detail oriented

When you're in an interview trying to put your best self forward, it's always important to be honest.  I thought that's what I was doing when I explained in my interview a few months ago that I'm not detail oriented.  That's my weakness.  Yes, I know, the one fucking thing companies look for, it's not my strength.  Did I follow up by saying that I was working on improving that weakness through a variety of tasks, giving examples such as A, B and C?  You bet your balls I did.  You can't just say "I suck" in an interview and not try to explain why.

But your weakness is still your weakness, even if you admit it and say you're working on it.  I mean, come on, even if Superman's at an interview and reveals his one weakness, you're probably not going to hire him to head the kryptonite plant, it's just poor judgement.

But, by some stroke of ridiculous dumb luck, Superman gets the job anyway!  Now should Superman have applied for that job in the first place?  Certainly not, but Superman really, really needed a job at the time because he was living with his mom in North Carolina and he didn't care where or how he got it, he just needed that job so get off my damn back!!

I mean, get off Superman's back.  Get off of Superman's back, please.

better ways

I just saw the Dark Knight Rises.  I loved it.  But I have a question.  Are there better, more practical ways to ride a motorcycle?

Probably not.  I get it.  Anne Hathaway is hot.  Her body looks amazing in black leather, especially her ass.

But, for a minute, let's imagine Batman riding through Gotham City to kill bad guys and fight crime positioned like he's taking it doggystyle.  Capeless with puckered butt to the world.  Would that make sense?  Would we accept that?  Or would we say, "wait a minute, Batman.  Let's think this through.  Don't wear those heels, they make it harder for you to run.  Also, don't ride your motorcycle so sexually, there are probably better ways to do that, too."

Can we imagine that world?

Of course maybe Batman would just say, "nope, this is the best way, thanks."  As he sashays away in his heels.

brown eyed sham

Brown eyes can be great.  They can be very dark and penetrating.  They can also be light and otherworldly.  Or they can be my eye color: shit stain.  For those of you who have been given the gift of shit stain colored eyes, use it with gloved caution.

Even though we all know the truth deep down, there are still some people out there who try to pretend like brown eyes are great.  This is all silly, feigned bullshit.  Who are we kidding?  Van Morrison is a HUGE culprit of this:

Slipping and sliding
All along the waterfall with you
My brown eyed girl
You my brown eyed girl.


Do you remember when we used to sing,
Sha la la la la la la la la la la te da

I don't, actually.

Please forgive me, Van, but your sham song can kiss my brown eyed ass.


2:53 - bit by bit by bit by bit by bit by bit!

thank you, kotex!

I'd like to take this moment to thank Kotex and, frankly, all feminine products for their conspicuous and fluorescent pride.

In case you're a man or you use a diva cup, or both, I'll fill you in.

Look at the pads leaning casually and sexily against the box up there.  Pretty hot, huh?  Maybe they're trying to make us forget that they catch period blood?

The packaging for tampons and pads, (or feminine napkins if that makes you feel more comfortable, but I already said period blood once so if you kept reading after that, you should be able to make it through the rest of this okay), is reliably bright with the most neon of colors available.  Which, of course, makes perfect sense.  Because when I'm walking to the bathroom at work carrying something I'm trying to hide, it should be the most eye-catching HIGHLIGHTER YELLOW or BRIGHT NEON PINK to draw attention away from my embarrassed face.

It's also especially fun when you're pulling things out of your purse, searching for your keys, and out comes a beacon of light known as a tampon in SUN RAY ORANGE.  Hello, crowd at the metro!

Or you open a drawer to quickly and stealthily pull out a pair of underwear or a human head or whatever you're pulling out of a drawer quickly, and BAM - FUCKING PURPLE.  Must be my feminine napkin because nothing else on this earth is colored so goddam brightly.

So, thanks, Kotex, for always letting everyone know I'm on my period.

the bee gees

I was really sad to hear about the passing of one of the Gibb brothers, recently.  So, feeling inspired, I decided to look up some information on the Bee Gees to improve my wealth of useless knowledge that I will never need.

According to Wikipedia, I discovered they were from the Isle of Man which I would have assumed was made up if it weren't for the fact that I met someone who was from there when I was in Argentina.  I'm still not entirely convinced that's really where she was from though.  Maybe she's paid by the Bee Gees dynasty to help perpetuate the existence of this "Isle of Man."  But I digress.

Wikipedia told me a lot of interesting tidbits, like the fact that Barry was the older brother and Robin and Maurice were fraternal twins.  But it didn't tell me whether or not they were gay.  I decided to send this question out into the universe that is the monster-genius internet.  Where did I turn for answers?  Where does anyone turn?  WikiAnswers. (Yahoo Answers didn't have an answer)

WikiAnswers gave me this:

Question: 

are the bee gees gay?

Answer:

Michael Jackson also had 3 kids and he's gay as a window -(Takerpoo)

Takerpoo had an interesting point, but it still didn't bring me the answer I wanted.  For example: yes or no.

So I decided to do a spiritual Google image search and let my own mind decide based on what I saw.  I found an image that gave me all the answer I could ever need...

And the answer was no.  The Bee Gees are not gay.


Now, friends, enjoy Jive Talkin'

it's now or never

Elvis knew exactly what he was doing.  This song came on my ipod recently and made me laugh.  It's all there in the title: "It's now or never."  Elvis was so smooth he could take a coerced one night stand and turn it into the most beautiful poetry.  I'm sure this came from several particular experiences he had, too.

Elvis:  Look, babe, I'm leaving in the morning, so are we gonna do this or....?

Attractive woman:  Oh, Elvis, I don't know, this is the 50s and women aren't supposed to want to just have sex and never speak to the guy again.

Elvis:  Right, right, okay.  Well, it's now or never.  And, I'm Elvis.  So can we do this or can we do this?  Do you have condoms? No?  It's cool, I'll pull out in time.  I think I'll write a song about this.

Who would say no to this guy?  And, oh, by the way, he looks like this:

No living woman would say no to that, unless it was 1977 and this Elvis was telling you he'd pull out in time:

Sure you will, fat Elvis.

my mom

It's easy to forgot how much your mom drives you crazy. When I was in Argentina, she was really looking good from several thousand miles away. Now that I'm back I'm close enough to remember all the things I'd forgotten because of nostalgia or Malbec clouding my better judgement.

Here's one example that drives me nuts, her intensity. I know this is a quality that I've already started to cultivate myself, but I'm still going to complain about it. Everyone always says you can only hate something you recognize in yourself. Nope, that wasn't everyone, that was some random quote I read years ago. Anyway, her intensity, HER INTENSITY drives me nuts. Which means one of these days my daughter or son or cat who somehow learns to speak will be complaining to their friends about MY intensity. <3 Genetics!! <3

For example -
My mother always wants you to know that no matter what she is talking about, she MEANS THE FUCK OUT OF IT. If she says she loves you, you're going to physically feel that love shooting lasers into your eyeballs and sweating out of your pores.  And it's probably going to be painful.  Not unlike what Jeff Goldblum went through when he turned into The Fly -

Oops, that is not Jeff Goldblum turning into a fly.  That is a picture of naked Jeff Goldblum in The Fly.  You get the idea, though.


Below are a few things I've heard my mom actually say.  Under that I've written what it sounds like she's saying judging by the intensity of her tone.  I've provided this picture of an angry Sally Field for assistance to accurately visualize her.

Woopsie daisy, that's a Mrs. Doubtfire poster.  Here you go...

My mom: I'm going to keep my Christmas tree up as long as I want.
Which sounded like:  Christmas will disappear with the smashing of my fist into this wall.

My mom: I'm going to get gas tonight so I don't have to worry about it when we're on the road tomorrow.
Which sounded like:  I'm going to hire a detective to help me find my kidnapped son in Mexico.

My mom: Jenna, be careful.  Your cat, Pearl, likes to lick toothbrushes since she's been staying with me.  So put a cover on yours.
Which sounded like:  Jenna, be careful.  I've placed tiny land mines strategically in the carpet throughout the house so walk softly.

My mom: Jenna....GASP....that purple shirt looks BREATHTAKING on you.
Which sounded like: Jenna...GASP.....the liquid magma is coming in under the front door.