My Epidemic

Stop me if you've heard this before but I am in love with my sociology teacher.

It all started the second day of school when I made the incredible mistake of letting Sam sit in on my class with me. The entire first half she sat quietly (a miracle in itself) with her eyebrows wrinkled in concentration, staring very seriously at my new professor. Not one to complain, because undoubtedly the view was great from where we were sitting, but it seemed very out of character for loud, obnoxious, absolutely no quiet voice at all, Sam.

Then suddenly the mysterious magic of the moment was ruined when she started to grin wildly. "Hey," she said in a normal conversation tone while the rest of the silent room was listening patiently to the usual 1st day of class schpiel. "Does he look like a pirate to you?"

Now, if it hasn't become obvious already, I've known Sam since the uterus and have learned to adapt to her complete lack of inner filter and respect for strangers. But even as I started apologizing to the shocked freshmen staring at us from every angle, I burst out laughing. Which only interupted the class further as even my sexy professor turned to give me an odd look.

Holy shit! He really did look like a pirate!

This is the part where I moonishly describe my hot pirate professor. Brace yourselves, people. He has long dark hair always swept back in a sort of loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. He has a sort of Johnny Depp look to him and is always wearing a close-fitting white Oxford thats roguishly unbuttoned at the neck and cuffs and has got this sort of cronic sexy 5 o'clock shadow going on. It's scruffy and so sexy and who wouldn't want to have a sociology professor that you could stare at for the rest of your life?!

So it's almost two weeks in and I can't stop imagining him in hot little pirate outfits during class. It's kind of disturbing but has made the whole subject of sociology vastly more entertaining. Tomorrow I've decided to move on to kilts. I'm going to completely ignore whatever gibberish he's lecturing on and sit contently picturing him shirtless and kilted. That is my entire agenda for class tomorrow. A good agenda if I do say so myself.

The BOSS says I should pull an Indiana Jones and write I love you on my eyelids before I go to class. While seriously considering going in for extra help in some area or another, I highly doubt I'll resort to this. Sam on the otherhand wants to leave a sexy message on his answering machine at school about pirates and their "sabers."

Either way, sociology has become my new favorite subject.

I may have to see what he'll accept for extra credit...

Labels: Scholarly Articles of Interest

The other night while driving around looking for a 24-hour Walgreens (Don't ask) at 12:30 AM...in the rain (Really it's not worth asking about) my windshield wiper exploded. It was all very dramatic but suffice it to say the thing ripped itself apart due to what I can only guess was some sort of extreme self-hatred. Anyway, my windshield wiper died horribly. RIP, dear wiper. You served me well.

Normally it wouldn't matter, I mean it's not like a windshield wiper is the thing you really worry about exploding. I worry about my brain exploding. The planet imploding. My eyeballs popping out of my head. By tires suddenly falling off my car. Getting caught in the middle of a high-speed chase (Oh wait, been there done that) and having some crazy gun-wielding lunatic shoot hundreds of rounds into my car before he hits the gas tank and I die in a huge ball of flame...But not alot of worrying about my windshield wipers.

So I was completely unprepared when I was on a very large main street with a surprising amount of traffic, in the middle of a stormy night with no driver's side wiper.

Never having actually changed such a thing on my car before, I fiddled with it in the rain for a few minutes before I realized the part that had actually fallen off was never, ever supposed to fall off. Huh. Okay. Luckily my friendly Chris was willing to come to the rescue. But by the time she arrived to the lot I'd parked in, I was fully convinced I was a genius. I had fixed the thing. In the dark. No glue or duct tape needed. Hazah!

The only problem being the next day as I wandered Target looking for a new wiper just in case, I relied completely on Boyfriend for my car's measurements and bought the wrong size wiper. Now, instead of having a 24" wiper on my driver's side I have a comically small 18" mini-wiper that I'm convinced will be the death of me. If it rains I'll be scrunched as far forward as I can be while still peering over the top of my steering wheel, in true old crazy broad fashion.

So tonight, while on break again (Yes, I'm working another Friday) I plan to hunt down a new wiper approximately the correct size. We'll see though. I laughed evilly at Boyfriend as I realized for the first time in his life he came up short. He he he.

Now I know how all those chicks feel when they turn to their guy and say, "Is it in?" That's the feeling I get every time I look at my disappointing stub of a wiper. Hopefully this will be the only time in my life I'll ever truly be disappointed by lack of size. (Cause it really does matter. Stop lying you "the-glass-is-half-full" people.)

On another note, a memorial fund has been set up for the replacement of said wiper. Please send your donations to:

Jess_Likes_Them_Bigger.Org

Thank you.

Labels: The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

1. "No me gusta pepito."

2. If you walk in on a conversation and only hear: "And he didn't give me no Vaseline or nothin'!" Just walk away.

3. Prostitutes will hide cash anywhere so long as they get to keep it afterwards.

4. Just because you keep meat frozen doesn't mean it won't go bad. (Don't ask.)

5. Drag queens are usually abnormally tall and have fruit in their bras. But atleast they smell good.

6. Pitbulls love turkey.

7. Don't ever make assumptions of people. You'd be amazed how many times you're wrong.

8. I hate hyphenated names. Seriously people, just pick one name and stick with it. It's not that goddamn difficult.

9. Hennessey and Pepsi is gross.

10. Surprisingly, masturbation on a traffic sign is extremely unfulfilling. (So I'm told.)

11. Nobody appreciates Mountain Dew downtown besides me. I'm an outcast.

12. When you're a chick and you are nice to a strange male they immediately think you want their dick. From this I've concluded that I should start all conversations with, "I am not interested in your penis."

13. Apparently a young white girl driving downtown at 1AM singing James Brown's "I'm black and I'm proud," is really odd. I dont see why but whatever.

14. It really is the quite ones on your crew that are the freaks.

15. Soul food rocks my world.

16.Metrosexuals are taking over the world.

17. If an officer sounds like a boy and looks like a boy, check his serial number before you address him as "Sir." 'Cause he's most likely a "Mam."

18. Dubbing a girl "Korean Itchy Disease" will still not stop a horny college boy from screwing around with her.

19. Ass-less chaps aren't really that uncommon.

20. There really is no age-limit on victims. It's the saddest thing you've ever seen.

21. Colorblind baldmen find Rolette extremely difficult.

22. I am a reincarnated Arab sheephearder. An Officer I work with (Who is black and about 6'3") was my younger brother and I bought him his first wife because he was too cheap to cough up the dough. Secretly though, I'm pretty sure she was a man...

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, Workin' Hard or Hardly Workin'?

Don't worry, I'm not going to rant on and on about how Mel Gibson is a jackass, which he is but that's not the point of this blog. Neither is the point to babble incoherently about Braveheart and how it rocks my world even though Mel's accent is terrible, so I've decided to let someone else do the talking.
I've posted a link to one of my favorite blogs in which this really quirky bald man talks about the lessons he's learned from the Passion's fanatical creator. It's hilarious and insightful.
Besides, it's not like you really want to listen to me bitching about the guy anyway. Because seriously, who goes from Mad Max to Signs to The Passion. Seriously. What kind of person does that! I mean complete opposites of the spectrum here, buddy. But I digress...

Here's the address for the blog: http://iamgettingfat.blogspot.com/2006/08/magic-man.html

Labels: Guest Appearances

Anyone who hangs out with me on a regular basis knows that I joke about being a lesbian all the time. My stock question that I'm sure everyone is really sick of hearing is, "If you were a lesbian what kind of lesbian would you be?"

The background to this really misunderstood inside joke is that my two closest girlfriends and I tend to pretend we are actually lesbians for two main reasons:

I. We think boys are funny. They think lesbianism is so hot and have all these fucked up ideas about what girls do when they leave the room. And girls, well, we love playing to these sick fantasies. It's because of chicks like my friends and I, that love manipulating simple hormone driven male minds, that guys think there is some sort of conspiracy against the male species on behalf of the female. Like we actually don't like the penis we just pretend to be jealous and overbearing so you'll leave and we can make out with our girlfriends. Sorry guys, this actually isn't how it goes...well not usually anyway...we just have fun making you think it is. Especially when you guys ask us if we ever help eachother shower. Ha. Boys. Funnier than silly putty.

II. Chris and I especially tend to pretend we're lesbians when we're getting hit on by random guys. While it accomplishes our goal of letting them know we're not interested it also has a bit of a down side when said male asks us to makeout...which we don't. (Perve, I know what you were thinking.)

The best part of our lesbianic joke is that I love asking guys who seem very interested in a little girl-on-girl action, what kind of lesbian they would be if they were magically converted to chickdom. Of course they can't say, "Hey I wouldn't be a lesbian at all!" Or all the other guys would make fun of them. I wouldn't. But any males in the immediate vicinity sure would.

The usual answer to the lesbian question is that they would be "a really butch bull dike." Huh. Okay. Not very PC but whatever. I think I've seriously asked atleast 50 different guys this question and I have always gotten the same stock answer. Butch.

That is until last weekend when I was on guard duty for Chris while she was hanging with her newest penial-interest and his friends (until she wandered off and I was left entertaining myself). I asked all the guys the same question and got the same answer except for one.

One guy stepped up and confessed that he would not be butch. In fact he would be the complete opposite of butch. He would be "a Paris-Hilton-hot lesbian that got to make out with other hot lesbians." Now that, that finally made some sense to me.

If guys like watching girl-on-girl, if guys are so hot for naked girl shower scenes where we help wash the suds off eachother's bodies...with our mouths...then why would you want to be a big butch chick that most likely wouldn't get to see such things?

This guy, who shall remain nameless, should be a model for all men, especially college boys, because he was completely shameless in his sexuality. He knew exactly what he wanted and wasn't about to let the other guys with him taunt him for wanting to be a sexy chick who gets to lick other sexy chicks on a regular basis. I am willing to bet that he, out of all the rest of the guys, will be the one to actually bear witness to one of these hot shower scenes outside of a porno.

Think on that, all my male friends. Think on that for next time I bombard you with my lesbian questions...

Labels: All things Vagina

This man is way too pretty for his own good...








He should be spanked...

Labels: Penis

I had this dream the other night and it was so fucking ruthless that I have to tell everyone about it. So here goes:

I was set to compete at the Olympics in a track and field event. My swim coach from high school, Docker the Psycho, was my track coach and was screaming at me while warming up that I could not let anything stop me from being at the starting line when my heat began. But then as I was working my way across the track, through the hundreds of other runners milling about, I stumbled upon a shed. Just an old rusty wood shed parked in the middle of the arena.

When I peeked through one of the windows to see what was inside, I saw...(insert dramatic music) HITLER! And he was giving his thousands of eager troops (way too many to actually fit into a shed of that size but I digress) a German peptalk complete with ominous looking hand gestures and angry slurred syllables.

I stared in disbelief for a few moments before my crazy sweet, and completely unbeknownst to me till then, talent for interpreting German kicked in. They were going to take over the world via Olympics! It was an Olympic takeover!
I couldn't just sit there and do nothing so before Hitler and his lackeys could open the door, I wedged myself against it. At first they were all confused and banging into the door and each other like pinballs or the Three Stooges, then they realized it wasn't the door that had them trapped. And they started pushing as a group but I was somehow still holding them back...but the door was about to buckle!

I screamed for support from my fellow athletes and a bunch of them threw themselves into the door with me. When we finally had so many people there was no way Hilter was going to break out of the shed, I ran over to alert the officials or someone, but I ran into Docker first! He was screaming at me for missing my race. He was screaming so hard his head had turned into a blood-red tomato and his eyes were popping out of his face! It was awesome! I slapped him real hard and said, "I'm sorry I missed my race but I was defending the world from killer Nazis!"

And then I got an award. The End

I love that dream. I got to slap Docker and save the world. Hooray!

PS
Did I mention I was drunk when I fell asleep?

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings

20. Eat sushi.
19. Let my friends decide what color to dye my hair. (Blonde. I know they’d go blonde and I’d have to kill them all.)
18. Understand the Andy Milonokis show.
17. A midget. I won’t lie. Some midgets freak me out.
16. Put my bridesmaids in frilly/pink dresses. (Unless they do it to me. Then its war.)
15. Stop reciting Southpark at random moments during the day.
14. Get a gay tattoo like dolphins or hearts.
13. Watch Laguna Beach or any of that other shit on MTV. (Besides WildBoyz. I love those guys.)
12. Drive like an old lady. Even if I am an evil old broad.
11. Admit I like romance novels. (With the exception of this I will die swearing I hate the things.)
10. Stop loving the Queer Eye guys.
9. Take a picture of myself naked and email it to my love interest. My luck I’ll press REPLY TO ALL or something.
8. Wear purple stretchy pants. Now leopard print…
7. Drink Vodka & Tonic. Then I will have officially become my mother.
6. Recreational drugs.
5. Swim with sharks. (Fuck that shit! Have you ever seen Shark Week on the Discovery Channel?)
4. Pass up the chance to see what Scotsmen really wear under those kilts.
3. Pierce my nipples or other things…lower…(shudder)
2. Not take the drugs when the doctor offers them as a small person pops out my vagina.
1. Mime. It’s against everything I stand for.

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings