Author: babychristian55

The Great Divide

Erosion.   Not really a ‘big’ word, but not a ‘little’ one either.  In my mental word association game, ‘erosion’ makes me think of the Grand Canyon which correlates with the definition:  “The process of eroding or being eroded by wind, water, or other natural agents.”  However, I think the definition is missing an important point, i.e., it takes time – a lot of time.

It took a lot of time for my marriage to El to erode.  El & I making our kids the focal point of our lives drained our relationship.  We forgot who “we” were.  In retrospect, putting “us” first would have been a failure too.  I’ve since learned that the relationship between a husband and wife has to put God first.

Back to erosion.  Bear with me while I play a little word game; divide erosion into Eros and ion.  Leave Eros by itself, and clone the ‘s’ and put it with ‘ion,’ while dropping the ‘o’ – to get “sin.”  So now we have Eros which is a concept in ancient Greek philosophy referring to sensual or passionate love, from which the term erotic is derived.  I think you know what sin is.  So put the puzzle back together for erotic sin or my subterranean porn addiction.  Porn was a cancer, a syphilitic worm eating through my brain, my heart, my marriage; an unknown killer of epic proportion.

ICQ was the equivalent of ‘strike 3 you’re out.’  I sought out a plethora of people who I didn’t know, but yet I took their advice as meaningful because their situation paralleled mine; at least that’s what they said at the time.  Funny how you’re always drawn to answers that you want to hear.  That you’re normal, you’re not alone, “I feel that way too,” “My spouse doesn’t understand me,” “My spouse doesn’t like sex anymore.”  It’s always good to ‘know’ that you’re right, that you’ve got it all figured out.

ICQ was truly a double-edged sword, like the atomic bomb.  I drew false comfort from my ‘new friends’ and I got introduced to ‘cyber-sex.’  At least that’s what it was called back then; I guess it’s referred to as sexting now.  Going from printed porn to pictures on newsgroups, and then graduating to interacting with a live person via a keyboard poured lighter fluid on the fire of my sex drive like nothing before.  Well, that was until I was asked by one of my repeat cyber sexers if ‘she’ could call; thus my introduction to phone sex.

All this time, El was oblivious and I was such a convincing, lying actor.  As we were pulling further away from each other, EL wanted to try for a daughter or adopt.  I was happy with the two boys.  I even scheduled an appointment for a vasectomy.  Wouldn’t you know it, the woman that rarely wanted sex anymore became pregnant and that was her 3rd strike too.  The doctor told her no more c-sections; of course, I canceled my vasectomy.

You might think that I didn’t believe El in that it was just pure luck that she conceived.  Honestly, I did believe her – for some reason.  I also had no issues loving our third son.  Each son is so unique.  Each such a blessing (although I didn’t know that B-word back then).  Yet the doomsday clock was ticking. I was skating down the downward spiral to divorce and I didn’t really know why, but I sure thought I did.

Or back to the previous blog Pandora’s Box.

Off to the next chapter…in Nuclear Family Fission.

Pandora’s Box

Sometime in grade school I became fascinated with mythology and the similarities between Egyptian, Greek, Roman, and Norse.  Later on, I began to notice some similarities to Christianity; bear in mind that at this time I was a ‘sage’ pre-teen at best.

Pandora’s Box was a Greek myth and paralleled Eve (and the apple) in a few ways.  Both ladies were the first women on Earth and had an insatiable curiosity. Eve ate the apple that brought sin into the world (of course Adam took the blame). Pandora opened the box and all of “the god’s” evils spilled out and she became frightened so she immediately closed the box which trapped ‘hope’ inside (another punishment).

This ties into the advice of the marriage counselor that said I needed a hobby after the fiasco with the Tennessee Two-Step; she suggested getting a computer for a hobby, a modern-day box straight from Pandora.  This box of plastic & sand by Packard Bell intimidated me. It was far fancier than what I had at work (they had 5.25 floppy drives; this one had a 3.5 floppy!).  Once I discovered that I could play other games besides solitaire and that I could play on the internet – the hook was set. Of course, I had to rationalize it with El; the kids could use internet access on the computer for school stuff – and they did.

I don’t recall how long it took, but it didn’t take too terribly long for me to overcome my fear of electronics to the point that I had built another computer and had the two of them networked so the kids & I could play Command & Conquer against each other.  On the dark side, I don’t recall either how long it took me to transform this hobby tool of knowledge into something I could use to search for porn.  Back then porn required money and I stumbled on free sources through email of all places.  Not with people, but some weird thing called ‘newsgroups’ where people posted pictures.  Bear in mind that this also occurred in the time period that cable TV was just that; no internet.  You had to find your own ISP (internet service provider) and connect using a ‘dial-up modem.’  I had an interesting conversation with AT&T one day when our (landline) phone bill was $300 higher than normal.  When searching for the ever-elusive free porn, I clicked on a link for a ‘free picture viewer,’ which didn’t work and I closed the page.  Yet I was dumb enough to try it again and got the same result.  AT&T informed me that what had happened was the link that I had clicked had turned the sound off on my dial-up modem.  Then somehow the link had my modem call Moldovia Russia and that’s how my phone bill went sky high.  Explaining that to El was interesting.

In the meantime, El discovered that her younger brother in Tally town had got himself wrapped up in something called “ICQ.”  Some chat thing on the internet and the something was another woman; not the woman he was married to.  ICQ (I Seek You) became my new vice.  The computers were upstairs in the loft which overlooked the living room.  El would sit and watch TV every night, and I would game/ICQ.  On a few occasions, she would call up to me and ask me to join her on the couch.  Which I did try for a handful of times until I grew aggravated at only being allowed to talk during commercials; otherwise, I would be “shushed.”  Something else that I allowed to become a wedge between El & me.

Off to the next chapter…in The Great Divide.

Or back to the previous blog Tennessee Two-Step.

Tennessee Two-Step

I saw the train wreck coming or at least I thought I did.

One of the guys in my “pad group” was becoming increasingly enamored with Ms. Tennessee Two Step (TTS).  She was in her early 20s and appeared to have those “Cover Girl” model qualities.  He was not happily married and had a daughter.  My alarms came from my previous experience with “the blonde” from the car dealership.  When I tried to warn him, all I got was a laugh.

SO….yes, the big “SO.”  How in the world did I do the very same thing I warned him against?  Of course – please allow me to (initially) not take any responsibility – she was a flirt, ‘to the max.’  Looks, words, touch; all geared to get a guy going.  Perhaps it was a game for her or some odd revenge against a previous male (or just the male of the species in general).  She was like “lighter fluid” on the fire of my porn addiction and discontent in my marriage.  Since I was the lead, I could ‘schedule’ the two of us to work on the weekends – how convenient, eh?  Of course, I felt sorry for her too since my buddy had been told by TTS that she had been abused by her father; hmm….was there truth to this?  Was that the reason she came on to older guys – I have no idea.

I had periods of trying to curtail my carnal desires and act as a ‘big brother’ or ‘father’ figure toward her.  Had her over to the house to meet El and we’d all play Nintendo Tetris up in the loft.  Funny, when El was playing, TTS took that as an opportunity to flirt with me behind El’s back.  In retrospect, I can’t believe that El was that blind; surely if she had noticed, she would have said something but she never did.

At some point, I just completely fell for her and/or her flirtatious lie(s).  I was ready to chuck it all and leave my wife.  Wow, what a deja vu, back at the car dealership I separated from El for similar circumstances. Just like the Chrysler blonde, TTS turned off the charm-light when things were going past ‘fun & fantasy’ to real-life marriage break-up.  Did I ever engage in sex with her?  Physically – no; mentally – yes.  In those days, I continued to rationalize that fantasy land was not real; thus, it was not adultery.  However, in all honesty, little kissing episodes up on the launch tower or in the elevator was physical and I’m sure El would have had t said something about that (had she known).

Finally, guilt regained control of me and I partially confessed to El what was going on.  We went to marriage counseling (2nd time during the marriage).  Again the counselor was secular (since neither of us practiced any form of religion) and the ‘cure’ this time was that I needed a hobby.  I can’t believe the counselor actually suggested a computer – what an absolute mistake.

Off to the next chapter…in Pandora’s Box.

Or back to the previous blog Return to Florida.

Return to Florida

Going back to Florida to work the shuttle program was a bag chock-full of “stuff.”  El was happy that we were leaving dismally grey VA and getting closer to her family in Tallahassee.  I was achieving a childhood dream of working in the space program. I used to play with toy rockets (as an only child) and often imagined doing “space stuff,” in some way or another.  Of course, moving down with our 2 year old, dealing with company provided temporary housing (a condo no less), and one car was “a lot of fun” too.

I was assigned to launchpad 39B and had two younger guys as co-workers; neither of which were too inclined to be helpful.  I guess their rationale was that it made them look better if I remained the village idiot, so I dug into the job head-n-feet first.  Suffice to say that months later, both gentlemen moved on to something else and as I learned more, I took on more responsibility.

As our month-long free ride in the condo wound down, we rented another condo (on a lagoon, but locals called a river) closer to work in the same complex as one of my shipyard buddies.  I can’t remember when, but eventually, we bought another car so El could get around with our ‘young-in’ and I could have a work car.  Space work meant a lot of shift work and unpredictable hours, which also meant paid overtime to cover the new car payment.  El’s job was child-rearing and domestic fun-n-games.  It was during this period of “river condo” living that’s my first recollection of my sexual stupidity resurfacing.  Fantasy land returned with the focus being on the wife of my shipyard buddy and the wife of our new upstairs neighbors.  I pity the poor gal upstairs because I would purposely wash the car in the parking lot before she got home from work and made sure my gonads were dangling out of my shorts for her viewing.  Never heard a word about it from her or her husband – go figure.

I should mention that at his point in my life, I still had no use for God.  I was still foul-mouthed and still thought I was living the way that all “manly” men lived; in other words, I was still clueless.  I had to continually stifle my mouth around managers, etc.  Not just the swearing, but the unending sexual innuendo that (unfortunately) I was becoming known for.  I thought I was hilarious.  It didn’t matter what someone said; I could take their words and twist them into something sexual and vulgar.  Yet somehow, in roughly three years I managed to advance to the lead position for both of the launchpads and mobile launch platforms.

It was also about the time that El and I purchase our first home and had our second child – another son.

“Another son,” just kind of a casual reference, eh?  I had to go back and insert this paragraph that having another child was something that I didn’t take lightly.  I had been so amazed about the depth of the love I had for my first son.  I couldn’t fathom having another; kept asking myself could I love him (#2) as much as #1.  I had no idea that I had that much “fatherly” love within me.  Was this a by-product of never knowing my biological father?  Maybe so.  Suffice it to say, that I loved (and still do) my 2nd son equally with my first and third (comes a little later), and I miss them so.

“Some” might try to be charitable and say it was due to the additional stress of house payments, another mouth to feed combined with added responsibility at work, but I’m not sure if that would be honest.  As the lead engineer, I had around 6-7 people under me.  I was responsible for their training, work assignments, etc., and ensuring “the team” met our obligations to maintain and launch off of both pads.  This was also the time frame when masturbating came back into full bloom.  Driving to work, at work, on the launchpad, in the bathrooms…anywhere that I could get by with it.  I don’t know what spurred this on, but it was rampant and also coincided with the arrival of a new female employee from TN.  She became known as the “Tennessee Two-Step.”

Off to the next chapter…in the  Tennessee Two-Step.

Or back to the previous blog Yard Bird.

 

Right In Front of My Nose – Yours Too

Ever had the fun of looking for you car keys and they were in your ‘other’ hand?  How about the classic – looking for your glasses – and you’re wearing them?  Some of us have developed the coping skill at laughing at ourselves in those situations; provided we didn’t go into “ice cube” mode and have an anger meltdown prior to finding the lost item.  As we get older, it’s too easy to let our thoughts stray to just that…we’re getting old…we’re losing our marbles.  Well, maybe we are and maybe we aren’t; but it just seems that it is ridiculously easy to let a seemingly small matter grow out of proportion.

Yet the flip-side of this, is that…just maybe…there is something to it, but we’re so busy with the rest of life that we just blow it off.  You can slap the old “been there, done that, got the hat and t-shirt” cliche on it and just go merrily down our laser focused mindless path.

I have to admit, I am in definite babble mode today; playing mental “whack-a-mole: the rabbit hole edition”, but I’m reeling from my reaction to the sermon I just saw on-line (Southeastern Church – Kyle Idleman).  His emphasis today was how Jesus got thousands of gentiles to praise the God of Israel (psst – gentiles hated Jews & vice versa), just by loving the gentiles on a one-to-one basis; mostly by healing their ills.  No sermon or scripture; just loving them.

As pastor Idleman wrapped up his sermon, he shared something that had happened at a satellite campus regarding “human trafficking.”  What was shared from that campus, was an email exchange between a woman (age was’t specified) and someone at the church who is part of their ministry to help those women cope, hopefully escape their bondage, and most assuredly come to know that Jesus loves them.

Begrudgingly I have to admit that as the email exchange started, I thought it was kind of lame. The church writer was offering Christian platitudes, but how was this supposed to help the woman?  Yet in her responses – she was getting it – and wanted to know more.  Her biggest fear was not knowing where she’d be next.  Guess that’s where the term “trafficking” comes in since the women (and I guess men too) are routinely moved from site to site and she was concerned that she’d be sent to Atlanta next (for the super bowl).

That’s when it hit me.  That’s when I noticed that what has been under my nose for so long; for what I considered a “so what” kind of thing; HIT ME.  And it hurt because it opened up the memory box of all what I always referred to as hookers or whores were really women.  Women that undoubtedly did not follow the ship that I was on (back in navy days) from port to port.  They were women that were forced to.  Women that were forced to wear seductive clothing, pretend to be who they hated, pretend to enjoy what they do – the so-called “world’s oldest profession.”

I cried.  Deep sobbing tears.  Remorse.  Guilt.  Shame.  And that was before Mr. Idleman summed up the story that the woman tried to get away from Atlanta and lost her life in the process.

Gator Country

Off to the “big time”!  Huge campus.  The level of “higher learning” at the University of Florida (UF); the campus had it all: engineering, medical, law, etc., and of course all of the other collegiate insanity like booze, college sports, frats, and sororities.  Academically I was cocky after graduating with honors from TCC (junior college) and I thought UF would be a breeze – I was overwhelmed on the first semester.  I also thought that my hands-on navy experience would be sought after by future employers.  I later learned that what mattered was your GPA (grade point average).

El & I got an apartment about a mile and a half from campus.  We only had the one car so it was ‘luck’ that the apartment complex had a deal that if you signed a year’s lease you either got a free ten speed bike or a color TV.  We opted for the bike and that became my means of transportation to class (rain or shine), since El would be getting a job and would need the car.  Besides, parking required parking permits, so it just made more economical sense to bike.  Biking also had the fringe benefit of getting  my legs in marvelous shape which was a plus for being 29 and surrounded by ‘fellow students’ that were easily 8 years younger.

College classes kept me real busy (thankfully) and El landed a job with an endodontist which kept her occupied.  I was still in the navy reserve, but was no longer able to do my weekend warrior thing in town like I did in Tallahassee.  It was back to where I went for active duty (back in the aircraft carrier) days; “good old Mayport,” which turned into an overnighter since it was a 2 hour trip one way.  Unfortunately that paved the way for partying and going to establishments that specialized in scantily clad women.  Speaking of women, at UF there were plenty of female bicyclists sporting the latest fashion; i.e., dolphin shorts that seemed to be just half a size too small for their derrieres.

The low point of my time in Gainesville was centered on an evening in Mayport at the midpoint of my two week active duty stint for the reserves.  This guy that I rode with asked me if I would participate in making his girl friend’s fantasy come true – sex with two guys at the same time.  The added bizarre factor is that she had muscular dystrophy; so “of course” I said yes.  I will not give a graphical account of the encounter; suffice it to say that it happened which was disturbing.  Even more disturbing was my ability to take what had happened and put it away in a mental shoe box which allowed me to continue my married relationship with El as if nothing had ever happened.  Later in life I was astounded to discover how many virtual shoe boxes I had and the crap I kept in them.

The remainder of time in gator country was consumed with pursuing my degree, doing whatever El & I did in those days (I have no recollection), and fantasizing over the female student population at Florida.  Oh, and I can’t leave out watching the “20 Minute Work-Out” videos on TV when El was at work and I was home between classes.  The video usually had 3 shapely women on a large turntable in various forms of aerobics which generally resulted them bent over in a variety of poses -accentuated with their work-out leotards; I imagine you have some mental picture.

Three years of UF came and almost went just as fast.  My last semester was filled with finishing up classes to graduate and hitting the career center with the goal of an interview, “plant trip,” and ultimate job offer.  This is when I learned that GPA was king; forget previous experience and replace it with your entry level salary to be proportional to your perceived ability as indicated by you’re GPA.  Yes…I’m ranting about GPA because I had to repeat a few classes and eat the C or D from my first attempt (UF engineering core classes usually carried a minimum B to ‘pass’).

I was contacted by my old alma mater (USN) and they’d love to take me back as an officer (previous enlisted experience did count), and I could pick up a master’s degree too.  It would just cost me another 3 years at sea to earn “surface warfare pin,” then the remainder of my career would be on-shore as an engineering duty officer.  El was not too keen on that; she had had enough of the navy.  Finally I took an offer with a commercial shipyard in Newport News, VA.

On to Yard Bird.

Or go back to Reflections – TCC.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On to Yard Bird.

Or back to the previous blog TCC Land.

Diary of an Alzheimer Lab Rat – Part 3

About 4 weeks ago (or so) I completed my PET scan and got “the call” from the researcher around a week later.  I was informed that he had some good news & bad news (he actually had a sense of humor).

Turns out that I did not have sufficient quantity of the ‘proteins’ in my head to qualify for proceeding with the study; i.e., services no longer required.

However, there is a standing offer to come back and get tested again if I (or loved ones) seem to think I’m losing my cognitive abilities (and marbles, keys, etc.)

So….this is the end of the road in my Lab Rat saga.

~finis~

But…if you’re curious about who I am, please go to Who Am I

 

Diary of an Alzheimer Lab Rat – Part 2

Yesterday I had the PET scan; I jokingly referred to it as a scan for a cat in my pants, but since I “passed” the MRI – I got to move to the next level (PET scan).  If this is your first time here (or need a refresher), please go to Diary of an Alzheimer Lab Rat – Part 1.

It took the MRI lab and the Alzheimer study doctor about 10 days to process the MRI results (brain – check, no stroke damage – check).  The one of the researchers contacted me to get the go ahead for PET fun.

It was the first time I had ever had a PET scan; wasn’t a big deal – even though the tech seemed like she had just got out of school.  The IV hurt – a lot more that when you get blood drawn; evidently there’s some type of natural “checking system” that tries to ensure the flow is one way.  Obviously I didn’t die from it and after the needle is in, she did a quick flow check with saline to ensure things were as they should be.

Had to wait for 10-15 minutes for the nuke juice to mature (a certain level of “zoomies” was required).  After being injected with the radioactive chemical, another saline push to flush the plumbing.  The nuke juice is tailored for the amyloid substance in the head; makes it glow for the camera.  After a 40 minute wait to allow the stuff to get in my head; it was off to the machine.

The PET scan machine looks a lot like an MRI, just not as long and not as confining.  Just like an MRI, lay down with your head in a cradle, get covered up with a blankie (cause it’s way too cold in there), and try to stay awake for the 30 minutes that it takes for the scan.  The PET machine makes a little noise; nothing at all like the MRI which reminds me of being in a torpedo tube with Navy SEALs banging on the outside.

Now it’s another period of waiting for results, if I “recall” correctly the next step is another office visit – time will tell.

Stay tuned for next edition at Diary of an Alzheimer Lab Rat – Part 3.

Or if you’re curious about who I am, please go to Who Am I

 

Diary of an Alzheimer Lab Rat – Part 1

Yesterday I got to play human torpedo stuck in the tube and listening to the warped magnetic dwarfs banging on the outside with hammers.  In other words, I had an MRI and you have to dream up some kind of weirdness while you’re in there for 45 minutes.  The MRI was voluntary and part of the screening process to become an official Alzheimer’s lab rat.  So now it’s wait a week or so, then the research folk will schedule me for the next step – a PET scan.

This all started back in September of 2018 when I noticed one of those “you may be interested in” things on FB for the Alzheimer Prevention Registry.  They were soliciting for research participants through a program called Gene Match; I shared it with my wife and we filled out the request for cheek swab kits.  The swabs are used to perform a DNA test in order to determine if you have the APOE4 gene; the presence of which increases the likelihood of developing Alzheimer’s.  Five days later the kits were sent; I don’t recall how long the whole process took, but about two months later I was informed that I was a “study match.”  My wife didn’t qualify because she’s still a youngster (less than 60 years old).

With the notification of being a match came a list of local centers that were participating in the program.  After informing the local folks I was interested, my first appointment was set for the first of the year (2019); the delay being the holidays, etc.

The first meeting was the usual “meet and greet” and have the program explained; then ensure that I was interested in participating. A month later was the 2nd visit and a gob of paperwork to sign – none of which obligates you; in fact you can quit anytime.  My biggest concern was there is a potential move (job change) coming and I didn’t want to waste their time.  As it turns out there’s a high probability of another research lab near where I’m going.  I should also note that on the 2nd visit and every other visit since, they’ve administered the “Mini-Mental State Examination” which seemed pretty silly.  A few of the questions were asked were as follows: what day is it, where are you, instructions to fold a piece of paper and drop it on the floor, you’re given a number and subtract another number from it repeatedly (47-7, 40-7, 33-7, etc.).

The third visit was a bit more involved with an EKG, blood work, doctor exam, and a photo shoot in my whitey-tighties.  The EKG was to screen for any cardiac concerns.  Blood work was to ensure my chemistry was good and that I was off the charts on anything; also was checking for how well my system metabolizes medications – evidently, everyone is different (imagine that).  I am “borderline” type-2 diabetic and fight the fight against cholesterol like most sedentary office workers, none of this was an issue for the study.  I was also given a more involved memory test that was geared toward assessing how well my short-term memory was functioning.  Finally, an assessment of my mental health to ensure that I wasn’t depressed, suicidal, etc.

Oh I about forgot (ha-ha), I started this with the MRI – the purpose of which is to determine if I’ve had any strokes or other brain impairments (cysts, etc.) that would affect the testing.  The PET scan to follow will have a tracer that has an affinity for a protein in the brain that accumulates around you neurons.  Your brain has garbage collectors that keep the protein count down, but Alzheimer’s is theorized to mess the trash system up.  Feel free to check out the link below for a more formal description that I’m too lazy to include here.

https://www.medicaldaily.com/new-theory-alzheimers-it-tau-proteins-not-plaque-triggers-brain-cell-death-308792

See you around for Part-2, if I remember to do it (haha).  But seriously, one of the researchers shared a rather scary statistic that if a cure (or something that can slow Alzheimer’s down) is not found soon; it could be as soon as 15-20 years from now that there will not be enough people to care for those affected with the disease.

Please go to Diary of an Alzheimer Lab Rat – Part 2

Or if you’re curious about who I am, please go to Who Am I

 

Reflections – TCC

It has been 8 months since I last published something to do with “My Story”.  There’s been a few in the “Windmill Tilting” section, but nothing here – the reason why, is as follows:

My wife is my editor-in-chief because I’m a notorious ‘comma splicer’ among other grammatical sacrilege.  What we discovered in her reviewing my writing, is that my writing had become a rather large ‘scab picker.’

The hurt that I caused my wife will never completely heal.  In fact, it seems that my first wife (El) hates me more now than she did before.  I’ve offered a variety of olive branches to work things out; at least to the level of some form of civility, however all I get is silence.  In November (2018), my (middle) son got married and it was a ‘family affair.’  El acted as if my wife & I had leprosy, and my 3rd son had only anger in his eyes.

Back to scab picking…

My wife was getting better, the reminders of what we “fondly” refer to as ‘the crap’ were occurring less frequently, but tended to spike when another blog chapter came up for review.  Eight months later, we’re going to give it another try.

Hopefully the scab has fallen off, but the scar will remain forever.

On to Gator Country.

Or back to the previous blog TCC – Land