April 27th 2006 8:52 am
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I'm picking up drycleaning on Monday (after my mid-morning nap) and I get an email on my blackberry. Papa forward on an email from Uncle Bubba about him getting engaged to Nolan. Uncle Bubba didn't copy me on the email for some reason. Anyway, the email said that they were going to get married and that Nolan got an iPod.
Uncle Bubba is the last male of the Reynolds family with the potential to procreate and make more baby Reynolds. So he's carrying around this massive weight on his shoulders about needing to have lots of baby boys, spreading his seed, casting his Reynolds DNA all over the Atlanta metro area. Mama had my testicles removed when I was just a baby.
Anyway, the good thing is that Uncle Bubba and Nolan can get a joint checking account now and pool their money together to buy better presents for me. Nolan earned my conditional love this past Christmas by giving me a present. Here's to hoping that some of the good that comes from their union will trickle down to the little man, me.
April 7th 2006 10:34 am
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Mama didn't come home night before last. I figured she left Papa because Papa is always playing golf now or laying on the couch. Plus he never does work around the house or laundry.
I assumed my post on the top of the back cushions of the couch. From this point I'm able to pivot with relative ease and keep close watch on the front door, several windows, and can hear the back door well (also this puts my eyes at level television height). I watched and watched for her and if I heard any little noise my face puckered up with a weak, low rumble and exploded into a burst of barks.
I guess Papa and I watched every "My Sweet Sixteen" on MTV, and a few "Dr. 90210's" on E! At some point I fell asleep, still at my post, with eyes half open and never really relaxed. Papa was asleep on the couch, which should have been my first clue that Mama wasn't coming home. He slept with his shoes on.
In the morning I was fussy. Not too happy about getting a bad night's sleep, and not too happy that Mama wasn't home.
As soon as Papa went to work I did a poop on the music room rug. I love pooping inside. Mama and Papa think I can poop on demand. They give me a 5 minute window twice a day to do a number 2, which is unfair. I like to wait until they leave and finish whatever coffee is left over and then poop in the music room before my mid-morning nap.
Mama came home later yesterday. She was at a nerd conference for work.
March 31st 2006 10:33 am
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Last week I had a lunch meeting scheduled with a financial planner. He called me, I didn't know him, but he asked if he could take me to lunch and I said yes. So I suggested Mt. Fuji and told him that I'd meet him at the sushi bar. When I walked in, the guy was already there, at least I thought it was him because he turned around and smiled when I walked in. He waved me over and wanted to shake my hand. I made it clear that I prefer high-fives to hand shaking.
So he started asking about my family, and do I eat here a lot and blah, blah, blah, and my head started hurting a little and I was clinching my jaw over and over. I thought for a few quick seconds about killing him, or killing myself, or maybe pee peeing on him. So I ordered some tuna, yellow tail, salmon and white fish, and asked for some sake, not warm urine sake, cool sake that would help my headache and sore teeth and gums.
I kept drinking sake. He was talking, only asking more questions now, about my plans and where I wanted to be, all the while letting me know that by starting to invest at the age of 3 I could build a strong retirement by exercising some financial discipline. Now I was a little more relaxed, and I just told him, "Look, I don't have a job or any real income. Papa gives me an allowance that I usually spend to buy presents for Mama. I have a little bit of money that I keep under the chase lounge cushion, but that's it. I don't know what you were expecting."
He seemed surprised and then apologized, and said his company gave him my name as a qualified lead. I kind of felt sorry for him, because his job probably sucks, and I don't have to have a job. He said that maybe we could talk in the future if I had more income, or maybe I have friends or family that would benefit from meeting with him.
I just said that I would like to invest some money in dried bull penises, at least all the money that I had saved in the cushion. He suggested investing in bulls in general, live bulls. The thought process was kind of like investing in timber (trees) versus lumber. Paul said that the margin was higher and stronger from the raw, natural resource to milling stage then it would be from a post-production to retail stage. His example convinced me that investing in working and living bull penises would be preferred to dried penises that were no longer living.
As much as I didn't like Paul when we first met, he ended up being nice, or probably just I had some sympathy for his dumb*ss. I was groggy when Papa got home that day, eyes kind of sleepy and red from too much sake. But I told Papa that I prefer a hangover headache to the one I get listening to some sh*t for brains talking. Papa said that no headaches are better, and I kissed him, for a long time.