My Epidemic

Realized my 3-year-old cousin has this uncanny 6th sense that allows him to know when an adult is falling asleep and the astonishing ability to launch himself at them at full-speed from anywhere in the house.

Made out like a crazy friggin' Christmas bandit. Presents all around! It was crazy.

Listened to my mother's long disturbing discription of how EXACTLY she planned to kill my step-grandmother by stabbing her in the heart (I'm not entirely sure it would do the job.) with a fork we used for turkey instead.

Watched my dad call my 27-year-old cousin a pussy for not wanting to go outside in the cold to grill his own wife's steak. Pussy indeed.

Fell asleep watching Talladega Nights. Twice. That shit was dumb.

Practiced smuggling midgets across the border with my giant new camoflage luggage (My brother's gift to me.) with my dog as a guinea pig.

Built a fort of pillows and throw blankets. Then my cousins found me and tore the thing down.

Received a mass amount of giftcards to my ultimate happy place. Borders. Hooray!

Had my stupid little (Ha!) brother attack me with what I can only describe as the Vulcan Death Grip in the kitchen for my Christmas Pizza Rolls.

Played hide and seek with my 3 & 4-year-old cousins only to realize Mason's achilles' heal. If I said, "Ready or not..." He would answer from where ever he had hidden, "Come and find me!" or "Jessie, we're downstairs! Come and find us!" or "I'm in the bathroom, behind the door, under the towel! Come and find me!"

Watched the annual family fish fry in disgust! Reheated a crispy chicken breast from KFC for my own annual Christmas dinner. Put it on a fancy Christmas plate and created a new tradition. Christmas Chicken!

Took a shot of vodka with my aunt to offset the high-pitched screaming of my step-grandmother and mother in the kitchen.

Watched my aunt sputter uncontrollably after the shot. Spit OJ all over my uncle because I couldn't stop laughing.

Accidentally punched my step-grandmother. Oops. (I say as I punch my fists in the air in absolute victory.)

Sliced bread.

Listened to this exact conversation and almost pissed my pants from laughing:
My Uncle: "Missy got me 'The Kite Runner'."
My Mom: "Oh yeah? I didn't know they'd made it a movie."
My Uncle: "They didn't."
My Mom: "Oh..."
My Uncle: "I can read."
My Mom: "Oh!"

Watched a drunk Santa stumble into my Grandfather's house and deliver presents to the kids only to hear him call my cousin Mason, "Nathan" for a half-hour. Then had to shove my fist in my mouth as my other cousin said, "He smells funny. And not cookie-funny either."

Listened to my uncles and brother chant, "Mom! Meatloaf! Fuck!" Over and over.

Confessed to my family that I had had the "sex talk" with my 13-year-old cousin in the mall a few weeks ago. My dad looked at me with his steely-cop-stare and said, "But it's not like you had anything to tell her." I nodded like a hypnotized bird staring into the eyes of a cobra.

Forked over my Xmas money to my hording little brother because he didn't want anything. Yeah, well. I wanted a gym bag and instead got camo luggage, you little bastard.

Was forced to listen to Rod Stewart tribute songs for 45-minutes with my dad.

Listened to my Mom randomly yell, "I'm all hopped up on Mountain Dew, Grandpa! I'll come at you like a spider monkey!"

Got blamed for my mother's sweater being the wrong size. I had absolutely nothing to do with that sweater.

Struggled for three days, under the guise of Santa and his elves, to get my nephew's Robosapien (A break dancing robot) to work only to have him announce, "But I wanted the robot dog." Little shit.

Listened to my Grandfather tell me, in great detail, all about his diarrhea.

Played a cut-throat game of Scrabble with a winner takes all pot of $30 with my family.

Cackled evilly as my brother called my mom a "dirty cheater" and stomped off when he lost.

Merry Christmas to All! 6AM I'm hittin' the mall!

Labels: Holiday (Cue Madonna)

First things first, I have to apologize for erasing my earlier post about Jane Goodall. I really had no choice. Stupid MySpace wouldn't let me edit the thing so I opted to erase it completely. There were far too many words misspelled for my peace of mind.
The basic gist of the post was to celebrate my new love for "Rob & Big" on MTV. Big Black is a god. Instead of going into some long diatribe (That will just distract from the even longer diatribe below) I'll sum up how incredibly cool he is with a quote from the last episode I caught in which he said,
"I'm just a big silver-back gorilla looking for his Jane Goodall."
Epic.
But back to the point of this post, I've made it pretty well known that I hate prissy men. Give me a manly man fixing my sink over a Metrosexual calling a plumber, anyday. I'll admit, those Queer Eye For A Straight Guy dudes are by the far the funniest gay men on television but they better not ever come near my boyfriend or male relatives. I'd cut them into little itty pieces which I would mix with catfood and donate to the local animal shelter. The only thing left would be their expansive multicolored scarves...which I would steal and regift. Happy Holidays!
So here's a guide for all you poor guys who fell into the Metrosexual wave and now don't know how to resurface into the realistic world of hardcore manly men. Take it from me, I was raised by rednecks and police officers, I know a real man when I see one.

Being A Man: For Dummies

1. Crying is for pussies. I don't care how many times you've seen the Notebook. If you cry (I'm taking into account that there are extenuating circumstances) you're gay.
2. Men don't go to the bathroom in packs. That's strictly a chick thing. We laid claim on it centuries ago. Let it go.
3. While in the bathroom, you must follow a strict Male protocol. No talking. No looking around. Absolutely no touching. If you're spoken to, grunt in response. If you look down, you're gay.
4. Tight pants are for cowboys. Unless you're wearing chaps over those Levi's you're probably wearing them so other men can check out how much time you spent in the gym over summer break.
5. Men don't coordinate their outfits. This must be a completely coincidental thing or the look-a-likes in question will be seen as lovers.
6. Firm handshake. Always.
7. Unless you've been dating for awhile, always offer to drive your girl.
8. Size does matter. If you've got a small penis. Shave. It makes it look bigger.
9. Speaking of tools. Learn to use them. A useful man that can take care of the house, and your girl's friends' houses, are always appreciated and shown off on a regular basis.
10. Don't be a pansy. Learn to open your beer bottles without an opener. Use the side of a table. A tool. You're TEETH.
11. Chicks don't have to drink beer. Men, unless they're James Bond, should almost always drink beer. It's cheap and gets the job done. That should be every man's mantra, "It gets the job done." Think about it.
12. It's okay to shave your balls (Trim regularly atleast! Seriously!), trim your eyebrows and nose hairs, but don't wax your chest. That's just weird. (Unless you've got that whole Teen Wolf thing going on...then trim. Please.)
13. Metrosexuals are fun when you're young and want to show off how pretty your man is, but in the end every girl wants a sexy, rough, handyman she can ride into the sunset.
14. Work out. Seriously. It's not necessary to become some big, bulky muscle man (They usually have small penises anyway) but having a little extra muscle always comes in handy in bed. Always.
15. Don't. Fake. Bake. EVER.
16. You don't necessarily have to like sports, cars or NASCAR (No, it's not a sport. Get over it.) but you should have some hobbies and interests outside of shopping and drinking. Seriously, you don't have a vagina. Yeah. Yeah. Poor you.
17. Don't always wear matching socks. Girls like it when they can do something small like organize your undies and socks for you.
18. Stay away from Man Thongs. Unless you are a male stripper it is never, NEVER appropriate for you to wear these. This goes for speedos also. NEVER.
19. Dancing is actually okay. Do it. Boogey. Shake that toned ass. Men who can shake their hips are usually great in bed.
20. It's a small thing but when you're walking with a girl on the sidewalk, put yourself on the side closest to the street. It's a basic protective gesture.
21. Fancy clothes are great. But you're at home uniform should consist of Hanes and jeans.
22. If you're addicted to nicotine go all out. That chew bullshit is just gross.
23. Don't leave the room to adjust yourself. Just do it. You get to. It's a bonus of having a penis.
24. Don't ever ask your friends what they think of your new haircut. They don't care...unless ofcourse they haven't read this list and converted back to manhood.
25. You really don't need that manpurse. Give it to Goodwill and shove your shit in your wallet like everyone else.
26. A real man gives himself a manicure with the nearest pointy object. You really don't need to have a little asian chick clean your nails. (I'll kill you before I do it for you so don't even ask.)

Labels: Penis

Random Things I've Said To Guys At Bars:

10. "Are you a motorboatin' sonofabitch!"

9. "Sorry. This is a vagina only party. No penises. Bad penis. Bad!"

8. "Oh my God! That girl is such a slut! What? She's still standing behind me? Oh...Fuck her! She's like fucked everybody I know. Slutty Mcslut slut!"

7. "So. Serious question here. Look at me with my serious face when I'm asking serious questions. Seriously. Seriously. How big would you say is your penis? I'm taking a survey. Seriously."

6. "Do you play the bongos?"

5. "Thanks for the drink but I'm thinking of becoming a cop so that means I'd have to be a big lesbian. Sorry."

4. "Is this because I'm black?

3. "Yeah, the red head is my little buddy. Psst. I've heard the drapes match the carpet."

2. "I hate cops. You're a cop, right? Yeah. Cops are sluts!"



Drum roll please...



1. "I'm not drunk enough for you to be hitting on me."

Chris (Who's been living in another city for the past 4 months) told me today that I've been drinking too much and my face "looks different" due to it. She was insinuating that I'm getting fat.
I know what you're thinking, "Nice fucking friend!" But let me insert a little context in here.
You see she's dating some new guy from her current city. When she first started describing him to me I thought she was exagerrating his measurements.
5'3" 117lbs? What?! She's 5'7"! Atleast 15lbs heavier than him! Where the hell did she find him? The Lil Boy's section? Shees!
I'd been hearing tales of Wee Man for a few weeks but when he finally made an appearance at Sam's grad party, I could think of no other word to describe him but...delicate. I feared for Wee Man. He's going to break!
Dear God! How can they have sex?
But then I examined him closer and noticed that his facial hair was reminiscent of Wolverine. He was a travel-size version of furry Hugh Jackman. That made sense. Chris had a serious vagina-hard-on for Wolverine.
Again, I know what you're thinking, "You said these Wee things to her?"
No. Ofcourse not. But I thought them very, VERY loudly. And Chris heard me thinking so hard. (I'm thinking the steam coming out of my ears was a slight indication.)
She confronted me about Wee Man in private. I said nothing demeaning or negative about him but she voiced my silent opinions all the same, which leads me to believe that she is very insecure about her new delicate man stallion. How could she not be? He's mini!
And so today, she told me I'm getting fat. Granted I've gained weight (6 lbs) in the past few (As in 4) months, but telling me I have a fat face is just overdoing it a bit, don't cha think?

PS
I saw the new Bond this weekend. If I ever see that man in the outside world, I plan to rape him. Vigorously.


UPDATE:
I was on my way to the gym tonight when Chris called. This is how the convo went...
C: Whatcha doin?
M: Goin' to the gym.
C: Why?
M: (Without even thinking.) Because someone told me I had a fat face today. (Damn. I was going for that high road bullshit. I think I just blew the road to pieces.)
C: Dude. (Disapproving tone.)
M: Dude. (Condescending tone.)
C: Dude. (Mildly irritated tone.)
M: Yeah?
C: I didn't say that.
M: Yeah you did.
C: It's just cause you've been drinking so much lately.
M: So you told me I'm fat?
C: I don't want you to gain alot of weight b/c you can't go out without having a drink. I haven't seen you in two months and it...just caught me off guard.
M: Dude, I've gained 6 lbs since last year. I'm not fat.
C: I'm not saying your fat.
M: Yes you are.
C: (Panicked tone.) I never said that.
M: Sigh.
C: It's just that--
M: Yeah, I got it. You think I'm a raging alcoholic.
C: I didn't say that!
M: No. You implied it. Very poorly by the way. Just a word--
C: Dude, don't get mad!
M: I'm not. You'd know if I was mad. But for future reference if you're going to call me an alcoholic. Just call me an alcoholic. Telling me I have a fat face is kind of dumb since I'm, you know, asian and my whole family has little round faces.
C: Dude, don't be mad!
M: Riiiight...I've got to go. Walking into the gym. Gonna do some crunches. Run for an hour. Try and workout those face rolls. You know. Gym things. Later.
C: DUDE!
M: Click.

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings

Today was officially my last Women of Islam class. Hooray! No more Vagina Monger!
Here's basically how it all went:

Prof: "Jess, what did you take from the class?"
Me: "This is my first women's studies class...(yadayadayada) I've learned that the path to feminine sovereignty isn't always linear...(blahblahblah insert something ruthlessly intelligent) and we can't color global struggles for feminism with our own experiences of bias." Tadah!
Prof: "Very, very good point. What about you, Vagina Monger? What have you learned?"
Vagina Monger: "Well, I've learned that Islam is pretty."
Crickets.
Vagina Monger: "Just so...pretty."
Crickets slit their own wrists.
Professor clears his throat. "Well! I'd just like to say that I have enjoyed you all." (By which I'm sure he meant, "I hate you Vagina Monger. Hate you like the plague.")
The End.

Labels: Scholarly Articles of Interest

Yes. I'm taking a quick break from typing up notes for my crazy huge final tomorrow, to bitch.

I just checked my school email account and found that a teacher from a class I'm registered for next semester just sent out our reading list. Yes. Our reading list for fucking January in the middle of fucking finals. I hate her already. What a crazy, psycho bitch! Urgh!

AND (Yes. There's more.) she has chosen to break from the recent literary tradition and assign less than 13 books. Practically a saint! (Though technically she's not dead in keeping with the Catholic faith...hmmm) I have only to buy 12 books this semester for my 1 English class. 12 to 1. (Never good odds...unless of course we're talking twelve muscle-bound kilted men dancing in an erotic fashion around me. The 1 chick. With 1 pretty paper umbrella in my 1 fruity drink. Yeah. See how that works out. Now those are some good odds. But unfortunetly has absolutely nothing to do with my 20th century english novel class....but I can dream...yeah....anyway) Fucking bitch!

School blows. Hard.

Labels: Scholarly Articles of Interest

In the...2 1/2 years I've worked for the Police Department, I have embarrassed myself in some very colorful ways.
Take for example the time I was headbanging and dancing violently in my chair when some young officer came walking up behind me. The little shit didn't make a sound for a fool minute of Slipknot, letting me sing my heart out (Which in this case was alot of grunting) and gyrating until he finally coughed one of those "Hey, I'm standing right behind you" coughs and I laughed so hard I was in tears.
Or perhaps the time I was taking a call and swinging my feet so hard under my chair I caught the adjuster knob and sent myself flying, landing in a pile of jeans & telephone cord a few feet away.
Or what about when THE BOSS lined a coworker and I up like a buffet for a pair of young officers. All the time saying, "So, which one do you like? Are you married?"

Tonight, I had one of my infamous adventures while running an errand to the vending machines. I'd been asked to get a bag of chips. That's all. Just a bag of chips. Simple? Hell no.
I stared at the vending machine in horror as the damned thing caught the edge of my foily baggie on the hook of another slot. They hung suspended. Teasing me with their delicate illusiveness.
The way I saw it there were a few options:
1) I retreated back downstairs, defeated, to scrounge up 70 more cents.
2) I attacked the machine in futility, fully knowing I don’t weigh enough to rock the machine properly.
3) I called for backup.
In deference to my surroundings…I called for backup before attacking the machine like some wild thing.
I jammed my feet in the push-slot, climbing up until I could grip the top edges of the machine, clinging to the front like a spider stretched to its max. And then I tried rolling my weight from one side to the other. Nothing. I tried bouncing up and down. Nothing.
I sighed one of the most put-upon sighs of my life, looked around to see if any young officers were sneaking up on me (As they’re prone to do) and then humped the living shit out of that machine.
After two solid minutes of the most vigorous humping of my life…I got my chips!
I jumped down from the machine howling, slightly out of breath (Vigorous humping will do that to you) and pumping my fists in the air in victory! And then I turned in mid-dance to find…
Sunshine frozen in place. Her eyes wide. Her hand over her mouth in the perfect expression of shock as the elevator doors repeatedly tried to shut on her.
We both burst into uncontrollable peels of laughter until I thought I’d piss myself.

Just another night working for the police.

Labels: Workin' Hard or Hardly Workin'?

The other night THE BOSS commented on my MySpace blog (Yes. I have MySpace. No. I can't be your friend. I am no Myspace whore.): "Are you sure you don't have a penis 'cause that's all you ever talk about it."
To which I replied: "No. But I've been thinking of buying one on the black market for the sake of telling bar-rats that I have a penis when they're staring at my boobs."
Then I started looking through this blog and realized, why yes! I do rant of the penis often.
So here's a little collection for all those in search of random penis talk. It's therapeutic sometimes to speak of such things when YOU'RE NOT GETTING ASS ON A REGULAR BASIS! (Damn you Boyfriend and your police schedual!)
Enjoy...
Why I Stick With The Penis
Pass On The Pussy
My Xmas List
Hey Untuck Your Penis

Less Penis Related But Still Good (And slightly phallic...)
Conversations Interrupted
A Tale of Sunshine
Beer Vs. The Vagina
If You Were A Lesbian...
Things I've Learned Working Downtown

Labels: Penis

I just realized that my little gnome of a professor, the one I've literally been calling "THE GNOME!" His first name is David! (Pause for dramatic effect.) Get it? David the Gnome! Oh the irony!

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, Scholarly Articles of Interest

What kind of Xmas present do you get for a little brother that:

You wrapped a golf club around his head when he was 7.

You've caught masturbating...twice.

Can pick you up and physically remove you from a room without breaking a sweat.

Has a truck the size of a small home, so obviously purchased as a form of compensation.

You had to set "If you can't spell it you can't use it as an insult" rule when he tried calling you a Communist b/c you don't like red meat.

Wears a camo-rabbit-lined hunting cap around the house...in his underwear.

You have quietly taken the blame for boxs of his Corona hidden in the basement.

You once watched try to drink an entire gallon of milk in 2 minutes. And then puke it all up.

Knew what a dildo was before you did.

Thought he was Peter Pan for nearly a year of his life.

You used to talk into attacking your older brother when he was sleeping and then sat back to watch the fireworks.

Smells.

Calls your dog gay.

You once threatened to kill a man if he laid a hand on your little brother, despite the fact that you were half his size.

You've had to hear your friends gush over how hot he is since he was 13. Ew.

Makes fun of your hangovers.

Calls you Crash whenever you're in public.

Spends hours waxing his gigantic phallic symbol in the driveway.

Has more facial hair than Castro.

Still can't do his own laundry. HE'S 18!

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings