MACHISMO HAS A NEW FACE

Okay, if you haven't done it yet, you need to go here and vote for Public Domain to be the next huge band of the year.

For those of you who need a backstory before you blindly cast a vote for anything ... you're being wayyyy too anal about this. But I'll give you a backstory anyway because I really want you to vote.

Eh ... screw it. Go visit my buddy Disco and he'll give you the backstory.

But by all means ... go vote. It doesn't take a minute and if Disco's band wins and becomes huge, you can sniff really arrogantly and say something like "Yeah ... I'm the one that made them huge" to your friends and they'll all go "You mean ... YOU DISCOVERED PUBLIC DOMAIN?!?" and you can say in your best sleazy Hollywood voice "Babe ... I MADE Public Domain" and they'll be really impressed and possibly offer you free oral sex or something.

So go do your civic duty and vote, dammit.

And then encourage the readers of your diary to vote by posting the link on your page.

Let's make Disco a star, dammit.

I found out one of the best perks of being a temp yesterday.

When it's a gloomy rainy day outside and you'd rather go back to bed than go to work, all you have to do is call the temp agency and say "I've got a job interview at 10 a.m., so I won't be working today" and they say "Great! Good luck!"

And you go back to bed.

And then after another 90 minutes of sleep, the phone rings and it's a guy offering you several DJ gigs in June and July at $300 a pop.

And you agree to that and then hang up the phone and lay in bed and think to yourself ... "Damn. This sure beats telemarketing".

And then when you feel like it, you get up, brush your teeth, throw on a baseball cap and go to the bank where you deposit checks and cash totalling $875 that you received the week before for DJing.

And then you go back home and go back to bed.

I'm lovin' the temp job right about now.

We had a bit of excitement on the street yesterday.

It seems a neighbor lady was driving the kids home from school when her mini-van just died right in front of their house.

After a neighbor inspected the goings-on under the hood, it was determined that she needed a new battery.

A NEW BATTERY!!!

(Sorry. Just trying to interject some excitement into the story.)

BUT ... here's the clincher ...

Her husband is not a mechanic and can barely put gas in the car!!

DUM DUM DUM DUMMMMMMMMM!!!!

And as it turns out ... none of the men that were home (including me) were much more skilled in auto mechanics!

DUM DUM DUM DUMMMMMMMMM!!!!

So last night, four of us male neighbors huddled around the hood of this woman's car, trying to figure out how to extract the battery from the car and put a new one in while our wives cackled madly and pointed at us and called us things like "losers" and "dickless wonders".

After nearly 90 minutes of us taking turns wrestling the battery out of the car and installing the new one, the moment of truth came.

The keys were turned in the ignition ...

THE CAR CRANKED UP!!

We had done it! We had changed a car battery!!!

It took four of us to do it and the combined tools of three of us (I only have a hammer and some screws in my tool box. Mine was voted the lamest tool box in the world), but we had done it!

WE WERE REAL MEN!!!

Much rejoicing and high-fiving took place and we were going to all chug a cool one to illustrate the fact that we were real men, but nobody had any beer in their fridge, so we chugged some Strawberry Kiwi Kool-Aid instead.

MEN, I'M TELLING YOU!!!

Speaking only for myself, I slept all night with a smile on my face, content in the fact that I was more macho than I thought I was.

I'm sure my comrades in machoness did the same.

You know ... if anyone ever decides to start up a cable channel showing nothing but episodes of "Blind Date" back-to-back, I will drop out of society completely and never leave my recliner.

I never really watched the show until the last few months when I would come home at 1 a.m. and there's nothing on TV but infomercials.

And the only one of those worth a shit is the "Girls Gone Wild" infomercial which is about as erotic as watching your grandmother shower.

But one night I stumbled across "Blind Date" and now I'm hooked like a heroin addict.

I'm sure I'll outgrow this latest obsession because that's my nature. I only like something for a short time and then I discard it quicker than a bloody snotrag.

But for now, I'm diggin' the poop outta it.

Speaking of poop, apparently Andrew used the potty at daycare yesterday.

While there was much rejoicing after hearing this news, he still shit his shorts last night at dinner.

But at least we've had a breakthrough.

Next stop ... puberty.