IT'S THE BAG AND TISSUE PAPER THAT COUNTS

First off, thanks to everyone who sent me kind words about my last entry.

While I try to make this diary "entertaining" (note the quotes), sometimes I like to share honest stories that give you insight on what makes me tick.

I fully understand why some people would think that I make these stories up. When you're used to coming here for a smile, you don't expect me to blindside you with something else and when I do, you feel like it's not really "Uncle Bob".

When in all actuality, it's more "Uncle Bob" than "Uncle Bob" is.

Confused?

Yeah. Me too.

Regardless ... the story of Jessie is very real. I changed her name because I felt the need to.

The story itself is huge and I still don't feel I did it justice in the synopsis I gave you in the last entry.

I didn't cover the handmade cards we made at school for Jessie while she was in the hospital that made our teachers cry.

Or Jessie's amazing ability to belch so loud and long that it always cracked me up as a kid.

There's so much more to that little girl than I shared.

But hey ... that's what memories are for, right?

Yeah.

So anyway.

I've been up since 1:55 a.m.

Thank you Mommy. Thank you Andrew.

I thank them both because ... oh joy of joys ... apparently Andrew had inherited Mommy's penchant for night terrors.

For those of you not familiar with the term ... take my wife ... PLEASE!!

AHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!

(Gimme a break ... I'm delerious at this point in the middle of the night)

Basically night terrors are found in children. They wake up screaming and disoriented. They have no idea why. Actually, I use the term "Wake up"...they're not awake. They're still asleep. They're screaming in their sleep.

At 1:55 a.m. I hear "DADDY! DADDY! DADDY! DADDY!...(you get the picture)"

Naturally, I think a vampire has emerged from Andrew's closet and is a millimeter from draining all the blood from him.

I jump out of bed because I'm the light sleeper and Susie has slept through tornados.

I race to the den and there's Andrew, standing in the middle of the room screaming.

"What's wrong, Sparky?" I ask because that's my nickname for the kid.

His screams taper off into whispers and then silence.

He's sound asleep in my arms.

I put him back in bed and pull the sheets up around him, check his closet for any vampires and then go back to the den to give my heart a chance to quit beating out of my chest.

Meanwhile, Susie's resting comfortably through all of this.

In all fairness, Susie's having a sleep study done next month to determine why a woman of her age still has these terrors which should have ended before she turned ten.

But just as we're getting her cured, I now have another member of my family who plans on screeching me out of my sleep every night.

Wonderful.

As if I wasn't cranky enough with a FULL night's sleep...

The Christmas party went off really well the other day ... thanks for asking.

I ended up taking a nice tray that normally retails for $40 but Susie got for $15.

Now then.

I've never done this whole "Dirty Santa" thing. Truth be told ... I think it's more a female thing than a male thing, but I could just be a sexist bastard.

Most of the gifts were in little Christmas bags with tissue paper.

Usually, I tend to stay away from gifts that come in Christmas bags with tissue paper. They're what I like to call "girly gifts".

I can guarantee you ... you've never seen a power drill be given to someone in a delightful Christmas bag with festive tissue paper.

But on the other hand ... the 19 women I was playing with ... they want the bags. Hell ... a couple of them liked the bags more than the gifts they received.

Let's touch on the gifts for a second.

I know, I know..."it's the thought that counts".

Yeah?

Well what exactly counts when you put zero thought into the gift?

ANSWER: The bag and tissue paper, apparently.

Long story short ... my gift was a hit and was traded three times very quickly at which point it was "retired" with the girl who got it on the third trade.

And I ended up with a manicure set.

Here's a little known fact about me ... I bite my nails.

Therefore, I have as much use for a manicure set as a truly dedicated crackwhore needs a Bible.

I tried to be nice about it because I had no idea who bought the manicure set.

I get a funny feeling one of the clinically insane women from the kitchen downstairs bought it.

I jump to such a conclusion because only a clinically insane woman would carry around a manicure set in a faux zebra skin pouch.

I already have big plans for this manicure set.

And those plans include trading it in next year's "Dirty Santa" shindig.

I've been helping out with shuttling tourists all over the city the last few days.

Yesterday I went to three museums, two historic churches and ate three meals in a four hour period.

Maybe that's why I woke up at 1:55 a.m.

NO WAIT! I woke up because my son was screaming like a banshee!

How could I forget?

I have to be at work in two hours.

I'm going back to bed.

Shuttle your own damned selves around town, tourists!!