Archive for the 'Blog' Category

11
Feb

Oh mother fucker…

By Functionally ReTodded 6 Comments
Categories: Blog, Functionally ReTodded, Humor, MARTA, News, Now I'm standing up and Rant

I thought of many different titles for this post, but ultimately this one stuck.  Don’t like it?  Pfffft.

Oh, and a note here.  In an effort to be honest with you and myself, I have been thinking pretty deeply about why I don’t write like I used to write.

It turns out, the more stress and /or duress I’m under in my personal and / or professional life, the less my brain works towards coming up with asinine things to pretend to be mad about or amused by or to really be mad about or amused by.  (I know that sentence sucked.  I have neither the time nor the inclination to fix it.  Want it done better?  Talk to a Lit Graduate like LAB).

Suffice it to say that all of that changed last night while accidentally watching our pathetic local news .

If you didn’t click the link or read the story, here it is in a nutshell.

The Asian community (translation:  two angry Jesse Jackson-like neighborhood activists and race pimps) are upset because MARTA, our local pathetic rapid transit system, shows on its maps that the line that runs through Doraville and Chamblee is colored yellow and referred to in the recorded announcements as "The Yellow Line."

Yellow Line

Never mind that the yellow line runs from Doraville to the airport south of town.  Never mind that the yellow line runs thru the blackest of black neighborhoods in our inner-city.  This is obviously a not so subtle example of MARTA officials being racist.  (He says yelling unintelligibly into a megaphone with five people standing behind him with pathetically spelled, hand-scrawled signs).

Let me say this to the "activists" out there.

Settle the fuck down.  Settle down and work on solving an actual problem instead of burning calories on shit like this.

"But FRT," you are saying to yourself.  "This is an obvious case of racism."

Not so fast.  Here’s a little history lesson.

MARTA’s rail system is horrid.  We’ve laughed at it for over 30 years.  It’s the most inconvenient transit system to use in the developed world.  That said, it’s laughably simple.  Here’s the deal.

MARTA (Metro Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority or, as suburban folks used to call it, Moving Africans Rapidly Through Atlanta) has a logo.  And colors.  They’ve been here since forever.  Here it is:

MARTA Logo

You may notice that the colors in the logo are orange, yellow and blue.

When the rail system came into existence, there were two lines:  yellow and blue.  Yellow went north and south and blue went east to west.  Orange was left out, I assume, because it was very close to orange and stupid people would get confused and / or lost.

As the system laughably "expanded", including a split on the north end and the west end, new lines were added to the map.  They were green and red.  Again, orange was left out to avoid confusion.

Here’s the map as it stands today.

Further, the yellow and blue lines were setup MANY years ago.  I was in 6th grade or so in 1979 when they opened.  In the time since then, the communities of Doraville and especially Chamblee (or as it’s referred to now: Chambodia) have become the main areas where the Asians in this area choose to live.  It’s not really any different than Korea Town in LA or Little Italy in New York, except it’s just strip malls with nail salons and restaurants with signs I can’t read.

This is an example of the opposite of racism.  If these folks were so offended, why didn’t they start gathering on the blue or green lines?

Further, I haven’t heard any Irish people bitching about the Green Line.  And another question for me is why did the pussies at 11alive choose to post the MARTA map including ONLY the yellow line in its color and not the others?

Because that would have taken all the wind out of the reverse racists’ sails.  If you watched the news and saw a map with five different colored lines, you’d call this whole story bullshit.  And news people can’t fill thirty minutes with overt and obvious bullshit.  Unless you’re cable news.

And another thing.  It’s not like they referred to the North end of the yellow line as the slant line or the bad driver line or the good at math line.  It’s a color.  Shut the fuck up.

Yet another point not in your favor is WHY they use colors to mark the particular lines and routes.  It wasn’t to be racist.  It’s because so many people that use MARTA either can’t read English or can’t fucking read at all.  Do you think if they referred to the yellow line as the Ponce De Leon line and the blue line as the Magellan line things would be better?  Would the French and Spanish be offended?

My point is, it’s pathetic to think that the naming of the MARTA lines was subtly or overtly racist.  Primary colors were used, much like they are in other cities around the world.

You don’t have to look too hard to find racism in Atlanta, or any city for that matter, but going to these lengths to find it indicate that these Community Organizers (rabble-rousing douchebags) just wanted an entity with a perceived fat wallet to hit.

The good news is that the group has a solution.

"Do they want MARTA to change the name and color of the line?"

Nope.

They’ve suggested a sticker.  One that goes over every sticker and sign that says YELLOW.  Guess what it says?

GOLD.

That’s right peeps.  This horrifically painful example of gratuitous racism can be solved by calling yellow gold.

Sweet jesus.

I’ve got news for you jackasses.  MARTA has no wallet.  The people that run MARTA are as dumb and blind as the government, and that’s mostly because the local governments are HEAVILY involved in the operation of MARTA.  They suck at what they do worse than the post office.  And you "activists" are the MARTA of the Civil Rights "movement."

Sincerely,
FRT

21
Jan

Today’s example of GAAAAAAAH!!!

By Functionally ReTodded 7 Comments
Categories: Blog, Food, Functionally ReTodded, Humor, Now I'm standing up and Rant

As you all may or may not know, I like food.

(I shall now pause while you pick yourself AND your jaws off the floor).

I like all kinds of food.  Barring 92.7% of the world’s vegetables, I love all kinds of foods.  But my favorite favorite favorite foods are breakfast foods and specifically, fast food breakfast foods.

I love biscuits, gravy, hash browns, egg mcmuffins, chicken biscuits, sausage biscuits, etc.  If you combine poultry or pork with a cheese / egg / gravy combination and throw a fried potato item in too, you’ve got me.  Further, I am not capable of limiting my order when I get to the window / speaker / clown’s mouth.  I always order too much.

So you can only imagine how excited I’ve been these last months where every fast food joint except one (EFF EWE Chick Fil A) has a dollar menu.  I pull up, dig thru the console of my truck (or one of the kids’ piggy banks) and order a couple of items.  It’s cheap, it’s cheesy and it’s breakfasty.  YAY!

The other thing fast food joints have done is start marketing two-fers.  Much like FM radio stations in the 80’s had "Twofer Tuesdays," the fast food places now have them too.  Like Hardee’s has the "2 Sausage and egg biscuits for $2.22" and Mcdonald’s has the "2 Egg McMuffins for $2.50" or "2 Sausage McMuffins for $2.50" deals.  I’m incapable of driving by, especially if I’ve stolen helped my self to some change out of that bowl on top of the dryer.

But last week, the McDonald’s near me stopped the "2  for $2.50" thing and started a "sausage mcmuffin meal for $2.49" thing.  That’s also a winner for me since the bucket of unsweet tea is a buck and I get my caffeine and a cup to use for the day to boot.

So I pull up to the window and, as always, confirm the special.  I say "Do you still have the sausage mcmuffin meal for $2.49 available?"

After a brief pause, I got a barely awake "Ummm…I don’t know."

Me:  Silence, then "Can you ask?"

Mensa Member:  "Um…I’m not sure."

Now, it’s not like I asked if I could get soy milk or if the meal was kosher.  I asked him to confirm the ONE GOD DAMNED BREAKFAST SPECIAL THAT HIS STORE WAS CURRENTLY ADVERTISING!!!"

So I shrug, say fine, and order the number one (egg mcmuffin, hash brown and drink) with an unsweet tea and he replies "what size drink?"

Jesus.  The picture on the menu says WITH A LARGE TEA! I didn’t say SuperSize.  I literally ordered the number one.  I’m sure the cash register button for that meal is just a big fucking number one.  Leave it for Carmelita at the pick up door to work out the drink math, jackass.  Just push the button to the left of the backwards letter S (a.k.a. the fucking two) and let’s move on with it.

I pulled up to the window, was greeted by one of non-credited cast members from near the end of the movie "Awakenings," and paid the not correct price for my advertised meal he couldn’t find out about and moved ahead, because I was late.

I got my drink (lifted the lid and tested it because I don’t trust Mr. Lipton himself to get my fucking tea order correct), took my bag o’ food and left.

As I got on the highway (while talking on the phone, texting and doing my makeup) I reached into the bag for my hashbrown, which ALWAYS gets eaten first.  Potato products are on life support once you hit a public thoroughfare.

Wait a minute.  Where’s the hashbrown?  Isn’t it in here?

I look in, and there are two sandwhiches.  And no hash browns.

And the sandwiches are BOTH sausage mcmuffins, neither of which come with the god damned number one that I ordered based on the fucking picture on the menu for retards!!

To sum up, Instead of the special I wanted (sausage mcmuffin, hash brown, large unsweet tea) or the number one that I ordered (egg mcmuffin, hash browns, large unsweet tea), I got a large unsweet tea and two dollar menu items for about $4.70 that, if I’d just ordered a la cart, would have been three fucking dollars and eighteen god damned cents!!

AND I DIDN’T GET MY HASH BROWN!!

So the next time someone bitches about why they are working at McDonald’s or, more likely, bitching about how they’re unemployed (and thus NOT working at McDonald’s), the answer is simple.

You.  Are.  A.  Complete.  Idiot.

The fact is, if your day finds you punching pictures on a cash register while wearing an over-sized headset and a hair net, you don’t have a job.  You are in daycare or prison.

Enjoy your snack time and sippy cup and try not to shit yourself, you geniuses.

30
Aug

Motley Crue: A lesson

By Functionally ReTodded 2 Comments
Categories: Blog and Tucker Max Tales

How does one know if one has rocked one’s ass off at the Theory of a Dead Man / Godsmack / Motley Crue concert?

Egg on left shin
Left shin goose egg that might be a fractured tibia

Right upper arm
Right Upper Arm

Right ribcage
Right Ribcage

But on the bright side, I didn’t wet my pants, spread my legs and bare my boobs in public.

I’m pretty sure anyway.

19
Aug

I demand Emmy nominations!

By Functionally ReTodded 11 Comments
Categories: Blog, Intervention, Pop Culture and Rant

Not for me mind you. But for the creators and producers of my favorite show:

Intervention.

I’ve talked about it before many times. I’ve written about it many times. And although they tried to screw with me this season by making some of the stories sad and thus trying to make me care or prevent me from laughing, they eventually came back to what made this show great.

Last night saw the perfect storm occur in the world of morons, enablers, addicts, and anyone else on the periphery as well. This was, as God as my witness, the greatest hour of reality television ever. I’m talking on the sports level of Maris’ 61 home runs, DiMaggio’s 56 game hitting streak, Tiger at the US open in 2000, Jordan against Utah in the finals, the Red Sox winning the series in 2004, Richard Petty and Dale Earnhardt winning seven titles each, Michael Schumacher in Formula 1, and more.

Really. It was that big.

And it all started with a hard working man from Argentina (let’s say his name is Senor Dumbfuckenablertard), and a woman from Chile who we’ll call Senorita Denialtard.

Anywho, these folks immigrated to the United States for a better life, both for them and their kids. They had three boys. Their names are:

Studious overweight daddy doesn’t love me
Sebastian
Marcel

Guess which one's SODDLE
Marcel, SODDLE and Sebastian

Now, Studious overweight daddy doesn’t love me comes along and isn’t athletic really. He excels in school. Then his brothers are born and by age four they are known community wide as superstar soccer players.

Senor Dumbfuckenablertard states that growing up, his father wouldn’t let him play sports unless he’d finished his homework and brought home good grades. This upset Senor Dumbfuckenablertard as a child, and way back then he decided that he’d let his children play sports and back burner the whole education thing. "I didn’t push my sons to become doctors. I wanted them to be happy."

Super.

In her introduction, Senorita Denialtard never mentions the oldest child. She mentions how the doctor that delivered Sebastian said he was going to do great with the ladies because of his beautiful eyes. Marcel was beautiful too according to both parents.

One second here before I get too far into this story. Let me say that superficial appearancy stuff with kids doesn’t bother me. Want an earring in high school? Fine. Want to have a dumb haircut. Go crazy. It’s not permanent and isn’t a battle worth fighting in my opinion.

I do however get judgy about entitlement "kids" in their 20’s still with shaggy ass haircuts that wear stupid shit like those toboggan hats with the puffy ball on top and the two strings hanging down on each side. Especially when it’s fucking summer. Same goes for skull caps, crooked baseball caps, and really any other dumpster styled headwear. Here are a few pics to make my point:

stupid hat

Now back to our story.

I’m not going to recount every moment of the episode. You can watch it yourself here . I’m just going to rattle off some observations.

The show actually starts showing these two complete douchenozzle early 20’s shit heads smoking heroin. One’s in the bathroom and the other is in a bedroom immediately adjacent to said bathroom. Both rooms look like shit. Both young men are hacking and coughing. It’s 2pm or some such ridiculous time. You don’t find out at first, but this isn’t some flophouse or shitty North Hollywood apartment. It’s their parents’ very well appointed house. These two smoke heroin up to 10 times a day IN THEIR PARENTS’ HOUSE, and no one does anything.

I also noticed during this entire show that, although the work ethic of the parents was covered several times, not one person ever mentioned where either of these wastes of ejaculatory calories had ever worked a day in their lives. Not one. Just thought that was worth mentioning.

These two dipshits have been addicted to heroin for over two years. They smoke $600 bucks worth a day. Obviously they are dealing to make that money. Mom’s answer when faced with that is "I’ve never SEEN them deal drugs, so how do I know they are?" Smash cut to mom standing at the window watching her sun leaning in the passenger window of a strange car and then trotting back up to the house.

Mom: Who was that?

dipshit #2: A friend. I loaned him some money and he was paying me back.

Mom: What’s his name?

dipshit #2: It was a friend, alright? Sheesh (insert heroin-y eyerolling, gesturing like petulent child, then walking into the bedroom and pushing the door shut behind him in the mother’s face).

You also see dad handing Sebastian (dipshit #1) the keys to his car. Smash cut to Sebastian and Marcel returning home with a ball of black tar heroin the size of a fucking golf ball.

Smash cut again to Studious overweight daddy doesn’t love me sone saying "do you understand that they are dealing large amounts of heroin out of your house?" and Senor Dumbfuckenablertard saying "you don’t know that" and "I think you should leave if you are going to talk to me like that in my house." I assume the boy left to eat or get more of Jon Bon Jovi’s hair glued to his chin.

One funny thing is that, in the promos, the boys are referred to as local soccer celebrities, but I don’t see a picture of them in any soccer shit past about age nine. I’m guess that means that Sebastian and Marcel hit their productive apex at this point, somewhere around the end of the U-10 season when they had the banquet at the local Chuck E. Cheese.

Sebastian drank for the first time at 11 and lost his virginity at 12. Pictures of him then show him clearly intoxicated. The family glosses over it all saying "Sebastian loved to have fun and was very popular and always had good looking girlfriends. Marcel loved to hang out with him." Perfect.

sebastian high around 13
Nice hair. Don’t overlook this parents.

There’s the storyline where Sebastian was in seventh grade (age 12) and asked to leave school (translation: expelled) for possession of marijuana. Senor Dumbfuckenablertard explains it thusly:

"Sebastian was standing outside the bathroom and a girl ran up to him, handed him something and said ‘hide this for me,’ which he did. He’s a good guy." Mom added "Sebastian told us it wasn’t his marijuana, and at that point, we believe him."

Awesome.

JR (the unloved fat older brother) told the parents it was Sebastian’s pot. Dad’s response?

"I didn’t believe him. I thought he was talking trash about his brother."

Awesome again. I’m surprised this older brother didn’t change his last name to Menendez and buy some ice cream and a double barreled shotgun.

There are further tales of Sebastian not getting his way and throwing fits, terrorizing the house, etc., and Marcel being "sucked into the vortex of Sebastian." Mom referred to it as "The Uprising." Translation: Everyone’s too busy to parent this little fuck.

At 14 Sebastian tried meth for the first time, although I’m sure if you asked him or his dad, they’d say that it wasn’t his meth and that he just fell on a lit pipe that happened to have a rock stuck in it. You know, because he’s so popular and such a good kid.

Dad then said he noticed "things starting to disappear from the house." I assume that means Sebastian was stealing and pawning stuff for drug money, but dad probably thinks that that scary doll Chucky or the Great Gazoo or some shit was hiding it all.

So at 15, Sebastian went to rehab in Chile for six months.

And since everyone was so exhausted from not doing shit to parent Sebastian that they pretty much ignored Marcel who, while Sebas was in rehab, tried coke, xanax, extacy and oxycontin.

That’s right. at 13 and a half, Marcel spread his wings with more drugs than Keith Richards would do at one time all mixed together.

As is the case in most walks of life, few people strive to be with their betters. Most folks will sink to be with their lessers. That’s the case with everyone here. And here’s where Sebastian returns from rehab.

So now the two boys live free at home while moving a grand or more of heroin a day, at times with mom watching from the window, and still, there’s not even a hint of the parents wanting to do shit about it.

Meanwhile, the unloved bookish older son who lives somewhere else on his own (a novel idea) is repeatedly shunned and, at one point, told to leave the house if he’s going to continue to speak poorly of his brothers.

And all the while said brothers are in a heroin-induced fog so deep that they literally can’t keep their eyes open or speak.

So mom finally begins to see what’s going on. She must be a detective or have recently completed CSI-No shit Dick Tracy training, because she tells dad she can’t take it anymore and that she wants to put them out of the house.

I’m paraphrasing here, but dad’s rational for not kicking them out is "if they were sick or had a disease, you would kick them out into the street?"

My reply to that was no I would not. But if my son had cancer, I wouldn’t lend him my car so he could steal shit from me to pawn downtown so he could buy more cancer either.

At this point in the show I’m literally laughing my ass off. The wife too. It was so bad that I finally had to call LAB aka Midlife Mediocrity to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating the awesomeness of this episode. She assured me that I wasn’t, but we couldn’t stay on the phone because we were 30 minutes behind her in the viewing, and she was just tipsy enough that I was worried she’d spoil the ending for me.

So as the parents head for the pre-intervention, someone breaks into their house to find Dumb and Dumber’s stash, which they did. That led to Sebastian’s declaration that these offenders were in trouble since they left their blood on the floor in his house.

I guess while he was dropping out of seventh grade and doing rehab in South America, Sebastian secretly took some DNA training from the OJ trial’s own DNA expert, Dr. HenryLee.

Note: Everyone on this show calls each other "Bro," which drives me nuts. It’s like a combination of a 1970’s black comedy and Baywatch.

Oh, and one of the first things I noticed when Sebastian entered the Intervention room was his WWJD bracelet. I assume that stands for "What Would (a) Judge Do" in case he and the other idiot got caught.

So Marcel agrees to go to rehab and Sebastian ultimately relents as well. They both went to different places and the family agreed to go to the Betty Ford Clinic which I’m guessing is to see if they have a cure for Denialandenablerosis.

Sebastian is going to some medical detox in Florida after which he will enter rehab at Ambrosia at the Palm Beaches in Singer Island Florida. Here’s a pic from his intake:

Ambrosia at the Palm Beaches? What the fuck is that? I’m pretty sure I could do coke off a stripper’s ass at a place like that. Shouldn’t it be called something like "You’ve fucked up for the last time" or something? This always confuses me.

Marcel is going to the Ark of Littlewood Cottonwood in Sandy, Utah. I assume this place is where Bre’r Bear and Bre’r Rabbit vacation when their not telling racist children’s stories. Here’s his admit pic:

Oh, and Marcel continues his douchey apparel streak when to the ensemble of cargo shorts and the fucking hat, he adds the sleep pillow / neck ring thing for the plane. Only he never takes it off up to and including his admission to detox. It’s like he thinks it’s a huge pooka shell necklace or something.

But my favorite part of Intervention is the last few screenshots which I won’t spoil by commenting. Only know that the episode aired on Monday, August 10th, 2009.

So when it was all said and done, both of them left treatment, one officially relapsed, and they both moved home.

I guess mom’s threats to leave, move back to Chile, call the police, have them search the house, get restraining orders, and evict the kids might not have had the umph of follow thru that one might expect from parents who’ve shown consistency at making rules, enforcing them and demonstrating ramifications for one’s actions.

I look forward to more entertainment and inspration in the very near future.

Oh, and as a special gift to those that saw this episode, I give you this:

Where's Marcel?

**********************************************************

Edit to add:

These screen caps of the end credits looked different and I recalled drastically
different information than I got from the A&E website.  I went back to the recording of Marcel and Sebastian’s Intervention and proved myself right.  I don’t have screen caps, but HERE is what the closing shots actually said:

"Sebastian and Marcel both dropped out of treatment early and relapsed with Xanax and Heroin."

"Sebastian and Marcel’s family attended the Betty Ford Center’s Family Program."

"Sebastian returned to treatment at A Sober Way Home in Prescott, Arizona and has been sober since August 2nd, 2009."

"Marcel lives at home and continues to use Xanax."

One of the main reasons I’m adding this part is that this episode contains one of my favorite elements of the show.  It’s very rare, but it makes me laugh every time.  Every. Single. Time.

This episode aired on August 17, 2009.  Sebastian "has been sober since August 2nd, 2009."

Really?  Fifteen whole days?  Why not make it more pathetic and say "Sebbastian has been sober since a week ago Tuesday."  And for all we know, you canned this thing and don’t know that last Friday afternoon, Sebastian left rehab again and is shooting Meth and Red Bull into his eyelids.

Sweet Lord how I love Intervention.

08
Jul

In the interest of full disclosure…

By Functionally ReTodded 15 Comments
Categories: 1Doh, 2Doh, 3Doh, Blog, Functionally ReTodded, GBD, doctor and sick

or at least partial disclosure, I’m going to put an end to the cryptic posts I’ve been submitting as of late and try to let all five of my readers know what’s going on in the life and head of FRT.

(I am also posting this today, which is a public double post and will count for the post on July 5th or 6th that I threw up there and immediately made private, meaning I’m still on track with my blog every day for a year commitment.  Go me!)

DISCLAIMER:  What you are about to read is about 1% funny and 97% serious, with the remaining 2% consisting of Niacin.  If you’re here for a hearty chuckle, this ain’t for you.  Move along and go see what is happening on Twitter .  And I haven’t cleared the disclosure of this information with my wife, so if this blog disappears and you see a picture of a monkey throwing his own poo, you’ll know why.

I’ll go back to the beginning. Well, not the beginning of time, but back a while.

My wife and I suck with money.  Sounds stupid I know.  But we do.  It’s a widely known fact.  Add in that I never got any real financial guidance early on and multiply that by getting thrown out of my house 36 hours after I came home from college with nothing more than my clothes, my bed and a MasterCard I got at college with a thousand dollar credit limit, and you can see where things were headed.

I used the card to live (in addition to buying a guitar that I still have but can’t play), and maxed it out immediately.  Since I was broke and had a shitty job, I couldn’t pay the bill, so it sat.  And I defaulted on the card.  CC default = a credit rating of R9, which means that if you hand someone a hundred dollar bill, they won’t loan you a penny.  I couldn’t even get a checking account.

My now wife had pristine credit (despite zero financial training or guidance either), and we began co-habitating and living below the poverty line.  I got my dad to reluctantly loan me the money to pay off the MasterCard and paid him back per our agreement, but in the meantime, we were living off bologna, milk and bread bought at a gas station with GBD’s credit card since grocery stores didn’t take credit cards back then.

We married, sold some stock (that my dad had been saving for me) to buy our first house, and then ran our credit cards thru the roof.

But since we weren’t moving and the real estate market was good, we refinanced our house, used the money to pay off the card, and over the course of a few years did the same thing again.

When we bought our house in 1992, we paid $106,000ish for it.  When we sold our house in 2003, we sold it for $152,000ish, and walked away with about $12,000 dollars.  You see where this is going.

Thanks to the generosity of family and luck, we found the house we’re in now way below market value and got it with a good deal of equity in it.

I entered into a small business arrangement with someone and took out a 25,000 dollar line of credit on the house to finance the deal, and shocker to no one, it didn’t work out.  I learned a lot.  I also ran thru the twenty five grand.  Plus some.

So two years in, we refinance this house, take equity out, pay back the line of credit (and the all new credit card debt), and start again, but with a higher mortgage payment.

At this point, I expect Susan Powter to run out and yell STOP THE INSANITY!!!

STOP THE INSANITY

You get the point.  When they talk about debt and Americans and not saving, that’s us.  Period.

Fast forward to 2007.  I was a contractor with shitty insurance when my son was born.  He was immediately sent to the NICU for five days and when it was all said and done, we got a bill for about seventeen grand.  Add in a few unplanned emergencies related to vehicles, etc., and we were credit card full again.

Without going into all of it too deeply, my wife, in an effort to protect me from me, kept how serious our money problems were from me.  It was kind of like the part in "Field of Dreams" where Annie is talking to Ray on the phone while he’s traveling with Terence Mann, and behind her, sitting at the kitchen table, are her brother and the rest of his business partners and they’re looking to take the farm.  I have never been involved in the payment of bills or our finances in general.  She always took care of it.  (FYI:  That’s not a good plan).

GBD was also under some enormous pressure from her job.  A job that allows her to stay home but saw her pay reduced last year significantly, further tightening the situation. That financial and job pressure in addition to running a household with three kids started taking its toll on her personally and us as a couple.

Then I got a boss that had no business being my boss or anyone else’s, and it became her sole mission to get rid of me.  Oh, and I mentioned a while back that uber-corporate giant WidgetCo. had decided to buy our little specialty widget company, and we’re looking at more stress still, considering that I will probably be seeking new employment fairly soon in a not at all great job market.

You get the point.

During that period, my wife has been increasingly concerned that I have an anger problem and that I’m quite possibly suffering from depression.

(To be clear, I’ve never struck or threatened to strike anyone.  In my family anyway.  I’ve threatened to kick the asses of a number of teenagers speeding thru my neighborhood or some douche that hit my car).

I would argue with her that I didn’t have an anger problem, but that no one would listen to me unless and until I got angry.  The depression concern I more or less dismissed out of hand.  For a while.

But recently GBD and I have been drifting apart.  And if not actually drifting apart, then drifting in a similar direction but not near each other, if that makes sense.  It’s not on purpose at all either.  It just seems that the stress levels are so high that (speaking for myself), it’s easy to get into self preservation mode and not worry as much as I should about the people and things around me.

To that end, I contacted and made an appointment with a counselor/therapist/psychiatrist guy to address my issues, both real and perceived.  I feel a little better just having done that.  I hope to Christ it helps, otherwise telling all of this stuff to all of you will be WAY more embarrassing than all of Avitable’s nudity on the interweb.

So that’s why recent posts have been cryptic, morose, and downright sad and pathetic.  But I’m hoping that this is a start to maybe finding out some stuff I don’t know and / or didn’t know were out of whack and try to get them figured out or at least out there for discussion.

That said, who wants some pie?

Hugs,
FRT

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