Love and Cancer - part V (I quit THIS job!)

This is my fifth blog on the subject of dealing with dad's cancer.

I can't remember which Adam Sandler movie it is, I think it's Spanglish, when Sandler's fed up housekeeper says, "I quit this job" and Sandler's reply is, "I quit THIS job!" meaning his life in general as a fed up (unrewarded yet) devoted husband, father, provider, domestic peacekeeper, etc.

There's no reason for (anything) regarding cancer. I took time off work to go back to MN to be with dad and his wife; to say hello one more time; to say goodbye one more time; to hug my brothers; to unite; to reunite; to laugh; to cry; to spend time with loved ones; to just be... together.

And then I got sick.

Seems I had a touch of "walking pneumonia". Mycoplasma Pneumonia. Whatever. And just when you think it can't get any worse, it does. It did.

I was sick for about 8 days. Only I didn't know how sick I was for most that time. It was a mild case of walking pneumonia, a little worse than a common cold, but it felt like someone was constantly squeezing the air out of my lungs. The congestion, coughing, and sinus pain was awful.

My dad has zero immune system. Naturally, I wasn't allowed to see him.

Motherfucker!!

Stress.

Once I realized I was sick, I couldn't see my dad; I'm trying to coordinate time off to get home; Im getting text messages from home about my dad's not surprising yet failing condition; I'm still working my (then) hospitality job; if I couldn't go home might as well continue working, never mind the fact that's most likely where I got sick to begin with.

At this rate,

In this vicious circle,

I was never going to be well enough to see my dad.

Not my bosses problem. Not my coworkers problem. I get that. I never asked my coworkers for anything. They're equally not my misfortune.

I go to work. I do my job. I go home. For some people that's plenty good enough. Those are the people I love working with. For others, they need more. They need their egos boosted. They need everything not part of the job requirement, and more. How irritating.

Still,

Withal,

I rationalized. I reasoned. I tolerated. I stayed the course.

Until,

A couple male egos with serious attitude, thought they deserve more attention than my dad.

You know these guys; they pop wheelies on their crotch-rockets in dead stop traffic in between cars; they talk and laugh obnoxiously loud on their cell phones in restaurants because they think everyone wants to hear their "important" conversation; they indecently cough and sneeze with no attempt at stifling the spread of their germs. "Look at me!!"

Yeah. You're cool.

I don't tolerate machismo. Not in the work place. Not in my personal life. Its uneducated, unsophisticated, juvenile, and amateur. I'm being redundant to stress my point.

So,

Hey guess what?

I quit THIS job!

Are you kidding me? Regardless if you work at an upscale country club, posh nightclub, or McDonalds, it's just a job.

Back when I WC'd regularly, one guy, after one year working together, refused to work with me any longer because I never came with him.

Male ego.

He suggested we got together off cam and practiced. Practiced!! Look handsome, we did our jobs. Successfully.

Practice? Practice what? Are you serious?

Look,

I show up. I do what I'm paid to do. I leave. And if everyone does their job properly we all make money. Hooray!

Money. That's the goal in the work place. Money. Am I the only person who keeps that in check?

But,

There always has to be one idiot in every work place that wants you to metaphorically come, because they don't know how to pop wheelies in between parked cars.

Annoying.

My dad being sick isn't what caused these guys to get on my last and final nerve, they would have managed that all on their own if given more time. My dad being sick merely precipitated the outcome.

I quit THIS job!!

I so did.

In fact, my dad being sick urged many things in all areas of my life to a final conclusion. All for the better.

Your god works in mysterious ways.

FIFA Soccer scandal. More deflated balls??

Oh. No. Just 10 million bribery corruption...

Proverbs: Roth1986

I don't know what's funnier, the guy looking to have sex with a girl in a wheelchair; or the couple who are no doubt collectively 300 years old, inquiring if I want to be "dominated". 

Brilliant! 

Uh, no. Maybe for (and I believe the proper term is) a large fuck sum of money. And even then I'm "disinclined to acquiesce" their ridiculous offer.

In other words,

"Not if you were the last immigrant grocer on earth!"

Proverbs: Yankee Rose (D.L. Roth)

Love and Cancer - part IV (the god damn talk)

This is my fourth blog about dealing with dad's cancer

Just to break the monotony I tried getting to the Nuart, to see HR Giger, Dark Star, but in between dad, family, arranging another trip home to MN, work, and suddenly nursing a cold, I simply didn't have time (or energy) for anything else.

All I kept thinking was; I'm supposed to be in France. Paris, near Saint Germain de Pres. I wanted to be the next (American modern Buddhist) existentialist to sit at the cafés, eat fresh baked croissants, inhale second hand smoke, and write something completely philosophical, angsty and brilliant.

Coffee and cigarettes. It's a thing with French people. And before you get "holy" about the second hand smoke comment, my dad being sick and all, I'm an adult, I make my own decisions. I was involved with a Swede for a number of years who smoked 2 packs a day. Though I had quit smoking, I was inhaling second hand smoke the whole time we were together. The things we ignore in the pursuit of happiness, eh?

Be that as it may

I'm glad I didn't go to Paris. Dad wanted me to still go. I'm glad I didn't. The Louvre, will be there next year.

Hurry up and wait. That's the game now. Lots of waiting. Wait for June 2nd to go back to MN. Wait for dad to transfer to the next hospital. Wait for the next specialist. Wait for improvement. Wait for...

Just

Sitting and waiting.

Your life will be put on hold. Your patience will be tested (repeatedly). You will fight with your family. You will reconfirm who your true friends are. And you will quickly realize if the people you work for, and with, are the right people to work for, and with. You will rethink your life goals both long and short, and if you want to keep living at your present address. Nothing will be the same. Nothing.

You will do a lot of inner (soul) searching. Not because a loved one is dying of cancer, but because of the way people will react towards you as you go through this awful time.

Many people acted inconvenienced by my dad's cancer, including family. These people act as if I owe them something for redirecting all my attention to my dad. Right about now is where I blog the words "those people can suck my dick" but I'm trying to avoid saying things like that because, well for one, it goes without saying, and for two, my vulgarity doesn't help (you) in the least... though it does make me feel better!

What do you think happens when when you die? I don't think anything happens. You die. The end. I guess that's why I never grasped religion. Not all Buddhists believe in reincarnation. I don't. Then again I'm more philosophical, than Buddhist, though my philosophy stems from the basic fundamentals of Buddhism. This is what I wanted to write about in Paris. I wanted to further reflect upon what (HH the) Dalai Lama, spoke of at Times Square, on the subject of emotionally/mentally benefiting being a Buddhist/existentialist, but in 2015.

I'm not "against" religion. I'm truly not. But when used as a crutch and an excuse rather than facing and correcting the errors of self, thus being more self aware, drives me crazy.

"I have sinned!"

Ok look, if this isn't a porn I don't want to see or hear about it.

You've sinned. Um ok. If you're not happy about it, don't do it again.

There. Problem solved.

My dad being a (Mormon raised) born again Christian, made/makes it difficult to have conversations with him sometimes, especially during (this) time. He says things, I just don't have a response for. Actually I do, but I don't want to get into a theological debate with him.

Dad was a wrecking ball when he was younger. Did a lot damage. Openly admits it. He was never your typical dad. He never said dad-like things until he was in his late 50's. I don't think he ever once told me as a kid to clean my room, or eat my vegetables. But he and I understood each other and we never passed (too much) judgement. There are very few words in the English language I don't say around my dad.

More than anything both dad and I always needed to "go" somewhere, anywhere, else. We were always searching to find our "place". You either get it, or you don't. It was always about the journey. The journey helped us become who we want to be.

Now, today, for dad, it's the destination. And only he knows how to get there. It's terrible to watch. I struggle with it. Hard.

I struggle watching him pray, when there were/are other options that might actually WORK.

But

THIS is how dad needs to get to his destination. And who am I to say if it's right or wrong.

Maybe 25 years from now I'll look back at this time and be enlightened. Maybe dad is teaching me something I can't comprehend right now.

Just don't tell my dad I blogged that last part or he'll gloat. He's sick. But he's never too sick to tell me he told me so.

Petulant

As in, stop being so petulant.

P.e.t.u ....

Never mind. Just ask one of your friends.

Unconditional

I know you think I just made that word up, but it's usable in Scrabble. Trust me.

Love and Cancer - part III (Men)

This is my third blog installment dealing with my dad’s cancer.   

I don’t know my mother. My dad has been taking care of me since I was three years old. I don’t know who my mom is, and to be perfectly honest, I never cared. My dad is both parents. I remember, vividly, in Technicolor, the day dad took me to the store to buy sanitary napkins for the first time. Dad paced and fidgeted in the grocery store isle nervously while I read each box of feminine product carefully to make sure we bought the retail I needed. When we left the grocery store that day I looked up at my dad, he looked down at me, eyes filled with kindness, and he didn’t know if he was supposed to hug me, pat me on the head, give me a speech, or what. It was adorable really. Poor guy! Not knowing what to do that day, dad took me out for ice cream. Pistachio Nut. My favorite.

I started smoking when I was 12 years old. I was buying packs of cigarettes when I was 17 years old. In Minnesota, smoking wasn’t/isn’t that big of a deal. There was a smoking lounge in my high school for juniors and seniors, meaning for 16-18 year olds. I’ve blogged about it before (somewhere) but the reason I quit smoking, when I was in my 20’s I got sick, twice, once with a nasty lung infection, the second time with a full blown respiratory infection that almost killed me. I was in my late 20’s in the hospital fighting for my life. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve had maybe three cigarettes since then. Last time I smoked a cigarette was in 2012. One lone cigarette. On Aramis’s deck. Stupid. Moron.

Will I get lung cancer too? Maybe. But should that day come, I’ll let the cancer take me. No chemo. Nothing.

One of the hardest things watching a loved one fight for his life, is meeting wonderful new people. You, complete strangers, you don’t know the horror and strain I’m under on a daily basis watching my beloved dad fight for his life. What hurts the most is how badly dad wants to live. He wants to be with his wife, his kids, his grandkids. He wants to watch us grow old, all of us.           

I was walking into the Target, Northridge, that day when dad called me, told me Rick was diagnosed with a brain tumor. The wind instantly knocked out of me. I kneeled down on the sidewalk leading to the store’s front doors, doubled over, and trying to breathe. Moments later, this very nice guy stopped, and kneeled down next to me while I was still talking to my dad, he asked if I was ok. He asked if there was someone he could call for me. He was so kind. So worried. But there was no one. (I still think about that guy. I wonder who he was. How he’s doing. P.s. Thank you for caring!)

 I’m so exhausted.

Can’t imagine what my dad’s wife must be going through, this woman who has loved and taken care of my dad through better or worse. I adore this woman. Truly.

They say girls seek men like their fathers.

 If that’s true…

Love me while we’re together. Miss me when I’m gone. Love me when I come back. Unconditionally. That’s the only man for me. 

 

One day I'll meet you.  

Love and Cancer - part II (family)

My immediate family and I couldn’t be more opposing of one another if we tried. We’ve all grown into adults that should probably never sit in the same room together without helmets… and some kind of law enforcement.

It’s not that my immediate family doesn’t like each other, but the way each other has chosen to live, fiercely conflicts. I just want to keep it simple; I.e. if it looks like rain, bring an umbrella; if you get a headache, take some aspirin; if it doesn’t work (this way) than try it (that way), etc., that’s how I live, simple. It’s not complicated until (you) make it complicated. And my family loves it complicated, because my family loves drama. Correction, my family loves attention, and desire for that constant attention only leads to drama.

 

You know these people, they make themselves seen (look at me!), then do and say stupid shit to piss people off, hoping for more attention.     

I want to live sight unseen. I’ve never wanted to be famous. I’ve never even used my real name on art/writing projects. I don’t have Facebook, or Instagram, or LinkdIn, or any other social media. I have a Twitter account but it’s inactive. Point is, leave me (the fuck) alone. I’ll deal with dad and his cancer my way. All I asked from my family is to keep me informed if anything (big) happens. I live in CA. The rest of my immediate family remains in MN, where I grew up. Aaaaand there’s reason for that. It’s not sheer happenstance I live 5 states away from my family. It’s completely intentional I assure you.

But can my family keep me informed without issues and drama? No, of course not.

When dad was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, my brother panicked, and then called me late at night and made me panic, but my brother refused to tell me why he was panicking. Instead of saying, “Hey sis, dad’s cancer is back, and it looks serious this time. Call him tomorrow” my brother turned it into a big riddle, a secret, and he wouldn’t tell me why he was calling at 9pm, which is unusual because at that time it’s 11pm in MN, my brother never calls that late. My brother just completely freaked out on the phone but wouldn’t tell me why. All he said was “Call dad tomorrow. It’s important.”

Ok well, you’re on the phone with me now. So why don’t (you) tell me?

“No. It’s better if you hear it from dad.” My brother said.

Was there a death? Did someone die? It’s 11pm at night in MN! You’re going to make me wait 8 long horrible hours to sit and stew over the worst case scenario, and that’s only if I actually get dad on the phone in the morning. Just fucking tell me!

Normally, I would hang up with my brother and call dad regardless of the late hour, but my dad and his wife have this answering service, if I ring one number and no one answers (because they turned the ringer off) the call will bounce to another phone line, and if no one answers that phone line (because the ringer is off) the call will bounce to yet another phone line, and if no one answers that phone line (because the ringer is off) the call will return to the original number I dialed – and then go into voice mail. It is the most annoying thing in the world. It would be quicker to hang up and dial each phone line separately, but you can’t do that because now all three numbers are tied up with this answering service. Watching microwave popcorn is faster than calling home.

But my brother refused to tell me the important news, which I already guessed couldn’t be good.

“No” my brother said, “better if you hear it from dad.”

And that’s what it’s like talking to my family. Drives me crazy. My brother may as well just call me and said, “I have some important news!” (click!) and then hang up. Same thing.

My relationship with my brothers carved my relationships with other men. I can always tell when men have entered the “friend zone” or when men have entered the “absolutely do not date zone” when they begin to irritate me the same way my brothers do. For example…

So now, anytime something happens with dad and his cancer, one of my brothers gets oddly jealous of the attention. I don’t understand it either. My brother actually said, “You know, I find it interesting. I get married, suddenly dad gets lung cancer. My wife and I have a baby, and dad has cancer again.”

Wow

Ok look,

I’m rather certain dad didn’t get cancer just to steal some spotlight away from your marriage, and birth of my nephew… but that would be pretty fucking amazing if he did.

On the scale of family events, dad’s cancer takes priority. And my brother went out of his way to make dad feel bad about it. Dad started to feel guilty that he got cancer. And when that guilt wasn’t enough for my brother, my brother went out of his way to make dad’s wife feel guilty about it too.

Recently when dad was admitted back into the hospital, I was upset that my immediate family didn’t send (so much as) a fast text saying, “Dad’s back in the hospital. Call us.” My brother, my little nephew’s dad, said, “You know it’s hard keeping in touch with you when you’re so far away. I have a wife, a new baby, clients, it’s hard keeping in touch.”

What a bunch of crap.

So rather than saying to his wife, “Honey, can you hold the baby for one minute, I have to text my sister and let her know dad is back in the hospital” my brother instead chose to call my dad’s wife and tell her to keep me better informed of what’s going on with him. As if my dad’s wife doesn’t have enough to do.

And then there’s my dad’s ex-wife who thinks it’s funny my dad is sick.

Right now, today, I tolerate my family. That’s the best I can do. I tolerate them.

My one brother repeatedly tells me to “Come home, sit by dad’s side, hold his hand so he knows you’re there.”

And my response is always the same. “How long should I do this for?”

Here in the U.S., when you’re the kid who leaves home, when you’re the kid who decisively ventures off the beaten conservative path, no husband, no kids, pack light, little responsibility, etc., when you’re that kid who purposely lives as simply as possible, you’re automatically the family fuck up. And the only way to redeem yourself in your family’s eyes is to bear the brunt of familial responsibility when your brothers are too busy living their own extremely important lives.

And if you’re unwilling to do the things your brothers themselves are unwilling to do, then why bother keeping in touch with you.

I reminded my brothers, I live in CA, I have a job, and I have things going on in my life as well. These things may not be as important as having a wife and kids, but it’s my life. I don’t have an unlimited amount of money to keep traveling back and forth to MN, from CA, every time my brothers think I should.

“I don’t understand why you live in CA in the first place.” Members of my family love to say.

Huh.

 

I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.

Love and Cancer - part I (medicinal marijuana)

As I write this blog, my dad is lying in a hospital bed, cancer eating away at him, slowly killing him.

I have suffocated myself for the past 7 months, held off writing about this experience regarding dad’s cancer, but I just can’t remain silent anymore. I just can’t.

For whatever reason, people read this blog, this stupid asinine blog, originally only meant to entertain my friends.

Maybe, some kid is going through the same thing.

So here it is…

My dad is dying. To be more specific, he’s dying of lung cancer. Dad quit smoking over 28 years ago, but he still got lung cancer.

Dad’s body is currently too weak for chemo, too weak for insulin (dad is an insulin diabetic), and he can no longer eat on his own. Dad is fed through a feeding tube his wife monitors around the clock.

My friends wanted me to join a cancer support group. Not at first, because my friends know my long standing simple philosophical beliefs regarding death. But not everyone in my family shares my simple philosophical beliefs. And not everyone so easily accepts death (including my own) the way I do.

Specifically, my friends wanted me to join the cancer support group when (this) happened…

When dad started chemo, his appetite was gone. Dad stopped eating. Diabetics must eat when their body tells them to. Daily insulin diabetics, like dad, must take insulin on schedule. After taking chemo, dad stopped eating, which messed up his insulin, and he was losing weight, fast, which made his chemo treatments even harder.

“I want to live! I can beat this! I just need to stay positive! I want to live!” my dad kept saying. But the fact was is he was losing weight, and his body was taking a severe beating. So I did what any daughter would do, I had “the talk” with dad; “the talk” meaning medicinal marijuana.

“Just consider it as an option.” I said, “Until you get your weight back.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Dad replied firmly.

Well, okay then. I’m out of ideas. I don’t know what you can do to regain your appetite. The doctors couldn’t help dad. Practical medicine was making dad sick to begin with. How does one prescribe medicine to alter the side effects of another medicine, without diluting (that) medicine from killing dad’s cancer?  

Impossible.

Again, I brought up medicinal marijuana. Again, dad said absolutely not, and in the same breath he told me he was -5 pounds, then -3 more pounds, then -7 more pounds, then -4 more pounds, and so on. Dad was losing weight so fast, I could hear the fear in his fear in his voice. But dad refused medicinal marijuana as an option to regain his appetite. Instead, dad tried alternative methods to regain his appetite: herbal medicine, acupuncture, healing massage, praying, yoga, church… and yet the outcome was still the same each and every time, -3 more pounds, -4 more pounds, -2 more pounds, and the weight kept dropping off.

I’m a (big) believer that people should die the best way they see fit, especially with cancer or terminal illness. Only, my dad didn’t/doesn’t want to die. He wants to live!

I’m not a doctor. I’m not a scientist. I don’t know what medicinal qualities marijuana has, if any. I just wanted my dad to eat. And it was heart wrenching that he wouldn’t do this (one) thing that might actually help him eat. He did everything else just short of planting a turnip under the North Star at the stroke of midnight, but he flat out refused to smoke pot. So I tried to psyche dad into eating. Reminding him of the food he loves to eat, and all the celebrations we had at restaurants I know he loves dining in. And the next thing I know, my brother yells at me to back off, and let dad continue trying alternative healing methods to regain his appetite.    

“But if only dad tried this (one thing!) that might help him regain his appetite, why won’t he try it?? How can it hurt to smoke a joint, any more than having some little old Chinese woman stick pins in his face?!” I argued.

No matter.

Whatever.

I was the bad guy.

The end.

I wanted to bang my head against the wall. That’s when friends suggested I join a cancer support group. But what could any support group say to me I didn’t already know? Instead of feeling peaceful, I would just be more agitated having to listen to all their shit!

So I let dad do his thing without saying another word.

I sat back and did nothing.

And I continued to do nothing.

(Meanwhile)

-3 more pounds

-2 more pounds

-5 more pounds  

- 4 more pounds

And I’m going to work, trying to have a life, pretending everything is ok.

-3 more pounds

-2 more pounds.

So now, presently, dad’s in a hospital hooked up to a feeding tube, fighting one infection after another, too weak for chemo, and his insulin.

I can accept a lot of things. I truly can. I can accept how seriously ill dad is. I can accept he didn’t want to smoke pot. I can accept he may die any day now. What I have difficulty with, is that he refused to do the (one thing) that might have helped him at that time.

But, like I said, I believe people have a right to die however they see fit.

I’m just the selfish jerk who doesn’t want dad to die least of all (this) way.

Beat the grass

Not to watch the snakes slither out, but rather to see which snake will take the stick from you.

That's the snake you need to get rid of.

Or

Keep.

"There he go"

Thank you for the text, mister.

Still idling.

What more can I do????

Fuck money.

(I don't want the money)

All I want...

All I have ever wanted...

When he does "go" for loose ends to finally be tied.

After that I'm done.

"Smile and wave goodbye"

I think about dying, death. I think about it a lot. It's a shame people aren't allowed to admit these things without seeming suicidal. But why shouldn't we think about death? It's the one absolute guarantee in life.

How do you want to die?

Two years ago I blogged about my childhood friend, Rick, and my dad. How they are (were) the two most influential men in my life. Since then Rick has died from brain cancer, and my dad is dying of lung cancer.

And while both dad and Rick, were given time to die, both were given time to say goodbye to loved ones, neither one considered before how they wanted to die.

I think about death.

I have friends (like Casey and Aramis) who never want to die. Never. They want to live forever. And I tell them the only way to be immortal - is to die.

I have fantasies of a heroic death by saving children from a blazing inferno, only to be trapped inside once all the children are safe. But truthfully, if we crunch the numbers, all things considered, I'll probably die alone in a hospice overseas.

Can't escape death. Might as well plan for it....

Be that death by disease, strife, old age, or natural disaster...

"Don't you know that you are a shooting star. And all the world will love you just as long, as long as you are, a shooting star."
- Bad Company

HERSHEY spread

Suck it, Nuttela!! USA!! USA!! USA!! Bet you thought this blog was going in a totally different direction, didn't you?

SLAM-O!!!

The Asians next door to me (for whatever reason) are completely unable to close their front door without slamming it shut. They must hold the world record for how many times they can open the door in the span of an hour, and I know every time they open their door because they slam it shut like 13 year girl who hates her parents! Why are you slamming the door?! You do know the door will click shut without kicking the force of Bruce Lee, into it! It's probably one of those inter-continental backwards things where they know if the women are pissed off if she politely shuts the door. One quiet little.... click. That's it. You're dead in your sleep.

P.s. Please stop spitting in the hallway.

Princess Charlotte !!

I called it. You read it here first. I BLOGGED IT HERE

Princess Charlotte, sounds proper.

I still think it's funny Bookies had papers for this. Apparently Royal baby names are bigger news in England, than say, the Mayweather vs Pacquiao, fight. And though people were rooting hard for Pacquiao, did anyone really think he was going to win?

Really?

Really?

No, really?

Trump is a moron

I hope he NEVER becomes president.

May the 4th be with you

You know what this means... Kelly's going to make me wear the hair buns. Maybe he should wear the Chewy suit. I hear people are into that.

Surfers paradise. Waves are huge. Be careful out there.

Where, wear, ware. Stupid smartphone. Doesn't it know when I type "hftjhgfd" I mean "wear"! I refuse to take responsibility for my typing with this technology. Which might explain why it's taking so long to program our robots.

* I'm going to edit (the fuck!) out of this blog right here!!!

C+ !!

But Aramis, the kids are using C++ to build robots! ROBOTS!!

How are we going to keep up using just C+ ?

I want my robot to perform "long row to hoe" C+ just won't do!

We're "this close" to simply being hooked up to the computer for full body sexual gratification software stimuli, THIS CLOSE!

Okay, okay, okay

Sometimes "size" impresses me but only if I'm horny. Otherwise meh.

Down to earth

Past playmates: stock broker, professor, and aerospace engineer 

Just regular guys I met online. Down to earth. Fun. Kind. Successful. Extremely rare blend. 

Definitely worth the wait. 

Wealthy and fit

Blah. Big deal.

There's being fit, and then there's looking like a haggard skeleton junkie.

Because I don't do drugs, couples try impressing me with their wealth.

Sorry. Buddhist. Couldn't care less.

I'm not impressed with your dick, your money, or your "fitness".

Shallow and superficial doesn't turn me on.

Welcome to the world, Princess

Congratulations. The Duchess of Cambridge, gave birth to her second child this morning, a girl. And according to Telegraph.co.uk, bookies favor the names Alice and Charlotte.

Bookies.

Bookies?

As in, Jimmy (the Iceman) Jones, at the back of some smokey pub taking Euro bets?

Alice? No. I'm hoping for Charlotte.

Princess Charlotte, sounds proper.

Princess Alice, sounds like a James Wan, movie

ATTN: Brian Williams

Either return to work (doesn't have to be NBC) or text me a dick pic selfie. Someone give that guy my phone number! One or the other mister Williams. One or the other.

Stupid is as stupid does

When pissed off by those who lack common sense, I can always rely on the CNN morning news anchors to drown the world with even more stupid.

"... With this morning's surprising announcement by Baltimore's State Attorney's office"

Yes. Surprising. Sure. Aside from the week long rioting, looting, arrests, further civil disobedience, and protesting demanding a response to public allegations against the officers present when Grey died, this morning's (scheduled) news conference was in all the online/newspapers yesterday.

But apparently CNN is surprised.

Have you seen the movie Idiocracy? It's the future. 

Let the girl do her job!

Just heard Baltimore State Attorney Mosby, announce the charges against the police officers present during the death of Freddie Grey. Let the girl do her job. I have zero faith in news reporters. During the Q&A portion of the news conference after her announcement of the charges against mentioned police officers, Mosby had the (unholy) patience to reply to reporters over and over, "I can't answer that question without compromising the trial." Followed by another news reporter asking the exact same question. So please allow me to finish Mosby's reply of, "I can't answer that question without compromising the trial" by adding what we were all thinking, "I can't answer that question without compromising the trial. Did you not hear me the first time! How about the second time, or the third! Christ almighty on Friday, I know you people heard me! I don't have time to stand here and repeat myself all day! I got work to do!"