Fun in the Bathroom: Part Two - Aussie Natural's

Natural's what? What belongs to the Natural? I am so confused.

Nitpickedly,

Jennifer

We Don't Need No Stinkin' Grammar

Total fail.

This paper does this all the freaking time.

You would think if one worked at a paper they would have a basic understanding of what those flying in the air apostrodealies are. But no. They live to make my hurt.

Plz hire prufreeder, kthx.

No love,

Jenn

no groundhogs allowed

i hate you, groundhog day.

grrrrrr.

(no, i have no ethical issues with groundhog day. i just hate the day for other reasons.)

yes, i am irrational enough to have a deep hatred of groundhog day...why do you ask?

i have been a typist for far too long... groundhog looks like such an amusing word.
but don't let it fool you.
groundhog day is evil.

Dumb Labels in the Bathroom: Volume One - Avon Peach Bubblebath

"Umm... the sweet aroma of fresh, juicy peaches. Fruity and fantastic in mountains of bubbles that leave skin softly scented. All without a bathtub ring."

Umm?! You started your freaking label with Umm?! FAIL! You can kind of picture the girls in the design department...

"Ummm... what is in this anyway? Oh yeah, fresh aroma... juicy...blah blah blah, k? Umm... Cassie, you got that? Umm...okay good. Let's get this shit did so we can go to Starbucks."

I tried to take a picture but the text was too small to be legible.

I certainly hope they were going for "Yum" rather than "Umm...". It sounds like they have a sixteen year old co-op student writing their packaging. Seriously. "Umm..." to start a label?

A label that starts with Umm is less than awesome.

For shits and giggles I have run "Umm..." through Sloganizer. Here are the all so confident results:

*Umm... never sleeps.
*Umm... the revolution.
*I'd do anything for Umm...
*Heal the world with Umm...
*Umm... wonder.
*Don't play with fire, play with Umm...
*Be a part of Umm...
*There is no life without Umm...
*Umm... for everyone.
*The Umm... spirit.
*Umm... is rolling. The others are stoned. (Umm... No comment.)
*Umm... I want it all.
*Once Umm... always Umm...
*Umm..., it's as simple as that.
*Umm... kicks ass.


Long story short, I decided to do some nitpicking towards Avon. I sent them the following on their webpage:



Which of course, you won't find amusing at all unless you find stupid things amusing.
Hopefully I will have a reply with which to update you soon.

Mole Watch '08 Ends, Wisdom Teeth Take Over: The Terrible 22's?

Mole Watch '08 officially ended at approximately 10:00 p.m. Saturday night, when the tiny loop of "surgical" thread was discovered on my belly whilst changing into my jammies at my friend's house. The mole offered no parting sentiments, and did not write a note of thanks for its many years of habitation on my body. All that remains is a minuscule pink bump.

However, my body, unhappy with recent proceedings, decided that SOMETHING had to be done... after all, now the ratio of flaws to normalcy was completely askew. So approximately midnight, my teeth started hurting something terrible. The pain was in the lower teeth at the very back, and kept me up most of the night with its dull radiating. Awesome, says I. Approximately 5:30, I get up to get some Tylenol, hoping perhaps that will fix it. "How can I have MORE cavities?," I wonder to no one in particular, "When most of my teeth are already made of filling stuff?". (What is that stuff, anyway?). Anyway, I accept that I have been far too lax on my toothcare (despite my battery operated Tigger toothbrush), and vow to brush 5,000 more times a day if the pain will just cease.

Long story short, I end up at the most despised person in the world's workplace: the dentist. No fault of his own, he is a very nice man and all - but nobody LIKES going to the dentist. I tell him what's going on and he takes a look. "Not cavities," he reports. Then he says it... "but this wisdom tooth will have to be extracted."

"Extracted" is the nice dentist word for "yanked out of your mouth". "Oh," says I, "I don't have money for that. If that's all it is, I guess I'll just live with it." "I really advise you to get it out," paraphrases he, for I cannot remember exactly what he said, but it was something like that, "it is going to keep causing you pain."

There's that pain guy again. He and I do not get along well. Also, because I do not have a health plan, I will be going to the University dental clinic, where a bright young student will get the responsibility of yanking the aforementioned tooth from the aforementioned mouth. Awesome.

So apparently I am teething. Welcome to the terrible 22's.

What A Good Day!

Firstly, I would like to remark that I hate how all the freaking paparazzi shows are saying that Britney is schizo because she likes to talk in different accents.

As someone who would much rather speak in a false accent than my actual voice (and who often does), I feel very badly for the poor girl. It is such fun to speak in a fake accent. I do this all the freaking time.

Do people think I am schizophrenic? Maybe. Do I have a hell of a lot of fun? Yes.

So stupid entertainment shows, you fail at life.

And I promise I will stop with the celebrity related entries very soon.

In other news, I bought a Keno ticket tonight and won $9, thus almost tripling my life savings. Unfortunately, I put this $9 down on the purchase of three shiny new lotto tickets - A Deal or No Deal, another Keno, and a Lucky Lines. (Click to see diagram in it's original splendor).


In even cooler news than me not winning thousands of dollars, BUT it being totally okay because Skor bars are on sale, mum and dad took me to Michael's craft store tonight where I was able to purchase my very own embroidery hoop. It is green and very sexy. But not as sexy as my new glasses!

Exhibit A:

These gorgeous reading glasses feature a delightful pattern of tiny teacups. They also magnify everything I look at, which could come in handy when deciding whether the cup is half full or half empty. (Okay, that's a lie, but perhaps whatever is in the cup will look bigger?) They will also remind people that I enjoy the occasional overdose of caffeinated beverages. And they're pink. And they have a matching case. And they are regular $24.00 on sale for $5.00. Could this day get any better?!

Yes, punk. It can. Because when I'm in a punky mood, I have glasses to match. See exhibit B:

These feature all the same advantages of Exhibit A, but are a bit more hardcore than teacups. For the times I'm just feeling grrrrr, you know. Grrrrr.

In short, it has been remarked that Britney uses accents as costumes, and that they are no different than changing from "white framed sunglasses to black ones".

I challenge her to a duel. Come up with cooler accents, Brit, and some rad glasses. We can have a rehab party. You bring the money, I'll bring the rehab. And the embroidery, and the chocolate.

If she's schizo...what am I, pray tell? I am sometimes English, and somedays I wake up feeling a bit Australian. Sometimes I talk like Jeff Foxworthy. And sometimes I just grunt my approval, disapproval, or apathy regarding the situation at hand.

Also, thanks to everyone who has written to express concern about the breast situation. I have been following Mole Watch '08 with great interest, and support most of the candidates. My money is on Falloff Already, who is leading the campaign by great strides. I am happy to report that everything is going according to plan, and the tiny mosquito loop of thread that is determined to give me West Nile the freaking willies is still thriving in his its glory. The doctor has until Sunday before he reaches his five day guarantee. (Guaranteed to fall off in five days or... we'll give you more freezing and try it again!).

The Hottie and The Nottie

This is seriously the name of a movie.
Srsly. It's Paris Hilton's latest "acting" project.
Not only will I not be seeing this movie (which was a given, anyway), I predict I will have to hide from advertisements for quite a while. How does that title not just grate on your ears? For serious. My ears are bleeding. My eyes are cringing, and it's not just because of Paris wearing her "I heart Paris" dress.

Like, seriously, Paris. The dress is a nottie. No, honey, not "naughty". Just nottie.
I hope that does nottie hurt your feelings.

In short, if this movie makes any sort of money (which it very well may), I am packing up my shit and moving to Australia. I'm sure they have Paris Hilton there, but they also have warm beaches and such.

Nottie impressed,
Jenn

Tallies

People who IMed me tonight explicitly to ask about the state of my tit: 4

Odd questions:
*"Was it the big boob or the not so big boob?"
*"Is it still frozen?"
*"Will it be frozen for the whole five days?"
*"Are you srsly wearing a tshirt under your bra?"

(Answers: The big one. No. No. Yes.)

Odd hypothesizes:
*I have a ginseng plant growing under my boob, due to my overconsumption of tea - the ginseng in which I am unable to digest, so it is emerging underneath my tit.

I love my friends.

And I promise that soon the posts about my boob will cease. But right now I just think it's pretty fucking hilarious.

So far...

The cold ones are different colours.
They are different brands.
One is a Boh and the other is something else.
Yep.

We're going to party like it's 1853.

WARNING: THIS ENTRY TALKS ABOUT MEDICAL PROCEDURES. AND BOOBS. IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH YOU MAY WISH TO AVOID IT. IF YOU READ IT ANYWAY, DON'T COMPLAIN TO ME, kthx.

So I went to the doctor on Monday to get what I thought was a mole removed from the underside of my right boob. You know how doctors are like "If it grows fast, come get it taken off!" so yeah. I decided that was probably a good idea. So I went to the doctor. At which point I am informed that it is not a mole at all, but in fact a "harmless skin tag". Gross. If it is so harmless, why for is it owie and bloody? (Owie is a medical term. I swear.)

Anyway, the doctor then tells me that removal of such a thing is awesomely easy. "Just tie a piece of thread around it and it will fall off in five days." What is this... 1853? Besides, it's under my boob. I couldn't tie a knot around it AND manoever around it if I tried. Besides... OWIE!

And if it's so easy, can't he do it? Yes, yes he can, but it would have to wait until this morning. Deal. I can deal with that. So I go in there this morning and he freezes my boob. The right side of me is adequately prepared for a long game of dodgeball. He ties some special "surgical thread" (I assume this is thread purchased at Michael's as opposed to Dollarama, but I can't be sure) around it, and tells me to wait for five days.

So, it's only a piece of thread chilling out under my boob. But it's pretty much the most annoying thing ever. And it's still frozen. It feels kind of like a small insect is very determined to give me West Nile disease. I assume this will only get worse as the day goes on.

Also, I am discovering my inner superhero. I have devised that it will be less annoying to the mosquito if I wear a sports bra OVER a t-shirt and then another t-shirt on top of that.

I'm bring sexy back, fo' sho.

Can You Decipher This Sign?

(Click for larger picture.)

I'm getting:

"Note. Please don't cross from the Door's Awning as Smow may drop any time Thanks Don't Play With Wine".

What do YOU think?

It's been perplexing me for quite some time but I've not been ballsy enough to take a photo while the store was open.

Confessions Of An Addictive Personality

I have an unfortunate problem.

When I decide I like something, I decide I really like it.

When I was a youngin', it was ice cream and Pogs. When I was in high school, it was Carmex. (Although I did have a brief fling with Burt's Bees, and a very short affair with Blistex, I always returned to my first love.) I've tried the tubes but I always return to the old standby, the disgusting little jar that is probably teeming with bacteria of all life forms.

A jar of Carmex is a quarter ounce of love, made of natural ingredients. It is a legal addiction, and to my knowledge does not cause cancer or hallucinations. The formula has not changed since 1936. It is perfect just the way it is.

There are jokes about there being a special wing of the Betty Ford Centre for Carmex addicts like me. Perhaps there should be. As I sit here at the computer reading random articles, I find myself diving into the tiny tub every three minutes. There is a characteristic streak on every pair of pants I own, from where I wipe my goopy finger after I take a hit. Exes were informed that if they couldn't live with my Vicksy aroma, they would have to go. One boss, who suggested I switch lip balm brands, quickly retreated after I gave her the Jenn Stare of Death(tm).

People sometimes remark that something smells slightly medicinal when they are around me. I grin. I know I smell like a granny. I rub my lips together compulsively as if they are sticks and I am trying to start a fire. When I did my clinical placement at a nursing home, I wore Carmex under my nose so I would not smell any of the unfortunate smells around me. I need this shit to function. Chap Stick just doesn't have the same rush. That expensive Mary Kay crap is expensive. And crap. Avon lip balm is okay, and tastes really yummy, but I tend to lick it off immediately because it tastes good.

I am addicted to a $2.99, nondescript, tiny jar of HEAVEN. When I find places that sell it in the jar, instead of the gawdawful tube, I usually buy 2 or 3 of them. I have a tradition when a jar of Carmex is opened, a specific shape that must be carved into its waxy innards. I cringe a little bit when someone asks for a swipe - not because I am worried about what their bacteria laden fingers may introduce my sterile little tub to, but because I am worried they will swipe the wrong way - and what then? I am just slightly obsessive compulsive, I swear.

The facial expression on a first time user of Carmex is pretty priceless. "OH MY LORD WHY WOULD ANYONE VOLUNTARILY PUT THIS SHIT ON THEIR LIPS?" is the usual consensus. That's what I said the first time, too.

I have a problem.

My name is Jenn and I'm an addict.

Please don't look in my pants pockets. No, not my housecoat, either. Actually, just stay out of all my pockets. If you need some Carmex, they sell it at the drug store across the street.

*runs*

Have a Happy...Sandwich?

Have a Happy... Sandwich?

I've discussed my hatred of most major advertising campaigns before. Everyone knows my utter hatred of that stupid Whiskas cat (no meat, NO HUBERT!), the toe nail fungus dudes, and the most sophisticated thing I'm told I'll ever pee on. Gross.

But today, when I was flipping through daytime television, deciding who would rot my brain less - Dr. Phil, or Judge Judy, I saw it. It! I saw the most infuriating advertisement ever. An innocent grilled cheese sandwich, made with Kraft Singles (mmm, nothing like Kraft Singles, although I wonder if they ever get lonely?). Alas, this was a "happy" sandwich. That's how I like my food. I like my food fucking happy before I sink my teeth into it, grind it up, and send it stomach bound. But wait... Have A Happy Sandwich?

Hasn't this been used before? Oh yes. Ohhh yes. Always. Have a Happy Period. Just what I want to think about when I think of grilled cheese sammiches. It seems someone in Kraft's advertising department is a lazy sack of shit.

"Have a Happy Period" is ridiculous enough. I've ranted about the stupidity of this before, I know. But srsly. If you're going to use such a dumbfuck slogan, at least make the commercials funny. Show it like it is. Instead of riding horses or going swimming or wearing skimpy little white dresses, show it like it is. I dare you, Always, I fucking dare you. Show me a fat chick sitting on the deep freeze in her long johns eating Heavenly Hash right out of the container, and I'll show you a "happy period". Die.

But now the dumbfuck stupidity has escaped the realm of feminine hygiene and infiltrated food. FOOD. Now, what the hell made the advertising department think I would want to think of THAT while I am shopping for cheese slices? You can't tell me I'm not supposed to make a connection between these two slogans. "Have a Happy ____" is four words. Now, I'm no mathematician, but that means these slogans are seventy-five per cent the EXACT SAME. Fail. If I'd written a paper in school that was seventy-five per cent the same as something else, that would be called plagiarism. But on TV, it's perfectly fine.

How about Tylenol wishes me a happy headache? Head-on wishes me a happy... directly to the forehead? Toe fungus dudes wish me a happy... toe fungus? Hubert wishes me a happy foray into veganism? Smirnoff could wish me a happy detox, I guess. The Geico gecko could wish me a happy insurance claim. Those "make your own will" folks could wish me a happy divvying up of my meager possessions. Febreze could wish me a happy half-assed cleansing of my home/clothing/furniture. But no.

If this shit goes any further, I am moving to the middle of the forest and living off the land. I will be a happy hermit, eating my happy sammiches.

Jenn's Rules of the Road

A Guide For Everyone But Me, On The Occasion of My Re-Learning How to Drive

1. Kindly stay the hell away from the car I am driving. Your presence freaks me out.

2. Yes, today I am abiding by the speed limit. Perhaps you could follow my example. Also, a safe following distance would be nice. I'm a new/old driver - and even though I may appear calm (to the blind observer), my over consumption of caffeine products tends to make me a tad bit jumpy.

3. If you are a transport truck, get the hell off my road.

4. In the same vein, if you are a piece of construction equipment... shouldn't you be off constructing something, kindly quite far off my road?

5. In a parking lot, you should give me the right of way, if only because I'm cute, damnit.

6. No, I don't effing know how to angle park. If you are a parking lot designer, you should take note: YOU FAIL AT LIFE for designing such an evil thing.

7. Pedestrians - when you were very young, perhaps as young as four or five, your mother took you by the hand and explained: "Look to the left, now look to the right, and if all is clear, and it is safe, you can cross the street." You seem to have warped this in your head to, "You are the pedestrian. You should be texting and/or staring at your shoes, and wear your MP3 player on super duper deafening high, so you're sure never to see or hear a car. Drivers like it when you just pop out in front of them, because it keeps them on their toes!"

8. School children. I know you get chaffeured to school on your spiffy yellow school bus. Would it kill you to cross the road where normal people cross the road? And dangnabbit, PULL UP YOUR PANTS. Why, in my day, folks wore the crotch of their pants at their crotch instead of their knees. Or if they could only afford ill-fitting pants, at least they tied a stylish plaid flannel shirt around their waist. You are a distraction to my learning. Please obtain a belt. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

9. Dear Gas Pedal in Best Friend's Car,
It has been brought to my attention that sometimes you like to go faster than the sign posted on the road. However, as a lowly typist, I lack the funds that it would cost for you to maintain such speeds, in the event that you got caught. So please, pay more attention to the signs.

10. Dear too-big ripoff "Doc Marten" shoes,
I still love you. Even if you make my foot a little too heavy on aforementioned gas pedal. It's okay. He should know better anyway.

Back in the D-Dot

Well, my last foray into the city, I'd say would be probably my last, if not forever, but for a very long time. (Holy awkward sentence, Batman!)

I'm back home in Dutton, where it's pretty much physically impossible to get in trouble. The things I had been doing the past few weeks were extremely out of character and stupid, so here I am, back in my hometown. Woot.

I'm trying to secure my future in carpal tunnel system, by cross stitching the "Cold Ones" scene from SBemail 39 (it's going to look somewhat like this). So far I have this:


I'm just going to back stitch the "Cold One" on the bottles, and as the craft store only had pink aida cloth, stitching in the blue background should be...fun.

Anyway, believe it or not I have been rather busy. I have secured my G1 license back (with only one question wrong - "How far away from a pedestrian crosswalk can you pass another car?". I chose 60 m. I was wrong. I am still unsure of the correct answer - but meh. I don't do a lot of passing anyway. Especially anywhere near those damn pedestrians.) Had a job interview Tuesday - it went alright, I suppose. Other than that, I'm still doing typing work and random stuff like that. So things are coming together, I guess.

Everyone watching American Idol? Kinda like a two hour advertisement for better mental health care in the US of A, no? Although I really did enjoy the "Brother" song from last night. I fear music's future, but I am entertained.

All is fair in love, war, and cheese and crackers.

The new year has been, needless to say, INSANE so far.

a) The "vomitting virus" is going around my complex. We all caught it. For quite a long time.

b) The very very very end of last year I had a brief fling (it was minute) with a boy who was definitely not deserving of a very delayed Jennrebound. Any boy who has ever been involved in a Jennrebound knows that it is just an opportunity to get hammered with a girl in flannel pj's and long underwear, perhaps hug it out, and then get the hell on with our lives. This one, bless his heart, didn't understand that.

c) But that's okay, because... I can do way more awesome. And he's far away.

d) Also, if you ever take a Greyhound bus to someone's house, proceed to unpack your belongings and stay a couple days, and make yourself quite at home by eating their food and such -- you have no basis to dictate how that person lives their life. Make no comment about how much tea or coffee the person consumes, or how many cigarettes she smokes.

e) In the same vein, bringing the most giant bottle of rye in the world and then calling that person an alcoholic may not be the best idea ever.

f) In the same vein, bringing the most giant bottle of beer in the world and then calling that person an alcoholic may not be the best idea ever.

g) New cat, Cheech. New cat Cheech is an anomoly among felines. He just moved in with us, and he's totally awesome. I bathed him the other day with very little resistance, which was good, because I was under the curse of the vomitting virus and the conscience bug at the time.

h) I am trying to cross stitch to get rid of the wanting to smoke-ness. So if anyone has some extra aida cloth and embroidery thread laying around, let me know. I can give you twenty six cents and a button. Or I can like, bake you a batch of cookies. Ghetto cookies, but cookies nonetheless...

i) Oh, it's what you do to me... Oh, it's what you do to me. (Hey There Delilah is playing. I fucking love this song. Couldn't resist.)

j) I have a whole high school society going on. It's pretty awesome how most of us ended up here. Rad.

k) But apparently when I make cheese and crackers I cut the cheeses too small. ;) (jk)

K is as far as the list goes tonight, folks.
Be well,
j.

High School Yearbooks + Drunk Chicks = Not Quite So Good

It's 4:41 in the morning.

I am dead. Roomie and I have decided we will go to bed at 5.

I have had beer, some sort of weird cocktail, another weird cooler thing, a ceaser, some vodka, and my first taste of gin. (Yes, I made it to 21 without my first taste of gin. Go me! Pretty sweet ass stuff, yo.)

I can still type English or something that resembles English.
After drinking for like, 12 hours. With people I haven't seen since high school.
This fucking worries me.
Am I learning to drink responsibly? No.
So what the fuck's the deal?

Perhaps I will read this tomorrow and discover that it isn't English at all.
But right now I feel pretty confident.

CRACK

Jenn says:
my parents brought 2 things of cookies, 1 thing of chocolates, 2 bags of chips, ritz, and vegetable crack
Jenn says:
crackers
Jenn says:
lmao
Jenn says:
awesome type
Jenn says:
typo

New Year

I brought in the New Year in ways I will never repeat again.

It was followed by three days of insane guilt eating, in which I forced myself to eat multiple cheeseburgers and a lot of pizza. And booze.

This was followed by three days of the worst gastrointestinal exploits ever.

Srsly. I have never been so sick in my life. Just today I have regained the ability to move without feeling like I will puke.

Karma, I have learned my lesson.

Please fix me.

I'll be good this year. I promise.