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 ...
Last week I got this text message from a dude:
So, my lips have been screaming for the winter to go the fuck away and for some humidity to come on back into the air - so I've got m carmex. I'm on a date last night and put some on - I ask him if my lips are shiny cuz I don't want them all shiny. He said it didn't matter because he'd suck the shine off my lips if he had to.
Really? Ok - so, I was at work today and .... blah blah blah
Look folks, I wasn't kidding about my not being into no fuckin and suckin and frottagin' and all dat. I'm not sure where my libido is, but it's off in some far away brush hiding from me. And I'm not out looking for it.
I made that clear when he and I began to speak - of course, we met online. So, of course, I didn't have my hopes in the rafters over the date, but it was a fun change to an otherwise mundane schedule of work, train, home - work, train, home. So, I went and for all intents and purposes things went fairly well.
Weird.
I didn't see any sparks or anything - but I'm glad to have gone out and met him and to listen to him speak as opposed to reading him text. I'm not sure what the shiny lip comment was about, but I think he got the message when I acknowledged he said it and kept it moving into other areas. He didn't disrespect me, he didn't try to touch me or get me home or anything. It ended with a kiss goodbye that was really just a peck on the lips and nothing really extraordinarily ridiculous ...
I done tole you how I once accidentally blew a drag queen - I'm not taking ya' mother fuckers at face value anymore ... any queen in heels can kick off her shoes and put on some Nikes and a pair of baggy jeans. But I'm (mostly) sure this one doesn't moonlight in hosiery.
Whatever - I'm just glad I'm able to date without getting cum in my hair.
To this point in my life, I've considered myself rather discreet ... I know, shocking. But really, I don't wear my sexuality on my sleeve and have only denied it when asked about it at work. I just don't feel the need to talk about it at work. So, I guess my closet has been of the comfy type, like decorating the hell out of a double-wide and feeling like I'm in a mansion. It really hasn't been an issue for me - I have a support system of people who know my proclivities and they mean the world to me.
The reality is that I'm not really all up under my parents (haven't been for quite some time) and the notion of "having" to come out to them really seems ridiculous to me. At this point in my life, I'm divorced, have two kids, a career and I live some 700-plus miles away from them. So, in spacial, geographical terms ... it really isn't necessary.
I was thinking about New Year's Resolutions the other day and although I'm not the type to really make them (they never work out for me) ... it occurred to me that we would be entering a whole new decade. That really made me think of the 2000's as whole ... not just of 2009 as a year by itself.
I drove to Chicago on Sunday night of last week thinking about the fact that it had been 9 weeks since I got laid. So, yuh - I was overdue. Monday night - I did the deed ... got that out of my system, and kept it moving.
I have this idea in my head that I should really keep my business away from home. I don't bring dudes to my house - I usually go to theirs. That means that I must have a safety plan in place. So, Jaded already had this boy's address. Someone must ALWAYS know where you are when you're out creeping.
So, we get the deed done (it wasn't bad, actually - I enjoyed myself) and he tells me to call him. I nod, but of course I have no intention of doing any such thing. I got in, got off and got out. Why is that such a hard fucking concept nowdays. You're my Au Revoir Nigga ... so au revoir, nigga.
On Wednesday I really wanted to go out to the bars - the gay bars. It was one of those weeks. I just needed to step outside of myself, get out of my own way and have a good time. So my roommate and I end up at this place called Jackhammer - I read about it in another blog and was interested in seeing it. Of course, it was a Wednesday night and you could count the men up in there and that was actually kind of nice. After three drink and two games of pool, we went to The Anvil.
At the Anvil, more of the same - Wednesday, few dudes ... very just perfect. And a dude there by himself passed out on the back porch where I went to smoke. Some other dude walks over and says he's been macking on this passed out fool all night. I was confused by what this White dude meant but then he leaned over and started making out with the dude that was so passed out he had no idea what was going on.
I told my roommate that I was leaving and went inside. 1) I don't know the passed out dude and how the hell you gonna go out drinking alone and pass out? 2) I don't know creepy kissing dude and I just wanted out. So I went inside. Left them there to do I don't care what.
Back outside a little bit later it turns out one of the dudes we were talking to about how to make pot brownies (apparently, you saute the weed and get the THC into the oil and strain it to use the oil in the brownie - who knew?!) actually lived next door. So, he asked us to his place to eat pot brownies and my roommate and I left with him.
I made it clear that I wasn't going to eat any. I haven't had weed in 12 years and this was not the way to get back in the habit, in some dude's house I just met.My roommate had one while I played with Frank's cat. Eventually, we left. My roommate didn't feel the weed ... must not be the right way to make it.
On Friday I drove back to Indy, took my kids out for pizza ... and then headed to the ER to get the staple removed from my son's head. They came at him with a pair of scissor looking things with clamps on the end. My son didn't like it. He was freaking out ... I held him down and the staple came out with an OW!" out of his mouth. My daughter came back in right after talking about "I heard him say OW when it came out so I knew it was over" (She had to stay outside while we got it done)
Saturday - daughter's soccer game at 9am. Son's soccer game at 3pm. Some scheduler somewhere is laughing it up to the stucco ceiling, I'm sure. I slet all afternoon between games.
Then we went to run errands. I bought clothes I didn't need. But I like them.
It's amazing the extra-curricula activity you can pack into six days ... amazing.
I decided that I don't give a fuck what his current relationship consists of - the fact that he's wanting to reestablish something with ME while he's talking to someone else is really all I need to know.
I asked him to call me the following day so that we could talk. It was late and he was going to bed. "k," came the response text.
He was trying to avoid me the next day - I know he was. He was suddenly real busy. Well, at the end of the day I texted him that it was obvious he didn't have time. And I began to pen an email to him. I needed to call it quits ... via any mechanism, I didn't care.
While I'm writing, he calls. I told him he's unfair. That his contacting me again was selfish, that it wasn't about ME at all, but more about his own conscience. He gets to make contact to make himself feel better about ditching me based on a lie ... but *I* have to rehash all those emotions I felt when he just ceased communicating with me.
He didn't try to contradict me.
I said that my emotions were real and my feelings today are real too. I did confess that I have feelings for him, which is why, I said, he's being selfish. And then he said the thing that nailed the coffin ...
"I can't say that we couldn't eventually be together ...."
Oh, wait - so, because I have feelings for you I'm just supposed to sit by and wait? Really? I'm just supposed to be there for you while you get over your co-dependency with your children, sort out the sexuality issues that you have ... and deal with all the countless other issues you have ... just in mother fucking case?
How aabbbooouuuuutttt - no. Let's try that. I am much too valuable, I said, to sit around and do that. You have a serious problem with your codependency with your own damn kids - you're a great dad, I said, but you are doing them a HUGE disservice, especially that 24 year old who still trying to act out, and you're not preparing them for the real world. And you're doing yourself a disservice too.
He took that amazaingly well, considering how "can't nobody talk bad about my kids" he is. "You're right," "I know," and other affirmations is all he could muster.
I can't do this - my feelings are real and you're selfish. You treated me like discarded trash and now you want to "rescue" me by asking me to lie in wait. No, sir.
This business of calling and texting everyday - asking about how's your day and how're you doing? That's all relationship stuff. The people I consider my CLOSEST friends ... I don't fucking stay on the phone with them, asking them how it's going at that moment. So, that's gonna stop.
"I understand."
and blah blah blah ... and woo woo woo.
I continued on a tirade that he deserved - and he took it. He took it all. Eventually he said that I could call him.
"No. I won't. I'm not making your phone ring - that's the damn lie that got us here, that I fucking called and talked to your son and told him our business. I told you already, I won't be calling."
"ok," he said with a sigh. "Well, it's going to take a lot of work to even establish a friendship."
"Nope. Because I'm not doing it. I'm making NO effort."
"Wow."
And with that wow, it seemed to sink in. Except he wouldn't say bye. "I CAN'T say bye. I just can't do it."
"hmmm," I said with disdain in my voice.
"Nope - i can't - you're going to have to say it because ....."
"Ok. Goodbye."
and I hung up.
Yes - he is sort of seeing someone, he tells me - but it's likely not to go anywhere because he has to focus on the kids.
Well, shit - you aren't looking for anything romatically out of ME either, then
That confused me - I mean, why would he call me after all this time if he already moved on? I wracked my brain for a while and it finally dawned on me ... he needed to clear his OWN conscience. He didn't need me to forgive him per se ... he needed to reconnect with me and tell me the truth to deal with his own guilt - and whether I accepted his apology or no, it didn't matter. he still got to get it off his chest.
Well, nigga - I got some shit to get off my chest too.
How the fuck dare you come back at me like this ... INVOLVED with another nigga, looking for my forgiveness? Why the hell do *I* have to deal with this shit all over again? It wasn't enough that I lost you to some bullshit I didn't do and had to mourn losing what could have been a decent relationship over something I couldn't control or have anything to do with? That wasn't enough?
You mean, I get to do it all over again? Joy. I get to hear you apologize, ask for forgiveness and know all about your life all over again ... after 10 months and shit ... but you're talking to someone else and even if I *do* forgive you, I STILL can't have you.
Nice.
VERY nice.
I told him that it's abundantly clear to me that he did not feel for me what I felt for him ... that I was really ready to pursue "us" on an exclusive basis, that I was really into him - and he APPARENTLY wasn't there. And so, I own that I pushed for it too fast, and too hard ... and that his son's antics were quite convenient for him because it gave him an opportunity to nurture his flight response.
He disagreed - said that he was really feeling me and was on the verge of agreeing to pursue things exclusively and then his son hit him with all of that.
Again, how convenient.
He's calling me on a regular basis now - like he was a year ago. And the calls are all 5 minutes or less, like they were a year ago. And during each one of those short conversation, I manage to get in a dinger.
Today, I asked him if his son was helping around the house (they had severe storm damage and were without power for 36 hours) and he said the boy has no choice - he does his share or he gets out.
(bullshit)
and he continued to talk about the progress they need to make.
"It's hard to break out of codependency," I said.
There was a very short pause - almost undetectable - but it was there. The pause before he said, "Yuh, it is."
Whatever - he still needs to hear my mouth about the whole co-dependency issue ... and I will eventually ask about the specifics between him and this dude. Both issue will serve to finalize the closure I need ...
and depending on how those two conversations go, I may be able to agree to continue on this path to restore a friendship - that's what he asked for, incidentally.
Or - I may be ghost.
I'll keep you posted.
"heey," he said.
"hey."
His voice sounded familiar, but not in the way you would think. I mean, I tried to remember what his voice sounded like during those 4.5 hours I waited for the phone to ring. I tried to no avail, that is. Seriously, I couldn't remember his voice.
I tried to get in touch with him via email in the months that followed his telling me that he wasn't talking to me anymore. But the last time I emailed him I resolved to let it go completely if he didn't respond. And he didn't. So, I erased his number from my phone and kept it moving. I tried, right?
Well, when I finally DID hear his voice, it was like .. OOOOHHH. Yes, once I heard him speak I remembered. You know how when a word is right on the tip of your tongue, but you can't quite get it? It was like that, but only with a voice.
He proceeded to explain what happened:
His son explained to him that he saw my name on the caller ID and picked up. We had a conversation and he told his dad all the specifics - and he wanted his dad to know that I wasn't allowed to take him away from them. His daughter felt the same way. See, he's a single dad and is raising these two on his own and it was WAY too much for him to fathom that I would talk to his son.
Except, I didn't.
I never, ever called his cell phone and had anyone else pick up the phone. EVER. Apparently, however, his son and daughter picked up on the fact that he was on his way to getting involved and snooped through is call log, found my name and approached their dad with the story above in order to get him to stop pursing anything outside of their immediate family.
And it worked.
I was never given the opportunity to contradict his son's story because he never confronted me. He shut down instead, believed his son without question ... and consequently had no questions for me either. I mean, why would the 24 year old son lie to him?
Oh, I didn't mention his son is twenty fucking four?
Well, he is. He's a grown ass man who's afraid to lose his daddy. I can't fathom that type of thinking, especially considering I come from a home that really didn't give a fuck about the kids. (My mom married my step-father and told us about it three days LATER and also said he was moving in ... and we'd never met him) I left for college at seventeen and I wasn't looking back. By the time I was 24, I was the lead engineer on $68M work of work and live 700 miles away from my parents - so don't ask me to synthesize that one - I can't.
But how did he find this all out, I wondered? (tell me you were wondering that too ...)
Apparently, homeboy is talking to some dude right now. Yes, the same homeboy who wasn't ready for a gay relationship with ME... yuh him. Anyway, the "children" did it again - only this time the 24-year old initiated the call to the "significant other" and said whatever the son said ... and then the son called his father at work to say there was an emergency at home involving the "significant other."
Well, that's how he "found out" that I had done nothing wrong and that he totally shut me out based on a lie.
So, I did forgive him for it - I didn't blame him for believing his son ... after all, I'm a dad too and I'm a protective dad as well. So, I can understand. I'm definitely more confrontational than homeboy is, but then again I wasn't hiding in the closet and just LOOKING for an excuse not to move forward.
But I've got new issues now - I can forgive you for what you did then ... but what about what you're doing now?!? This was turning out to be a multi-call sorting out of issues. Because I've got issues with this ... why are you calling me with this shit - don't you have a man?
You know I asked him that, right?
In july of 2008, I met a guy I was smitten with almost immediately. We went to the cheesecake factory on the mag mile in Chicago and sat in a booth in the bar, holding hands under the table. It was surreal, how we instantly took to each other - and not in a "i'm totally stroking his dick under the table" kind of way. I mean, my interest was in HIM, not on what he was packing. So much so, I really didn't care what he was packing.
(I know, weird.)
Anyway, he spend the following week calling me several times a day, sometimes just saying he was busy as hell but wanted me to know what he thought of me. I wondered here at JGC if I was on Candid Camera. I really didn't know what to make of it.
In the weeks that followed his job took him to a Naperville, IL and I drove over and spent some time in his hotel room with him. We petted, I admit - but considering all the "encounters" I've talking about in posts past, it's actually meaningful here that we were taking it slow and waiting for later to actually do that damn thing.
Slowly, the calls became less frequent - and while I understood he was extremely busy, it seemed to forecast that things weren't going to go the way I wanted. He mentioned his intent to move out of state and I knew I needed to keep my expectations in check.
I don't recall ever bloggin about how it was that he disappeared from my radar - but, what had happened was ....
I couldn't take it anymore and I came clean about my feelings for him, explained that what I was getting didn't seem like enough, and I really just wanted us to commit to moving forward into whatever the next phase would be and stop the happenstance touching of base whenever one of us permitted our schedules to allow it. It was heavy on him, as he wasn't quite out of the closet and I was pretty much forcing the issue.
Maybe 1 of the suitors I've blogged about since then was still in the closet - I really cannot be bothered with them anymore. And this guy is the reason. He told me that he needed some time to think about it. That he was going out of town with his mom and was going to use that time to really consider what i was saying.
Well, I wait the weekend, and then several days ... and then some more. Eventually he called me back and said, "I'm really not ready."
I was so disappointed ... but I told him that I wanted to be in his life in whatever capacity, because he really was a good guy. He was glad to hear that, he said - he was afraid I would bounce if he said no. So, we agreed to remain friendly.
But something happened.
He wouldn't call me, answer my emails or voicemails and something was up. I hit him up online when I saw him one day and he told me that he was very angry at me ... that it would be a long time before he was able to speak to me.
"ok."
Only it wasn't ok - because I had no idea what I did. I presumed I forced him to really deal with his sexuality before he was prepared to do so. So, I waited.
Nearly 10 months later - this is our text exchange:
"I know I don't deserve any of your time or consideration ... but I just found out that I treated you unfairly and I am very sorry."
Oh my. Really? Is this really happening?
I know. You don't have to forgive me, I just wanted to let you know I was sorry
I do forgive you
I'll call you later
ok
The four and a half hours that followed were the longest ever, until the phone rang, I answered and he said ...
"heey"
Since before the turn of the century, I have been unable to listen to this song:
In the fall of 1997, my ex and I got back together for a spell. I was in his dorm room, on his bed and "Anytime" played on repeat while he made my body feel what it hasn't ever felt again. We slept in each other's arms - well, he slept. I listened to this song the entire night, staring at him sleep in the dark ... tracing his silhouette with my finger tips. In fact, I can still see him if I close my eyes and remember.
After all the nonsense that followed, I was unable to listen to this song. It filled me with intense sadness and would make my eyes well by the fourth beat or so. I have ALWAYS turned the station if the song came on.
I listened to the song today and its impact on me was gone. It's a sweet memmory now that makes me smile - now that I know he loved me like I loved him. I considered this newfound fact in light of something I have known for many years.
I never really felt worthy of love - of being loved. I knew my own propensity to FEEL love, but never really believed that it could exist in anyone else towards ME. If you've followed my writing in The Evolution of Indifference, you know that my mother's ambivalent attitude towards me and my knowing that she really didn't want me would contribute to my feeling that way. But when my first love rejected me ... well, I just knew that meant I wasn't loveable.
I can attribute my crass and insensitive nature to that one thing - that I just knew no one could love me because of something intrinsic, something within me that simply WAS me, that I couldn't change. But when he told me he loved me profoundly, had trouble getting over me for many years, all but chose a career based on who I was ... and that I would ALWAYS be his first love ...
Well, that has changed me - it has profoundly impacted my self image, and forever has changed my view of the past that until this week lack vibrancy and color. It existed in black and white, grainy like an old episode of the twilight zone on a black and white television with rabbit ears and knobs to turn the channels ... as if it were just about to go snowy and undecipherable.
I can now see me in vibrant color, in HD ... and I like what I see. I'm alive inside - an emotional Lazarus has shaken off his wrappings and is smiling at me, FROM within me. And folks - I really am loveable. I really am.
And not just that - but I've always been.
I sit here typing, remembering all of the problems I've identified in all the potential suitors I've blogged about ... and I know that it was all just my attempt to find an excuse not to let them in, and to continue my own self-fulling prophecy: that i'm not able to be loved.
But I am - and I *was* loved. And that means more to me than anyone can know. It instantly changed my view of my college experienced. It has ALWAYS been the dark dreary days of my life, and suddenly - I see and remember the good things ... like working at the writing center, like when he came in one day - scared me because I didn't hear him, and kissed me. I forgot about that. Or like when I was a freshman and my father just left - I loved the freedom at that moment. Or when I dressed up in drag for halloween, or the next year when I wore a big diaper and went as a baby, or when I saw Birdcage ... and even when I got an 87 when I took that calculus exam drunk ... when I didn't study at all for the Rigid Body Dynamics course and got 100. Or when I was so drunk I threw up over the railing outside my dorm - ahhh. Or when I was high and tried to climb the hill ... in the snow ... without gloves. It's amazing I still have operable fingers. Ahhhh yes - college. They WERE good years. They weren't bad, and I don't have to be so bitter anymore.
In short - I know I'll be more forgiving of imperfections, as I want a man who is forgiving of mine.
But that doesn't mean I won't put out and blog about it. It's an epiphany, not a castration!
DAMN
I created a facebook account recently. I had been avoiding it like the plaques of Egypt because it just screamed "MORE STUFF TO DO" and seriously, I've got plenty already. However, after some thought on the matter, and listening to my coworkers talk about keeping in touch with their families I figured I'd give it a try.
Through the page of a friend, I ran across the FB page of MY FIRST. There he was with smoe retarded picture that wasn't of him on his profile - but it was his profile. I forced through the difficulty it was to write him a note, but I did it. I wasn't sure what I was expecting and I wasn't sure if it was the fact that he was my first EVERYTHING or if it was the fact that there was this pseduo love triangle thing going on in college that pinned him as a pawn. (I was a vindictive little bitch, I really was)
At any rate - a couple of days went by with no answer and I figured it was just as well that he hated me and I didn't have to deal with his ass.
Today was supposed to be a good day. I had morning sex with a bike messenger (and that's really all I'm going to say about it - it was supposed to be a good day!) and I sauntered along the sidewalk on my way to work ready to get a lot accomplished.
But later in the morning - there was an emailed response. It was an interesting response. "JACK? JACK from *enter alma mater here*?" I couldn't figure out if it was a dig (hey I don't really remember you) or if it was just a natural reaction - like, REALLY?
And there was chit chat a bit and all the while, I could FEEL it. That same feeling I used to feel when I was heartbroken, distraught and thought the world unfair because I was deeply in love with someone who wouldn't give me the time of day anymore. (In the end, it turned out he told his momma about me and she said that she couldn't be in his life if he was gay, so he dropped me because he didn't wanna lose his momma. How the hell do you break through that? You don't ... that's how) Except, it was way less intense. But it was there.
And I've heard it said before that you always remember your first - but this shit is fucking with me. Remember the bike messenger? CLEARLY this isn't on my mind 24/7, or even at all some 12 years later ... but the interaction made me remember.
Does that make sense?
Seriously, I sent a friend request and perused his pictures. Nothing. None of that desire to stare at his pictures like I used to when I was a confused little jack with no real understanding of my sexuality and no real outlet to discuss it with anyone. Nope.
Just a look at a few pictures and me thinking, "this nigga need to eat."
But that "something" is there and I'm having trouble putting to words what that something is. Like, I think if I dwelled on it I could conjure up those emotions I felt, because I felt them so strongly and for so long that, yuh - I'm pretty sure I could do it again. But I've no real desire to do so, only a desire to investigate this enigmatic emotion that makes absolutely no logical sense to me.
It's just so weird. I guess he looks the same - considering I haven't even seen an image of him in his 20s. He was 19 then ... he's 30 now. But, seriously, he needs to eat.
Interestingly enough he mentioned that my kids are beautiful ... letting me know that he commnuincates still with my ex-wife (we all went to college together) ... and yes, she knows he's my ex. In fact, that's her ex too.
I know - such drama. But that was 12 years ago and so not worth rehashing. I was involved in so much drama back then that it's no wonder I pretty much stick to my own. For all the stories JACK has ... I'm really a homebody.
I'm serious. Ask the couch.
That's where I am usually.
Oh, and I'm getting a new couch on Saturday. I can't wait. I'll have to break it in with some mvoie night with the babies.
And yes - they really are beautiful.
(And yes, I'm raelly not sure I should have opened this can of worms)
I was talking to my boss, as I'm wont to do whenever we're in the same room. And a conversation ensued about Pirates. He was talking about some show he saw that explained why Pirates wore eye patches. It was one those conversations you pretend to find interesting because it's your boss - you know, the ones where you're mentally making the grocery list but also nodding agreeably and smiling as if you were intrigued.
Only, I stopped making the grocery list and I actually found myself genuinely interested in what he had to say. Now, you must know that my boss is an engineer, of the typical grade. His ilk tends to overthink things and finds humor in things the average person just doesn't get. Now, I have an engineering degree, and I can follow him just fine, but the degree does not an engineer make - trust me. I am NOT of that ilk, and my creating and maintaining JACK should be proof enough for you.
I've known him for more than 8 years and have worked for him for a good chunk of that time. He's ever so slightly socially awkward, but thank God I went to engineering school and spent all those years pulling my hair out trying to communicate with my classmates because it helped me deal with this man. He's really a good person and is unmatched by anyone in the industry - he really knows his shit. Technically, that is. He really couldn't manage his way out of an opened-top cardboard box - but he knows his engineering stuff better than anyone I know.
And I'm not kidding about the management dig. We were having a conversation about the week's work and I mentioned that things would be slowed a bit since my counterpart, also his direct report, was on vacation. He said that he didn't know she was on vacation until that morning.
wait - isn't this the dude who approved her vacation time? Why yes - yes it is.
In a former life, when I was working for him at our previous employer, we had a rotten, snotty bitch for an admin. And she totally made best pals with his wife, and he totally didn't stop it. And then she started getting mouthy at work and acting like she owned the place and he was afraid to discipline her because that was his wife's friend. So, usually - this admin and I ended up having words ... and even then, he's do nothing.
Oh, and did I mention that he he marked me down on my last performance appraisal because I couldn't get my counterpart here to change her behavior? You know, the one who reports to HIM. And even after I told him that she and I have the same title and she just won't pay me mind when I make suggestions - he still marked me down. Whatever - I've learned to let him win the little battles. It made him feel good.
At any rate, so when he starts explaining that he did some research into it to verify what he learned about Pirates, I knew right then and there that I didn't have to google it to verify it myself. If this man said it's true - it simply is. Trust me - he's an engineer and when he says he researched it, it means he's spent counteless hours on it and REALLY knows it's true.
So, why do Pirates wear patches over their eyes? It's so they can see better.
Yes, I know it sounds stupid - like, why the hell would you cover your ears in order to HEAR better - but shut up and follow me here ...
Pirates needed to be resilient and have spot-on reaction time. And I'm not talking about these Somali pirates that chase down ocean liners in rowboats (I seriously have NO idea how the captains of these gi-nourmous ships can't fend off those fuckin canoes the somalis pass off as pirate ships) I'm talking about the "ARRRGGGHHHH," "YO HO HO!" pirates of old who shot cannons and sported hooks for fingers. Them. THEY needed reaction time like no other. So they wore a patch.
Out on the ocean in the middle of day - it's pretty bright. So they would wear a patch so that if they had to go down under the deck, they could close the unpatched eye, lift up their patch and be able to see in the dark without having to wait for their pupils to dialate. Likewise, when they came back up onto the deck they would flip the patch back over the eye and not have to wait to adjust to the sunlight.
I had NO fucking idea. And I thought it very interesting.
And then I considered the various sides of me - in particular the fact that I don't necessarily wear my sexuality on my sleeve in professional environments. I mean, if I'm in a club, I'll WHINE with the best of them ok - but at work? Yuuuuhhhhh, but NO.
This shit is hard to do wearing a shirt, tie and slacks:
And I think I handle it pretty well. And I really wish my gay bruthas would all do the same. Just because you a bottom doesn't mean you have to remove the steel from your wrists permanently and wear daisy dukes to go out and wash your car in the driveway. I think there needs to be some kind of decorum in there somewhere ... honey, you go on and shake your ass any- and everywhere over there on Halstead, but for the love of God, when you're off to your day job, THIS IS NOT NECESSARY:
Some semblance of this would really be nice. I spent some time on their Web site and I would like to quote them in relation to this post because I'm
"not saying masculine guys are better – but we are different. Our point is that there’s more than one way to be gay. Which ought to be a given in a community that talks about diversity as much as ours does. It’s a sad fact that some gay people buy into – even cling to – the very stereotypes they often complain about. We think it’s important to question both the way gay culture relies on stereotypes to define itself, and the paradoxes that can result. Having a sense of humor about it helps, too. Learning to criticize our own culture, listening to other points of view, and providing more (not fewer) choices, are the hallmarks of a mature community."
So there - now you know why I'm funny. And hopefully you understand the title of this post and where I went with this. And if not ... bitch, BOOM!
*walks away*
... that I am post-dating this entry, and you may or may not read it. I'm not sure if I'm looking for advice or not. Truth be told, sometimes I just LIKE to wallow in disappointments. And I'm totally aware that that's because my life has been riddled with them since childhood (since the womb, but that's a totally different issue) and it's one of those things that's become commonplace - that sense of almost there, but never arriving ... as if my life is asymptotic to the threshhold to happiness. I'm ever close, but never there.
And deep down inside there brews a recent disappointment - a dude I really liked, who seemed to really like me and then who seemed to have fallen into a black hole somewhere, contacting me less and less and then not at all. In true JACK form, I made contact and texted this:
"am I EVER going to see you again? You've been avoiding me like I'm some sor tof plague"
"I'm sure we will - honestly, I've been getting to know this really cool dude for the past two weeks."
I really needed that. I had to just know it - just hear it - just read it. But the thing that sticks out is that timeline. You met "this really cool dude" AFTER you met me, considering we've been speaking for a couple of months. That part sucked ass. But, I'm grown and totally accept it. I'm not trying to be no fool for no nigga ... so, he's out my phone, BEEN off my buddy list and deleted all emails. It's just easier if it's out of sight.
Anyone ever do that? Or is it just me? I mean, remember back in the day when warner brothers had that series of cartoons that had this floating hand with a pencil eraser in it and it would just erase parts of the scene? Like, Daffy Duck would be talking, and then the pencil would erase his beak. I loved those cartoons. And I SO want one of those erasers.
But before I digress too far - although the issue itself is what it is and I can handle it (hell, I done broadcast to all ya that it happened) the thematic elusiveness of the things that could make me happy annoys the fuck out of me. It's not that situation per se, not it alone. Because since then I've considered that I've gained weight that I need to lose and I was where I wanted my ideal weight to be and I let that go ... that I used to be credit card debt free but that the last 18 months have been a strain ... and that isn't so anymore.
The list goes on and on and I am trying REALLY hard not to wallow. I have been jovial as FUCK at work today ... had people laughing all day (see yesterday's post - LAWD did I get a lot of mileage out of that) ... and all I can do is ignore that nagging reality that sits there in the periphery of my days ... this sucks.
But ain't no nigga done give me my joy - and no nigga can take it away.
(Even if I have to fake it til I make it)
So, tell me - for real - am I the only one?
I never understood size queens. I prefer my men to be of human proportions - that is, human-sized dicks are best fit for ... well, HUMANS. Especially for us humans without birth canals.
Birth canals are perfectly designed to handle those gi-normous, superhuman dicks > 9" long. And then girth?!? Dear LAWD - without a birth canal, girth is just plaing annoying.
Now, I've seen a birth canal morphe into some elastic band of rubber to accomodate the shoulder-to-shoulder width of a 7lb. 12oz infant (Why women fear the crowning of the head is beyond me - there's not been such a parting as that of a birth canal accomodating the shoulders of an infant since that Moses raised his staff over the red sea.)
My philosopy stands - I am *NOT* a size queen ... and I absolutely REFUSE to sit on a dick that makes a standard flashlight look like a AA battery.
unless he's the 6'4" inch, intelligent, charming, funny conservative nigga I had lunch with yesterday.
I had a nice time on my date with Mr. $299 for a Mattress, but you know my propensity to find something to be critical of, right? (OMG, you're thinking ... JACK actually knows this about himself? Yes, I do) So, the mattress broke the deal there and so I had to tell him that the chemistry wasn't there and we needed to hang out just as friends.
299 was gracious about it. He didn't need to know that I had already had a lunch date with 6'4 ... and that I invited 6'4 to my place last night ... really, it was superfluous information and really not something he needed to know.
And so 6'4 comes on over - see, it turns out that a couple of years ago he and I were actually chatting online, but never met. And that at the time we were both living in Indianpolis. And now, we happen upon each other again and when we connected on yahoo IM, we realized that we knew each other ... although we never met in person. And we now both live in the same part of town in Chicago ... during lunch, we talked about how weird it was and he looked at me coyly and said, "maybe it's fate."
"MAYbe," I said smiling.
FAST FORWARD TO THE EVENING
So, I get to the unveiling - and when I pull down his sweatpants (and OH. MY. GAWD. Do I love a man in sweats!) ... there I find out ...
Good God Almighty - this thing is ENORMOUS.
My usual response at this point is to ask, "um, what you gon' do with THAT?" Because, um - I'm no size queen. And this isn't going any further. But I didn't, although I did react ... and he DID notice.
THIS nigga wanna say, "I'm sorry it's small - it's all I got."
I roll my eyes and say, "Hush it up."
... and since my title pane CLEARLY says this blog is rated "R," thems all the details I'm spilling. But suffice it to say, It's 12 hours later and this Kool-Aid smile of mine has not subsided and shows no sign of doing so because he texted me this morning to say, "I meant to say last night was soooo good."
Yes. Yes it was.
So, they call my number. "Red Folder ending in 03." But I'm playing Scrabble on my phone - it's my most recent guilty pleasure. I've played 1000 games or so since i got my damn phone. It's like cocaine-laced blunts for wordsmiths, I swear.
Anyway - I hear an, "excuse me, sir" and since I'm the only one in this waiting room that is assuredly, undoubtedly male .. I look up. He points to me and says, "number 03, is that you?"
"Oh, yeah."
Two other counselors behind him call numbers and by the time I get my bags together and over to the door, there are three of us patients and three of them counselors looking at each other like "who's whose?"
My counselor starts point and pairs up the other two patients with the other two counselors and then points to me and says, "you're coming with me." I'm prone to considering omens and I'm already convinced they're going to mix up our test results like this too. I'm nervous - what can I say.
So, we go back into this little ass room - I swear to God, the room is like a closet. And I'm thinking to myself that if I was the type to lose a grip (and I am) that I would totally hit all four fours simultaneously somehow if the results are bad.
We sit and talk and he wants to rehash all the same shit I just went over with the nurse - you know all the shit you don't want to admit and write down. Yuh, that stuff. So, I explain to him my indiscretion and give him every little bit of specifics.
He asks me if I condsider what I did HIGH risk or LOW risk.
Uhhh, ok, numb nuts, I'm here ... obviously I consider it HIGH risk. I consider it the highest of high risk behaviors and I'm about to lose my mother fucking mind over what I just done did and ...
"I'd say it was high risk."
He shakes his head. "Actually, everything you jsut described to me is extremely LOW risk. I think you'll be fine."
huh. Ok - so, we go back to 9 months ago when THAT mother fucker cheated on me. We discussed how I was at a loss at the time because I was in a monogamous relationship for over a year and I was doing all the right things ... settling down and all that shit. And WHAM! THAT mother fucker goes outside the relationship and has the gall to come back and touch me without telling me. THAT shit irked me.
And, let me say that while I acknowledge that our relationship was on the rocks for a while and that it was really stressful and likely to end ... *I* still respected him enough not to cheat. And I promise you that if I had done it, I would've told him before we got intimiate again. I got none of that in return.
At any rate - he wants to know what it means to me if I turn up negative. I say that it means that my partner nine months ago didn't infect me. He asks what it would mean to me if I turn up positive. I said it would mean a complete change in lifestyle.
"That's true."
Jack nods.
"Anything else?"
Jack raises an eyebrow and shrugs: "no."
"Would you consider hurting yourself?"
"Oh my God! NO! I REALLY like me."
He smiles and seems assured that I'm being honest. WTF! I mean, my babies need me, right? And I had already decided that morning as I looked at their portraits on my wall that even if I'm positive I can still be a good daddy to my babies. It helped the anxiety ebb away as if it were an instantaneous shift of the sea to low tide. I knew that entire day that it would TOTALLY suck, but that I would STILL be the best daddy in the world.
I considered all of the hand sanitizer I would buy and have with me everywhere - I also wondered about those clorox wipes that come in a little pack ... neurotic, I know - but no matter what I experience as an ADULT ... my babies will be (ALWAYS!) sheltered from it ... no matter what that means.
Anyway, he asks me if I'm ready for him to go get my results.
Does the Queen sit on her money?
"sure"
And he disppears from the closet of a room for what seemed like three and a half days. When he gets back, he has trouble closing the door because my backpack was sitting on the floor between my feet and was preventing the door from swinging shut (didn't I tell you think was a closet of a room?) and I'm convinced it's an omen.
My anxiety flows, the tide coming high as instantaneously as it had ebbs that morning while I stared at my babies' portraits. He sits down.
"Well, you're negative."
I sigh audibly, laying my head down on the desk. "Thank you."
"Well, *I* didn't do anything."
"Yeah, well ... you know. I'm just relieved."
"Yuh, I know."
... and the cold rain pelting my face as I walked back to the 'el didn't bother me one bit.
It was that time of year again – time to let some phlebotomist practice his/her craft on one arm or another. I usually go to my primary health care physician to get tested, but with my back and forth between Indy and Chicago, I just haven’t been able to get it together. I do some digging and find a local health clinic that’s actually quite convenient on my way home to my apartment in Chicago … and they have walk-in hours. SCORE!
So, I go to this clinic. The clientele is nothing like that I find in my primary doctor’s office. I got my number and had a seat and had some serious trouble figuring out who was male and who was female. I texted my friends and told them that like John McCain I was just going to refer to everyone in there as “THAT one.”
So, they call my number (17) and I get a bunch of paperwork to fill out. Apparently anonymous testing is free (and here I’ve been paying for my doctor’s visit and then paying for the blood draw at the local hospital!) but they also offered testing for syphilis, gonorrhea and some other shit I can’t remember. The shakes, werewolf-ism or whatever. I figured, eh – since I’m here and the phlebotomist is going to sink a needle into my arm anyway, why the hell not. I paid the fee to get tested for everything under the sun. (Later, the HIV counselor referred to my decision as having chosen the $20 Car Wash with the under carriage wash and wheel brightener. Sort of like that, yuh)
So, I’m assigned this new number – ending in “03.” And they periodically come out and call “red folder, ending in 01!” Someone disappears into the back. “red folder, ending in 02!” Someone disappears into the back. “JACK!?”
I’m mad as hell – this schmo just called me out by my full first name! I mention this on the way in and he says that he couldn’t remember my number but he remembered my name so he just went with it. The dude’s a brutha, quite tall. He’s lucky he was cute because I wasn’t so mad after that. (terrible, I know) I flirted my ass off, mainly to distract me from the pure unadulterated hell that it is to go get tested (you’d think that feeling would stay with you when you’re in the dark corner of the club trying to figure out whether or not to swallow … but alas, it’s like the pain of childbirth. You forget it as soon as they tell you you’re negative). I explained to him that he better get to a vein in ONE attempt. He tells me he’ll try. “I’m gonna need you to succeed, because I *will* go back out there talking about you.”
“How you gonna put that much pressure on me, man?” he asks, laughing coyly.
I smile back and say, “I’m just saying – get in, get out.”
“Well, it looks like you have good veins”
“I’m more concerned with you having good AIM.”
He looks at me and laughs. “you crazy.”
He does indeed get it on the first try – and it’s over as fast as it started. He explains that the nurse will be in in a minute to discuss my paperwork with me.
Now, you know how you’ll tell your friends some shit like, “yuh, I sucked his dick” or “I fucked the shit out him.” And it’s all cool? But when you’re filling out a form that specifically asks you how many times in the last 6 months have you performed oral sex, or how many sexual partners you’ve had in the past 12 months … it all becomes frightening reality? Like, wait a minute … lemme count …
There was Adam .. oh, and that one time with Jerome, and three times with Duane … and what was that guy’s name again? …. Mark… MARCUS, that’s his name … and ….
Well, it’s not all so much fun and games at that point. And then looking at this nurse dead in her face while I’m trying to count how many partners I’ve had in the last 12 months … she says, “if it’s more than ten – just tell me more than ten. It doesn’t have to be exact.”
“OH MY GOD! Noooo. I’m just trying to remember … six. It’s six!”
We discuss the specifics of my activities … condom use, condom slippage, oral sex … ALL OF IT. And in the end, she decides that I’ve not really put myself in any high risk situations since the last time I got tested (9 months ago).
“I’m still scared, though,” I admit.
“Well, yeah – it’s like a jungle out there. It’s natural.”
And out I went back into the waiting area until the counselor with my results called my number … or full first name if he can’t remember it ……
I promised you an interactive post a bit ago and here it is! So, don't stroll on by and wham-bam-thank-you-maam my blog this time, ok? If you're here, PARTICIPATE, carajo! You have *NO* idea how much work I put into this shit. lol.
Ok, this is a continuum:.jpg)
No shit? Yuh, I know. But it's The Martinez Continuum (MC). Notice that zero is right down the middle and the scale goes out ten in each direction. The MC is split into four zones:
I envision this as a relationship continuum and I apply it to various aspects of a relationship. Let's see - it's better depicted graphically. Let's start with THE AFFECTION CONTINUUM. It looks like so:
.jpg)
Zone 1 - The Red Zone
Cold-hearted bitch who doesn't want to be touched unless in the act of making love. However, usually doesn't refer to it as making love, but prefers the word "fucking."
See how this works? So, JACK is totally affectionate and I would give myself a 7 on the continuum. That puts me in the Blue Zone.
Let's do one more - THE HOMO CONTINUUM
The trick is to identify yourself on the continuum before you read the definitions. For this continuum, -10 is extremely effeminate and +10 is completely masculine. I give myself a 5. Here're the definitions:
.jpg)
Zone 1 - The Red Zone
Is likely one surgery away from being a full-fledged women. Effeminate, does drag, takes hormones and refers to all his boyfriends as "guuurrrrlllll."
Zone 2 - The Orange Zone
Has identifiable mannerisms. Is somewhat self-conscious of them to varying degrees, depending on how far from zero he is. This dude is already out, even if he doesn't know it.
Zone 3 - The Yellow Zone
Has some identifiable mannerisms but they go unnoticed and the average person can't tell. Is rarely self-conscious about it. People wonder in secret if he's gay but never approach him.
Zone 4 - The Blue Zone
Completely masculine and secure.
Having fun yet? Here's where it gets interactive. My next continuum is THE SEX CONTIUUM. But I'm not going to define it just yet. In your comments to this post (after you tell me how fabulous you think this game is), tell me where you fall on the sex continuum by picking a number from -10 to +10, where -10 is not really sexual at at all and +10 is pretty much horny and ready ALL THE TIME.
(Don't act shocked this turned into something about sex. I'm a HOMO!)
I will post my zone definitions ONLY after receiving a minimum of ten different responses. So, you lurkers out there better create a ghost account or something because I mean it. TEN.
*with much love*
JACK MARTINEZ
Hoover was already taken, so I can't use that name. But, oh I so want to. Because THIS shit is ridiculous:
Why do some men feel it necessary to mark their territory? This is fucking insane! And I tried to stop it, but the nigga want to hold on like he got lock jaw. LOCK JAW! So, it's like I'm the new neighborhood and he's an uncurbed dog ... (in the marking territory way, NOT the water sports way!)
Interestingly enough, I gave him the URL for my blog - so he's reading. (Yes, I'm talking about YOU!) And he needs a nickname (for various reasons) and I've decided that he will hereto forward be known as: CHUPABACRA. And you know what, CHUPA - I actually made a concerted effort NOT to leave any marks. Thanks for the suggestion that I use concealer ... I'll just dig that out of my fucking make-up bag. Maybe a little damn rouge on my neck would work too.
I'm not saying I didn't enjoy myself. I'm just saying that there ain't no reason for me to walk around for the next two weeks like I'm Hester Prynne. I've already decided that I need to wear a shirt AND tie every day until the busted blood vessels heal ... fuckfuckfuck. I'm taking platform in less than two weeks to teach a two-day course too. Rest assured that if anyone comes within any reasonable proximity to my neck, he's gettin' an elbow to the eye.
And FOR THE RECORD ... let me make this a-fucking-bundantly clear. If CHUPA comes out his face and invites me over again ... I mean, if he actually wants JACK again, you know I'm totally going, right? Ok, just so we're clear. But boooooyyyy if you latch on to me again like that .... bitch, BOOM!
I'm just saying
As I ponder my life, as I often do, I've come to the realization that I'm right where I had wanted to be. When I got divorced, I felt like I wasted my 20s - albeit true that in my 20s my kids were born and they were and remain the most important thing in my life. But as far as relationships were concerned - what a waste it was to have gotten married, especially since I remember crying like a baby at my own wedding primiarly because I had just made a vow not to have me a man again.
It's crazy that societal pressures and cultural expectations made me feel that I had no other alternative but to succomb to the expectations of me rather than to life out the real me. And in the process, I brought a woman into a big mess of things ... and I understand that totally own that. I can't blame that on anyone but me. For various reason that I will not go into (to preserve PF's reputation [I know, I know - I'm preparing for the Jaded backfiring here]) that part really is a moot point.
But when I turned 30, I said aloud, "I wasted my 20's, so my 30s better watch out." To some degree, I've lived that out in just shy of three years - to another degree, I'm so not done. For the past week, I've been really thinking about relationships and whether or not I want one ... and I do. Certainly not badly enough to go out looking for one - relationship aren't the sort of thing you search for or anything. Like, there's not relationship spelunker gear available in stores or on QVC. And they don't exist for a reason - relationships find YOU. And you just have to sorta wait around.
But I think it would be nice, to be honest. And I was totally wallowing a bit this week in the desire for the devoted attention of a man. For a bit. Fancifully wounding myself with those thoughts of the ideal relationship that I know only exists in my head. Relationships the way we envision them don't really exist - they're rife with real-world dilemmas, tough decisions and with one type of problem or another ... and we rarely fantacize about deciding with our lover that we're going to have to file for bankruptcy and comparing schedules to set a good time to meet with an attorney. Ok, not rarely - never.
But shit like that happens - and you would want your relationship to weather such a storm and not fall into a million little pieces while Oprah reams you a new anus on national TV. And Lord knows that the mother fucker couldn't handle that shit, I'd have to CUT him into a million little pieces and live in prision from then unto forever. (amidst a whole different type of "relationship. *shutter*)
So, all that to say that I just accept that it's going to take time - and that I'm not really in a big hurry - but it'd be nice. And when it does happen, I'll enjoy the ride and make sure I give it the time so that we grow into the type of unit that doesn't end up the focus of some Nightline special. Meanwhile, I'll be a dad, I'll work, I'll date and continue to enjoy the 'fantasticks' in my head.
So, I drove 220 miles to spend the weekend with my kids. And when I was buckling up my son in his car seat outside of daycare, I kissed him on the forehead. While I was leaned over him to latch the clip into the buckle, he wrapped his arms around me (as far as his little 5-year old arms could go) and he hugged me tight as hell. He smiled and whispered, "I love you."
And right there, before my very eyes, I realize ... this is totally better than anything I've envisioned in my head. He almost made me cry.
It's been 8 months. EIGHT months. And so I broke down and called mr. bought-me-a-ring-and-still-doesn't-know-my-last-name to pick me up at the train station. And, of course, he did.
Why - why - why - why?!?
The last time our "session" ended with an uh-oh ... and I didn't get any.
And this time?
Ok, so he has a hot tub in his back yard ... and we got in. That was a first for me. I can't believe I've gotten to the point where I'm totally qualm-less and do this shit. But, it was interesting. I liked it.
I mean, I gave it the 'ole college try ... AGAIN. And the trash talk was HOT and I was all into it ... again. Eventually, he wants to take it inside and just have at it. I'm game.
Except, he's not ... uurrr ... UP anymore. And so I ask, "what's up with this?" grabbing a handful of useless, flacid penis.
It turns out he busted in the hot tub.
Really?!?
Are you fucking kidding me?!?
I'm just glad he wanted to get out of there - and that there was enough chlorine in that bitch to perform keratotomy on a mother fucker ...
I mean - WTF?!?!! It's been 8 months, but folks - not for lack of trying.
Oh, and can you believe the mother fucker wanna ask me inside why I kept holding it back? I mean, I'm not long-winded. I'm not, trust me. I can't stand long, pointless bludgeon sessions ... but you gonna sit there and accuse me of holding back because it's been 10 minutes?
Put my dick back in your mouth and shut the fuck up.
**end trans
