Monday, January 31, 2005

My digits, not yours

I watched a man hit on my wife today. We went to the food court at the mall to get something to eat and I went to the restroom. When I came back out I got in line at the Cajun place to get us something to eat. I had glanced around and spotted her at the sunglass kiosk trying on different pairs. That’s when the Oshman’s poster boy walked by.

He literally stopped dead in his tracks, looked over his shoulder at her, then walked backwards to stand beside her. I moved up in line then turned back to watch him glance back and forth between Jazz and the glasses until he built up the nerve to speak to her.

I’ll be damned. He’s making a move. She still had on her leather jacket which is too bulky for anyone to notice her belly barely poking out.

He tried on a pair then I assume asked her opinion. I saw her shake her head then offer him a different pair.

“Sir? Your order?”

Fuck. I asked for two Cajun chicken meals with a coke and a water and tossed a ten onto the counter so I could get back to my spying. The Oshman’s boy was sliding a pair of sunglasses onto Jasmine’s face. I froze. And when he pushed her hair back I think my aorta ruptured from the pressure.


Goddamn nagging little prick! “What?”

“Your order’s ready.”

“That’s dandy. Thank you.”

I took the food and dropped it less than gently on the table then plopped my ass into the chair and simmered. I know she can handle him herself. But it damn sure would feel good to shove my knee in his gut. He’s not her type anyway. Tall, blonde, kinda lean, outdoorsy Brad Pitt look. Nobody really likes that shit. Isn’t there a soccer game somewhere he needs to be warming up for?

She put her sunglasses back on the rack and went to walk off when he grabbed her hand. I stood up. She said something to him, gave him a smile he damn well didn’t deserve, and walked in my general direction.

Mr. Oshman’s hadn’t left the sunglass kiosk. He was watching her walk away and as she got closer to the table he spotted me. That motherfucker and I made eye contact.

I sat down before Jasmine noticed me watching her. She gave me a kiss and sat down, then started eating like nothing at all had happened.

“Some guy asked for my number.”

Son of a bitch. And damn he’s fast. I was conflicted between hating him and admiring his speed all at once. Took me over two fucking years to ask Jasmine out while Mr. Jock Strap did it in 2 minutes. He must be on crack. “Really? I’m not surprised.”

She grinned. “Were you jealous?”

I shrugged and took a swallow of my coke. “I didn’t even notice.”


Oh, now she’s gonna question my honesty. It doesn’t matter that I’m lying. She should believe what I say just because I say it, dammit. “Jazz, I came out of the restroom, got the food and sat down. I never noticed you over there.”

That’s when she pointed at the kiosk. “I watched you in the mirror. Lie to me again and see what I do.”

And though I suspect she was being light-hearted, I was too scared to ask.

Friday, January 28, 2005

Playing catch up with old posts

I had some posts sitting in draft that I never published. This one is from my wedding morning. Here’s what I had to say before the overwhelming nausea hit:

January 14th, 2005 - 7:55am

This morning I woke up, took a leak, scratched my sack, sniffed my underarms and then it hit me. Oh fuck, I’m getting married today. All of the warmth in my body evaporated as the blood pooled at my ankles. I looked back into the bedroom and saw Jasmine lying in bed, staring out the window. Was she planning her getaway? She ought to be. She’s damn sure getting the short end of the stick. Does she know I’m deathly afraid of cockroaches? Ewhwehehewhehew, those little bastards give me the chills.

Is there anything I don’t know about her? Her eyes are hazel, a correction she made when I mistakenly referred to them as green with brown flecks of shit in them. Don’t see the difference. Her middle name is Rayne which has been the middle name of every first born daughter in her family for 6 generations. Her shoe size is large, fucking large. She likes her unleaded-pretend-coffee with cream, no sugar. She wants 2 kids. Check. She’d rather live in the suburbs. Check. She likes dogs, hates cats. She’s a conservative democrat but definitely not a liberal republican. Yeah, that’s what I said. She doesn’t take shit, but she’s so classy about it you never realize she’s not taking your shit until there’s egg all over your face. She doesn’t like sweets. Her real mom OD’d when she was 9. She thinks beauty pageants are for the intellectually disabled. Amen. She detests abortion, but supports the death penalty. You go, girl. She’s a Texan, born and raised. That right there is a prerequisite. What the hell did I do to deserve her? Or better yet, who did she screw over in life to deserve me? Karma’s a motherfucker.

I don’t know everything about her. That’s a good thing. How boring would that be to know someone inside and out from the get-go and have nothing at all to look forward to? But I know she complements me. I’ve heard opposites attract but don’t last. I don’t think we’re opposite, really. If you sliced a jagged tear down the center of a painting, sure the pieces would mirror each other and technically be opposites, but aren’t they both part of the same big picture? A picture that doesn’t mean as much with one half missing?

Now I’m rambling. She’s doing God knows what in the bathroom right now. I feel like I’m in the eye of the storm. Two miles in either direction and all hell will break lose. It’s like standing in the center of the merry-go-round. As long as you’re in the dead center and you maintain that control, you’ll be fine. Step out of bounds and the centrifugal force will sling your ass in an embarrassing blur of arms and legs to land in a heap in the grass while your niece’s toddler friends point and giggle.

Coffee. I need coffee. I got my reloadable Starbucks Shareholder card in the mail. I think those things are stupid, yet I feel compelled to impress the 17 year old ball-less wonder behind the register with my fancy “I own a piece of you” green coffee cherry card. It came with $3.50 already on it. Lucky me. I bought Starbucks when it was at $31 around January last year. I just had a feeling. Nowadays I’ve got a damn good feeling. Wish I’d bought more, but no reason to get greedy and I never break my own rules, especially in my own accounts. Gotta stay balanced.

Damn I wish I had asked her out when she first hired on. I’m such a pussy. At least I mentioned her to Mom once. I told Mom my ex was raising hell about me flirting with a lady at the office. Mom asked if I was guilty of flirting. I didn’t answer, just smiled. Mom asked if it was worth the ensuing fight with my ex. I kept smiling. She patted my cheek and told me I reap what I sow. That was an understatement.

Lo and behold it’s my turn in the bathroom!

Thursday, January 27, 2005


You folks are gonna hate me for this, but I'm tired and heading to bed. I'm giving a presentation in the morning to 400 prospects. Largest presentation I've ever been a part of. My section discusses the 529 which I'm versed on, but honestly Sarah is the expert so I've never bothered with the administration details of it like annual fees and shit.

I'm not a rehearsed speech kind of guy so I spent all night studying up on the tax laws and fine print for each company I'll be referencing. My brain is crammed with so much shit right now nothing but a good jerk and a full night's sleep is gonna make it better. I'll let you folks know after lunch how it went. The presentation, not the jerk. That'll go just fine. Trust me.

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

May I have the envelope, please?

Jasmine’s middle name is Rayne. It’s the surname of her great-great-yada-yada-grandmother originally from New Orleans in the 1850's or so. The first born daughter was named after her, getting the mom’s middle and last name as her own first and middle. Keep up, it won’t get any easier.

That daughter along with her two sisters attended a college in New England that was unique for its time. It promoted independence for women and encouraged them to demand equality. That shit’s rooted in the DNA. I never had a chance.

The family had a bit of chump change laying about. Not hard to do in the mid-1800’s. Just invent some shit that makes picking cotton easier and bam, you’re a millionaire. So they invested heavily in said college and the girls generated the stirrings of organized feminism in that particular state. Six generations later my wife as a direct descendant has found her way back to the mother land, that being Texas, and done the smartest thing she could have ever done in this quest for independence and equality. She married my ass. Two steps forward, one step back.

Back to the name thing, when the oldest daughter married and had kids of her own, she chose to pass along her mother’s surname just the way she had received it, hence creating this legacy I stumbled into.

That being said, Jasmine chose Autumn Rayne. And you can etch that shit in stone. It ain’t changing, I don’t care what some poll says. The woman’s mind is made up.

For my choice on a second girl’s name I cheated as well. My mom’s name was Olivia. My old man called her Liv. If we get a second girl I’d be really damn pleased to be able to name her Olivia Claire.

On to the boy names. I get first dibs so if a boy is born he’ll be named Benjamin Todd. Jasmine is pretty firm on Ethan Grant for a second boy, but she’s not as confident as she is with Autumn. So that’s what we’ve come up with. Don’t hold me to it. You know how I am about committing to one thing forever and ever amen. Makes my pits sweat.

Benjamin Todd
Ethan Grant

Autumn Rayne
Olivia Claire

Since the voting was anonymous, thank you to the 175-200 unique IP addresses who participated. I was able to rub Jazz's nose into the fact that I picked a way cooler name than she did. It bothers her deep down. Her shifty-eyed glance doesn't fool me with it's look of pseudo boredom.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Name that baby, part deaux

Here are 10 boy names we're tossing around. The one I've picked for my primary choice is within this list along with several Jasmine is debating. Thursday I'll let everyone know which names we like.

If it's a boy...


Name that baby

Jasmine and I have already chosen one name for each sex, but we're considering back up names in case it's two of each sex. The female name we chose is in this list. Jasmine's middle name is 6 generations in the making and if we have at least one daughter it will be 7. For now, you'll just have to wing it in your guesses. It only lets you vote once per 24 hours and I can't figure out how to change that so vote wisely.

If it's a girl...


Sunday, January 23, 2005

Texas, Our Texas

I’m sitting outside right now in the swing on the back porch. It’s 70 degrees and sunny and the only time of year that allows me to do this without risking West Nile or Malaria. Every summer when it gets hot, I mean really hot, I always say I’m going to leave. 105 degrees with 100% humidity is miles past miserable, it’s outright insane.

But the truth is I could never leave Texas. I would move around within the state, but I’d never leave. I’m a Texan. I love this state and the mentality of the people here. I love the pride and prestige. Maybe it’s all in my head, and it probably is. But this is where my head is. You can’t earn a Texas birthright. You inherit it. My kids will be Texans. That’s the first gift I’ll give them.

If I want the beach, I’ll go to Galveston. If I want trees I’ll head to Longview. If I want rolling hills and awesome landscapes I’ll settle in Austin. If I want the Rockies I’ll take IH10 to El Paso. Lubbock’s got all the snow I would ever need and Dallas has America’s football team, or at least, it’s close enough to it. Big city life is right here in Houston. Twenty miles north I get trees and land, twenty miles southwest I get open range. I can eat a slice of pizza with the local Sears Auto Shop mechanic on my left and George H. Bush and his men in black on my right.

Yeah, we got mosquitos. And it’s hot as a motherfucker in September. And May, June, July and August for that matter. But I don’t have to leave Texas to get away from it.

Every time I go to Austin I just want to suck in the air and plant my feet. Not within the city, but in those nice areas on top of the hills just north of Austin. Ain’t nothing prettier than the capitol all lit up at night. Nearly everyone there is a graduate from UT, but I can forgive them for that.

Regardless, if I ever do move it won’t be out of this state. Texas is a part of me, I can’t imagine not being a part of it.

That being said, a vacation home in Maui is not out of the question.

Friday, January 21, 2005

Turn that shit down

I was leaned back in my recliner when Jazz plopped down on the couch with the tube of lube, pulled off her shirt, and lowered her pants. A few months ago that would have aroused me to no end. But nowadays I do little more than to shift my eyes her direction, roll them upward and pucker as I turn the volume up on the TV. Why can’t she do this during The Apprentice or some crap I’m not interested in?

She squirted the goop onto her belly and clicked on the doodad and for the umpteenth night straight I had to listen to the sound of an Apache helicopter just starting to spin its blades.

“Jazz, come on. I’m watching TV here. Hey! Turn it down!”

She thinks when she gives me that look that it makes me feel shallow and petty but she’s wrong. I know I’m shallow and petty. Her look only confirms to me I know myself well. I bought that damn baby doodad thing so she could find the babies’ heartbeats next time she starts bleeding and not have to wait to go to the ER or wait for an ultrasound to know if they’re alive or not. I had no idea I would be listening to the melodic gurglings from the inside of my wife’s digestive track every night as she searched persistently for a tiny, rapid heartbeat.

I always pretend to hear it just to get her to shut it off. “Is that it?”


Whatever. Like she can tell. “I think that’s it.”

“That’s mine, there’s an artery there. Hush.”

Hush? I’m not the one blaring the belly serenade, now am I? “Is that it?”


I waited all of 11 seconds. “Is that it?”

“If you don’t stop it…”

Please. “You’ll what, not let me hear the wonder of your colon anymore? Pity.”

After another 10 agonizing minutes with the Doppler, Jazz struck gold. She found one of the babies. Only instead of sounding like an Apache getting ready to take off, that son of a bitch was in full flight. I tried to count them off but there were at least two beats every second. She was so excited until the little fucker made a scratching sound, like a record on a turntable, and disappeared. She found it again a few minutes later and for the next half hour I watched her sit there and chase the little shits around so we both could enjoy this magical moment while I missed my show.

“Hey honey, can you maybe do that in the bedroom?” That’s the least she could do, right? I mean, come on, I’m trying to unwind here.

“Listen to them, Jay! You do it.”

“Jazz, I can’t hear anything else. I’ve got no choice but to listen! Can’t you do that in the bedroom?”

She twisted it off and suddenly the TV seemed ridiculously loud. I figured I was in for it, but that’s okay. It’s not like she’s giving it up on a regular basis right now. What’s my incentive here? Let’s be realistic about this.

She turned to stare at me over her shoulder.

Still staring.

I'm not looking at you.

Hey, what’s that over there? Look, quick!

Quit it.

I don’t see you still staring at me out of the corner of my eye while I pretend to focus intently on what Pat Sajak has to say.

I don’t feel you boring holes into my skull. You can just stop wasting your time.

Stop it.

I slid my gaze to the coffee table to check her out peripherally.

“I see you looking at me.”

Damn. That shit never worked with my old man, either. I looked at her, looked at the TV, looked back at her, sighed and clicked off the TV. “Hey, sweetie, can I do it? Please?”

She grinned. “Sure!”

I want my balls back.

Thursday, January 20, 2005

Smoky & the Bandit

I nearly took one up the ass today. I usually take the Metro into town whenever I meet with clients down there, but this time I decided to drive since I was only meeting with one client and that was for less than an hour.

The left hand lane on the interstate is for passing. People should not be in that lane unless they are passing. Why this simple concept blows right over the heads of some ignoramuses I’ll never know. It’s true that when I get on the entrance ramp I swing all the way across into the left lane as quickly as I can. And it’s also true that once I’m there I do not leave the left hand lane unless I’m ready to swing back across all four lanes and suddenly exit. But in my defense, I am always passing everyone else. Why should I bounce in and out of the left lane when there is nobody going faster than me?

Under normal driving conditions, this philosophy works fine for me as it has for 14 years. I’ve learned to expect the occasional grandpa, the occasional mascara chic, the occasional cell phone talker. But what I don’t expect to find is a goddamn city street sweeper weighing in around 6 tons fucking PARKED in the left hand lane of the interstate.

Keep in mind this next part all happened within a matter of 3 seconds:

I was barreling down the interstate doing no less than 80 mph when I saw the vehicle two cars in front of me suddenly twist in desperation and shoot to the right. The van directly in front of me hit his brakes, hard, causing me to do the same. All the shit in my front seat smacked the dash and scattered all over the floorboards. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw two rigs. One directly behind me, one right beside that one in the lane to my right.

I instinctively wanted to cut left and risk flattening all four tires on the shoulder, but lo and behold another motherfucking behemoth street sweeper was also PARKED on the shoulder beside the one PARKED in the left hand lane of the interstate. The van in front of me had its ass so high in the air as he rode his brake I contemplated just drilling him from behind and hoping it hurt less than hitting the street sweeper. But at the last split second, literally, I glanced back into my rearview mirror, saw that the rig behind me was NOT going to stop in time and made the decision to swerve to the right instead, in front of the second rig that hadn’t bothered to take his foot off the gas at all.

I cut the wheel, skimming past the rear bumper of the van, got in front of the second rig and stomped that damn gas pedal so hard I heard it clink against the floorboard. That ole GMC fucking screamed while I held it wide open, waiting precious pants-pissing moments before it finally woke up, dropped its ass to the ground and took off before the rig could ram me from behind. A shit storm of smoking rubber ensued as the first rig finally saw the motionless street sweepers. The backend jackknifed to the right, swinging across the other lanes and just missing the second rig behind me.

Cars went everywhere with no regard to painted stripes. Screeching and squealing this way and that and yet not one damn crunch or shatter occurred. Within seconds it all happened and ended and nobody was injured. My body had dumped a gallon of adrenaline into my bloodstream and I realized the pressure of holding down the gas pedal was causing my leg to shake uncontrollably. My hands vibrated and my whole body felt immensely exhausted. I got off the gas, but every time I tried to apply pressure to the pedal my leg began shaking so bad I had to let up. It took me 30 minutes to coast that last 12 miles.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

I went to lunch today with Jones, Jesse and Danny. Jones, if you’ll recall, went on a banging streak Christmas before last when his lovely, high maintenance wife informed him she’d been doing some banging of her own while still under the bonds of matrimony. After Jones replaced shock with a shitload of bourbon he eventually dried out and signed up for That’s where he met Belinda, a little brunette who looks strikingly similar to his ex-wife minus the haughty pole up her ass and big price tag.

I asked him today if he was still dating that little brunette. He flashed me his left hand where a silver band resided. “No shit! Did you get married?”


We all stared at him like he'd just soiled his pants and shrugged it off. Turns out he married her Friday at 1pm in the Precinct 4 courthouse. Looks like Judge What’s-his-face was a busy man last week. Jones hadn’t said anything beforehand. And now he sat there stumbling over his words explaining that the baby was due in May but they were going to get married anyway. All through lunch he dropped little comments like, “If I could have kept my pants up longer…” and “So much for reliable protection.”

Maybe when the disappointment wears off they’ll be happy and be in one of those eHarmony commercials. For now, I’m not so sure this is the kind of advertisement eHarmony is looking for. “Sign up today and meet your baby daddy!”

Monday, January 17, 2005

Penis vs. Vagina

Not that our opinions matter, but Jasmine and I are debating about the sex of the babies. She thinks it's two boys. I think it's two girls. I'm confident that's how my luck will run. I'll be outnumbered, outvaginaed, outsmarted, and outvoted for the rest of my life. We've batted around a few baby names, nothing serious yet. We'll have a separate poll for that once we get a Top Ten for each sex in order to cover all the bases. In the meantime, let's a have a little gender quiz. Everybody who gets it right wins not a damn thing. Everybody who gets it wrong wins exactly the same thing. Lucky bastards.

And before anyone pipes up, I know I have a gap between my text and the poll that's wider than the valley between Tara Reid's fake breasts, but they don't make a book called Blog Polls for Dummies.

What is growing inside my wife?
A pair of tiny, but soon to be massive penises
Way too many ovaries
A balanced soup of testosterone and estrogen


Fans of Vannah

A good number of people either care deeply for a little girl they have never met, or really fucking hate me. Either way, bloggers united to raise $1,326.61 for Savannah and her family. Doubled, that comes to $2,653.22. I’m impressed. You should be proud of yourselves.

Donations ranged in amounts from $5.01 to $500.01. A big thank you to everyone and a special fuck you to the bastard with the half a grand donation there at the end. Bastard.

How about a round of applause to the following people:
Helen of France

A few of you specifically asked not to be named and others simply left their donations anonymously. I respect that and will keep it that way. If it’s an oversight just let me know and I’ll add you on here.

This was fun. Thanks for sticking it to me. If you didn’t get to participate the end of the match doesn’t mean you can’t, but I’ll let your conscience guide you on that one.

Tomorrow I’ll write a post about the ceremony. For now, enjoy the view. This background photo was taken on our wedding night at Pappas Steak House.

Great job, folks.

Sunday, January 16, 2005


Stop. After I got an email at the beginning of the week I asked people to stop voting. This is one sentence from that email:

Jay, quite honestly, I could single-handedly beat you. I have my own domain. I could put and verify it.

You absolutely can not compete with that. I didn't want you guys busting your asses because you're all competing against one chic with absolutely nothing better to do than sit up all night voting hundreds of times. This contest is easily rigged and I think we've all proven that. There's no glory in that kind of win. I'm honest to god fine with second place in this case. In fact, I'm proud of second place. It means I didn't stoop. No more voting. But you guys made me smile with your determination. That was pretty cool.

Let's get back to posts about my sweet little candy apple ass.

Friday, January 14, 2005

T minus 2

I'm gonna throw up.

Going to the chapel and we're...

The time has come. I'm 30, she's 30. I'm hot, she's hotter. I'm smart, she's smarter. I'm the man, she wears the pants. Sounds like a match to me.

Speaking of matches, we're down to the last hours of the dollar for dollar Jay Match. Based on emails I've gotten since the last count, we're currently at $905. Are we gonna make this thing hit quadruple digits or what? You know what to do. If you want me to list your name in the "Vannah Fans" post on Monday be sure to drop me an email. Even if you already did, do it again. I got ADD, ya know.

I showed this photo to Angi a few days ago. Thought I'd share it with everyone else, too.

This is my sister Julie, taken summer of '74. She was 2 1/2 years old.

Here's Savannah at the same age, taken in 2002.

I didn't pick up on it until Angi mentioned something. Just goes to show how bright I am. Julie's eyes are dark blue and she has a dimple in her chin which she gets from my old man. Vannah's way cuter than my stupid-head sister.

I'll write some time this weekend about the actual day and how lucky she is to have me. If we don't talk before then I just want to say...thanks, guys.

I can't believe this woman is marrying me.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

Jay the Wedding Planner

9:00AM - Called my sister today and told her the news.

Julie: Hello?
Me: Hey
Julie: Hey
Me: Jazz and I are going to the courthouse Friday, 11:30. Wanna come?
Julie: You marrying her?
Me: Yep
Julie: Better hurry before she changes her mind.
Me: No shit. Can you loan her something?
Julie: Sure.
Me: Bring a camera.

9:05AM - Called my old man.

Dad: Yeah? (He never says hello, he always answer with “yeah?”)
Me: Hey
Dad: What’s up, boy?
Me: Jazz and I are getting married Friday. At the JP.
Dad: I’ll be damned.
Me: Why is that?
Dad: Thought she was smarter than that.
Me: You thought wrong. Can you stand beside her, crip?
Dad: Wouldn’t miss it.

9:11AM - Wrote a note to mom.

Met a girl. You’d like her. She says you raised me right, so kudos to you. We’re getting married Friday. Julie’s letting her wear the pearl earrings you left her. Miss you.

9:16AM - Called my boy, Jason.

Jason: Hello?
Me: Hey
Jason: Who’s this?
Me: Fuck you, man. I’m getting married Friday.
Jason: To that tall brunette?
Me: Yep
Jason: Get out! She said yes?
Me: Lick my nut. Beers tonight at Rookies. Bachelor’s party.

9:26AM - Called the BM from my office to his.

BM: How’s it going Big Dog? (What an asshole.)
Me: I’ll be out Friday.
BM: Why?
Me: I have an appointment with a judge.
BM: Power! Get a MAC with Calamos.
Me: Uh huh.

9:29AM - Called Jasmine.

Her: Hello?
Me: All done. This wedding shit’s a piece of cake. I can't believe people get paid to do this.

Today is Thursday. We have gathered $365 through Paypal on Savannah’s behalf so far. Deadline is tomorrow at midnight if you want me to match it. I’ve got more than that in my wallet right now. You guys must be taking it easy on me.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Soiled goods

Jasmine has been in the best mood tonight. I don’t know if it’s the detachment from the women at work or the marriage license or that the babies are okay or what, but it’s been nice.

Saturday, Jazz and I drove to SAKS to pick up Ivy’s wedding dress for her. In fact, Ivy was supposed to drive in this weekend and pick it up but Jasmine let her know we may not be home until Sunday night. She shit a gold brick. I don’t see what the big fucking deal is. She still has it for alterations Monday morning, she just can’t sleep in my damn house Saturday night when she comes in. Jasmine and Ivy argued over the phone and Jazz got pretty pissed on this end. Ivy wants it Saturday. Period. Jasmine wants 48 hours alone with me after we’re married. Can you blame her? Have you seen my ass? Ivy is showing up Saturday, regardless, and Jasmine’s mad because she knows she’ll cave in and be here.

It got pretty ugly and ended with Jasmine’s angry voice. The angry voice has an origin in their past and Jazz only uses it when Ivy’s at her worst. This is where the story can go one of two ways right here. For one, I could tell you why Ivy is the snit that she is and possibly generate some understanding and remorse in most of you. Or, I can tell you what really naughty thing I did tonight at Ivy’s expense. I think I’ll go with the latter.

Afterwards, Jazz was lying on the sofa with her head in my lap.

“Speaking of gowns,” she said, “What should I wear Friday?”

"Levi’s." But then I got a better idea. “Wear Ivy’s gown.” Oh yeah, that would piss off little Sis.

Jasmine sat straight up and smiled at me with her eyes wide. “She’d be so mad!”

Oh, fuck, I wasn’t serious. “Don’t wear that thing. I was playing.”

The gown is hanging from the curtain rod thing in the living room which appeared a few weeks ago while I was at my old man's. Jasmine jumped up and unzipped the bag. The dress is white and strapless. That’s about all I can say about it. And that it was a cool 5 g’s.

She unhinged it from the mega hanger they had it strapped to and laid it across the chair. That’s when she yanked her shirt off. “What in the hell are you doing?” Damn her knockers are huge. Did that just happen?

She wiggled out of her sweat pants and then started climbing into the silk monstrosity. “Zip me up.”

I felt my heart start racing. Oh please, don’t want a wedding now. Come on, don’t want a gown and all that shit. “How are you gonna get your belly into that thing?”

I watched her twist and writhe for a moment trying to zip it herself before I gave up and helped. She grunted, hopped and shifted. Not sure what all that accomplished, but she was mostly in it. The zipper wouldn’t go all the way and when she turned around I nearly swallowed my tongue when I saw her boobs bulging out the top.

Damn, she sure was pretty. "Now what are you gonna do?"

I love that shit-eating grin of hers. "Come here, Jay."

Oh, man. I didn't hesitate.

That gown will never be the same.


Jazzy was given the week off for vacation based on the doctor's written advice. We just met for a quick 30 minute trip to the courthouse to pick up our marriage license, peck on the cheek, and she went back home while I came back here.

We'll be married this Friday at 11:30am by the Honorable Judge What's-his-face of Precinct 4.

I'm starting to worry she took that proposal shit seriously.

(Don't forget about Vannah.)

Sleep talking

I was sitting in the living room contemplating a little monkey spanking while Jasmine slept when she suddenly walked in, scaring the holy bejesus out of me.

"Did you stoke it?" she asked.

"Son of a-" I yanked my hand out of my pants. "What are you doing up?"

"That's good." She blinked heavily, turned around and went back to bed.

Now I'm having Bobby flashbacks.

I want to sincerely thank all of you who wasted precious finger strokes to vote for me in the BoB contest when you could have been stroking something else. I am assured a second place finish and quite frankly that is fine with me. I know this contradicts my freakish nature to win at all costs but two weeks is a long time to put you folks through this and hell I'm tired. You guys are fucking phenomonol, phenomo, phen, fuck it, you guys rock. Or as the Greek say, you guys fuck and beat! Yeah, I know, but Ksenia swears that's true.

So, alas, thus, hence, you may relax and stop voting and I may stop checking all day long. We know we're the bigger whores deep down in our hearts. By the way, we owe O'Pimpia his share of the earnings. Thanks for second place guys. That's really cool. Be sure to congratulate Lisa when it's over. She's got a pretty cool blog, the cow.

Monday, January 10, 2005

Redneck engineering

I just got the following phone call from my old man’s cousin.

Me: This is Jay.
Cuz: Pissbag?
Me: What’s up, Cuz?
Cuz: You know what your old man is up to right now?
Me: Ah, hell. Whatever it is, it better involve lying on his back with his cast in the air.
Cuz: (He laughs) Get serious, boy. He’s up on that roof o’ his.
Me: What the hell for?!
Cuz: He’s painting it white. Got a bucket of latex and a mop.
Me: You’re shitting me.
Cuz: Nope. He says the white’ll reflect the heat and keep his light bill down.
Me: It’s a trailer.
Cuz: Well, hell, boy, that’s why his light bill is so high.
Me: It’s January, it’s not hot outside.
Cuz: That’s why he’s doing it now. He’d’a died of heat stroke if he’d done it in July. You know, old Tommy up at the firehouse-
Me: I don’t want to hear anything Tommy has to say. How did you find out?
Cuz: Pulled up in his yard and saw him up’ere, mopping the roof. Offered to help, but he was good. I took his ladder to be funny.
Me: Did you put it back before you left.
Cuz: It’s out in my truck right now. I’ll bring it back in an hour or three. He ain’t goin’ nowheres anyhow.

No mercy for the weak. My old man talked the surgeon into releasing him from worker’s comp after 2 weeks rather than 4 months. I’ll be damn glad when he goes back to work. I get a call like this every couple of days from Cuz.

Along another line, some chic in Tampa Bay believes the only way I get votes is by using something called a bot to vote for me because people couldn’t possibly think I’m a bigger whore than the blog she follows. My mother used to say those who are always suspicious of others are usually guilty themselves. I’m a huge whore, not a cheater. Let's go prove it.

Don't forget about Vannah.

Sunday, January 09, 2005

Are the green M&M's a vegetable?

I made the foolish offer of changing my diet along with Jasmine to support her while she’s pregnant. I thought, sure, I can eat chicken breast and broccoli instead of buffalo wings and onion rings. No problem. I can lay off alcohol and desserts for a while. And when I discovered my red coffee canister of Folger’s Hazelnut replaced with a big green one, I kindly said not one word about the total waste of electricity, water and a good ceramic mug to ingest that hot, brown, useless ass-water. But last night, she crossed the line.

“Where are my M&M’s?” I have a cabinet over the dishwasher specifically for all my necessities. M&M’s, beef jerky, nuts and cookies.

“I gave them to Juicy.”

What?! “Does Juicy look like he needs my M&M’s?” The neighbor’s kid has bonded with Jasmine. Who the fuck hasn’t? People who’ve never spoken one damn word to my ass in the six years that I’ve lived here suddenly crawled out from beneath their rocks last month to introduce themselves to Jasmine. Great, lovely, so that’s just a big Fuck You to me, huh? Give me back my damn M&M’s.

I was reminded that M&M’s are not on OUR diet. They are full of empty calories. They raise the blood sugar and accelerate the aging process. They encourage unhealthy carb binges and besides that, they’re marketing plan is a fluke because they absolutely DO melt in the hand. But that’s why I like them! Was she really trying to argue against them with all those reasons?

“You need more green in your diet.”

“There are green M&M’s!”

“That’s not roughage.”

Oh, shit. Here we go with the roughage again. “I spent all damn week on the can thanks to your raw celery, apples and…whatever that flaxative shit was Wednesday night that raced through me like a quarter horse after the shot.”

I question her compassion. INFP my ass. She obviously did not feel my pain. Needless to say, the M&M’s will not be invited back into the house. This pregnancy is going to kill me.

On a new note, for those of you who have been following Savannah’s ordeal, there is a Paypal link below her photo for charitable, tax-deductible contributions. I will match dollar for dollar every donation made to her family between the time of this posting and midnight Friday night (central time), January 14th, 2004. Don’t tell me you ain’t got it, you cheap fucks, that’s pay day and I damn well know it.

Add one penny to your donation so that it can be quickly singled out for matching, hence $5.01. I’ll write a summary post next week with the total. You will need to email me if you want your name mentioned, otherwise I won't know who donated. I will only ask the family for a dollar amount. Every dollar counts, even if it’s just a dollar. Come on. Hurt me.

And last, but not least, don't forget to whore me.

Yin & Yang

At the request of Angi and Jeanette, Jasmine and I took the Myers-Brigg online personality test. I made Jazz take hers twice after I saw her outcome so that I could see what answers she was putting. Even with me arguing with her about whether or not her answer is a pre-pregnancy or post-pregnancy answer it still came out the same. Our results are below. I got the more detailed descriptions from this site.

ESTP – "The Doer"
ESTPs are outgoing, straight-shooting types. Enthusiastic and excitable, ESTPs are "doers" who live in the world of action. Blunt, straight-forward risk-takers, they are willing to plunge right into things and get their hands dirty. The Rules of the Establishment may hold little value to the ESTP, but their own integrity mandates that they will not under any circumstances do something which they feel to be wrong. They're fast-moving, fast-talking people who have an appreciation for the finer things in life. They may be gamblers or spendthrifts. They're usually very good at story telling and improvising.

• Can be quite charming
• Witty, clever, and popular
• Earthy and sensual
• Not personally threatened by conflict or criticism
• Excellent and clear-headed dealing with emergency situations
• Enthusiastic and fun-loving, they try to make everything enjoyable
• As "big kids" themselves, they're eager, willing and able to spend time with their kids
• Likely to enjoy lavishing their loved ones with big gifts (both a strength and a weakness)
He’s a big whore.

• Not naturally in tune with what others are feeling
• Not naturally good at expressing feelings and emotions
• May inadvertantly hurt others with insensitive language (Bullshit!)
• May be very good with money, but highly risky with it as well
• Living in the present, they're not usually good long-range planners
• May fall into the habit of ignoring conflict, rather than solving it
• Don't naturally make lifelong commitments - they take things one day at a time
• Prone to get bored easily
• More likely than other type to leave relationships quickly when they get bored
• Likely to enjoy lavishing their loved ones with big gifts (both a strength and a weakness)
He’s a big whore.

INFP – "The Idealist"
Generally thoughtful and considerate, INFPs are good listeners and put people at ease. Although they may be reserved in expressing emotion, they have a very deep well of caring and are genuinely interested in understanding people. An INFP can be quite warm with people he or she knows well. INFPs do not like conflict, and go to great lengths to avoid it. INFPs are flexible and laid-back until one of their values is violated. In the face of their value system being threatened, INFPs can become aggressive defenders, fighting passionately for their cause. They may be awkard and uncomfortable with expressing themselves verbally, but have a wonderful ability to define and express what they're feeling on paper. INFPs also appear frequently in social service professions, such as counselling or teaching.

• Warmly concerned and caring towards others
• Sensitive and perceptive about what others are feeling
• Loyal and committed - they want lifelong relationships
• Deep capacity for love and caring
• Driven to meet other's needs
• Strive for "win-win" situations
• Nurturing, supportive and encouraging
• Likely to recognize and appreciate other's need for space
• Able to express themselves well
• Flexible and diverse

• May tend to be shy and reserved
• Don't like to have their "space" invaded
• Extreme dislike of conflict
• Extreme dislike of criticism
• Strong need to receive praise and positive affirmation
• May react very emotionally to stressful situations
• Have difficulty leaving a bad relationship
• Have difficulty scolding or punishing others
• Tend to be reserved about expressing their feelings
• Perfectionistic tendancies may cause them to not give themselves enough credit
• Tendency to blame themselves for problems, and hold everything on their own shoulders

She’s so lucky to have me.

Friday, January 07, 2005

Sunnyside up

The babies are alive. I don't fucking know how, but we watched them flipping around, kicking each other and I think Baby B gave the sonographer a webbed finger, not sure.

Even the doctor was surprised. He said there is no evidence of big-medical-word-here or anything else that indicates separation of the placentas. They are firmly planted and thriving. Which means last night had nothing to do with them, but with Jasmine.

In the image they gave us it looks like a pair of fried eggs in a skillet. The yolks are their heads. The whites are the fluids they swim in and the specks of pepper on the lower egg are the hands. On the upper egg they're the right hand and right foot. Thank god somebody knows how to read that shit or I would have thought the daddy was a guy named Denny's. They look at lot different from last time.

When the doctor asked her if she was dealing with any stressful outside issues right now I folded my arms and stared at her. She wouldn't even look at me. She told him nothing more so than usual. I didn't have to call her a liar, she knows she is.

He said since the babies are fine it's one of two things. Either she is continuing to have periods since the bleeding seems to occur almost like clockwork, or something else. Something else? That's his educated guess? Thanks, Einstein.

We're at home now. I read Savannah's page as soon as I logged on. Jazz spent all week shopping for Renee to find things that would lift her spirits. I don't know what I'm gonna say to her when she asks me if there's any news.

I gotta run to the office and twist some heads off. If I miss some of you before I get back, have a great weekend. Savannah and the babies are all going to be fine many months from now. I have decided. Look down the road. They're all down there waiting for us to quit with the moaning and crying and catch the fuck up.

I hate being a party pooper

There was blood on the sofa when I got home tonight. Bloody fingertips on the bedroom door and more on the bathroom door. I found her sitting on the floor of the shower stall, crying. She didn’t tell me when she left work today that she’d been cramping. She thought it was from the tendons stretching again which has caused her quite a bit of pain the last few weeks. I was at work, playing poker with the guys until 6 o’clock while she took a nap on the couch at home. When she woke up she had blood in the crotch of her panties, pants and in an 8 inch circle on the couch. She said she touched herself when she woke up and felt a stickiness which is how she got it on the doors.

She wouldn’t let me call 911. I could see the watery red stripe running from her bottom to the drain. The water sprayed on the wall above her and she cried into her knees. Her belly pokes out now, touching her thighs when she’s balled up like that. It’s obvious she’s pregnant to me finally, not just pudgy.

I turned off the water and squatted inside the stall with her, shoes and all, so that I could close the door. She said it was cold with the door open. I gave her a minute to stop crying.

She said the nurse told her the size of the tissue clots that she is passing indicate likely miscarriage. She told her to go to the ER so that they could make sure it happened as it should or perform a “D&C” if necessary. Jasmine refused. She told me if God wanted her babies he’d have to take them Himself and fuck Him for trying.

I had no argument to offer her. What do you say to something like that? Here she is, a religious woman, and she just told God to go fuck Himself if He thought she was going to hand over her babies. She didn’t give a damn how many days it took to make the Earth, moon and stars. If that bastard wanted her babies he was going to have to fight her first. And I had no doubt she’d pass out from blood loss right there in that shower, leaving me to carry her wet, lanky, unconscious ass to the bedroom and call 911, before she’d allow herself to be talked into a good ole uterine vacuuming.

What the fuck am I supposed to do? She’s a grown woman. I handed her a pair of panties, the old terry cloth robe and brought her to our bed. I check on her every few minutes, peaking beneath her robe, looking for big red circles. So far, nothing. She’s been asleep since 10:00pm. So now I’m sitting here wondering, are they still there? This baby shit is not the cake walk I thought it would be. I didn’t know there would be so much blood and pain and tears. And she’s not even 3 months yet.

The shark pool at work has been cruel to her this week. They do it with smiles on their faces, making approving comments like, “At least Jay’s doing the right thing” and “Good thing you picked a guy with money.” They make her sound like a money-grubbing charity case singling out unsuspecting bachelors for the purpose of entrapment. They laugh and joke and say “I’m just teasing” and shit, but they aren’t. They’re all bitches. Sarah is a kick ass assistant who knows her job inside and out, even better than Jasmine. But she doesn’t know how to drop it and on just a few occasions I’ve had to tell her in plain English, “Enough. Shut up.” Then she pouts for the day and it’s bygones the next day.

If she’s not miscarrying I’ll fucking wring the CO’s neck. That’s the compliance officer who went too far. Jasmine did a year end transfer of cash for me for a client who had to do so by 12/31/04 or pay a stiff 50% penalty to the IRS. She submitted her request on New Year’s Eve and the CO waited until 5:15pm to reject it, after Jazz was gone. She rejected it on the grounds that the client signature was illegible on the faded copy attached. But the CO keeps the motherfucking originals in her office. She could have looked, but chose not to. Then lied to the Branch Manager on Monday this week, saying she gave it back to Jasmine at 3pm, 2 hours before she went home.

There are no do-overs with the IRS. The rules clearly state the distribution must be taken by the end of the year and thanks to the CO it was not. She accused Jasmine and so the blame game has been going on all week. If Jasmine is bleeding now because of that whore I’ll have her ass in a sling by the end of the month. I’ll instruct my client to seek legal counsel. The firm will have to pay the penalty, plus legal fees. And the official time stamp in the database shows the rejection occurring after 5pm central time. We learned that today.

I’m so pissed off right now. Just checked Jasmine again. She’s in an awkward position and I can’t see up high, but the inside of the robe is still white.

She has every license I have. The 7, 63, 65, and insurance. She busted her ass to get those licenses and if she quits her job she has two years to either go back to work, or lose them. She doesn’t have to work. I’m confident I can take care of the four of us. But how do you tell a woman who’s not only been on her own for 12 years, but educated herself so thoroughly in her field that she might be better off giving it up and becoming financially dependent on someone else? Shit, I wouldn’t do it. Licenses aren’t like degrees. We’re paid to study for 8 hours a day, 8 straight weeks to pass the Series 7. That’s how hard it is. Jasmine did it after work on her own time over 5 months just to get the $1000 bump in annual pay and be eligible for broker pay IF her brokers chose to compensate her.

Just checked on her again. No more bleeding at all. We have an ultrasound scheduled for 9:00am. I guess we’ll know soon enough whether they are still alive.

Wednesday, January 05, 2005


ARIES – Someone at the office is trying to ram you from behind. Get a jump on the bastard, slip some crack in his desk and make an anonymous tip to the police. Watch your back in 4-6 months when he gets out. He’ll probably fuck you up in a back alley somewhere, but you had it coming, asshole.

TAURUS – Could you be any sexier? That sweet little ass can get you in trouble. Mind your own business and seek privacy before picking your underwear out from between your cheeks. People are watching, you nasty. Go wash your hands.

GEMINI – It is your destiny to be in the history books. Unfortunately, it’s via a poorly thought out plan to assassinate Barry Manilow with a rubber chicken. Stop yourself now. We understand why and we applaud your reasons, but for the sake of your imprisoned anus you must forego these ridiculous plans.

CANCER – You will be killed by savage geese next week. Live it up.

LEO – You are destined to be “big-boned.” Don’t hate yourself. You can’t fight destiny. Go have a cheeseburger in paradise and wallow in your enviable state of obesity. Set your goals high, maybe 900 pounds. Make the most of yourself. Literally.

VIRGO – Nobody likes you.

LIBRA – Blessed Libra. You are the anointed one. Your wisdom and charm surpass your magnificent beauty. Yet a creature lives within you. (Two creatures, in some cases.) Don’t let it corrupt you and fade your beauty. Fight the darkness, strong Libra. Fight! And if you can not, run like hell.

SCORPIO – Your scathing nature betrays your innocence and purity. Your sharp tongue belies the truth behind your gentleness. Your stinging nettles prevent others from getting close to you. You must struggle against these demonic urges to inflict pain. Avoid instinct, deny your – ah hell, go play with Virgo.

SAGITTARIUS – Oh, mighty warrior! You are the constellation known as Sukumydik. You take no shit and leave no prisoners in your wake, only death and destruction and sometimes a little urine if the need arose. Your need to protect supersedes your need to nurture. You’ll never get laid.

CAPRICORN – Arrogance is your weakness. Don’t fall prey to your own conceit. You want to be the best at all costs, to have the best and take possession of the best, but you don’t know when to quit. Avoid temptation before you get someone shot.

AQUARIUS – You are in love. Doesn’t it feel good? Sit, breathe, enjoy the euphoria. Not everyone gets to experience such a natural high. When you get home you’ll find that cocksucker banging your best friend on your kitchen island. Don’t worry, we’ll be here in 10-12 when you get out on your assault charge.

PISCES – I told you not to fuck that Capricorn. You never fucking listen. Buckshot in the ass doesn’t feel good, does it?

Have you VOTED for your favorite whore today?

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Only the finest art for my readers


In 1865 a controversial painter by the name of Edouard Manet rocked all of Europe with his submission to the Salon of a painting called Opimpia. Combining the old master theme of reclining nudes of Giorgione with more modern themes of purple cow hide coats and luminescent bling bling, Manet created a never before seen masterpiece. A cacophony of color and charm radiates from this historic painting through a sharpness of contrast between innocence and raunchiness.

The alluring whore he chose was both brazen and coy, proud yet humble. The most impressive precision was used to form the man whore’s perky bosom accentuating his strong chin, his delicate shoulders bearing the weight of his thick as a motherfucker neck. Manet used soft, fluttering strokes when filling in the pussy…at the foot of the chaise. His attention to detail as seen in the pimp’s purple glasses and debonair caveat exemplify his dedication as an artist.

When looking at Opimpia, one almost hears the booming voice of the pimp as he holds out his palm for his lovely man whore’s hard earned francs. French Salon visitors of that year were outraged and shocked. Speechless at the audacity of the man whore, stunned by his manly, defiant stare and curvaceous, lush hips, yet mesmerized by his steely eyes and soft, pluckable nipples. Not just any man whore, this one was carefully protected by his pimp as he lay a possessive hand on the knobby, yet feminine man whore knee.

Thankfully, this painting was donated to the Louvre in 1908 so that all of the world for generations to come may look upon such heavenly bodies and know its sweet perversion.

Best Little Blog Whore in Texas

Jazz had a motherfucker of a day today. We're still hashing it out so I'll save the post until tomorrow night when I know better what she's going to do. Fucking shark pool at the office can be vicious.

So for now, let's talk about whores. Blog whores, to be precise. It seems our little Catt nominated me for Biggest Blog Whore on Best of Blogs. I'm shocked. I'm not saying it isn't deserving, I'm just saying I'm shocked. And flattered. I'm such a whore.

(Photo ripped off from Gigglechick then fondled and manipulated in such a way as to be offensive and revolting to anyone subjected to it.)

So here are the rules:
1. Vote as many times as you want, but not more than once per 24 hours.
2. Be damn sure you vote every 24 hours.
3. Be extra damn sure you're voting for me. Otherwise, that would really suck for me.

Do the same for Catt. She's a finalist for Most Humorous Blog. I don't know, I think I should have gotten Most Humorous Blog but apparently I had sex with the wrong people. I hate when that happens. Anyhow, Biggest Blog Whore and Most Humorous Blog are together near the bottom of the list. Now go call me a big, nasty ho and make it count.

Second note of business is the following list. Sure, I've missed a few. It's inevitable. But I got most of you. I was preoccupied at the end of the year and didn't get around to posting this until now. Thanks for being patient and thanks for stopping by.

Nita - When I complained about Squat's breath you told me what to buy to make it "french kissable". I've thought you were a freak ever since.
Jane - My 2am blog stalker
Trashman - The kind of motherfucker you can't help but like. Don't forget to vote for him in 2008.
Kristin - Despite your refusal to respect the ordinary paragraph break, somehow you lure me and keep me coming back.
Cav - You don't have shit to laugh about, and yet you do it all the time. Love the positivity and yes, her boobs are (not)real. ;)
Kev - No, I will not send you naked pictures of my ass!
Jenn - An original Goonie from the Right-Brained days.
Chrissie - Watch out for this one. She pees in the men's room.
Renee - Thank you for opening my eyes.
Martine - Hartelijk gefeliciteerd gezhundheit hock phlegm mazel tov
Inanna - Don't think I've forgotten that you sided with Jack back in July when we he got his panties in a fictitious knot for the purpose of entertaining ourselves. Thought that shit was dead and buried, didn't ya? I'm delicate, dammit.
HarelyQuinn - A newbie to the party as well as blogville. Come on in, we don't bite. That hard.
Kim - You were the first person to comment on my blog way back when. Ya popped my cherry. I haven't been the same since.
Magikgrl - Another long time family member. Can't believe you're not sick of my shit yet.
Angi - Your blog has been the pathway to an entirely different outlook for me. I could live to be 100 and the things I've learned for your family will remain with me.
HickeyNC - I'm sure you have a blog but I don't have a URL. I'm thinking you're the Canadian transplant living in the South. If I'm wrong let me know and I'll update.
Miss Nik - looks like we'll travel this road together, huh? Congrats on your engagement
Sarah - Can you believe you've been around since the summer? Go away! ;)
Julie - Everytime I go to your blog your motto cracks me up.
Beth - Prettiest damn bean counter I've ever seen.
Jazzy - So let me get this straight: You steal my girlfriend's name, you steal my Best Little Blog Whore in Texas tagline, you steal my wallet, you take over my life, you send me nasty emails, you...I'll think of more shit later. Sit. Don't go anywhere. I'm not finished with you yet.
Vicki - I tried to lick my eyebrow. You were right. I feel so stupid.
Ricky - You in 9th grade yet?
JP - It's my goal to bring you over to the darkside of conservatism. I appreciate lofty, unreachable goals.
Aimee - You are forever the beaver woman to me.
Isacc - Your blog makes me laugh. Why the fuck do you read me?
Crazygirl - I have read your blog. Your name is not a misnomer.
Dave - Keep eating those tacos, man.
Jes - Don't know you yet, but anybody from Texas can't be all that bad.
El Sid - For the longest I thought you were a gay dude. The whole "el" part had me completely thrown.
Restless Angel - That shower post made me take a shower of my own.
Jamie - An original brat pack member. Girl, you're one of the horniest women I've ever known of. That's cool.
Kate the Peon - When are you going to get BigDaddy James to fix your template?
Jeanette - I like your pussycat. ;)
Lou Lou - Ha-HA! I think I found you first. Did I not? Either way, I'm claiming I did.
Stacey - I'm a non-prom king, myself.
CooterAng - Walked naked down any more streets lately?
Celti - The originator of the Dastard Birthday Blastard.
Boonzie - Come and go as you please, my friend. We'll leave the light on for ya.
M (justjook) - Someday you'll go postal on your MIL. Lemme know in advance so I can be there.
Steve - Where's my Porsche? I want a silver one.
Ali - I gotta admit, you're brand spanking new. Don't know you too well yet. I'll start with your eskimo post shortly. Thanks for cruising by.
Tricia - You've got some cool graphics on your blog. The body piercings made me cross my legs and wince, though.
Mrs. Darling - Your template is adorable. It brings out the 9 year old in me. (Yeah, as if it weren't dominant all the time.)
Elle - It's like eating potato chips. Once is never enough.
Madame - Ever watch Madame's Place when you were a kid? She was a crotchety old hag puppet. Sorta like Judge Judy. They both rock.
Girlie - You don't comment often but I see you when you do.
Spacecake - Spacecake, dreaming fairy, Elizabeth Lee, pick a name! Ya damn schizo.
Kay - Is pot legal in Belgium?
Matt - I went to Oklahoma once. It smelled like burning cow.
Michelle - It's always about you, yourself and you again, isn't it?
Ashley - If there were more women like you when I was in school I might not have rushed through it so quickly.
Catt - I've always wondered...why does catt have 2 t's but cativa have one? Answer me this or I won't nominate you for most humorist blog. Oh wait, you're already a finalist! Silly me, I'm such a catty whore. LOLOLOL!
Tinyhands - Man, the Texans sucked last weekend. Did you see that shit?
Ren - I hated your guts at first, but you grew on me. Okay, I'm a liar. You never grew on me. ;)
Anita - Anita Willanita, Anita Willanita, I just like saying it over and over, Anita Willanita, Anita Willanita.
Zelda - You have beautiful eyes.
Riz - My little blooming onion, my bag of Aussie chips, my Foster's in a can, sorry your bag got stolen. Want me to beat him up?
Seven - Like the new template. The photo of you drinking a beer is gone. I meant to ask you about that. Keeping that liver from getting lazy on you, huh?
Iris - thanks for stopping in.
Derek S. - Long time no talk, dude. Whassup?
Eric - I've only glanced at your blog for a minute, but that was long enough to see your pug.
Tommy - Jack still hasn't convinced you to start your own blog?
Rae - Who's in the upper photo on your blog? Give that girl a carrot. She looks hungry.
Jenny - Damn, your computer's been broken forever! Glad you're still dropping in from time to time though.
Sheri - Your dog photos had me rolling. I cracked up at the last one with his ears flat.
Varla - Is it just me or has it gotten quieter since all of the aliens, guns, boobs and sloths left town?
Cuppojoe - First time I went to your blog I was expecting posts about coffee. Boy, was I in for a surprise.
Diva - Another Texas honey. Can't have too many.
Brian - Brian, you wishy washy son of bitch. Sit, stay, write!
Kat - Boy, I learned some shit about your in that Q&A post you did a few weeks back. Damn, you made me blush!
Janelle - You've said some nice stuff to me before. Just wanted you to know I noticed and appreciated it.
Willful Expose - I'm sorry your host is an asshole.
The Dave - Who the fuck am I supposed to pick on now that your unemployed and netfree?
Sloth - What a tumultuous relationship, huh? Don't be a stranger.
Bitchalicious - Girl, you're one funny bitch. Let's chat again sometime. I'll have to wear condoms on my hands next time. Ribbed for my pleasure.
Sylwia - How's my lone Polish reader?
tCj - Is your vacation ever going to end??
Kevin - TJ's Place started it all. Good luck to you blog-free.
Jethro - Your wife has beautiful eyes.
HazelEyedPisces - What, you don't love me anymore?
Cybele - I think the Grinch ate you.
Yoli - You have the coolest ostrich I've ever seen. I saw another blog last week ripping off your photo. Don't worry. I kicked his ass.
Dastard - The birthday bash was fun. And your sense of humor is somehow off kilter enough to be pretty damn fascinating.
Vadergrrrl - Miss you, V.
Jas - What did you think of the Phantom? That's a great play. I saw it when they toured through Houston back in '98.
Seeker - How are the Bads?
Phipps - Between you and Sloth, I don't know which is more pleased with his/her shoes. Then again, Fleece might out-shoe you both.
Fleece - You and that camera phone are dangerous.
Leese - You created this monster. You hate it now, don't you?
Brandi - I know you moved when to have more privacy with Josh. Hope you're doing well.
J-MO - Are you still alive?
Bigdaddy James - Dude, you spent hours on my template between 2am and 5am. And even though I reliably changed it 2 months later, I really appreciated it. Just wanted to say thanks, more so for the thought.
Gooch - Gooch, my man! Don't go far, I'll need your advice soon.
Sara - You're mostly silent, but I know you're out there.
Mike - Lyrical gangsta! I still got Poppin' Jay in the archives.
Dan Tobin - I forgive you for being a democrat. You know not what you say.
Esther - You're like the wind, you come and go as you please, but I always know you'll be around.
Johnny 5 - Man, that snow is cool on your website! I spent way more time on it than I wanted to staring at it, you bastard.
Justin - Keep it reel, man.
Rita - It's been a while since visited. Hope your holidays were great.
Angela - I still feel bad that I hurt your feelings back in June. I'm really sorry. If you've been reading then you know I grew up under the same conditions you thought I was insulting. Maybe I was, but it was aimed at myself and not you. Hope 2005 is a good one for you.
Nord - You're another silent one. Thanks for reading.
and finally:
Jack - Thanks, buddy.

Monday, January 03, 2005

Will you marry me?

I woke up with my stomach in knots New Year’s Day. And not because I had a grand old time squeezing blood and other disgusting crap from my old man’s drain bulb attached to his ankle. It was because I still didn’t know when or how I would go through with proposing to Jasmine.

I phoned the jeweler on the drive and had made arrangements with a client of mine who is a gem appraiser to let me drop by her house with it for an informal appraisal, just in case I needed to quickly go back and whip the son of a bitch’s ass for butt fucking me with a handful of CZ’s.

The ring was in a red leather box with a snap on top and opened via a split down the center with the two halves falling to the side. I pulled it out and felt my stomach flip upside down. This isn’t just a ring, this is a physical representation of my word to her that I will never leave her. A multi-thousand dollar icon of a life I can’t even imagine. It’s also a symbol of what could potentially be a very awkward and humiliating moment I will never forget.

When I got home Jasmine was lying on her belly on the living room floor flipping through a magazine. I had the box in my pocket and tried not to look like I was up to something. I watched a little TV, took a shower, ate a sandwich, stalled, stalled, stalled some more. Twice I said, “Jasmine?” just to finish with something stupid like “You hungry?”

I checked email and got one that strongly advised me to speak with her father beforehand. Shit. Talk about facing the dragon. They live too far away to drive so I’ve never met them and only spoken to her mom a few times. Let’s just say they aren’t vibrating with excitement about their older daughter being in the current predicament that she’s in. You know, all knocked up and living in sin.

I hate that. He’ll think I’m doing it to do the right thing. Most people will. Fuck ‘em. Fuck ‘em all. I know why I’m doing it. I got myself good and pissed off and took the phone into the bathroom.

“Mr. Jasmine’s Daddy? This is Jay.”

He sighed. Shit. “What can I do for you, Jay?”

Just like that. No foreplay, no easing into it. “Sir, I’d like to ask your daughter to marry me. Jasmine.” Jesus Christ, you didn’t think he’d fucking know which daughter you were talking about? Moron. “I’d like to tell her we have your blessing.” Damn! What is this, 1868? Is he going to give me 40 acres and a mule along with her? No, I am the mule. What the fuck am I doing? I’m making a goddamn ass of myself, that’s what I’m doing. Did I ask his permission to muddy his family tree with own genetic dysfunctionalism? Hell no, and don’t think he’s not aware of that shit, either.

“May I ask why you want to marry her?”

Holy mother of Christ, there’s a fucking pop quiz! Shoot me now.

“Sir…” think, motherfucker, think, “since the day I met your daughter in January…(was it 2002? Yeah, that’s right)…three years ago…I’ve used her…(bad choice of words, you dumbass!)…I mean, I’ve thought of her as the status quo for every woman I’ve gone out with since.” Whew, that was smooth. Sort of. Now you sound like a man whore. Fuck off. Why isn’t he saying anything. Hahahahahaha! He’s waiting for more. Pony up, bitch. Shit. “It took me over two years to get the nerve to ask her out on a date. I don’t want to lose another two building up the nerve to propose.” That was good, man. Need a tissue? Shut up.

Several seconds passed. I heard, “Hmmmm.” Then a few ticking sounds. What the fuck is he thinking about? Several more seconds, a few audible exhales and then finally, “I appreciate the gesture. She’s declined quite a few offers. I trust she’ll do what she feels is right. Good luck, son.”

What? She’s declined quite a few? Ah, hell! I hung up the phone and realized I was actually sweating. Damn bathroom has poor ventilation, is all.

I changed shirts and went back into the living room where Jasmine was standing, adjusting her pony tail. Oh, god, here goes nothing. My heart was slamming so hard into my ribs I could feel my whole body shaking from the impact. What if she declines me, too? Wouldn’t that be awkward now that she’s moved in? What if she says no because she doesn’t trust my sincerity or reason or because she has her own reasons for not accepting a proposal while pregnant? What if she thinks I flirt too much and though I’m date-worthy I’m not husband-worthy? What if she laughs? Or what if –

“Jay, do you feel ok?”

Uh…no. But that’s beside the point. I took her hands…and so fucking slowly knelt down on one knee. Now would be the time for her to run and spare me the upcoming humiliation she could very likely impose upon me.

“Jasmine…” I proceeded, in less than eloquent terms, to say to her what I’d just said to her father a few minutes before. I can’t recall if she spoke at all during it or what her reaction was to anything I said. She could have farted and belched for all I noticed. I was in my zone. I finished my mini-speech, pulled the ring box from my pocket and fumbled with the motherfucking snap until I could pop it open for her to see the ring inside, then dropped the bomb. “Will you marry me?”

The Earth revolved several thousand miles by the time she responded. “No. Way. Yes!

No? Yes? What? Did she accept? Dude, stand up. She’s laughing. At me? No, stupid! Fucking snap out of it and stand up!

It was a yes! I needed a drink.

She was excited, I was exhausted. The whole weekend has been a bit euphoric. We’ll talk this week about when and where. Don’t get your hopes up for a wedding. She’s already mentioned the JP and banking the cash. My kind of woman.

Sunday, January 02, 2005

Mr. & Mrs. Jay

She said "Yes."

Actually, she said "No. Way. Yes!"

There was a small moment of utter panic and humiliation at the "no way" part, but I'll go into the details in the morning. Need to go finish tending to business.