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6:15 a.m. - 2005-03-29


Apparently I did NOT see a tornado the other day.

What I saw was a "funnel cloud". It only becomes a tornado when it touches the ground and this "funnel cloud" came within a few feet of touching the ground but never actually made landfall, thus it was never an actual tornado.

I'm so humiliated.

And I certainly didn't mean to imply that I had never seen an actual tornado before.

Growing up in Illinois, we saw tornadoes about as often as we saw corn fields. The goddamned things were everywhere.

I just love seeing tornadoes.

You know.

As long as they're heading away from me.

I've gotten Susie addicted to Dristan.

On Saturday she couldn't breathe because her sinuses were so stuffed up.

I suggested she take a whiff off my Dristan bottle and it would clear those babies right up.

She didn't want to do it because she didn't want to be addicted to it.

I scoffed at her and said "Fine. Don't breathe then. I don't care."

She snatched the bottle out of my hand and huffed it like a junkie teenager snorting from an aerosol can.

Five minutes later she could breathe.

Twelve hours later she was hitting the bottle again.

Eight hours later ... again.

Four hours later ... huff huff huff.

Yesterday she stayed home from work because she felt like shit and Andrew has a croupy cough.

She called me up.

"Stop and get some Dristan on the way home," she said in that nasally voice.


Fuckin' addict.

I'm so mad at my yard right now.

I mean ... I'm so mad I really don't want to talk about it ... but it sure beats sitting here and talking about my wife's snot factory.

It won't turn green.

(My lawn ... not my wife's snot. Nay ... the old lady's snot is greener than a Catholic congregation on St. Paddy's Day)

I've put Turf Builder on it.

I've talked nicely to the yard because I read somewhere that grass is a living thing and like all living things, the nicer you treat it the better it will be. So I'm walking around my front yard in circles saying shit like "You are SUCH a good yard! Yes you are! You're the best yard in the whole wide world!"

No wonder the neighbors grab their children and herd them inside when I step outside.

Here ... dammit. I just went outside and snapped this photo at 6 a.m.

See the neighbor's yard across the street? And how green his yard is already getting?

Here ... take a closer look.

His yard is getting green.

My yard? Dead and yellow.

...And I really need to pull up the remnants of the dead flowers around the mailbox ... I know ... I know.

And make my kid move that ugly assed Little Tykes tricycle ... I know ... I know ...

I would have moved it myself but I'm in my boxers and a t-shirt and even though it's 6 a.m., I didn't feel like traipsing out into the yard and have my weiner tumble out of my boxers and give the neighbors yet another reason to keep their kids away from me because I'm the perv of the block who walks around exposing himself and mumbling to his grass.

Just look at the damned grass people and quit noticing all the other little crap in the pictures!

Sheesh already!

Obviously, the neighbor put something other than Turf Builder on his grass in order to get it to be that pretty green shade.

I could go and ask him what he did but it's fruitless at this point because I can't put any more chemicals on my grass for three more months because the package of Turf Builder says so.

"Don't put any more shit on your yard for three months after applying this shit" is the direct quote from the back of the bag.

I'm seriously thinking about yelling at my grass.

Just standing down there in the road, turning around, and yelling at my lawn.

Maybe it will respond if I humiliate it in front of all the other lawns.

I think that may just be the key here.

Knowing my luck ... someone will call the cops and I'll get taken down to the big house for lawn abuse.

Bastard neighbors.

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