Candid Camera be damned

It all started great ... as usual.

And then the red flags came ... as usual.

Thing is I've been toying with the idea of him ever since the day I waited on that corner of the magnificent mile until he drove up and got into his car. It was absolutely a crazy thing to do, having never even seen a picture of him at that point ... but I had given my peoples all of his personally identifiable information (screen name, phone number, name, email address) so that they could avenge my death should I turn up bloated and floating face down somewhere in the Michigan River. And of course, my m.o. is to let the nigga know that people are waiting for me to get home and check in to make sure I'm ok and that they have his screen name. But nothing else. (tee hee)

At any rate, I was smitten that night, as the first post above will tell you. It was sweet how we sat there and talked and drank at the bar in the Cheesecake Factory in a booth, both of us sitting with our elbows on our laps and holding hands under the table. *sigh*

Wow, did I catch a fucking BUZZ that night. When I stood up, I was like WHOA. You know the feeling? Where you're sitting there not paying any attention to the three martinis you've just ingested on an empty stomach in 90 minutes and it's not until you stand up that you realize ... I should probably quit drinking now

Anyway - so on Friday, I'm tired of wanting more from him ... and of his saying that we're working towards an US ... but behaving as if there's not room for me in his life. So, I address it.

in classic JACK fashion.

I pretty much told him that he didn't have room in his life for me, that he seems to have busied his life with TONS of shit in order not to have to face his sexuality (you know. "yo, dude - how come you ain't got no girl, yo?" "ahhh maaan - i'm just so busy with all this shit, who has time!?")... and I'm not going to spend my days thinking about someone who isn't ready to make room for me in his life. Um, my exact words? "Shit or get off the pot."

I haven't heard from him since. I guess he got off the pot.

And here I am ... AGAIN ... feeling let down. This isn't the first time I've rushed it. But I just can't help it - I REFUSE, REFUSE, RE-fucking-FUSE to be in limbo anymore. No, I can't do it. I'm not committing any of my time to some nigga, and letting other potential suitors just stroll on by, if the nigga really isn't going to make a commitment.

Now I know that word is scary. But DAMN, life's too damn short ... if we're not together but you want to investigate it, and we're not having sex because we're still getting to know each other and you're showing NO signs of moving to the next phase .... then, let's quit the fucking games - I need my conscience cleared so I can go in peace and suck a dick.

Or two.

3?

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

No Words - September 4

Faith in JACK

For whatever reason, my faith had been on my mind. I know that there are thousands and millions, even, that find it hypocritical for a gay man to believe in Christ - I know. I know that there seems to be only an option to choose one or the other. But what is miraculous about the faith in JACK is that it still burns, even after all the church put me through.

See, there's a difference between being faithful and being religious. Religiosity is about being given to the rules and teachings of an institution, about doing things like going to church, giving to the poor, paying your tithes and reading the Bible. But faith? That's rooted deep within - either you believe, or you don't. Religiosity is behaving the way a church says you need to behave because you have that faith in you. But it has nothing to do with the faith itself. Nothing at all.

Therefore, make no mistake about it - I love the Lord. And I believe many things, which for the purposes of this post are irrelevant. I sit here instead thinking about the churches I've been a member of and remembering the ridiculous things I went through trying to deal with my sexuality in the church. I was convinced that it was wrong, depraved and that it would be my demise, sending me directly to hell. It took me a long time to get over that nonsense and sit comfortably in my seat in 1A, willlingly.

Here are the cliff notes, that will show up in-depth in The Evolution of Indifference:

• When I went off to college, my pastors disowned me because I did not choose to attend Bible School. I rarely spoke to them again, even though we were like family, and they insisted that it was my responsibility to maintain contact with my pastors, not their responsibility to maintain contact with me. Nice - I was 17, lived an 8 hour drive away and didn't have long distance. Classy.
• Upon moving to Indianapolis, I called a church to find out about them. My then girlfriend asked me to tell them that we were an interracial couple to see what he said. So, I mentioned it and asked if that would be a problem. There was a pause. And then a confession that the older member would probably have a problem with it but the church itself welcomed us. We never went.
• When I was dealing with my sexuality as a married man, the then wife and I went to visit one of the pastors of the church we had been attending. It has about 13,000 members and dozens of pastors. He had no idea what to do, seemed uncomfortable and referred me to a local bible college.
• At the local Bible College, I met with the oldest White man ever who tried to convince me that I had obviously been molested as a toddler and that I just don't remember it. I told him he was crazy; he insisted he was correct. I stopped seeing him.
• I then started seeing a counselor that "specialized" in a gay ministry. He had been caught solicited an undercover police officer for sex in a public park and was arrested. He then had to step down as head of the men's ministry at his church. Forgiven and recovered, he started a ministry. All he wanted from me was specifics about what my fantasies were about. As in who was there, what was happening, what role was I playing. Ever see that look in a man's face ... the perverted, I'm-about-to-start-salivating look? Right - I was through with this mother fucker.

I did everything I could think of to deal with the demon within me. And then, it hit me - this shit isn't just going away. And I got to thinking about how I was feeling. I was sexually frustrated, sex with my wife became like a chore, I felt contagious, was deeply depressed and was only a shell of the person I used to be before I got married. I was introverted, wanted to do nothing but sit at home and I was always sick - my immune system responded to my depression and if it wasn't strep, it was an ear infection or some other URI and the same with my then wife. The doctors' made a fortune off of us in those days. Yet, the "christian" thing to do was stay married, fester in my frustration (because I would never, EVER cheat - that's just not classy), and take it out on my kids for the rest of my life.

The divorce was imminent - and it happened. And part of the discussion was this: it does the kids no good for us to stay together and both be miserable when we can divorce and each be happy while we raise our kids. And what kid wants miserable parents? Seriously, it was in their best interest that we divorce. So we did. (Not that it was easy)

Look, having experienced first-hand the living hell it is not to accept my sexuality - there's nothing anyone can tell me that will convince me that it's God's will that I live like that. If he is the soverign, loving God I know Him to be - that's not what he wants for me. And if my sexuality is something that you can program right out of me, then it should be something of the past already, because I subjected myself to pastor after pastor and christian counselor after christian counselor trying to do just that.

Until, that is, I decided to take my brain back. I believe in God, but refuse to succomb to religiosity. That's what gay ministries amount to in my mind. My relationship with the Lord is just that - my relationship. It has nothing to do with you, or the church or the mail lady. It's between me and Him. And for the record, He and I be talkin' all the time. I be like, 'yo, Jesus whas gooood?' and he responds in kind. Because the Man totally speaks my language. And I'm sure He speaks yours too. He's good like that. And when I reach the gates of heaven, I'm a walk right through singing:

I welcome any debate.

The Library Card

I went to my local Chicago Public Library to get on the internet. Why? Because I really needed to fuel my newest blog crush (riiiitttee, wouldn't YOU like to know) and I go to the computer. I need a library card to sign in. DAMMIT.

So I go to the counter and sign up for a library card. I get one, and she hands me a sharpie too. BONUS! Only not quite. I'm supposed to sign the back of it, and print my name on the front. Really? Yes.

Ok, so I do - but then she wants it back. She tears off a length of scotch tape and covers my printed name and signature. This is what I call Ghetto Lamination. With my card newly ghettolaminated, I proceed to log in.

But while I was there, the "officer" approaches me at the counter and says, "sir, are you aware that there is no food allowed in teh library?" I was holding a pack of cookies, and they was WERKIN too. "Oh, no, I didn't."

"I just thought I should make you aware."

"ok."

I ate them while I surfed the web. Fuck him.

Now this bitch is telling me I have 11 more minutes - I might have to squat.

But I might just get booted. never mind.

At any rate, my point really is that my Indianapolis library card is a sturdy, credit card quality urrr, CARD. And it has the logo of the library system and it's all nice and pretty and it has a bar code that has all of my information. No sharpie needed.

But I won't use it because I still can't find my daughter's My Little Pony book we borrowed like 10 years ago (yes, I know - she's only six, shut up) and I'm certain that when I walk into any Indiana public library that sirens will go off.

And I prefer the use of handcuffs in the privacy of my own home.

Is it time to repent?

Again, I don't usually post two in one day, but I felt compelled (again). Thanks to the National Hurricane Center for the above picture. I am convinced that some higher power is making our country pay for electing an administration riddled with pious, self-centered assholes committed to the Bush family's personal agenda. (I'm classy, using pious and assholes in the same sentence)

I was convinced a couple of years ago when those three hurricanes pummeled Florida in one month that it was Karma's way of fucking them up for not knowing how to vote (What was it Hurricanes Charlie, Jeanne and Wilma or some shit? I can't keep track anymore) in 2000, but now I'm convinced that Karma is forging a larger spread attack on the US as a whole to teach us not to spend all our damn money on a stupid, dumb ass war abroad when we could really use the money domestically, like in Louisianna because of Gustav, or in Florida, or South Carolina, or [insert coastal state here] ... or on repairing a broken education system, or on the homeless problem, or on a broken social security system, or hell, on potholes even! God help us if we can't get it right and reelect the republicans. Karma got more than hurricanes - tsunamis, earthquakes, tornadoes ... she's got a lot at her disposal and I may have to be the first Puerto Rican to flee the United States to seek refuge in Guadelajara.

Caption Contest - Sept 08

Now accepting captions for the attached photo. Have fun!

Happy Birthday, Son

I don't post pictures of my kids - hell, I don't even post pictures of me! So, you can't see him on here. But my son turns 5 years old today. And I'm just so emotional writing this blog - oh how I love the shit out that boy. He's still my little boy, fits neatly in my lap and he's so affectionate. All in all, one of the greatest kids around. And, yes, I know I'm biased.

I have two kids. My daughter is 6. She's sharp as a tack and she's totally my little girl. I don't care how old they get. Although I refuse to PLAY favorites, I must admit that my boy has my heart. That's not to say that I don't love my daughter, but it's just the reality of life. They have different personalities and as such, I just get along with them differently. I don't apply any of the rules unfairly (they both have the same bedtime, both need to eat what they are served and I'll spank the shit out you if you talk back, disobey or otherwise refuse to acknowledge that I'm the grown up and you're the child) but I just love that SHIT out that boy. And it's his birthday so I get to focus on him.

Parents who don't acknowledge that they have a favorite, are delusional. It's just like having a bunch of siblings .. how the hell are you supposed to like them all the same?!? I just don't get it. But for what it's worth, I'm being honest. My son is my favorite.

I love how he is fascinated by trains, how he collects them, and is turning to start liking hot wheels too. I even bought him a Hot Wheels bike, even if he's not quite steady on it and rode it down the embankment into the woods that one time - no pain, no gain, I say. He is totally obsessed with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles right now, and The Power Rangers. I thought it odd because he's such a sweet boy and doesn't ever fight ...

... and then I learned that he's a little fuck face at school at times. LMAO - that's my boy. Jaded could tell you how we was like when we was at school (I love how I just said that) and my son is a chip off the old block. After Jaded and I tore it up at school all day, I would take my ass to work at the Christian Bookstore. LMAO - oh, my - how that boy is so like me.

And he's even shaped like me - skinny little dick ankles and when he eats to his heart's content, his little belly protrudes like I haven't fed him in months - just like mine! He's got skinny little wrists, like his daddy - and is cute as hell (like his daddy!).

He's got the cutest complexion - a shade of brown that is all his own, and flawless - unless he's scraped himself up somehow. His knees STAY ashy, no matter how much Pamlers Cocoa Butter for Ashy Skin I use. I've started to just squirt baby oil into his bath water so he's all smeared with it when he's toweling off. That helps in the summer - but in the winter? His legs look like drifting snow. And he never complains that he's dry or itchy or ANYTHING. He just lives life, enjoying it to it's fullest.

Papito - Happy Birthday. And I'm sorry, but Daddy is *not* buying you a Nintendo DS for your birthday. Like your sister, you're going to have to earn it. That's what happens when you admit to us that you want something THAT bad. Eventually you'll learn that - until then, hopefully we'll condition you to work for the things you want.

Just like our book says - Daddies are for catching fire flies ... You'll always be able to climb on a daddy - to lean on a daddy. And from now unto forever, you can always fall asleep on daddy. Because *this* daddy loves you more than words can describe, more than I ever knew love could feel like.

And, if it's alright by you, I'd like you to stay 5 forever. Thanks.