Momma don't know best

Momma Don't Change
It happened one day when I was talking to a friend of mine about random guy things. I was married then and he and his girlfriend were visiting - I lay on the couch and he lay on the floor and we spoke into the dark. He asked about my mother and I got to talking when these words spewed out of my mouth, "I love my mother, but I don't particularly like her." I stunned myself - and was grateful to find out that as I spoke those words, my friend drifted off to sleep, having never heard me say them - but I couldn't forget then and it fucked with my head so much that I went to see a counselor about it. Did I really not like momma?

You might think I'm on some bullshit when I say, quite candidly and rather smugly, that my mother is off her fuckin' rocker. The bitch will completely and totally point at me and laugh her ass off, and growing up she did that a lot. She's got bats in her belfry for real - she initiates gossip about me throughout the family as if I'm some off-the-street trashy nigga.

She's just plain 'ole certifiable. But I'm not on some rant about how annoyed I am at her - for I've really come to accept that she is who she is and that despite how I feel about it she's going to continue being who she is. If nothing else, those counseling sessions helped me realize that I can't change her and her gossipy ways and that the only thing I could change was me - so I accepted that my momma just crazy, ya' - crazy. I don't like the crazy, but I do love her crazy ass.

Momma Don't want no Gay
I've toyed with the idea of coming out to her, but I realize that every time we broach the subject, she shuts down. She is in some serious denial. But she knows - she just doesn't WANT me to be gay - so if I don't admit it, then it's not so - but she knows. (This the crazy JACK momma logic)

Once in college I was arguing on the phone with my boyfriend - although he was the one I wanted, I was confused and was sort of simultaneously talking to the woman who would eventually become my ex-wife. Anyway, after that call, mom asked me if everything was alright. I said yes, ma.

"You fighting?"

"Yes, ma - but it's fine"

and as I walk away she said, "is it with a man or with a woman?"

I turned back to her and looked her squarely in the eye, "both."

She turned away from me and distracted herself with some crossword of hers.

I still remember the blank stare I got before she turned away from me - she was utterly shocked ... in a mortified sort of way, not in a surprised sort of way.


Momma don't want no faggot
Another time, after my divorce, I was hooking up with this dude who was going to pick me up. I was in NYC visiting mom and that's where he was going to pick me up.

"I hope you're not getting into that faggot shit," she said to me.

I looked her squarely in the eye, "Why not?!"

She stared at me and then cut her eyes to distract herself with yet another fucking crossword puzzle book. No more talk - no more acknowledgment. End of discussion.

But she told me a lot by calling it "faggot" shit and refusing to acknowledge me ... we're cool as long as I'm not gay.

Momma will make up some SHIT
I could fill volumes with the nonsense my momma will make up - but today's edition takes the cake. You will NOT believe the nonsense my own mother is perpetuating in the family. It's likely the most ridiculous "my son ain't gay, dammit!" pounding of the chest nonsense you done ever heard. You ready?

My cousin (female) called to tell me that our aunt (my mother's sister) told her that my mother told HER ... (you following?) ... that she's convinced that my cousin (female) and I are lovers.

Yes, folks - incest is better than homosexuality - just ask my momma.

Why I gave up my vices

OK, so no casual sex and I quit smoking. And in light of the last 7 days or so (and if you've been reading my blog, you know it's been a mess), I decided to bring some levity back to JGC. And that means, I'm fessing up about the real reasons I decided to drape on that wholesomeness cloak.

• Smoking was fucking with my head. I was constantly telling myself it was the last cigarette and I was getting more and more angry with myself for not being able to quit.

• I was a phlegm factory and constantly dealing with head colds and shit and that just doesn't make sense. I felt like I kept putting my hand on the stove, getting burned ... and doing it again. Lunacy.

• Casual sex wasn't getting me anywhere - and all it was giving me was a complex. Getting tested every six months is stressful, plain and simple.

• Then there was that time I accidentally blew a drag queen.

• The best sex I've had in the last two years was with a brutha who was so damn high he has no idea who I am. No, like ... seriously - he hits me up a couple weeks ago on adam and introduces himself like we've never met.
  

• Actually, wait - that wasn't the best sex. The best sex was with this other brutha I don't speak to anymore either ... who met someone after we hooked up and decided to pursue something with him. But who isn't out and doesn't want anyone to know where he lives.

• Did I mention I inadvertantly blew a drag queen?

• Today I hit up another brutha I had been messing with because I haven't heard from him. I knew he had gotten laid off and I wanted to see how he was doing. He moved to DC for a job. After I congratulated him, he told me he was coming back to town and I was going to help him pack and move. "No, I'm not."

All in all - casual sex and smoking were fucking with my head. And look folks - I'm a crazy mfer. I hold it together pretty well, but I really am one neurotic son of a bitch. The last thing I needed was to continue to do things that were fucking up my very frail psyche.

Reality is that I conducted an inventory of ME ... and I found the shelves empty and the racks half full. Seriously, who's going to invest in me if I'M not ... right?

It's been 7 weeks since I've had a cigarette. 9 weeks since I've fucked around.

And you know what? I've actually been able to better focus on my job search ... I've got 8 resumes out there, all to very pertinent jobs, all with customized resumes and cover letters ...

... because I need to just get back home and stop all this driving nonsense. JACK's not found much in Chicago worth staying for ... just a bunch nonsense ...

... and a drag queen with a big dick.

Top Ten lists a la JACK

Top Ten Reasons Obama Should Address Race Issues

10. Are you fucking kidding me? He’s the fucking President. Can the man BE President first? Then he can take up race issues about what it was like to be the first Black President and how race impacted him and his office and what his views were as those issues arose and blah blah blah. This whole fucking notion that he should talk about it because he IS President totally undermines the actual job of BEING the President. Isn’t his plate already fucking full? I mean, you know what … Haiti – stop bitching. It’s just an earthquake. President Obama got a roundtable with Al Sharpton – he ain’t time for this shit.

Top Ten Ways to Fuck Up late Night

10.Remove Jay Leno

9. Replace him with Conan

8. Replace Conan with Jimmy Falon

7. Make up a creepy show for Jay at 10pm

6. Watch ratings plummet

5. Convene a meeting

4. Start talking shit that you’re gonna shake things up

3. Watch Conan murder you on live TV

2. Watch Letterman stew that he STILL isn’t getting The Tonight Show

1. Have FOX get interested in Conan

Top Ten Bitch Ass Punks in Women’s Sports

10.Mark Mcgwire

9.Mark Mcgwire

8.Mark Mcgwire

7.Mark Mcgwire

6.Mark Mcgwire

5.Mark Mcgwire

4.Mark Mcgwire

3.Mark Mcgwire

2.Mark Mcgwire

1.Mark Mcgwire

Movin' on up

Since sometime last summer - July I think - I have been crashing on my friend's couch in the big chi. I'm not sure what possessed me to think I could carry the rent for a 1-BR apartment in Chicago, while I kept a mortgage and a second mortgage in Indianapolis, but I tried it. And it fuckin' TRIED me, ok? When that one-year lease was over, I was through. I wasn't sure what my next step was going to be, but I had been all over craigslist looking for someone renting a room because $800 in rent per month was not working for me.

So, my friend offered me his couch in his one-bedroom. I considered this, and since I'm in Chicago half-time MAYBE ... and I kinda have an affinity for sleeping on my own couch anyway ... I said what the hey. And for the most part, it's been a good set up. In the interest of preserving the friendship we have, I won't go into any details about my decision to move out, but as I told him ... I value our friendship, and we're cool and will be cool after I move. However, if I stay much longer, we may not be cool for very long and I seriously would rather figure something else out than damage a friendship. Plain. And simple, too.

During that conversation he asked me if I knew when I would stat looking for a place. I lied and said I wasn't sure. He suggested I start looking in March. I knew he suggested that because his lease is up in April and he wants to move out of that apartment. I don't blame him. Why?


This here picture represents more water than came out of the faucet this mroning when I turned on the hot water. Right - piss poor. And the heat wasn't on ... turned off sometime during the night and I was chilly ... the to-the-bone kind of chilly and I really wanted a warm shower. Yet, not an option.

That pretty much sealed the deal. I had had dinner this past weekend with another friend, who owns a 3BR condo and considered a roommate situation before. He's still up for it and we talked about things and it seems like it will work out. I told him that I would make a decision this week. However, after the heat-less, shower-less morning I had? I negotiated a 3-month trial with him. I'll give my roommate my one month notice this week when I give him his rent money. I'll probably be out of there sooner, though. Dude's condo is furnished ... with a bed!

Funny part of this is that yesterday my current roommate told me he saw this apartment he really liked on craigslist and sent an email to the owner about it, asking if anything would be available in April, he'd be interested. That struck me, because this is the same dude who suggested *I* look for a place starting in March. Did you catch that? Right - so did I. I told him all sorts of good things ... like good for him and it sounds like what he really wants out of an apartment, and I'm genuinely glad he's dealing with it. And I'm genuinely letting go of the fact that he told me to wait until March while he went looking for something himself.

Surprise! I've already got one.

JACK Fierce

Recently, I transcended my blog and actually decided to meet a fellow blogger and it wasn't the horror I was so sure it would be once I stepped from inside cyberspace into reality. It was wholly and completely normal. Dudes hanging out, having a few drinks (I had my share, I admit it!) and laughing it up to the unfinished ceiling. It's silly that it took me so long.

The reality is that JACK exists as a caricature of what I wish would be socially acceptable of me. Although my closest and dearest friends (you know who you are! heeeeeeyyyyyyy) know how really off-the-wall things can come flying out of my pie hole, for the most part life has toned me down. I don't always now say the things that come to mind ... and that shit still doesn't come easily. I find myself doing a lot of self-coaching, saying to myself "just let it go, don't say a thing ..." and many another mantra to simply let myself be the wise man who says nothing.

But for a very long time I was the fool who said whatever the fuck came to mind. My having created JACK allowed me to channel a lot of my nonsense into a world with no repercussions ... like, blogger can't fire me or refuse to be my friend anymore ... and it can't get pissed off at me for saying some nonsense. JACK, therefore, is the culmination of all the things the average person would like to say ... but doesn't.

JACK is unabashedly ... well, me. He is an accentuation of the attitude I carry, of the insatiable appetite for men I carry, and then some. JACK, in short, is fierce. Just all out there for the world to see (hear?) and all that. There are not many things the real me would share ... whereas JACK can't stop running his fucking mouth. I swear to the gods that I wish I could just sock him right in his goddam mouth sometimes.

See, the real me would say to the man who lost his erection, "it's cool, baby ... just hold me." And then JACK gets on his blog and talks about how the nigga couldn't get in if he had a map and a flashlight and I took him there! (Seriously, that's quoted from a previous blog post)

The real me listens intently ... JACK expresses his deep rooted desire for the bastard to shut the fuck up. PLEASE!

The real me is worth getting to know, worth befriending, worth loving. Just ask that handful of people I count myself blessed to know. I'm a good damn time!

JACK, however ... hmph! If he rears his ugly head, just shake yours at him and laugh at him. But he's a good damn time, too!

Yet there are rules ... JACK never breaks my confidence, or yours. IF I'm sworn to secrecy, so is JACK. He never crosses that line. NEVER.

All in all, JACK is my outlet - for your viewing pleasure. And as goddam sure as I am ... JACK, too, is fierce.

(without the motorcycle garb)


PS - Thanks for the invite out, fellow blogger. A total privilege.

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!!!

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.

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.

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.

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.

No drizzle - Just Deluge

Fuck the saying that it "pours." This is some real inundation, although PLEASE don't get any ideas, heavens! On June 2, there was a bitch of a storm that came through. It was windy as hell and the hail was about the size of a quarter. And the relentless pounding my house took was incredible. The wind and hail took took tree limbs and leaves right off the trees and scattered vegetation all over the damn place - I hadn't seen anything like it since I flew into Tampa hours after Hurricane Jeane. Except, there aren't any palm fronds in Indianapolis.

Anyway - it sounded like the ice was going to come right through my skylights. It was deafeningly loud in my house as the weather gods laughed and laughed at me pacing around this house, scared like I was 5 and just KNEW that that coat rack with the top hat over there in the dark was a bad, bad man who was going to kill me.

An inspector came out and said I had hail damage to my roof. I thought it fortuitous since the last time this room was re-done was before I owned the house and before the code was updated to say two layers of roof maximum. There're three layers up there. So, I called it in.

Nine Thousand Six Hundred mother fucking Dollars is what the adjuster told me.

What?!?

It just then dawned on me, as the insurance adjuster was speaking to me, that my insurance premiums were going to soar. Of course, right?

Thing is, I spent the last three weeks buying flooring and having it installed in my house to replace 8 year old carpet that withstood the test of two toddlers, and bought new furniture for the living room that had done the same. So, here I am with about $3,000 in store credit cards (because it was no interest, no payment until January if I did it that way) and WHAM!

The roof is on fire (figuratively)

... and I reported it. To the insurance company.

Yay! New roof, at least. And floors!

(for someone else to enjoy when they repo this bitch)

but, of COURSE

I was up late again last night, subjecting myself to the mindless e-babble of random fools online who like my picture. I've often times considered why I frequent those sites because I really don't get anything out of them except some occasional good banter - yet, I always find time to waste there.

I don't really get a lot of attention, though. I suspect that you have to be actively searching for an immediate opportunity to walk out the door and find someone's skin to rub up against ... and, although I'm no prude (you HAVE read my blog, right?) I'm really not all about the anonymous sex 8 days a week.

Ultimately, yes - the goal is a long term committed relationship, but I was seriously when I blogged about my not looking for it anymore. I really don't expect one to figuratively fall on my lap and neither am I tip-toeing around with a rifle talking about "it's relationship season." It's the goal, but this isn't a scavenger hunt, or a race to some finish line ... those activities require constant effort to get the job done. And what the hell I look like putting forth all that effort for some nigga I don't even know yet?!? Yuh, not looking.

And I certainly don't expect to find commitment from someone online. Hell, 90-plus percent of those mother fuckers can't commit to a properly structured sentence - that's like going into a hen house while you're looking for toothpaste. Bitch please, leave the chicken heads alone.

So, anyway - there I was ... sitting in the dark, my face bathed in the soft glow of the monitor, getting tired. I finally decide that I should lay down when some dude contacts me.

We had been sending each other messages but never logged in at the same time, always saying we'll chat soon when we're both online together. And well, of COURSE it happens when I'm just about to lay my ass down and go to sleep. But I was pleasantly surprised by the normalcy of the conversation. You hear me? Not that the conversation was titillating or that it was interesting or any of that shit. I was just plain impressed that he was NORMAL. Apparently, I guess.

I give him my phone number and he calls. His voice is, again, NORMAL and a purse didn't fly out of my earpiece at me when he spoke. He asks a lot of good questions as he tried to get to know me. It gets late, though, and eventually me agree to meet tonight for a drink. So, I guess we'll see how that goes.

As I lay in bed trying to go to sleep, I realize that I surpassed the window of sleep opportunity. I'm overtired and I can't fall asleep. I lay instead in some sleep limbo ... not quite awake, but not quite asleep; not quite coherent, but not quite dreaming. And I hear this ridiculous noise and it sounds like coughing or gagging or something ... and then what sounds like a baby fussing.

I figure that my sister in law showed up with her son and I think to myself that it's strange for her to show up at this hour. Strange, but not something that would've surprised me. And so it didn't. I stayed instead in my limbo, floating between reality and the sweetness of my dreams, unable to enjoy either.

But then I just say fuck it and I get up. I step in some nonsense in the hallway and realize that the dog made a mess. And I mean A MESS. shit and vomit all over the hall way and then I step in it again on the area rug in the living room.

My roommate is sleeping in the living room (it's her dog) and she notices me in the kitchen acting strangely and asks me if everything is ok. NO. The dog shit all over the place and I've got shit all over me. She gets up and there we both are cleaning the damn shit up. (and this is an appropriate place for the word: literally).

But the dog really is acting strangely. And it dawns on me that he probably had another seizure and that THAT'S what I heard from my limbo ... not my sister in law's son. The dog is burning up and we take him to the emergency vet clinic.

Sure enough, he had a seizure. but, OF COURSE he seized. and of COURSE I didn't get up for him. His temperature is normal as a post-seizure temperature, though and pretty much it cost us $90 to confirm that he had a seizure. The fucker emptied his bowels, bladder and stomach during in the process too. Poor thing.

I got to bed at 5:30 am this morning. at 9:00 am, the sister in law rings the doorbell.

of COUSRE she rings the doorbell.

of COURSE she brings in her son and some girl she's baby sitting.

of course.

For the Conscientious Traveler

THIS is a SARS mask

If you are traveling in an airplane in the coming weeks, please be sure to use the new, improved Swine Flu mask, pictured here:

When KARMA comes a knockin ...

March 7, 2008: My fat fuck of a boss reveals to me that he's letting me go because I have been doing things contrary to what I have been told. Except, I had been doing exactly what he was asking me to do. Fucker set me up.




Thursday, March 19, 2009: Fat fuck got shit canned.

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In 2006, I spent 10 months working my ass off, literally. Ffrom January to October, I lost over 40 pounds. But then I started looking all gaunt and skeletal and so I stopped going to the gym. The weight began to come back on. My then boyfriend said to me one night, while we lay watching TV, his arm around me, "You ARE gaining weight - I can feel it."

Jessica AndrewsKarma

Music Video Codes By Music Jesus.com

Today, my now ex-boyfriend is 35 pounds heavier than he was that day and is quite the fat bastard.

---

Alicia KeysKarma

Music Video Codes By Music Jesus.com

---

If you don't knnow about musicjesus.com, you should be ashamed.

Feel free to give Karma her due respects in comment - I look forward to hearing from you all. I could use a smile or two these days.

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!

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)

La Curita

This dude pretty much sums up my 2008. Instead of reflecting on the pros and cons and systematically reviewing the year, I'm taking another route. Let me summarize the 2008 nonsense with a little christmas story:

I woke up Christmas morning in a bit of a fog. The kids were with their mom until noon and I was going to pick them up and then have them for a week. The presents were all under the tree, overflowingly so. And I really don't know how a damn tree can OVERflow from the BOTTOM, but whatever - I spoil them little bastards ROTTEN. All wrapped in various and sundry types of wrapping paper layed a desktop, several Nintendo DS games, school supplies and coloring books and toys all ready to be ransacked at about noon:01. So, all this meant what? It meant that I had planned well and gotten everything done beforehand. It meant that I had several hours to myself ... before an entire week of nothing but kids. And I needed some adult time ... and I needed some ME time. And I needed a MAN!

Unfortunately, I contact Mr. Still Doesn't Know My Last Name. He invited me over (because I told him to), warning me that he had a coworker passed out drunk on his couch. Whatever - I'm on my way. Now, if you've been keeping up with my blog, you know that Mr. Still Doesn't Know My Name has has several opportunities to ... how you say ... complete the task ... but has never managed to do so. This self-proclaimed 100% top doesn't seem to be able to cork a bottle. But eh - it's Christams, right?

Since the coworker is passed out on the couch, I enter through the back door. I thought it funny (for obvious reasons, right?). So, he makes coffee, I have a cigarette and he lays on the bed. I walk over to the bed and there right below his navel .....


Obviously, I touch it and ask, "what's this?" Well folks the stupid mother fucker invites me over to fuck and neglects to tell me that less than a week before he had a fucking hernia removed!!! OMG - the world just froze there for a few seconds as the words washed over me ... I decided that this was HIS problem. I mean, the last time when he took those damn over-the-counter sexual enhancement pills and I thought his heart was going to explode, I was concerned about him. But at this point, I'm concerend about ME.

Well, he got up in the middle of the festivities to take a pain pill ... so, he didn't get any and all I got for Christmas was a tossed salad. I've decided that 2008 was the year of the band-aid. And my son summed up how I feel about bidding it farewell when he took this video:



Au Revoir 2008!

When stupid moments happen to smart people

You know, I have never taken an "official" IQ test, but the unoffical ones online tell me I'd fare well. Certainly not Einstein level, but I'll do better that just barely break triple digits. But I've got to tell you - sometimes, I'm the stupidest mother fucker I know.

1. I am not out at work and while discussing Callin In Gay day, I was saying about how gay people want the world to know that "we" ..... well, that they want to know that "WE" understand what they contribute to society.
2. I'm pretty much out at work now.
3. I was texting nice with the ex-wife the other day ... as in, funny HA HA jokes and I actually kinda thought it was cool. I decided to buy her a Christmas present. I'm an idiot.
4. True to form, since I was texting with the ex-wife, I got to thinking about THAT Mother Fucker and about how he is a good person in his own right. And I ended up sending him a note sayin "Hello, Sir :-)"
5. He hasn't responded and I'm kinda freaking out that I did it.
6. I am totally living paycheck to paycheck, especially with living in two cities, and I have this hangnail that won't quit. On my pinky toe (call back to Della Reese in Harlem Nights ... I really wish someone WOULD shoot it!). And so I scheduled a pedicure, errr Foot Maintenance, tomorrow so that can fix this shit. Right, no money, but I'm paying for a pedi. When I could really do this myself. Idiot.
7. I bought myself that damn electric mattress pad - FUCKING idiot.
8. Have you read my other blog post where I can't keep it straight who's who that I've met online? Oh - I didn't tell you that I've added more mens to the list? Right - I can't keep it straight as it is, so I add more variables. Fucking BRILLIANT!
9. I think I want to have my mom over for Christmas, but that means I have to drive with her in the car. For 10 hours. With just me and my mom. omg - I'm not just an idiot, I'm fucking CRAZY too.
10. I need to complete a paper for school - for a class I took this summer and took a grade of I (incomplete) for and I started writing the paper on my laptop. But I left the laptop at work ... and my reference material in my apartment. Neither with me, nor together, and both 300 miles away.
11. Did I swallow a stupid pill by accident? Because the other day, I took 60 miligrams of a medicine I was supposed to take only 20 miligrams of ... and i was a str8 mess!

I'm going to need someone to smack the stupid out of me. Any takers?

Dear Santa:

Santa,

I made this here Christmas Wish List (and a special thanks to DUDE for offering a $5 Walmart card - I'm totally expecting it now, you know ... email me for the addy :-) and as Jaded does the internet gift equivalent of cock-blocking ... I've got to ask you to do something for me ...

Can you please define "good?"

Sincerely,

JACK Martinez

Ready, Fire ... Aim

It's been 8 months. EIGHT months. And so I broke down and called mr. bought-me-a-ring-and-still-doesn't-know-my-last-name to pick me up at the train station. And, of course, he did.

Why - why - why - why?!?

The last time our "session" ended with an uh-oh ... and I didn't get any.

And this time?

Ok, so he has a hot tub in his back yard ... and we got in. That was a first for me. I can't believe I've gotten to the point where I'm totally qualm-less and do this shit. But, it was interesting. I liked it.

I mean, I gave it the 'ole college try ... AGAIN. And the trash talk was HOT and I was all into it ... again. Eventually, he wants to take it inside and just have at it. I'm game.

Except, he's not ... uurrr ... UP anymore. And so I ask, "what's up with this?" grabbing a handful of useless, flacid penis.

It turns out he busted in the hot tub.

Really?!?

Are you fucking kidding me?!?

I'm just glad he wanted to get out of there - and that there was enough chlorine in that bitch to perform keratotomy on a mother fucker ...

I mean - WTF?!?!! It's been 8 months, but folks - not for lack of trying.

Oh, and can you believe the mother fucker wanna ask me inside why I kept holding it back? I mean, I'm not long-winded. I'm not, trust me. I can't stand long, pointless bludgeon sessions ... but you gonna sit there and accuse me of holding back because it's been 10 minutes?

Put my dick back in your mouth and shut the fuck up.

**end trans