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8:32 a.m. - 2002-07-10

A NOT-SO-SUBTLE MESSAGE TO RAY KROC

Y'know ... if someone would just go to the trouble of making fried crayons, my son could die a happy toddler.

The kid will eat anything that's been fried or has batter on it. He loves chicken nuggets and french fries.

But more than chicken nuggets ... the kid LOVES to eat his crayons.

He has both crayons and those washable markers that he uses to create his little artistic masterpieces. He prefers the markers but he tends to get a little crazy with those and ends up drawing on EVERYTHING.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to get your dog's fur back to its natural brown from a putrid pink color?

...Washable my ass...

Last night he was in his room, playing quietly. As a parent I've learned that when the kid is quiet, he's up to no good.

After a rousing game of Rock, Paper, Scissors with the Mrs., it was determined that it was my duty to go see what he was up to.

He was busy with his markers, coloring his changing table from its dull white color to a more purpley shade.

This isn't the first time this has happened, so I knew that the changing table could be wiped down and be transformed back to its original white color in 30 seconds.

I let him know that he needs to draw on his paper, not the furniture. Of course, to him I may as well be explaining the various tax exemptions for Montana residents because he would care just as much.

I gave him his crayons and told him "Don't eat the crayons Andrew. Crayons are to draw, not to eat. Please don't eat the crayons."

He shook his head "no" which doesn't necessarily mean "no", I think he does it as some sort of strange nervous tic or something.

I go back out to the living room to continue watching "The Mole" which is the only show worth watching on television this summer. Andrew's making a little noise while he colors and everything's cool.

Then he gets quiet.

And then quieter.

Then the quiet becomes deafening.

Again, I lose at Rock, Paper, Scissors which I chalk up to the fact that Susie always pulls the Dynamite card on me and I can never remember to do scissors, always ending up with rock. I emphatically plead my case that rock could in fact crush the hell out of dynamite if the rock was big enough, but she insures me that this is dynamite and not a firecracker and by God...they use dynamite to blow up rocks.

Well shit.

So I go to check on El Boy-o and he's sitting in the middle of his room with several pieces of colored paper scattered around him.

...And the remains of a black crayon dangling from his lips like he's James Dean smoking a stogie.

"Andrew!" I said. "What are you doing?!"

He gave me his patented innocent grin that he uses whenever he gets in trouble to remind us that he's our only child and we'd better take it easy on him or he'll toddle away and go live with gypsies and grow up to be a carnie (not that there's anything wrong with that) and we'd never see him again.

Except his grin looks like he's got a mouthful of crushed Chiclets because his teeth are black from the crayon.

I wanted to take a picture of him but we were afraid that would encourage him to keep eating crayons because we think it's cute, rather than disturbing.

We took his crayons away from him and put them up and you would have thought we were prying his toenails off with a pair of rusty pliers. The kid screamed so loud that people in Mississippi were calling us to tell us to hold it down.

So anyway... you guys keep me up to date if Crayola ever merges with McDonald's and they get fried crayons on the menu.

You'll make the wishes of one goofy little kid come true.


There was some slight hubbub yesterday over the fact that a few of you thought I had written that Frank from "Trading Spaces" was gay.

I did NOTsay that. I did not write "Frank from Trading Spaces is gay". Go back and read it again.

I happen to think that Frank is a very macho guy.

Surrrrre, he talks like a bitchy old Southern woman.

Surrrrrre, he's pretty swishy.

Surrrrrre, he's an interior decorator.

Does that make him gay?

Why, heavens no!

As you guys pointed out, he's mentioned his marriage several times on the show.

And gosh...if he's married, he can't be gay...right?

I mean...sure...Rock Hudson was married and gay....but that was an isolated situation.

And Brandon from "Survivor 3". He was gay and married once. But that was done to cover up the fact that he was gay. And ... that....uhhhh....that was....an ... isolated situation.

Okay...so a few gay guys have gone and gotten married to females. But those are isolated incidents.

And as we all know...you can either be straight or gay.

There's no in-betweens.

You CAN'T like both sexes!

I mean....GROSS!!!

Whoever heard of that?!?

Liking both sexes!!

HA!!

HA HA HA!!!

That's just crazy talk!!

I mean...like you guys said...Frank's straight because he says he's married and that's all there is to it.

He can't possibly be married and still like men! That's just something that only Rock Hudson and Survivor guys did.

And those were isolated incidents!

See?

I'm glad we got this cleared up and we're now in agreement that Frank is one straight dude.

Thanks!


You know...unless Frank is married to another man. I mean...has he ever SAID he was married to a woman?

Just a thought.

As you can probably tell...the issue of Frank's sexuality is bugging the holy crap out of me this morning.

Tomorrow... Katie Couric....could she possibly be gay??

Stop by and we'll ponder the subtle hints that she drops on a daily basis.


I stopped by the pool yesterday during my lunch hour to work on my 40th summer tan.

Naturally, the Pool Goddess was there in all her tanned splendor.

We exhanged greetings as I spread my towel out on a chair and laid down.

"So...where's your wife," she asked.

"She's at work," I said.

"Where does she work?" she asked.

"She's in human resources at that big place out by the airport," I said.

"How long has she been there?" she asked.

JEEZUM CROW, LADY!!! I'M TRYING TO TAN OVER HERE!!!

"About four hours now," I said, checking my watch for accuracy.

This went on and on and on.

Now then...I respect the Pool Goddess. She is a large woman in a lime green string bikini with the perfect tan, perhaps the most perfect tan on this planet. She should be applauded for her stance that large people can feel comfortable hanging out at the apartment complex pool and not feel shunned by society. She is an inspiration to heavy people everywhere.

Either that or she's completely fucking nuts. I haven't quite decided yet.

Y'see ... I'm a big guy. I don't think that's a secret here. I could stand to lose a few pounds.

And even though I feel comfortable enough to strip down to a bathing suit and lay out in public, I don't necessarily invite people to sit and stare at me while I do it.

Pool Goddess was all rolled over on her side a few chairs down, holding this conversation with me.

At one point, I really just wanted to say "Pool Goddess, I feel really strange holding a conversation with you when we're both practically naked here."

Obviously this isn't a concern of Pool Goddess's. She feels quite comfy chatting away while scooping errant tanning lotion out of the rolls in her fat.

After 30 minutes, I told her that it was time for me to go back to work and we bid farewell.

I love the Pool Goddess for who she is.

But I'm beginning to wonder how long this love affair will continue.

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