The other day I went to a local craft store and the sweet little gal that rung me up couldn’t have been twenty years old.  As she held out my receipt I couldn’t help but notice she had “1994” tattooed in some horrible gothic “font” on the four knuckles of her right hand.  Other than this egregious calamity, she looked completely normal.  No pink or green hair, no facial piercings, and no stud in the middle of her tongue.   She looked like the girl next door.  Well, the girl next door that got Yeltsin drunk on graduation night and wound up in a tattoo parlor.  Don’t get me started on this culture of deformity that seems to be everywhere now.  I’m all about self-expression and uniqueness but if everyone is so damn unique, no one is.   Really?  On your hand?  Why didn’t you just put it on your forehead?

I swear I’m turning into a crotchety judgmental curmudgeon.   I feel like this is okay because I indeed have four somewhat regrettable tattoos on my body so I get it but what even young drunk girl corrupted understood was putting them somewhere they can be concealed if necessary as I always kind of assumed that one day I would be the First Lady.


You guys remember the pizza fiaso from last year, right?  If you don’t, here’s the gist.   We bought a pizza shop and it almost killed me.   Well, that may be a tad on the dramatic side but it did certainly test the boundaries of my marriage and sobriety.   This summer our lease was up it was time to make a decision.  Throw in the towel and limp away or move the shop to a better location and by a “better” location I mean that it would have been more profitable on Mount Everest.  We moved the restaurant and we opened back up three weeks ago.  Holy cannoli, y’all.

I swear it’s like the Mafia…I thought I was out..but they pulled me back in.  I’m back to slinging pizzas nightly.  The response has been overwhelming and we actually had people waiting for tables over the weekend.  Success!  It’s exhausting as we’re still working our regular day jobs as well but it takes time to build an empire but we’re well on our way.   We have an incredible staff and the atmosphere and energy is completely positive and upbeat, especially compared to the last joint where the dining room was usually around 90 degrees and you could feel your will to live seeping out every time someone opened the oven door.  Oh, and this store is actually making money so that’s a nice turn of events.  Jesus.  So, stay tuned.  I am Girl Corrupted, LORD OF THE PIES.


So, BFF Schell and I have been on a diet/clean eating/exercise regime.   In an effort to get us jump started she ordered a three month supply of Garcinia Cambogia, which is the new miracle drug that Dr. Oz, et al have been pimping.  It’s an organic herbal supplement that you’re supposed to take twice a day and it will perhaps aid in weight loss.  She sent me a three month supply as well because she’s awesome like that.  You guys.   This stuff will have you pooping like a rabbit.  Between the vodka and jalapenos I didn’t really need help in that arena but OMG, hold onto your hat.  Not only are you pooping green spongy logs three and four times a day, it’s also causing me to develop what I like to call “air horn” farts.  You know, the  kind that forcibly comes out with a big loud crack at the end?   I’ll just be sitting at my desk and suddenly, “BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!   RAT! TAT! TAT!”.   It’s somewhat disturbing because my body is running the show and I can’t control it but it’s also somewhat delightful because it is so raucous and unexpected.

Tattoos, pizza and poop.  What more is there?



2 thoughts on “

  1. Clueless says:

    Oh I miss you Jen. Hope to see you again soon! And maybe at a distance if you keep taking that cleansing shit…. 🙂

  2. Betsey says:

    And … that’s why I love you. LOL

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