Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Good riddance decade!



I don't feel very centered right now. But I refuse to take that nonsense into the next decade. I am determined to clear my mind, clean the slate and maybe even turn in the dusty, unseemly chalkboard of the 2000's for a new, pristine white board onto which to begin writing my 2010s.



Clean slates are good. I am ready to shake my head really fast and erase all the negativity, as if my mind were an etch-a-sketch and my resolve is the hand of a rambunctious toddler trying to erase the scribble to start all over again.



My last post discussed a very serious issue I'm struggling with and I'm not entirely certain yet that I will officially out myself to my parents, but I think there's a possibility. The reality is that there exist a myriad of things that I need to fix. In no particular order:

  • I need to get my ass back to the gym on the regular. Several years ago, on January 10th of that year, I began a diet and exercise plan that lasted 10 months. I lost 40 pounds and felt great. But I stopped going (for good reasons at the time) and just never picked it back up (for LOUSY reasons). I got into a relationship and got complacent and slowly the weight's back. It's gotten worse over the last year, though ... but I think that I'll start again in 2010 as an outward expression of my commitment to a better me.
  • I've got to get my financial house in order. I've given myself 5 years to clear my portfolio of all unsecured debt ... of all vehicle loans (I'll drive this Altima until the hubcaps come flying off across the interstate, and then some). I refuse to be turn 40 and carry the debt load that I do. So, there will be some changes.
  • I've got to get better organized in general - living in two cities is rough and I seem to constantly find myself needing something that I've left in the other city. It's gotten better, but it's far from perfect.
There are others, but those are the biggies. And I'm putting it all out there once and for all - I'm tired of constantly dealing with the same shit year in and year out. I'm just over it. And I'm using the turn of the decade as my catalyst to a better me.

And, yes, even *I* am surprised that having a man isn't on this list. It's just not on it. There are some things on the inside that I need to mend, and although I welcome the companionship and am willing to be a helpmate to another man who is willing to be mine, I am SO over the notion of wanting him. Needing him. Looking for him.

Bitch - YOU find ME.

Happy New Year all.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

The Closet

To this point in my life, I've considered myself rather discreet ... I know, shocking. But really, I don't wear my sexuality on my sleeve and have only denied it when asked about it at work. I just don't feel the need to talk about it at work. So, I guess my closet has been of the comfy type, like decorating the hell out of a double-wide and feeling like I'm in a mansion. It really hasn't been an issue for me - I have a support system of people who know my proclivities and they mean the world to me.

The reality is that I'm not really all up under my parents (haven't been for quite some time) and the notion of "having" to come out to them really seems ridiculous to me. At this point in my life, I'm divorced, have two kids, a career and I live some 700-plus miles away from them. So, in spacial, geographical terms ... it really isn't necessary.



I was thinking about New Year's Resolutions the other day and although I'm not the type to really make them (they never work out for me) ... it occurred to me that we would be entering a whole new decade. That really made me think of the 2000's as whole ... not just of 2009 as a year by itself.







We lost the twin towers of the WTC. More than 3,000 lost their lives. Millions lived in panic at the mercy of government's need to create a common, formidable enemy (an entirely different topic, I know).



Hundreds of thousands lost their lives as the oceans reached miles past their shores, tsunamis triggered by a massive earthquake.



Earthquakes are increasing in number (I'll leave out the biblical implications), having taken the homes and lives of millions in the past 10 years.


Then I considered my own life over the past decade:

  • Married in 2000
  • Bought a house in 2001
  • Baby Girl was born in 2002
  • My baby boy born in 2003
  • Separated in 2004
  • Divorced in 2005
  • Court battle 2006
  • Ridiculous at work daily in 2007
  • Laid off in 2008
  • Commute to and from Chicago through 2009
  • Still single heading into 2010
That's not to say that there weren't any good things - but in light of the frailty of life, I thought about how hectic my life has been ... I thought about who I really am and want to be int he next decade ... and it occurred to me that my parents don't really know me.

That part bothered me. I considered my having not really told them about my sexuality (although they suspect) and the issue isn't really about whether or not I'm obligated to come out to them ... it's about whether or not I allow them to really know me.

And I think I really want to tell them.

I don't want to wait until I'm in a relationship and add strain to my partner because he's the thing that's giving me the strength to tell them ... because that's not fair. I should really be affording a man a whole lot better than that. And that comes as a result of a whole lotta nonsense I've been through with dating, much of which I've documented in this blog. Surely if I can articulate how DL men don't offer me much, and can name examples of why I am convinced that's true ... how could I really expect to offer much to someone when my own parents don't know the real me?

I'm not sure how things will pan out - or even if I'll go through with it immediately but I'm determined to make the next decade much better than the one I'm leaving. Because, honey ... I really, REALLY want to leave it .. far, far behind me.

Saturday, December 26, 2009

Jaded's Duffel Bag

In this post, Jaded listed all the things that needed to get done in the event of her death, before her momma got to her apartment to go through her things. She wrote:

In my closet, behind all the handbags that I never use, there's a Nike duffel bag. Burn this as well. Without opening it. Trust me when I say you DON'T want to know what is in this bag.

Ah, yes - the infamous Nike duffel bag. I know this bag. I know its contents. And in perezhilton-gossip fashion, I shall detail the contents of said bag:

The knife, in a zip lock bag
In high school, jaded and I met and quickly hit it off. We were the laurel and hardy of that high school ... although, I do admit that no one knew we were as funny as we are. They were all some stuffed shirts in that nerdy specialized high school. But there was this one Jewish kid, who shall remain nameless, that entered our lives ... and he just had to go. She hid the stained weapon in the closet, in the duffel bag. You mustn't tell.

A Hand Puppet
She calls him A-ROD, mainly because there's no way she's dragging a MET's name through the mud. And there's A-ROD, stuffed in the bag ... silent. Completely and totally silent. He just lays in wait ... hanging on her every word. Like an obedient pup, well trained ... and quiet.

Masculinity, in a jar
How his new wife puts up with the remnants, post-emasculation, is beyond me. But you MUST destroy that jar before her momma finds it. Like she said - don't OPEN the bag. But if you hear or feel broken glass, you're screwed.

Elevator key, on a key ring that says "yayayayayya"
Don't ask. It's better you don't know. But suffice it to say that the FDNY is not the only one who can stall elevators with the turn of a key. Sure, some Muslim somewhere is jobless because he lost the key ... but since when have you known jaded to discriminate? All races, creeds and religions are fair game.

Father x's white collar
Yes - she probably bagged a priest. I'm not sure though. But she's got the collar. And she won't have anyone asking any questions.

Voodoo doll
This one is quite mysterious. It's labeled BITCH. Even when she's dead, she doesn't want you trying to guess who it is. It's riddled with push pins and sewing needles.

The cardboard shoebox
It's got these little air holes in it. Along the bottom the following words: His Self Esteem. She figures it should breathe, even if it's stale air sullied by the stale sweat from the neck of a priest mixed with the grease from an elevator operator's pocket. He's used to such confined spaces anyway.

An old plug-in vibrator, cord cut
Rumor has it she entered the room and cut the cord near the outlet. Til this day no one knows who was at the other end. Her penchant for keeping mementos can be quite disturbing.

... and some old gym socks.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

JACK'S HOLIDAY WISH

Which one would you like this Christmas?
Start in the back row, left to right: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
and then the front row, left to right: 7, 8

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, BLOG FAMILY!!!

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Prioritizing 101


The self sacrificing that characterizes maturity (I almost said adulthood, but that's not quite right) takes a lot to maintain. Although I do figure out how to make time for me, there really isn't enough time in my life right now that is dedicated to me and me alone. It can feel a bit overwhelming sometimes.

My children always come first. That's a given. They didn't request the opportunity to be my children, they were given to me as a result of my own actions ... they are my blessing, in fact and I won't live like they don't exist. Towards that end, I maintain a career that pays enough to afford THEM a better life than the one I had growing up.

And really, that's what it should be about. It's not about giving your kids EVERYTHING - it's about giving them more than you had and setting the stage to allow them to be able to give THEIR children more than they had. That's how I see it, anyway. And for the most part, I stick to that. Admittedly, however, I do work get a thrill by giving them more and more and more closer to everything ... but I try to keep that in check.

Anyway, between work and parenting, the former receiving so much of my time only because of the latter, there's not much time for anything else. But, I manage to make some time for me. And if you're a follower of this blog, you probably know that I do alright. Every now and again, however ... I just need to complain.

I'm tired. I'm soooo tired. The last six months have been taxing beyond description. I just got back from taking the kids to NYC to visit their abuelo and abuela. We were there for four days. And air travel with two kids, all their shit and all my shit and two car seats? It wasn't easy.

Less than 48 hours before we left for NYC, I returned from a business trip in Nashville. I was there teaching a course. Less than 24 hours before THAT plane left, I was driving to Indianapolis from Chicago because the President had the office Christmas party at his house on Saturday night.

I've put nearly 40,000 miles on my car since April 2008 driving to and from Indianapolis and Chicago. The ex-wife has been ill (battling cancer all year) ... my son's asthma is flaring up. My job reorganized (i.e laid off 1/3 of the staff) in June and they still don't have an org chart of how shit there is supposed to work ... my finances are a mess, trying to keep up with living in two places ...

The holidays? Lawd. I'm cooking (again). I have stuffing in the oven, a ham in the fridge ready to go into the over overnight, etc. etc. etc. I cooked the entire Thanksgiving meal and took it to the baby momma house (turkey, squash, stuffing, corned beef, sweet potatoes .. blah blah blah) because she had the kids and she had just gotten out of surgery ....

There's so much to focus on that it's all a blur. I feel like I'm blinking rapidly at life trying to make it all clear ... and things are indeed beginning to fall through the cracks. I forgot to pay a couple of bills last month (late fees are a bitch), and not for the lack of funds, but because I just totally rushed it when I was doing my finances. I think about 90% of my clothes are on the floor ready to be put away but I just can't manage to get it all organized and in the drawers. My back is riddled with tension and I need to be rung out like a wet towel, but who has the time to lay still on a massage table. Seriously, 2009 has been a mother fucker.

BUT ... my babies don't know it - there's a Christmas tree glowing in the living room, all of Santa's gifts are wrapped and put away on top of the laundry room closet, there WILL be a meal tomorrow for dinner and the kids' smiles will make it seem all worth it. Especially when they open that Nintendo Wii.

Expect me to play that fucking thing a LOT.

Even when they're gone.

Because I do need to make time for me - and I'll get it wherever I can find it.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

My Cuddle Buddy


My son lost his two front teeth this past week. It's so cute. He let me know that he might not be kissing right because of his teeth. I swear to God I love that boy to the death.

He got to calling me his cuddle buddy at some point. It just stuck. We're cuddle buddies. Thing is that he just fits ... I don't know how else to explain it. He fits perfectly when I hold him, perfectly when he lays his head on my lap, perfectly when he just crawls on top of me to lay and watch TV. He's a little bit, really - like 42 pounds or something. And he's just so comfy.

He's an affection little booger and I miss him. I'm in a hotel room in Nashville, alone. And I'm not out and about being a ho, or looking for some random brutha to stop on in and let me have it. I'm not even trippin for another man's company.

But my little man - I wish he were here so we could play video games and laugh and watch movies and eat popcorn and so that I could hear him say, "I love you, Cuddle Buddy."

I love you, too, cuddle buddy.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Ranting ala JACK

Homeland Security

My roommate wantd me to change the shower head at the apartment so I took my vice grip over to Chicago from my home in Indianapolis. I was tired of that old shower head so I was more than thrilled to comply with his request. THe fucking vice grip sat in the bottom of my bag for weeks. I really wasn't paying much attention to it and it really had sunken to the bottom of my roller bag and since I pull that thing behind me all over the place, it's not like I was CARRYING it or anything ... I simply forgot it was there.

Until, that is, I was standing at the xray machine watching the TSA fools, I mean folks, staring at the screen and pointing. I felt my heart drop - oh fuck - I'm really trying to get on this plane with a vice-grip!

So, he brings the bag over and I tell him exactly which pocket it's in. The agent takes the vice grip out of my bag, puts it in that little dog-bowl lookin' bucket and send it back through the x-ray machine. He doesn't give me back my bag. I'm certain I'm going to be detained or something ... and they're gonna ask me what bolt I was gonna try to undo and blah blah blah.

But the friendly TSA agent doesn't grill me. Instead, he puts the vice grip back into the very same compartment of my bag he found it in ... zips my bag closed and hands me my bag with the vice grip in it. I took my bag and it took all I had not to shake my head. But I look at it this way ... if some shit goes down at 24,000 feet, I have a weapon.

So, don't take a bottle of Dasani water through there, bitches ... but vice grips? ok.

Dumbasses.


Side Note
I kinda was a bit of a mess because my condoms were in there too. And I don't mean a few condoms ... I mean the enormous handful I got from the clinic last time I got tested. In there with the vice grip. The vice grip was all the way down in the bag and the condoms scattered all over the bag on top of it. It's a fucking mess, I tell you ... the shit that be happening to me.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

It's SHAMEFUL that those ridiculous senators who are scared of gays weren't listening to this eloquent speech.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Black Friday with JACK

In 2002, I did the Black Friday thing. I started at 5am and learned at how ridiculous people could get waiting outside for HOURS before then. I didn't get everything I was looking for that year, but I did get a few things and it was fun.

Except for Toys R Us. I will never, EVER go to that store on Black Friday or during the holidays at all. There was yelling and kicking and screaming and parents fighting over toys. The same toys they'd yell at their children for fighting over at some point. It was mayhem and just a whole lotta nonsense - and I'm not risking my life over a five dollar Barbie.

This year, I was out there as a good deed. My roommate is dating someone new who has issues that my roommate is using his ex's laptop still. He borrowed it after his desktop crashed and has been using it ever since. So, my roommate wants a new laptop - to be honest, I think he just needed something to push him to spend the money. He's wanted his own damn laptop since forever.

Anyway, I was there for a laptop. The roommate is going to reimburse me and I actually had nothing going on that would prevent me from getting it ... and he was going to be out of town at his parents without a car. So, fine - I went.

TO WALMART!

Oh dear God. It was something else. And why did I get stuck around these chatty ass women who just wanted to talk and tell stories about where they'd been already (Toys R Us opened at mid-fucking-night!) and how tired they were and what they ate and all this nonsense I just didn't give a fuck about. Whatever, I did it. There were some things at Walmart that I wanted to get, including a $29 bicycle for my son. So, I bore the misery from 3am to 6am when I finally got out of there.

Have you ever seen that email forward about people that shop at Walmart? THey're usually dressed in their pajamas or some ghetto/white trash outfit that makes no sense - have you seen it? Well, I learned that those really aren't staged. They're really not. LAWD. HAVE MERCY. Some of these people really did look like their parents were spawned from the same womb. I swear they did.

And THEN - there was THIS nigga:



Really? You're going to climb your big, Black ass into a shopping cart to sit? You can't stand for two hours and not make a fool of yourself in front of all these White people? Really? THAT shit was crazy. You should've seen him push the gate all the way up and around, crouch underneath it and wedge himself into that cart. And eventually, he scooted all the way back into the cart, put his elbows on the sides of the cart and let his feet just dangle in midair ... I swear, some people make no goddam fucking sense.

I just HAD to put him on blast. JACK is never without his camera, people.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Mouth of babes: A saying that's TELLING

Today - my lawd Jesus, today. I wasted 4.5 hours of my life on a conference call. And when I was done, EVERYTHING was bothering me. I was just one cranky bitch. You know those moments when you feel like the next mother fucker that so much as SPEAKS to you will go down in a wrath not seen since the Israelites were worshiping golden calves while Moses was gone for 40 days. (If you believe in such things). Well, it was one of those days.

It's also one of those days where I can say mother fucker, cranky bitch AND Moses all in the same paragraph. Just accept it - I'm not in the mood.

It didn't help that my sister in law came by to pick up the money her mother said I was going to give her. I told her that I came home with her mother's check and haven't gone to cash it yet because of this conference call - you know, the one that was so painful it blurred my vision - and that I was STILL on the conference call.

Why is it that during this conference call I hear this bitch's footsteps in the hallway, listening to see if I was still on the conference call? When the fuck did I become your bitch? Just because you goddamn son is out of diapers doesn't mean I have to drop everything and run around town like I ain't got no goddamn sense ... I done TOLE this bitch at least three times before that if you wait until the last minute, it's only because you think you're more likely to get the handout if there's an emergency. And I'm through being manipulated, ok? I'm over it. I know the game well ... so her tip toeing on my laminate flooring made me want to take up one of those planks and smack her with it.

Bitch, I'm busy.

So, after the conference call, I go to the bank and deposit the check and withdraw the $200 she needed. (Don't ask me what the fuck she wanted it for - I just know that her mom asked me to deposit her paycheck and suddenly I have more shit to do because I have her money) So, after I get the goddamn money I call this bitch only to have her say that she went over to her moms and had her withdraw the money out of her account so she was good.

GOOD?!?

"And who was gonna tell ME that you DIDN'T need me to go to the bank?"

"oh."

That's all she had to say. "Oh." Now I gotta take my ass BACK to the bank to deposit this cash ... and I'm on my way to pick up my kids and I gotta feed them and bathe them and homework and reading and bed times ... mother, fuck - got damn, bitch.

She started saying some other shit and I was just like, "you know what, bye."

So I'm all flustered and pissed off and cranky and i WISH someone would say something stupid to me ... and all that.

I get home to read an email from my daughter's teacher - it's their weekly newsletter. Guess what - she's saying no homework all week since it's a short week. Instead she had the kids write down what they were thankful for and she published it in the classroom newsletter.

At this point, I should tell you that my baby mama has been ill. I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say that it's serious - she had surgery last week and that adds to the number of things I've got to get done this week, which is why the whole bank thing was such a big deal. Like, seriously - the baby mama and I, three weeks ago, had the "If I die ..." conversation - I've been stressed. I know - it doesn't show one bit.

So, I'm scanning this newsletter to see what my daughter said - because, let's face it, who gives a fuck what the other kids said. And there's my baby's name, and she says:

I'm thankful for the doctors that are keeping my mommy safe.

omg - my eyes well up just typing it. How precious a lesson my daughter taught me just then ... I sit here with tears rolling down my face - tears that parents shed that their kids never know about. Tears we shed only when they're fast asleep, safe and secure.

You know what - it was just a conference call. It was 4.5 hours of my life - and I have my life. I wasn't the I in "If I die ..." My children are worried about their mommy and think about it enough to be thankful, even at 6 and 7, that there are doctors who specialize in taking care of their mommy. What's another trip to the bank?

I conditioned and detangled my daughter's hair tonight. I sat her under the hair dryer, gave her some books ... and even though it was way passed her bedtime, I sat there with my book on the couch while she read her book sitting underneath the hood. It was the first time she used it - and she felt like a big girl. And she was all smiles.

Nothing else really matters if a father can make his daughter smile.

She stopped reading and looked at me and asked, "Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Can I have a hug?"

Nothing else really matters if a daughter can make her daddy smile, too.

And I did - I smiled.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Self Centered Men

I met a guy online and we really seemed to hit it off. We exchanged numbers and had a phone conversation that was effortless by all measures. He had a very interesting story and I asked tons of follow up questions during a 2-hour conversation that didn't seem nearly that long at all. We agreed to meet for lunch the following day.

It was a fool proof plan, I thought. It was his day off and I am pretty flexible with my work schedule and can go out for lunch at any time. We texted in the morning and it seemed like it might be a little later than noon ... he manages a restaurant and had to go in to do a few things and we would meet after that.

Seemed fine.

Then he told me to just come by his restaurant. I wasn't so sure about that, but I did want to meet him in person and so I went. It was awkward to say the least and I'll spare all of the details about how I told him I was uncomfortable being there at his job and how everyone was trying to get his attention and asking him questions, and about how we agreed to just sit in the sitting area away fro everyone and just talk and how he then decided to give me a tour of the building and introduced me to all these damn people. (after I told him that this was his work and I didn't think we really should be hanging out there, especially on our first meeting)

I agreed to have lunch on Saturday with him. It meant that I had to wake up early and drive back to Chicago to meet him, but I thought it was worth it. I really did want to spend time getting to know him in neutral territory.

On Friday night I called him and he told me that we wouldn't be able to meet for lunch the following day because he made other plans after I left ... after we agreed on meeting for lunch on Saturday. He said that I should call him when I get back into town and he would see if he had time to meet with me, "no, I'll MAKE time to meet with you," he said.

Well, how about NO. How about I come back to Chicago whenever the hell I feel like it and NOT call you to tell your dumb ass that I'm in town. At this point, I review the 2 hour conversation we had and it really WAS all about him - he did most of the talking and I found out a LOT about his life and he found out little to none about mine. Moreover, he wanted me to see HIS place of employment, give me a tour of the building HE works in ... and wanted me to let him know when I was around and he's fit me into HIS schedule.

All in all, I found him totally wrapped up in HIM - and while I really like a man who has his shit together and has a career and all that ... I'm going to need him to come with enough security to not have to flaunt it. I didn't ooohhh and ahhhh about his restuarant or hotel ... Well, I travel a LOT for work and I've stayed at Ritz Carltons, resorts in Maui, Pointe Clear Alabama, blah blah blah. It get to the point where hotels are hotels with conference rooms and meeting rooms and banquet halls and sleeping rooms and it's all the fucking same. He really wasn't impressing me .. or fucking teaching me anything when he was trying to explain to me that there was an airwall in the restaurant that made a certain area a private function space.

... just like tons of private function areas I've been in for meetings ... from the like of St. Elmos in downtown Indianapolis to the Westin Mag mile. I GET IT!

I didn't call him when I came back into town - instead, I went out for my birthday this weekend and woke up with one hell of a hangover this afternoon.

I noticed him online today and I told him that it was too bad we didn't connect and that I hope he had a good weekend. He responded and said that he was sorry he was unable to make time in his schedule for me.

"LOL - you're silly. You DID have time - you just chose to spend it at a garage sale."

(that's where he went, btw, instead of keeping our Saturday lunch date)

He didn't respond.

He's out his damn mind if he thinks he's got it worse than anyone else when it comes to scheduling in a date ... mfer, I live in two cities, travel all over the damn country and still manage to make sure the men I date don't feel like impositions.

Too bad he's too wrapped up in himself trying to impress people with himself ... he's a good looking, successful Black man who can hold a decent conversation (that is, of course, as long as it's about him)

smh

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Home

This is pretty:



This is choppy:



And then there's the 11-year old Jazmine Sullivan:



And with that, the 11-year old done kicked them both in the teeth.

Friday, November 6, 2009

Tapa Ceilo Con La Mano

I took this poll on FB about whether or not I support gay marriage. Of course, I answered that I do indeed support it. What you may not know is that I support it in theory, not in the "I'm about to go out and marry a bastard" sort of way. I suppose if it happens that I find a man I want to commit my life to, then I'd jump the broom again ... but, I'm a happily divorced man right now and I'm not in any particular hurry to even shack up with someone. Quite frankly, I like having things be exactly where I left them when I go to looking for them.

But what gets me is all the comment from the Christian right on the issue. How in the hell does one person's marriage impact another's? I'm at a loss. Preserving the sanctity of marriage is an issue that befuddles me when one considers the divorce rate. I'm part of the 50% of the population that got divorced, dammit - so don't tell me about the sanctity of marriage. That argument is hollow.

The title of this post references an old adage in Spanish - literally translated it means "block out sky with the hand." I've heard it used when people are trying to keep it real ... that is, acknowledging the obvious. But it's also a back handed slap to people who want to ignore really big omnipresent things as if they really don't exist. I'll give you an example.

I have an uncle. He's a ho. His sister-in-law came to live with him and his wife for economic reasons, or for whatever reason. I don't know the specifics. But what I do know is that his wife and his sister-in-law were both pregnant at the same time, while his sister-in-law was living in their house, and yes - you guessed it ... they're both his. Yet, no one talks about it or acknowledges it and my uncle, the youngest of 8, is still the "can't do no wrong" baby of the family.

Bitch, please - he's a ho. Now, the one thing that may make this story palatable is that the wife didn't kick out her sister or anything. They remained buddy, buddy. So, for all WE know the could maybe been having consensual menage-a-trois up in that bitch and it's really none of anyone's business (not that it's any of our business either way, but you know) ... but these sibling/cousins don't seem to have any real standing in the family at large. It's a shame. So, in referencing this situation, someone could be calling it out and start talking about it by saying they don't "tapa ceilo con la mano" and then start talking about my uncle being a fast ass.

So, I just called him out, fine. It's not even the issue here, although I could make this a VERY strong argument against the "holy matrimony" that the Christian right wants to make out of marriage. Let's get some things straight (tee hee, I said straight)

  1. Marriage is not strictly a religious thing. When I married my now ex-wife we had to go downtown and get a MARRIAGE license from the state. The term "marriage" cannot possibly be reserved for the church.
  2. I have Muslim friends who are married. Therefore, marriage cannot be inherently Christian because, well ... Allah done thrown a wrench into that whole thing right thurr
  3. Don't Hindus believe in multiple gods? Yuh, they're married too.
But my main issue is the argument that this is a Christian nation based on Christian principles. Did anyone really research that and confirm the religious beliefs of our founding fathers? I mean, doe anyone know what the fuck a freemason is? an agnostic? I'm not doing your homework - just, if you're going to pursue this avenue, please OH PLEASE do some research.

And then there's that real humane treatment of native Americans. Nothing says Christian like raping, pillaging and forcing people from their land, taking it by force. It must have been that New Promised Land referenced during the 400 silent years no one knows shit about. or something.

Ahhh - and slavery too. Nothing says Christian like slavery, white hoods and hosing off crowds of people with fire engines and fire hydrants. And hanging people from trees! Christian as hell right thurr.

Frankly, I'm tired of hearing people talk about how Christian this country is - it's not. It's Christian-ISH, I'll give you that ... in the same way that my son was Red Power Ranger-ISH this halloween. He looked the part, so he WAS the part.

Dammit, people - just because you carry the Bible and can recite scripture ... that doesn't make you a Christian. Neither does going to church. Show me a man or woman who loves unconditionally, judges little to none, raises respectful children who also love unconditionally and judge little to none ... and I may begin to believe your religiosity isn't just a white, hooded cloak.

Spare me the skewed view of history and tell me, really - how does someone else's marriage impact yours? How does what I do in the bedroom impact what you do in the bedroom? How does who I plant flowers with in the garden impact your damn potted plants?

Show me freedom without ridiculous limits that are based on how you WANT our country's past to be. People should not marry goats - that's not a ridiculous limit. People should not marry people - that shit makes no sense.

Our country has a sullied past. Just fucking admit it and stop trying to force to be true a past that simply isn't. I can admit that I have a sullied past (my GAWD, I used to fuck with fish!) and that admission doesn't reduce me or minimize me. In fact, it empowers me and allows me to have more of an impact in general because people can actually believe what the fuck I say because I'm honest about what the fuck I've done.

When I say to my kids, "choose a mate wisely and don't rush into marriage," they can believe me because I've so been there and made the mistake.

When people say no to gay marriage because this is a Christian country, it just makes me want to remove that hand from their brow and announce, "stop blocking out the sky."

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Dumb Bitch

video

Friday, October 30, 2009

Robots Slay Me

John was a salesman's delight when it came to any kind of unusual gimmicks. His
wife Marsha had long ago given up trying to get him to change.

One day John came home with another one of his unusual purchases. It was a
robot that John claimed was actually a lie detector.

It was about 5:30 that afternoon when Tommy, their 12 year old son, returned
home from school. Tommy was over 2 hours late.

"Where have you been? Why are you over 2 hours late getting home?" asked John.

"Several of us went to the library to work on an extra credit project," said
Tommy.

The robot walked around the table and slapped Tommy, knocking him completely out
of his chair.

"Son," said John, "this robot is a lie detector, now tell us where you really
were after school."

"We went to Bobby's house and watched a movie." said Tommy.

"What did you watch?" asked Marsha.

"The Ten Commandments," answered Tommy.

The robot went around to Tommy and once again slapped him, knocking him off his
chair. With his lip quivering, Tommy got up, sat down and said, "I am sorry I
lied. We really watched a tape called Sex Queen."

"I am ashamed of you son," said John. "When I was your age, I never lied to my
parents."

The robot walked around to John and delivered a whack that nearly knocked him
out of his chair.

Marsha doubled over in laughter, almost in tears and said, "Boy, did you ever
ask for that one! You can't be too mad with Tommy. After all, he is your son!"

The robot walked around to Marsha and knocked her out of her chair.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Do You

You’ve always got a reason
There’s always an excuse
Always someone’s fault
Never your own
I can’t remember a time
When you said it was on you
You can’t ever own it
I’ve always got the deed
To whatever you done did wrong

I’m sorry should come easy
When you love like you say you love me
Yet it’s hard for you to do
When you do
What you do
So it’s time for you to do that
And do you

I can’t believe I apologize
To you
And for you
I’ve done it again and again
And from the inside it’s seemed like the right thing to do
But I’ve taken a different perspective
I’ve learned to be objective
It’s not my fault but
This thing comes to a halt

I’m sorry should come easy
When you love like you say you love me
Yet it’s hard for you to do
When you do
What you do
So it’s time for you to do that
And do you

Go on. Do you. Don’t be sorry now – it’s beyond too late
Sorry’s coming now easy I see but

I’m sorry should’ve come easy
If you loved like you say you love me
Yet it’s been hard for you to do
When you did
What you did
I can see it clearly now
do you?

Au Revoir.

Friday, October 23, 2009

When I think back on my life ...

I don't know why I remembered this particular incident in college - but it hit me a little bit ago and it's gotten me to thinking. And I'd like your take.

First, you should know that I'm all of 5'6" and my idea of a fair fight is my swinging garbage cans and jabbing letter openers into people (and that trusty razor blade I hide neatly underneath my Puerto Rican tongue) ... but the reality is that I've never really had to actually BE in a fight. Because I'm crazy. Seriously - I'm not all there ... and I accept that. I really do. But at least I'm the functional type of crazy that doesn't need to be holed up in some psyche ward and studied until the right cocktail of drugs seems to be turning me into some predictable homo sapien that can be released to some apartment-based facility.

(look, the ex-wife worked at the psyche ward - THAT'S how I know these things! damn..)

I'm the type of crazy that even the strong and virile want around just in case shit gets too out of hand for them ... then steps in me. Looking all crazy and totally hiding the fact that I'm an inch from wetting myself.

So, anyway - there I was ... in college. Friends with member of both the boy's and the girl's rugby team. Look - I'm not stupid. I prefer to surround myself with people that aren't afraid to take a hit (in the face, not from a bong - but that too!) because I do consider myself way too pretty to be hit.

(unless I'm wearing my crazy face - see above)

So, I go to another dorm to hang out with two rugby players, one from the girl's team and one from the boy's team. In this trio - I'm totally the sane one, by the way. (Whatever they told you about Rugby players, if it was that they are "all there," you were lied to) So, we get to drinking and hanging out and listening to music and laughing and doing all the ridiculous things you do in college ... expect somehow they were wrestling me.

Now, let me tell you about me and wrestling.

NO.

So, I don't know - it got all weird really fast and suddenly dude with the rugby named "BUDDHA" (because, seriously - he was half filipino and TOTALLY looked like a statue of Buddha - all he needed was a bunch of fruit at his feet - and not me!) has me pinned down.

Except - it's weirder than just being pinned. We're laying on the floor, my back to him and he's got me pinned against ... himself - arms above my head in a full nelson and one big ole buddha-like leg thrown over me. Homegirl, by the way, is busy feeling me up and buddha starts grinding on my ass. And I'm totally mad because

  1. She is totally not my type
  2. He is totally not my type
  3. I didn't ask for none of this
  4. They seemed to have planned this whole thing, and
  5. I JUST LOST MY FUCKING BUZZ


Ok, so my resolve is to ask them to stop. She said, "yeah right - stop - you know you like it."

I raise my voice, "NO! I DON'T - YOU NEED TO FUCKING STOP"

I raised my voice loud enough that it changed the situation and she threw her hands straight up into the air saying, "ok - ok." Buddha wasn't as reluctant to let go - he stopped grinding but didn't let go of his grip on me for about 30 seconds, which seemed like an eternity. But he did let go and the air in the room completely changed back to what it was before they pretty much accosted me.

So, why is it that even looking back at it now - I don't consider myself having been violated? Why did their apology right then make it ok to stay - you heard me ... I didn't leave right then. But the day is significant enough to me that I remember what I was wearing that night (green plaid flannel - blue jeans) .. and yet I can talk about it without any sort of disgust or disdain or malice or anything.

I think it's weird.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

The joys of parenthood


This was an interesting day. I drove back from Chicago last night, after a day's work, and listened to music the whole way. I really didn't do my ritual catching up with family and friends, driving with the cell phone to my ear like I was some Midwest Maria Shriver ... no, I just sat alone with my thoughts, singing into the windshield like it was begging for encores the whole three hours.

I just needed to clear my head of the noise, and make some of my own. In my car is the only place I really get ME time. For those parents out there, you TOTALLY know what I mean I say that behind the shut bathroom door is NOT no damn "me" time. It's in my car when no one is there but me behind some limo tinted glass.

Today was a typical day, riddled with work and errands. Ran to the bank - ran to the post office - had a lunch date at starbucks - got the mother in law some coffee and Newports because she was at work and didn't take her cash with her - and then went and got the kids.

It was so good to see them. I explained to them the plan:

  1. Go home and pick up that coupon for a 6.99 haircut so we can get that rag mop taken off my son's head
  2. Go to the Kiln store so we can pick up the ceramic heart jewelry box my daughter and I made together during daddy daughter day
  3. Go get my son his haircut
  4. Go home and eat dinner
They both agreed to the evening's run ... and off we went. Obviously, the ex-wife and I stay in touch about the chirrun' ... and so, I knew I had a question to ask. "So, baby - I hear you've been teaching the kid Spanish on the bus!"

*dead silence*

*immediately followed by a wailing daughter*

"What?"

**wailing**

So, my son pipes in and explains that his sister was teaching the kids on her bus some "bad" words in Spanish but he didn't know what they were. The problem with that was that it was my mission to find out what those words were. I calmed down my daughter and explained to her that I already knew that daycare had talked to her and that she and her momma had talked about it and that this was not a conversation about getting in trouble. I already knew that she already knew that she was not to do that again.

After some convincing, she told me what the words were. You ready for this blog family? Stupid. and Shut up.

Yes, folks, JACK's kids think that "stupid" and "shut up" are bad words - funny thing is that when I spoke to their momma about it (because I HAD to call the bitch when she texts me that my daughter told her I've been teaching her curse words in Spanish!) I told her that the only "bad" words I translated for her were stupid and shut up! Sure enough - that's what it was.

So, after she realized I wasn't going to beat her ass for it - she asked me not to tell her grandmother. Isn't she sweet? I agreed not to. I'll do it later, though. And grandma just won't be allowed to address it. But I'm so telling her about it. Too funny.

Then my son got his haircut - and he had the whole place laughing because it tickles when they buzz the back of his neck and he sits there with his shoulder hunched laughing his ass off ... and it's totally contagious. It really is! It makes me laugh sitting here remembering it! lol.

We got home - ate dinner (chicken soup and half a turkey sandwich - and root beer floats for dessert), they took their baths and it was quickly "relax time." I tested my daughter on her spelling words (test tomorrow), set aside tomorrow's clothes and they are right now fast asleep in their beds.

Oh - and that lion up there? My daughter drew it for me.

Life is totally fine right now.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

If ...

... I could hire a bouncer to beat the fuck out someone, I'd pay the money to have said bouncer go get at balloon boy's dad. Did you see this kid blow chunks all over national TV because he was under all sorts of stress. He's a fucking kid! And YOUR kid, you punk ass bitch. And you told him to hide because you were doing it for some show?!? Out of the mouth of babes, boo.




... I could fire any one person at the office, I'd have a hard time picking. But then again, maybe not. Me. I'd pick me. Why save someone ELSE?

... I could choose one food and make it totally NOT fattening, it'd be bagels. I love bagels. Sesame Seed bagels. I want one. Right now. Actually, can I say all breads in general? mmmmmmm carbs.

... I could take on my son's asthma so he didn't have to deal with it, I'd do it yesterday. This is a big one. It's controlled right now, but he still deals with it and I hate it that he has to take all those meds all the time.

... I could bring back someone who is deceased, I'd have trouble deciding. Seriously, I'm not sure. That's a toughie ... do I go for people I'm closest to, or people who were younger? Or do I say fuck it all and bring Luther back?

... I could sate all my curiosities, I'd definitely have to put on the list "interviewing the couple referenced in the video below," and "meeting the person who commented on the video and said:

Dildo on the end of a reciprocating saw is nothing new. Injuries are probably the result of improper construction or improper safety precautions. Done correctly fun can be had by all. Just remember to wear you safety goggles!



(oh, and meeting this kid - he's funny. Not as funny as if Jaded and I were the ones reporting ... but, he's got TONS of potential)

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

This ain't your song

Although, I understand why you'd want it to be

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

AYFKM?!?

Are You Fucking Kidding Me?
This is an honest to God REAL message sent to me on Adam

is ok i didint mean to be rude imsorry papi i like you andi loved to host manwhats yoru number name and email XXXXXXhere yoaure sosexy cute maculiemahco iwnate dyou love dthat face alotand sorry for typosi recentlyhad catarts eye surgery is healign ilivenorthXXXXXXand XXXXXXandyou iloved thsoe eyes andibet you youarea ana wesoemhugger kiserand imsure abig huge fr shootercorrect i loved to invite youvoer iamofthrusdyapmaftenon whas yorunaenubmer email loved to trade new pics i amas wela film director writerandphotogrpaerh fro 25 years doignthre filsm and two boks oneofmy booksishow tmeet guysinteh internetpapi XXXXXXhere emailedmemore more pcis to XXXXXXXXX@hotmail.comimsorryifisouded rude i didntmeantoidolieteh ruels ihoepwecnamet sexy loved to see you witha footabljersyeandcapmanwof XXXXX very sincerely


Obviously, I've omitted his name and the cross streets of his nearest intersection ... but if you come across a book on how "tmeet guyinteh internet," JACK suggests you save your money. He'll have people thinking, like he had me thinking, that they remind you of a hamburger. (I think he suspects I'm an awesome hugger? *shrug* ) For the record, he's been blocked.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Compound Words

BULLSHIT

When your momma calls you all out of breath to tell you that she was in the hospital the last four days because she had an asthma attack and has been on oxygen the whole time. You didn't know, your brother didn't know ... no aunts or uncles ... nobody. Because she's a Latina mother and can totally ride the bus for a 40 minute ride to the ER and don't need NOBODY *gasp for breath* because she grown and can do for herself *deep breathing* and who the hell gonna pay for an ambulance *deep breath* when you can inch your way to the fucking bus for free.

ASSHOLE

A boss who constantly tells you "one day" and "hang in there" and totally sucks the ambition out of you by incessantly placating you instead of paying you what you're worth. Oh, and he tells you that you're worth more ... but times are hard, you know. Oh, and he knows that your title will eventually change and you'll get a promotion ... but times are hard, you know. Oh, but here - do two jobs.

Muthafucka

The dude who kept complaining that he had to wait so long to finally meet in person and who agreed that it'd be ok to at least meet for coffee for an hour or so after you drive 3 fucking hours into town ... only to go out to dinner and call while you're in the shower, cleaning off the three hour drive, to say that he's walking into his house and he knows you prolly tired anyway.


Draft Letters to the three aforementioned pains in my ass:

Dear Mom: Seriously, I'll pay for the fucking ambulance. I'll pay in cash ... sell my ass if I have to ... but for the love of all that is good and merciful, please don't do that again! (even though you've done it before and I know this is a moot request)

Dear Boss: Fuck you.

Dear Dude: Fuck you, too.

-JACK

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Coming out of the prayer closet

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

My Son

My son and daughter each had a soccer game at 6PM Monday. Damn schedulers. Of course, different fields. So I chose to take my son to his game to make daddy-son time for him. (and for me!) I picked him up at 3PM from daycare for his 6PM game.

We went home to eat and to get his power rangers. He left them at my place and we needed to get them because he was upset about having left them the night before.

"What are we going to do, daddy?"

"Well, we need to do what BOYS do - let's go shave!"

"YAY! Shave!"

He gets a straight edge razor when we shave, but he's not allowed to remove the protective cover from the blade. He lathers up and so do I and I show him how to shave. He's 6, remember.

There's shaving cream all over the place and he asks if the knives hurt on my face.

"Not really, but if little hairs get stuck in there, that gets scratchy - so that's why we keep tapping it and running it under water"

I show him how the hair on my face gets stuck in the blade and he says, "ooohhh"

We shave together and he is getting the hang of shaving in ONE direction - as opposed to rubbing it back and forth all over your check. He watches me and mimics me and gets all of the shaving cream off of his face.

We splash cool water on our faces and wipe clean with a towel. I give him my gillette after shave and he squeals in delight, "My face is shiny!"

"Mine too, look!"

And we laugh at each other's shiny face.

And then I sprayed him with Axe body spray. He thought that was the coolest - and then sprayed it all over his stomach until it ran down his belly is streams. Whatever - waste it, boo - it's so worth it.

We bought his friend's birthday present - he picked out a power rangers halloween costume for himself ... and then we sat in the car and play nintendo DS against each other for 30 minutes until his game started. It was tie.

Damn Mario ... how the hell I REALLY have to work to play against a child?!? UGH

But, whatever - that's my little man.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Daddy's little girl

I don't care if she's 7 - she's still my little girl.

One of my son's bestest friends turns six on Tuesday and his friend's mom wanted him to come over and spend the afternoon there. I decided it was a good idea and touted it as an opportunity to spend daddy-daughter time with my little girl. She was all about it.

She got to choose whatever she wanted - to my surprise, she chose bowling. As I thought about it, I realized that the last two times I had daddy-son time, I took my son bowling and putt-putting (six year old boys and gold clubs = a STRAIGHT mess, btw), so I think she wanted to have her turn bowling with daddy. It's totally not her thing, though - we got one game in and she was frustrated. It was sweet of her though.

We went to dairy queen and had lunch - she had some chicken strips and ended with a chocolate dipped soft serve cone. I had a BLT.

We ended up at this place called Kiln Creations - they have a myriad of figurines and things all molded and stuff - all white. And you get to paint it with a wide selection of paints. They then heat it in the kiln for you and you come back and get your glazed porcelain thing. We chose a heart shaped box, chose our paint colors and went to town. It will make a perfect jewelry box for her.

My daughter is quite artistic and loves to draw and paint and color and tells me that her art teacher calls her one of the best artists in the school. So, I thought this was a perfect way to spend time with her doing something SHE liked, instead of bowling.

We sat at this large square table - only she moved the stools side by side so we were on the same side of the table. We sat touch close and painted, making a big 'ole mess of this jewelry box. (I'll never understand how to use stencils properly) She chose the colors and we just chatted and talked about art and about what she was going to put in the box.

"Do you think you'll put your jewelry in this?"

"No - I have to find something more special."

"Why's that baby"

"Cuz we made it together."

I love the shit out that girl.

I've been reading this book on being a good dad and it's totally made me feel like garbage. One of the suggestions is to really make moments with your children and make one-on-one time on a regular basis - so I admit that I was really trying to do the right thing by my daughter while my son ran around yelling like a maniac with his little friend. We strolled down the street holding hands and talking and I really was focused on listening to what she had to say.

The text talks about leaving a legacy for your children, so that they will grow old remembering their days with their father (because absent fathers BLAH BLAH BLAH, you know the statistics, I'm sure) so the other day I asked my daughter a simple question:

"When you're a grown up and you think about being a little girl - what will you remember about daddy?"

"Your cuddles, and that you always tell me I'm the best daughter in the whole wide world."

She asked to sleep in my bed that night - guess who DIDN'T say no?

Sunday, September 27, 2009

A week in the life ...

I drove to Chicago on Sunday night of last week thinking about the fact that it had been 9 weeks since I got laid. So, yuh - I was overdue. Monday night - I did the deed ... got that out of my system, and kept it moving.

I have this idea in my head that I should really keep my business away from home. I don't bring dudes to my house - I usually go to theirs. That means that I must have a safety plan in place. So, Jaded already had this boy's address. Someone must ALWAYS know where you are when you're out creeping.

So, we get the deed done (it wasn't bad, actually - I enjoyed myself) and he tells me to call him. I nod, but of course I have no intention of doing any such thing. I got in, got off and got out. Why is that such a hard fucking concept nowdays. You're my Au Revoir Nigga ... so au revoir, nigga.

On Wednesday I really wanted to go out to the bars - the gay bars. It was one of those weeks. I just needed to step outside of myself, get out of my own way and have a good time. So my roommate and I end up at this place called Jackhammer - I read about it in another blog and was interested in seeing it. Of course, it was a Wednesday night and you could count the men up in there and that was actually kind of nice. After three drink and two games of pool, we went to The Anvil.

At the Anvil, more of the same - Wednesday, few dudes ... very just perfect. And a dude there by himself passed out on the back porch where I went to smoke. Some other dude walks over and says he's been macking on this passed out fool all night. I was confused by what this White dude meant but then he leaned over and started making out with the dude that was so passed out he had no idea what was going on.

I told my roommate that I was leaving and went inside. 1) I don't know the passed out dude and how the hell you gonna go out drinking alone and pass out? 2) I don't know creepy kissing dude and I just wanted out. So I went inside. Left them there to do I don't care what.

Back outside a little bit later it turns out one of the dudes we were talking to about how to make pot brownies (apparently, you saute the weed and get the THC into the oil and strain it to use the oil in the brownie - who knew?!) actually lived next door. So, he asked us to his place to eat pot brownies and my roommate and I left with him.

I made it clear that I wasn't going to eat any. I haven't had weed in 12 years and this was not the way to get back in the habit, in some dude's house I just met.My roommate had one while I played with Frank's cat. Eventually, we left. My roommate didn't feel the weed ... must not be the right way to make it.

On Friday I drove back to Indy, took my kids out for pizza ... and then headed to the ER to get the staple removed from my son's head. They came at him with a pair of scissor looking things with clamps on the end. My son didn't like it. He was freaking out ... I held him down and the staple came out with an OW!" out of his mouth. My daughter came back in right after talking about "I heard him say OW when it came out so I knew it was over" (She had to stay outside while we got it done)

Saturday - daughter's soccer game at 9am. Son's soccer game at 3pm. Some scheduler somewhere is laughing it up to the stucco ceiling, I'm sure. I slet all afternoon between games.

Then we went to run errands. I bought clothes I didn't need. But I like them.

It's amazing the extra-curricula activity you can pack into six days ... amazing.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

A Trip to the ER

Wanna know what happens when you approach a 6 year old with this here device? Well, Let me tell you ...

... but I have to start from the beginning.

While working on my Masters degree I looked forward to completing it to work for some online university to teach. Earlier today I decided that I needed to bring that intention to fruition. Well, that and my boss has been aggravating me so I was looking at some full time opportunities too. (I sent out one resume - wish me luck!)

The kids were in their grandma's bed watching TV in the other room. They were laying there watching cartoon network and I was looking for better ways to support them. We had already been to my daughter's soccer game at 9 am, and then to my son's game at 1:30 pm (fuckers can't schedule ANYTHING right - next Monday, they both play at 6PM in two different parks!), I had baked a ham (left that bad bitch on 180 degrees for 18 hours) and cut half of it up for my ham and 15-bean cajun soup ... it was a full day and the kids were chillin just fine while I surfed www.indeed.com (the best job search engine I can think of) ...

that is, until there was a loud bang ... followed by my son's wailing.

We walked towards each other in the hallway. He was holding his head and my daughter was right behind him looking ghostly talkin' about "it was an accident! it was an accident!"

I held my sons head for him while asking what happened - and then I removed my hand to find it bloody. and not just tinged with blood. BLOODY. May daughter saw my hand and proceeded to freak the fuck out. At that moment, my mind began racing ...

... omg, he's bleeding!

... omg, she's freaking out!

... omg, i'm home alone with two kids!

... how the fuck do I get him to the hospital if he has to be in a car seat in the back and I'm the only adult who has to be in the front doing the driving?!

... Let me walk him to the sink in the bathroom

... Gotta grab a hand towel first

... cold. Cold water. The water has to be cold.

... soak the towel in cold water - cold compresses. Stop the bleeding. That's gotta be first

... if this daughter of mine doesn't stop screaming IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, I might lose it

... can't lose it - this hand towel is soaked with blood. Cold compresses. Cold compresses.

... Can't call grandma - she's working a double. Can't call the ex - she's working a 10 hour shift. I gotta take him to the hospital ... bleeding's gotta stop first though. Cold compresses.

... omg, we're all back in our PJ's!

... bleeding has slowed. walk him to the kitchen to get ice.

... daughter has to get dressed. "Go get dressed!" "Why, daddy?" "Cuz we're going to the hospital!" "Hospital?! No! I'm not going!"

... omg, this hospital's gonna need the defibrillator for me

... At the top of my lungs, "YES YOU ARE! GET IN YOUR ROOM NOW, AND. GET. DRESSED. AND FAST!"

... ice. ice. ice. ice. Inside wet towel, the cold will transfer well. Put the bloody hand towel, packed with ice now, back on his head.

... daughter's dressed but she's running around freaking out with her laces untied. That's all I need, "TIE YOUR SHOES. NOW!"

... Leave son holding his own cold compress so I can get dressed. I change.

... I have to call their mom

... I have to get dressed

... I have to drive to the hospital

... I have to get the kids in the car

... I'll call on the way

... GIRL, GET IN THE CAR ... NOW!

... Carry son to car - strap him in ... fuck his shoes. I'll carry him in.

... Call ex on the way ... no answer. Figures. Leave pleasant message "Hey - she pushed him off the bed and he hit his head on the coffee table - it bled. On way to ER. If you call and phone is off, we're still there - they don't let you keep it on in the ER."

... Drive to Free Valet at the hospital.

... Get out car with kids, leave keys in ignition

... Don't stop to talk to any valet - I don't give a fuck WHAT they do with the car. Rush into hospital and into ER

... Sit son on counter with bloody hand towel packed with ice and stand there with daughter looking ghostly and worried.

Made it.

Whew!

From thud in the other room to arrival at ER = less than 15 minutes, including cold compresses to wait for the bleeding to subside. I wasn't playin no games.

Triage asks me if their mom has custody, since it's her Insurance card. "Yes, she has primary physical custody - we share joint legal"

"ok"

So, why did the OTHER bitch in there start quizzing me about how to pronounce my son's name. And his middle name. And his last name! It's *MY* fucking last name too, carajo! And then his date of birth.

... if this bitch don't stop asking me stupid questions, HER head gon need stapled too

The doc comes into our room (when we finally get there) and takes a look ... will need one staple she says ... I figured, I said.

At this moment, fear grips my son like Amy Winehouse grips a 40. He begins wailing - and the doc and I discuss whether or not to give an injection to numb the area first. I consider ... and decide that the drive home will be better if numbing medicine is doing its thing.

I send my daughter out of the room. Get out and shut the door, I say.

Two nurses and I have to hold down the little fucker - the wound is flushed with saline solution 5 times ... why? Because he keeps squirming and we wanna make sure it's clean. Solution of saline and blood drains all over me - I don't care.

WAILING

injection of Novocaine

WAILING

staple

WAILING

and more WAILING

The two nurses and I release our restraint and he relaxes

"All done, see?"

.. and my daughter returns from having picked out a new get well blanket with one of the other nurses. And some stickers.

The ex wife and I meet at my house - I from the hospital and she from her job.

"Better you than me," she says.

bitch.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Reporters Slay Me

Friday, September 11, 2009

Caption Contest (cuz my blog needs some levity)



You know the rules - you get to create a caption for this photo (taken last year by JACK's camera on Chicago's Red Line) and submit it in the comment section. Happy captioning!

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Earth is man

I was sitting in my patio, smoking. The night not quite dark enough due to the lamppost out back on some telephone pole and the occasional airliner making its way to the airport some 20 miles away on the other side of town. The sound of the engines flying by periodically doesn't actually bother me - I grew up so close to LaGuardia Airport that when a plane flies over my house, high enough to still look like it radios to some neighborhood kid's remote control, the sound comforts me. Sometimes, if they fly just right, I can see the planes through my skylights when I lay on my living room couch. But on this night, I was in my patio ... thinking.

There I was, a small indecipherable spec in the expanse of earth. Did you know the radius of earth is 6,999,125 yards - that's like 70,000 football fields. The fucking thing weighs 6,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 kilograms - and I'm complaining about 20 pounds! But overweight or no, I lived through a week that epitomized a cliche: I had the weight of the world on my shoulders.

I got to thinking about the weight of the world, though - and about how it's the attributes of earth itself (gravity) that determines how much it weighs. Floating out in the expanse of space - it weighs nothing. Nothing at all.

So you see - it's a matter of perspective. I refuse to feel like my job, my kids, my responsibilities, my finances, my car, my mortgage, the recession and blah blah blah all weigh 6,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 kilograms. If I'm to believe that the Lord hung the sun in place and made the oceans and birds and shit - then I'm also to believe that he wants me to realize that the weight of the world is nothing.

And sitting there filling my lungs with tar and nicotine, while a plane flew over the house, I let it go. I let the week go - I let the stress go. I simply gave it over to the Lord.

Truth is - that job did not give me my joy ... and that job cannot take it away.

And in that thought it came to me - how man is very similar to earth. Like ozone, a tough skin wards off all sorts of cancerous nonsense ... and deep within us, we each possess the the busying things that make us who we are. Oceans ebb and flow, cars and trains and planes travel to and fro, magma and lava come and go ... much like the biological, emotional and psychological activity within us stays in constant flux. And more importantly ...

It's the gravity WITHIN the man that determines the man. All of the external weights and measures that try to weigh me down and define me amount to nothing.

Nothing at all.

0.

Friday, September 4, 2009

Soup to nuts


Life's been a bit hectic as of late - I attribute it to the universe's attack on my endeavor to lose weight. Damn devil. But, yeah - so work has been crazy: CA-RAY-ZEE, ok? This week in particular was busy - my son's birthday, a drive to chicago, three 9+ hour days, a 4 hour day and a drive back to indianapolis ... blah blah blah.

You know how you could handle work if you had one project to do and only one project and that you wouldn't have to deal with another project until this first project is done? How, you wish you could have both kids in sports and they could somehow NOT have their fucking games at the same time? Life never loads evenly ... EVER.




Life is like some Chicago alley dumpster. That's really what I'm trying to say.



A few weeks ago, I packed my bag to go to Chicago. I was in a black/grey mood - so I didn't pack any khaki's, just black dress slacks. All my socks: black. All my draws: black. And my roommate's cat?


WHITE



And this little mother fucker will attack you and literally BITE you ... cuz he's playing. Bitch is still a kitten. Mother fucker bit me pretty good the other day and I find out ... short-haired house cats slide pretty far on hardwood. No, seriously, they do!









But the cat needs some serious home training. I'm about to just tell my roommate that his cat is about to get hisself a lesson. The other day, he was on the dining room table ... roommie asked me to get him down. So, I grabbed a water bottle and sprayed him.

ROOMMATE: That's spray cleaner

ME: oh. well, he's wet now.

You might think I'm being hard on the cat. But I'm not - I'm SOOOO not. Wanna know why?


Because this is my papasan chair.


I mean, look at him. The little bastard all ON my footstool and turns his back to me. He really doesn't give a fuck that there's white cat hair all over the cushion - doesn't care. I'm about to line the footstool padding with double sided masking tape ... When I do - I'll let you know how it goes.

Friday, August 28, 2009

I'm not so smart sometimes

I realized I needed more labels. My co-worker keeps them in her file drawer on the left side of her cabinet. So, not wanting to bother her, I figured I'd just go get them myself - and since she was at her desk, I thought it appropriate to ask.

JACK: Jessica, can I look through your draws?

Jessica: I'm gonna need you to leave, come back - and try again.

JACK complied.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

On Target

I played a lot of darts in college. It wasn't something I grew up doing, though. It's just not a sport that nuyoricans play in The Big City. Of course, we're very well accustomed to sharp objects (machetes, butcher knives, box cutter - you know, the usual) but darts always made me feel kinda woozy - those metal ones that pierced through cork and made that thud sound just took a lot of getting used to. This picture here reminds me of that one time EVER I actually made a hat trick. I was stoked ... in the typical, primal masculine way - like I could've beat my own chest and roared.

(Actually, I think I may have)

But anyway - that's not the point of this post. I have been watching what I eat (I had tilapia stir fry last night, and a turkey burger with steamed veggies for lunch today) and actually wen to the gym for my 30 minutes of cardio last night!

I feel like my mind is set squarely on this goal now. It's really something I want to do (again) ... but this time, I kinda want to take the weight off and actually KEEP it off. I plan to go tot he gym again tonight ... the 2nd of my promised 3 visits to the gym this week.

So, I'm doing it - and I'm a need someone to egg me on and threaten my well-being if I don't make it to the gym 3 times this week. readddyyyy ... GO!

Saturday, August 22, 2009

That Bitch got a problem - THIS Bitch gonna fix it



Lord Jesus - Jesus, please ... I'm a seriously need some You right now. I don't know what else to do, only that I need to cool down a bit before I proceed with whatever it is I have to do ... Lord Jesus - Jesus, please keep me. Keep me. You hearing me? KEEP ME.

That friend of my baby momma who thinks she's my babies' parent, who likes to undermine me and tries to usurp my parental authority ... I'm a need you to control the venom in my fangs right now because it's in quantity overflowing and in bitterness SHARP. And I will NOT let this control me.

But yuh - I'm a need help.

I just need some help trying to at least SEE the other perspective - why this woman would show up to my childrens' soccer game today (while their momma was working) and not speak a word to me ... like, what is her perspective, so that I better understand.

And what is the perspective over there that led her to walk right by me, say nothing and approach my daughter to say, "you need to get a jacket on because you're sweaty and it's cold."

Excuse me! Excuse me ... I'm, like, totally RIGHT HERE.

So, my daughter comes up to me and says "daddy, I need a jacket because I'm sweaty and its cold."

"Did ***** say that to you?"

"Yes"

"Baby, you're fine - we're going right to the car. Come on."

So, two hours later there she comes again to now my SON'S soccer game (again, baby momma still at work) and she again wanna sit there with her camera on the other side of the field and not. say. a. word. to me.

So, I walk over there - and as I approach her she smiles and says hello. (As if it was my responsibility to approach her and say hello)

"Hi, XXXXX. Did you tell (my daughter's name) that she needed a jacket."

"Yuh - it was cold and she was sweating"

"I still feel like we need to not send messages through the kids - we should talk directly"

"I didn't send any message"

"yuh, ok - but we still need to be able to talk directly"

"OK!" she exclaimed as if it was final.

So, I turn around to go back to the other side of the field where I was - and she mutters, "she DID need a jacket though."

(Oh, bitch - so RIIITTTEEE you weren't trying to undermine me AT ALL, right?)

"Nope. She didn't," I said not turning around.

And then I turned right around, looked her square in the face and said, "Really. She DIDN'T"

And I went about my way - half mad at myself for not losing my mind on her and half proud of myself for not showing my ass in front of the SCORES 1st graders all playing soccer there.

As soon as the game was over - she packed up her chair and left - didn't say goodbye to me or the kids ... and she was in her car long before the kids all finished running the line, high fiving every player on the opposing team and saying "good game" about a dozen times.

AU REVOIR

LATER THAT NIGHT (a few minutes ago)

My daughter asks me which wig I like on her doll. I said the one with long hair. She smiled.

"That doesn't surprise you does it?" I asked with a smirk.

"Nope. Cuz you like girls with long hair." (I told her this after she convinced her mother to cut off her long hair and let her walk around with a bob)

"Right"

"XXXXX said that's YOUR problem."

Lord Jesus - Jesus, please ... I'm a seriously need some You right now. I don't know what else to do, only that I need to cool down a bit before I proceed with whatever it is I have to do ... Lord Jesus - Jesus, please keep me. Keep me. You hearing me? KEEP ME.

Mantras kinda work

So, there were a few times this week when I just decided to indulge in the empty calories ... but not in the "eat until the store doesn't have any more" sort of way. I wanted a kit kat after dinner ... and I had it, accounting for the calories I was eating. And every day since my new mantra I have stayed below 2,000 calories every single day. The result was me, minus 1 pound.

I know it's meaningless in a way - but if that was my week WITHOUT going to the gym (seriously, I watched everything and counted every calorie and I still didn't work out AT ALL), it's motivated me to try it again next week (< 2,000 calories per day) AND go to the gym thrice.

I'm not even trying to start large. My goal is to go to the gym three times and each time do 30 minutes of cardio.

(I'm an enigma in that I so love cardio and prefer it to weight training)

That's it ... I can do a week of 2,000 calories, so I'll do that again. And will add three itty bitty 30 minutes cardio sessions this week.

I'll report my findings in about 7 days.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

That's it - I've HAD it!


My last blog post was a glimpse into something deep within me that I have been dealing with and not really sharing with anyone. For all of the smiling and laughing I do, I've not exactly felt all jolly and shit lately. For a few months now I've just been trudging along - maintaining, as it were.

Nothing's really fallen apart - the kids still love me and I'm still a good daddy, albeit cranky at times. But you know what, they're amazing resilient, them little fuckers ... you just tell them that daddy's cranky and just wants to lay on the couch and they really do figure out some imaginative game to play and allow me my space. I love that about them ... that it's the result of a few ridiculous tirades of mine is a whole 'nother issue and that's not the point.

Work really hasn't fallen through the cracks, although sometimes I wish I could fake a debilitating ailment that would keep me out of work but still keep me limber enough to lay back, feet to Jesus and continue to keep Trojan Company going (oh don't judge and act like you don't have a family member who's doing that shit right the fuck now!) ... yet, I still gotta work and although it's maddeningly busy (they cut 1/3 of the staff and we still have some 3000 people coming to a convention next month - right, THAT kind of busy) I've not let anything get too totally out of whack.

Then there's the love life - totally (and STILL) nonexistent ... so, PAR in the love department.

So, although nothing is completely gone to shit, everything is just enough off-kilter to cause an anxiety spike ... I feel like I'm that man on TV spinning plates on dowels of various lengths (heights?) and several of them are teetering on the brink of a certain death (by shatter), wobbling perilously on their pedestals waiting for the one lonely me to come save it. Nothing's fallen down off no wooden dowel, but they all WANT to fall, and they're all just laughing at me as the audience squirms audibly while I break sweat to ensure I keep everything spinning.

Too many parts of my life are wobbly. Chief among them ... my health. There was a time when I was at the gym 4 times a week and religiously watching what I ate, to the tune of 1800 calories per day. I did this for 10 months ... EVERY day counting calories ... and going to the gym religiously.

It was the first time in my adult life that I actually felt good, free from moodiness and depressive cycles, free from that annoying wedge of fat that reminds me I'm out of shape every time I tie my shoes ...

And then Jaded said something to me that took root somehow. She said, "you need to have control issues." And yesterday when I woke up from my Pringles(tm) coma, I realized something ...

I don't want to eat like this anymore. I don't. I control my body - my body does not control me.

And with that chrisette-like epiphany, I developed that as mantra. I control my body - my body does not control me.

And I said it today when I was choosing breakfast ... and said it today while I was choosing an item off the fast food menu (I went for roast chicken instead of the yummy looking deep friend chicken breast sandwich with bacon) and I didn't eat but a handful of fries, leaving the majority of them in the bag.

I control my body - my body does not control me.

And today, at 5:36 PM CDT, I have so far consumed only 1,150 calories. And anything more than 650 calories ain't making into me for dinner because

I control my body - my body does not control me.

(when that mantra makes it into my sex life, I'll let you know. It might shut JACK down for a while if it does. As my alter ego, JACK is totally a whorish fucker who says things like "feet to Jesus!" JACK's a sacrilege.)

I control my body - my body does not control me.