As it perfectly sums up a life Janie-lived:
As it perfectly sums up a life Janie-lived:
Is it a lot?
I applied for a job, by the request of a person that works at the office, about five months ago. I got a call back and did one of those annoyingly long phone interviews – the ones where you have to hide in the corners of your actual job and whisper talk during a lunch break that goes for over an hour.
And I didn’t get it (I know. I’m shocked, too). They sent me a quick email letting me know. Such is life, such is war.
After suffering the rejection, I went about my life as normal and didn’t dwell on this humiliating defeat at all.
And I got a new job.
And life proceeded as normal.
And then I got ANOTHER email letting me know I didn’t get the job. As though, a month later, they felt the need to remind me just in case I didn’t get the message the first time.
That’s a nice feeling.
Two months pass.
AND I GET A THIRD FUCKING EMAIL LETTING ME KNOW I DIDN’T GET THE FUCKING JOB.
So, I decided to let them know that as much as I appreciate them incessantly informing me that they didn’t think I was the right candidate maybe they could stop sending me rejection emails.
(strong truth, Glen)
Is it how to walk home casually – and not wheezing – with not one but two of those massive jugs of cat litter and not feel like dying because you keep putting off quitting smoking? If not it’s probably nothing.
Unless it’s this guy….then it’s a whole different story
I like to make inflammatory remarks on the Internet. I’ve said some truly and exceptionally stupid and abrasive things online because I’m a glutton for punishment and other equally selfish and needy reasons.
But never have I captured such a strong reaction as when I said this:
In 2016 I learned that people fucking love some ravioli. Like a lot. It wasn’t totally fair that the first comment came from a handsome gentlemen actually from Italy with a glib response:
And then I learned that ravioli comes in all kinds of intriguing and diverse flavors and styles, and suddenly ravioli bonds were being forged on my FaceBook timeline:
And not only were friends tethered together through a mutual acquaintance and appreciation for pillow-y food treats, it generated confusion:
And then it started to manifest in delicious suggestions by beloved friends:
And then I got called out:
And somehow bringing up Dunkaroos brought up an entirely different, though I’d venture, equally important conversation about yummy snacks and the halcyon days of the WWF.
Starting to accidentally insult people:
And I begin to question who I am since most of my favorite food is courtesy of this chef:
So I needed to chime in on my own behalf and my own gamine naivety that I think is basically film worthy.
It’s true. I eat candy and grilled cheeses almost every day and sometimes in multiples per day.
And much like Kim Kardashian’s ass before me, my self-reflection destroyed the Internet:
Many additional voices jumped in with feelings on ravioli, no one was on my side. Not a soul. And then in a shocking twist of irony, the very lunchroom – site of twice a day grilled cheeses – decided to put this out for lunch.
I then brought my parents into the debate. To the best of my knowledge they’re Italian food loving asses would be the best judge on pasta.
This is my father’s response:
To give you some context of this email: my father is a great man who I love dearly. However, he is also the person that in response to the news that I got him Yankees tickets and that I love that he’s my dad responded, “wow!” I think I can count the things he’s said he’s loved on one hand. Evidently not only does ravioli makes the list – it makes the list in all caps.
My mom acted just like you’d expect my mom to:
I decided to go to South Philly to get ravioli because, I don’t know. It seemed like the place to go (somewhere in the Italian market). I won’t share the name of the place because I don’t want anyone to think that destination influenced decisions. Despite the whole going to South Philly thing…whatever. They were homemade. Or handmade? Like not frozen is what I’m getting at.
I tried to get the person I was there with to take a photo of the blessed event but he was crazy stoned and started getting insanely paranoid about using a smart phone in public because he doesn’t own one or know how to use them. So this was the result. I’d like everyone to know that I showered for this occasion and you can’t even tell. Fuck a job.
Dude…I’m not getting it. I know that I’ve missed out on some seriously important things in life that I eventually came around to, but are my taste buds corrupted from too many years of persistent candy eating? I mean, they’re just pockets of dough filled with crumbly ricotta – which no one likes. They’re not repugnant like relish or pancakes, but they weren’t delicious like welsh rarebit or Diet Cokes. Maybe if they were filled with welsh rarebit or diet soda I’d be, like, “oh heyyyyyyy sorta adorable looking pasta thing!”
Do I need a do-over? Or not restaurant ravioli? Bigger question – do I need many people to make me many different kinds of ravioli?
In the end I treated myself to a cannoli. I gave myself a boxing name (Janie ‘the cannoli’ Cannarella), and then just ate all of the cream and whipped cream.
I heard Gods of Egypt bombed at the theaters, which is a pleasure and a joy to hear. I think that imagining Egypt as a land ruled by almost exclusively white Gods is maybe the funniest thing I’ve heard of in a really long fucking time. It begs the eternal question: have Egyptians always worshiped Gerard Butler?
I can’t imagine why this movie did so horrendously in the theaters. Could it be because it stars mostly blinding white actors in a movie that takes place in Egypt? Which is in Africa? I mean…that doesn’t make sense. Who WOULDN’T want to see another revisionist fantasy starring Gerard Butler and Geoffrey Rush?
Maybe it’s the movie’s film posters?
To help the film’s cause I created some alternate posters for them to use. I hope this helps balance out the whooping disparity on how much this film has made so far versus how much it cost to make it:
Based off of a conversation happening online yesterday, I shared a photo of what I direct message to people when they decide to have Facebook fights with me about my opinions. Which, shockingly, I get into pretty often.
Realizing that it might have more of a purpose than just to be a snide remark to the douches that feel the need to annoy me online, I’ve spruced up the photo and here it is:
Use it in good health and when you find it necessary.