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5:12 a.m. - 2002-03-20


I have a blemish.

And not just any blemish ... this is easily the blemish from hell.

To those that have physically seen me the last few days, this is not news. It's a painfully obvious fact. I've noticed when people are talking to me that they stare directly at my big red blemish that rests about half an inch under my bottom lip.

I don't really want to call it a pimple, as I tend to think it's an ingrown whisker. I'm 40 years old now. I shouldn't be getting pimples. I'd go so far as to say that I have as much business getting a pimple as a 16 year-old has of getting a driver's license ... both can be done but shouldn't be done.

I would have never even known about the blemish until Monday as I was shaving. I shave in the shower but I have no mirror in there. As I was shaving, I unknowingly shaved off the tip of the blemish. I then proceeded to do my impression of Sissy Spacek in "Carrie" as I quickly became covered in blood.


So now, two days later, my blemish is still there and doesn't seem to be going away.

Naturally, I'm fighting the overwhelming urge to pick at it on a minute by minute basis. I really want it to go away. I leave Saturday for my trip to Boise and the last thing I need is to show up at interviews with the presidents of several corporations with an open wound on my face.

ME: "So, can you tell me about the role your corporation plays in the community?"

FAT CAT BIG WIG: "Well, we play an important part in the success of the United Way by making sure all the pimples are shiny and full of pus...and ... oops! Sorry."

ME: "That sound you hear is my ego quickly deflating." know...if you happen to pray a lot, say an extra prayer for my blemish to hurry up and dry up and go away.

I'd do it myself, but I've been bugging God a lot lately with little crap like "Help me get this house" and "Make sure my boy doesn't get this cold that's going around" and "Please, please, please let the Rock beat that ingrate Hulk Hogan at Wrestlemania."

I know...old jokes die hard.

I got my hair cut last night after work.

Nothing new to report there. To be honest, I still haven't seen my hair.

I'm not the type to sit and stare at the job in a mirror in front of the hairdresser. To me, that's like those idiots in high school who ask you to sign their yearbook and immediately after you do it, they flip to the page and read what you wrote right in front of you. I do not like my work to be examined immediately after I finish it. My work is like fine wine, it must be opened and exposed for a while before it is fully appreciated. It certainly doesn't hurt to swish my work around in your mouth for a while either.

The same with a hairdresser. They shouldn't be forced to have their work evaluated in front of them. Granted, there's a shitload of mirrors there and that's just begging for instant evaluation, but I do her a favor by not looking in the mirror until I get home. Mainly because I feel more comfortable weeping uncontrollably in my bathroom than I do in a hair salon.

So anyway, I get home and my oldest buddy (now 57 years old) Billy is in my front yard waiting for me. He needed me to download some songs and make him a CD for a wedding he's DJing this weekend.

I think Billy still has a job DJing because people aren't intimidated by him. He's got wild gray hair and is a genuinely nice guy. So many DJs are assholes (cough) and when they're being hired to do a party they're not personable. Billy is extremely personable and a super guy.

So anyway, I'm downloading all this Patti Page crap off the web while he chit chats and gets me all caught up on the gossip concerning my old co-workers from the 80s because he still keeps in contact with everyone while I wish them all instant and painful death.

Now then...I had COMPLETELY prepared myself to come home, shower the little hair particles off my head and shoulders and then cart every box in this house out to the workshop in the back yard so that we had room to work in.

By the time Billy left, it was 7:00, Susie was leaving to go to her Christian Women's meeting and I was in charge of watching the boy.

Fun, fun, fun.

So it's me and the boy. I tell the boy that I'm going to go take a quick shower to get all the little hairs off of me and that he needs to behave.

He agrees to do this by staring at me like I'm half ape.

I get in the shower and I hear him in the bathroom. He likes to come, pull the curtain back and watch me shower. Normally, I'm not into the whole voyeurism theme of showering, but it's my 16 month-old kid. He stares intently at my penis and even though I don't think it's making him gay, I can't blame him for staring. It's a fine piece of craftsmanship if I say so myself.

So anyway, I'm washing my hair and he's grunting. Probably filling the diaper up. I don't really know as I have my eyes closed.

Suddenly, I hear this BLAM!!

And my son is now laying face down in the bathtub with me with steaming hot water slapping his back and head.

I quickly reach down and roll him over and the look of panic on his face is hilarious. Somehow, he climbed over the tub and landed in there with me.

He started to cry from the shock of actually succeeding in his quest to join Daddy in the shower, so I picked him up and comforted him as I tried to finish my shower which was now impossible, because I only had use of my left hand and I had a crying, soaking wet baby in the other hand.

So I turned off the shower, stripped the boy down and we had naked time for a while.

I'm very wary of the boy's naked time. He loves being naked and running around the house but ....I just don't trust him. One of these days, he's going to spring a geyser and there's going to be urine all over the place. That's not the kinda thing you want in your house when you're trying to sell it.

"Oh that? That's just a trail of urine. Yeah, we've pissed all over the house. I'll knock off a few hundred bucks if you're going to be all squirmy about it."

But he did good. He got about ten minutes of naked time before I finally cornered him and forced a diaper and shorts on his ass.

I would have given him more time but uhhhhh...well uhhhhh...the kid likes playing with toothbrushes. Don't ask me why, but I could sell every one of his toys and buy him ten toothbrushes and he'd be happy as hell.

I caught him uhhhhhhh....abusing himself with a toothbrush.

Yes. He was brushing his little baby dick.

...and grinning like a hundred dollar whore was doing the brushing.

At that point, I thought it might be best for naked time to conclude. I had fully intended on using that toothbrush one day too since it was the brand new one I received from the dentist the other day.

Now I think he can keep it for his collection.

Has anyone seen my banner ad lately?

I submitted a banner to Andrew for my gold membership dealio and he said that he has uploaded it, but I haven't seen it.

I don't know if maybe I'll never see the banner ad or not because the 10,000 views may be wasted on me since I've seen this freakin' page already and he's got some kinda cookie deal that is watching me and knows who I am because computers....they be smart.

If you have seen it, leave me a message.

And hey...special thank you props go to Jaki for designing the banner. She's one of my oldest, dearest buds here in da 'land and is quite a good read if you've never stumbled across her path.

In case you missed it yesterday, I discovered a local link that described what was going on in that Police chase that I found myself caught in the middle of the other day.

They had a gun.

It's probably a good thing I didn't try to play Joe Hero and tackle them.

I don't handle bullets very well.

I'd probably be Joe Deadhero if I had tried.

I was watching The Osbournes last night and if any show ever needed Closed Captioning, that's the show that needs it.

Yet there is none.

So much of what they say goes over my head because Ozzy can barely speak anymore. The drugs and alcohol have clearly taken their toll on his speech patterns, leaving him a blathering idiot, which is the only appeal of the show.

It's not as entertaining as I thought it'd be, but I think it has the potential to get there once I figure out what the hell everyone's saying.

Susie got annoyed with it because she couldn't understand a word, and I was having to translate what little bit I could make out for her. So she went to bed after a few minutes of it while I stayed up and giggled like a schoolgirl whenever the language is bleeped out because at least then I know they're saying the F-word.

That's it. The wife's up and making a hellacious racket in the kitchen so I'd better go make sure she hasn't accidently fallen inside the refrigerator again.

Peace out.

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