I'm sorry my life rules...

So I know you're busy being selfish and egotistical, and maybe I should care a little more about how difficult your life is, what with your riches and whores, your trips around the world, your struggle with keeping a steady girlfriend, or getting pregnant which, yes, I know, was much longer of a wait for us, or whatever minor issue seems insurmountable to you right now...but here's the thing. Do you think you might be capable of laying down your ego for just a split second to be happy for us? Fuck that, I don't care if you like me or are happy for me... at least be happy for her. The most amazing thing in the universe, the gift of life, that which philosophers, doctors, the human race has studied and contemplated for centuries is happening to my wife right now.... would it kill you to pick up the phone and say "Congrats?" Don't even worry about making it sound sincere. I know that might be very difficult for you. I know I'm not privvy to a wealth of history you may have with her, both good and bad, but, seriously... get your fucking head out of your ass and be a human being for once. What have you got to lose? What do you gain by holding out on your emotions? What point are you trying to prove to us or yourself? Why should we give a fuck? In fact, the only thing you are proving is that you're a total asshole incapable of thinking of anybody but yourself...all the time. She's your sibling, or your best friend for God's sake. Hell, complete strangers have given her more enthusiasm than you. How pathetic. But, good. Make your point. Prove to me that I made the biggest mistake in my life by making you my BEST MAN AT MY FUCKING WEDDING. Asshole.

I wonder if you find the miracle that is the rescue of the miners in Chile annoying, or a minor inconvenience? I'm sure you've found some way to project your disdain for your own life onto them, saying something as asinine as "What were they doing down there anyway?" or "Serves 'em right." I can just hear you now.

Whatev. Go be miserable. You're really good at it. Geez, I wonder why you can't keep a girlfriend?

Focus!!

Okay, fine. I'm never going to be the next Chris Sabo, playing 3rd base for the Reds (wayta lose, boys!), goggles and all. Not a problem. I never liked dipping snuff anyway. And this will probably be a blog that G hates, one of those frequent moments when I'm like "I totally invented that years ago, he's such a thief!" (talking to the TV about some guy I've never met that actually wrote his idea down on paper).

Here's the thing. I'm a dreamer. I know that. I love that about myself, because it always allows me to see the good side of things, regardless of my situation. Except for Champaign... that was bad. Then again, I knew I had to get out and did, so I guess that's surviving, huh? My wife, one of her best friends (I don't want to make a declaration that will start a war), and I started watching this TV series called "The Colony." So awesome. It's a bunch of strangers that for some reason agree to go into an abandoned part of New Orleans (after Hurricane Katrina) and survive with whatever they can find for fifty-something days. And one thing became abundantly clear as I watched these people come together and overcome insurmountable odds to, for example, build a freakin' wind turbine to generate electricity.... I would die very quickly.

I don't think I've ever changed a car tire. I mean, I know how to, but... I don't think I've ever had to. And as much as I try to think of myself as anti-technology, I have a fancy touch phone with internet (I love the fishing game on it), a portable dvd-player, and I just got an ipod. So now it's supposed to be time for me to struggle some more with my identity and question my worth as a human being as I have done every few months since I could talk. My only real struggle during my life has been my inability to not equate my productivity with my self-worth. I don't know where I got it, but it seems to run in the family. I remember my brother calling me once and saying to me (and he's one of those brothers that is always in older brother, let-me-tell-you-what-I-think mode...and readily admits it) that he was fake. It was a moment I cherished as it gave me the opportunity to actually return the favor and offer him some advice... but I totally wasn't prepared for that... maybe "my hair is thinning," or "why can't I get my friends to call me back?" (you know, typical guy stuff that we all go through...I think). But not that. So I found myself in this mode of responding, and since it was such a bullshit answer and so predictable, even I could detach myself from the conversation and hear myself say "Oh, c'mon... you're not fake." Wow, really great advice. Really good insight, dude.

I remember clearly when I lost my most recent job before this (I have to clarify, or else those who know me would ask "Which one that you lost?"..sheesh) that people would always give me the same bullshit answer that I didn't want to hear at all. One that didn't actually make me feel better or worse, address my concerns, or provide any type of purpose or benefit whatsoever. Kinda like "Oh, c'mon, no you're not." Ugh, I still cringe. So I took to telling people before they could offer their bullshit "Oh, I'm so sorry." or "you'll be okay." to telling them in the same sentence "...but I'm already hitting the pavement and I've already gotten several calls", which wasn't true by any means. In fact, it was the first time in my life that my interviewing skills didn't carry me through quickly, even for jobs that I had not interest in taking. I just didn't want to hear people being sorry for me because, well, it didn't do anything to better the situation. The one thing I knew was that I couldn't feel sorry for myself because that would guarantee that I would never get a job. People smell desparation on you like a skunk. It stinks. So I knew if I let people tell me they were sorry, I would most likely end up on the couch for months feeling sorry for myself and not doing anything about it. The Mrs. wrote a blog today about feeling gratitude for those things we don't often recognize are amazing and just as likely to disappear as be noticed. "You don't know whatcha got till it's gone." Very true. Very, very true, which I only know because I've experience a thousand times in my life "Damn, I fucked up that opportunity." or "Man, I wish I could have that back."

But I digress. My point is that I had plans.... lots of plans. G and I had this running joke for a while where I'd say "My plan next week...." and we'd laugh because, well, I never follow through on plans. And I'd say it honestly every other day, not remembering that I had said it two days before about something completely different that... I hadn't pursued at all. It's the part of my character that bugs me the most, and which I have never been able to shake. I have three unfinished movies...somewhere on Hi-8 tapes in a closet. One of the movies I started shooting for a woman who wanted to get the word out on the lack of rights for gays and lesbians in rural Kentucky. And then she died and I thought "Wow, now this can be a posthumous diary that brings thousands of people together in honor of her".... and then I put it on a fucking shelf and it's still there. I applied for film school once and when I didn't have enough material I sent in as part of the application drawings I had done that were good. Pretty good. All I had to do as a followup was go back and request the materials back. Or provide a SSA envelope to insure I got it back, neither of which I did. So somewhere, someone has got original sketches and drawings that I invested hours into. I guess that would matter more if I were remotely close to being famous. I looked up on a website today different comics at this venue I got free tickets for. It's the only thing besides a $2 scratch and win I've ever won my entire life. And the comic I decided to go with has a bit about being the unluckiest person in the world (e.g. I went to the Harlem Globetrotters once as a kid.... they lost). It made me feel better. I relaxed a bit. Using my own logic, I'm not a famous actor, don't play sports, haven't been in the newspaper in the last few years... all of which, well, should make me the most unproductive and, therefore, worthless person I know.

It's that dreamer side of me. I'm damn good at drums. I shoulda made a cd. I have an idea for a movie I KNOW people would want to see. I need to write the screenplay. And now, like the dreaded "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," I'm starting to wonder why everyone is asking me if I'm nervous about being a Dad. Should I be? I've always dreamt about having kids. I can't wait for Little Buddy. It's gonna be awesome. I've been practicing in my head and planning how to be the best father ever for years and years. But I never wrote that screenplay. What if I DON'T do the things I plan to do as a father? What if I DON'T take my kid fishing enough and they never learn to appreciate the outdoors? Or what if they HATE fishing? Dear God, that'd be aweful.

So I'm starting to freak out a bit. I'm fine at this point in my life admitting that I'm never going to be super-stacked or, for that matter, remotely thin. That's fine. G laughs about how when I was a kid, I wrote in my journal (which had a total of four entries) that "I hate fat, especially on me." Is it any wonder I ended up fat? I guess that's where I started this blog. I had just finished eating a McDonald's meal, something I promised myself I would never do again. But I finally went to the bank and set up an account at the Credit Union(which I've been meaning to do since I started here 6 months ago), and was starving, so.... I made an exception. Am I just always going to find a reason not to follow through? I was vegetarian for a few years when I lived in Philadelphia and it was SO easy. I didn't even think about it. It was just who I was as a person. But now that I WANT to be... well, that's another story. So can planning to be a good father result in me BEING a good one? Am I just going to get frustrated after so many hours of screaming and finally give them the cookie or whatever started the whole thing?

I had this small freakout moment the other day while watching a movie when I thought "What if my kid thinks I'm a loser? Oh shit. What if s(he) thinks I don't have it together and thinks my career choice is stupid?! Oh shit! What if they write in THEIR journal that they hate their fat father?! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!!!" I keep thinking that maybe it would help me to carry around a copy of the ultrasound picture and, for example, put it on the stairmaster when I'm at the gym. Maybe I'll go that extra mile and lose 20 pounds so I can run around with my 2 year old.... right, and I'm working so hard on that screenplay. I guess there's only one way to find out... just not do anything and wait to see what happens. Man, I need some Adderall.

Don't take this away from us!!

Man, why can't we just have one thing go as planned? I had this Thanksgiving planned where we would all be sitting around the kitchen table at my Dad's house saying what we were thankful for, and when it came my turn I'd say "Well, I'm thankful to be home, to have such an amazing family, and.... that MY WIFE IS PREGNANT!!" Insert gasps, an indecipherable buzz of chatter, more gasps, and declarations of "Really!?!" and "Congratulations" with tons of hugs for her and the inevitable arm punch from all the men, finally being "one of the boys." Ok, and maybe it'd be cool if someone said "Way to go, gang. Neeato!" and balloons dropped from the ceiling. Maybe I would have rented a clown, or pony or something. Nevermind the fact that she would have been showing by that point and it would have been abundantly obvious when we first arrived.

Daydreams. You think "How amazing is it going to be when my brothers and sisters are fighting over who gets to hold the baby?" and "What if we told your family while going door-to-door at Halloween?" And then? Something has got to go and mess it up for us. Really? I mean.... REALLY?! C'mon. Give this to us. Let us have ONE thing go our way. We really aren't asking for too much here. Ok, so her progesterone is super-duper low which means she has to be on "vaginal rest" or something, which basically means that she can't put anything remotely close to her pelvis. Knowing that having sex was probably the last thing on her mind anyway, particularly given the scares we've already endured and our irrational fears that breathing too heavy might do some damage to the fetus, that also means that I can't even....well, help her if she's getting... frustrated. I think she is worried that not being able to have intercourse will frustrate me or make me want to go get a special massage or something, which COULD NOT be further from the truth. I get it though. She's on eggshells. And so am I. I can't possibly imagine what it's like to be told "Because of who you are, you will always have high-risk pregnancies." In a way, that's what the doc said (though slightly nicer). So, fine. We can't have sex. She has to inject this horrible smelling tube of goo into her to keep her hormones at the proper level. That really sucks for her. Really, really sucks. But, okay. Let's do it because, well, we have to. But can't we at least tell people in the way we want? It seems so simple and basic. Are we being greedy?

We didn't wait to tell my Dad, and I'm kinda glad we didn't. Amidst her having to listen to librarians ramble on about the strangeness of natural child birth (fuck off, lady) and relatives that insist on blowing the surprise, I'm glad at least SOMEONE got to gush over her. But then, it really wasn't that fair for her. After putting her on speaker phone and having my folks hoot and holler and ask a million questions, she still asked later "So, what'd they say?" and "What happened after that?" So, really, she was still feeling a little left out I guess. She couldn't see their faces, so happy and glowing. She didn't see my father cry in front of me for the first time in... who knows. That kinda sucks. But at least someone was so happy for her and she got to hear it.

It's SOOOO hard not telling people. I feel like I'm going to open my mouth to breathe and it's just going to fall out of me like a mouthful of marbles. "Blrhaaabee..." Oh shit. But, I've done fairly well. Well, kinda well. Well, I've basically told everybody I've seen to help satisfy the urge to tell the rest of my family and hers. Hell, I've told completely random people, like clients at work that I have no relationship with whatsoever. I had a woman yesterday when she called to give me an update on her case say "Say hello to your wife for me!" "Umm... okay?" I didn't recall what this client looked like, or telling her. But, I obviously had.

Plus, I told the woman at the store, whose infant was staring at me, smiling and waving, that I was an expecting father. "Oh, congrats. C'mon honey." Um, okay, that was weird. I guess I expected something, her having just gone through it... more. Like, "Oh, it's so great!!" or "It's going to change your life!!" (in an exciting, good for you way). But, no. Maybe her husband is a real douchebag. Or maybe she just got knocked up, I thought. But, really, I feel like those moments should be for my wife anyway. This is her thing. She's carrying it, gets to feel all the amazing and horrible things inside of her (like "infertility" goo). I want her to have the most amazing nine months of her life, with confetti, and streamers, and laughter. But so far, I'm worried that she's feeling, well, left out. And now it looks like we won't even be able to tell her family the way we wanted. Total bullshit. Can something go her way? I really don't need anything or want anything. I'm just trying to be present and available. I mean, my life doesn't really have to change at all right now. I can go to the gym, I can smoke crack and jump on trampolines... but her? C'mon, universe, give her SOMEthing for God's sake.

I can't say that me going to Become a Catholic classes is not partially (primarily?) a selfish thing. Sure, I'm curious, and I'd like to learn a lot more about what's so important to G's family and upbringing, and I'm not unnecessarily opposed to religion like I once was because it was cool or the thing to do. But, am I making a deal with God that since we're (hopefully) getting what we want, I'll give Him or Her what S/He wants? Sure. What do I have to lose? The first meeting happened a couple days ago, and it was pretty laid back, and nothing major happened. I tried to make a joke on the way out while passing a busted up part of the church fence by saying "Oh I did that when I was saying 'I don't WANT to go to RCIA...." Dead silence. Okay, so wrong crowd. This isn't going to be a barrel of laughs or where I meet my new best friend. A small sacrifice on my part compared to what she has to do. Very small. Besides, I've struggled all my life with an identity. I play African drums for fuck sake. Talk about identity crisis. I'd love to be a family man with two healthy kids going to our neighborhood church. Well, I do already, except they won't let me eat the damn wafer. I know not to bite it, even. Saw it in a movie once. I was slightly embarassed to ask at the meeting "So... what is the liturgy?" but, you know, I have to ask a LOT of questions to catch up. I'm really completely in the dark about this whole thing. As a kid, church was some place where everyone's children went to a separate room and plaid cops and robbers. I know more about Buddhism than Catholicism, Christ, the Holy Trinity... really any aspect of Christianity at all. Who was Moses? I was slightly relieved to hear someone ask "So, what's the difference between a Christian and a Catholic?" Damn, even I know that.

Am I worried that it's the wrong motivation for going? Sure, but it sure seemed to start at a very opportune time (two weeks after finding out she was pregnant). So, I'll give it a go. G said it was okay that I didn't have to decide anything yet. I like that. I'm not Catholic yet, I don't know if I believe in God with a capital "G", I'm just... allowing for the possibility. It seems like the wise thing to do. If someone handed me a vile saying "This could save your life," would I refuse it because I didn't know what was in it? Hell no. I'd drink and ask questions later. So, I'm just... allowing for the possibility. That's what I can handle right now. But, you know what? I know I'm completely insignificant, and have definitely not lived a life that allows for me to have any say or sway over ANYthing you might do, but... if I'm going to do this thing, this whole Baptism thing in front of my whole new family and an ass-load of complete strangers... you gotta make a deal with me, okay God? Just let her have this ONE thing. Let her tell people in the way SHE wants. She's carrying our child in there. C'mon.

Trip the Light Fantastic

I swat at that dreaded gnat,
It flies right by my eyes.
And dances, prances in advance of my hands,
I'm surprised in light of its disguise.

My eyes have defied my own mind,
Indeed what seemed to be
A critter to hit or be bitter about,
Wreaks glee in me wholeheartedly.

For in fact, what I track, intact, so compact
So couth I sleuth as it soars.
With apparent intent to lament its descent
By coyly avoiding the floors...

With games that it plays, I make way and lay still for
A bubble that guggled from soap,
I root for its pursuit, it's commute is astute,
So sure I'm lured into hope.

So fragile, it travels to grapple with fate,
At first I'm sure it will burst.
A blunder I wonder what will render asunder,
Though I underestimate its thirst.

It bounces around, clowning and bounding,
Unfulfilled lest it build a great home.
It creates a safe place on the lace of the drapes,
And I know now I won't be alone.

As burst it did not, it got caught in that spot,
Seeming to cling to the string.
Infused in the fibers found fervent with faith
a brand new baby bubble would bring.

Its journey adjourned it turns to its next task,
That same drive to thrive and stay alive.
Its purposefully placed position proves perfect,
An attestment as to how Amelie arrived.

Twas a magical moment that made me modest,
The happiest half hour I've ever had,
Perhaps a precursor to the pleasures of parenting,
Thank you, God, I'm going to be a Dad.