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.

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.

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.

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!!!

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.

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.

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.

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