Girl's little Daddy

I love the shit out my kids. That's why when my ex-wife snapped at my daughter and pretty much crushed her and sent her off to school all emotional-like ... I couldn't handle it. Talking to that woman when her Dr. Jeckyl takes the fuck over has always been a stressful thing to me ... I'd call it problem numero UNO in my marriage to her.

Right - I'm gay as the day is long and my most major problem in my marriage? The emotional-shaped void that woman carries around with her, evidenced in her vacuous stares and detached demeanor. Seriously - it's a tad scary when she gets like that.

Since the oncologists removed her ovaries, the woman flattened out really well. I really thought that her hormones and her cycle were the real culprit at that point. I mean - she was actually ... well, more human.

I saw that emptiness again when she snapped at my daughter about her having gotten a 78 on a math test ... a test that the teacher wrote home about - a test that all but 4 students did crappy on - a test that the teacher wanted the whole class to retake - a test that would not count towards anyone's grade if they improved on the re-take.

yes - THAT test.

My daughter went off to school thinking she had to give up one of her extra-curricular activities - and there are only two, and the second she only just started last week. She was balling on the way to school, and there was nothing I could do to console her. her momma said it - and it was therefore true.

I emailed the teacher about my daughter's grades and the teacher said that she didn't think my daughter's grades were a problem because she currently has straight A's and she expects my daughter to do well on the make-up test. So - I forward this to the baby momma and ask her to call me.

That conversation was like death to me - she was still being stoic and unfeeling and I found within me strength I had lost in my battles with her when she got like that during our marriage. In my marriage I finally just ignored it and laid around all depressed for having lost to some demon (yes, that's how it felt) but when I was fighting for my daughter - I found strength to be just as combative.

I was able to recall a tremendous amount about the past - a skill that usually failed me when she got into that mode. I mean, she'd get demonic and I'd just stare at her with my mind blank ... like, arguing ANYTHING with her was pointless, so why bother?

This time, though - I told her about conversations she and I had many years ago ... how our daughter is an emotional creature and you can't simply treat her that way - how you shouldn't treat emotional people that way period, but that this was a child. OUR child. a NINE year old. And that sending her off to school ... to take the fucking re-take, no less ... in total distress was unacceptable.

I mean, it was easy for me to give up on fighting in my marriage because, well - I wasn't in love with her ... I'm gay ... and I really was just a shell of myself anyway, living a lie and trying to please other people. Why argue to win when you're not really living to live? I didn't - that's what. But today? And attacking my baby? No sir

Or ma'am.

Or whatever the hell got into her.

She called back later that night to apologize to my daughter, and eventually told me that after we hung up, and although she was adamant on the phone that I was wrong, she thought about my points - decided I was right ... and that she was wrong to approach our daughter that way. She even asked me to help her deal with my daughter.

And let me tell you - my daughter is an emotional, caring, considerate child who just wants to do what's right. She wants to please her mom. And I'm really scared right now that my little baby girl is going to be one of THOSE females ... one of the ones who has issues with her mother.

But, baaabbbbyyyyy - your daddy is right here.

Right here.

Se La Vie

So, my daughter's painted turtle died this weekend. She was a wreck. We've consoled her over and over again, telling her it wasn't her fault, that we all just handled the turtle so much and kept moving him from tank to tank that he just stressed out. The truth is, the water in his feeding tank was too warm and she shocked his little system putting him in there. But we tell her it's not her fault.

She refused to bury him because bugs would eat him - so I wondered about cremation. I have a "friend" I know who works at a funeral home, so I consulted with him. He said it would be too expensive, but as I sit here and type I realize I never got a price outta him. I should ask him. But i digress ...

You did notice that I called this dude a "friend" and not a friend, right? Well, he was way too interested in me and I wasn't so very interested in anything further than the occasional benefit - so I had to call it off. He was talking about marriage and my meeting his momma ... and I'm like "to me, we're fuck buddies" and he was all upset for a while. But then, I guess he was ok with just having sex and tried to hit me up for a while.

It was a bad idea though - so, it's been a long time since we were ... uhhh ... coital. KIDDING! Intimate. This was his chance to establish a civil relationship with me and instead he said he would come over and hold a ceremony for my daughter and it would only be a "nominal" fee.

Really?!? You trying to get some ass in return for a fucking burial service?

A BURIAL SERVICE?!?

THAT nigga can't event KISS my ass.

Now about the turtle
My brother-in-law brought two new turtles for the kids - they were happy with that, but still sad about Squirt. He was a rescue and wasn't quite a year ... and, as turtles go, their first year is delicate and Squirt was vulnerable.

The two new turtles are older and more stable - a different species ... and we've decided not to removed them from the tank in order to feed them. That should go a long way.

So, My Mom Knows

This trip to NYC was one of the most stressful of my life. It came with the usual stress that comes with visiting a Latina mother - she's brutally honest, has no filter between her brain and her mouth, and consistently pointed out how much weight I've gained. That's putting it mildly - she called me fat quite a lot. At one point, told me I look like the sky.

While we were cooking thanksgiving dinner together, a Ricky Martin song came on the radio and she mentioned that he came out as gay and has kids. I said, "good for him!" and that conversation didn't go much further - but I was determined to come out to my mom anyway.

Later that night, we got to talking. It got real deep, real fast. She recounted the story of when she was raped at 13 years old - how she ended up pregnant - how her mom and sister worked to get her an abortion without her dad finding out - except that throughout all this, she didn't even understand what it meant that she was pregnant, or that she had been violated because she had been knocked unconscious during the attack.

I'll spare the details - but let me simply say that the "wire hanger" abortion references to days of old? That shit was real. They didn't take her to a doctor, but they figured out how to make my mother give birth to a still-born, at 13.

I began to understand my family's history - my mother's detachment from her siblings, especially THAT sister ... and how a few years ago my mother whacked the bitch upside her head in her own house after the bitch told their other sister not to mention anything in front of my mom because it was "family business." Yeah - well, apparently it took 50 years for my mom to tire of being treated like she wasn't family ... THAT'S why she's still fist fighting at 60.

I asked about my childhood - why did she send me to my aunt and uncle to raise me instead of keeping me at home with my brother? Turns out, postpartum depression is a SON of a bitch and she told me flat out that I wasn't planned, she didn't want me and had thought of hurting me when I was born. My uncle (whose name I made my middle name) insisted that my om leave me with him while she got better.

But sitting there across from my mom - it really did sting to actually HEAR her tell me that she didn't want me. To HEAR her tell me that is wasn't until my brother got into all his gang shit that she felt she started getting close to me. The more he slipped away from her, the more she got close to me. THIS is how I ended up being the grown up in the relationship, you see - I've been taking care of my mother since I was like 12, when she sent me to work and bring home money each week.

At this point - coming out was easier. I was still riddled with that OH FUCK sinking feeling as we discussed my life, as I answered her questioning me about a woman in my life by saying that I've come to the conclusion that I'm just not interested in women.

"Are you gay?"

"Yes."

"ok."

She shrugged and told me how she's always suspected. That she's always thrown hints out there for me ... like mentioning Ricky Martin being gay with kids. She told me that she still loves me, that it didn't matter to her - she hugged and kissed me and said she wished we had wine - because this was a reason to celebrate.

Actually - it was a reason to numb the intensity away. That evening was riddled with more emotion than I thought possible and it was 6am before I felt I had calmed down enough to fall asleep.

But even as I type this, I have to mentally put my grown man on when I think about having received confirmation that my mom never really wanted me. If you've followed JACK into The Refined Ghetto, you know that I've always known that she didn't ... but hearing her say it? That's a different story.

But like I said in my previous post - I'm paving the way for the rest of the people in my family who are in the closet ... just come on out and stop living in misery. It will be ok ... you're not the first one.

I don't need it - but someone else might

My mother doesn't want to know that I'm gay. What she wants is confirmation that I'm NOT. On a few occasions in my life, conversation with my mother ventured into the area of my sexuality. She has made comments ("I hope you're not tryin' to get into that faggot shit") as opposed to asking outright ("Are you gay?")and has always shut down when the conversation seemed to be steering into faggotville.

So, I just chalked it up to her inability to handle it if she learned that I was gay. She simply doesn't want me to be, she wants proof that I'm not. That's telling in and of itself, right? She's not wanting proof that I'm straight ... she wants proof that I'm not gay. But, whatever ... the truth is that I'm grown, I live on my own, I have kids that I take care of and I don't really need her approval.

or so I thought.

Today I got a card from the executive assistant at work - it was a hallmark card for the director here who just got married over the weekend. However, last month a gay coworker announced that he and his partner of 20 years were going to go through a civil ceremony now that Illinois recognized gay marriage. There was no card. Nothing.

So I asked the executive assistant if I had missed the card for the other guy - I hadn't signed it. She was shocked. Confused. And then remorseful. (It was interesting to see those emotions register on her face and in her body language one after another ...) She went downstairs and spent 30 minutes trying to pick out a card for him from Walgreens. She chose an appropriate light green, gender-neutral card and I was proud of her.

However, it resonated with me - that marriage was invisible to her. It simply didn't occur to her to get a card because she just didn't see it. And that bothered me. These two men have been together for 20 years! The odds that their marriage will last til death do them part are way higher than the straight couple's 50% odds ... yet still, it was less meaningful.

Seriously - that bothers me.

I think about how many people in my own family have ever come out of the closet. Zero. That's right. Zero. In the machismo Latin world I come from ... no one dares do it.

And I'm realizing that I'm that dude who needs to do it. First, I'm far enough removed from the intricate familial web that the gossip and backlash won't actually impact me personally. And that rumor will make it through to EVERYONE ... and some of those people need to know that someone did it before them. I won't name them - but I know who they are.

So - you know, while I don't really feel the need to do it ... I feel the need to do it.

It'll happen before year end ...

It gets better

If you read "The Letter," you know that my ex- and first love emailed me to lay out his feelings for me, to confess that he would ALWAYS love me ... you know, while also telling me that he was getting married.

It took me a while to get over that email. In fact, I read it now and I can't say it's yet void of emotions for me. Certainly, however, it's more like pushing on a week-old bruise now. At the time, it was more like snapping a femur, breaking the skin and bleeding out.

While on the phone addressing that letter, I get an invitation to the wedding and an insistence that I bring a date. I said I would bring Jaded. He insisted I have a man on my arm. I said I would bring Jaded. And she agreed to go with me! So, I took it seriously. I mean, I asked Jaded to go with me and everything!

But we didn't go. Actually, I didn't find out about the wedding date until the day before when I deciphered it from a FB post. I was upset - I figured that an invitation that came with such flair and drama should be equally dramatic to cancel. But it wasn't - and I didn't know why. I chose to congratulate him and let him have his wedding, honeymoon and all that without the crazy ex- murkying shit up.

I wasn't going to be THAT guy.

Eventually, however, I addressed it. Because, as I pointed out, I deserved to know that I was being disinvited - was it a smaller affair than originally expected? I could understand that it was being kept small. Did the husband protest? I should know that he has such protests, considering we are in each others' phones and are friends on FB. Did he think I would act out? Seriously - I'm not THAT guy! Or maybe he just forgot - and in that case, I should tell him that's fucked up (because I *am* the dude that confronts people!) Whatever - I thought he thought better of me than to just ignore me and avoid the issue. I mean - we certainly have discussed more disheartening topics.

But - no. It was something I didn't expect. He deliberately didn't invite me and deliberately avoided the issue. WTF! I mean - didn't you WRITE that last letter?

Yes - and he also realized that his feelings for me aren't just in the past. They're in the here and now. As in ON TODAY.

And because of that he couldn't have me there while he took vows and married someone else.

(Is this really my reality right now? IS IT?!? FML)

The letter

I'm just at home, cleaning... and this song "My First Love" by Faith Evans comes on... I'm not sure if you've ever listened to it. I mean really listened to it. There were many songs that have helped me heal past our relationship. But it wasn't until this song that I sincerely started to heal because I sincerely began to accept what you are to me.

I know we've talked and talked. I know we've seen each other and began moving beyond many things that we've both done wrong, but as I move forward with my life. I'm compelled to open up this chapter once again, ya know to look at the pages.

See, I am going to ask Jeremy to marry me (he doesn't know it yet). I'm telling you this NOT for your approval or even your acceptance. But because you ARE my first love and like the song says "no one could ever take your place". It was only when I saw those eyes again how much I never stopped loving you and I never would. After everything I thought, no. That's wrong, the feeling I had you was still amazing.

Every relationship, hell every friendship, I have based on how I felt for you and how you made me feel. People say you shouldn't do that but my heart didn't care. Im actually proud of that.

Alex, I will always, ALWAYS love you. You were the first person to make me really smile. The first person to truly make me feel sexy. The first person to make me listen, and yearn, ache, and hope in someone else. Such an amazing thing... you are.

I did promise myself years ago that I would make love last next time. I think I truly can this time. But I couldn't in good conscience tell Jeremy how special he is to me without telling the first man to fill and break my heart that I will spend my years and death loving him too.

Stress v. Happiness

I've been really thinking about this today, as I was accused of being unhappy, and I wonder if my level of stress is an indication of unhappiness. Is it?

I'm not so sure - I know I have a lot going on - it's budget season at work and the expectations of me amount to that of a two-man crew. (I'm only one person, however, as many of you are too)

I had a leaky roof for a while, the contractor dodged me, I had to put in a claim and make a report to the BBB. Now, the insurance company is suing the contractor and I am stuck making repairs ... again.

My son's asthma is an issue - and it's now attributable to the leaky roof making the fucking ceiling moldy. So, I have that to deal with too.

Lots of debt that I am trying to get rid of - and for whatever reason it just doesn't seem to go away. I'm constantly borrowing from my savings in the middle of the month, putting it back on the first - and borrowing again on the 15th. I'm struggling to get my savings to where it was just a year ago!

A tooth of mine hurts when I apply pressure to it - and I can't get around that when I eat.

Did I mention I'm raising kids?

Yesterday I felt the pressure building in my chest - the well-known sign of my bouts with anxiety. I took a chill-pill and within an hour the pressure subsided. Long ago, I would've been in the ER scared of a heart attack - but nowadays, I recognize anxiety rather well.

So - tell me ... is my contending with stress for a prolonged period (like forever, really) an indication that I am unhappy? I know life could be better - I think it can always be ... but I do feel blessed to have a home, a car, a job, a family.

I do admit that it would be nice to be in a healthy relationship - but I really cannot settle for anything less than a healthy one. And I've known settling - let me tell you. I mean, I even married a woman! I was so fucking miserable in that marriage, I cannot even tell you.

Hmm - as I think about it, THAT was unhappy. And I don't ever feel like that anymore. Not that hopeless, regretful or depressed - it was a terrible 7 year period of my life, trying to be something I'm not.

Hmm, again. I really wonder what that accusation was about. Let me ride out these temporal stressors and reassess on the other side. Budget season will be over after the board votes in June, but I'm done with my submission next week. The ceiling should be replaced as soon as the first good rain proves the roof above it is leak-free. The contractor did ask me for a copy of the invoice for the roof repair - so maybe I'll get that money back. I'll give it a month to do away with a few big stressors so that I can in perfect hindsight better ascertain the correlation between stress and happiness.

In need of a happy place

I'm stressed.

When I got home last week, my first task was to pick up my son early from school and take him to his follow-up appointment to see his ENT. He still had fluid behind his ear drum. It sparked a conversation between the baby momma and I about whether or not this dog in my house (it belongs to grandma, not me) is the cause.

You see, my son's asthmatic. But the dog has never been an issue - the little bastard is a lap dog that doesn't shed, who we keep groomed and stuff for that very reason. She insisted it was the dog and after a while I had to call his Pulmonary specialist - his ENT and even the county health department. No one recommended getting rid of the damn dog.

But I went on a cleaning rampage in this place and discovered that this leak in my ceiling has been going on longer than I though - the area rug is actually beginning to rot and I had no idea. Apparently, all those times I blamed the dog for peeing on the rug? It was the roof leaking. Slowly.

Now I'm caught up in some nonsense with the contractor who replaced my roof less than two years ago - and the roof has a two-year warranty! He won't return my calls, and hasn't since February. I've tried and tried and tried and finally called my insurance company, reported the issue to the Better Business Bureau and still - there's a leak in my roof that is likely making my son sick.

And then it was Easter - and I cooked and cleaned and cooked and cleaned - and I'm just exhausted.

Work is being a pain in my ass.

Men are being fickle as ever - like that dude I met on Grindr who flipped out because I told him before we met in person he's full of red flags. He told me not to contact him again because that was rude of me. Of course - there's no mention of the fact that he canceled a lunch date because "I can't afford it," he said ... or that he texted me "I'm filling out a police report - I'll call you later"

Seriously - those are red flags, bitch.

The house still doesn't look clean to me - the car needs fixing - I owe the IRS some money and I have to spend money on making this house asthma-proof. Pulled up carpet, put down laminate flooring - and the fucking health department is coming tomorrow for that free home allergen inspection from the asthma education center.

I feel like I"m just about to shut down.

It's just too much.

I deserve better

Self-talk here.

I go back and forth between maybe he does and probably he doesn't. While I understand my own propensity to weigh that balance in the "doesn't" favor ... I just stopped myself and realized this:

Why the hell is this such a brain fuck anyway? I mean, really, the fact that I have to wonder is really all I need to know. I can play this game all day, and fill both the pros and the cons columns ... but really, why play this head game AT ALL? I deserve better.

I had two fuck buddies and haven't really made contact with them in some time. Really, the term fuck buddy is a misnomer here because I haven't had penetrative sex in 16 months (yes, I had to count):

You know, really there isn't much they were doing to me that I couldn't do myself ... and I'm pretty good at knowing what the hell I like. I'll just handle my own business. I deserve better.


I have a bit of a confession - I know that I am struggling with losing weight because before I put the weight back on, I was promiscuous as hell. I know how the dating scene works and I know that all the attention I don't get now will start coming on back when I get to about 160-165 pounds. (Sweet Jesus, they wouldn't leave me along!) And a part of me just doesn't want to deal with the superficiality of it all.

But there's a part of me that wants to at least FEEL healthy and FEEL attractive - I really just need to commit to diet AND exercise, because ... I deserve better.

Emotional intelligent quotient on the rise

There was a time in my life when I couldn't handle shit. I was always emotional, crying and hated when shit didn't go my way. No one ever saw that side of me unless they were in my inner circle. To the world at large, I was hard as a rock, impenetrable and stoic even. But I would break down when I was on my own. I happen to have a pretty decent IQ, but emotionally? It's my Achilles heel.

Or so I thought.

It just occurred to me this evening that I'm amidst a pretty complicated situation and handling it with amazing levity. I don't really feel emotionally torn up about it ... But the old me would've been distraught and crying and seeking thejadednyer's ear and shoulder. (I don't know how she's put up with me for so long). But I'm not ... But I have a few things to get off my chest just the same:

Thejadednyer (google her ... Her blog is great and she's one of my bestest besties and has known me for longer than I care to admit.) had once told me that I just keep going on out there dating even after all the shit I've been through. And, if there's one difference between her and I ... It's that I refuse to be jaded.

For me, look - i have been cheated on, yes: but I have never cheated. Never.

I have been dragged through court on ridiculous charges that were totally dropped 1 hour before court was in session - but I have never treated someone unfairly.

I have known love and lost love and know what it's like to be hurt ... But in the end, it really was good for me.

But I will not be jaded ... My experiences are what they are ... And I have gleaned from them every drop of educative benefit that I could ... And I have walked away from what was left over a better person ... And ready to try again.

But let me get indignant for a second: I refuse ... REFUSE to give any one of my ex's one IOTA more of my life. If I stay paralyzed by indecision, but the fear to move on, of getting hurt ... Well, I continue to give him control over me. Really?! He'll to the mutha fucking naw.

So, my refusal to be jaded ... The thing that keeps me moving forward and ready to try again ... And again ... And again? It's this: I will not live in bondage to an ex.

Naan uh one of em.

Unloveable

In my last post, I briefly touched on my own personal battles with feeling like I do not possess the ability to be loved. After discussing the post with a friend, I thought I would expound upon that ... mainly because he mentioned that I wasn't the only one who felt that way.

That took me aback, actually - I really thought that shit was specific to my crazy ass. Knowing that readers could potentially see themselves in what I write, and that they could potentially comment below to say some things that would enlighten me ... that has egged me on all the more.

First, you need to know that I always felt misplaced as a kid. I never, ever really felt at home ... well, anywhere. When I was born, I left the hospital with my aunt and uncle after a three-month stint in an incubator. My mother wasn't exactly "motherly" and, quite frankly, she couldn't stand the sight of me ... so my aunt raised me until I was 9. That's when I finally moved in with my mom.

While I lived with my aunt and uncle - I never really had a room. I always shared a place to sleep with one of my cousins. And I mean shared a bed, not just shared a room. I didn't have my own bed. Until I was 9.

AFter I moved in with my mom, I always felt like a nuisance - my brother was always getting into trouble with gangs, and gang fights, and failing grades ... and I trudged along like a greased wheel ... tired of spinning but not really making any noise. So, while I had my own bed - I was still somewhat obscure.

So - that's the synopsis ... and from where stems this feeling within me that I cannot possibly be the object of someone's love. It was a battle for a really long time - when I myself fell in love when I was 21 ... I was scared as hell. Scared that he couldn't feel the same way I did ... because I was wanting him to feel that way about ME. I wanted him to love me - but I didn't think it was possible for love within him to be directed at me. I just struggled with it whenever he said I Love You - he said it first ... and it was weeks before I said it back.

"I know you love me, too," he said one day. "I'll wait until you're ready to say it."

(I threw that in there because it's one of the devices I use to talk myself through it when I feel unloveable ... I *saw* the love he had for me - it resided in him and I could SEE it when he looked at me and said that)

Feeling like no one can possibly love me? That has become a defense mechanism for me. It's comfortable, and like a security blanket, it's been with me for a long time. I KNOW that feeling - and knowing it makes me comfortable ... even if it sucks. And occasionally I find myself traveling down that path, feeling woe-is-me about love because I'm unloveable.

But a few things helped me get through it and those few things still help me snap out of it today:

1) I'm a grown ass man - what the fuck I look like trying to blame my mommy for my not having a partner? I'm thirty-fuckin-five .. my mommy? Seriously, at some point after 18, a man has to be a man, has to man up and has to take responsibility for his own shit. Still blame momma? No - that won't be me.

2) I fucking adore me! I really do - I happen to think I'm funny as hell, I think I'm relatively smart, I know I'm a good dad ... and all-in-all, I'm fucking great I think. I don't like pain and I don't like for things to hurt ... so why would I allow me to scar myself with giving in to feeling unloveable ... when *I* love me. As real as is my propensity to love myself is my ability to be loved. Right? My own love for me proves that I am able to be loved.

3) There's just too much other shit to think about. Work, kids, shopping, finances, cooking, cleaning, driving, mowing the lawn ... there's too much riding on my ability to function and I simply can NOT give in to a way of thinking that has long ago proven to spin me into depressive cycles. I hate depressive cycles - and I will not willingly choose to get into one.

Those are the top three - yes, I'm 35 and single ... but I have two kids who love me, own a home, a car and have a pretty decent balance in my 401(K) ... so, I haven't been successful in finding a partner yet ...

... but my being single does not a failure make me.

And I'm not looking for someone to complete me. My partner needs to complement me. I am whole already.

The many faces of Mr. Right

Some time ago, I thought I had run into The One. And by some time ago, I mean ... nearly 2 years ago. By the time I had the courage to do something about it, I found that I didn't have nearly the courage that I thought. It was riddled with anecdotes and ummms and such ... and Im not particularly proud of how i handled that.

But the truth is that he embodied the great majority of the things i want in a partner. And that really made me nervous broaching the subject - and well, whatever, there was no reciprocity (as it turned out) and I suppose it doesn't really matter HOW that all clumsily stumbled out of my mouth. I put my grown man on, accepted it and kept i moving. The truth is that I dont care how deeply I care about someone - if reciprocity is nil, then no matter how I *feel* about it, I'm going to behave accordingly and keep it moving. And thats what I did.

However, what I haven't breathed to a soul ... not to him, not to my family, not to my best friends, not even to god almighty ... is this: The thing that made me nervous is both the thing within me that foretold what his response was going to be and the thing that rears its ugly head periodically when I am far from the mountain tops of life ...the notion that I simply do not possess the ability to be loved.

Crazy, right?

I could go on and on about my childhood to cite instances that tore into the fallow ground of my adolescent heart and planted that self-deprecating seed within me - but, i will give a synopsis of the cliff notes version here: by the time I was 10, I knew mine was a pregnancy my mother didn't want, that she tried to abort me and she gave me to her brother and sister-in-law to raise because she just didn't appreciate the sight of me.

Look, Im a grown ass man, a father of two, earned a bachelors degree and then a masters degree and have been on my own since I was 17 ... I am not in somw whoa-is-me place begging for someone to save me from me ... I have dealt with this, I know from where it stems and I know how to talk myself through it when I fall into old ways of thinking. Just know that dealing with that rejection wasn't easy - and know that he doesn't know how hard that was.

The main reason he doesn't know is that people have a tendency to think more highly of themselves when someone is crushed by their disinterest - but this wasn't about him and his rejecting me and about what a great thing I lost when he said he wasn't interested. It was about me ... and my own bouts with self-doubt. I had to fight hard as hell after that not to fall into some matter-of-fact place where i simply chalk it up to "eh - I mean, its ME ... why WOULD he be interested." because that would have meant that my life is meaningless, my love is worthless and my body isnt a temple after all.

Again .. not because of HIM, but because of ME. I had to keep reminding myself that I have made enormous changes in my life because I *am* lovable ... that he wasn't proof that the rejections in my childhood were indications that I lacked the ability to be loved. He was simply just another fool who couldn't see the venerable storehouse of good things within me. like my momma was. I posses the ability to be loved, dammit ... i simply do.

So - what if after all that work ... he gives an indication that maybe he was interested all along?

Busy beyond belief, but bussin' for baby

I'm sitting on the floor at the San Antonio airport waiting for my 615am departure. They've already changed the gate from one end of the world to the other and now there are two flights out ofthe new gate at the same time. I don't kow how they plan to work that out, but they better get their shit together. I have a connection in Atlanta that I do not intend to miss ... I've got to make it home to my baby girl.

She's nine today. Nine. I've struggled wi it this morning, accepting that I have a nine year old. Not that I feel old or anything, because I don't ... I just can't accept that she's her own little person with her own ideas and ability to vocalize them to the world at large. I want her to still be small, dependent on me and for that look of utter adoration when she looks at me to last forever.

Fortunately, it's still there. She called me yesterday to tell me that she really misses me and I nearly changed my flight Ruhr then, left the board meeting and went on home to her. Oh, how I love my daughter. Today is all about her.

So, if airtran airways plans on fucking with my travel plans this morning, I'm a lose my got.damn.mind. Like Lil Kim did ....

"who da fuck want war? FedEx beef right to your front door ..."

Getting a Grip

So, my last post - I guess I really did put a lot out there. I just reread it and I can't believe how MUCH I fucking said - lol.

Anyway - I had this notion in my head that I would let myself indulge through the holidays and so I did. And then the holidays were over and I started to count calories and I've done so successfully for more than a week. I've lost 6 pounds.

My goal is a total of 30 pounds - so that's 20% complete.

Admittedly, it's all been about eating properly and portion control ... very, VERY little about exercise. One fucking thing at a time - ok? I gave up smoking, I gave up casual NSA sex, I trained for and completed a half marathon ... and that all in the last 12 months.

So, I know about setting a goal and sticking to it.

I just really need to do one thing at a time. When I feel as though I've got a good grip on the eating thing, I'll be able to wrap my mind around the exercise thing. It will happen. Six pounds per month is really all I'm after.

Of course, the first six are always easy - I'll HAVE to go back to the gym to get the rest off - but hey - six pounds already and I'm done for January, ok?

I'm trying to get a grip on my time, my family life, my career and reaching a better balance - so, there's that too. I swear to GOD I'm not taking no nonsense into my 40s. I've 5 years left and I can't let life grap me by the ankle and body slam me at will ... I've got to be the one grabbing life by the horns.

More on the family, career, blah blah blah stuff later.