Archive for November, 2007

30
Nov

Requiem for a turd

Last night, roughly 2 hours after my post for the ladies, I was on a conference call with my boss and someone else.  The someone else dropped off the call, and it was just me and my boss.  We’re just talking away and collaborating on some stuff when suddenly, a little urge hits me.  I sit for a few seconds and realize “IKEA!!  I think I’m gonna poop finally!”

Then, the sense of joy is replaced by a sense of urgency.  I interrupt my boss and say “Hey, I gotta take care of something real quick.  Do you want to hold or should I call you back?”

He kind of ignored me, forcing me to tell an abbreviated version of the story, which resulted in a newly heightened sense of urgency. 

Finally, he says he’ll hold, and I start doing the perp walk toward the facilities with the sense of urgency increasing with every step I take. 

About 40 feet from the bathroom I have an epiphany that leaves me cold:

If both stalls are full, I have zero options.  I will at that point, without any doubt at all, shit my pants right where I stand.

I enter and thankfully both stalls, including the handicrapper (my favorite) are available.  I enter and have one of those moments where you are thankful you’re not wearing button fly jeans or you’d have shat yourself, and made it on to the seat.

And as I sat and began relieving the pressure, the seat slid about 20% off one side which nearly gave me a heart attack, as my fear of having my penis severed by a broken public toilet seat was about to come true.

But as luck and determination would have it, I managed to stop the sliding motion in time to save my penis and the humiliation of having to clean my waste off the floor, which is what would have happened if I’d slipped off the cruder mid-effort.

It took over 30 minutes to make the cramping stop, and I am happy to say that I now weigh 178 pounds.

I knew you’d be happy for me.

29
Nov

Here’s one for the ladies

First of all, when it comes to eating badly, eating bad stuff, eating marginally okay to eat stuff, eating too much stuff, I’m a ninja.  And a superhero.  And a cowboy.  I am SuperNinjaBoy.  Nothing phases me gastointestinally.  Ever.  I’m like a clock.  (That last word was C-L-O-C-K for all you smartasses out there).

Anyway, women often envy me for the fact that regardless of how much cheese or greasy food or whatever I drink, I never ever have the Pepto Bismol moment.  I drop the kids off at the pool every day after work and in the mornings on the weekends.  My digestive system is good, sturdy and reliable.  Kind of like an owner-friendly 6 year old golden retriever.

And I often mock the ladies.  You people would never make it in the olden times.  Pooping several times a day, but only for seconds at a time.  I don’t understand how you can go from regular to SWEET JESUS I HAVE TO SHIT RIGHT NOW! in just five seconds.  Due to my fear of shitting at work, I’ve often held the urge from 7am until I got home 12 hours later.  It’s about discipline.

 Oh, and you often ask why dudes stay in the john for twenty minutes.  Well, the answer is simple.  We stay in there until we’re done.

So back to my admired crap chute.

This weekend or at least toward the end of last week, a very minor bug went thru the house and everyone was struggling a bit with the need to move their bowels more frequently than normal.  Me included.  Sunday afternoon GBD said “You really should take some immodium.  It works and you’ll feel better.”

Fine.  Then she looks at me and says “You probably oughta take two.”

Fast forward to what is now Thursday, and I haven’t muddied the water in over 96 hours.  I guarantee you that this is the longest I’ve ever gone without shitting in my life.  After my bypass, despite opiate-induced constipation, I still crapped sooner than this.  Quite frankly I think the seat and my read while shitting book of the month “Al Franken – Lies and the Liars that tell them” are missing me.  Even writing this now makes my lower GI region sad.

I sure hope I have to shit when I get home tonight.  Lord knows if I can’t go until tomorrow, the urge will hit will I’m in fucking Jonesboro where it’s 36 degrees and my only option is the dark portajohn outside of the high school stadium.   Blech.  I think I’d sooner shit my pants.

I just thought I’d share.  Thanks for listening.

28
Nov

Is anybody home?

So today I found myself wondering, “Will I, at any time, be able to string together more than 60 minutes of  anything I want to do as long as any of my three children are in the house?”

I’m saddened to say that I believe that will never happen again, or at least not until I’m too old to hold my pee for more than said sixty minutes.

This is my nearly every day now:

Get up at 4:30-5:30am, depending upon when the lad arises for his pre-dawn meal.  Whether or not I’m feeding him makes no difference, as I get up between 5:30 and 6am, so I can’t get back to sleep.

Shower between 5:30 and 6:30am.  Then take the lad to his room or lay him in the middle of the bed between a bunch of pillows so he doesn’t fall of the bed and crack his head.

About the exact time I get downstairs for coffee, medicines and a little Mike and Mike in the Morning on ESPN2HD, either 1doh, 2doh, or both, awaken and join my day.

From that moment, it’s 2doh snuggling, breakfast making, kitchen tidying, dishwasher emptying, etc.

Leave for work around 7am.

Come home at about 5:30pm.  Straighten kitchen, either wash stuff, empty the dishwasher, or clean up the den from the tornado that is 1doh 2doh.

We try to have dinner ready for the kids by 6:30, and then it’s bedtime at 7:30pm.  Somebody puts 2doh to bed, reading too much and singing too much, because the second you close the door she’s out of bed screaming and crying and ends up sleeping behind the door, but until she falls asleep she is playing with the springy doorstop thingy, and you can hear that fucker in the next county every time she hits it:

TWAAAAAAANGNGNGNGNNGNG!!!!

Then it’s 1doh to bed or, if we’re feeling lazy, we sell her on 30 minutes of tv in exchange for no stories.  Nice huh?

Finally, blessed quiet. 

But by the time I get my first fart into the sofa, 3doh is in his “HEY LOOK AT ME!!!” phase, meaning one (or both) of us have to walk him around, snuggle him while walking around, change him, feed him, lather rinse repeat.  Recently I’ve given in and I take him up and rub his head in our bed til he falls asleep around 9:30pm.  Now the lights are off and I can’t wander away, so that’s it. 

Glamorous, no?

27
Nov

Am I going to hell for this?

Probably.  But I don’t care.

Washington Redskins safety Sean Taylor died this morning of a fatal gunshot wound received during a “home invasion.”  I guess I didn’t have to put home invasion in quotes, but if I had referred to it as a burglary or robbery, quotes were definitely required.

Why? 

Because Sean Taylor was a total shitass as a human being and probably got what he deserved.

Here’s a guy who went to the University of Miami, which is widely renowned for producing some of the best thugs to ever play college and professional football.  In addition to numerous run-ins with the law despite having a a town sheriff as a father, in his brief career, Taylor has: 

-          Was alleged to have spit in the face of another player, which was never substantiated.

-          DID spit directly in the face of another human being on national television, which was substantiated. 

-          Walked out of mandatory rookie orientation which teaches new players, among other things, how not to be a fuckhead in their everyday lives.

-          Was busted for DUI

-          Was the only player to refuse to attend mini-camp for the team and refused to answer or even acknowledge numerous phone calls from his head coach.

-          He was involved in an incident where bullets were fired into a vehicle.

-          Was involved in another related incident involving brandishing a weapon and threatening people who Taylor alleged had stolen two ATV’s from him.

 

And this was all before his 25th birthday.

It was also alleged that someone broke into Taylor’s house two weeks ago and left a knife on his bed.

Now fast forward to this weekend.  Taylor, whose team played a game at Tampa, went home to his $900,000 house outside of Miami Sunday night.  The story then goes on to say that, after hearing noises, Taylor retrieved the machete he kept in his room for protection, when the bedroom door burst open, two shots were fired and Taylor was struck in the femoral artery.

Later it was found that the home’s phone lines were cut prior to the “robbery or burglary.”

I ask you, do random assailants cut phone lines prior to entering a home, firing only upon the homeowner, in a home with walls and gates and alarm systems?  Does that sound random to you, especially considering this man’s history?  Doesn’t it sound distinctly possible that the assailants may have been more than tangentially familiar with Taylor, given his record and his past?

The only person I feel marginally sorry for is his one year old daughter, who didn’t ask to be the offspring of a degenerate thug with a history of trouble that included weapons and violence.

20
Nov

Good vs. Bad

Good:  A short week thanks to Thanksgiving.

Bad:  Kids under five years old can’t tell time and don’t give a shit if you want to sleep in or not.

 

Good:  Celebrating your 2nd child’s second birthday.

Bad:  Said child having a “well” visit that same day that includes not one, not two, not three, but FOUR separate shots in the thighs.  Oh, and that’s AFTER she watches her almost five month old brother endure four shots of his own.

 

Good:  Going to said two year old’s school for a Thanksgiving “show.”

Bad:  Your kid being the one that comes in and starts wailing because she can’t sit with you.

 

Good:  Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings at said Show.

Bad:  Being up with the Hershey squirts starting at 4:30 in the morning the next day.

 

Good:  Giving a two year old birthday cake for breakfast when no one else is looking.

Bad:  Having said two year old wait until you turn you back and then filling your wallet with said cake, as well as the entirety of the wallet’s contents.

 

Good:  A short week at work.

Extra Good:  Getting paid for all five days since I’m now an employee.

 

Good:  Football five days in a row this week, starting with Thursday and running thru MNF.

Bad:  NASCAR’s season is over, and I’ve got to spend 100 days knowing that Jimmie Johnson won.  Again.

 

Good:  Coffee before work.

Bad:  Forgetting the coffee is very hot and trying to gulp down your meds with it, scorching everything from the front of your tongue to the top of your stomach.

 




 

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