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5:34 a.m. - 2001-10-02

GOOD MORNING, GOOD MORNING, GOOD MORNING!

I can't get this song out of my head.

The sad part is...it's called "Good Morning" and it's from my son's "Bear in the Big Blue House" tape. So it's a really geeky song at that.

And plus, there's nobody to sing it to right now. The wife's in the shower, the boy's asleep and the dog doesn't speak English that well.

So I'm sitting here...tortured by the song in my head.

"Good morning, good morning, good morning from the big blue house."

DAMMIT!


HEY!

If you haven't taken the BRAND NEW UNCLE BOB QUIZ yet, please do so!

It's full of really boring trivia about me just to see who's been paying attention here and who hasn't.

Plus, it will kill a few more minutes of your wretched day and that should count for something!

Anyone receiving a score of 200 will get a cyber kick in the ass from me!

So sharpen up those brains and get crackin', senorita!

Seriously, give it a shot. It's fairly easy.

Seriously.

Do it.

You know you want to, you quiz slut.

Oh...and I actually stole the idea from Angel's Mum one of the latest recruits into the Army. So...you know...it pays to visit the new recruits in the Army people. I suggest all Army members give all new recruits the once over at least once. You never know what you can steal from them, huh?


I downloaded a bunch of songs last night that are utter crap.

I was on Audio Galaxy and went under the "Novelty" songs and anything that sounded funny, I downloaded.

Like a song called "Semen". Another called "Fat Turd". Etc.

Well guess what?

They're not only not funny...but they sound horrible too.

I guess that's what I get for being such a gullible downloading bastard.

People ... if you're going to the trouble to call your song "Fat Turd", do me a favor and make it worth my time to download.

Granted, I'm not expecting Tchaikovsky here. But it would help if you had a slight knowledge of how to play a musical instrument before you pick it up and record a song.

Sheesh.

Is that too much to ask?


My neighbor that never ever ever speaks to me spoke to me last night.

This is not Nosy Assed Neighbor. Nosy Assed Neighbor speaks to me way too much. I cannot get away from Nosy Assed Neighbor fast enough.

This is neighbor on the other side. She's divorced, two kids, mid 20s.

I was outside, carrying stuff into our storage shed in the back when she yelled at me.

"Hey!" she yelled.

I was startled. I've lived next door to the woman for five years and thought she was a mute.

"Yeah?" I answered back.

"Where'd you get your mini van?" she asked.

Five years of silence. Now she wants to know where we got our mini van.

The damndest thing was...I couldn't remember. She had startled me so bad that my brain turned to fruit salad.

So I stood there, with boxes in my hand, trying to think where we had bought the van. I kept wanting to say this one place on the Bypass...because we spent a lot of time looking at vans there. But I knew we hadn't bought one there.

So I must have looked like some kinda idiot, standing there silently, racking my brain to think where we had bought the thing.

Then I remembered we had bought it from a lady personally.

"Our mechanic found it for us, it was driven by an old man who died," I finally replied.

She looked at me for a second and said "Oh."

Then she walked back in the house.

So I guess we'll have our next short conversation in 2006.

No wonder she doesn't talk to us. I must have looked like my brain was about to explode on a simple question. A normal conversation would probably send me spiraling into a coma.


I'm pretty proud of my blood sugar.

Granted, most people find more tangible items to sink their pride in...but my blood sugar is looking good, dammit.

Two weeks ago it was 220.

Today it's 157.

Normal is 70-110.

Sunday night, I had it down to 130.

So I'm keeping it in the mid 100's for now. Still high but not dangerously high.

I'm so proud, I've made up a cheer for my blood sugar.

It goes like this ...

(Clear throat)

"2-4-6-8

Whose blood sugar do I appreciate?

Mine!

MINE!!

MIIIIIIIIINE!!!!"

(Jump around spastically until my knees buckle and I hit my head on a table and pass out)

I thought about adding a "GooooooooOOOOOOOOO Blood Sugar! GO!" at the end of it...but I usually can't wait for the spastic jumping part so I skipped it.


I have no clean underwear.

I mentioned this to my wife yesterday as I slipped on some old boxers.

"I need you to do laundry tonight, dear," I said.

"What do you need washed, dear," she asked.

"Well," I said. "I have no clean underwear and am having to wear these old boxers whose waist bands are about to pop."

"Okay dear," she said. "I'll wash some underwear so your fat ass will have something to contain that tiny penis of yours tomorrow."

"Thank you dear," I said. "And remind me not to sling this tiny penis your way for the next few weeks or so to pay you back for that nasty remark."

"No problem dear," she said, putting her earrings on. "I couldn't find it if you slung it anyway."

I still have no clean underwear this morning.


The boy's still asleep which is a miracle.

Lately, he's been up right around 5:30 a.m. and it's a little after 6 now and there's not a peep from his room.

If I go in there and he has suffocated on a Tigger doll...I'm going to be one pissed off parent.


As you can tell, I'm just a potpourri of interesting news this morning.

But sadly...I'm running out of things to talk about so I think I'll be moseying on outta here.

Keep in mind...every weekday there's another update here at lunchtime since I sit alone at my desk and eat my ham sandwich and watch all the popular people go to lunch, laughing and holding hands and skipping down the hallway and I'm not invited because I'm way too quiet at lunchtime and don't add much to the conversation.

Mainly because I'm shoveling as much salad into my cheeks as they'll hold as quickly as possible because I'm freakin' STARVING by lunchtime, thank you.

Baby's crying.

He's alive.

Hallelujah.

My life's complete.

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