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5:58 a.m. - 2001-08-10


My doped-up son is trying desperately to wake up right now and let us know he's ready to get out of his crib.

He's not taking into consideration that he's still loopy from some drowsy medication. So we'll hear a "WAAAaaa...." and then it tapers off and he falls back asleep.

This takes place every 45 seconds or so. A quick "WAAAAAaaaaa..." and then silence.

I find it much more amusing than it looks on a computer monitor.


Now that I'm actually working 40 hour work weeks, the week seems incredibly long. Like it takes FOREVER for Friday to get here.

At the newspaper, it didn't take that long. I guess because EVERY day was a Friday when you only show up for work a few hours a day.

Speaking of the has really suffered since I left there.

The naked eye probably can't detect it. Then again, I may be selling the naked eye short here.

On the front cover of the paper, there was a story where "Homes" was spelled "Hines". It was also spelled "Hones" later on in the story.

I mean...that's just ignorant.

The problem is the crew is getting out of there so late in the evening now that they're all too tired to properly proofread.

So they pass the front page back and forth without looking at it and say "Looks fine to me".

I know...I've been there.

And since they didn't replace me, the inside of the paper is full of stories STOLEN from other newspapers.

Granted, the Drunk Assed Boss gives the other newspapers credit. But he just surfs the web, finds a story from another newspaper, cuts and pastes it, then puts it in HIS newspaper.


If people wanted to read crap about other cities, they'd buy the other cities newspapers.

And these stories are PAINFULLY long. We're talking taking up 4-5 pages of the newspaper.

The newspaper has always been about featuring local people and their stories.

Now he's changed it to stealing stories from other newspapers and filling up the newspaper with one story. If you don't give a shit about the water works program in South Alabama, tough titty, kiddo...that's all there is to read this week.

Anyway...I doubt seriously you want to read about how my former job is going downhill in my eyes.

Do you?

Longtime readers of this diary may be familiar with my boy Eddie Lavoie...or Edweird as Wendigo and myself call him.

Edweird is ready to step into the waters of Diaryland himself. Naturally, his diary will have so many obscenities in it that it'd make Satan blush.

He sent me an email yesterday asking me what I thought of him getting his own diary.

I got all excited because lemme tell you peeps...there ain't nothin' like reading a diary from someone you know personally. probably beats it.

Good sex that is. Bad sex?? I think I'd rather read someone's diary than have bad sex.

Back in February, 2000, I wrote about the Worst Sex I ever had.

Now...I think we'll touch on the most "embarrassing" sex I ever had since I don't really have anything else to write about this morning...

Keep in mind...this may get graphic. Please...if you're reading this with your parents or children looking over your shoulder, you may want to go to or something.

I was dating this gal Lana...her family was filthy rich...the only girl I ever dated whose dad was a bonafide millionaire.

Lana showered me with gifts. That's not important to the story, but damn...that gal gave me a lot of stuff.


One day, we were at her parent's house alone. Whenever this happened, we usually found ourselves having sex because we were young and horny.

So we go into the bedroom and start sexing it up. Really good sex. The kind where you work five or six different positions into the session, everyone's having a great time.

So at one point, we be in the missionary position. Me on top, her writhing and moaning on the bottom. You'd think I was crushing her pelvis, but that wasn't the case.

So we're going at it and I feel the big "O" coming on.

I decide that I'm going to be Joe Porn Star, yank my love hammer out and spew all over Lana's naked frame, making her think "Gosh...I have got SUCH a stud for a boyfriend!"


So I build up to where I'm about to explode....I pop out like the Pillsbury Doughboy, yank that condom off, sling it across the room and get ready to cover my lover with man goo.



..........................dribble. gals...when a man is "building up" his man goo, the chances are usually good that an orgasm can make him spew like a volcano.

I'd literally shot a few ladies in the eye when I had previously pulled this stunt.

This dribbled.


Joe Porn Star was now about as macho as Frasier and his brother, Niles.

As if the dribbling wasn't bad enough, Lana started laughing at my pathetic display of machismo as my man goo formed a tiny puddle on her groin.

Then...the charley horse hit me.

I was on my knees, strategically between her legs when pain shot up the back of my leg.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow" I cried.

"What?" Lana asked, all confused and bored.

"Charley horse," I said, getting off the bed to walk it off.


The Charley horse, combined with the effort exerted during this marathon sex session had done something really strange to my legs.

I guess it had shut off any kind of mobility I may have previously had.

So rather than getting off of the bed and walking the charley horse off, I pathetically fell to the floor face first.

Thirty seconds earlier, we had been enjoying some damned good sex. Now my girlfriend was laying there on the bed, with a puddle of man goo the size of a dime seeping toward her innie while her boyfriend laid on the floor screaming like a newborn baby and flailing around like a drowning invalid.

How in the world hot sex could so quickly turn into a Lucy skit was beyond her.

Once the pain left my leg and I was able to regain my composure as well as the use of my legs, Lana burst out laughing and couldn't stop.

After that, she called me her "little drooler". For several months. In front of other people.

She enjoyed telling our friends that story, who would ALWAYS end up laughing as she told the story of how I was one pathetic sex partner.

I never really minded. least I was having sex, dammit.

The last time I saw Lana was about ten years ago. She was staying in a hotel about an hour north of here with her female softball team. They were in town for some big tournament and she was drunk out of her mind. She was married at the time and called me up at midnight asking me to drive up to her hotel to "visit" her.

Susie was working nights at the time, but I knew I couldn't get out of bed and drive up there to see her. I could tell she had other things on her mind rather than visiting and I didn't want any part of it.

I did agree to come watch her play in her tournament the next day.

So I drove up there and watched her play. After her game (she was pretty hungover and didn't play well at all), we sat in my car and talked for about an hour. She was unhappy in her marriage, wanted out and wanted to see if I wanted out of my marriage as well.

I didn't.

We hugged goodbye. But not before she called me her little drooler.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think some pathetic sex could cause a woman so much inner joy.

Once again...this is why men have trouble understanding women.

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