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5:18 a.m. - 2003-08-28


I think by now we have all determined that I, your dear sweet Uncle Bob, is one hunka hunka burning stud.

I mean seriously ... I've been in more fashion shows than I care to count (5...but I really don't care to count them), I get a steady barrage of marriage proposals from complete strangers (and certifiable lunatics), and I'm just an all around damned handsome guy.



So it wasn't a big shock when I was asked to be in a photo shoot yesterday for a new brochure about the city.

Mainly because ... well ... it was an in-house job and it was me and several of my co-workers in the photo.

But that's beside the point.

I'm a stud...remember??

A handsome stud...right???

So yeah.

Anyway, we had to go out to this local marina on the river where the photo shoot is taking place and all told to sit at tables outside on the deck and just converse with each other.

Me, being the old hand at this whole "modeling" thing, knows exactly what the photographer wants.

The photographer wants animated faces and gestures. I mean ... c'mon ... the whole purpose of the shoot is to make us look like we're a fun loving bunch of people enjoying each other's company on a deck at a marina on a river ... right?

So I'm doing the whole smarmy "Heyyyyy!!" thing and pointing my fingers at the others with a wide grin on my face just like Isaac the bartender during the opening credits on "The Love Boat". So that when you see the picture, you think "Gosh. That stud sure is having a great time with those other people. I wonder if he can mix a decent margarita?"

I sit down at a table and this girl Kristy sits down with me. I've spoken to Kristy exactly one time in the last four months and that was to discuss our mutual contempt for cheese.

So we're sitting there and she's chattering on and on about her job and her life and her husband and her house and her dog and all the beauty pageants she was in as a teen and her desire to own a horse someday and her commute to work and her favorite radio station and her favorite recipes and her grandmother and her blah blah blah.

Meanwhile, I'm not paying a bit of attention to her details. Rather, I'm sucking in my cheeks and smiling, which isn't nearly as easy as you would think. I can pull it off, but it's a 50/50 chance that I'll look like an idiot when I do it.

But it's what the photographer wants. A handsome stud sucking in his chubby little chipmunk cheeks, looking like he's having a great time listening to this babbling buffoon on a deck at the marina on a river.

After about five minutes of her squawking, I knew there was no chance of me getting a word in edgewise so I gave up trying. Instead, I consciously struck subtle poses for the camera while the photographer snapped away.

The "You are SO interesting" pose.

The "You must be KIDDING me!" pose.

The "HA! What a funny anecdote!" pose.

The "Holy shit! I think I'm having a hernia!" pose.

I'm not sure what it was, but I got a sudden rush of pain in my abdominal area.

It wasn't a "bathroom emergency" pain. It was a pain I've never experienced before. Kinda like the U.S. Women's Soccer Team had taken turns giving me swift kicks to the scrotum for about three hours.

Luckily, the shoot was soon over and I hobbled to the car.

I got home and felt better. Cooked dinner and immediately got dizzy afterwards.

I laid down in bed and got some intense chills.

I had to think that God was punishing me for being so damned handsome and not putting my good looks to good use like fighting crime or something.

I woke up at 2:55 a.m. this morning as the bed wouldn't stop spinning.

I couldn't get back to sleep for fear that I would fall out of bed on my face, thus permanently scarring my bread and butter.

As I sit and type this, I'm still a bit dizzy. The abdominal pain is gone as are the chills.

I can't quit coughing.

Ya know?

Screw this.

I'm sitting here complaining like you're a doctor and I'm trying to get a prescription for Xanax when I should be back in bed.

See ya.

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