Posts Tagged ‘PPJ


Ask a stupid question

The other day at work, PPJ emitted the longest, most vulgar littenany of cursing that I’ve heard in a long, long time.

After I got done laughing (if you’ve seen Betty White’s performance in “Lake Placid,” you understand why — it’s that same effect), the conversation went something like this (at about the 15 sec mark):

Maybe it’s time I cleaned up my language ….


She, me and they

A lot of stuff has been happening in my little world, so instead of blogging on basically 3 separate incidents that are all interconnected, it’s gonna be one entry.

So, here’s some funny things that I’ve recently been a part of:

  1. OMG, what will I do!?

    OMG, what will I do!?

    Cali is gone: Well, not gone, as is in we parted ways — but gone, as in she’s gone to Arizona for a month to work on a Navajo Reservation to knock some dinero from her student loans. It also gives her a chance to see her family and do some stuff on her side of the world. But what’s entirely too funny to me is all the people who have sent me private mails and such, offering me a shoulder, as such. OK, this may sound harsh — but it’s only a month, people.

    Obviously, I’ll miss her …  but I’m not going to be all “Oh boo hoo! What will I do now that she is gone for a whole month?” Of course, at the same time, I told these same folks to check back with me in May, when she graduates and moves back to LA for good. That will be more on the rough side, but I’m still unlikely to be a weepy chimp in public. Just not how I roll.

  2. The actual shot glasses

    The actual shot glasses

    We have met the jackholes, and they are us: So, Cali had a little “good-bye” fiesta. There was great Mexican food involved (Emilianos on the South Side … across the street from Excuses … check it out if you haven’t been there), karaoke at a different place (no, I didn’t sing), and a lot of drinking. And by a lot of drinking, I mean  PPJ and I were chatting with folks and downing beers and shots. PPJ also stands for “Philly Personality Jen” — which is what happens when she drinks.

    So, a bachelorette party meanders into the bar and sits next to the DJ, poring over the book to see what songs they wanted to sing. And no, there was no SQUEEEEEing involved. They were calm, polite … and I’m assuming, not drunk.

    Image altered to protect the jackholes

    Image altered to protect the identities of the jackholes, especially the one throwing up gang signs.

    PPJ was mysteriously antagonized by the group, which, in turn, brought on all kinds of  jackholish behavior directed at them. I won’t get into details, but basically, it consisted of a lot of bird flipping, PPJ saying naughty things into the microphone and other shenanigans that I thought for sure would lead to a fight. And it was all on us. No doubt in my mind. However, even now that we’re sober, PPJ still insists that somehow, they had it coming. I kinda almost feel guilty, and I didn’t even flip them off or do anything to them. I think this is the  one time in the history of mankind that a bachelorette party got mocked and did absolutely nothing to deserve it.

  3. Friend v. Pimp. Now, here’s the other thing about PPJ … she’s a really cute girl, and guys are always interested in her. However, what I don’t get is why they come up to me to get info … like her
    Yo, ding dong, man, ding dong. Ding dong, yo.

    Yo, ding dong, man, ding dong. Ding dong, yo.

    number, for instance. (I don’t pass that shit out, sorry. That’s a breach of confidentiality rules.) I can understand the “Is she dating anyone?” question, because a guy could generally not want to tread on anyone’s toes. But somehow, it always falls into “You have to put in a good word for me.” Actually, I don’t. Whether she dates a guy or not is all about his behavior … I have nothing to do with it. And how does it look when a guy doesn’t have the confidence to stand on his own, and can’t take the hit should he be rejected?

    The only time I interfere in PPJ’s life is if I know that the guy is already dating someone, the guy is flat out lying to her, keeps sheep skulls in his fridge or does something that sets off my “danger” alarm. Otherwise, I make it a point NOT to be involved in her personal life. It’s not my business unless she shares it with me. I’m her friend, not her pimp, thanks.


So long, virtual friend!

My life is relatively drama free. I work hard to keep it that way. But I have to admit, sometimes all that stability gets a little boring.

Thank God I sit next to Pigpen Jen at work.

I say this because PPJ gets tons more crazy shit flowing to her than I ever have, and that includes my days with The Freak or when Season of the Freak is in full effect.


Now look what you've done, young Fleury!

Here’s the latest that has left me a bit confused. Recently, PPJ updated her Facebook status to celebrating her love for Penguins’ goalie Marc-Andre Fleury. Now, she really isn’t a hockey fan, but she things he’s pretty hot and therefore cheers him on.

Apparently, one of her Facebook friends took exception to her admiration of the young lad and the Penguins in general. Since PPJ is originally from Philly, he not only chastized her for cheering on a non-Philadelphia sports figure (despite her favorite team being the Sixers), but went on to call Sid Crosby “hockey’s cancer” AND blast her for “living in a second-rate city like Pittsburgh.”

And then he took it a step further and dropped theI don’t know if I can be friends with you” bomb.

What makes this really funny is the fact that PPJ barely knows this guy. He graduated high school with PPJ’s sister, and that’s the only connection.

But what really amuses me is when people fire off that the warning shot of “I’m on the verge of defriending you because of such-and-such.”

Really? Defriend her? Oh noes! Not that, virtual friend! What would she ever do without you and your Facebook quips to help guide her life? Let me tell you how she sits at her desk, pining for your every post, every status update, and every comment that you leave for her. Your pearls of wisdom just brighten and enlighten her existance! You can’t leave her, virtual friend! I’ll see to it that she complies with every piece of advice you toss her way, for even a second-rate-city dweller like me can see how wonderiffic you are, and how poignant and thought provoking your comments are. I know you’re just looking out for her well-being, as you Philadelphians are known to do. Rest assured, virtual friend, I’ll get her back on track.

Seriously, where do these people come from?

I mean, I’ve heard of people being defriended for stalker behavior, but because you like the Marc-Andre Fleury and you live in Pittsburgh? Where’s the sin in that?

Or let me phrase it another way — I have 220 Facebook friends. I know the vast majority fairly well — well enough that I have met them in person, had beers with them or went to school with them. The strangers tend to be friends of friends or people who have been kind enough to add me because of my blog (and strangers are welcome, however you need to tell me why you are friend requesting me — “follow your blog” tends to be good enough).

However, not one person has ever fired that “I don’t know if I can be your friend” shot at me. I’m a goofy mofo — I freely admit it. I’m known for it. My status updates are rarely serious, and often the threads take turns to the surreal. That’s  the way my life rolls, and I prefer to laugh the entire way.

Hey, I know I’m not for everyone. Don’t want to be my friend because of something I said (or am perfectly willing and capable of saying)? Here’s an idea — don’t pull out that passive agressive “I don’t know if I can be your friend” stuff — just balls out defriend me. Trust me, I’m a big boy. I’ll still sleep at night.

But the “defriend warning” — I guess I just don’t get it. I have no idea of what kind of mentality someone would have to have in order to think that their virtual friendship means THAT MUCH to other people.

Well, suffice to say, while PPJ’s fine virtual friend may not have a pair enough to defriend her for her comments, she and her sister DO, and have nuked his ass from their lists.

God I love the smell of napalm in the morning.


Pittsburgh, City of Champions, baby.

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