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.