Wednesday, June 29, 2005

They're here!

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Hi, it's me again for Jay.

The twins were born just before lunch today! They are perfect and healthy and Mom is doing great! Dad got to cut the cord for Olivia, but then he got queasy and had to sit down. He did much better with Benjamin. Jay wrote down everything he wanted me to write.

Olivia Claire (that's our mom's name. we're all so touched.)
4 lbs. 15 oz.
18 3/4 inches

Benjamin Grant
5 lbs. 6 oz.
19 1/2 inches
11:32am (i can't read his handwriting, but i remember a nurse saying 20 minutes apart. they were both delivered vaginally.)

Congratulations, little brother. You did good.


Hi all! I'm Jay's sister. He told me to write something here to let everyone know they have been at the hospital since 5am. My sister-in-law's water broke at 4am so there is no going back now! She's been in labor for about 5 hours. She's doing so good! A real trooper. My brother is wigging out, but we were prepared for that.

OK, now. I'm on my way up there. If he wants, I'll do an update after they're born.


Monday, June 27, 2005

Vaginal tunnel

That light at the end of the tunnel is the train coming at you. Or in this case, twins.

We've been to the hospital twice this past week. I don't expect to make it another week.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Ghosts from Christmas past

I got this email today:

-----Original Message-----
From: Psycho, Tricia []
Sent: Tuesday, June 21, 2005 2:42 PM
To: 'Jay'

dear jay,

hi handsome! long time no talk, huh? how have you been? i've been thinking about you lately. i hope it's gone both ways. what have you been up to? you know me, i've been keeping busy. i sold a painting to a man in houston a few weeks ago and the affirmation has really boosted my ego. well, anyway, i was just wanting to see how you've been. it's been almost a year since we talked and don't worry, i forgive you for not bailing me out of jail that night. (jk) but that's cool. i know you've probably moved on so maybe we can get together for some fun, you know? that's one area we never had problems in, right?

call me, sexy, and we'll set something up. i can't wait. 832-217-xxxx

I told Jazz that Trish emailed. She met Trish when I was dating her a few years ago. There was no response. I haven't replied yet, either.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Family vacations

Ever been to Mammoth Caves in Kentucky? It's this long, winding path underground with stalagmites and stalagtites and bottomless pits and blind fish swimming in black water and I swear to you there are still bodies in the crevices from tours gone awry.

I went there once, as a kid. We took the 4 hour tour. Four fucking hours of walking underground oohing and ahhing at wet rocks and black dropoffs into never-neverland, which is scarier to an 8 year old boy than the Never-Neverland that comes with butt plugs and a circus freak.

It was one of the many vacations we took as a family. I can only imagine what the fuck my old man was thinking when he planned them.

Then there were the bats at Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico. And oh my fucking god, Custer's battlefield in, what was it, Wyoming? For the love of christ, does every goddamn Native American left in this country gather in the West to make those stupid, fucking dream catcher hoops and shitloads of turquoise jewelry?

In Montana I desperately wanted to see a bear eat somebody. I sat with my nose to the window as we drove through Glacier Park, praying for bloody fangs. Wouldn't that liven shit up?

Arizona ain't got shit but aired-zonas. That was pretty funny, huh? I just made that shit up. Feel free to lift it. Grand Canyon, my ass. It's a big motherfucking hole. Period. But here's a thought: Let's ride a fucking burro to the bottom of the son of a bitch and make a day of it! Morons.

The sequoias were cool as shit, right there. I enjoyed those. I remember there was a fire near Fresno at the time I was there. I kept hoping it would chase the bears my direction and, again, I'd see one eat somebody. Still no luck.

I watched Old Faithful blow her wad, right on cue. And I'll tell you one place I absolutely hated was Hot Springs...Something-or-Other. Shut up. I'm impressed I remembered the name of the place. The state isn't relevant. You're not gonna go. I hated that place because it was a myriad of plank boardwalks over super-heated water about a foot deep all over. Except, of course, where it was a black hole that went to the core of the Earth and everything burned to death on the way down. That was great. Smelled like ass, too.

Graceland. Oh, Jesus H. Christ. Momma had a thing for young Elvis. I have walked the King's home. I have seen the museums, shops, pearly gates, and 1.3 million flip-flop wearing, big-haired, middle-aged groupees trying to get a piece of their leader. It was not a pretty sight.

I remember Dodge City, Kansas, of all places. They put on a show, outdoors, with a fake shoot-out. I thought it was great. They were standing there shooting at each other right in front of us. I had no idea it was an act. Fuck you, I was a kid. It was almost perfect. All it lacked was a big bear, running from the bushes to eat someone. That would have been the icing on the cake.

The helicopter ride around Mt. Rushmore was the shit. I sat between the pilot and Momma and spent the whole time firing my imaginary machine guns at the ex-presidents.

My old man didn't finish. He wanted to take us to New England, too. I eventually went as an adult, but he still hasn't gone. He hasn't flown since he was discharged 30 years ago. Maybe I'll torture my kids with a 3,000 mile car ride. Or perhaps I'll just throw Jazz on a plane with them and tell them to offer my best to Mickey when they get there. Now there's an idea. It's never too soon to start planning your own family traditions.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Fucking with Ivy

In my infinite wisdom, I attempted to talk some sense into my out-of-her-mind wife this weekend.

“You just spent three days in a hospital. We are not driving to your sister’s house.”

It was a valid argument in my opinion, but oh-the-fuck no, my wife’s gotta save the goddamn world from itself.

“It’s just for a few days. She needs help.”

She needs a fucking chainsaw to the skull, that’s what the fuck she needs. I was putting my foot down.

“We’re not going.”

I’d say it was about dinner time when we pulled into Ivy’s driveway. We’d spent hours trying to get out of Houston during Friday rush hour just to show up on Ivy’s doorstep and have her turn to me with, “Do you mind going to pick us up something to eat? Chicken. And don’t forget the biscuits.”

Bitch. This shit was ridiculous. Just because Gary was gone for the weekend didn’t mean I had to be dragged down here to rescue her from boredom. That was bullshit. Not that Jazz was making me go with her, but I damn sure wasn’t about to let her do it alone when she can’t even drive for more than 20 minutes without her legs going numb. This whole trip was just bullshit. And no, Ivy could not have come to my house. She is not allowed.

“I need a 10pc, mixed with a large side of mashed potatoes and slaw.”

“10pc mixed, large potatoes and large slaw. Would you like any biscuits to go with that?”


Ivy wants to paint her bedroom, but with both women pregnant I was pretty damn certain my wife was going to give me those big doe eyes of hers with a plea to help my one and only, thank god, sister-in-law. Well, she could forget it. That’s Gary’s job. I’ve painted my shit. I realize he’s as useless as a wet noodle when it comes to doing shit around the house, but that’s her fault. She picked him.

I brought my feathered kill home, listened to grumbling when the biscuit void was discovered, and enjoyed my meal alone in the living room. A few hours later I noticed Ivy was fussing over shit. Nit picking. She’d straighten the hand towels, push the drawers all the way in, straighten the refrigerator magnets, close the lid to the trash can which popped open when you pushed a button and it stayed that way. I decided the weekend wouldn’t be so bad after all.

For three straight days I left the microwave door slightly ajar, cabinet doors wide open, drawers sticking out, trash can lid up, and scored brownie points with Jazz when I unloaded the dishwasher which was nothing more than a disguised opportunity to put dishes in the wrong place, silverware in the wrong bins, and pots where they didn’t belong. All the while leaving every cabinet door open. I tilted the magnets on the refrigerator every time she turned her back, bumped the perfect pile of magazines, wadded the hand towels and openly sniffed my pits for good measure. I left the foot rest up on the recliner when I got up, scrunched up the throw on the sofa, pulled the caps off her pens on the end table, drew tanks and missiles firing at people with the words “innocent civilians” written over their heads on her marker board, and insisted on using her private bathroom because it had better lighting to read with while I did “number two.” I also used all but that last square of toilet paper that’s glued to the core.

When we left my wife informed me I was an abomination. But what she didn’t say, was that I was wrong for doing it all. Maybe I can learn to tolerate trips to Ivy’s place after all.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

It's just gas. Go back to sleep.

Sunday night I was screwing around online, swapping out my background and getting ready to post the funniest post you’ve ever read. And then my wife fucked everything up.

She was sitting on the couch grunting and continually rearranging herself to get comfortable.

“I told you not to eat those beans at Marco’s.”

“It’s not the beans.”

It damn well better be the beans. She was holding her belly from underneath and cringing, but not in a lot of pain kind of way; just an uncomfortable kind of way. I went back to my typing, but it was hard to focus with her constantly shifting and grunting over there. “Am I gonna have to put you outside?”

Normally a very literate human being, my wife seemed to be at a loss for words. Her frustration had overcome her sense of logic and she could no longer string a sentence together.

“I can’t…something’s…it just won’t…”

Fuck, it could take all night to find out what’s wrong at this rate.

“Wait a second…oh, wow, that’s better.” She exhaled.

She was sitting upright by now, the children taking up the better part of 8 cubic feet of her torso.

Finally. Jesus. I went back to my typing.

So this weekend Jason and I met up with Jesse and Danny for a few rounds of pool. Jesse was bitching and moaning because his wife has quit putting out while Danny bragged that his wife had a fucked up ovary so they were doing it twice a day trying to get pregnant. I was about to throw in my two cents worth when Jason cut me off with-

A loud guttural noise suddenly came from the sofa and Jasmine balled up as much as she could be, holding the bottom of her belly again.

I felt my stomach hit my ankles. Oh my god, cut that shit out. Stop it, stop it. “What are you doing?”

The groan stopped and she just went tense and still with her eyes squeezed shut.


What the fuck is going on? Why isn’t she speaking? I got up and walked up to about 6 feet from her. I didn’t want to get any closer. I think that makes me a pussy, but I’m comfortable with that.

Whatever had been clenching her guts slowly let go. She looked up at me and I don’t know who was more scared.

I’d tell you what happened next but I don’t fucking remember. All I know is it was after midnight and we were hauling ass down the road trying to get to the hospital before she sprang a leak and ruined my leather.

At that time of night on an early Monday morning there wasn’t a car around. But apparently some moronic engineer had the lights set up on a timer instead of a sensor. My light turned yellow and I hit the brake. We sat there, no sound, no talking, no traffic, nothing. Just sat there at the intersection by ourselves listening to the crickets chirp waiting for our light to turn green.

“So…did you finish watching that movie?”

Jasmine yelled, “Ow, ow!” and started that groaning again.

Fuck the light, I hit the gas. We made it to the hospital in 17 minutes from door to door, a new record for me. It’s usually 28 during the day. Jazz didn’t even notice. Sometimes she’s so self-absorbed.

They strung her up, pumped her with shit, poked and pinched and lubed her down with goo. Turns out she’d been in labor for several hours, sitting over there on the couch at home taking it like a man. That’s how it ought to be. If women had our strength half the pharmaceutical companies in the world would be out of job without the need to medicate them for their periods and labors and deliveries. Bunch of damn sissies. Suck it up and be a man.

The kids are fine. One of them is bigger than the other so they wanted to observe her for a few days to find out if it’s a difference in growth rate or if one is stealing the other’s rooty tooty fresh and fruity. Jazz’s blood pressure was also a little high. No shit. How’s mine? Check my fucking blood pressure, Goddammit. I bet that shit’s through the roof.

Ah, hell. 33 weeks down. At least 3 more to go.

False alarm

She went into labor Sunday night. She's been at the hospital for three days while they worked to stop it and observe...stuff. I'm tired as a motherfucker and she's already snoring. Guess that means no sex.

I'm hitting the sack for tonight. I'll be back after the market closes Thursday to detail what happened.

Thanks for standing by me. Sorry to vanish without a word.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

The cow uterus

Does it make me pathetic to say I’ve missed your sorry asses? On the flip side, I had the most productive non-fee month of my career without the obsessive blogging. Most of my accounts are managed so they pay a flat fee every quarter to have some big-balled manager play the market with their life savings, and I get a cut. This means I get to lean back in my chair with my feet on the desk and my dick in my hands and listen to the ch-ching as the bank comes pouring down around me. But in the off months, Feb/Mar, May/June, Aug/Sep & Nov/Dec it’s fucking poverty. Well, by my standards. I’m the man no matter what and you can’t prove otherwise so shut the fuck up and be in awe of me.

So here I was in the month of May, pissing my pants because my wife decided about four weeks ago she wants a tight little SUV and a 5-acre lot out at Saddle Creek which just opened for construction. Oh, shit. The SUV isn’t so bad. But the five acres lakeside are as much as our house we’re in right now and they’re cloaked in a fucking forest that will have to be cleared before building could even begin.

I told her to take a deep breath…and hold it until she passed out and hit her head. Then maybe when she came to this crazy talk would be behind us. I’d love to have enough land to put some livestock on. But livestock require tending and I’m too fucking lazy for that. Then I’d have to build a barn, hire a stable hand to take care of the horses and the next thing you know I’ve blown my entire wad and suddenly I’m in debt with a family of four, a giant house, five acres of land, an SUV with a pedigree, three goats, six cows, two horses and a stable boy who wants to grow up some day to be just like me. Who the fuck needs that kind of pressure in his life?

The land is a no for today. Saddle Creek ain’t going nowhere. Maybe we’ll do it this winter after I get Jasmine’s tubes tied before she can cause any more damage with those shotgun ovaries of hers throwing out eggs in every direction. Jesus, what if she has a third ovary we don’t know about? I’d be so fucked.

Back to my point with the productive month, it appears when I eliminate a large portion of my blogging time it’s actually worth quite a sum of cash to me. I’m a whore. Pay me, bitch, and I’m yours for the night. Or the month of May, as it turns out. Even got a good ole ‘attaboy from the prick I fondly call “Yes, Sir” who holds my balls/career in his hands. (Takes both hands, I have monstrous balls.)

Memorial Day weekend we went to some friends’ house who threw a 90’s party. I realized how old I am. They have an 11 year old who was gone for the night so we hooked up her insanely expensive karaoke machine to the television and fought for custody of the two microphones. Jasmine didn’t get off the couch much but she had a great time.

She’s miserable. A few days ago I asked if I could take her picture but she said she'd rather slide her entire arm into a cow's uterus than have her photo taken at this size. That sounded like a solid "no" to me so I left it at that. Then tonight I found this on the camera. She better have washed her hands when she finished with that cow.