IF I USE THE WORD "PENIS" IN THE TITLE, YOU MIGHT READ THE ENTRY ALL THE WAY THROUGH

I'm thinking about starting to call everyone I know "Bub".

"Hey Bub...pass the salt please."

"Yo Bub ... nice haircut...did you get that free with a box of Lucky Charms?"

"Listen Bub...I don't care how much you love your mother...she's dead now. She doesn't require your love anymore."

Bub.

I think it'd be kinda cool.

Either Bub or Gus.

I think they're interchangable.

Soooooo...I finally got an email back from the most neurotic, yet lovable chick in Diaryland ... the lovely Miss Schmez.

Y'see ... this weekend coming back from the Carolinas, we cruise right through Augusta, GA., home of the Schmezinator.

So I emailed her, asking if she and her old man would like to have lunch.

She somewhat graciously accepted in an email sent last evening. Naturally, she had to make fun of the fact that the wife and I honeymooned in Gatlinburg oh so many years ago in her email just to be ornery.

So Sunday afternoon will be my brunch with Schmez.

I'm all giddy.

Except now I've got to lose like ... 60 lbs before Sunday.

Maybe I should chop a few feet off my penis.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!

WHAT A MANLY JOKE!!!

HOOOO BOY!!!

(Bob wipes the fake tears of laughter from his eyes)

So anyway...

Schmez's mom tells her the same thing my mom tells me ... be careful when meeting people from the Internet. Schmez's mom tells her that we're all perverts while my mom insists that everyone on the Internet is out to kill me.

Mom.

I'm 39 years old.

I'm not a 14 year old little girl.

I doubt seriously anyone is out there going ... "I wanna set up a meeting with Uncle Bob so I can chloroform him and keep him in my basement for several months, torturing his ass before I kill him."

But hey...thanks for watching out for me, Ma.

Had to take Andy to the doctor yesterday. We do that at least once a month now.

We get there and Andy seems fine. He's on the floor, playing with one of those wooden and wire maze things where kids take the little balls and move them across a series of twisted colored wires.

I think the official name for them is "Colorful Twisted Pieces of Shit". Ask for it at a toy store near you.

He's been wanting to play with these things ever since we started taking him to the doctor's office, but he's never been able to sit up on his own until the last two weeks, so he's always had to sit on our lap and watch other kids play with them.

So now he's a big boy and can sit on the floor and finally play with these contraptions.

I sit him down in front of the toy and what does he do??

Proceed to suck on every little piece of the toy, sucking in every single germ every other sick kid has left on the thing.

So I scoop his ass back up and put him on my lap. He protests by making this high pitched squeal that he's thinking about patenting. I tune it out and just smile at the other parents, because in a doctor's office's waiting room, your kid can squeal to his heart's delight and nobody can say shit because he's sick and everyone in there is a parent and has heard these same squeals from their kids, so fuck off, I'm not making him shut up for y'all's sorry asses.

Yep. That's how I act in the doctor's office.

So we finally get ushered back into a closet to have the doctor check Andy out. He comes in and wants to shake my hand because he thinks it's wonderful that I've come to every doctor's appointment so far.

"Anything to get out of work," I say as a joke, but I think he thinks I'm a slacker.

So he pokes around in Andy's ears which pisses Andy off. Sure as shit...he's got yet ANOTHER ear infection ... the fourth one in six months.

"Has he been real fussy lately," the doctor asks me.

Well hell yes he's been fussy, doc. The kid's ear is as raw as Eddie Murphy in his heyday. He's taken fussy to a whole new level fer Chrissakes.

"Somewhat," I tell the doctor.

"Has he shown any other signs of being sick," the doctor asks.

I almost mentioned that he wanted to watch "Providence" the other night ... to me, THAT is sick.

Susie mentioned that he actually THREW up twice this weekend.

So the doctor decides that Andy needs an antibiotic SHOT and THENNN some oral antibiotics.

So Andy gets his shot. It's a big shot. And Andy's NOT a big boy, contrary to what I tell him on a daily basis. I only tell him he's a big boy because it inflates his already big baby ego.

So Andy screams like Neve Campbell and my nerves suddenly fray.

We decide that instead of sending Andy back to daycare, I will take him home for the rest of the day (this is at noon) where he will sleep peacefully, I will be able to write without any interuptions and the world will continue spinning on its axis.

Wrong, fuckers. Oh so wrong.

We get home and Andy's wide fucking awake. He wants to be held, he wants to be walked around and he wants to check out wall hangings, dammit.

So we walk around as I sing his ABC's to him because that usually soothes him.

Not today, boss. Today it wakes him up more and more every time I get to "Z".

Finally, after 30 minutes of lugging his 18 lb. ass around the house, he starts to peter out.

I put him in his crib and he begins wailing.

So basically, from 1 p.m. to 6 p.m., I sat in the recliner while he slept and drooled on my chest.

Susie came home and my arms barely worked. They felt like warm Jello. I went to hand her the baby and my arms just stayed wrapped around him.

"Get the baby," I said. "I think I'm having a stroke or something."

She got the baby, I got out of the chair and got the blood circulating in my body again and was fine, thank you very much for caring.

I went and picked up a pizza for dinner and we all went to bed pretty early.

Andy's still asleep 10 hours later.

Yahoooo!!!

There's other lame assed news to tell you, but I need to get up and get moving.

Rock on wi'cha bad se'fs.