Perseverance

While I was crafting what was shaping up to be a very good post on Monday, the power company in its spirit of compassion and fair play decided to shut down the grid for about 6 hours. As a result, I lost the post and had to sleep in a house something like an experiment in dehydration (due to the lack of power, ac & fans). So the following is the best recreation of the aforementioned post.

If Lance Armstrong held a press conference and said he was going to grow another dick, I would expect him to be packing some double barrel heat within three days or so. The guy is just amazing. I don't like to pander to, or try and give people who make millions of dollars a year for doing something like playing ball or riding a bike, a ton of props. Things we common folk do to get to work and to relax cause there isn’t money to take the jet to the Keys, you know? Mr. Armstrong is just the man plain and simple. He told cancer to go and fuck itself, got himself a rock star girlfriend and won the ultimate cycling race on the planet, seven times after course designers and riding teams alike, tried to make victory impossible for Mr. Lance.

In a country where professional cycling has as much of a following as those pro-rodeo clown competitions, Lance Armstrong is champion.

I am also a champion. I champion of a different sort but, a champion none the less.

I worried about not being able to come up with a cool post. Something people wouldn't mind reading. For awhile it really bothered me and while I spend time in the F1, driving to pick up what seemed like my first meal in 3 days, I started to get anxious and nervous and had somewhat of a minor anxiety attack. All of a sudden there were too many cars on the road. Even though the traffic was light for close to rush hour, I could feel my jaw clenching and making my upper and lower teeth one. It's hot, plain and simple. This summer has been hot. I am not even going to try and regale you with a, "It's hotter than..." joke because it's just hot. Hotter implies hotter than hot and the possibility of getting hotter. Eff that, Hot is the new Hotter, you heard it here first, from JackassJimmy. I love summer and all of the challenges it presents to me. The making sure I don't smell like a zoo keeper, walking from my car to the unit without looking like a pig in heat, and staying hydrated is a royal pain in the ass.

In a perfect world, I would be a 32 waist and 6 feet tall. I would have a job as a photojournalist and this would only be to support my successful writing career. I would be, "on assignment" or vacationing a good portion of the year and my wireless laptop would be powerful enough to make the Chief Technology Officer at NASA blush. I would be in a monogamous relationship with an amazing woman, a few years my junior. When she was able to tear herself away from her work or research, we would dance until the sun came up at El Divino in Ibiza, at The Equinox in London or just steal moments in the beauty of Cinque Terra. I would not have to be rich, just be able to support myself and family and if there was enough left over for a few accoutrements, that would be ok too. I would die somewhat early but in reasonably good health. My friends and family would be shocked but would know I had a good life and went smiling in my sleep.

I think we all have our ideas of a perfect world, this is mine. I would hope that Lance Armstrong is the kind of person who will not be tortured by crushing the sport of cycling in his early thirties. Hopefully, he will take some time to rest, get his feet under him and use the incredible talents he's been graced with to make the world a little better for everyone else.

I hope you all are well,
JJ

Cat Like Thief

Written by: Boxcar Racer

I fell down again
But I cant complain
Another false step
Could drive me insane
I've only got myself here to blame
So I shake off the feelin and I start again
Oh no I said
I want to go back
But I cant remission
And I'm gonna stay on track yeah
Make a deal like that
I keep my head up
But I never react

I wrote it down a list a month ago
16 chapters of one thing you've blown
The best thing yet to help you
Through and through that she was
I feel her more than you

Don't leave
Don't leave her

I get up
Just to get knocked back down
I sit up
Just to get knocked all around
I wanna say something
But your out of town
I don't wanna have another
Short down say stand up (hey, yo)
Lets make it clear follow you home (no)
You were not there you saw me comin (jump)
You disappear oh no everything
Seems so clear you think you see me here
All along got my crew comin now
One by one
Two by two
Three by three
Four by four
Lets do some more

Call me back when word is that she's gone
Cat like thief she stole air from my lungs
Leave me standing on this lonely grave
I dug it out in case she turns away

Don't leave
Don't leave her
Don't leave
Don't leave her you think seen it,
All along got my crew comin
One by one
Two by two
Three by three
Four by four
Lets do some more

Don't leave
Don't leave her
Don't leave
Don't leave her
Don't leave
Don't leave her
Don't leave

OK...

Time to kick this bad boy into overdrive. I started this blog cause I am a narcissistic, self-involved, selfish, concerned only with me, selfish, redundant asshole. If you believe this, I have a bridge you might be interested in and I am also hung like a Ukrainian donkey.

That having been said, what can JJ do for you today? I'm interested in the kind of stuff you want to see here at the whole www.mailto66.blogspot.com thinger.

You guys like the music? I will review CD's and tunes I have, stuff I have listened to and some new stuff whenever the gods grace me with some spare cash.

You like the movies? You're lucky I have a netflix account and am terminally single, otherwise you might have to hear tales of me having a real life, with real adventures.

You like books? So do I. I try to read as much as I can, but the working and the heat and the porn(kidding) takes up a substantial amount of my time. I tend to do most of my reading in the Winter. Why Winter you ask? Cause my pasty Scotch-Irish skin has the same relationship I do with George W. Bush. If I'm in the sun more than 15 minutes I'm like a fork in a microwave....all sparky and shit. The Sun sucks, fuck the sun. Night time is the right time, long live the beast!

You want me to interview some of these winners I hang with and talk to? Do you want to be regaled with tales of "W's" job at the bank or the italian's struggle with being alone? Yeah, me neither so fuck that idea.

However, I am honestly interested in what y'all want to see here especially if it does not include me naked, on the back of a small pony. I love animals and would never do that to a pony.

So yeah to the 5 of you who read this thing, and the 2 who comment, what's up?!?!?!

Give me some feedback guys!!!

and keep the change you filthy animals,
JJ

Signs that maybe...

I need to start eating better: part two

I got home and made it to the bathroom just in time to feel the wrath of Bungsoon, Bungnami and some other Bung's I haven't even come up with yet. Things were fine after a few chapters of, "The Pen Commandments." After I had decided it was all clear and that normal routine could be restarted, I popped in a movie and promptly fell asleep. Hey, exorcising severe weather systems from ones ass is hard work.

I woke this morning, started my routine and was pleasantly surprised with a visit from Mama Jack. She had just come from having eyes examined and wanted to see if I was available for brunch. As I'm often subject to the grumbly tumbly and there is nothing edible in my refridgerator, I took her up on her offer. We went to Ruby Tuesdays and although I hate, hate, hate chain restaurants, RT's has a great salad bar. I ate like I had never seen fruits and veggies before. I guess I need to watch what I eat more, cause at one point, Mama Jack was all, "Jim, no one is gonna take it away from you, there are sparks flying off your plate." Yeah, things here at Jackass Central sometimes tend to get a little bit on the threadbare side and there is not always a great deal left over for the extravagance of food...(ok this might be a slight exaggeration)

Long story short, I got home and again my meal was forcing me to, "go fishing for the finless brown trout." I had always herd rumours of food you ate getting stuck inside for years and years but the craisins, lettuce, onion, peppers, celery, peaches, cottage cheese and a whole bunch of other shit(no pun intended) was gone a half hour later. Again I think I'm ready for a movie and a nap.

I hope you all are well.

Cheers,
JJ

Signs that maybe...

I need to start eating better: part one

Last night, the "W" and I went to Dragon Villa to get some of that East Asian cuisine. I was schooled in the fine art of bud light and Chinese food. I have never been an eater & drinker, there are very few combinations of food and alcohol I find to be a pleasurable experience. However, last night, the combination of chicken lo mein, bionic hot mustard and bud light was A-OH-KAY. Besides the lackluster service we received, the meal was choice. During dinner we decided the beers tasted pretty good & we should have a, "clean out the beer refridgerator party." The italian called on the way home from his championship softball game or some other early mid-life crisis bullshits and said he was down to drink some beer, he just needed to clean the mud out of his cleats and shower. Apparently mud is very hard to get out of cleats once it's dry.

"W" and I walked out of the Villa fatter than before and got in the vehicle. Some dude not to secure in his manhood decided to talk jack to us and we just laughed as he was much younger than the two of us, and wait for it.....driving a mini-van. There were a few uncalled for chuckles as we left the parking lot, but nothing that will require therapy. The weather was ok, but there were still lots of people hanging out on the front stoops or lawns or cars or what haveyou. We got back to "W's" and I geeked out with this month's issue of PC gamer while he released the chocolate hostage. Beers were a chillin' in the fridge, "W's" deck was in perfect light and the air was just right for drinking.

"W" returned from negotiations with a large bottle and two pint glasses. "Were going to split something organic, from Berkeley, CA and it's going to be delicious. He poured two pints of a dark chocolate colored beverage that looked and smelled like gingerbread. So last night I was introduced to Bison Brewing Company's Gingerbread Ale. A delicious seasonal ale, but not something I think I could drink with any regularity. Would have been better in the colder months when I guess it's supposed to be served ie. November-January.

We drank and shot the breeze and spoke of plans to find out where all of these so-called professional women between the ages of 25-40 hang out. Apparently, "W" is in the hunt for a wife, and I have been single long enough. The italian called back and said he couldn't come out cause, "his wife had people over playing cards, but "that we should load up some beers and come over there." "W" wished the italian good luck with his card-playing guests and hung up. We both had a good chuckle over the thought of loading up the vehicle with beers and going to someone else's place, where there would be no air to breathe, no tunes to listen to, and no place to sit.

We shared the gingerbread ale and basked in the remaining light of the day. When the sun had gone down, the relative coolness compared to the days searing heat, was a welcomed change. We shot the breeze for the rest of the night. I left somewhat early as I was experiencing gastric distress unlike anything I have felt in a while.

Am I an ass?

Ok, yesterday was hotter than John Pinette trying to ride a tricycle through the Sahara desert. However, we do what we have to in order to survive. This may or may not include. Cranking the air conditioner past maximum potential, getting naked, and pretending we're dead on the floor. It may include these things...may include.

I have to say the thunder & lightning show Electric Jesus and the Ten Ton Timpani put on last night was quite impressive. As a young boy, both scared the shit out of me and often I would run and hop into bed with my parents. As I got older, having experienced more and more storms, the thunder & lightning gets less frightening, but you will always catch that one storm a year that will make you say, "DAAAAAAAAAYYYUUUUMMMM!" Last night was a good effort, but the house did not shake and I was never really nervous, even though there was lightning all over the place.

The rain was coming down hard and to the side like, so I was forced to go in and wait for it.........sit in the fucking dark and heat, cause the power went out. It was only off for awhile but it was long enough to get the house nice and toasty again. If it had not been my weekend, I don't know how I would have managed to get up for work. Gratefully, I was able to wake on my own, sweaty, feeling like I had a head the size of one of those Easter Island dudes.

Today has been filled with a whole lot of nothing. I have been fiddling around the house debating about a hundred things and solving nothing. I am considering starting newsletter to keep in contact with people I don't keep in contact with. The one thing stopping me is I don't want people to think I'm sending them the, "HEY FUCKERS, CHECK THIS OUT CAUSE ITS ALL ABOUT ME!!!" newsletter, as it's not the impression I am trying to give. I just want to try and expand my writing abilities and think this would be a fun and productive way of doing so.

Alright, I have a case of the grumbly-tumbly and one of those 99 cent double-frommage burgers, sans pickles sounds mighty good.

More later....

Cheers,
JJ

God Save Interpol!!!

I will admit when I am wrong or when I may have dropped the ball on something. I am here to tell you not only did I miss the memo on the above band, but I completely dismissed Interpol as nothing special. I thought they were going to be another annoying boil on the ass of rock music. Another Nickleback or Three Doors Down. I figured they were just some dudes who were looking to cash in on wearing suits and playing out the whole, "look at us were so retro, we're indie" thing.

This is what I thought.

and goddamn me if I wasn't wrong. If you don't own, Antics or Turn on the Bright Lights, you should. They are both fantastic discs. I am casting my vote for Interpol as, "the band who saved rock n' roll." There is a huge buzz going on right now over The Killers and how they are saving rock. If you listen to PDA, on Turn on the Bright Lights, you can hear the Killers, you can hear the Bravery and any other "indie-retro-rock" band that comes along in the next year or so.

Don't get me wrong, I like the Killers a lot. I think they are a great band, actually I paid waaaay to much money to see...well hear them at Lupo's Heartbreak Hotel just a little while back. Oddly enough, most of their fans are freakishly tall. Anyhow, they are a good band and I'm not just one of those, "Oh man that song, Somebody told me is sooo cool" fans either. Hot Fuss, the Killers debut release is a solid first effort. The other buzz I am hearing around the rock table these days is coming from the camp of The Bravery. Now I haven't heard all of the tracks off of their self-titled debut, but the single didn't do enough for me that I wanted to go and buy it or even listen to clips on iTunes. They play the shit out of it on the local "alterna-rock" station so I always got my fix.

What's funny about the whole thing is the brothers Gallagher have started school yard beef between The Bravery and the gents in The Killers, if for no other reason, for their own amusement. Give any of these bands a listen and you can hear Interpol...trust me.

That's it...I'm done. I give up the soap box and hope you all have a great night. Listen to great music!

I hope you all are well.

Cheers,
JJ

Soul-sucking...

White trash weekend from hell!

OMFG!!! Someone just kill me now and put me out of my misery. Apart from being exhausted, there was an overabundance of negative fun in my weekend. When I think about it, it really pisses me off cause, I never-ever have a Saturday off and now having one off, wasting it with a family wedding, a second wedding mind you, I get a little wound up.

So...I woke on Friday morning in time to shower and primp my fine ass for work. However, the pain in my right food decided to show up and work some fucking overtime. There was a great deal of swearing and praying under my breath so I could get through the day without getting sent home. Which, by the way, I managed to do. When three o'clock rolled around, I walk off the unit, get ready to complete some last minute errands before the rehearsal dinner, and then have my boss yell at me cause I don't have time to go out to eat with him.

Some people would call this career suicide, but I really could give a shit. I'm about as far along in my job as I'm gonna get. Whether or not I hang with the boss is of no concern to me. So, I went to the cleaners to pick up my suit, to the bank to get my cash and back to the fortress of solitude to enjoy some quiet time before I had to drive out into the sticks in some serious heat & humidity. It was a protestant church and for a lapsed catholic like myself, it was a refreshing change from the normal Jane Fonda: sit, kneel, stand and be miserable cause you are all bad people roman catholic routine.

The rehearsal went pretty smooth, long and hot but smooth. I read the response which was about as weird as it could get. Something about Jesus saying, "love is like a cymbal so, bang a gong and let's get it on" or something to that effect. We left the church and drove back into civilization, where the rehearsal dinner was being held. I had never been to Pat Orlando's and to be honest, the food was excellent. I had chicken sorento and it was a big as my head and I have a floor-model sized head. I was seated with friends of my Aunt & Uncle, who come in from Belgium ever couple of years and so, during dinner had a real sizzler of a conversation about the current state of professional cycling. I learned at age 14 in Belgium, you can enter the amateur cycling circuit and be trained by the best in the world.

Luc, could not understand how some guy from the United States, Wisconsin even, could be a world champion several times over, when cycling is not even really considered much of a sport here. After that, we spoke about the war, the price of gasoline and what my future plans entailed. I let them in on my masterplan to go to grad school for journalism and to move from RI and never look back. They seemed to think it was a good idea. Of course there was family drama, and not the good kind. There was hatred of epic proportions between my cousin and her brother's wife. It was not good. It was hate on the KKK scale and all you can really do at that point is to get out of the way and hope to avoid the collateral damage.

Afterward, I was invited to my aunt & uncle's to swim in the pool and as much as I wanted to, I needed to be away from the madness. So I called the "W" and we went for iced coffee. "W" and I shot the breeze for awhile and then I took him home cause he had to be up early to go to the mechanic, due to his transmission exploding. Upon getting home, I surfed on the interweb way to long, and ended up going to bed and being serenaded to sleep by the birds....I fucking hate that.

I woke up later than I wanted to and sort of had to hurry to be ready on time. It was hotter than two fat people fucking in a sauna outside and in the church. I could have been accused of being a turkey, basting in my own juices. Gratefully, I had a kerchief to keep the rivulets of perspiration at bay. Service went well and there was enough time for me to go home and have some without pants time to cool off. I went to the reception in a shirt and pants and was a bit over dressed. There were motherfuckers there in shorts and Hawaiian shirts. So the reception got started very late and everyone was starving. I went to the bar to pick up sodas for myself and mom and pop, ( I was not drinking on purpose, cause I was so mad.) Some asshole comes up next to me and asks for a shot of tequila. The bartender tells him they don't serve shots.

So he asks for a glass of tequila. I turn around and tell him it's not really a sipping drink, but he thinks I'm joking. The rest of the night went downhill from there and at 10:30 I was the poster child for despair. Around 11PM having to be in work in 8 hours, I decided to call it a night, came home and fell asleep like it was my job.

This morning came way to soon and though work went off without a hitch, it still galled me that I had to be there. Yeah, I felt a lot like this guy.

I hope you had a better weekend than I did.

I hope you all are well.

Cheers,

JJ

Tetons....

Tonight was a dud in the excitement department. I stayed in and watched, "Hitch." It was good and there were some parts where I laughed out loud, but I give all the credit to Kevin James. I think Mr. Smith is starting to rest on his laurels a little. I don't give a fuck if he is royalty, the Fresh Prince, does not get a free ride from me. After the flick, I went and got some gas, picked up a snack and then came back home. There was a ton of shit going on in between then and now but I'm not sure I have been able to process it all yet.

Tonight was the kind of night that had Lamont from Sandford and Son peddled through my living room on a unicycle, I don't think it would have phased me. As I walked outside to go get some gas, one of those wanna be to fast to furious driving motherfuckers did about 110 on my street slipping through traffic on both sides of the road. After he passed my house, I wished him loss of control over the car and a horrible, fiery death. Occassionally, I'm not a nice guy...

A mere mile down the road I drove by a 4 on 2 street fight complete with someone on the ground being kicked....awesome. While getting gas I decided to go into the convenience store to grab a late night snack. I ran into a girl I work with whose tits are so big, she can wipe her ass with them. I said hi and she pretended not to know me. Last time I get her all sweaty drunk on light beer.

I came home and went through my college email account. I have 5 years of mail saved and most of it needs to go. I found messages and pictures long forgotten. I found stories of more fantastical times. I found there is still a great deal from my past I have yet to let go. And so with that final thought, I bid you all a good night.

Cheers,
JJ

Back from the doctor and things are not fantastic but better than expected. I just have to keep up with the icing and the stretching and the grinning and baring it. He's the first doctor I have been to that hasn't attributed any of my ailments to my love of Ben & Jerry's and cheeseburgers, so he can't be all that bad. He gave me a prescription for some supports, like I couldn't have walked into a medical supply store and just bought them. I think it makes this guy feel like a real doctor to use his prescription pad.

Afterward, I drove into the valley and got my hair cut at supercuts. Normally I would not have gone there but I could give a rat ass about the wedding and chances are there is going to be at least one mullet there, so my, "vacationing in Iraq" hair-do will not be the talk of the town. Still a little warm in here. Have had the fan going for like a week now. It's not Kenya hot, but still a little uncomfortable, a guy has to keep his beverage cold.

After the 7 minute hair-cut from the dude that spoke no english other than, "twelbe niney-fibe" I walked over to subway to get dinner. I know most people love Subway, they love Jared and the guise that they are eating healthy fast food but let's be honest, cold cuts are cold cuts, and who gets a 6 inch sammich with no mayo, dressing, cheese or other wise? Right, that's what I thought. So I gnash my teeth @ the thought of spending $7.00 on a sandwich for dinner. I know that's a drop in the bucket to some of my Bostonian friends, but we po' folk down here in Rhodey don't earn all the good money.

So I wait to have my sammich made and while I wait I watch the youth of today ring out another rider on the "pork-package express." She goes to get her drink and wouldn't you know it, there is no ice in the beverage machine. When the nice middle aged lady tells, "punk rock-skunk cock" there is no ice, he scratches his bleached blond mo-hawk and says, "man, that sucks. There was ice in there when I worked last night." Having some experience in both the fast and food service industries, I look at the beverage machine and know that it's not one where junior can go and get a bucker of ice and fill er' up. So...she is pissed there is no ice and wants to speak to the manager. Here we go...I think. She is gonna go gazoo over ice. What she fails to realize is that during the pm shift, in the summer, the manager in this place, is the girl two feet over to the right, two years older, counting out pieces of bologna.

So she's all I want a refund or a coupon for free food or something. Acting manager Tracy looks at the woman while she is getting my sammich ready and apologizes for punk rawk's incompetence. She tells her that she would be more than happy to go and get some ice for her, but that as far as a refund goes, that's not gonna happen. Soccer Mom gets all sorts of pissed off and fails to see the plaques on the wall, behind punk rawk's head, congratulation Tracy for highest sales volume of any Subway ever. I spy this and start to smile and chuckle to myself.

Tracy is still constructing my dinner without missing a beat and I am being to be somewhat impressed with her sammich artistry while taking heavy fire from someone who probably hasn't had the Haagen Daaz fucked out of her in at least 8 months. Soccer Mom decides to kick it up a notch and go from zero to Satan in about 2.2 seconds. Unphased, Tracy asks me if I would like any dressing on my sammich. At this point Soccer Mom pushes me out of way, to get in front of Tracy. I tell her "not to put her hands on me and to relax, cause she's acting like a cunt over ice cubes." Yeah, I did it, I used the "C" word in public. It felt so naughty, yet liberating and edgy at the same time.

Punk Rawk bursts out laughing and then gives an appropriate, "DAAAYYYUM" to Soccer Mom's gasp. She then tells me to mind my own business business, thank you very much and I give her a thumbs up and a wink....not saying another word. Part of me feels some sympathy for Tracy as she exhibits some, "Why God, why me, why today" and I have been there so I try not to fuel the fire any more. Soccer Mom demands the # for the managers manager, and Tracy hands it over, along with a "have a good night, please come again."

I wanted to high five her right then and there but I knew it would only drag shit out. I get my sammich punk rawk fucks up and rings me out for a 6 inch and Tracy throws the double middle fingers in the air and yells, "Fuck you, you big ass bitch!" She then lets out a huge sigh and promptly apologizes to me. I told her it was ok and that I would have done the same thing. She says, "I only have two more years of college left and that's it." "I've been where you are, maybe not in the same job but in similar situations." It's sucks, I tell her "but hang in there. Cause when it all comes down to it, this shit will make you stronger than all." With that I fired up the rock n' roll horns and walked out the door.

Never have I ended a day with a Pantera quote. This has to be a first.

What color is the sky in your world?

I hope you all are well.

Cheers,
JJ

White Wedding

I broke under the pressure last night and downloaded iTunes. Not that I have an ipod, but I just like having music at my fingertips, even if the temptation to bankrupt myself is going to be to much to take. It was not as bad I thought it was going to be, though I did download a song I haven't heard in a long time and was transported back to the last year I was cool.

Anywho...

This whole internet @ highspeed has been a bit of an adjustment for me. The fact that research can now be conducted at lightning speeds is just awesome! I get so much more done and have more time to look up more things to geek out about. No, I was not the AV dork in highschool but I ran a distant second. Yeah, so I have been all over hell and back on the interwebs, as the kids are calling them these days.

Today, I go back to follow up with the foot doctor to get an accurate assessment of the damage and what the long term prognosis is going to be. Hopefully they can figure some shit out, cause Tuesday was fucking agony, and I'm not talking about a shitty New York band fronted by an evil Keebler elf.

My day started off with a bang, actually more of a thud, or several thuds. Mama Jackass came calling at 8:30 in the AM and while I am normally already at work for an hour and a half on any other given day, it felt like she was knocking at 4:30AM. I hadn't seen nor talked with Mama Jack in awhile and since I wrote her an epistle-length email to no response, I figured I was in trouble. Things are good and she came up to find some stuff left in storage here and take me to breakfast.

While I normally go to breakfast on my own on Thursdays, I was happy to have Mama Jack around for sparkling conversation and good food. After breakfast, we want shopping at Bath & Body, Yankee Candle, and Barnes & Noble...yeah color me a big, dumb, Nancy but I needed soap and smelly candles to help stay anti-bacterial, good smellin' and to help get my groove on.

Me & Mama Jack spoke on many things and the more we talked, the more I realize that my parents are probably the smartest people I know. I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that I am probably responsible for most of her gray hairs. She reassured me that this was not the case and that both she and my brother are also somewhat to blame. All of this over iced coffee and french toast, it doesn't get tastier or weirder.

Looking to have some more adventures however, I'm sure the white trash weekend I'm going to have at my cousin's second wedding. Yeah, as an added bonus, I am reading at the service. So it's going to be 1000 degrees, I have to wear a suit, and none of the wt simpletons I am going to be reading before, are going to be dreaming about all the miller high-life and well vodka they can drink. Awesome...

and with that, I'm out.

I hope you all are well.

Cheers,
JJ

Work it baby, work it!!!

I just made a dinner so good; your spouse/lover/significant other had an orgasm that would make a lion blush.

Yes, Jackass got naughty in the kitchen and the end result was culinary delight not seen in these parts for some time.

It all started with some center-cut pork chops and while I know a lot of you don't dine on swine, I ask you only to come along for the ride and make your decision later. The chops were about a quarter to a half inch thick and lean as could be. I washed them and then applied a very tasty rub supplied to me from one of the geniuses at Terrapin Art & Design. The rub not only provided an exquisite flavor but a wonderful color and aroma as well. After rubbing my meat, I readied: the steamer, some fresh spinach, bow-tie pasta, fresh ground parmesan and romano cheese, butter, heavy cream and a handful of the devil's inspiration.

The cast iron skillet was awoken from a sleep too long and was happy to be placed on some fire that made it say, "Damn, it's gettin' hottt in herrre!!!" Water boiled for the farfalle and I tossed those in and then washed the spinach and packed the steamer, like a collegiate English Literature major packs a bowl. The cast iron pan was smoking from being on the heat with nothing to cook. I placated it with just enough extra, super, never going to get laid unless it's by a carnival hooker, virgin olive oil to cover the bottom of the pan and then sent the chops to their doom. While the incendiary meat fiasco began, I pulled out another pan to prepare what was one of the best on-the-fly alfredo sauces I have ever made.

Alfredo ingredients combined, I seasoned the liquid heart attack and let it cook down, slowly adding more and more cheese, cause we like more and more heart attack!!!

Chops had been screaming for two minutes and it was time to finish them off. I hit em' with a dash of secret seasoning and pulled them off the flame. The whole deal, cast iron pan and all went into a pre-heated oven of 350 degrees. With a wink and a smile, I told the chops to, "go fuck themselves" as I laughed and closed the oven door. Fast forward to ten minutes later.

Pasta ready, spinach steamed but not limp, like my dick after a day of moving furniture up three flights of stairs or into your Uncle Ed's basement. The alfredo made love to the pasta and the spinach as I pulled cast iron from the oven. My mesa colored treasures looked and smelled wonderful. I plated all of that shit up and hit the spinach & pasta with a tad more two cheese blend. For ambiance, the Garden State soundtrack played in the background and I pulled one of my finest bottles of Diet Orange Soda, well chilled, from the fridge. I poured a healthy glass and sat and enjoyed one of the best meals I've had in a long time.

The best part about it, I was in my boxers and a muscle shirt, and there was no need to tip some jerk 30% cause you feel bad they can't afford gas either.

Afterwards the sex was phenomenal, I would have given your wife/lover/significant other a ten but, she farted on the dismount and sprayed my 1200 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets with cocoa pebbles. Other than that, she made Larry Flynt blush.

I hope you all are well.

Cheers,
JJ

Trashy McNasty

It never ceases to amaze me how much wierder my parents can get. Tonight Pops called at around 5:30 and he got the answering machine. Keep in mind that I have a cell phone that I always have on. The following is what I heard while taking a nap after an exhausting day at work.

"Please leave a message after the tone."

Hello...Hello?

Jim if you're there pick up the phone it's me, Dad

Hello? Jim?

It's Dad, pick up the phone if you're home.

Are you awake? Jim?

Jim if you're home, pick up the phone.

How am I supposed to get a hold of him, if he's not home?

Jim are you home? If you are, it's Dad, pick up the phone.

Jim....Jim................Jim?

If you're home pick up the phone.

Jim?

Click

Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm a rotten, thoughtless child for not picking the phone up to talk with my father. Normally I would agree with you however, I have had a cell phone for a very long time. My parents pretty much refuse to use it. My Dad will, on occasion if something is of dire importance use it. My mother on the other hand, thinks it's just me being bourgeois and upitty and that I am trying to be someone I'm not by having a cell phone. I keep reiterating to both of them, that it's so they (or others) can get a hold of me when they need to.

What's funny about the whole thing is my dad has a cell phone. He actually has the same model as I do. What's aggravating is he will not pick it up if you call. He will not check the caller ID and has no #'s programmed into the phone beyond my house number, and, oddly enough my cell number. When asked about the philosophy behind this, he said, "My cell phone is for my convenience, not for anyone else." So I felt it necessary to poke the bear a little. "So when others need to get a hold of you, and they call, you neither pick up the phone, nor check your voice mail. What good does it do you then?" He was unphased and still stands behind the, "it's all about me" credo. I have to give the guy some credit though, he has been a little better about answering.

But tonight was not a need of dire importance. Tonight was one of those things that drives me up a wall. Tonight was the whole, "Yeah it would have taken me five seconds, but I'll have you do it instead." call. My dad was frantic that a window frame, with no fucking glass in it, the wood of questionable integrity, was going to get thrown away with some other scrap material. So, his call for all intensive purposes was to have me root through the trash, he looked at long enough to take a mental inventory of but not grab the window frame. Why did he not grab the window frame? Cause it would have taken 5 seconds out of his day and it would have made sense.

Enough about that.

I have been thinking a lot again about the future and what I want for myself. I can see there are going to need to be sacrifices made but I think in the long run, I will be ok. I want to get my masters degree so I can open up more opportunities for myself but the thought of more school makes me want to scream. I find this odd because I like the academic environment, it makes me feel good about myself. Not to mention the chances of meeting single women in college is very appealing.

However, it all comes back to the same question, "What do I want for myself?" Do I want to get a master's degree in journalism or do I want to get whatever I need to be able to teach high school. I like the idea of teaching because I like working with kids and to be perfectly honest: June, July and August, to myself with a paycheck sounds pretty good. The money is not there but I don't really know what kind of money I'd be making as a journalist either. I don't know I wouldn't still be eating tuna fish, working weekends and scrounging change to by coffee at Tim Horton Hears a Whore™. I could be totally wrong, and I could go to work for some big PR firm or whatever and not have to worry about all of the concerns I have now, but I need to realize there will be others.

It's all very confusing and to be honest, there are not enough hours in the day to get all of the thinking done. Part of me thinks I am bit of a drama queen, the other part of me thinks I just want to find the happiness I don't think I deserve. Whatever will be, will be.

I hope you all are well.

Cheers,
JJ

Gas station sandwiches...

When am I going to realize that when my friends say, "lets go have a drink after work" that what they really mean is, "We're going to hold you hostage, for ten hours at the bar, and you will have negative fun."? Yeah, I was at Stuffie's waaaay to long last night. The sad part was, I was being good. I think in the 57 hours I was there yesterday, I had maybe 5 drinks, 3 being light beers. Yes, I had my skirt on. I don't like hanging out at the bar with people I have been at work with all day. It probably sounds kind of cranky, but it's like work with less responsibility and beers.

One of the only reasons I rarely go out with people from work is, I know my fellow co-workers secretly believe I am a cave troll and therefore cannot exist in the real world. So, I indulge their paltry requests and, "get down" as the kids say these days. It's normally not to bad, but I just find it somewhat tiresome to spend money on beers and food and whatever else to sit around and talk about work, the place we just left.

In other news...

It was a decent day today. Work was pretty quiet and the weather was about 85, blue skies and not to much humidity. Of course as soon as I walked out of work, the skies went grey and it rained like fucking Noah pulled into town. Not that big of a deal as I was still very tired from the previous night's hostage situation at the local watering hole. So as the deluge continued, I was snuggled in my bed, lulled to sleep by the rain, thunder and the rest of that shit. Life without tv continues. The cable people come on Wednesday and until then I can imagine I have highspeed internet and basic tv.

Upon awaking from the aforementioned nap, I had very little time to get to the grocery store before it closed. Because open twenty four hours, means everyday except Saturday. So of course I was too late to get in a get the two things I needed. I harrumphed and got back in the F1 and drove to the nearest Cumby's. As I pulled in, I noticed that gas was $2.47 a gallon for 87 octane. Just to put it in perspective for my Canadian friends, that's like $37.95 a litre. This just reaffirms my belief that the Republican party is trying to make the rich in this country even more rich from murder and bankrupting of the lower class. When people can't afford to have fun because they are spending all of their money to pay bills and drive to work, that's when there is going to be a problem.

But that's just this guy's two cents. I hope you all are well.

Cheers,
JJ

Ginko Biloba...

That's what it's coming to.

The fact I saw ghosts, yes that was ghost(s) plural, in my house the other night and forgot to blog about it, just means that the old gray matter is not what it used to be.

Check it.

It was a late Thursday evening, Monday in the real world and Jackass had been up surfing. reading, listening to tunes and chatting with sweet internet babes via the telephone or whatever that device is called. Jackass is notorious for staying up way past his bed time. While talking he remembered how he hates being awake when the fucking birds start chirping. He also remembered that he really had shit to say about anything. I bid my friend on the phone adieux, or maybe it was me snoring on the phone that prompted her to tell me to wake and go to sleep. The jury is still out on this one.

So we said our good-byes and talk to you tomorrows and I smiled with that Fuck yeah, it's bed time smile and hung up the phone. In the fifteen seconds after I hung the phone up, I watched two white orbs float deliberately through the room. Not stopping anywhere, but making their presence known. Normally, that would have scared the shit and $4 out of me but since I was so tired and the ghosts seemed to have no form other than that of a sphere, how could I scream like my virginity was being taken and still respect myself?

The next few minutes were filled with hypotheses of what besides ghosts could these things be. It being Independence Day, I thought maybe reflections from some weird ass fireworks, but my room is such that reflections are not possible and even though the river out back is polluted as Nick Nolte on Cinco de Mayo, there is no chance of swamp gasses. So like Forrest Gump, I ran and I ran around in my mind at least and tried to come up with something.

For lack of a better explanation, and due to the fact there was no real feeling of being scared or any sort of malevolence when I saw these ghosts, I have to think it is my grandparents. I live in a side-by-side duplex and we have been renovating what used to be my grandparents side, after the tenants of doom moved out. Part of me wants to think its just G'ma and Pop checking up on the quality of the work, another part of me thinks too many things that could be seen after 10pm on tv or the sci-fi channel.

So like a chump, with a severe case of baby-dick, I slept with the lights on last night. I just couldn't deal with the thought of a repeat performance. If you are giggling at my emasculation, dial 1-800-Blow-me, until it's happened to you, you can't wear your tough-guy/gal shirt.


T. Pierce over at the world infamous, busblog reminds us all that it's Bushie's birthday today. Stop by and check him out, and leave some birthday wishes for Bushie.

My own independence....

I'm so fucking tired of stories of long weekends and fun had at drunken cookouts that I wanted to take a hostage at work today. My foot has been feeling stronger by the day and I have been trying to get of of admin duty for awhile. I put a call into my doc, who gave me the green light as long as I thought I felt up to it. Never tell a guy who's been doing paper work for 8 hours a day, "if he feels up to it, he can go back on full duty."

I was back in the yard with the guests before they knew what was going on. Things had been a bit tense and I was trying to keep shit from blowing up. Of course this was not possible, of course I was fully engaged in a hand-to-hand struggle with one of the nastiest of nasties, of course that fucker went straight for the wounded foot...of course the knife like pain returned like it never left, of course... It's the kind of thing you don't want to admit or acknowledge but you have to cause the pain is unbelievable. You can't just ignore it cause you are a liability to your team, and if someone gets hurt cause of my pride or ego, then I am just a straight-up jerk.

In other news...

Curt Schilling got fucking donkey-punched at his rehab assignment in Pawtucket. This just goes to prove that nothing good happens in, "the bucket." 9-2 and although not all runs can be chalked up to Curt, there is no way he should be getting fucked with this badly. I mean the guy is a warrior, a veteran, the fucker was pitchin' fer Jesus last year. It makes the faithful wonder if the mighty have fallen? Going into the belly of the beast this weekend with Baltimore, as in, "more nasty than the mother-truckin' Yankees" it makes me wonder if the Sox can hold the top of the division. While I'm not asking for another World Series, (though I sure as hell would enjoy it) not finishing at the bottom like a bunch of ass-clowns would be great.

That's all I have on the local sports scene. I'm still trying to get over the Pats signing Doug, "Flutie-flakes" Flutie. The guy is a good QB but he's 237 years old and hasn't been able to see over the line since day one. This may be the end of the road for the Pats, well it was a good run anyway.

I just picked up the new Life Of Agony disc. For those of you who may have enjoyed, River Runs Red stay far, far away from this piece of shit. Broken Valley is a klinker of the highest magnitude. While AP gives it a 4 out of 5 and praises LOA's return, I am being kind when I tell you this disc sounds like The Gin Blossoms meets Alice in Chains. Just no good, not one redeeming song on the whole fucking disc. In other words, I have a new coaster. However, I also picked up, Matthew Sweet's Platinum & Gold Collection Basically a greatest hits compilation, but still a good buy for $5 at the best kept secret around.

Hope you all are well, need to go to bed!

Cheers,
JJ

Reestablishing Bed Time...

My boss is calling me out. He keeps telling me I am going to be late every morning to work. I'd love to be able to tell him to go fuck himself but the sad part is, I know he's right. I have been working this shift long enough to be adjusted to the early start time and the fact I live nine tenths of a mile from work does not help me either. There really is no good arguement for me to be late. However, when I say I am late, I am never more than 10 minutes late.

The powers that be in the payroll dept. make note of my daily tardiness and come down on El Capitan so that he can donkeypunch my ass. Gratefully, since El Capitan and I are friends outside of the Agency, he has been able to hold off on the write ups....but I know there is one coming down the pike and I know I am deserving.

This weekend has been really frustrating. The weather has been gorgeous and people seem to be having a really good time. Not that I begrudge others having a good time but having to work every fucking weekend and holiday that comes along is getting to be a royal pain in the ass. It's kind of like when you work retail and you learn to have a small hatred for Thanksgiving and Christmas because you know of all the pain and bullshit customers are going to put you through so they can show their love to friends and family by buying them useless shit.

Yeah, I am somewhat of a cynic, but from what I hear that turns some women on. If you happen to be one of them, drop me a line. A date before the return of Halley's Comet would be nice.

Enjoy the rest of your holiday weekend!

Cheers,
JJ

Do I wanna eat???

To a bachelor, this is a silly question. I just called the, "W" to see what his plans were for tonight. Apparently the copious amount of Malibu and Patron we drank last night with El Capitan and others was not enough to kill either of us. "W" said his mother was just pulling out the watermelon and that I should come by cause, "there are plenty of beers." That statement alone is enough to make me want to stay home.

Not that I was sick, hungover or anything like that this morning. I just have been doing some thinking lately and it just kills me that I can't get together with my friends without there being a minimum of $50 of booze involved. Now I am not preaching the tea-toting, nor the straight-edging, I'm just saying it seems as though our common bond has become booze and for some guys who have done some serious hanging out...that's kinda sad.

I hope you are all safely enjoying your weekend.

CVS....WHAT??

I woke a little after 4:30 in the AM. That's O-dark:30 for you military folk. Again not sure if it's insomnia or just the fact that work is turning me into a waking up early machine. It's going to be a weird adjustment when I leave the Agency and not only will I be able to do things like make plans on the weekend, be able to attend church and not have to work every fucking holiday. However, I think it will be an adjustment I will be able to get used to.

Here is my review of those Crystal Light on the go packets.

Crystal Light on the go packets are the next best thing to sliced bread. This morning when I awoke and needed to take some medicine, my mouth and taste buds were just not feeling the H2O factor. So like Diet Jesus was in the house, I dumped one of those little packets into a bottle of water, gave the bottle a couple of shakes and jerkles and lo and behold I had a some tasty iced tea instead of plain old water. At four in the fucking morning yes, this does seem like a miracle. The best part about it was that it was cool, tasty and made those pills go down like a presidential intern.

I don't know how far West CVS extends itself, but I hope not to far. For those not in the know CVS stands for Convenience Value and Service, its a drug store chain here in the Northeast and I have yet to go into one and come out less than annoyed. Point being, I called in my prescription about 4 days ago. They ask you call 2 days ahead, being the cool guy I am, I give them a few extra days as I know we are all busy. This particular CVS, on the corner of Sunset and Mineral Spring, is always, always, always busy no matter what time you go there. This morning I was out of pills and needed to go make the pick up. I figured I was up early enough to go and get an iced coffee and not have to be a raging bear, first thing in the morning.

I was pleasantly surprised to see there were almost no cars in the lot, this never happens. I parked in the first non-handi spot infront of the store. Walking in there was no buzz of people trying to get over on one another and it was a nice feeling. I walked to the back of the store, picked up two bottles of Arizona No Carb Blueberry Green Tea (delicious) and walked to the pharmacy counter, where I was promptly ignored. Again, I know we're busy but when I am the only customer for miles and the drug phone is not ringing (especially not off the hook) I need to be paid attention to right quick. I figured pharma-girl maybe doing something important on the computer, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt.

One...
Two...
Three...
Four...
Five...

Minutes go by and I am still standing in line. I am still the only person for miles. I am looking for one of those bells you are supposed to ring, cause at this point I am gonna go fucking Donkey Konga on its ass. "Excuse me" I said in the most polite tone one can muster before 5 am. "Yeah, I see you. Just give me a minute." pharma-girl says. So she has acknowledged my presence and for all intensive purposes ignored me for the better part of 5 minutes. "No worries" I say not wanting to get myself or pharma-fuck further fired up cause I don't need to be fired up this early and she stands between me and the drugs I need. She comes over and asks for my name. "It'll be under Jackass, " I tell her. She fingers through the presciptions so fast it sounds like shes counting money.

"Yeah it's not here." she says and starts to move like she is going to go back to her computer. "I'm sorry there must be a mistake, I called it in four days ago. Could you please check again?" I really was trying to be as nice as possible. "Four days ago, why did you do that?" she says to me, looking at me like I'm the biggest asshole in the world. "You guys ask for us to call it in at least two days in advance." I said and I can feel my jaw muscles slowly tightening like the spring on a bear trap. "Yeah, that's dumb. Just make sure you call it in more than two hours next time," she says as she moves back towards the drawers of drugs.

I double-blinked, "I DID NOT just get called dumb before 5am, did I" echoed in my head. I was so sure that I imagined it, that I had to let it slide. After a few seconds of fidgeting, pharma-whore found my scrip and rang me out. "Don't call it in so far ahead next time, that's why it was so hard to find it, it was all the way in the back of the drawer" she muttered and took my money. I was so stunned I grabbed my stuff and started walking out. Not only had I received some really bad customer service, but I was called, "dumb" to boot. I sat back in the cockpit of the F1 and realized how it feels to get fucked by Speedy Gonzalez. Good thing there was blueberry green tea to drink at home otherwise, this post might have been much funnier and more interesting.

Well I mean come on, it is only 6, give a guy a break.

Cheers,
JJ

It's not insomnia...

It's just that I've been somewhat busy and somewhat caught up in the mellowdrama that is everyday life.

As a result, it's 4 in the morning and I have no idea why the hell I'm up. I'm just glad it's my weekend and that I'm not required to be up at any specific time tomorrow. I hung out with, "The W" tonight. We went to a store I hate so much, I can't put it into words, Radio Shack. I fucking hate this place. My hatred for it burns like the fire of 10,000 suns. There, I guess I just put it into words. "W" was looking for some random part to something to fix something else, so he could sell it on e-bay....eff that. What's funny about tonight is that "W" called me while I was playing with my godsons. When the cellphone rang and I answered, Aidan(godson) looked at me like I was the biggest asshole in the world, and then screamed, "HIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!" as close as he could to the phone. I had a good laugh over that. I left the kids a little while later to pick "W" up.

When we got to the "shack" as it were, they had decided to close early and sit around and bullshit at the front counter. I guess they were having a strategic meeting over how to stop their batteries not working once outside store premises. Or maybe they were just trying to come up with a better sales strategy for marketing the worst shit on the planet. Who knows?

There was a general sense of dismay and frustration upon discovering the shack was closed. After all, we did drive all the way out to Apple Valley and what the hell else is there to do on a Wednesday night in the smallest state in the union? "W" and I flopped back into the F1 and rolled down 44 like two of the coolest dudes in history, not like two techno-dorks looking for parts to fix our droids on a regular week night.

We drove to our old stomping ground and hang-out, the Dunk. The old fuckers from the VFW were there listening to the ball game and stealing minute maid drinks like they were never going to see them again. The service in this place is fucking atrocious and to be honest, it makes me contemplate giving up my coffee addiction all together. So, "W" and I walk in and there is a cool new kid working behind the counter. He came outside the other night and was talking cars and some other shit with the "italian" and so there was some sort of bond formed with a 17 year old kid.

Homeboy decides to get bold and ask "W" and I, in front of a nearly full house, "if we're out on another date this week?" Cute, but no need to lampoon the two of us. "W" guilts junior into making us pay for only one coffee, so I do. He bullied, I paid....that would look like a fucking date to me no? We sat outside, drank iced coffees and spoke of things that both angered us and made us say, "Hmmmmmm" at the same time. We talked about how Bush spoke to the nation last night and how no one really believes, nor gives a shit what he says anymore. Even support from his evil Repub boys is starting to wane.

I took "W" home and drove around awhile contemplating my next few moves. Is grad school the right thing for me? Or am I just setting myself up for a shit-ton more stress, aggrevation and bullcorn? Why the hell can't I just get the fuck out of here and move someplace where hopes and dreams don't go to die? Why can't I just move someplace and be ok with not knowing or having anything? Why haven't I been able to listen to the new MxPx disc I bought over a week ago.

These thoughts spun around in my head as the chorus from Coldplay's new sure-to-be smash hit, Fix You looped in my head. Now I sit here typing to appease the voices in my head as well as my vast readership from the great, white north and all points south, listening to Snow Patrol, unable to understand why my mood is not improving. When I was a teen, there was a certain comfort in melancholia but I'll be damned if life has become any easier since then. The world's answer is to go to the pharmacy and if you can't afford drugs, well then just suffer. Fuck that, life was not supposed to be like this. There is no way JC ( and I'm not talking about James Cameron) planned for it to suck hard.

I know we all need to take baby steps and take them one day at a time, but if that is the case, how the fuck are we supposed to get anywhere?

Be well,
JJ

Masterpeice Theatre Presents...

It was a Friday night like many before it and the air was just right for drinking. "The W" had called me earlier in the evening to see if I would be up for some tomfoolery. I mentioned I was always down for a visit with Tom but that we did need to remember that I now worked obscenely early on Saturday morning. W, laughed and told me I would be home in plenty of time for mummy to tuck me in for my required 40 winks.

I showered, changed and fired up the F1. I arrived at W's backdoor promptly at 8:30. We drove from his house to the LQ to procure some adult beverages, thus ensuring a relaxed and tasty evening. "I feel like keeping it real and drinking 40's tonight." never more of a puzzled look had I given my friend. "Why the deuce would you want to do that old chap?" I replied. "For heaven's sake my good man, for economy's sake!" W cried. After an initial stroll through the store, we came back to the cooler where only the finest of all malt beverages were stored. On our stroll I had informed my companion that I would not be joining him in his quest, "to get hellified."

I had picked up two bottles of the finest honey dew melon wine ever made and met my partner's gaze infront of the cooler. He was cruising the most nefarious of regions, the bottom shelf. There were your regulars your Budweisers and your quarts of High Life. Then there were the nasties, the Mickey's, Private Stock, Olde English 800 and of course St. Ides. The was a new player in this game of champions, Steele Reserve High Gravity malt liquor. The W and I had tasted this fine elixer only one time previous. While it was not terrible, I wouldn't ask for it by choice.

Then low and behold, on the next shelf up, we noticed a brown bottle wrapped in plain brown paper. The label read, "liquor du malt....hand made" It was a French forty! Jumping Jehosephat! We had struck the motherlode. The angels were singing and we were rejoicing in the aisles until we spied the demon, himself, the $7.99 price tag. What in the blue blazes could this mean? Surely this was some sort of mistake, a cosmic joke perhaps. No forty ounce bottle of malt lick-ruh should cost $8.00. We shut the cooler door with such a profound sense of sadness, it felt as though it was the last night of summer vacation. The W's eyes lost some luster and though I had yet to open my melon wine, I knew it would be a little less sweet.

We hemmed and hawed and harumphed around the store several times, each time stopping to marvel at the brown behemoth in the case of beers of ill repute. "I'm not going to spend $7.99 on a forty. I will not, and I won't." W bellowed. "But what if it is the best forty ever W? What then? My question did not fall on deaf ears as the W's hands found cover in his, "thinkin' whiskers." "The whole reason I wanted to drink forties was to avoid a big ticket night!" His face was beginning to grow crimson in hue and his eyes wide in consternation. It would not be long before he left with something as ill-advised as a twelve pack of, (shudder) Icehouse.

"W, please, you're being unreasonable. We're men of the world, what is $8.00 when a fine beverage could possibly be discovered?" He looked at me as though I had several heads, some of them with forked tongues. "Well what if the fucking beer tastes like skunk teats? What then my fine friend? What say you?" For the first time in a very long time I was at a loss for words. "In that case W, I am not sure, I guess then in that case we'll have made a very costly error." Me, James, me. Let us not forget I am the one putting forth 8 of my hard-earned American dollars for something that could be less than swill derelicts on the street.

At this point one of the women behind the counter approached us and asked if she could be of any assistance. We asked if anyone had purchased this incredibly over-priced libation and what their feelings on it were. Unfortunately, no one had the temerity to try said beverage and therefore we were out of luck. The counter maiden pulled the bottle from the cooler and read it to us as though we were babes in the wilderness with only our beauty and naivete to protect us, " says here it's hand made." W scoffed and looked at me as though he could not believe she had tried to dupe us with a read of the label. As W laughed, I mentioned, "I make a lot of things with my hands, but I don't think I'd like to drink any of them." This only made W laugh even harder and though the serving girl was not a simp, the humor was wasted on her.

After such merriment had subsided, W decided to throw caution to the wind and ante up the gelt for the "golden forty" as it was so appropriately dubbed. We arrived fashionably late to Peter Seychelles comfortable study, where the lighting was just right, the chicken not to dry, and the $8.00 forty was DELICIOUS! The forty really did go well with the chicken, nice job W! After dinner there was singing and dancing and melon wine ran down my throat like fey returning to the forest after an evening full of mischief and enchantment. I got crunk as hell and woke up the next morning to brush my teeth and throw on a clean pair of drawers before running out to work.

Let me tell you, there ain't nothing like a 12 hour melon wine hangover....DAMN!!!

Peace on it,
JJ

You win dude, you win.

Tell me tribeswomen's panties are not getting moist just thinking about this guy!

How the hell are other guys supposed to be able to compete with a stud of this magnatude? This guy is soooo bad, they gave him free medical attention! I bet they wouldn't do that shit for Bono or Brad Pitt.

In other news...

It's a hella nice day and I am going to try and muster up the strength to get some yard work done and then if I am lucky, maybe sit around and ice the foot, while reading a book or two.

Hope you all are well.

Cheers,
JJ

What's Awesome about...

my day off tomorrow is that at 7:00 AM, I have to be in work for a, "required training." Once I have that done, I get to leave and go on with my day. I then get to go back from 3-4PM for a, "mandatory meeting." So all in all, my day off is far from mine.

In other news...

I believe I am finally making the jump to high-speed. This dial-up sheeyot has to go. I have been buying parts to assemble a new system that will less than suck and therefore I will finally have a computer that will not cry when I touch it anymore. This way, if I ever do get into grad school, I might be able to do the required work at home.

This post was just interrupted by a fight at 1:00 AM, EST. No arrests were made, as there was not a cop to be found for miles. Why? Cause I live in the hood and cops don't give a shit about my tax dollars. Ahh, the days of misspent youth. Staying up all night playing cards or video games, drinking, maybe pulling bong hits, maybe not. Now, people have to get all up in everyone else's shit. Everyone had to be a tough guy. Everyone has to be, "bad" or "stacked" or "down." The one man who had the shit and $4 kicked out of him more than anyone else, Rodney King, is right, "Can't we all just get along?"

apparently not. Not that this country provides any positive examples of live and let live...Fuck this, I'm going to bed.

Peace on it,
JJ

Ebola

I haven't been this sick in a long, long time. Like spring of 86 sick. If I said I was not afraid of dying in my sleep tonight, I'd be lying.

Mrs. Butterworth is a theiving whore for charging what she does for sugar-free syrup. I thought nothing could make me hate waffles.

However, diet orange soda was on sale last week, so not all is lost.

Need sleep, delirious with fever.

Be well,
JJ

Great freaking honkus!!!

I AM A STUD!!!!

I have been up for going on about, think 36 (thirty six!?!? get that reference and I'll love you forever...) hours of not sleeping.

I am sick, like coughing up blood and still going to work cause I am needed.

and last but not least, drumroll please....

I have some big, big balls and I'm not talking about the ones you find in a gymatorium or on a playground.

I'm talking the only two prizes in the man satchel a woman can come up with when she enters my crotch lottery.

and now for the hour drive to my parental units house for Italian food and the trip over the boarder to CT so we can all have enough room for a rousing game of kickball.

Friday

I slept like shit last night. I woke up what seems like every 20 minutes or so and I may or may not be sure I know the reason why. When the alarm went off this morning, the last thing I wanted was rehab but I did it. To be honest, the ice and the stretching and the shower all helped a great deal, but so did the overwhelming sense of obligation, to myself and to my team.

I was not feeling well this morning. I was not myself. Even after I fired up the F1 to take a short drive to relax before work, something was still not right. The cd player in my car has been broken for several weeks now and I was stuck with pre-drive time bullshit until I was so annoyed, I punched the dash and the radio fell dead.

I noticed the tension in my jaw and shoulders and neck and mentally tried to relax. I wanted to swim, no I wanted to float on my back in a pool and look into an azure sea of whispy clouds and think about nothing. I wanted to concentrate on my own breathing and my pulse and the rhythm of my heart. I wanted to fade away into obscurity.

However, my team was waiting for me. I pulled in, grimmaced as the first few steps were a challenge and then walked on to the unit as best as I could. I didn't want the pity and the sympathy and all the rest of it. I thanked staff for their well-wishes and prayers, and then took my place behind the desk and read reports from the previous night. Much like my night, J Unit was quiet but unsettled. My fellow agents walked on egg-shells around me all day and I think that annoyed me more than anything.

It was as if I was either a child or someone sold incapable of anything they were afraid to tell me so. My hands grew tired from typing and I longed to go on rounds between J & H. No such luck. Of course as I was filling out final reports of the day, the Legion of Doom came over from headquearters, "just to check up on things..." Who the fuck were they kidding, they were trying to see what they could find wrong while I was all busted up and yet, still in charge.

The unit was in perfect condition and it annoyed them. I am good to my people and in return, they are good to me. I'm able to delegate responsibility like few others I work with and the Legion of Doom was trying deperately to find something wrong. When LR came at me with, "there's no tag on that fire extinguisher, I told her, "I'll get right on that" and then continued with the shift reports.

2nd Watch was late and I was anxious to hand over the keys to the gun cage and get the fuck out of dodge, but like Navy Seals, "no one gets left behind" and so my team waited for Count Stroke-ula to show up so we could all walk (I hobbled) out together. There are worse things.

Now, it's the weekend for the rest of the world, Monday night for me, and I'm more fucking confused than ever about the way the world works and other such enigmas.

But that's a story possibly for another time, maybe not.

Cheers,
JJ

All I want...

is a dark room, a cold case of orange soda, a cool, comfortable place to lay down and the Garden State soundtrack on repeat.

and the hits just keep on coming,
JJ

It's Official...

my days of playing rugby are over.

I can't say I'm completely surprised. It's a tough game and I'm not getting any younger. My body needs a little more rest than it used to, a few less beers and cheeseburgers, a little more, "Camp Naughty-Naughty Sex" and a yearly vacation to someplace warm and quiet.

I'm grateful I won't need surgery, however the road of therapy Im on is a journey of ten thousand miles, and to be completely honest, each fucking step is agony.

I called work to let them know the deal. I can go back to work whenever. I will be placed on, "administrative duty" until further notice, which basically means filling out paperwork and keeping the gun cage clean for the real heros. Sometimes you just can't win. I feel like a fucking jerk for wanting a little consoling but, having my world tipped upside down while trying to do my fellow man a good turn, really fucking sucks.

No matter what though, I will alwayz be able to look into my sunshine and lose my self in the daze.

Going to the Doc...

In about an hour and a half. Time to wash the ass, junk and foot of doom. Update @ 5.

A Nice Hot Plate Full of WTF?!?!

I managed to muster up enough strength and coherence this morning to get my doped-up, ass out of bed. The bleeding has stopped but the pain...oh the sweet, sweet pain, still lingers like the fart you tried to sneak on the first date, while Jane was, "freshening up."

Finally being up and mobile after two days was kind of nice. I was happy to see that other than minor aches and pains, everything else besides the foot of doom, was in working order. I cleaned up as best I could and dressed at a snail's pace. When I finally made it downstairs, I was hungry enough to eat sawdust, so I took the necessary meds and hobbled out the door. For a split second I thought I was going to tumble down the stairs as the good leg whispered it was considering, "going on strike." I thanked it and reassured it that it would be well rewarded for its' consistent, excellent performance.

I drove to the new breakfast spot, Karen's Kitchen™ and managed to make it all the way from the car to the counter without the aid of my cane. I know it's stupid, but at just over thirty, I feel somewhat like an asshole using ambulatory devices. At least with a pair of crutches I can claim, bar-fight or motorcycle accident. Cane implies something more like, "I'm so fucking stupid, I stepped on a dirt-rake, barefoot." Besides, my story, although different, is not much more interesting.

I had my usual and I must say the toast was especially good today. I think its' buttery-ness made up for most of the burnt-shit-rocks, Karen tried to pass off as home fries. The food is always good but the home fries are constantly hit or miss. Even with the slightly better than average food, I go there for the ambiance and the cast of characters who work the place. "The Kitchen" as I will refer to it from now on, is located in a quiet suburb, north of the capitol. It's mostly retirees and tradesman who frequent the kitchen for breakfast. The kitchen is open at 5 am, so those who have a ton on their, "to do" list can have a good meal and then, " git-R-done." before the sun goes down.

I sat down at the counter around nine o' clock. I was greeted with coffee and a warm hello. There is no messing around, you either know what you want to order or you're gonna wait. The staff is very good, but patience is not their strong suit. I woke up with the greasy-spoon coffee as I read the Journal. Apparently, state senate has decided to drop the bill on brothels / prostitution being run as massage parlors here. Local law enforcement officials only feel this will create more problems as current laws regarding prostitution punish street walkers and pimps, not the males soliciting. Law enforcement has petitioned the senate for help so that Rhode Island will not be considered, "even more of a joke and the prostitution capitol of the Northeast."

While enjoying my coffee, paper and western omelette, I picked up on another conversation at the counter. A guy dressed in cover-alls, who I refer to as, "The Super" and a woman, dressed as though she could give two-shits, who I call, "crazy" were talking about various ailments and maladies. I couldn't help but overhear all of the aches & pains and was reminded of the train wreck connected to my right ankle. I was in mid-chew of my second bite of omelette, when I heard this gem, "the summers I had off because of surgery, were some of the happiest of my life."

I had to pinch myself to make sure I was not dreaming. I knew I was not in a pain-killer induced hallucination, because I stopped taking them but, "are you fucking kidding me?" Who thinks like that?! I know some crazy people, into some crazy stuff but that just takes the cake. I wrote down the quote to make sure I wouldn't forget it, finished my breakfast and went on with the daily errands. I ended up going to Target™ to buy some new socks, as my others are now soaked in crimson courage. I'm cool but Curt Schilling, I ain't. I figured since I was in the plaza, I would stop into Barnes & Noble and see if I could pick up some hours at a job where people don't try to kill me.

Apparently people are still not buying books. Why would they when there are so many great things to see in theaters and watch on TV? Pfft! So, I perused the magazine section and looked for ideas for the next tattoo. Still nothing. Everything seems so cliche and the last thing I want to do is get something that reminds me or someone else of a Pabst-Blue Ribbon-swilling, frat boy. I guess I am just going to have to wait for some divine inspiration. Any suggestions?

Finally, now that I have decided on grad school, and making journalism my focus, the only thing left to do is figure out how I am going to pay for, get it, and still be able to work full-time while doing so...any suggestions? Fuck creative writing, I do enough of that every day and the last thing I want to do is stand in front of a class full of spoiled, apathetic, high schoolers who want nothing more than to get fucked up and go to , "rainbow parties." I used to get pissed when I was in my early twenties and older people would comment on how they weep for the future. Take a good fucking look around folks, would you want the majority of these kids in charge of anything?

I know choosing between the Real World and the O.C. is a tough choice but you'll be ok even if no one holds your hand.

ehhh....fuck this! You've been bombarded with enough of my shit today.

Be Well,
JJ

Jackass Battles the Terror

I'm not saying I'm one in support of the validity of premonitions, but it went down today in ways I wish I had never seen coming.

What started out as a normal day, turned into a full-scale riot at the Agency and possibly ended my career as an Agent.
Things were tense on J & H units the past few days. Guests had decided to say, "Fuck that" to the whole, "do unto others" policy and the fact the mercury was hovering around 90 didn't help all that much either.
So what's a guy to do, right? He watches his back and the backs of his fellow Agents.

No matter how careful you are, evil waits to rear it's ugly head.

Several weeks ago, I awoke in a cold sweat, shaking from one of the nastiest dreams I've had since boyhood.
This really freaked me out because I don't normally remember my dreams. I was dreaming about work and about some hairy shit, (like a riot) going down...except we we're handling it.
It was a tough situation, but never at any time did Agents lose control. One of the nastiest residents I've seen in my career with the Agency, decided to take advantage of the chaos,
and attack a co-worker with her back turned. Without thinking I ran to intercept and take said resident down or out, whatever was necessary. As I was running to do so, bits and pieces
of my dream started coming back to me and frantically I tried to anticipate what was coming next.

Without thinking I locked the resident down in a hold that stopped the attack. There was too much stimuli and for a moment I had a glimpse of what it must be like to be autistic, and then there was an explosion and there was a brilliant white light in my eyes.
It felt as though Jason Varitek had taken a bat to my head and that someone else jabbed a railroad spike through my foot all at the same time.
My body accordioned and I hit the floor like I was born without a skeleton. Almost instantaneously I heard the same evil cackle from my dreams.

I saw the malevolent grin and eyes that embodied the absence of love.

I knew I was hurt bad and that I needed to move if I wanted to come out alive. Trying to shake out the cobwebs was almost impossible. I realized I had managed to save my co-worker
but in the process, taken one for the team, so to speak. Special Operations arrived after what seemed like 100 years and managed to lay the smack down on the riot scene. I writhed in pain and rolled from side to side,
not wanting to look at my foot and unable to lift my head.

I knew I was hurt by the looks on the faces of my coworkers.

I knew I was hurt by the amount of pain I was in, and yet oddly enough still conscious.

It was the kind of pain that made me want to cry for my mother and Jesus at the same time.
the kind of pain that made me want to saw off my foot and hobble around on a stump for the rest of my days.
the kind of pain that made my eyes want to roll into the back of my head and never come out.
the kind of pain that made me never want to sing, dance, smile, walk, make love or play rugby ever again.

It was the kind of pain they wanted to call the ambulance for. Looking back I probably should have taken a ride in the bus,
but making it to where I needed to go on my own steam, was reassurance enough to me that I was okay.

X-Rays all came back negative on my head. No fracture, no concussion, no nothing. It was hard to believe, but there is something to be said for the power of, "divine intervention."

My foot on the other hand was a different story. It was bad. There was nerve damage, a lot of nerve damage. Enough so that I may never again feel the summer grass under my feet or the cool waters of the Atlantic on my toes.
Enough so that I may have to look to make sure I have decent footing when getting up or walking on non-level terrain. Enough so that I need to start rehab as soon as possible so that my foot doesn't, "forget how to do it's thing."

and so I sit here, with my foot elevated almost as high as I am on some awesome pain medication. The RIPTA bus that tried to pull a drive-by on me has since been medicated away, and my other injuries may or may not improve with time.
So I have to thank the man upstairs for the head's up, thank my fellow co-workers for pulling me out of harm's way, and pray like a child-killer on death row, I make a full recovery.

I hope you all are well.

Cheers,
JJ

Just like I hate...

The New York Yankees for buying championship after championship, I also hate the people at Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream for buying up the rights to Summer. Seems as though the old B&J people decide when and how hot summer is going to be. I mean y'all know me. I'm not one to bitch, (yeah, right!) but up until about a week ago, it was rainy and 40 below zero.

Now...

The past week has been hotter n' two sheep, dry fuckin' in Death Valley. Weather man offers no signs of reliefe other than Thunderstorms, which by the way, make one Jackass, hornier than a forty-dicked billy goat. I don't mind the summer storms, as long as they serve a purpose. Torrential rains and thunder and lightning and the rest of all that biblical shit are great. However, if in the long run the temperature does not noticably change for the better, who gives a rat's ass?

Moving right along...

Fuck Michael Jackson, and the deal he obviously made with the devil! I'm not one to be hating on a brother in America, not that MJ has been black for 20 years but that's another story. I am also not gonna hate on a guy, who for all intensive purposes is pop music royalty. I will not discredit his phenomenal dancing ability, his ability to sing some of the coolest jams in history, I will even give him props for coming out with a song/video (Scream) that made a guy who is whiter than a snowball's ass, wanna try and dance....

But making Mac Culkin drink the kool-ade and having booze freely available to young kids. As Chris Rock says, "That ain't right!" Taking naps with children as a 40+ year old man, there is something sketchy about that as well. Now, I know the credibility of the kids & parents is in questions, but I don't think they could all be wt scumbags, looking to snatch some crumbs from his Majesty's table. Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think so.

I am a firm believer there is a good portion of truth to every lie. In that respect, I hope MJ can atone with whoever it is that presides over all of this. If not, then I suggest stocking up on freeze pops and flashlight batteries...

Cause as the wise, old, sage DMX says, "It's dark and Hell is hot!"

Stay Cool,
JJ

Geographic Stupidity...

It’s so fucking hot here it should be criminal. The temperature has not even hit ninety degrees yet, and already I am ready to put a gun in my mouth. I have neither an air conditioner, nor the $$$ to run one. Thanks four-year degree and student loans!!!

In other news…

I sometimes fall victim to random cases of, “I Don’t Give a Fuck.” This should be obvious since it’s been a while since I posted. That is all I am gonna say about that. No apologies, no explanation, no nothing.

Things at the Agency have been less than pleasant and I have been working hours reminiscent to those of some poor asshole, picking cabbage for three cents an hour, except I don’t get to ride to work in the back of a truck with mis amigos. Second shift agents have been getting on my fucking nerves. I am all for switching every now and again if something comes up, but they need to realize that second shift means working at night. It doesn’t mean, “Oh there is something cool going on tonight, so I’m gonna fucking call out of work and fuck someone in the ass, so that they get forced into working.”

In the past two weeks besides getting hit from behind, I have worked more doubles than I would care to talk about. I wouldn’t mind so much if I got paid overtime, however seeing as how I work for the cheapest Agency on Earth, that’s just not gonna happen.

Two days ago I decided to see if I still had the ability to kick the shit out of my backyard. “The Tenants of Doom” had finally moved out and the yards, front & back were in need of some help. I busted out the lawn mower, trimmer and the petrol and prepared to do battle. After several hours and the onset of what was to become some severe dehydration, I was victorious. It was a good feeling, but the yard was quick to remind me I was not in my twenties anymore. That maybe little more time on the treadmill and a little less late-night Taco Bell would be a good idea. At any rate, I still kicked the shit out of the yard. “Take that you over grown bitch!’’

Have I mentioned the heat? It’s hotter than two sheep fucking in Death Valley…and I’m not even kidding. I have been drinking water and pedialyte, like it’s my fucking job. Curse my low tolerance for dehydration. What’s worse is that there really was no acclimation time to adjust to the change in temperature this year. One week it was thirty, the next it was eighty-five. I stopped by work today to drop off some supplies for the other Agents, one of whom is from Mexico. We were outside on a, “break” and commenting on the weather. She was telling me that she didn’t think the days heat and humidity were all that bad. A rather “quick-witted” Agent from H-unit, asked where it was she was from that she didn’t think it was all that hot.

La Bruja: I’m from Mexico.

Dumb Dude: Yeah, things are different down there in the islands.

Jackass Jimmy: Biting tongue to keep from crying laughing

La Bruja: Eyes wide like $2 frisbees, yeah, they are.

Jackass Jimmy: excuse me La Bruja, did you have to take a boat when you sailed to the New World?

Dumb Dude: Completely oblivious.

La Bruja: Laughing her ass off.

Dumb Dude: Not to sure what’s going on…Uh I’m going back on H-Unit now, take it easy.

Us: Buh-bye.

And people wonder why the fuck I get so angry all the time?!?!?!

Good Guy Finishes last...

I did the good thing and stayed home from a night of drinking and attending the gentlemen's club. I decide to do the right thing and stay home and try and comfort a good friend who lost a close relative and what thanks do I get? A fucking car accident and a trip to the hospital, thank you very much. Some asshole decided it would be a great idea to rear-end me and then try to tell the cops it was my fault because I backed out of my driveway at just under 300 miles per hour.

What the fuck am I driving The Concorde?! I’m a large man in a small car. I doubt I was going to be breaking any land speed records. Not to mention, I WAS REAR ENDED! So, after 3 hours in the ER and countless x-rays, it was decided there was nothing wrong with me. I was grateful there was nothing wrong with me, nor the other persons involved, but I’m sure, I just blew a whole bunch of money on my car insurance.

I need to go and pick up the police report and then call my insurance company. Dumbski’s insurance company has already called but it’s not like I am stupid enough to pick up the phone today. I wish the doc could have given me something stronger than a prescription for the equivalent of Aleve. The whopping one day out of work was a nice treat too. Did I mention I usually have to engage in hand-to-hand combat on a daily basis?

Seriously, there are nothing but savages in this town. The cops were trying to tell me that the genius that hit me was going too fast. I think my bumper might say otherwise. My car is still drive-able and I am thankful for that. The guy was driving an old pick-up truck and if they try to tell me that shit was totaled, it’s gonna be on.

So today I get to blog, get some more rest and maybe get some more cleaning done. I’m not going to push it though. After all, I am supposed to be injured.

WTF…

I hope you all are well.

Cheers,
JJ

Get away from me dog...

I love getting frozen into double shifts @ the Agency.

Lately life has been treating me like a fire hydrant. There are few things worse than getting forced into working double shifts, especially after you have had a rough first shift and have been involved in several altercations, scuffles, whathaveyou with some of the Agencies most notorious residents. Yeah, those are the kinds of things that just want you to go home, take a cold shower and drink an even colder beer. However, when some of the lackluster talent you work with decide to be complete stumphumpers and call out of work cause, "it's a nice day." or "I just don't feel like it today." that shit makes me want to scream loud enough to induce a seizure or make my head explode. Whatever gets the job done.

Yeah, so due to twice the bullshit at work on Monday, (not a holiday for me) I got to go home, completely burnt out, smelling like a fucking wild animal and exhausted. Though all was not lost, I was able to relax somewhat this weekend. I went to the surprise birthday party of a friend of mine, where the people relaxed in the easy breeze of conversation, I took the world championship of Smiley Ball and the air was just right for drinking. Good times were had by all. Most of us enjoyed the Red Sox kicking the shit and $4 out of the Yankees in the Bronx, others were simply happy to sit and eat chocolate until diabetic comas were almost inevitable.

I got to see a few people I had not seen in a long time, as well as meet some new little friends into two of my favorite things, playing ball & video games. Seeing Tommy 5 was a nice surprise as he usually has some interesting and humorous talking points. He scored quote of the night, while speaking on some of the attributes of the, "pillars of society" when he said, "Trash knows no color." Truer words could never be spoken. I was happy to see Tom doing well and enjoying a new living arrangement. He was curious as to why I had not moved to the sunshine state yet. I told him of my troubles with the recent Floridian hurricane nastiness and how my house was sold out from under me. We both laughed and had another drink.

In addition to meeting new and interesting people ,I learned about a great new game! There is a strong chance The Boom and I may have to break out our uniforms, even though Canadian players, uniforms, etc... are neither sanctioned nor recognized by the USPBBA. Can't win em' all I guess. Still, tossing some empty beers around be it overhand or underhand with a bunch of guys who love pro sports and bacon as much as you do, has to be a good time. We shall see.

Today, is domestic Wednesday. I have a mountain of yardwork, housework and bathroom cleaning to do today. I may as well just strap on the apron and orthopedic shoes, cause I am Suzie Sanitation today. I'm also in the hunt for a new breakfast place, so if there are any of you mothertruckers reading this in the 401 area, I would appreciate some help. Other then that I hope you are all recovered from various and sundry Memorial weekend driving, hangovers, and partying. Remember the Pedialyte and nothing can go wrong,

Cheers,
JJ