godtoldmetokilltheenglish

Emi: Can I ask you something important? And yes, that voicemail that you left was hilarious.

Fri, 10 Oct 2008 16:36:00 -0700

Emi: Can I ask you something important? And yes, that voicemail that you left was hilarious.
Jay: Wow, thanks for stroking my ego a little bit so I'd pay attention.
Emi: Yeah, I've met you.
Jay: I was going to start playing with this piece of styrofoam while you spoke, but now I'm not!

Regarding the corner store.

Thu, 09 Oct 2008 15:45:19 -0700

Jay: I've been going to that store once a week for like six months, and I am *still* meeting new members of their family. One time there was like a fourteen year old kid manning the counter.
Donna: A fourteen year old can't sell you alcohol.
Jay: I wasn't... wait, just because I'm out of the house, you assume I'm buying booze?

gaetan & julien are in troubles with mr. heck and miss herley.

Tue, 18 Mar 2008 20:51:09 -0700

So, yes, I’ve moved to San Francisco.

Can we talk about that some more? Sure. But first let’s talk about packing up our old place first.

Let me tell you how not to pack. If you work until eleven pm, do not not NOT start packing at that point. Don’t keep packing until 3am. Why? Seriously, how is this a bad idea? You’re getting things done, right?

No. Well, I mean, you are.

But what you’re also doing is fucking with your future self. Because tomorrow morning, you’re going to wake up with three days left in your current place. You’re going to stumble to the kitchen, get a bagel out, toast it, and realize you have NOTHING to eat it off of.

You could have eaten directly out of the toaster. Because, I mean, at least it’s something. It’s not the counter, right? You haven’t yet sunk that far. But no, that’s crazy talk. Remember the burning.

So you end up eating it off the floor.

Brewing the coffee takes place in the sink.

But there aren’t any FUCKING CUPS.

I want you to imagine my head submerged in a sink full of coffee while my hands fumble around for the cream cheese to put on the stupid fucking Floor Bagel.

At that point you’ll have a pretty good idea of what last week was like for me.

nathan j. laney

i've made a huge mistake.

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 08:48:48 -0700

So, the landlord at the new place is having some of the windows replaced. The window guys show up, and they are most certainly not the guy I was speaking to on the phone. One barely speaks English and the other guy only speaks (or chooses to speak) Chinese of some kind.

I open the door, they look at me, look at my bare feet, and immediately begin taking off their boots, all the while glaring at each other. It is a good 3 minutes before anyone actually responds to my “Uh, hi” greeting.

After 10 minutes of slow translation (the non English speaker is the only one with any actual INFORMATION) it seems like they have five pieces of glass, but no idea where to install them. The estimate is for more, so we’re trying to figure out what other work needs to happen. The landlord isn’t answering is his phone.

So, after that, they leave to go get the glass (probably). After ten minutes, the buzzer rings. I ring them in, but after a few minutes nobody has actually ENTERED THE APARTMENT, so I go searching for them. They aren’t in any of the rooms, so I run downstairs. Their truck isn’t outside.

I go back upstairs, do another loop, and find five pieces of glass. They were NOT there when I left the apartment.

Fuck my life.

n.j.l.

you're a real details man, aren't you?

Fri, 05 Oct 2007 14:32:00 -0700

Jay: “I’m going to go visit Alissa for her birthday!”
Dad: “In May?”
Jay: “That’s my birthday.”
Dad: “Oh…”
Jay: “In November.”
Dad: “That’s my birthday!”
Jay: “There are other days in the month where it isn’t your birthday.”
Dad: “Well, fuck that.”

what was mistaken for closeness was just a case of mitosis.

Wed, 04 Apr 2007 14:35:00 -0700

When I asked some friends, “WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY SHOULD I MAKE FOR DINNER?” during a particularly heavy case of indecision, here is how they responded:

Ed: “Butter.”

Alida: “YOUR FACE.”

Alissa: “Jesus will satisfy you.”

Y’all creep the shit out of me, you know that?

n. j. l.

fourth fifths of the wesabe engineering team in car accident, much yelping.

Sat, 31 Mar 2007 18:06:00 -0700

HERE’S A STORY ABOUT THURSDAY.

We were driving back from lunch in Brad’s car when this fuck made an unprotected left turn in front of us. All of sudden the car is filled with smoke and air bags and bad smelling stuff. Sam lost his shoe for a little bit.

We get out and we’re in the middle of a fucking intersection. I swear to God, the first thing I remember was this woman driving by slowly, saying, “You guys were in an accident!”

THANK YOU, MISS HELPER PERSON.

The driver of the van was this fat guy wearing the tshirt of a really bad 80s Marvel comic (I instantly hated him even more for this) and when I asked him if he was okay, he covered his face with his hands and his first words were, “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING.” He was that guy.

How do these people find me?

He then told us this could not happen at a worse time and that he was moving to South Dakota next Tuesday. “Not anymore, you aren’t”, was my response.

Before we parted ways, I looked down at his stupid Marvel Comics tshirt, looked back up at him, and said “Secret Wars sucked, by the way.”

May not mean much to you, but for me, it was for the win.

So we move the car to the side of the road and we’re standing there while Brad talks to his insurance company. Then, this guy in a clip on suit and tie (yes, a clip on suit) walks up and says “You guys were in the accident?” and I look at the fucked up car and say, “Well, we were in that fucked up car.”

He hands me a card that says “Enterprise Rent A Car, Branch Manager” and says,”If you guys need a rental, I’ll hook you up.”

You don’t get to be Branch Manager for nothing, I guess.

The boss now won’t let us drive anywhere.

Hope you’re all well.

n.j.l.

everything he ever wrote was just a love letter in disguise.

Thu, 01 Feb 2007 04:01:00 -0800

Issue 5 of Slash Magazine is on newstands 03.01.2007.

It’s appropriately titled “The Comeback Issue”.

It includes more drivel from this writer. A piece I wrote in 2005 that I really barely remember. But still!

BUY IT.

I’ll be more frequent with output. I promise.

I still love you. Really, I do.

n j l.

The company bathroom.

Mon, 22 Jan 2007 20:42:00 -0800

Sitting on that toilet makes me uncomfortable.

i have known terror dizzy spells.

Sun, 21 Jan 2007 18:26:00 -0800

The Family Christmas photos, 2006.

These were taken earlier this month. I’m still incredibly amused by how impressively broken my dog looks in these photos. For serious, I can’t stop giggling whenever I look at them.

Did I mention that I quit O’Reilly a few months ago? I get to have conversations like this now:

I’ll attempt to entertain again soon, I promise.

n j l.

kksf 103.7

Mon, 25 Dec 2006 18:49:00 -0800

My father, a moment after he gets on the phone with my grandmother:

    "What? Jennie, it's not my birthday."

We’re more than a little hungover here at Ventura Way.

My mom is now trying to explain to my dad how the fanny pack she got him for Christmas isn’t really a fanny pack. He’s holding the phone pretty far away from his ear now.

Merry Christmas.

nathan j laney.

schweppes bitter lemon.

Mon, 18 Dec 2006 00:22:00 -0800

Never tell grandma that you’ve not feeling well. Tylenol, seltzer water, and a thermometer appear out of NOWHERE. Fever: 101, but that’s not the point.

I swear to god she’s about to take me to the pediatrician.

What am I even doing home?

She automatically rounded it up to 102 when she called my mother, by the way.

the west coast delay.

Fri, 15 Dec 2006 17:17:00 -0800

When announcing my phone’s death to my parents, I really did not expect them to use it as a forum to give me shit.

And that’s not even the really disturbing thing about this. “May” be their son? WTF?

njl

it's raining in indian wells.

Wed, 30 Aug 2006 07:23:31 -0700

First instant message of the day.

Today’s going to be a hoot.

::yawn::

the psychology of it.

Tue, 01 Aug 2006 10:43:54 -0700

     dick
     WHAT

(… 10 minutes later …)

     no really
     can I help you in some way
     I'm all about helping

(… Tony says some stuff that Jay doesn’t respond to …)

(… one hour later …)

     dick
     STOP SWEARING

(… Tony says some more stuff that Jay doesn’t respond to …)

(… two hours later …)

     what do you think?
     dick
     I'M BACK
     i don't want to get too much into the psychology of it
     but you go crazy for dick
     it's the only way to get your attention

know your betters.

Fri, 16 Jun 2006 14:30:15 -0700

Mom’s Birthday
2006.06.03

Grandpa told the story of Fat Irene. Don’t ask.

breakaway.

Mon, 05 Jun 2006 11:21:00 -0700

This week, your local medical professional will tattoo little dots on my grandfather’s cancerous naughty bits.

Why?

So that during Chemo time fun time, they can find his cancerous naughty bits.

LITTLE DOTS.

WHISKY TANGO FOXTROT.

THAT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE ANY SENSE.

Every time my mother gives me an update on these items I start a fight.

Why?

Because I tirelessly contend that these people who are IN CHARGE OF MY GRANDPARENTS HEALTH did not even go to medical school.

Mom doesn’t like that.

In other news, my cream cheese was frozen this morning.

Which do you think I’m more pissed about?

jay
gotta get away
living the same old shit
each and every damn day.

you're what happens when two substances collide.

Fri, 26 May 2006 09:56:44 -0700

So my grandfather has the upcoming pleasure of going to chemotherapy five days a week. For something like three months.

OH THIS IS GREAT NEWS.

My grandmother was on the every other week plan for her chemotherapy. She pretty much failed chemo by almost dying.

So hopefully grandpa will fare better.

My grandmother has yet to retake her chemo, by the way. Her and I share a bond, because I never retook that art history class I failed.

Don’t you judge me.

jay who feels alright as long as something’s happening.

a pink slip for the whole family.

Sat, 01 Apr 2006 16:33:51 -0800

    MOM: Are you hungry?
    JAY: Not really.
    MOM: You're not hungry?
    JAY: Not really.
    MOM: How can you not want to eat?
    JAY: MY GOD.

Every time I come over, my mom lays out a fresh towel, a fresh washcloth, and a still boxed bar of soap.

Never mind the fact that I have not used a washcloth since- well, since I learned to wash myself. I bring this up almost every time.

Never mind the fact that there are already towels on the towel rack to fill the towel rack (it holds two towels). Never mind the fact that those towels are probably unused since the last time I was here.

My mother must have clean towels for her son!

Yes, I love my crazy mother. Yes, my family only gets odder the more stressed they are.

To quote my totem animal: I AM DEFINITELY FLIRTING WITH FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW.

n j l

tempting the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing.

Sat, 01 Apr 2006 11:46:40 -0800

    MOM: Is this my coffee?
    JAY: No, that's mine.
    MOM: Where is my coffee?
    JAY: I dumped it out.
    MOM: I was enjoying that coffee! Why did you dump it out?
    JAY: ... you left the house.
    MOM: That doesn't matter! I was enjoying my coffee!
    JAY: Yeah, but then you left the house. You drove away.
    MOM: Oh! Yeah, I see it now. You got coffee all over my dish towel!
    JAY: WHY IS THE DISH TOWEL IN THE SINK THEN
    MOM: I AM GOING TO KILL YOU FOR DUMPING MY COFFEE.

My family is in the “information sharing” phase. They think that the more I know about my grandparents’ cancers, the more- hell, I don’t know what their intended result is. What happens is I start seriously thinking about calling my old bosom buddy named PANIC.

For my homecoming, my mother made Salsbury steak. I’m still not entirely sure you can legally make Salsbury steak. Swanson and seventeen other industrial frozen food manufacturers seem to have cornered the market on it. But, my genius mother, inspired by nothing in particular (but very possibly inspired by the salsbury steak I enjoyed as a boy when my grandmother was in the hospital for Other Illness #7), now makes salsbury steak on something like a quarterly basis.

So not only do I have to defend my grandparents against the cancer, I have to defend my mother against Industrial Food Assassins sent to make sure no natural salsbury steak ever gets cooked. These operatives have names like Hungry Man and Healthy Choice. Fuck you, it’s my fantasy.

Even the choice Angus beef my mom is cooking is either really confused or really, really insulted. “Why me?” it wonders as it’s covered with Cream of Whatever.

My family is a set of some of the most amazing Italian cooks I’ve ever been in a room with. But, Salsbury steak.

My mom puts the Cream of Whatever on the noodles she serves at the side, which results in this conversation:

    GRANDMA: Why did you put sauce on my noodles?
    MOM: It's good!
    GRANDMA: I don't like the sauce on my noodles!
    MOM: It's how the recipe says to serve it!
    JAY: THERE AIN'T NO RECIPE FOR THIS DISASTER.
    GRANDMA: I am old enough to be able to say that I do not want this sauce on my noodles.
    MOM: EAT.

I would like it on record that I’ve been saying shit like THERE AIN’T NO RECIPE FOR THIS DISASTER at the dinner table since I was like eight and that’s like the only thing I can do at the dinner table that they don’t react to.

Then my father calls me. Drunk. From South Carolina.

nathaniel j. laney.