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5:49 a.m. - 2005-07-29

UNCLE BOB ... NOW WITH MORE LESBIANS!

I think I figured out what "Klock Klock Glockenspiel Klock" means in German.

"Roomful of Burly Lesbians".

Who'da thunk it?

A bunch of women who apparently are construction workers had a party Wednesday night and I was their heterosexual bitch for the evening.

Before I could even get all my stuff unloaded, the first request came in.

"You got any Indigo Girls?" the woman asked.

"Ummmmm," I stalled, racking my brain for any Indigo Girls songs in my repertoire. "I've got 'Closer to Fine' and a remix of 'Shed My Skin'."

"That it?" she asked, meaning "Is that all the Indigo Girls songs in your collection?"

I gulped and nodded my head, half afraid I was about to get my ass handed to me by a 230-lb female lumberjack.

"Cool," she said. "Play 'em both."

I thought it would be an early evening because of the severe lack of men at the party.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

At 12:30, I was finally told to stop playing while every single stinkin' woman in the joint was shaking their rather large booties to Metallica's "Enter Sandman".

(Their choice, not mine.)

I have to give 'em props ... these ladies made me feel like a DJ God as they squealed loudly every time they heard the opening chords to the next song and they danced NON-STOP for almost three hours.

They came to P-A-R-T-Y and I accommodated them.

And here's the wild thing ... I know you're not going to believe this but for the most part ... lesbians like the same music everyone else does.

You'd think that they'd only groove to Sarah McLachalachalachlan and Ani DiFranco and any other females with two capital letters in their last names.

Well you'd be wrong, Little Joe.

They danced to everything from Glenn Miller to the aforementioned Metallica with as much enthusiasm as Ted Kennedy at a kegger.

At the end of the night, they tipped me $50 and told me they'd definitely book me again in the future.

Fine with me.

I dig the lezzies.



As expected, we received a call from our insurance adjustor who confirmed that the car my wife wrecked last week will have to be totalled meaning ... whether we want to or not ... we have to take up a new car payment after working so hard to pay the last one off.

Strangely enough, I've been hounding the old lady for months now to get our finances in order so we could purchase a new automobile and her answer has always been the same ... "We can't afford it."

But when the car is sitting in a junk heap, rusting away ... NOW all of a sudden we can afford it.

I'm tellin' ya ... I should have cut the brakes cable on that car a looooong time ago instead of just last week.

So yeah ... tomorrow's Car Shopping Day.

Whee.

I HATE shopping for cars.

Wait ... scratch that.

I HATE dealing with car salesmen.

My general distrust of anyone whose occupation revolves around the selling or repairing of automobiles is legendary in my household and with good reason.

When car salesmen see me lumber on to their lots, they know they've got a sucker in their lair and they automatically shift into "Carnival Barker" mode.

"How about this car? It'll sure impress the little lady!" they say as they wink and gesture at my wife with a twitch of their pointy little heads.

"You only THINK you can't afford this one!" they'll say as they proudly display the 2008 Hummer. "Yes, the payments will be more than double your mortgage, but in the end, it's all about safety, isn't it? And you want your wife and child to be safe when they're spinning around the highway don't you?"

What do you say?

"No ... show me your death traps, please"???

We have about $11,000 to put towards this next vehicle and we've always been taught to buy a used vehicle over a new one because the minute you lay eyes on a new vehicle, it automatically depreciates in value by $2,000. If you test drive it, that's another $3,000.

If you buy it, the food in your freezer is worth more money than the car.

So we're going to try and find a good used car with low mileage and no sex stains on the back seat.

In the middle of a major heat wave.

With a four year-old rambunctious little boy in tow.

And me with a total of 14 hours of sleep in the last four days.

To say I'm not looking forward to tomorrow is an understatement.

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