The One About Light Bulbs
February 03, 2004

hi kids,

i’m gonna let you in on a little secret.
i’m notoriously bad at buying light bulbs.

it’s not that i forget to buy light bulbs, oh no, if i have to replace a bulb and there are no spares in the house then i’ll go out immediately and buy a bulb. i’m like The Flash when it comes to changing bulbs.

problem is, it’s never the right bulb. i tend to overthink the whole thing. and even, even if it’s fool proof, even if say, the light in the oven goes out and i run out to buy a special appliance bulb because that’s the kind of bulb you have to buy when you replace a bulb in an appliance. for some reason known only to god, that special appliance bulb will not fit in my oven. and when i finally get to taking apart the fixture in the oven i will realize that i’ve never, never, never seen a bulb that looks like the bulb in my oven. because like, the oven is japanese or something. and the heavens laugh, and my oven goes lightless.

that’s okay. i can live with a dark oven. it’s not a big deal. still, it makes me feel a little stupid when i can’t change a bulb.

a couple of years ago when laura and i lived at Bad Ol’ Apartment 711 we had one of those torchiers lamps. it was in the living room and it was the only light source in that room. one day the bulb went out, as bulbs are prone to do, right? well, this wasn’t a normal bulb. it was a halogen bulb.

ok fine. it’s not a big deal. for some reason we both thought we’d be able to handle such a responsibility. after all, there are two of us. that’s two brains! working together! masterminds!

so i go to take the bulb out and both of us, both of us think that it’s going to be one of those long, weird halogen bulbs. ‘cos that’s what goes in that type of lamp. we know that. we’ve changed bulbs in lamps like that before. this should not be a difficult task.

so imagine our surprise when i remove what can only be some kind of backwards australian light bulb. it’s like a normal bulb only it’s flat on top, it’s transparently opaque (?!), and weighs about a pound and a half.
(!!!)

j: what’s…this?

l: y’know, for some reason i was expecting one of those long weird bulbs.

j: yeah. me too. it’s..it’s heavy.

l: and round, yet…flat.

j: it’s opaque, yet…clear.

l: should we take the bulb with us when we go to wal-mart?

j: nah. i’m pretty sure we’ll recognize one of these.

and we would have, if they had had such a bulb. we went over and over that wall of bulbs, looking and cursing to no avail. and let me tell ya, i have since looked for that mysterious bulb. in fact, everytime i go out for light bulbs i check to see if they have any “australian” halogen bulbs. i’ve yet to find one.

so there we are, in the bulb section.

l: well, i guess a regular bulb will fit.

j: yeah, the screw thingie is the same size. at least we have that going for us.

l: so how many watts?

j: watts?

l: watts.

j: i have a confession to make.

l: yeah?

j: the only thing i know about light is that one lumen equals one candlepower. and candlepower is the light of one candle at a certain distance.

l: candlepower?

j: and for some reason i’m thinking that the distance is like, a mile or something. but that can’t be right, can it? i mean, can you see a candle flame a mile away?

l: then what’s a watt?

j: watts measure like, energy or something. the watt is meaningless in terms of light.

l: are you sure?

j: not at all. i have no idea what i’m talking about and further more i feel like a such a stupid girl. i want to be a smart girl. a girl who can go out and buy light bulbs as easily as picking out a ripe piece of fruit or the perfect cut of beef.

l: can you pick the perfect cut of beef?

j: i dunno. i’ve never had to, but i’d like to think i could if i were put in that position.

l: what if you were put in the position to buy a light bulb?

j: shut up.

we look around some more. hoping this time we’ll see the crazy halogen bulb that we came in for in the first place.

l: we have college degrees.

j: and jobs, don’t forget jobs. we contribute to society.

l: yet we’ve been standing here for 18 minutes and we still haven’t picked out a bulb.

j: hey, did you see that lady come by and just snatch a bulb right off the shelf? i don’t even think she looked at it! amazing!

l: yeah, look can we just get a 75 watt bulb and go home?

j: she must’ve been like, an electrician or something.

l: so, 75 watts?

j: means nothing to me. how many lumens?

l: 1,200.

j: hm. that sound like a lot of candles.

l: what?

j: let’s get this 40 watt number here with the 455 lumens. that sounds about right.

l: ok. can we go home now?

so we get back to the apartment and i screw in the new bulb and we turn on the light and i’m sure you know already, as you’ve probably bought light bulbs before and you’re probably not an idiot like me, that the 40 watt bulb was not very bright. at all.

l: *blink blink* oh my gosh.

j: *blink* heh, i think it got darker when i turned on the light.

l: *blink* hahahahaha this is funny. *blink blink*

j: hahahaha i know! *blink blink* this is ridiculous! hahahaha!

l: gah, it’s making me dizzy. *blink*

j: hahahahahahaha oh man, my stomach is all loopy! hahahahaha! *blink blink* i’m going to turn this off now.

so anyway, it has been my limited experience that 40 watt bulbs are useless. we did go back and buy a different bulb, but for the life of me i can’t remember what kind we got.

the outside light at that apartment ate bulbs on a monthly basis and it finally got to the point where we stopped buying bulbs for it. it didn’t matter ‘cos our neighbor lady’s light was always on anyway. and even if hers hadn’t been on it still wouldn’t have mattered because it never actually got dark at those apartments. ever. ever. it was very hard to fall asleep there the first couple of months. laura’s room had the lights from the parking lot and my room had the lights from the retirement home and bowling alley streaming in all. night. long. and i believe i’ve mentioned the birds before?

anyway the whole reason for this is that two weeks ago i was late for a get-together at a friend’s house. so i called them on my way to let them know that yes, i’m on my way and please forgive me for not calling sooner as i was buying a light bulb and it took me a few minutes.

liz: you’re late because you were buying a light bulb?

j: ye-es.

liz: heh. heh-heh.

j: don’t-

liz: bahhahahahahaahahahahahahaaaaaaaahahahahaa!

j: shut up, shut up, shut up!

liz: hahahaaaaaaaaaahahahahaha!

j: look, i can’t HELP IT! I’M A TOTAL MORON, OK? ARE YOU HAPPY?! IS THAT WANT YOU WANT TO HEAR?! HUH?! I’M A COMPLETE DUMBASS AT BUYING LIGHT BULBS! BUT MY LAMP ON THE NIGHTSTAND WENT OUT AND IF I DON’T READ BEFORE I GO TO BED THE MONSTERS COME AND TRY TO KILL ME OKAY?! IS THAT OKAY?!

liz: hahahahaha so what did you get?

j: ummmm, 60 watts…i think. yeah. 60.

liz: BAHhahahahahahahaahaaaaa!

j: what? what?! what’s wrong with 60?

liz: for your lamp? next to your bed? the reading lamp?

j: …yeah?

liz: BAHhahahahahahaahaaaaaa!

j: it’s going to be too bright isn’t it?

liz: hahahahahahahahahaaaaaa

j: i hate incandescence.

so anyway i get to the house and i’m talking with liz about why it is i can never, ever get it right.

j: it’s just…i don’t get it.

l: it’s just light bulbs. what’s your problem?

j: my problem is watts.

l: and?

j: i don’t get the watts. watts isn’t a measure of light.

l: oh yeah, it’s like a unit of energy, right?

j: exactly. so why do we go by watts? that just tells you how much power it will draw, not brightness. it’s all about lumens, and nobody knows anything about lumens.

l: okay now explain to me what a lumen is again?

j: it’s a measurement of light and it’s equivalent to so many candlepowers per square foot. but actually i don’t think candlepower is used anymore. they call it a candela. i think. but i’m not sure of any of this because they never teach you useful stuff like this in school.

l: i know! and the watt is useless?

j: in determining how much light is going to shoot out of a bulb, yes. mostly. yes.

l: so the watt is electricity.

j: well, it’s electrical energy. i think it’s one joule per second or something silly like that.

l: oh! i just learned that volts divided by watts? maybe? equals amps?

j: hmmm. no you’re thinking of Ohm’s Law. amp=volt/ohm.

l: oh yeah!

j: wait. did i just…? Ohm’s Law? where did that come from? i know Ohm’s Law? am i…am i dreaming?

l: you spout Ohm’s Law off the top of your head and you still can’t buy a light bulb?

j: it’s hopeless. i’m a total shemp at light bulbs.

l: you know so much and yet…

j: …i’m completely in the dark.

l: ooh. that was bad.

j: yeah it was, even for me.

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Tags: apartment, laura

1.29.03
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

1.28.04
finally! a new weekly!

also, the faux painting went pretty good. it started out very bad and tragic, but it was not our fault. anyway, i saved the day (using my mad art skillz) and dad keeps calling me his hero.
“wow, hero huh? what kind of benefits does that get?”
“it means you get to be the boss tomorrow.”
“what? does that mean you’re usually the boss? i didn’t know that.”
“yeah, but tomorrow…you boss.”
“i’m not sure i want to be boss.”
“you’re boss tomorrow. also, you buy lunch.”
“damn.”

1.27.03
wow. so the preceeding entry was a little embarrassing, wasn’t it? huh.

whenever something cool happens for my dad and i for Dreamplex 1.0, i feel the need to immediately call laura to let her know. usually i have no access to a phone and so i have to wait til i get home. and usually by the time i get home i start drinking and take a shower and then all is forgotten until the next day. so by the time i get to talk to laura there are two or three cool Dreamplex 1.0 things to tell her. and then by that time she has a couple of things about Dreamplex 2.0 to tell me. and i notice that when we do get to talk about the Dreamplexes we tend to talk really fast. it’s like if i don’t get it out fast enough some kind of creature is gonna come in and take my voice box away and then there’s laura on the other line saying, “jaimie? you there? hello? jaimie?” *click*

and there i am…gesturing wildly to the phone and thinking, “what’s the universal sign for those pre-tacked carpet strips?!”

tomorrow dad and i are painting a kitchen and dining room and hall for these nice people. the kitchen gets some kind of “faux pas -ting” neither one of us has ever done it before. some kind of a sponge thing. i figure if all those goofballs on the discovery channel can do it then it’s gotta be easier than pie and cake together. dad is making me do it since as he says, “you’re the artist.” my response was, “what?! yeah right like i’m some kind of…oh. right. hm. i can’t get out of this can i?”

check it out! tomorrow = new skill! next thing you know i’ll be making walls look like they’re made of leather or rock or bread or something.

i hope it totally kicks. ‘cos then i’ll be the coolest kid on the block.

date?

soorry. i darnk many beers.

i hada thoughttoday andi toght, “oh hell! i’mthe worst rienfd ever! ‘cos ithingi tiotally missed an specila ARt OPeinsing of lauras and i’mthe worset friensd EVER!” but ti turns out that i’m, no t so bad ‘cos.its’ liek ittotlaally didn;pt miis laur’as arT openindi,g.!! yay!!

soor about misopellees words! i had 96 neers and vodak! vdoka! haa!

1.22.03
i’ve been too busy to even breathe for the last two days.
right now i’m working on three (3) paintings simultaneously. jealous?
well don’t be. only one is turning out cool. one is mediocre and the other one is horrible (it looks like a circus threw up on the canvas). i’ll pro’ly paint over that last one.

meanwhile:
i’ve lost my cell phone again. i know it’s around here somewhere.
anyway, if you need to get in touch with me don’t call the cell. send a carrier pigeon or try the bat signal or something.

also:
tami sparks has a b’day coming up. so don’t let me forget, ok? ‘cos last year i forgot.

1.20.03
ugh. we got a late start today because the stoopid paint store ran out of paint.
yeah, i didn’t get it either. but i didn’t freak out about it ‘cos i know that stupid things like that happen all the time. however, i guess my dad forgets that stupid things happen all the time and he was pissed and freaked out about it.
“how can a paint store not have paint?!”
“i dunno, dad. these things happen. and yes, it is stupid.”
“this is the second time they’ve not had paint. paint! a paint store!”
“well, it might not be the paint store’s fault. we had problems like this at the sign shop sometimes. like our supplier would be out of black vinyl or something. so they would have to have the factory drop ship a roll to us and that might take an extra day or two. or maybe even the shipping truck would be coming from up north and would get caught in snowy weather and it would take an extra day to get there. stupid things happen all the time.”
“yeah but this just screws the whole day up!”
“i know. you want a bagel with cream cheese?”
“sure.”
“cool.”
“and then i’m going back to bed.”
“sounds good. what were we thinking anyway? ‘hey let’s get up early so we can get started faster since we have to drive to the next county for this new job. yep. we’re gonna get an early start ‘cos we’re smart like that.’ yeah like that was ever gonna happen.”
“we tried though didn’t we?”
“we sure did. we get points for that.”
“points?”
“you know, Adult Points. for being logical and responsible?”
“oh. um jaimie, i’m sure that as adults we don’t actually need points.”
“fine.”
“…”
“can i have your points then?”

1.19.03
here’s something i’ve thought about recently.
it’s obvious that Scabies was really malnourished as a pup. and because of that i don’t think she’s gonna grow much bigger than she is. and it’s funny, because Blue Dog, who was obviuosly healthy as a pup, is huge compared to little ScabieLyn. (Blue and Scabies are both female border collies)

and i’ve noticed that Scabies is kinda slow in her learning skills. in fact, i think she’s retarded. but that’s fine ‘cos she’s the sweetest thing in the world. all she knows is love. but the fact remains, she’s retarded. now really, i hate to sound insensitive at all when i use the term retarded, retard, or fucking retard, but there you go. it’s just going to have to sound insensitve.

anyway, what i was wondering is what do you suppose Blue Dog thinks of all this?
“um, thanks guys, i know you thought i was lonely since jake died and all, but um really, what the fuck were you thinking? i mean, i had my own dog house and my own food after jake died. sure i miss the bastard but c’mon, that dog was old and incontinent too. i mean that guy shat on the deck and sidewalk for crying out loud. so what do you do? you get me a “friend”. thanks. thanks a lot.”

but Blue she’s so cute and loveable.

“yeah. and know what else? she’s retarded. i’m stuck in this fence 24/7 with a fucking retard. plus she had scabies! i mean, thanks chief! she’s got the skin condition, and i have to suffer through 4 weeks of skankass flea dips?! thanks guys. you suck.”

oh c’mon Blue. Scabies is so nice and sweet.

“yeah! remember how nice and sweet the retarded kid in elementary school was? she was all smiles, huh? and remember how you hated to play with her because she didn’t make any sense at the time? hmm? remember? yeah, that’s what you’ve stuck me with. pat, laura, the bitch can’t even eat right and her tongue drags the ground. you two are brilliant.”

Blue! that’s a horrible thing to say! besides i heard that Libby the Retard went on to have a pretty full life. well, as full of a life as she could. i guess. you’re a bad dog, Blue!

“well, all i can tell ya is the bitch eats rocks and acorns all day long. so anyway, thanks for the retard.”

i’m…i’m going to hell aren’t i?

1.18.03
sometimes i forget just how kickasscool god is. i would totally love to tell you guys all about The Great Lutheran Adventure but it would take forever and i don’t feel like typing it all out. just know that god was all over it. and that our new pastor will be here march 1.
(eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!)

no more EP!
word!

i have been so excited today that poor jimmy has had to listen to me giddily tell him everything that happened at the meeting and interview and bladdy bladdy bladdy. it’s like a huge gigrando weight has been lifted.

in other news:
happy mlk day!

1.16.03
today was absolutely busy.
dad and i worked at the fire station for a couple of hours. we must’ve painted 900 yards of crown moulding. and i’m talking 6″ moulding. crazy. craZy.
then we went and visited two of our friends in the hospital. it’s very sad. one of them isn’t doing well at all.
then we went and got my jeep out of hock. it’s great to have wheels again. my wheels.

and now i’m off to go play cards with my fleegan and his family. it’s going to be strange. they don’t smoke, drink or swear. what kind of people are these?! i just hope i don’t bust out with tourette’s over there. i do seem to have quite the potty mouth.

1.15.03
today is the last day that dad and i are working on the Dreamplex for a while. we have a couple of paying gigs that we need to get out of the way. also i need money.

we all need money, jaimie.

yes i know. but i also need my jeep. and the mechanic needs $300.44, so there you go.
doesn’t the 44 cents just kill you? because it kills me.

in other news:
dole™ orange pineapple banna juice (laura, it’s at food world in the orange juice section) mixed with absolut™ citron has been rocking my world (and the world of my whooping cough) all week.

and do yourself a favor and go and buy that Interpol CD.
do you love Radiohead? do you love REM? then why wouldn’t you love their bastard child?
no excuses. buy it. now.
go!

1.14.04
when i got to Dreamplex 1.0 today i noticed that one of the “doors” to under the house was open. my first thought was “oh shit. i just killed laura’s cat.” ‘cos that’s where i dumped some rat poison. i guess the door was opened ‘cos someone was trying to read the gas meter. boy was i relieved to read that kitty was in a cat fight and didn’t in fact eat my rat poison.

we’re now painting trim and cabinets which means we’ve busted out the oil based paint. and now we all have Paint Head in the afternoons and everything is stupid gigglie. the kitchen is looking so good. kris did a fab job on the countertop. and if all goes well tomorrow we should start putting flooring in there. it’s finally starting to look like a house and not like a Shithole anymore. aw, i’m gonna miss that moniker.

i’m wondering how long i can go without a stove and fridge. how long can a human live on coffee and peanut butter?
probably longer than i care to admit.

ps: if you’re hungry or thirsty don’t come over to my side of the Dreamplex.

6 months from now:
“jaimie, you still don’t have a fridge? hell, you don’t even have a microwave! are you still just eating PBJ sandwiches?”
“hmm? oh. yeah. want one?”
“jesus what’s the matter with you? you have money. get some appliances!”
“oh. well, i never think about really.”
“your laziness is amazing.”
“yeah. i’m kind of proud really.”
“yeah but how do you explain this to other people?”
“what do you mean?”
“what if someone comes over and wants a snack or something to drink?”
“what am i a goddam seveneleven?”
“you know what i mean.”
“i dunno, i’ll tell them i’m on that atkin’s thingie.”

1.13.04
hi. i’m “sorry” that i haven’t updated in a week and that there’s no weekly. i am sad that there is no weekly as Scottie of the Cube even e-mailed me a cartoon idea for my Fleegan TV Channel, Rabid Squirrel Circus. i think that’s cartoon that i would want to watch.

everything is busy!
Shithole 805-A is busy!
church is busy!
my lungs are on fire!
i have The Eternal Cough of Woe! and sadly, NyQuil is losing it’s strength. please, NyQuil, pleeeese hold out a little longer!

Dear Bottle of Nyquil on my Dresser,

Hello friend! We sure have had some great times this week haven’t we? Remember when i coughed all Sunday night/Monday morning? And remember when at 4AM i swallowed half of your contents and sweared a lot? and remember how later that morning dad thought i was in a coma, and my tongue was dried out ‘cos i slept with my mouth open, and my pillow was all wet? Gosh, we make a great team!

So anyway, my Cherry Friend, i’ll just get to the point. i was going to go to the doctor one day this week to get a shot in my fanny so’s that this whooping cough would go away and i could go back to sleeping “normally”. But you know how “plans” are, right? Yeah, well i can’t go to the doctor this week ‘cos i paid some bills and bought some tile for the floors at Shithole 805-A (how cool is that?) and then there’s this business of my jeep being broken, and i guess what i’m trying to say is could you maybe, try a little harder?

i mean, it’s not like i’m asking you to do anything that i’m not willing to do or am in fact doing right now. i mean, i get up and go to work day after treacherous day. And i work a tough, physical job here. And the thing is, i woke up this morning feeling like someone had come in my room last night and beat the shit out of me with a rubber hose. My ribs are killing me and my right shoulder is screeching in pain. How did that happen? Now, i really don’t want to point any fingers here but c’mon, you and i were the only ones in the room last night, and i’m getting the feeling that you let me cough all night long. And what is with these dreams? Look, if i have another dream where i’m a superhero who gives blow jobs to all the guys i ever knew in high school, then our working relationship is over.
Oh and PS: what was with those giant, clear, silicone penises, anyway?

So c’mon NyQuil, i need you to quit slackassing and get to work on my cough. And no more penis dreams either. pervert.

Your Pal,
Jaimie Pickle

1.07.04
today was a Piddle Day. dad and i spent the WHOLE day running errands. that always annoys us because
A. it seems like we wasted a day and
B. you know it’s going to involve spending money.

what we can’t figure out is how we got anything done before
A. dad retired and
B. i quit the sign shop.

which brings us to paragraph three.
tomorrow i work at the sign shop ‘cos kelly is having surgery and needs someone to “babysit” the phone basically. it should be fun. the only problem is this head cold that i seem to be developing. i’ve had a sore throat for days and now it’s gotten into my lungs. everytime i inhale it feels like my lungs are on fire. it’s weird. and hurting. and my nostrils are leaking (and as long as i don’t develop whooping cough i’ll consider myself lucky) but i bought some generic DayQuil™ (buy one get one free, of all things) and so i’ve been kind of zombie-ish. and i’m blaming all of this on the lack of weekly. i have an idea for a weekly i just can’t come up with enough funny things for it.
here, maybe you can help.

i was going to do a weekly about Jaimie TV. like i have my own TV channel. i dunno, maybe it should be Fleegan TV. anyway. i would have a list of some of the programs like, This Old Shithole and possibly a show like Library Hour or maybe call it Jaimie’s Library Adventures. and of course there would have to be a show where the fleegan and i are detectives like mulder and scully and we use flashlights a lot ‘cos it’s always dark…in our office. Fleegan Files or Fleegans of Justice or maybe J&J Detectives. i wanted to have a cartoon on my channel too, but i can’t think of anything. like i said, i’m blaming my lack of creativity on the cold medicine.

so tonight i plan on vegging out with my fleegan and the telly. we’re going to rent Jeepers Creepers 2. i can only imagine what my dreams will be like after watching that tripe and guzzling down my green ‘Quil.

1.06.04
i was the Caulk Queen today. it’s funny ‘cos dad and i pronounce it with a yankee accent so we’re calling it cack, so i was the Cack Queen. dad went to the hardware store the other day and asked the lady where the cack was (this is alabama, mind you). she nervously said, “cock? or cawlk?”
so now we pronounce it right when we’re at the hardware store.

there’s this old man we do some work for and he calls it cork or corking, as in, “ya gotta put some half inch corking in the corner.” the half inch part is because the old man is blind and doesn’t measure things very well. so we have caulk, cack, cock, cawlk, and cork at our disposal.

another fun thing we say is, “that hurted my anus.” an example of how that is used would be, “i just spent $130 on plumbing and wood that will never be seen. that hurted my anus.” another example was when i saw the sheet of paneling we bought swept off the top of the truck by a gust of wind, caught air and flopped to the ground. the .6 seconds it was in the air i pictured the thing hitting the ground and splintering in half and then my dad coming out and beating me with the biggest piece and i said, “oh god, this is going to hurt my anus.” when the paneling flopped to the ground in one piece i said, “hey dad! i think we need to get the paneling.” and he said, “what was that horrible banging sound?” and i said, “it was either the paneling hitting the ground or my anus.”
“oh.”

another fun thing that we do is sing oldies/motown songs with made up lyircs. they usually end up being either three songs put together or something about someone shooting their face off or getting a foot up their ass. it’s funnier at the time. also, we sing them in our We Like Tha Moon voices.

also, dad has combined gollum with paul sr. and now yells and swears but adds, “stupid hobbitses” or “precious” at the end. he’s a genius.

1.05.04
ok. Shithole 805-A is officially demon possessed. which,
A. of course it is and
B. we knew it would be and
C. it wasn’t too big of a deal until today.

the past week that my dad and i have worked there we’ve been confused and restless the whole time. it was quite common for me to look up from my scraping or cleaning and see dad walk through the whole place three times just kind of…meandering. “dad. what are you doing?”
“shh. don’t talk right now. i’m trying to think of what i’m trying to do but i can’t get my think- look, just, don’t talk right now.” so a general concensus of the whole Dreamplex 1.0 and 2.0 was that yes, there is something not quite right spiritually with the place(s).

sure it was annoying and kind of odd. but it sisn’t seem like such a huge deal because at least we weren’t having evil visions or hearing voices. ‘cos really, to me, hearing voices would be a huge deal. the confusion stuff i figured would go away the more work we would get done. and so far, that has been true.

but today was different. because today we started out wanting to kill each other. i would blame the Wagner Paint Stick™ because that’s what started the arguement, but really i can’t blame that piece of shit ‘cos we both knew it would be a piece of shit that we would use once and throw away. so i gave up on the piece of shit because it wasn’t covering my ceiling and plus it weighs fucking 20 pounds and it pissed me off so i picked up a paintbrush and started painting the edge of the ceiling so that after i settled down i could use a normal 8oz roller to roll the ceiling. but dad comes in after my tantrum with the Wagner Piece of Shit™ and he’s really pissed ‘cos he just went 3 rounds with the Hot Water Heater of Mordor, and lost. so he’s all, “you aren’t gonna paint the whole ceiling with a 2 inch brush are you?!”

well, no. of course not. but by god if i WANT TO PAINT THE GODDAM CEILING WITH A 2 INCH FUCKING BRUSH THEN DAMMIT THAT’S WHAT I’LL DO YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH. which is what i said in my head. what i said aloud was, “well what SHOULD i use?!”

“USE A HANDROLLER!”
“FINE!”
“HERE! USE THIS ONE!”
“WELL I HOPE YOU CHOKE OLD MAN!” which is what i said in my head.

the whole day was tense like that. so much so that we didn’t even stop for lunch. we just worked straight through.
“you want anything for lunch?”
“nah, i have a sore throat and my stomach hurts.”
“ok.”
“why what time is it? are you hungry, dad?”
“i’m not hungry. what’s wrong with your stomach?!”
“i’ve got heartburn!”
“from what?!”
“I DON’T KNOW! IT ALWAYS HURTS WHEN I GET HERE, OK?!”
“WELL THAT’S NO GOOD!”
“DON’T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT!?!”
“NEVERMIND. I’M GONNA GO RIP OUT SOME FLOORING.”
“GOOD. LEAVE ME AND MY FIRE BELLY ALONE!”
“FINE!”
“FINE!”

things seemed to ease up after dad ripped up the floor and cut some stuff with a noisy saw.
we need an exorcist. dad was all, “i wonder if they charge by the square foot?”
“I DON’T KNOW!”

1.04.04
oy2thavey.
the pastor call committee had to meet today from 4:45pm-8:30pm. we had 4 phone interviews. the tough part was sitting down after church and reading through the 4 guys’ resume/information packets (which is why i didn’t make it to core, and that made me sad ‘cos i was hoping to get down there and have the gang pray about the interviews and also maybe pray for me about working at Dreamplex 1.0). talk about boring reading. also, they should totally have a section like:
Question #36
Are you a dickhead? circle yes or no

Question #37
Would you describe your ego as
A. normal
B. slightly larger than a breadbox
C. Buick-sized
D. I’ve been hand-chosen by God to proclaim the Word. I don’t answer to peasants and frankly, i find your method of questioning to be boorish and insulting.

1 guy was nice but not intersted.
1 guy was pretty cool but i think that he’s not interested either.
1 guy was kickass awesome and i hope he’ll be our new pastor. he seemed interested.
1 guy was a complete tool and probably shouldn’t be in ministry. sound familiar?

the interviews went faster than last time and that’s a very good thing. it’s really kind of neat to get to sit in on those interviews and meet these people. although one guy (the tool) was a total He-man Woman Hater. hello? what fucking century are we in anyway? it was cool though how all of us was immediately, “ok we’re definitely not calling this guy back.” it’s nice when we can all agree on something these days.

also, talked to the mechanic today. i’ll have the yeep towed to his place tomorrow. so sad.
so sad.

also, my throat is on fire.
i’m thinking that’s a bad thing.
took some aspirin.

oh feh, i’ve become a “i just took an aspirin” blog.
someone shoot me quick and put me out of your misery!

1.03.04
a 3pm update: so i take the day off from working at Casa Del Feces and i go to the library. it was great. but then on the way home my jeep does the *sputter sputter cough* and there i am on sutton bridge road…just coasting. so i manage to coast into the parking lot of an auto parts place (convenient but not needed) and i say a quick prayer to god thanking him for letting me find a safe place for my jeep to break down and also thank you for not letting me break down in the middle of a busy intersection amen. and then i call my dad and have him come out and get me.

we don’t have a clue what’s wrong with it. all i know for sure is that there is plenty of oil in it but the oil gauge is at zero and the jeep won’t accelerate. also it’s making a hell of a noise. i’m scared that this is the “big one”.

so today i mope.
tomorrow i talk to my mechanic at church.
monday i have the jeep towed to said mechanic’s house.

i may have to put Operation Shithole off and do some “real” jobs so i can get some money so i can buy more wood, paneling, some type of flooring and a new engine.
———————————————————–

i must be working too hard at Shithole 805-A. i had a dream that i was working at Shithole 805-A. i dreamt i was fixing a bad place in the wall of the kitchen while dad was replacing some nasty paneling in the dining room. those are completely normal tasks that need to get done. the only odd thing in the dream was the tornado going on outside.
“hey, i’d really like to see how laura and kris are coming along in Dreamplex 2.0”
“yeah, me too!”
“we could walk over there…if there wasn’t a tornado in the back yard.”
“the tornado is still out there?”
“yeah, i think it’s patrolling.”
skk..hm? wha? *smack smack* bah. dream.
dammit. that means i didn’t get the kitchen wall fixed.

i may just take the day off.

1.02.04
i worked at Dreamplex 1.0 yesterday and today all by my wittle wonesome. i like working there. i think, in some small way, when i get it all done and i move in and there’s nothing left to fix or paint or annoint with holy blessing oil that i’m gonna be a little bit sad because i just love working there so much. i think i’m afraid that when it’s all done and i’m living there that i’ll have nothing to do. i know that’s not true. there’s still work and the internet and the PS2.

laura made me a CD. it is fabulous. and in case you’re wondering laura, the poe song is my favorite one of the bunch.

rang in the new year at a fun party and drank many beers and laughed a lot.

i went to the movies with my coolsexyfleegan and faithful atheist yesterday. we saw paycheck and it was fantastic. it was so good that i couldn’t tell if it was too long. yep, that good.

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The One About Some Letters
January 28, 2004

hi kids,

i haven’t written a weekly in a long time. the lack of weekly is mostly due to me not having anything to write about and also ‘cos i’ve been a little busy. just know that every tuesday that i’ve missed has felt like a giant blackhole of doom for me. every tuesday night dad asks, “hey are you going to write a weekly this week?” and each time i answer, “no” i see his hopeful grin shrink, and i think a piece of his soul dies.

i keep asking people what i whould write about and most of them say i should write about dad some more, ‘cos they think he’s funny. ok, to be completely honest, i only asked jimmy. and dude, why are you trying to suck up to my dad? he already likes you.

anyway, i can’t write about dad all the time because
1. i think mom is getting jealous and
2. dad’s getting a big head about the whole thing. in fact after reading the last weekly dad came into my room and did the Happy Dance while singing “i made the weekly! two weeks in a row! ha ha…hahaha! nanny nanny boo boo!”

and yes, that made me laugh but it was mom’s muffled voice from the living room, “stop encouraging him.” that sobered me up. because there’s nothing worse than dad thinking he’s all clever. actually, there is one thing worse, and that’s if you owe dad money. any amount of money.
he lords it over you until you pay it back.
“hey, don’t forget that 2 buck 50 you owe me.”

in fact the other day i had to pay $300 to get my jeep fixed. well, i wasn’t able to get to the bank and there was a long holiday on top of that and so dad said, “i’ll lend you $300 bucks until you can get to the bank.” and i said, “no thanks. i know how you are. i’d rather wait out the long weekend then have to hear you crow every hour about how i owe you money.”
“i promise i won’t do that.”
“yeah right. and then i have to hear you make up all these percentage increases per day and blah blah blah. no thank you. i can wait til tuesday.”
“heh. no really. i won’t do any of that.”
“liar.”
“heh. really. for real. i won’t do that to you. i know how much you miss the jeep. it’s been two weeks. take the money.”
“mmmm i dunno. you promise you won’t be an ass?”
“i promise.”
“okay. thanks dad! you’ll get the money on tuesday.”
“…”
“…”
“hey before i forget…”
“what?”
“you owe me 300 bucks.”
“i hate you.”
“and i figure there’s a 19% interest rate…”
“nevermind. here’s your money back. i’ll pick up the jeep next week.”
“no!no! i’m kidding! keep the money!”
“noway! i don’t want it! you’re gonna bring it up all weekend! and i’ll be damned if i’m gonna listen to you and your ganster voice all weekend reminding me that i owe you. fughedabouddit.”
“fine. you’re no fun. take the money. i won’t bug you about it anymore.”
“i don’t believe you.”
“just take the damn money.”
“well. alright. thanks dad.”
“*gangster voice* but i betta have my money on tooshday or headsh are gonna roll, capice?”
sigh.

and anyone who has ever borrow a buck from dad will know exactly what i’m talking about, right justin?

oy, and here i said i wouldn’t write a weekly about dad.

so here’s a letter i wrote:

Dear Giant Honking Rotary Phone from the 1940s,

Hi Phone! How are you? You’re looking pretty good. Anyway i was just wondering why you’ve started to ‘stick’ everytime i try to dial a 1 or 2?

Listen up Homeboy, i’ve taken a lot of crap from my friends and family for having you as the only phone i own, so you better start acting right, or i’ll give in to their merciless teasing and buy a new, improved phone! A push button phone! maybe even cordless! So unless you want to end up on a shelf at the Goodwill you’ll start kickin’ out 1’s and 2’s. Okay?

Your Pal,
Jaimie Pickle

and here’s another one:

Dear First Boy to Ever Kiss Me,

So uh, how’ve you been? i know we haven’t spoken in about 20 years, but i just wanted to let you know that the only reason i agreed to be your girlfriend was because you had a pocket knife and i thought that was the coolest thing ever. In fact, i remember pestering my mom and dad for AGES (remember when a month seemed like years?) about giving me a pocket knife just because you had one.

Heh, pocket knife. Kids are weird huh? oh hey! remember all those cool toy airplanes you had? those were awesome!
So anyway, do you still eat boogers? gah, i can’t believe i let a booger eater kiss me.

Tell the wife and kids i said hey, and that their daddy was a booger eater.

Your Pal,
Jaimie “not a booger eater” pickle

Dear Mom and Dad,

What the hell were you thinking? Giving a pocket knife to a 6 year old?! Nice. Real nice. What are we rednecks? Hello? Hey look, i don’t care how dull the blade was (and don’t you think for a second i didn’t notice how dull that blade was. sheesh. that thing couldn’t have been any more dull if it had been made out of silly putty and bread. Talk about being the laughing stock of the pee-wee pocket knife community.) a 6 year old has no business playing with a pocket knife! i mean, i could’ve cut my finger off! (hardly. with a rock from the front yard, maybe.)

i can’t believe you gave me a pocket knife (ugh, come on, you couldn’t even put a slight edge on it? what, you’re afraid i might whittle out graven images or something?! geezum pete that knife sucked) when i was a kid. So i guess what i really want to say is thanks guys, that was cool as shit! For some reason, whittling sticks down to sharp points was like, the coolest thing ever. Even though that knife you gave me was dull and rusty and couldn’t cut worth a damn. You guys are the best mom and dad ever!

Your Daughter,
Jaimie

ps: dad, how the hell did you talk mom into that anyway?

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Tags: parents

12.31.03
worked half a day at Dreamplex 1.0.
i have a splinter in my knuckle and a collapsed lung to show for it. this time i was putting some kind of Stain Killer/Mildewcide Primer of Doom on the ceiling and the fumes from this brushed on poison fell straight into my lung and the smell decided to plant itself in my throat.
so now drinking water is…interesting.
tastes like poison.

the flavor is starting to grow on me though. i just hope it doesn’t ruin my beer tonight.

also we swept the place with a shopvac so it looks: so good or no good? SO GOOD!

i also put a ton of poison out for las cucarachas y los ratons. como se dice…”i keel you all! dead! i keel you!”? the rat poison smells familiar…kinda minty actually. but i refrained from tasting it. laura, aren’t you proud? i had one of those ally mcbeal moments where i pictured myself in the hospital after having my stomach pumped and there were all of my friends standing around looking at me very sternly as i said, “whaaaaat? i just tasted it! i wasn’t going to eat it all!”
very stern looks all around.
“it smelled minty.”

and yes, getting my stomach pumped would make a fantabulous weekly, but i just don’t have the money to spend on Emergency Room Shenannigans, because right now i’m spending it all on half round and corner moulding. i feel so adultish. i’m buying wood.

and let me tell you ladies something, buying wood (stop it, you perv) is totally a dude’s job (i said stop). not because it’s a difficult task, oh heavens no, but because it involves going to The Hardware Store. i think everytime i go to the hardware store an alarm goes off inside the place right before i walk in the door.
“BRRRRRP! BRRRRP! WARNING! A FEMALE IS APPROACHING! REPEAT: A FEMALE IS APPROACHING! ALL EMPLOYEES TO THE FRONT! BE PREPARED TO STARE! SHE’LL PROBABLY HAVE TITS SO BE SURE TO GET AN EYEFUL BEFORE ASKING IF SHE NEEDS ANY HELP! REPEAT: STARE AT TITS AND ASK IF SHE NEEDS HELP!”

well, something like that.

12.30.03
i worked at Dreamplex 1.0 again. i wish i had pictures to show you. we ripped down the paneling yesterday and we scraped and sanded all day today and now the walls look really fucking cool. also my snot is black. well, it was black, but then i blew my nose til it ran clear…well, red then clear.
ew. i know.

but now i have wood walls in the “bedroom” of Shithole 805-A.
dad and i call it the shithole but really it’s not nearly as shithole as we thought it was going to be. but shithole is just so much fun to say that we now have to call it that. in fact, we’ve been talking about getting a video camera and filming the “renovation” and calling it Monster Shithole and seeing if we can sell it to Discovery Channel. we’ve also tossed about ideas of While You Were Out…We Fixed Up Your Shithole and then i thought that if nathan and i decorated each other’s shitholes (watch it) we could call it Trading Shitholes.

there’s shitholes of money to be made off this folks.

12.29.03
my dad and i worked on the duplex today. i’m gonna start calling it the Dreamplex, because there’s still SO much to do to make it livable. well, livible for me. i’m not living in a place where i don’t feel comfortable walking around in my bare feet. and at the moment, i wouldn’t walk around there with birks on. not even socksnbirks.

we thought we were gonna start painting today. well, the Dreamplex had other ideas.

we ended up ripping out paneling (hi laura! no no! we didn’t tear up the place. honest! it wasn’t us! it was the one-armed man!) and also lotsa scraping some kind of ancient masonite/wallpaper blech that was underneath the paneling. i inhaled all the scrapings. so now i cough the Dry Hack Cough of Woe. and i get to get up tomorrow and do it all again.
yay!

but hey, dad got all the lights working! he also got electrocuted. oops. he was all, “damn! well hey, whattyaknow? my shoulder feels better! …but now my heart hurts.”
poor dad.

12.28.03
on the way to the movies this afternoon i said to the fleegan, “you know, if you ever decide to ask me to marry you…instead of saying the regular ol’ Will You Marry Me schtick… would you ask me to be your Leather Tuscadero? please? that would be so cool.”

he laughed; and he said no.

we are never getting married. and i think that even if we were to be engaged to be married i still wouldn’t believe we’d ever get married. and even, even if it were our wedding day i still wouldn’t believe we were getting married. even when we’re standing in front of the priest/justice of the peace/captain of the Love Boat exchanging vows i wouldn’t believe we were getting married. and i’m certain that two weeks after our marriage our wedding would seem like a distant dream that i had had, and i would find myself saying, “hey, did we get married? or was that someone else’s wedding we went to? because the thing is…did i catch the bouquet or throw it?”

but i don’t want a wedding. in fact, i never want to go to another wedding ever. i’d rather be struck dead right now than to ever have to go to another wedding. in point of fact, i’ve wished for that very thing about six weddings ago. i don’t want a wedding. i just want to be the best Leather Tuscadero i can be for my Fonzie Fleegan.

and yes, while i agree that my Happy Days themed wedding would be the coolest fucking thing ever, it would also be the siren call of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. and i don’t want to be responsible for the end of the world. well that, and i owe Famine some money.

12.23.03
my brother comes to town today.
hmm, i should go buy more booze.

12.22.03
you know, after all of this time, i still still still wish that the evil priest was a good guy. i wish that he liked us.

each time i go to church beit on a sunday or holiday or stupid meeting i think, ‘hey. maybe this time will be different.’ and it never is.

why am i so hopeful? i’m never this hopeful about anything. it seems like a huge waste.

i can’t figure it out.

12.21.03
if you are a normal, god-fearing soul then you probably hate the Old Navy commercials as much as my father and i hate them. we hate them with the burning hot hatred of 1,000 burning hot sons of hate. we especially hate the one with the nanny on it. you know the one. “my shizzle’s gone fuzzizzle!”

yeah. that one.

so i said to dad, “hey, i think what that means is, ‘my shit’s f*cked.’ right? is that what it means?”
and dad says, “i don’t know. i don’t speak bling.”
i laughed and laughed.

i told that story to danny and mike yesterday and danny immediately said, “no habla bling.” mike responded with, “sprechen se bling?”

and now, dad and i are calling each other Bling, Bling-Blang, and Money. all of this after we had a conversation on just exactly what kind of degree dr. dre has.
we figure it’s in linguistics.

12.19.03
on laura’s blog today she mentions, okay wait. i’m referring to a blog on a blog. there’s something unholy postmodern about that. anyway, she mentions the Bad Ol’ Days, which weren’t all that bad really, well yes, they were, but so much time has passed that to even think of the Bad Ol’ Days as being BAd with a capital BA, oops, spelling error. what i’m trying to say is that laura apologized on her blog so i will accept her apology on my blog AND THAT’s what i meant about unholy postmodernism.

laura, apology accepted. so don’t ever mention any of that shit ever again.
we bury it here, in glorious hypertext.

but then i got to thinking of the Bad Ol’ Days and of the total awkwardness that we (the fleegan and i) experienced. heh. how crazy. i think that if we could’ve just had this conversation right off the bat then things would have been much easier:

“hmm. it appears that our stupid best friends are dating.”
“those assholes.”
“i know.”
“well, uh. huh. should i just take you home or uh, you wanna see a movie?”
“a movie? with you?”
“yeah?”
“ok sounds good. but nothing cheesey. also we’re not dating.”
“ok. marry me?”
“yes!”
“cool.”

see, jimmy and i would be raising our 2.5 fleegans by now.

but no, it all had to be painfully slow and awkward.

i remember sitting on a swing with jimmy (aw, how quaint) thinking:
i wonder if he likes me? i’ll scooch over a bit and see if he moves.
he didn’t move! i wonder if he’ll kiss me tonight? i wonder if he thinks i want to be kissed. maybe he’ll kiss me. of course, he’s so much older than me. if i let him kiss me, maybe he’ll think i want to go all the way…that asshole better not kiss me or i’ll punch him in the throat.

still, i wish he’d just kiss me already.

12.18.03
i rented another game last night. it’s called Gladius and it sucks. it is so slow and boring.

i have another boring church meeting tonight. i just hope it goes better than the one last night, which by the way, WAS A COMPLETE WASTE OF F!@*ING TIME. i know, what’s new, right? i should be used to these meetings being pointless and time wasting by now. the thing is, i really believe that they could be used for the power of good. i know, poor, sweet, gullible jaimie.

we finally got a list of names of available pastors. so that’s good. you’d think that that would speed up this process some. and now comes the interviews.
it’s weird because we have these information sheets on all these guys so we know most of their beliefs or whatnots already. so basically i think the interview should go like this:

“so, you’re a lutheran pastor, huh?”
“yeah.”
“ok great, so you breathe oxygen, right?”
“um, yeah.”
“and you’re currently not a zombie?”
“no.”
“do you hate people?”
“what? no! i love people!”
“great. great. would you describe yourself as a nice guy/teamplayer who works well with others, or would you say that you’re an egotistical, no-personality asshole?”
“um, the first one?”
“uh huh and one more question, we know you’re lutheran, but do you believe in god?”
“yes, very much.”
“great, yer hired. and listen, no chanting during worship, got it?”

12.17.03
did some more christmas shopping today. wow. i need money. and when i get money the money goes, “hi jaimie! i’m money. bye!” and then it’s gone, back into the world. i guess that’s how money works. i’ve spent way too much this christmas, but hey, who hasn’t?

also made the mistake of eating chinese buffet for lunch. ow.
the thing about those places is that i have no self control. i eat WAY too much meat. and i think my system goes into Meat Shock.
*alarms*
stomach: oh my god! what has she done?!
brain: apparently she ate 2 quarts of Hong Kong BBQ Chicken and a bushel of Mongorian Beef.
stomach: what?! oh for the love. she hasn’t eaten that much meat ALL MONTH! why would she do that in one meal?
colon: don’t worry. she’ll get hers. oh yes, she’ll get hers.

12.14.03
we (mr. fleegan and i) rented a video game this weekend.
now i remember why i put the PS2 away.

i suck at video games. actually, for a girl, i think i’m a pretty fair player. but i lose interest very quickly. and having to play the same level over and over really pisses me off. so i guess i’m not a lover of games, but i do like games. mostly i like to watch people play games.

the problem i have with my PS2 is that all the games make you use the joystick thingie when they put a PERFECTLY good direction pad on the controller. hello?! i spent approximately all my pre-teen and half my teenage years playing with a direction pad! i need it! why are YOU LIMITING ME TO A STUPID JOYSTICK THINGIE THAT COMPLETELY GETS THE CHARACTER FARBLED AROUND!?! FARBLE YOU! YOU SHOULD BE FARBLING ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES!

and the fact that i hate the joystick just makes me a total non-gamer. i know.
well, fuck you game geeks. i want my controller back.

also, when playing video games i become the Incredible Cursing Woman. such a mouth on this girl. here i am at my parents house (w/guests) and i’m having a cursing fit big enough to make billy martin look like a jehovah’s witness complete with Controller Tantrum.
“why is it that when i press UP the garble darble marble farbling cursor farble target thingie farbling moves DOWN?! that makes no garble darble sense! farble! sharble!

anyway, we rented True Crime blah blah L.A. Something. it’s fun but kind of aimless. mainly just killing people and driving cars. and swearing.
but i’m not the only one swearing! the game also has a foul mouth and the songs in the background are nasty. there was a rap song in it that said something about “sweaty balls”. look game, i’m trying to run over bad guys here, i don’t need “sweaty balls” floating around in my subconscious. and the main guy, nick something (mr. fleegan and i are calling him Neek, in honor of the greatest movie ever) he cusses all the time. it’s strange. i’ve never played a game like that before.
<old man voice>
why, back in my day, video games didn’t have swear words! we didn’t need ’em! we had voice balloons with “#@$*!!” in ’em. and that was good enough for us! dammit.
</old man voice>

anyway, i’m sure there’s hoochies in this game somewhere, but we haven’t gotten to that level yet.

12.11.03
laura is the best friend ever. she totally revamped my site to look all cool and hip.
it’s got the fleegan up there and everything! i am so excited.
also, she’s the one who added “girly boobies” at the top.
yes she did.
oh yes, she did.

12.09.03
laura now has a blog! it’s very pretty. i am jealous. but just a little. not enough to warrant me putting a hex on her blog or anything. besides she’s using geocities and netscape…she needs no hex.

i was talking to her this morning and this happened:

J: laura, i think that if i woke up with the stigmata i would totally not be surprised.

LBC: heh. probably not. would any of us be surprised?

J: you would get the phone call though.

LBC: *in a pissy voice* “well, i got the stigmata, dammit.”

J: hahahaha i would totally be angry about it! “took ya long enough, stigmata! moron.”

12.04.03
i have mentioned before that my life has many sitcom moments. it’s to the point where if i was handed a script in the morning i would hardly be surprised, just very pissed off that i was not consulted on the writing and the fact that my Great Big Funny Moment of the Day would not be as funny as Yesterday’s Great Big Funny Moment of the Day. also, does my character have to swear so much? such a potty mouth that girl!

but mom and i were sitting at the table and we were talking about nothing (i think it was about christmas cards) and then we blasted a family member because they are so hateful toward their kids and mom said something like, “we never did that to you kids did we?” and i said, “no mom, you never told us we were fat and ugly.” and it was about to be a tender moment…when mom suddenly ripped one. a long one. tweefraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap!

so i looked away from mom and said, “CUT! i simply cannot work under these conditions. perhaps we could get a real actress or something? what’s emma thompson doing?”

and mom did the singsong, “TV Daughter!” because now, the sitcom moments are so common we have a singsong word for it. and aren’t you jealous?

12.01.03 i had to listen to a Leon Russell CD at work today. dad picked it. let me just say, i am not a fan. i don’t hate his music, but i would not pay money for it. i can’t exactly pinpoint why i don’t like his music, but i think it has something to do with the fact that he is obviously part of the Neil Young “i wrote the damn song and even though i can’t sing worth a shit, i’m gonna sing MY songs, by god” School of Music. gah. it’s like listening to an hours worth of nails on a chalk board…only with slightly less social messages than a Neil Young CD.

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The One About The Carol Burnette Show
December 30, 2003

hi kids,

well, do you remember a few weeks ago the whole Elf Fiasco?

yeah well. the Elf Fiasco continues. a couple of nights after that weekly was written i came home late one night and as i was getting ready for bed i drew back the covers and there was that horrible elf hidden in my bed.
ha. ha.

and just two days ago when jimmy and i were leaving church, we got to the car and there in the front seat was a horrible ElfSanta Wizard. WONderful.

yes, it could be more blurry.

the Noojin Family deny that they put it there. but i know better. i recognized the orb.

damn, dirty elf orb!

The Noojins are in big trouble.

on with the show:

on sunday morning i was sitting around the kitchen table with my father and i glanced at the local tv guide thing. carol burnette was on the cover. so i said to dad as he was drinking his coffee and sleep-reading the funnies, “huh. can you believe that carol burnette still has red hair?”

dad didn’t say anything.

“hell, she looks younger now than she did in the seventies!”

that got a, “hm. yeah.” outta dad.
i don’t think he’s listening to me.

“so dad, did you guys watch the carol burnette show, y’know, back when it was new?” heh. i was trying to get a rise out of him. but it was morning, and he didn’t seem to care. i think he was still tired.

“eh, sometimes i guess. not really.”

“what?! i thought everyone watched that show?”

“nah. i guess we watched it when nothing else was on.”

“oh come on! everyone in america loved that show!”

“well i didn’t!”

“what?! oh please. remember how like, harvey corman would forget his lines and then the cast would be on the brink of busting out laughing? and the audience would be cracking up? everyone loved that show!”

that woke him up.

“oh come on! that was pure schtick! they messed up on purpose! shit. gimmie a break. every week they put just enough glue on harvey corman’s moustache so that halfway through his first line half of it is hanging off; then tim conway comes in and trips on nothing meanwhile everyone else is acting like they’re about to crack up during a skit that wasn’t funny in the first place! i saw right throught it! i can’t believe saturday night live didn’t pick up on that and make fun of it. sheeze.”

“i guess i…never thought of it that way before.”

“yeah, well i did.”

“so do you just hate everything or what?”

“no, not everything.”

“yes you do. if it wasn’t jimi hendrix or pink floyd… you hated everything!”

“hmm yeah you might be right.”

“hating the carol burnette show. what’s the matter with you? you didn’t hate the muppets did you?”

“no, i loved the muppets!”

“oh me too!”

“animal was my favorite. he’d just pound on the drums. crack me up. and that swedish chef!”

“i liked the two mean old guys.”

“yeah! i liked grover!”

“grover? from sesame street?”

“yeah, he was cute.”

“dad, i totally wanted to marry grover! *grover voice* near……far!”

“hahaha! hey and remember those alien things that would learn a new word?”

“yepyepyepyepyep uh huh, uh huh. book.”

“bookbookbookbook…”

“uh huh, uh huh yepyepyepyep.”

“and guy smiley!”

“and the count! ah ah ah.”

“i never liked the grouch in the garbage can.”

“no one did. i didn’t like the two monsters that were stuck together and sounded out words. it bothered me that they were stuck together. one of them would go one way and then the other would try to go the other way and they would start fighting. seemed painful.”

“i don’t remember those guys.”

“god, was jim henson just the biggest pot head or what?”

“hahaha i’ve never thought of that before. you might be onto something.”

“justin and i discussed that at great length a couple of years ago.”

“well, you about ready to go to church?”

“yepyepyepyepyepyep.”

“uh huh, uh huh ray…dee…oh.”

“ray dee oh. radio. yepyepyepyep…”

 

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Tags: dante manglehorn, popsicle, TV

 

The One About Elves
December 16, 2003

hi kids,

it’s all true doncha know.

i really hate elves. a lot. hate ’em.
my friends know this and we’ve had, sad to say, lengthy conversations about my elf hate. they say i’m a racist. but elves are a species. i mean, when people say, “i hate snakes!” no one jumps all over them about their snake hate. right?
oh, i hates me some elves.

why jaimie, you ask, why the elf hate?

because they are dirty and mischievious. they move things.
“i could’ve sworn i put that over there.”
you did.
the elves moved it.
hate them.

ugh, and they’re all grubby and dirty. DIRTY ELVES!
my friends, poor misguided friends, they tell me that i’m thinking of gnomes and dwarves when i claim that elves are dirty. well, to them i say, no the hell i’m not! i know what a bleeding elf looks like. they’re thin with pokey ears and noses. they have the dopey hats and shoes. bloody bollicky rosy cheeks. feh. ptooi, i speet on elves, with their snarky smiles. like they know more than we do.
hate them.
hate those dirty elves.
go on.
give into the hate.

then there was this time i was pretty sick and possibly running a fever. i was sleeping in my bed at bad ol’ apt. 711 when i awoke quite suddenly and spoke aloud in an angry voice, “i swear, if one of those elves pulls my hair again…i’m gonna zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

now, all this elf talk was not brought about because of christmas. nay nay my friends, nay nay. you’re reading about elves today because of a “lovely” gift that was left for me.

to whoever left the scary elf on the steering wheel of my jeep:

why do you hate me?
why did you leave that sinister-looking elf on my steering wheel? did you think it would be funny? did you think that i would see it in the light of day? did you think i would be that lucky? don’t you know me better than that by now? did the thought even cross your mind that perhaps the way i would find that hideous monster would be around 11:30pm when all around is dark? with just the sounds of the creek in the background? the scary sound of the Night Creek? and maybe you don’t know me that well, maybe we aren’t “best friends”, maybe you don’t know that i’m really short and that the steering wheel of the jeep is right at my face when i’m standing at the jeep. maybe?

so maybe when i opened the door last night to see if my lost cell phone was in the jeep so that i could call my strong, tough boyfriend, maybe i came face to face with satan himself? in elf form? hmm? maybe i screamed? maybe i screamed like a girl? or maybe it wasn’t so much a scream as the shrieking of a profane word? perhaps i even went so far as to take our lord’s name in vain? is it grammatically incorrect to have a paragraph full of questions?

ha.ha.ha.

was that how the joke was to “go down”?
was jaimie supposed to piss herself in glee or in terror? or was it both? you’re just that sick aren’t you? and don’t even think for a second i don’t know who you are. don’t even think i’m not on to your vicious Hell Game of Terror.
oh yes, you torturous beeatch, i know who did it. i’d recognize that kitsch anywhere.

thanks for the scary-ass elf, laura.
triflin’ ho.

it cracked me up. just sitting there…all sassy.
i should totally take a picture of it.

clearly not as menacing in the daylight

or is it?!

of course i couldn’t leave such a gift of love in the jeep. i brought it inside and placed it at the heart of christmas…the nativity, aw.

check out his saucy pose

i was going to lovingly rip the baby jesus out of mary’s arms and have her hold the elf in some sort of demented pieta but i figured i’m in enough trouble as it is. also, the baby jesus was really stuck on there. why did they use so much glue?

the best part though was that dad comes in as i’m taking a picture of the nativity thingie and he’s all, “what…are you doing?”
“i’m takin’ a picture of the elf in the nativity.”
“what elf?”
thing is, i’m not sure if he’s asking it like, “what elf at the nativity? i don’t remember elves in the bible.” or if it’s “what elf in that nativity? i don’t see an elf.”

“that elf. isn’t it horrible?”
“i don’t see an elf.”
“it does blend in, doesn’t it?”
“oh god! oh! it’s one of those elves. those like, pixie elves. oh. *shudders*

which makes me feel good to know that i’m related to someone else who is creeped out by elves.

so then about ten minutes later i’m in here working on the pictures in corel and i hear the front door open and “eagle eye” mom comes in and the FIRST thing she says is, “who put a leprechaun in the manger scene?!”

damn good thing i didn’t make that pieta.

scottie of the cube, sent a link to her site type thingie. she’s just had her gall bladder removed. it’s a blow by blow account!

my aunt jackie sent one of these christmas things where you decorate a tree and stuff. the music hypnotized me. it’s almost silent night but i guess they didn’t think that it was public domain and that they should “change it up a bit”. the message was nice though.

next week’s epitomb: Louie the Elf’s new modeling career

jaimie “elf hater” pickle

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Tags: christmas, laura, rant

 
we hates laura

The One About Happy Holidays!
December 16, 2003

hi kids,

well, it’s time once again for the Happy Holidays From ___! the neo-traditional third person POV christmas newsletter weekly. i wasn’t going to do one this year because laura and i don’t live together anymore and so basically it would be just like all the other weeklies: What Happened To Jaimie This Year? Here, Let Me Tell You. Oh? You’ve Heard All About It? Even The Squirrel? I See. Sorry, I’ll Stop Typing Now. Happy Holidays!

but then, just as i said i wouldn’t do one this year, i got one in the mail from a relative and i cringed and sat myself down with a strong cuppa coffee and dredged through the newsletter.

after wiping the tears from my eyes i decided that i would HAVE to write a stupid fake newsletter for the sake of others. (and stacy, it wasn’t your newsletter. i love the one you send. it’s funny. it’s fresh. it’s written in normal 1st person point of view.) but we all get that one that’s ridiculous and sad.

and so here’s my version.

Happy Holidays!

Jaimie hopes this letter finds you and your family in good health and spirits this holiday season. Jaimie is doing great but the year sure did start out a little bit crazy! It all started with one of her crazy-ass uncles having the dumbest birthday party ever, and then he just up and left town leaving behind a very fashionable ring for Jaimie to keep.

Well, it turned out that the ring was really important for some reason (she still doesn’t know what the deal about the ring is) and some very important people were upset that the ring was in existence so she used her mad diplomacy skillz and told them she’d get rid of it for them. Her schedule has been pretty flexible since she quit the sign shop and started painting houses.

By February she and her friends had made the journey thru some really dark tunnels. Turns out, Jaimie hates tunnels. After she cried for a few minutes a giant cave troll came along and beat the crap out of her. The bad part was that her friend, Flandalf died in the tunnels. (but don’t worry! he came back in June: The Sequel.)

Springtime came along and the flowers grew and the woods were pretty. But Jaimie didn’t notice any of it because she had been separated from her friends and was busy pressurewashing houses. Wow! Did she stay soaked all through the summer!

Eventually these bad guys came after her and her friends. They were very dirty. So were the bad guys. In fact, the only one who seemed to never get dirty was the elf. Jaimie hates elves.

Anyway by summer Jaimie was probably halfway to Giant Volcano Land. She met some people. They sucked. While she was out just walking around her other friends were having to fight all these wars. It seemed redundant. If Jaimie had been there she would have been really pissed about it. Although she did hear that the elf kicked major ass.
Still, she hates elves.

Eventually Jaimie was kidnapped and taken to the colorless city of Flondor. She hated that place. Even her green hair had no color in that place. What’s up with that?

By late autumn pressurewashing season was over and Jaimie was way glad for that. She was sick and tired of being soaking wet all day long. She also hated the Giant Screeching Flying Guys. Stupid Screech-holes.

By winter she had made it to Giant Volcano Land. It was a dark and ugly place. Kind of like how Flondor had been a grey and ugly place. As she was making it past the bad guys, her friends made another war so that she could sneak up on the volcano.

…

Eventually Jaimie saved the world.
It took a long time.
And she never, not once, not even a tiny bit, felt sorry for that Gollum dude. She hated that tricksie, false bastard.

Merry Christmas!

Jaimie “Baggins” Pickle

it’s weird because jimmy was totally all over the gollum pathos while i was all, “god, when does he DIE?” sometimes i feel bad that jimmy loves a heartless bitch.

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Tags: christmas

The One About Of Mice and Sheet Rock Guys
December 2, 2003

hi kids,

it’s all true doncha know.

remember last week’s Weekly about the rabid squirrel? i know you think i made that all up, and that i lied to you for a cheap laugh. but i didn’t. and when i handed my friend, becky, a hardcopy of the Weekly (because some people have computers and never turn them on and don’t we feel sorry for them?) she saw the lovely graphique with the mean-rabid squirrel on it and said, “oh, did you get one of those Rabid Squirrel Notices too?” and i said, “wha?” and she said that both of her children (one is in elementary school and the other is in junior high) came home last week with notices saying that due to the onslaught of rabid squirrels and raccoons in the area that airplanes were going to be dropping special “cookies” into the woods and that the “cookies” look like Fig Newtons™ and that the children should NOT eat any Fig Newton™ that they find in the woods as it is Rabid Squirrel And Raccoon Poison.
as if i could make that up.
and apparently there was a blurb in the local paper about it as well. and becky said that she and her family laughed about it, and i said, “well, apparently the front yard needs one of those Fig Newtons™ because my window was brutally attacked by a rabid squirrel.” and she said, “no kidding?” and i said, “i kid you not.”

so listen kids, not only do we have to be on the lookout for rabid squirrels, but we also need to condition ourselves to not, not, NOT EAT ANY STRANGE FIG NEWTON™-LIKE COOKIE WE FIND IN THE WOODS.

i know.

and i know that i could never put one of those cookies in the yard because Toonces, being a curious whorecat, would see it and say to herself, “hey jaimie loves me and gave me a cookie that looks just like a Fig Newton™ cookie. that cookie is for Tunses good cat kitty cat!” and then she would eat half of it and i would go outside and see her and scream, “NOOOOO-oooooo-OOOOOO-ooooooo!“

and she would look up at me in utter betrayal with some kind of greenish bile-string coming out of her mouth and say, “et tu, jaimie?”

and then people would come over and say, “hey, where’s Toonces?” and i would shamefully say, “i killed her.” and they would laugh and say, “oh jaimie, you’ve been saying that for years now. so really, where’s the cat?” and i would have to start all over again at the beginning with the rabid squirrel. and then when i finished they would point and whisper, “murderer! murderer!”

i know. so don’t worry kids, any Fig Newton™ you find in my yard is safe eating. a promise from me to you.

at first i thought, “what kind of homer simpson moron would be walking in the woods and see a Fig Newton™ and after thinking, “mmmmm, Fig Newton™” would stoop down, pick up, and eat said Fig Newton™? and then i thought, well, it is deer season. and we’re in alabama.

i’m glad they sent home a notice about the poisonous Fig Newtons™ because i realize that kids, stupid dumbass kids, would eat a poison cookie they found in the woods. i would.
no i wouldn’t.

yes i would.

come on, free Fig Newton™! duh!

so listen, all you science/wildlife experts out there, how about if you’re going to make rabid animal poison, i mean let’s just say, how about NOT MAKING IT LOOK LIKE A POPULAR SNACK COOKIE THAT MOM’S PUT IN LUNCHBOXES EVERY DAY, HUH?! DO I HAVE TO THINK OF EVERY STUPID THING AROUND HERE?

or at least stamp a skull and crossbones on it, i’m certain that rabid animals, not being in their right-minds, would not recognize such a universal symbol, but that every child who has ever watched a cartoon EVER, will know that hey, that Fig Newton™ is poisonous.

or better yet, make it look like poop. because hey, if a kid goes out to the woods and eats poop, i mean, hey, it takes a village, that’s all i’m sayin’.

so jaimie, what does poisoned Fig Newtons™ and poop-eating children have to do with sheet rock?
um, nothing?

so dad and i have been painting a local fire house. or is it fire station? fire hall? mead hall! yay! beowulf!

<tangent> and speaking of mead hall, the World Famous Finlaysons gave me some mead. actual, real mead! and i drank it! it tasted sweet. i don’t think i’d want to drink it all the time, but for real, it wasn’t bad. it’s 10 times better than strega, if any of you out there have ever had the misfortune of drinking strega. they are both yellow but the similarities stop there. where the mead was sweet and honeyish, the strega is like a combination of the green flavored NyQuil™ and hydrochloric acid.

thank you, kind Finlaysons, for sharing your mead with me. for two minutes i felt like a viking. and as i was alone when i drank it, i said a toast to Hrothgar and drank straight from the bottle. not lady-like i’m sure, but i mean, come on, how often does the opportunity come around to drink mead anyway?
</tangent>

the fire station! right, so the guy in charge of the building of the fire station calls and says they’re ready for us to paint. but the thing is, we get there and like, it’s under construction. and so my first reaction upon ariving and seeing brick masons laying brick and electricians running wire and sheet rock guys hanging sheet rock was, “dad, why in hell are we painting a place that isn’t done yet? shouldn’t we wait for THE WALLS TO BE BUILT?” and dad was all, “SOME of the walls are ready to be painted. just paint those.”

“yeah, but isn’t this like counting chickens before they hatch? i mean, we get these walls all primed and then some idiot puts a hole in one or something? and all this dust…come on.”

“do you have to complain about EVERYTHING?”

“no, not everything. just about stupid things. because if i paint a wall and some assjack with a hammer comes in and messes it up or all this dust settles on my wet paint it’s gonna really piss me off.”

“look, we’re getting paid by the hour, so who cares?”

“yeah, but there’s no lights…alls i’m saying is-“

“shut up and paint.”

well, by day three dad is all, “we shouldn’t be painting this place yet. all this dust and they STILL don’t have all the walls all sanded down yet. and where’s the electrician?!”

sigh.

but the reason i really hate painting there…it’s not just the ineffiency…nay, it’s because it’s a construction site and i’m the only girl. and because of that my official name at the site is Girl. and the sad part is i respond to it. i mean, how am i not going to respond to it?

“hey Girl, where’s your dad?”

like i’m going to say, “hmmm? oh were you talking to me?” because i’d rather be Girl than Bitch.

oh and my fluourescent yellow hair went over big too.

after 3 days everything was old hat, well except for Girl, but i figure that’s not going to change anytime soon so i’ll just live with my new moniker for another week or two.
oh wait, actually, this one guy calls me either Girl or Suzie. i…i’m thinking that maybe…maybe he calls all girls Suzie?

i don’t know. but i do know that he’ll ask Suzie a question and i’ll respond to it so…who’s the crazier of the two?

well, the two bonehead sheet rockers were like, absolute clichés. and dad and i have decided that we want nothing to do with the sheet rock business.

i was painting a wall and they were working on the opposite side of the wall, so like, if the wall wasn’t there we’d be facing each other, so see, we aren’t in the same room…they were in the next room, i can’t explain this very well, sorry. so i could hear everything they were doing, ‘cos you know, the wall wasn’t finished on their side yet.

well, the one guy’s name was jack. and i know that because the other guy, whom we’ll call lenny (although that’s not his name but TRUST ME he’s a lenny) said jack’s name in at least every sentence he said.

“hey, jack. where’s the nails at jack?”

meanwhile jack is struggling to hold up a piece of sheet rock, which by the way is very heavy. i know it’s heavy because i couldn’t even move a measly 4ft piece of it by myself. so when jack was talking back, his voice was all strained and grunty and he said, “i need…some help.”

“jack? have you seen the nails, jack? where are the nails at jack?”

“help in here! i need some help.”

poor jack. holding up that giant piece of sheet rock by himself.

a while later i hear:

“where’s the glue at, jack?”

*hammer pounding* “help me…in here.”

“jack? have you seen the glue, jack?”

finally after 2 hours of this torture they go to lunch and i come rushing out of my room to find dad to see if he’s been listening to the steinbeckian caricatures:

“dad! have you been listening to those guys? oh my god!”

“heh. that guy is clueless isn’t he?”

“oh man, i thought i was gonna die laughing in there!”

“i knew that we’d talk about those guys sometime today.”

“i mean, “jack” is in there struggling by himself….”

“and meathead is out here looking for nails, i know.”

“i’ve been calling him “lenny” in my head.”

“hahahahahaha!”

well, you know what? it’s not nice to make fun of people. and there i was, making fun of someone i didn’t know. making fun of this bonehead. calling him “lenny” and snickering back and forth with dad saying, “i see it, george! i see the nails!” and “tell me about the glue, george.”

well, instant karma is a beeatch. and to tell you the truth, i don’t belive in karma, instant or otherwise, but what i do know is that lenny has taken a shine to me. he LOVES me, he thinks i’m GREAT, and he says that i have a great personality.

i know. of course i feel like a terrible, horrible bitch, but also, the guy creeps me out. because he asks a lot of personal questions and also he only has 8 teeth. for real. okay, he might have 12 teeth, but still come on. he’s missing more teeth than he has, and i’m not so shallow as to think that being Mr. Gums makes him creepy (oh sure that’s part of the creepiness) but it’s mostly the personal questions and the fact that i’m alone in a room with this guy and my dad is like, way far away in another part of the fire station, that’s the part that bothers me. he doesn’t talk to me when dad is there.

and now i know way more about lenny’s dog, health and drinking habits than i care to. and after talking to him (listening to him, rather) for two days i figured that he was pretty harmless and that yes he was as simple as a rock, and also i had pretty much planned out my escape in case he did decide to attack me. my weapon was to be the half-gallon can of paint which i would swing at his head as i charged for the door. go-go-gadget paint can!

anyway like i said, i kinda got used to the guy and i realized that lenny was more sad than scary (just like in the book! ‘cos sure lenny kills some puppies and a slut, but for real, lenny was way more sad than scary). but then after work dad said, “tomorrow we paint in the same room at all times.”
“huh? why? oh. lenny?”
“yeah, i don’t like it when he’s in there with you.”
“me neither. but i don’t think he’d try anything. DO YOU?! OH GOD IS HE GOING TO KILL ME? DO NOT LET HIM TOUCH MY HAIR. I DON’T CARE HOW SOFT IT LOOKS!”
“nah, but still i don’t like it.”
“yeah, works for me.”

lenny was calling me Lady Painter and sometimes Pretty Lady Painter but on Day Three he asked my name and now he calls me jaimie. and he uses it in every sentence.

“do you drink tequila, jaimie?”
“wh- um, yes?”
“oh i tell you what jaimie, i like tequila.”

why are you telling me this? ugh. go away lenny.

then the next day he comes into the room where dad and i are painting and he says to dad, “well, she sure is a lot prettier’n you are!”

what on earth do you say to that?
thank you? i guess?

jack, on the other hand, ignores me completely and sometimes he gives me a dirty look as if to say, “could you please not paint in the same room? you’re distracting lenny.” and i look back at him with the “oh sure, like it’s my fault lenny is lenny” look. and then he gives me that exasperated look of, “look, i’m not blaming you for lenny’s lennyness, but for god’s sake, we’re not even done with the walls yet, why are you guys painting?” and my look is all, “i don’t know! i don’t know!”

next week’s epitomb: lenny pets the puppies. AND THEY DIE.

jaimie “Girl” pickle

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Tags: Beowulf, nerd, painting, popsicle

The One About Squirrels and Thanksgiving
er, what i mean is, it’s not about Squirrels and Thanksgiving so much as the first part is about a Squirrel and the second part is about Thanksgiving, i mean come on, how much of a redneck do you think i am anyway?
November 26, 2003

hi kids,

it’s all true doncha know.

remember how i told you about my cat waking me up at all hours of the morning and that the Dark Side is stealing my sleep to use it as fuel for hell? remember?

well the cat has been good lately. she’s been quiet. and she hasn’t jumped on me head in 9 days. a new record. so i guess my sleep is back to normal, eh?

no. no it isn’t.
when i’m not waking up once an hour with my breath stolen and my body covered in sweat, then something really rare and stupid is happening to wake me up. and it’s usually at the window. and it usually scares the bleeding hell out of me, ‘cos i have an irrational fear of aliens/monsters/pack of wild dogs coming through my window, BUSTING through my window and onto my bed and then killing me in a horrible way. the aliens torture me, the monster disembowels me and leaves the room to go kill the other people in the house while i die slowly and painfully, and the pack of wild dogs eats me alive.
that’s why it’s called an irrational fear. but the fear is there nonetheless, and don’t you dare tell me that those horrible things will never happen because i know that. that still doesn’t stop me from ending my evening prayers with, “and God, i know i deserve to be killed in all sorts of horrible, nasty ways, like alien torture, disemboweling by monster, and perhaps even being eaten alive say…by a pack of wild dogs, but please don’t let anything come through the window. amen.”

and now when i wake up i don’t get my hopes up because i’m waking up at least three times a night/morning and when my eyes open i’m never sure if i should just roll over or if it’s time to get up. that’s why they invented giant digital clocks. and everytime i look at the clock and it’s not time to get up or it’s still dark outside i think, “oh shit. the window. it will come through the window. maybe NOW! AHHH!” and i panic until i fall asleep again.

which means that on friday, just as day was breaking and i was still sleeping all tucked in and safe and happy, there was a giant crash-boom-bang-scrape against my window and i jerked awake and had a mild heart attack/stroke/kidney failure/bowel movement/amputation due to frostbite/liver transplant/frontal lobotomy and i gave birth to an 8 pound wolfboy named Rosco. “ooosums a wittle wolfboy? yoosums!”
mama and puppy are doing fine by the way.

so i jerk awake and twist all about in my 2.5 blankets and look at the banging, scratching window and i peer through the blinds, and i can barely see this grey colored F5 whatsit going apeshit from the small tree to the window and back again and back AGAIN. and there’s ALL THIS NOISE. AND THE WINDOW IS BANGING. AND THE SCREEN IS SCREAMING AND SCRATCHING LIKE NAILS ON A CHALKBOARD, OK?! AND THIS CREATURE, WHOM I AM ASSUMING IS THE BLOODY BOLLICKY CAT, IS ABSOLUTELY GOING BATSHIT INSANE. AND ALL THIS, OUTSIDE. OF. MY. WINDOW. DAMMIT.

by the time i twist my way out ot the blanket, and of course my earring gets caught and it starts bleeding because holy hell i can’t simply arise from the bed without chaos all around, i run out to the front door (by the way, my bedroom window is two feet away from the door, which is to let you know that i am face to face with the beast) to yell at the assjacking cat.

and it’s not a cat which i’m sure you’ve already guessed by the title to this thing and yes, you got it, it’s a bollicking squirrel which has now stopped all movement from small tree to window and has now planted itself flat to the bricks of the house and is looking at me and flicking and swishing its tail all about and is chattering, barking and spitting at me.
yes, spitting.

i am so angry.
i have just been scared out of two years of my life and my ear is bleeding.

so of course i resorted to pointing and cussing.

i pointed at the demon-possessed squirrel and said, “what the HELL ARE YOU DOING OUTSIDE OF MY WINDOW YOU GODLESS CRETIN?! DAMN YOU BACK TO YOUR WORLD! THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU! GET AWAY FROM MY WINDOW, YOU GODDAMN BEAST OF HELL!”

it chitted and barked and spat at me some more.

and quite frankly, after my initial reaction of yelling and cursing i became afraid, because obviously a rabid squirrel is not something that i want to tangle with first thing in the morning…or ever really. it was a very sick squirrel. and it was at my window. and it was three feet away from my person.

so i looked around the yard to see if the cat had been trying to catch it ‘cos maybe that’s why the squirrel was going crazy. but no, that cat was nowhere to be seen.

the squirrel continued to foam and spit and bark and click and make those other wild noises but it had stopped jumping and banging and scraping the window so i thought what the hell, i’ll go lay back down.

so back to bed and i can hear the squirrel continue it’s horrible foamy, barky, chit rap. it goes on and on. and it gently lulls me back to sleep…gently…ever so lulling…so tired…eyes closed…nearly back…to sleepy sleep….there…just…

BANG CLANG SCHREEEEEEE BANG BANG!

me. straight up in bed.
“buh! aieeeee! oh. yeah.” the squirrel is once again doing it’s gymnastic routine on my window.

so i debate whether or not to go back outside and chase the demonized squirrel or just let it kill itself in due time against my window. and then i think that what if the cat is out there and is about to kill the squirrel? and what if me going out there ruins Toonces’s concentration and then the squirrel gets away, or worse, sees Toonces’s distraction and then makes its move and attacks Toonces? and there’s my cat. all rabid. and then i gotta go bury it and all of a sudden i’m starring in Jaimie Pickle’s Stephen King’s Pet Semetary III: Nightmare Morning.

so i wait it out. more chitting and barking and spitting. and eventually i hear a thud and all is quiet.

i’d like to think that the squirrel ran off into the woods, laid down and had a quiet death. but it probably ran off into the woods and then proceeded to run in a tight circle, round and round and round until it got so crazy it broke out and ran dizzily up a tree and upon reaching the top it did not slow down just kept on dizzily running until it ran out of tree and just fell down to it’s fatal wounding with a mighty thud and then slowly dragged itself coughing and spitting to a nearby stream and then it died. but where did the demon go?

well, if i wake up sometime this week with a crazed owl at my window, i guess we’ll know.

and now onto the part about Thanksgiving.

ah, Thanksgiving…the day we get off from work only to work harder on that day than we do any day at work, huh ladies? i mean, if it’s not cooking and baking all day and setting the table(s) then it’s cleaning up and doing dishes and cleaning up the table(s). and oh sure we have dishwasher machines, sure, but the thing is, Thanksgiving is the time of year you have to break out those giant weird cooking pots and iron skillet things and other weird cooking things you only use twice a year and it doesn’t fit in the dishwasher and there’s four parts to it and it’s really complicated and maybe you’d rather be at work than wrestling with that weird oven-turkey-cooking-thing.

this year’s Thanksgiving is going to be odd. because it’s just mom and me. ‘cos dad left us to go to florida with some hootchie his brother to have thanksgiving with my grandfather and that lady he married after my real grandma died.
what do you call that? a step-grandmother? that’s messed up.

and my brother is not coming home for the holiday either. he will instead be spending time with his girlfriend’s family and don’t we all feel sorry for him? not because her family is terrible or anything, i mean, i have no idea what her family is like, but we all know how it feels to have to go to “that other family’s house” for thanksgiving. and here’s a perfect essay on just that very thing. it’s always odd in that everyone stares at you because you’re not one of “them” although they try to be extra polite to you, and you know that they don’t mean it but that they think they have you fooled. and don’t even try to help out in the kitchen because the moment you enter they smell you and turn around and say, “oh jaimie, we have it all taken care of, dear.” (and by dear they mean ‘slut who is dating that nice boy we all love so’) and they do that every year so finally after 5 years you stop offering to help and you know, know, know that they’re going to talk about you later and say something awful like, “ugh, and that jaimie…every year she never helps or does anything. i don’t see what jimmy sees in her.” and when you do bring a dessert to the meal nobody eats it because the “uitlander” brought it, but they all tell you it was great and that they were glad to see you again and they hope to see you next year too. but they don’t mean it. and there’s the one ass-hat uncle who every bleeding year asks jimmy, “hey jimmy? are you sure this is the same girl you brought last year? HAHAHAHAHAHA!” and the only good part about the meal was that you voluteered to sit at the kid’s table with all the nieces and nephews, and sure they’re scared of you at first but then they slowly get over the fact that you have pink hair and then they’re your new best friend because you’ve heard of N’SYNC and 50 Cent. and when it’s time for you to finally, finally, finally leave the random-in-law’s house the kids cry because they don’t want you to leave, and the in-law is giving you the two-thirds of your pie that’s left over saying, “oh, here, take your pie, there’s no way we could ever eat it all.”
oh, like it’s just me?

so this year it’s just mom and me, and honestly we couldn’t be happier. we have been invited to many a friend’s house for Turkey day. we’ve been invited all across the south actually…florida, north carolina, louisianna, glencoe and even ohio, which isn’t so much in the south as it is midwest.

we politely declined all invitations.

then mom tried to find us a soup kitchen to work for ‘cos hey, might as well be useful, right? might as well feed hungry people one day out of the year, right? wrong. they said they didn’t need anymore volunteers. how messed up is that?

“so james, what are we gonna do for thanksgiving now?”
“i dunno mom. let’s have…chili?”
“ok.”

so we’re having chili. now wait, don’t feel bad. it’s not nearly as sad as all that. it’s not like i’m 7 years old and justin is 3 and our dad ran off with some crackho and mom’s in the living room eating cigarettes and suckin’ a bottle of gin and yelling, “you kids better eat all yer turkey roll! i wanna see clean plates, dammit!”

see? that’s sad.
chili supper? not sad.

also, everyone is invited for the chili as we’ll be eating it late and also drinking much booze. liz is bringing dessert. and i say we eat out of paper bowls so there’s no dishes to do…well except for that giant pot that doesn’t fit in the dishwasher, dammit.

asinine things i am thankful for:
clean sheets
tylenol pm™
everytime my jeep starts
beer

so happy Thanksgiving, you guys.

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Tags: mom, toonces

The One About Freewill
November 18, 2003

hi kids,

i guess we’ve all heard about the “honorable” judge moore?

for the record, that man makes me sick. and it has nothing to do with the ten commandments. because to me, the 10 C’s are like, important and all, right? but for real, i think they’re only mentioned in the bible like, 4 or 5 times. and the fact that this asshole has made them a crusade of sorts just cheapens them.

i mean, the guy sneaks in at midnight and plants a giant 2 ton monument? do we really need sherlock holmes for this one, kids? it’s obvious he’s just trying to make a name for himself. and trust me, most people here in alabama see that. we’re not all wacky, religous zealots. so i’m glad he was removed as chief justice of our supreme court (which is, of course, a court covered in sour cream a la taco bell) and really he needs to be disbarred too. so i’m rooting for the disbarring.

the ten commandments are great. they’re great because they gave us law. we need law. law is that thing that keeps us from killing and stealing from each other, and i can totally appreciate that. and really, if someone wants to have a copy of the ten commandments in a courthouse then yeah, that makes sense and you can put a normal-sized copy of them next to the “copies” of the u.s. constitution (and other historical documents) that most places (including my high school) have on the walls. it’s not that big of a deal. life will go on.

so i mean, for some assjack to sneak in a GIANT HONKING monument of the ten commandments, i mean, that’s just weird. it really is. it’s kinda sick even. and i was going to compare it to those giant statues of saddam hussien, but even i know when to stop just short of “HEY WHAT ARE YOU DOING? DON’T YOU KNOW THAT’S TOO FAR?” unlike some schmo who sneaks in a giant monument and expects everyone to be all cool about it. moron.

you know what else is cool about the 10 commandments? god gave them to us. ‘cos he was all, “jeez, i gotta think of everything for these people? oy.” so he gave us law. otherwise we would have all killed each other by now, of that i am certain. but you know what else god gave us? freewill. that’s right. we get to choose whether or not we want to even believe in god or not. it’s not like god is forcing us to look at a giant slab of commandments, and the ones he did send down were like, a managable size, right? i mean, moses made it down the mountain carrying the things.

and for some reason when i was thinking about all this i was imagining god talking like an angry, cuban girlfriend, “leesen mang, ju dink i can’t come down there and keel ju all? like ju doubt me, mang? ‘cos you leesen to me, ogay, i don’t haf to sit up here all day, mang, and leesen to ju people, ogay? ju dink i won’t smite you, mang? huh? oh now ju ignore me? ogay, be that way, mang. justice is mine, mang.”

i think i just broke the 11th commandment. that’s right kids, i go to 11, for you.

i would make a great sunday school teacher, wouldn’t i?

AND IN LIGHTER TOPICS

we watched gladiator the other day. i want to tell you it’s a good movie, but see, i watched it with dad, so it may have sucked for all i know. we laughed and laughed and laughed.

dad: that job sucks.
me: you mean being a gladiator?
dad: yeah. they need a dental plan too.
me: yeah that early roman bridge work was something else. zing!
dad: they need a union.
jimmy: they need to stop showing that dude flirting with his sister.
me: yeah, that is creepy.
jimmy: what is this? the gladiators of hazzard?
me: hahaha! has anyone else noticed it took an hour before there was anything gladiatory in the movie? an hour! talk about exposition! sheez.
jimmy: what’s with these weird scenes interspersed with the rest of the movie?
me: hmmm, that’s ridley scott channeling stanley kubrik.
dad: what’s with that whiney guy?
me: yeah and does he have to whisper all of his lines? joaquin phoenix AS ray liotta portrayed BY joaquin phoenix AS the bitch emperor IN the gladiators of hazzard.

beats all you ever saw…

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Tags: movies

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