Festivus For The Rest Of Us

As an Atheist, new friends occasionally ask me whether I celebrate Christmas. The answer is a resounding yes. I love Christmas!

Before you Evangelicals get all uppity and offended, Christmas celebrations are not limited to only Christians. Christmas is hugely popular in Hong Kong, Macao, Japan and Korea. Even though there are almost no Christians, their populations have readily adopted the secular aspects of Christmas; such as gift-giving, decorations and Christmas trees. It's quite a sight to see.

And no, I never heard anyone over there singing "Deck the Halls".

December 25th was likely selected as "Christmas Day" by the Roman Church in the early 4th century when they finalized the church calendar. It's abundantly clear from scripture that Jesus was not born in the Winter. So why did they choose December 25th? Well, when the church calendar was created most church holidays were placed on solar dates. In fact, John the Baptist's birthday is celebrated on the summer solstice. The respective equinoxes are celebrated as Jesus and John's dates of conception. They called this "cosmic symbolism".

I was lead to believe that Christmas was a corruption of Pagan solstice celebrations. According to historian S.E. Hijmans this may not have been the case. He believes that while the Church understood that pagans called this day the 'birthday' of Sol Invictus, this did not concern them and it did not play any role in their choice of date for Christmas.

Interesting... For those of you keeping score at home, I may have been wrong.

Dies Natalis Solis Invicti means "the birthday of the unconquered sun". This was a holiday started by the Roman emperor Aurelius around 274. Aurelius reformed and elevated an existing sun cult of the time and made it the preferred Roman religion. After Aurelius, Sol became the supreme deity of Rome until Christianity took hold. The Romans celebrated December 25th as the day the sun stopped its southern retreat and returned "unconquered".

Obviously one problem with this is that the actual solstice is and always has been on the 21st of December.

So where did our Christmas traditions come from anyway? Well, the idea of merrymaking and gift giving likely came from the Roman holiday of Saturnalia. Greenery, lights and charity from the Roman New Year celebration. The yule log is a tradition from pre-Christian German and Scandinavian feasts. Since Northern Europe was the last to convert to Christianity, many if not most Christmas traditions come from them. Like Christmas trees.

Did you know that people used to decorate Christmas trees with real candles? How crazy is that?

Enough about Christmas and its history. I want to talk about Festivus. Festivus is celebrated on December 23rd and was created when Frank Costanza refused to conform to the commercialism and consumerism of the holiday season. This aired on the Seinfeld episode "The Strike".

I lifted the next part directly from the Festivus website. Since I'm technically citing it, it's not plagiarism.

The Festivus Pole: The Costanzas' tradition begins with an aluminum pole, which Frank praises for its "very high strength-to-weight ratio." During Festivus, the unadorned Festivus Pole is displayed. The pole was chosen apparently in opposition to the commercialization of highly decorated Christmas trees, because it is "very low-maintenance," and also because the holiday's patron, Frank Costanza, "find[s] tinsel distracting."

The Airing of Grievances: At the beginning of the Festivus dinner, each participant tells friends and family of all the instances where they disappointed him or her that year. As quoted from Frank Costanza: "I've got a lot of problems with you people, and now you're going to hear about it!"

Festivus dinner: In "The Strike," a celebratory dinner is shown on the evening of Festivus prior to the Feats of Strength. The on-air meal appeared to be meat loaf or spaghetti in a red sauce. In "Festivus: The Holiday for the Rest of Us" by Allen Salkin, drinking is encouraged with hearty beer, rum, bourbon, or wine. In the episode, no alcohol was served, but George Costanza's boss, Mr. Kruger, drank from a flask.

The Feats of Strength: After the dinner, the head of the family tests his or her strength against one participant of the head's choosing. Festivus is not considered over until the head of the family has been pinned to the ground. A participant is allowed to decline to attempt to pin the head of the family only if they have something better to do instead.

And this brings us to my "Airing of The Grievances". I've got a lot of problems with you people, and now you're going to hear about it!

Everything about "The War on Christmas" totally pisses me off. There is no war on Christmas. Look, Christians are the majority. You can't be persecuted when you are the majority! Get over yourselves. When someone cuts you feet off for celebrating Christmas, then you can come running to me. Not having a frickin' manger in the town square isn't persecution.

For those of you who have been spamming me about the "Twelve Days of Christmas" being a secret Christian code, it's not. Just more Evangelical bullshit to make Christians feel persecuted in the most Christian country on earth. Look it up before you hit resend.

In Greek, the first letter of "Christ" is X (chi).  Hence the abbreviation Xmas. It's been this way since the mid-16th century. Unless the War on Christmas predates the Thirteen Colonies, it's not part of the "Atheist Plot to Take Christ Out of Christmas".

There is a plot, that just isn't part of it. Our real plot is way more sinister.

Traditionally the airing of the grievances should be done in person after the Festivus meal. Since we weren't able to meet in person, I'll just lay everything out right now.

@ Captain Kirk - Pick up the damn phone once in a while!

@ John - Really, would it kill you to blog more than once a quarter?

@ Sister Laurie - Get over yourself Polly Purebred and have some fun. It's a date. You don't need to pick out wedding china on your first night out.

@ Gary - See above. And no, you can't have my sister's number.

@ Stace - I just don't have enough time to cover all your problems. Suffice to say, there are a lot. A lot.

@ Al - You suck at golf as bad as you suck at darts.

@ Uncle Dave - You haven't pissed me off this year. Why don't you love me anymore?

@ Doli - Quit being so sensitive! It's only fantasy football. We still love you.

@ Mom - It wouldn't kill you to pick up the phone too. Maybe you and Kirk can form a support group?

@ Pat - You haven't pissed me off, but I wanted to include you so you wouldn't whine about being left out. Your Facebook status updates are lame. How about that?

@ Sherry - Kids lie. Even the good ones.

@ The Professor - How about publishing something in the near future? For a guy whose business is writing, you don't seem to do very much of it.

@ The Drewry's - Quit being so damn perfect. I hate that about you.

To everyone else, you all piss me off and I wouldn't want it any other way. If any of you feel the need to challenge me to "The Feats of Strength", form a line. I'll beat all of you down.

Happy belated Festivus, Merry Christmas and a joyous New Year to you and your families!!!

Happiness and Moving On

So is there anyone here who hasn't heard Cee Lo Green's single "Fuck You"? If not, check out this video. This song is f'n addictive. I find myself singing it in the car, in the shower and at work. It's a little slice of vulgar heaven. The production is straight out of Motown in the late 60's. I can hear Diana Ross singing this tune in my head.

There's a clean version of the song called "Forget You". Gwyneth Paltrow even covered it on Glee a few weeks ago.

Gwyneth Paltrow. I am in love...

My kids love that version. My son loves the line "I guess he's an Xbox, and I'm more Atari." Even my daughter knows most of the words. On one hand, I feel a little guilty knowing the source material, but on the other if they're going to listen to music, this is a great tune to fall in love with.

FYI - Cee Lo became a grandfather this week at the ripe old age of 35.

***

Let's start with a recommendation.  For those of you who don't follow John Hnat's blog, I suggest you start. When he's not talking about running, it's a good read. Unfortunately, he's terrible at posting regular updates and has cancelled it at least twice.

In the world of bloggers, he's a prima-donna. If he's looking for positive reinforcement, he's picked the wrong hobby.

The reason I bring this up, is that I made his blog this week. This is probably as close as I'll ever get to making headlines in the "mainstream media". John's assessment is dead on, but the title of his post is a complete mess - he never does explain the whole "Noodle Salad" thing.

My comment about thanking The Ex came off as a little snarky in my post, but that really wasn't my intent. In a lot of ways my life is already better than before the divorce filing. It's more exciting, more rewarding and I've developed a much stronger bond with my kids. I no longer take anything for granted. I feel like I've woken up from a trance.

The process of growth and self-discovery that I've gone through in the last six months was only possible due to the shit sandwich The Ex served me in June. It woke me up to the unexplored potential in my life. John's post also got me thinking about the topic of "happiness" and why I haven't been posting as often as I should.

Why am I so hard on myself? I've recently begun a program of self-nagging about my lack of blog postings. In fact, I'm only typing this to get myself off my own back.


That seems twisted in some way.

Look, my life is pretty damn boring right now. I'm happy. From a literary perspective, happy is boring. How many best selling memoirs are there about happy people? And I'm not talking about people who are happy thanks to the huge royalty checks they get from their memoirs.

I don't have anything insightful to say. With the exception of days I have to go to court, I'm not feeling any great remorse or pain. I'm pretty much just having a damn good time with my family and friends while I bide my time before I start the next chapter of my life. Heck, it can't come fast enough. Hope and excitement are not the stuff great blog postings are made of.

This is strange to think, but I am really looking forward to starting over. Don't get me wrong, if I make a promise I keep a promise, but the Ex divorcing me is going to go down as the best gift she ever gave me.

Even better than the golf clubs.

Once she's gone I can get to the business of living again. My life before was comfortable and safe, but it pretty much sucked all the joy out of a room. Life now is exciting and new. There are new people to meet, new experiences to savor and new things to learn.

Time to throw open the door and shout "NEXT!" I'm pretty comfortable in saying, operation "Letting Go" is complete. There is not a single part of me that wants my old life back anymore. It took a long time, but even the casual slips have come to an end. I no longer reminisce about days gone by.

I do still occasionally refer to The Ex as "my wife". That has to stop.

Okay, so what does any of that have to do with happiness? Do you have a point?

I am my own worst critic. I hold myself to a pretty high standard. This probably stems from my relationship with my Dad. He had high standards for me, but he had exponentially higher standards for himself. Now that he's gone I think I may have adopted some of those positions.

Having high standards is good, but beyond a certain point they become a hindrance and an inhibitor to personal satisfaction. Think of Reese Bobby instructing his young son Ricky Bobby, "If you ain't first, you're last." The problem with this philosophy is that it is an all or nothing didactic. Life is defined as success or failure, with no partial credit.

Yes, much of my deep, personal philosophical direction comes from Will Ferrell movies.

It's a recipe for unhappiness, because in real life, we rarely finish first. In those cases anything short of perfection can be interpreted as abject failure. In my limited experience, highly driven people have a problem maintaining happiness due to their very high personal standards. I have found myself falling into this trap from time to time.

Probably the worst example of this is my intense competitive streak. Whether it is softball, bowling, darts or golf, I hate to perform at less than 100%. I don't mind the losing. What bothers me is beating myself. We can be up seven runs or down ten, and yet if I swing at a bad pitch I will curse myself all the way back to the bench. It makes any sport less enjoyable than it otherwise should be. It might be why I am drawn to fishing - no competition.

As Reese Bobby says in the end, "Hell boy, I was high when I said that. There are lots of other places to finish. You can be second, or third, or fourth. Hell, even fifth." The key is to maintain high personal standards for success, but not at the expense of being able to enjoy the journey. In all things other than organized sports, I prefer to be first, but I don't have a problem finishing fourth. Hell, even fifth.

That does not apply to fantasy football. If I'm not first, I'm last.

Even though I am mired in the middle of this mess of a divorce, I still consider myself to be a pretty happy guy. Sure, things occasionally get me down, but I don't let my mis-steps or failures define me. I work hard and I play harder. I am responsible and dependable, but I am not afraid to embarrass myself for a laugh. I think I finally understand (after 42 years) that life isn't so much about winning or losing, it's about how you play the game.

***

I'm trying to work up the courage to write a post about dating. It'd be a great read if I could bring myself to accept the embarrassment. 

Happy Holidays!

Back to Purgatory

Man, if John can find time for two posts in a week, who am I to ignore my faithful readers?

Here I sit at nine o'clock on a Wednesday morning awaiting a call from my custody investigator. I am on the sixth floor of the Macomb County courthouse. It's known as the Friend if the Court level, or purgatory to those of us in the know. Soon a complete stranger will interview me with the express intent of deciding the future custody of my minor children. These would be the two most important people in my life. At the end of his investigation the custody investigator will choose from three outcomes. Me, the Ex or 50/50.

The crazy part is that for the custody investigator there is no investment in the outcome. Regardless of the recommendation, he doesn't have to live with the results. There are no long term measurements on his decisions. They don't track child outcomes based on the assignments made. They might as well do away with the interview process and just throw dice. Most of the people that come through his office probably have two decent parents anyway, right? Einstein postulated the "God does not play dice with the universe" but the Friend of the Court seems to.

Based on a short one hour interview this gentleman will be required to make a recommendation that will completely define the lives of my children for the next twelve years. He will determine what values they will grow up with, where they will grow up, where they will go to school and how often they will see the people that truly love them.

As opposed to the Mississippi Mafia who simply try to buy them off with inappropriate gifts.

So here I sit with my kids lives on the line awaiting my "interview". This may be the single most important conversation of my life. I feel like I've been preparing my whole life for this day. All of my schooling, everything I learned from my Dad about responsibility and doing the right thing, all of my friendships and the people in my life who taught me how to compromise and all of my professional experiences that taught me how to negotiate. Everything I've experienced and learned was for this hour.

***

I met my inquisitor. He seems like a genuinely caring guy. I don't know how he survives doing what he does. I think he'll give me a fair shake. At least I hope he will.

The Ex's attorney opened and spent thirty minutes assassinating my character and parenting skills. There are lies, and then there are LIES. If Uncle Dave had been there someone would have gotten punched in the face. I took it all pretty well until that jackass started talking about my kids feelings towards me. I wonder how much quality time he's spent with my kids to pretend to know anything about them or their feelings regarding this divorce?

Okay, enough about that. Nothing productive will come from those sour grapes.

My Ex now gets about an hour to present her case that I am a bad father. Well, when I'm not being an absentee father. Or an abusive husband. Or any of the hundred other evil, untrue things she's spinning. What she doesn't understand is that the more she tries to demonize me, the easier it will be for me to refute. She would be much more successful focusing on her skills as a mother than my supposed faults as a father. The more she talks about my faults, the less she talks about how her custody would benefit the kids.

I want stability for the kids. If I thought for one minute that being with her would offer the kids the stability they need, I would stop fighting today. Unfortunately, that's not going to happen. I want the kids to stay in the house they know. To go to the school they love. To spend time with their friends. To be close to their families.

She wants them to move to Mississippi. The poorest, most poorly educated, most racist state in the nation.

One thing that scares me about the move is the Ex's propensity to destroy relationships. The Ex is no longer in communication with ANYONE from our wedding party. She does not speak to any of her bridesmaids or my best man (who she required me to pick). She is estranged from her brother and wasn't speaking to her oldest brother at the time of his death. Eventually, she'll nuke her relationship with the Mississippi Mafia too - just like every other relationship in her life. And when that happens, what happens to my kids? Another move? More stress? How will that benefit them?

And that is the reason I fight. And it is the reason I will continue to fight until all of my options are exhausted.

***

Just got out of my one on one interview. That could not have gone any better if I had written a script. My interviewer is a divorced father who grew up in Mississippi.

That's not a joke.

When I stated that the Ex wanted to move to Mississippi, he shook his head. He stated that there is no way any judge in Macomb County will ever let my Ex take my kids to Mississippi. His comment was "You have nothing to worry about."

I liked that.

After the interview, I would say I have an excellent chance of being awarded full custody of my kids. Yup - full custody. Apparently the filing of false reports of child abuse and domestic violence do not sit well with the Macomb County Friend of the Court. I guess that makes sense. If you can't tell the truth to the police, it might reflect poorly on your parenting skills.

So there you go. One more day in purgatory down. One more day closer to closure. One more day closer to being rid of her and her drama.

When this is all over, I think I'll send the Ex a thank you card.

Peace.

Quincy M.E. and King Lear

Greetings! I know, it's been a while since I posted anything.

And even longer since I posted anything good.

I knew this day would come - I'm feeling good and I just don't have the pain that drives great tragedy or the irrational fear that inspires great comedy. I'm becoming boring. In many ways, this is a good thing for me but a bad thing for you, my fearless readers. Honestly, I thought this little blog would keep chugging for a few more months, but unless something awful happens I think my posting will probably be infrequent and boring.

Life is starting to level out. I've got the kids every other week, and I pretty much live for those weeks. There's nothing better than being Superdad. Getting up early to pack lunches and snacks. Wrangling sleepy children out of their beds. Doing my son's homework at the last minute (since he swore he forgot he had homework the night before). Making breakfast every morning and dinner every evening. Wrestling with my daughter and playing catch with my son. Completely embarrassing them at the bus stop when I give them a hug.

Daaaad, not in front of the other kids!

They really are the best thing I've ever done in my life and I'd do just about anything for them.

People occasionally ask me, where did you come up with the name "Quincy." Well, I'm a little ashamed to admit that the apple of my eye, my firstborn son, was named after Jack Klugman's sloppy skirt chasing TV coroner.

How many of you remember Quincy M.E.? To my young eyes Quincy was the coolest man in America. Did you see that beautiful woman on the sailboat?

I'm reasonably sure that wasn't his daughter he was canoodling with.

And you just know the sailboat isn't even his - he was borrowing some rich guys boat to impress the young lady. He was smart, debonair, sexy and scientific. He used logic and deduction to solve crimes. He got the ladies even though he dressed like a slob. I wanted his life.

Quincy M.E. was on in re-runs while I was in college. In year four or five of my six year plan I had scheduled all of my classes for MWF between 10 and 2. I'd get back to my room in the basement of the Phi Kap house around 3:00, just in time for the start. I'd typically share lunch with whichever other fraternity brothers had chosen to skip class or were "under-scheduled" like me.

We'd settle in for the Rockford Files and Quincy M.E., the two coolest slobs on television. Jim Garner and Jack Klugman, my late 70's icons. Ramen noodles, Rockford and Quincy. Those were the days. If I had a second son, I would have been sorely tempted to name him James Rockford Kraus.

There were a lot of great times in that house.

My daughter Cordelia was named for a character in William Shakespeare's "King Lear". In the first act of the play, King Lear decides to abdicate his throne and divide his kingdom between his three daughters: Goneril, Regan and Cordelia. Cordelia is the youngest. Lear proclaims that the largest share of the estate will go to the daughter that loves him the most. Goneril and Regan proceed to blow smoke up the old man's ass about how great their love for dad is.

Why are no girls named Goneril any more? It sounds like a VD treatment.  "Do you have trouble with itching, burning penile discharge? Choose Goneril!"

When it is Cordelia's turn, she declines. She states that there is nothing to compare her love to. She doesn't disrespect the old man, but she refuses to play his childish game. She realizes that Lear's whole game of flattery is about control. Well, Lear loses his shit and disinherits Cordelia. He takes everything from her and divides it between the other two. Well, Goneril and Regan immediately become a couple of bitches now that they got what they wanted and the old man is powerless. War with the French ensues and in the end only Cordelia supports her father.

Not to ruin it, but pretty much everyone ends up dead in the end. Lear comes off as a complete dick for putting his daughters through the wringer. The daughters are conniving bitches. Their husbands are selfish, power hungry pricks. King Lear goes mad when he realizes that the entire mess was due to his own foolishness.

In the end, Cordelia is the only one of the King's children who supports him. I like that concept - "the faithful daughter".

Cordelia Chase was also a hot piece of work on the TV shows "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and its spin off "Angel".

If any of you want to read the text of the full play, you can find it here.

So there you have it, one of my kids is named after a late 70's TV character, the other is named after a character from possibly the greatest play ever written.

What does that say about me?

One-Thousand!

One-thousand page views! I am shocked and honored. I am flabbergasted that this many of you are still pretending to read this blog after all this time. I suppose you are probably worried about hurting my feelings?

Good. Anything to keep you tuning in.

My posts have slowed down, mainly due to a dearth of interesting topics. I suppose this is a good thing since it means the drama level in my life is down. Way down. My biggest problem lately has been boredom - and that is a very, very good thing!

I need things to talk about. Drop me a line with whatever is on your mind, or post a topic to one of the comment boards. I originally intended this exercise to be a one way street, but I'm realizing that it's really a conversation. Pretty much every one of the last ten posts originated in something one of you either said or wrote to me. Face it, I'm simply not THAT interesting.

I'm looking forward to the end of the year. Knowing (and loving) my family as I do, the holidays should give a wealth of drama filled topics to talk about.

Happy Halloween! Be nice to the little ghouls and gremlins tonight and take care driving. Talk to you soon!

Technology and Control

I bought an iPhone.

Wow. Seeing it in print still seems a little dirty to me.

I've been eyeing one of these beauties for a while, but it seemed like such an unnecessary expense I just couldn't bring myself to absorb it. Unfortunately for my wallet, my old phone stopped working and my birthday was this week, so I decided to treat myself to something nice. And I must say, this phone is better than sex.

Well, at least sex the way I do it.

It does everything and more. I thought my Palm Pre was pretty cool, but this thing BLOWS it away. I mean, it's not even a close race. I had my first video call Tuesday - the boss called to wish me a happy birthday. Yes, I now need to make sure I'm wearing pants before I pick up. How's that for a phone? Stock updates, games, texting. Oh my, I'm getting a little flushed.

I need a minute.

That's better.

I recommend that all of you immediately run out and buy one of these bad boys and immediately call me to check out the video capabilities. It's like the Jetsons - but BETTER.

Did you check out the Jetsons link? The whole thing with George giving his wife Jane cash from his wallet is so horribly dated. Both socially and economically. I mean, who uses cash anymore? And the gender roles? Oh my...


George Jetson didn't have anything as cool as an iPhone. Those big desktop video phones that they had in the cartoons were a joke.

My only gripe is that it seems to be really slow in syncing with my iTunes account. That may have something to do with the fact my iTunes account is now well over 30 gigabytes. Other than that, just wow.

So why get a smart phone anyway? I mean beyond the "cool" factor. I think it might be a question of control. A smart phone puts the world at your fingertips. I have instant access to the entire internet to make better and faster decisions. It opens up the world. Whether I'm trying to find the nearest Wi-Fi hotspot, a YouTube video of cute kittens, Uncle Dave's address or the conference room for my 10:00 meeting, I have instant access at my fingertips.

I'm learning that having instant access to information isn't the same as controlling outside events. It might help me to make better decisions but it doesn't really give me any control over the negative things in my life. Shit still happens, no matter how well prepared I think I am.

The Professor penned a great story that illustrates this very fact. When the zombie apocalypse happens (and it will) your iPhone won't save you.

Check out that link. I'll wait...

But I'm beginning to think the idea of control is an illusion. It becomes an inhibitor to "letting go" and moving on. Sometimes we need to relinquish control if we're going to make any progress. I think it's like surviving a riptide. If you try to fight the current, eventually you'll tire and drown. The only way to save yourself is to give up control and let the rip tide take you until the current relents and you can swim back to shore.

I think this fact is what makes faith and religion so attractive. It absolves us of control. We believe in God or Karma or magic as a method to relinquish control. If bad things happen, it's "God's will". If good things happen, it's "God's will". No matter what happens it's "God's will". If we believe in an outside entity it gives a purpose to all the hate, war and suffering in the world. People bleed and suffer and die for a reason - God's will.

Without God or some "higher purpose", suffering is just suffering. It's a very bleak thought.

Bummer.

I think I am slowly beginning to accept the fact that I have no control over the divorce process, and really, at the root this whole mess is about control. The Ex is only concerned with one thing at this point - winning. Her objective is to exert her will over me. To control me. It's about revenge and spite, not the dissolution of our marriage. It's about righting old wrongs - real or imagined. It's about winning at all costs and hurting me in any way possible.

The funny thing is that in the end we're both going to lose. Neither one of us is going to walk away whole. We both end up broken.

At some point we'll both realize just how far off the rails this process has gotten and we'll compromise. It may be ten years or more, but at some point bygones become bygones.

Maybe at that point we'll even become friends again. Who can say? It's God's will...

The Kindness of Strangers

Last week was great. I finally got some serious 1:1 parenting time with the kids. It's the first real family time I've had with them since our vacation together in August. Sure, we've had the occasional weekend, but those were about specific events. Last week was about homework, dinner, washing clothes and making lunches. I loved every minute of it.

I think that surprised me. Like pretty much every single parent on the planet, I love my kids. It's hormonal. Even the worst parents get the same flood of endorphins from being around family. No, what surprised me was how much I enjoyed spending time with them. I don't mean "doing fun stuff" either. Sure, I love amusement parks and water slides, but what I am talking about are the quiet moments.  Simply reading a book or watching them play with their friends. Walking them to the bus stop in the morning. Talking to them about the mundane events that make up 99% of life.

It was probably my most rewarding week this year.

You see, up until this week, I've been having a very bad month. I hit bottom October 11th. It was Columbus Day and I found myself stuck in jail.

I've lived my life responsibly and with respect for the law and other people. I never imagined I would end up in jail. And I found myself locked up with no one to help me.

I was taken from my home in handcuffs at approximately 9:30 PM Sunday night while my children watched. After being stuffed in the back of the patrol car I was transported to the township police department. They took my fingerprints, palm prints and mug shots. I was thoroughly searched and all of my personal belongings were taken and inventoried. Once I was processed, they locked me in the holding cell that would be my home for the next 16 hours.

Unusual fact - I'd never been in a police car before.  The back seat of the car was not an actual seat.  It was a hard plastic bench that was formed to the inside of the frame / trunk. From the "seat" to the floor was all of four inches. This may be for security, but according to the arresting officer it is also very easy to clean. Apparently they have occasional problems transporting drunks.


All I could think of was "There's no seat belt. What if there's an accident?"


That's me. Safety first.

When it came time for my phone call, I tried my attorney. The jail only allows collect calls. This may have made sense in 1950, but seems odd in the 21st century when pretty much every phone in the country includes free long distance. What does it really cost the township to have that phone line installed in the jail? They pay for an operator to dial every call for you. They could probably save money by just letting you dial direct.

My attorney's phone went direct to voicemail, and since there was no one to accept the collect call I couldn't leave a message.

No one who cared about me even knew where I was or how much trouble I was in.

I had one more chance. I called Uncle Dave hoping against hope he would pick up the phone. He did. He was astounded by my situation and immediately offered to do anything he could to help. I told him I wouldn't be able to contact him again, nor would he be able to contact me. I gave him my attorney's number and asked him to please contact my attorney, let him know where I was and to please get me out. He agreed and hung up.

I was on my own.

Time passes very, very slowly in jail. There is nothing to do, nothing to look at, no one to talk to. The only other person in custody was a DUI who had passed out shortly after being locked in his cell. Judging by the remnants on the walls, the holding cells had seen their fair share of drunken vomit.

Much like the back seats of the patrol cars.

The 9'x12' holding cell I spent Sunday night in was not built for comfort. The "bed" was a thin mattress on a concrete pad. The cell had no windows and was lit up with about 40 bright fluorescent bulbs - all night long. If you looked up at the ceiling, the lights literally hurt - even with my eyes pinched closed. Sleep was not an option. I paced. I counted the cinder blocks. I counted the screws in the ceiling. I thought a lot about how my life deteriorated to this point.

Because of the holiday, all government offices would be closed Monday, including the county prosecutor. Until the prosecutor charges you with a crime, you can't get a bond hearing. Since everyone was on holiday, I was faced with the prospect of spending the next 24 hours in county lock-up waiting for someone to come to work to charge or release me.

County lock-up is not a nice place. The township holding cell is typically filled with domestic violence complaints and drunks. The county jail is filled with real criminals. Rapists, felons, thieves, murderers.

It was clear I would not do well in county.

Since I had no prior arrests and there was no one available to review my file, my attorney convinced the police officer to release me 'charges pending'. Part of the agreement was that I could have no contact with The Ex. No phone calls, no text messages and certainly no physical contact. This put me in a difficult position. I couldn't go home and had nowhere to sleep.

One problem with my 'true friends' - none of them live in Michigan. Well, other than The Ex, and since she was the one who sent me to jail I couldn't really ask her for help. I had no place to go. Realizing that I didn't have a single local person in my life that I could turn to was not my proudest moment.

I could have gone to a hotel, but I wasn't ready to be alone after my night in jail. In desperation, I turned to Don and Chris. Don and Chris are a very pleasant couple I know through my steel tip dart league. I'm not sure why I called them. They've both been sympathetic, but we weren't that close and I had no reason to believe they had any interest in getting involved. I called Chris cold and simply told her I had no place to stay.

She offered to put me up. Talk about the kindness of strangers.

Don and Chris have a beautiful older bungalow on the East Side. Their house reminded me of the house I grew up in. Their spare room is upstairs in the dormer area of the house - exactly like my room growing up. There is a narrow, steep staircase into the upper level. After my night in the holding cell, I was dead tired and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I got up early, washed, shaved and dressed for court. I didn't want to stay for coffee, breakfast or conversation. I was embarrassed by my situation and just wanted to run away. I was lost and adrift.

If Chris had said no, I probably would have slept in my car. Not that I couldn't afford a hotel, but after being caged alone I simply couldn't handle the idea of an impersonal hotel room. I'm almost ashamed to say it, but being in jail scared me. I had no idea how long I would be there. Sure, I was innocent, but the jails are filled with people who believe they are innocent.

By now you are probably wondering why I was in jail. In fact, you probably only skimmed through the last ten paragraphs looking for this very fact. Well, I'm sorry to tell you, I'm not sure why I was in jail. The official report was 'suspected domestic violence'. Fortunately for me, there was no actual evidence that any crime had been committed.


On Tuesday I got a call from the police telling me that the prosecutor's office had "denied my warrant". It meant that they did not feel there was 'probable cause' that a crime had been committed. No harm, no foul. Sure, it would have been easier if they had simply not arrested me, but I wouldn't have learned how blessed I really am.


I was lucky. And my lucky streak continued after being released.

On Tuesday afternoon Gary From Work offered me a place to stay. Gary and I were not friends. Gary was a co-worker. A nice guy who I respected, but we'd never gone out to lunch or had a beer together. By my definition, he was 'an acquaintance'. Why would he offer me a place to stay? Gary was divorced about eight years ago. I think he saw a guy in trouble and decided to take a risk and reach out.

I'm glad he did. I stayed at Gary's the entire week. I needed to get out of my house to let the temperature cool down and Gary gave me the space I needed. But I think there may be an indirect benefit for Gary too.

One evening our conversation somehow strayed to Gary's last colonoscopy and I had to ask, "How did you get home?" For 15 years I could always depend on having a ride home from the hospital. I asked Gary because I realize I've got no one to drive me home anymore.

Gary said he lied about having a ride, then waited and drove himself home. He said that one downside of being single is that you can only depend on yourself.

I promise you, the next time that guy gets a colonoscopy, I'll be there to drive him home. Just for giving me a place to stay he's already well on the way to making the next edition of the Friendship Hall of Fame. I owe him.

Now that I am single I am more dependent that ever before on my social network and my friends. I realize how important it is to stay connected and to keep reaching out. I realize no man is an island. I realize my success or failure is no longer completely within my control. I realize that to have friends you need to first be a good friend. And rest assured, when the day comes and I need a colonoscopy, I'll be calling one of you.

So I ended up in jail. And yes, it sucked. But I got to see just how great a friend Uncle Dave is. I gained a new appreciation for the kindness of friends like Don and Chris. And I made a new friend in Gary. All in all, not a bad week. Add one more thing to the 'benefits' side of the divorce ledger - a new appreciation for the importance of friendship.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again - single life is not what I wanted. But I am more determined than ever to make the best of it.

Mandinka and Communication

I was listening to the song "Mandinka" by Sinead O'Connor last week. I love the song, but the whole time it was on, all I could think of was "What the fuck is she singing about?" Here are the lyrics:

I'm dancing the seven veils
Want you to pick up my scarf
See how the black moon fades
Soon I can give you my heart
I don't know no shame
I feel no pain
I can't see the flame
But I do know Man-din-ka
I do know Man-din-ka
I do know Man-din-ka
I do
They're throwing it all this way
Dragging it back to the start
And they say, "See how the glass is raised?"
I have refused to take part
I told them "drink something new"
Please let me pull something through
I don't know no shame
I feel no pain
I can't
I don't know no shame
I feel no pain
I can't see the flame
But I do know Man-din-ka
I do know Man-din-ka
I do know Man-din-ka
I do
I do
I do
I say I do
Soon I can give you my heart
I swear I do
Soon I can give you my heart
I do
Mandinka
Soon I can give you my heart
Soon I can give you my heart
Soon I can give you my heart

I decided to do a little research. The Mandinka are a rather large ethnic group in West Africa that are spread through about twelve different countries. There are about 11 million Mandinka in Africa today and over 99% are Muslim. The group descended from the Mali Empire of Sundiata Keita and rose to power under Mansa Musa in the 14th century.

None of this explains those damn lyrics.

So I researched even harder (by trying a few different search terms in Google). What I found was an interview where Ms. O'Connor said the song was about Alex Haley's book Roots. Apparently Kunta Kinte was a Mandinka and the great majority of West African slaves brought to the Americas were Mandinka. It is estimated (by Wikipedia!) that up to one-third of the Mandinka people were shipped to the New World as slaves in the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries.

That number astounds me. One-third. It is absolutely amazing that for 400 years slave ships transported human cargo across the Atlantic. It's reprehensible that the entire economy of the New World was built on the backs of the forced labor of others.

If this song is about slavery, it completely escapes me. I still don't understand the damn song but I'm going to link it here.

She's got the same haircut as me.

Why would Sinead O'Connor be so obtuse about her true intentions with this song? This got me thinking about mis-communication.

***

I've made several new friends since my wife left me. Along with the weight loss, this is one of the few benefits of divorce. Don't get me wrong, I'd trade my new friends in a heartbeat to get my old life back, but since that's not going to happen, I'm trying to make the best of it.

One of my new friends is Father Pat. Father Pat is going through a very difficult contested divorce. The similarities in our situations is what drew us together. In many ways, we keep making the same mistakes - many times in the same week.

Father Pat had a great quote "Talk is cheap, but not when the lawyers get involved." He keeps telling me how important communication is to the settlement process and his advice is always the same, "Don't stop talking."

In Michigan about 99% of divorces are settled without ever going to trial. The Ex and I are on the 1% path. If we go to trial, the divorce will cost us between $80,000 and $100,000 dollars. That's a lot of cabbage. That's the money I was hoping would be our retirement and my kids' college funds. And it's all going to disappear. It seems like a complete waste, but what would you pay to be part of your kids' lives? To me, $100,000 seems like a bargain.

The Ex's position is that she wants to move the kids to Mississippi. My position is that I want to share custody. There is no middle ground. Since we now have a 50/50 joint custody temporary agreement, the burden of proof for a custody change has moved up from "preponderance of evidence" to "clear and convincing". In layman's terms, the court will never change it.

There is almost no chance that my ex-wife will get what she wants. This is why she has falsely accused me of child abuse and domestic violence. She has to show that I am an unfit parent to have any chance at moving my kids to Mississippi.

Unfortunately for her, none of her accusations are true.

Unfortunately for me and the kids, she will never accept staying in Michigan. The war is over, but the battle rages on.

The police and child protective services have both been notified of her intent. I may get repeatedly hauled off to jail, but the facts are the facts. While I was in custody the police asked me if I wanted to press charges against my ex-wife for her shenanigans. I told them "No thank you. Having my children see one parent in handcuffs this week is more than enough."

I found out my arresting officer actually sent a note to the prosecutor's office on my behalf. He felt I had been "set-up" and The Ex was manipulating the system. You do find friends in strange places.

So how did we get to this point?

Well, we stopped communicating. I stopped talking to my wife completely on September 20th when I found a pocket card on domestic violence from the Macomb County prosecutor's office. I knew she would need to somehow prove I was an unfit parent, and after finding the card I knew what her plan was. After September 20th, she baited me mercilessly. She has said hurtful things, she used the kids against me, she played mind games with my belongings. Through it all I said nothing. Not a single word. I couldn't trust myself to "Say Anything".

If I opened my mouth, I wasn't sure what would come out, and I knew if I so much as breathed the word "bitch" the cops would be at my front door.

Did my plan work? I still ended up in jail, so I'd call that a solid "fail". I think all my silence did was anger her and make her more desperate by refusing to engage. I'm not saying she would have behaved any differently, but my silence only made it easier for her to demonize me and 'raised the pressure'.

If I had it to do over again, I would probably try to keep talking. Very carefully.

Father Pat told me over and over - keep talking. He warned me that my wife might do something rash, but he kept pressing the fact that cutting off communication wouldn't get me where I needed to go. He was right. Now, in my defense, Father Pat is no better at communication with his ex than I am. Apparently, it's a lot easier to talk about talking than it is to actually take the risk.

After I got out of jail and the prosecutor's office declined to issue a warrant, the second call I made was to my ex-wife. I didn't call to gloat or pick a fight. I called because I know that not talking is no longer an option.

After being arrested, the case report is turned over to the prosecutor's office. The prosecutor will review the file to determine if "probable cause" exists. Probable cause means that there is a likelihood that a crime has occurred. If there is a finding of probable cause, an arrest warrant is issued and presented to a judge. The judge reviews the warrant and if approved, you will be formally charged and have your bond set. In my case, the arrest warrant was denied by the prosecutor. Which makes complete sense since the only crime that occurred was my ex-wife assaulting me. My record is clean, but my picture and prints are now on file.

The only way either one of us is going to be able to move forward is by working together and learning to compromise. I'm not saying it's going to work, I only know my previous strategy was doomed to fail.

Wish me luck.

The Friendship Hall of Fame

In my post "Could You Be Loved?" I wrote that my emotional handicap prevented me from recognizing the people I love. I think it's high time I rectified that mistake. I call the people I love my 'True Friends'. Best Friend Brian once noted that "A friend is someone who helps you move. A 'true friend' is someone who helps you move a body."

Words to live by.

I'm going to start by recognizing "The Best of the Best" with the inauguration of the "Friendship Hall of Fame". These people represent my best friends throughout life. Sure we've had our ups and downs, and in at least one case I highly doubt we will ever be friends again, but history is history. If you made the Hall of Fame at any time, you're in for good.

No matter how many times you falsely call the cops on me.

What are the qualifications for the Friendship Hall of Fame? To be eligible for the Friendship Hall of Fame you need to be privy to at least one of my five most embarrassing moments or most secrety secrets. You need to be someone I would (or did) call if I was in jail. To vote you have to be "me". A minimum of 100% of the vote is required to qualify.

This list is limited to the "Best of the Best". If you're not on this list it doesn't mean I don't love you, it only means we haven't known each other long enough. And I get tired after about 25 minutes of typing.

I don't need any angry emails. I get enough of those from The Ex's attorney. Keep your complaints to yourself.

My Dad
What can I possibly say that hasn't been said already? He was my best friend and role model. He taught me how to be a man and the importance of responsibility. Even now that he's gone, my objective in life is to make him proud. His favorite saying was "The best a man can do is his best."

I tried to find the origination of that quote, but I couldn't find a reference. The closest thing I could find was:

"If a man does his best, what else is there?" - George S. Patton

I don't know if my father simply corrupted the Patton quote or if he was the originator. I suppose in the end it doesn't matter. His point was that in all things, if you put forth your best effort, you can live with no regrets or embarrassment. In school or in life, whenever I hit a roadblock he would ask "Did you try your best?"

"Yes."

"Then you've got nothing to be ashamed of."

I wish I could find some comfort in those words now that my marriage and life is collapsing around me, but I think the sting of failure is a little too fresh.

Uncle Dave
If I had a brother growing up, I could not have loved him more than I love Uncle Dave. He's simply the best friend a guy could ever have. I've known him since I was six. He's more a part of my family than my actual family members. Uncle Dave welcomed me into his family when my own family imploded. He's given me "the safe place to land" that I needed. He is godfather to my children and the only person I would want to raise them in my absence. His personal integrity is unsurpassed. He treats everyone he meets with respect and kindness.

Being around Uncle Dave makes me want to be a better person. If you know him, you probably call him a friend too.

And yes, he's the person I called when I was in jail last week.

Best Friend Brian
If Uncle Dave is Babe Ruth, Best Friend Brian would be Honus Wagner. BFB was present at no less than two of my most embarrassing moments and he was the person I ran to for support the day after my wife left me.

Also known as "My Worst Day Ever".

We are as close as brothers, even when we don't see eye to eye. We shared an apartment in college. He was the best man at my wedding. He is sensitive and thoughtful. He's one of maybe half a dozen people who have ever seen me cry. And unfortunately, he was put in an almost impossible position when my wife left me.

He has been a 'True Friend' to her as well.

He's been the guy in the middle through this whole process. No matter how many hurtful, deceitful, wicked, malicious, manipulative things my ex-wife does to me and our children, BFB still tries to give her the benefit of the doubt. It's one of the things that makes him such a great friend, even though it aggravates the piss out of me.

The Ex
She's the Pete Rose or Shoeless Joe of this list. Unfortunately, we don't have a process for banning or removing members, otherwise I'd have jettisoned her this weekend. Her recent behavior in having me arrested (after she assaulted me) and convincing my kids to lie to social services is reprehensible, but for over 15 years she was a great friend - my best friend. Unfortunately, much like her father, when stressed she simply cannot tell the difference between right and wrong.

I hope my kids don't inherit this from her.

We were a great team for almost 17 years. I would have done anything for her. Unfortunately, she chose her 'facebook' friends over our marriage. By my calculations they've only got sixteen years of love and support to catch up to me.

I wonder how her decision will look in ten years?

I often wonder if we'll ever get to the point where we could be friends again? I doubt it, but I've been surprised before. That's a funny thing about life, none of us can really see into the future and often times reality can be stranger than fiction.

If we could be friends again, I would like that.

The Princess of Darkness
My first love and a good friend to this day. I'm blessed to know her. I already dedicated a whole post to her, no sense rehashing what you already know.

She's also got a great set of middle aged boobs.

And, I'm off the Christmas card list...

Mom
No, not my mother. 'Mom' is my biological mother. We were lucky enough to find each other after a very, very long time and strangely picked up right where we left off. Well, except for the diapers and breastfeeding.

Yes, I really went there for a cheap laugh. What, do you want an apology? Have you never read this blog before?

If you don't count my birth and first month of life, she's the newest member of this list. Which I find to be odd. Even though we haven't really known each other that long, there's a very deep bond. I consider her a great friend and she's really good with the kids. For my kids, it's as if they have three grandmothers. For me, it's like I found a whole new extended family.

Captain Kirk
My oldest friend. Captain Kirk and I played together when I was four years old. He was my best friend throughout elementary school. Growing up, I spent more time at his house than I did my own. Every summer day started the exact same way - with me crossing the street to knock on his door.

The Captain has a rather strange handicap. He is physically and emotionally incapable of dialing a telephone. I've known him for 38 years, and in that entire time he has probably called me less than 25 times. It's nothing personal either - he does it to all his friends.

For the life of me, I have no idea how he ever got married. I often wonder how his wife could have been that persistent. Was she so enamored with him that she was willing to put up with his social handicap? Did she think he had money? Personally, I can't believe any woman could be that secure to put up with a boyfriend who never calls. Maybe she was into bad boys and thought he was "too cool to call".

Man, was she wrong.

Recently, The Captain called me, and all I could think of was how incredibly jacked up my life must be to get him to pick up the phone. Perhaps his wife or Mom dialed the phone for him? I'll never know. But it was awfully nice to hear from him.

The Captain is the original "good guy". He's always pleasant, easy going and fun to be around. If he wasn't socially crippled, he'd be the life of the party and the guy everyone would want to hang around. As it is, "I have always been, and always shall be" his friend.

Whether he likes it or not.

Billy Baked Potatoes
I met Billy at our college freshman orientation in 1987. We've been friends ever since.

Billy and I share the same birthday. A bone of contention between us was who was older - who owned "The Birthright". Since I was adopted, my official "state issued" birth certificate is pretty much blank and we were unable to determine what time I was born to settle the argument. One drunken evening Billy and I decided to play a game of billiards to determine "The Birthright" once and for all. I won, and ever since he has been my little bitch.

Billy is the hardest working man I know. If I worked one tenth as hard as him, I'd be a billionaire. All through college I coasted on talent, perfectly happy to slide by with minimal effort. Billy was the scrappy gamer who couldn't settle for anything less than perfection. Driven doesn't even begin to describe him. The man works as if Old Scratch himself is three feet behind and closing fast.

Billy is a role model for me. He has many of the same qualities my father had. He understands the responsibilities that come with being a man. He understands the difference between right and wrong and has the integrity to always do the right thing, even when it's inconvenient.

Doli Madison
Another friend from T-ball. Doli was a year behind the rest of us growing up, and had the misfortune of attending St. Charles Catholic elementary school when the rest of us were at Renwood. But he lived on our street and, being an only child, had the coolest toys. I'm ashamed to admit it, but we only let him play with us for his Legos.

He had the coolest Legos. Not just the colored blocks for building houses - he had all the cool pieces needed to build 'spaceships'! This was during the time of the inception of NASA's space shuttle program. All we built and dreamed about growing up were spaceships.

He was also the only one with a swimming pool and basketball hoop. So many cool toys.

Doli is "the faithful" one. He is the most steadfast, loyal, earnest man I have ever met. He doesn't have a mean or hurtful bone in his body. No matter how jacked up his life gets, "the Dude abides." Nothing flusters him, nothing discourages him, nothing gets (or keeps) him down for long. In this divorce he's my role model. Keep your head up and keep marching? Doli is the one to set the pace.

Stace
Since this is a family blog, I'm going to keep most of my comments to myself, but Stace is definitely one of a kind. Much like most of the people in the Hall of Fame, we met in T-ball too. It's amazing to me how many great friends came out of that one summer. Uncle Dave, Captain Kirk, Doli Madison, Stace. That was a heck of a team.

Is it odd that I have the same friends from when I was six years old?

Stace was a great friend to me after my Dad passed. He helped to take my mind off the loss and kept me sane.

I could do three blog posts on this guy alone, but I think this post is long enough.

***

There you go - the first ten inductees into my Friendship Hall of Fame. I'm so happy they've allowed me to be part of their lives. I wouldn't be the person I am without their love, guidance and support.

For the rest of the people I love, you are all number 11.Twenty-years from now I hope I'll be able to add ten more.

Things I Want In A Dance Partner

I need an intervention. I've been listening to way too much Alanis Morissette.

My kids like to play with the radio in the car. Since they have the attention spans of a couple over-caffeinated hummingbirds, I have never actually heard the second verse of any song in their presence.

Similar to most Americans and the "Star Spangled Banner". The second verse is... well... not good. If you care to read it, click here.

A note about my car. I'm currently driving a red 2011 Mustang convertible. It's my company car. To call the media player in this car a "radio" is like calling the Motorola Droid X a "phone". In fact, other than NPR, I haven't listened to terrestrial radio in over four years. My iPod is "Sync'd" directly to the media center and the kids have access to about 10,000 songs. They, of course, listen to three: "Teenage Dream", "Last Friday Night" and "California Gurls" all off Katy Perry's new album. Over and over. Day and night.

Their current favorite is "Last Friday Night", which I must admit is a catchy tune. They know all of the words. Consequently, my daughter recently asked what "Menage a Trois" was. I told her I didn't speak French. If you've heard the song you'll understand.

On the other hand, would it have been possible for her to have asked anyone less qualified than me to answer that question? I think I would have to look it up.


No, I'm not looking it up for you - do it yourself. Pervert.

I'll try to stay on topic.

On the media center there is a"similar music" button. This function will randomly skip to a song the system thinks is similar to what you are currently listening to. My kids love it. I swear that portion of the touch screen is wearing out under the little finger prints.

They kept pushing and eventually the song "Torch" by Alanis Morissette popped on. It's a touching song about the regret and loss associated with the end of a relationship.

They were instantly bored.

But by then we were turning into the garage and they quickly dispersed. End of story, right? Not quite. The way the software in the car works is that when you shut down, it'll start playing the album of the last song played. In this case that was "Flavors of Entanglement".

I think the album was written right after she broke up with Ryan Reynolds. It's filled with regret, loss and grief. Like me.

Well "Flavors of Entanglement" let to "Jagged Little Pill", which led to "So Called Chaos", which led to "Under Rug Swept". Consequently, I've been thinking a lot about loss. No surprise there. And that's where our story begins.

I was listening to "21 Things I Want In A Lover" off the "Under Rug Swept" album for the sixth or seventh time when it dawned on me that I didn't have a plan. "I'd like to pretend I have a choice in the matter" so I decided to put together a list of what I'll be looking for in my next dance partner. Granted, it'll be quite a while before I'm back on the dance floor, but it doesn't mean I can't prepare for that day. I also think this particular exercise is good because it's forward looking, as opposed to dwelling on my present situation.

That's becoming a familiar theme in this blog - looking ahead as opposed to analyzing the past. "Moving Forward" is coming.

So, with that we are off.

1) Must be a woman. I know, why exclude half the population right off the bat, right? Unfortunately, I'm pretty inflexible on this one.

Yeah, I know, most of my facebook pictures would indicate the opposite. Let's pretend that I don't photograph well.

2) Joie de vivre. She must think of life as a journey and take advantage of every day we are gifted with. I need someone who takes life by the throat and lives in the moment. I spent the last twenty years being responsible and living with an eye to the future. Now that I've hit middle age, I kind of wonder what I was saving for?

"Joie de vivre" is literally translated as "the joy of living" or "the joy of life". It's often corrupted to "joie de vie" which is "joy for life". I prefer the traditional. My usage implies a cheerful enjoyment of life and living, or a happy spirit.

Good thing I don't speak French, right?

You should hear my pronunciation of French. It is atrocious. The French feel so sorry for me they immediately switch to English.

3) Good with kids. If she can't deal with my kids, I can't deal with her.

4) Good-natured, healthy sense of humor that is compatible with my snark and stupidity. She doesn't necessarily have to laugh at my jokes, just put up with them. If I have to, I'm even willing to explain them to her.

Like I do with you people.

It's more important that she makes me laugh. And no jokes at other people's expense - well, except for me. A mild self-deprecating sense of humor is good too. It implies she doesn't take herself too seriously and is comfortable in her own skin.

5) Personal integrity. No liars or cheats. I'm not even talking about sex - I want the type of woman that when a cashier gives her the wrong change she points out the mistake and gives the money back. I prefer someone who would rather tell me the truth than tell me what's convenient. The Ex has a very hard time telling right from wrong. I dealt with that once - not again.

6) Intellectually stimulating. I have to find her interesting. This doesn't mean she has to be the evil genius I am, it just means she has to have a broad range of interests that roughly parallel or supplement mine.

I want to be able to have an intelligent conversation. She needs to have strong views and opinions that she is capable of, and willing to, defend. Basically, I don't care what type of books and magazines she reads, she just has to read something. The deeper the better. And if she's versed in topics I didn't even know existed, bonus points!

I think this pretty much implies she has to be a college graduate, though it would be possible to meet this requirement without a degree. Life experience counts.

7) Self-confidence. No shrinking violets. She should also be comfortable with her own body image.

8) Sense of adventure and a willingness to try new things. No fear. I think this will come hand in hand with #2. I want a woman that finds nothing wrong with visiting a nudist camp to see your eccentric Uncle. Or taking ballroom dance lessons "just because".

The nudist camp is a story for a different post. A good one, but not today. Trust me, none of you want to think about me playing naked Bocce Ball.

I'm not saying she has to be a nudist. I'm not a nudist. At least, I don't think I am...

How many times do you have to go to be a "member"?

I'm just saying she should at least be open to considering the idea.

9) Firmly grounded in reality. No magical thinking. I'm a realist and I have very little patience for people who believe in things like 9/11 conspiracies, psychics (other than for entertainment), homeopathy, alien abduction, not vaccinating your children, spirits / ghosts, herbal supplements (that have been proven not to work) or "The Secret".

Religion is okay as long as they don't expect me to participate. I like the sense of community and support that comes with church, I just wish they could do it without the imaginary stuff.

10) Able to admit when she is wrong, apologize and move on. The Ex was completely incapable of this. In the entire time we were married I don't recall her ever saying "I'm sorry" and meaning it.

Key point, if you ever find yourself in a hole, the first step to recovery is to stop digging.

11) Demonstrates kindness towards others. If she can't treat strangers with respect and kindness, eventually she'll do the same to you. I've seen too many people suck up to me because of my position, only to treat a waitress, cashier, employee or secretary with complete disrespect. I won't put up with this.

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'" - Matthew 25:40


Who ever thought they would see a Bible verse in one of my posts? Hands?

It's a great way to live your life. And not be a prick.

12) Reasonably athletic, active and interested in things that I enjoy. I want someone I can do things with. Long walks, hiking, swimming, biking, golf, bowling, softball, camping, fishing, sex. Pretty much anything. If she stays active, I'll stay active.

I like the fact I've lost all the weight and my current plan is to keep it off. We'll see if I'm successful.

13) Interested in and entertained by watching both professional (or college) baseball and football. Especially football. There is nothing better than attending a high school or college game in the fall. Except playing, but not at my age.

I don't even care what teams she roots for.

Well, except the Yankees. That might be a deal breaker.

14) Allergic to Fox News. I'm a progressive Democrat. Sorry ladies, but I don't see how I could ever date a conservative - except for maybe grudge sex. There's just not enough common ground anymore.

Good thing most conservatives look like the Crypt Keeper.

This includes being pro-choice. I respect the motivation behind the pro-life crowd, it's just not for me.

15) Fulfilling career. She needs to have a job that provides her with a sense of satisfaction and that takes up a good percentage of her time. I'm not interested in being the center of anyone's universe.

Having the right job is a rewarding experience and adds depth to a personality. I think it makes anyone more interesting.

It also wouldn't hurt her financial stability.

16) An even temper. I don't want someone who is overly emotional or flies off the handle at the slightest provocation. I want someone who can laugh off the small speed bumps in life and doesn't get discouraged by minor setbacks.

No drama queens or rage-aholics.

17) No drugs. Unless she shares.

18) Assertive. I want a woman who is not afraid to tell me when I'm wrong or call bullshit on my frequent bullshit. My dance partner needs to be willing to stand up for herself and what she believes in. I see more than enough "Yes Men" and "Yes Women" at work. I don't need that on my personal time.

19) Ability to compromise. Yeah, #18 could be a real problem if it's not accompanied by its more reasonable partner, compromise.

20) Broad life experience. This supplements #6 - intellectual stimulation. I want someone that has lived a full life and has both the memories and scars to prove it. I want someone who has loved and lost. I want someone who has experienced at least a taste of what the world offers. Someone who has traveled enough to understand that not everyone is like us, yet has spent enough time at home to remain grounded.

This is the main reason I just don't see myself with a younger woman. I don't see how a much younger woman could maintain my interest for more than 90 minutes.

21) Sexually uninhibited. I'm talking frequent hot, sweaty, monkey sex that curls my toes.

Yeah, I left the best for last.

We All Die Alone

This is not my best work. I had two comedic posts ready to go, but this week has been so crappy I had to puke this out. In fact, "puking out" is an apt metaphor. Until I get garbage like this out I have a hell of a time moving on. I don't necessarily feel this way any more - consider it a picture of a moment in time.

If this was a song, it'd be a 'B' side. Definitely not album material, but not quite bad enough for the wastebasket. Hopefully I'll feel better by Sunday and I'll get the good stuff out.

You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. - Exodus 20:16

Lately, I've been in a very dark place. It seems like my entire existence is based on lies, betrayal and failure. My wife has cut me off from almost all contact with my children, the courts are unable to help and every day it seems I am being falsely accused of a new crime. Fighting back is out of the question, as I am unwilling and unable to hurt my kids - their mother has done more than enough of that. I am being buried under a thick black cloud of anger and hate and all I can do is "abide".

I am becoming comfortable with betrayal. My wife betrayed me when she left me. My children betrayed me at the urging of my wife when they lied to the authorities. My mother-in-law betrayed me when she signed the falsified affidavit provided by my wife. And now I have come to find out that my best friend betrayed me when he chose not to tell me what my wife had planned - from her abandonment all the way through her false accusations of child abuse.

But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death. - Revelations 21:8

I don't handle failure very well. I'm okay with losing. If you lose, someone else beat you. When you fail you beat yourself. I've seen and experienced a lot of failure lately. The obvious failure of my marriage. My failure in protecting my children from my ex-wife's manipulations. My failures at work. My failures toward my friends and family.

If I had been smarter or more attentive could I have stopped any of this? Probably not. My ex-wife made her decision. My failure was in choosing to marry her in the first place. I overlooked her obvious character flaws - her inability to tell right from wrong, her manipulative nature, her deceitfulness, her callous disregard for the feelings of others, her inability to recognize her mistakes. I saw all this, but I ignored it. I ignored the obvious because I thought that "love" would be enough to plaster over her problems. I thought that I could help her, to change her. I was so very wrong and now my children get to pay the price for my mistake.

There are six things that the Lord hates, seven that are an abomination to him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that make haste to run to evil, a false witness who breathes out lies, and one who sows discord among brothers. - Proverbs 6:16-19

I failed in so many ways.

Up until very recently, the worst day of my life was November 20th, 2001. That was the day my father died. You should understand that my father was my best friend and role model. He was (and is) the standard that I try to live my life to. The day he was taken from me was the saddest day of my life.

I was with him when he passed. I travelled from Kansas City to be with him at the end. For some reason it was important to me that he not die alone. You have to understand that my mother never really cared for my father the entire time I was growing up. And she certainly wasn't about to start after he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in February. I think the only reason they stayed married was because, to my father, a "promise is a promise" and my mother had nowhere else to go.

My father's end was long and painful, as is typical for this disease. The tumors spread throughout the digestive tract, slowly and steadily choking off all flow. The final end is caused by starvation and dehydration. It's a terrible way to die, even with morphine.

Prior to his death, my wife had chosen to return to Kansas City because she "didn't like hospitals." She was very selfish that way. She is very selfish about everything. My wife will offer some excuse related to her pregnancy - that she couldn't fly.  She had no trouble flying to Cleveland, or flying back to Kansas City, but apparently staying the additional four days was out of the question. She actually returned to Kansas City to work - her job waiting tables was more important to her. Throughout our marriage I could always count on my wife not being there when I needed her most. My son wasn't due for over five weeks and to the best of my knowledge they had hospitals and doctors in Cleveland. No, she chose not to be there. Life is about choices and I could always count on my wife to make bad ones.

Let's not kid ourselves, my ex-wife is not a nice person. Or a good person. No, when you coerce your only son to bear false witness against his father for your own gain you are no longer a good person.

A false witness will not go unpunished, and he who breathes out lies will not escape. - Proverbs 19:5

When my Dad finally passed I was holding his hand. He had no idea I was there. For all intents and purposes, he was alone. He was unconscious for at least twelve hours before death finally came, but even unconscious he still suffered. His face was continuously pinched with pain. When the last death rattle passed I collapsed and could only ask "How am I supposed to do this alone?" I have no idea who I expected to answer in that cold, empty room. Where was God while my father spent more than two days suffering and dying? I was there, and I can tell you that much like my wife, God did not show up to comfort my father.

After my Dad passed, I was alone. Perhaps I was always alone. Are we all born from the dark only to return whence we came?

"We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone." - Orson Welles


 How would you know if your life was an illusion?

Could You Be Loved?

I love Bob Marley's "Could You Be Loved?" Not just because of my misspent youth. I love the message. It's basically a simple jam without any great verses. But there's a ribbon of hope threaded throughout. The question is pretty straightforward "Could you be loved?" I'd like to think yes, but I wonder...

"You ain't gonna miss your water until your well runs dry."

True dat. How many ways can you say you don't know what you've got until it's gone?

Best Friend Brian said something that hit me between the eyes like a two by four. He said "Your wife viewed your marriage as a contract." I think he was right. And when the market soured, she liquidated her interest. I don't know that my wife ever truly loved me, at least not in the way I loved her.

I think I was just in the right place at the right time. When we met, she was broke and living at home with her parents. She hated it. I had a job and offered her a way out. I don't think I was Mr. Right, I think I was Mr. Convenient. I was comfortable and safe. So no, I don't think she ever loved me in the way I grew to love her.

Back to the question at hand "Could you be loved?"

"Say something! Say something!"

I think most people are worthy of love. We all have something to offer. So what is love? My definition is that love is when you affect another person in a way that makes them better for having known you. And when knowing them makes you a better person. My love for my wife made her a better person. I saw this almost every day. I saw things in her that even she didn't.

Curiously, since my wife left I seem to have become a better person without her. I am happier with myself than I have been in years. Sure, life is tough right now, but it seems to have brought out the best in me.

But that's not what I want to talk about.

"Could you be loved?"

For most of my life I have been emotionally unavailable. I preferred to "keep my distance" and held others at arms length to protect myself from being let down or disappointed. Consequently, I have always had a lot more 'acquaintances' than I had 'true friends' and making friends has always been a chore.

I think I developed this as a coping mechanism when I was much, much younger. Growing up, my mother was emotionally distant and I may have learned the behavior from her. I generally didn't let people get close to me and I rarely shared my true feelings with anyone. In college I could count my true friends on one hand, and three of them lived out of town. Prior to my divorce there were many people in my life who I loved very, very much and yet never told them how important they were to me.

"Say something! Say something!"

This may help to explain why I have only been "in love" twice in my life. I'm not sure if two times is normal or about right. I don't know how many times a man is expected to be in love. Truth be told, I haven't had to think about it for a very long time.

The first time I fell in love, it didn't go well. I fell in love with a friend who also wasn't emotionally available. It wasn't intentional and I certainly didn't mean to fall in love with her. It just 'happened'. My friend was damaged by a previous relationship. When I met her she was in a different place than me. Intellectually I think I understood that men and women cannot be friends. Romantic entanglements are almost unavoidable - it's genetics, or chemistry. I had never successfully been 'just friends' with a woman.

Against the odds (and my better judgement) we hit it off.

We hung out on and off for more than a year. I grew to depend on her and looked forward to her frequent visits. We spent countless hours doing absolutely nothing. We grew closer and for a while she became my best friend and confidant. It took months before she let me see her for who she really was. She tried so hard to come across as hard and unflappable - an irresponsible party girl. That was just the armor she wore to keep from appearing vulnerable or being hurt again. But it wasn't who she really was underneath. Underneath she was thoughtful, loyal, sensitive and kind.

And worthy of my love.

"Could you be loved and be loved?"

I remember sitting in the dark on the world's ugliest couch looking out onto Jefferson Avenue after some stupid party. She was wearing the crimson plaid dress that by all rights should have looked silly but was somehow fantastic on her petite frame. Her straight brown hair was pinned back off her ear by a small red clip or beret. We spent what seemed like hours talking about life in our private little corner of the universe. I was sitting behind her and caught the unmistakable strawberry scent from her hair. She turned her head in such a way that her face was silhouetted in the lights from the passing cars. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. If this was a movie, it was the moment I should have kissed her. But I couldn't. I was so confused and afraid. That was the Princess of Darkness. She was my friend and my first love.

I knew she was broken from her previous relationship and I didn't know how to fix her. I was so concerned about ruining our friendship that I couldn't or wouldn't take advantage of the moment. I was sabotaged by my own insecurities and self doubt.

I didn't believe that I was worthy of being loved. I'm still not convinced.

That is my one regret.

"Could you be loved and be loved?"

Fast forward several months. My unrequited and unresolved feelings poisoned our friendship. My friend sensed this, but didn't know how to react. She blocked it out and wouldn't discuss it. Eventually she moved away and I was left with the stench of my cowardice and failure. Our friendship ended because I refused to end our friendship. I refused to make the leap of faith required to shock her system. To get her out of her protective cocoon. To let her know "She could be loved."

"Say something! Say something!"

Since my wife left me I am emotionally broken - almost crippled. I've lost control of my feelings and I am unable to keep anything inside. Now that I am the one who is irreparably broken, I'm left with only the question, "Could I be loved?"

I just don't know...