Stall Protocol

I was telling someone about my day at work and I mentioned an incident which seemed to me to be a clear breach of bathroom protocol. When the hysterical laughter morphed into a look of disbelief, I wondered if maybe the protocol was not as universal as I thought. So I come to you, the internet, to validate or invalidate my insight.

First of all, if I am in a stall, and the only other available stall is the one next to me, don’t come in there. That’s rule one. I don’t need the awkward silence that comes while we stare at each other’s shoes. And I certainly don’t want you dropping anything that might roll into my stall and require it’s return or God forbid, communication between us. Turn right back around and walk out. You can wash your hands first or blow your nose or anything that implies you had another reason for entering the bathroom, but if I’m already in there, go find another bathroom. Use the lobby one if you have to.

Rule 2. If you absolutely MUST use the stall next to me, if you ate Thai for lunch, or you are having some kind of intestinal crisis and just can’t make it to the other bathroom, then wait until I leave before you exit your stall. DO NOT come out at the same time I do or while I am still washing my hands. I do not want to make eye contact with you and I certainly do not want to make idol conversation with a crapper-mate. What if I look down and happen to see something on your hands that shouldn’t be there? I will never shake your hand again, that’s for sure. Give me a minute to exit the bathroom. Trust me, I’m in a hurry to get out of there to avoid a bonding moment anyway, so just play another round of free-cell on your phone or something.

I realize this protocol probably doesn’t apply to woman. They have different routines, more stalls and less of an alpha nature. But for men, I believe these truths to be self-evident.

That is all.

Camp Horizon 2007

Just returned from my yearly stint at Camp Horizon. If you want to know what I do there, you can read the journal I kept several years ago. This year was a little different in that I was totally out of shape. At first, I thought it was my age catching up to me, but now I am pretty sure it was the extra 20 pounds I took with me.

One funny incident came on the evening we were treated to a magic show. The magician was pretty good if you like that kind of thing. Personally, I find magic acts kind of cheesy but the kids loved it. At one point, the magician did a trick with several items of junk food – nuts, chips, soda, cookies, etc. At the end of the trick, he handed out the junk food to some “lucky kids” in the audience. My camper was the lucky recipient of the cookies. He was beaming when he got them. Later in the act, the magician turned a one-dollar bill into a five-dollar bill and handed that to a young lady in the first row. My camper looked at the young lady and then at his cookies and exclaimed “What the hell?”

A not so funny incident occurred when I got home and got the bill for all the text messaging I did with girlfriend while at camp. I thought I had unlimited text messaging when in fact I had “starter 200”. STARTER 200, can you believe that?! The training wheels of text messaging! Nice $82 lesson.

The New Age of Fireworks

I know I am a little behind on blogging. I actually seem to have found a life lately! So anyway, just an observation I wanted to make last week on the 4th of July. I was sitting on the deck waiting to see fireworks on the horizon when I noticed kids in the backyard of the house behind me with fireworks of their own. Watching them light firecrackers and bottle rockets made me smile as it reminded me of doing the same when I was a kid. Then I remembered, I didn’t have firecrackers and bottle rockets when I was a kid!

In fact, as I watched them take aim at the neighbor’s now barking dog, I began to get really annoyed at my own childhood 4th of July’s. I had sparklers. Freakin’ sparklers! Do they even make these harmless marvels anymore? As I watched these kids fire off Roman Candles, Spin Fountains, Repeater Cakes, Reloadable Mortars, RPG’s and what I think were two Stinger Missles, I remembered my “snakes”. The little black disc that you hold a match to and watch it grow into a telescoping ash up to eight inches long. Woo-Frickin’-Woo. I thought I was such a rebellious delinquent when I would throw my sparkler into the air while my parents weren’t looking. Living on the edge, I was.

I actually found myself hoping for some carnage here just so I could be vindicated. I know, that is wrong and totally unfair to these little bastards, but you know what? Smashing your thumb while trying to hit a roll of caps with a hammer is REALLY unfair….

Does your remote need cleaning?

Okay here’s one for the monthly moron awards. I just spent a good 25 minutes searching for my remote control, the one in the bedroom. It became a quest, verified by the fact that I walked past the TV ten times while searching for the thing. I was determined not to change the channels manually. I was absolutely dumbfounded. I even went out and looked in my car, don’t ask me why. Then I heard the washing machine ding. Why would that be significant to this story? Because I was washing my bedspread – the last place I saw the remote control.

Vicki Stacker Is Easy

I was moving some boxes today and came across something that reminded me of a youthful incident I had almost forgotten about. Something that happened to me in high school, which looking back on now, makes me smile. No, not High School; the incident.

When I was a sophomore, there was a brief time when I dated the High School Slut. I know, at first that sounds bad on more than one level; first that I would refer to her as a slut (I just went back to the title and changed the name, just in case she googles) and second, that I would date her, especially as a high school sophomore.

What can I say; she picked me. She was a grade ahead of me but still, she began flirting with me and making obscene gestures during study hall and I was a walking hormone. Of course I was receptive. Soon we were officially “going together”. I don’t even know if that phrase is used anymore. God how old am I? Anyway, dating then meant mostly school functions; basketball games, pizza parties, homecoming, etc.  Continue reading “Vicki Stacker Is Easy”

You can keep your hat on…

A few years ago, a friend said he’d loan me his CD’s if I wanted to rip them (Cover your eyes RIAA). I was a little surprised when he brought in a grocery bag full of burned CD’s; dozens of them. They included the official Top 100 songs for every year all the way back to 1955 (note, 1955 “Top 100” consisted of 40 songs; half of which were about Daniel Boone).

Well it took me about two weeks to rip them all, I actually wore out the built in CD burner. I spent some time <em>trying</em> to organize them, but there were over 5,000 songs in there, enough for me to play weddings and Bar Mitzvah’s.

Well, since my laptop left me, and found a new place to dwell, I had to redo all the playlists on the new machine. While I was doing that I came across a song I couldn’t believe was in there. I tried to copy it into garage band so I could export it in a format I could share with you all, but I just can’t figure out how to do that. So I’ll just have to describe it. Continue reading “You can keep your hat on…”

Next time you’re with friends (in bed)

Well, I have nothing to blog about today. Not only did nothing interesting happen, but nothing funny happened either, not even remotely. I kind of don’t want to lose my momentum though – I’ve already blogged more this week than I did in the last eighteen months.

All I can think of is this: Have you ever played that stupid, childish game where you end everything with the words “in bed.” I say stupid and childish in an effort to inflate your perspective of me and distance myself from the intellectually bankrupt, but I really love this game! Especially when your friends are t-totally sick of it and want you to stop. That’s when it truly becomes funny!

<Try it if you haven’t. Yes, it’s childish and silly and yes, your (sober) friends will get annoyed. But watch what happens if you keep it up. Don’t cave. Keep doing it (in bed). Within a short time from their annoyed looks, it will become funny again and they WILL be forced to crack up. Suddenly it becomes hysterical. I swear to God, try this.

That is all.

Doilies

Recently, I asked my friend Jaime what the secret of his success was with women. He said the secret was having an immaculate apartment. After laughing hysterically for a few moments and noticing he was still dead serious, I asked him to explain.

He told me that my apartment not only had to be clean and well kept, but it had to be decorated properly; no tapestries of dogs playing cards, no duct tape repairs, and definitely no sports equipment. He said the key was silk-flowers that matched the décor, valance panels over the windows, and doilies. Continue reading “Doilies”