When I was little I used to believe that automatic sliding glass doors were actually opened by little tiny men who hid on the side of the doors and watched for people to come.  They would then open the door and, quick as a wink, get back to their hiding places.

Sneaky little men.

My entire goal for the first 8 years of my life was to trick the little men.  To sneak up to the door so stealthily that the little door-men wouldn't see me.  They would not open the door and I would have won.

Sadly, I never succeeded in this endeavor.  The little door elves were always just one step ahead of me.

Damn door elves.

(But where is the joke, Jill?  Where is the little morsel of humor at the end?  This is just a story about how you were weird as a child.  There is no joke here.  Why hast thou forsaken us? These are quality questions and I intend to answer them promptly and with due diligence.  Tomorrow.  For now it is 4am and I am going to sleep in my Batmobile Bed.)

I teach classes in an after school program once a week. 

On Mondays the first and second graders have a choice:  They can either take Junior Cheerleading or Computer Programming.

I guess that was the school's way of saying, "Why wait till Junior High?  Let's separate the dorks from the cool kids here and now. "

Here's how I envision the class schedule for the rest of the week:

Tuesday: A choice between Junior Football and Chess
 
Wednesday: A choice between Weight-Lifting and Getting Shut in Your Locker
 
Thursday:  A choice between Organizing Your Social Calendar and Sitting at Home, Alone, In Your Star Trek Pajamas
 
Friday: A choice between The Road to Homecoming Queen and How to Disguise Your Brother as Your Prom Date
 
Teach them early, I tell you.

I wish I could just fire random people who where doing their jobs badly.  It would be like a citizen's arrest, except instead of arresting them, I would just fire them.

"Excuse me, I asked for extra cheese." 

“Sorry.”

"Well, sorry's not good enough, I'm afraid we’re going to have to let you go."

Problem solved.

Ok, in a strange turn of events, apparently the ideas I wrote yesterday for third world country reality shows aren't as out there as I thought:

http://www.csmonitor.com/2004/0727/p01s04-woiq.html

How they didn't call this show "Extreme Takeover--Home Edition" is completely beyond me.

I overheard this woman talking today about her experience working in third world countries (I don't know more of the story; I was eavesdropping.)  She said, "most of these people can't even afford food, but somehow there's a television set in every home."

Well that got me thinking.

If they have television in third world countries, then they must have REALITY TV.

Here are some of the reality shows that I imagine they have on in the third world countries:

Who Wants to Marry a Thousandare?

Queer Eye for the Undernourished

The REALLY Simple Life

Extreme Takeover

Fear Factor (except in this version, everyone really wants to eat the cow testicles.)
 
Who Wants to Feed Your Family?
 
Please feel free to add your own tasteless jokes at will.

My shows this week:

Monday, July 26
Boston Comedy Club
82 W. 3rd Street (btw. Thompson and Sullivan)
9:30pm show (I go on LATE)
$5 cover, 1 drink minimum

Wednesday, July 28
New York Comedy Club
241 E. 24th Street (btw. 2nd and 3rd Ave.)
9pm show (my set is 9:05, so get there on time)
$8 cover, 2 drink minimum

Thursday, July 29
Boston Comedy Club
82 W. 3rd Street
9:30pm show (I go on LATE)
$5 cover (I think), 1 drink minimum

Saturday, July 31
Sam's
45th Street btw. 8th and B-Way
Midnight show
$7 cover, $10 bar minimum

As a secret signal that you are one of my blog readers, you should laugh loudly at each one of my jokes.  Even applaud.  That way I will know that you are either a) a reader of my blog, b) my mother, or c) both.

Hi mom.

My feeling is that, since the countries of Turkey and Hungary are so near each other, we should just call the remaining European countries "Stuffing", "Mashed Potatoes", and "Candied Yams."

And the capitol of Mashed Potatoes would be called "Lumps."

Sigh.....

I think I forgot to eat dinner tonight.

I mostly sat around all day today.

Did a little work, but mostly sat around.

And it's amazing what sitting around all day will do for my self-worth.  After a few hours, I begin to think I'm incapable of doing anything but sit around all day.

Even getting a drink of water becomes a great accomplishment---because I have to debate in my head for an entire hour and twenty-seven minutes whether or not I really need water. 

This thought actually went through my head today: "Isn't 'necessity for life' sort of an exaggeration, really?  Because sure, you can go get the water.  But then eventually you'll just have to get up and go to the bathroom and we all know THAT'S not worth the effort."

But I did go get the drink of water.

And then I started to get all proud of myself.  Like I just ran a marathon or something.  "Look at me.  I'm a can-do kind of person.  Water?  Cups?  No problem.  I can handle it.  Lickety split."

I think I need a refrigerator in the living room. 

Or a recliner in the kitchen. 

Whichever really.

Ok, I've been working since 8am and it's now 4am so I'm not writing anything new tonight.  And that's that.  No, not even if you cry.

But I have left you a little gift from the archives.  Mwah.

I'm not going to make fun of elderly people and talk about what terrible drivers they are.

That's not my style.

I just think that people that have been driving for that many years deserve some special privileges. Like their own lane on the road. A special lane, just for them. That would be a good privilege.

And I think it would be a good idea if that lane had those blow-up tubes on the side. You know, like the things they have on the sides of the lanes when kids go bowling? That way when the car goes a little off course, it could just bounce right back in and continue merrily on its way.

Ideally, I also think they should get those little machines that re-set anything they knock down.

This is true.

I grew up out in the middle of nowhere.  The very center (or centre. I like that spelling better.  Does it mean something different?) of nowhere, really.

I went to kindergarten in a one-room school in Idaho that I had to cross-country ski to in the winter because we got snow up to our rooftops.  Truly.

My friends, Lochsa, Josiah, and Seth, had to row across the river every day to catch the bus for the 50-mile drive to school.  Really.

It's too bad, I think, that I don't want to have children.  Because that basically rules out the prospect of grandchildren.  And I have GREAT "when I was a kid...." stories to tell the ungrateful grandchildren.

I'm going to have to tell other people's grandchildren.

I don't know if you've been watching Jeopardy lately.

I have.

There is a guy on there who has won thirty-four games in a row (that, by the way, is two-hundred thirty-eight in dog games.) 

And he's still a-winning.  He has the longest winning streak in the history of Jeopardy.

This is terribly exciting in some ways, yet worrisome in others.

For example, I feel worried that Alex Tribeck is running out of questions to ask Mr. Champion-Head in the touchy-feely "let's get to know a little something about our contestants" part of the show.

I feel fairly sure that ‘tell us about your family,’ ‘do you have any hobbies,’ and ‘what kind of work do you do’ were all covered in his first twenty or so appearances.  I feel that Alex is probably getting desperate.  Worried that he will run out of questions and be stuck with something like, "So, in elementary school, did you bring your lunch to school or did you buy it?"

Well fear not, Alex!  I am here to save the day.

I have compiled a few questions that you can feel free to use to get through the remainder of the week.  After that, you will have to pay me for them.

     1) "If you were a piece of playground equipment, which one would you be and why?"
 
     2) "What do duct tape, tomatoes, and the state of Arkansas have in common?"
 
     3) "Tell the truth, don't you sort of think I'm a pompous asshole?"

(I'll take "Blog entries that might not be funny when Jill wakes up in the morning" for $1000, Alex.)

Upcoming shows:
 
TONIGHT (Monday, July 19):
Boston Comedy Club
82 W. 3rd Street (btw. Thompson and Sullivan)
9:30 show (I go on LATE)
$5 cover, 1 drink minimum
 
Tuesday, July 20th
New York Comedy Club
241 E. 24th Street
9pm show (I go on at 10:50pm)
$8 cover, 2 drink minimum
 
Thursday, July 22nd
Boston Comedy Club
82 W. 3rd Street (btw. Thompson and Sullivan)
9:30 show (I go on LATE)
$8 cover, 1 drink minimum (I think ladies get in free)
 
I tell jokes.  You giggle.  I don't wear pants.  Sound like a plan?
 

Today I was paid $30 to coach stand-up comedy in my apartment.  Sadly, I had to spend much time cleaning my apartment so as not to embarrass myself in front of my new client.
 
I hate cleaning desperately, so here's how I made it all work out in my head:
 
I coached the comedy for free.
 
Excitingly, I was paid $30 to clean my apartment.
 
Yay!
 

Actual conversation in my apartment today:
 
 
(whilst putting on shoes)  I hate these shoes.
 
(pause)
 
Did I just talk to myself?
 
(pause)
 
I think I did.
 
(pause)
 
Wait, I'm still talking to myself.
 
(pause)
 
There, I did it again.
 
(pause)
 
Damnit.

I like to eat at street fairs and carnivals.
 
This is because I feel fairly sure that if you eat while you’re actually walking around, the calories are canceled out by the simultaneous exercise you’re doing.  Your body will not absorb the calories; they will just exit out the bottom of your feet and into the pavement.
 
Yes.  I think there must be science somewhere to back this up.

A recently discovered poem which I wrote during my music history class:

Note: To be fair, the teacher really DID look like a potato.

ODE TO POTATO-MAN
A potato teaches my class.
I hope that I will pass.
He is a loser,
A big hairy woozer.
Such is life.
I feel sorry for his wife.

[I give it about a three for content. But excellent use of the term "big hairy woozer," if I do say so myself.]

Princess Jill and the Prince Who Was Really a Frog by Jill Twiss

Once upon a time, there was a splendidly lovely girl named Princess Jill. You might have heard of her.

Most people have.

Additionally, in the very same kingdom, there was a boy named Prince Dumbhead. As the name might suggest, Prince Dumbhead wasn't so bright, but Princess Jill took it upon her generous self to fall in love with him anyway.

However, (and I can understand if you don't believe this part of the story. It certainly seems inconceivable.) when Princess Jill informed him of his fortunate luck, Prince Dumbhead did not seem properly grateful. In fact, he said he loved another---Princess Freakgirl.

But fear not for Princess Jill. She took his stupidity in stride. She figured it was probably a symptom of a hidden crack addiction or something.

In fact, eventually Princess Jill was elected President of the Kingdom (you probably didn't think someone could be Princess and President at the same time, but there is in fact no law against it) whereas Prince Dumbhead was elected to the position of Speed Bump in the city of New York.

And Princess Jill lived happily ever after.

THE END

[NOTE: The characters in this story are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Although if you know anyone who bears resemblance to Princess Jill, you should maybe send her flowers or a nice note or something. Because she's probably pretty nice, really.]

I keep lots of tools in my car.

Wrenches and screwdrivers and jacks and lug nuts (ok, I don’t actually keep lug nuts in my car. But they’re very fun to say, so I would LIKE to keep some in my car to use as a possible conversation starter. "Did you notice my lug nuts? I thought so. They're sort of like walnuts, really. But harder. And more useful when one is needing to hold together a wheel." That's what I would say if I had lug nuts in my car.)

I keep all these tools in my car so that, in the event that the car breaks down, I will be able to pull out my trusty toolbox and fix the problem.

Tee hee.

It’s not that I don’t know how to use the tools. I do. For example, I both have and know how to use a Phillips Head Screwdriver. If I am confronted with a Phillips Head Screw I feel fully prepared to take it on. Screw it. Unscrew it. Either way, I can do a hell of a job. But were my car to mysteriously stop working on the side of the road, I would not know what to, for lack of a better term, screw.

The mechanic, perhaps?

I think I'm going to throw away all the tools and just fill up my trunk with cotton candy. Fun, yummy, and, for me, just as useful as tools in fixing a car.

Yay!

I shall have the best (and stickiest) car EVER!

OK, not to brag or anything, but I'm starting to actually get paid to do stand-up comedy.

Like real money, not just "all the tequila shots you can drink" (about three.)

And getting paid to do comedy is a REALLY fun thing. Really.

Because (and I suspect every comedian does this) at some point you start breaking it down to the amount of money you get paid per minute onstage.

Here's what I figured out:

Last weekend, I made two dollars and fifty cents per minute onstage.

That's almost as much as phone sex.

I'm pretty sure there's no such things as "friendly fire."

Whence coming from a gun, 'tis not friendly. That's my motto.

I watched some sort of Spanish TV tonight.

I do this because I think that I just MIGHT accidentally become fluent in Spanish whilst watching. I'm optimistic like that.

Now I don't know exactly what show I was watching (in that I don't speak even a little bit of Spanish), but I can tell you this: It was the best show EVER.

There was a man in a chicken suit, a couple getting married, little children named "Wendy" and "Ivan," a nurse with an eye patch, and a French maid.

Could TV get any better? I think not.

But what was most astounding of all, was the studio audience.

Yes, there was a studio audience. And, miraculously, they didn't seem at all surprised by the antics happening on the show. There was a French maid talking to a pirate nurse during a wedding, and no one in the audience even blinked an eye.

So here is what I gleaned from this experience.

Life in Spanish-speaking countries must be TOTALLY exciting. That is, I think, the only possibly explanation for the audience's lack of reaction to the show.

I think that in places like Spain and Mexico, there must be men in chicken suits ALL OVER. They probably go to the doctor expecting their nurse to say 'Aaaargh' and have a parrot.

I'm so moving to Spain.

Buenos Noches.

Is it neurotic that I once called a guy just to tell him never to call me again?

Want to hear the dorky joke I wrote in my music class in the ninth grade? I think this is, officially, the first joke I ever wrote.

Student: Teacher, I think I just tore my sheet music in half. What should I do?

Teacher: Unless it's Bach, there's no point in taping it back together. As I always say, if it ain't Baroque, don't fix it.

Tee hee.

I am a comic GENIUS.

I went to a theme wedding this past weekend.

It was hard to tell, exactly. But I believe the official theme was, "Why The Hell Isn't Jill Married Yet? And How Can We Remedy That As Soon As Possible?"

Yay. A fun theme for everyone, I think.

Sigh....