… or is it?

There have been some ghastly rumors going around I feel I need to address. Let this post serve as one that separates FACT from FICTION.

FICTION: JillianApproved has decided to close up shop.

This is not true. Now mind you, I could have been the one to start such a rumor… but I’m setting the record (and myself) straight. It’s not happening. Yeah yeah, I know it says I update twice a week and those of you who visit regularly know it’s a damn lie. That will change. See, I learned something: you can’t put creativity on a fucking schedule. That shit flows whenever it flows and you just need to be there to catch it. Needless to say my cup hasn’t runneth over in quite a while. So no more schedule, no more deadlines, and no more feeling bad about not updating when I said I would. From now on, it happens WHEN it happens.

Consider this the beginning of a new era. You’re welcome.

FACT: My Fantasy Football team sucks more than a crack-whore in a dark alley.

You know what? I can admit that shit. So I drafted bad. Whatever. Who knew Carson Palmer was going to be the pile of shit on an otherwise delicious plate of would-be victory? Who knew Chad Ocho Cinco would, thus far, be such a non-factor? Who knew Derek Anderson would have such a shitty start to the season? Apparently everyone but me. And to think, there I was on draft day confidently picking players I just knew were going to tear it up. I have only myself to blame as I head into Week 4 with 3 straight losses.

Worst. Fantasy. Season. Ever.

FICTION: Teenage girls have anything remotely relevant to talk about.

They don’t. Or maybe they do. I mean I really shouldn’t judge, in fact maybe I should give them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps it’s just the girls on my bus that are mindless chatterboxes going on and on about shit that would make me kill myself if I HAD to listen to it longer than I currently do. I’m sure elsewhere in this vast and beautiful universe there are tons of teenage girlies that enjoy stimulating conversation wherein boys, MySpace, or “hotness” is never mentioned. That’s possible… right?

But maybe you need a sample of the high-pitched drivel I speak of: (Names have been changed because I don’t care enough to learn their real ones)

Sasha: Omigog! Omigod! Omigod! I saw Aaron today! He is sooooooo cute!

Gina: (emits a sickening squeal) I know, right??! He IS SOOOOOO cute!

Terri: Aaron? Is he the cute one???!!

Sasha and Gina: YES!!!! We think he is sooooo cute!

Terri: Omigod!!!! I think he is soooooo cute, too!!!!!!!

So yeah… these girls need to shut the fuck up. I doubt they will ever know how lucky they are I don’t just drive the bus right into the center divider. Just the thought of their motionless bodies and the blessed quiet that would follow… No one could blame me, better yet, no one SHOULD blame me.

FACT: This blog is called “JillianApproved: Humor, News, and Nonsense” but has never done anything news-related to date.

This is true. I have more fun doing the nonsense part to be honest. But, I have come across several news stories that I thought were funny, or interesting, or worth mentioning for various reasons. Just recently I heard about a guy in Baltimore who is suing a doctor for stapling his rectum shut causing him to go 17 days without taking a dump.

Hahahaha. Seriously.

I would write more on the story, but the article I found was funny all by itself: - Take special note of the quote they get from the victim’s attorney.

Man sues Md. doctor, says butt stapled shut

You guys don’t get a chance to engage me in real life conversation, so I thought I would share some phrases I frequently use. It’s not that I’m lazy when it comes to communicating, it’s just that these phrases perfectly express anything I could ever want to say. I could venture out into new territory, but what if a new phrase leaves a bad taste in my mouth? What if I deliver it wrong? What if I place the inflection on the wrong syllable? This stuff shouldn’t be taken lightly. And that’s exactly why I stick to what I know:

• “Fuck THAT shit.” - I like this one because it takes a stand, sets a boundary. It draws a line. Once you hear me utter these words, you best believe whatever it is has been effectively killed.

Time Warner: Your cable bill is due.

Me: Man, fuck THAT shit.

More servings from my dirty mouth...

This coming May I will have been married a year. When my anniversary hits you should expect a horribly mushy scribbling in which I recount our wedding day and post pictures of the wondrous event. Now I don’t know how true this is, but I’m quite certain the Angels rejoiced on that marvelous day.

No really, they did.

Now I know some of you are wondering why would I attempt to give advice on something I haven’t mastered myself. And that is a valid concern. What do I, a mere Padawan, know about relationships? How could I have possibly learned anything worth passing on in such a short amount of time? Well, you would be surprised. In this post I plan on sharing tips and pointers previously unresearched and never before documented that will hopefully help you maintain a mind-blowing level of happiness in your relationship.

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If there is one song that does it for me, it’s “Come Go With Me” by Teddy Pendergrass. This is one of my FAVORITE songs ever. I fell in love with it the first time I heard it and now every time it comes on I feel things, good things.

A few nights ago I decided to look up the lyrics. After reading the words, the song has taken on a slightly different meaning. I think maybe, just maybe, Teddy was a little desperate and under the cover of night wanted to grab himself a moped.

Lets take a closer look:

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I found out not to long ago that on a scale of 1 to “I want to have sex with you”, I was rated about a 6. Which, if I may translate, means I’m only 4 beers and a shrug of “why not?” from being the best (or worse) night of your life.

Chris, thank you for your honesty.

I suppose this should bother me, but it doesn’t. Everything needs a rating: food, movies, cars, TV shows… why not sex appeal? If more people knew where they stood, it would prevent a ton of disappointment. A man who is clearly a 3 would not, under any circumstances, go after a woman rated higher than a 5.

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