So I have a lot of rules self-imposed on myself. And one of them is to not use the phrase, “self-imposed on myself.”
Starting over…
So I have a lot of rules I’ve imposed on myself, mainly to do with avoiding slipping into a radical depression.
For example, I can’t go to a restaurant on Mother’s Day. Inevitably, you’ll see an elderly mother with freshly set curls, wearing her church clothes, sitting in that booth across from her deadbeat, dirty-jeans-wearing, greasy-hair-having middle-aged son. They’re just sitting there. Staring at each other. Like strangers.
Well, not exactly like strangers.
The mom is more like – I did not raise my boy to be a marginally employed, thrice-divorced, kinda gross and creepy man with a history of drug abuse.
And the dude is like – My mom has never understood me. I can’t work. I’m disabled. I slipped and fell at an amusement park 10 years ago. How am I supposed to work? Plus I’m busy every day. I have to walk around the city collecting aluminum cans and scrap metal from dumpsters. That ess pays good money. And another thing, my buddy Nugget is about to get me a job via his boss Snake.
And then, of course, the mom ends up paying for her own Mother’s Day lunch because the son swears he’s gonna pay her back on payday. Which, of course, never comes.
Umm…sorry about that.
What I really meant to tell you was that I made an important decision on Saturday night. I decided I can no longer allow KFI to cause or affect my level of depression.
I can’t really think of anything worse on a Saturday night than sitting around listening to Bryan Suits talk about war for three hours. But that’s what KFI insists on throwing at us.
I’m out. I can’t do it. So from now until KFI gets it together and moves Wayne Resnick back to his home time slot, KFI does not exist to me on Saturdays 7-10pm.
I’ll be out dancing at the Red Onion. Woooooooooooooooo!!!!!
(What? People don’t still go out dancing at the Red Onion? Hmpf.)







