Common expression from my wife, “Hey are you sleeping?”
Snapping out of my dream, “NO!”
I get good snoozes occasionally.
Sorry if you we’re telling me the secret of life or describing where treasure was buried. I missed that.
OTOH..your secret is safe.
Who needs bloody books when you have Dr. Feelgood on the box?
I’m one of the few people you’ll meet who’s written more books than they’ve read.
As someone who has read some of your stuff, I can support your assertion. I think your dark sense of humor is one of my favorite things about you.
And I have a dark sense of humor, too. I’m always willing to dig deeper, finding another level below whatever people thought was as dark as the joke could get.
During my stand-up days, I had jokes about Kenneth Pinyan, the guy who died from ruptured intestines after receiving sex from a horse. My joke was about how difficult it must be to not only find a gay horse, but one that finds you attractive. And I’ve joked about how talking about having sex with dead children will get you out of troublesome social situations, like job interviews.
But my confession? The thing I hate most about myself?
Several years ago, a dear friend of mine (who I have pursued off and on for over 30 years) came to my house absolutely devastated because her boyfriend had broken up with her. They’d been together for years, she had no clue it was coming, and she was convinced that this guy shit diamonds out of a platinum asshole.
And the entire conversation was an exercise in me biting the insides of my cheeks to keep from laughing at her. Literally. I fought the entire time to not laugh. Because I hated the guy, but jealousy may have contributed to that feeling. And I couldn’t put my personal feelings aside for one of my best friends who was at the lowest she’d ever been in her life.
To this day I don’t think she knows about it. And I hate myself for it.
The fact that she doesn’t know means you were a good friend. You’re allowed to have feelings, even in that moment, even if they felt inappropriate. You might even have been feeling relieved he was out of the way. Also fine. Assuming you didn’t kill him.
The only way I’ve been able to come to terms with my own weird emotions was by accepting that all the emotions are just fine. Relief that someone died? Fine. Anger at someone for being sick? Fine. Delighted that your dream girl just split with some asshole? Also fine. Feel away.
What really defines us is what we do. It was actually harder for you to be supportive in that moment than it would have been for the average person, so you get extra points for being supportive anyway.
And thank you for the compliments. I’ve definitely had times where I was surprised by the stuff I wrote or said. One of the reasons me and my writers group got along so well is we really had no scruples when it came to jokes.
Wow! That’s…admirable. Can you share?
j
It’s from an incredibly silly TV show.
“I know plenty of writers who use subtext, and they’re all cowards.”
Ah. My ignorance on show. And not for the first time. 
j
I am a voice teacher. Mostly university.
Everybody should be involved in music. Anyone can learn to sing. Music brings us all together. Blah blah blah.
There are inevitably a handful of students that I am not disappointed to find out that they are not planning to continue the following semester. And always a couple that make me sigh when they tell me they are. (Sometimes somebody drops mid-semester, which is a joyous occasion.)
I am also totally hypocritical about food choices. I will judge you for having your steak well-done, but defend to the death anything I eat. After all, my taste is clearly superior. Just look at what you’re eating.
When my husband was a teen, he joined the school choir. When he told his mother, she responded, “But what about your GPA?”
I can attest her concerns were not misplaced. This is a family problem stretching back generations.
He often threatens to sing to me. I still have a very unpleasant memory of him “singing” Avril Lavigne’s “Skater Boi” some 20 years ago. I’m not even going to go into what I’ve seen other people in his family do. None of it’s pretty.
I have no interest in singing, dancing, or playing an instrument. None.
How can you have a rumpus if you don’t have rump steak? Is it that kind of monster? I feel Max would understand.
I was just repeating common cliches about music and music education, not offering it as a directive.
I watched and enjoyed the entire run of My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic.
I’ve been known to enjoy a well-done steak from time to time, but regardless of how it’s cooked I usually only eat about half of it and throw the rest away.
I’ve tripped over my cat more than once.
I eat at Del Taco so often that I’m on a first name basis with most of the staff.
I think Katy Perry’s Teenage Dream is one of the greatest concept albums ever recorded.
Until earlier this year I had never in my life bought furniture.
I did not care for The Godfather. It insists on itself.
Right up until this, I thought all your other views were weird.
You think you know a guy…
I still owe a lot of money to Columbia House.
I will agree that I do not think that film series is so damn great as many say.
Two wrongs don’t make a right.
But three rights make a left.
BIP: I can’t stand Michael Jackson. Not his “music.” Not his dancing. Not his persona. Nothing!