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3:33 a.m. - 2002-02-01


I couldn't sleep.

No big surprise there. I can never sleep the night before I'm doing something exciting.

Had I known the exact date I was losing my virginity, I doubt I woulda slept the entire week leading up to it. I go home.

I am soooooo ready to get home.

I think Dorothy from "The Wizard of Oz" said it best when she said "Toto ... would you please quit humping my goddamned leg?"

And then she said something along the lines of "There's no place like home."

Oregon has its natural beauty, its delicious food and its saucy lesbians. But I'm ready for crackhouses, fried candy bars and racist rednecks.

It's time to head home.

So it's 3:30 a.m. Pacific time...5:30 home time. Which is normally when I get up anyway, so I feel like I'll be okay.

I'm all packed. I packed as soon as I got back from dinner last night. I'm not a very good packer so I thought it best to go ahead and start doing it early in case it took me all night. But I got everything squished into my two bags which is good since I came here with full bags and I'm taking home quite a bit more than what I came with including a small Fillipino child named Manuel who promises to do my yard work for a cot in my utility room and a taco each day.

How can I argue with that?

Yesterday went pretty smoothly. My first interview was with the president of a timber company here. I was lucky enough to have the guy share several dozen facts of the timber industry with me. The entire time I nodded my head and said "Wow! Gosh! You're kidding me!" When I was really thinking "23 hours until I'm on that plane to Seattle."

After I finished up with him, I had plenty of time until my next appointment and went to a Carl's Jr. which is like a Hardee's in my neck of the woods. I ordered an English muffin with sausage on it. In Alabama, you'd get laughed at for eating an English muffin. "What are you, some kinda British fairy?" the brawny rednecks would say as you ate your dainty little muffin. "Eat a biscuit,fairy."

But up here, English muffins are the norm. Which would explain the massive amounts of lesbians, I think. You know...if warped logic were to enter the picture at any point.

Afterwards, I stopped by this really cool music store that had EVERYTHING.

Wanna know what I mean by "Everything?"

They had...hold onto your seats...they had the brand new CD "More Songs From The Big Blue House".


Y'see ... my gal Claudia who works at Disney Records...I asked her to get on the ball and have the powers that be crank out a sequel to the tape "Songs From The Big Blue House" because it's Andrew's favorite tape and Susie and I know it by heart now.

Then...yesterday I'm casually walking through the store and THERE IT WAS!!!

So thank you Claudia! You are the best!! Thanks for putting the bug in the ear of whoever makes decisions around that Disney joint and getting my sequel done!

And so quickly too!!

I felt so special that I HAD to buy it.

The girl behind the counter was your typical Oregon pale, pasty lesbian with a nose ring. But it's okay because she worked in a music store and I wouldn't expect anything less.

She looked at the disc and then looked at me in my black suit and tie.

"It's for my son," I said.

"I was going to ask if you wanted me to open it for you so you could listen to it in the car," she said sarcastically.

"No," I chuckled. "But I'm curious...what were you going to open it with? That jagged nose ring of yours?"

She rang me up and I made mention that last month I had asked an employee of Disney Records to get this disc out on the market and now, here it was. It even had the year 2002 on it, so I KNEW it was brand new.

She was about as impressed as you are.

Anyway, I grabbed my Big Blue Swag and took off to my next appointment.

It was at a Goodwill-type store. This store was a late addition to the clients I had and I wasn't really sure what they were looking for from me. I had been told they were writing their own profile and that I wouldn't have to do it.

As it turned out, they just needed a bit of guidance. Something I could have done over the phone.

No biggie. I was in and out in ten minutes and got to snicker at a few handicapped Oregon lesbians in the process and suggest that maybe they were in wheelchairs because they couldn't cut back on the muff munching.

I think they were kinda relieved when I left.

Then I had to go to this Dental Park place. It was a building with a bunch of dentists in it. One dentist was really nice, another was kinda serious and quiet and scary in a way. He never smiled, he acted like a gruff old man, yet said that there was always laughter and fun in his office. I'm sure his employees would probably say different. He seemed to be about as much fun as a herpes sore.

The third dentist I met with MUST have had Parkinson's Disease. My grandfather died of Parkinson's and I pretty much know enough about it to spot it when I see it. The guy's head couldn't stop shaking. It wasn't a bad shake, but it just quivered constantly, as did his hands.


If I had to pick out a dentist, I would have to say that I feel pretty confident that I wouldn't pick a dentist with Parkinson's Disease. I'm sure he's a nice guy and all, but when it comes to giving me a filling, I want a dentist who isn't convulsing. One that isn't going to repeatedly jab a sharp instrument into my gums because he can't stop twitching like a bunny rabbit all hopped up on bennies. I don't feel like I ask for much out of my dentist, but I certainly demand that I don't walk away with a mouthful of mangled and shredded flesh after I go in for a cleaning. I don't want to take my tongue home in a mayonnaise jar.

The fourth guy just looked like ... well ... he looked like John Belushi in "Animal House". He was pretty overweight, hadn't brushed his hair in days, he hadn't shaved, his shirt was untucked and he was wearing dirty tennis shoes. At one point I was going to ask him if he was really a doctor or did he just put down his cardboard sign that read "Will Drill Teeth For Food" and somehow sneak into this meeting.

After that interview, I did a mental cheer as it was the last interview completed. I came back to the hotel and decided to take a short nap before transcribing the tapes.

Natashka called just as I laid down and asked if I wanted to join her for dinner. I said "Shurrrrre" which came out more like "Shurre". So she came over and we went to the mall to get Susie her gift.

(A box of pretty chocolates and two bags of chocolate rocks with little fishies in them. She's not much for material things but she likes chocolate. Plus, I can't eat any of it, so she doubly wins. But she's on a diet and she might get mad and throw the chocolate at me. I don't think she'll do that. I'm just sayin'.)

We then sauntered over to this Mexican place where we both had fajitas and scoped out the foxy Oregon lesbians. Which isn't hard to do, because they're EVERYWHERE. You know how yesterday I said that all the women "look" like lesbians? Scratch that. They ARE lesbians. All you lesbian Diarylanders....I have found your Disneyland. Your Utopia. Your Shangri-la. And it's called Eugene, Oregon ... home of the Mighty Muff Munchers.

The only sad part is ... there's no lipstick lesbians up here. No Penthouse-type lesbos. They all look like men, and burly men at that. If I'm gonna google at some lesbians, I at least ask that they be aesthetically appealing. These women looked like they went to Dr. Shakey McTwitcher for their dental work. Frightening looking ladies. I woulda pointed at them, snickered and said "Yew a lesmian!" in a Southern accent if I didn't think they'd snap my pointing finger in two.

Still, it was a good dinner. I ate all mine while Natashka spilled most of hers in her lap and took the rest home. The tortillas we were given were paper-thin and wouldn't hold more than a spoonful of sour cream before they disintegrated in your hands. was good stuff.

I drove her back to her place and I could tell she wanted me to come up and give her a beefy fajita of my own. Alas...I begged off. "I'm a married man!" I shouted. "Please...hands off the beefy fajita, woman!"

She seemed dejected and said "Curses!" Which made me giggle because that's what all the women say when I remind them I'm married.

Actually, I dropped her off at her boyfriend's place ( a handsome young lad...yes ... I saw pictures) and gave her yet another patented awkward Uncle Bob hug which is basically an arm around the shoulders, followed by repeated slapping of her shoulder like an epileptic circus seal. Meaning she's now had two hugs from Uncle Bob, making her the Diarylander who's received the most awkward hugs from me.

Unless you count Edweird, who loves my hugs and asks for one every day.


It's going to be a good day.

I'm traveling coast to coast, racking up thousands of miles and I get to see my wife and baby boy at the end of the day.

A very good day indeed.

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