I had one of those days at work yesterday where I wasn't feeling well, and I was being pulled in a thousand directions and never felt like I could get each task done right before getting yanked into the next more urgent thing.  The whole time I knew the day would be capped off with the wake of my friend's mom who just died.

And wakes are not fun.  So I'm mingling through the wake, and I'm not a strong mingler to begin with, but put a dead person in the room and I'm twice as bad.  It's really hard because you see someone you haven't seen in a while, and you blurt out how good it is to see them and you got a big smile, but then you catch yourself looking too happy, so you dial it back down with a frown and smooth it over with something like "I just wish it wasn't under these circumstances."  I could maybe blame it on being sick, but it's probably more about the crippling fear of me and everyone I care about getting older and dying. I left thinking what a terrible performance I put on in there.  I know I'm as sad as just about anyone in there, but while I'm in there I can't get over my own shit to just act normal.  So I cried in the parking lot a little.  

Driving back to the city from the burbs at around 8 at night, I find myself dozing off.  I switched over to the naughty station on my Sirius radio thinking that sex stuff will keep me awake, and there is a porno actress giving relationship advice to callers who want advice from porno actresses.  The one guy says that his relationship with his girlfriend is not going well and he has a couple of "side chicks" going.  Porno actress host says that the right thing to do would be to end things with the girlfriend because it's not fair to carry on these other relationships with her around.  Now there is proof that women in the "industry" are not without morals, right?  Then the caller says that his girlfriend is crazy for a variety of reasons, and porno actress does a total 180 and says "Oh yeah.  She's crazy.  I guess just keep it going with those side chicks."  What the heck?  How quickly she changed her tune!  Now, I realize these women are not without their foibles, but stand by your convictions, woman!

Anyway, to sum up, or if you just skimmed to the end:

Paragraph One: Dr. Ken bitches about having a bad day at work and feeling sick, as if that doesn't happen to everyone.

Paragraph Two: Dr. Ken's dear mother of his good friend died, and she was the sweetest woman you could ever know and baked the world's best chocolate chip cookies that the whole block tried in vane to duplicate.  She left us far too early and she will be missed.  And nobody knows how to act at a wake.

Paragraph Three: As you may have already suspected, porno ladies are not the best place to seek relationship advice.

Ah' Hell Naw'!

I was looking over my posts, and I'm pretty sure that this one never went live - it was still a draft. So, here's my 101st post of the month. Enjoy!

I like to work out with my ipod and the television on with the sound off, usually to a mixed martial arts fight because all the guys are in incredible shape and inspire me. However, often times before and after fights on that same channel, there is a show called "1,000 Ways To Die" on in which they show dramatizations of all kinds of bizarre ways in which people have died, complete with doctors and visual aids showing just why the various events would kill you.

The thing is, it's kind of sick for a show to make light of these people who have died because the narrator makes jokes and they go for laughs with the stupid dramatizations. These were real people who died, after all. Also, the women are always super hot, which is nice to look at, but I highly doubt the woman who died from masturbating with a carrot was anywhere above a rating of 2.

Anyway, even though the show is decidedly sick and wrong in most every respect, I still let out a hearty "oh hell naw!" while working out when there is something particularly gruesome, kind of like Black folks in the movie theater during a horror film.


This made me think of a sad, sad time in my life when I was piss-broke in graduate school, selling my platelets for some cash, and while all of us were lined up on our beds (I think I was the lone white guy), the clinic was airing Final Destination, the movie where, oddly enough, people die in all kinds of bizarre ways. All the slightly drained patients were providing their commentary of the movie, and I was laughing my ass off, forgetting for at least a moment how broke and miserable I was.