My Wife and "THE CHANGE" A Husband's Survival Guide! (REVIEW)

 

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My, Mind, GOD and Myself Preview. Available January 2012.

Monday, February 14, 2011

My Wife and "The Change!" A Husband's Survival Guide!

I have grown up around women my whole life. When I was young it was my mom, sister and me. I have 3 sisters from my dad's second marriage for a total of four. I am the only son in the family. As a father I have 3 daughters and 1 son. So as I delve into the mysteries of the female "monthly curse" I feel I have a pretty good grip on the subject.

Between my wife's few days of pre-menstrual hormonal mood shifting, the actual cycle, and the post cycle mood swings, I have approximately 2 days a month that her mood is not affected by these evil hormones. I have learned to live with it to some degree. In fact we are so connected she says I have a "man period" along with her. I do not disagree.

One day last week I was eating everything in the house. I had 2 sweet-n-salty granola bars, 2 bowls of cereal, ice cream and leftover cold fettuccine. I was so ravenous that I called my wife. She assured me that there was nothing to worry about. We were due in 2 days. I have learned to roll with it and not overreact when she is acting like Sybil on a coffee drinking binge. Her instant emotional shifts, that change like someone is switching them on or off, I can handle. When she makes it to the happy personality, that is when I talk to her about the important stuff.

The worst is when my daughters and wife are all together for any length of time. It becomes the "Sistahood of the travelling menstrual pants." Any man worth his salt knows that a woman has regular clothes and "period clothes". These special garments are usually more comfortable, have more ventilation and are just a bit bigger than the regular sized clothing to account for the wretched bloating. Men: feel free to take notes on this chapter. It may save your marriage or your life.

When the three of them have merged their cycles into one evil menstrual demon, I get out the holy water and fill my schedule with a lot of "out of the house business." I have made it through the years with the help of God and up until the last few years booze. They are now split up around the world so the powers they held as a menstrual trinity has been broken. It amazes me how much power a tiny little egg, working it's way to evacuation, can hold so much control over the egg keeper.

All of these incidents and cycles have made me a stronger man, husband and father. I have learned to read the signs like a Cherokee scout examining hoof tracks in the great forest. I know when to approach the Squaws' and respect the spirits that bind them. However, nothing could prepare me for the chaos and emotional confusion that my wife has introduced to me by way of "THE CHANGE." The doctor who coined this term was obviously sharing a home with a woman in the midst of this phenomena when he came up with it. He made it sound so innocuous for fear of losing his life or worse, facing his wife's wrath.

Squeaky has a thyroid malfunction and her family has a history of entering this dark phase of existence early in the mid-40's. She is 44 and we are smack dab in the middle of an emotional tempest! The wild card is how long and how severe "The Change" will last. This is true for the long and the short term. I felt it my duty to enlighten men who may be experiencing this with a loved one now or in the near future. Please be comforted in knowing your wife is not Satan's spawn. There will be brief periods of calm and brief periods of storms. When your wife is going through it, the man must have a bronc riding mentality. Just hold on to the reigns and hope the ride only lasts a few seconds and pray you don't get permanently injured when thrown.

The two most important rules for men dealing with the afflicted woman is that whatever she says, do it. The second thing is whatever she says do it! You must be comfortable with wearing sweatshirts in the summer and having a high electric bill in the summer time. The "Hot Flash" is a mighty foe and will present itself at any time, in any place. If you are driving in the dead of winter and she turns to you with madness in her eyes claiming it is 8,000 degrees in the car. It is! Roll down a window or turn on the air. "The Change" comes complete with it's own weather patterns that usually conflict with physical reality. If you wish to survive, follow every instruction to the letter. Up is down, cold is hot, yes means no and so on.

When you have fallen into a deep, restful sleep be wary. "The Change" loves to come out in the dead of night and with a fury. If you feel the sheet is slightly wet, not to worry. It is not incontinence. It is the sweat dripping off your precious wife. During these late night flare ups do not be surprised if your wife turns to you and says "I love you, I need you and screw you!" in the span of about 20 seconds. Accept all three responses as being of equal weight. She means all three. If you find yourself dealing with her in a particularly foul mood, hang in there, she will be morphing into a different person in just a few moments.

The other two important keys to survival are responses to food and fashion. During this transition of life there are times when you will think your wife is pregnant or has a binging disorder. Strange combinations of sweet and salty, burgers to beef jerky, ice cream to ice cubes are not to be questioned. Let them feed. Any comment you make in regards to what or how much she is eating will be met with rabid lashings. Just shut up and get her what she wants.

When it comes to fashion men have one set. Women have multiple lines of clothing for whatever stage of the month they are in and choices should never be questioned. If your wife comes down the stairs in a mumu and a cowboy hat compliment her on how beautiful she looks. If you question her outfit selection you are in for a sobbing breakdown or verbal undressing. Remember this too shall pass. If your wife feels the need to go shopping for different clothes, let her. You may think she has plenty of sweaters and pants. She needs different ensembles to make her transition as comfortable as possible.

Above all, always keep your cool. Over the centuries countless men have tried to figure out "The Change" and alter its course in their loved one. Few have made it. This rite of passage is not meant to be interpreted by man, only accepted and adhered to. Period! By my estimations I have approximately 10 more years of enduring the fury of my wife's midlife change. I pray a lot. I drive to the store at strange hours returning with exotic foods. I bite my tongue a lot and have decided to live with the beast instead of trying to tame it. To my fellow man I wish you good luck on this journey.

Loud Tears... Quiet Laughter (Christmas 2010 and Lil' Debby Snack Cake)

Souls Parole:Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself (PREVIEW)

Lil' Debby was a friend of mine in recovery. She would make a hobbit look like a giant and had a heart bigger than Paul Bunyan. She was rich in friends and devoted to those in need. She loved animals and helped out at the shelter. She didn't let her diabetes slow her down. She loved Jim Morrison. She wore pajamas like sweats. I loved her for her individuality. Her smile could guide Santa's sleigh through a tsunami. I saw her the morning of Christmas eve. On Christmas morning she was gone.

I hope you can see that learning to live life in the moment is not just a way for addicts to live. It's a great philosophy on life....

 

 Loud Tears... Quiet Laughter

It's 1:08 AM, a popular time in my blog history. I am tired, emotionally spent, amped up and cashed out. I felt the full spectrum of the human emotional meter today, starting with taking photos at sunrise, then going to the memorial service for Lil Deb Snack Cake and finishing up with a comedy performance at Cigars and Stripes in Berwyn. The picture taking was cold but inspiring, the memorial service surreal and the comedy gig liberating but difficult.

I like to take pictures of sunsets or sunrises, on days of a funeral or deaths, because it helps me to remember the person lost and burns a permanent picture in my mind's eye. I see creation and eternity. You can see my photos on my Facebook page. I have done it for several people. I like the pictures of the sun because it is fantastic, warm and hard to put into words. These few will have to do.

I sat alone in the dark of my family room thinking about Lil Deb for a long time today. I actually dreamed of her as the darkness and quiet lulled me to sleep. I was set to go to the visitation at 3pm and was even going to wear a suit. I woke up about 2:15pm realizing I needed to hop in the shower and get ready. But instead I sat on the couch trying to talk myself out of going. I remember Deb in my heart and in the songs of the Doors. The thought of the service just made me sadder.

I have been to 10 funerals in 2010, a personal record I wish not to repeat. Some of them were crushing like my father's, others just a courtesy and respect to the person passed beyond. I remember as a kid there were birthday parties several times a year. Now that I am older there are fewer birthday celebrations and a marked increase in funerals. That's reality I guess. It seems though that with every funeral, I am less and less afraid of the day when my ticket gets punched. I can not look at the wonder of the cosmos and think this is the only stop there is.

I was scheduled to perform comedy at a club in Berwyn and was seriously considering cancelling it. I wasn't feeling very funny today. I dressed and left for the chapel at 4:15. Being the instigator and the wannabe anarchist I am, I slapped a Doors concert poster on the wall when I entered the room where her service was being held. She would love that. There was a picture of her in a John Lennon shirt smiling ear to ear and I felt my tears fall loud and heavy on my shirt. Unlike the death of my father, Deb's was out of nowhere. Life is really only moment to moment whether we like it or not.

There were lots of people, as I knew there would be. She is loved by many. I paid my respects to her family and left feeling lost. We were not bosom buddies but tight in our relationship. We always took off where we left off and shared many difficult patches together. She was one of those people in your orbit who you think is gonna be there forever. Just like the sun, she made life on earth warmer and brighter.

I returned home and checked my messages to find one from Joellyn, a mutual friend of Deb's. She had seen my sunrise photos and commented to me, "You always know the best way to show God's handiwork through yourself, others, comedy and beauty." The words were deep and I felt grateful and humbled for the kind words. I knew I had to go and do my gig. There were people who wanted me to make them laugh and feel good, even though I felt like crawling under a rock. Deb would say, "GO TOM!"

I thought about Joellyn's words and understand that I, or we, are messengers on this big round ball of earth and sky. I have been blessed with the gift of making people smile and laugh. It is my duty while I am here to spread that message of laughter. What is your gift? We all have them. Most of us ignore them or dismiss them as frivolous. If we all made one person smile each day there would be no war, famine and oppression.

As I was being introduced to hit the stage at the club, I said one last I love you to Deb, grabbed the mic and the laughter came after my first few lines. First slowly and quietly, then hearty and rich. It felt good to be God's messenger for those few moments. I reflected on Deb's cheeky laugh and felt grace as the crowd returned their approval for a joke well done.

God might be the copilot but we have to drive through humanity. He speaks through us. He sends messages to others through all of us collectively. The burning bush trick has been done. It's up to us to be messengers of peace and good will. We don't need to join the brotherhood. Try opening a door for a stranger, calling an old friend, flashing a smile or letting someone into traffic. Spread the message! It might be the one thing that a person needs the most while at a critical point in their life.

On Christmas God sent a present to earth. On that same Christmas the earth sent God a gift and her name is Lil Deb Snack Cake.

ADDICTION = I Don't Like Myself Very Much...But I'm All I Ever Think About!

I Don't Like Me...But I'm All I Ever Think About!

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself will be released at the beginning of 2012 (Amazon). Legendary Comics Tom Dreesen and David Brenner wrote the Introduction and Epilogue. I filled in the middle…This is chapter 3 that was written a year ago….

My addictive mind baffles me. If you went to a Chinese restaurant and got sick you would stay away from the place for a while. If you went back and got sick again you’d stay away for good. When I was little I had a babysitter who made me eat tuna fish and mayonnaise every day after school. She subscribed to the 'eat what there is or eat nothing at all' approach. Fair enough. I cannot stand tuna or mayonnaise and would gag as I ate it! But I was starving and that was my only choice. When my mom found a new sitter, I never ate it again. To this day when my wife makes tuna salad I get a little oogey.

The strange paradox with booze and drugs is that when you get sick you go back for more. For the first few YEARS each time I drank I became violently ill. I figured I'd get used to it. I had always heard booze was an aquired taste. Coffee, for me, was an acquired taste. I love the stuff. When I first started drinking it I didn't hurl all over myself and everywhere around me. My body was telling me right from the first swig that the sauce was poison to me. That little voice inside me cried out from my stomach then spilled out on the floor.

There is much debate as to whether alcoholism is hereditary or socially imprinted on us. I believe both are true and how you get something isn't as important as how you respond to it once you know you have it. There were drinkers in my family, but no one ever poured a drink down my throat. I always did it myself. A boss never did it. A girlfriend or wife never held me down bottle in hand. No one ever put alcohol and drugs into me... except me.

I have also heard people say they were alcoholic long before they picked up the first drink. That statement confounded me for awhile, but I embrace it now. As far as I am concerned, I had alcoholic tendencies before that summer in ’79. I didn't like myself very much, but I was all I ever thought about! I thought the world revolved around me or it should. If I was happy, everyone should be happy. If I was sad, I wanted you in the dumps at my side.

I thought I was one of a kind. I was either above you or below you. I never met someone and thought to myself, he's just like me. If I walked into a room full of strangers, and they halted their conversation as I strolled past, I was certain they were talking about me. They definitely didn't like me! I tried to fit in with every group, but isolated whenever possible. The sad part was that I hated being alone, but found comfort in not being with the crowd. I was a simple person with complex thinking.

I hung out with the jocks because I played baseball and basketball. I hung out with the stoners because they liked rock-n-roll and punk. I hung out with the geeks because I felt they were misunderstood. I hung out with all the cliques, but was never "in" any of them. It was easier to make a guest appearance in one and move into the next before they got too close. I was not about to share my true feelings to them and let them see the real me!

 I didn't know who or what the real me was, and I was going to figure it out on my own. That need to “figure things out on my own” kept me drinking and using longer. As soon as I discovered booze and drugs I was okay with me and that set me off for the next 28 years. My alcoholic mind had the strange notion that asking for help is a sign of weakness or stupidity. I was afraid if I asked, people for help they would think something was wrong with me. I didn't need any help beating me up. I did it all day, everyday, for 28 years, and sometimes I still do.

Lord! Please Don't Let Me Wake Up Tomorrow....Ghosts of XMAS PAST!

On that Christmas in 1998, I was three months from entering rehab at Hinsdale Hospital, with a guest appearance in the "Nutty Bin." I started drinking by about seven that morning. I had stocked up on Christmas Eve because the stores would be closed for the holiday. My Christmas meal consisted of Jim Beam, cheap beer, cheaper vodka, some chips and a pack of lunchmeat to keep all the medicine down. As a seasoned drunk I knew the right combination of booze and food to keep the numb going. It was enough not to kill the buzz and just enough to keep me on my feet.

I hadn't talked to my family in months. I imagined what they were doing as I sat alone in the darkness with curtains drawn. My mom was probably scurrying around the kitchen making a shrimp platter or some kind of cheese ball with nuts. My sister and brother-in-law were knee-high in shredded wrapping paper, the torn-up remains from the wonderful gifts my niece and nephew were giggling amongst and dancing between. My dad and second family were just rising preparing for a feast later in the day. They were only a few miles away in La Grange, but they were done with me.

I hated them for not calling. They had tried many times to get me sober, yet whenever I saw them, I only wanted money or help out of my latest jam. When family or friends did invite me over, I got drunk and funny, then wasted and wicked. The calls, then the relationships ended. I had no consideration for other peoples' lives or their problems. My addiction only had room for thoughts of me and my next high. I was nearly dead already. My body was beat. My emotions were spent.  My soul was on empty.

I drank more and ate less. My mind was slowing down. The rage was subsiding. Sadness and self-pity were now crying out. Why did life always deal me the bad hand? Gulp! Why did everyone hate me so much? Slurp! Where did all my dreams go? Swig! I wasn't afraid of dying at that point. A couple more beers, and I would pass out. A couple more hours, and my family would sit down to a delicious feast.

I came to, head pounding and stomach fighting back. I squinted through the slits of my eyes and made out that it was five o’clock. I didn't know if it was p.m. or a.m.! I stumbled out of bed and saw it was dark outside. Being December, the darkness lent no clue as to whether it was night or morning. My worst fears were realized when I turned on the TV. A Christmas show danced on the screen. I had not slept Christmas away.

By now, my family had finished up the food and treats and was enjoying a belly-stuffed nap or the drive back home with boxes and bags of Christmas cheer. I rang the front desk to see if anyone had left a message for me. But how could they? Nobody knew where I was. I still had seven hours until the blessed holiday would finally be over for another year. Enough!I took a slug from the freshly cracked bottle of vodka, dropped a cigarette into it, and tossed it in the tiny plastic trash can. I swore off drinking forever..again.

Seven hours to go until midnight. My stash was gone. My snacks were eaten, and my nerves were shot. I was like the cat in the cartoon where the mouse nails the furniture to the ceiling, and the cat wakes up thinking he's sleeping on the ceiling. Frantically, he jumps up and down to reach the floor. He runs to the medicine cabinet and promptly downs a bottle of nerve tonic. He jumps to the "floor" holding on with his nails and every bit of his strength only to fall again in futility.

I staggered to the dresser, grabbed a sock, then rinsed the empty bottle from the whiskey. I placed the sock over the lip of the bottle and carefully poured the tainted tonic into the fresh bottle mindful not to spill a drop. It caught the ash and butt. The tar and toxins had turned the once clear liquid a vile shade of brown. Cigarette vodka was the brand of choice for my holiday night cap.

I knocked back the ashtray cocktail and chased it with a soda. I got drunk enough to sleep and numb enough to dismiss the realizations of the depths I had reached to keep the buzz going. I wept, as I collapsed onto the filthy bed. I wrapped myself in the sheet to ward off the roach parade that would march over me as soon as the TV went black. Then I prayed. It was a real prayer, one of desperation and sincerity. It was a prayer I felt to the pit that was my soul. Between the tears and self-loathing I mumbled to the heavens: “LORD!... Please don't let me wake up tomorrow.”....

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!...'I'm Gonna Have a Baby....'

There are rites of passage or marks in time that are indelibly etched in our mind. Our first day of school, that stolen kiss, our wedding day are just a few of life's mile markers that are forever carved into our melons. They are like home movies that can be played on demand whenever we wish to recall them. As a date passes by the play button is pushed automatically.

Our middle daughter Sunny turned nineteen on October 13th of this year. She called and asked if we could have dinner at home instead of going out. I was happy to oblige. The kids all know that when we go out for their birthday I am absolutely going to take them to a place where the servers will come to the table and perform a cheesy dance and sing an homage to their introduction into the universe. It's just the way I roll. They expect it and secretly enjoy it. It's tradition. I did it when they were small. I will do it until I die.

I decided to make shrimp with angel hair pasta for the occasion. Sunny and her beau Crisco love it. Cooking for the family is something I truly enjoy. It is a passion I picked up from watching my grandmother as a boy. I would watch  intently as she rolled out dough for noodles or fry chicken to perfection. My mind would snap pictures of her culinary wizardry not for any future wish to cook myself. It was to capture the sights, smells and feelings of complete comfort I had sitting at her table with my head plopped contentedly on folded hands.

I coordinated the special birthday feast precisely so it would be ready when Squeaky got home from work. The pasta was to be last. Al dente is a must. Squishy or starchy pasta is a no-no. I brushed the bread with butter and sprinkled it with garlic as the kids walked in. I kissed the birthday girl and hugged Crisco her man. It was hard to fathom Sunny was nineteen. I had met her when she was just a child. Now she was a young woman. I rushed back to add bread crumbs to the shrimp, butter, garlic and chives that were simmering on the stove. Everything was coming together perfectly as Squeaky came through the door.

She hugged her baby like only a mother could sweetly protesting that it was her last teen year as I began to toss the angel hair with the shrimp. The garlic bread would take just a few minutes in the broiler. The scene was idyllic. The meal came together as planned. We said a word of thanks and an extra for the birthday girl. Then the world shifted.

'I'm going to have a baby,' spilled from Sunny's blushing glowing face. Squeaky jumped from the table and hugged Sunny and both laughed and cried. 'My baby is going to have a baby,' she exalted rocking back and forth stroking Sunny's hair. I stood behind them waiting for my turn to hug the baby with the baby. My mind was snapping pictures faster than the paparazzi at a J-Lo sighting. My head was spinning. The smell of shrimp went from friend to foe as I felt gurgling in my belly.

I was elated, scared, confused and unsure of how I felt in those first few moments. First and foremost we asked if she was sure and okay. She said yes. I shook Crisco's hand and gave him a hug and "THE LOOK" as if to say, "When's the wedding date SON?" It seemed like only moments ago that Sunny was just a kid herself. She is just a kid! I was analyzing my feelings as they were happening and the barrage was so intense I wanted to hit the floor and cover my head! INCOMING! Squeaky, ever the cool one, took it all in stride like our girl had come home with a new car. How do women do this?! I wanted to kiss, laugh, fight, hug and cry with someone....

Hello...are you okay honey?
What about school?
Where will you guys live?
She should sit down.
Is shrimp okay for her to eat?
My God I'm only 46!
LORD! Please look after her and the baby.
If this kid doesn't do the right things... I'll eat his heart!
God...grant me the serenity....
Hey Bro I love ya like a SON already....
I can't wait to take the kid to a Sox and Bear game!

I think I better sit down....

I AM A CHRISTIAN, not JESUS, and I Do NOT Think I'm Better Than You!

Oh no! Here it comes! I knew it was too good to be true. The idea that this guy was gonna "keep it real" is gone! It was just a set up! I read the title. Here comes the pitch. Now he's gonna lay the guilt on me. He's gonna try to sell me Jesus like a snake oil salesman. By the time he's through he will probably have me dancing with poison snakes while slappping me in the forehead shouting, "DEMONS RELEASE THIS HEATHEN!"

Next comes the tears and the P.O. Box! Oh yeah, he's gonna want my dough to "help save the souls of the world!" For a gift of only $100 dollars he's going to mail me a nail from the Cross of the Crucifixion with my dead grandma's name carved in it! Then comes his "holier than thou" speech and the promise that "if I believe all my problems will go away, and that if I pray for a million dollars, the check will show up in the mail the next day!" The most HYPOCRITICAL thing is that this guy has been an addict, thief and liar who lived with hookers, spent 11 days in a padded room and was married four times! Now he has the nerve to talk about righteousness?! "People like 'him' are the reason that keep people like me from church and worship in the first place. It is a den of hypocrisy and double talk!"

I am proud to say that I am a Christian.
I was "reborn" on August 2, 2009.
I believe that JESUS is the SON of GOD.
I believe HE came here, died to grace us with eternity and forgiveness for all the evil and sin we commit as men and human beings... imperfect. I attend worship at Parkview Christian Church in Orland Park. We don't dance with snakes. No one gets smacked upside the head during worship.

I smoke and swear occasionally. I get angry and envious. Sometimes I act like a complete idiot. I am an actor in a business fraught with sin. I do comedy that sometimes gets a bit "blue." I yell at my kids. I get impatient with bad service at restaurants. I have dreamnt of  fast cars, big houses and making it big! I sin! I sin! I sin! I do all of this because I am human, not Jesus. I am not perfect... nor do I strive for that impossible goal. I don't judge others for their beliefs. I do not think I can earn my way into heaven or that I will stand in  paradise 100 spaces in front of you. I believe we will all stand before our maker to account for our time here. I fail and sin because of my humanity!

Christians are believers in CHRIST as a savior. Most of us do not live on high looking down at the silly fools below.  Those who do embarass us too. I would like to start with my definition of what being "reborn" is. It used to make me envision angry, uppity people screaming "Heathen, you will burn in HELL!" Nothing could be farther from the truth.When we were born most of us were baptized in a ritual our parents arranged or as part of a tradition. I had no choice in the decision when I was a wee baby. I had committed no sin. I was helpless, oblivious and unable to comprehend good and evil. Being "reborn" is being baptized again "by free choice." When I was 3 months old I didn't have a vote in the matter. A relationship with GOD through CHRIST is a choice each of us has. It is the beauty of his grace. It is there for the taking. We can take it or leave it. If there was no choice he wouldn't be a GOD of love and grace. He would be a dictator. Rebirth is a ritual cleansing of the old spirit and a commitment to a life of trying to be more "Christ-like" and accepting JESUS as The SON and path to GOD.

When I professed my confession of faith and was baptized by the water of rebirth, I came out a different man. I knew I had to make things right with many here on earth. By accepting JESUS I was forgiven of all my human defects and sins. It felt invigorating to come up out of the water as a new me. Years of pain and baggage was lifted from my shoulders and heart. I will never forget it. I know I am moving on to eternity so death no longer terrifies me like it once did. I am...free at last....

I am an "Evangelical." That conjures up yet more visions of angry people screaming about sinners and REPENT! That is enough to freak-out anyone. To be "Evangelical" means that I share my experience with people about my life with CHRIST when the moment is right. I try to live my life as an attraction to right living, not as a promotional pitch for getting saved. I do not walk the aisles of the L passing out literature and flicking holy water on the passengers. I just relate the peace and love I feel by living my life as close to the way HE would want me to. I fail and I sin and that's where the skeptics jump like wolves on a wounded rabbit. "The sun shines and the rain falls upon both the good and evil."

I know that the thought of a man coming down from God to live with us and save us from ourselves through his death can be a tough story to embrace. But is it really? Everyday we see man discover new technology and distant galaxies. Some of us have had near death experiences or encounters with angels or loved ones past. If we have a bad Italian dinner we don't stop eating pasta, but if we have had a bad religious experience we usually chuck the whole concept as silly. That is completely ridiculous! The problem is that people want GOD to be Santa Claus or a YES man, not as a light or guide in their life. Everyone believes in love and you can't set that on the table or see it so if you you don't believe in GOD because you can't prove it, you must not believe in love either. Right?

I know I would not be tapping out these words if it wasn't for the GRACE of God. Many people who have gone through what I have are dead, incarcerated or insane. I am free of the bondage of alcohol and addiction! That is a miracle. I have finally realized the thing that I was chasing and the hole I was trying to fill with chemicals was a meaningful relationship with my creator! I talk to him all the time and he helps direct me into making good decisions, not just the ones that are best for me. The hole has been filled. The fear is gone and the comfort in knowing that I am never alone makes living life to the fullest even better! The Bible does not end with "they all lived happily ever after." It does promise that we can make it through any of lifes difficulties through our faith. I truly believe Every Day Is A Gift!

Extra Hands of Hope (Theme Song) Chicago Acting Community Song to Assist...

"COME ON HONEY! THEY'RE ONLY PICTURES! What's the big deal?

Come On, Honey! They're Just Pictures! Why are you so Mad?

My cycle of addiction started with alcohol and then progressed to weed. It moved to speed and pills, and then anything that could eliminate my "feelings" and having to deal with yours. One of the crazy paradoxes for me was that as addictions held me tighter and tighter and I knew I was losing control my threshold of what got me to "where I wanted to get to" grew more and more. Enough is never enough for a guy like me.

My addictions moved to people, love, pain, codependency, and sex. I always made my way back to booze, though, because it was old, reliable, and easy to get, then easy to "forget". When one addiction stopped giving me the desired rush, I slid into the next or combined addictions for full blown chaos.

When I was "living" on Mannheim Road in Stone Park in the Late-90's, the town provided every sin, addiction, and vice a drunken addict, like me, needed to thrive. There was more going on between Lake Street and Grand Avenue than the Las Vegas Strip. That was my experience, although I am sure it is much different now. It is here I found porn. This is a subject I hate to relive, because it almost cost me my marriage to Squeaky. I share it because I don't think Disney will be calling me in the near future to star in their latest family film and I think a lot of guys think like me.

When I was living at the transient motels, or in my car, porn was a deep, dark addiction for me. My relationships were nonexistent and broken. The sicker the video or magazine, the more exhilarated and horrified I felt. It was temporary escape from thinking about me, but it simultaneously fed my self-loathing because I knew my actions were wrong. The rush of watching taboos being broken fed me like ants on a sugar drop.

I have heard guys are visual and gals are auditory when it comes to stimulation. I suppose that's why I am excited at the vision of my wife in a nighty, and she loves when I stroke her hair and giggle with her in bed. From the time I was little and saw my first Easy Rider magazine, I was hooked. The girls were exotic and seductive. They all seemed to be calling out, "Tommy! I'm waiting for you." I felt this was harmless, and maybe, to some men, it is. For me, this was the same as looking at the Mona Lisa or some other art piece. It was just a two-dimension image, and no one got hurt from my fascination with just looking but I got a rush.

I have never cheated on my wife whether drunk or sober, but I do have to say I was unfaithful to her. After we moved in together, and I had stopped drinking for a few years, I rediscovered porn, not in stores or magazines but on the world-wide web. I was smoking pot and taking speed, but it wasn't enough for me. The boundary-free erotica buffet the Internet offers was a click away. Sometimes, I would search for completely vile subjects and, sure enough, a picture or video popped up. Now I’m not talking about little kids or animals, but I was drawn to viewing two ways, four ways, freaks of nature, women/women, men/men, and violent encounters. These were subjects I had no desire to participate in, in reality.

Now, I love my wife, and she satisfies me in every way. I can honestly say it wasn't even the imagery that turned me on. It was the rush and high of exposing myself to such decadence. There were late night log-ins when my wife was asleep and quick check-ins when I got home from work. It was the same cycle as booze. The planning, obsessing, using, and remorse were the same. Only the “candy” changed. However, that phase of my life, marriage and perception of pornography, changed when she discovered my dirty little secret.

The hiding and concealing of my habits were part of the high. Doing something naughty and getting away with it was half the enjoyment. One day, while working on the family PC, she found me out. I don't know how. I believe it had something to do with "cookies" but in reality, I was relieved to be found out. She was devastated and hurt to the point of being inconsolable.

 "How could you do this?" she screamed

 In the typical male response, I replied nonchalantly and coolly, "It was no big deal. It was just pictures, like the Mona Lisa or Baywatch, just naked!"

I was quickly schooled in the depth of pain it caused her.

“You don’t find me attractive!” she screamed.

Not true.

“I don’t satisfy you!”

She did.

“I could never look like or do the things those people were doing!”

I never expected it from her. It meant nothing to me.

“It means everything to me!”

With every tear-filled statement, I felt smaller and smaller, like a shrinking cartoon character.

“Would you be happy if I watched those same images when you’re not around?”

That hit home. Definitely not! I have not looked at porn since then. Guys think of porn as pictures. Women see it as a reflection of what they can't be or what they perceive the man is missing in his life. Once again as an addict, I pushed my wife's feelings out of the way to satisfy my urge to get high. It took a long time to regain her trust. For many days after the confrontation, I saw the depth of betrayal in her eyes.

These days, I have no secrets from my wife. If I get the feeling it might be wrong, I don't do it. I discuss my friends on Facebook and don't accept friend requests from people like "Sizzlin Suzie." Kris has full access to every part of my life. It feels good to know I have nothing to hide. My wife is everything a man could want in a woman and more. I can now put her feelings before my impulses. By not doing things that may potentially hurt her, I have no fear of what she may find. My wife is all woman, and all I need.

Guys before you open up that mag or video with your buds, picture your wife doing the same thing. If you are comfortable with it, talk to her about it. Turn-about is fair play. But if that little voice inside you tells you it's wrong, listen to it. If only we all spent more time listening to that small still voice....

It's Only A Dream!

Dreams have always fascinated me. When I was a small boy I used to sleep walk. I laugh at my Mother's recounting of finding me in our tiny Mokena apartment playing football with the house plants in our living room. There was also the time she found me intently peeing all over our bathroom. When she asked me what I was doing I stated with conviction that I was a fireman and was putting out a fire. She always tried to talk me out of my zombie state or somnambulism by medical definition.

One ugly episode involved me screaming bloody murder about a spider being on my chest at about age 13. Ma rushed in to tell me that she knocked off the spider and all was well. I would have none of it! I called her every rotten word in the book because the spider was still clearly in the middle of my sternum. I woke up with no recollection of these episodes. Eventually they lessened but there are still times when I wake my wife to engage her in unusual dialogue about a man in Britain or reminding her to make a call in the morning to someone who doesn't exist.

Even though I can't recall my sleep conversations I do remember most of my dreams. I have been working on it for years. I was watching Donahue at about age 10 and the discussion was on dream recall. As I remember the guest said something about keeping a pad of paper next to the bed and writing down a color and word from the dream when you awake. Then the next morning read the word and color and try to remember images. I tried it and the main thing I got out of it was trying to remember your dream right when you wake.

As I have developed my dream awareness I now have the ability to be in the middle of a dream and know it is one. That may sound nutty, or a bit of a tongue twister at the least, but it is true. I can be inthe midst of a dream and "go with it" and be conscious of the fact that I am in a dream state and won't get hurt or that whatever is occurring is in fact not happening. If I try to manipulate the dream I wake up instantly. It does not happen in every dream. In most I am merely dreaming. There are several I want to remember and forget to review before I get out of bed and are lost. Occasionally they come back to me later in the day in scenes.

Sometimes I ask God in my prayers to let my Dad or Grandma show up during my prayers. Occasionally they do. Remember I can't manipulate the dreams. I just go with the flow. I know I'm dreaming. I want to call out, "Dad what's heaven like?!" I dare not because I know I'll wake up and I don't know when I'll see him again. He had a car business, both sales and rental. His dreams usually revolve around cars . In most he is younger and happy, or all business. I am just glad to see him. My Grandma was old school. She loved to cook, would slip you a twenty and wasn't big on outward affection. I knew she loved me with all her heart. In the dreams she's just the same.

I have been working on a toy, book and winter clothing drive here in Chicago over the last few weeks. What started out as a friends suggestion has turned into an amazing reality. It is a dream really. It has been physically and mentally challenging taxing trying to coordinate, make calls, find locations, blah...blah...blah. I'm not complaining. The whole project has exploded into something beyond my wildest...well...dreams. It is a chapter in itself. The bottom line is I have been putting a lot of pressure on myself because time is running out and I don't want to let anyone down.  My sleep has been irregular and I haven't been eating well. I trust GOD will make it all work out but there is still work on earth that must be done. When I put my heart into something it is all or nothing. This is definitely ALL.

Today I fell asleep on the couch with my little dog Fiona. I call her Shmutz. She is about 9 pounds and 8 of that are lovin.' She sleeps in between my legs with her wee head on my thigh. I started to dream that I was sitting on a spiral staircase waiting for my Dad. I was surrounded by water,  the stairs were right in the middle of a lake. The water was like blue crystal. I could see all these beautiful fish swimming in a circle around the stairs that came up out of the water that I was sitting on. They were all sizes and shapes. All of them looked friendly or at least like they weren't going to eat me.

I was growing impatient waiting for my father. My stress and anxiety had followed me into the dream. I began to call out, "Dad? I really miss you and I need to see you right now! I feel like I'm going out of my mind....Please?" I began to cry physically but was still asleep. I kept calling and calling but he didn't come. I was sobbing...begging.

 Suddenly I was thrown back into concsiousness as a tiny tongue was licking my eyes. Shmutzy saw and heard me crying and was trying to comfort me. She saw that I was in pain and wanted to make me feel better. I wiped my eyes and kissed her. I haven't sobbed in a while. What a release. Something unexplained had occurred. I felt relief. The sobbing in my dream relieved me of the bottled up tension I had. I felt like a million bucks with a couple short for the headache from crying. It was as if a ton of pressure was lifted off me.

I sat there reflecting on the fish and the stairs as I pet the Shmutz and realized that everything was going to work out fine. I have lots of friends and lots of amazing people helping me on this adventure. It's a great cause! It's in bigger hands than mine! My fears of letting anyone down are ridiculous. I also realized that in my time of need when I called out to my father to show up and relieve me of my fears and anxiety MY FATHER did...and gave it to me....

Alcoholism is Like Flu ITs' Symptoms Spread to EVERYONE in ITs' Path....

There is nothing that frustrates me more than when a person fresh into recovery says that their drinking didn't hurt anyone and the bills were paid. They claim they were only hurting themselves. They share stories of escaping to the garage or den to drink alone. They state with pride that they never raised their voice or a hand to their loved ones or kids while drunk or high. They boast that they made it to ball games and recitals regularly. "To BE or Not to BE," IS the question in active addiction and recovery. Addictions' most powerful tool is denial.

The families of Alcoholics live in a secretive world. The kids grow up thinking it is somehow wrong but is normal to them. The non-using spouse takes on the role of caretaker for the user and sometimes the enabler. They are also the fixer to hide the messes from the kids and neighbors. They are usually a wreck most of the time. They are never at ease. The alcoholic is a ticking bomb when drinking. We sip and sip and the family waits for when we are going to go "BOOM!"

As a drunk I had anger issues. They did not become physical but the tongue is more cutting than the sword. This was not daily but frequent enough. I was also emotionally unavailable to my wife and kids when THEY needed me. My drinking came first PERIOD. There were times I tried to force my way into a DAD moment with the kids to show what a great guy I was. Those were my moments of need not theirs. They didn't reach out. I reached in.

I was also the great orator and lecturer when drunk, quite the philosopher king actually. At least that's the way my drunken mind perceived it. All drunks think they just brim with wisdom when filled with beer or grog and we must share it with the world. The pub wasn't invented for shelter. It was needed for the meeting of the minds! The drunk makes a point, is so impressed with himself he makes it again, then does so once more with a little more flavor just in case the CAPTIVE audience didn't catch the brilliance the first two times through.

WARNING! To the family or lay person DO NOT interrupt the drunk in his brilliant Hamlet like moments. Refer to "BOOM," statement above for further clarification.

The family MUST adapt to the drunk. They become actors, performers and schizophrenics as they try to please and appease the whims and fancy of the day. The more drunk the better and more precise the performance. It is a survival skill for each family member. It is also ways to try to steal glimpses of affection and good favor from the drunk and hopefully escape his wrath when he snaps. I have been on both sides of the scene as a drunk and growing up in a family with alcohol issues.

I also run into the loved ones of alcoholics who say "it's his problem. I'm fine." There's an Aerosmith song that has an acronym definition for F.I.N.E. that would fit well here. If you live with monkeys for 20 years you will begin to crave bananas and pick lice from your fellow monkeys' hair. That's the way it goes. As the sober and somewhat sane adult in the family you have to take on the role of both parents. You have to cover for, lie, enable and often have become co-dependent with the drunk. I am here to tell you from experience not expertise YOU ARE AFFECTED. Chances are the person was a drunk when you got together with them. That means something was misfiring in your "inner self" before you tied the knot. Why would someone intentionally walk into a mine field?

I am coming up on 3 years sober. I have been in recovery and private therapy for all of that time. I am growing and changing. I am not a drunk any longer. I will always be an alcoholic with "isms." I am working towards being the man I have always aspired to be. Some days I act like a drunk without a drink. I am a human and a work in progress. I pray that I will always want to be making steps forward and never be satisfied that I have "made it" as a human.

Squeaky and I have been going through some terrible patches lately. They are the worst we have ever encountered as a couple or as husband and wife. That is not unusual when a drunk gets sober. "I AM HERE." What a shock that must be to her and the kids. Her whole apple cart has been upended. Lord knows I'm not exactly a wallflower. Self-confidence certainly isn't a problem. However, after years of being disengaged I am a new guy and we are just getting to know each other again.

Suddenly I want to make changes in the way things are done from raising the kids to decorating the house. My wife says to herself, "Who does he think he is? I've been handling this all this time!" In a few short years of clarity I step in and make plenty of "helpful" recommendations on how things OUGHT to be. She sees them as criticism. There's a thin line between the two. Who wouldn't be miffed after I was AWOL for so long? She is used to the way things were and how she dealt with them. Living with an alcoholic can be a mind game for sure. Just because I am now sober doesn't mean we aren't both still suffering from the effects of the disease.

The great news is that we BOTH have open minds and want to have better communication. I often have a problem with one way communication and I'm the one communicating. That being said, recovery has taught me that I am not the center of the universe or the home. She is stepping out and going to a support group to work on HER. We have decided not to FIX each other. We will leave that to GOD. In the end we will accept life on its' terms and come up with new solutions to our old problems together.

For anyone who drinks too much and thinks it isn't hurting anyone else I can say with complete confidence... you're wrong. It impacts everyone in your orbit. To those living with an alcoholic or addict that says to themselves, "It's not my problem,"... it is. To the both of you I say good luck. I hope you both find sobriety, clarity and the grace of GOD...

The End is Near... The Beginning!

There are many past New Year Eves that are blank to me. Every day was New Year's to me, because I would drink or use or both and say to myself "I am gonna quit tomorrow.” I made resolution after resolution, night after night, but I was trapped in tomorrows and yesterdays, until December 31, 2008.

On that date, I stopped drinking for ten days, then drank for six more. I have not had a drink or a drug since January 17, 2009. I had tried counseling in 1992 and rehab in 1999. I would do okay for a while, but then I would isolate myself. Sure I occasionally went to the bars, but my favorite way to party was alone with a bottle and a box of tissues. My self-pity is the fire; booze is the bomb. When we got together, "Kaboom!"

The New Year is the most popular time for joining recovery groups. Some go because the court orders them. Others go because their spouses issue ultimatums. Some individuals have FINALLY realized they can't stay sober on their own. They need help from people just like them. I lived my life thinking no one was like me, yet there are addicts of all shapes and sizes in recovery programs, ready to help folks JUST like me.

If you were lost in a jungle, would you prefer a map or a guide who has walked that same jungle a hundred times and could safely navigate the way out? The answer is obvious. Unfortunately the ego, fear, and disease of "self" have worked on the alcoholic for a long time. It is hard to accept you have a disease that tells you don't have it and makes any drinking an unsafe option.

Our society glamorizes booze and promotes it as a social norm. The constant bombardments of the fun and laughter that come with a cocktail are inviting to anyone and damn near hypnotic porn to an alcoholic. The commercials remind me of the casino ads that show gambling, hot chicks, laughter, and booze, then end with a public service announcement: "If you, or someone you, know has a gambling problem, call 1-800-I'm screwed!” The ads don't show the guy who spent his paycheck on chance instead of paying the rent. Addiction starts out a wonderful servant and ends up a merciless master.

Most people can tie one on, and that's it. They wake up with a New Year's Day hangover and lay on the couch drinking Gatorade and nursing a headache through endless football games. That doesn't make you alcoholic. For those of you who are, or live with, a potential alcoholic, I am sorry to say that there is nothing you can say to make us stop. We must reach a point where the agony, self-loathing, depression, anger, and chaos are too much for US to handle. In short, we all must decide for ourselves when the rat race of addiction has become too much to endure another moment.

For me, it was January 17, 2009. I had drank the previous day and pissed the bed that night. There were times I pissed on the floor, on the couch…you name it. My lab Fabian has actually pissed on my floor fewer times than I have. At the end of my run, I would even fashion a diaper for myself, knowing I would piss again, but found nothing abnormal about the behavior. I even bought my wife one of those mini carpet cleaners to clean up after the "dogs" made a mistake. On that night, I begged whoever was up there to please deliver me from my bondage. I meant it and was willing to do ANYTHING to stop.

When I wet the bed, my wife always knew, but I hid it from the kids. After everyone left, I would clean and suck the urine from our expensive mattress, wash the sheets, and place fans around the soiled area to assure dryness before my crew returned home from school and work. After six months of sobriety, my wife was so proud, she wanted to buy me a new drum kit. I was humbled by her amazing act of grace, and the offer was tempting. I declined and took her to the mattress store. I let her pick out the mattress of her dreams. I can say confidently, and with deep gratitude to God, that I have yet to pee on it.

Only you can decide if you are an alcoholic or addict. Do you obsess that you may be an armadillo? I would think not. However, if you are at a point where your ability to stop using doesn't work, or your life revolves around using, recovering from using, and obsessing about using, you need to hard look at your situation. If you’re the loved one, there is support for people in addictive or codependent relationships. Regardless of what addiction you may have, if you want to truly begin a new way of life, look in the phone book. Start with the letter "A" and go from there. Before you know it, help will appear on the page. Remember, whether you are the user or living with one, you still have to wake up with “you” everyday. Start taking control of your life today.

I no longer resent people who can drink safely and then stop. At one time, the thought of not drinking five years down the road or at my daughter's wedding was impossible to comprehend. Now, I let tomorrow take care of tomorrow. I just don't drink for today. We all only have today, whether we’re an addict or an earthling.

My justification for continuing the cycle of addiction was notions and memories like, "Nobody loves me.” "I am a loser." "I hated my childhood." " I can't tell anyone about the ‘tickle game’ a trusted adult played with me when I was a boy." "I can't live without booze; the pain is too much." These are symptoms of unhealthy THINKING. Drugs and alcohol are the band-aid addicts use to mask that pain.

Most of the things I wanted but couldn’t attain when I was drunk, have come to me tenfold in sobriety. It feels great to have my wife and kids smile at me when I walk in the door. I am confident that I am a good husband, father, son, brother, and friend. I am human and still make lots of mistakes but people can depend on me. I can look at myself in the mirror and other people in the eye. All the things that when drunk I planned to do tomorrow, I am doing today, thanks to sobriety. It isn't always easy. It’s work staying sober.

Nevertheless, if I stay close to God and people who think like me, it gets easier. I have no desire to use today. That is a miracle. I may crave alcohol tomorrow. Instead of obsessing on the thought until it becomes a drink I will pray for help and then call someone who has been through the same hell as I have. I have been taught new strategies to battle my old thinking.

However, asking for help and surrendering is just the beginning. Nevertheless, sobriety is amazing. Just because you get tanked occasionally doesn't make you like me. Alcoholics know what they are, long before reaching out for help. We think we hide it so well, and nobody sees our addiction. We are only fooling ourselves. I was amazed to find out that there were people with my same crazy thinking.

Tonight I will sit back with my wife and daughter, bowls of tasty snacks, and Dave Chappelle videos. We will laugh. I will remember the whole night. I will wake up in a dry bed, and I will thank God for giving me another sober TODAY.

Joliet-area men battle fears on TV’s ‘My Extreme Animal Phobia’ - Joilet Herald News

Joliet-area men battle fears on TV’s ‘My Extreme Animal Phobia’ - Joilet Herald News

Tom Dreesen, The Chairman of the Board and My Pops

Tom Dreesen, an amazing person and legendary funnyman wii be at The Laugh Factory, Chicago on May 6, 2012. THe Show is at 5pm! Don't miss it. Tom's stories of his days with Sinatra, and his hilarious reflections on growing up in the business are priceless. This blog was written shortly after I met Tom for the first time. See You Guys Sunday!

(original post 10/11 unedited)

I have mentioned many times in past posts that I don't believe in coincidence. I feel that God has a grand plan for all of us. We just don't know what that plan is until we're looking back in the rear view mirror of our lives. How many times have you been thinking about a friend and they call unexpectedly? Haven't there been times when you were at your wits end and a stranger smiled at you or extended a compliment at just the right moment? Coincidence? I think not.

After my father passed away in July 2010 my world was shaken to its' foundation. I was sober for a year and a half when he died. GOD, and the help of others like me, helped me get sober 18 months prior to his death. It was so that I could be there for him. I had not been the greatest son during some pockets of time during my 28 years of alcoholism and addiction. I had used, abused and taken advantage of my Pops.' That's what addicts do. In those last 18 months we were able to reconnect and become father and son again. We also became best friends and confidants.

As he deteriorated in mind and body I would bathe and shave him and make him laugh. My dad had a laugh that made you laugh. It was difficult to see the tough Irish, self made guy who ran with "The Son's of Italy" as a kid melt away in front of me. God gave me the strength to be there for him, and second mom, when I was just beginning to get my own mind together. If I was still drinking the pain of seeing him so frail and disoriented would have been too much and I would have avoided him like a cop with a breathalyzer test.

 HE got me sober when he did to fulfill his plan of reuniting us and granted me the grace to make things right and be there when dad needed me most. I didn't see that when I was smack dab in the middle of the pile. I was an emotional wreck. I was still having panic attacks and learning how to cope with life without chemicals. I learned a lot about myself, my dad, my family and my God during those 18 months. Although it was the most difficult time in my life it is also one of the seasons of it season I treasure most.

After Dad was gone I decided I was going to go back to comedy and give acting a shot. I wasn't going to leave any dream or regret on the table. Two days after his memorial service I was on the set of "The Chicago Code." As for comedy I got pretty lucky. The first time I ever did stand-up the Chicago Tribune was at Barrel-O-Laughs in Oak Lawn to write a feature story for the METRO section about people taking chances at midlife. I had already joined the Navy Reserve at 40 and was one week away from my 41st birthday when I decided to follow a lifelong dream of being a comic. Yeah I know! We'll get back to the Navy thing another day.

 Not many comics get a front page spread in the Tribune Metro Section on their first gig. Most never do. It was God's plan and after they laughed at my first joke I was hooked. The bad thing was that I blanked on what the "flashing light" meant and my 7 minutes became 20! Bill Brady, emcee at the Barrel let me roll because the crowd was laughing and I had brought half of them. It was liking climbing Everest! As I saw the pictures of famous comedians on the wall like Steve Allen, Drew Cary and Jackie Mason I was star struck. As I stood on the same stage they had and people laughed at words I had cobbled together I was blown away!

I had been acting for 2 months. I hadn't done comedy in ages and sent out my act via facebook to Tom Dreesen, David Brenner, Marsha Warfield and Mike Toomey asking for some feedback. I got responses from everyone except Marsha. We have since become friends. She is out of the comedy game but is still a force in Chicago as an activist in educating people about tolerance, racism, equality and history. Dreesen, Warfield and Toomey are all from Chicago.  EVERYONE knows David Brenner is pure New York with an open run show in Vegas. I love his insights. Mike is a staple around Chicago on WGN, HBO, Comedy Central and anywhere he can talk about TV shows. He is a 10 year old trapped in Mike Toomey and a great guy.

I had the most feedback from Tom Dreesen. Here was a guy who had toured with Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. and he was taking time to help an unknown like me. I was familiar with Tom's story to some degree. As I learned more about his upbringing the parallels in our lives seemed similar. Knowing what I know now I see that God put Tom in my path to help me fulfill the mission I am on for HIM. The similarities are stark in our paths as far as our upbringing, our family friendly material and our desire to give back to the community through supporting worthy causes. We also both know catching your dreams is possible with faith, hope and friends. We differ in that he is a Comic legend and a Cub fan. I am an actor, story teller, writer and Sox fan who loves to make people laugh on a mission to share my story of delivery from addiction.

I knew Tom was from Harvey and part of "Tim and Tom" the first bi-racial comedy team. I also knew he did a lot of service work and fundraisers around Chicago. His reputation as a good guy is well known. His years with Frank Sinatra well documented. I loved Sinatra as a kid and still do. I had seen him on The Tonight Show and Letterman. That was where my education about the background of Tom Dreesen ended.

I got some good responses from Tom, David and Mike. I followed up my first message with a second one stating that I was in recovery and wanted to share my story of alcoholism, addiction, homelessness, hopelessness to recovery through hope, faith and the hand of a friend. Basically, I was doing a reverse in the classic show biz storyline. I was an addict who lived on skid row who was moving into show business and wondered if that would be committing career suicide by sharing that in my act.

Dreesen and Brenner are wonderful foils. Tom told me of Carl Reiner's advice to him as a young comic to "Show them your pain." Brenner pointed out that you don't wanna talk bad about booze in front of a crowd full of people enjoying a drink and a guy who is paying you with the money they bought them with. I am not anti booze. It's just not for me. I've had my share.

I continued to check in and my acting career was on the rise. I began to write my blog "Every Day is a Gift" in December as a cathartic diary about the pains of sobriety and the grieving over the loss of my father. Each entry, including this one is done in one sitting. It is one stream of consciousness. It keeps it real and honest. The grammar and punctuations suffers but I think the message is what counts. Within a few months the blog was named one of the "Top Addiction Blogs Online." As of today it is read in 52 countries on 6 continents. Addiction is universal. It is an equal opportunity killer and loves to destroy everybody in its' path.

The parallels began to align when I learned that Tom had family members with alcohol issues. He also started one of the countries first drug awareness programs in schools for kids as a Jaycee. That was what introduced him to Tim Reid and was the precursor to his comedy career. Coincidence? I think not. When I was named spokesman and Emcee for this years "Rally Round Recovery" I reached out to Tom for help in recording some promotional commercials. he didn't hesitate. He recorded 2 and the event was a huge success. I was grateful to be a part of the event and have been asked to return for "Rally Round Recovery 2012." Good Lord willing I'll be there.

As the blog got more popular someone suggested I turn it into a book. I had always wanted to write a novel. Sharing my stories of 3 failed marriages, living homeless, eating garbage, lving with undiagnosed depression issues and trying to take my own life was not the block buster I wanted out there. More loved ones of addicted people reached out. I shared my experiences in recovery and my belief that catching your dreams is possible no matter what the obstacle with faith and the hand of a friend. I decided to do it and that I could donate proceeds to recovery, homeless and mental health programs.

Soul Parole Productions, Inc. was born on July 7, 2011. The name is taken from the title of my book Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself. It will be released December 17, 2011 on AMAZON. That is one year to the day from when I started the blog. I have chosen the recovery, homeless and mental health programs and institutions the book will help support. I hope to find a corporate sponsor to help me get on the road and share my story with as many people possible.

Last night Squeaky and I met Tom Dreesen after a fundraiser for St. Scholastica School for girls in Chicago. After countless emails, messages and phone calls I felt like I already knew him as we shook hands. It was a firm comfortable grip. He was set to meet with the alumni and special guests and made time for Squeaky and me.  He's just a working stiff in a tux with a heart of gold. He is exactly as you see him in the media. Tom is Tom. Knowing his story and what his mission in lifehas been, I KNOW, I know him. He was warm and welcoming. I thought Squeaky was going to hug him to death. He took time to take pictures for the book.

In my short career as an actor and comic I have been blessed to work in a lot of films and tv series in a very short time. I have passed on the name of my agent and casting directors to a handful of acting and comic hopefuls along the way. A few of them have already passed me by and are SAG actors and landed regular roles in cable series. I am grateful that I could help them on their journey. People helped me get sober and to where I am in my career and life. Holding your hand out to a friend is what I think the whole purpose is to us being here.

People are put in my path. I was put in the path of others to help them in God's plans for them. We all are messengers and have gifts to share. Tom  has shown me that helping others up the ladder is something that should never be forgotten no matter how far you climb or don't. At this point not helping others would leave a void in my life. It's my career that may suffer. I think that sharing my story, addiction and ending the stigmas that go along with it and depression is going to be my career. God will let me know.

Tom wrote the foreword for Soul Parole. I am grateful for that. His words are touching and I feel a little unworthy of them. Tom has become much more than a reviewer or advisor in these last several months. He has become my model for my act and my mission to give back to the community. I am sharing my story of pain, hope and catching my dreams. If one person hears my story and it helps them act on their addiction, gives them courage to face a fear or inspires them to catch their dreams... then my 28 years of pain was not spent in vain... it was just part of God's plan.

"Chasing Hollywood" and Finding My Dickie...

In late April 2011 I received a call from Jon Kinnas, owner of Atmosphere Casting, one of the major extras  film casting companies in Chicago. I had been acting for 8 months. Kinnas, Joan Philo, owner of Joan Philo Casting and Darlene Hunt, owner of Extraordinary Casting, were the three major players in extras casting in the city at the time. I had worked for Darlene on many occasions. She gave me my first gig in "the biz" on "The Chicago Code." I will always hold a special place in my heart for her giving me my first job which was a featured extra role. Two days after my father was memorialized and I had decided to give acting a try I was in a scene with Jennifer Beals and Jason Clarke. What a feeling! It was surreal but I felt completely in my element. It was as if I had finally found what I was looking for. Sorry Bono. I did 7 more episodes of the show.

During those eight months I did some other extras work, got an agent, did more comedy but really wanted to "act." As a proud Columbia College Alum I reached out and did 2 student films and landed a commercial. Actors have mixed feelings on working student films. I have had only one bad experience. When I am in down time I want to develop my craft. Student films are one avenue that let me choose roles that allow me to stretch my acting wings and play characters I normally don't get cast for. I also wanted to give back to the college I graduated from. I will always make Columbia a part of my life and career.

Jon is pure Chicago. He is street smart, passionate and loves what he does. He takes care of his clients and he looks out for his actors. During our conversation he said that he had a special role in a film that was a documentary with a mocumentary portion in it. My role was to be a "super fan." He knew I was a comic. He gave me the name of the "mark" and said the guy was a "real character" named James Vallo. He told me to keep the project to myself and he would send me the details. There are a lot of comics in town. I am thankful he thought of me. I am grateful to Jon for giving me my first principal acting role.

I hung up the phone and put James Vallo into Google. Instantly I saw why Jon had called Mr. Vallo a "character". Vallo had been mentored by Ed Asner and is an actor, writer, producer, filmmaker and ultimate self-promoter. He had his first on screen appearance in "Sixteen Candles." As a filmmaker he has done films such as "Spaced Out," "Sister Mary," "Not Just Another B Movie" amongst others. Vallo is passionate and flamboyant. His movies are in the spirit of Jon Waters meets Ed Wood. Vallo is a master at bringing the sitcom stars of yesterday into his films. In a Vallo film you will see familiar faces like Erin Moran and Butch Patrick, Judy Tenuta and Larry Thomas. Mainly you will see James Vallo and he is a pretty good actor in my opinion.

I read as much as I could about Vallo's upbringing, movies and career. Jon sent me the address and the number for my contact person Bart and I was off to a pizza place in the far northwest suburbs. It was billed as an autograph signing featuring Vallo, Actor Robert Z'dar, Writer/Director/Filmmaker John Wesley Norton, a  few Vallo film regulars and a comic book creator. On the way I was trying to decide how to play the fan. I decided I would let the environment lead me. There are a lot of Freudian references in "Spaced Out" so my name would be Richard "Dickie" Connor.

I arrived 30 minutes before my "super fan" appearance. I called the number and Bart Tumbarello co- writer/ director of what would become "Chasing Hollywood' answered the phone with a "Yeah!" Bart has a thick Italian/Cicero accent right out of the book. It was like we were in a sting operation. I was told to hold in the lot and he would call me. Five minutes after that I was to make my way in. The call came and I entered the pie Joint.

I was greeted by the familiar face of Mary-Jo Brown whom I had worked with on "The Code." She was acting as a reporter covering the event and interviewing Vallo's fans. I slipped into a kind of "Rainmanesque" shy but obsessed fan figure and side stepped my way to where James Vallo held court. He was on top of the world. I introduced myself and he autographed posters, videos and a page of a book Ed Asner had written the foreword for about Volunteer Vacations. It was priceless. Vallo was in Heaven. Dickie was in awe. They were a match made for each other.

In person Bart Tumbarello matched his voice to the T. He's a guy's guy, old school. He was born 30 years too late because he would fit perfectly into 30's or 40's when it comes to the code of honor, loyalty, hard work and trust. We became fast friends. He explained that they would interview me and was firm in stating to stay in character at all times. I had just put my beloved lab down earlier that week. Her name was Dakota. We called her Cooter. When I was interviewed by Mary-Jo I felt compelled to share my story of how close Dickie and Cooter were.

A few weeks after the pizza shoot Bart called me and said the Dickie footage was hilarious and he wanted to come out and get some footage at my house. I collect Hollywood and Sports Memorabilia and I started to come up with some ideas on how the meeting with James Vallo might have impacted the introverted Dickie. I built a small shrine with pizza crusts and votive candles and hung his picture next to autographed pictures of the Dalai Lama and Robert Englund as Freddy. We shot some footage and laughed. Bart had brought Tony Passarella his co-writing and directing partner and Chuck Kelly who was working sound for the day and one of the creative team behind the film. We laughed as I improvised my love of James and compared him to Nicholson, Redford, Walken and the Dalai Lama.

The art of acting and not-acting is a thin line. I've always thought the best actors are the ones' who don't. My wife Squeaky was home. Bart and Tony thought we should bring her in as Dickie's wife. She came up with the name Pina to stay in the phallic vein. She was petrified. She is from Berwyn. Bart slipped into Cicero talk. She into Berwynisms. Both of them are Italian and batta-bing-batta-boom Bart had her whipped up into a frenzy. We started to roll tape. I had a vaporizer I had taken from our bedroom that I was going to put in our basement. It was on the sink and became a part of the scene. When you see the film. The exchange between Dickie and Pina was done in one take.

 Squeaky is a natural. I have heard that from Jon Kinnas and David Brenner and she has no desire to act. God love her. I can say that Dickie and Pina will be doing some more projects in the future with Tony and Bart. The two of them are like family to us. The hardest part of the filming was trying not to laugh because Tony and Chuck were nearly dying off camera and we had to stay in character. It was great to be on film with my wife.

The film came out wonderful. The beginning of "Chasing Hollywood" features Antonio Fargas better known as "Huggy Bear" from the 70's hit Starsky and Hutch, Larry Thomas "The Soup Nazi" from Seinfeld," Reggie Bannister from Phantasm and countless horror movies talking about their start in the business. Intertwined with that is many of my Chicago acting friends giving snippets on their take on the road to Hollywood. There is the plight of the "Iowa Girls." The middle is heartwarming with a true Hollywood love story and of course James Vallo shows up throughout. Jon was right he is a character. It is a James Vallo Film.

 I heard that James thought Dickie had been following him for years. That's probably just a joke. As an actor that would be compliment. I met him at the "Chasing Hollywood" Premiere as me. He is a charming guy, a true artist and his passion second to none.  The film just appeared at the Naperville film festival and distribution details are coming out soon. I will post how to get the film when available.The video posting from the film at the top of the blog are with the permission of the filmmakers.

WARNING IT DOES CONTAIN MATURE THEMES. I will be forever grateful to Jon Kinnas, Bart Tumbarello, Tony Passarella and all the people in and who made "Chasing Hollywood" so much fun. It is a great film if your looking to get into the business, love show business or just like a good flick. Check it out!

As for Dickie and Pina. They are still together and looking to settle down in the suburbs. They love Chicago as much as me and Squeaky do...

If I Could Eat My Words I'd Never Have to Shop Again!

I am grateful to GOD for giving me a sense of humor. I am more grateful that HE has one too. As an actor, comic and writer, part of the gift of that humor is that I verbalize the things that people are thinking but don't have the nerve or need to spit out. That's great because it keeps guys like me, philosophers, pundits and poets in business. Tom Dreesen told me that Carl Reiner told him early in his career to "show people your pain." I have always done that in my act. I poke a lot of fun at myself. People identify with the daily mishaps of just trying to get by.

The distance between the frontal lobe (MY MELON) and the voice box (MY BIG FAT MOUTH) is only a few inches. I have seen many pictures of the brain. It looks to me like chubby Ramen Noodles mixed with Silly Putty all smushed together and placed in an airtight bonehead container. It's quite a fascinating looking machine. When I am told that we use less than 10% of it I am appalled. What the hell is flying around in the other 90% of the noodles that we don't use?! The few I am trying to get a rise out of are driving me and everybody around nuts!

I need to call the people who design filters for water or furnaces because I have a bit of a problem. In my personal life those same skills that make me a funny comic or good improv actor sometimes make me a poor communicator. That's PC talk for sometimes I say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time and I can't help it! I want a filter between the Ramen Noodles, The Silly Putty and my pie hole!

As a recovering alcoholic/addict the problem is doubled because we learn to use words as weapons of mass destruction like fists, knives and passive aggressive napalm! We find our loved ones' tender spots in passionate moments of weakness, trust or sweet confession and BAM! If we get pushed the wrong way we will pull that sweet secret you never told a soul and spit it in your face like rattle snake venom.

In recovery that doesn't just disappear. It slowly goes away but I still have my moments. I'm not beating myself up right now. Don't worry I'll do that when I get to my rant about procrastination somewhere down the line. I am just becoming more self aware of some of my character flaws. Some of the time I am hilarious. Yet other times I can be critical and hurtful and not even realize I am doing it.

The power of a word is more damaging than a fist in my estimation. Both are violent. A sore chin will heal. The wounding of the mind through criticism and demeaning can be crippling. A perfect example is that there were many times my wife called me an alcoholic and every swear word her Berwyn upbringing could conjure up, and they meant nothing to me. The day she called me PATHETIC was the day I took my last drink. Why THAT was the word that pushed my "get sober" button GOD only knows.

The point is that a few simple letters put in a prearranged form said at the right time, under the right conditions had a life changing impact on me. The biggest argument my wife and I EVER had was about...wrapping paper! Yes you heard it...WRAPPING PAPER. Left to it's own proper use wrapping paper is associated with joy and gift giving. In the context of the argument it was connected to my ex-wife and it was a hot button for Squeaky. We were screaming. There were attorneys involved in the uproar. She shouted that I was an "Oedipus Complex!" I spat back that she was an "unclean female dog." It really got ugly. By the time we got home we had pulled over and stopped to laugh at the fact we were going to divorce court over...Wrapping Paper.

The most frequently mentioned subject in the Bible is our words and how we use them. The second is fear. Usually the two go hand in hand. I have a tendency of shooting my mouth off when I am scared of losing something, someone getting hurt or someone hurting another person I love. At that point the Ramen Noodle-Silly Putty-Tongue is connected. That is dangerous for me and something that I am working on. The quick wit and snarky comment work great on stage and for hecklers. Not so for family and friends.

I am trying to incorporate a few new rules into my personal behavior for rules of engagement. These help me with human relations and how comfortably I live with myself. They are as follows and are not all my creations. Most of them were taught to me:

1. I do not have to be right nor have an opinion on everything.
2. It's okay to say "I don't know."
3. I refuse to have arguments with people unless they are actually there!
4. The phrase "hold your tongue"... can actually be done.
5. When I am unsure of what to do, phone a friend is good.
6. When I react emotionally so do other people!
7. Doing NOTHING when I am unsure is acceptable.
8. I do not have to jump into every conversation I meet.
9. Whatever dress I want my wife to wear... pick the opposite one so she wears the one I like.
10. Turn to GOD more often Tom. When you lean on his words you need less of your own...

The Gap Between Pain and Praise!

I am grateful to GOD for giving me a sense of humor. I am grateful that HE has one too. As an actor, comic and writer, part of the gift of that humor is that I verbalize the things that people are thinking but don't have the nerve or need to spit out. That's great because it keeps guys like me, philosophers, pundits and poets in business. Tom Dreesen told me that Carl Reiner told him to "Show people your pain." I have always done that in my act. I poke a lot of fun at myself. People identify with the daily mishaps of just trying to get by.

The distance between the frontal lobe (MY MELON) and the voice box (MY BIG FAT MOUTH) is only a few inches. I have seen many pictures of the brain. It looks to me like chubby Ramen Noodles mixed with Silly Putty all smushed together and placed in an airtight bonehead container. It's quite a fascinating looking machine. When I am told that we use less than 10% of it I am appalled. What the hell is flying around in the other 90% of the noodles that we don't use?! The few I am trying to get a rise out of are driving me and everybody around me nuts!

I need to call the people who design filters for water or my furnace because I have a bit of a problem. In my personal life those same skills that make me a funny comic or good improv actor sometimes make me a poor communicator. That's PC talk for sometimes I say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time and I can't help it! I want a filter between the Ramen Noodles, The Silly Putty and my pie hole!

As a recovering alcoholic/addict the problem is doubled because we learn to use words as weapons of mass destruction like fists, knives and passive aggressive napalm! We find our loved ones' tender spots in loving moments of rapture or sweet confession and BAM! If we get pushed the wrong way we will pull that sweet secret you never told a soul and spit it in your face like rattle snake venom.

In recovery that doesn't just disappear. It slowly goes away but I still have my moments. I'm not beating myself up right now. Don't worry I'll do that when I get to my rant about procrastination somewhere down the line. I am just becoming more self aware of some of my character flaws. Some of the time I am hilarious. Yet other times I can be critical and hurtful and not even realize I am doing it.

The power of a word is more damaging than a fist in my estimation. Both are violent. A sore chin will heal. The wounding of the mind through criticism and demeaning can be crippling. A perfect first hand example is that there were many times my wife called me an alcoholic and every classic swear word her Berwyn upbringing could conjure up and they meant nothing to me. The day she called me PATHETIC was the day I took my last drink. Why that was the word that pushed my "get sober" button GOD only knows.

The point is that a few simple letters put in a prearranged form said at the right time under the right conditions had a life changing impact on me. The biggest argument my wife and I EVER had was about...wrapping paper! Yes you heard it...WRAPPING PAPER. Left to it's own proper use wrapping paper is associated with joy and gift giving. In the context of the argument it was connected to my ex-wife and it was a hot button for Squeaky. We were screaming. There were attorneys involved in the chat. She shouted that I was an "Oedipus Complex!" I spat back that she was an "unclean female dog." It really got ugly. By the time we got home we had pulled over and stopped to laugh at the fact we were going to divorce over...Wrapping Paper.

The most frequently mentioned subject in the Bible is our words and how we use them. The second is fear. Usually the two go hand in hand. I have a tendency of shooting my mouth off when I am scared of losing something, someone getting hurt or someone hurting another person I love. At that point the Ramen Noodle-Silly Putty-Tongue is connected. That is dangerous for me and something that I am working on. The quick wit and snarky comment work great on stage and for hecklers. Not so for Family and friends.

I am trying to incorporate a few new rules into my personal behavior and rules of engagement. These help me with other human relations and how comfortably I live with my self. They are as follows and are not all my creations. Most of them were taught to me:

1. I do not have to be right nor have an opinion on everything.
2. It's okay to say "I don't know."
3. I refuse to have arguments with people unless they are actually there!
4. The phrase "hold your tongue"... can actually be done.
5. When I am unsure of what to do, phone a friend is good.
6. When I react emotionally so do other people!
7. Doing NOTHING when I am unsure is acceptable.
8. I do not have to jump into every conversation I meet.
9. Whatever dress I want my wife to wear... pick the opposite one so she wears the one I like.
10. Turn to GOD more often Tom. When you lean on his words you need less of your own...