Mantras kinda work

So, there were a few times this week when I just decided to indulge in the empty calories ... but not in the "eat until the store doesn't have any more" sort of way. I wanted a kit kat after dinner ... and I had it, accounting for the calories I was eating. And every day since my new mantra I have stayed below 2,000 calories every single day. The result was me, minus 1 pound.

I know it's meaningless in a way - but if that was my week WITHOUT going to the gym (seriously, I watched everything and counted every calorie and I still didn't work out AT ALL), it's motivated me to try it again next week (< 2,000 calories per day) AND go to the gym thrice.

I'm not even trying to start large. My goal is to go to the gym three times and each time do 30 minutes of cardio.

(I'm an enigma in that I so love cardio and prefer it to weight training)

That's it ... I can do a week of 2,000 calories, so I'll do that again. And will add three itty bitty 30 minutes cardio sessions this week.

I'll report my findings in about 7 days.

That's it - I've HAD it!

My last blog post was a glimpse into something deep within me that I have been dealing with and not really sharing with anyone. For all of the smiling and laughing I do, I've not exactly felt all jolly and shit lately. For a few months now I've just been trudging along - maintaining, as it were.

Nothing's really fallen apart - the kids still love me and I'm still a good daddy, albeit cranky at times. But you know what, they're amazing resilient, them little fuckers ... you just tell them that daddy's cranky and just wants to lay on the couch and they really do figure out some imaginative game to play and allow me my space. I love that about them ... that it's the result of a few ridiculous tirades of mine is a whole 'nother issue and that's not the point.

Work really hasn't fallen through the cracks, although sometimes I wish I could fake a debilitating ailment that would keep me out of work but still keep me limber enough to lay back, feet to Jesus and continue to keep Trojan Company going (oh don't judge and act like you don't have a family member who's doing that shit right the fuck now!) ... yet, I still gotta work and although it's maddeningly busy (they cut 1/3 of the staff and we still have some 3000 people coming to a convention next month - right, THAT kind of busy) I've not let anything get too totally out of whack.

Then there's the love life - totally (and STILL) nonexistent ... so, PAR in the love department.

So, although nothing is completely gone to shit, everything is just enough off-kilter to cause an anxiety spike ... I feel like I'm that man on TV spinning plates on dowels of various lengths (heights?) and several of them are teetering on the brink of a certain death (by shatter), wobbling perilously on their pedestals waiting for the one lonely me to come save it. Nothing's fallen down off no wooden dowel, but they all WANT to fall, and they're all just laughing at me as the audience squirms audibly while I break sweat to ensure I keep everything spinning.

Too many parts of my life are wobbly. Chief among them ... my health. There was a time when I was at the gym 4 times a week and religiously watching what I ate, to the tune of 1800 calories per day. I did this for 10 months ... EVERY day counting calories ... and going to the gym religiously.

It was the first time in my adult life that I actually felt good, free from moodiness and depressive cycles, free from that annoying wedge of fat that reminds me I'm out of shape every time I tie my shoes ...

And then Jaded said something to me that took root somehow. She said, "you need to have control issues." And yesterday when I woke up from my Pringles(tm) coma, I realized something ...

I don't want to eat like this anymore. I don't. I control my body - my body does not control me.

And with that chrisette-like epiphany, I developed that as mantra. I control my body - my body does not control me.

And I said it today when I was choosing breakfast ... and said it today while I was choosing an item off the fast food menu (I went for roast chicken instead of the yummy looking deep friend chicken breast sandwich with bacon) and I didn't eat but a handful of fries, leaving the majority of them in the bag.

I control my body - my body does not control me.

And today, at 5:36 PM CDT, I have so far consumed only 1,150 calories. And anything more than 650 calories ain't making into me for dinner because

I control my body - my body does not control me.

(when that mantra makes it into my sex life, I'll let you know. It might shut JACK down for a while if it does. As my alter ego, JACK is totally a whorish fucker who says things like "feet to Jesus!" JACK's a sacrilege.)

I control my body - my body does not control me.

Tipping the scales

I can't seem to get a handle on this eating thing. It's all I do ... and I can't quit it.

I ran across a new word. abstemious. It's a ROCKIN' new word and I love it. Except it's the complete opposite of my current "shovel food into my mouth" dilemma.

I worked so hard after my divorce to shed 30+ pounds (then another 10 during that one week of pure unadulterated hell, but that's another story) ... and the instant I got back into a relationship, I stopped going to the gym ... and slowly, the weight came back on.

The truth of the matter is that I stopped going to the gym during that week of pure, unadulterated hell ... because losing 10 pounds in one week isn't cute. And if I went to the gym, I would've ended up in the hospital. When I say I wasn't eating that week ... trust me - I wasn't eating.

But anyway - when I got back into a relationship, it was a good enough excuse not to go back to the gym. So, it's HIS fault - THAT mother fucker.

So, here I am wanting now to lose 30 pounds again ... and yet, this evening I had two bowls of cereal, two brownies and a bowl of beans.

Not in that order, but who cares - and shut up about the beans ... I'm Puerto Rican ... that's comfort food, carajo!

OMG! There's rice in that there kitchen. Ok, I might have to tie myself to the radiator.

except I have central air.

shit!

I swear there's a santero somewhere reveling in the mess I am right now.

a MESS, I tell you.

and then I was only kidding about that santero but there WAS that one dude I messed with who's boyfriend is a santero and I went through with it anyway.

fuck.

I bet it's HIS fault too.

Because, let's face it - I need someone ELSE to blame for my eating a lot and moving very little.

So, it's the ex- and the santero ex of the dude I messed with when the santero wasn't his ex- yet.

Yuh. I need to bathe in holy water ...

... do they have that at the bath house?

Stress is NOT a killer

I was sitting in my patio this morning (yes *IN* my patio; it's enclosed) and a peaceful Monarch butterfly fluttered by the partially open storm door. You should know that the storm door STAYS partially opened because for several years the gutter up there would overflow and soak the wooden door frame ... yes, for years. So the swollen wooden threshhold won't allow the door to close completely. The gutter has since been replaced with a wider downspout and it usually doesn't overflow unless foliage has blocked the downspout - I've had to go out there with a step stool ... out in your typical midwestern rain/hail/OMGAFUCKINGTORNADO storms to get soaked and dirty reaching into that downspout to stop the water from coming in.

But anyway, I've digressed. This monarh butterfly, beautiful and serene, fluttered by and toyed with the idea of coming indoors. But it inspected the door and its surroundings and continued to flutter peacefully outdoors above my freshly mowed lawn. The air smelled of cut grass and summer as I watched the butterfly, smoked my cigarette and remembered that those mother fuckers live like two weeks tops!

So, I had an epiphany sitting there - let me stop complaining about all the financial stress, and the anxiety and all the nonsense ... it's there to ensure I live. I have been dealing with this emotional yoyo for a while now and at times I've felt so tense that I just KNEW that the marrow in my bones was going to spew out of me, like it was the effluent of some wastewater plant ... like the one that discharges out into Lake Michigan - you know, the one that closes all the beaches for the filth?

Who cares! If I had it as easy at that butterfly, I'd flutter from today through Thursday into some pesudo bliss before I gave up the ghost, too soon to enjoy the good things I've enjoyed in life so far.

Speaking of which - I need to buy more lube.

Leroys

A woman walks into the downtown welfare office, trailed by 15 kids.

"WOW," the social worker exclaims, "are they all yours?"

"Ya they are all Mine," the flustered momma sighs, having heard that
Question 20 thousand times before.

She says, "Sit down Leroy." All the children rush to find seats..

"Well,"says the social worker, "then you must be here to sign up. I'll need all your children's names."

Well, to keep it simple, the boys are all named Leroy and the girls are all named Leighroy.

In disbelief, the case worker asks, "Are you serious? They're ALL named Leroy?"

Their momma replied, "Well, yes-it makes it easier..

"When it's time to get them out of bed and ready for school, I yell,'Leroy!'
An' when it's time for dinner, I just yell 'Leroy!' an they all comes a runnin.

"An' if I need to stop the kid who's running into the street, I just yell Leroy' and all of them stop. It's the smartest idea I ever had, namin' them all Leroy."

The social worker thinks this over for a bit, then wrinkles her forehead and says tentatively, "But what if you just want ONE kid to come, and not the whole bunch?"

"Then I call them by their last names."

On some grown shit

I believe that part of being an adult is being able to let go of petty things, truly not giving a fuck what people think or say about you and coming to grips with the notion that vengeance is a retarded notion that isn’t really worth your time. The problem with all of this is that you have to keep going through shit in order to prove that you can handle it all like an adult. You know what I mean? Like, you can’t very well know that you’re able to let go of stupid shit unless stupid shit happens to you.

For instance – my friend Shalaria. She’s got some stupid immature beef with me and would rather put me on blast on one social network or another because she mad I’m through with the bitch. That shit don’t make no sense to me – meanwhile …

Bitch makes me laugh. I had no idea I had such an impact or was that important. I really wish she would just get a grip and not give a fuck. Like me – and my grown ass, I don’t give a fuck.

Do you see ME putting her on blast all over blogger? Nooooooooo. No you don’t.

Cuz I can let things go.

Do you see ME trying to get revenge and saying stupid shit about Shalaria? Things like she’s immature and way too concerned about what the fuck I’M doing when she should really just be living her own life? Noooooooo. You don’t.

Cuz I don’t do the whole vengeance thing.

I’m much too grown to be dealing with this nonsense. TOO GROWN.

Do you see me losing sleep over what she’s thinking about me or saying about me or blogging about me or tweeting about me??? Nooooooooo.

But if you hear or read my name come out her mouth, let a nigga know.

Cuz I’m grown.

A Daughter's Dad

First, I need to vent about the fact that I do not have a photo for this blog entry. I did my usual google search based on the topic I am blogging about and tpyed in 'dad daughter pic' into the search field. The list of search results was riddle with porn! While I can understand that in the "be careful what you type into the search field" sort of way, I'm just disgusted that the sanctity of the father-daughter relationship is so tarnished that even google can't escape the mockery and depravity that the world has made of the most important relationship in a woman's life.



I could tell that my son was enjoying the opportunity to tattle on his sister - his body language, the slick look on his face (the one with that one side of his mouth ever so slightly curled upwards) and the subsequent "act like I didn't do a damn thing just now" demeanor ... it was all there.



Don't be fooled, parents KNOW. Parents ALWAYS know. And you parents out there need to back me up ... we know out children.



However, the reality of what my son had to say drew his indiscretion so far into the background that I've not even bothered to deal with it - and I won't. I had to delicately inspect the situation because if it didn't have the emotionally equivalent backlash that does the disarming of a ticking time bomb, nothing does. "She said you love me more," my son tattled.



"No, I didn't!" my daughter exclaims. And as the proverbial seconds counted down on the read out screen, I slowly went to work separating blue from red wire in an effort to diffuse this thing.



She denied it for a while until I was able to confront her when her brother wasn't around. "Well, you never call HIM names and when you call ME names, I feel like you love him more."



"Wait - what names do I call you?"



"Like, 'drama queen' and stuff like that."



In my defense, that child is the epitome of the drama queen - if she gets a scrape on the knee, she reacts as if her leg's been cut off ... she screams like mad, raising her voice to decibles that challenge the Ice Cream Truck, whenever she's fighting with her brother ... and all that. But I totally had NO idea she was feeling like I loved her less. Fuck ... fuckfuckfuck!



"Baby, you need to know that you are my favorite girl in the entire world - your brother is my favorite BOY in the entire world. I don't love you less or love him more. I love you both the same. I had NO idea that it was bothering you like this, so I promise you right now that I will never do that again. Not on purpose. If I forget and say a name by accident, just remind me that I'm not supposed to ... because sometimes daddy can forget. But it's just cuz I forget things, not because I don't love you. Because I do love you - more than I can even tell you."

"ok"

I kissed and loved on her and all that. And she asked me not to tell anyone. She said she would be embarrassed. And I promised her that I wouldn't. Now, I'm telling my blog family, but I'm gonna go with "that's different" because

1. Daddy needs to vent too sometimes
2. Her issue is that our immediate family would find out and she would have to discuss it again, and
3. No one reading this would ever tell her I vented about it

Life Lesson

This happened nearly two weeks ago and I have spent a lot of time sorting through my feelings about it. I've experienced some dissonance about it because I am thrilled that I have the relationship with her that I do, that she could discuss it with me and trust that I wouldn't use it to embarrass her. Yet, I'm mortified at myself for being the one who has hurt her feelings. Mortified, I tell you.

So this duality has made me emotional. Tonight she came out of her bedroom and came to me in the living room. She said she looked around her room and felt lonely. Then she crawled on top of me, laid her head on my chest and the 75 pound child drifted off to sleep ... but not before telling me she feels safe when I am holding her.

I'm such a softie for that child. I could've cried right there. One of the other things I've contemplated over the last two weeks is the tendency of today's fathers to abandon their fatherly responsibilities ... and I would be lying if I said I hadn't wondered what it would be like to do that ...

Now, don't get me wrong. I've wondered what it would be like ... but I haven't DESIRED to do so. There's a difference. I don't know any parent who hasn't at least wondered what their life would be like if they didn't have children ... it's not that you don't want them, it's just that you wonder. You know, like ... I wonder what life would be like if my parents hadn't moved to Brooklyn when I was 14 (as an example, although I've never lived in Brooklyn).

Anyway, I continue to work in one city and live in another because of my children ... and after 15 months of driving back and forth weekly, I'm still not tired of it. It's amazing, but I never once have yet dreaded the drive. So, while i understand the "what if" mind game one plays ... i do NOT understand actually walking away from your fatherly responsibilities ... I seriously don't get it. And I don't WANT to get it. Despite all the nonsense my ex-wife has put me through, once to the point where I had to fight to maintain custody of my children, I have never EVER wanted to leave them.

And this evening was one of those times that I understood the importance of a father in a little girl's life. Dad makes her feel safe ... takes away the feeling of loneliness, even if she was just in the other room laying there looking at the walls. And just WOW at the thought of her feeling lonely and wanting her daddy and my not being there.

OMG .. men ... MEN, please be men ... and be a daddy once you've become a father. Please. There's likely a little girl just waiting for you to take away the lonely ...

... God help the nigga who wanna step to my little girl to fill that void. I'll have to hurt his feelings, if nothing else.

... God help the daddy-less little girls who thinks a nigga might just be able to take that lonely away. That they not become the result of someone's twisted google search.

... and God help the father who refuses to be a daddy. (or strike him down. Real Hard, too)

JACK