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Jim Gervitis

Last Updated: 7/1/2009

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Gender: Male
Status: Swinger
Age: 67
Sign: Virgo

City: LOS ANGELES
State: Alabama
Country: US
Signup Date: 11/23/2005

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Friday, April 04, 2008

White-ever

I think the worst possible place for a woman in white pants to sit would be on a plate of Thanksgiving Dinner. You’ve got the brown gravey, the yellow butter, and the red cranberry sauce. The "Triple Crown" if you would. It takes a real daredevil to wear white pants in my opinion. Myself? I’m a stain magnet. Its uncanny. Even if I wear the darkest pants I own I’ll still somehow manage to have white-out and mustard on them when all is said and done. But white? Man I can’t even imagine; a blank canvas on which Mother Nature could paint the picture of my day. They shouldn’t even make white clothing. Tighty whities? Are you kidding me with those things? Whats scarier than wiping your ass with a long-sleeved white dress shirt? Not much.

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Tuesday, March 25, 2008

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

Nor will anything else apparently. Comcast (or Time Warner, or whatever monopolistic cable juggernaut I’m currently at the mercy of, I honestly forget at this point) has been experiencing "outages." This has left the entire street without cable or internet service during March Madness, the one time of year when you rely on them more than ever.

The reason? "Too many people are watching TV." Essentially that’s what their explanation boils down to once you dissolve the sugary coating and scrape off all the bullshit. Something about a thingamajig being "overloaded" or something; honestly I don’t care. I don’t give a damn if the Earth opened up and swallowed Time Warner headquarters; make college basketball players appear on my television and depict them playing basketball with each other.

That’s all I ask; It’s that simple. If the game will not be broadcast in my home, then send a van over to transport me and my brackets to an alternate venue. Thank God that I have a few true blue American friends; good Samaritans who were willing to call and text me with play by play analysis and crucial game updates in my time of need.

Sending some jerk to "check the lines" on Monday night falls short of acceptable. I might add that the guy came, checked the lines, and left; he didn’t actually fix anything! This means I also got to miss the Red Sox historic season opener in Japan (I had set my alarm for 3am this morning)!!!

I decided to offer some valued customer feedback.

What really Bakes my Potatoes is how nonchalant they are; as though this wasn’t the end of the world! This is the cable equivalent of Judgment Day! Fire and Brimstone! Get your act together! According to their own commercials, Cable Theft is a crime, right? So why does Time Warner get to steal cable from me? It is ridiculous.

So in conclusion, if you read this, do me the following service. If you see a cable guy, give him the finger, spit at him, swear at him, throw tomatoes at his truck. Let them hear our voice, unified as one. Let us rise up against the Tyranny that is Time Warner.

Viva La Revolucion!!!!

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Tuesday, January 08, 2008

The Mile High Club

I'm not one to throw my friends under the bus so the person in question will be hereafter referred to as "Mr X."

After a prolonged absence Mr X returned to Los Angeles following a celebration of the holidays with his friends and family back east. Upon arriving in his apartment, where I happened to be at the time, Mr. X promptly emptied his pockets onto the table and ran to the bathroom to conduct his business; a commonplace activity for one who has spent the last 6 or so hours on a plane and who didn't want to use an airport bathroom. My other friend happened to walk past the table when I heard him chuckle. "Dude, come here!" he said. Prompted by the excited tone of his voice I scurried over to the table to examine his discovery. My eyes settled on the following:

This pile of junk represents the contents of my friend's pockets (I have blacked out the name on the plane ticket for privacy reasons). Pretty typical right? I mean except for the Loose-leaf CONDOM! Why in God's name does one carry a random condom in their pocket on an airplane?!?! Did he preconceive some nice (exceedingly horny) young lady sitting next to him in seat 19A, who would be willing and ready to join the Mile High Club? Better be prepared right? Oh man, you can't make this stuff up! Does he take a rubber with him every time he flies on the off chance he happens to find a taker? I mean, they make you empty your pockets and put everything in the little grey plastic bin, which means all the security people saw it, which is pretty funny on it's own, no?

I don't know perhaps I'm blowing this out of proportion, but it really struck me funny. Its like bringing your glove to a baseball game, if that makes any sense to any of you. It should. Give it some thought.

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Saturday, January 05, 2008

The Domino Effect

Last night I called to order a delicious half pepperoni half sausage pizza from Vito's Pizzeria which I believe spins one of the best pies in all of LA. Initially I was told it would take a whopping hour and a half for my pizza to be delivered! Appalled was I! Luckily, Mildred our trusty hound, farted so bad that I had a full out giggle attack on the phone. This prompted the girl on the other end to ask why I was laughing, which prompted me to tell her, which prompted her to have a giggle attack of her own. When she finally caught her breath, and I mine (although I had to walk into my bedroom to do so; thanks Millie) she decided she'd put me first on the list and that the order would arrive in about an hour.

At which point I posed the following question:

When did it become perfectly acceptable for pizza delivery time to exceed an hour? My Theory is called "The Domino Effect."

It all began with Dominos. Dominos introduced the "Thirty Minutes or the Pizza is Free" deal in the mid 1980's which revolutionized pizza delivery as we knew it. The results were astonishing. Pizzas were selling like hotcakes; a cliché which, after typing, I've realized doesn't apply in this instance, as the standard unit of pizza is the pie and not the cake, but I digress. As a result of the Dominos Deal, the rest of your Mom and Pop pizza joints needed to follow suit if they wanted to stay in business. Life was good. Sadly though things would soon change.

I blame myself partially. I can remember times when my young hooligan friends and I would call Dominos and then turn off all the lights in our house and sit on the porch while the poor delivery guy made several frustrated passes through the neighborhood. Then, around the 40 minute mark, we'd turn the lights back on and collect our free pizza. Shame on us. But we were young and foolish, and had we forseen the negative impact our childish pranks would have, I assure you all we never would have pulled them.

There were too many pizzas. Too many pizzas, and just not enough drivers. The delivery guys were overloaded and they were doling out free pies left and right. Convinced that this was the fault of the incompetent driver, Dominos implemented a policy whereby the money came out of the drivers' pocket and not the stores.' Now to the driver making $3 an hour, a large pizza was quite a hit. To make up for it, they started driving faster, and more recklessly. They were out of control, these drivers; rabid wild animals endangering everyone in their paths! Predictably, the accidents began to pile up, and with the accidents came the lawsuits, and well, we all know what happened next: no more thirty minute pizzas.

In the aftermath of the Dominos disaster, and as time ticked by, we've seen a steady increase in pizza delivery times. In the 90's I remember hearing 45 minutes and thinking to myself "that seems like quite a long time for a pizza." Then in college it became and hour. Nowadays its an hour and a half.

Ten years from now you'll be lucky if you can get a pizza on the same night you call. Sheesh!

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Monday, December 31, 2007

Can I See Some Id ?

I've never understood why certain stores mandate the presentation of your driver's license when you attempt to pay with a credit card, regardless of the items being purchased. The teller should use discretion when asking for your ID. I mean if I just offed somone in the alley and stole their credit card, it doesn't follow that I would break for Walgreens to buy a tube of Colgate, a 4 pack of Charmin, and a bottle of shampoo. You'd think somone in that position would go for a bigger score, thats all I'm saying.

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Friday, December 28, 2007

The Naked Shit

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this special report. Somoe random dude took a Naked Shit at work yesterday!!!!! A Naked Shit!! For those who don't know the term, a Naked Shit is when you have diarrhea so bad that you kick off your shoes and peel off all your clothes leaving you, nude on the bowl, writhing in pain.

I walked into the bathroom yesterday afternoon and it smelled like someone was changing a baby. My eyes teared up. Then I heard a pain-filled moan. As I approached the stall I could see a discarded pair of dress shoes, a crumpled pair of slacks on the floor, and two sock covered feet scrambling around. Not only that, but there was a dress shirt and an undershirt draped over the side of the stall. What's great is that I'm pretty sure he worked on some other floor because noone really dresses like that where I work, and moreover, noone was really in the office to begin with. I tried to get a picture of him but by the time I'd got my camera he had packed up shop and left. You'll have to take my word for it.

Anyway, check out my mini city! Each click adds a little house, and as it grows it gets cooler like Sim City. However each person can only click once per day, so bookmark it and check back when you're bored at work. Now I realize you can all get your own mini cities, but lets just work on mine for awhile ok? Cool!

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Friday, December 28, 2007

My Dad Rocks

I have been obsessed with it as far back as I can remember. When Dad was away at work and Mom preoccupied with her afternoon soaps, I would slip into their bedroom, quiet as a mouse, and make my way over the back closet where it was stored. Entering the closet was forbidden, and as with all things forbidden, it had to be done with the utmost care. The closet itself was totally fuckin' cool too. It was normal in every way, but pushing my father's dress shirts aside would reveal a second chamber, a secret compartment, and that is where he kept it. I would take it out ever so carefully, so as not to make a sound, for my mother heard all.

The case in which it was stored was original; hard shell and leather bound. There were four clasps to hold it closed - 3 original gold ones and a 4th silver one that had been added after the fact. The final latch was one of those little suitcase style locks that you push to the side with a satisfying click. The interior of the case was lined with a shimmery orange fabric and it smelled old, like the 1960's, like the summer of love itself. And there it lay.

Perfect in every way was my father's guitar. A 1964 Gibson J-45 acoustic in near perfect condition. It had this really cool red to orange sunburst finish and a brown tortoise shell pick guard which set it apart, at least aesthetically speaking, from most acoustics I had seen. The action was set real low, like an electric, and it had the most mellow old rich fantastic tone to it. It was so soothing; I would strum it and lean my head on the body so that my ear would be pressing against it, ensuring that every little vibration would be channeled directly into my brain.

As I got a little older and learned to play I would collect several guitars of my own but they all paled in comparison. And I tried to find another like his, but for all the money in the world, I couldn't seem to find one just like it. There was something about it specifically; something that made it the sweetest axe in the world.

Every time I would visit my mom and dad, I would conduct the mandatory meet and greet and then B-line to the (new) closet where it was, blow the dust off of the case, open it up, breath in the 1960s and take her for a ride. It was always spot on. Perfect. On several occasions I had simply asked my dad for the guitar - a proposal of the most indecent nature for asking a dude for his guitar is akin to asking for a night with his wife. But I figured, why not? I mean he never played it anymore. I offered to buy it from him or trade him one of mine. I asked to simply borrow it and return it but I was always met with the same retort: "You can have it when I die."

I had visions of a 75 year old Me walking out of my father's funeral after he lived to the ripe old age of 115, long after the guitar would be of any use to me and my crippled arthritic hands. I had simply accepted this as fact.

Therefore you can imagine my surprise when I walked downstairs bleary eyed on my 28th Christmas to find not your standard mom-wrapped gifts, but a strangely shaped larger present dude-wrapped in Hefty cinch sacks. I tore them off and I simply couldn't believe it. There was the old hard shell leather bound case. I quickly unhinged the clasps and popped open the suitcase style lock and there she was in all her glory. Tears welled up in my eyes. I looked at my pop with feeling of deep guilt. I had asked in so many ways and he had always said no. I couldn't believe that he was actually willing to part with it. He told me he had meant to give it to me sooner, but knowing how much I loved it he thought he'd have some fun and torment me for a few years. He even went as far as to put it in my closet over Thanksgiving, so I'd see it when I unpacked my suitcase, just to plant the seed. How cool is that, man?

Let it be known that while my Dad never got that good on his guitar, I still think he totally fucking Rocks.

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Friday, December 07, 2007

Awkward Follows Me Everywhere

So I'm strolling to the bathroom at work minding my own, when a girl comes blasting out of the ladies room with the force of a stampeding Rhinoceros. I could not help but turn and see what all the commotion was about. I mean if the Kool-Aid guy comes crashing through the wall, it's human instinct to turn and look right? So I did. And she was just standing there staring back, which made the fact that I was looking at her extremely awkward. And I get shot a venom-filled "Ewww" flavored glare - as though I had been caught red handed while rifling through her panty drawer - a Creep just trying to see into the Ladies Room.

And guess what??

I DID see inside the ladies room and its more amazing than you could ever imagine!! Leather couches, water fountains, and crystal chandeliers! All the girls were topless and the walls were made of gold encrusted with rubies and emeralds!

It was quite fantastic I suggest you take a look sometime.

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Wednesday, December 05, 2007

My Office Smells Like B.O.

The thing is, I do not currently have BO. Why then does it smell like BO in here? I'll tell you why. Certain people need to shower with more regularity before appearing in public. The air I am breathing has been poisoned. I'm not going to say by whom. I'm not going to pass judgement or make any assumptions as to why. I'm just saying that my pits smell like "Polar Frost" or whatever my current stick is called and I know its not me, and my office smells like a 14 year old boys locker room after football practice.

Side note, its pretty easy to name deoderants. You just take any two nature oriented words and stick them together. So long as they aren't already associated with negative smells you are ok. Here, see for yourself:

Forrest Mist
Summer Breeze
Glacial Tides
Mountain Rain

Isn't that cool? Whats even more amusing is that the nature-ish words don't even need to be related. As long as they are nature oriented it will still work. Observe as we rearrange two of our titles:

Glacial Rain
Mountain Tides

I don't think it rains to often where there are Glaciers, and I'm almost certain mountains don't have tides, yet I would totally buy either of those deoderants so long as they don't smell like BO.

Now lets try the same thing but with foods:

Forrest Ham
Summer Squash

Yes? No? Maybe so?

Observe the following Pie Chart:

Where am I going with this?

If you've been making Italian Subs all day, or have been rolling around in the onion patch, or simply just smell like an wild animal due to a lack of basic mandatory personal hygene, then please stand down wind. Thats all I ask. Thanks!

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Monday, December 03, 2007

Pawsitively Adorable

For what its worth, if you are this cute, you are allowed to pee on my rug and hide chewed up pig ears in my laundry.

(Featured: Mildred, and the other Jay I live with)

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Monday, November 12, 2007

Word To the Wise

Dear Everyone,

The next person to use the term "Chillax" in my presence shall be promptly fed a knuckle sandwich.

Toodles,
Jay.

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Friday, November 09, 2007

Shocking Experience

Fuck the motherfucking up escalator at Laemmie's Sunset 5 movie theaters. Last I checked escalators were not supposed to electrocute the people they are escalating. Last night I had the extreme misfortune of riding on this malfunctioning piece of shit which, of course, bears no out-of-order sign, yet delivers mini lightning bolts which shoot from the handrails into the passenger's hand. I had to eat my popcorn all gimpy and shit. And when I was in line for refreshments, the dude next to me was rubbing his sore hand as well! Overhearing our commiseration the friendly refreshment asshole chuckled and pointed out that there is "something wrong with the escalator" and that it's been "happening all week." This wasn't any bullshit static rub-your-feet-on-the-rug shit. This was the real deal! You could see the electricity for god's sake!

Also for the record, despite the critical consensus being overly positive, I didn't love Before the Devil Knows Your Dead. Despite some really solid acting the story jumped around a bit too much for me and the plot has more holes than a Golf Course covered in Swiss Cheese. But honesty, it's pretty rare that I see eye to eye with all the critics so in the end I wasn't really that shocked.

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Thursday, November 01, 2007

Permanent Mess

Why Hello there! My, what a swell shirt you're wearing today! Tell me something, is that Permanent Press?

Permanent Press? What Nincompoop came up with that? And what's more, how did the term gain such popularity to earn itself a place in the laundary hall of fame? There are 3 guarenteed settings on every washer and dryer in the world and one is always "Permanent Press." The settings for "Whites" and "Colors" are certainly self explanitory. "Delicate" suggests frilly lingerie and silk crafted underthings while "Sturdy" is clearly indicative of canvas, denim or the traditional burlap sack. But Permentant Press? Did Mom ever yell upstairs and tell you to put your Permanent Press in the wash? You ever buy something in the Permenant Press section of a store? And what is it exactly? In my head "Permanent Press has always translated into "the Nice Shirts that don't need to be Dry Cleaned." Moving forward I motion that they start labing washers and driers appropriately with "Nice Shirts" and put a Permanent end to this nonsense.

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Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Rumblings and Grumblings

Today I got an email to my work account from "shanshih_2000@yahoo.com" asking me if I "want to have sex with chili" because "it's very hot."

Fair enough. But I am confused. Am I supposed to put my doodle in a bowl of hot chili and stir it around or something? Wouldn't the spices irritate it? That doesnt sound too appealing at all.

Or perhaps this random person is merely speculating that a couple having sex while smothered in chili would be erotic on some level. But the tone of the email was very cut and dry. They spoke with certainty, as though they been having sex with Chili all week long. This would suggest a level of expertise well beyond speculation.

As it so happens I'm not feelin' either scenario. Although come to think of it, I do enjoy a good bowl of spicy chili and all this talkin' bout it has made me want some, provided no one has had any kind of sex with it beforehand.

I just paid a parking ticket online. I noticed there was included a $2 "internet convenience charge" for paying the 50 dollar parking ticket that I got in front of my own house. But did I grow angry? No! I just sat there all complacent, enjoying this wonderful convenience, and thought to myself "Wow this is some convenient shit!" But wait, couldn't they make it more convenient? Maybe they could just bypass the ticket altogether, save the paper, come to my door, ring the bell, reach in my pocket, remove my wallet, remove the 52 dollars, replace my wallet, give me a sugar cookie and pat me on the head?

Here's an excerpt of an IM I just had with my mom regarding her Born Again friend and our cat Sophie:

Mom: Last time she invited me over all the people were from her church and talked about Jesus the whole time, included how Jesus appeared through their animals, so I said one time Sophie got shaved and they just glared at me
Me: hahahah
Me: did you say she looked like Jesus?
Mom: no I just told my only pet story and they were waiting to hear how Jesus was related and I said "hes, not, thats all Ive got."

And finally I've received another 2 suggestive emails to my work account, one offering advice on how I can add 3 inches to me deep throat technique, and the second (addressed to "Sir / It") alerting me that I will never be limp again were I to take their erection pills. Hooray!

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Wednesday, October 03, 2007

File Under: Whoops

On the scale of "Big Time F-Ups" this registers somewhere between a young Robert Downy Jr. and current day Brittney Spears.

NERD ALERT: The following contains Nerdspeak. If you are even 1% cool this might not make sense to you.

I was hosting an online meeting on my computer at work which basically allows people in other offices to see what is currently on my computer screen mostly for demonstrative purposes.

Jesus, what have I become?

Anyway, there were some complications on the other end of the call and we took a short break. I had to take a leak. No ordinary leak mind you but an Amazon River of a leak likely navigable by a small raft or canoe. Completely forgetting that I was the meeting's host, I decided it was a fine time to Instant Message (they go by IM's on the street) a fellow co-worker to complain about my pee-dicament (been working the night shift at the Pun Factory in case you were wondering).

The following is a reenactment of the conversation, as it was unfortunately deleted and I am unable to procure it in its original form.

Me: Man this Sucks! I'm stuck in the shittiest meeting of all time and I have to pee.
Me: Code red.
Co-Worker: Why don't you just go?
Me: Well I was totally unprepared for this meeting and I already made them wait like 10 minutes while I printed a bunch of shit out.
Co-Worker: Damn, you should keep an empty bottle in your office for times like this!
Me: Hey that's not a bad idea. I've got a cup right here. I'll just piss in it under my desk.
Co-Worker: Haha, you're not really going to do it are you?
(30 seconds later)
Me: Just finished!
Co-Worker: No way, you didn't really just do that?
Me: Yep, topped it off. Except now I've got a cup full of urine under my desk. Think you could run it over to the trash for me?

At which point one of the people from the other offices chimes in over speaker phone:

"Ahem, eh Jay, you do realize we can all see everything you are typing"

Most of them burst into laughter. I don't recall hearing my boss's voice among the amused.

PS, I didn't really pee in the cup.

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