MET MY OLD LOVER IN A GROCERY STORE

It's one of those mornings where I'm sitting here...staring at the little white box and hoping that this entry writes itself so I can get on with my day.

The white box...it's mocking me.

Goddamned white box.

"Think man...THINK!" it's saying. "Something HAD to have happened this weekend that was worth writing about!"

I'm trying to remember Friday night. I came home, cooked some lame assed chicken cacciatore with rice, more than likely we watched some freakin' Wiggles videos, and I cashed in my chips around 9 p.m.

It really sucks that Andrew now knows how to operate both the DVD player and VCR. Because of this, we watch HIS tapes and DVDs. I've got a bookcase shelf full of DVDs that I haven't even watched yet, but there's never any time to watch them because we're watching Wiggles and Baby Einstein videos.

I mean...sure...it could be worse.

Who am I kidding?

It can't be any worse.

I'm confined to my home with my son and I have to watch children's videos every waking moment. If I decide to sneak off and go to my office to watch something else or surf the web, he comes to get me, grabs my hand and pulls me back out into the den where he dances to the music on the videos and waits for my applause.

It was cute the first 1,561 times.

Now it dulls my senses like sleep deprivation.

Saturday, I get up at 5 a.m. because Susie has to be at work at 7 a.m. to do payroll and I have to get my "Fraternity Life" recap written before she blue-skiddoos outta here and I'm stuck with Mr. Let's Watch The Wiggles One More Time And Dance Our Tiny Toddler Asses Off who will not allow me the opportunity to finish my recap.

I churned that baby out in record time and sent it in.

THEN I started to wake up. I like writing while I'm still half asleep. It's always such a kick to read later.

I go to check on Andrew...this is around 7 a.m. and he usually sleeps until 8 or 9.

He's awake. Sitting in his crib, playing with his flash cards.

Have I told you this kid's security blanket is his flash cards? He carries them with him everywhere. He now has about five different sets of flash cards and always has some in his hands. He just lays them all out in front of him and studies them.

It's cool in a way because he's learned to spell everything on the cards. If I say "Andrew...spell 'truck'," he'll casually say "T-R-U-C-K...duck".

...He can't say the words. But he can spell them.

I mean...the kid's two and a half years old and already spells better than Chrome before Chrome discovered Spell Check.

The downside of this is that he only does this for me and Susie and occasionally Miss Robin his daycare lady.

If I'm standing in the front yard, bragging to my neighbors that my kid can spell several words and he toddles up to me and I say "Andrew...spell 'toboggan'," he just stares at me as if I said "Andrew...stare at me until I get a mild case of the heebee jeebees."

So is it something worth bragging about when the kid won't do it for others?

Probably not.

But it was a slow weekend 'round Camp Bob.

Oh!

I went to the grocery store Saturday afternoon once Susie got home from work to get groceries.

I'm waltzing around the produce department. Literally waltzing. I was so damned glad to be out of the house I was waltzing.

And I see this lady that looks vaguely familiar. Cute in a pixie-ish way. Tanned, high cheekbones, slender, upturned nose, light brown hair.

I'm all like..."Cute woman".

Right?!?

Right.

So I continue my waltzing to the meat department when I stop dead in my tracks, frozen in semi-horror.

...I slept with that woman.

I may as well say it now ... I was a slut at one time.

Finally, the truth comes out. I use to swing my sex log with reckless abandon at any woman who'd skeeze herself out to it. Whatever that means.

And this was one of them. Her name was Tammy. I couldn't remember, or possibly never even knew her last name. She was what I used to call "One Of Them There Sluts From My Bar Days".

Now I had to make a conscious decision ... do I talk to her?

If I recall, we mutually boinked in 1985. It was a decent boinking session, nothing too memorable and nothing too scarring.

I never called her after El Boinky-Woinky. I was a bouncer in a bar and pretty much had my pick of the litter at the time. I was in shape, tall, dark and somewhat handsome as long as the lights were turned down low and the women were pretty drunk.

Which happened to be the case the night I went home with Tammy.

So anyway, I'm waltzing down the cereal aisle, because I can't get this freakin' "Waltzing Matilda" song out of my head when Tammy rounds the corner coming my way.

Conscious decision time...say something or not?

I hadn't seen this woman in nearly 18 years. The only thing I remember about her is we used several condoms, she liked being on top and I told her I'd call her and didn't.

How do I start the conversation? "Ring, ring? I'm finally calling you!"

No.

I decide to just dazzle her with my smile. The smile that says "I've gained roughly 50 lbs since we last saw each other. I've gained a bald spot on the back of my head and several dozen gray hairs. I've also gained a wife and child and mortgage payment. How ya doin'?"

I flashed the smile.

She wouldn't take her eyes off the Golden Grahams to even notice my smile.

I kept walking and continued planning my approach for the next aisle.

And the next.

And the next.

Finally, I quit seeing her in the aisles. She probably went to the cashier and checked out of my life. Permanently.

I wonder if she saw me and the same panic went over her as to who the hell I was, but it never clicked with her.

Or if it did click and she was pissed at me for never calling her.

I guess there's always the chance that she didn't even notice or recognize me.

Yeah.

That's probably it.

Anyway...the years had been kind to her.

And before this turns into some freaky Dan Fogelberg song, I'll end the reminiscing here.

Cooked a delicious pork tenderloin Saturday night.

I've never cooked one before so I didn't really know how it'd turn out.

But it was really good stuff.

Yep.

Did I tell you I humped a hottie back in the 80s and ran into her this weekend and didn't say anything?

Yeah?

Okay.

Just making sure.

Spent yesterday doing yard work which left me slightly sunburned.

Got Andrew a little wading pool which he loved because it allowed him to strip down naked outside and splash around in water.

He liked falling backwards into the water on his butt. He must have done that 30 times in a row.

Probably caused some baby spinal damage.

But he was happy last night.

"Hi! My daddy lets me fall on my naked ass outside on a hard surface and I love it!"

Yes indeed.

Today's my Mom's birthday.

She turns 61 today.

She's now outlived both her parents, which makes her extraordinarily happy.

Happy Birthday, Mommy.