CRAZY ... BUT THAT'S HOW IT GOES

I think I'm getting Alzheimer's.

I may be the youngest person to ever get it.

The reason I think I have syphillis ... I mean ... Alzheimer's (see???) is because last week I started thinking ... "You know, I think it's time I put Uncle Bob to rest."

I've been having such a dry spell here lately. I'm not happy with anything I write in this diary.

Then, on Friday I think it was (see?? I CAN'T REMEMBER!!) I absentmindedly signed up for SuperGold Membership because I was tired of removing old photos from my cache of photos that I've used here.

Which was cool because I had used about 98% of all my storage space and now with SuperGold, I've only used 15%.

I mean ... "Wheee!" and all ... but I was just thinking earlier in the week about quitting the online diary thing and moving on to something else.

Now I'm tied to it for another year because I'm a cheap mofo and want to get every penny out of every dime I spend.

So you're stuck with me for another year.

"Wheee!" and all.

But at least you'll be seeing more photos here.

Even if they're as boring as the ones I shared yesterday

Now, with SuperGold Membership, I have a comments area at the end of this and every entry.

This means I now have FOUR ways for you to comment on the crap I write here. Email, the message board, the notes page and now comments.

And the damndest thing is ... I rarely have time to either thank you for whatever you write or comment or correspond or whatever.

I write what I write here early in the morning. Then I have to get on with my day.

At night, I come home, cook dinner, play with the boy, watch TV and go to sleep.

I'm a horrible, horrible corresponder.

I'm so ashamed.

What am I so ashamed of?

Oh yeah ... being a horrible corresponder.

DAMN YOU ALZHEIMERS!!!

Hey.

Did you hear that Ozzy said he was all hopped up on the happy pills while doing his show?

Gee Oz ... ya THINK?!?

I mean ... is that a shock or what?

I just thought he naturally mumbled incoherently and shuffled around like a walrus with a head wound.

Now I find out that he's ... gulp ... addicted to pain pills?!?

What next??

J-Lo admitting she's a cantankerous bitch in real life?

Angelina Jolie admitting she's a bit fucked up in the head?

Christina Agulierararara admitting that she secretly has no talent becides a gift for performing semi-decent oral sex?

I really feel sorry for Ozzy right now. Honestly.

His show was a one-season wonder. His wife gets cancer and that makes it hard to produce a hilarious sitcom when one of the main characters is going through chemo.

So the family is reduced to admitting deep dark secrets in order to keep public interest going for them.

Jack has to go to rehab for his drug abuse.

Ozzy recently announced he was repeatedly molested as a young boy.

Sharon admits that she slept with Ozzy's guitarist while they were married. And then the guitarist promptly flew into the side of a mountain, thus abruptly ending their relationship.

Now Ozzy has to admit that he's a drug addict in order to keep interest alive in their show.

Is their show even on anymore? I quit watching after the first season as did most of the world.

Anyway ... Satan bless ya, Oz.

Sorry you had to go and marry a publicity manager who got a taste of the good life via a twist on the reality TV genre and now you're forced to gussy up the skeletons in your closet in order to keep public interest in her talk show going.

We took Andrew to this local Christmas Festival at a church this weekend.

And naturally, since I now have more space for photos than I know what to do with, I'll share some with you.

The first one comes from some cookie-making class that he attended.

Can you see the pride in the boy's face that he just made his first cookie?

Then again, that's also the face he makes when he's taking a dump in his pants. We call it his "shit-making grin".

Then he went to another class that taught him how to make a gumdrop tree.

Yes, he's wearing beads around his neck like a little girl.

In his defense ... he did show me his tits numerous times so I had no choice but to give him more beads.

And lastly ... he went to some little "Bell-ringing" class where a lady holds up cards with colors on them and if you're holding a bell with that color, you're supposed to be ringing it like the Hunchback of Notre Dame wacked out on whatever Ozzy's having.

Except ... Andrew wasn't interested in ringing the bells.

He was more interested in finding out how they work.

He's either going to be one intelligent little bastard ... or abnormally ignorant.

The jury's still out on that one.