Mea Culpa


Thinking that it might be a good idea to date a convicted murderer is, in my opinion, a reasonable mistake to make. Dating a second convicted murderer, despite the outcome of the first relationship, is just – OK – stupid. I now know this.

You’re probably thinking that I must be the type of woman who trolls through those websites where prisoners advertise for pen pals. You’d be wrong. I didn’t meet either of my two murderers that way. The first one I picked up hitchhiking after he’d been paroled and the second one I met through the first one. They were cell mates at one point. It’s not that uncommon to have one relationship open doors to new worlds of acquaintanceships that might prove fruitful in one way or another down the line.

Now that I’ve explained that bit – you might be thinking that it could be dangerous to jump from the bed of one murderer to that of his murderous friend but the truth is, my first murderer was happy to be rid of me so there was no risk on that score.

But why DID I date the second murderer after the first relationship went so terribly wrong? Well, hold your judgement please. Have you never fallen into the trap of dating – over and over again – the same type of person who has already proven to be absolutely the worst fit for you? How about all of those overbearing executive types, self-satisfied lawyers, unfunny stand-up comedians? We’ve all done it – OK? So cast no stones.

The reason I got involved in the second ex-con relationship is that after the first break up, the second murderer said all of the right kind of gratifyingly horrible things about the first murderer. What kind of things could he possibly have said that would have been more horrible than the fact that my ex killed someone? Well, lots of things. The bastard apparently cheated on all of his girlfriends – including me, borrowed money from his friends with no intention of paying them back, told everyone that he served in the Army – which he didn’t, and stole his sister’s boyfriend’s car – though even the second murderer thought that was justified.

Learning all of these things about my ex made me really indignant. And hearing them from his friend made me feel like the second murderer was sympathetic to me and, obviously, a far better person than my first murderer. He was on my side. We shared something – hatred of the first murderer. There was a connection. Also, he was very handsome, and had a scar. The first murderer was cute but the second was a definite improvement looks wise. So I was smitten.

One thing that I hadn’t really considered at the time is that murderers tend to lie. Even if they’re not liars by nature, they generally have to lie after the murder – to cops, lawyers, juries, judges, etc. so it can become habitual to them. I don’t think that the second murderer was a born liar but that doesn’t really excuse him.

Anyway, I later found out that all of the things he told me about his friend (except for the stolen car) were lies. They were all actually things that he – the second murderer – had done. Now that I think of it, I guess he was a liar all along since these deceitful acts were committed before the murder. Hmm. Well, moving on…

The second murderer may have had a few advantages over the first in terms of looks and charm – and he was very neat – almost obsessively so – but the first murderer had this going for him. He admitted to his crime – both to me and to everybody else. He confessed immediately afterwards. That’s how he got paroled after only seven years. And, he came clean to me right away. He told me the whole story in the car after I picked him up at that truck stop.

It was a murder of the most excusable kind. A bar fight gone wrong – well, I guess there’s really no way for a bar fight not to go wrong. Anyway, the victim was a prick. Nobody liked him and many people, apparently, were grateful that my ex killed this asshole. At least that’s what he told me and I believe him because after his release his friends were always coming up to him and slapping him on the back and telling him how glad they were to see him, and a bunch of people even threw him a party at the bar where the murder took place and there was a big knife stuck in the middle of the cake which everyone thought was very funny. They all made the same comment, “Hey, is that the knife?” But it wasn’t. The stabbing knife is in an evidence locker.

The second murderer, who I first met at the welcome home bar party by the way, never confessed – to me or to anyone else. He was convicted by a jury but the ruling was overthrown on appeal thanks to a good lawyer and some sloppy police work. He was accused of killing his girlfriend. I know, I know, but apparently she was really bitchy. She was always calling the second murderer a loser and complaining that he didn’t make enough money. And she was about to leave him for another man. Then she turned up dead. Shot in the head in her living room. She had told two of her friends, “If anything happens to me – you know who to blame” So the friends knew – the cops knew – even her dog knew – he started growling every time the second murderer showed up at the girlfriend’s house. Then the dog ended up dead.

The second murderer maintained his innocence from the very beginning and he swore to me that he had nothing to do with the murder. I wasn’t too sure but I believe in the idea of reasonable doubt. It’s the foundation of our legal system and not such a bad principal to follow in dating either.

OK – so just bear with me on this. It’s a little hard to follow.

The first murderer was convicted of second degree murder. The second was convicted of first. I know it’s a little confusing but think of it this way – I was ascending the murder ladder with my two affairs – so the first degree murderer succeeded the second degree murderer. Got it?

Now the you might think that the first degree (second murderer) sounds like he was the worst of the two. But, if you think about it, it’s really the reverse because, you see, the second murderer (the girlfriend killer) had a motive. The first (the bar brawler) was just a rageaholic who could fly off the handle at any time with no provocation. The second put a lot of thought into his “alleged” crime. Premeditation can be a good thing if you’re shopping for a murderer boyfriend. It’s pretty simple to stay safe. Just don’t give the guy any reason to murder you. And I’m the type of person who never gives anyone a reason for even a mild scolding. So, barring my agreeing to take out a large insurance policy (I refused that request) the second murderer would never have any reason to kill me.

As a matter of fact, I felt especially safe because, if anyone should know to avoid murdering someone, it would be a convicted murderer. I figured he had learned his lesson. The first murderer was the type who would have been incapable of learning a lesson. He was a hot head. The second was cold blooded. Much safer in a way. First degree murderers are far more predictable than second degree murderers. It’s their nature. It defines them. Second degree murderers are the loose cannons of the murder world.

Anyway, obviously neither of these two murderers murdered me. But neither relationship ended well all the same.

You might guess that I got beaten up or throttled by the first murderer and called it quits. But that’s not the case (although he did throttle me once – but I didn’t pass out or anything). What happened is, he left me for the girlfriend of his victim. He said that he kind of owed her – but actually he owed me. Around $10,000.

The break up wth the second murderer was a little more complicated. A friend of his went missing – a very attractive young woman whom he hung around with because she was a stylist and gave him free haircuts. He asked me to pretend I was the stylist and make some phone calls to her friends and coworkers explaining that I had left the country and wouldn’t be coming back soon – maybe never. So, I did it. He had an explanation that made sense at the time but I can’t remember exactly what it was. I think he told me that she was planning to make these calls herself – before she left – but hadn’t gotten around to it and now she was somewhere that had limited cell reception – or it would have been really expensive to call from so far away. Something like that.

Well, the cops had the idea that the stylist had been murdered. And they had reason to believe that she and my boyfriend were lovers. Since the alleged victim had only one convicted-murderer-friend, he became the primary suspect. I became a “person of interest” because of my association with the second murderer, as well as the fact that there had to be a woman phone caller involved if, in fact, a murder had taken place.

So, when my boyfriend asked me for $20,000 so he could fly to this foreign country where the stylist could be found and bring her back to exonerate him, what could I do? I was saving my own skin as well, right? Unfortunately, he never came back. It didn’t look so good for me that I had taken a large chunk of money out of the bank the day before he disappeared, and those faked phone calls came back to bite me in the ass.

So – I’m now sitting in jail accused of conspiracy to commit murder. Yes, a body eventually turned up. In my garage as a matter of fact. The first murderer recommended that I use the second murderer’s lawyer, which was a good suggestion considering the outcome of that case, but now I’m broke, so I’ll have to take my chances with a public defender.

I have learned a thing or two about murder trials at this point so that’s an advantage. But, unfortunately, all of my friends and family members turned their backs on me when I got involved with the second murderer so my only character witnesses are going to be the people from the bar stabbing party, and they’re mostly ex-cons. A couple of them are actually in prison right now and I heard that they might be called as witnesses for the prosecution. The new girlfriend of my first murderer boyfriend offered to help me, but that ended up backfiring. She thought it would be funny to pretend to sneak in a knife hidden inside a cake on a visit to me. It was the same knife from the welcome home cake so it was too big and it stuck out a little. It’s kind of ironic that now that knife is in an evidence locker too. Life is funny. But not so funny ha-ha right now.


Happy Mother’s Day


This is an old post but I thought I’d revive it for Mother’s Day. In case you couldn’t guess, I don’t have any kids.

WHAT WAS I THINKING? (a work of fiction)

When I woke up post-delivery in the maternity ward, and a nurse came in to present me with my baby, my first thought was, “Really? Is that it? All of that for this?” I asked the nurse if she was sure it was the right baby. She laughed a little – nervously – and assured me that this was, in fact, my baby, then left me alone, a somewhat concerned look on her face.

I hadn’t made a very good first impression with the hospital staff. There had been a bit of a scene in the delivery room. But I’m sure that I’m not the first mother in labor to scream out, “Just cut me open and get this damn thing out. Alive or dead. I don’t care. Just put me out of my misery.” Well, maybe I was the only one. But I’m sure I was just expressing – loudly – very loudly – what other mothers were thinking at the time.

Anyway, once I had recovered from that trauma and was sitting up in bed, I held the baby and stared at it for a few minutes. Nothing. No love. No maternal feelings. Just indifference. I wanted it out of my way so that I could order lunch. Finally I put the baby down, got out of bed and snuck out of my room. I turned at the door for one last look. “This can’t be mine,” I thought. I crept down the hall to that baby viewing room to see what else was on offer.

I was hoping that upon seeing my real baby all of the hormonal juices would start flowing and I’d know right away that there had been some sort of mix up. Didn’t happen. There were five or six babies lying in bassinets. Some looked a little better than mine. Some worse. But none evoked any kind of response. I scurried back to my room before anyone could tell that I’d left my baby all alone. They tend to frown upon that sort of thing – leaving babies unattended – as I would eventually learn.

The baby was right where I left it. Making some little noises which I did not find adorable. “Well,” I thought. “I’m stuck with it.” The nurse came back in to ask if I was planning on breast feeding. I shot her a dirty look like she’d just asked me if I’d like another epidural. “Why don’t I take the baby so you can get some rest?” she suggested. I couldn’t hand it over fast enough.

Maybe it’s just a matter of time, I thought. However, days went by with no change in my attitude. No emotions – besides feeling more than a little let down. This was so anti-climactic. All that build up for what? Talk about overrated.

I shared some of my thoughts with a few choice friends. I approached the subject cautiously, not divulging all of my misgivings, just expressing it as a sort of mild disillusionment. The response was always the same. “You’re just suffering from post-partum depression. It will pass.” The problem was, I didn’t feel depressed. Just annoyed. And it didn’t pass.

It didn’t help that my husband J.J. showed no more enthusiasm than I did. He basically just ignored the baby. Sometimes he would grudgingly hold it for a minute while I was trying to do something, but generally his attitude was like that of a parent who has given their child a pet for Christmas. “You wanted it. Now you take care of it.” I don’t remember either J.J. or I wanting a child. But we must have. Right?

Sometimes I could talk J.J. into watching the kid so I could run out to the store without having some sort of awkward encumbrance strapped to my body in some very unflattering manner. Inevitably I’d leave the store having remembered everything except baby food or diapers or any of the other baby necessities on my list. I’d get half way home, then turn around and go back and, more times than not, I’d get distracted by something like the surprisingly large selection of gum and I’d forget the baby items again. Possibly it was intentional. Staring at rows of chewing gum was more enjoyable than dealing with a helpless, mute human – 24/7.

It was worse when I took the baby with me somewhere in the car. You would think that after all the strapping in and fussing over belts, buckles, etc., I wouldn’t forget that the baby was there. But I can’t tell you how many times I arrived home and absentmindedly left it in the carseat. It usually only took a few minutes before I suddenly realized why I was feeling so relaxed and contented. “Shit, I left the baby in the car again.” My first impulse was always to leave it there for awhile, but I’d mange to resist that thought. Got to be a responsible adult after all.

One time I did leave the baby in the car for almost an hour – by accident of course. A neighbor knocked on the door to let me know that I’d left an infant strapped into the back seat. I tried to look horrified. “Oh, my God!” I screamed as I ran out the door. What I really wanted to say was, “If you’re so fucking concerned, why don’t you take it?”

Maybe someone will take it. What does one have to do to have her child removed by the authorities? I started drinking heavily.

I had thought that I might enjoy the extra attention. It had been kind of fun being the pregnant woman whom people indulged and strangers started conversations with. But I eventually got tired of having to stop the stroller while people oohed and aahed and asked the same questions – over and over again. “What’s its name? How old is it?” I always had to stop and think of the answer to that last one. Let’s see – how long ago was it that my life came to an abrupt end? Sometimes I also forgot its name. Occasionally I just made one up on the spot to avoid the embarrassment.

I started buying mother’s magazines to see if I could get inspired. Maybe if I thought of this as a hobby I’d take more of an interest. “It just takes a while to get into the rhythm of it all,” my friend Veronica said to me one day. She’d said the same thing about yoga. I persisted in that case. She was wrong. And I knew better than to believe her this time.

I tried to think of something good that had come out of this whole experience. The paid time off from work was nice. Or would have been, if I could have used it to go on a vacation. I thought about asking my mother-in-law to take the baby for the remainder of my maternity leave so that J.J. and I (or better yet – just I) could go to Mexico. Veronica said I absolutely could NOT do that. “The public never forgave Princess Di for leaving her newborn to go skiing. Plus, look at what turds her kids turned out to be.”

The latter argument was wasted on me. I didn’t care if my kid grew up to be a turd. I didn’t care if it grew up to be anything. Truth be told. I didn’t care if it grew up at all.

Oh, well. I’d look terrible in a bathing suit right now anyway. I thought about ordering one of those personalized tee shirts “I went through 9 months of pregnancy and 10 hours of labor and all I got was this flabby body.”

I started hanging out with other mothers. Those are the only friends you’re allowed when you’ve got a newborn. These women were SO BORING. All they ever talked about was all of the amazing things their kids were doing. Amazing? I don’t think so. Were they writing piano sonatas? No. Turning over on their sides unassisted, or forcing their cunning little lips into a vague semblance of a smile was more like it. God help me!

These other mothers would say thing like, “I can’t wait until she can walk.” or “Won’t it be fun when he’s talking.” For myself – I can’t wait until it’s old enough to send off to boarding school.

And – it will be pretty great when it can support me in my old age. Sort of like a long term IRA. Except there are no guarantees. Better make it a really good boarding school.

Dear Mr. President



You once said, “I could shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose votes.”

Well guess what Donald?

You could cure cancer or facilitate world peace and the majority of Americans would still hate you.

You could single-handedly rescue an entire litter of sad-eyed puppies from drowning and people would still hate you.

And nobody would adopt the puppies.

You could donate a kidney to a needy 6-year-old Mexican boy and the Mexican boy’s family would still hate you.

And they’d consider putting the kid up for adoption.

We’re all just waiting for you to slip on a banana peel so we can laugh at you and post the video on social media.

And banana sales will skyrocket.

That’s the real reality Mr. Celebrity Apprentice/Wrestlemania

I guess if anyone knows “fake” it’s you.

But we all wish that the news was fake

And that you weren’t our president

And that the fake news was real

And you’d been abducted by aliens.

(And by the way, now that you’re “Mr. America” you don’t get to go on to “Mr. World” or “Mr. Universe” so give up your global domination plans and focus on your “Make America Greedy” campaign instead. Seems to be working for you.)

Happy Halloween


Here’s my Halloween costume. I’m a sad clown whose dreams of becoming a ballerina have been dashed. Story of my life. Sort of.

The leather jacket wasn’t part of the costume but it brings the look to another level. In this pic I’m a sad clown who has failed as a ballerina AND a rockstar.

Doesn’t life just suck?!


Tales from the City – part I


This is the sort of stupid tidbit I should have posted on Facebook but I’m running out of material for my blog.

I was trying to fix a friend’s statuette – an angel with a broken arm – so I searched around and found a little tube that I thought was SuperGlue. I was about to spread it on the angel’s empty shoulder socket when I noticed the warning on the side of the tube: “Do not use on cats” Funny, I thought, did someone once try to stick their cat’s tail back on after a tragic accident? Or have people been known to glue things onto cats just for amusement?

It turns out the tube was some sort of dog medicine. Does the fact that I never threw it out after whatever ailment I was treating was cured (can’t remember what or when it was) make me a hoarder? I think it’s very possible.

Happy Mothers’ Day


I’ve realized that one of my favorite subjects is babies. Probably second in popularity only to Jesus. So, in honor of Mothers’ Day – here’s yet another baby post.

mothers day