Tag Archives: birthday

Enter…The New Guy

the-new-guy-500x330

You didn’t expect me to post an actual picture of him, did you?

This post should have come much sooner than this, but as anyone who has had a child knows, life tends to get in the way sometimes; that and I wanted this post to be just right.

The New Guy – my second child and me & The Auteur’s first together – was born at 8:06 AM on Friday July 3, 2015 via Cesarean section.  As of this writing, he and The Auteur are doing great.

To put my feelings into words right now seems like an impossible task.  I cannot possibly do justice to all that I am thinking and feeling at this moment.  But I will do my best…

I feel incredibly blessed.  Blessed to have this beautiful, healthy child and blessed to be having this child with The Auteur.  She’s such a remarkable person that falling in love with her was the easy part.  The fact that she and I met at all is almost a miracle unto itself.  That she fell in love with me and was wiling to have a child with me almost defies logic.

In all seriousness, I feel that The New Guy, as with all things pertaining to mine and The Auteur’s relationship is a gift.  One that I  do not – and will not – ever take for granted.

My God, he is beautiful.  The Auteur and I made a beautiful baby together, if I may say so!

Thanks to modern technology, the Auteur and I anticipated approximately how big he was going to be (which, after hearing the sizes of other newborns at our hospital no longer seemed all that out-of-the-ordinary.)  He wasn’t overweight, mind you; he was proportionately big all over, long and tall…for a newborn.  As a result of his size, he came out with a lot of bruising.  The doctors said it was because he was cramped inside the womb.  It was funny, because shortly after he was born, one of the nurses looked at me and said “Congratulations, you guys just gave birth to a two-month old!”

Even on the day he was born, I could tell that he has a very mellow disposition.  Don’t get me wrong, he can belt out a great cry with the best of them, but he seems to take everything in stride.

Being a father is different the second time around.  Not better, not worse, just different.  I feel better prepared this time.  I feel like with The Kid, I was able to enjoy every sensation of his birth and those first few days of his life; however with The New Guy, I was able to enjoy every moment with a different sense of perspective.  I feel like I was able to enjoy different nuances of every moment that I couldn’t even process when The Kid was born 8 years ago.  It is a feeling that is very difficult to articulate.  I suppose it’s like bring in The Matrix:  no one can tell you what it feels like to become a parent, once has to experience it for themselves.    To that end, no one can tell you what it feels like to become a parent once again.  That too, one has to experience for themselves.

This adventure is just starting.  No doubt I will be telling of it more in the days, weeks and months ahead, but one last thought I’d like to leave with:

Just as it was with The Kid, there really are no instruction books on having children.  The moment when we were leaving the hospital to take The New Guy home was surreal.  Sure we had his room, his swing and his bottles all ready for him, but that moment of leaving the hospital and coming home for the first time  with The New Guy in tow – I assume is not unlike the first step one takes when they are skydiving.  We really are out here – in the world – on our own. These little ones don’t come with instruction books.

Not that I didn’t already know that…

 

Mom, Mom; Dad, Dad

Last week, the Auteur and I threw a birthday party for 1B.  Aside from the aforementioned birthday, this day marked a special occasion in that it was the first time that mine and The Auteur’s parents met each other. It went great, probably better than we should have expected.  I don’t necessarily see them hanging out together or anything, but they were more than cordial and more than polite with each other:  They were friendly with each other.

It’s strange because I wasn’t nearly nervous or excited about it as I expected to be.  A lot of that was due to the fact that the Auteur and I were both running around like proverbial chickens with our heads cut off – trying to get everything ready in the 36 plus  hours leading up to the party and we were tired.  I also think a lot of it is due to the fact that –  let’s face it, were not 20 anymore – our parents simply aren’t as big of a factor in our lives as they were when we were younger.

Something is happening to me.  Lately, I feel like I’m not nearly as sentimental about some thing as I once was.  I’ve always been a softie, but that’s definitely changing in some aspects of my life.  Am I getting old?  Cynical?

Hell, even with this blog. There was a time when I would have been writing about the party/our parents meeting that night or the next day.  I just don’t do that anymore.

In other news, I got a call Thursday from the assistant principal at a high school in Georgia.  This is the same district that I met with at a job fair back in April.  I’ve been trying real hard not to put all my eggs into that proverbial basket.  In fact, I pretty much gave up hope on them when they started school earlier this month.  But that’s one thing I’ve learned about myself over the years:  When I stop obsessing over something, it usually ends up falling into my lap.  More on that as it develops.

Catching up with The Apostle

Had this picture been made in 2014, I'm sure the artist would have included The Apostle I blog about today.

Had this picture been made in 2014, I’m sure the artist would have included The Apostle I blog about today.

Last night, The Auteur and I went to a surprise birthday party for my oldest longest-tenured friend in this world:  I’ll call him The Apostle.  I call him this not to be blasphemous or sarcastic, but because he has stronger religious convictions than anyone I’ve ever known.  I’ve known The Apostle since kindergarten.  We went to elementary, junior high and high school together.  We discovered girls together.  He was the best man at my wedding.

In an interesting aside, he met Jabba during his “born-again” phase.  When he learned about her religious beliefs, he told her to her face that everything he had ever heard had told him that she would go to Hell.

The Apostle’s wife, with some help from his sister and brother-in-law, put together a phenomenal birthday event.  It was at a banquet hall that was better suited to a wedding reception.  They had a few of his close friends give speeches about him and put together a video including greetings from some of his long-distance friends.  One of the speakers brought up a quote that he credited to the Apostle – though I have seen it used by others on the web:

Crave your future.

One of the things I really took from last night – and the birthday video in particular – was that The Apostle has truly made an impact on the lives of his family, friends and loved ones.  That famous Jackie Robinson quote ran through my head as I heard person after person sing the praises of The Apostle: “A life is not important except for the impact it has on other lives”.

Watching that video and processing all this information, I’m forced to wonder: what impact have I really made on the lives of others?  I know that it often takes time for a person to rebuild their life after a divorce.  Hell it has taken my brother and sister years to get themselves back to where they are now, but it’s more than that.  I need to be more involved – maybe even more active in my community.  I want to be more well-rounded.  I’m not saying that I want to be involved in a church like he is; I just want to feel like I make a difference in peoples’ lives.

I crave my future.  I obsess over it.  Sometimes I think so much about it, I don’t do enough to actually work toward it.  Everything I want is within my grasp:  my career, the woman of my dreams, my son, the future life that I’ve sought for the last two years – it’s all mine for the taking.  I just have to do it.

It’s funny, because The Apostle and I were SO very competitive growing up.  We used to push each other.  A lot.  At various times throughout our lives, I think we envied each other.  I haven’t seen the guy in 2 years – since our 20 year reunion – and  he’s pushing me once again.

Some Kind of Monster, part 3

The following is a re-telling of an event that occurred on the night of Saturday June 8th into the morning of Sunday June 9th 2013.  It is on a very short list of the most shameful experience of my life.  It has taken me literally two weeks to process everything that occurred, get multiple perspectives on the chain of events, mend the most essential fences and finally have the nerve to re-live it.  I chose to write this now because I realize that this blog may one day burn some bridges with it’s brutal honesty; and I want to show future readers that I am just as willing to hold myself to the same proverbial fires. 

Click HERE to read part one of this story.  Click HERE for part two.  

If you have to compare your behavior to that of Doughboy, you better believe you've got  a problem

If you have to compare your behavior to that of Doughboy, you better believe you’ve got a problem

At this point I should also mention that I ordered a shot of something  called “liquid cocaine” ( I think mine was closest to the number 2 recipe from what I recall).  Later, Phred had ordered a couple pitchers of beer, but she wasn’t feeling good and ended up leaving early.  And guess who decided to “take one for them team and finish them off?

Apparently at one point, one of The Auteur’s friends asked J if I was okay.  He said “I’ve seen him drink way more than this,”.  The only problem was that J didn’t join us at the bar until after almost midnight.  Maybe he was just trying to downplay the situation.  Either way, I don’t blame him.  But The Auteur and her friends knew J got there late.  How the hell would he have known if I was okay?

Things then went right from the toilet to the sewer as we left the bar shortly before  closing.  As we were walking out, some guy cut in front of The Auteur, putting his hands all over her, trying to come on to her.  The guys was so out of line that I would have come to the defense of any female in our group under the circumstances.  The fact that this was my girlfriend only served to make even more angry.  I, literally, got in this guys face and said “We got a problem here?”  even as trashed as I was, I had no intention of fighting this guy whatsoever; but I wasn’t going to tolerate him acting this way toward any of my friends, let alone my girlfriend.  I simply wanted him to know that The Auteur was with me.  All I wanted to hear was a “hey we’re cool,” but that was probably wishful thinking.

I remember the Auteur literally stepping in between me and Wandering Cock 2013.  I’m told that one of his friends got up behind him and at this point, J showed up behind me.  Somehow a bouncer caught my attention and suggested that I leave.  So I did.  I thought that the group was directly behind me; but evidently,I left the bar at an even faster clip than I realized.  I walked back to Phred’s apartment, alone.  J got into his car and left.  The Auteur and her friends got a ride with one of the girls who showed up late and beat me back to Phred’s place.  The Auteur, who had taken the proverbial high road all evening, simply suggested that I “sleep this off”.   I passed out at Phred’s place – only after putting a hole in her wall – and drove home at about 6:30 that morning.

That morning, I spoke with J, Phred and The Auteur and I was forced to do some serious soul searching.  Phred suggested that I talked to somebody (i.e. a counselor or psychiatrist).  I told The Auteur that I would, and that I was giving up alcohol.  I ruined her birthday celebration and I scared her.  To be honest, I scared myself as well.  I made an atrocious first impression on several of her friends simultaneously.  Even now, as I type this, I’m nauseous thinking about the entire experience.

At one point in our conversation Sunday morning, The Auteur said something to the effect of:  “you can’t act like this anymore.  you’re not 20”.  The fact is, I could not have even done that when I was 20.  Since my divorce, I started drinking A LOT more than I ever had before.  I have my seen my tolerance steadily increase.  I had had a few scares similar to this: one time not knowing where or when I spent all my cash; another time not even remembering my drive home.  This incident with The Auteur’s birthday, combined with my other scares, led me to the conclusion that I had to stop drinking.  As of this writing, I have been sober for 17 days with absolutely no intention of ever taking another drink.

Some Kind of Monster – Part 2

The following is a re-telling of an event that occurred on the night of Saturday June 8th into the morning of Sunday June 9th 2013.  It is on a very short list of the most shameful experience of my life.  It has taken me literally two weeks to process everything that occurred, get multiple perspectives on the chain of events, mend the most essential fences and finally have the nerve to re-live it.  I chose to write this now because I realize that this blog may one day burn some bridges with it’s brutal honesty; and I want to show future readers that I am just as willing to hold myself to the same proverbial fires. 

Click HERE to read part one of this story.

Many of the details that follow from the bar I received second or third hand.  There are some things I do recall; I assume they occurred during my brief moments of clarity.  To paraphrase Prince: I was drunk when I lived this.  Forgive me as I went astray.

I remember all of us getting a round of drinks and me toasting the Auteur a “Happy Birthday”.  A little later – although it may have been during the same round – I remember one of the Auteur’s friends – whom I shall code name “The Set-Up” wanting a Jager, but not having any cash.  I apparently offered to buy her one – not really thinking anything of it – just extending an olive branch to one of the Auteur’s friends.  Apparently right around the same time that I was offering to but The Set-Up a drink, our waitress was coming around to collect on our round.  The waitress was giving me an opportunity to pay for The Auteur’s drink, but I was too fucked up to pick up on it until about the second or third time she said so.  The waitress took my money and gave The Auteur back hers as well.

After this point, I didn’t even know what happened to all the money I had on me.  Granted I was only carrying $40 or so, but STILL.  I had no recollection of who, where or what I spent my money on.  I’m starting to wonder if I didn’t give the waitress mentioned above an extra $20 on accident.  Something similar to this happened to me one night when I went out with a few friends from the Social Club; only that time I didn’t think much of it.

Throughout our evening at the bar, I made several trips to the bathroom.  This is not all that uncommon as I will typically visit a restroom at the slightest inclination my body has to urinate – drunk or sober – that’s how my body functions. Seeing how this was a bar and I had clearly had too much to drink already, one might assume that I was going to the bathroom to vomit.  This was not the case. I think that I experienced a few blackouts while I was in the bathroom.  I didn’t throw up and I didn’t pass out.  And yet, this was a case of something far more than just losing track of time.  An article on Wikipedia refers to this experience as  a fragmentary blackout or  a brownout.  Once again, it was only after I discussed the night with The Auteur that I realized what had happened.  Even now, over two weeks later, I have only vague recollections of standing at a bathroom stall for an excessive period of time.  If my stomach, liver or kidneys had refused to take part in this alcoholic decathlon I was subjecting them to, it might have been an easier night for me.  Instead, it was as if the booze had gone straight to my brain, literally.

Click HERE to read part three of this story

Some Kind of Monster – a near-tragedy in 3 parts

The following is a re-telling of an event that occurred on the night of Saturday June 8th into the morning of Sunday June 9th 2013.  It is on a very short list of the most shameful experience of my life.  It has taken me literally two weeks to process everything that occurred, get multiple perspectives on the chain of events, mend the most essential fences and finally have the nerve to re-live it.  I chose to write this now because I realize that this blog may one day burn some bridges with it’s brutal honesty; and I want to show future readers that I am just as willing to hold myself to the same proverbial fires.

June 7 was The Auteur’s birthday.  She and a friend had tickets to the Pitbull concert that night, so we were going to get a small group of people together Saturday night for a belated celebration.  I was EXTREMELY anxious about giving The Auteur her birthday presents that night.  This is primarily due to the fact that the STBX never really cared for ANY gifts that I ever got her.  Seeing constant disappointment over the better part of 18 years made me think that I was just a bad gift-giver.  Then of course, there were the years when neither of us could afford to exchange birthday or Christmas gifts.  Combine those lean times with the inevitable disappointment that occurred when I tried  to give gifts and after a while, I simply stopped trying.  Don’t get me wrong; it’s not like I ever bought the STBX a can of bug spray or a vacuum cleaner.  In fact, I put a great deal of thought into every gift I ever gave her.  But, as I’ve come to realize  like every other aspect of our marriage – nothing, and I mean NOTHING was ever “good enough”  for the STBX.

We had all agreed to meet up at Sis’s apartment.  I wrapped up The Auteur’s gifts there and was really panicking.  Planning to have a drink or three before going out, I brought along my Jagermeister and Red Bull.  Hey, beer had been bothering my stomach the last few times I drank it – this was my rationale in my anxiety-ridden mind.  Rather than taking my second Inderal to help settle my nerves, I decided to self-medicate the way alcoholics do.  Rather than do it through beer, as I always had in the past, I reached for the Jager.

Oh, and it worked all right.  My nerves were calmed…i.e.  I had a pretty good buzz going by the time The Auteur and her friends arrived at Sis’s.  God she looked so beautiful that night, as she does every night.  I remember a moment there in Sis’s kitchen where we were holding each other, looking deep into each others eyes and I had an epiphany:  I realized that everything would be okay as long as we were together.  I was just ecstatic to see her.  And so relieved when she like the gifts I had gotten her.  I had realized then how dumb it was of me to be so worried about whether or not she would like my gifts.  Neither The Auteur nor any other woman I have ever met could ever be as impossible to please as the STBX.  Holding any other woman to that low of a standard is a disservice to them all.  Anyway, I was feeling pretty good at this point.  the problem with me and hard liquor is that I don’t realize just hard the sauce is hitting me until it’s too late.  When I had my epiphany, I should have put the brakes on the drinking then and there, but I didn’t.  I should have heeded the wisdom of my epiphanic moment, but I didn’t.  Little did I know that i was about to completely lose control that night.

Post-birthday beguilement

The Auteur came out to my neck of the woods last night for a little birthday celebration.  We hung at one of those upscale multiplexes that are in vogue right now; spent way-too much money at their in-house glorified burger joint and didn’t even bother seeing a movie.  I knew when I first saw her last night that I wasn’t going to want to say goodbye until morning.  Needless to say, we ended up spending the night together.

17 years ago, I was amazed at how quickly I fell for the STBX.  Things moved pretty quickly there,  but my relationship with The Auteur has been like a bolt of lightning in comparison.

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