My BRILLIANT little girl (and her imaginative brother)

There was a voluntary science fair at my daughter’s school and she chose to participate. She wanted to make crystals. So, she and her mom got Epsom salt, table salt, white sugar and brown sugar and dissolved each … then she watched each jar to see which solution would crystallize and which would not. It was a cute idea.

Today, she presented her project to the judges – no parents allowed. It happened during the school day. We worked on her poster board and she and her mom finished it up. Off she went to school to do her presentation – she told her mom she was nervous. The judges were community volunteers, not parents of any children.

One of the judges is Chinese. “I couldn’t understand one of the judges, daddy”

“why?”

“he’s Chinese – from China”

“oh, so you had trouble understanding his accent”

“yuh”

My son: “he was just probably tired from driving.”

Daddy: “what do you mean son?”

Son: “well, China is really far away”

Daughter: “you can’t drive on water – he had to take a plane.”

Son: “no. they don’t have airports in China.”

Daughter: “yes they do – don’t they dad?”

Me: “yes – they sure do.”

Son: “what do they look like?”

Me: the windshields are the same width, but only about a foot tall.

(ok, that’s a lie)

Me: “they look the same as ours, papito.”

It was a great conversation on the way to the awards ceremony. And do you know what happened? Do you know what happened?

My daughter took first place among the first graders! FIRST PLACE! And she also won the Most Enthusiastic Presenter award! OMG – I’m bursting with pride. MY GIRL.

And do you know what?! She gets to take her project to the regional science fair at the state fairgrounds in three weeks.

*dead*

Eat (like) Me

This recession is a pain in the ass. I can't explain how I make the same amount of money I did six months ago, but the money isn't enough. How the fuck does that happen? Recessions are fucking weird.

Anway - I got creative and found some really interesting shit online. One, I would like to share.

TGI Fridays is just about giving their food away, taking some shit down to $5.99 a plate ... and ON TOP OF THAT, following the likes of payless and going BOGO. (I am ignoring the whole eating and shoes link.)

http://www.tgifridays.com/promos/bogo_coupon.aspx?fromhome

This coupon expires on March 1 - so, print it and go hang out with the girls (or bois). But for the love of GOD ... don't whip out this fucking coupon on a date, ok? Trust me (and I'm talking to YOU, yes - YOU), just pay the fucking bill and don't even flinch ... cuz your date is WORTH it remember? Dont make me republish my last post and talk about you ............

If you tell them JACK sent you, nothing will happen. I just was so excited about the damn coupon that I'm blogging about it.

Men on Blast

Every now and again, we need some good old fashion "blow off some steam" therapy. So, I invite you to include in the comment section anything you need to get off your chest - put a man on blast ... you know there's at least ONE!

1. This STUPID Puerto Rican I've been talking to online has gone AWOL the second time we schedule a time to meet. The first time, the story was that he dropped his cell phone in his girl's car and didn't have a way to contact me - hence, the dead air. I figured since he was falling over himself apologetic that I would try to reschedule. However, the same dead air again the day we scheduled to have dinner and go see a movie. SO, this confirms why I don't date Puerto Ricans ... flakey, evasive pricks who claim machismo but couldn't really confront a real issue if their dicks depended on it. Anyone who's wondered why I claim to be Black by Injection should now know why - whenever confronted with any type of situation that triggers the fight or flight instinct, stupid mother fucking pricans are runnin' like Forrest Gump. I should've known the first time wasn't a fluke, but you know ... third time's shame. on. wait. what was it that Bush said. shame on? him? them? What's Shame?
2. That lousy, no good prick of a man who asked my sweet, beautiful, delightful friend for a divorce. Are you fucking crazy? Seriously? You've got it so fucking good and you don't even know it! You. Don't. Even. Know. It. Ain't no bitch out there going to put up with your neuroses, your neuroses and, oh, your neuroses too! And if you think this fucking request for a divorce is a scare tactic, let me introduce you to your wife and her friends. Less than 4 hours after your request, she had the contact information of three divorce lawyers so that she can consult and figure out which one she gels with best, she made plans for the entire weekend so she doesn't have to deal with YOUR dumb ass, AND she's had niggas on her jock for MONTHS now. Did she fuck around? Nope. Is she going to have a hard time finding another man? Nope. Now, about your neuroses - let me whisper something in your ear. "someone's coming to get you."
3. Mr. Silent During Sex. Are you serious? All those damn faces, and not ONE sound? Not one? Maaaaannnnn - I know you're a quiet reserved person and all that ... but during SEX too? Commmeee awwwwnnnnn. You've gotta communicate SOMEHOW ... I mean, SOMEHOW. Ugh. Besides at the finale, of course - because if you did THAT silently, I woulda really wondered about you. Not that I'm not doing so already. Where're the "take that dick, nigga" men at? Will you please stand up? (The straight boys who read my blog are totally cringing at that line, I know. tee hee)

YOUR TURN - comment. ahora. t.y.

Raping and Pillaging and Coking, oh my!

I've been on several dates in the past six months ... the great majority of them have been first dates. There's rarely date # 2. And just when I keep thinking that maybe the problem is ME, I realize that it's them.

My rational is that after date 1 I'm uninterested in them.

Anyway, invited dude out to lunch. And we went. He's been under so much stress lately and I've allowed him to bend my ear and this lunch date was no different. But you know what, i was happy to listen. I was actually INTERESTED in the things he was saying. I really didn't offer any brilliant words of wisdom or claim to possess some magic wand that would make things all better ... I just listened.

At the end of the date, we parted ways and he told me to call him after work. He's an officer of the law, and I spent the afternoon thinking about him. It was cute.

So, after work - I call him. I was half expecting him to invite me over, but I wasn't trying to be presumptuous. But he didn't have much to say ... just dead air over the phone. Although it was nice to share silence, you know - the kind that isn't uncomfortable - I wondered which train I would be getting on.

On the way to the train station, however, he began talking some sort of crazy. He was stressed, I get that. But he wondered about the end times and the end of the world and blah blah blah. He begins to sort of think out loud, not even to me in particular about what he would do if it was the end of the world. He said, and I quote

"I'd probably rape someone. And kill someone. But not in that order. Maybe I'd do crack. No, not crack - that's too much. Coke. I'd do coke."

Obviously, I knew which train I would be taking. He asked me what I would do if it was the end of the world.

"I'd be driving to my kids"

"Oh, come on."

"Seriously, I would."

"What if it was only 45 minutes?"

"I'd die on the way, I guess."

"Oh, you're one of those people who pretends to be all good and shit, but when the real time comes, you're just as evil as the rest of us"

I'm in awe. This man carries a GUN. LEGALLY!

I texted him on my way home, "I considered asking if you wanted company, but after the whole rape thing - I decided against it"

He was obviously annoyed, texting about he was just blowing off some steam.

Nigga, people play sports to blow off steam, contact sports usually ... or exercise EXTRA hard to blow off some steam ... Who the fuck considers rape to blow off some steam?

Crazy mother fuckers who have a better chance of dating Jesus seeing me again, that's who.

The Evolution of Indifference (7)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Chapter 7: My Holy Hell

College is supposed to be the best years of your life. In retrospect, in that I spent those years sleeping until whatever hour I wanted to, never waking to an alarm clock and staying up to the wee hours of the morning, they sure were. I miss being able to live like that, oblivious to the fact that the piling school loans are going to be a looming cloud ... oblivious to the fact that most people actually have to get up and go to work. They were good years.

But while living them - I didn't think they were. I was forced to contend with the fact that I never dealt with my sexuality. I was never out, no one ever knew and I didn't have anyone to talk to about it. So, I took to writing poetry. I didn't even know I was good at it - never knew I knew so many words. But I found that I needed more and more words to completely and fully describe the vacuous emotional tumor I carried around in my heart. It was heavy and hollow, bitter and sweet, pressured and empty ... all at the same time. And in describing my tears as rain, and my body as a barrier wall between me and everyone else, I penned the following:

This pain is real, "it cuts like a knife,"
But my mind wanders ...
I can feel the rain beat on thse walls.
These walls are thing, yes, far from opaque.
I know you can see.
So, why won't it rain outside of these walls?

A cloud searches o'er land and sea,
It finds rest ominously over me.
I carry it with me where'ev I go.
I know you can see.
So, why won't it rain outside of these walls.

It's beginning to rain,
from this cloud so dark.
These walls will quiver
And crumble to hell ...
I know you can see.
So why won't it rain outside of these walls?

I hate this hell, I need to escape;
Help me climb out.
But ere you do, grant me this: Please, Please
Make it rain ... OUTSIDE of these walls!

My Freshman year started in August of 1993 - I started college having never been drunk, never smoked a cigarette, never done drugs ... I was ripe for college to corrupt me. It started with the drinking. I did a lot of drinking that first semester - I just didn't know how to cope with life and no one empathized with me (or shed rain for me, with me) and drinking became a coping mechanism of all coping mechanisms. I was the only minority on my floor and didn't relate to not one of the guys I lived with. Not one. In that sheltered private college of a place, I met people who had never before seen a black person in the flesh.

What!?

So, not only was I dealing with this void within me that made me feel different than my own family, now I was stuck on a college campus where I was different than every other mother fucker there too! Oh, how I loved alcohol.

And poetry. Somber, melancholic poetry darker than I knew I was.

And then conundrum after conundrum revealed itself to me. I was on a college campus with a set of the population I couldn't relate to, with feelings of identity that I couldn't figure out, studying a technically intense engineering curriculum that was shaping me into a professional that was going to that much more much less in common with his own family ... I couldn't talk to anyone about it, even still, and I didn't know how to deal with myself anymore ... I could see myself becoming every one of those childhood excuses I came up with as a reason to cry ... they weren't really all made up ... I wanted to cry now, but I couldn't because I was all alone and no one cared and I wasn't going to be vulnerable, even though I needed to be vulnera ...

By Christmas 1993 I was smoking.

Such a stupid, ridiculous, self-depricating habit that makes about as much sense as taking up kite flying during a lightning storm, or skydiving with mosquito nets for parachutes, or marathon running in the Saraha.

What kind of fear, depression, sadness or lonliness gets better only by targeting your own body for destruction? I can't explain it - I just know that causing sirosis of the liver or cancer of the lung (slowly) seems to be where that type of confusion took me. It's a wonder I didn't take to cutting myself. But the reality is that I'm a little bit vain - so, I'd rather do things to the inside - not the outside. So, Preacher, it may not be all THAT bad that all is vanity ...

maybe.

At any rate, I found myself trying to sort out my life in my poetry. I had to untangle the intricate web of self-deception to figure out that I really wasn't a crazy, emotional little boy that cried a lot ... that really WASN'T me. I was actually a boy that wanted to love another boy. A man now - that wanted to love another man ... an emotional man that can figure out better ways to deal with shit other than crying, if for no other reason that no one was really listening anymore. Now, it was just me.

Just me, staring at the real world.

And while I felt like I could cry over the fact that I had pretended my entire life to that point and that I really didn't know anyone STILL who I could talk to about my sexuality ... I didn't want to listen to me cry. So, I wrote instead. And tried to explain to myself that I had trapped me deeply inside .. myself.

Trapped

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

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

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

and so there I stood - old enough to know better but not wise enough to let the inner me meet the world at large. The real me deep inside was growing up, outgrowing the tiny little emotional space I built for him ... pushing, kicking and screaming to be let out. But I held him inside that airtight little space within me and I continued to reinforce the seams of that space over and over and over again, allowing the pressure to build within me to limits no man should ever have to endure.

But I endured it. Year in and year out, I endured it.

I was smoking weed by Junior year.

Pimp and Circumstance

You may or may not know that I applied to graduate school while going through my divorce. Amidst all the crazy (and when I say crazy, I mean in-fucking-sanity), I made a concerted effort NOT to live in the moment, not to fester in the stress. So, I looked forward. And let me tell you, preparing to take the GRE while reading and re-reading draft after draft of my decree of dissolution of marriage and arguing about child custody issues and making sure I beat the University’s application deadline … THAT shit was *not* easy.

But I knew that I knew that I just plain fucking KNEW that there was going to be life after divorce. And I wasn’t going to wither away and die because my wedding ring was coming off and my children were moving out. I was going to adjust and I might as well start right now. So, I did it – I ROCKED the GRE and got accepted. I started the road to ME right from jump.

Working full time, traveling lots for work to boot, having my kids 1/3 of the time (including volunteering at kindergarten at times) going to school and all that shit has finally paid off. Folks, I have ordered my cap and gown … and there’s a hood too!

(I love it that I just ordered a black hood, btw)

No distinction or anything, though. Who the hell knew that a 3.73 GPA gets nothing. Aw well – it sure as hell better get me a diploma or those mother fuckers are going to find out in May that I already have a Masters degree in Ethnicology. And I *will* get ethnic.

Believe you me. I. WILL.

I’m sure they’ll have my diploma.

Anyway – I’ve decided that I want a class ring. I'm gonna be ALL pimped out on graduation day - TRUST. The ring is like $700 though … hmmmm.

Dear Dad: Guess what you’re getting me for graduation? Oh, and btw, I need to orderit now so I have it for graduation. Thanks. White gold, my name engrave on the inside, MS on one side and 09 on the other. Simple really. No choice in stone – my school requires it to be a garnet. It’s an ok red … at least it’s not some chartreuse looking stone, right? Thanks – JACK!

... because I CANT swallow, that's why!

I walked around Sunday feeling a bit under the weather and as the day progressed I felt worse. Driving back to Chicago that night was awful. My entire body was achy and I longed for a massage. On Monday morning, I woke up feeling like I'd rather be forced to watch The View than swallow. And I knew I needed to see the doctor ... post haste!

So, I find an immediate care facility near my job and take the train in. If it's a viral infection, I'm just going into work, I figured. So, the nurse gets this q-tip the size of a Louisville Slugger and gags the fuck out of me.

WOMAN! How the fuck long you gotta be back there!

And with tears rolling down my face, I pull away. And do you know what this cunt says to me? Do you KNOW?

"I need to get the other side"

The OTHER side? Dear LAWD, the other side of what? My NECK!?

So, I let her go back there again and we repeat the whole process. I *promise* you the sadistic sonofabitch was doing it just for kicks.

And sure enough - it's STREP. The dreaded strep throat.

The doctor tells me that that's likely where my loss of appetite was coming from.

JACK THINKING: "what loss of appetite? who told this crackhead I lost my appetite. All i do is eat! I've got the spare tire to prove it

JACK IN REAL LIFE: "OOOHHHH"

*shrug* whatever, doc. You're akin to Jesus - blahblahblah - you saved my life - wahwahwahwahwahwah - what would I do without you - yuhyuhyuh

JUST GIVE ME THE FUCKING SCRIPT.

So, although I'm feeling much better, it still feels funny when I swallow. Apparently, I'm no longer contagious, but there's still DEAD shit clinging to my tonsils with tentacles like octopuses or something.

It's quite the visual - I wish Jaded were here to draw a picture for me. She's a much better artist that she is a singer. Just ask N.

Laugh With Me (again)

Picky because I *can* be

Well, you all know JACK can be a handful ... (shut up!) ... and that I tend to shoot from the hip ... (shut up!) ... and I'm pretty straight forward (tee hee) ...

But, I tend to be rather picky. And in my meeting new 'mens' my tendency to BE picky always comes up. I usually just want people to know that *I* get to choose who I'm giving it up to ... cuz I got it like that.

(Seriously, if *I* don't think that way, who will? It's about self-perception and self-esteem - we should all be that way)

I had this one online conversation with a dude that said he was sexually spoiled. That was an interesting concept - I have *NO* idea what that's like. The dude is good looking, has a big dick and is in decent shape. And let's face it, that's really all it takes to get it whenever you want it, right?

Well ... THAT and you have to be WILLING to fuck anyone with a heartbeat, I suppose.

Anyway - it got me to thinking about why I go so long between "events" ... and I've concluded that I'm simply NOT willing to jump on any dick with a pulse. If I were, sex would be everywhere, all the time and I'd spoil myself.

But I don't.

SO ... all that to say that I met this one dude and we've been chatting for a while. And, well, you know how it is when you spend only one week talking to someone but you do it throughout everyday and well into the night and invest all those hours a day ... it just seems like a lot longer.

Well, it's been like that.

And for now - I'm willing to share only the short version: I've been smelling my hand a lot today.

*coy smile*

Cry me a river

Ok, so they both canceled their grammy performances. Chris Brown is accused of hitting a woman. The woman is unidentified. Of course, since there is no report of Rihanna being incarcerated for going on a rampage against said mystery woman and Chris Brown himself, I think it's safe to assume that it's Rihanna that he hit.

Now, you know JGC is not your mainstream current events recap blog, right? Right. So here is what pisses me off - It's already talk of the town that Rihanna is catching flack for 'snitching.' REALLY? The No Snitching rule now applies to domestic abuse? You're kidding me right?

Ok, so I'm going to just ignore the fact that GROWN ASS MEN abide by a rule called "no snitching." Let's just ignore that fact. There are certain instances where the no snitching rule should absolutely NOT apply. In my opinion, those include:

1) Sexual assualt
2) Welfare of a child
3) Domestic abuse

Now, I know this fucks up all sorts of pretty little happy safe havens created by years of ridiculous rules and fear. But, if you wanna sell dope to another grown adult who buys it willingly and then figures out how to be a productive member of society only after doing some good blow before breakfast ... great. None of my business.

Sell it to a kid? - rule doesn't apply.

You wanna run around town slingin dick into every bitch that wants to take it, raw or otherwise - have at it. None of my business.

Force yourself on her? - rule doesn't apply.

You wanna have a heated argument with your spouse/lover/concubine, whatever - have at it.

Punch her (or him) in the mouth? - rule doesn't apply.

That's my stance. So, looka here - if Mr. Brown took a swing at that bitch ... he gotta answer for it. She had every right to make that call. Period.

Actually no - not period. Look ...

I know ALL about then Bajans. TRUST ME. Can't NOBODY push a man closer to the brink of "I'm a beat the ever living fuck out this cunt" that PF - TRUST ME PEOPLE. (Help me out here Jaded!) ... Bajan woman can be vindictive and maddening and provoking as only carribean women can be ... I get that. But even JACK managed some self restraint. And if JACK can .. Mr. Brown can. He can join that support group Ike left behind.



Wait - no this mother fucker is NOT trying to say that he *had* to do steroids because of the pressure that came with being the highest paid man in baseball. Is that right? Is THAT what this nigga is saying now?

On who's leather couch did this whiney bitch lay complaining that he makes too much money? I want to meet this M.D. and sling my dick across his face ... and leave a welt.

Come on, A-Rod. You want sympathy here? You make a million dollars a minute and you're trying to explain it away by saying you had to take steroids in order to maintain? Nigga, try Xanax or Clonazopam or Zoloft or Lexapro or Efexor or you know what ... suck a dick! That ALWAYS helps me.


Conclusion
I just can't believe what I'm reading - it's like a fucking mess over there on yahoo news. (That's where the pics came from) I'm going to just pass over the insane mother fuckin single woman with six kids who had 8 fertilized eggs inserted into her uterus. I'm just going to leave that one alone.

But tune in next week when I'll analyze how she made tons of money by selling her kids to Michael Jackson.

stupid shit. just STUPID.

Happy Birthday Baby Girl!

Yesterday was my daughter's birthday. I left Vegas one day early in order to be there for her on her birthday. I wasn't even supposed to GO on that trip, but in December my coworker asked me to go and I insisted that I had to fly back in time to pick up the kids, and he agreed.

So, I landed in Indianpolis, got my car and picked up the babies from school, ordered pizza on the way to the supermarket, picked up her princess cake (because she asked for a princess cake) and then went on to the house. I had piled the presents up on the dining room table before I left for Vegas because I knew it was going to be tight when I came back. I was proud of myself for having that much forethought because usually I'm actually quite "fly by the seat of my pants."

But this is my baby girl we're talking about!

My son had three presents - an outfit I bought when I was last in NYC, a Scooby Doo coloring book and a Mario Kart Nintendo DS game ... because he loves cars and the last mario brothers game we had belonged to my baby girl. We always get the other child a little something when one has a birthday - it's just what we do.

My daughter had an outfit from NYC, another blouse, a princess DS game, three sets of pjs, a high school musical activity set, tons of knick knacks that I couldn't fit into her Christmas stockings (yes, I saved it for her birthday from before Christmas and YES, she did have more than one Christmas stocking on the mantle), a few tubs of finger paint and some hannah montana stickers and such.

She tore into her presents before the pizza arrived, her aunt came over with the baby cousin and then we ate pizza and cake. MMMMM - pizza and cake. YUM. (I decided no more marble cake - I prefer the white cake)

We played around on the floor for a while - the kids would all pile on top of me, I'l shake and wiggle and yell EARTHQUAKE ... and they'd all fall all over the living room. The 11 month old waited until there was a maylee all over the floor and would crawl over and start smaking faces. That part was both not cute and cute all at the same time. And when my kids would pile up on top of me again, the not-so-stupid 11 month old would get the hell out of dodge until the melee ... then he was back over smacking faces.

It was all fun and games until I saw my daughter put a blanket over her aunt on the couch. Wait a minute ... this bitch taking a nap!? This mean I gotta watch the 11-month old! Who the hell signed up for THIS shit? Dammit!

But momma dukes is a little bit ghetto, a litte bit stupid-bitch (to be REAL honest) and I decided that my watching the 11-month old was better than having her awake. So I let her sleep. And besides, it was cute to see my daughter take care of her aunt like that. She's such a nurturer.

Except that wasn't going through my head when she was yelling, ANOTHER EARTHQUAKE DADDY while she pounced on me.

But they can pounce on me all they want. (even if my knees hurt today - is that supposed to happen in your 30s?)

Happy to be back in the cold, thanks to the babies ...

JACK

(P.S. I'm happy to announce that my 7 year old is still willing to be my "Baby Girl" even though she's already 7. So, all is good still. All is good)

Have job, will travel

Well, folks - my job takes me out of town this week and I won't be reading your wonderful blogs, nor will I be posting anything on mine. Unfortunately, I'll be on on expenses all away from home. Poor me will be at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas.

I'm SO excited to be going to Vegas again. It's such a fun town. Although, I must admit that I haven't had the privilege to experience the what happens in vegas stays in vegas rendevous ... really, the only thing that stays in vegas is my money. Everything else I can talk about freely.

This was a great weekend. The kids and I managed to free princess toadstool and we were so fucking happy. You have no idea. It was a total family effort to save that bitch.

SPOILER ALERT

Did you know that after beating nearly 100 different boards and gathering stars, and taking keys from bunnies (which really isn't quite the lesson I REALLY want to be teaching my kids)

[yo, kids, when you see the defenseless, steal they shit!]

... we finally free princess toadstool and she asks us to go BACK into the fucking castle and bake a cake with her!

I'm not shittin' you - bake a damn cake! Now, the whole video game thing is new to me ... I haven't ever owned a video game system - ever. And so, the kids each got a Nintendo DS Lite for xmas and I've been a fucking mess over the damn thing. So, anyway, maybe you knew that all the ungrateful bitch had to offer was a piece of cake ... and NO, she wasn't offering CAKES, it was a fucking piece of ACTUAL cake! Whatever - it was a sense of accomplishment anyway.

so, there you have it folks - I managed to juice the weekend for that amount of joy. And it doesn't escape me, the fact that I've totally been into that fucking video game (and others!) and that now I'm going to vegas ... where last time, the Deal or No Deal penny slots at the Flamingo actually stole from me!

... the same mother fucking day that I was running so low on money that I stopped putting the maximum bet into the machines and turned over triple sevens on this slot machine with a 2X multiplier

and because I played ONE quarter instead of three, I didn't get the $10,000 ... I got $10.00.

... and THAT was after I was playing the $0.02 slot and didn't play the maximum bet and won 50 free spins that earned me $17 instead of $340.

I'll just buy a lot of mauve and baby blue M&Ms and pretend I hit it big.

Have a great week everyone!