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Jett Superior laid this on you on || March 26, 2006 || 1:56 am

Hot damn is it cold; yoga pants and floppy sweatshirts are king.

This post will be choppy and meandering. I’ve a lot of thinks to think.

Why so wordy, Jett?

Last week, for Maxim’s birthday, I bought him a ticket to the Suwannee Springfest down in Live Oak. My very first set of in-laws live down there in Live Oak. While he was strapping, mostly intelligent and pretty hot-danged handsome, they were a little bit scary. They used to talk about entering me in the Swamp Buggy Queen pageant. I tried my best to not let them smell fear.

So Thursday, as he was kissing me goodbye, Maxim said, “I betcher gonna make sweet, sweet love to the laptop this weekend.” Well hell yeah, suckah, if I ain’t gettin’ laid, I might as well be posting drivel to my fellow Cyberians. And if you are indeed reading this, oh dear husband of mine, I absolutely did not use the wasted space of that five square inches below the keyboard as a coaster. I don’t care what your gut instinct tells you. Or the sticky Mountain Dew (proudly manufactured and distributed by PepsiCo!) ring, for that matter.

Heard on Elimidate in the wee, wee hours of yesterday morning

“The presidents? First it was Washington, then he chopped down a cherry tree and it was Lincoln second.”

Why is it increasingly necessary nowadays to choose between beauty and brains?

You may have guessed, but this one just bowled me right the fuck over.

I got to wondering at some point after about six vodka gimlets ten pee emm this evening whether or not I might be bipolar. I found this little quiz and buzzed through it. I scored on the high end of the ‘mild to moderate mania’ designation. Did you people suspect this all along, and am I simply fooling myself when I fancy myself a big ole bastion of normalcy? Motherfuck, I’ve got to go find six more tests to take along these lines to make sure I’ve a decently fair and balanced report.

Jump-starting the morning

Scout and I hopped into the Magic Superior Stealth Vehicle to do our do this morning. She hauled tail out the door with her favorite truly rad calf-length Chucks in hand and proceeded to put them on. To do this, it was necessary for her to place her foot on the back of my seat. At some point, while she tightened the laces, her heel slipped and Our Dear Scouty kicked me in the the head so hard I saw stars.

She sat in silence, eyes big as ‘56 Chevy hubcaps until I finally shook my head to and fro slowly, then faster, then fell into big gulping laughter. Scout joined me and all was well, the end.

On calling the muse forth

Sometimes, as I’m pulling up to the ‘puter to push out a bouncing baby entry, I make little crib notes.

Sometimes (okay, A LOT O’ TIMES) said notes make not one whit of sense to me a mere six minutes later. For instance, I scribbled this on a piece of teal notebook paper:

“Next thing you know, I will be telling you that I’m a cross-dresser named Merle.”

I’ve no context for that shit. Ab-so-lute-ly nooooo idea what in tarnation it could mean, but speaking of Merles, hey: Here’s a good band.

Scout wouldn’t split an order with me.

“I don’t eat hotwings. They smell like stinky feet.”

(a confession)

Those MySpace people frighten me in a way I can’t adequately explain.

Also, I signed up for a LiveJournal account. I may just tell the deepest, darkest secrets of my soul there. Or filthy stories of me acting like an unseemly, trampy dirtygirl.

Wait, that’s two three confessions. The mathtard is on the move again.

My buddy has a new girlfriend.

He also has an ‘interesting’ (where interesting=carnivorous cannibal girlfriend-eater) mother. Nic and I were drinking with the new gal pal tonight and we began to tell her what the warning signs were for a potential impending attack by CCG-E. Helping our fellow man, as it were. This girl’s got a job of her own and a body so hot it should spontaneously combust; Nic and I were looking out for our pal.

“You guys are scaring me to death.”

“Look, East Texas, just let me tell you, had I been in Tokyo, I’da warned them about Godzilla.

“I wasn’t, but I’m here now, and I’m warning you: She will gnaw your sweet face off. Why you think I never fucked him?”

More maths

This afternoon I saw a car tag that read, “96% excitement”. I thought that shit was grrrreat. I wonder what the other four percent is comprised of.

my short-ass attention span

I’ve been doing quite a bit of gadding about between states and I keep forgetting to drop some post cards around. By postcards, I mean the free stack I got printed with a big eyeball and some smarmy comments on one side and [Abuantg.]’s URL on the other. Stock photos are not aces. Next time I’ll do my own artwork. Nonetheless, the overall cheesy effect acheived more than delighted me.

I’ll probably never get around to dropping them anywhere, as I’m easily distracted by the rudiments of packing a bag for travel, so if any of youse guys wants me to send you a handful to play three-card with or use as coasters, e-mail your request to the standard place. I’ll be stuffing the envelopes with other crap, as I’ve not sent out a TACKY PACKtm in a long damn while.

Shower me with laughter and bruises

This morning, there was this upright bathing thing going on. I shaved the ole laigs and, in a hurry, decided to moisturize in the shower so I could pretty much pull on some clothes and head out afterward. Put my right foot up on the edge of the tub, oiled the leg with both hands, quickly put the right down and the left up. Only, well….I came down too fast on the post-tractor cankle that faintly remains and slipped.

What do you do when you slip? Whyyyy, you throw your hand(s) up to catch you on the overbalance, that’s what. HOWEVER MY DEARS, if you have body oil on your hands, shortly after they connect with the shower tile you’re gonna eat some bathroom rug. And possibly tear the shower curtain down all Psycho-style on the way toward your faceplant. That’s what I did, anyway.

The best part is, I actually looked around in case someone saw me. In case someone saw me in the locked, windowless bathroom. Because lord knows, only Candid Camera could have seriously set up such a goofy set of circumstances bent on shaming someone. I may not only be bipolar, there may be just a touch of OCD in there too. You better just bet I’ll let you know what the quiz results on that one say.

I read or heard the very most boss one-liner today:

“…I would stick a flag in you and own you like a country.”

“Talk to me, Goose.”

Damnit, there were five people there and not a one of them would play the movie quotes game with me.

Some kid called at ten-twenty tonight.

“Where’s Piper?” he says by way of greeting. Oh, you must not know me, boy. I brush my teeth with road flares and have cast-iron panties.

“Son, in this house we have a phone curfew. There are no calls before seven ay emm or after nine pee emm. Also, I would expect that ‘May I speak to Piper?’ is gonna get you a lot further in the future.”

Tomorrow I will hunt him down and eat him for lunch.

And finally, for your amusement…

A picture of a real live Swamp Buggy Queen.

13 worked it out »

  1. CNL 3.26.2006

    I very nearly cried when I read you have a phone cerfew. Something my very nearly grown children had and hated – same hours even! They would bitch at me when I would answer the phone after nine and say, “sorry. so-n-so cannot talk on the phone after 9.” *stomp* *slam* *pout* yelling from behind door was always something like – nobody else’s MOTHER does that. Well, my little sugar beets, now I have proof other mothers DO do it. I’ll be emailing your link to them all, Miz Jett. Thank you for validating me. hehehe.

     
  2. Jettomatika 3.26.2006

    Well, that’s all well and good, but you glossed over a very salient point:

    You’re one of the people who knew I was bipolar, aren’t you?? I just thought you were being cute all those times you said, “Girrrrl, you so crayzay.”

     
  3. Jettomatika 3.26.2006

    And who in hell gets up that early on a Sunday morning??

     
  4. Suzanne 3.26.2006

    Seriously… WHY ON EARTH did I take that F-in quiz? According to the crackpot internet psych ward, just because I’m happy and busy, I am at the high point value end of a mania stage. Can’t people just be happy and busy? If I answer the questions the same every week of my life for a year, does that make me on a VERY long term high needing medication to not be happy? How about perhaps… just suppose… it could be something more normal like I happen to love my life? #$%#@$%^

     
  5. Suzanne... again 3.26.2006

    OK – so had to scroll through those Swamp Buggy to educate myself as to what exactly a swamp buggy even was!Did you catch that in the first pic the Queen is wearing a pinkish/red Swatch watch or something with her evening gown? Gave me the ridiculous giggles…

     
  6. skillzy 3.27.2006

    Well if your curfew ends at 7 AM, you need to be awake and answering the phone then!

     
  7. Jettomatika 3.27.2006

    You caught me on a bad alarm clock day, cheif.

    Which is to say, a weekday.

     
  8. CNL 3.28.2006

    I get up so early on sunday morning because I treasure my few hours of alone time. ;-) And yes, once upon a time I had the diagnosis of bipolar, along with a few other “emotional” disorders. After a litany of drugs, therapy, and tears, I just finally resigned myself to being drug free, happy and crazy. It gives me an excuse for so many things “normal” people can’t get away with.

     
  9. I’d have totally played the movie quote came with ya. Though, I am suffering from mild to moderate mania.

     
  10. Erm. That would be movie quotegame. First-time-commenting-in-2006-jitters.

     
  11. Jettomatika 4.1.2006

    Dan, performance anxiety is so very not necessary in these parts. We all know what a stud you are already.

    Breeeeeeaaaaaathe…

     
  12. Jettomatika 4.1.2006

    And you know what? I call my own ‘mild to moderate mania’ what it truly is: RAGING PASSION.

    Maxim said, “You’re not bipolar, just very, very enraged.”

     
  13. Yes. Passionate. Me. Sure.

     

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