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6:04 a.m. - 2001-07-30


Yo Uncle come you no update yesterday?

Yo random reader...cut the Mexican gang member speak. Do I have to account for every waking moment of every day?


Okay fine...

Saturday: 8:01 a.m.

I'm reading the morning paper when I announce that I want to do something "different" today.

Nobody's in the room when I do this, so the general reaction to my announcement is silence.

Susie comes into the room a few minutes later, I drop the paper to my lap and say I want to do something "different" today.

"Why don't you try being less arrogant?" she suggests.

I laugh heartily and then stare menacingly at her to let her know the laugh was not genuine.

"Alright," she says. "What do you want to do?"

"I want to become part of the people that are looking for a new home," I boldly proclaim.

"That's a bold proclamation," she said, stroking her chin in deep thought like I would remember such an act two days later.

So we officially became part of the "New Home Buyers" market on Saturday.

This means we jumped in the van and drove slowly around neighborhoods with no gang members popping caps and no nosy assed neighbors standing awkwardly behind their curtains peeking out at you after you've decided to remove your shirt while mowing the yard and gawking at your totally out-of-shape frame with amaze and wonderment.

We saw quite a few homes that not only appealed to us, but that we could afford.

We've set a limit as to how much our new house can cost. That limit is three times the amount we paid for our current home.

That's right...$300.

Actually, it's a good figure which I won't be discussing here, because it's impolite to discuss figures in your diary, for those of you who live for such matters.

So Saturday we just drove around and grabbed as many of those little information sheets that houses on the market have in their front yards.

I became giddy. Giddy in the fact that we could possibly own a home three times the size of ours with a pool, another bedroom, large bathrooms and kitchen and in a neighborhood where neighbors greet each other with smiles and waves ... not scowls and pats on their stolen pieces tucked down the front of their jeans to remind you that they could KEEL you if they wanted to.

Saturday night we went over to Edweird and Ramona's for dinner.

Edweird was extra special excited for this meal, since he was preparing ribs and baked beans...both recipes provided by MOI.

The boy had lusted after my recipes for many years. He knew that if he could just GET HIS HANDS on my secret recipes, he too could be a grillmeister extraordinaire.

So he asked for the recipes. And I gave them to him. It was that simple. Ask and ye shall receive. He was always under the impression I wouldn't share them. To that I say ... "Bah!" I share with anyone. You want my recipe for ribs and beans...just say the word, dude. I share.

Anyway, we get over there and apparently a pretty bad storm had just blown through. So bad it knocked their fence over and Edweird was out there nailing the fence back up when we pulled up.

"Wow," I said. "Musta been a bad storm."

"Motherfucking goddamned storm goddamned blew my motherfucking fence fucking right the fuck over," Edweird said, politely watching his language around the wife and kid.

"I see," I said. "Wow," I added for extra effect.

So we go inside and mingle. And hobnob. And gab.

About 6:30, Edweird decides the ribs have cooked for ninety's time to remove them.

What Edweird didn't that the gas grill had lost its flame during the perfect storm. know...unless we wanted raw pork...the ribs weren't exactly done.

Edweird thought this might call for a little bit of cursing to kind of help matters.

"Motherfucking gas motherfucking grill!," he explained. "Fucking shit! Goddammit!! Gas fucking bitch grill piss shit fucker! Fucking flame gone dogshit fuck bastard ass! Assfuck! Assfuck! Assfuck!"

I thought it might be time for me to step in with a suggestion.

"Try relighting the grill, Edweird," I said.

This seemed to work. But the damage was done. Dinner was now going to be late getting to the table.

Edweird sat in a corner and physically beat himself so that we all felt better about the situation, knowing that he was being sufficiently punished.

Once his face was a mass of black and blue welts, he checked the grill again and the ribs were ready.

Everything wuz delicious. But how could he go wrong? It was MYYYYYYYYYYY recipe, thankyouverymuch.

(Uncle Bob takes a series of bows and begins to count the number of rose bouquets being thrown at his feet)

We then sat around, stuffed and watched Andy as he tried to chew everything in the house. Once he started getting cranky, we left.

Came home, Andy's COMPLETELY off schedule since he was in the van all day and at another house all night. So he hadn't eaten correctly, hadn't had his naps...he was about as fucked up as Stephen Hawking on mescaline.

About 1 a.m. Saturday night, he reminded us the perils of fucking up his schedule with shrieks and howls.

I sat up with him for 90 minutes, trying to get him to calm down and go back to sleep. He had that "Catching a breath" cry going. The kind where he's crying and gasping for a breath. That went on FOREVER. Sorry kid...never again. least not until tomorrow.

Sunday, we get up and neither of us wants to go to church.

So we get dressed and go anyway.

Who should show up at church but Edweird and Ramona!! When we left their house Saturday night, I asked "See you at church in the morning?" as a joke, because I know Edweird hates going to church.

"Uhhhh...I fucking shit don't fucking think so," Edweird said.

I laughed heartily, slapping my knee for effect, and we left.

So seeing them at church was a shock.

"What are you doing here," I asked Edweird.

"Fucking I need to shitass say a fucking prayer that I goddamn learn how to fucking keep a bitchslappin' gas grill going during a motherfucking storm," he said.

I agreed. In my mind, I think that if a storm blew through my neighborhood that was so forceful it knocked my privacy fence to the ground ... it may have also extinguished the flames in my grill.

But that's just me. I'm a pessimist.

So it was good having the kids in church for a change.

It's just a shame that the interim preacher is STILL here and is about as exciting as cardboard.

After church, we went home, changed, fed Andy and jumped back in the van for OPEN HOUSES!!!


When you are in the new home buying market, Open Houses are a good way to see the insides of homes, meet pushy real estate agents and insult people's homes to their faces.

"Christ. Did a cow shit in here?" was my favorite line to use every time I walked into someone's home. The home owners usually looked sad when I said it, but I thought it was pretty amusing and it made Andy laugh when I'd scrunch up my face as I said it, so all in all, it was pretty funny.

We saw lots of great houses, a few really shitty houses and one pretty awesome house in a really shitty neighborhood.

The sad part is...the neighborhood used to be a really nice one. Then a few homes became HUD homes which are basically nice homes sold dirt cheap so that crackheads can live elegantly.

But the house we looked at there had a great layout...four bedrooms, three baths, a newly added Florida room, a huge pool with all sorts of landscaping around it ... just an awesome house.

...And it was selling for much less than we were planning on spending.

But that's what happens when gang members move into the neighborhood. You can't sell your house for what it's worth, because nobody wants to move into a neighborhood run by Lil Punkass and his Posse.

We figure we'll be moved in the next year. It's our new obsession...finding the perfect home.

We think we found a great realtor yesterday. She was honest, perky and had magnificent hooters.

It was the hooters that sold me. Susie liked her honesty. We both could have done without the perkiness.

Came home, had buffalo strips for dinner, played with the baby and passed out watching "The Man Show".

Life is good.

Speaking of Hooters...did y'all see the news that a Hooters restaurant in Panama City Beach, Florida had a contest where the waitress that sold the most beer in the month of April won a new Toyota?

Some gal won and when they had the big ceremony, they presented her with her prize.

...A toy "Yoda".

The little character from the Star Wars flicks??



The waitress was not as amused over this as the management was and is now suing Hooters, wanting a new car.

This cracked my shit up.

No offense to any Hooters waitresses that might read this (and if there are any Hooters waitresses reading this, I am so fucking honored), but these gals are not exactly renowned for their intelligence.

The name of the restaurant isn't "Brainiacs".

I feel sorry for this gal...and hopefully she'll get a new car outta the deal.

But damn...did I laugh when I read that!

If today's as slow as I'm anticipating it to be...look for another entry from me later on this afternoon.

Because I'm one prolific bitch.

Or as Edweird would say "One goddamned shitass bitch prolific dickheaded bitch."

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