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6:05 a.m. - 2001-06-16

I GOT IT!! I GOT IT!! I GOT IT!!

Guess what?!?!?

Nooooo...I didn't win the lottery. I live in Alabama where a lottery is seen as corrupt and evil. One of our own legislators said if you bring in a lottery to Alabama "the pimps and whores will be right behind it".

Guess what, Floyd? The pimps and whores are already here and been here for years. So, in that warped mode of thinking, you already OWE us a lottery.

Anyway...

Nooooo....I didn't catch a venereal disease. Although it's not from lack of trying.

Give up???

I ASK YOU .... DO YOU GIVE UP?!?!?!

Okay, I'll tell you.

(Try to act shocked...hokay?)

I GOT THE JOB!!!

WHEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

(Bob does his happy dance in front of his desk, accidently slams his knee into the keyboard drawer and falls to the floor, clutching his knee, screaming "Dear God in Heaven...This hurts like a motherfucker!!!")

So yeah. I got the job as a business profile writer for a company that makes coffee table books.

What does this mean for me?

First...I'm working directly under The Wendigo. Wendi used to be my boss at the paper, left about four years ago and went to work for the coffee table book company and liked that MUCH BETTER than the paper. Wendi's the one that offered me this new job and the chance to go work for a company that both she and my boy Eddie Lavoie work at was too much. I had to go.

So now I work with Wendi and Eddie. You don't know how cool that will be for me.

I get my own office now that I STILL haven't fully checked out ... just walked past it twice very non-chalantly. I'd LOVE to go in there with a tape measure and ferns and my framed portrait of Cosmo Kramer and turn it into my home away from home.

Yep. I'd love it.

This means ALL I'll have to really be responsible for is conducting interviews with public relations people from big companies, then writing a 400 word profile on said company.

No problem. You've already read over 300 words already on this page. I can crank me out some words, lemme tell ya.

It will be SOOOO nice to have a job where I basically do one thing...interviewing and writing. Rather than laying out the whole project, finding pictures for the project, etc., etc.

I had my interview with the big boss yesterday at the new company who turned out to be soopah cool. Then I met with the gal who will be my editor, who was cool as well. Then I killed a wasp for one of the sales managers, who's already in my debt now because I killed a wasp and WASN'T OFFICIALLY WORKING THERE. So that automatically shows that I'm a team player without even being on the team.

After the interview, I went to lunch with Wendi, Eddie and Mattie Gee where we half-assed celebrated my new job even though we didn't really celebrate it because it wasn't officially mine yet which was kinda weird because it's like celebrating your 50th birthday tomorrow. You're not 50 yet. Why celebrate?

So then I went back to the office, sat there staring at the phone until it rang and it was Wendi.

"You got it!" she squealed into the phone.

I felt like James Cameron winning the Best Director Oscar for "Titanic".

"I'M KING OF THE WORRRRLD!" I yelled into the phone, thus damaging one of Wendi's eardrums.

I hung up the phone and ran around the office, squawking like Chicken Little.

"I'M QUITTING!! I'M QUITTING!!" I yelled.

Then I composed myself quickly and thought to myself "I think this occasion would be better suited if it was explained in song."

So I sang my resignation.

I've worked here many years,

And although I think you're dears,

I must turn in my resignation,

Don't look at me with fascination.

For I am flying this coop,

I'm sick of all the poop,

You cannot hold me back any lonnnnnngerrrrrrr.

I hope this place fails without me,

The wind will have no sails without me.

I'm the moral backbone of this companyyyyyyy

So everyone line up

I said everyone line up

And kiss my lily white ass just one more tiiiiiime.

I'm history, you lame ducks.

You're sick of me, you ass fucks,

I hope ....

I said I hope...

Baby, I'm hoping that you're all out of jobs within six ....

....Monnnnnnnnnnnnnths.

("Thank you everybody! It's been a lovely nine years! I'll be here all week and then you'll never see my ass again!! GOODNIGHT!!!")

I THINK they got the picture. I'm not really sure, because I grabbed an armload of shit off my desk, said "See you guys Monday" and went home for the weekend before I could gauge anyone's reactions.

...I LOVE being a short-timer. The next two weeks are going to be coast-city.

And then the rest of my damned life will be BUSTING ASS!

...DUDE!!

(sorry...forgot the "Dude")


We celebrated last night by going to my favorite steak place...Conestoga Steak House.

It rules. Andy was on his best behavior and charming every woman around us. We had three people tell us what a "good" baby we had.

I guess that means they were shocked he didn't fire off some shrill squeals at a rapid pace.

After that we drove all the way across town to my office because I had left a chicken salad sandwich in the fridge and Susie LOVES this chicken salad...and as I pulled up in the driveway, I remembered that I didn't have my office keys. So that was about 30 minutes and 20 miles wasted.

Drove home in the pouring rain as lightning lit up the sky and thunder crashed in our ears and thought to myself "This is like a Springsteen song".

Except it wasn't.


My mother in law and nephews invaded the house yesterday and left it relatively intact.

There was no porn surfing on the computer according to Granny.

I was reminded of why the woman gets on my nerves yesterday morning.

She was rocking Andy and we were both watching the Today Show. They had some segment on about an old guy whose job it was during the war to contact dead soldier's wives and tell them that their husband had died.

It was a pretty interesting piece. And just as the old man was about to relay a particularly sad story, my mother-in-law wants to talk about somebody who lived down the street from them that was killed in Vietnam.

She talks sooooo slowwww and wants to make sure she has alllll the detaaaaails corrreccccct that it just makes me squirm.

"Was it 1966? It might have been 1967. No! It was 1968 because Susie was three years old at the time, I remember that because we had just had her third birthday at the house and she got a spirograph and a new doll. The doll's name was Chatty Cathy. No. It was Drowsy. No, it was Chatty Cathy because she already had a Drowsy doll that she got in 1967 for Christmas when we spent Christmas in North Carolina. It was cold that year. Really cold. I remember bundling the kids up for bed and we'd all sleep by the fireplace because that was the warmest place in the house. And...."

You know? All this shit for a guy down the street who died in Vietnam.

Meanwhile, the story that I was trying to watch on TV is now over and they're in commercials and Grandma is still blathering away about the cold winters in North Carolina.

Sheesh.

I mean...it's no reason to KILL her. But it DOES make me want to just slap her until she passes out from fright.


Oh.

Even though the new job thing made my day...a dark cloud did find its way into my life and rained down a fiery hellish rainstorm on me.

....My sister-in-law wants to bring the knee-humping nephews to town the first week of August.

When Susie told me this, I kept saying "No, no, no" like I was Rain Man or something.

There's nothing worse that having my sister-in-law and her four boys come to spend the week in my tiny little house.

These kids stay up until 4 a.m. and sleep until the next afternoon. They're playing on the computer, the Play Station, watching movies, running in and out the back door ... all this shit in the middle of the night.

Hey. This just in. Even though you stinky fucks are on vacation, Uncle Bob and Susie and Andy have to keep on their usual schedule which means in bed by 10 and up at 5 a.m.

The thing that gets me is we have to tiptoe around the house while we're getting ready because if we wake these kids up, they get all pissy about it.

Last time, the 17-year-old asked me to "PLEASE hold it down" because he was trying to sleep on our sofa while I was in the kitchen , unloading the dishwasher with he and his family's plates in it.

The nerve of that fucker.

I told him if he went to bed at a decent hour and got up before the sun went down, MAYBE we could get along.

It's just...it's two different schedules for two different families in one house.

And it bugs the everlasting shit outta me.

Anyway...I told Susie that her sister could spend the night here but I wanted those boys sleeping with one of her other sibling's homes here in town.

It used to be that way. They NEVER slept over here.

And then Susie's brother's wife became such a lazy fucking slob that she hasn't cleaned house in ten years and even the kids didn't want to stay there.

One of them told me the house smelled like "poop".

Duh kid. That pet rabbit of theirs died in '94 and they haven't discovered it yet.

Hell, they can't even find it.

So everyone now spends the night and day here because Susie and I at least make an effort to keep a semi-clean home.

I dunno.

All I know is, I'm not looking forward to being a slave in my own home again for the second time this year.

Fuckers.


Speaking of being a slave in my own home...tonight we go to pick up three teenagers who will be spending the night at Uncle Bob's house tonight.

BUT they'll only be here for a few hours...take 'em back to church in the morning.

They're here from Atlanta to do some little Father's Day skit in the morning at church and there's 28 of them who need a place to crash for the night.

Apparently, very few church members agreed to let them spend the night.

Then again, most of these church members are older, retired folks who don't relish the thought of hooligan teenagers from Atlanta spending the night at their place and robbing them of all their loot and jewelry.

Me?

I can handle it.

Well...not really. I'm just hoping we get three quiet girls who are tired and just go to bed without giving me any guff.

No guff.

I don't want no stinkin' guff outta these kids.

None.

Check your guff at the door, kiddies. No Guff Allowed in here.

Yep.

None at all.

I'll try to get back here in the morning and let you know if I had a guff-full bunch of kids here or not.

Three strange teenagers spending the night with Uncle Bob.

Almost sounds like an MTV contest...huh?

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