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Google Loves Me Again

A couple months ago I noticed that my visitor stats had gone way down and I was no longer getting any referrals from Google. Even for a term like “Jenee” for which I’ve always been the #1 result, I didn’t show up at all. Through some searching I learned that this happens with sites that Google deems to be spam sites and I couldn’t understand why mine would be flagged as such. I thought maybe I’d used one-too-many “fucks” or “cunts” so I put in a request for reconsideration.

Then while fixing some code with my theme I discovered by accident that there was a ton of spam-like hidden links contained within my index file that bulked up my homepage to a hefty 1MB. It turned out there was some major security issue with my old version of Wordpress and a lot of people’s sites got hacked and then banned by Google. I’m happy to say that I’m finally back on Google’s radar.

It’s bad enough when your friends have forgotten you’re alive but when Google won’t even acknowledge your existence it’s a sad day indeed because when a blogger blogs and Google isn’t there to crawl it, she doesn’t make a cyber sound.

Free At Last, Free At Last, Fuck You Vaseline, I’m Free At Last!

One of my earliest blog posts was about the lip balm addiction I’ve suffered from for more than a decade. Over the years I’ve made the occasional attempts to quit using and, though I usually didn’t last for more than a couple hours, sometimes I managed to get through the daylight hours but as soon as I put my head on my pillow I realized sleep would be impossible without dipping into my giant jar of Vaseline that sits on my nightstand right next to my salt shaker (that’s a whole ‘nother addiction).

I hit rock bottom many times. I would get into my car and fret over my naked lips so I’d grab the emergency Chapstick I keep in my console (along with some salt packets) and desperately swirl my finger around the tube that’s been empty ever since it was stored in the car I had two before this one. I would have to scrape what residue I could get out of it from underneath my fingernails then I’d rub it across my lips knowing deep down that all I was really applying was some greasy finger oil. Then I’d cry out, “Why? Why? Why must this gooey goodness have this control over my life?”

Then last week something amazing happened: I realized that a good 16 hours had passed without a slathering and I wasn’t experiencing the usual withdrawal symptoms. I decided to see how long I could go without it and I actually made it through the night! For three days straight, I applied absolutely nothing to my lips, a feat I haven’t accomplished since I was back in a training bra. Over the last five days, I’ve had to wear lipstick on a couple occasions and apply SPF 15 sunscreen to my lips while in the sun but I swear that isn’t the reason I’m laying out 14 hours a day.

I realize I have a tough road ahead of me, one that involves the annoying habit of licking my lips every couple seconds. And I fear that first incident when someone pulls out a tube of lip balm and offers it to me. Will I be able to say no? Is there some kind of LBAA (Lip Balm Addicts Anonymous) keychain to help me garner the sympathetic congratulations to which I’m entitled? Most importantly, is this something I should write to the Vatican about? The sudden disappearance of this addiction is a miracle in itself but if a day ever comes that I utter the phrase, “This is too salty,” it will surely make a believer out of me.

My Hand, My Wishes

On Monday’s finale of The Bachelorette, a big deal was made over her suitors asking for her father’s permission to propose to her, an archaic tradition I can’t believe is still practiced. It made sense back in olden days when a marriage meant the loss of a good farmhand or butter churner but in today’s age of food processors and women living on their own for a good while before marrying, it’s rather insulting to the woman.

Asking for the father’s permission suggests that the father has control over his daughter’s life and subsequently, the husband will be in control. Fuck that. I don’t want anybody thinking he’s the boss of me and I have no interest in a henpecked little man who thinks he needs to ask permission for anything. Asking for the father’s permission also makes him the boss of his future son-in-law, as exemplified on the finale when Sean Penn’s request was followed by the father’s order that he cut his hair. While I agree that he’d look better with shorter hair, I don’t want my dad thinking he can give style orders to somebody I’ll be appearing in public with.

It’s one thing for a guy to tell the parents (not just the father, you misogynistic bastards), “I’m going to ask your daughter to be my wife and I hope you’re okay with that… but if you’re not, tough shit.” But asking for permission is ridiculous because what if the parents say no? Would the guy back off from the woman he loves? Of course not, which makes it an empty courtesy. Granted, it would never go down like that in my household because if I ever brought a guy home to my parents it would be my dad who would beg the guy to marry me before I could even make the introductions.

My First Joke

Today I thought about the very first joke I told on the fly and as much as I hate to admit to a lack of progress, it’s still one of my best. I want to say I was about 12 at the time I said it, though I could have been 8 or I could have been 16. Whatever the case, it was way before I’d ever considered a career in standup comedy.

I was sitting on my parents’ bed and noticed something weird on my mom’s neck. “What’s that?” I asked.

“What’s what?” She responded.

I grimaced and pointed to her neck. “That thing on your neck.”

She felt around for it then said, “Oh it’s nothing. It’s just a little growth.”

I said, “It’s not just a little growth, it’s very growth.”

Thank you. I’ll be here all week. Try the veal.

I Kissed A…Great Opportunity Goodbye

I have to hand it to singer Katy Perry for her insanely infectious tune, “I Kissed a Girl,” which has rocketed to #1 on the singles charts. The title alone guaranteed it would be a hit and I’m disappointed that I wasn’t as clever as Katy. See, I’ve never kissed a girl, a fact that I regret because I believe that if I had done so in my prime, I’d be far richer and more successful today.

In my youth I was not aware that two girls kissing possessed more power than a nuclear explosion or that it was as effective at granting wishes as Paris Hilton’s Christmas list. It wasn’t until I was much older that I learned how apeshit guys get over that and how most would rather watch two girls together than be a participant with one of them. And the more anti-gay a man is, the more lesbian porn you’re likely to find on his computer.

If I could go back in time, I’d befriend a stripper named Tiffany- not one of those “I’m paying for college” types but a really skanky one with a serious crack addiction. Then I’d wave that little $10 bag of crack in her face anytime I needed some assistance, like at the mechanic.

“Three hundred bucks for a set of tires? Surely that’s not the best you can do.” Then I’d grab Tiffany and plant a wet one on her, making sure to expose a little tongue. If he only dropped the price by $100 I might have to include a grope of one of her obnoxiously large fake breasts. That should lower the price by at least another C-note. Subtract Tiffany’s crack and I would have saved $190.

I’d use it in my comedy career as well. “What do you mean chicks can’t close? What if I brought along Tiffany to open for me?” After which I’d rub Tiffany’s thigh- but only if she were wearing pants or if I had on a pair of STD-proof gloves. I’d have been headlining across the nation my second month in comedy. I wouldn’t even have to write any jokes, I’d just pull Tiffany onstage for a smooch anytime there was a lull.

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes.

Let this be a lesson to all the young girls reading this: a boyfriend is nice, particularly when you need furniture moved but a girlfriend will get you all new furniture- and more guys than you need to move it for you.

Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, Tits: RIP George Carlin

The comedy world has lost a true pioneer, George Carlin. In fairness I should disclose that I didn’t think Carlin was the funniest standup comedian but he was a brilliant satirist who will best be remembered for his “Seven Dirty Words You Can’t Say On Television” routine. Sadly, he passed before our society took its collective head out of its ass and realized how harmless words are. As an avid proponent of the First Amendment who despises the FCC, I appreciate and applaud his efforts.

Here he is with the revised version of his list:

I Am The Warriwhore

When I returned from my Afghanistan/Paris trip, I mentioned here that I’d never been so happy to come home and I wasn’t joking when I followed that by saying within 24 hours I was trying to get back out again. I contacted a friend who not only books monthly comedy tours in Iraq, he performs on each one. He happened to be in Iraq at the time I emailed him so he sent a brief response that we would do a tour together but didn’t give any specifics. I got really excited about the prospect and especially going with him because I know we’d have a blast. He’s the only person I’ve ever taken a true spur-of-the-moment road trip to Vegas with, after a conversation at the Improv about gambling landed us on that familiar stretch of the I-15 less than an hour later. Who knows what kind of fun little detour we might take from Iraq?

One of my mistakes in the comedy biz is that I’ve never been good about staying on top of bookers (depending on how you interpret that, it’s actually two mistakes). I don’t know what the fine line is between following up and being a pest so I tend to err on the side of caution, which is why it took me so damn long to book the Afghanistan tour. But I’m trying to be a little more aggressive when it comes to gigs I really want so I just checked in with him again and he reiterated that we’d do a tour but that he didn’t have any open slots until next year. Of course I was bummed that I’d have to wait so long and then I was totally ashamed. Ashamed because my initial thought was, “Next year?! With my luck the war will be over by next year.”

What I learned is that I’m both incredibly selfish and unbelievably optimistic. And what all of you need to learn is that if you vote for McCain then my selfishness wins. Don’t let that happen.

Didn’t Steve Guttenberg Direct E.T.?

The reason I don’t get enough work done is because I suffer from a rare combination of ADD and OCD. I haven’t been clinically diagnosed (nor do I actually know if it’s rare) but since I’ve already figured it out for myself, why should I pay some quack 200 bucks to confirm it? How it works is I flit about from one topic to the next until I settle on one and spend an inordinate amount of time on it. Even back in college I used to do this at the library and anybody old enough to remember the Dewey Decimal System can imagine how much time such flitting took. Needless to say, I never accomplished anything at the school library but I do know a lot about a bunch of useless stuff.

I’ll take you through the process that brought me to the main topic for this post. I was discussing with a friend the fact that The Bachelorette picked up her date in a helicopter. This put me in ADD mode, which made me think of the helicopter rides I took when I toured the Balkans. In turn I was reminded of the private flights I took in Afghanistan (I think I mentioned the flight on the C-5 with two passengers but neglected to mention my long flight as the sole passenger on a C-17). Then I was curious if one of those had indeed qualified as the largest private jet in the world. This got me reading up on C-17’s and C-5’s and even C-130’s (which I rode on a previous tour). Then I looked up a list of the world’s largest aircraft and found that the C-5 is seventh with some ahead of it now defunct. So basically, it’s quite possibly the largest plane anybody’s ever likely to ride on with just one or two passengers. Why does it matter? It doesn’t. It will never matter unless I meet Donald Trump and decide I want to throw that in his face. Like I said, I look up useless crap.

On the top of the list of largest aircraft ever built is the Hindenburg. This is where the OCD kicked in. I realized I knew nothing about the Hindenburg other than the fact that it had something to do with a blimp and that a news broadcaster covering the story popularized the term, “Oh the humanity!” (real humanity, none of that Gwyneth Paltrow garbage). As incredibly stupid as this is going to sound, I think I intended to look up the Hindenburg awhile ago but I confused it with the Lindebergh baby and learned all about that incident instead. I remember thinking at the time, “How the hell does a blimp fit into a kidnapping?” In my pathetic defense, they happened around the same time and the Lindebergh baby’s father was a renowned aviator, thus adding to the perplexity. If it weren’t for Leonardo DiCaprio’s films, I’d probably have the Titanic’s iceberg intermingled in there too- and I’d still be wondering if Hugh Hefner flew the Spruce Goose before or after starting Playboy (yes, I actually had the HH’s mixed up at one point- I’m really sounding like a ‘tard here).

So I spent a long time reading about the Hindenburg and the various conspiracy theories surrounding it before it occurred to me that the video would be available on YouTube. It is unbelievable seeing this gigantic aircraft crumble into nothing in mere seconds. Even more remarkable is the fact that only 35 of the 97 on board perished- I don’t know how the rest got out so fast. In case there’s anybody else who hasn’t seen it, I’ve put the original version below but it’s also available in a colorized version that’s spectacular. But if you’re anything like me, be careful visiting the YouTube site or you’ll end up clicking one link that leads to another that leads to footage of Japanese kamikaze pilots bombing warships. Then a couple hours will pass and you’ll ask yourself, “Am I really here as a result of a conversation about The Bachelorette?”

Bizarre Harping

As someone who often has to backtrack when the words I say don’t come out the way I intended them to, I’m somewhat forgiving when others do the same. Ok, maybe it doesn’t seem that way in here because I tend to exaggerate the foibles of celebrities but in reality when someone makes a retraction I let the offending statement slide. However, I do think there’s a limit to how much stupid shit a celebrity should spew in the course of an interview before one of their lackeys gives them a nudge and whispers, “Dude, you’re coming across like a jackass.” Gwyneth Paltrow could have used such as an assistant during her interview for the July issue of Harper’s Bazaar. Some excerpts:

On pregnancy: “I may force myself to do it one more time because the result is so worth it.” She has to force herself? Is she talking about creating life or eating brussel sprouts?

On adoption: “I do feel we’re so fortunate, and we kind of owe it to humanity.” Narcissistic much, Gwyn? If by “humanity” she means “tabloids” or “comedians,” then I’ll concede that the Kabbalah-worshiping, macrobiotic-dieting mother of Apple and Moses does indeed provide an invaluable service to “humanity.”

On Obama: “I think that having a president called Barack Hussein Obama in 2008 says that we are part of the world.” Yes, there’s no factor more important in a president than his name. America will be loved by the whole world if Obama can just find a running mate named Fidel Hitler.

On working out: “I don’t want to look like a mother who doesn’t care. For myself, for my work and for my relationship, I want to look good.” Because nothing shows your children you’re a mother who cares like rock hard abs.

On regrets: “My dad said to me that his only regret in life was that he had only two children and he didn’t have more.” At least we see where she gets her diarrhea of the mouth from. Am I correct to believe that’s a stupid thing for a parent to say, particularly to his child? Granted, my parents never fail to remind my twin brother and me that we were mistakes but at least they have the decency to follow it up by saying we were the best mistakes they ever made (then they wink and point at my brother so I don’t know what that’s all about).

And finally, some words of wisdom: “If you don’t have time to go to the waxer, then shave your legs.” Oprah better watch out- there’s a new oracle in town!

Now The TV Finales

I spent so much time finishing my travelogue that I haven’t talked tv in awhile so here’s the season wrap up:

Lost- Four seasons and it’s as strong as ever. I made nine predictions about the finale and I was thrilled to get eight of them correct. Ok, they weren’t exactly tough (Sawyer calls somebody by a nickname, Jack barks orders at someone, Kate gets rescued by either Sawyer or Jack, Hurley drips sweat, Sayid repairs something, Desmond says “brother,” Aaron cries, Michael dies and the one I missed, Locke rubs his head) but it always fun to guess anything correctly with this show. Actually, some earlier predictions of mine also came to fruition, namely that Locke was in the casket and that Penny would rescue the O6 (though, I thought Desmond would die minutes before that happened), so it wasn’t the sort of shocking season finale I’ve become accustomed to with Lost. But I’m glad to see the future of the show will apparently include Ben because he seriously rocks.

The Bachelor- I thought this guy was the best bachelor ever. He was a real-life Mr. Big- a tall, gorgeous, international financier. Seriously dreamy. But, not surprisingly, he chose the blonde sex kitten (who happens to be Lorenzo Lamas’ daughter) over the funny chick. I thought blondie was all right but I would have thought their hometown date with her mother would have scared him. It was a frightening glimpse into what she was going to look like in 25 years, that is, unless the surgeon who mutilated her mother’s face is put behind bars as he should be. Even though I don’t think he made the right choice, I do think these two will get married. But I also think they’ll get divorced soon after popping out a couple of freakishly beautiful children.

Survivor- I love it when a show can bring one of its best seasons ever in its 16th season. And Survivor succeeded in doing this, at least for the second half of the game. Watching all these boys stumble over their erect penises was awesome. And Erik… OH. MY. GOD. Earlier in the season I thought he was destined to be one of those quickly forgotten players, remembered only as “the dude with the awful Leif Garrett hairdo.” Little did I know. As much as I love a good blindside, I have to admit that watching the ladies devour him the way they did was actually painful for me. I didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as I would have with a guy who wasn’t so damn nice. But it frightens me that people as dumb as Erik are allowed to move freely about this country and even worse, vote. I thought Cirie played a great game her first time around and an even better one this time so she was my favorite to win but I think Parvati played the second-best game so I was happy to see her rewarded over Amanda “The Doe-Eyed Choker.”

American Idol- The finale answered the burning question: who is the worst dancer in the world, David Archuleta or Brooke White (answer: Brooke White by a mile-long moonwalk).The fact that David Cook won over the heavy favorite David Archuleta has restored a little bit of my faith in America’s taste (or maybe it just confirmed America’s sheep-like mentality when it comes to Simon Cowell, who made no secret about his desire for Cook to win). Don’t get me wrong, little David is a great singer and he’s unbelievably adorable. In fact, I want two David Archuleta dolls, one at his current size, the one where I pull the string when I’m feeling down and he says, “Aw, shucks. Life is just so wonderful,” which is the one I would have been all googly over at age 12. I’d also like the full size David A. doll, aged by about 20 years because I know it would look seriously hot on my bed. But I’m pleased with David Cook’s win because he’s only the second contestant (after Chris Daughtry) and the first winner ever whose music I would actually seek out. And first on the list will be his covers of “Hello” and “Billie Jean” which I thought were incredible.

The Hills- A few months ago I joked that a guy was too young for me if he’d ever watched The Hills. I honestly didn’t even know what The Hills was, just that it was on MTV. Then while I was traveling I read a bunch of magazines and every other page seemed to mention somebody from the show. Even John McCain said he never missed an episode and that Heidi was a great “actress.” It got to the point that I had to know if I was on Team Lauren or Team Speidi. Thanks to the raping this tv season took due to the writers’ strike, I had some room in my viewing schedule to check it out. Holy shit it’s addicting, mostly because it’s supposed to be a reality show but every scene is so obviously staged that it’s a complete train wreck. Basically, it’s a female version of Entourage except the stories primarily focus on a group of girls who repeatedly return to some pathetic excuses for men. It’s worth tuning in just to find out what a Justin Bobby is. But there’s also Spencer Pratt. What a piece of work this one is. He is the epitome of lameness and the saddest part is that because he’s good looking and on television, he’ll always be able to get laid despite his lameness. So whose team am I on? I’d probably be on Team Heidi if she showed enough sense to drop that fool Spencer. Lauren’s all right but she needs to learn how to let go of a grudge, particularly over something as insignificant as a little rumor. Whitney seems like a nice girl, though someone needs to teach her that words that end with a “g” END with a “g” and not with a “guh” (like “bringuh” or “thinguh”). Yeah, it’s nitpicky but it kinda bugs me. Audrina is just plain vapid so that leaves me on Team Lo, the girl who shoots her mouth off without really thinking. She sort of reminds me of somebody…

(Oh, and if you’re planning on voting for McCain, watch The Hills and tell me if a guy who claims to never miss an episode is someone you want to have access to the red button).

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