Commercials!

You ever notice how commercials take absolutely fucking forever? The other day my wife was standing next to the tv, waiting for the commercials to end so we could see what was on a channel. (Our remote doesn't work.) When she turned to this particular channel, there were already commercials playing. FOURTEEN commercials later, we decided to turn the channel and come back later. I mean, damn. 14 commercials. And they KEPT GOING!! This particular little rant is actually inspired by a conversation I had with my mother today.

A large amount of commercials start out with a couple and their dog, just chilling. They look kinda like this:

Ok, maybe not so much.

But that's not really the point. The point is what they want to talk to you about. I'll give you a hint. 90% of the time, it's not Jell-o Pudding Cups.

It's actually...

SEX!!!

Not just sex itself, though! What you should use to do it! How you should do it! How you can make it better! How you can fix what isn't working anymore! And don't forget the diseases you can get, and how to fix them!

Aaaaand we've reached my point. Have you ever seen these commercials for STD medications? I don't mind them so much, honestly. I know STDs exist. I know medication is available for people who have them. What really gets me is when I look at the bottom of the screen and occasionally I see this:

Not an actor. Not compensated for this appearance in any way.

OOoooooooOOOoOOk....

So let me get this straight. You had sex. Probably unprotected. You contracted an incurable sexually transmitted disease. Someone said. "Hey, we're making a commercial about Herpes medicine. You don't get paid, and everyone will get to know you have Herpes. Sound good?"

WHAT PERSON SAYS YES TO THAT?!

You aren't even getting free medication! All you are getting is neighbors who give you a FIVE FOOT BERTH in the local grocery store because THEY KNOW WHAT YOU DID YOU NASTY SLUT. *evil eye*

(Note to angry people: I do not believe that everyone who has an STD is a nasty slut. I actually know many amazing people who have and have had STDs. I am well aware that STDs don't transfer by walking within five feet of people. However, look yourself in the mirror and honestly say "People wouldn't act like that if I announced to them all that I had Herpes." You can't, because people are uninformed and stupid.)

Whore!!

Most people are rude and ignorant. If you think that most people are not rude and ignorant, you are probably one of "most people." The woman down the street who waves at you while you jog by is probably hoping you fall on your face, just so she can feel better about her laziness when it comes to exercise. Putting yourself in a commercial where you announce to the world that you have a disease gotten through unprotected sex, but you "rarely have outbreaks thanks to *medicine*" is practically asking Snoopy Fucking Sally to tell everyone you're a slut who had kinky sex in a back alley while snorting heroin off a camel's ball sack. Is that fair? Fuck no, it's not fair. Will it happen anyway? Probably.

I don't know about you, but if I had Herpes, the last thing I would want is to also be ostracized from my community because I wanted my face on tv.

Sometimes, I think people WANT to be infamous, regardless of the consequences.

Take this guy, for example. He can't get it up, and he wants everyone to know it!

This is a stock photo. I don't know if this guy is limp or what.

I mean, come on. You don't even see below his chest.

Gimme a break. Damn.

He looks happy enough, right? He's on "Vioga." Copyright? Wha? At least that's what the commercial tells us. That's cool, though. He's probably an actor.

Not an actor. Not compensated for this appearance in any way.

Are you... Are you fucking KIDDING me?! This guy here, not this guy, he wants everyone to know that his dick doesn't stand up on it's own anymore. And, he wants you to know for FREE! He wants to yell to the entire world that he has enough money, power, and happiness, and all that's left is for you to know that he doesn't NEED a working penis, and he doesn't NEED your money!

All he wants is for you to see his face and think... penis.

When he goes to the post office, do you think the lovely lady carrier smiles because she's friendly? Or are there more... devious reasons? I wonder who sees him at the supermarket and goes, "Hey, aren't you the lame dick guy?"

I wonder if his neighbor is still jealous of his fancy car and nice house... Or is he busy attempting to seduce the Missus, with cries of "I never use generic! It's all real and natural!"

Really people. Stop telling me about your sex life. I don't think we want to be able to say "Oh, yeah, the Vioga guy? The one who isn't an actor? Yeah, I went to high school with him. And the Herpes chick? Yeah, I hung out with her once in college. Looks like I dodged a bullet, huh? Hahaha!"

Fuck you people. Stop it. Stop telling me about your limp dick. Stop telling me about your bumpy crotch. That's what actors are for, dammit.

Stay tuned for more similar posts, including:

STOP TALKING TO ME WITH YOUR VAGINA HAND!

NO, JAMIE LEE CURTIS, I DON'T NEED YOUR YOGURT TO HELP ME SHIT!

and

WHY ARE THERE SO MANY COMMERCIALS ABOUT "REGULARITY" AND OTHER BULLSHIT?

Neighborly love.

When I first moved into the apartment I am in now, I loved it. It was larger than my previous one, had a full fridge, and a nice tv included. It was also pretty quiet, which made me happy. I tend to be a very serious student, meaning mainly that I'm so neurotic about school, I shake if I think I got a B.

Anyway, the neighbors who lived in the house next to my apartment building were fortunate enough to have SO many friends that they invited them all over at least 3 times a week. I was unfortunate enough to be a homebody, and therefore subjected to these parties. Literally over a hundred people would crowd that house, the street, the parking lots, and my building. I was also fortunate enough to have my bedroom wall be the VERY SAME wall as the entrance hallway! (Don't tell them, but when they started to beat on my wall at 2am, I would call the tow truck company just to watch them all scramble to their illegally parked vehicles like ants. Hey- I had asked every one of them politely numerous times to not knock on my wall- so they started punching holes in it instead.) I got to see amazing knock-down drag-out fights with girls ripping out weaves, tearing off clothes, getting pepper-sprayed by police, and then doing it all over again when the police left.

One night, a few months ago, they had their obligatory Wednesday night party. Apparently someone tried to start a fight, and my neighbor, who lives 2 doors down from me in the building, decided, like an adult, that he didn't want to fight. So, he went home to his apartment. Now, this happened when the front door to our building still didn't lock correctly, and people came and went as they please.

My neighbor, quietly in his apartment, was followed by the drunk guy who wanted to fight him. He started beating on his apartment door, screaming things like "Let me the fuck in mother-fucker, I'm gonna beat your fucking ass! I'm going to break this fucking door down...etc." Lots of crap. This went on for 15 full minutes, before the girl who lives across the hall from him, Ebony, opened her door and said, "Excuuuuuse me! I am tryin' to do my mother-fuckin' homework!" This guy turns to this sweet girl and says "Take yo' fat black ass back in yo' house bitch befo' I knock yo' teeth out." Ebony said "Oh, HEEELLLLL NO!" and shut her door.

A full 15 minutes later this guy is STILL beating on the door screaming, and I think I am going to lose my mind. I look out the window, and someone has called the cops. They are looking for someone outside at this point. My brain decided that I couldn't take this noise anymore, so I step out into the hall to confront the guy, and this is what I see:

Booty. Ass. Butt. In my face, pretty much. The guy was so focused on getting into this room to beat this random guy up, he didn't notice his entire ass was hanging out of his pants. He wasn't listening to the two friends who were trying to tell him, either.

I shook my head and said, "Hey! If you don't live in this building, you need to get the hell out! Now!"

Mr. NoPants came rushing up towards me, saying "Whatchu gonna fuckin do about it, you fat white bitch? Ain't nothin' you can do, nasty ass slut!"

I replied with "I am going to walk upstairs and tell those cops looking for you exactly where you are."

Mr. NoPants leaned down in my face and said "Yeah, that's all you can fuckin' do, you worthless ugly fat bitch."

I lost my shit. Seriously. I turned around, stepped into my apartment, grabbed my sword, and stepped back into the hallway:

I started screaming, at the top of my lungs.

"YOU WANNA SEE WHAT I CAN FUCKIN' DO MOTHERFUCKER?! WHY DON'T YOU COME BACK OVER HERE AND I'LL FUCKING SHOW YOU WHAT I CAN DO!?! COME HERE, YOU SORRY STUPID EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN FUCKIN' BEING!"

His friend was the first to actually look at me. He grabbed the guy, pointed his face at me, and they all 3 took off running out the back door.

Stepping back into the apartment, I set down my sword. My wife hugged me and with a huge smile on her face, said "I love you." :)

I then took my 5'3" shaky little fat self up the stairs, stepped out the front door of the building, and said, "Excuse me officer, the man you are probably looking for just ran out the back door of this building."

The animals that make you crazy.

Hello.

Nice to see you again so soon, or it's been so long, or nice to meet you- whichever applies.

So in my introduction, I mentioned that I have a cat named Mooky and a puppy named Sebi. Those are actually their nicknames. Mooky is short for Miyuki. It translates to "beautiful snow" in Japanese (among other translations,) and it fits her, for the most part. She's almost all black, except for her paws, chin, and a line down the middle of her tummy. Basically she looks like a black kitty who walked through snow.

Sebi is short for Sebastian. I don't know why. He was named "Puppy" for a while. We took him to the vet when we first got him, because he got super-sick, and all the Vet Techs kept looking at me funny because he didn't have a name. I had him for two days, people, gimme a break.

We got Miyuki on accident. She was trying to get food out of the dumpster next to our apartment complex when we first spotted her. She was so little and skinny and scared. I had Mandy (my wife) watch her while I ran inside to get a carrier and some noms to attract her. I found some pepperoni in the fridge, and put a piece down as close as I could get to her. She could smell it, and I could just see in her cute little eyes how hungry she was. Eventually she started coming closer, and letting me pet her, and then (I know this terrified the hell out of her too) I grabbed her, shoved her in the carrier, and took her inside. She warmed up to us within the first few days, and now she is a well cared for, fat, and happy cat.

Before you go all righteous on me, I constantly asked around, watched for missing pet ads, and checked Craigslist to make sure she didn't belong to anyone. I even had the vet scan her for a chip when I took her in, even after they told me that her condition made it likely she was abandoned.

Sebi's story is a little different; in fact, I don't know much about his life before he came here. He is a Shih-Poo, "pure-bred," even though that isn't technically a recognized breed. I don't care about that, though. Every pet I've ever had has been a rescue, and every dog a mutt. I love them all. Sebi's the first dog I've ever had where I am even sure of the breed!

I got Sebi after my mom did. His original owners were moving, and the man of the house (an ass) told his wife that if they didn't find people to take them he would either dump them or kill them. So my mom took Sebi, the runt, and we offered to take the last one they had, a little girl. Mandy had never had a puppy before, so she was pretty excited. Then we got the bad news: the man had given the girl away while the woman was out trying to find her a home. No puppy for us. :(

About a week later, my mom called. A short back-story: my little brother Matty had Duchennes Muscular Dystrophy, and at 22 years old, he is in an electric wheelchair and uses a breathing machine. He also is slightly mentally disabled as well. My mom called to ask us if we wanted Sebi. It turned out that he was so little my brother couldn't see him when he was in his chair, and was terrified he would actually run the little guy over! It was so bad that he refused to even get out of bed because he didn't want to hurt the puppy. He told my mom "Call Jessi, and ask her and Mandy to take the puppy." She put him on the phone so I could make sure he REALLY wanted us to take Sebi, and he ignored me and said to Mom, "Can I have a bird? They don't walk on the floor."

Now we've had Mooky for over a year, and just got Sebi a few weeks ago, max. And Houston, we have a problem. Besides the fact that Sebi never leaves Mooky alone, we have the issues 1. Mooky teaching Sebastian how to climb out of his pen, 2. Mooky and Sebastian having races across the living room while I'm trying to walk, and the WORST, 3. Sebastian will NOT poo on the puppy pads. He pees on them. He pees ALL OVER them. But he will NOT, will ABSOLUTELY NOT, go poo on them. He poos everywhere else. On the carpet, on my textbooks, on plastic bags, etc. Just not on the paper actually designed to be pooed on.

I can't keep him in his enclosure either, because Mooky taught him to get out in like 7 different ways. Every time I fix one, I come downstairs and he's out again. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

This lovely image shows exactly what happens. Oh, and fat Mooky is watching from the background.

Before you say "Take him for a walk, dogs shouldn't poo inside anyway," Yeah, yeah I know. However, he is still getting his shots, and isn't fully protected from illness. I've lost a few dogs to parvo, and I'm not losing Sebi. Plus I currently live in a very unsavory neighborhood, and I wouldn't be surprised if someone tried to steal him from me or rob me personally while walking.

I move in a month. I already have the leash and harness, and the apartments we are moving to have a dog park. But for now OMG STOP POOING ON THE CARPET! I HAVE TO PAY TO CLEAN IT! *sob*

Shall we get acquainted?

Hi!

Nice to meet you... I think. My name is Jessi, and I am a 25 year old college student stuck in lovely Southern Illinois. I'm a bit on the crazy side, but that's ok. I like it that way, because when no one wants to talk to me, at least I can talk to myself, right?

I'm a happily married lady, who is married to another lady named Mandy. Don't like that? Don't read my blog. :) Together, we live in a crappy apartment (moving to a better one next month, YAY!) with our cat Mooky and our Shih-Poo puppy Sebi. Sebi just got here a few weeks ago, so the babies are still getting used to each other.

So.

There is a reason behind the title of this blog. It is something that I hear everyday, sometimes multiple times a day. "Oh my gosh, what happened? Everything happens to you!" or "WOW, that's so crazy, I mean, EVERYTHING happens to you!" and my personal fave, "I don't know how you do it. Everything happens to you! How do you deal?"

Usually when that last one is asked, my face is red, I have dark circles around my eyes, and I'm sitting outside chain-smoking while drowning myself in double shots of espresso mixed in with a Frappucino, and trying not to hyperventilate. So basically, I have no clue.

I do my best to get through everything the world throws at me, and you can expect to see plenty of happy, sad, and deranged rants from me. I'm even going to make hideous paint images to go along with them, because it makes me feel better, dammit.

Welcome to my life.