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4:15 a.m. - 2006-11-29


I guess that since my alarm went off at 4 a.m. for some UNGODLY reason (aforementioned ungodly reason being I keep forgetting to reset it every day for the last week)and I couldn't get back to sleep, I thought I'd update this beeyotch so all of you could cream your jeans or whatever it is that you do when I update this beeyotch.

Soooooooooooo ... hi.

I feel like a productive member of the 21st century now.

Yes ... I finally got a Sirius satellite radio.

It's actually one that I got for Mom and Dad about 3-4 years ago for Christmas that Dad admitted they used MAYBE 5 times.

And since this is one of the early models, it's not "credit card-sized" like the ones you can buy today.

Nay ... it's roughly the size of a mini refrigerator.

It's literally a distraction while I try to drive as it's plastered to my windshield.

We were coming back from South Carolina last week and we stopped at a mall and I asked Susie "should I take the Sirius down and put it in the glove compartment or something?"

To which Susie replied "A ... who would want to steal that antique and B ... it'd take at least two people to haul that monster off."

I will agree that it is quite the eyesore.

It looks like one of those primitive computers you'd see in a 1950s sci-fi movie.

But it works.

And Howard Stern has gotten way more filthy now that he's on satellite radio.

You've gotta be pretty raunchy to make me blush in the privacy of my car while driving to work alone.

We took Andrew for his annual photo with Santa last night.

The picture turned out good.

I'd share it with you, but my wife brought it in from the car and she has a habit of putting things down absentmindedly where they don't belong and then forgetting where she put them.

So they're probably either in the dishwasher, the microwave, the toilet or the trash can.

And since it's only 4:30 in the fucking morning, I don't think it'd be wise to go in there, wake her up and say "Quick! Tell me where you put Andrew's pictures with Santa last night!"

She'd probably respond with a flying alarm clock to the teeth.

Anyway, went and got the pictures done and this year, Santa's not in the mall per se.

This year, Santa has set up shop in a trailer on the outskirts of the mall.

Only in Alabama.

There's a big sign that says "Santa's Cottage" but anyone over the age of 7 would call it "Santa's Trailer Park".

When we got there, Santa was outside the trailer enjoying a smoke.

He quickly ground the cigarette into the ground with his boot and greeted us as a puff of smoke left his mouth.

"Ho! Ho! Ho!" he said, reeking of cheap gin and cigarettes.

Andrew greeted him with a hug. My God that kid loves Santa. He's never been afraid of him EVER.

Well ... not that I recall anyway. I'm sure when he was two he wasn't all that fond of him.

I was terrified of Santa when I was a kid.

The guy could see you when you're sleeping.

He knows when you're awake.

He knows if you've been bad or good.

So naturally ... in my warped little kiddie mind ... I confused him with God.

Flowing white beard.

All that crap about "seeing you 24-7".

And the reputation of being the Mack Daddy Pimp O' Toys was quite similar to God's Mack Daddy Pimp O' The Afterlife.

And I was raised a God-fearing Catholic.

So I was also a Santa-fearing Catholic as well.

Anyway ... Andrew has none of those fears.

He talks to Santa like they're old friends, reminding him of everything he got last year and how Santa ate all his cookies last year.


Santa does his bit, acting all entertained by Andrew but ... coming from a guy that's played Santa more than once ... that shit gets old quick.

You can sit there and go "Oh yes, Magnetix! Oh, you want Legos too?"

But inside, you just KNOW Santa's jonesing for one more swig off the flask in his back pocket.

We exited the trailer and Santa pleaded for us to beg the Mall people to let him back inside the mall.

He said the reason they were banished to the trailer was because Santa tied up too much traffic at the entrance to the mall's stores.

Whatever Santa.

I don't give two shits where they stick you dude. I got my pictures and that's all I care about.

Fight your own battles, old man.

I ain't got time fo' yo' personal grudges.

Speaking of Andrew and his memory (a few sentences back, Mr. Short Term Memory Loss), he's been amazing me with his Rain Man-type memory techniques.

The other day we were watching "Cars" for the 204th time and he said "Dad, remember on November 5th when I was sick and didn't go to church and then on November 6th I stayed home from school?"

I was all like "Whatever, Einstein".

Then, after my simpleton mind registered what he had said and I put my own feeble memory to work, I realized ... the kid was right.

He had committed those dates to memory somehow and just reeled them off during a slow portion of the movie.

It blew my mind.

That's my little socially retarded genius for you!

(I say he's socially retarded because he still picks his nose and eats it when he thinks nobody's looking after several hundred admonishes. You may think that's normal for a six year-old, but in my book that shit don't fly in a job interview. Don't try to single-handedly shut down the Kleenex corporation, Junior ... quit eating the mucus.)

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