The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

My body is waging war on me. Or I’m coming down with a cold. Or they’re pumping sleeping gas through the vents of my poorly ventilated office. Take your pick.

Whatever it is, I’m tired and worn down before my time. And I’ve already popped about three Vivarins for the day. Keee-rist.

In questionably better news, my black ass just bought the “Wicked” tickets today! I got the Fed Ex confirmation, and they should be here by Friday. Now let’s just hope this third party vendor doesn’t royally fuck me over.

I actually had a dream the other night that Mr. Alterhausen and I were at the theater watching it, but all the chairs and rows were movable, like the inside of giant clock or something.

Was it the unfortunate choice of some bottom shelf vodka over the weekend? Was in the longtime consumption of Vivarin finally catching up to me? Or was it the demonic Santa Claus bus driver, whose bus I always manage to catch in the morning, and who drives like a man possessed, honking at pedestrians and making many a sharp stop on his race towards a non-existent finish line? We may never know. But something had my stomach feeling like it was chock full of acidic molten lava rocks being bounced around in a bingo machine. So much so that I had to throw in the towel, and leave work early. But I’m feeling a tad better today. Not a ton, but a tad. We’ll see if we can push on through.

We welcomed back the frightfully vivid dreams last night with another episode, this one featuring me and my job.

In the dream, I had gone out on Sunday night to the Cafe (http://www.cafesf.com/main.php), but a much seedier version of the Cafe, and gotten piss drunk. As the night progressed into morning and I got more smashed, I went to my office, which also doubled as my hotel room (?). And then I proceeded to shout random expletives like (and I just don’t get this one), "You fucking bleeding heart liberals!" down the hall.

Then there was something with a video arcade in the basement with this dalmation who almost attacked me before deciding it wanted me to adopt it, and me returning to my hotel room to find all these old clothes of mine in the drawers, and being informed by my friends about what an ass I’d made of myself.

I then proceeded to do damage control, and compose an email of apology to my manager–no, I mean, I had it all actually written out in my head to send wheeeeeeen…

…I woke up suddenly around 6:00 am, grateful as FUCK that it had just been a dream.

Interpretations?

My cable went out Monday.  The box straight died on me. It’s the second time it’s happened.  Probably has something to do with the fact that it’s a bit close to the heater, and all of Sugar’s hair gets caught up in the air and clogs it.

Nevertheless, I scheduled an appointment for Comcast to come and replace the box, took off work early, and sat there with J Co watching reality TV marathons for two and a half hours waiting for the fucker to arrive.  Turns out he’d "pre-called" a half hour early, and since I hadn’t answered the house phone, he went buh bye.

Color me pissed.

So then I had to take the 27 Muni (aka. the Ghetto Express) out to the Comcast office, all the while listening to this crackhead couple arguing, and go in person to get it replaced….only to get it back home and find the new one didn’t work either.

So now I have another appointment for a technician to come out Saturday between 1:00 and 3:00.  I’m almost always soused by then, so he better fuckin’ fix it lest I grow wroth.

You know when you’ve had so much to drink that it feels like your body takes revenge by waging war on your insides?  That’s a bad feeling.

I’ve had the same email address for the past ten years.

If I could buy my old childhood home at 256 El Monte Road, I totally would.

I feel like all I do, every single day, is buy food.  Food, food, food.  I’m at Trader Joe’s one day.  Then two days later, I’m at Safeway.  I’m constantly stocking up on snacks and entrees, crudites and fruits, and BAM!  It’s gone.  It really makes me wish I had a car so I could just load the fuck up on stuff and be done for a month.

I think I’m going to take the J line all the way to its end this weekend.  I’ve always wondered where the hell it goes.  Thoroughly thrilling plan, isn’t it?

I recently switched, not by choice, from Vivarin to NoDoz, and I don’t recommend.  It’s lacking.  That is to say, Yes, I’m dozing (off).

The hotel is booked.  NYC in T minus 35 days!

Begrita Montez, one of the Sr. Benefits Analysts in our department, finally got the boot today!  She was a fat slob of a bitch who made my life miserable when I was first hired as the receptionist back in 2000.

Some of her choice responses to my request for help or assistance in dealing with employees’ panicked and difficult benefits inquiries include:

"Well, that’s not my job!"

"I’m on the other line right now!"

"You need to tell that person that they needs to call Payroll at 6-2841." (as if I’d been born with the knowledge of my company’s phone prefixes)

And like a true Scorpio, I’ve held a severe and egregious grudge against her all this time.

Plus, add on to the fact that she’s constantly going out on leaves because she knows how to work the system, and gets paid cash money for disability while probably collecting child support and state disability on top of that.  I mean, she once came back from a leave of absence having undergone a tummy tuck, and sporting a whole new fucking Ross Dress for Less wardrobe.

It made my Tuesday to hear she got canned. 

I know.  I’m going to hell, but fuck her and her lazy, evil ass.  I’m sure I’ll see her at the DMV when next I get my license renewed.

I’m for the most part over "South Park" and its desperate satirizing.  It was a riot when it came out in ‘97, and something totally new.  But after a half decade, it just floundered and settled on the most slacker-inspired storylines (Going into the future to partake in battle with beavers?  No thanks.)

But last night’s episode, which was in part a take on "Stand and Deliver" and a quest for Mr. Garrison to regain his penis after reversing his sex change, poked fun at the female population’s general fear and loathing of peen. 

This is something that I, as a fag, find completely foreign.  But as a man, find somewhat insulting.  And have actually witnessed from some of the chicks in my life:

Chick #1 was in middle school, and chuckled with a fellow female classmate during math class about how the dick looked like some weird alien appendage (note: she wasn’t so bright as to actually use the word appendage).

Chick #2 was accused by her mother of looking up virus-infected porn on the family computer, an allegation she refuted by opining, "I don’t even like penises."

Chick #3 was a beloved co-worker of mine who once, on a pleasant lunchtime constitutional, admitted, "I’m afraid of penises"–a fact I glibly added to her MySpace profile when I wrote the About Me section for her.

Chick #4 once asked me what I knew about prostate cancer, to which I replied, "All I know is that if you ejaculate regularly, you can avoid it," to which she responded, "Ew!  I don’t wanna hear that!"  Yet you asked.

Thankfully (at least for straight men), there are a few females who do not share the aforementioned sentiments regarding peen.  Why, one co-worker of mine admitted she’d wanted to dress up her ex’s wang.  I thought that was cute.

So three cheers for wieners.  They deserve all the love and attention in the world, says I.

After bemoaning weekday drinking yesterday, I relented to some happy hour time after work with Mandypants and J Co.  We chilled at some of the local bars, something we hadn’t done before and which I’ve wanted to do for the past two years I’ve lived on Nob Hill.  And fifty odd bucks later, I called it a night. 

So much for my magnificent saving skills for my DC/NYC trip.

Speaking of, fucking "Wicked" is already sold out the weekend I’m coming.  I’m going to have to go through some separate vendor, which frightens me for fear of being defrauded.

I’ve been trying to steel up the courage this morning to talk to our Compensation manager about working in her division.  One of the Comp Analysts is quite old, and will likely be retiring in a few years, so I want to get my feet wet, help out with projects, and start taking classes so I can get trained and be on my way.  But I’ve been extra nervous about it, like I’m asking someone out on a date.  Which is odd because she’s a lesbian.  And really sweet.  And she likes me plenty.  But gotta do it!

The lovely Lady Miss Kier from my favorite band of all time, Deee-Lite, is spinning at the Bar on Castro tonight.  And I most likely won’t be able to go.  Firstly, it’s a week night, and besides the fact that I have to wake up bright and early the next morning for work, I’d also be breaking my vow of no drinking on weekdays.  Secondly, no one seems to be able to go with me.  Unsurprising.  It just sucks that everytime she’s been in town for the past couple of years, I’ve missed her.  Super bummer.

What’s with Mariah’s new song?  Has she ever sounded blacker?  "All up in my bidness"?  "If they’s some cameras up in here"?  And she has some song called "Bye Bye" which is supposed to be like a "One Sweet Day" for the 2000s, but starts off with something like, "This is for all my people’s who’s lost someone".  Not to mention musically it all sounds like a bunch of paltry R n B.  Disappointing.