The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

Yes, it’s that time again.  When the holiday treats start rollin’ in, and the holiday pounds start packin’ on.  It’s really the last thing I need.  But when a co-worker brought in Halloween cookies with orange and black chocolate chips that tasted literally as good as an orgasm feels, how could I say no?  I wish they had fat free alcohol. 

Do you know what it’s like to be so tired that it literally hurts to be awake?

I love "The Salt N Pepa Show".  Well, I love Salt N Pepa.  The show is a little too scripted in trying to paint Salt as this do-gooder reformed Christian (who, it should be noted, still lives off the royalties of all her sexed-up songs), and Pepa as this wild child negra.  I don’t know if they’ll ever get back together again, but they had some of the best, most danceable hip hop records on record.

I’ve got a cat calendar, poems, and a pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey on my bedroom walls.  Mama needs some new pics for the room.

Why do all IMDb threads disintegrate into puerile, vitriolic trysts between posters every_single_time?

Someone shined a spotlight into my mind to find my most favorite masturbatory fantasy when they came up with "The Making of Menudo".  It’s my young male Latino wet dream.  Chris Hansen, here I come!

(With a nod to Melissika for the subject heading)

My thirtieth bday went off well.  I was car sick on the way up to Santa Rosa to see Kathy Griffin, but she rocked it as always.  Then things kind of fizzled out as we tried to party in Santa Rosa–a hopeless endeavor if ever there was one–and we eventually headed back to the City where I happily crashed at home.

Then Saturday, I attempted to go clubbing, but the  Stud was playing crap-ass ’80s music, and I could not find a comrade to enjoy the pre-Halloween festivities in the Castro.

But Sunday, Melissiak, Mandypants, J Co and I brunched at Luna (which is staffed by quite a few hottie Latinos), which nicely closed out the weekend.

So here I is, old as I am.  The most common thing people have told me is that you’ll really enjoy your thirties.  Let us hope.

Ever notice how the theme song to "Saved by the Bell" sounds somewhat like "The Time Warp" from "The Rocky Horror Picture Show"?

I don’t have a window in my office, but my screensaver is a beach overlooking the ocean.  Is that ironic?  Or just sad?

Your wishes and prayers for me on this, the last day and death of my twenties.  It was real.

Oh, and this just cracked me the fuck up.  I love when she says, "The point is, people are trying to kill me.  Now, I think it’s Gwyneth Paltrow.  I don’t have proof."  I cannot fucking wait to see her tomorrow.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6apSsBWo_f8

I’m on cloud nine a bit.  I just found out yesterday that I’m getting an unexpectedly hefty raise.  It really blew me away, and chased all my troubles away.  This will help so much in catching up with bills, paying off credit cards, and being able to finally invest in the big-item things I really want.

Tomorrow is the retirement party for one of my co-workers.  It feels a bit odd that I’m one of the youngest employees at my job, and have been here longer than most.  That said, I can’t wait to retire.  Age 50 1/2?  You bet your ass.

My hometown of Santa Diega is burning down.  Luckily, it’s the redneck hick outskirts that appear to be mostly affected.  But the burning debris is leaking into the nucleus of the city, where my fam lives.  It’s really very sad to think about.  I hope it’s contained soon.

I’m in one of those phases where I hate all of my clothes, and want to buy a completely new wardrobe.  Not to mention, things keep shrinking in the wash.  No, it’s not (just) because I’m getting a li’l bigger, but the sleeves on my shirts are encroaching up my arms.  Double you, tee, eff.

The Body Shop does not sell its self-tanning lotion during the winter months.  Does that make any fucking sense whatsoever, asks my white ass?

It occasionally still hits me.  I’ll be locking the door as I’m on my way out in the morning, and I’ll realize that I have a job.  That I’m going to work.  It still strikes me as something different.  Of course, you have to realize that for most of my life, I’ve been going to school.  It’s only for the past seven years that it’s been work. 

Why do strangers keep saying things to me in passing?  I feel like I’m in some episode of "The Twilight Zone"?  I was at Walgreens the other day looking for bug spray when a guy walked by and said, "Got bugs?".  Then I was looking at pasta sauces at Safeway, when some random guy in the same aisle said, "You want to find the best one at the lowest price."  And last week, the bus driver at the first stop was motioning for people to get on after he’d started up the bus, and he said, "You should get some socks to match that shirt."  I was wearing a basic black, button down shirt with thin blue stripes on it.

All I’m saying is it’s annoying.  And fucking bizarre.

I was still fuming yesterday after that email from Sean complaining about how he’s still getting calls for me at his house, and how if they continued, he would contact my supervisor.  So, I contacted my lawyer, and am having a letter sent to him, and emailed Sean the following:

***
Do not ever threaten me again.  If you call me, my boss, or anyone else at my job, I will sue you for harassment.  Expect a letter from my lawyer to this effect.

You’re lucky I didn’t call the cops on you when you attacked me.  I could have had you arrested and deported.

I strongly suggest you lose my email address and phone number, and never contact me again.  I am blocking your email address.  Any future emails you send me will be automatically deleted.

Even though we had broken up, I still believed you were an inherently good person, and had wished the best for you.  I am shocked and disappointed that you would resort to being so nasty and malicious.
***

Don’t fuck with a Scorpio.  We’ll throw down with ya.

That’s what the book should be called, at least.  I get back from a particularly grueling orientation this morning that I wasn’t even supposed to have done, and my ex Sean has emailed me saying that he keeps getting calls from my student loans and crap when I’m behind, and demanded I change my contact info or else he’ll call my supervisor.

Firstly, when someone moves out, you have to expect that you’ll continue to get phone calls for them.  That’s when you apply common sense, and tell the callers that they’ve moved.  Or get caller ID, and ignore the calls. 

Secondly, I could have easily called the police on his ass when he physically attacked me for missing his graduation, and gotten him deported right then and there.  Yes, that was his response when I was too sick to go, and he fucking flipped out.  It was apparently the culmination of the number of times I flaked on him, but who would want to hang out with someone who makes no sense when they speak and acts like a little retarded child?  I’m so glad our relationship ended.  I sometimes cringe when I think of it.

Sometimes people blow me away.  And not in the good way.

Today should have been a good day.  I got paid, but my money was all swallowed up by bills and other necessities.  Not as much on luxuries as I would have liked.  I have to take over leading orientation tomorrow because one of my co-workers got pink eye, and stuck around the office ’til about 1:00 finishing stuff up even as everyone yelled at her to go home.  So I’ll probably get infected with it, and have to use up a bunch of my minimal PTO time.

My cell phone is about to die.  I need to go grocery shopping and do my laundry tonight.  I’m wearing two-day old underwear, and it’s an icky sensation.  Sugar’s nearly out of litter, and has been eyeing up our rooms as potential alternatives.  We desperately need to order the maid service, but I won’t have enough dosh until my raise kicks in later this month. 

I just want to crawl into bed and yell at somebody.