You Thought You'd Seen The Last Of Me, Eh?

Just because my very last court-mandated session was held last night, did you really think I'd abandon you? Just up and leave you like dust in the wind? Do you think you can slow me down with something tempting like a 'completed' citation to hand to the judge, do you? Oh no, Wile E. Coyote, I'm in there for the long haul. 

Actually, I HAD thought about dropping the blog like a hot stone, leaving a final post with only the words "OUT CAUSIN' TROUBLE' as my epitaph to you, dear reader... but I would be misplacing the sentiment-- it's not you I am leaving-- only the 'required' part of class. In all likelihood I will return to the group, once- or twice-monthly, either as a refresher or when there is an authentic anger emergency I have to work through. There's nothing like live feedback (not that there's anything wrong with silently listening to me complain, right?).

My topic tonight is twofold. The first you have already guessed. This blog would not exist had it not been for the suggestion of my brilliant facilitator, XXXXX (privacy is an important part of the group experience, which is why I left Dave's name out [I'm just kidding. My facilitator's name isn't Dave at all! It's Brad {I'd do another dumb joke, but I've run out of bracket styles.}.].). 

XXXXX, or 5X, as we like to call him (OR her... you can't be sure!?!) made the wise statement that of 168 possible hours in a week, we only attended sessions for 2 of them, so if we felt like talking about something which happens during the week, we should write it down. Well, my imagination took off from there and I used the space to instead wax philosophic. Now that the class has ended (for me-- it continues ad infinitum for all others), I find I am enjoying the release of endorphins that comes from a satisfying writing session, plus the ability to tell stories to the world-- 

stories that nobody in the world will ever hear. 

But that part's okay. It'll be my legacy long after I've turned to dust, burned onto a disc marked 'One Man's Ramblings In The Dark' and filed in a box containing a thousand other mans' ramblings, next to another box, and another, on a rack in a room of a warehouse, one of many, all filled with all of Men's Dark Ramblings. A cosmic CD-ROM will keep track of it all at the end of time, I'm certain.

All right, sarcasm notwithstanding, I am happy to be done with the stress of remembering to be in one place at a specific time for a whole year. I'm joyful to be getting my Tuesday nights back (or is it Thursdays...?) to use as I wish. I am ecstatic that I can take a vacation which crosses a Tuesday without feeling guilt at missing my class (something I never got to feel firsthand, as I attended 52 straight sessions, no absences, no tardies. What a brownnose-- I even brought cookies!). And best of all, now I get to ask one of the facilitators out on a date-- she (or he, or it) is smokin'! (now... is that true or am I just throwing up pixie dust?)

On to topic two.

Too many vacations! Let me to explain...

I've long been taking 'road trip' vacations with one friend, sometimes two, twice or thrice yearly. We'd choose a midway point and check out every cool thing between there and here, usually following a non-highway jaggedy-loop. We'd flush out the local hangs and do what the Romans do, learn the secrets of their localities and of course, get looped and tied.  Sometimes I would fly to a neutral location where we would meet and embark by Reñtaçar. Well, thanks to my long year of 'servitude to anger', friends have been waiting... and waiting... and waiting still... and now they are calling. I've got requests for road trips to Vegas, Enseñada and Anchorage, with a potential visit to the lush backlands of Idaho. What the hell to do?

Ooooh... I'm reading some physical cues! I can feel the tickle of something happening... I think I can read my emotional state... I'm getting that certain feeling... yes, I'm pretty sure that I'm... HAPPY! So many choices! You know what would be ideal? If each of my peeps could schedule their time with me consecutively, so that I'd have a long, long vacation.

That would be ideal, I said. What has actually occurred is that all my friends got the same exact 2 weeks off in June and are clamoring for my time, so instead of a best case scenario, I have the opposite. I'm left wondering what to do? Do I pick the most exotic location and travel with the friend who wanted to go there? Or do I choose the most fun friend of the bunch and go with them? Maybe I could go with the one who doesn't mind paying... or the one who has a jet... or the one who puts out... the possibilities are legion!

Maybe I could begin a lottery of sorts, auctioning myself off to the highest bidder?

Aww, who am I kidding? If I tried some egotistical crap like that, the chances are that my friends would go on vacation with each other and keep me out of the loop altogether as punishment, leaving me to drink beer after beer, sobbing out back in my little kiddie pool. Nah, I'm gonna have to man up and pick a clever method to choose my happy. I pounded the turf trying to reach a suitable choice, wearing grooves in the sod as I concentrated. Then it came to me!

I just learned all sorts of valuable tools in AM class (that's Anger Management, for all you antiacronymaniacs), and could probably use one of them to guide my process. The one tool everyone knows about is the Time Out... where I take an hour to separate from the source of my feelings and reflect on my own emotional 'treasure trove'... but I can't imagine that would help here, since my feelings stem from a weighty decision, not from an emotion-packed event involving another human being.

Then there's also 'Self Care', 'I Messages', 'Positive Self Talk', 'Door Openers', 'Listening For Understanding', the '4-4-4', 'Understanding Physical Cues', 'Stress Thoughts', 'Assertive Language', using 'Problem Solving'...

Problem solving! That's it! We should use the tool which calls for problem solving whenever there's a problem which needs solving! Okay, I've figured it out! Only...

HOW am I supposed to use this tool? Do I just sit quietly, with my eyes closed, mulling over all the variables and then magically spit out an answer? Here I go... mulling... mulling... mull... I GOT  IT! I'll use the wisdom of Abraham and cut myself into 4 pieces so part of me can go with each friend! Brilliant!

Ummm, brilliantly stupid, that is. Abraham only suggested that solution to the two women fighting over the one child, but only so they could see that a traditional sharing of acquired material wasn't gonna cut it (heh, heh, heh... cut it-- get it?). So I thought some more and then realized the final solution was the same as the answer Abraham ultimately elicited from the women. They both loved the baby, so instead of sawing it it two and each keeping one dead half, they realized it was smarter to share the TIME of that baby's life... and so became the first lesbian nuclear family.

VIOLA! I have to go on vacation with LESBIANS!

Okay, wait... I'm sure that's not the correct answer... although I have to admit it is a little provocative... and more than a little salacious! Think pal, think! How do I share myself with all my friends for one two-week period?  How? HOW?

I got it. The answer was right in front of me the whole time, and I just walked right by it. Boy, it's funny how blind we can be-- okay, ME. It's funny how blind I can be. I made a few phone calls, and a new plan was set into motion. I just rented a vehicle for the trip...

AN RV! We're all going together!

SO damn EASY. 

See you in a few weeks.

Weakly Managing Blog Anger

First off... I'm wondering when the parodies of this blog title will end. You'd think I would know the answer, since I'm the guy writing it, but noooooo! Apparently in this 'stream of consciousness' style of writing, I don't have any idea what milk will be spilling from my coconut... not until it rears its pointed little head, anyway. 

Okay, enough about the silly title... onward ho to more important fare.

I find one of my feelings right now is 'anxious', and I even know the reason for it. It's because, week after week, I try to find a topic for this blog, to excerpt my life during some moment of strain or emotion crossroads, which can be darn near impossible, because in the wide course of human experience I am, for all intents and purposes, a happy-go-lucky, it's all good,  even-keel kind of guy.

And who in hell wants to read an anger blog about a guy who rarely gets angry?

My daughter will disagree. She thinks I get angry at her. This couldn't be further from the truth. She would say, "But you yell! Yelling is angry!" I would have to respond with, "I don't yell... I just speak up when you obviously don't hear what I have to say the first six times." I'm just not mad at the kid! But you know teenagers... one day, I hope to be as smart as one. When my daughter gets a bright idea it's my responsibility to talk her down from it.

"I'm not sure it will be helpful to have a license as a Witch Doctor..."

"When I said you should learn about sacrifice, I didn't mean ANIMAL sacrifice..."

"You probably should hold off for awhile before tattooing 'Fuck You' on your tongue..."

She's of legal age, and I suppose she can do what she wants, but I just want her to make life decisions a little later along in life. But that's not what this post is about, either. It's about how I feel, trying to come up with a fresh and interesting topic week after week. I'm not employed by anybody... there's nobody riding my ass and looking over my shoulder, "You've got a deadline, boy... how're ya gonna keep yer deadline? I'm gonna fire your lazy ass!"

 I can skip a week if I want to. I can stop writing altogether. There's nobody reading this blog anyway. I could actually say anything I wanted to, no matter how inflammatory or rebellious, and probably nobody would even notice: 

I jack off in my cornflakes, and then I eat them, but not before I squirt coconut pancake syrup all over them too, because my jizz is too salty for cereal!

I bring a stepladder with me no matter where I go, so I can stand on it in a public telephone booth, which brings me close enough to rub the handset all over my naked, sweaty butt crack. I do that to about 60 phones a month!

Ew. EEEEEEEW! I keep forgetting what a delicate flower I am. Okay, I know that nobody's reading this blog... nobody but me that is, and I just grossed myself out. It's not true what I wrote, anyway. It's just not ME to behave that way. but I'm certainly not above imagining it and making others read it. But I think I've made my point-- when I don't have a topic, I get grumpy. 

But wait... isn't THIS a topic? Aren't I expressing my feelings in a meaningful way? YAY! Now I can move on with analysis and resolution!

What is it in me that makes me want to complete things? I know I'm an obsessive/compulsive (translate: anal) and I have to straighten, organize, reorder, count, neaten, dust, and scrapbook whatever moves into my eyeline... but the question is WHY? What makes me this way?

I have often said that I don't like messiness. At the same time, I AM a collector. 

Now without qualifying (which is just what I'm doing, isn't it?), I have to say I'm not at the top of the list-- psychiatrists aren't shoving each other to be the first in line to analyze me-- but it does bother me nonetheless.

As a matter of fact, I use my own solution when trying to eliminate unwanted behaviors: I shine a figurative light on them (which makes me sensitive to them) and when I catch myself falling into an old pattern, I decide whether it is 'normal' or 'over-the-top' and make a decision to stop doing it, if needed. 

As an example, I was cleaning up my wood shop the other day. You can be certain that a dust bowl like a woodworking shop will have a mess in every corner. I was on all fours with a vacuum cleaner and a wand extension, trying to pull a pile of sawdust in a back corner, behind a table leg. I was straining to reach when I just said to myself, "STOP!"

I actually startled myself! (no, I didn't.) I made the decision right there to leave that little bit of sawdust... just ignore it. I then cleaned the rest of the shop normally. When I was done, I felt momentarily proud for challenging my OCD and fighting it directly.

 Just Say No.

That's when I reversed my decision... and my Shop-Vac, and turned it into a Shop-BLOW. Starting in the back corner I hit the switch and caused a mini-tornado, like being in an Iraqi sandstorm-- visibility at zero, sawdust swirling about in large twirling waves... and I think I saw Dorothy's house pass by.
I approached the door using my wind wand like a dust gun, shoving the airborne mass outdoors. Spic and span, one, two, three.

That may not sound like a solution, because I had solved the problem which was irritating my OCD instead of letting it lie. But it was the WAY I solved it which made me proud-- it wasn't a NEAT solution. Virtually everything that wasn't tied down found a new location in the shop, mostly on the floor. But then I picked it all up and dumped it into a drawer, and I was done! Cleaning like a man! It's a good thing I have no carpet in there or there would've been a huge lump in the center!

Besides, I'm not sure if wanting things organized IS anal-- in my line of work time is money, and if I can't find something in my inventory that I need for a job, it will takes TIME to find, and TIME is MONEY. And the one thing I am is FRUGAL. I save the skin off apples because it makes a good wallpaper (no I don't, and no it doesn't-- but I AM frugal nonetheless).

Okay... anal AND frugal. Looks like we're analyzing a damaged person, all right! What else can we find in my bag of tricks, hmm? I went to a website which lists common human psychiatric conditions, and I think I might be suffering (to one extent or another): 

Panic attacks, phobias, stress, sociopathy, depersonalization, dissociative amnesia,  bulimia nervosa, bipolar disorder, cyclothymic disorder, depression, delusions of grandeur, schizoaffective disorder, dissociative fugue, anorexia nervosa, schizophrenia, gender identity disorder, the Peter Pan effect, transsexualism, paraphilias, dissociative identity disorder, somatoform disorder, body dysmorphic disorder, binge eating, conversion disorder, hypochondriasis, somatization disorder, schizophreniform disorder, pain disorder and Munchausen syndrome.

Munchausen Syndrome. Yeah... sounds about right.

So while I may be irritated at writing a blog I'm not required to write by a deadline I don't have to keep for an audience who not only won't read it but isn't even aware of its paltry existence, at least I get the rare opportunity to analyze myself and my issues and arrive at some kind of conclusion about my chances of wellness or healing in this modern, crazy world. Catharsis. That's why I do this.

Gee... I feel better!

New Environments, New Tests... And New Successes!

How can I be sure I feel differently now? How do I know that what I have learned is become my new reality?

I have wondered about the complexity of the human mind (other people's minds... my own is frighteningly simple) and how easy it is to believe we can just modify it, like adding mudflaps to our trucks. Turn a few screws and viola! an all-new personality.

Only I know that it doesn't work that way. I think it's kind of like hypnotism. The way I hear it, you can hypnotize anyone to do anything they are amenable to in waking life. For example, you can't hypnotize a gay man straight, or make an honest man into a thief... but you can make a person stop smoking cigarettes if that is something they WANT to do, but lack the necessary willpower to carry out.

I had to have it IN me to be a nonviolent man, no matter how conditioning has coerced me to behave. It might have become a part of my association with my ex-wife, for example, to become emotional and agitated over every piece of news, but if it wasn't who I was before I met her, then I had the chance to return to that pre-wife calmness that I not only desire, but NEED in order to remain on this side of a walled-in pen.

I have spent two hours a week for the past year getting hypnotized into being the calm and docile man I used to be. Only it wasn't hypnosis... it was common sense. Hearing common sense from the facilitators and hearing the positive outcome stories from other group members was a cathartic immersion therapy. Add to that a few a-ha moments and I feel as though I have a new lease on life, and today's story exemplifies this learning. I'm ready to receive my diploma.

To all of you who read this blog, you know I maintain a friendship with my ex-wife. Not only is she my daughter's mother, she is the person I hurt which landed me in Anger Management group to begin with. You may find that risky, like dieting at an all-you-can-eat place, but it's really not.

To begin with, I actually love my ex-wife. We split long ago not because we fell out of love, but because the emotion which built up around our everyday behaviors around each other became very intense, very quickly, all the time. It was not uncommon to have a scene in public; at a restaurant, in a department store, in a movie theater. Unfortunately, we never made up... the anger just petered out to a tolerable level and we would continue like that, until the next flare-up. 

We handle situations differently, and neither of us could ever understand why the other one just couldn't see our perspective. So yeah, there was a lot of STUFFING going on. And I have come to learn that if I am stuffed too full, I explode, and it's usually not pretty when I do.

But of late I have found that a few tools have surprising results for me. My wife was born in another country, and while that in itself is not a reason to think or act differently, certain cultural differences have caused clashes in the past. I doubt I can attribute stubbornness to one particular culture, but it comes into play in this story. Anyway, I have learned that if I capitulate when my ex believes she is right... wait for it... she will cave as well!

That's right... I learned that all she needed to hear was that I thought she was right, and all her own doubts about her behavior just spilled out in a confessional forgive-for-all. I also learned she is a tough cookie (and that MIGHT just be a cultural behavior) and I shouldn't expect a tearful hug'n'kiss'n'makeup from her. But that doesn't mean she isn't feeling it-- I can tell by her mild reactions to whatever events transpire in the next few hours.

So I learned to pick my battles.  I also learned to LISTEN FOR UNDERSTANDING. Now on to the story:

She is a proud daughter of Israel, and this past Sunday was Israeli Independence Day. She was invited to a barbecue, and invited me to come along as her 'plus one'. She said I'd have fun, and that it would only be for a couple of hours. Let me explain what that means, using my Bullshit-to-English translator:

Israeli Barbecue MEANS Food I've never heard of, which flavors alternate between garlic, snail juice and chutzpah.

Plus One MEANS  I'm the one they talk about behind my back.

I'd Have Fun  MEANS  She'd have fun.

A Couple Of Hours  MEANS  Bring a tent.

I already know what I'm getting into. I have been to many Israeli parties in the past and they are fun affairs in truth; the food is actually quite tasty if a little foreign, and everyone is laughing and chatting away.

Well, that's what this one was like. Doesn't sound bad, right? Well, I might have omitted a small detail about Israeli people at parties: It doesn't matter how many are at a party-- could be 2, could be 50-- the same thing happens every time, and that is: They forget all English and speak in Hebrew. Loudly.

Did I mention my learning disability? Maybe it's laziness, but I cannot pick up any more than a couple of words in any language. I know my ex for 20 years and the only Hebrew I know is what she yelled as she tossed my ass out, and I can't write it here because I don't know how to-- there are sounds in that word that I don't think exist in nature.

We arrive at the party and are introduced around: That one's Tzvika, she's Rivka (SHE? Really?); those people are Kak, Braug and Kiss (that wasn't her name... her name sounded like a kiss); that woman is named Titsy (or Tzitzy; doesn't matter, still terrible); Hurg, Plaktu and Fudi; the twins Zion and Ryan, and Flerm. Roll the 'r'. There were more, but my pencil point wore down. I called the rest of those people 'Buddy' and 'Sweetie'.

Everyone was very polite and shook my hand and said hello, or 'nayim mayode', which translates roughly into 'I won't kill you today', and we all did what people do at parties-- gravitate into groups. My first group was around the barbecue... I asked for chicken and he smiled and nodded, then plated me something red and springy... I think there was a shell? It tasted good but smelled vaguely of my grandmother's pantry. 

Afterwards I sat with my ex and  a bunch of others; one was telling an extremely funny joke-- I could tell because the others were smiling and laughing on cue-- but it was in Hebrew so I didn't understand. My ex then made him tell it again for me in English, which I would have preferred she not do. Funny thing was, because everyone had heard it moments before, they helped him along all the way through the joke, which I thought was funny. It went something like this:

There were two jews, Hymie and Moshe...

Wasn't one of them Chaim?

No. And they walked past a church with a sign that said 'convert today and get $50'. Moshe said, "I need the money-- I'm gonna do it."

No, Hymie converted!

Let me tell it!

I still think Chaim was there.

Oy vey forget Chaim he's in the other joke already.

Vat are you talking about?

So Hymie goes in the church...

You mean Moshe!

Moshe wouldn't convert!... oy, his mother...

Right! MOSHE goes in the church and comes out an hour later...

It was four hours later...

I heard Chaim waited for Moshe overnight...

OY! Forget Chaim already!

And comes back to Chaim, his head bowed...

Wait! You mean Hymie!

Hymie's head was bowed?

No! Moshe's head was bowed, and Hymie asked, "So Moshe did you get the $50?"

I love this punchline!

It's better when Gach tells it...

Tell the joke already!

Oy I spilled my Manishevitz!

Use some club soda darlink...

And Moshe says...

Listen, this is good!

He looks at Hymie and says...

Tell it already!

"Is that all you people ever think about?"

Is what all I ever think about?

Not you... Hymie!

Hymie's here?

No, it's the line punch!

You mean the punch line!

What is... Hymie's here?

No, the other one!

Oy, chapa baka chupa chacha... and then they all lapse back into Hebrew, talking nonstop, until they all laugh at the same time again and my ex makes him tell another joke in English to me.

Oh god I do not wanna hear another one! I excuse myself and use the bathroom, and wonder how long my ex wants to stay. Remember, she said a couple of hours.

I join another group, the last one of the evening, because that one encircles the alcohol table. Now it doesn't matter what they say, I'm talking to my Sauterne.

Months later I look at the clock and walk over to my ex, who is flirting with a guy 30 years younger than her. "Ready to go, dear? It's been 9 hours."

"No... but you can go... Snick's gonna give me a ride home." Snick. I must've missed that one.

I say good night to the hosts and head for my car, massively relieved, and proud of myself for just rolling with it all evening. I'm almost there when I hear running behind me. It's my ex.

"I thought the stud was giving you a ride." I alluded to her banging the kid, but she missed it.

"No, I can't. I don't have diapers his size at my house." So she DIDN'T miss it. Yay for her!

So I drove her home and we said good night. Very calm.

The next day she was bubbly on the phone, about how cool I was at the party. I admit it felt good to hear her saying nice things about me-- it's a very rare thing, and reminiscent of our early time together. 

I remember our arguments of the past; how I was blaming her over-the-top embarrassing behavior at parties or in public. Suddenly I feel I can see her side! Scary! She's just having fun and being funny, and out of the blue I come at her with a bad mood because I feel she's making a fool of herself, and of me because of our marriage connection.

I didn't feel like doing that at the party. I felt at peace and I was enjoying my role as observer of the Gorillas In The Mist. It's a role I should adopt more often when with my ex at events-- I feel complete calm at those times, as though I were watching her on a TV, remote, detached.

Let's see if it works at our next all-Americans party...