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8:22 a.m. - 2002-08-02


Last night, before the sun went down, I took the family to the pool.

It probably wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done since Susie's been coughing like a retired coal miner with one good lung for the past three weeks and Andrew has affectionately been given the nickname "The Snot Factory" due to his overabundance of nose mucus.

We get over there and lo and behold...the Pool Goddess is in attendance, throwing a beach ball around with her son or extremely young lover...I haven't bothered to ask which yet.

"Oh heyyyy," she says, getting out of the pool and running over to us to pinch Andrew's cheeks. She doesn't even know our names...this is just the Pool Goddess' nature.

"Hi," I say, rather warily as this large woman in a lime green string bikini bends over to get in my son's face with her bosom falling every which way.

Susie, on the other hand, is overjoyed to see the Pool Goddess. Susie enjoys talking to complete strangers and relishes the opportunity to get to know them.

So they start babbling away in pool chairs while Andrew and I get in the pool and slowly walk around in the water with Andrew clutching my shoulders because the whole pool thing still kinda spooks him out a bit.

After a few minutes, Pool Goddess gets up from her chair and walks over to the pool as gracefully as a 300-lb. woman in a string bikini can walk.

What came next shocked and terrified me.

She did a cannonball into the pool.

There are steps into the pool in the shallow end, where she was originally. It's quite acceptable for someone to walk IN to the pool.

Pool Goddess cannonballed in. Jumped up in the air, brought her knees as close to her chest as possible (they only made it to thigh level) and cannonballed in.

The splash freaked Andrew out.

But not as much as when Pool Goddess emerged from underwater.

Unbeknownst to Pool Goddess, that string bikini top got a little .... ummmm...disarrayed during her cannonball.

Her left boob was completely hanging out. I saw big brown nipple and averted my eyes.

Her son, who suddenly reminded me of a junior version of Uncle Bob, called out "Mom! Your tit's hanging out!"

No lie. Not "breast". Not "boob". Not "obscenely large milk sac".


This kid couldn't have been more than 8 years old.

I didn't even know what a "tit" was until I was about 17. I thought all women just naturally stuffed toilet paper in bras for no good reason (Damn you Danielle McCord for scarring me for life! Damn you straight to HELL!!!).

Pool Goddess SLOWWWWWLY pulled her top back into place after exposing my entire family to it. I'm no prude. I've been to a nude beach. Granted, I was 15 at the time and couldn't come out of the water because of one of those 15 year-old erections that are harder than the new tax forms. But I've been there and seen women with their fleshy mammaries out there for all to see.

But my wife and kid are here. It probably didn't scar my wife that much. But Andrew...he's only seen one pair of tits in his life and I didn't really want his second pair to be so .... obscene.

After she gets situated, she doesn't even say "Ooops!" or "Sorry!" or anything.

She just keeps conversing with my wife who's still in her pool chair with her jaw dropped.

The Pool Goddess.

She's something else.

What happened to everyone who said they were sending me discs?

I've received one disc this week. ONE!!!

Do you have any idea how hard it is on me to see the mailguy bring a big batch of mail to the mail room, distribute it all and then walk away, only to have me running full speed to the mail room and not having ANYTHING in my mailbox?!?

You should be ashamed of yourselves.

Leading an old man like me on like that.

This situation had better be rectified next week.

I'd better have ten discs a day waiting on me.

Fair warning.

Weetabix and I have a little wager going on right now.

And it's all revolves around "The Mole" whose final episode will be shown Tuesday night at 9 p.m. eastern on ABC.

Weetabix ... in her infinite ignorance ... thinks that Heather is The Mole.

When everyone with half a brain can clearly see that it's Bill.

So I suggested that we make a small bet. If Heather is the Mole, I will have to write two of her diary entries for her. This is difficult because her diary entries kick total ass and I would really have to work hard at a diary entry rather than churn out a bunch of crap and slap it up on this page.

If Bill is The Mole, she has to write two entries for me. This should be easy for her because of the above stated crap-factor. ignorant as she can be about picking out Moles ... is a hella funny writer who could probably write my entries in her sleep. Then again...most of you could.

So anyway, after Tuesday night...sometime next week ... somebody's getting a few days off from this.

Mainly me.

Unless Dorothy is the Mole. But I don't see that happening. She's too suspicious. If they're suspicious...they're NOT the Mole.

I've already told the Weetmeister that she had better go ahead and start writing my entries now.

I think she said something like "In your face, old man!" back. Something like that. I can't remember. I'm old. And somewhat feeble-minded.

As if THAT hadn't become apparent yet.

Have I told you guys that I'm against the War on Drugs?

Just checking.

Damn, I'm glad it's Friday.

Tomorrow we're going to go pick out wallpaper for our bathrooms.

That should be about as fun as ... picking out wallpaper for bathrooms.

I told Susie I just wanted to get whatever's in the model home.

Susie says no and that we have to do at least SOMETHING different from the model home that doesn't include upgrading it to the tune of several thousand dollars.

So I'm going to pick out the goofiest wallpaper I can see. Something with bass fishing on it or something.

That'll teach her.


I'm so vengeful when it comes to being forced to pick out wallpaper.

Alright...the kid's up and I've got to get him up, get him juice, shove him in front of the television (or as I like to call it ... Nature's babysitter) and clean up the apartment since several people are coming over today to either watch Andrew or bring other children over to be watched.

Long story. Long boring story.

I've gotta go.

Have a good weekend.

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