I was born. I suffered.
I suffered some more, and hopefully,
I won't die a painful death.
This is my life.

My Mother and The Golden Girls



I’ve been thinking about my mother lately. It’s strange, memories flash through my mind-mostly fleeting. Even years after she’s been gone, I sometimes expect her to call me on the phone. I usually have a few wacky hyper-realistic dreams involving my mother every week. They mostly are nonsensical. Some are sad. Some are hilarious. My mother usually does things in my dreams that she never did in real life. For instance, cooking steaks on the grill in the backyard while it was raining. I’m pretty sure she never used the grill in her life.
It is fair to say that nothing reminds me of mother more than when I catch an episode of The Golden Girls. My mother was an old Italian, her mother was an old Italian. They related to Dorothy and Sophia (my mother was named Dorothy). I can vividly recall those two talking on the phone laughing about Sophia’s latest antics. Personally, my mother was Blanche. Not the slutty part, but the fashionable-dressed to the nines, side of Blanche.
So, yes, I do watch The Golden Girls when it’s on. It’s fucking still funny all these years later. I can just hear my mother laughing along with me.


When I'm Dead

Oh, the joyless torture of everyday life. I long for the extreme static and noise to end. I need the wretched waste of time commuting to work to stop. The absolute finality that death will bring is my only peace.

Cheers!

Moving

Moving is generally a horrible experience. I have personally moved more times than I wish to recall. Rustling through forgotten boxes and papers is emotionally draining. My most gut-wrenching moves were ones that took me far away from my kids. Every card or drawing found, brings back a flood of memories. You really can’t hold back the tears. Every move I undertake, I seem to have less and less stuff. My aim is to get my moves down to just one car load. Maybe there’s just something intriguing about having absolutely nothing to show for your life.

For my last move, I’m hoping to have only the clothes that I’m buried in.

Marriage-Related Sex Initiation

Do you want to have sex before or after I mow the lawn?
If you don’t stop playing CoD by 10:30, we’re aren’t having sex.
It’s not Saturday.
It’s Saturday
If I don’t finish grading these 75 essays, you’re not getting sex this weekend.
Wife: Oh boy, it’s my birthday-no sex.
Husband: Oh boy, it’s my birthday-sex time!
Insert any holiday in 6 and 7. Wife: I want another kid. Husband: I can hold out.
Wife: Ok, I’m horny, let’s have sex. Husband: But Hitler is on.

If I Owned My Own Company

Of all the long dead of American dreams, is being your own boss. You remember that old and crusty dream, right? No middle managers berating and mentally abusing you in your cubicle, yes, it would be grand. I have put together some points from the one page The DeathBecomesMe Corp. employee handbook.

 Monotonous and meaningless meetings are forbidden, along with anything that could even be considered a meeting. Talking about the job at the water cooler? Verboten! If you want to drone on and on in front of people for an eternity, do it somewhere else bub.

Next on the chopping block-annual performance reviews. Most companies now use the painful and convoluted performance review to eliminate any chance of getting a raise. If applying for a job at DeathBecomesMe Corp., know that you may or may not get a yearly raise. If that's not good enough for you, sod off.

*Any instances of Microsoft SharePoint will be napalmed into fucking oblivion. If you love SharePoint, go waste your life away somewhere else.

So, there you have it. DeathBecomesMe Corp.: "We Won't Make You Want to Commit Suicide."