"You're Uninvited"

A couple of days ago, Lennon and I were walking to the mailbox.  I had my cane, and Lennon was on her Tinker Bell bike.

Suddenly, she stopped pedaling.

"Daddy.  You and Mommy aren't invited to my birthday anymore."  (She turns four in May.)

"How come, Bug?"

"Because you won't buy me that dog poop toy for my birthday."

This is the toy she wants....



This is a real toy.  I'm not kidding.  A couple of months ago, she saw a commercial for it on Nickelodeon, and was instantly enamored.  Who can blame her?  It's Play-Doh dog shit.  I'll admit:  I'm almost 37 years old, and I still think the way dogs look when they poop is one of the funniest things on Earth.  If there is a god, you know he has a sick sense of humor.

Am I right?!

'Doggie Doo' is the latest in a long line of toys that Lennon has begged for.  At Christmas, it was Lite Sprites.  To this day, I still have no idea how that doll works.  She pestered us about that thing for months.  Played with it on Christmas day.  Hasn't touched it since.  The same goes for the "Ice Cream Play-Doh Maker" she received for her birthday last year.  On that one, she practically started a Change.org online petition.

Not this time.

I very politely explained to her that, even if Mommy and Daddy don't go to her birthday party, she still wouldn't be getting that toy as a present.  I told her that we had already told all of the party guests that she wasn't allowed to have that toy.  

She huffed.  Then pouted for a second, and started to ride away.

"You still can't come."

Hitler, John Boehner And Pirates

"Name Prince Harry's last three Halloween costumes."

Some Johnny Carson humor (for those of you over the age of 35).

If you use the internet, you need to be aware of SOPA, the Stop Online Piracy Act.  It's currently being debated in the House of Representatives.  It passed the House Judiciary Committee earlier this month, and is expected to pass the House with strong support within the next couple of months.

SOPA will essentially bring online censorship to a level seen currently in China or Iran.  That isn't an exaggeration.  The day to day online experience as you know it will cease to exist.

Let me give you an example.  Here is a video of my daughter dancing our living room last night:



In the background of the video, 'Across the Universe' was playing.  It was originally recorded by The Beatles, but in this case, was being sung by Rufus Wainwright.

If SOPA passes, Sony Music, the label that owns the rights to The Beatles catalogue, could approach YouTube calling for the removal of the video.  All it would take would be an email.  YouTube would be forced to remove it.  Also, by embedding the video on this post, they could, if they desired, send an email to Go Daddy, the company hosting my website, claiming copyright infringement.  Under the articles of SOPA, Go Daddy would be forced to shut down my website.  Completely wipe it from existence.

Not because of a court order from a judge.  Not due to a notice from the F.B.I. or any local law enforcement.  But from a single email message from someone claiming they hold a copyright on material I am displaying on my website.  They do not need to show any proof of ownership.  I do not have the opportunity to remove the material in question.  'The Twitch Online' simply ceases to exist.  Years of work for nothing.  No record that it was even there to begin with.

How does this effect you?

Think about it.  The sites you visit every day - YouTube, Facebook, Google and Wikipedia, just to name a few.  All of them will either disappear or change in such a way that they will become practically unrecognizable.

And, in the end, is this new legislation really going to stop anyone from downloading a shitty CD in order to avoid paying $13.99 for it at Target.  If people have the motivation to pirate (lack of selection/price), they're going to find a way to do so.

Another casualty of SOPA will be the internet meme.  One of my personal favorites is the "Hitler finds out about _____".  If SOPA is enacted, that too will be gone.  The clip is taken from the 2004 German film 'Downfall'.  The video, while extremely funny, is surprisingly accurate and educational.



So, what can you do about this.  Get involved.  Contact your Congressman.  You can go to americancensorship.org right now to be directed to the offices of your local representative.  At the site, you can also sign a petition being sent to the state department, and send an email to Congress asking that SOPA not pass.  So far, more than 780,000 people have done so.

If this bill would have passed a decade ago, think about how different your life would have been.  If this bill passes in 2012, think about how different the internet will be for your children.  The internet was never intended to be policed to such a degree.  If the U.S. government can tell us what we can and can't say, watch or listen to online, what's next?

Was George Orwell just off by 30 years? 

My Little Girl Is A Genius

It's bizarre how her little mind works.  She asked a question about the "big penny" she had in her hand.  It was so mind blowing I had to record it and post it on YouTube.  Take a look:



She also said it looks like a "paint factory".  I haven't quite translated that one, yet.  Her thought process is just staggering sometimes.

We have had her intelligence level tested by a psychologist within the last few months.  When it came to reasoning and logic, she tested on a 9 to 11 year old level.  She was making correlations on the test that were stumping a couple of us.

For example, there would be six pictures on a page, two sets of three.  On the surface, none of the pictures had any relation to each other.  She would say (for example, I don't remember any specifics), "The balloon flies and the bird flies".  And her memory.  My lord.  She was able to remember, and repeat back, a sequence of five or six numbers in a row.  She's only three.

I started teaching her how to play chess yesterday.  We focused on the names of the pieces and how each piece moved.  She still has a hard time grasping the concept of strategy.  We play Tic-Tac-Toe, and you can tell that there are times that she understands that she needs to block me.  Other times, she's just blindly dropping Xs.

Still she makes Mommy and Daddy extremely proud.

Sunday Confessional: Fuck It, And Fuck You Walmart

I am in a serious funk.  I don't know how to explain it at the moment.  It's currently an equal mixture of depression and rage.

I'm somewhat at a loss for words.  I don't want to come across as bitter or bitchy, but I really need to vent and just lay everything out on the line.  Oh, and Walmart almost killed my family last week.  I'm not kidding.

As some of you know, my wife recently returned to work for the first time in almost two and a half years.  Her long term disability payments were cancelled in January, because one of her doctors flaked out, and, after six months of constant prodding by the insurance company, neglected to fax any of her medical records in.  All of this was going on behind the scenes.  We knew nothing about it, until we received a letter saying her checks would no longer be coming.

We had the ability to appeal the decision, which we did.  My wife was told that if she returned to work, even during the appeal process, they would determine her able to work again, and automatically deny the appeal.  We waited for almost three months.  She was ultimately denied, because the very same doctor, again, did not send in any documentation as requested.  She basically sent a one paragraph letter saying that she was under the doctor's care for her medical condition and that the doctor felt she was unable to go back to work.  No supporting documentation.  No medical records of the previous 18 months of bi-weekly visits.   Just "Yep, I don't think she should work."

Happy 71st Birthday, John Lennon

Today would have been John Lennon's 71st birthday.

He was highly influential in my life.  That's obvious.  My daughter is his namesake.  We're teaching her about Karma, and about doing her best to make this world a peaceful place to live in.

Below is one of our favorite Lennon songs as a family.  Jessi and I had planned to get married to it, at one point. It originated as a demo recorded in 1979 entitled 'Real Life'.  After six sessions, it became 'Real Love'.  It wasn't released until years after his death, when the documentary 'Imagine:  John Lennon' debuted in theaters.

Here is Regina Spektor's cover of the song, which is simple and beautiful.



In totally unrelated Beatles news, Paul McCartney got married earlier today to New Jersey trucking heiress (I'm not making this up) Nancy Shevell.  They exchanged vows at London's Marlyebone Town Hall, the same location that Paul married his first wife, Linda, in 1969.

My Little Civil Rights Activist

The three of us were running errands this morning, and pulled into a parking lot next to a flat bed tow truck.  The truck was in the final moments of picking up a car, and was about to pull out.

Lennon asked us what kind of truck that was in the parking lot.  We explained that it was called a tow truck.  I told her that it picks up cars, and takes them to the mechanic if they need to be fixed.  Then, I said that sometimes the tow truck picks up cars and takes them to the police station.

Instantly, she had a concerned look on her face.  She said, "They can't take those cars to the police station, Daddy.  People need those cars to go to work."

I looked at her with a smile on my face.  "That's right, honey.  They sure do.  Give me a high five."

She makes daddy so proud.

Sunday Confessional: Forty Three Cents

It has been a rough weekend.

On Friday night, Jessi was chasing after Lennon, trying to put her into time out.  Lennon went under the dinner table.  Jessi followed, and twisted her knee.

When Jess was in high school she mangled the very same knee to the point where a number of screws and a plate had to be placed in it.  She has a nice, huge battle wound to prove it.  She woke up yesterday in severe pain, with her left knee swollen as all hell.  There was a little pocket on the outside of the knee that looked like it was full of fluid.  Didn't look good.

After an hour of negotiations, I managed to convince her to go to the ER, and get things checked out.  Our friends, Lori and Zac, were nice enough to meet us at the hospital and pick up Lennon.  They took her to Jessi's parents' place.

Update: Surgery Rescheduled - I'm Going Under Tomorrow

Messy.  Confusing.  Hectic.  Such has been my life in the last 72 hours.

I was scheduled to have surgery on my spine next Monday, the 19th.  It was supposed to be in West Phoenix, more than 90 minutes from where my wife is now working, and where my daughter is being taken care of during the day.  The hospital is supposedly top of the line, but designed for same day surgeries.  I was scheduled for a 5-7 day stay.  The hospital was so far away, I was expecting no visitors, and the hospital had no internet access for patients!!  In 2011?!  FML.  Needless to say, I was not looking forward to my stay.

I received a phone call on Thursday morning from my surgeon's office.  He had a last minute cancellation for a surgery this Monday morning.  Considering the recent complications I have been experiencing, and the major inconvenience the location of the other hospital would pose upon my family, he was offering me the first chance to take the place for the cancellation.

Video: Google Remembers Freddie Mercury

Freddie Mercury would have been 65 years old today.  To celebrate, Google UK has put together a doodle in tribute of the bisexual rock icon.  He died on November 24, 1991, from complications from the AIDS virus.



On a personal note:  When playing the Google video for the first time, my three year old ran to my laptop and screamed, "Is that Freddie?".  She has never heard that particular Queen track before.  Yes, we play that much Queen in our home.  In fact, she has known all of the words to 'Bohemian Rhapsody' since she was 18 months old.

Secondly, am I the only one that can't hear 'Don't Stop Me Now' without thinking of 'Shawn of the Dead'?

Sunday Confessional: I Need A Financial Bailout

I was sitting at dinner and thought that it might be interesting to try a regular weekly post on The Twitch.  I wanted to write something that had a little depth to it.  I realized that it has been a while since I have talked about the things that have really been bothering me.  I started this site to discuss my Tourette's and PTSD, among other things, and have found it very therapeutic to let things out.

That being said, I have decided that every Sunday, I am going to have a post called 'Sunday Confessional'.  Each week, I'll write about my medical conditions, or childhood memories or what has been troubling me from the previous week.  I promise to be extremely honest and open.  I won't hold anything back, although, I'm sure on some subjects I probably should.  I know that by the time I have figured all of this out for this week, I probably won't technically post this piece until Monday AM.  But, as long as I started it on Sunday, it still theoretically counts as a Sunday post, right?

This week, I have decided to write about the one thing that keeps me up most nights...money.  Or, should I say, the lack of it.

Three years ago, when Lennon was born, my wife and I both worked as trainers for a major cell phone company.  We were living very comfortably, making roughly $125,000 a year between the two of us.  We were able to buy all of the babies furniture and clothing in advance and pay cash.  We had a very nice three bedroom apartment.  Right after she was born, we purchased a brand new Dodge Grand Caravan minivan with all the options.  With our income, it was no sweat to take care of two car payments, along with our other bills.  We were doing so well financially, that we would regularly max out our credit cards, then pay them all off in a matter of 60 days.  We would do that repeatedly.  My credit score was amazing.

In September of 2008, we moved from Albuquerque to Phoenix, to be closer to family.  Both of us were able to transfer with work into technical support positions at the same pay.  We moved into a beautiful three bedroom house with a garage.  It was the perfect house for us.  My wife cried the day we moved out, in fact. Things were good.  We were home.  We had our first Christmas as a family of three, tree and all.

By February of '09, things had taken a decidedly downward turn for me, medically.  Wait.  Let me back up a minute.

I had my first tic in August of 2006.  I had no idea what it was.  It was so violent, I thought I was having a seizure.  That first night, I didn't know what to do.  Jessi (my wife) and I were panicking.  She drew a hot bath, and I sat in the bathtub for nearly an hour...shaking.  I remember just repeatedly asking her, "What's going on?  Should we go to the hospital?" Over the next two and a half years, the tics came more frequently and got progressively worse.

OK.  Back to February 2009.  My job required me to speak on the phone for 8 hours a day.  I worked in a call center.  Not only were my tics getting so bad that I was essentially "barking" during my calls, but I was getting so loud, that my coworker's customers could hear me.  Here is a video that I shot on webcam in early June of 2009.  It should give you an idea of the types of tics that I had at that time.

Add to that my increasing mental distress.  People don't call technical support to say that "everything's OK, and you folks are doing a great job".  Something is broken and needs to be fixed.  Often, the customer on the other end of the line is pissed off.  They're pressed for time.  They don't want to go through the troubleshooting steps with you.  They just want their phone to work NOW.  The stress of the situation effected me.  Out of an 8 hour work day, I was locking myself in a restroom stall up to 6 hours, on some days.  Other days, just the sound of the customer's voice on the other end of the line, would cause me to vomit in my waste basket, often during the first call of the day.  That's if I had the courage to make it up the stairs to my desk.  On two occasions, the thought of going into work caused me to "soil myself" in the parking lot.

I went out on Short Term Disability in April of 2009.  Short Term is a great option, but like Long Term, which kicked in that October, you're paid only 60% of your base pay.  You no longer get any shit differential, incentives, bonuses or commissions like you did as a full time employee of the company.  So, my pay actually took a cut from about $4800.00, to $1983.00 a month.  40% of what I was taking home.

In June of that year, my wife went out on disability, due to complications that occurred during Lennon's delivery.  So, both of us were making about 40% of what we were accustomed to at that point.  On June 25th, I was diagnosed with Tourette's Syndrome.  The following month, I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD, as a result of years of emotional and physical abuse from my parents and scores of childhood bullies.  I immediately was placed on Long Term Disability (which is set to expire this October), and was told to fill out paperwork for Social Security Disability.

Somehow, we managed to keep up most of our bills for the next year.  The first thing to get set aside were the credit cards.  Then we got behind on the van.  We had to voluntarily surrender it last June.  Interesting fact:  once a vehicle is repossessed and sold at auction, you still owe the difference between the loan amount and sale price.  Nice, huh?  We moved out of our three bedroom/2000 square ft. house, and into a 600 square ft./1 bedroom apartment to save money.  We put Lennon in the bedroom.  Jessi and I put our bed in the living room.  Very cumbersome, to say the least.

It got to the point were we had no room for our dog, Ollie.  Our little apartment was so cramped, he couldn't walk anywhere.  Our friends, Lori and Zach, offered to watch him for a while, so that he would have space to play and run in their yard.  We didn't want to see him go, but it was necessary.  Lennon really missed him.

Around the first of February, we received a letter in the mail, stating that Jessi's disability payments had been terminated.  One of her doctors had not submitted supporting documentation as requested, and they had determined that she was ready to go back to work.  She wasn't.  Suddenly, our income was cut in half.  In a matter of two and a half years, our yearly household income had gone from $125,000 to just under $24,000. It has been there ever since.

Let me tell you, a family of three cannot realistically live on $24,000 a year.  You don't make enough to make ends meet, but you make too much to qualify for most government programs.  At $1999.00 a month, my family brings in almost $400 a month too much to qualify for food stamps or Section 8 housing.  Currently, since my daughter is still 3 years old, we qualify for WIC, which gives us 2 boxes of cereal, a jar of peanut butter, a pound of cheese, one dozen eggs, 3 gallons of 1% milk and about $6.00 of fresh fruit per month.

In may, I received my acceptance letter from Social Security.  With it, we received a direct deposit for the "retro pay" for the 25 months of payments that were due to me during my official disability period.  Here's what sucks about the retro pay:  it all goes back to my Long Term Disability provider, since they have sent me a monthly check for the last two years.  I had no choice but to spend some of it.  At the time that it came in, our checking account was in the negative.  We were three months behind on our car payment, two months past due on our electric bill and a month past due on our car insurance.  I also needed to replace my broken cell phone.

Every so often we get lucky.  This month is a different story.

In July, I got a letter from the IRS saying that since I was now receiving Social Security benefits, they could levy my disability check to pay for back taxes owed in 2004, when I worked for my parent's business.  I called them to explain our financial situation.  They agreed to put me in an "indefinite noncollectable status".  The status wasn't approved until three days before my direct deposit went through, not enough time for the levy to be stopped for August.

Between the automatic payments that came out of our checking account, the negative balance at the time the deposit came in and the IRS levy, our checking account balance after our monthly deposit came through was $28.00.  It's the 29th of the month, and I have no idea where our rent or car payment or electric bill are going to come from.

Being poor sucks.  You never get used to it.  You can only adjust, and it's one major fucking adjustment.

Lennon is too young to know any better, which is good.  I grew up not having anything, and knowing it was because we didn't have any money.  We still do what we can to spoil the hell out of her.

In more positive news, we got Ollie back, or as Lennon calls him "Stinky Mr. Pooperton"

Jessi is supposed to start a new job a week from today.  There have been a number of delays (She was originally scheduled to start three weeks ago), so hopefully this will work out.  I go into surgery on the 19th.  I will be lying in bed, recovering, until approximately late January.  As such, Lennon will have to be in preschool during the day.  That's another $750-800 a month on top of the bills we already can't pay.  I'm sure once Jessi goes to work, we'll be able to get back on our feet.  It will just take a couple of months.  Hopefully everyone can wait that long.

Where's my stimulus package?

2009 Awake! Says 'No One Should Force You To Choose Between Religion And Family'

In what can only be described as the ultimate in hypocritical advice, the July 2009, 'Awake!' magazine tells their potential converts that no one should bully them into their beliefs.  Take a look at this paragraph.  Image courtesy of Saved From The Watchtower:

"No one should be forced to worship in a way that he finds unacceptable or be made to choose between his beliefs and his family."

Evidently, what's good for the goose is not good for the gander, in this case.  Of course, no one should force you to worship as any religion  other than Jehovah's Witnesses.  But as one of Jehovah's Witnesses it's perfectly acceptable for the organization to intimidate and threaten their followers to continue to worship as they believe.

If you are a Witness, and later decide that you no longer believe their doctrine, or that being a Jehovah's Witness just isn't for you anymore, your friends and family members have no choice but to shun you.  If they don't, they're threatened with the possibility of being kicked out of the church themselves.

Speaking for myself, I haven't seen most of my immediate family in almost six years.  My father has never seen his granddaughter.  My mother has only seen her once, when she was 8 months old.  My little girl turned three in May.  I have found out about relatives of mine that have died, only from reading obituaries online.  I probably won't even get a phone call when my parents die.

Oh, but don't make us choose between our religion and our family.  That's not fair.  What bullshit.

For Lennon

Coldplay's 'Fix You' - Or as she calls it:  "It's your song for me, Daddy."  Happy Birthday, baby girl.  Daddy loves you.

My Baby Is Turning Three Today

I can't believe that it has been three years already.  When my wife was pregnant, I was so worried that I wasn't spending enough "tummy time" with my daughter to be.  I had the best of intentions as an expectant father.  I pictured myself putting headphones against my wife's belly every evening and playing classical music each night before bedtime.  Or, playing my favorite Beatles songs and Bob Marley tunes so that she would be humming 'Strawberry Fields Forever' or 'Three Little Birds' shortly after birth.  Sadly, life got in the way, and boy did I ever feel guilty about it.

Up until the birth, I kept asking my wife, "What if she doesn't recognize my voice".  "What if she doesn't know who I am?"  I'm sure I was a huge pain in the ass toward the end.

Lennon was born at 4:35AM on May 11th, 2008.  My wife had some complications with the birth, so she wasn't able to spend much time with my daughter right after the delivery.  I accompanied one of the nurses to the NICU with my daughter to have her weighed and measured.  All the way down the elevator and down the hall, my little girl was quiet.  When we entered the NICU, she started crying.

I leaned down next to her and whispered, "It's OK honey.  Daddy's here."  She immediately stopped crying and turned to look for me.  She recognized my voice!  It was the greatest moment of my life.

The next morning when my wife got the OK from her doctor to go downstairs to visit the NICU for the first time, we were scrubbing in.  Before you could enter the room, there was a 10 minute scrub in procedure that you had to follow every time, as if you were about to begin an open heart surgery.  In the NICU, there were 24 babies at the time, and it seemed like all of them were crying.  There was one cry in particular that stood out.  "You hear that baby?" I said, "That one's Lennon."  Sure enough, out of all of the infants in the room, I picked out my daughter's cry.  It's not that I had remembered it, but that I had instinctually recognized my child out of the group.

Years later, I still feel like the daddy lion sometimes, although, more often than not, it seems like I'm grabbing my cub by the scruff of the neck more than anything else.

Today, we spent the day running around town, having the "Happy 3rd Birthdayorama!"  We went to her favorite restaurant for lunch.  Saw three quarters of 'Rango' at the dollar theater. (That's right, I said three quarters.)  Went to Nana and Buppa's to visit.  I must say though, when she doesn't have her nap, she can get like an abusive drunk midget carny at certain times of the day.  She'll test your patience, and your ability to drive while having shoes thrown at the back of your head.

The First Mother's Day I Celebrated

Jehovah's Witnesses do not celebrate Mother's Day.  Don't ask me why.  Some believe it has it's roots in "Pagan" rituals.  Others believe that setting aside a day to thank your mother for everything that she does takes away time that should be for thanking god, thus making it "idol worship".  I know.  Pretty ridiculous, right?  So, my entire life, I have never celebrated Mother's Day.  I've never given my mom a card or flowers.  I have never taken her out for breakfast on the second Sunday in May.

All of that changed for me three years ago.  As 12:00AM Mother's Day, 2008, approached, my wife was approximately a little over 50 hours into labor.  We had checked into the Women's Hospital in Albuquerque just before 10:00PM on Thursday night, and, between the two of us, had gotten maybe an hour of sleep between then and now.  We had seen probably 20 episodes of 'The X-Files' by then.  We really weren't fans of the show, but overnight, that, and 'The Chronicles of Riddick' were the only two things that were on TV.

At about 1:00AM, my wife's heartbeat started to flutter.  They sent in a tech to compete an EKG.  At this point, she already had probably a dozen wires and tubes hooked up to her.  The tech had a difficult time trying to figure out how to get around everything and get to her chest with her hospital gown tied up the way that it was.  He was a little inexperienced, to say the least.  Finally, he realized that the arm holes unsnapped and pulled away, so he unsnapped the three buttons on the arm and pulled the right side of the gown away to expose my wife's cleavage.

"Niiiiiiice."

He then demonstrated how the word "dude" can be a stand alone sentence, yet mean a number of different things.

"Dude!" (You misunderstood me.  I was not saying, "Nice cleavage."  I was saying, "It's nice that I found a way to access the area for the procedure.")

"Dude." (I am so sorry, sir.  I was not making a pass at your wife.)

"Dude." (Please do not kick my ass.)

"Dude?" (Are we cool?)

Three hours later, at 4:35AM, our daughter was born.  It was the best Mother's Day present my wife could have.  It sure beat any Hallmark card or any bouquet of flowers I could have given her.  In case you were wondering, I still gave her a card.  

My wife had a rough delivery.  I couldn't have been more proud of her.  She was stronger than I ever would have imagined.  Since her water broke almost 48 hours earlier, she had developed an infection.  Our daughter was also born with pneumonia.  My little girl was in the NICU for 8 days, while my wife was hospitalized for 3 days following the delivery.  Unfortunately, she was not able to see Lennon until the following day.  The nurses in the NICU took Lennon's picture and had it framed as a Mother's Day present for my wife.  Looking back at the photo today, it's hard to imagine that our little girl is the same one that was hooked up to the monitors under the blue lamps.  That today, she's walking up to everyone in the house, hugging them, and saying, "Happy Mother's Day".  Wow.  Has it been three years already?

Mother's Day will always hold a special place in my heart.  Oddly enough, for the rest of my life, when I think of that day, my own mother will likely be the last woman I think of...if I even think of her at all.

A Two Year Old's "To Do List"

Earlier today, I had an appointment at the hospital downtown for a couple of tests to rule out possible conditions that may be causing my "mystery illness". I was there for approximately a little more than four hours, and had an SSEP, as well as a Doppler procedure on the arteries and veins on my legs.  From what I understand, my little girl was, to say the least, a handful.

On the way home, my wife and I were talking about what we had planned for the rest of the day.  Lennon suddenly piped up from her car seat and declared her "To Do List" for the day, as follows:

1. Climb up the stairs when we get home.
2. Put Star Kitty (her best friend/favorite stuffed animal) to bed for a nap.
3. Climb the trees.
4. Save the monkeys.
5. Save ALL the pandas.

Goddamn.  And to think, all I really have to do is take out the trash today.

Excuse Me, But I Was Promised Cookies.

For the last couple of years at Disneyland, two or three times each afternoon in Tomorrowland, they have something called the Jedi Training Academy.  They get a bunch of little grade school kids together, dress them up in robes, and give them each a plastic light saber.  Then a "Jedi" comes out and teaches them all some fancy moves.

During the middle of each show, Darth Vader and Darth Maul make a surprise appearance, and it's up to the little ones to fend them off.  They come up, one at a time, and duel on stage with Darth Vader.  It's really cute to see these kids get excited and think that they're in a battle with THE Darth Vader.  Some of these little ones are only 4 years old or so.  It's a great photo opportunity if you or your kid is a fan of 'Star Wars', and you have an hour to kill in the park, too.

Home video of a performance back in February, though, shows that in one instance, things didn't go exactly as planned.  When it was eight year old Sariah Gallego's turn to fight Vader, she bowed to him instead.  She turned to the Dark Side.



I so want that to be my kid someday!!!  She must have heard about the cookies.

Well Sariah was interviewed yesterday about the clip, and her motives were even more sinister than first thought.  She had bowed to Vader in order to gain his trust, become his apprentice, and later kill him and rule the galaxy. (Oh dear god.)

She says her inspiration came from Darth Zannah, an ancient female Sith Lord that killed her master Darth Bane.  For the record, even after listening to her interview, I had to look all of this up on a 'Star Wars' fan page, just to understand what she was talking about.  I'm a fan, but not as big of a fan as this eight year old kid, evidentially.  I must say, she has a really cool 'Star Wars' collection.  I was unaware that there were that many female characters in the 'Star Wars' universe.



Let this be a lesson to you, dads.  Little girls like science fiction, too.  Mine is only two right now, but you better believe, as soon as that evil monkey turns three, Episode IV is going into the DVD player.  Last time we were at Disneyland, I bought a set of 'Star Wars' toddler toys to introduce her to the characters, with the understanding that they are not to be opened until she starts watching the movies.

I figure with six movies (five if I leave out 'The Phantom Menace'), at roughly two hours or more apiece, that makes for some quality bonding time.  Hopefully, in five years, it will be my daughter scheming to take over the universe.

My 500th Post: A Look Back

When I look back, 500 posts don't seem like that much.  Then again, looking at the length of some of these posts, I have more content on this page than many blogs with 10,000 entries.  I started this page on September 11, 2009, with an entry about how 9/11 changed my views on the National Anthem, based upon the way I was brought up as a Jehovah's Witness.

Reading that post, it's obvious that my writing abilities have improved in the last 18 months.  I have, without a doubt, taken up a more professional writing style.  It's almost as if I've become a professional blogger.  Now, if only I can start making money at this.  LOL.  This has, in a way, become my profession.  In the months since starting the site, I have realized that I will likely never work another "traditional" day of work again in my life.  This has, in fact, become my "job", and I'm starting to treat it as such.

There was a post that I wrote about two weeks in to the site, that I wanted to share again.  It brought back a lot of positive memories.  Memories that personally I need right now.  The post is from September 30, 2009.  It's called, "I Am A Rockstar Dad or How Bohemian Rhapsody Makes My Daughter Vomit":

"The last few days, every time our daughter says "Mama", my wife and I both say, "Oh oh oh oh". We're hoping to have her know all the words to 'Bohemian Rhapsody' by the time she is two. We're sick like that.

Anyway, my wife was indisposed, and the baby had a poopy diaper. It was my turn to change the nasty diaper, so I picked up the baby and laid her down on her changing table to be changed. As I am changing her, I start singing 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. I'm doing the voices and everything. She's loving it.

I get to the "Galileo" part, and I'm zooming in and out in front of her face. She's cracking up. Her eyes are bigger than I have ever seen them. Her mouth is open wide and going back and forth between a smile and a big "O" shape.

By the time I'm singing "Let him go!", I've forgotten about putting the new diaper back on. She's hysterical. She has the hiccups and is clapping. I feel like I'm opening up for Robin Williams at the Improv.

Then comes the greatest line of one of the most legendary rock songs ever written: "Beelzebub has a devil put a side for me...for meeee.....FOR MEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" Just as I hit the high note, my daughter's face goes from a look of pure joy to "I'm not so sure about this".

Suddenly, thick chunky dark green sludge launched about eight inches out of my daughter's mouth. It covers my arms, my hands, her stomach, shirt, face and hair. My first thought: "HOLY FUCK!". Second thought: "Jimi Hendrix, Jimi Hendrix". My daughter was still on her back and she was choking on her own vomit. I turned her over on her stomach, gave her a couple of good thwacks on the back until she started breathing OK, and stood her up.

I was as cool and as calm as could be, like I had done this a hundred times. Any other time, I would have been blowing chunks all over the bedroom, but I grabbed a handful of baby wipes, and started cleaning the little squirt down. This was the first time she had puked and was old enough to be aware of what was going on. I was cleaning her off. She looked at me, slowly looked down at herself, and yelled "Mama". And into the shower she went.

I was so proud of myself. I handled it like a pro. Almost more like a roadie than a dad. Let's put it this way...if I would have been on Janis Joplin's detail, she'd probably still be alive."

18 months later, she knows all of the words to the verses of 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.  She calls it "The Mama Oooh Song".  If that isn't cool enough, she does the hand claps during ' We Will Rock You', and we have our  own little gestures orchestrated for 'We Are the Champions'.  She doesn't know who the band Queen is.  But when you ask her, "Who sings 'Mama Oooh'?", she'll tell you that it's "Freddie" (She says, giggling, "He's got a funny mustache.").  I fucking love my little girl.  The video below is her favorite Youtube video to watch.  Well, that and that 'Whip My Hair' video.  LOL.



It makes me realize that I need to continue to talk about my daughter.  I focus so much on world events, politics, religion, gay rights, etc., that I sometimes forget the most important things in the world.

I'm Not Hiding Anymore

When I stopped communicating with my mother a few years ago, I practically went into hiding.  When it came to my personal beliefs, I had stopped considering myself a Jehovah's Witness by the latter part of 1996.

In August of that year, I took the last $600 I had in my bank account and purchased a one-way airline ticket from Phoenix, Arizona, to Las Vegas.  It was my intention to indulge myself in all of the vices that I was forbidden to do as a Witness in the previous 21 years of my life, and when my money had run out, commit suicide.  Within three hours of touching down at the airport, I had smoked, drank, and gambled for the first time in my life.  An hour later, I lost my virginity.

August 24, 1996  Room 1614 of the Las Vegas Hilton - Don't ask me how I remember the date and the room number of the hotel I lost my virginity in.  I guess when you're looking forward to an event for so many years, you tend to remember some of the details.

Sufficed to say, I didn't commit suicide.  The "wicked world" that I had suddenly found myself in wasn't so wicked after all.  I encountered one stranger after another that offered their generosity to me.  Four months later, I returned to live in my parents' home, but I never stepped foot into a Kingdom Hall again.

For the better part of the next ten years, I did the same thing I had done for the previous ten.  I led a double life.  Being out of the church gave me the freedom to live the life that I wanted, to some degree.  But, in order to keep an ongoing relationship with my immediate family, my personal life was an unspoken agreement of "Don't Ask Don't Tell".  I was never disfellowshipped from the congregation, and I did not submit a formal letter of disassociation.  I just stopped showing up.  As far as my mother's conscience was concerned, as long as she didn't know any details of my personal life, or of any of the "gross sins" I was committing, she wasn't obligated to cut off communication with me.

It's one thing to have to keep your private life a secret from the people that you work with.  It's another to have to keep it from the people that are closest to you.  What made it exceptionally hard for me was the fact that, for a number of years, my family were my coworkers.  I was forced to act like I was still a "good Christian boy" practically 24/7.  It finally became too much to handle.

I quit the family business, and speaking to my family, in January of 2006.  When that happened, as I said, I pretty much went "off the grid".  I changed all of my email addresses.  I changed my phone number.  I wanted to make sure that if I posted something online, it couldn't be traced back to me if my mom or my brother or sister was snooping around.  For those of you that are reading this that are ex-JWs, I'm sure you can understand where I'm coming from.  Especially if you were raised in the organization, and grew up in the same  area for a number of years, it seems like you're constantly looking over your shoulder for the first couple of years that you're out.  Many times, you don't even realize that you're doing it.  I've been out now for 15 years.  I don't even think I would be recognizable to the people I grew up around, and I still catch myself scanning restaurants on the West side of Phoenix when I walk in.

When I had my little girl in 2008, I reached out to my mom.  I wanted to give her a chance.  We started communicating by email.  Then by phone.  She even came out to Phoenix to see my daughter when she was around 8 or 9 months old.  Then her "conscience" kicked in.  Keep in mind, nothing had changed between the time that we had stopped talking in '06 and when she came out in early '09.  She started saying that she wasn't sure that she could trust me because of "what I've done".  She also started to refer to me as an "apostate".  She admitted that she had no knowledge of any derogatory things I was saying of the organization, and I told her that I had not spoken negatively about JWs or their doctrines.  She said she believed me, but due to the fact that I was baptized as a Witness, and no longer believed in the church's teachings, that made me an "apostate".

She had a solution to her dilemma.  She said that she no longer felt comfortable talking or associating with me, but she wanted to continue communication with my wife and my daughter.  In fact, she asked if it was possible for me to send her some pictures of my little girl, she would appreciate it.  Um...yeah, no.  I tried to explain to her, and to this day she doesn't understand, that when it comes to my family, we don't come "a la carte".  You either have to take us all, or you get none of us.  You can't pick and choose how you can and can't keep.  That's not the way my family works.

So, we stopped talking.  I started this blog in September of 2009...anonymously.  I didn't reveal any names or locations.  I didn't give any specifics about myself or my family.  I went into hiding again.  This time, I hid behind my moniker.  For the next year and a half, I was Twitch.  It wasn't my name, it was one of my conditions.  My picture across the internet became a stuffed Domo, with all of my daily medications spilled out in front of it.  In fact, if you Google my name, you'll find my Domo before you find my actual picture.  My mother thought I was an apostate before?  Just imagine what she would have thought of The Daily Twitch.

In time, I found my confidence.  I found my voice.  I found the support of all of you out there on the net.  I realize now that I don't have to hide anymore.  Odds are, my mom has been reading my blog for months.  If not, she knows who I am by now anyway.  About six months ago, I sent her an email telling her about my PTSD diagnosis due to the child abuse I received from her and my dad.  I also came out as bisexual.  It felt like coming up for air after being underwater for years.  I have no secrets anymore.  I have no reason to hide. So here I am.

My name is Adam Hall.  I live in Mesa, Arizona, with my wonderful wife, Jessi, and my daughter Lennon.  It's nice to finally meet you all.  I still plan on writing under the name of Twitch.  The name of the blog is The Daily Twitch, after all.  I have made the decision, however, to not publish any photos of my daughter.  Not only do I want to protect her from my mother and that crazy religion, but I also know how desperate my mother is to see her.  I'm not blackmailing her by any means.  I just believe that you cannot conveniently select which family members are worthy of your affection.  It may be tough for her to swallow, but some lessons in life are.

A Tale Of True Love

It's a remarkable thing to know the exact moment that your life changed.  To be able to tell someone the day, hour, and minute that light shined down onto your path and mapped out the rest of your life.  For me, that moment was September 21, 2005, at 8:29pm.

At the time, I had just turned 30.  I was working as a dispatcher and office manager for the family trucking company, and I was hating every minute of it.  My previous relationships, if you wanted to call them that, were utter failures.  I would go on maybe a couple of dates with a girl and realize there was zero compatibility between us.  Had a number of one night stands.  Nothing meaningful.  I hadn't been in a boyfriend/girlfriend type of scenario since that previous February, and that ended badly.  At the time, I was ready to just give up.

On the evening of September 21st, I received the following message in my Myspace inbox:

"Hey happened to stumble across your profile......great song clip!"

Her name was Jessi.  She was 22.  I looked at her profile.  She had a couple of country music song clips (ugh), but she was pretty cute:

(She's the one on the right)

So I responded,

"Thanks....was sorta fitting at the time....still is...lol.  I really liked your page....except for the country music part...but you made up for it with Nelly......Like your sense of humor.....you're a bit twisted....NICE."

 She continued,

"Hahaha yeah that definetely sums me up ... twisted...And i will agree not ALL country music is good but there are exceptions! if ya wanna chat sometime i'm on yahoo or msn as ixxxxxx_xxxxxs"

I had recently gone to see the documentary 'March of the Penguins', and wrote a review of it on my Myspace blog.  I also wrote a small blog about my memories of 9/11/2001.  She sent me another message a couple of minutes later,

"WOW just got done reading your blogs.....happened to stumble across those too...the 9/11 one made me cry....don't feel bad but i seriously bawled...it took me back to what exactly i was doing when i heard...at the time i was working for MCI and it was located literally right next door to the air force base (in iowa) so i couldn't go to work not that i could have anyways....its amazing how much can change in such a short time.... also very jealous you have seen march of the penguins....i LOVE penguins and haven't had time to see it....guess i will have to catch it on pay per view or something...thats all!"

Our email conversation continued the next morning.  I sent her a message saying,

"that penguin movie was amazing....im a big fan of documentaries.....would like to chat with you later....you seem pretty cool....cute too...lol"

From that point on, we either sent each other instant messages or talked to each other on the phone.  That was on September 22nd.  She invited me to come over to her place for spaghetti on Tuesday, September 27th.  I knocked on her door.  When it opened, I was frozen.  I looked in her eyes, and said "Oh my God, you're beautiful."  Then I kissed her.

I can honestly say now that the spaghetti really wasn't that good.  I think she put sugar in the sauce.  Regardless, I was polite and ate it.  Later that evening, as I was laying on the couch in her living room, she gave me a "cow kiss" across the entire right side of my face.  I almost vomited, but it attracted me to her.  I always wanted someone that was a lover and a buddy.  Someone that would try to give me a "wet Willy" when I was half asleep.  To me, that was a sign of someone that was interested in you, in a sick and twisted sort of way.  It was the best first date I ever had.

Later that week, we were on our second date, and I was realizing that I was falling in love with this woman.  Normally, that would be scaring the shit out of me, but something deep down inside of me knew that this was the woman I was going to spend the rest of my life with.  I had already been engaged in the past, and she was the first person I felt safe with.  I could tell her things, things that I was scared to admit to myself. I tried to scare her away.  I told her all of my secrets, and she only got closer to me.

In January of 2006, I moved in with her.  It was a huge adjustment to make.  I had never lived with a partner before.  Nine months later, the two of us were walking through the mall.  A jewelry store was having a sapphire sale.  Sapphires are her favorite stone.  We went in, just to look at the ring settings.  As she was looking at the rings, I called her mom on my cell phone.  I told her mom that I was going to propose to her daughter right now, but first I need her permission.  Her mom was sobbing, but I think she said "yes".  I got down on one knee in the middle of the store.  I told her that I have loved her from the moment I saw her.  I told her that I couldn't imagine my life without her in it, and I asked her to marry me.  She said "yes" too.  I told her to pick any ring she wanted.

As the weeks and months went by, we discovered ourselves.  We realized that all of these years we had been living our lives to make the people around us happy.  Speaking for myself, there were things that I didn't know about myself at 30 that I should have figured out at 15.  It was almost as if we grew up together.  We found each other and found ourselves.  We started planning our wedding.  We decided on Las Vegas, February 29, 2008, Mandalay Bay Hotel.

We had everything picked out.  It was going to be a Beatles themed wedding.  The processional was going to be Regina Spektor's cover of John Lennon's 'Real Love' and we were going to walk down the aisle as husband and wife to the Beatles' 'All You Need Is Love'.  We had hotel reservations and restaurant reservations.  Everything was figured out.  Then at about 2am on a night in early October 2007, Jessi rolled over and softly said, "I think I'm late".

"Late to what?"

"You know, late."

"Like?"

"Yeah."

A half hour later, I'm at a 24 hour Walgreens buying pregnancy tests and a two liter bottle of Coke.  At 4am, we realized we were having a baby.  We also realized that meant on February 29, 2008, my wife would be nearly 7 months pregnant.  "If I'm going to Vegas, I'm drinking."  That's a quote from her.  Not me.  So, on November 23rd, 2007, I married my lover, my buddy, my best friend, and the mother of what would soon be my daughter.  It was a simple ceremony.  We had it in the kitchen of our apartment.  It was just us and three close friends.  Afterward, we had sparkling grape juice and Blue Bunny chocolate chip ice cream.  So, on every November 23rd of every year, we celebrate by having sparkling grape juice and Blue Bunny chocolate chip ice cream.

It has been about five and a half years since that first message.  1,973 days.  And it has been the best 1,973 days of my life.  We have the type of relationship that movies are written about.  Besides the occasional appointment or trip to the grocery store, we have not been more than 30 feet away from each other for the last five years.  Even when I was working, we worked in the same office, for the same department, within 25 feet of each other.  We had the same hours and had the same lunch schedule.  We were together 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and we wouldn't have had it any other way.

We have never had a fight.  We have had maybe two little arguments in the last five years.  We very rarely disagree.  If there is one perfect person out there in the world for you, I have found that person.  I am never letting her go.  Only death will separate us, and even after I die, I have promised to haunt her.  It is the only way she would be able to go on without me.

Happy Valentine's Day Jessi.  You are my love, my strength, my rock, and in so many ways, my better half.  I love you.

I Came Out To My Mother Yesterday

Yesterday, my mother sent me an email, asking me if I could send her my address so she could send my daughter something.  For some reason, she doesn't understand that if ties are severed between her and I, they're severed for my family as well.  She seems to think that she'll be able to have a perfectly normal relationship with her granddaughter even if she's no longer talking to her son.  I don't understand how her mind works.

In the response to her email, I told her that, considering the bang up job she did parenting me, I wanted her nowhere near my daughter.  I also decided to get a number of things off of my chest.  I told her for the first time about my PTSD, and that it was caused by years of child abuse that I had endured.  Finally, I told her about my bisexuality.

Lastly, I'm bisexual.  I've known this since I was about 11 years old.  Growing up was pure hell in that house.  I had absolutely no one I could talk to.  I had no friends.  I couldn't even talk to my own mother.  Everyday I was getting my ass kicked, being called a fatass and a faggot.  I contemplated suicide on a daily basis for most of my teenage years.  And I knew that if I opened up about what I was going through, I would be bullied by my family too.  Growing up, I wanted to come to you and tell you about the crushes I had on just as many boys as I did girls.  It wasn't just Anne and Ambre.  You have no idea how alone I was, but I knew what the consequences were if I told you.

I'm not expecting a response.  I don't want to ever speak to her again.