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3:22 a.m. - 2005-02-24

ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKE UNCLE BOB A TIRED BOY


I can't freakin' sleep.

I hate when I get like this ... I go to bed too early (9:30)and I wake up at 3 a.m. and think "Geez. I have to be at work at 9 ... then go straight to a party at 4:30 ... then go straight to the Karaoke bar at 8:30 ... then get off work about 1 a.m. ... 22 hours from now."

So while I'm laying there, counting the hours until I can be back in bed to sleep ... I can't sleep.

And I always lay there thinking "What if I fall asleep tonight in the bar? What if someone's singing Billy Joel's 'Piano Man' wayyyy offkey and I just nod out at the controls because I've been awake for 20 straight hours??"

It's never happened.

The worst thing that'll happen is I'll get a bad case of the yawns and just stand in the DJ booth, yawning my ass off while some drunk is mangling "Celebration".

Then I have to get on the mic and explain that I wasn't yawning "at" their singing, I was yawning because I've been up since 3 a.m. worried about this exact moment and whether or not I'd pass out from exhaustion.

Of course, everyone I'm talking to is drunk and doesn't give a shit about my strange sleeping habits.

So here I am.

Babbling about nothing to you.

Again.



Which brings me to yet another awkward segue into why I love my job.

I think I've mentioned the perks ... but it bears mentioning again after yesterday.

A local business wants to advertise in the paper but rather than pay us cash, they want a trade-out ... they'll provide services for us if we give them an ad.

The boss is always willing to do this. If it were my business I'd be a bit more apprehensive about trade-outs, but I guess he has the money to make payroll and that's the bottom line.

Anyway ... guess what my wife got yesterday as a perk of my job?

...A one-hour massage from a local spa.

Naturally, she's all giddy because she is one massage-lovin' whore. She'd blow a pig if it were physically able to rub her shoulders longer than two seconds.

My perk yesterday?

We have a trade-out with a local pizza place. The deal is ... WHENEVER any of us wants a pizza or anything Italian, we just call and they fix us whatever we want.

So yesterday, Drunk Assed Jamie and I feasted on two big-assed calzones filled with everything we could think of.

For free.

Yum indeed.

The pizza place's ad is $160 a week, so our tiny staff can eat $160 worth of food there a week.

We had pizza on Monday and Tuesday and calzones on Wednesday.

I'm pretty much sick of the pizza already ... but I haven't spent a dime on lunch since I've been back at work.

Which is good.

But eventually, I'm going to have to start working around there.



I have to write the little story about me coming back to the paper this week.

I do not like writing anything about myself that talks about myself at length for publications unless it's supposed to be humorous.

The only thing I've come up with for the story is this ... a quote from me.

Ahem.

"Words cannot describe how I feel about coming back to the paper," Uncle Bob says. "Unless you want to use a word like 'alright'."

I just don't think that reads very properly and isn't funny enough.

So I've got this ...

"Words cannot describe how I feel about coming back to the paper," Uncle Bob says. "So I've decided to make up a word ... magnalicious."

I know. I know.

Back to the drawing board for me.


Alright, I think I might be getting sleepy, so I'm trudging back to bed to see if I can get another hour or so of rest.


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