Tuesday, March 29, 2011

A Conversation.

The other day, I was talking to Holly. We were both incredibly sleep deprived. She turned to me and said the following:
Holly: “You know what I was thinking about just now?”

Jessica: “Our conversation that we’re having?”

Holly: “No.”

Jessica: “Alright, good to know. What were you thinking about during our otherwise meaningful discussion?”

Holly: “I was thinking about how people are silly. You know how people use those colloquialisms like ‘my career is on the rocks’? It’s so weird that we come up with these phrases because rocks clack against each other and they don’t fit together, so we use it as a metaphor. We’re just monkeys banging rocks together.”

Jessica: “…”

Holly: “What?”

Jessica: “I don’t think that’s why people say that.”

Holly: “Sure it is.” She made her hands clack clack together.

Jessica: “I think it came about because of rocks at the bottom of cliffs and you don’t want to pull your boat ashore and hit the rocks. Or if you jump off the cliff, and you aren't suicidal, you obviously don’t want to land on the rocks. You want to land in the ocean. So when things are bad, they’re on the rocks.”

Holly: “I don’t think that’s what it means either.”

Jessica: “Ok.”

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

I didn't write this on an iPad.

I’m at the airport right now. Well, when you read this, I will no longer be at the airport. I’ll probably be passed out on the couch. Hopefully I’m not dead. Will you please call my house? I’m worried about myself.

Anyway, I’m here at the airport and every single time, EVERY SINGLE TIME, I say the same thing to myself: Why is that woman wearing her stiletto boots for her obviously pathetic trip to Butt-fuck-middle-of-nowhere Tennessee. Man she looks fancy. You aren’t impressing anyone lady. In fact, I think I might roll my suitcase a little bit into the aisle in hopes of tripping you over, just so I should say “Ooops! Better wear your Dr. Scholl’s next time!”

Oh hey!? What’s that!? Your fancy iPad!? I can do that too. Let me just pull out this maxi sanitary napkin and pretend to push buttons like I’m important. I know you’re playing Angry Birds. It’s an overrated game. Also my sanitary napkin cost me 50 cents in the public bathroom and it’s actually useful for something.
People are so stupid. And I never realize this more than when I’m at the airport. People always tell me, “Oh I love traveling and going to different places.” No you don’t. No one likes the airport. If you do, you’re obviously a serial killer. My logic is sound.

The airport is a really expensive bus terminal. It’s public transportation. And we’re paying to sit next to a smelly weirdo-beardo who is going to mouth breathe during the entire flight. Or the guy who just HAD to bring his McDonald’s McRiblet on the flight because he can’t wait another two hours to eat. He had to find the smelliest thing on the menu, “Oh yeah? Garlic tuna with curry? That sounds awesome. I’ll get two orders!”

I swear, there’s always a baby who is so obviously sick that I worry I might be exposed to some sort of antibiotic resistant bacteria (by the way, anyone see that story about that killer germ that they found on the BART? Way to go Bay Area. I blame the hippies. Stupid pinkos.).

I’m watching two stupid women pace back and forth in their dumb heels. One of them isn’t even dressed to wear them. Beret, sweatpants, and slingback heels? Ok I think I understand, you’re obviously making some sort of political statement. Maybe it’s performance art? It’s deep and moving. My apologies.

But for the rest of you, stop wearing impractical footwear that I’m convinced sucks the soul out of you.

I hate women who wear heels to the airport.

Monday, March 14, 2011

An Introduction.

Hi. I’m Jessica.
I have strong opinions about things. Hopefully you will forgive me for it.
Moving right along, I suppose I should do some sort of introduction to this blog and who I am, but I hate how awkward those always end up being so I’m not going to. You’ll have to deal with that too. I’m sorry.
I dislike pandas. This may seem to be a strange thing for me to start off with, but it’s really not my fault. I wouldn’t have to hate them so much if people weren’t so crazy about them. It’s a fixation.
Every time I watch the news, I swear some panda in some zoo had some baby that they have to take away from it and nurture because pandas are so damn lazy that she will forget she had it and roll over on it in her sleep, suffocating it. Pandas are supposed to be super endangered and rare, right?
You know why they’re rare? Because they’re stupid and lazy. Seriously, they can’t even have sex by themselves anymore. They need panda pornography (find link to put here!!!!) and a zookeeper to facilitate the process. Shouldn’t we just let natural selection take its course?
Pandas, until you can do the nasty by yourself, I don’t think I should care about you that much. You aren’t even that cute. People tell me they like pandas because they look like little stuffed animal pandas. I’m sorry, but little stuffed animal pandas look like pandas. Not the other way around. That can’t be retroactively cute. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Anyway, pandas bother me a lot. I feel like part of me must be broken because I can’t see their allure. It’s like when I was thirteen years old watching “Titanic” in the movie theater. Everyone around me was sobbing because spoiler alert Leonardo DiCaprio drowned after he couldn’t find his own damn piece of driftwood. Pathetic. I had to pretend to cry and think of really sad things because obviously I must be a sociopath, my pre-teen brain is thinking.
Now I know better. And I know that pandas are really dumb.
I hate pandas.