The place where my wife works is merging with another place and they have been sending her on business trips from our home to Los Angeles. She just returned from her second trip and has been away from home for about 4 weeks in the last 2 months.

She has not been missed.

Amazingly, while she was aggravating to be around tonight we did not have an argument in the 30 minutes or so that we were in the same apartment. She had a few questions but nothing has happened since she left that she needs to know about or that requires her to make any decisions. Our son spoke to her even less.

Her trips have been a good way for our son to see what the future can be like if me and him are room mates. We get along just fine. He is a great kid and I am proud of him. My marriage might have been a disastrous failure but my wife and I have done a decent enough job of raising our son.

My wife did have a question that she urgently needed an answer to. Why does the Candy Crush game that she plays on her Iphone now keep requesting that she create a Facebook account to get the free daily rewards? When that is your biggest problem, life is good.


The damage is probably done

Me and my Ex wife were waiting for our dinner to be prepared at the 5 guys hamburger chain. I was thinking out loud that a bacon cheeseburger and fries did not include any vegetables, unless you count the mushrooms and onion toppings. My Ex laughed in my face. She watched me drink 2 gallons of whiskey, or 24 bottles of beer, every day for 20 years and now I am suddenly worrying about my diet. She is right and I laughed at myself.

Easy Money

Seniority is important at my job. The longer that you work there, you will get the better days off and the easiest jobs. I like this. It eliminates most of the back stabbing and ass kissing that happened at the hundred other jobs that I have had in my life.

My job is to run a mail sorting machine. Because we run the machine seven days a week but I only work five, the boss needs someone else on those other two days. This means that on most nights, there is an extra person. That person will run the machine when the operator takes lunch and another break during the night. When not running the machine, the extra person manually sorts the mail that the machine can not process.

Manually sorting the mail is one of the easiest jobs in the building and is done by the most senior workers. It is so easy that it is also done by those people who are too injured to perform their usual job.

In what to me is an amazing blessing, workers that are senior to me are choosing to run the machine instead of working in the manual section. I think they are crazy. The other night, I worked in the manual section for my full eight hours. If you saw me, you would think I was the crazy one because of the big smile on my face all night long as I am making easy money.

Bitter Pills

You may or may not know, depending on how well you know me, that I am a broken down wreck of a man after 50 years of reckless living. About 10 years ago I got my skull cracked open. Ever since then, I have to take a pill to battle vertigo. If I do not take that pill, I am crippled with dizziness.

My prescription for this pill has to be renewed every 30 days. Why? I have no clue. I have been taking it for 10 years. Why is it not one of those kinds of pills that automatically renew themselves? I have checked with my insurance but this pill is not on the list. It has no street value. It does not make a person feel happy, and it does not cure hangovers. It is MECLIZINE, for anyone who is curious.

The prescription is also only good for two refills, so every three months I have to get my pharmacist to call my doctor for permission to give me another refill. Every so often, when my doctor is greedy, he will tell the pharmacy that I need to come and pick up the prescription in person. Why does this happen? It is only so that the doctor can collect money for my office visit, because I do not even get an examination. This is how health care works in our life and times.

Last month, it was a refill that needed permission. I went to the pharmacy three times, spread out over three weeks, only to be told that they were waiting to hear from my doctor. They were waiting to hear back but not giving a damn if the doctor never called back. To no ones surprise, I ran out of the pills. After my third trip to the pharmacy they revealed that my doctor needed to see me. This visit to my doctor was not only for them to collect my office visit money, but also to fill out a form with all of my personal information that they already had on file because they were installing a new computer system.

I was angry with the world, but after I calmed down I am now only blaming my pharmacy. They should have told me the first time to see my doctor, I will keep my doctor but I am never using that pharmacy again. They lost a 20 year customer, but I doubt that they care or will even notice. This was RITE AID, by the way.

This afternoon I dropped my prescription off at a new pharmacy. When I went back later to pick it up, they told me that my insurance refused to renew it because I had a bottle of pills waiting for me at RITE AID. The pills were there the entire time. The idiots must have misplaced it, or something. They lied right into my face about waiting to hear from my doctor.

Birthday Wishes

She turned 51 yesterday. I refused to celebrate her birthday because of how insulted I was in 2012, when I turned 50 and she treated my birthday celebration as if it was diarrhea that she could not get rid of fast enough. Yes, I hold grudges.

We are barely even functioning as room mates, which can be expected when you continue to live with someone that you should have divorced the first time that they screamed into your face that they hate you. I forgave her for the first “Hate You” scream, but not the second. Telling it to my twice made me be believe that this was how she really felt. I warned her not to do it that second time, but she ignored me. Still, after that we have lived together for another 16 years. I want to raise our son together. My prison sentence comes to an end when my son graduates high school, less than two years from now.

I thought that I had ignored her birthday celebration yesterday, on her birthday, but when I woke up today my son told me that they were planning to have the dinner on this day, a day later. So, I had to ignore her twice. I was never invited, which made it easier to ignore. My son asked me if I even wanted to be there. He remembers what happened in 2012, and how I did not include his mother in my 2013 birthday celebration. The important thing that I wanted my son to know is that I did “WISH” that I had a wife that I could celebrate the birthday of. Celebrations are happy occasions and I like to be happy. It is unfortunate that my Ex has spoiled our birthdays with her selfishness.

I “WISH” many things were not the way that they were. I wish that my Ex was someone else.

International House of Fighting

Only a small percentage of marriages are happy ones, and if you are happily married you must know how much it makes all of the rest of us feel like losers.

There was no fighting in my failed marriage tonight and my moody teenage son was in one of his more pleasant phases. I was angered as soon as I woke up but it turned out to be just another one of those times where poor communication leads to misunderstanding. I have spent over 20 years trying to get my Ex to let me know what she is planning to do and when. It makes it easier for me to plan around or with her. Tonight, they were going to dinner without me AND they were going to eat at an Italian restaurant that I like but that they both complain about and refuse to go to whenever I suggest it. Ouch, once and then twice. I was angry as I showered, but not overly so. I am an emotionally battered husband. I have grown used to the abuse. The surprise ending was that they came home with some pizza and had brought me an eggplant hero. So, it was good that I did not lose my temper and curse them out. Of course, it all could have been avoided if they had told not told me that they were eating there without me. They did not change their minds because it had upset me. They had just done a bad job of expressing to me in words what was in their collective minds. Why an eggplant hero? Who knows?

The fighting in our house was on the bottom floor tonight. The couple who live on the first floor of our shared house were have a loud argument.  I was on the computer and listening to a baseball news podcast so I did not have music playing, but I might have heard the fight anyway because the guy was loud. I could even hear the cursing and that the fight was about money. I would guess that most of the fights that couples have are about money. Sadly, in my marriage, we fight about nearly everything. I do not like the way that she looks at me when I first see her. Stuff like that. I recently heard a theory that interracial couples fight less. My marriage is interracial. My Ex is a Filipino and I am a mixture of several different ethnicities. The couple that lives beneath me is also interracial if you consider being Jewish as race and not just a religion. I am not sure how Jewish people feel about that. The guy is Eastern European, and I would guess he is Greek. We are an International House of Fighting.

Comically, when my Ex and son came home only my son had heard the fighting. We both laughed at how oblivious to the world around her that my Ex is. I could still hear the fighting while we were upstairs laughing about it but she had not noticed it even though she had walked into the house and right past the thin wall that the fight was happening behind. I jokingly suggested to my son that I would go downstairs and show the guy how to give his wife an even better cursing out, sharing with him my years of experience. We laughed, happy that the fights were not ours tonight.

Trouble at the Bridge

It was a tow truck, towing a utility truck that had a retractable pole and that pole made it too big to be on the highway. The pole smashed into an overpass at full speed. Luckily, only one person was injured.

Unluckily, for me, this bridge is three blocks away from my house and it is the bridge that the bus uses to come into my town and take me to work. What do I do now? I can stand on the corner in below zero temperatures, for an hour, waiting for a bus that is never going to come because it has changed its course to avoid the broken bridge. There is no warning that the bus is never going to come. There is never a warning. The bus service in NJ is painfully bad. There is no information on the website about a new route, although I have learned from reading in my local newspaper that the bridge will be closed “Indefinitely” for repairs. Now I will have to walk and find another place to meet the bus. This will add another 30 minutes on to my one hour commute to work, and I have to guess which route the bus is taking. I might be waiting at just another obsolete bus stop.

I told my son about the bridge. A few hours later, while passing my Ex in our shared kitchen, I made the mistake of asking her if she knew about the bridge. She immediately grew argumentative and defensive, as if I was accusing her of having driven the truck. “Do I ever take that bridge?” she snapped at me, like I was wasting her time. She drives over this bridge quite regularly. It is our quickest access to the neighboring town. We drive over it at least a few times every week. Of course, it could be that in all of these 20 years of crossing the bridge she might not ever have known that we were on a bridge and that there was a highway underneath us. She really is that stupid.

The “Golden Rule” fails, again

My Ex hates me and I probably should hate her. Even given that, we share an apartment and parenthood of our now 17 year old son. It sure would be easier to do if my Ex would exhibit even a hint of decency.

I have been sick with the flu for over two months, off and on. The past couple of days were rough. I thought I had recovered but the flu came back with a vengeance. It attacks the respiratory system and the congestion induces vomiting. That is on a good day. On a bad day, this flu will give you a wicked headache too.

All this time that I have been sick, my Ex has been her usual indifferent and self absorbed self. What do I want, or expect from a room mate? How about asking me how I am feeling? Am I feeling better? God forbid, but maybe you might ask me if I need anything, but just asking about the status of my illness costs nothing. It is free.

I pointed it out once, nicely. When I wake up and she gives me the silent treatment, our son follows her lead. She is teaching him bad manners. I appealed to her sense or pride. Did her parents raise her to be a rude and inconsiderate bitch? How would they feel, knowing how their daughter acts? Without a proper sense of manners, we are no better than animals. All of this talking went in one of her ears and out of the other, or it bounced off of that thick head of hers. The “Golden Rule” is that we should do unto others as you would like them to do for us, right? Everyone knows the rule. I am not asking to have my ass kissed, just some common courtesy. I ask them how they are feeling. I am the only person in this house that cares, apparently.

Because of my overnight work schedule, the sleeping arrangement with my Ex is that I use the bed in the day and she sleeps in it at night. Most couples that split up but stay together, one of them has to sleep on the living room couch. Either one of us does that when we are tired while the other one is in bed. If I ever woke up next to her in bed again, I might die from choking on my own vomit.

I wake up, they know I am sick and do not ask how I am feeling. Again, I pointed out to them that on PLANET EARTH this is not how human beings treat each other. Ask me about the condition of my health, when you know I am sick. It is easy. Not doing so is an insult to me.

I ignored it a few more times, but today I am feeling healthy. I have the lung capacity to give longer speeches. I tried yet again to get some respect in this house. It is not even so much as it is insulting to me as it is setting a bad example for our son. I know she hates me, she knows he hates me. She has probably convinced him to hate me too. None of that excuses their rude behavior. They should ask me how I am feeling, just to shut me up. There is no way that I am going to suffer insults silently. I am not that kind of guy. I feel like they are unhappy to see me get out of bed, still alive. They wish I would die. I am going to find it hard to be friendly with people that feel this way about me.

I would ask my room mate if they were still sick, even if I hated them, if only out of fear that what was making my room mate sick might be contagious.

Fatherly Advice

I sat down with my son when he was about 10 or so, still at the impressionable and teachable age. I explained to him one of the simplest rules for living. You can not tell the world to “FUCK OFF” until you no longer need it. You need to be self sufficient.

Then I sat back on my couch and drank my whiskey. It might be all I have, but I earned it.


My wife and son, at some point, elected me as the official house “Garbage” man although I do not remember ever campaigning.

With my wife, it has been that way from the beginning. At first, we would leave the house together on our way to work and I would carry out the garbage. Once I got tired of waiting for her to get ready in the morning, I would leave without her and I took the garbage with me. After I took the job at the Post Office, my work schedule got fluctuating and crazy. For a few years, I would come home from work and find a garbage bag sitting outside of our apartment door. She had placed it there, for me to carry downstairs and out to the garbage. For the past decade or more, I have worked the night shift and I take the garbage out with me on my way to work.

For the past couple of days, I have been sick. I have barely been leaving the house. They have been leaving, but letting the garbage pile up. You would think one of them would think to take it out with them, especially on one of those days when the garbage pail was full that they replaced the bag but left the full bag sitting next to it. I live with two idiots.

My garbage torture does not end in my apartment. The family that has lived below me for the last few years is garbage crazy too. We had six garbage pails when they moved in, which was three pails for each of us. Soon after they moved in, the matriarch of their family caught me while I was either coming and going from our shared house and suggested that we get more pails. I told her that three was enough for me. I left it unsaid that if they needed more, they could buy them. They did need more. They generate a ton of garbage. So much so that they frequently do not leave me my third pail to use, they fill mine in addition to the five or six that they have. They also drive me crazy by throwing trash on top of the recyclables that I have put into one of the pails. Other than that one request for me to split the purchase price of new pails, we have never discussed the garbage. I just look at what they have done, shake my head and sigh.

The people downstairs like to bring their pails out to the curb early the night before it is to be collected. I get home from work early in the morning and bring mine out at that time, rather than leave it out by the curb overnight. No big deal that they never bring my pails out while they are doing their own. Not only do I not have a problem with that, but I will bring their pails out if when I get home from work and see that they have forgotten. The empty pails are what they are passive/aggressive about. Why do they leave my empty pails in the street while they are bringing back their own? Rather than reciprocate and lower myself to their level, I always bring in all of the pails when I see them empty on the curb. It is no big deal. The pails are empty, and they can be stacked before being carried if there are more than four of them. Can my downstairs neighbors possibly think that I would be annoyed that they brought my pails in? I think not.

Better yet, the empty pails will sit out by the curb forever if left up to the two lazy asses in my family. They will walk past those empty pails day after day, just waiting for their house “Garbage” man to bring them back in.