The Church of Lost Souls

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

At least until your team converts a key third down.

FYI

Yeah, in case you were wondering, the good Reverend Creepy has decided to take off the skirt and resume my natural bull-in-a-china-shop ways.  I've been far too sensitive lately; it's even making me nauseous.  A relentless prick is who I really am, and as they say, "Dog will hunt."  Or at least should hunt.  Check your feelings at the door.  Or don't, what the fuck do I care.  Cry me a fuckin' river.  Then go drown yourself in it.  If you want to make an omelet you've gotta break some eggs.

Creep

:0)

Which Is Less Unbelievable?

 

Quote of the Day

"I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason and intellect has intended us to forgo their use."

-- Galileo Galilei

Father's Day

According to Aunt 'N' my daddy was a stock car driver.  Seriously.  My biological mother supposedly met him while attending races at Jacksonville Speedway, a married fella in town for the race.  The two of them became involved, mom got knocked up, and he wanted no part of me -- what with a wife back home and all -- so mom decided it was in my best interest to be put up for adoption.  The two of them (mom and Aunt 'N') kept the whole thing a secret from the rest of the family.

Turns out the fella alleged to be my sperm donor is sorta famous; he's in a couple of auto racing hall of fames, and I've been able to find quite a bit of information about him from the Internet.  Like this picture of him holding a trophy after a race circa 1960:

(I guess my smashing good looks come from mom's genes.)

And that his son (my potential half-brother) is currently a driver in the NASCAR Nationwide Series, and will coincidentally enough be in South Florida this weekend for the final race of the season.

I was even able to get in touch with a gentleman kind enough to provide me with his phone number!  (Ya gotta love the fuckin' Net.)  I mustered up the courage to give daddy(?) a call but got no answer.

Feeling overwhelmed I decided to go visit my real daddy.  I went to the cemetery with a beach towel and popped a squat next to his grave.  I didn't cry as much as I did last time I visited him so I guess I'm making progress.  However I still wasn't able to say much; I told him I loved him, that I missed him, and how his passing was much more difficult than I could have ever imagined.  Then I sat quietly for the next half an hour or so, fiddling with blades of grass, listening to the children play outside a nearby school.  I thought about how much he would like the setting: the view of a pond/lake with a big fountain in the middle that is frequented by ducks and other water fowl (Dad always enjoyed watching them on the golf course behind my folks place), and sound of the kids playing (Dad hung out with the neighborhood kids when they played sports by the house, chatting them up and providing them with cold bottled water).

Comforted by the knowledge he could be in much worse places, I said my goodbyes, rubbed the patchy grass over his grave and left feeling better than I had before I got to the cemetery.

Once home I picked up the phone and tried my alleged biological father again.  This time he answered.  I introduced myself and told him I was calling to inquire about my mother, who knew him from the Jacksonville Speedway.  He said he didn't recall anyone by that name.  I asked him if he'd ever been to Jacksonville and he told me he "used to go down there for the races in the late 60s," which is the time I was conceived.  I explained that according to my mother's family, she was involved with him back then, got pregnant, and had his baby, me, then put me up for adoption.  "Ah, that's not true," he responded, not seeming agitated or put off in any way.  I thanked him for his time and apologized for any trouble I might have caused, pointing out that I was just trying to learn about my biological family, history, background, etc.  "I can appreciate that," he commiserated, "but there's no truth to that story.  I don't know where they got that but it's not true."

With that our call ended.  But this matter has not.  Aunt 'N' was also dating a fellow driver and friend of his at the time, someone she is still in touch with, so I have another person who might be able to corroborate her story.  And I learned that if he's not willing to undergo a DNA test I can go to court and have them order him to do so.  I don't want anything from him, other than the truth.  And while I realize he has (at least) two other children from his wife that might not be too pleased to learn their daddy knocked up some other gal on the side, I believe my right to know who I am and where I came from supersedes their potential hurt feelings, and any grief this might cause.  As they say, "Don't do the crime if you can't do the time."  Don't fuck around on your wife and not be prepared to deal with the consequences of those good times.  Especially without wearing a condom.

What a long strange trip it's been

And the end is nowhere in sight.

Over the past few days I've been cultivating relationships with my half-sister, an aunt and a first cousin.  (I'm 99% convinced, but Stacey is probably closer to 90% so we've agreed on DNA testing to settle it.)  While I am still giddy about the past week's revelations, learning the identity of my birth-mother is only half of the puzzle.  Maybe even less if you throw in the circumstances surrounding my adoption.

I have learned who my mother was, where she is from, that she is of German and Cherokee Indian descent, was a tiny little thing at 5'2" and 105 pounds with bright blue eyes, her father (my biological grandfather) was a preacher with a Church of Christ, she has four sisters (which gives me four more aunts), has eight nephews and nieces (which gives me eight more first cousins), died in 2004 at the age of 57 due to complications from a misdiagnosed leak in the mitral valve of her heart, was a supervisor with the post office, and by all accounts one of the warmest, kindest people to ever exist.

What I have also learned is absolutely nothing about my biological father, or why I was put up for adoption.  Stacey told me she only learned about my existence after our mother's death, when her father felt obligated to inform her that her mother gave birth to a baby boy whom she put up for adoption years before he had met her.  He allegedly does not know the fella's identity.  She also told me her aunt, who lived with our mother at the time, confirmed his story, and allegedly does not know the fella's identity either.  The cousin I've been in touch with says her mother was still in high school at the time living with their parents in a different town (birth mom and aunt 'N' moved away to another city in Florida) and knew nothing about my existence.

I'm calling bullshit on aunt 'N'.  I think she knows who my sperm donor was.  I think she has played dumb with Stacey to protect her feelings.  (She got knocked up by a guy she met at a love-in?).  I'm no Sherlock Holmes but my powers of deduction have led me to believe my mother got pregnant in the late 60s when she wasn't married by someone she wasn't going to marry (for whatever reason or whomever's choice), and her father being a preacher in the South and all decided to keep the pregnancy a secret, a secret she could keep back in 1968 when you didn't live in the same town as the rest of your family. 

Although tonight comes word that she dated the singer from a rock and roll band "who had a dimple in his chin, like you, on and off around the time you were born."  Hmmm. 

U-G-L-Y

According to a different kind of dating website, "Britons are among the ugliest people in the world."  It must be the teeth. 

I wouldn't have picked Brits if you gave me five guesses.  Indians maybe.  Or Pakistanis.  They probably aren't big users of online dating sites.  Iranians perhaps.  Or Afghanis.  Online dating probably isn't popular in Muslim countries either.  Chinese.  Except for that whole Internet censorship by the government. 

By the way, under the list of countries to choose from at this site is Antarctica.  Excuse my ignorance, but people really live in Antarctica?  Why?  Just buy a walk-in freezer and move into it.  And there is a country called Christmas Island!  How fuckin' cool does that place sound?  If I ever decide to become an expatriate that's on my list of potential destinations for relocation. 

This article has me curious about my own chances of approval.  While I have more than my share of faults I am still a sexy beast.  I'm gonna submit a profile for shits and giggles to see if I'm one of the beautiful people.  Stay tuned.

   

Tempuracheer

Just came in from smoking a cigar on the patio.  Despite this being South Florida it's so cold outside my nipples are hard and my balls are shriveled deep inside of me.  But my heart is afire, stoked by my newfound family.

In the past few days I've miraculously connected with my baby half-sister, an aunt, and a first cousin.  Shit, I've even been invited to the wedding of another first cousin!  Unfortunately I've also learned my biological mother is deceased, and along with her the answers to so many of my questions.

But there is something to be said about "too soon, too fast."  My head is spinning.  This is all so overwhelming.  I'm in a state of shock -- my communications with them must leave them thinking I'm a blithering idiot.  I have so much to ask, so much to say; yet for the first time in my life I am virtually speechless.

Suddenly I'm a big brother, an experience I've never had, and my relationship with my baby half-sister Stacey takes priority over everything else.  She was an only child, and upon learning about me after our mother's death decided she needed to find me.  I would love to cater to all of our blood relatives, but feel the need to gently nurture my relationship with her, as she is as close to blood as there is.  She is more important to me than anyone else new to me.  I have sisters, but this is a biological sister.  And a kid sister.  (No offense to my real sisters, love them to death!) 

I'm fuckin' delirious.  I've been brought to my knees by a girl... yet this time it's in a good way.  And I'm loving every minute of it.  Pinch me, surely I'm dreaming...

Even Creepier...

Than the nosering, the fact we drive the same model and color car, that she's a fellow tattoo enthusiast, get this: my biological grandfather was a preacher at a Church of Christ.  If I hadn't been put up for adoption my grandpa would have been a preacher man.  I fuckin' love it!

Rollercoaster

I spent about 18 hours connecting with my newfound baby half-sister, soaking up the kind of excitement and exuberance I haven't experienced in what seemed like forever.  Then I spent the last couple of hours on the phone with my best friend, an alcoholic bent on destroying himself and taking anyone who gives a shit with him because he has yet to reach his potential, because he is a fuckin' drunk who refuses to get his shit together and blames everyone else for not helping him become successful.

Go ahead and take a hot steaming dump on my parade, why don't you, my alleged best/closest friend.  How fucking dare you, you inconsiderate, selfish prick.  As a fellow adoptee, how fucking dare you.

While you didn't have the guts to say it to me on the phone tonight, I'm gonna say it to you:  Fuck you.  Fuck you in the ass, sideways.

You couldn't care less about me or anyone else who cares about you, despite what the fumes coming out of your mouth allege.  Put down the bottle, sober up, let reality set in, recognize the priorities in life, quit feeling sorry for yourself and blaming everyone else for your plight, man up and be what we all need you to be in our lives.  A son, brother, friend, uncle, nephew, cousin, etc.  We don't want Salvador Dali, we want you.