Blessed with Friends

There's nothing new on the FB Social Experiment, so I thought I'd share today. It's been a rough day for me, emotionally. I've been in a funk for a hot minute and have been pensive for much of the last 7 days. And it has all unraveled for me in my head, thanks to two of the best fag hags, I mean girlfriends, in the entire world.

That JADED - she's top notch, I swear. I told this bitch I was all emotionally worn out, you know like to the point of tears because there's just not fucking much else you can do. Well, I suppose I could punch a wall or some random passerby, but a) I'm too cute to have bloodied up knuckles and b) I don't really fight and when I have to it's rarely clean (I'm 5'6" dammit! In the hood that meant scrappy - so [hear Della Reese for me] - I like to throw garbage cans at people.

I digressed, as I'm wont to do. But this bitch was all up my craw about the tears business. Cry? She asked me. "Deal with it and move on!" Thank God it was via text because I didn't need all that yelled in my hear. As it was, I could totally hear her tone right there in black and white!

Then there's my gurl in Indy. Lunch is a date on the 14th, she wrote - Mark Your Calendar! The first day I get to Indy and she's ready for me. That's right girl. We'll meet for real. And all those other things she texted me to encourage me? Priceless.

In the overall scheme of things - I've got true friends. Between the two of them, we're talking upwards of 20 years, bitches. And I really am grateful they're there to keep me in check when I'm about to lose my Got Damn mind.

News in a somewhat related area, I've been upset with a friend of mine for some time now. He and his man had a falling out and I had some real issues with how he dealt with me at the time. To be clear, he and I were friends before he met his man and at one point he was referring to me as his BFF. But when shit got real crazy for him, he was ghost. Didn't communicate with me at all ...

I was worried as hell - wondering what he was really doing and if he was truly ok. He would only intermittently respond to my emails or texts, and never took my calls. I felt snubbed, especially when I realized that he was obviously speaking to other friends via FB. I've watched his other friendships flourish and I've been conflicted.

I'm truly glad he's ok - has people around him and that he isn't in self-imposed solitary confinement. But at the same time, exactly what the fuck happened that I don't get to take part in his healing process? I felt that I earned the right as his friend to be there for him. And yes, I said that correctly - friendship is a privilege and I'm not interested in the type of friendship that is only ok when times are good. I can be there when shit hits the fan too.

I haven't heard his voice in many months and although we've discussed things via text - he knows I'm upset. And have been upset. I suppose I thought our friendship had surpassed that phase where you're selective with what you share - but I've grasped that apparently it hadn't. At least not on his end. It's been hard to accept, but I've reached the acceptance phase.

In other areas, however - not so much. In some places, still in mourning - in others, in denial. But my ride-or-die bitches are quick to make sure I'm in no way confused about where I'm at with the so-and-so issue.

And for that, I am truly grateful. (And I'm grateful for the extended warranty I bought on the Audi because it's currently getting $4,000 worth of work done for $375 - praise JeSUSSSS!)

Damn Drag Queens

Memphis Bitches Don't Play




Chicago Bitches Don't Neither



(For the record, I know someone who rides the Red line to that Jarvis stop. Mhmm - I'm looking at you ...)

And for your viewing pleasure ...

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.

This ain't your song

Although, I understand why you'd want it to be

JACK's Blog Family X-mas Card

JACKology: Racism begets Racism

This promises to be a long post. Longest ever I’ve written. And if you choose not to read all the way to the end, I understand. However, if you live in Indianapolis, I hope you stay the course.

Whenever I have explain to people my upbringing and how life was for me as a kid, I am usually met with some version of, “I don’t know how you survived it.” But the reality is that it was my life – I knew nothing else apart from it all and so it was my normalcy. Only in hindsight do I recognize the dysfunction. At least I wasn’t like my friend across the street whose crazy ass grandmother would beat the fuck out her in broad daylight, once with a telephone cord and another time with a broom, for all to see and admire. I felt at the time that it wasn’t that bad.

I remember my first semester of college at a predominantly White, rural University. I really didn’t go into it expecting any type of culture shock, but there it was. I suppose if you anticipating it, then you can’t really term it “shock,” but whatever. It wasn’t so much in how I felt as it was in how I was treated. It was underlying, never overt, and hard to pinpoint or describe. But I knew everyone thought I was different, that my music was odd (at the time I was into old Spanish ballads – as in from Spain) and I was actually pretty sad a lot.

The more I got to know people in that Fall of 1993, I found myself dismayed a lot. When I learned that MANY of my fellow freshman had never even SEEN a Black person in real life, I really didn’t know how to react or feel. How the fuck do you get to be 18 and never SEE a Black person?!? I couldn’t comprehend it, coming from New York City and having attended a High School of 5,000 that was 1/3 Latino, 1/3 Black, 1/3 Asian. I went from a place where less than 5% were White to a place where less than 3% were minorities. And it took me a while to settle well into that environment. But, you know what – I did it.

Hereto forward, several incidences in my life stand out re: subject issue.

• When I told my mother that I wanted a car, she accused me of becoming too Americanized. Apparently, whatever I had done having learned to fit in among my peers at college was distancing me from my own culture. And my mother was more than happy to scold me for it, because my expectations had change. By this point, I had begun to see the dysfunction in my upbringing and chalked it up to the nature of being a first generation American.
• The head of the minority student office sat me down one day to tell me that it must be interesting to be such a light skinned minority because I could fit in with Whites easily until they realized that I was Latino and then it would become a little weird. And that I could fit in with Blacks because I was a minority, but there would always be the issue that I was light skinned and perceived to partake in White privilege. “How do you feel about that?” he asked. I hit the ceiling and told him he was crazy and left abruptly – but the reality is that he opened my eyes to a fact that I was not then ready to face … the fact that he was right.
• My roommate of three years tried to tell me that the apartment that we shared was his. It was a big argument – but it ended with him mocking me for thinking it was just as much my apartment because I could go to the minority student office and “nah nah nah,” he said shaking his neck. My roommate was White (I’m sure he still is) and I can honestly say that my being Latino was not even an issue in my head during this discussion – I froze. I totally just didn’t know what to do. I simply said, “you know what Dan – I can’t believe you just went there. This conversation is over.” And I left the room. Eventually that day, unable to express the type of frustration I was experiencing, unable to release it and unable to fix it … the tears welled in my eyes and I had to just cry it out and let it go.
• My boss in Indianapolis takes the cake. My first week in that office, I put up a picture of a Jazz scene, you know the ones where all the figures are black shadows dressed in ethnic clothing and some play instruments and others dance in skewed poses, with a picture of my then girlfriend and I. He walked into my cube, bent over and stuck his face up against the 10” X 6” picture frame, inspected it for a while and then left. He never said a word.
• The same boss, when I had lost some weight and bought new clothes, told me that I was dressing sharp lately. “Lately?” I asked. And he said, that, well, I had always dressed well but that lately I had put a little “salsa” in my wardrobe. He meant the dip, not the dance.
• Yet again about the boss … he was wont to walk around the office whistling the theme to the Mexican hat dance … and when walking by me one day, I pointed and said, “The Mexican Hat dance.” I expected to bring it to his attention and hopefully make it stop … instead, he threw his hands over his head, snapping his fingers and danced a circle around me as if I was the sombrero. And then he kept walking down the hallway. I stood there and just watched him leave … I totally forgot what I was up for .. and turned around to see that another coworker had witnessed it and looked at me like he was crazy. He is.
• Same boss – he used to tell me that when Castro is ousted that he was going to take me to Havana to sing in night clubs and be my manager and that we would make millions. Of course, I’m not Cuban and I felt like he wanted to pimp me or something.

These are just the highlights and I bring these up because a very good friend of mine told me recently that she and others have had a hard time with this character I’ve invented, JACK. What struck me is the following:

• My blog isn’t even pro Latino – it’s anti-White
• Which one is the real me? The me they know – or JACK?

I struggled with this for hours after that call – the idea that I am a racist. And since then I just accepted that to some extent I am – in that the experiences above, and many, many others, have impacted my world view as a Latino, a Latino with bi-racial kids. For the sake of protecting myself, I do just try to accept that my “Latinoness” is an issue for people – and when I find that it’s not, it’s a relief. That has been much easier for me than assuming that my ethnicity doesn’t matter in this country and then finding myself with those vacuous feelings that I cannot describe well … with those feelings that hurt me really bad and having to pretend they don’t … when I encounter head on the fact that it does. To that extent, the real me is somewhat racist, I suppose.

It’s caused me to put up a wall and become very observant of and thoughtful about people. I don’t trust too quickly, but I will engage in pleasant conversation with everyone. And the wall is usually it’s thickest when I deal with Whites in business, especially Presidents. Can you image why?

The thing that really bothers me right now is that the two people that had this conversation about me are so close to the top of my list of favorite people that if they were to disown me, I would be a mess. Yet, how would I feel if they started blogging about those damn wetback Latinos that aren’t worth anything but to scrub their toilet?!?

So, I get it – I know how you feel. All in all – the reality is this … I don’t in real life discriminate with a broad brush stroke (unless we’re talking about people in power in corporations – then I discriminate against them all) … and this is because my life has taught me how to spot a racist … it’s akin to Gaydar. I can spot another gay man without a problem and I can’t explain to you how … I just know. It’s in way he holds his head up, in the way he walks, in that tiny little mannerism that only “we” can see. And so it is with racism – when it’s there, I can spot it.

For the longest time in Indianapolis, this issue never came up, and I can understand your frustration with the racial undertones to this blog. But the reality is that that is MY fault. My fault for succumbing to the same temptation as every other minority in Indianapolis and pretending it doesn’t exist. I did that … and it was part of my frustration with that city. My broad brush strokes on JGC do not apply to you – to the scores of people I know who do not possess not an ounce of the racism that causes others to, say … dance the Mexican Hat dance around a Latino.

I wish so badly that I could say that I’m not a racist because I have White friends. (That was supposed to be hysterically funny, btw) But there is a little bit of racism in my assumption that White people are racist until they prove otherwise, fine. But JACK takes every opportunity to exploit anything he can

even spotlighting Mr. Jackson as an asshole when he threatened to castrate our next President.


Or when I called “c” a damn Mexican


or wrote about Kwame and called him a train wreck


or just shook my head at ghetto bitchez


or called my daughter a little Heiffer


If there’s one thing I can say about JACK – it’s that he’s equal opportunity.

Oh - you part Cherokee too, huh?

I really don’t have many readers. I’ve tried to peruse the blogs of various LGBT bloggers and have commented there, but I think my blog has freaked them out. They’ve visited, commented once or twice and then disappeared. I think I use the word ‘nigga’ too damn much for them. But, it’s really quite like me to be in this ethereal class all of my own, where I’m Puerto Rican but don’t associate much with Puerto Ricans because I’m Black by Injection, where I’m gay but don’t associate with too many other gays because I don’t whip out rainbow scarf each Fall, where I’m from the projects but now own a home in surburbia. Whatever – so here I am a gay, Puerto Rican blogger with mainly Black, straight readers. I love me – I love ya’ – I love US.

And so as appreciation to my readers, I’ve decided to assign each of you your very own Native American Indian names. Why? Because it’s ME and I’m NOT native American and if you didn’t read the last paragraph to understand what the hell I’m doing here, then I don’t even know what to tell you. Besides, it’s funny – and you know how much I like a good laugh. At the very least, I hope I make you smile. I will start with the one, the ONLY, Jadednyer

JADEDNYER: Side-eye lioness

You know I love the shit out you, right? This name is so befitting on many levels and for many reasons, chief among them being that you are the Queen Bee of the side-eye. Honey, you OWN the side eye. In fact, from now on and unto forever, no one else is allowed to give the side eye. Only you.

Stealthily navigating the brush of life, poised like the backbone of the proverbial king of the forest should be and ready to pounce on any mother fucker that wanna play stupid with your babies … lioness fits you well. That and because I originally wanted to call you Rabid Rabbit, but was afraid to list here the reasons why. *besos*

IRENE: Scattered Fox

I can’t believe I’ve know you for *cough*fifteen*cough* years. You’re like the most stubborn case of scabies I’ve ever known – I just can’t seem to shake your ass. Everywhere I turn, there’s IRENE. And we weren’t even close friends in high school – but somehow, your hyper ass turns up every-fucking-where. On myspace, on blogger, in my convos with the side-eye lioness … but you’ve never fit any mold. You ever seen a fox run with get-the-hell-out-of-dodge intent? That’s Irene – always there, yet always gone too.

SuperDaveVanBuren: Napping Clydesdale

I have no idea who you are – so my perception may not exactly be precise. But you know how horses are always in a stable, bridled and tamed? That’s not the kind I’m referring to – your name connotes the wild kind. And the thing about wild horses is that we’re so socially programmed to assume that horses are cute, tame, polite animal that shit in convenient leather satchels that we don’t realize that they will fuck some shit up in about zero point three seconds. And I get the impression that you’re the same way. Nice, calm, unassuming, approachable … but if someone presses the right buttons, you can shift all of your weight to your front quarters and kick the life out some mother fucker. That’s my explanation, but the reality is that I want you to keep commenting on my blog and it never hurts to call a man a horse.

Don: Deep Canyon

You don’t comment on my blog. I don’t know why. But I know that you visit and I know that you read my incessant ramblings. I’ve been at your place, and from what I gather, this name is befitting. There’s nothing you do shallowly. You don’t think shallow, you don’t feel shallow, you don’t speak shallow and you don’t express yourself shallow. Like the expanse of a deep, deep river – you flow smoothly, gently … quietly possessing enough energy to drown entire cities. That’s you – and if you don’t start commenting on my blog, I’m changing your name to Lost Compass … and we both know that name could go a LONG way.

Mrs. MR: Wise Owl

You strike me as sensible, mature and well put together. I love how you blog about your husband and tout your relationship as being just divine. It seems you figured it out right and I bet tons of folk flock to you in search of advice.

Kieya: Jumping Bunny

Cute, cuddly and hyper as hell. Don’t know you very well, but that’s the impression I get. For some strange reason, there’re tons of wild rabbits in Indianapolis. They’ll hop around the lawns in search of food and no one ever really knows where they nest. You see them only when they want to be seen, but only then as a blur as they whisk away into the day with whatever prize they’ve found to bring home to the babies. All the while, just cute as hell – you don’t even notice that they’re just as dusty and wild as that squirrel that just climbed up the tree with it’s bushy tail. Somehow, the rodents are nasty – but the bunnies are just so adorable.

Clnmike: Patchwork Quilt

Almost an anomaly, but not quite, you seem to be made up of many differing components. What stands out the most to me is your being a straight black male, with swagger I suspect, and being so uncharacteristically open-minded about the right of others to be not so straight or not to possess nearly as much swagger. You have a patch for caring too much and on the other corner of this tapestry you have a patch for not giving a fuck. You simultaneously love and hate, I suspect – love life, but hate the injustices … love your siblings, but can’t stand how they are … love yourself, but get frustrated with yourself too. Either JACK is astute and right on target, or I’m a complete Quack and need to instead call you Loaded Canon because you about to put me on blast. (But be careful, “Loaded Canon” has many connotations and I might be just fine with it)

F$%K IT: Mighty Willow

The thing about willow trees is that they grow so fucking big, reaching almost limitlessly into the sky … yet they touch the ground too. You’re smart as hell, can see pretty far ahead, but you’re also well grounded. Someone can drive a truck right into you and you’re unscathed … and someone can take a small pair of scissors and make you feel like you need to stretch to touch the floor. But don’t tell anyone – there’s a rough, barky exterior to you to camouflage your weaknesses. I mean, not that you have any – cuz you don’t. SMH. Nope.

So, there we have it – if I missed you, it’s because I’m tired of trying to be creative and I’ll get you next time. And if you do have a name above, you’ve probably noticed that I am working on making my blog interactive beyond your ability to comment. It’s your turn. What’s MY Indian name? hmmmmmm?

*waits, tapping finger on table with eyebrows furled*

JACK and Jaded

From July 2007, Proof that we were meant to be together:

JADED: I've been reading my inner peace book again

JADED: I took it out of the envelope where I was gonna send it to you

JACK: good

JACK: it didn't belong in there anyway

JACK: i'm just fine with my fucking inner peace. I'm tired of your stank ass keep tellin me I'm not - I swear one of these days, I'm gonna cutcha

JADED: LMAO

My Golden Anniversary

Thanks to Jaded for reminding me that today, my blog turns 50 posts old. This is quite the accomplishment, people - I really don't see myself as someone who follows through, although others may tell me that I do. I mean, fine - I started on the masters and I am almost done. But, consider:

• I have been "trying" to quit smoking for several years now and even starting taking meds to help me quit and you know what? It made me SUPER relaxed and I enjoyed the smoke better. DAMMIT!
• I have fragments of previous blogs that I tried - and although they were pure genius, yes they were - they crashed and burned like that ValueJet did into the everglades that one year ...
• I got married ... and then divorced. Although, the optimist in me wants to celebrate that I went through with the divorce.
• I have creating a budget since 1993 and I'm still not quite done with it, let alone sticking to it ... why? because it's not finished. I even spent money on budgeting software and then decided it was too BLAH to learn how to use it so I didn't. Tell me you see the irony ....
• I can't play monopoly anymore - it just takes too damn long. I mean, it's an INVESTMENT and shit. Again, tell me you see the irony ...

And the list goes on and on. But if there's one thing I can say about JACK's Gay Chronicles is that it's here to stay. And hopefully my trekking along blogosphere's big, big world and stopping to frolic at one blog and the next, commenting as I go ... maybe, just maybe my readership will actually grow larger than three people who comment, one who refuses to and send me emails and two others that read and don't tell me that they do, via email or phone or any other mode of communication.

And for that last group ... FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, COMMENT SOMETIMES!!!!!

Ok, I'm sorry for that outburst - it's just that, well - you can even comment anonymously and I just don't get it. If I think about this select group ... both of them - minorities. Dammit, you lazy azz mofo's better get to typing, ok? Dont' make me come over there ...

(You have to get scrappy with those guys)

And to those of you who do stop by and comment with some measureable frequency - Gracias. Muchisimas Gracias! You make me feel good about blogging.

And for those of you BIG DAWGS out there who stroll on by and refuse to comment ... looky here:

I AIN'T SCURRED!

Is there any harm, really?

Here's a little something about Jack that you may not know (yes, I'm discussing me in the third person) ... Jack will go out of his way for his peeps. Always has. I mean, seriously. Don't get me wrong, I have attitude for days and have been known to be ornery, but ultimately I really am a giver. To the point that I sometimes struggle with actually allowing myself to receive things from others.

But this is a very important fact. If you don't allow someone to give, then you in effect rob them of the blessing they'd receive for doing so. So, i try to let it sit well with me.

HMM-EVAA

At this point, I'm tired. I'm just tired. I feel like the oldest 32 year old in the world. I am juggling two places (a home in one city and an apartment in a city 200 miles away) and I'm traveling back and forth to maintain my parenting time schedule with the kiddos and blah blah blah.

So, in my home city I have a dude who is willing to let me park my car in his driveway and drive me to the amtrak station at 6AM each time I need to work in my apartment city. In the apartment city, I've got a dude I just met who is willing to pick me up and take me to my apartment. And I've finally decided this ...

BOTH these ni*gas can have the train schedule.

I could really use the help and while they're both expecting some play in return, they ain't gettin it. Well, ok - that's a lie. I'm not sure about the apartment city dude (but he's uncut according to his online profile and uncut = uninterested in my world) and the home city dude is already an on again, off again hook up. But, eh! Who cares. Just someone fucking help ME for a change, ok?

Yeah - thanks. The train rolls out at 6:30 a.m.

Oh, and dude # 2 ... the train rolls in at 10:35 a.m.

Thank you both.

-JACK

Every Man Has a Secret

I have been talking to "C" for nearly three years now ... and I know he was a warped sense of religion. For instance, he's uncomfortable with referring to God as "He" because he had a vision in which God refused to tell him whether He was male or female - apparently, gender is a human thing and not a God thing. So, it's "thy majesty." Not even MY magesty. "Thy."

We learned long ago not to broach the topic of religion because we are at completely different poles. We had a huge argument once that totally offended me and what I believe to be true about God and the Bible, thanks to growing up in a pew jumping protestant church, teaching bible school and giving sermons and even dressing up as a saved clown for the children. And, to boot, I was off to Bible School if it wasn't for my father who all but shook me violently until I understood that he wasn't with the idea. But that's a completely different story.

Anyway, so "C" prays every day to 'thy majesty' and is really (pun intended) religious about it. And he really wants me to pray everyday. Now, don't get me wrong - I know the value of prayer. But I have never been really consistent with it and I've just accepted that about me. It comes in waves ... and right now, the tide is LOW. So, why did he want to bring up the fact that I haven't been praying and that he's "noticed."

Am I crazy to have felt like he was being my dad and this was none of his business? I tried to manage the conversation with him but it got to the point that he says that he doesn't understand why I'm getting mad because we're talking about faith. Wait - I thought we were talking about prayer ... I'm unglued at this point because now you want to question my faith?!? If you know anything about my life right now, you would know that my faith is what is holding me together. I have said on many occasions recently, "The Lord has never let me down and he's not going to start now." It is my mantra right now as I stare in the face the harsh reality that I may soon not be able to make ends meet. I am being faithful.

So, the chip on his shoulder is really annoying and I turned off my cell phone so his text messages wouldn't bother me. I mean, soon he'll be like this:

And be the type of person who doesn't think the lyrics to this song are funny:

http://www.paulandstorm.com/lyrics/every-man-has-a-secret/

See, because even though I believe in God - I still have a sense of humor!

"C" I rebuke you in the name of Jesus, you damn mexican.

- JACK

She threatened me

I am trying to get the hang of this blog thing - trying to develop the same passion for blogging that so many, many others have. But right now, I find that it happens in spurts. Apparently, that's not good enough.

So, thejadednyer threatened to take me off of the top of her list of recommended blogs if I don't post. And this is total blackmail, ok? I really LOVE being at the top of that list (because it beats the hell out of where I always find myself in her list of blog topics - once between politics and religion) so here I am - and I just want to make it VERY clear that she is forcing me to do this on a consistent basis.

But I actually do have some things to say ... stay tuned.