10/31/2004 - Jay The Handyman

I realize that today is Halloween, and I have nothing to say about it. I want the world to consider me an oasis... a timeless, completely unaware escape from the normal topics of the day. Propaganda from Osama and the attempted spin by presidential candidates will go as unacknowledged as ghosts and goblins.

Instead, I want to offer a bit of wisdom to young men who are clean slates, unaware of how to act in situations. For myself, nothing ever came naturally. Music, math, english, science, social skills, nothing came naturally. As such, the only things I was able to excel at were those things that could be clearly and logically explained. Science, math, and computers could be figured out. Acting manly, social skills, and english were all difficult.

Begin digression. I was confounded by english. I before E except after C or unless it sounds like A, with some exceptions (I think). Sounds to me like a woman made that rule. Another difficulty for me in my youth, illustrated as follows:

Teacher: "Ain't" is not a word.
Me: Sure it is.
Teacher: It's not a part of the English language.
Me: Isn't the English language defined by common usage?
Teacher: In a sense, but standards for the English language are maintained.
Me: By who?
Teacher: "By whom", Jay.
Me Thinking: Oh, dear sweet Jesus.

There's no way for discussions like that to ever amount to anything, because the answer from the teacher invariably ends up being "because that's the way it is." Logic be damned. It seems to me that, if the ultimate authority is academia, without a higher power such as mathematical logic or physical reality available to validate this authority, then the authority is imagined. I could declare myself as the one who defines the English language. If I could convince more people to speak my English, essentially obtaining a mandate from the common man, I could - dare I say - rule the world?

End digression.

So the original point was that I have mastered another of Man's mysterious secrets for being masculine. I'll explain by example. The example is that my dishwasher was leaking. There are two main ways to handle this. Honestly or Manly. As I've mentioned, nothing ever came naturally for me in life, so I would always handle this situation with complete honesty in the past.

Woman: Do you think you can fix it?
Me: I have absolutely no idea. I guess I can try.
[two hours later]
Woman: Wow, it's not leaking anymore. What did you do?
Me: I don't know. I fiddled with a few things. I'm as perplexed as you.

Here's how a Man handles the same situation.

Woman: Do you think you can fix it?
Me: Feh! Of course.
[two hours later]
Woman: Wow, it's not leaking anymore. What did you do?
Me: I re-seated the inlet hose. There was some debris in there.

Now, bear in mind that my core thoughts are completely unchanged between the two scenarios. However, I have made a woman think, "Re-seating an inlet hose sounds complicated. I'm glad I have a man around."

I've realized this, even though I have not actually had a woman around for over three years. I think, at 34 years old, I've finally figured out how to appear manly and confident around women. Most guys figure this out when they're teenagers.

Boys, learn what all the pieces to mechanical things are named, and use the jargon liberally when talking about mechanical things, regardless of the audience. Never say "The plastic hose that squirts the water into the dishwasher"; say "Inlet hose".

10/29/2004 - Protect Yourself From The L-Bomb

Young people of the world, I have some critical advice that you need.

The L-Bomb is used by men and women alike to manipulate the opposite sex. Inherently, people know that emotions can overwhelm logic. This is their ace in the hole, so to speak. They don't have to be good enough for you, because Love Conquers All. The L-Bomb will distract you from the fact that this person is not right for you. So I need to tell you how to protect yourself from The L-Bomb.

First of all, recognize the warning signs. Trust your intuition here. I don't know if there's an undetectable odor, like pheromones, that is emitted. Perhaps there's a barely-detectable breathing pattern that preceeds an L-Bomb attack. Regardless, you will likely sense it right before it comes. Following are some strategies to short-circuit an attack:

New Topic: Bring up a new conversation topic quickly. Something like work or politics or religion. They are associating you with comfort and happiness. Taboo topics break that mind set PDQ. Examples: "How's work?"; "Who ya votin' for?"; "What do you think about the Call To Common Mission between Lutherans and Episcopalians?"
Kiss Quick: A woman can't be talking when your mouth's glued to hers. Finish the kiss quick, then say something like "Hungry? Gosh, I sure could go for some wings! BW3?" She'll think that the moment slipped by, or, even better, she'll think that the moment was entirely in her head, and you'll still look like a hell of a guy. Yes-yes-y'all, you can thank me later.
Shock And Awe: I consider myself a pretty classy guy, so I avoid these moves, but bodily functions usually make a woman think "I was about to tell this beast that I love him?" These are hard to conjure up in the moment between recognition of an impending attack and the attack itself. Additionally, there is a risk factor. I won't elaborate.

The above moves are reactive. However, being proactive will mitigate the risk of an L-Bomb long before they start gathering materials for a Weapon of Mass Distraction. Proactive defense measures follow:

I Knew A Girl: In conversation one day, mention a former girlfriend that dropped The L-Bomb. "Can you believe that? People need to get to know each other for at least (choose one: a week | a month | a year)!"
Don't Be Lovable: When she does nice things for you, just give a simple "Oh... thanks." Additionally, don't make the mistake of saying "You didn't have to do that." Her response will then invariably be "I know. I did it because I wanted to... because... well... I lo..." "CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? EPISCOPALIANS COMMUNING IN MY CHURCH!"
Don't Get Drunk When She's Around: Okay, dummies, there's two things we can't do when we're drunk - drive and keep our mouths shut. Picture yourself terribly hungover the next day listening to the question "Did you really mean what you said last night?", while your feverish little brain tries to remember. Oh no. Oh no no no no...

Keep your stuff, keep your friends, and keep your self respect, kids.

10/29/2004 - Jack

My client is a Fortune 1000 Corporation. A very large manufacturing company. They employ thousands and thousands of people across North America.

Today is a rainy, cool, gloomy day in West Michigan. Many windows are coated with a fine mist.

Jack is a 50-something fellow that works here. I think that he's the head of maintenance. If something breaks, Jack gets the job done. If something needs attention, it's Jack who is attentive.

As I was walking to get some water from the kitchen, I saw a mist coated window. Written in the mist with a playful finger: "Jack".

Ya gotta keep enjoying life, no matter who or where you are.

10/25/2004 - Younger Women

I have an accounting class, and I have a cute little number in my class with me.

Some background for those who don't know me well. I'm 34. I dated a 26 year old for about a week last year, and was just flabbergasted with the whole thing. Since then, I have only dated women older than me. I think that men who date women that are significantly younger than them have maturity issues, and women who only date older men also have maturity issues. I think that one of the biggest indicators of a lack of maturity is a desire to prove one's maturity. Little boys smoke and fight; little girls wear too much makeup and date old men.

However, this honey is a cutie, and I start to think to myself, "Jay, you're all about the experiences right now - you're not looking for a wife, you're looking to know more about women in general, and youth does not mean that there's nothing to learn."

All the female readers - say it with me: "Nice job justifying it, you sick old man!"

I talk to Penny about this...

"There's a cutie in my accounting class."
"How old is she?"
"I dunno. She could be 18. I haven't had an 18 year old since I was 21."
"HAD?!?!?!?#$&^#$"

Okay, Penny's not going to understand.

So I picture it in my head. What would she say to her friends?

"I went out on a date, like, with this, like, guy, y'know? (squeak!) And, like, he's 34!"
"Oh! My! Gawd!"
"And he drives an Intrepid! (squeak!)"
"Oh! My! GAWD! Those are, like, ten thousand dollars!"
"Like, used!"

What would it be like to go out to dinner with an under-21?

Me: "We'd like a bottle of your house Cabernet, please."
Garcon: "May I see your IDs?"
Me: "Certainly! Thank you very much!"
Her: "I, like, left mine in the car."

She could meet some friends of mine...

"Oh! My! Gawd! So, you're, like, Jewish?"
"More than like Jewish, I am Jewish."
"Don't you think Hitler was, like, so bogue?"
"...ummm... yeah... I guess he was pretty bogue."
(The above exchange was actually witnessed by me between a potential girlfriend and a friend long long ago. I did not date this girl. Guess why.)

She could meet my parents...

"Oh! My! Gawd! So you live in Grosse Pointe?"
"Yes."
"Doesn't, like, Henry Ford live here?"
My parents laugh until they realize that she was serious, then they blush. "He died. Like in the 40's."
"Oh my gawd! That's so sad!"
"And if you're thinking about The Ford House, it was Henry's son, Edsel, that lived in Grosse Pointe."
"Henry Ford named his son after a car?"
"... Would you like a Coke?"

On the other hand...

"How do you keep your thighs so toned?"
"(Tee-hee) I don't know! They just are! (squeak!)"

"How come I can't find any cellulite?"
"(Tee-hee) You're making that word up! (squeak!)"

"Those can't be real."
"(Tee-hee) You're so silly! (squeak!)"

So age doesn't really matter, right?

Intelligence Makes One Do Stupid Things

Theory time. I don't really know the theory on this... I'm totally winging this without any sort of research on the subject.

There are two primary ways to learn - intellectually and intuitively.

Intellectually, one learns by understanding the theories and reasons behind the topic. This works fantastic for computer programming or accounting (I've been in both professions).

Intuitively, one learns by feeling, without ever concretely expressing what is understood, aside from "People like that." This works for marketing or sales. Or life.

Life is trial and error. We don't learn how to be successful in interpersonal interaction by logically figuring out how to talk to people. Intelligent people try to figure out what they're doing wrong in interpersonal interactions. Intuitive people live by a lot of trial and error.

I always thought that intelligence was the greatest trait to have, since intelligence implies that, no matter what the scenario, you're better equipped to figure out what you need to adjust to make things work. However, the answer to "How do I make this work?" can sometimes be "Stop thinking and just act."

We're human. A minority of our actions are motivated by intelligence. A majority of our actions are motivated by feelings. Even our intellectual actions are motivated by feelings. I pursue intellectual challenge because it makes me feel good. I love the feeling of a database that is appropriately normalized for its application, and it has all the right indexes, and people say "Damn, how did you speed up the database like that?"

"Ancient German secret."

Then they see SQL Profiler behind my box of Calgon, with a trace showing which commands in the stored proc take all the time. "Ancient German secret, huh?" Busted!

So back to the topic of trial and error, and intuition being built from a willingness to experiment. Well... I think I'm done with that topic. Time to stop being introspective. I'm not being funny anymore, and it's really lame.

10/18/2004 - Morning Routine

Every weekday morning, without fail, my morning routine goes like this.

6:00am - My radio alarm goes off. I think to myself, "I am a rock star. Rock stars only acknowledge one 6:00 per day, and it's not the one in the a.m." I hit Snooze.
6:11am - Either my alarm has been going off for one minute, or Snooze takes 11 minutes. Someday I'll figure that out. I hit Snooze again.
6:23am - Bob and Tom are saying something funny. I lie in peace for a moment, listening to morning radio. I love morning radio. Bob and Tom, you guys rock. I hit Snooze again.
6:34am - Aw, man. I can't hit Snooze anymore. I lay there peacefully, listening to Bob and Tom some more, catch the morning traffic and weather, then slowly roll out of bed. It is 6:37am.
6:37am - I start the coffee. I plan the morning. "In the shower by 6:50am; done by 7:10am; dry off; feed kids at 7:15am; finish getting ready by 7:30am; get kids dressed by 7:35am; out the door at 7:40am." I am a well oiled machine.
6:40am - Pack up my computer. Check my To-Do list. Catch the weather on TV. Pick out my clothes. Pack up my school books. I also seem to have invented a time travel machine that launches me 10 minutes into the future.
7:00am - How the devil did that just take 20 minutes? That's absurd! I hop in the shower, committed to the prospect that I will finish my shower in 10 minutes, even though I have never taken a shower that short in my whole life.
7:10am - I glance at the clock. I'm pretty much washed up, and it's 7:10am, so I relax for about 15 seconds, and then get out.
7:15am - Some rip in the fabric of time and space has made my perception of 15 seconds equivilant to 5 minutes. I stare at myself in the mirror in utter confusion for an additional minute.
7:16am - Okay, I needed to have breakfast for the boys one minute ago. So I need to dry off, and... what else? Dang! What am I supposed to do? Oh yeah! Get some clothes on. And my contacts.
7:23am - I can still make it, I'm sure of it. I have breakfast on the table, the boys wearily munching away, and I'm back in the bathroom getting all gussied up.
7:30am - It took me 7 minutes to get breakfast? How is this possible? I start the rest of my routine, which includes shaving, making my hair look sexy, getting the rest of my clothes on, and making myself smell good.
7:40am - Okay, I was supposed to leave now. I only have to get my shoes, though. And... aw, dammit, I need to make their lunches! Oh my gosh! I forgot to pick out their clothes! Okay, get clothes for the boys. No worries. They can get dressed while I make their lunches.
7:50am - Lunches are done, boys are in the process of getting dressed. The five year old says, "Can you button my pants?" Okay, yeah, get over here, fast! I grab him by the buckle, pull him over, and button his pants. He almost falls over in the process, and says, "Whee! That was fun, dad!" Why aren't your socks on? Go! Go! Go!
7:55am - All of the school bags are packed. Do I have everything? I'm hungry. I need an apple. Wait! I'm not wearing any shoes!
7:56am - I glance in the mirror while running to get my shoes. Look at my hair! I look like I just got off of a rollercoaster! I look at the clock. The second hand is flying. So's my hair. I can't let the ladies see me like this! So I start working on my hair a second time.

I glance back at the clock.
"You're late," says the clock.
"Shut up!"

I can't believe this. My hair has that stupid Big Boy lump in it, and the clock is moving double speed while taking jabs at me. I glance back at the clock. The minute hand is pointing straight up, just like a middle finger.

"Okay, you jerk."
"Hey, man, " says the clock. "Be cool."
"Don't flip me off!"
"Dang, man. Y'know... fine. I won't say what you are, but it rhymes with... SLOW!"
Total exasperation. "So's your mother!"

Silence. I'm looking in the mirror, trying to comb my hair, smearing in enough Dep to make a helmet once it dries. The clock's mad at me, I know it, but I'm pretending that it's not there.

"That was low, Jay, " it finally says. The clock's mother was autistic. I didn't mean it like that, I really didn't, but he's pushing my buttons at the wrong time.
"Look, man, I don't have time for this."

Silence. Dammit. I thought single guys didn't have to deal with this. Finally, I give in.
"Okay, I'm sorry. It's Monday."
"You don't have to take it out on me."
"Listen, I just don't need anyone giving me crap right now."
There's a dramatic pause. Then the clock tearfully cries, "You've got to let somebody love you, Jay!"

Where the hell did that come from? I throw my comb on the counter and say, "Bye!" As I walk towards the door, some sad song by Air Supply starts playing, but I maintain my stern resolve.

Kids! Whups! Gotta get the kids. I chase one out the door while carrying the other like a suitcase. "Whee!"

In retrospect, it really looks like I create this drama for myself, but I'm sure that that's not the case. I'm doing my best, everyone. I'm just a squirrel trying to get a nut. Okay?

10/13/2004 - Birthday Party

Things in my life right now need to develop just a little bit more before I tell everyone about them. So I'll tell everyone about the birthday party that my friend Abbi threw for me a few months ago.

Abbi runs karaoke at a bar in town, so she decided to have a karaoke birthday party for me, with games and prizes and such. With much trepidation, I showed up.

"Be ready for some crazy surprises, Jay! And make sure you have someone to drive you home!"

The last time someone told me that I'd need someone to drive me home, it was a doctor, and it wasn't a good thing. Visions of humiliation run through my head. Will they punch me in the face? Tar and feather me? Burn me with their cigarettes? "Happy Birthday!"

I sit in the bar, wearing a Burger King crown, holding a balloon, and wearing a glow in the dark necklace. I think to myself, "I'm really not looking forward to being embarrassed."

Side note: It doesn't look like it, but I have a tremendous head. Normal hats do not fit me. Burger King crowns strain to contain my brain.

The moment I was dreading arrived. Abbi called me up to the microphone. "I'm really not looking forward to being embarrassed," I think again. I take the microphone from the stand, and say, "I'm not comfortable in front of large groups of people, Abbi." Then I bust out in dorkish laughter in front of the assembled mass of bikers and truck drivers. "Hee-hee-hee-(snort)!"

"Oh, yeah, right Jay, " says Abbi. "You're in front of crowds every weekend."
Silence. A cool breeze blows. I let out a final "hyuck".
"Okay, Jay, here's your challenge!" Abbi reaches into a bag, and pulls out a tiara, a pink shirt, and Elton John sunglasses. "You need to sing this next song wearing these things."

"Okay." I put on the pink shirt, which has "I'm too sexy" written across the front. Looks pretty cool. I stare at myself in the Budweiser mirror while Abbi's friend puts the tiara and the sunglasses on me. Lookin' sharp! I ask the audience how I look. I think someone grunted. Abbi starts the song, and I was dressed for the occassion. Right Said Fred - I'm Too Sexy.

"Aw, ye-ah, " I say, then I start singing along, trying to sound like Elmer Fudd. "I'm too sexy for dat wabbit, too sexy for dat wabbit." I shook my little tush on the catwalk. Aw, ye-ah.

The song ended, and I gleefully queried, "Now what?"
"Go sit down, Jay. I'm done with you for now."
"Can I keep the tiara?"
"No, Jay, you need to give that stuff back to me."

Dang. So I head back to my table, all the while thinking, "I'm really not looking forward to it once they start to embarrass me."

Time passes, I make friends with a couple of the lads near me, and then Abbi calls me back up to the microphone. I take the microphone away from someone and say, "Now what?"

"Okay, Jay, now we're going to blindfold you."
"Okay!"
Someone blindfolded me.
"And you have to identify this drink."
I'm handed a drink, and I taste. Fruity. Pleasant. And definately nothing like a Manhattan, the only mixed drink I like.
"What the hell is this," I holler in disgust.

Freeze frame. Let's survey this scene for a moment, gang. I am in a bar with a pretty rough looking crowd. Blindfolded. The center of attention. Drinking a foo-foo drink. Yelling in disgust. And the thought never occurs to me that this is the embarrassing part.

Back to the scene.

"So you don't know what it is?"
"I don't know. It's a Blackberry Pansy!"
"What?"
"This tastes like crap!"
"Okay, Jay, you have to pay the price."

Aw, crap. Here it comes. Now someone's going to embarrass me. They pull up a chair for me to sit in, and Abbi starts a song.

"Okay, ladies, here's your chance! Come on up and give the birthday boy a lap dance!"
I had a dog that liked cheese. If you said the word "cheese", the dog's head would cock, ears would perk up, and the mouth would start watering. "Lap dance" does the same thing to me.

Before I know it, four girls are around me, butts and boobs everywhere. I look to my right. Oh my gosh! I know that girl's husband! He's bigger than me! Shake that thang, baby!

One of the girls pushes her way onto my lap, pulling up her skirt enough so she can have a leg on each side of me, facing me.

"You're kinda cute," she says.
"I know!"

Then she starts kissing me, right there in front of everyone. I push her back a little bit so I can find my friends. They are gone! I've been deserted!

Oh well. Looks like I've got a new friend to take me home. I slide her over to my left leg so I can get another honey on the right leg, and then...

This drunk falls off! Incredible! I tried to help her up, but couldn't. It took three guys to get her standing again. How embarrassing for her!

The song ends, and I ask her if she's okay. She really looks like she's in a lot of pain, so I say, "See ya."
"Wait a second." She puts her arms around me as the next song starts, and starts dancing with me. My friends are still nowhere to be found, and some woman I never met is dirty dancing with me as well as she can with a broken tailbone.

Now, sexy readers, there are a few types of women that I'm attracted to, but following is a list of basics that I must have, whether the woman is a long term relationship or a quick fling:

• She must be clean

By "clean", I mean that there shouldn't be an immediate desire to wash after touching the woman. I'm not going to go in depth in my explanation of what is acceptably clean and what is not. If you have a question, assume that you're not clean enough.

Now, I usually refrain from saying things on here that would be hurtful to any person, but my potential mate did not meet my extensive... criterion.

However, I am two pitchers of beer, three shots of whiskey, and a Fruity Foofer into the night, and - please don't hate me for admitting this - I think, "This wouldn't be that bad. I could keep my eyes closed."

Yes, dear sweet sexy readers, I was at that moment at the beginning of a Very Bad Decision, which invariably ends with, at best, a horrified "Oh, sweet Jesus, what did I just do?"

She gazed lovingly in my eyes as she coughed up a hairball, then laughed.

"You're cute," she said after swallowing whatever had been coughed up.
"Ah." How could I respond? Do I complement her? On what? "Nice... case of emphysema. You must have smoked over 20 years to get that."

Aha! My friends have returned. One of them comes up to me and says, "Jay, it's time to head home."
"I need to go with my friends, honey."

I wait for a moment as one of them finishes his beer and says, "Can you drive him home, or should I?"
"I'm FIIIIIIine," I slur.
"Jay."
"What?"
"You were going to do it, weren't you?"
I pause. "Maybe. Why not?"
"You're not okay to drive."

The next morning, the alarm goes off. I slowly, painfully wake up, thanking the dear Lord for my friends.

10/11/2004 - Reputation

This is an old story, but something made me think of it yesterday...

Months and months ago, not even one year into the "Playboy Life" I now lead, I had a little groupie coming to some shows. She asked some fellow in the audience what he knew about me. It turns out that I had a reputation...

"Oh, you don't want to get mixed up with him."
"Why not?"
"Well... I could tell you some stories."

I heard about this a week or so afterwards, and I had two reactions.

The first reaction was "Gosh, stories must really have been embellished upon." I've had some incredibly interesting experiences, but I really don't think I'm trouble.

The second reaction was "YEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!" When other men are warning women about you, that is the moment you can proudly look in the mirror and declare "I have arrived!"

Don't get me wrong. I have pleasant, respectful relationships with a couple women. These aren't sexual relationships. Friendly relationships based on mutual respect and admiration. So I have a clear conscience.

Why is it a great feeling to have other men warning women about you? To understand, one must consider the psychology of both men and women.

Men are competitive, and, in courting women, they will speak disparagingly of the men that they see as competition. Women, how often have you heard men talking about how stupid Brad Pitt is? Brad Pitt's probably a pretty smart guy.

Here's the good part, though. Women believe in the inherent value of all human beings. When a woman hears that a man is trouble and should be avoided, they seem to think "Poor fellow, something must have hurt him to make him this way." And they get more attracted to him.

Why? Because they want to rip out what's left of his heart and run over it with a Mack truck! And then stop the truck, throw it in reverse, and back up over the heart a second time, while the piercing warning beeps wail, "SQUASH! HEART! SQUASH! HEART! SQUASH! HEART!"

"Jay, I know you've been hurt in the past... but I really care about you."
Jay's icy heart melts long enough for her to drive the stake through it.
"Ha ha!" she shrieks, as she laps up the life-giving blood.

Wow! Where did that come from? I'm as confused as you, sexy readers.

10/8/2004 - Intermission

Things are getting a little nutty, gang, so it's time for an intermission. Following is my list of the greatest stuff ever:

Greatest Song Title: Jerry Reed - She Got The Goldmine (I Got The Shaft)
Greatest Business Name, As Referred To By My 5 Year Old: Toys Or Else (Toys R Us)
- runner up: Sucky Cheese (Chucky Cheese)
Greatest Culinary Gift From God: Taco Bell
Greatest Movie: Splice together the Death Star scene from the original Star Wars, the scene where Legolas kills that elephant, Bruce Willis jumping out of an exploding building (hasn't he done that a few times?), a quick shot of Schwarzenegger yelling in any Conan The Barbarian movie, the killer bunny from Holy Grail, and then freeze frame with The General Lee jumping over a chicken coop with Waylon saying "Now whaddya s'pose them Duke boys're gonna grow wings 'n fly outten this mess?" THAT would be the greatest movie ever.

Yup, it's great having the attention span of a goldfish. That way, I can completely forget about... aw, crap.

10/6/2004 - Emotions

I had an emotion yesterday. It was really irritating. I didn't start crying or anything, so don't cancel my Maxim subscription just yet, but I did have to tell Penny to stop talking, because I was going to, like, care or something.

I think it was all caused by Rodney Dangerfield dying. I bet that was it. Gone is the man who once said "That kangaroo stole my ball!" That can't be replaced.

My mom, in her eternal attempts to scar me emotionally, once told me that she refused hormones after menopause. After all the ookie woman stuff stopped, she said she felt good for the first time in her whole life. She said "Is this what men always feel like? This is GREAT!"

Yes, ladies. Post-menopause, you too can know the serenity of not giving a crap about anyone or anything else, and you can walk around thinking that you already know everything. It's quite liberating.

So here's the story. I went to lunch with my friend Pedro yesterday. He's the one who introduced me to S***n. He told me that she's having surgery this Saturday. Pretty serious surgery, and she's not handling things well at this point.

Fine. Y'know? Dammit. I wanted to be there for her. But what can I do when she was being such a... dammit! DAMMIT!

So what do I do? I drive back from lunch listening to a CD with a bunch of old country songs on it. That's good for the emotional well being, isn't it? Country music should be laughed at, not understood! DAMMIT AGAIN!

"But there is one promise that is given; I'll meet you on God's Golden Shores"
"He'll meet you ooooonnnn God's Golden Shores!"

Okay, so I'm not heartless. I sent her an email. I was actually quite proud of what I wrote. I think I'll sell it to Hallmark. Heartfelt, supportive, yet still emotionally distant. That's Jay! Dammit!

So I tell Penny that I had to stop talking about it yesterday, and what does she do?
Penny: "Have I told you today?"
Jay: "Oh, sh*t"
Penny: "I LOVE YOU!!!!"

Stellar. L-Bomb. Now I need to go get drunk and have emotionless sex to cleanse myself. Except I'm getting older, and, for a man, that means that I need to choose one or the other. DAMN! IT!

S***n, dammit, I miss how you'd bitch at me about how I never listened to you. There was other stuff you'd bitch about, too, but... well, you know... I don't think I caught what that was all about.

Dammit.

As a side note, I was chatting with the ex online this morning about how the weekend schedules with the kids are all messed up since I went to my cousin's wedding, and I said "Gosh, one little wedding can screw everything up."

Then I paused, and added, "Dang, ain't that the truth?"
"That's not nice, Jay."

10/3/2004 - Catholic Wedding Fun

I have not blogged for a few days, and I've got to tell everyone why. Most of my sexy friends know that I was at a wedding this past Saturday, but I don't think I told this to all of my loyal, sexy readers.

Sexy readers, I was at my cousin's wedding this past Saturday. This cousin lives in Palm Beach. Yes, this man just endured four hurricanes while planning a wedding. He's not one to take a hint from the Almighty, I suppose.

Here's a wedding highlight. During the service, I was sitting with the groom's two brothers. Ed was doing quite well keeping up with the Catholic service. He had all of his "Hear our prayer"s, and "It is right to give him thanks and praise"s in the right place. I'm Lutheran, which is Catholic Lite (All Of The Salvation, Half The Guilt!), so I know a good portion of what to say, when, and where, but I didn't know it as well as Ed. Did two cousins convert to Catholicism?

I asked, "Are you Catholic?"
Visibly taken aback, hand to his chest, he replied, "Oh, my gosh, no! Why would you think that?" You would have thought I asked him if he was homosexual! He paused, realizing how his response sounded, and then playfully added, "Not that I think there's anything wrong with it."

Ed makes me laugh endlessly. We have nothing but fun together.

Also, I saw what was quite literally the most beautiful woman in the world. And get this - she wasn't blonde! She was a redhead. Long, beautiful cascading red hair, eyes that had that subtle shyness, and a lovely smile. This girl was a friend of Ed's, so I asked Ed who she was.

"Oh! Jay, y'know, I was going to pursue her tonight, but... but that's okay, you can have her."
"No, Ed, I'm not moving in on a girl you want. I'm from out of town, nothing's happening with her and I anyway."
"No, Jay, I insist, you pursue her, but you have to promise to pursue her. She's one of those that needs to be pursued. She's high maintenance."
My sister pipes in, "He's used to high maintenance women."
I was about to argue, but I really couldn't.

She was beautiful, she had a terrific, genuine, playful smile, and she was high maintenance. Three checks in the "Jay's Kind Of Woman" category. What happened? She left early.

So... should I have tried to pursue a woman who lives 1300 miles away from me? No, that would have been silly. However, should I have tried to get a little practice pursuing a lovely woman? Definitely! Am I too hard on myself? Maybe, but that's because I'm a big idiot.