PIZZA

Man, I thought I was so cool last night.

I went over to Drew’s to watch Survivor, and we decided to order a pizza. Now, a couple weeks ago, we had ordered pizza, and I made a mental note of the toppings Drew liked: eggplant, onion and mushroom. I picked up the phone to order and asked him if that’s what he wanted again. “So, Drew, should we get your usual? Eggplant, mushroom and onion?” He was impressed with my memory (which — and he doesn’t know this yet — is usually terrible), and I scored some big points. Go, Jerry, go!

But he didn’t feel like having the same thing again and just yelled to me from the bedroom, where he was changing out of his work clothes, to get whatever I wanted. So I ordered my usual: ground beef and onion.

What I forgot was this: Drew doesn’t eat red meat.

Oops.

So when he opened the box 30-45 minutes later and saw the dead cow all over our pie, he got sad. So much for all the points I scored.

He ate the pizza anyway (well, one piece at least), picking off the beef bit by bit. It clearly disgusted him, but obviously, he didn’t want me to feel bad.

So in the end, he scored big points with me, and I came out about even.

I just had another faceoff against my arch-rival, the evil Starbucks Jerkwad. Now, first of all, I don’t drink coffee and like all good people, I resist the colonization of our world by the Starbucks Empire and its minions. So I only go to Starbucks when my boss absolutely forces me, which is degrading enough. Imagine how much I hate having to walk in there and be harrassed by Starbucks Jerkwad. Lest you get the wrong impression, the man I refer to as Starbucks Jerkwad is not a nice guy.

See, a few months ago, I was having a bad day, made worse by having to trudge over to Starbucks for my lousy boss, so I walk into the place distracted and in a bad mood and get in the really long line to wait to place an order for a coffee I don’t even want. As I’m waiting, Starbucks Jerkwad opens the other register at the far end of the counter and starts quietly saying, “Next! Next!” in a really loud place of business. Not a good way to get people’s attention. Yet somehow in his mind, when I fail to hear him, I’m the dumb one. I’m sure I was staring into space, looking like the big goofball that I am as I dreamed of happier times in happier coffee shops. I’m sure I looked a bit out of it. So he shouts at me, “Hello! Sir!” He’s getting annoyed, see. Fine, whatever. But when I go over to give him my order, he just stares at me and says, “Are you okay?” Now, genuine concern would be one thing. If he were really trying to intervene with a troubled young man and set him on a better path in life, he would be Starbucks Samaritan. But believe me when I say that was not what he was doing. He then proceded to complete my order as if he had already tripped a silent alarm and the men in white coats were on their way to pick me up.

And if it had ended there, that would’ve been fine. But I’ve ended up having to deal with him at Starbucks two more times since then, and each time, he’s greeted me with “Are you okay?” It’s his little running joke, see. He thinks it’s hilarious. I’m the crazy guy he like to ridicule. So picture me, every time I go back to Starbucks, snapping into my full-on Adam Sandler Punch-Drunk Love simmering rage mode, coming up with comeback lines designed to mash this guy into the dirt. Ooh, for so long I’ve been just begging for a rematch. I will not lose a battle of wits to Starbucks Jerkwad.

So imagine how happy I was to see him when I walked in today. “We meet again, SJ,” I thought. “We meet again…” I waited patiently as another woman took my order and then passed the cup over to SJ, who still hadn’t seen me, so he could fill that cup with a double-shot nonfat capuccino for my lousy boss. And my mind started churning away. “Yeah, I’m okay, but you’re an ASSHOLE!” No, that’s lame. “Actually, I think I’m gonna be sick from lookin’ at your ass face, jerkwad!” God, what is this, junior high? How ’bout just “I think it’s time for a new line, pal. That one’s getting old.” Yeah, that’s it. Not too clever, but it’s taking the high road. Besides, there wasn’t time to come up with anything better. He was putting the lid on my boss’ coffee, and I needed to settle on a line.

“Jerry!” he called out, sliding my cup across the counter.

He looked up and saw me coming, and I waited for that inevitable obnoxious running joke of his, ready to shoot out my preforumlated response as though I haven’t been waiting for this moment for the last three weeks — my heart pounding, my head full of doubt about whether I had selected the best retort. “Nonfat double cap?” he said.

“Yeah.” I picked up the cup. And then he turned around and started making the next person’s coffee.

“Thanks,” I said. And I turned around and left Starbucks, pausing briefly to hold the door for an old Japanese woman in a shawl.

Say what you want. I think I won this round.

The score:

Jerry: 1

Starbucks Jerkwad: 3

My blog, Day 2.

Does anybody read this thing????

No, of course not. I haven’t told anyone about it yet. I want to make sure I don’t abandon it after a few days, as I probably will, and then hear everybody say, “You never follow through with anything, Jerry.” Nah, my friends wouldn’t say that. They’re okay. They’d just think this blog was lame. And they’re right. I don’t know how to do a fucking blog.

Here’s the update on my tennis league, as I promised yesterday: I won! Hooray! I didn’t play very well, though. The guy I played wasn’t very good (I’m just sayin’…), and I only won 6-3. I play much better when I play people better than I am. When I play people worse, I feel bad beating them, so I don’t play my best. I know that sounds stupid, but it’s true. I’m a strange one, I sure am. How come good people never feel bad beating me when they play me? They usually kick my ass.

I’m happy with the American Idol results last night. Clay, Kimberly and Trenyce all advanced, as I’d hoped and predicted. Carmen was a shocker, and honestly, I don’t think the girl will last very long (but being the only one singing country might help her for a few rounds).

Drew came over, and I made him watch AI with me, even though he doesn’t like the show. Oh, what a mean, mean jerk I am to make him watch a show he doesn’t want to watch when he just needed me to cheer him up after a bad day at work. Boo-hoo. Look, don’t feel bad for Drew! He made me watch Alias. Stinker. Besides, the boy knows Paula Abdul, so he SHOULD be watching. Drew has meetings with Paula and has to fake his way through them. “Oh, Paula, I LOVED the show last night! That thing that you said to that guy… you were right on! And way to tell Simon off! I totally agreed with you about the comment he made about that girl!”

Can you believe that? Man, if I had a meeting with Paula, I would have SO MUCH to say to her. I’d probably barrage her with questions for three hours straight on MC Skat Kat alone. Drew stinks, he really does. All that access to Paula and nothing to say. Stinker.

I have my tennis league tonight. I’m just saying that because then I can post an update tomorrow. Will I win or lose? Right now, I don’t know. I’ve lost the last two weeks, which stinks. I could really use a win at this point.

Man, three entries in one day! That’s a new record for me.

I’ll bet that record stands for a long time.

I always kinda thought this blogging stuff was for people with too much time on their hands. Well, I’ve finally accepted that I, Jerry, have too much time on my hands.

Welcome to my blog.

This is where I’ll write all my deep personal secrets, or maybe I’ll just complain about a bunch of junk that happened to me or what’s going on in the world these days, as if anybody cares. You don’t like it? Get your own damn blog! Sheesh, I just started this thing, lay off!

I’m at work right now. The mail woman just picked up the afternoon mail from the outbox on my desk. People are talking down the hall. I have no work to complete at the moment. Man, this is gonna be one boring blog.

Okay, let’s talk American Idol. How good was it last night? I thought it’d start to suck right after the early rounds when all the funny bad people were on. But there’s so much drama watching kids who are good, but just not always good enough. I’m happy for Clay, who’s obviously a shoo-in for a wildcard slot. Ditto Trenyce, who I thought should’ve been picked the first time she performed. I hope Kimberly makes it, too. The judges have been hard on her, but she’s a good singer. The judges have been really hard on everyone, I think. Nobody last night was terrible, but from the way the judges tore a couple of them up, you’d think they were. As for the fourth wildcard spot, I don’t know who it’ll be and really don’t care too much. I have enough people to root for. This year’s group is gonna be a lot better than last year’s. I can’t wait!

Yes, I care about these kinds of things. If you don’t like it, I’ll refer you to paragraph 3.

“Man, it’s only his first entry, and already this guy’s so defensive.” — You

“Shut up, you!” — Me

OK, I’ll stop projecting what I think you’re thinking right now. Let’s put our differences aside and be friends, ‘kay? You’re cool.

I still don’t even know if I’m doing this right, so I’m gonna post what I’ve got to see if it works.