A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || August 21, 2008 || 11:02 am

regulars, I beg your patience

Because of some recent linkylovin’ from Her Esteemed Blogness Jenneh, I find myself the recipient of a sudden influx of New Folk. This leaves me wildly compelled to be all vain and shit and make a post trying to somewhat flesh out just who the fuck I am, despite the eight years’ worth of archives over to the right. So, kinda who the fuck I am, sketched out off of the top of my head, in under thirty minutes:

O HAI. I am Jett; I am inclined to adventures, hilarity and wordiness. I have an attorney on retainer at all times. In multiple states, actually.

I am a Medicated Middle American Babe, once a month for one week at a time. This is because my once-temperate and mild-mannered female bits decided to do a complete fuckout on me in the form of a hormone wash flood typhoon-tsunami-armageddon thing on me about four months ago.

I love those whom I love deeply, unquestionably and thoroughly.

Sometimes I have these vague, spastic impulse control problems. But they most generally manifest themselves as ‘fun’ rather than ‘episodic’.

I am smart. I am not ashamed of being smart. I am also not ashamed of my boobs and shiny, bouncy hair. They’re all gifts. As is my ability to floor you with my choice of lesser verbiage, most especially the adorning of the word fuck with all sorts of imaginative prefixes, suffixes and exuberant qualifiers.

Everything is funny if squinted at just right. Everything. Well, except for babyfuckers. They are appalling no matter the set of my eyes or mouth.

Usually, I’m the ‘outsider mom’ on those occasions that I’m forced into interactions with other parents. Darn the luck, I have very active kids with a good range of interests, so these forced interactions happen more than my sweet little misanthropic heart would beg. I typically fly quietly under the radar until one of four things happens
onesies) I wear something that enables one of my tats to be seen
twosies) I use a multisyllabic word (other than motherfucker, that is)
threesies) I throw my hair up in pigtails or
foursquare rounds it out) my cleavage makes any sort of appearance.

Go on, be an asshole; I’m not intimidated. But you start acting a fool, then don’t get your ass up around your shoulders when I return the same. Only I will do it bigger, better, harder, longer, and make you feel smaller than you ever imagined you could feel. This will probably be in one dozen words or less, depending on the day. It’s an art, and my skills have been honed to a fine, fine point by some folks amazingly adept at being dickheads.

I live in a huge, rambly, Brady Bunch-style home that we totally lucked into because it was being used –literally– as a garbage dump, so we got it at a steal of a price. There is constantly work to be done on it. It is proof of the insanity that is my life. “Water leaking through the light fixture? Ohhh, HAAAhahaha!”

Regular readers are referred to as ‘Muffinasses‘. It is a term of endearment. Muffinasses come and Muffinasses go, but Brynne will always and forever be known as either ‘Number One Muffinass’ or ‘Muffinass the First’. Brynne floats in the background of Muffinassery, spectre-like, and taunts the rest of you with her brainy hotness. That’s just the way it is, y’all.

I’m not mad at you for being an atheist, agnostic, pagan, (fillinthisblank) , so you don’t be mad at me for being a Christian. I think we all have room to learn things from one another. Plus, if I believe like I say I do (and I do, y’all folk), then my God doesn’t suffer from an identity crisis and doesn’t need to prove Himself to anyone. I reckon that means He doesn’t need my paltry, finite ass to defend Him. He just charged me to love people and take care of them the best I can manage, and to not give up on that directive. I have by no means perfected the art of the former, but I’m plugging away at it: There’s everything to be said for just showing up and trying to be used toward some good end(s). At least that’s how I’m approaching things at this time.

I’ve been voyeurnalling for over nine years, eight of that using Blogger as my publishing platform. We’ve had our hiccups from time to time, me and Blogger, but mostly it’s been good to me and I reckon I’ll stay seated squarely in the home camp.

Despite my immense love of all words everywhere, I do not like the following terms: blogosphere, mommyblogger, ‘first to comment!’.

Yeah, I’m very opinionated. Yeah, I’m fairly blunt, sometimes to the point of being rude and/or brash. Rarely, (SO RARELY) do I ‘hate’ anyone. Polite, well-worded dissention is encouraged, but save your bandwagoning for someone else. Always feel free to state your own views, but do your politicking privately via e-mail. We can converse, we can come to understandings, we can totally disagree: None of those things guarantee my either buying or not buying the next round. Sycophants suck. But so do campaigns of petty dickheadedness Just For The Sake Of.

I love art of all kinds, and passionately. Music isn’t just my boyfriend, it is my daddy and I its willing bitch. Language is a plaything, and I enjoy it immensely.

Child advocacy is near and dear to my heart, and has been for ages and ages. Babyfuckers are a startling aberrance of nature and should be roughly dealt with. I have no patience or lovingkindness in me where this issue is concerned.

I am occasionally prone to intense bouts of selfishness that will cause me to post my poetry here in this space. This is for two people: Me, and Christopher Robinson. For me, cos I’m ridiculously angsty in turns and for Chris because he genuinely likes it. This, despite the fact that he is qualified to tell me my poetry (and any other words I stack together, really) absolutely blows by virtue of some letters poked in there behind his name and some experiences poked back there behind him in his past. Selah and amen. (I tried to find a poem to link, but I have no patience for that sort of thing. Any recommendations, Mister Robs?)

I’m not particularly afraid of taking a beating.

I love to laugh. I like quirky things. I like elegant things. I like tacky things. I love both the whimsical and the grave. I like giving presents. Orange is my favorite color, but I’ve a soft spot for ivory-hued things.

I don’t have a gym membership because of vanity’s sake. I have one because ay) I like to push my body to the extreme of its limits sometimes and bee) it keeps me from killing the random motherfucker who really, really deserves it. Also, I just like to feel good, don’t you? I took my body for granted for a whole lot of years there. I’d like to not lapse back into that place.

Your station in life means nothing to me. The contents of your heart and brain absolutely do.

For some reason, I tend to attract people of the Piscean, Sagittarean or Taurean ilk. Iunno why, it’s just a pattern I’ve noticed. They’re the ones I end up collecting –for better or for worser, anyway– up to this point.

I haphazardly collect vintage photographs of people at fancy-dress parties.

My toes are well-manicured, my fingers are well-gnawed. Dichotomy rules me.

I love my job (in the healthcare field) but I don’t necessarily think it’s my Calling. I work with/for one of my best friends, who for the purposes of our bloggy funses is referred to as Young HotDoc.

Oh lord, shoes and books and lipsticks are my Achille’s heel. I think I’m getting a handle on my slavery to bath products, though. I think.

I. Can. Drink. More. Than. You. This doesn’t make me an alcoholic, just adept. I am, however, a non-practicing junkie. DEAR DOCTORS, STOP TRYING TO MEDICATE ME. IF I CAN’T MEDICATE MYSELF, THEN YOU CAN’T EITHER. UN. FAIR.

For years and years I wouldn’t put a picture of me on the web, preferring instead to let my words frame up whatever image the readers could muster in their heads. This policy has recently changed. I look like this when I’m chilling on the weekends, like this when life has handed me a shit sandwich, like this when roadtrippin’, like this when I R Drankin, like this when I’m self-satisfied and like this when I’m at peace. I’m terrible at self-portraiture. The less attractive the picture, the more likely I am to throw it out there, probably. And no, you can’t have a picture of my titties, stupid.

I am a mom. I LOVE BEING A MOM. IF I COULD HAVE LIKE FOUR MORE KIDS AND AFFORD TO FEED THEM, I TOTALLY WOULD. As of now, though, I have sixteen-year-old Sam, fifteen-year-old Scout and nine-year-old Mathias. One word to sum them each up, you ask? Okay, in order: Heart, Head, Soul (read the archives if you want further clarification). My partner, and I do mean partner, is my husband Maxim. He is everything I’m not, thank God for miracles. He is a knight in shining armor and a non-smelly hippie. He has a great hands and heart, which are both exceedingly important in a Manfolk, to my way of thinking. We are foster parents, but currently have no placements and are taking a bit of a break….though we do sponsor a child in Indonesia who Maxim insisted I place a framed photo of on the teevee console, along with all of our other bebes. We have two dogs; One is Ellie, pretty little brown-red Australian Shepherd, and I’ve learned an appreciation for the art of owning a neurotic dog at the mercy of her paws. I’ve never before owned a pet in need of medication, so I quietly despise her, though I try not to let her know this. The other dog is Maple, who is Ellie’s quite-unexpected pup. She is My Dog, no matter what I allow the rest of the family to think, because she is silly and affectionate and fun.

My best friend is a shining example of Most Everything That Is Right About The Human Race. We say ‘Your Mom’ an undgodly lot. Her name is Tess and she’s got the best legs of any near-thirty-year-old you’ve ever seen. There’s not a single day that goes by when we don’t laugh together. She is a lesbian, though I’ve not actively written about this yet. I’ve chosen her to marry my husband should I ever get hit by a bus or fall in a hole or some shit. All parties are in agreement.

I do not post every day or even every other day. I AM BUSY, BEESHES. PLEASE DO NOT PRESSURE ME. You are not paying for consistency. In fact, you are not paying at all. Every now and again I will hit one out of the wordsmithy park, making your repeated empty clicks worth it. I promise this to you, Oh Fair Muffinass, I do.

Sometimes Zakk Wylde will show up to give you a big, testosterone-laden, sweaty rock and roll hug. Like now.

:: “c’mon over here and lemme lay some Zakk on ya!” ::

Also, I will make vague references to beer and sausages, i.e., “Beer and sausages for everybody!”, though I haven’t done that in a while so I don’t even know why I’m mentioning it.

I’m gonna leave it to my Loyal But Sinister Muffinass Cabal to fill in any blanks which I might have missed, down there in the comments. What will be hilarious is if they leave me hanging and crickets ensue. Because we are that flavor of loving jackass here at [Abuantg.]. Welcome to our madness.

14 worked it out »

  1. shonda 8.21.2008

    I love a woman who is confident in her drinking skills. LOVE IT!

  2. Jettomatika 8.23.2008

    (looks like it’s just me and you, shonder)

  3. chris robinson 8.23.2008

    There are very few things in life that give me more pleasure than a mention in your writing. I went back into the archive for some samples of your poetry for new readers. I could not find the incendiary prose poem you wrote back when you were at a campus cafeteria (and I may be remembering it wrong), but that was the eye-opener for me. Here’s three I could find. The earliest is the shortest, and it is “Encounter” from 7/27/2004. Then there is the poem from 3/29/2006 that you sent to me directly. The one I really wanted to show off I found right away. This is your Neruda poem from 11/6/2006. I really loved reading it again. I could come up with at least a dozen more, but this is a good, representative start.

  4. Shamrock 8.23.2008

    Sorry I’m late, was on vacation. I didn’t know you like ivory things as well as orange and there’s yet another reason I shouldn’t like you. Ivory is blechky. But I love you anyway. And right now I don’t know how to sign my name but you found the new site a few days ago anyway . . . damn links gave my surprise away early.

  5. swirl girl 8.23.2008

    1st time visitor – you are one strange bloggie freak – and I LOVE YOU!

    PS- In your photos you sort of look like LuLu from the 60’s To Sir With Love. You can drink more than most, but can you sing like her?

    They used to call me Iron Lungs cos I could hold the hit in the longest….that is my claim to fame. More stoned than most – but with a wicked IQ- who says the doob and the boob tube are bad for our kids?

  6. redclay 8.23.2008

    drink more than me. really.

    from a family that will one day day make knee-walking analympic sport.

    granted, i would be the bronze.

    but that don’t leave no medals for nobody else.

  7. Coelecanth 8.23.2008






    as the occasion demands.

    Madam Jett is the finest kind of raw Un-yawn for she make us weep while filling our bellies.

  8. Jettomatika 8.23.2008

    chris: Haha, ohhh haha, you pointed to what I refer to in my head as ‘the jerkoff poem’. Tell me the theme of the one you were searching for, and I’ll dig it up for you. Matter of fact, I’ve been thinking about just kind of assembling them all in one spot, and I’ll let you know the Big Secret Link to that when I do.

    shammy: Happy Birthday, you Amazing Woman. There are spectacular things afoot.

    red, honey, step back away from your indignant posturing for one moment and recall that I was talking to the new folk. We all know, shuh, that you are this partiklar voyeurnal’s rakish southerin drawnk. I’m just the barkeep.


    Coele: That last bit is going over in the quotey portion of the sidebar, which is long overdue for an overhaul. You’s my fraaaan.

    SwirlGirlLaydehPerson: Welcome. I don’t know if I look anything like that Lulu girl, or if I can sing remotely like her, but my voice paid for ay) college and bee) lots of beers as well as some of the gas. And Sharp While Fried is one of my favorite qualities in a girl.

  9. bejewell 8.23.2008

    I’m leaving my comment cuz I’m a little lonely and Jenny Bloggess says you put out with the long emails, and I’m seriously hard up for a good, long email. So cough it up, lady.

    (Four reels tho, glad to have found you.)

  10. Jettomatika 8.23.2008

    (you are my new friend because you too hate the ‘m—- b——’ nasty words. that’s all it takes, see how easy?)

    I can’t promise a lengthy e-mail to just any ole body; it has to be inspired. However, if you will hazard to drop me your digits, I will gladly drunkdial you and make you laugh so hard you will likely piss yourself.

    No, really.

  11. “I. Can. Drink. More. Than. You.”

    Ha. Basically sums it up right there. I’d say this one here’s a whole-truth-and-nothing-but. Gold.

  12. Coelecanth 8.24.2008

    Hmmp. I thought being Bartlettized would sting.

    Honoured on both counts. Thanks.

  13. Jettomatika 8.24.2008

    C: It only stings when you are of the persuasion that keeps a foot solidly in mouth. Which, of course, you are not you suave, suave fucker.

    Dan: I miss you. Inordinate happiness ensues when you come to call. It’s almost your birth-a-day, YAY!

  14. Kellie 8.24.2008

    not that you asked but I’m a Virgo – I dont know why I felt the need to share that butthereitis


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