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I have a feeling today's going to be one of those days when I succumb to the uncontrollable urge to burst into vintage show tunes while in public.

You know...standing in line at the grocery store and screaming "THERE'S NO BUSINESS LIKE SHOWWWWW BUSINESS LIKE NOOOOO BUSINESS I KNOWWWWWW" and scaring the bejeezus out of everyone around me.

It's a rare form of Tourette's that I have. It's called "Really Bad Broadway Tourette's Syndrome".

I ALWAYS have it in the shower, where I purr "Hello Dolly" every morning, singing into my soap on a rope like I was a fat, middle aged male Barbra Streisand.

God.

I can't WAIT for my shower this morning.

I'm gonna knock 'em dead in there today.

Soooo...the weekend so far...

Friday night, to celebrate Valentine's Day, I took the Mrs. out on the town for an evening of fun and frivolity.

We went to the Brew Pub for dinner, which sounds about as romantic as taking her to a Toughman contest, but we have a really nice Brew Pub here in a refurnished antique train station or grain mill or something and they've got some really good chefs there that make some kickass hot dogs and hamburgers.

I had the blackened sirloin and fried crawfish with steamed veggies and new potatoes.

She had a ribeye I think. Something like that.

And we had some Buffalo wings to get us started.

Now...I've stayed away from fried food since starting on my diet in September. But I figured... "Hey. It's our romantic dinner away from the baby. I'm gonna eat fried food until I burst an artery."

Because nothing says love like having a coronary in a crowded restaurant.

Anyway...these wings were so incredibly hot that they burned all the taste buds off our tongues. Neither one of us could taste our entrees once they came to us. I tried to complain to the waiter, but it came out "Theesh wahnnngs are shoooo ahhhhht" because I had lost all control of my tongue.

Anyway, the highlight of the meal was the table next to us.

It was a bunch of ladies from one of the downtown offices meeting at the Brew Pub after work.

One of the older ladies brought her husband and teenage son with her.

The son was a DEAD RINGER for the kid from Rushmore.

Anyway, they're all sitting around this table and these two GORGEOUS babes show up.

I'm talking supermodels. Fine foxes ... you know...if the words "Fine foxes" are still used to describe women.

So these two sit RIGHT ACROSS THE TABLE from the Rushmore kid.

This kid sat and played with his straw while staring dead at them with the same exact look as above the entire time we were there.

He was slouched back in his chair, with his straw in front of him, wrapping the paper part around the straw repeatedly like it was some sort of erotic act.

Meanwhile the two babes did a wonderful job of ignoring the hell out of the kid.

Even the dad sucked in his gut and sat up straight as he was sitting directly across from one of the gals.

Shit. Let's call a spade a spade...I sucked in MY gut as well, hoping against hope that one of the gals may walk over to our table and say "Hi. Look...I know you two are probably out celebrating Valentine's Day away from your children. And I realize you've probably been married longer than I've been alive. But I really...REALLY wanna jump your bones, Buddy. Maybe it's that flat gut of yours, but I've got to have your face buried between my supermodel butt cheeks and QUICK!"

...You know...it could happen...

Alas...it did not.

And it doesn't sound like all that amusing of an antedote to share with you guys.

But hey...my wife had drank a top shelf margarita before dinner. And lemme tell you...you know how some people can drink and they can get really fun...or really depressed?

...My wife gets reallllly boring when she drinks. Alcohol gives her the courage to tell me stories that have no business being told. Here's one from the other night, just to prove my point.

They had some temp working for them, helping to file things in one of the offices at work. Susie walked over to the office he was filing things in to tell the girl in the office that she was going to lunch and listen out for her phone.

The temp said "No. You CAN'T go to lunch" in a really serious voice.

Everyone laughed and Susie said "You're going to fit right in with us!!!"

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

I think that's how the story went. Something like that. I'm not really sure, as I was fantasizing about sweeping plates full of sauteed trout off the table next to ours and banging Ms. Supermodel in front of the Rushmore kid, like Bill Murray banging his teacher.

After our dinner, we went to Barnes and Noble and split up to do some Friday night browsing.

WHOOOOOHOOOOOOO!!

FYI, Barnes and Noble on a Friday night has got to be one of the most depressing places on earth.

Well...I can think of two other depressing places on earth to be at on a Friday night.

One is Home Depot.

The other is a showing of "Lord of the Rings" surrounded by dweebs, dorks and nerds.

But other than that...Barnes and Noble takes the cake.

We both gravitated toward the children's section almost immediately.

So much for "splitting up".

Susie bought a book by Dr. James Dobson about disciplining children.

And you know...nowhere in that book does it mention submerging their appendages in boiling water. Which means I'm going to have to have a talk with Mom and Dad about their parenting skills.

I bought a book called ... crap...I forget what it's called. But it's games you can play with your toddler to make them smart. Or feel loved. Or give them a break from watching television. Whatever.

As I leafed through the book, it looked like a great book.

When I read it yesterday, I realized this is a book written specifically for retarded parents.

There was NOTHING in there that a normal person wouldn't have already thought of.

For instance...two pages on rolling a ball with your toddler.

Duh??

It teaches them "motor skills" and "hand/eye coordination".

Well thank you Dr. Spock. With three balls in the den, it never occurred to me to be rolling one towards the child.

Another "game"?? Pull your kid around the house on a blanket.

I tried this a few months ago. As soon as we started, Andrew toppled backwards and hit the back of his head on the floor.

Hindsight being 20/20...I probably shouldn't have jerked the blanket so quickly at first. But damn...the kid would NOT stop crying.

We got home and had to listen to Grandma tell us for thirty minutes all the things Andrew had been doing for the last three hours. And there was nothing out of the ordinary. He walked. He laughed. He played with the same toy for two hours ... this Sesame Street toy where you hit the buttons and one of the characters comes popping out and singing their signature songs that Wendyloo sent him. By the way...thanks Wendy. That toy has driven me to the brink of insanity and threatened to push me over it several times in the last week. If I have to hear "Oh I love traaash...anything dirty or dusty or musty", I'm coming after you.

Saturday?

A "Trading Spaces" marathon.

Duhh.

Oh.

And a helluva lot of ball rolling with the baby.

I've gotta get my money's worth out of this stupid book.

More happened, but the family needs breakfast and the wife doesn't know how to microwave bacon so I've gotta go.

Peace.

Out.