992. bob's best and worst of this decade

it's that time of decade when we all think about the best and the worst.
well, to be honest, i didn't have to think very hard.
and i must say, my choices are like bookends to a troubling ten years.

the best of the decade came at its close.
the election of barack obama, especially after enduring the bush years, was one for the ages.
it was almost up there with the birth of my son, which based on my propensity to produce sperm who prefer floating to swimming, had about the same chances of occurring, maybe even less.

a distant second was the unbelieveable super bowl win by my beloved giants over the new england patriots, which brings me to the runner up to the worst of the decade.
my beloved hated giants again.

It was a 2003 playoff game against the san francisco forty niners, up by 24 points in the third quarter.
the fork was stuck in the lowly niners real deep.
they were done.
nothing to do but apply the steak sauce.
except, no.
they weren't done.
they had the giants right where they wanted them, celebrating.
by the end of the fourth quarter, it was all niners.
39-38!
the giants lost and i lost three nights of sleep.

but that was child's play compared to the worst of the decade.
no, it wasn't 9/11  nor the first or second bush elections.
no, it wasn't even the "preparation h" toothpaste incident.
not even the giants dumb game this past weekend could dislodge this decade's number one worst event in bob's life .

you have to go way back to the beginning, specifically August of 2000, to find it.
that's a long time ago.
it's the beginning of the decade for crying out loud.

the winner is (or loser i suppose) ...
richard hatch's crowning achievement as the first survivor show's winner.

i don't want to talk about it.
i get ill whenever i do.
it's like it just happened yesterday.
the only good thing i can say is that the lying bastard finally went to prison.
but i feel no relief.
he will always haunt me.
how could that dumb doctor vote for him!
i'll never forgive him.
never! ever!

not even barack's election can sooth the pain i carry deep in my soul.
"never forget" is all i can say!
never forget!

991. bad time for daydreamers

if you are serious about your daydreaming, then you know this time of year is bad for business.
what with the short days and all.
it's really quite an imposition.
a person worth his daydreaming salt, needs more than ten hours of daylight to imagine how to spend a potential power ball lottery win.
after taxes of course.
at least i do.

990. "it's the sad, saddiest day of the year"

as much as christmas is the "hap, happiest time of the year", the day after is the "sad, saddiest day of the year".
thank god for new years to snap me out of it and trigger the countdown to next christmas.

now you'd think at my age one would just get over it already.
but noooo!
every year i put a lot of hard work into my joy.
and just like that, it's over.
it's depressing.
and i don't need much to go down that path these days.

we gotta make this longer.
that's all there is to it.
at least two days.
better if a week.

you know what i mean?

988. thanks tiger! thanks for nothin'!

you see?
i just don't know what say any more.
you think you know somebody for years and you find out they live a much more convoluted life than you ever thought possible.
i'm talking about tiger of course.
thank god his wife was swinging at him with a one iron.
any other club, and he'd be pushing up fairway rough sure as shootin'.
only god can swing a one iron.

dumb golf jokes aside, as the woodwork occupants continue to scurry out in numbers approaching the distance to venus, i have to wonder when did he have the time?
and how for chrissakes did he keep them under the covers—so to speak?
that's more astonishing than his golf game quite honestly.
almost laudable.
in a weird way, okay?
and i said "almost", which means "not quite".
so i'm not singing his praises okay?
i'm just sayin', that's all.
hell. i backed the car into a tree when keaton found a dish i broke hidden in my underwear drawer.
under these kind of transgressions there's no telling what i'd do.
probably back it up clear to the pacific ocean.
from new jersey.

but then again that's why he's tiger and i'm bob i suppose.

well, if anything, he single handedly has put skepticism back into fashion.
no one is safe from the turned up brow of scrutiny.
and i'm not good with the brow turned up already.
i always feel guilty of everything.
even stuff i had nothing to do with.
it's what i do well.

so this scourge tiger has brought down upon us is going to be just swell for a couple of years.
swell like an eye smacked by a frozen pork chop.

is there no end to my miserable state?

987. the promise of snow will do just fine

it's a steely gray saturday morning.
the air is thick and cold like i suspect a meat warehouse might be.
my friends on the weather channel are talking it up about our first snow.
it all sounds so promising to one who believes snow puts the "mas" in christmas.

but if you know anything about the west new jersey rt 78 corridor, along which i live, then you know it is the dmz between rain to the south and snow to the north.
always.
as such, you can't be sure what you're going to get.
the truth is, usually it's neither.
more often than not it is a mutant slush the density of uranium.
and when i rank precipitation, mutant slush is at the very bottom of a long list.
it's like kissing my great aunt bibbit, which under the best of circumstance was bad enough but lately she's been quite dead.

the point is most of the time the promise is as good as it's ever going to get.
so i'll take it right now and pretend the best is to come, knowing full well the kissing will commence soon enough.
cause if you know anything about bob, then you know such is bob's life.

986. i don't know ...

i know the fat lady has sung and all.
but i don't know.
i still have a lot of funny left.
why just the other day i spent the better part of the morning looking for the car keys i had clenched by my teeth.
then of course there was the rolling off the treadmill when i knelt down to tie my sneaker.
can't forget the beaut when i said "it's not you, it's pee," after keaton inquired about something unsavory she felt on the toilet seat.
it was a frozen pork chop moment if ever there was.

but i get the feeling this stuff bores most folk.
who cares?
right?
we all do these things from time to time.

oh well, i'll continue to check in from time to time until i get my groove back.
until next time, a bob healthy living tip: if you own a penis, lift the seat up.