My mother is one of the best people on this green earth.  She was adopted and led a hard life growing up on a farm.  She woke up at 5am to haul firewood and feed nine - count-em - nine siblings.  Got by with a fifth grade education, but always managed to take care of what she needed to do. 

Mom had warned me about Diane.  She had a way of reading people that I couldn’t appreciate at the time.  She sat me down one day years ago and said very plainly, “Son,  this woman is fucked in the head”.  I chose not to listen, and that was that. 

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Life is all about compromise.  In fact, most of life revolves around compromises between three axes.  In business and project management there are Cost, Scope, and Time.  For us uneducated knuckle-draggers, there is the classic balance of Good, Fast, and Cheap.  

Usually it is impossible to find something that meets the totality of all three requirements.  Try building a good house in a short amount of time with a small budget.  The perfect intersection of these three characteristics  - or the best tradeoff - is termed the “sweet spot”.

The sweet spot, my dear friends, is the exact opposite of the zone of pain.  The zone of pain is where you go to weep and gnash your teeth after life sucker punches you in the balls and leaves you to die.  

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To those who have lamented my untimely demise - fear not.  Yea, though my life sucketh and boundless incompetence impede my cause, I have triumphed.  I live. 

Well, sort of but not really.  The truth is, it takes some effort to give you a light hearted, entertaining view into what is truly a very shitty situation.  Many of you have reached out to me with kind words.  All of you had one single, overwhelming message: GTFO.  

Of course this is easier said than done.  There are days when I stare wistfully out the office window and entertain lurid fantasies of doing just that - getting the fuck out of Dodge. Life at work sucks.  Life at home sucks.  I’m married to a lazy, incompetent, psychologically damaged, angry airport terminal of a baggage carousel.  

So why do I stay?  The answer is simple.  In America, no one gets shit on worse than Daddy.  You can be the best father in the world, but the second you even breathe a hint of the D word,  every hope you have of raising your kids to a standard the opposite of batshit insane is tossed out the window.  

Good luck at effective parenting when your funds are gone, your contact with your children is limited to a day or two per week if you’re lucky, and the jewel(s) of your loins spend the remainder of their childhood in the presence of ex-wife’s fucktard druggie boyfriend.  

I apologize for using a tired, contrived cliche.  Make no mistake,  would someone please think of the children? 

I apologize for the hiatus over the last few weeks.  Things have been piling up, and I felt a compelling need to tell the world to fuck off while I spent every limited, precious nanosecond of free time I had gunning down foul mouthed high schoolers in Call of Duty Black Ops over XBOX Live.  Believe you me, it is quite cathartic when a game allows you to unleash a pair of fucking dogs on some fifteen year old that just mouthed off to you.

Anywho, since I began writing this blog, I have alluded many times to events and circumstances that I would get into at a later date.  This would be one of those times.  Much like the depressing sack of fail that X-Men Origins: Wolverine was, this account of the serious of unfortunate fuckups that unleashed Olivia into my space would have you questioning your very existence and wondering why I keep swimming in this putrid vat of injustice.

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First of all, I want you all to know that I am writing this without a mouse.  Yes, I am operating this computer fucking completely by keyboard.  Oh yeah, its a mac. A really old fucking mac. In any case…

One of my many contributions to our family that tax the living shit out my mental well being is defusing Diane’s many half baked uncooked, harebrained ideas. Through some osmotic process, an idea would enter her mind and instantly sprout into a jungle of idiocy from the fertile fields of her mind.  Rather than make calculated decisions grounded in reason and logic, Diane operates from instinct - like a fucking animal.  The nuances of carrying an idea from inception to fruition while dynamically dealing with risk and return are completely lost to her, tucked away safely in piles of knowledge and common sense she had long since deemed “useless.”

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