YOU WANTED IT AND YOU GOT IT

Due to popular demand and for those of you who missed it, if you want to hear me sing "I Hate This Fucking Shithole", click here.

Fair warning ... it's lame and my country music "accent" fades in and out.

And I had never actually "sang" the song before I recorded this.

And I could make up excuses for its amateurish tone all day but the bottom line is ... it's bad.

Really bad.

Don't forget ... "Superstar USA" kicks off the WB schedule tonight with the first two episodes back to back.

These are the audition episodes which are beyond hilarious.

If you like the tone I try to capture on this journal, then you'll love the show. It's mean spirited, cranky and bitchy.

Just like me.

It's ... dare I say it?

"Uncle Bob TV".

I have had this nagging cough for about three weeks.

Naturally, because I'm now in my 40s and am a full fledged hypochondriac ... I think it's lung cancer.

Every time I cough, I cringe while thinking "You're just making the cancer worse with that coughing!"

Yes.

I'm borderline retarded.

Did I tell you guys we're planning a street party in order for all the neighbors on our new street to meet each other in an informal gathering?

I did?

Well ... it's going good.

People we didn't expect to come are coming.

Meaning the street snobs.

Y'see ... there's about 3-4 houses on our street that're known as the "street snobs" by those of us who aren't street snobs.

These people never come outside to hobnob in the early evening hours.

When they do come outside, they're in a car leaving their driveways and they don't wave at us while we stand in the street in our communal hobnob.

The women in particular all act like their feces has no odor to it ... like they're too good for us.

Bottom line ... yes, we live in a nice neighborhood ... but it's not THE neighborhood in town to be living in for the hoity toity.

There's about 20 or 25 other subdivisions more hoity toity than ours.

And an even bottomer line ... although I don't make a big deal about it ... out of the 400 or so homes in our subdivision ... I own the nicest, most expensive home.

We went with the biggest home and filled it full of the most amenities of any other home. The marble shower for two ... the jacuzzi ... the sound system that's built into the home, etc.

And while it may be the nicest home in the area, that was a stupid move on our part because it's better to live in a smaller home in a nicer area than to live in the nicest home in a more middle-of-the-road area.

If that makes sense.

And probably, like most everything else I write ... it doesn't.

The people with Gerri's Kids REALLY want me to come back to work for them.

The boss over there called me at home yesterday with a personal invitation to come back.

This is after I basically told them that I didn't want to play by their rules ... I wanted to work 2 days a week rather than 5.

And they're all "Ummmm...SURE!! Just come back to work and get some money in this joint!"

I need to call her back again today since yesterday I just monitored the call rather than pick up the phone.

I do NOT want to have to go back to doing this crap.

But I strongly believe in helping out the Kids any way that I can.

So in my eyes ... since the pay completely sucks and so does the work, I will look at it in my head as volunteer work that pays me for gas mileage to and from work.

That way, I can feel better about doing it.

It's sad when I have to bribe my brain into doing shit I don't want to do by letting it think it'll make me a better person to do it.

Gawd.

Is there any way that I can be more stupid today?

I started cashing in on Susie's $500 gift card from her job yesterday.

Actually ... I spent my share and she gets the rest.

I bought a new edger so my driveway and sidewalk are edged properly.

And I bought four bales of pine straw that I need to put around my bushes this morning.

I'm quickly becoming obsessed with having the perfect looking yard on the street and will apparently stop at nothing to reach this goal.

I actually signed up for an email newsletter that will tell me each day what to do to my yard that day in order to achieve Lawn Nirvana.

Dad would be proud.

...If I ever bothered to call him to tell him of my latest obsession.

That's it from me ... bales of pine straw are calling my name.

Well ... not really.

That'd be one weird ass scenario if inanimate objects were out in my yard, hollering "Yo Uncle Bob! Get out here!"

I wonder if they'd bring back the show "Unsolved Mysteries" just to put me and my pine straw on it?

I bet they would.