Archive for the WTF? Category

No, He’s Not A Luckdragon

Posted in Dog Park Drama, Dog Rescue, WTF? with tags , on September 13, 2009 by JustJennyRebecca

What ever happened to “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”? I’m not talking about blogging or tweeting or anything like that, but in the real face to face world what makes random people say nasty things for no apparent reason? I understand misguided humor and people that think they are being funny. Hell, I probably think I’m a lot funnier than I actually am, but I also don’t walk up to complete strangers and insult them. Wait… Yeah, no, I’ve never done that. Without provocation. Or booze.

This morning we took Effie and Ero to the dog park. The  early morning weather is fantastic now so the park is packed with the usual suspects and a lot of fresh faces, both canine and human, which I love! I bore easily. It’s a character flaw. Anyway, a woman that’s been coming to the park longer than we have approached me because one of her dogs was drinking out of our cooler. There are a few people at this park that don’t like to share their water and you never know who they are until you hear them yelling at your dog. I am not one of the stingy water hoarders. I like dogs more than people so we bring a big cooler.

The woman, whom I’ve seen many times because Effie used to play with her dogs, noticed Ero, went to pet him and called him a “funny little mutt thing”. I told her his name and Miss Rude said “Oh, he’s YOURS? What is he?” I told her his breed, but he’s a rescue so it’s really just a lot of guessing unless I do a DNA test. Miss Rude proceeded to point out all of his flaws. Thank you. I’m actually aware of his supposed “flaws” and don’t consider them as such because he’s a dog not a beauty pageant contestant, I chose him and we love him dearly.

This is where I started to take it a little personal. I had been over it; Miss Rude went to hob-knob with one of the cliques and all was good. We walked around the perimeter for a bit and sat on a bench so Effie and Ero could rest. The next thing I know Miss Rude is headed our way again, with some other chick, and says “You should’ve named him Doofus. That’s what he looks like. A doofus.” And then she turns to the other chick and says, “See, doesn’t he look weird? Doofus fits better.” They laugh and walk away.

What possessed this chick to walk across this massive park and point out my apparently stupid looking dog to someone else, I will never know. I just don’t understand people, which is another reason why I like dogs better. But, if you think that was the end of it you would be so very wrong! We walked back to the tree where I had left our cooler. Effie and Ero got their second wind and while they were playing Miss Rude came over AGAIN, WITH MORE PEOPLE IN TOW, and said to them, “See, doesn’t he look like the dog in ‘The Neverending Story’? I think his name should be ‘Doofus’. Doesn’t that fit him?”

Ero - The "Fugly and Flawed" Dog

Ero - The "Fugly and Flawed" Dog

Falkor the Luckdragon who actually *is* kinda fugly. And also imaginary.

Falkor the Luckdragon who actually *is* kinda fugly. And also imaginary.

Sweet Baby Jesus Mother Mary I’m going to kick your irritating ass.

I know he’s just a dog and not my actual child but she basically told me, and apparently the rest of the park, that Ero is the fugliest dog she’s ever seen. And she didn’t just tell everyone, she had to show them as well. I try really hard to like people. I make an effort every single day not to smack people in the face because they are mostly irritating. And more stupid than they should be. But I never, ever say it to their faces. That’s how classy I am.


Why Yes McDonalds, You Have Inconvenienced Me.

Posted in Dating Nightmares, Uncategorized, WTF? with tags , on September 8, 2009 by JustJennyRebecca

Every morning I make a quick stop at the McDonalds down the street from my house. I require coffee. A lot of coffee and since a Venti Frappacino costs as much as a barrel of crude, I have had to make some adjustments to my routine.

Well, imagine my surprise when I arrived at the drive-thru speaker this morning and saw this message taped to the screen:


WHOA! BACK THE TRUCK UP! Do you mean to tell me that I have been wasting countless hours and oodles of my hard-earned money on Match and eharmony and all this time I could’ve just ordered a Boy Toy at the damn drive thru? What the hell McDonalds!?! Yeah, I’d say you’ve inconvenienced me. And now you’re out of them? When will you get more? And do you take special orders? Oh wait, you’re not Burger King so I probably “can’t have it my way”.

What. The. Fuck? Why am I always the last to know about the good shit?

I *Heart* Crazy

Posted in Working for a living, WTF? with tags , on September 7, 2009 by JustJennyRebecca

I really do enjoy meeting new people every day. Most of them are weird in one way or another, but then who isn’t? People think I’m a little strange and it doesn’t really bother me. The hard part, for me, is getting through each of my appointments without letting my clients know that I think they are weird. Or stupid. Or crazy.

Take for instance the client who completely stopped her signing because she didn’t like the way I wrote my 5’s. Yes. My 5’s were too similar to an “S” and she wanted me to correct them all. Holy Shit Batman. If you thought my 5’s were bad, you should see my “1’s”. They’re horrible! They are so similar to an “L” or, dare I say, an “i” WITHOUT THE FUCKING DOT! It’s sick. I’m sick. I have no idea how I made it through school. And how in the name of all that is Holy did I make it into a Master’s program? With penmanship like that I should’ve been held back in fourth grade.

Another example of crazy is the little old lady in North North Scottsdale. If you are familiar with the Phoenix area you will understand that North Scottsdale and North North Scottsdale are two completely different animals. North Scottsdale = money. NN Scottsdale = OMG Shut The Fuck Up You Live Where? And therefore there is an expected level of class or culture or brains or something that inherently comes with the location. Unless of course you are me, because when I get called to NN Scottsdale I just get to meet the whack-jobs.

Little Old Lady (LOL) lives in a gated and 24 hour guarded community. I had to stop at the gate and check in, wait for the guard to record my car info and check to see that my name was on the list. When I got to the house I rang the bell and heard LOL unlock three separate locks. When she “opened” the door she did so with the chain still attached and she gave me the once over. After a few awkward moments she shut the door, took the chain off and led me into the kitchen. Okay, dicey start but I was in now, sitting at her kitchen table, with her loan documents in hand.

LOL seemed really uncomfortable with me, with her loan documents, with everything and then she had a question regarding some of the costs on her settlement statement and because I don’t work for the title company I cannot tell you why they charged you a bazillion dollars for this or that. So I pick up my cell to call her title rep and LOL freaked out!

LOL:            “You can’t use a cell phone from my house!”

Me:               “Why? I’m getting reception.”

LOL:            “NO! THEY can hear you. EVERYONE can hear you. You have
to use MY phone. They can’t hack into MY phone.”

Me:              “Are you kidding me? Is Ashton here?”

Sweet baby Jesus, she’s fucking crazy. And since I don’t like to touch other people’s stuff, like their virus-ridden phone, without sanitizing it first in a bleach bath, I gave her the number and made her call the title company on her fancy, hack proof Bat Phone. By the time she got off the phone with the title company LOL had freaked herself out so badly about a multitude of things that she made me follow her to a café down the street to finish the signing. It was all I could do to not tell her that I thought we were followed and that the café had cameras recording our every move. That probably would’ve launched her right off her rocker. But it would have been awesome.

How Not To Get Shanked By Your Client’s Gangster Daughter and More Ridiculous Tales From The Signing Table

Posted in Working for a living, WTF? with tags , , , , on August 16, 2009 by JustJennyRebecca

It has really been a rough week. I know the world is full of crazy people, but I didn’t realize that I would be meeting them all. Sometimes they are funny. Sometimes they are scary. Sometimes they are eccentric. More often than not they are just plain stupid.

Take for instance the client who works for a major, MAJOR lender. Not only does this client work for the lender, but he’s really high up the food chain. Client refinances house. I show up at house at specified time. Client doesn’t have any identification. Why does this keep happening? People: This is America-Post-9/11! My dog can’t take a piss in the local Bark Park without a god damned license so why the hell do you think you can refinance your house without one? I realize there are many reasons why some people don’t have drivers licenses, I get that. I, technically, didn’t know how to drive until I was 25. But you can bet your sweet ass I had an Arizona ID the day I turned 16. It’s common sense. How do you cash checks? Have any type of bank account? Have a job? Buy adult beverages? Cigarettes? How do you survive? And if you DO manage to get by without any of the above, then A) you most likely have a miserable life and B) you certainly do not own your home. No one in this country owns a home without having had some type of ID, authentic or otherwise, when they purchased said home. Fact.

My client thought that since he worked for the lender his employee ID would suffice. Sure, I can accept that. Or your library card, Costco card, Friends of Josh Groban membership card. Whatever, I’m easy. It’s just a job, after all. In the end the client ended up finding 2 witnesses to verify his identity. Unfortunately the witnesses came over with 6 untamed children, for a total of NINE untamed children, running around destroying the house while we completed the signing. That evening required heavy alcohol consumption. Thankfully I have an ID.

My next fabulous signing was with a very lovely couple. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at all. We sat down, everyone had ID, they understood their paperwork because, for a change, their loan officer had actually done his job correctly so there were no surprises. About halfway through the signing, I felt something brush my toes so I moved my foot a little, assuming it was a cat. Then something brushed BOTH my feet, but this time it was so startling that I actually kicked my foot a little. It was just a reaction, I didn’t do it to be vicious for god’s sake but allegedly I kicked a bunny rabbit across the kitchen. Allegedly. A bunny rabbit. Roaming the house all willy nilly. There were several rabbits. What the eff are bunnie rabbits doing roaming the house? And why in God’s name would you not alert your visitors to the potential threat of bunnies nibbling their toes? Maybe I’m allergic. Maybe I’m phobic. Maybe I was mauled by a vicious, bucktoothed jackrabbit as a child which would illicit the football punt reaction that occurred. This is exactly what the bunny looked like. I’m not kidding:

Vicious effing bunny

Vicious effing bunny

Needless to say my clients were mildly horrified and yet apologetic at the same time. I felt really, really bad, but cage your vicious bunnies. And your snakes, lizards and birds, too. Don’t even get me started on the birds…

My last unfortunate appointment of the week occurred Thursday. It was enough to make me want to never do another signing again. Ever. I arrived at an appointment, in a less than desirable neighborhood, and knocked on the door. I could hear girls/women talking and I could hear the TV. No one answered. I rang the bell. I knocked some more. I could still hear the TV and women talking and laughing. I called the number on my order sheet. I could hear the damn phone ringing from inside the house BUT NO ONE WOULD ANSWER IT. I am persistent though, so I waited in my car for a few minutes, in case my client wasn’t home and had just left the TV on, although I definitely heard talking and laughing. I went back to the door about 10 minutes later and continued ringing the bell, knocking, and calling.

After a total of 22 minutes, TWENTY TWO, the door swung open. Standing just beyond the swing area of the door was a girl. A woman? I don’t know – late teens or early 20’s. She looked like a gangster. She was standing like a soldier “at ease” with her hands behind her back, as if clutching something. Something like a shank. Or a gun. Or a meat cleaver. But what was even more strange was that she had her head cocked to one side and she was just staring at me, with a calm yet homicidal look on her face. Immediately I had a feeling that my client was stuffed in a freezer in the back of the house or bound and gagged and tied to a chair. I hate that feeling.

Gangster Girl continued to stare for what seemed a long time, saying nothing. So I asked if my client was home and said that I had a 5 pm appointment with her. Gangster Girl slowly, and I mean VERY slowly, cocked her head to the other side and STILL SAID NOTHING. Creepy effing bitch. She very much reminded me of Dollface in The Strangers. You know, this one:

Gemma Ward as Dollface in "The Strangers" aka My client's gangster daughter.

Gemma Ward as Dollface in "The Strangers" aka My client's gangster daughter.

After an insanely long time she said “No one is home” and slowly cocked her head to the other side again. Okay, so it was a little creepy because I had a very bad vibe the whole time and technically I should have given her my business card, etc., but there was no fucking way I was giving Gangster Dollface my personal information. Not a chance in hell! I walked quite swiftly to my car and left and do you know what? She still just stood there. I don’t even know if she was my client’s daughter, but if she WAS the daughter then she needs a serious, SER.I.OUS ass-whooping.

This is why I hate my job. And I certainly don’t get paid enough!

**disclaimer: Yes, I am still very thankful that I at least have a job.

If I Had Josh Groban’s Ear…

Posted in Beautiful Music, WTF? with tags , , , on August 11, 2009 by JustJennyRebecca

Well, I’d probably be in jail because no one would believe that Mr. Groban pulled a Van Gogh and offered his ear to me as a token of his appreciation for the mind-blowing mattress mambo we had the night before, but that’s not exactly what I meant.

I am just a fan and as such I wait patiently for each album, each tour, so I can experience his voice in all its glory, but, BUT in between the albums and the tours I get a little bored. I am only human. So of course I was thrilled when Chess was released on DVD, and PBS of course, but on the DVD there were no annoying bleeps where the word “shit” should’ve been. Good grief. How horrifying, hearing the word “shit”. Shit Shit Shit! I digress… He did really good on stage and of course musically he was fantastic, the entire cast was, but it got me thinking of other roles that he would be great for and he could do these roles in between the albums that seem to take FOREVER to make. Patience is not a virtue I possess. What exactly is a virtue?

Role #1, the obvious choice, Fiyero in Wicked. Check out this behind the scene clip of Kevin Kern, currently playing Fiyero on Broadway, courtesy of

The Wonderful World of Wicked: Kevin Kern is Fiyero.

I don’t know about the riding pants… Josh, how DOES your ass look in riding pants? Show me.

Role #2, which isn’t actually a role per se, but it’s Off-Broadway sort of, okay it’s comedy or “fringe” as some would call it. Josh is kinda funny but I don’t think the masses really get to see that because a lot of people just focus on ribbing the guy for his David Foster-esque “Popera” label. Anyhoo, This group is currently at 45 Bleecker Street, which may be a better choice for “someone” if he just wants to “establish” himself, the old fashioned way, and work on stage presence or whatever I have no idea, just work with me here, I really am going somewhere with this. Check out this clip, courtesy of Foster Entertainment. And FYI there’s a better clip at POTP’s website but I couldn’t link it correctly. Shut up, I’m still learning me some IT skills.

Josh – you can get audition info at their website. Or just Twitter them. Or just forward your audition video to me.

And do you know what would be even awesomer? If Mr. Groban added some type of musical component to his “origami” it would bring new meaning to the phrase “Rock out with your cock out”. Although technically for him it would be “pop out with your cock out”, but that just doesn’t have the same flow now does it?

Other than stage roles Mr. Groban could surprise us with an appearance on, oh I don’t know, maybe Saturday Night Live? C’mon Lorne! I know there are myriad people way smarter and Way.More.Funnier. than moi, but there are some glaring obvious choices for skits including JGro.

Glaring Obvious Choice #1 – American Idol Skit. Admittedly, the show may be dead now with the exit of the beloved Miss Paula Abdul, but if it’s still got 1 more season then clearly Groban could do a skit where A) he’s a guest judge and goes all asshole on some poor contestant auditioning with a classic Groban song, like the much slaughtered “You Raise Me Up” or B) JGro could BE a contestant (albeit a very “sensitive” yet flamboyantly dressed one) singing Per.Fect.Ly, one of his own songs duh, and then the judges could go all asshole on HIM and then JGro could throw a hissy-fit during the requisite Seacrest “Exit Interview”.

Glaring Obvious Choice #2 – Richard Simmons Skit. You’ve seen the commercials Richard does for the yogurt, right? And if you’re way fucking younger than I am and can’t remember the exercise videos then you can go to hell. I mean here’s a little nugget for you. You’re welcome.

Let’s face it, based on looks (or hair) alone if he’s not careful, this could be JGro in 30-40 years. Skit A) a parody on the yogurt commercial just because Groban doesn’t seem to take himself too seriously (did you see him on “Nevermind the Buzzcocks” on the BBC? ROTFL!)or Skit B) a parody on Sweatin’ to the Oldies now called “Sweatin’ with the Grobies”. Oh yes, I said it. No offense Grobies, but it IS a tad funny. And if you didn’t watch that last clip and LOL when you pictured Josh Groban front and center then you are clearly the walking dead. A zombie. Just sayin.

I know people, I KNOW. Someone should be paying me for these ideas because they are the awesomest ideas e-ver. FACT.

Ohmygod. I think I took cancer dog’s narcotics this morning instead of my thyroid meds. Shit. The bottles look the same. So do the pills. Shit.

More Ridiculous Tales from the Signing Table

Posted in Working for a living, WTF? on July 26, 2009 by JustJennyRebecca

People amaze me. Sometimes they shock me. And occasionally there’s just good old fashioned disgust. The things I have seen, heard and smelled while signing loans is just ridiculous. Here are some highlights:

1) Captain Underpants – I arrived at an appointment 3 weeks ago and a lovely young woman with a baby on her hip answered the door. She showed me to the kitchen table and out walked her octogenarian mother. Maybe her grandmother. I have no idea. All I could focus on was this old woman in a t-shirt and underpants. She sat down right next to me, in her underpants, and signed her loan. The lovely younger woman didn’t say a word. In fact, she left me there in the kitchen, alone, with a crazy lady in effing underpants! What is wrong with people? How about, “Hey granny, it’s a little chilly, how about a blanket?” Another approach would have been, “Holy Mother Mary Jesus Fucking Christ! Go back in your room and put some fucking pants on! There’s a stranger in the house!” The possibilities of what could have been said are quite endless.

2) The Maggot Kingdom – This was the day I realized that I was NOT, in fact, the worst housekeeper in the universe. It almost made me feel better about myself. Almost. It also made me want to vomit. I arrived at a client’s house on a Monday morning. The woman showed me to the kitchen table. I noticed a smell. Not a mildly funky what-died-in-the-fridge kind of smell. No, no, no, it was more like the stench-of-rotting-flesh-wafting-up-from-the-basement-where-all-the-corpses-were-being-kept kind of smell. I know that’s pretty specific, but this was a very specific smell.

I also noticed the woman’s daughter sweeping the far side of the kitchen. Sweeping feverishly. So feverishly in fact that I thought she was a little wacko. I would like to point out that I am vision impaired. Not blind just vain, so I don’t wear my glasses except in darkened movie theaters or while driving because I can’t afford any more tickets or accidents (see previous posts). Had I not been so vain I would have noticed the kitchen floor moving and the psycho-sweeping was due to the fact that the floor was covered with MAGGOTS. MAGGOTS. MAGGOTS.

I politely picked up my bag and my purse, checked them for MOTHER FUCKING MAGGOTS and set them on the table. I also politely stomped my feet a couple times and rested them on the bar that ran between my chair legs. The mother explained to me that they had a family emergency on Friday and left the house without taking out the garbage. When they arrived home Sunday the MOTHER FUCKING MAGGOTS had taken over the kitchen. I was certainly in no position to CSI her story, but I can Google “life cycle of a fly” as good as the next person and I’m pretty sure that since the MFM’s (I affectionately call them that now) were no longer moving around in a mass, they were just going willy-nilly in all directions, they were at least 4, probably 5 or 6 days old… I could be wrong, but don’t contradict or correct me because this is my MFM story!

3) Crazy Cat Man – It’s usually a “crazy cat lady”. I don’t know why that is, but stereotypically it’s always a woman so I was shocked when the single man I was signing opened the door and immediately my eyes began to water and burn and my nose started to run. The stench of multiple cats is unmistakable. It smelled like 87 cats trapped in a garage with no ventilation. It looked like it smelled and the man was a pack-rat. There were no chairs, no table to sign the papers on, no counter available. Every square inch of space had something on it and that something was then covered in cat hair and feces. All the shit was covered in, well, shit. And urine. And hair. In his defense, I did arrive 10 whole minutes early. Maybe he was just about to clean when I knocked on the door. Bah ha ha ha ha!!! By the time I left that house I was covered in hives, coughing, sneezing and continued to itch for the rest of the day.

Have I said that I love my job? No? Well, I’m thankful I have a job. How’s that?

You know what they say about pineapple…

Posted in WTF? on July 18, 2009 by JustJennyRebecca

There are a lot of myths surrounding pineapple. It’s said to induce labor, it’s said to burn fat and who hasn’t heard the myth that eating pineapple will make a man “taste” better? C’mon, you’ve heard that! So, two things got me thinking about this recently. First, Josh Groban tweeted something about eating dried pineapple. I know, I know, I’m ashamed to admit it but I do follow JGro on Twitter. I just cant help myself. He’s sooooo sexy in a dorky kind of way.

The second thing that got me thinking about pineapple and the belief that it makes men taste sweeter was something I witnessed while I was waiting for a client the other day. I was meeting a client at her work, which happened to be a grocery store. There was a Starbucks inside so I got a Frappacino Light and pulled up a chair to wait for my client. I was in prime people watching position. As I waited for my client I observed a homeless man enter the store. Now, I don’t mean to stereotype anybody so let me explain that I didn’t think he was homeless because of the way he was groomed or dressed, although that was evidence enough. I surmised his homelessness based on the cardboard sign that he placed in his grocery cart. See, I am not mean.

So, this homeless guy pushes his cart past me toward the produce section. I continue drinking my coffee and Tweeting (or “twatting” if you prefer Stephen Colbert’s vernacular) and 2 minutes later he rushes past me with his cart piled high with fresh pineapple. There had to be at least 15 pineapples in there. I shit you not! As this guy walks past the greeter, because Wal-mart started a trend and now all grocery stores have to have a friggin’ greeter, the greeter says, “wow, that’s a lot of pineapple!” Homeless guy gets a HUGE grin on his face and says, “Yep, I got a hot date this weekend” and proceeds to the checkout lane. That’s. Just. Gross. But I suppose homeless people need oral sex, too.

So that is why I decided to see what type of evidence I could find to support the pineapple myth. I googled “pineapple+semen” and a bazillion entries popped up. Most were crap, none were scientific. The only sort-of-but-not-really reliable source I could find was Donald Zimmer, the Sex Health Advisor for and he said:

“While there are no studies to support it, it is generally received that kiwi, celery, pineapple, and watermelon can all make semen taste lighter. Heavy beer and coffee drinkers are said to produce bitter-tasting ejaculate. Alkaline-based fish and meats make for a buttery taste.”

So there you have it. According to Donald Zimmer and a homeless dude, eating pineapple will make your junk taste better.