bigpimpinmba's Diaryland Diary

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Preschool

Perhaps you may have heard some strange sounds coming from the area of Hamilton, New Jersey yesterday. You�ll find out what those sounds were in a few minutes�.

Yesterday was the first day of pre-school for Little Pimp.

Here�s how things played out�

We brought Little Pimp to school, nervous about how he was going to react to being dropped off and left at his school all alone.

Would he cry and beg for his Mom and Dad not to leave him?

Would he throw himself on the ground and demand to not be abandoned at the drug testing facility preschool?

Well, we were about to find out.

We walked our little guy up the stairs to his classroom and stood there with our jaws on the floor, as Mrs. Pimp and I looked around from side to side, wondering where Little Pimp went. We got an idea of where he may have headed by following the trail of dust leading away from us. We thought it was a little weird that the dust was apparently yelling, �FREE AT LAST!!! FREE AT LAST!!!�

Little Bastard.

So, long story unnecessarily long�.

Little Pimp strode (�strode� a weird word. Just look at it. Strode.Strode.Strode.Chode.Load. Sorry. I�m back) into the classroom like he owned the muthafocker. That�s right, bizzitches.

Well, we made that ungrateful punk come back and at least give us a hug and kiss before running off to play with other snot-nosed punks. (at least to let the rest of the class know that we don�t abuse our kid and that�s why he apparently can�t wait to get away from us. I mean, we let him out of his cage at least twice a day and give him fresh food and water at least every other day or so. What else do you want?)

So since he had no hesitation in his escape from our evil grasp, we were pretty safe in assuming the kid was alright.

I proudly watch my son taking a big step in maturing into a real big boy.

I turn to put my arm around my wife and walk out together, arm in arm.

Only when I looked over at my wife she wasn�t there and had been replace with a pile of clothes in a shallow puddle that was making noises kind of akin to Ben Stiller after Mary chose Brett Fahv-Ray in Something about Mary.

So, I Shop-Vac�d up my wife and walked with her to the other building where they were having a support group parent�s reception where other parents were having a hard time accepting that their kids would rather hang out with an over-enthusiastic teacher and a group of strange kids than them.

I�m so proud of my little guy. He is such a good kid and continually finds ways to make me laugh, make me proud and make me love him more every day.

You rule, little man.

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������..

Friggin rain.

Everyone is happy about ending our drought.

Screw that.

I haven�t had to mow my lawn for the last 4 weeks because I basically suck with taking care of my lawn.

������

During my layoff, I was privy to some conversations that my wife has with her friends and I�ve determined that I really can�t be a woman.

Aside from the fact that I really like having the ol� twig and berries and wouldn�t be able to handle having a set of boobs on my chest for fondling whenever I feel like it, there is an even greater reason that I couldn�t be a woman.

I listened to my wife translate the same story with intricate details to about five different friends and family members on a daily basis. I couldn�t even believe that she has any energy left to raise my kids after telling and re-telling these stories. I was exhausted by just listening to the level of detail that is exchanged between these women.

Now I know why servers crash on occasion. It�s probably because they are too busy processing information from women�s conversations.

If these same stories were told by a guy, we�d be on the phone for about 88 seconds per call with about 94% of each story left on the cutting room floor.

My wife?

She tells each detail of each story to each of her friends with excruciating preciseness. It was like listening to Rain Man give a recount of the day�s People�s Court episode.

Over and over.

Yeah... Definitely time for Wapner.

I�ll stick with the ol� Vas Deferens, thank you very much.

10:16 a.m. - 2005-09-16

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