The One About What the Gall Bladder Actually Does

October 15, 2004

hi kids,

since i’ve had my gall bladder cut off and jerked through my belly button i’ve had several people ask me what exactly the gall bladder did in the first place. my first response is usually something like, “um, i think it’s some kind of Pain Button that gets pressed when you eat things like apples and ethnic food after 7pm.” and my second response is something like, “not really! it’s actually this thing that just sits around and whines a lot. like andy rooney.”

so then i read up on it and then internet (because it’s not like one of my doctors was going to tell me what the hell the gall bladder does, was doing, or was not doing correctly. oh heaven forbid you doctors actually explain something to the person you’re cutting on. nay, they probably don’t have a brain so treat them as such. instead, explain everything to the other people standing around the person you’re going to cut on, better yet, totally drug the shemp and then take the other people OUT OF THE ROOM and talk about the important things like, i dunno, gall bladders.)

now, the best i can figure (remember, i have no brain) is that the gall bladder holds the bile that the liver makes. and then it sends the bile to the stomach. bile breaks down fats. neat huh?
do you know what bile is? do you? because i don’t think you do. bile is made in the liver right? and the liver does what? it cleans the blood, right? rids it of toxins (like booze and dead blood cells. oh god, i said dead blood cells. i’m gonna be sick. no kidding, talking about dead blood cells makes me feel woozy. i think..i’m gonna pass out. deep breaths.) so anyway bile goes to the digestive parts to help with the breaking down of things so that you can get rid of the waste. and by get rid of the waste i mean poop.

poop!

so i guess the gall bladder just holds bile until you eat something and start the whole digestion thing.

so what does it mean for those of us that have had our gall bladders ripped from our bodies?

i have no idea. the doctor(s) didn’t tell me.

but you know, all of this biological science flim-flam (flim-flam!) is peripheral and has nothing to do with the actual importance/duty of the gall bladder which is…luck.

that’s right, the gall bladder is actually this greenish-bluish organ in your body that produces luck. some people have good luck, and that means their gall bladder is working just fine, thank you. some people have regular luck, they win some they lose some, and their gall bladder works fine too, but sometimes it’s lazy. some people have bad luck. these are the shemps who’ve had their gall bladders taken out because their lazy, no good gall bladder got all sick and stupid and couldn’t handle the whole Luck Management thing.

so now? now i have bad luck. what? what do you mean what do i mean? oh. you want examples of my newfound bad luck? are you sure you’ve got time to hear all this?
alright. you asked for it.

five hours after the surgery the hospital sent me home. perhaps i’ve mentioned before how they gave me no pain killah after the surgery?
so i get to mom and dad’s house, and i sit down in this reclining chair. mom and dad are all, “do you need anything?” and i’m all, “yeah, heroine.” and they’re all, “ha ha. we’re gonna go outside and have a beer, okay?” and i’m all, “kill me, please?”

so they go outside.

so i’m sitting there, just home from the hospital, just been cut on, just in fresh pain, and i put my foot up on the foot stool/ottoman/whatever and i look up.
and there.
slowly repelling down from the rafter.
is a spider.
and it’s coming down.
down.

down.

down.

right at my head.

“shit.”

down.

down.

“shit! shit!”

down.

“shitter shit!”

down.

it’s now 12 inches away from my head.
so what do i do? it’s not like i’m spry or anything. i’ve got cuts in my tummy, it takes me a full minute to get out of a chair, i can’t jump out of the chair. hell, i can’t even slide down the chair. i’m trapped! mom and dad can’t hear my screams of horror! no one is going to save me from the spider! what can i do?!

down.

down.

so i did the only logical thing. i blew at it.
ha ha! i win! i…shit! HELP! hoooo! hooo!

yes. i’m such a genius. not only did my blowing the spider (shut up) not have the disired effects of either destroying the spider with my Super Destructo Breath of Woe or sending the spider on a different course, nay, i merely singlehandedly (er, singlebreathedly) set in motion my own sick and twisted The Pit and the Pendulum senario starring me as the heretic, the spider as the pendulum, and the hole where my gall bladder used to be as the Inquisition.

yay.

go me.

so what did i do? did i let the spider land on me as it swung back and forth ever closer to landing on me and biting me and injecting me with rancid spider venom juice?
no way.
i jumped outta that chair, screaming in pain, knowing that my guts were pouring out of my belly button, grabbing a magazine from the basket by the fireplace, knocking the spider to the floor, and bashing the holy shit out of that spider, then i carefully eased back into the chair and groaned.

it was then that mom came in from outside.

“hi honey, can i get you…why are you sweating? are you hot? you’re not running a fever are you?”

“if only i had a fever.”

“what? oh here. you dropped your magazine.”

“yeah. i guess i did.”

“you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“oh sure.”

the next evening:

i’m sitting in Dad’s Recliner. you know you’re sick when you’re allowed to sit in Dad’s Recliner. so i’m sitting. and we’re all playing video games (mom, dad, jimmy, me) and from across the room my Eagle Eyes detect a vicious enemy in the form of a roach. keep in mind it’s across the room. like 20 feet. i point at it and i’m going to say, “dad, quick! get the spray. i see a roach.”
but i point and as soon i do the roach flies. mom and jimmy look at the direction that i’m pointing in but they don’t see anything because the roach is midflight.
“what.” mom says.

but the roach. is flying.
directly at me.

“AAAAAAIIIEEEEEEE! AIEEEEEEE! AIEEEEEEEEEEEE!” i scream and point. i can’t jump out of the chair, i’m in the giant, soft, Dad’s Recliner plus, stomach wounds!

“what!? what is it?!” dad shouts.
“you sound like a monkey.” says jimmy.

i manage to deflect the bastard roach with my power puff girls pillow. “a roach! it’s a roach! kill it! kill it!”

finally dad sees the roach and kills it. “why didn’t you just say ‘roach’ instead of shrieking like a monkey?” asks dad.
“i tried but…”
“it was like a pissed chimpanzee!” jimmy laughs.
then they all laugh because the sound that came out of my throat was so totally primal.
“you guys! stop laughing! i tried to point and say roach but then damn thing flew straight at my head! stop! laughing! i hate you! all of you!”

night after that:

i’m walking around the living room, doing my “laps”, ‘cos the nurse said i should walk a lot. so i’m walking, and dad and jimmy are playing video games. i fell something hit the back of my head and land on my shoulder. i can’t see it but i know exactly what the hell it is. “son. of. a. BITCH!” i yell and shake and dance, flailing my arms about.

“what’s the matter?”
“what are you doing?”

“BAAAAH! IT’S ANOTHER GODDAMNED ROACH. ON ME! KILL IT! KILL IT! DIE! DIE! DIE!”

after the Horrible Bug Trifecta the bad luck tapered off. or so i thought. however, it was in fact saving itself up for a Grande Finale.

a week later:

i come home from a wednesday night Bible study and i let the cat in ‘cos it was dark and she comes in at night. well, she used to anyway.
the cat went straight to her food bowl and ate her leftover friskies or whiskas or whatever while i boiled water to make myself a wonderful cup of soothing, relaxing, hot tea.

minutes later the water is boiling and i lift the pot off the burner to pour the water into a cup with my tea bag in it. as i lift the pot i hear the cat (who is now in my room, specifically she’s on my dresser ‘cos she likes to be on the corner of the dresser and if i don’t leave that space empty she gets up there anc knocks everything off the dresser and onto the floor and i have no bleeding idea why she does that.) scream.

there i am holding boiling water in mid air and the cat…screams.

“what the…?” i pour the water into the cup figuring that i’ll solve the Mystery of the Screaming Cat as my tea steeps. as i walk to the room i see the cat is now heaving and hurling puke from the top of my dresser to the carpet on the floor below. “holy shit! why, what?? oh god…”

i’ve poisoned my cat. oh god. i forgot. kris sprayed for bugs inside and outside the house and i forgot and i didn’t wash her food bowl or her water bowl and now she’s eaten and drank poison and oh god i’ve killed her and i’m the worst cat owner person in the world! poor Toonces. i killed my cat. i’m going to hell.

“oh Toonce, i’m sorry.”

she looked over at me, and there, sitting next to her are my car keys. she’s got this pathetic line of drool hanging out of her mouth and she opens her mouth and yarks and this watery pool of sick comes out and blam, right on my keys.

“oh god. gross. okay yeah, i deserve it.”

i finally pick her up and throw her outside because
1. no more puke in the house and
2. she’s not dying in here

oh sure it sounds insensitive but really, i wasn’t sure if there was going to be a bout of diarrhea next.
poor kitty.

so i go and get a grocery bag and all the paper towels i own and cleaned up the sick on the dresser and rinse off my car keys. then i look at the carpet to assess the best way to clean it. i get down on my knees and ew, there are three (3) gigantic piles of puke. these piles, god, they are huge and…chunky? what the? the first pile is all *gag* meat? and…fur? what the? the second pile is…oh my god, organs. that f*cking cat. ew what’s the third- *gag* intestines.

it was amazing how fast my demeanor changed. in .025 seconds i went from Oh Sweet Jesus I killed My Poor Cat to Just Wait Til I Get My Hands On You, You Are A Dead Cat, Yeah, You Think Puking This Up Was Bad? You’ll Wish You Were Puking When I Get Done With You.

that damn cat had eaten something huge. it wasn’t just a mouse or a rat. and? she must’ve eaten it right before i got home ‘cos nothing had been digested yet. it was so gross. and bloody and there it was, seeping into my carpet.
of course the bitch would puke in the only room with carpet. it couldn’t have been on the linoleum or the hardwood. nay nay.

i quickly cleaned up the piles and tossed it in the garbage bin outside. then i poured clorox cleaner on the red spots, not caring if it turned the carpet white or burned a hole right through to the wood. just as long as there wasn’t red stains and puke smell, i didn’t care.

i then gave the cat new food and water outside because i figured after puking all that up she’d probably be hungry. she wanted back inside and kept meowing at the door. but i wouldn’t let her in because i know that all she really wanted was to check out her carrion vomit. which wasn’t there anymore anyway.

an hour later i go back to my room to get ready for bed. my nerves are shot, the tea had 0 calming affect on me. as i’m putting on my jammies i hear the cat outside eating her food. but it’s like she’s crunching maniacally. “damn. what’s that all about?” so i turn on the outside light and pull back the curtain and there, at my back door, eating my cat food, is a full grown, nasty-ass ‘possum. “dammit! no!”

so i throw open the door and the ‘possum looks at me. it’s all, “what up bitch?”
damn tough inner-city ‘possums and their damn attitude.

“BLAHHBABBABABALBALAAAAA!” i yell.

it fled. in horror.

the cat leaps out of nowhere to come inside, determined to check out her vomit.
“no!” i yell and snatch her out of midair. i toss her back out and slam the door.

four hours later i manage to fall asleep.

so as far as i can tell, the gall bladder is your internal good luck charm.

shit.

next week’s epitomb: what the future holds for Bionic Gall Bladder Luck Management Systems (BGBLMS)

jaimie” sans gall bladder” pickle

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Tags: gall bladder, rant

The One About My Gall Bladder
a.k.a. Nobody at the Hospital Has a Clue
October 07, 2004

hi kids,

remember Chalupa? my gender-bending ulcer from miami?

well it turns out he-she wasn’t an ulcer. the painful shim was a rotten gall bladder. and now he-she’s gone forever.

back in February i was having some stomach pains and some chest pains as well. so i went to the Doc and he told me i had an ulcer, and so the Prevacid Regimen began. i do remember Flippy Chinchilla saying that her old boss was having similar pains and was thinking he was having a heart attack and that it turned out to be his gall bladder. but did i think to tell the Doc about that?

no.

why?

because. i’m a moron.

so the Prevacid Regimen would work for a couple of weeks and then it wouldn’t work for a while and then it would seem to work again. who knows what was going on in there. certainly not me. and apparently not the doctor either.

at the beginning on July i started having these horrible, awful pains at night. they would start in the early evening and would last until 3 or 4 in the morning. but only at night.
isn’t that weird? so i asked the doctor about it. “isn’t that weird?”

and he looked at me like you only have pain at night. when noone else is around? munchausen much? and said, “take this Prevacid..for the ulcer.”

and i was all, “look, this pain is so bad that i actually cry. it’s so bad that i almost call someone to take me to the hospital. and i am terrified of the hospital. please. help me.”

and so he was going to order some tests (ultrasound and HIDA scan)for me. but wait! i said. i have already had those tests. 2 years ago. can you please get those tests from that other doctor before i have more tests because i am very poor and i do not have insurance. and i don’t want to spend money on tests i’ve had unless absolutely necessary.

and he said that yes, he could totally do that for me. all i have to do is sign some papers and he can get the tests from the Other Doctor.

now then. in the back of my mind i remember that Flippy’s old boss and i have the same Other Doctor. and that that Other Doctor had given the boss man the same test and that it came out that his gall bladder was working at 80% and i guess that they don’t take one out unless it is working at 70% or less.

but.

it turned out that the Other Doctor had read the damn result wrong and that his was working at 8%. (see how important decimals are, kids?) so for a couple of seconds i wonder if i’ve been living with a bum gall bladder for 2 years.

nah. couldn’t be.
that’s impossible.

so i was supposed to go back to the Doc a week later. but i couldn’t because i was in Ohio for a wedding. and then when i got back from Ohio i was to be in another wedding so i figured why not wait until after all the wedding stuff is over before i go back and have to TCB, that is, get back in touch with the doctor. plus, i figure if between that time he finds those tests and finds something wrong that HE would call ME because he’s a doctor. and aren’t doctors supposed to do that?

so i waited for the weddings.

okay. so let’s back this up a bit. since July i’ve been joking around with my friends that one night they’re gonna get a phone call from me to take me to the hospital because the Mystery Pain has been so bad. and my friends, who are the greatest people on earth, all said, “okay. just give us a call.” or in chris’s case “just bang on the wall.” and of course jimmy was all, “call me. i will take you to whichever hospital you want.”

one night jimmy was with me as i was having my Stomach Pain From The Great Beyond. and he stayed with me for like 6 hours. and the whole time he’s like, “hey, let me take you to the hospital.” and “can i take you to the hospital now?” and “hospital? you? go?” and the whole time i’m all crying and saying, “no no, it’ll go away in a few hours.”

yes i know. i’m a moron.

but my fear was that the pain was like a really bad gas pain. and i didn’t want to go the the emergency room and have the docs run a bunch of tests and come back, “ms. pickle, you have gas. now go home and sleep it off, you big baby.”

and of course my other fear was that something would have to come out. stomach, gall bladder, a section of intestines, whatever. and who has the time or money for surgery, right? i’ve got places to go and houses to paint and plus, it’s not like the pain was every night. nay! it was only once week or so. ain’t no thing.

so.

two weeks after the doctor and the ohio wedding and liz’z wedding (it was a BEAUTIFUL wedding. it was so neat. with the little path. and the feet. and the lights. and oh. it was just the cutest. and also the best party afterwards. i could write a whole weekly on that alone. so fun! so sick! loved it, loved it, loved it! i wish you could have been there.) anyway now all the hoopla is over. and on wednesday night i start getting The Pain. damn.

so i was over at jimmy’s house ‘cos it was xbox night and all the cool people go over to his house to play games and so i like to drop in for a while and talk smack with the boys (and then i promptly leave because, ew! boys!) but that night i stayed longer because my stomach was hurting pretty bad and i didn’t want to move.

eventually i decided to go home so i could lay down and wallow in my own bed. jimmy’s last words to me were, “call me if you decide to go to the hospital.”

so i go home and lay around and cry and finally i decide that if i’m still in pain at 2am then i’ll go to the hospital. so 2am comes along. damn. so i get in the jeep and go to walmart ‘cos i want to try some gas x (again, even though it has never worked before and who am i really kidding here right?). walmart at 2am is very scary. but i go and get the gas x and eat it right in the parking lot on the way to my car.

i sit there for a few minutes and of course there’s no relief. why should it work now? so. there i am. in the jeep. feh.

so i drive to the hospital and sit in the parking lot for a minute or two. who should i call? i guess i should call jimmy. well. hang on. what if it’s just gas or an ulcer? maybe they’ll just give me some medicine and send me home? and then what’s the use of waking up everybody for nothing? it’s 2:30am now, that gives me a couple of hours, lessee what happens. now, whatever you do. don’t start crying.
okay. no crying. got it.

so i go to the emergency room and the place is dead. the triage nurse asks me some questions. and basically says, “so. you came here because…your stomach hurts?”
“um. yes.”
“that’s it?”
maybe i should cry. “yes. it hurts. really bad.”
“how long has it been hurting?”
“today? for about 6 hours. but i’ve had it off and on since July.”
“since July?”
“yes. well, February really.”
“…”
“look. i’ve been busy. and now? i’m not so busy. and? it hurts so bad that i can’t sleep or do anything and so i came here. this? is the last place i want to be.”
“okay. let me go get the doctor.”

the er doc comes in and asks the same questions and gives me the same looks.

“look, i’m gonna rate this pain a 9 okay? and the only reason i won’t give it a 10 is because i’m saving the 10 for when i hurt so bad i pass out.”

“we’re going to run a couple of tests okay?”

“great.”

so they gave me a GI Cocktail which the ER Doc said would instantly relieve my pain…as long as it’s an ulcer.
i drank the numby minty drink and…no dice. which means?

it’s not an ulcer.

PERHAPS WE SHOULD WRITE THIS INFO DOWN ON MY CHART, YOU KNOW, THE CHART WITH MY NAME ON IT THAT THE DOCTORS READ TO KNOW WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME.

so i put on the assless gown and take several wheelchair rides to get some x-rays. and then to the ultrasound room and then back to exam room #9. to wait.

i must give props to the ER for getting all those tests done in less than 2 hours.

so i’m in the exam room for about an hour all by myself. by this time i have no dignity. i’m in a hospital gown. and i’m wearing nerdy striped socks.
no. dignity.
and so, with no dignity i proceed to wallow on the bed and moan every 3 seconds. for an hour.

by this time i’m glad that i went to the hospital. but i’m also getting nervous. because i thought i’d be discharged by now. i thought i’d have some medicine and could go home and we could act like it never happened.

oh jaimie. so like a child, you are.

around 6am the nurse comes back in and says, “ms. pickle, you have gall stones. they’re going to admit you and then remove your gall bladder.”

“what?! shhhhhhhit.”

the nurse looks at me in surprise.

“look, may i, um…use a phone?”

“yeah?” she says quizzically, “i’m going to give you some demerol for the pain okay?”

“oh that would be wonderful. but let me use the phone first, otherwise the medicine will make me loopy and i probably won’t be able to dial the phone.”

she looks at me like i’m crazy.

“you’ve had this pain since july?”

“yeah. i know.”

“and you’re just now doing something about it?”

“well, i did go to the doctor. i get points for that.”

“points?”

“he thought it was an ulcer. i need a phone. they are going to be so mad.”

“mad? who? why?”

“everyone. i didn’t call anyone. i thought i could just sneak home.”

“what?”

“i know.”

“i still can’t believe you’ve had gall stones since july.”

“february.”

“huh?”

“may i use the phone?”

“yeah let me go get it, but first let me give you this shot of demerol.”

“wait! the phone!”

“you are in pain aren’t you?”

“yes! tons and tons!”

“here. can you feel that?”

“ohhhh. oh damn. how…can i…talk…now?”

“i’ll go get the phone for you.”

“ohhhh nooooo.”

she leaves. and comes back with a cordless phone.

i study the phone. numbers. hmmmm. 7 7 no. that’s later.

i manage to call mom and dad.

“hello?”

“mom?”

“jaimie?”

“yeah. look.”

“…”

“you know those stomach pains?”

“yeah? *cough cough*

“wellll. i had them some more. so i went to the hospital.”

“…”

“and anyway. they have to take my gall bladder out.”

“oh.”

“they gave me demerol.”

“already?”

“for the pain.”

“where are you?”

“Holy River hospital.”

“okay. we’ll be there soon.”

“‘k. can you call jimmy for me?“

“yeah.”

“thanks bye.”

so then i sat there trying to remember laura and kris’s number to see if they would look after the cat. but i couldn’t remember. and liz and chris were still on their honeymoon so calling them would be silly. besides if Toonces gets too hungry she can catch a squirrel or something.

next thing i know i’m being moved to a room. and then i slept for a whole day.

on friday morning they took out my gall bladder. and they gave me no medicine for the pain. even though i asked for it repeatedly as soon as i woke up in the OR.

in fact, the first thing i remember was some lady saying, “jaimie, i need you to throw up for me.”

so i did. it seems i must’ve swallowed a tube or something. there was lots of spitting into this mouth thing that was blowing air into my face. “hey. hey! my stomach hurts! it hurts!”

“okay hon.”

“i have to pee! oh my god. i have to pee right now!”

“okay hon. hold on.”

“no! pee! now! i’m going to piss all over myself right now! oh god my stomach hurts.”

“we’ll give you something for the pain in a minute okay?”

“whatever. i’m going to pee!”

“okay okay. here. sit on this bedpan okay?”

“okay great. i’m not peeing. why am i not peeing?!”

“sometimes it’s hard to pee at first…”

“i have to pee so bad! peee! it’s not peeing!”

“it’s okay. when you get back to your room…”

“room shmoom! pee! god my stomach!”

minutes later i’m back in my room and the nurses anre moving me to my bed.

“no! bathroom! now! i have to pee!”

“just a minute jaimie. we’re gonna get you on your bed so we can…”

“i’m gonna pee all over the place! and my stomach is killing me.”

“let’s get you…”

“pee! pee! pee!”

“fine. let’s get her to the bathroom. hey she’s got a bedpan.”

“i know!!! and i’m trying to pee in it!”

they get me on the toilet and….nothing.

“ohhh god…why can’t i pee? it’s right there!”

“here let’s run the shower okay? sometimes running water helps.”

“ohhh my poor peeee!”

after sitting there for two minutes i finally peed. like 800ccs of pee.
so much pee.
glorious urine!

i never did get any pain medicine. finally two hours later mom went and got some nurse to give me something but it didn’t take away any pain. bitch!

oh but they kept pumping me full of saline and antibiotics. 6 bags of each the whole time i was there. that = lots of pee.

then then then, at the end of the day some other nurse (never saw the same one twice) came in with a bag of prevacid and hooked it into the IV.

“what’s that?”
“prevacid.”
“what? why?!”
“the doctor wanted you to have it.”
“but i don’t have an ulcer.”
“you don’t?”
“no. they took out my gall bladder.”
“oh. well. doctor’s orders.”
???

always with the prevacid! i’m certain that the docs are getting kickbacks from the prevacid people.

ways in which the hospital is a total clusterfuck:

on thursday i was in and out of sleep most of the day however, the nurses (of which i saw at least 50 different ones) came by to prick my finger every four hours. not because i’m a diabetic, but because when i checked into the hospital my blood sugar was low and they wanted to “monitor” that for me.

do you think it’s possible that the reason my blood sugar was low was because i hadn’t eaten anything in 8 hours?! perhaps? it was 2:30 in the morning! gimmie a cracker and we’ll move on!

so every four hours. prick. hmm. it’s at 64. do you think you could drink some juice for me?
yes. god. anything. i’m starving.

then. i was supposed to be on a Clear Liquid Diet.

do you think they gave me any broth or juice or anything for lunch?
no.

so at 6pm they come in and my blood sugar is at 48. “hon, do you think you could drink some juice for me?”
“hell yes. in fact, bring me one of everything you have.”
” i just don’t know why your sugar is so low.”
“perhaps from the lack of food?”
“oh ha ha. i’ll look into it for you.”

never saw her again.

then later that night a nurse come in with a bag of ice.
“i brought you some ice!” she cheerfully says.
“what for?” i ask.
“so you could have some ice in your water.”
“what water?”
“where’s your cup?”
“i don’t have a cup.”
“where’s your pitcher?”
“what pitcher?”
“let me go get you a cup and pitcher.”
“okay.”

never saw her again.

the next day after surgery they say i can eat whatever i want. lunch comes in and it’s a Clear Liquid Diet Lunch.
“hm. beef broth.”
dad’s all, “what the hell?”
i’m all, “screw it, i’m starving. get me a straw.”

then that afternoon both doctors tell me i can go home. great. so a nurse comes in and we’re all, “where’s the wheelchair?” and she’s all, “she needs one more bag of antibiotic. she was supposed to get this one at 6am but never got it.”

now. the thing is. i did get that bag of antibiotic at 6am. but no one wrote it down. because everyone has their head up their ass.

that morning while i was laying there being “prepped” for surgery they stop everything and i hear them on the phone, “jean? did she have her 6am antibiotic? i’ll hold.”
2 minutes later
“what? i’m waiting to see if she had her 6am antibiotic. fine. i’ll call.”

“bill? did ms. pickle have her 6am antibiotic. yes i know. i know that. but it’s not signed for in the chart. who gave it to her? well it isn’t signed. fine. i’ll call.”
3 minutes later
“i need to talk to someone…yes. ms. pickle was supposed to have an antibiotic at 6am. yes i am aware of that. yes. yes i know but no one signed the chart. ok i’ll ask her.”

“ms. pickle?”

“yes.”

“did someone give you an antibiotic bag this morining?”

“yes. they did.”

she gives me a disbelieving look then talks to the phone, “she says they did, but i don’t have a signature. ok. well. ok but that’s why the chart is there. i know that barbara. i am not taking the blame for this. how many times do i…no! and another thing, i’m sick and tired of you all changing things around and then not telling us. …yes you do. and then my people ask me about the proper protocol and i tell them what i was told by you, but then they tell me that your people are telling them to do it another way. you make me look like an idiot everytime. make up your mind about how you want things done and then leave it!” then she slammed the phone down.

the hospital is totally wack.

next week’s epitomb: What the Gall Bladder Actually Does

jaimie” sans gall bladder” pickle

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Tags: gall bladder

9.27.04
once again we (me) here at fleegan.com would like to apologize for the lack of updates. i would like to use the excuse that the hospital doctors took out my gall bladder the other day and i just haven’t felt up to sitting upright in a chair and typing for any amount of time lately. and if i can’t use organ removal for an excuse for not updating then i don’t know what else i could use. so i am totally using that excuse.

and? it looks like my softball career is over for the season.
dammit.

and? it looks like my salsa consumtion is over for the season…or ever.
dammit. dammit.

listen up you no good gall bladder! you can take my softball, but the salsa?! you fukker!

i hope to have The One About My Gall Bladder written in a week or so. until then i’ll be napping in the recliner and eating bollicky soup.

but they tell me (they as in the doctor i saw for half a second) that i’ll be feeling better soon and that my stomach problems will all go away.
dare i believe?

9.22.04
i sort of joined a softball team. what in hell was i thinking? tuesdays and thursdays are gonna be busy. i didn’t do too bad last night considering i hadn’t played in 12 years. also, it’s kinda sad when you think back and realize that you could throw the ball faster, farther, and more accurate when you were 14 and had arms like toothpicks. eh.

*****

i had a dream this morning.
so there i was walking in some kind of giant office building and i see one of my ol’ professors walk by and he’s got an arm load of papers and art pens and such and i said, “hey, Mr. Gee! Mr. Gee!” (that’s his last name. Gee.) and he ignores me. and i’m all why is he ignoring me? he always liked me. what is his damn problem? so i follow him and offer to help him carry some of his sketch books. and he still ignores me. the hell?!

so i follow him into his office because i’m determined to make him acknowledge me. he puts all his stuff on his desk and turns to me and sneers, “so. pickle. how do you like your job?”
huh? “my job? you mean painting houses? i like it. it’s cool. why? and why are you being a dickhead?”
“why are you wasting your time?” he says, practically taking my head off.
“what?”
“why aren’t you making any art? you’re wasting your time painting houses! you’re an artist!”
“i hate art!” i shout back.
“no, you don’t!”
“yes, i do!”
“why do you hate it?!” still with the glaring and the shouting.
“okay fine! i don’t hate art! i hate being an artist!”
“why?!”
“because it’s so goddamn selfish! it’s the most selfish thing you can be! i should have been a doctor or a scientist or a social worker or anything! but not an artist!”
“oh! and i suppose it’s not selfish to waste your talent and mindlessly paint houses?!”
“hey!”
“because it takes a total brainiac to do that work, huh?!”
“hey!”
“cut the bullshit, pickle and be who you’re supposed to be!”

then the screaming stopped. and he said, “you’re right. art can be selfish, and most art probably is selfish. but art can serve a purpose higher than ego. you have to remember that.”

end.

Dear Laura,
what is art? is it self-expression? if it is, then see? it’s got the word self in it! then it is about ego. blah!

gah. fix this please. somehow art has become evil to me (for like, the last 3 years). i feel guilty about being an artist. why? where is it coming from? help!

also, do you think this is about The Created?

Sincerely,
Artless in Alabama

9.21.04
ooh. sorry for lack of updates. i’ve been, y’know, busy what with hurricanes and weddings and all. in fact, just go read laura’s blog. my updates would be more of the same. except my liznchris wedding night ends with me and liz’z dad smoking cigars, drinking red wine and blahing about literature.

well, actually my night ended with me puking my guts out.
and? when you puke a merlot? it’s fluourescent red. not the dark red it was when you drank it.
things to know.

******

i nearly fell off the ladder today. i was at the top just painting away when all a sudden the ladder went to the right, to the right, to the right. and my body went to the left, to the left, to the left to counter-balance my fat ass. complete instinct kicked in which was to grab the facing board of the house (as if clinging to a one inch piece of wood would save my life) and scream for my father.
“dad?! daddy?! daddy?! DADDY!!!! DADDY! DAAAAAAAAD!”

he comes around the side of the house all, “what?”

“theladdertheladdertheladdergetthegoddamnladder!“

“oh! i thought you were screaming about a spider or something.”

cheese and crackers. apparently when i set up the ladder i had put one side of it in a hole.
amateur night.
thank you Holy Lord for not letting me fall and die. or fall and break something. or fall and break something really important and become a vegetable. you are most kind to me.

reefer log:
is it every human year
who invented the name pickle
pickle breath sign of disease
pickle lover poem
and of course there were oodles of pickling vegetables, scrapbook crap, baldheaded lesbians, and eurotrip queries as well.

9.13.04
while watching some kind of blech on vh1 about how much money the rapper Nelly has (by the way it’s gobs and gobs of money) i say,

“he’s a dude, but they call him nelly.”

and jimmy sings, “his name is my name tooooo. whenever we go out! the people always shout!”

“hey! there goes nelly! … and nelly!”

and then i cracked up and jimmy said how sad it was that i cracked myself up.

9.08.04
i finally updated the archives. i didn’t know that i hadn’t been doing that. so it was a surprise to me when i clicked on the archive and it hadn’t been updated since April. woops. where did “all those” (read: those 4) Weeklies go? skknt.

went to the daktari yesterday. same old same old. feh. i’m ready for the nanobots to go in there and fix me up. because seriously, i want to poop nanobots.

i had to get two prescriptions. and i thought they would cost at least a hundred million dollars. but they didn’t. and? i had a coupon for $20. i know, a coupon for $20 on prescription drugs? how?
i don’t know. it must be God. so the meds only cost $9.
thank you Lord Jesus for the coupon and for generic prescription drugs. those were really good ideas. you truly work in mysterious ways. and the whole DO NOT DRINK ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES WITH THIS DRUG OR YOU WILL SURELY GET THE PLAGUE AND DIE was a nice touch too.

it’s funny because when i read that i thought well, how much alcohol do they mean? like could i have one six pack of beer? one glass of wine? perhaps a small bottle of wine? but no. i’ve been on that medicine before and the pharmacist was all, “don’t drink alcohol with this.” and i was all, “okay.” and she was all, “seriously.” and i was all, “um. sure.” and she was all, “don’t even use mouthwash that has alcohol in it.” and i was all, “holy shit are you serious?” and she was all, “yeah.”

reefer log gobs of fun:
sniff the pickle
e-mail call wave from eurotrip movie
you got mail call wave from eurotrip
pickle gay florida real radio
pickle pops
picture of a pickle car
jerking pickle

i do not have the .wav from eurotrip, though i wish i did. “mail muthaf*ckah!” (does the asterisk really make it okay? should i ‘bleep’ out more letters? m*thaf***ah! m****f*****! i just don’t know.)

also, CZ was right. my post about the EV (8.24.04) has brought about a whole new genre of searches that frankly, scare me. and i’m too embarrassed to post ’em.

YOU AWFUL INTERNET PEOPLE WITH YOUR AWFUL SEARCHES FOR AWFUL THINGS!
THE BABY JESUS CRIES WHEN YOU SEARCH FOR DIRTY THINGS ON THE INTERNET.
A POX ON YOUR HOUSE!

9.05.04
we had a party yesterday. liz’z panty party.
i bought her pirate underoos.
i drank way more jack&coke than usual. like, way more.
way more.

very fun party. Tami Sparks was there. so how could it not be fun?

WHERE WAS COOKIE MAGOO?

i woke up at 4:30am, wide awake. could not fall back asleep. i have no idea why i woke up that early. so i sang along with every song on the radio. and when that failed to put me back to sleep i read Book II of The Iliad. which was very boring as it is the part where Homer names every Greek that fights in the war. i’m talking 15 pages of random Greek names and how many boats they have. then for three other pages he tells about all the Trojans and their stuff. it’s like all the begets and begats in the Bible, only with Greek names instead of Hebrew or whatnot.

“then Tracheus of Scrotos, son of Esophageus, brought his army and filled 50 ships. then Phoebus the great Achean warrior, king of Aorta, son of Queen Hecuba, sent his army and 30 ships to aid Agammemnon.”

for 20 pages.

and then like, three people show up to fight for Troy.

9.02.04
fixed the forum link.

worked like a dog all day.

broke a window.

went to the grocery store.

read Book I of The Iliad.

haven’t had supper yet. (but i will! i promise! laura gave me some new flavor oatmeal to try.)

my eyes feel like they have sand in them and my throat is so dry that when i drink water it doesn’t get wet. cold catching? i dunno. i had to pressure wash a building today. so if i do happen to get sick i’m gonna blame it on that.

my dad hated the weekly.

phone call from dad:

*ring*

<funny voices>

“hello? who is this calling me please?”

“hello. this is Popsicle calling please.”

“hello Popsicle.”

“hello.”

</funny voices>

“hi dad, what’s up?”

“um. About this weekly…”

“oh! my story! did you like it?”

“was that the Weekly?”

“yeah, i thought i’d try something different. so it’s the first chapter of a story.”

“oh. but. is that the Weekly?”

“it’s a substitute Weekly. did you like it?”

“well…”

“you didn’t like it?! none of it?”

“it wasn’t…y’know…funny.”

“GASP. really?”

“did that…happen?”

“what?”

“did you and laura blow up something?”

“what?! no. dad no. it’s a story and those are characters.”

“but did you and laura blow up-“

“dad! no! those are imaginary people. that’s not laura and me. laura and i are not twin sisters.”

“so that story is…fic? tion?”

“yes dad. the word is fiction.”

“fiction. yes. so you-“

“no. laura and i did not blow something up.”

“you just made up that story then? about you and laura-“

“dad! those are fictional charaters! it’s not me! it’s not laura!”

“and liz-“

“and liz is not liz!”

“but-“

“i know! i need better names! but even so, you didn’t like the story?”

“not real-“

“oh i know what it is.”

“huh?”

“you didn’t like it ‘cos it’s not about you. you’re not mentioned at all in this week’s Weekly and you can’t stand it!”

“what? … hahahahahahahaha!”

“don’t even deny it.“

“well i am pretty funny y’know.”

“oh i know. hilarious. a riot. a laugh-a-minute.”

“so, are you gonna do a real Weekly this week?”

“this is me pretending i didn’t hear that.”

“heh. i mean, one about me-“

“not listening.”

“because-“

“bye dad.”

9.01.04
new Weekly today. but instead of the same old “dad and i had this crazy day where…” tripe it’s the first chapter of a serial i’m writing.

two things you should know about the serial:
1. jay is not me.
2. elle is not laura.
3. liz is not liz.

okay, so there’s three things.

i’m just not very good at coming up with names for my characters.

reefer log:
kris pickle’s feet
hottah
pj pickle
baldheaded lesbians
pickle flavors

and of course there were tons of “pickling” questions. beets, okra, slimey okra, and so on. once again i shall refer all of you to www.foodnetwork.com

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8.30.04
at work today:

popsicle: what did you and jimmy have for supper last night?

me: corndogs. what did you and mom have?

p: hotdogs.

m: whoa.

p: you guys want to eat dinner at our house tonight?

m: i dunno. what are you having?

p: what are you cooking for us?

m: um, corndogs?

p: how about something that doesn’t have ‘dog’ in it.

m: …so i guess i won’t be trying out that new Korean dish?

p: heh.

8.28.04
i’ve mentioned how weird conversations happen to me at gas stations, right? i don’t know why, but they just happen. i never start them. honestly.

so today i pump my gas and go inside to pay and there’s this arabic guy workign the counter and i hand him my money and say, “$19.76” and he says in his thick accent, “yoo see evryoothing.”
‘hm?’
“you see…everything.”
wtf? maybe he’s got a head injury or something.
“um. well. not everything.” i say and smile, because it’s always good to smile.
“hai!” he says loudly and smiles. “your change,” as he hands me my coins.
“thank you.”
“hai!”

why am i always alone when this happens? i mean, i wasn’t alone in the store, there was this other guy looking at me like i was a snake-haired gorgon monster. but i wasn’t about to ask him what he thought it was all about. but i was alone in that none of MY people were with me.

To My People:
stop letting me go to the gas station alone.
i need witnesses for this kind of thing.
it’s just too weird.

love,
jaimie

8.27.04
miss communication

so the other night mr. fleegan and i are leaving the movies and this guy in some kind of car was driving down the wrong way and mr. fleegan was going to go down that particular avenue and then couldn’t because there’s this yahoo driving the wrong way. so mr. fleegan reverses the car and drives a different way and i went back to balancing my checkbook. then he says,
“don’t look at me you f*ckhole.”
“i wasn’t looking at you,” i mumble, before catching on to what he has said.
“no i was-”
“and? you can’t call me that! how dare you!”
“i was talking about the f*ckhole who was driving the wrong way. he gave me a look. he was the idiot!”
“jimmy, that was like 30 seconds ago. isn’t that a bit of a delayed reaction?”
“it wasn’t 30 seconds ago!”
“dude, c’mon, your reaction was totally delayed. i mean, i balanced my check book before you said-”
“no way!”
“fine. if you want to be a f*ckhole about it.”
“hey!”
“neener!”

8.25.04
new weekly! unfortunately it’s not very creative and it’s all about the cat.
kinda like the blog.

latest reefer-al madness:
the pickle oldies
ms. gotrocks southern
british pickled beet recipes

8.24.04
while emptying my junkmail or whatever you’d like to call the mail that my ISP “traps” for me because it’s got a virus in it or whatnot, i saw one with the subject “extreme vaginas?”
question mark and everything.
i really wanted to open that e-mail.
but i really don’t want/need a virus on this machine.
still. “extreme vaginas?”? were they going to ask me? was i to respond with what i thought an EV would be? was i to judge an EV contest? were they inviting me to include my own EV in an EV contest?

whatever the case i’m honored that when sending out an “extreme vagina?” e-mail they thought of me.

****

also, i should have mentioned yesterday that cheesebum was what we called the school bus.
i rode the cheesebum every day.

8.23.04
i just finished reading threshold by caitlin r. kiernan because laura asked me to read it because see what happened was i was going to the library to hog out my books and was supposed to check out some kind of cheesebum* book for laura but it turned out that whatever jerkhole had previously hogged that book out had not returned it and it was alread a week late. so there i was. in the library. and the book LBC wanted wasn’t there. and i mean shit. what a conundrum, right? it’s not like i could call laura and say, “hey your book isn’t here. is there something else you want?”

because you’re not supposed to turn on your cell phone in the ‘brary.

AND EVERYTIME I’M IN THERE SOME STUPID BITCH’S PHONE RINGS AND SHE ANSWERS IT! AND PROCEEDS TO TALK LOUDLY EVEN THOUGH THERE ARE NO SOUNDS IN THE LIBRARY TO GIVE HER ANY REASON TO TALK THAT LOUD IN THE STACKS AND FOR REAL, DO I REALLY NEED TO KNOW THAT SHE’S GOTTA RUN TO THE STORE AFTER THIS BECAUSE THEY’RE GONNA HAVE POT FARKING ROAST FOR DINNER?!

but the killer is that SHE KEEPS GETTING ON TO HER SMALL CHILD WHO IS MERELY TALKING IN A NORMAL VOICE AND BASICALLY JUST BEING A KID. “SHH! SH!” SHE SHUSHES AT HER SMALL CHILD AND REALLY WHAT IS THIS KID GONNA LEARN FROM A MOMMA WHO CAN’T SHUT HER STUPID FACE LONG ENOUGH TO CHECK OUT WHATEVER MINDLESS TRIPE A LADY LIKE THAT IS BOUND TO BE CHECKING OUT?

YES. I AM JUDGING.
PROBLEM?

so anyway, sure i could’ve gone outside to use the phone and call laura and say, “book ain’t here. what now?” but no. i’m up for a challenge. so i figure i’ll just get LBC some kind of thinnish book to hold her off until the book she wanted is returned. so i grab at every thin book and it’s like, here’s one! oh. Animal Farm? i better not. hey what’s this? Call of the Wild. she’d kill me. but oh, remember that poor dog? ok let’s see…skimming skimming skimming…aha! wait. Cry the Beloved Country. uh huh, let me just complete the Summer Reading List by getting How Green Was My Valley and she’ll never speak to me again.

and just when i thought i’d have to actually walk all the way outside to make an asinine phone call, i spotted it. threshold. it was thin. it had a cool cover. and best of all it had a blurb about the author by Neil Gaiman so there you go. a laura book.
turns out laura liked it and asked me to read it too and so i did and here we are and man, that book was scary. even the prologue was scary. i mentioned the scariness to laura and she was all, “really? scary? the prologue scared you?”

but it was a great book and would make a great movie and right after i finished the book this morning i called LBC, “hey! that book was great!”
“i know!”
“they used Beowulf! it was like, part of the whole plot! you didn’t tell me that!”
“i know! i thought it would be a cool surprise!”
“it was! you’re right! Beowulf is an awesome surprise!”
“yay!”
“yay!”

okay so the conversation wasn’t exactly like that, but shamefully close. but i’d just like to mention that you know you have a good friend when she surprises you with Beowulf and doesn’t call you a stupid freakhead Beowulf lover. even though i’m totally a stupid freakhead Beowulf lover.

how far does my Beowulf Love go?
well, you know how some people make it their goal to continually read the Bible or read it once a year?
yeah.
i do that with Beowulf.
i know. i need help.
Beowulf Lover’s Anonymous.
hi. my name is jaimie…
and i’m addicted to Beowulf.

*cheesebum was a word invented by school children in the late 1980s. it’s a generic adjective that has nothing to do with cheese or bums.

8.22.04
if my life was a movie my character would be the quirky psychic girl. you know the one, the one that has the terrible nightmares? but she manages to keep her sense of humour? you know? and she doesn’t like to talk to people and she hates to be touched. so she reads a lot and for some reason always ends up in wacky situations? and everyone thinks she’s a total freak (like teachers and priests and bosses) but her friends are really cool and awesome and they believe her when she says, “hey you guys? i had another dream last night. we need to get all the eggs we can and take them to the Old #5 Light Tower. that’s where the monster is hiding.”

and the friends are so cool and funny that they say something like, “are you sure it’s the #5?” and i’m all, “yeah. i’m sure.” and then one of them is all, “well, let’s go eggsterminate this thing!”
chorus of groans, “jimmy!”

the only thing i know for sure, it would have an awesome soundtrack.

8.19.04
there’s a BeeGees’s song called More Than a Woman that the oldies station plays at least thrice a day. however, it sounds like they are singing “baldheaded woman” and so that’s what dad and i sing. but today i said, “y’know, this song makes me want to put on roller skates and disco dance.” to which dad responded with, “this song makes me want to punch someone in the face.”
“oh.”
“yeah.”
“looks like you’ve got some unchecked aggression there, pops.”
“yeah. makes me want to hit australian singers. right in the puss.”
“yeah, i think they make medicine for that now.”
“oh but i don’t want the medicine. i want to hit a BeeGee.”
“don’t give in to the hate, dad. don’t. give in. to the hate.”
“no! the hate is good! the hate makes me strong!”
“fight it dad! don’t be seduced by the Dark Side! fight!”
“feeling only hate now! must use my fists to hit…faggitydisco singers!”
“o tragic day! when hate wins! cast me from this sorrow place!”
“wow. i think this oil paint is getting to us.”
“baldheaded woman!”
“i’m going to crack a window.”
“baldheaded woman to me!”

8.18.04
dad and i went to the grocery store today. it was just like old times. wandering down the ailses. talking in squeaky british voices. making friends with the cashier who happened to have managed a hotel in florida when Gov’t Mule stayed there and she said they were very nice people. (at first i thought she was psychic when she asked me, “so you like Gov’t Mule?” ten seconds later i realized i was wearing the T-shirt. pay attention jaimie!) it was just like old times except i had my pile of groceries and dad had his.
my pile was $14.75.
his was $400. or something. he bought meat and beer.

i started bagging the groceries because
a. dad bought out the store
b. there wasn’t anyone else around
c. ain’t no shame in baggin’ groceries.

but then this girl person came up and insisted on finishing baggin my ‘ceries.
and she was flirty. and i was like please don’t start this shit right now. my dad is right. there. and i don’t need any more reason for him to make fun of me, okay? damn Grocery Store Lesbians.
leave me alone!
also, she was trailer goth. if you know what i mean.
totally not my type.
derp!

*****

on the way home form the store we passed the Kandle Factory.
it’s a kandle store.
anyway. they have great kandles that smell really good and they have like, 32 flavors and then some (hee laura!). so i notice on their sign they boast 18 NEW FLAVORS. so i say, “dad, that place already has every scent imaginable! what ELSE could they add?”
“i dunno, dog shit?”
“like, for practical jokes maybe?”
“lightning bug?”
“you? are a genius.”

8.17.04
i forgot about the Olympics.

then i went to mom and dad’s for supper.

feh.

dad and i managed to totally make fun of it though, much to the chagrin of the other people in the room. for the record: dad is a sick human being. man, is he funny.

*****

i saw three movies this weekend. i know. i hate movies! why am i going to the movies?!
Collateral = two stars
Alien Versus Predator = .01 star
Manchurian Candidate = 10 stars

i don’t know if i enjoyed MC so much because the other movies were so bad, or if it’s ‘cos mr. fleegan and i saw it with Faithful Atheist.

Collateral was slow. AVP had such potential, if only they had hired a writer or two instead of that roomful of monkeys with the typewriters. i could have crapped a better story than that.

*****

at the moment i’m reading three things:
a trash romance/mystery/supernatural thriller
a wonderful piece of literature
a quarterly magazine

Edge of the Moon by Rebecca York, which should be titled I Can’t Believe They Publish This Crap. I Mean Really. I’ve Read Better Fanfic. the book, she is stoopid. but i’m forcing myself to finish it because i hate hate hate not finishing a book.

Paradise Lost by John Milton, i am totally loving this one. once you get past the weird spellings (plac’t, onely, thir) and you get into the flow of the poem it is awesome. really neat. i wish i could talk LBC into reading it. so we could talk about it. but i’d have to promise her money or sexual favors or something.

Granta this issue is about film. read the The Handbag Studio. it was neat.

8.15.04
Scabies died today. the vet said she was poisoned, but there’s no poison in the back yard. so we’re all like, “are you sure she was poisoned?”

mom found three dead toads in the backyard and asked the vet if maybe Scabies got a hold of some Bad Toad. which made sense to me. but the vet said that it wasn’t toad poisoning.

so i dunno. it’s just a bummer ‘cos she was a pretty sweet dog.

8.14.04
dad called me earlier today and said they had to take Scabies to the vet because she was hallucinating and foaming at the mouth.
“Scabies has rabies?!”

but no, the vet thinks she’s been poisoned.
wha?

dad said that it was the creepiest thing he’s ever seen. he couldn’t get close to the dog cos she’d run away. she was terriefied of mom, dad, and Blue Dog. and she was ducking and jumping at nothing.
weirdness.

so she’s gotta spend the night at the vet’s.
poor Scabielynn.

8.13.04

oh dear. new Weekly.

8.11.04
i woke up 4 times from the hours of 3am – 5:30am.
i had the radio on.
each time i woke up there was a different stevie wonder song on.
glory!

8.10.04
today’s my dad’s b-day. which means mom made lasagna for dinner. anytime we have a b-day mom makes lasagna. it. is. awesome.

the old man turned 50. i call him Old Man sometimes. even though i don’t think of him as being old. i also call him papa. but in a squeaky voice. “oh papa!” i say, “how is the papa today?” and he answers back in an equally squeaky voice, “the papa is fine.” or “papa is hungry.” or whatever. i think i’ve mentioned how we’re really 10 years old?
i also call him pa and pop and pops. and because of the Pops thing, i’ve started calling him Popsicle.

i don’t think he minds, but only because he doesn’t hear very well. or he pretends not to anyway.

i got Popsicle two music DVDs. one was Allman Bros. and the other was 2002’s Bonaroo festival. he was happy to get some “toys” because moms bought him dress clothes…necktie and everything.

in all honesty he did need some dress clothes. in fact, at uncle george’s funeral dad was wearing a suit he bought for my brother (for his high school graduation (1998)) from Goodwill.

so yeah. he needed some dress clothes.

wow. how weird are we anyway?

8.07.04
no cat blog today. i promise.

today i am working at mom and pop’s place trimmin’ da hedges and cutting down/digging up yucca plants.

i hate yucca plants.

reefer log:
cheap scrapbook stuff
selfish alcoholics
the pickle
slimey pickled okra

honestly children, if your pickled okra is slimey then you’ve obviously did something wrong. boiled okra is slimey. pickled okra is not. feh.

8.06.04
oh hell. not cat blog again.

so i moved my bed a little bit. i basically just put it diagonal in the corner so that it’s not next to any walls because the walls are creeping me out. because of the roach thing. i just don’t want a roach to be crawling on the wall and then accidentally (or on purpose even) to fall on my bed or more importantly, me. so i moved the bed two feet.

well. the cat acted like i had moved the statue of liberty to canada. she looked at me with big nervous eyes “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? HOLY GOD. YOU’RE MOVING IT? YOU’RE MOVING MY BIG SOFT THING THAT I LAY DOWN ON ALL DAY LONG? THAT’S MINE!”
“well if you don’t like it, toonces, then you can move it back. oh? what’s that? you’re too small and don’t have opposable thumbs? oh that’s right. it must suck to be you.”

then, because obviously moving the bed two feet means that EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD IS DIFFERENT. she had to “explore” all around it and underneath it. and she acted like it wasn’t even the same bed anymore. then, then, THEN while she was sniffing a different part of the carpet (that OBVIOUSLY had never been there before) she looked up and saw the ceiling fan. the ceiling fan that has been there the entire time. the ceiling fan that has been on and spinning for a full month.

“JESUS IN GOD WHAT IS THAT?!” she said while trying to duck the blades. the blades, mind you, that are 7 feet in the air. “HOW COULD YOU BRING THAT MONSTROSITY INTO THIS HOUSE?! why are you trying to kill me? DO YOU NOT SEE THE SPINNING TEETH? fix this. i’ll be under the bathtub.”

8.05.04
more search returns:
don’t forget the pickle
hiding the pickle
sexxing

both laura and LT guessed the math nerd from tuesday’s post. in fact, LT’s e-mail was so great that i have to post this part:

remember when he had that “fit” in class and threw his books down and went outside and we all went to the window of our 10th grade english class to watch him kick a tree. maybe he had just read some heavy physics shit and was like, “no, there cannot even be a hole in space time continnum!” “einstein was wrong the whole time!” “what is donnie darko??”

i don’t remember him having a fit, but it does not surprise me that he had one, just like it doesn’t surprise me that he has a secret hideout filled with molotov cocktails and porn.
well, i mean, allegedly.
er, not at all, really.

cat blog
so last night (2am really) i wake up for what i think is no reason. “why did i wake up? did i hear a noise?” and toonces is on the floor, actually, she’s laying across my sketchbook which is on the floor and she’s looking up at the wall in horror. as i start to yell at her to get off my book, “geh! peh! feh!” i say and wave my hand in her direction (i can’t use real words as i have woken from the deepest darkest part of sleep and my tongue has been sewn to the roof of my mouth (oh yeah, i had wine last night). then i hear it.
the awkward skrittching of a roach. “fuhmb!”
the cat was staring at the roach.

i snatch the roach spray off the night stand and stand up on my bed in the Ready Position. admittedly this was a sloppy Ready Position because the room is kinda spinny and my legs are made of numb play-doh. but i manage to see the roach as it scurries across the CURTAIN ROD DIRECTLY ABOVE MY BED. “raaaaah!” goes my battlecry as i spray the Raid Death Spray all over wall, curtain, everything in front of me, etc.

the roach is stunned only momentarily. then he jump/flies to a different wall. i follow with my spray my battle cry still raaaaahing right along. by now the cat has flipped out and ran to hide under the bathtub. the roach, sufficiently poisoned, has now fallen to the floor and in a last ditch effort to win this battle he charges me. (what?!)

“BAHHHHHHH! AIEEEEE AHHHHH!” i scream and spray and then crash the bottom of the can on top of him and twist.

some of his legs come off but he’s still trying to run.

“DIE DIE DIE!” i scream and the can comes down again and again.
finally after what seemed like 20 minutes of spraying, screaming, and violent beating the roach was dead. well. mostly dead. you know how those things just won’t die? i mean, it’s all twitchy and broken but it just WON”T DIE.

so i leave it be. because i’m really tired despite the frantic spraying and chasing. and screaming. i’ll just pick it up in the morning. so i get back into the bed and i’m just about out….and…then the cat somes back in and is all interested in the mostly dead poison covered roach. fuhmb.
“toonces. get away from that. get. no. noooo. don’t touch- god. don’t. no. i hate you.”

she didn’t touch it exactly. but she had to go over to it and sniff it and poke it and then she plopped down right beside it as though she had made the killshot. she slept next to it for the rest of the night. like, in case it was going to reanimate itself she’d be on it.

MY CAT IS WORTHLESS.

8.04.04
reefer log returns:

eat a pickle
stuff for my website cute
how to pickle okra
pickle radio sounds
(and the ever popular) how to pickle walnuts
what is the illegal liquor in eurotrip

wha?

the only person i can help is the dorkus malorkus (thanks LT!) who watched eurotrip but did not listen. absinthe was the illegal liquor.

ok kids. for those of you wanting to pickle some okra i’d try emeril. spicy pickled okra. in fact, www.foodnetwork.com had a bajillion pickling recipes from pumpkin to beets to herring to shit i’ve never heard of. but they did NOT have walnuts.

so for you crazies with the pickled walnuts searches try this olde tyme recipe and there’s one here and also this one here. and although i’ve never pickled any walnuts, one thing i’ve learned from my exhaustive 4 minute search for recipes for pickling walnuts is that it takes a shitload of walnuts and over one week to properly pickle walnuts. and i don’t know about y’all, but i just don’t have the time. so what i would do is buy them. there. you’re welcome. all you pickling geeks. (and it would just figure that the british would be the ones to take a perfectly good food and pickle it.)

*****

and in a fit of having too much coffee this morning i’ve got this caught in my head:

raindrops on fleegans and whiskers on fleegans
bright copper fleegans and warm woolen fleegans
brown paper flee-ee-gans tied up with string
these are a few of my favorite things!

hey that dog bites!
look! a fleegan!
doesn’t he look mad?

and i couldn’t come up with anything for the last part.
which brings us back to doe.
fa!

8.03.04
jaimie’s dirty library secret

i can’t read!

since i’ve moved and i no longer have access to a TV i’ve been going to the library quite often. however, i don’t just check out books for myself. i usually get dad a book and sometimes laura gets a book or two. i usually end up with 5 or 6 books. meaning i totally look like a book hog to the librarians. so much so that when i return a few and check more out they always point out that i still have a book or two checked out as if to say in a whispery voice, “really Book Hog, checking out more books when you’re not even finished with the other books you’ve previously hogged out of the library? shame.”

hogging books out of the library. where do i come up with these things?

i almost hogged out this book on math and physics because i really wanted to read it. but when i opened the front cover i noticed that it still had one of those cards in the front like how we used to have to hog out books from the library? like where you sign your name? on a card? meaning that the book had not been removed from the shelf since they had stopped hogging out books that way? and also? the only name on the card? was this guy i went to high school with and he was a total geek but in that not so good kind of way that if i saw on the news that he had totally gone berserko and was stockpiling molotov cocktails and porn mags that it would totally not surprise me.
well, i’d be surprised at first and then i’d be all, “well, really it’s not so surprising.” and laura would be all, “yeah, but still i never thought he’d go that far.” and i’d be all, “yeah.” and she’d be all, “i guess it’s not so surprising after all.”
“yeah. for real.”
“good thing you didn’t check that book out that time.”
“totally.“*

so i didn’t hog the book out. in case the detectives go through his library list.
of course i wiped my prints off the cover!

heh. no really. the main reason i didn’t hog the book out yet was because the one next to it was even more promising. and not quite as nerdy sounding. it’s about zero. the history of zero. how cool is that?!

i’ll get the math/physics book next time.

*we would never have that conversation. it would be more like this:

“dude! did you hear?!”
“yeah! it’s in today’s paper.”
“holy shit! we knew that guy!”
“yeah i know! well. not really.”
“oh man yeah! er. yeah. we um, we rarely talked to him.”
“was he in our grade?”
“yeah. but he wasn’t in our classes. or was he?”
“we had classes with him.”
“really?”
“yeah.”
“i don’t remember.”
“still, it’s weird.”
“i know! molotov cocktails! what an asshole!”**

**that’s closer to what the conversation would be like. but really it would be like this:

“dude!”
“i know!”
“holy shit!”
“indeed.”
“molotov cocktails and porn!”
“a deadly combination.”
“what a jackass.”

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Tags: Beowulf, laura, popsicle, toonces

 

 

The One About Questions i’d Like to Ask my Cat
August 25, 2004

hi kids,

i’ve lived with this cat for 8 years. there’s a few questions i’d like to ask it.

Question: so i know i named you Toonces. and that sometimes i call you Toonces Whorecat, Toonce, Tooncer, Tooncerino, Tooncenhiemer, Rooty-Toot-Toonces, Pretty Princess Kitty, and D.C. but i guess i’d like to know, what is your name anyway?

is it a cat word?

can your real name only be uttered with cat throat/vocal chords?

does it have a cool english translation?

Question: do you remember when you first came to mom and dad’s house? remember how you were all skinny and you were wearing a purple flea collar? and remember how you wouldn’t leave our porch?
where the hell did you come from?

are you like that outer-space kitty from that old Disney movie*?

*i think i’ve got the wrong movie here. but for some reason i thought there was a cat in that movie. a black cat. with a weird collar? but those kids (tony and tia! oh my god! do you remember that?! talk about blast from the asinine past!) are the kids i was thinking of, just you know, where’s the cat? have i mixed up two movies**? somebody help me or i may never sleep again!

**and i’m not thinking of the cat from that other old Disney movie (hey, there was a Finlayson in that movie!). which was like, one of my favorite movies in the whole world. i even read the book i liked it so much. and then they remade it you know? starring alex keaton and sybil. and it sucked because, hey, the animals aren’t supposed to talk, okay? and? they renamed the animals? hello? chance, sassy and shadow? please! the REAL names are Luath, Tao (the siamese cat, right?) and Bodger. Bodger! the perfect dog name! you don’t mess with perfection! morons! the lot of you!

Question: when you suddenly stare at the curtains and then turn your head quickly and stare at the door and then back to the curtains, are you actually looking at something? or are you just messin’ with me?

Question: this is a pretty tough question to ask. i’m just gonna put it out there and let you answer and if we need to discuss anything after that then when we can, okay? just know that i love you no matter what.
are you gay?

Question: because sometimes you act all gay. yes you do. i don’t know about Cat World but in Human World when another female is preoccupied with another female’s breasts and bottom well…that’s kinda gay.

look, if you want to experiment that’s fine with me. but you can’t use me to experiment with okay? yes, i still love you, and yes, i’ll still feed and water you and give you a clean box to shit in, but you may not nestle in my ass crack when i’m trying to sleep. or any other time, really. understand?

Question: when i pet your head, why do you drool and rub your teeth on me? is that a normal Cat Thing? what’s with the teeth? i’ve heard of purring and the whole “making biscuits” thing, but drool and teeth?

are you somewhat retarded?

Question: i’ve heard that male cats have spiny things on their reproductive bits and that’s why cats make that unholy sound when they have Catfightsex.
is that true?

is that why you’re gay?

Question: when you killed that full-size, mature, adult squirrel the other day, what the hell were you thinking? don’t you know those things are nasty? they carry diseases? what, am i not feeding you enough? those tasty seafood flavored bits of kibble not good enough? not gorey enough?
fine.
but promise me you’ll not take on a raccoon, okay? of any age. i mean it. promise?
good.

Question: hey remember last week when i had a laundry basket full of clean clothes that had been neatly folded and were ready to be put away, and you shat on them? what the hell was that all about?

were you trying to tell me something?

do you know how close to death you came? you know how country folk break the necks of chickens? they snatch them up by the heads and give a flick of the wrist? do you know that was my first thought after finding the “treasure” you left for me?

Question: so just how many hours a day do you sleep anyway, you know, when you’re not killing squirrels and shitting in my laundry?

yeah, i know that was last week and…huh? oh. yeah. sure, i’ll forgive you when you start acting REPENTANT! i KNOW you defecated on my CLEAN CLOTHES because you were MAD ABOUT SOMETHING. what, is this about the litter box? because you never needed a damn litter box before, so how the hell was I TO KNOW YOU’D WANT ONE NOW? HUH? 8 YEARS AND NO LITTER BOX AND NOW ALL OF A SUDDEN I’M SUPPOSED TO READ YOUR QUEER CAT MIND?! ALL OF A SUDDEN I’M SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT YOU’D RATHER CRAP IN A BOX OF DIRT RATHER THAN OUTSIDE, YOU KNOW, OUTSIDE WHERE YOU’VE ALWAYS GONE TO RELIEVE YOURSELF BEFORE?! yeah, well i can’t read your mind. i’m not part of the Cat Collective. so next time (and there better not be a next time) you need to tell me something, how about not shitting in the house (especially on my clean clothes) because listen sister, i’m not about to scry your turds for answers, got it? next time you write a note.

Question: how did you even hear about litter boxes anyway? did laura‘s cat, Satine, tell you about them? hmm?

what else did she tell you about?

did she tell you that smoking is cool? hm? kitty smoking is cool? little kitties with little stoags and little matches? is that cool? hm? is hacking up a little kitty lung cool too? do you think kitty lung butter is cool? is that funny? you think that’s funny? i’ll tell you what’s funny! when you’re attached to a little kitty iron lung and all your kitty friends are outside playing and you’re all sad and lonely ‘cos you can’t run and play and kill squirrels..that’s what’s gonna be funny.

and? what else is funny? i can’t afford a kitty iron lung, so remember those psycho country folk with the twisty chicken neck breaking? that’s what’s gonna happen if i catch you smoking.

Question: what else has Satine told you? ‘fess up. is she dealing? are you two shooting H? is that what goes on under the house? is that what you two are doing under there? is there some kind of Kitty Opium Den (KOD) operating under my house? is that why you sleep all day and night?

Question: when you’re outside by the door, and you meow and meow because you want inside, and i open the door, why do you act like i’m the crazy one for opening the door? why do you sit there and act all, “okay, well i guess i could come inside. i suppose i could bless you with my presence for a while. ho hum. and yeah, there’s food and water in there. a nice soft bed. okay. yeah. i’ll come inside. sure. one step. two step. wait. maybe i’ll sit here for a second before i go inside. why is she yelling? what is her problem anyway? she is strung way too tight. alright i’m coming, i’m coming. don’t blow a gasket yet, chief.” instead of coming straight inside the house? why do you have to drive me crazy with that? do you think i like standing there in my crazy hair, t-shirt, shorts and mix-matched sleep socks there for the whole neighborhood to see? you think i have all the time in the world to stand there and wait on your decsion making? like i’m made of money and can afford to let all the precious AC out of the door? can i get a little help here?

how about next time you show me some hustle?

Question: what would you do if i shat in your litter box?

would that freak you out?

would you know it was me? or would you explore around the house looking for some other cat?

Question: remember how you used to live with mom and dad? for 8 years? well now when dad comes over to visit, why do you run away from him like his head is on fire and he’s gonna kill you?

Question: you do know you’re a cat, right?

next week’s epitomb: Metroid Prime is ruining my life.

jaimie “scrying the turds? where did that come from?” pickle

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Tags: toonces

 

 

 

The One About Dad And i Are X-treme Painters
with pictures!
August 12, 2004

hi kids,

i believe i’ve mentioned the job at the Holy House?

well. did i mention that it’s 15 stories tall? the tallest building in Gadsden? hm? well it is. here, i’ll show you.

dad is looking up at the building and thinking, “thank god i don’t have to paint the top of that building. only complete fools would take on a task like that!”

it turns out the top of the building hasn’t been painted in 400 years. and it looks just awful, especially if you look at the building from 2 blocks away. gosh, those poor old people, living in that giant building with the ugly, needs-to-be-painted-so-bad roof ledge.

if only we knew of some half-crazed Super Painters who could suck up their fear of heights and Paint! That! Roof!but where could we find these saps?

the local bar! perfect!

dad was all for painting the roof. he was like, “hey! this’ll be EASY!” i was all, “dad. i can’t breathe.”

apparently dad does not have that inherent response to Being Up High. he was all, “look! cool!” and leaning over the side. i was all, “stop! don’t lean so far! ARGH! oxygen! gasp!”

after an hour i did loosen up. i guess you kinda get used to it. but still, leaning over and looking straight down will give you a case of the Heebie-Jeebies. capital HEE capital JEE.

those bars down there? those are benches.

 

 

 “um, dad?”
“yeah?”
“did you lay the car keys on the ledge?”
“yeah why?”
“no reason.”
“…”
“i’m gonna go down and uh, use the bathroom, k?”

dad painted the lower, harder to reach parts and i painted the easier top part. why did dad paint the tough parts? because he’s a crazy manimal painter. he’s there to Get The Job Done. i’m there to Make Sure He Doesn’t Fall. and i do that by Saying The Prayers.

please note the complete lack of safety gear

mom’s gonna freak when she sees this picture.

anyway, from the roof you can see like, 3 counties and both hospitals. and there’s a surprisingly large amount of trees downtown. it’s crazy.

metropolis! er. well no.
if you only knew how many of those buildings are churches.
and banks.
weird.

hey i know! let’s play Where’s Dad’s Work Truck?

it looks like i stood on the ledge to take this picture.

anyway, we’re almost finished with the roof.

while we were up there today i watched a firetruck leave the station (about 4 blocks away) i said, “hey dad! look! a firetruck!…oh. damn.” cos the firetruck and the firemedics proceeded to pull into the Holy House parking lot. it happens pretty often. the old people, they get sick.
i was going to take a picture of the firetruck below us, but it seemed wrong.

the firetruck was parked out here.

see? downtown has lots of trees.

and one last picture of dad:

aiee! so dizzy!

anyway, sorry for all the pictures. but i was just so proud of us painting something so dangerous and crazy! i mean, usually it’s just something boring like windows. and the danger is wasp nests and holly bushes. this painting is X-TREEM!!! DEATH DEFYING! NIGHTMARE INDUCING! now, when we close our eyes to sleep we see this

and jerk awake.
just part of the job, i guess.
the X-TREEM JOB!!!

next week’s epitomb: cat: 1, jaimie:0

jaimie “X-TREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEM!” pickle

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Tags: HCH, painting

7.31.04
i have my Alarm Clock Radio CD Player Wonder Machine tuned to the local oldies AM station. so it’s not entirely surprising that i was awoken (awaken? waked? derp?) this morning by Gordon Lightfoot’s haunting ballad The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. however, it’s one of those songs that follows me around. it’s weird. i hear that song all the time. and you might be thinking, “yeah but jaimie, you’re listening to an oldies station. you’re bound to hear it.” and maybe you’re on to something there.

however, if i hear that song say, on monday, i’ll hear it on tuesday. then wednesday. and probably twice on thursday. and not on the same radio station either. i’ll hear it in the car. at work. at the grocery store. the mall. applebee’s. sonic. martin’s. liquor store. wherever.

it follows me, nay, haunts me.

and what kills me is that none of my friends have ever heard this song. the only reason mr. fleegan has heard it is he’s with me a lot. poor fella.

its just weird.

i don’t want my theme song to be a depressing dirge about a shipwreck in the great lakes!
i guess we don’t have a choice when it comes to our theme songs. but if we did have a choice i’d want mine to be something cool and awesome like, the theme to the Godfather. or maybe something inspiring like The Impossible Dream. or something from Sesame Street, with counting or pronunciation. “1-2-3-4-5–6-7-8-9-10–11–12!”

you know all the guys would want Shaft for their theme song.

7.30.04
new weekly in which i go to hell for making fun of old people.

mr. b came over last night for dinner and i had linda on the hi-fi (hee) and he says, “is that barbra?!” and i said, “no that’s linda.” and he says, “linda?” and i say, “linda is the new barbra.”
“oh.”

well.
she is.

7.28.04
i’ve been way too bitchy lately. like, the last 10 years or so.
what a bummer, huh?

anyway, i’m attempting a weekly. again.
please don’t hold your breath.
but hey, Wisconsin Wendy sent some links, so now i’ve got even more reason to write a weekly!

when i got home from work today i sat on the porch and talked to chris for awhile. he lives in the other half of the Dreamplex. anyway the femail man came by to deliver mail. and she walks up the steps and she has two letters in her hand and says, “i’ve got a pickle and a wood.” and so i raise my hand and say, “i’m the pickle!” and chris raises his hand and says, “i’m the wood!” ‘cos we were kind of excited to be getting mail at our new residence.
then at the same time, “aw. it’s the power bill.”

only later when i’m in the shower do i realize that pickle and wood are like totally phallic.

7.27.04
i am turning into a cantakerous, old, gay man. all i’ve listened to this week is liza and linda. also, i’ve been trying to off strangers (neighbors, i guess) with lasers that shoot from my eyes. i see people and think, “that asshole better not try to break into MY place and steal My stuff. i’ll kill him.” (as if i own anything stealworthy) lucky for everyone who lives near me, i do not own a firearm or have lasers that shoot from my eyes. but i DO have a claw hammer. and i WILL crack your skull if you try any funny business.
what has gotten into me?

oh wait. my period.

this is all starting to make sense now. ‘cos i went to the store and came back with decaf coffee and sour cream. and then i was mad because what the hell am i supposed to do with THAT?!

yesterday was Cat Blog. today it’s Menstrual Blog. what on earth could be next?

more referer log madness:
pickle stuff
dreamplex
cheap scrapbook stuff
how to pickle walnuts

again with the pickled walnuts! i do feel the need to find a recipe for those poor souls searching for instuctions for pickling walnuts. because sure i try to shoot lasers from my eyes (one day, oh yes, one day), but i still want to help out those in need of pickled walnuts.

i had some pickled okra the other day. it wasn’t bad. i thought it would be bitter or slimey. but it was neither. and actually, it tasted just like a pickle. it would have been good with a bloody mary, i think.

******

i had a dream last night that mister fleegan was tired of me but he wouldn’t say anything about it. so he stopped brushing his teeth so i wouldn’t want to kiss him or be around him. his gums receded and turned blackish. it was so gross. i was pleading with him, “why are you doing this? if you don’t like me just say so and we can get on with our lives. but for the love, start brushing your teeth! it’s bad enough you won’t go to the dentist, but jesus god, i can see the roots of your teeth!” and he was all, “i don’t know what your problem is. you’re always nagging me.” and i was all, “how can you stand to eat another snickers bar?! isn’t that killing your mouth?”

and people were acting as if i was the crazy one! all of our friends kept giving him other girlfriends! what?!
and some of them were animated!
what?!

when i woke up i was still grossed out from the teeth and then i remembered the Ren and Stimpy cartoon where Ren stopped brushing his teeth and they all fell out and he pulled out the nerve endings with a tweezer.

not really a great way to start off the morning.

7.25.04
i know that i complain about these Scarpetta novels a lot. but they aren’t so bad really. not as bad as this anyway. not the blog, the books she’s reading. i’m thinking they would lose me at the wereleopards. of this i am certain.
f*ck you, animistic fictional thingies with your vampires and weird-ass religions/politics!

laura is a better person than me. because she doesn’t make fun of my stupid detective stories.

*****

when i woke up this morning i could not find the cat. hey wait, where’s the cat? she was in here when i went to sleep. hm. “TOONCES?! WHERE ARE YOUUUUUUU?! MISS KITTY? PRETTY PRINCESS KITTY, WHERE ARE YOUUUUU?!” i said in my Cat Hunting Voice which is high pitched and very annoying i’m sure. eventually i found her hiding underneath the bathtub. which is like, her Secret Hideout When She Gets Very, Very, Very Scared. if she’s just Regular Scared she hides under the bed. so i’m wondering what on earth scared her so much before 7am? so much that she fled the bedroom, leaving me behind, sleeping, unawares that certain danger was so close to my very person.
thanks toonce, i’m glad to see you’ve got my back.

and once again this turns into Cat Blog. feh.

*****

i told laura and kris 3 times yesterday how great the newest Liza CD is. they thought i was drunk. but i wasn’t. i was serious. so serious that i had to slur on and on about it 3 times. anyway, it’s very good.

7.24.04
update: my fried chicken was thee bomb. mr. fleegan said so.

i am this close (picture thumb and finger .20 of an inch apart) from finishing what i thought would be the LAST HONKING SCARPETTA NOVEL (Blow Fly). until i found out today that there is a new one coming out in september.

Dear Ms. Patricia Cornwell,

Hi. i’m a huge fan. Really. i’ve read like, almost all your books, (13! i know! big fan, right?) and i’m sure you hear this a lot but, You Are Really Great.

And not because of these Scarpetta novels. Because let’s face it, these books are tiresome. i mean, i think you should’ve stopped this stuff like, 6 books ago. And now you’ve got a new one coming out?

What else could possibly happen?! Is she going to fly a space shuttle in this one? hmm? Are we going to be forced to solve mysteries in outer-space now? Because offhand i can’t think of anything new for you to write about. i mean, you’ve had several serial killers, murderers, arson, helicopters, a werewolf, France, New York, Baton Rouge, The Austrian Psychiatrist Lady, Lucy and her Special Lady Friends, FBI, ATF, Inter-farking-pol, and tons of other plots happen to a medical examiner. so other than shooting the whole cast and crew to the moon to solve a murder mystery involving an astronaut, a virulent flesh-eating disease, and some kind of National Security Emergency i just don’t know what on earth there is left for Scarpetta to do.

Or wait, is she gonna solve some kind of murder mystery using science and the unlimited budget she seems to have? i bet she’s gonna seem cold and unfriendly to most of the people she deals with. and i’ll bet she’s gonna argue with Marino (Whom you’ve been threating to kill off for the last 6 books) over everything from his bad diet and smoking to his narrow minded bigotry over one of the characters in the book who will be either black, Puerto Rican, gay, or just a regular, nice, handsome man.

Hey wait, no. i got it. In this next book i bet the mystery is how Scarpetta has managed to be 46 years old for the last 10 years.
What is the deal?

These books are not the reason You Are Great.
You Are Great because you were a volunteer policeperson.
You have helped in forming the Virginia Institute of Forensic Science and Medicine.
And You, Great You, donated your own Hummer to the Hollywood Florida PD.
You philanthropist, you.

So even though you continue to write these Scarpetta novels (Which i am forced to read, mind you.) You’re still Ok in my book (Which i have yet to write, but i will. Oh yes. i will.).

God bless you, Ms. Cornwell.

Sincerely,

Jaimie Pickle

*****

more reefer-er log madness:
(from yahoo search) sexxing in kitchen

7.22.04
tonight, for the first time EVER, jaimie is going to attempt to make…

fried chicken!

it was so important that i had to put it in bold. bold.

i am not not not going to be using a deep fryer or fry daddy or whatever those very scary, crisco-filled contraptions are, nay, i will be using the frying pan or skillet or whatever the hell you call it. i will be using canola oil and lightly seasoned flour. and i’m gonna soak the chicken in buttermilk, oh yes, i am. and then then THEN i am going to fry the GLORIOUS chicken in GLORIOUS canola oil (even thought i really want to try olive oil, but it’s awful expensive to waste on 6 chicken tenders) and it’s going to BE GREAT or my name isn’t jaimie “chicken fried chicken” pickle. and technically it’s not.
but today today today i am Col. Jaimie Sanders of the 44th Battalion part of the Delta-niner Grease Regiment Ft. Fleegan.
semper fi!

which is totally the marines slogan and i know that so don’t e-mail me about how i got the army slogan and the marines slogan mixed up because i did it on purpose, ok?

anal-retentive military types and their foreign slogans! makes no sense. what is this? the latin army?

so you are all invited for fried chicken at jaimie’s house but please, don’t come over because i don’t have enough and i really don’t want people in my house and also i was planning on starting THE LAST SCARPETTA NOVEL, THANK YOU SWEET LORD TO WHOEVER RETURNED IT TO THE LIBRARY EARLY. I LOVE YOU AND WILL MAKE YOU FRIED CHICKEN AT A LATER DATE.

7.20.04
we made it back from tampa last night.

the funeral went fine, but apparently all baptist preachers are the same. uncle george was not a religious guy and probably went to the preacher’s church once or twice and STILL there was an altar call. it wouldn’t be so horrible if these preacher types weren’t so sanctimonious about it. like THEY’RE the ones SAVING the world. fuck you. and the dope didn’t even TRY to act like he knew george at all. it was like he had this pre-fab sermon and he just madlibbed uncle george’s first AND LAST NAME everytime he mentioned the guy. so there you go.

*****

reefer-er log fun:

the pickle page
how to pickle walnuts
pickle stuff
cat stuff with the mystic cat
buy cheez-its bleu cheese crackers

yo Cheez-it, looks like you owe me some money. pay up, sucka.

*****

i changed my cell phone rate plan. i tried to do it over the internet but it kept giving me this WARNING IF YOU CHANGE YOUR PLAN TO THIS PLAN THEN YOU WILL LOOSE THIS OTHER PART OF THIS OTHER PLAN THAT YOU ALREADY HAVE. and the thing i was losing (other than my glorious FREE 500 txt msgs) was some kind of $5 long distance thing. so i call t mobile and say, “what is this $5 long distance fee all about?” and their all, “you don’t need that anyway, since we’re on a nationwide long distance thing.” and i’m like, “oh really? i didn’t need to pay long distance ‘cos it’s free, but you’ve let me pay the extra $5 for the last 3 years anyway?”
“um.”
“yeah. anyway. change the plan.”
“do you want to change the plan now or on the 2nd when your next billing-”
“now. do it now. right now.”
“yes ma’am.”

i hate t mobile.

7.15.04
today is pj’s berfday. he’s 20-something. but in my mind he’s still like, 15. sorry peej.

my uncle george died. so my fam and i (and surprisingly, mr. fleegan) will be traveling south to the Tampa-ish region of the state of FLA. FLAH. uncle george was a pretty cool old guy. he always seemed pretty laid back and when he’d come to visit he’d crack open the first beer around 10am. i never knew if he did that just ‘cos he was on vacation or if he did this everyday. nevertheless it always impressed me.
i think he was a carpenter.

it’s sad that he’s gone but also maybe not so much. his wife died (aunt betty*. everyone’s got an aunt betty) a few years before and i think he had been lonely. so you know, now i’m thinking he’s not lonely anymore. so maybe it’s not all sad, right? half full. half full. half full.

*when i was leetle fleegan i always thought that aunt betty was rich or famous or both. why? because
a. her house was totally decked out in ’70s bling
b. she had real kleenex in like, every room.
3. she smoked cigarettes from a fancy cigarette case
d. she had perfectly long, perfectly painted finger nails which she insisted were real and not fake and i totally believed her because why would she lie to me?

to a 6 year old jaimie those things = rich. and to be completely honest, to a 26 year old jaimie those things pretty much = rich too. especially the kleenex.

and another good thing is i get to see my cousin bonnie. she is hilarious and i think she invented computers. so she’s probably rich too.

7.14.04
so. how’s everyone? great. fabulous. glad to hear it.

i’m still enjoying living by myself. i love the quiet. love it.
i love it so much that when the silence is interrupted by say, something loud and obnoxious like, military jets, cars with the loud rap music, the refrigerateor running, the phone ringing etc. i find that i get irritated for half a second or so. what the hell is that terrible noise?! oh. the air kicked on. air is good. i love air.

in other news:
i’ve got the poison ivy. i have no clue where i got it. LBC (poison ivy expert) says that i could have gotten it from Toonces Whorecat (who, by the way, i’ve taken to calling D.C. kinda like that old Disney movie, only D.C. doesn’t stand for Darn Cat or Damn Cat.) ‘cos she says that pets can carry it on their skin or fur or whatever. if that’s true then shouldn’t Toonces have poison ivy on her tongue? i mean, that cat licks herself SO MUCH and does it SO LOUDLY that i would think she’d have tongue rash or something.

my face itches.

i’ve been meaning to write a Weekly about moving and all, but i just haven’t gotten around to it. what with the computer not being at my house it’s kinda hard to keep updating. i’ll try to get on that soon.

******

people have been mistakenly led to my site this week by searching for:

new pickle radio
how to open a scrapbook store
drugs and pickle breath

7.11.04
does anyone know why there are military planes flying by my house so very low (with the loud LOUD engines), so low in fact that the pilot totally stuck his hand out and i high-fived him and asked, “what’s going on?” and the pilot was all, “what?! speak up! i can’t hear you!”, on a sunday morning?

morning being the key word here.

apparently downtown is THE place to be on sunday morning if you have a jet.
this sort of thing is not advirtised.

so it’s been a week since i moved over here. it’s been okay. i like being alone, but also there are times when being alone sucks. like at 5am and there’s scritching and scampering sounds coming from the air return vent thing (which is in my bedroom). like, rat scritching noises. i was able to wait until 6:30am to call dad.
“hello?”
“mom! what’s going on?”
“oh, you know, just…waking up. how about you?”
“oh same ol’ same ol’. say, is dad there?*”
“sure hold on.”

“herrm?”
“dad! hi.”
“herrm. *cough cough*”
“listen, when you come to pick me up for work today, could you come a little early? and bring a mousetrap with you?”
“um…yeah. jaimie?”
“great! i’ll see you around 8-ish?”
“i guess.”
“i’ll have coffee on.”
“mousetrap?”
“love you! bye!”

*mom used to get so mad when i would call and immediately ask for dad. but i think she has learned that when i do that it means, “hi mom, everything is alright. there is no immediate danger. but i need to talk to dad RIGHT NOW because *enter random broken thing* and i don’t know what to do.” but oh i can’t tell you how many times i called and asked for dad and she was all, “oh what? you don’t want to talk to me?” and it was like, “well mom, the jeep just shot a fireball out of the exhaust pipe and the engine is making a ticking noise. so if you know anything about how to fix that i’m all ears.”
“hold on, i’ll get your father.”

*****

there is a truck i’ve seen driving around town and in vinyl letters across the top of the windshield it tells the world to “don’t be hatin'” which is a phrase that thankfully, has not penetrated into mainstream (well, not like “ah’ll be bahck” and “yo quiero taco bell” and “i just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance…” and the like.) well, maybe it has made it to the mainstream and i just don’t know it. how could i? my friends and i are totally modcore. THE POINT IS this is not a phrase that my friends, family, people i see on a weekly basis, etc. ever say. and i’m glad for that.

however here’s this pick-up truck with it splashed across the windshield and it’s driving all over town and i see it once a day and the thing is, it says, ‘don’t be hatein'”

i feel like jerking that moron out of his truck and beating him with a dictionary in front of his friends. but see, the beating doesn’t stop there. there is a trail of beatings to dole out. think it, first the moron gets a beating for
A. putting something like that on his windshield and
B. misspelling it

then the sign shop or auto place that “detailed” the windshield gets a beating FOR NOT USING SPELL CHECK. HELLO? WHAT KIND OF JOINT ARE YOU RUNNING ANYWAY?

and of course all the moron’s buddies gets a beating for not recognizing/telling the moron that the CRAP HE HAS PLACED ON HIS WINDSHIELD IN GIANT 4 INCH LETTERS IS MISSPELLED.

oh well. it’s not the dumbest thing i’ve seen downtown. nope. the dumbest thing i’ve seen is the thug across the street taking the trash out, and he was wearing his pants all baggy and stupid low, like so we could all enjoy his blue underwear. and he makes it half way across the yard and his pants fall to his ankles.
“dad! DAD! come here and see this!” i yell to dad ‘cos he was in the kitchen.
he runs in and is all, “what?! what?!” i point and he starts laughing ‘cos here’s this thug with his pants around his ankles, he’s wearing light blue briefs and is struggling with this garbage can. the guy doesn’t stop what he’s doing to pull up his pants or nothing. he keeps waddling around with this trash can.
i mean sure, it’s a quiet street and all, but dude, you’re in the front yard!

7.10.04
the time: 8:47pm
the place: 805 A Newton Street

“jimmy, do you hear that noise?”
“yeah.”
“that’s a chainsaw. who uses a chainsaw at night?!”
“uhhh… Jason?”
“we’re in a tight spot.”

7.08.04
mr. fleegan finally got around to making a referer log for the site. this sort of thing really shows just how crazy the internet is. for instance someone found my site by searching msn.com for ‘what is an octogenarian cat’.

Dear Person Searching for What Is an Octogenarian Cat,

i would like to apologize on behalf of the Internet for you being directed to my site. Your query, which is an odd one, cannot be answered on my site. i know nothing about octogenarian animals, octogenarians in general, and actually i’m not that learned about cats (octogenarian or otherwise).

i could hypothesize however, that an octogenarian cat would be a cat which is 80 something years old. That is an old cat, my friend. Or, do cats age like dogs? With the whole 1 Human Year = 7 Dog Years. If so, then an octogenarian cat may be only 12 years old in Human Years. Still, that seems pretty old for any house pet. Well, cats do seem to live forever, don’t they? Mine does anyway.

It does raise a curious question though doesn’t it? i mean, if 1 HY = 7 CY, does that mean that a cat can break a mirror and only have 1 year of bad luck? Assuming, of course, that the cat is superstitious.

And i think we all know just how superstitious cats can be.
Like, Creole Superstitious.

Love,
Jaimie Pickle

7.07.04
i saw Toonces Whorecat for about 5 hours this morning. that would be from 12:30am to 5:00am.

To The Drug Dealer Who Is Giving My Cat PCP:
please stop. she thinks she’s constantly being chased or followed. and although i don’t mind her speaking spanish, she’s talking way too fast to understand what she’s saying.

love,

jaimie pickle

today (like most days) dad and i coined a new phrase. we often (and by often i mean at least 4 times a day) will say that something is as “hot as a cat on a hot tin roof” and we say it in that deep southern drawl. like in the movie. like how liz taylor’s character talked? anyway. the thing is, we try to change it up so that we don’t always say “cat on a hot tin roof” but to mean “cat on a hot tin roof” for instance we have been known to drawl, “well, it certainly is hottah thayan a cayat own a…hot…suhface. fo’ instance, like a roof made of metal or somethin’.” see? we’ve even said, “it’s hottah thayan a cayat with a cup of mcdonald’s coffee.”

but today, oh my today, we butchered it way further.

we worked at the Holy House today and when we repaint a room it’s because it hasn’t been painted in 20 years and the color it was painted was a light pink. no joke. these poor old people have been living in tiny, pink apartments. in fact, the old color is called Mystic Pink. gag.

so anyway i said, “mah, mah, this is pinkah thayan a cayat…”

and dad said, “…a shaved cat….”

“…own a hot tin roof, i do declayah.”

so there you go, pinker than a shaved cat on a hot tin roof.
try not to think about it too much. just know that we laughed WAY too hard at it.

7.04.04
yes. i haven’t updated since like, the war, and i would apologize for that if i was actually sorry. but see, i don’t have time to “feel sorry” or to “update a blog” or to “brush my teeth”.

this weekend i moved into the Dreamplex 1.0! yay!

what does this mean?

it means i live downtown, some would even say the ‘hood. and since we’re fairly certain that the assholes across the street are “dealing” something i’ll not argue the ‘hood point. it’s one of those middle sections, right? like one street up is the hoity-toity houses, and the street on the other side is nearly ghetto.

it means i brought Toonces Whorecat with me and i haven’t seen her since 2am. i hope she manages to come back. i have tons of cat food. in fact, i have more cat food than people food right now. if you were to come over to my house RIGHT NOW and be all, “jaimie, i’m hungry. whatcha got?” first i’d probably tell you to go home and eat YOUR OWN DAMN FOOD. but then since i’m really a nice person in real life i’d say, “my kitchen is your kitchen” and you could have your choice of:

piece of cheap white bread (raw or toasted) (with or without peanut butter)
oreos (with or without peanut butter)
coffee
beer
soda

i’d angle for the peanut butter slathered oreos if i were you.

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The One About I Love My Job
because old people totally rock the house
unless they are driving
July 29, 2004

hi kids,

i’ve been working at this giant apartment complex for old people. i’m not sure if it’s considered “assisted living” or not. but it’s affordable housing for people 62 years and older. it’s called the Holy Comforter House. it is called that because it is supported by a local episcopal church which is called the Holy Comforter.
coincidence?

what.

anyway, i love working at that place because the other people who work there are very nice and funny and also the old people are a total gas. literally. like today for instance, this old lady was in the lobby and she totally ripped one.

LOUD.

and she looked at me as if to say, “yeah. what of it, bitch?” because she knows that noone (especially me) is going to say ANYTHING about it. she knows that we’re all just going to go along as if nothing happened. and we did. because really, old people farting is just not that funny.

unless of course you live on planet Earth.

and i do.

and i promise you, everytime i hear a fart the size of a Buick come out of a tiny old lady it’s like an act of god that i don’t burst into childlike giggles. why would it be so hard to contain my giggledom? because my father is standing next to me.

and we are 10 years old.

and it’s not like we pick on old people or anything. if a dainty old lady farts that doesn’t mean that her fart is more funny than anyone else farting. basically, if it sounds funny, then it is funny. and we become a bunch of immature chuckleheads… as soon as the lady walks away.

but really, i like working there because the old people treat us like we’re Awesome People. they think that dad and i are Artists. they think we are So Sweet when all we do is our job. we paint things. mostly we paint apartment units that are empty because the old people Move On.

sometimes they Move On to nursing homes. and sometimes they Move On to the other Holy Comforter. and sometimes i guess they just move, to like, some other apartments. who knows? it doesn’t matter. ‘cos when we’re on an elevator with our ladder and paint cart and an old lady get’s on with us she’s always really excited, “oh! where are we painting today?”

they really, really, really like it when we paint a hallway or some place that they all get to see.

“oh! look what a good job they’re doing!”

“that’s really hard work!”

“y’all are doing SUCH a good job!”

and so on and so forth.

we are like movie stars at that place. the only person more “famous” than we are is the mail man. he’s a god. they worship him. they roam the lobby for hours, farting, waiting for him to show up and bless them with junkmail and magazines.

 

 
“when i am an old lady i shall wear purple…and blue and orange and snakeskin!”

 

 sometimes old people can’t see very well. so they don’t realize that they are wearing multiple patterns. but the old tawainese lady to the left has defintely figured out the best part about wheeling is you can wear any size heel you want. “how are you feeling today?” i asked. “my daughter alway uses too much toilet paper when she come to visits.” she replied.

today was a special day at the Holy House. for the past week my father and i had seen flyers around the place advirtising an ice cream and brownie social with entertainment. as if the ice cream and brownie weren’t enough of a reason for dad and i to stop working (we weren’t even working at the Holy House today), one of the residents, a Ms. Willadean Somebody was going to perform her Pageant Routine and her friend was going to play the fiddle.

yeah. like i’m gonna miss that.

it turns out her fiddle playing friend was 12. and i think she learned how to play the violin yesterday.
aw, jaimie, don’t be so mean.
ok. sorry. hey, you wanna know what the worst sound in the world is?
ok. what?
a 5th grader slaughtering the Beach Boys barbarann on the violin.

“and now i’m going to play a rocknroll song called barbarann.”

“what did she say, dad?”
“rock and roll?”

reeree ree ree reeeeee rooo roooo
reeree ree ree reeeeee roo rro rooooo

reeeroooreeerooooooooooooooo
reeeereeeeeroooreerooooooooo

“what is that?”
“i think it’s barbarann.”
“oh. yeah. you’re right. wow dad, you’re a genius.”

reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

“it would be mean to make fun of this wouldn’t it?”
“yeah. still though, it’s bad.”
“oh yeah.”

the little girl did pretty good on the other songs which consisted of amazing grace, twinkle twinkle little star, and i can’t remember the other song she played.

when she finished we were all treated to Willadean’s act. it was easy to pick Willadean out of the crowd because she was the one wearing all black with white gloves and a shiny plastic top hat. and cane.

she proceeded to ‘dance’ i guess you’d call it, to a tape recorder playing tea for two.

dad and i watched in facination and slight horror as we both silently prayed that the 84 year old woman wouldn’t fall and break a hip as she dancewalked this way and that. she even did some tap dance moves. it was very cute. very, very cute.

then we all had ice cream and brownies.

all in all the “show” lasted 6 minutes.

after we ate the junkfood the oldsters got restless and demanded that Willadean do her act again. so she did. i was nervous ‘cos obviously this was tempting fate twice. dad and i watched again as she wobbled around the “stage” which was the kitchen area of the Community Room. this time though, one of the oldest old ladies got up while Willa was dancin’ to get more coffee. so now while Willa’s a dancin’ there’s this moving obstacle in red pants all up in the way trying to get to the coffee maker.
“what is that old lady doing?!”
“she’s danicing, dad.”
“no no. the other one…in the way…”
“oh. how rude.”
“rude?! it’s dangerous! now we’re gonna have TWO broken hips.”
“gosh, she’s like totally in the way now.”
“i can’t watch anymore.”

lucky for all, god was smiling down on the old folks today.

THEN we were treated to a BONUS ROUND OF FUN as Willadean proceeded to play what she called her French Harp. the rest of the world calls it a harmonica.

“what is that song?”
“i dunno. it sounds kinda familiar.”
“oh that’s…Tennessee Waltz.”
“oh yeah! gosh dad, you’re good at this.”

then this old guy in a rascal sitting next to us went, “BRAAAAAAAAAHP!”

“and that was an alabama belch.”
“hee.”

but the old guy went right from the belch into singing the song. “BRAAAAAAAAAHP… with my darlin’ to the Tennessee Waltz…”

i hid my face in my hands, body shaking.
dad pretended to pick something out of his teeth, body shaking.

“dad…sknnt.”
“shhhh. sknnt.”

10 years old.

Willadean played several other songs and hymns that the other oldsters sang along with, and after each song she would demand requests. and everytime someone suggested a song she would say, “oh, i haven’t played that in such a long time!” then she would totally play the song.
she can really work a crowd.

i really love working at that place.

oh but there’s this one guy, and he’s a real sharp dresser. he’s always wearing a dress shirt and pants and a tie. his hair is perfect. he’s really nice.

but he smells strongly of pee.

strongly.

strongly.

and i assume the poor guy can’t do anything about it. but oh man. you try riding down 14 stories in an elevator without gagging or covering your face with your hat or shirt. dad and i stood there, eyes watering, taking shallow mouth breaths (but no! ‘cos you can taste it! d’oh!). when we got off on our floor we both let out huge wooshes of breath.

“woo. that poor guy.”
“fmeh. yeah. that’s bad. he seems so together and with it though. you’d think he could, i dunno, change his Depends or whatever.”
“he’s a sharp dresser alright. but he ALWAYS reeks. i’ve never been around him when he didn’t smell like pee.”
“could be worse i guess.”
“oh. yeah. i didn’t think of that.”

so sometimes it’s sad to be with the old people. but for the most part they are cool and funny and very serious about the mail.

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Tags: HCH, popsicle

6.23.04
i’ve started on the portrait of ian. this is the second portrait i’ve done for someone else. well, 3rd really, since the first one i did was a double portrait. this time i’m using oils. i’ve never actually used real oil paints before. i’ve used the water soluble oil paints several times. i liked using them, but i figured it was time i step up and use the real thing.

so with this painting it’s really cool ‘cos i’m learning about how the oils “behave”. and i think i’m falling in love. in fact, i already know what i want to do for my next painting. i’d explain it, but i’m sure it wouldn’t make sense. what has me so excited is the brush strokes. !!! see, i’m painting squares. so i don’t make the strokes go in the same direction in each square. i mix it up a bit so that some (strokes) are at 90 degrees to the others. and that makes the light only reflect off some of the squares. it is so freaking awesome. it almost looks 3D in a way. not the picture, but the squares. the squares look 3D.

i knew i wouldn’t be able to explain it. but if you ever come to visit me i’ll show you what i mean. and then you’ll get excited too. for real.

how i managed to get a degree in painting without ever using oils is beyond me.

6.22.04
while watching TV a few days ago a preview for Mississippi Burning came on and dad said, “that was a good movie, remeber?” and i said, “actually, i’ve never seen it.”

he was shocked. and i think, a little disappointed.

so he told me that i had to watch it. so we made a plan to watch it together since it was coming on in a few days. i said, “dad, is this movie going to make me hate the south more than i hate it already?”
“probably,” he said.

it was a good movie.

*****

ok, who took my cool parents and replaced them with the old married people in the living room?

something stupid was advirtised on the television and i said, “what are those things?”

dad: they’re like vending machines.

me: yeah, but why would someone buy a vending machine? and also, that did not look like a vending machine. it had a screen and a phone.

dad: yeah it’s like a specialized type of…vending. and you trick people into letting you place it in their business…like for example…if someone had a scrapbook store or something.

mom: hey! there is a scrapbook store! right down the road!

dad: i imagine that those vending machines would do at least as well as a scrapbook store.

mom: no really! i drove past a scrapbook store!

dad: they probably took in what, $20 tops today?

mom: have you seen it? it has a great big sign out front. sherry’s scrapbook something?

dad: i bet they haven’t even paid the sign off yet.

6.21.04
there’s a little shop that has opened up not far from my parent’s house. i can’t think of the name of the place but it’s basically a scrapbook shop. they sell scrapbooks and scrapbook paraphanelia. this bothers my father to no end. everytime we pass that shop he’s gotta make some kind of comment.
“a scrapbook store? are you serious?”
“i can’t believe someone would think it would be a good idea to open a scrapbook store.”
“you know, that’s just too specialized.”
“so what do you think? you suppose they made $15 today?”

and so on and so on.

*****

it was very hot today. and dad and i worked outside all day. in the heat. the hot heat. now, if you work outside, in the hot heat hotness, you probably know that sometime between 2pm and 4pm (whenever you stop for a moment to catch your breath and drink some more water so that the hot heater hot does not kill you, this time) things can get rather silly. we blame the heat and certainly not ourselves for the afternoon bout of silliness. today was no exception.

as we sat on the sidewalk and drank some water my father said in a real southern voice (because the Afternoon Heat Sillies usually invovles talking in funny voices), “jaimie, you know whut we need? we need us some coolie hats”

“what? did you say coolie hats?”

“yeah. you know ’em coolie hats. like on ’em western movies? with the coolies workin’ the rail?”

“skknt. yeah i know what you’re talking about. i think that’s a racial slur, dad.”

“i bet we’ud be reeeal cooled off some if’n we hayd us some coolie hats.”

“i guess. i think you just like saying coolie hats.”

“though, i dunno where’s we could get us some coolie hats. maybe we could open our own store! of jus’ coolie hats.”

“dad…”

“it wouldn’t be hard. hell you just throw ’em in a pile and let ’em go. they all one size and color enyhow. ‘how much fer one ees coolie hats?’ “15 dollar a coolie hat.” ‘why that’s a dang good price fer a coolie hat.’ see jaimie? we could sell a bunch ’em coolie hats.”

“dad…”

“and we could have our coolie hat shop right behind the scrapbook store.”

“bahahahahaha dad…”

“eventually we’d branch out to pith helmets.”

then we turned into goodfellas and talked about how eventually we’d bust the place out.

*****

last night the cat came running in my room while i was trying to fall asleep. she comes running in and jumps on the bed and scampers right up to my head and slaps me in the eye with her paw. it happened so fast. she didn’t use any claws. it was just a soft paw but she hit me kinda hard, you know? it’s a good thing she didn’t use claws too, or else this paragraph would’ve started out with “i killed the cat last night then went to the emergency room to have my left eye socket sewed up. helluva night…”

6.20.04
Precious Water-colored Memories (part the first)
a childhood memory.

one time on a family vacation (read: to visit family in ohio or florida, in this case ohio) back in i dunno, ’83 i reckon, we paid a visit to my aunt anna (not to be confused with aunt edna, who lived in boca. that’s a “whole ‘nother” childhood memory that i will save for a rainy day, just know that it’s one of those Foggy Memories of Childhood That You’re Not Sure If You Dreamed It, Or It Really Happened. But You’re Pretty Sure It Happened.)

aunt anna (my mom’s aunt) lived on a farm somewhere near akron and so we all went to visit for a family reunion dinner type thing. it wasn’t like a real family reunion with tons of cousins and people you’ve never met, it was basically my mom’s dad and her brothers and then our family, and of course aunt anna. aunt anna made fried chicken, and that’s the first time i remember eating a piece of fried chicken. i was what? all of 6 years old? that makes my brother at 3. and at that point in our lives (um, to be honest, all of our lives) he would eat anything you put infront of him (unless is was white. he hated white food for some reason. oh, excepting cottage cheese, which he called ‘scottage cheese’ because those are the adorable words that little kids say that we remember forever and they grow up to forget all about. and i’ll quit embarrassing my brother now.) but i would usually not eat anything. i was a picky eater and often would get yelled at for not eating and would go to bed hungry, but i didn’t care what happened as long as i didn’t have to eat whatever it was i didn’t want to eat.

anyway. the chicken was really sticky. and i’ve always hated having sticky hands. in fact, i still tear up when we have ribs for dinner ‘cos yes, they taste really good, but oh my lord i’m going to kill a small tree from using so many napkins. anyway, i remember aunt anna saying that she had used cornflakes for the batter or whatever you call the outside of fried chicken, and i had wished that i could have had cornflakes instead of that chicken.

of course, none of this has anything to do with what the actual story is about.

before dinner that day, we were all outside and my brother and i were walking quickly around the farm. i say “walking quickly” because we were too afraid to run. not that we would get in trouble for running outside, but because aunt anna had about 95 trillion dogs and there were many “landmines” in the yard. i remember picking real-honest-to-god raspberries right off the bushes and eating them. they were huge. as big as my 6 year old fist. and from that day on i loved raspberries. the only bad thing about raspberries is that you can never get any good ones anymore. at least not here in gadsden anyway. i guess those first raspberries spoiled it for me. ‘cos any other time i’ve ever had them i’ve thought, “these are the smallest, sickest raspberries i’ve ever seen.” so i don’t think about raspberries anymore. i never try to make desserts or baked goods with raspberries even though I HONKING LOVE THE FRUIT MORE THAN ALL OTHER FRUIT EXCEPT FOR OF COURSE YELLOW DELICIOUS APPLES WHICH IS THE MOST WONDERFUL FOOD EVER INVENTED BY OUR LORD AND SAVIOR, BUT WHICH I CANNOT EAT BECAUSE THEY MAKE MY STOMACH HURT MORE THAN MEXICAN FOOD, AND WHILE WE’RE ON THE SUBJECT CAN ANYONE TELL ME WHY BANANAS GIVE ME HEARTBURN?

anyway, the whole reason i started to write this was to tell you about THIS. while we were outside, my two uncles and my father would catch flies out of the air (it was a farm. i guess there are tons and TONS of flies on farms.) and then they would pluck out strands of my hair (which was very long at the time) and proceed to tie it to one of the legs on the poor fly they had caught. and the fly would wizz around like a tiny demented balloon.

then they would tape the other side of the hair to whatever car they were leaning up against. until there were a dozen or so of these taped to the car. it was crazy. i remember mom coming out and saying something like, “pat, stop pulling out our daughter’s hair.” and me telling mom it was alright because it was just so funny to see all these flies buzzing in circles. “mom, isn’t it funny?!”
“sigh. yes.”

6.18.04
so dad and i were putting up these really annoying louvered shutters in my house. those little ones? like instead of using blinds or a shade as a window covering? they’re kinda cute?
did i mention they were free?

ok. so you know with “free” that means that they don’t fit my windows. ‘cos they were custom made for someone else’s windows. and then they wanted new window treatments. so i got the free.

so anyway, there were like, 16 separate shutters (which took forever to find the matching sizes ‘cos i guess every window in the house they came from was a different farking size. !!!) and i only needed 8. but the thing is, only 4 fit the bottom half of my windows. and we could only find 3 of those 4. so by the time we’re to the last set to be hung we found out that we couldn’t find that 4th set. it was quite a quandry. where could they be? we each searched the remaining stack of 8 shutters three times each. to no avail. huh.

so i go to the Fireplace Room (i guess it’s a living room. but there’s no furniture in it so it doesn’t seem like it’s a living room so i’ve been calling it the Fireplace Room) and i see that up on the mantle is a broken shutter. “god bless it up and down! how on earth did THIS happen?!” i yell. because it’s not like the shutter is broken in half or anything. it’s split. so like, all the louvers are all loose and dangly. like teeth.

dad yells from the other room, “did you find it?”
“yeah.” i say as i walk in the room holding up the sad, broken shutter, “look at this. i can’t believe this.”
dad looks at it and says in a totally normal tone of voice, “aw crap. it’s a Chinese Fuck Puzzle.”

wow. talk about a ton of laughing. it was totally worth a broken shutter to have that phrase added to my vocabulary.
“dad, where did you come up with that?”
“i dunno, it just popped out.”

also, we fixed the shutter. we probably would’ve fixed it a lot faster if we had had 8 hands, but i guess that’s why it’s a Chinese Fuck Puzzle.

6.16.04
chalupa is back.
i forget about ulcer pain until it’s too late. but i’m afraid to go back to my doctor because
a. i can’t afford it and
b. last time he wanted to see me a week after the first visit and i didn’t go because i mean hell, i could barely pay for the first visit. who’s got that kind of money that they can just go to the doctor when they need to and then go again a week later? feh? listen up foo’. firs’ i gotta miss a day of work and pay out the ass AND THEN i’m supposed to go back a week later? missing more work? do i look like Ms. Gotrocks?

so what is the deal with this ulcer anyway?

Dear Chalupa,

Why are you here? Are you an infection? Can you be cured with antibiotics like I heard you could from people who, after finding out I have an ulcer, start telling me all kinds of tricks and medicines that will supposedly help my ulcer? Or are you caused by stress? And if so, am I “stressed out” as the kids say? Because honestly Chalupa, I don’t feel like i’m stressing. In fact, I feel pretty good.

So what is it? Is it the soda I drink? Or the food I eat?

Bourbon?

C’mon ‘lupa, don’t begrudge me the booze. It’s only on the weekends.

And Mondays.

And some of those other days too, but honestly, how can you keep on stabbing me with your daquiri sword when you know you should be sleeping or whatever it is ulcers do when they aren’t ulcing. C’mon, I’m sure we can work out some kind of deal, some kind of symbiotic relationship. We can reach homeostasis can’t we? Let’s stop this “I scratch your back, you stab mine” business and let’s work as a team! Partners!

I hate you, bitch.

Die,

Jaimie Pickle

6.14.04
today dad and i installed a new toilet and hung the drapes i got from a dead man’s house at the Dreamplex. it’s starting to look more and more and more like a place where someone would live.

also i dyed my hair black. ‘cos it looks more normal that way. why? i don’t know. all i know is that brown was not “working”. how do i know this? at lunch todat dad looked up and said, “you know, that color…isn’t right. it doesn’t look like you.” and for dad to notice something like hair, well, it must stand out. of course maybe it was just his feminine side peeking out, i mean, we did hang curtains all day.
derp!

6.13.04
i dyed my hair brown today.

if i could go back in time, i would have totally walked up to Past Jaimie and said, “jaimie, that box in your hand that says “dark brown” is totally not dark brown. it’s a reddish brown. and you are going to absolutely hate that color.”

i wonder if i would have believed Future Jaimie.

my hair is now a goofy brown color. crayola brown. it’s as stylish as sadness.
blah.
i will have to go and get a darker one tomorrow. i simply cannot have this hair.
or maybe i should shave it?

how liberating.

6.10.04
i went to a Neighborhood Watch meeting tonight with the enfamous LBC. it was lame. but i guess it wasn’t so bad ‘cos i’d been drinking since 2pm and the civilian in charge of the group was a formal male. now he’s a she. and “she’s” in charge of my neighborhood Crime Watch. fun.

fun!

the thing i learned from this meeting is that Old People are afraid of groups of children and marijuana. the police lady kept trying to explain that kids tend to roam in packs (like, since the beginning of time) and that marijuana is the least of our drug problem. she went on to explain that pot users are pretty laid back and that it’s the meth, crack, and illegal pills that are the REALLY GIGANTIC DRUG PROBLEMS in our ‘hood. because THOSE USERS ARE THE ONES STEALING OUR SHIT. so of course the next question from the octogenarian to our right was, “so what does pot smell like?”

it went on like that for what seemed like two weeks.

*****

yesterday dad and i worked at the Holy House and it was Potluck Wednesday. we were VERY excited because every 2nd wednesday the old folks have a pot luck and dad and i had never gotten to go since we never worked on a 2nd wednesday before.

we brought baked beans.

and we were so excited ‘cos we knew it would be filled with old people and old people food (southern old people food at that) and old people conversation and i just knew, knew, KNEW i’d get a weekly out of it. well. my expectations were totally NOT MET. yes, there were old people, but only like 20 of them. c’mon old peeps! 200 of you live there! where are you?! adn yes there was some good old peep food there (deviled eggs! pinto beans! blackeyed peas! grape salad!) grape salad?! what the hell? grape salad. it was like grapes and a white dressing sauce and bits of pecans. blech. grape salad.

but the thing is, dad and i were treated like pariahs. the old peeps totally ignored us! we sat at a table BY OUR SELVES! they gave us DIRTY LOOKS!

oh sure old people! you love us when we paint your rooms and hallways, but when we eat with you you treat us like uitlanders! i suppose we have to sit on the back of the bus too?! that ain’t right! shame on you!

ousted!

so dad and i took our desserts outside to eat. and oh my goodness i had this DELICIOUS congealed salad thing. it was like, orange jello with bits of crushed pineapple in it? you know? pretty standard. and then they had put white vanilla icing on it. and THEN they had put crushed walnuts on top of that to create THE BEST DESSERT I’VE HAD IN LIKE, FOUR DAYS.
heh, really it was good. like a dreamcicle.
the best part of the day, hands down.

6.08.04
i think i’d be an alcoholic if i weren’t so disgusted by how selfish alcoholics are.
however, at 10am i was jonesin’ for some JD.
i know.
weird. i’m blaming it on the enamel paint i was using. it’s a proven fact that enamel paint makes you want booze. that’s why all painters are alcoholics. derp.

luckily i was working and couldn’t drink. so there you go.

but then. i got off work early.
and sad to say, i hit the bottle around 3:15pm. (jack and coke y’all. i’m not gulping straight from the bottle, yo.)

eh, it happens in spurts. i can go weeks without a drink and then *pif* hey a drink sounds pretty good right now.
but it’s a tuesday and i know i have to get up really early and paint outside all day long. so that means i won’t be getting trashed tonight.
oh well.

?????

i bought the Zelda Classic for Gameboy Advance. i know, i’m the only one. (hey alex, i found it at the mall and it was pretty cheap too.) so i was playing it and kicking some 1st Dungeon Ass and so then i was off to Dungeon #2. and i knew exactly where to go and so i went and then it turns out that that was Dungeon #3. wtf? where’s #2? so i called and left my bro a voice mail.

“hey hoostin. i’m playing zelda and i can’t find the 2nd castle. do you remember where it is? anyway, call me. i’m playing zelda. with all the cool kids.”

so a few minutes later i get a call from hoostin.

“you’re playing zelda?”

“yeah. i’m totally playing zelda right now. where’s the 2nd castle?”

“dungeon.”

“yeah dungeon. do you remember where it’s at?”

“where are you now?”

“i’m in the 3rd castle. dungeon.“

“the third one? you haven’t beaten the second one yet! you shouldn’t go out of order like that.”

“look i know that dammit! but i can’t find the second one! i know it’s in the forrest part somewhere.”

“yeah, it’s a green one. green rocks around it.”

“yeah yeah. i know. but i couldn’t find it so now i’m in the 3rd one, which i found with complete ease.”

“…”

“hey, do you know what the toy surprise is for the 3rd dungeon?” i asked as i had just entered the secret passage way to get what i thought would be the ladder.

“um, let’s see…it’s the raft.”

“holy shit you’re right! it is the raft.”

“i know.”

“then where’s the 2nd castle?! you knew about the raft?! that’s amazing.”

“yes. my brain holds much nintnedo knowledge.”

“yeah so 2nd castle?’

“you know the start screen? well you go down, right, down, left. i think.”

“no you don’t. you can’t go down from the start screen. you’re thinking of the Contra code.”

“ha! up up down down…”

“left right left right…”

“B A SELECT START!” we yell in unison. because it’s just that sad, kids.

“ARG! these things are killing me!”

“that’s ‘cos you shouldn’t play the dungeons out of sequence.”

“stop being an idiot, justin! i know what i’m doing! i beat level one and got the heart container and then i went and blew a hole in some rock and got the other heart container so that gave me 5 and i went and got the goddamn magic sword before i even THOUGHT about getting in another dungeon, okay? gimme a break.”

“yeah you’re right. i mean, zelda’s not a toy for christ’s sake.”

“exactly! oh hell. i sound like a moron don’t i?”

“sound?”

“yeah i gotta go now. oh wait, the old man wants me to tell you that Dodongo dislikes smoke.”

“heh.”

geekers!

6.07.04
laura f*cking catoe (like the star makes it ok) get out of my head! (hey, remember that dr. suess thing? with the made up titles? that what that reminds me of. but i can’t remember. you know.) (she always knows).

i can’t believe you tried to read infinite jest too! and failed! too! because so many characters! ugh! (i read a review of his new book in time this week and i want to read his new one. it sounds like maybe it’ll make more sense.) and WWI and II! i know! what is up with that? was italy a good guy or bad guy? i don’t know!

although how you can confuse AIC with jane’s, i dunno man.

i watched eurotrip tonight. of course the premise/plot was stupid. but i laughed a bunch. tons. it was funny to me, okay? yeah, i know. i’m an easy laugh. look, i admitted it. what do you want from me, liz? YOU KNOW I’LL LAUGH AT ANYTHING. YES. THAT INCLUDES FARTS.

oh dear.
i went to the liquor store today.

bourbon.

i know. i know.

i’ll be posting at the forum soon.
if i can find it.

*****

okay, you see those stars up above this sentence? the That Thought Is Complete Now I’m Changing The Subject Stars? well i was reading this story (like a journal) (yes a link would be handy, wouldn’t it?) (damn!) and every time this lady changed subjects or whatnot she would do this.

????

but it’s not like she was ending thoughts with a question. they were normal sentence thoughts. but still, because i’m a normal* human being, when i see ???? i think a very musical “whaaaat?” in my head.

*relative, i’m sure

so like for instance:
my brother has to get his wisdom teeth cut out on friday. i feel bad for the poor fella ‘cos i remember getting mine cut out and sure, the drugs are cool, but it took me 5 days to get back to normal. and to this day i hate yogurt.

????

whaaat?

6.03.03
i’ve noticed that the emotions that i usually feel are Anger and Wrath. and all the other emotions like Happiness, Levity, and Peanut Butter are emotions that i usually only see once in a while. however, there’s one emotion that only comes around once every 12 years or so.

Jealousy.

and it’s almost pointless for me to talk about Jealousy because i don’t know anything about it. i think that Jealousy is a pretty weird thing. and the way i look at it is like this, if i want something that someone else has, but i’m not able to have that thing, but still, i want it really, really bad, but i really really can’t have it…well, obviously i don’t need that thing and really, why waste anymore time on that? it’s moot and i’m busy so let’s move on.

see? what do i know about Jealousy. i’ve never taken it seriously. ever. even as a kid. and i think it’s because my brother and i had to Share Everything. so, you know, three cheers for mom.

but today. today was different. why? how?
what could possibly happen to cause jaimie’s Green Eyed Beast of Outer Hell to waken?

*ring*

“hello?”

“hi jaimie, it’s me.”

“hey mr. fleegan!”

“hey! guess what?”

“what?”

“there’s a tennis tournament this weekend and i get to play in it!”

“hey that’s great!”

“yeah! are you gonna come see me play?”

“er, yeah. lemme see what the day looks like first.”

“but the best part is my workplace is sponsoring me.”

“really? that’s weird isn’t it?”

“yeah sorta. but the cool thing is there’s a mixed doubles match. and me and this girl from work are gonna play.”

wtf? what girl? i thought all the girls quit. who is this girl?!

“uh…”

“and the cool thing is she’s got a twin sister who…”

sweet jesus lord, twins?

“and so i was talking smack with the sister today ‘cos she’s playing on a team with one of our business rivals.”

flirting. damnit.

“uh huh.”

“isn’t that cool?”

“yeah. that’s cool.”

“so you think you can come see me play on saturday?”

“oh i’ll be there alright.”

“cool!”

sigh.

and when i hung up the phone i felt just awful for being such a bitch. because words like skank and triflin’ ho went through my head. and really, i don’t know this girl, i mean those girls. those twin girls. those athletic, twin girls. with their cute, short tennis skirts and their perfect “serves”.

ugh, and for the first time ever i wished that i was a competitive person. but i’m not. i mean sure, mr. fleegan and i play tennis or whatnot but i never let him keep score. if i was competitive i’d join the tennis league myself, but i’m not, ‘cos basically i’d play every game and then get bored towards the end and be all, “you know what? let’s just say you win and let’s go have a brew or something.” so while i do love sports (well, not race cars so much) i’m no good at sports because i just don’t care. i don’t have that “edge”. i won’t “race ya!”. if the Last One has to buy the *random item* then fine, i’ll buy it, but for the love, we’re not competing for it. i don’t care enough to compete for it. i’ve got shit to do.

so basically that means i lose out. ‘cos i can’t play ‘cos i decided long ago that “eh, i can’t play. i’ve got this painting i’m working on.” or whatnot. so jaimie, that means you gotta be a Big Girl. and you gotta understand that mr. fleegan likes tennis so much that he wants to compete in matches. and it just so happens that in his next match his teammate is a cute, athletic girl (twin) and that his competition is some ugly dude and a cute, athletic girl (twin). so what you’re gonna do, jaimie, is you’re gonna suck it up, and you’re gonna go and cheer for mr. fleegan and his partner (the cute, athletic twin girl). you’re gonna be a Complete Adult about this and you’re gonna cheer them on.
but first, you gotta TCB:

dear god and jesus and holy ghost,

hi. it’s jaimie.
but i guess i don’t really have to tell you that, do i?
heh. anyway. the last 20 minutes have really shown me what a horrible, selfish, bitch of a human being i really am. i don’t like it. in fact, i’m hating the way i feel right now. i actually had the thought, “maybe they have a flaw of some sort…maybe they have hunchbacks.” see, i don’t want to be the kind of person that wishes a hunchback on someone. so lord, i ask that you please forgive me for my jealousy, and replace it with your grace. please take my bitchness and replace it with humility. please take that horrible tight feeling of guilt and replace it with your awesome peace that can only come from you.

and please, make them heavy mouth-breathers.

i’m kidding!
that was a joke. poor taste. i’m sorry. i totally ruined that prayer didn’t i? i’m contrite, honest. i am truly sorry for being so jealous and mean and stupid. thank you for being so good to me.
you are the bomb.

in jesus’ name, amen.

there was another paragraph here and it was hilarious! i laughed so hard when i re-read it. however, i decided to delete it, because it was hateful (not to the twins, it was hateful to a whole other group of innocents). the hateful part was the funny part. but if you don’t know me and you read it then you’d think i was the devil, and i already feel bad enough being human.

6.02.04
Sincere Conversations With Dad IV

As Father and I painted in Murder House III this morning, he in the kid’s room (which looked like the Tasmanian Devil had resided) and I in the Master Bedroom of Odd Stains, we had this Tender Moment as the Kid Rock/Sheryl Crow song titled, um, what’s the name of that song? The one about they can’t look at each other’s picture while sexxing with other people? anyone?

dad: hey is he still bangin’ what’serface?

me: niiiice. who?

dad: you know, she married what’sisname? motley crue?

me: oh. uh….

dad: …

me: pamela anderson?

dad: that’s the one!

me: ew. were they together?

dad: i’m pretty sure. oh well, i guess someone’s gotta…

me: i’d never do her. i hear she has Hepatitis.

dad: oh. really? but uh. i mean, wouldn’t the first reason that you wouldn’t do her be because you’re a girl?

me: dad.

dad: oh my god. i don’t want to find out this way. no. la la la la.

me: you’re an ass.

A few minutes later, after that conversation was forgotten and the stupid song was over and the radio was playing something even worse, probably an Usher song, all was well and the painting was coming along quite nicely dad yells from the other room,

“what about sheryl crow?”

“what about sheryl crow?”

“would you do her?”

“dad.“

“…”

“why? did she call the house again?”

“arg! no! la la la!”

6.01.04
dad and i went out for dinner this evening. which doesn’t seem like it would be weird since we work together all day long. but it was kinda weird, since you know, we work together all day long. i mean come on. but but mr. fleegan had tennis and mom wanted an egg sandwich (after the day dad and i had we couldn’t stomach the thought of eating a greasy egg sandwich) so we went out to eat and then ran by the supermarket to pick up a few items.

so i’m driving in the store parking lot and it’s the biggest clusterfark ever. i mean it’s madness, right? so i’m busy trying to keep us from getting killed and all of a sudden dad yells, (YELLS), “HEY YOU SONUVABITCH! THAT’S MY BABY GIRL YOU’RE LOOKIN’ AT! DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE AND JERK YOU OUT OF YOUR CAR!“

“um, dad? are you really yelling at someone, or are you just practicing for a play that i don’t know about?”

“that asshole was staring at you.”

“gosh. first time for that, huh?”

“yeah, but he was givin’ you a look.”

it’s nice to know that dad’s got my back, yo.

SO DON’T NUNYA SUCKAS BE LOOKIN’ AT ME WHILE I’M DRIVIN’ ALL UP IN THIS PIECE!

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The One About A Real Shitty Day
June 01, 2004

hi kids,

so. today was a real shitty day.

for the most part, i love my job. sure, it can be tough. and yeah, working outside all day can be a real drag what with all the heat that the burning sun puts out and the humidity and the sweating and the daily massive water consumption (which i hear is good for you. i’m not sure if it’s good or not, but i do know that if i didn’t drink a gallon of water a day i would probably die. eventually i plan on growing a hump or two in which to store water and oreo cookies.), but usually i love my job.

however.

occassionally there are very, really, real, bad days. like sometimes i step in an ant pile and i don’t realize it until half the ant army has made it to my knees and they all start biting. that’s a pretty bad day. but today was shitty.

sometimes we have to pressure wash a house and you get soaking wet and your shoes squish-squash and there’s not a dry spot anywhere. and there you are. all wet. all day long.
that’s a pretty bad day.
but today was shitty.

sometimes we’ll walk in a place and it looks like someone has been murdered. the carpet’s all stinky and stained. rust-colored clumpy stains. and you can feel the weirdness in the air. and you really wished you had asked more questions before you took the job. questions like, “so, any particular reason why you’re wanting to paint just the bedroom?” or maybe, “should we bring bleach?” and even, “have the forensic pathologists finished with the crime scene?” but no, you don’t ask any questions ‘cos you’re just thrilled to death that you’ve got an inside job in the middle of summer and you can’t wait to be painting in the cool of air conditioning. you idiot.
that’s a pretty bad day. and honestly, that did happen today.
but that’s not why today was a shitty day.

today while we were painting in Murder House III (i’m certain we’ve painted in two other Murder Houses, one of them was a multiple murder, i just know it.), i was painting in the master bathroom. and the toilet was in the bedroom. so like, in the bathroom is just a hole. so it’s pretty obvious that the water is turned off. this isn’t new to me. we have worked many jobs where the water was turned off and there was no potty.

i hate those jobs.

around 11am i say to my father, “gosh dad. i’d really like to pee now.”

“well, lesse. let’s check to see if the other bathroom has a flush left in it.”

Lesson in Toilets #1: when the water has been cut off, there is always One Last Flush left in the tank.

so we go to the other bathroom and dad lifts up the lid on the tank and no, there’s no water in it.

“ok, i’ll tell ya what. i don’t think the neighbors are home. i’ll go fill up a bucket and we’ll force flush it that way.”

“ok.”

Lesson in Toilets #2: if the water has been turned off and the One Last Flush has been used, you can fill up a bucket of water and pour it in the bowl and the water will go down, and it’s a Super Flush ‘cos you use more water than what usually comes out of the tank. neat, huh?

so then dad lifts up the seat lid and oh my holy lord.

“ohh…” i said.

“JESUS CHRIST!” he said and slammed down the lid.

“that was…not cool.”

“GODDAMNIT!” and we rushed out of there like we were being chased by hornets.

he only lifted that lid for a nanosecond. but i promise you, the atrocity that awaited our eyes has been burned into our memories, and unfortunately, will be there for all eternity.

“WHAT KIND OF ASSHOLE WOULD DO THAT?!”

“oh my god. did this just really happen?”

“I WISH I KNEW WHO DID THAT. SO I COULD KILL HIM.”

“i wish we could go back in time.”

“i could kill this person and not feel guilty. in fact, i would go to bed happy tonight knowing i had killed the sonofabitch.”

“ugh. me too.”

“here. take the keys and drive to the nearest gas station.”

“uh, i don’t feel so good right now. i think. i’m just gonna. go in this other room. and, paint. or something.”

“this is not a good sign.”

“whattya mean?”

“i mean, you don’t just see something like, like that *gag* and expect the rest of the day to be normal. that’s a Sign. and it’s not a good one.”

“well, if it helps, i think someone was murdered in that first bedroom. *gag* oh god, i can still see it in my head.”

“*gag* shit. we can’t throw up in here. we have no water to clean it up with!”

after a few more moments of ranting we finally went back to work.

i’d like to describe what i saw in that toilet bowl. so that you too, can appreciate the horror. but it really won’t matter because even a description would not do it justice.

still, i gotta try, for your sake.

remember the sorta famous movie silence of the lambs starring Dr. Lector and Agent Starling? well, remember the part where Agent Starling was investigating Jame Gumb’s house and she opens that one door and there’s that ??? in the bathtub?

okay.

it was like someone had scooped some of that stuff up and plopped it into the DRY (AS IN, NO WATER IN THE BOWL) toilet and then gave birth to a healthy 8 pound turd and left it there for a month or two. do you see how gross that sounds? well, multiply it by 4,000 and you’re there.

i ask you, WHAT KIND OF REDNECK FUCKTARD DOES SOMETHING LIKE THAT?!

an hour later dad comes in the kitchen where i’m painting and says, “hey, it’s lunchtime.”

“oh. i really, don’t want to.”

“yeah, me neither. i still see it.”

“me too.”

a half hour later dad says, “c’mon jaimie, we have to eat lunch. neither one of us ate breakfast and we’ll pass out if we don’t eat something.”

“okay, i’m just gonna finish this one little thing first.”

“okay.”

fifteen minutes after that dad says, “okay for real. we have to eat now.”

“okay.”

so we go out on the porch and get out our sandwiches and kinda stare at them. and we sip on our sodas. we both manage to eat about half of the sandwiches and dad says, “i think i’m gonna save the rest of this for later.”

“yeah. me too.” i say and wrap up the rest of my sandwich, “i bet we don’t eat these later.”

“not a chance.”

we sit there a while longer calling the bastard a few choice names. and then in the most pitiful voice i’ve ever heard, dad says, “i wish it was gone.”

and i lost it. i laughed so hard. ‘cos here’s my dad, a grown man, and even he doesn’t want to go back in the house even though the lid is down, the bathroom door is closed, and we’ve vowed to not enter that bathroom ever again.

“this whole day has been ruined.”

“yes. it has.”

“there’s nothing that can be done to salvage the rest of this day.”

“nope. but since you brought it up…”

“brought what up?”

“about how this day is ruined? see, i think one of the workers at the duplex, either the heating & air guys or the electrical guys took a leak in my toilet.”

“you’re shitting me.”

“i shit you not, dad.”

“dammit.”

“yeah, so maybe after we finish here we can go over there and take care of that? there’s water in the bowl. not like *gag* in the toilet *gag* here.”

“*gag* who takes a shit in a dry toilet?! WHO?!”

“i dunno dad.”

“i swear, jaimie. we’ve had our civil rights violated.”

“*laughing* dad, that was the biggest turd i’ve ever seen in my life.”

“oh don’t make me laugh. my stomach is killing me.”

poor dad. see, he had vomited the night before, so all his stomach and rib muscles were sore. and everytime i started to laugh dad would beg me not to.

hours later we’re on our way home and dad says, “are you sure you want to go to the duplex?”

“i know it’s gonna suck. but we might as well get it over with today, since today is already ruined.”

“yeah. you’re right.”

so we get there and we fill up a bucket at the Catoe’s house and we go into my bathroom and lift the lid and i’ll be damned, some asshole had taken a shit in my toilet! admittedly it wasn’t as bad as the toilet at Murder House III, at least this was flushable.

“GODDAMN IT!”

“i thought they had just peed in it.”

“GODDAMN IT! TWICE?! IN ONE DAY?!”

“my god, what are the odds?”

“I WANT TO KILL THESE PEOPLE!”

“i mean, yeah it sucks to have to work on a house that doesn’t have running water. but i mean, we do it. and we don’t shit in people’s non-working toilets.”

“THEY NEED TO BE SHOT!”

“can we flush this again?”

“THIS HAS BEEN A SHITTY DAY.”

“but think about it dad, this, what happened today? it can’t possibly happen to us again tomorrow.”

and now, about every 20 minutes one of us has to say something about it. because it’s in our heads. it won’t leave and it has consummed our every thought.

dad: you couldn’t pay me to clean that out.

me: i’d do it for a thousand dollars.

dad: hell, i’d do it for $500.

***

me: would it be possible to just remove the toilet completely? without, you know, disturbing the contents? like if you duct taped the lid down?

dad: that would be the only way to do it. and i’d just cut the bolts with a dremel. forget the bolts, man.

me: yeah. cut, grab, and run.

dad: and i’d throw it out in those woods back there. i’d never think of it again.

me: is that legal?

dad: i wouldn’t care.

***

me: are toilets expensive?

dad: nah, you can get one for $60.

me: so see, i’d have $940 left. i’d consider that a pretty good day.

***

dad: i wish i knew who the asshole was and where he lived…

***

dad: it was probably one of the damned Sheetrock guys. animals.

***

dad: you know, i bet if you poured some kind of emulsifier on it, then you could flush it without buying a new toilet.

me: oh that’s gross though.

dad: well, you’d have to let it soak *skknt*

me: *sknnt*

dad: it would have to rehydrate. hee.

me: BAHhahahahahahaahahaaaaa

dad:ow! ow! don’t laugh! stop! heeee you would have to heeeee chop it up!

me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

dad: stop it! heeeee! it hurts! heeeee!

and that kids, is a Shitty Day.

this Shitty Day has been brought to you by:
Murder House III, Shitplex 1.0, and the number 2.

next week’s epitomb: hopefully no fecal matter of any kind will be involved. let’s hope it’s about something happy and light, like gum surgery or something.

jaimie “i hate people” pickle

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