Pick, Sniff, Discard.

I have an 'innie'. My belly button is an 'innie'. God knows, with every passing year it is striving to morph into an 'outie' but at this point, it's still concave. I have never quite understood why some people have protruding lumps at the navel. Yeah, I know there is a medical reason for it and I'm down with that, ya dig?

It's just that the belly button, navel for the purist, is more than a reminder of where the baby mama nourished us while we were sequestered within the womb. I know this due to a revelation .. an epiphany that was thrust upon me as I was showering. Some people sing in the shower .. others dawdle and pick at moles. A few pee and there are those who meticulously manicure the landscape, if ya know what I'm sayin'...

I usually find time for all aforementioned activities but on this particular morning, as my disfingured right hand traversed the forest of belly hair, it fell pointer finger-first into the pit of nourishment, the belly button. Let me say that the ol' finger regularly pokes at the belly hole. Hell, I'm a man. What man doesn't prod the belly button for treasure during a football game or while stalling before washing dishes after dinner?

But, this time, it was different. It was this time, under the puslating showerhead that my digit entered the abyss and found, a sweater. I'd done nothing since my last shower but sleep the night before and trust me, there was no torso covering. I'm a birthday suit sleeper ... but here it was, enough material to fabricate at least one pastie, maybe a tiny thong patch.

I will not regale you with specifics of my find. Just be thankful that the dingleberry crops are dormant for the winter. No, but I will tell you the similarities between belly button lint and life.

"Oh, this oughtta be interesting," you say.

Uh, in a warped sort of way, it might make sense ... bear with me.

When my deformed digit entered my navel and discovered that remnants of something had nested in a place so overlooked at a time when I was unaware, even unconscious, I thought of the many acts and words that came from my mind at a time of distress. I have to be honest .. there was one instance in which I was forceably thrown from a bar by two bouncers onto the sidewalk. After the expulsion, I threw a great right cross that didn't faze the brick column that received the punch but the broken finger, police intervention and anger that follwed my butt-to-concrete experience stick with me to this day.

What doesn't register at all is the reason that I was removed from the establishment. The memory of the expulsion is my belly button lint. How the lint got there is yet a mystery. It's called a 'manic blackout'. I've had many of them. It's as if I was sleepwalking with a bootknife and a deathwish.

I tell you this because belly button lint can also manifest itself in words. I'm in no way going to concede my newfound individuality that I've regained as a result of blessedly altered brain chemistry. I will continue to express myself either through my mouth, my eyes or my ass. I'm adept at expression in any form ..

However, I will bow my head, roll the newfound lint between my thumb and forefinger and admit that there are words both spoken and written that have added to my own pain by alienating two of those that I want to draw closer, my kids. Can I expect them to understand? Nah. Not now ... maybe one day. Maybe one day when they pick their own lint and wonder where it came from. Maybe one day that they understand that everyone has Oompa Loompas that plague the crevices and crannies of the body and mind with imperfections that sooner or later need to be picked clean, sniffed, respected for their mystery and then discarded.

I watched the remnants of something I don't remember spiral into the drain but learned to appreciate the significance of the mystery of those remnants. I will most likely always struggle with my not knowing how those remnants found their way into such a visible, accepted orifice (yeah, it's a hole so it's an orifice), but I can assure you that that 'innie' is clean from now on and that each time that pungent lint is extracted I'm going to consider my words and actions and make amends, if necessary.

I'll save my thoughts on toe-jam, eye boogers and dingleberries for another day. I'm not really up for a religious discussion.

Hey, my children ... if you're reading, I love you both. My belly button is clean and my mind is semi-clear but my heart is always open to you. Shower on ...

Just a Thought ...

I lost it ...

Somewhere, I lost my political incorrectness. Oh. Shit. I have become tame. I do not know to what to attribute this change ... is it due to the antidepressants finally being purged from my body? Did I piss too much? Is it from my being sedentary and enjoying far too much HGTV?

I caught myself fantasizing about Chritine O'Donnell.. I was wearing my gym shorts from middle school and she was writing the Pythagoran Theorem on the chalkboard when suddenly our eyes met .. I pulled my yellow socks to my knees  and she said "The sum of the angles equals .. something".. then we ate pudding pops and had cheese sandwiches. Hey, it's a dream ... But, realistic, eh?

I joke about Christine O'Donnell because, well, what else can you do? But, I'm really worried about becoming politically correct. My left nut is bigger than my right nut. My left lobe is bigger than my right lobe. Crap ... I'm like a leaning tower of Pisa of the mind.

I worry that if I don't conform I'll be more screwed than I already am ... and although I like being screwed, I'm not enthusiastic about being screwed by surprise.

That being said ... Sarah , Christine, Sharon ... my door is open. Political correctness aside, I hope yours are open too.

Who I Am

Hello self ...

Hello you ...

You've been a bit selfish lately, eh?

Yeah ... I suppose I have.

Here you are, a man with nothing that has everything, yet you suspect that you are at the center of all problems that affect the very one who means everything to you. Asshole. You're not all that.

Hey, hey ... is it so bad to want to ensure the happiness of the one that brings me happiness? If she's not happy, then it's a reflection upon me and my ability. What good am I if I can't bring a smile  and comfort to the one I love the most?
I'm failing to provide the very basics ...

Jeff, your life has been the ultimate rollercoaster the last three years. Loops and dips and falls and tunnels .. yet, she has held fast to the handrail and screamed, whooped and puked with your every ride. Now, it's your turn to put your hands up and take the plunge.

You have wanted this from the beginning . .... you surrendered a lifestyle ... a family .. because of your belief that she is your soulmate. And, she is. And now, she is struggling ... she didn't love you any less when you were in jail. She didn't love you any less when you were on the fringe of sanity. She didn't love you any less when you were vicious in a drunken rage. She loved you then, despite your dipshitted-ness.

Grow up, dumbass. A little bit, at least. I know that you don't care if you die, but  she does. And, she needs you. And, you need her. You owe her everything. Ya know ... if ever you become known for anything, it won't be because of who you knew ...

Yeah, I know.  It'll be because of who I am. And who I am is only partly me. The rest is her. Pam.

High Dive

You don't like me. You might know me personally or you may have never met me. But you dislike me for some reason. It doesn't really matter whether it is for my sarcastic wit or my wonderful smile. Maybe, just maybe, my joie de vive appeals to you and you wish you had my ability to sneer at the world and joke about life's absurdities.

There is something about me and what I say that you find abhorrent. Yet, here you are. That's a'ight ... I often times find myself abhorrent. I live with these thoughts and views of life .. you don't.

If life is a rope, I imagine mine as being a flourescent green. And, at the end of that green rope is a Velcro strap that is securely wrapped to one ankle. The other ankle is cold, because I wear flip-flops. But, the one ankle is warm and secure and I know that Velcro is very reliable. So, if I happen to test that green rope, that Velcro will hold fast regardless of the velocity of my fall.

But wait ... I trust my own weight will snap back, no doubt. But, what of the added weight that is thrust upon me by others wishing to test my ability? Ohhhh no. My mind suddendly added a few hundred pounds. Oh shit ... is this real weight or phantom weight? Should I jump? Did I jump?

The rope snaps back. Over and over again, it snaps back. The thrill of the jump stays with me. The exhilaration of death being defied is a momentary victory. But the Velcro strap is securely fastenened to my ankle. The next bridge is in sight and the ground below is a few feet closer.

Hooks and loops. You may not like me but you're hooked. You have your own Velcro ankle strap ...

Can I borrow a Dime?

This is not a post for the masses... or maybe it is, or should be anyway. Before you decide to delve into my ramblings it is adviseable to ponder the the following ... you know, to protect yourself from any sore toes or bruised feelings that might arise as a result of what you read.

*Disclaimer - The above mentioned warning and advisory statement does not imply in any way, shape or form whatsoever that I, the writer, give two shits or a million damns if said toes or feelings are bruised. Any discomfort experienced as a result of perusal beyond this point is a direct result of reader's own innate dissatisfaction with self colliding with reader's conformist views of life, society and its projected expectations.

I must preface the following slant by mentioning that the majority of my revived spirit and renewed mind can be directly attributed to a wonderful condition I continue to survive with ... bi-polar disorder. Not the namby-pamby "oh, I feel a little depressed, where's the ice cream?" or "gee, I'm energetic.. I think I'll vacuum" variety of Bi-P disorder but the really fun 'Where's my boot knife? I'm going to the bar" and "Only two sleeping pills? No, I can't really sleep unless I take nine" and "Hey officer, when did you re-paint the holding cell?" strain of manic-depressive disorder. Bi-Polar 1, with Rapid Cycling is the clinical term. I prefer to use the word "crazy." Most with the condition will cringe when addressed as being crazy but I embrace the word like a daddy duck holding mallard eggs.

*****  So, that being said, if you believe that we are actually in a 'war' in Iraq or Afghanistan, you may want to stop reading now. If you believe that Jesus is the 'only way' to salvation, heaven or God, you probably should stop reading now. If Sarah Palin, Glenn Beck, Rush Limbaugh, Jesse Jackson or any number of religious or political talking heads define a single personal belief that you hold sacred, definitely stop reading now. If your job, career, money, car, or house defines who you are, go now. Quickly.

Oh yeah, and if your life revolves around your children. You will hate me. I don't have a problem with anyone's hatred towards me personally, but Jesus might. So, you may want to consider saving your nice toes for a Sunday afternoon stroller-push through the mall after dropping your ten-spot in the collection plate.

****** Anyone who knows me and many who don't might have the idea that I'm firmly opposed to the concept and practice of organized religion. The truth is that I'm not biased against any one faith in particular. I think that they are all human creations based on a particular individual's own quest for meaning and answers about the unknown. It's too bad that religions have evolved into methods of controlling the populace through percieved God-given laws, directives and rituals. That being said, I want to talk about something that chaps my ass more than skinnydipping on a Louisiana 10W-30-colored beach on a windy sand-blown day....

Money. Dinero. Moolah.

.... and to help illustrate my ass-chappedness I'm going to use a familiar verse from one of the Great Bearded One's handbooks for the gullible, er, faithful, the Bible, the People's New Testament edition, no less. I'm fairly certain that every religion's instruction manual has a similar sentiment but I'll stick to the southern snake-handler's version for simplicity's sake. Why they still call it the "New" testament when it's ancient is still beyond my comprehension, but that's a topic for another day... This verse is from 1 Timothy 6:10 and goes a little somethin' like this ... cue the organ music, please ...

"For the love of money is the root of all evil. Not the money itself, which if used as by a steward of God is a blessing, so much as the love of it. This greedy love is the source of every sin. Men murder, cheat, lie, rob, run saloons, gambling houses, brothels, all for the love of money. For love of money Judas sold his Master."

We all want it, the green stuff. The more the better, no less. I've been on both sides of the denominations ... much like my experience with religion .... I was lost and now I'm found, except in reverse. I was a faithful follower of the money machine which is organized religion until I lost my mind and gained my life. In comparison, I've had a bulging wallet and I've also had a sucking, vacuum of a black hole in my back pocket. Funny things, religion and money. I'm beginning to suspect that it was a single, insecure asshole with a need to compensate for a lack of penis size, height or intelligence that created both religion and money. On the third day the same bastard created politics which was quite a simple task as politics are fueled by both money and religion.

I understand that money is a necessity. Society dictates that in order to stay fed, clothed, warm and alive, each of us must have a bit of the stuff at hand. I myself have a newfound respect for currency. Not having it forces a person to gain a newfound appreciation. I'm fortunate that I have lived a rather cushy lifestyle until recently and wanted for very little, if anything at all ... as far as material possessions and the luxuries money can provide are concerned. However, circumstances have requested I experience a slight polar shift, hell, reversal, in my financial holdings. That means that basically my holdings fit into one hand, like two rolls of quarters. I'm not angry with my own circumstances... I'm experiencing life and that is what matters. What DOES anger me is the constant, overwhelmingly present pursuit for the almighty dollar by seemingly everyone from a kid selling lemonade to Jesus and his command to "Give, Give, Give. We need a Family Life Center at Main Street Baptist Bank and Trust."

This theme cuts deep in life. Nowhere has the evil influence of money been more obvious than in the outward expressions of disappointment and disdain shown to me by my own children. They have it, I don't. That's ok. I would rather be myself and penniless than bankrupt in the aspect of love and emotion.

Ha! Fuck that! I want both and so do you. I want to retain the sense of self I have found due to my mental switch being thumbed to the 'on' position AND reclaim the joy of being able to walk into Nordstrom and buy a pair of $200 jeans that accentuate my bird legs and no-ass. However, it seems that the ability to accumulate an abundance of non-degradeable linen in my wallet decreases despite the preponderance of intellect within my noggin.

Why? Because the love of money is evil. The need for money is human. I'm human but I'm not evil. Certain individuals might take issue with the 'non-evil' aspect of my claim, but hey, it takes one to know one, so there. I stick my tongue out to those and extend a raspberry and .. why not? I fart in their general direction. Pfffttt ...

Think for a moment ... is there a moment of your day that in some way does not involve a thought or mention or consideration of finances? Seriously, think. Put down the breast pump and think. (I'm assuming that my readers are large-breasted, lactating women with a few spare moments between changings and feedings). I can't even go to the 7-11 and fill my low tire on my car without pumping seventy-five cents into a machine that will give me .. air. Air. I pay for air. So do you. How fucked is that? Someone is making money every time you pull away from the pump after checking your pressure with a faulty gauge. I hope that God is getting a cut of that action. Of course, if the Bearded One is not getting his share I have a feeling that the air-pump owner is gonna enter Heaven with broken kneecaps or an unpardoned sin or two.

It's all about the Benjamins. And, it's unfortunate. It wasn't always this way. Ok, ok .. yeah, money and priviledge have always provided the few with the most that will control the masses. Haves and Have-Nots ... yada yada yada .. I get it. But at what point do we become aware that nickels weren't scattered throughout the cosmos in the beginning?

I'd like to travel back in time to meet the hairy neanderthal that forged the first piece of currency. I'd first like to ask his motivation ... surely he, or she, was the first landlord, banker and politician. This is the semi-primate that urged Grogula to pursue payment for his 'flint to stone' spark-making technique. I'm fairly certain that a distant relative is claiming that all rights to fire-making techniques are inherent and copyrighted with restitution payable backdated to Grogula's initial discovery. As a matter of fact, Jesse Jackson and Al Sharption will form an alliance to ensure that anyone who has evey struck a match or flicked a Bic will owe money to someone who, most assuredly, will be traced back to their own ancestry.

Money. I like money. I want money. We all want money. Money provides comfort and joy, just like the Christmas carols promise. Really, money is just as valuable as food, water, air and sex, right? A natural element of human existence, right? Can you buy Chef Boyardee Lunch Buckets without money? Can you fill your tires with air without a nozzle? Can you live without Dasani? How did the ancient cultures such as the Egyptians and Romans, for example, contine to thrive without air, water, food and lunch buckets? They didn't. But, the treasures they fought for, accumulated and died for sustained them so that they could be examples of wealth and prosperity ... hold on ... I've just been told that those empires imploded due to circumstances related to .... nevermind.

Go for the gusto. Mammon waits for no one. Jump in and take what is falling from the sky because that is what Jesus, Mohammed, Xenu, Fred Phelps and Republicans exclaim to be your inheritance. Moolah.

Can I borrow twenty bucks? My ex needs money to buy my son a new pair of sneakers. It's only natural.