I heart Ira Glass

Seriously, what is not to love about him? "This American Life" is a phenomenon. I can't get enough. And the TV show? It looks AMAZING.

Go here to watch the trailer.

The Good Ship Luxury

Giiiiiiirl!

You may or may not have noticed my conspicuous absence from SnigWigs as of late. This is most likely due to the fact that I have been HATING MY LIFE due to the recent string of horrifying jobs I've been working. My temp agency seems determined to make my hard-hitting expose, Hold Still: This is Only Temporary, a reality in the very near future. Hello, grizzled journalism! (Please, be gentle. I'm soft and defenseless.)

Anyway, it all started about a week ago. I'd just finished working at another of my random reception jobs where I usually got to mess around all day and g-chat to my heart's content. I'd gotten used to having little to nothing asked of me, be it physical, mental, or emotional. I was a breathing houseplant, basically. Are you beginning to notice the past tense here? That's because this ship has motherfucking sailed. No more freedoms for this little lady! It's all button pushing and oceans of mascara tears from here on out.

You see, I'm now working deep in the trenches of luxury hell. After a short stint shifting boxes in a warehouse last Friday (read: me, in a dress, breaking down boxes and cursing my life as I pissedly toss Loreal promotional products into piles), I'm now working at a well-known jewelry company. However, it's not all trying on diamonds and giggling. (Can you believe it?)

• In order for me to gain entrance to my data entry cubicle (shudder), I must go through EIGHT locked doors, leave all my personal belongings at a security checkpoint, and be patted down.
• Any drinks I take with me into my work area cannot be taken out, in the event that anyone should try to smuggle a four pound gold chain to the outside within the unsuspicious confines of a Snapple bottle.
• Any time I have go to the bathroom, I am forced to awkwardly take my shoes off and have an armed security guard go over my entire body with a metal detecter.

The actual job is so boring that I won't even try to make light of it. It just sucks, plain and simple.

Today I was taken on a tour of the "showroom" area on the floor above production (where I work), and it made me realize just how horrific my situation is. Basically, I'm in the metaphorical bowels of the ship -- let's call it "Titanic," just for the sake of discussion.

There is a tangible class divide between my floor and the showroom. The people above me are basically all wearing "Heart of the Ocean" necklaces (Ah-LITERALLY), swimming in diamonds (MORE LITERALLY) and laughing the day away in front of their walls of windows. Meanwhile, I shovel metaphorical coal under fluorescent lights only to get a blister on my pointer finger from all the data I've hen-picked into the ancient DOS computer they've set me up on.

In other words, that's why I haven't been blogging. Amenz!

Mash Trash

According to a rather heated game of MASH last night (you know, the Mansion/Apartment/Squat?/House game favored by seventh graders in study hall), my future is looking pretty good, in a desolate, crazy way.

- I will live in a house, married to the ever swarthy and always sesual Ginuwine. (Yes!)

- I will be employed as the village idiot.

- My car will be a paper bag with a car drawn on it.

- My children will be tumors. (But I'm still having a baby shower, before they're removed.)

- I will live in a cacti forest with my pet alpaca.

- My income will be more yonies.

- My wedding dress will be made of sand.

- And I will be wearing my hair in the ever fashionable, always timeless, perm.

Work repartee

So, I'm sitting at my desk, minding my own business. (Wearing a headset, for those interested.) Typical temping day, blablahblah. Coffee, typing, trolling internet. The yoosh, to say the least.

A woman I haven't met approaches my desk and takes the key for the bathroom.

This, my friends, is the exchange that follows:

Middle-aged office lady, laughing: "You must be wondering why I have to take the bathroom key every fifteen minutes. You must think I'm pregnant or something!"

Me, bewildered by the forwardness of her statement, considering that I was, in fact, wondering why she went to the bathroom so much: "No, no! Hahaha! I don't care! 'Do whatcha gotta do,' right?"

[Awkward pause. ]

MAOL: "Well, you want to know the truth? [Me: Maybe, but I doubt that's what you're going to tell me.] I am so itchy. I try to stop, but I just have to keep going to the bathroom!"

Me, mouth agape, scary smile of awkwardness on my face, dear-in-headlights-eyes: "I'm...sorry...?"

MAOL: "Oh, no! Oh, nonononono! I'm so itchy on my back. I just go into the bathroom, strip naked and slather my body with lotion."

Me: "Oh, really." [Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh sheeeeeeit. What have I gotten myself into?]

MAOL: "...Yeah. So, just in case you were wondering why...That's why! I just didn't want you to think I was some sort of freak or something!"

Me: "Oh, heavens no!"

And...scene.

Dear Jay Howell:

...please date me!

Consider this a love letter sent into cyber space. I'm sorry to have to do it in this manner, but what can I say? You had me at "Let Me Tell You Where to Stick It." (And the accompanying, "Let Me Tell You Where NOT to Stick It.")

You see, Jay, I love a man that loves licking artifical bird life, wooded backgrounds and partying in a hearty manner. You also seem to love dogs, if your previous work is any indication. This is why we must be together. Forever.

Now don't go getting all "freaked out" on me. Let me talk you down here. If the one interview I read with you is correct, you seem like a pretty cool, mellow guy! It said you love quality beer and boners -- ME TOO. How are you not seeing the passion betwixt us? Because I can just see it floating in the air like little electromagnetic waves of lust. And just in time for Valentine's Day! (Whew, that was a close one!)

And now, more work of my beloved's.

(The picture quality below kind of blows, by the way. Just go to one of the links above and save yourself the eye damage of trying to see what the pictures are. Why do I put them up anyway? You tell me.)

Notice the woman's pained expression. ("Fuck Gary, it ain't gonna work!")

That tree is fucking bummed.

Instructions, if you should need them.

Amen!

Excuse me while I pee myself

BREAKING NEWS!

At this moment, I'm trying to maintain bladder control and keep my squealing to a minimum. "Why is Alison losing her shit, on a nearly literal level?," you may ask?

Well, PEE-WEE'S PLAYHOUSE: THE MOVIE is happening!

Simmer down. Yes, I know, I'm a little out of sorts too.

According to wiki,

"Reubens said the story would be about all of the characters from the television show finally leaving the playhouse and venturing off into Puppetland and beyond (the playhouse characters had never left the playhouse in the TV series, though various locations like Miss Yvonne's house were shown). The characters from the playhouse will be on an epic adventure to look for a missing character from the playhouse. Rumor has it that the missing character is the King of Cartoons (originally played by Gilbert Lewis and William H. Marshall). Reubens stated this will be a road movie similar to Pee-wee's Big Adventure."

Original characters returning? Lawrence Fishburne going back to the jheri curl? Tim Burton slated to direct? Conky making a career-saving return to the screen?!?

I think I've died and gone to heaven.

All I have to say is, this better not turn out anything like Big Top Pee-Wee, or there will be hell to pay. Hell.

Happy maker

Carlton is a dancing queen, and I LOVE IT!

I wish I had his moves.



See also: Carlton dancing to the Oprah theme (really getting spastic in this one.) Watch Viv and Uncle Phil's faces as they try to make him stop. It's obvious they've seen this from him before.



And "The Dance Contest," featuring "Boogaloo Shrimp." (Could there be a more appropriate name for him?) When he gets thrown into the wall it gets a little schmaltzy, but his expressions! GEEEE-NEEE-US. Also, Will's dancing kinda sucks.

Yowza! I just love how enthused Carlton always is to be doin' this thang.

Dear Tiny Infant Jesus

...Please get me one of these for my birthday, Christmas, Easter, President's Day or to let me know you have a big ol' crush on me. I need one. Badly. They're little alpacas! Made of alpacas! They make me cry alpaca tears in reverence to their cuteness! You can get them here.

Yours oh so kindly,

Alison

"You know what dog food tastes like? Do ya? It tastes just like it smells... delicious."

Guess who I saw?!!

No, no, no, not
Dave Chappelle --
even better!

I saw the real life,
in the flesh
Tyrone Biggums!


I shit you not, this guy was the living embodiment of everyone's favorite crackhead, complete with the red hat, blue hooded sweatshirt, white lips and ev-ray-thang. (Though his hat did have an American flag on it, and his lips may have just been extraordinarily chapped.)

I first noticed him because he shoved past me to get on the train while screaming, "Jam! Jam! Jam!" while frantically licking his lips. This, in itself, is not enough to make someone memorable to me. I see this shit all day, everyday.

What made little Tyrone Part Deuce (TPD from now on) memorable was his dancing, singing and general love for life. This man had a fire inside him, composed primarily of bleach and crack rock, that could not be extinguished by the cold weather, the whithering looks of his fellow train riders or the staring of frightened children. TPD was going to let his light shine!

It started when I saw him gesturing passionately in what I assumed was a conversation. However, it quickly became apparent that it wasn't two-sided, because of TPD's eye rolling and the fact that and no one around him was speaking. Then he started tapping his feet, singing all-gospel-like and throwing himself back and forth between the bars on the ceiling of the train. What'd I tell ya - on fi-ya!

Unfortunately, he got off pretty quickly, probably to go expend some more of that energy before it ran out.

If I'd seen him eat some dog food, it really would've made my day,
but beggers can't be choosers, y'know?

But what do I know?

What with Valentine's Day rolling around, and with me being a lazy bee-yootch right this second, please peruse this enlightening essay on Downies in love. Enjoy!

P.S. Also, you will quickly get addicted to One D. She tells it like it is, yo!