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8:22 a.m. - 2002-08-20


Okay … I SOOOOO kick ass.

Yesterday, I called the builder of our home for my weekly Monday Morning Bitch Session™ where I run down the list of all the crap that’s wrong with my house. I know I get a perverted little kick out of it each week, as I’m sure Tad the Builder does as well, even though he acts like he doesn’t.

So I call and the receptionist says she’ll have to take a message and have Tad get back in touch with me. That’s cool. Tad’s good like that. He’ll call back. He’s Taaaad the Builder.

Can he build it?

Taaaaad the Builder!

Yes! He! Can!

(A little in-joke for the parents of toddlers in the house).

Anyway, about ten minutes later, my phone rings.

It’s the freakin’ OWNER of the building company.


Not Tad the Builder. Fred…. THE FREAKIN’ OWNER.

“Uncle Bob…this is Fred Wilson with Wilson Homes,” he says.

I fight the urge to gasp and blurt out “Holy shit! THE Fred Wilson?!?”

But I’m cool…I’m cool.

“Hey Fred,” I say, acting like I’m this multi-millionaire’s best buddy. “How’re you doing?”

…You know…like he just called to shoot the shit with me.

Basically, since we’ve had so many problems with the building of the house and the company has to eat some of those problems, Fred has relieved Tad as my Monday Morning Bitch Boy and will now be dealing with my problems from the top of the company.

Wow. Freakin’ wow.

So Fred wants to meet me out at the house sometime to go over the latest stuff that’s screwed up.

I tell him that I’ve got an hour around lunchtime that I can work him in.

(Don’t ever call it a “lunch hour” when dealing with multi-millionaires. You sound like a peon at that point who is only allowed an hour for lunch. Tell them you’ll “work them in” around lunchtime and they hold you in higher esteem)

So I go out there during my lunch hour and decide in my infinite wisdom to yank my supersonic James Bond flip phone out of my pocket and fabricate a conversation with the dial tone so I sound extra special important.

I wonder how many people actually do this to look more important that they actually are.

So I’m tooling up the dirt driveway, babbling away on the quiet telephone. I came up with the coolest line … “Let me worry about that…I’ll take care of that…. No…no…you don’t worry about that…that’s MY job. No…look…we’ve got DEADLINES that we have to meet and if this isn’t out by the end of the month then….right….the end of the month. Right. Okay. All right. I’ll call you back in a few minutes. Right. All right. All right. Good deal. Talk to you later. Bye.”

And the Oscar for Best Acting While On A Dead Telephone In Order To Impress The Owner Of The Company That’s Currently Building His Home goes to … moi.

So I meet Fred and he instantly gets a call on his cell phone.

Grrrr. I should have arranged for someone to call me while we spoke, so I’d look important too.

Fred and I walked around the house and I told him what all we wanted. He was cool with it all and said he’d DO IT my way, but then gave me suggestions on why he’d either leave it the way it was or do it another way.

He impressed me. Had I been a woman, I would have taken him into one of the bare closets and had my way with him.

Then again ...had I been a woman, my ass would be sluttier than an alley cat with no tail. Mark my words.

He told me he’d give me my choice of shrubs for my landscaping. That alone made me melt. Even though I have no idea what I would want, Susie’s got a pretty good idea of what she wants, so she’s in charge of that.

All in all, it went really cool. Fred said that when this house was done, it would be one of the nicest houses in the subdivision based on the lot being one of the biggest in the subdivision and the fact that they had to build it higher than normal homes, blah blah blah.

All I know is it’s going to look good.

Because my new best friend Fred said so.

Also ordered the surround system yesterday.

The guy gave me three different quotes on systems…a good system…a better system…and a BEST system.

We’re getting the “better” system, because I didn’t feel like handing over an extra grand for the BEST system.

Plus the better system will kick our collective asses. My child will be deaf by the time he’s five with this bad boy in the house.

Susie wants the biggest boom for her buck, so we’re getting a 10” subwoofer, which sounds small, but it’s in a big huge box that looks like it could be housing a grizzly.

Not a grizzly bear. Maybe a grizzly hamster or something. It’s not THAT big.

Anyway it’s ordered. And as if I hadn’t lost enough hearing at that Ted Nugent concert in 1980, I’m now kissing the rest of my eardrums goodbye in anticipation of the new kickass system.

I was made to feel like a real asshole yesterday.

Every year throughout the month of August, our city’s firemen go around to the busy retail centers in town with their big fire engines. They hold out their big assed fire boots and raise money for Jerry’s Kids for the upcoming Labor Day Telethon.

I have no problem with this. I give each year to Muscular Dystrophy and have done so for almost 20 years. More than anybody, I wish the doctors would find a cure for MD because frankly … I’m tired of donating each year.

I kid…I kid.

Anyway, so last night, I take the family to Lowe’s to buy some nuts and bolts for this toddler bed that I scored for the Drew Dogg at a moving sale this weekend.

Five dollars for a like-new toddler bed. You can’t go wrong with that kinda deal.

So we get to Lowe’s and we’re walking in and sure enough, there are two firemen standing out front holding the big boot.

I’m fumbling through my pockets trying to find change, bills, buttons, Chiclets, whatever I can find to throw in their boot.

I have nothing. I left all my change on my dresser and I use the Check Card whenever I go out.

“We’ll get you on the way out,” I cheerfully said to Fireman Bill.

“Yeah, okay,” the guy said real sarcastically.

And I thought….Man!! I was being totally sincere here.

I mean…sincere in the fact that had we been actually paying with cash and receiving cash back, I would have been more than happy giving him a few bucks.

But since Susie always uses the checkbook and I use the check card, we NEVER have cash.

So when we left I was trying to be incognito and blend in with a crowd so the Fire Guy couldn’t yell, “Hey you! The guy who said he’d catch us on the way out! Where’s my freakin’ money?!?”

I grabbed the wife and pushed her into the middle of a family in front of us and squeezed in there with her to the shock of the mother.

Luckily, Fire Guy was too busy hassling some other poor schmoe who never carries cash to get pissy with me.

Like I said, I don’t mind giving to MD.

But everyone and their mother are out there trying to raise money for MD. Firemen, nurses, veterinarians, children, doctors, and motorcycle gangs … the list could go on and on if I’d just do the research.

And if you don’t give to all of them, you come across as some sort of Nazi who spends his free time tipping over kids in wheelchairs.

My method of donation has always been to watch the telethon and then about 4:00 or so when Ed McMahon is calling for a new timpani every two minutes and the orchestra keeps playing strains of “What The World Needs Now Is Love Sweet Love” and Jerry’s dabbing at his big fat eyes with a snot rag and they’re really … really … REALLY hoping that they make one more dollar than the previous year ….. THAT’S when I call and make my pledge.

Because then, my pledge means something. My pledge is the one dollar that Jerry might have needed to find a cure for this disease.

I just don’t get the same feeling when I’m tossing fifteen cents into a boot that smells like rotting salmon.

Maybe…just maybe…it’s just me.

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