The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

I prayed that God would send me love the other night.  Why not?  Nothing else has worked, so maybe the Almighty can lending a helping Hand.  I had to laugh a little, though, since I’m sure God’s got plenty else on His damn ass mind besides my piteous love life.

It’s just that I’ve become increasingly bitter towrads straight people, who seem to have everything and thensome.  There’s plenty of fish in the sea–if you’re straight.  There’s a goldfish bowl’s worth of guppies if you’re gay. 

It ain’t fair, Morticia!

Against my better financial well-being, I threw caution to the wind and went out Friday night to the End Up’s Memorial Day weekend send up.  I knew that the cover charge would be jacked up due to the holiday (yet the club itself still remain the same), but Tony Humphries was spinning, so all was not for naught.  I saw a guy there who could’ve passed for my (much more attractive) younger brother.  Very hot.  Very distressing.  But overall still fun.

Do Brad and Angelina realize that because their child was born in Africa she won’t be considered a U.S. citizen?

My new goal in life is to one day be invited to Oprah’s Legends Ball just so’s I can sit down and scat with Maya Angelou.

Let it be known that it is officially Tacky to go home from work still wearing your work uniform/ID badge.  Change.

Also to be seen in public carrying a package of toilet paper.  I don’t care how close the corner store is.  Ask for a bag.

The other night, I was joyfully slathering on some of that Safeway generic brand zit creme and admiring the new convenient pop-open cap, when I looked at the tube and discovered that it was in fact anti-itch cream. 

I nearly poohed on site when I found the new Kim English album at the record store over the weekend.  A few years back, I discovered her first album, "Higher Things", when I was going through a bit of a rough patch.  I remember hearing the chorus of "Unspeakable Joy"… "Joy, unspeakable joy, ’cause they did not give it, they cannot take it away"…and the clouds kinda lifted, and I was my old happier self again.  That was eight years ago.  Hearing her new album is like seeing an old friend again.

Someone shat in the stairwell of our ancient office building this morning. It took a good four hours before the custodial staff came to clean it up. Our director (aka. Businesswoman Barbie) was livid, and took the time to send an email out to all of the staff explaining the situation and solution.

I emailed her back saying, "You knew this happened a few weeks ago, too?"

She responded, "Yes, I think it was a dental patient from the second floor…"

During my senior year English class in high school, I once wrote a paper I knew the teacher would read aloud and purposefully named one of the characters in my story "Chewbacca" just to hear her pronounce it "Chew-back-ah".

Why is it everytime I go to the porno shop, the cash register inevitably malfunctions and a line develops behind me?

And when I’m at the grocery store, I end up in front of the crack addict who’s practically butt-fucking me in anticipation of getting to the cash register.

I have no luck with lines, save for certain powdery kinds.

In the evolution of aspersions cast my way in life, I’ve gone from being a "dork" to a "fag" to just plain "crazy". I don’t mind being deemed nuts, really. No one normal ever did anything of great import in this world anyways.

So what if I’m willing to make a spectacle of myself to get a laugh? Or say something a bit off-color to spark some fun into someone’s life? I’m not putting on an act, just being myself, and not hurting anyone, just living for the moment.

So I say to naysayers: Bugger off.

In other news, I was on the bus today and passed by a church that I thought was called the Episcopal Church of St. Mary Tyler Moore.

Our director just flew over to our side of the office demanding to know if one of us owned a glue gun.  Armageddon is nigh, methinks.

Have you seen pictures of Julie Andrews with the present day actors who played the von Trapp children?  She totally looks younger than all of them.  Even Greta looks like some hermetic witch in comparison.

You gotta admire those older gals in show business who keep up their appearances by keeping up with their Botox treatments.  Have you seen Florence Henderson in "The Surreal Life".  Spotless, I tell you. 

(to the "Brady Bunch" theme song))
"And that’s the way we all became perpetually forty."

I miss smelly stickers.  Those things ruled.  I was reminded of this when I went to pop one of the liver cleansing pills I bought at the posh Safeway in light of the fact that I drink heavily and am a borderline drug addict and it smelled sort of like the pizza smelly stickers of old.  And remember the popcorn ones that smelled kind of like pee, but in a good way, if there is such a thing?  The cherry ones were always really strong, but the watermelon ones were just right.  I liked the cotton candy ones as well.

Whatever happened to those things?

Rule #589 of Proper Inter-office Communication:

When you leave a voicemail, you have to leave your name as well.  You don’t have the instantly recognizable drawl of Cher, or the charming, marshmellow-throated voice of Kermit the Frog, so how in the fuck do you expect me to know who the hell you are if you don’t identify yourself?

I find this is a habit of people who generally are leaving a message to bitch about something or ask about some totally off-the-wall piece of information that has nothing to do with me or my job.  It sort of speaks for itself when someone who doesn’t even have their shit together enough to remeber to leave their name calls to bug you about some sort of execrable dross.  Pull it together, numnutz.

Hummus is like a bout of good sex.  You just can’t get enough, and you’re even left panting afterwards, feeling as if you’ve just dipped into paradise.  Whoever invented it ought to be sainted.

I am instituting a new policy at our company: If you get paid more than $45/hr., then you don’t get to bitch about anything.  I’m sure you work hard for your money, but if you have to fill out an extra form for something or whatever, keep your trap shut.  You’re rakin’ in nearly 1 K a day, so eat it.

Chelsea Handler rules.  I love Chelsea Handler.  Watch “The Chelsea Handler” show.

I’m not a terribly big fan of her, and her career has basically been fueled by rehashing old Disney movies that didn’t need to be redone, but I say Lindsay Lohan would make an adequate Sailor Moon if they’re to make a movie out of it.

It was summer for two days, and now it’s Siberian weather again.  Does God hate us?  Or has He just been too busy prepping for Cinco de Mayo and forgot to send some sunshine down.  He all like, “Aw, shit, y’all, My bad.”