Theodore Roosevelt

8 X 10 acrylic

Noam Chomsky

16 x 20 inch acrylic

Politically Incorrect

It started with "jip." At least that's how I thought it was spelled. "$40 for a t-shirt? What a jip!" I didn't know "jip" or "gyp" was actually referring to a "gypsy" until my Hungarian boyfriend, Walraven van Nijmegan, with real live Gypsies in his family brought it to my attention. Apparently, the word has something to do with the stereotypes that gypsies are adept at cheating people - thus the potential for offense. "Whateva," I told him and then I dumped his ass.

I use the word bastard on occasion, jokingly of course. I called my Russian boyfriend, Vladislav Yegor, a bastard one night when we were playing Halo. It turns out he really was a bastard. He said, "You had to go there, didn't you?" His biological father was married to some other woman besides his mom. I accidentally called his father a bastard for doing that. He got upset again. I guess his father was a bastard too. He was too sensitive for me so I threw his ass out. No greencard for you, sucka.

Then came the term "Oi Vey." I was never a big fan of this term, it sounds too Yiddish to me and I hate the Yids. My friend Jamie use to say it all the time cause he's from Minnesota and talks funny. So I said it this once to my Chinese boyfriend, Kevin Johnson. That's his American name, his real name is in some weird scribbly language, i don't know it. He is really smart and told me that it is generally a term used to express exasperation, and it shouldn't be used like, "Oi Vey, that was rad!" I didn't like that he corrected me so I sent his ass back to Japan.

Oh yes, and then there was my friend Honesto from the Philippines. He is very gay. We were watching Project Runway one night and I made the statement, "Change the channel, this show is gay." He thought it was hilarious but his partner, Joselito, was horrified. I felt bad for a split second then kicked his ass to the curb. Honesto said he was too short for him anyways. Honesto is cool.

I saw that George Bush used the term "Maroon" to describe something. I don't know what it was, I'm sure he didn't either, but it sounded cool. It's from this Bushism calendar my co-worker has. We have a good laugh making fun of him every morning. Anyhow, I called my French boyfriend, Jean-Pierre, a maroon once. I think I called the FedEx dude that too. Whoops. I didn't realize it was a racist slam. Apparently, it is used in the former French Colonies for mixed blood slaves. What I didn't realize is he was pissed off because I quoted Bush and not actually calling him a maroon. I told him I understand. But then I thought long and hard about the fact he was French, and how my fellow Americans look down on that so I had to release him. Besides, Je deteste la nourriture francaise. Oh, my deepest apologies to President Keilani and FedEx dude.

And then there is the infamous "your mom" phrase. This is always my last resort when I've run out of come-backs. I was making fun of my friend Jose Guantanamo, he's from Cuba. He was giving his fair share and it all ended when I said "your mom went to college". He started crying because his mom passed away last year on a boat ride and I guess her dream was to come to America and go to a community college. I was tired of hanging out with him so I got him deported. It wasn't that hard, just a call.

How are you?

You: How are you?

Me: I’m good, how are you?

You: I’m good too.

Me: Yeah, but what makes you so good?

You: Huh?

Do you ever start counting how many times you get asked “how are you?” in one day. Or is that just me. The only person who should really be asking me this that many times is my doctor, and I pay him to do that.

I counted 17 times at work today, from 10 different people, in which someone asked me how I was or how I was doing. The location count can be broken down as follows:

Hallway – 6

Bathroom – 3

Conference Room – 1

My office – 3

Phone – 2

IM - 2

Ladies, please don’t ask me this when I’m in the bathroom, unless you want the truth. “How are you?” “Well, I’m a little constipated but it should come out soon, and how are you?” Cue jaw dropping.

It’s incredibly strange to ask a question, and then expect the resulting information to be exactly what you expected, such as “fine” or “good”. That’s the automated response. You could be stranded in the middle of the woods with your legs trapped under a boulder, rats gnawing at your toes, hypothermia kicking in, and still respond with “pretty good, and you?”

It’s rude to ask if you don’t have time to listen. I was asked in the middle of the hallway as my co-worker walked briskly past as if I’m supposed to know it’s only a greeting. “Umm….you gonna let me answer, biatch.” Thats what I said.

I don’t care that you don’t care so please don’t pretend you do. You’re not my friend. Hell, you could walk past me without saying anything and I‘d be fine. I’d like you more, actually. Or, just say hello and we both can stay comfortable.

Do they have a pill that will stop making people ask this? If not, there should be one.

DS Advice Column

Dear JR,

Is that your real name? Anyways, I've just celebrated my 35th birthday and I feel that I may be too old for Myspace now. Sometimes I run across 40-some and 50-some year old people on here I just get this weird feeling that something is terribly wrong with them. Can you tell me when someone should retire their Myspace account before it gets creepy?

Gratefully,
Anonymous

Dear Anonymous,
The creepi-ness factor does in fact go up the older you get. Below is a chart:



At 35, you are definitely ancient. Instead of using PIR, for parent in room, soon your acronym will stand for JHCS for just had cataract surgery or NTCB for need to change bedpan.

But seriously, although Myspace seems a wasteland for inattentive, illiterate teenagers with astonishingly poor taste in music, the average age of a Myspacer is now 35. So, that means.... you're still ancient but you're not the only one. The 30's are the new 20's, ya hear. Once you're about 45, however, you're starting to reach school-gate paedo levels.

Hugs,
JR

Put the seat up

I was in a bathroom stall right next to my co-worker. I could tell who it was because she always wears these black SafeTstep grandma shoes. I nicknamed her Pat because I’m not completely convinced she’s really a woman. So anyways, I was peein’ in the stall next to her and I hear her start to plunge the toilet. She flushes again and water starts overflowing and splashing on the floor and into my stall. I peed as fast as I could, pulled the pants up and tip-toed out, so not to spash any pee water on me. While I was washing my hands I thought about asking her if she needed assistance, but when I notice I was using the last of the hand towels I just started laughing.

This incident got me thinking. I’m hoping that I will not be evicted from the female gender by writing this. I must reveal the shame that the woman carries with herself daily as she roams the frontier that is the public restroom. For, while prim and proper in her own private toilet, insisting that the toilet paper dispenses over the roll rather than under and castigating any poor male friend for leaving the seat in the upright position, the same said woman will indeed piss all over any public toilet seat and leave the toilet unflushed for the next unfortunate visitor.

Men may now be shocked to learn that a woman would urinate all over a public toilet seat. Even now, in the days when old-growth trees are hewn and pulped to create filmy toilet seat covers for our convenience. Even now, in the second millennium after the existence of Christ, women insist on urinating all over the symbol of comfortable excretion without wiping it off. Oh, to see the droplet of another’s urine all over the blessed seat. Sacrilege!

This phenomenon is especially repugnant given the widespread movement against men leaving the seat up. Why do we ask them to put the seat down anyways? Can anyone answer me that? It would only be fair if women started putting the seat up for the men. We have to pay the price of all the Equal Rights mumbo jumbo and Feminist bullshite. If men put the seat down, we put the seat up. If men leave the seat up, we leave the seat down. It makes sense to me.

So she says she doesn’t want to touch the toilet seat because it’s your mess and it’s gross, but she’d be lying. She’s only convinced you it’s your mess. She really doesn’t want to touch the toilet seat because she needs something more to bitch at you about, and anyways, why the hell would we want to do it if we can make you, right? If you don’t believe these women won’t get down and dirty with toilets you’re wrong. Put the seat up, ladies!

Bob

8 x 10 inch acrylic

I should be working

but I decided to start a blog instead.