To whom it may concern

I remember when the first time I fell in love. Interestingly enough, I was too young and naïve to recognize it as such … and I was too afraid of embracing my sexuality to fully investigate what it is I was feeling. He ended it in what I thought was a whirlwind of nonsense (he eventually admitted that his mommy told him that if he continued to be in this lifestyle that she could not be a part of his life – nice) and I felt that he was totally ignoring his feelings for me for a reason I did not fully understand. I wish he would have told me at the time exactly what was going on – if for nothing else so that I could fully understand what I was dealing with. Instead, I dealt with a closeted issue that I couldn’t talk to anyone about (because no one knew of my propensity to sleep with men!) and that I didn’t fully understand … all the while oblivious to the fact that what I was feeling was love. Suffice it to say, I was a fucking mess. For a long, long time.

But it taught me my ability to feel deeply – when I finally realized it was love, I stood in awe at my own emotional capability to feel as much. And it’s never been that way since.



Now that’s not to say that I am closed to the idea – I think I’ve just been guarded about my heart. Lord knows that when I allow myself to get there again, I need some guarantees … while nothing is forever (I mean, someone has to outlive the other, right?) I’m not about to deal with such foolishness as “my momma said no.” Does that make sense? When I allow myself to feel that intensely again, it will definitely be until death do us part. If I have to kill you for actin’ a fool, then I’m good with that too.

So, when I’m on the other side of the fence, watching someone allow himself to succumb to intense feelings for me and simultaneously being confronted with the reality that there are obstacles (such as distance, children, current relationships and the like) I take the high road. I did not want to be flippant and dismissive and not discuss the reality behind why I made the decision that I made. I wanted him to know exactly what he was dealing with. And so I told him. Everything. Every issue. All of it.

I refuse to ASK you to leave your current relationship – and it’s obviously not ending anytime soon. I refuse to ASK you to leave your children and live miles and miles and miles away from them. In fact, I realized that if you were willing to do either one, I’d lose respect for you. In addition, I feel as if I’m this new book you’ve picked up to read before you completely finished the previous book. I’m much too important to me to be in a relationship with someone who is otherwise committed, albeit in name only. I refuse to accept anything less than 100% of you, of anyone … because I’m 100% available.

I’ve lived. I’ve learned.

I’ve come completely clean and while I understand the emotions that drive you to text me about love and then immediately text me about hating me … I can’t allow myself to be subjected to attack after attack, followed by outpourings of apologetic love. In many circles it’s termed emotional abuse … and if this were actually happening IN PERSON, it could easily escalate to domestic violence.

And folks, there WILL be peace in my home. I grew up in a house riddled with strife and I refuse to abide in a place that has me on pins and needles. Did I tell you that one time I walked in on my step-dad choking my mother? Did I tell you that I politely grabbed a butcher knife from the kitchen? It’s amazing the way reality blurs away when someone is attacking your momma. Shit like this was common place – one time my brother took a knife to the man too … broke the drawer we kept the utensils in, he pulled it so hard. Neither of us got to stab him, though. Mom was always trying to play intermediary. (To this day, however, I still say the man deserved a good bludgeoning - dique choking my momma ... )

But today? There will be PEACE in my home. I will not allow strife to enter via door nor window, text nor IM, blog nor voicemail. Strife – you are not welcomed here.

YouTube The Devil

I really miss Luther ...



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Cultural Antropology: Take I

Ethnology is the study of culture. Let's start with the "Fist Bump"



In the video above, Michelle Obama initiates a "fist bump" with her husband. It is a sign of togetherness, it is a salutation, it is a celebratory touch. First and foremost, it is NOT terrorism.

Secondly, the offical term is FIST BUMP. It must never, EVER be called anything else. "Giving Pound" is a similar gesture involving the fist, but it's totally different. Other terms which may seem similar are equally inapproropriate. See here:



Again, it's a FIST BUMP.

Krabby Patty

You know that type of person that is never happy? Always trying to find something to complain about? Not even the 'glass half empty' type - but the 'who the fuck drank half my tea!?' type ....

and not just the 'who the fuck drank half my tea' type, but the type that goes around telling EVERYBODY that someone drank their fucking tea ... and it's rude to drink someone's tea.

You know the type?

Well there one of those curmudgeons here in my office - she's a miserable wretch. I mean, the biggest bitch of a woman EVER. She complains about every fucking thing ... she never volunteers to help anyone out and complains if someone asks for her help. She sucks her teeth and throws mini-tantrums while she "doing your work."

And she's an administrative assistant.

Now, there's nothing wrong with being an AA. But, when you're an AA, it kinda says it right there in your title. You kinda have to assist people. Unfortunately, you don't always get to choose who you assist. And that's not an exclusive expectation of Administrative Assistants. I can't fucking tell you how many mother fuckers I get on the phone with whose voices I really don't care to hear ... and I certainly don't give a fuck that their businesses are struggling and they're laying people off and blah blah blah. But you know what? I kinda have to do it.

Today, she seemed to think she could win an e-mail war with me. WITH WORDS! OMG, I was totally awn iT. ok? She wanted to send me emails with instructions about what *I* had to do. Bitch, slow your row. This too fast for you.

She told me I needed to make a phone call to get the email address of someone she had already been on the phone with. So, I sent her a polite email with instructions to get people's email address when she's already on the phone with them because that's better customer service. Apparently, she says she knew the process. Bitch, obviously not.

So, in the copy room, as fate would have it, Krabby Patty and I bumped into each other ... and she said not a word. And in my most polite, nicest voice (and I wore a smirky smile while I spoke) I said "excuse me."

Krabby Patty did not give me my joy, and Krabby Patty cannot take it away.

So, I've decided that Krabby Patty has ZERO more chances to send me a terse email. If it happens again, JACK is confronting Krabby Patty ... today was fun, knowing that she was fuming that I could have the audacity to email *her* instructions. (tee hee - it's like I drank half her tea!) But it really isn't my style. Next time, JACK gets into Krabby Patty's face to explain how to properly address me. Something along the lines of, "Your email was terse and disrespectful. I refuse to ever demand respect, and if you don't think I command it, that's cool - but you're going to exercise professional courtesy when you address me. Please and Thank You? Those are mandated by pretty much every definition of Professionalism I know. And since we're at WORK, my expectations are such. If you need to take a class, let your supervisor know - I'm sure we'll foot the bill. Whatever it takes - but that's how you WILL address me. Is that ok?"

I'll keep you posted.

JACK

Sometimes I feel good about it

I have a secret. I'm my own worst critic and my self-criticism isn't exclusive to the quality of my work. Sometimes, I don't feel like I'm a very good dad.

I know, I know - I blog about how much I love being a dad, but the reality is that when I lose my temper, or get frustrated with the kids ... I end up feeling really bad. And it's really true that it hurts me to punish them. Now, that sure doesn't stop me - they get sent to their room, and when it's warranted corporate punishment is NOT out of the question ... but even when I get to those points, I feel bad.

I have the kids every weekend, since their mom works weekends, and it's great to see them so often. I feel like I'm just a regular ole part of their lives. However, I also feel like I'm going to fucking choke for lack of ME time. And I've got a whole lot of guilt wrapped up in that.

But the reality is that I work a full time job, am currently finishing up my master's degree, my home and job are 220 miles apart and I travel between two cities every weekend, manage the bills at the house and the bills at the apartment ... and sometimes I just want a spare minute for MOI.

I tried something new this weekend. Now that they are 7 (soon) and 5, I can actually have conversations with them. So, I explained to them that I was cranky because I was sick (stupid head cold) and that I just needed a minute to myself ... I mean, I was out smoking and I got the "Daddy, hurry - come look!" I couldn't even have 5 fucking minutes to smoke my cigarette outside.

I've also been tinkering with my taxes and cleaning the house and doing their laundry and I had to get the oil changed, in BOTH cars, and both needed to be cleaned because kids and back seats are like a ticker-tape parade along fifth avenue ... so, I'm like totally spent. But just talking to them about how I was feeling and that I just wanted a few minutes to myself ... that really helped. They were able to better accept my nuances and their feelings weren't hurt at all.

And that's why I end up feeling like a failure - because I snap at them and hurt their feelings, and really - they only see me on the weekends and I manage to hurt their feelings? It shouldn't be that way.

But this weekend folks? It was really good. I came out of it feeling accomplished, I involved them in some of the house cleaning - took them to the car wash (they love that fucking place) and while Walmart had the car (had to make two trips for two cars) we spent time looking at the fish that were for sale. Did you know that two kids and a few fish tanks could take about an hour's time?

It was great to just sit and stare with them into each fish tank and listen to their explanation of what THEY saw. Children's minds are great - so open, so accepting, so vividly creative ... We played a shitload of nintendo DS this weekend, saw a movie or two and did homework.

And this time, I really truly did come out of the weekend feeling like the world's best dad.

My daughter even told me so - even if she was laying it on thick about how much she loved me so that I would peel away from the tax software and lay on the couch and hold her.

"I want you to HOLD me!"

And hold her I did.

And then my son crawled on top of me and there we three lay looking like beached whales fancying the television and all it's colorful candy for the eye.

I *really* miss the couch.

Yes, Like That

Hidden beneath the surface
But not too deeply
Is a me that you almost know
And he makes you think of him
On occasion
As if it were a dream you’re having
Where the person is the person
But it’s a totally different person
I don’t look like me
Or sound like me
But it’s me
You know it’s me
But it’s not the me you know
So you shake it off
As it were sleep in the dead of night
While you’re behind the wheel
On a long trip
With nowhere to go

The New York METS Mets mets ...

Have you read Jaded's blog? It's about the debacle of a patch the NYM are putting on their uniform. There's a mini-contest to see who can do one better (unofficially) because I said I could ask my daughter to do one better. But I decided that *I* would give it a try. Scroll down for my submission: