Call A&E

My name is Lisa, and I’m a gum addict.

Okay, that’s a little rude. I thought you were supposed to say “hi” back to me at these things, but whatever.

Um, sorry. Anyway, yeah.

I’m a gum addict, I guess. God, it feels so good to say that.

Tell you about myself? Okay. Um, well, this addiction has been a long and slow process. It stared out innocently enough, I suppose. I would buy those three-packs of Orbit (Bubblemint was my flavor of choice at the time), and go through all three in less than a week. That’s normal though, right?

Well, soon that led to “doubling it up,” where I always had two pieces in my mouth at any given time. Couple that will the compulsive need to ditch the stuff when the flavor’s gone, and, well, I started going through packs faster. Now, I’m embarrassed to say, I sometimes have a wad of three to four pieces in my mouth. God, I’m so embarrassed. I just need more to get the same rush, you know? That burst of flavor from just one piece doesn’t do it for me anymore.

In fact just this morning, I plowed through the pack of Orbit Sweet Mint gum is less than 30 minutes. I know you’re wondering about the logistics of that: I put three in my mouth, chew for 5ish minutes, spit out, and repeat. I just…I just know it’s unhealthy and disgusting, okay? The sorbitol in these things do a number on your digestive track. And don’t even get me started on the clicking jaw…

I just wish that I could just be one of those people who’s happy with one piece, you know? I pretend I am when I’m around normal people, but they don’t know the beast of addiction that lurks underneath. I don’t want anyone to know…

I’ve tried again and again to wean myself off. And I don’t buy it very much anymore for the most part. But sometimes, when I’m feeling weak, and I just see it there by the checkout at the grocery store….I can’t help myself.

I’m so ashamed. I just want…help.


This post is a waste of time

Bonjour, my precious blueberries. I haven’t updated in forever and a half (not that anyone really cares), but I just…well, I think my brain shut down.

Yesterday, I was a walking zombie. I think I groaned at people when they talked to me. I bathed in coffee, hoping that the caffeine molecules would permeate my cells, but no dice. An inexplicable bout of insomnia has taken over my life. I can’t shut off my brain at night. But it’s not in a smart, overworked genius kind of way, like the Beautiful Mind dude. It’s the dumb kind. Can you O.D. on melatonin pills? Probably. Will it make my skin darker? Nope, google says that melanin. SCIENCE.

But TODAY, I’m like not tired at all. In fact, I’m considering taking a bathroom break with my iPod so I can have a little dance party. It’s risky though, because there’s another girl in the location today. Whatever, if she walks in, I can probably play it off like it’s stretching.

Well, I’m Audi 5000. I hope I have something interesting to say eventually. But did I really ever? (Hint: no).

Cooler than Aquaman in a pool

Upon going to the second warehouse that actually has air conditioning:

Me: Oh man, it’s so much cooler over here.

Boss: Totally. Both physically and metaphorically.

Me: Well, I don’t know about metaphorically…

Boss: No, it’s true. You’ve heard of Captain America? Well, I’m Captain Cool. Where I go, it is cool.

Me: So…you don’t fly. You ARE fly.

This is not funny, but it almost kinda is

I got a forwarded email from an acquaintance today. The content of which was this (and I’m just going to issue one big [SIC] for the whole thing):

This is from the County Sheriffs  Department, please read this message very

This message is  for any lady who goes to work, college or school or even
driving or walking the  streets alone.  If you find a young person crying on
the road showing you  their address and is asking you to take them to that
address… take that child  to the POLICE STATION!!  No matter what you do,
DON’T go to that  address.  This is a new way for gang members (MS13) to
rape women.   Please forward this message to all ladies & guys so that they
can inform  their sisters & friends and family.  Please don’t feel shy to
forward  this message. Our 1 message may save a life.  Published by CNN &
FOX  NEWS (Please circulate).. **Please DO NOT IGNORE!  Thank you  !

First, I find it hard to trust anything that has no semblance of proper grammar. Second, I’m not really concerned because as you know, I’m not one to help anyone in any kind of altruistic way. Especially children.

And here is my freebie message to all the gangbangers out there: Make meth, not rape.

Summer Tiiiiiiimmme

Me: You know what’s awesome about summer? You can go to the grocery store and buy a shitload of berries on the cheap.

Friend: Oh shit. GOOD ASS TIP!

Me: YEAH IT FUCKING IS. I’m, like, shotgunning blueberries. Freebasing raspberries. It’s a whole thing.

Friend: That’s tight.

Wicked witch of the West Coast

I’m molting! MOOOLTING!

That’s right. It’s that time of year when I shed my winter head-coat in preparation for summer weather.

Now, this is going to sound like a brag, but it’s not: I have long, thick hair. Lots of hair. Lots of long hair. Enough hair to spare, is what I’m saying. And the winter, I guess my scalp goes into overdrive in an effort to keep my head warm. And it works–this thick layer of brunette padding keeps in my body heat like a boss. But in the spring, my head is like, “To hell with THIS” and it starts shedding. During this time, I can’t escape my hair. It’s everywhere. (Also, I like to rhyme. Some of the time).

So, currently, my carpet is sporting a gauche toupee. My brushes have a thick layer of padding. I pulled a drowned-rat-sized clump from my shower drain. I combed through my car upholstery with my fingers and pulled out a veritable tumbleweed of hair. I watched it roll away in the summer breeze while I played Western movie music in my head. Elegant. Beautiful.

Aaannnd cue the panic. Every year I panic. Every year I assume I have a disease or adult-onset alopecia. I start thinking of tattoo designs I would get on my scalp to commemorate this tough time of my life.

I start out all calm: “Oh, everyone had periods of excessive shedding. And this happens every year. I got this.” Then shifts into quiet concern: “Hmm. Well, this seems like a lot. But I get concerned EVERY year. And my hair is pretty long, so it makes it look like more than it is. I got this.” And then shift to panic: “Oh GOD! I’m going bald! I can’t own that look! I’m not sure I got this!”

That’s right; my brain is full of exclamation points.

You guys, I really can’t afford a decent wig.

I’m so full of fun that everyone should be jealous

I really don’t have much to say, so I’m just going to take a swig of this cotton candy vodka and see where life takes me.

Mmmm. It’s like a carnival in my liver.

Behold! This is my eye!

Where did that come from?!


So you know when you’re going to have a houseguest and you’re like, “God, I should probably clean. Or at least fold all these piles of laundry.” But then you think that there’s no point in doing it NOW, since this person is arriving in a week and that’s still plenty of time to re-mess up your place. So you wait. And then things come up and you get lazy and then all of a sudden they’re coming, like, tomorrow. And then you have to decided what’s more important: dignity or watching a couple hours of TV. What I’m saying is that I have no desire to sweep and vacuum.  Whatever, it’s just my sister anyway. And if she wants to stay with me, then she better get used to the tumbleweeds of hair that will be blowing past her while she sleeps. And then…holy crap is that a cut on my hand? When did I cut my hand? Was it when I was cutting cucumbers? Why is it just stinging now? Aaaahhhhh!

Nah, I’m good.

The devil is in the details

(That idiom KIND OF applies, if you don’t think about it too much.)

Two recent events that have confirmed my suspicion that I am, in fact, a horrible human being:

1. Recently, I was leaving my house in order to go shopping for food or something stupid from Target. As per usual, a flock of small children were playing some sort of uncoordinated game of pick-up football. Or pass-the-football. A football was involved and they were throwing it, is all I’m saying. God.

As I walk by, one of the children goes for a long pass. As he is running, he trips over his own limbs from what I can only assume is a lack of motor skill development. He crashes onto the pavement in a tangle of limbs, not even trying catch the football anymore (that’s not how you make the team!). The ensuing ear-splitting wail is preceded by one of those silent screams where the kid’s mouth is opened in exaggerated pain and terror–you know, the one kids do because every time they feel pain their body is like, “But what, what is this FEELING. What do I DO? Should I make a noise? Am I making a noise now? Is my mouth open? Is noise coming out?” and then their face screws up something stupid because they haven’t coordinated the brain with the vocal cords yet. But the following wail is, indeed, earsplitting.

The second the first dissonant note tears through the air, I literally RUN to my car. I don’t want to deal with that shit.

As I’m fleeing in my car, I think to myself, “Huh. I guess I probably should have checked if that kid was okay.” But then I looked out my window and some adult was tending to him. So at least there’s that.

(Kids are such fakers anyway, though. He didn’t even tear his jeans. Talk to me when you’ve impaled your leg on your own bicycle gear and stopped a fall with your face. /end clumsy justification of misanthropy.)

2. I was coming back from a run and enjoying my cool-down walk when I was forced to stop at a busy intersection. From my block, but crossing the other direction, was this crouching, enfeebled old woman carrying canvas bags full of who-cares-what.

Now, you know how old people move slower then us spry, young folk? Well, other old people would be able to complete a marathon in the time it takes her to do a 5k, yaknowwhatimsayin? She’s slow. That’s what I’m saying. And I just watched her go. I watched her shuffle along with her bags at some sort of ungodly pace. My inner monologue went something like this:

“My god, that woman is slow. I hope I don’t move that slowly when I’m old. How can I avoid going that slowly when I’m old? Why is she walking if she can’t really walk? Did she escape her home? What’s in those bags? I wonder if they’re heavy or really light but she thinks they’re heavy because she’s old. Remember working in the grocery store? Old ladies were always like, “Don’t make the bags too heavy!” and I’m all, “Ma’am, there’s only eggs in there!” and they gave me that face that just means they’re jealous of my youth. Particularly then because I was a teenager. I wish I were a teenager again. Good God, no I don’t. Holy crap, is she not even half way yet? My God. Look at her go. I admire her determination. God this light is long. I want to go home. Home home home home. SHE’S STILL ONLY HALF WAY!”

And then this teenage kid rode up to her on his bike, put her bags over his handle, and helped her cross the street. It was heartwarming, really, to see that people still care enough to help their fellow man. I might have even teared up if I weren’t dead inside.  But then I realized, “Awwwww shit, I just didn’t help an old lady cross the street. That’s like Good Person 101.”

Oh well. Maybe if I ever see an old lady fall down, I’ll check and make sure she’s okay. I think that would make up for both things.

I’ve started talking to myself. No big.

/Intro music

Hello, good people. My name is Lisa, and it’s time for our first installment of Lisa vs. Lisa, a piece in which I interview myself.

We should be impressed with how much time I spent on this

Hey, Lisa. Thanks for taking the time out of your busy schedule to talk with me this morning.

Oh Lisa, it’s really no problem. I’m really not busy at all. Well, I tell a lie–I am kind of busy, but I’m way too caffeinated to be productive right now. Also, nothing I do really matters anyway.

Let me stop you right there, if I may, because this segues nicely into our first question.  Lisa, were you aware that many people compare you to a worthless pile of garbage–

Wait, I don’t think–

Let me finish, please. A worthless pile of garbage that a homeless person wouldn’t even sift through for cans. How do you respond to this?

Well, everyone and everything has an important societal function, I think. You know how you can’t have happiness without sorrow? Can’t have pleasure without pain? Well, how do you have awesome things without…garbage? What I’m saying, Lisa, is that I make other people look better. I’ve been doing it my whole life, and, frankly, I have a natural talent for it. I plan to rent out my services one day.

Oh? Do you believe that there’s a market for that?

I’d like to think so. I mean, I’m not very well-versed in “the market” or “the economy” but–

Yes, you do seem to display an almost willful ignorance on many topics. Is this intentional?

Intentional in that do I actively pursue ignorance in favor of intelligence? No. It just kind of happens that way. I’m afraid that my brain has atrophied to the point of near uselessness. I have to pick and choose what I retain carefully.

Like song lyrics?

Like song lyrics, yes. And not just any song lyrics, mind you–crappy pop songs that no one will remember in five years. I tried to fight this for a while, but the brain does it what does.

It does seem like its priorities are a little off. Tell me, can you even remember the plot of the book that you are currently reading?

No, Lisa, I cannot. But if you ask me to sing the Spice Girls…

Not now, thank you.

Another time then, maybe. I’m always good for a song.

Lisa, I must say, I just find you remarkable. Here you are: single, lonely, with no career prospects, no discernible talent, and waning intelligence, but you manage to still wake up every morning and–

Well, wait. I don’t think you’re being very fair. As far as career goes, the Recession–

It is the poor carpenter that blames his shoddy tools…

I’m not sure that metaphor really applies here. Anyway, Lisa, I feel like you came into this interview with some sort of misguided bias against me. I have been nothing but civil. There are certainly some good things about me. I’m pretty sure my mom likes me, anyway.

I apologize if you feel that way. Of course, I’m sure your mother is rather fond of you. I would love to let you explore your good qualities, but I’m afraid we’ve run out of time for today. Lisa vs. Lisa will be sure to have you back on soon. Good day, everyone!


The Facts of Life…

…was a weak show. I get it; the girls were sassy. And they learned an important life lesson every week. Big deal. If you want to watch a show with life lessons, watch Full House because at least then you get to look at John Stamos.

Anyway, I may not have been on this planet for a really long time, but I have learned some stuff about life. So let’s just dive right on in. And don’t try to dispute any of these–they’ve been proven with SCIENCE.

  • If a friend you haven’t talked to in a long time asks you, “So, what have you been up to?” there’s an 80% chance that said friend is about to brag to you about something. There is a further 50% chance that this thing will be incredibly asinine.
  • 60% of the time, it works every time.
  • You will be robbed at one point. Just hope it’s soon and hope it’s small.
  • 50-75% of all electronic problems can be solved by turning the thing off and on again or toggling something.
  • You will never win a “who’s more exhausted” battle. The other person always is a student or has young children or something stupid.
  • People who really like Ayn Rand are always douchebags.
  • People who can quote The Simpsons (seasons 2-10) and/or Arrested Development are awesome 82% of the time.
  • If you drink a lot of water and then decide to go on a long car ride to clear your head and jam along to music, you WILL spend the whole time just thinking about how much you have to pee.
  • The SECOND you decide to start a new fitness regimen, one of your joints will spontaneously combust in terror.
  • Invest in a board game. Everyone likes board games.
  • The “Placebo Effect” does not work for hair products. Just because you spent 50 dollars and really want it to work doesn’t mean your hair will magically not be like straw.
  • The amount of happiness you feel is inversely proportional to the number of foods you restrict yourself.
  • Everyone knows not to go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line (or start a land war in Asia), but only slightly less well known is this: Never argue with a Republican unless you want to question your moral code (i.e. is murder really that bad?).
  • You can’t judge a person by the contents of their iPod or their Netflix instant stream list. Well, you can, but you’re not getting the full picture (I have an absurd amount of 90s pop and have watched a lot of American Dad)
  • No matter how good you are at something, someone is always ALWAYS better than you. Like, a lot better. Like, so much better that you should probably give up. But don’t. That person may die before you. Of course, this person will be replaced by another person who is better than you (you are really far down the line of good-ness).