When it rains, it pours.

Well, it’s been 2 months now that I’ve officially been a member of the unemployed.

That completely blows my mind. I had no idea it would take me this long to find a job.

I haven’t written much, because I guess I thought I might jinx things.

I get up, look for work, submit resumes and fill out applications and then go about my day.

It’s been good and bad. Being off, I’ve had time to take care of Louie and the pigs, work at the barn, get everything moved, pour a patio in our new backyard and help out around the house a bit.

I was looking at my resume and noticed something kinda funny: with the exception of my last job, every job or promotion I got was in April. No kidding. Dating back 12 years, every career move I made was in April.

Makes sense, though. What I specialize in is somewhat “seasonal”. Concrete can’t be poured unless the temperature is 40 degrees and rising. Hotmix (asphalt) can’t be placed unless the surface temperature is a minimum of 60 degrees and rising. Most of the major roadways can’t be closed unless it’s between the hours of 10 pm and 6 am. So that limits when we are able to build.

Toll roads, bridges, streets, major drainage projects, infrastructures. That’s my specialty. It’s what I’m good at and what I love.

But, it only happens between the months of May and September.

Yeah, you’ll see crews working all throughout the year. But for me, I usually work at such a large scale, I’m called upon to do the big jobs. The ones that have to be done at specific times in specific weather because of decisions the legislature has made.

That’s the problem I’ve been running into. Every interview has ended with “you are more than qualified, but we are concerned that when the construction season starts, you’ll go somewhere else because you can make three times as much building a toll road.”

And I get that. Really. It’s business. They don’t know me. They don’t know my work ethic. They only know that others have burnt them and I have to pay for their sins.

That being said, we are approaching my season. When the birds are singing, the trees are blooming and HMAC is heating up.

Yesterday I got a call from Texas A&M University. Coincidentally, the same school I received my bachelors from.

They are looking to hire a supervisor for their street and pavement department.

A&M is pretty much a city within a city. Because of that, they have their own infrastructure department. And they called to see if I’d be interested in interviewing. Heck Yeah! Back in Aggieland!

They said I’d be getting a call to set up the date and time later this week.

That made me feel a little more confident.

Then, a few hours later, I noticed an email. It was from the Harris County Flood Control District.

Several weeks ago I applied for a position with them as a Construction Manager.

Well, they emailed me a set of papers and asked that I fill them out and physically bring them to their offices. So I did.

Went down this afternoon and while I was there, the supervisor recognized me and had me go ahead and fill out all the paperwork that’s usually reserved for when you interview. She told me they would start calling people for interviews this next week, also.

So, in the matter of just a few hours I had two opportunities that will hopefully produce the results I’m seeking.

Wish me luck!

Poking the bear

I’ve never denied the fact that I can be a difficult person.

I’ve spent the majority of my adult life just me and my kids.

I served as a DI in the Army and a correctional officer at a men’s maximum security prison. I’ve become very good at being very hard.

I was once told “The qualities that made you an amazing soldier and make you a great project manager, are the same qualities that make you difficult to love.”

Because of that I try. I try not to be overly critical of people. Especially the ones I love.

Jenny is loving and forgiving. She can see the good in anyone and focuses only on that. That really gets to me some days. People can be mean to her, act selfishly or call her names and she just smiles and acts like it never happened.

Me? Nope. My first instinct is to come to her defense. Even if the people hurting her are her family.

Because I know that I can blow up, I also know I need to have a place I can go to and just let the fire die down.

When we bought this house, I said I wanted that place to be the media room.

The kids have their rooms and the game room. Jenny has our bedroom, the living room and the rest of the house. All I wanted was my one spot.

I put the little tv and hand me down sofa in there. In fact, I spent the better part of an afternoon fixing the frame on this sofa so it could actually be used.

I put my sports memorabilia up there and tried to make it mine.

Well, that lasted about a week. Soon, Jenny’s desk and office stuff was in there. Then miscellaneous boxes found residence. Next, I was being told I couldn’t watch tv because it disturbed the kids.

So, I gave up. I figured once we got settled in I could reclaim my room.

Then the kids were using it. So now I feel like my only option when I need to escape is to hide in the garage or get in my truck and leave.

I don’t want to feel like a guest in this house that is quickly becoming a hotel. Kids come over, Jenny does their laundry while they play video games and eat, then they’re gone.

I voice my concerns just to be told that I don’t get to have my own space. Just to be told that Jenny doesn’t want to make waves. Just to be told.

I’m tired of being told.

So, since I don’t have my room or a space to call my own, I’m sitting on the porch.

I can’t even get in my truck and leave because the oldest daughters newest boyfriend has blocked me in.

So I’m sitting. Smoking and trying to get a little of the stress to disappear.

Stories that Jenny can’t tell about her students.

For those who don’t already know, my Jenny teaches 5th grade language arts at a local elementary school.

Some (actually most) of the students come from economically disadvantaged homes. So hearing the stories she tells can really make me scratch my head. All I can think some days is, “That poor kid is gonna end up selling crack by 15″

On the flip side, some of the things her kids do is freaking hilarious.

She can’t talk too much about them… But I can.

All names have been changed to keep me from getting sued!

Jenny: Megan, why do you have chopsticks?

Megan: I was using them to eat lunch.

Jenny: what did you have at lunch that would require chopsticks?

Megan: Pizza

——-

Jenny via a text to me: I was talking to the class and turned to write on the board. When I turned around, Megan had reached into her Mary Poppins bag and was wearing a tiara! Wtf?! Where’d she get a tiara?!?

——–

Jenny: Class… Let me ask a question. My kids at home were talking about Kool Aid last night. We don’t drink it much. Do kids still drink Kool Aid?

Larry: Oh yeah! We always drink it!

Jenny: what’s your favorite flavor?

Larry: Flavor? I don’t know flavor. But it’s gotta be red or purple.

——–

Jenny: Now Jason, I know that talking to Donny may seem ok, but we both know I’m much prettier than he is, so look at me!!

——

Jenny: Eduardo, where’s the proof? When you turn in your work you have to show your proof!

Eduardo: Why?

Jenny: cause when I fail you, I’m gonna hold up my sheet and say, “Here’s my proof as to why he has to stay in the 5th grade.” So you might wanna have something to argue that with!”

——-

Jenny: Ok. I want everyone to write one word describing what it’s going to take to pass the STAAR test.

Andre: Man. I can’t use the word focus. I don’t know what else to say.

Michael: why can’t you use focus?

Andre: FO CUS. Two words. Duh.

Jenny: I give up!

Ok. Not all dentists are Satan

So, after several days of debating about what to do for my toothache I decided (with much prodding from Jenny) to go to the dentist.

Last night was horrible. I could barely swallow because the gland in my neck had swollen. I couldn’t talk without drooling all over myself because the knot on my gum had spread to under my tongue and each time I laid my head down my jaw and tooth throbbed.

At 1:30 am I found myself sitting in the garage (cause I was probably keeping everyone awake moving around), sitting on the concrete floor with a mouth full of gauze that had been soaked in clove oil and way too much ibuprofen in my body.

Finally at 2:30, I was so exhausted I was able to doze off as long as I was in a sitting position.

As soon as the local dental clinic opened, I called. “I’m sorry. We can’t see you until Monday.”

That was the same response I got from 6 different offices.

At about noon, I sent Jenny a text. I told her I was still trying to find a dentist because I knew that as quickly as my situation was deteriorating, I would not make it to Monday.

In fact, there were moments last night that I considered the idea of doing a bathroom extraction just so I could get a little relief from the pressure.

My only option was to go to the ER and see if I could get a prescription for antibiotics.

Well, my Jenny came to my rescue. She called and told me that her dentists office would squeeze me in if I could be there by 3pm.

I flew across town to get there on time.

I explained that in the past, my experience with dentists had been Army “quacks” who’d botched root canals, fucked up the removal of my wisdom teeth and in general made me feel worse than I did when I went in.

The hygienist was amazingly sweet. She explained everything she was doing and could see that I was in pain.

As she took the X Rays, she would check in with me. “Are you comfortable? Does this hurt? Let me know if this hurts.”

Shortly after she finished with her portion of my visit, a doctor popped her head in. “I’m sorry it’s taking so long. I’ll be back in just a second.”

I thought that considering I’d been squeezed in, it was going fairly quickly.

I’d only been in the back area for about 10 minutes when the dentist came in. She is about the same age as Jenny and I. A few years younger but still young by my stereotypical standards.

She was polite, understanding and sensitive to the fact that all I really wanted was some relief.

After looking at my X Rays, she then began “tapping” on each tooth in the back of my mouth.

“Does this hurt? How about this?” I explained that while it was a bit uncomfortable there really wasn’t any pain.

Her determination? I had a gum infection. She pointed out the bone in my “bite wing” (whatever that means) and explained that she couldn’t see anything really wrong with my teeth or the bone. Apparently, something had gotten under the gum line and my smoking causes it to get infected.

What’d she do then? I really don’t know. But whatever it was made all the difference in the world.

She must have ruptured the spot. Because (this gets kinda gross. Sorry) she said, “Yep, there’s the puss” and all of a sudden my mouth felt 100 times better. It didn’t hurt. No pain. None. The tapping was uncomfortable but they didn’t go into my mouth like cave dwellers digging for water!

She gave me a prescription for antibiotics and sent me on my merry way.

She told me to come back on Wednesday. She wants to get the infection cleared up enough that she can redo the X Rays and make sure there’s nothing more going on.

All in all it was a pleasant experience.

I think I may reconsider this whole dentist thing thanks to Dr. Anton.

I hate dentists.

I consider myself to be a pretty tough person. In my career I’ve had broken bones, stitches, dislocated joints and worked with H1N1 and bronchitis.

But I do not like dentists. I woke up two days ago with a swollen jaw, and a sore tooth.

My philosophy? It’ll get better or it’ll get worse. But I can tough it out.

Well, it got worse. I now have a pain that is stretching into my neck, my gum has swollen up to the top of my tooth and I can’t chew on the left hand side of my mouth.

What should I do? Probably go to the dentist. My former employer agreed to provide me with insurance until March 31. But, I got a letter on February 28 telling me that it had been cancelled.

I have a signed contract. So there’s a part of me that says I should just go to the dentist and then send the bill to my former employer.

It’s something I need to discuss with Jenny. I’m off work, so it’d be the perfect time to take care of this. But, what if this turns out to be something big. Something that requires multiple visits beyond March 31?

I can’t keep popping excedrin and sucking down oragel. But I can’t make a decision that could cost thousands without talking to Jenny.

I’ll keep ya posted on what we decide.

The soundtrack of my life

Some people wonder where Louie gets her love of music. She’s won awards in UIL competitions for choir, year after year.

She doesn’t have perfect pitch, but it’s pretty darn close. Her and the choir she’s a member of are so good they’ve been asked to sing with the LSU choral, perform The National Anthem at televised pro basketball games and are scheduled to perform with the Texas Tech choral next year.

They definitely kick ass.

Her dad was in band in school (he played the trombone and bass guitar) and I played the flute, coronet, and guitar. 6 string. My fingers weren’t rough enough back then for 12.

The fact that she loves music isn’t a surprise to us or those who know us well.

In the early days of smart phones, my biggest requirement was that I be able to load and play music. One of the many reasons I love my iPhone.

Music for some is soothing. For others it can provide motivation or inspiration. For me? It’s all of the above.

I have always used music to direct my moods.

In my Jr. High days, I was the aspiring athlete. Basketball, track, volleyball, softball. One of the main ways I trained was to run. And I hated running. So, to motivate myself I’d shove my headphones in and crank up everything from The Cure to Whitney Houston.

Yes, Whitney. One moment in time? The anthem from the 88 Olympics.

Through my Army career, I was in combat arms. That meant I was required to run and march a lot! . I wasn’t able to put headphones in, so I’d sing to myself. Funny, but a Keith Whitley song was my go to. When you say nothing at all.

Now a days, I still have a very eclectic taste in music. Country, contemporary Christian, pop, rock and even a little Michael Buble. (he’s hard to stick into a box)

One of my most recent favorites? Eric Church.

His song Springsteen makes me want to just close my eyes and hum along.

Another singer that I drift back to from time to time is James Blunt. Yes, the hoakey balladeer from a few years back.

He kinda reminds me of the guy that plays Napolean Dynamite, Jon Heder.

I’d almost forgotten all about James Blunt until one day, while having lunch at Hula Hut, I heard a song that I had to Shazam. It was I’ll be your man. And it made me smile.

But, my all time favorite, never let me down, artist is Pink!

She can be angry, gentle, loud or mellow. She can make me think; Fuckin Perfect or make me dance; Raise your glass.

She’s unapologetic and sometimes annoying.

But whatever she is, she makes me feel better!

I still listen to my life long favorites too: Everclear, Reba, Ronnie Dunn, The Bee Gees. You name it, I’ve got it on my playlist.

So, whenever you think you need a pick me up, pop in your favorite tune. Turn the volume up and turn the world down. Close your eyes and let the melody take you away. It may only be a 3.57 minute vacation, but sometimes that will do you a world of good.

Sinner or saint?

I’ve always had this part of me that was conflicted when it comes to religion.

I was raised and baptized Catholic. As I found myself struggling with my sexuality I also found myself exploring other denominations.

See, I’ve always believed in one God. In Jesus Christ. In the crucifixion and the resurrection. But, I also think I’ve been blessed with the ability to reason.

Because of that, at one point in my life, as I was having a crisis of faith, I considered suicide. I knew I was gay and according to my faith, that was an abomination.

I was young. I was probably about 18 or 19.

What made me decide to not take my own life? As screwed up as it may sound; I believed that suicide was an even bigger insult to God than homosexuality.

I always found it interesting how people actually believe that I chose to be gay. Yep, I woke up one morning. Had breakfast with my ultra conservative, Catholic, redneck family and thought, “I would really like to be different. But not in an ‘I’m famous’ kind of way. No! I want to be part of one of the most misunderstood, hated, abused, discriminated against groups in the world. I think I’d like to be physically and verbally harassed for the rest of my life. Oooh! And the idea of alienating my family sounds like a bonus!”

Yeah. That’s exactly the type of life I’d want for myself and my kids.

Even if I didn’t have the social stigma that goes hand in hand with homosexuality, my religion was something that kept pressing on me to be like everyone else.

But, as I stated, I was blessed (or cursed, depending on your position) with the ability to reason. And that very skill made me question a lot of what I was taught in my Sunday School classes.

For example. Deuteronomy, and Acts both tell us that Astrology is a sin. Fortune tellers, psychics, etc. All sinners. And according to them, the punishment is death. Wow! Think about that the next time you flip through the newspaper and check out your daily horoscope.

How about Matthew? It says that I’m guilty of sin if I don’t visit God’s children that are imprisoned. Ok. Hold up a minute. If they’re in prison, doesn’t that most likely mean that they have committed a sin? Or at the very least broken a law. Even Jesus said, “Give to Ceasar what belongs to him. But give to my father what is rightfully his.” in response to the question of wether or not people should have to pay taxes.

Proverbs 13 talks about how I’m guilty of offending God if I fail to discipline my children. In fact, the bible encourages the physical act of corporal punishment. Tell that to CPS when they show up because your kid went to school complaining about a spanking they got.

Mark. Good ol Mark. He tells us that women who dress to attract the attention of men are sinning. So ladies; next time you head out to meet Mr. Right, throw on those old gray sweats. That shirt you shoulda thrown out in college and the flip flops that are now 2 sizes too small. Because according to the bible, you may wind up that crazy cat lady down the street, but at least you’ll have a pure soul.

What about the difference between Gods law and man’s law? According to Romans, I’m guilty of sin if I don’t follow the law of man. That kinda negates the ones where I’m supposed to whoop my kids.

My favorite? Galatians tells me I shouldn’t observe days, months or even time. “Really? I had no idea I was supposed to have been at work at 7am….. 3 days ago. Oops!”

You have the old stand by’s as well. Don’t eat any animal that is considered unclean, don’t wear clothes that are made of more than one material, men shouldn’t round their beards, etc.

I guess the conclusion I’ve come to is this: if you are going to use the bible as your justification for discriminating against me, use all of it. Don’t treat the bible like your local WalMart. You can’t go in, pick out what suits you and then leave the rest on the shelf.

The books of the bible were written 2000 years ago. They needed a different set of standards to live by. They needed something to add structure and order to a life filled with slavery, political corruption and disease.

Use the reasoning skills you were given. If me and Jenny being married doesn’t directly hurt you, then why do you care?

It’s almost a ridiculous to me as being ok with a 14 year old girl marrying a 22 year old man. Hey, at least they’re straight, right?!

Whatever the reasoning, use it.

It’s why you were given the ability to do so.