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5:48 a.m. - 2003-01-31

I DON'T HAVE TIME TO THINK OF A CRAPPY LITTLE TITLE

So much to say and so little time to say it.

First off...Andrew is NOT autistic.

(Uncle Bob stands proudly with tears glistening in his eyes as the audience rises to their feet, applause swelling in their ears until an out-of-control circus elephant bursts into the room, takes a huge elephant crap on Uncle Bob, sits on him and smothers him to death in crappy elephant ass)

I know, I know...you guys TOLD me he wasn't autistic and I should have listened.

Truthfully, by the time I admitted it in print that we were having him tested, I had pretty much convinced myself that autism wasn't in the cards for my boy.

Soooo...what was the diagnosis by the neurologist?

Andrew is "quirky".

When I heard this, I jumped to my feet and yelled "ARE YOU SAYING MY SON IS GAY?!?"

...Because I thought she called him a queer.

Once I was reminded what the word "quirky" meant, I calmed down.

Basically, because of his horrible hearing problem for the first two years, this stunted his speech patterns. Now that he can hear, he's beginning to understand more and using more jargon.

The reason he probably doesn't like playing with other children is A) He's only been exposed to the same five children every day his entire life and B) He didn't have the same language skills as they did which caused him to be reserved in his communication with them. Basically, he's shy because he couldn't talk and this embarrassed him.

We were assured that sometime in the next six months to a year, he will cross a threshold where all the words will fall into place and this will cause him to get over his shyness, begin playing with others because he will be confident in his language skills and he will be a normal, playful little boy.

Right now, if you ask him what his name is, he'll look away because what he says ("Aah-ooo") doesn't sound close to "Andrew" and he doesn't like to be asked to repeat himself because that makes him feel like a failure.

But if you ask him how old he is, he'll shoot up two fingers proudly. Because he has no trouble communicating that.

So thanks for all your well wishes, thoughts, stories and prayers.

They really put this old man's mind at ease.


Mom?

Not so good but not so bad.

Mom went in yesterday to have her carotid arteries unclogged or cleared or whatever they do to prevent her from dying or having a stroke.

They went up through the groin and through the heart.

Or that was their plan anyway.

Once the doctor reached her heart, the arteries were 95% blocked, leaving her heart in a very weakened state. It was actually too weak for them to continue the operation so they had to retreat.

Now they have to give her a few weeks to let her heart get a bit healthier before they attempt this again. They're debating whether to just go in through the neck and do the job, which sounds smartest to me, but I'm no doctor.

So Mom may get to go home today.

I'm PRAYING that she doesn't go back to smoking for the next few weeks. I HOPE the doctor has told her...NO SMOKING.

One thing she's discovered she likes....Xanex.

They had her doped up pretty heavily in the hospital on Xanex. I talked to her very briefly last night and she said "You uhhhhhh...you really need to get yourself some of this."

Thanks Mom.

My Mom. The Drug Dealing Pimp.

I've never had a Xanex in my life.

Mom, more likely than not if she lives, will probably develop a healthy pill-popping habit to replace her smoking and drinking habit.

She's so '80s.


Susie had her Northern Dying party last night.

Just as the first lady arrived (Andrew's babysitter from the church nursery), Maggie our dog decides that this is a fine time to clean her ass on the carpet.

Apparently, Maggie had went outside, took a dump, and some got stuck in her fur.

So she slooooowly slides her ass across the carpet in front of this woman, leaving a greenish-brown trail of shit on the carpet.

Roughly five minutes before we were to have a houseful of women.

At this point, I'm in a predicament...do I snap the dog's neck with my bare hands in front of my son and his church babysitter, screaming "FUCK!" like I'm Uncle Bob Osbourne?

Or do I pick up this senile old dog and slam her repeatedly against a wall, spraying the room with her cancerous shit?

What to do...what to do....

Luckily, my wife was there. She was as calm as my Mom on Xanex.

"It's okay, honey," she said. "Just grab a wet rag and get it up."

Huh?

I grabbed a wet rag and started jerking my meat in front of everyone.

Oh.

Not THAT "Get it up".

She meant...get the dog shit out of the carpet.

Oh.

Heh heh.

My bad.

So I drop to my knees and started scrubbing the carpet fanatically.

Luckily, because there wasn't nearly as much as you were probably imagining, it came up with no problem.

The dog was immediately locked in her cage in my office, the door was shut and her muffled howls were only evident to me.

Susie's party went well considering her Mom showed up for it and managed to keep her mouth shut about why the democrats suck and the republicans rule until almost everyone was gone.

I think it was just her mom, her mom's friend, and about four women from church left when her Mom started babbling about tax reform and how it's there to screw the little man and how Susie shouldn't have to charge tax on the items she's selling out of her home, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Naturally, her Mom didn't buy anything. Just came to lend moral support and spread good cheer.

What a woman.

Susie had a decent turn out. She invited 40 people and I think a total of 19 showed up when she was only expecting 10 because they tell you to expect 1/4th of the people you invite, because three-quarters of the people you invite are raging shitheads who will fuck you over at the drop of a hat.

These Northern Dying people know what the hell they're talking about.

And Susie made a pretty penny out of the deal too. Close to $200 for about 30 minutes work.

Not counting cleaning the house and cooking her white bean chili which actually turned out tasting better than rancid pig rectum.

Not like I'd know what rancid pig rectum tastes like.

But if it tastes anything like this chili, I think I could sail through "Fear Factor".

Anyway...I've talked enough, I've got stuff to do this morning.

Peace.

Have a good weekend.

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