867-5309 is the other Jenny's number.

I've added the finishing touch to my super classy, always available dog bed couch. That's right. I bought another dog bed. Check it out. 10 feet of floor luuuuuuuv. And a lot of excellent nooks and crannies to lose your keys in. FOREVER. Or your cell phone.

This is NW Floridian culture at its height--cheap and trashy with window unit air-conditioners and the best fried fish sandwiches you can get. Love it.

Hot damn. Does that look good, or what? If it weren't for the millions of tourists, greedy real-estate developers, and some of the worst schools in the country, I'd move to NW Florida in a second!

This is the view of our neighborhood from the air. The air my dad was flying a plane in. Sweet!

I don’t like blogs. Okay, that’s a complete lie. I like them. I’m just too lazy to keep mine going. And frankly, aside from the three or four of you who are mildly interested in reading this, there is no audience for the mundane misadventures that make up my “life.” So maybe I’m a little depressed because I had to get my coffee at McDonalds this morning. The coffee at the place I’m working is so foul I wouldn’t pour it on a dying houseplant. It’s from one of those machines that brews an entire pot in 35 seconds, although technically “brewing” implies that the coffee and the water are united in coffee making intercourse for several minutes before dripping into the pot. Otherwise you have hot brown water that tastes vaguely of something like coffee. Anyway. Mostly I’ve been enjoying my extended childhood by hanging out with my family this summer. I like my family. They make me laugh, and they don’t complain when my hair looks like shit, which is always. Well, sometimes they might comment on the general shitty state of my hair, but the comments are always delivered with love. I assume.

But it’s been an okay summer. My brain has been on vacation. I say this because: A.) I haven’t accomplished the many insane goals that I set for myself in April, B.) I spent upwards of two hours looking at before and after pictures on the Extreme Makeover website, and C.) I was going to write a book, and so far I’ve written mostly shopping lists and two sentence e-mails.

The good news is that I’m being extra productive right now. Multi-tasking if you will. (i.e. Doing the blogging at work.)

It hasn’t been so bad shuffling from job to job for the temp agency. There’s been a lot of web “surfing,” as the kids say. A lot of time spent reading the msn.com articles no one ever actually clicks on. I’ve answered phones in various fake cheery voices (“Good morning, Commerce State Bank, this is Jenny, how may I direct your call?”) made copies, entered line after line after line of numbers into various computer programs, spilled things on myself, lost two thermal coffee mugs, and learned in painfully exact detail how Haagen Dazs orders and receives its ice cream packaging from a plant in Desoto, Kansas. Fascinating, believe me. Fascinating.

Now I’m hanging out in my temporary cubicle typing away on my temporary computer keyboard drinking lukewarm coffee and trying to figure out if I really want to listen to “Our Endangered Values” by Jimmy Carter on CD. Am torn between boredom, a sense of impending boredom, and feelings of obligation to our nation’s nicest president, who, although he lusted in his heart, never lusted in the Oval Office in any particularly offensive manner, plotted to invade a country to avenge his loser father, or tried to take down the DNC. I will hit the play button on Windows Media Player ver. 10. I will become inspired to move to Georgia and eat boiled peanuts while organizing the Democratic Revolution of ’06-’08, which, although already in the “capable” hands of the Democratic National Party, will require my political expertise and charming, hopeful spirit. Also, they need more chicks.

Posting pictures soon. Stay tuned.

Here are some very respectful, very sensitive pictures of what I like to call "special people with highly pigmented necks" or rednecks, if you want to be crude about it.

Considering I'm descended from rednecks (and related to some fabulous ones) I feel comfortable mercilessly making fun of them. And anyway, they're too busy eating barbequed armadillos and buying tube tops to read my blog.

This is the best one by far. The Redneck Palm Pilot.  

A redneck housecat. This is utterly excellent. 

Redneck boat. Classy. 

A redneck grill.  

A redneck cat carrier. (Note the Busch; a crucial redneck detail)  

Expensive gasoline, cheap laugh. 

"Free Popcorn with BBQ or Soup" An interesting offer. I passed.  

I recently dyed my hair, and it looks like Grade A Shit. Not that they put grades on shit, but if they did, my hair would be Grade A. I was talking on the phone with a friend I met (actually, met again) at a friend's wedding while I was trying to highlight my hair. I didn't want to be rude and tell him I couldn't talk, so instead I half-talked, half-stared in horror as my hair turned a very scary blonde-ish color. At first I thought it might be okay after I washed out the dye, but no, it was not okay, and I look soooo trashy. I also lightened my eyebrows, which turned out just as badly. I look like a freak, and I must spend upwards of 30 minutes making up my hair and face so people won't get scared and throw rotten food at me when I leave the house.

Moral of the story: ask him to call you back if you're dyeing your hair.

I just went on a timeshare "vacation." This involved me throwing some essentials such as Goldfish (the edible crackers, not the short-lived pets) bottled water, underwear, and 5 books (that I never opened) into my car and driving to Massanutten Resort in McGaheysville, Virginia. When I checked in the woman at the front desk told me that my sales tour would begin at 8AM the next morning, which was good, because it meant I would have the rest of the day to do whatever I wanted. She also said they would give me a continental breakfast, which she seemed to think was a major perk.

I spent my first evening in my crap hotel room watching cable for the first time in several months because the weather was bad, and I didn't want to do most of the offered activities (making my own pottery or sitting in a sauna). It was amazing and bad, and I loved it. It was free.

The next morning I spent over 3 hours with a jackass salesman I will refer to as Karl M. He told me about himself as he drove me around and showed me the many features of the resort, which included an indoor water park and a go-cart track. Let's just say I wouldn't be upset if the place fell into a big sink hole.

Karl the salesman told me he

1.) was descended from English royalty and a direct heir to the Scottish throne

2.) earned more money than the president of James Madison University

3.) invented a drink with friends called "dirty water," which was made of various liquors, resembled dirty water, and tasted like nothing "so you can really drink a lot of it"


He also gave me tips on writing, told me that I should "take the money the government is going to spend on bombs and do something fun with it instead," and somehow managed to bring up Mein Kampf. I'm not sure how it happened, but he basically equated not taking regular vacations to being a Nazi sympathizer.

I'm envisioning a novel here, or at least a story, about insane timeshare salesman starting a worldwide revolution. They're insane and ambitious, and just stupid enough to get people to follow them. Particularly the types of people who like to see go cart tracks in the middle of the formerly lovely Shenandoah valley.

Next up: Karl and his cronies build a Civil War themed amusement park on a historic battleground. (Didn't the Disney people try that one a few years ago?)

Go to http://www.gincork.com/. My insane friend (he knows who he is) started it in response to the overwhelming demand for a safe outlet for the ravings of the drunk population. I know the secret identities of the 1st and 4th callers. See also: http://www.whatisrecoil.com/ for more silliness.

I just watched the ENTIRE HOUR of "Deal or No Deal" and now I feel really stupid and happy, like I could really talk to the Walmart cart ladies, or maybe even the mean old cart man! I'm a woman of the people, by the people, and for the....what the hell? I think I just released some endorphins...uhhhhhhgggggggggggghhhhhhh.

Okay.

TV blows. But sometimes you just have to get down and roll in the shit. And the Walmart people are human beings, too, and they deserve everything that I do, but some of them need to read a book. Other than the Christian healing cookbooks in Aisle Three. Thank you.

I hate the mean old cart man. I think he might be a Nazi in hiding.

I'm completely addicted to podcasts.

The List:

1.) Ricky Gervais: It's pointless and perfect. http://www.rickygervais.com/

2.) Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me: It's like NPR for morons. With jokes. http://www.npr.org/programs/waitwait/

3.) The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer: This is what broadcast news is supposed to be. Almost none of the bullshit you see on the networks or CNN, etc., with lots of interesting commentary, debate, etc., If you can't stand to watch the whole hour, do the podcasts. Be informed. Brooks and Shields hold the most civilized and rational conservative vs. liberal debates on TV.
http://www.pbs.org/newshour/rss/media/index.html

4.) NOW: This is so excellent it's nearly perfect.
http://www.pbs.org/now/

5.) Scientific American: I got a C in high school chemistry, and I still love this podcast. Just don't make me take a test. http://www.sciam.com/podcast/

The bottom line: Everyone knows FM radio is complete crap, with the exception of NPR/PRI and a few renegade stations not owned by Clear Channel. Anyone not checking out the podcasts is missing out. And you don't have to use an iPod to enjoy them.

Just read my friend Donna's http://madwoman71.blogspot.com/ recent post about Olympic figure skater Johnny Weir. I think his real problem was that he was too willing to reveal his very young, naive, homosexual self to the slimy NBC morons who put together the absurdly melodramatic mini-portrait of him strutting around in gigantic fake Gucci sunglasses and lipgloss. Good natured people just shrugged and thought, "That's cool," and watched him skate, hoping he had a good program and enjoyed himself. Everyone else (homophobes and closet homophobes) rolled their eyes and waited for him to screw up so they could pounce on him for his diva attitude, and call him an uppity fag. The combination of a young, ambitious gay skater with little media experience and a bunch of producers who saw the opportunity to make a one-dimensional character out of yet another athlete devolved into what the pseudo-media does best: Mean-spirited shit slinging and character assasination.

Also: Want to sleep with Bode Miller in major way.