July 2005
6 posts
come on hide your lovers, underneath the covers.
Spending the night at my mom’s house means two things:
My dog will attempt to castrate me for not spending enough time with her. Not with her teeth, you understand. With her mind.
And then there is the most terrifying portion. The shower. Wherein which Jay discovers what new godawful bath products his mother has stocked the guest bathroom with.
Today: Pert Plus REFRESHING style. I...
who needs spin?
PYGMIES. I have about 8 pages left in my work notebook but I have this new one that I want to start on and I only have like two things to write down and I swear I’ve had only 8 pages left for FUCKING YEAR. Do you know how insane this is for me?
UPDATE: Terrie just walked over and wrote down “MAR ME” on my pretty blank notebook and said I need to get over it.
UPDATE 2: Uh, I...
the naming of things.
Here’s what wasn’t on my list of things to do today: seeing my lunch again. After I ate it. Least I didn’t yarmut on the CEO. I wanted my boss to give me a dollar specifically for not doing that. Buncha meanies.
Evening grocery store purchase of the day: Red wine. Pepto Bismol. Granted, the red wine is not for tonight and just… I don’t know why I bought it. But...
sing me spanish techno.
I just went all McGuyver on this fucking Ziploc bag. Rubber bands and paper clips are everywhere. It wasn’t sealing. I swear, I wish I was joking.
This writer has been deceiving you. Experiences are saved up, sometimes over a few weeks, for these Brain Dumps. You think you’re getting Jay of July 12th, but you’re getting Sporadic Jay of the last 4 weeks. No more, I tell you.
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theme from casanova.
Confessions:
The only possible snacking food I have at my disposal is blueberries. Now, I’m secure with putting blueberries in my granola with soy in the morning… but I just can’t picture myself snacking on them. The whole popping a blueberry in my mouth image just bothers me. They are not potato chips. They are not nuts. They are blueberries.
I get sick to my stomach when I...
everyone in town wanted to be around you, this...
CLICKY CLICKY FUCKING CLACKY: all that I at work. I keep headphones on so long to avoid the damn sound that I swear my ears are petri dishes by now. Bacteria that listens to Derrick Carter. Think of that.
How do you fuck up chicken parmesan? Here’s three things with flavor: breaded pan-fried chicken. Tomato sauce. Parmesan cheese. How can the result be so impressively devoid of flavor?
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