Archive for June, 2007
Justin Timberlake requires Beano imported while he is on tour. Beano. I didn’t know anyone actually took it… and if they did, I thought they purchase it with darkly-tinted glasses.
Paris Hilton has found religion. Apparently she now reads the Bible. That explains the new pictures of her in Hawaii bending over in her string bikini.
Passive-Aggressive Notes continues to amuse me. This week they published the rantings of a pregnant woman who curses the person who ate her sandwich for attempting to starve her baby.
Search-term Saturday: Some highlights of the search terms used to find IRF.
humiliation of david – According to Pammy Girl, who just returned from a trip to Italy, David has absolutely NOTHING to be humiliated about.
start shave leg knee – I’m reminded of what the Golden Girls say about shaving above the knee.
boil chicken “plastic bag” moist – I pray I never get invited to dinner at this person’s home.
My family does fireworks at everything. Birthdays, weddings, three day weekends, you name it. Here’s a video of us celebrating Baby Boy’s first birthday with a bang. If you can guess the state that permits the sale of these low grade weapons, you win a fondue pot I never opened from my wedding that has been sitting on Craigslist for many weeks. Employees, interns, frequent guest contributors and family members are ineligible for said fondue pot.
I can’t decide if I like the little alien, the cherubs, or the flying Hoff more…
I have a secret. Many of you may know that I was raised in a nice affluent area of the Peoples Republic of Southern California. I attended quality schools. I wore nice clothes. I never went without. But the truth is, I aint no purebred. I’ve spent the majority of my life runnin’ from my roots, but I’m tired of runnin’.
My mother was born in Idaho and my father was born in the Valley of the Dirt People. You see, no matter how you slice it I am almost 100% white trash. I thought for the longest time that being white trash has no genetic component. I thought that every man chooses his destiny. I was such a moron.
I would cringe when my roommates would get all charged up for a night of good eatin’ at the Chuck-a-Rama. My spine would tingle in disgust when my father would wear his Teva sandals in public. I would laugh and point at the guy wearing the Garth Brooks T-shirt in high school, just like the rest of you. But I have always known that deep down inside I am a no good piece of white trash.
Don’t get me wrong, I still hate buffet style eating. I hate Garth Brooks and would rather chop off my right arm than wear Teva sandals. Most of my white trash genes are buried, and buried deep, thank goodness. Most people, in fact, feel that I have very refined taste. I certainly don’t look or dress white trash. However, thanks to my parents I have adopted a certain element of trashiness that I cannot kill. I love 80’s butt rock. You name it, from Poison to Bon Jovi to Winger. I love ‘em all. Lemare reminded me of a time in college while playing tennis (an extremely un-white trash thing to do) we took a breather to play air guitar with our rackets and sing everything from Warrant to Def Lepard (an extremely white trash thing to do). I’m sorry if I just outed you there Lemare.
To compound my problem, my wife is also from the Valley of the Dirt people. I thought I could change her from Macaroni and Cheese to Filet Mignon. What a fool I was. I will never forget the day when we were driving past an RV dealership and she confessed that she had always secretly dreamed of owning a motor home and driving around the country. I almost broke down and cried. That statement was nearly the death of me. I now know that I never wanted the Filet in the first place. My inner genetic child was crying out for corn dogs and tater tots.
Every night I look into my baby’s eyes and I wonder how his white trashiness will be made manifest. Will he own a gun rack? Will he be a NASCAR junkie? Will he eat at McDonalds much like Jeanie Irving (sorry if I outed you there Jean)? Will he adore Nicholas Cage? Although I always swore against it, I brought another 100% white trash soul into the world. It’s my prayer that he marries some high brow woman from the city to begin to dilute the white trash portion of the Miller gene pool.
This may be my confession, but there is no doubt that there is a little bit of white trash in each and every one of us. And you know what? There is some logic in the white trash mantra. When all you aspire for in life is a pickup truck and tribal tattoo, in all likelihood you will one day achieve your wildest dreams.
First Day of Summer
This week, we celebrated the official start of summer. On the longest day of the year, I foolishly forgot my sunglasses, and was immediately reminded of Geek:
They just don’t make rappers like they used to.
Search-term Sunday: Here are the most amusing items people have typed into search engines over the past 7 days to find IRF.
Beautiful Older Women Calendars – This is not available currently about IRF, but IRF writers, Ms. Phenix, Myrt, JL, and LeMare are not exactly 19 anymore… Perhaps we can find a photographer and give our readers what they want?
“prairie dog” funny – I don’t think we’ve spoken about Prairie Dogs, but Say Yes! To Hoboken has a delightful 5 second video that fits the bill.
strapless dress for 9 year olds – Have we learned nothing from Mary Kate & Ashley? Have we learned nothing from Jon Benet? How would a strapless dress stay up on a pre-pubescent? I’m calling Social Services. If you’re the sick degenerate mother who searched that term, I’ll track you down.
how to make a beauty queen sash - If you actually WIN, they give you a sash; why should anyone need to know how to make one. Is there a beauty pageant counterfit underground?
wheatgrass throwing up and vomiting – Someone have a problem at Jamba Juice?
African Jungle Island clothes – Africa isn’t known for its islands. Are they speaking of Madagascar? My recommendation? Short sleeves, breathable fabrics.
“manny” mannequin – I googled this myself just to see if other Manny Mannequin’s existed beside’s JL’s sister’s. They do. Even robotic mannequin’s. The stuff nightmares are made of.
Yesterday in east central Illinois, a couple of guys stole a van, fled from police triggering a high speed chase down the highway, careened off the road, and proceeded on foot to the nearest bank in a small Amish town, taking five hostages.
My coworker’s response on the FBI negotiator showing up: “He should start by offering free checking, overdraft protection, and no ATM fees.”
On the 6 o’clock news: an Amish woman with a camcorder out, recording the play-by-play. Seemingly normal, until you remember it’s against the Amish religion to own/operate electronic equipment and be photographed in any way.
During the press release when there were still three hostages, a silly reporter asked the spokesperson, “When will this be over?” I hoped and hoped the answer would come, “At precisely 5:13 today” with a massive eye roll.
So that reminds me of another reporter, well sports reporter, Lesley Visser, who has been known to ask her fair share of silly questions. When she asked Bobby Knight, the then coach of Indiana, how they won the game, he retorted, “We scored more points.”
Which then got me thinking about other awesome things I’ve seen or heard over the last few years.
Lunchtime in a busy city square. Man laying out on the grass with nothing on but a tight, turquoise speedo. A 15 foot radius of empty grass around him.
Homeless woman with a grocery cart and a bag of cans going through a trashcan, wearing a big straw hat, Jackie-O sunglasses, a bright blue bathing suit, and silk pink granny underwear bunched and poking out of the legs of the bathing suit.
Luxury van with curtains in the window. Purple and green streaks down the sides of the van. Cover on the spare tire on back silkscreened with a dog and the words: “We will never forget you, Trixie”.
A woman calling into a radio stations requesting: “What’s Up, by Four Non Blondes.” The DJ: “Um, okay, so what else do you want to hear?”
This one from LeMare several years ago: A wedding invitation with a little vellum card that read: If possible, please come at the assigned time:
A-I – 7:00-7:45
J-O – 7:45-8:30
P-Z – 8:30-9:15
A Relief Society lesson on the Word of Wisdom that started with listing the things we love that our physical bodies allow us to do or enjoy. Sleeping, taking a hot shower on a cold day, food, the exhaustion after heavy exercise, feeling a hug, etc. One woman made the comment that she loves being able to pick up her nephews, and the teacher wrote on the board: “Touch Nephews” – it wasn’t up for long.
An email to the entire hospital for which I work from the Engineering Services guy: “Tomorrow evening, 3/29, we will start repainting the stair tower between Parkview and Rogers bldg. on second shift. … In advance I am sorry for any incontinence this will cause…”
Another email sent to the entire hospital from our Compliance Office, Letha Kramer. A coworker’s response to just a few of us: “Thankth Letha.”
I’m sure there’ll be more…
While waiting for our stylish Sienna minivan to pull up at Milwaukee Airport Hertz lot, an older man wheeled his luggage by, cradling his cell phone into his shoulder while balancing a large flip chart. He stated very loudly:
“I don’t remember her name. Heavy set… Very artistic…”
One night stand? Business comrade? Distant relative? How soul piercing it would be if you ever heard someone describe you that way.
It would be a lie if I told you I watched more than 38 seconds of this music video:
You hear lyrics like this: “Baby you’re the perfect shape, Baby you’re the perfect weight” and think he is a contemporary of R. Kelly, as they have similar musical styles and a similar fan base. But there are a few striking differences… For one, as you noticed in the music video, ROBIN THICKE IS ACTUALLY WHITE!!! Despite his appearances at BET awards shows, the only “B” in this man is his SOUL.
So who is this Robin Thicke? The white boy who makes lady BET fans swoon? I’ll give you a hint: “(Oooh) Well does she want me to carry her home now? (Oooh) So does she want me to buy her things? On my house, on my job; On my loot, shoes, my shirt, My crew, my mind, my father’s last name?” Think Thicke. ALAN Thicke–the most washed up actor in Hollywood, Jason Seaver on Growing Pains…
Robin is Alan Thicke, NG. Yes, the next generation of Thickes is more pernicious than the last. More empirical data: “All i wanted to do was get it up and give love a chance; Ooo looking at you i got energy up in my pants“
Knowing what the offspring of washed-up ’80s sitcom stars are capable of makes me never want to to hear about a Baby Baio.
Guest contributor Louis has her hands full with five dear, active, and some would allege, crazy children. With her MBA and CPA in hand, she runs a tight ship financially and imparts the principle of thrift to each of them. Recently her two oldest kids, ages 9 and 6, were asking why they didn’t get to have strawberry and chocolate Nesquik like they always get at Grandma’s.
Louis explained that Grandma and Grandpa have already raised most of their children and can spend more money on fancier groceries. Daughter Caroline, age 6, sat and thought this over for a few minutes. She turned to her older brother Buster and said she knew where Grandma and Grandpa got all their money. “They stole people’s tithin,’” she announced with savvy.
Louis corrected her and said they got their money because they paid their tithing, not from stealing it. Details, details…
Think you dislike your job? Not as much as my former co-worker Larry. Everyone has moments of frustration at work, but not just anybody could pen the following email, especially to someone he’d never spoken to before. I believe this speaks for itself and to not lessen its impact I will let it do just that. Just beware that any correspondence you ever send me goes into the official archives.
From: Disgruntled Larry
Sent: Thursday, June 24, 2004 4:24 PM
Testing to see if you are the JL that is my next door neighbor.
Sent: Thursday, June 24, 2004 4:25 PM
To: Disgruntled Larry
Subject: RE: test
Officially verified that testing is correct.
From: Disgruntled Larry
Sent: Thursday, June 24, 2004 4:32 PM
Subject: RE: test
Ha! I had to test before saying this – I don’t like being a non-social person in the office- it kills me! In the last job I was in before temping, I knew everyone in the office, and that’s probably part of the reason I don’t work there anymore, besides the fact that I hated the work.
Anyway, I’ve already had two ‘talking to’s’ with kelly, and she ‘understands’ that I am a social person, but so far she has called me in her office twice to tell me to ‘focus.’ She heard me on the phone twice today and told me that she ‘couldn’t take it anymore.’ I guess I’m really a crazy, insane office worker. What a rebel! How dare I ‘talk’ to my officemate, to make the day go by. I guess I come from some koo koo Krazy planet where people actually have fun while they are in the office. I’ve found that this office is incredibly dry, and people seem like they’ve had the life beaten out of them.
Anyway, the point is, I didn’t want you to think that it is a personal reflection, I just have the dragon lady breathing down my neck, and the fact is that we are way ahead of schedule, so she needn’t worry so much.
Ok, thanks! Also, my left ankle clicks all the time when I walk, so it’s like step click step click step click, if it wasn’t bothering you before, it probably will now!! Ha!