Toilet Conversations

I was using a stall in the bathroom this afternoon. Usually there are at least a few people in various stages of excretion but today was nice and quiet. I was enjoying the peacefulness of our building's upstairs bathroom until in the stall next to me, I hear...

*Loud Nokia phone ring*

Sean: Hello? This is Sean.

Voice: (mumble)

Sean: Oh hi Paul, thanks for calling me back so soon.

Voice: (mumble, mumble)

Sean: Yeah, um I can't come right away but can I call you back in five minutes?

Voice: (mumble, mumble, mumble, etc.)

Sean: Okay. Sure, will you be in your office? I would talk right now but I'm kinda in the middle of something. (more mumbling from other side). Okay, thanks I appreciate it.

Sean's Butt: PBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBTTTTTTTT.


It was all I could do to keep from busting up. "I'm kinda in the middle of something"? Well no shit (ha! Shit!). Due to the constraints of typed words, the above text cannot give you the sense of urgency in Sean's voice during that call. It was just slightly strained so while I'm sure Paul couldn't make out the tone of voice conveying Sean's effort to tense his ass muscles, it was palpable from where I sat. Whether Sean wanted it to or not, his doody was coming out now. No dumb phone conversation was going to stand between Sean's waste and its impending freedom.

And can I just ask? Who the hell answers their phone while dropping a load? Who? Unless you have spectacular ass muscles that could pinch off Niagra Falls like me, you should not be picking up your phone. The doody is going to come out. If you know these people, please inform them that the worst time to answer your phone is in times like these. Other times to be included: during a symphony, during a wedding, or during a funeral. There are probably other inappropriate times but all I have to say is that if I call you and I hear the distinct splashes of your waste plunging into a toilet bowl, you can bet I'm going to hang up. Send me to voice mail and call me back when you're done taking your nasty shit! Dude!

I could go on and on, but I have to go. I'm kinda in the middle of something.

My Pet Peeves

Two blog posts in one day! What are the odds?! Anyway, Robin forwarded my this list of Pet Peeves forwarded to him by a coworker forwarded to her by somebody else. I usually hate, HATE, forwards but this one is fucking hysterical. Enjoy!



Women who breastfeed in public but then make a big show of hiding it as if I care.

Total strangers telling me what to do, especially square-dance callers.

Those pretentious phonies who say "pasta" instead of paste or "Boca Raton" instead of rat's mouth.

Itchy labels on bungee ankle straps so I itch the whole way down.

When my opera cape gets caught on homeless people's junk.

Waiters who recite the specials in a bored singsong voice as if they don't really care what I eat.

Bad art in motel rooms, especially bad performance art.

When a woman stands near me and people think her ugly baby is mine and it is.

Dentists who cram my mouth full and don't even ask me one question, though I've been practicing all year.

Big, conceited bodies of water, especially Lake Superior.

The depressing attractions at the Svenskfilmindustrie theme park, near Stockholm. (Actually, I may have dreamt this.)

When a can of cheap peas says "Pea Color and Size May Vary" and inside there's just one giant blue pea.

Halloween decorations in a hospice.

Distant calliope music at night tempting me to forget my duties and run off with the circus and to hell with her orgasm!

A "nature burger" with fake grill marks painted on it.

People who know way too much about the Merovingians or cheese.

Prank phone calls like the guy who called me selling light bulbs for the blind. Ha-ha. Very funny. You are sick, mister.

Barbecue restaurants with happy pigs on the sign.

Those foreign guys on the subway who pretend to read newspapers written in gibberish.

People on fire-they're always asking for favors, even if they hardly know you.

The way road signs talk to you in that stern, fatherly voice.

I never seem to meet those cheerful, uncomplicated women you see on tractor-trailer mud flaps.

When a lecturer takes a drink of water and doesn't offer us any.

I've been all over the world and have lived among every kind of culture and I can say, without any hesitation, that the most ignorant, rude, selfish, and self-centered people on earth are babies.

Snow Day!!!

For those of you living in areas where snow in the winter is a constant nuisance, the following excitedly-worded post may not be to your liking. If, however, you live in areas like mine where snow is a wondrous spectacle, a rarely-if-even-once-a-year event, then come join with me in thanking our Unholy Lord of the Underworld for this blessing (no, not Satan, the other one).

I awoke Sunday morning to Robin's voice. "Oh my GOD," he said while leaning off the bed and looking outside. Something about the white glow bathing our room suggested to me that a monumental event had occurred. What could it be? A new billboard sign constructed overnight? A unicorn? A nuclear holocaust? (GASP!!) It must be SNOW!!! I peered over the window ledge to see that my suspicions were confirmed. It wasn't just snowing; it was dumping. I consider myself to be up on the latest weather affecting our lovely state, so you can imagine my surprise when I leaned out to see this unbelievable sight when just the night before, the forecast foretold of 37 degrees and rain. It was nowhere near 37 degrees. I was so dumbfounded that I went to our trusty computer to take a look at what the reports were saying (after the tubes warmed up of course). It was actually 27 degrees and the snow had no plans on letting up.

Robin and I got up and put on our pajamas, excited for the coming day spent at home wrapped in warm blankets with kitty purring loudly in our lap. The weather didn't disappoint. The snow just kept coming until there were 6 inches of fresh powder at our house. 'Round about breakfast time, we were hankerin' for some grub so we saddled up and moseyed on down to tha Albertson's (Sorry, but after beginning that last sentence with "'round about", I couldn't just stop there now could I?). We picked up some ingredients for a delicious white bean chili and home we went. Chris met up with us and we had a delicious breakfast followed later by a delicious white bean chili. All was right with the world.

Everything froze Sunday night, so it was declared Monday that we would have a snow day. Again sitting at home, I watched outside as the flurries continued flurrying most of the morning. The temperature had no intention of continuing this freezing state, so it rose by midday and everything began to melt. This morning I woke up to rain and 34 degrees. Alls I can say is that even though it was short lived, our 2007 snow storm won't soon be forgotten by this humble servant of the Under Lord.

House Hunting = Torture

Robin and I have been actively searching for a home to purchase for over three weeks. It started as a whim, a spark, a look into what kind of financing we could get. With good credit and stable jobs, it turns out we have quite a lot available. We decided on a lender. We were recommended a fantastic real estate agent. We were ready to go in a few short days.

The hunt began as a meeting and eight home tour with our agent. The purpose was to acquaint us with what is available in our price range, what features in a new home we really can't live without and what neighborhood we want to be looking in. The process is overwhelming at first, because I was taking in so much sensory input and trying to remember things like "not to worry, walls can be painted" and "how the hell would we change that" all while processing the overall appeal of the house, where it was, etc.

The weekend before last, we looked at a house on West 18th Place. It was perfect. A bit outside our price range, our agent knew how to work the system being that the house was still going to need some work on the kitchen. She offered a price reduction in lieu of the contractors finishing what they were originally intending to (i.e. sanding the cabinets and changing the counter tops). The agent selling the house agreed, reducing the price by a whopping $25,000. Suddenly, the house was very much in our range. Our realtor called immediately to see if we would go for it. We said yes. This was in the morning around 11am. At 2:30, Robin got a call from our realtor saying that the agent selling the house had pulled a shady deal. He had accepted our offer by phone but never faxed our realtor the disclosure agreement. Without that, we couldn't proceed. In the mean time, he accepted a higher offer from another buyer (we can only assume, but why would he change his mind like that? Higher sale price = more money in his dirty ass shady bitch hell ass pocket). House We Like #1 was no longer an option.

We viewed several more houses this past weekend. Now bolstered by a better idea of what we were looking for, some of the homes were very easy to dismiss. We still took them in as best we could, but our bias was clearly showing. Now that our realtor has a good idea of what we like and don't, she is able to offer her opinion that speaks to our needs. After a string of disappointments, we visited a home on Sally Way. Before I continue, I realize the irony of two gays living on Sally Way. It just sounds gay. It would pretty much be the gayest place we could live besides the popular Rainbow Avenue or Ass Spelunker Court. Be that as it may, the house itself was even more perfect than the previous one. After thinking on it for the evening, we decided we would offer on it the next day.

Our realtor met us at the house for one final look before continuing to her office to sign papers. We had just begun the paper signing process when the agent representing the house called our agent. Turns out, at that moment, there as another buyer offering on the place. So now we had competition. Great. Robin was upset and though I was too, all I could do was laugh. Of course this would happen as we were putting together our offer. On the advice of our realtor, we beefed up our offer to make ours hopefully the more appealing. We did enough to get the seller to make a meeting between the two realtors and hack it out in a bidding war. We were willing to offer the listing price. Turns out so were the other buyers and they had a "substantial down payment", so they won. I don't know why that matters in the scheme of buying a house because we were pre-approved for our loan, but I suppose it just sounds nicer to the seller. House We Like #2 was no longer an option.

I sat last night irritated that the process of purchasing a home is so, forgive my language, FUCKED IN THE GOAT ASS. It goes against everything I have been taught as a good little consumer. Were it any other financial venture, I could walk in with a huge pile of money and say, "Me wantee", the effect of which would be immediate possession of my desired thing. Robin and I are walking around with a ridiculous sum of money, throwing it in people's faces and there's no guarantee that our pile of money will be accepted. Even if it were, there are inspections, closing and so many other factors that could lead to us never getting the house we want.

As irritated as I can be, I take comfort (yes, comfort!) in the fact that this is a really good learning process for me. As someone who has a tendency to get emotionally invested and reactive to stimuli ("I love and want THAT house, NOW"), I know that no matter how emotionally invested I get will guarantee anything other than heartburn and indigestion. And so far, science hasn't invented the super strength Pepto that can quell House Hunting Indigestion. I am uncharacteristically calm today. In most cases, even when I know there is nothing I can do, I'm still hacked off and want something to blame. But in hunting for houses, that attitude will only take me down a spiral of irritation, ending in my eventual insanity. The best we can do is keep looking, keep offering, and someday, someway, our huge pile of money will transform into our first home.

The Doctor Is In

I am the minute-taker for all the library meetings. Usually the hour consists of typing things I only know a little bit about. The librarian jargon is becoming clearer to me as time passes, but when the acronyms start firing away (MOML, ELCL, AALL), I can only zone out and copy what I think I'm hearing. Often times I'm wrong and am quickly corrected.

Today was a lighter meeting than usual; lighter in the sense that we didn't have a lot to discuss. There was only one major talking point that my boss needed to cover. The second talking point was taking a look at Google Books and wondering if that resource should be incorporated into our procedures for helping students find texts online.

Google Books is fantastic. It's a resource for people who want to find scanned texts and documents, varying in completeness depending on copyright issues. If the volume is very old and out of print, your search will turn up a complete scanned text, some from places like the Library of Congress or Harvard University. If the requested item is more recent and particularly if Google hasn't dismembered the copyright institution protecting the book (yet), you'll only get a portion of the text, with large pieces missing. In any case, it's a great time-waster, I mean complete UN time-waster, and is worth a look.

Being in the business of law, my boss asked me to search the full texts for "Law" between 1800 and 1900. We perused the Google-created book covers (very nice work, Google! It doesn't look like a 5th grader with Microsoft Paint did these at all!). On the second or third page was a journal of correspondence between one Dr. Lushington and his court opponent, circa 1843. I didn't really care about the content, for I was stuck thinking about Dr. Lushington.

I imagined a somewhat overweight middle-aged family doctor, probably in his late 40s. He was a staunch man with a mustache and graying hair. He sat slouched in his office chair, hands laid flat on the desk in front of him. One eye was slightly more closed than the other, and he seemed to be pondering the stethoscope hanging around his neck. The nurse walked in and announced that Dr. Lushington's 3 o'clock, Mrs. Pennywell, had arrived. The good doctor snapped to attention, heaved his body upright, and shook his head vigorously.

Walking in a not-so-straight line down the hallway, Dr. Lushington managed several times to steady himself with a quick arm to the closest wall. He meandered into the examination room only to find lots of patients (Mrs. Pennywell was nowhere to be found), and was utterly confused until his brain reminded him that this exam room looked too much like the waiting room to be Mrs. Pennywell's room. He hiccuped twice and went back into the hallway. Across the hall was the exam room with a confused Mrs. Pennywell.

Dr. Lushington proceeded to take off his stethoscope and touch the cold tip to Mrs. Pennywell's blouse. When she shrieked and pushed the good doctor off of her breast, Dr. Lushington tried his best to calm her down, "Mishus Penwel, I'm a profeshnul and I need to take ur breth rate". Mrs. Pennywell was unconvinced that Dr. Lushington's firm grab on her breast with his other hand was an attempt to get anything other than a cheap thrill, so she stormed out of the room.

"I demand to see another doctor!", Mrs. Pennywell yelled to the desk nurse, "This Dr. Lushington must have a partner or something, yes?" The desk nurse sighed and apologized for Dr. Lushington, who was now snoring loudly on the previously Mrs. Pennywell's exam table. "Please follow me," the nurse said to a placated Mrs. Pennywell. At the other end of the hallway, the nurse sat Mrs. Pennywell on the exam table. She turned to leave the room and said brightly, "Dr. McVodkabreath will be here shortly."

2008, The Beginning

The year two-thousand and eight has arrived. Yet again the Earth made it's way around the sun in a predictable, circular fashion. It's still rotating at a rate of 24 hours a day and still wobbles on its axis and is still free of collisions with other large celestial bodies. After nearly 28 years on this rock, I'm getting a little tired of this hackneyed routine. I'm waiting for a day when the Earth is all, "You know what? Fuck this. I'm over this gravitational pull. Time to get my groove back!"

Robin and I went up to Portland the Saturday before the Monday that would be the New Year's Eve. Eight of us (not including Robin) decided we needed to take a ski trip to Mt. Hood Meadows. Phoenix and I got separated from the rest of our group who decided their time was better spent without us so they totally didn't wait for us to get ready and instead got into line for the bus and headed for the slopes leaving us to wait for the next round of buses which wouldn't come until 20 minutes later by which time the rest of the group had disappeared onto the mountain. It was actually a blessing in disguise, because the majority of my "friends" with whom we went wanted to go snowboarding. That wouldn't necessarily be a problem except for the fact that they were still learning to snowboard and I wanted to ski. I have never tried snowboarding but I know the first day involves a continued and bone crushing acquaintance with one's tail bone. My hypothesis (which is now a scientific Law) was that if I was paying $54 to go skiing for 6 hours, not to mention the $25 equipment rental fee, then I was going to tear that bitch up. And by bitch I mean mountain. And by mountain I mean vagina.

To sum up the day in a pithy narrative wouldn't do the unspeakably awesome nature in all it's glory justice. Considering all the factors (conditions, company, equipment, number of people on the mountain), I had the best skiing day of my life. For reals. Phoenix is a Mt. Hood Meadows veteran, so I followed him. Every time he asked where I would like to go next, I just shrugged and said, "I don't care so long as I'm tearing this bitch up." He snowboarded while I skied behind, floating effortlessly upon the cloud of fresh powder, continually refreshed by freshly falling snow. By the time we carved a run betwixt the Douglas Firs and reached the bottom, our tracks would be newly covered, as if nature herself were rewarding us for being so rad.

The New Year's Eve party was off the hook. I hope your New Year's party was also off the hook, but let me just say that ours wasn't even still in the closet. It was off the hook and dancin' under a disco ball, yo. We rented out the Old Market Pub, we had a fantastic DJ, I won the door prize, and I maintained my level of drunkenness as only a professional can do. We had friends from all over raising the roof with us, some from as far as Hawaii and North Carolina. Friends of friends came because they heard of how amazing the party would be. Might I say, we didn't disappoint. Last year, we completely thrashed Scott's house so it was nice to thrash somewhere else and let them clean it up. To the Old Market Pub: you're welcome for us inviting our alcoholic friends who spent so much goddamn money, you're probably still rolling around in it.

We took down our holiday tree yesterday. We gingerly removed the priceless ornaments, wrapped them in the finest newspaper, and lulled them to sleep until the next winter holiday season. I have unpacked and put away all our presents which were plentiful and given by very generous families (in some cases, "given" means "stolen", but you should see our new bed set!). Looking forward from the middle of December 2007, it seemed as though the list of activities would never end, yet now I can't figure out how it's already the 7th of January, 2008. I suppose if I laid off the heroin for awhile my memory would improve, but all who know me know the likelihood of that happening.

In conclusion, I must admit that I'm not really a "resolution" kind of person. However, being one that holds tradition in a higher regard than his own well being, this year I resolve to care more about places such as The Iraq, such as.