Saturday, February 26, 2005

So,Since J man is taking the day off...well lets see whats wrong with everyone...

Be truthful... post your problems...

Then Dr. J (That could be Javann, Jerm or Jon) will tell you how to fix the problems of your world

Heres my results.

Personality Disorder Test Results
Paranoid |||||| 22%
Schizoid |||||| 26%
Schizotypal |||||||||||||||||||| 82%
Antisocial |||||||||| 38%
Borderline |||||||||| 38%
Histrionic |||||||||||| 50%
Narcissistic |||||||||||||||||| 78%
Avoidant |||||| 26%
Dependent |||||| 30%
Obsessive-Compulsive |||||||||||| 46%
Take Free Personality Disorder Test
personality tests by

Friday, February 25, 2005

Better late than never right? I guess so. Anyway, sorry all my early morning blog checkers that I didn't get a blog up earlier but well, I was tired and I did get my room clean. Oh its spotless. I'd eat off the floor if it weren't hardwood. Oh and unsanitary.

So want to know about your favorite green blogger? No? Well, that's what I'm doing today. Sorry. Just for the fun of it, pick your favorite question and answer it in the comments.

You are named: Javann Lamar Jones
You live in: Huntsville, AL

Do you have siblings? Yes I do.

When were you born? July 7th, 1982

When would you rather have been born? February 29th. It'd have been awesome to have been a leap year kid. Well, I was born during a leap year. Just about five or six months too late.

What are you listening to right now? I Am Trying To Break Your Heart - Wilco. Its just so darn catchy. . .

Finish this sentence. In my mp3 player I must have: Incubus, Joy Electric, the Temptations, the O'Jays, the Eels, John Coltrane, Napolean Dynamite soundtrack, the Dandy Warhols, James Brown, the Sea And Cake, the Gloria Record, Starflyer, War, Postal Service, Death Cab For Cutie and Prodigy's greatest hits

Worse purchase you've ever made was: I've made lots of dumb purchases before, but truth be told, the most recent one was a subscription to Budget Living Magazine. You see it was one of those, do these three things, and we'll give you this. In this case it was a Steve McNair jersey. Yes an authentic Steve McNair jersey. I'd be so cool with that right? So I had to have it. But after I bought the subscription, applied for two credit cards (my credit rating has now plummeted through the floor)guess what? They had more deals, and these were the breaker deals. You know where you seriously had to make committments. All that for a jersey? I think not.

Dumbest thing you've ever done: The list is great, but as long as I learned from them, its not dumb right? Just nod yes, and keep reading.

Coolest scar: Definitely the one on my right arm from my 15th year. Its six inches long and looks totally painful. I've made up more stories about how I got that. Knife fight, bullet grazing my arm, failed frat branding, all kinds of stuff. Its also one of the few that bears being displayed without trouble.

Favorite word: Actually. I say it a lot, uh. . .actually.

Word or phrase which describes you: Overly and unnecessarily complicated.

Song which best describes you: Can't think of one. Because I'm just that complicated. . .

Well, being me, I'm ending that there. I think that's decent introspective. Or not.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

I am. . .somebody. . .say I am. . .somebody

Every weekend that I spend without sleep, I feel great. However, during the week, there'll come a day when I must pay for my sleep transgressions. And that day, this week, was yesterday. I fell asleep at four in the afternoon, and I woke up this morning to my alarm clock going off. Yes my friends, I slept for fourteen hours. To throw this into perspective, lets find somethings that I could do for fourteen hours.
I could. . .
-watch four football games, and one basketball game.
-watch an infant get his entire days rest.
-drive from here to Richmond, Virginia and then eat dinner
-fly from here to Portugal
-work a full twelve hours shift then watch some T.V.
-have washed my car, finished my laundry, wrote my blog, ate dinner, lounged around and watched T.V. and then go to bed and get up and put my contacts in

So really, I could have done a lot more with that used time, but I do feel really good right now, and it does add to the legacy that is Javann's sleeping abilities, so I'll just take the disappearance of my fourteen hours.

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Oh, what's this? A little bit of lightening, huh? A little bit of thunder? Do you know want a little bit of thunder, do ya? Do you know Mr. Thunder? Is he your friend?

So yesterday I went in for a physical. When I got up on the doctor's office scale I was feeling a little apprehensive. Because I was terrified that I was going to be huge. I hadn't ran in five or six days. I ate out Sunday. It had cheese on it. Besides on the scale at home I was just barely behind 280 and I had a little less than a week left to go. Every excuse I could think of poured into my head. Then I saw my weight. I literally lifted my hands into the air and said, "Yes!" The nurse stared at me like I'd lost my mind. My weight was 260.

Holy crap. I did it. . .in less than a month. The month of February no less. Wow. So. Now what? Mad rush to the buffet right? Nope. That was the old overindulgent Javann. This Javann kinda likes himself at this weight. And he wouldn't mind losing a bit more. Mind over body indeed.

Your Brain is 86.67% Female, 13.33% Male

You have the brain of a girly girl

Which isn't a bad thing at all

You're emphatetic, caring, and in tune with emotions.

You're a good friend and give great advice.

Yeah, I know. Really embarassing. But not really shocking.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

Tell the woman be easy Naah squeeze the Charmin

If your life were a T.V. show, would be a good one? Chances are like most people's lives, it'd be a good drama. My life, I think, might make a decent sketch comedy show. I've been trying to think of things that have happened to me that could make a funny sketch or two, and I'm sure I can think of a few. Then again, most things that I find funny, I'm sure most other people wouldn't. Maybe that's why I don't sit around watching sitcoms, because most of what people find funny, I don't. Its really weird, it used to be different when I was younger. When I was younger, I thought that most of the sitcoms I used to watch (Cosby Show, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, Different World) were funny. Not only did I think they were funny, I used to want to watch them. Nowadays, I don't find many sitcoms funny at all. I think its because they really aren't. That's why people are flocking to watch reality shows. Its a funny that just can't be scripted, or maybe I should say a funny that no one is trying to script.

But I could see portions of my life in a sketch comedy. It'd be an edgy sketch comedy, because yes, my life is edgy and raw. That's the running theme with me actually, raw, gritty, edgy, blah blah blah. You'd think I'd have said that enough to have never said it again.

Either way, what would your life be? Maybe a musical. . .

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

So I've been purchasing belt buckles lately. And then it hit me. I don't know how to wear a belt buckle. I mean not just the mechanics, which by the way, I also need help with, but what does one wear a belt buckle with? I mean other than a belt? Jeans and T-shirt? Cowboy hat and boots? I didn't really think of that before I bought the belt. You should see it though, its pretty sweet. I think I'll play around with ways to wear it. . .and. . .

I can't believe I just typed that. Anyway, there's nothing new to be said on the weight front, other than my clothes are fitting me like they did when I first bought them. I'm kinda enjoying that. One suit coat in particular feels quite good, and my pants are getting quite slack. And actually becoming (GASP) slacks. But enough about that.

My mind is wandering nicely. I should go take advantage of that.

Monday, February 14, 2005

So if you're lonely/You know I'm here/Waiting for you/I'm just a cross-hair/Just a shot away from you/If you leave here/You leave me broken/Shattered I lie/We're just a cross-hair/Just a shot then we can die/I know I won't be leaving here/With you

Normally I have more to say on Monday, but well, this isn't a normal Monday. So here's a quiz I took. Enjoy.

You Belong in 1958


If you scored...

1950 - 1959: You're fun loving, romantic, and more than a little innocent. See you at the drive in!

1960 - 1969: You are a free spirit with a huge heart. Love, peace, and happiness rule - oh, and drugs too.

1970 - 1979: Bold and brash, you take life by the horns. Whether you're partying or protesting, you give it your all!

1980 - 1989: Wild, over the top, and just a little bit cheesy. You're colorful at night - and successful during the day.

1990 - 1999: With you anything goes! You're grunge one day, ghetto fabulous the next. It's all good!

Friday, February 11, 2005

Being an insult comic would be a really sweet gig. Think about it. All you have to do is make fun of glaring faults in other people. I know I'm not the only one who does this in his mind already. Its like walking in the mall, only without the bad mall music, the food court smell, and of course, crazed fanatical people looking to buy things. The best part is that's what you do. So if you insult people for a living, people realize this and don't get insulted. Its great! You can really tear into a good friend and he'll just think is part of an act. And the truth is, you've been thinking those things for years, you just haven't been able to say them because you'd lose a good friend.

Of course, being an insult comic would be a bad deal if you went on tour and landed in some place where the people were unable to be insulted. I know people like that, that no matter what you do, you can't find a good insult or joke to hit that person with. Its frustrating, and I dare say that an insult comic wouldn't only find it frustrating, but probably make him think about a new job.

Definitely. Maybe if you combined that field with say another. Like Insult Comic Psychiatrist. Or Insult Comic Waiter. Insult Comic Maid has already been done, ask Florence from The Jeffersons. I've been to the east side, and there are no apartments in the sky.

I wonder what other professions you could combine. . .

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Bad news everybody. I'm officially military. That's right. I'm in the army now.

No not really, but were you at least a bit shocked? I know, I know, its totally unfair that you believe what you just read, but seriously, I am military.

Military in my discipline I mean. I went to Samuel Walden's Market last night at about 11:30. I had just left my friend Metro's place, after one of the most offensive games of football I've ever seen, (I think 99 points between the two of us. And about 50 of those was in the first quarter) and I was starving. I'd just ran two miles (well, close to two miles, I was two laps off on a sixth mile track, so 1 2/3 mile) and of course, my metabolism was up. I'd stopped off at Walden's Market (i.e. Walmart, I just prefer to call it Walden's Market) to grab some eggs, the eggs that I told my mother I'd buy. Ironically enough, I don't eat eggs anymore. But I bought a fresh pack for my mother.

Either way, I went through the hard sale aisle. Or is it hard sell? Perhaps its both, the point of the matter being, it was food. Food that Javann shouldn't eat. Cakes, danishes, sweets, steak rolls, all things I used to revel in really about two weeks ago. I have never been the type to open packages at stores before I pay for them (RocketBoy can attest to this) but I wanted to rip open a package of doughnuts right there and send them to Davy Jones's locker. Well, actually, Javann Jones's locker, i.e. my stomach.

The impressive part of this little spiel is, I didn't. I didn't buy the stuff I wanted to. It really hit home with me, when as I stood in line, which by the way, was the longest line I've ever seen on any given night at Walden's market. Its like every person in the store decided they wanted to purchase their particular shopping cart full of small items and particulars right when I touched the eggs. The stampede must have shaken the whole store. Its a shame I missed it.

But as you can tell, I'm walking around my point. There it was. A candy bar. One I'd never had, in a shiny red wrapper. I figured, hey, I have fingers bigger than this thing, what the heck could be wrong with it. And it even has pretzels in it. Pretzels are healthy. In a moment of weakness, I picked it up. By now, I'm sure you're gasping and thinking, "but Javann, what about your military discipline?" Don't worry, after read the calories on that thing, I put it down and decided to go home to some meatless chicken nuggets. I found a baked potato that had been sitting for a few hours (the best way to eat a baked potato whole and unadulterated, after its sat unrefrigerated for at least two hours) and after finding the barbecue sauce, I had a candy bar. Well not a literal candy bar, but I had the same amount of calories as that candy bar had. Somewhere around 200, maybe a bit more than 200 per se', but the beauty is: I went to bed full. And I don't have cavities.

Also on the Javann weight update, I've lost ten pounds, and now I'm trying to lose even more. Health insurance, here I come!

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

Not much to say really. Things are going as things go. Don't get me wrong, I've got a lot to say, because I've been thinking quite a bit, but I really don't want to say everything I want to.

I look forward to the movie Hitch coming out. I don't think women truly understand the stress related to being a guy. Oh sure, we may not give birth, or carry children, or even clean up after ourselves. And yeah, we're late, and much less meticulous when it comes to oh just about everything, let me tell you. Its all made up for during the course of dating. Everything that we don't stress about suddenly comes back to destroy us.

Because every man thinks he is "smooth", or that no woman can resist him when he's working the charm. Well with the exception of a few who are indeed very smooth because they don't think they are. But that's neither here nor there. Basically, what happens is every man who thinks he is "smooth" invariably finds out he is sandpaper. EVERY man, regardless of who we're talking about has had this happen to him in the most painful way possible. As far as I know, women don't have that problem. I think its because they get better training from their mothers on how NOT to be idiots, whereas boys, we get trained by our fathers. And come on, we all know our fathers are the world's most inept men, and we often wonder how they managed to get married. At least I do.

So to make a somewhat candid blog short, understand that men we have it tough. Watch Hitch and realize, that every guy laughing in that audience is laughing not because it's not true, but because if they don't laugh, you'll know it is.

Friday, February 04, 2005

I'm actually kinda full for the first time in a long time. Thank you protein shake! Thank you for your protein goodness! And for being 12 oz. of compliment to my tabasco soaked breaded flounder. There's nothing better than that. My lips are burning, but in a good way.

So I've been thinking. "About what?" Well, I've been thinking about starting another blog. Don't worry, I'll keep this blog, but I was thinking about branching off into a bit of blogging darkness if you will. The incredible visibility of this blog, i.e. people I know reading it, really keeps me from expressing some of my darker harsher and less refined thoughts. Maybe call it the black page. And it'd be all dreary thoughts, anger and dislike and what not. Believe it or not, that's what this lovely green page started out as really. A lot of hatred and dislike. For instance, this excerpt from my time in court for my first speeding ticket:

The judge said my name wrong. And I had thoughts of how long you would live if you attacked the judge. You know, before the state troopers restrained you or gunned you down. That was my random thought of the day.


Today seems to be the day everyone calls Halloween. That means that everyone dresses as if they're Satan worshippers, and then they run around knocking on doors at night. And I guess everyone is okay with that. My biggest gripe with this holiday (other than the incredible pagan roots) is just that. Why would I want someone knocking at my door at night, and then threatening me for candy? Why would I buy candy to give to a bunch of overweight little brats that are driving through the neighborhood with their doting parents? The only reason I can think of is that they might end up with cavities, or even better, have early heartattacks. And so many wonder why America's youth are overweight. There's a whole day where they can get candy just for being dressed up. I'm sure the perfect costume for a lot of the kids is the Stay-Puft Man.


And as I've learned from my time in traffic court, tickets are far more than 15 dollars. Yet this hasn't seemed to stem my desire to speed. I'm not even really going anywhere, it could just be a trip to the local Burger King for some overly fatty sustenance, and I'll still speed like I'm a crack fiend trying to hurry over to the dealer to get my hit.


Which, by the way, was okay. A lot of, you guessed it, heavy lifting!! There's nothing more fun than lifting heavy objects and moving them elsewhere. AND!!! I dropped a table on my toe!! YAY!! Hard wood at a good velocity impacted with a body part!! YAY!!! YAY!!! There could be nothing better than damaging my foot!! NOTHING!! I'm so excited for my foot. I didn't break it, I think. Too bad. And then I kept doing heavy lifting!! Isn't that incredible?!

And who could forget:

And the government took a seventh of my check. A seventh!! I don't even like this government, but they take a freaking seventh outta my check?! What the heck do you do with a freaking seventh of my check?!? Make war? Fund all the crap that I don't even condone?!?! Pay the freaking cops that always ALWAYS harrass me, that look at me like a threat just because of the color of my skin. Next time a cop pulls me over, I'm going to slap his aviator shades off his face, and get my money's worth kicking his hide. I sponsor racial profiling, so I might as well fit the profile. I just really really really REALLY hate that I have to kick out that kinda money to be harrassed, to some people who personally, I wouldn't mind seeing starving in the street. I honestly swear that there is nothing to be said to me that would even remotely change my mind.

So as you can see, I tend to get really edgy. But then again, I guess I can be edgy on my own time. So I'll just use my paper journal for those moments. Evolution of the site. Its a beautiful thing. The real question is, who really read any of this stuff?

Thursday, February 03, 2005

I'm crazy for that lady/She's chic but she's not shady/Sophisticated lady
And she makes me feel good/She's so fine

So I found this site. Its devoted to exposing new artists and independent small label acts to the world, via the saviour of such things, the internet. I had a blast cruising through it, downloading mp3s at will, and hearing new sounds and stuff. The site you ask? Awesome site. I suggest you browse when you get the chance. You won't find a ton of stuff that you like, but you might find one good independent band. And that in itself is well worth it, is it not?

Here's a song I found. Its decent, though a bit long winded.
Black Diamond - The Mirror Boys

My mood?

I'm so fresh, you can smell me through a ziploc. . .

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

I've always been against making my life a spectacle. I know, I know, I have a blog, so to some extent, I put my life on display for the entertainment, nay, the perusal of others. However, I don't think one should share everything with everyone. For instance, the new show, Celebrity Fit Club. I'd be inclined not to share a thing like that. Losing weight, getting into shape, that's a thing that should be done personally.

However, as I'm sure the rest of us will attest to, sometimes it takes telling the world to give motivation. It seems that having people know that you're dieting, or trying to be healthier even helps motivate you to be achieve your goals.

My point? Well, I learned recently that I can't get health insurance until I weigh 264 pounds. Well guess what? I weight 290. That's right, I am roughly thirty pounds over the healthy limit, in fact, I'm thirty over the INSURABLE weight limit, and that in itself makes me angry and maybe determined to drop the weight. The beauty of the whole thing is, I have about a month to do so. That's right. And not any month, but the month of February. Excellent. I like a challenge as much as the next man, but this one, well, lets just say I don't know if I can make this. And that's why I'm sharing. Hopefully if I tell people my goal, they will deride me or encourage me.

"But Javann, why would you want someone to deride you?" Because I'm intensely competitive and if you think I can't do something, I often feel the need to do it because you think I can't. But feel free to encourage me. Or whatever. All I know is I gotta get some health insurance, even if it kills me.

The true irony here is, if I happen to pass out from overexhaustion or malnutrition before I weigh 264 or less, I can't afford to go the hospital. I'd call this an impoverished state, but really, its not.

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

Disappearing acts cover up the facts/conspiracies that we can't track/the answer lies in the shadows behind our backs

So when talking to a friend, and he suggested that I tell you another story about the time me and another friend tried to con someone. So after some thought, I figure, why not? I've told worse stories right?

First, I should clarify a few things. Like what I mean by "con". I mean dupe, trick, finnagle, mistreat maliciously, prank if you will. But why? Why would I, Javann Lamar Jones, have ill intent against someone? That's just the thing. I really didn't. But just as you may have deduced from the first story (its in the Monday the 17th, January 2005 archives if you want the details) I don't have to have much of a reason. In fact, it's usually not a I-don't-like-this-person-so-lets-let-him-have-it type of thing anyway.

Second, this was an attempt, one that thanks, in part, to my incredible mental prowess would have worked. But just as I failed to forsee the obvious fault in what I just typed, so I failed to forsee the one thing that shot the whole plan to smithereens. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It all started at Camino Real, a Mexican restaurant off of University/72. I went there with my friend, Mr. Giggles, for lunch after a long day of service. As we set and talked, we begin discussing the "reign of terror" unleashed upon us by none other than RocketBoy. Don't get me wrong, I love RocketBoy. He is entertaining, and he is quite the character, but his idea of party games isn't an ideal that I share. In fact, his party games stink. We were humiliated in the worse way ever. Okay, that's a sever exaggeration, but suffice it to say that we thought that he was alway "pranking" us or pulling some kind of joke that we didn't get until we were knee deep in. . ."the funny".

Mr. Giggles and I kept eating, and afterwards we begin discussing how we could possibly get RocketBoy back. Surely, there's gotta be a way. I threw out my best stuff, from wrecking and trashing his house, to turning all his furniture upside down. I think taking all his clothing was involved in there somewhere. Finally it hit me.

The one thing about RocketBoy is that he doesn't like crazy women. Not wild and crazy women, I'm sure he welcomes those, I mean he doesn't like psych ward regulars. Really, who does? So we decide to "create" just such a person, and get this: everyone would know her, but RocketBoy. This girl shall write RocketBoy all the time, giving him weird email's about little or nothing. So basically we created a TRL fan for RoketBoy's general amusement. Well, this girl needed a name, and that day, I dubbed her Amare.

And thusly she was born. Amare's first act was to get an email account. Then she contacted all of RocketBoy's friends and family (take note of that) and let them in on the joke. So here we are, all of us collectively giggling about how much we are going to mess up RocketBoy's life. Funny stuff, right?

Of course. The first day, when Amare signed onto MSN and spoke with RocketBoy, he flipped out. In fact, I remember him asking me about this girl, and whether or not I knew her like she said I did. First I said no. That freaked him out. Then of course after, I suddenly "remembered" her as that "hot girl" from East Tennessee.

Not that it mattered, because Amare did all she could to whoo the heck outta RocketBoy. Emails, MSN messenger, all forms of communications that gives away that she's a girl but not that she wasn't a girl. But to no avail. However, we still had RocketBoy begging to get this girl to just go away. Well, maybe not begging.

To wrape this up, RocketBoy found out. I'd like to say we dueled to the death and I won, but as I won, I restored peace to everyone of them. No, he found out through his sister, KillJoke. KillJoke spilled the beans, and Amare faded into history. And before we could get the arranged meeting after she called him on the phone. Our plan was to say we'd go with him to meet her, because she was good people, and then when he got there we were going to laugh at him. In all honesty its a good plan till the master gets a sniff of what goes on. Either way, I received retaliation, as I was stalked by a girl, who they didn't make up. That's right, a real girl, however, the letters weren't real. Hard to explain, but it was definitely weird. Which is why I tend to not respond to email of people I don't know now, or even better, people who I don't like. Why? Because it got uglier than the Amare thing got with RocketBoy. Much uglier. But all in good fun that tot. Either way, have a good one.

In retrospect, this pales in comparison to all the other indemnifying stories, but don't worry, I'm not tapped out by any means. I was just really tired when I wrote this.