5 things I hate about people and their cell phones

In no particular order:

  1. People who forget to turn their ringers off and then get mad at you for calling them: If I call you while you’re in the middle of a big meeting or an important event¬†and you haven’t turned¬†your cell phone off, it’s not my fault. Don’t pick up the phone and damn chastise me thru clenched teeth for calling when it’s you who was slacking on the professional etiquette. That is a “you” problem.
  2. People who answer their phones to tell you that they can’t talk right now: What is that? That’s what voicemail is for.¬†How big is your need to¬†seem important? You don’t have to pick up the phone to tell me you’re at the 1:15 showing of Baby Mama and you should be able to call me back by 3:30. Just call me back at 3:30. Dude.
  3. People who let their entire ring tone play before answering the phone: I know you paid $2.49 for it, but damn, why should I have to listen to the entire first verse of Lil Wayne’s “Lollipop” just because I decided to ride the bus downtown to save on¬†gas?¬†Damn.
  4. People with iPhones and Trios who text message me back too damn fast: Yes, I’m hating. I’m not very tech-y so I just have a plain old boring¬†missionary style cell phone. I can take calls. I can make calls. I can send text messages, but there’s no QWERTY keypad. I just feel like people with fancy phones should have a little more respect for those of us who have to type it out. T9word is missing a lot of the shit I wanna say so I gotta spell things out the old fashion way. It frustrates me, so usually when people text me, I just call them back. Because I don’t have the time to try and type the complete response I’d like to. Of course usually the person who texted me gets testy. “Why didn’t you just text me back?” Screw you.
  5. People with unlimited text plans and poor cell phone reception: Yes, I’m talking to you Sprint users. Of course you have unlimited text plans, your phone drops every other call you make. I have Verizon and while I pay more for my service I can actually use my phone for — I don’t know — talking on the phone. No matter where I am. Does that sound elitist? Well it was meant to. Your cell phone sucks and people in the Midwest are bitter. Barack the Vote. Huh? I have a certain number of texts per month and then it’s $.20 a piece. SOME people think it’s cute to just send text messages when they know I’m near my limit. Hahaha, very funny. You know who you are. And I will block√ā¬†you.

I’m allergic to everything and my friends are ridiculous

This is an e-mail exchange I just had with my friend Ryan after asking if I could crash at his place in NYC this weekend. You’ll probably¬†need to read from the bottom up to get it. This proves how ridiculously hilarious√ā¬†my friends are.¬†

You’re welcome. And Ryan, you make me LOL.

From: Ryan Conner
Date: 2008/04/28 Mon PM 01:54:07 CDT
To: Erin Jackson
Subject: Re: Re: saturday

No pets. Are you allergic, or do you really like to pet things?

=====================
On Mon, Apr 28, 2008 at 2:44 PM, Erin Jackson wrote:
Awesome! Thanks Ryan. I’ll be on my best behavior ;) oh wait, do u guys have any pets? i always forget to ask that.

=====================
From: Ryan Conner
Date: 2008/04/28 Mon AM 10:12:02 CDT
To: Erin Jackson
Subject: Re: saturday

You can definitely stay with me.

Oh, NOW I see the resemblance…

ej_rasputia.jpg

I see how you could get us confused… what with our chocolate complexions and fondness for Fuschia (rhymes with Rasputia by the way) but I have to say — and you’d better freakin’ agree — that that’s where the similarities here stop.

What are you talking about EJ? Well let me explain. I did a show this weekend with good buds Kojo Mante, Jason Weems and a very funny dude I just met called Adrian Rodney. It was a benefit show in the Lounge showroom at the DC Improv. Two sold out shows and I was proud to be part of it.

First show for me went great. Got the opportunity to do a little more time than I originally planned so I got to work thru some stuff. It was right on time. Second show about a minute into my set, I made a comment to a guy in the front row. Then after his response I told him I wasn’t scared of him because he was light-skinned. And he responded by calling me “Rasputia” — who in case¬†you were confused — is the one on the left.

What surprised me the most is that in the moment I wasn’t insulted at all. I actually wanted to laugh because it was such a specific heckle. He could have called me ‘fat’ or ‘bitch’ or you know ‘fat bitch’, but no… He wanted everyone in the room to know exactly which ‘fat bitch’ I looked like. And I can’t hate on that. Hahaha… What’s more embarrassing?… being compared to Eddie Murphy in a fat suit, or admitting that I saw Norbit? I decided that I would address it and thus began the awkward nature of my set at the late show.

Twice I went to say something else to him but I kept telling myself. You are doing a benefit show for a very sensitive subject.¬†This is not the place. DO NOT¬†engage. But it was hard. About two jokes in I kinda got back on track. But when I got to the section of my act where I usually tell¬†a group of jokes about size and weight and perception I got mad — again, not at his comment — but at the fact that now I didn’t get to be the one to bring up weight so it lost some of its punch. I did two of the jokes and right before I remember saying, “Here come the fat jokes, sir. Sit back and enjoy.”¬†But I didn’t even get to the more clever bits, which are among some of my favorite bits in the act because by that point the topic had been addressed.¬†Oh well. (pokes out bottom lip).

The table and the Rasputia guy enjoyed most of the rest of the set I think – I mean I saw them laughing. But I had to run to get to another event and I couldn’t stay til the end of the show. I’d have loved to talk to him and literally tell him how funny his comment was and how he threw me because literally I was standing there like… Good one. Ha! Anyway, that is what happened to me this weekend. I’ve been a lazy blogger. Trying to get back into the swing.

EJ Out.

Googling myself

rooftop.gif

Usually when I Google myself, the majority of the stuff I find is about other Erin Jacksons who are doing more productive things with their lives. This time, I saw that I’m the featured clip in the “Black Comedians” section on Rooftop Comedy which I guess√ā¬†makes sense, as I fit both requirements for the section. tee hee ;) But I thought it was cool. (Thats me in the corner. That’s me in the spotlight… BTW R.E.M. is back in tremendous fashion if you’ve not yet heard.) Wanted to share it with you, since I’m sure none of you knew that, or else I figure you’d have dropped me a line or something ;)

EJ. Out.

If cab drivers in D.C. didn’t pick up Black people

They’d be unemployed. That’s a given. But even though I managed to hail a cab last nite — 4 cabs actually¬† — I¬†never got¬†a ride home. And that’s just as bad.

Now, of course I’m not new to the concept that cab drivers, chinese food carry outs¬†drivers, etc. don’t always wanna travel to what folks consider the hood at nite, but dammit, if you refuse to enter an entire quadrant of the city, it’s time to rethink your career choice.

I’d been out of my house since 7:30 AM, so by the time I got off stage at about 9:30 PM I was ready to hop in a cab, go home and make myself a turkey sandwich and go to sleep. I was in Adams Morgan and I got a cab pretty quickly…

I got in and shut the door and here’s what transpired next:

Punk-ass cabbie #1: [Inaudible grunt] Where you going?

Me: [Street number, Street name] Southeast.

Punk-ass cabbie #1: NO.

No? Really? Cause I think the answer is yes. That is absolutely where I’m going. But he didn’t move. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t even ask me to get out of the cab. He just sat there. So I flicked him off and got out of the cab.

So now I hail another cab, and here’s what transpired next:

Bitch-ass cabbie #2: [Gurgle]

Me: Hi, I’m going to [Street number, Street name]……………….. Southeast.

Bitch-ass cabbie #2: Sorry, I have to pick someone up by 10.

Me: Then you shouldn’t have stopped.

Bitch-ass cabbie #2: Sorry, No.

Again no movement. Just a No. Once again I flipped him off and got out of the cab. Pissed. To the point of maximum pisstivity… But I tried again.

This time I was picked up by an American Black cab driver. I’m not saying that for any other reason than I figured., “Finally… This brother is gonna understand where I’m coming from. He knows people who live in Southeast. Hell, he may live over there too.¬†Yay!” So I get in the cab, shake it off — ready to tell him about the 2 other drivers who wouldn’t take me home when…

Bald-Uncle-Tom-ass cabbie #3: Good evening, sista

Me: [Exhale] Hi, how are you? I’m going to [Street number, Street name] Southeast.

Now at this point I’ve unclenched my jaw. I’m rolling my neck around, ready to close my eyes for the 20 minute or so ride across the river, when…

Bitch-ass cabbie #3: Awww, hell no. You gon’ have to find another ride.

Alright, am I being punked. Really? What happened to “Good evening, sista?” This time as I was getting out of the cab,¬†I added some colorful profanity to my bird flipping. It felt good to get that out, but I was still standing on the corner with no ride home. I won’t even go into what happened with Cumin-smelling-ass-cabbie #4 cause I think you see where this is going, but suffice it to say I had to go back into the show and wait for it to be over so¬†my friend Jason could drive hella out of his way to take me home. (Thanks, J).

Now I know some of you are thinking, “That’s illegal, EJ. They can’t do that. You should have gotten their permit numbers and reported them.” And I gotta tell you. Each time it happened I thought the same thing. But I was exhausted and in disbelief and each time I told myself… No way is the next guy gonna do the same thing… Now I wish I’d done it, because as my boy John pointed out, D.C. Mayor Fenty is big into cracking down on this type of thing. A letter with the four drivers’ numbers may have done some good.

Also as I was typing the paragraph before last,¬† I remembered¬†the “Looking Ass N***a¬†Youtube clip that I saw on¬†a friend’s blog and it made me smile. Maybe it will make you smile as well. Here is his explanation of the title phrase in case you don’t quite get it… ENJOY!

For those of you not familiar with all the ins and outs of black culture the term, “Looking Ass Nigga” is an insult. It’s like playing the dozens. Here’s how it goes, You think of an insult about a person, and then you say the insult and follow it with the phrase, “Looking ass nigga”. For example, an insult one could spit at Michael Jackson would be a “Ol Chimp Loving Single White Female Looking ass Nigga.”

Get it?

Source

Why won’t you be my friend, Rahsaan Patterson?

OK… so I understand that what I’m about to write is extremely corny and that it should embarrass me.

It doesn’t. But I understand why it should.

And I understand that everyone doesn’t use Myspace for self-promotion. Even famous people. Some folks use it just to stay in touch with people they already know.

Totally get it.

But one of my favorite singers doesn’t accept friend requests from comedians and doesn’t allow messages from people he’s not friends with. Which leads me to believe that he actually manages his own page. All the more reason for me to want to send him the message I spent nearly 20 minutes drafting prior to being brickwalled by his privacy settings. I reference him in my ‘Music Interests’ section on my page… I own every single one of his albums, and I actually bought all but one of them (just being honest — sista is on a budget). And I refuse to allow myself to consider the fact that he doesn’t care that I heart him because… well because that would be awful.

So in the wake of the worst Myspace catch-22 ever, here’s my question — How do I get Rahsaan Patterson to be my friend? And does my burning (yes, burning) desire to make him my Myspace friend mean that I’m a huge loser?

(Please note that I only really want an answer to the first part of that question.)

I’m a good friend, Rahsaan.√ā¬†Really I am.

Also the message that comes up on Myspace… “Rahsaan Patterson does not accept friend requests from ‘comedians'” really made me feel like no matter what my page category was, he’d still deny me. Seriously, in my head, I just imagined a nice pleasant operator voice saying, “We’re sorry. Rahsaan Patterson does not accept friend requests from…” And then some really harsh computer generated monster robot voice saying “Co-me-di-ans.” I feel like if my page was categorized as ‘puppies and angels’ it still would have denied me :(

Pleasant operator lady: We’re sorry. Rahsaan Patterson does not accept friend requests from…

Mean monster robot madlib-filler-inner: PUP-PIES and AN-GELS OR ANY-THING ELSE YOU COME UP WITH SO WHY DON’T U GET A LIFE E-RIN JACK-SON.

OK, I’m gonna go try and muster up some self esteem.

EJ. Out.

Dirty Soap and Poobrushes

Another gem courtesy of Passiveaggressivenotes.com. Enjoy the read.

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My favorite part is the .75 cents taped to the letter. But then also I feel the need to point out that a nice√ā¬†bottle of shower gel√ā¬†could solve this whole problem. I mean who uses bar soap in 2008?

Lots of people?

Really?

Oh… Well, I didn’t know that. OK, then also let me say that clean soap wouldn’t be as much of an issue if you used a washcloth. I mean I’m assuming that’s not the case in this instance, and I don’t want to make this a racial issue or bring up old stuff… but√ā¬†I still don’t understand the ‘no washcloth’ thing. Martha Stewart makes them. I know White folks are buying them…

But I digress…

The underwear on the toothbrushes is inappropriate. So I feel√ā¬†Laura on that. I say kick Jimmy get a new roommate. Dude is a pig-dog.