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5:11 a.m. - 2003-11-03

THE TERRIBLE TWOS ARE NOW A DISTANT MEMORY

My little boy turned three years old yesterday.

I sat him down and explained to him that he can no longer act like a complete asshole when we're in public because he has officially grown out of the "Terrible Twos" and that we're going to start going to restaurants that DON'T start with the word "McDonalds".

He responded by quietly asking "Blue train?"

I'm taking that as an "Okay, father. I completely understand. I'm leaving that phase behind me and not turning back."

I handed him his blue train and he scampered off.

I'm so glad we've turned this corner and are on the clear path to responsible adulthood in the boy.


We went to the Zoo on Saturday as part of the "Andrew Weekend".

We have a nice zoo in our city, but there's something about the zoo experience that is lacking.

And that is ... the monkeys no longer throw their feces at unsuspecting spectators.

To me, that was the highlight of going to the zoo as a kid. Bolting for the monkey cage, watch the mama chimp take a dump in front of everyone and then start flinging the poop as people screamed and ran for cover.

Sometimes I wish I could travel back to those simpler times and show my disapproval for situations by tossing my own shit at people who've pissed me off.

Granted, I could still do that today. To the best of my knowledge, there is no law that states you're not allowed to lob your shit at others. I think as long as you don't physically maim them, there's no court in the country that would convict you.

Hmmmmmm.

It might be an interesting day at work today after all.


Andrew's birthday was pretty uneventful.

He woke up making a coughing noise that sounded like Demi Moore trying to puke up a Shetland pony.

So rather than go to church, he and I stayed home while the old Bible-thumper high-tailed it to the house of the Lord so she could speak in tongues or whatever the hell draws her to that place.

Against my wife's wishes, I had bought the boy a birthday present ... a Thomas the Tank Engine playset with lights and sounds and hills and stuff.

Y'see ... in her eyes, the Wiggles concert last week was his birthday present.

As many of you read, he didn't really care for the concert.

To me, I'm all "Well damn ... let's at least get him something that he will like for his birthday."

To my wife, it's all "We spent $100 on those tickets and I don't care if he didn't like it ... happy birthday to him."

Anyway, she got a tad bit irritated when I went out to the car, opened the trunk and pulled out a big box that he positively adored and played with all day long.

Irritated to the point where she made very limited conversation with me all day long.

Sorry.

The kid didn't get a birthday party.

He got no presents from anyone except my sister who got him a new outfit and a puzzle.

He didn't even have a birthday cake.

I made a hundred bucks deejaying for an empty room on Friday night.

That was a hundred bucks we weren't counting on.

And I spent half of it on my son.

For God's sakes ... lock me up and throw away the key. I am such a horrible person.


So the whole Diaryland Survivor thing...

I've got to admit ... I walked into this game blindly.

I read on Sinnamon's diary about it and thought ... "You know ... that might actually be fun."

I barely kept up with the previous installments of the game.

I had no idea the drama and the hate-filled garbage that goes along with the game.

Hell, there are sites dedicated to tearing down us players of the game.

Luckily, I've developed a thick skin here at Diaryland.

I've had plenty of assholes come out of the woodwork and bash me in their diaries, on my message board, on public forums, in my notes, etc.

It doesn't bother me when you consider the source ... poor, pathetic losers with zero social life and nobody that will take the time to love them who have to resort to spending their time tearing down a total stranger on the internet to make them feel better about themselves.

I actually feel sorry for people who try to tear me down.

Is their life THAT sad that they can't just walk away from the computer and go hug someone instead?

Yep.

It is.

Nine times out of ten, they have nobody to hug.

Because they are repulsive, repugnant fucks who try to convince others that they have something important to say since they have a connection to the Internet.

So to everyone that's hopping in line to call me a "redneck" because of where I currently live (but wasn't born and bred here) or who want to judge me based on the daily crap that I write here?

I say "go for it".

But remember ... every time you do it, you receive my silent pity for your horribly sad existance.

To the rest of you .... wheeeee!!

Ain't it great to be alive?

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