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5:12 a.m. - 2002-09-23


I head back to work today after nine days of vacation.

Well...five days of vacation bookended by two weekends ... but nine days total.

It's not that I mind going back to work. I've got things to do there and should stay pretty busy for a while, which is nice.

But the CEO resigned from our company while I was on vacation last week. I really got along good with the guy, whereas most people at the office that have opened up to me hated the guy.

So I'm kinda apprehensive about that.

Plus, I still have PLENTY to do around the house. While we've done our best to get things organized and unboxed around the house, the garage is still half full with boxes, the dining room has about 12 boxes that need unpacked and my office is in shambles.

I keep opening boxes and there's more CDs in there. I knew I had a lot of CDs at one point, but we had a yard sale in 2000 and I must have sold several hundred CDs during that one.

I just opened up a box a few minutes ago, still searching for my wrist pad for the keyboard here ... but instead of a wrist pad, I stumbled across...more CDs.

I've been trying to put all my CDs in alphabetical order because for the last year or so, they haven't been in order due to Andrew's incessant need to pull CDs off of the shelf and toss them into a pile on the floor. And rather than me alphabetizing them at that point, I just shoved them back wherever they fit.

But putting a thousand CDs in alphabetical order into two large CD shelving units isn't as easy as you would think. It requires a great deal of skill, time, thought and prayer.

Okay ... it requires no prayer. I just couldn't think of anything else.

Forgive me for not sounding like myself this morning.

This is NOT Weetabix typing this, for all you conspiracy theorists out's me.

Just a really doped up me.

I haven't slept well in several nights due to this sore throat of mine. I wake up in the middle of the night in horrible pain, feeling like I'm swallowing skinned gerbils with razor blades duct-taped to their bodies. This feeling keeps me up for hours on end which results in (say it with me) sleep.

So last night, I nipped that bitch in the bud.

I took my antibiotics.

I took double the dosage of this potent cough medicine that the doctor prescribed that he "guaranteed" would knock me out.

I doubled my dosage of melatonin.

And I took three Extra Strength Tylenol.

I slept like a narcoleptic baby last night.

And I'm loopier than a Chinese roller coaster this morning.

Speaking of yard sales, which I did several thoughts ago, we had a community wide yard sale here Saturday.

Susie and I had spent all day Thursday getting ready for it.

Friday night we were going to finish up our preparation by going to the church, getting some long tables, bringing them back here, pricing everything and getting up at 4 a.m. on Saturday to put everything outside and wait for people to come buy our trash and haul it away.

I'm not sure if it was the "going to the church" part or the "pricing everything" part.

It was probably the "Getting up at 4 a.m." part.

But we passed on the whole yard sale thing.

We were both physically and mentally exhausted by Friday night.

Couple that with the fact that her brother and his family (the brother in law that I can stand) were over here for dinner Friday night and stayed around til 10:30 p.m. and we just decided to 86 the whole thang.

I can't complain about them being here. My brother in law helped me hook up the washer, dryer and ice maker on the fridge, so that was cool.

Granted, they had to bring their most recent collection of Disney videos with them to watch on the new home theater system.

So we had to watch "Return to Neverland" while the mother (the criminally insane one) hooted and hollered throughout the movie like she was watching a comedy classic. She would rewind the tape everytime Captain Hook said something remotely funny and call everyone into the den to watch the scene.

We've got a refrigerator balanced on our shoulders and have to gingerly set that back down so we can retreat to the den to hear Captain Hook say "I don't WANT to be a good captain!" and then fall off his boat, while she's rolling around on the floor in hysterics and wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks.

It's just a matter of time before my brother-in-law wises up and has her committed for a second time.

My 11 year-old nephew spent the night with us.

I was a bit hesitant over this because this is the kid who gets very excited and has to have a front row center seat every time Andrew needs a diaper change staring intently at my son's penis.

His bedroom was right next to my son's bedroom.

I got my son ready for bed and made sure that I put him in his jammies that were the most difficult to button properly on the bottom.

Saturday morning when he woke up, I checked Andrew's jammies.

All still buttoned properly.

And breathed a sigh of relief. 15 year-old nephew...the perv...was left alone in my office for a few hours while the rest of us worked around the house doing odds and ends.

He wanted to watch a DVD on my computer and I allowed him to do that.

He wanted to watch "The Sixth Sense".


Except...alphabetically, "The Sixth Sense" is right next to "Showgirls" in my collection.

Soooooo...guess which DVD I found on my desk Saturday morning??


Hopefully, "Showgirls" was so gawdawful boring to him that it deterred him from ever looking at porn in my house again.

I also checked the history on my Internet Explorer to see what he had looked up while he was alone.

He did a Google search for "XXX".

I'll give him credit...maybe he was looking for information about the recent summer blockbuster hit "XXX".

....Except he did a Google Image Search for it.

Once again...he didn't get anything from it. Try it yourself. A Google Image Search for "XXX" produces images about as titillating as watching a home video of Grandma's recent hysterectomy surgery.


Foiled again, huh Pervy?

For those of you championing the fact that we saved Maggie from death at the pound last week ... here's something for you to chew on.

We left her alone yesterday for two hours while we went to church and the grocery store.

We barricaded her in the spacious kitchen/laundry room where she could do the least amount of damage.

She managed to tear chunks out of our BRAND NEW door frame with her teeth and claws, trying desperately to get out.

So now we have to get a new door and door frame leading to the garage.

This after being left alone for two hours.

Today...she's being left alone for eight hours while we go to work for the first time.

I'd lock her outside, but thunderstorms are being predicted and she hates those, so I can only imagine the amount of damage she'd do to the outside of the house.

Her doggie door won't be here until the end of this week.

Let me just say...if I DO decide to have her gassed to death in anger, I don't want to hear any shit from you animal activists who think it's cruel.

YOU go buy a brand new 3,000 square foot home and let a mangy mutt who's lived several years past her prime and is showing no signs of slowing down destroy, piss and shit all over it.

Call me a cruel bastard.

I don't care.

There are some things in life that are more important than preserving the life of an arthritic, bitter and dirty-assed dog.

My son, my sanity, my marriage and the biggest investment I've ever made take priority over making sure my dog is properly pampered and catered to.

Anybody that can't see that needs their heads examined.

We've exhausted every effort to correct the situation.

We've tried to give her away. That didn't work.

We've asked the vet to put her to sleep. He refused.

We've tried to make her at outdoor dog. She tore her way through the door with her teeth and claws until she managed to get back inside.

We've attached her to a 30 foot chain in the backyard under a tree. The neighbor couldn't stand to hear her howl all day and let her off the chain.

We've tried to corral her into her own area where she could do no damage. She tore up a door out of boredom.

We took her to the pound where we were shamed into taking her back home with us.

I'm at my wit's end with this dog.

I'm TRYING to do the right thing and keep her. I'm TRYING to cater to her every whim. I'm TRYING to be patient with her pissing puddles all over our carpet and destroying doors that are less than a week old.

But I can only do this for so long before I snap.

And my sanity, my family and yes...even my home...are more important than the life of this dog.

I'm comfortable with this statement.

So why can't you be?

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