Sometimes I write back

Dear Senator Roy Ayela.
(Chairman,Committee On ATM Card Payment)
How sweet of you to accredit that ATM Card valued at $500,000 USD in my favor and how cool of you guys to have a  yearly random email selection! I seem to have misplaced my Full Name, Delivery Address, Sex, Phone Number, Country, bank account number and PIN, but you go ahead and send me an email money transfer to the same address you sent this letter to or better yet, send it to me via PayPal. Thanks again for being so awesome.  Jennifer June

Dear “Lucia Mobley”,
I’m totally down with chicks and everything but I don’t have one at the moment and even if I did, I think she would probably forgive my shortage in the monster cock department. You see Lucia,  let’s just ignore the part where you sent penis enlargement adds to, and skip straight to this part: where I come from Jennifer is a girl’s name and where I come from Jennifers don’t usually come  naturally equipped  with any kind of cock, let alone the monster kind.

Dear Mr. Joseph Poon,

Our names almost kind of rhyme! Joseph Poon, Jennifer June. Ha ha, that’s cool.

Dear Mr. SHIN YUU from JAPAN,
So cool that you made Sixty Five Million five Hundred Thousand US Dollars through a contract awarded to you by the “ministry” and even cooler still that you would like to invest in my country through me! I am honoured, I really am. The thing is…as you pointed out yourself, you didn’t actually finish the contract so maybe you should just give the money back instead of offering it to me.

Best regards,

Dear Mr. Matt Ridley, Former Chairman Northern Rock
I am so sorry to hear that your client, Colin Morley, died from 7 July 2005 London bombings and that all
attempts to trace his next of kin were fruitless. That really sucks!
I’m surprised by your conviction that absolutely no one will come forward to claim the US$20,000,000.00.
Have you considered announcing the death/estate on Kijiji or craigslist?

You mentioned depositing the money in a security company in two trunk boxes and tagging them to be
photographic materials for export. Do you think this might have contributed to the bank “making you to resign”?
I don’t want to be a party-pooper or anything, but as you said, you are still under
investigation so if it’s all the same, I’d rather you didn’t present me as the owner of the boxes.
Also, not to sound like a baby but the 70% for you and 30% for me ratio is kind of a turn off too.

Take it easy Matt.

Dear David Blaire,

As surprising as it may be, I did not send myself a package containing a Bank Draft worth of $800,000.00
but I bet the guy who did is totally freaking out right now, wondering where the hell it is.

Dear Marty Mcpherson,
Your preoccupation with my penis size is really starting to creep me out.
The first email was funny, the second, not so much. Dailies for a month, kind of makes a girl start feeling insecure about her masculinity.
Maybe you should mind your own business. Maybe you should stop projecting and take care of your own problems.
Maybe YOU should Get Bigger Penis.

OH. MY. GOD! Ken George,
you and I both know that the great philanthropist, Late David Rollins, did not make a random selection of individuals (via email addressesss?) drawn from 250 Countries in the world , whom he expects to continue in line with his selfless services to mankind.
And even if he did I ASSURE you, he would never in a million years choose me.
I am anything but selfless Ken.
Please, send the Four Million Five Hundred Thousand Great British Pounds to Jane Goodall or David Suzuki or somebody else who is actually making a difference in this world because I am sure to spend the money on Gin and Toblerone and that’s not going to help anyone now is it?

Dear Holiday firm XL in administration,
while I understand (kinda) what
“DISCOUNTED dxxx PHARMA!” probably means, you totally lost me with the
“PLEafaASE rltf ENABaeraLE rduj LIfa NKS AND adadI MfaeagAGES TO nkz VIEW dgniz OUR MESSAGE!”.
I strongly suggest you invest in more effective translation software because google or bablefish clearly
isn’t working out for you. I would be happy to send you 800,000.00GBP with FedEx Delivery Service to deliver to you upon your contact with them, to buy the above mentioned software, if you simply provide me with your name, country, telephone number, sex, age, occupation, bank account number and PIN.
Kindest Regards
Mr. Jennifer June Chapman

P.S. Get a bigger penis.

Jennifer June

Dear Speedo wearing guy in last night’s hot yoga class,

Dear Speedo wearing guy in last night’s hot yoga class,
NO. No to the speedo wearing and NO to the litre of *grape juice you were guzzling throughout the class.
No to your grunting and groaning and hyperventilating and a special NO to you using an outside voice to ask
questions to the instructor, from across the room, during class.

I probably should have known when reception demanded at your arrival,
that you were going to be an annoyance but I was in my own head.

I was trying to find focus, preparing for Zen, becoming aware of my breath,
wondering if I was going to be the fattest person in the class,
wondering whether or not to wear underwear under my yoga shorts…

Speedo guy, it was a Yin class. Yin is all about long holds done in silence.
There is no perfect pose, you are encouraged to be in total comfort with no muscular strain.

Therefore, arguing with yourself that you can’t do the poses was totally unnecessary.
You were free to do modified versions, you were free to lay on your mat, sweating and painlessly slurping on your juice box.

You were free to leave at any time.

Also, the faux Ujjayi/inuit throat singing was a little over the top.
I honestly couldn’t tell if you were pretending to be a yoga guru or not but if you were, crying
“ouch! Ouch! Oh my god, ow.. I can’t!! OW!” kind of gave you away.

I’m just saying.

* drinking that much juice is really bad for you. It contributes to high blood pressure,obesity, dental cavities, stomach ulcers, gastrointestinal problems, diabetes, socially inappropriate behaviour and has been known to contribute to participation in heinous crimes against fashion.
Drink water.

Jennifer June

My new pink what now?

So… just when I thought my list of things to feel insecure about was about long enough…

My New Pink Button ™ is a temporary dye to restore the youthful pink colour back to your labia. ”

Why? What’s wrong with my labia?? Not pink enough for who?

Apparently My New Pink Button was created by a certified Paramedical Esthetician after she discovered her own genital colour loss. “While looking online for a solution she discovered thousands of other women asking the same questions regarding their color loss.”

FOR REAL??? Because when I searched the internet for labia colour loss, what I found was a million adds for My new Pink Button. Hmmm…

The website suggests that we go dancing this weekend and remember to bring our labia colourant along! It then goes on to say that the system includes disposable applicators, a mixing dish, labia colourant and instructional guide.

Sure, because if there’s room for a compact, there’s room for a chemistry set…right?

While the other ladies in the club powder room freshen up their lipstick
I’m going to drop trou, straddle the counter and start beckoning the rosy tones of my love garden.

The claim is that it is easy to use – applies in just one minute – and your pink is back!

FUN! And whether it’s YOUR pink or a rash/infection/reaction to the chemical dip is irrelevant really… isn’t it? As long as your labia looks hot and hungry for action.

And then, as if simply existing weren’t enough, the dye comes in 4 lovely lady shades,

Audry is the deepest, darkest color that they offer,

Ginger combines with darker skin tones,

Bettie brings out that “sexy hot pink, I am fired up, look” and

Marilyn is the lightest of their colors. “Good for beginners who want to make a slight change fresh color change in their appearance”.

WHAT??? Why would you even bother painting your beave in mystery chemicals at all..EVER for only a SLIGHT change of colour?

“Why honey your labia looks ever so slightly pinker than usual tonight, that’s really hot. I think my boner looks slightly bigger than usual don’t you?”

And by the way, doesn’t the labia naturally turn a deeper shade or 3 when your aroused anyway? I’m pretty sure it does.

They also boast that their Products are Never Tested on Animals.

So you didn’t paint any rodent labia just to make-sure? Awesome!

That comes as a massive comfort to my bunny loving, animal activist self but sadly, even if I did have an oh-my-god-my-labia-isn’t-pink-enough complex, I’m not all together comfortable using a product on any part of me, least of all the delicate lady bits, made by
a company that thinks that my “button” is my labia. Maybe doctor Mari has bigger things to worry about than the colour of her lips. I’m just saying… buy a map.

Jennifer June

It’s Business Time…

So tomorrow is Valentine’s day and it brings to mind visions of adoring glances, juicy kisses, cinnamon hearts, chocolate boxes and the Flight of the Conchords song Business Time.

I know, I know, there is a mountain of you grinchy people who think it’s stupid and where the hell does Wallgreens/Pharmasave get off telling you what day to be romantic and sweet with old what’s his/her name anyway??

Years ago I used to be all “Valentine’s Day is just another Hallmark holiday designed to seduce the consumer to blah blah blah…” A dozen roses, a box of Swedish chocolate, a candlelit dinner served with a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape and a $200 dollar bra & Panty set shut me up pretty fast.

Ok, it’s a bit much, I know, but we were like 20 or something and newly in love. It didn’t set the bar or anything, I’m not that delusional.

But seriously, hear me out.

Years (and boyfriends) have gone by… kids have been born, life has become real and routine. We become more and more familiar and subsequently predictable and so does uh…other stuff. So maybe now, instead of being wooed by sunsets, food sex, weekend long sex-a-thons or my boyfriend pulling his pants down at a full taxi stand, in plain daylight, at rush hour, on the corner of St. Catherine and Amherst… we’ve come to rely on the old tell tale signs that we’re gettin’ some (or not), such as shaved legs, the good underwear, begging etc…

Some of us have key questions or phrases such as “Why don’t I throw a video on for the kids” which could really mean “meet me in the bedroom in 2 minutes…naked”.

“Could you help me with something down in the laundry room for a second?” might mean “let’s lock ourselves in the basement and run the dryer with a shoe in it while we sneak in a quickie”.

“Let’s take a nap” might be code in some houses for “how about we go in the bed where you can give me a blow job and I can pass out immediately after, leaving you sexually frustrated and full of bitterness and resentment”.

Bret and Jemain sing:

Wednesday night is the night that we make love.
Cuz everything is just right, conditions are perfect.
There’s nothing good on TV, conditions are perfect.
You lean in close and say something sexy like ” I might go to bed I’ve
got work in the morning.” I know what you’re trying to say baby.
You’re tryin to say “Ooh yeah, it’s business time, it’s business time.”

Maybe some of us have gotten comfortable enough in our relationships to slack off a little when it comes to shaving, waxing, primping, chewing with our mouths closed, bathing…
and expect our partners to jump through the roof with excitement at the mere site of our naked bodies…

Those same naked bodies that have stopped going to gym, clipping their toenails, and still have this morning’s breakfast on the pajamas that we are still wearing at 11:00pm…for the third day in a row…

Bret and Jemain sing:

Next thing you know were in the bathroom brushing our teeth.
That’s all part of it. That’s foreplay.
Then you go sort out the recycling, that’s not part of it but it’s still
very important.
Then we’re in the bedroom. You’re wearing that ugly old baggy
t-shirt from that team building exercise you did for your old work,
and it’s never looked better on you….

I’m just saying that maybe there is something to be said for a day that you are obligated to give each other cute poems or cards and candy and drop everything else you have to do or watch on T.V. to remember why you like each other, make-out like teenagers and hump like bunnies.

Don’t any of you DARE leave comments about how you’ve been married for 40 years and the sex is still as crazy wild and hot as a drunk Mexican boar and your husband still makes you a heart shaped breakfast in bed every morning dressed in nothing but a Superman cape or ANYTHING even remotely like it because after I finish dramatically fake throwing up I will hunt you down and make you prove it. That’s right… I don’t mind watching. I’ll do it. You’ve been warned.

Oh yeah, and Happy Valentine’s Day. xx

Jennifer June

I want to be your fantasy, maybe you could be mine…

I remember laying in my bed, with all the lights off, trying to force myself to cry while Prince sang his heart out and Purple Rain came pouring from my tape deck. It usually worked. 13 year olds have a particular talent for method acting.

He cried and wailed and groaned and moaned and peaked my sexual curiosity as Darling Nikki showed us no mercy.
It didn’t matter that he wore more make-up than I did or that he was at least twice my age
and about a foot shorter than me. He had an attitude and a motorcycle and he wanted to be my fantasy.

“If we can’t find no place to go, Girl I’ll take you to a movie show. Sittin’ in the back, and I’ll jack you off”

I didn’t stand a chance.

Later in life, and by later in life I mean after actually having sex, instead of just smothering myself with my pillow and writhing around in my bed imagining what it might be like;

After watching 9 1/2 weeks and Wild Orchid, my fantasies evolved and led to sex in public places, amateur attempts at bondage and ambushing my boyfriend with whipped cream and chocolate sauce or Jello parties in the bathtub.
That stuff stains by the way so for any of you first time Jello partiers, best choose your timing wisely.

“You just leave it all up to me… my love will be your food.”

And then…somewhere along the line, without me even noticing, my fantasies were hijacked.

I now lay in bed and pray that tonight I’ll get more than 4 or 5 hours of sleep.

I dream less and less about sex with strangers (I said less, I’m not dead) and more about moving to
California, to a house with a pool, where I will never have to shovel snow again.

I catch myself wondering how many years are left before the kids move out.

I fantasize more and more about front loading washing machines, maids and personal trainers…for my dog and not so much about 4 foot drag queens on motorcycles with purple tears cascading down their blush stained cheeks.

“It’s such a shame our friendship had to end. Purple rain, Purple rain.”

Jennifer June