Wednesday, January 28, 2009

To whom it may concern

I remember when the first time I fell in love. Interestingly enough, I was too young and na├»ve to recognize it as such … and I was too afraid of embracing my sexuality to fully investigate what it is I was feeling. He ended it in what I thought was a whirlwind of nonsense (he eventually admitted that his mommy told him that if he continued to be in this lifestyle that she could not be a part of his life – nice) and I felt that he was totally ignoring his feelings for me for a reason I did not fully understand. I wish he would have told me at the time exactly what was going on – if for nothing else so that I could fully understand what I was dealing with. Instead, I dealt with a closeted issue that I couldn’t talk to anyone about (because no one knew of my propensity to sleep with men!) and that I didn’t fully understand … all the while oblivious to the fact that what I was feeling was love. Suffice it to say, I was a fucking mess. For a long, long time.

But it taught me my ability to feel deeply – when I finally realized it was love, I stood in awe at my own emotional capability to feel as much. And it’s never been that way since.

Now that’s not to say that I am closed to the idea – I think I’ve just been guarded about my heart. Lord knows that when I allow myself to get there again, I need some guarantees … while nothing is forever (I mean, someone has to outlive the other, right?) I’m not about to deal with such foolishness as “my momma said no.” Does that make sense? When I allow myself to feel that intensely again, it will definitely be until death do us part. If I have to kill you for actin’ a fool, then I’m good with that too.

So, when I’m on the other side of the fence, watching someone allow himself to succumb to intense feelings for me and simultaneously being confronted with the reality that there are obstacles (such as distance, children, current relationships and the like) I take the high road. I did not want to be flippant and dismissive and not discuss the reality behind why I made the decision that I made. I wanted him to know exactly what he was dealing with. And so I told him. Everything. Every issue. All of it.

I refuse to ASK you to leave your current relationship – and it’s obviously not ending anytime soon. I refuse to ASK you to leave your children and live miles and miles and miles away from them. In fact, I realized that if you were willing to do either one, I’d lose respect for you. In addition, I feel as if I’m this new book you’ve picked up to read before you completely finished the previous book. I’m much too important to me to be in a relationship with someone who is otherwise committed, albeit in name only. I refuse to accept anything less than 100% of you, of anyone … because I’m 100% available.

I’ve lived. I’ve learned.

I’ve come completely clean and while I understand the emotions that drive you to text me about love and then immediately text me about hating me … I can’t allow myself to be subjected to attack after attack, followed by outpourings of apologetic love. In many circles it’s termed emotional abuse … and if this were actually happening IN PERSON, it could easily escalate to domestic violence.

And folks, there WILL be peace in my home. I grew up in a house riddled with strife and I refuse to abide in a place that has me on pins and needles. Did I tell you that one time I walked in on my step-dad choking my mother? Did I tell you that I politely grabbed a butcher knife from the kitchen? It’s amazing the way reality blurs away when someone is attacking your momma. Shit like this was common place – one time my brother took a knife to the man too … broke the drawer we kept the utensils in, he pulled it so hard. Neither of us got to stab him, though. Mom was always trying to play intermediary. (To this day, however, I still say the man deserved a good bludgeoning - dique choking my momma ... )

But today? There will be PEACE in my home. I will not allow strife to enter via door nor window, text nor IM, blog nor voicemail. Strife – you are not welcomed here.

Friday, January 23, 2009

YouTube The Devil

I really miss Luther ...


Thursday, January 22, 2009

Cultural Antropology: Take I

Ethnology is the study of culture. Let's start with the "Fist Bump"

In the video above, Michelle Obama initiates a "fist bump" with her husband. It is a sign of togetherness, it is a salutation, it is a celebratory touch. First and foremost, it is NOT terrorism.

Secondly, the offical term is FIST BUMP. It must never, EVER be called anything else. "Giving Pound" is a similar gesture involving the fist, but it's totally different. Other terms which may seem similar are equally inapproropriate. See here:

Again, it's a FIST BUMP.

Krabby Patty

You know that type of person that is never happy? Always trying to find something to complain about? Not even the 'glass half empty' type - but the 'who the fuck drank half my tea!?' type ....

and not just the 'who the fuck drank half my tea' type, but the type that goes around telling EVERYBODY that someone drank their fucking tea ... and it's rude to drink someone's tea.

You know the type?

Well there one of those curmudgeons here in my office - she's a miserable wretch. I mean, the biggest bitch of a woman EVER. She complains about every fucking thing ... she never volunteers to help anyone out and complains if someone asks for her help. She sucks her teeth and throws mini-tantrums while she "doing your work."

And she's an administrative assistant.

Now, there's nothing wrong with being an AA. But, when you're an AA, it kinda says it right there in your title. You kinda have to assist people. Unfortunately, you don't always get to choose who you assist. And that's not an exclusive expectation of Administrative Assistants. I can't fucking tell you how many mother fuckers I get on the phone with whose voices I really don't care to hear ... and I certainly don't give a fuck that their businesses are struggling and they're laying people off and blah blah blah. But you know what? I kinda have to do it.

Today, she seemed to think she could win an e-mail war with me. WITH WORDS! OMG, I was totally awn iT. ok? She wanted to send me emails with instructions about what *I* had to do. Bitch, slow your row. This too fast for you.

She told me I needed to make a phone call to get the email address of someone she had already been on the phone with. So, I sent her a polite email with instructions to get people's email address when she's already on the phone with them because that's better customer service. Apparently, she says she knew the process. Bitch, obviously not.

So, in the copy room, as fate would have it, Krabby Patty and I bumped into each other ... and she said not a word. And in my most polite, nicest voice (and I wore a smirky smile while I spoke) I said "excuse me."

Krabby Patty did not give me my joy, and Krabby Patty cannot take it away.

So, I've decided that Krabby Patty has ZERO more chances to send me a terse email. If it happens again, JACK is confronting Krabby Patty ... today was fun, knowing that she was fuming that I could have the audacity to email *her* instructions. (tee hee - it's like I drank half her tea!) But it really isn't my style. Next time, JACK gets into Krabby Patty's face to explain how to properly address me. Something along the lines of, "Your email was terse and disrespectful. I refuse to ever demand respect, and if you don't think I command it, that's cool - but you're going to exercise professional courtesy when you address me. Please and Thank You? Those are mandated by pretty much every definition of Professionalism I know. And since we're at WORK, my expectations are such. If you need to take a class, let your supervisor know - I'm sure we'll foot the bill. Whatever it takes - but that's how you WILL address me. Is that ok?"

I'll keep you posted.


Monday, January 19, 2009

Sometimes I feel good about it

I have a secret. I'm my own worst critic and my self-criticism isn't exclusive to the quality of my work. Sometimes, I don't feel like I'm a very good dad.

I know, I know - I blog about how much I love being a dad, but the reality is that when I lose my temper, or get frustrated with the kids ... I end up feeling really bad. And it's really true that it hurts me to punish them. Now, that sure doesn't stop me - they get sent to their room, and when it's warranted corporate punishment is NOT out of the question ... but even when I get to those points, I feel bad.

I have the kids every weekend, since their mom works weekends, and it's great to see them so often. I feel like I'm just a regular ole part of their lives. However, I also feel like I'm going to fucking choke for lack of ME time. And I've got a whole lot of guilt wrapped up in that.

But the reality is that I work a full time job, am currently finishing up my master's degree, my home and job are 220 miles apart and I travel between two cities every weekend, manage the bills at the house and the bills at the apartment ... and sometimes I just want a spare minute for MOI.

I tried something new this weekend. Now that they are 7 (soon) and 5, I can actually have conversations with them. So, I explained to them that I was cranky because I was sick (stupid head cold) and that I just needed a minute to myself ... I mean, I was out smoking and I got the "Daddy, hurry - come look!" I couldn't even have 5 fucking minutes to smoke my cigarette outside.

I've also been tinkering with my taxes and cleaning the house and doing their laundry and I had to get the oil changed, in BOTH cars, and both needed to be cleaned because kids and back seats are like a ticker-tape parade along fifth avenue ... so, I'm like totally spent. But just talking to them about how I was feeling and that I just wanted a few minutes to myself ... that really helped. They were able to better accept my nuances and their feelings weren't hurt at all.

And that's why I end up feeling like a failure - because I snap at them and hurt their feelings, and really - they only see me on the weekends and I manage to hurt their feelings? It shouldn't be that way.

But this weekend folks? It was really good. I came out of it feeling accomplished, I involved them in some of the house cleaning - took them to the car wash (they love that fucking place) and while Walmart had the car (had to make two trips for two cars) we spent time looking at the fish that were for sale. Did you know that two kids and a few fish tanks could take about an hour's time?

It was great to just sit and stare with them into each fish tank and listen to their explanation of what THEY saw. Children's minds are great - so open, so accepting, so vividly creative ... We played a shitload of nintendo DS this weekend, saw a movie or two and did homework.

And this time, I really truly did come out of the weekend feeling like the world's best dad.

My daughter even told me so - even if she was laying it on thick about how much she loved me so that I would peel away from the tax software and lay on the couch and hold her.

"I want you to HOLD me!"

And hold her I did.

And then my son crawled on top of me and there we three lay looking like beached whales fancying the television and all it's colorful candy for the eye.

I *really* miss the couch.

Friday, January 16, 2009

Yes, Like That

Hidden beneath the surface
But not too deeply
Is a me that you almost know
And he makes you think of him
On occasion
As if it were a dream you’re having
Where the person is the person
But it’s a totally different person
I don’t look like me
Or sound like me
But it’s me
You know it’s me
But it’s not the me you know
So you shake it off
As it were sleep in the dead of night
While you’re behind the wheel
On a long trip
With nowhere to go

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

The New York METS Mets mets ...

Have you read Jaded's blog? It's about the debacle of a patch the NYM are putting on their uniform. There's a mini-contest to see who can do one better (unofficially) because I said I could ask my daughter to do one better. But I decided that *I* would give it a try. Scroll down for my submission:

Monday, January 12, 2009

My Cameraman to be

One of my son's favorite things to do is mess with my digital camera. All he has to do is ask for it and I fork it over. I just find it interesting, the things that come back to me inside my camera. It's BLEEDIN' out there, so we're staying in until Spring ... so all the pictures come from within the house.

This one threw me for a loop - inside my digitcam it was a frightening sight. Once I uploaded it, I realized that I did indeed throw all of their stuffed animals into the washer earlier that weekend and that they were still in the dryer. It reminded me that I also had clothes in the washer waiting to go into the dryer. So, he let me know I didn't finish the laundry.

This is my son's contorted face. As you can see, he doesn't have a cold. I liked this one because it reminded me of a still frame from some bad 80's horror movie. He's got a flare for shadow effects, doesn't he?

How the fuck did this boy get the camera out of me before he cleaned up the mess he made inthe living room? Dammit!

I'm not sure what's so damn interesting about ceiling fans, but kids fucking love them. I was afraid at first that there would be stuffed animals hanging off the fan paddles (they are, after all, MY children), but then I remembered that they were all still in the dryer. Interesting color scheme I've got going in the living room, huh? And the vaulted ceiling is nice ... until you realize that you have to pay to heat all that mother fucking space.

This is Lucy. (Yes, I name my plants - shut up). Lucy has been through so much, I can't even begin to tell you. When I moved into my house in 2001, the tenants before me left her. I don't even know how old she is. But she survived Hurricane Sasha (Sasha being that long-haired domestic house cat I had before the kids were born who would hide in the couch cushions and lunge at Lucy's leaves. That bitch ate so much of Lucy, I can't tell you), and my brother- and sister-in-law who stayed with us for a year when they were like 12 and blamed Sasha every time they fucked up the damn plant. Yet, Lucy remains. She's having babies - see the bottom of the pot?

Apparently, my son does NOT have head lice.

He's obsessed with his nose. Maybe it's the asthma. But, still - no signs of a cold.


I really love it when he takes the camera - he also puts it in video mode and has taken the most outrageous videos. The first time he was out taking videos, I had to stop it. Don't ever let a 5 year old loose to take videos candidly without first explaining that you never, EVER take a video camera into the bathroom when your sister is taking a bath.

I'm just sayin


I love being a dad, folks.

Friday, January 9, 2009

The song that never ends ...

I've seen scores, if not hundreds, of pictures of Barak Obama - but I really like this one. I think he looks better in a light suit like this one. The earth tones do his complexion justice, I think - the maroon in the tie? Love it. But that's an aside - and I just wanted to get it out of the way because I didn't want to interrupt the flow of thoughts that are about to spew from the depths of the depths of me.

I read this article in the Red Eye. It's a free edition of the Chicago Tribune that you can get free on most every corner in downtown Chicago and at pretty much every train stop known to Chicago man. I'm not an avid reader - mornings are my nemesis and I can't commit anything to every morning except pure disdain. Mornings interrupt my favorite pastime, encroaching on my blessed sleep and pouncing on it out of nowhere as if morning were a wild tawny Sphinx and my sleep a loving, peaceful, oblivious bunny watching butterflies hover by effortlessly.


Bunny dead.

Tawny Sphinx belly full.

But this article was one I wanted to read - The End of Racism? it asked, and I rolled my eyes. Seriously?

No. I meant it. Seriously!?

Why is this even a topic of conversation? Why am I sitting on this here train reading an article asking a question akin to "Was Jesus White?"

HELL NO! What kind of stupid question is this. How many blonde haired, blue eyed Prince Charmings do you know that are born in Bethlehem? I know of none. Jesus wasn't Aryan and Barak Obama's presidency does not the end of racism make.

But as I considered that read, and all the hoopla in the news over the past 18 months ... I thought about where this was coming from. And I boiled it all down to this one quote I found in another article about what Barak Obama's race is:

"He can't be African-American. With race, white claims 50 percent of him and black 50 percent of him," Ron Wilson of Plantation, Fla., wrote in a letter to the Sun-Sentinel newspaper.

Ok, I won't even get started about the fact this this jackoff is from PLANTATION, Florida. I'm not going there. But the idea that Barak Obama suddenly CAN'T be African-American is a fucking mess. Forget Barak Obama's own words when he said, "I identify as African-American--that's how I'm treated and that's how I'm viewed. I'm proud of it" and forget about the fact that with this quote the man flatly said that "African-American" is a way to be TREATED ... I won't even go there either ...

Where am I going?

Remember when McCain gave the mic to that precious old lady during one of his "Town Hall Meetings" and she said that Barak Obama was an Arab? Remember that? Remember when it seemed that ALL of West Virginia was refusing to vote for a Black man?

Oh, right - he's a fucking nigger when he's running for office ... but let the man actually WIN ... and suddenly,

"Of course Obama is black. And he's not black too," said Rebecca Walker, a 38-year-old writer who is of Russian, African, Irish, Scottish and Native American descent. "He's white, and he's not white too."

So, let me get this straight. Nigger when running for President. "Not Black too" when he wins. Interesting. The "one-drop" rule takes on a whole new meaning when the man wins, I see. Now that he's going to be sworn in as President of the United States, he's not Black because he's at least "one drop" White.

Don't come at me talking about racism is dying. It's not. Maybe, MAYBE i'll give you that overt racism is being swept under the rug temporarily - sure, some people actually have examples to attest to that "fact." So, I won't argue with you (unless you live in West Virginia) - your personal experience is valid and you have a story to tell.

But this isn't about you - because those of you that read my blog don't fall into any racist category I'm referring to. I believe that wholeheartedly. Be ye Black, White, "one-drop" mongolian. "LATIN" (that one kills me - it's latinO) - whatever. If you're here ... you good. And I'm hoping my comments section doesn't blow up in some discourse about whether or not you feel I'm pointing a finger at you personally. I'm not.

I'm simply saying that I find it interesting that 8 months ago we were talking about whether or not we could vote a Black man into office ... and today, we're talking about the fact that he's not really Black because he's half White ... when historically speaking, that man is Black as HELL. BAH-LACK AASS HAAYY-EEELL.

So please, stop the bullshit. And start treating him "African-American" like the man say! (I say with the ONLY faggoty twang of sarcasm while flipping my hair, turning and walking away dramatically)

*slams door*

returns momentarily

Cuz you KNOW you don't look at the Obama family portrait and see three Black females and a White man.


*slams door*

[muffled from other side of door] He Black!

I got my quotes from this other Red Eye article

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Is it Friday yet?

Every now and then, I just want you to laugh with me:

Sunday, January 4, 2009

Things Fall Together

You know those doldrums that make you feel like nothing's right? When you're all alone with your thoughts (even if you're in a crowded room) and feel ill at ease with life as a whole? When you begin to wonder why you don't have what you think you should have, or what you want to have? When you realize that you want more because what you have is all crap?

I go through those times every now and again, a ritual of sorts I suppose. I've accepted those times as a part of life, as those emotional valleys that I need to walk through in order to climb out of and overcome. That's not to say that I enjoy them - but I accept them and behave accordingly. I try to have more alone time; I try not to really associate much with people. Instead, I let music roll over me as if it were a watery wave of the sea and I spend time in a musical underwater world with just me. Kinda like spongebob, but without the crabs and stuff.

I think I suffer from Attention Deficit Disorder at times ... but not the kind diagnosed by psychologists for which I need Ritalin. I'm talking about the kind of attention I want from a mate - that kind of Attention Deficit. There really is no pill to swallow for my type of ADD ... it's the type of ADD that could only be cured with the perpetual smell of dick on my hands.

Did he just say that!?

Of COURSE I did, this is JGC, dammit!

But not just random passersby dick - but one dick in particular. The same dick. The same smell, everyday. The kind of scent that sticks to you like feathers stick to a man rolled in tar. I mean a GOOD smell! MMMM. MMMM. MMMM. A smell that only you can smell. That only you can recognize. The kind that makes you know that Chante's not the only one who's got a man at home (even though she doesn't anymore) ... The kind that makes you smile in the middle of a serious work meeting and garners funny looks from associates and co-workers. THAT kind.

I was feeling that ADD this week, pretty regularly since about 10:15pm on 12.31.2008 when Carson Daily started asking everyone on TV who was going to get their New Year's kiss. That fuckface ruined my night

awwww, come AWN, Carson ... that wasn't even on my damn mind!

So, I was a little bit down after that and I transcended into the new year rather ambivalently. (Only here at JGC can we talk about the smell of dick on the hand and also use the word "ambivalently." I love JGC). That ambivalence turn to a bit of moodiness the next day and I found myself really feeling the JGC-defined ADD coming on. I wanted a man's attention. Yes, it's more than sex, but the need for flowery JGC language takes a hold of me and I can't help myself. (dick scent on the hand is pricelessly funny and there's got to be a shock factor - otherwise, who would come!) But I figured I wanted some stability and someone to call home.

I declared some months ago here on JGC that I wasn't looking for it and that if it happened it was a bonus - and that remains true. I'm not out there looking for a relationship. But not looking for it doesn't mean I don't think about it in my underwater spongebob-without-the-crabs world when i begin suffering from JGC-defined ADD.

Look, if Starbucks can make names up and act like it's Old English, so the fuck can I

So, it would be really nice to have a Venti Man Mocha Latte, with an extra pump and one Splenda. (Not too much sugar, please) But I'm not out there with my Venti Man rifle like some Faggot Elmer Fudd during rabbit season.

I just wanna FUCK like a rabbit with someone whose company I actually LIKE

Until then, I'll focus on completing my degree (no, I HAVEN'T finished my paper, carajo!) and after I get it in May, who knows - maybe I'll take up prostate milking.

Is there a class for that?

(oh, I have a date on Monday - I'm praying both of his eyes point in the same direction at all times, that he doesn't fall asleep spontaneously and without warning or suffer from tirouettes syndrome or have a peg leg with a kick stand or have a nasty facial tick or a missing tooth or collects body parts in jars of formaldehyde ... pray with me)

Saturday, January 3, 2009

The Little Paper that Couldn't

I really just wanna take one of my son's toy trains and beat the ever living fuck out of it, for posterity's sake. May it lie stomped on the ground, destroyed in effigy if only because there really isn't a real little mother fucking engine that could. As I sit here and struggle with this stupid fucking paper for a class I didn't finish last semester, I encounter the same roadblock that I did over a month ago. Writer's block, a marked desire to do anything else, a refusal of my brain to comprehend what the hell it is I'm SUPPOSED to write, a boycott from thinking about anything academic ... all of it. I just can't seem to get this shit done. And what would it hurt my son if I destroyed one of his toy trains? Huh? He has dozens and scores of trains laying at the bottom of toy chests all over this house - he won't really notice, right? He won't ever know that I tore one of his trains to splintered little bits and I'll still be the best daddy in the whole world to him, right?

But I'll know - and it'll eat at me that I destroyed something that he so loves. A train. A fucking TRAIN. And what a conundrum I find myself in - the story of the little engine that could is mocking me and I can't do anything about it, not even in effigy, because my son LOVES trains.

I don't want to do this paper - the class is stupid, I won't need it and I can't be bothered with this nonsense! But I HAVE to do it. Stupid, no good, life lesson, blah blah blah, bitch ass paper.

THERE! I said it.

In other related news
My professor from another class, my independent study, wrote me that he enjoyed reading my final paper about how my being Latino and having a marital connection to the Black culture has shaped my world view and my professional practice. He mentioned how the minority perspective isn't really represented in the curriculum in the university and it really should be.

I politely wrote him back (names changed to protect identity's, cuz that's how we do here at JGC, unless you're picking your nose in public and I have my camera phone):

Thank you HARRY; I really did enjoy this project. I agree that these perspectives should be better incorporated into the DEPARTMENT'S curriculum. I have enjoyed the curriculum and have learned a tremendous amount about the AE field since starting in January 2006, but very little of it (in my opinion) focuses on power and other issues that the typical minority deals with in the classroom. I understand that to many people these types of factors are invisible and I don't fault anyone for being oblivious to forces they do not know about, understand or have had to live with, I really don't. But I do believe that adult educators need to be made aware that these issues are very real because they impact transfer of learning in tremendous ways.

Have you ever tried to research the history of the education of adults in the Black community? No? Interestingly enough, data is scarce.

Really!? Scarce? You mean people haven't been documenting things about the Black community? stttttoooooopppp.

But I really did enjoy that independent study, which I chose specifically because no other class I was taking or had taken was dealing with it. We'll see. I wonder if he'll ask me to get involved in some diversification effort of the department's curriculum.

I know, I know - who am I kidding. He's not going to change a fucking thing.

I'll let you know if I'm wrong - but I think I'm more likely to see Jesus do The Chicken Noodle Soup.

Lettin' it rain, and pourin' it out,


PS (notice how I totally diverted even YOUR attention away from this stupid fucking paper I have to write ... ugh.)