Stop Inviting My Nemesis to Your Parties

I hate you.

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.

OMG. I think we're best friends now!

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.

Condolences,

J. Kesgard
Famous Person

Wracked with sadness & regret.

BACKSTORY
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!

Here lies my neighbors' chance at knowing how fabulous I am.

Now Making Guest Appearances!

I receive inquiries ALL THE TIME from so many of my fans regarding social functions and entertaining. Jennifer, how do I make my party exciting? How do I truly celebrate a life event in a special way? Do you know the secret to throwing the best bashes? DO I?!? Duh...

The best social gatherings all have one essential component: me.

Mingette & I on the wood carpet.

Now that we are entering the holiday season, my services will certainly be required at a great number of public events. In the last couple years, I limited my appearances to a select few engagements due to my time being occupied by other projects and a great many naps. This year, I aim to attend numerous celebrations, especially where I can get lots of free stuff like all the other celebrities.

This last weekend, I was invited to a VIP screening of an epic sporting competition. Mingette and I were amused by the idea of making an appearance as sporting events are not usually known to possess the level of class and sophistication we do. Fortunately, this gathering required only my presence and an offering of [redacted] candy and the plans were set. My driver had me to the door a reasonable hour late and I was ushered in quickly; no velvet ropes for this superstar!

I enjoyed a wide variety of exotic foods prepared by my personal chef (which we brought in, Hugh Hefner-style). The most wonderful surprise of the evening was the choice of beverage. Usually I enjoy a delightful glass of something grape-based and bubbly. However, I was introduced to an almost equally delicious beverage that was derived from another fruit: apple cider. How exquisite. This is soon to be a topic on which I will soon be an expert and eternally annoy friends, family, acquaintances and strangers alike. Cider is my new best friend.

Mingette loves Diego Valeri and would enjoy a scratch & a pat.

Mingette and I made our way to our reserved seating and watched some muscularly blessed men topple all over each other. As I am the Worst Timbers Blogger, I made sure to place most of my attention toward glimpsing abs and butts. Mingette is far better of a sports mind and often interrupted my viewing experience. She's writing a book about NASL Timbers and how much she hated their shorts.

The only difficulty I had with the evening was the fact the VIP area wasn't separated enough from the main viewing area. I'm sure I had to breathe the same air as some of the lesser people who probably haven't been on a reality show or made a sex tape yet or anything.

All in all, the evening was a success and I'm looking forward to more this season. I already have a few engagements booked in the next month and I'll be sure to tell you, my dear fans, all about them.

Post engagement on-site nap. The VIP area lacked the cushy couches I'm used to dancing on.

A Failed Self-Intervention

I've been living in a state of denial. I must confess my transgressions before I can continue with my recovery. Sadly, my dear fans, I've still been working. In a school.

WITH CHILDREN.

I know, I know. This is terrible news. Here I am, supposedly spending all day in bed nursing epic hangovers but instead I'm disappointing all of you with continued altruistic works. I tried to stop. Many times. The rush is just too good, you know? That look they get on their faces when they finally get it. When they understand what multiplication actually is. What gives trees their green color. Why Christopher Columbus was not a hero but a massive douche deserving of a day of national immolation, not celebration. I can't break this addiction, man. And now that I'm talking about it, I don't want to stop. Seriously.

Could you stop knowing you get things like this all the time?

Crack.

Several times a week, trembling hands accompanied by a smiling face bestow upon me works greater than that of the classic masters. Move over, Michelangelo, this kid can draw Pikachu from memory. Shut up, Monet. You only wish you could make me a fridge magnet of Wolverine with a light saber. This little girl's leaf rubbings are second to none, Rembrandt. And they are ALL MINE.

Fashion, I am disappoint.

For a long period of time I did attempt to shake this compulsion. About six weeks ago I went to a fashion show here in Portland. I was planning to attend all of the major shows this fall and started with a one-off with an artsy multimedia component. My optimistic outlook on my return to frivolity died within moments of entry. What I thought would be a welcome return to my preferred reality was instead a jarring wake-up call to my problematic mental state. There was something very wrong with me.

Why was I not elbowing people to get into the bar line? Why was I not fawning over this designer who's pretentiously showing a clip from The Monkees' Head (it was the bridge scene and everything!) before their show? Why was I more preoccupied by this line's tangential connection to a Doctor Who reference than their actual clothing?

I couldn't even figure out ahead of time the looks for which we were going to arbitrarily choose to clap. Of course it was the man-sized baby onesie. Of COURSE it was. And I missed it. Everyone else knew to clap but I didn't. Instead, I thought to myself, "This guy in the giant onesie looks ridiculous. Where the hell would you wear that?" Clearly, I was off my game. I felt so out of place I decided not to attend any further shows this season.

Attending the shows was supposed to be a major source of inspiration to me as I am finishing up some touches on the accessories line I'm about to launch. I have decided to try once more to foist my hats upon the masses, but this time I'm additionally offering handbags and various jewelry. As I profit, I will reinvest into my business to buy better sewing equipment and move on to clothing. The sense of pressure I had has been deflated and I have decided to proceed toward my humor writing and fashion house dreams at my own, non-stressful pace. It'll happen when it happens. And in the meanwhile, I can get a bigger high by teaching what I know about sewing and other subjects to some awesome children, who are inspiring me more than any giant onesie even would.

Don't worry. I have plenty of other ways to do nothing most of the rest of the time. And I still love my bubbly.

The Vampires Have Won

I have recently come to the terrible realization that I have lost. There's nothing I can do now. They have manipulated me to help them complete their nefarious purposes and it makes me weep in utter despair. What now? What now indeed...

Those of you aware of my battles against the great pregnancy conspiracy from our vampire overlords no doubt remember the shocking mailings I received of breeder propaganda and blood sacrifice. I thought I had done all I could to avoid being enslaved by these fiends but I now realize I may be too late. Apparently, I didn't know I was pregnant and already gave birth. I wondered how I got so fat and now I know the terrible truth. The most frightening question I have is, where is the baby? But then I wonder, when did I expel it? Is it watching me? Does it live in the crawlspace? Is it mad I keep intercepting its mail?

You may be asking yourself, how does she know this? Why would she even think of this? Well, dear fans, the evidence is clear and you can see for yourself after you gaze upon what I just received in the mail:

WAT!?!

We've hit crisis level, here folks. I have now received correspondence meant for a child of at least 18 months of age. Not only did I give birth secretly against my will, but the child also has super-aged like all of the kids do on television. You have seen this frequently, I know. A television program has a character that gives birth and next season their spawn is already five and talking. Or, on a science fiction program, there is something wrong with the creature and it ages quickly on camera. Or, the kids in those pageants made up to look older actually DO look that age now. This can only mean that all children on television are portrayed by vampire babies except for the Olsen twins.

Keep your wits about you, my dears. Hypervigilance is required in times like these. Who knows how many of us have been impregnated against our will, only to birth an evil parasite that now lives in an attic or similar environs. No hell beast, I will not drive you to casting calls. I will not. Most certainly not for anything less than 60% plus expenses.

Fuzzy Logic

I love Daiya fake cheese. It's the perfect product for someone like me that pretty much can't eat anything with gluten, casein or artificial colors... it's like crack. I put it in or on everything: tuna noodles, spaghetti, breakfast scrambles, nachos, burgers and pizza. Well, I would if I ate food other than prunes and champagne. I just like to have Daiya around in case I ever feel like eating something when I'm done being hot.

Not my handiwork, but it could be if I need to drive to get Daiya.

Unfortunately, there wasn't a place close to my home where I could purchase this treat. There are no Whole Foods or New Seasons stores closer than a 25 minute drive and Fred Meyer, a 15-20 minute drive, doesn't carry as wide of a selection of the Daiya products.

Sometimes I don't feel like rolling out of bed to find the phone and call my driver, so I'm forced to go by myself. I usually do my grocery shopping by walking, as drinking bubbly as much as I do and heading out on the road is not a fabulous idea. I might ruin my hair or someone's fence or something. I prefer to stumble down the street, making friends and being under the influence with people.

This summer, IT ALL CHANGED. I was skipping through the hippie section of one of my neighborhood markets when I spied ambrosia: Daiya Cheddar Wedge. It was cause for a most epic celebration. Although this was the only selection, it's my go-to melty pleasure. I quickly purchased a wedge and continued to do so weekly over the next month. In the middle of June, I noticed that a couple of the wedges had green spots on them, as you can see through the semi-transparent packaging. I put them aside and reached in the back and found two good wedges; I bought one of them. In the old days, when I actually gave a shit about being nice, I would have brought the moldy wedges up to the register with me. Not anymore. The expiration date was July 15 on them anyway so I expected they'd be getting a new shipment and trading them out any day.

The next week I walked back and the same three wedges were still there: the two moldy ones and one that wasn't, but I noticed the seal on that one wasn't good and I didn't want to risk it. At the end of June, I went to Las Vegas for a working holiday and had my driver take me to the Whole Foods while I was there so I could put Daiya on everything I ate at the champagne brunch at the MGM Grand. I spent two weeks in Sin City before I returned to Oregon. July 11, I walked to the store and was greeted by my three friends, the same moldy Daiya wedges. I pulled them out of their shelf and laid them on top of the tofu so someone would see it. I raised my cloak across my face and laughed maniacally as I darted out of the store.

July 18, I went back expecting to see the wedges replaced but NO! THEY WERE STILL THERE! Someone had picked them up and restocked them back into their shelf spot. Now they were not only fuzzy but also beyond the expiration date. I pulled them back off the shelf and laid them on the tofu. Every other day I went to the store and put the Daiya on the tofu, and I would go back and it would be right back in its spot again. This went on until this last Sunday, when I finally found my precious wedges gone. I had played this silly game for THREE WEEKS, with the wedges being moldy on the shelf for a total of seven weeks. Now I have no idea of what to do with myself. My life's purpose is gone.

My furry friends. Ready for yiffing.

Vampire Babies Hunger For Your Blood

For once I wish my postal carrier would lose my mail on purpose.

This shocking follow-up to my now school-required reading, Corporate America is Trying to Impregnate Me!, reveals even more terrifying evidence that the government insemination drone is still pursuing me. I sincerely hope they have not already succeeded and I am incubating a Freedom Fetus to be birthed and inspire an episode of I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant.

In the aforementioned entry, I already listed all of my objections to carrying an abdominal parasite, and I assumed the government's efforts would cease once the truth was out. I was wrong. Approximately a week ago, I received more breeder propaganda in the mail. Only now, it was for the benefit of vampire babies. Vampire babies apparently need more blood and I refuse to enable this dangerous menace.

UPDATE!!! ALERT!!! UPDATE!!!:
Before I could even finish writing this entry, I was rudely interrupted by a research trip to Las Vegas. What I assumed was to be an informative exploration of fall's fashion trends so I could further adapt my accessories line turned out not to be the situation. Instead, I discovered the vampire baby conspiracy is growing further and faster than I previously supposed. I am frightened for my very life and you should be, too.

Before I left for my trip, I received a disturbing piece of mail. It was a brochure asking for my cord blood. Apparently, there are many babies out there that need it and they will do anything to get it, including the sending of mail to women that aren't even pregnant. They want me to get pregnant, and then give them all of my blood from some cord thing. I can only assume it's because it reminds them of a crazy straw and they can drink it fresh, directly from the source. This of course is highly disturbing and nauseating, and I have no choice but to attempt to recreate it through the medium of photography.

Realistic recreation of vampire baby.

While I was in Las Vegas, I could not escape the scourge of vampire babies. They were EVERYWHERE. There they were, at 2 a.m. on the Las Vegas Strip, commanding their human minions to push them along in their carriages, searching for victims. Sometimes they even forced their slaves to carry them on their chests. As vampire babies are cold and undead, they were likely absorbing the heat from these poor souls.

I could think of no other reason why a human would have an infant accompanying them in Sin City far after the witching hour if they were not engaging in the search for blood. And in 100 degrees no less. This was perfect hunting ground for a ravenous vampire baby. Pedialyte is a poor substitute for that which these demons truly crave, but more than one adult slave pumped their charges full of this vile substance in the hope they could slake the unholy eternal thirst. That and they gave them lots of candy.

The next day, the bloodsuckers would rise early and in some bizarre ritual of masochism, brave the morning sun after only few hours of sleep, determined to burn themselves into a screaming rage. These strange beasts would wail by the pool as the minions massaged SPF 200 all over their wriggling bodies, while their servants continued to fill them with candy or frozen yogurt or breakfast sandwiches or candy or soda and candy in the attempt to delay their need of blood. Of course, to the layman this practice may appear to be parents filling their kids full of sugar after no sleep in the effort to keep them awake, bribed and happy, but I know better. That would be abusive and there was simply too much of this occurring. It is far more likely the vampire plague has spread faster and wider than even I could have imagined.

This country has been blinded by political ridiculousness. Who cares about racism and homophobia, the war against religion, the moral realignment of women's duties to the righteous patriarchy, and a power hungry unstoppable black president in his quest to continually disenfranchise the poor rich white man over the age of 50? This all means nothing when facing the threat of vampire babies. Start stocking up on wooden stakes before the government starts requiring background checks on them.

And stay away from the M&M Store in Las Vegas. I think it's the international headquarters for the vampire elite.