Feng Shui Feeling Limp?

Before you get the sneaky suspicion that I'm becoming some wayward metrosexual, let me preface what I'm about to say by challenging you to the most manly ultimate fight in the history of manly men! {via e-mail}

But first, let me tell you about a dope design firm.

So you want to pimp your palace? Redefine your dull living space? You need some edge in your life? End global warming? Well you need Esther's mega hip help to style and design it for you.

Check out her design firm In Your Space.

If you think I'm wrong, or even slightly fabulous, I will challenge you to a bare-knuckled brawl in the back of a convertible race car, driven by an impossibly hot super model, moving at speeds upwards of 160 mph, on a vast plain in the deserts of West Texas, completing its course on a crazy high ramp that will, shortly after the hot super model chick ejects and rolls to safety, hurl the car and the two of us within it over a cliff and into certain destruction and glory. At the bottom of the canyon, half-dead and mostly on fire, we will claw our way from the smoldering wreckage of the vehicle and begin phase two of the mighty challenge: The dance of mountain lions.

After reading that, I'm allowed to say that I can spot good design, ya heard?

(image source: ffffound)

The Tao of Sarcasm (a variety of topics)

::In an effort to explore the splendors of the lowest form of communication I've skillfully taken the following topics to the stratosphere of sarcastic grandeur: Hot weather, memory foam beds, empty wallets, and cold feet. The literary devices of hyperbole and imagery should enhance your perusal of this highly contemptible and derisive form of blogging, but it could also prove to be a situation of apparently unending awfulness as adult sea lions defecate on your eye balls and make mating calls in your ears::

Memory Foam Beds
So here's the thing with memory foam beds. They don't exactly remember what happened the night before. How do I know this you ask? Well, I'm 5'10, but every night I get into my bed and snuggle up to my girlfriend, there's an impression of Lebron James in my foam mattress bed. I don't like to jump to conclusions, so I postulated that maybe I grow 10 feet in my sleep, or perhaps first impressions really do last and he was the first person to lay on that demo bed in the store. Besides, my girlfriend is a Kobe fan. It's a really comfortable bed, and it's suitable for a King, but why would Lebron be in my bed? I don't like the idea of having to fill size 22 shoes. I don't know how to approach my girlfriend, with tact about this. I bet the wine glass spilled when she was jumping on it (unlike the advertisement suggests) and my memory foam mattress drunk dialed Lebron when my girlfriend left. Yea, this is clearly what happened. Problem solved.

My Tape Player Eats Children
This statement is loosely bound by actual cassette tape ribbon, since it's more accurate to say my tape player eats your face.

I Wish It Was Hot
The mercury climbs to 117 degrees outside and the heat creates a thick blanket of suffocating discomfort that some might consider murderous. Nonsense! My skin begins to mildly sizzle and that's just its way of subtly whispering to me that the stove's on low heat. Turn it up please. I sweat profusely within seconds. My jeans cling to my thighs and I begin generating Olympic size pool rings of sweat under my armpits. I love that! Girls do too. I wish it was hotter though. This is the only condition where I ever feel relief from the mild weather two months out of the year. The hotter the more soothing, duh. It's not hot enough. I want to grimace and melt as I walk to my car. I want to pass out like a bum in his own pool of urine. The feline like sun, ducking and hiding behind the clouds all hours of the day needs to bring it! Such a pussy. It's never hot enough during the summer. Why can't I get heat exhaustion and welcome dehydration more regularly? Is this too much to ask? I hate that my entire summer wardrobe is so Icelandic. I never have the opportunity to wear shorts because it's too frigid! I wonder if people would think I'm weird if I ate ice cream, since it's not even hot outside.

Cold Feet
So I was at a wedding last week and it was in the Arctic circle. I was walking on ice. Sure, you might call it a themed wedding, since no one was wearing shoes on the frozen ground and the ring bearer was a penguin. It was kinda cold, and no doubt, my toes wanted to curl up with a book next to a fire. My feet are happiest when on ice though, like Disney. I just wanna dance! But then this old lady next to me asked when I was getting married. I was bothered by a crippling fear of the dance floor after she posed this question. I felt like all the girls were checking out my feet. The penguins looked like they were having so much fun, spilling and sliding all over the ice though. All I wanted to do was the electric slide, but I was too scared. No more happy feet. I put on some socks I found laying around and everyone scoffed at me, like I was some ultimate party pooper or something. Instantly, my feet were burning and itching. I had acquired athletes foot. Score. Cold to hot in a heartbeat.

Empty Wallets
I can safely say there is nothing more enjoyable in life than reaching in to your pockets, pulling them inside out, and discarding the lint as you shrug your shoulders while realizing the balance of your bank account is equal to that of your 2-year-old niece. The sky's the limit! What are you going to do with all that money? Buy a handful of chicklets? Flick it into a fountain and wish for more? Invest in a postage stamp so you can write a letter to your congressman about the perils of being broke? Or simply ask your niece for some money.

A Caffeine Inspired Memo to Thursday Morning, Courtesy of Devastatin' Dave

I opened my laptop, glazed over my agenda for the day with the similar tenacity of hardened gum glued beneath a table, loosening up at a glacial pace. I yawned, inhaled life and choked on the idea of actually putting forth an effort in being productive.

But then this strange thing happened. I gulped 32 ounces of iced coffee in less than 30 seconds. And my life changed for the better. Here's how it went down ...

Everything went blurry.



And then he spoke to me ...

Devastatin' Dave: Yo Yo Yo JJ! It's 1986, look at your Casio watch because it's about that time to get yo butt in gear. Get yo swagger back! Karate chop yo desk wit yo forehead and get outta robot mode! Don't talk at that library volume either, bitch!

Me: Whoa, Devastatin' Dave. Is it really you?

Devastatin' Dave: Fool, it ain't Mr. T! Stop bein' lazy chump. We gonna put yo slow morning into high mutha' lovin' gear! You ready to get thangs done or what?

Me: No. Sorry ... Dave.

::SLAP TO THE FACE::

Me: Owww! Why'd you just slap me Dave?

Devastatin' Dave: Don't ever call me Dave again. It's Devastatin' Dave. And you just drank enough coffee to energize a Soul Train dummy.

Me: You're right! Now that you mention it. I feel like I can do anything. Build a cake! Improvisational theater! Call my bank to complain about fees! Sharpen 7,000 pencils or learn quantum physics backwards! I'm so excited! Remember that episode of Saved by the Bell where ...

Devastatin' Dave: Yo, chill JJ. You gettin' carried away. We gonna start small. First task I have for you is to act a fool. Get loose. Exercise yo facial muscles and gnaw on yo damn fingers while tapping a pen really fast.



Me: Like this?

::Looks barely human::

Devastatin' Dave: Good. Now I want you to grab the attention of someone near you and spark up a conversation about aardvarks and salary. At the same time tackle yo work tasks like you were an NFL linebacker and think about what ya gonna have for lunch. In the same frame of thought, make a doodle drawing and look up the meaning of life online. One second after you start this, interrupt the one-way conversation about aardvarks and introduce lemurs and ice cream. Proceed to download music while making a phone call. It's called multitasking. Embrace it JJ.

Me: Wow! Look! I'm doing it! I'm being productive!

Devastatin' Dave: ZIP! ZAP! RAP! Got you hooked now fool!

Me: I don't know why I never drank coffee like this before!?!? I wonder where I would be today if I had started drinking coffee earlier? It doesn't matter, I live in the now, now! Let's rap about Trapper Keepers!



Devastatin' Dave: Yo JJ, that thing you do in front of the mirror in your room, when you try and rhyme words ... don't ever do that in public.

Me: Yo Bridget! Got this coffee/I feel like Super Mario/Oops I mean Wario/I like jell-o with my pancakes/Hello, with my handshakes/I'm wearing Jordache jean Jamz so rad you think I'm bad/ Not like Michael Jackson/More like Alf sniffing cat poo-poo. Word. Put that in your trapper keeper, fo life! Yo!

::Coffee causes me to write without thinking::

A Bored Librarian Reviews My Mustache Via Twitter

::A librarian makes observations of my mustache via Twitter. She compares the endeavor to a more spicy day at work::

It's gross and amazing mixed together.

about 30 seconds ago from Web

Up close his mustache looks like two starved mutant leeches mating on his upper lip. Ewww. The mustache explains everything.

about a minute ago from Web

I wish the creepy guy didn't have a mustache. It kinda makes me want to grab life by the handlebars though LOL.

about 2 minutes ago from Web

It's so bad though. I wonder if I'm out of place to kindly ask him to shave it off? He clearly can not grow a manly lip sweater.

about 2.5 minutes ago from Web

I want him. Bad.

about 3 minutes from Web

When people ask what I do at work, I can tell them I help blandly handsome boys grow into men, and fantasize about mustaches. j/k. How can I not like this job?

about 3 minutes ago from Web

The creepy guy just asked me where I can find books on how to groom mustaches. And did the tootsie roll for me!

about 5 minutes ago from Web

He's walking this way. OMG!

about 6 minutes ago from Web

Why is he still there with giant headphones on? Standing and waiting. ???

about 10 minutes ago from Web

So that guy looks totally sketchy hanging outside the women's restroom. He's wearing above-the-knee white shorts and knee high socks. He's waving at me. Creepy.

about 4 hours ago from Web

I think a man sprayed down the stall with cheap cologne to cover up the smell of his crap; it's hard to say which smells worse.

about 5 hours ago from Web

A woman just complained about an awful smell. She said it's ruining her YouTube watching experience.

About 5 hours ago from Web

Turns out that same guy is practicing his Dirty Hairy impersonations out loud, whilst rubbing his nipples.

about 5 hours ago from Web

Woman complained to me that a man wearing white shorts is bothering library patrons

about 5 hours ago from Web

Diana never texts back; apparently she's not impressed with the observation.

about 7 hours ago from Web

Must text Diana that David Hasselhoff is in the heeeeezy.

about 7 hours ago from Web

What do I do? It's a little exciting, I must admit.

about 7 hours from Web

Just called off security because I told them it's nothing to worry about. {I'm a little turned on}.

about 7 hours ago from Web

He totally is! And he's blowing kisses to her in the U.S. history section

about 7 hours ago from Web

OMG! Is that guy sitting on top of the table and making tiger claw motions in the air to her?

about 7 hours ago from Web

A gross guy with a mustache just walked in. He moon walked across the floor and winked at me.

about 8 hours ago

I love how the highlight of my day is reorganizing books and speaking at a low whisper all day.

about 8 hours ago from Web

Ode To My Cell Phone From The Future

Dear 2006 flip phone,

I would like to take this moment to thank you for being so overwhelmingly sleek and trendy while always being at the heart of laughter when you surface from my pocket.

You are a rare gem of cutting edge technology that can only be rivaled by a universal remote, since it serves humanity with distinction. You expanded your jurisdiction to control features that the mind is still incapable of grasping, like texting, taking photos, and constantly searching for a faint signal.

Your sexiness simply astounds me. When I am beginning a conversation and ending one, everyone knows since you make a loud clicking sound and slam shut with the integrity of a brick. Many times I have been with you, in public, proud to show the world the latest and greatest in technology, and people stare in disbelief. I'm pretty sure I am the only person in the world with a phone like you.


You are a smart phone, by the classic definition, not for 3G purposes. Your flashlight application has saved my neck many times in the dark. I still can't believe that you come equipped with a calculator and a two hour battery life!

You bring joy to my conversations. You are timeless. You are even my timepiece. I would wear you on my wrist if it wasn't illegal. (You have not even been released to the public yet). People call me, simply to tell their friends that they had the pleasure of talking to someone with a flip phone, and sure, it hurts my feelings when they call only to do this, but I understand the consequences of being the owner of such an amazing cell phone.

You are the only phone I have ever come in contact with that uses a puppy whimper ring tone when you are set to vibrate. Not because you came in contact with water or anything, but because there's nothing that suggests a subtle alert like a puppy crying.

Zack Morris endorsed you years ago, because he too came in contact with the phone from the future. Blackberries cringe in terror at your very sight and secede to defeat. They simply can not compete with you, flip phone. It is said that when iPhones are in your company, they keel over and die, effectively becoming bricks because your wavelength is overbearing. I will never forget that time I made that universal phone call to the Bulgaria and I carried a conversation with someone in a ruinous apartment, underground and hundreds of miles from a cell tower.

The best thing about you, flip phone from 2006 though, is that when I sit on you, you don't dial dolphin ninjas from outer space. I hate when that happens.

Sincerely,

JJ

Deep Thoughts About the Deep South

After going on a completely spontaneous road trip through Mississippi, it's only fitting that I consider how Christopher Walken's experience might have been had he been there alongside me. It was a trip without purpose or a destination. It made little sense, but a schizophrenic could easily map it all out.

Conversation Along the Way

Christopher Walken: Mississippi feels like the very first conversation I've ever had. The first time I ever had a real conversation with a woman was in college. I had chatted with girls all through high school. I had exchanged some ideas, but never a full conversation. Then I met Heidi and we started chatting on and off, which was really beneficial and detached.

One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was having my very first conversation. We had quite a few conversations after that, although at first I was insecure about my ability to converse. But then it came naturally to me and I was lasting longer during conversation. I was finally able to satisfy girls' desires to have conversations when I gently stroked serious subject matter with a soft touch. I knew all the right things to talk about to drive a girl crazy. I became a fiend for it. I was enjoying an amazing variety of conversational topics, so I didn't care. And I started conversing with other girls. And then Heidi wished she had never talked to me after that.

Ever since then, it's been short meaningless conversation after the other. And that's what Mississippi is like. A conversation with a beautiful woman who wants you to commit and stay. Don't just drive through. I want to continue this conversation JJ.

Me: Wow. That's quite the analogy. By conversation you're referring to something else, right?

Christopher Walken: No. What else would I possibly be referring to? So anyways, did you know that the question mark is originally from an Egyptian hieroglyph that represents a cat walking away? It's the tail, you know. And that symbol means — well, whatever it is when they're ignoring you. You completely ignored me during our conversation.

Me: Sorry. I was listening, but just didn't catch what you were saying.

Bubble Gum and Fried Chicken

Christopher Walken: You know, I love Mississippi. The people are nice. And they chew bubble gum religiously. I respect that. It means they have something to chew on. It also means they are not sinister and this is because of the gum. I have perfected the art of the bad guy in film and I have never entertained chewing bubble gum because it would devastate any chance I had making you crap your pants in terror.

Me: You always chew gum though.

Christopher Walken: Yes, but are you attempting to make a valid point?

Me: Nope.

Christopher Walken: And this fried chicken thing. I feel if Mark Twain were alive, he'd write a memoir about how overrated it is, since everything in the south is fried. I could tap-dance with any plate of food in the south. But don' tell me something is fact. I take an active disinterest in facts. Chicken Fried Steak is actually beef. This is not a fact. It really depends on how you say it, whether comically, tragically, and in every conceivable ethnic accent. I am terribly tempted to club a baby seal and deep fry it.

Bible Belt and Pants

Christopher Walken: I like suspenders. But being in the bible belt here in the south makes me feel like letting loose and letting my trousers hang down to my ankles.

Me: Why are you taking your pants off in the car?

Christopher Walken: Son, just trust the process. It's not healthy to always wear a belt. Or question your elders for that matter. Sometimes you have to just let loose. Even the Bible belt region. Unbutton the top button, unzip your pants. Have fun. Ahh! Much better. This is what I love about the south.

Me: Can you put your pants back on?

::Christopher Walken blankly stares at me in response to my request, without the slightest hesitation, and he fixes his gaze at me in disgust. He continues this for the next three hours without flinching or looking away::

Likely Responses To Unlikely Questions

::The following are scenarios that are loosely based on fact::

Infamous Excuses

Question:"Hey, JJ, you didn't come out yesterday. It was fun. What were you doing instead? Watching reruns of 90210?"

Answer:Yes, actually. I was. I was also filing my finger nails, eating Luna bars, writing in my journal, counting calories, scheduling months in advance, shopping for tampons online, and sewing an elaborate quilt adorned with the face of Luke Perry.

Bad Impersonations

A Doctor: Snap! You may have developed skin cancer.

Me: You want to talk to the Macho Man about his skin? Brother, you want to tell the Macho Man that the years of tanning and oiling his body so that each muscle would glisten under the arena light has made him an excellent candidate for skin cancer? The Macho Man has discovered the cure for cancer, and it is being 100 percent macho all the time. And SNAP INTO A SLIM JIM! OH-YEAH!

I Swear That Was You

Question: Were you on the back seat of another man's motorcycle the other day? I know it was you JJ.

Answer: Impossible. Unless there are three dudes on a motorbike, or it's a pink scooter with little room for dignity, then it likely wasn't me. Oh - are you sure it wasn't me riding a tandem bike with one of my dudebros? That's simply how hambros roll, brah!

Making A Statement As A Sandwich Artist

Question: Oh - I see. So you're like a starving artist now?

Me: Negative amigo. First of all I work in Subway. Second, this work of mine is called Sunset, though any sense of peacefulness that it conveys is ironic. I think I’ve made it obvious that the rows of roast beef are a satirical comment. The splash of honey mustard between the lettuce and meats explores that middle ground where cosmic destiny and human will collide. I’ve been trying to push myself with new textures and colors. I love the way the meat has a sort of iridescence that dances across its surface like the dusk-red sun atop the stippled sea.

O.C.D. On The Road

Beautiful Girl: It's so fun riding with you in your car JJ!

Me: Get your dirty paws and feet off my dashboard you damn ape or get out of my car.

Being That Guy

Question: Yo, JJ, Why you illin' B?

Me: I feel fine. My temperature is at a healthy 98.6 degrees and I exercise regularly, thank you very much. I suspect your discomfort with me stems from the fact that I am the only white guy in your rap group. Geez K-Pain, relax. Care to play hop-scotch?

Who You Gonna Call

Question: JJ, so who are you gonna drunk dial?

Me: Church. I'm going to drunk dial a church. And I'll ask if they have any peanut butter chicken with mustard bean pie. Do you think nuns answer? I think nuns secretly operate 1-900 numbers. This is the best idea I've ever had!

Washing Away The Guilt

Question: Dude, is that David Hasselhoff over there?

Me: It is. This is the happiest moment of my life. I'm going in closer to touch him.

::I'm taking a massively mini vacation to the deep south, but I'll try to update this blog on the road::