Friday, May 27, 2005

HELL finally freezes over

I see Jack wants folks to believe he quit for the night when we arrived at Trash's place. All right. If that's how he wants to play it. No problem. I won't say shit about what happened with Lady Mike, because I'm not the gossiping type. And I won't say a goddamn word about the honky-tonk we headed to after we left the revival. Because if I brought up the honky-tonk I'd have to let everyone know that Jack is a damn fine two-stepper. Not from personal knowledge, do I know this, ya understand. But then again, it's apparently none of your damn business how I know because according to Jack it never happened. Hell, I don't blame him. If I'd spent the night two-stepping with some British fop with longer sideburns than my own I wouldn't want my friends to know about it either.

Damn good thing I can respect that about Jack. Boy, you just don't find friends like me these days. I hope he's at home right now counting his blessings. I know Trashman is. I'm still getting the emails from him. Being in the presence of the Jay Master is a life altering experience. I only wish everyone could share, but alas, there's only so much of this sweet little package to go around and it's saved for the ovarian carriers of the species.

On another note, because you know how much I love other notes, I found this on askmen.com. They should rename that site askjay.com. In fact, I’m heading to GoDaddy to buy that domain right now. I’ve got all the answers anyway.

"Here are a few things your wife or girlfriend might do after she tells you that she "forgives" you for cheating:


She'll throw it in your face
Every time you do something wrong -- you're late, or you say the wrong thing -- out comes the weapon... the "you cheated on me" weapon. From this point forward, she is a virtual saint because it was you who betrayed her.


She might want to know everything
She might drill you with 50 questions about the affair and let it go. Then one night, in the middle of an intimate dinner, she might have a few more questions to ask. The point is that she might not let it go -- ever.


She will taunt you
All of a sudden Joe, Jim and John's names seem to be popping up in every conversation you have with her. Suddenly there are hoards of men for her to take her pick from if she ever decides to get back at you.


She'll interrogate you
From this point forward, you're going to have to check in all the time if you want to avoid a paranoid interrogation regarding your whereabouts. Oh and every time she catches you lying, you're screwed, and not in the good way.


She'll cheat
Because she thinks she has a "get out of jail free" card under her belt, she might just sleep with that cute guy in accounting just to have her fill of the grab bag and feel as though she hasn't been taken for a fool.


She'll make you jealous
She may become more flirtatious around your friends so you might have to prepare yourself for a change in her attitude. The worst part is, if you make any negative comments about her behavior, she'll retort with, "at least I'm not screwing them."

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

More HELL

Laying eyes on Trashman for the first time is almost as unsanitary as letting your dog lick you in the mouth after he just got finished with a good, sloppy ball washing. Jack seemed oblivious to the behemoth wearing psychedelic purple cowhide slowly approaching the truck. Apparently the mites in his sideburns were acting up again and he was in hot pursuit of one making a mad dash for the chin.

I knew the right thing to do was to get out of the truck and shake Trash’s hand. But to be quite honest, I was afraid the motherfucker would eat me. He walked like the Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters and with each step I could see ripples of vibration in Jack’s green tea. What in the hell have I gotten myself into?

Jack jumped out first and ran up to Trash, then he did this fucked up Elvis Presley karate maneuver before throwing his arms around Trash for a heartfelt embrace. It was scary, I tell ya. He even made the sound effects while he was doing it, “Hwaaaahhhhhh, hiYA!”

Now here were a couple of men who needed my help. Bad. This would be my most challenging mentorship yet. Abbot & Costello were depending on me to teach them my trademark, studly moves.

Ten minutes later I was the meat in a freakish GI Joe/Psychedelic Cow sandwich packed into the crack hoopty. Jack cranked up Shania Twain and the two of them sang it loud, sang it proud to Man, I Feel Like a Woman. Trash has a tick that causes him to flinch and wink. Says some dude named Hector put angel dust in his weed and shit ain't been right since.

We got to the tent revival and found us a seat close to god and all his wondrous creations. We ordered us a round of beers, well, two of us did. One of us had a Cosmopolitan and inquired about a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich.

The first set of tiddies came out and when she worked her way around to our side Jack doubled over with his hands on his crotch, shuddered, and excused himself from the table.

“You nasty bitch, get the fuck out of here!”

Trash shook his head. “He does that every time.”

“No shit? What else do I not know about Texas Jack?”

Trash was puffing on a doobie. I had to wait for him to exhale to answer. “The man thinks he’s a lethal weapon. Steven Segal and shit. He filled out the registration card to carry a concealed weapon and wrote down himself as the weapon. Oh yeah, don’t laugh. I’ve been putting up with that shit for over 20 years, my man. Watch him when he comes back. He’ll be scoping the place like he’s some bad ass ready to kill. Won’t matter none to him that he creamed his pants ten minutes ago.”

“Don’t fucking remind me.”

“See that big tiddied ho’ over there about to go on?”

“The redhead?”

“Yep. He nailed that shit about a year ago.”

“Get the fuck out! What’s her name?”

“Mike. Shut up, here comes Jack.”

Monday, May 23, 2005

Weekend in HELL

You think you know a man by reading his blog. You put up with his smack, tolerate his blustering and laugh at his bullshit and you think you know him. But I’m here to tell you, my fine friends, when it comes to Trashman and Jack, you don’t know shit.

I’m a busy man, see, I got lots of friends that I hang out with on a pretty regular basis. But I know that isn’t the case with some folks. So when I got Jack’s 15th email about driving out to his place and buying him that beer I owed him, I figured what the hell. Ain’t no harm in donating a night of my time to a worthy cause. I mean, hell, the man’s gone to war for me. He carries a glock and everything.

Now I’ve read blogs and I know what I had in mind. But apparently there are some less than truthful folks out there. Unlike me, who is honest 110% of the time. Fuck you, you can’t prove shit. So here I am on the drive thinking I know what's ahead of me. Thinking about all the tiddies I’m going to play with at the “church” Trashman and Jack like to meet at for “prayer sessions.” Big Jay was ready to get the party started.

After I managed to locate Whitetrashia Lane I finally found the rickety “cabin” where Jack lived. The appearance might have been a little rough around the edges, but Jack made up for it with a shitload of those miniature crockpots of potpourri all around the house.

“What the fuck is that smell?”

“Summer Berries,” he told me.

“They didn’t carry Some Are Nuts?”

Jack wasn’t on his game at the moment and my attempt to emasculate him went unappreciated. Alex the dog was sitting in the living room, one ear vertically challenged, watching me from beside the TV. “Holyshit, what are you watching? Is that Thelma & Louise?”

“Yeah, well, you know…”

I was quickly starting to fill in the missing pieces of Jack’s identity. Suddenly the lengthy stretches of celibacy made sense.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I could feel my manhood slipping away into the abyss of Jackdom.

Jack insisted on driving since I’d already been on the road for so many hours, but the last thing I wanted was to be seen in public in the crack hoopty. Folks around there thought Jack was a dealer and he damn sure looked the part. Motherfucker was gonna tarnish my image, but I reminded myself that this man obviously was in some bad need of the Big Jay Mojo and the least I could do was share a secret or two.

It took us about three hours to get to Trash’s place. Turns out Mr. Undercover Narc has a bit of drinking problem. Son of a bitch was sipping Green Tea all the way there and kept having to stop and take a piss. I could already tell this was going to be a fun filled night. At one point he was clawing at his pork chop sideburns when something got caught under his fingernail. I don’t know what the fuck it was but he played with it for about a minute before he flicked it out the window. I swear I heard it scream.

We pulled into Trash’s drive and when that screen door slung open and slammed against the wall my fingers dug into the armrest of Jack’s hoopty and I screamed some shit the likes of which I have never heard come out of my mouth. In fact, I can't even go on right now. I need to go bathe in a tub of rubbing alcohol and penicillin before I can describe what happened next.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Hard drives and orgasms

The fucking world imploded on me this week. My cable went out Monday night, cutting off internet connection thanks to some dillweed in a backhoe. Then Tuesday night when I sat down and was sliding through some photographs out of sheer boredom I came across one of Katy that was all fucked up. Ten photos later I came across another one. What in the hell? I went into another folder and pulled up one of Mom and it was gone, too. Scrambled, like someone had chopped it up, then partially gray where it just vanished.

Holyshit! I’ve got a fucking virus.

I updated the Norton definitions and set it to running, then fired up the spy hunter and sent him on his way. I had 404 traces of Trojans involved, and not the good kind, but no viruses. So I shut the shit down and ran scandisk on the startup. That motherfucker went all night long repairing bad clusters. I could see the names of the damaged files as they scrolled across the screen and it made me wanna piss on something.

I don’t know what the fuck happened, but something within the last few weeks has been terrorizing my data and neither Norton nor the spy hunter came up with anything. which means one thing: my laptop is an ancient piece of shit.

The hard drive is 20GB, which was massive when I got it 4 years ago. I have 13 GB eaten up with miscellaneous crap. I’m low on RAM, intermittent wireless connection, and my LCD has had a crack in it since the day I brought it home. Around the house we affectionately refer to the machine as the Ghettotop. Jazz’s machine blows mine to pieces, but I gotta bond with mine, ya know? Can't just go replacing shit just because it gets a little cranky in its old age.

And then I discovered my downloaded porn collection had been corrupted. Oh, this motherfucker’s going down, bitch! I went to Best Buy last night and found one that makes Jazz’s look like a boat anchor. I dropped both of them off with a buddy and he’ll be transferring my precious data to the new one for me so I can get my shit up and running again.

I had a pretty damn funny post prepared for Monday, already typed out and everything. But lost internet connection, then lost the file. You would have laughed your ass off. Probably might have even nominated me for Blog of the Year. But alas, you’ll never know now. The mood has passed and I’m not the type to dwell so it’s on to the next topic I go.

Orgasm.

Did you know orgasm is rumored to bring on early labor? I told Jazz she can forget it. She ain’t getting another one from me until the oven is empty because I damn sure won’t be the one to bring it on early. And if I so much as I catch her thinking about masturbating I’ll tie her hands behind her back and publicly flog her. I even told her about the rumor I heard that orgasms are dangerous when carrying twins because of the compressions on their little heads. Brain damage, and all. It’s a rumor I started my fucking self, but goddamn that don’t make it untrue.

She won’t even let me take a photo of her anymore. She’s fucking huge. I look at her and wince. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

She’s 30 weeks. She has an ultrasound scheduled today. I’m hoping to get out of going. It’s always the same shit every time. Now tell me there’s a monkey up in there and I’ll be bedside in a heartbeat. But otherwise, yeah, been there. Done that. Left my card(s).

Sarah’s a whiney pregnant chic. How do you tell a woman who keeps insisting her butt is getting big that, by god, yes, woman your ass if fucking HUGE? And getting bigger every day. She doesn’t even look pregnant but I’m worried her ass is gonna get wedged in my doorway and I’ll be trapped in here and they’ll have to pitch bottles of water to me over her head to keep me from dehydrating until someone can get the machinery out here to dislodge her. I bet she’ll make a popping sound when they finally pry her lose.

Monday, May 16, 2005

Hot Date

Just got back from a hot date. I'll update this post in the a.m. Hasta mañana, amigos.

Friday, May 13, 2005

Wendy's "Sorry about that finger shit" giveaway

It's more like a shot of Frosty, but it made Kadybug's day.
Image hosted by Photobucket.com

eHarmony Lovechild Arrives

Well, the little shit finally popped out. Jones’ eHarmony wife squeezed out a 7 pound something or other screaming, shitting, sucking little ham last week. Jones is happy. He is, dammit. He keeps saying that over and over again, like I’m the one he needs to convince. He ought to be happy. She loves the fuck out of him, the fat bastard.

He was complaining a few weeks ago that his new, petite little wife was creeping up on 200 lbs. I think that set Jasmine off because she was walking by when she said, “Been a long time since you saw 200 lbs.”

He replied back with, “I’m a man.”

To which she retorted after she passed by, “Honey, you’re a man and a half.”

Fuck Jones. I was laughing. He turned to me and said, “You need to shorten her leash.”

“Hell no, she’ll turn that shit on me.”

So today I got an email from him with photos of the little lovechild. The women oohed and ahhed, but hell, it’s a baby. They’re no fun until they get to be 2 or 3 years old and there ain’t nothing cute about an animal that can be held upright and be oblivious to the hiccup that just induced a half cup of vomit to gush from his mouth and splatter onto the floor. Oh yeah, fucking adorable. Yum.

Happy Friday the 13th. Jasmine’s been having those Braxton contractions. I told her to cross her legs and suck it in. I’m not finished being ‘Just Jay’ yet. I’ll let her know when I’m ready. Until then, cut that shit out.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

Cat fight

I really get a kick out of some of the ISPs that surf through my blog. Like lucasfilms.com, probably George. He thinks I’m the man. And UH.edu, my alma mater. Must be the honeys still clamoring for me almost a decade later. Not to mention the many military ISPs and various .gov ISPs as our nations employees are working hard to protect our safety and health while reading about how I flogged the dog. Used to get hits from schwab.com but we all know what happened to that fella last year. And one of my favorites, harvard.edu. Because the shit that comes out of my mouth is best contemplated by the most brilliant minds in the world.

Referral links are very telling as well. We all recall what happened a few months ago when a certain someone opened a forum for the sole purpose of judging and bashing me. We also recall I said nothing in return, but posted a lovely array of jpegs displaying the Jay-Bashing for the whole world to see. It would have never been discovered had a link not been typed into the forum, like bait on a line, leading me right to the source.

So last night I suddenly got about 20 hits or so from a particular site that, this time, I will keep to myself. My part in it was negligible, a random mentioning of me that I found harmless by someone whom I have no qualms with. And in fact, the forum owner or whomever either took offense at my Choke the Chicken post or decided to quickly salvage the forum’s privacy, quickly deleted the link to stop the flow of traffic through to me. Too late.

I skimmed a few of the posts, mainly looking for shit about me because I don’t give a damn about anyone but myself. And in the process gathered the gist of the witch hunt taking place. The fucking fur was flying like I’d never seen before. I couldn’t believe there was an entire cyberworld where women gather to rip each other to shreds. Deny it if you want, but women are catty. Mean. Judgmental. Hateful. Vindictive. And passive aggressive, as one of them put it so balls-on accurately.

In fact, since reading the “passive aggressive” comment last night, I’ve had time to think about it and think about all of the women who’ve given Jazz a hard time these last few years. All of the sweet smiles that parlay some of the most spiteful, cruel shit I’ve ever heard.

Jasmine has seen and been through more shit than I can imagine. And she still moves through her day like she’s weightless. She avoids the shark pool and yeah, when it comes to female companionship she’s a little light. But I can see why she’d prefer to err on the side of caution after reading some of the shit on the forum that linked to me last night.

I think people seem to forget that nobody can offend you unless you allow yourself to be offended. No one can anger you unless you allow yourself to get angry. And nobody’s opinion has shit to do with who you are on the inside, so publicly castrating another human being for not following your code of PC isn’t going to change the world.

So if Jasmine “trapped” me, Amanda, I’m one lucky bastard. She saved me from all those others.

Smell the flowers

Sunday morning we drove up to the sticks to see Momma. I didn’t go last year, wasn’t ready I guess. But my old man has gone every year since his mom died back in the late 70’s. All those years that I rode up with him to lay flowers on his mother’s grave when I was a kid I never thought I’d be just like him, doing the same for my own mom. Funny how history really does repeat itself that way.

The cemetery is ours, all our relatives. I guess someday I’ll end up there as well. Some of the stones date back to the early 1800’s. It’s mostly sand up there, no grass. Lots of pine trees around the area, but nothing to really offer any shade. Just hot, sunny, sand.

The tallest mound belonged to John Henry. But Momma’s still had some curvature to it.

As we walked toward the far end the sand crunched under our shoes. The highway is miles from the cemetery. There isn’t even a paved road within 5 miles. Just a dirt road only traveled by family. It’s amazing how quiet the Earth can be when nobody’s around to muck it up.

We were about 30 feet away when I had to stop. Jazz was behind me, following me out. I heard her take one more step before it went silent.

I could hear the wind.

See, when John Henry was laid down, I didn’t walk in. I stood back a few yards. His plot, which is beside my dad’s mom’s plot, is only a few feet from Momma’s.

The tree tops were bending in the distance and I could see the front rolling in. It was gonna rain. Back when Momma was first buried I used to think about that stuff. About her being outside now, in the ground, under the rain. Was she cold? Of course not, stupid question. But not any more stupid than flinching when we see an autopsy being performed, as if the body could feel it’s skull being sawed off. Yet we still react that way.

Jazz never said a word. Just stood quietly behind me. Goddammit, I don’t wanna do this. I don’t want to walk out there. I don’t want to see her name on her headstone or see the date I don’t need help remembering. I don’t want to see his name with his date of birth and the blank spot for date of death, just waiting to be filled in. I don’t want to stand beside that spot, knowing what’s beneath the surface. And I don’t fucking want to walk away until I tell her Happy Mother’s Day because she damn well deserves to hear it. If “hear it” is an acceptable phrase.

I heard the crunching again before I realized I’d resumed my walk. Once I got there I inhaled deeply, trying to sense her, I guess. Who knows. All I know for sure is everything I wanted to say was shit. And completely gone from my head. I just squatted down, staring at the letters, brushed off some dust, and waited for something to come to mind. Jasmine reached across and handed me the calla lilies she’d brought, then walked back toward the gate.

I took a moment or three. I never actually spoke out loud during it, but I thought it all. I figure she didn’t need sound anyway. It was the only way to keep it completely between us. Why in the hell I didn’t say some of those things two years ago when we knew the day was coming is beyond me. I guess I kept hoping for the impossible back then.

I laid the flowers across the low rise of earth and rose to my feet. They had really green stems and white petals and didn’t match the dry sand. I don’t know why Jazz chose those, but they were perfect. Elegant and classy, like she had been. No frills, no pretense. Maybe the rain would keep them alive a little longer.

When I got back in the truck I could still smell them. Their scent lasted the entire drive home. That night I went back out to get my silver travel mug. I sat in the passenger seat for a moment and inhaled a few times, but the scent was gone.

Just like Momma.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Choke the Chicken

I was eating some beef jerky this weekend when I decided to try a little beef jerking of my own. Jasmine and I had caught an early movie and afterwards she headed over to Julie’s to sip hot tea and talk tampons or whatever the fuck they do. So there I was. All alone. With Big Jay.

Come on, buddy, it’s time to snap out of it.

I went into the bedroom, glancing around the corner as if she might walk in any minute, and slipped my hand between the mattresses. Oh yeah, there it is. I pulled it out and checked the title. Raunchy Redheads. Good enough. Chapter 3’s not so bad. What was that redhead’s name? Veronica?

I headed back to the living room, because porn is best when viewed across a 52 inch widescreen, and started it up.

“Scotch!” When was the last time I had any scotch? Damn. Months. I poured a short glass of scotch and dripped thee drops of water in, no more, no less. Don’t wanna destroy the flavor. Everything has to be perfect for Big Jay to get his groove on.

Victoria?

I patted my shit, just to make sure we were both aware of the trouble I was going through to seduce myself.

As I walked back into the living room I heard the music playing on the opening menu. I set down my scotch and gathered the other necessary supplies, hand towel, lotion and remote. On the way back to the couch I saw Jazz’s stretch mark cream, the stuff I rub on her belly all the time. Now we’re talking! That shit’s like silk. She’ll never know.

I sat down on the couch, spread my legs out in front me, selected Chapter 3 and hit play.

“Talk to me, Vicki.”

I warmed the stretch mark cream between my hands before grabbing the mighty staff. I didn’t give a damn if I had to go through the entire canister of cream, Big Jay was getting his tonight.

But as I watched Voluptuous Vicki do her thing on screen I struggled to stay focused. Every little thing caught my attention. Stop it! Focus! Ok. Here we go. Start pounding. Come on, come on, come on, no pressure, no pressure, oh yeah, here we go-

What was that noise? Was that the garage door? I froze. Oh, shit!

With my pants around my knees I jumped up and hobbled to the door. I cracked it open just a fraction. When I didn’t see anything I opened it a little wider and the motion sensor went off, turning on the light.

Fuck. I’m hearing things. I kept my hand on my boy the whole time, didn’t wanna risk losing momentum. I shut the door and hobbled back to the couch, plopped down and hit resume.

“Come on, Vicki, you can do it. You’ve been a bad secretary. No flowers for you. Open wide.”

It took a minute, but things picked up where they left off. Okay, this time we’re getting this shit done.

I began easy, applying just enough pressure as my fist slipped to the end and headed back down. And for that special loving feeling, I used both hands. Oh yeah, gentle squeeze, there you go, up and down, up and down, all right, fuck the left hand, just the right. There we go, just the end, squeeze, rotate, swirl, down, up, squeeze, all right now, let's pick up the pace a bit. Little more speed, not so fast – ok, fuck foreplay. It was time to flog the dog. Come on, now, let’s do it, come on, come on, come on, come on, almost, there, there, there it is, oh shit, oh shit-

My eyes crossed, my jaw dropped, my knees jerked and I painted the ceiling white.

Good boy. I never doubted you, buddy. Never.

I sat there panting while Vicki finished up on screen. I’m the man, the shit, the king, baby. Fuck’em, fuck’em all! Ten minutes later I was sound asleep.

Monday, May 09, 2005

Spawn of Satan

My wife. Ivy. My assistant. If Julie gets pregnant I'm moving to the east coast.

It appears I'm going to be an uncle again. Poison Ivy is pregant. She's due in January next year. I'm not sure what's more disgusting: the fact that I had to listen to Ivy talk about her mysterious coochie debris all day Saturday or the fact that Gary actually poked that coochie. Nasty fucker.

Baby's due in January. I hope it's a monkey. That would be cool.

Friday, May 06, 2005

Only the crazies live anywhere else

There he goes again, that fucking redneck. Always bragging about Texas, like any of us give a damn. And if I had anything else at all to do right now I'd move the fuck on. Lucky for him I'm almost as big a loser as he is.

Beaumont to El Paso: 742 miles

Beaumont to Chicago: 770 miles

El Paso is closer to California than to Dallas

World's first rodeo was in Pecos... July 4, 1883.

The Flagship Hotel in Galveston is the only hotel in North America built over water.

The Heisman Trophy was named after John William Heisman who was the first full time coach for Rice University in Houston.

Brazoria County has more species of birds than any other area in North America.

Aransas Wildlife Refuge is the winter home of North America's only remaining flock of whooping cranes.

Jalapeno jelly originated in Lake Jackson in 1978.

The worst natural disaster in U.S. history was in 1900 caused by a hurricane in which over 8000 lives were lost on Galveston Island.

The first word spoken from the moon, July 20, 1969, was "Houston."

King Ranch is larger than Rhode Island.

Tropical Storm Claudette brought a US. rainfall record of 43" in 24 hours in and around Alvin in July 1979.

Texas is the only state to enter the U.S. by TREATY, instead of by annexation. (This allows the Texas flag to fly at the same height as the US flag.)

A Live Oak tree near Fulton is estimated to be 1500 years old.

Caddo Lake is the only natural lake in the state.

Dr Pepper was invented in Waco in 1885 and there is no period after Dr in Dr Pepper.

Texas has had six capital cities:

1. Washington-on-the-Brazos
2. Harrisburg
3. Galveston
4. Velasco
5. West Columbia
6. Austin

The Capitol Dome in Austin is the only dome in the U.S which is taller than the Capitol Building in Washington D.C. (by 7 feet).

The name Texas comes from the Hasini Indian word "tejas" meaning friends.

Tejas is not Spanish for Texas.

The State animal is the Armadillo. (An interesting bit of trivia about the armadillo is that it always has four babies. It has one egg which splits into four and it either has four males or four females. Fuck you, I thought it was interesting anyway.)

The first domed stadium in the U.S. was the Astrodome in Houston.

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Erectile dysfunctional conversation:

Julie: Hello?
Me: Have you heard from the doctor yet?
Julie: Aw, are you worried about your big sister?
Me: No, stupid, I’m worried I’ll get stuck with your kid.
Julie: Admit it, you’re worried about me.
Me: I haven’t had a hard-on in a week because of worrying about it all.
Julie: Oh, my God! You’re nasty! Shut up! I don’t wanna hear about your boner! Bleh!
Me: Were you not listening? It’s a non-boner. I’m not ready for parenthood, let alone a half a six-pack. I don’t care about you.
Julie: I can’t believe you said boner. You’re so disgusting. Don’t you have a wife to share your problems with?
Me: No. She thinks I’m the man.
Julie: Oh, my dear Bubba, she soooo does not think you’re the man.
Me: What did she say?
Julie: I don’t have to tell you anything.
Me: Did she say something about…anything?
Julie: Don’t you hate that sinking feeling? You know, like when your whole body goes…limp?

I dropped the phone and stuck my head out my door. Jasmine glanced at me.

“Pick up my line, please.”

Jasmine: This is Jasmine.
Julie: Hey! It’s-
Me: Shut up, Julie.
Jasmine: Hi Julie! Have you heard from-
Me: What did you tell Julie about me?
Jasmine: I beg your pardon?
Julie: Leave her alone, Jay.
Me: Did you tell Julie I couldn’t get it up?
….lengthy pause….
Jasmine: No.
Me: Bullshit.
Julie: God, Jay, you’re such an asshole!
Jasmine: What’s going on?
Julie: If you would just calm down for a minute-
Me: Did you tell her-
Julie: Jay!
Jasmine: Jay, I didn’t say anything! I promise!
Julie: Would you leave her alone? I was screwing with you!
….lengthy pause….
Me: What?
Julie: You’re the one who told me, dumbass. I was kidding. It’s flat out disgusting to me, but your wife happens to think you are the man. But I haven’t given up hope. Someday, she’ll come around.
….lengthy pause….
Me: Oh.
Jasmine: I swear, Jay. Julie, have you heard from the doctor?
Julie: Just got off the phone with him. It’s benign.
Me: Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that?
Julie: Because you brought your non-boner into the conversation.
Jasmine: You called your sister and told her about that?
Julie: Oh my God, he was telling the truth?! I thought he was just trying to gross me out!
Jasmine (laughing): How does that foot taste, sweetie?
Me: I gotta go.

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Penis envy

I've figured it out! It's Julie's fault! That little twit. Leave it to my stupid head sister to steal my ability to get hard-on. Big Jay's been on vacation since she came over that night. Her and her selfish ass problems. I'm calling her today. I can't even get a chub because I'm worried about what her oncologist is going to say tomorrow.

I think I'll call her doctor and see if I can speed things along before my balls decay. Big Jay must have gotten upset that I neglected him for nearly a week. That's my problem. Hang on, buddy. Help is on the way.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Tit for Tat

My wife is delusional. But don’t worry. I set her straight. Somehow she got the impression that I’m deep and complicated. It took me all of five seconds to dispel that myth.

On the way in to work this morning she turned to me and said, “Remember a few years ago, right after your mom died, when you were in the kitchen at the office and I walked in?”

Sure. That time? What the hell, is my middle name Memorex? “What about it?” Small white lies don’t count. That’s my rule. Besides, I was not in the mood for a deep, philosophical, let’s pick your brain apart kind of conversation. In fact, I could sum up all the times I was in the mood for such conversations on no fingers.

She made that exasperated sound you women make when confronted with wisdom such as mine. You know, the half sigh, half cough sound.

“When I walked in and you stared at me with so much emotion in your face and I told you your mother had her reasons not to fight it.”

Such emotion in my face? What the fuck ever. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. I remember. What about it?”

“Well, when you were staring at me so intensely, do you remember what you were thinking? I’ve always wondered.”

If I could have sighed without getting smacked I would have. So instead I pondered a moment. And to my surprise, I could actually recall that day. She had stepped really close to me without saying anything.

I clicked on my blinker and glanced at her as I looked over my shoulder before changing lanes. Damn, she’s pretty. She wore her hair down today. I like it down.

“That if you got two inches closer your nipples would touch me.”

She backhanded me in the gut.

“Hey! I’m driving here!”

That’s what you were so focused on?”

“I was trying to will you with my mind.” I wanted to laugh when she folded her arms on top of her belly. “Oh, come on. What were you thinking?”

“I felt sorry for you, Jay. I wanted to console you.”

“Why?”

“Because you were sad.”

I was so going to nail her ass to the wall with this one. “Bullshit. Geoffrey is sad. I was fine. And you damn sure didn’t need to get up against me to console me.”

She had the nerve to gasp. “What are you saying?”

There you go, honey. Bite that bait. “Come on, Jazz. That was months after Mom died. You need to own that shit. You had on the big shoes, the hair and makeup going on, you were smelling good, and you walked right up in my face. I can’t believe you didn’t go for my fly. You know you wanted – Ow, stop it! I’m driving, dammit! Get back on your side before I pull over and kick your ass out.”

“I was trying to be nice to you!”

Do I look dumb? I glanced over at her. She was angry. Funny thing was, I hadn’t thought about that day in years. I don’t know why she brought it up now, but with everything that’s happened since then, today was the first time I realized I might have a point. She wanted me. She had me fooled with the comment about Mom that day, but now that I added it all up...oh, yeah. I’m the man.

“Baby, come on.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“You’re about 28 weeks too late for that, don’t you think?” Silence. Ah, hell, it was funny to me, at least. That’s all that counts, right? “Hey. Look at me.”

She cut her eyes my direction. I shouldn’t have been smiling but it was completely beyond my control.

“I was too fixated on your eyes to think of anything else. Honest.”

That seemed to pacify her. She stopped backhanding me, at least. We went about another five minutes before I tried to reengage by asking her the same question. “So what were you thinking when you were standing there?”

She pushed her hands through her hair. “I was thinking ‘if you’d close that two inch gap my nipples could touch you.’”

I grinned. “You deserve me.”

“That’s the scary part.”

Monday, May 02, 2005

Just Jay

I was given a scavenger hunt list this weekend to complete for the little lady who worships the ground that I walk upon. I spent half the day Saturday and all day Sunday collecting various items, running errands and basically making my wife’s life a little easier. Because that’s what I’m all about.

I negotiated, argued and bartered my way through Target and other fine retailers who’ve never experienced a man as cheap as I, and proudly carried off my prey from each store. After an entire day on the prowl, I finally dragged my tired ass back home. I saw my sister’s car in the driveway, hogging my damn spot as usual. Who the fuck pays the mortgage for this joint? Jazz knows I like that spot. And after all the shit I’ve been doing for her today, you can bet your ass she has that spot cleared for me the moment I walk through that door. All I gotta do is snap my damn fingers.

So I grabbed a big armload of shit from the back of the truck and stumbled blindly toward the house. I dropped a thing or two along the way, but nothing breakable so fuck it. I managed to twist the door knob on the third try and kick the door in so I could get through. The manly groaning and sound of a door slamming into the doorstop apparently sparked some interest in the kitchen, as it damn well should have, and I heard voices and a chair scraping. I twisted to the right to see Julie poke her head into the living room. Thank god, someone to unload all this shit on.

“Hey, can-”

But she disappeared before I could ask for her help. Fucking little brat didn’t even offer me a hand. I stumbled another two steps then saw Jasmine stick her head out from the kitchen. Finally, the cavalry. I could hear the horns blowing. Here, woman, take this shit.

“Hey, baby, can-”

But then she vanishes, too. What the fuck? And that’s when I hear, “Oh, it’s just Jay. Do you want some tea, Jules?”

One limp dick and suddenly I'm just Jay.