last night i listened to a show discussing dream analysis on npr. as i took in the eruditic ponderings of the panel i thought of a dream marty had earlier in the week.

in the dream she woke up in the morning and smelled poop. she called into the kids room asking if anyone needed a diaper change. none did. she then marveled at the proximity and strength of the aroma. she threw the sheets ...

to say i have a few things on my plate this month would be like saying my high school chum big dog was just kinda mean to people he dealt with at drive-through windows.

if you don't know big dog you'll just have to take my word for it when i tell you he has, without question, consumed more human dna through fast food products than any other person ever has or ever will. while the thought of this may horrify you, it should not. what should wake you in the night though is the comfort-level he had in knowing he was consuming just about anything the 16 year-old working that night could eject, pull or scrape from his body and then conceal within big dog's order. forever stamped in my brain is a vision of big dog in the driver's seat of a car working on a too-large bite of burger while shrugging his shoulders at me.

but, back to me. in october, i'm trying to build two complete web sites AS WELL AS preparing for the everyman unveiling. now this is not to say i won't post, it's just to say what i do post my be less coherent than usual. and for the dozen or so people who don't think my writing is understandable to begin with, sadly, you're just extra-screwed this month.

but before giving up on me completely, let me share an odd detail about myself. did you ever see the episode of WKRP in Cincinnati where dr fever and venus had to drink ridiculous amounts of alcohol for a state trooper? the police official was attempting to demonstrate the ill effects liquor had on the human mind and more importantly, human response time. in the show, the more johnny fever drank, the quicker he'd become, leaving the trooper quite dour. this is how i am with sleep. the less i get the better i perform which leaves my wife quite dour because she is very much not like this. although i guess my deal is the opposite of the johnny fever example because the more he had the better he got so it's kind of backwards because for me it's the less i get the better i become, but you get the meaning.

ok. i just reread this post and i may be wrong about this whole improving while fatigued thing.

but, as i always tell my children, lucidity is overrated.

puberty punched me in the face so hard i was nearly unrecognizable on the other side. the greatest victim to this unprovoked mauling was my hair, which is certainly no secret to anyone who has met me since the age of thirteen. before this adolescent milestone, i had silky strands just like the other kids, but as a teenager i was the sole member of a yet-to-be-established support-group for people w...

speaking of baby having, i just learned that the woman across the street had her second kid in a wheelchair at the entrance of the hospital. below are random snippets from our conversation.

me: so you didn't make it to the room. were you in the lobby, the parking lot or what?
her: yes. i was sitting in a wheelchair but could reach out and touch the door of our car.

me: was anyone around?
her: it was noon at the main entrance of a large city hospital on a workday. yes, there were people around.

me: did anyone just kind of stop to watch?
her: twenty people applauded when the kid fell out of me.

me: what was the first thing you said afterward?
her: can i please have a robe.

me: after having a kid on the front steps of a hospital would you give an ounce of shit about a totally silent tampon wrapper?
her: a what?
me: yeah, that's what i thought.

i'm not sure how i came to have these snapshots [below]. it's almost certain that i asked for them in some way. but, this is a guy i used to work with and these shots are from when he was in the army years earlier. he was one of those crazy-eager and overly bright fellas who was a great catch for any organization, although companies rarely seem to notice when they get an young individual with such pluck.

the thing i'll most remember about jon is his smile. he could crack a grin that was so authentic and true that it would just turn you in a better direction, without fail. well that's what it did for guys, i'm pretty sure it unglued girls at the seams.

and i just thought of another thing. he grew up on a farm and once had to reach up the business end of a pregnant cow to pull its calf out. and he was like 13 or 14 when this happened. his dad was out of town and the cow started having this baby and it was breach or something so he had to help the process along and how you help is you reach up and work the little dude free. he said he'd seen his father do it but wasn't formally instructed on the process. i guess part of the technique involved pulling the calf mostly out, but leaving its torso in. this is so one of the mother's contractions would squeeze all of the uterine goo out of the calf's lungs freeing it to breath. he didn't know this or forgot this and just kinda yanked it out (i'm pretty sure i wouldn't have done that, wanting to prolong such a singular experience and all). well the calf hits the ground and can't breath and he's realizes what's happened and has to somehow get all that muck out of the lungs. i wish i could recall what he said happened next but i had long since drove my lunch fork straight into my eye as to divert further attention away from the thought of having a cow's undulating vagina massaging the full length of my arm. but i have a really vague notion that his mouth may have been involved. i'm admittedly real foggy on that though. i'm telling ya, i was reeling.

let's now call me confident on not knowing much else about jf.

marty grew up in a very science-minded home. her father was a cardiologist. her mother an ex-nurse. two of her brothers would grow up to be doctors. marty herself, a high school science teacher. in her house, one didn't take a dump, they had a bowel movement. one didn't drop ass, they simply experienced a bout of flatulence. and, there was nothing humorous about that flatulence. you see, terribly ...

to answer some questions regarding the previous post.

yes that was a television bella was jumping from. our old busted one which we gutted and gave to her. it is not at all uncommon to see her pushing it down the hallway en route to climb up on something. it's not the smallest step stool in the house but it sure is the funnest.

and, yes we do endorse jumping on the beds in our home. well we encourage the children doing it. marty is decidedly against the adults (meaning me) from doing it. our bed almost sags to the floor in various spots. i've tried convincing marty this is bella's doing but it only took once for her to hear the tired springs groan under my weight to convince her otherwise. i've asked that we replace the bed because i can't get the height i once could out of my jumps. she is firm on the point that we will replace the bed when the people weighing over 28 pounds stop jumping on it. i'm sure we can all agree, if this is the case, we're going to have this bed for awhile.

as for bella's olympic dive pose, i'm not sure where she picked that up, but it is truly how she begins every event. and as for her naked from the waist down deal, i'm sorry to report that this is far more usual that it should be. i'm merely hoping she gets it out of her system as a prepubescent youth so she doesn't feel the need to in later life.

to set the scene...

marty went to an all girls catholic high school.

marty had a friend who worked at a photo-mat.

this friend once brought in a copy of a photo picturing a 20-something guy standing naked with an erection. oh, and he had shoulder length feathered, permed, mulletted, and heavily hair-sprayed hair.

marty asked to borrow the photo, stuck it in one of her school books and whenever she found herself in a circle of girls and the question came up 'so, are you dating anyone?' in that high, excited falsetto only catholic school girls seem able to attain, marty would respond 'yeah i am' in a return falsetto, 'would you like to see a picture of him?' they would wildly shriek 'like to. i'd love to. yeah! let's see'. here marty would proudly pull this photo from her calculus book and hold it right in front of there growing eyes with an outstretched arm and watch their faces contort. they would then all take their tops off and bound through the halls, their full, dark ponytails wagging behind their lithe young bodies and they'd be screaming the name "troy! troy! troy!" over and over for some unknown reason. ok, so i added the last part, but the everything before that is really true.

i saw this photo once several years ago and feel compelled to tell you something about it. for one, i looked at this item only once, yet i remember every last detail about it right down to the color of the dirty shag carpeting (mustard yellow with black specks). if i had to explain the origin of this shot i'm certain it went something like this.

the year is 1983. quiet riot is playing a spring break concert in daytona. the drummer has just come out of the bathroom, post-concert, thinking he's got a groupie or two waiting for him but instead finds his band mates with their polaroid.

i'd post the image but it would be kind of a hassle to take it out of the frame on marty's night stand to scan it.

i wasn't the first on the block to get tivo. i was the second. the first was darkman. darkman is the first to try a lot of things. darkman is like the older brother some of us didn't have. and when he's not that, he's the older brother some of us wish we had.

the number one question most have asked about darkman; why's he called darkman? as with many nicknames, the story is not half as sexy as the moniker itself. we must go back many movie releases to the opening night of a modest film i like to call spawn. it is here i first met the as-yet-un-nick-named fella. after the film, he commented on how that was the worst (or maybe he said best) movie he'd seen since darkman. little did he know that this simple comment would forever brand him darkman, to at least one person walking around that is.

in the early days of knowing him it was not uncommon to catch me saying "yeah, call up that guy, you know, that one guy, darkman." and, there were other times i'd call his home where his wife would answer and it would occur to me that i didn't even know his real name. by the fifth time i could no longer discern her mumblings. she'd just say "one second", set the phone on the counter and call out 'that guy who calls you darkman is on the phone.' i guess she didn't know my name either.

once darkman informed me that he didn't like being called darkman.

me: and ...
dm: and, so i want you to stop calling me that.
me: i'm sorry but that's not how it works.
dm: look i'm telling you i don't like it and i want you to stop!
me: in young guns do you think chavez got to pick chavez as his nickname or did they just call him chavez?
dm: but HIS name WAS chavez!
me: and, therein rests my point.

we all know you can't defend a young guns offensive. it's just not done.

the next nickname dissertation will dissect my accountant-looking, human resources manager friend dubbed snake.

thursday morning i woke up, took my shower and then went downstairs to the kitchen wearing a towel around my waist as i'm like to do. bella was already down there sitting at the counter eating her breakfast.

b: good morning daddy.
d: good morning sweetheart.
b: there's another daddy in the basement.
d: oh is there? that's nice.

one quickly adjusts to the rocketing imagination of a young child and learns to nod and 'uhm-hum' with great frequency. so i got my breakfast together and sat next to bella at the counter eating. then the 'other daddy' emerged from the basement appearing in the kitchen doorway.

o: good morning.
d: oh, good morning.
b: there's the other daddy, daddy.
d: yes, i see the other daddy.

turns out the other daddy in the basement was the exterminator marty had let in while i was showering. marty entered the kitchen and started rapping with the guy. i decided to quickly finish my breakfast and head back upstairs to get ready for work. but, the conversation he and marty were having proved interesting enough to draw me in. it's not often that i stand in front of strange men in nothing but a towel and jaw for 20 or so minutes but (1) i didn't know he was here and (2) it is my house and this is what i do. one may ask what can be learned in such a short span between a man holding a can of bug spray and another wearing a plush green towel. here's a sample of what i now know about this other daddy.

our exterminator ...

1. was one of eight children. four boys. four girls.
2. had a nun ram a pencil into the palm of his hand when he was in first grade. the lead tip is still there.
3. is a book-writing, painter.
4. grew up on a farmhouse built where a lake used to be. in addition to several feet of water they would routinely find salamanders swimming around their flooded basement.
5. went through a horrible divorce where he sold his bar in attempt to get his two sons. he lost the petition and was instructed to give them up and pay child support. when he and his wife exited the courtroom, she pushed the two boys to him and said you take them, but i still want the checks.
6. cried when he dropped his oldest boy off at college. he almost made it out of there but as he was driving away his son looked back and waved. it was here he lost it.
7. almost died from internal bleeding after having colon cancer surgury.
8. wished he had learned to play the piano in his youth, but feared for his safety given his three brothers.
9. tried to domesticate a flying squirrel, mole and just about anything else he could catch in the woods.
10. knows a guy who looks a lot like me.

i had no choice. i told the guy i had to go to work but he would absolutely have to come over for dinner in the very near future. once at work i had the following conversation:

g: hey troy. so what's up?
t: not much. although, i just met the most interesting guy this morning.
g: who was it?
t: my exterminator.

this modest piece of banter culminated with the following life-lessons being passed down to me by a half-circle of the hunting, scratching, full-time-uber-males i work with ...

1. the man of the house should always know, and i mean always know, when another man is in his home.
2. men do not walk around their home in a towel.
3. men do not talk to strangers while in nothing but a towel.
4. men do not invite perfect strangers to their home for dinner.
5. men do not wear boxers. (one guy)
6. men do not wear briefs. (another guy)
7. men switch between boxers and briefs. (and yet another guy)
8. men shower before going to bed and not in the morning.
9. men do not run outside in their underwear to grab the paper.
10. sleeping naked is left to hippies and perverts.

i fear these guys are three minutes away from dragging me to the bathroom to prove to them that i'm actually a member of their gender club.

marty left last thursday for a long weekend at her sisters in chicago. she called me that night saying she forgot to put the diapers out to be picked up. i said i'd take care of it. she followed by saying "i usually put the bin in the hall, so i don't forget it." in my best indignant voice i reminded her that i had said i would take care of it, and wouldn't need any advice on how to perform the act. i was in fact an adult who holds a job and is considered by many to be a responsible individual and have long thought i left the days of being treated like a chore-hating adolescent behind me.

so friday morning at work, when i realized i forgot to put the diapers out that morning, i dashed home only to find i was too late and our new bundle of cotton swaths were already sitting on the porch. i'm sure there are those out there thinking the right thing to do would be to own up to the oversight and admit my failing. the people saying that have obviously never made marty's acquaintance. those that do know her understand the only viable option is/was to throw last weeks soiled diapers into the dumpster behind our house and when marty asks about it, snap the newspaper down long enough to say "i said i'd do it didn't i, so i did it".

...

i wish i could say i did this, but i didn't. because the only thing worse than lying to marty is not recycling things used in her home. the term 'divorcable offense' comes to mind. for instance, i reckon most of you think ziploc baggies are used once and then discarded. to marty, ziploc products may as well have a tupperware logo on them. we got a box the year we got married, haven't purchased a box since and still possess and use as many as we had on day one. this is called dedication and i suggest you don't stand in the way of such grim determination to an ideal. i know i don't which is why i'm able to sit her and type this with two functioning arms.

i have one chest hair. i've had it for about 15 years. this hair is three inches long. and it grows right out of the dark border of my nipple, not next to it like you'd expect. and, it's squirrley, shooting out all hurly-burly, not straight or ordinary at all. every few months it falls out but regenerates in just days if not just hours.

this somehow came up in conversation at work and the guy i was talking to was saying things like "what in the hell are you talking about?" and "stop talking. just stop talking."

then, thinking he wasn't getting it or wasn't believing me, i stuck two fingers into the gap between the buttons on my shirt and started fishing around for it.

him: what are you doing?

me: i'm going to show it to you?

him: i don't want to see it.

me: no, it's ok. i can pull it out between the buttons.

him: stop doing that.

me: it'll just take a second.

him: don't do that.

me: wait. i almost got it.

him: no. stop. i don't want to see that thing.

me: (i stop) oh i'm sorry. but, it's really quite a thing.

him: don't ever do that again. i'm serious man. don't ever do that again.

there was a college kid in my neighborhood who had the best trained dog i've seen since spuds mckenzie. they had this deal they'd do where the guy would drive along the street and his canine would run on the sidewalk even with the car. if the car stopped, the dog stopped. the dog would always sit down anxiously waiting for his owner\'s car to begin again. i will admit i mildly enjoyed watching thi...

marty was passing through an intersection yesterday when an suv running a red light t-boned her. the point of impact centered on the passenger side rear door and the collision sent marty's car into the neighboring lane where the car came to a slow stop.

no one was hurt. i can't even begin to tell you what kind of ziggurat needs to be erected to the germans for their automotive prowess. the center point of this collision was 15 inches away from 2 month old alex's head. he was pulled from his car seat unscathed, screaming his tiny, diapered ass off, but unscathed. it's friggen amazing. especially when you look at the car. the entire passenger side is a complete disaster with both doors having been pushed in about six inches.

when marty called me at work, and after confirming everyone was ok, i was ravenous for details. how fast were you going? 40mph. who was at fault? the other person. how's the car? bad shape. was it a man or a woman? woman. was she talking on a cellphone? uncertain but the car behind her said she was messing around with something. what did she say to you? nothing.

NOTHING?!? this was the response i wasn't prepared for. i asked marty for clarification.

t: do you mean she didn't say anything important or she really didn't say anything?

m: she didn't say anything. i never spoke to her. what did you want her to say?

t: how about i'm sorry. i'm sorry for being such a complete idiot and endangering you and your childrens' lives. i'm just sorry.

m: well maybe she was shook up too. i mean she probably recognizes what she did.

t: you see, by not apologizing i'd say she doesn't. i'd say she doesn't appreciate that she just made us a one car family for the next month. or that if they total the car, we're out the 1000 bucks we just put into it last week. that she just cost us 20 - 40 plus hours of our life in trying to get all of this squared away. i'd say that she doesn't appreciate that she could have killed your child. i mean i'm not asking for a lot here but a simple apology seems quite in order.

i can't exactly explain why i'm so enraged by this minor detail. my best guess is fear. the thought of what could have happened on this day terrifies me to the marrow and i want the person responsible to simply own that. and i know how that sounds and i can already hear mike mumbling something about me being a petty fool and the rational side of me knows all of this. all that truly matters is i've got three healthy family members sleeping in this house right now and we're not at the hospital or worse. i do know all of this.

but the other thing i know is how much i hate shopping for cars so just say your sorry dammit if for nothing else, for making me have to go shopping for cars!

odd places i've seen stray pubic hairs in the not-too-distant past:

1. in alex's diaper at his 1-week pediatric exam. the doc checked to make sure it wasn't attached before confessing that had it been, we may have a problem.

2. sticking out of the play-doh as it passed through a fun factory's shape maker. the shape of the moment was a simple square.

3. on my work laptop's computer keyboard.

and on the last item it was the client i was meeting with who brought it to my attention. he didn't say anything, he just waggled a long index finger above the letters R and T where it sat. 'oopsey-daisy, wonder where that come from?' and, to say you don't quite know what to do with it once you're holding it in the air pinched between your thumb and forefinger, highlighting it's curlycue shape, would be a vast understatement. if it were an obvious head hair you'd just lightly shoo or blow it off the desk and onto the floor, but i know how i'd feel if someone started floating stray groin hairs around my work area all willy-nilly. so i did the only respectable thing i could think of (at 8:15 in the morning at least) and daintily picked it up, studied it momentarily and deposited it into my shirt pocket. i'm a staunch believer in conducting low-impact business meetings.

after leaving this appointment i spent a moment hoping the guy knew i was simply trying to be respectful of his space and that i was not a collector of random short hairs. although, i can say, should anyone have such a hobby or collection, i would have interest in seeing it.

there were 11 kids and one father. the oldest was in high school and the youngest just out of diapers. the dad learned long ago trying to get answers from these greater-numbered masses proved futile so a system was devised to contend with the numerous overturned lamps, dings on the wall or basically anything that just seemed out of harmony.

after an infraction, they would be ordered to the basement. all eleven. they moved slowly and single-file down the stairs. i say slowly but not so slowly their compliance might be questioned. once there and standing in a motley line they would be instructed to undress. the pace in which this was done closely resembled the march down the stairs, not swift but definitely in motion. once all clothing was heaped on the floor in front of each child the man's belt would come off with a long pull from his fleshy arm. as the tip left the the last belt loop a silent starter pistol went off and there's really no other way to describe what came next other than to say, all hell broke loose. naked children ran screaming in all directions.

some crouched low and others ran outright but none stood perfectly still, it made for too easy a target. oftentimes two or more children would collide into one another. this could be a shoulder-grazing blow or a head-thumping collision. when this happened one, usually the smaller, would fall to the gritty floor. if down, they would madly crawl towards an outer wall not concerned with the potential scrapes from the unpredictable cement. the younger ones urinated as they ran, their erratic streams spraying on themselves as well as those who were just too damn close.

the adult in the center reached for the racing youths as they darted by. he'd try grabbing their flailing, wispy arms where he would then raise them high enough in the air to negate their churning feet. working his fat hand under their bony armpits worked best. the belt was in constant motion whether he held a kid or not delivering imprecise but meaningful blows. making contact on them as they shot by, while not as significant, still proved therapeutic. those who dangled beneath his raised arm would take licks to whatever side of their body was facing the advancing leather when it arrived. after a few strikes they would be released, their feet already in motion, for the next child to be snared.

it was certainly possible to make it back upstairs without ever having been singled out or even touched by the belt. it was equally possible to be collected multiple times. this was a gamble the children were willing to take, pitting their strategies of escape against their siblings. in the end, the one thing they all knew in the 60 watt darkness of their home's basement was that the only absolute defense would have been to be born in the house next door, down the street or on another continent altogether.

story told me almost 10 years ago by a coworker (g.s). it stands as one of the most vivid firsthand tales i've ever listened to.

it was 3am on a friday night. i was going to bed which means alex was waking up which means marty was mumbling incoherently and picking up things that weren't there (once marty hits 30 plus days of deficient sleep, watch your ass).

after realizing alex wasn't going back to sleep, i plucked him out of his bassinet and stood rocking him. during this i noticed that a way cool fog had rolled in. seeing how the lights played through the mist it was a given i had to go out and get some shots. so with the little man master-blastered to my chest, i grabbed the camera gear and headed out. we ambled around for about an hour during which time we talked to a cop who warned me about being too affectionate to my kid lest they become overly attached, ran into a shopping cart guy getting a jump on the friday night trash can loot. he asked for a buck. it's sad how some people are just unable to clock out.

alex and i call the above shot 'the apartment building someone was having sex in'. my god can people be loud. or i should say, my god can this particular woman be loud. i heard her halfway down the block. she was so loud in fact i felt i had to commemorate the moment with a picture and since i had just talked to the cop i thought it may be uncomfortable if he had to arrest me minutes later for photographing a young couple having sex through their bedroom window, so you're going to have to settle for a picture of their building's entrance.

and, while setting up for this photo and listening to this woman's production, alex and i pondered why it was societally acceptable for women to make all this racket when the guys can't, or aren't supposed to at least. i mean i guess the guys 'could' light it up but i ask you, what do you think would happen to your libido if you had to take in my squeals and grunts of utter delight during your utter delight. don't bother answering that because i know what it would do to me and that's all i need to know at the moment. issue settled.

all the wash u college students left over the last few weeks. this begins our quite season. during this period, there's all sorts of folks trolling the alleys scavenging for the goods rich kids don't feel like carting back home. just another luxury of those who don't have to pay for what they have.

as for me, their used and soiled housewares hold no appeal, but that is not to say i don't take advantage of the mayhem. it's more than typical to stumble across some morsel that is curious not for it's monetary value but for other, better reasons. and, i have come to ritualistically look for one memento each year to remember the esteemed students by. this season's trinket was a note i found on the sidewalk while walking home one night. it reads.

----------< begin note >----------

Hi Just, here's the hey. See you soon!! Tess. (the above words were written in very big text at somewhat of an angle and there was an elongated heart in front of the 'Tess'.) Just in case and b/c my mom is making me, here's our address: (address inserted here) if you take a taxi tell them to take 91st st on the south side of edith dr to get to greenbelt. you'll recognize the house. oh! and here's bo's cell phone which my mom is also making me give you: (phone number inserted here) mine is: (another phone number) much love! be safe! (next to the above two lines is a drawn box and inside it is written 'We're on a mission from God'.) tessa oh! and there will also be a hidden key which i will tell you about.

----------< end note >----------
it is quite fortunate this scrap wasn't found by some freak who would:

a. pick it up and put it in his pocket.
b. later read it while sitting on his front porch, twice.
c. post its contents on his website.
d. or call the number pretending he's 'Just'.

now i know you're thinking the last item might just be a little risky. i thought the same given caller id, star 69 and the constant fbi surveillance i'm under, so that's why i made the call from e-love's house.

toodles jen and justin. i'll call before i arrive. and i'm axiously awaiting my 'hidden hey!'.

i like seeing things i'm not supposed to. this is not to say that you will look up one day and find me peering into your bathroom window, but it is to say that if you're showering next to me at the gym, i could later pick you out of a lineup, without ever seeing your face. i'm not sure why i'm like this but i know when it began.

i was in second grade and my after-school baby-sitter was...

yesterday was a pretty average day. well, except for when i ran into the 30 year old skater rat who was milking his pregnant dog. and, what struck me about the scene was the sensual way he rolled the canine's pink, bloated nipple between his fingers. it just seemed way more sexual than you think a dog milking would need to be.

there used to be this guy in my neighborhood who had this thing for lying. now we've all met people who like to stretch the truth or possibly embellish a tale but this guy truly believed in crumbling all who came before him. when i told him i was from colorado he said he went to the wealthiest school in the whole state. when i said i had a friend into rock climbing he ascended the Himalayas, twice. when i said i had knee surgery he had both legs replaced with bionic ones after a parachute didn't open after he jumped from the space shuttle on reentry. when in truth, he went to a sub-par high school in saint louis county, not only didn't rock-climb but was afraid of heights and contrary to popular belief, bionic legs were years from actually being invented for use on people (rats sure, people no), not to mention nasa still frowns upon people engaging in extreme sports on their space-bound vessels.

he may not have been a rich guy but he sure played one around here. he got married not too long ago and after his still happily deluded bride had her 2 karat diamond appraised, the honeymoon was over. having elected to marry him it's easy to see she's a little on the ego-rich side of the fence and subsequently you can imagine how pissed she was when told that the symbol of her happiness came to a whopping 87 bucks. she asked if that was U.S. dollars before ripping the larynx from the salesman.

shaken, she called a friend of her husband's to get some background data on this better half. the friend had recently written the guy (her husband) off tired of his perpetual lies so was more than willing to give him up. the conversation revealed all kinds of nuggets including that he was previously married which he had not only not revealed but actually denied earlier.

will you tell me her name she asked. he did.

can you tell me her phone number she asked. he did.

so she called wife A, introduced herself using the guys last name, which is unique enough to raise suspicion. wife A simply asked "are you all right?" and that was without hearing anything other than wife B's name.

like i said, his mission was to crumble all who came before him.

our mailman smokes or rather chews a cigar while walking his route. he is a very affable guy and when we moved in he made it a point to come up and introduce himself. we religiously receive a christmas card from him, chat regularly, basically we're friendly.

sometimes if we have more stuff than will fit through the door's mail slot and the door is unlocked he will come in, go to the kitchen and set our mail on the counter and then leave as discreetly as he entered. i like this. it's a little bit of mayberry right here in the big city.

the other day he was bringing one such bundle in when he caught me home from work, heating a plate of leftovers in the oven and singing michaelpella-style to the stevie nicks melody Edge of Seventeen. ok, so getting caught doing the whole singing thing, pretty bad, but it was what i was doing while singing that proved the real burn. i have this condition where hearing stevie nicks makes me want to move and groove as she did in those long 70's flowing, tasseled dresses. unfortunately, in my homage, something doesn't properly translate. perhaps it's the undersized khakis, my awkward grinding motions or even the contorted faces i make when singing. bottom-line is it may look a tad off.

steve the mailman got a little more than he bargained for on this day.

on the positive side, at least it lessens the embarrassment of all the brown wrapper magazine and vhs sized parcels he delivers to my address.

note: it didn't occur to me until writing this up that i always thought the lyrics of this song said just like a one-winged dove instead of the more accurate and flight-worthy white-winged dove.

and for my lackadaisical postings this week, i'm givin' love with the above and this and this.

in attempt to explain some of my lunacy, i've told you how my mom works in the sexually transmitted division of the centers for disease control and some of the traumatizing events to come about from this affiliation (as in, monstrously large and mangled penises painted on our living room wall). should this confession not sway you in my direction, see how they celebrate christmas in the aniseptic corridors of their building as carolers in white lab coast made their rounds last week.

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me a little luvin’ under the tree.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me two itchy bumps from that little luvin’ under the tree.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me three french kisses, two itchy bumps, it’s some sort of STD.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the fifth day of Christmas my doctor said to me … Chla-mydi-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the sixth day of Christmas my doctor gave to me six penicillin, Chla-mydi-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love came to me – “how ‘bout a quickie?”, six penicillin, Chla-mydi-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the eighth day of Christmas my ture love gave to me – a case of herpes, “how ‘bout a quickie?”, six penicillin, Chla-mydi-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the ninth day of Christmas my doctor said to me try doxycycline, a case of herpes, “how ‘bout a quickie?”, six penicillin, Chla-mydi-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the tenth day of Christmas the CIS came to me “tell me ten sex partners”, try doxycycline, a case of herpes, “how ‘bout a quickie?”, six penicillin, Chla-myid-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the eleventh day of Christmas the CIS gave to me eleven HIV tests, “tell me ten sex partners”, try doxycycline, a case of herpes, “how ‘bout a quickie?”, six penicillin, Chla-myid-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

On the twelfth day of Christmas I got just me twelve latex condoms, eleven HIV tests, “tell me ten sex partners”, try doxycycline, a case of herpes, “how ‘bout a quickie?”, six penicillin, Chla-myid-a, one clinic visit, three french kisses, two itchy bumps and some sort of STD.

bella's new favorite saying is 'my toy'. everything she can see, touch or conceive is her toy. when we were taking a shower the other day she pointed at my penis and said 'my toy'. i explained that i was very confident that that was not her toy, mostly because it was my toy, my favorite toy in fact. she thought on this for a moment before smacking my toy with a toothbrush, another of her toys and reclaiming it as her toy.

the best parenting advice i ever received came from my father-in-law; "you just gotta be smarter than your kids". i try to live this and thought quickly at this moment and decided to remove the curiousity, so i turned around before continuing my ablutions. i then heard another softer 'my toy' seconds before feeling the toothbrush attempt to pierce my rear crevice. let's just say my surprise could have snapped that brittle plastic in half.

when recounting this drama to marty she asked which toothbrush she had. all i could say with confidence is that she didn't have mine.

now oddly, my whole family brushes their teeth with the same toothbrush, mine.

so last night we went to a family story time deal at our local library where this very animated lady read all of these great stories and sang billowy songs about hanging, chopping, squishing and burning turkeys, given the coming holiday and all. i'm here to tell you that interspersing a gobble, gobble in-between these horrific tales of mutilation does not right the wrong done in terrorizing these young children so.

all right. so we all know that i was the only one horrified by these images but all i'm saying is clucking funny and fanning your arms about doesn't help soothe my cringing nerves in any way. at least marty was kind enough to give my knee an empathetic pat while i sat staring at the macabre library lady.