Tag Archives: Awkward

Waking up to my ex’s vibrator.

Really her farting. But the vibrator was annoying too.

Nympho? Meh…

It’d be like 2 in the damn morning and I’d hear biiiizzzz.

She had this cheap looking white vibrator, and when she couldn’t sleep, she’d go crazy with the damn thing. When she would reach orgasm, she’d fart. Fine, whatever…But it was loud. The whole thing was.

The orgasm. I can only describe it as something that looked really painful. Like being tazed maybe? Then immediately immobilizing, followed by a deep sleep. Or a dump. Literally a race to the bathroom to drop one.

On a side tangent. She loved pooping. When I’d visit her at college, I’d have to use the “co-ed” facilities. But everyone on her hall was female. So I always thought it’d be a weird thing to use the bathroom with females. To my surprise none of them ever minded me being in there, showering, pooping, brushing my teeth, fucking. They all did the same things with their others. This wasn’t some adolescentally imagined porkys revenge, peeping through a hole in the wall or anything so there was never anything outside of mostly clothed interactions, or towel covered hello’s exchanged.

The bathroom sharing. It was all very….cordial, cohesive even. Minus my girlfriend at the time. She made it awful. I’d be pooping and she’d know it. And she’d grab a stall right beside me and talk me through her poop, or try to race me to see who could finish first. This was all very entertaining to her. But at that point in my life, and even a little bit now, pooping in public restrooms, even at home is a very mentally frustrating process. One I didn’t want much to share with others. Or still don’t want to share. Why don’t people close the door when they shit? At the very least. Oh hey turn the fan on too…

The fart. It was one of those farts you try to conceal in a couch cushion, and end up rumbling the whole damn couch kind of farts.

I’ve had some bad gas before. I can’t recall farting during sex. It never bothered me that she’d fart during sex.

But I know for sure I’ve woken some folks up with farts before. Not a one enjoyed that happening. Not that I can recall. Especially the silent ones, you can’t laugh off a silent fart that wakes you up with the old let’s seal your body off with the blankets and see if that helps technique…Sometimes you can mutually laugh off a rumbler. Sometimes.

Anyway…

So yeah, vibrators. This stuff was confusing to me. I’d seen and heard about vibrators. But only in the sense that they were extremely sexy. You know, because, porn is so vanilla and women using them in videos were wholesome…smiling or chewing bubble gum, and happy and everything was so fresh and so clean… clean? Those videos are wrong. Lies.

I guess I had been tricked in to thinking others pleasure was my own to have. Whoops.

Well…Anyways…

None of this is a bad thing. I just wish I would have had some warning.

Like a, hey I’m about to masturbate and fart on you. I was never told. So I had to jump in to the situation. It was unsolicited…

I might be a magnet for other folks unsolicited close proximity…to myself… masturbation. Especially when I was younger. I should write about all those other times.

This happened with friends.

This happened a few times. With us.

I’d wake up, confused…and all like yo…

It wasn’t like I could just move to another side of the bed either. I had futon bed. It was the shittiest of the futon beds too. I had fucked it apart. High school shenanigans. It did this weird thing where it would fold up on its own. In to this taco shape, unless two people slept on either absolute edge of the bed to keep it from folding up.

So through the process of her diddling…not derogatory…she had inadvertently rolled the bed in to the taco.

It’s definitely a thing. A commotion. A waking commotion.

Not for it.

Once she wanted me to watch…. I thought it was really interesting. A first for me.

I’m certain the farting killed anything enjoyable for me though.

Afterwards I didn’t think much of it and we went on about our business.

So much like pooping…I guess I’ll keep masturbation a personal thing for myself. Might be selfish, but it seems like a personal thing anyway… Maybe I’m wrong.

Narnia?

My first girlfriend was a lesbian.

Was a lesbian. I guess. Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe Bi, or Pan.

I don’t really know. Maybe neither.

This is rather long. I’ve been nursing this one as well as a cold for throughout the week. Which hasn’t been sooo bad except for not sleeping last night. At all.

Anyways…

6th Grade.

Weirder things have happened, but I guess a lot happened in my brain or to me… during this time. Maybe I woke up and started seeing things for what they were. Probably not though. I don’t think that happened until I was about 16.

I had just moved across the country again. CA to NC. Harrisburg, NC. I always have to emphasize that, because people jump to Harrisburg PA in excitement, but are always disappointed when I correct them to NC. In which case is generally followed by a conversation about NASCAR and the proximity to Concord NC. People still usually don’t know where it is.

NC was harsh to come back to. Kids were close minded and judgey, caught up on doing drugs or the idea of doing drugs, and fixated on bad rap tunes (that east coast bullshit) or grunge music martyrs (Kurt knew what he was up to). I was way too busy with Lego’s and Nintendo to pay any of that shit any attention.

I made friends with some flannel covered kids that sat in back who were just as bored as I was in class. I guess somewhere between passing notes and talking in the hallway I managed to get this one flannel covered girls phone number.

We talked all the time.

We eventually decided to go to a school dance. Together?

The dance was boring. We sat in the bleachers talking with a few friends. Then at some point they played something other than fucking boyz II men or the electric fucking slide…I guess they had to validate forcing us to learn those stupid dance routines in P.E. …

They played some Offspring. Maybe it was come out and play. Could’ve been Green Day.

Whatever it was, I jumped down off the bleachers. Something pulled me to the floor, something told me, commence head banging.

For some folks, head banging is or was a casual thing. In 6th grade, to me, it was a furious flail of attempts to dislocate something.

After almost blacking out and seeing white spots for awhile, I notice that quite a few people joined in and that I was now in trouble for something. Apparently inspiring a cult like head banging consortium is disallowed behavior. I was led away. Scorned. And brought back just in time for some shitty slow dance song.

The last song of the dance. My last chance to dance with her. We danced. Then it just so happens, we kissed.

It was a weird mixture of bad breath, Marlboro Reds (her), and pickles. I have no idea whose fault the pickles were.

I guess that was my first real kiss.

Anyways…

After that we started using the word love in some of the notes we passed around. That was a first too.

She’d come over to my house sometimes, we’d ride bikes, sneak in to the race track across the street from my house. I’d awkwardly try to figure how to makeout. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.

We fooled around a bunch, which consisted of her telling me what to do.

Nintendo, nor Lego’s teach you anything about those sorts of things. And it wasn’t like my brother ever told me anything about anything like that… I had no reference, or how-to’s. Maybe that’s natural.

We never did anything much more than makeout until much later in our lives.

When we couldn’t do that stuff, when we couldn’t hang out, we’d talk on the phone. As soon as I got home from school and I’d grab the phone…704-455…

3 way calling was some sort of future technology to us as kids. It was like AOL instant messenger but better. When we figured out how to use it, we’d always have someone else on the phone with us.

Mainly our friend Crystal.

Who I think was the center of, or at least the main cause of the first of my mother’s hilarious attempts at a parental proverbial birds and the bee’s conversation.

Let’s talk about that. Because it’s a fucking gem of my existential naive-ety.

We’re on the phone, on one of these 3 ways. And to me, we’re talking about going out to dinner. The girls, Crystal and my girlfriend…. They ask me how many times I’ve “eaten out”.

I promise I didn’t know what the fuck that meant. To me they just asked me if I’d gone out to dinner or eaten outside of my home. I didn’t understand anything other than that.

I start explaining how my brother and I go out to Arby’s sometimes, how that 5 for 5 was a damn deal and those jamocha shakes hit the spot. How we’d “tornado” all the sodas they had and see how many we could drink. Then burp as loud as we could because we weren’t with our parents. How my brother would drive his first beater car as fast as he could without killing us, and we’d listen to Tupac and Biggie rival each other with his hand wired actual home speakers in the back of his car…

They  giggle, and correct me repeatedly or try to, by asking the same question again…

“Have you ever eaten out?”

I say, yeah, I eat out a few times a week I guess.

:: loud click noise ::

My bedroom door flies open like it was possessed. My mother appears. Maybe it was possessed then…I guess she was listening in to the entire conversation, or a portion of it at least…

And this was one of the loudest times I’ve ever heard her use my full name.

“Hang up the phone!” She screams.

I comply.

This is followed by a grounding. A conversation about being disgusting and vulgar. Then a long talking to about having a parent-parent-child-child meeting.

Great. Another situation in the 6th grade where I literally had no idea what was being discussed or why I was in trouble.

What the actual fuck…

I went to my favorite place to think. The closet. I had Xmas lights in there and blankets and pillows. And a CD boom box.

I didn’t figure anything out.

The next day ish, I was taken to meet with the girl I was dating and also to meet with her mother.

In her mother’s flower shop of all places. Hilarious symbolism.

I guess my mother thought her mother cared. Or that she wasn’t so high that she wouldn’t laugh at all of this.

Surprisingly her mother maintained composure.

I was enlightened to what it was that I was actually “in tribulatione” for. Something that was so wrong to speak of, even though such acts took place in the Vatican to vet the cadre of the church…

Eating out, apparently, meant eating pussy, oral sex for or on females. Something.

I didn’t know this. How the fuck would I have known this. At this point I’d never even seen a pussy. I may have touched exactly one of them or not really. But no way had I seen one, or thought it was even a thing to put my mouth to one.

What?

So I was told all of this was wrong and I needed to be guided back on to a path of moral subjugation-a-tude. Whatever.

We all talk. I was red faced and unaware the entire time. While the girl and her mother smirked, and fleeted glances at me during my mother’s berating  of my moral turpitude, and sexuality, or lack thereof ..lack of knowledge of even, ensued.

That was all a bunch of bullshit, and a play put on by her and her mother to appease my mother. We never did anything even bordering on sexual before or after for years to come. I don’t even remember grinding. Or dry humping or whatever the fuck it’s called.

Anyway…

After a long break in 3 way calls, out of fear for another one of those handy you’re doing it wrong motherly conversations.

Myself, Crystal and the girl I was dating, have a call. This time about, I can’t remember. Probably something about how crazy the new Smashing Pumpkins album was that I hadn’t heard, because I had no damn MTV.

I remember having to go or something, so I let them know I was on my way, and switch off the phone. I didn’t actually switch it off though. I accidently hit call waiting and hear a dial tone. So I hit the button again, and over hear them talking about what they wanted to do to each other later.

That was interesting. So, feeling entitled I listen a little longer. And discover something else I had no actual idea that existed.

I seriously didn’t even know a word for it back then.

Girls that liked girls, moreover girls that did the same things to each other that boys did to girls?

No one now would ever even entertain the idea that I’m naive. But I was. I still am. Sometimes.

I don’t mind it. And it wasn’t a choice back then.

Living in CA, I was exposed to a great deal of things on a first hand in person type of way.

Gay men, I didn’t know what that was called, but I asked about it. Why were they holding hands. I was told they just liked each other, a lot. That was my mom’s explanation.

Drugs, I was told they were bad. Stay away from them. Someone tried to sell me some once and I said no. I was beat up for saying no. When I got home I was given 5 dollars for saying no and standing up to them.

These and many more…

But I was never exposed to nor had thought there to be a situation in which girls liked girls the way boys liked girls.

Then, at that point in time, in 6th grade, it confused me.

Anyways…

I hung up the phone. Didn’t say a word. I thought a lot about it. I asked another girl, a friend of mine at the time. She confirmed it like it was common knowledge. I asked the girls about it, Crystal denied it. The girl I dated denied it as well.

I heard what they said.

Years later the girl I dated corrected what she said. Said I was right. But never apologized.

I guess I was angry in the 6th grade. About it all. I didn’t understand it.

I didn’t know what it was. Or a word for it.

I was totally and utterly stuck on defining it.

Well…Anyways…

I wasn’t smart enough to ask enough questions of her or of that. Thinking back though, I’m not sure I was owed any type of explanation or entitled to believe that any of that was wrong. There were never any explicit terms of datery-ship that I can remember.

Then, some years after her explanation, we found ourselves back to fooling. Around.

That was quelled with another relationship for both of us.

Hers with a woman, mine with a woman.

Both of those relationships had their time.

I was involved with a high school sweetheart or whatevershit. Then married to her. Then sometime later, not married to her.

Her girlfriend  eventually left her for a man she fell madly in love with. Almost immediately…One of my best friends. One which I had introduced to them both. I felt guilty for a period of time. Mostly because of the introduction, somewhat because of the misuse in my judgment for their relationshit. The girls. I miss those friendships.

I made some assisted mistakes. Some selfish, some induced by other means. I regret that…

The girl I had dated in 6th grade, now in a relationship with a man that she seems to be crazy about.

So now…maybe it’s Lesbian or Pan or Bi or a variety of other words to describe what it was or what it is. Terms. None of which matter, it’s just people loving each other or on each other in many different ways, however they want to, which is really fantastic and how I see it altogether fluid.

There’s still really no defining it or need to. It changes I suppose.

Whatever. Narnia.

My mother told them I was hung like a bull. Them being Jedi Knights. And Nurses.

I guess a bunch of people have seen my dick.

I don’t think it’s anything special. The most ridiculous description I’ve ever heard in reference to my dick was …It fits me like a puzzle piece. I thought that was particularly hilarious. And outside the normal, that cock this that dick this. I’m not worried about it. It’s an average size according to Google. It goes up and it goes down. It has made a baby. So I appreciate it as a functional piece of equipment, but I’d take a ride on a forklift over having a dick anyway. Forklifts are really cool. I used to have a job driving one. You can drift them…

Anyway,

Sometime…A long time ago, back when frosted tips and backstreet boys were something I’d thought I’d involve myself with… I studied martial arts. Taekwondo.

I’d always been interested in martial arts, because Chuck Norris. I’d been interested in other sports too but my mom was adamant that they were too dangerous and I’d end up hurt or that it wouldn’t work out because health reasons.

Asthma, constant nose bleeds. Leg braces too, complete with an actual friend named Ginny, with red hair. I promise she’s real. We used to play bubble bobble a bunch and she lived directly beside me.

Forest Gump?

…blah blah blah. I had lots of things going against me health wise.

I remember doing a lot of ice skating though…taking ice skating lessons…Wtf?

Anyway,

When I was about 13 or 14ish, she let me sign up to learn how to kill people. Because that’s not dangerous.

OK maybe not learn how to kill people, but definitely how to kick someone. A bunch. TkD isn’t one of those learn how to kill people things. But a huge portion is actually fighting people. There’s some pads involved.

I thought I did well, and excelled quite a bit. I did all kinds of competitions, took classes on using weapons and did demonstrations breaking loads of wood or blocks of cement. It was fun. Jump, kick, punch, and get belts. Kick people, and get medals. Kick more people and go to AAU junior Olympics.

So I did that. At the time I thought it was a big deal. I worked pretty damn hard to get to that level.

Last match of the AAU competition resulted in a fancy gold medal in sparing. Somewhere in-between there I took a few illegal swift kicks to the back.

Lots of doctors get involved. One says I have some cancer things. Plays with my butt a lot. I didn’t love that. I eventually told him if he asked for another sample I’d knock him the fuck out. Another doctor says it’s all in my head and refers me out to therapy.

Sure yeah, being awake is painful and I’m faking that.

After a few more months of medical tests, somewhat immobilizing pain, and missing most of my freshman year of high school.

Fly to Stanford. CA.

A doctor finds out that my back is broken. Finding out that I had an entire vertebrae free floating above my sacrum. From there things moved quickly. Because not North Carolina.

My mother and I stay in the Ronald McDonald house.

Place was fantastic. The other kids made me feel small and weak for complaining about back pain. These other kids were in way worse condition. Cancer, heart transplants, kids were actually dying while I was there. I made some friends. We watched Wayne’s World and played SSX on PlayStation. I even kissed a girl there.

Come to find out she got in a significant amount of trouble because she was there for heart surgery and was supposed to be taking it easy. Which means maybe don’t kiss dudes?

Hey Wayne’s World is a romantic movie. Couldn’t help it.

After about a week goes by there, lots of tests and x-ray things.

Back surgery.

During the surgery my body decides not to cooperate with the drugs. I think I almost die. Or do. I don’t know if it was the drugs or what but at some point during the surgery I woke up. Or felt like I woke up, I saw myself laying there watching TV. I saw my grandmother in the TV and me watching her on the TV.

Whatever. They get me going, close my back up.

I’m not sure what the hell that was about. But I was on morphine and dilaudid (super crazy pain meds).

Day or two goes by.

Drugs.

Lots of drugs.

Sleeping.

I wake up a lot because nurses fucking with me. Always playing with tubes and lines and poop pans.

And catheters. I fucking hate catheters. Thing hooked in to my dick for peeing. Get the fuck…not about them.

I guess like a week goes by and they want to rip this thing from my dick. So I can pee like a big boy again.

So there’s this nurse looking up my skirt, and she says blah blah about removing this thing. I slur curse words.

Nurse says wow.

My mom says “I know he’s hung like a bull, right”.

Unsure if my mom is making a statement or asking a question I try moving to give her a “the fuck?” look.

As I turn I notice a person standing in the corner.

Dressed…Differently.

Alright, so I’m on some extremely powerful, very heavy drugs…

This person is dressed up as a Jedi Knight. Burlap sack hood, saber, head bowed, and dark face.

I guess this was an initiative of the hospitals, to cheer kids up.

I freak 10 kinds of the fucked out. I probably shit myself, or the bedpan.

I didn’t see a Jedi Knight. I see death. Like I’m dying and this thing is here for me.

Well…Anyways…

They have the Jedi leave.

And I’m all…How many people just saw my dick?

Maybe also a little, how many times has my mom seen my dick?

Also, too, at 14, a little, is being hung like a bull a good thing?

I think, hope, that was the last time my mom saw my dick.

Narnia?

…On a serious note.

I don’t remember much else of what happened at that hospital. I remember leaving.

Finally getting to eat an actual meal.

Not a tray.

No jello. No squared up portions.

I remember getting a full plate in the hospital cafeteria. Fried chicken. Mashed potatoes and gravy. Corn. Green beans. Cornbread. And some chocolate pudding.

One bite of corn. I’m full. Felt sick to my stomach.

Back at the Ronald McDonald house, things had gone full circle while I was on the inside.

The girl I had met was in the intensive care unit, the transplant stuffs had gone wrong.

The friend I made playing SSX on PlayStation was gone. Later found out he died. Liver cancer.

My back was fixed, and I was on the way home.

Oh and yeah….I stopped listening to Backstreet Boys and dying my hair.

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.

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.