JACK's Self Aware

I've taken to making a whole to of changes at the same time. And it seems like one of those New Year's Resolutions gone Wild, but not one thing is based on the calendar year. It's coincidental, at best. What's NOT coincidental is the fact that I'm indeed doing it all at once. Let me talk about two of them:

I Quit Smoking
When my daughter wrote "For my Family to Quit Smoking" on her little note and put it under the tree before she went to bed Christmas eve, I thought I might cry. I could just picture her writing it and really wanting me to not be a smoker. I remembered how I wanted the same thing for my mother when I was a kid and how I longed for her to quit and how she now has emphysema and is certain to succumb to it eventually ... it really struck a chord.

Once, some time between fifth and eighth grade, I took The Great America Smokeout a little bit too seriously. When I came home from school I hid all the smoking paraphernalia: cigs, lighters, matches, ashtrays ... EVERYTHING. Sometime after nightfall and before bedtime, my mother walked up to me while I was lying on the floor and grabbed my shirt collar, lifted me up off the floor a little bit and made it abundantly clear that I was soon to meet my maker if she didn't get all her stuff back. Hey - at least she made it until after dark.

I'm trying to lose weight (again)
In 2006 - I slimmed down pretty good. In fact, I lost 40 pounds! I think I might have overdone it. I probably should have only lost 25. Now that I've gained it all back, that's my goal. 25 pounds. Just so that I don't die and them bastard pallbearers don't complain about how much I fucking weigh. You know how them gays don't respect even the dead and shit ...

Conundrum
Do you know how fucking retarded it is to diet and quit smoking at the same mother fucking time? I mean, to add insult to injury, I'm working on ceasing the tomfoolery dating-ridiculous-dudes-for-the-express-purpose-of-having-something-to-blog-about nonsense that I'm NOT writing about in this post ... and so I can't even put one of THEM in my mouth ... no fucking cigarette, no damn zingers, ho hos, oatmeal cream pies, cartwheels .. or ANYTHING ...

And look, I know what I'm doing. I'm totally aware that I'm doing everything at the same time only because even if I fail at something, I still have other opportunities to find something I've succeeded at ... you know, if I have a cigarette, I can always focus on the fact that I've lost a pound or two ... or, if I hose down a top in Gun Oil, wrap him in cellophane and ride him like it's the last express train to Howard, at least I haven't had a cigarette that day ...

It's maddening that I'm totally aware of it and am still brain-fucking myself and I'm letting it work. That's some crazy shit, I swear. But let a FYNE nigga come up to me offering to face fuck me while I pump iron and totally condoning my having an afterglow cigarette to get the taste out my mouth ... and he might just get the best workin-off-all-this-tension sex he wants and more.

YEAH - I said it. AND what, mfer ... AND what?

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.

Santa's a Bitch

My daughter wrote out a Christmas list on Christmas eve, a list in addition to the one she already had. She wanted Santa to replace a broken DS and put that under the tree. A fair exchanged, she thought. When everyone was asleep, I picked up all the stuff she left under the tree and hid it in my bag. When I got to Chicago and unpacked it, there it was ... written on the back of her list ... in HER handwriting: "For my family to stop smoking."

Clearly, it tugged on my heart strings. I've been smoking since I was 18 ... their mom came down with breast cancer and is only just now having her hair grow back from all the chemo ... and my kids are kinda freaked out. So, I made the decision to buy patches instead of a carton of cigarettes. I'm currently on day 3 without a cigarette. My last one was on Monday evening.

So, I've got this pair of hand grips and I keep them in my coat pocket. I'm totally exercising the fuck out those things because withdrawal symptoms are a bitch and a half. I'm on edge, folks - on edge.

This here quitting is like Death by Patch, and I blame Santa. That fuckface is making me about to check into a methadone clinic on account of the fact that I am a big time addict. I mean, I knew I liked to smoke ... but the gravity of my addiction? I had no idea. LET a monther fucker say something stupid to me ... I'm all about it, dammit.

That coworker of mine who came out his face at me today? I haven't been THAT close to losing it at work ... EVER. I held it in as best I could ... and then headed to my hand grips to pump away like a maniac.

I'm told this last about a week before it gets better. It's probably a good thing I chose Monday so that I'm not like this during the weekend. But, suffice it to say ... Santa is a cunt.

Deep Fried Awesome

Remember that blogger I met? That fool done stuffed his face with the only heart attack on a plate: the deep fried Twinkie. Three of them. He doesn't know it, but while he ate, I was totally texting my peeps, "there're deep fried twinkies on the table!"

So, JADED and I got to texting about how good those shits must be. And then we coined our new phrase. Deep Fried Awesome.

Yes, yes - it is to be used to describe the creme de la creme (How the hell you use accent marks on this bitch?!?) and you can really use it to describe anything. At present, it's exclusive use references my friendship with Jaded ... our wit ... our penchant for making ANYTHING funny.

You know, if we had the wherewithal to actually make a move on any of the deep fried awesome ideas we've had for starting a business ... we'd be some deep fried awesomely rich.

Of course, she's way ahead of the game, having opened The Jaded Bodega.

bitch.

Pay her store a visit - it's oodles of fun.

(and tell that bitch I sent you so she knows I'm being a good pal)

Feel free to comment on what YOUR deep fried awesome is. (Seriously, do it - anything goes)

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.

Hello the 2010s!

January 1, 2010 - 7am. My son throws up in my bed. (Yuh - that's about right.)

10am. Sister-in-law calls and wants to bring her kid over.

11am. At pancake house with sister-in-law, her kid and my kids. The kids are all happy to be together. The sheets are in the washer at home.

2pm. Sister-in-law says she needs to go cuz her friend is going to help her take her hair out. (micro braids) "Unless YOU want to help me," she says. (Yuh - that's about right, too)

"I'll see you next time," I respond.

3pm. Kids are whining like crazy - I send them to bed for a nap.

5pm. Heating up pizza for dinner. Kids happy about it.

8pm. Get the sheets out of the dryer and make bed. Daughter's bath runs out of hot water. (That's about right, yet again)

10pm. Kids asleep. Another day finished.

midnight - exactly what the hell did I do with the last two hours again?!? NO. FUCKING. IDEA.