The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

My costume today is myself circa 2003.  It’s tres convincing.

Plans are afoot to find the new roommate effective December 1st.  I’ve got three solid Saturdays to evaluate the elite tier of applicants and crown the garland of domiciliate festivities to one lucky guy or gal.  And while it will be sad to see Nia go, I take comfort in knowing that she’ll finally be reunited in domestic bliss with her girlfriend who’s coming in January.  Also in the fact that I plan to bump the rent up on her room to a more equitable price for the new roomie.  Being that it’s the freakin’ "Pretty Woman" penthouse compared to my midget guest room, it’s completely fair and verily justified.

I need a nap, a cupholder, and a coupla Advil.

I wonder how many gallons of urine you pee out in a year?

I wish that Ryan Seacrest would get run over by a car.

Rush Limbaugh should be burned alive for those horribly insensitive comments he made about Michael J. Fox.  And for the fact that he’s a bigoted bastard in general.

As you can tell, I’m not quite in the brightest mood ever.  I am glad that the year’s nearing an end, and all the holidays make the work weeks go by much faster.  I’m really looking forward to visit the grand’rents in Vegas come Christmas.  I think I need to make my New Year’s resolution to travel and just get the fuck out more.  Nigga gossa change up his scenery ‘n’ shit to truly be ‘ppreciatin’ life, knowwhutI’m sayin’?

Have you ever noticed that pee kind of smells like popcorn?

Whatever happened to raves?

Fonzworth Bentley is the retroactive inspiration for the saying, "Nigga, please!".

I used to think small beer of local elections.  Then Arnold Schwarzenegger was elected governor, and I found myself in a state of livid disbelief.  So, get off your asses and vote on November 7th or I will personally kick the living shit out of you.  If you’re lazy, but liberal, like myself, just head on over to alicebtoklas.org for a list of democratic endorsements so you don’t have to even think when you get to the polls.  Thanks in advance.

Once when I was little, I went to 7-11 to buys some sweets, and ended up dropping some of my money underneath the candy racks.  I approached the cashier hoping he’d give me a courtesy credit like any nice adult would do to appease a cheated child.  But he basically told me that the coins were lost, and that was that.  It took me a second, but in that moment, I registered the realization that not everyone would implicitly right the wrongs you suffered in life.  Even if you were a cute little toe-headed smurf just trying to get some damn Gobstoppers up in here

For all our modern aplomb in America, we never quite realized that having the toilet in such close proximity to the place at which you do your bathing and grooming is revoltingly counterintuitive.  It must have been a man who thought it most effective to group the water-utilizing amenities of the sink, shower, and toilet into one room without giving a second thought to the jubilee of fecal minutia and urea sprung into the air with each flush.  How was this architetural shortcoming overlooked for so long and left to become the standard for all bathrooms?

Nia told me last night that she will be looking for a new place since she’s opening up a business and will need the room.  This puts me back in the hot seat looking for a new roomie.  Luckily, there has never been a shortage of applicants.  It’s just going through the process of finding someone, acclimating to them, and getting past the fear that they’ll, you know, rob you blind.

I question people who are so adamantly proud to be an American, and claim it is the best country in the world (i.e., southerners).  How can you be so sure if you’ve never stepped foot outside its borders, Blanche?  What exactly is your basis for comparison?  In truth, you suffer from a covertly xenophobic sense of nationalistic ignorance, failing to see America as a member of the global community and instead as a fascist stronghold, really.  Ain’t that right, boo?

Milksthistle is a miracle.

I wake up every morning with Yoda hair.

Speaking of, older gay men sporting haircuts last seen on ’80s teen heartthrob Ricky Schroeder should head, without pause, to their nearest hair salon for a more age-appropriate coif.  Just because you have a boyishly lush full head of hair doesn’t mean time has left your face untouched.  Correct the mismatched components for a more naturally becoming visage.

For lack of a boyfriend, I’m thinking of getting another kitty.  When we can’t find love in one another, we turn to the animal kingdom.  That should be the Animal Planet channel’s motto.

Why do babies puke so much?

John Cena: Hot, but only 29.  Now that he’s rich, perhaps he can buy several vats of Oil of Olay to combat that sun-caused premature aging.  I’m just saying.

From "Golden Girls":
(scene: Sophia is cooking in the kitchen)
Rose: "Mm, Sophia what’s that you’re cooking?  It smells delicious."

Sophia: "My Aunt Isabella’s lasagna alforno.  She used to say that if you ate a bowl of this stuff, you shouldn’t be surprised if when walking through a river with your pant cuffs pulled up you’ll find clams nipping at your ankles."

Rose: "What does that mean?"

Sophia: "How should I know.  She was a hopeless alcoholic."

Quigga Lean done had booked hisewf a flight to Viva Las Vegas for Christmas to visit Grandma Petula and company (i.e. Grandpa Phil).  It’ll be the first time I’ve been to Vegas.  And I get to visit the grand’rents.  Two birds, one stone: my favorite way to go.  And while I don’t envision myself going buck wild on the strip with my grandparent and their combined age of 140 years old, I’m sure I’ll still manage to have a time, and will be out of there if six days time just in case.

I want to write a song called "I Emailed Jesus and Asked If You Were Saved" and send it to the Christian music labels.

One of my co-workers who does the entry of HR paperwork in our office said that it’s ghetto to change your W-4.

Humor is the hammer that breaks away the ordinary everyday mundane. It rocks the confines of common courtesy and personal etiquette, and gives us more room to move in social circles. Humor is the great leveler, unabashedly deflating the most serious, severe and respectable events, places, and people–and, used carefully, without offending–so that everything and everyone is more equal.

Humor is the most effective tool against all negative emotions: the saw that splits the angry foes up with laughter, the crowbar that unhinges sadness into a smile, the mallet that knocks the depression straight out someone’s head. When hope and inspiration, happiness and courage, and love and understanding have all been tapped dry, humor can spring up unexpectedly and refill you anew, since it is in some small part all of these things combined.

What most people don’t see, humor does. What most people can’t say or won’t, humor can and sure will. It is, to be sure, something that sparks jealousy when shared by some, but not with others. And it likes that, it really does.

But this is all in the nature of humor, which is, in essence, indefinable. The practical joker in the court of life. The wily old man with the unchecked tongue. The great, big bouncing ball that lands right on us, jolts us out of our reality, then rebounds upwards, like a rubber sun above us, and keeps going on before us.

I hate to sound callous, here, but is it absolutely necessary for fire truck to run their sirens in the late night/early morning hours? I realize they’re en route to an emergency, but it’s not exactly rush hour traffic at 3:00 am. Surely the swirling, flashing lights on the big, red truck could alone clear a path to the crisis without waking up God and everyone. Just comida para pensamiento.

It’s kind of morbid to think that you have to plan your retirement date based on when you think you’re going to die and whether or not you’ll have enough money to make it there.

Tanning beds (aka. cancer coffins) should be banned.