Whatever happened to the original Tetris pieces?

The American Nightmare

This morning, I awoke to a pussy in my face.

No, a hot lesbian did not break into my apartment and try to molest me.

Also, an ugly lesbian did not break into my apartment and try to molest me.

My cat, Vixen, slept on my head last night. Not only did this give me the worst stiff neck this morning, and aggravate my allergies to the extreme, but it gave me the strangest dream. I dreamt that she had hacked into my myspace account and was sending everyone on my friends list pro-McCain e-mails.

I can't believe I let a Republican sit on my face. I feel so used....

When does the cramping go away?

You may have been wondering, where the heck is Jane?* And instead of answering your question in a straightforward manner, I'm going to give you a little PSA.

Ladies, every 12 months, you need to get a pap smear. Sure it's embarrassing, and uncomfortable. You never know if you should shave your legs and ask them to buy you a drink first.** But you know what's worse? Having a doctor rip out a chunk of your cervix, so they can biopsy it to see if you have cervical cancer or not. Get the test done.***



* I imagine you'd use "heck" instead of "fuck". Since kid-friendly swear words are cooler than actual swear words nowadays.

** I usually show up at the doctor's office drunk. Saves time.

*** If you're still wondering whether to shave or not. Just wear some super cute knee high socks. That way you're still looking cute, and your feet won't get cold on the stirrups.

Letters to a Marine - 4

While my twin brother is away at Marine boot camp, I'll be writing him weekly letters. Because I share everything with you, I'll also post them on my blog. Enjoy!


Uterus-buddy!

This week I have spent all my spare time preparing for the upcoming holidays. I’m ready for the candy-grubbing goblins, disguised as trick-or-treaters (an aluminum baseball bat should do the trick). But Sandy Claws and his sidekick Tom the Man-Eating Turkey, not so much. The hardware store is out of barbed wire, and my apartment complex doesn’t approve of land mine or other such boobie traps. (Heh-heh, I wrote “boobie”.) How am I suppose to protect myself from such villainous characters? I’ve plastered glue rat traps along my roof, in the hopes that it will slow them down long enough for me to run for my life. But since it won’t buy me too long, the cats are on their own.

In the letter you wrote Opera Mom, you asked for pictures. Sorry I didn’t include one in my last letter, it takes a while for word to get through the grape vine. You do know I haven’t lived in that house for years, right? Where’s the my letter from you?

Love and miss you tons,

Suicidal Jane

Letters to a Marine - 3 /Do you know where your pants are? part two

While my twin brother is away at Marine boot camp, I'll be writing him weekly letters. Because I share everything with you, I'll also post them on my blog. Enjoy!


Dear Womb mate,

These past two weekends, have been New Mexico's Annual Balloon Fiesta. And last Friday, Nameless Dad offered to give me his free passes to go. It was pretty cool of him, he even offered to drop them off at my apartment, sliding them under the door so as not to disturb my evening. What he thought he would be disturbing, I'm not sure. The thought was nice, but my door has a rubber seal around it. The seal is suppose to prevent cold air blowing in, and incidentally also keeps people from sliding Balloon Fiesta passes underneath it. So when Nameless Dad told me of his plan to give me passes ninja-like, I had to burst his bubble and just ask him to knock. I asked him when he was going to drop them off, to make sure someone was home and awake. Plans were made. At 10:30pm, I would home and asleep but Mr. J would be home, and awake when Nameless Dad came by to drop off the passes.

I told Mr. J about the plans, he had no problems with it, but did have one question. Would he have to be wearing pants? It had been a long week, and wearing pants was not a part of his evening plans. (I don't know what his evening plans were, I've learned not to ask these kinds of questions.) I assured him that no, he did not have to be wearing pants, but that my father would appreciate it if the cats were wearing pants. Appreciated, but not necessary either.

10:00 pm, I was awoken, by Mr. J searching his dresser for clean pants. After all the joking, he didn't want to take it too far, and wasn't just going to wear pants, but was going to make sure they were clean pants.

10:35 pm, awoken again, Mr. J curled in the fetus position on the floor. For when he answered the door for my father, Nameless Dad stood all in black. Black shirt, black shoes, black socks, black boxers, no pants.

A tribute to you. 'Hope they let you have pants less time at boot camp, or is that a bad idea?

Love and miss you,
Suicidal Jane

It's nine o'clock, do you know where your pants are?

My twin brother, Radio Active Slog, doesn't like wearing pants. It's not that he prefers to wear shorts, skirts, kilts, he just doesn't like to wear anything below the waist. I think this is disgusting. Once he started puberty, it wasn't too difficult to convince him to at least wear boxers when wondering around the family house Saturday morning. After a long week of school, the last thing I need to see when eating cereal and watching cartoons is how many pubes Radio Active Slog has managed to accumulate. His love of being sans pants, became such a huge part of his life, that for years he would answer his phone, "Hello, I'm not wearing any pants."

Why am I telling you this? Because this is pertinent information, that you will need to know when you read my next post, tomorrow.

To be continued...

Smiley-faced terrorists

This is actually a post from a blog years ago, head cold has made me uncreative. So here you go.


I am against Walmart and biological warfare.

Be patient, I'm going somewhere with this.

A few days ago, I was shopping at Target (remember, Walmart = bad.). And I was waiting in line, when the vent above me started pumping out something that wasn't clean, healthy air. Within seconds, everyone, including myself, was coughing, hacking, rubbing their eyes and complaining that it felt like shards of glass were cutting their throats. People quickly fled the scene, leaving behind their items... unpurchased... and running to...

That's right. Walmart. Sources tell me that associates from Walmart were seen on the roof of Target, dumping, what appeared to be asbestos, into the ventilation system. If I ever see a blue vest boarding an airplane, I'm moving to Canada.

Walmart Update: I tried to post this several days ago, but each time, my computer would freeze and kick me offline, leaving this unposted. It's as if something, or some-MART had hacked into my computer and was preventing me from posting this. Luckily, I'm not on my computer..... oh no.... what's that sound? .... OH MY GOD! THE DOOR!!! IT'S TOO LATE FOR ME, SAVE YOURSELF!

Letters to a Marine - 2

While my twin brother is away at Marine boot camp, I'll be writing him weekly letters. Because I share everything with you, I'll also post them on my blog. Enjoy!


Twin-kie!

I figure that part of the boot camp experience is isolating you from the outside world. Which means you're missing some fantastic pop culture events. Milestones we'll be in awe of for years. Or at least a few weeks. And since I feel it's unfair for you to miss it, allow me to fill you in.

Miley Cyrus, the famous tween actress you plays Hannah Montana on the Disney Channel show of the same name (also, she's the daughter of singer/song writer Billy Ray Cyrus, who sang/wrote "Achy Break-y Heart") has been trying to make her ex-boyfriend Nick Jonas (of the famous tween pop band "The Jonas Brothers") jealous, by sending naked pictures of herself to Senator, and president hopeful, Barrack Obama. Nick, to prove that he's not jealous, has begun his own campaign for the presidency. Fortunately, Nick's strongest followers aren't old enough to vote.

Senator Obama's wife, Michelle, has released a statement that she and her husband are closer than ever, and that her husband and Miley are just friends.

Paula Abdul also released a statement that she and Senator Obama are just friends, but no one was there to receive it, as no one cares about Paula and her drunken ravings.

I think that's about all you've missed this week. All of it 100% awesomely true.

Love and miss you,
Suicidal Jane

Don Tolman can cure cancer with Apricot Seeds!

Because I haven't said it enough this year.... Don Tolman is an idiot. He wants me to believe that cancer is a myth, a disease created by the pharmaceutical companies, and the charities "profiting" from cancer research?



For the record Mr. Tolman, I have never heard anyone claiming to have "cure" for cancer, except for you. Everyone else has new treatments. Treatments are not a cure, they ease some of the symptoms of cancer and maybe prolong cancer victim's life span. The treatments are not a guarantee, they contain risks. No doctor will claim otherwise.

Don Tolman says he has a cure. Which he will be glad to sell to you. Because, after all, why should the cancer charities get all the money?

Guilty Pleasure

Every Wednesday, at least every Wednesday with new episodes, I hole up in my bedroom, with the tiny TV on the dresser and watch America's Next Top Model. It's not very well written, because it's a cheesy reality show. And the host often talks in a weird accent, because after 11 seasons she's bored. Yet every Wednesday, I watch.

I love this weekly ritual. For an hour I get to look at pretty girls binge eat, cry, curse and throw things at each other. But recently, something has been sneaking into my ritual. Not just something but someone.

The local religious channel's audio has been bleeding into my catty girl bitch fest.

America's Next Top Model? Jesus.

*By reading this, you consent to spending eternity in hell in the afterlife. Have a nice day!