No really does mean .... NO

Last week I got this text message from a dude:

"I don't know what I did wrong, but I can't do anything about it if you're not communicating with me."

I had not spoken to him in a while, but the last time we had spoken, he was trying to get me to phone bone or have text sex or so whatever. Clearly, dude has gone off the deep end, since I did already CLEARLY explained that I was not doing casual sex and that I wasn't interested in this nonsense. So, I ended that interaction abruptly and a while later I get a text pic of his finale.

I've not acknowledged him at all since. No responses to IM's, to texts, to his phone calls. And - yes, I'm clear that he has a mini-obsession thing going on, but it's not my problem. It really isn't. When I tell the mutha fucka that I'm not interested in casual sex and that that phase is truly behind me ... that I really am not looking for JUST sex, so casual sex is just not really an option because that's all casual sex is (it's JUST sex) ... the mutha fucker should NOT be talking about, "that just made you so much hotter."

He's obviously not listening to me. That, or he thinks he's God's gift to gay men and that he can wear me down. And if it's the latter, then he CLEARLY doesn't know me. When I done made up my mind, it's set. Like concrete.

Today I get a text from this other brutha - a kid, really. A decade my junior and trying to holla for a couple of years now. Whatever, he comes out of the woodworks when it's convenient for him ... we exchange niceties and then he disappears again. Today?

"I'm just bored in class. What's new?"

"Fool, pay attention!"

"I usually do - but today is boring"

"Bad Student!"

"You should punish me :-)"

"How do you think I should go about doing THAT?"

"You can figure that our - I know yr a freak"

"Actually, I'm not - it's 3+ months since I took that vow of celibacy"

"But why? You're a hot boi"

WTF! When I say that I'm not doing the casual sex bit ... the response should not be a reference to how hot you think I am, dammit! I don't give a got damn - ok? Listen closely - NOOOTTTT DOOOOIIIINNNNNGGGG IIIIITTTTTTTT

Acceptable responses include, but are not limited to:

• "oh, cool - I didn't know"
• "Well, go on witcha bad self"
• "Peace"
• "How long has it been? That's great"
• "For real?! YOU?!? LOL" (cuz I can take a joke - but eventually, one of the aforementioned acceptable responses must follow)

Seriously, folks - if we're not dating, we're not fucking. (period)

Y YA!

I know stupid when I see it

It's been a long time since JACK's Camera made an appearance around these parts and I bet you thought JACK had actually put his camera away, stopped taking pictures of things and people and perhaps he had actually stopped invading people's privacy by not only taking pictures of them without their permission, but posting them on the internets for everyone under the sun, moon and clouds to see. But I didn't. Instead, I've been collecting

Take I
I think it was those Japanese food places at the mall food courts that started this trend by shoving Bourbon Chicken in your face in those little white cups for you to sample and come back fiendishly looking to make a buy. But look closely here:

THIS bitch wants you to sample cat food.
(and, no, this wasn't Petsmart!)

Take II
After one of my hookups some time ago (it was Fall of 08, I think!), I left his apartment all wobbly in the legs because, let me tell ya, it was GOOD. And there on the corner ... was THIS place:

Totally stupid name, but this one made my day.
(Ok, actually, the dude did - but this was close second. Well, second.)

Take III
Before my current job moved, and when I was smoking, this was where I would go for my smoke breaks. It was easy to just chill in the parking garage because it's outdoors and there's a roof! Bonus.

But clearly if you're a jumper, they want you to be at least on the third floor. I think there's maybe liability if you survive the fall.

Take IV
It was really hot that day.

But, seriously? No one at the bank can get this shit right? It's NUMBERS, dammit!

Take V
Chicago weather can toy with the extremes.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Take VI

Now, I really appreciate construction signs. I really do. The last thing I want to do is be driving along, minding my own business and then have some kids daddy land on my windshield because I didn't know he was going to be there around the bend holding a SLOW sign.

But who the FUCK put this shit up? I mean, exactly what? Huh? Where?! Look, just tell me who the fuck did this - because THAT mother fucker I wanna run over.

TAKE VII

New York City. Circa a few months ago. I'm driving my rental when suddenly something tells me that may I really SHOULD have purchased that "walk away" insurance from Avis.

No, but really - aren't there schools where you practice on a closed course to get a CDL? I didn't even know thes signs CAME this big. I wonder if they make them big enough for airliners.

TAKE VII

Sometimes, however, I feel like stupidity is there to remind me that things could be oh so much worse for me. Like, fine - I'm single, I'm stressed a lot, I usually always tired from running so hard all the time ... but, I don't do shit like this

Clearly, there are no gay men on THIS marketing team.
(ooorrrr maYYYYbe there ARE - and this might just be sheer brilliance! Cuz I want one now)


TAKE IX - MY FAVORITE

Nigga, PLEASE get your big, dumb black ass out of the Walmart shopping cart and wait in line properly like the rest of us. DAMN!

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.

Black Friday with JACK

In 2002, I did the Black Friday thing. I started at 5am and learned at how ridiculous people could get waiting outside for HOURS before then. I didn't get everything I was looking for that year, but I did get a few things and it was fun.

Except for Toys R Us. I will never, EVER go to that store on Black Friday or during the holidays at all. There was yelling and kicking and screaming and parents fighting over toys. The same toys they'd yell at their children for fighting over at some point. It was mayhem and just a whole lotta nonsense - and I'm not risking my life over a five dollar Barbie.

This year, I was out there as a good deed. My roommate is dating someone new who has issues that my roommate is using his ex's laptop still. He borrowed it after his desktop crashed and has been using it ever since. So, my roommate wants a new laptop - to be honest, I think he just needed something to push him to spend the money. He's wanted his own damn laptop since forever.

Anyway, I was there for a laptop. The roommate is going to reimburse me and I actually had nothing going on that would prevent me from getting it ... and he was going to be out of town at his parents without a car. So, fine - I went.

TO WALMART!

Oh dear God. It was something else. And why did I get stuck around these chatty ass women who just wanted to talk and tell stories about where they'd been already (Toys R Us opened at mid-fucking-night!) and how tired they were and what they ate and all this nonsense I just didn't give a fuck about. Whatever, I did it. There were some things at Walmart that I wanted to get, including a $29 bicycle for my son. So, I bore the misery from 3am to 6am when I finally got out of there.

Have you ever seen that email forward about people that shop at Walmart? THey're usually dressed in their pajamas or some ghetto/white trash outfit that makes no sense - have you seen it? Well, I learned that those really aren't staged. They're really not. LAWD. HAVE MERCY. Some of these people really did look like their parents were spawned from the same womb. I swear they did.

And THEN - there was THIS nigga:



Really? You're going to climb your big, Black ass into a shopping cart to sit? You can't stand for two hours and not make a fool of yourself in front of all these White people? Really? THAT shit was crazy. You should've seen him push the gate all the way up and around, crouch underneath it and wedge himself into that cart. And eventually, he scooted all the way back into the cart, put his elbows on the sides of the cart and let his feet just dangle in midair ... I swear, some people make no goddam fucking sense.

I just HAD to put him on blast. JACK is never without his camera, people.

Mouth of babes: A saying that's TELLING

Today - my lawd Jesus, today. I wasted 4.5 hours of my life on a conference call. And when I was done, EVERYTHING was bothering me. I was just one cranky bitch. You know those moments when you feel like the next mother fucker that so much as SPEAKS to you will go down in a wrath not seen since the Israelites were worshiping golden calves while Moses was gone for 40 days. (If you believe in such things). Well, it was one of those days.

It's also one of those days where I can say mother fucker, cranky bitch AND Moses all in the same paragraph. Just accept it - I'm not in the mood.

It didn't help that my sister in law came by to pick up the money her mother said I was going to give her. I told her that I came home with her mother's check and haven't gone to cash it yet because of this conference call - you know, the one that was so painful it blurred my vision - and that I was STILL on the conference call.

Why is it that during this conference call I hear this bitch's footsteps in the hallway, listening to see if I was still on the conference call? When the fuck did I become your bitch? Just because you goddamn son is out of diapers doesn't mean I have to drop everything and run around town like I ain't got no goddamn sense ... I done TOLE this bitch at least three times before that if you wait until the last minute, it's only because you think you're more likely to get the handout if there's an emergency. And I'm through being manipulated, ok? I'm over it. I know the game well ... so her tip toeing on my laminate flooring made me want to take up one of those planks and smack her with it.

Bitch, I'm busy.

So, after the conference call, I go to the bank and deposit the check and withdraw the $200 she needed. (Don't ask me what the fuck she wanted it for - I just know that her mom asked me to deposit her paycheck and suddenly I have more shit to do because I have her money) So, after I get the goddamn money I call this bitch only to have her say that she went over to her moms and had her withdraw the money out of her account so she was good.

GOOD?!?

"And who was gonna tell ME that you DIDN'T need me to go to the bank?"

"oh."

That's all she had to say. "Oh." Now I gotta take my ass BACK to the bank to deposit this cash ... and I'm on my way to pick up my kids and I gotta feed them and bathe them and homework and reading and bed times ... mother, fuck - got damn, bitch.

She started saying some other shit and I was just like, "you know what, bye."

So I'm all flustered and pissed off and cranky and i WISH someone would say something stupid to me ... and all that.

I get home to read an email from my daughter's teacher - it's their weekly newsletter. Guess what - she's saying no homework all week since it's a short week. Instead she had the kids write down what they were thankful for and she published it in the classroom newsletter.

At this point, I should tell you that my baby mama has been ill. I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say that it's serious - she had surgery last week and that adds to the number of things I've got to get done this week, which is why the whole bank thing was such a big deal. Like, seriously - the baby mama and I, three weeks ago, had the "If I die ..." conversation - I've been stressed. I know - it doesn't show one bit.

So, I'm scanning this newsletter to see what my daughter said - because, let's face it, who gives a fuck what the other kids said. And there's my baby's name, and she says:

I'm thankful for the doctors that are keeping my mommy safe.

omg - my eyes well up just typing it. How precious a lesson my daughter taught me just then ... I sit here with tears rolling down my face - tears that parents shed that their kids never know about. Tears we shed only when they're fast asleep, safe and secure.

You know what - it was just a conference call. It was 4.5 hours of my life - and I have my life. I wasn't the I in "If I die ..." My children are worried about their mommy and think about it enough to be thankful, even at 6 and 7, that there are doctors who specialize in taking care of their mommy. What's another trip to the bank?

I conditioned and detangled my daughter's hair tonight. I sat her under the hair dryer, gave her some books ... and even though it was way passed her bedtime, I sat there with my book on the couch while she read her book sitting underneath the hood. It was the first time she used it - and she felt like a big girl. And she was all smiles.

Nothing else really matters if a father can make his daughter smile.

She stopped reading and looked at me and asked, "Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Can I have a hug?"

Nothing else really matters if a daughter can make her daddy smile, too.

And I did - I smiled.

Tapa Ceilo Con La Mano

I took this poll on FB about whether or not I support gay marriage. Of course, I answered that I do indeed support it. What you may not know is that I support it in theory, not in the "I'm about to go out and marry a bastard" sort of way. I suppose if it happens that I find a man I want to commit my life to, then I'd jump the broom again ... but, I'm a happily divorced man right now and I'm not in any particular hurry to even shack up with someone. Quite frankly, I like having things be exactly where I left them when I go to looking for them.

But what gets me is all the comment from the Christian right on the issue. How in the hell does one person's marriage impact another's? I'm at a loss. Preserving the sanctity of marriage is an issue that befuddles me when one considers the divorce rate. I'm part of the 50% of the population that got divorced, dammit - so don't tell me about the sanctity of marriage. That argument is hollow.

The title of this post references an old adage in Spanish - literally translated it means "block out sky with the hand." I've heard it used when people are trying to keep it real ... that is, acknowledging the obvious. But it's also a back handed slap to people who want to ignore really big omnipresent things as if they really don't exist. I'll give you an example.

I have an uncle. He's a ho. His sister-in-law came to live with him and his wife for economic reasons, or for whatever reason. I don't know the specifics. But what I do know is that his wife and his sister-in-law were both pregnant at the same time, while his sister-in-law was living in their house, and yes - you guessed it ... they're both his. Yet, no one talks about it or acknowledges it and my uncle, the youngest of 8, is still the "can't do no wrong" baby of the family.

Bitch, please - he's a ho. Now, the one thing that may make this story palatable is that the wife didn't kick out her sister or anything. They remained buddy, buddy. So, for all WE know the could maybe been having consensual menage-a-trois up in that bitch and it's really none of anyone's business (not that it's any of our business either way, but you know) ... but these sibling/cousins don't seem to have any real standing in the family at large. It's a shame. So, in referencing this situation, someone could be calling it out and start talking about it by saying they don't "tapa ceilo con la mano" and then start talking about my uncle being a fast ass.

So, I just called him out, fine. It's not even the issue here, although I could make this a VERY strong argument against the "holy matrimony" that the Christian right wants to make out of marriage. Let's get some things straight (tee hee, I said straight)

1. Marriage is not strictly a religious thing. When I married my now ex-wife we had to go downtown and get a MARRIAGE license from the state. The term "marriage" cannot possibly be reserved for the church.
2. I have Muslim friends who are married. Therefore, marriage cannot be inherently Christian because, well ... Allah done thrown a wrench into that whole thing right thurr
3. Don't Hindus believe in multiple gods? Yuh, they're married too.

But my main issue is the argument that this is a Christian nation based on Christian principles. Did anyone really research that and confirm the religious beliefs of our founding fathers? I mean, doe anyone know what the fuck a freemason is? an agnostic? I'm not doing your homework - just, if you're going to pursue this avenue, please OH PLEASE do some research.

And then there's that real humane treatment of native Americans. Nothing says Christian like raping, pillaging and forcing people from their land, taking it by force. It must have been that New Promised Land referenced during the 400 silent years no one knows shit about. or something.

Ahhh - and slavery too. Nothing says Christian like slavery, white hoods and hosing off crowds of people with fire engines and fire hydrants. And hanging people from trees! Christian as hell right thurr.

Frankly, I'm tired of hearing people talk about how Christian this country is - it's not. It's Christian-ISH, I'll give you that ... in the same way that my son was Red Power Ranger-ISH this halloween. He looked the part, so he WAS the part.

Dammit, people - just because you carry the Bible and can recite scripture ... that doesn't make you a Christian. Neither does going to church. Show me a man or woman who loves unconditionally, judges little to none, raises respectful children who also love unconditionally and judge little to none ... and I may begin to believe your religiosity isn't just a white, hooded cloak.

Spare me the skewed view of history and tell me, really - how does someone else's marriage impact yours? How does what I do in the bedroom impact what you do in the bedroom? How does who I plant flowers with in the garden impact your damn potted plants?

Show me freedom without ridiculous limits that are based on how you WANT our country's past to be. People should not marry goats - that's not a ridiculous limit. People should not marry people - that shit makes no sense.

Our country has a sullied past. Just fucking admit it and stop trying to force to be true a past that simply isn't. I can admit that I have a sullied past (my GAWD, I used to fuck with fish!) and that admission doesn't reduce me or minimize me. In fact, it empowers me and allows me to have more of an impact in general because people can actually believe what the fuck I say because I'm honest about what the fuck I've done.

When I say to my kids, "choose a mate wisely and don't rush into marriage," they can believe me because I've so been there and made the mistake.

When people say no to gay marriage because this is a Christian country, it just makes me want to remove that hand from their brow and announce, "stop blocking out the sky."

Coming out of the prayer closet

Reporters Slay Me

I'm not so smart sometimes

I realized I needed more labels. My co-worker keeps them in her file drawer on the left side of her cabinet. So, not wanting to bother her, I figured I'd just go get them myself - and since she was at her desk, I thought it appropriate to ask.

JACK: Jessica, can I look through your draws?

Jessica: I'm gonna need you to leave, come back - and try again.

JACK complied.

That Bitch got a problem - THIS Bitch gonna fix it

Lord Jesus - Jesus, please ... I'm a seriously need some You right now. I don't know what else to do, only that I need to cool down a bit before I proceed with whatever it is I have to do ... Lord Jesus - Jesus, please keep me. Keep me. You hearing me? KEEP ME.

That friend of my baby momma who thinks she's my babies' parent, who likes to undermine me and tries to usurp my parental authority ... I'm a need you to control the venom in my fangs right now because it's in quantity overflowing and in bitterness SHARP. And I will NOT let this control me.

But yuh - I'm a need help.

I just need some help trying to at least SEE the other perspective - why this woman would show up to my childrens' soccer game today (while their momma was working) and not speak a word to me ... like, what is her perspective, so that I better understand.

And what is the perspective over there that led her to walk right by me, say nothing and approach my daughter to say, "you need to get a jacket on because you're sweaty and it's cold."

Excuse me! Excuse me ... I'm, like, totally RIGHT HERE.

So, my daughter comes up to me and says "daddy, I need a jacket because I'm sweaty and its cold."

"Did ***** say that to you?"

"Yes"

"Baby, you're fine - we're going right to the car. Come on."

So, two hours later there she comes again to now my SON'S soccer game (again, baby momma still at work) and she again wanna sit there with her camera on the other side of the field and not. say. a. word. to me.

So, I walk over there - and as I approach her she smiles and says hello. (As if it was my responsibility to approach her and say hello)

"Hi, XXXXX. Did you tell (my daughter's name) that she needed a jacket."

"Yuh - it was cold and she was sweating"

"I still feel like we need to not send messages through the kids - we should talk directly"

"I didn't send any message"

"yuh, ok - but we still need to be able to talk directly"

"OK!" she exclaimed as if it was final.

So, I turn around to go back to the other side of the field where I was - and she mutters, "she DID need a jacket though."

(Oh, bitch - so RIIITTTEEE you weren't trying to undermine me AT ALL, right?)

"Nope. She didn't," I said not turning around.

And then I turned right around, looked her square in the face and said, "Really. She DIDN'T"

And I went about my way - half mad at myself for not losing my mind on her and half proud of myself for not showing my ass in front of the SCORES 1st graders all playing soccer there.

As soon as the game was over - she packed up her chair and left - didn't say goodbye to me or the kids ... and she was in her car long before the kids all finished running the line, high fiving every player on the opposing team and saying "good game" about a dozen times.

AU REVOIR

LATER THAT NIGHT (a few minutes ago)

My daughter asks me which wig I like on her doll. I said the one with long hair. She smiled.

"That doesn't surprise you does it?" I asked with a smirk.

"Nope. Cuz you like girls with long hair." (I told her this after she convinced her mother to cut off her long hair and let her walk around with a bob)

"Right"

"XXXXX said that's YOUR problem."

Lord Jesus - Jesus, please ... I'm a seriously need some You right now. I don't know what else to do, only that I need to cool down a bit before I proceed with whatever it is I have to do ... Lord Jesus - Jesus, please keep me. Keep me. You hearing me? KEEP ME.

Tipping the scales

I can't seem to get a handle on this eating thing. It's all I do ... and I can't quit it.

I ran across a new word. abstemious. It's a ROCKIN' new word and I love it. Except it's the complete opposite of my current "shovel food into my mouth" dilemma.

I worked so hard after my divorce to shed 30+ pounds (then another 10 during that one week of pure unadulterated hell, but that's another story) ... and the instant I got back into a relationship, I stopped going to the gym ... and slowly, the weight came back on.

The truth of the matter is that I stopped going to the gym during that week of pure, unadulterated hell ... because losing 10 pounds in one week isn't cute. And if I went to the gym, I would've ended up in the hospital. When I say I wasn't eating that week ... trust me - I wasn't eating.

But anyway - when I got back into a relationship, it was a good enough excuse not to go back to the gym. So, it's HIS fault - THAT mother fucker.

So, here I am wanting now to lose 30 pounds again ... and yet, this evening I had two bowls of cereal, two brownies and a bowl of beans.

Not in that order, but who cares - and shut up about the beans ... I'm Puerto Rican ... that's comfort food, carajo!

OMG! There's rice in that there kitchen. Ok, I might have to tie myself to the radiator.

except I have central air.

shit!

I swear there's a santero somewhere reveling in the mess I am right now.

a MESS, I tell you.

and then I was only kidding about that santero but there WAS that one dude I messed with who's boyfriend is a santero and I went through with it anyway.

fuck.

I bet it's HIS fault too.

Because, let's face it - I need someone ELSE to blame for my eating a lot and moving very little.

So, it's the ex- and the santero ex of the dude I messed with when the santero wasn't his ex- yet.

Yuh. I need to bathe in holy water ...

... do they have that at the bath house?

On some grown shit

I believe that part of being an adult is being able to let go of petty things, truly not giving a fuck what people think or say about you and coming to grips with the notion that vengeance is a retarded notion that isn’t really worth your time. The problem with all of this is that you have to keep going through shit in order to prove that you can handle it all like an adult. You know what I mean? Like, you can’t very well know that you’re able to let go of stupid shit unless stupid shit happens to you.

For instance – my friend Shalaria. She’s got some stupid immature beef with me and would rather put me on blast on one social network or another because she mad I’m through with the bitch. That shit don’t make no sense to me – meanwhile …

Bitch makes me laugh. I had no idea I had such an impact or was that important. I really wish she would just get a grip and not give a fuck. Like me – and my grown ass, I don’t give a fuck.

Do you see ME putting her on blast all over blogger? Nooooooooo. No you don’t.

Cuz I can let things go.

Do you see ME trying to get revenge and saying stupid shit about Shalaria? Things like she’s immature and way too concerned about what the fuck I’M doing when she should really just be living her own life? Noooooooo. You don’t.

Cuz I don’t do the whole vengeance thing.

I’m much too grown to be dealing with this nonsense. TOO GROWN.

Do you see me losing sleep over what she’s thinking about me or saying about me or blogging about me or tweeting about me??? Nooooooooo.

But if you hear or read my name come out her mouth, let a nigga know.

Cuz I’m grown.

Photo Blog & Caption Contest

It's been a hot minute since I've posted on a regular basis - but don't you think for one minute that I haven't had my camera at the ready EVERYWHERE I go. In this special edition post I present to you Jacks Camera - and my Caption Contest, where you get to post your best caption for a photo and I rank the entries and pick a winner.

So, submit a fucking entry, ok? I have feelings too!

(But not so much so that I won't put THIS mfer on blast):



Look, I'm Puerto Rican. There are two correct way to use flip-flips. The first is when you go to the beach. Those things are IDEAL for walking on sand so that a) you don't burn the bottoms of your feet, because sand sitting out in the sun is scalding hot - it's like asphalt and shit. UnBELIEVEABLE - and if you've ever ventured on on a beach barefoot on a 90-degree day at about 3PM, then you know what I mean. That's some shit you do ONE TIME.

The second correct usage of a flip flop is to beat the shit out your kids. Especially those flimsy ones that bend when you wave them. I'm not talking about the flip flops with 1/2" of foam, neither. I'm talking about the once with about 1/8" of cheap foam left, all dirty and black underneath .. with a dirt imprint of your mommas foot ... and yellow thongs on top. Those. Those kind. And how they ALWAYS hit the floor bottom-down, I'll never know. That bitch could toss a "chancleta" on the ground and it's ALWAYS just ready for her to jam her foot into it and walk away. They're like cats those dirty, yellow chancletas.

I digree: My point here is this - men wearing flip flops for a leisurely stroll around the city is RETARDED. Everyone from the tropics knows this.




I got tested last week. Clean as of May 18, 2009. (Thank you Trojan!). Anyway, this paperwork here CLEARLY says that my name will not appear on any documentation, right? That's good. I prefer the anonymity - so long as they a) don't fuck up my number and b) don't fuck up my number. You feel me?

But the thing that got me was that while I was sitting there reading this disclosure, a phlebotomist comes out of the back and yells out, "Steve?" And Steve got up to go back there to get tested.

So, I have a little message for her:

Bitch! Come on out here again and yell "JACK?" My ass gonna sit there looking around at everyone else wondering why JACK ain't here. Besides, I also had number 24. Notice that in the picture? 24. CALL ME 24!




Seriously? I mean, you STICK all these mother fuckers with needles, I understand. But smelling salts taped onto the sharps container? You couldn't find a better place for this thing? Bad enough I thought at first it was a suppository - I dunno ... you tell me, folks. Strange place?




Speaking of strange places ... This was posted on the post in the alley behind this dude whose house I went to for some, uhhh - "festivities." Never again! (Besides, he couldn't perform - what's up with that nowadays?!?)

(They should really reconsider this poison, though - I saw only 1 squirrel on that entire street!)

your immediate reaction? Yuh, mine too. It's a great cause, and I'm glad you're crazy over dogs, but you really should have studied marketing. Or maybe you did and the fact that I'm posting this is proof? I dunno - I just thought I could maybe have my neutered pincher be a daddy after all ... *sigh*



!!!CAPTION CONTEST!!!

(because seriously, this shit is retarded)

Happy Captioning!

Ranting a la JACK

I've not been blogging as regularly as I used to - so, there're a lot of things I need to get off my chest ... and you get to read them all at the same time. Lucky you. But I'll keep it to three issues right now.

Issue 1
On Sunday April 19, 2009 the following Crime Alert was sent out to all University faculty, staff and students:

A student reports he was stabbed on April 19th at approximately 4:30 am in the 1200 block of Michigan Street. The suspect is reported as a black male approximately 6' 200 lbs wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt. The student appears to have non-life threatening injuries.

Later that day, another Crime Alert came through, this time as an update:

Crime Alert-April 19th update...The student who earlier reported he was stabbed in the 1200 block of Michigan street now says his injuries happened due to an accident in his residence hall room and no crime occurred.

ENTER JACK: Why the fuck you gotta lie, though? I mean, I'm not sure what the fuck kinda "accident" gotta happen that you get stabbed and don't want to actually fess up about what happened ... I really don't even WANT to guess. But, whatever it was ... you's a dumb ass bitch.

And why the pseudo-perp gotta be Black? Why? To be REALLY honest, my first reaction when i got the first crime alert was this: "stupid wanna be nigga can't even stab right." That's right - I said it. I was mad that the dude wanna be wielding a knife and is too afriad to use it. I pictured this stupid nigga in saggin' jeans (the designer type with all this embroidered design along the back pockets and faded down the legs) who wann talk all hard ... but who only struts when he walks to keep his pants from sliding down to his ankles while he walks. A nigga who goes home and bakes and shit. Soft.

And then ... later that day ... Wasn't even a stabbing out in the street! I shoulda known the story was a fake. Black men who wield knives don't. fucking. miss.

(Now, guns is a whole 'nother issue - those stupid mother fuckers NEVER shoot the right person. But stabbing?! Niggas got that)

And who the hell buys gray hoodies anymore? COLOR is in!


Issue 2
My parents came to my graduation. It was great. I made dinner reservations for the night before. Except, my parents have been divorced since I was 7 ... and I had *no* idea that on the even of my graduation, the night I made dinner plans at this fancy restaurant, would have been their 40th wedding anniversary.

Why?!? My dad brought mom a gift and she swore up and down it was an anniversary gift ... even though my dad bought a gift for me, one for my son, one for my daughter, and one for my mother-in-law, too. But mom insisted that HE REMEMBERED!

Now, I love my mom - so much so that I've got to admit that she's a little bit 'touched.' Always has been. Her view of the world is always a little bit skewed, and this was no exception. The next day after my graduation, we went out to eat again and she sat touch close to my father ... and apparently, there was some touching underneath the table ...

But do I believe this, since it's my mother who told me?

Yes. Why? Because I'm her son - and if it's inappropriate to tell me something, she's going to do it. Because she's contrary that way.

So, yuh - THANKS, mom. I got my master's degree and you and dad copped a feel. I'm glad I could be there for you. Just whatever you do - don't end up having another kid. 1) you're pushing 60, and 2) you're not exactly what we call 'good with kids.'


Issue 3

This stupid graffiti in a stall at a northern Indiana truck stop:




It reads: A nigger has risen to the highest office in the land and he still requires government housing.

Here's something that really irks me about racism - why is it that White people (I know, you're thinking that I'm assuming it was a White man ... but you didn't see this truck stop ... it was a White man) aren't all out with it? Like, why didn't this mother fucker SAY this out loud ... because I sure would've LOVED to hear him say it.

And why is it that the fact that the President living in the White House rent free is suddenly an issue? Isn't Obama the 44th President? Yuh, I thought so.

The issue of government housing ... in it's truest form, "The Projects" isn't a group of luxury condos we just LOVE to live in. I lived in The Projects in the South Bronx ... and I can tell you that there was not ONE of my neighbors that thought "omg, we LOVE it when mice crawl out the radiators." If you're allergic to cats, you're fucked ... because we all fuckin had one. And if you happened to end up with a cat that wasn't a mouser, you got another one who was. Declaw? No - not because we were too poor to invest in our animals ... but because we wanted to make sure that fucking cat got them mice and got them GOOD.

Have you ever tried to take a mouse away from a cat? I liken it to what it would be like to take away from me that mother fucker who would recite that graffiti to me as if he were saying something.

I'm not surprised, mind you - I have friends who really have trouble with the idea of the latency of racism ... great friends, in fact. But there it is ... in the proverbial black and white ...

I hate it that it's touted how far we've come simply because people have learned to suppress their racism ... the hearts of man have NOT come so very far if you ask me.

The L Word, among other things

THIS is lube. It comes in many different fancy packages, and in many different names, but can always be found in one of two places: the pregnancy planning aisle, or the feminine hygiene products aisle. Sometimes, you can find it in both places. Go ahead - take a trip to the market and take a look. It can actually be a lot of fun. Lube is used during sexual activity to make things ... well ... there's nothing like a well-oiled machine, right? You know what happens to the engine of a car if you drive 90 mph with all the engine oil drained, right?

THESE here ... now THESE are Lotions. You can usually find them in the toiletry aisle - you know, where the toothpaste, razors and shampoos are. They also come a variety of packages. And here's the kicker - it's for external use only ... like everything else in the toiletry aisle. Much like you should never chow down on some Colgate and chance it with that whitening mouth wash ... you should never, EVER use Lotion as Lube.

Got it? I have done it for the last mother fucking time. THE LAST TIME. The first time, I gave it whirl and it wasn't all that great. THe second time, I kinda forgot about the first time and needed a reminder. But if a third time, I'm just stupid. Remember when I said that you needed to invest in a decent mattress? Invest in some fucking Lube too, dammit. Don't fret the cost - just DO IT ... because the next time you come at me shaking that bottle of Palmers it's YOU who's going to need it - because I'm ghost.

BUY LUBE - cuz I don't give a fuck how many times you've used it and that you've never had any complaints. You know why when you use Lotion, you SMELL like lotion? Because it's fucking scented, bitch - that's why. And I ain't givin up no ass if all you got is Lotion.

It stings, and nobody wants to smell cocoa butter all damn week.

Prognosis? Grim.

I pulled this from the show's site, so if I get in trouble - at least it's free advertising! But I love the Special Victim's Unit - love it. I was watching it last night, the one with Carol Burnett. OMG, crazy good. hella good. DOPE. (Whatever the kids are saying these days) I've always liked that Carol - she usually makes me laugh (remember the curtain she wore as a dress? omg! too much) but she tore UP her role on SVU last night. I won't spoil it.

But suffice it to say someone died. There was some subplot about cancer and shortened lifespans and 4 months to live and blah blah blah. But anyway, I'm way digressing here - I got to thinking about that this afternoon in light of a certain situation I find myself in at work.

A coworker - right? We're supposed to be tight. (it's gonna get good - he said "supposed to be") You know, like I got your back and you got mine and all that. Well, she straight up done lost her mind on my via email copying our boss, the mayor of chicago, obama and Jesus Christ himself. I was taken aback, confused - and really just pretty disappointed.

And you know what? If you throw me under the bus, in WRITING no less, I guaran-go-dam-tee you that I don't trust you. Well, what to do if it's someone you're supposed to be close to?

You stop trusting them.

And I'm kind of mourning the end of what I thought existed, but that apparently didn't. I mean, we talked this morning and smoothed things over - well enough to continue to work in the same office together.

(as in we office-share, SAME office)

So, she has her side too - she felt that I was attacking her in my email ... because I copied our boss on my initial note to explain the problem a client had. Note, I was in Tenneessee and said client was looking me dead in the face - I emailed in and explained the situation and that the client wanted his money back. I can't make that decision, but my boss can. I copied my coworker because the client's account is actually under her auspices and she thought I had no business copying the boss. But I was emailing the boss for permission to tell this man we'll ignore the $2,000 invoice we sent him and copying her as a courtesy.

All that said, maybe it seems petty. But what is NOT petty, is that her initial instinct was to mistrust me. I really thought we were better than that - that she would at least stop and think "well, this is JACK ... and not some schmuck passin me by on the street' or something along that vein.

But no ...

And I'm realizing that this friendship received a very grim prognosis - we're really only just coworkers.

Bandwagon ...

"LA MEGAGAY"

Figure 1: Closeted homosexual comedian - who isn't funny OR good in bed.

Northworst for a reason

*shines spotlight on stupid*

I didn't really have a good time flying with Northwest yesterday. My 9PM flight out of Detroit was canceled ... at 12:15 a.m. Yes folks, nearly 3 and a half hours, 3 planes with mechanical problems and 4 different gates ... they canceled the flight. I mean, don't get me wrong, when it was announced that the first plane had mechanical problems, I really didn't feel like getting IN it, you feel me? But a second plane with mechanical problems? And then that third gate we went to ... it was an incoming flight that never came because of ... you guessed it

MECHANICAL PROBLEMS.

And the last gate they sent us to was the very last gate in the concourse. And if you know anything about Detroit metro's Northwest terminal is that the end of that "C" terminal is about as far away from here as Topeka. That bitch is HUGE. and terminal "C" doesn't have that nifty tram taking riders back and forth. So, we hoofed it - and that's where they canceled the flight.

So we had to walk through the terminal, again - go underground through the walkway ... which is longer than the yellow brick road ... to where? Terminal fucking "A" - not to baggage claim. To another fucking terminal. Because you can't just fucking get there from here. So, I traipse through that terminal too and head outside where we all stand waiting on the Marriott shuttle. And waiting. And waiting. And waiting. And there it is! We fill that bitch to the gills except there one more person than there are seats. So who stands? JACK stands. We finally get to a hotel to get a room, and where do they fucking put me? Two doors down from the end of the building.

This morning, my foot fell off.

So, I hobble my way to an early flight and land in Nashville to meet in baggage claim this college girl who asks if she can use my phone because she's trying to get to school and is stuck. She seemed really frustrated. I put on my professional "I'm-at-work-and-there's-nothing-wrong" facade and let her use it, ignoring the fact that I JUST plugged the mother fucker in because the battery was juiced. So, she used my phone with it charging in the outlet.

No answer. She begins to fiddle with the buttons on my phone and continues to do so while she asks, "do you have unlimited text on your phone?" Bitch, you already texing!

But it wasn't JACK! it was the professional "sure, go ahead" me and that was that. I later look at my sent texts and you know what this stupid bitch wrote:

"I need a ride ... now!"

Honey, you were using *my* phone.

Seriously, you just should've left a message identifying yourself. That was dumb.

But somebody figured it out - because s/he texted me back later asking,

"did you get a ride yet?"

Ok, now you - responding to the text. This isn't her phone, carajo. I was tempted to respond
"Hell no! Who's coming to get me?" but they had my phone number. I let it drop.

I get to do this all over again on Wednesday. yay.

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.

... 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.