped out. so we replaced it and painted it. sounds so easy doesn’t it? what if i told you that the ancient lady who lived at the apartment had an equally ancient cat? and what if i told you that the litter box was just a cooking pot that she keeps in the bathroom? and what if i also told you that THERE WAS NO LITTER IN THE PEE POT? WHAT. IF. I. TOLD. YOU. IT WAS 4,000 DEGREES IN THE APARTMENT?
can you guess at the smell?

no. no you can’t.

i heaved about 4 times. no pukage. just heaving every so often. it was somehow worse than the Dead Man’s Room, i think because of the heat.

i do lead a charmed life, don’t i? yesterday was Poopy Pants Elevator Man and today was Steamy Hot Piss Pot. anyone want to trade? hm? laura? liz?

i mean, if i was a nurse, then yes, i’d expect this kind of thing daily. put i’m a PAINTER.
weeee!

*

reefer log:
lucy lawless tattoos lame!
tax tabel booklet 1040e lame!
locusts cbs lame!

4.06.05
update: 50 Books i am a crazy reading mofo. how do i do it, you ask? the secret is to read 6 books at a time. that way you’re not tied down to just one book at a time. monogamy? why?

*

today Popsicle and i painted a room at the Holy House that we’ve named Nicotine Town. the unit hadn’t ben painted in like, 20 years, and everyone who had lived in it had apparently smoked 4 packs a day. walls were yellow, the ceiling was BROWN. and the metal door frames? also brown. i sprayed them with cleaner and watched in horror as brown tobacco juice rolled down, leaving the frames a nice off-yellow color. gag.
the boss came up later on and we had this conversation:
B: i think the lady who lived here didn’t just smoke cigarettes

P: you think she had a fish-fry in here?

M: dad, she’s talking about marijuana.

P: oh!

B: the sad thing is no one knows where she is now.

P: why not?

B: she found her a boyfriend on the internet and ran away with him.

J: what? an old lady did this?

B: yep. she took one bag and left the rest of her stuff here.

P: you’re kidding!

B: nope. there was a note left on the counter saying that she’s giving up the apartment and to do whatever we want with all her stuff.

J: you know she’s dead, right?

B: probably. who’s to say she even wrote that note? when the guy came to pick her up he stayed in the lobby until she came down to meet him and he told some of the old ladies who were down there at the time that he’s been widowed 3 times.

J: oh. this is sad.

P: what about her family?

B: they haven’t heard from her.

J: no.

B: i’ve put her stuff in storage in case she comes back…or…they find the body.

J: this is almost sadder than painting a dead guy.

also today i shared The Slowest Elevator Ride in the World with The Poor Bastard Who Pooped His Pants. trust me, it was not a fart. my heart went out to the poor old guy. because let’s face it, pooping your pants = bad day. sometimes you cough or sneeze and KAPLAT! poopy pants. sometimes you’re at the red light at the last intersection before the turn to your house and ohno, ohno, ohno, ohno, WHY?!
these things happen.

**

DEADLY FORCE. BECAUSE WE ALL WANT TO BE COWBOYS, LIKE WYATT EARP!
what is this? i don’t understand why the people passing this seem to think that it makes good sense. i mean, yes, by all means, defend yourself. but this is basically saying if you feel threatened…anywhere…’go ahead and kill ’em.’
i mean, “ah! you dare to take my wallet!? you cad! you have dishonored me. a duel to the death!” KABLAAM! “you can clearly see, he was going to attack me.”

and these right-wing, conservative, republican dick beards all claim to be pro-life. yes, so long as it’s a fetus. but if it’s old enough to tote a gun, well, it’s huntin’ season.

4.05.05
update: 50 books

dammit, landlady, get some patience. Rome wasn’t built in a day, whatever the hell that means.

*

had a horrible dream last night. i was this girl, like a teenager i guess. and i found a gun, like a rusty, old, cowboy gun. and when i picked it up (why?! why pick up a strange gun?! have you like, never seen a movie before?!) i knew that he would come for it. who was he? who was i? i have no idea.
but later on in the dream i look and there in my hands is that gun…even though it hadn’t been in my hands a second ago. and then there he is and says, “you got mah six-shooter? ah knew you would.” and i was all kill him! just shoot him! he’s gonna kill someone with this gun! kill him first! but the gun was so heavy and i’ve never actually shot a gun before and so when i did pull the trigger i totally missed. and then he pulled out another cowboy gun just like it (oh it just fucking figures, doesn’t it?) and he shot me like, way too many times. overkill. and he laughed.

and i woke up all jerky and twitchy and thinking why, when you found the gun, didn’t you take the bullets out of the gun?! why didn’t you bury the gun?! why did you have to have the gun?!
but then i calmed down and figured it didn’t matter if the girl had the gun or not, he was gonna kill her anyway. overkill.
who was that girl?
who was that man?

**

here’s a fun graphic that shows how you get a new pope from the Pope Factory. it’s something like, “two men enter; one man leaves” only instead of Thunderdome they call it conclave.
who run vatican town?

***

i’m not always a douchebag, but when it comes to my taxes i am.
look, i can solve puzzles, riddles, mensa books, dot-to-dots, color-by-number, the jumble, morse code, semaphor flags, greek mythology, and, and, and i’m really good at the ponies. but when it comes to taxes i become an angry 5th grader who can’t figure out the last word problem.
“okay, okay let’s think about this, jaimie. ‘If Juan subtracts line 5 from line 4, and line 5 is larger than line 4, then Juan enters -0-. This is Juan’s taxable income.’ wait. what is juan’s taxable income? 0? i don’t- what? ‘Use the amount on line 6 above to find Juan’s tax in the tax table on pages 24-32 of the booklet. Then enter Juan’s tax from the table on this line.’ wha? there’s a booklet?! ARG!! I CAN’T DO IT! I CAN’T DO IT! MOM! MO-OM! HELP MEEEEE!”
what’s worse is i file the 1040EZ. i know. it’s like, Taxes For ‘Tards.

all i know is two things:
1. Juan needs to marry an accountant and
2. Juan will not be contributing $3 to the presidential election campaign.

ree-fer-log:
haircolor and highlights
lucky ladies
meth pictures
gay italians
who sings stand by your man miss tammy wynette. godresthersoul. i always liked the part where she sings “give him two arms to clang to”

4.04.05

Dear Lucy Lawless, again,

I’m sorry about yesterday’s letter. I didn’t realize your movie was a metaphor. Brilliant! Keep up the good work!

Love,
Jaimie Pickle

in all honesty, i’ve never understood subsidized farming. so, the government pays farmers not to grow things? wha? “oh jaimie, you and your simple mind…”

in other non-important things, the Yankees played a hell of a game last night against Boston.

this is stupid. and it makes it so mush easier to hate ignorant people. oh, but i don’t want to hate people. i want to love them. i even want to love the “president”. of course, i’m not loving him, but i want to…and that has to count for something. baby steps.

and for the record, i’m already sick of the “culture of life” phrase.
and why is the “pres.” going to the pope’s funeral?

But at the same time, the pope’s interpretation of the phrase was considerably wider than the president’s. While they shared the view that the “culture of life” extended to abortion and euthanasia, the president did not share the pope’s feeling that it also extended to the death penalty and the Iraq war — which the pope opposed.

the “president” is a jackass.

***

my ‘fridge actually has some food in it at the moment. surprisingly, none of it is leftover chinese take-out. because i just ate those leftovers for dinner.

***

at the therapist’s office the other day:
i’m in the waiting room and T comes out of his office.
T: hey jaimie, do you know what the Secret Policeman’s Ball is?

J: i’ll take Complete Random for $400, Alex.

T: Ha.

J: is it the Secret Policeman’s Ball or the Policeman’s Secret Ball? are the police secret? or is the ball secret?”

T: …

J: …

T: okay. have you heard of either one of those?

J: …no.

his wife works the phones and computer so she looked it up and it was some kind of fund raising event in London for Amnesty International. so there you go.

reefer log:
scream pickle
psychic heat air
italian kitty tattoo
whah is a great love
laura ingles wilder

4.03.05

Dear Lucy Lawless,

Hi.
I’m somewhat of a, uh, a fan, I guess you would say. I liked your Xena show. Well, seasons 1 – 3 weren’t too bad. Seasons 4 and 5 were kind of awful (except for the handful of comedy eps), and 6? Well, it’s best not to talk about that one, seeing as how I only saw 3 episodes of it. Anyway, I think you’re a very good actress. I don’t blame you for the show jumping shark with the whole Dahak arc. And then jumping shark again with the whole China/Lao Ma thing. And then jumping even more shark with the “xena has a baby and then she and gabrielle are frozen in ice for 25 years and then unfrozen and xena’s daughter is all grown up and is a bad guy” story. Jesus, what were the writers thinking?

Anyway, I couldn’t help but notice you’re in a new movie, Locusts! (April 24th CBS)

Look, I’m sorry. It’s just, when I saw the preview for the movie there was like, a busload of school kids and these buzzing insects swarming all in the bus and i thought it was so sad, those poor kids being stung to death by killer bees. And then, then it’s not killer bees after all, but…locusts? And then they showed a clip of you with your hair blowing in the wind and you had a sword or something.

Okay, okay locusts. That sounds bad, right? I mean, they were a Biblical plague, they must be terrible. They’re probably some kind of horrible stinging, biting, venomous…wait, what? Locusts don’t sting or bite? What?
You mean a locust is the same thing as a grasshopper?
Get. The Fuck. Out.
Well, does the rest of the population know that? Because if the rest of the world finds out that locusts are just goddamn grasshoppers I’m afraid your movie won’t have a leg to stand on. Even if they are “scientifically engineered” (to do what, anyway. breathe underwater? swarm in cool shapes? cure cancer? taste like chicken?) I don’t think anyone’s going to care to see a movie about swarming grasshoppers. It is what it is, okay?

“But Jaimie…” Wait, Lucy, let me finish, then you can have your turn. So let me guess, these RoboLocusts escape from a government facility, then eat all of Nebraska’s corn, and then…annoy the complete fuck out of everybody…to death? So then those who aren’t killed by the annoying will starve because there’s no more corn and so they are forced to…i dunno…eat the fucking locusts? Which, I can only guess, are about as nutritious as the genetically enhanced corn that Nebraska was growing in the first place? Am I close?

Look, I’m not trying to be rude, okay? And I mean, I just…well, maybe it’s an awesome movie, right? But the thing is, it just doesn’t seem possible. I mean, a movie about locusts, even scientifically engineered locusts, just seems a little too…hokey? I mean no disrespect, honest. I guess…what I’m trying to say is… OH, FOR THE LOVE! YOU KNOW SAM RAIMI FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! YOU MADE HIM AN ASSLOAD OF MONEY FOR THE XENA SHOW! I’M SURE HE CAN GET YOU A BETTER PART THAN SOME GOVERNMENT-SCIENCE-TART FIGHTING GODDAMN LOCUSTS IN THE MIDWEST!

See, now here’s a locust problem:

Giant! Wooden! Locust!

Now if a bunch of those were swarming a school bus, then yes, movie. Even better, they spit venom. Even, even better, they don’t merely spit venom, but instead they have king cobras that live in their mouths and when they open their giant mandibles the cobras strike! And spit venom! No wait! Acid! NO! WAIT! ACID-VENOM! QUICK! SOMEONE GET ME HOLLYWOODLAND ON THE PHONE! LUCY LAWLESS, I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU A STAR!

Love,
Jaimie Pickle

4.02.05
wow. pretty awesome april fool’s joke, huh?

april fool’s day is also mr. fleegan’s birthday. and florrie remembered! because she is Birthday Rememory Girl. like a computer, she is.
methuselah jimmy turned 674 years young.

new weekly for your reading playsure.

reefer log:
spy toilets
the jesus pickle
how to lose wait in the stomach fast
painting michael corleone
shit pickle
leslie neilson

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The One About Celtic Woman, Danny Boy, and How i’m a Big Baby

April 22, 2005

hi kids,

i am a total girlie mushball and i cry at grand openings and when i hear the national anthem and also when i run out of ketchup or mustard. and if you tell anyone that i’m a girlie sack of mush and not the hard-hearted bitch that i portray on T.V., i’ll call you a liar and deny, deny, deny, and then i’ll kill you and hide the body under the neighbor’s house.

girlie mushball, my ass.

all of that to say that a couple of weeks ago i was watching PBS and this show called Celtic Woman came on and it was a concert with these 4 irish chicks and this one irish fiddle player chick and they sang songs and played the fiddle and it was so very beautiful that at one point i started crying. all, “wahhhh! this is so *sniff* beautifu-uh-uh-uhlllll waaaaaaaah!”

and then when they were talking about the show when it was over it turned out that the girls didn’t even know each other until they had started to practice for the concert and then i was all, “WAAAAAAAAAaaaahhhhh! that’s so ama-ay-ay-ayzing waaaah….now they’ll always be friends waaaah…*sniffle* they seem like such sweet people….waaaaah…i hope they all become rich and famous because they are so talented and they desserve to be happy and not have to live wherever the celts are from with their tiny, unnutritious vegetables and hard bread….waaah!” *choke, snort*

“oh god! waaaaaah! not *hic* Da-ah-ah-ahnny Boy! *sniff* are they trying to kill me? waaaaaaah. it’s so beautiful. and so…so…so delicate and fragile…and oh christ, is that enya?”

“WAAAAAAAH!“

“everything is so pretty! waah! so blue and calming….”

“WAAAAAA *hic, choke, snarfle* AAAAAAAAAAHH!”

it’s a fact, Danny Boy will make me tear up every time. i don’t care who sings it. it could be rosanne barr singing it to the tune of the garbage disposal and as soon as she hits, ” ’tis i’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow” i’ll hit the floor clutching uselessly to myself and sobbing, “oh god….oh god…danny boy i love you sooooo waaaaaah!”

i’m not even irish.

they played that song at my uncle’s funeral. i was sitting next to mr. fleegan and these bagpipes start playing and i was thinking, “bagpipes? we’re not irish…oh no…oh dear lord no. they really play this song at funerals? i thought it was just in movies… don’t think about it. pretend that you can’t hear the words and maybe you won’t start crying and snifflesnorting and get snot all over jimmy’s nice shirt and make any more of a spectacle of yourself what with your blue hair and all. don’t think about the words….focus on the nice tune…nice irish tune…so pretty; just like pretty ireland. if ireland’s so pretty how come it’s such a sad place filled with politico-religious unrest, civil war, booze, and poisonous vegetables? those poor, starving danny boys! left all alone with no love! and no hope! and with only unhealthy soil and acid water with which to grow their sad, shriveled, death tubers!”

*sniff*

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

death tubers. man, ireland sucks.

***

i don’t know why i like to pretend that other places are like mars and uninhabitable. i just know that it makes me chuckle.

***

i encourage you to go to the Celtic Woman website and listen to the songs and watch the video and cry, cry, cry.

oh! you guys! the show is coming to atlanta in august! we should totally go! i promise i’ll try not to cry like a little girl.

***

oh jaimie girl, the pipes, the pipes are calling…

that’s the signal for Happy Hour, right?

next epitomb: jaimie cries at a totally inappropriate moment.

jaimie “waaah!” pickle

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Tags: music, nerd, TV

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The One About Boohbah.

April 02, 2005

hi kids,

the other day during lunch Popsicle and i were watching T.V., and he went to use the bathroom, and i switched the channels. we watch MadTV because it’s the funniest show of all. i switched the channel ‘cos MadTV was over. anyway, i land on PBS (my fave, right?) and i see…these… things? that…were dancing? and…oh god, the eyes.
but the dancing?

the things are fatties and they jiggle and dance? they are dancing, right? and well, before i could stop myself i…i giggled… out loud.

but then these things keep jiggling and, and, and? what the hell is going on, right? so i yell to Popsicle who was walking down the hall, “dad? did we take any psychotropic drugs today?”
he comes walking in, “no. why? OH MY GOD! I’VE SEEN THIS SHOW BEFORE!”

“you have?!”

“yes! at justin’s house! and i was all alone and they only get PBS so it was the only thing on! and i couldn’t look away!”

“i know. i can’t change the channel.”

“it freaked me out! i was all alone!”

“what is this about? someone keeps saying, “peebah!””

“and their eyes! with the lights for eyebrows!”

“it’s eerily soothing, but also? it’s uncomfortable.”

“i hate this. and everything is overkill.”

“i’m noticing that. with the spinning children.”

“yeah.”

“also, they can’t possibly be brother and sister. she’s asian and he? is not. step-brother and sister?”

“the narrator sounds thrilled.”

so anyway we watch the rest of the show. because it hypnotizes you.

later that day i talked to my brother.
“hey justin, have you seen a show on PBS called Boohbah?”

“YES! i was going to ask if YOU had seen it before!”

“no way!”

“yeah! i saw it on sunday. oh my god! it’s creepy!”

“i know! dad and i watched it today. he said he saw it at your house and he really freaked out about it.”

“what? when?”

“you were in the hospital and he was at the house all by hisself and he turned the t.v. on and there they were. he was really wigged out.”

“oh that’s so funny!”

“i know!”

“but they are weird.”

“oh very.”

“and i don’t get it.”

“for real. i mean, is there a storyline? because…no.”

“yeah, like Teletubbies were weird, right?”

“right.”

“but they had names and that vacuum cleaner pet thing.”

“and the baby in the sun.”

“yeah.”

“the peebahs or boohbahs have names though.”

“they do?!”

“yeah, like one is Zingbah? i think? and there’s Jingbah? and…Eddie?”

“skknt. the eyes!”

“my god, the eyes.”

“it’s like, “hey! i’m looking left! hey! hey! i’m looking right! hey! i’m looking at you!” weird!”

“yeah and with the clicking!”

“and the ffft! farting noises!”

“the ffft! farting noises made me giggle! every time! every time they dance and boink into each other in the tummies they go ffft! it’s a fart. i know it!”

“and the do that, “bing!” “bing!” bing!” thing?”

“yes! with the harmony! and the flying!”

“and then they go back to their pods!”

“the Secret Boohbah Lair! and they tuck their heads into their turtle necks!”

“*makes the clicking sound*”

“eeeeeeeeeeee! creepy!”

“and then the children?”

“yeah, okay it’s like…they take an object, right? and then they push it onto the weird rainbow circle. which i assume is like an offering to the boohbah? are they deities?”

“i…don’t know. but then they blow at it?”

“yes! until it rises up and then…lands somewhere. where the humans are.”

“grand ma ma! and mr. man!”

“yeah. mrs. lady and brother and sister. and they’re all a different nationality.”

“i know! like it’s normal for your aunt to be asian, your dad is black, your mom is hispanic, the brother is caucasian and sister is asian. i don’t think-“

“yeah. and grand pa pa looks like a pedophile and grand ma ma looks like a mad scientist. what the hell?”

“and the narrator…”

“he sounds like he can’t wait to get home and shoot himself.”

“oh but the worst part is the “look what i can do!” part with the kids.”

“oh. my. god. it’s like, “okay kid. stand on this circle and spin clockwise 900 times. then go counter-clockwise. now clockwise. counter-clockwise.” this is the longest 2 minutes of my life.”

“oh and did you see the one with the girl in the wheelchair?”

“yes and do NOT say another thing-“

“head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes…”

“you went there.”

“they went there!”

“and it lasts forever! and just when you’re about to change the channel because you can’t stand watching the kid spin for the 600,000th time it changes to another kid doing something over and over times ten to the gazillionth power.”

“ffft!”

“ffft!”

so. Boohbah.
the hell?! i know it’s a kids show. and i know that it’s for very tiny kids, like wee babes. but also? it’s the creepiest thing going. i’m not sure what it is that makes it so creepy. i think that maybe when you’re a wee babe you use a part of the brain that gets turned off when you mature. and that show accesses that part of the brain and to an adult it evokes a “holy shit! what is this?! my god! it’s so soothing and yet, maddening at the same time! did that thing just fart?” so to us it seems freaky and scary. but to a small child the show is funny and exciting, a mad, existential ride to nowhere! filled with drama and suspense!

and why, if the damn thing is called Boohbah, is there a kid in the background saying Peebah every 15 seconds?!
and what’s with all the damn rainbows?!
and space noises?!
and clicking eyes?!

i don’t know! all i know is that i really like it when they do their weird Boohbah Riverdance and bump into each other and fart. and then they all surround one (there’s five) and it looks like a Boohbah gangbang. then they all fall down and then fly back to their secret lair and go back to sleep. everything is so urgent.

bah.

boohbah.

and now everything is a boohbah.
boohbah is noun, verb, and adjective.

“do you need some boohbah for your coffee?”

“get your head out of your boohbah and pay attention!”

“i’ve gotta boohbah.”
“that’s the fourth time you’ve boohbahed today!”
“i know!”

next epitomb: to boohbah or not to boohbah? wtf?

jaimie “ffft!” pickle

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Tags: leetle brahther, popsicle, TV

3.31.05
updated 50 Books.

i totally padded my 50 Books tally by reading an anthology of romance novels. after reading the books i feel like my brain has turned to goo. so i immediately went to the library and checked out some nonfiction in hopes that my brain firms back to it’s regular consistency.

while at the library i overheard two women talking:
w1: well, here’s an Anne Potter.
w2: no, no. Harry Potter.
w1: i don’t see any Harry Potter. are you sure that they have his books? what did he write?
w2: …

yesterday i found a PRIZE on my doorstep!
Tami Sparks left a GIANT stack of CDs for me. because she is full of pink hearts and yellow moons and awesomeness. THANK YOU, TAMI SPARKS FOR MY AWESOME SECRET SURPRISE!!
unfortunately, none of the discs worked because my computer is obviously a retard.
hopefully they will work in the car though.

3.30.05

today we worked outside. it was a beautiful day. i was attacked by giant dive-bombing bumble bees all afternoon. i think they think my hair is a giant dandelion, and they want to have the Magic Bee-Flower Sex with it. promises to be an interesting spring.

***

mr. fleegan and i ate at my parent’s house this evening because
A. free food and
B. dad was making calzones (spanish?) (hee, italian) (also hee, totally dago)

while waiting for the food to cook (because my parents eat dinner at 8pm because…because…i have no idea why) i turned the tv on and kablam! PBS is on and it’s Pledge Week, again, (i want to make sweet love to Pledge Week. they show the best stuff on that week.) and there’s a concert with all these random old singers. and of course i love that shit. so i forced the rest of the fam to watch.

mom comes in and is all, “what concert is this?”
mr. fleegan replies with, “it’s the You Thought They Were Dead concert.”

the audience shots were hilarious and we ripped them all apart.
“look!” says mr. fleegan, “she’s singing along and she looks so happy.”
“she lost her virginity to this song” i say. “in the back of a giant Ford…”
“Ukelele.”
“a Ford Ukelele?”
“yeah.”
“hee. a 1954-”
“Ford Tuba.”
“hee! i love old cars!”

so there’s an orchestra playing all the songs and this one guy playing a trumpet looks like David Crosby. and mr. fleegan points this out. and i say, “oh my gosh! you’re right! it does look like David Crosby!”
“i know. right now he thinks he’s playing guitar.”
“skknt.”
“they told him the trumpet was a bong.”
“heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
jimmy was on a roll with the jokes and making fun of the singers. i was totally singing all the songs. and then…then Debbie Fucking Reynolds comes out and i fall apart. “oh my god! she’s going to sing Tammy! weeeeeeeeeeeee!” sure enough she starts to sing Tammy and i say to jimmy, “i need my microphone!” and he makes a fist with the thumb sticking up and i grab it and start belting out Tammy right along with Debbie Fucking Reynolds. and dad is all, “how the hell do you know this song?”
“um, well. you know. dad, we listen to the oldies channel all the time.”
“they don’t play this stuff.”
“um. yes they do.”
“…”
“and didn’t you see the movie?”
“what movie?”
“Tammy? with Debbie Fucking Reynolds and Leslie Neilson? and she’s like, from the bayou? and he’s from the city and has a girlfriend but Tammy loves him?”
“…”
“oh! and her dad is like, Walter Brennan or someone like that, and he’s always in jail ‘cos he’s a bootlegger?”

and then everyone is looking at me like i’ve grown dreadlocks and i’m smoking a joint the size of a hot dog.

man, i love PBS.

reefer log:
mental illness feces oh good.
must not eat
sap jokes
show me the square feet of a house and i’ll show you a happy housewife! *rim shot*
godfather tattoos
diana ross daughter
art and hate yes and yes
sexy bites
how to send resumes by e-mail just click ‘Send’!
peeps in a jeep *gasp* this one is better than “totally dago”!
how to have a dirty conversation
how to give your dog a haircut
www crazy people
dirty daughter

3.29.05
new weekly this week’s guest star: foil

reefer log of joy and stinky farts:
japanese dog
baby will not eat
will you marry me are you rich?
can you put hair color over highlights of course! you should try purple or blue.
www. dork phone number.com
can we lie with our eyes yes, but it’s easier with the mouth
sexy sexy sexy gay
michael corleone and the godfather
cock harness this is some kind of livestock farming thing, right?
johnny fontane i cannot tell you how excited i am that someone searched for johnny fontane and ended up here. it’s the little things, people.

3.28.05
i had a dream that i could heal people. but. it was like, if i healed a person i would get their “sickness” or whatever and then i’d throw it up. but it wasn’t regular vomit. it was black and really sticky. like tar. it was hard to throw up because it was so slow and thick and sticky, like black honey or something. and then when i knew someone was sick and could be healed i kinda didn’t want to do it because it was so hard and gross. but i’d do it out of guilt. i’m thinking guilt shouldn’t be a motivation to heal. but what does Dream Jaimie know anyway?

when i woke up i remembered that i used to dream that i was coughing up aluminum foil. and it would hurt so bad. i’d wake up with a sore throat. it seemed like once a week i would dream that back when we lived in bad ol’ apt 711.

***

nibbler is fine. i saw it this evening and gave it some food. because i’m a sucker. a sap. a mushybrained bowl of mushiness. but i put the food on their door step and not mine so the damn thing wouldn’t associate my door with food. take that, cat.

***

my fluourescent yellow hair was a hit at the Holy House today. there were about 8 biddies in the lobby when i walked in and all of a sudden it was, “SQUAWK! SQUAWK! SQUAWK!” you’d have thought Tom Jones had walked in or something. one lady said that no matter what color my hair was i was still a pretty girl. i repied with a smile and thank you. one lady told me i had ruined my hair. i replied with a smile and a thank you. an old man told me he knew a guy who had pink hair and was a wrestler and that he would wrestle for five dollars. “really?” i asked.
“yeah. he just likes to wrestle.”

old people and kids. you just never know what the hell they’re gonna say.

***

i was Vomitus Maximus in the wee hours of the morning (gee, wonder why i dreamed about puking.). not my favorite way to start (or end, in this case) the day. i dunno if it was something i ate or if it’s a virus or what. even so, i went to work. popsicle was in worse shape than i was. but he was hungover. “for shame,” i said, “getting drunk on the day we celebrate the resurrection of our Lord and Savior.”
“that’s the thing! i didn’t have that many beers! i didn’t get drunk!”
“then why are you hungover?”
“i don’t know! i can’t figure it out.”
“all you had was beer?”
“yeah, but it feels like i drank a ton of wine.”
“it’s a miracle! he turned the beer into wine!”
“you’re going to hell.”
“what a pair we are. i’m sick. you’re drunk. let’s go get some ladders and paint something.”

reefer log:
tina meth
lovely ladies
totally dago my new favorite phrase.
teen ask why do we have to go to church
the godfather characters totally dago.
racial slurs

3.27.05
easter fleegan!

updated 50 Books of Peril.

tonight the wood’s stolen cat, nibbler, is on the roof. and it’s meowing like it’s on fire. toonces is confused and pissed because
A. she hears the meowing but Can’t Find The Kitty.
B. she looks at me like, “WTF? are you hiding a kitty from me? did you honestly think it would work? am i gonna have to steal your breath while you sleep?”

jimmy was all, “should we get it down?”
and i was all, “nah, it got up there. it can get back down.”
“are you sure?”
“yes, that’s what cats do.”
“but, i think it’s scared.”
“lemme get the ladder.” see? i’m not completely cold hearted.

but then the cat didn’t trust us to get it down even though jimmy was awfully sexy impersonating a firefighter trying to get a cat down from a high place. my hero. even though the cat wasn’t having any part of it.

finally jimmy was all, “dammit. it got up there. it can get back down.”
“that’s what i’m sayin’.”

i’ll check again before i go to sleep.

reefer log:
her ass
rebel flag checks for the distinguished check writer
alien killing people
square bagels
annie lennox tori or was she a whig? labour?
granny is a whore you leave granny outta this!
annie lennox death *gasp* what?!
man boobs feeding see previous reaction
how to get hair highlights out with scissors
mama said knock you out
i love this picture and yeah

3.24.05
i am way tired of being so angry and hateful. this whole month has seemed to be the worst, and i am sick of my attitude. and if i’m sick of it imagine how you must feel about it. “i’ll check out jaimie’s blog. oh, i see she’s bitching again. le sigh.”

and since you are curious, i managed to pull a miracle out of my Miracle Hat and finished the painting. a ginormous rock has been removed from my shoulders. i feel weightless. although i hope the people who comissioned the painting still want it and think that it’s good enough to pay $250.
what if they hate it?
what if they want to like it, but it sucks too much?
what if they look at it and think, “that’s supposed to be our son?”
what if they laugh?
what if they love it?
what if they show it to all their rich friends and then those rich friends want portraits of their kids?
what if, oh my god, what if one of the rich friends doesn’t have any kids, but instead wants a portrait of their weirdly groomed japanese dog?
or a cat?

my dad showed my self portrait to one of his friends today. dad loves that picture and would fold it up and put it in his wallet if he could, and then he’d pull it out to show anyone who happened to be in screaming distance, “you wanna see a picture my kid made?!” it’s thrilling that i’ve made something that makes my parents go, “wow. that’s amazing.”
so i asked dad, “well, could he see what the painting was?”
“yeah, it took him a minute though.”
“hm, i was wondering if people who had never seen me before or that much or without blue hair would be able to see the picture.”
“yeah, it took him a bit, but then he said, “that’s her eye!” he was excited.”
“neat!”
“and then i told him that you had blue hair and he was all, “a ha!””
“well, that’s very cool.”
“he wants to join your art class.”
“what? it’s not that kind of class. i don’t teach them anything. i just assign them things.”
“yeah, well the painting blew him away, and he wants to know how you did it.”
“did you tell him it’s basically a glorified color-by-number?”
“i tried to explain it.”
“and?”
“he thinks you’re a genius.”
“huh. if he only knew.”
“that’s what i said.”
“hey!”

***

laura told me a hilarious story today. she said that she and a co-worker went to the court house and they were standing around talking to…i dunno, some people…and this lady (who i’m pretty sure is Sugarlips Muldoon) says, “hey, aren’t you jaimie’s friend?”

why that is funny i cannot say, it just has a funniness about it. laura said, “see, you’re famous.”
“yes, but you are highly recognizable.”

3.23.05
i am turning into a cantankerous old person.
“what’s new?” you ask.
“go to hell,” i reply.

i was waiting my turn at the Cheap Hair Cut Place (i’ll not call it a salon because it doesn’t deserve a nice professional title like that) and this teen girl was also waiting with her mom. this girl talked down to her mom like a dog. i came this close (scrinch pointer finger and thumb together real close like) to losing it. “you talk to your mama like that one more time and i’m gonna introduce this chair to your rectum, and they ain’t gonna be friends, you immature, ungrateful child-person.”
i am really having an angry week.

bleached me hair out. dad says i look like slim shady.
damn. it.
i think i’ll put some color on it next week. annie lennox orange. i think it will be fun.

***

i worked on the painting today. we’ll see if i manage to pull a miracle out of my hat and have it finished tomorrow night. while working on it i’m listening to my iPod. specifically Word by Word, a seminar on writing by Anne Lamott. do audiobooks count as reading a book? may i add it to the 50 Books? i mean afterall, it is nonfiction. nerd.

***

i should work on a Weekly. i just don’t have anything right now. i mean, the latest thing at work has been dad and i quoting everything in an Old Lady From the Deep South voice. we branched out.
they-ah’s no place lahk home.

***

i think i’ve figured out my cat problem. the problem is she hates to be out outside. another problem is she can read my mind. so when i look at her she runs and hides under the bathtub or behind the t.v. and it takes hours to get her outside. most of the time she stays inside ‘cos i don’t have time to play Wait on the Kitty. so then she sleeps ALL DAY LONG, and by the time i lay down for bed she’s wide open and won’t let me sleep.
so my plan is to break one of her legs.

reefer log of spazdom:
tina turner jokes
how do i find the square feet of my room what do you mean? like the floor? or the walls? be specific.
i hate cullman you’re not alone, i am sure.

3.22.05
Popsicle and i have been quoting from the Godfather trilogy (and this is different from the last two weeks, how?) only now we say them with an Old Lady From The Deep South accent. think Godfather meets Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.
whah do you come tah me on tha day of mah dahtah’s weddin’?

ah hope they-ah fuhst chile is a masculine chile.

…and a man in mah position cain’t afford to look ridiculous!

ah’m ya oldah bruthah, Mikey, and ah was stepped ovah!

thay-ats mah family, kay. it’s not me.

ah’ll make him an offah he cain’t refuse.

Johnny Fontane will nevuh get that movie. ah don’t care how many dago guinea wop greaseball goombahs come out o’ the woodwork.

****

have you noticed how many racial slurs there are for Italians?

****

dad broke a window today. and i gave him hell for it all day long. i know that sounds mean and heartless, but he expected no less.

reeefer loog:
darth vader takes a shit
hex a pictures of brain
crazy looking people
acetone poisoning
granny gets it
square feet does

3.21.05
so i sort of had a bad day yesterday. i ended up eating some chocolate which made me feel a TON better, however i did break my lenten fast of no sugar. which, really doesn’t bother me, but jimmy says that i made the baby jesus cry.

this evening we went to the grocery store and the cashier guy gets points for saying to me, “wow, you’re back.” because i had been there that afternoon with my pops. he gets points because when i was there with pops i was wearing my Painting Costume w/ Dirty Baseball cap, and this evening i was wearing Street Clothes w/ Clean Hair and he recognized me.
he also got points for telling me he liked my hair.
he then got no points but lost no points for telling me i should get highlights.
he then got points for being all excited when i told him i was going to bleach it out white blonde.
he then lost all points for telling me that it would make me look younger.

*****

Dear Medium,

Please don’t ever do that again.

Love,

Jaimie Pickle

3.20.05
Toonces Whorecat and i are currently not speaking to each other. we’ve been fighting all week. she’s lucky i’m even feeding her.
it took me 4 hours to get her out of the house.
she is staying outside until dark. i don’t care if it starts to rain. i don’t care if it starts to rain rocks. she’s been inside all week. she needs the air. and i need her ass out.

in other news: updated 50 books

i am so sick of this painting. i hate art. i hate painting. i hate portraits. i hate the cat. i hate oil paint. i hate squares. i hate it all. i hate wasting time to paint. i hate that i need to go to the grocery store.
hate hate hate.

as of today i think i’m going to screw the painting and screw the art show.
fuck you all and apparently i have PMS.
also, screw PMS.

something must be the matter because today my lovely friends came and knocked on my door and asked me to go to lunch with them and my first thought was, “i’d rather carve out my heart with a pencil eraser than go to lunch with you happy lot.” which of course, i did not say aloud because even to my sick brain i realized how horrible and wrong that thought was. then i thought, “maybe i should go out with them. maybe they will make me laugh and then i’ll feel awesome and not think about that stupid painting. i do need a break.” but the thought that won out was, “jaimie, you are mean and way too sarcastic today. there’s no need for you to go and verbally vomit on your friends. now get back in there and paint.”
fucking Voice of Reason is no fun. and neither is PMS with it’s irrational anger/attitude problem.

go to hell, PMS.

rayfer lawg:
anus
things to do at a 15 year class reunion
dad whore

3.17.05
there’s going to be an art show next saturday.
kristie asked me if i was entering a piece.
i told her no.
she said something like, “you suck.”

so i thought about it. i’ve one painting that i’ve been “working” on since june, i think. it’s a portrait of a friend’s son. and i desparately don’t want to work on it. but then i thought of how douche baggedy it would be of me to not enter the art show when in fact i’m encouraging my two art minions (students, whatever) to enter their projects. so now i’m killing myself to finish this bastard painting. feh.

another 50 books. and laura has requested that i put the new ones at the top. i guess that makes sense. laura is usually right about these kinds of things. i trust her mad website skillz.

reefum loggum:
i need to have a shit
darth vader helmet
what song is hello is it me you’re looking for????!?!!?!? lionel damn richie. wow, takes you back doesn’t it? do you remember the video? there was a blind girl who made a weird looking sculpture of lionel richie’s head? ‘member?
should we put away people with mental illness only the violent ones. the rest we keep around to work at the Huddle House. hello? crazy people make the best breakfast.
peeps torturing peeps a marshmallow nightmare to be sure
how many bons in horses

3.15.05
last week my father, popsicle, decided we would take thursday off. however, as to not get in trouble with everyone else (you know, have to hear all the “gah. who do you think you are?” “what?! you’re not working today?!” and “well, it must be nice.” talk.) we decided not to tell anybody. if we were asked what we were doing on thursday we completely lied and said we were working at the Holy House.

not only are we lawbreakers, but also, we lie. to our loved ones.

what did we do on our day off? did we sleep in, you ask?
nay.
did we lay around and eat bon bons?
nay.

we watched The Godfather trilogy. well, parts I and II anyway. we watched part III on saturday.

needless to say, but i’ll say it anyway, we’ve been talking like the characters ever since. especially the frank pentangeli character. and you’re probably asking, “who?” at this point, because you’re normal and you probably haven’t seen it quite as many times as we have. if you have seen the movie (part II) i’ll refresh your memory.
remember when michael corleone gets back from cuba and he’s got to report to that senate committee thing? and that obnoxious old italian guy is gonna rat him out because he thought michael tried to have him killed, but he sees his older brother sitting next to michael so he knows that the whole thing was a set up and now he doesn’t want to rat mikey out because now he knows the truth? with the mustache? and he goes, “ehhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeah! yeah!” a lot. and also the line, “so i said, “michael corleone did this…..ehhhhhhhhh michael corleone did that….”
and we’ve been saying that all day at work.
because we’re lying liars and doofuses.

three best reefer logs:
i want to know all about food poisoning
nonconformist
stupid fucking people

3.14.05
just another manic monday. whoa. oh. oh.
50 Books update.

we worked at the Holy House today. there’s a gentleman who lives there and we will call him “bill”. “bill” is crazier than a shithouse rat. certifiable. he’s got papers, yo.
so i’m in the lobby waiting for dad to come in and “bill” walks up and gives me a hug (which is so very strange, he’s usually very pissed about something) and he says, “where’s your old man?” and i say, “he’ll be here in a second.” and he says, “he ain’t dead?” and i say, “no.”
so dad comes in and says, “hi “bill”, how are you?” and “bill” says, “well, i see you aren’t dead yet.” dad looks at me and i just shrug. dad says, “no. not yet.” and bill, oops, i mean “bill” says, “well, you’re at least 61.” and dad says, “what? no. i’m about 10 years younger.” and “bill” says, “then you’re 75.” and dad says, “no “bill”, i’m 10 less than 60.” and “bill” says, “so you’re 73.” and dad says,””bill”, you’re not making any friends today.”

i say that it’s weird for “bill” to hug me, but also there’s more to that story. y’see, “bill” thought i was a boy. when dad finally got it through “bill’s” head that i was a girl, “bill” became a lot more polite and talkative to me. yeah, feh. and it wasn’t that dad was all eager to let “bill” know i was a female, it was more that he got tired of this conversation:
“b”: where’s your son today?
d: he’s in Tennessee, why?
“b”: well, i thought i saw him on the elevator…
d: no, “bill”, that’s my daughter.
“b”: daughter?

it happened a lot, until finally dad was all, “”bill”, i swear to god if you mistake her for a boy one more time i’m gonna knock you down.” which is in fact the proper way to deal with mental illness.

anyway, more and more of the old people are starting to realize that i’m indeed a girl, and now…now they think that dad and i are married. gag, i know. when someone asks we’re all like, “NO! no. jesus god no. and also, could you tell all of your friends that we’re father and daughter? thanks.”

i do lead a charmed life.

3 best reefer log searches:
granny boobs
evil in the anus
who moved my cheese hate

3.11.05
i’ve this day planner notebook thing. and at the bottom of each page it has very small calendars of last month, present month, and next month. and i was scanning the march calendar looking for how long until the art show which is on the 26th. and this calendar shows that the 26th in on a Friday and i thought, “no it isn’t. it’s a saturday.” so i’m puzzled. and then i look at the days of the week and i’ll be damned, it starts with Monday! WHAT?!
can they do that? well, obviously, but…but why?! is this supposed to be the new cool thing? did i accidentally pick up the nonconformist atheist calendar? “fuck sunday! put it at the end.”
do you know how foriegn it is to see M T W T F S S? it’s really weird.

and yes i know i sound like an old person, but honestly, who moved my cheese? and why did they get it all over my calendar?! arg! i don’t want to be mean and old! but after reading yesterday’s entry i feel so mean and old! i want to be caring and kind and nice. but it is impossible! the only way i could be those things is if the world changed and people stopped being stupid.
arg! but i’m supposed to love the stupid people too!
oy, and consider that to other people i’m probably their stupid person.
it is all meaningless, meaningless…

3.10.05
laura ruined my day. she tells you why.
am i mean, evil, wicked, and nasty that i don’t want to have anything to do with a high school class reunion? and, and, AND IT’S NEXT YEAR FOR THE LOVE OF LOVE. do you see? do you see why i don’t want to have anything to do with it? people are getting together to start planning it NOW? who has time for that shit? i’d rather eat lava than spend time with 10 other people trying to plan something like this. what is there to plan? rent a hall. BYOB. provide snacks. end.

cheese&crackers.

so laura gets roped into this stupid meeting (and supposedly i should be involved ‘cos i was in SGA? wha? no sense.) shit. no way i’m going. but ARG! you never leave a man behind. shit shit shitter shit. and it’s on a precious saturday! c’mon, i’m not that fucking noble. dammit!

i told laura that there was no way i was going to the reunion. wild horses and all that. but i did say that if OT would go i would go. that’s the ONLY way i’d go. of course, i still probably wouldn’t go.

this hurts my anus.

3.09.05
i really have nothing to say about today.
well, except, i saw the most glorious thing at walsmart. ’tis a holy thing, a thing i want, a thing i need, and i had to force myself to walk away from it, not purchase it, not walk out of the store wearing it.

it was a full-sized Darth Vader helmet that CHANGES YOUR VOICE INTO DARTH VADER’S VOICE AND CAN YOU BELIEVE I DIDN’T BUY ONE?! because honestly, i can’t believe i didn’t buy one. in fact, i am so pissed that i didn’t buy one. but also, i know that if i had bought it i would never take it off. ever. well, maybe to bathe, right? and it would probably hinder my driving, but other than those two senarios…i can’t find a reason to take the mask off. and honestly, i don’t want to be the only person at church wearing a Darth Vader helmet.

BUT WHY DIDN’T I BUY ONE!? OH! OH SADNESS NOW THAT I’VE SEEN ONE AND DO NOT PRESENTLY OWN ONE! ‘cos what i want to do is video Darth Vader being interviewed or drinking tea or painting a house or cleaning toilets or SOMETHING THAT DARTH VADER WOULD NEVER DO!
raking leaves!
smoking a cigarette!
reading a newspaper!

can you imagine?! picture this:
a red jeep with the hood up. two people with their heads in the engine. one looks up, it’s DARTH VADER and he says, “hey can you gimmie the 5/8 hex?” and the other guy is all, “get it yourself, Darth. use the force.” and the Darth force chokes him! AWESOME!

WHY DIDN’T I BUY ONE?!

well, i don’t really need one. i mean, where would i put it while i’m not wearing it (read: while i’m sleeping)? and really, i know that i’ll only use it to torture the cat. i can see me chasing poor Toonces Whorecat around the house saying, “simba! you deliberately disobeyed me!”

yeah, i don’t need stupid crap like that.
but you totally know i’m gonna go buy one tomorrow, right?

3.08.05
had a horrible nightmare last night. woke up trying to scream. i hate that. however, a couple of hours later my alarm went off and it was set to the AM oldies station and they played better be good to me by Tina Turner. which, oddly enough, set the tone for the day. an awesome tone, i might add. because
1. hello? Tina Turner. and
2. the house we painted did not have shit on the walls.

***

i was talking to mr. fleegan and laura today and i told them about how i missed a Tina Turner concert on PBS last week and that i was pretty bummed about it. when i went to my parents house this evening to do laundry (i know, mooch.) dad was flipping channels, hit PBS and BLAM there was Tina Turner in concert. it was one of those moments where i sit in awe and it hits me: god loves me. god loves the whole world.
(why do i capitalize Tina Turner and not god?)

and it’s not that he loves me because he let me watch the Tina Turner concert. although hey, bonus! he loves me (and the world) because he gave us Tina Turner. he has blessed us all with Tina. she is a treasure. and liz (and pretty much everyone else), i know you are rolling your eyes, but it’s true. she’s a fighter and a survivor and an incredibly awesome person. and? if you don’t own any Tina you’re a sad person, and you should really think about getting some Tina.
because you need it.

Tina Turner is my hero, and i’ll never say anything bad about her. although i am having trouble wrapping my brain around this. but if she wants to sing country then by god, she can. yes, it seems strange that she sings stand by your man, but i say just go with it. why? because she’s Tina Turner. do not question the Tina.

3.07.05
today we painted in the nastiest apartment. no one had cleaned in years. shit on the walls. no, i don’t mean she had junk all over the walls. i mean there was shit, excrement, feces, kaka, poop, shit shit shitter shit on the walls. sometimes this job is fuct up. i’m a housepainter! not a…a…whatever has to deal with shit walls.

i can’t believe dad and i haven’t keeled over from some sort of mold spore alien virus yet. i tell you, people are nasty.

ps, next time you visit granny, check for shit on the walls, m’kay? ‘cos when she bites it someone’s gonna come in and paint her room and they’re gonna know that you let granny smear shit and boogers on the wall. and do you know who they’re gonna blame?
i’ll give you a hint…not granny.

3.05.05
aw crap. according to this site my popstrological alignment whatever is all about debbie damn boone. i mean, could “my song” be any more lame? hee, maybe if i were laura. what’s worse? debbie damn boone or the bee gees?
justin’s is diana ross, lucky!

***

my e-mail has been wonky this week. i can receive it but it seems that when i send it it never gets there. so i’ve sent e-mails to:
florrie
tara
wendy
OT

if you lovely ladies haven’t received my replies i am very sorry. if you have received them please, let me know so that i can stop being paranoid about my e-mail. stoopid e-mail bollocks.

3.04.05
wisconsin wendy pointed out that today is 3.4.05. a magic day to be sure.

new weekly.

today i called my brother on the phone. it went like this:

justin:hello?
me: hey!
j: hey!
m: how are you feeling?
j: fine.
m: hey that’s great!
j: yeah.
m: so you’re not puking anymore?
j: …no.
m: great! and you’re holding down water then?
j: …yeah. so how are you?
m: oh, i’m fine.
j: that’s good.
m: hey, you kinda sound funny. are you sure you feel okay?
j: um, well, you do know this is chris, don’t you?
m: uhhhh, heh. no. sorry chris. bahahahahahahaha! i hit the wrong speed dial number.
c: ah. so who’s sick?
m: justin. he ate Captain Disease and got food poisoning.
c: oh man, i hope he gets better.
m: yeah. well, i’m glad that you’re holding down your water.
c: heh. yeah.

see, the woodlayson’s are nombre cinco on my cell. justin is nombre cuatro. and i always misdial, but so far i’ve managed to catch myself from actually placing the call. until today. oops.
but man, i have laughed about it all day long.
and, justin is doing much better today.

reefer log:
how do i know if i am a psychic i believe i’ve touched on this recently. i must have, that could be the only explanation for why the reefer log has been bombarded with stuff about “am i psychic”, “how to tell if i’m psychic”, and “pictures of psychic gay smokers”. so anyway, e-mail me and tell me why you think you’re psychic and i’ll tell you if you’re psychic or not. also, you’re not psychic.
hold your own boobs
rag on moth
when was the pickle invented invented? i was born, baby!
baseball pickle

3.02.05

today was an interesting day. i’ve written a weekly about it; just as soon as LBC does her graphic magic i’ll post it.

the new Tori album, The Beekeeper, is very boring and sounds just like her last album but even more “easy listening”. feh. i realize that she’s older and a mom and all, but i mean, there’s no edge at all. none. even billie holiday had edge. nina simone? edge. Tori “give me peace, love, and a hard cock” Amos, where is your edge?!

:gol refeer
funny bitch names
meth whore
bless you tonight
smoking gay dudes do you mean gay dudes who smoke? or killing people? because we here at fleegan.com do not endorse killing people. or smoking them. however you want to word it. the fleegan is a lover not a fighter. although the fleegan does ‘smoke a fag’ sometimes. hee.
donald h rumsfeld kids names
where did tina turner go to college
dirty meat in 18 hundreds 1800s?
liz’s place
commercial dork
why were homeruns invented
nicknames for a screwdriver
where’s your happy face this is my happy face
torturing peeps
cheeseburger paragraph
i hate your f*cking guts
a paper on dante’s the inferno
michael landon

3.01.05

poor jimmy had to work late today (so i did not get to see him. i hate when that happens.) in a town far, far away called Cullman. then he had to drive back in a van that does not have heat. the poor fleegan was frozen and quite pissed when he got back to town.

***

today my international student conversation partner mysteriously dropped out of the conversation program.

was it something i said?

i now have a new conversation partner (conpart), and i will meet her next week. she is a korean girl named jemma. Korean Jemma. sounds like a band. or international spy.

***

i am having the worst luck with breakfast. i eat it and then it feels like i’ve eaten nails. but i haven’t eaten nails. i’ve eaten an english muffin with cream cheese.
so then i switched to butter thinking that it was a lactose thing.
then i got some Lactaid so i could eat the cream cheese since the butter didn’t make my stomach not hurt.
then i switched to bagels thinking that maybe the sourdoughness had something to do with the undigestable rock nails that becomes my breakfast every day.
then i tried taking two Lactaids.
what is up, food?

i can’t not eat breakfast because i’ll fall out by 10am.
anyone have any ideas?

but enough about me and my day, you’re here for the reefer aren’t you?
rebel flag cellular phone
dork pictures
what can be killed by a silver bullet pretty much anything that can be killed with a regular bullet.
cat in the hat cakes
laura ingles wilder homepage um, i think she’s dead. but here’s a cute page for kids!
bong and oil painting
so shy jokes
white people jokes what? there’s white people jokes? are they funny? send me one! pickle@fleegan.com
baby buddy harness rubber baby buddy harness
will you marry me alabama are you rich?
goldmine expenses
crystal moth drug hee, moth.
eddie george pickle
rag balls baseball
medical reasons for acetone i can’t think of any offhand
tmobile easypay will probably just cause me to bounce checks
condom names
i came to bring the pain hardcore to the brain what is this? i love it.
how much paint for walls cans of paint will usually tell you how many square feet one gallon will cover.
proof i am psychic if you need proof, you aren’t psychic.
smokers death adds
loose stomach

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The One About Folied!

March 29, 2005

hi kids,

the neighbors came home from their camping trip. too bad they came home to this:

what the hell?!

i can’t believe…

oh, my sweet lord.

milwaukee’s best?!

FOILED!
wow. you guys have some sucky friends don’t you?

yes, on sunday night 7 awesome people broke and entered the House of Wood and went to town a-foilin’. not really B&E though, we had a key. i think there were over 600sqft of foil used. the sad thing is we didn’t use up all the foil we brought. just think of how cool that would have been.

my god the foil. i’m certain that what we did is illegal in california. but if foiling the shit out of my friends’ kitchen is wrong, i don’t want to be right. if foil is outlawed, only outlaws will have foil. is that the kind of world you want to live in? is it!?

it looked so much cooler in person. the pictures, although very funny, just don’t do it justice.

it’s amazing how pretty all the foil covered jars, bottles, cans, fruit, knives, spoons, spice containers, and other random turned out. ‘cos when i got home i looked around and thought, “gee, my place is so bland. i need more chrome.”

when we were finished i walked over to my side of the ‘plex to get a carbonated soda and i started to wrap my leftover pizza in some foil. laura walked in and said, “oh no! jaimie’s turned into a compulsive foiler! stop!” hee.

none of us were sure what the reaction to such a heinous and awesomely funny crime would be. i was “lucky” enough to be at home when they came back and lemme tell ya, liz’z giggles were priceless. i am so glad they thought it was funny. otherwise i would have had to move…to california, where that shit is illegal.

 

next epitomb: jaimie goes to jail for wasting natural resources, like bauxite. well, like more bauxite.

jaimie “mad foiler” pickle

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Tags: 'hood life, cakehole, laura, liznchris

 

The One About Burial Plots and Breaking the Law

March 04, 2005

hi kids,

the other day i received a phone call from Popsicle.
p: i’ve got a hypothetical question for you.

j: okay, shoot.

p: okay, let’s say your mom and i were to die.

j: yeah?

p: you with me so far?

j: you guys are dead?

p: yeah.

j: got it.

p: okay, well, would you want to…visit…us?

j: visit? like, visit your grave?

p: yeah.

j: is this about Flippy’s dad?

p: well, yeah. she needs to buy some burial plots and wants two of them for her mom and dad.

j: yeah. so…you’re gonna sell her yours?

p: well… we were wondering if it would upset you.

j: well, those plots are at Crestwood, right?

p: uh, yeah. you knew where are burial plots were?

j: dad, i know everything.

p: hee, right. so…is that okay?

j: oh yeah. there’s no way i’m going to visit you at Crestwood. are you kidding me? i’d be mugged. or worse.

p: hahahahaha! so you wouldn’t come to our grave? put some flowers-

j: hell no. it just figures you and mom would buy plots on that side of town. geez.

p: you really wouldn’t visit? (to mom) she said she won’t visit our graves!

j: not unless i was packing heat. and i don’t have any heat. i dunno that i’ll ever have heat, so for the time being, no.

p: okay then. i guess i’ll sell these plots to Flippy.

j: i’m glad i could help.

p: well, your mom and i were talking about it and…we’ve decided…

j: yeah?

p: well, we want to be cremated.

j: alright.

p: so you could i dunno, keep an urn of our ashes or-

j: oh hell no! no way. i am NOT keeping ANY ashes.

p: hahahahaha or maybe you could scatter them-

j: no way. you wanna be burned fine. but i am not dealing with the aftermath, okay? so if you have a special place you want the ashes scattered you can either tell Justin or tell your lawyer to find someone, ya dig?

p: hahahahahahaha

j: in fact, i’ll probably just give you a viking funeral anyway. launch you down the Mighty Coosa River and shoot a flaming arrow. you’ll burn and float. there’ll be a huge party. you don’t mind me filming the fire part do you? it’ll be awesome.

p: (to mom) hey, she said she’s gonna give us viking funerals.

m: (in the background) you two are sick you know that?

so the next day Flippy’s father dies. it’s sad, but he’s been sick for quite sometime so i imagine it’s almost a relief, you know? dad and i are at the Holy House working and he tells me that later on he and Flippy are going down to the funeral home to get the deed to the plots switched over in her name.

around three o’clock he leaves with Flippy and i continue working. about 20 minutes later they come back and tell me that they need me to forge mom’s name because they won’t sign over the deed unless mom and dad’s signatures are both on the thingy. “fine,” i say, i’m used to forging mom’s name anyway, got real good at it in high school, “where do i sign?”

“well, that’s the thing,” Flippy says, “you have to go to the funeral home with us.”

“what? now?! like this?” i ask, refering to my state of dress: coveralls covered in paint, paint splattered jacket, and nasty ball cap.

“yeah. we need to get this done. let’s go.”

“okay.”

i figured that either
A. mom was busy and couldn’t go or
B. they weren’t able to find mom ‘cos sometimes she makes calls in the afternoon to hospitals and such.

on the way to the funeral home i say, “i’m supposed to be laura pickle?”

“yeah.”

“i’m supposed to be married to dad? won’t this look really obvious? like, that deed was from 1984.”
at this point i start sweating bullets.

“heh, talk about cradle robbing!”

“this is crazy. this will never work!”

“oh sure it will. all you have to do is sign mom’s name.”

“oh sure, easy. but what if they ask for my driver’s liscense?”

“they won’t.”

“we’re all going to jail aren’t we?”

“nah, we won’t get caught. they don’t care.”

“well, if i worked there i’d care. i mean, hello? look at us!”

“i know, it really does look bad. it looks like two crackheads killed pat and laura pickle and stole their burial plots to resell.”

“hee. those would be some clever crackheads.”

“okay, whatever happens, don’t laugh.”

which is easier said than done, right? i mean, ladies, how often do you have to pretend to be your mom? with your father present? for illegal purposes?
lemme tell ya, as soon as we walked in the place we were smirking, skknt-ing, and NOT MAKING EYE CONTACT WITH EACH OTHER.

a little later this lady is going over the files and she’s looking at us like she’s not buying it for a second that i’m laura pickle. she says, “are we all here?”
“uh huh.”
“yep.”
“yeah.”

“okay, then. um, Flippy, your father passed away, right?”
“yes.”
“and you’re pat…and where’s laura?”

“this is laura.”
“me.”
“right here.”

“you’re laura?”
“mhmm.” shitshitshitshit. don’t crack. don’t crack. don’t crack.

“okaaay. well, pat you sign here…and laura *stares at me* ….you sign here.”

it was like she knew something was up, but she couldn’t quite figure out why two housepainters were lying about burial plots, or why this obviously upstanding citizen was helping them lie about burial plots.

she then took the papers and left the room to get them notarized.

“whew,” said Flippy, “i’m glad that’s over. i thought i was going to crack up.”

“hey,” i said, “we’re not out of the building yet. she probably went to call the police.”

she came back and everything seemed to be okay, no security guards or police or other official looking people. a few more words were exchanged. quite awkwardly, and then we left.
as soon as our feet hit the pavement we fled the scene. we laughed about it on the way back to work. i think we were all surprised that it actually worked. well, to be honest, that lady was NOT fooled, right? but she didn’t call us on it. so there you go. no jail that day.
which is always a bonus, right?

later that evening i saw mom. “hi, Mrs. Pickle.” she says.
“ha.ha. where were you anyway?”
“when?”
“when the law was being broken earlier today. were you on a call?”
“no. i was here all day. i found out about your little escapade just a few minutes ago.”
“what?!”
“yeah.”
“you’re kidding! they didn’t even TRY to call you did they?!”
“nope.”
“oh. my. god! we broke the law so that they wouldn’t have to drive 5 WHOLE MINUTES to the church to pick you up?”
“pretty much.”
“arg! i’m gonna kill them!”

also, it is worth mentioning that it was mom and dad’s 31st anniversary. so on the way to the funeral home dad is all, “wow honey, 31 years, huh?”
“oh shut it, dad.”
“and gosh, our daughter sure is a bitch isn’t she?”
“ha. this is weird.”

oy, never a dull moment.
i mean, never. ever.
“keeps life interesting,” you say.
“keeps me drinking,” i reply.

in other random:
an old dude at the Holy House told me three times that i was the “purtiest painter” he’d ever seen. awwww. i wonder if he’d have said that if he knew that i was a dirty lawbreaker?

next week’s epitomb: i dunno, what’s next? bank robbery?

jaimie “laura” pickle

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Tags: flippy, HCH, mom, painting, popsicle

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