I have to say that the comments I got about the last post were very good, although I had one relative tell me the ladies room was just as bad. Hey, I just always thought they looked something like this, but with perfume dispensers and lockable stalls.
The public school restroom, though, is a totally different situation. I can totally understand Finch's phobia and total avoidance of using the high school's bathroom in American Pie. He was just rightfully concerned about the cleanliness of a room which is on the final "get to if necessary" checklist of the school janitor.
For myself, and many other modern men, cleanliness wasn't the major problem with the school bathroom Although I don't remember soap every being provided in any of my school bathrooms. That may be because some idiot ripped the dispensers off the wall, or it was considered an expendible budget item after years of educational cutbacks.
The real issue of the public school bathroom wasnt' that your friend Mark always tried to hit the urinal from ten paces (and I don't mean "Hit" as in striking with a blow). It wasn't that the high school bathroom was actually full of long haired kids who were really smoking in the boys room. It wasn't even that you began to wonder where the bathroom pass you were carrying might have been placed by the hundreds of students before you who had carried before you. After all, it always seemed to be a little moist. It wasn't the off chance one of the school bullies would show up at the same time you did and attempt to see if you could be flushed down the toilet. No, it wasn't even the urinal 'cake' that someone creative had placed in the only working sink.
It was the stalls, or let's say, lack there of. At my high school, most of the bathrooms had no doors on the stalls. The urinals were of course, on the far side of the stalls, so you usually ended up getting the uncomfortable "How you doin' " as the next ten people walked through the door and tried not to make eye contact as they passed by. How do you answer that question with your pants around your ankles? Is there any dignified way? On the positive side, at least there was good reading material on the walls.
The locker room was worse. It was the most pristine bathroom I had ever seen. Clean floors, sparkling white toilets, and not a stall or wall to be found. Plus, there was no door entering the room, so if you had to "do the 2" you knew that the entire football team would be walking by on the way to or from their lockers. When they wave, was I supposed to wave back? Is this supposed to help in bonding? Who planned this? I'm begging somebody to tell me. Do I need serious counseling? Good Lord, am I sweating as I even recall this?
Thank God the modern man can drink beer.
My wife seemed to think that I was adding a little truthiness to my stories to gain sympathy for my childhood. Then one day, we were in a middle school for a conference when it happened. I walked into the boys bathroom, fully confident that bathroom technology has changed so much in the past 20 years there would be no worries. I walked to the only stall in the room and may have screamed like a girl.
There was no door on the stall.
Needless to say, after pulling my wife into the bathroom to show her proof of my previous rantings she finally acquiesced and agrees I'm not crazy.
Although I may have heard her mumble the word "truthiness" after she told me that.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
The Modern Boy and the Public School Restroom Part II
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
The Modern Man and the Public Restroom Part 1
Every now and then something so important needs to be discussed, that uncomfortable and embarassing subject matter must be talked about frankly, scientifically, and professionally (Like your middle school sex-ed classes!).
This is not one of those times.
Recently, as I walked about a local shopping establishment, my body began to cry out that the diet Mountain Dew I had imbibed earlier wanted to return to the mountains immediately. I won't discuss the Power Bar.
I had a tough decision to make.
Do I ignore the call of nature, which at this point was starting to become more of a scream than a gentle cry, and hope I make it home before serious internal damage is done?
Or do I simply use the public restroom with the ubiquitous MEN'S sign and save myself possible future surgery in an area not meant for surgery at all? (Although I thought this sign was more appropriate) I mean, how bad can it be?
It sounds like an easy choice, especially if you happen to be one of the two ladies that actually read this column.
But it really isn't. It can be a choice that can redefine your mood, health, and belief in the overall goodness of the human race.
I of course, am talking about the life-altering experience of entering a public men's' room.
If a woman ever wants to be elected president, all she has to do is show a picture of a typically knarly men's public restroom and she'd be a lock. How can men run a country when they can't even keep a bathroom clean?
The amazing thing is how little women know about the men's' room. It's kind of like Elaine's surprise during Seinfield's "Shrinkage" show, but with slipperly floors. It's like the "I don't have a square to spare," show except with see-through toilet paper, a possible ax-murderer in the stall next to you, and graffiti that would make Eminem blush.
There seem to be three different types of men's public bathrooms to fear. These would be the basic store restroom (including gas stations and rest areas), the sporting event restroom, the public school restroom, and the port-o-potty. Four, four types of restrooms. (That's for Monty Python fans.)
Now I'm just talking about the public "store" restroom. As soon as you enter, you can feel the despair. That is, if the forbidding smell doesn't kill you outright. Dozens of normal modern men have entered before you only to find 1 of the 4 stalls empty, and I'm not talking about empty being "free of another human being." The one "clean" stall has a toilet seat with dubious backsplash marks on it since men can only leave the toilet seat up in their own homes.
As an aside, if you're a man and don't know about backsplash, use a typical urinal while wearing shorts.
If you're lucky, the stall door will actually function and maybe even lock, but more than likely you'll probably have to deal with that hole where the lock used to be which a ten year old always looks through to see if anyone is in the stall. Of course, the stall has no toilet seat protectors available, which is okay since you wonder how something manufactured out of paper that could be thinner than a row of molecules could actually protect you from anything. Seriously, if the manufacturers of public rest room toilet paper and seat protectors got together with scientists, we'd finally be able to miniaturize all those things like in the science fiction movies.
"Hey look John! A microscopic submarine! How did they do it?"
"Well, Biff, it's all due to our friends in the toilet paper industry!"
Now you notice that there is a liquid on the floor that could be from the janitor, it could be from condensation on the toilets, or, it could be something else. Whatever it is, it is now coating the bottom of your shoe. You try to hang your coat, but there's no hook. The urinals haven't been flushed in what appears to be days and you seem to be getting dizzy from that strange breathing shallowly out of the mouth thing you do whenever you enter a public restroom. Plus, you're doing that strange "hold the door closed with one foot thing" because the lock was broken and a man muttering Bible quotes has entered the facility.
"Pop quiz hot shot!" "What do you do? What do you do?" (Click here for the movie quote that came from)
a) Do the levitating toilet bit. (If you're a guy, you know what I'm talking about, although it's tough if your doing the hold the door closed thing.)
b) Try to expose your skin to as little of the seat as possible.
c) Just do what you do. If it doesn't kill you, it will make you stronger.
d) Run outside screaming and hope for the best.
e) Use the women's room. They're always clean.
Seriously, who are these guys? Who does this to a place that at home you probably spend most of your quality time in? Does this same phenomenon happen on the space station? Is this a reason to lose faith in mankind?
Whatever it is, I think maybe we just need one of these to make the world a better place.
This is not one of those times.
Recently, as I walked about a local shopping establishment, my body began to cry out that the diet Mountain Dew I had imbibed earlier wanted to return to the mountains immediately. I won't discuss the Power Bar.
I had a tough decision to make.
Do I ignore the call of nature, which at this point was starting to become more of a scream than a gentle cry, and hope I make it home before serious internal damage is done?
Or do I simply use the public restroom with the ubiquitous MEN'S sign and save myself possible future surgery in an area not meant for surgery at all? (Although I thought this sign was more appropriate) I mean, how bad can it be?
It sounds like an easy choice, especially if you happen to be one of the two ladies that actually read this column.
But it really isn't. It can be a choice that can redefine your mood, health, and belief in the overall goodness of the human race.
I of course, am talking about the life-altering experience of entering a public men's' room.
If a woman ever wants to be elected president, all she has to do is show a picture of a typically knarly men's public restroom and she'd be a lock. How can men run a country when they can't even keep a bathroom clean?
The amazing thing is how little women know about the men's' room. It's kind of like Elaine's surprise during Seinfield's "Shrinkage" show, but with slipperly floors. It's like the "I don't have a square to spare," show except with see-through toilet paper, a possible ax-murderer in the stall next to you, and graffiti that would make Eminem blush.
There seem to be three different types of men's public bathrooms to fear. These would be the basic store restroom (including gas stations and rest areas), the sporting event restroom, the public school restroom, and the port-o-potty. Four, four types of restrooms. (That's for Monty Python fans.)
Now I'm just talking about the public "store" restroom. As soon as you enter, you can feel the despair. That is, if the forbidding smell doesn't kill you outright. Dozens of normal modern men have entered before you only to find 1 of the 4 stalls empty, and I'm not talking about empty being "free of another human being." The one "clean" stall has a toilet seat with dubious backsplash marks on it since men can only leave the toilet seat up in their own homes.
As an aside, if you're a man and don't know about backsplash, use a typical urinal while wearing shorts.
If you're lucky, the stall door will actually function and maybe even lock, but more than likely you'll probably have to deal with that hole where the lock used to be which a ten year old always looks through to see if anyone is in the stall. Of course, the stall has no toilet seat protectors available, which is okay since you wonder how something manufactured out of paper that could be thinner than a row of molecules could actually protect you from anything. Seriously, if the manufacturers of public rest room toilet paper and seat protectors got together with scientists, we'd finally be able to miniaturize all those things like in the science fiction movies.
"Hey look John! A microscopic submarine! How did they do it?"
"Well, Biff, it's all due to our friends in the toilet paper industry!"
Now you notice that there is a liquid on the floor that could be from the janitor, it could be from condensation on the toilets, or, it could be something else. Whatever it is, it is now coating the bottom of your shoe. You try to hang your coat, but there's no hook. The urinals haven't been flushed in what appears to be days and you seem to be getting dizzy from that strange breathing shallowly out of the mouth thing you do whenever you enter a public restroom. Plus, you're doing that strange "hold the door closed with one foot thing" because the lock was broken and a man muttering Bible quotes has entered the facility.
"Pop quiz hot shot!" "What do you do? What do you do?" (Click here for the movie quote that came from)
a) Do the levitating toilet bit. (If you're a guy, you know what I'm talking about, although it's tough if your doing the hold the door closed thing.)
b) Try to expose your skin to as little of the seat as possible.
c) Just do what you do. If it doesn't kill you, it will make you stronger.
d) Run outside screaming and hope for the best.
e) Use the women's room. They're always clean.
Seriously, who are these guys? Who does this to a place that at home you probably spend most of your quality time in? Does this same phenomenon happen on the space station? Is this a reason to lose faith in mankind?
Whatever it is, I think maybe we just need one of these to make the world a better place.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Current Events and the Modern Man
As a modern man, you keep well informed of the world around us. With the internet, we have an unlimited amount of news at our fingertips that we can read if we can only find time between our online Texas Hold 'em games and our unfettered access to the Victoria's Secret website.
With that in mind, and literally minutes of hard, cold research, here's some interesting and timely news with insightful commentary that will help educate you, the modern man. (I know you haven't read a word now that you've clicked on the Victoria's Secret link, but hey maybe this lovely lady will help snap you out of it!)
It has been found that a television in the bedroom cuts sex in half for most adults. Logically speaking, that means that by removing the television, your sex life should double. In a stirring development, millions of modern men around the world have moved their televisions out of the bedroom only to learn after wild scribbling and the application of third grade math the following heart crushing fact: Doubling ZERO still leaves you with ZERO.
That sound you hear is the scraping of furniture as millions of televisions are moved back into the bedroom.
On the bright side, since this study was done in Italy, it was found that thousands of fires were prevented by the television's effect of lowering sexual encounters since it cut down on the friction caused by hairy Italian legs scraping against each other in heated passion.
In related news, the The Refuge, a site for converting homosexuals from their supposed sexual addiction, is now fundraising for plasma televisions to be placed in the rooms of all their clients. Of course, Cinemax will be provided free of charge.
In other news, a new invention has perfected a way to remove the odor from hog manure. Within hours, the invention was placed within the White House and in the halls of Congress. It was found the political stench in Washington is just too strong for an apparatus meant only to function on millions of pounds of hog@#it every day. The invention is now petitioning OSHA for cruel and unusual working conditions.
And finally, news so true that you'd think God would be ready to press the big red button after seeing:
William Shatner has agreed to donate his kidney stone to goldenpalace.com and let the proceeds go to charity. I really have nothing funny to write. The headlines speak for themselves. I guess this is just another Hollywood 'passing' fancy.
Sorry, I couldn’t help it. But as Bob Dylan once said to modern men everywhere, "Everybody must get stoned."
With that in mind, and literally minutes of hard, cold research, here's some interesting and timely news with insightful commentary that will help educate you, the modern man. (I know you haven't read a word now that you've clicked on the Victoria's Secret link, but hey maybe this lovely lady will help snap you out of it!)
It has been found that a television in the bedroom cuts sex in half for most adults. Logically speaking, that means that by removing the television, your sex life should double. In a stirring development, millions of modern men around the world have moved their televisions out of the bedroom only to learn after wild scribbling and the application of third grade math the following heart crushing fact: Doubling ZERO still leaves you with ZERO.
That sound you hear is the scraping of furniture as millions of televisions are moved back into the bedroom.
On the bright side, since this study was done in Italy, it was found that thousands of fires were prevented by the television's effect of lowering sexual encounters since it cut down on the friction caused by hairy Italian legs scraping against each other in heated passion.
In related news, the The Refuge, a site for converting homosexuals from their supposed sexual addiction, is now fundraising for plasma televisions to be placed in the rooms of all their clients. Of course, Cinemax will be provided free of charge.
In other news, a new invention has perfected a way to remove the odor from hog manure. Within hours, the invention was placed within the White House and in the halls of Congress. It was found the political stench in Washington is just too strong for an apparatus meant only to function on millions of pounds of hog@#it every day. The invention is now petitioning OSHA for cruel and unusual working conditions.
And finally, news so true that you'd think God would be ready to press the big red button after seeing:
William Shatner has agreed to donate his kidney stone to goldenpalace.com and let the proceeds go to charity. I really have nothing funny to write. The headlines speak for themselves. I guess this is just another Hollywood 'passing' fancy.
Sorry, I couldn’t help it. But as Bob Dylan once said to modern men everywhere, "Everybody must get stoned."
Monday, January 09, 2006
Birthdays and the Modern Man
"Rudy's on a train to nowhere, halfway down the line." Supertramp
I woke up to this lovely metaphor at about 3 AM the other day struggling with my own mortality creeping up behind me, slavering and slobbering over my shoulder while I picked up the ringing phone:
"Hello?"
"Hello! This is Death; we'd like your body back."
This can only mean one thing: It's almost my birthday.
Birthdays.
The very idea brings up memories. You remember as a child the taste of chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream, the wonderful presents, and giggling friends running about the house with a measurable 90:10 sugar to blood ratio running through their veins. Whether it was your birthday, or you were a guest, you’d have a great time. Your stomach may have felt sick from your 100 percent glucose diet, but it was worth it.
You can even look back at the fun you had in high school with your friends messing around, talking about hot girls, Miami Vice, and you’d be running about the house with a measurable 90:10 sugar to blood ratio running through your veins. Whether it was your birthday or you were a guest, you’d have a great time. Your stomach may have felt sick from your 100 percent glucose diet, but it was worth it.
Ah, but let’s not forget about the early 20’s. You and your buddies hitting the bars, drinking shots, arguing about politics, laughing about Seinfeld, complaining about Astroturf, and being part of an unstoppable ratchet effect as the women got more attractive as the night went on. You might even be involved in the frightening ritual of uncoordinated white dancing followed by the eye goggling gyrations of something called an “exotic dancer.” Of course, you had a measurable 90:10 tequila to beer ratio running through your veins and it all sounded like a good idea at the time, although you're pretty sure a few friends ended up tied up in crate on a boat heading to South America. Whether you were a guest or it was your birthday, you’d think you may have a good time if you could only get your head to stop hurting. Your stomach might have returned everything you put into it at around 3:00 A.M., but with all the fun you had, it was well worth it. Plus, how often do you get to snuggle with the toilet at night?
However, as a modern man of a certain age, birthday fun is definitely not as quantifiable as it used to be. I mean, how much fun can a person have without the stylish and ridiculous Miami Vice and Seinfeld plots to keep you entertained? Plus, all your friends are now doing wheat grass shots, drinking caffeine free, fat free, flavor free double lattes and arguing about the merits of such wonderful products as Soy and Quinoa, which I have been told are healthy food products, but could be the names of new, hip, bands. This sort of talk really puts a damper on the fun. Plus, your friends won’t touch the beer because they’re on the South Beach Diet and someone actually brought a wheat free low calorie chocolate cake with natural soy frosting. To make matters worse the only exotic dancing you see is when your friend chipped his tooth on a piece of uncooked quinoa and his constant screaming in pain and running willy nilly about the house is making it difficult to find where to put the dollar bill. In addition, no matter how much you try to keep up with the new music as you listen to alternative radio, you wonder why you get strange urges to crank up Van Halen, Yes or Styx on your IPOD whenever you get a chance, especially at work.
Your students ask who you're listening to then wonder if Van Halen, Yes and Styx are some type of health food, and have no idea that they are really rocking bands.
If you're a modern man and it's your birthday, you have to endure the relentless procession of ‘old man’ birthday cards with the usual running jokes about missing teeth, adult diapers, and Viagra. Let’s not forget the various gag gifts and the fact that you have a huge project due the day after your birthday, so you can forget about even going home early to celebrate with your family.
Plus, a young child at work just walked by, looked sweetly at you, and then asked his mother, "Who is that old man?"
I'm beginning to wonder if they should just change the whole birthday thing to, "Death is just around the corner Reminder Day." I guess that would put a crimp on the whole nature of the day and kill our greeting card industry, so it's probably not a good idea. (Although killing the greeting card industry has a certain primordial fascination you'd probably agree with).
However, as a modern man I'm not going to let this day become anything but a good one, @#$# it. I'm going to enjoy the early morning call from my mother reminding me that I put her through something like 325 hours of labor. I'm going to laugh at the goofy birthday cards, be jovial at the repeated digs I get about my age from friends and family, and I'm going to eat fully sugared chocolate cake and drink a carbonated alcoholic beverage. I will also continue my tradition of running a short distance outside in what I was born in, if you know what I'm saying. If you do, you now probably have an image you really didn't need in your head and I apologize in advance. Hopefully I won't get arrested and it won't be below zero like it was last year.
Ring, ring (pick up phone):
"Yeah, death, I'm not quite done with this body yet. Yeah, I blame that on the cold weather. You've never heard of shrinkage????"
I woke up to this lovely metaphor at about 3 AM the other day struggling with my own mortality creeping up behind me, slavering and slobbering over my shoulder while I picked up the ringing phone:
"Hello?"
"Hello! This is Death; we'd like your body back."
This can only mean one thing: It's almost my birthday.
Birthdays.
The very idea brings up memories. You remember as a child the taste of chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream, the wonderful presents, and giggling friends running about the house with a measurable 90:10 sugar to blood ratio running through their veins. Whether it was your birthday, or you were a guest, you’d have a great time. Your stomach may have felt sick from your 100 percent glucose diet, but it was worth it.
You can even look back at the fun you had in high school with your friends messing around, talking about hot girls, Miami Vice, and you’d be running about the house with a measurable 90:10 sugar to blood ratio running through your veins. Whether it was your birthday or you were a guest, you’d have a great time. Your stomach may have felt sick from your 100 percent glucose diet, but it was worth it.
Ah, but let’s not forget about the early 20’s. You and your buddies hitting the bars, drinking shots, arguing about politics, laughing about Seinfeld, complaining about Astroturf, and being part of an unstoppable ratchet effect as the women got more attractive as the night went on. You might even be involved in the frightening ritual of uncoordinated white dancing followed by the eye goggling gyrations of something called an “exotic dancer.” Of course, you had a measurable 90:10 tequila to beer ratio running through your veins and it all sounded like a good idea at the time, although you're pretty sure a few friends ended up tied up in crate on a boat heading to South America. Whether you were a guest or it was your birthday, you’d think you may have a good time if you could only get your head to stop hurting. Your stomach might have returned everything you put into it at around 3:00 A.M., but with all the fun you had, it was well worth it. Plus, how often do you get to snuggle with the toilet at night?
However, as a modern man of a certain age, birthday fun is definitely not as quantifiable as it used to be. I mean, how much fun can a person have without the stylish and ridiculous Miami Vice and Seinfeld plots to keep you entertained? Plus, all your friends are now doing wheat grass shots, drinking caffeine free, fat free, flavor free double lattes and arguing about the merits of such wonderful products as Soy and Quinoa, which I have been told are healthy food products, but could be the names of new, hip, bands. This sort of talk really puts a damper on the fun. Plus, your friends won’t touch the beer because they’re on the South Beach Diet and someone actually brought a wheat free low calorie chocolate cake with natural soy frosting. To make matters worse the only exotic dancing you see is when your friend chipped his tooth on a piece of uncooked quinoa and his constant screaming in pain and running willy nilly about the house is making it difficult to find where to put the dollar bill. In addition, no matter how much you try to keep up with the new music as you listen to alternative radio, you wonder why you get strange urges to crank up Van Halen, Yes or Styx on your IPOD whenever you get a chance, especially at work.
Your students ask who you're listening to then wonder if Van Halen, Yes and Styx are some type of health food, and have no idea that they are really rocking bands.
If you're a modern man and it's your birthday, you have to endure the relentless procession of ‘old man’ birthday cards with the usual running jokes about missing teeth, adult diapers, and Viagra. Let’s not forget the various gag gifts and the fact that you have a huge project due the day after your birthday, so you can forget about even going home early to celebrate with your family.
Plus, a young child at work just walked by, looked sweetly at you, and then asked his mother, "Who is that old man?"
I'm beginning to wonder if they should just change the whole birthday thing to, "Death is just around the corner Reminder Day." I guess that would put a crimp on the whole nature of the day and kill our greeting card industry, so it's probably not a good idea. (Although killing the greeting card industry has a certain primordial fascination you'd probably agree with).
However, as a modern man I'm not going to let this day become anything but a good one, @#$# it. I'm going to enjoy the early morning call from my mother reminding me that I put her through something like 325 hours of labor. I'm going to laugh at the goofy birthday cards, be jovial at the repeated digs I get about my age from friends and family, and I'm going to eat fully sugared chocolate cake and drink a carbonated alcoholic beverage. I will also continue my tradition of running a short distance outside in what I was born in, if you know what I'm saying. If you do, you now probably have an image you really didn't need in your head and I apologize in advance. Hopefully I won't get arrested and it won't be below zero like it was last year.
Ring, ring (pick up phone):
"Yeah, death, I'm not quite done with this body yet. Yeah, I blame that on the cold weather. You've never heard of shrinkage????"
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Your Top Five New Year's Resolutions
Seeing that my attempt at finding fame and fortune through a quaint, cuddly, self-help approach failed, I figured I'd have to try another tact (Click here for that fiasco.) In this case I'm focusing on how you, my loyal reader (and I mean that as a singular noun) can help make my life better through resolutions that will not only help you, but more importantly, help me enjoy life more. Taking my cue from President Bush, I am going to refuse to admit I've ever made a mistake and keep the course for this year. I have written these wonderful resolutions in the first person, using I, but of course I mean you.
Resolution 1: This year I resolve not to pay for anything in any store with a check.
Checks are sooooo 1980's and I don't want to wait behind you in line as you search for your checkbook after everything is bagged and set into your shopping cart.
This is an example of my last check writing experience at a store.
Woman: How much was that again?
Cashier: 120$
Woman: Let me get my check book. (fiddles around purse and and finds it stuck to used tissues.)
Me: (vein in head is starting to throb as the line behind is getting longer and longer)
Woman: Do you have a pen I can use?
Cashier: Sure.
Woman: (Writes the amount in her check register before starting to write the check.)
Me: (Screaming noises similar to those on Pink Floyd's Wall album are starting in my brain.)
Woman: Can I write for over the amount? (Line is now somewhere out to Nebraska, only less friendly. My head may be looking like when Agent Smith in the Matrix exploded, or maybe when those guys heads melted in Raiders of the Lost Ark.)
Cashier: Did you hear some strange screaming noise?
Me: (Brain explodes)
Plus, a man can only take so much "Musack", so get yourself a @#$# check card and help us all!
Resolution 2: I will resolve not to complain about my weight if I don't exercise.
Resolution 3: I will resolve to not allow my dog to bark in the backyard all day, all morning, or all night. In fact, if he is barking, I will let him in and allow the neighbors to avoid being forced to buy stock in Advil.
If I fail, I will allow my neighbors to wake me up whenever I decide to sleep and allow them to wake up any sleeping infants or toddlers I have to remind my of my evil ways.
Resolution 4: I resolve that after pulling out of the garage, the first thing I will do is drive, and not immediately dial someone on my cell phone.
Seriously, everyone in our neighborhood does this. Nobody waves to anyone in the neighborhood as they drive because they have one hand on the cell phone and the other hand on their drink. I'm more scared walking through my neighborhood because I'm afraid someone is going to drive right over me and not even notice. I enjoyed this highly visual example of this phenomenon.
Resolution 5a: I resolve never to use a hands free cell phone set in public and talk loudly on it.
This is starting to get frightening. I'm beginning to wonder if people are talking to me, at me, or to someone else. Maybe the person is actually crazy and really talking to their invisible friend, but just puts an earplug in to make it look like they're on the phone. The last time this happened a slightly disheveled woman was behind me in line and I hear very loudly:
"He's an idiot! I'm telling you an idiot!"
I look back to see if this is directed at me. I see the headphone thing stuck in her ear and nod while she continues to talk about her ex-husband in front of everyone at the local Safeway. Then the person looks pissed at me like I'm interrupting a private conversation. I look back like with my best "What's the problem look" and then she turns around and continues the conversation twice as loud as if turning her back to me is going to prevent me from hearing about how she's screwing him for child support.
Now I'm visualizing how the celery in my hands would look crammed down her throat. I'm not a violent person, but I think the fine for this should be this high tech device.
Resolution 5b: I will not use my cell phone in a theater, restaurant, or other public place without getting up and leaving the premises.
We went to a movie with friends once who got a call from their baby sitter and then proceeded to talk for 5 minutes without getting up and leaving for the lobby. Have you ever eaten with a bunch of friends and were having a perfectly good conversation, when someone up and answers their cell phone in the middle of it and instead of saying they'll call back, keeps talking for 10 minutes? It kind of kills the buzz, you know? How about the uncomfortable situation at work when in the middle of a meeting someone's cell phone rings and then everyone has to wait until they're done talking to continue whatever mind-killing thing that was going on at the meeting?
I'm not saying these people are evil, but that they should be prepared to eat their cell phone the next time they do this.
So, these are good New Year's resolutions that will help my life be a less stressful endeavor. Please follow them. You never know if I'm carrying a bunch of celery.
Resolution 1: This year I resolve not to pay for anything in any store with a check.
Checks are sooooo 1980's and I don't want to wait behind you in line as you search for your checkbook after everything is bagged and set into your shopping cart.
This is an example of my last check writing experience at a store.
Woman: How much was that again?
Cashier: 120$
Woman: Let me get my check book. (fiddles around purse and and finds it stuck to used tissues.)
Me: (vein in head is starting to throb as the line behind is getting longer and longer)
Woman: Do you have a pen I can use?
Cashier: Sure.
Woman: (Writes the amount in her check register before starting to write the check.)
Me: (Screaming noises similar to those on Pink Floyd's Wall album are starting in my brain.)
Woman: Can I write for over the amount? (Line is now somewhere out to Nebraska, only less friendly. My head may be looking like when Agent Smith in the Matrix exploded, or maybe when those guys heads melted in Raiders of the Lost Ark.)
Cashier: Did you hear some strange screaming noise?
Me: (Brain explodes)
Plus, a man can only take so much "Musack", so get yourself a @#$# check card and help us all!
Resolution 2: I will resolve not to complain about my weight if I don't exercise.
Resolution 3: I will resolve to not allow my dog to bark in the backyard all day, all morning, or all night. In fact, if he is barking, I will let him in and allow the neighbors to avoid being forced to buy stock in Advil.
If I fail, I will allow my neighbors to wake me up whenever I decide to sleep and allow them to wake up any sleeping infants or toddlers I have to remind my of my evil ways.
Resolution 4: I resolve that after pulling out of the garage, the first thing I will do is drive, and not immediately dial someone on my cell phone.
Seriously, everyone in our neighborhood does this. Nobody waves to anyone in the neighborhood as they drive because they have one hand on the cell phone and the other hand on their drink. I'm more scared walking through my neighborhood because I'm afraid someone is going to drive right over me and not even notice. I enjoyed this highly visual example of this phenomenon.
Resolution 5a: I resolve never to use a hands free cell phone set in public and talk loudly on it.
This is starting to get frightening. I'm beginning to wonder if people are talking to me, at me, or to someone else. Maybe the person is actually crazy and really talking to their invisible friend, but just puts an earplug in to make it look like they're on the phone. The last time this happened a slightly disheveled woman was behind me in line and I hear very loudly:
"He's an idiot! I'm telling you an idiot!"
I look back to see if this is directed at me. I see the headphone thing stuck in her ear and nod while she continues to talk about her ex-husband in front of everyone at the local Safeway. Then the person looks pissed at me like I'm interrupting a private conversation. I look back like with my best "What's the problem look" and then she turns around and continues the conversation twice as loud as if turning her back to me is going to prevent me from hearing about how she's screwing him for child support.
Now I'm visualizing how the celery in my hands would look crammed down her throat. I'm not a violent person, but I think the fine for this should be this high tech device.
Resolution 5b: I will not use my cell phone in a theater, restaurant, or other public place without getting up and leaving the premises.
We went to a movie with friends once who got a call from their baby sitter and then proceeded to talk for 5 minutes without getting up and leaving for the lobby. Have you ever eaten with a bunch of friends and were having a perfectly good conversation, when someone up and answers their cell phone in the middle of it and instead of saying they'll call back, keeps talking for 10 minutes? It kind of kills the buzz, you know? How about the uncomfortable situation at work when in the middle of a meeting someone's cell phone rings and then everyone has to wait until they're done talking to continue whatever mind-killing thing that was going on at the meeting?
I'm not saying these people are evil, but that they should be prepared to eat their cell phone the next time they do this.
So, these are good New Year's resolutions that will help my life be a less stressful endeavor. Please follow them. You never know if I'm carrying a bunch of celery.
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