Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Conversations With Jess: Burgers, Beyonce, and Break-Ups





JESS:  Hey, Linda McCartney, how's the vegan diet going?


ME:  Oh, you know. . .I had to make some minor tweaks to it; needed to allow for some lenience. . .

JESS:  So, you fell of the wagon?

ME:  Like Lindsey Lohan on a three-day weekend.

JESS:  Bacon?

ME:  Yup. 

JESS: Well, it IS the gateway meat.

ME:  Of course, I had it served atop a half-pound burger with blue cheese.

JESS:  Good Lord.  That's like going straight from the convent to a gangbang.


ME:  Moderation is for pussies.  Go hard or go home, my friend.

JESS:  Did you go to Titan Burger?

ME:  Boo.  Titan can suck it.  I won't go there any more.

JESS:  Why!  Titan is the bomb-dot-com.  Their onion rings should be their own food group.

ME:  First of all, they no longer take debit cards.  It's cash ONLY.  What kind of Communist douchebaggery is that?

JESS:  I think you mean Socialist.

ME:  Pfft!  Whatev.  And second, the last time I was there the guy rolled his eyes when I asked for mozzarella instead of cheddar on my Western burger.  Rolled.  His.  Eyes.

JESS:  And he's still alive?

ME:  It wasn't the eye rolling that got me as much as the implication that my judgment in condiments was somehow misguided.  He actually told me that anything but cheddar would "compromise the integrity of the burger".

JESS:  That poor child had no idea who he was dealing with.

ME:  Umm, especially when I haven't had meat or dairy in over a month and I have the blood sugar level of Lot's wife.  But I kept it together and politely affirmed that at the age of 42 I was fully capable of navigating the complex schematic of the Titan Burger menu.  What the hell?  You don't start choosing my food for me unless I'm unconscious, or we're sleeping together. . .or both.

JESS:  Wait, isn't that backwards?  Aren't you supposed to tell them to buy you dinner BEFORE you sleep with them?

ME:  You have your priorities, I have mine.

JESS:  Hmm. . .still trying to figure out if that makes you dyslexic, or just slutty.

ME:  Either way, yay me!  So, how's Trent doing at his new school?  Does he like it?

JESS:  MUCH better.  You were right, a smaller, more intimate program was exactly what he needed.  He even came home the first day with a new best friend. . .although. . .I'm not sure I'm totally down with this kid's name.

ME:  I'm going to be sorry I asked, but. . .

JESS:  ((sigh))  Kanye.  His name is. . .Kanye.

ME:  No.

JESS:  Yes.

ME:  NO!

JESS:  I swear to God.  But it gets better.

ME:  Better than 'Kanye'?  I sincerely doubt that.

JESS:  Ah, but you have not yet heard his sister's name.

ME:  Oh, no. . .

JESS:  Oh, yes.

ME:  Please tell me it's not Beyonce.

JESS:  I'm afraid I cannot do that.

ME:  They named their children Kanye and Beyonce?  You have got to be shitting me.

JESS:  Oh, I shit you not.

ME:  Can you imagine what it's like in their house?  "Kanye!  Don't talk back to me!  Remember -- '18 years, 18 years, you're one of my kids, got you for 18 years'!"

JESS:  "Beyonce, Honey, will you bring me that Play-Doh?  Not the one on the right, the one 'to da left, to da left'."

ME:  "Kanye, please turn off the lights in the playroom.  Not just that one, 'all of the lights, all of the lights'. And do it quickly; 'I need you to hurry up now, cuz I can't wait much longer'."

JESS:  "Beyonce, why are you being such a 'naughty girl'.  I swear, you 'got me lookin' so crazy'."

ME:  Are we total assholes for making fun of these kids?

JESS:  This is nothing compared to what the other kids are going to say to them.  Besides, I think little Beyonce and Kanye's parents are the REAL assholes here.  

ME:  Valid point.

JESS:  So, in totally unrelated news, when do you get to move into the new house?

ME:  In a couple of weeks.

JESS:  You must be completely stoked.

ME:  Well. . .yeah.

JESS:  Oh, THAT was heartfelt.

ME:  No.  It's not. . .I mean. . .I'm TOTALLY excited about the new house and I am so over apartment life, but a small part of me is actually starting to feel sentimental about this shithole.

JESS:  Come again?

ME:  This was the first place the shorties and I moved when we left Gil.  This was the place we rebuilt and redefined our concept of "family".  I have a soft spot for that.  I'm going to miss having someone on call to do my repairs, I'm going to miss gabbing with the girls in the office, I'm even going to miss the crazy stoners downstairs and the passive-aggressive shenanigans between me and the Ed Hardy wearing fist-pumpers next door.  Is that crazy?

JESS:  No, Honey. . .that's Stockholm Syndrome.  Eventually even P.O.W.'s start to bond with their captors.  Take a deep breath, and let it all go.

ME:  You're right.  I know you're right.

JESS:  I always am.  Are your parents going to come up and help you move?

ME:  Jess, my dad is 72 years old.  I really don't want to be the one responsible for his hospitalization when he gets bludgeoned by a rogue ottoman careening down the stairs.  And my mom is not one of those heavy-lifting, East German kind of women.  She will go all "Design On a Dime" in your home like Genevieve Gorder on crystal meth, but Allen-wrenching an IKEA table or schlepping boxes?  Not so much.  I'm saving her talents for the "staging" process.

JESS:  So who's helping with the heavy stuff?  Ryan?

ME:  . . .

JESS:  Not Ryan?

ME:  . . .

JESS:  OK, so "not Ryan" because he has to work that day or he has a herniated disc or some chiropractic shit like that, or "not Ryan" because you and Ryan are no mas?

ME:  . . .

JESS:  OK, obviously you don't want to talk about it.  Tell you what, tap the phone once for "Ryan is temporarily incapacitated" and twice for "Ryan OBVIOUSLY couldn't handle my level of magnificence and was therefore unworthy of my affection".

ME:  ((tap-tap))

JESS:  I'm sorry, Sweetie.

ME:  I don't get it.  I try to be a good person.  I don't drink or do drugs.  I support myself and have an amazing life, incredible kids, I'm pretty upbeat and positive 99% of the time, and I have impeccable hygiene.  So, what is it about me that's so horribly wrong that no man wants to be with me?

JESS:  Jen, it's because you're all of those things that men are afraid.  They see you as a strong, confident woman and they probably feel like you don't need them.

ME:  So, basically I have to act all Amanda Seyfried for a guy to be interested?

JESS:  No, if you acted like that then, yeah. . .you'd get tons of guys.  But none of them would be the RIGHT guy.  You need to find someone who respects those aspects of your personality and isn't intimidated by them.  You need someone who will challenge you, give you crap, and call you on your bullshit.

ME:  So, basically, I need to find a male version of me.

JESS:  A frightening concept, but. . .yeah.

ME:  Hmmm.  Not sure the world is prepared for that level of combined awesome. 

JESS:  When the time comes, we'll all be ready.  Just remember: the reason you're still single is because God just isn't done writing your love story yet.

ME:  Wow.  That was beautiful.  Dr. Phil?

JESS:  Pinterest.

ME:  I don't get Pinterest.

JESS:  Not much to get, really. It's like. . .Fantasy Football for women.

ME:  . . .

JESS:  Are you OK?

ME:  Yeah.

JESS:  You know you'll go to hell for lying.

ME:  At least I know you'll be there too.

JESS  ((laughing)):  I'll save you a seat by the firepit.

ME:  I love you, you know.

JESS:  I know, Kid. . .I know.


xoxo,
Jen



PS:  If you haven't voted for me in "Oh, Noa"s League of Funny Bitches All-Stars, there's still time.  Just click HERE and tappity-tap on the box next to my name.  It's quick, it's easy, and it will provide me with the external validation I'm obviously  in desperate need of.  Thanks!  








































13 comments:

Fyre said...

Thank you for starting my day with a much needed laugh!

Here's an offer for you (if it doesn't seem creepy/stalker-ish): since I live here in Hipsterville, want help with the move? I'm afraid I can't offer a truck, only a hoopty ride. But, I can offer my East German, heavy-lifting skills (truly have them...Mom was born & raised in what was East Germany) and a hand truck! We can also commiserate about being intimidating to men (I am soooo sick of being told that, yet it seems to be true...sigh...).

Jennifer Clark said...

I used to wonder what was wrong with me, too. I mean, I was the common denominator in all those failed relationships, right? And it's hard to find a good man that ain't taken in our demographic. You just need to stick to your standards. You wouldn't compromise on a pair of shoes, don't do it with a man. He doesn't fit, or he looks good, but pinches you toes, don't buy him.

You're doing just fine, my friend. And I'd totally schlep boxes for you, would that I were closer!

Luara said...

You had me at "going to hell". My niece and I have said for years that there is no point in planning our "heaven" we both know where we're going... and actually where everyone we give a damn about is going... so we decided LONG AGO that we will open a bar in HELL.

She is only slightly worried that I will drink all the profits... what profits? It's hell I say... It will have a fire pit. You and yours are more than welcome. I just have to figure out how to bring you ice water.

Sorry about the man. He wasn't the right one. Kinda got that vibe...

I live here and have a 1/2 a truck (Honda Ridgeline) if you need help, and it wouldn't be weird to meet someone that has only met your "printed self", I am a pretty good lifter. You can ask our mutual friend... I moved her before she became a married lady a couple of times... I was ASTOUNDED at her shoe collection... It FILLED - and I am talking filled - a Jeep Wrangler.

Bet you have that in common...

Jen said...

FYRE AND LAURA - Oh HELLZ yeah I would LOVE to meet you guys in any capacity, and if it involves schlepping my couch then all the better. :) I'll let you know when the big day is and we can binge on donuts and coffee (you know, carbo loading), and haul my meager possessions into my new crib.

Laura said...

Donuts. Hell Ya I am in!

Gia said...

Booo ryan! He suuuucks.

And I'd offer to help with the move, but I'm busy that day. Yeah. Sorry. *backs away slowly*

tbunni said...

Sorry Jen, can't help with the move. I think I broke something when I misread "rogue ottoman" as "rogue orangutan". The visual of your poor father being chased by a rogue ape about killed me. I guess I need new glasses...or maybe not.

Sorry about the guy thing, but remember that few of the weaker sex can handle awesomeness like you - and even fewer deserve it. I know, the only bad thing about patience is that we need it NOW!

mothers little hleper said...

Good luck with the move, and setting up a brand new home.
Sorry about the man, its tough but keep looking.

Johi Kokjohn-Wagner said...

Your new home will be exactly the fresh new start you need! I'm so excited for you! xxoo

beatofmydrum said...

Bitch, you were one of the first I voted for... For real real. And that's out of the mouth of a gay. Yeah... A gay... We don't lie yo.

Jen said...

GIA - Would it help if I offered to throw in a couple of veggie burritos for you and Boyfriend?

TBUNNI - I will forever be haunted by the image of primates chasing my father throught he streets of P-Town. That is so damned beautiful. :)

MOTHERS - Meh...if I have to be alone, at least I'll be alone in my sweet new crib! :)

JOHI - This will be an amazing year for us both, my friend. xoxo

DRUM - You're the schizz-nit. Thanks, homie!

Erica B said...

been a rough year in the man dept for you it seems.. Well here's hoping you can find someone that fits you list of high standards!

super excited for you to have your own house... the crappiest part is the moving. moving sucks. no matter who you are, what you have, or how far you have to go. My mind can't wrap itself around the whole "put all my shit in boxes, just to take it out again".

sounds like you are going to have a fun moving party!

mistyslaws said...

Oh darn, and me all the way across the country. Guess I can't help with the move . . . shoot. ;)

I hope to never have to move my crap ever again. I will die with a huge pile of hoarders junk on top of me. Actually, that's probably how I'll go. Meh.