What is there to be thankful for? (An open letter)

I should've been spending my first Thanksgiving with you.

Ok, you wouldn't have been here, but we should've been together. I would've called you to check in after all the food had been eaten, joke about how much you ate, then tell you how much I couldn't wait to see you when you returned from visiting the fam.

Instead, I'm spending it a single man. Bitter about the situation, but glad you finally let me go.

Or, rather, I let go of you.

In hindsight, I am thankful for you. I'm thankful for the hell you put me through. I'm thankful that I reached my limit with you. So that means next time, when I see the signs, I'll know what's ahead. I'll know what do to.

I'll know to be through.

I'm thankful for the many deep conversations I had with my mother about you. I'm glad we finally came to a new place in our being that I'm able to give myself back to her. For years I felt something was missing from our relationship. But that's no longer true.

And I owe it all to you.

I'm thankful to have loved you. Because for a long time, I wondered if I'd be able to love anyone the way I loved her. She had me out there looking at rings and things. But she ended it all, leaving me blue.

Then I met you.

I'm thankful I'm not you. You said you missed me when we last spoke, when you really missed the attention I gave. And the pipe I laid. And the way I played Captain Save a Hoe for you. He's not paying enough attention to you. He's not having sex with you. He said you're unstable, and when I heard that, I should've trusted it, too.

Never wanna be miserable like you.

Being a parent is hard

I woke up to find Charlie, yelping from the side of her new kennel. On the other side, she'd thrown up.

It was all my fault. I was a bad parent.

I'd put her kennel upright so she'd have less space to move -- less space than she's had the previous three days -- and not make any mistakes overnight. I guess the new situation was too much for her to handle.

I ran around to grab something to get Charlie out of the kennel, then went to open it. I got a whiff of some funky throw-up.

Upon further examination, I realized she'd simply shitted all over the place.

Maybe it's still my fault? Maybe I should've left her to her own devices in the laundry room?

Or, perhaps she should've pooped when I took her ass out at 10:15 to get everything out before bed. Maybe then I wouldn't have been scrubbing a kennel at 7:05 a.m.

Looking back, it wasn't my fault at all.

Introducing: Charlie

When I think things are going too well, I add something to the mix to challenge myself. When I think I'm headed toward the path of destruction, I change courses.

All that to say I bought a puppy.

She's about 9 weeks old, mixed with a Collie and something else that made her freakin adorable and about as nosy as her daddy :-)

I took my boy Earnest (who's had a dog before) with me to pick her up. I knew I'd have to make a pitstop at the local pet store on the way home. He'd be able to get me through there without choking on the price of puppy accessories.

The puppy lady rushed the dog into my arms, hugged her one last time and made me promise to update her on the pup's situation. If I wanted to give her back, she'd meet me halfway for a pass-off. Everything was going great.

Which means something was bound to happen.

On the ride home, Earnest noticed something on her head. Turns out she had fleas.

I purchased dog food with which she hadn't been accustom. Diarrhea much?

After a trip outside to the bathroom, she wanted to climb into bed with me and snuggle up for the long night. Would've been great, had it not been for those damn fleas.

She spent her night with her pallet set up on the floor in the laundry room, after first being fitted in the bathroom, then the linen closet.


What? I dunno how dogs roll!

But I'll be finding out. This weekend is daddy-daughter bonding. Hopefully, I can get her used to hearing her name, then learning how to not piss on my carpet. Did I forget to mention that?

I didn't make my goal...

I got comfortable with my weight because people would always say "you're tall, so you wear it well."

Tell that to my aches that came from toting around nearly 400 pounds for more than two years. Depression was the reason it was able to creep so high. My goal was to keep myself happy and get it off.

I'm still proud of the progress. Right now, I weigh less than I did at the beginning of 2006.

By the beginning of 2009, I plan on weighing less than that.

My goal of 100 pounds is still in sight, but i think I like the slow and easy process more. I'm beginning to see more definition since I began using weights. My problem area -- my stomach -- is still a mess, but it's a more manageable one than before.

In December, I plan to do more preparing for the year to come.

Then, I'll set small goals to reach during 2009.

By the summer, I plan on being on someone's beach doing my thing. And without the comforts of a wife beater or that arm we all hold around our waists, acting like it hides all the imperfections.

Thanks, folks, for the encouragement. It's a big part of why I was able to get through this.

Manic Monday

I seriously feel like slapping somebody!

There's nothing in particular wrong, because I've had a very good two days, but I'm concerned with the way people are treating others.

I've been rolling on a cloud, but it seems everybody around is going through it with a spouse/lover/significant other/whatever you call it. My boy called me up, saying his ex was rubbing folks in his face. Another called to say the guy she was talking to was disregarding her.

I had a guy tell me this weekend he was thinking about cheating on his girl because she told him he wasn't that attractive... and MEANT it.

What's keeping you there?

Why do we hold fast to what's hurting us?

Oh, and you need to read this: Duck of all Trades takes on Obama

Election 2008: Bittersweet, through my grandmother's eyes

I listened to the jubilation in my grandmother's voice to get the fuller meaning of what a black president means.

She recalled when blacks weren't allowed the privilege of voting. She remembered people being spat on and beaten to achieve that goal. She, a spry but waning citizen of our country, never thought this would happen in her lifetime.

But it did.

"What'd that song say?" she told me an hour after casting her vote. "Something about dancing in the streets. If Obama wins, I'm gonna be out there, in front of the house, dancing in the streets."

Still conservative, even in victory.

This was a long time coming for her. She'd long given up on the pipe dream pushed by parents everywhere that their baby could be the first black president. Just wasn't gonna happen, she would say. "But it would be nice," she'd quickly retort.

My grandmother is a realist. She believes in the right person being chosen for the job every time. She believes in karma when the right person doesn't do the job they were thought able. She also believed a black president would come -- when we were right ready for it.

Guess that time came last night.

Last night, I celebrated. Not because Obama had been elected was I celebrating. I was doing it because the election of a lifetime -- one in which I was glued to the coverage, but began to tire of lately -- was finally over. It's time to get back to the lecture at hand.


So I jumped in the bed, curled up in a ball and got my grandma back on the line. She said nothing about the fact that it was a black president. She spoke of the issues on Obama's agenda she wanted to see accomplished, "should I live to see it."

Of course you will, I reassured her. But the day meant more to her than any other in recent history.

I voted nearly two weeks ago, my state generously offering early voting to the masses. She waited to vote on Nov. 4. Not only to make sure her vote counted, but to do it on a day that was special for a number of reasons.

One, she was voting for something she never thought possible in her lifetime. And it was happening on her 81st birthday.