5 Day Momma’s Boy

I got to be with my Mom for 5 days this week. I haven’t seen her in 2 years. Before I got sober the Mother/Son bond was about severed. Today I can say it is not. I have been reminded of the joys of being her son.

This song is one of many she couldn’t stand but I played over and over….loudly, when I was much younger. Strangely enough she remembered it and didn’t mind it so much this time around.


The Racist Rainbow

I don’t understand today’s youth. I am attempting to take part in the raising of 2 of them. Here is the latest conversation with one of the 2 of them on the way home from school…..

“Guess what?”

“What son?”

“I have a kid in my Spanish class…who name is Mexican….he was born in Mexico…and he can’t speak Spanish….I speak more than he does….he’s dumber than I am.”

“Why? Because he was born in Mexico and doesn’t speak Spanish? know my sister was born in Mexico and doesn’t speak Spanish…does that make her dumb?”

“……no because she doesn’t have a Mexican name.”

“That’s because my parents adopted her and….nevermind. You know what…I bet you might even have some black kids in your class that don’t play basketball.”

“Yeah…I think there is…so?”

“So. You are judging people based on stereotypes. The belief that all people with Mexican names speak Spanish is just as absurd as thinking that all blacks play basketball. It’s a type of racism, son.”

“That’s not racist. I was part of a racist comment today.”

“Really…..? Please, tell me all about it.”

“Me, my black friend, and my Mexican friend were sitting in our seats in class…which are all in a row behind each other…and someone said look its a rainbow….now that’s racist…”

“I don’t even know how to respond to that…. But I will try. Being called a rainbow is not…..Ughh…did the person who said it follow up by smacking y’all in the back of the head with a bag of skittles?”

“No….we can’t have skittles in class.”

“My point is…..a rainbow has the spectrum of many colors. Although they are different, when seen together after a rainstorm, they are viewed as 1 form and not as a collection of different ones. Much like the citizens of our country, we all look different, but should be viewed as a single form, human. Therefore being called a rainbow…in the context that you are referring…is a good thing and therefore not racist.”

“So….are you gonna buy me some skittles or what? My mind wandered after you said my point is….”

“They will be at end of the next rainbow you see, son.”

“We’ll that sucks. There’s not even any clouds in the sky.”

“Yes it does, son. Yes it does.”


The 1 Finger Wave

Doctor Helga Knuckles, M.D, was her name….and inflicting pain, for her pleasure, was her game.

Ok…so that probably wasn’t her name and maybe she didn’t actually like to inflict pain…but the shame I felt after leaving her office will have a long lasting effect.

Lately, I have been hearing from the people around me-

“You look sick”

“Have you lost weight? You really look way skinny”

“Do you feel alright? Cuz you don’t look alright.”


“I’m not sick. I haven’t lost weight. I feel fine. I look how I have always looked.” Is my standard “cover all questions” reply.

The loved ones that surround me have been particularly relentless this year. So I put up my last line of defense.

“If I go get a physical from the Doctor will you be happy?”……….

Wrong defensive strategy. It resulted in the offense going in for the kill. Before I had the chance to explain my motives, an appointment was made. There was no getting out of it.

I was promptly awoken at 8 am, in order to arrive at my 9 am appointment.
The wait time was about an hour, due to the abundance of drug testing appointments that came in. They get priority over anything else… problem I can just sit out here with the sickies and await my turn.

I finally get called back and placed into the exam room to await the Doc.

I am sitting on the exam table, with the fabulous paper covering, when SHE waltzes in, and began the questioning…..I supplied the answering of said questions-

Her-Do you smoke?
Me- Only when I’m on fire.

Me- ok yes I smoke.

Her-how much alcohol do you drink?
Me-none in the last six years…plenty before that…if you’ve got time I’ve got some great stories…

Her-no Thanks. How about drug use.
Me-no thanks but you go ahead if you feel like it…..

Me- none in the last six years …but…

Her- yeah yeah plenty before that and no I don’t want to hear any stories.
Me- you saw that coming, huh?

Her-ya think? Any pre existing conditions of any sort….I mean besides making a mockery of everything?
Me-Touché. Heart conditions on my Mothers side and prostate cancer on my Fathers side. It killed both he and his Father.

Her- ok. Lets get on with the exam.
Me- Booyah.

She started with the stethoscope, then the ear/nose check thingie. Next one more question-

“You have a deviated septum. That’s usually one of 2 things, cocaine abuse or nasal spray abuse”

My reply-

“She don’t lie, she don’t lie, she don’t lie…..cocaine. That’s Eric Clapton”

Her reply-

“I knew before I asked. Because of your predisposition to heart problems, I am going to give you an EKG then we will run some blood work. Put this gown on, it will make things easier.”

“Do I get to keep my Auqaman Underoos on or do need to be alfresco?”

“Just take your shirt off, water boy, that will be fine.”

EKG done. Blood work is next. Luckily I have veins that make a heroin addict cry, so getting this part done was not a problem.

Next was the fun part….for her.

She walks in, pulling a fresh pair of rubber gloves on…wearing a sinister grin and holding a tube of some kind of lubricant.

That’s when I noticed the knuckles.

Professional wrestlers had more petite knuckles than her.

I gulped in fear of what was next.

She stated, “Drop your pants and lay on the table, on your side, facing that wall. This will only take a minute.”

“Ummm….what?” I quietly uttered


I did as I was told and received what my Father referred to as “the 1 finger wave” from the female Doctor.

Ohh the shame. She wouldn’t even nibble on my ear before she went 3 knuckle deep into my backside…..just dove in as if the green lights just went off at the drag strip.

I think I blacked out.

The next thing I remember is the rubber glove snapping off her hand. And her oh so kind words,

“We’re done cowboy. Get dressed. We will call you with the results.”

And she just sashayed out and on to the next victim.

I wasn’t even offered a “thank you for letting me tickle your prostate lollipop” or anything.

It’s been 12 hours and I am still wiping lube out of my crack. What did she use 10W 40 and a turkey baster?

I really need to quit being such a smart ass with figures of authority.



It’s not every day when one can say that a fortune inside a cookie changed their life.

The plan was set. There was no turning back. All the pent up anger and frustration of never being good enough had surfaced in a single moment of clarity.

All the times they laughed because his pants were too short

“Hey Jonny! When’s the flood? Ha ha!”

His glasses were too thick

“Nice coke bottle glasses Jonny..4 eyed freak ha ha!”

Last to be picked to play

“Jeez do we have to get Jonny again?”

Nobody knows what it’s like to be Jonny….except Jonny.

Even he is tired of being Jonny. He knew how to change it all.

He just woke up one Monday morning and it came to him clear as day. He knew where his Dad kept the key to his gun safe. The .45 was always loaded and his Dad wouldn’t miss it. Heck, he would be at work anyway. So he took it and put it into his backpack before he left for school.

He walked out the front door and headed for the bus stop with a new confidence.

A new day has risen.

A new Jonny has risen.

And they would fall.

They would beg him to stop.

And he would not.

The new Jonny wouldn’t allow it. It was time for payback…redemption. To be the giver of pain instead of the taker. The “cool kids” needed to taste “hot lead”, the “jocks” needed to be “jacked”. Their comedic side needed to meet his tragic side.


Later was now.

He turned the corner to the bus stop just in time to see the bus pulling away. He tried to catch up but the driver wouldn’t stop and the kids in the back seats just watch him run and laughed at his disposition. He would now be late. But that didn’t worry him. It just gave him more fuel to know he was doing the right thing.

His anger continued to swell.

It would be long walk to school but a walk with a purpose.

As he travelled through the streets he came across an elderly Asian woman who appeared to be having trouble getting her groceries from her car to her home.

“You need some help ma’am?”

“Oh, you child so kind. Thank you.”

He helps get the groceries inside and was about to leave. The woman stops him to give him a gift.

“I cannot pay you money for your kindness….but with this you may be granted change of heart.” She gives him a fortune cookie and says, ” a little morsel for your travels…and a message for your soul.”

Jonny gives her a puzzled look, but takes the cookie and returns to his quest.

He breaks open the cookie and puts half of it in his mouth and bites down.


The sound fills his head and it makes him a bit woozy. He closes his eyes and tries to shake off the sick feeling.

He opens his eyes and reads the fortune in the small slip of paper.

“Closing the space between 5 miles will bring you to happiness.”

He thought to himself, “that’s dumb”

As he ponders the fortune, he places the other half of the cookie in his mouth.


Again the sound fills his head. He closes his eyes and rubs them with the knuckles of his index fingers to shake the feeling. He opens his eyes and realizes he is not where he was.

Everything was gone.

No houses.
No cars.

Just a dirt road intersecting 2 fields with tall grass.

He did what anyone else would do. He took the gun out of his backpack and started to walk.

He walked

And walked

And walked until he saw the sign.


He took the slip of paper out of his pocket. Looked at it. Looked at the sign. And decided to follow the arrow.

It was a quiet walk. But the more he walked the more he heard the voice in the wind-

“Your problem lies not with them. It is that you believe their lies. Believe your truth and stop living their lie…..”

It repeated over and over as he walked.

Jonny blocked it out to try to decipher the meaning. He thought about their verbal abuses….and slowly began to realize….he didn’t care what they thought anyway.

Maybe some people just aren’t good at sports…..maybe I don’t want to be like them….maybe they are jealous of me.

Yeah..that’s it. I’m a good kid. I’m ok with who I am. Screw them and their want everyone to like them way of thinking. If I shoot them I am worse than them….I’m not like them.

He stops where he is at and grins. Strangely he has reached the same sign in the road only it’s slightly different….

Instead of

“Happiness 5 miles”

it reads

“Happiness 5miles”

Then it changes again to

“Happiness Smiles”


His alarm clock awakens him.

It’s Monday morning. Time to get ready for school. He sits up in his bed and days, “Stupid dream. It felt real but of course it wasn’t.”

He gets out of bed and places his feet on the floor. He steps on something and turns on the light to see what it is.

Right next to small chunks of what looks like some kind of cookie is a small slip of paper. He picks it up and reads the inscription.

“Closing the space between 5 miles will bring you to happiness.”

A new day has risen.

A new Jonny has risen.

Buying Time

A Father and son walked out of the corner store and head towards the busy downtown shopping district. As the pedestrian sign flashed


in bright red letters, the pair stopped to wait for the sign to change. The Father takes his sons hand in his and looked down at him and smiled.

The son looked up at his Father, smiled back and anxiously said,

“Daddy, are we going to do Black Friday?”

“Is that what today is? Hmmm…I hadn’t thought about it….”

“Awww. Come on. It’s always the day after Thanksgiving. How could you not think about it? It’s what we do every Friday after Thanksgiving.”


“Let’s get to steppin’ champ. We got a lot of ground to cover.”

“K, Dad…we got to move it move it.”

The Father shakes his head and grins as they travel across the street. After getting back onto the sidewalk, he lifts his son up from behind and places him on his shoulders.

“I don’t want to lose you in the crowds, so up top you go.” The Father states.

“Birds eye view Caw Caw” the child replies with a giggle.

It is late in the afternoon and still throngs of people are pushing and shoving to get in and out of the downtown department stores.

The Father looks up at his son and asks,

“You want to go into the sports or toy store to look around? Christmas is coming you know….”

“Nah…too crowded. Maybe some other time…….People are using more bad words than they did last year…aren’t they supposed to be happy? I mean jeez yesterday was Thanksgiving.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I can’t cover your ears and make my way through at the same time. We will be home soon.”

The son starts bouncing up and down on his Father’s shoulders and chanting,

“Black Friday Black Friday Today is the day it’s Black Friday!”

“Settle down, Cochise. We’re going, we’re going.”

It takes them :45 minutes to get to the other side of the shopping district. The Father lets out a sigh of relief. They made it through the crowd without too much of a struggle. For the final 5 blocks to their small apartment he takes his son off his shoulders to walk the rest of the way.

They walk inside the door to the apartment building and make their way up the steps to their second floor, 1 bedroom home.

The Father places the key in the lock and turns it to open the door. The son anxiously blurts out,

“Is it Black Friday time….can I get it set up?”

The Father opens the door and says,

“Yeah, it’s time. Go do your thing, call me when you are ready.”


The son scurries past his Father and darts into the kitchen area and begins moving things around. After about 10 minutes he shouts,


And turns out the lights.

From the darkness of the hallway, the Father emerges with one lit candle lighting the way. He places it in the center of the garage sale bought kitchen table and sits down on one of the metal fold out chairs. His son sits across from him, propped up on his elbows on one of the other metal chairs…..grinning ear to ear.

“Can I deal to make sure you don’t cheat?”

“You calling me a cheater?….yes you can deal.” The Father replies as he passes the deck of brand new cards, which he bought at the corner store, over to his son.

The son does his best shuffle (which strangely resembles 52 card pickup), and then deals 7 cards to each to his Father and himself.

He picks up his cards, makes his best poker face in the candlelight, and looks at his Father and says,

“You got any 3’s?”

The Father squints and makes his best mean look and replies,

“Go fish, partner.”

Before he fetches cards from the deck, the son looks at his Father and plainly says,

“Thanks Dad. Black Friday is the best day of the year.”


Sock It Toomy

The divorce rate amongst my socks is astounding.

How could so many happily paired up couples be disbanding and forced to live the lonely single life on top of the shelf above the dryer? They all just lay there waiting for their counterpart to return….when inevitably they will be matched up with a sock that is similar but not quite the same as the match they had before. The “match” might be shorter….slightly discolored…have a few tears or holes.

Sometimes in a pure upheaval of laundered bliss an ankle sock is paired with a dress sock just to thin out the singularity of purpose.

Eventually all the singles get thrown away and the cycle starts over.

The madness has to stop.

I devised a plan to find out what was happening. I called it-


I even got my step son involved. He is 16 and needs to be well versed in the problems that face a household.

We first went to “the Walmart” and bought 2 packs of socks. He chose a package of black no show socks. I chose the old man standard white tube socks (no color band around the top…that would have been weird). We headed home to start our experiment.

Step 1- wear a pair of new sock each day for six days.

Step 2-place worn socks into specially marked basket marked “Sweat Box”.

Step 3- on the seventh day take samples to laundry room.

Step 4-count sweat box samples, before machine loading, to ensure none have escaped.

Step 5- load into washer.

Step 6-wash

Step 7- count socks individually to ensure none escaped.

Step 7- transfer to dryer

Step 8- complete drying cycle

Step 9- recount

Step 10- analyze findings

Step 11- submit findings to the Scientific Laundry Institute

Step 12- sit back and wait for the praises!!

Simple and efficient. No way this plan could go awry.

Communication was somehow lost around step 1.

There my stepson and I stood. I was taking socks out of the box, counting and pairing as I went.

The raw stench was almost unbearable.

I counted out my white socks first. 12 socks. Six pairs. Perfect.

I looked into the box and there were 3 black socks and a kind of yellowish ankle sock almost standing at attention. I guess crispy would be the correct description.

“What the heck is this, son??”

“those are my socks…”

“You wore these 2 pair of socks for six days? Wh…wh…what about our experiment?? SOCK AND AWE…remember? We were going to solve one of the great mysteries in the history of laundry. 2 pair for SIX days?? How did this happen? What about my data?”

“Chill dad. It’s just socks. I was playing Call of Duty and forgot about your experiment. I’m tired when I get up so I just grab the first socks I see. You are always yelling at me to get up so I don’t have time to wear clean ones. Sometimes I just sleep in the ones from the day before and wear them again. Can I go now, I’m the Captain of our online raid team…they are playing without me.”

“……………….” I stare blankly. As he shrugs and walks back into the house.

Sometimes it “socks” to be me.



No Snack For You

Twinkies are about to be no more.

Potheads will have to settle for Zingers….because

Twinkies are about to be no more.

This pivotal scene from “Die Hard” would not
of had the same lasting powerful effect, if John McClane were eating a 1000 year old zinger.

Twinkies are about to be no more.

My snacking tendencies are are bankrupt as Hostess.

Hopefully the fried pork rind industry is not in jeopardy…

Twinkies are about to be no more.

The Nipple Overture

I have woke up with pain in different areas of my body over the last few years. Age being a factor. Working in construction being another. I suppose not adequately taking care of myself over the years might somehow factor into the equation.

This morning I woke up and my nipples hurt….


That reaction brought back a memory and coincidentally one of the many reasons on why I stopped drinking.

Its not like I recently had them pierced or anything like that. I have way to much respect for my man nipples to…do….that…to…myself….

Ok, so maybe that’s not true.

One night in Juarez, Mexico….while drinking heavy amounts of tequila, I pierced my own nipple with a safety pin…..


Hold on…hold on…it’s not like I wasn’t safe about it.

I numbed my nipple at the bar with ice, as curious onlookers and non English speaking bartenders began to gather, as the safety pin was being sterilized in a shot of freshly poured rot gut tequila.

SAFETY FIRST!! I always say.

After having a female friend of mine flick my nipple with her long nails to make sure I could not feel anything. I picked up the safety pin out of the shot glass, and plunged it through. Then closed it.

A little blood

A little light headed

A little woozy

I put my shirt back on and then drank the congratulatory / you are a idiot shots that kept coming.

All was well until I tried to go to sleep after getting home.

Each time I rolled over…the safety pin would turn over causing excruciating pain in my man nipple.

I woke up my room mate who was passed out halfway on the couch and halfway on the floor and began babbling about pain. His response was similar to this….


We weren’t in costume…because that would have been wierd…..

I was told to man up and take it out. I looked stupid with a safety pin in my nipple.

So I unhooked it from it’s clasp, and yanked it out…

A little more blood

A little more light headed

A lot more woozy

Oh yeah… And this..


Not an actual picture of me but the expression is accurate.

For the next 6 months I walked around with 1 erect nipple that was more sensitive than a 2 year old without his blanket.

And yes I was called cyclops.

And that is reason # 27 of why I stopped drinking.

(Not my nipple…because an actual picture of me with a pierced nipple would once again just be wierd)

Write Choice

My right to vote was stripped from me over 6 years ago. Committing crimes…and getting caught for them, caused it to happen. That among other things….

Previous to that time, my internal thoughts were

-my vote doesn’t matter
-who cares about politics
-it’s my right NOT to vote

Since gaining the right to vote at 18, I rarely took advantage of the power it holds.

The freedom it holds.

This country and the brave men and women who fought, many to their death, did so, to ensure that freedom for all who want to be American.

I am now 43 years old.

I have earned my basic rights as a citizen of this great country back, and have voted in this years Presidential election.

I will no longer take for granted the freedoms that the United States of America grants me as a citizen.

Time to choose

Time to make a difference

Time to be heard

Time to vote

Time to make use of freedom, instead of expect it.

It’s time.