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…I don’t know what does.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
May your day be filled with kisses, hugs, cheese and squirrels!
Love,
the Seal
Today’s post is a simple cut and paste from an ad on craigslist, which is not how I roll, but for no reason in particular I am reaching a bit more than usual to smile today and this always does the trick. The ad does carry a bit of a risk to offend but I’m telling you, it’s funny, it’s my favorite ad ever and it makes me smile.
Enjoy.
Manly Bike for Sale
Bike for sale
What kind of bike? I don’t know, I’m not a bike scientist. What I am though is a manly guy looking to sell his bike. This bike is made out of metal and kick ass spokes. The back reflector was taken off, but if you think that deters me from riding at night, you’re way wrong. I practiced ninja training in Japan’s mount Fuji for 5 years and the first rule they teach about ninja biking is that back reflectors let the enemy know where you are. Not having a rear reflector is like saying “FUCK YOU CAR, JUST TRY AND FIND ME”.
The bike says Giant on the side because it’s referring to my junk, but rest assured even if you have tiny junk that Giant advertisement is going to remain right where it is. I bought this bike for 300 dollars from a retired mercenary that fought in both World War 1 and World War 2 and had his right arm bitten off by a shark in the Phillipines while stationed there as a shark handler. When he sold it to me I had to arm wrestle him for the honor to buy it. I broke his arm in 7 places when I did. He was so impressed with me he offered me to be his son but I thought that was sissy shit so I said no way.
The bike has some rusted screws, but that just shows how much of a bad ass you are. Everyone knows rusted screws on a bike means that you probably drove it underwater and that’s bad ass in itself. Those screws can be replaced with shiny new ones, but if you’re going to go to that trouble why not just punch yourself in the balls since you’re probably a dickless lizard who doesn’t like to look intimidating.
The bike is for men because the seat is flat or some shit and not shaped like a dildo. If you like flat seated bikes you’re going to love this thing because it doesn’t try to penetrate your ass or anything.
I’ve topped out at 75 miles per hour on this uphill but if you’re just a regular man you’ll probably top it out at 10 miles per hour. This thing is listed as a street bike which is man-code for bike tank. The bike has 7 speeds in total:
Gear 1 – Sissy Gear
Gear 2 – Less Sissy Gear
Gear 3 – Least Sissy Gear
Gear 4 – Boy Gear
Gear 5 – Pre-teen Boy Gear
Gear 6 – Manly Gear
Gear 7 – Big Muscles Gear
I only like gear 6 and 7 to be honest.
Additionally, this tool of all immense men comes with a gigantic lock to keep it secure. The lock is the size of a bull’s testicles and tells people you don’t fuck around with locking up your bike tank. It tells would-be-thieves “Hey asshole, touch this bike and I’ll appear from the bushes ready to club you with a two-by-four”.
Bike is for 150 OBO
Some of my favorite bloggers do this now and then and I always like it. They post a photo of themselves right in the moment they are in. So, this is me, or more accurately, where I’m standing, right this very second.
A few days ago I got a fabulously flattering email from the teacher that watches over my sweet little GSA kiddos at my old high school in Smallmindednowhereville. And by popular gay demand, the kiddos asked this teacher to ask me if I would attend another meeting, specifically their next meeting …it is a bit of late notice, but is this Tuesday an option?
I must have waited over an entire hour to respond, you know, so not to look desperate or anything and emailed, “Yes. Yes. Yes. I will be there! See you then. Thanks!”
So, tomorrow morning, I will hit the road, cross state lines and once again show up to a haunted old high school to spend an hour with some of the most remarkable folks under the age of 18 that I have ever been so lucky to meet. The topic of their meeting this week? “Coming out.” Right. Simple. Easy. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.
I will keep you posted, of course, like I do.
Violet, the Seal, Violet’s folks and I are on the road, crossing state lines, singing songs and eating holiday cookies. How gay and merry, no?
I have already spent a few days with my family and love them, I do, but this time with Violet’s family feels quite nice and relaxing.
This is a two day adventure to our destination meaning Violet and I will suck up as much bad cable television as possible tonight in whatever hotel will let the Seal in. Hopefully this will include the Real Housewives of Anywhere and, of course, the Golden Girls. I feel good about the prospects. I feel good about this trip in general.
Violet’s present is wrapped and after it is unwrapped I will let folks know where the inspiration came from. And by ‘inspiration’ I mean my gift is fine but not nearly as creative as the ideas y’all came up with. Thanks again for all of your help with that.
So, ok, first… YOU ALL ROCK MY SOCKS!
Thank you SO much, all of you, commentors, tweeters, emailers, for being so willing to share your ideas with me and for being so unbelievably creative and filling me up with some serious inspiration. You have saved Violet from another $12 chocolate bar from the local co-op and an earth friendly card- and I promise you, she will appreciate you later, when I tell her the truth: I love you, but it was actually my blog who got you this gift.
Seriously! The ideas are just so creative!
The contest post was a late night last minute freak out (could you tell?) and I feel so lucky, SO LUCKY, once again, like I often do, to have this space, where folks like you show up. You all make my heart pitter patter.
I will keep you posted on what I end up doing… eventually (should probably show Violet first, right? Be patient, this is about her after all.) And someone, or a few of you, should really start thinking about your favorite Cher song OR your Cherday idea (doesn’t have to be Cher so long as Cher is involved in some round about way) OR what my fabulous dog, the Seal, might balance on her head… just for you.
Thanks all,
jesse james
Just a quick note: I am once again simply, justlikejessejames.com (that is to say, no need to type ‘wordpress’ to get here. ) Tis’ all.
Several years ago now, I was in France visiting Violet. In France a lot of bathrooms have this strange set up where both men and women walk through the same door only to land in this tiny area that serves as a sort of bathroom-purgatory, if you will. This is the place where the sinks, mirrors and towels are. So, both men and women stand there together while waiting to pee or what-have-you. I found that generally to the left is the womens stall and to the right is the mens. So as it goes, we all stand there, men and women together, waiting for our binary gender appropriate door to open and to then be freed to let us in and be relieved.
So I am in France visiting Violet, looking more masculine than feminine (which is not to say that I think I looked more boy than just me but more than not the French thought I was a guy.) She and I are getting lunch at a cute little bistro and I have to pee. I walk into the French bathroom purgatory area and I wait. Both stalls are busy. I am in this bathroom purgatory with one man. As we wait, in walks a woman.
And then there were three.
A thing I noticed about France (this I learned the hard way again and again): Out in public, women don’t tend to smile at folks they don’t know really. And if a man smiles at a women or vice versa it isn’t unfair to assume they might be flirting a little.
So, I’m in France waiting to pee in the bathroom purgatory with both a man and a women. What I have yet to mention is that when the woman walked in I smiled at her which led her to give me a very awkward and blatant scoff as she turned her whole body away from me. So, either she caught that I am just a stoopeed american girl OR I am crammed in a little room and just accidentally said to some random woman, “Oh, oui!? You like my smile, no?! Well zen… hough hough hough! (that is my impression of a french laugh, it offends Violet to no end.) A second later she mumbled something casual sounding to me in french which led me to respond according to her tone, ” Ah, oui.” And I did what I could to not smile.
At this point, speaking almost no french, I had taught myself how to answer a french question or statement with “oui” or “non” simply by interpreting the inflection of the sentence. I was usually pretty good at guessing correctly.
Maybe it was the bathroom purgatory pressure or maybe I was just doomed to do nothing right, but as that woman looked me right in the eyes and said, “vous la pue de la la de dee da fou le gwagh pa nui hough de le sweegh doo!?!” I had NO idea if I should go with “Oui!” or “Aaaaah, non, non, non!” I went with “oui” again, which was clearly the. wrong. answer.
Next thing I knew a man came out of the mens stall, washed his hands and left. Now there was an empty stall for a man with the three of us staring at the door. And then both the man and woman in purgatory with me looked at me wondering what I was going to do… and so did I!
The purgatory man looked at me, opened the stall door, like a man might do when he’s holding a door for a lady and probably wouldn’t do for another dude that needs to pee, and used his other hand to make the motion of “after you.”
At this point I realized how utterly confused our situation was:
The man that was holding the door for me was there first, so even if I was a guy it was his turn. And clearly he knew this and he knew that I knew this and now I had realized that he knew that I was a girl BUT when this other woman entered our bathroom purgatory both the man and I silently agreed that she clearly thought I was a man and totally mistook my smile for a french, “Hey, how yOu doin? Eh?‘” On top of that, the man that was in the purgatory bathroom before me not only got that I was female and that I was being mistaken for male by an uptight french woman who I had unintentionally flirted with and then answered two of her questions incorrectly BUT he knew I needed some help. SO his reaction was to attempt to save me by giving up his spot in line and escort me into the mens room.
Totally confusing, no?
I gave him an “I don’t know about this” look and he smiled at me and I smiled back while reluctantly walking into the stall. And really, that might have been the record holder for “most innocent smile exchange between the sexes in all of French history.” I walked through his held open door, to which the woman thought nothing of and I peed. Finally.
I walked out of the stall and saw the man that had held the door still waiting, the woman that kind of hated me was now in the womens stall. I stopped, smiled, and held open the door to the mens room for him. We both laughed and as he walked through I said quietly, “Mercy” and through a very thick french accent he said, “You are very welcome, madam.”
I don’t want to be writing this post. But to offer something, which is almost nothing, to my very sweet friend, who I love so dearly and always, so easily, I am writing this post with grand hope and a deep fear of only adding something and not diluting anything by sending this out there. I found out yesterday, that someone very dear to me was killed in a car accident. Just like that. Because that is what life can do. And so, all of a sudden, I am grieving, like we do. And the high potential for all of this to sound generic and common makes me furious and terrified. So, to keep safe as much of what this is for me and for everyone whose heart has suddenly turned to sand, in attempt to protect what is original and precious and irreplaceable and sacred, that I cannot hide, that I cannot protect, that I cannot change or fix, that is all I have to say about that.
It is Cherday, no? Sorry the video isn’t here, the ability to re-post has been protected and I am not willing to settle for something else. You’ll have to take that extra step and click here.
Yes, once again it is Cherday. (Somehow, tracking the week like this really does make Thursday feel like it pops up twice a week.) Anyway, at present I am flying around the house, with the Seal running along side of me wondering what fabulous chasing game we are playing, trying to get my stuff together so not to miss my plane. I have 18 minutes until Violet will start the car and after 4 years together, we have learned to pick our battles. Keeping her waiting is not one I am willing to attempt.
It’s not like NY doesn’t have internet, it’s just that I may or may not have time. But when I get back I promise to give my version to any and every story that hits the net regarding trouble I may or may not have caused.
Until then, Happy Cherday, everyone! Happy Friday-eve.
(Cher doesn’t have a song about Brooklyn, so I am posting this beautiful song by the Avett Btothers that Sinclair found for me.)
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