A Groundhog's Day Weekend Goodbye [Jan 31, 2003]

Things a Groundhog Does When He Leaves His Hole and What They Mean

If he sees his shadow, it means we will have six more weeks of winter.

If he doesn't see his shadow, it means we will have an early spring.

If he sees more than three inches of snow on the ground, it means we will get a major blizzard by President's Day.

If he nibbles on the bark of a neighboring tree, it means we have to be better about attending our jazzercise class.

If he stands up on his hind legs, it means we will have to sit through another season of "Frasier."

If he looks us directly in the eye, it means we have to get on with our lives and accept that Ben and J-Lo really are in love.

If he scratches his side, it means that the movie “Final Destination 2” isn’t nearly as Oscar-worthy as its previews suggest.

If he playfully rolls around on the ground like a cute, little puppy dog, it means we all have scabies. Except Jimmy, he has syphilis.

If he mounts us, it means we need to change our cologne because attracting groundhogs wasn't the idea we had in mind when we decided to wear it.

If he thinks we're frontin' and pops a cap in our asses, it means he knows we've been with his woman.

If he starts to sing a medley of Night Ranger songs, it means he is not a real groundhog; it's just those mean teenagers playing a trick on us again.

Happy Friday, readers. It's been a busy, fun-filled week, and one I won't soon forgot. The hustle and bustle of big-time guest-blogging is overwhelming and can make one lose perspective on things, like how completely awesome and great-smelling I am. Okay, yes, I admit that my head has gotten a little big, and though much of it is due to a childhood bout with hydrocephalus, it's high-time I come back down to Earth and reconnect with the people. The people who've been behind me the whole way, and who've helped me achieve this position as guest-blogger on the blog of all blogs. My success is just as much a tribute to them as it is to my keen sense of fashion and manly, yet oddly feminine features. So here are some shout-outs to my homies and homettes that have been my rock from the very start.

To Kyle, my exotic dance coach:
Thanks Coach for all those times when you stayed late with me after practice and helped me work on my hip movements, jazz-hands, and French kissing.

To Beatrice, my first-love:
Thank you for the joy and the laughter. Don't worry, I'm completely over you. I still stare at you from your lawn every Flag Day only because I've grown accustomed to the smell of your grass fertilizer. Honest.

To Claire, second-baseperson on my kickball team:
I thank you for getting your rich aunt to provide uniforms for the team. Although pink and orange would not have been my first choice for team colors, the jerseys provide great safety during hunting season, and they won't hurt my dream to be a crossing guard either.

To Dennis, my stable buddy at the rodeo:
You are like gold to me. Never change. Stay Gold. Stay Gold!

To my neighbor's mean teenage sons:
You may think you have broken me, but you haven't. Pelt me with all the haggis jerky you want, shout at me from your porch all the mean epithets that you want, but understand this: you have not broken me, rather you've made me work harder to be the best me I can be. Suck an egg.

To my wife of the last 23 years, former US Ambassador to the UN, Jeane Kirkpatrick:
You are my lady
You're everything I need and more
Whoa...oh...ho...whoa...ho!
You are MYYYY lady
You're all I'm living for...
Really. No lie.

Thanks for putting up with my sideshow this week. Neal will return on Monday. Please stop by my site, utter wonder, as often as you can. I'm trying hard to up my average hits from the current 2.74 a day, so bookmark or permalink it if you’re feeling especially philanthropic. Have a safe and pleasant Groundhog's Day.