What a mess I'm making

Well, folks - Jack is in a pickle. Well, sort of anyway. I don't even know where to begin. Um, ok - let's start with 46.
So, i'm new in town and I don't really have a lot of options, you know? But I need a couch, Craig's List is mocking me with bargain after bargain and I break down and ask 46 to help me move my couch. He does, which is very nice of him. I am very grateful - I really am.

He even bought me dinner at this sandwich shop and we talked for a while. And I can't keep up with this man - I try like hell to talk to fill the empty air before he gets going, but alas - he beats me every time. He got on a roll and talked a lot again. But not as much as last time - maybe he talks like this until it's out of his system and then he's like normal?

Well, anyway - the next day (yesterday) he texts me:

"I hate to admit it, but I thought about you today. LOL"

Consciously taking the bait, I said, "I'm curious. What did you think about?"

"Just HAVE to push it, don't you. ; ) I was thinking that I would love to hold you."

I guess I asked for it - but I just really didn't know what to say. I don't feel the same way, but it would certainly explain why the man would come and help ME move the couch and then pay for dinner too. And, I suspected as much, I admit - but I didn't want to hear it. I really didn't. If he didn't go there, I could go on pretending this friendship was just that, but no. Here we are. And I didn't respond.

Eventually we cleared the air and I told him, via text, that I didn't know what to say to that. he said he didn't need a response. *whew*

I've got bigger problems at this point, though - my new coworker is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. We hang out a bit and go get drinks and all that jazz, but me is thinking she is really feelin' me and I'm freaking out. Why?

1. I still think she's one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen
2. She's married
3. She tells me her marital problems
4. She says she will probably get divorced
5. I still think she's one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen
6. I'm realizing that when we just go chill, she likely thinks we dating
7. Last night, before she left the bar, she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek.
8. I still think she's one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen.
9. Jokingly, she told me she would be my wife

My suspicion that she was feelin me was clinched when she told me that one night after we got off of the phone, her husband complained, "Well, YOU sure put a lot of energy into that conversation." And apparently, she said something along the lines of "if you treated me like HE treated me, maybe I'd put that much energy into OUR conversations."

Apparently, that didn't go over very well with the old man.

And I sat in the office while she told me this thinking ... omg, wait - she's actually TELLING me this.

And I really like her - but she doesn't know about JACK. And I can't really TELL her about JACK because she's my CO-WORKER and I keep JACK at home and not in the office and I know you shouldn't shit where you eat, especially since she and I share a fucking office, and that she's married ... but did I tell you she's one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen?

You see my problem? These are my only two options right now. Hence, the title of this blog.

Go ahead - riddle me with bullets ... I so deserve it.

The Grill

If there's one thing I love, it's the smell of meat cooking over charcoal, promising to delight my tastebuds with a delicacy of juicy, fattening and memorable greaze.

I had forgotten how much I enjoyed cooking over a grill - it was so much fun today. I enjoyed the company of some of my favorite people anywhere while the kids ran back and forth freely the way kids should be on memorial day weekend.

Amazingly, there was a minimal number of crises with the kiddos. Among them:

• A bee in the house freaked out my friend's kid and she refused to go back in the house
• My son pouted on the lawn for 15 minutes or so because the three girls wouldn't play freeze tag with him
• My son decided to join the girls inside playing makeup and put on lipstick
• My daughter got glitter powder in her eye
• Friend's daughter tripped, and although she didn't fall she balled because she was THAT embarrassed.
• My friend planned on reading his man the riot act on the way home because he took one of my cigarettes and smoked it

Seriously, it's an innocuous list, considering that things could've been much worse. But I did notice that one of the pine trees in my yard is leaning on the pine tree next to it and it really has to come down. Since it's over by the power lines, I'm going to try to get the electric company to cut it down. We'll see.

All in all - a good time was had by all. And I make a mean deviled egg, I learned. 4 parts mayo, 2 parts mustard, 2 parts sweet relish ... mmmm, they were yummy.

This vibe make the air go 'hum

The air is thick and I feel the imminence of SOMETHING as if it were an invisible wave of energy pushing me dreadfully close to a precipice that drops off into the depths of the unknown.

In short - something's up in this mother fucker ...

Consider the following evidence:

• My new coworker tells me that the dude who currently has the title I used to have in my previous job has had some trouble in the past with the President, not being able to create a budget properly.
  
• The new boss tells me that there was a bit of a shake up at this place before I got here and the President let a bunch of people go. He mentions that there's one more left who is on shaky ground.
• In casual email conversation with a third individual in the office, I answer her query regarding how I'm doing by saying something along the lines of, "I've not been fired yet, so that's a good sign." Her response was, "I probably shouldn't be telling to this, but it's VERY unlikely that you would be fired." (emphasis not added - that's how she wrote it)
• Yesterday, while talking to my boss about the brick wall that is IT in this place (actually, I was complaining because the IT guy wouldn't help me earlier when I had trouble with the damn scanner and while I was in there, the IT guy walks in with a female coworker to help her on said machine because it was acting up) - I said, "I think the problem is that I'm neither a Director *or* a female." The new boss looked me square in the eyes and said, "Well, that'll change soon."

So, given all this evidence - I know something's up ... and it's KILLING me to know that there's something a' brewin' and I have no idea what it is. (Well, considering that last bullet point, I am totally assuming the boss does not think I'm soon to become a woman - because that's the only other alternative and he doesn't know the alter ego (JACK) I display on this blog) I'm riddled with anticipation and I just want this shit to happen already, just so I can be done with it.

Meanwhile, I suppose I have other shit to deal with ... like the fact that this place is afraid to throw ANYTHING away and I inherited a program for which the certification status of over 1,000 individuals has expired - and there are 9 file cabinets worth of files that I have to go through to pick out the itty bitty manila folder of each of these expired people and throw that shit away - but not before I go through each one to verify that they actually HAVE expired. I'm through with A-Q and it's day 4 of this project. I've filled up the recycle bin to the tippy top each day - the custodians hate me, I'm sure.

Anyway, if something jumps off in this bitch while I'm in the corner over there with my head buried to my shoulder blades in a file cabinet drawer ... would you kindly come get me?

Thanks.

A date in the life of JACK

In an effort to speed up the process of getting to know this city of Chicago and the people herein – I decided to just hurry the hell up and meet a myriad of people from the online world. Of course, that meant I had to actually start a conversation or two with people online from Chicago, so I started that. And, of course, the first real prospect is 14 years older than me.

Whatever – he’s got to know more people, right? So, we set a time and place. He keeps asking me where I want to go, which was already annoying me. I kept responding that he would have to choose, oh – I dunno, because I just moved here and don’t know shit. I simply said, I want to eat and have a drink. How hard could it be given those parameters?

Well, plenty hard, apparently. He gets to the appointed STREET CORNER late. He said that we should meet there and so there I was lookin like the only hooker standing on the corner just watching the cars go by. To boot, he chose a fucking street corner in Boys Town and I didn’t know it until I got there. How’d I know? The gay flag waving off every fucking building for as far as the eye can see (or so it seemed).

So, we drive around to find a WAMU because he needed to get cash. Fucking late AND no money. Nice. So, he leaves me in his car and goes to the ATM. And, no – I didn’t snoop. And we drive and drive while he tries to figure out where we are going. Finally, we pass an Indian place and I make the decision. By this time, I’m so fucking hungry, I’m almost in a bad mood – and I tell him so. We park six blocks from the damn restaurant and I’m moody as hell on this damn hike because hunger pangs are setting in.

It’s a buffet – I’m STOKED. And I put my coat down and get to the buffet long before he does – and sit down to start eating before he gets back. I don’t care – whatever. And then, the conversation starts. Well, the monologue. That man loves to talk about himself. Under the guise of “I’m too hungry to chit chat” I allow it and keep thinking to myself that he’s the HUGHEST yapper I’ve ever met … and scarf down another mouthful of Chicken Mahkni, basmati rice and naan. In an effort to make a bad impression, I go traditional Indian style and use the bread as my utensil and proceed to make a huge mess.

He’s unfazed. More about him. And it becomes clear to me that this man seriously thinks that he’s imparting wisdom upon me … and let me tell you – JACK has fucking lived. He isn’t teaching me shit. He’s boring me so damn much I start to focus on the contacts in my eyes and how they feel against my eyeball. So much so that they get real dry.

I make it through dinner and we go to the register and he allows me to walk first. So, what happens? I get to the register first. You didn’t see that coming, did you? But I did – from the table to the register, I knew I would get there first … and would consequently have to pay – because I wasn’t going to stop and look behind me and give the impression that I EXPECTED him to pay. And that mainly because I’ve already decided this date is ending without even so much as a peck on the cheek and I’m not about to have him under the impression that he’s getting some ass because he bought me a steak. So, I paid – he agreed to pick up the drinks.

This is interesting to me already – because, yo … it’s OBVIOUS that we’re not going to drink but one drink. At least it was obvious to ME. And that’s how it went. (And guess who did most of the talking at the bar?)

I was tired as hell – it was a long day at work and you wouldn’t believe how exhausting it is to listen to someone ramble for three hours, even *if* you’re trying to ignore them while you eat. (Did you know you can engage in direct eye gaze while someone speak and not listen at all?) So, when he offered to drive me home, I accepted because it’s faster than the train … plus, my building is access controlled and he didn’t have to know which apartment I was in throughout the eight story building. I felt good with this.

One the drive to my place, he reached over and grabbed my leg, just above the knee – gave it a little squeeze and pulled away. It was cute, I suppose, as he passed it off as his response to my teasing him about my having taken over his radio. But, I knew what was up.

Thing is – it kinda felt nice. The attention. Yuh – in and of itself, that kind of attention felt nice. Now, if only someone younger, who could balance speaking and listening and who didn’t drive a Ford Taurus that dragged a metal pan all over town would do it … I’d totally J.LO him.

Maybe that was TMI.

*shrug*

I don't trust the po-po either, Polly

This article made my day - at 9am, no less.

See, because it shows that giving corrupt police the side eye, or the raised eyebrow, or even the dreaded STANK EYE ... totally transcends culture.

Yes, my friends - distrusting police is like long walks in the park, a mother's kiss on her baby's forehead or a friendly smile. All transcend culture.

But what the po-po got that the rest don't?!? That shit transcends species.

Keep it in perspective

A friend's blog post got me to thinking about whether or not the things I had to complain about were really complaint-worthy. In the absence of that read, I would've just put a certain car dealership (who shall remain nameless) on blast for treating me like a red-headed step child (and being red-headed in a Latino family is certainly cause for pause)and for employing the stereotypical used car salesmen ...

But instead, I'm thinking about a poem I wrote when I was a freshman in college. It's probably the only one I'll ever post, mainly because it's the only one I've ever published, but also it's one that I think about often, even to this day.

In trying to put into the words how I perceived my life in the closet, I penned these words:

Trapped in a world where I have no choice,
As in a cave of polished brass,
Where all I hear is my echoing voice,
That brings me grief that no one knows,
That pains my ear and shatters my soul;
It makes me tear and drives me mad.

Trapped in a room where I hate to see,
As I gaze at it and wonder why.
A misshapen figure that can't relate,
That can't understand the pain inside;
That won't reach out to hold my hand;
It makes me tear and drives me mad

Trapped inside that mysterious man,
The one I see beyond the glass,
Who's trapped himself and can't reach out,
That needs my help as I need his;
His cries of sorrow pierce my heart;
It makes me tear. It's driven me mad.

I can still remember the hollow in my chest that caused me to feel detached from the world around me and from which stemmed the emotions that poured out through my pen when I wrote that. And, actually, as I sit here and remember it, my eyes well up. And you know, I can even somewhat feel the fringes of that hollow again. That's really why i never bring up the poetry I wrote in those days - while I think they were good literarily, I can't remove myself from the emotion they still evoke in me.

But the reality is that that simply isn't me anymore. I don't walk around with that hollow in my heart, feeling ingenuous to my own self and sacrificing the formal gelling of the real me on the inside with the me I allowed the world to see. At this point in my adult life, those two are fused together like a solid fillet weld and leave no room for hollow between them ... even if the words I penned in those days do help me remember what it felt like to have that empty space.

And so - I can at least find some solace in the fact that even though those nasty ass mother fuckers at the used car dealership pissed me the fuck off ... at least I'm not embodying an echoey, emotional space anymore.

Yeah - that makes me feel better.

But admittedly, it helps that I called them nasty ass mother fuckers at the car dealership.

Is that bad?

A ray of sunshine

I swear to you this is the ACTUAL email string that went around my office today. That is, sent to the ENTIRE staff in an actual place of business:

Email 1, from Person 1:

Staff, Just a quick heads up to let you know that the two professors from the UNiversity of Wisconsin will be stopping by th office tomorrow sometime around 12:30-1pm.

Email 2 from person 2, in reply-all to email 1:

In addition, representatives from [an accreditation agency] will be here at about 1:00 p.m.

Email 3 from person 3, in reply-all to email 2:

Coincidentally, I'll be performing Michael Jackson's Thriller as a one-man clown pantomime show around that exact time in the administrator's section. Auditions for the chorus will be held in the large conference room in an hour.

*cut to Jack LMPRAO, tears streaming down face*

(it was quite the sight to behold)

Wait - WHAT?!?!?

Take a quick look at this nonsense before you read on:

Seriously?!?!? I've heard of some ridiculous anti-birth control shit before but to have to live in a 7,000 sq ft home that you're detined to outgrow is pure madness.

To the father: At some point, you have to consider jerking off and calling it a day. Really, boo - it's ok.

To the mother: You home school all of these mother fuckers? What in the FUCK are you teaching them over there?

Ok, so this is a cult waiting to happen. They tend to spring up after the government raids one - sort of like in protest I think. I bet several hundred started after the whole WACO thing ... and this whole imbreeding, child abuse compound thing going on in the news is just the catalyst families with 41 children need to start a compound of their own.

And then they wanna be all cute and have their names all start with a J. I have two kids and mix up their names at times - and they don't even sound alike. This house must be pure mayhem with everyone nicknamed "jay." But I have some ideas for the next few kids I thought I'd share:

• Jerusalem
• Jasper
• Jinglaleena
• Justdowhatisay
• Jumpoff, and my absolute favorite
• Jew-stupid

I thought these might help as you try to figure out what to name number 20 and beyond.

And what does this woman's coochie look like after birthing all these kids?!?! She should totally check here.

That's all - nothing else.

Woe is me

Well, since hazel eyes wasn't an option, I sent a few texts and got a friend on the phone. Now, I use the term "friend" quite loosely, but it wouldn't make any sense if I said, "I got a 'benefits' on the phone," so I went with friend.

Here's the short version: he's not for me but he always seems to be available when I'm desparate, so whatever.

I phrase it that way so that you understand how WEIRDED out I am by the fact that she said if I was in town on Sunday to give him a call. I said that it was mother's day and he was going to be at his moms house and that prolly not. His response was that it was cool, it's a big party - everyone will be there.

Everyone except me, nigga!! I mean, seriously?!?! I'm not going to visit MY mom (she's 700 miles away) on Sunday and you think I'm going to visit YOURS?!? I don't even know this man's birthday or favorite color ... or even his fucking HEIGHT. I know that horizontally everyone can reach everything ... but that's HARDLY "take home to momma" material, carajo!

I don't know what the hell is wrong with me - choosing these damn people that don't make no damn sense ... I mean, this is the same guy who wanted to go on a carriage ride through the middle of downtown indianapolis on our first date. Whatever, I went ... even though it was a STUPID idea because it was in the dead of mother fucking WINTER! I learned a big lesson that day and well ...

this mother's day ain't no damn carriage ride.

Well, of COURSE ...

I'm sitting outside of the hotel, having a smoke and rocking back and forth on the rocking chair conveniently located next to ashtray. I'm totally loving this place for that reason alone ... but THEN ...

I notice the dude. Brown skin, hazel eyes, white T and a pair of jeans ... looking all like everything my eyes wanted to see. And see they did ... We caught each other's glance and I let him watch me look him up and down while he stood there talking on the phone. When I came back to his eyes, he was still looking at me. I think I might have licked my lips - I'm not sure.

His fitted was on backwards and I'm just in heaven ... I'm on a business trip, in a hotel - he's in the hotel ... seems to be alone ... and really, isn't this the perfect set up? I go back home, he goes back home "y ya." Well, because let's face it - I have way too many expectations from a relationship and night (or two or three) of fun in some hotel in Nashville wouldn't hurt a damn SOUL.

Well, he disappears into the hotel and I'm still stuck talking to these collegues ... well, he's gone and so I go back into the classroom. And wouldn't you fucking know it ... an eight story hotel, with hundreds of rooms and hundreds of people ... and THIS mother fucker is sitting in the classroom. One row in front of me and one seat over.

You would think this is a good thing, no? Well - it isn't. His being in that classroom classifies him under my firm's non-frat policy. Damn him and those hazel eyes!!! I had the chance to speak to him when it was just me and him at the break station, but I got my coffee without saying a word and he walked off back into the classroom. And later - while riding the elevator with two other students, he rode with us. He didn't speak and I didn't engage him in the conversation.

No dick is good enough to go destitute for ... that's all I'm saying.

(but daaaayyyyyymmmmmmm)

I'm overwhelmed

I’m overwhelmed.

I started this new job and I got all of zero orientation – just a whole lot of work to do. In fact, this is my third week and I have spent a total of 5 days in the office, 4 in all-day meeting, and am taking a 6 days course now. I am a driving fool and am totally spent.

Let me see, drove from indy to Chicago, drove back to indy, drove from indy to Nashville and on Saturday will drive back to Indianapolis to drive back to Chicago Monday morning. In addition, spending time with my kids, these stupid 6 credit hours I took this semester (I already decided to take an incomplete from on professor and he approved it), and another 4 this summer in the hopes of completing this stupid degree by May 2009.

OH – and I own a home in Indianapolis, just rented an apartment in Chicago … have spent 5 nights in my home and zero in my apartment in the last three weeks. But I had 9 nights in a hotel in Chicago and am working on six here in Nashville.

And then after all this – I have work to do. Like REAL work. You would’ve thought I was a T-Bone and the staff at this place was starved for a week… they are so glad that I am there and then throw work at me. Meanwhile, I have no idea what protocol is (apparently, I was supposed to fill out some form to say I was out of the office), am told I have medical insurance, but no cards yet … and they’ve yet to order my laptop, which seriously impacts my ability to get work done when I’m in a hotel.

And let’s not forget the flat tire on the mag mile, or the fact that having changed two tires wasn’t enough – apparently, the other two need to go as well. And I’m in Nashville. The place that changed my tires originally? In Chicago.

Problem is – this is par for the course for me. Life just sucks. And the fucking space bar on this business center computer STICKS.

And now I’m ventilated and going to sleep. Nite all.

Just Jack

I’m a traveling man. Today I had the pleasure of driving from Indianapolis to Nashville. It was a long drive, but alone with my thoughts I found myself in good company. And for the first time in my life, I saw a shooting star. Yes, in the middle of the night in rural Kentucky, a bright light in the sky moved faster than anything I ever saw and trailed off into nothingness. So, it was either a shooting star or United is missing a jet. I actually considered that since it was rural Kentucky, the fact that I won’t hear word about a fuselage found charred amongst the remains of about 200 doesn’t exactly mean it wasn’t a plane. Trust me, I stopped for gas and saw these people … they probably couldn’t find a lump of coal in a jar of mayonnaise … but, I’m sure it was a shooting star. I decided I needed to wish for something, but I drew blank, and mainly because the shooting star interrupted a session of deep thought about the words to a song I was listening to; she sang that after a relationship she would never be the same.

So, I was thinking about my relationships and how those experiences worked to form me and this is what I came up with

The college guy
Boy did I love me some him. Thing is, we weren’t together very long, but I jumped in body, soul and mind way too fast. What may surprise you is that I was 21 and it was my first time. Or, you know what, that may NOT surprise you … but it’s true. I had this juvenile notion of waiting for the perfect one for me, and it was justified since I was, well, a juvenile. But deeply embedded in my decision to wait that long was that I was afraid of my own sexuality …I wanted it, and yet I didn’t. I wanted to experience it and be it, but I didn’t want it to be so. I didn’t want the ridicule, the damnation (thanks, church), to be the outcast … I just didn’t. So, what I created was this big, HUGE, ginormous pressure that let out like a radiator cap loosened after a 500 mile drive.

I pined for him for YEARS. Well into my marriage … and the pining really wasn’t about HIM. It was about the fact that I attached way too much meaning into that man … and I longed to be me, the REAL me … the me I found that could actually enjoy his sexuality. And it so happened that it was with THAT man.

HER
So, I decided that if I waited all that damn time for the right one and it didn’t work out with college guy that “The Life” wasn’t for me. That’s how I ended up with her. It wasn’t about love – I wasn’t ever in love with her, though I loved her – it was about conforming to the expectations of those around me. I extracted from the college guy experience that I should not lead with my emotions. So, I didn’t invest any in HER. Unfortunately, it took a marriage, a house, a daughter and a son before that all shook out. And I learned that I needed to live by my own expectations and not by those around me.

THAT mother fucker
I so knew this had to end long before it did but I was too chicken shit to end it. Mainly because he cooked and cleaned and all that jazz and I kinda enjoyed being a kept man. But, THAT mother fucker helped me identify a pattern I established in my relationship with HER … I was getting more and more comfortable being the person who loved LESS in a relationship. (Someone always does) I was being safe. I wasn’t in love with him, but I know that he was in love with me. I couldn’t figure out how to end it without hurting him …but I knew that I needed to re-evaluate my relationships …because, I’m wasn’t good at picking a mate.

So, even though college guy hurt me and I hurt for YEARS afterwards, and HER made me lose my identity (seriously, I went from a crazy ass extrovert to this introverted hermit who hated leaving the house), and THAT mother fucker made me more angry that I thought I could be … I wouldn’t change any of it …

Because they all contributed to creating JACK … a gay man, with two beautiful children, who doesn’t have time to pour all sorts of meaning into someone more than who they are, who refuses to lose himself to ANY relationship and refuses to be with someone who is going to lose HIMself, and who will not sacrifice feeling love for feeling loved.

I guess my real wish on that shooting star is this: that I find a man that isn’t about bullshit, has goals and aspirations, who isn’t going to hide behind our relationship and isn’t going to want me to do that either, who lives his life the way he sees fit and not by societal (or mommy’s) expectations, who expresses his emotions and isn’t freaked out when I do the same …

But I can’t say he shouldn’t make me angry. Let’s face it … I do want a man.

The Rubber Chicken

A friend of mine is a high school music teacher and he invited me to his students' play "Once Upon a Mattress." I had never heard of it, and actually didn't even know what the play was, but I agreed to take the kiddos. It was a 7PM start.

So, the kids went down for a nap around 4 and I woke them at 6 and off we went. The premise of this musical is simple: Queen doesn't want her son to marry anyone so she put all the potential princesses through one rigamarole or another to disqualify them from being good enough for her son. And I was well entertained - as were the kids.

In this production, there's this rubber chicken that makes its appearance throughout the play, in a seemingly innocuous nuance - at one point a chracter holds it while he sings (at one point singing that he's bad at romance and looks longingly into the rubber chicken's eyes) and at another point just being held (not choked!) for posterity's sake. I don't know if there's a rubber chicken in the original broadway musical or in the '03 Disney version ... but these high schoolers sure made it work.

When the prince tries to sprout balls and not let his mom run all over him, he swings the chicken at another character and THUD - he like seriously and for real, for real smacked this guy across the face with that chicken. Now, the play is riddled with humor (the good kind that had the entire audience in stitches and it was still ok to be sitting between my 6 and 4 year old) but at this point ... we lost it.

The entire cast on stage is aghast, some asking their classmate if he's ok ... and there I was in the first row ... between my kids ... laughing my fucking ass off. I seriously had tears. My kids were no better, falling all over me unable to suppor their own weight amidst laughters of their own. And it dawns on me - we're not the only ones. The entire place is crackin up ... while others still ask him if he's ok, his face already looking nearly bruised.

The cast just stood in their places, waiting. Waiting for us to stop laughing ... and they waited, and waited and waited. It was AWESOME. Purple cheek stepped off stage and the audience started clapping ... and when the applause died down, the play went on.

Only I wasn't ready - now I had to suppress my laughter right there in the front row. And it doesn't help when my four year old son looks at me and whispers (as loudly as you would expect a four year old to "whisper") through his own stifled laughter, "he smacked him in the face with the chicken."

I don't know what happened for the next few scenes and it was closing night. So, i can't go back - but now I'm dying to see the Disney version, especially since learning that it's a cast of well knowns, including Carol Burnett (who I have always thought was hysterical - the classic scene where she's wearing the drapes, curtain rod and all, is enough proof in my book).

In the end - my friend tells me that the rubber chicken was staged ... because the student actually told his classmate "hit me for real" and my friend (THE TEACHER) shrugged and said, "ok." So, for all three shows, this boy took a rubber chicken to the face, on PURPOSE - just for the laugh of it.

Look, if you're willing to be smacked across the face with a rubber chicken three nights in a row to the point where your cheek is bruised ... you're ready for life, young man ...

Except - maybe that analogy is too deep for you right now. Let's just go with - "you funny as fuck."

-Jack

Parenting isn't THAT tough, is it?

You may have seen this email - but it was worth a blog post. Seriously, why did this have to get to the teacher ... are we not looking at what our kids work on and send to school?