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4:20 a.m. - 2002-04-22

SLEEPY THOUGHTS FROM SLEEPYLAND

Mein Gott.

I am soooo tired.

I'm a very picky sleeper. I don't sleep much, but when I do, it's gotta be on MY TERMS.

Last night, I go to bed at 8:30. I'm exhausted. Falling-asleep-in-my-recliner-tired.

So I go to bed. Passed right out.

9 p.m. the phone rings.

On a freakin' Sunday night.

Whoever's on the other line is gonna get a big ol' lecture from me. I don't put up with this kinda crap.

Susie's Dad from California.

He wants to chit-chat. In a span of 30 seconds I went from a deep slumber to discussing the real estate market in my hometown.

Well, I say "discussing". What it amounted to was him saying "How's the market in Montgomery?" and me going "Uh, uh, uh, I dunno. I was asleep. You might want to talk to Susie."

Any apologies?

No.

"Well, then sure...let me talk to Susie."

The guy ALWAYS wants to engage in conversation with me when I'm stupid enough to answer the phone. In my deep slumber, when I answered the phone, I thought it was 2 a.m. and that Susie was right next to me. So in the dark, I'm holding the phone over to the blank space of bed next to me telling the imaginary Susie that it was her Dad on the phone.

Susie was cleaning the kitchen as I whispered "It's your dad, take the phone."

Finally, realizing she was nowhere in the vicinity, I yelled for Susie to get the phone.

She hadn't heard the phone because she was doing laundry and I picked the phone up on the first ring.

Blah blah blah....just pick the damned thing up, please.

So I lay there for a minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Ten.

Dammit. My sleep patters are such that if I get 30 minutes of sleep and then get woken up...my body thinks I'm good to go.

About 9:30 or so, I pass back out.

9:55 p.m.

The phone rings.

It's amazing...it's truly amazing that I didn't just scream "MOTHERFUCKINGSONOFAWHOREBAGCOCKSUCKINGBITCH!!" Because that's my usual response when the phone rings at 10 p.m. on a Sunday night as I'm trying to get some sleep after a very busy weekend.

Somehow, Susie has magically appeared on my side of the bed. The light is on, the television's on and the world has been going on around me as I laid there sleeping.

She answers the phone this time. A bunch of "Yes's" are said. A few other things as I silently tell my body to ignore what's going on around it and to please, PLEASE go back to sleep. Finally, Susie giggles and says "Just sell it for us!" and hangs up.

"Somebody's coming to look at the house in the morning!" she squeals.

...motherfuckingsonofawhorebagcocksuckingbitch...

"I'm trying to sleep," I mumble from inside my pillow.

"It's the same people who were the first ones to look at it," she continues, oblivious to the fact that if I didn't hurry up and get back to sleep, I'd be up all night.

"Uh-huh," I said. "I do not need stimulation right now...I need sleep."

"They've narrowed it down to three houses and ours is one of them!!" she squeals.

"I don't care," I lie. "I need to get back to sleep."

"This is so weird!" she says, plopping down on the bed. "Because I JUST SAID that St. Joseph's prayer 15 minutes ago and then we get that call!! This St. Joseph's thing REALLY WORKS!"

"We haven't sold the house YET," I reiterate. "Now, please....as God as my witness, I will kill you if you say one more word."

So she squeals instead. Imagine a hyena going "HEEEEEEEE!!" and you get an idea of the sounds she's making.

"Aren't you excited?" she says.

I make a gun out of my thumb and index finger and point it at her head, bending my thumb several times to indicate I'm filling her skull full of thumb bullets while I lay face down in my pillow.

"I've got to call some people!" she said. "I'm just too wound up now!"

"You're going to jinx it," I mumble.

"No, I'm not!" she said. "I'm calling Julie!"

She jumps up and runs out of the bedroom.

I think she's insane for calling people at 10:00 on a Sunday.

But apparently, she's just one of many jerkweeds who do it.


So anyway...I tossed and turned until 12:30. She fell asleep on the couch while I flipped channels on the TV.

I woke up at 4 a.m. to the strains of Andrew thinking it was 7:30 or something.

I'm tired. Physically and mentally exhausted.

So you're going to get quick recaplets of the crap I did this weekend.


We had a fellowship dinner at church last night. I ate too much which is why I was exhausted last night. I ate myself into a sleepy slumber mode.

After dinner, we always have a guest speaker speak about something that guests like to speak about. Last night we had a little old lady speak about her recent visit to Vietnam as a missionary.

Personally, I'd rather listen to a redneck describe how he got drunk and accidently shot all the toes off his feet.

Luckily for me, Andrew started getting fussy as the speaker began.

"I'll take him over to the nursery," I whispered to Susie.

"I can do it," she said.

"I'll do it!" I hissed. "You snooze, you lose."

...Susie didn't want to listen to the Vietnam Missionary story either.

So I go out in the hallway and Andrew wants to run up and down the wide hallway.

Fine.

I lay down on the carpeted floor.

A minute later, Rev. Brian brings his son Ethan out there. As it turns out, Brian has about as much interest in listening to the lady speak as I did. The only problem is...he's the guy in charge here and he should be in there.

"I had two choices," he told me. "I could bring Ethan out here and sit with you as the boys played. Or I could have stayed in there and risked the dangers of snoring while the lady spoke."

THAT'S why I like my church. Because it's led by a guy like me.

So we chatted for a while. Then Sam brought his daughter out there, admitting that he saw us taking our kids out here and away from the speaker, so he pinched his daughter so she'd yell and he could get her out of there too.

So us three guys sat in the hallway and talked about our college girlfriends and what a bunch of psychos they were, while our kids played and wives were forced to listen to a 75 year-old woman talk about the Vietnamese.

Thank God for small favors.


Yesterday and Saturday, I spent bleaching the sidewalks, patios and front porches of our home and then pressure washing it all clean.

Man...that made all the difference in the world.

I'm glad this couple's coming today to look at the house. It's so spotless that it's scary.

Downright frightening.

I sure hope the lady doesn't scream in terror from how clean the house is.

It could happen.


Taught Sunday School yesterday to some 7 year-olds.

Some EXTREMELY QUIET 7 year-olds.

Teaching Sunday School is new to me. I've never done it until last week. Last week I had little kids....4 and 5 year-olds. I had built a rapport with them before the class, so they weren't scared to talk to me.

These kids yesterday acted like I was Satan. Or at least Ozzy Osbourne. They were TERRIFIED of speaking.

We watched this video..."Martin the Cobbler". It's a tale written by Leo Tolstoy about a cobbler who's a real mean-assed bastard until one day he thinks God's coming to visit him, so he gets really nice and lets all these people in his cobbler store, but God never shows up. Then God shows up as a ball of light and tells him that he DID show up, but in the form of all these people that came to visit him in the store.

I know...that was some pretty wack-assed shit if you ask me too.

So we watch the video. I ask the kids what they learned. Apparently nothing because that's what they shared with me...nothing.

I asked them if they were nice to people who visited their homes. They fidgeted.

I was desperate.

"Do you let people play with your video games when they come over to your house?"

...It was ALLLLL over with then.

"I've got a Nintendo!" a little boy chirped.

"I've got a Play Station!" another one said.

Before I knew it, we were talking adamantly about video games. They were telling me the titles that they played and I was assuring them that the first chance I got, I was going to rush out and rent those games based on their expert opinions on how much fun they were to play.

Susie walked in at the end of class as the kids were babbling on and on about whatever the hell they were talking about. I had drowned them out with the voices in my head several minutes earlier.

"Are you guys discussing Martin the Cobbler?" she asked with her patented "Be Nice To Seven Year-Olds" smile.

"Nope," I said, picking popcorn up off the floor. "We're talking video games in here."

She shot me a look. I shot her one back that said "I never asked to do this, you volunteered me to do this, I'm no good at doing this, so take what you can get out of us. The kids are having discussions and that beats us sitting here quietly waiting for the clock to say 10:15".

I'm not sure she interpreted the look like I meant for it to be interpreted, but she helped me clean up the popcorn while they kept chatting.

I'm so good with kids, it's scary.


Bought Andrew several toys at Toys 'r' Us Saturday.

Got him a wading pool. He only likes it when Daddy gets in with him.

Got him some bubbles. He gets frustrated because he can't catch them.

Got him a baby broom. He's about to ask the broom if it will marry him. The kid LOVES this broom. He took a nap with it the other day, clenched in his little baby fist. I should have taken a picture, but didn't want to wake him up with the flash.


Had Reverend Brian and his wife Carrie and son Ethan over for dinner Friday night.

We ended up ordering pizza. A veggie Supreme and a Pepperoni with no cheese.

The two strangest pizzas I've ever ordered.

The boys got along pretty well. They don't really acknowledge each other much when they're together, but at times they seemed to gel.

Wanna see some pictures?

Sure you do.

Mine's the white kid, in case you were confused.

Anyway, he's crying and wants Daddy to come hold him.

Talk to ya later.

Peace out.

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