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 6-29-02 Jess is Melting
So hot ... so ... hot ...
My baby brother can legally drive now. Every time I lit into him for not passing his written test is suddenly blowing up in my face. He can't actually get behind the wheel until next Friday, and I'm worrying already. I'm so overprotective of my brother, it's disgusting, and it's been this way since he was born. I didn't want him to get to be my age now, then decide that growing up with three broads (including my father, of course) had made him fluffy, and that he wanted nothing to do with us. So I became the big brother. I taught him how to play baseball. I taught him how to play hockey. I taught him how to talk to women. I threw in some cash to help him buy a car, so he could have a nicer one than I did. Then I taught him how to drive it. Which means that, on some level, it's my fault if he wraps himself around a tree. Fuck fuckity fuck.
One thing I forgot to mention last week is that I'm on some bullshit probation at work for writing "personal" emails. Never mind that I was writing it on my lunch hour; one of the higher-ups waddled on by and saw it. So he waited until I left my cube, and then he snuck in and printed it out to use as evidence. Why? Because he's a bitter old douchebag who derives sexual pleasure from the suffering of others.
Incidentally, this was the email:
Dear Anus,
I don't like you. Never have, never will. You are physically repulsive, and you smell. I wish misfortune upon you. Die.
Love, Anus Obviously not work-related. Or mature. But something happens to you when you know you can't ever be fired. You grow a little attitude problem. I'm having trouble fitting it in my pocket.
The other day I was cleaning out my desk, and I found a picture of me riding the armrail of the mall escalator. Actually, not so much riding it as surfing it. Hello? When did I do this? Well, I assume from the absurd Smurfish color of my hair that it was my junior year in high school. More importantly, why don't I remember doing it? And most important of all, why did I do it at all? What am I, some kinda idjit? There aren't enough teenagers driving drunk and overdosing ... now they're practicing acrobatics on fucking escalators? You kids today make me sick. Thinking you're invincible, dying your hair putrid unnatural colors, consuming alcohol when it is against the law for you to do so! You just prance along, scoffing at everyone in your path, until you're squished by a dump truck at a merge one day, and just before your brains leak out of your fingernails, you realize that you ...
Who the hell am I talking to?
Sorry, long day. Long and lonely; no one bothers to drag their pleather-clad Jersey asses into work on Fridays. The office was so quiet, I swear I heard a mosquito fart. Unless that was the janitor...
Five things that everybody should know, but doesn't:
1. Photos of your offspring are not an acceptable Christmas gift; it doesn't matter how many "special touches" you add to them. I worked in a photo lab for three years. I've done these cards in every kind of finish, adding every imaginable tacky snowman border. They're still the most self-centered gift known to man.
2. Just because someone has a TV show doesn't make them smarter than you. (I included those grammatical errors for irony. I did!)
3. The greatest song ever written is Hendrix's "Voodoo Chile."
4. I know I've mentioned this before, but. Pregnant women, don't discuss your vagina with complete strangers. Specifically, tiny redheaded strangers who work in the cubicle across the hall from you. You know, the one who always pretends to be on the phone when you walk by. If you could have a ten-minute conversation with me without bringing up bloating, breast swelling, or the gynecologist, I'd be overjoyed to talk to you. Alas, I do not think you can.
5. And here's another personal one, to my tenth-grade biology teacher: Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Looks like I went to college after all, you pretentious bitch. I really wish you hadn't retired, so I could come back and staple my degree to your face.
Ah. All this ventin' gets me Irish blood a-pumpin'! Or ... yeah.
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All this crap (c) Me, even though it's just meandering, self-serving bullshit.
