Jillian Approved: Humor, News and Nonsense

*Dusts off her keyboard*

I recently read somewhere that websites live and die by their update schedule. If that’s the case, then this website is something of a zombie. Officially it’s dead, but I enjoy giving it just enough juice to reanimate for a while. Clearly I have not been the least bit interested in updating this thing, but something in me demands I keep paying the monthly host fees to keep it online. Weird, huh? I am both attracted to this site and yet repelled. The attraction is easy to explain. This site is full of original pieces (except for a few guest posts). I love everything on here. This is the biggest body of written material I have, and dammit, I’m proud of it. I’m proud of the fact I can write about ‘dookie‘ and ‘sex‘ and ‘tigolebitties‘ – three things I have a load of experience in.

Wait. Is this true?

But as for what repels me though: I suspect it’s the sweet glaze of laziness coating my life. It’s a constant struggle to do ANYTHING. Everything just seems to be such a chore. Work is a chore. Cleaning up is a chore. Looking for a better job (so I can achieve even more mediocrity) is a chore. And a lot of times, writing is a chore. So I don’t know, either I’m in some kind of funk (and have been for the last 26 years) or something is genuinely wrong with me. Now I’m not quick to toss out words like “depression” or “loser”, but something is going on with me. Hopefully it’s just a case of “Toomuchawesomeitis”. If you don’t know what that is, now is the time to seriously rethink your Internet usage.

In other news, Entrecard recently closed my account with them. Apparently when you don’t update your blog in 90 days they pull the plug. I know I shouldn’t be upset, but do you know how long it took me to amass over 20,000 credits?! And just when I was planning to launch a huge comeback, too! Oh well. I’m not going back, though. I was never good at dropping credits and honestly, I don’t see how people have time for it. Is there really a need for dropping credits, Facebooking, MySpacing, and Tweeting all in the same day? Think: all this in addition to being human. No thanks. My relationship with Entrecard has ended (they dumped me), I closed my MySpace account (this of my own accord, thank you very much), and anyone “following” me on Twitter knows I almost never update. I could at least say I was behind the idea of Entrecard, but I still don’t see the point of Twitter. I know a lot of people are having success with it… even famous people are on there now. But even though I might like you, I really don’t care what the hell you’re doing at 3:21 in the afternoon. I don’t even care what my husband is doing at 3:21 in the afternoon. So… yeah.

However, I do Facebook. I find this site is a good way to keep in touch with the people that linger on the fringes of our lives. You know who I’m talking about. Facebook lets you talk to people you’re kinda sorta interested in, but not enough to actually call or hang out with. And if you’re anything like me, some of these people might include family. So I’m not giving up on social networking completely, but I am going to pick one and stick with it.

Until next time! Which, believe it or not, will be soon!

**Photo courtesy of atp_tyreseus**

Did any of you ever see the movie “The Inkwell”? The title is a line from the film. There’s a scene where this kid’s Dad is trying to explain sex… along with the importance of the CLITORIS. Now I’m not sure if the Dad actually says the word CLITORIS, I mean it’s quite possible he just meant the VAGINA as a whole.

But something makes me pretty sure he was referencing the almighty CLITORIS.

I have no reason to mention this quote other than to say I still don’t get what the Dad meant. How is it like a guitar string? What exactly is getting plucked? I’m not going to lie: I’m VERY familiar with my “sex” parts, but I don’t know anything down there that requires plucking. Rubbing? Sure. Stroking? Of course… but plucking? Not so much. I pride myself on having a good relationship with the big “V”. We’ve known one another my whole life, and the relationship is so good I don’t even have to call before I visit. And let’s face it: whenever I DO drop by, we both know it’s only for one reason. Well, if you want to get into specifics, maybe it’s more than just ONE reason, but you get the picture.

Interested in MORE clitoris?

Not too long ago, I StumbledUpon the awesomeness of “What I Should Have Said”. The premise behind this site is simple. Users are encouraged to share a situation in which they neglected to come up with a witty or scathing retort, then take an opportunity to express what they should have said in the first place. A lot of the anecdotes are downright hilarious and well worth the read. If you have some free time, I recommend checking this place out.

Being a fan of Seinfeld, anything to do with second-chance-responses (SCR) makes me think of the episode where George was insulted by a co-worker for eating too many shrimp. Long after the incident occurred, George thinks of the retaliatory Jerk Store line and spends the remaining part of the show trying to use it.

“Hey George the ocean called, they’re running out of shrimp!

“Oh yeah? Well the Jerk Store called, they’re running out of YOU!”

More clever one-liners...

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...

So I have big breasts. It’s not unusual for people to stare and beg to rub things on them, only to leave disappointed when I refuse. As a teen, the heat missiles strapped to my chest were good for drawing the attention of seedy men. I remember how pimps used to hit on me, ensuring I would never opt for a life on the street. Nothing made the walk home from school more uncomfortable than hearing shouts of, “Damn gurl, bring those juicy D’s over to Daddy!” This of course, was cause for offense. If I were ever going to sell myself, why have a middle man? Surely I’d be better off NOT having someone beat me and take half of my money? That’s just Bad Business 101. No way those fools were gonna play me.

More about 'big ole titties'...