FULL OF HATE AND DISCONTENT...THE OLD UNCLE BOB IS BACK, BABY!!

Man...do I HATE these fucking childbirth classes.

The first week was cool. I was excited and giddy.

Now, I'd rather have teeth pulled and jammed up my ass then have to go back to these classes.

What it all boils down to is I HATE our instructor.

It's sooooo obvious she's a little prep whose husband makes a ton of money. She always comes in waving her jewelry around in her high priced clothes, blah blah fuckin' blah.

Every class, she talks to all the little preppies who are all dressed nice and look like as soon as they have their child they can't wait to stick a silver spoon in its mouth and then ignore it for the rest of its life.

Meanwhile, us grungy grunts sit there and get ignored because we didn't fix our hair JUST SO before we came to class.

That's not even why I really hate her though. The simple fact that she SUCKS really pisses me off.

Look...I've never had a kid, so I can't really judge this instructor against a previous one.

But I know one thing...during your breathing exercises...when you tell everyone to "inhale"...you should eventually follow that with an "everyone please exhale."

It's that fucking simple lady. You can inhale all you want...but eventually...YOU HAVE TO FUCKING EXHALE.

I guess you could say she leaves us all "Waiting To Exhale".

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!

(Bob falls on the floor, laughing his ass off at 4:30 a.m. over a stupid pun)

But nooooooooo...half the time she forgets to tell us to exhale. It drives me fucking batty.

Am I using the word "fucking" too much today??

FUCKING A, I AM!!!

Last night, she says "Everyone take a deep breath and hold it".

Everyone takes a deep breath and holds it.

Then she goes off on a tangent.

"When you're in labor, your contractions will start slowly and build up to where your cervix is dialated about 7 centimeters. Between 7 and 10 centimeters is where you're physically capable of giving birth, depending on the size of your baby. If the baby is breached, it may be necessary...no wait...it WILL be necessary for you to have a C section. Now ladies...if you have a vertical scar from a previous surgery, you will have to have another vertical incision. If not, the doctors perform what is known as a "bikini incision" which is made right above your pubic hair. Your pubic hair will have to be shaved slightly in order for the incision to be cut. Once the incision is cut, your baby will be completely extracted from your womb in less than five minutes. It's an amazing procedure. My husband bought me this necklace after I gave birth to our third child. Isn't it fantastic? Oh wait, your eyes are all supposed to be closed right now...nobody can see my necklace. Let me describe it to you...it's a gold chain, with several diamonds and garnet stones encrusted in it. Garnet is my birthstone...most of your baby's birthstones will be coal, because you're much more poorer than me and my fabulous husband...."

....Meanwhile, half the class has passed out from lack of oxygen to their brains because YOU NEVER TOLD US TO EXHALE, YOU PSYCHO YUPPIE BITCH!!!

Last night, I got fucking bold.

I was finally sick of this lady's shit.

I REFUSED to do breathing exercises.

Oh sure...I got on the floor, let my wife lean into me, etc.

But it when it came time to close our eyes and pick our mental image out to concentrate on....my eyes stayed WIDE FUCKING OPEN.

When it came time to do the "heeee, heeee, heeeee" breathing exercise, which I fucking hate because this lady never taught us how to properly do it, I sit there and stare at all the others, doing their "heeee, heeee, heeee" moves like a bunch of retarded hyenas.

Well....not ALL the others. Many of the men are rebelling against this woman now. I looked around and half the husbands in the class were just sitting there wishing they could be home in front of the boob tube watching football or wrestling.

Anyway...this class has turned out to be a total waste of my time. Susie SAYS she's learned a lot from it, but hell...ALL OF THIS STUFF is in at least one of the dozens of books we've bought on childbirth over the last six months.

More power to Susie. God bless her. I hope she's paying attention here.

Because I stopped weeks ago.

********************************************

Yesterday was the day I had dreaded for a while.

....I had to meet one of my columnists.

This lady lives in Pennsylvania and writes a weekly column called "Minute Meditations". They're little religious "Chicken Soup" type columns that are really kinda boring unless you're a bible thumping columnist from Pennsylvania.

Her brother, a guy named Pete who lives here in town, set the meeting up since the lady (Michelle) was in town on vacation.

Pete gets on my every nerve and I can't really explain why.

He's quiet. He's an INCREDIBLY slow talker. When you say something to him, it takes him roughly 30 seconds to answer you. On the phone, this is excrutiating. In person, it's even worse, because he just stares at you during these moments of silence, like he's mentally undressing you. And lucky me...I'm always wearing ragged underwear when he does it.

So yesterday...even though it's a busy BUSY day for me, Pete brings his sister Michelle in to meet me.

I get a call at my desk about 11 a.m.

"Uncle Bob...there's someone in the lobby here to see you."

Shit.

I walk up to our lobby and there's Pete and Michelle and Michelle's even DORKIER husband Dean.

I put on my fakest of fake smiles.

"Pete!" I said, shaking his hand like a politician.

"Heyyyyyyyyyy, Boooooooooob. Thiiiiiiiiiis issssssssss Mi......."

"You must be Michelle," I said, cutting Pete off and shaking Michelle's hand.

"Yes, I am....this is my husband Dean," she said, pawning me off on Lurch.

I shook Lurch's hand. He stood there grinning and grunting like a lobotomized idiot.

And then, I SWEAR TO GOD, we all stood there for about 15 seconds in dead silence.

I had NOTHING to say to these people. I guess I coulda started the conversation off with "I've never read your column because it bores the shit outta me and your brother is a strange fucker who calls me every week asking me to have lunch with him and I've successfully blown him off for seven months now."

But I didn't.

So finally, as we all just stood there, shifting back and forth on our feet, I said "So...how do you like our weather."

Ohmigod.

Don't get yankees started on our weather.

"It's too hot, it's too humid, we're used to cold mornings, we don't have any air conditioning in the truck."

Jesus, Mary and Joseph....they would not SHUT UP about the weather.

Meanwhile, Pete's hanging back grinning like an idiot, enjoying the moment of his sister meeting Uncle Bob.

We talked about the weather for five minutes, before I finally said "Well...it's a busy day here, it was nice meeting you both."

I shook all three hands and was about to go back to my desk and get back to work.

"Iiiiiiiiiiiiiii waaaaaant aaaaaaaa picturrrrrrrrrre of theeeeeeee twoooooooooo of youuuuuuuuuuuu," Pete said.

I came THISCLOSE to saying "what the fuck for, Pete?"

But...because I'm Mr. NICE FUCKING GUY, I smiled and said "Sure".

I put my arm around Michelle, pulled her close and put on my fake smile that I use for all photographs that aren't taken on my computer cam.

But one photo wasn't good enough for Pete.

Pete needs another.

Fine Pete...fine.

THEN our sales manager walks through. She's nearing 50, still has a decent body for her age and men over 50 find her "sexy".

I find her "sales managery".

Pete wants her to pose in a picture with the two of us.

WHAT THE FUCK FOR, PETE?!?!?

Lynn, the sales manager, NEVER turns down a chance to have her pic made. She jumps right in the shuffle.

Then it dawns on me...Pete wants a photo of Lynn so he can take it to his bathroom and jack off while his wife sits on her fat ass in the living room and flips the channels aimlessly as he's shooting his man juice all over Lynn's picture.

I get thoroughly disgusted, but still manage my award winning fake smile for the camera anyway.

I shake all three hands ONE MORE TIME and excuse myself to go back to work.

They leave.

And I finally fucking exhale.

*****************************************

QUESTION OF THE DAY

How do you feel about having your photo taken?