The Wars of The Rose(bud)s

I drink a lot of water at work, so there are several trips a day to the restroom to take care of the consequences of drinking a lot of water. Rarely, the other urge will arise, and for that, I forsake the restroom on the same floor as my office, as that restroom has a lot of traffic coming in and out. For me, the #2 is a sacred time for personal thought and reflection, and while at home, reading. I have also been known to go into the restroom with a handheld gaming device, as it is mentally difficult to pass the time without being engaged in some sort of activity. It is akin to trying to run a marathon without any music playing in some headphones.

I shudder when I think about why the buttons are sticky.

Be it known that I do not often drop the deuce at work. I consider myself to be very regular and I take pride in the fact that I do it once in the morning and once at night. It is almost like clockwork. However, there are rare times where I will get the call in the middle of the day. Today was one of those days.

Dr. Who just ended. Time to get that out of my system.

As I mentioned before, I avoid the Times Square-like environment of the main floor restroom when I get the brown fever. For heavy projects like these, I seek the quiet solitude of the restroom on the second floor of my building. It is less-harshly lit, less frequented, and as a result, much cleaner than its downstairs counterpart. It is a place where a man can squat and really get some hard thinking done. As the urge hit me today, I looked forward to my appointment with poignant introspection. I settled down on my throne as king of the kingdom of taupe walls, beige tiles, and methane gas.

As I began, my phone began to vibrate. It was a call from my wife. I am not above answering a phone call on the john, so I answered. My wife was wondering if she could come by for a visit, as she was going to be in the area. I of course told her that it was not a good time, as I was otherwise engaged, and she understood. Before our conversation ended, however, the worst possible thing that could happen happened.

I heard the squeak of the door opening, than footsteps. While I am not above talking on the phone while pooping, I do not want strangers eavesdropping on my calls. The conversation with my wife ended with me quietly grunting in assent and whispering "I love you too." I quickly hung up, and placed my ceremonies on hold expecting this guy to quickly make use of the urinal and leave.

I was disappointed, however, when this gentleman walked into the stall next to mine and started making pumpernickel loaves right next to me! My reflection time was horribly violated by this johnny-come-lately. What could I do to salvage my experience that had been compromised by the unfortunate development?

I knew the solution right away. I earlier equated bowel movements to marathon running. If that is the case, than I am the skeletal Nigerian of poopers. I pull of miraculous sessions that can run in excess of an hour given proper preparation (books, magazines, Tetris, etc.). All I needed to do was outlast this joker and the kingdom would be mine again as it was before this usurper decided to come in and mess things up.

Unfortunately, this was not meant to be. I was sitting next to the Magnus Ver Magnusson of poopers. This guy was refusing to budge.

Somehow I related my bowel movements to Strongman Competitions. How does this always happen?

Having been defeated in the my fecal siege, I left the restroom an emotionally broken man. I quietly wiped and quickly washed my hands and left the restroom, taking care to leave before my opponent finished, for I was ashamed to see him face to face. I have lost all confidence in my abilities as a world class turd master. I tender my resignation immediately from the competitive pooping circuit, and I will turn toward violent purging to avoid pooping in the future.

Is This My Subconscious?

My job causes a lot of different emotions in me. At times, my job calls for me to do some hard investigation, which I enjoy. I love peeling back the layers to find solutions to problems that pop up. I also get to work with lots of enjoyable people that are genuinely nice, honest folks. On the downside, I work with some of the most dishonest people to walk the earth. People that would sell their children just to make a buck. Having said that, at times I am elated at work, and other times I wish I was dead. Recently, I had an experience that summed up "one of those days."

As I sat at my desk, I noticed on one of my many notepads a certain word scrawled out (Warning: profanity)

Who wrote this? Why? I thought I was well-liked in the office. I'm not one to use profanity, plus my print is in all caps. I confusedly looked at it for a good minute or two trying to figure out the origin of what I now call "The Mystery Sh*%."

Later on, I had the fortune of tipping the notepad over, and this is what I saw:

Apparently when I write 7:45, when turned upside down it looks like sh*%.

Why?!?!?!

Somebody DECIMATED the men's restroom at my office. It was absolutely unbearable. It smelled like Bigfoot ate a can of spicy chili and began to rip wet meatfarts in a sauna. Atrocious.

A Favorite...

I found this gem of a site. It is absolutely wonderful. Check it out and be prepared to wast hours reading. It's updated daily, too.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Toothpaste For Dinner

Saaaaweeeeeet!!

I haven't written on this thing for a long time. I was reminded of this little blog due to a conversation I had with a few of my valued co-workers. I appreciate the reminder to add some posts, and I hope you check back often, as I have a renewed resolution to post. I'm thinking I'll move away from the long posts and use this as a hub to share with readers (all 1 of me) some of the things that interest/please/anger me. Worry not, you have not read the last of my long rants. Having said that, let's get this going:

I pray every night that I can someday be able to make threats half this beautiful.

New Post!!! Dreams!!!

I guess I should explain why I haven't written anything in awhile. Soon after my last post, I got a phone call from my dear mother, who had only recently read my blog. She didn't like it. She launched into a slew of issues she had with my blog, mainly how if someone read my blog and didn't know me, they would immediately think I was crazy. I don't exactly know how that could by a bad thing, but I suppose I must pursue things in the professional world someday, and I see the logic in her argument. After my discussion with Mom, I realized that this whole event had completely killed any creative thought in my mind. I needed to step away for awhile and figure out how I could do this and please Mom.

Luckily, my answer came in the form of a crazy dream I had last night! I normally don't remember my dreams, but for whatever reason, this one stayed in my head after I woke up so I wrote it down during my morning bathroom ritual. Never had a bowel movement been so satisfying. I present to you my nutty football dream.

I was at an NFL football game. A home game for the Tennessee Titans. Not to strange, so far, until I noticed who the Titans were playing. The Rams. The Los Angeles Rams. Kind of weird. The Rams haven't been in LA since 1994.

You must admit the uniforms were pretty sweet.

My dream quickly informed my who I was cheering for, as I looked down and noticed that I was wearing an L.A. Rams t-shirt. My pa-in-law, sis-in-law, and wife were all at the game with me, but I noticed that they were all wearing Titans gear. I was a lone fan in this massive stadium, the lone fan of a team that technically no longer exists.

After a few plays, the Titans find themselves on their own 2 yard line on 4th down. They decide to punt, but first they took a timeout. During the timeout, my phone vibrated, and I looked to see who was sending me a text. It was from my brother. I can't recall what he was texting me about, but as I responded to his message I wandered a little too close to the backline of the endzone that Tennessee was kicking out of. As I looked down at my phone, I see a flash of yellow out of the corner of my eye and I hear a whistle blow. The ref was calling a penalty. The ref gives me a dirty look, marches out to the middle of the field, turns on his microphone, and says, "A safety will be charged against the Titans..." he then points directly at me and continues, "because this JERK stood in front of me...ON HIS CELL PHONE!!!"

Now I know how Calvin Johnson feels.

I looked up and saw my ugly mug all over the big screens on both sides of the stadium. The boos and jeers were deafening. The ref seemed a bit distracted as he looked up at the press booth and said in an annoyed tone, "DANGIT TRENT DILFER, I'M THE REFEREE AND I CAN CALL WHATEVER I WANT!!" I looked up at the press booth and saw the former quarterback scowl back down at the ref. I don't know how this underachieving QB made it into my dream. All I know is that his presence makes me wonder if it in fact a nightmare I was having.

I wasn't even looking for a Trent Dilfer pic! This was the first

thing that came up when I typed "Clint Howard" in an image search.

This was the only appearance of Mr. Dilfer in my dream, unfortunately. I was hoping for some revelation as to how on earth this man won a Super Bowl.

I made my way to my family thoroughly embarrassed by the events that had occurred. As the booing continued, there was one strain of mocking that stood out from the others. It was a middle-aged woman with blonde hair screaming insults at me.

It's as if someone took a poloroid from inside my brain.

I absorbed the insults like any civilized human being would do, as I was taught that words shall not ever hurt me. However, the crazy lady decided to up the ante a bit and she threw a half empty water bottle at me. The bottle landed harmlessly on the ground a good few feet before it reached me, but that's not the point. People just can't go around throwing half empty plastic vessels at people they don't like. It's what separates us from the animals. I was infuriated that she would actually do something like that. I marched right up to her and put my face really close to hers. I looked her in the eye, then unleashed upon her the filthiest string on expletives that I could muster. It was pretty bad. I can't even begin to hint at the things I said to this woman, as this is a family blog. It made The Jersey Shore sound like Teletubbies with more annoying accents. Needless to say, she didn't appreciate my speculations as to what she did during her private time, so she began to slap at me. Not punches or backhands or anything dramatic like that. They were those little slaps that toddlers hit each other with. This only angered me more, so I did what any other person would do if a Ke$ha look-alike was attacking them and I kicked her in the stomach. That shut her up.

As I walked back to my family I felt a wee touch of guilt in my soul. I was really worried that my father-in-law had heard me say and do those awful things. I was worried that he would disapprove of my actions and as a result, disapprove of my marriage to his daughter. Before I could see his reaction, my wife got into my face and gave me a stern talking to. "HOW COULD YOU DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT!? THAT WAS TERRIBLE!! YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED!!" Truth is, I was a bit ashamed. However, that shame was short lived as my father-in-law came to the rescue. He looked at my wife and said, "You saw what happened. That woman threw a water bottle at him. She deserved it."

The last thing I remember from the dream are the sweet feelings of calm and acceptance.

Do I endorse kicking women in the stomach? Of course not. You can calm down now, Mom.

Things I Have Learned (Recently) Pt. 2.

When I first decided to write about things I've learned about (recently), I didn't really have a set number for what I was going to write about. So here are a few more things I've learned...recently.

3. My Wife Keeps On (and Will Keep On) Surprising Me

Marie is a wonderful woman. When we were dating, I was drawn in by how much of an all around good person she is. She loves musicals, loves to hike, and takes care of infants for a living. Because of this I was shocked one day when I was watching Superbad on FX and she comes in the room, sits down, and starts watching it with me. Remember, this was on FX, so the language in this movie was heavily edited, but I was watching it because there's a lot of other things in the movie that make me laugh. She started watching w me during a certain scene, which I'm not going to describe with my words. I'll let this picture do the talking for me:

I happen find this particular situation in the movie to absolutely hysterical. However, with my pure, innocent wife sitting next to me, I sat in silence, expecting to be reprimanded for watching such off-color things. In no way could I expect what happened next...she was laughing. She actually thought it was funny. I was shocked. She even started asking me questions about the plot of the movie like she was genuinely interested. I felt I had walked into the bizarro-world. To add to my surprise, one of her favorite shows these days are re-runs of Curb Your Enthusiasm, she enjoyed Season 1 of Dexter, she thought Pootie Tang was hilarious, and she LOVED Iron Man 2. I don't know whether to be turned on for liking all of this awesome stuff or to feel guilty for soiling her pristine mind with my filth.

4. The Rapid Decline of Our Youth, Though Depressing, Is Only Good for Me in the Long Run

A little while ago I wrote a post about emo kids. Oh how I hate them. But why should I let hate dominate my life? I figured I should look at things in a more positive light. I figured I should try and find good things in a crappy situations. As I make my way to work everyday, I look at things that are happening all around me. Since it is summertime, I notice a lot of teenagers walking around the streets enjoying their break from school. I also notice that most kids look the same. If they don't dress a certain way, then they dress another way, and so forth. Allow me to illustrate.
If you are a teenager, you probably look like this:
And if you don't look like that, then you probably look like this:
If that isn't your style, you perhaps look like this:
And if none of the above apply, you look like this:

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you your future of America. Sure, these kids look like they come from different backgrounds and situations, but they all have one thing in common: I want to punch each of them in face. I realize that it looks pretty bleak, but there is nothing to fear! Whenever I see these morons, it fills me with a sense of comfort and optimism! Why? Because the wasted potential of these retards will only make my boringly average self look like a genius! So keep doing what you're doing, teenagers. Your self-handicaps will only benefit me in the end. Justice does exist in the universe.

I think I should end this now on a positive note. I always feel pretty good about life after I think about how sad kids are these days. If you read this, you might want to check back on Friday, as I am going to have some pretty big news for you all to see. Stay tuned.