My Online Dating Experience
I’m out of town right now with a dial-up connection that makes me want to kill myself. How did I ever cope before DSL? Since I can’t bear to deal with this anymore, I’m not going to be posting for awhile. Instead, I’ll direct you to my secret blog…
Last fall, it sort of hit me that my “go out and meet dudes” friends had long-ago moved away (or gone into rehab) and great eligible bachelors were not going to magically appear in my apartment so I decided to give Match.com a try. It was actually my second attempt on Match, having tried it for a month several years ago. I picked a really bad time to join- just before the holidays. Who wants to miss the annual airing of “A Year Without A Santa Clause” to meet some freaky chick online?
I wrote a blog for the duration of the membership under the pseudonym “Fifa” (when I did the USO tour in Korea, my friend and I kept seeing “Fifa” signs everywhere and we created a character with that name. It was later we learned that’s the name of the international soccer organization). There were a couple reasons for the fake name. For one thing, I didn’t want people finding me on Match and sending me joke letters. I also thought I might censor myself if my identity was known. Turns out I didn’t and I really didn’t write anything I’d mind anybody knowing came from me.
I’ve decided to share the blog with the readers here. Unlike the poor suckers who faithfully read that blog daily waiting for me to find true love (yeah, that didn’t happen), you get to know the outcome before you get started. In the end, nothing happened. And I don’t mean nothing “much” happened, literally nothing happened. I was more talk than action and got kind of bored with it about three weeks in. So it was basically me ripping on the guys that wrote to me and me offering very little in terms of my own flaws. But it’s my blog; I can do that.
It’s virtually unchanged, though I moved the site and had to remove some polls because of format problems.
For any of you who are interested in reading it, you can find it here: My Online Dating Experience.
Enjoy. Or not. But it’s all you get from me at least until after the Fourth of July.
Bombs For North Korea With My Name On Them
I sometimes create post titles that are a bit misleading but with the missile situation in North Korea right now, this one could be accurate. Allow me to share the full story…
A couple years ago, I was performing at Kunsan Air Base in South Korea and after one of the shows some soldiers asked if I wanted to go off base to O-Town (or maybe it was called A-Town. One was a reality show band, the other is a rinkydink town in Korea). Having a total disregard for personal safety, I agreed to accompany this group of complete strangers in a foreign land.
O/A-Town is just a few miles from the base and consists of a couple of blocks of dingy bars and restaurants. I was immediately introduced to the local flavor called Soju, a potent concoction that tastes like juice so you tend to consume way too much of it. It’s so sweet you have to chase it with a vitamin drink to prevent hangovers. Just to show you the powers of the Soju, a guy in a kilt (in Korea?) allowed me to get photo documentation of what’s underneath his kilt and this is how one of my loaded companions captured the once-in-a-lifetime moment. And so the answer to one of life’s big questions remains unproven.
We stopped at a few bars, all of which were mostly the same: tiny holes with about 10 tables and one bored (or maybe scared) Korean girl in a bathing 
suit (not a bikini) dancing with a pole looking like she’d been sold into her profession by “evil Japanese business man.” The Mama at one of the bars was awesome. She was about 4’5″, cleaned the tables with a lit cigarette in her hand and barked angrily at all the soldiers she’d probably been sick of dealing with since 1955. I love characters like that. She’s so cute I even published this ghastly image of myself so you can see her. She took a liking to me so I asked if I could make my pole dancing debut on her stage. At first she refused but the guys assured her I wasn’t in the military so she agreed.
I took the stage and must say, I think I missed my true calling in life (damn cellulite)! I whipped around that pole like I’d been doing it since childhood, which I think is when all the great strippers get started. This action shot shows I was no timid flower up there. Unfortunately, my hair took out three innocent bystanders. After a few minutes I was joined onstage by another girl (as you can see, the “gift with the pole” is not posessed by all) and the crowd went wild, hoping for a little lesbian action. 
Their dirty fantasies were cut short when Mama started yelling from the front door, “Get down! Get down!” It was Terminator Mama! Like a scene from a bad sitcom, she literally had a military police officer’s head wedged in the partially open door, as if that was preventing him from seeing inside. We hightailed it to the dancer dressing area, which was about two square feet surrounded by a curtain and missing the complimentary cocaine you’d find at the American equivalent. We hung out there a little while until the MP’s had left (they routinely patrol all the bars). Apparently the girl who joined me was a soldier, which could have caused some problems for her and/or the establishment. When I sat back down, one of the guys handed me $10. Ten bucks and I didn’t even take off any clothes. I think that’s a real testament to my pole skills (or maybe it was just in appreciation of the fact I didn’t take my clothes off. Whatever- I’ll take it).
We headed back to base with about 20 minutes until lockout and the guys started hassling our cab driver about the price. He got mad, pulled over and told us to get out. A dark road littered with the occasional decrepid building is not the place where you want to be stranded in the middle of the night with five random miltary men. I don’t know if one of the guys sweet-talked him or if I’m now unknowingly married to a Korean cabbie but somehow he agreed to take us the rest of the way. After a mad dash to the entrance we made it inside just in time. Naturally, the plan after that was to get even more drunk and belligerent at parties on the base (for all my discussions in here about alcohol consumption, I feel I should mention I actually don’t drink very often but when I do, I usually get hammered. Or I guess “bombed” would be more appropriate for this story).
Five a.m. rolled around and one of the guys asked, “You wanna paint a bomb?” I had absolutely no idea what that meant so I quickly said, “YEAH!” (After a few cocktails, I’m as big an idiot as anyone). He grabbed some paint cans and took me out to a hangar full of actual bombs. He told me to have at it and I did, so drunk that it never even occurred to me that I was defacing federal property. I 
just figured if the officer said I could do it, it must be okay (which I’m pretty sure is the same brilliant thought process that led to the Abu Ghraib scandal among others). Not an experienced tagger, I proceeded to write “Jenée” on one and “Jenée’s Bitch” on another. Real smart putting my name on there while posters of me were hanging all over the base. I might as well have written, “You can arrest me at this address: 265…” I’m guessing some soldier raped or killed a local, thereby deflecting attention from my crime, as they never came for me. Whatever the reason, it was a lucky break for me!
I don’t know if bombs have an expiration date but I assume my babies are still on active duty not far from the demilitarized zone (DMZ). Obviously, I hope the North Korea situation is handled peacefully… but if it isn’t, look for my bombs on CNN!
The Blushing Bride And The Breathless Groom
Well the first photo from Bessie and Billy Bob’s Tennessee wedding night is in and I have to share.
Because I’m 12.
“Duh” Retraction
My bad. I forgot that there are some people who read and/or comment on my blog in a second language. And it’s not fair to hold them to the same “duh” standards as those whose native language is English.
Just as I offered “duh immunity” to anybody who prefaced their comment with “***Drunk Comment***” I’ll offer the same to those who may not be 100% proficient in English. Just add something like “***Spanish Comment***” or “***French Comment***” or “***Arkansan Comment***” and I’ll cut you some slack.
I’ll get this “duh” thing right at some point.
My First Blog “Duh”
Those of you who have read my blog for awhile may remember the “duh” threat I issued (“Calling Out Idiots”) in regard to comments. Up to this point, I’ve never had to use it, which may be because the readers who stuck around get what I’m writing or it may be because most people simply stopped leaving comments out of fear. Well, the time has finally come to leave my first “duh” and it goes out to Marie‘s response to “A Family That Smokes Together, Stays Together (Until The Kids Rat ‘Em Out)”. Since this is the first “duh,” I’ll explain:
In the post, I wrote that I was curious about the fact that the 23-year-old man was referred to as the father rather than the stepfather of the 11 and 12-year-olds. And Marie wrote, “Well if the oldest kid is 12, it means Carlson, who is 11 years older, could ¤technicaly¤ be the father…”
I can understand that some people might think such a complex mathematical equation might be a challenge for someone who attended the Unversity of Hawaii (“You can’t spell ‘duh’ without ‘UH’”). I’m aware that it’s not the most difficult school to get into. Other colleges require extensive forms and essays. At UH, you can call in your application and they ask one question: “Is Hawaii one of the 50 states?” As long as you answer either “Yes” or “I’m not sure, I was absent that day,” you’re in (I threw them a curveball and said it was the 51st state after Washington D.C. They didn’t know how to verify it and put me in the accelerated program). So I admit I went to a crappy school but there’s a calculator on my cell phone, which helped me determine the father’s age at the time of the oldest child’s birth.
I also attended public schools growing up, which means I may not have been properly educated in biology. But, like most red-blooded American idiots, I read the gossip rags and am aware that Mary Kay LeTourneau became impregnated by a 12-year-old boy. My trusty calculator showed me that 12 is one year older than 11, which is a pretty short time frame and therefore I gathered that an 11-year-old boy could possibly reproduce.
That all said, it was never a question of whether the man could be the biological father, I just found it unlikely and wondered if the omission of the “step” was because he actually was their biological father, if he was their adoptive father or if it was just because the reporter was a graduate of UH’s journalism program.
But thanks, Marie, and congrats on receiving the first “duh.”
Chihuahua’s ARE Good For Something
This is sick yet kinda funny at the same time:
A woman accused of pummeling a dog breeder over the head with a dead Chihuahua has been charged with two misdemeanors and reimbursed the money she paid for the puppy. (Full story)
Ya know, when I got a sick kitten that died about week later, I just asked the Humane Society for a new kitten and they gave one to me (the coolest one ever, I might add). But apparently some people choose to skip the “ask nicely” approach and go straight for the “dead puppy pummeling” approach.
Step One: Get A Brain
Tonight I went to the supermarket (others may refer to it as “7-11″) and noticed that the soda machine has instructions on it. Let me be more specific: It instructs people how to pour a Coke. Not only that, it’s divided into FOUR steps (grab cup, add ice, add soda, place cover on top). My car’s manual for changing a tire has four steps. I believe the instructions for detonating a nuclear bomb has three (open cover, push button, shit your pants).
I can’t help but wonder what made someone decide this was necessary. Maybe the people at 7-11 noticed a lot of customers standing in front of the machine crying “THIRSTY…SOOOO THIRSTY” and banging all the buttons. Then when the liquid came out, they tried scooping it up with their hands. So some marketing genius came along and said, “If we tell people to put the soda in cups, we’ll sell more!” And then 100 other people with master’s degrees from Harvard said, “That’s a brilliant idea!”
The thing they failed to realize is that if someone is too stupid to know how to pour a soda, they’re probably too stupid to understand the directions.
A Family That Smokes Together, Stays Together (Until The Kids Rat ‘Em Out)
Finally, an answer to the age-old question, “which came first- the good behavior or the joint?”
A mother and father accused of providing their preteen sons with marijuana as a reward for good behavior have been arrested by Chandler police. Toni Lynn Carlson, 31, and Aaron Virgil Carlson, 23, were booked on suspicion of possessing marijuana and drug paraphernalia, possessing marijuana for sale, contributing to the delinquency of minors and endangerment.
They were taken into custody Thursday evening after detectives served a search warrant at the Carlsons’ home in the 400 block of West Aloe Place.
A court document states a quarter-pound of marijuana was found in the home.
Police said the boys, ages 12 and 11, and a 4-year-old girl, are in the care and custody of a family member.
The investigation began after authorities received tips from a neighbor about the possible usage and sale of drugs at the home, police spokesman Sgt. Rick Griner said.
Detectives didn’t know about the family possibly smoking marijuana together until the parents and children were interviewed, Griner added.
Also under investigation is the possibility the Carlsons supplied drugs to other children. (Source)
I think we’ve found Nicky “No Seeds” Randle’s supplier. I’m curious about the fact that 23-year-old Carlson isn’t referred to as “the stepfather.”
A Perfect Union
My sister sent me the following pictures with the caption “Tennessee Wedding.” While I don’t have definitive proof that the wedding took place in Tennessee, I think the evidence speaks for itself. (Click photos to enlarge)
The groomsmen attended on their lunch break from Wal-Mart.
Bridesmaid #1- “I’m going to be the next American Idol.”
Bridesmaid #2- “This is mortifying. How can I be related to these people?”
Bride- “I knew Uncle Skeeter’s garage door would make the perfect backdrop.”
Bridesmaid #3- “I can’t believe I’m doing this after that bitch stole my Billy Bob.”
Bridesmaid #4- “American Idol will be my ticket outta this hellhole”
Bridesmaid #5- “I’m gonna have a daytime wedding in red too. It’s so classy.”
Flower girl- “Somebody help me. I was abducted and brought here.”
Billy Bob cut his meth intake to just three hits for his special day.
“Brad and Angelina’s kid won’t have anything on our offspring.”
(Including that extra chromosome).
Bessie: “Take a look at what you other boys won’t be getting… ever again. At least, not without Billy Bob’s permission. Or $5. Or just a 40 ouncer of Pabst Blue Ribbon.”
Billy Bob: “Uh, hyuk hyuk hyuk hyuk. That’s muh gurl!”
You just know he’ll be giving it to her doggie style before the night is through. And by “night” I mean “wedding reception.” (No need to thank me for putting that image in your head).
On the advice of Bessie’s Grandma (who’s also Billy Bob’s Aunt), the bride cops the traditional wedding feel.
I’m Sorry- She Didn’t Make It. Oh Wait…
It’s been all over the news: some Taylor University students were in a car accident and the wrong girl was buried. Ok, that’s not quite right. That would be an even bigger screw up than what happened if they’d buried the girl who survived. It was the identities of the two girls that were mixed up. Laura Van Ryn and Whitney Cerak bore a strong resemblance and obviously both suffered major injuries to the face. One died, one lived. Believing the dead girl was Whitney, Whitney’s family buried the body. Meanwhile, the girl they thought was Laura was actually Whitney and she was alive in a hospital wondering “Who the fuck are all these people in my room?” Seriously- the family kept a blog and on May 26th Laura’s mom wrote:
As far as recognizing us… we think that sometimes she does, and sometimes she doesn’t. Today she was asking for “my Dad” by name and when he went over to her and held her hand, she was satisfied to have him there.
In hindsight you realize Whitney probably wasn’t satisfied but was actually creeped out by this strange man grabbing her hand.
Well, today they exhumed Laura’s body and I’m trying to figure out why. First let me say that I’m not a fan of burial. It seems incredibly selfish to have your rotting flesh occupy a plot of land for all eternity (or at least until a real estate developer decides to move you to a landfill to make room for a mini mall). But that’s the way a lot of religions say it has to be so that’s how people will do it. Since the point of a burial plot is- I thought- to be a “final resting place” maybe they shouldn’t be messing with her nap. I understand that’s the way you piss off poltergeist.
Obviously Laura’s family wants to give her a proper memorial but what do they need the casket for? Are they planning a viewing? Any open casket funeral is a bit disturbing. Everybody thinks the same thing: “Omigod! (sob) I can’t believe she’s dead (sob) and man she looks freaky. What’s with the blue eyeshadow (sob)?” But a viewing five weeks later for a girl they couldn’t properly identify at the time has to be a ghastly sight (and admittedly, one I’d be curious to see). I know that won’t be the situation so I wonder if the family exhumed the body to move it closer to them. Do people really think talking to a plot of grass in a cemetery is any different than talking to a plot of grass in their back yard? Or that it really matters if the body is placed next to dead ancestors? If the body wasn’t buried according to their particular beliefs, I can respect that and understand why they would redo it. But really, when it comes to dropping a box in the ground, how much difference is there likely to be? I don’t know why they did it and will just have to hope that question will be answered when the story becomes a movie of the week this fall.
Not Tonight Dear, My Head’s About To Explode
I started getting migraine headaches about a year or two ago and I strongly suspect it’s from long hours on the laptop. A few months ago, I finally bought Excedrin’s migraine pain reliever. Just the fact that I finally had some medication available seemed to stop the migraines from coming for awhile then I got one this morning.
I’m not too big on pills and remedies so before taking any I read the label just to make sure there wouldn’t be any severe side effects. I don’t need a little erectile dysfunction ruining my day. I found the label quite curious. One section says, “Ask a doctor before use if you have…”:
A migraine so severe as to require bed rest- Anybody who’s ever had a migraine knows that when you get one, you won’t be heading to aerobics class that day. If there is any possible way you can swing it to be tucked in bed with the covers pulled over your head, you’ll do it.
The worst headache of your life- Since the typical migraine registers about a 10.5 on the pain scale, it’s kinda hard to tell when one is worse than another.
Experienced your first headache after the age of 50- It doesn’t specify “migraine headache” like it does throughout the package, it just says headache and I wonder what sort of super human being has never had a headache before age 50. It could only be someone who never went to school, never worked, never had a relationship and never sat at a table next to a screaming six-month-old. Someone living in Utopia.
Despite the fact the Excedrin people sounded rather clueless on the box, they know their stuff when it comes to drugs and the pain went away. So now I’m back on my laptop working on my next migraine.
Last Comic Standing
I have to comment on the new season of Last Comic Standing, which premiered Tuesday night. I know a lot of people connected with the show: many of the comics, writers, producers, hosts and have played poker with talent scout Ross Mark for years.
The biggest surprise of the new season is that Tony Clark is hosting. Last time around, Tony was one of the celebrity judges for the finals in Vegas along with Drew Carey and Brett Butler and there was a bit of a scandal. When the houseguests were announced, the judges were surprised that one of the best comics didn’t get in and one of the worst ones did. They compared notes and discovered the results were not based on their votes. The judges, particularly Butler on her website, made a fuss about it and it was revealed that NBC reserves the right to adjust the outcome of the entire show to their liking (as is probably the case with other shows, even American Idol). None of this came as a shock to the comedy community. Despite the open casting calls for LCS, most established comics have audition times arranged for them. Even those auditions are virtually pointless as many of the finalists have been chosen in advance. One friend of mine told me how she was asked to give background information on one of the eventual finalists before auditions ever took place. So it’s pretty much all fixed and I’m curious why Tony decided to host it.
As for the premiere episode, the thing I found most amusing was the way they talked about the success of season two winner John Heffron and season three winner Alonzo Bodden but conveniently omitted season one winner Dat Phan. Dat was young and cute and Asian but unfortunately, not the least bit funny. His win was probably due to a little assistance from NBC which is why it didn’t translate into any sold out comedy tours.
Once again, bookers Bob and Ross did their best to ask questions that indicated they’d never seen these comics before even though they’ve known many of them for years. And barely-amusing character-types won out over seasoned performers. I know they’re looking for potential sitcom stars but given the title of the competition, it’s a bit of a disgrace that guys as hilarious as Jimmy Pardo and Doug Benson didn’t even make it to the Las Vegas finals. Too bad for them that someone else from their own agency (Omnipop) was picked to fill the sole white guy spot. The female finalists are particularly weak and will only propogate the widespread notion that chicks aren’t funny.
I’ll probably continue to give updates on the show but if anybody’s interested in knowing who made it into the house and who has been eliminated, I posted them here. The password is “lcs”
