Thursday, August 23, 2007

In a galaxy far, far away...


I'd like to thank everyone that has read and or commented on what's probably the longest post I've ever worked on. Rest assured it's not even close to being done yet, but it seems that life has thrown me another curve ball. I'll be working on part III of the post over the weekend, but I have some other business to attend to that will also require me attention. Wish me luck.


P.S.
Anyone know of some job openings in my area?

Thursday, August 16, 2007

And now, a word from our sponsors...

Still working on Part II of the previous post folks, but in the meantime since some of you lose your shit when I don't bring the funny, here's something to shove in your eye holes. After an exhaustive (about an hour's worth) of research and consulting with various experts (Paint.net) I've reached a startling conclusion...Our most popular celebrities are morphing into the creatures of our worst nightmares (redundant?)! I present to you hard evidence straight from the Hispanic! At the Disco Research Facility...in downtown Santa Ana.

Exhibit A: A sapphic loudmouth (that eats babies)...or baby eating vampire?


Exhibit B: Former King of Pop, current poster child for Clorox skin care products...or soul sucking phantom?


Exhibit C: Songstress with enough Smack and Jack Daniels in her system to take down the defensive line of the Pittsburgh Steelers...or slightly more attractive alien with acid for blood?


Exhibit D: UK singer (has anyone actually heard any of this walking pharmacy's music, anyway?)...or brain eating zombie?!?!?!

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Wherein I wear my e-heart on my e-sleeve Part I & II



Part I

Hey folks, sorry that I have been MIA for a little while now, but my home computer recently crashed and burned and it’s been tough maintaining posts on even my personal blog.

However, I think it’s time that I finally disclosed to you the history regarding my relationship with my ex, and our two daughters. My ex and I got together when I was eighteen. We became serious fairly quickly and it was only a matter of months before she was pregnant with our first child, Danielle (GBP). Obviously, I was in no way prepared for having a child, but was so smitten that I foolishly agreed to plan a child with her. Yeah, it was planned. That was my first mistake. Needless to say, my mother was not very pleased with this, but she did help in whatever way she could. In retrospect I wish she had helped less, as it made it easier to for me to accept the situation when my ex became pregnant two years later with Marissa (Bruiser). How might I have felt if we had been left to our own devices in supporting ourselves and providing our own home for a child? I’m sure I would have thought twice about it. Most likely I would have run screaming from someone that would have a child when only one of us was working and we had yet to get our own place. In any event, we were thrust into parenthood, two teenagers blissfully unaware of the hardships and obstacles you place in front of yourself by becoming a young parent. To top it off, we rushed into marriage a few months before our second child Marissa was born. For me it was more out of a sense of guilt and pressure from our parents than any starry eyed vision of the legitimization of our relationship.

Within the span of two years I had gone from High School graduate, to father, to husband and provider. What was I to do? Wasn’t this what you’re supposed to do when you have kids with someone? I think “supposed to do” and “supposed to be like” were the mottos I lived my so called life by in those days. I trudged along, working a dead end full time job to meet my obligations with no hope of furthering my education or my development as a person. I accepted my lot in life, never even revealing to my then wife the thoughts that I had of becoming something more than I was, and how I resented her for being content with this life. I think I resented a lot in those days: I resented her for making me feel like she was comparing me to her father –“Mr. I Can Fix Anything”, I resented her for not working and complaining we didn’t have enough money, I even began to resent my father for not being around to teach me how to fix things: was I less of a man because I didn’t know how to tune up a car of fix a dryer? How much of life had I missed out by getting myself into this? That was a crushing thought. Somehow though, my ex seemed strangely at peace with her role in all of this. I suppose that having grown up in a broken home and having had to take care of her siblings had planted the seed in her mind that this is what little girls grow up to be: a woman whose sole purpose is the rearing of children, regardless of what she wants for herself while her husband toils away at a dead end job to bring home a paycheck.

Much of the resentment I felt manifested itself in my daily behavior: lack of interest in helping her father with odd jobs around his house, spending more time at work and less at home, the inability to face the responsibilities of being a parent. I should have communicated how I felt, but I think deep down I knew it would fall on deaf ears. Suffice to say, these warring emotions and the immaturity brought on by my age resulted in one thing: I was a shitty husband. There’s a feeling of a burden being lifted in being able to freely admit that, now that I can look back on it objectively and through the eyes of my own experiences and maturity. In any event, the marriage was seemingly set to self destruct mode from the very beginning. The relationship got worse and worse, culminating in no small amount of infidelity on her part with someone she had met during her brief stint as an employee at a makeup counter at local mall that resulted in a terminated pregnancy that she admitted to me, and then a child. He also had a wife and two children at home.

I’m a very patient person, but this was something that I could not and would not put up with. Even after attempting couples counseling (prior to the second pregnancy) at my request (of which she only attended one session and I continued to see the therapist for my own sake); she seemed to not care whether the relationship could be salvaged. We even tried a “roommate” situation, where she did her thing and I did my own, but I found I could live like that only so long. It did frustrate me when on “her” weekends, the girls would wake up to no knowledge of where their mother was—only to have her return later on that afternoon.

The last straw was when she admitted to being pregnant with his child again. At that point, I’d still thought we were “trying” to work things out. I knew only one way to deal with this: I moved out. Let me preface this by saying that despite all that was going on, I loved my daughters with all of my heart and the one of the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life was to leave that house knowing that I would not be there to see them every day, to kiss them goodbye in the morning, and to tuck them in at night. It was like tearing out two pieces of my heart and leaving them behind. It was one of the few times in my life that my daughters have seen me cry. If you can show me someone that can look their children straight in the eye and tell them that they are leaving the house and not cry, I can show you someone that probably has no business seeing them in the first place.


I moved back in with my mother, brother and my mother’s partner at their house in Buena Park, CA, and thus began my tenure as a weekend parent. I saw the girls on weekends and alternating holidays. Any single parent will be familiar with the pro forma visitation schedule: pick them up after work, keep them for the weekend, and bring them back Sunday evening. Wash, rinse, repeat. What some of those single parents may not tell you is how god damned fucking horrible it is to watch your kids cry because they don’t want you to leave, watching the tears well up in their eyes as if they’d never see you again and the “daddypleasedon’togoiwannastaywithyouwhydoyouhavetogo”…If I ever go to Hell, I’m sure I’ll be made to relive that particular memory for an eternity. As hard as it was to leave the house, nothing could prepare me for that weekly heartbreak and the 45 minute drive home with only my thoughts and the image of their tear-filled, red rimmed eyes replaying in my mind. I missed them terribly when they were not there, but at the same time dreaded Sunday nights as I packed their things and got ready for the drive. The pain got lesser and lesser as the weeks, months and eventually years went by and we became use to the routine. Being that I was the weekend parent now, I was no longer there to play with them daily, watch them grow, or be there for them when they got hurt. I did talk to them at night on the phone, usually about two to three times a week (more if I wasn’t working late) but it was obviously a poor substitute for being there, and having to answer the question of “When are you coming home, daddy?” was like having my heart ripped out of my chest and tossed onto a freeway. Nightly. Try and explain to a 6 year old that you don’t live with her and her sister anymore because mom cheated on you. On second thought, don’t unless you want to screw your kid up even more. My answer to them was something along the lines of “It’s something I had to do, and it’s something you wouldn’t understand right now. It’s not your fault, ok?” As I said before, for them it got a bit easier as time went on, although for a while the tears turned into attitude and I had to turn on the stern father voice to get Marissa out of the car on occasion. For me, my one constant was the inability to make eye contact with their mother for very long without that white hot ball of hostility and anger flaring up inside of me and clouding my thoughts. This too, passed, although I can still feel it rolling around inside of me to this day.

Well, the months passed and we all acclimated to the situation and I found out something that I may have forgotten in all the animosity and name calling: I’m a damn good father. While other single dads may have been content to ask someone to watch their kids while they ran errands, I took the girls with me wherever I went: the mall, the market, friends houses…you name it. If I was invited somewhere, I made sure I was able to bring them with me. I played with them, read to and with them, helped with homework, took them to parks, and made sure they knew they were loved every day they were with me, even when they weren’t. In actuality, they fact that they were not with me during the week allowed me time do something I hadn’t had the time to even consider prior to all this: I rediscovered myself. I was finally able to sit back, take stock of myself, and actually enjoy life. As selfish as this may sound, I was grateful for the time I had away from them as it afforded me the time to decompress and focus on things that were not necessarily more important, but important in a different way. Things like actually finishing my education, taking a different career path, getting back into the social arena of dating, and reconnecting with old friends seemed possible now. In fact, I can remember a conversation I had with their mother one day when I was taking my daughters and my nephew out to lunch: I had received a call on my cell phone from her as I was at a drive thru window. Apparently her and her boyfriend had gotten into some kind of argument and he asked that she call me (why, I can’t seem to remember), but after realization the inappropriateness of carrying this conversation on in front of the kids and that this was really a pointless and insane conversation anyway, I actually thanked him for taking her off of my hands*.



Part two on Friday

*To clarify, the kids didn’t know who I was talking to as they were in the back seat playing with their cousin and a large portion of the conversation was me listening to her boyfriend prattle on about something ridiculous.

Part II

Sorry for the delay folks, but I was out of town this weekend and I wanted to polish this up before posting this. So...

Fast forward about 1 year. My mother confides in my brother and me that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer some time ago but she was, and would continue to, actively pursuing treatment. So, this was quite a lot to digest within the span of 1 year after moving back in to her house. I know now that she didn’t hold out much hope for her own survival after looking back: the expensive family trip to our hometown of New York that she knew my brother and I could never afford, making sure my brother and I tied up any of our smaller financial loose ends, and just making sure our lives were generally in order. After she passed, it was left to me, my brother, and my mom’s partner to take care of the house and ourselves. It’s funny how even a houseful of people can seem empty at times. It was months of just going through the motions, watching the loss eat away at Liz, and wondering how long we could keep this up.

The loss of my mother was especially hard on her partner, Liz. As far as I know, my mother had been her only significant relationship. I know she must have felt lost, and incredibly alone. Not too long after my mother died, pictures of my mother that were once featured prominently around the house began to disappear. A handmade pillow with my mother’s photo on it vanished. I discovered later that all her old things had been packed away and put in a storage box in the garage. I couldn’t help but harbor not too a little resentment towards her for this. This was my mother, and to me it seemed like she was trying to forget she ever existed. A few months after that, issues of finances began to drive a wedge between everyone. It became commonplace for my brother and I to avoid Liz completely simply because it became too difficult to even carry a conversation knowing that the slightest thing could set her off. Eventually my brother moved out and into his now wife’s mother’s home. Now how the hell did I get stuck living in a house where I felt like a visitor? A sense of loyalty to the person that had been the only other real parent I had ever known, I suppose. But even that would only last so long. As time passed she made it known to me that it was becoming an impossibility to maintain the house with only her income and the meager contributions I could make after paying my own bills and support for the girls. So it was that in the month of August of 2004 that I moved out and moved in to a two bedroom apartment with my friend Torre and his girlfriend at the time, Michelline.

It wasn’t the ideal solution, moving in with Torre and Mish, but it was the only option I had at the time. I certainly couldn’t afford rent on my own, and they needed help as well. It was a draw-win situation, I suppose. They got help with bills and rent, and I did have my own room, but I had to share that room with two growing girls every weekend. They knew I had kids, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was imposing on them every time the girls came over. Things went as well as they could: I was eking out a meager living as a sales rep in the sales pit at a somewhat shady company. My income was just enough to meet my support obligations, pay the bills (usually) and have a few dollars left over if I felt like splurging on a burger at AM/PM, unless my roommates took pity on me and paid my way to a club or bought a couple of rounds at a bar. Yeah, it was just as depressing as it sounds. This was another point in my life where I was existing simply to continue my existence. I was working another dead end job at another dead end company, but oddly enough there was no end in sight.


At least during the time that I lived at my mother’s house, I could entertain the thought of having a social life: I had some extra income, a house that I often times had to myself, and definitely a more positive outlook on life. Now, it was a struggle simply to keep my head above water with a fluctuating income, the cost of feeding two extra mouths, and an increasingly negative outlook on life. I can’t even recall the actual number of times I had to forego eating in order to make sure that there was enough food to provide for my daughters when they were with me. In fact, on more than one occasion, I had to inform their mother that I could not in good conscience bring them over simply because I had nothing to feed them. I don’t know if there is a worse feeling for a parent to have than the uncertainty of not knowing how you were going to feed your children.

Now it was around exactly the time that Mish moved out that I had begun to date Kristine. I decided to chance a date with her after scraping together some extra cash, and having some extremely stimulating phone conversations with her after meeting online. I held no real hope for a long term relationship, though. As a matter of fact, I had actually made mention of this to her after one of our dates. In hindsight, this was probably not the smartest move for me to make considering I hadn’t gotten any action in…well, a while. Strangely enough, she decided to continue seeing me even after my admission that I had no intentions of having a girlfriend as I didn’t feel I had anything real to contribute to a relationship. As the days went by and we spent more and more time together, things began to change. Simply being around her made me more confident: she laughed at my jokes, she encouraged what few dreams I still clung to, and she made me comfortable with just being myself. I realize now that she was everything I had ever wanted to find in a person to share myself with.

Of course, this all begged the question of how I would introduce Kristine to the girls. I had never before allowed them to interact with anyone I had dated before, simply because I knew that none of the prior relationships had any chance of becoming anything serious, and it wouldn’t be healthy for them to see me with a different girl every time. They were still too young to understand, and still held on to some hope that their mother and I would reconcile. However, I knew that my relationship with Kristine was special, and I wanted her to be in my life, and that meant bringing these two worlds together.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Once again back is the incredible...

Hey folks, sorry for the lack of posts. My computer recently went down in a ball of fire, so it's gonna take a few days for it to get cleaned up and back in working order. I'm posting this from a loner computer for now.


A day in the life of my brain.

Oh God, I’m still alive. Oh well, shower.

What’s he doing? Staring at the soap? Does he think the soap is going to magically appear in his hand??

*blog*

What was that?? My God how long have we been in the shower? 15 minutes?? FUCK!

Ok, wake up, wake up. Come on, big guy, gotta get to work. Thaaaat’s it, brush the teeth. You could peel paint with your breath, geeeezus. Ah, much better.

Christ, did a raccoon die on your head? Get a haircut dammit! Thank God you bought two gallons of hair gel. And spackle.

*blog*

What the fuck was that??? Who’s in here??

Oooooh, shiny. Focus! Time to get to work.

Mmmmkay, now we get to sit here for 10 minutes and wait for the computer to boot up. Let’s go pee.

*blog*

Ok!!! I swear to fucking Christ whoever is in here is gonna get a cerebellum whoopin’ if they don’t show themselves.

Hey, guy in the stall, are you giving birth in there? Great Caesar’s ghost, sounds like you just dropped a ham in the bowl.

Wash the hands, get a paper…FUCK! Do the facilities people HAVE to cram as many paper towels in here as possible?? SHIT! We can’t even get a whole towel out! Great, maybe if we keep tearing off pieces we can wad them up into a ball and dry our hands...jackholes.

Oh God, it’s him again. Somebody tell him he looks like a pedophile. Back to work.

Good job Manny, you lasted a whole 5 minutes before getting on Pajiba!!

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...Huh? Wha? Sorry, you bored me for a minute there. Anything happen while I was out? Nothing? Big surprise.

Lindsay Lohan is in rehab…again. I’d still Google her Yahoo.

Alright, time to get some work done.

*blog*

Arrrrrgh! Is Wayne Brainy gonna have to choke a lobe?

Pajiba again?! It’s been 45 seconds, retard!

Fucking firewalls. Since when where pictures of Hayden Panettiere in a thong “distasteful”? Oh, must be that whole “minor” thing. Prudes.

I how long it’ll take for my boss to notice if we fall asleep in one of the bathroom stalls?

Hey, stop tossing your pen in the air it’s gonna….OW! See?? No one listens to me.

We really should try to get some work done today. Ooooh, shiny.

Holy crap, look at that bald spot on the CEO’s head….WOW. I could land a Cessna on that. Dude, just Bic it man. EVERYBODY can see it; I don’t care how tall you are. Oh, and I can knit a hammock from your nose hairs, man. One word: TWEEZERS!!

Monday, August 6, 2007

I should totally have my own dating game show. Part II.


Here's the complete exchange regarding the dating issue my Blogger Friend is facing. Reprinted with her permission, and only the names of the innocent have been changed.
This all started with me asking her to check out a post I was preparing for Offsprung.

Me: I'll flesh it out some more before I go home. Speaking of flesh...how's the online dating going? See what I did there? That's called a segue

Blogger friend: It's blah

I think I'm not attracting the right people.

Me: So you're saying you and Peter whatshisface didn't work out? I find that hard to believe, you had such great chemistry. And by "chemistry", I mean he had a chemical imbalance that only your sweet lovin' could cure. Speaking of sweet lovin' (King Segue, they called me), any news on the (friend she likes) front?

Blogger friend: No news. Haven't even talked to him in the past few days, but probably will go see The Bourne Ultimatum with him this weekend. We both love those movies.

I'd take him in a red hot second if I could. But I just can't make the first move. I've already tried and there's no response! So...

Me: Um, hellooooo. Ever heard of booze, (friend)? Sheesh, do I gotta do everything? Alright, here's the plan:

Now here's where I stepped in, as you all read before.

You have (friend) pick you up for the movie at your place. This already sets the date "mood" seeing as how this follows the traditional formula of a guy picking up his date. Wear something slightly revealing, but in a "you gotta work for this, buddy. Kinda" way. Laugh at his jokes, and playfully hitting his arm and saying things like "(Friend she likes)! You're soooo droll, you simply HAVE to visit my summer home". After the film, feign a bit of a chill and slide your arm under his as you walk outside. Never mind if it's 80 degrees out, just pass it off as poor blood circulation. When you get back to your house, offer him a glass of the wine you purchased before he came over. If at all possible, slip some GHB into the wine or simply give him enough wine to make him pass out. Now, here is where we kick things into high gear. While he is passed out, place kiss marks in strategic locations on his person. You might even want to go so far as to place a pair of your "unmentionables" in his pants pocket, to be found later. Be sure you are next to him when he wakes up, wearing something that you could have conceivably put on after a night of vigorous "horizontal mambo-ing".



Now, you're probably wondering, "Manny, I know you're a genius and I'm probably just not capable of comprehending the level of smartness that comes from you, but why go through all this trouble?" The answer is simple. Once he's convinced that he's already shellacked you with his love paint, getting him to actually make a move the next time you go out will be all the easier since he will already believe he's Googled your Yahoo.

Blogger friend: I feel like this is fucking blog worthy.

Which, in my world is like, the highest praise ever. I LOVE this. It's genius AND it's funny.

Me: I'll call it Funius.

Blogger friend: I would seriously put it on the blog, BUT it's about (friend).

However, I wasn't holding out a lot of hope for this witty banter guy on OkCupid, but he's warmed up some and I kinda like him.

Me: (Blogger Friend) and witty banter guy, sittin' in a tree, b-l-o-g-g...i-n-g. So what does he do for a living besides setting your loins on fire?

Blogger friend: No idea!

LOL!

I just went and looked.

He's a student but he graduates soon.

Me: Oooh, that's slippery ground. That means lots of nights at your place or his. But it could force him to be very creative with the date options. Unless he has a trust fund, then you're in luck.

Blogger friend: We'll see. I haven't even MET him yet. JESUS CHRIST, Manny!

Me: I'm just thinking ahead, my dear. You'll thank me you when he calls you and tells you about the date he has planned where you collect pine cones all day and talk about your feelings. Meanwhile, you haven't seen the inside of a restaurant that doesn't have a kids menu in X number of years. Take the journey with me, (blogger friend).

Blogger friend: LOL

I have, actually, been to a nice restaurant, but doing anything in the bedroom? It's in short supply 'round here, sir. SHORT SUPPLY!

Me: There you go! If he asks you out and during the date is obviously trying to impress you with his use of the word "conflate", just look him dead in the eye and tell him "I'm not wearing panties". If he does nothing in the first 2.5 seconds, he's done.

So would you go on a date if he asked you? Would you opt for the safer "Coffee Date", or the more intimate "Dinner and a movie, possibly my panties" date?

Blogger friend: oh def the latter. Hehehe

Me: Whoa! Check out the big balls on (friend)! Woohoooo. I think there is hope for this after all. So when do you think he'll pop the question, so to speak?

Blogger friend: I give him another 4 days. Otherwise, he's toast! I'm not hanging around for the witty banter by itself!

Me: Grrrrrr! You tell em!

Thursday, August 2, 2007

I should totally have my own dating game show.



Here is a sample of some dating advice I recently gave a friend of mine that's carrying a torch for a guy that has yet to make a move. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Everything else, however, is fair game.


You have (potential boyfriend) pick you up for the movie at your place. This already sets the date "mood" seeing as how this follows the traditional formula of a guy picking up his date. Wear something slightly revealing, but in a "you gotta work for this, buddy...kinda" way. Laugh at his jokes, playfully hitting his arm and saying things like "(Potential boyfriend)! You're soooo droll; you simply HAVE to visit my summer home". After the film, fake a bit of a chill and slide your arm under his as you walk outside. Never mind if it's 80 degrees out, just pass it off as poor blood circulation.

When you get back to your house, offer him a glass of the wine you purchased before he came over. If at all possible, slip some GHB into the wine or simply give him enough wine to make him pass out. Now, here is where we kick things into high gear. While he is passed out, place kiss marks in strategic locations on his person. You might even want to go so far as to place a pair of your "unmentionables" in his pants pocket, to be found later. Be sure you are next to him when he wakes up, wearing something that you could have conceivably put on after a night of vigorous "horizontal mambo-ing".

Now, you're probably wondering, "Manny, I know you're a genius and I'm probably just not capable of comprehending the level of smartness that comes from you, but why go through all this trouble?" The answer is simple. Once he's convinced that he's already shellacked you with his love paint, getting him to actually make a move the next time you go out will be all the easier since he will already believe he's Googled your Yahoo.


She is so totally gonna get laid. I'm a miracle worker, people. It's what I do.