Ain't to proud to wear a knapsack

I bought a brand new black Jansport backpack today, because my HUGE one-shoulder trundle was taking an egregious toll on my posture.

Call me dorky, but if knapsacks are wrong, I don't wanna be right. I can't wait to swing it out in front of me and clutch it to my bosom when I need to get something out. That situation will not be too long at hand, I fear, as I have boiling vesuvian esophageal magma acid in my throat, and a pack of Rolaids in my bag.

HERE GOES!

First things first

I know, I know: I have scenes to edit, people to call, contracts to process, messages to check, coffee to poop, etc., but it is IMPERATIVE that I read this entire effing article.

What hooked you so bad, Langbein? you ask. This subhed:

"Tasmanian devils may be headed for extinction in the wild because of a mysterious malady that has killed nearly half of these marsupials."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

I JUST REALIZED VIA THIS ARTICLE THAT
YOU ARE AN ACTUAL ANIMAL!
You can't disappear NOW!



PS You are infinitely cuter than your cartoon counterpart. AND WHO ELSE CAN YOU SAY THAT FOR???

No one. Except maybe Chip n Dale.

CT: Where the berries are plump and the cotton needs pickin'

Hello Friends.

It's TIME!!! Time finally to put our stress in tiny ziploc bags in the freezer, store our aches and pains in wicker bins, and pack off to Woodbridge Connecticut, where hawks dump carrion into your lap as you sip your gin on the patio, deer beat you three times in a row at Spit, tawdry natives pull yuccas and baked hams out of dirt firepits, and Andre Agassi brings you oversized carp.

Ah, Woodbridge! As the Latin goes, "Vudbrigus sanctum rectum bonus est"!

Thursday Show at KGB Bar

Wieners + Trophy Dad =


SO MUCH FUN!

Kraine Theater, KGB Bar, 85 East 4th Street, off 2nd Ave
Thursday, May 26, 10:30 p.m., $7

The Google Tables are Turned!

So today, instead of Google-Image searching the usual "Poop Statue" or "Pancake Suit," I went meta and Googled "WIENER PHILHARMONIC!!!!" but without the puntos exclamador, obviously. And what did I discover?

THIS


pops up way before THIS


Which, if Google search return order is any ratifier of status, means that WE ARE THE NEW ACTUAL Wiener Philharmonic, beating out the original Vienna Symphony Orchestra. Sorry Guys! Have you tried "The Sausage Ensemble" or "Knockwurst Jammy Time"?

One thing, though: the actual VERY FIRST image returned when you Google "Wiener Philharmonic" is a funsize baby in someone's hands. Literally. Don't know how to interpret that.


-Hard at Work, Jules.

further proof that 'dawson's creek' was somehow written by uneductated, yet pretentious, robots

andie to pacey, during a study session in her trophy-cluttered bedroom:
"you are what we, in studious circles, call 'up crapola creek without a paddle,' holding onto the tenth grade by a string, one 'cliff's note' away from--"
pacey, eyes wide:
"total and utter disaster. i know--"

dawson to jen, after she pukes all over her own hand:
"if you weren't so special, you wouldnt be so miserable."

I can't see anything

I forgot my glasses today at work and...

OH MY GOD... do you know what I just noticed?? My settings got updated today and...by JEHOVAH! I CAN LINK!!!! LINK LINKITY LINK!

AWESOME! but what I really wanted to SAY was...

My eyes hurt.

Jenny Needs the Dollars

I'm not sure about it, but I think I should maybe get a second job. When I was in fourth grade my parents bought me a desk on which to do my homework. On either side where two small drawers, "secret drawers", if you will. The drawers marked the inception of my independence, of my own personal handling of my finances and possessions. In one drawer I saved my money, and in the other I kept a secret stash of junior mints, unopened and waiting to be eaten in the space between my two twin beds. When Hanukkah rolled around, I checked my savings in one of the secret drawers and I think I had like 42 dollars. It was enough to buy gifts for my entire family...From Spencer's Gifts. Here is what the gift list may have looked like

Gifts
Mom: Key chain that says, "yeah, and I want a million bucks!"
Dad: Fart spray
Stacey: Bunny with the face of a baby
Abby: Glass filled with rubber pina colada in it

Lately, I've been thinking that with my current savings account, I'm in basically the same position: I can only afford things that shouldn't even be sold.

That's why I've decided to take this new job. I had my training yesterday and I think I'm going to love it! YAAAAAYYY!!!

Love,
Jenny

PS: the junior mints ended up tasting like wood.

Blogside Vigil

Oh, Wiener Blog! All my white-knuckled prayers and hot, salty tears have paid off: You're back!

Get in there, little fighter.

further proof that dawson's creek was somehow written by uneducated, yet pretentious, robots

dawson, explaining to joey that if she decides to stay at home with him, instead of running off to paris, their relationship will be 'scorching': "this is a simple structure that we, here in capeside, like to call 'le swingset.'"

watching dawson's creek can be a real challenge. we can all agree on that. thank god that there are commercials to break up the insanity. has anyone else seen ads for the new classic triple at wendy's yet? because, it's "the stack daddy, beefasaurus rex" with "three times the freshness."

best,
tv

No, no, I'm fine, Really!

I don't know why, but I have the strangest feeling right now!

Love,
Jenny

Man, I'm so reLAXED

I live in a house of golden harp strings and I smile even when I'm screaming at a horror movie.

tinkle tinkle pluck. tinkle tinkle pluck.

Go AWAY from the pipe!

Bagpipers always look like their heads are going to explode, WAY more than oboeists, who my mom told me when I was little, "all go nuts."

seriously, though. Get into piano. Or harp. Relax. Try the steel drums. Just relax your face, man.

Also, I will not let the sun of May 17, 2005 set without posting this, because, well, I don't think it's staged. Look at that kid's face.



AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Celebreality Is Humiliating

While standing with my ex-roomate from college in downtown manhattan, I bumped into a person that I knew, not very well, and stopped to have a "hey" and "how are you". As I just said in the last sentence, I don't know this person, but I like them and, let's face it: i ALWAYS want to show the world and its people that, you guessed it, I'm very cool.

That's right, I'm cool, and I keep getting cooler and cooler. The only thing that might not convince this particular person of how, (dare i say it?), "chill" i am is that instead of saying goodbye, I did this.

JENNY: Cool. Well, see ya! (cue peace sign forming in jenny's hand). No, no, that's not a typo. I gave someone the peace sign today! BOOOO!!!! NOT A BACKWARDS PEACE SIGN, AND NOT AN IRONIC ONE. I SERIOUSLY GAVE THE PEACE SIGN AND WALKED AWAY.

Just a little less embarassing than the time in 7th grade when i walked around all day and took a latin exam with a pair of old yesterday's underwear sticking out of the bottom of my flannel lined jeans. Thank god they fell though! Thank god that they fell out in the middle of the class room, and thank the heavens even more that my mother had sewn a bright red name-tag that said "JENNY SARAH SLATE" on it. Thank god that that was sewn into the underpants, and furthermore, that the underpants were pale yellow zebra underpants, and that they were in the middle of the classroom floor.

Moral of this story? You can always double check your pant cuffs for last night or yesterday's underwear, but you can never predict when you wind up giving an important person the DOUCHIEST goodbye ever: the peace sign.

peace out!
love,
jenny

"KENNY CHESNEY, DON'T MISS: THE BEACH!"

Ticketmaster's like, "DON'T MISS KENNY CHESNEY," and I'm like, "I think I WILL miss Kenny Chesney. Thank you."

Ticketmaster, have you tried selling Kenny Chesney some tickets to the beach? That seems promising.

heard at gabe's birthday party

the best complaint about britney spears ever: "she is soooooo unfunky."

Pushin' til I'm Putin

Today, I had a free health assessment as part of my gym membership. I have always been quite terrified of personal training sessions, due to my fear of being judged for my weak and flabby body. So, when asked whether or not I wanted a man or woman as my trainer, I squealed, "whatevs!" That's when the counterlady perused the appointment folder and then assigned me to Mikhail. I had no idea who Mikhail was, but was sure that he was going to turn me into a warrior like Tom Cruise. Being the doughy dumpling-cake that I am, I patiently skipped over to a tiny chair and waited for my personal life coach to appear. I decided to pass the time by watching a class taking place in the workout studio. It was kickboxing. Just as I peered in, the leathery, brutish, hard-bodied instructor did a jumping spinkick into a punching bag, which nearly ripped in two. Subsequently, after this impressive move, one of his pupils chirped, "Hey Mikhail, like this?" Point being is that I am made of pastry filling and my personal trainer was chiseled out of ice from a million years ago.

My health assessment started with a flab check, flexibility test, and weigh in. I failed all three and was punched in the anus. I did okay on sit-ups and cardio, but made a weak impression with my muscle strength test. He first put me on an arm machine, where I was literally only lifting 50 lbs. and was shaking violently enough for my hair to fall out of a ponytail (a side ponytail, heh heh). Then, he tested my leg strength with that machine where you sit upright and put your feet on a flat surface ahead of you and then push. I will call it the birthing machine, because when he put my weight setting at 210 lbs., I pushed so hard that I partially squeezed out my tampon. After putting my results into the computer, we chatted about ice hockey and he told me to go kill myself. I said thank you, licked his bicep, and made an appointment with him on Monday. My tummy says, "See you later suckers!!!!"

lots of love,
Michael Elliot Barry

re: GALA

two days later, i respond:
YES! DEFINITELY!
let's theme it 'spring's got me sprung,' and encourage every male attendee to wear prosthetic boners tipped with morning glories. women may dress as they please, because we're not sexist.

WHOA looks like my chances are better than I thought...

But honestly, what are my chances of dying and being resuscitated by retarded feral tigers

and being reborn as this little girl:

Can We Have a BALL?

Hey. Hi. Listen, not to be demanding, but I got the PRETTIEST dress for my sister's graduation from college this week.

But seriously, that got me thinking, let's have a Wiener GALA.

Yes, I know you're mulling it over very seriously, Michael Barry.

YAAAAY!

WHOA! Gabe is getting older. You know what that means: time is slowly projecting him into the future.

Bring me back a moonrock, little angel.

It's gabe's b-day and guess what?

My friendster profile has been viewed 69 times. That's right, on the eve of the day that my bestie was born, somebody took their 69th look at my friendster page. You know what that means? If you're friends with gabe then sexy shit just flies into your face. And when I say sexy shit, I mean porn mags, and when i say "porn mags", i mean "fancy bags", and when i say "fancy bags", i'm actually saying, "gabe, I wish i could get you what you want for your birthday: a fancy bag, but i'll just ask you to cut my hair again."

Happy birthday Gabe Liedman! You're a great guy, and I'll say THIS 69 times: The wieners are so glad you were born!

Love,
Jenny

Proud mom

So I went to the gyno yesterday and they made me take a routine pregnancy test.

I tested positive-- FOR DEHYDRATION!

ZING!

No seriously folks, was that tinkle?-- or was it TANG???? OH MY GOD THOUGH SERIOUSLY NO CMON.

old man lichen

"OK, ideally what I'd like in my eloborate, topiaried, ivy-garlanded, hyperromantic secret garden is a fountain of an old homeless pervert."
"I think we can manage that."
"Oh, and could he be holding--"
"A dead baby's head, a skull, and two saplings?"
"You read my mind!!!!"
[both laugh as blood pours out of their ears]

fin

Tit tock, tit tock: time to steal Jules' fucking ideas

I'm just saying. If all my pottery classes (continuously for 9 years) hadn't been when I was a child, I would have OBVIOUSLY made this first.

Another Lunchtime Swim

In the toxic sludge which is the Crunch Gym 42nd street pool.

Loooooooove,
Jules
P.s. my hair is still sizzling 2 hours later.
P.p.s. I just farted a ray of light

Jenny is not Dead

Many of you many have noticed that I have been conspicuously absent from the blog, and probably the same number of readers feel a relief in not having to read about my diarreahs and neighbors that I expect might be dead. Maybe you even thought that I'M DEAD? Well, I'm alive and as it turns out: just barely. Guess what? I think my little sister may have tried to murder me on saturday.

"I've got a treat for you," She said over the phone.

Guess what it was? A "magic cookie". I feel like the police are watching my every move, so let's hope that you know what I mean on this one. She told me to eat only a quarter, explaining that her tall ex boyfriend had eaten a half and tripped for like 90 days.

"Whatever," I thought, "I've never eaten only PART of a cookie. Cookie's are for eating, and I'm gonna eat this cookie right now." Too bad I'm such a greedy fatty, because within 2 hours I was going crazy and embarassing myself. I sat for about 10 minutes in a bar with my good friends and then i announced that i was "going to the bathroom", where I barfed my cookie REALLY HARD and reapplied my lipgloss. When I stumbled out of the bathroom with a snotty, "what?" look on my face I realized three things:
1) When something similiar happened I pooped in that bathroom, but not the toilet and didn't even realize
2) I hadn't flushed the toilet and the crosshairs were broken on my barf gun...jenny made-y a messy!
3) The guys playing pool were like "freshman!", which just sucks because I'm DONE with college and I have a job and I'm a comedian...(cut to me hanging "invisi-thongs" at american apparel all saturday while I laugh at jokes that I tell myself about the invisi-thongs and who they will end up with)

It's cool though. I'm sure people at columbia think i'm really awesome. I'm ready for anything! There's no way that I could have done something so outrageous that people would remember, right? I love you guys so much.
love,
Jenny

BEST SITUATION Baked Ziti has ever been put in

So jealous. [dull thump of tiny female boner hitting underside of balsa wood office desk]