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11:47 a.m. - 2001-08-06


Hurricane/Tropical Storm Barry is now a tropical depression. This means it's sprinkling outside and my earlier anticipations of a storm-ravaged day have all but evaporated.


God hates me. If He loved me, He woulda tore the roof off my house.

Y'see...we wanna sell the house and move to a nicer house, in case any of you are babbling idiots who haven't picked up on that vibe during the last dozen entries or so.

But Susie insists we need a roof. Not just on the house but on the workshop we have in the backyard.

So, she came up with the most brilliant idea that Hurricane Barry could sweep through our neighborhood, tear our roof up like a pitbull's play toy, and spit it back out all over the neighborhood, thus leaving the insurance company with the hefty bill of replacing our roof.

I'm tellin' ya...sometimes I think I married a genuine genius.

However, she didn't take into consideration that if the roof was severely damaged in the storm, all our shit inside the house would be ruined too.

THAT wouldn't be cool.

Anyway...there's no sense in going on about it. I feel pretty confident that the sprinkling going on outside is NOT going to tear the roof off the sucker anytime soon.


I fucking got SOAKED taking Andy to daycare today.

I had to carry the baby, his diaper bag, my lunch, two blankets over Andy's head and my briefcase to the car this morning.

I had no extra hands for an umbrella.

So I'm trying to get Andy strapped into his carseat while he's trying desperately to NOT be strapped in as the rain furiously beats my back like a retarded masseuse.

I lost my patience with him.

"Goddammit Andy, sit still," I said firmly as I struggled with his squirming body.

He started crying. Meanwhile, my back was wetter than a 16 year-old virgin who managed to get backstage at a Backstreet Boys concert.

I get him strapped in, I climb into the driver's seat and I apologize to him for getting angry.

He's nine months old. He doesn't understand a single word of English except "No" and from the way he acts when he hears the word "no", he thinks that means "Keep on doing whatever the hell it is you're doing, it's cool".

So my apology is going in one ear and out the other while he squeals and cries and I try not to hit the cars in front of me on the wet streets.

Get him to daycare and it's more of the same. Just as I had dried out in the car, it's back out in the rain.

We get in the house and Andy's tickled shitless to see Miss Robin. Miss Robin will protect him against his mean, evil Daddy who gets a little pissy because he's getting rained on.

I put Andy on the floor and all the other kids start slowly moving towards him like the zombies in "Night Of The Living Dead".

"Baybeeeee. Baybeeeeee," they all moan with their arms outstretched in front of them.

Okay...I just don't LIKE this. My kid's in a foul mood as it is and the LAST thing I want are these gross little rugrats groping my baby like he's a ripened cantaloupe in the produce section.

Andy started to whimper as I was leaving.

"He's all yours," I said to Miss Robin.

"See you later, mean evil Daddy," she said as she closed the door behind me, leaving me standing in the pouring rain.


I had an interview with a lady who works for a major CD manufacturing plant whose name rhymes with "Boney" this morning.

Neither one of us were really into the interview. She's put this off for several weeks now and I'm all pissy because I'm having a bad hair day, it's sprinkling outside, my baby thinks I'm a horrible daddy and I've got sooo much information on this company already that an interview is practically useless.

...And it was. We talked for about 15 minutes before I just halted it, saying I had enough information for a good story, which I do. She just kept repeating herself and I just kept scribbling the same notes over and over.

I'm tired, cranky, irritable and bloated. And I have nothing left to add.

Goddamned hurricane.

This pisses me off.

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