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Archive for June, 2003

 
|| June 13, 2003 || 1:28 pm || Comments (7) ||

I tell my kids all the time, and have since they were little, that this song and that song on various ceedees and radio stations were penned with me in mind. Ex: ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’, GnR version.

Proof positive that I’m not raising complete and total suckahs: My daughter looked at me levelly today, serious-faced, and pragmatically said, “Mom, people go to hell for lying, you know.”

::: :: ::: :: :::

Yesterday, while in the car, Scout and I were going over (once AGAIN) the point-by-point reasons why she is not allowed to call boys. She and I were both calm and rational, which made my son’s noise of exasperation from the back seat all the more surprising.

SAM: “Sheesh, momma, it’s not like we live in the eighteen-hundreds!!”
JETT: “And lucky that, Samuel, because back then you could knock out every one of your smart-aleck son’s teeth without fear of reprisal.”

He suddenly ceased questioning my mothering skills. I’m not worried; his tune will change the first minute that one of his little monkeyboy friends confesses that ‘Maaaan, your sister is hot‘ and that they’d like to feel her up. It will happen, because ten-year-old Scout is already quite beautiful and little boys (God love ‘em) are that idiotically tactless, especially when hormonally charged.

 
|| June 12, 2003 || 10:27 pm || Comments (6) ||

I have meetings tomorrow. *sigh*

I thought I made it abundantly clear when I entered the workforce at age fourteen: NO MEETINGS! I hate people! I do not want to meet with them! It’s bad enough I have to shop alongside of them and breathe their same air and go to movies where they are a mere one or two seats away….NO! MEETINGS!

Why can’t I just be the eccentric, reclusive crazyrichbitch on the hill? Whyyyy?

And lest ye forget: No meetings. None.

Oh yeah, I finally got off my dead ass and updated the referrals page for your ‘nowayanyonesearchedthat‘ pleasure. I wish I could shake the hand of the person who googled ‘magic fat boobs’. That one made me laugh so hard that I just might have a fuckin’ hernia.

But what, pray tell, does ‘rad all loving dad syndrome God’ mean? Whaaaaaat? You people make me crazy, I swear. You and meetings.

 
|| June 12, 2003 || 1:24 pm || Comments (11) ||

I’ve been saving this, but I keep forgetting to post it.

From : “Danny Clark” carpet@firework.org

Reply-To : carpet@firework.org

To : amazingjettgrrrl@hotmail.com

Subject : Link Sharing

Date : Thu, 1 May 2003 22:11:58 -0400

I was browsing the web and came across your website. I think that the content of our website is similar enough to yours that our visitors would benefit from us sharing links.

Therefore, I would like to make the proposal that we each put a link on our website to the other’s site. Hopefully, this will increase the traffic of both sites and provide interest to our readers.

If you are interested, send me the exact URL that you would like me to use and a 1-5 word description.

I intend to add it to the links page at http://www.rugs-direct.com/links which has a link from our homepage at http://www.rugs-direct.com.

Below is the information for my website:

Link Info: http://www.rugs-direct.com
Description: Area Rugs

For your convenience, here is the HTML Code: < a href="http://www.rugs-direct.com" >Area Rugs< /a >

Thank you for your time.

Danny Clark
Rugs Direct

I ask you, dear Superior Muffinasses, what the fuck does a commercial site peddling area rugs have to do with a site manned by a sometimes-drunken woman nicknamed, in turns, ‘Surly Mae Hatfield’ and ‘Boxcar Bertha’ (by one curmudgeonly friend) who spends any free time she might have pecking away at a keyboard in an attempt to find new and interesting ways to dress up the word ‘fuck’?

Is something escaping me here? Really. I mean it. Is there a weblog buried somewhere on that site that highlights carpet pr0n or tells stories of how Danny Clark beats the unholy piss-and-bile out of obstreperous customers? Did I spell ‘obstreperous’ correctly?

And even if I were remotely interested in linktrading with him, goes to show how much he knows. None of you people have taste enough to dress up a floor with a pretty hand-carved wool thing. I know you shuffle around your splintered, beercan-littered floors and are quite oblivious to the hideousness of them. Hell, you probably sleep there half of the time. Don’t crinkle your nose that way at me….

Danny Clark, you linkwhoring sonofabuck, I’m way off your target audience, but I admire your shmaltz. You’re welcome for the free, albeit temporary, traffic.

 
|| June 11, 2003 || 4:04 pm || Comments (6) ||

I’m feeling sorta bloaty. You think tequila might help that?

To be filed under female stupidity:

I’ll be the first to proclaim that you shouldn’t snicker behind your hand at others’ misfortunes, but this is just priceless.

He wrote better than Yeats. He wrote better than Shakespeare. He totally intoxicated you with his feelings: ‘Oh, baby, I want to tell you how much I miss you.’ &nbsp ‘I can’t wait to get home to you,’ ” Robin Solod, 43, told the Times.

Yeah, Robin-baby, that shit is sheer poetry.

“I think a lot of people have misconceptions about girls in porn.” –Jenna Jamison

You mean they really ARE Yalies, as I had long suspected?

Where are this girl’s handlers? Why do they allow her to say things like this? Jenna, you are a fuckhole. A really successful fuckhole, but a fuckhole nonetheless. For the love of Pete, spare us your proselytizing; stick with the moaning and pouting. You chose your profession; likewise, you chose all the accompanying baggage. Carry it (or pay someone to do so, I don’t care) and shut the fuck up.

::: :: ::: :: :::
Well I can’t understand / Anything about you / Help you if I can / What can I do

Here’s your new home / That’s where you must be / In the institution / ‘Cause you’re so lazy

But if you must act up / Again & again / ‘Cause everybody knows / You’re a hopeless problem

Here’s your new home / That’s where you must be / In the institution / ‘Cause you’re so lazy

You sound like you’re sick / You look like your sick too / You sound like you’re sick

But if you must act up

You sound like you’re sick

Well I can’t understand / Anything about you

You sound like you’re sick / You look like you’re sick too / You sound like you’re sick / You sound like you’re sick / You look like you’re sick too / Well you sound like you’re sick / You sound like you’re sick

// Ramones, “You Sound Like You’re Sick”

 
|| June 10, 2003 || 10:07 pm || Comments (4) ||

Maybe Abel deserved it.

unxmaal: all us southern kids, raised
christianbaptistjeesus, were all trained to feel sorry for
abel

unxmaal: what if he was a numbfuck?

JettSuperior: RIGHT!

unxmaal: i mean, not deliberately so, but just
bumbling?

unxmaal: and here’s cain, who’s obviously better,
smarter, faster, prettier

unxmaal: but mom likes abel better, cos he’s
soft-spoken

unxmaal: doesn’t make much of a fuss, isn’t demanding

unxmaal: and then god, of course, likes this dimwit
who sacrifices plants and shit

JettSuperior: ERIC!

JettSuperior: WHEN YOU SAY THINGS LKE THIS
IT MAKES ME WANT TO HAVE YOUR AND LAURA’s
SURROGATE BABIES!

unxmaal: you already have, dear

unxmaal: 3’s quite enough for us. so don’t get that
gleam in your eye

JettSuperior: I said ’surrogate’

JettSuperior: I would give them over.

JettSuperior: sometimes.

JettSuperior: maybe.

JettSuperior: kinda.

 
|| June 10, 2003 || 2:56 pm || Comments (7) ||

Dear House,

I regret to inform you that your current relationship with the Superior Family will terminate in seven days.

While you are in fact a lovely old house, you have exhibited such codgery behavior as of late and it becomes more and more unpleasant to live betwixt your walls with each month that passes. Case in point: While the Superior Family does, indeed, love the rain, they don’t much care for it inside their domicile. The fact that you open up a hole at random and say ‘SURPRISE!!!’ during each event of inclement weather is not a plus, nor is it a cute little quirk afforded you in light of your advanced age.

Your ornate fireplaces and lovely wide window- and doorfacings do not make up for the fact that each time it rains (what is it with you and rain, huh?) there is the mysterious, evasive odor of somewhere in the neighborhood of a thousand dead cats to contend with.

While the aqua-colored tile in the master bath has been greeted with a lively sense of humor, those hideous cave crickets that make their homes in every dark crevice and open drain are nothing to laugh at.

I don’t want to nitpick, so I’ll not run reams of negativity past you; suffice it to say that the new home, while it has not the rambling charm and interesting history that you do, is structurally sound and will fit the bill while Mother Superior is in school. There is a non-leaky bathroom, room for Her computer, cabinet space enough for Her liquor and protein bars, a shady-cool yard to turn the Young Superior Heatherns out into and central heat and air. She feels that she could prolly do much, much worse, lack of crown moulding notwithstanding.

You take care, House, and thanks for the memories.

Regards,
Jim Shortz, Esq.

::: :: ::: :: :::

Angie, I fully sympathize. While I’ve not had to contend with ooky gunk all over the place (helps, too, that I have my own appliances), I just spent the better part of my day off scrubbing walls. They’re just walls, right? The huge mop bucket full of water and Murphy’s Oil Soap shouldn’t be near-black after wiping down just one-half of a room, correct? And what the fuck is that smell? I swear, it’s like the previous tenants corralled thirty African Pygmy monkeys and had them rub their naughty bits on the bare floor and then laid carpeting over the top: “AhhhHAHAHA, screw you, new people!” (retch)

Yay for podunkville. For once I’d like to move into a place that didn’t require extensive cleaning/renovation before I dare place my children and belongings into it. We worked on the place we’re in now for a solid twelve days before it was habitable. This, my dearest readers, makes me want to use the Lord’s name in vain. Over and over and over.

Don’t you fuckers dare chirp, “Good luck with your mooo-ooove!” Bring your asses on over this weekend and help lift Heavy Things. I’ll buy you beer and pizza and make goo-goo eyes at you.

Otherwise, shut up. SHUUUT UUUUP!

 
|| June 9, 2003 || 1:43 pm || Comments (1) ||

That Dane is very perceptive.

Observe:

JettSuperior: yes.

JettSuperior: yeth.

JettSuperior: yesseth.

TheLobstersClaw: crap. you’re drunk aren’t you

Yep, cain’t put one over on him.