5.30.04
i saw the movie matchstick men with nic cage and that other guy in it?
yeah.
that is one of the worst movies i’ve ever seen.
“the previews made this movie look like it was going to be a comedy.”
“can we sue somebody for this?”

5.29.04
mr. fleegan says he’s fixed my server problems.
dare i dream?

OMG. it worked!

thanks mr. fleegan.

and thank you laura, for letting me have a temp blog on your site. we should have done that a month ago. i think it really got the ball rolling.

j: i updated my blog today.

mr. f: you did? it’s working?

j: no. i put everything on a geocities site.

mr. f: oh.

5.27.04

no cavities!

******

Dear Fictional Character Dr. Kay Scarpetta,

You finally made it to the Body Farm on page 317 of a 382 page book. Also you were there for like, 3 pages. I hardly think that constitutes for naming a book The Body Farm. Also, you killed someone, and you act like it’s no big deal. Kinda like how you’re handling your affair with a married man. And you expect me to believe that you’re all worried about your niece Lucy? You aren’t worried about anybody but yourself.

What about sweet Connie, you bitch?

Love Always,

Jaimie Pickle

5.26.04

i have a dentist appointment tomorrow.

******

Dear Fictional Character Kay Scarpetta,

Hi. You don’t know me, because you’re not real. However, i thought i’d just drop you a line saying that i really enjoyed the first four books that you’ve “starred in” i guess i should say. i’ve enjoyed reading about your job as medical examiner for Richmond, VA, and i really dig all the mysteries. However, i’m really curious about something. Do most medical examiners have a problem with people trying to kill them? i mean, really? i can see it happening once. But every time? C’mon Kay, give me a break. i think you try to get killed for the attention.

So anyway, here i am on Book 5. It’s called The Body Farm, remember? Hey, you’re good at mysteries, right Kay? Well, maybe you can help me with this one. Why is it that over 200 pages into a book called The Body Farm, has there been no mention of the body farm? Do you suppose it’s going to show up in the last 50 pages along with all the other necessary mystery solving bullshit? Hey Kay, maybe you should tell your author that your books are getting way too formulaic. Just a thought.

Oh Kay, who am i kidding, right? Millions of readers (including myself) will continue to read your books because we’re hooked. We love you and your gay niece Lucy so much that we’re willing to accept all the rehashing of characters and plots. However, what i’m finding a little hard to accept is that in Book 5 you’re having an affair with one of the re-occurring characters. He’s a married man, Kay! You know his wife! She’s a really sweet lady named Connie! How can you do this to sweet, sweet Connie?!

You’re a cold-hearted, selfish bitch, Scarpetta.

Hugs,

jaimie pickle

PS. Is it imperitive that you mention your poor, Italian heritage and that you love to cook real Italian food in EVERY GODDAMN BOOK? Can we give it a rest? Your last name is Scarpetta. WE GET IT.

5.23.04

my self portrait was a hit at the last art show. i think everyone was rather surprised by it in a “hey, jaimie really can paint!” kinda way. and that makes me happy.

the thing is when people see that you can do this one cool thing, then they want you to “do one for me.” so now i’m working on a portrait for an actual person. for money.

money.

and hey, i’ll do anything for money, right? but i’m kinda bummed because my portrait was at a really severe angle and was cropped off so much that it was practically abstract unless you were standing 30 feet away from it. and it was so cool. but now. doing a portrait for a “client”. who will want a nice normal portrait. no severe angles. no cool cropping. no abstraction.

it doesn’t seem like art.

seems more like work.

feh.

still though, money.

*****

we had to go to the pastor’s house today for an Open House. so i walk in and who’s the first person i see? the EP. for the love. is this guy gonna haunt me forever? leave! go! be gone! feh!

so this was the first time i had been to the new pastor’s house, and of course i’m nosy. so i beeline for a bookcase to see what kind of books he reads and to get away from the EP. and i’m looking and i’ve read that book and that book and part of that book and oh man, he’s got that book? neat. i loved that book. and what’s these books? it looks like some kinda sci-fi/fantasy series or something. neat. oh wait. what the hell? he’s got a sean hannity book? that guy is a tool. what on earth could he write a book on? oh. oh no. god no. please lord, tell me my eyes are playing tricks on me…he’s got treason? ann coulter, cut your throat, you monster!

no.

noooooooooooooooooooo!

the best i can hope for is that someone bought him that tripe as a gift. and hopefully he never got around to reading it.

5.20.04
no updates for several days because i’ve been working too hard. and playing too hard. but it’s not like it matters anyway since i haven’t been able to post any of this nonsense ‘cos mr. fleegan won’t fix whatever the hell is wrong with the server.
bah.

tami sparks sent me an e-mail and she made me this:

because she loves me.

5.14.04
sometimes my father and i have completely made up conversations that have nothing to do with our real lives. i think it’s because we’re around each other so much while we’re working so we already know what the other one watched on tv or read the night before. so a lot of our time is spent talking in fake voices and discussing things that have never happened.

sometimes the fake voices we use are very southern, slingblade-esque if you will.
like the other day dad was browing some burger meat:

dad: well, ah’m gonna drayne the beef drippin’s.

me: hay, y’all gonna save ’em drippin’s fer gravy?

dad: naw, it’s just haimburger drippin’s. ain’t no good. too runny.

me: dang.

dad: yeah. they ain’t like ’em good bacon drippin’s.

me: ’em bacon drippin’s is so thick. we used to make candles outta ’em. that was before the edison bub though. ’em in-can-deesent bubs came ‘long and we stopped makin’ ’em fat candles.

dad: i like-a take the bacon drippin’s and let ’em get real hard and slice ’em up thick and put it own a biscuit. that’s good eatin’.

me: oh god, that’s awful. you win.

5.13.04
i haven’t done a letter in a while.

Dear Linda Eder,

Hi! First of all, i’m a huge fan of your work. i mean sure, you’re kinda like Barbra Streisand and Celine Dion’s love child combo, but to me, you’re your own talent. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re just another Easy Listening or Generic Jazz Muzak Station hack. You’re the best!

However, your Broadway My Way album has got to be one of the biggest disappointments of my CD collection, and i’ve got lots of crappy CDs. Kylie Minogue for instance. Apparently Broadway your way means to take a couple of awesome broadway songs and a couple of blandly mediocre Broadway songs and equalize them into a collection of 13 suckass songs. Okay, you know what? 11 suckass songs. i’m gonna give you Unusual Way and Man of La Mancha. And maybe i’m a moron or something, but i can’t help but notice that those two songs are also on your It’s Time album. So i’m thinking that deep down you knew that the Broadway album was going to suck hugely if you didn’t put at least two songs you knew you could do well.

So really, why do a Broadway album in the first place? An excuse to sing Barbra’s songs? You hated Edellweiss so much you thought it would be fun to do the worst version of that song imaginable? And was The Impossible Dream was too slow for your taste? Why did you rush that song?

Listen Linda, i’m telling you this because i love you, stick to what you do best: singing songs your husband writes for you.

hugs,

Jaimie Pickle

5.10.04
i recently read the first two patricia cornwell “kay scarpetta novels” they were pretty good. i’m gonna read a few more but i can tell that they’re gonna be the same book over and over again. still, scarpetta reminds me of agent scully sans the whole alien thing, so i’m gonna read a few more.

at the moment i’m reading confederacy of dunces. yes, i know, how 1981 of me. i don’t know how i’m going to finish it. it’s one of those books where you hate, hate, hate the main character. but dad read it last week and he keeps telling me to stick with it because it’s a really good book. to tell you the truth, the only reason i’m giving it a shot is because i read where the guy who wrote the book commited suicide and his mom took his manuscript to a college to have some professor read it. the prof didn’t want to read it, but eventually did, loved it and got it published.

it won a pulitzer prize.

*****

so i’m working at the Holy House and i have to go to the lobby to use the restroom ‘cos when i’m painting in the apartments there’s never any toilet paper in the rooms. so i go downstairs and use the Little Painter’s Room, and then i go and get a soda out of the machine that’s in the “excersize room” and there’s actually an old lady on one of the stationary bicycles, and she’s slowly peddling while talking to this other old lady who is sitting in a rocking chair. (and now for the Worst Sentence Ever Award…envelope please…) ANYWAY. Bicycle Oldster says, “well hey! it’s one of the painters!” and i say hi and Rocking Chair Oldster says, “she paints?” as if i’m not there and the BO says,”yeah! and she even paints her hair! hahaha!”

yeah. haha. like i haven’t heard THAT one 96 kazillion times since i’ve started working there.

but i smile and say, “yeah!” and BO says, “take off yer hat and show her.” so i do because one must always do what an old person tells them to do. otherwise a gang of oldsters will come out of nowhere and slowly club you.

and the RCO says, “oh my word!” and then, “you know, that’s how the kids are wearing their hair nowadays. i seen ’em with two colors in their hair.” like i’m not even there. and she says, “did you do it with peroxide?”

“no ma’am i used-“

“i wonder if i could do that to my hair.”
this lady has snow white hair. she could have any color she wants.

“well, sure!” i say, “what color you want?”

“oh. you just think that us old folks can get away with whatever we want. but we can’t. not as long as we have kids we can’t.”

i wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

5.08.04
we (my peeps and i) painted at Dreamplex 1.0 today. it was a hot day. but i think lots of work got done. so that makes me happy.
also, it was really hot out.

5.06.05
so.
the reason that my printer would not work:
i am a girl.

i am a girl who follows all directions when installing computery things. and since all computery things are made by men, nothing ever works like it should. why? communication.

the reason. my printer driver. would not. install?
the USB hub, that i HAD to buy so i could hook up more than two USB thingies at a time, came with an ac adapter. the directions that came with said hub said to plug the ac adapter in the wall socket. so, like a good girl, i did.

apparently, although it WAS NEVER MENTIONED IN THE INSTRUCTIONS, since the hub was plugged into the computer it was drawing power from the computer and didn’t need to be plugged into the wall. and it was because of THAT that my printer driver WOULD NOT EXTRACT ITSELF SO THAT I COULD INSTALL IT.

now. did the error i kept getting from the driver say ANYTHING AT ALL about ANYTHING being the problem with something other than the software itself, oh say for instance, that something was wrong with the port it was plugged into? hmm? did the error give me any clue that perhaps it wasn’t actually the SOFTWARE that was bollixed but that there was a problem with a bit of HARDWARE i had previously installed? hmm? did it?

nay.
the error merely said that the driver, or file, could not extract itself. it gave no reasons. why? because some dude wrote the error message. and it wasn’t the least bit helpful.
error: file will not extract.

but why?! why?!

look man, i’m not asking you to read my mind or read my computer’s mind, but come on, gimmie a clue. i mean, girls, we might not come out and say to someone’s face, “hey dumbass, you’ve got bad breath!” but we will try and help out the situation, “breathmint?”
error: this software ain’t doin’ nothin’ til you get that printer hooked up right, beeyotch.

it’s a man’s world.
good thing i love men.

5.05.04
mr. fleegan downloaded and extracted the printer driver for me and put it on a tiny CD-R. it’s purple and so cute.
still, the driver would not install itself. i keep getting a “general protection” error.

i’m even more baffled than yesterday.
oh, and slightly angry too.

5.04.04
the software that came with the printer will not “extract” itself.
i am baffled.

5.03.04
so i finally broke down and bought a color printer. i’m quite proud that i’ve managed to not own a color printer for the last 5 years. it was easy when i worked at the sign shop ‘cos i could use the printer there. but since i haven’t worked there for a year that means i haven’t printed anything in color for a year. and for an artist who uses the computer for things like ART, well, it’s depressing to not have access to a color printer.

oh, but i hate color printers ‘cos they’re so slow and noisy and you’ve gotta buy inks all the time and they break so easily and blah blah. i’m so in love with my b/w laser printer because i never have to buy inks and it always works and it’s so quiet and i’m going to have it’s children.

so me going out and purchasing a color printer is a pretty big deal. i keep telling myself it was necessary. “jaimie,” i said, “you HAVE to come off the hip with some cash and go out and buy a color printer because you are NOT, i repeat, NOT going to be one of Those People who ask their friends to print out stuff for you. you are a grown-up with a grown-up job who makes grown-up money and for the love stop hording it all under your matress and BUY A DAMN COLOR PRINTER.”
“yes ma’am.” i replied.

but you know how it is with this computer stuff. it’s impossible for me to buy a new component for my computer without having to buy AT LEAST one more thing that will allow the new component to work. remember the iPod shennanigans? i had to get FireWire for that to work. whatever the hell FireWire is. and installing that was a job and a half. the first one i got was NOT COMPATABLE WITH MY COMPUTER. FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER. it was so incompatable that my computer would not turn on. of course none of that matters now as the iPod works and is wonderful, but i’m cheating on him with my laser printer because i could actually live without the iPod (shhhh!) but i’d have to kill myself and the iPod in a tragic murder/suicide if the printer ever decided to leave.

anyway. i couldn’t just buy a new color printer because
1. all my USB ports are already in use* and
2. i need a UPS because now, when i use my lover laser printer the overhead light flickers, and i figure i’m playing with fire if i plug anything else in any outlets in my room.

so mr fleegan and i are at the Popular Office Store, and he tells me i’ll need to get a USB cable for the printer, and because i’m such a panicky girl about the whole thing i say quite loudly and panicky, “but mr. fleegan! i only have two holes and they are already plugged up!” meaning: both of my USB ports are in use and when i need to use the scanner i have to unplug one of those, it’s quite complicated but hey, what are ya gonna do?

and he knows what i mean, cos he can pretty much read my mind.

however, that still doesn’t change the fact that i’ve belted out that MY TWO HOLES ARE PLUGGED UP! in the middle of the store. he replied, “i wish i had a tape recorder right now.”
because he’s like that.
oh yes he is.

so i have to buy a printer and a UPS thingie and a USB hub. and i get it all for less than $200. which i’m thrilled to death over. and i’m excited about the USB hub more than anything ‘cos it’s small and sleek and i can plug four things into it and if i need more i can buy more ‘cos they plug into each other and they’re stackable and okay enough about that.

so i was going to have mr. fleegan hook it all up for me, but then i decided i wanted to try it myself first. so i sent him home.
“thanks for helping me pick out all that stuff. i would have been clueless.”
“i know.”
“shut up. let’s hook it up now.”
“now?”
“well, nah. i’ll hook it up. you can go home.”
“are you kicking me out?”
“yeah. bye.”
“fine then. i’m outta here.”
“okay. have a good night.”
“yeah.”
“and hey, you know that i’m not really kicking you out right? i figure you’ll be bored watching me struggle with the computer stuff and would rather be playing your xbox anyway.”
“yeah.”
“i’m not really kicking you out, you know?”
“yeah. just as long as you know i’m not really going home and playing xbox.”
“ha. ha.”

it took me an hour to hook up the hub and the UPS thing. sad but true.

then came the printer. which i haven’t hooked up yet. because see, i got it all together and plugged into the wall and see, we forgot to get the USB cable for the printer. because of the whole, “i’ve only got two holes and their both plugged up!” moment.

but what i don’t understand is why a BRAND NEW PRINTER IN IT’S BRAND NEW BOX DOESN’T ALREADY COME WITH A CABLE WITH WHICH TO PLUG THE PRINTER INTO THE COMPUTER BECAUSE THAT STOOPID CABLE SHOULD COME WITH THE PRINTER FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!!

if women were in charge of the Computer World, stupid shit like that would not happen. because a woman would make sure that the NEW PRINTER would come COMPLETE with all NECESSARY components like for instance, a goddamn umbilical cord.

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The One About My Spider-Senses are Tingling
it’s called a “headache” jaimie.
May 04, 2004

hi kids,

the other day my father and i went to a friend’s house to pick up dad’s pressure washer. so we get out of the truck and we walk through the carport to knock on their door to tell them that we are picking up the pressure washer. so we’re half way in the carport and, “OH MAN! ow! OW! what is THAT?”

“what’s what?” dad asks.

“that sound. OW. THAT SOUND!”

“what sound?”

“you mean you can’t OW OH GOD hear that sound?”

“no. what’s it sound like?”

“it’s like an ear peircing GAHHHH pulse of some kind.”

“i’m gonna go inside and tell them we’re taking the pressure washer.”

“i’m gonna AAAAAAAAH get out of the carport OW.”

this noise is really intense. and the closer i got to the door the more intense the noise got. so i got out of the carport but i could still hear the sound. it wasn’t as intense as inside the carport, but it was still annoying. when i walked to the street i could not hear it.

so i walked back towards the carport. i’m certain i looked like a madwoman.
“gah! there it is! but where is it? it’s almost like there’s a OW OH OW bug or something making that noise. maybe it’s some kind of SWEET JESUS MAKE IT stop, mating call? insects make noises like that right? hmmm. BAH! MY HEAD!”

by the time i finished my first monologue i was back at the door in the carport. the noise was MOST INTENSE. it was painful. actual pain lives in this noise.

“OW MAKE THE PAIN STOP. what the hell? that is OW DAMN not natural. no way bugs BAAAAAH mate to that. this is evil.” so i walked back out and the noise lessened and my head started throbbing, but at least my ears weren’t being assaulted.

it was so weird. i couldn’t let it go.
i had to know what was making that awful noise!

so i walked back in. by this time the noise was really getting to me since i now had a headache. pain. from noise. PAIN. i had to find out what it was. ‘cos the way i saw it, since it drew first blood (headache) it was time for me to return the favor, so to speak. ‘cos honestly, i thought it was a bug and i really, really wanted to kill it. well, first i wanted to study it and THEN i would kill it.

so there i am 3 feet from the door and i’m looking everywhere for some kind of bug. and i’m looking and looking. scanning all over. i’ve got my arms hugging my head to cover my ears BUT STILL THE NOISE PENETRATES THROUGH MY SHIRT SLEEVE SHEILDS. and also, i’m making noises. trying to fight back with my own noise. “AH! UGH! oh gosh this is WAH! OH, where are you you little GAHHHH i’ll kill you SOOOO dead. you won’t KNOOOW what hit you. DIE!”

the noise pulse persists. and i slowly lose my mind. the noise has pierced my cloth armour. it has brought me to my knees. i try crawling my way out but, it has shattered my brain and melted my internal organs. and just as it started to impregnate me with it’s evil, hi- fi hell spawn that would gestate and birth right inside my body and then eat it’s way through my liquified organs (which are full of the nutrients that the baby noises need for the first two weeks of life) i manage one last attempt to break free of the Carport of Danger Sound. i jump/scream/tuck and roll my way out. finally stopping right before landing in the street.

“HA HA! HELL NOISE! YOU THOUGHT YOU HAD ME! NAY! YOU’LL NEVER WIN! EVER! NEVER EVER!”

so then i took off my jacket and tied it around my head and charged into the carport once again looking for the offending bug. GACK. it’s right HERE at the DOOR. but where IS IT coming from? BAH.

THERE! it’s a BOX. a box? what does it say…transsounder? GOD THE NOISE. oh for the LOVE. it’s one of THOSE high-frequency machine THINGS that’s supposed to get RID OF mosquitos. and MY GOD it pulses OUT the noise in 2 SECOND intervals.

mystery solved.

so i’m back out in the driveway near the street where the sound is nearly unheard and dad comes back outside.

“dad! i figured out the what the sound is! you won’t believe this.”

“what sound? why is your jacket on your head?”

“c’mere.”

so we walk back to the carport.
“can you hear it yet?”

“hear what?”

“that shrill pulse? it’s like every 2 seconds.”

“i don’t hear anything.”

so we get closer and closer to the door. my head is SPLITTING IN TWAIN. my eyes are squinty and my teeth are clenching.
“do you…hear it….now?”

“nope nothing. what is wrong with you?”

“you see…that box…right there? it’s…one of those…mosquito repellent…noise boxes.”

“really?” he says as he picks the box up.

*gasp* “really. and see….the thing is…i can hear it.”

“no kidding?” he picks up the box and puts it right up to his ear, “i can’t hear OH SHIT OW!” he puts it back down and was all, “oh that was horrible! i think i’ve damaged something.”

we walk out and i untie my makeshift helmet.

“so you couldn’t hear that until you put it up to your ear?”

“no. and i wish i hadn’t done that. i think it killed my ear.”

“it probably just laid it’s eggs in there.”

“what?”

“i said that i don’t think people should be able to hear that noise. it’s so horrible. what would be the point of sitting outside bug-free if your ears are gonna be treated to that?”

“yeah, but i couldn’t hear it until it was right in my ear. you must have super hearing.”

super hearing? Super Hearing?

it was like saying the word money to a compulsive gambler, like where the dollar signs cha-ching in their eyes? and the chips start to fall and the jackpot cherries click click click into place? only for me it was all “super hearing hearing hearing. super hearing hearing hearing.” echoing in my head and visions of me saving the day by disassembling a bomb and hearing the cry of a small child who had somehow got stuck in a ravine and telling some old lady in the supermarket parking lot that her carburetor’s timing is off and she should have that checked out soon.

think of it! an actual Super Power! for me!
the Hearing Aide! (HA!) able to detect very annoying high-frequency noises 20 feet away from the source while contracting a splitting headache from said noise!

so very practical.

man, my Super Power would suck wouldn’t it?
my Super Power is also my Kryptonite? lame.

nah, i’m trading in my Super Hearing for Healing Power. that way, when all my other Super Hero Friends and i are out Battling Evil and Keeping the Streets Safe and one of us gets hurt, i can heal up to like, 400 hit points or something.

geeker.

next week’s epitomb: holy decibel, Hearing Aide! jaimie gets a sidekick!

jaimie “it’s like one of those Wine Hangover Headaches” pickle

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Tags: nerd

4.29.04
dad and i have been painting at this house FOREVER. we’re painting the whole thing you know? like siding and trim and the new deck and the three porches and the garage doors and the door doors and the railings and oh yeah, the 2 mile fence. and everything has to have AT LEAST two coats and in some cases i have painted 4 coats (damn you, doors!). but the people are very nice and so we don’t mind working for them at all because they’re just Good People.

anyway they have a daughter in highschool.

so she gets home from school today and i’m up on a ladder on the side of the house. so i climb down and walk over to her as she’s getting out of the car because i have to tell her that “hey. i painted the porch a few hours ago. so it might be a little wet. so, you know, use the garage door to get in the house.”

so anyway i walk up and say, “hey.” and she turns around and says, “i hate boys. do you know what he said to me? he said, “i’m not picking up my tux ‘cos i have better things to spend my money on.” and prom is tomorrow! AND THEN i make an appointment for the tanning bed? and the only one i could get was 4:30 and i have to work from 3:30 – 5! so now i gotta call work and tell them that i’m gonna be late. THEN i got a phone call earlier saying that i have to drive to birmingham TONIGHT to get the tickets for the *insert random charity event here* ‘cos i have to work the event on SATURDAY!”

wow.

i can so like, totally not relate.

at first i thought, “wow. dude must be some kind of jerk.” but then when she got to the part about calling in late for work cos she’s got to go to the tanning bed? wha?
is that…possible?
can people, human people, really get away with that?

so she stops and it’s my turn to talk right? but i didn’t know what to say. i mean, i can’t tell her that everything will work itself out. and i can’t tell her that her boyfriend is right, there are better things to spend money on. and i can’t tell her that she’s a spoiled brat for needing to go to tanning bed and making work wait for her EVEN THOUGH SHE ALREADY LOOKS LIKE SHE’S SPENT A WEEKEND AT THE BEACH.

totally. cannot. relate.
thank you, lord.

4.28.04
so lately dad and i have been talking to each other like we’re gangstas. except we really have no idea what we are talking about. ‘cos we’re white folk. still, it’s fun to call each other G, brah, and Money. as an added bonus, since we’re both so sick to death of the Oldies Station and the Classic Rock Station we have taken to listening to the Pop 40 Station that happens to play the same 5 rap songs over and over. so now we know all the words to the newest ludacris song. as well as those other rap songs by those other black guys. like, the one about ‘chillin’ at the Holiday Inn’ which we don’t understand but still, we sing along with it adding, “uh!” and “ho!” every so often.

so every 96 seconds one of us shouts “when i move you move!” to which the response is “just like that?” and lemme tell ya, my dad loves the ‘hell yeah’ part. and i nearly fell off my ladder when at some point in the song the guy bitches about the waitress not bringing him his drinks and dad let out a HUGE, “beeyotch!”

and we’re not sure why ‘urbody in the club’ must get tipsy. we figure it’s one of those things you don’t get unless you’re there…at the club. you know, gettin’ tipsy? urbody? and does it happen urday?

and it’s weird ‘cos we found that we can handle hearing the same rap song 5 times a workday but hearing the sheryl crow song more than twice makes us want to bite down really hard on our own teeth until they all snap. ishn’t daht veird?

ooh. but they played an eminem song. and i’m not sure how my dad knew it was emimem, but he did. and he lost it. it was whatever song has the aerosmith song “in the background”. anyway halfway through dad was all, “what a little bitch! eminem is such a whiny little bitch! if he were here right now…i’d slap him and call him a little bitch.”

i would totally give up my beer money FOR THE YEAR to see dad slap eminem and call him a little bitch. cos yeah, eminem? you are a little bitch. RECOGNIZE THAT, MUTHAFUH!

4.27.04
so i’m talking to Mr. Fleegan on the phone and he’s going on and on about playing his xbox. how cool it is. and the whole time i’m like, “yeah.” “uh huh.” “really.” and he’s going on and on about this game called… Halo? and how he needs xbox live…or maybe he’s already got xbox live? i don’t know. but i’m trying to think of a way to get him not talking about stoopid video games when he says, “see. you should buy an xbox so we can play each other all the time.” so i respond in a sexy voice, “but i’d rather just play the game while sitting in your lap.”
“…”
“…”
“yeah but then you gotta play split screen. and you know how lame that is.”

brick wall, y’all.

4.26.04
i finished The Donkey Show.

i’m now reading The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. because i must temper my fiction reading with literature and nonfiction. and i mean, i just read two fictions in a row. harold bloom would be spinning in his grave…if only he were dead. he must be a vampire or something. he’s like, 400 years old.  

so far i’ve learned that Samuel Taylor Coleridge and i share a birthday. and that the author of this particular edition hates abstract expressionism, color-field, PopArt, and anything that isn’t Realism. oh, and he basically calls Alexander Calder a tool. i cannot stand it when people (who have been educated) dismiss all art that isn’t realism. i mean, millions of people have heard of alexander calder. but i’m certain only mere thousands have probably ever heard of this blowhard author…who you can tell wants to be Harold Bloom. and only a complete and total assclown would want to be Harold Bloom.  

i know what you’re thinking, “why does the author feel the need to express his opinion on modern art when he’s writing an annotated version of a Romantic poem from the 1800s?” yes. i asked that myself. because he chose to use Gustave Dore’s illustrations. and apparently at the time (1960s) he was afraid that people would make fun of him for using those illustrations rather than something more modern. so he cuts them to the chase by being all defensive and then making fun of all other art. personally i think he must have a small penis.

the illustrations are very fitting to the text. so i think he really just wanted to be snarky in his preface. i mean, he called mark rothko boring. obviously he’s never tried to make his own color-field painting. it’s really honking hard. the one i tried looked so bad that i immediately painted over it so that no one would see it and say, “what the hell is that supposed to be?” no wait. i didn’t paint over it. it’s hiding behind some other canvases. but it NEEDS to be painted over. besides it was just a study. i would need a much larger canvas to really do one. which i won’t ever do. because it’s really honking hard.   anyway, i’m dying to skip the preface ‘cos this author is a tool. but it’s a long preface and i probably need to read it all. but really, let’s get to the drugged out poem already! buzzkill.  

4.25.04
heh.

*****

the cat just freaked out. she was sleeping peacefully on one of my books on the bed (she hates books. well, she hates when i read books. if i’m reading a book she gets real pissy and gets all up in my face and lap and meows and meows and MEOWS and she’s all in my face saying, “JESUS CHRIST WHY ARE YOU READING THIS SLOP? PET ME! I’M GONNA LIKE, DIE IF YOU DON’T PET ME!” then she’ll flop all over me and pout and the fact that i haven’t thrown her against the wall by now makes me think that at some point i’ll probably make a great mother.), and so she’s sleeping on the book, which is her statement of, “yeah. you could read this book if you wanted to, but you’d have to wake me up first. and if you wake me up i’m gonna flop all over you and meow until you pet me or get so pissed that you finally turn off this damn light so we can get some sleep.” she’s so passive-agressive. or maybe it’s aggressive-aggressive. anyway she’s dead sleeping then all of a sudden she meows. LOUD. and i turn and look at her and say, “what?” and she starts meowing all staccato and urgent much in the same way i imagine she would do if she were on fire. but she’s not. on fire that is. but continues to meow all, “MY GOD. MY GOD. HELP. IT BURNS.” so i think maybe she wants outside or some food. but she doesn’t.

and so what i think happened was that she was dreaming and she meowed out loud and it woke her up. and she was all, “oh my word. how embarrassing! i must not let jaimie know that i meowed so loudly in my sleep. i’ll act like i’m on fire and she’ll be none the wiser.”

*****

i finished Joe Jones. i liked it a lot. but i guess i’ve had too much therapy or something ‘cos the whole time i’m screaming, “all of you characters are SUPREMELY co-dependent! STOP IT!” and so on.
but i loved all of the conversations that the characters have. great stuff.

and laura brought by some books she stole from the paper. i guess people send the paper books to do reviews on, but they don’t realize that Small Town Newspaper in the Middle of the Bible Belt probably can’t review books that have the dreaded F Word splattered throughout it. and the more i think about it, the more i don’t like calling it a Small Town Newspaper. ‘cos that makes it sound really lame. and it’s not that lame. really.

she brought me The Donkey Show by Michael Patrick Welch which i am reading right now and absolutely adoring it.
and Walking to Canterbury by Jerry Ellis which is a “Modern Journey Through Chaucer’s Medieval England” says the cover of the book. laura said, “i thought you might read this since it’s kind of…historical.” which is just really nice of her. ‘cos what she means is, “i thought you might read this since you’re a total geek who reads tons of nonfiction. nobody at the paper wanted to read it.”

laura, you are too good to me.

4.23.04
went to the library and checked out three (3) books. i will tell you two of the titles. i’m ashamed of the third one.

Joe Jones by Anne Lamott
an annotated version of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge er, i’m assuming the annotated parts were not written by Coleridge. derp.

the third book will not be mentioned.

4.22.04
leetle brahther said that i was cold and heartless.
“yeah, but you laughed didn’t you?”
“hell yes. that message was hilarious.”

mom was worried that i was gonna cause a feud or something.
“jaimie! you’re gonna make your brother feel bad!”

oh for the love.

4.21.04
toonces Whorecat came back.
she couldn’t stay away.

i downloaded a shotgun blast. then i called my brah’s cell. left him a message.
“heeeere layla! heeeere girl! good girl! *chik-chik KABLAM, chik-chik KABLAM!*”

it’s weird. i’m pretty good at revenge (ask me about the magnets sometime), but if someone were to ask me if i was any good at revenge i’d be all, “me? no. no. i don’t think that revenge is a good way to handle things. and i’m really nonconfrontational.” so not only am a good at revenge, but i’m also a hypothetical liar.

4.20.04
i left a voicemail for leetle brather telling him that my cat was still missing and that if he brings that dog back i’m gonna kill it.

later i got a voicemail from him. “meow. meow. meow.” was all it said.

it’s on.

4.19.04
mr. fleegan and i went to Mentone, AL on saturday to meet with our peeps and we spent the night at this dude ranch and it was okay and the beds sucked like so much ass and that’s all there is about that.

but.

the way to get to said dude ranch was kinda funny ‘cos we used internet directions from like, yahoo! or something. luckily i had called liz the night before to see if she had any problems finding the place and she said, “no, we took a wrong turn but other than that the directions are fine. oh. wait. um, let me just warn you that the county road #whatever? yeah. it’s a dirt road. for like, 10 miles.”

it wasn’t just a “dirt road”. it was a bumpy, twisty, hole-filled, curvy, fish-tailin’ dirt road. on the way there it was uphill. on the way back it was downhill. and the jeep (my baby!) did a fantastic job. i figured she would fall apart or the gas tank would drop or something. nay! when it was all over i wanted more dirt road. “jimmy!” i said, “i gotta get a wrangler! with like, those big tires!”
“uh huh,” he said.

who knew off road would be so fun?

so when i got home (just in time to get back in the car to go to church. no shower. sorry church.) i washed the jeep and sprayed that cool stuff that makes the tires all shiny. of course, it’s covered in pollen already, and a bird shat on the windshield, but the tires still look good.

*****

my brother and his girlfriend and their bitch dog came for the weekend. and since mom and dad already have two stupid dogs, you throw in a third stupid dog and what do you get?
dogfights.

yes.

fights. as in plural. as in are we f***ing rednecks or what?

as in justin, you ever bring that damn dog back here and i’m gonna kill it. for real.

and P.S. Toonces Whorecat has not been seen in over two days.

WHERE IS MY CAT?

if my cat, the one that your stupid, retarded, dog tried to eat, doesn’t come back, then i’m gonna drive up to TN and kill your dog. for real.

it’d be a favor to you. because like, that dog is gonna maul a small child. and those kinds of law suits are really expensive.

beeg seester loves you, but hates your dog.

TOONCES WHORECAT! COME HO-OME!

4.15.04
i was poking around the interweb and ended up at gwen’s site which happens from time to time and she had a link to this site which you really must go see. i hate to make fun of artists (except for a certain mr. kincade) but really, i think that it’s safe to say that this particular artist is stuck in a rut (and now that i think about it, you could say the same for mr. kincade. wait, mr. kincade? wasn’t he a character on the partridge family? anyway.) and i couldn’t help but laugh as i perused the site. i didn’t want to laugh. i mean, that chick has talent, she can draw portraits very well. and she’s pretty creative with some of the backgrounds and outfits and all. but still, the subject matter was really funny to me. and honestly, i don’t want to poke fun at her work. really.
skknt!

stop it. really. i don’t want to go on and on about how slightly crazy that site is. it wouldn’t be right. i mean, people pay her to draw pictures of them posing with stevie nicks. so what’s the punchline? i mean, how could that even be funny? it’s art.
skknt!

oh now come on. stop looking at me like that! that artist is really talented! for real! i mean, look at what a good job she did drawing stevie and that guy…and stevie and that really ugly girl…and stevie and that guy’s housecat. amazing likeness! brilliant! in fact, i wish that i had thought of it first. i mean, what a genius idea! there must be oodles of stevie nicks fan out there who would be willing to pay real money for a portrait of themselves with stevie and her flowing magic hair and interesting head pieces. and as soon as that tax refund comes in you know i’ll be ordering one of stevie nicks and my jeep. or stevie nicks and jimmy’s mom.

and i also thought about stevie nicks and she’s holding a mirror so there’s two stevies (for the price of one! you fools!) and one of the stevies is snorting a line off the mirror.
i’m just saying.

and honestly, (for real) i think that it’s a great site and i’m so glad to see an artist actully working and making money from said art (which is tons more than i can say for me) and i’m glad to see that she’s “making it” in her own way. you gotta admit, she’s not lazy.

and laura, i hope to goodness that we don’t have this conversation one day:

l: what are you doing?

m: um, just doodling.

l: really? what?

m: nothing.

l: oh god. you’re not drawing another stevie nicks are you?

m:…no.

l: liar!

m: i’m not!

l: you mean you’ve finished the stevie and now you’re drawing the stevie paraphanalia, right?

m: what… shut up.

l: a white winged dove? hmm?

m: shut

l: wicca symbols? tambourines?

m: i hate you!

l: jaimie, you gotta snap out of it! there’s more to portraiture than just stevie nicks!

m: no! i’m not listening!

l: for the love put down that pencil!

m: i won’t! not for you! it’s all for stevie! *sob* oh god why?!

l: get a hold of yourself!

m: i’m trying!

l: you don’t even like fleetwood mac!

m: yes i do!

l: …

m: *wail* no i don’t! oh god! look at what i’ve done!

l: hmm. you’ve drawn stevie holding an american flag in one hand and a coca-cola in the other.

m: what have i become?

l: …why is the wolf wearing a scarf?

m: it’s stevie’s wolf, duh.

i really hate to poke fun. really. well, obviously not enough to not poke fun.

no wait! i got it! i’m gonna get one with stevie nicks and R2D2! oh yeah! rock on gold dust woman!

4.14.04
according to my mood and my eating habits for today (eating everything in sight, and anything in the cupboards and ‘fridge plus all the other food hide-outs like the cookie tin and um, i guess technically those Little Debbies® were hiding in their box) i’d say that My Aunt Flo will be visiting shortly. i hate to cycle-up the blog here, but anyway shut the hell up, you misogynistic bastard. get yer own blog.

oh the things i ate today…
would have killed dr. atkins, that is, if the Scarlet Letter wasn’t there already. so i guess he was rolling over in his grave as i ate a GIANT piece of homemade bread (toasted wif butter) for brekkers this morning.
then i had a slightly warmed (but not too warm. luke cold.) bowl of leftover spaghetti for lunch. with another GIANT piece of toasted homemade bread (and butter, you fools!) and oh hell, since this is Lunch Confessions i’ll go ahead and admit to scarfing TWO bowls of sketti.
YOU WIN.

and for dinner i had to wait until after bible study to stop at the store for some food and i ended up in the Frozen Foods Section of Eternal Peril which i never purchase items from (except ice cream, you fools!) because i think somewhere in my upbringing my mother ingrained into my head that Frozen Dinners Are Only Eaten By Children Whose Parents Hate Them. i don’t remember her actually saying those exact words but there must be something to that because i never buy frozen dinners. and when i see grown people buying Frozen Dinners i think, “oh honey, did your parents hate you?” i never even peruse the selection. it does not exist in My World.

which is odd because Thee Ol’ Roomate used to eat the frozen dinners. and i’m pretty sure that her parents didn’t hate her. and so on several occassions we had Frozen Dinner Lasagna (not bad) and Frozen Pizza (also not too bad) but for the most part we cooked. and i find it odd that i still judge Frozen Dinners as evil and sick, and that i think that eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches everyday for 6 weeks would be ok and entirely normal.
i know. i’m working on it.

so imagine my surprise when i find myself plucking an Uncle Ben’s Rice Bowl of Doom from the shelf and quickly running to the register before i can change my mind and decide that NAY! A FROZEN DINNER FOR ME? I THINK NOT!
i say, “quickly run” but you guys know me, i’m not going to run unless something big and horrible is chasing me. so when i passed a display for CHEEZ-ITs® and they were special twister CHEEZ-ITs® well, you better believe i picked out the nastiest flavor combination and ran (walked, you fools!) to the register and checked out and drove home and put the Frozen Dinner in the microwave (by the way, there was a huge debate about whether to nuke it or bake it in the “conventional” oven. it went something like this:

me: ok. i bought a Frozen Dinner. but like hell i’m nukin’ it. i’m not going to stoop that low.

me: good idea. hold on, it says it’ll take 60 minutes to bake.

me: fuck! it’s already 8:30!

me: i know!

me: dammit. i’m torn.

me: i don’t know why you even bought the thing. it’s not like your parents hated you as a kid or anything. plus, it’s gonna taste like plastic.

me: shut up, me. i’m sure that Frozen Dinners have come along way in taste.

me: is the glass half full, hon?

me: don’t pull that bullshit with me.

me: i’m just sayin’

me: shut it! i’m gonna nuke it! and you’re gonna eat it!

i know. i’m working on it.) and of course, while it’s nuking i rip open the box of CHEEZ-ITs® Twisterz (by the way, the flavor i picked out is ‘hot wings and bleu cheese’. yeah, in cracker form. i know. it sounds sick. i must be pregnant to pick out something that gross sounding. well, maybe i am pregnant, but those things are AWESOME. i shit you not. JUSTIN ARE YOU READING THIS? LISTEN DUDE. IF TN HAS CHEEZ-ITS® TWISTERZ CRACKERS YOU MUST GO BUY THE HOT WINGS AND BLUE CHEESE FLAVORED ONES. I KNOW. IT SOUNDS HORRIBLE. I WAS AFRAID THEY WOULD TRY TO MAKE THEM TASTE LIKE CHICKEN BUT THEY DON’T, ‘COS THEY’RE SMART. THEY TASTE LIKE BUFFALO SAUCE AND CHEESE. OH MY. OH. IF YOU CAN’T FIND THEM I WILL MAIL YOU SOME.) so anyway, yeah, i couldn’t wait long enough for my food to cook before i started eating, more starches by the way, as if the Rice Bowl i was about to consume wasn’t going to top off my Incredible Day of Dietary Starches.

and. because i’m a retard at Frozen Dinners, or Child Hater Meals as i will now refer to them, when i took the first bite of my Uncle Ben’s Rice Bowl of Fire and Strange Meat* my tongue shriveled and burned away into a small, black corpse.

*i did not eat the meat. thus assuring no protien for jaimie on this day!

so anyway, i dunno what happened to me today. i usually don’t eat a lot. and i mean, hello? hot wings flavored snack crackers? have i lost my mind? i can see me nine months from now:

“miss pickle, you’ve just given birth to a 6 pound queer ulcer…holding a daquiri?”

*****

the whorecat has taken off her collar and hidden it somewhere outside. never to be found i’m sure.

4.13.04
i now have fluorescent yellow hair. it is glorious.

*****

i put a collar on the whorecat today. i’m guessing it will last until i look away from the whorecat. so far so good. it is purple with stupid jewels on it (the collar not the whorecat). i think she secretly likes it but is pretending to play it cool like, “whateva.”

i’m trying to get her used to wearing a collar so that when we move downtown people won’t think she’s a stray cat and shoot her. this way they’ll know up front that she’s somebody’s pet before they shoot her.

*****

i need a color printer but i don’t have space for one anywhere near my computer, and i think if i plug one more thing up in my room i’ll blow a fuse. so i guess i need to “borrow” a color printer, for like, 15 minutes.

*****

my dad is currently making a birdhouse out of a baseball cap.
if you know him then you know that that is completely normal.

*****

painted at the Holy Moly today. i love that place.
there’s a lady who works there and her name is Dottie. that is the only name that fits her. well, maybe she could be a Vi or a Mags. she’s got this gruffish voice. anyway, she is so funny. she was telling me this story and she said, “you know, my dearly departed ex-husband, lessee…yeah, we were divorced at the time…anyway, he said to me, “dottie, i always liked your hair better when you had it your natural color.” and i said, “fool. you wouldn’t know. you’ve never seen it my natural color.”

oh man. it would have been the perfect commercial for hair color.

4.12.04
got my hair cut.
bleached my hair.
will sleep with globs of conditioner on my hair tonight.

tonight jimmy and i went for a walk. instead of walking around the block i asked if we could “kick it up a notch” and walk to the library so i could drop off some books in the book suppository (yes. terrible, old joke. i know.) he said sure.

so we walk and while we pass city hall i notice this patch of clover. and they were SO BIG and i made jimmy stop and wait til i found a four leaf clover (which took all of 6 seconds ‘cos i’m one of those sickos who can find a four leaf clover just by looking down. it’s a gift i’m sure.) so i put the clover behind my ear and off we were to the library.

right as we were approching the deposit box the staff door opened and out poured a bunch of librarians. they were locking up the place and going home and two of the librarians said, “hi jaimie!” and i said hi and talked to them ‘cos they are nice ladies and jimmy was all, “the librarians know you?” and i was all, “i guess.” it was kinda surreal.

so on our way home i said, “wow wasn’t that crazy when all those librarians came out of that door?” and jimmy said, “yeah. what if they put a spell on us?”

‘cos i mean, yeah.

4.08.04
when we were in college (when i say “we” i mean “laura and i” ‘cos we had our jr and sr years of college together. if i had said, “when i was in college” that would be my freshman/sophomore years. like you didn’t know that? you suck! anyway.) we were asked to do this orientation thing one year. it wasn’t our orientation day (although THAT* is a story in itself) it was basically the newbie art student’s orientation and dr. henricks had asked us to go with her to do this orientation so that the new kids wouldn’t just have to talk to some professor, there would be actual students involved to answer any “real” questions. i mean, i guess that’s why we were there.

hell. laura? why were we there?

anyway there was a new student being accepted** to the art program and her name was Destiny. and she was pretty cool but kinda anal retentive in that Freshman Way. i think she was pressured by her parents. who cares. the point is, she was one of the only lowerclassmen that we actually knew by name. not that we were snobs or anything. it’s just that usually freshmen weren’t allowed to take Drawing III until they had had I and II first. and since we didn’t really hang around after classes (we sped back to our homes in the next county over like our lives depended on it) we didn’t know all the people in the building. hell, who am i kidding, there were people i would paint with in the painting room all semester and not know their names. huh. was i a snob?
no. just painfully scared to talk to anybody. artists are freaks.

ANYWAY. destiny.

poor destiny.

EVERYTIME that poor girl was walking behind us or ahead of us or anywhere NEAR us we would say in an ominous voice-over, “look. dessstiny is behind us!” all dramatic-like. she totally tolerated it, but you know it had to get old fast. like she hadn’t heard that crap all her life.
“it’s DESTINY!”

*i had to go to an orientation even though i was a transfer student. and it was SUPPOSED to be an orientation SPECIFICALLY for transfer students, in that they weren’t supposed to treat us like dumbasses and do all the stupid rah-rah crap they pull out for Freshman Orientation. basically they were supposed to hand us a map and give us a handbook i guess. but apparently they didn’t tell the lady in charge so she went throught the WHOLE she-bang and it was boring and horrible and the fact that we didn’t all bum-rush the stage and rip out her blathering thorax let’s you know that they probably served good snacks. so there was this guy and either he was teh “leader” of my group or just in my group. who knows. andyway he found out my last name was pickle and was all, “i bet you’ve heard them all, eh?” and i was like, “yeah.” and he was all, “yeah my name is jacques snow. so i was always jacques cousnow.”

well about once a semester i would run into jacques cousnow somewhere on campus and it was always, “pickle!” and i was all, “hi!” and then we would go our separate ways. and would you believe 3 years later laura and i shot his wedding? small damn world.

that is how it happened, right laura?

**she turned in an application.

4.07.04
new “weekly”!

i think i have 5 pounds of pollen in each eye. so gritty.

i was cleaning my room the other day (although it doesn’t look like it) and i found my Louise Nevelson postage stamps that laura gave me for my birthday or christmas one year. and when i found them it was like, “oh man! i remember these! fun!” gosh, i love Ms. Nevelson. her’s was the first art that i saw and thought, “oh. that’s it. that’s art. that’s what i need to do.” so i would definetly say that she is an Influence (capital i) in my art. and i’m glad that i majored in painting and not sculpture ‘cos i’d totally try to rip her off.

4.06.04
i have been painting a fence for the last two days. that’s it. fence. for two days. and it looks like i’ll be painting it for the next two days as well (actually i think it’s supposed to rain on thursday. please god. rain.). it’s a brown fence. actually it’s tobacco, or the sherwin williams variation thereof. and i gotta tell you, if you said, “tobacco” i would picture a totally different color than the one i’ve been painting. it’s really more of a lightish dark greybrowneen.

the good part about painting this fence is that i’ve become even bigger friends with my iPod. the only bad part about painting with the iPod on is that

a. i get paint all over everything. the iPod is no exception and
b. i can’t hear my father’s screams if he falls off the roof and
c. can you believe i made an ’80s playlist? gah. what was i thinking?
d. i can’t hear the bees buzzing my head. so i don’t know they’re there. until, you know, they’re on my eye. and then starts the Crazy Bee Dance where i flail around and scream BEEEEEEE! BEEEE! BEEEEEE!

oy the bees. but today i decided that i wasn’t going to be scared of bees anymore. that i’m not going to “lose my cool” when bees are near me. i figure that i’ve never even been stung by a bee before so really, what am i worried about. it can’t be that bad. i mean, i’m sure that having an arm severed is much more painful than a bee sting and it’s not like i go around all panicky that my arm is going to be severed. AIEEE! CAR DOOR!

and so, because i was all alone (dad was on the other side of the house and on the roof. i was, you know, painting a fence. two miles worth of fence.) i was talking to god, because sometimes that happens. and i was all, “hey god. how about making a bee come over here and sting me so that i can totally get over my fear of bees?” 4 seconds go by. “wait! listen god? that was stupid. okay? no bees okay? i don’t know what i was thinking. it’s really hot out…and…i’m a moron. no bees. thank you.”

so anyway. no more Bee Fear. so now, when a bee dive-bombs my head or buzzes around my workspace i’m all cool like the Fonze. i snap my fingers and i’m all “heeeeeey. stoopid bees better MOVE IT OR LOSE IT! I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL PAINT YOUR WINGS AND YOU’LL FALL TO THE GROUND AND NEVER FLY AGAIN AND YOU’LL DIE SLOW AND AGONIZING UNLESS I STEP ON YOU! DIE, DARKMAN, DIE!

gosh i hates me some bees.
love that iPod though.

04.05.04
well, chalupa has stolen the only thing that is good and pure in my life.

coffee.

i was getting away with drinking just a little bit in the mornings. but he/she’s taken away even that. why? why, chalupa, do you take and take from me? all i want is a little caffienated boost in the mornings before i leave the house to go and PAINT FOR 7 HOURS. IT’S JUST A LITTLE WAKEY-WAKEY PICK-ME-UP THAT I ENJOY FOR ALL OF THE FOUR SIPS I GET. BUT NO. THAT WASN’T ENOUGH OF A SACRIFICE FOR YOU WAS IT? NAY. YOU HAVE TO HAVE ALL MY ATTENTION, DON’T YOU?

FINE. I DON’T NEED COFFEE.

bullshit. i need coffee. what’s more, i WANT coffee.
it’s warm and comfortable and i have little flavors i put in it to make it even more special, or if i’m feeling all business, then i drink it black. it’s my happy morning friend.

WHY MUST YOU TORMENT ME SO?

if i had a Home Surgery Kit i would so have cut your souless gob out by now, and i would have put a cup of coffee in your place. and when you finally die, and you will (so help me, i’ll take us down to some faith-healer’s tent if i have to, and we’ll drink whatever snake juice they have and if it doesn’t kill me it’s bound to kill you. and probably my colon as well.), there will be such a cry of victory and also a party. a coffee party. i’ll bring the coffee.

IT’S ONLY FOUR SIPS, YOU SELFISH HO!

04.04.04
got another e-mail from wendy:

hi jaimie,
  in my continuing obsession with numbers, i just wanted to wish you a happy 4-4-04!
xxx
wendy

i love getting e-mail from wendy. and i’ll tell you why.
her e-mails are so interesting and often full of science. she likes science.
and lots of times she sends tons of links. and they are cool links. and, more often than not, her e-mails are just like the one above, short and sweet and very undemanding.

and bonus: she never tries to sell me penis enlargement pills.

wisconsin wendy
she knows things about physics
and is an artist

wendy haiku!

04.03.04
i just finished reading C.S. Lewis’s Out of the Silent Planet. i’ll admit, i’m not that fond of science fiction. but lucky for me, it was written before technology was invented*, making all the “sciencey” parts easy to understand or skip altogether without missing what was going on. i’m a girl, okay? i’m totally entitled to hate sci-fi. i don’t like hating a whole genre, but the tediousness of the technical explainations really bores the vomit out of me. and you have to admit, it’s a very male-dominated genre that caters to a mostly male audience. so really, what would be my motivation to read more sci-fi?

however, if any of you know of any “good” sci-fi that isn’t filled with techno-geekery, that has an actual plot/theme not dealing with mankind needing to take over another planet because we’ve destroyed Earth, and it has the emotional connection that, as a woman, i need in my fiction**, then by all means let me know the author and title as i would love to read more fiction even/especially sci-fi.
and yes, i’ve read all the Hitchhiker’s Guide stuff. jjpickle at cybrtyme dot com

anyway, Out of the Silent Planet was very creative. but the first 100 pages were boring.

now i’ve got to trick laura into reading it so we can discuss it at length.
“so what did you think of it?”
“eh.”
“yeah. pretty much.”

i mainly want to know if Mars was the Silent Planet or Earth. anyone?

*ha.
**this coming from the girl who loves anything Ayn Rand, the most emotionless writer ever, has ever written. oh, it is to laugh.

04.01.04
it’s mister fleegan’s birthday!

so anyway. my pet boyfriend (and yes, i realize that i’m 26 and should not be wasting my time at the seventeen magazine website. step off.) was noah. some totally made up geek whose favorite movie is rushmore and favorite band is coldplay. ugh, but he’s into chess and poetry? please.

mr. fleegan doesn’t know how to play chess. he’s never played it. ever. he’s into tennis, computers and model airplanes (the ones with engines that fly) and i ask you, how has he never played chess? he’s got to be the only chessless geek out there.

me: you’ve never played chess?

him: nope.

me: ever?

him: not ever.

me: buh…how is that possible?

him: i played football. i’ve played checkers though.

me: jimmy, the dogs could play checkers.

APRIL FOOL’S ENTRY PART THE SECOND what is it about allcaps that makes me want to vomit?

so working at the Holy Moly and the mail came early! in fact, it came while we went down the street to eat lunch at this little cafe place that has good food but stinky service. the waitresses are goodnplenty but i guess there’s like one guy and a goat working the grill or something. anyway i get back to work and notice that the sign at the front desk has been turned around to say MAIL IS HERE in giant red letters (to make it easy for the old peeps to read from the elevators. that way if it says MAIL HAS NOT COME they can just push the button to their floor without having to step off the ‘vator. simple pleasures) and i say to the lady at the desk, “hot dog! the mail came?! let’s raise the roof!” and i proceed to do just that, raise the roof.

so there i am, in my paint splattered jumpsuit, roof raising. i’m certain my jig went unappreciated.

WARNING: the end of the world is nigh:

Dear Bob Dylan,

So, i see you’ve made a pact with lord satan. Well, i must say i’m quite surprised. Why Bob? i thought you weren’t going to work on Maggie’s Farm no more. Don’t you see, that by making the End of the World Deal with the devil that you will, in fact, be working on Maggie’s Farm for all eternity? And it’s not just Maggie in hell, Bob. There’s her ma and pa and her brother too.

And you’re gonna be their slave all over again.

Why Bob? Why are you in a Victoria’s Secret commercial? How could an old, ugly, pasty, whinebag like you get on a Victoria’s Secret commercial?
Obviously you signed the End of the World Deal.

Thanks a lot, you selfish wank.

Love,
Jaimie Pickle

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The One About Drinking in the Shower
April 07, 2004

hi kids,

so i got the hiccups today. and i was on the phone when it happened.

m: okay so should i hicalp erm. excuse me.

l: huh?

m: sorry, what i was going to ask is should i hicaaarlp. oh my. i seem to have the hiccups.

l: heh.

m: well that hiccaaaahrpld. crazy. i never get hiccullsps the hiccups. you do.

l: we must’ve switched places.

m: totally. it’s opposirulp. opposite day.

l: sucks to be you.

m: hiralllsp. i gotta go.

so then i got to thinking about hiccups and how strange they are. and then i figured i better “get rid of them” so i started to hold my breath because holding my breath always gets rid of the hiccups.

and while i was holding my breath (for 15 minutes) i thought about how when someone gets hiccups all of a sudden everyone in the vacinity becomes a witch doctor and they tell you their Magical Way of getting rid of the hiccups.

“you gotta drink a glass of water with a paper towel over it. backwards.”

what?

“drink thirty sips of water without taking a breath.”

okay.

“i know how to get rid of hiccups. you gotta AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! did i scare you?”

shut up.

so anyway i hold my breath and eventually it feels like my skull is going to explode and i think, “i wonder if anyone’s head has ever exploded from holding their breath to get rid of hiccups? probably not.” but i can’t help but continue that train wreck of thought. and i wonder what that crime scene would be like. the investigators come in with their flashlights and say, “oh yeah. classic case of Breath Holding to Get Rid of the Hiccups. all the signs are here. half finished bottle of beer. exploded head. tell the captain we’ve got a Code 7-niner-32 Delta.”

“i tell ya. i see it all the time. but it never get’s any easier.”

“i know what you mean. but really, if it gets easier, it’s time to find a new job.”

and then the Who song starts up.

that’s the episode of CSI that i want to watch.

but what does this have to do with the shower?

well after i exploded my head to get rid of the hiccups i decided to go take a shower ‘cos i had gotten home from work and since i worked hard in the sun all day, i really needed a shower. but i still had half a bottle of beer. and i didn’t want it to get warm.

so i was sitting there, all sad ‘cos my beer was about to be sacrificed. when i remembered a conversation i had with laura the other day about how fanatical diet coke drinkers are. she said she knew several fanatical diet coke drinkers, and that yes, they are in fact, fanatical. and i told her that i read about one lady who, first thing in the morning, drinks a diet coke while she showers. and kris walked by and was all, “oh i love drinking in the shower!”

m: what?

k: oh yeah, there’s nothing better than a cold soda while taking a shower.

m: really?

k: really. it’s awesome.

m: well. where do you put the soda while you’re bathing yourself?

k: there’s a goofy window in our bathroom so i put it on the sill. it’s perfect.

so anyway. i’m getting ready to take my afternoon shower and i seriously consider taking my brew with me, thinking, my goodness, how cliché would that be? i mean, everyone says that housepainters are alcoholics. it’s a standard. it’s a standard i want no part of, but at the same time, i am a housepainter, and on hot days there is NOTHING better than a cold beer.

so then i think, well okay, what they mean is that alcoholic housepainters show up on the job late and drunk. and i would certainly NEVER do that. so i’m not the cliché that everyone clichés about. i’m the New Generation of Housepainter. i only drink AFTER work and then, only in moderation. unless it’s like, tuesday or wednesday night. and the weekends don’t count. oh and thursday nights.

so, cliché in one hand and clothes and towel in the other i walked confidently into the bathroom and began Jaimie’s Ulitmate Shower Experience. drinking a cold beer while the fire-hot stream of water pelts your poor, tired back is the best thing since the shirt pocket was first sewn on shirts.

but then came the dillemma, Where Do i Put My Beer? ‘cos, unlike kris and laura’s shower, i don’t have a convenient (though weird) window sill to rest my frothy brew. and i don’t want to put it on the floor just outside of the shower ‘cos there’s always water when i get out, so i assume (uh oh) that somehow water sprays out from some place that i cannot locate because TRUST ME i have looked. my only guess is that the shower curtain seeps.

or maybe i could put it over by the faucet of the shower since the water sprays out past it, but no, water does hit it i guess ‘cos it’s pooled up on that shelf. and i don’t want nasty, soapy beer. if i did i would just drink budweiser.
burn!

so i look up, in defeat, the same way that when one looks for their keys, and after patting down their pockets they look under that envelope on the kitchen table, as if the keys are hiding completely flat under the cell phone bill. moron.

but i look up, and there…up there…in all it’s glory is a silly jutting. a completely random design plateau. it serves no previous function other than looks, but in all my genius it has become the Beer Shelf. and i imagine that’s exactly what the designer intended it to be.

“william, can you tell me why the shower doesn’t rest flush with the wall? what’s the point of the roundy bit there?”

“oh that? that’s the Beer Shelf.”

“oh. well who needs a Beer Shelf in the shower?!”

“housepainters.”

“ah. good work, william.”

yes william, my imaginary shower designer, good work indeed.

coors?! *sigh* coors.

after my glorious Shower Drinking Cantata (for there was singing, oh yes, there was singing) and after bathing and finishing my beer i turned the water off and proceeded to dry myself and then i went to the window (yes, there is a window in the bathroom, it just isn’t suitable for resting a beer on it) i opened the window (to let the steam out ‘cos we really need to install a fan in that bathroom but you know how it is.) so i open the window and i can see mom and dad sitting by the pool at the little round table out there and i say in a slight yell because they are kinda far away,

“hi mom!”

“hi! did you just get out of the shower?”

“yeah!”

“was it awesome?”

“yeah! i drank a beer in the shower! it was GREAT!”

but i’m hearing this mumble talk from the other side of the yard but i can’t see anything cos the window is so small.

“what’s that noise?!”

and mom points to the neighbor’s fence and does the talking motion with her hand. and she gives me the face that’s like, “of all the things to yell across the yard, jaimie.”

so. there’s the two neighbors. at the fence. talking. while i’m screaming HEY I JUST DRANK A BEER IN THE SHOWER.

typical tuesday afternoon.

in conclusion, drinking beer in the shower is awesome. however, being the Shower Beer Drinker Expert, i would recommend that you only shower and drink on your first or second beer. because let’s face it, the shower floor is slicker than two eels fornicatin’ in a bucket of snot (admittedly, fornicatin’ was NOT the first choice in F Words, but this is a Family Show. a Family Show about drinking beer while taking a shower, but a Family Show nonetheless), and you really need all the coordination that you can get what with the spraying water, soap and slippery floor.

next week’s epitomb: what else can i drink in the shower?

jaimie “a pepsi! i just know it!” pickle

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The One About Some Advice to Kids
April 07, 2004

this weekly is rated ‘R’ because i use some swear words.
man, i love using swear words.

hi kids,

this weeks epitomb goes out to all the internet savvy kids out there ages 12 – 19. first of all, i’m not really smart enough to give advice to people. but i have three things that i feel are important enough to bring to the table. three things that you really need to read and think about. three things that you will totally ignore because you’re a kid and you’re invincible and there’s no way in hell you’d ever listen to Ol’ Auntie Jaimie anyways.

1. high school will be/is the worst time of your life. you are a teenager and you are miserable and there is no one on earth who can relate to you. your parents might think they know all about it, since after all, they were teenagers once, but let’s be real here, they’ve long forgotten about the pain and loneliness of teenagerdom. hell, even i have, and my teenage years weren’t that long ago. sure, i still know that teenage years are bad and horrible, but really, i can’t relate anymore. and neither can your parents. no matter how much they tell you they can.

you know why?

because even if you do go to them and tell them all the bad and horrible details of your teenage life (and i’m talking about how the boys or girls at school don’t notice you, and that that stupid maria bitch is always mean to you at lunch, or how in PE you suck so bad at basketball that even your older brother laughs at you. i’m NOT talking about anything life altering here like the coach raping you or that you’re anorexic.) your parents are going to sit there and listen to you and then tell you how great you have it that you don’t have to pay taxes and hold down a career and make sure that there’s food on the table and blah blah blah oh yeah, you have it just so bad well believe me it gets worse. i mean car insurance alone for christ’s sakes!

so see, your problems of sports, boys suck, girls are mean, and The Prom are inconsequential to The Adult Mind because mature adults know something that you don’t:

a. high school sucks ass
b. it lasts but a short time

now. if an adult ever tells you that your teenage years/high school years should be/are the “Best time of your life” here’s what i want you to do.

grab their nipples and give them a Tittie Twister.

because obviously they have lost focus and cannot remember their own pain. and they need a physical reminder of what pain is. and let’s face it, nipple twisting hurts. it’s something we all have in common. adults and kids alike can relate to nipple pain. now, remind them that you are going through a four-year period of emotional turmoil that can only physically be expressed as nipple pain. a four-year Tittie Twister, if you will.

here’s the thing. only idiots and old people tell you that being a teenager is the best time of your life.

a. old people don’t have great memories. so they only remember how pretty so and so’s dress was at the prom and that so and so was the football captain. they don’t usually talk about how suzy weller got pregnant or that frankie lipschitz got beat up not because he flirted with someone’s best girl but actually because he was gay.

they remember the quaint things like how hank fixed up that old jalopy in shop class and everyone would get to ride it on the weekends and that the show was only a dime and you could get a candy bar for a nickel.

and nobody talks about segregation.

old folks remember that high school was so great because for them, it was the time right before all the boys were drafted to the service to go fight the krauts and the japs. it was the time that the girls could see their beaus everyday before they were drafted and had to wait at home to see if their boyfriend/husband would be coming home from the war whole or in pieces.

so yeah old people remember high school as a time of sweet innocence and hot rod cars. frankly, i can’t blame them a bit.

b. the idiots who tell you that that high school is the best time of your life either

1. are relating it to the pressures of being an adult. which is unfair to the teenager or
2. got pregnant (or got someone pregnant) right after high school and never went to college and got to have all that College Fun and instead had to get married to the kid because That’s The Right Thing To Do* and now they feel that their life is over because they’re only 25 and have a 6 year old and a 2 year old and they’re both working minimum wage jobs while grandma watches the kids all day long. and for them, high school was the last time they had any freedom.

*sometimes, it’s just not the right thing to do.

so jaimie, what are you telling us? that life gets easier after high school?

no. but it does get better. especially if you go to college.

i’m not saying that higher education is the only way to benefit your life or anything. nay. i’m just saying that it will probably help. first of all, because you’re learning stuff you want to learn. secondly, because you’re learning stuff you want to learn with other people who want to learn that stuff too so there you are surrounded with likeminded peers. and thirdly, there’s more freedom and you actually learn and grow from it. really, you do. you don’t realize it at the time, and okay fine, what do i know?

college isn’t the only option. i mean, there’s always the military. and though i never joined an armed force, i assume it’s kinda the same thing but with ammo.

this brings me to item #2. if you go to college, major in whatever you want, but please for the love, also learn a skill.

go ahead and major in that subject you love no matter how unmarketable it is. really. be the philososhpy major who is too smart for your own good, who can only talk to other philosophy majors. be that sculptor. double major in poli-sci and geology. i don’t care. go. learn. have fun. but while you’re at it, get a teaching degree. you’re gonna need it.

fine. don’t then. see what happens.

now, let’s say you don’t wanna go to college and you don’t want to join the military. well, i don’t blame you one bit. so you just march yourself to the closest vo-tech and learn you a skill. if i had it to do over i would totally be an electrician or mechanic. ‘cos you can charge out the ass for your mad skillz.

okay the #3 thing that i want to tell you is for the girls only.

listen up girls.
don’t make any friends that are girls. and if you HAVE to then make sure you only have two friends. don’t even be nice to other girls. because what happens later on is that after you graduate from college (and sometimes before) all your girlfriends start getting married. and you have to be a goddamned bridesmaid for each friend you ever make. so you end up with like, 9 ugly-ass dresses tailor-made to fit your body stuck in your closet.

and the wedding, which is “only gonna be a short ceremony” will ALWAYS take up your whole saturday, and chances are, it’s in the summer. so you’ve worked all week long and saturday is coming up and all you want to do is swim in the pool and drink margaritas all day long, but no, you gotta be at the church at 10am and the service starts at 2pm and then you gotta stay for the whole goddamn reception because YOU HAVE to stay and try to catch the bouquet because if YOU DON’T STAY then you’re a total jerk even though you’ve basically already given the best part of your saturday to the newlyweds anyway, but heaven forbid you leave before they throw the fucking flowers. even though you’ve caught 3 bouquets from previous weddings. even though your feet hurt from wearing those cheap-ass sandals that the bride’s mom found on sale. even though you love these people and would give them anything they ask for and why couldn’t they have just asked for $200 instead of asking for my whole saturday?

for future reference, saturdays in the summer are worth about $200.

so listen girls. only have two friends close enough to you that would be comfortable to ask you to be a bridesmaid. because really, being a bridesmaid twice is okay. kinda exciting even. but the excitement wears off soon. and then when someone asks you to be in their wedding you want to give them $200 and say, “i don’t think so.”

oh. and when someone tells you that wedding days are full of happiness and bliss, give ’em a Tittie Twister. ‘cos obviously they’ve never been in a wedding. they’ve only been one of the asshole guests who sat around and ate all the food.

and unless you want to give up every single one of your saturdays from may-december, never ever never never be a wedding photographer. never. ever never.

so there you have it kids. three tidbits of advice from Ol’ Auntie Jaimie.

next week’s epitomb: jaimie paints herself into a corner

jaimie “smells like teen spirit” pickle

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Tags: rant

3.31.04
ah, the last entry for march.

so i had way too much free internet time today. which means i spent some money. not a whole lot of money. but i bought things that i wanted and not things that i needed.

for instance, i need a new pair of headphones for my iPod. the ones that cowboy zydeco told me about. so instead i bought two DVDs.
one i have seen.
one i have not seen. it’s a documentary.

i got them both on half.com for very cheap. it made me so happy. and now i can be like the old people and wait for the mailman to bring me presents.

Dear Hershey®’s,

i see you’ve finally gotten around to ruining your perfect candy, the Hershey’s Kiss. What is the matter with you? The Hershy’s Kiss is like, the most wonderful thing ever (well, next to Peanut M&Ms, anyway), and what do you do? You mess around with nature and this happens. Weren’t you forced to read the Monkey’s Paw in high school like the rest of us?

Remember the ending?!

i just hope that you don’t end up with a Zombie Kiss knocking on your door. But if that did happen, you would so deserve it.

It’s called a Rollo.
Morons.

Your Pal,

Jaimie Pickle

ps: Nobody eats Rollos.

3.30.04
perhaps purchasing the iPod was a mistake.

i’m finding it difficult to wear headphones. not because the ‘phones are uncomfortable or anything. but i’ve realized that i am WAY more paranoid than i thought. ‘cos while i’m blasting my ear drums with sonic candy like Prodigy and Night Ranger*, i am constantly looking over my shoulder to see who is behind me. even though i’m all alone. and i know that i’m all alone. but maybe, just maybe, there’s someone trying to sneak up on me. while i’m wearing headphones.
better check!

so really, it’s no fun to listen to cool music when i can’t take the time to enjoy it. because how am i supposed to be all, “MOTORIN’!!!” when there’s some burglar, complete with one of those hats that snap down in the front, eye mask, black pants with b/w striped shirt and 5 o’clock shadow, sneaking up behind me with a blackjack or brass knuckles or whatever.
better check!

*look, i bought the iPod second hand. so all the Night Ranger and Peter Cetera and Boyz II Menz came with. i would never download that crap. surprisingly, the guy i bought it from is straight.

I LOVE THESE OLD PEOPLE
so anyway i got two hugs today.

the place is called The Holy Comforter House. but i’ve noticed that most of the people just call it the Holy House. which is odd ‘cos it looks nothing like a house and more like a giant rectangle with 400 windows. anyway, i think i’m going to start referring to it as the Holy Moly. it’s just so much fun working there. oh and there’s drama!

apparently one of the oldsters did something to anger one of the other oldsters. dad says that the lady must’ve stolen someone’s boyfriend. ‘cos someone put superglue in some lady’s keyhole. and that little tidbit of info spread across that giant building like wildfire (or as they say in the south, “wile-far”). how funny is that? just like kids. this place is like dorms for old people. and at 2pm they have Tea Time. where they drink tea and eat cake and hatch diabolical plans, like where to hide the nuclear missle silos and how to superglue keyholes.

i love that place.

today’s letter:

Dear Domino’s®,

Your Philly Cheesesteak Pizza is the best thing since the shirt pocket was invented. And dare i say, it tastes even better than a shirt pocket. How did you get the cheese to do that? It is perfect! And the meat was totally not gross! Kudos to you!

i will admit to being concerned about the green peppers (i picked off the onions). i figured that i would be burping them up all night long, but nay! No burping during the night!

However.

i have farted nonstop for two days since eating your pizza.

It was totally worth it.

Love,

Jaimie Pickle

ps: Domino’s® Philly Cheesesteak Pizza, will you marry me? i want to have your tasty, gooey babies.

3.29.04
we painted at the Ol’ Folks Home today. the old people are still just as nice as ever, in fact, when i first walked in i was carrying a ladder and this ol’ biddy walked up and was all, “ohh! what are you painting today?” and i told her we were painting a couple of vacant rooms and she was all, “well, give me a hug.” and she hugged me!

who are you, old lady? i don’t know!
hugs!

and then later that day i was on the elevator and this old man was too and he was so nice and sweet and then when it got to my floor he was all, “i believe this is your floor, little lady.”

aw.

i love painting at that place!

i can’t wait til the old ladies start bringing me pie. ‘cos everyone knows that old ladies love to feed people. food=love and oh how i hope it’s pie.

Dear Old Ladies,

Pie.

Love,

Jaimie Pickle

the next portion of today’s entry is rated ‘R’ because i use swear words.

so mr. fleegan and i are driving back from the shoe store and he’s complaining about something, and i don’t really have my Listening Ears on because i’m thinking about how i’ve got to finish a hallway at the Ol’ Folks Home tomorrow. so mr. fleegan says something that really catches my attention and i say, “what…are you talking about?”
“huh?”
“what did you just say?”
“i said i have to wake up at fucking five o’clock in the morning.”
“oh. yeah. that makes sense.”
“what? wait. what did you think i said?”
“that you wake up with a fucking fire cock every morning.”
“oh. gosh.”
“yeah.”
“i wish i had said that.”

so of course everything was a fire cock last night. the rain was a fire cock. the whorecat was a fire cock. the pollen, which has given us all headaches and sore throats, was a fire cock.

this website?
fire cock.

3.28.04
i played on the worship team at church today. i haven’t played bass in well over a year so it was pretty tough. i forget just how far apart the frets are.
for me, i guess, it’s harder for me to worship while i’m playing. it’s probably like that for most people. or not. i don’t know.

but it was cool to get to see and play with jimmy h.
i haven’t seen him in almost two years.
he is always smiling.

we played five songs and it was good to hear liz sing again. but after four measley songs my back was killing me and my legs were like, “jaimie c’mon, let’s sit down. i’ll tell the back to stop hurting if you’ll just sit down. please?”

i mean lookit. i used to be in a band. we would play over 20 songs a night. and sure by the end of the second set you could totally feel the burn in the fingers and in the lower back. but c’mon. tonite it was only 5 songs. you’re not that old, jaimie!

and speaking of liz and band memories and blah blah blah i remember that i owe her an essay on why i (cos apprently i’m the only one) don’t like U2. hm. i’m sensing a Weekly here. could have potential.

the potential for more hate mail.

Y U HAT3 U2 , BITHC!!1!
U R SO ST00P1D!
BONO RULZ 43V3R!

3.25.04
i got to work outside today, and it was a gorgeous day.

however, about 900 bumble bees dive-bombed my head all day long. and my right arm is sunburned, with a definite line. it goes from white to coca-cola logo red in an instant. luckily my shirt sleeve covers the stupid line, but it’s like, my left arm is normal and my right arm is red. so. i look pretty idiotic.
status quo, yo.

tomorrow there will be sunscreen.

in other gnus:

i finished my self-portrait. yay!
and guess what? it looks like me. bonus!

also, i bought an iPod.

and, as with EVERYTHING i buy that is computer related…i have to buy more stuff for it so that it will work on my computer. and it’s not that my ‘puter is that old. it’s just, i dunno. i’m blaming the whole mac/pc thing on this one.

but anyway, i’m pretty excited about it. it’s really a neat machine. it’s itty bitty and i’m not sure how something that small hold 10,000 songs on it. gosh, it’s small! and it’s not even the really small kind. just the regular small kind. so cool.

and i’m certain that once i get all my songs on it that i’ll never part from it and eventually the doctors will be removing an iPod-shaped tumor from my hip. because something that small and cool probably runs on cancer juice.

updates on my iPod Adventures soon to follow.

3.24.04
today was my first day at my New Job. (meet the New Job. same as the Old Job.) it’s a part-time number i like to call Jaimie’s Tax Shelter. basically i paint apartments.
but wait.
there’s more.

it’s this kind of assisted living type place. only there’s not so much assistance, just old people living there. so really, when a room is “vacated” it means the old people died. kinda weird, but hey, at least it’s legal. it’s not like i’m selling crank to kids.
anymore.

i thought that working there would be sad and depressing, but i was way wrong. the old people there are cool! they aren’t bitter or mean or anything. they are SUPER NICE and also they say the CUTEST THINGS.

i was painting a hallway and they were SO EXCITED about it. they loved it! i was picasso to those kids. and they were all, “isn’t he doing a nice job?”
grr.
i can’t fault them really, i mean on one hand, they’re blind, and on the crusty, infected other hand, i’m dressed in a jumpsuit and baseball cap. so this lady comes up to me and tells me how great the hall looks but that the paint fumes are bothering her eyes. then she says, “of course, i can’t see out of my right eye. i’ve had three surgeries on both of my eyes.”
so see, she doesn’t know if my paint job looks good or not. she doesn’t even know what color shirt she’s wearing, but still, she came by to tell me that i was doing a good job and i love her for it.
bless heart.

i think there’s about 200 people living there. and do you know what they all have in common?
what could POSSIBLY be the most IMPORTANT part of their day?

mail.

and the mailman was late today.

and i guess he was late yesterday too. because if i heard it once i heard it 200 times,
1: what? the mail isn’t here yet?

2: nope. he’s late. and he was late yesterday too! in fact, he didn’t get here til after dark!

1: i know, it was after dark when he got here yesterday!

3: are you talking about the mail? it didn’t get here til after dark yesterday.

and so on.

if the mailman only knew what god-like power he has over these people. he’s like their daily saviour from monotony.

2: well, all i got yesterday was an offer for car insurance! i haven’t driven in 20 years!

old people, i love you and your cuteness. but ladies, if i’ve told you once i told you 200 times:
estèe lauder, bad.

3.23.04
AGAIN WITH THE FLOPPY?!

mr. fleegan either calls me Floppy, Flopchetta, Flopzekiel, or Flopzikiah. and he has been known to call me a Floptriliquist. yes, floppy has gone too far. and here’s an example of just that:

mr. fleegan called me yesterday morning while on his way to the jail. he works on their computer/network junk. he’s not like, a prisoner or a guard or anything like that. ANYWAY he’s had the pollen/sinus head for two days so i asked him how he was feeling.
him: oh fine. my ears are stopped up. but my bugle isn’t floppy anymore!

me: …

him: hello?

me: what…did you just say?

him: huh?

me: your…bugle?

him: yeah! it’s not floppy like it was yesterday.

me: what the hell?! why are you…wait. bugle?

him: my nose. what did you think- jaimie!

me: i didn’t know! you’ve never called your nose a bugle before!

him: well i’ve never called that a bugle before either!

me: i know but-

him: you pervert.

me: shut up!

him: i can’t believe you.

me: from now on we never say bugle and floppy in the same sentence ever again.

him: i’m not sure that the words are the problem here.

me: shut up!

3.22.04
so here it is by request, mom’s reaction to seeing the kitchen:

wha’ happened?

in other random:

mr. fleegan and i use the word floppy a lot. and oddly (or not) it’s never in context of computer disks.

por exemplo:
*ring*
me: hello? who is this calling me please?*

fleegan: hi floppy.

me: hi floppy!

fleegan: how was floppy’s day today?

and so on. it sounds impossibly sweet in a really annoying way doesn’t it? i’m sure it is. but worry not for me! for there are times when “floppy” is used to denote assmittenry. such as:

me: i don’t wanna see a zombie movie at midnight! i don’t care how cool it’s gonna be!

fleegan: are you being floppy?

me: shut up!

fleegan: uh huh, very floppy.

i’m not sure how floppy has worked it’s way into our everyday vernacular. but it has. it’s very floppy. everything is floppy. good or bad. how floppy is that?

*the whole “hello? who is this calling please?” is this HORRIBLE habit that my father and i have for answering the telephone. we say it in our muppety, WE LIKE THA MOON voice. it has become SO OLD that i can’t believe that our friends have not started hanging up on us when we do it. obviously they are better people than we are.

part II

dear assjack guy driving the red whatsit with the thumpy bass behind me at the intersection yesterday,

i hate you for two reasons:

1. apparently you feel the need to blast me with the same amount of bass that i would expect to be blasted with at a rock concert of choice, that is, if i were sitting on the actual stack of speakers that the bass was being blasted out of. i could feel it rattling my ribs.
i was in my car. that, kind sir, is ridiculous.

did it ever occur to you that the world
a. does not revolve around you and
b. contains more people in it then say, just you? hmm? did it?

the thing is, i wanted to listen to the song that was playing on my car stereo, but i couldn’t because your thumpy bass bullshit was SO FLOPPINGLY LOUD it rendered my speakers NULL. i swear, the frequency at which your bass was “thumping” was at such a rate that all other sound was cancelled out. it was so low and loud that i could see the sine wave as it gobbled up all the other waves.

2. you jerk hole. not only did you have me thinking about stoopid physics and the stoopid equations that go with it, you also made me miss the best part of a smokey robinson song. AND since your bass was so earthshaking i couldn’t remember exactly what one was solving for when one was working out an equation of a sine wave. THEN the frustration of the not-remembering REALLY got to me and i hated you more and more. because the thing is, I SAID, THE THING IS, I WAS GETTING THE FORMULA FOR THE SINE WAVE CONFUSED WITH THE FORMULA FOR FREQUENCY, BUT I DIDN’T KNOW THAT AT THE TIME. IT WASN’T UNTIL MUCH LATER THAT I FIGURED OUT WHERE PI WENT IN THE EQUATION. BUT SEE, PI ISN’T IN THE SINE WAVE EQUATION! SILLY ME! IT’S IN THE FORMULA FOR FREQUENCY! REMEMBER?! HA! HA! AND THE THING IS I REALLY HATE YOU BECAUSE NOT ONLY DID YOU FILL MY HEAD WITH PARTIAL THOUGHTS OF BASIC PHYSICS THAT I HAVE LONG FORGOTTEN, BUT YOU MADE ME FEEL REALLY, REALLY, OLD. bastard.

i hope your ears are bleeding.

love,

jaimie pickle

hey guys? what is the formula for frequency? 2 pi times something? and why isn’t there a pi symbol on my character map? what is up with that? i mean come on! it’s such a common symbol! laura and i talk about pi AT LEAST twice a day. where’s the pi love all up in this piece?

3.21.04
o, fleegan.com!
i have missed you.

i’ve spent the last couple of days in Kitchen Hell redoing mom’s kitchen while dad got her out of town for a few days. it is to be a surprise. i only left the kitchen long enough to take potty breaks and eat dinners that friends were so kind to bring to me (all i had was oatmeal and granola bars). the kitchen now looks awesome. no more cows!

dear mom’s friends,

hi. listen. if you ever gave my mom a stupid piece of kitsch with a cow on it, well, it’s gone. not gone like i put it away, but gone as in i took it all to the church’s yardsale on saturday and IT ALL SOLD. i know, i know. those were gifts. they were special. yes, i know. i gave her some of that crap too. but see, that was so 1988. the country blue and cows had to go. i’m sure you understand, and if you don’t, you really need to ask yourself how this is going to affect your 5 Year Plan.
see?
not that big a thing.

you girls are the best,

love,
jamoo

and now for the pictures.

where’s the beef? bye-bye cows.

this is above the stove. also, no cows.

don’t you love the knobs and pulls? me too.
no cows.

thanks be to kris, laura, shelley, and jimmy for helping me do this crazy thing in such an impossible timeframe. if not for peeps like you, i would be ripping my hair out and chalupa would have dissolved my stomach by now.

Operation: Pickle Kitchen Do-over or as the cool kids call it: Double-Time Air Hump, is complete. i now have the urge to buy some sweet, smarshmallow peeps™ and put them in the microwave. i’ll post pictures of that later.

3.17.04
in honor of st. patrick’s day i’ve written a Weekly…having nothing to do with st. patrick’s day, ireland, or beer.

3.16.04

sorry for not updating. i’ve had a stomach problem/virus/whatever. horrible stomach pains and explosive diarrhea. so yesterday i didn’t even turn on the computer. i just vegged in a reclining position. or i was sitting on the throne wondering what i ate that was punishing me so. today my stomach just hurts. no poopage. and aren’t you glad you’re reading this?

anyway, i think the virus or whatever has upset the Jaimie-Chalupa Equilibrium we had going. and he-she is now throwing back the rum drinks. and it’s not even noon yet.

i’m about halfway (maybe a little more than half) through with my self-portrait. so i thought i’d post a pic of that for all of you to see.

um, it’s supposed to look like that. really.

let the critiques begin!

3.14.04
i saw the passion of the christ this weekend.
was it good? no, i’d say it was well done as far as cinematic blah blah goes.
did i enjoy watching it? no. it was not an enjoyable experience and i’d equate it with watching a train wreck. a slo-mo train wreck.

in other news:
today the new pastor was installed at church. “install”. like he’s an appliance or a lightbulb or a CD-ROM drive.
“how did the install go?”
“pretty good, but we didn’t have the right driver.”
“oh no!”
“yeah, so he skips every third word. i guess we can find the driver online and download it.”

it went very well, even though the EP was there and did his best to ruin it. that’s okay, ‘cos he totally made an ass of himself right in front of the district president.

3.11.04
i miss my leetle brahther. i miss him all the time. i know he’s not so far away and that if i really, really, really wanted to see him i could jump in my car (well, actually not my car, the jeep would never make it up monteagle) but i could borrow mom’s car, and drive up and see him. unfortunately it’s not practical. as soon as i would get there i would have to turn around and leave because we both have work and he’s got school and band stuff. so i don’t get to see him as often as i like.

which is just a shame ‘cos he’s the funniest guy i know. and when we’re together we just laugh and laugh. and since we have the same sense of humor and were raised together we don’t even have to use actual words when we talk. we talk in phrases and sentence. fragments. as well as song lyrics and quotes from the big lebowski. and we have the best time.

i was going somewhere with this, but i forgot where.

justin, i miss you! and i promise that next time you’re in town for more than 3 hours i’ll cut your hair.

3.10.04
my dad and i have been working at a very old house. it’s a cool house. it’s the only house i’ve ever been in that if it were ever for sale (which it never will be. this i know) i’d work three jobs just to buy it. i’ve been to that house many times over the years and everytime i’m there i love it more and more.

still, it’s an old house. and old houses have many problems. one of which being there’s only one electrical outlet per 1000 sqft. and then there’s the ancient plumbing with the rusted through steel pipes to fret about. but this is the coolest house ever. ever.

anyway an old dude lives in that house. and we’re doing some painting for him. and to shorten this story a bit i’m just gonna cut to the chase here. he has an 8-track player in his room. and also in his living room. and in the other living room. many 8-track players. the best part is THEY ALL WORK. and he has 100s of 8-tracks. and i noticed he had cool ones like linda ronstat and smokey and the american grafitti soundtrack and cool oldies and stuff. and i was in awe.

so the old guy at first apologizes for playing his oldies ‘cos he thinks we must think he’s a fuddyduddy but we’re like, “no man, oldies are cool. we listen to them all the time on the radio. it’s our favorite thing to listen to.” and he’s all, “really? you want me to play some more songs?” and we’re all, “sure! that’d be great!”
and to our chagrin…

he played the eagles.

shit.

so dad and i are forced to listen to the eagles greastest hits live. it’s like our own personal hell ‘cos we’re painting a bathroom and having to listen to seven bridges road. and then finally, there can’t possibly be another eagles song for the tape to play… it stops.
“oh thank god that’s over. i don’t think i could keep my sanity much longer.” i say.
“well, if i remember correctly, 8-tracks start over.”
“no. they don’t. that technology wasn’t available back then. was it?”
*click click*
“yeah. it was.”
“damn.”

so there we were all drivin’ down the road tryin’ to loosen our load again.

3.09.04
i had to read the lord of the flies in seventh grade. then the teacher put us into groups of 6 or 7 and made us write a play about people being stranded on an island. we sat there like idiots for a few minutes. and then i said, “guys, what if we’re escaped mental patients?” the play basically wrote itself from there.

we used to torture this girl named angie in that same reading class. i’m not sure why. oh wait, because we were stupid 7th graders, that’s why. you know what sucked about 7 grade? besides it being 7th grade? all my friends were in band and i wasn’t. i was stuck in that reading class while my buds were learning to read music. and that’s why, to this day, laura knows stuff about music, and i know stuff about greek mythology. so if there were teams on jeopardy we’d totally rake in the dough.

also, in that reading class? i had to memorize if by rudyard kipling. and that is why i sometimes have the complete last stanza repeating in my head over and over and over for hours at a time. until finally i have to say it out loud. in rap. it’s all like,

yo yo yo if you can fill the unforgiving minute uh!
with 60 seconds worth of dizistance run, uh! uh!
then yo’s iz tha wer-ald and everthang that’s in it uh huh! shout it!
what’s more you’ll be a may-an! my son.

check yo hos lata,
p.jaimie signin’ off, yo. peace.

3.08.04
i got a haircut today.
but jaimie, didn’t you just get a haircut, like, two weeks ago?
ye-es.
what’s your problem?

shut up! i can get a haircut anytime i want okay? i work hard for the sweet money and if i can’t seem to style my hair when it gets longer than an inch and the back looks all stupid and the sides poof out then by god i can go get my hair cut and feel good about myself.
quit judging me, you stoopid judge holes!

the lady who cut my hair was new. and she cut my hair very well.
“so how you want it cut?”
“okay, buzz it with a four on the back and sides, and then blend in the rest so there’s no weight-line.” (i’ve learned to be very specific. otherwise they ‘shroom my hair)
“you sure you want it that short?”
“yes. annie lennox. go.”

a few minutes later:
“wow, you’re actually cutting it short. most people freak out when i ask them to cut it this short.”
“oh this is nothing. my mom gets it cut short like this too. and my husband likes for his scalp to show all over.”
“oh. okay.”

but then. then she does what all stylists feel the need to do. style.
no.
don’t.
stop.
the humanity.

some stylists are smart and they wet the hair before they gel it. i love you, wet hair geler stylists.

she was a wet hair geler. but then she did something that noone has ever done before. she sprayed my hair and slapped some gel in and flipped the mirror:
“do you wear it like this?”
“wh- oh. are you. um. like this?”
“yeah, so you usually wear it like this?”
“heh. like a vampire? no. not usually.” it’s crazy. i mean, yes i have a KILLER widow’s peak that eddie munster would be proud of, but usually, i tend to NOT SLICK MY HAIR BACK LIKE I’M SOME GREASER PUNK FROM SOME STUPID LATE ’50s B-MOVIE, LADY. HELLO? IS THIS THING ON? DID I COME IN WEARING MY HAIR EVEN REMOTELY LIKE THIS? I JUST…IS THIS WHAT YOU THINK OF ME? OLD SCHOOL VAMP HAIR? THIS ISN’T FUNNY. IT’S WEIRDING ME OUT. WHAT, AM I JUST GETTING OUT OF THE POOL HERE? DID I JUST DO LAPS AT THE Y? QUICK! DO SOMETHING BEFORE THIS GEL SETS!

“oh. well how do you wear it? straight up? like this?” and she combs me out some retarded spikes.
“uh, well…” i can’t escape. i’m still wearing the cape. and also, the chair is three feet from the floor. damn my midget legs! “uh. actually i wear it kind like, well um.”
i can’t do anything because i’m in the cape. my arms are useless. the realization that my arms are useless becomes even more apparent when she tries to hand me a comb.
a comb? what’s to comb? i have no hair. or arms!

so i resort to my age-old philosophy of “just go with it”.
“um, you know, this is fine.”
“are you sure?”
“yeah, it’s…great. really!” not really.

i love getting my hair cut.

3.07.04
okay you guys. listen. i have an awesome, margarita and beer induced idea here. and it’s gonna make us all a lot of money. that’s right, us. all of us. we share at fleegan.com. you and me and this other guy over there. we’re gonna be rich. because we. are gonna invent. a new, awesome product.

ok not so much invent as improve upon.

all we need is a soap manufacturer, a graphic artist (in the bag, yo.) and Jet Li’s signature.

because WE are gonna MAKE a dishwashing degergent with the DIRT, SCUM, AND GREASE FIGHTING POWER OF JET LI!
I KNOW!!!

okay first, Laura. i’m gonna need a kickass cool label okay? thanks babe.

and i know there’s a Soap Guy out there. listen up Soap Guy, i need a million bottles of dish soap. now pay attention Soap Guy, the soap needs to be red. blood red. got it?

okay, now cookie and ms. sparks? i need you two to run to hollywoodland and get Mr. Li’s autograph on the contract that i have .pdf-ed to your inboxes. great.

i’m gonna sit here at home and wait for the piles of money.

3.04.04
it wasn’t because i had an hour to kill on the internet (i’m supposed to be working on my paintings, dammit) that i took the match.com’s matching test thingie. it wasn’t because i like clicking on many pictures of guy’s heads that i took the test thingie. it was all because laura asked me to. and seeing as how i’d help laura bury a body (dead or alive) i figure taking a stupid internet quiz thing isn’t that big of a deal. by the way, the test takes 900 hours to take.

my favorite part was where they asked me which headshot i could tolerate more “this one” or “this one” and it’s the exact same picture of the exact same guy but they’ve photoshopped a pair of eyeglasses on one of the pictures. so it’s like, am i really supposed to be that picky? also, the guy could’ve been a hottie in glasses but we’ll never know ‘cos whoever did the photoshop totally put some fagged out glasses on that one guy.

also laura, did the creepy bald guy* keep popping up on your quiz?
also, the part about “which guy would ask you out?” was weird ‘cos they said, “base this answer on the types of guys who have asked you out before.” and i’m thinking, huh, i think more women have asked me out than men have. i hate you, test.

here’s some “facts” from my test:

1. Many of the features you found attractive are common among men described as “Mediterranean Hotties.”

2. There’s something about “Outdoorsmen” that also appeals to you. These guys have a tanned, weathered look, along with ruggedly handsome features.

3. only 17% of women my age like the same type of guy i do. holy shit. now i feel like a freak.

4. basically i like very attractive men, be they asian, black, white, hispanic, breathing, whatever.

5. i like noses and dark hair. longish hair. they kept talking about how i must like to “run my fingers through his hair”. i find that odd as i very rarely run my fingers through jimmy’s hair.

6. i only seem interested in dating men who are at least 30. huh.

so anyway, out of all the fellas in the test this one is my new boyfriend:

he looks like a James doesn’t he?

my new black boyfriend. our children will be gorgeous:

i pretend his name is Montavius

by the way, i was totally in love with this guy (with beard, you fools) and the test totally told me that i did not find the guy with the beard attractive. so that tells you how “accurate” the whole thing was. a-holes. pay attention test! send the beard hotties my way!

thanks for playing along dad. sorry. you were not my type.

*creepy bald guy

since laura took the chick test i did too. apparently i’m attracted to “very beautiful women” with long, curly, straight, black hair. stupid test. and also they must be asian or hispanic or black:

my new girlfriend.

i wanted ths one.

this one was not my type.

3.03.04
i’ve bought paints. new paints. oil paints.

admittedly i suck at oils. i’m an acrylics gal.

perhaps i don’t suck exactly, it’s just that i’m not nearly as good at them as most people. they are so hard and complicated and technical and beautiful and smelly in a great way. i so want to be able to paint with oils. that’s why i forced myself to buy oil paints. and since i bought them i will HAVE to use them because jaimie will not tolerate frivilous buys. all purchases must make sense therefore i must figure out how to use oil paints in such a way that does not make me a total hack.

thing is, i bought them days ago. and i have yet to crack them open. i tell myself it’s because i haven’t finished the self-portrait i’ve been working on and that i must finish that first. i’m trying to be structured here because if i don’t lay down any rules i’ll never finish a painting. i get sidetracked so easily. i have four paintings going on right now (all acrylics) and i keep telling myself i must finish two for the art show coming up, and one of them MUST BE the self-portrait.

why do artists paint self-portraits?
vanity?
cheap model?
vanity?

eh. i dunno. i think i’m more comfortable with painting myself than someone else. that way there’s only my expectations and no, “that looks nothing like me, you hack!” to deal with.

3.02.04
sorry for lack of updates. but i do have a new weekly. i’ll send it out tonight. first i have to send it to laura so she can make a graphique for it.

also, it’s mom and dad’s anniversary. 30 years, kids.

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The One About My Free iTunes Song
Special Guest Star: God
March 17, 2004

hi kids,

so the other day i was out and about (sh-sh-shopping at w-w-w-walm-mart), and i decided that i was thirsty. not only was i thirsty but i was, in fact, craving a soft drink. and my craving even went so far as to be very specific as to which soft drink i wanted.

a rootbeer would not quench my thirst.
a sprite or 7up uncola type drink would not quench my thirst, nay!
a mountain dew (the sweet, life-giving nectar of my generation) would not quench my thirst.

in fact! the only thing i wanted at that exact moment was a pepsi. and by god, not anything was going to get in my way of purchasing and consuming a can of pepsi. and lucky for me, god placed a drink machine right in my path and spake, “jaimie, i know you want a pepsi. go ahead, my child, and drink. your earthly thirst will be quenched…for a short time.”

“o lord,” i replied, “you are just way too good to me.”

“i know.”

“wait, these are bottles. don’t they have cans?”

“oh you’re kidding me. i give you-“

“for the love! a dollar?!”

“did you just interrupt-“

“this is how they get ya! they make you buy a dollar drink when all you really need is a cheap can drink.”

“are you-“

“and everyone knows the cans are colder!”

“why do i even try with you?”

“bottles. bottles! sheesh. my whole day has been like this. everytime i turn around-“

“what if i told you that the next bottle of pepsi that comes out of that machine has one of those winning iTunes caps.”

“-i’m having to pay for…winning caps? hello? god? did you say winning cap? i’ll win? be a winner?”

the crazy homeless guy on the bench next to the machine was all, “ye-es, he said winning cap.”

so i actually sat there a moment and thought, ‘hmm, maybe i should let someone else get the winning cap. y’know, maybe someone is having a really bad day and winning an iTunes will cheer them up so much that they’ll forget that they had planned to go home and slit their wrists and lay in a bathtub. yeah that might…well, that’s really only a temporary solution to their problem. and they would probably totally waste the free iTune on some stupid, depressing Cure song in their attempt to be angsty-melancholy-cool. and then later on, when they realize that they totally wasted it on a Cure song they will kill themselves. so i should probably wait and make sure that the next person to buy the soda isn’t some dopey kid.’

“i can’t believe you’re not-“

‘or maybe the next shmo to come by here to get a pop is some slob who doesn’t even HAVE the internet, who doesn’t even KNOW about iTunes, and who, upon seeing the winning code will be confused and just throw the cap out of his car window not ONLY throwing away a FREE SONG but also LITTERING like a COMPLETE TOOL.’

then the homeless guy was all, “are you gonna buy the pepsi or what? i mean, what do i have to DO to get you to BUY the pepsi? the pepsi, i might add, with the WINNING CAP!”

“HEY!” i yelled and pointed at the guy, “let’s not get all joan of arcadia here okay?! i’m thinking. gimmie a second, a’ight?!”

“look, nobody is gonna kill themselves because of the free song okay? it’s your pepsi. now get it and go!”

“wait. what if you’re the devil and you’re tempting me with a pepsi with a winning cap? i’m totally on to you and your wicked plan!”

“do you realize that you make it very hard for me to be nice to you?”

“why are you being nice to me?”

“what?! i’m god, jaimie! that’s what i do!”

“yeah but,-“

“but nothing! listen, remember back in december you said you weren’t going to download anymore songs illegally?”

“*gasp* you were listening? that wasn’t a prayer!”

“ANYWAY, i thought i’d throw you a bone since you’ve done so well with not downloading songs illegally.”

“oh. well, thank you. that’s very-“

“and jaimie? i’m totally listening. all the time.”

“right, of course. i mean-“

“and jaimie?”

“…yes lord?”

“we’re gonna work on your lack of respect.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

“um, sorry lord. i’ll just purchase that pepsi now. you know, the one with the winning cap? um, thank you.”

so anyway, i give the machine a dollar and it spits out a bottle of pepsi. so i take it and walk to my jeep and get in and open the pepsi and in complete surprise i say, “hey cool! i won!” and the homeless guy walks by shaking his head in disbelief.

yeah, so it didn’t happen exactly like that, but pretty close.

i give thee:
www.churchsigngenerator.com

and laura found this while making the wonderful graphique at the top of this page.

next week’s epitomb: what song did jaimie download?

jaimie “mmmm pepsi” pickle

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Tags: iTunes, music

The One About Eleanor
March 02, 2004

hi kids,

this is all true. the names have been changed to protect the innocent. i’ve left the name of the guilty as is. ‘cos you know, guilty and all.

cast of characters:
eleanor: old, old lady who speaks with a classic southern drawl
b: eleanor’s daughter-in-law
g: eleanor’s grand-daughter, b’s daughter
s: b’s niece
m: s’s mom
j: me

[Act I

Scene I. Friday morning at kitchen table]

Enter b and j

b: j, i have the funniest thing to tell you.

j: what’s that?

b: it’s too funny. ok, eleanor-

j: oh! an eleanor story! i just love these stories.

b: i know! so eleanor was over at the house last night and she says, “you know, s will nevah get may-ried.” so i sit there and mentally count to ten. and i say, “what?” and she says, “s will never get married because she doesn’t shayah.”

j: oh my god!

b: so i wait for her to go on but she doesn’t so i ask her to explain what the hell she’s talking about. so she tells me that at the International Dinner the other night that s wouldn’t give her a bite of her dessert.

j: but i didn’t think she, “ate sahweets.”

b: she says she doesn’t but she does. anyway she did say that s offered to go and get her her own piece of cake. but i guess eleanor didn’t want her own piece. she just wanted a bite of s’s. she even said, “i hayad a clean spoon!”

j: oh for the love.

b: so g is there when eleanor is telling me this and says, “but nana, you don’t eat sweets.” and gives her that charming smile.

j:bahahahahahaha! oh that’s awesome! score one for g!

b: only g can get away with it. it’s so funny.

j: so s doesn’t share her cake. yes, that seems like a tragic flaw. ‘magic eight ball! will s ever get married? answer: no, she’s a cake hog.’ geez.

b: i know, i told eleanor that not everybody likes for people to eat off of their plates. she said, “way-ell, everbody at mah chuhch always shayahs.” i wanted to tell her that everybody probably only shares with her because she’s ancient and they’re all afraid of her. but i didn’t.

j: wow. so she bums food from everyone?

b: j! she does it ALL THE TIME! it’s horrible! she has some kind of fetish with food. it’s all about food with her no matter where she goes.

j: i knew about her food-love, remember the last time she was in the hospital? but i didn’t know about the eating off other’s plates.

b: yeah. she even has one of those extendo forks that she’ll whip out and snag food from someone three plates down.

j: you aren’t joking are you?

b: no! it’s awful! she snags food from everyone.

j: but not s.

b: heh. no, not s. “s doesn’t shayah.” then she was mad because s didn’t eat the whole piece.

j: skknt! are you going to tell s about this?

b: oh hell yes, i can’t wait to see her!

j: she’ll think that’s the funniest thing.

[Scene II. Friday evening. Party with booze.

Enter s and j]

j: s! did b tell you about eleanor?

s: yes! she just told me! isn’t that crazy?

j: oh yeah. gosh it was so funny. “s doesn’t shayah.”

s: hee. i didn’t know she was so upset about it. i offered three times to go and get her own piece, but each time she would say, “ah don’t eat desseht.”

j: heh. of course she doesn’t. she eats other’s dessehts. last year i was talking to g and she told me the funniest story. she said that eleanor had given her a small thing of chocolates in the shape of a heart, you know? and that it had 6 pieces of candy in it. so g offers her a piece of the candy, but eleanor says, “ah don’t eat sahweets.” g says she turns around and that eleanor ate 3 pieces of her candy! so now, anytime eleanor says something about eating sweets or dessert g reminds her that she doesn’t eat that stuff and gives her a sweet angelic smile.

s: oh man! that’s great! the funny thing is, i gave her a bite of my cake.

j: you did?!

s: yes. i’m not that stingy.

j: you gave her a bite of your cake?

s: yes.

J: does b know? did you tell her?

s: eleanor didn’t tell her?

j: no! that’s why you’re not getting married, ‘cos you don’t shayah! b! c’mere!

[enter b]

b: yeah?

j: s, tell her.

s: i did give eleanor a bite of the cake.

b: what?!

s: yeah. i gave her a bite. i thought she was mad ‘cos i didn’t give her another bite. i did give her a bite of my cake.

b: you’re kidding me! eleanor was so pissed that you wouldn’t give her a bite. she went on and on about how she had a clean spoon and everything!

s: no, i gave her a bite. i told her that mom and i were sharing that piece so that she wouldn’t take half the cake. but yeah, she got a bite of my cake.

b: oh my gosh.

s: she kept talking about the cake asking me what i thought was in the cake. i could tell she was wanting another bite, but c’mon i offered three times to get her her own piece. she’s not getting my all my cake.

j: besides she doesn’t eat dessehts.

b: skknt! she is so weird about food. she’s obsessed with it. anytime she goes someplace she has to bring some food back with her. the maid says it’s a wonder she hasn’t poisoned herself yet with all that food rotting in her fridge.

j: the only way to kill the undead is to cut the head off. the last time she was in the hospital she brought back food from the hospital and was going on and on about how good it was.

s: what?!

b: it’s true. a fruit plate i think it was. she wasn’t hungry when they brought her the food so she made them wrap it up for her so she could take it home since she was being discharged that day.

s: no.

b: yes. she never eats all her food so she can eat on it later on. she’ll tell me how she makes three meals out of one pork chop.

j: no.

b: yes! she never eats all of her meal but she’ll always want a bite of what you’re having. and when she breaks out that extendo fork…god! it’s so embarassing!

s: extendo fork?

b: you know, it’s like this 36 inch fork she keeps in her purse.

s: no she doesn’t!

b: yes! she does! she’ll sit there with her hands under the table and she’ll screw the extendo fork together ‘cos it’s in three or four pieces. then she’ll ask someone sitting across and down from her if she can have a bite of their cake or pie or whatever. and they’ll say yes because everyone’s too afriad to say no. then she’ll whip out that 3ft fork like it’s this hilarious joke but she does take a bite of their food with it. the only thing is, she’s so old now that she can’t control the fork very well and she ends up mauling the cake or pie or whatever. it’s horrible. absolutely horrible.

s & j laugh hysterically.

[Scene III. same party.

enter m]

s: j, did you call eleanor the undead?

j: yeah, leetle brahther used to do yard work for eleanor and he hated her. she was pretty evil to him so he called her the undead or vampire or something.

s: you’re kidding?

j: no, he would do the yardwork every saturday but still she would call every saturday morning to make sure that justin would be there. “is jason thayer?” she would ask. i would give the phone to him and say, “jason, it’s the vampire.” he would get so mad. ‘cos she treated him like he was an idiot. and also ‘cos his name’s not jason.

m: that’s horrible.

j: oh yeah. he’d get there and mow the lawn and pick up sticks and whatnot then she’d come out and tell him that when his dad came to pick him up (justin couldn’t drive yet) to have dad do the weedeating around the flower beds ‘cos she thought justin would rip up the flowers.

s: no way!

j: so dad would get there and justin would say, “the zombie wants you to do the weedeating.” and dad would say, “i don’t care what she wants. get out there and weedeat those beds and let’s go home.” so justin would weedeat the lawn every week anyway and still she would tell him to get dad to do it.

m: poor justin.

j: yeah, poor guy.

s: i still can’t believe the thing about the fork.

[End]

i totally wanted to fit a greek chorus in there somewhere.
geek chorus.
heh.

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Tags: nerd, rant

2.27.04
i met the new pastor today. he seems really nice and normal. dad, becky and i helped him move his stuff into a storage place. and because i am nosy i totally checked out all his furniture and stuff. it’s all normal. plus, he has a normal dog. not some kind of pure bred standard poodle like EP had, but a nice normal mutt dog.

he’s an Angels fan. since he’s been in CA for over 20 years i guess i’ll let it slide, but c’mon, the Angels? i thought it was some kind of law that lutheran pastors had to be Cardinals fans. by the way, i’m joking here. i don’t care what baseball team he roots for. besides, everyone knows that only Yankees fans are True Baseball Fans™. (that’s a neener! to pastor faith)

he went to the church today to check it out. and you know what he did? he went into the sanctuary. and then you know what he did? he prayed. to god. and he thanked god. for us. our church.
is that not wonderful?
it is such a relief that he is here now. and that he’s normal. and that he’s thankful to be here just as much as we’re thankful that he’s here.

for now, everything’s coming up roses.

2.26.04
dyed my hair blue today. it looks more normal now. the black hair was just too sad. every time i looked in the mirror i was disappointed.

dad and i heard an alanis song, ironic for those of you keeping score at home, on the radio today.
me: y’know, maybe i’ve matured or something, but this song…i don’t like it anymore.
dad: hmm?
me: this song. i used to love it. now i don’t.
dad: this song?
me: yeah.
dad: what is it?
me: this song?
dad: yeah.
me: it’s alanis dad. come on.
dad: oh. i wasn’t paying attention. she sounded all bitchy about something.
me: skknt. it is alanis.
dad: was she on her period when she wrote this song?
me: try the whole album.
dad: really?
me: oh yeah. she’s no ani or anything, but she’s still pretty angry.
dad: ani difranco?
me: yeah.
dad: i think she’s a terrorist.

i love talking with dad.

2.25.04
ash wednesday.
the ashes thing was pretty cool. i’m glad we had it.

i’ve managed one day without sugar foods. i did buy some diet dr pepper today, and the thought of drinking it grosses me out. i thought i better have some soda on hand in case i need a vehicle for bourbon. heh.

the weather gurus are calling for snow tonight. i hope that doesn’t happen. i have a ton of stuff to do tomorrow and i don’t need the town to shut down ‘cos some snow fell.

in paint news:
dad went to the paint store today to pick up some paint and when he got back he said, “well jaimie, the cat’s out of the bag.”
“oh god no.”
“yep.”
“how did they find out?”
“i dunno, but as soon as i walked in the door the lady said, ‘so i hear you do faux painting now.’ i told her that you do it.”
“oh no, was she mad?”
“no, she does it too.”
“i know, that’s why i asked if she was mad.”
“oh. she says she only does it for family and friends.”
“oh.”
“yeah. she says we should charge extra for it.”
“extra? how would we charge extra?”
“yeah, i told her we work hourly anyway.”
“besides, it’s really easy. i’d feel bad for ripping people off.”
“well it looks like you have a reputation now.”
“wow. maybe soon i’ll be notorious. that’s what i’m striving for.”

in other random:
i caught Toonces Whorecat reading the newspaper.
and still she refuses to communicate with me. i mean, hello? busted! you were reading the freaking newspaper! i know you understand english and most german slang, so why do you pretend not to understand me when i say, “stop making biscuits on my FACE!” huh?
sie slut! warum quälen Sie mich so?

2.24.04
shrove tuesday. word.

so i’m giving up sugar for lent again. so i was going to come home (from d&d) this evening and eat some good sugar-filled snacks, but my stomach hurts so bad that i can’t figure out what’s going on. the pain started pretty instantly and it’s killing me. it hurts so bad that if the doctor was open right now i’d go. but now, my only option would be the emergency room, and i don’t feel like waiting in pain for hours at the hospital.

i drank half a bottle of water. wha?

i have farted. i have crapped. i have taken a pepcid (i took my nexium this morning). and i’m in the worst pain ever. also i think i’m having a heart attack.

i had so much fun tonight and then this happens. i swear, if this was happening last year, laura would so be driving me to the hospital RIGHT F#$@! NOW. ugh

tomorrow is ash wednesday and i’m excited because we’re doing that thing with the ashes at church and i’ve never done that before. it’s gonna be huge. for real. i can’t explain why it’s so cool, mainly because there’s a gigantic pain in my stomach and i can’t concentrate on anything else at the moment. dear god, take me now. amen

anyway ashes. i think it’ll be a good thing. i think it’s gonna make lots of people uncomfortable because it’s not something that we ever do. i don’t know why, but it’s important that we’re doing it this time.
oh no, i’m gonna cry aren’t i?
dear god, please don’t let me cry during the ashes thing. that is, if i live through the night. amen

pain. the final frontier. these are the adventures of jaimie’s stomach.

okay this is getting ridiculous. pain. i hate you. i’m going to lay down and you’re gonna let me sleep ‘cos if you don’t, i’m going to the hospital and i’m not leaving til they take something out. and if i have to miss the ashes thing at church tomorrow, then i’ll make them take two things out.

2.23.04
so laura, liz and i decided to read the same book at the same time so we could have our own “book club”. i think our book club should be called The Boook Club. the 3 o’s stand for the 3 of us. in the club. it’s a trio. a trio of fun!

so my one rule that i was going to suggest was that we Make a Pact (which basically looked like we were doing that “one potato, two potato, three potato, four” rhyme) that we would not ever read that steinbeck novel that oprah made everyone read this past summer. we all agreed and potato-handed each other.

LC: hey, let’s not ever read an Oprah Book Club Book!
Liz: yeah!
Me: yeah!
(potato-hands)

Liz: and hey, let’s promise not to read ANY steinbeck novel!
LBC & Me: yeah! (potato-hands)
Me: WAIT! (jerking my hand back) wait! no! hold on!

Liz: too late! you potato-handed it! it’s a formal pact now!
Me: dammit!

anyway we are reading holiness, truth and the presence of god by francis frangipane. i’ve read the first chapter and i guess it’s okay. i feel like it was saying, “hey, stop being an asshole, yes you.” and i also didn’t like how the intro says that it’s not a “book of rules” when in fact, it is just that. still, i’m enjoying it. and it did get me to get out one of my bibles to check up on some scripture and then i kinda got sucked into the bible for a bit, so i’m sure that was good.

in other random:
i was talking to dad at work today.

me: hey remember those twins from last week?
dad: yeah?
m: i never grew up with any twins. they freak me out.
d: they do?
m: yeah. it’s weird. i didn’t know i was freaked out about twins till i was, y’know, around twins.
d: oh. well, i gotta tell ya…
m: yeah?
d: they weren’t crazy about you either.
m: skknt! oh yeah?
d: yeah. they told me.
m: huh. how about that?
d: yeah.
m: well, i guess i’m relieved.
d: not feeling as guilty as before?
m: heh.

also!
jimmy (finally) gave me fleegan.com! it’s mine! all mine! so now instead of pickle.fleegan.com i’m www.fleegan.com! how cool is that you ask?

it’s pretty darn cool.

2.20.04
so.
today was our “day off”.

so we did our errands and a couple of tiny jobs like fix a faucet at some old peeps’ house and spray some lung-eating chemical agent on a wall that had mildew all over it so we can go back tomorrow and killz™ it. and then we had to go change a lightbulb at the church.
the question is, how many pickles does it take to change a lightbulb?
(it helps to know that the bulb is 30ft in the air. ’tis no easy task.)

three perhaps? one mom, one dad, and one jaimie. then it takes 4 phone calls. then it takes driving downtown to get a key. then you have to drive four blocks to use the key to get it into another church to borrow their giant step-ladder. then more driving back to the church.

the ladder gets you half way to the bulb and then there’s a totally useless, giant pole that supposedly “helps” get bulbs in and out. then the bulb breaks in the socket.
then dad says some curse words.

then comes the driving back downtown to return the ladder. another phone call. then driving four stupid blocks to return the key. then driving back to the church to figure out what to do next. more cursing is involved. more phone calls. plans are planned. cursing. shaking of heads etc.

so how many pickles does it take?
so far, none. and boy, is dad pissed.

2.19.04
i’ve been thinking a lot about prayer. praying. pray.er.
so far i’m at a loss.
i feel like i pray the same prayer every day, and i guess that’s fine, but lately it doesn’t seem like such a great thing to pray the same ol’ ‘god, forgive me. i am a sinner. oh and by the way so-and-so is sick so y’know, help them? please? thank you. amen.’ prayer.

so i stopped. because it wasn’t real anymore. it was just this thing i said. so now when it’s “time” to pray i just sit there. and usually my prayer goes like this:

god, i just… don’t know. so anyway, amen.

seriously. that’s been my prayer. and i get so frustrated because i don’t know what to say to god.
just say something, anything, tell him he’s great, thank him for something, just talk you moron!

but i can’t. i can’t even think. it’s like my brain becomes a void. and i get so angry. so i try to read something or listen to a song or something to get my mind off my prayer block. i can’t just sit there and do nothing. ‘cos idle hands are the devil’s, um…idle hands are…
how does that go?
idle hands are the devil’s…porkchop? i can’t remember.

so anyway, praying right now seems to be this impossible thing. i’ve even considered making a God Phone by taking an old phone that’s not hooked up and talking into it. ‘cos i think maybe if i made it seem like it’s a phone call that i would feel more comfortable with the whole thing. but i don’t do that because:
A. how psychotic would that be? and
B. i’m afraid i’d be sitting around one day and it would ring. and the thing is
C. since it isn’t hooked up the only way to get it to stop ringing is to answer it.

trust me. it would ring.

anyway. occassionally i am able to pray. but it’s not the normal ‘hi god, it’s me, jaimie’ prayers that we’re all used to. nay. i totally zone out and blam! prayer vomit:

it’s a scary, gut-wrenching, soul tearing prayer-a-thon where i end up praying for EVERY PERSON I’VE EVER COME IN CONTACT WITH along with COMPLETE STRANGERS and i even end up praying for total assholes. then, when i’ve extinguished all the people i’ve ever heard of i start in on the ‘hey god, how great are you today!’ and i thank him for EVERY BLEEDING THING from wine to honey bees to musical instruments to bison, yes, buffalo. oh thank god for the buffalo! i have even been known to say, “photosynthesis?! you. are. a. genius!” and after i thank god for all the nouns i can think of, after i thank him for giving us science, after i thank him for the dying and the forgiveness and the love, i’m almost done and i’m winding down. i’m about to sign off. but then. i remember. there’s one last plea. and it reduces me to wretching sobs everytime. and when i finally say amen, i am exhausted and startled and even a little paranoid, “gosh i hope that was ok. i hope i didn’t prattle on about the Industrial Revolution like last time.” ‘cos i picture that SNL sketch where sally field’s character prays all the time, “dea-ah sahweet jaysus!” and jesus (phil hartman) comes in and says, “hey, prayer is great but you don’t always have to pray about every little thing…like praying for the noodles to not stick to the pan.” it was a funny skit.

so lately prayer has been all or nothing. i guess it’s the mostly nothing that bothers me.

2.18.04
this morning was a K-Tel Presents: Pat and Jaimie Sing All the Songs They Don’t Know the Lyrics To.
including such classics as:

neil diamond’s:
Cracklin’ Rosie la la la la….HAVE ME SOME FUN WITH A POOR MAN’S LADY!!!!

that kenny loggins song:
I’m Alright Don’t Nobody Worry ’bout Me, blah blah hmm laa la…DIP,DIP,DIP,DIP!

that song by those people:
Everybody here is out of sight…blah la la la hmm la DANCIN’ IN THE MOONLIGHT! LA LA LA WARM AND BRIGHT! IT’S SUCH A LA LA LA LA…. IGHT. DANCIN’ IN THAAAA MOOOOONLIGHT!

gordon lightfoot’s:
blah blah hmhm la good ship ‘n crew were in peril…la la la LA LA the WRECK OF the edmund fitzGERALD!

three dog night’s:
hm laa la la sittin’n on a pillow….la la blah this is the NIGHT to GO TO THE CELEBRITY BALL! LA LA TONIGHT! BLAH BLAH SOMETHING!

plus 900 more songs! including the finale grande! you’ll get to hear Pat and Jaimie combine all the Mama’s and the Papa’s lyrics they know to form ONE GREAT SONG they like to call I Saw Her Dedicated to the California Creeque Alley Dreamin’.

that is a great example of why the manufacturer recommends using oil base paints in a well ventilated area.

in other news:
we got home from work today and the house was cold. heat’s out.
PERfect.

in which i make laura uncomfortable:
we’re painting at this place and the people have twin daughters. i’ve never been around twins before, and i’m ashamed to say that being around them kinda freaks me out. they laugh at the same time. and talk at the same time and say the SAME THINGS AND TALK AND LAUGH AT THE SAME TIME. also, they look alike so it’s hard to tell which one is which. and i go into a panic when i have to be in the same room with them.

so anyway they come in and ooh and ah over the sponge painting and then they say something at the same time and giggle in unison and leave, meanwhile i’m on a ladder and doing my best not to scream out, “T-T-TWINS!! UNISON TALKING, LAUGHING IDENTICAL TWINS! IEEEEEEEE!” i don’t know why they make me nervous but they do. and when they left i sighed in relief and thought, “oh man, what am i gonna do when laura has twins?!” i paused for a moment and said, “buy them really noisy toys and teach them curse words, duh.”
heh.

and for those of you playing at home:
laura is not pregnant with twins, singles or puppies. but she’s probably having a cow right now.
ha ha laura. i kid. with you. about twins. ha? ha ha? laugh? please?
whoa. put down the gun. put it down, laura. put it- hey, when did you get a gun anyway? gosh, you think you know someone. first twins, now a gun?
<head shake of incredulity> i don’t know you anymore. </hsoi>

hey look, i’m kidding about the twins, ok?
are we still friends?
call me?

2.17.03
saw 50 First Dates last night. it was a sweet movie. but then again it’s got penis jokes and vomit in it, so maybe it’s not as sweet as other sweet movies. still, i laughed.

sponge painted a bathroom today. the people loved it. i have new #1 fans. the lady liked it so much she’s thinking about having the kitchen done the same way.
which scares me ‘cos her kitchen is bigger than my house.

i got a haircut yesterday. i was really trying to grow out my hair. i hadn’t had a haircut since the beginning of december. it was getting really shaggy and cool, but the back of my head was freaking me out. i couldn’t figure out how to “fix” it. so i went to Big Attitude (the haircut place) and got a pretty ok hair cut. not the worst. not the best.

most of the ladies know me there. the lady who was cutting my hair (beth? ann? charlotte? name?) had cut my hair before (i guess. i can’t really remember.) and she was surprised at how long it was (my hair). she was all, “your hair is a pretty good length, why do you want to cut it?”
“i have Beatle hair.”
“ah. let me get the clippers.” but i told her that no let’s not use the clippers this time, we’ll save that for the summertime haircut. anyway, i don’t know why i’m typing about this.

so now i’m back in effect with my Pixie Cut of Eternal Blackness.

also, if this post seems stupidly written and out of focus it’s because i was on the phone and trying to balance my checkbook while i wrote it.

2.16.04
in which i toot my own horn:
remember the first faux finish painting job i did?
well, the cabinet guys came to put in the er, cabinets, and they asked the home owners if they could come back and take pictures because they loved the paint job so much!

and tomorrow i have another faux finish job.

see jaimie.
see jaimie paint.
paint, jaimie! paint!
see jaimie rake in the sweet, sweet money.

also, there will be a Weekly tomorrow! yay!

2.15.04
had the most unromantic, boring-ass valentine’s ever. thanks for asking.

2.12.04
my cat is gone. where is my cat?
Toonces Whorecat, please come home!

2.11.04
sorry there’s no weekly this week.
sorry i wasn’t at d&d this week.

i had to go to the doctor (daktari!) ‘cos i’m having chest pains and also some kind of Stomach of Death Ache. the chest pains are weird ‘cos their really painful and i’m all, “hey jaimie. you aren’t having a heart attack okay? ‘cos you’re only 26.” and i’m all, “yeah jaimie i know. but damn this hurts.” and i’m all, “quit being a little bitch. you’ll live.” and then i say, “yeah, you’re right jaimie.” “i know.”

and then my stomach falls out. and that was some cool pain right there. walking hurt, climbing the ladder hurt, bending over was out of the question and drinking stuff? drinking anything created such a pain…a pain i cannot describe. on a scale of 1 – 10 i’d give it an 8. i figure 9s gotta be even worse and 10 is the pain that makes you pass out. and i didn’t pass out. so 8 pain.
but what if it was a 9 pain? hell, it was probably 9 pain all along.
it must’ve been a 9 pain, or i wouldn’t have gone to the doctor.

anyway i went to the doctor (daktari!) and he says i have an ulcer. and gave me some nexium. you know, www.purplepill.com? and i just want to throttle the doc, but i can’t ‘cos he’s a giant compared to me. but i want to scream, “nexium shmexium! i don’t have acid bleeding reflux bollicky disease! jerk!” because
#1. i don’t have acid reflux disease and
#2. it’s not a disease and
#3. i’m not an acid reflux whiner baby!

people with the acid reflux disorder are such big babies. i swear.
<big baby voice>”oh! i have heartburn all the time! even in the morning!”</bbv>
yeah. me too. so take a pepcid and shut the hell up about it. you’re whining about heartburn? jesus. there’s people out there with real problems. like cancer or being born without arms and legs and noses. and war. and also hello? noseless people out there!

and to all you poor, poor acid refluxers out there: i’m just kidding! haha! it was all a joke. i feel your pain. you poor, suffering, nice people. i’m glad they have medicine for you.

and to everyone else out there with normal digestive systems: those GERD tools are such whiners, huh? jeez, like the world revolves around their heartburn or something. and you know doctors can’t stand ’em. i mean, that whole elevate the head of the bed thing? sha, right. you know after prescribing that the doctor goes and calls all his colleagues.
“dude! scored another one!”
“what?! again? man, you are bad.”
“i know!”
“they didn’t even question it?”
“nope! idiots!”
“heh. you’d think they’d take a pepcid and shut the hell up about it.”
“yeah. they tell me pepcid doesn’t work.”
“i know. it doesn’t. you gotta take two of ’em.”
“i know!”
“dude, do you realize that you just prescribed gravity?”
“skknt!”
“skknt!”

and aren’t we all relieved that i’m not in the medical field?

anyway ulcer.
i thought ulcers felt all burnie. lemme tell ya, there’s no burn. just pain. giant pantloads of pain. it hurts to move. that’s craZy. and laughing? wow. that hurts. you try working all day next to dad and try not to laugh. it can’t be done. he’s too funny.

well, hopefully this nexuimshmexium will kick my ulcer down a notch to DefCon 3 or something more tolerable.

in other news:
watched $cortched the other day. very good movie.
watched intolerable cruelty tonight. also very good movie.

2.09.04
finished reading Luther’s Works Vol. 54 Table Talk and let me just say, i am so thankful that i live in the postmodern world and not the 1500s. also, jew hater much? also, woman hater much?

also, his philosophy on dealing with the devil, demons, witches, and nightmares was basically: these are bad things, and they can hurt you. but you shouldn’t worry about them, even though they can hurt you. what you need to do is NOT DWELL on those things (the things that are trying to kill you) but dwell on the things that god wants you to dwell on…like hating the pope.

i’m glad that we have protestantism or whatnot and that we don’t all have to be catholic or jewish. but i do have to say that martin luther was an assjack.

i’ve started reading The Confessions of St. Augustine. if you deside to read it i’d suggest skipping the first chapter, Childhood, ‘cos it’s really boring. except for that page about breastfeeding. when i read that i did ‘skknt!’ to myself and immediately felt 10 years old, but really, he was so into thanking god for his mom and wetnurse. kinda odd.

also reading the latest issue (#12 The Enemy) of Cabinet. i wish i worked for that magazine.

2.08.04
in which i go totally random:

hey, didn’t there used to be light brown m&ms?
wha’ happened?

2.06.04
this is the first time in the History of Dyeing Jaimie’s Hair that i’ve actually screwed up my hair. it goes a little something like this:
actually, it goes exactly like this:

*ring*
hello?
laura! hey! i’m feeling really girly right now. i want to change my hair!
what’s wrong with your hair now?
nothing! i just want to change it. it’s been months since i’ve cut or dyed my hair at all.
oh.
i have boring teacher hair.
no you don’t.
so how can i change it?
you could put black streaks in it.
okay! bye!

so i go to kmart and get black dye. and THEN i have a scathingly brilliant idea! i’ll put black AND fluourescent orange streaks! yeah! awesome!

*ring*
hello?
laura! i’m gonna do this awesome rad thing!
black streaks?
AND ORANGE STREAKS!
really?
YEAH!
sounds cool.
OK BYE!

i put the orange in first and wait an hour and wash it out. the orange is HOT! AWESOME! KILLER! so then i start to put in the black and its oogie. it’s wrong. it doesn’t go with the orange at all. shit.

but it doesn’t matter because laura and i already discussed that if it looks bad i’ll just black the whole thing. no streaks. just black hair. i can actually pull off having black hair because i have black eyebrows. i’ve had black hair before. no biggie.

so i put the black all over. but when i put it on the orange parts it turned…light purpleen. a goldenurple-blonde. it was gack.

*ring*
hello?
oh god laura! i just fucked up my hair!
what?!
i know. i said it couldn’t be done. it can.
is it falling out?
well. no. you’re right, it’s not fucked up. it’s just horrible.
oh man.
so if i’m not at your art opening tonight you’ll know why.
maybe a hat?
hahahaha this is so bad i can’t believe it. i thought black covers everything.
it does.
i know!
what color is it?
i…it’s…i don’t know! i’ve never seen this color before!
greenish?
orangeurpleen.
oh man.
i know.
what-
i gotta go bye!

so i manage to find a comb in the house so i can run it through my hair. and this comb is like, from my dad’s high school greaser years or something. it’s skinny and wrong. where’s MY comb?! so i use it and the very first time i run it through and bring it back up i sling a gigrando blob of black dye ALL OVER THE PLACE. it’s on the mirror, counter, toothpaste, floss, into the box of kleenex, sink, towel etc.

“WHAT?! THAT’S NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE! EVER! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I DYED MY HAIR ANYWAY?!”

then came the maniacal laughter.
then came the phone call.
*ring*
hello?
heyyouwon’tbelievewhatijustdid.

so i tell her about the blob of doom.

gosh, how many years have we been dying our hair?
forever!
that’s crazy.
i know!
all this ‘cos you didn’t want teacher hair.
i know! i have no one to blame but myself.
you didn’t even have teacher hair.
well it doesn’t matter now, ‘cos i’ve got black dye streaming down my face. shit. it looks like i have fat old elvis mutton chops. my ears look like they’re frostbitten.
skknt!
skknt!
skknt!
igottagocleanthisoffmyfacebye!

2.05.04
i can’t believe it. (why? why can i not believe it? i mean, why is it that i’m always surprised when stupid shit happens? am i really an optimist? could it be?)  

more stupid drama at the lutheran church. people (stupid fuckass people, the ex-organist and her brood of retards) are trying to get mom in trouble. apparently mom didn’t tell the evil priest that one of the members had a heart attack last week.
funny, the rest of the church knew about it. i guess if the evil priest and his wife had bothered to go to opening and sunday school then they would have known about it. but they didn’t know about it and were both embarrassed when it came out at bible study. which is where the retards come in.

“well if pickle would do her job and tell you things that happen, you wouldn’t be in the dark.”  

or maybe if the fucking evil preist would GO TO WORK he’d know what goes on. but that’s just me. well, me and anyone else with a brain.  

so mom get’s some phone calls. drama drama drama.  

she actually goes and apologizes to the priest. who then chews her out. she apologizes again. he chews her out. finally mom says, “yeah, so forgiven? or what?” only she doesn’t say it all cocky like that. she’s way too nice.  

only four more weeks and the bastard is gone. funny, i thought things would go fast. apparently they’re gonna go really badly and really slow.  

i am so mad that they pick on mom. she does more for that church in a day than he does in a month. don’t they see that? she actually cares for those people. why? i have no idea. i really hate them. they’re too manipulative to love. i don’t mind having to love stupid people, but evil, tricky ones? i’m sorry. no.  

so i guess for the rest of february (at least) i’m gonna have to go sit in on bible study and make sure nothing stupid gets said about my mom. ‘cos i won’t have it anymore. if it doesn’t stop, then i’ll nail my own goddamn theses to the church door.  

2.03.04
i got this e-mail from wisc.wendy today:

hey
it’s 2-3-04 today
yay!
xxx
wendy

wendy rules

2.02.04
new weekly.

and in other news:
so. janet “miss jackson, if you’re nasty” jackson apparently has breasts. huh.
who knew?

Dear News,
Grow up.

Thanks,
Jaimie Pickle

i don’t condone boob shennanigans on primetime TV, but i think if everyone would just shut up about it, maybe the whole thing would go away. and then we can get back to discussing how there were never any WMDs. because noone ever gets tired of hearing about that.

1.29.04
this week has been exhausting.
the people we’re working for this week keep adding rooms. every day they’ve added a new room. it’s craZy. i want to scream, “hey! we’re on a schedule y’know! we can’t just paint your bedroom ‘cos all of a sudden you feel like your bedroom needs painting! we came here to paint a kitchen and dining room! you’ve already added a hall and livingroom and now, now, NOW you want a bedroom? what? what was that? AND TWO BATHROOMS?!”
sweet jesus.
we thought we’d be at that house for three days. now it’s turning into a week and three days. i’m not complaining about the work mind you. oh heaven’s no. i need all the sweet, sweet money i can get. it’s the part about how we have other things scheduled because we thought we were gonna be at that place for three days ‘cos it was a kitchen and a dining room that’s driving me mad.
people.

went to a funeral visitation this evening. that guy must’ve known every person in the county! so many people! so many old people. the oxygen:estée lauder ratio was maxored out.

Dear Old Ladies,

Look. Let’s face it, you’re old. i can appreciate that. i think it’s fabulous that you keep on living. i mean, i hope that i have such a tenacious grip on life as you when i’m old. You are beautiful women. You should be cherished by your families and friends. You make delicious pies. You are women! Hear you roar!

So why, why my old sistas, are you still wearing estée lauder? don’t you know that that stuff is like, the closest thing to legalized chemical warfare? Don’t you know that when you press the atomizer you’re releasing a toxic cloud of rank into the necessary oxygen i breathe? Listen ladies, it sticks to the air. The scent actually stings the eyes. This can’t be good for your old, old lungs. Come on, at least sarin gas is odorless.

i’d also like to point out that it’s only called Youth-Dew. It doesn’t actually make you younger. And Beautiful? You’re already beautiful, you don’t have to stank your beautiful selves up with that reek-in-a-bottle. Look, it’s a proven fact that only my aunt lou could ever get away with wearing Beautiful. Are you Mary Lou? no? Then stop wearing it. And by the way, $42.50 for a 1 ounce bottle? i swear to god, you ladies scrimp and save every fucking penny you have, you clip coupons and use them, you only buy bananas if they’re on sale, you survived The War…you know what a dollar is worth! you don’t trust banks, you’ve put kids through college with money that you buried under the house, and you mean to tell me that you daren’t bat an eye for a $40 itsy bottle of sour flower stank?!

For shame grannies, for shame. i’m not saying you should not splurge on yourselves. by all means, go and buy some more of those sheer blouses (with the gold buttons and shoulder pads) you’re all so fond of, or some giant panties, or those pink and green sweatsuits (with the applique’ teddy bears on it? you know the ones) or even some peanut brittle. i don’t care what you buy with your thousands of dollars that you have hidden in your mattresses, but please, for the love, stop buying estée lauder perfume. If not for your eyes and lungs…do it for your grandchildren’s eyes and lungs. You think they want to hug you when you have that blech pulsating from your neck? Do you?!

And with all the money you’ll be saving you can make more pies!
i love you old ladies. i really do. And that’s why i’m telling you to please, please stop trying to smell like a french whore.

Your Pal,
Jaimie Pickle

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The One About My Fabulous Ulcer
February 17, 2004

hi kids,

so. i’ve got this ulcer. and it really hurts.
and you know it’s not a normal one.
nope, my ulcer isn’t just some boring, laid back, midwestern, yawn-worthy south dakota ulcer. nope. no, it’s not some corn husking, bread basket, where the wind comes sweepin’ down the plains, surrey with the fringe on top, oklakansas ulcer. nay.

he’s a flaming queen straight from miami’s south beach! everyone meet Chalupa!

by day he’s a whiny bitch in a smart pair of slacks, but at night he’s queened out in a dress, heels and diva hair. he performs nightly in my stomach. he sings upside down by ms. ross, on the radio by donna summer, and he finales with new york, new york complete with liza wig. then he goes to the bar and proceeds to drink 900 girlie froo-froo drinks. then he takes all the umbrellas and pointy swords from the drinks and jams them into my duodenum.

we’ve almost reached a state of symbiosis. i let him eat away at my innards and he gives me fashion advice that i don’t take. then he bitches about how i never leesten to heem.
“hi-may,” he says, “ju neber leesten to me. ju always hurting my feelings. why ju so hateful?”

“shut up, chalupa.”

“see? why ju hate miss chalupa so much?”

“chalupa, i’m trying to read. don’t you have some songs to sing or something?”

“why ju dis miss chalupa, huh? i know why. ju are jealous.”

“wh- jealous? of an ulcer? are you out of your- ow! what was that?”

“a blue sword, beetch.”

“dammit chalupa. you’ve got to stop drinking so much. and please, for the love, stop ordering rum drinks! i hate rum.”

“i don’t care what ju hate, beetch. miss chalupa drinks the daquiris. ju need to lighten up.”

“i need to read my book so if you could just shut- ow! stop- ow!”

“ju need to get laid, hi-may.”

“we are not going there, chalupa.”

“aw, poor hi-may. what’s wrong- ieee! what ees that? ow!”

“it’s called orange juice, chalupa. it’s a mixer.”

“ju beetch! mean, hateful beetch!”

“that’s me.”

“ju just need some sexing.”

“shut it, chalupa.”

“miss chalupa thinks that- ow! beetch!”

“slut!”

“prude!”

“whore!”

“c- ow!”

“that’s it. i’m taking a nexium.”

“oh! like that gonna scare miss chalupa? we both know i’ll be back in four hours. besides the purple really gives this place a splash of color.”

“bye, chalupa.”

“see you later, you freegid beetch.”

and sadly, chalupa is right. nexium-shmexium wears off really fast.

other conversations i’ve had with chalupa:

“ow, chalupa, what’s going on?”

“hmm? so now ju talking to miss chalupa?”

sigh. “ye-es. what’s going on in there?”

“oh well we were watching-“

“we? we who? who else is down there?”

“oh just some bacteria and stuff. by the way, i hooked up with some hot e.coli last night, aiee! he could do it all-“

“chalupa! i don’t wanna hear about your latest, ok? just tell me what’s goin on down there.”

“ju neber let me have fun. beetch. we were watching the tv and the juan stamos was talking about the telephones. girl, he is so hot.”

“i know! he is walking hotness.”

“ah! so the freegid beetch warms up, huh?”

“bye chalupa.”

and on sunday night we had this conversation:

“yo, chalupa.”

“aie, girl, ju are so rude. what?”

“can you help me with something?”

“aieeeeee! i have been waiting for ju to ask me for so long! first, we start weeth the eyebrows. girl, ju have to pluck those, ogay? then i teach you the eye liner. ju actually do ogay weeth the leepsteeck, but ju need more colors. ogay? then-“

“wait! chalupa no! i’m not asking for make-up advice from you okay? jeez.”

“uh! why not! why not from miss chalupa?!”

“well number one, i don’t want your advice and number two, you’re an ulcer. hello?”

“ju are just the meanest, i swear.”

“look, i was just wondering if you could tell me what has been going on in my colon? i’ve had some bad, er, times this weekend. you know anything about that?”

“maybe. but why should i tell el chupacabra anything?”

“el chupa-? oh. i get it. cute. real cute.”

“yeah, well if the zapatos fits…”

“chalupa, the colon? ow!”

“take that, beetch. taste the wrath of my peenk sword!”

“ow! what the hell has been going on in my colon all weekend?!”

“oh that. beeg party. my niece was having her quinces.”

“your niece? …what?”

“si, si. it was verrrrry beeg deal.”

“niece?!”

“si, she ees my seester’s keed.”

“sister? wha? wait. you mean your niece has been in my colon for 15 years? what? this is crazy. i can’t- ow! oww!”

“leesten, ju need to settle down. thees ees why you have the ulcers. ju need to go weeth the flow, girl.”

“thanks chalupa, i’ll keep that in mind.”

“jur sarcasm is not wanted, chupacabra.”

“bye chalupa.”

“i’ll be back in four hours, beetch. and i’ll be on my 14th daquiri.”

so now you’ve met chalupa.

also, i do feel a little crazy for personifying a physical malady. but what makes me really uncomfortable is how easy it was to do. i think i’m cracking up.

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