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Jett Superior laid this on you on || October 2, 2004 || 4:22 pm

Though my computer goes unfixed, I blog bravely onward for you, dear Muffinasses.

ME: Let’s do a recap of my day, shall we?

YOU: Yes, my loveliest of darlings, lets!

That wot I saw:

This afternoon I pulled up to a stop sign about the same time as a guy in a white Maxima (I would fully permalink that for you international folks that aren’t familiar with the low-end Toyota product, but I’m fucking tired and I don’t wanna /WHINE). Being full-on gracious like my momma taught me, I waited patiently for him to proceed. He opened his door, stepped out of the car, and proceeded to pick something off of his way-beyond-shiny car, then buffed the spot with his shirtsleeve. I was all, “…the FUCK??” It was just so wrong and so laughably goofy on more levels than one.

That wot I felt:

Funnel cake is always a Once-A-Year Good Idea until I get about five bites into the thing. Pardon me while I go barf on your mother, your sister and all of your unborn children (okay, maybe not the littlest one…he’s soooo cuuuuute!).

That wot I thot:

“Yeah, champy, I’m gonna pay nine bucks for a plate of lo-mein, vegetables and grilled chicken-on-a-sticken? I think not.

“I’ll wait until the end of the day and you are shutting the food caravan up tight for the four-hunnert and eighty-mile trip to the next podunk production. I’ll have my salmonella at the low, low markdown price of three bucks, thank you.”

That wot I heard:

Idiot Friend* Three’s mother and I were on the phone this afternoon. I was inquiring as to my son’s whereabouts, since he was off galloping about our fair township with Idiot Friend One. This brought up the subject of why IFO can no longer spend the night over at IFT’s house.

See, IFT’s mom is a lesbian. A lesbian who I am, quite frankly, proud to call friend. She is a good, good person. She is one of the neatest people I know, and one of those that –because of her utter coolness and so-on-so-forth– keep me from choking on the cookie-cutter personalitiness of this place.

(here I am shaking my fist at that notion. you know, toward the window….because all the baddies that comprise this community are out there)

Seems that, despite IFT’s momma’s still-in-the-closet status, IFO’s mother got wind of the whole ‘Gee, she’s gay’ thing. And, as you have surely put together by now, she reacted poorly by restricting the playtime of children. This, fair readers, is to me quite odd. You got a beef with the kid? Fine. Restrict time. You got a beef with the lack of care and/or concern your child receives while at their home? Fine. Don’t allow your child in that place.

But to seperate your child from one who comes from a stable, loving home where he is well-cared-for while he’s there? Makes no sense to me. ESPECIALLY in light of the fact that IFT’s mother is, I dunno, IN THE FUCKING CLOSET FOR THE BENEFIT OF HER KID AND HIS STANDING IN THE COMMUNITY. She’s not gettin’ all lesbo up in the boys’ faces. Were I able to address this to IFO’s mother, I’d be all, “Whatchoo afraid of, sister? That some of the dyke flava is gonna be imparted upon your kid?

“I don’t know about you, lady, but I want my boy to grow up and be a shining example of lesbianism. I want him to looooooove the wimmins.

“I byGod would like me some grandbabies on down the line.”

*There are Idiot Friends One through Five. They are named such for their propensity to call over and over in the space of one afternoon and leave tedious, impossibly rambly messages for Sam that say, in effect, “Hey man, call me back when you get this.”

I long ago ceased to yell, “Tell your Idiot Friends to cut that nonsense out!”; instead, I am keeping a running tab in my head. For every extra message, I am planning elaborate embarrassing moments that I intend to execute when they are all sixteen and at the height of postured-cool and easily-humiliatedness. Don’t think that Momma ain’t payin’ no ‘tention, boys. MWAAAAAHHHHHHahaha.

12 worked it out »

  1. Chellee 10.2.2004

    Embarrassment by the Mom. No greater punishment exists when you are a teenager. Get ‘em good, Jett!

  2. Damien 10.2.2004

    The Maxima is _Nissan’s_ top of the line car. And a superior car to anything Toyota has ever put out. The more you know…

  3. Kat 10.2.2004

    Oh Damien you are so asking for it.

  4. red clay 10.3.2004

    what does she look like?

  5. john 10.3.2004

    Lately I’ve been installing/offering tech support for/getting frustrated over a piece of software called Maximo, which through no fault of Nissan’s I am reminded about constantly in traffic.

    It’s not so much a bad thing, but my mind does tend to wander and often I ponder whether or not there’s some kind of Amigo/Amiga thing going on, but eventually the rational side kicks in and I remember that Maximo/Maxima are not even real words.

  6. Joe 10.3.2004

    Same thing happened to me as far as Chinese food goes, just three days ago. Hell if I ever eat at that shit hole ever again!

  7. Sol 10.3.2004

    It’s good to hear your stories again. I missed them while you were gone. Hope you had a fabu trip.

  8. hans 10.3.2004

    Seperated the kids because IF2’s mom is a lesbian?

    WOW, just imagine what she would do if she found out about the company you keep, and what an unabashed freak you are!

    BTW, welcome back!

  9. blamb 10.5.2004

    Yeah, blogger trumps lesbian.

  10. Jettomatika 10.6.2004


    But I would like to submit for your consideration that blogging may just be biological and not a conscious choice.

    Debate, anyone??.

  11. Jettomatika 10.6.2004

    And Damien, touche.

    Although I would hardly call it their top of the line model.

  12. hans cheney 10.6.2004

    Blogging is a lifestyle choice; no doubt about it.

    Creativity and the need or want to create and share with others is probably as much genetic as it is environmental.

    I’d say hell yea, and bring on the debate, but whenever I debate I often come across grumpy, inflammatory, or just plain mean. It’s not like I try to come across that way; I just do. Heck, I remember a mock election debate in high school which I was accused of being insensitive. (Me? Insensitive?!) Fortunately, I had a soft spoken running mate (howdy Reverend Fecula!) and another candidate tore into her opponent’s interracial dating choices to the point where the girl chose the classic debate tactic of running away from the podium bawling. That pretty much ended the whole mock election debacle.

    Ah good times.


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