How I Blew My Wad....

Whole Foods Market

I recently acquired a new habit.  It is far better than some of my other habits, yet I still think that eventually it could lead to a path of destruction.  I hang out at Whole Foods. 

I know that it sounds benine, but I think that it could become a real issue.  Why?  I have actually started liking the other shoppers.  Instead of shaking my head with disdain whenever I see a scraggly bearded gent looking at their selection of Alpaca wool hats, I am now going over and looking at the hats with him and yes even trying some of them on, hoping in the back of my mind that Lee Harvey Oswald would remove the hat from my head for me with a bullet.

Some of you may be saying something like... "Well, Jess that was an isolated incident and I think your self esteem may be a bit low if you really wish that Oswald would remove the Alpaca wool hat, and besides you must not be to up to date on your history, everyone knows that Oswald was killed in prison while being gang raped by a small band of Fraternity Brothers who were doing time for jaywlking."  OK, well perhaps I was being a bit of a silly goose and over reacting a tid bit.  But if this next example doesn't floor you and bring all of you over to my side of the fence then I don't know what will. 

I have started liking their food. 

It shocks me as much as anyone believe me, it does. I stopped in the other night for their annual "Taste of the Holidays" food sampler and wine tasting.  I don't drink so, I had considerably shorter lines getting to the tasty holiday morsels such as Tofurkey(Believe it or not it was really good), pecan brie eclairs, and chocolate covered strawberries, it is official I am losing my mind.  I not only ate their food, I socialized with several women that I am quite sure who's armpits last saw a razor during the first Bush administration and that was only because they were forced to shave them after being arrested for chaining themselves to the oak tree in Washington Park because "It looked cool Maaaaaaan." 

I must need to start dating again or at least find a good non-reputable masseuse.

Some of you may be saying something like "Why is this not a good habit Jess?  You are eating healthier and it sounds like you are making new friends."

To that I say... "Uh, well, uh, but they don't shower ick."

People, Fucking People...

I returned to my home (houseboat) from a two week trip. My job the one that I will not blog about here requires extensive travel. All I wanted to do was relax. I walk down the dock bag over my shoulder feeling better already. I notice my jackball buddy who has a boat three slips down standing on the sidewalk wearing (the absolutely greatest ensemble ever put together) a Grateful Dead t-shirt, cut-offs, an old worn out cowboy and cowboy boots with dress socks sticking out the tops grinning at me like a cheschire cat. I thought to myself '' well fuck, so much for serenity.'' I made quick conversation and hastily returned to my boat. I started cleaning up and what do I discover laying on my kitchen floor? A pair of grey french cut bikini briefs. I am not sure who they belonged to. I have the feeling that they must belong to Jackball but one never knows for sure, they may have belonged to Jackball's doozy of a girfriend who I call ''Six Bagger.'' I picked them up using the blade end of a butterknife and seriously considered dousing them in tiki torch oil and setting them aflame before hoisting them onto the bow of his boat but instead I lightly threw them back onto his boat.

Several questions have arisen since this incident.

1. Who belongs to these skimpy numbers? It certainly wasn't me I am a boxer man.

2. If they are Jackball's why did he have them off in my boat?

3. If they aren't Jackball's then who's are they?

4. What the fuck is wrong with people?

Strange Thing

I was in Phoenix this past weekend and I saw or actually heard the damndest thing of my life. 

They censor music at a strip club.  Yes, my friends they beep out the curse words in music played at certain strip clubs.  I know that they checked my id to get in the door, where there was more silicone than the whole San Jose California area (Did I mention that I love silicone?) yet, they do not want my delicate ears to hear the occasional ''fuck'' in a Greenday song. 

My stupid mind would not let it go.  I sat and listened for beeps, dancers would come by and attempt to talk to me and I would shush them because I absolutely had to hear Jay-Z say that he had 99 problems but a BEEP aint one.

All in all a dull evening in which my people pleasing dullard personality spent $60.00 on lap dances from a girl named Laura who I was afraid to offend by saying no to another dance even though she did nothing for me.    

s ss s  s s i