INTERNET LEAVINGS

OH MY GOD.

Sun, 05 May 2013 20:13:02 -0500

It’s been forever since I posted anything on here. I think I made the unconscious decision to either 1. suck it up and post what I want to Facebook, or 2. Just tell the relevant people whatever’s on my mind instead of leaving it here.

That said, I totally re-read some of my old stuff, and it’s freaking hilarious.

On gaming and anonymous misogynist shit-talking.

Thu, 26 Jul 2012 19:51:56 -0500

On gaming and anonymous misogynist shit-talking.:

Straight or gay, you’re supposed to grow the hell up.

LOVE IT.

"I just need to cultivate an aura of give-a-fuck."

Fri, 20 Jul 2012 19:54:54 -0500

“I just need to cultivate an aura of give-a-fuck.”

- Bill, on trying to not get fired from jobs.

MERRY FREAKING CHRISTMAS.

Wed, 18 Jul 2012 23:30:41 -0500

Last week, I had to display a bunch of advent calendars and light up snow globes.

Today, the mall birthed the 2013 calendar store.

Tonight, Tom decided it was time for me to watch Santa Klaus via MST3k.

WE ARE APPROACHING A CHRISTMAS SINGULARITY. Merry freaking Christmas.

How to know you're officially out of the Raver Game.

Sat, 07 Jul 2012 09:14:00 -0500

Every single flyer for a regional massive posted on Facebook reads like a bunch of junk I made up on a “this would make a hilarious DJ name” kick. Every. Single. One.

Related: Who the hell is Knife Party?

EDIT: PRETTY LIGHTS IS COMING TO WESTFAIR IN AUGUST. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE ARE BACK!

I don’t know if “004” is a good probe...

Thu, 05 Jul 2012 22:07:35 -0500

I don’t know if “004” is a good probe temperature or not. Guess I’ll just have to keep watching. Thanks, Firestarter.

Jane and I have the BEST conversations. EDIT: even Drew...

Thu, 05 Jul 2012 20:15:00 -0500

Jane and I have the BEST conversations.

EDIT: even Drew Barrymore-with-mind-powers has gone fishing. I have still never gone fishing. I feel like if I eat something, I should probably be able to kill it. In an ideal world, I’d go fishing for man-sized catfish with a motherfucking crossbow (those exist, and they look awesome). And there would be screaming. Guttural screaming. But hell, at this point, even those supertiny, weird fishes Burger King pastes together to make a BK Big Fish would suffice.

bublog: BUB hears ice cream truck.

Sun, 01 Jul 2012 18:37:05 -0500

bublog:

BUB hears ice cream truck.

Happy Birthday, Technology.

Fri, 29 Jun 2012 02:50:00 -0500

Or, Shameless Vanity 2008 - 2012.

Weirdly, when I made this post detailing the self-centered photo pursuits of my deviantArt days, I completely neglected to ponder just exactly where photos of that flavor have gone since then. I curate a lot for Facebook, lest I come off as one of Those Girls who only post photos from PhotoBooth, but hey… this is a special occasion.

Happy 5th Birthday, Whitey. You were a graduation present to me ‘round this time in 2008. I named you Whitey, because I had learned my lesson from my first three hard drive failures, and I didn’t trust you one bit. Five years later, you’re still kicking. Your battery is swollen, your trackpad sensor overextends to the spots where my wrists go, and your keyboard could use a real deep clean, but hey… you’re mine, and I love you. Good job, you impersonal chunk of plastic and silicon. Let’s celebrate by taking a trip down PhotoBooth lane.

Spring 2008. Taken for my parents. In which I congratulate myself heartily for being an Adult and writing thank you notes to the people who gave me money for sitting on my ass for four years at Reed. Note the glittery magenta nail polish. Nice touch, Jen.

Summer 2008. Showing off my sweet bruise from dance class. I think we were doing a routine to a Bjork song, and it involved dropping it less like it’s hot, and more like an artfully manic homeless person picking up a stray twenty off the ground.

Summer 2008. Playing with the comic book filter in my sublet basement room/bedroom. One of my favorite photos of me.

Summer 2008. Another gem in the Warhol filter. This is what happens when I don’t have a job, apparently.

Summer 2008. Again. I’ll be honest, I kind of miss my septum ring.

Winter 2009. I like this pose, but let’s be clear: there is nothing cool about self-portraits taken in the computer room at your parents’ house. That plaque on the wall? Mid 1990’s coloring contest winnings. Baller.

Spring 2009. BUSINESS. Once my graphic designer boss mentioned that the kerning was off between the “r” and the “t” in “art,” that’s all I ever saw.

Summer 2009. WORK. Next time, I’m going to try to rely less on the “conspiracy nut” method of organizing information.

Fall 2009. In which I get my hair and makeup done professionally for Halloween, because I’m a business owner now.

Winter 2010. In which a serious blizzard strands me at my parents’ house for awhile over the holidays and I get to spend some quality time with my mother.

Spring 2010. In which I move into my current apartment (by all accounts, still awesome two years later), work for the Census, spend a lot of time in the sun on my porch, and make this face again.

Summer 2010. That mirror filter is my favorite, and the camera on this computer makes the color of my wall look way prettier than it really is.

Summer 2010. A reprise of an old pose.

Winter 2011. Before the Pretty Lights show at the Sokol. I wish there were more occasions in which it was socially acceptable for me to glue mica to my face.

Summer 2011. I find a very literal tab of E on my floor. Turns out it was the stand-in for the queen in Bill’s travel chess set. STILL FUNNY.

Fall 2011. In which I assume pseudo-temporary care of Tom’s cat, Malcom X, and immediately take artsy mirror filter photos. If Malcom and I ever start a band, this will be our first album cover.

Fall 2011. Operation Neighborhood Watch: the pretentious, less explanatory photo that never saw Facebook.

Winter 2012. For once, I got to be in control of a portion of our hourlong photo-taking ritual (it goes Polaroid, real camera, digital camera, and now - PhotoBooth).

Winter 2012. Me and Malcom X, who has kind of become My Cat by this point.

Spring 2012. I attempt to take a photo with Doctor Funkenstein, Tom’s dog, who sometimes visits my apartment. Doc is uninterested.

Summer 2012. Taken from inside the Home Luminarium (read: tent covered in sheets and Christmas lights) I set up in my dining room, on behalf of a friend whose appendicitis prevented her from enjoying the full awesomeness of the Luminarium’s glowing, PVC, inflatable glory.

That’s that… for now. Who knows from whence my next vain adventure will spring. Or if I will ever get Tom to mug with me in PhotoBooth. ‘Cause everybody knows you’re not a Real Couple ‘til you spend an evening taking pictures of yourselves green-screened against weird backgrounds. I want a portrait with Tom on the moon, dammit.

Ghosts of 4th Of July Past

Thu, 28 Jun 2012 17:35:00 -0500

Or, a memory inventory.

2008: Backyard BBQ, followed by a rave off a logging road somewhere between Portland and the coast. Last backwoods party I ever went to before moving back to Omaha. Broke in a pair of knee-high Doc Martens and received the worst blister I’ve ever had, also the first time following the directions backwards almost got me irreparably lost.

2009: Dustin is slated to spin fire at a family BBQ. We plan to watch the casino fireworks from the roof of my apartment building. Dustin comes home late, and we miss them by about ten minutes. Why I failed to just go up to the roof alone is beyond me.

2010: Dustin, Lia, Brandan, Ben, and I go roaming with Zuzu in the heavy fireworks-induced fog that’s descended over downtown. We run wildly, screaming through Turner Park. Ross calls just as we begin our attempt to break into an abandoned apartment complex. We discover boatloads of unopened mail, and realize it’s a lot harder than you’d think to kick a door down.

2011: First year fireworks are legal in the city. Over the week leading up to the 4th, I spend over $150 on explosives, which are set off pretty much simultaneously when Dustin and bunch of dudes decide to wire all the fuses together. I also witness my first flour bomb, and we almost burn down the house when a sky lantern gets stuck in the pine tree out front.

WHAT WILL 2012 HOLD? Tune in next week for the exciting conclusion.

NO FUN. Kidding! Or am I? nobreastsnorequests: No LMFAO =...

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 18:33:08 -0500

NO FUN.

Kidding! Or am I?

nobreastsnorequests:

No LMFAO = LMFAO!

(Source: Jüan MacLean)

I wish my job were like this. I’m cold-blooded, yo.

Tue, 19 Jun 2012 18:29:41 -0500

I wish my job were like this. I’m cold-blooded, yo.

Photo

Mon, 18 Jun 2012 17:58:28 -0500

I am excellent at sleeping. I think it’s actually managed to surpass lust and gluttony in...

Mon, 18 Jun 2012 11:59:24 -0500

I am excellent at sleeping. I think it’s actually managed to surpass lust and gluttony in terms of pet vices. And whatever smoking is. Also gluttony? The only downside to sleeping in is that left to my own devices, I’ll stay up til 3 or 4 in the morning, and I usually end up sleeping through the productive portions of my days off. Y’know… that chunk of time respectable people call “the morning” and “early afternoon.”

I was sure it was well past noon when I woke up today. The shades were drawn, it was quiet and air conditioned… ideal conditions to log ten hours. Or more. And yet, a miraculous surprise. 9am! Going to bed at 11pm has its benefits. What’s up, morning! I’m gonna go DO SHIT.*

*And by “DO SHIT,” I apparently meant clean up around Tom’s house, make plans for dinner, drive some houseplants home, and sit on the Internet til noon. I AM STILL CLEANING MY ENTIRE APARTMENT TODAY. And reading things. I swear.

On bosses.

Sun, 10 Jun 2012 11:31:55 -0500

After two years of working at this job, I have come to a really entertaining conclusion: my bosses are the yin and yang of employee relationships.

Marie, the owner of the company, likes me as a person, but thinks I’m a terrible worker. On occasion, she’ll make off-color jokes to me or we’ll chat about fashion. But the one time I sold a high ticket item in her presence (over the phone, sitting right next to her) she was apparently mindblown that I had the capability to do so. She is also overly impressed when I “manage” to efficiently stock new items, help customers, answer the phone, and keep the store orderly alone, over the course of a day shift. Want to know why it seems like I’m not doing anything when you see me? It’s because I got my work done efficiently and I’m waiting for the next round of work to start. There is not enough actual work on the floor to be physically doing something for 6 hours straight.

Rock, my manager, hates me as a person, but seriously respects my ability to sell the junk he buys for the store. In the two years I’ve worked with him, he has never asked about my future plans, my hobbies, my life, or my feelings - not when I needed to leave early to go to a friend’s funeral (T + 1 month on the job) and not when I thought one of Tom’s dogs was going to die while I was on shift (T + 2 years on the job). Rock just doesn’t care. The assumptions he does make about me are based, I think, entirely on some idea of me he’s built up in the absence of actual information. You like goth stuff, right? You like cleaning stuff with lemons, right? You just hate everybody, don’t you, Jen? Close. I guess. That said, since working’s all I’ve got with him, if he thinks I should be working and I’m not, he threatens to fire me. No joke. He couldn’t even fire the last Hatesponge. But he’ll fire me. Yes. This seems legit.

My coworker Shannon put it best: I have one boss that hates me as a person, but likes me as a worker. I have one boss that loves me as a person, but hates me as a worker. Together, I have one whole boss that loves me and one whole boss that hates me. It’s zenlike in its purity of completeness.

Metaphysical bedtime conversations with Tom.

Thu, 07 Jun 2012 07:49:35 -0500

Jen: Sorry, I forgot you don’t exist within time.
Tom: (whispered) Neither do you.
Jen: That might be the most attractive thing anyone has ever said to me.

Tom doesn’t believe pasts or futures, only our experience of now, our conceptual reconstructions of past-now, and our projections of possible-now (which can’t ever truly exist, because we’re constantly experiencing ‘now’). Seeing as I’m usually a little high when he gets metaphysical, I still can’t fully take apart his actual thoughts on this. Something about time and the marking of it being an artificial human construction by which we order what exists with or without us. I’ve taken to snarkily apologizing if I mention the past. Or the future. And also delighting in the fact that after 5 months, I still secretly believe he’s a Time Lord. And Tom hates Dr. Who.

Right, and this. It’s nice to know after a bunch of dead...

Thu, 07 Jun 2012 07:31:06 -0500

Right, and this. It’s nice to know after a bunch of dead job prospects and internships that my Sweet Professional Letter-writing Skills are actually worth something. I’d take these plates over any internship.

I am extremely leery of events that have “dress to impress” in their description.

Sun, 03 Jun 2012 21:46:11 -0500

I am extremely leery of events that have “dress to impress” in their description.

"She said it wasn’t erotic fiction. I picked it up, and the first words I saw were Kiss me,..."

Fri, 01 Jun 2012 21:32:00 -0500

“

She said it wasn’t erotic fiction.

I picked it up, and the first words I saw were

Kiss me, dammit!

”

- Cody, on snagging Haley’s copy of 50 Shades of Grey.

I am probably a bad person.

Thu, 31 May 2012 17:59:15 -0500

I’ll donate $150 to The Yes Lab and $150 to some guy who wants to make a documentary about taking his parents to Burning Man, but not to my college when they call. And they call often. Sorry, Reed.