Monday, March 31, 2008


Is going on with The Bachelor? Why is this still on? Wouldn't you think the like .2% success rate would turn people off?

And what is with the girl with "the meeps." In my world, that's called Tourette's.


What is it about Moms and their obsession with their daughter's weight? I obviously instigated this one but please note the twist.
------ Forwarded Message
From: Mom Reply-To:
Date: Mon, 31 Mar 2008 16:58:08 -0400
To: Jonesy
Subject: RE: Vacation

You look great! Just keep eating healthy. Mom

Some of you...

might be wondering where I've gone. I'm still here but have been very busy rying to relax (if that makes any sense).

In the mean time, I will have you know I had a dream in which I bedded an Iranian guido. If anyone can clue me into the deeper meaning of this you win a secret prize.

(FYI: The secret prize is nothing).

Talk to you soon when I have more to say.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Goya Oh Boya!

So all in all, I had about an hour of free time in Chicago. I decided to see some sights. I had heard a lot about one particular thing.

"The face of Chicago has changed overnight. With the grand opening of the 475 million dollar Millennium Park July 16th, and the unveiling of the newest and most striking public sculpture, Cloudgate, all guidebooks were instantly rendered obsolete. That's because artist Anish Kapoor's Cloudgate, already lovingly referred to by Chicagoans as "The Bean," is a sensational, 110-ton, highly polished steel monolith shaped like a kidney bean that draws you to it with its ever-changing reflections of the city skyline, surrounding park and, of course, your own, elusive mirror-image - harder to find than you think." source

I saw the bean and took some artsy photos...

Then, in a moment of pure immaturity, I started cracking up (mind you I was by myself) and took this.

Yes, I flicked the bean.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Spotted: Top Chef's Gail Simmons

Spotted: Top Chef's Gail Simmons on my eight from chicago. Pretty face. Skinny legs. Big ass' seemed very nice to the person she was talking to.

Did she forget her red shirt?

God bless america.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

Ho-tel, Mo-tel, Holiday Inn....

Hotel living suits me. As I write this, I just showered with expensive toiletries at hand (Crabtree & Evelyn), my clothes are hung up and ironed in my closet, I'm drnking a cup of fershly brewed tea and getting ready to go to bed at 10:30 pm.

Looks like Chicago has aged me into my forties and it agrees with me, I look fab.

On the other hand, I almost slipped when I got into the shower and I realized that if I fell and died, no one would find me until Tuesday when I'm supposed to check out. Whoever found me would see all of my naked lady parts. Even in death I'm still modest.

So I got out and rested my cell phone on the floor next to the tub just in case.

Being single sometimes blows. But at least I smell like delicious Crabtree & Evelyn products (although I've never seen anyone under the age of 40 shop there...shit!).

More on my Chi-town trip when I return. And no, I did not get to hang with the former crush and put an end to my lust. Figure I wouldn't keep leading you on there. Unlike some people I know.

Friday, March 14, 2008


I love how the post wih the most comments ever is the one in which a man masturbates on my leg/butt.

You are all gross.

Yay for Friday in Lent!

Every Friday in Lent means it's pizza day! I order pizza for dinner every week!!

I just ordered (I will not disclose how much pizza) and then I realized, I forgot to order my grape soda. If you have not tried it, pizza and a grape soda is the best combo EVER!!!

Luckily, I have a cherry coke stored in the fridge! Yay for Fridays in Lent!

Is that an 8-ball in your pocket, no, it's your peen.

On the subway with Q on Tuesday. Packed rush hour train. I only had her to hold on to and some man leaning on me. I felt something poking my butt/thigh repeatedly. Then I realized the train wasn't moving.

I still feel filthy.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Babysitter's Club: A PSA

As many of you know, my first job was as the friendly neighborhood babysitter. I love kids, always have, always will. I love that they are little people that have their own sense of logic. Word got out at how awesome I was and my client base would make Kristy from the BSC cry to Maryanne.

Now, part of my awesome extended from the fact that I knew how to have fun with kids but still kept them in check (I am not afraid to distribute a time out). I mean, I was 14 and the kid had to be in bed by 8 pm so I could watch friends.

There was one family I grew really close with and I watched their son from the age of 6 months until he was around 6 or 7 (would have been longer but I went away to school). In those years, I was around for the birth of his sister and I met all of his friends and would watch other kids in his neighborhood.

He was adorable. A perfect little Irish kid who was sweet and precocious at the same time. We got along famously and I watched him grow from Barney to Power Rangers to the early Harry Potter books. We spent a lot of time together (including one whole summer when I was 15) and I have many stories.

Here's where my public announcement comes in. When he was about three, he started to potty train. I was elated because it meant no more poopy diapers for me to change. So you can imagine I was excited when I arrived one day and his mom told me that he was going on the toilet! Yay!

That morning, his mom left and I put on the TV while I set out some coloring books for us. My little man told me he was going to use the big boy potty so I took a break from coloring Cookie Monster to catch up on a soap for a few. Mind you, the bathroom is four feet from where I was. Five minutes later I hear his angelic voice exclaim, "I'M FINISHED!" Since he was new to the whole potty thing, I clapped and shouted a supportive "Good for you! Yay!" and continued to watch my stories. Two more minutes go by.


I gave another supportive yell and some more applause.


Lightbulb. "Um, do you need help?"

I open the door and homeboy is chilling on the bowl, little legs dangling. "I'm finished," he said like I was supposed to do something. What his mom had neglected to tell me was that while he could drop a deuce on the big boy bowl, he had yet to master the art of the wipe. He had been shouting for me to wipe his ass. Since I had been doing that since he was a baby, I had no problem helping but I couldn't understand how someone would teach their kid to poop and not show them the wiping process. Like really, they go hand in hand! Needless to say, I learned my lesson and from then until he learned how to use TP, I was on hand when he needed his heiny wiped.

Sadly, this was not the last time this would happen to me. I was a camp counselor for years. My first year, I had self-sufficient 12-14 year-olds (including Spanish's sister!). My second year, I had kids going into first grade, most of whom were five or six. We hung around most of the day with the kids in Kindergarten (my sister was the head counselor in that group). By this time, my teenage alcoholism had set in and my sister and I (and 90% of the rest of the counselors) would roll into work everyday hungover. On those days (everyday), we would ask for movie time, which meant air conditioning and quiet for an hour. On this particular day, I was exhausted and movie time was lodged between lunch and swim time. This meant that after the movie, every single kid had to pee. I took my kids to the bathroom. One of the quietest and sweetest kids went in and immediately farted. I knew she was going to poo. We were in the bathroom for fifteen minutes. After asking her about five times if she had needed help, she finally said, yea, I think I'm done. I asked her to open the door so the next girl could go.

As if she were the Queen of Sheba, she swung open the door (still sitting on her throne) and said "I need you to wipe my heiny first."

Now, when you work with little kids at a licensed summer camp there are STRICT rules about touching kids. Especially when you are alone with them. I feel bad, because I laughed at this girl in the face while I sent my CIT (who was nearby with the girls who were waiting) to get some baby wipes from my sister. I took one and realized that there was no reason I should have to do this. I didn't really know her parents well (not like I was the trusted family babysitter or had ever changed her diaper). So I did the only thing I could think of. I held the babywipe up to my shorts and acted out how she should wipe. I taught the girl to wipe her ass through effing mime.

So parents and future parents of America, I implore you. PLEASE TEACH YOUR KIDS TO WIPE BEFORE LEAVING THEM IN THE CARE OF AN UNSUSPECTING TEENAGER. Thank you.

Monday, March 10, 2008

Everyone Was Doing It

The Wild Rose

Random Brutal Love Dreamer (RBLD)

The Wild Rose

shmolorful, but unpicked. You are The Wild Rose.

Prone to bouts of cynicism, sarcasm, and thorns, you excite a certain kind of man. Hoping to gather you up, he flirts and winks and asks you out, ultimately professing his love. Then you make him bleed. Why? Because you're the rare, independent, self-sufficient kind of woman who does want love, but not from a weakling.

You don't seem to take yourself too seriously, and that's refreshing. You aren't uptight; you don't over-plan. Romance-wise, sex isn't a top priority--a true relationship would be preferable. For your age, you haven't had a lot of bonafide love experience, though, and this kind of gets to core of the issue. You're very selective.

The problem is them, not you, right? You have lofty standards that few measure up to. You're out there all right, but not to be picked up by just anyone.

Your exact female opposite:

The Dirty Little Secret

The Dirty Little Secret

Deliberate Gentle Sex Master

Always avoid: The Bachelor (DGSM)

Consider: The Vapor Trail (RBLM)

Link: The Online Dating Persona Test @ OkCupid - free online dating
My profile name: : mags101681

I'm the same as her.


I know someone who has something in common with Eliot Spitzer. Ass.

Sunday, March 09, 2008

You lika the Perry?

So apparently the folks who surf the interwebs are fans of Perry on Make Me a Supermodel and the drama with his girlfriend. Ever since I posted some stuff about it, traffic has spiked. So here I am, mentioning it again, in hopes that some of you who visit for the info like the blog and continue to read. If you don't, suck it.

So it turns out I was wrong, that she didn't leave him a voicemail and they actually spoke on the phone. BUT when he called her back after hanging up on him, she totally hit "IGNORE" and sent his ass to voicemail. She was probable too busy grooming Adnan's face pubes.

I'm excited to see how the drama unfolds, but Perry, if you ever read this, please get in touch. Your fine ass deserves way better!

Thursday, March 06, 2008

An Open Letter: To the girlfriend of Perry on Make Me a Supermodel

It's Jonesy Bitch.

WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU? According the the interwebs, you got caught up with Adnan, yes Britney's nasty BF with the flavor savor soul patch.

Supposedly, on tonight's epi, you will leave Perry a cryptic message and dump him.

WHAT! ADNAN! Do you have brain trauma? Does Adnan have a platinum cock covered in chocolate?

Perry is hot. He is what men should be. Hot, a little gay, and just HOT!

I think you should go hang out with Julia Stiles. Maybe you two want to make a suicide pact?

Fuck you and you're trying to be famous ways.

My past still haunts me. I confess: I was a cheerleader.

Yes, it's true. There was a time when running around in nothing more than midriff-bearing tops and teeny skirts made me happy. I loved poms. I owned Kappa sneakers. I took private gymnastic lessons. I carried a megaphone. I suffered injuries (and think I have the early signs of an arthritic knee and wrist). There were no qualms about wearing warm up suits. I did spirit fingers and made rock and roll signs with my hands. Sponge curlers are a useful hair styling tool and I know how to use them. Never dropped a Spirit Stick and yes, I brought it on.

Okay, so it's out there. I started in the 4th grade and was hooked. It was girly and it was fun and by 5th grade, I was a captain and my sister was my coach (At the time, I didn't think one thing had to do with the other, now it's sort of obvious, although I was pretty damn dedicated). We cheered during the fall for boys basketball and in the winter we competed. Hard core. We didn't mess.

By high school, Spanish and I were all but drafted as freshman onto the varsity squad. Our talent was sort of benched for year since we were the newbies but we went to Nationals, hit the big blue mat, and watched the seniors choke. Whatever, we had three more years. Oh, and we weren't allowed to cheer for the boys school since they had thrown condoms at squads in the past. We cheered for the girls basketball team.

Sophmore year, at one point, I had to tumble five times in our routine. I coined the term "backheadspring" since would sort of flop over on my head and stand up. I'm sure I had concussions and looking back, I am thankful I never broke my neck. Nationals again, we were better this time but not good enough.

Junior year, at this point, most of my friends were on my team. Coincdentally, I hated the rest of our team. Florida again. More choking. I got in trouble for flirting with ugly male cheerleaders. It was retarded and we sort of sucked. But we got new uniforms. I remember this because I had a 22 inch waist a 6-pack at the time. Ha! I became the girl who showed up in her uniform reeking of ciggies.

Senior year, Spanish and I defected to an All-Star team. At this point I was sticking with it for college and secretly wanted to be a coach/instructor. We got uniforms that showed our stomachs. We had a fat girl on our team. That was mean. At one point, I slept through the SAT II's because I was awake from a practice and was stressed about a competition the same day. I drove in a blizzard, visit several doctors for my wrist injury, and finally got on a squad that didn't choke. We rocked every competition. Until nationals, when due to an injury that happened 5 minutes before we hit the mats, Spanish's base couldn't really perform well. Boo. I hung up my shoes that day. Literally, on my wall.

There were camps (retarded because I could never find a place to smoke) and clinics and bake sales and pep rallys. I loved it. Until it stopped being fun. By college I was done and I just wanted to drink and smoke. I went to a meeting to see what our team was about. They didn't compete and they sucked so I bailed. Although, if I knew then what would happen to my teeny taut body then what I know now I would have slapped the smile on and picked up the poms.

Okay, all that boring shit aside, I stumbled on this website yesterday and found this:
REALLY? How old are these kids, 5, maybe 6? And the kid bellys are in full effect ('cept for my girl in the middle, she's ripped!). Full makeup and hair too! Since when is something that requires extreme agility, strength, and flexibility, a training camp for TEENY WHORES?
If you look at pic of me when I was 9, my skirt is clearly down to my knees. Our tops were sweater material. Not all this silver polyester sparkle and baby belly. This just makes me angry. My mom would NEVER let me rock this gear. I hope these poor kids don't lose their viriginty under the bleachers after the big game.
I pray I have only sons.

Wednesday, March 05, 2008

Tuesday, March 04, 2008

Oh. Dear. God.

I just found out I am landing in Chicago during the middle of their St. Patrick's Day parade. My hotel is a few blocks from the route. HELP ME!

Sunday, March 02, 2008

We're 3!

Yesterday marked the 3rd anniversary of this here little blog. What started as an experiment (and still sort of is) has turned into a way for me to rant, gossip, and flat out bitch about goings on--from everyday to the celebrity.

Anyway, this is a thanks to those of you who read these, however frequent or infequent, however whiny or funny. I hope I've given you at least a few minutes distaction frm your day job.

Here's to another year, more drunk rediculousness and maybe even some quality peen (for me, not for you).

Cheers! And Godspeed (I love saying this and can never find an approproate moment, so eff it, it's going here.).

Happy Fake St. Pat's!

It's officially drinking season! With more phony St. Patrick's Days (hoboken, Belmar, Jersey City, White Plains and finally NYC), March Madness and the impending spring, people are finally coming out of their winter cocoons for their love of the drink.

Yesterday morning, I woke up at 7:30 AM to haul ass to Hoboken. This is earlier then I wake up for work everyday by over an hour. That right there speaks volumes.

I got into the 'boken at around 9:15, went to DM's apartment for a quick bagel and then we walked to wait on line. The bar opened at 11, we were on a line that went halfway down the street by 10:15. As we were waiting, I jokingly wondered out loud what would happen i the bar finally opened and we were still stuck online.

And that's exactly what happened. Thanks to a fire marshall, the bar went to one and one by 11:05. It took in total, 2 hours and 45 minutes for me to get my first drink. Although, I do give them credit for having the least crowded bar (when you needed a drink you got one within minutes) area and places for us to actually sit down. The wait was a blessing in disguise, because when the drinks started to flow they flowed fast. Cider went down in minutes and Bud Lights in even less time.

And then we made the crucial error that we always make. Leaving the fun to find more fun. The group split and we all ended up at different parties. When we finally all reunited (to meet at another bar which had a line so I went home) to find that none of us had had as much fun as we did earlier that day. But the day was still a success as I got drunk, witnessed an arrest straight out of cops, and ended up mking a poor food choice (and subway choices, for some reason I got off the Path at Christopher Street when I live in Hell's Kitchen??).

And the best part, since we were out so early, I was in bed by 11 pm. I woke up at 9 am fresh as an Irish rose. Gotta love St. Pats--whether they are real or fake!

The drunkest guy in all of Hoboken yesterday

Sorry it's sideways.