Women are from Venus, men are from Earth.

ukraine girls really knock me out

Recently for my birthday, a friend gave me the gift of coupons. A small book chock full of rebates, all ready to be clipped along the dotted lines. But instead of 50% off steak entrees and two-for-one car washes, all the coupons were limited to one particular store — a local pharmacy. My friend decided the best present to give me was a pamphlet filled with discounts on cough syrup and antiseptics. Alas, she gave it to a completely healthy person.

Now I am not the type to waste perfectly good coupons! It’s like throwing away money. And only fools throw away money. I, most certainly, am not a fool. Which is why I spent the next few weeks tirelessly trying to get ill.

That’s right. Whenever someone sneezed or coughed, it was like my bat signal. I was there before you could say ’swine flu’, face in their personal space soaking up all the germs I possibly could.

Why am I reusing this snotty tissue you ask? Um, I’m going green and saving the environment of course! Oh you dropped a cookie on the floor . . . two days ago? Consider it eaten. Yes, I was the one who drank the rest of the soda pop you left in the fridge. Yes, I know you have a sore throat. Stop looking at me like that.

Nothing worked.

I tried my hardest, but no matter what I did I couldn’t seem to get sick. In fact, it seemed my immune system was actually getting stronger! Dejected, I finally gave up my quest and in a fit of anger, ripped that coupon book to little shreds.

I got sick two days later.

happy birthday to me

Well, one more year in the books. Someone had to remind me that it was my birthday, just to give you an idea of how excited I get about it. I don’t really celebrate until the weekend anyway, so having a birthday that falls on a Thursday is something that easily slips my mind. It started off horribly: my dog had a seizure that scared the bejeezus out of me. I don’t really want to focus on that, so moving on . . .

I like to take time during birthdays to reflect on the past. See how much I’ve grown over the past 365 days. I seem to completely miss things while they’re happening, but once I look back on them, I slap my forehead thinking, ‘HOW DID MISS THAT?” Unfortunately, this revelation comes about too late sometimes and I’m not able to fix my mistakes because the moment has passed me by. BUT, optimistically looking at it, there is always time to change.

One thing that always strikes me is that, ever since I can remember, I’ve always felt myself to be mature. And every birthday that passes, I look back and notice I’m never as mature as I thought I was. That’s not to say I’m sophomoric. In fact, I’ve always felt I’ve been too mature for my peers. Perhaps I’m just confusing ‘mature’ and ‘reserved’ in this situation. All I know is that for most of my life, I look around and my friends and their friends and THEIR friends are running around acting like troglodytes, yelling and screaming the most idiotic things ever heard on the face of the Earth. It’s worse when they’re drunk. I’m referring to guys here, since girls tend to be a little less . . . brutish. In any event, it’s hard to have a good time when you feel a bit out of place.

Anyways, for the longest time I’ve thought to myself, “Self, you can’t grow any more. You’ve learned all there is to learn. Guess it’s all mundane from here on out.” Pretty laughable when a 12 year old says that, but that’s about how long I’ve been saying it. And every year I’ve been proven wrong. More than a decade later, I’ve finally stopped believing that you can ever stop learning.

This past year has been taught me a lot about money, careers, relationships, amongst many other things. I feel like this post could be longer. Maybe a bit more humorous with some jokes added on. Alas, I must go off and partake in some drinking of alcoholic beverages. James Joyce and William Faulkner would both be put to shame.

now that’s what I call . . .

parking spots and tater tots

Hang around me long enough, and you’ll slowly start to find out that the universe is conspiring against me. I’m not really sure what I did to piss it off, but universe, if you’re listening: I’m sorry. You can stop picking on me now. Thanks.

If my life was ever made into a movie, it would be titled ‘Murphy’s Law‘. It would also be an animated 3-D film and George Clooney would play the role of yours truly. Yes, I believe that sounds about right.

The best example I can give is my troubles with parking lots. It truly is a microcosm of my entire life experiences. Like every normal person, as soon as I pull into a parking lot I begin to drive around, looking for an open space. Naturally, I first check near the entrance of the store, restaurant, bar, etc. Let’s face it, no one likes a long walk. Most people out there, they find those open spots. I wonder what the must feel like because for me, I never see them. Never. In all my years of driving. Never.

Now, that by itself is no big deal. And I would agree, a little exercise never hurt anyone. But the story doesn’t end there, oh no. It doesn’t end there.

Eye in Teepee

I was recently reading about the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. It’s a personality assessment test developed by Carl Jung to measure psychological preferences in how people perceive the world and make decisions. There are 16 different personality types. Baskin Robbins has 31 different flavors, but I digress. Curious, I went ahead and took the test. Since I never like to get all my information from a single source, I took it on three different sites. All three gave me the same result, so I felt confident I was given the right ‘prognosis’. I was definitely given the right prognosis.

Where art thou, Otto Mann?

Hello? Is this thing on? *tap tap*

This blog started off so well, daily updates and seemingly never ending material. In the beginning, it was a place to write down my corny jokes, random musings, and humorous observations. Then it became an outlet for me to voice my rants that couldn’t be voiced elsewhere. Peppered here and there was the occasional drawing that would make a kindergarten teacher cringe. All effortlessly.

But then I just became too self-conscience about my blog. I feared most of what I wanted to write wasn’t going to be up to par with what people expected. The people I’m referring to is whoever is reading this right now. YES YOU!! All three of you. Maybe four of you. Five? Okay six. . . . possibly seven. There’s a chance it could be eight or nine. Let’s say ten. Ten of you. That’s right, I’m talking to all twenty of you reading this blog.

Back when I had a personal online journal (not a diary, guys don’t have diaries) it was ‘locked’ so that no one could read it but me. I wrote in that thing every day for about two years straight and never once worried about what I was going to write in it. I was never at a loss for words nor did I debate the topic of conversation. Why? I knew I wasn’t writing for anyone else but me. Don’t get me wrong, I love getting feedback about this blog. It’s just, after awhile, I felt as if I wasn’t writing for myself anymore. I felt pressured to write for all three of you reading this and I couldn’t submit anything that wasn’t above average material.

Questions I ask myself are, “Is this too long/too short?” “Is it funny enough?” “Is it worth posting?” “Will anyone care?” “Why did I let my dog grow so fat?” Usually I end up just saying ‘fuck it’ and simply not writing anything at all. It’s the least stressful path. You can’t fail if you don’t try, right? I really shouldn’t care so much, but I do. I’m the type of person that likes doing something right or not doing it at all. I’m a prefectionist. I dnt allow for ANYY mistakes . . . EVER!!

But I’ve been wanting to write again. Usually, when I feel that desire to write deep inside, good things come out. Whenever it’s forced, that’s when I start to doubt myself. That fire is building up again. Would it be better if I set this blog to ‘private’? Maybe. But I’d rather not. I’m a private guy, (some would argue, TOO private) and often don’t let all my emotions and stories pour out unless it’s behind closed doors. I need to change that. So perhaps I’ll write in this, pretending it’s just for me and no one else is listening. It’s my fault though. I can’t help but to read what other people are writing and comment on their blogs, so in turn they come here, read and comment on mine. I’m sure if I stopped writing on other people’s blogs mine would get much less traffic, if any. Which is fine. Perhaps I shall stop commenting on others blogs so that mine gets less attention. I’ll be damned if I don’t love getting comments though!!!!

Crap. Catch 22. Guess you can’t have your cake and eat it too. My dog loves cake, and I do too.

Regards,

Jerry

fun with colored pencils

Well, I grabbed some notebook paper, some colored pencils, a chili-cheese dog, and a cold beer. This public service announcement is the result of that little session. It’s funny, I started the drawing from the top down. The more I drew, the more distracted I became with other things, and as a result, the crappier the drawing got.

As the old Russian saying goes, “C’est la vie!”

Seriously though, giraffes driving is no laughing matter. No laughing matter at all.

Oh the huge manatee.

baby birds and how about ‘em?

Last week, I had the misfortune of working in a dusty old warehouse, dealing with dusty boxes, looking through dusty papers, breathing in dusty air.

Did I mention there was a lot of dust? Because there was. Everywhere. Dust.

Being continually exposed to such depressing surroundings has a way of bringing you down. As if having to worry about contracting emphysema wasn’t bad enough, I had to stare at a deluge of dilapidated documents the entire time and nothing else. Bo-ring.

So why am I bothering to mention such a mundane moment? Well, one day amidst the dreary doldrums of that dingy dungeon I happened to come across a little baby bird nestled in the corner of the ceiling. I could barely see its head peering over the nest. This little dude was tiny. He would come to be my source of entertainment for the next few days . . .

new post coming . . . NOW!

Okay, so I’ve put off writing an entry long enough! It’s time to put my peg down. That’s right, I said peg. As some of you may or may not know: I am a Somalian pirate. That’s just how I roll, matey.

Anyways, onto the heart of the matter! What to write about . . .