Friday, April 29, 2005

Too much masturbation?

Something went horribly wrong tonight.

Not that I need an excuse, but in honor of my birthday, I felt a little good loving was in order. No, that’s not semantically true. “Little” isn’t possible, because of course I’m hung like an elephant. Shut up. You don’t know.

So when Jazzy and I got home I decided to crank it up. Soft muzak, blinds drawn, me in all my stunning glory. No need to wait until the sun goes down, Big Momma. Slide on over here.

I’m working my magic, sprinkling a little pixie dust where pixie dust likes to be sprinkled, and when I go in to make my move…I realize something.

Big Jay is still sleeping.

What the fuck…

I looked down at my crotch and sure enough, a total teepee absence.

“Why’d you stop?”

Oh shit. I ignored the question and dove in for her ticklish spots to change the topic until I could straighten things out. Come on, fella, wake up. Daddy’s gonna get his groove on.

We kissed and did some shit you don’t need to know about. Jazz commented on how attentive I was being. Uh huh, I’m all about you, baby.

And yet, Big Jay snored.

What in the hell is going on? No stirrings, no tightness, no fucking response whatsoever. Why isn't this working? Big Jay's never slept through anything like this before. Hell, he's poked his head up at the mention of an exposed boob before. I slipped my hand down and patted my shit, just in case I was out of touch, but the terrifying truth just hung there like wet, flaccid laundry.

After 20 minutes, or maybe 5 but who’s counting?, I had to make a choice. Hence, my wife is glowing in her sleep while I sit here confused and a bit freaked out.

I can't believe it. I broke him.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Feliz Cumpleaños

I expect a mailbox full of e-cards when I get back wishing me a Happy fucking Birthday. Throw me some gift cards to Best Buy and Academy to make it worth my while. I won't do shit for you in return, but that's not what giving is all about, now is it? Selfish bunch of tards. Focus, people. Me!

Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday dear meeeeeeeee,
Happy Birthday to me.

Lucky Jazz. She gets to endure me all day today.

Saturday, April 23, 2005

Big Jay does Big Sur

I'm in not-so-sunny California right now, getting ready for the Big Sur marathon. It was one shit storm after another with the airline getting over here. I flew out at 6am, certain I'd get to the sunshine state in time to pick up my race packet by 6pm. But apparently only a retard would be so foolishly naive. I, in case you didn't grasp that, would be said retard.

The first plane was grounded because the cleaning crew left a clip in the gasket around the windshield and the cockpit was losing pressure. Now, see if you just kept right on reading you apparently didn't hear me right. I said the first plane was grounded because the cleaning crew left a CLIP in the GASKET around the WINDSHIELD. Who the fuck crams clips into the gasket around a windshield to clean it? Is it a cleaning requirement to spit shine the bottom side of a gasket? Is that not an obvious safety hazard to anybody else?

So the first plane lands, they pull the clip, patch the seal and off we go...40 minutes late. I land in Denver just as my fucking connection to San Jose is taxiing down the runway.


I get on a second plane and after everybody has boarded the pilot comes on and says that there's an electrical malfunction and the seatbelt signs will not light up. Big fucking deal. What he should have done was walked out and silently mouthed, "Are there any deaf motherfuckers up in this rig? Cuz this son of a bitch ain't got no lights and your hand-signaling asses need to stay buckled up. Safety first, bitches." That way only those on a need to know basis would need to know and the rest of us could have gone on our way to the big C.

But no, we have to wait for Wilbur the mechanic to come and take a look. Wilbur, not equipped with a full deck himself, somehow leans in too far to wherever the fuck they keep the fusebox on a little boeing and drops his Bic ink pen into the abyss. Holy mother of christ, somebody call the FAA!

And I think someone did. We were asked to unboard the plane we had just boarded and told we would be sitting in the waiting area for an undetermined amount of time until the pen could be recovered. Are you fucking kidding me? For the love of god, people, what in the hell was this pen made of, titanium and diamonds? Look, brother, I got a shitload of pens for you. Take one. Knock yourself out. Here, take this one, it works on presurrized airplanes. I won't be fucking needing it!

"Excuse me, ma'am, can you tell me what the contingency plan is here?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your back up plan in case the pen is never recovered. Is there another flight we'll be put on?"

"Oh, no, sir, they're all booked solid."

Should I punch her now or try to get a few more answers out of her? "So how are we getting to California today?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

You stupid little--Breathe. Calm down. Inhale, exhale. Idiotic moron! What the fuck is your purpose with this airline, to PISS me off? Inhale. Hold it. Exhale slowly. Now imagine her gripping the wing of the plane as it soars over Nevada. Yes, happy thoughts. Much better.

Late, and tired, I'm here. It's almost 7pm. Gotta go carb load with the folks I came with. My goal is to finish. Fuck time.

What the hell am I saying? Like I could back down from a competition. Here's to hoping I trample some little old woman on the way to the finish line.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Not this time

Julie came over tonight. I haven’t had much to say to her since April 9th. Not even when we picked up Kadybug last weekend. I stayed outside in the truck and sent Jasmine in for her.

“You’re not getting out?”

I couldn’t even answer. Just shook my head.

“Jay, don’t do this to her.”

I’m not doing anything to her. I just can’t talk to her yet. I can’t. I want to. Eventually.

But I guess Julie had had enough. She impressed me when she showed up at our house tonight. When I opened the door and saw her standing there it was really hard for me not to hug her. I’m just so pissed off, still.

“We need to talk about this.”

“No we don’t.”

“Stop being a baby.”

“Fuck you.”

Jazz pushed me out of the way so Julie could come inside. I’m glad they’re close. I’m glad Julie has her.

I stood at the door for a minute contemplating whether I should stay or get in the truck and leave. Yeah, I’m a pussy. A pussy so big I didn’t even have the nerve to do it. Instead I walked to the end of the entry hall and just stood there with my hands on my hips. Julie’s back was to me as Jazz hugged her, giving me that reprimanding look of hers.

“Hold your arm above your head, sweetie.”

Julie did as she was told and Jasmine felt of her breast. “Does that hurt?”


“Any discharge?”


When Jasmine’s eyes lifted to look at me over Julie’s shoulders my heart sank and the anger I’d been holding onto for the past week and half just slipped away. Julie turned to look over her shoulder at me and I couldn’t even keep eye contact.

My mind went blank. No denials, no anger, no response to anything at all. Just blank. I didn’t want to think about the now-whats or the what-ifs. Or even tomorrow. Fuck tomorrow. And goddammit, fuck cancer.

Shit. I hate this. I'm so tired of it. Dammit, that's my sister.

“Come here.”

And I stood there, hugging her, as she cried. Something I should have done a week and a half ago. I could only think of one thing to say and I repeated it over and over again, for my sake as much as hers.

“You’re not Mom.”

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

The A part of Q&A.

Ok Jay, when was the first time you got laid, and di you have to pay for it?

Gravatar1) What is your favourite colour?
2) What is your middle name?
3) What colour are my knickers?


Shoe size? :P

GravatarAre you a pathological liar? Didn't anything else worth blogging about happen today? Will you post these answers Tuesday?

Have you ever fantasized about gay sex?
i bet you have....don't lie.

what saying your parents used on you as a kid do you hope you won't be repeating?

Found myself saying "Sorry isn't good enough" yesterday to Amy and groaned inwardly. I am my mother... noooo.

GravatarDo you dress to the right or to the left?

GravatarWhich blogger would you most like to meet. And don't worry, I'm not expecting you to say me! I have my bets as to who I think it is, though...

GravatarCan I borrow some money?

GravatarHaha, if you had to have a homosexual experience, who would it be with?

Gravatarwhat is your favorite women's perfume? And because I can be some what twisted... I like Khaki's question above. LOL

Gravatarwhere do you see yourself in 21 years when the twinnies are all grown?

GravatarWhat is your dream job? and don't say the one you have now.

What is the strangest place you have ummmm, practiced self gratification?

Have you ever been busted while in the midst of gratification?

Athlete, crippled people stall in an office building, so many times…

GravatarDo you like Roller Coasters and if so what is your favorite one to ride and what one do you hope to ride someday?

What is your favorite flavor of ice cream?

Notice I ask questions about my favorite things? After all it is all about me.

Gravatarthere're some twisted sons of bitches up in here

Gravatar1. What does your sister think of Jazz?
2. Are you going to get another dog?
3. Do you like to cook?



Give us some detail as to the first time you proudly wore Jazz's lipstick rings to work. Please?

Just how big is the lil guy?... lie if it helps...

GravatarDo you talk a lot of smack about Jazz here, but butter her ass at home? LOL

GravatarWhat's the best advice you ever got?

What's the best advice you ever gave?

how much plastic surgery did you have done to get jazz to marry you?

GravatarLMAO @ ED.

Damn. Need time to think of a good question

were there any times in your youth when the farm animals may have been to much a temptation for your raging hormones?!

GravatarIf a Monday Night Lifetime movie were made about your life, who (other than John Stamos) would play you and who would play Jasmine?

GravatarWhen are you going to tell Jazz about us?

How do you suppose she'll treat the child we have together?

Do you think she'll kill you?

How do you want your funeral? Cremation or burial?

Last but not least...
Can I have my thong back? I don't want it in your collection anymore now that you're might get in trouble with the wifey if she found it...

Who is your favorite author?
Boxers or briefs?
What's your favorite junk food?
Cheetos. Except during porn. Turns Big Jay orange.
What's your computer screen background right now?
What (physical thing) are you afraid of?
What (non-physical thing) are you afraid of?
Losing another family member to cancer.
sadly, that's as creative as I can get this morning...*sigh*

Why do people keep asking you if you are gay?

Does Jasmine really exist or are you secretly pretending to be a woman?

GravatarDid you mean it?

GravatarWhat's the worst thing you ever got away with without getting busted?

What are your thoughts about being the father of a girl? Are you scared that a guy as horney as you will get a hold of her when she's still in high school?

Have you ever been caught in the act by your parents or another adult?

Do you want one of our dogs? 3 80+ pound dogs doesn't cut it when you have a 9 year old son and are trying to get pregnant.

Did you and Jazz really have "procedures" while she was wearing Ivy's wedding dress? Was it great?

What is your best childhood memory?
What memories are you going to make sure that you children have?

Does Jazz ever slap you in the back of the head?

GravatarI just have one question. With all the wonderful attributes that Jasmine possesses, what is the one thing about her that you love the most?

what are the three things you wished you did but didn't because you're a lily-livered sissy boy?

How would you rate a farm animal(goat, pig, chicken, etc.) as a sex partner, as compared with the 'women' you've been with?

How badly do you wanna smack all of us for asking these riduculous and extremely private but thought-provoking questions?

IS the Pope catholic?

Dd you REALLY meet Jeff Probst or was it a slick graphic manipulation? My whole life is a slick graphic manipulation.

How long have you been a broker?

What led you down that career path?

How often do you wear a cowboy hat?

Hey Jay...Have you ever been to Canada? If so where?

GravatarWhat is your favorite song of all time?

GravatarIf you were on Celebrity Poker Showdown, what other four celebrities would you want at the table?

Which of them would you like to see go "all in" first?

Whom would it give you the most satisfaction to take all their chips and send them to the Loser's Lounge in tears?

Can you come visit us in Chicago? We'll fix the air mattress if you do.

With airplane restrooms so small, do you think people are just lying about being in the mile-high club?

If not, please advise on proper positions.

GravatarWhat is the one quirk about Jazz that bothers you the most?
She’s never wrong.
What is your favorite meal to cook and or eat?
Spaghettios/anything other than spaghettios.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
my old man
Are you planning on raising your kids in a church environment?
fuck no.
Do you have a fear that one day you'll lose your job and not be able to provide for Jazz and the kids?
only 50 times a day
Do you like your name.....that is if Jay IS your real name?
yes. It’s much cooler than “kristin,” don’t you think?
What's the one thing you've done in public that totally embarrassed yourself?
You secretly watch The Bachelor with Jazz, don't you? Hell no! But charlie’s an idiot for keeping Sarah W. around. She’s not even hot.

GravatarI just have one more to add to this big pile....

Are you going to really answer all these questions? Or are you going to blow 'em all off for "sex night"?

GravatarWho would you go gay for?

GravatarHey Jay, it's dull and cold here in Europe, brighten our days...
so for me..

Does Jazz read your blog?
Do you read hers?

tee hee... what a laugh.. you two...

GravatarWho would you go gay for?
Beth | Homepage | 04.19.05 - 2:49 pm

O.k., some of the cute ones need to stay straight. We need his DNA for the gene pool. :op

GravatarAre you wishing you never posted this blog entry?

have you ever had a 3-way? if so when?
All the time. Big Jay requires both hands.
have you ever been arrested? if so, for what?
Yes. Stupid shit.
how tall are you?
little over 6’1”
favorite food?
and finally, would you rather: (a) burp then taste it; or (b) fart then waste it? Who says a fart is wasted? Gotta release it in your buddy’s office. Then close him up in there with it.

GravatarI need a job. Help a brother out?

GravatarWho will be the first person you call when the babies are born?

I think some of these questions have already been covered in past blog entries, but here's some more. Please describe the:
-Biggest lie you ever told. But honey, I love you!
-Stupidist thing you ever did. Told her best friend I loved her too.
-Closest you ever came to death. When they both found out.
-Weirdest thing that ever happened to you. When they got turned on by it and started coming onto me.
-Most angry you've ever been. When I woke up and realized it was all a dream.
-Most scared you've ever been. When my girlfriend asked why I was air-humping in my sleep.
-Happiest moment of your life. Yet to come.
-Most impt to you single thing that you still hope to achieve/gain/have in the future that you don't have now. Are these questions every going to end?
-most unusual sexual fetish/desire that you have ever had. There is nothing unusual about sexual fetishes and desires, chica. Get it straight.

Name three places, one where you'd want to stay -
a week California
a month Australia
a year Europe

Do you fantasize about a woman's underwear? What sort do you imagine?

1) When's the next marathon or race and what's your goal regarding time, if any?
2) Let's say you can do a 7:30 mile for the first 15 miles, and you want to speed up for the next five, figuring you need an hour for the last 10K... if so... how long you gonna keep up this charade, and admit you're crashing in the stables on a emu farm down in Oaxaca, Mexico, where you get paid in emu egg tamales and internet time?
2) If you were running out of ideas for blog entries... why didn't you just ask me?

1. Sunday. Goal time: Sunday. As opposed to Monday.

2. Pie.

3. Because you have an obvious bias against the number 3 that offends me.

GravatarOh! another Q - do you have a brother called Randy Montez?

Umm, no. You don’t get any more questions.

Holy Hell ... as of right now, if I counted right, you have 118 questions to answer.

4) What famous person do you idolize? I don’t.
5) You're in a room with Saddam Hussein, Darth Vader, Hannibal Lechter, Lady MacBeth and the CEOs from Enron. Who gets the first bitch-slap? Yo Momma
6) What's your favorite restaurant in Houston? Benihana’s
7) What are the simple things in life that give you happiness (aside from the wife, the kids and the left palm)? The right palm
8) Why do fools fall in love? Because it’s cleaner than falling in horse shit.
9) Nearly every other long-term blogger has met another long-term blogger... except you... why don't you take a trip up from Oaxaca and visit someone? I have met one.
10) You're up to 125 questions so far. Are you sorry you did this now? Nope.

GravatarWhy do you blog?
so people like you will ask me why I do it.

And what do you think of Yahoo! 360? Still haven’t tried it yet. I’ve been a little overwhelmed answering a bunch of fucking questions, in case you hadn’t noticed.

GravatarYour invest in? And why?
Short & long term advice for $20,000.

Stocks, bonds & mutual funds. See a broker.

Questions and Lotsa Bullshit Answers

I've never done a Q&A session. Primarily because I'm a pathological liar and if I was in the mood to write fiction I'd make up the topics my own damn self. But I figured I'd give it a whirl. It's not like shit else happened today worth blogging about.

Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies. Then again, how would you know?

I'll post the answers to your questions Tuesday night.

Monday, April 18, 2005

Troublesome Tiddies

I am the man. And it’s damn good to be the man. Saturday afternoon we picked up Kadybug and brought her to the mall to play in the kid’s area. I sent the wife away, told her to go buy some decent clothes for god’s sake, and started scoping the honeys. Oh yes, daddy found him a redhead.

I spotted her sitting a quarter way around the encircled area. I knew better than to make eye contact but she was apparently nippy and I couldn’t help myself. That’s when I glanced a few inches higher and realized she was staring back.


Hate when that happens. Why can’t women wear padded bras? It’s all their fault. Had little miss Strawberry Shortcake over there been a responsible human being she would have thought ahead and padded those sons of bitches and this shit would have never happened. It’s not my-

Oh, shit.

Dude, she’s coming over.

No fuck.

Run, man, run!

What about Katy?

She’s cute. She’ll find a ride. Get your ass up and go!

“Hi. Mind if I sit down?”

“Not at all. Have a seat.”

You’re fucked now.

Go to hell.

“I’m Rachel.”

I shook her hand, but all I could think about was what I was going to tell Jasmine when she came back. “Jay. Nice to meet you.”

“Here with your daughter?”

She flipped her hair and smiled sweetly and nearly poked my eye out with those hypothermic nipples I was trying too fucking hard not to be caught looking at.

“She’s my niece. I’m giving my sister a break.”

There you go. Endear yourself to her.

“That is so sweet!”

Now tell her it was your wife’s idea.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Your pregnant wife.


Sweet jackass. Bail, dude. Before she comes back and you never get laid again till death do you part.

For the next 15 minutes I sat and half listened as my gaze shifted from Kadybug, the direction I last saw Jazz, and Strawberry Shortcake’s diamond cutters, which seemed to be getting larger by the minute.

In fact, I was convinced I could see them becoming more and more defined the longer I stared. Jesus Christ, is it 27 degrees in here? Those can’t be real. Do they make nipple implants? And then she said to me, “Even gold does it. Know what I mean?”

Uh oh.


Shut the fuck up. What in the hell is she talking about? “Um, no, I guess I don’t.”


Not bad, huh?

“See look.” She lifted her hair and turned her back to me so I could see the back of her neck. Umm. Hmm. “Do you see the rash?”

“Oh! Yes. Right there. Yes, ma’am. Thanks.” What the fuck?

She turned around and pulled the neckline of her shirt down to show me the top of her holyshit very creamy, smooth globe which I did not notice one damn bit where the fuck is my wife it’s about to pop out oh my god here comes Katy lady please put that thing away before you get us both shot up in here when the extremely pregnant brunette comes back and finds you oh jesus is that an areola?

“Everywhere my necklace touched I got this rash. See, right here?”

She’s gonna eat you alive. You know she’s nearby.

“That’s a damn shame. Maybe you should try sterling silver.”

Another painful minute or two passed before she grabbed for her purse and handed me a business card. I can’t even remember what she said when she handed it to me. All I knew is she and her troublesome tits could not leave fast enough.

But I saved the card. On Monday I’ll show it to Jesse and Danny. In case they, too, might have forgotten I’m the man.

Thursday, April 14, 2005


My smile is almost breathtakingly perfect once again. Last Fall one of my bottom teeth broke. The shit just snapped off. That particular tooth sits out just slightly farther than the rest and apparently was under a lot of pressure whenever I clenched my teeth during moments of genius. I’m surprised every damn one of them didn’t break off when you think about all the moments of genius I’ve aspired to.

He tried to putty that shit up twice but, again, I clenched through moments of genius and broke them both off. Ironically, all three incidents occurred while sitting on the can. The dentist recommended a DaVinci veneer and a little more fiber in my diet. Fucking sicko.

Today was the sanding with a temp adhered to the surface until the veneer is created. He had me numbed up, sanded down, plastic strips between my teeth, lips dried out from an hour of work, and was just starting to squirt the bondo shit when I heard, “Uh oh.”

To which I responded with, “Wahh uh uck wah ah.”

“Sorry about that, Mr. Jay. My resin got warm and was runnier than I had anticipated.

“Ahn ooh eh ih ahh?”

“Yes, sir, I can. I’m wiping it off right now.”

Then I shift my eyes to the right and see the expression on the hygienist’s face. What the – oh, hell naw! “Wahh uh uck ih oh-eeh ah?!”

“Calm down, Mr. Jay. Everything’s fine. Sally, sponge, quick!”

For the love of Christ.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Smoldering pile of monkey shit

Miss USA. What a crock of shit. I believe I’ve already stated my disdain for the fucking imbeciles who compete in beauty pageants, but I’m prepared to reiterate my position.

It’s really easy. There’s only one guideline to remember. Even a beauty pageant contestant can handle this one. If you have to walk across a stage in a bikini to earn money for college, you’re an idiot. You’re not entitled to a college education. Hobbies: watching television and spending time with family. You did not just say that. Hobbies: singing in the car and surfing the internet. Oh my fucking god.

And don’t give me that world peace pile of smoldering monkey shit, either. Ooh, you got asked a question on stage. Know what I heard? “Blah blah blah nipples blah blah perky bosoms blah blah blah fake, superficial, materialistic, blah blah blah my what big teeth you have blah.” Damn glad you got that scholarship. Sure would hate to see it go to some UGLY BITCH. We all know ugly bitches aren’t worth a damn, right? Big ass about to blow a seam in that size 24 bikini? You must be stupid, then. No scholarship for you!

But grown women competing on the basis of best T&A don’t piss me off as much as the mother’s who raised them that way. That’s who I really hate, those bitches like Patsey Ramsey. They make me want to shove my leg so far up their ass my toes are tickling the gray matter. Putting a little kid, a fucking baby, through that beauty pageant bullshit is cruel and irresponsible. Talk about fucking up a kid. Just a bunch of ugly bitches who couldn’t make it as beauty queens themselves now living vicariously through some poor kid who had the misfortune of being born cute.

I wish they would all go bankrupt. Fuck Trump. He can handle the financial blow. I wish people would entertain me by boycotting them. Now that I would watch. I wish they’d make a beauty pageant for men. I wouldn’t watch that asinine crap, but maybe then people would see the absurdity in it. I wish ABC would stop belittling my intelligence by trying to convince me these women are somehow superior to a college chic who works a pole on weekends. At least the stripper is earning that shit fair and square out of my pocket. And dammit, I wish for world peace.

Monday, April 11, 2005

I need Sex.

Is she ever fucking going to bed? I sat in my recliner, fiddled with my laptop, flipped channels at the most obnoxious speed possible. Asked stupid questions. Expelled gas. Told her to look at the huge booger I dug out of my nose. And yet, the woman just sat there on that couch and ignored it all.

“Honey, aren’t you tired?”

“Trying to get rid of me, Jay?”

“Me? No! No, no, no. Shit. Why would you ask that? Please. That’s stupid. Can you get me a coke?”

She actually laughed. Needless to say I got my own coke and when I returned I was still not minus one pregnant wife.

I popped up the foot rest and contemplated my options. 10:00pm. Much later and I’ll have to go to bed Sex-less. That would suck. I could always admit that I have a problem. “Hi, my name is Jay and I’m a Sex-aholic.” No, not good. That’s a secret I intend to let die with me. No reason to share shit like that.

“I fixed the brightness level on your alarm clock’s LCD.”

She smiled. “Thank you! How did you fix it?”

This is the part where I shrug humbly. “I made a few adjustments.” I removed the factory sticker off the light-sensor so it would automatically go dim in the dark. Failed to do it when I set it up for her. Moot point.

Another twenty minutes ticked by. I was about ready to give up when she shifted and pulled her legs up.

“You going to bed?”

“Yes. I’m tired.” She gave me a kiss. “Good night, sweetie.”

It’s about fucking time! Go, woman, go! Get your ass off to bed. Hurry it up. “Good night. Love you.” Close the fucking door, chica. Close it. There you go. Ahh, alone at last. Where’s my remote?

iControl – Select
(One Moment Please)
Premiums – Select
HBO – Select
HBO Series – Select
(One Moment Please)
Sex and the City – Select
Episode 69, The girls celebrate Charlotte’s 36th birthday with a trip to Atlantic City. – Select

Cool. I haven’t seen this one.

Friday, April 08, 2005

The Chad

I work with a boy who likes to put folks in their place. He’s a rookie, of course, and been around about three months. He passed his test and got his 7 and it’s been hell for all of us ever since.

A wholesaler took several of us out to lunch yesterday and the rookie, Chad, tagged along for the free meal. It’s not like he has any clients that would notice him gone or anything.

The whole fucking meal he kept challenging the wholesaler, questioning the age of his stats and trying to one up him with his newly learned securities lingo. Thing was, it was Chad that looked like a fool. Yeah, it’s good to question the wholesalers from time to time, but the shit Chad was questioning was ridiculously 5th grade. Who gives a flying fuck if the stats are rounding up or down to the nearest tenth? It’s a fucking tenth!

But that’s not Chad’s only issue. See, Chad has no nuts. I know this not because I’ve looked, because I assure you I’ve avoided eye contact with the magical one-eyed serpent, but because of the shit he has to do to prove he’s a fucking man. A woman at a table adjacent to us got up and wouldn’t shut her mouth long enough to turn around and look where she was going, thereby walking backwards into a waiter who was also walking backwards. They clash into each other and both stumble a bit before catching their balances. I disregarded it as soon as it happened.

So of course Chad jumps up to yell at the waiter. I couldn’t believe the goddamn spectacle he was causing. He was in the waiter’s face about being clumsy and unprofessional and ripping him a new one for not apologizing to the lady. That’s not how I saw it. Her need to urinate apparently did not overpower her need to run her mouth. She’s just as guilty as the waiter. But I can’t say that shit when I’m on a business lunch. I represent the firm. On a Friday night, yeah, I’d lay my mind on him in a heartbeat. But not in the middle of Landry’s with 11 other brokers sitting around. He was making an ass of himself with his white knight bullshit.

Danny finally spoke up. “Chad. Chad! Chad!

Danny’s got a way with never taking people seriously which makes the ones who need, need, need to be the most popular, well-liked men in the room look like the testosterone junkies that they are.

Danny: Sit down, Lancelot.
Chad (sitting): What an asshole, huh?
Danny: Yeah, we were all thinking that.
Chad: I hope he feels as stupid as he looks.
Danny: I bet he don’t.
Chad: I bet he does.
Jesse (to Danny): You know what his real beef is, huh?
Danny: People don’t like him?
Jesse: Nope. That he knows people don’t like him.
Chad: What are you bitches talking about?
Danny: Watson, I think you’re right.
Chad: I was just looking out for that woman!
Danny: Hey, Jay, what do you call a limp jerkwad?
Jay: Man, don’t drag me into this.
Jesse (to Danny): What?
Danny: A hanging chad.

I figure Chad will sit in the fifth quintile until the BM’s had enough and cans his ass three months from now. And I’m sure he’ll be replaced with yet another immature pisser desperate to be the coolest motherfucker on the block. But like all those in his wake, he, too, shall pass.

Besides, everybody knows the secret to longevity is possessing a humble charm. Candy apple ass cheeks never hurt the matter, either.

Thursday, April 07, 2005

36 times

April 7th, 2003. I recall it being a Monday.

She called me at work that day. She used to call me all the time. Sarah even knew her voice. She’d yell out to me, “Jay, it’s your mom” and I’d pick up with something like “Jay’s Cemetery, you stab’em, we’ll slab’em.” That’s when I’d hear the familiar “Hi, honey. Are you busy?”

For a long time that call haunted me. More than the words, I remembered the long silences. Now, even when I try my hardest, I can’t remember the sound of my mother’s voice. I think I can sometimes, and then it slips by me before I can wrap my mind around.

“Never. What’s up?”

This was the first of the long silences. I imagine my brows were drawn in confusion, but there’s no one to ask.


“Honey, I need… When’s your next visit?”

“What’s going on?” It started slowly, like a creeping mass of frozenness. I remember feeling it. It was cold and sharp and embedded within my chest somewhere slowly beginning to wreak havoc on my nervous system.

She'd been to the doctor.

All at once I became panicked and angry. Don’t say it. Don’t ask and she won’t offer. And then it won’t be true. She’ll be fine if I just don’t ask. It was just a little lump. Little lumps never killed anybody, right?

“Jay, honey, Dad and I just got back from Dr. York’s office.” The second of the three monster silences I would endure occurred here.

Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it… But she will. She will say it. Fuck it. Let it be. We’ll do chemo. We’ll do a lumpectomy. I know she was worried about possibly facing a full mastectomy, but she’ll get through it. We all will. We won’t let her down. Fuck cancer. I hate cancer. I hate it. Don’t say it, Momma.

“Honey, are you there?”

“Momma?” My voice had vanished somehow and it came out a whisper.

And then she started crying.

Son of a fucking bitch! My temper exploded and I dropped the phone to get up and slam my office door shut. This is bullshit! I wanted to throw the goddamn phone through the window and I wanted to feel it shatter. I needed to feel the whole fucking place tremble. This is not happening. I couldn’t even get my hand to my hair I was so stiff with rage. I saw the phone lying on my desk and I struggled to bring it back under control. Just…give me a moment. All right? Breathe.

I couldn’t tell you how long I waited before finding the courage to pick the phone back up. She wasn’t crying anymore. I bet she didn’t even mean to tell me at work. I bet she was sitting there fussing at herself for saying anything at all.

“What are you gonna do?”

This was the third and final long silence. For once I didn’t even try to guess her answer. No reason to rush it. And looking back, I knew it already.

“I’m going to wake up every morning and thank God for the 35 years I’ve had with your father, the 31 years I’ve had with your sister and the 29 years I’ve had with my sweet baby Jay and I’m going to smile and laugh and love you to pieces. All of you.”

“Oh, god, Momma, please-”

“I love you, Jay.”

She told me 35 more times after that. Once every day for the rest of her life.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005


My to-do list is so damn long I could use it to wipe my ass for the next three weeks and still have a few ply left to pick my nose. Change light bulbs, paint rooms, go through all my shit in the closets, clean out the attic before it hits 125 degrees up there, redo the kitchen countertops, plant her damn crape myrtles and jasmines, get the sofa steamed, clear out the garage (what the fuck for?), rip up the parquet and replace with ceramic tile, refinish the deck, replace all of the switch plates (because what, they wear out?), and throw away everything I’ve collected over the years that takes up more than 12 square inches of space.

I’m fucking tired. It’s those kids’ fault. I told her I had an emergency tonight, had to go see Jason. We went up to the gym and shot some hoops for an hour while I whined and he laughed at me with his “I told you so” bullshit. Easy for him to say. He’s only got one kid and his wife’s too pleased with her figure to change that. Meanwhile, mine is at home incubating her own farm and talking about bigger houses in case we have another.


I snagged the ball from Jason and we exchanged glances.

“You know what you gotta do, huh?”

“Fuck you, man.”

Jason’s not but 5’9”. He slips by a lot easier than I can around him. He stole the ball back and we trotted back to the board. I already knew his plot and I wasn’t interested.

“It’s perfect. Think about it.” He shot and missed. He sucks. I caught the rebound and put it in. I’m the man. Little shit robbed me of my glory though, just kept talking. “Gotta get’em snipped. But don’t tell her.” He elbowed me. “You could spend years trying 6 days a week before she gave up. Years, bro.”

When I got home Jasmine started giving me the frisky eyes, big belly and all. Suddenly, Jason’s plan wasn’t so irrational.