Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Stop Inviting My Nemesis to Your Parties

I hate you.

Sparkles and bitchiness. The seated pig.
Some pig.
Whomever invites the pig, you're on notice. That swine thinks she's all that. "Look at moi!" "Where's the food?" "Ooh, champagne!"

She's always showing up at the same parties I do. By the time I get to the bar, it's empty. I dash to the buffet, she's on the floor, rolling around and snorting in the remaining scraps. This one time I tried to pull a carrot stick out from under her and she let out a huge, "Hi-Yah!" and chopped me in the throat.

From her stupid big sparkly rings to her super flexible little on-again-off-again boyfriend, she just can't stop talking about how awesome her life is and how great it is to be so famous. "Ooh, Lars is the BEST personal trainer," or "Call Bernie to book me, I'm just too busy to talk right now." Seriously, I'm getting sick of hearing about all of it. Get over yourself.

Well, get this. A couple of weeks ago, we were at the same type of function again and I unfortunately got there less fashionably late than she did. However, that did allow me to eat a box of delectable cookies before she could touch them. She swept into the room, all fluttering eyelashes and cooing in that ridiculous high-pitched squealy voice she does when she puts on a show. I know what's she's really like under all of that: a gravelly-voiced rage monster just waiting to karate kick you into next week. Anyway, there was still a large pot of warm chili on the buffet stand and I directed her attention to it. "You have to try it. It's delicious."

She didn't reply because she was too busy putting her head in the pot and gobbling down ever last meaty morsel. Oh, the tears I cried from laughter. I hope you enjoyed that pork chili as much as I enjoyed watching you eat it.

I'm freaking out about the photo op with my nemesis.
OMG. I think we're best friends now!

Saturday, November 16, 2013

My Mother Ruined Everything

Dear New Neighbors,

I am sorry. I am so SO sorry. My mother has these antiquated ideas about life, you see, and she just does not understand how it is these days, no matter how hard I try to educate her otherwise. I am truly ashamed for what she did to you and I simply do not know how I can go on. I greatly lament the fact you will now miss out on knowing the greatest creature to ever grace this universe: ME.


J. Kesgard
Famous Person

Wearing all black with black roses, in mourning for my neighbors' loss
Wracked with sadness & regret.
The fact our neighbor of 23 years had moved out and sold her house was a frightening prospect. Who would buy the house? Would they know who I am? What presents would they give me in order to curry my favor? These were questions I just could not answer until I laid eyes on the people themselves. One day, I witnessed one of them quickly moving cleaning supplies into the house. I assumed he was the new owners' servant but I soon realized he may have been one of the owners himself as he had a vampire baby with him.

We allowed the new residents to move in uninterrupted, as I would have liked them to be settled and focused when I sent over the brochure of gift baskets for them to choose from to give to me. Unfortunately, the day I was to send my publicist over, my live-in annoyance, Mommy Dearest, RUINED EVERYTHING.

Mother lives in the servants' quarters in my McMansion and decided to go outside without permission. She was putting something in the garbage can like a peasant and noticed the neighbors working on cars in the driveway. She approached like a tiger, slow and slinking but pouncing at the last second, uttering a terrible phrase I will never forget, "Hi, I'm Jan. I live next door."

The absolute nerve.

The new neighbor glanced at her for a second, said a quick, "Hi," and went back to working on his car. Mother stood there for a few moments, receiving no further acknowledgement, and finally walked off. Later, when my footballer husband was outside surveying a garden project, he attempted to introduce himself as well, and received a mere grunt. These two events destroyed my chance at becoming even more famous. At first I assumed these people would merely become my devotees, but from how they acted, it's clear they must be super famous people themselves and now we'll probably never snort coke off of a model together or anything!

I ventured outside to supervise* my husband's gardening supervision and looked over to the neighbors' house. The woman that lived there was now outside as well. She barely glanced at me in her chain smoking session; she was too busy associating with the male resident and a friend that came over wearing pajamas at two in the afternoon. When they were finished working on the cars, smoking, and listening to the baby wailing from inside the house, they hastened to disappear back into the domicile so I couldn't recognize them and call TMZ.

I can only assume their standoffishness was due to how famous they are, combined with how old fashioned my mother is. Back in the day, when you moved into an established neighborhood where most of the residents know each other, you'd welcome the new neighbors and everyone would introduce themselves. People used to like knowing who their neighbors were, so they could be friendly and look out for each other. Sadly, some of the other older residents on my street still insist on saying hello to me when they walk past. They even want to have whole conversations. The worst is when we actually step foot into each others' houses. I'm so sad these old neighbors haven't gotten the memo. Get with the now, people.

If my mother had listened to me, she would've known how to approach our new superstar neighbors: on hands and knees, eyes averted, pushing a carton of cigarettes along with her nose. When given permission to rise, she would then curtsy and kiss their rings. At that time, she'd then give them my publicist's card and she'd receive theirs in return. Someone's people would call someone's people, and then a few days later we'd be waking up in an infinity pool in Vegas, surrounded by champagne bottles and vomit. Now none of it will EVER HAPPEN. Now they will never know how super cool I am and we will never sext nudes to each other that will end up on The Dirty. They will never know what they are missing. I'm sorry. I'm just so SO sorry, new celebrity neighbors.

*If you are approached by someone insisting they have pictures of us digging up a stump, don't believe them. It's a lie!
A gravesite with black roses and a headstone that says DIE
Here lies my neighbors' chance at knowing how fabulous I am.