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8:42 a.m. - 2002-07-03


Dear God

I know that lately I've been asking for a whole lotta stuff that I had no business asking for. That whole "Please help me sell my house so that I can give my wife and son a better life in a new home" thing.

And the "Please help the Rock beat Hulk Hogan at Wrestlemania" deal. Looking back, that was kinda stupid, I guess. How was I supposed to know that you were going to turn the Hulk into a good guy immediately afterwards?

And even though I really appreciate you giving me the strength to prolong my orgasm the other night, in hindsight I probably should have just let you get on with your business and rely on my own willpower at that point.

So I know I've really been a real pain in the butt lately asking for trivial crap when you've got bigger fish to fry like protecting Israel and stuff. I know it's important to defend your home turf and all and instead you've been rigging wrestling matches for me.

But if you could find it in your heart to cure my dog of this stank-assed diarrhea that she has so that she doesn't completely turn this apartment's carpet jet black, I would appreciate it.

Because I'm getting tired of this apartment looking like Bigfoot left muddy footprints all over it.


Peace out.

Uncle Bob

P.S. I sure hope you read my diary, God. If not, I just wasted some valuable bandwidth.

So Susie calls me at 11 a.m. yesterday to tell me that she has to go pick up Andrew from daycare.

"He's got a fever and he's acting like an ass," is all she could tell me.

I get home last night and he is NOT himself.

He's weak and moaning and HOT. It's really frightening when your baby gets as hot as he was. Susie had him stripped down to a diaper and shorts, had the ceiling fan on high and the AC turned down low...and he was still hotter than a Habanero pepper.

He saw me and demanded that I hold him. When he gets sick, he refuses to leave anyone's arms. He wants to be held the entire time.

I've read that parents should take advantage of that fact and enjoy it because it doesn't last forever. When the kid's 13 and sick, do you REALLY think he's going to want to curl up in Daddy's lap and be held?

Do you REALLY think I'm going to want to cuddle his pimply, greasy ass at that point?

Answer: No.

So I held him all night until he passed out in my arms from a potent Infant Tylenol/Motrin cocktail.

While Susie worked on scrubbing his vomit out of the carpet that was the result of too many crackers and Pedialite.

Then she went to work on Maggie's 2nd and more damning diarrhea stain in Andrew's room.

Here's some figures for you to throw around...

Total amount of days we've been in this apartment: 4

Total stains on the carpet: 5

Total amount of stains on our old house's carpet over the past five years: 0

Originally, Susie wanted me to stay home with the boy today, since Miss Robin at daycare views fevers like the kid's radioactive or something.

But I reminded her that I'm already taking Friday off as a vacation day, while she is not. Plus, at work, we recently had some big hoopla about only taking sick days when YOU'RE sick and not to just take them with reckless abandon.

And since the bigwigs at work don't have children, they're not exactly sympathetic to the small minority of employees who do have children at home. In other words, I don't think they want to hear "My kid's sick...I feel fine...I'm calling in sick today."

Maybe I'm wrong. But that's the vibe I get.

So Susie's staying home with him today...we're both off tomorrow and I'm staying with him on Friday.

Unless the kid gets better today.

Then his baby ass is going back to daycare on Friday and Daddy gets his much-anticipated day off from EVERYBODY AND EVERYTHING.

I'm pumping Flintstones vitamins in him until his skin has little Barney Rubbles shapes underneath it.

Wellll...just in time for the 4th of July, our new apartment complex has banned the use of grills.

Apparently, for the last ten years, grills were a welcome part of the complex. "Got a grill? Cool! Move in here!"

Now, they've joined the ranks of nearly every other complex in town and has banned the use of grills.

This was one of the reasons we chose this complex...because they allowed you to grill out on your patio. But we got a letter on Monday saying that as of today, grills were no longer allowed in the complex.

I just received a new grill for Father's Day.

Now I can't use it until September.

July 4th is the biggest grilling day of the year.

Looks like we're having spaghetti.

Damned apartment complex.

I can't complain really.

Because I have.....and I need you to keep this about as secret as you can....



















....Free cable.

I called last week and set up an appointment for the cable guy to come out here today and hook us up.

When we moved in on Saturday, there were already cables in the walls. So I went ahead and hooked up the cable to one TV that's big and bulky and hard to move, thinking I'd do the cable guy a favor.

Turned on the TV for the hell of it.

Whammo! We've got cable.

So yesterday, I called the company and cancelled the hook up.

"Why are you cancelling?" the lady asked.

Damn. Catch me off guard, why don't you?

I blurted out "Because my wife won't let me have cable."

...Like I'm some little six year-old being punished or something.

She was satisfied with this answer and said they'd cancel my installation.

As of this morning, we still have free cable.

Go me!

Stickin' it to the man!

Stick! Stick! Stick!

I OWN the man!!

Watch ... they'll probably knock it out later tonight so that not only can I not grill out tomorrow, but I won't have any cable TV or internet service in this hellhole.

And a dog squirting shit soup everywhere she goes.

And a baby vomiting up chunks of saltines.

Did I say this was going to be a stress-free summer???

Just checking.

Peace out...the baby's up and he's not hot, which is a great thing. He's still cranky and fussy, but he's probably hungry after not eating anything and holding it down yesterday.

You guys have a great 4th of July tomorrow. For those of you who aren't American...have a great Thursday.

And please ... don't bomb us.

...Ya buncha commie bastards.

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