It's Been a Long Time

It's been almost a year since I wrote anything, but it seems like the blink of an eye. So what's changed?

Well, I appear to have developed balistophobia, the debilitating fear of missile silos. Yet somehow I still make it through the day. Think I can get a medical marijuana certificate for it?

Other than that, not much and everything.

"Not much" in the sense that I still have the same house, the same job and haven't crossed a damn thing off my bucket list. I'm beginning to wonder whether I was full of shit when I wrote it, or if I'm just a big pussy.

"Everything" in the sense that I've sort of moved on and found someone new.

The phase "sort of" deserves an entire blog post. I've moved on to the degree that I think I am capable. It would be akin to a drummer losing an arm. Life isn't over, he just needs to find a different career. Or not...

What I'm trying to say is that I've lost my naive innocence regarding relationships. The last time it was inconceivable to me that any "real" marriage could fail. Hardly anyone I knew had ever been divorced, and for "those people" there were obvious explanations - infidelity, alcohol, a lack of commitment from the beginning. That wasn't me. Or any of my friends. They were different. I was different. We jumped in headfirst - damn the depth of the river.

The second time around there's a vague awareness in the back of your mind that you're not special. You know exactly how bad it can end and how quickly it can turn.  And because of that, you're extremely reticent to go "all in". It's not like you've got one foot out the door, but you always know where the nearest fire extinguisher is.

Based on what I've read, this is pretty typical. It's the baggage that everyone who goes through a divorce carries with them. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice and I'm ready to sue.

In fact, "moving on" was the one major reason I stopped posting. When I started this blog I had nothing to lose. I was so embarrassed and shamed by my divorce that there wasn't anything that I wasn't willing to write about and share with total strangers. It was "public therapy", a semi-safe place to work out all of the pain, anger, shame and rage that was eating me alive. I was at my lowest point, so the thought of people pointing and laughing at my failures didn't really bother me. Or the fact they would be preserved for eternity where prospective employers and my kid's friends could review and comment.

Granted, I wasn't really taking the "long view" at the time.

Last year I got to a place where I no longer felt it was appropriate to share every random embarrassing thought that popped into my head. I felt it would be a terrible invasion of privacy to blog or write about anyone I was dating, even though the stories would have been great. The potential of being seen with me in public can be embarrassing enough. Having it posted where her parents, kids, friends or husband could see it is just wrong.

Once that filter went up my writing became banal bullshit and I stopped posting any of it. I have 14 semi-finished posts that will never see the light of Google. They all started with a spark of clever inspiration. They all ended with bullshit generalities, platitudes and a lack of any true "feeling."

Granted, it's not like I set the literary bar very high, but if I couldn't control my gag reflex for three paragraphs I doubt any of you would give a shit.

So what's new? Well, my girlfriend is moving in next month.

I'll let that one settle in for a minute.

Yes, I am scared out of my mind. I'm not sure I should be writing about any of this, and if / when she sees this the move may be cancelled. But I've got to work this stuff out, and I don't have time for therapy.

I'm better as part of a team. BLT says that I always wanted to be married. I think he's right. I like being part of a team. I like the support. I like the feeling I get when I can help someone else. Even when I was going through the divorce, I was absolutely certain I would eventually get married again, even if intellectually I was telling myself "Oh hell no".

The woman I have been seeing is wonderful. She's kind, supportive, thoughtful, smart, attractive, progressive, exciting, active, funny, great with my kids and more than willing to put up with me.

You're probably thinking she's perfect, well I'm here to tell you "far from it". She can't make a decision, thinks sleeping to 10:00 AM is acceptable behavior, says Corgi's aren't real dogs and doesn't hate Jhonny Peralta anywhere near enough for my taste. Basically, she's a basket case.

So why am I scared shitless? Because I'm afraid that I didn't learn enough from my divorce. I'm pretty sure I'm a jerk. I try not to be, but it comes so naturally. It's a gift. Or a curse. Now sure, a few of you will feign disbelief and say "Oh no, you're just being a drama king Bob." Thank you for trying to soften the blow. I'm sure a few of you even said that with a straight face, but we all know it's true. I'm a jerk.

Do any of you have a Facebook page dedicated to how big of a jerk you are? I do. For real. And it wasn't even started by The Ex. If you count the Ex's Facebook page, it's actually two pages dedicated to how much of an asshole I am.

I know it's not unusual for children to have contentious relationships with their parents. But I've managed to become estranged from not one, but two mothers. Yes, the people who are hormonally evolved and socially conditioned to nurture and protect their young both think I am a jerk. Granted, one of them is mentally ill and the other is biologically related to me (which is a reasonable excuse I suppose), but still. You couple that with my sociopathic Ex and you can see that I may have problems with women.

Once is bad luck. Twice is a coincidence. Three times and it's probably your fault.

What happens when my girlfriend realizes that she's living with a jerk? Hopefully she's less sociopathic than my ex, but then again what if I'm just a horrible judge of character? It's not as if rapists and serial killers introduce themselves with their chosen avocation while announcing their intention to gut and skin you for sport.

"You got a pretty mouth boy."

"Um, thanks... I gotta go. Bye."

If only it was that easy.

So what do our friends think? Most of them say it's "too early". But when asked "How long would be long enough?" they shrug.

Twelve months? Eighteen months? Six years? I don't know either. People in arranged marriages may only meet one or two times prior to their wedding and yet statistically they are very successful. According to multiple sites, the global divorce rate for arranged marriages is only 6%! Now granted, there are numerous caveats to that statistic since it is heavily culturally biased. It doesn't consider the impact of familial shame, the poor economic prospects for women in countries that favor arranged marriage or local laws prohibiting divorce.

But believe it or not, November will mark two years that my girlfriend and I have known each other. That's a significant amount of time. It's longer than I knew my ex-wife before we moved in together. In fact, by the two year mark we were engaged and well into planning our wedding.

I know full well this could turn out to be a flipping disaster to rival the last one. But it could also be a wonderful start to a new life together. In life there are no guarantees and no one knows how this is going to end. But I know that I'm a lot happier when I'm with her. So nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I'm going to jump in that river again, even if this time I'm keeping one eye on the life preserver. Wish me luck.

Thanksgiving - Oldie

I wrote this last November.  Not sure why I never got around to posting it.  I've definitely posted way worse.

I'm on a train headed west to Chicago to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with one of my very best friends. BLT says we're closer than brothers. While I didn't grow up with any 'actual' brothers, I'm inclined to agree. I'm really thankful to have him in my life.

So here I sit musing on the concept of Thanksgiving while I try to ignore the young couple in front of me making out like a couple of sailors on shore leave.

They remind me of the Vogelchecks from Saturday Night Live. It's quite the show if you're into sloppy saliva soaked kisses. Fred Armisen plays the patriarch of the family.  Check it out here.

I swear he just licked her face.

Back to being thankful. I'd really be thankful for a sleep mask and noise canceling headphones right now.

The Ex threw a graduation party for me when I finished graduate school back in 2004. The party was great fun and my family and friends took the opportunity to roast me. Since I had spent the better part of the previous 25 years being an asshole, I probably deserved it. Fun was had by most and after they finished putting me in my place I was allowed to speak. My ex didn't tell me that the party was a roast until about an hour before the start. Nor did she bother to warn me that I was required to speak and I'd best be witty and charming since everyone came here to see me.

I remember how grateful I was for all the wonderful people in my life and the fact that almost all of them took time from their busy schedules to come out and eat my food. I seem to remember Doli Madison coming all the way from Florida to get his shots in.

I had an hour to organize and draft a speech intended to entertain and enlighten a room full of people who had already heard everything I've ever had to say. What could I possibly add? I'm not an essayist, nor a gifted public speaker. But I am good at one thing, and that's spinning bullshit at the last minute. There's nothing like a deadline to focus the mind. I sat down in the hotel lounge and crafted my personal Sermon on the Mount. It was probably the best thing I've ever written. I'm pretty sure the Ex video taped the entire party. I sort of wish I still had those tapes.

Maybe it's better that the speech wasn't recorded. I'm sure it plays better in my memory than it ever did in real life. I spoke of friendship and love. About how no man is an island and we are all in this life together. I explained how every one of my accomplishments in life was directly related to the support and encouragement of my family and friends. I talked about my Dad and how much I missed him and how proud he would have been. In my mind it was (and is) beautiful.

Sunday was the ten year anniversary of my Dad's passing. This is the first year I missed it. One one hand I can't believe it's been that long. On the other I can barely remember the sound of his voice any more. Time flies and life is what happens to our best laid plans.

My advice is to take the time this Thanksgiving to be thankful for the people in your life that make life worth living.

Peace.

Karma-nitas

Hello loyal audience. I know it's been a while since I last posted. Yes, I have a calendar and I do know how to read it.


***


I've been busy. I'm sorry. Geez, you want your money back?


***

My Ex works at a local restaurant. At least, I'm pretty sure she still does. I love this restaurant, but I won't ever go there again. I am absolutely paranoid that she's going to spit in my food.

Is it really paranoia if they are out to get you?

Today it suddenly dawned on my that I spent the better part of sixteen years letting her stick her tongue down my throat. And I generally liked it. So why should I care if she spits in my food?

Spitting is a pretty much universal sign of hatred or contempt.  It's typically directed at the face, but some cultures direct it at the feet - we've all seen it in the movies. Obviously there are physical risks to spitting, such as TB or the flu, but it's primarily a social taboo.

In the middle ages spitting was perfectly acceptable behavior and it was actually considered ill-mannered to suck back saliva to avoid spitting. It wasn't until the 1700's that spitting was seen as something that should be concealed and in the mid 1800's it became gauche to spit on the floor or on the street in mixed company. Spitting in general went out of favor after the 1918 influenza pandemic and with it the collapse of the cuspidor manufacturing base.

Not coincidentally, the mid 1800's saw the development and adoption of Semmelweis's germ theory of disease. By the 1870's Joseph Lister was applying the germ theory of disease to surgical procedures and hocking Listerine. I imagine that it quickly became obvious that spitting wasn't sanitary and eventually became socially unacceptable and vulgar.

Outside of a baseball diamond of course.

So why does it bother me that the Ex might spit in my food? It's not embarrassment, because nobody other than her co-workers would ever know there was spit in my food. It's not hygiene, because I spent the better part of sixteen years swapping bodily fluids with her.

It's control. I don't want to give her the satisfaction of degrading me. And that's why I'll never be able to taste those damn Carnitas again.

***

As most of you probably know by now, I am not a religious man. I don't believe in ghosts, spirits, heaven or hell. I'm more like Crash Davis. I like to believe in "the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch and that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."


That about sums it up. I believe this life is what matters. There are no 72 virgins. There is no paradise. The only paradise is the one we create every day with and for the people we love.


But, if I was going to believe in any metaphysical mumbo jumbo, it'd probably be Karma. The concept of Karma can be found in Hindu, Jain, Buddhist and Sikh philosophies. According to Wikipedia, Karma is a concept of "action" or "deed" that drives the entire cycle of cause and effect. Karma applies to the totality of our actions and reactions in this and previous lives, all of which determines one's future. If one sows goodness in this life (or previous lives) one will reap goodness. And vice versa.


Granted, since it requires reincarnation it kind of violates my first two paragraphs.


Basically, if you're a Hindu and you're getting shit on all the time it's not bad luck. It's because you were a bastard in a previous life. And if you don't want to be shit on in your next life, you should suck it up and focus on doing good deeds now.


It's a lot like Catholic guilt in the sense that everything bad that happens is your fault. Or if you're Jewish, you deserve it.


It's often summarized by "Life is a field, and Karma is the seed. You reap what you sow. Exactly what you sow - no more, no less." This concept of reaping what you sow was adopted by Christianity in Galatians 6:7-8:


⁷ Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows. ⁸ Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life.


Consequently, the concept of Karma is quite readily accepted in the West. You'll never get an Evangelical to admit it, but it's definitely of eastern origin.


But the rub is that you can be as good or evil as you want in this life, but it won't affect you until you die and get reincarnated. It wasn't until the '60's that John Lennon popularized the concept of "Instant Karma". In Instant Karma retribution is immediate - no waiting. Lennon believed that good or evil action would be rewarded / punished in this lifetime. He believed that good actions were the key to happiness and fulfillment.


He summed it up pretty clearly:


Instant Karma's gonna get you, 
Gonna knock you right on the head, 
You better get yourself together, 
Pretty soon you're gonna be dead, 
What in the world you thinking of, 
Laughing in the face of love, 
What on earth you tryin' to do, 
It's up to you, yeah you. 

Instant Karma's gonna get you, 
Gonna look you right in the face, 
Better get yourself together darlin', 
Join the human race, 
How in the world you gonna see, 
Laughin' at fools like me, 
Who on earth d'you think you are, 
A super star, 
Well, right you are. 


It's a comforting thought. Real or not, it plays to our innate sense of fairness and justice. We want to see the bastards get what they deserve. We want to see OJ in jail. We want to see Osama bin Laden with a bullet in his melon. We want to see the Yankees lose in the playoffs.


Not the Shelby Township Yankees! They kick ass.


We need to believe right action is rewarded and bad action is punished. Otherwise we're just suckers, right? Why spend your life being good when you could have spent your days being a selfish prick who took advantage of his friends and neighbors.


On the downside, I don't think avoiding cosmic retribution is the best reason to 'not be an asshole'.


I always had a problem with the concept of doing good purely to get into heaven as a kid. It seemed to cheapen the concept of our eternal reward. If you're only doing good things to go to heaven, wouldn't God know that? And doesn't intent count? If you accidentally tripped and dropped a piano on a pre-school field trip, God wouldn't hold it against you, would he? You didn't intend to kill ten toddlers. Sure, they're still dead, but it was an accident.


Same for doing good deeds. If you're only doing them to get into heaven, isn't it a purely selfish act that should damn you to hell?


And while we're on the topic of dead pre-schoolers, why didn't God step in to stop it? He's supposed to be the omniscient / omnipotent one, not me.


I'm working hard to not be an asshole. Not to get into some imaginary heaven. Not to avoid cosmic vengeance. But because I want my Dad to be proud of me.


It's a good enough reason for me.


***


Those of you that follow me on Facebook probably know that the Ex has been working hard to build up her bad Karma this month. I won't recount the gory details, but she's still pretty pissed off at me and sees no problem leveraging the kids.


Yesterday was the one year anniversary of her leaving me to run away to Mississippi. Today would have been our 16th wedding anniversary. Last Sunday was Father's Day. Is it any wonder I've been having a bad week?


I don't know if Karma is paying me back for all the stupid shit I've done in my life. I don't know that I deserve it, but I can't say for sure that I don't. I do know that the Ex has dug herself one Deep Karma Canyon with her actions in the last year. Mountains all around and no happy ending in sight.


So what's my point?


I'm not really sure. Normally this is the point in the post where I tie everything together and we all feel better. But I'm not feeling it today.


What does Karma have to do with spitting in my food?


Hell if I know.


I do know I've got to wrap this thing up and get on to my weekend.


In summary, I'm not overly concerned about spit in my food cause it's pretty unlikely the Ex contracted TB in the last twelve months and I must have been a real bastard at some point to deserve the shit sandwich I was served 366 days ago.


But if Karma is real, I shouldn't be worried about spit in my food any more. That bitch owes me big.

Oh, and I've still got my pride, but I had to give up the damn Carnitas to keep it.

Peace.