funny

I have sitemeter--look to your right. It tells me who (sort of), where, and why my blog is being viewed. You can search by referring pages, and I saw this morning that if one was to google "mouthful of pee," my blog comes up. And a lot of other interesting sites, most pornographic.

I just thought that was funny.

A conversation with Josh, of the Iowa Student Loan Liquidity Group

Josh: This is Josh, may I help you?
Me: Hi Josh, hey I'm getting hassled to start paying my student loans already and I just graduated a month ago. Can you people give a girl a break?
Josh: Hm, ok, let's see what's going on there.
*typical identity and account verification process*
Josh: well it seems that you have a consolidated loan.
Me: Uh huh?
Josh: So when you consolidated loans, you forewent the grace period of 6 months post graduation.
Me: I did?
Josh: Yes, I'm afraid so.
Me: I forewent it?
Josh: It's foregone.
Me: Damn. Well, here's the situation, Josh: I have a buttload of money coming to me later this month, but right now I'm making 10 smackers an hour for 10 to 25 hours a week.
Josh: Ooch.
Jen: Yah. I just finished my masters last month, and I have a big girl job, but I'm not starting until Aug. 3 or 4. And I'm moving. And I have another job, like for 3 weeks, a summer job, in July for this company _________________. So like I said, a buttload of money, but none right now.
Josh: I see. And are you receiving any government assistance?
Me: I wish.
Josh: Ha ha. Ok. Let me put you on hold while I run some numbers and see what kind of assistance we can offer.

* seven minutes of hold music, during which I again lament the stupidity of the bunion commercial. "Do you have a bunion?" "Would you even know if you did?" "A bunion is a painful, bony bump on the foot." Well then, yes, I think I would know if I did in fact have a bunion. The painful boniness would give it away.*

Josh: Thanks for being so patient. It looks like we can do a governmental hardship deference for 4 months, but then you'd have to call back again then to change the program...."
Me: Yeah, I just can't pay this month. Next month, totally.
Josh: Ok. We could also put the account into forebearance for a month and you can start payments after that.
Me: Let's do that then.
Josh: Ok, let me just read this statement to you...
*statement read*
Me: Neato.
Josh: is there anything else I can help you with today?
Me: Paying off that loan would really help.
Josh: Ha ha, oken then. Have a nice day.


Dry bastard, that Josh.

In the meantime, I work 2-5 hours a day for $10 an hour about 5 days out of the week, leaving me plenty of time to think, plan, pack, clean, write, watch, swim, hike, laugh, growl, shop, smoke, nap, talk, and so on. If you're in my same boat, I will try to periodically recommend a random movie suitable for lazy afternoon viewing. Today: Ghostbusters 2. Surprisingly awesomely. Seriously. Sigourney Weaver is more manly and less hot than in the 1st one, but she attempts to make up for it in her bathtub scene. Bill Murray is my hero. Half-way convincing special effects be damned, this movie has psycho-reactive goo, Peter McNicol with the best accent ever, and some Wilson Pickett. I'll stop here before you start thinking I'm obsessed.

Shit List No. 4 (and then some)

1. M. Night Shyamalan. You bastard. I sacrificed 90 minutes of my afternoon to watch The Happening. I'm still not convinced it's not a comedy. What makes it worse is my undying love for Mark Wahlberg. Now I don't even know about him. Did you write this while drunk?

2. Tyra Banks. This might be a tad harsh, but you are a ridiculous, hypocritical, insane bitch. Both your shows are terrible. I'd rather watch court tv. I will not "kiss your fat ass."


3. Waiting. So I was supposed to get this sweet job, and I didn't. Hearing the ladies in charge tell me how delightful I was and how much they enjoyed meeting me did not take the sting out of this rejection.

4. The Supremely Idiotic Court for banning the death sentence for child rapists. If they don't deserve to be put down, I don't know who does. Other than equally evil people.

5. The large and elusive mystery bug that refuses to let me sleep. I'll find you, jerkface.

6. Gas prices.
6a. The fine folks at Ford who so generously are now offering employee pricing on their gas-chugging trucks. Don't try to fool me into thinking you're helping us all out in these tough times--you just can't unload the things anymore. If you wanna help me out, make my payments less.

7. Myself for not being a more positive person. For bitching. To this end, I add some non-shitty things. Happy things.
- being in a great relationship
- my awesome family and friends
- puppies
- The Colbert Report
- naps and daydreams
- Krav Maga class
- new beginnings

shine a light

My house has a strange temperament that seems to cause light bulbs to burn out quickly. In addition, at least two or three burn out at a time, so we buy new bulbs fairly often. If you're like me, you stand in front of the light bulbs aisle and look back and forth between the cheap-as-dirt traditional bulbs and the more pricey and environmentally friendly, "energy-saving" bulbs. In the end, you buy the cheap ones and slink to the checkout, hoping no one judges you for not doing your part for the environment. I recycle like a madwoman, I don't buy bottled water, and I don't litter. And I turn off lights and conserve as much as I can, so why do I feel guilty for not buying these bulbs?

If you're in my same boat, there's something you should know. Please take 5 minutes and watch Rep. Ted Poe (a fine example of a Texan, one I am proud of) explain this to Congress. Then tell someone else about it.

Showdown of the Southwest Movies: There Will Be Old Men.

I'm coo-coo for acronyms.

So many months ago, Christie and I went to see a movie. "There Will Be Blood," she said. "It's won all kinds of awards. I vaguely remembered something with oil and Paul Dano screaming in a preview. We ended up at "No Country for Old Men," the flick my boyfriend wanted to see when I stubbornly dragged him to "Cloverfield" (see Moxie's Summer Entertainment Preview). I had heard virtually nothing about the actual plot, just that it was good. Perhaps "Old Men" in the title had stifled my interest. Christie and I ended up at NCFOM once she heard that TWBB was rather gorey and/or violent (it's not). A few nights ago I finally saw TWBB, so here is my analysis on the two.

Both these movies are set in the Southwest and came out last year--NCFOM especially would be great at the drive-in outside Lubbock. The panoramic shots would seem to extend beyond the silver screen, blending into the big sky and scrubby desert spiked with mesas. TWBB is based on Upton Sinclair's 1927 novel, titled "OIL!" I could see how it'd be a good novel, especially if you appreciate Sinclair, but NCFOM is clearly the winner in this killer cowboy filmfest. Here's why:

1) Actors--Daniel Day Lewis sounds like James Bond and looks like Tom Selleck (neither of these are bad). The killer in NCFOM has a horribly awesome haircut and is named Chighur (pronounced "sugar"). Paul Dano holds my heart in his teenage hands. Bottom line--Tommy Lee is the old man for which there is no country. He is wrinkly, real, perplexed, and just a good old dude who can't understand the brutality of the modern world. Oh, and if that's not enough, um...WOODY HARRELLSON's in it. Meow. Only a few men can pull off the white jeans look.

2) Weaponry--close call here, you be the judge: bowling pin or compressed air tank. I call it a tie, but (spoiler here) because Daniel Day Lewis screams "I'm finished!" after using said bowling pin on his enemy and it's the last scene, I will call it even. The air tank is fucking brilliant though.

3) References to Title--ok, a major pet peeve of mine is when actors actually say the title of the movie as part of the dialogue. Example, "Dude, Where's My Car?" TWBB is guilty, although in an unexpected way. NCFOM is the best kind of innocent. The title's meaning becomes fully clear after viewing and pondering.

4)Quotes--*note: TWBB seemed to have a lot of utterances answered with silences. Ok sometimes. NCFOM had a variety of characters from the dopey sidekick cop, the lovely but also old wife of TLJ, and the old coot who lives out in the country--all of whom avoid being cliches and carry on great dialogue.
NCFOM:
Llewelyn Moss: If I don’t come back, tell mother I love her.
Carla Jean Moss: Your mother’s dead, Llewelyn.
Llewelyn Moss: Well then I’ll tell her myself.
TWBB:
H.M. Tilford: How's your boy?
Plainview: Thank you for asking.
H.M. Tilford: Is there anything we can do?
Plainview: "Thanks for asking" is enough.

5) Female roles--pretty much aren't any in TWBB. Carla Jean in NCFOM is only person to refuse to play Chirghu's crazy mind game. Hands down.

6) Soundtrack--here TWBB has the edge. Very Kubrick-esque music, made me think of the Shining.

7) Bonus point--NCFOM involves a transponder. TWBB has a big oil fire, but NCFOM has a car chase.

Good scenes and final statements:




Final Score: No Country 6, There Will Be Milkshakes 2. Paul Thomas Anderson's epic story of family and greed is no match for the Coehns' psycho-killer and a suitcase full of money. If you need further convincing, go fill up your gas tank--I don't want to see a movie about oil.

Next time: Battle of the Bags--Baghead vs. The Strangers.

Discussions you probably don't have at your job

I have been working in a self-contained middle school classroom for the last 6 weeks, working with emotional and behaviorally disturbed kids. Although this has provided many interesting stories, I haven't written about it much due to confidentiality issues. But today I just had to share.

It started with two boys (we'll call them Dustin and Kendrick) working in the room on separate assignments--Dustin had to write out some strategies to deal with his lack of verbal control (he told a bunch of classmates who wanted to jump him that he'd rape them if they touched him, possibly the result of living on the street for two years with his crackhead mom) and Kendrick was working on his science lesson. His reproductive system science lesson. I was complacently reading a book when he asked me for a synonym for "anus." Caught slightly off guard, I said, "Umm..." trying to pick a non-slang term while the rotund and religious TA gasped and the other kid pipes up--"ass!" Kendrick laughed and then said, "Oh, I know--penis." I looked at the other kid, who looked as puzzled as me. The TA turned five shades of red--she normally says "fanny." She urged us to move on conversationally but I stopped her. "No, Patty. They need to know the correct terminology." God only knows what kind of situational confusion confusing anus and penis might cause Kendrick in the future.

"Kendrick," I said carefully, "the anus would be referring to your rectum--there's a synonym. Your butt, in other words. Your penis, well..yeah."

"Nuh uh!" he yelled. Refusing to believe me and Dustin (Patty cringed at her desk), he went for a dictionary.

"Anus: The opening at the lower end of the alimentary canal, through which the solid refuse of digestion is excreted." He looked up triumphantly. "See?!?"

Dustin laughed. Patty began praying. I leaned in closely and said calmy, "Kendrick? Do you have solid refuse passing through your penis?"

He blinked once. Twice. "Oh. I get it." I ignored Dustin's hysterical giggles and resumed reading.

It was a long day. Dana and I drank a few beers and watched the spelling bee. That took me down a notch.

The Creek: a Crapshoot.

I've written several times about Bull Creek. Today Dana, Bella and I got there early, round 11am, before the onslaught of families, dog-owners, river rats, and stoners arrived. We got comfortable in our stone ledge castle, jumping into slightly smelly but refreshing water and climbing back up the rock wall to dry in the sun. These two signs made me laugh a little, the first for a missing parrot and the second admonishing us to keep Bella on a leash and pick up her poop.








Some days at BC are heaven--you meet the coolest people with the best dogs, share a beer, and relax. But sometimes you see things that make you doubt the inherent goodness of humanity. I sensed trouble when what appeared to be a pregnant man, two googley kids, and a miserable-looking woman stumbled up the creek bed. He had some of the worst tattoos I'd ever seen: baby footprints (presumably his own offspring, which if you think about it metaphorically is just said) on his chest, just off matching shamrocks on his "pecs." A paint splatter surrounded by the words "Got Balls?" on one shoulder, a Notre Dame leprechaun on the other. His back was covered with a horrible mess of green, orange, and black--nothing discernable. Now I'm not going to judge a person for getting bad ink...much. However, he was dragging a sweet and terrified puppy through the water--he later pushed the poor thing off the rock, its claws extended like a Halloween cat and panic in its eyes. His lumpy wife (who most likely wore baseball caps with pony-tails through the back and glasses with snazzy white sneakers to look "hot" in her pre-child years) carried a bag in one hand and held her cigarette aloft with the other as she yelled profanities to her hapless boys. Later when Dana and I jumped in again I commented on the shame of litterers, saying we always carried out twice as much trash as we came with, and she agreed wholeheartedly as she flicked her butt into the water. I growled, wanting to steal the poor puppy and give the children to Oprah.

Nevertheless, the sky was big and blue and full of sun, and we exulted in it. Bella drank some beer and we read Redbook, learning the secrets of happily married women, recipes, and 21 spicy sex moves we already knew. The creek banks began filling up, looking like shantytowns in some spots with large families with grills and chairs setting up shop. An older guy, probably early 40's but the kind that probably lies and says 30's, began jumping in next to us again and again, doing backflips and climbing up higher to show off, egging his 6 year old to do the same. I gasped when the back of his head skimmed the rock wall, and giggled inwardly later when he gulped a mouthful of pee/dog water.

By two, the place was packed, and my drinking was constantly interrupted by having to give two persistent and incompetent middle-school girls a hand in climbing back up the wall. We decided to split, slightly incredulous at what shitheads some people are but still in good spirits and happy the day was still young--only 2pm.

Keeping with the day's theme of recreation and leisure, PBS had on a documentary called Great Old American Parks. Here. Watch.