While the Cat’s Away…

For those of you who haven’t been paying attention, I took the week off of work to play home-maker and facilitate my child’s education while my husband drinks coronas and tequila with a bunch of 12 year olds posing as comedians in a heated pool on the rooftop of their Mexican villa, all under the guise of doing a “comedy festival.”

 

 

 

 

Jealous? Why would I be jealous? It’s not like I spend the rest of my time working my ass off to support my family so that Bill can go chasing his dream job of stand-up comedian while staying home with my son so he can do online schooling, thus fulfilling *his* dream of spending as many hours on a computer as humanly possible.

Oh wait. It is exactly like that.

But I get to spend more time with my son, who is my world. I mean, unfortunately, he has state testing and school keeping him busy most of the week. And he’s just shy of 12, so every time I go to hug him, he backs away with a horrified look on his face, and I run after him with my arms out-stretched, shouting “don’t look at me like I’m frickin frankenstien. Give your mother a hug!”

 

 

 

 

Well, at least Bill promised to bring me back something. It’ll probably be something kitschy, like a bobble-headed donkey, or an anatomically correct grass doll, or maybe something made out of coconut.

I’m allergic to coconut. Sigh.

 

 

Whatever. I’ve decided to make the most of my time off. My plans for this afternoon include cleaning out and re-arranging the bedroom, going through old papers in the desk, and organizing the bathroom closet.

… the sad part is, I’m kinda looking forward to it.

Marriage!

My husband is sick, so he will not be posting today. I feel kind of responsible for it, since I’ve been sick for the past couple days, and may or may not have accidentally coughed into his mouth while I was asleep.

 

We have one of those marriages where we share everything.

 

Anyway, since Bill can’t write a blog post, and I am working right now (well, on lunch, but it ends shortly), today is a day for sharing past projects. What better than the pilot for our show that we have more scripts for, just haven’t been able to film more of because things happen. The show is called Marriage. Enjoy.

 

http://youtu.be/G4Dufc7dkqw

St. Paddy’s Shoe

Tomorrow is St. Patrick’s day. Not just a very holy day for the most widely celebrated Saint in the Catholic Collection, St. Paddy is also the most notable Irish saint, giving way to Irish heritage celebrations around the world by people of Irish decent, people of not-Irish decent, and people who showered that morning with Irish Spring. Most Americans will celebrate their non Irish heritage by wearing green, getting drunk off of green beer, and making out with someone wearing green Mardi Gras beads and green hairspray.

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The whole thing is very authentic.

Seeing how popular this whole St. Patrick’s day this is, Nike, the popular athletic footwear company, wanted to get in on the action honor the history and culture of Good Old Erin.. and came up with a shoe that very accurately depicts how Americans view Ireland. The new Nike SB Dunk Low, pictured below, is a lovely blend of black with shades of brown, has been nicknamed “Black and Tan,” referring to the boozy beer beverage made from mixing Guinness and Harp.

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I actually really like these sneakers. I love mixing neutrals.

 

The problem with the nickname is that “black and tan” was also the nickname for the Royal Irish Constabulary Reserve Force, a British parliamentary group deployed in the early 1920’s when the Irish were revolting (I mean, they can be pretty disgusting, but this was revolution revolting) to help keep the peace. Keeping the peace included some pretty shady tactics. Like destroying property. Or beating up civilians. Or killing them.

So by naming the new shoes “Black and Tan” Nike has effectively said “we don’t know anything about Irish heritage, but we’re willing to pretend along with the rest of America.”

Unfortunately, this has pissed off the few Irish Americans that know anything about their heritage. (I brought up this situation to my husband of Irish decent, and he knew nothing of the fear-mongers-in-khakis  until I explained it to him).

“Is there no one at Nike able to Google ‘Black and Tan?”

-Ciaran Staunton, president of Irish Lobby for Immigration Reform

It also pissed off other groups of people… like, you know… the Irish (I mean, who would ruin a perfectly good Guinness by mixing it with Harp? AMIRIGHT?). But since when did Americans ever worry about what they thought? In fact, when have Americans ever thought of anyone except themselves?

Well, to help people better understand how offensive this oversight is, I’ve come up with a few shoe nicknames that your average American would understand:

 

The Reservation Runners: So comfortable you’ll cry a single tear.

The Slave-Drivers: The best for whipping yourself into shape.

The Westborough Flat Shoe: 4 out of 5 Baptists pick-it.

The Nazi Cap-toes: Goose-step into one.

The Al-Qaeda Kickers: You’ll feel like you can fly in them.

Miss us?

I know. You come here every noontime looking for funnies, and Bill has been unable to post. It’s sad.

So let me tell you a story. Grab your cocoa, and nestle in. I know I’m no Bill Young, but maybe I can distract you until he gets back.

When Bill and I started dating, we would go to each other’s shows. One night fairly early on, I went to the Corner Bar to see Bill perform. I got there a little early. I had a smoke, then I went to sit down atthe bar.

A guy across the bar is looking at me. Sometimes I forget that people use bars for meeting others (the only time I go to bars is to support shows, or karaoke). And I am looking extra pretty for my guy tonight… but currently alone, looking around the room. Well, there will either be a scene or it won’t, but either way, it will pass the time.

Not 5 minutes after I sit at the bar and get my cherry coke, the guy across the
way walks over. I will call him Fraternal, because he looks like the type of person
who was a frat boy, not out of peer pressure, but because his personality simply
couldn’t be more at home anywhere else. And when I say looks like… he doesn’t
have a football player build. kinda scrawnier, but with the gobs of charm and
playful guy-ness that tends to get the girls and dominate the guys.

But I was a sorority girl. I can repeat the greek alphabet faster than most boys
can chug a beer. I’ve done the dance, and am weary of it. And boy, for as much
charm as you have, you are still trying to pick up chicks at a bar… I think I’ll skip
the drunken sex tonight, thanks.

The following may not be word for word accurate, but it is pretty close.


Fraternal:
May I sit here?
Me:
Sure
Fraternal:
You looked lonely. You’re too beautiful to be alone.
Me:
I’m waiting for the show.
Fraternal:
You waiting for the show or the band leader? Are you a groupie?
Me: (laughs)
Groupie. I like that. Yes, I am a groupie. Only, it’s not a band- it’s
comedy. you should come see it.
Fraternal:
That’s not really my thing. I don’t get into jokes.
Me:
But you must know jokes. Tell me a joke.
Fraternal:
Nope, I can’t do it. I get it all messed up. A guy went to a bar, and then
he did something.
Me:
All you need is a punch line.
Fraternal:
Really, I just wanted to get to know you. How do I do that?
Me:
I’m a very open person. You can ask me anything.
Fraternal:
How old are you?

-I interrupt this intellectually engaging narrative to cut out the more boring parts,
like my age. He works near where I do, I smell nice, and he spends a lot of time
trying to convince me that he is a better human being than my gentleman friend.
He is actually a very pleasant person to talk to, except for the part where he
discredits my intelligence by repeatedly insisting that he’s a better catch than the
one I’m waiting for.-

Fraternal: (attempts to put his arm around me)
Me: (grabs by the wrist and places between us) This belongs over here.
Fraternal: (twisting to grab my hand)
I didn’t mean..
Me: (grabbing my soda with both hands)
I know. And I am letting you know that
your hands belong over there.
Fraternal:
Seriously. What does this guy have that I don’t have?
Me:
Well, he can tell a joke.

Outsourcing

Ladies and gentlemen, Jared is sick, Bill’s mom is visiting, and he has his court date (remember when Bill went to jail) AND a gig tonight (at a casino). However, there is new content on Vilificationtennis.com today. Make sure to check out the Dear Frigid Slut column, written by yours truly. That’s right- I am Frigid Slut. If you have any questions for Frigid Slut, please send them to frigidslut@vilificationtennis.com

Bill will be back tomorrow with more hilarious postings. Or else.

 

NOTE: Frigid Slut is NSFW. In case blatant isn’t your forte.

Dreaming of Doilies

I love crafting tutorials.

What is a crafting tutorial? It’s a tutorial that tells you how to craft something (duh). Sometimes it’s about making your own green grocery bags (have 50 on me). Sometimes it’s about making little girl’s dresses out of dad’s old work shirts (you’d be surprised how many of these there are). Sometimes it’s about repurposing an old thing lying around to be a different old thing lying around (I was wondering what to do with that old Vespa scooter I had lying around. Okay, not true, but I live in uptown. I’m just going to steal some douche-bag hipster’s Vespa to make this).

Many times, you can come up with your own crafting tutorial. Simply put a doily on it.

I’m not kidding. Take a t-shirt and add a doily to it. Take a jar and add a doily to it. Take a cushion and add a doily to it. In fact, I was reading a tutorial that I really liked. It’s about repurposing an old suitcase to be used as a vanity, with hooks under it for towels, and when you close the front of it AAAAAAH IT”S ANOTHER FUCKING DOILY!!!

It used to be Grandpa's suitcase til Grandma got a hold of it...

I think my love of crafting goes back to when I was a kid. In the summers, my brother and I spent our days being watched by a friend of our mom’s who was a Native American (I mean, I bet she still is Native American, but she was also Native American back then). She made her living making crafts out of beads and feathers and porcupine quills off of road kill. I’m not kidding about this… she had bags in the car and if we came across a dead animal, she would carefully (so as not to touch the dead thing) wrap it in a bag and bring it home and boil it. It makes me smile to think of how many fancy ladies bought their oh so authentic Indian jewelry and showed off the dangly porcupine quill earings that they got from a real Indian woman THAT WAS MADE OUT OF ROADKILL.

Growing up, I learned how to do all this crafting. Hell, I probably paid for any daycare expenses by the amount of jewelry I made. I also got to work on feather shields. But the most sacred and holy was the dream catcher. I really had to earn that with her. She told me the stories that her people believed about the dream catcher, how the dreams would get caught in the web, and how the good dreams would be able to find their way to the stones and travel down the feather to the sleeper below, while the bad dreams would get stuck and dry up with the morning sun.

It’s a beautiful story. As I was thinking back to it, I wondered if there was more to it than that, if there was something I wasn’t remembering right. So I hopped in the Googles and looked up dream catchers, and-

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's very authentic.

Another fucking doily.

Ghetto Shopping

Hey kids- I hate to be the bearer of bad news. I really don’t want to tell you. But since Bill is on his mini-vacation from the blog, and because it’s a thing that’s happened in the news, I’m going to have to be the one to tell you of this tragic event.

Sears Holdings (parent company of Sears (duh) and K-mart) will be closing 100-120 of its stores due to a large drop in holiday profits.

This is horrible for two reasons. 1) Where are all those poor people going to go for their poor people things? Like clothing that doesn’t fit right and/or is skanky, bulk generic Ramen, or toys that will fall apart the instant they try to play with them? Are we going to see poor people flock to Targets like a perpetual black Friday (not a race joke)? AM I GOING TO HAVE PROBLEMS CUTTING THROUGH THE MASSES OF GHETTO GIRLS TO GET TO THOSE ADORABLE TOE SOCKS WITH THE STRIPES THAT ARE HALF OFF???

Don't come between me and reduced price toe socks.

I might have to mingle with people with less money than I have. I might have to acknowledge their right to shop along side me, as if their socio-economic class meant nothing to who they are as individuals.

No. Fuck that. I’m going to continue with my class warfare. I’m going to fight for my right to feel superior to others based on their income. I’m going to march for my right to look down on others because a person’s financial situation is never affected by outside influences, because people live in vacuums where their hard work is all that contributes to their income, and bad luck never affects anyones standard of living.

I’m going to march those poverty stricken so-n-sos out of my store and into a Wal-Mart. Where they belong.

Oh! The second horrible thing? Sears thought people were still shopping there. I’m pretty sure no one’s set foot in a Sears store in years, and any shoppers there are just the ghosts of old people looking for appliances and socket wrenches.

A Moving Christmas

Christmas has passed, and while you’re thinking about or playing with all the shit you got, and while you’re sitting in your bathroom passing yesterday’s Christmas feast, I’d like you to take a moment to think on how shitty the holiday season can be.

Very specifically, I take you to Catalonia, where they have a Christmas tradition of feeding a log full of candy and nuts over the course of several days, and then beating it with a stick until all the candy is “pooed” out the logs “butt”. Known as Tió de Nadal (Christmas Log), or the less formal Caga tió (shit log), this log has a cartoon face, two legs, and is wrapped in a blanket that both acts to keep it warm, and provide a little privacy as it’s getting the shit beat out of him.

What is it with Spanish people beating things with sticks for candy?

On Christmas day, all the children gather ’round the log with sticks, and hit him while singing this song: “Shit log, shit turron, hazelnuts and cottage cheese, if you don’t shit well, I’ll hit you with a stick, shit log!” Then they remove the blanket to show the log’s shit, along with other presents left there by the Three Wise Men. Apparently after the Baby Jesus gig, the Three Wise Men took to delivering presents in Catalonia. It *is* nicer there than that run-down hovel of a town Bethlehem.

Speaking of, the Catalonians have another shitty tradition- the Caganer. See, in Catalonia, just doing the small little nativity scene isn’t enough for them. They have to do the whole town of Bethlehem, with all the villagers doing their villager thing- spinning wool, cooking a meal, sleeping. And off in the corner, one little little guy, shitting. Modern day Nativity scenes can even include celebrity Caganers.

Christmas tradition or political statement? You decide.

The Caganer is a big deal to the Catalonians. He’s such a big deal, that when the City of Barcelona dropped him from their Nativity scene in 2005, the people started a campaign called Salvem el caganer (Save the Caganer) that restored him to his throne in 2006.

Apparently, it was quite the movement. Ahem.

Lest we think that the Catalonians are the only ones with shitty Christmas traditions, I present to you an American favorite: Mr. Hankey, the Christmas poo.

Howdy Ho!

Mr. Hankey’s tradition goes back farther than the Season1, episode 10 of South Park that most people remember him from. Apparently, Trey Parker had problems flushing the toilet during potty training, so his father told him that if he didn’t flush, the poo (named Mr. Hankey) would come to life and kill him. Years later, before Parker and Stone started South Park, the two creators decided they wanted to do a short on Mr. Hankey. They didn’t do that, but elements of the outlined show were used in the infamous Season 1, Episode 10 Christmas special.

And again before South Park, Parker and Stone tried to sell Mr. Hankey as the main protagonist in “The Mr. Hankey Show”, which included 4 children, but FOX Executive poo pooed the idea. So instead, Parker and Stone created a show called South Park that used just the 4 children. They knew they were going to want to introduce Mr. Hankey in the series at some point, however. So when they pitched the idea of the show to Comedy Central, Parker is said to have said “One thing we have to know before we really go any further: how do you feel about talking poo?”

Really, that’s my comedic dream. To some day pitch talking poo to an executive producer. Maybe I will ask the three wise men for it next year. In the meantime, I’m going to beat this log til it shits candy. Here’s hoping you all had a very shitty Christmas!

On the Good Ship Censor

Jena here. Today, the Young Notions blog post will be edited by me, about SOPA Censorship bill.

I |||||||||||||||||||||||||| ||||||||||||||||||| ||||||||| |||||||||||||||||||||| |||||| |||||||||||||||||| ||||||||| love |||||||||||||||||||| |||. |||||||||||||||| ||||||||||||||| ||| ||||||||||| ||||||||||| ||||||||||||||||| |||| |||||||||| ||||||||||||||| ||| |||||||||||||||||. ||||||||||||||||||||| ||||||||||| |||||||| |||||||||||||||||| ||| |||||||||||||. My |||||||||||||| |||||||||||||||| |||| |||||||||||||| || ||||||||||||||||||||||| ||||||| |||||||||||||||||. |||||||||||||| |||||||||||| |||||||||||||||||| ||||||||||||||| |||| |||||||||||||||||||||| |||||||||| wife.

She |||||||||||||||| ||||||||||||||| |||||||||||||| |||||||||||||||| |||||||||||||||||| |||||||||||| ||| |||||||||||||||||||| |||| |||||||||||. |||||||||||||||| ||||||| |||||| |||||||||||||||||||| ||||||||||| |||||||||||| makes ||||||||||||||||| ||||| |||||||||||||||| ||||||||||||| ||||| |||||||||||||||||||. ||||||||||||||| |||||||||||||| ||||||||||||||| || |||||||||||||||| ||||||||| ||||||||| |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| |||||||||||||||||| |||| |||||||||| |||||| |||||||||||| me |||||||||||. |||||||||||||||| |||||||||||| | | | |||||| ||||||||||| a ||||||||||| ||||||||||||||||||| ||||| | |||||||||||||||||||||||| | | |||||||||||||||||||| ||||||||||||. |||||||||||||||||||||||||||| |||||| ||||||||||||||| |||||||||| ||||||||||||||||| |||||| ||||||||||| ||||||||||||||||||| ||||||| | ||||||||||||||||| better |||||||||| ||||||||||||||| | |||||||||| |||||| |||||||||||||| ||||| ||||||||||||||||||||||||. ||||||| |||||||||| |||||||||||||||||| |||||||| |||||||||||||||||||||||||| ||||| ||||||||||||||||||||| |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| person.

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I |||||||||||||| |||||||||||||||||||||||| |||||||| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ||| |||||||||||| |||||||||||||||| |||||||||||||| ||| |||||||||||| owe ||||||||||||| ||||||||||||||| ||| |||||||||||||||| ||||||||||| |||||||||||||| |||||||||||| ||| |||||||||||| ||||||||||||| ||| ||||||||||||||||||. ||||||||||||| |||||||||||||| ||||||||||||||| || ||| ||||||||||||||| |||||||||||| her |||||||||||||||||| ||||||||||||| ||||||||||| |||||||||||||| |||| ||||||||||||| ||||||||||||||||||| ||| ||||||||||||||||| |||||| |||||||||||||||||||| ||||||| ||||| ||||||||||||||||| ||||||||||||| ||||| |||||||||||||||| ||||| everything.

I cut out a few words here and there. You know, for flow. But I guarantee you this is what he meant, and my censorship in no way negates his original post.

I Have a Pipe Dream

Just so you all don’t get confused- No, I’m not Bill. I’m Jena, his wife AKA Sugar Mama. The Provider.

It was over 6 months ago that I turned to my husband and said “how would you like to not work, to focus on your comedy career, and at the same time, be the homemaker so Jared (my son) can stay at home and do online schooling?”

And he said “Yes, please.”

So here I am writing a blog post while he and the boy are on a field trip to the science museum to play mini-golf. No, I don’t get it either. Maybe there will be geometry. Which isn’t science, but it’s closer than, say, a field trip to Chuck E. Cheese.

The Chuck E Cheese band sings the ABCs. Who says animatronic bands are creepy?

In order to have Bill play mini-golf with my son FOR SCIENCE!, we had to make many financial cut backs. The hardest of these was quitting smoking. Both Bill and I quit, and I miss it every day. I miss it so much, I have even had dreams where I’m smoking.

To dream the impossible dream.

People talk about what they would do if they won the lottery. If I won the lottery, the first thing I would do is buy a pack of cigarettes. Not Winstons, not even American Spirits. I would get a pack of Nat Shermans, and I would light up right then and there, and the clerk would say “I’m sorry, Ma’am, you can’t smoke those in here” and I would say “Wanna bet? I’m rich and I will make up the rules that best benefit me because that’s what it means to have the power of money” and then I would laugh manically, which would devolve into a smoker’s cough.

Yeah. I miss smoking.