A splendiferous spectacle of supernatural and superfluous soliloquies!

Soccer Chicks

Jerry — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 03:08:41 +0000

It’s been an interesting last couple of days as I’ve moved into my new apartment. It’s nothing spectacular but it beats living out in the cold, or at least what you would call the cold. The temperature as of late has been in the mid 50s, which for south Florida is absolutely freezing. Any time it gets below 60 degrees you see everyone around here put on big puffy jackets and wool gloves, wearing a disgruntled look on their face wondering whatever happened to their slice of sunny paradise. Meanwhile, you have tourists who are vacationing from Michigan casually walking around in shorts and a wife beater.
Anyway, I’m trying to adjust my dog to my new place and that includes taking her for walks around the neighborhood to get acquainted to her new surroundings. One of the places we pass is a recreational park across the street from the sidewalk we keep to. This afternoon there happened to be a group of sexy young ladies playing soccer, “frolicking” as it were. Being the suave Casanova that I am, and thus knowing exactly how to act in order to charm their sports bras off, I play it cool and avoid eye contact by looking straight ahead and walking at a faster pace than normal. If that doesn’t get their attention, really, what will?
As I’m walking down the sidewalk, I hear one of them yell out, “HEY!” Two possibilities immediately cross my mind. The first is that they have just finished their game and cannot wait to get into a hot shower but really don’t want to wait to get home so maybe I can be of assistance, seeing as I obviously live around here. Just as planned. The second would be that Suzy the Token Fat Chick forget her inhaler at home so they are short a player, and seeing as I’m of a Hispanic descent I obviously must have been bouncing a ball on my knee inside my mother’s womb so I’m the perfect man for the job. What they fail to realize is that I am the least athletically gifted person in the entire world. Ask anyone that has seen me play in a pickup game of basketball and they will tell you I make Stephen Hawking look like an Olympic gold medalist.
So I look up, ready to reply that I may be short a few bath towels but I have this awesome chamomile body wash when a soccer ball rolls to my feet. My dog, living up to the bodyguard title of Man’s Best Friend, scurries away from it as though it was carrying dog AIDS. I look over at the blonde goddess across the street and she is waving at me, or at least I think she was as I was entirely too distracted by her enormous breasts barely being contained by her much-too-small tank top, which matched her much-too-small shorts that introduced her long glistening legs to the world. After realizing I had been staring past the point of “merely confused” and into the territory of “predatory stalker”, I reached down to pick up the soccer ball. Now, had my brain been functioning at full capacity the intelligent and charming thing to do would be to walk across the street and introduce myself, casually mention all the excess Gatorade there was at my apartment. [It is important to note, I rarely do the intelligent and charming thing in these situations.] No, I felt it was necessary to channel my inner World Cup Goalkeeper and throw the ball back to them. Yeah.
It felt like the ball was hanging in the air for an eternity, or at least long enough for me to be in awe at such a rare display of brute strength and momentarily regret throwing it so hard as for a second I felt the ball would go over the entire teams’ heads. Mind you, this street was not a highway, major intersection, main road, or anything remotely close to it in size. It was practically the width of a residential driveway. So you can imagine my embarrassment when the ball barely made it to the middle of the street before taking a couple bounces and rolling for a bit. She even had to take a couple steps forward to pick it up because it didn’t make it the entire way across. Someone in the background yelled “Thanks” but all I heard was “If we were animals in the wild trying to find a suitable mate your genes would not survive another generation!” I nodded my head and kept walking with a smile on my face. I’ve come to expect these kinds of things to happen.

Dave

Jerry — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 15:54:38 +0000

Whenever I go out drinking with my friend Dave, I know two things are bound to happen by the end of the night. One: I won’t be wearing pants. Two: Dave will pee on everyone I love. Not literally, of course. But whenever he gets drunk he has a habit of teasing me about things like my mother’s weight or my brother’s cerebral palsy. That’s just the way some guys get their kicks I guess. While he’s running his mouth about the woman who gave birth to me I usually just sit back and drink my beer quietly. But this time he went too far.

I started ‘officially’ dating a Native American stripper a few days ago and I just knew Dave would have something to say about it. Sure enough, the next time I saw him at the bar he started running his mouth about my girl’s profession. Something or other about her “putting the ho in Navajo.” And that’s when it happened. I snapped.

“Listen pal, talk all the crap you want about my mother, but I’ll be damned if I let you drag Dances-For-Money’s name through the mud!”

Needless to say he and I don’t hang out anymore. Oh well.

(p.s. the beer in the bottle is Santa’s Private Reserve by Rogue Brewery. It was a good night.)

the day god ran out of pancakes (a title)

Jerry — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 17:38:28 +0000

One of the more disheartening occurrences in life is being at the library, eager to check out a book, only to find out it has already been loaned out to somebody else. Inevitably, the mind begins to wonder. Who else was interested enough in this title to take it home for a couple of weeks? Was it a man or a woman? Young or old? I know the library doesn’t give out these personal details, and with good reason. So I’ll never find out who this mystery person was. And yet, there is still an urge to reach out to them and say, “Hey, what did you think of the book? How did it make you feel? What was your favorite part? Did you just pick it up on a whim? It’s so nice to know there’s someone out there reading Rimbaud [or whomever].” So in my attempt to communicate with these strangers with great tastes, I’ve started the practice of leaving a note inside books I return. Nothing major, just a small post-it note with a couple random thoughts & musings scribbled down. So while I may not be able to speak with those who have checked the book out in the past, maybe I can still leave an impression on those who have yet to read it in the future.

(btw, this is one picture I did not take.)

ducks, ducks everywhere

Jerry — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 11:02:12 +0000

I’m a physics-nerd. I enjoy reading all about the science behind parallel dimensions. Sometimes, I like to imagine an alternate reality in which I’m a famous painter or rock star. Or one where it actually ended up working out between that One Girl & I, and we’re both ducks in a long-term, monogamous relationship.

(I’m enjoying my new camera and I like the turn this blog has taken as of late. It’s given me renewed interest in blogging, if only just to add a quick caption to a picture I took. I’ll also write some more serious stuff, which might throw off anyone expecting my usual quackery. Although any romantic mood I was trying to go for in this shot was quickly eradicated by all the duck crap on the bridge. )

& the hare.

Jerry — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 15:35:31 +0000

The crowd never dies. A continuous blur of faces; a revolving door of generations filled with green laughter.

“They can live for over a hundred and fifty years,” said the zookeeper.

And he wondered if his son was looking at the same tortoise his father took him to see as a child.

alleycat

Jerry — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 17:50:11 +0000

There’s something about looking down a long narrow path. A concrete carpet laid out indefinitely. There’s something about the parallels that are formed that appeals to me. It can happen anywhere. An empty hospital late at night, you pause to look over your shoulder and see a dimly lit hallway that disappears at some point far off down a long stretch of doors. These moments are just another part of daily life. And yet there’s something special about being at the right place, at the right time. For that brief period, everything is just perfectly

aligned.

duct tape hates me.

Jerry — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 05:59:10 +0000

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark

Jerry — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 17:12:39 +0000

bed bugs

Jerry — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 17:06:16 +0000

A south Florida child was recently arrested for attacking her parents after refusing to go to bed.

She’s been charged with resisting a rest.

slappy new year!

Jerry — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 19:04:54 +0000

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a dog.

As I’ve stated on this blog many a times, I’m an introvert. And as such, making a ton of new friends isn’t too high on my priority list. It’s right below getting a tooth pulled and just a smidge above picking up a transsexual hooker.

Why is it such a problem? I’ll tell you why.

First off, don’t get me wrong. I love meeting new people. Everyone has a story and getting introduced to all the world’s many different attitudes, personas, and characters is exciting. Not to mention building connections can help you on later on in life, whether it be in your career or perhaps bailing you out of a jail in Tijuana.

The problem lies when your acquaintances aren’t satisfied with just being a random number in your phone. They start demanding more of you. Now they’re calling you wanting to ‘hang out this weekend, maybe catch that new vampire movie’. The next thing you know you’re pulling every muscle in your back helping them move their heavy-ass armoire and you’re left asking yourself what the hell just happened.

When I’m laying on my couch in my underwear, curled up under my dinosaur patterned blanket, and it’s freezing cold outside the last thing I want is someone calling me to come hang out with them. I don’t care if its Neil deGrasse Tyson himself! But the more friends you have the more excuses you have to come up with as to why you don’t want to go to their lame events.

“I have swine flu.”

“My dog ate my car keys. I don’t know, they smelled like chicken I guess.”

“No Julie, New Moon sounds like a fantastic movie it’s just that . . . um . . . I have this doctors appointment. Oh the movie is at 10 PM? Well, you see, this is a . . . 24 hr drive-thru doctor. Yeah, he’s from Idaho. It’s like the rage over there or something”

Another problem with people getting to be buddy-buddy with you is that they think they can ‘cross the line’ and get away with it now. They start to loosen up around you and start getting comfortable. The jokes become more insulting, the favors more demanding, your personal space growing smaller by the second. One day they’re asking to borrow 20 bucks and the next they’re making fun of your small peen. Chances are you’ll never see those twenty dollars again and they’ll never understand exactly how cold the pool water was that day. The bottom line is that familiarity breeds contempt.

And that, my friends, is why a dog is man’s best friend. <3