The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

Looking for a roommate blows. It’s like, you get home thinking you can finally wind down and relax (read: transform back into your real life Schlomo the Slob self), but no, you have to tidy everything up and look dapper to impress some stranger who’s coming to look at the place. Presentation is everything, after all.

There’s a large orange and white tabby cat that occasionally plants itself in the middle of our jungle of a back yard. He just kind of stares at you when you look out the window. I’ve named him Richard Parker after "The Life of Pi".

I went to fill out the rental application yesterday and while there, asked the ghetto office lady who was there what the extra cost for the deposit would be for having a pet (some of our prospective roommates have a dog). She couldn’t quite explain it correctly in relation to the cost for the individual tenant’s deposit, and when I pressed for clarification, she got well nigh confrontational with me. That ghetto-ass, low class tactic of getting adversarial to compensate for intellectual shortcomings will never win the people over, fyi.

I made my money problems magically go away yesterday (and won’t tell how), so now have some moolah to play with this weekend. Unfortunately, thinking I wouldn’t be able to go out this weekend, I threw caution to the wind and threw a couple muffins down my throat this past week not at all concerned for the possible repercussions to my midsection. The damage is moderate, granted, but these are hard times we live in, so sometimes it’s just best to stay in.

P.S. Hello! Yes, you out there in America-land! Our president is a Royal Retard and has no idea what he’s talking about. There will be n o t h i n g left of social security in probably a shorter time than he’s even estimated–all this while Congress lives fatly off of their own private retirement plan, The Golden Fleece plan (look it up online if you haven’t already heard about it. Absolutely abominable.). Stash some cash away now, even if it’s a small amount, in some sort of retirement investment plan. Or die young. Up to you. *cheers*

You know that commercial where Webster or Willis or Gary Coleman whatever comes on and declares, "Money makes the world go ’round" while spinning some globe half his size? Doncha just wanna take a sawed off shotgun and aim it square at his cerebrum and pull the trigger? Hard?

It’s actually love, not money, that makes the world go ’round, but money certainly does pull its own weight. And it’s the kind of weight that just sits on your stomach and makes you feel sick until you find some leverage to lift it off. Unfortunately, our financial system is such that you make one error, and it avalanches upon you threefold. That is, you get an overdraft fee, possibly a returned item/check fee, and then a negative balance fee. It’s genius, really. And also somewhat diabolical.

In any case, the lesson to be learned here is Teach…your children well..how to spend…their allowance well…. lest they get fuuuuuucked over…byyyyy the bank…

I saw Ashton Kutcher on "The Jimmy Kimmel Live" show last night and was highly unimpressed. I thought he was supposed to be this big biomechanical engineering major smarty pants in real life, but he acted exactly like his doofus-y character on "That ’70s Show." Not to mention he was clearly high/drunk. I miss when he used to be this little kept secret star on TV who was just jaw droppingly hot. Now he’s omnipresent and then some. I guess it’s true–overexposure really does sort of water down the milk.

While on the subject of celebrities, a coif caveat to all ye non-famous ladies of the land:
You can relax. There’s no need to continue perpetuating that absurd hairstyle trend with the Paris Hilton upturned bouffant. The reason she looks like some mutant cow licked the whole upper side of her head is that she’s trying to distract you from her beady little eyes and broken finger of a nose. I’m sure she realizes that this is not France during the 1700s when such a look was popular among the French nobility. No, she just isn’t that pretty in real life. They should rename it "The Simpleton Life" and just film her going about her normal day in L.A.

Mind you, I love her to death, and would switch teams in a heartbeat to marry the bitch if the opportunity arose. I’d even befriend her if she’d learn a few more words. Actually, someone recently compared an old picture of me to her (sharp eye, J. Co. thanks for the laugh). Thank God some things have changed since then. *ahem*

Anyway, taking a PTO (paid time off) day Monday. Hope to catch up on some sleep. Must also prepare for code red of the roommate finding search. Stay dry, it’s supposed to rain this weekend. Add coral calcium to your vitamin supplement intake. Don’t forget that Mother’s Day is next month. And if that breathtaking Italo-Latino boy who takes the Treasure Island bus happens to be reading this, I want you, fyi.

Is it just me, or does the new Pope look like the Emperor from "Star Wars"? Hardly a good sign. Plus, isn’t his name, like, Ratnazi something? I dunno. I can’t stand to look it up.

My left contact lens is driving me bonkers. Then again, I’m wearing a temporary starter up pair that have been with me for far more than the one month recommended by my optician. Once our whole roommate situation settles down and I no longer have to worry about paying rent for the other room in addition to my own, I’ll buckle down and order a regular set. It’s a big problem not being able to tell–"Is he a hottie, or isn’t he… or is that just eye booger blocking some giant flaw on his person?" Time will tell.

Speaking of hotties, I need a hag.  Cute and sassy enough to lure in the cuties, but not one to totally outshine a n*gga.  Now accepting applications.

I was watching some infomercial for some miracle multivitamin supplement, and the hawker of the pill was discussing with the "host" how that time-tested homily "we are what we eat" was in fact true, to which the "host" replied, "You know, everyone I have on the show emphasizes the importance of eating fruits and vegetables, but in our society it’s IMPOSSIBLE!"

You know, only in America could we have all this chub club, Dr. Phil’s weight loss challenge, obesity epidemic bullshit. While starvation, war, and disease plague and devastate other parts of the world, we whimper about in our inability to manage a basic human function.

When I was in third grade, I remember our teacher introducing a new subject in class that keenly piqued my interest: health. I remember reading about how you’re supposed to drink eight glasses of water a day, and going promptly home that day to create a chart to post next to the water cooler for the family to document and track this basic bodily requirement. I remember reading about how sweets like chocolate bars are bad for your body, and how fruits like apples were good for it. And about how when you brush your teeth, you should include brushing your tongue, too.

Something about the sweet simplicity of it all–treat your body right to keep your life aright–stuck with me, and remains a guiding force to date. I’m no beacon of superior health, but I’ve got the basics down. And such has provided me with the superior intellect to present to the masses of overweight American citizens who are anti-gay the following revelatory fact: Homosexuality is against the ten commandments, you say, but gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins. And those baddies were around long before Moses busted out with them stone tablets on high. So, we’re bad, but you’re worse, and until you stop stuffing your face with anti-pasta and Twinkies, you–literally and biblically–have no room to talk. May it rain down fire and Dexatrim ‘pon you!

Haha!