The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

Don’t you just cherish the moment when you get a mass email from, say, the Payroll or Accounts Payable manager of your company that says, "Please do not reply to this email" at the end, and some dipshit replies to all with some confidential question like, "Hello Gloria!  Have you processed the overpayment monies for John Doe yet?  See you later!"

That once happened, and the person’s manager replied back to all saying, "Since you’ve embarrassed him, just let him keep it."  Kinda chips away at the faith you have in your co-workers, but at the same times, provides simple and free amusement at the expense of another.  And after all, isn’t that the best kind?

J. Co and I hopped the 27 bus for the SPCA Saturday (which is like the Ritz for abandoned animals).  We toured the glass-encased enclaves where each cat was treated to their own scratching post complex, various toys, and a TV that acted as a makeshift window, with a continuosly playing DVD of birds and the outdoors. 

J. Co was insufferably adorable, like a kid in a candy story, darting to one room after the other, and falling in love with each and every cat.  I became headache-y and nauseated after not too long, and was prepared to get down to business, asd we asked one of the volunteers if we could visit some of the cats.

Now, I highly commend the SF SPCA for doing such a fabulous job of their shelter and for caring so well for the animals, but they sort of over do it.  Like, J. Co and I had both had cats before and didn’t need to be spoken to like three-years-olds upon meeting the animals.  We were told things like, "Now this is Dandelion, and he likes to be pet, rubbed, and given treats" by one of the many, many lesbianic volunteers.  A cat that likes to be pet?  You don’t say!

In any case, we came too late to adopt on Saturday, but returned first thing Sunday morning and brought home the one and only Sugarkitty Diva Jones (the Jones c/o Holla Scholar).  She’s got sugar, spice, and soul, doncha know.  She came right out of the box when we got her home, and immediateley began exploring the place, investigating every nook and cranny for potential hiding spots, and quite making herself at home.  Will get some pics up later.  I’m so happy.  =)

J. Co and I are biting the bullet, and at long last getting a kitty this weekend. We’ve put it off long bloody enough. I’m so excited. Someone to love, at last…

My head hurts muchly today. I try to drink three or four bottles of water after binge drinking, but only got through two last night before passing out to "Alice in Wonderland". Lord have mercy…

I want to make fake money to give out to the homeless that has a caption like "There is Help" and numbers for a local homeless shelter and a job line.  Sound mean?  Well, so are they.

Shouldn’t they require cops to keep in good shape?  You notice how on "Cops" if they have to run more than four paces after a suspect they’re always pissed, and bluster something like, "Why did you make me run after you?" while panting heavily.

For someone who likes to dance so much, Ellen DeGeneres doesn’t dance all that well.

America does not run on Dunkin’.

I saw a guy the other day who looked like a 20-something version of Atreyu from "The Neverending Story".  I nearly proposed on the spot.

You just can’t beat Trader Joe’s.  Where else can you stock up on healthy, delicious foods for a full week (or a good five days max if you’re a pig trough person like myself) for around twenty bucks.  Good deal.

Just a bit over a month ’til San Diego.  Last night I dreamt that I was back at work at the movie theatre at which I worked when I was in high school (God, that was a crazy sentence).  There were all these new people that I didn’t recognize, and of course I didn’t know how to run shit in the snack bar.  They closed it down late last year.  Bummer.

We get to leave work at 4:00 today.  Hooray.

"The only people who thank God nowadays are boxers and rappers.  Rappers who sing songs about smackin’ that bitch up the ass."
–Ellen DeGeneres

You know, they can spend all this time blustering over bigoted measures like an amendment to the Constitution banning gay marriage, but it still takes 4 - 6 weeks for me to get my fucking tax refund.  Hello, Congress!  Time to prioritize and put the peoples’ needs versus their biased fears first.

I’d been wondering why at work I kept smelling something that resembled wet, dirty socks blowing in the wind, when I finally surmised it might in fact be my iron.  I hadn’t cleaned the metal grill thing on it in ages, and had probably been steaming stank into my work clothes every morning for Christ knows how long.  Things seem okay so far today, so I’ll keep you posted.

The cable was shut off due to a Comcast bill dispute, flinging me and J. Co to the depths of cable-less living.  Seriously, cable is more addictive than any drug or drink since it provides daily, pliable entertainment whenever you want it… provided you’ve paid for it.

The only good part was that it forced me (okay, J. Co, since I couldn’t figure out how to do it for my life) to hook up the VCR and become reunited with some old favorites like "Soapdish" and "Overboard".  Good times, good films, noodle salad,

We’re planning a departmental dinner a Buca Di Beppo’s because I want to pee in the bathrooms that have cool old black and white pictures of water fountains and waterfalls above their urinals.

I want to see "Factory Girl", but the previews almost make it seem like Andy Warhol had a romantic interest in Edie Sedgwick, and if I’m not mistaken (and I’m not), the man was gay.

I almost forgot Valentine’s Day is coming up.

Did you know that Rite Aid sells hard liquor?  And that they sometimes have it on sale?  That’s about the raddest thing I’ve heard all week.

J. Co was PMSing and cleaned the whole kitchen yesterday, including bleaching all the surfaces.  It smells so good in there now.

I wholeheartedly hate Giselle Bundchen, and wish she would get hit by a bus.  I’m sorry, but I do.

I think it’s cool that it’s illegal to deny that the Holocaust happened in Europe.  They should do the same for using the word "gay" as an insult in America. 

Poor Annie Nicole. What do you think it was? One too many hits of TrimSpa? At the very least, this may mean her baby has a decent chance of growing up a normal, well-to-do person, instead of on a freak farm environment.