Category Archives: The things I write down…The Blog.

Can i get the flu from eating pussy?

The women I love is sick.

I’m not. For once.

Some flu like shit I guess. Medicine cocktails had been had. Hade. She’s doing much better now.

As you can imagine, I searched the internet in hopes of finding a way to do some things after a long day that would put her at ease.

Can i get the flu from eating pussy?

I realized how ridiculous the search was..but then again, all my searches are on the ridiculous side. Here are a few of the last searches I did….Google logs all this shit….

  • Old Testament Evil Bible
  • is lenny kravitz a homosexual
  • kill people burn shit fuck school
  • Wanker definition
  • rick springfield
  • Fukuoku 9000 Fingertip Personal Massager
  • interpersonal communication
  • kenny rogers chicken
  • orgy fundraisers at the vatican
  • what is a ghetto booty

Anyways…

It reminded me of a time in my life where I didn’t have information readily available to explain things like…What “69-ing” was. In the 6th grade.

6th grade was an awful period of my life. Having just move’t from San Jose kalifornikia to Harrisburg NORTH CAROLINA…but having missed out on all the cool kid shit in CA that everyone in nascar-land USA expects of a person, I was constantly in a state of confusion. Other kids were persistent in their interpretation of what living in CA is like and how communication works between humans.

Homie. Home piece. Bro. My nigga. Wassup family. Oh and more….but try and say these phrases as a pre or non pre ( ? ) pubescent teen. High pitched voices. They’d throw their hands around or about whilst saying said things. One claimed to have started a gang called the thunderbirds. Sure yeah….just like in the movie GREASE? Most claimed to be bloods, wearing their dads old flannel, complete with the stench of Winston cigarettes. These racing fuel fumed idiots would trade ballads of bone thugs in harmony and criticize me for not knowing the lyrics.

Dude I listen to NWA.

“Who’s NWA, isn’t that planes or something”

Sure, it’s hella planes or something.

“Dude??? Hella??? What are you some sort of surfer”

Sure.

Anyway.

I missed out on a lot of lingo back in the day. I didn’t watch MTV, or hang out with kids that were “gangster” or really anyone who didn’t still love legos and playing NES all day. I didn’t curse, hadn’t ever even seen drugs, didn’t understand sex…I was sheltered, naive even.

6th grade. English class. Mrs. Blanton? Blanchard? Bla blah blah…

Some of these kids start talking, they’re sitting on either side of me, and I quickly find myself asking what the hell exactly they’re talking about. I didn’t understand the lingo.

The teacher interrupts my inquiry.

Something like this..

“Mr. InsertLastNameHere, why are you talking?”

I was asking them what they were talking about.

“What are they talking about?”

I don’t know. Something about doing a 69.

:Her jaw hits the floor:

I don’t what that is…so I asked…what they were…

:silence:

Do you know what it is Mrs. blah blah blah? What’s 69-ing?

“Out of my room, go to the office.”

So I get in school suspension for a day. Which sucked. All the bad kids sat in there and bullshitted all day and if normal kids show up they literally get tortured and have to do crazy amounts of work.

My mother was pissed and asked me where I learned “that language”. I still didn’t know what it meant. I was told it was disgusting and not to talk about it.

Anyways…

About 3 years later on my way to go fishing, I knocked on the door of my parents room and I could have sworn I heard someone say come in.

Someone probably said “I’m coming” now that I think of it though.

So I went in. She was right, 69-ing was disgusting. Well at least what I saw was anyway.

Well…Anyways…

It’s not totally improbable that you could get the flu from eating pussy. But most doctors and PA’s agree that it’s extremely safe as long as there’s no kissing on the mouth, and you limit your physical contact to the area/region in question.

She’s feeling much better.

Gave a buddy a ride home, he gave me a detailed account of a something or other…With my Ex.

This all happened a long long time ago…

Fuckery? Nah.

It’s a small world I guess. People in the same basic location, that like the same basic things are bound to run across each other…or “into each other” at some point right? Yeah, sure. Two different people you’ve dated, that your friend has also “dated”…maybe just fucked around with a good bit. Who cares…?

Some people think it’s petty to get upset about dating a good friends Ex, some don’t. Those that do have several versions of the limitations that can apply here. I’ve heard about certain amounts of time between the breakup as a measurement of it being ok, or the they only dated for a short time measurement, the he broke up with her or she broke up with him, it’s a one time thing…. There’s a bunch out there.

I think it’s rather interesting how things pan out some times, and I certainly get a good laugh at how some of them have…but they’ve never really upset me unless it’s under super shady circumstances. I wouldn’t want some of my friends dating some of my ex’s for health reasons on both of their parts…but eh, whatever. It’s a thing. It’s their thing.

Well…the first time this happened to me, a good friend of mine was introduced to a fantastic fucking person I dated way back. It didn’t work out for us because geography. Nothing bad. Very logical.

Anyways.

This friend, met this Ex of mine. Things clicked. Good for them. No worries. I didn’t think much of it. It had been years and years since “us”. They had fun…no harm or it was what it was…or whatever maybe people call just fucking around. Cool? Sure. Really.

Not too much later…

So, I worked at this place where you could basically make your own hours. Moving company. They get jobs, and you can kind of pic and choose which of the jobs you want to work on. They need dependable people, on the cheap. Good money for young folks who are home for summer break. I get this friend a job. He didn’t have a car at the time I don’t think. Mostly because….let’s just say….the front of his car didn’t get along with some dude crossing the street. The guy lived, no big. I think that guy lived….hmmm.

Anyways…

I give this friend a ride to and from work from time to time, and one time I remember giving him a ride maybe for this reason…we start talking, catching up, well he starts in on how much fun college is and parties…blah blah blah…”also man I didn’t know if you knew or not but your ex came up to party recently and stuff happened with us….”

….descriptive word(s) intentionally left out.

I mean….I personally wouldn’t go in to the details he did. Hell I might not have done it, or maybe just said things differently maybe with a little more tact. Maybe I wouldn’t have.

So I almost wreck off the road.

This person and I hadn’t been out of a relationship very long….I guess I was just shocked, I don’t remember being all that angry. I was still feeling down because things had ended. Even though it was my choice to end things. Maybe I still had some mental connection to her left over…Who knows.

She told me about it a few weeks later. Told me they were doing whatever. Maybe it was a thing. Hmmm…

Oddly enough. some years later I married that person. And some years after that I divorced her. Things didn’t work out again. That’s a long story.

Well…anyways…

I think that was the last car ride I gave him. I’m not sure why but we haven’t talked much since that all went down. We never had words or discussed it much after. We hung out a few times. Maybe a handful of times. We’re still friends. Hell I was in his wedding awhile back. No hard feelings.

I guess what I’ve been thinking about is…

I don’t know if it’s one of those possession or controlly type things, sure seems like it, but I generally don’t care. I can’t figure out why I would. But I’ve heard a bunch of bullshit reasons and it makes me wonder why exactly do people want to justify themselves doing whatever the hell they want with people that want to do it with them, and why does it matter to people they used to be involved with exactly? I guess we’re all still considered property. Eh mostly just women though I guess? But don’t quote the bible on that. For sure….especially do not read anything like umm..

Deuteronomy 22:23-24/21:10-14, Exodus 20:17/21:7-11/22:16-17
Genesis 2:20-22/3:16, Colossians 3:18
1 Timothy 2:13-14, Ephesians 5:22-24
1 Corinthians 11:3-9, Judges 5:30

Because…people….err women are property. Or something er other for men.

Well one of the bibles, or versions or some of a portion of a version that’s the not so important one about history or something. Unless you have 50 gold, are level 14 and have goats to spare,  or wanna get hitched. Or something…

This probably is a bad comparison to property because rapey property stuffs. But kind of because rapey property stuffs maybe. Maybe not.

Narnia.

Watching porn and talking about wiping my ass, with my friends mom.

I can’t really remember if this was the same night I watched porn with her and her daughter. Maybe. When I eat pizza I forget things. Now, and then. Back then. I was 18 or 19. But I still forget things anyway.

It was HBO porn I think. So it doesn’t even really count. It was like 3 AM. Probably Emmanuel or something. So, that shit isn’t even really porn. We shared a cup of some herbal tea with a slice of orange in it.

Anyways.

Earlier that evening, before or after dinner…which I’m sure was pizza, because my friend and I worked at a pizza place…I used the bathroom, washed my hands, and went back out in to the den. Or living room. Or whatever the hell.

His mom asks as I walk through in to the kitchen, “did you use toilet paper”…

…Yes.

“Did you poop, you weren’t in there long, you flushed twice”

:: ?why is this lady so concerned with my bathroom happenings? ::

…Umm no I peed. Oh and then I forgot I needed to do a checkup wipe.

Confusion ensues.

“What’s a checkup wipe?”

So I explain. I’m not claiming to have coined the idea or phrase checkup wipe. But. This was way before urban dictionary, this was back when tons of people still used AOL instant messenger.  Myspace was still safe for kids to use even…

Checkup wipes are pretty important…they come in handy. It’s log a log book for when you need to poop, or poop more. Because throughout the day things happen and sometimes you just don’t know. Or just a hot day cleanup type thing, or cleanliness regime…probably getting the picture. They’re versatile. And helpful, even refreshing. Hey put some water on that and give it a wipe.

This is probably the reason I’ve been through so much TP in my lifetime. Enough in fact to send a grandparent out to the store because I ran the household supply out. So much so that we had to resort to a gag gift roll of crossword toilet paper. Which apparently was a big deal. Which…I thought was a little ridiculous even at the age of like 10 or 11, that someone would get upset at having to use something that ridiculous. It was under the sink…People love their TP? I was once told to use 4 squares at a time, fold and then reuse again. Nope. No one does that. What if you get poop on your hand. Unacceptable. That’s how you blow up a laundry basket with racing stripes. Sometimes when you’re a kid, you don’t have time. I spin that thing like wheel of fortune and I need to buy all the vowels. Bowels. See what I…Nah.

Especially at work. That stuff is free.

Well…Anyways.

I asked…So you never do this? No one ever does this?

3 or 4 people in the room. No answer.

I guess no one else does this.

She seemed genuinely concerned or confused…

I loved talking to her, always very open minded. Pretty sure the next conversation I had with her was something about her daughter posting what was considered child pornography of some other chick for revenge or something, but it wasn’t her fault…or something…but ah forget it. Go home to Bel-Air.

Chicago. Plenty of whiskey and not a whole lot more. And she told me she used to be a man.

I guess there was more to it than that, but at the time…Damn. Whiskey. John Jameson.

Well…Anyway…

It was a really long day, I hadn’t really slept and after several work parties/events, trays of drinks and bull riding…watching COPS in my PJ’s seemed pretty legit. Interpreting Miranda warnings or Miranda “rights” through huffs and puffs of those wonderfully round dudes while tasing about the lawless streets used to be one of my favorite pastimes.

I get a text… “We’re watching COPS in our PJ’s, come down here”.

…OK

Yeah I’m that easy.

Anyway. There was no “we’re” no us. No dos. Whatever. I was in to it, or sleepy or drunk.

Why is COPS, late night, not a one and done thing? It’s always some sort of marathon…I think I’m complaining.

“Wanna make out?”
… John Jameson…
Sure?

There was a hint of awkward kissing. That moment when you’re trying to figure out how to kiss someone you’ve never kissed. I think. Maybe not though. John Jameson.

“I thought you were joking, but this is fun.”
So one thing leads to the….a lot less clothes.
“I haven’t shaved…in…”
Blah blah blah, I don’t care about that shit. It’s your pussy, not mine.
Anyways.

Moments later she sits up and says… “I have to tell you something… I used to be a man”.

I look up and said,maybe this is insensitive, but….well, looks fantastic to me and I really don’t give a shit.

It was an awkward ice breaker. She was never a man. She was nervous. After a good bit of laughing, she explains a 10+ year long lull…absence….A decision on her part to not have any sexual contact with anyone. We didn’t have sex.That was a fun night. It was…

I was told…by some folks, friends and family, a few coworkers…that give or take a year or two, this woman is old enough to have been my mother.
I never really toyed with that phrase much. But it’s insane to me. And implies some sort of weird incesty vibe. I’m guessing its origin is probably meant to dissuade folks from wanting to be with someone by making them think about banging about with members of their own family. Umm…Hey how about good for you guys. But nah…mostly the whole… she must have been happy to show off a younger dude, she still has it blah blah blah, she’s on the prowl. Yeah let’s harp on some wack ass societal bs featuring tail chasing and older chicks romping about getting their groove back. Fuck all that. Two people were having fun after a long day and quite a few drinks. Once.

Anyways.

Some time later I attempted dating this woman. We had one last laugh in bed. I don’t know what kind of omen it is for me to get a nosebleed while going down on someone, but man that was one awful stain. Plus…Who poops with the door open and doesn’t flush anyway. Don’t start that shit either…literally. I’m OK with it if this makes you think I’m shallow. This..this of all things. It didn’t work out….

Well…Anyways…

Always close the door, always use the fan, always flush. Never forget that shit. Literally.

Fucking work. Minor details about making out with corporate…and the opposite sex in small spaces.  

Fairly simple concept.

Work is boring. Fucking isn’t. I’ll keep expanding on this because it’s a rabbit hole of a tale, but for now I’ll just leave this here…

Anyone left in the office past 5 is typically a mindless drone, and if they aren’t or it’s before quitting time, there’s always a good racy text or MMS to fire a neuron or 7. So many options. Cars in park, or cars at the park. Office building stairwells never have cameras. Parking decks only have cameras in the stairwells or near them. Guards are doing it too, or mostly they enjoy the show more than the shits they’re supposed to give. Service elevators have cameras, but their lobbies don’t. Elevators are a great grind, too quick, but they’ll really set the stage for a coffee break later in the day, crawling under desks. Stockrooms are small, and a fantastic alternative to trying to hide a credit card charge on a hotel room. If you need to hide that sort of thing. Coffee really grew on me. I love coffee now. I didn’t always.

But it happened.

Well…Anyways…

…I fucking love coffee now.

My boss put her tits on my head. All the time. One boss shit himself in front of me. It gets a little better, don’t worry.

Well…Anyways…

I’ve had soooo many jobs. I’ve worked since I was about 13, definitely remember working at 14. I’ve done almost every job I can think of. My father worked at a staffing agency. Got me exposed to all kinds of industries/environments. One of the best choices I’ve ever made. Really.

Kind of in this order…

  • Circus
  • Ran printing presses
  • Mailroom gigs
  • Annoying putter flyers on your car guy
  • Food service functions; Cash register asshole, Serving, host, valet, dishes, food prep…
  • Physical labor stuffs; Warehouse work, forklift operator, inventory jockey, mover, truck helper…
  • Retail; Big box store stuffs…Sales, Hardware tech, shelf stocking jockey
  • Corporate; IT stuffs… He ( ll ) lpdesk, networking blah blah blah, developer, systems admin, technical project manager ( / bullshit artist)

I know I missed some…I’ve had a metric fuck ton of jobs, and with them…Bosses.

Each one was fairly entertaining. And by entertaining I mean I can’t believe that sometimes these people lead other people that get paid money to do a task.

I guess it started with the circus. My boss there was either naked, doing cocaine, or swinging from something, anytime I can remember. Seems about right. Just sub in really nice orchestra type music for the motley crue you’re imagining. Cirque du soleil. What a blast. I had a single lucid conversation with my onsite boss. I received my orders/duties. I opened and closed a door every 1.5 hours. 12 dollars an hour…Awesome. I was 18 ish.

It wasn’t so bad. None have my jobs have been that bad.

Well…Anyways…

Fast forward to some corporate gigs. This is where the magic happened. The really mind blowing shit that I knew would make me happy I’d laid down roots in the “concrete jungle”. These bosses are the thing of legend. Thinking back about these folks always makes me cringe through a smile. It’s a good thing….or something.

I had this boss that had the largest collection of shoulder padded jackets and shirts in the southeast. Burlington coat factory depended on this lady. Hell of a person. Great lady. Thanks to her I had the opportunity to learn the basis of everything I know in IT.

…Said on occasion…daily, hilarious shit. Like umm, “I want to watch you grow”, “I’m going to grow you”. Ah normally this’d be totally cool. But not when, well, like when I’m sitting down and she’d bend over behind me and her tits would rest on my head or neck. I love tits. But not when I’m not ready for them. Ah maybe sometimes when I’m not ready for them, that’s fun too. I wasn’t ready for a few things that happened. Being yelled at for being at work on a Tuesday because she thought it was Sunday. Drugs? The world will never know.

Same company, different boss. Guy was hilarious. I look up to him in ways. Because of this guy I travelled the entire country by plane, a few times…almost every state. Drove through most of the country due to his wacky ass plans too. An experience, I appreciate daily. This was by far the most homophobic person I’ve ever met. Visibly uncomfortable in the presence of homosexual men, I took so much joy out of watching a male flight attendant having fun with that phobia on a SFO – CLT flight. He’d yell, all the time. Fuck, mostly retard though. Once in Maryland while installing some equipment, on a ladder 25 feet in the air, I was behind him. Handing up equipment. That morning we ate at Maryland’s finest Bob Evans. I had pancakes. He of course had to get crazy and order some bullshit run for the border omelet scramble.

So he shits himself, loudly. On the ladder. With me behind him. Abruptly stating “Oh no”. He left.

My next boss, to avoid getting my ass kicked…was just simply amazing. I really found him to be one of the best bosses I’ve ever had. It was with him that I learned to cuss out, or just cuss at my boss. I also learned what a “come to jesus meeting” was. He and I honestly had a great relationship. He parties hard. I can’t keep up with that dude. He didn’t give a shit about how much shit I got in to with women around the office….I should get that in to words someday.

Anyways… For my own safety, maybe his too, I’ll leave out most of the details.

Another boss of mine lived on red bull, smoked electronic cigarettes and normal ones…all day, got excited over new leaked porn, spoke frequently of skanky crack whores, called everything “guy”, and ate more bojangles than I thought was humanly possible. Seems tame in comparison to most bosses I’ve had. My day to day with this dude was mostly me cussing him out for never explaining anything to me, and trying to decide if the girl upstairs wanted to bang him or not. She did only talk to him…

After that there was a weird lull, I never even met this boss. And only talked to him when I was on furlough. Maybe a total of 4 times over 1.5 years. We still email back and forth over the holidays to say hello.

And now, currently. This guy comes off caring or compassionate or whatever. He’s good at what he does, and what his team is supposed to be doing.

Then….He’ll be talking to you, and mid-sentence close a door in your face. Or walk off. It happens so much we coined a phrase using his last name. You just got “::insert last name::-ed”. Guy often tells you how to do your job by telling you to do things he can’t actually explain or find a process on how to do. I think that’s normal in the corporate world though. I think one of my favorite things is the phone calls before and after a shift that are obvious fishing calls to see where you are because he’s never in the office.

“Hey are you in the office”….Nope its 5:05 and I leave at 4:30, why what’s up?

“Oh I didn’t have anything”…What?

“Yeah have a good night”…..

“What…?”

Or the popular, “Hey you’re working tomorrow, but there’s not much going on so just take the day”. This was every Friday for about 3 months. It was fantastic. I’m hourly though. Oh well.

Then there was the latest conversation.

Me – “I can’t say I want to remain in the role I’m in past my contract end date (6 weeks out), I’d like to limit my travel and work in a hands-on IT role”

“Hey, I blah blah blah…We’re looking for a different role, so we won’t be renewing your contract again anyway.”

Me – “can you describe that role?”

“Blah blah”

Me –“That sounds an awful lot like what I do now”

“It is, it’s pretty much what you do now”

Me – “….?”

Well…Anyways…

The most ridiculous part is, I’ve ended up respecting these people.

Having a boss is the most entertaining thing I’ve ever experienced. I’m grateful to have been confused so many different times. In so many different ways. Also…I’m job hunting again. The difference….I’m happy to be this time, and excited to get back to something I’m good at.

So I told my mom about the first black dick I saw when I was 8 or 9.

So I called my Mom last night to make Christmas plans. Before talking about any of that, I told her about the first time I saw a black dick when I was 8 or 9. Or something.

Hey she asked…“Tell me about this urinal in Arkansas story, how come I don’t know about this”. She seemed very curious…or concerned.

I remember it. Something anyway…

So yeah. Growing up at some point it was decided that we (my mother, brother, myself and a pissed off orange cat) would all move to Santa Rosa, California and then to San Jose.I didn’t really want to move. But we did. San Jose…Which is where a lot of hilarious shit happened. I lit pretty much an entire park on fire, got beat up for NOT buying drugs, swam in the ocean and even used AOL for the first time. It wasn’t so bad really. I learned how to smash my balls into anything, as long as I did it on wheels…bikes, roller-blades, skateboards. School was way more relaxed compared to NC standards….And the teachers did drugs, probably more than the students. If they weren’t doing drugs during class (they called it outdoor meditation) they were doing insane shit like beating kids up or molesting them. It wasn’t so so bad. We had a pool and a hot tub. That was rad.

Anyways.

Moving to CA from NC consisted of cramming tons of shit into a huge truck, including a pissed off nonstop yowling cat. Then driving said truck across the country.

Well we stopped at this truck stop. My brother and I get out to investigate what flavor of condoms they had in the bathroom vending machine. If we were lucky they’d have glow in the dark ones too.

I guess my brother got away from me in all the excitement that is truck stop soda and candy aisles. I get to the bathroom. Stand in front of a urinal. Pee.

Now as a 8 maybe 9 year dude, and I was a dude, when you pee….when you finally pee and release that expertly held pee that you’ve sworn you’re just gonna skip the rest stop break now and brave it for… because you only have to search 3 more screens of grass to cut on ocarina of time….you can’t stop the stream. You can’t stop the stream when you’re a kid. Ever.

Anyways. This truck driver comes through the door like he was Mr. Kool Aid and everybody by the pool had to have some (foreshadowing: not racist). He made tons of noise getting in there. His dick was already out and he was on a mission. This guy probably had cut all screens of grass twice in ocarina of time and still not taken a piss.

This truck driver dudes dick was out. It was like a four packs of Necco chocolate wafers strapped together.

This dude pushed me out of the way and announces..”Get outta the way I gotta go baaaad”.

I pee on the wall. You can’t stop the stream when you’re a kid.

Well anyways…

I feel like I told my mom about this and she cussed this dude out profusely. Seems likely. Hell she damn near held a .357 to the next trucker we came across outside Albuquerque.

And that was the first black dick I ever saw. I saw another one some years later. That guy was full on nude. He needed a condom. I didn’t have any. That was the last black dick I ever saw. I was 18.

Flossing on some hoes!

Originally written on 12/11/14…

Flossing on some hoes.

So….Anyways

I was talking to this male stripper this morning.

Dancer.
Performer.

A dude that sometimes dances for money, in less clothes than normal.

Anyways.

I really had always heard the phrase “Flossing on some hoes”. So I’m all like hey Ja Rule, Puffy (or piddy, p diddy, puff daddy, sean puffy p dids combs, why the hell has he changed his name so much)…and other rapper folks/community….Hey what the hell does this mean?

I’ve always been naive about rapping terms, always messing up lyrics. Sometimes I don’t hear very well. Or understand maybe. Lots of times. Constantly confusing 50. I guess. I know there’s a glossary out there for this stuff, but I’m not in to it.

I’m so damn real about this that I learn this shit on the street. At 7 AM, from male strippers. Glossaries for rap tunes need to be life lessons, told by youngsters.

(Side thought, Xavier’s school for gifted young hipsters who know about rap tune terminology. Why do hipsters know about rap?)

Anyways.

When I asked that question. Literally no rappers answered. But this guy, this dude, and he was a dude, answered…
So flossing on some hoes is when you rub your penis in-between, around and on a butt. Up to and including a butthole. Not limited to females or males, or none hoes.
Can a female floss on some hoe without a penis? I really just don’t know. I think there’s a lot to learn here…
This explanation could be wrong. But source seems reputable.

Anyways.
I’m not in to this. Flossing on some hoes. Not my thing. So I left and went to work and apparently drove down a one way street the wrong way for 3 blocks. Apparently when you’re downtown and a ton of streets are one way and you’re only seeing the back of the traffic lights, you’ve made a poor decision.

Poor? Or more convenient?

I was getting a coffee and left in a hurry.

Anyway.

Narnia.

Corporate restrooms…. “Using them”

Originally written 12/3/14

Why not.
Observation.
Damn it.

So. I Went to the bathroom to pee. Just pee.

Grabbed a stall, thankfully someone was already using the urinal. “Using it”.

Corporate / Public restroom urinal description.
No privacy. Divider wall means nothing, definitely not a blatant reminder to stop looking around like there’s lost treasure. The damn thing is covered in so much pubic hair its like people deposit it there like there is some higher power asking for offerings…Sacrifices even, because no one, no damn body has that much to spare in the time needed to pee at this thing. Horrible. Puddles. Yeah “s”. Multiple puddles of pee underneath/directly in front of these damn things. Why. Why the hell. I like to think of people using urinals get just as excited to spin the wheel on the price is right. My favorite thing about my current buildings urinals is that there is no flushing, it just magically drains. But sometimes, sometimes it doesn’t. And people still use it. And that’s fantastically disgusting and mind boggling.

Anyway. I don’t use urinals. I have a long story, probably not that long, involving a truck stop in Arkansas as a kid, and that’s why I don’t use them. I should pen that soon.

Anyway.
After I pee’d, I left the stall. Went to the furious hand waving station. Yeeessss bang your hands around in to the faucet and granite counters trying to find that sensor that squeezes a teaspoon of water out and won’t turn back on for at least 5 seconds.
So much damn fury.
Damn automated faucets.

Anyway….

So really, what I wanted to talk about was. I saw a man go from one stall to another. The stall directly beside mine. And in to the stall I had just used. Pants held up with his hands. The door shut. He exclaimed “yeah there we go”, happily.
I love a good bathroom story. They always seem to confirm my worst fears. I don’t care for public restrooms. I don’t care for interacting with one another in said area, or really even near said area. A picture says a thousand words. But watching people do shit, quite possibly…literally….maybe…shit, in the bathroom just kills me on a daily basis.

Narnia. It’s tons of Narnia.

Master of awkwardness achieved

Originally written 12/2/14…

This morning. 4 in the A.M.

I was sleeping.

I woke up to the sound of laughter. Then more laughter. Then yelling. Then some more laughter. Then at least 4,223 curse words.

I go to the window and observe 3 dudes outside regaling one another with tales of how “hard” and “how much gangster shit people don’t even know about going down in downtown Charleston, SC”. “Charlotte isn’t shit”.

I think. To myself. Then out loud to my dog. “Man it must be a hard knock life…down there with all those pastel town homes and basket weaving folks, fresh affordable seafood, and cobbled roads.”

Dingo Marvin (my dog), gives no shits about this conversation and lays back down.

These dudes keep talking.

I put pants on (gotta have pants). Go outside, stand on my porch. Mean mugging these dudes from 25 feet. They all look at me. But keep talking about how hard it is in basketweavingtown USA.

Couple minutes.

I move to stand about a foot from these dudes, and say nothing.

Blank staring.

5 minutes.

They explain,”crazy ass you’re weirding us out”.

They leave.

I go inside.

Master of awkwardness achieved.

Narnia.