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

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

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.


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

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*



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


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


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.


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.


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.


Thursday, October 1, 2009

Coming out of the prayer closet