Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Mr. J is getting over his surgery that wasn't curing the mono that he doesn't have.

To anyone following the saga of Mr. J and his cyst under the tongue named Karl, I just want to let you know that he's doing fine. Surgery was performed without too many surprises, the surgeon was shocked to find the infamous Listerfiend mouth troll back there, but dealt with the issue accordingly. He's just begun to eat solid food, and talks with the same speech impediment as Ozzy Osbourne, so he's happy with his new found level of cool. He's refusing to take his vicodin, and as you know I hate to see good medication go to waste, so I'm taking it. Happy New Year everybody!

I promised Mr. J I wouldn't take any pictures of him while he was recovering.... I lied.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

We found them on sale at the Castle.

I have always firmly believed that Christmas is a hell lot more fun when you're a kid. Or when you have a kid/kids. The look on their faces when they see the presents on Christmas morning, while opening their presents, playing with new toys, it's cute, it's sweet, it's wonderful, it's what baby Jebus would want. (Jesus would be damn pissed, but his twin Jebus says it's kosher.) However, if you don't have any kids, and you can't find any worth stealing, there is a way to bring that Christmas magic back into your holiday. 

Put a dildo in in every one's stocking. Let 'em know Santa's really happy they've been good all year round. The joy your friends and family will have playing with new toys will be talked about for years to come.

Monkey Lord even drew a face on his! 

And don't forget the lube/vagisil either.

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Mr. J still doesn't have mono.

Two weeks ago, Mr. J found out that he was going to need surgery to remove the cyst under his tongue, Karl. The doctor thought he'd removed it all in the office, but sadly was wrong. Surgery was schedule, and lucky for us we got to start our outpatient surgery tradition in style. I met up with Mr. J in the VIP recovery room, where feasted on ice water and graham crackers. (The regular recovery room only has room temperature water and saltines. Suckers!) His lips were swollen, giving him a Jolie inspired "pout". And his tongue was numb, huge and made him talk like Sylvester Stallone. 

If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, here are some fantastic tongue twisters you can ask them to say when they are waking up from surgery.

Unique New York

She sells sea shells by the sea shore.
The shells she sells are surely seashells.
So if she sells shells on the seashore,
I'm sure she sells seashore shells.

Six slippery snails, slid slowly seaward.

Shredded Swiss chesse

Friday, December 19, 2008

Dinner with my parents

Over dinner, Mr J's icyhot story was shared. Not to be shown up, Nameless Dad had a story of his own to share. 

Once, having sex with Opera Mom, he reached to the dresser for some lube to "add sensual sensation". Instead, he grabbed Vagisil, a vagina itch reliever, that relieves by numbing the skin it comes in contact with. Thus was born the best blue balls story ever told in the history of my family.

Of course, it's the only blue balls story my father has ever told us, as most stories of him porking my mom tend to send Radio Active Slog into epileptic fits, but this one was too funny not to share.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Family Shopping

This is a cardboard cutout displayed in a popular store here in town.

There's really nothing I can say to prepare you for this...

Captions I considered using: "Viagra, it's a privilege, not a right."
"Indiana Jones and the Crystal Boner"
"Indiana Jones posing with his favorite sidekick, Short Round."

Oh, and for those who care... my wombmate, Radio Active Slog, is back from boot camp! YaY!

Monday, December 8, 2008


I have issues. It's no secret. But I have two issues in specific that I can no longer keep secret. They have been festering in my mind and I have to speak out!

1. If you're listening to your iPod, and you have the volume turned up so loud that you can't hear me, your co-worker, making fun of you because you keep rapping along with the music. It's too loud. I don't want to hear you mangle the lyrics of "pop/pop/pop goes my niiiine..." when I'm trying to listen to my audio copy of "Haunted" by Chuck Palahnuik.


2. It took me a very long time to warm up to Dave Matthews Band. I had already pledged my allegiance to REM, and I didn't want them to think I was cheating so early in our relationship. But then, I saw them live, and I found room in my heart to love them both. But then... Dave Matthews put out a solo album. Dave Matthews names a band after himself, and then puts out a solo album. This has to be a sign of narcissism. I know, he put out that album years ago, but every time I see that American Express credit card commercial, I whip out my Hootie and the Blowfish cassette and Let Her Cry.

Thank you, I'm done.

Sunday, December 7, 2008

This is why I'm Jewish.

Friday Mr. J and I finally put up our Christmas tree. The tree has been a debate around Casa De Rising Sun since Halloween. I am a grumpy scrooge, who's idea of a Christmas tree is a scribbled drawing of a tree taped to the wall. But Mr. J is much more traditional, and wants a green plastic tree, with lights, garland and decorations hanging from the branches. We reached the agreement that I have made with everyone I've ever lived with. You buy the tree, put the tree together, decorate the tree yourself, so that I will never even have to touch the damned thing, and I will allow you to have a tree.

Mr. J bought the tree, but was on so much Vicodin, he was too nauseous to do anything else. So I put the tree together, fluffed out the branches (that does not make me a "fluffer", by the way), put lights on it, and decorated it. Lucky for him we don't have a lot of decorations. Next year, we're just taping a picture of a tree to the wall.

The tree, in all it's glory.

Ornament #1: The traditional condom moose.

Ornament#2: The tradional naked-guy-holding-a-camera penguin.

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Birthday Issues

It was my 18th birthday, RadioActiveSlog's (my twin brother), 18th birthday too. My father, Nameless Dad, had to work, so we all trucked down to his office for cake and presents on his lunch break. The whole family crammed into a tiny office, and my mom, OperaMom, brings in the cake. Carrot cake. I've always hated carrot cake. And being the pubescent girl I was, I pointed it out. "OperaMom... you made us carrot cake? I hate carrot cake. I've always hated carrot cake. It's a muffin masquerading as a cake, and I refuse to acknowledge it." She told me in her own sweet way to "shut the hell up, I was lucky to be even getting cake." But I couldn't help but notice the slight panic in her eyes and the sweat beginning to glisten off her brow.

Once the rest of family had gorged themselves on cake, it was present time. Who doesn't love presents? Monkey Lord, my little brother, had brought in a big huge bag of presents. He started pulling out the shiny packages wrapped in green, RadioActiveSlog's favorite color. OperaMom's color drained from her face, but I still remained oblivious. My family must have had a lot of green wrapping paper, and didn't want it to waste. That must be why all the presents were wrapped in green.

Monkey Lord put all of the green boxes in front of RadioActiveSlog.

OperaMom started stuttering, "J-Jane, you s-s-ssssee, money's real tight this year, and, and, we decided to split buying you two things between paychecks. You'll get-get yours next w-w-week." From the fear in her voice you'd think I was Katie Kaboom(see video below).

That year RadioActiveSlog was gifted with many beautiful and expensive gifts. I got a plastic tiara from Claire's. Though OperaMom still denies it to this day, I think all the evidence is there to prove that, my parents forgot my birthday yet remembered my twin brother's.