A friend of mine passed away last month.
And while there’s plenty of humor about dying and being dead, I thought I’d take a short stab at writing something less sophomoric that my usual nonsense. Not a full seven-inches-in-stab, like the murderer in the song Blood on the Dance Floor. Michael Jackson wrote some dark lyrics. But boy could he move like the wind. Anyway, I’m drifting. Back to the topic at hand – my friend’s death.
I almost got into fisticuffs with someone the other day regarding my height.
Okay, fisticuffs are an exaggeration. I haven’t ever participated in a true, punch-throwing fight. Once in my youth I jumped on top of a guy who was trying to hurt a co-worker of mine and I tried to choke him out. It was fifteen years ago and seemed like the best option at that moment. After the incident (which lasted ten seconds) my co-worker said, “I’ve never seen anyone use a strangle move before.” I must have appropriated that technique from all of the 1980s buddy cop movies I watched as a child. I haven’t been in a fight before or since.
I have been in a foul mood all day.
(this was written last night, by the way)
When I woke up I felt my normal happy self. But soon, everything changed.
I had an early situation which warranted some anger. Basically a work thing popped up unexpectedly that had me thinking I was being attacked by a certain employee. I lost my cool but took five minutes to calm down before acting. I sent a polite but firm email and received a nasty one back. The coworker called me immediately after and we worked it out over the next fifteen minutes. I still had slight residual anger but I felt better. I have 100% confidence it will get resolved.
Every so often I realize that my creativity appears to be slumbering. It is in those moments that I reach out to readers who remind me that their ideas for blog posts are much worse than my own. Here we go.
I actually have a cat vomit story from when I was wee. Goddamn do I love alliteration! Anyway, I was forced to take piano lessons from an old bat named Mrs. Mayhew. My sister and I alternated which meant that for her 30 minutes I would keep myself busy by looking around Mrs. Mayhew’s home. She had, like all old people, a shitload of National Geographic magazines. I found one of the floor which had what appeared to be a 3D volcano on the cover. It was a huge mound of brown hardened glop. Impressed I thought, “Man, this magazine really does some cool stuff!” I reached over the top of the volcano and touched the inside. Smushy. When it was my turn for the lesson I told Mrs. Mayhew how I found the issue with the model volcano on the cover. She looked puzzled, went over to where I was playing and gasped. Yep, the cat had barfed on the magazine cover. Right next to the cover story – on volcanos.
This morning I was hit with something that I wasn’t expecting.
My ex-wife just got married. I was made aware of this because my veterinarian emailed my ex-wife who forwarded it to me. This is a little complicated. Explanation necessary, D.J.!
Christina and I divorced over two and half years ago. I still contact her every once in a while. We’re perfectly friendly and sometimes I need advice on pet stuff. She, too, is a vet. Well, my dog is due for a dental. This is a relatively routine procedure but when I called the animal hospital yesterday, the vet tech had expressed interest in giving her a catheter for anesthesia. My dog is very sensitive to shots and has become sick in the past for this kind of thing. My ex has instructed me to call her before any procedure to give the go-ahead. I’m glad she’s available as she’s a great doctor.
I was called a narcissist a few days ago by a reader.
I recently crossed over the five thousand mark in comments on they blog. I would say 99% are positive/funny responses to posts I’ve written. Once in awhile I invoke someone’s ire.
This particular reader yelled at me in a private email writing that I am a crazed narcissist and with all the hurt I cause my girlfriend I need to remember that I’m the lucky one to have her in my life. One of my comedy heroes, Marc Maron, has a response to a women whenever one starts passing judgement from the audience and interrupting his set. He’s a fantastic comic and talks openly about all his challenges. I try to do the same thing here. Anyway, his response is to look at the woman with compassion and then say, “I’m really sorry for what he did to you.” It’s one of the greatest power-move dismissals ever.
Tomorrow I’m flying to Atlanta to speak at AimingLow’s blogging conference aptly named NonConference.
This will be my first speaking event where I address bloggers. I’m grateful to have been asked and over the past few months have tried to create a worthwhile presentation/discussion for attendees. My topic is about taking risks with your writing and trusting in your abilities.
To catch up with my fight against the Man, here’s part I, yo. Then, here’s part two, yo. Yo!
So, this loser police officer decided to take my driver’s license and write me up a moving violation (the same that you would get if you blew through a red light in a car). As he drove away I wished ill upon his children. Smallpox, if I remember correctly. When I arrived to work upon hearing the story everyone laughed at me.
I have a friend who is in the middle of a divorce.
Her ex-husband is causing emotional distress. They have a child and she’s unable to completely break from him. He’s not a bad guy but has a number of issues that he hasn’t responsibly addressed.
I'll never give this child another cigarette, pinky swears!
