Lawn Jockey

“Can I ask a favor” she said? I have been interested in this girl for sometime but I kept getting the “lets be friends” signal. So today when she asked if I could go help out her grandmother with her yard I jumped at the opportunity to score some brownie points and maybe do a little showing off while I was at it.

I took off early and met her there. Granny was cool and I caught a glance of her giving Monica a “wink”. This was a good sign I thought as I headed out to tackle the leaves then mow the lawn. The leaves were all collected up as Monica and Granny watched from the patio. I went to the garage to get the mower, which was one of those ride on kind. How much easier could it get? I mount the thing (I said mount) and checked out all of the contraptions. For the record, I have never in my life operated one of these ride on mowers, but hey, I am a guy it should be a breeze.

It had a steering wheel and pedals; any moron could understand what was going on. I Quickly read the starting instructions and turned the key. The engine roared to life (as much as a lawn engine can roar) and I idled out onto the lawn and into view of my audience. Concentrating on the performance rather than the lawn I decided to take off my shirt. I did it in my best Patrick Swayze and felt the eyes staring.

DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME

I put the thing in gear, and assuming it was like a push mower I punch the accelerator to full throttle. If you have never ridden one of these they go pretty fast. The thing takes off like a bat out of hell. I am holding on for dear life. I panic and decide to steer it like a car as I am racing along the yard. Me taking the wheel sent it teetering all about. I believe that I was shrieking at this point as it picked up speed. I notice out of the corner of my eye that neighbors are gathering and now pointing. I look down and see it, a brake pedal. Maybe there was still time to save face.

I pull my leg around and STOMP on the brake pedal. What I did not realize at the time was that it was actually the emergency stop. Stop it did, instantly. Off the seat I went, up and over the hood of this thing. As if I were in slow motion I saw the ground coming. I hit, bounced and plowed face first into Granny’s lawn.

Dazed, I gather myself up. I felt road rash, or rather grass rash along the side of my face. My chest was all green as if I slide into an imaginary grassy home plate. My pants were torn over my right knee and my head now throbbed. Up onto all fours, then straight up, I look around at what seemed liked a hundred people looking at me trying their best not to laugh. As I stood there dumbfounded and embarrassed, Monica and Granny walk towards me. Granny, with disgust on her face mounts the lawn monster, cranks it up and proceeds to tend to the lawn. I look towards Monica for some sign of understanding. “Thanks a lot” she says and walks past me. At that moment the crowd that had gathered all began to clap in unison.

I learned a valuable lesion today.

But as I sit here sipping a cocktail bruised, battered and feeling sorry for myself, I could not tell you what that lesion was.

ps. Happy Halloween

HNT from Seattle

Once again, it is HNT. Today I come to you from Seattle, where I am spending the weekend. Today when I checked into the hotel, I decided to watch a movie, so I paid $8.99, watched “The Notebook”, and cried like a girl! Now I am off to see the town and back.

Damn it all to hell!

Everything’s going wrong.
Everything. Remember that chick I was teaching watercolours to? The one who wasn’t exactly in the age of majority? I might be getting into trouble with her, because Gabby is a backstabbing, lying, cheating bitch who doesn’t know which way the goddamn toilet paper faces.
So I get up this afternoon from my normal nap, and I check my voicemail. That’s just what I do.
I hear her grating, horrible, insanely annoying voice (which is even more shrill and nerve-grating in bed) saying, [imagine this in a horribly nasal tone]
“Jaaaaaaaaaaaaack, I need to taaaaaalk to youuu. I hearrrrd you were fuckiiing an unnnderaaage girrrrrrl [no shit, I told you. But it wasn’t exactly fucking.] and wannnteed to maaake suuuure you weren’t gooiinnnng to dooo anything mooorrrre….be caaaaaareful, Jaaaaaack. The cops could finnnnnd ouuuuuut.”

Long story short: If I don’t do what she wants, she’s going to rat me. The damn bitch.
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone! Who out of you would refuse a hot cherry like I had? And refuse her I did!...Sort of. She’s still cherry, anyways.
God, she’s probably on the rag. Is there a single woman in the universe who is unaffected by her period? If you do…man, send me your number. I want to marry you.

Depending on her cycle, a woman is a bitch for one week out of every three or four. That’s around 33% of her life—being a bitch. God damn!

On another note: Does anyone else hate that stupid “My hump my hump my hump my hump my hump I’m a get you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump, my lovely lady lumps my hump my hump my hump my hump my hump my hump” song? I hate it so much I had to LimeWire it to get it out of my head.

Friendship

I usually like to post upbeat, funny, bizarre topics here. I surely don’t want to bring anyone down, but I am facing a moral dilemma. There is this couple whom I have been friends with for some time. I am not really as close to my friend’s wife as I am with him. He and I have hung out for years. But over all I consider them both to be good friends. The other day we were hanging out and he says that he has to tell me something. He tells me that he has recently gone for a check up and the doctor has diagnosed him with a pretty much fatal disease. I won’t go into the details of it, but he could possible make it another 6 years but probably not much more. I was floored because he seems very healthy and normal. He acted like it was no big deal. His attitude was “if it is my time, then so be it”. I dropped the subject, I didn’t want to dwell on it, and he didn’t much seem to want to continue the conversation either.

Later that night we were out having drinks and checking out a local club. I was having a great time when it hit me that my friend was dying (or would be very ill at some point). With a few drinks down, at the right moment I asked him what his wife thought. He looked me in the eyes and said, “I don’t know”. It took me a minute but then I caught on. “You didn’t tell her,” I said. “Nope, no need for her to know. She’ll know when everyone else knows”. He left it at that and I haven’t brought it up again. Knowing him, I took that to mean that she’ll know when he dies. Now where does one draw the line in a friendship?

They are not hurting for money so my concern for her is not a financial one. But she loves him to death (OK, bad choice of words). She will be devastated when and if he dies. Then for her to find out he knew all along would be horrible for her. He technically didn’t tell me “Don’t say anything”, but it was sort of implied. I am wracking my brain as to if I should tell her or talk to him and try and convince him to tell her. On one hand I think that it is pretty shitty and selfish of him not to tell her, but on the other hand if it were me and I felt the same way he does I wouldn’t want one of my best friends betray me.

So I ask all of you. You all seem much more intelligent and rational than I (Even Willy Joe), give me some advice. This one is eating me inside and I have to do something. I feel this weight on me and I need it off. I have even talked myself into thinking that a friend wouldn’t put this on another friend. But that is not necessarily true either. As far as I know, besides his doctor I am the only other person that knows his condition. Hoping for some outsider thinking and advice.

Thanks

Ice Cream and Smack!

TodayI must talk about something that has annoyed me for some time, but recently it is becoming a real pain in the ass. The frigging Ice Cream Truck. That little son of a bitch comes through the neighborhood at the crack of dawn and into the night. You can hear its sorry ass blocks away, “Hello”, and then that freaky little circus music. Tell me, who in the hell eats ice cream at 7 in the morning, in the fall? I think that it is all a ruse. It is not the ice cream dude, it is a dealer. Yeah, that’s it. Peddling his crack, his crank, and heroine to all of the Tweakers while the rest of us try and sleep. I never see kids going out to greet the damn ice cream man. It is always the adults, strung out looking with their dirty ass clothes. Yeah, that’s it; the ice cream man is a dealer.

Other than that, it’s been a great day. Hope yours was as well

A little White Lie

My mother and I have this love hate relationship. She loves to tell me how I should live my life and I hate her nosey ass in my business. Thank god we live no where near each other or she would be under my skin 24/7. I get a call and it is dear ol’ Ma. She says that she is going to be in the area and would like to drop by and visit, cook me dinner and catch up. Now, I know there is no good reason for her to be “in the area” other than she’s bored and wants to snoop into my life. As I agree, thinking it won’t be that bad, she adds the extra little twist as always and says that I should invite that nice girl that I have been dating so that she could meet her. My mother was on this kick about me getting older and settling down, and kept insisting on trying to set me up with these girls, daughters of her friends or related somehow to someone she knows. So a few months back to get out of it I told her that I was dating someone. A little white lie, harmless, right. Well every time we talk now she asks me about this make believe person and each time the lie grows bigger. Now she wants to meet her. Now what?

As the day approached I made sure the pad was cleaned, disinfected, and scoured for any forgotten porn or drug paraphernalia. But I still hadno “Girlfriend”. I thought about asking some of the girls that I know to play along with me. Knowing them however they would think that it was “cute” and take it to mean much more than it did. Plus I didn’t want to be obligated to them. I needed a pro!

I got out the phone book, found what I was looking for, and dialed. “Diamond escort service, hottest girls on da west side, may I help you”? “Yeah, I like need someone to be my girlfriend for an evening” I say. “Sho you do, Don’t we all? What is you looking for” the guy on the other end asked. “No, really. I need someone to ACT like she is my girlfriend”, I say rather defensively trying to justify my call to a house of ill repute. “Look my man, just tell ol’ Dante what it is you be needing and I’ll hook a brother up”. “I need her to be normal looking, pretty and attractive, but normal looking. She has to pass as my girlfriend,” I say. “Um, hmmm, Oh, I hear ya, I hear ya” Dante replies. “Shit we gots those women here too, sho enough,” he says. I stress to him that I want her to be special, not one of the normal working girls. After all, this was my mother and the last thing I needed was some dominatrix chick showing up at the door. Dante assured me all would be cool as he took my credit card number and charged $399.00 on it. He was sure to tell me that all tips would be looked upon as a donation. “What ever” I said, just make she is on time. I gave him the address and checked one more thing off of the list.
The day with Mom wasn’t all bad. I got past the “Your hair looks like crap” and the “You live in this neighborhood?” I even tolerated the “I would love to have some grandbabies before I die” bit. We shopped; she had to make sure I had everything for the special dinner for me and my sweetie. We got back to my place and I carried all of the bags inside. I looked at the time. I had an hour until Ms. Right showed up. I needed to shower. Maybe if I played my cards right I could fool Mom and get a little dessert, if ya know what I mean.

I shower and get dressed. I have about 35 minutes until the show starts. I head downstairs to the smell of some good old fashion cooking and that is when my day took a turn for the worse. Sitting on the couch next to my mother was my date. She was special alright. Sitting next to my mother was a 6’7” 350 pound black man dressed in drag. Imagine Randy Jackson from American idol in a wig. That was who was sitting there. They both notice me and my date says in a Barry White voice, “Hi Honey”. “I can explain” was the first thing out of my mouth. “No need sweetie, I told Mom all about us” the over weight Rupal says. I approach, pleaing to my mother that it is not what it looks like and my date stands, towering over me and gives me a big bear hug. My mother sits there and smiles, as she is truly happy. I cringe. This has to be a dream I keep thinking to myself. My date sits me down on the couch between her, or him and my Mom. My mother turns and says to me “Michael my dear, you should have told me. This explains what we all have suspected for years”. What in the hell is she talking about I think. “Honey, it is OK. Get out of that broom closet my baby boy, it’s OK to be gay,” she says with a tear of joy in her eye.

We ate dinner and afterwards John Coffee and my mother sipped tea while my Mom shared stories about me growing up.

Mycomputer’s been fucked up. The night before last, I tried to shut it down and it rebooted, so before it could fully load I just shut off the power source and went to bed.
Then yesterday when I tried to load it up, nothing would work right. My account wouldn’t work at all, and when I logged into the other account, every time I tried to connect to the internet, it would reboot all by itself. Scary, really.

So I ran all my anti-virus software and shit (that’s really the only precaution I take; I bet I have so much spyware that even my spyware has spyware) and it didn’t find anything. I was freaking out; I didn’t want to have to have someone come in here and try to fix it, and maybe find some…uh…”inappropriate” items on my hard drive or in my cache or cookies or whatever.
Today I came home from work, dropped my pants (just making sure you guys were paying attention) and booted up the computer. “Please, God, let there be FIXEDNESS!”
It worked! I got three error messages, saying, “Windows has recovered from a major error” or something like that, and I was like, “No shit, dumbass,” but other than that, everything’s fine in Wacko Jacko World.

Roaches

Before I began to post today, I decided that I would go read some of my favorite Bloggers. This is always a daunting task as you start one place and through the comments and links, you end up lost. There is no Blog GPS so you begin to wonder where it was that you started.

The reason I am posting this today is, while I was out there in Blog land I have noticed a trend. A trend where people are bashing other people and saying some of the rudest crap. What is even trendier is to do it under an anonymous disguise. To me this is just chicken shit, cowardly, and childish. You have people that are being “Anti” or “Hater” personas of the original blogger. Can there be that many uninspired, bored people out there with nothing to say of their own. Blogging is fun and a creative avenue, but to take someone else’s creativity, thoughts or ideas and bash them for attention is something I can not relate to. Some could argue that by doing this they too are expressing their creativity or emotions. But I for one find it senseless, cruel, and offensive. It really takes the fun out of the whole blog experience. Steph says it best, “it’s really easy to talk shit when you can be anonymous”. What can be done about it? Not a thing. We live in a country where we are free. The internet is a portal into many homes, many lives and much more. But what we can do is ignore these pathetic bastards and not give them the attention they need to survive here. Those are my thoughts. If you want to read some very GOOD blogs by great bloggers check out the ones on the left. If yours isn’t up there, let me know and I will get it there.
Peace Out!

HNT and an Observation

It is that time again, HNT. I didn’t know what part to post so I opted to start at the bottom and every week work my way up.







Today I drove through the ATM thingy and saw that there was brail on the ATM machine. How many blind customers do they get?

OK Ladies, a Question...

If you were talking to a hot to mild looking guy, hell even an ugly one, and while you were talking to him, you notice a bulge in his pants with an obvious hard on, would you look?
My guess is yes, as it would be a normal reaction. Right? Then why is it that when a chick’s nipples get hard and are noticeable through her clothing is it offensive for me to look?
Today there was a client in and she was pretty, not gorgeous like Anika, or Blondie or the other female visitors, but OK. She was going through the motions of “Thinking out side of the box”, “Getting everyone on the same page”, and “leveraging” when I notice that her nipples are becoming erect. Now, I know that it is not cold and wonder if her talking in such a matter got her excited or worked up. She continues on and I do my best not to stare, but now they are the size of a number 2 pencil eraser. As she is talking, I am trying to guess how many hangers I could hang on each nipple (then I got into this whole nipple Olympics scenario in my mind). All of a sudden, there was a pause, which snapped my out of my daydream and back to reality. She says, “I would really appreciate it if you would look at me and not my breast”. I fought off the urge to say, “I wish that you would take off your top so we could see just how many hangers would fit on each nipple”. But instead, I acted like I didn’t know what she was talking about. She copped a tude from there on out and I was glad to see her bitchy ass go. But I was saddened that the nipples had to leave with her.
So am I a pig? I know that she had no control over the nipples, actually, they seemed to have a mind of their own, but I wasn’t staring. I took the occasional glance, but the fact that I was preoccupied had nothing to do with the nips. She was boring.
Lets hear it!

TUNE IN

In case you haven’t seen the icon, we have become part of the HNT (Half Naked Thursday). Now, I know I will be posting a picture of some body part. I can not speak for Jack, but I will do my best to get him involved as well. Also, since I have your attention, Michael of “Is it Mike or Michael” has left the building. I have asked Jack to take his place. So we are left with a dilemma. Do we change the name? If yes, to what? We are asking for suggestions. Lastly, we would like to thank each and every one of you. Your comments make me laugh my ass off. This is what Blogging is supposed to be. An interaction! We love all of your blogs as well. If you do not see your blog listed on the side, let us know. We’ll get it there.