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5:22 a.m. - 2002-09-19

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I think I've got it all figured out.

People in this world know how happy I am about my new home and are doing anything...AN...EEEE...THING....to sabotage my happiness.

The furniture guys came yesterday to bring me and my wife this awesome bedroom suite plus a new breakfast table with four leather chairs that swivel, rock and kick total ass in that order. Okay...maybe NOT in that order. I think they kick total ass first.

So guess what?

"We don't have those chairs in stock, Mr. Bob," the guy tells me as they're unloading the table. "As soon as they come in, someone will call you."

Call me and WHAT?

Laugh at me for being a dumbass?

Tell me I'm a useless piece of shit for ordering chairs that weren't in stock??

Call me and tell me how comfortable my new chairs are while they swivel, rock and totally kick ass in them???

I know what they'll do.

Three or four days after my chairs come in, somebody at the furniture store will realize that the osmosis ain't what it used to be and will finally give me a call to come and get these chairs mydamnedself.

The bedroom suit is nice. Real nice. Get-some-hot-sex-from-a-wife-who-apparently-gets-horny-from-the-concept-of-new-furniture-in-the-bedroom nice.

But my leather chairs are somewhere in Appleton, Wisconsin, waiting on another cow to be slaughtered before they're finished.

Dammit.


As if that wasn't bad enough to ruin my whole freakin' day, the Home Theater Guy showed up.

After my initial hugging of him and then awkward period where I didn't know when to let go, he began carting in all the stuff to complete my home theater.

There's my new receiver! Whoooooo-hoooooo!!

There's the selector switch that determines which speakers are on with the push of a button! Whoooooo-hoooooooo!!

There's my ten inch subwoo.........Hey. Where in the hell's my ten inch subwoofer???

"Your ten inch subwoofer is on order, Uncle Bob," the guy says.

"When will it be in?" I ask, a thin bead of sweat glistening on my brow.

"Could be this afternoon," he says. "Could be tomorrow. Could be next week."

Ah. I see. I think I understand the nature of your business now. I give you $3,000 to hook me up with a mind-numbing home theater system and when you get the money, you take all the subwoofers in stock and toss them into a pond somewhere and make my ass sit and wait so that I never do business with you guys again. It makes perfect sense.

It took this guy three hours to hook up my receiver. Which explains the $475 installation fee. Holy shit. I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing, but I'm pretty confident I could have gotten the job done in about ten minutes.

So he cranks this bad boy up after three hours.

...And I am soooooo not impressed.

"Are the rear speakers on?" I asked.

"Yes sir...you can't hear them?"

I stood up and tilted my head like a confused dog, trying to hear the speakers.

Nothing.

The guy turns the volume up on the receiver to "earth-shattering".

Ah. There they are. The rear speakers. How lovely. I'm three-quarters deaf right now, but that's just freakin' lovely.

Admittedly, we both agreed that once the subwoofer came in and was delivered, the system would change dramatically and I would piss myself on a daily basis because I finally had an awesome home theater system.

(It's not "surround sound" as I previously reported here...it's a "Home Theater" system as Mr. Idonthaveyoursubwoofer so graciously kept pointing out to me as I kept calling it my "surround sound system". The difference in the two is apparently the price.)

So now I have a breakfast table and no chairs and a home theater system with no subwoofer.

Awesome.

Next I'm going to buy a new car.

But let's make sure it has no engine so my life can be complete, hokay???


Went to the doctor yesterday because I've had the sore throat from hell for the last week. Since the wife was diagnosed with tonsillitis last week, I found it fitting that I should be diagnosed with the same.

After sitting in the examination room for 40 freakin' minutes, Dr. Death walks in.

"How are you?" he asks me.

"Fine," I said as a natural reflex.

Why do medical personnel even bother asking "How are you?" in a doctor's office??

What do they expect us to say?

"I'm fucking hurting, Doc. My ass is bleeding and I think I might have syphillis. How are YOU?"

So I give the doc my amateur diagnosis of tonsillitis.

He takes a long stick, roughly the length of my arm, jabs it into my mouth and starts scraping the back of my throat with it.

Naturally, I gag. I haven't had anything this long and hard in my mouth since that time my roommate and I got drunk in college and we experimented with a little dick-sucking action.

Alright. That never happened. But had I sucked a dick in college, well... there's nothing wrong with that.

You know...unless the dick was coated in smegma.

Ewww.

I think I just grossed myself out.

So I'm tearing up and waving my hands and arms in the air in an effort to convey the message that I think it might be best that he quit scraping the back of my throat with this rusted metal hook or there's a good chance I'll be spewing a semi-digested bagel in his direction which is not nearly as funny as it sounds.

He stops and then leaves with this enormous Q-tip in his hand like it's the holy grail of phlegm sticks.

He comes back in 15 minutes later and gives me the bad news.

...I have a sore throat.

He loads me up with $75 worth of medication and I'm on my way. Thanks doc!

I'd tell you more, but the wife's been moving boxes in the house from the garage for the last hour and I'm in danger of being barricaded in my office, so I'd better crawl out of here while I still can.

Peace out, peeps.

Walk the walk and talk the talk and chalk the chalk.

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