The Onion Presents a Book of Jean's Own!

by Jean Teasdale

  [Belches]

  Plus you should see some of the pieces of work my friends have balled. My buddy Craig once had this girlfriend who was a perfect ten, no shit. But it turned out she was even more nutso than Jean, and I know this because I don’t got no scars on the back of my skull from where a carpenter’s plane bounced off blade-side first. Catch my drift? Jesus, when do I ever say “catch my drift”? I’m telling you, it’s talking into this tape recorder that’s the problem. It makes you say gay things.

  Where was I? Oh yeah. Jean’s nutso, but she ain’t psycho-evil nutso. Overall, she ain’t so bad. She drives me crazy with all her cat and stuffed-animal crap and her clinging and wanting a baby—Jesus, that’s a whole other thing—but at least she puts a little, I don’t know, softness into my life. Otherwise I’d probably be eating Taco Bell off oil pans instead of plates with flowers on them. Though I don’t see what it hurts to pee in the shower. Still, even with all the craziness, I’d rather have Jean around than not around, I guess. Not like I could do any better. But I could do a lot worse. Oh shit I sound like a pussy now. How do you rewind this? Fucker.

  [Rustling sounds, cursing, sound of glass breaking, more cursing]

  Know what, I’m through. This is the last fucking time I ever do anything for a book. Seriously, I can see how this book-writing can turn you into Oprah. You have to think and act all sensitive and shit and impress a bunch of idiots you’re never going to meet anyway. Fuck that. Look, whoever prints this book, don’t include that mushy stuff I said before. Just take it out. Only keep in the parts about me not giving a shit about what others think and where Craig’s psycho ex threw a carpenter’s plane at him. See, if Jean wants to be a real writer and write stuff people will actually read, she should do up some of those Penthouse letters. I’d even help her with the terms and stuff. At least she’d get paid good for it. But for now, at least buy her book so we can get some cash. Okay, that’s all. Oh, and go Vikes! Vikings ruuuuuuule!

  [Several seconds of guttural bellowing and lowing. Tape ends]

  Keep Smiling!

  I’m baaaa-aaaack, Jeanketeers! (Did you miss me?) Sorry if you found my li’l mental vaycay a bit jolting. But believe it or not, it did wonders! Now that I’m nearly done with this book, my mind is as clear as a bell again! Turns out there was light at the end of the tunnel, and I needn’t have worried a bit!

  Before I recount my glorious comeback, I wanted to apologize on behalf of Hubby Rick for all that swearing in the last chapter. I am real, real sorry about his disgusting vulgarity. I’m sure it was an awful shock to everyone who picked up this book for some lighthearted and gently madcap humor. But what can I say, that’s the hubby for you. Why I haven’t been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for putting up with all that for my entire adult life, I’ll never know! I think Rick permanently keeps his mind in—well, I don’t want to compound his grossness, so let’s just say he keeps it in that area under the couch cushions that I always forget to vacuum. (That’s less gross than saying the container that the toilet brush sits in.)

  As for the few other words between the cursing, suffice it to say that I very much disagree with all of them! If he didn’t pay the rent, Rick would find himself in the doghouse pronto! I’d offer a rebuttal, but I wouldn’t know where to start, and I don’t wish to end on a sour note. (But I will say that I haven’t cried after whoopee for years! What udder cow-chips! Rick is confusing crying with staring at the ceiling. Two entirely different things, obviously.)

  So I took a little unexpected time off from the book. It was completely spontaneous and unplanned. Day and night, I lay adrift on my waterbed, wearing my Tweety Bird nightshirt and one pink sock (not sure what happened to the other one). My world had shrunken down to half a tub of caramel popcorn, several two-liter bottles of Pepsi, and reruns of Bridezillas (one of whom I still aspire to be someday). In short, the self-pity party was in full swing, and it was the best I had ever thrown. Yes, I had snapped, but it felt great. Abandoning my responsibilities had never felt so relaxing! I could have lay there forever, floating, floating, floating, my life but a dream.

  The fourth day rolled around. Or maybe it was the fifth day. Hubby Rick was shouting at me behind the bedroom door as usual. This time he said something about a phone message. I just put my pillow over my head. About half an hour later, I heard a rapping at my bedroom window. I tried to pretend I couldn’t hear it, but the darn rapping wouldn’t stop, so after a couple minutes I roused myself from bed (no easy feat) and raised the blind. Directly out the window, just inches from the windowpane, hovered the receiver to our living room cordless phone. It had been crudely duct-taped to a wooden yardstick, which in turn was duct-taped to a broken car radio antenna. The contraption was coming from the direction of the balcony that adjoins our living room. I opened the window.

  A loud click sounded on the receiver; the speakerphone function had been switched on to the maximum volume level. A male voice said my name. He gave his name and said he was an attorney for Onion Books. He said that I was in clear violation of the terms of my publishing contract, and if I did not produce a full manuscript within twenty-four hours, I would be sued for breach of contract. A click, then silence. Then I heard another beep, and the message began again. The message repeated several more times before I finally emerged from the bedroom and yanked Rick back into the living room, causing him to nearly drop the phone, yardstick, and all.

  And that’s exactly where I am right now, Jeanketeers! Nestled cozily among my trusty, familiar knickknacks, potpourri, throw pillows, and two beloved flabby tabbies, I am once again pecking at my trusty old Dell, putting the finishing touches on the very book that you are holding!

  You see, even though my self-pity party had its good moments throughout, I wasn’t truthfully living up to my own personal axiom—“Keep Smiling!” After all, as we all know so well, life is not perfect. In everyone’s lives, one or two instances of challenge or hardship occur. (Occasionally more, though it’s rare.) But when we’re faced with adversity, running away from it is not always an option, so we must do our best to face it. We’re all in it together, so instead of being Debbie Deniers, we should shrug, smile, and see those bad times through.

  So I pinned the smiley-face button back on my soul, put my shoulder to the grindstone, and got back to work. Now, for the very first time in my life, I, Jean Teasdale, am finally fulfilling one of my very biggest and most heartfelt dreams. One possibly even bigger and more heartfelt than becoming a Mommy. I’m finishing something I set out to accomplish. It’s not just vacuuming out my car or completing a hook rug with a frog with staring eyes on it. It’s writing the final chapter of my very first book. And if that isn’t the most life-affirming thing you ever heard, well, drop me an email and tell me what is, because I’d sure like to find out!

  I hope that my example inspires you, too. I’m soooo glad that in addition to making you giggle until you puddled your pantaloons, which I’ll go ahead and assume I did, I may have given you the idea to pursue your own lifelong dream and turn it into wonderful, sparkling reality. And if you should stall or fail to follow through, maybe you’ll even be as lucky as me and be given a huge incentive to finish, like the threat of a big fat breach-of-contract suit.

  And even if you have absolutely zero going on in your life and it’s likely to stay that way, I hope you at least take a hint from your pal Jean and realize how important it is to keep smiling, no matter what life throws at you! We have to find reasons to smile and laugh and savor those special moments both large and small. We mustn’t take our time on Earth for granted, for we only have one life that we know of, and it’s a short one. (Well, except for mine. I really believe I’m going to live to at least 110! Don’t know why exactly, I just feel it. I have a really positive attitude, which helps. Also, by rarely walking and never exercising, I conserve a lot of energy, so I’m hoping it will take longer to use up.)

  Index

  The index that appeared in the print version of this title does
not match the pages in your eBook. Please use the search function on your eReading device to search for terms of interest. For your reference, the terms that appear in the print index are listed below.

  A

  All My Children (soap opera)

  Agua caliente, mucho

  Auntie Flo

  B

  Barely Legal (magazine)

  Bombeck, Erma

  Books

  boringness of see also The Thorn Birds

  Brady, Marcia

  Brandy Alexander (alcoholic drink)

  Bridal Veil Falls

  Bridezillas (reality show)

  Build-A-Bear Workshop

  Burning

  Burger King

  C

  Cain, Dean (hunk)

  Carmex

  Catherine’s Stout Shoppe (store)

  Chocolate

  Clampett, Elly May

  Collins, Gary

  Cookie dough

  Coors beer

  Craig (friend of Rick Teasdale)

  Curlytop (childhood dog of Jean Teasdale)

  D

  Dalton, Timothy (hunk)

  Dollar General (store)

  Dressbarn (store)

  Drool

  Drooliciousness

  Dumpster

  F

  Fabio (hunk)

  Fashion Bug (store)

  Fleecewear

  Fridge

  Fridge magnets

  Frog rug, unfinished

  G

  Garanimals (clothing)

  God

  Good Housekeeping (magazine)

  Goodwill

  Gymboree (store)

  H

  Hardee’s

  Harmon, Mark

  Hitler, Adolf

  Home pregnancy test

  Honda Spree

  J

  Jewel (supermarket)

  K

  Kleenex ghosts (craft)

  Kotb, Hoda

  L

  Laminating

  Laundry

  Leggings

  Lifetime Movie Channel

  Long Island Iced Tea (alcoholic drink)

  M

  Mini-fridge

  Missi (bitch)

  Mr. Stork

  Monica (stepsister of Jean Teasdale)

  Moreno, Fulgencio (friend and employer of Jean Teasdale)

  and “dress-up friends”

  N

  Nobel Peace Prize

  Nougat

  O

  O’Donnell, Rosie

  P

  Pamida (store)

  Patti (friend of Jean Teasdale)

  Penthouse (magazine)

  Plush

  Plymouth Swinger

  Potpourri

  Puffy sleeves

  R

  Redbook (magazine)

  Ryder, Winona

  S

  Scented candles

  School shootings

  Self-cutting

  Sellecca, Connie Sewing With Nancy (TV show)

  Snooze button

  Sorbo, Kevin (hunk)

  Speidr, Horvel (father of Jean Teasdale)

  As shopping-mall Santa Claus

  Ethnic pride of

  Speidr, Kevin (brother of Jean Teasdale)

  As teenage drug dealer

  Born-again Christianity of

  Speidr, Lillian “Lil” (mother of Jean Teasdale)

  Relationship with daughter

  On feminists

  Springfield, Rick (singer-hunk)

  Stuffed animals, see Plush

  Swarovski crystals

  Swayze, Patrick

  T

  Tato Skins (defunct snack)

  Tacky’s Tavern

  Tayback, Vic

  Teasdale, Arthur (cat)

  Teasdale, Garfield (cat)

  Teasdale, Jean Meleanne Speidr

  Appearance of

  as Gloomy Gloria

  as Lesley-Anne Downer

  Doodling ability

  Ethnic heritage of

  Experiencing “the empties”

  Fear of repeating herself

  Laziness of

  Life expectancy of

  Marriage of

  Occasional breakdowns of

  On friendship

  On motherhood

  Pleasant plumpness of

  Self-deception of

  Threat of litigation and

  Type 2 diabetes of

  Unexpected nudity of

  Wedding to Hubby Rick Teasdale

  Work history

  Youth

  Teasdale, Priscilla (cat)

  Teasdale, Richard “Hubby Rick”

  Arsonist record of

  As grouch

  Blasphemy of

  Chevy Luv of

  Drinking habits of

  Emotional incompatibility with wife

  First base with Jean Teasdale

  Firearms of

  Hatred of reading and writing

  Obesity of

  Using pickup truck as animal-control method

  Tesh, John

  The Thorn Birds (novel)

  Throw pillows

  Tornado warnings

  Trapper Keeper (portfolio)

  Tube socks

  Twizzlers (candy)

  U

  Us Weekly (magazine)

  W

  Waterbed

  WD-40 (lubricant)

  West, Topher (classmate of Jean Teasdale)

  West, Shanni Schuhheim (classmate of Jean Teasdale)

  Whoopee

  Winfrey, Oprah

  Y

  Yeast infection

  Look for These Upcoming Humor Titles by Jean Teasdale from Onion Books!

  The Boss Who Could Have Been My Teenage Son Slightly Younger Brother: Adventures (And Misadventures!) in Minimum-Wage Employment

  That’s Not Something Out of the Litter Box, That’s My Choco-Cherry-Peppermint-Hazelnut Brownies! Kitchen Follies with Jean Teasdale

  Teasdale on Teasdale: Reflections on Life with a Chubby, Grubby Hubby

  Are Those Sloppy Joes, or a Mad Scientist Experiment? More Kitchen Follies with Jean Teasdale

  Priscilla Teasdale’s Kitty Letters to God

  Is That Peanut Butter in Your Diaper?!? And Other Crazy Stuff that Might Happen If I Ever Become a Mother!

  Maria Schneider is Jean Teasdale’s brain.

  Interior photos by Mike Faisca and Nick Gallo.

  Copy editing by Rebecca Bengal.

  Acknowledgments

  Without crucial support and inspiration, the dream that was A Book of Jean’s Own! would have never come true. I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to:

  My two precious kitties, Priscilla and Garfield. You have given me countless hours of unconditional love and bottomless compassion. It is a great honor to be both your best friend and mommy.

  My buddy Fulgencio, a longtime pal whose “You go girl!” exhortations of support have helped me in ways he’ll never know. He is literally an angel. No, really! I’ve seen him wear a pair of angel wings when he goes on a night on the town with his male friends who like to wear dresses! Fulgencio is an F.O.J. (Friend of Jean!) of the highest order!

  These following people and things, in no particular order: Kate Palmer, sunshine, Marc Resnick, chocolate!!, Dan Greenberg, bunnies’ noses, Julie Smith, love, David Reynolds, snuggles, Mike Loew, the smell of babies, Scott Dikkers, daisies, Joe Randazzo, the color pink, Carlos Yu, magic, Peter Serafinowicz, unicorns, Rick Martin, laughter, Rebecca Bengal, raw cookie dough, John Krewson, doilies, Dan Guterman, polyester (an essential building-block for stuffed animals), The Onion writing staff, bubbles, Jack Schneider, scented air fresheners, Danielle Gale, glitter, Andrew Block, and baby ducks. (By the way, don’t read anything into the order. The color pink is not necessarily more important than Rebecca Bengal, for example!)

  And I would be amiss if I didn’t save the biggest thank-you of all to my Jeanketeers. I don’t know your names, or just how many of you ther
e are, but were it not for you, I’d probably be stuck in some minimum-wage job somewhere. Actually, I still work in a minimum-wage job. I just wouldn’t have my column, and my life would be much poorer for it. (Poorer in quality, not financially.)

  Oh, all right, and I suppose I should thank my Hubby Rick Teasdale too, even though he’s a great big grouch most of the time. But even I must admit that without the hubby, my column would lack a lot of spark. Then again, it would make more room for references to kitten whiskers!

  Smoochies,

  May 2010

  THE ONION PRESENTS A BOOK OF JEAN’S OWN!: ALL NEW WIT, WISDOM, AND WACKINESS FROM THE ONION’S BELOVED HUMOR COLUMNIST. Copyright © 2010 by Onion, Inc. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.stmartins.com

  ISBN: 978-1-4299-5182-1

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