Friday, October 31, 2008

Jennifer Hudson

The vibe in Chicago when the Hudson family's tragedy hit was ... heavy. I don't know how else to explain it. When the DJ on the local radio station asked over the airwaves for someone to text him a picture of her nephew so that he could text it to the thousands of phone numbers he has ... I realized it was different.

The thing is, this tragedy isn't any different than the tradegies that have been happening in Chicago this year - and several people have mentioned to me that Jennifer's fame doesn't make it more tragic. It brings it more noteriety, yes ... but I remember that nine year old Black girl who disappeared from her front porch only to be found sexually assaulted and dead in the alley down the block. It's just been awful in Chicago.

And you know what? I was reading an article on AOL about it, it's one of those where readers can leave comments - similar to blogging. Anyway, some skinhead (I'm sure) left a comment to the effect of "Black on Black crime is great." It was bold - but mainly because it was anonymous, right? I can't imagine that anyone reading this blog would do NOTHING if the man was standing next to you talking that ying yang ... hence, he hides behind his computer.

But anyway - I am seriously digressing. Here's what I've been thinking - let's do something productive. The teddy bear and balloon drop offs at their house were nice ... how about we all make a concerted effort not to burn her CD's but all actually go out and BUY it. How about THAT?

I bought the CD today - and for real, it's HOT. Song number four gave me chills. If I ever have a committment ceremony, I'm totally playing it. I just love it.

So, how about it - support her and her family in THAT way ... buy a CD, tell everyone else to do the same, frown on the people who burn or steal it ... and come on, let's do something productive for her ...

Again, not that her tragedy is worse that any of the others going on in Chicago this year ... but, it's something we can do, right?


Go buy her damn CD!

Friday, October 24, 2008

The Martinez Continuua (Part I)

I promised you an interactive post a bit ago and here it is! So, don't stroll on by and wham-bam-thank-you-maam my blog this time, ok? If you're here, PARTICIPATE, carajo! You have *NO* idea how much work I put into this shit. lol.

Ok, this is a continuum:

No shit? Yuh, I know. But it's The Martinez Continuum (MC). Notice that zero is right down the middle and the scale goes out ten in each direction. The MC is split into four zones:

  • Zone 1: The Red Zone, bound by -10 and -5

  • Zone 2: The Orange Zone, bound by -5 and 0

  • Zone 3: The Yellow Zone, bound by 0 and 5

  • Zone 4: The Blue Zone, bound by 5 and 10

Simple enough, right?

I envision this as a relationship continuum and I apply it to various aspects of a relationship. Let's see - it's better depicted graphically. Let's start with THE AFFECTION CONTINUUM. It looks like so:

It's hard to read, so let me explain. As far as affection is concerned, we all fall somewhere on The MC, thusly:

Zone 1 - The Red Zone

Cold-hearted bitch who doesn't want to be touched unless in the act of making love. However, usually doesn't refer to it as making love, but prefers the word "fucking."

Zone 2 - The Orange Zone

Usually doesn't want to be touched, but will at times accept it - never initiates any type of hugging, cuddling or anything of the sort. When accepting affection, will call "fucking" making love.

Zone 3 - The Yellow Zone

Will usually initiate affection, like holding hands - but can sometimes be leery of Public Displays of affection. Is private with the affection and will ALWAYS welcome it in private.

Zone 4 - The Blue Zone

Like coming home to a lap dop you haven't seen in three weeks.

See how this works? So, JACK is totally affectionate and I would give myself a 7 on the continuum. That puts me in the Blue Zone.

Let's do one more - THE HOMO CONTINUUM

The trick is to identify yourself on the continuum before you read the definitions. For this continuum, -10 is extremely effeminate and +10 is completely masculine. I give myself a 5. Here're the definitions:

Zone 1 - The Red Zone

Is likely one surgery away from being a full-fledged women. Effeminate, does drag, takes hormones and refers to all his boyfriends as "guuurrrrlllll."

Zone 2 - The Orange Zone

Has identifiable mannerisms. Is somewhat self-conscious of them to varying degrees, depending on how far from zero he is. This dude is already out, even if he doesn't know it.

Zone 3 - The Yellow Zone

Has some identifiable mannerisms but they go unnoticed and the average person can't tell. Is rarely self-conscious about it. People wonder in secret if he's gay but never approach him.

Zone 4 - The Blue Zone

Completely masculine and secure.

Having fun yet? Here's where it gets interactive. My next continuum is THE SEX CONTIUUM. But I'm not going to define it just yet. In your comments to this post (after you tell me how fabulous you think this game is), tell me where you fall on the sex continuum by picking a number from -10 to +10, where -10 is not really sexual at at all and +10 is pretty much horny and ready ALL THE TIME.

(Don't act shocked this turned into something about sex. I'm a HOMO!)

I will post my zone definitions ONLY after receiving a minimum of ten different responses. So, you lurkers out there better create a ghost account or something because I mean it. TEN.

*with much love*


Thursday, October 23, 2008

Open Windows

As I looked at my computer screen, I realized something. I had several windows open and I squnited at them, realizing that it was a good snapshot of me. I encourage you to do the same exercise, list the windows currently open on your screen and comment in this fashion:

Open windows, in order from left to right: gay network for black men, interface for my research course, blogger, work email via outlook Web access, blank word document

Commentary: It seems that my priority is dating gay Black men. Following that, I feel passionately about my MS degree, and will apparently blog before I respond to work emails.

I'm so fucking mad right now that this is pretty accurate. DAMMIT!

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Table Dancing 101

Lesson 1: TPTW (Table Proportional to Weight)

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

The Evolution of Indifference (5)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5: D.E.: My first time
I loved the Lord, and was all into church and teaching Sunday School and all that – but I still dealt with same sex attractions. I guess I thought they would go away, miraculously disappear. You know, like I would be healed like the leper Jesus healed – but there was never any walking and leaping after my deliverance. It was a perpetual desire.

When I started masturbating I always felt sinful, disgusting, remorseful. Interesting thing though is that I was cleaning my Pastors’ house for a while. I had a key and would go in there and clean while they were at work and they paid me. They both had full time jobs and I needed the money and so it was a win-win. The first time I masturbated, I was in their house … alone. Let me tell you that that totally didn’t help the remorse I felt. I thought I was going to hell any minute now.

But I didn’t. Not physically, that is. But I continued to live in my own little hell. Wanting something that I felt I couldn’t have, that was always right at my grasp but that I couldn’t reach out for. I was a bitter little fucker, that’s for sure.

I had been working at the local newsstand, putting together Sunday newspapers and trying to keep up with the madness. (Damn, New Yorkers just love themselves the Sunday Times!) Eventually, I started working inside the store, selling cigarettes, lottery tickets and porn. Suffice it to say, the pastors were not happy. But mom insisted I make money so that I could buy my own clothes, pay for my own bus fare, buy my own school lunches and pay her rent. My older brother, by the way, didn’t have to do any of this – just me. That’s a WHOLE ‘nother issue entirely.

But I had a crush on one of my fellow employees. He was so damn attractive. One day, after knowing him for well over a year, he was around my neck of the woods and a bunch of us were hanging out. He was drunk as hell and everyone was afraid to let him walk home because he had to cross a major boulevard with three lanes in each direction and there was no stop light at our intersection. I volunteered to walk him home. He was 18 (don’t ask me where he got the booze) and I was 15.

On the way back, the small talk was pretty typical. But it got flirty really fast. I really didn’t know what to do with it. I was so totally and incredibly nervous, but I was loving how my body was feeling, just flirting. We were talking about working out or gym rats or whatever and I’ll never forget it. I said, “my ass is FAT.” I totally meant that I was a fat bastard and I needed to go to the gym. He responded and said, “oh really?” and grabbed a palm full of my right ass cheek. Right there in the middle of the street in front of God and everyone. It was pretty late at night and no one was around, but I thought it was audacious.

I had never known that feeling – it was shocking, it was electricity, it was … it was something. Whatever it was, his hand caused it – and it shot through my body and to my chest. My heart began to race. I really had NO idea what was going on or what to do with it … all I knew is that I liked what I felt.

We got to the corner of his block and he thanked me and began to dismiss me. Except I didn’t let him. I wanted more. He seemed hesitant, but the newness of it all had me eager and I wasn’t going to let up. I could see it in his face that he had no idea how he was going to work this out. He invited me down his block and we walked down the street together. It was a dead end street he lived on.

He passed his house and proceeded to the end of the block. I assumed that we were going to go to and through the treeline at the end of the block and I frankly didn’t care. That was fine by me. At the last house on the block, the porch light was on … that’s as far as he went – he looked into their front yard and verified no one was there. “Come on,” he said and walked back in the direction we had come from to his house. He opened the front gate, sat on his front porch and told me to sit next to him.

So I did. And we talked about who was going to do what. We were both nervous – and both insisting that the other expose himself. Eventually, I did. But quickly hid the good again. It freaked me out. “Let me see,” he said and I did it again … he reached for me and grabbed hold.

HOLY SHIT. My body was on fire and I wasn’t sure what to focus on. On what I saw, on the electricity within me or even if the electricity was what I was SUPPSOED to be feeling. It was absolutely NOTHING I had imagined to that point. And before I could figure it out – he stopped.

And then he wouldn’t expose himself – and insisted that I reach in and do it myself. At this point, I didn’t need any prodding. In I went. And what I found was bitter sweet. I loved the feel of it, the soft spongy layer of skin covering a stiff rod of cartilage and it was just divine. There I was at 15 experimenting … and I was kinda freaked out. I absolutely thought he was a freak – it was uncut and much wider than it was fat, rather oval in cross-section.

What the fuck?!?! Aren’t these things all round (not oval) and cut?!? Aren’t they? That’s how mine is – that’s how my brother’s is … you mean they’re all different?!?

He invited me into his house and we went in through the basement door and directly into his bedroom. I had no idea what was in store – all I know is that I followed like an attention starved stray. In his room he asked me how far I wanted to go. I didn’t answer, I didn’t know what to say. There must have been a quizzical look on my face – he stood behind me, unzipped me and all I wanted him to do was hold me closer. He went to town, had me squirming – and I reach up behind me and wrapped my hand around his neck.

As soon as I ejaculated he let go and stepped away. I was confused. I knew I had to finish myself off which I did and his carpet was a mess. I was looking down at it and he slammed his sneaker down on it and rubbed it all into the carpet until it disappeared. I zipped up and looked around the dark room confused. I looked at him and he told me that I needed to leave. We headed to the door.

At the door, I looked at him with the most confused little 15 year old look my face could muster. Not on purpose – I was just genuinely confused … and hurt. I mean, he totally let go! He said, “oh God, you’re not going to cry, are you?” I turned around, walked up his driveway. And ran home. But I couldn’t outrun the guilt, shame and remorse, no matter HOW fast I ran. And, let me tell you – I ran fast as fuck.

But you can’t outrun shame.

You can’t outrun guilt.

And you can’t wash remorse away no matter how hot you turn the water on.


Hoover was already taken, so I can't use that name. But, oh I so want to. Because THIS shit is ridiculous:

Why do some men feel it necessary to mark their territory? This is fucking insane! And I tried to stop it, but the nigga want to hold on like he got lock jaw. LOCK JAW! So, it's like I'm the new neighborhood and he's an uncurbed dog ... (in the marking territory way, NOT the water sports way!)

Interestingly enough, I gave him the URL for my blog - so he's reading. (Yes, I'm talking about YOU!) And he needs a nickname (for various reasons) and I've decided that he will hereto forward be known as: CHUPABACRA. And you know what, CHUPA - I actually made a concerted effort NOT to leave any marks. Thanks for the suggestion that I use concealer ... I'll just dig that out of my fucking make-up bag. Maybe a little damn rouge on my neck would work too.

I'm not saying I didn't enjoy myself. I'm just saying that there ain't no reason for me to walk around for the next two weeks like I'm Hester Prynne. I've already decided that I need to wear a shirt AND tie every day until the busted blood vessels heal ... fuckfuckfuck. I'm taking platform in less than two weeks to teach a two-day course too. Rest assured that if anyone comes within any reasonable proximity to my neck, he's gettin' an elbow to the eye.

And FOR THE RECORD ... let me make this a-fucking-bundantly clear. If CHUPA comes out his face and invites me over again ... I mean, if he actually wants JACK again, you know I'm totally going, right? Ok, just so we're clear. But boooooyyyy if you latch on to me again like that .... bitch, BOOM!

I'm just saying

Sunday, October 19, 2008

JACK's Favorite Republican

He really addresses the current political landscape very eloquently. In particular, I like his take on the Muslim faith in this country. Watch this in its entirety if you haven't already. It's well worth it.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

He almost made me cry

As I ponder my life, as I often do, I've come to the realization that I'm right where I had wanted to be. When I got divorced, I felt like I wasted my 20s - albeit true that in my 20s my kids were born and they were and remain the most important thing in my life. But as far as relationships were concerned - what a waste it was to have gotten married, especially since I remember crying like a baby at my own wedding primiarly because I had just made a vow not to have me a man again.

It's crazy that societal pressures and cultural expectations made me feel that I had no other alternative but to succomb to the expectations of me rather than to life out the real me. And in the process, I brought a woman into a big mess of things ... and I understand that totally own that. I can't blame that on anyone but me. For various reason that I will not go into (to preserve PF's reputation [I know, I know - I'm preparing for the Jaded backfiring here]) that part really is a moot point.

But when I turned 30, I said aloud, "I wasted my 20's, so my 30s better watch out." To some degree, I've lived that out in just shy of three years - to another degree, I'm so not done. For the past week, I've been really thinking about relationships and whether or not I want one ... and I do. Certainly not badly enough to go out looking for one - relationship aren't the sort of thing you search for or anything. Like, there's not relationship spelunker gear available in stores or on QVC. And they don't exist for a reason - relationships find YOU. And you just have to sorta wait around.

But I think it would be nice, to be honest. And I was totally wallowing a bit this week in the desire for the devoted attention of a man. For a bit. Fancifully wounding myself with those thoughts of the ideal relationship that I know only exists in my head. Relationships the way we envision them don't really exist - they're rife with real-world dilemmas, tough decisions and with one type of problem or another ... and we rarely fantacize about deciding with our lover that we're going to have to file for bankruptcy and comparing schedules to set a good time to meet with an attorney. Ok, not rarely - never.

But shit like that happens - and you would want your relationship to weather such a storm and not fall into a million little pieces while Oprah reams you a new anus on national TV. And Lord knows that the mother fucker couldn't handle that shit, I'd have to CUT him into a million little pieces and live in prision from then unto forever. (amidst a whole different type of "relationship. *shutter*)

So, all that to say that I just accept that it's going to take time - and that I'm not really in a big hurry - but it'd be nice. And when it does happen, I'll enjoy the ride and make sure I give it the time so that we grow into the type of unit that doesn't end up the focus of some Nightline special. Meanwhile, I'll be a dad, I'll work, I'll date and continue to enjoy the 'fantasticks' in my head.

So, I drove 220 miles to spend the weekend with my kids. And when I was buckling up my son in his car seat outside of daycare, I kissed him on the forehead. While I was leaned over him to latch the clip into the buckle, he wrapped his arms around me (as far as his little 5-year old arms could go) and he hugged me tight as hell. He smiled and whispered, "I love you."

And right there, before my very eyes, I realize ... this is totally better than anything I've envisioned in my head. He almost made me cry.

Friday, October 17, 2008

Why she gotta be Black tho

Thursday, October 16, 2008

No Words: October 16, 2008

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Jews for Jesu - I mean, Obama

I have a Jewish friend, so I couldn't possibly be racist! (great call back, no?)

Well, said Jewish friend shared this with me. And I loved-ed it! ENJOY!

Survey SAYS ....

I understand the importance of surveys - I really do. In the form of course evaluations, they serve me well in my line of work. And I know that the marketing people of the world just salivate at the thought of a 60+% return rate and all that raw data.

But don't ask me stupid shit, please. More importantly, don't ask me A LOT. I mean, I try to be sensitive to the fact that survey return rates are low and I try to be helpful when I can be ...

... but I just got a fucking survey from the CDC. Now, don't get me wrong - The Center for Disease Control is important as fuck. But a 15-page 141-question survey? Are you fucking kidding me? SERIOUSLY?!?!

I swear the CDC is trying to give me angina. Who was the marketing expert over there who said, "oh, 141 questions - that's PERFECT!" That bitch. I want to meet THAT bitch because I have some choice words akin to:

Look, numb nuts ... people out here are working for a living too. Yes, I know you poured your soul into creating that survey, but you need to step outside yourself for a minute or two. A ONE FUCKING HUNDRED FORTY-ONE question survey? Do you know how daunting that appears to the survey respondent? Do you know how those 15-pages yell at us, in almost an audible voice, "beaurocrats, red tape, dumb asses!" Do you know?

So, if any of you out there are creating surveys - keep it simple, keep it cute, and in the words of bon qui qui: don't get crazy.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

JACK and Jesus

When I was an avid church-goer, I remember how the book of John impacted me. It's the thinking man's gospel, and as a thinking man I can really appreciate its perspective. It's definitely more down my alley than the perspective of a tax collector ... but I digress.

And I'm going to digress again. It has been a minute since I've been into my Bible studying it and trying to walk the straight and narrow path, but I still know a lot of Bible. What I can no longer do, however, is tell you exactly where the Word said what ... with few exceptions. Some mnemonic devices have really worked, like The Romans Road, but the ones that didn't really have a catchy rhythm or name? No idea.

So, folks, I am an avid user of The Bible Gateway. On this site, you can search key words in any translation (KJV, NKJV, NIV, Amplified, etc) and toggle back and forth from one version to another to compare chapter and verse. If you ever wonder where that scripture is about "putting on the full armor of God" just type it into the Bible gateway and VOILA! Instant Bible reading. No more see-thru rice paper, bonded leather, bible tabs ... nothing. Just instant Bible.

But anyway - back to my point. There's a scripture in the book of John that spoke to me many years ago and I continue to bask in its reality in my life.

Luke 12:48(b) - From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked. (NIV)

Why this scripture, you ask? Because I always feel like I've got too much to deal with. There's always too much going on ... and my life just always seems to be in one sort of disarray or another. And I have been thinking about the last two weeks and the fact that I have been to Orlando, Atlanta, Chicago and Indianapolis traveling in planes (Delta), trains (Amtrak) and automobiles (I love my 2006 Nissan Altima, even if I'm putting miles on it like a mother fucker) ... I'm now getting sick (head cold) and have tons of work to do at work that I don't even want to do it, I'm almost caught up with school work but am still behind, the ex-wife is hounding me because child support is late and there's nothing I can do because she chose to issue a court order to garnish my wages and I can't touch the money (if it's late, it's either delayed in the mail or on some state employee's desk waiting to get processed - what can *I* do?) ......

Luke 12:48(b) - From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked. (NIV)

And I'm to the point that I am about to get overwhelmed - because let me tell you, the above list is NOT exhaustive. My mom is 700 miles away and on all sorts of new pills for newly diagosed diabetes, high blood pressure and various and sundry mental ailments (I made that last one up), my finances are a mess, both as a result of my own spending and this stupid recession ... you get the idea. I"m a daddy, a son, an employee, a homeowner, a renter, a best friend, a confidant ... I wear many hats.

Luke 12:48(b) - From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked. (NIV)

But I go to my Bible gateway to read the scripture that is my life. Every time I get overwhelmed, and wonder why I have so much nonsense to deal with I remember ... God gave me the ability to handle it. I wouldn't be in any stressful situation I couldn't handle. So, I can't get exasperated ... I refused to becomes exasperated ... because within JACK there is a God-given talent to handle more than the average person. MUCH more ...

Luke 12:48(b) - From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked. (NIV)

So, I take som deep cleansing breaths and ask the Lord to make all the stuff I have to fit into the amount of time I have to do it. He has proven to me time and time again that I can fill a 5 pound sack with 10 pounds of sand ... and so, scoop by scoop, I get it done.

Thank you for joining me on my self-help, self-talk journey ...

Monday, October 13, 2008

Kids, Darndest things ...

Another weekend with my kids is gone - I'm exhausted. Among the highlights:

At the table my son called me Mrs. Daddy. My friend, who I invited for dinner and is also gay, laughed so hard I wanted him to choke on that grilled chicken breast.

My daughter turned in her homework early so I didn't have anything to look at or work on with her. Turns out her mom said it was ok because she was done with it. Fucking annoying.

Bought each kid a new stuffed animal. That brings the total number of stuffed animals in my house to about 8,000.

I did laundry and realized that I have WAY too many clothes. It's annoying as hell.

Found out the ex-wife's car wouldn't start this morning - she's driving around in her girlfriend's car. This being the car she walked out of the marriage with, it having been completely paid off by that time, made me smile. I admit it. I'm smiling now as I type.

Took the kids riding bike on a long ass trail that used to be a rail line. It's paved for folks to roller blade, bike, walk job, etc. About 15 miles of it at least. My daughter was upset that she was the leader on the way out but that her brother was going to lead on the way back. She pedaled so slowly that she fell far back enough that I couldn't hear her. Eventually, she started crying that I didn't just hold everyone up for her ... which I didn't. It didn't bode well for her when we got back to the car.

My daughter and I made up - and everything's cool now. lol.

I am now working on an interactive post and I hope that you will take part. I will post in the coming days what will come to be the infamous Martinez Continua. You must come back - and you must participate and that includes those of you that visit and don't comment. Please?

Except Lost Compass, formerly known as Deep Canyon. JGC is through with you ...

Carry on.

JACK off-kilter

If you know me well, you know that (all things considered) I'm pretty normal. Although as I sit here and type, I'm not so sure that's really saying much. Normal is such an ambiguous term and we all come from one measure of dysfunction or another, right? But, it is an absolute miracle that my upbringing resulted in ANY semblance of normal - I promise you. Statistics say I should be dusty, wearing baggy ass jeans that don't fit my waist, walking with a pronounced strut, scarred by bullets, knifes and random sharp objects, spending all my waking hours in pursuit of the next high and any crime that would send me back to jail where it's nice and cozy, I get three meals a day and don't really have to do much.

But, on the contrary. I'm clean cut (not dusty), wear business casual on the regular (as opposed to baggy jeans), walk upright (without a pronounced strut), have no real scars other than from that surgery on my wrist and have never been cuffed (so sad, but true), let alone carted off to jail. All those things being said - I'm wont to periodically lose my mother FUCKING mind and be pissed off at nothing in particular and not want to see another soul because even the very presence of them would set me off and I would definitely need to find something to fight about.

Like today.

I woke up hella late ... got to work at noon and I'm in the ONLY funk. I have been trying to figure out the trigger. Could it have been that drinking binge last week? I mean, I was one drink away from being the next Captain on the bottle .... each night .... but wouldn't I be feeling like this LAST week, then?

And then it hit me.

me: is this our PMS week? Cuz I'm wanting to fuck someone up for no reason. Check your calendar. I need answers

JADED: right on schedule

me: why! why! WHY AM I CYCLING WITH YOU!

JADED: I'm the dominant bitch in this relationship. LMAO!

me: dominate THIS, pendeja

We've had this conversation before, Jaded and I ... and I've realized that I get into a rhythm rather easily. I get cool with a bitch, and suddenly her moon rises and falls over me too. WTF! I suppose it's the same "thing" within me that has me picking up accents really fast. I mean, if I spent ONE WEEK in the deep south (saaaayyyy, Mississippi!), I'd have a funny ass drawl (like from, saaaaayyyy, Mississippi!).

I'm impressionable, I suppose. So impressionable that I will need an alibi when I beat the living fuck out someone today. I mean, I want to swing boards with rusty nails protruding from the ends ... and I doubt I'd get off on account that JADED is the dominant bitch in our relationship. So, if anyone asks ... I was with you. ALL AFTERNOON.

Got it?

me. there. with you. ALLLLLLLLL afternoon.


*scurries down hall*

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Slumber Party

My kids and I have a routine - every Friday night that they are with me, we crash on the floor in the living room, eat junk food and watch movies until our eyelids are too heavy to hold open. Last night was no exception.

Now, my son - he's a lightweight. Sleep rarely flutters by him unnoticed and he was asleep before I got everything together and went to lay down. My daughter and I? Midnight.

The problem with this set up is that that little bastard always wanna wake up early because he goes to sleep so much earlier than my daughter and I do. She's more than happy to wake up at that time too ... because she's six and has the energy and all.

This morning, however? JACK was hurtin ... three times they woke me up to tell me they were hungry and I finally got my ass up at like 9:30 to make breakfast: Scrambled eggs, bacon and sesame seed bagels from DD's ...

I want to lay back down and sleep - I really, really do. Especially after working so damn hard the night before to NOT get any ... and I can't. I simply can not. My son has a soccer game at 1:30pm and right now, I have them running around the backyard with these new foam rocket shooters ... I can hear them through the window as I type. They're having a blast.

Me? I'm tired as hell. And I wanted to share with all my blog friends.

But in the end - it was all worth it. I was back there with them a bit ago, picking up random fallen sticks/twigs and have been filling up the fireplace so that we can burn a fire this evening. I can almost hear the crackling of the fire right now ... almost.

But the numbing, relaxing crackle is being drowned out by two well-fed children running outside this bedroom window. It's time for me to go back out there ... and allow the obligatory foam rocking shooting of daddy.

Daughter: "Look over there, Daddy - a blue jay!"

JACK looks around.

JACK gets pummeled by foam rockets as the kids laugh.

Son, pointing in other direction: "Look dad, a RED jay!"

As tired as I am - this is NOT for the birds.

Friday, October 10, 2008

Ready, Fire ... Aim

It's been 8 months. EIGHT months. And so I broke down and called mr. bought-me-a-ring-and-still-doesn't-know-my-last-name to pick me up at the train station. And, of course, he did.

Why - why - why - why?!?

The last time our "session" ended with an uh-oh ... and I didn't get any.

And this time?

Ok, so he has a hot tub in his back yard ... and we got in. That was a first for me. I can't believe I've gotten to the point where I'm totally qualm-less and do this shit. But, it was interesting. I liked it.

I mean, I gave it the 'ole college try ... AGAIN. And the trash talk was HOT and I was all into it ... again. Eventually, he wants to take it inside and just have at it. I'm game.

Except, he's not ... uurrr ... UP anymore. And so I ask, "what's up with this?" grabbing a handful of useless, flacid penis.

It turns out he busted in the hot tub.


Are you fucking kidding me?!?

I'm just glad he wanted to get out of there - and that there was enough chlorine in that bitch to perform keratotomy on a mother fucker ...

I mean - WTF?!?!! It's been 8 months, but folks - not for lack of trying.

Oh, and can you believe the mother fucker wanna ask me inside why I kept holding it back? I mean, I'm not long-winded. I'm not, trust me. I can't stand long, pointless bludgeon sessions ... but you gonna sit there and accuse me of holding back because it's been 10 minutes?

Put my dick back in your mouth and shut the fuck up.

**end trans

Thursday, October 9, 2008

Traveling Gays

I considered my life as a professional, traveling man ... and thought about this club I went to in Orlando. With my favorite boo boo in the whole world.

(heeeeyyyyyy boo boo!)

Anyway, I met a man there, let's call him Jacob (because that's his name). He's from Tampa. I'm in town from Chicago. And we talked for a while ... and when i asked him what he does (he asked first, so I figured it was fair game) he told me he was a house husband.

Without batting a lash, I told him that that was pretty cool. Although, sitting there and about two and a half sheets to the wind, I knew (as surely as I know that gravity exists) that this mother fucker ain't no trophy husband. He's not body beautiful and even if he isn't butt fuckin ugly, he's no perfect 10. I can tell this even IF my motor skills are skillfully impaired. But I understand the game he's playin ... that is, he's playing a game, not that he's GOT game. You feel me?

Jacob told me that he was magnum. So, as a verfication exercise, I felt him up.

He's not.

We continue to talk there at the bar ... and some other dude, who we called red hat, mentions to the bartender that he's straight. I interrupt because I had my eye on Red Hat all night and I just had to verify this piece of information. He said he was indeed straight and his friend (who so damn obviously sweet we call Sucralose) verifies this ... I pull Red hat closer to me and tell him "Damn Shame."

Oh, right - Jacob. So, we keep chatting and he attacks my Puerto Ricanness because I'm smoking Marlboro Mediums. I'm so damn mad - and then he comes out with his Marlboro Lights Menthol. I wanted to drag his ass so damn bad.

Oh, did I mention the dyke who told me I was hot, started humping me while I sat on the bar stool and eventually threw my knees over her shoulders? And when boo boo came to the rescue, I ran away tot eh other side of the bar and apparently, she climbed him like boo boo was a totem pole and boo boo lost both his earrings.


Oh, the last time I was in this city and in this club (again, with boo boo ... heeeeeyyyy) I met a brotha from Alabama. I felt him up too - but he told me I made him hard and that I could verify. And, you know how Reagan taught my generation to trust ... but verify ... so, I blame Reagan. This dude asked me to go with him out into the parking lot.

In the middle of Tropical Storm Faye.

Obviously I didn't go outside into the fucking storm with him ... and when I left, I saw him in the parking lot with some idiot who apparently took him up on the offer.


As I'm considering these experiences, and the fact that I been gay clubbin in DC with 143, New York City with Jaded ...

It occured to me.

I'm unknowlingly a part of this underground network I call Homos Without Boarders.

  • We know no city or state boundary
  • We'll grab a dick in a minute
  • We typically lie (about our being house husbands, even)
  • We go to clubs all over the place, but rarely dance. Dancing is for the locals.
  • We beeline for the hottest mother fucker we see ... and work our way down the list until something sticks. (explaining why I'm talking to the wanna be house husband and not to Red Hat)

Feel free to add to this list - my creativity well ran dry after I laughed my ass off at Homos Without Boarders.

Carry on ...

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Happy Birthday to JACK

Ok, folks, my birthday is coming up soon early next month and this is what I want: a subscription to gayparent magazine. And not the NYC version, because although I'm sure it's the shit, I don't live there anymore.

Hit me up at and I will give you my address so you can surprise me. As a token of my gratitude, I will post a huge big 'ole THANK YOU post in your honor, unless you want to fly under the radar. Then, I won't.

Why am I asking this, you say? Because it's not like I'm askin for some torrid item from the Pink Pussycat or anything - it's a PARENTING magazine!

Come on - you know you want to ...

In addition, I'd like those rain guards put on my Altima. I smoke, and when it rains, what a SON of a bitch! So, does Nissan have gift certificates? I dunno - but rest assured that I never, EVER smoke in the car when the kids are in it, or within 24 hours of my going to pick them up. Big no-no.

Carry on ...

Sunday, October 5, 2008

a glimpse into JACK

I have a few weaknesses, and although I absolutely refuse to list them here for the world to know and see and use against me (did I just reveal too much right there? ), I will indeed say that there are several songs out there that have a profound effect on me, songs that cannot simply fill the air and drift on by me but that instead that permeate through me, fill my chest with tension and fill my eyes with tears. Others put me in a trance. I'm careful as HELL not to get caught out there like that, though, and you will never, ever find me around if these songs that makes me all sappy comes on on the air. I will change the station or leave the room if I have no control over the airwaves.

The first time ever I saw your face
Look, I don't know what the hell Roberta Flack was thinking - but DAYUM, give a mother fucker a break. After all these years, my posture gets just a little bit better by about note number 4 of this song. And by the time she sings 'i felt the sun rose in your eyes,' I'm fighting the water in mine. And so many people have tried to remake this song - Lauryn Hill sang it, George Michael sang it, Celine Dion sang it. And it's one of those songs that people just need to leave alone. Back the fuck up and stay away from this bitch, mother fuckers - you can't touch it. And then, I heard Leona Lewis sing it ... and my posture got just a little bit better by about note number 4. My mother in law likes this one better than the original - that's debatable of course, but I gotta say that Leona does it for me. And her rendition get a thumbs up from JACK.

The weakness in me
I heard this song only recently, and it's the one that inspired this post. I didn't even know who Keisha White was (sorry to all those K.W. fans, I just didn't know). When I heard it, I found myself listening to it over and over, and over and over again. When I latch on to a song, I'm wont to burn it, for days on end. Ask anyone close to me - it's best to just not be around me when I get like that because it's all you hear and it will drive you crazy - but that's me. Apparently, it was written and performed by the Indigo Girls some years ago - but whatever ... K.W. is where I heard it first and I'm not even interested in any previous version. And I don't care want ANYbody says, bitch is WARRING that dress in this video, and that glance she gives the pianist at the end makes me just wanna eat her UP.

So High
This is what made me a John Legend fan - when this nigga sang, "and we can't get much closer to God than where we are," I wanted to propose. Admittedly, this song puts me more in a trance than it does make me tear up ... but it's damn close. At about 03:20 in this video, he kisses the FUCK out that woman, doesn't he? mmm mmm mmmmm

Safe from harm
I get chills from this one - the Faith in me knows Bebe got it right with this one. I could definitely listen to this for hours when I'm feeling low, or anxious or whatever. Bebe betta SHANG! When he hits the high note singing, "in the eye of the storm there CALM," The chills reach an apex for me. (Yes, I said "SHANG" and "apex" in the same post)

So you would know
This one is too much for me to explain - just listen.

I just wanted to end this post on a not so 'drippy wet' mood. I love the shiznit out this song. (And i have the ONLY crush on Toni - just do.) When I was dating 'THAT mother fucker' I had this song on repeat one night to fall asleep to and it played through the night. He came home when I was already asleep and in the morning he wanted to know if I had this song on repeat all night because of him? Uhhhh, no - I just like it. Maybe that was the wrong answer - he wanted to assure me he was all mine. Ummmm, yay? I dunno. I still like the song even though he tried to ruin it for me.

Saturday, October 4, 2008

My alma mater

I don't usually talk about high school. There's college to focus on - so I don't have a high school ring. I did get a college ring, except I gave it to my cousin when she was the best (wo)man at my wedding. She was the best Best (Wo)Man I could have ever had ... I'm not saying we're trashy, ghetto bitches or anything, but she and I were both late to the wedding. Yes, folks, I was late to my own wedding. I stopped to get the bouquet, because this wedding was planned about as well as our Iraq war, and the bride had nothing to hold. But this bitch at the flower shop took her sweet ‘ole time. I called the church and the associate pastor says, “Let me get this straight – you’re late to your own wedding.”


Add this to the fact that my Best (Wo)Man had stuffed her bra with masking tape and you get the idea. We’re a straight mess. But I’m digressing.

My whole point here is this here quote published at

Elderly math teacher: By god, you can't just hand me any mangled piece of paper you want! What do you think this is, the Bronx High School of Science?
Geeky kid #1: Oooh, that's mean.
Geeky kid #2: Well, at least he didn't say Brooklyn Tech. They have cameras everywhere, and if you dis them, they'll take out their gun and be all, "What did you say about my school?"
Geeky kid #1: You just made that up.
Geeky kid #2: I wish.

--Stuyvesant High School

My, how I miss Brooklyn Tech …

Friday, October 3, 2008

Caption Contest - October 3, 2008

You know how it goes - submit your best caption in comment for the following pic: