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6:24 a.m. - 2002-11-17


I'm sitting here...6 a.m. on a Sunday morning, sipping my very first ever Diet Vanilla Coke and wondering..."Why in the hell was I so looking forward to drinking this lame assed shit?"

Seriously. Although I've never tried it, I'd be willing to bet that paint thinner is more enjoyable going down than this frightening blend of Diet Coke and random house cleaning chemicals.

Give me Diet Dr. Pepper any day. And then slowly walk away before I start ranting and raving about how much Diet Vanilla Coke sucks ass.


We went to a party last night thrown by some people at church.

It was a "Getting To Know The New Interim Minister" party.

I wasn't really aware of this. Susie had told me it was a keg party/orgy and I foolishly fell for her shit.

...Rabble scrabble wife...

It wasn't really a "bad" party. I've probably been to worse although none come to mind right now but that's probably because this Diet Vanilla Coke has erased my long term memory bank and replaced it with vanilla-y shit gel.

The first hour was everyone just kind of mingling and eating fresh veggies and ranch dip. Oh...and crackers. Gotta have crackers at a church party. It ain't a church party unless you have crackers. At one point, I thought I'd be funny...the new minister was up at the breakfast bar thing, filling his plate up and I yelled "Hey George...can you get a couple extra "Bodies of Christ" for me?"

(You know...meaning crackers. You see...during communion each week, we use these broken up crackers to symbolize "the body of Christ". Probably since tracking down the actual body of Christ to feast on is pretty much a null and void exercise.)

People just glared at me like I was the crudest bastard under the roof.

Which, I'm sure, technically I probably was.

Anyway, that's how the first hour was going.

At 8:00, I followed my buddy Sam into a TV room where the Alabama-LSU game was just cranking up.

We're sitting there watching the game and Sam is moaning how he'd rather be home with a Scotch in his hand watching the game.

(Still wondering why the guy is my church buddy?)

So he talks his wife into leaving and I go back out to mingle.

Except they're no longer mingling. Everyone's gathered in the den and Rev. George is telling all about himself while everyone is listening in silence. They're "Getting to know the new interim minister."


Ah ha.

Ah ha ha ha .

See...I didn't KNOW that's what we were doing...listening to George tell the history of his life. I thought we were PARTYING dammit.

I kinda felt like a heathen. I walked away from the party to watch some football instead of sat on the edge of my seat to listen to the old guy talk about his experiences in Kentucky in the 1950s.

At one point, I swear he said "For those of you that remember the 1950s..."

And I looked around and every single person there with the exception of my family ... were all retired. Naturally they remember the 1950s with fervor.


I've seen almost every episode of "Happy Days". So I could pretty much relate until the later years of "Happy Days" when Scott Baio decided to grown his hair out in a modern 70s cut and Erin Moran followed suit because as we all know by now...Joanie loves Chachi and if Chachi does something to defy all odds, by God... Joanie's right there with him until the bitter end.

And then, after those two grew their hair out, every cast member with the exception of Fonzie and Mr. and Mrs. C grew their hair out. So even though the show was supposed to be taking place in 1962, everyone had 1978 hair styles.

Jump the shark much, Happy Days??

Anyway...we were the youngest people at the party. Which is another one of the reasons I'm growing dissatisfied with our church. There are only a handful of people our age or younger in the church (and keep in mind...I'm 40). Everyone else is retired or extremely retired (in their 80s and 90s).

At one point, someone asks Ed about something that happened in World War II.

Ed LOOOOOVES to talk about his experiences in World War II. As I told Susie after we left, Ed lives to tell about his stories in the Big One because even though they happened 50 some-odd years ago, he tells them like they just happened yesterday.

He's a great guy, don't get me wrong. He's 82 years old and full of energy and just a wonderful man. But I've heard the World War II stories several times now and they've all turned into well-crafted anecdotes, complete with lines that were geared to make you laugh, cry and ponder.

During one particularly long story where Ed and a buddy spent the night in a French barn, I loudly announced "IT'S TIME FOR US TO HIT THE FUCKING ROAD!" and I grabbed the wife and kid and ran out the front door.


I fit right in at these church parties.

Yes I do.

Speaking of church, we've got to go extra special early today because Susie has a few meetings to attend to and I've got to get the website up to date.

So I'm going to go read the paper and get in the shower.

And yes...I'll be thinking of you while I soap up.

...With my hand held massager.

...And my extra special loofah.

...And my son sneaking in on me and wondering why the hell I pay so damned much attention to my crotch in the shower and having the memory of the moment scar him for life.

Maybe I'll just wash my hair instead.

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