My gym routine requires that I be completely pant-less for about six seconds. Generally speaking, it’s the longest six seconds of my day. It’s usually proceeded by a minute or so of me standing there awkwardly, in my underwear, trying to calculate when to best “make my move.” Today there was a complication. I’d changed my shirt and removed my shoes, and I was ready to make the transition. I was just standing there, waiting for just the right moment. Once the elderly man on my left began his phlegm-spraying coughing fit, I knew it was my chance (the only other guy in there with us was trying to remember how to tie his shoes). I had my thumbs tucked into the elastic band of my underwear and I was beginning to go, when, all of a sudden… a naked man leaps out from around the corner, swinging a giant loofah sponge on a string. Never having encountered anyone in the locker room with a loofah, let alone one as large as my head, I had no idea what to do… I think I just stood there and stared for a few seconds, unable to make sense of what I was seeing. Then, thinking quickly, I pretended to have been overcome by a dire need to scratch my neck. I pulled my underwear back up to where it started, and then proceeded to scratch furiously until he found his way to the shower, where he probably went on to light some candles or something…

While at the gym, I had an idea for a reality TV show for my friend Jeff and me. I think it’s a good idea, but, as it would require that we abandon our families, I don’t think we’ll probably end up pitching it to the networks… The setup is pretty straight forward – Jeff and I abandon our families and move to Columbus, Ohio to make it as male escorts/models/writers/factory workers (the profession can change depending on the network that options it). The show’s called Deadbeat Dads. It’s kind of like The Real World meets The Fugitive meets Midnight Cowboy, but with the added drama of two broken homes. We get to wear disguises, and there’s a real bounty hunter after us!

I also had an idea for a children’s book called, “Bitch pulled my weave out.” I don’t have anything other than the title though.

Trying to cheer a friend of mine up just now, I mentioned that as a single, 30 year old male he’d have his choice of women once the draft started. That seemed to raise his spirits considerably. ("See, there’s a silver lining.")

The baby hasn’t pooped in four days, so Linette called the pediatrician. He said that it probably wasn’t anything to worry about, but that, if we wanted to, we could give her some apple juice. Well, we just did, and now we’re waiting for something absolutely awful to happen. (If one of her regular, every day poops can send a hot stream of the stuff shooting out the ankles of her pants and the neck hole of her onesie at the same time, I can’t imagine what four days worth could do. Maybe I should just lay her in the tub for a while.)

I’m wondering if there’s a way that you can all chip in and buy me a sheet of Wacky Pack stickers for Christmas.

The person I know who’s related to Don Knotts just told me that she can’t help me set up an interview, so, if you know someone else who knows him, please let me know. It’s more important to me than Wacky Packs.

I hear the baby exploding in the distance. Wish me luck.