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8:31 a.m. - 2002-08-22


I feel a whole lot better today, thanks for asking.

Yesterday when I wrote my entry, I was still pissed at the wife for everything I wrote about, PLUS her ragged nasty cough that she's had since the 80s which woke me up at 3:30 a.m. and kept me awake until 4:40 a.m. at which time I fell asleep.

Five minutes later, the dog was pawing at my arm, wanting me to get up to let her outside. Rather than having her take a massive Maggie dump all over our bedroom floor, I grumbled and stumbled to the front door to let her out.


She didn't want to go outside. Oh heavens no.

She just wanted her 4:45 a.m. snack.

Oh gosh, Maggie. Why didn't you just say so? Why didn't you just say "Pops...I know you've just lost an hour and a half of sleep and still are owed about an hour more of sleep .... but I REALLY need you to get up and walk to the opposite end of the apartment to get me one of those rawhide sticks that I'll inhale in 15 seconds. Is that cool?"

Because had you approached the problem that way, I woulda kicked your doggie ass out the window.

As if that wasn't bad enough ... yesterday morning, after a serious lack of sleep, the wife and kid leave for work and daycare. I'm getting ready for work. The dog wants to go outside.

I let her out with the strict demand to "Go potty".

Does she go potty?

Oh hell no.

Does she wait until five minutes later while I'm in the shower?

Oh hell yes.

This marks either the sixth or seventh time the dog has either peed or crapped in the apartment.

Yesterday I was ready to take her to the humane shelter. That's no joke or exaggeration. I was fully committed to taking her to the shelter.

After talking to Susie last night, I've decided to put up an ad at the vet's office and in the local buy-sell-trade magazine, trying to find her a good home.

It's not an easy thing to do ... giving up a pet that you've had since she was a six week-old puppy who's now well into her twilight years.

But hey ... it's either that or boiling her.

So yesterday morning, I force Susie to dig up our latest statement from Circuit City, because I had something to prove yesterday.

I was going to go to Circuit City during my lunch hour, pick up both "Pulp Fiction" and "Jackie Brown", walk up to the counter, go into my now-trademarked spiel about not having a card because Circuit City hires nothing but amateur dipshits and then WHIPPING OUT my latest statement with our account number on it and saying "BOOOO-YAHHHHH BEEYOTCH!!! I DOOOOOO HAVE AN ACCOUNT HERE!!"

....Because one of the things the girl said on Tuesday that really irritated me was "You don't have an account here."

Sheee-it, woman...My account at Circuit City is older than she is. Don't you DARE tell me I don't have an account in your store just because you're too ignorant to track it down.

So I walk in there, chest puffed out, head held high in the air. I walk straight to the DVD section and go to pick up a copy of.....

.....Son of a bitch.

No "Pulp Fiction" in the rack.

One of those lame-assed employees that Circuit City managed to pursuade to remove the crack pipe from their lips and come to work for them walked over to me.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I need you to find two copies of "Pulp Fiction"."

This guy stares at the empty hole in the rack with the words "Pulp Fiction" written in red. Just stares at it.

"It looks like you're out of them here," I said, pointing to the rack that he was staring a hole through. "Maybe you have some in the back??"

It's been several years since I worked in retail, but I remember that there were times when we would have items stored in the back that we brought out when they ran out in front. This seemed like a logical suggestion to me.

"Let me check," the guy said. What he meant was "Lemme go smoke several crack rocks, wander around our storeroom in a daze and then come back out here and make up some bullshit about how we don't have any."

Ten minutes later he came out emptyhanded.

"We don't have any," he said, avoiding eye contact.

"Do you know when you'll get any more?" I asked.

Once again....this seemed like a logical question to me.

Once again ... the bullshit was flying out of this guy's mouth like a broken sewer pipe.

"We get shipments in like every five minutes," he lied. "We never know what's in the shipments. Sometimes "Pulp Fiction" DVDs. Sometimes boom boxes. Sometimes adorable little kittens named Tinkerbell. I'd suggest you check back in five minutes."

So I walked out to the car. Put my key in the ignition. Drove around the parking lot twice. Went back inside.

"May I help you sir," the same kid asked.

"Any "Pulp Fiction" DVDs yet?" I asked.

"Let's see...Pulp Fiction....Pulp Fiction...." he said, scanning the new releases section. "No sir, we don't have it."

Even though it's advertised on sale in the newspaper. They don't have it.

The kid suggested that I go ahead and purchase the DVD and when they got more in they would "call me" and I could just bring my receipt in and grab a copy.

Yeah right. Like they did with my TV back in January. I never got a call, I couldn't get through to the TV department when I called them and when I finally came to the store several days after I was supposed to already have the TV, they told me that they didn't know when they'd ever get my TV in to the store and acted like I should be satisfied for paying $600 for nothing.

Welcome to Circuit City.

Where crackhead employees will always strive to sell you shit that they don't have in stock.

I'm driving home from work last night when my cell phone rings.

It's the wife. The one who has inspired me to watch "A Perfect Murder" over and over for the last several days, frantically taking notes.

She's on her way to pick up Andrew and wants to know if I want to go out to the house to check its progress.

I said "yes". Then I asked SPECIFICALLY "What time can you be home?"

"'s 5:10 now," she drawled. "I can have him picked up by 5:25 and be home by 5:45 at the latest."

Seriously ... she had me convinced that she had not only put some thought into this, but that she was sincere about making it home by 5:45.

"Okay," I said warily. "I will meet you at the front gate to the apartments at 5:45 sharp."

"Okay," she said all cheerful and shit.

"Now listen," I said. "Don't dilly-dally. Don't hang out at the daycare lady's house shooting the shit. Pick up Andrew and come home."

"I won't!" she said, a little bit grumpy.

"I'll be waiting in 95 degree heat for you. Twenty minutes to pick him up and get to our apartment is PLENTY of time."



I go home and let the dog out. Thank God she hadn't taken a crap and smeared it all over the walls like a canine Charles Manson.

At 5:40, I put a sippy cup full of ice water for Andrew and two Diet Dr. Peppers in a bag. I throw in some crackers and peanut butter for Andrew in case he's hungry, and the camera. I toss in some old tennis shoes for Susie in case it's still muddy out at the house.

At 5:45, I arrive at the gate to the apartment complex.

At 5:48 ... no Susie. Susie.

5:57 .... no Susie.

6:04 .... no Susie.

Sweating like an obese whore in church (no offense to any obese whores out there), I trudge back into the apartment for some air conditioning.

At 6:10, I make my decision. I'm going to go out there by myself.

I get in my car.

I pull out of the parking lot.

My cell phone rings.

"I'm almost at the apartment," she says.

"I've already left," I said. "I'm on my way to the house now."

She drives up right alongside of me and tells me to pull over and park my car.

I'm a bit pissed to say the least.

I get in the van and say "Sooooo...what's your excuse tonight??"

"I have no excuse."

We ride in silence.

Luckily ... LUCKILY for her .... progress had been made on our home.

The walls are painted. It's kind of ummmmm....odd. We picked out the color schemes and all, but the paint looked so much more neutral on that little piece of paper that we looked at.

On the was more.... peachy?!?

I'm sure I'll get used to it, but right now it doesn't set well with me.

My hopes of someday being an interior designer are all but shattered.

Then ... now that we were speaking, Susie said the magic words.

"You wanna grab some Mexican food?" she asked.


All was forgiven as I dug into my Tacos de Asante Grande Senor Fajita Burrito Cozumel Amigo.

...Or whatever the hell it was called.

I have decided that from here on out, if we have something planned for after work, I'm simply giving Susie a time to be home.

If we're going out to the house...she has to be home by 6. If she's not home by 6, I'm going alone.

Rather than let her give me a time and be 30 minutes late with no excuses for her tardiness... this will work out better for me.

Let HER be the pissed-off partner for a while.

As always ... it works for me.

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