Your kids are not your friends

Sybil had this massive problem when I was little of talking to me like I was adult or worse her friend. Mostly it was typical stuff like your father's a bum, I have a weird discharge from my left breast, etc, etc. I remember this one time when my mother's friend confided in her that her husband got a blow job from a prostitute at a bachelor party. I'm not sure why, but Sybil felt it necessary to tell me and my brother the story. Maybe she was telling my dad, who I'm sure was jealous, but she had no regard for whether or not her ten year old child was in ear shot.  The best part of the story was the fact that I was friends with the son of the blow job recipient. You can imagine what happened next.

"Hey Jason, I heard your dad got a blow job from a prostitute in front of your uncle at a bachelor party. Want to play with our G.I.Joes? Why are you crying? Knowing is half the battle!"

Soon after Jason's parents divorced. I would like to blame the blow job, but it's more enjoyable to blame Sybil's big mouth.

I just wanted to wish you a happy new year

I know I'm a terrible self hating Jew, but I didn't realize yesterday was Rosh Hashanah until Sybil left me a few messages.

Message 1:

I just wanted to wish you a healthy........and happy.......new year. Call me back.

Message 2:

Why haven't you called me back? You know it's the Jewish new year. You could be a little nicer.

On that note, Sybil wishes you all a happy new year. That is unless you have more money than her, or your children are nice. In that case you don't want to know what she wishes.

The escalator

Sometimes I worry Sybil will become too old and frail to care for herself three thousand glorious miles away. That is a lot to think about. Do I kill her there or do I bother moving her out here and then kill her? Luckily I don't have to decide right now. Sybil recently made some provisions so she can stay in her mansion for many years to come. She added an Acorn chair lift to her house. Now she glides up and down her stairs with the ease and grace of an 80 year old. When I asked her how it was she informed me that for $300 more she could have had a model with a cushion on the seat. I asked her why she didn't spring for it and this was the response:

"I don't need a plush chair. I'm not going on a bus ride."

Always a pleasure.

I lost a good stock broker today - 9/11 post

Don't feel too bad for the stock broker Sybil lost today. All she did was fire him. She told me he had to go because he only made her $4,000 in the last three months. I was given no details on how much was invested or what the rate of return was, just he had to go. On today of all days.

I really feel for him. Being a stock broker in Paramus, New Jersey, this isn't the worst tragedy to happen to him.

Don't judge me

So I'm sitting on my couch on Saturday when I get a text from my mother. Now this is shocking for many reasons. My mother doesn't text because she doesn't know how and if she did, she wouldn't do it because it costs money. That wasn't even the strange part. The text consisted of nothing but the following picture:

No message, no smiley faces, nothing. Just a picture of Sybil judging me from her couch in New Jersey. Her face says it all. I've wronged her but she isn't going to tell me why. When I talked to her the next day, there was no mention of the picture. Clearly it was sent to let me know, she knows! Granted I don't know what she knows, but she knows.

R.I.P. Joan

The one I really feel sorry for is Edgar. I don't think you can kill yourself twice.