The One About the Dumpster

Category: weekleez

The One About the Dumpster
May 29, 2002

did i ever tell you guys the one about the dumpster? no? well sit back, relax, and read this trash.

so about a year ago the sign shop decided it needed a dumpster, and really, it probably needed a dumpster way before that. i mean, imagine being a garbage man and stopping at a place that had eight to ten huge 55 gallon trashbags completely full, yeah? that’salottatrash. of course, considereing that most of our trash at the shop consists of paper, tape and vinyl, it’s not like the bags weigh a ton or anything. i mean, even i can pick them up. of course, it looks pretty silly when i take out the trash because the bags are bigger than me, but really, that’s neither here nor there.

so then we got a dumpster. it was huge and glorious! and green! and we could throw away so much stuff! and it was so big that we could throw away more than just shop trash. i mean, let’s say i had two bags of trash at home… well, why not just pile it up and take it to work to throw it away?! (that’s probably illegal or something, but really, who cares? yay! dumpster!) but wow, with the shop trash and some home trash there’s still a whole bunch of room. so we started throwing away anything we could fit in there. it was glorious! for a while.

then came thanksgiving.

thanksgiving is a wonderful holiday that basically means that you don’t have to work on thursday or friday of that week. and for that we are thankful. it also means that the dumpster people do not have to work on that thursday and friday. but that’s okay, because i mean, look at how huge that dumpster is! and so true, we had to wait another whole week before they would come and dump the dumpster, but like i keep saying, “it’s huge!”

so a week goes by and no big truck came and dumped the dumpster. hmmm. that’s odd. oh well, there’s still room.

another week goes by. er…hmmm. oh. well. there’s a bit of room at the top.

four weeks go by and it’s christmas. well, there’s no room for any more trash but that’s ok. kind of. i mean, we’re off that week anyway so no trash will um, be put in there. it also means that probably no trash will um, be dumped either. eh, we’ll think about it after christmas. happy holidays!

right, so january happens. and still no dumpage at the sign shop so we call the shemps. and they say, “we don’t have you guys on our records.” and we’re all, “what?! but we have…wait… is this dumpsters R us?” and they’re all, “no, this is flaste management.” and we were all, “oops. sorry.”

so then we call dumpsters R us and tell them, “hey, you haven’t dumped our trash in-”
“name?” they ask.
“sign shop.” we answer.
“it shows here that you haven’t paid the bill in two months.”
“yeah, well you guys haven’t dumped the dumpster in three months.”
“oh yeah?”
“yeah!”
“well, we can’t come and dump it until you pay.”
“well, that’s a crock. come get your dumpster.”
“well, see we’ve been bought out by another group and they have messed up our records and so if you’ll pay then we can come dump the dumpster.”
“yeah, okay, well see, why don’t you come dump your dumpster and we’ll start paying you for january seeing as how we didn’t have service november and december.”
“oh, well, i don’t think we can do that. we need you to send a check first.”
“ok well i have an idea.”
“yeah?”
“yeah, come get your dumpster.”
“well, maybe we can work something out. we hate to lose a customer.”
“ok here’s an idea, come dump the dumpster and we’ll give the truck driver your check for january.”
“oh well that’s against regulations. besides you owe us for november and december too.”
“ok well here’s a better idea then.”
“yeah?”
“yeah, come get your dumpster.”

so then we have to find another dumpster service. hmmmm how about flaste management? they seemed like a nice bunch.
so we get an account with them and they’ll be over with a new dumpster tomorrow.
right, but before we get this new dumpster we decide we should really, really fill up the old dumpster. and because it rained a bit over the holidays the trash has sort of compacted and there’s some more room at the top. also, since the huge dumpster of suck has not been dumped for three months it smells like death. gag.

so maybe there’s an old rusted car frame out behind the shop.
so maybe we don’t want it out there anymore.
so maybe we fire up the cutting torch.
so maybe would you believe we crammed a buick in that thing?
and a row boat?
and an old recliner we found up the road?

in march dumpsters R us finally came and got the old dumpster. it probably weighed as much as the truck that came to pick it up, and also it smelled like the bathroom at an amusement park (any amusement park) only worse. we didn’t think they would ever pick up that nasty thing. in fact, we thought about paying the new dumpster place to dump it and then my boss was going to take it home and turn it into a huge dog house or chicken coop or something. i mean, might as well get some use out of it.

anyway new dumpster, this one is much smaller. i mean, this dumpster is so small we could probably fit 3 of them into the other much larger dumpster. well, that is, if the huge one didn’t already have trash and a buick in it. and a boat. and that chair.

this tiny dumpster only holds about a week’s worth of shop trash. it’s the smallest dumpster in the world. it’s not as fun to put stuff in it ’cause y’know, the other one was so much bigger.
but the new dumpster pick up is very punctual. and that’s a good thing because it’s so small.

but then there came a week when they did not come and dump the trash and oh crap what am i gonna do?
so now i’m sitting on three week’s worth of trash and man, that sucks. well me, being a very stoopid person, i get kinda mad about it. i start thinking about how much trouble we went through with the other dumpster and i get even more mad. and then i decide we should call those so and so’s at the dumpster place because there’s no way i’m gonna sit on four weeks of trash when we pay them to dump our trash and feh! the injustice! maybe i’ll just give them a piece of my mind! that’ll show ’em!

so i get my ‘tude on and call and say that hey man, our dumpster hasn’t been dumped in a while and we need it dumped what’s the problem? and they of course ask for our address and then there’s a pause and this nice lady tells me that the truck driver’s son shot himself and the driver has taken some vacation days to deal with the tragedy and would it be alright if someone came out and dumped the dumpster tomorrow?

gee talk about taking me down a peg or twelve. i felt like, this big.

“oh geez, um yes ma’am. just uh, no hurry! at your convenience really.” i’m a horrible person!

sheesh. dumpsters. i mean, it would figure the one time i actually get brave enough to sport an attitude it would completely blow up and quick! sucker punch!

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The One About the Hospital

Category: weekleez

The One About the Hospital
May 21, 2002

hi kiddos,

first of all! there is a new spy club member!
jennifer “booyah!” lyngar, who hails from the mythical sands of reno, nevada sent to me via cookie magoo, the most fabulous keychain ever! EVER! it’s really a very cool key chain from RENO, NEVADA! and i show it to everyone! it holds my keys! i brag about it! i show it to all of my friends and say, “they love me in reno.” it has gold dice that spin! THEY SPIN!
jennifer’s spy club nickname is (are you ready jen? i know you’ve been waiting) Disco Millie. or D.M. for “short”. she’s in charge of the spy club’s credit cards and answering machine. thanks jennifer! you rock!

so i had to go to the hospital today. i believe i’ve mentioned my demon, hell-spawn stomach, right? well, lately the doctor has put me through several tests and today’s was extra special fun. note the sarcasm. and i figure since i had so much fun actually going through the procedure that you guys would have fun reading about my adventures at the hospital. and let me just tell you, if anyone can have fun at a hospital it’s gotta be me.

right, so this is the third “test” and i would tell you about the first two but really the one was rather boring and the other one was rather gross and involved “specimens” and i figure i’ll spare you all of that. so this third test is called a HIDA SCAN. and what the doctor told me was that they would inject my gall bladder full of dye and take pictures of it. that’s it. very simple very easy. and the only thing i had to do in preparation for this test was not eat anything after midnight the day before the test. also easy, seeing as how i don’t eat after midnight anyway, and it’s not like i can stomach breakfast first thing in the morning, right? i’d lose it fer sure. so far so good.

i wake up this morning all ready to take my test and wouldncha know it? i’m starving. wha? i’m never hungry in the morning. and it’s not like i’m hungry, i’m starving, as in the beast in my tummy is screaming. i don’t think i’ve ever been this hungry in my life! ARG! well, the beast will just have to deal. i have a test to take!

off to the hospital.
i get checked in and they give me a fashionable bracelet so’s i can’t wander off. and bling bling i’m on the second floor. and double bling bling the nurse tells me to go to “nuclear medicine”. huh?
nuclear? wha? i’m here for a gall bladder thingy. not a… a… um, nucular thingy. right? derp?
no! go to nucular! do not pass go! do not collect two hundred dollars!
off to nucular!

the closer i get to nuclear medicine the more RADIATION signs i see, as in DANGER! RADIATION, and ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE HERE? THIS IS THE RADIOACTIVE UNIT. THERE’S RADIOACTIVE MATERIAL RIGHT BEHIND THIS DOOR. and also, THAT CHAIR YOU’RE SITTING ON? YES, IT’S RADIOACTIVE. GO BACK TO THE WAITING ROOM. IT’S SAFE THERE. HERE BE DRAGONS.

nuc med. great stuff.
so anyway they don’t give me a gown. so i’m thinking hey cool, no gown, this test must be easy-peezy japanesey. so i’m sitting in this chair waiting my turn at whatever and there’s a man sitting next to me also waiting his turn for his whatever and the nurse walks up to me and asks, “when was your last menstrual cycle?”
oh for crying out loud! geez lady! there’s a strange DOOD sitting next to me! pause here for my pink blush.
so i tell her and apparently my answer wasn’t good enough for her because she sort of stared at me (and my glorious hair) and asked, “is there a possibility you could be pregnant?”
i tell her no.
she says, “are you sure?”

i really, really, really wanted to say, “my life partner is good, but she’s not that good”. *wink wink*
but geez, like i need more people thinking i’m a lesbian.

so i opt for the truth, “yes i’m sure.”

and we move on.
i’m whisked away to a fake room where this other nurse starts an IV in my arm. right in the middle of my elbow. ow geez. blood actually spurts. “you have great blood flow!” the nurse says. i almost laughed.
what a terrible spot for an IV. but it’s not a “real” IV yet as it’s basically just a short tube sticking out of my arm and then she asks if i know what kind of test i’m having. i mumble something about a gall bladder.

“yes, they’re gonna inject radioactive isotopes into your blood and then a camera is going to take pictures of your gall bladder and liver. and then they’re going to inject some more stuff in you to make your gall bladder constrict, and they’re gonna take pictures of that too.”

see, the doc never mentioned ANYTHING about RADIOACTIVE FREAKIN’ ISOTOPES.
i’m not nervous about it or anything. i mean, carbon-14 is a radioactive isotope. and you never hear anything bad about carbon-14, do you? radioactive isotopes are our friends.

so i go to another room and it has a dark corner in it and they make me lay down on a bed and then they all leave. ten minutes later nurse diesel comes back and insists i take a pregnancy test. freak!
*sigh* right. i hafta wazz in a cup.
but here’s the thing.
i’m right handed.
the IV is in the crease of my right elbow. i can’t bend my arm. it’s straight as a board, and for this situation, just as useless.
she hands me the cup.
i enter the bathroom and stare at my reflection.

i try to bend my arm a little. no go. if i bend it anymore something will snap and i don’t need a needle floating around nor any spurting blood. crap.
so anyway, after 7 or 8 minutes of fenagling i manage to wazz in a cup and no splashes! wow, my left hand and i make a great team when we have to! cheers all around! and i come out of the bathroom triumphant and smiling ready to take on any more of their hospital skulduggery! tatdow!

so i have to sit back on the bed and wait for the pregnancy test to come back.
it took 30 minutes.

ARG! 30 minutes!? what the hell? i can buy a test at the grocery store, bring it home, wazz, wait, and see the results in LESS THAN 30 MINUTES! and so you sit there and wait. and while you’re waiting you think things like, “golly, what a waste of time. i see why they would want to know if i’m pregnant or not the radioactive material probably hurts the baby it’s a good thing they test you first i wonder what’s taking so long? ha ha me, pregnant? what a bunch of laughs. i wonderwhat’staking so long? ha. pregnant. has it been 15 minutes? wow. heh, pregnant. hmmm. oh geez god, what if i’m pregnant? i mean, sure there’s no way i’m pregnant, but what if…. what if somehow i’m pregnant? and the lady comes back and says, “you horrible cur! you’re pregnant and you were going to hurt your unborn child with radioactive isotopes! i’ll see you in hell!” i mean, she’ll never believe me! i swear! i’m not pregnant! how am i pregnant? how would i explain it to jimmy?! jimmy i swear i don’t know how i got pregnant! i wasn’t pregnant and then i went to the hospital and then i was pregnant! it’s a magic baby! a magic radioactive baby! i’m not pregnant!”

a different nurse came back, “the results were negative, but i guess you knew that.”
of course, whew, yeah i knew that.

so ANYWAY the REAL test.
they inject the radioactive goop into me and then they place this huge cylinder over my upper torso and move it about 4 inches away from my body and face. it’s huge. and it hums. but it does not move. and i must lay very still and not move, just like the camera. and so there it is. nothing. for an hour.

so i kinda dozed off for a bit and woke up when a gaggle of nurses came in and started squawking and laughing about god only knows and then it hit me, i hafta sneeze.

there is only one other person in this world who sneezes more violent than me and that’s scott. scott’s whole body implodes when he sneezes. my sneezes just double me over ninja quick. i usually hit my head on something, like the steering wheel for instance.
here on this bed i can’t sneeze cause there’s this huge, expensive piece of equipment inches away from me. plus i can’t move or i’ll bollix the testing/picture taking. plus i’ll get sneeze juice all over this huge, expensive equipment and not only that but since it’s right in my face i’ll have to stare at my sneeze juice for the duration and gag. so i hold back my sneeze. my nose twitches like mad.
i wonder if anyone else has ever had to sneeze while on this thing?

so i look at the thing, which isn’t hard to do since it’s right in my face anyway and i notice that there’s “stuff” on it. and it looks as though not only has some poor shemp had to sneeze while taking this test, but said shemp actually did sneeze and apparently didn’t tell anyone about it. because there, not 5 inches away from my face, is dried sneeze juice splatter. oh man.

oh man! gag! and i’m taking a closer look and notice that this whole thing is quite dirty. filthy even. i mean, the crease next to the sneeze spittle looks as though it’s actually growing something on it. gag! and it’s not like i’m a germophobe. i’m not. i’ll eat an apple without washing it. big mystery why my stomach hurts.

anyway i’m checking out this huge, expensive, filthy piece of equipment and notice that not only are the sides dirty but the flat bottom part of the cylinder is all scraped up and how did that happen? and the more i look at it the stranger it gets ’cause then the bottom of it kinda fades and i can see… wires? and a lens of some sort. what the?
a circuit board? but isn’t that inside the camera?

i look up at the ceiling and the white tiles fade and i see… an air duct! and random pipes! holy geez!
i have x-ray vision!
what did they inject my blood with!?!

a nurse walks by and i see that she’s wearing a yellow sweater under her scrubs. gack! her internal organs!
i roll my head to the side and look at the wall. i can see the shemp in the bed next door! he has an IV too! i wonder if he can see me?!

don’t panic, jaimie. maybe this is just a side-effect and only lasts for a couple of…
a nurse chewing grape bubble gum is about to walk in to this room. she’s going to grab a clip board, cough three times, and walk out.

a nurse blowing a huge, purple bubble walks in, grabs something off the table, coughs and leaves the room.

ohmygod i’m psychic! somehow the radioactive hooha must’ve combined with my DNA thus enhancing my brain and giving me psychic impulses as well as x-ray vision! i’m a superhero! wait ’til i tell jimmy! oh wait, i wonder if this will hurt the baby? waitaminute…what baby? huh?

“ms. pickle? ms. pickle?”

i jerk awake bonking my head on the huge, expensive piece of equipment.
“ow! stupid piece of… huh?”

“ms. pickle, i have to inject the other stuff now. it’s going to burn.”

aw crap. and the test went on for another hour.

next week’s epitomb: jaimie wins a lame prize! maybe.

jaimie “i have great blood flow” pickle

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The One About Mornings

Category: weekleez

The One About Mornings
May 14, 2002

for crying out loud. they sent jimmy carter to cuba the other day. geez-derp. what a waste. i mean, isn’t jessie “the body” ventura in “politics”? couldn’t we have sent that guy?
anyway.

hi kids,
it’s not a funny one today. but it does explain a little bit why i hate mornings so much.

here’s three mornings from last week:

morning one

last week i had to get the puppy dog fixed. well, not that the puppy dog was broken. i mean, honestly the puppy dog was perfectly healthy, mostly normal and all around happy. so i had her “fixed”. ok see, i dunno what they call it in the rest of the world, but down here (alafreakinbama) the people get their pets fixed. the proper word is neuter i think, unless it’s a female pet and then the word is something else that i cannot think of at this moment and it’s not important anyway as i’ve already mentioned that i got the dog fixed and you understand all that now and would i please stop rambling? the point is i don’t want the doggie to get pregnant. “puppies” is not on my list of things i need at this moment.

so i’m supposed to take the pup to the vet, right? well, the dog lives with jimmy ’cause actually it’s kinda his dog as i gave it to him for a birthday present. so i told jimmy that we were taking the pup to the vet on such and such a day so don’t make any plans so that you can help me control her in the car.
she has a slight problem when riding in cars. not only does she want to drive, but she has the terrible habit of vomiting all over everything and sometimes i think she hides it too. sometimes after i’ve cleaned up a nice fresh batch, i’ll find it hours later in a strange place in the car. how did she manage to hurl in the ash tray when i wasn’t looking?

on the morning in question i got a phone call from jimmy saying that we cannot take her to the vet on this morning because the dog smells like crap. literally. he’s really kinda mad about it and he says that the dog smells so bad he can’t stand to be around her. so jimmy says for me to call the vet and cancel the appointment and we’ll take her next week or something. well, it’s like this. i’m not gonna cancel an appointment because the dog is stinky. i mean, its a dog. that’s what dogs do! not only that, but i’ve taken off a couple of hours of work to go and do this. so i tell jimmy yes honey i’ll call the vet right now and i’ll call you later and don’t work too hard!

then i drove over to jimmy’s house and stole the dog, and yes it smelled like it had slept in a horse pile, but she didn’t look dirty so i promptly took her to the vet sans chunder. they didn’t say anything about not being able to fix the dog due to it’s unearthly, well actually quite earthy, stench. so i left the sweet puppy princess in the capable hands of the vet and went to work. and febreezed the hell outta my car, because man, did that dog stank.

when i got to work my boss told me that the vet had called (y’see, the boss is good friends with the vet) and said to come pick up my dog because it smells so bad.

WHAT?! NO WAY! IT’S A DOG! IT WASN’T DIRTY! IT JUST SMELLED! SHE LOOKED CLEAN! NO NO NO! OF ALL THE STOOPID…

so maybe i freaked out a bit.

then my boss started laughing and said that ha ha of course the vet didn’t call and say that they can’t operate on the dog due to it’s horrible smell but that jimmy had called looking for me and had told my boss about the wicked vapors coming off of the poor pup. ha ha! the jokes on me! every damn day of the week.

morning two

so i call the vet the next morning and the first thing i do is tell them my name and the puppy dog’s name and then i ask if i can pick up my dog now. and the lady/secretary/telephone answerer puts me on hold so’s i can talk to the vet about it. and the vet gets on the phone and starts talking.
“hi ms. pickle, this is Dr. Dale. we’ve got your puppy in stable condition, but i think it’s going to be blind in the left eye for sure and possibly the right.”
“ummmm, what?” she wasn’t blind when i dropped her off…
“yeah, she’s done some damage to her optic nerve.”
“really?! buh..buh…but how?” optic nerve? da hell? did she bang her head on the cage or something?
“yeah, because of the brain swelling.”
“her brain swelled?” crikeys, what kind of medicine do they knock these dogs out with anyway?
“i think the brain swelling is what damaged the optic nerve. so anyway, we’d like to keep her overnight again for observation to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself any worse.”
“oh. ok. um, is this normal?” how am i going to explain to jimmy that the dog is blind now?
“is what normal?”
“i mean, do their brains usually swell with these kinds of procedures?” now we’ve got a retarded dog. great.
“well, in this case, i would have been surprised if the brain hadn’t swelled.”
“i see. well, you know, when i brought her in there to be spayed they didn’t mention anything about brain swelling.” a stoopid, stinky dog. fabulous.
“what?”
“i dunno, i just would’ve thought they would have mentioned the possibility of brain swelling and blindness.” a stoopid, stenchified dog what bumps into things.
“what did you just say?”
“well, i mean, i would have thought that maybe some one would have mentioned that…” jimmy’s gonna freak.
“did you say spayed?”
“yes.”
“do you have a black and white puppy?”
“no sir, it’s a german shepherd.”
“oh.”
“i take it my dog’s brain isn’t swollen?”
“um, let me just check her stitches…. yeah you can pick her up anytime today.”
“and she won’t be blind?”
“no. no blindness. no brain swelling either. sorry for the mix up!”
derp!

morning three (has nothing to do with the dog)

so i work at a sign shop and we make signs. and of course, we make church signs. and of course, we meet a lot of preachers. and of course, here in alafreakinbama, the preachers feel the need to spread the good news to the sign makers because what a heathern bunch of fools those sign makers must be. and hey, that’s ok. i usually tell them that i go to church and then we talk for a bit about church and that usually satistfies the preacher and he leaves.

so this one preacher man comes in and talks to me and he was a really nice guy (surprisingly, most of them are not. boy, do i have some stories about preachers…) but he talks kinda funny. it’s like his eyes are opened a little too wide and he has this constant look of disbelief on his face. it’s like everytime he says something he looks as though he can’t believe that he’s actually talking. his face looks like this, “i’m i talking? are these words coming out of my mouth? is this what my voice sounds like? am i puppet and my master is actually controlling my words and body? body? what body? i’ve never seen her before in my life officer…” er, anyway. he’s just kinda odd y’know?

also, he’s the kind of person that once he finds out your name he says it as much as possible.
“well jaimie, do you think we could put a Bible somewhere on the sign, jaimie? do you think there’s room, jaimie? i know that you’re the expert jaimie, but i’d really like a bible on the sign and maybe a bible verse, how about that, jaimie? jaimie, what do you think that’ll look like?”
so i’ve heard my name way too many times and what the heck’s a jaimie?

but he was really nice and i talked to him a bit and he seemed normal. and on his sign he speicfied that he wanted a Bible on it and it must say KJV 1611 on the Bible. okay by me i don’t care what Bible he uses right?

but then he looks at me with that confused stare and tells me that KJV stands for King James Version and that it is the true Bible and that that’s the only Bible his church uses.
sheesh, that’s like saying pecan pie is the only true pie. so i say, “really? i mean why start there? why king james? why use something so new and fresh? i mean, post-reformation? that’s kinda “out there” isn’t it? and it’s so easy to read and understand. why not just use the latin vulgate bible they used back in the middle ages…back when people believed in god so much they built huge cathedrals for him and they would trek hundreds of miles to catch a glimpse at what might be a saint’s crusty pinky finger or a splinter from the cross. i mean, if you’re gonna limit yourself you might as well do it right.”

OF COURSE i didn’t say that.
i merely nodded at the guy and said, “far out.”

so we discussed his sign a little bit longer and he was pleased with the design and once again he said my name several times and then he left.

and then he came back in and said, “uh jaimie, i’m gonna leave some literature here for you to read at your conveniece, jaimie. have a good week jaimie.” and then he left. for real that time.

so he left a booklet. it was called The Lost Soul’s First Day in Eternity. it’s about a SINNER that DIES and goes to HELL. and while the SINNER is in HELL the SINNER feels so bad and WORMS eat into his HEART and little DEVILS with SHARP claws SCRATCH at the SINNER while the SINNER remembers that he USED to believe in GOD and only GOD can SAVE SINNERS but it’s TOO LATE for the SINNER in HELL with the WORM eating his HEART.
and THEN the SINNER realizes that he has to spend FOREVER with DEMONS scratching him and WORMS eating his HEART. EVERY DAY. he NOW undersands that since he FORSAKED (FORSOOK?) GOD that now GOD cannot hear the SINNER’S cries and PLEAS. the SINNER is alone in HELL. ALONE, TORTURED, GUILTY, FOREVER.

geez, thanks for the light reading.

so i guess this preacher man thinks i’m on my way to hell. feh.

it bothered me a little bit because he didn’t even ask me if i went to church, he just assumed that since i have this gorgeous pink hair that i’m probably a deviant and that he should do “his part” by giving me a scary, puritan bible tract to read. well, thanks for the concern Rev. Mather but no thanks. maybe you should try pawning your “literature” on an open flame or something useful like that. and yikes, if you’re gonna give that filth out, at least do it in the afternoon so that the poor shemp who reads it doesn’t start gagging on her coffee when she gets to the part about the WORM eating into the HEART.

yeah, so no one sent me any links this week.
but i did see a t-shirt that had this on it:

avoid clichés like the plague.
(they’re old hat)

and if that wasn’t funny to you then you probably like reading things about WORMS eating HEARTS.
sicko.

next week’s epitomb: more on how the new apartment is trying to kill me.

jaimie “they’re old hat” pickle

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The One About NPR

Category: weekleez

The One about NPR and Castro
Tuesday, May 07, 2002

hi keeds! apparently the “jaimie freaks out in the rain” story was really popular. how cool is that? thanks to all of you who wrote me saying “dood, that was funny!” or “poor, poor jaimie.” or “quit whining you big baby!” thanks!

ok so i was listening to NPR the other day (big nerd) and it’s not that i’m particularly into classical music or anything. i’m not. classical music, although pretty and long, tends to break me out in hives and i get the chills. no wait, that’s something else…
anyway, i listen to the NPR, PRI, whatever because of all the news. there’s two hours of news in the morning and two more in the evening and ok i like the news okay? actually, that’s not true at all.
the thing is… i’m old.

what can i say? i like having people read the news to me.
heck, i might as well buy a house-coat and strap a drool cup to my face.
but really, listening to the news is so much more than just disembodied voices prattling on about “current events” (what are those?) and world news. er, actually no, that about sums it up.

but the really great thing is that there are no commercials! that’s right, there’s no moron car salesman screaming about prices, low prices, or the lowest prices ever. it’s just calm people using their calm voices to read the news, be it good, bad or breaking, in a very calm way. calm. soothing. news.

i also like it because i spend a lot of time at work alone and when the news is on it’s like someone is talking to me. so like when someone calls on the phone they hear voices in the background and it doesn’t seem like i’m all alone.
on second thought, i’m never alone at work. ever. so if you had any ideas about finding me all alone at work and all the horrible things you could do to me, well, think again. ’cause i’m never alone. i have a vicious, half-starved wolverine named nancy and she’d love to tear you up, dig? also, i have a Glock named Glock. so back off, bad guy.

where was i?
right, so the news is like people talking to me ‘cept i don’t have to answer. it’s a one-sided conversation that i don’t have to pay attention to or nod my head in pretend listening. and hey, no awkward silences!
also, i’m not as anti-social as i just made that sound. i actually do interact with people all the time. really. really!

so anyway, like i said in paragraph two, i was listening to NPR and the people reading me the news told me this:

ok, so the president of mexico, vincente (or vicente) fox, and the cuban dictator for life, whatshisname, had a secret meeting. and at this secret meeting they were going to discuss an upcoming U.N. meeting.

so fox agrees to meet with fidel “pro’ly a björk fan” castro so long as no one knows about it. and fidel “when he goes to san francisco he wears flowers in his hair” castro agrees to let the meeting be a secret and promises not to tell, and oh by the way i’m gonna tape the meeting. and fox says that he really wishes you wouldn’t tape the meeting. and fidel “twinkle toes” castro says don’t be a spoiled sport, i promised to keep it a secret didn’t i?

so the dudes have their meeting and basically fox tells fidel “gerbils in his fatigues” castro to behave himself at the U.N. meeting and i really wish you wouldn’t provoke the U.S. okay? to which fidel “loves a parade” castro laughed and told fox to mind his own business, i’ve been pissing off the U.S. for 5 decades i’m not gonna stop now and remember, i’m taping this conversation could you talk into the microphone please?

the secret meeting went on and nothing was really solved or anything so fox went home and did whatever he usually does all day and fidel “pinch my fanny” castro went home and promptly played the tape of the secret meeting to the world, which is how come i knew that those two boneheads had a secret meeting in the first place. so anyway.

president fox was pretty angry.
1. because the meeting made him look like a spineless dork and
2. because fidel “i’ll be yo’ sugar daddy” castro had promised to keep the meeting a secret.

oh.
you mean… no.
you mean fidel “spank me like you mean it” castro told a lie? castro? lied? is this bizarro world or something?

gee, i didn’t see that coming, did you?
um, yeah! geez fox, how long have you been in politics, heck, how long have you been alive? cripes, what kind of imbicile trusts castro?
rookie.

anyway, i heard on the radio news today that jimmy carter is all about starting an anti-castro club (i thought the united states was the anti-castro club) and he wants to be in charge of it. well, ok. i’m all for getting rid of the ass (castro, not carter) but c’mon, jimmy carter? i’m not saying carter is a bad guy or anything, but i mean, isn’t that like putting the class wimp in charge of telling the bully not to be so mean to everyone?
the school nurse better get ready to put some ice on carter’s black eye and bloody nose.
and sheesh, carter couldn’t do anything about it back when he was in charge of getting rid of the freak.
i mean, every president since the ’60s has promised to get rid of that cigar-chewing mofo.

but presidents are so bad at that sort of thing. they aren’t intimidating at all. they wear suits and ties.
what we really need is someone with some muscles and blue jeans. and probably a crowbar or claw-hammer. and also give him a gun, like a bazooka. something big and scary. we need randy “macho man” savage.

“oh yeeeeeah. listen up castro. i’m comin’ after you! yeeeah. and you better run, ’cause i’m bringin’ some marines with me. oh yeeeeah! and you can’t hide ’cause we can smell your skank from here! yeeeeeah, i’m gonna turn you into gravy and make you eat your own missiles! ooooooooooooh yeeeeeeeeeeah!”

so someone get jimmy carter outta there and get us someone with a decent scary voice and preferably some muscles and preferably someone under 60 years old. for crying out loud, i gotta think of everything?

and now for your link of the week, scott saylor sent me this little gem: http://etrata.home.attbi.com/flash/banana.swf
it’s really only funny is you have a sound card. well, i thought it was funny. some other people (roommate) didn’t think it was funny.

next week’s epitomb: castro and his boy toys…exposed!
jaimie “oooooooh yeeeeah!” pickle

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The One About Whitewater Rafting to Work

Category: weekleez

The One About White Water Rafting to Work
May 01, 2002

hi kids,

it’s been so long since i’ve written one of these that i feel like i owe you two. Laura “loony roomie” Bentley got so tired of waiting for a weekly that she actually wrote me one. (wow! that’s like christmas!) i was going to use hers but she talks about “taking a leak” in a bathroom that has a full length mirror next to the toilet, and well, i just don’t talk about that kind of filth. FILTH!
derp! look for laura’s weekly on the webpage. maybe i’ll design the graphique to go with that one. it’s a trade! barter! swap! also, lots of you wrote me and told me you liked the one about the bee in my car. sadists.
if you liked that painful memoir, i’m sure you’ll love this little nugget of “god is trying to drive me insane”.

this is a true story.
all of this happened to me before 7:30 on tuesday morning.

so anyway, yesterday (toosday) was the last day of april. and so i guess april decided to get in one more of those “april showers” you always hear about. and by “april shower” i mean “torrential downpour”. because let me tell you, it was not a shower. it was a miserable, driving, huge-droplet hurtling, wet rain. it rained so much rain that the parking lot where i park my car was, in a word, flooded, or in several words, THE #$%!*$ PARKING LOT IS UNDERWATER!

well, that was my reaction anyway. y’see, there was at least 4.7 inches of water. i don’t care what kind of shoes you have on, nothing can withstand 4.7 inches of water, and for some reason my car was parked like, 30 feet away. i was, in a word, stranded, or in several words… nevermind.

now. there is rain pouring down the side of the building. the gutters are screaming and gushing. there is water swirling and pooling and splashing. i can’t hear anything because the gutters are so loud. the rain is loud. the gutters are freaking out, they’ve never seen so much water before. the parking lot has become a river. curbs are twisting water all about and i swear it’s white capping.
my parking lot has become river rapids.
i think i screamed, “doesn’t some ass get paid to engineer something so that crap like this doesn’t happen?!”
ha ha. my day is just begining.

so i have an umbrella, a cell phone, car keys, a book, a sunvisor (why? i have no idea) and a can of pop in my hands. it’s at times like these that i wish i had a purse.
a really big purse.
one that i could fit into.
so i’m standing under a pathetically leaking awning and weighing my options.

ok, i gotta have the umbrella. it’s essential, else i’ll have purple dye streaming down my face, and it’s not pretty.
ok, the keys. i need the keys to unlock the door.
the book. i don’t need the book, but also i don’t have time to put the book back in the apartment. it’ll just have to get a little wet. i don’t care, it’s a library book.
pop. caffeen. it’s more essential than the umbrella. i can cram it in my shirt pocket.
the sunvisor i can slip through my arm, no biggie.
cell phone in the pants pocket. check.

ok, but what about my socksnshoes?
there’s no way i’m gonna spend all day in wet socksnshoes. so i stand there like an idiot trying to figure out how to get to my car. maybe some driftwood or an old tire will float by and i can use it as…

so i came up with a plan.
really, it’s a no brainer. i just have to take off my socksnshoes, run like crazy to the jeep, unlock the door and hop in. cake and pie. cake. and. pie. how easy. i must be some kind of genius.

so i slip my hippie shoes off and cram them under my armpit, the same arm holding the umbrella ’cause the other one is brandishing a sunvisor, book, and my keys. the keys being the important part that will allow me to enter the sanctuary of the jeep. i take off my socks and stuff one in my front pocket sans cell phone and one in my back pocket. but apparently i had some papers of some sort in that back pocket so i pulled the sock out to put it in the other back pocket (trust me, that detail is most important). and i quickly roll up the legs of my jeans.
(pause a moment to get that mental picture. yeah that’s it, tom sawyer with purple hair, you got it.)
now i’m ready to “book it” to the car. only i notice something out of the corner of my eye.
something must’ve fallen out of my back pocket.
and there it goes, floating away.
it’s green.

oh crap! it’s a dollar bill! dang, can i not get a break?
ok you know what? i’m in no mood to go chasing that measley dollar. it’s not worth it. so i watch it and yell (over the loud rain) “bye george!”
but then i notice that it’s not a tiny george washington looking up at me as it floats (quite quickly, i might add) down the sidewalk, the opposite direction of my jeep. it’s an huge, ugly… keith richards? ohmygodthat’snotgeorge! it’sandrewjackson!

cripes! a 20?! run jaimie, run!
so i abandon all rational thought and quickly chase after my precious money. er, i’ve mentioned the 4.7 inches of water right? do you know how hard it is to walk quickly in that? you can’t. you’ll splash water all up your pants. you must walk slowly, yet deliberately. except, that’s not fast enough to catch andy, who is by the way, having the time of his life. i think at this point i half growl-half scream because i realize i’m gonna have to run to get my money. so i run. and i splash water all over me and i reach down and snatch up my money, and also my shirt sleeve, which is quite long and unbuttoned (because it just is) has somehow managed to get completely soaked. i stare in shock.
but only for a moment.
and then it hits me.
dang it’s cold!
and where did all this wind come from? the umbrella is going crazy.

water! cold! my feet are freezing! let’s go jaimie! run to the jeep! i can’t run to the jeep i’ll splash water all over me. you’ve already splashed water all over you! stop arguing and just runtothejeep! cold! cold! cold!

so i run!

and i splash! i splash the whole 30 feet to my car! i’m screaming!
why did i bother rolling up my pants?

i look like a deranged loon. and then…
the wind hits my umbrella, in just that way, to totally bollocks the thing backwards, thus making my umbrella as useless as the shoes in my armpit. i scream some more.

finally, after what seems like two hours i make it to the jeep, soaked to the bone. i open the door, throw everything in the passenger seat, get it and growl.
and the pouring, violent rain… she does not taper off… she does not slow down to a sprinkle… nay nay… the pouring, violent rain… as i slam my car door…the rain… she stops. instantly. as if she’d never been there at all.

and for 2 seconds the anger in me boils and rages just like the water coming out of the gutter. and i look to the sky, up to god, and i shake my fist and i start to yell but then, just like the rain, my adrineline stops. and i notice that my feet hurt because they are so cold. and my clothes are soaked. and i’m totally freezing. and water has dripped from my hair, which is covered in hair goop, poison, into my eyes and they sting. and my god, i’m pathetic.

and instead of yelling at god, i pull my cell phone outta my pocket, and dry it off, and i call my roommate, who is still in her bed, probably all cozy and warm, probably all fuzzy headed from sleeping, probably getting mad because the phone is ringing, and when she answers the phone i blast her. and she listens, and she feels sorry for me. and i hang up. and i then look up at the sky, at god, and i say, “tom sawyer had a raft.”

the moral of this completely true parafable:
don’t yell at god, because he is all powerful and can smite you. instead yell at your roommate. because when life gives you lemons, you’re supposed to make lemonade. but the only problem is, you really like lemonade, and you can’t just drink one glass. you have to drink it until it’s gone. and then you get sick. so by all means, don’t make lemonade! it isn’t worth it! blast your roommate!

and that’s how my tuesday started, april ended, and may isn’t looking too good either.

i have a sneaky suspicion that i’m gonna get struck by lightning before the year ends.
what a weekly that would make!

next week’s epitomb: who knows? i’m sure it’ll have something to do me being an idiot. hilarity ensues!

jaimie “yes. it really happened” pickle

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Laura’s Weekly

Category: weekleez

The One About Laura Wrote a Weekly
May 01, 2002

hola, chica!

you know how crazy things are always happening to me at gas stations? well, let me tell you about this week’s epitome. i’m on my way to hot-lanta, ya dig, but a girl’s gotta fuel up first, a’ight? so me & my posse swing by the local flell mart (i been a flell girl since i lived at home, where the flell station was the only gas-up place we had… until the flubdonald’s moved in). so i get out of my car, ready to pump and my boyfriend beats me to it! he won’t let me pump and pay for my own gas! me! “but i’m every woman!” i say. he pumps and pays anyway. jerk. stuff like that *always* happens to me at gas stations.

and if it’s not a gas station experience, it’s a restaurant. i went to this fancy schmancy place over the weekend. and by fancy, i mean that they sold nutella on bread and charged you for it like it’s not something you can get at the grocery store. but they did have crayons so you could draw on the tablecloth, so the place was cool. this is the place where there’s a full length mirror by the toilet in the lady’s room. damn, but i look fine while taking a leak! the only trouble with this place was that none of the waiters (we had at least 3 different waiters) flirted with me at all. that’s because they were all gay! yes, that’s right! our waiter flirted with my boyfriend instead of me! jerk.

but none of that is what i really wanted to share with you this week. nope, the real dealio today is 10 Things I Miss About Cable.
10. The Prevue Channel.
okay, okay, so i haven’t had this channel since i moved out of my ‘rents
place. i still miss it! it is a very useful station. how else are you going
to know what lame “i can’t believe i’m missing that!” movie is playing on
USA right now.

9. 2 episodes of Friends back to back from 6-7 on the WB
remember the one where phoebe is dating 2 guys? where ross and rachel do it?
when monica makes out with one of the dudes from Hootie & the Blowfish?
remember when they were cool? (i know you’ve got the album. i saw it in your
bedroom. right next to all those other albums you don’t own.)

8. The Weather Channel
i never really used the weather channel, mostly cause i could never remember
what channel it was and if i did find it, i was too impatient to wait 10
minutes to find out the local weather, but there’s just something reassuring
about knowing it was there if i needed it.

7. Adult Swim
oh, those zany kids on Home Movies! i wonder what kind of movie they’re
making this week.

6. (as if)

5. catching an accidental episode of “Who’s Line is it Anyway?”
this show has never failed to make me laugh. and i have never been able to
remember when it comes on, that always made catching an episode here and
there kind of serendipitous… like the power bill being less than $30.

4. the soft glow of an informercial
woke up freaked out in the night and a plain ol’ night light ain’t getting
the job done? just turn on the telly to some lady trying to sell you
something you don’t need and let the flickering light lull you back to a
fitful, restless sleep.

3. VH1
it doesn’t matter if you’ve seen it before. it doesn’t matter if you hate
the band. it doesn’t matter if you’re going to be late for your open heart
surgery. behind the music is on and this time it’s the bangles!!!

2. UPN
without it, i can’t watch Buffy. this means i am at the mercy of my
grandmother (god help us all) for the new episodes.

1. The WB
Angel, Smallville, Gilmore Girls, how i pine for thee. i kinda miss havin’
folks over to watch ’em with me, too.

and there you have it.

next week’s tell-all: dry skin and how it can be gross.

Laura “see what you’ve done” Bentley

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The One About Bees

Category: weekleez

The One About Diet Bees
Thursday, April 11, 2002

hi kids,
so listen, i wrote this one on wednesday and when i clicked “Send” it did not “send”. it “deleted” and i don’t know how or why. but i do know that it took me four hours to write and only .3 seconds to delete and i “cried”. and it’s not like i’m an idiot, i had been saving it every 10 minutes or so, and still the bloody thing disappeared into thin binary, or whatever this computer juice is. so now i gotta try and rewrite it and i just know it won’t be as funny as the first one was. poop.

so i drink alotta soda. i need the cafeen. i neeeeeeed the cafeeeeeen. don’t try to push your bottled water on me. i know better. there’s no cafeen in water. but we all know that soda is just empty calories, right? and so i had this thought the other day:
“hey jaimie, maybe you should try to have a diet soda every now and then, you know, for health’s sake?”
to which i replied with this thought,
“what?! diet soda?! have you lost it? i’m not gonna drink that crap and i wouldn’t drink that crap if it was the last-”
and then i interrupted that thought with,
“settle down bevis, you drink too much cafeen. i’m just saying maybe you could give the diet thing a shot, and hey, they say that diet dr. flepper tastes just like regular dr. flepper.”

so i thought on that for a while and said, “yeah, i can try it.” i mean, what could be the harm in trying a diet soda? i can attempt new things! trying new things is a great way to grow! everyone needs growth! what a great day! i think i can hear birds singing! kill them!

so i’m driving to school and i’m jammin’ to some, of all things, barry white, (and let me just say that everyone should have some barry in their music collection. don’t look at me like that.) and so i’m really groovin’ and decide, hmmm i’m a bit thirsty. so i stopped and bought a bottle of diet dr. flepper. (new things!) and i was really quite proud of myself too. i mean, this could be the path to a whole new “me”.

so i get back to drivin’ and gettin’ my “groove on” (and barry is telling me i’m his first, his last and his everything) and i pop open that bottle of diet dr. flepper and take a huge swig and promptly spew that hell-beverage all over my shirt, the steering wheel and the windshield. gag. and again i say, gag.

well needless to say (but that won’t stop me from saying it) it tasted nothing like regular dr. flepper. at all. and aside from the diet wang that all diet drinks have, it also had a deliciously vile film that it left in my mouth, very much in the same vein as liquid antacid. mmmmmmm nummy. i mean, if i’d have wanted a 20oz bottle of diet bismol i would have bought one. i can only assume (uh oh) that somewhere in the commercial it says, “diet dr. flepper tastes more like regular dr.flepper than milk, beer, or orange juice.” the TV is a liar.
big surprise, right?

well i’m not gonna let some diet drink ruin my infrequent good mood. spring is in the air and it feels so great outside that you can roll down your car window and drive with the wind blowing in and wow ain’t life grand?
but everytime i roll my window down a bee flies in. i’m not exaggerating. and actually three or four weeks ago i was driving with the window down and thought to myself, “maybe i should write a weekly about how every time i ride with the windows down a bee flies into my car.” and then thought, “nah, no one would believe me.” and then i looked in my rear-view mirror and saw a wasp walking awkwardly on my back seat. and then i slapped my forehead and said, “d’oh!”

i am terrified of bees. and by “bee” i mean any stinging winged-beastie. i hate ’em. i could be driving down the road and a bee flies in and tells me to pull over at the nearest playground so he can get out and sting small children, or else. well, sorry kids, better you than me. i’m a coward of bees. i have bee-o-phobia. i could be up on a ladder doing something like cleaning the gutters (sha, right) and if a bee buzzez by me, i jump. i’d risk a broken limb over a bee sting. the pathetic part being, i’ve never been stung by a bee. look, i know my fear of bees is irrational, that’s what a phobia is! don’t look at me like that.

so anyway, let’s say i’m driving down the road, yeah?
and let’s say i’m jammin’ to some motown, dig?
and let’s say it’s a gorgeous day out, derp?
and let’s say i’ve got the windows rolled down, yo?
and let’s say i’ve just spewed diet dr. flepper all over everything, dork?
and let’s say that a bee flies in my car, scream?
and let’s say that bees are attracted to sweet, nectary juices, obvious?

so anyway this bee has the gall to land right on my steering wheel. jerk.
so i panic. i can’t even scream (yet). but not to worry! i’m a genius!
so i decide my first tactic should be to blow at the bee in hopes that my beef jerky-breath will offend him enough to move on to a different part of the car, hopefully the back windshield which is the furthest thing from me. and to bee perfectly honest, i didn’t have beef jerky breath. i just thought it would be funny to bring up beef jerky again.
the bee does not move. jerk.
nay, the bee is slurping up the sweet ambrosia that is diet dr. flepper. i mean, it’s sweet to the bee, right? the bee’s never had regular dr. flepper before so he has no reference for what it should taste like. stoopid bee. i mean, to this bee, that crap-tastic diet swill is like hell’s sweetest pomagranate. only, i cannot envision persephone being tempted by a diet drink, but it’s hard to tell some people’s tastes. *sigh* i really am a dork aren’t i?

so i blow harder. still the bee does not budge. this is because bees, like most horrible bugs, have magic sticky legs. i mean, they should make post-it-notes with bug leg adhesive. have you ever had to staple a post-it-note to a file or something? didn’t you feel ripped off? does barry white have a contract stating that he must put the words, “oh baybee” in every song?

so me and the bee are puttin’ right along and then, the bee starts to move. towards my hand. closer and closer.
i did the only thing a bee-o-phobe could do.
i screamed. like a girl. which is ok, ’cause i am a girl, but this scream was so girlie that i was indeed ashamed that i could even scream like that but not ashamed enough to stop screaming, nay, i screamed for several miles. the first mile i screamed out of fear. the next five (5) miles i screamed out of frustration. beecause you see, what happened was the bee got so close i had to jerk my hand away, this was during mile one. well, apparently, the ninja-quick movement of my hand sent this warning signal to the bee’s tiny brain: DANGER! THE CRAZY SCREAMING THING JUST MOVED REALLY FAST! YOUR ONLY HOPE FOR SURVIVAL IS TO FLY AWKWARDLY AROUND THE CRAZY SCREAMING THING! TO CEASE FLYING IS TO HAVE NO HONOR! FLY FLY FLY!
that was mile 2-6.

as it turns out, a mostly full bottle of diet dr. flepper makes for a good weapon.
and if you were driving on hwy 431 last thursday and heard terrible screaming and motown blasting, or saw a red jeep swerving all over the place, yeah. that was me. i’m an idiot.

so what’s been going on in the land of the weekly readers?
congrats goes out to danny “daktari” wilborn who was accepted into the Doctor of Education (Ed.D.) in Higher Education Administration program of the University of Alabama. go danny! it’s your birthday!
well, it’s not really his birthday but it is grace ellis, laura bentley, and scott fant’s birthday today! wasn’t that a great segue?
grace is 4 years old, well, not really, she’s like 8 years old or something, but to me she’ll always be 4.
laura is also 4 years old.
and scott is…heh. just kidding scott!
dan and florrie noojin are celebrating their 20th wedding aniversary. wow florrie, that’s amazing. how can you put up with that guy?

anyway, next week’s epitomb: barry white can’t get enough of my love. he told me so.

jaimie “the bee’s knees” pickle

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The One About the Birds Under My Bed

Category: weekleez

The One About The Birds Under My Bed
April 03, 2002

hi kids,  

ok. before i take this any further i have to warn you guys. do not rent The Musketeer.  it was terrible.  it left a greasy smear on my evening, a nasty taste in my mouth, and it left me $4 poorer.  yikes, the dialogue was so bad that not even fire could help it. and everyone knows that everything is cooler with fire. it did have some cool stunts. so if you do rent it, i suggest hitting the mute button and putting on your favorite CD, probably Cher, and just chill to the tunes. beer will also probably help.  

anyway, the weekly.  
we moved last weekend. 

we live downtown now.  in a fancy-schmancy loft apartment.  i know, it’s a shock.  i mean, we absolutely loved 711. it was such a great place what with the leaks and the non-working heat and air. 
one of my fondest memories is of a particular july and the sweltering heat and the AC not working and i got so sick from being hot that i somehow in a haze of madness crawled into the shower with all of my clothes on and turned on the cold water and just sat.  and that’s just how laura found me later on, in the shower, fully clothed and shivering like a loon.  ah, good ol’ apartment 711. and that’s just one of the ways that place tried to drive me insane/kill me.  

did i ever tell you guys about the birds?  well, see my bedroom was above the kitchen.  and the kitchen had a stove. and the stove had a vent. and the vent used to lead all the way out of the side of the apartment, because it was a vent. and that’s what vents do. but this vent had been disconnected from the stove and closed off.  from the inside. 

so, do you think they closed it off from the outside?  hmmm?  well, no. i mean, they half-assed everything else at that place, so why go to all the trouble of completely closing up a non-working vent, i mean, that just doesn’t make sense right?  

so anyway these birds built their nest in the vent, which is technically inside the apartment, which is, even more technically, (allow me to emphasize this properly) under my freakin’ bed. so these birds lived under my bed for like, 10 months out of the year. only in january and february could i declare in my old-lady-from-Poltergeist-voice, “this vent is clea-ah.”

so what’s the big deal you ask. well, i hate birds. hate ’em.  cannot stand the blankety-blanks. 
and they know that. so they chirp and sing and scream. and they start their chirping, singing, and screaming around “oh dark hundred” aka 4:30am.  and they don’t stop until 8:00pm.  i hate birds.  

so one evening around 10:30pm i was in the kitchen grabbing a drink or something when it hit me, the birds aren’t making any noise. i bet their sleeping. so i very calmly ran to the closet and grabbed the mop and started to hit the closed-up vent with the mop handle (i’m short) while screaming, “wakey, wakey!” 
unfortunately we had guests over at the time.   

and there are many other instances where 711 bested me, but at the moment i can’t think of any. i think it stole some of my memories as well as some soap, my Holy Grail DVD, and most of my pride.  

but that’s neither hither nor thither, as we now live in a new place.  a shiny place.  a glitzy, glamorous place.  a city place.   a place that, just like the other place, will probably try to kill me.  

oh don’t worry, there’s no vent-nest at this place. 
and there’s no birds either. however, there is something worse than birds, something more foul and maddening than birds, something so horribly more evil than birds that it’s probably a bird. 
pigeons.
ah hates pigeons. 
gimmie a coupla days, i’ll have some pigeon stories.  

yeah so we moved on saturday and i don’t know if you remember or not but on saturday the sky rained the rain of 1,000 rains.  and we, as well as all our stuff, got soaked and it was probably one of the most miserable experiences ever, surpassed of course only by the fountain of youth and that movie about the hobbit.   

so this new place isn’t any closer to anything i do all week long, but it is just three blocks away from a bar.  which means nothing to me seeing as how i avoid that place like the plague (unless of course, we have a gig there. and still they have to drag me in kicking and screaming) mostly because it’s like a twisted high school class reunion.

right so this new place is completely across town from where i’ve lived for the last 20 years and you know what that means.  now i gotta find different gas stations to frequent.   

on monday morning i stopped at a gas station that i had never been to in my life and there was a policeman in there and he was eating breakfast and wow.  this gas station served breakfast.  you could buy gas and breakfast.  see, that’s “city” thinkin’.  i’m living in the big time now. 
so anyway this policeman is in there and he’s staring at me as he folds his newspaper and finishes up his gas station breakfast and then he says, “your hair really is purple!” and i turn and say, “yes sir, it sure is.” and he goes on and on about how pretty my hair is.  aw shucks.  anyway he was very nice and so i offered to dye his hair purple.   

so i guess this location, albeit inconvenient as all get out, will still provide me with many stories, morons, adventures and possibly personal injury.   

on a positive note, the neighbor lady seems nice.   

next week’s epitomb: jaimie’s sleep is ripped away from her every morning at 5:50 by a disembodied voice, “Good Morning!” sheesh.  

jaimie “ah hates pigeons” pickle

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The One About Gas Stations

Category: weekleez

The One About Gas Station Attendants
March 26, 2002

whoa, what’s this? a weekly? on tuesday? is this bizzaro world? woo hoo!  SPRING BREAK!  wow, with no school i actually have extra time.   

hi kids,  

you know, god blesses me with weekleez everyday. i mean, not a day goes by without something odd and horrible or odd and hilarious happening to me. and it’s usually simple things. things like little snippets of conversation, observations, elevators, customers, the occasional anal probe, you know, simple things. and sometimes it’s a re-occurring theme, like customers, stepping in dog poop, and, would you believe, gas station attendants?
yep, for some reason gas station attendants like to talk to me. apparently i have one of “those” faces. one of those faces that says, “hey, what’s on your mind? you can tell me anything. and please, by all means, make me feel uncomfortable by talking about things you never talk about with complete strangers.” yeah, one of those faces.  

the following stories are all true.   

right, so there’s this crazy lady that works at one of the gas stations close to my house, we’ll call it a Flell Station. (Flell is actually a dutch and british oil company. which by the way, Flell just bought out the Flennzoil – Flaker State Company. as if anyone cares.)  

so i’m in there buying gas and a bucket of cola, and this old lady working the register says, “hey, remember when you gave me this?” and she points to a tiny speck of paper on her cash register.
and i say, “uhhhh…”
and she says, “this chinese proverb. you remember. you gave it to me.”
“i did?”
“yeah, you gave it to me. i read it all the time. even the customers read it. you gave it to me. everyone just loves it.”
“i gave you a chinese proverb?”
“yes and everyone just loves to read it.”
“um, maybe you have me confused with someone else. i’m not in the habit of giving out chinese – “
“no it was you i remember. you gave it to me.”
well, i wanted to stay and argue with her ’cause you know, it was kinda funny, but i was running late for work so i just said, “oh well. ok then.” and left.  

a couple weeks later i go in and it’s the same lady working and this time she’s a little more crazy. so i go up to pay for my gas and the lady says, “mmm, those clouds sure do look mean don’t they?” and i’m thinking “it’s not supposed to rain today…”  and i look outside and i’ll be darned if it’s not the most beautiful day of the year. blue sky as far as the eye can see, and oh yeah, no clouds. 
so i look back at her, and she’s looking out the window and shaking her head ominously. yikes!  this lady is crazy! non compos mentis. derp!  

an even couple more months later i walk in and there she is, in her own fog of confusion, and i swear she says, “hey, remember when you gave me this chinese proverb?”  
ok, now i’m starting to doubt my own sanity right? i mean, maybe i did give her a chinese proverb. NO! i refuse to believe it!
“i gave you a proverb? me, with the pink hair?”
“yeah you gave me this chinese proverb, don’t you remember?”
so i smile really big and say, “i sure do!  does everybody read it?”
“oh yes! everyone loves it!”
“great!”  run jaimie, run!  

now just to prove how insane this lady really is i have yet another story to tell, but in this story there’s a bad word.  and so i just want to warn you now, you might not like this word, actually i hope you hate this word. i hate it, but this is how crazy this freak is.  

so i’m at the Flell, dig?
and it’s a monday, yo?
and it’s early morning, bling?
and that crazy loon behind the counter asks me if the banks will be opened today.  and i’m thinking, what? and then i remember it’s martin luther king jr day.  and i say that the banks probably aren’t opened because they take off all the holidays they can get their hands on. and this loony git says, “but i gotta work today.” and i’m all who cares lady, everyone’s gotta work today please take my money so i can leave now. and then she says, “back when i used to work at the textile mill we would get this day off. i guess that’s the only thing that nigger ever did for me.”
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!  WHAT?! SHUT UP LADY!  AAAAAAA!!!
and i look around frantically hoping that there’s no one else (black or white) that has heard the filth and dribble that has just spewed forth from her pie hole and GEEZ LOUISE IT’S NOT EVEN 7:30 IN THE MORNING AND I GOTTA HEAR CRAP LIKE THAT?! i don’t know how that crazy has lasted so long. i mean, wouldn’t you think that somewhere in the Gas Station Attendant’s Handbook in the chapter titled How to Stay Alive it suggests things like, “Do not use racial slurs in polite conversation.” and “Do not engage in polite conversation.”  

now there’s another gas station in town and there’s a nice lady that works there, but she says things like, “hey hon, how’re you doing sweetheart? that’ll be $16.00 darlin’,  have a nice day, hon.” she’s very nice but it’s so hard not to laugh. especially when you’re third in line and she says that over and over. but at least she’s not insane.  

and so not too long ago i walk into a Flexxon station and the lady at the register is fanning the air around her and says to me, “whoa, i am so sorry about the smell. i just had a chili cheese dog.”
don’t laugh jaimie, do not laugh. if you start laughing you won’t be able to stop. think about unfunny things. American Pie II. Tom Green. Martha Stewart….
ok we all know about the adverse effects of a chili cheese dog right? but it was just such an unexpected thing to hear from a total stranger, y’know? and the thing is, if i laugh i won’t be able to stop, but it was so funny. and i manage to get control of myself and say, “yeah, know the feeling.” and she says, “hoo! that is ripe!”
i lost it. i laughed the whole way home. in fact, i’m laughing now.  

ok last story. sunday night my leetle brahther and i were driving home from Dothan, AL.  and for those of you not familiar with south alabama, Dothan is near the florida state line.  and it seems like the closer you get to florida the more “twilight zone” it gets. i mean, i actually saw a sign that read, “Scenic Dirt Road. Turn Here.” which i think translates to, “hey stoopid yankee tourists! pull over here so’s we can rape the men and kill the wimmin!” or something like that. i mean, we’re talkin’ No Man’s Land. of course, maybe it really was a scenic dirt road.  you know, if single-wides and churches are scenic. anyway, gas station.  

so Dothan is the kind of place where they “roll the sidewalks up at dark”. so when we got there we made sure to set our watches back about 20 years and we were fine. so we stop at a fillin’ station, for inside joke’s sake we’ll call it the “honeysuckle convenience store”. so i walk in and look around the aisles and the dude behind the counter asks if he could help me and i ask him where the medicine aisle is and he points me to it and cool.

so i walk up to pay for my gas and some mylanta and ask the dude where the bathrooms are. and he points and says,
“i guess that’s why you need the mylanta.”
and instead of answering truthfully with, “well actually, you know when you get one of those horrible gas pains that feel like you have a huge, rusted spike running right through you, and every time you breathe it feels like satan himself is twisting that huge, rusted spike, and you wish on all that is holy that you were dead so you wouldn’t have to feel the pain anymore? yeah, well i wish i felt that good right now. and you guys don’t have any gas-x so i’m stuck buying this $5, 2oz. bottle of phreakin’ mint phreakin’ mylanta.” but i didn’t say that. i wish i had.
instead i said, “er, roadtrip, you know how it is.”  

so mr. nosy says in a very enthusiastic voice, “yeah i know what you mean! sometimes you wanna just stick a cork in it!” and he does this weird hand gesture involving his thumb and well anyway…  

so i said, “uhhhhhh yeah… i mean, no! er, what? i gotta go..bye.”  

there are some crazy cats out there kids.  and the majority of them work at gas stations. maybe it has something to do with the fumes.   
gosh, don’t i have the most fun everywhere i go?  

next week’s epitomb: fun at the bank!
jaimie “one of those faces” pickle

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The One About Monks and NASCAR

Category: weekleez

The One About the Monks and NASCAR
March 14, 2002

hi keeds!  everyone ready for some weekly drivel?  

cookie magoo says she bought me a sticker that says, “blame canada” how cool is that?! cookie is boss.  

well, i’m sure you guys are sick of me making fun of my work so maybe today i’ll make fun of my relatives instead.  i’m kidding. well, no i’m not.   

so i’ve got this relative, right? and she’s evil, right? i mean, on a scale of one to evil, she’s like, uber evil. i’ll not go into why she’s evil, if i did you would all need therapy, so just trust me. evil.  but every year she sends me a birthday card.  she used to send the card every july.  i don’t know why.  my birthday is in october. but hey, it’s the thought that counts right?  well, in any other person’s case that would be true. 
anyway, the past two years i’ve gotten my birthday card in october, so the crazy old bat is improving, but the cards have changed. drastically.  y’see, for the first twenty-two (22) years of my life she would either send a Garfield, Snoopy, or Ziggy card.  which is cool, normally, but this lady seems to think that i’m still eight years old y’know?  but hey who cares right? as long as i send her a thank you note everything is cool right? i mean, i may be cruel and ungrateful, but she doesn’t have to know it.  

but things have changed.  y’see, the last two years the cards have been… evil.  the envelopes look harmless enough, but when i open the card and take it out… there’s no longer a cynical orange and black cat… there’s no longer a white dog with a yellow bird…and there’s no longer a…a…round little, um, big nosed…uh ziggy… thing…staring up at me.  nay nay my friends, nay nay. the cartoons have been replaced by a “holy” icon of Mary. 
Mary as in Jesus’s mom Mary. Mary as in the Madonna of the Flaming Heart Mary.  yikes!  and on the inside the card explains that this unfortunate misguided relative of mine has given a donation in MY name to the monks of the Order of Perpetual Prayer of the Madonna of the Flaming Heart, AND that these monks will be perpetually praying for me for a whole year! what?!  hokey smokes.  

aura pointed out to me the other day that i’ve had some of the worst “luck” in the last two (2) years and that my spiritual life (if that’s what you call it) has been totally wacky at times and she said, “maybe it’s the monks.” and i said, “what monks?” and she said, “the monks that crazy lady pays to pray for you.” and i said, “oh yeah. but i’m not even catholic.” and she said, “i don’t think that has anything to do with it.” and so between laura, liz and i, we figure the monk prayers have got to stop.
so i think i’m gonna call up the monastery and in my best Tony Soprano imitation i’m gonna try to make them an offer they’ll have a hard time refusing. “uh yeah, whatevah my crazy gramma iz payin’ you ta pray for me, well, i’ll double it if ya stop.”

i wonder if i really could pay them to stop praying for me. i wonder if they even have a telephone.  

on a random note, if you look up the word pumpernickel in a really good dictionary, one of those dictionaries that has the origins of the root of the words and all that mess, you’ll find that pumpernickel comes from two early german words, pumpern which means “to break wind” and nickel which means “goblin”. isn’t that just silly?  

so the other day i’m at a restuarant with my father and there is a TV close by and well, you can’t help but glance at a TV right? and i notice that it’s a race.  and i don’t watch race cars or anything and neither does my father. in fact, i know so little about racing that all of a sudden had to know as much about it as i possibly could. and let me just set the record straight, it wasn’t actual racing. it was NASCAR (that oughta make some people mad).  

so i’m sitting there crammin’ nachos in my face and i see that this “race” is about to start and i ask my father, “why are they driving so slow?” and he says, “they’re getting lined up. when that pace car in the front moves off the track then the race really begins.” and i said, “oh.”  

so then the cars start to go fast and i notice that there’s like, 50 or so cars on the same track.  what the crap is that all about? the track isn’t that big. i mean, the shemp in the back of the line has no chance. unless some freak accident takes out the first 40 cars, not bloody likely.  i point that out to my father who replies with, “yeah. i guess so.”  

and then i ask him about the cars themselves. do they all have the same specs? are the engines pretty much the same? is the speed regulated? and dad said, “um, you know i don’t watch racing. why are you asking me?” but you know, he’s a dude, so he really did know some things about it. guys know things about race cars. so he told me that the engines are kinda regulated and they can’t go over a certain speed.  and i thought that was horrible. 

where’s the challenge!? he told me it was supposed to be more about “driving skill”. then we burst into maniacal laughter.   

i mean, come on. they should make racing more like wrestling or something.  those drivers should be out there racing every night. dirty racing. little races with like, four or five cars. and then all the winners from the little races get to race in the “big race” on sunday afternoon. and the “big race” isn’t on some circle “track”.  what’s that all about? i think we could learn a lesson from the european racing.  have the cars race from like, atlanta to tampa or something.  pit stops are for sissies.  the driver should have to fix his own car.  now that’s skill. that’s racing.

my fella, jimmy, said that they ought to throw in a genetically engineered T-Rex on the track to make it more interesting. heck, a genetically engineered T-Rex would just about make anything more interesting.  now that would be a Survivor show worth watching. 
Super Bowl MCXI: Buffalo Bills Vs. a T-Rex.
Barbara Walters interviews J-Lo and a T-Rex.
Emeril Live! tonight Emeril grills sturgeon and asparagus with a raspberry vinegrette salad, with special guest: a T-Rex.
In Search of…Dinosaurs. Mr. Spock gets eaten by a T-Rex.
Temptation Island 3. the lustful contestants find out they aren’t the only ones on the island!
the PGA golf championship has T-Rex written all over it. 
MTV spring break! malibu beach babes, warm sun, gorgeous water, and a hungry T-Rex.
Country Music Awards? you bet i’d watch ’em! that’s not Garth’s belt buckle! that’s a T-Rex!  

well, that was just silly.  

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