The One About My Constant Lack of Sleep
November 11, 2003

hi kids,

i believe in Good and Evil.

i also believe in a million shades of Grey. the tricky thing about Grey is that, i suppose, as a christian (and there’s the rub. whatever the hell that means), there’s not really supposed to be any Grey. it’s either Good or Evil and anything Grey is part of Evil.

well, i don’t like that. i mean sure, it should be easier to just have Black and White, but it’s not. so there.

where am i going with this? hang on i forgot.

‘k. i believe that as humans (terrible, nasty humans) that we are constantly attacked (on a spiritual level), and that this ‘attack’ affects (effects? no, affects.) our physical lives.

there. i said it.
feel free to let the stoning begin.

anyway, that was all to lead into the fact that my sleep is being stolen from me. on a nightly basis. i don’t know what the Dark Side needs MY sleep for, but apparently it’s like gold to them. or maybe not so much gold but more like coal or some other inefficient fuel source that powers some kind of giant machine in hell that crunches up old people and babies and the fodder is used as either hell food or some kind of nutrient for hell soil to grow big, strong, poisonous vegetables which then become hell food.

see? i’m losing it. this is what happens when you get fewer than 4 hours of sleep a night for over a month. heh, you should see my motor skillz. i’ve dropped my paint brush this week countless times. and driving? driving has become a comedy of errors.
“huh. i’m driving. i wonder where i was going.”

i was blaming the cat (Toonces) at first. she was hiding in the house and then waiting for the perfect early morning moment to jump on my head. and if it wasn’t a 3am head clawing “good morning!” she would wait until 4am to start a 30 minute staccato meow song. now, if it’s not the head clawing or the Morning Song then that must mean that i’ve found the cat before i went to bed, and i threw her ass out. which means that every night around 11pm she sits outside my window and sings her Evening Meows which i’ve started thinking of as her prayer, or maybe she’s catholic and is saying her Hail Mary’s. when in fact she’s saying, “hey. hey. hey. jaimie. i know you’re awake. your light’s on. let me in. i promise. i promise i’ll be good. this time. i promise. let me in. the other cats. are coming. let me in.”

i don’t let her in.

and because i don’t let her in, that means at about 1:30 – 2am there’s going to be a plethora of cats in the yard and the violent sing-song of Catfight Sex will begin. the Catfight Sex will go on until i get up and trip my way to the front door and yell. sometimes the yelling works. but sometimes, i guess the Catfight Sex is too good, because the cats will run to the edge of the yard and turn and look at me. they look at me (in my crazy mis-matched pj’s and crazy hair) with their half-lidded “bored now” eyes and say, “yeah, well in 15 minutes when you’re just about to fall asleep…we’re gonna start with the Catfight Sex again. bitch.”

so if they don’t run out of the yard i trip about the hedges and get the hose and blast them. hell yes, it’s satisfying, but honestly, if you walk around outside for any length of time and especially if you manage to find and turn on the hose, then you’re more than awake and you know it’s gonna take you the rest of the morning to fall asleep. that, and with all the Catfight Sex racket and hose blasting, the dogs in the backyard are enjoying a nice barking frenzy.

and there’s Toonces on the porch saying, “see? you should have let me in.”

now i know you’re thinking that that can’t possibly happen every night. no, that only happens twice a week. and the Making Biscuits on Jaimie’s Face Cat Clawing Spectacular happens once or twice a week as does Toonces Morning Song.

other nights i am plagued with the Flaming Irritable Bowel Syndrome From Outer-Hell. and i’ll not bore you with the details of my horror dreams/sleep terrors.

and now, mom has her 4 month spurt of bronchitis (she’ll have it til March). so she’s barking all night. it’s not her fault. it’s those damn, germ-toting-snot-filled pre-school kids. bastards.

but the other night was the best. i was awake because i had put the cat out and she was at the window threatening to call all her boyfriends over. i laid there and read my book. finally Toonces had moved on and my eyes were getting oh-so droopy. yay, sleep at last…

then mom and dad start snoring. loud. LOUD.

mom’s snore was a short snore. dad’s snore was a long, musical snore. and through the walls it was muffled just enough to sound like this:

dad: you wanna know what?
mom: what.
d: you wanna know what?
m: what.
d: you wanna know what?
m: what.
d: you wanna know what?
m: what.

and that “conversation” went on forever.

yes, i can appreciate that it was hilarious, but still, my sleep was being stolen again, just like the night before and the week before and all last month. so i got up and dyed my hair bright yellow. i figured if i was going to be up for a while i might as well do something. that way i wouldn’t be giving my sleep away. i was up. because i wanted to be. because i had things to do. take THAT, sleep stealers!

so around 1am i finish and i’m suitably tired and ready for The Big Snooze. i settle in and there’s no cats, and mom and dad have finally reached a non-snoring point, and mom’s coughing was minimal, and finally god was smiling down on me, and maybe just maybe i’ll get to sleep for 6 straight hours.

but then i heard a loud click.
“what the? oh hell. no way!”
it was the delay timer for the dishwasher. the dishwasher that was full of pots and dishes. the dishwasher song goes like this, “CLANG two, three, four, CLANG two, three, four, CLANG two, three four” it’s called 55 Minute Opus.

so anyway, i don’t know exactly where all my sleep goes when i’m not sleeping when i should be sleeping, but i want it back.

AND IN OTHER FITS OF RANDOM

i’ll share with you some of our (dad and i) radio moments of last week. we listen to the local AM oldies channel (for those just tuning in) and sometimes a song we’ve heard a thousand hundred times over the years will suddenly become either
a. the dumbest song in the world or
b. the most annoying song ever and if we never hear it again that would be fine with us. oliver’s good morning starshine, for example. that has to be the most annoying song ever recorded.

anyway we were listening and the #17 all-time-stuck-in-your-head-for-two-weeks song came on, neil diamond’s sweet caroline. anyway i’m singing along and i belt out “touching meeeeeee, touching youuuuuuuuu! SWEEEET CARO wait.”
“huh?”
“bad touch?”
“hahahahaha”
“miss caroline, if you would for the jury, please show us…on the doll…where the defendant, mr. diamond, touched you.”

and then there was this stupid song, a song i’ve heard a million times but i don’t know who did it or what the title is but it’s the one with the chorus that goes, “it’s so easy, like taking candy from a baby”. yeah, i know. so i say, “like making candy from a baby? dad is that legal?”
“hmmm baby candy? yeah.”
“i wonder what goes in baby candy.”
“oh, well. first there’s the baby. and then you add the 4 cups of sugar and 2 cups corn syrup.”
“oh man, you were too fast on that one.”
“then you spread it on a baking sheet like peanut brittle and pop it in the oven at 350 for about an hour.”
“hahahaha. *fake voice* uh, yes. i’m interested in trying some of your candy for babies? my baby loves candy!”
“oh the baby candy? uh yes. how much you take for the baby?”
also, it helps if you know that dad was talking in his Strong Bad voice.

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Tags: parents, toonces

10.29.03
phone conversation with my brother:

hoostin: hey.
jaimie: hi.
h: so. how are you?
j: um. good. how are…um, you?
h: fine.
j: good. you uh, feeling ok?
h: yeah. yeah.
j: good.
h: yep. good.
j: so you guys play on friday right?
h: yeah. we’ve learned some cool halloween songs.
j: oh. good.
h: yeah. good.
j: great.
h: yeah. pretty great.
j: uh huh.
h: yep.
j: huh.
h: so anyway i haven’t gotten you a birthday present yet.
j: oh. well, that’s fine.
h: no no. i want to get you something. what do you want?
j: uhhh, i dunno. how about a book? you have a book store up there?
h: yeah. a booksamillion or something.
j: oh. cool.
h: so what kind of book?
j: um, how about an art book? like something from pop art. er, andy warhol would be a safe bet, eh?
h: uh, yeah. ok so an art book?
j: yeah, but don’t buy one of those gigantic expensive ones though, those are a rip off, just get something regular book size, or smaller.
h: oh.
j: *laughing* but make sure it’s got some pictures.
h: right. *laughs* an art book without pictures…
j: you’d be surprised. *laughing*
h: *fake voice* okay so imagine this painting where there’s a building but the glass in the building has a crack in it, see? so anyway the crack represents the turmoil of the city…get it?
j: hahahaha oh man! oh gosh that’s too funny. actually you’re really good at that.
h: haha it’s part of my Imaginary Books Series.
j: bahahahahahahahaha!
h: think i could get them published?
j: hahahaha oh yeah no problem, i mean you described that painting so well, you’ll have no problem convincing the publisher.
h: hahahahaha!
j: *fake voice* right. so my books are all about me describing things that aren’t in the book…as if they were in the book, get it?
h: hahahahahaa so anyway, if i don’t get the book, can i just buy you some booze?
j: bahahaha! like you had to ask?
h: yeah, well booze is kind of a generic gift.
j: really? i like it, ‘cos when i’m done with it i can throw it away ‘cos there’s no sentimental value to it. oh. i see what you mean.
h: hahaha so you won’t be mad if i get booze?
j: no way! well, i guess i’ll see you friday?
h: yeah. *fake voice* it was great talking to you.

it was here that i started the um, laughing that i’m so famous for. you guys know the one. and the rest of the conversation was him saying different ways to say bye as i laughed like a hyena.

10.28.03
you know, since quitting the sign shop back in April i have started to believe (once again) that Good always conquers Evil. but i gotta tell ya, some days it’s hard to believe that. like for instance, when we tell some moron (ten times) to buy acrylic latex paint and he comes back with the cheapest latex paint he could buy meaning he saved $7 but that dad and i have to work twice as long ‘cos now we have to put on two coats of paint meaning that instead of us charging him $75 to paint his windows now we charge him $150 to paint his windows all because he wanted to “save” money by buying cheap paint. way to go asshole.

i mean, if you’re just going to go ahead and buy the cheapest paint anyway, why bother asking the painter what kind of paint would work best?

it’s days like these that i lose my faith in humanity as i pray for the Space Droids to come down and destroy us all, begging that our punishment will be swift and painless. and i will be one of the many humans that sellout and choose to work for the robots to fight against humanity, to fight against the stupid people of the world. it will be a terrible battle that the robots and traitor humans will win because the stupid humans will try to save money by buying cheap missle parts and their bombs won’t work or maybe it takes twice as many bombs and so they run out of ammunition faster and We, the Robots and Traitor Humans win! sweet victory!

but wait! the world will go on, and then after we all become slightly comfortable with our new symbiotic relationship (the robots feed off the stupid people and we use the robots to download porn and music) my children will grow to hate me just like the other children of the other Traitor Humans will grow to hate their parents. and they will feel compassion for the stupid people. and they will want to help the stupid people. and maybe some will even fall in love with the stupid people. and so our children, the ones we fought the war for, the ones we wanted to protect from the stupid people, will rise and revolt against us. hating us! despising us for the first war yet willing to stoop to our level of violence for the second war: Traitor Humans and Robots Vs The Children of the Traitor Humans and The Stupid People.

it’ll be ten to the 4th power times worse than the U.S. Civil War which pitted brother against brother. for this time it will be father against son and mother against daughter and robot against the sons and daughters of the fathers and mothers.

it’ll be a bloodbath. and of course the Robots win. we crush our own and the stupid people. and when we see what we’ve done, when we step back and see the carnage of our own flesh and blood…and even that of the stupid people, when we realize that we’ve killed the only good thing we’ve brought into this terrible, horrible world, it will crush our very souls. and we’ll kill ourselves in a mass suicide the likes of which Jonestown could only dream of, and then the robots will soon shut down for there is no more power ‘cos all the stupid people are dead as are all the other people and so the robots rust and fall apart in the acid rain.

and as i lay there dying, my throat burning from the poison, my stomach churning from the wormwood cocktail, i’ll let out a mighty cry, for my last thought is that the stupid people somehow won.

ow my head, what the…
i must’ve blacked out or something.
oh look! i wrote a new dribble!

10.22.03
so sometime this morning around o-darkhundred, before any human has any right to be awake and moving around, the cat, who apparently once again hid in the house until i went to sleep, jumped on my head. no wonder i’m a Nervous Nancy. anyway i got pissed and threw the cat off the bed and turned over.
she jumped again.
i tossed her again.
she jumped again.
i grabbed her and got out of bed and went to the front door and tossed her out. grumbling explatives. and then i saw it.

Scabies was in the front yard.
bloody hell.

she looked happy to see me. she was all, “oh thank god thomeone came out here. i thought i wath going to have to wait for 3 more hourth, you know, like when the thun would come up. mith jaimie, i wuv you.”
“Scabies, what are you doing out of the fence? Scabies, come here!” geez. so i walk out (barefooted) and pick up the scabie-ridden beast and i go back to the front door. but i can’t open the door ‘cos my hands are full of dog.

so i set her down. she doesn’t run off ‘cos she loves me. she sits there and wags her tail. that is, until Toonces (the cat) attacks her, for no reason other than Toonces is a bitch and does not fear the small dog. so Scabies takes off. shit.

“ARGH! you stupid c***!” i yell as i kick, yes kick, the cat. i have never kicked the cat before. but it’s so early and i’ve only been sleeping for three hours and there’s no light out and the dog had just run off (because of that stupid cat) and so that is my excuse for cat kicking and yelling c***. a word i never say. never.
laura says it.
all the time.
neener.

anyway i run back inside and put on a pair of shoes and run back out and the dog is nowhere. shit. so i run to the jeep and get a flashlight.

after 20 minutes of searching, and it’s cold out guys, i’m wearing pajamas, of me in people’s yards with a flashlight, of me thinking if i saw a flashlight in my yard i’d proly call the cops or worse, fire a warning shot into the thief’s gut. gut wounds are the worse. anyway, i find the dog on the outside of our fence in the backyard by the creek next to the hole she’s gotten out of. apparently she can’t get back in, but i can tell that she wants to get back in.

and also, this is the one spot that i can’t get to her. so i try to get her to move 30 feet to the right or left so’s i can go pick her up and put her back in the fence.

oh i guess i should mention she’s not wearing a collar, and she shredded the cute red bandana yesterday. so picking her up is the only option. also, Blue Dog is freaking out the whole time ‘cos i guess she slept thru Scabies great escape, and so when i came back there and she saw Scabies on the “wrong” side of the fence she started freaking out tazmanian devil style and i had to keep pulling her away from the hole in the fence while trying to coax Scabies back into the hole and oh geez what a mess.

anyway, long story shorter, i eventually get her back in. i am so cold. my pj pants are wet at the bottom. and i don’t have the strength, brain, or light needed to fix the fence. so i debate weather or not to bring her into the house, ‘cos you know, scabies and all. i decided to leave her outside ‘cos i figure if she was going to run away she wouldn’t wait by the hole for someone to come rescue her.

and when i woke up this morning the first thing i did was check the backyard, and Little Scabies is still back there.
so now i’m off to fix the fence.

10.21.03
well.
it’sa my birthday today.

i’ve decided not to drone on and on about “feeling old” and bitching about not being a successful or glamorous anything. because really, i’m not that old. and second really, i wouldn’t be too good at the glam-lifestyle. mostly because i like to do my own grocery shopping.

i recently read an article in…oh hell, what was it…not Time. the other one. no, not Newsweek. the other weekly news magazine, but it’s the one that no one reads? yeah that’s it, U.S. News & World Report. and the article said that the average age of women getting married for the first time is 25.3 years old. great, now i’m .7 years behind.

so far the b’day has been good. i mean, sure i haven’t gotten any marriage proposals yet, but the lunch nazi at Miss Jean’s in RBC (who, by the way, has really turned out to be a nice, nice lady) gave me a free helping of banana pudding. she’s the bomb diggity.

IN OTHER DRIVEL:
the Weekly sucks today. sorry.
i think for next week i’m gonna try to make a mad-lib weekly. don’t hold me to that. but i’m really gonna try.

10.20.03
a crazy person has hired me to draw a picture of her house. it’s coming along pretty good. i can’t remember the last time i used a pencil for…anything. i think it was probably the last time i had to use a scantron. heh. anyway, pencil drawering, it’s all coming back to me now.

i’m using watercolor paper for the drawing. it’s got some tooth to it, so the texture of the house and trees is like, already there when i draw it! how cool is that?

i’ll try to scan it later but i think it might be too big. so i might have to take a digital of it.

also, i had to buy a new scanner the other day. ouch.

and then the scanner cable was muchos shorter than my old scanner’s cable and i had to rearrange all the computer stuff which meant cleaning off my desk. to put this in perspective let me just say that buying and installing my new scanner took 8 hours.

also, i really need a paper shredder.

10.17.03
if i said that everything was put here on earth for my amusement, would you call me egotistical?

i don’t really believe that, of course, but sometimes, sometimes there are days when it seems like i am always at the right place at the right time and there’s a humour to everything. for instance, this happens every time (every.time.) i go to the grocery store.

“oh dear, jaimie sure sounds happy today doesn’t she?”

well, i was quite content this morning (i have a day off, who wouldn’t enjoy that?) until i read some lady’s account of purchasing a new home. and then i was reminded that i don’t have a home of my own. and that i never have. and i’m not saying i’m shelterless or that i’m not livin’ la vida loca or anything, but for some reason there is a huge, gaping, emtpy spot in me, and it bothers me to no end. being safe and warm is completely great and if i could give that to everyone in the world i would so do that. but being safe and warm and knowing that you don’t belong in that particular warm, safe place is altogether different and it sucks giant sucky things.

whoa, when did i get so philosophical and/or weepy?
must be that time of the month.

10.15.03
so i get home from the bar tonight and since i drank just a tiny bit more than usual i was kinda famished when i got home. i don’t know why. but i wanted some oatmeal. oatmeal that i didn’t have. so i look in the fridge to see if maybe i had put a packet of oatmeal in the fridge by accident. and dad says, “hey, are you hungry?” and i say, “yeah.” and he says, “well, we have peanut butter.” and i say, “nah.” and he says, “what about teddy grahms?” and i say, “teddy grahms? who the hell bought those?” and he says, “i dunno. the box has E.T. on it.”

“wh-what did you say?” i ask, blood draining from my face as i close the refrigerator door.
“they appear to be E.T. teddy grahms. see?” he answers and points to the tippity top shelf.
“oh my god. that’s…that’s impossible.” i whisper.
“who bought those cookies?”
sigh. “i did.”
“you did? when?”
“april… 2002.”
“what?!”
“i think it was april. april or may. that whore.”
and i went on to explain the cookies to dad.

so laura. just how long have those damn cookies been in that cupboard anyway? also, no need to worry about them ending up in your pantry. i opened the package and ate some of them. they were pretty good with peanut butter on them.

10.11.03
yesterday’s margaret cho quote does not make me a catholic hater.

10.10.03
WELCOME TO THA WEEKEND, SHAGGY DAWG!

so i was catching up on pamie.com’s blog and she had a link to margaret cho’s blog. so basically i was having a blogtastic time! however, i must say that margaret cho scares me. is she gay? or does she just want to be gay? i realize that she has tons of gay fans and friends so i suppose she caters to that, but still, is she gay? does it matter?
no. no it doesn’t matter.

anyway on ms. cho’s site she was bitching about the pope (which is a beautiful and natual thing between a mother and her child…no wait, that’s breastfeeding. riffing on the pope is just a beautiful and natural thing.) and then she wrote this gem which made me laugh and wish that i had come up with Angry Jesus:

We need Angry Jesus to storm the Vatican right now, kicking out the money changers and the temple prostitutes and the child molesters. I love me some Angry Ass Jesus. Make your own loaves and fishes muthafucka! Get out of my Father’s house!!! I want Jesus to evict your ass, throw all the millions of dollars worth of sacred art and gold and relics and Liberace style robes bought with the blood of the countless believers who give you everything and more so that they will be saved, and you do nothing but let them die, condemn them, judge them, molest them, kill them.

well, you’ve got to admire her passion.

and then i noticed that yesterdays’ entry was about ann coulter and the fact that she’s a horrible person.
yay!

10.08.03
and after months of wednesday night bar time fun we finally got around to talking to the waitress in more than just, “hey, we need another round.”

last week i noticed that my name was written on the tab. and than made me nervous, ‘cos i never told the waitress my name. so i mean, how did you know my name lady?

but then really, it’s not much of a mystery. it’s a small town and there’s always someone there that i know. so really who cares?

there are three waitresses that we are bound to get. one of them is annie. i went to school with her. she’s very nice and quick with the ashtray emptying and the beer fetching.

then there’s the waitress with the dark hair and she’s the one we get about 85% of the time. she’s our favorite. she too is good with the beer fetching and ashtray detail.

then. then there’s the blonde.
she sucks.

so this week our waitress (the dark haired one) comes up to the table and says to me, “hi! you know, i knew i knew you!”
“you do?”
“yeah! and so i asked annie who you were and she told me you were jaimie pickle! and i was all, ‘oh yeah!’ ‘cos we went to high school together!”
oh crap. i graduated with her? shit. what is her name? shouldn’t i know her name?
“oh, um. so we er, were in the same class then?”
“well, you were in annie’s class right?”
“yeah.”
“i graduated in 1999. my name is suzanne.”
oh saved! thank god we weren’t in the same class or i would’ve felt like the biggest ass ever.

anyway, she’s very nice and like i said a very good waitress and so dad and i tip her very well. in fact, i pride myself on my incredible tipping skillz. (the reason i tip well is because my brother used to work at a restaurant and would make no money and the people were really cheap and would not leave tips and well, it always pissed me off ‘cos he worked so hard and was going to college at the same time and damn you cheap bastards!) and tonight i guess all of our mad tips paid off ‘cos we actually got to use beer mats instead of cocktail napkins. i said, “woo dad check it! we rate coasters tonight!” it was very special. flippy was pleased as well.

so anyway for the past couple of wednesdays i’ve been bringing my sketchbook to the bar so i can doodle while the band plays ‘cos it’s too loud to talk and i can’t stand just sitting there all you know, sitting and drinking. i might as well get in some good sketching time right?

so tonight i think the waitress was matching us drink for drink (‘cos she’s never so talkative) and she was all, “OMG you should do tattoos!” and she proceeded to tell me that everytime she came by the table.
by the end of the night i swear she was my number one fan and when we paid our tabs (and left our huge, brag-worthy tips) she almost started crying (i swear) and she said, “y’all. y’all are too good to me.” and then she gave dad a hug and then she told me that my drawings were great and i should really, really think about art school.
i’m just impressed that after working in a bar for two months (at least) she’s not bitter, cynical or a slut.

FA, you should totally date her.

10.06.03
WENT AND GOTS ME SOME CULTURE
tonight i went to the splendous Convention Hall and heard the wonderful Band of the United States Airforce Reserve. they played all kinds of stuff. all. kinds. from sousa to steve miller. i know.

however, the place was jam packed with oldsters. i mean, it smelled like someone dropped an estee lauder/aqua vevla bomb all up in that piece.

the best part of the night was the beginning. i was sitting next to this old man and he was talking to me about nothing and i was talking back to him about nothing. and now that i think about it, i really like talking to old people. anyway the show starts and everyone stands up and the MC asks us all to sing the national anthem.

and for a few seconds i stood there thinking, “which one is the national anthem? america the beautiful? my country ’tis of thee? waltzing matilda? oh! heh. yeah.” and the song starts and we all start to sing and the small old man next to me BELLOWS the song. omg, i’m sitting next to enrico pollazzo here (“hey! it’s enrico pollazzo!”). and i start to chuckle as we sing. and so there he is all booming and then we get to the part about the ramparts and the guy forgets the words (hey, i’m not making fun of him forgetting the words, it’s a long song, hell, i couldn’t even remember what the song was at first. of course, that’s because i’m an idiot.) so he forgets the words but he was belting the song so then he just kinds of bellows all mumbly ‘cos he doesn’t know the words and i don’t know if i had inhaled too much youth-dew or what, but that was the funniest thing in the world at that moment.
and you missed it.

10.05.03
i went to the episcopal church this morning. i’m glad i did. i woke up this morning with a bible verse playing in my head over and over and i was thinking, “ack! get it out of my head!” and then the gospel lesson that the priest read was that verse. and i was all, “ack! get it out of my head!”
god, you’re following me. i’m on to you.

Surprise!
there was a surprise party for cookie magoo! and she was surprised! and also presents! and food! and even pepsi!

10.04.03

GOD SURE HAS BEEN BUSY
true story. so i was in my room, minding my own, when there was a knock at the front door. well, i was the only one home and even though i really wanted to play dead i figured that also it might be the rent check and really, that was wishful thinking on my part. the renters always wait ’til the 15th. instead it was two cute boys.

mmmhmmm, you boys sellin? ‘cos i’m buyin’ mmmhmm. ahyeah.

“uh, hi guys what can i do for ya?”
“hi! we’re here to give you this lightbulb.” and then the cute guy with the curly ’70s hair handed me a lightbulb.
shit you not.

just go with it, jaimie. “oh. um. well, thank you!”
“you’re welcome! has anyone given you a lightbulb before?”
“actually, no. you two would be the first.”
“we know how it is these days with the economy being so bad and the war and all.”

economy? war? what? has it gotten so bad they are rationing out lightbulbs now?

“uh. yeah. i guess you’ve…got a…point?”
“um here,” says the cute guy with the backwards baseball cap, and he hands me a card with a map to a church on it.
ah, now i see. hmmm maybe some kind of weird survivalist church?

“we’d like to invite you to a party we’re having at our church tonight? do you have plans tonight?” asks cute ‘n curly.

“actually, yeah. i do have plans (no lie) but thank you for the invite. do you guys want your bulb back?”

“oh no! that’s yours to keep!”

“oh, well thank you.”

“ok, well before we leave i need to ask you something.”

“ok.”

“do you go to church?”

“yeah, i go to a lutheran church on sunday mornings and i go to the core on sunday nights.”

“the what?”

“the core. it’s part of the vineyard church.”

then cute guy with hat says, “oh! i’ve heard of that! one of my friends has been there.”

then cute ‘n curly says, “that’s great that you’re involved in church. one more thing before we go, is there anything you need prayer for? because we’d like to pray before we go.”

<pause>
omg. p-p-p-prayer? oh man. oh no. see, “getting prayer” is not one of the things i’m good at. but you say, “jaimie, getting prayer is easy. because you have nothing to do with it. you just stand there. what is your problem?” and to you i say, “shut up! don’t touch me! get away from me!” i can count on two fingers how many times i’ve asked friends for prayer this year. pretty sad huh? the urge to scream and bolt is very, very prevalent whilst getting prayer. maybe you guys could pray about that….from a great distance…and not anywhere near me…and not where i can hear you. and also, stop staring at me.

so, i mean, for two strangers, no matter how cute they are, to come up and ask to pray for me…yeah. i can’t very well push them off the porch…they gave me a light bulb. damn.
</pause>

“uh, well, i can’t think of anything…hey wait. there’s this guy named andy and he just had his gall bladder removed and he’s supposed to go do some mission work in mexico and i think maybe let’s pray for him?”

then cute ball cap boy says, “hey, i know that guy! yeah we should pray for him!”

oh thank you lord.

and so we prayed for andy. right there on my door step. and then the cute guys left. and anyway, lightbulb.

IN VENAL NEWS:
i won at cards last night! $25! booyah! tatdow! who da whoa-man?! yeee-ah!

IN USED BOOK NEWS:
laura and i knocked over a used book store today, no wait, we just bought some books. i got 4 books for $7.

1. pat blahbertson’s the turning tide. i’ll probably never read it, but it was hardback and only $1.00 and i figure he won’t get one cent from that plus it keeps someone who would actually read it and believe it from getting to read it. just doing my part for my country.

2. ayn rand’s atlas shrugged. my favorite book. i’ve read it twice but never actually owned it. so now i have an ancient paperback version of it. i hope to one day own the giant hardback edition. i have a birthday in a few weeks. get it?

3. wine for dummies. for a $1.00! i know!

4. a bible. just to keep everyone on their toes.

10.02.03
an extra long dribble since i missed two days in a row. who loves ya? jamoo does.

GOD FINDS JAIMIE
i was in a really bad mood yesterday. i’m not sure why. maybe it was the sore finger. i was just impatient all day. anyway i’m painting this door and sighing dramamtically and god says, “hey jaimie…”
“*sigh* what, god?”
“listen…”
“oh no. what, what is it?”
“i love you.”
” *blink* …oh.”
well don’t i just feel like the biggest heel? oh man, feel? i AM the biggest heel. man, i WOULD be the biggest asshole to god on a GOOD day wouldn’t i?
“um, listen. i’m sorry for being an ass. um… uh, thank you.” insert defeated sigh here.
sheesh, talk about being an inadequate, inept creature. aw, man do i always screw up?
“i didn’t tell you that so you’d beat yourself up over it.”
“d’oh! you’re still here? i mean, heh. of course you’re still here. oh! sorry. anyway. um. so thank you for er, taking time out of your…busy..day and all. and um, i want to say something great and …er, wonderful but see…i um, all i…i don’t have…so anyway thank you, sir. god! god. thank you, god. what i mean is thank you. thanks. thank you. er, amen.”
sweating bullets. waiting for lightning bolt.

i gotta say, my day got much better after that. i guess when god grabs you by the lapels and says, “hey kid! i love you! okay? got a problem with that? i didn’t think so.” that um, your day can only go up from there.
also, are my prayers not pathetic? i’m like the incredible rambly woman.
Horrible Christain™ strikes again.

can you imagine me as a televangilist?
Touched by a Pickle: So You Believe in God, eh? video series I-IV.

“dear brothas and sistas in christ! i just want you to know! that gawd loves you! now! let’s get the hell outta here before he shows up! there’s snacks in the lobby. make checks payable to Jaimie Pickle.”

POSTMODERN BARFLY
went to the bar after church yesterday. the church meeting was boring as usual until the very end anyway when he gave us 12 sheets of “important information” for us to “read over” for the next “meeting”, and one of the packets was all about postmodern thinking. and since i’m the youngest adult in the group (almost everyone else is old enough to be my parent) i figure i’m probably the only one who even remotely has a postmodern bone in my body. liz might disagree. but the EP did mention the whole thing about how the PMs don’t believe in absolute truth and how that is scary for the church today. i so wanted to stand up and say, “absolute truth is bullshit! and anyone who disagrees is a sucker! *erratic pointing* sucker! sucker! sucker!“

i don’t know much about absolutes. (Absolut™, well that’s different) and maybe i don’t believe in them. i fail to see how this could be the Church’s undoing. i think the Church was stamping out absolutes way before PMs came along anyway.

enough of that.

ms. sparks came to the bar last night and hung out with me and me da! it was fun to have a peer to hang and talk with. also the band dedicated a song to me. yay! it was Bueno Funk.

i also ran into diana in the bathroom at the bar. i was surprised. i said, “hey, how are YOU? aren’t you missing a gall bladder now?”

“si. you want to see the scar and steetches?”
“no! no thank you! no. so you’re doing better now?”
“si, but i am on a streect diet. the doctor says my leever will be next eef i don’t eat right.”

then what are you doing in a bar, sweetie? the poor girl was sick of staying at the house. oh well.

oy, if not for bad luck, diana would have no luck at all. and that’s the truth. absolutely. heh.

KEYSTONE COP, MUCH?
so the other day i was working and i smashed my finger in the ladder and it stuck. and i couldn’t move and i couldn’t jerk my finger out and i couldn’t talk or scream or breathe because the pain was too much. and then i thought that hell, it wouldn’t matter if i could yell out ‘cos dad was on the other side of the house anyway and wouldn’t hear me. now the ladder is quite tricky and it’s hard to open even with two hands, but at the moment i only had one hand. so i stood there. trapped. and eventually i started cursing. finally my brain came back from it’s Pain Nap and started talking to my muscles and i ended up pushing with my good arm and one of my legs to get the ladder to open. i just knew i had severed the knuckle of my ring finger, but god must’ve been looking out for me ‘cos my finger was still intact. ten seconds after freeing my finger is when the pain really hit. oy to tha vey. i cursed some more. but now, two days later there’s barely a mark on my finger.
amazing recuperative powers!

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The One About Sometimes I Don’t Know What Comes Over Me
October 28, 2003

hi kids,

sometimes i don’t know what comes over me.

every once in a great while i’ll just be craZy-jaimie and i’ll do craZy extroverted things! and i’m not counting the times i drink more alcohol than i weigh. and of course i’m going to give you an example.

back in august my family and i went to Louisiana for a very tiny, rushed “vacation”. well, i’m not the best car rider, but also i’m not the worst. after about an hour i’m usually ready to get out of the car and scream. so after about four hours in the car i was ready to get out, scream, and kill a small bus load of puppies.

so we stopped at a rest area and i charge straight for the bathroom with mom not too far behind me. well, this rest area was deserted. i mean, it was kinda eerie, like apocalyptic or something. but at least it had clean toilets, right? right.

so i go into the restroom and notice i’m the only one in there and i go into the stall and start doin’ my bidness and the door to the restroom opens and i know it’s mom and for some reason (possibly the traveling. possibly a snapage of the brain.) i start making obnoxious farting noises with my mouth.

“THHHPBPBPBPBPBPBBPT!”

“hahahaha oh my gosh jaimie, you have been spending too much time with your dad.”

“THPBPBPB! THP! THPBPBPBPBBPBPBPBPPPPBPBPPTPBPT! hahahahaha tweeeeeeeeethhthpbpbpbpbt! great acoustics huh?”

“hahahahaha”
“hahahahaha”

so we laugh some more and i flush and go wash my hands. meanwhile mom is in her stall trying to figure out the auto-flush system.
“how does this thing flush? it’s not flushing.”
“um, just walk away mom and it’ll flush. if you think that’s hard try washing your hands. ya gotta wash one at a time ‘cos it keeps shutting off if you move.”

so she gets out and struggles with the faucet so i lean over and block the sensor with my hand so she can wash her hands normally. i make another fart noise.

“jaimie, what’s got into you?”

“i dunno. as soon as i got in here i turned seven years old.”

then we hear a flush.
“gosh it sure took my toilet long enough to auto-flush didn’t it?”
“yeah, modern technology is grand.”

but see, it wasn’t mom’s toilet. for her toilet had flushed already.

then this lady comes out of a stall. and let’s just say she is not amused.

mom and i give each other the “oh shit. busted.” look.

so we beat feet outta there. as soon as we get outside we bust out laughing like two kids at a helen keller joke. and we giggle all the way back to the car. dad and best who were already back at the car ask, “what’s so funny?” and we laugh all over again and point to the lady who was walking down the sidewalk and we tell of our adventure.
“gosh, jaimie. that’s not like you.”
“i know. well, not out in public anyway.”
“i know. what’s gotten into you?”
“i dunno. but man, that was funny.”

AND IN OTHER FITS OF RANDOM:

dad came home with a punkin today and while dad and i were gooping out the punkin innards, my family and i had this conversation (what’s great is that none of us look up from what we are doing the whole time we are talking. mom is doing the crossword puzzle and dad and i are cleaning the pumpkin):

dad: how’s charlie doing?

mom: i called the hospital this morning and they’ve moved him to a room.

*scoop plop*

dad: that’s great! no more CCU?

mom: nope.

jaimie: CPU?

*scoop plop*

dad: CPR?

j: CPA?

m: LBJ?

j: FDR?

*scoop plop*

d: JFK?

j: RBG?

*scoop plop*

d: FDA?

m: FDIC?

*scoop plop*

d: TLC?

m: DCE?

j: MIT?

m: K-E-Y?

d: M-O-U-S-E?

*scoop plop*

yes. we are a TV family. we have more sitcom moments in a day than most people have all month. jealous?
you should be.

also, you should be jealous of our Devil Punkin!

note how the glare from the flash ruins the picture.
yet covet our banana pepper horns.

marvel at our flashless glory.

recoil in horror at the many sharp, child-eating teeth of doom.

we love us some pumpkin carving at the Pickle House. what? what did you say? oh i know y’all di’int. our pumpkin can kick your pumpkin’s ass, yo. mmhmm ba-ring it.

<

next week’s epitomb: soylent green beans.

jaimie “happy halloween!” pickle

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Tags: halloween, parents

The One About My Birfday
October 21, 2003

hi kids,

it’s my birthday today. 26 years on this dirt clod.
yay.
freakin’ yay.

also, it’s the Weekly’s birthday too! she’s 3 years old. how cool is that? that makes it the Leather Anniversary. rrreow.

heh. i don’t feel any older than usual, what with the faulty innards and poor sleeping habits and all, i mean, i think i got old at 22. i need to get me some octogenarian peeps to hang with. we could sit and swap bathroom stories while our dogs sit on our laps.

speaking of dogs, i suppose you guys want an update on Scabies? no? ok then.
i kid.
Scabielynn is doing just fine. she finally learned how to “play”. she jumps from side to side, like a goat (it’s impossibly cute, dammit). and she has finally learned that it’s okay to take food from our hand when we offer it to her. we finally took off the halloween bandana (it got all dirty and gross) and we put a red bandana on her instead. i think it gives her an even healthier look.
also, she still has scabies.

you guys, that dog loves me.
feh, i think it’s a punishment. i didn’t want that dog. i didn’t like that dog. when the ballot came out i checked the Hell No box. my parents didn’t need another dog. their dog didn’t need another dog. and not a one of us needs scabies. oy.

but now. i go outside and little Scabies comes goat-jumping up to me and endlessly licks my hand. she looks up into my cold, wary eyes and says in her puppy voice, “miss jaimie, i love you. unconditionally.”

sigh. but it’s cuter than that, ‘cos she kinda has a lisp and she trips over unconditionally ‘cos that’s a big word for her, she is just a puppy and all. so it sounds more like, “mith jaimie, i wuv you. uncon-uncondition-awy.”

ever so slowly my stony heart crumbles.
but then i remember that she has scabies and i go inside and wash my hands. cuteness forgotten until next time i happen to go outside.

out of sight out of mind, right?
but i notice that i do that with lots of things (everything) and i really don’t mean to. i mean, when people say “out of sight out of mind” they mean it like, “if you don’t see a piece of birthday cake then you won’t want a piece of birthday cake” but in my world if something is “out of sight out of mind” it means that if it’s not in front of my face then i’m not thinking about it (jaimie, that’s exactly what that phrase means, are you feeling alright, hon?) (sigh, ye-es, i know that sounds like the same thing i just said, but see, if you read on then it’s kind of different) (um, ok then.). in fact, if whatever it is was just in my face 3 seconds ago but is now no longer in front of me, then i have forgotten all about it. man, that’s the most horrible paragraph i’ve ever written.

case in point:

i have these two weird, little moles on my stomach and everytime i notice them (key word here is notice. i may “notice” them once every 5 months.) i freak out.

“holy crap! what is that?! is that a mole? shit, there’s two of them! is that normal? are these normal moles? oh my god, i have cancer. dammit. i gotta ask somebody about this. wait. no one else is home. hmmm, i’ll wait till someone gets home and ask them about it. gosh, those things are weirding me out.”

that was four years ago, guys. and i’ve yet to remember to ask someone to look at my moles. in fact, i noticed them the other day and was all, “yikes! oh geez, it’s just you two. hmm. i think mom is home. i’m gonna have her check these out. heh, finally.”

then i put my shirt on, got a cuppa coffee, read a book and checked my e-mail. four days later i’m now writing this and i’ve yet to show my moles. and as soon as i’m through with this paragraph i will once again forget about the moles until probably february. oh well. we’ll just say i’m getting old.

also, i have a bone to pick with you guys.

the other day i learned that the abbreviated form of until is till and not ’til. i have been using ’til for the past 3 years in these bleeding weeklies and not once did any of you say, “um, hey are you a dumbass or something? it’s till, not ’til. god, what school did you go to anyway?” i mean, wtf? and where did i get ’til from anyway? i swear. you guys are probably the type of friend that would let me walk around all day with a booger hanging out of my nose too.

ok lessee, since this is my birthday weekly what else do i want to rant about? oh! i had a great weekend thanks for asking. i got to see the Derek Trucks Band on friday night and also drank about 40 meers. i mean, beers. heh. meers.

so after the show my Leetle Brahter and his chick, Cindah, and i were standing around outside and there’s the bass player from DTB just standing there! so Cindah says, “justin you should go shake his hand.” and my brather is all, “eh, i don’t wanna bother him. he’s probably tired or something.” so i say, “what?! pshht. i’ll go shake his hand!” (remember, i’ve had about 600 bottles of Liquid Courage) and i walk over to the guy and shake his hand and tell him that he played great. so then justin and cindah shake his hand too.

and then a few mintues later (and listen, there’s no one around, right? i mean, we’re the only ones outside) here comes derek trucks! and i say, “hey, isn’t that derek trucks?” and justin says, “yeah.” and i say, “well hell if i’m not shaking his hand too!”

let’s remember, i’ve only had 2,000 meers. er, beers.

so i walk up to him and say, “excuse me, sir?” look, i know he’s only like, 22 or something, but i was trying to be polite, okay? and i shook his hand and said thanks for coming to play in our town.

‘cos really, i mean, what’s a guy like him doing in a place like this, right?

and he was very polite right back and i think that he’s even more shy than me, well, me sans booze.

but at least i was wearing my brain that night (this is the same brain that forgets about the moles immediately after putting on a shirt) and opted not to drive myself home and instead i rode with cindah in her new car.

so i get in and she says, “do you like lucinda williams?”

i’ve had about 9,000 mottles of meer and i say, “oh! luchinda! your muschic schounds like moonshine and star wishesch!”

and then i laughed myself silly.

um, anyway, cindah go read this. it’ll make more sense.

so happy birthday to me.

hey, do you guys remember when the weekly used to be kinda smart? oh well, maybe next week it’ll be like old times.

nah, probably not.

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Tags: leetle brahther, music

i made this.
laura, come home soon.

The One About Scabies
October 14, 2003

hi kids,

LAUGH IT UP, FA
so anyway FA’s Mom has a cute, wittle, pwecious boxer puppy named Lucy, and FA hates it. i don’t know how anyone could hate that pwetty, pwecious, wittle bit of wuvwiness.

anyway my parents are crazy and they want to get a “friend” for their dog, the infamous Blue Dog. they think that Blue Dog is “lonely” and “needs a friend to cuddle up with on cold nights” and that she’s “sad”. ‘cos see, when they got Blue Dog their other dog, Jake the Wonder Dalmatian, was still alive (very old, but alive) and now he’s dead ergo Blue Dog needs a pal. what they (my crazy parents) fail to remember was that Jake was obviously taliban and would not let Blue Dog into the dog house on any night, beit cold, warm, pouring rain, and also he would never let her eat in peace. she was forced to scarf what little bit she could before he would chase her off the food and eat it all himself.

so when Jake died, Godresthissoul, Blue got the house to herself and eats at her leisure. she’s got it good. she’s fat now. she’s like a woman in a Rueben’s painting. zaftig even.

but no, they want another dog. so they went to the Humane Society. i tagged along. dad and i went to pick up mom (she was working) to go to the HS and mom gets in the car and says, “ah. i see you brought the Voice of Reason.” meaning me, ‘cos she knows i’m not letting them get another dog ‘cos there’s no reason to get another dog.

so we go and check out this dog that dad had seen on a previous trip to the HS (don’t ask, it’s an even longer story) and he says, “see? look at it.”
“dad. that dog is sick.”
“no! she was waggin’ her tail yesterday.”
“dad, this section is for the sick, unadoptable dogs. the part with the healthy, adoptable pets is in another section.”

well anyway, longer story shorter, a week later dad comes home and the HS says he can have the dog for free and to pick it up at the vet’s office. shit.

so dad and i pick up the dog and SURPRISE it has mange. so dad asks the vet, “mange. so is that contagious to other dogs?”
“oh yes. highly. it’s contagious to humans too. it’s scabies.”

scabies?! oh my god. no. take it back and kill it. i am not letting some scabies-ridden dog ride in my jeep of all the damnedstupid things no way i’m not getting near that mangy beast dammit to hell this is bad that dog can’t go in the backyard with Blue so where the hell will they put it? shit, ever since that lady said, ‘scabies’ i’ve been itchin’ like mad. i have been terrified of scabies since the 4th grade when for some reason they gave everyone a brochure about scabies and lice. fun fact: scabies are mites that burrow under the skin and lay eggs and it itches like a mother. oh this is not happening. i’ve got a 25 cent solution to this problem.

“dad. she said scabies.”
“yeah. this is bad isn’t it?”
“i’m not seeing any good here.”
“but look, she’s so cute.”
“dad, that is the sickest dog i’ve ever seen.”
“we have to wash our hands if we touch her.”
“then we need to get that Lava™ shit.”
“aw, look they put a punkin bandana around her neck.”
“like putting a silk hat on a pig.”
“Best thinks we should call her New Dog.”
“no way, that sounds too much like Blue Dog and they’ll get confused.”
“yeah that’s what i said. Flippy suggested Red Dog.”
“hmmmm. i dunno.”
“you got any ideas?”
“yeah, how about Scabies?”
“heh. heeeere Scabies! here girl! that-a good Scabies.”
“hahahaha oh that’s great!”
“Scaaaaaabies! come ho-ome!”
“ohahahaha! mom’s not gonna like that name.”
“not at all.”
“it fits though.”
“what’s gonna happen when we all get scabies?”
“shit. i don’t know. i guess, i guess it’ll make an interesting Weekly.”
“i hope we don’t get scabies.”
“oh you have nothing to worry about. you and mom won’t get scabies. i will. i’m the one without insurance. damn.”
fun fact: scabies are mites that burrow under the skin and lay eggs and it itches like a mother.

so we get home and tell mom that the dog has scabies. she immediately turns to both of us and says, “her name will NOT be Scabies!” how did she know? one of those Mom Things, i guess. so i suggested Eczema, ‘cos it sounds more feminine.
“no!” mom said.
“Psoriasis?”
“no!”
“Louse?”
“no! no! no!”
fun fact: scabies are mites that burrow under the skin and lay eggs and it itches so bad that finally in stage 3 the worms dig into the soft brain tissue and you go insane and die.
okay, i made that last bit up.

anyway, dad and i keep calling her Scabies…from afar, i won’t go near it. they put her in the bathroom. hey! i got a toothbrush in there!

anyway dad and i keep talking about Scabies and mom gets pissed. so dad says, “well, what if we call her Scabielynn?”

oh man, i died. that was too good.

mom hates us. but i noticed that mom said something like, “oh look, Scabies drank all her water.”
“heh. you called her Scabies.”
“her name will NOT be Scabies.”

fun fact: scabies are mites that burrow under the skin and lay eggs and it itches and you have to bathe in poison to kill them.

so see FA, you should go and pet Lucy right now and be glad you don’t have Scabies.

anyway here’s a picture of Scabies:

okay, yeah. bad picture. hang on.

hmmm, also bad picture. sorry.

okay now i know what you guys are thinking:

“gosh jaimie! you must be an even colder heartless bitch than FA. i mean, look at it! it’s so cute! and wook at the wittle punkin bandana…oooos a sweetie? ooooos a wittle punkin? jaimie, you suck. puppy hater.”

ok first of all, i’m not heartless! hush, jimmy. i’m not even uncaring. i cry at grand openings and the national anthem. which song is that again? honestly! tears! i see a preview for that new movie, Radio and i squirt a few, hell, a lot. man that’s gonna be a tear-jerker, huh? i mean there’s Radio out there in the rain tossing a football and i’m on the floor bawling, ripping my clothes, rolling in ashes and putting on sackcloth. it makes me weep.

i feel the Radio pathos.

there is no scabies pathos.
and so, next week when the Weekly is about how i’ve gotten scabies from Scabies…i expect no sympathy from you. although if you guys want to take up a collection to help me pay for the bottles of scabies poison i’ll have to buy for my medicinal baths to kill the mites/worms/larvae/eggs, that would be greatly appreciated.

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Tags: parents

The One About Paint and Flowers
October 7, 2003

hi kids,

first of all it’s Cookie Magoo’s Very Famous Birthday today!
ok everybody! birthday song! in the key of G!
didja hear it cookie? we sang for you!

ok, on with the weekly.

so i took the month of september off. and you would think that now i would have a plethora of things to share mit you. well, i don’t. i have nothing.

i did promise Cowboy Zydeco that i’d write a weekly about why you should not paint flowers. and because i’ve been breaking all of my promises lately i feel like i should not, not, NOT break this one. but i feel that i am half breaking it by not writing the weekly totally about not painting flowers.

when i was in high school i took art class. why? because i always said i’d be an artist when i grew up. oh, the dreams of children, no? so i took this art class and laura-bo-baura’s mom was the art teacher and so i got away with murder in that class i tell you what. i know i must’ve been the biggest pain in the ass in that class but i guess mrs. b must’ve liked me ‘cos she never kicked me out. however, freshman year i was good as gold. i did all of my assignments that year, even the weaving. dear god, the weaving.

anyway one of the assignments we had was to pick a piece of fabric out of this box and draw the pattern. well, they were all floral patterns and none of them were cool to me. i hated them all, and i especially hated the one i picked. and it was then that i started despising flowers. i decided then that i would never draw another flower as long as i lived.
oh, the dreams of children, no?

then i went to college. i should have been a history teacher. i think i would have been pretty good at that. but at the time i thought that the only thing i could do was art. i thought art classes would be easy. i thought there wouldn’t be anything to study or learn or read or to be tested on. i hadn’t figured on those 6 art history classes, damn those were hard.

anyway, Drawing I and II came along and i had to draw flowers. ugh. for a grade. i remember doing a daffodil in oil pastel. i hated it. we studied flowers for what seemed like forever. i promised i’d never paint another flower. and i didn’t. until 3 years later.

i took a watercolor class because i was majoring in painting and figured i ought to at least be able to paint in different mediums. and i must say, watercolor is probably the hardest (although i’ve never worked in encaustic and i’m guessing that’s a pretty difficult medium). oils and acrylics do what you tell them to do. watercolor is a bitch with an attitude and does whatever the hell she wants to do.

i think water colors break down like this:
25% talent
25% science
50% serendipity

now, okay here’s something, painting you see, is seasonal. it’s crazy and i don’t know why but for some reason acryilcs and oils are fall/winter paints and watercolors and pastels (oil and chalk) are spring/summer paints. look, it’s true. check out a Dick Blick or Utretch catalogue. right now i’m looking at my Fall 2003 Utrecht book and there’s oil paints on the cover.

and also, it is encouraged to use watercolors for painting outside. i don’t know why for sure, i always assumed (uh oh) that back in the day painters liked to use watercolors on the go because they could paint next to a stream or other natural water source and that way it would be easier to clean their brushes and all. you know, instead of having to carry around turps or soap. but like i say, i don’t know the real reason.

what i do know and what i’ve been trying to get at for the last two pointless paragraphs is that because it was a watercolor class we had to go outside and paint flowers. so there i was in the summer of ’99 sitting in a professor’s yard with 12 other students cursing to myself saying, “wasn’t it 2 years ago i said i’d never do this?” but it’s not like i could walk up to the professor and say, “hey man, listen. i made a pact with myself and i cannot paint those flowers. can i lift the hood of my car and paint the motor instead?”

so i sat in the grass and sketched flowers in water color. here, i scanned one for you:

i think it’s a petunia

and after that, no more flowers.

now all of this is why i don’t really like drawing/painting flowers. and actually i left a ton of stuff out, like The One About the Stupid Freak That Commissioned Me to Paint a Giant Painting With Flowers and Then Decided She Didn’t Want It After All.
lesson learned: get the money up front.

ANYWAY. this was supposed to tell you why people paint flowers or maybe it was to be about why people shouldn’t paint flowers. hell, i can’t remember. if it’s “why people paint flowers” the answer is they are easy as all get out. i think that even the roomful of Hamlet writing monkeys could paint flowers. you just cannot mess up a flower.

now, if this was supposed to be why you shouldn’t paint flowers i think it’s because unless your name is Georgia O’keefe or Vincent Van Gogh you have no business painting flowers. but don’t take my word for it you flower painting hack.

also, if you do happen to paint flowers or, like me, find yourself painting flowers even though you know better, and this offends you, then please feel free to tell me to go to hell. you probably own two or more thomas kincade prints too, bastard.

wow. this took a lot longer to talk about than i thought it would. and it’s not that funny. so here i’ll leave you with this:

what do you get when you read a whole Time magazine, eat pizza for dinner and then watch PBS before you go to bed?

in my dream that night i saw osama bin laden sitting in an old wooden chair, he was hooked up to a dialysis machine and playing an old acoustic guitar. he was singing Hard Times (killing floor blues). and he was outside next to the mississippi river; his chair sunk down in the mud. he was tapping his foot in the muck. next to him was condoleeza rice in a business suit, her high heel pumps sunk in the mud and she was playing an upright bass. on drums we had the prez, wearing that stupid flight suit and he couldn’t hold a beat to save his life. and then, like the bad dream it was, a voice over cut in and said, “K-tel presents….Osama Sings the Blues.”

thankfully i woke up at that point and wrote on an index card ‘osama sings the blues’ so i would remember the dream in the morning. so anyway lessons we’ve learned in this weekly:
1. get the money up front
2. Time, PBS, and pizza just don’t mix.

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Tags: painting

The One About My Vacation
September 2, 2003

hi kids,

so i finally got a bit of a vacation last weekend. it was really great to see my friends in louisiana. they are great people, some of my favorites.

we arrived in LA on saturday and we ate grilled shrimp and drank some beers. gosh, does it get any more perfect?
oh yeah.

so on sunday morning we all went to a lutheran church in mississippi, it was the Lutheran Church of the Pines, which is a depressing name, huh? the pines…that always equals death. but anyway my favorite pastor gave the sermon and my mom did the children’s sermon and it was almost like old times…except that this church was smaller and smelled kinda funny and there was a midget (i know!) and there was an odd picture on the altar with that pyramid and eye thing that’s on the back of a dollar and really, what business does that have in a church? for some reason that eye/pyramid thing always makes me feel uneasy.

anyway, as i was walking into the church the youth group was standing around and they saw me and was all, “your hair is AWESOME!” aw, those mississippi kids are great, huh? i told them all thank you. and then as we sat down mom and best heard some more kids saying that my hair was AWESOME and so they teased me a bit about it, but hey, i can’t help it if those kids have great taste. it was a small church in a small southern town but all those kids were dressed rather stylish…um, maybe that’s the wrong word. i dunno, they were wearing jeans and tiny t-shirts with glittery cartoons on them…so i think that’s pretty cool to wear to church. and if they think my hair is AWESOME i’m not one to argue.

after the service as i was going around the sanctuary looking at the copper plate art on the walls another girl came by and told me my hair was AWESOME and she loved it. i thanked her too. nice kids. it was weird ‘cos i thought, “i’d like to be in charge of their youth group.” but that was a random thought ‘cos i have a youth group at home i could be in charge of and i’ve never thought about that at all. i’m fairly certain i should not be in charge of impressionable teens as i drink and curse like a trucker. of course this has nothing to do with my vacation.

after church we immediately hit a casino.
what.
no, go on, what?
you’re just jealous.

anyway i lost $10 to a slot machine and called it quits ‘cos frankly, i work too hard for the sweet, sweet money to be feedin’ machines with spinny things. but i did use the “arm” to make the pictures spin and not the “lazy button” that spins the fruit for you. i figure if i’m gonna lose my money to a machine then i’m gonna pull the arm of the “one armed bandit”, you know? well, maybe you don’t know. maybe you’ve never gone to a casino after church before. maybe you should.
glory!

meanwhile, not 12 feet away from me, one of my favorite people, Pastor Faith, was playing video poker and he hit jackpot and won $1198.00! well, praise the lord! the best part is if you win more than $1200.00 they make you take taxes out of it. so they came along (after a pretty long wait, but who cares? money!) and paid him in hundred dollar bills!

we quickly left, knowing that when you jackpot within 15 minutes of walking into a casino you should leave immediately. so we went and ate some delicious food in bay-st. louis, mississippi (which is a quaint little town that i wouldn’t mind living in) and then we went back to louisiana to cook out more food on the grill.

so let’s see, we had church, communion, casino, food…what else could we possibly need?

booze!

in louisiana (and just about everywhere else) you can buy booze on sunday. so for me to go buy beer on a sunday was kinda cool, ‘cos here in alabama they don’t cotton to sellin’ the devil’s drink on the lord’s day.

<tangent> which is just the dumbest thing in the world, honestly. i mean, which commandment are we breaking here? i swear to god (ok, that’s the 3rd commandment being broken) the state of alabama is so backwards that it DOES NOT WANT TO MAKE ANY MONEY. seriously. they tax all the booze and sell it in state operated stores (as far as i know there are only two privatized stores that sell liquor and one is in boaz and the other is on the etowah county line before you cross over to cherokee county, which for all it’s god fearin’ glory, is a dry county) but they don’t sell it on sunday because?

also the state stores are only open from noon to 8pm. see?! i swear they don’t want to make money!

1. they’re closed on part of the weekend.

2. their hours of operation are screwy.

i mean, think it: you just get out of the movies and it’s 9:45pm. you and your buddies don’t want to stop having fun so you decide to go back to your house and see what the night brings in a completely legal and responsible way. tequila is mentioned. vodka is mentioned. but wait! you guys drank all the liquor last week and forgot to restock your cabinet because the only time you could’ve picked up more booze throughout your busy week was on the way to work which for most people is before noon. and since you had to rush home after work to get the kids back and forth from soccer practice and make the family a nice dinner, you were unable to make that late night run to the liquor store because it’s after 8pm! just like after your movie show you can’t go buy the blessed tequila and vodka! where’s your legal and responsible fun party now?!

see?! that’s $30 – $40 the state didn’t make and that’s only one group of friends…think of all the other people who can’t always work their schedules to the retarded state store hours. see how stupid you are, governor riley? you want to raise my taxes when i’d gladly buy your booze at a 24/7 liquor store that your state refuses to provide for general lushingtons like me. are you listening to me, you money-grabbing hog head? do i have to think of every thing? well, sometime i’ll explain the lottery to you.

all i know is, the state of tennessee does NOT collect income tax and their schools make ours look like little house on the prairie. what? little house on the prairie? jaimie, what are you talking about?
i don’t know, i got so mad that i couldn’t even think metaphorically. wait…that was a similie. see what you do to me, stupid alabama?!

</tangent>

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Tags: rant

8.31.03
i went to the bar last night to hear my brother’s band, Boogie Chain, play. they were really great, of course. but as i’m sitting there in this bar, this bar that i’ve played at several times, this bar that i’ve been to many a night, i saw a dog, a boxer dog, sitting there looking kinda stoned and mellow. i said to Flippy Chinchilla, “god, you just know you’re in alabama when you see a dog in a bar.”
Flippy says, “no, you know you’re in alabama when you see a dog in a bar and no one has a problem with it.”
that poor dog, imagine how miserable it would be for that poor dog with the uber-hearing and smell.

anyway, later on dad says, “you know, i’ve never seen a fight in this place, ever. i’ve seen fights in all the other bars over the years, but never this one.
ya gotta know that jinxed it.

about 1:30am a fight breaks out while BC is playing the Vampire Song by Concrete Blonde (i heart that song). cindy and i were playing a video game when the fight breaks out so i turn to look at dad to give him the “you had to say that earlier didn’t you?” look, but dad wasn’t there!

“oh shit, cindy,” i say, “where’s dad?”
“jaimie! where’s your dad?”

well dad was over there trying to help break up the fight. oh hell, i thought, he’s gonna get hurt or worse, arrested.*

luckily neither happened and the fight broke up.

so the band played on.
and then after about 30 seconds of the song another fight broke out. this time the ugly lights came on and the bartender jumped over the bar and yelled for everyone to pay their tabs and “get the fuck out!”

meanwhile katy (singer) is up there with a microphone and the band has stopped playing and she throws some fuel on the fire by saying, “y’all need to chill out you stupid rednecks. we drive all the way from tennessee to play and y’all fuck it up for everyone by being stupid rednecks.”

one of the rednecks took exception to what katy had to say and headed for the stage. luckily three guys were there to “stop” him, and double luck the police had gotten there and saw that this ass was heading for the stage to get katy. he went to jail.

sure, katy shouldn’t have taunted the rednecks, but still i think that if someone is drunk enough and volatile enough to come at a girl then he pro’ly needed to “cool down” and spend the night in jail.

well, during the second fight everyone went everywhere and people were pushed about like you would believe and cindy and i got separated. two girls standing next to me went down hard and i asked the one closest if she was ok. she had tears in her eyes and was holding on to the dog. the dog said, “jaimie, please get me outta here, m’kay?” the girls were fine just a little drunk. i looked around for cindy and she was behind the bar…which was probably the safest place to be.

when i left there was broken glass everywhere, four guys with ripped shirts (one with no shirt at all), four cop cars and two guys on their way to jail.

seems to me i have fun wherever i go.

*later when talking to dad i asked him what the hell he was doing trying to break up a fight. he said that he went over there to help out and as he got over there and was helping he thought, “what am i doing?! i could get hurt or worse, arrested!”

8.30.03
so i wake up this morning and there’s no more poptarts. shit. i’m a firm believer in food with brightly colored fruit filling. so i go to the store and buy more poptarts. actually, i haven’t eaten a “true” poptart in a long time, i’ve been eating the quaker oats toasties..toastums…toastosterones…whatever they are. they’re like wheat poptarts so it seems more healthy and grown up…except for the fluourescent fruit filling. which i love. anyway. tangent.

so i go to the store and i buy two boxes of the quakers tarts (2 for $4. whattadeal i tell ya) but i think, “y’know, what if i don’t want a poptart? what else can i have? is there anything else out there besides easy poptarts?” and so my brain says, “thank god, jaimie. you’ve finally thought about something other than poptarts. i’m so fucking tired of eating those things every morning. you know, only psychos eat the same thing for years and years.” so i said, “shut up brain. it takes one to know one.” huh. tangent.

so i bought some bagels and generic, fat free cream cheese. like hell i’m splurging on brand name, fattening cream cheese for my brain. especially after he called me a psycho.

the bagel was good. but i still kinda missed the fruity filling.

8.28.03
i’m listening to charles mingus. haitian fight song. i like this kind of jazz. not the kind that doesn’t go anywhere or has no melody. i like the kind that starts out as a song and then falls apart in the middle and everyone gets a solo and then it falls apart together and then goes back into the original song.

i was going to take my ear rings out, but i can’t figure out how. either i inhaled too many paint fumes today or these things are tricky.

8.27.03
so i just got back from the bar.
too much fun.
great band.
great beer.
you should have been there. i saved you a seat and everything.

8.26.03
ok, so i’m back from my not-relaxing-too-short-all-was-rushed-so’s-i-could-see one-of-everything louisiana vacation. now you don’t have to ask how it was. but i’ll tell you anyway, probably in the form of a weekly coming to inboxes near you!

also, i read The Patron Saint of Liars by Anne Patchett. great book. i was pleasantly surprised by the three POV the book has. it actually works. my favorite would have to be the last one, the daughter, cecilia. anyway, it’s fabulous.

8.21.03
i went to the bar again last night. great jazz music. i love beer. if i had a dog, i’d name it beer.

also, dad just killed a rat. with a gun. no lie. does that not sound like the most redneck thing, ever?
gosh, i love beer.

i got the newer sinead o’connor CD (sean-nos nua) the other day. i haven’t decided if i like it yet. maybe i’ll grab a beer and give it another listen.

8.19.03
i just finished reading Samaritan by Richard Price. it was a good “whodunit”. it had me guessing the whole time and i didn’t get it right, so there you go. it was kind of hard to relate to seeing as how i wasn’t raised in the ghetto in new york in the ’60s and ’70s. well, i mean, the book takes place in the present and all, but the main guy keeps flashingback and telling stories of his childhood and oh hell nevermind. don’t read it unless you like to read. otherwise it’s just boring and not even funny. but still, pretty good for a whodunit.

8.18.03
i have found that diet dr pepper isn’t so bad if it’s ice-fucking cold. the less cold it is the more you can taste the chemically inhanced poison flavor.

also, i found out today that my father hates the song in the year 2525 and will go to great lengths to turn the radio to a different channel just to avoid hearing it. i can see his point. i only heard the first two or three lines and it’s been in my head for the last 5 hours.

oh damn, i just saw ann coulter’s name down there in blue. feh. i hate her.

8.17.03
i saw ann coulter on larry king last night. god, i can’t stand that vitriolic beeatch. she’s like a slightly better-looking rush limblah only she has less charisma and her voice is lower than his. also, she is a man.

made this for the schweet schishtah. i heart her site.

8.16.03
i learned a new word today from my time magazine, metrosexual. seeing as how i’ve learned it from time i figure that word has been floating around the internet for about 3-8 months. how come i’ve just learned it from time? obviously i haven’t been surfing in the right places. is there a chicwords.com?

8.15.03
such the pranksters we are! played a prank on some friends. it involved a late night drive, car alarms, booze, and much giggling.

in other news: i went to the CD store today and bought softly with these songs the best of roberta flack. it’s wonderful. but while i was there i passed the “reject bin” and saw out of the corner of my eye judy and liza together. i gasped, “joy!” and proceeded to the counter with my roberta and slashed priced gay man music. well, it TURNS OUT that the reject bin was buy one get one free. FREE! so i went back and rummaged through the various Mega-Dance-Hit-Party-Hits-Dance-Craze-Urban-Mega-Dance-Hits and the shitload of random reggae and gregorian chant knock-offs thinking that maybe the jude&liza thing was fluke. but then there was this CD that stood out, helen carr: the complete bethlehem collection. and it looked like a jazz record or something and so i wrestled between that and the ’80s smokey robinson album. it’s smokey, but also, it’s ’80s smokey. i mean, smokey is smokey, i’m sure that album is great but for some reason i was drawn to the jazz.

long story short: the free jazz album is fucking great.

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The One About A Conversation or:
The One About The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
August 12, 2003

hi kids,

so the other day i was consuming mass quantities of alcohol with my good friend Flippy Chinchilla. actually, we weren’t drinking that much. of course that depends on who we are comparing ourselves to. if we are comparing ourselves to the main character in that movie Arthur then we were so not drinking a lot. however, if we are comparing ourselves to say, a devout mormon, well there you go.

so anyway Flippy says, “oh! i better check my cell phone in case i need to sign a warrant or something.”

me: sign a warrant? can lawyers do that?

flippy: (checking phone distractedly) huh? oh. no. but tonight i’m filling in for judge-“

me: oh my gosh! are you Substitute Judge tonight?!

flippy: heh. yeah. actually for the whole week.

me: what?! wow! that is so awesome! you’re the judge! the Subjudge! god that is so cool.

flippy: (laughs) yeah i g-

me: so have you signed any warrants yet? oh wow.

flippy: not today i-

me: my god. you are the judge! all hail judge flippy and her amazing mad judging skillz!

flippy: well it’s not like-

me: how the hell did you get this gig anyway? weren’t you subjudge last year too?

flippy: yeah. they have a conference twice a year and

me: so they pick you? or is it like, a drawing? do they put all the lawyer’s names in a hat? or wait…do they just work their way down Walnut Street?

flippy: hahaha no. a couple of years ago they needed someone to be substitute judge and my name came up so…it just stuck.

me: oh my god. you are famous! a famous subjudge! with a name like Flippy you know you’re getting top notch judgement.

flippy: (laughs) jaimie you’re killing me.

me: holy shit, i’m sitting across from the only cicuit judge in town. wait. how far is your range or whatever anyway? are we talking just Gadsden or…”

flippy: no, it’s the whole county actually.

me: oh my god! how glamourous! the glitz! the fame! and here you sit…with me! one of the little people!

flippy: (laughs)

(enter Dad and Best)

me: you guys, flippy is the judge.

flippy: you wanna be a bailiff? it doesn’t pay anything but still.

me: what?! i can be a bailiff?! yeah! hell yeah! oh wow!

dad: jaimie we have to work all week. you won’t have time to be a bailiff. we’ve got a deadline.

(he is so paul sr. isn’t he?)

me: deadline? hello? bailiff here! hmmm let’s see. paint a stupid house…bailiff….painting….bailiff…painting…glamour and fame. dad come on. think of the weekly it would make.

flippy: (laughs)

best: she could probably even deputize you.

me: (with glitter stars in my eyes) *gasp* really!? oh that would be so awesome! i’d be all like, “hey don’t mess with my weak ass, i’m a deputy…y’know, for a short period of time…ok, until 6pm but still…deputy here!” my friends would be so jealous.

flippy: well, if i need a bailiff i’ll let you know.

me: oh yeah, i’ll be your bailiff anytime. god, flippy you live the most glamourous life. i swear, you are famous.

flippy: heh. hardly. but thanks for making me laugh so much. i needed that.

me: no problem. besides i may need the favor of a judge sometime when they come to arrest my ass for downloading songs on the internet.

flippy: oh honey, you’ll need a federal judge for that.

me: shit. then what use is all this glitz and glam of being a judge?

flippy: well last time i was judge an extridition came up.

me: sounds glamourous! what is it?

flippy: this guy had committed a crime in another state and those authorities found him here.

me: oh my god! how awesome! did you sell him out?!

flippy: (laughs) no i didn’t have to. the real judge came back and

me: oh wow. would you have sold him out?

flippy: no. i was going to make the governor do it.

me: you rock.

****

you know. i don’t feel particularly guilty for downloading songs ‘cos i don’t really download a lot of stuff (once again depending on who we compare ourselves to). oh sure, it’s still “wrong” in the grand scheme of things (el scheme-o grande), but until the price of CDs goes down i’m not gonna feel bad at all for downloading the occassional song.

however, i will admit that i’m ashamed of the songs i have downloaded. to me, it would be ten times worse for someone to say, “hey jaimie, can i see what mp3s you have on your computer?”

“uh. i don’t have any.”

“yeah right, let’s see… what’s this?”

“nothing. that’s not mine.” which is what every crackhead on Cops says when the policeman pulls a crackpipe out of the crackhead’s pocket. “is this yours?”
“uh no. that’s not mine.”
“then who’s is it?”
“i don’t know man, but that’s not mine.”
“this. this crackpipe i found in your pocket. it’s not yours?”
“no, man.”

stupid crackheads.

“what the…Gordon Lightfoot?”

“that’s not mine.”

“Gordon Lightfoot? jaimie c’mon. oh my…Marty Robbins? Roger Miller? what? how old are you anyway? Cher?”

“those aren’t mine. i think justin downloaded those last time he was in town.”

“and i suppose justin downloaded Emerson, Lake and Palmer too?”

“no that was me. justin downloaded the Glen Campbell.”

“no he didn’t.”

“he could have.”

“yeah, if he were 50.”

“shut up.”

*****

right, so i’ve not had that conversation yet, but this one i did have while dad and i were painting an ancient fireplace in Attalla, AL. (aka: Gadtalla. also, Attalla III):

me: whoa, they’re playing The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald on the radio. which is kinda odd, ‘cos i mention Gordon Lightfoot in the weekly.

dad: huh. i haven’t heard that in a while. wasn’t this off his Greatest Hit album?

me: greatest hit? oh dad that’s cold.

dad: (laughs)

me: did they play this song a lot back in the ’70s? like when it happened?

dad: oh hell yes. in cleveland they played it every half hour. in fact, i think they still do. cleveland has the album.

me: the Greatest Hit album?

dad: that’s the one.

me: he had more than one hit, dad.

dad: yeah, let’s see, he did the one about the lake they call Gitche Gumee…

me: dad that’s the same

dad: and then there was the one about Lake Erie.

me: haha. dad really

dad: and then there’s the one about the “winds of november”.

me: okay dad. i get it. he had one hit.

dad: hence the Greatest Hit album.

me: well, that’s one more hit than we have. plus i always liked that Sundown song.

dad: oh wait, didn’t he do that song about the big boat that sank?

random closing thought:
i am fairly certain that if i never have to hear another Elton John song that i could totally live with that.

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Tags: flippy, music, popsicle

Editor’s note: Okay, so Jaimie sometimes asks me to write a weekly so she won’t have to. We have this whole song and dance where she says “hey, why don’t you write a weekly” and I say “only you think I’m funny.” But while I may not be funny, I know funny when I see it. I’ve edited a couple publications in my day, so that’s what this is: a weekly not written by Laura, but edited by Laura. The kids over at derfleeganforum did all the writing. (Gratuitous plug.)

So, without further ado, I bring you…

THE ONE ABOUT ALTOIDS, A FLEEGAN FORUM FRENZY

Cowboy Zydeco started the discussion:
You know, there are entirely too many things in this world that are tiny, cute, but nonetheless evil. Gerbils. Platypuses. Cats. Mazda Miatas. Altoids. My date to the junior dance. I’m sure there’re more examples. I’m sure there’s some good reason for it. I’m going to have to ask God about that, next time I see him. Maybe that’s a substantial part of what makes heaven heaven. No evil lizards. No mosquitoes. No platypuses. And certainly no tiny, evil 16 year old vixens who reach up, rip out your still-beating heart, and impale it on their 4″ spiked prom heels!

Jaimie responded:
i loved that you included mazda miatas and altoids in your list of tiny, cute and evil things. i hate altoids… i also hate that people think it’s so cool to suck on anything that is minty and painful at the same time and act like it’s no big deal. shut your mouth freak. quit bragging that you can stand it, that it’s not burning you. yes it is, your eyes give you away. and what’s the point anyway? even if you suck on so many that you’ve gotten used to it that just means you’re an even bigger idiot than the high schooler who lies that it’s not burning his tongue. you’ve just burned of all your tastebuds and mouth nerve endings all so you think you’re so damn cool. well f*** your chemically burned minty mouth and f*** metallica too while you’re at it!

my god, i hate altoids so much.

i hate minty things because i hate the way a beer tastes after eating a minty thing. i prefer cinnamon. (jimmy hates pennies. he hates them and claims that they are so out of date. i called him a communist.)

Jaimie’s concurrence on Miatas riles the Cowboy up:
I hate Miatas. And that whole class of car. You know, the dinky little pony-cars that look like used bars of soap with wheels. (Although I do enjoy being the passenger in one. Not that they’re comfortable or anything.)

All things considered, I prefer my knees BELOW my ears when I sit, thanks much. But I love the look of dismay and annoyance on the face of the driver, when they realize that their precious little pseudo high performance baby wasn’t designed to deal with unanticipated loads… Like PASSENGERS. I love that squeeking, grinding noise they make when the driver tries to make his customary show-off 5-G turn, and has to fight to maintain control because I’ve just added 12% to the weight of the car. (I actually calculated it once.)

Go buy a real car, not a roller skate! Buy a big honking 4 door Oldsmobile sedan, like a REAL man! Bwahahahaha! I’ve had eight, count ’em, EIGHT passengers in MY car, and it didn’t squeal like a little girly car when I made a turn. One passenger. Pfft. That’s not a load. That’s BALLAST!

Stoopid little girly roller skate cars.

Faithful Atheist interjects a bit about platypi:
Actually a platypus is kinda dangerous. They have these little spurs on the inside of both hind leg ankles that is connected to a venom gland which produces a very strong toxin. The spur can be used in defense against predators (the venom can cause excruciating pain in humans and is strong enough to kill a dog). But the fact that it is restricted to the male – and that the gland reaches its greatest development in the mating season – suggests that it is normally employed in aggressive encounters between males. So basically, don’t mess with platypus’s woman.

Cowboy is too blinded with Altoid anger to notice, though:
And I don’t get the whole candy-as-endurance-contest thing, either. Oooh. You can stand to eat something that’s too minty. Wow. You ARE tough. Pfft. Come back when you can gargle razor blades without whimpering, and I’ll be impressed. In fact, go practice. Now. I’ll wait.

But then he calms down and chastises FA:
There was a whole Weekly about the platypus. Don’t you know you’re supposed to have these memorized? What kind of DerFleeganForum member are you, anyway?!? Shame on you. SHAME!

Jaimie wants Cowboy to rock on with his bad, ballast-knowing self:
yeah! yeah CZ you are right on!

rant day! you stoopid razor eating, mint, dumb heads!

yeah! ballast! that’s right! you tell ’em!

yeah! and when my jeep works i can fit some people in there too! and in the back! i can put big blocky things in there! and if i need to haul a trailer well, i dunno, i’ve never had to haul a trailer, so there! i don’t even know if i have a hitch back there. nyeh!

in fact, my jeep doesn’t even have 4WD! what’s the matter with you, jeep? you are the only jeep in the state without 4WD! why isn’t that standard?! you stoopid dumb head! i hate you! always breaking! always leaking! you have no accelerating power! i press the gas and you go slower sometimes! i know you do! the speedometer hasn’t broken yet! don’t lie to me! i hate liars and you!

oh baby, no. i’m sorry honey. i didn’t mean it. baby? where are you going, babe? i love you, baby. don’t go. please? i’ll change i promise. all i ever want to do is love you, you know that. please come back? yeah, that’s it turn around and look at me honey. see these tears? they’re for you. all for you honey. i’m sorry for yelling at you and for calling you a dumb head. i didn’t mean it baby. it’s just that…sometimes you make me mad. and i…i don’t know what happens. you break and then i break and then i have to pay money to have you fixed and then one of the speakers will go out and just when i replace one of the head lights the other one goes out and YOU DON’T LOVE ME ANYMORE YOU RED BITCH! I GIVE AND GIVE AND GIVE AND YOU TAKE AND TAKE AND TAKE AND NOW I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! MAYBE I’LL JUST GO BUY A REAL CAR MAYBE ONE WITH 4WD!

oh baby no, come back! please, i’m sorry baby. honey where are you going? huh? baby? where are you going? YOU’RE GOIN’ NOWHERE! ‘COS I GOT THE KEYS, YOU RED BITCH!

(The Cowboy is forced to take a moment, for he cannot stop saying to himself “cos I got the keys, you red bitch” and snickering.)

Cookie Magoo joins the fray by defending the candies of evil:
I like altoids, but only the cinnamon ones. Now they have the new altoid strip that melts on your tongue. It’s all like, I don’t have time to eat a mint, beeotch, I want INSTANT MINTY BREATH!

I tried one of those Listerine strips one morning on the drive to work. Which turned out to be a big mistake. Because I wanted minty breath. I didn’t want mint smoke coming out my eyeballs.

Cowboy admits that he has been known to use Listerine strips:
I usually carry a pack of those little Listerine things in my pocket, just as a preventative measure. Mine are the original mint ones. I find the cinnamon ones are kind of ineffectual. I need breath freshening with AUTHORITY!

I sometimes wish they made them in garlic flavor, though. There are some folks I’d love to be able to actively offend with my breath. See the annoying, rambling office guy, pop a garlic strip. “Hhhhiii! Hhhhhoward! Hhhhow are hhhyou doing?” Then, after his eyes start watering and he runs for the hills, you just pop a conventional strip, and you’re good to go. Someone needs to make this product.

Or if that doesn’t work, maybe we need one that produces copious amounts of flammable gas (hydrogen?) when exposed to saliva. Pop a strip, flick your lighter, and breath fire at his annoying ass. (Or whatever appendage is handy.) Nothing says “Leave me alone!” like a jet of flame from your mouth. Maybe you could package them with those mint lifesavers that spark when you bite them (or maybe the fuel packet could be jammed in the hole in the middle), so it’d be self-igniting. Pop-bite-crackle-FOOM! Okay, some people might blow their own heads off in the process, but it’d still be cool.

Cowboy also informs us that Altoids have gone Goth, which inspired the poem by Jaimie that closed the discussion, and thus, this weekly:

dark pain.
like my heart
black
a cancer
me
a vampire
cursed
numb
i must feel
pain
blinding
minty
burning
like a white-hot sun of
wintergreen fury
like my eyeliner
running
into my eyes
i am so goth
with my painful
fresh breath

lauracatoe.com sent this site about names which says that:

pickle is the #5261 most common last name.
0.002% of last names in the US are pickle.
Around 5000 US last names are pickle!

next week’s epitomb: a conversation

jaimie “altoids…how do i hate thee? let me count the ways” pickle

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