To Each Its Own

Not only do you go in my email and check emails as far back as seven years ago, but you also forward them to your email account, so that you have something to show for when all of your friends gather around the idea of why we’re apart. I haven’t used craigslist for a personal ad since I lived in Astoria more than eight years ago, I lived there with these two beautiful Spanish girls and I ended up hooking up with one of them. I found them on craigslist. More than girls, I always had guys who hated my guts and I’ve always been careless with signing off, protecting my privacy, as you know since you had to get to my email and find something as old back as MySpace. At work, not the last time they play that prank on me, the perpetrator used a picture on my MySpace profile, they called it the pun-pun shorts, in front of a mirror. The guy was never caught because I never said anything but I did find him one day outside a bar in the city and broke his face in self-defense, of course; I only inquired about the issue and the guy got all crazy about it and so I had to knock him out. Otherwise, he'd only be written up by a supervisor, maybe given a few days off, but I had kept the email as proof just in case. And I had even forgotten it was there. If it hadn't been something as dark a secret as having an affair, trust me... it wouldn't have been so casually there. It's just simple logic. 
Not too long ago, I forgot to log off and someone went and wrote homophobic obscenities on my wall. 

Should I go about trying to convince people of my sexual orientation? In what age do we live, if that were the case, then why have all of these headaches with you? And why on earth would I go into craigslist to find something that is everywhere in abundance? The Kew Club is full of gay people. If it worries you so much, why do you keep bringing them gay people here? Look outside the window and there is gay. Gay is everywhere, and you are the one who have all of these gay friends, what is it you said that you now find it, disgusting? I had to find if you were still reading my emails and you said you stumbled upon it by accident, just like you stumbled upon my bank account and ran it for more than a thousand dollars. You claim that money was yours, and the fact is, you could have all you wanted, I spent most of it here anyway but I had to give Isabel her share; after all, the only reason we are still married was to file jointly and get twice as much as we would have gotten if we filed separately. And you knew this, and I told you so, and you yourself made the math on the turbotax website and ultimately decided for H&R Block. So, why are you saying that I am still married... it’s not like we didn’t have already started the process, other things that were priority, like a huge refund, passing the FSD exam, etc, were.

So now your whole argument about not wanting to come back for even a visit, it revolves around my sexual orientation. See, I didn’t know you were so fascinated with my perversions and fantasies, or my actual carnal preferences, because in the past year we only had sex like, what? Four times? It’s obvious that you’re using this as an excuse to get away or maybe you really think that what you think is true. Have you considered even the possibility that you could be wrong? Maybe you just need one more excuse I wanted to give you in order for you to do the things you do. Haven’t you thought about the possibility that all my dreams have come true? I wanted you over there for the same reasons you wanted to: because it was better for Julian. Because you’ll have support. Because I could then focus on the important task at hand: becoming an FSD yet again. But no, you had to see fault and flaw in all, there had to be some other reason as to why I wanted you over there, and so you had to make it YOUR reason, not mine. Again, it was my idea, but I don’t agree with your approach. You should have told me of your intentions. Instead you make allegations and you base them on what? Never mind me, I told you many times, put your focus on the baby and finally you’re doing it. So much so that you’re actually overdoing it!

Somehow something that no one in my life has ever questioned, my masculinity. I’ve told you, I wouldn’t know how to be closet-case, but if I fail to remember you said the same thing about your ex. You said that the guy was gay, and if I’m not mistaken it was you who was approached by a tommy-boy girl, who defied you and told you to stop giving her dirty looks because she knew you went around talking shit. “No one forced you” she calmly told you at one point. I didn’t go all ape about it later, I kind of liked it but right then and there it was time I just push her aside by imposing myself and saying, “Can I have my date back?” That’s what a real lover does, he or she has your back. Who has the bigger dick now? Yeah, the thing is, you were scared or perplexed as if you were afraid she might hit you. I was right there; no way she'd hit you before I grab her. And in a bar full of people, you know you have my back and others', in case she goes bananas. But I think she just put you on your place and she did so without getting loud, she got to you. I never said anything about that because I never thought much of it. How sadly mistaken you are if your whole excuse to keep Julian away from me is because you think I'm gay and therefore I'm sick and I need help. And, on top of all that, I also need antidepressants, psychotherapy, anger management. Look, you mentioned something to the effect of "I don't know if I can trust you," and all I remember was you saying that you loved me. I see, and how does that compare to all of the actions you've taken so far? We could have solved this dilemma easily; all we needed was the will to do so and there never really was a big problem anyway, you blow shit out of proportion with the anger issue and my so-called depression. Yeah, I don't think we were meant to be happy all the time. I always find moments of leisure where I can lay back and read, listen to music, cook, even paint lately. I've lost weight and I've gained more muscle; so I weigh about the same. Some of the fat turned to muscle; but a lot is left to be done. I will apply myself at the John Jay, it'd be cool to go back to an atmosphere like that of that prestigious institution if only to get the best course on fire safety, sure it will be an experience, and I welcome it. It's part of improving my game. Yeah, I wage a battle on all fronts and I've been careless and all, but nothing to deserve this. Now, I don't say that in a melodramatic way; instead, I say it like a human thing. You know you're doing this because you feel like this, and it is only temporary, I will not dessert you. But the time apart will do us more good than bad. I've been an ass, I know, and only because I've been hurt, jealous, stolen from, denied. I don't know who you are and what good it does to me? Do you still love me? You broke down and said yes. So, I'll stick by you. Just don't take forever. You do like to make me look bad and make a fool of me.

In the middle of your birthday party, you call me out on having called off to work at least once since we’re together, exposing me, as if our friends and family didn't see that as a dirty tactic. You may love making me look bad, but what does that say about you? You have yet to find someone in my life hear me say anything negative about you. I don't go talking bad about others because that only reflects bad on me. 
But we don't get any awards for playing mum. So...
And how you couldn’t just wait home on the eve of your birthday and went all out, staying with Rich at the bar passed the closing time. You went into the room way passed 4am, and I said something about it. You went to say you didn’t owe me any explainations, if you chose to speak with an ex of yours and not have the decency to text me that you’re running late or staying out later, then it’s not good. It’s not that it’s horrible; it just isn’t right. I don’t think that’s the same person that first in a tone as if she were asking for permission if I didn’t mind, that it would only be till 2am. And I said, “It’s your birthday.” But then the one that walked through the door and said that I was out of place for asking what was my girlfriend, mother of a two month old child, doing intoxicated as you can only get. I like my drink too; I like to sit at a bar and drink a few beers, maybe have a shot, but I’d rather have that bar be a really cool one with tons of interesting people in the middle of Soho, or in Astoria, and have fun like civilized people. Not a lot of desirable people go there, but your plan was to have your over-the-top drunk, overweight (fitness matters in cases of emergency 100% of the time) gay (sorry, he is your friend, not mine) friend to take care of our son while we go and get drunk at the local bar. I knew by then you had already too much to drink, so I thought a couple more drinks, what more can she actually drink? Isn’t there a voice inside your head that tells you maybe I shouldn’t have another drink, just maybe. Maybe I should go home like I said on that 2:30am text. Okay, so call me a bigot, a control-freak, but that’s not something that I’m gonna let slide. So, I let you know so, and by then you’re this drunk person known for her: “Oh really? Oh really?” What you could have brought down to its knees with a simple, “Sorry, babe, I lost track of the time!” Instead you decide to go down on me, so I have no objections; I wait till you finish and then raise the question: why all of a sudden you come here and want to buy your way out of a sticky situation with a blowjob. My thing is, this sort of thing has happened more than a few times. But I take it as part of the package that’s damaged, no reason to throw it out. It still has many other parts right, so I become tolerant.

Coming home, I find your Richie friend is here after 1am, and I let you know, privately, next time just give me the heads-up. You fight me even on this initially; then you backpedal and say that I’m right. And not that I distrust the guy, but I wouldn't trust him with my son; this is a decoy, you really want to go out with him instead of me, you know I'm never gonna say yes to such a thing. Richie the baby-sitter, hell fucking no, what am I painted on the wall? 

Look, you found what you most fear because that is what it took for you to be where you are. For long, I was saying to you, go to your mom's. I told you about that dream where you'd just go there and stop making me and me making you miserable, take a nice long trip, enjoy your family, maybe I'll come join you, who knows? But then I found money missing from my bank account. You know, I'm careless, not clueless; I will eventually find out if money, upwards of a $1,000, is missing. You claim that you took what was yours. Look, this is childish, you go and use my bank card and claim that the money I owe you is there. What ever happened to asking, like you did before? I never kept your money; I never asked for anything and I put more than my goodwill of share here, I paid last month and this month's rent. I bought the IKEA living room set. We did all of this with the money we would've never had if I hadn't filed jointly. And that's that, I don't have a relationship with the past, it's not like I'm living with Isabel and having my way with you. No. We have had so much sex and so many problems, that a break wouldn't hurt us; and there's no reason to go demonizing one another. But if you're gonna have friends over, let me know. Simple.

No problem with Richie; he’s actually a very decent person. He brings food and movies, and he drinks like a horse. I’m coming home tired, working all day, I can manage because it makes you happy. You no longer appreciate anything, so be it; just don't go scratching off "postpartum depression" just yet off the wall. I looked at the definition and all it needed to have was a picture of you next to it: history of depression, single first time mom, history of abuse (well, sort of), no family support, financial worries, and her name is Courtney James who named her son with her last name and since I didn't bitch about it too much lost all the respect she had until then for me. What is all this war you're waging? You want to see me get psychiatric help and take antidepressants because they've worked for you? What makes you think I need that kind of help? I mean, thanks but no thanks. Why don't you just, after having taken money from me without asking, and taking my son, now you also want to take away my masculinity? Where do you get off? How awful of me to put up with you simply because you know you have me by the balls because you have the J card. Go ahead and play it, you do it well. It's your best, your only good hand against me, and you shouldn't use it like that. 

I enjoy the time I spend alone, but I miss you guys, I won't deny it. I miss my family. I wrote to you and I got shit back. It's time to move on. It's time to stay in. Time to go out. Time to learn. Time to study. Time to be myself again. Yeah, I'll go and see your family, if that's what it takes to be reunited with mine.
I always spent good times with you and all of your friends; I like your friends. It’s fun to see you have a good time.

When it comes to matters like Julian, now that you’re taking him with you to another state with your family, I don't oppose the idea, just don't be melodramatic and make a scene about it. You love it there because you have it good; because there are cars and lots of space, and it's good for you and him, and even though I miss him and I miss you, I say okay. But you don't give me the courtesy of letting me know, why? Because you don't have to, you're an independent woman, etc. Yeah, living in your momma's house, so much for independence.

I will have to travel but I can't for now. That's why, I don't see the crime in coming for a few days, but to each its own.

Still though, I want to hold him in my arms and if I ask about this or any other thing, I get very simple choices: either come to Michigan because you won’t come to New York. I thought you’d be more flexible, maybe come over and stay the weekend, I’d take you guys out, throw a surprise party, bring the house down. You can do this if you want to but you’re selfish enough not to.

You didn’t have the decency to give me a call and tell me about taking Julian with you to Michigan. You’d think that’s something I’d like to know, especially when I called you that same day for a far lesser matter: my cousin wanted to retrieve his belongings, which he had left by accident, on the awesome party I threw for you on your birthday, but all that worried you was our Facebook status and you even joked when I sent you another friend request, and having issues at work I decided to stay off Facebook altogether for at least a few days. When I came back, your relationship status wasn’t up and running, instead just you and no pictures. You know my family sees Facebook and I never bothered telling you how they saw me stay on a In A Relationship status, only to put it down today. And if I make this or any other argument, you say that you’re not gonna hear it anymore, that everything you do is fine. I’ve accepted my share of the blame, there’re no innocents here; I may have been a hardass but only out of necessity. And the less needy and wuss-like I am, the better I feel, the more me. Like I said, take all the time you need, just don't blame me.

Pleasure Providers: How to Deal with Shit

I'm not a cheat. I haven't always not been a cheat, so I know what is like to be a cheat; I know I made mistakes in the past and I will make many more in the future, but one thing I'm not is a cheat. It cheapens me, I feel low, dirty, so I have to go get clean. See, the problem with a problem -whether it is a very big problem or just a tiny one-, is the use of blame and guilty: those who feel wronged punish you with blame(or shame), and you punish yourself, privately, with guilt. There are guilt and shame societies in the world, that is America is a guilt society and Japan a shame society, for example. How do they work? Well, in guilt societies, like those under the influence of Christianity and Catholicism, people feel guilty and yeah, I guess some degree of shame. How does shame differ from guilt? Guilt is personal, you deal with your own problem, if you go kill someone then the blame is on you. In shame societies, guilt is experienced not just by the offender but also by those closest to him. Your actions, therefore, will not only have an impact on you; they will impact the lives of those you care for. So, if you were to, say, go on a rampage and kill a couple of innocent people, then someone in your family will pay. People just behaves better in those countries overall; they're humble and not arrogant pricks with superiority complexes, we Americans can be spotted anywhere in the world by the stench of self-self syndrome. 

If that isn't a good way to describe it, then I don't know what. Wait, true, not everyone is obnoxious and no, I'm not excluding myself from this phenomenon. I practiced being humble, it just didn't work. I guess there's a false sense of safety that comes from acting all tough, so we Americans have kept it up and it has worked wonders for us. We're the biggest pussy in the whole world. We got the best weapons, the larger houses, the nicest cars, and so if it isn't broken, don't go fixing it. 

The thing is, things do break from time to time. We shouldn't be so hard on ourselves, everyone makes mistakes, no reason to demonize others; you made a mistake, then fix it. Your relationship is not as good as it could be, then do something fun, go all out. If that doesn't work and it gets branded as "trying too hard" or manipulation, then take a step back. The problem isn't the problem; the problem is not dealing with problems that have always been there. Things we don't like about each other (in relationships to family and friends as well) can be enhanced and blown out of proportion, the more time we spend meddling with each other's way of being, we suffer. A word summarizes it: tolerance. It's not acceptance, because the thing itself bothers us, maybe because we see how happy it makes the other person and it could threaten our rightful position as sole pleasure providers. The way I see it is simple, really, and you don't have to agree with me on this one. I am a hedonist. I seek pleasurable experiences. We should consider ourselves providers of comfort which is what I mean by pleasure, because we all know some people might even go ballistic over such a big word as pleasure. It's offensive to some even, but to each its own. We can't be too strict and we can't be too loose either; the rope has got to be tight but not tightened enough so that it'd snap. It's a metaphor I use when it comes to relationships. It shouldn't be about what you can and cannot do once you're with me; it should be about finding things we like to do in common, and let the other person be themselves from time to time. 

It appears to make sense. Everyone likes to feel good and so long as you keep on doing the things that make that person (family, friend, lover) feel good without harming them, that good be a good deed. What you get instead is people who never feel appreciated enough, who feel self-entitled, who complain about most things, who say mean things. That is true, and a part of reality you can't escape: you can try to outrun it but shit always will catch up to you. No matter how careful, puff and there's a splash of shit. The fact is, overtime you try to stay away from shit, so that you don't get that dirty look, that nasty feeling in your stomach that you get when confronted with visceral experiences. People are shitty, some more than others, and others, a few, so much better than us. What you do is, you clean after yourself. You pick up and you wash and you rub off the stain, just like you do with clothes and just like you do whenever you go to the bathroom. When you walk into an argument and you're confronted with how "the other night you stormed into the room just to tell me how I was the best thing in your life, crying your eyes out, talking about Esteban", I snap back, "Yeah, I love that kid and it brings tears to my eyes as well as vast amounts of joy with splashes of pain. And it's easy for me to cry when I get emotional talking about Esteban, but I don't know that I was crying over anything else than all of these mixed-up feelings when it comes to my son's autism. I am feel so much better, by the way, thank you. 

That's shit.

When you get labeled "manipulative" for throwing out a surprise party to your loved one, flowers, drinks, music, food. It's her birthday, come on! Got to go all out, right? It doesn't take much time, really: walk outside, enter three stores next door, order a beautiful strawberry cake in one place, order a dozen balloons in the other, and go to the liquor store and make sure I get enough so that I don't have to make another trip down here. Why not throw in some flowers? Also, making up an event on facebook and sending it to a select group of family friends (love that!), and to a couple of her friends, takes about three minutes. "My mom thought that was biizzare! Why spend all that money and make such a big effort? I say, it wasn't that much of a big deal, I love cooking, so I cooked twice for everyone. They all loved it. "It was all for show." Well, I gotta admit, there's some of that. You rarely get to see family members even though you live about a block away from them, and you don't get tired of hitting "Like" button on every picture your closest circle posts, and so you want to make it nice for them. Of course, it has a theatrical component, but that's like looking at a Salvador Dali's painting and saying: "That's weird." Of course, it's weird, in a good kind of way. But hey, from now on, if I am to be manipulated and have others do nice stuff for me, then I'd happily be a hypocrite about it. 

No, but in all fairness, it isn't fair. You see, it's easier to slander and diminish whatever others want to do for themselves (because we do what we do, even if it's for others, for ourselves... we reflect the person we are through our actions), to find fault, to see the drama in everything. It's harder to try giving a crap about it. 

Yeah, mistakes are like shit: you clean after yourself. You don't go around sporting a brown stain on your lapel. You may shout out "Oh shit!" but that's about it. You may become agitated and talk louder and use light profanity, say awful things out of spite but it is our actions that reflect our reality and the world we inhabit. Not just words. Words have their moment, but everyone forgets a great speech a few instances later. What we keep in mind is what others have done for us, not just what they say. And if they only have said bad things about you and they haven't done really much, then you just treat it like shit. You wipe your ass and go on with your day.