The Art of Failing Fairy Tales and Foreign Females

that's about as useful as a siamese twin.

but why is it green? and other things you wish to never hear in a bathroom.

oh no, that beer's for breakfast! duh.

personal space is apparently at a premium. i might start farting smelly farts to get some room to breathe around here.

sometimes things don't work out like you imagined.

sometimes the things you imagine are fucked up.

(seriously, we've all be talking, have you thought about therapy?)

why do people find it necessary to talk in a southern hick accent when they eat bbq? i don't start talking in a chinese accent when i eat sweet and sour chicken.

i sweat inappropriately.

isn't the world harsh enough without having to add to this carnival ride?

all I want to do is drink the pudding, but i'll settle for a beer.

today on the 7 train heading home, a man entered the subway wearing a speedo and a swim cap. while there are several seats open in the train, he chooses the one right next to me and asks me about my swimming career, the one i do not have, incidentally. meanwhile, his junk is trying to break free from the hammock in which he has placed it, and i know, like all things, this can only end badly.

i'm happy you're in the past, i just wish you'd stay there.

fucking dinosaurs.

i still am not sure why i paid 30 dollars to look at gigantic stuffed animals.

sometimes you encounter something that is worth the pain, like chocolate milkshakes without lactaid.

do you ever feel like you got punched in the vagina?

some people don't feel like they need to flush the toilet after they have gone to the bathroom. this is, in fact, not true.

my flight or fight response is really strong. i apologize for kicking you in the balls.

your ignorance is hanging out, and you have some toilet paper stuck to your shoe.

fucking trees.

how do you know when the thrill is gone? won't it be thrilling when you find out?

maybe it's just me, but i like to keep my gaping wounds private.

why are you still talking?

dear crazy depressed people, i get you are crazy and depressed, and hell, maybe even a bit angry. sure life didn't turn out the way you wanted it to, whose really does? but if you insist on going crazy and removing yourself from the world, could you please do so without going on a random killing spree? while i might be mean, cynical, and not want to date you, i would rather not be dead. thank you!

i am not a fan of random violence.

but i am a fan of fan violence. punch those fucking fans, girls.

was that too random?

this week in jenna theatre. location - the streets of nyc. jenna encounters a young, enthusiastic, (possibly high) young woman handing out smoothie samples to passerbys. never one to pass up a smoothie, jenna goes in for a taste of delight.
me - is there dairy in this?
excited sample girl - yup! yogurt and milk!
me - oh, i can't have any.
excited sample girl - oh really? why? it's just a smoothie.
me - i know, but i'm lactose intolerant.
excited sample girl - ohmygod, you can't breast feed? what does your baby do?
(silence)
me - what?

what happens after happiness?

are you destined to search for something else to believe in?

you're a beat reporter, not a beat-a-dead-horse reporter.

do pregnant women shave their lady parts before they give birth? or is their hairiness all hangin out there for the world to see?

i sleep under a blanket of cynicism. and cotton.

and i sleep very well, thank you. how do you sleep?