I GET STARED AT...A LOT

I get stared at.

A lot.

What's up with that???

Now ... before you automatically say to yourself "You're Uncle Bob! OF COURSE, people are going to bow down to your holy bad assed self!"

I'm ONLY Uncle Bob here.

And YOU are not HERE.

The accolades, adulation, awards and Army all leave me once I step foot out of this room.

So...they ain't all gooey-eyed over the Uncle.

I used to think "ooooo...people recognize me!!"

I mean...I've lived in this town for 16 years and have done my fair share of high profile gigs in town. It's totally acceptable that people can recognize me from something I've done in the past.

But that's rarely the case here. The little old lady recognized me the other night, but ... on an average...that probably only happens about once a month, if that. It's not like I'm mobbed like Tom Cruise when I walk out that front door every morning.

And little children can't take their eyes off of me. Again...I must ask ... "What's up with that?"

If I go anywhere where there will be children, I'm the object of attention. They're never scared of me, although most cling to their mother while staring.

Maybe I look like every single bad guy on "America's Most Wanted".

Still...people ...and kids...stare.

It could be the hair...contrary to rumor...I DON'T have a mullet.

But I was voted "Most Likely To Hold Onto That Mullet Several Years Past Its Prime" in high school.

Still...my hair is ...the unruliest ruly hair you'll ever come across.

In my teens , I had a beautiful head of hair.

Then...Vidal Sassoon discontinued his sculpting gel.

Thus.. my hair secrets were outed as my hair went from looking like Fabio's hair to something more like Carrot Top.

I was as ostracized as Timothy McVeigh at his high school reunion.

Society rejected me and I hid in a hole for several years.

...alright...I didn't hide for several years...I stood in the hair gel department at Walmart for several minutes....damned near the same thing anyway...

I have now tried every single hair gel, mousse, spritz and spray on the market to get my hair back to its natural state of full-headed gorgeousness.

In return, I've not only never achieved perfect hairdom again...but I've gained a tremendously impressive bald spot on the crown of my head. The front of my head looks alright...you know...if there wasn't a face attached, it'd look pretty keen. But I mean hair wise...I look like Brad Pitt.

But then ... from behind...I look like a monk.

I used to worry about the bald spot. I didn't think women would find me sexy anymore.

Now I just point blank ask them.

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

BOSS: "Everyone...meet Stacey. Stacey's going to be our new receptionist."

STACEY: "Hi."

ME: "Hey Stacey...you think I'm sexy even with this bald spot?"

STACEY: "Ummmmm...I can't work here. Goodbye."

BOSS: "Dammit to hell, Uncle Bob! That's the fourth one this week!"

ME: "Sorry Boss. I just haven't been feeling sec-sayyy for a while now."

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

Anyway...about the same time my gel was taken off the market, my hairdresser moved away and I was left with a rat's nest for a hairdo.

I try to pass it off as a Keith Richards knock-off, but I think everyone knows better.

It's a sad day in Bobland if we're talking about my hair.

CHRIST! We were supposed to be talking about me being stared at!!!

I SWEAR TO YOU...this entry started with a point.

ARRRRRGGGHHH!!! I HATE these little boxes that we type in.

And yes...I KNOW I should type it on WordPad first...

That doesn't solve my problem.

I STILL have to scroll.

Maybe...just maybe...if I formed actual PARAGRAPHS instead of sentence fragments....I could get the entire entry in a much shorter space...

Or maybe-er...I could cut these entries in half and not ramble so much.

But then again...it's the rambling that....

....DAMMIT TO HELL!!!! I'M RAMBLING AGAIN!!!

The point is...I get stared at...alot.

And quite frankly ... I'm sick of it.

There's your stinkin' entry in two sentences.

*Bob exhales deeply*

That was soooooo much easier.