I was just in the employee breakroom microwaving my hot chocolate. Directly to the right of the microwave is the company bulletin board. Ah, the company bulletin board…. We all stand and stare at it whenever we use the microwave (which is a LOT, cuz radio people are fatties). It’s adorned with everything from Entercom Employee Relations Policies (speak up if you’re feeling sexually harassed – NO coworker has the right to tell you you’re attractive) to posters from local restaurants. I find it especially amusing that our list of medical benefits is hung right next to a restaurant flyer advertising chili cheese pizza……like, if you eat THIS, you’ll definitely need THAT.

Just for giggles, I’m dying to print up a tiny note that says “If you can read this, you’re fired” and nestle it between two other random pieces of paper, so the next person who’s spacing out using the microwave will see it and wonder waitaminute – what the hell?

I had a brief flashback to the company I used to work for, prior to this one. They would put “inspirational quotes” on the bulletin board to motivate their employees. So I’d sit there on my break, eating Doritos, staring at these priceless little word gems. They weren’t even original! They were always lifted from some fruity patooty book like “Chicken Soup For The Soul” or Oprah’s magazine. I would read them and think I just might hang myself today. Because they were meant to be uplifting but they had the exact OPPOSITE effect. They just annoyed the hell outta me and reminded me on a daily basis that my boss (aka, the chick who makes all the important decisions AND all the money) was dumb enough to think fruity patooty publications like this were cool. AND she thought they were awesome enough to record, regurgitate, and pass along to the rest of us. How many wrong turns did I take in life that THIS is the person making my decisions? This is the person steering my career? And why am I forced to think about this as I sit and innocently eat my Doritos? I’m supposed to be on break, dammit!

So thank you, Entercom, for being real. Thank you for using an employee bulletin board for its true intended purpose – to inform us how many gastrointestinal  anti-inflammatory remedies are available via company insurance when we inevitably indulge in the chili cheese pizza…..everything is right with the world. I love my job.

P.S. If you can read this, you’re fired.

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Can we have ONE holiday where I’m not stuck alone in my house, on the verge of tears, eating my feelings? Apparently not. Halloween was very scary for me. Partially because I had to finally acknowledge that my neighborhood is completely unsafe for children, and partially because I was subjected to Nancy Grace’s cheese wedge bare thighs on Dancing With The Stars. Brrrrgggghhhhaaa…. Nightmares.

I stayed home all evening and waited patiently (read: pathetically) for trick-or-treaters. Got my hopes up (mistake number one) and bought FIVE BAGS of candy (mistake number two). I really should’ve suspected I wouldn’t have many, what with all the drugs and hookers and stabbings and stuff in my neighborhood, but eh, dare to dream! So there I sat. Like an old person whose wheelchair had been positioned by a window for those few precious hours of mandatory sunlight.

I waited. And waited. Hoping……….. for a knock at the door. (Felt like prom night the remix)

About two hours in, I finally got three little trick-or-treaters. Adorable! Two candy corns and a Mario Brother (or maybe two of Lindsay Lohan’s teeth and a Kardashian brother – couldn’t really tell).

I gave them the mother load – about a bag of candy a piece. One of the kids ran back to the car and yelled to his mom “THAT WAS THE BEST HOUSE!!” Haaaa…..yeah buddy – dat’s right. Tell your lil friends. You know where to come for the good stuff next year (I just realized that’s probably the same catch phrase used by the meth dealer down the street. Uh-oh).

So I settled in to watch DWTS. Tried to eat, but lost my appetite when there on my TV screen was death in its rawest form; Nancy Grace’s upper thigh.  With all due respect to Jason, Freddy, and Chucky – you guys ain’t got nuthin’ on those tree stumps. That visual haunts me. Even though Halloween is over, let us be vigilant in our fear. For Nancy Grace is like Freddy  –  she’ll get you in your sleep. With a judgmental viciousness, she’ll interrupt you til you pass out and she smothers you to death. I’m not kidding.

Jiggle-a-jiggle-a-smother-a-smother-a…..hold me. Next holiday, please.

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My nephew Benjamin was a lion for Halloween – rawrrr! Not scary, but definitely scary CUTE!

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Hey! Devils Night! F#%k you! Woke up this morning to find my car covered in green paint. Adorable little vandals. Ya mischievous scamps…… And it wasn’t just my car – EVERY car on my street! Luckily it froze so I chipped it right off. Hope my neighbors can do the same. I don’t mean to make assumptions, but sommmmmething tells me the perpetrators might be that group of infinitely bored spray can wielding sidewalk dwellers who live on the corner of my block. They flip off old people for no reason and set fire to their own hair. They’re nimrods.

So yeah, I’m upset that this happened, but my BIGGEST annoyance is that someone could actually find this funny. I’m a pretty open-minded person when it comes to humor (I submit as evidence my heroin addicted mouse encounter), but I don’t get the punch line in covering another person’s car with paint.

Here’s my theory in regards to people who genuinely take pleasure in the pain or suffering of another person: they’re scum. Teasing and joking are one thing, but once you cross that line into truly hurtful, you’ve relinquished your rights to fair and humane treatment from the rest of us.

There was this kid in my elementary school who used to pick on a girl with special needs, til one day she almost cried. So in front of everybody on the bus I pointed out that he had crooked yellow teeth and that his dad was an unemployed alcoholic. He acted shocked and hurt. He was like “I can’t believe you just said that!” Under normal circumstances, I would’ve felt bad. But I didn’t. I told him I could keep going (and I wanted to; his mom had three kids with three different guys – I’d been stockpiling slutty mom jokes since the first day this bunghole started teasing that other girl) but I held back. Thankfully he never bothered her again. Still, to this day I’m sure he hates my guts. Meh.

So if I find out who pulled this paint prank, I am SO going Count of Monte Cristo with my revenge!! I don’t know what I’ll do (oh who am I kidding – probably nothing), but it’s fun to imagine. Even MORE fun to finally have an excuse to sit on my porch all afternoon with a paintball gun. 

We knew this day would come….

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Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine I’m on a tropical beach somewhere, sipping mai tais and using the word “fabulous” to describe everything. In this fantasy, I have a gold-encrusted bikini and a killer tan. And I’m surrounded by people who laugh hysterically at all my jokes. In real life, I’m in Wilkes Barre PA, my co-workers seldom get my sarcastic humor, I wear SPF 50, and a gold-encrusted bikini would probably burn my hoo-ha. Guh….Itchy. But it’s fun to imagine, isn’t it?

I also like to imagine the original lineup of Guns n’ Roses getting back together. Another fantasy that will never come true. Guns n’ Roses is my all-time FAVORITE band. I got a rose tattoo on my stomach the day I turned eighteen….. It’s an “Axl Rose”. I know. Stupid….played. But hey, I was eighteen. Could’ve been a locomotive. Could’ve been a November raindrop. Could’ve been a rocket queen. My point: could’ve been sooooooo much dumber. So leave me alone.

I got my GnR tickets for the big show at Mohegan Sun Arena November 20 and I am officially PSYCHED! I’ve been getting a little flak from other diehard Guns fans because I honestly don’t give a crap that Axl’s the only ORIGINAL member on this tour. Big whoop. He was the main songwriter – we all know this. And yes, it sucks ass that they can’t reconcile, but much like we are never again gonna see Meg Ryan’s original face, we must come to terms with these new developments and move on.

Sure, it’s not the same. But it’s still AWESOME.

I’ve been in a rock band myself, and I know first hand how things can go south between band members. Of course, this is different in my case because we made little to no money and had little to no success. The only way we were getting booked at the state fair is if we joined 4-H. But I digress. I just mean to say I have equal sympathy for BOTH sides.

I would LOVE to see Slash, Duff, Izzy, and Steven onstage with Axl again, but let’s be real. GnR is gonna kick ass no matter what! Because those songs are timeless. And Axl’s bigger than life (which is also why he’s a complete f%#king whackadoo). But I love him. I put Kanye in the same category: you’re crazy, but you’re a genius and I love you. Crazy/talented/genius. I’m lucky if I get weird/slow-witted/follower.

So I hope to see you at Mohegan Sun Arena November 20! I’ll bring my 4-H pig. Name’s “Wiggly”. You can pet him. And if you see me down front, I’ll be the girl spazzing out to every song, trying to use my radio station laminates to get backstage (and by “radio station laminates”, of course I mean boobs).

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Three things I love about fall: leaves changing, spiced cider, and going to pick pumpkins with my privates exposed. It’s like Grandma used to say: “If the families at the pumpkin patch didn’t wanna see your vulva, they should’ve thought of that before they left the house.” …….wait – what?

Check out that photo. WHO THE HELL WEARS THIS TO A PUBLIC PUMPKIN-PICKING PATCH? (I like alliteration – can you tell?) Perhaps this girl thought it was the “pubic” pumpkin patch. Either way, when we can see your patch…..your shorts are too short. Tip of the iceberg as far as this photo’s concerned.

In case you’re wondering – this is Courtney Stodden and Doug Hutchison (the 51 year-old creepenstein actor who married the 17 year-old fruitcake degenerate wannabe country singer). They showed up at a Hollywood Hills pumpkin patch over the weekend, and proceeded to passionately make out and strike various poses. Shockingly enough, PEOPLE COMPLAINED! I know – prudes, right?! I mean, folks should realize that when they bring their children to a public family place, there’s a good chance they might see a horny couple fornicating.

After several angry parents lodged complaints with the owners, Courtney and Doug were told to leave. Booooo! Poor things. Now they are horny AND pumpkinless. I am troubled by this. They were OBVIOUSLY profiled, because no one else got asked to leave that day – all THEY did was show love. And isn’t that what the holidays are all about? Love? Gross, inappropriate, disrespectful to your surroundings love?

Courtney’s parents say people are out to get her because they’re just jealous of how beautiful she is. They’re right. I know I’M jealous. I wish I had such a vast expanse of mental vacancy that I could show up at a family-themed business, dressed like a porn fluffer, and dry hump my wrinkly perv husband while children watched and see absolutely no problem with this. That would be suuuuuper. Cuz thinking is SUCH a drag.

Lemme know how I can make that happen. Til that day, I’ll sit here stewing in my hateful jealousy. Drowning in common sense. Writhing in respect for my fellow humans. Poor Lissa.

Poor, poor, pumpkinless Lissa….

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Thank you, Perez Hilton, for giving me this photo. Ya gotta admit – she's an expert poser! Sommmmmebody's been practicing in the mirror!

I got this phone call from my big brother Jason a year ago today:

Ben teaching Aunt Lissa to read

Ben's party! Sara & her parents are to the left – my bro (Jason) and our parents are to the right – YAY for young grandparents!

KISSES! (as with most men I kiss…..he looks relatively distracted)

MY FAVORITE PIC OF THE WEEKEND!

Me & my mommy

Ben, big brother Jason, Me, younger brother Andy – Ben looks like he's trying to get away, no?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KIDDO!….your aunt's a doofus.

After I rid myself of the mouse problem, I decided it was time to tackle my NEXT big infestation: the shoe closet. I don’t know how many of you ladies have this issue, but apparently I black out when I shoe shop. I purchase footwear I don’t need and then collapse in a pile of slingbacks and espadrilles, only to awaken drooly and woozy, remorseful for what I’ve done.

My closet has no less than EIGHT pairs of spiky platform stiletto heels – all over six inches tall! Not kidding. I’ve worn exactly two pairs. One for a photo shoot, and one for a costume party. So basically, I only care about being sexy if I’m getting photographed or pretending to be someone else. How telling. After each experience I wanted to kill myself and be buried in a fleece-lined moccasin. So why do I keep buying these things? Am I stocking up for the inevitable day my DJ career goes in the pooper and I hafta turn tricks to pay bills? Hopefully not. Am I afraid there’ll be another Northeast Pennsylvania flood and I’m VERY concerned about my heels being much much dryer than my toes? Do I think I’ll be accosted by Playboy photographers, begging to take my impromptu picture, but ONLY if I can prove I’m centerfold material by brandishing slut shoes and boycotting the usage of three syllable words? Or am I just crazy?

I think we all know the answer.

No chick needs this many stilettos. Correction: no chick WHO IS ALREADY 5’7” AND ISN’T A HOOKER needs this many stillettos! So I gave away five pair. I tried not to offend my girlfriend when I offered them to her – cuz how do you say to somebody “Hey! I think you’re trampy enough to wear these on a regular basis! Could you give ‘em the mileage they deserve?”  

But actually, she was thrilled. She’s only 5’2”. And doesn’t have any extra money for hoochie shoes – so there ya go.

A good deed was done. A closet was purged. And my ten little piggies breathed a humungous sigh of relief. But I reserve the right to whip out at least ONE remaining pair for Halloween (aka Slutty Girl Christmas). Cuz it’s supposed to be a scary holiday. And if you can think of anything scarier than trying to walk whilst under the influence of alcohol and wearing six inch hooker heels, fire away. Unless you’re Stephen King, you ain’t got sh!t.

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It’s bad enough that in the last week I’ve seen a hypodermic needle, a broken gin bottle, and a used condom all on my sidewalk.  NOW….. I caught a MOUSE in my house! Ewwww!!! What if the mouse is responsible for all that crap on my sidewalk? What if I just caught myself a giant heroin addicted, drunken, slut mouse? If so – sweet. Problem solved.

I swear to God sometimes my neighborhood is a testing grounds for sociological experimentation. It’s like “how many ghetto stereotypes can we cram into a five block radius?” What’s a normal neighborhood? Ten or fifteen? If so, I think we can crack thirty! Yeah! We’re number one!!

But now in addition to my enchanting human potpourri, I’ve got VERMIN! Yay!

I freaked out when I first saw this mouse Friday afternoon. I was supposed to be napping, but I couldn’t sleep knowing he was near me. I set four mouse traps and proceeded to lie there awake (with the covers carefully piled on top of me so they didn’t dangle off the bed) til I heard a *SNAP*!!

I ran over to check it. Sure enough, dead mouse. Happy Lissa. Kay. But then……ohhhhh then…..um….who’s gonna dispose of this thing? I texted my dad – “Daddy!!! I just killed a mouse in a snappy trap! When will you be over to collect him?”  Of course I was being foolish cuz my parents live in Michigan, and they’re obviously not driving to PA just so their nutjob daughter doesn’t hafta touch a mouse trap. But he texted right back “Ha – on my way”. Oooo. Smartass.

My mom texted a couple “Fred Bear” references (wouldn’t Nugent be proud?) and told me to just throw away the whole trap, mouse and all. So that’s what I did. I put on rubber gloves, used plastic tongs to pick the damn thing up, and threw it in the trash. Then I threw out the tongs AND the gloves and placed my trash immediately on the curb. I’m still having trouble sleeping in my house. Varmints gimme the heebie jeebies! I can’t shake the feeling that they’re setting up little villages in my walls. A whole colony of heroin addicted drunken slut mice. Ah well, at least they’re quieter than the human ones.

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One of the best movie quotes ever: “I once thought I had mono for an entire year. Turns out I was just really bored.” –Wayne Campbell (aka Mike Myers) in Wayne’s World.

I’m stuck between a rock and a kidney stone here. I have friend who’s convinced she’s got some sort of life threatening disease. She’s one of these “look up my symptoms on the internet and diagnose myself” people. Problem is, she does this in lieu of ever going to a REAL doctor. And she tends to believe everything she reads. So far, she’s typed her symptoms into the computer and this is what came back: she MAY have irritable bowel syndrome, ulcer, pregnancy, cancer, stomach flu, constipation, food poisoning, appendicitis, involuntary bowel spasm (WTF?), urinary tract infection, or gastroenteritis……um, ew.

WHAT IF SHE HAS ALL OF THEM??? AAAA!! Her poor unborn baby (cuz she’s “pregnant”, remember?) is swimming in a sea of infected stomach acid and wondering why mommy hasn’t pooped in a fortnight! Oh my stars!

I firmly believe she’s got a normal, run-of-the-mill, upset stomach. Caused mainly by stress. And the fact that she eats fast food 4-5 times a week, doesn’t exercise, sleeps maaaaybe four hours a night, and has a husband who seems adamantly opposed to finding gainful employment and/or bathing. But what do I know? And how do I tell her this?

I don’t want to insult her. She’s not stupid, I swear. But I think she’s overlooking the obvious. If she made a few lifestyle tweaks, I think her upset tum-tum would be fine. If not, THIS IS WHEN YOU CALL A REAL DOCTOR! Not a web guy. Web guys are largely virgins who are mad at the rest of us for getting laid. This is why they lie on Wikipedia – so we’ll quote that crap at dinner parties and get laughed at.

I’m willing to issue an apology if she ends up going to a normal physician and finding out that she DOES in fact have each of the ailments listed above. But, sadly, I will also plan her funeral that day. Cuz she is one sick puppy! Seriously, don’t let your computer replace common sense. Why would you give yourself involuntary bowel spasm (ergh) when it might just be a virus? HA! Get it?! VIRUS! Computer?! Virus?! Ummmm…..yeah. Sorry. These jokes are much funnier if you don’t have a stomach gremlin.

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Oktoberfest at Genetti’s tonight! We’re all gonna be there partying by 5pm. I’m in desperate search for a German Beermaid outfit – I love to go all out! Know anyone who has one of these? I’d just need it for one night, then I’ll give it right back! If you know where I could get one, email me – THANKS! See you there!
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And now….my second question of the day: do YOU think Beyonce is faking her pregnancy, and instead using a surrogate? This footage surfaced on TMZ from Sunday night. Notice near the end, her baby bump appears to fold in half. Um, I don’t think they’re supposed to do that. I can’t decide whether it’s the cut of the dress or a giant Fox Mulder babyonce conspiracy. You tell me….

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