I've never really been a fan of marriage. Same-sex or different, the institution never blipped on my radar as one of the "things to do before I turn 30″. It's not that I'm a love hater or anything, but romantically speaking, I'm quite myopic on the long term front, especially when you start getting laws and shit involved. Pisces are all about change, you dig?

So imagine my shock when in casual conversation with Death-Phoenix she dropped the M-word like it was a second-rate catchphrase on a neophyte blogger's lips.

"Say what?"

"That's right Karshie…Mamma got married last weekend!"

"To…"

"Winston Shakespeare…who else?"

Anyone else, I hoped. It had been about a year since they met, or rather, since she moved in with him. A supposed old friend from high school, a former prom date, and all that jazz. While I would love to think it's about love and happiness, and perhaps it is, she's got a knack for using men as a means to an end.

I mean, look at Sperm Donor.

"He's got money, baby. Let me tell you…he may look like a bum, but he is P-A-I-D. He owns his own home, his own car, and has money in the bank. I went to visit his daughter and family up in Boston last month, and let me tell you baby…P-A-I-D."

Yes…his own house and car.

"It's because of him I've been able to travel like I want..live like I want…it's because of him I can do the things I've always wanted to do!"

"Well…umm…congratulations. So what's your new last name now?"

"Death to Shakespeare."

Really. I'm trying to be happy. From what she told me, they had a small private ceremony. Ma'dea and Yes Man were present, as was Estranged Aunt who was the maid of honor. Smokedawg would've been there, but he's doing another stint in the clink for God-knows-what this time. This weekend, they will be up in Atlanta as a stop to their honeymoon in North Carolina and want to see me.

Well, she wants to see me. Not sure about Winston, but given our last meeting, I'm sure it won't be all smiles and handshakes. She's more than welcome to stay with me. But him? Get a motel room, pal.

Ain't karma a bitch?