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6:53 a.m. - 2002-06-09


Sunday morning ... listening to an actual CD (Rolling Stones' "Black and Blue") as opposed to MP3s or a CD I've burned myself.

Last night I went through my CD collection, trying to weed out stuff that I seriously don't need anymore. A few years ago .... 2000 I think it was, I cut my CD collection in half by about 800 CDs. I decided then that I would hold on to the CDs that I "had" to keep.

....Stuff like Living Colour's second disc and Hanson's first disc.

...Stuff that I really don't NEED to keep. I just need to make an MP3 of Living Colour's "Type" and Hanson's "Mmmmbop" and that's two discs I can get rid of.

I envy you kids today with your impressive technology. This whole MP3 thing is a music lover's dream come true. I would have KILLED for this technology when I was a kid.


Had I been given this technology at 15 ... there'd be some dead granny in a shallow ditch on the side of the road, dead from my cold, MP3 producing hands.'s probably a good thing nobody offered me this technology at 15.

Our foundation at the new house has been poured. Meaning there's a big flat cement thing where our house should be.

This is too cool.

We drove out there yesterday just for the hell of it. We talked to the former evil scumbag realtor Kelly (who told us that she "loved" us. I felt bad that I couldn't genuinely reciprocate her feelings, but hell...I wife was standing right there).

Kelly told us a few more tricks she had up her sleeve to sell our house. Whenever she shares these tricks, I have even more faith in her realtor scumminess. I'm constantly fighting the urge to grin big and say "Man! You are one scummy conniving bitch pretending to be a good Christian!"

She's a sly dog, that's for sure.

So we walked all around on our foundation. Susie started freaking out, talking about how small it was and insisting that they forgot to add one of the bedrooms.

It was my job to ease her worries and let her know that there's no way they could have forgotten to add one of the bedrooms.

"I think you're right," I told her in a panicky voice. "I can't find the fourth bedroom!"

We ran around in circles going "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" and slapping our temples until we got dizzy and decided that neither of us are professional home builders and that the home builders knew what they were doing and if they forgot to add a fourth bedroom, they'd have to give us two million dollars or something for mental anguish.

I will say this...a foundation for a home sure looks a helluva lot smaller than the actual house does.

I'm going out there today to take a pic of it. If you're lucky, I may share a pic with you tomorrow.

(Rule of keeping a successful online diary #44: Always leave them begging for pictures of concrete slabs)

I cut a chunk out of my left thumb yesterday.

I was making breakfast, slicing bagels when Andrew wanted to be picked up.

Andrew is a pain in the ASS when I'm trying to cook. He's right under my feet, crying to be picked up. Usually I try to tell him Daddy's busy and distract him with a book or video or steak knife.

But yesterday he really NEEDED Daddy to pick him up. All those other times that he whined to be picked up...those were just tests. This time, it's IMPERATIVE FOR THE FUTURE OF HUMANITY that he be picked up.


I picked him up and kept slicing the bagel.


Sliced right through the bagel and dug that knife right into my thumb.

Daddy got a hurtie.

A little Neosporin and a Sesame Street band-aid and I was back to normal.

Except, you have no idea how much you use your left thumb until you can't use it anymore for fear of reopening a deep cut.

I don't remember what I was trying to do yesterday, but whatever it was...IT WAS TOUGH!!


I'm tellin' ya...TOUGH IT WAS!!

Something like opening a jar or something.

I wish I could remember what it was.

It may have actually made this story remotely interesting.

A few weeks ago I shared with you guys the day we went to church and Rev. Brian wasn't there so a lady read her poetry for most of the morning and how bored it left me.

So yesterday, she had a book signing of her poetry at our local bookstore and Susie really really REALLY wanted to go.

Have a great time! Don't let her bore you to death.

No...she wants this to be a FAMILY outing.

But I don't like poetry.

"But you will like Deedee's poetry! Her poetry is alive and invigorating!!!"

I've heard Deedee's poetry. It's limp and lifeless like a dead snake. Hell. A dead snake is more alive than her poetry.

So we get to the bookstore and I make the announcement that Andrew and I will be retiring to the children's section of the store where we will hunker down with some Blues Clues books until the poetry reading is over.


I MUST listen to Deedee read her poetry.


I made it through one and a half poems.

Rather...ANDREW made it through one and a half poems. I made it through the first two lines of the first poem before wanting to hang myself.

Andrew got fussy and we quietly excused ourselves from the small group of housewives who were hanging on every saccharine word tumbling out of this woman's mouth and went to the kid's section of the store.

There was a little girl there...around nine years old or so.

Her parents were doing a lousy job with this kid. Because she came up to me and jabbered away like we were old friends.

It makes me uncomfortable to talk to little nine year-old strangers. You hear about these little girls that are abducted on a weekly basis and you're hoping their parents are telling them to stay away from strange men trolling the children's section of bookstores.

Not this kid.

"What are you looking for?" she asked me.

I was taken aback.

"Ummmm...books for my son," I mumbled.

"Who does he like?" she said, rubbing Andrew's scalp like it would bring her good luck.

My mind kept telling me to say "Look...go away...I don't want anyone seeing me talking to you."

"He's got a lot of Bear in the Big Blue House books," I said. "But I don't think he likes them much."

"How old is he?" she asked.

"He's 19 months old."

She put her index finger to her chin and thought for a moment.

"Has he got any Dr. Seuss books?" she asked.

My mind kept telling me to say "'s obvious you don't think I'm going to lure you out to the parking lot, choloroform your ass and then slash your throat for kicks. But please...for the love of God...go pester someone else."

"He's got Green Eggs and Ham," I said. "He doesn't seem to like it."

"I bet he'd like The Cat in the Hat," she assured me.

"Probably," I said, trying to move away from her.

"Do you want me to try and find it for you?" she asked.

"More than you will ever know," I said.

She scampered off to track down Dr. Seuss and we hightailed it out of the children's section with a Dora the Explorer book in Andrew's grubby little hands.


I know she was trying to just be helpful and friendly...but that kid really creeped me out. Not so much the kid herself...but her naive personality. to your kids. Don't let 'em be so damned friendly to strangers. It's a sad commentary on our society that kids have to be rude little bastards in order to survive, but the inordinate number of sick fucks out there that want to wear your child's flesh as a fancy Sunday suit is growing larger every day.


I seriously missed my calling as a Public Service Announcement writer.

Lest you think I'm the model parent that all other parents should aspire to last quick ancedote.

Yesterday, I was filling up Andrew's wading pool with the garden hose.

Andrew wanted to hold the hose and fill the pool up himself.

I handed him the hose.

He held it so that the water went in the pool until his curiousity got the best of him and he decided to look inside the hose and see where the water was coming from.

Water gushed in his face for several seconds as Daddy stood by and laughed his ass off at the look of shock on his son's face. Rather than dropping the hose or turning it away from his face, Andrew kept shooting himself in the face with a jet stream of water.

Luckily Mommy was there to realize that Andrew was swallowing this water and beginning to choke.

Andrew learned a very important lesson from this after he stopped crying.

...His dad can be one stupid, stupid man at times.

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