Seinfeld on Halloween

Quick weekend recap… Not a real exciting weekend. This was the first Saturday that I have been home and haven’t had to work or a Bama game to go to in quite awhile. I took full advantage by lazing (Is that a word? Well, it is now. I’m submitting it to Merriam-Webster.) around most of the day. I did buy a new CD Saturday night. And wow, looking at the amazon.com price, I got screwed at FYE… FYI. Ended up hanging out with friends Saturday night. A late night Halloween trip to LaGrange was debated for an hour or more, before being decided against. (I was all for it.) Got home at about 3:45 AM. But that was daylight savings time, so in reality, it was only 2:45 :-)

EDIT: My phone just rang. Someone named Desiree showed up on the caller ID. I don’t know her, but she sounds quite fetching. At last, 555-BUTT is paying off!

Hope you all have a spooktacular Halloween!!

As is tradition, here is the Seinfeld bit on Halloween, from I’m Telling You For The Last Time. Wonder if it’s illegal to post this? Hmm. Probably. Oh well, fits in with the rest of my life:

“So the first time you hear the concept of Halloween, when you’re a kid, it’s like your brain can’t even… What is this?! Who’s giving out candy? Someone’s giving out candy? Who is giving out this candy…. Everyone that we know is just giving out candy?!!!! I gotta be a part of this. Take me with you. I wanna do it. I’ll do anything that they want…. I can wear that! I’ll wear anything that I have to wear. I’ll do anything I have to do. I will get the candy from these fools that are so stupidly giving it away.

So the first couple of years I made my own costume. They of course, sucked. Ghost. Hobo. No good. So I’m begging the parents, you gotta get me one of the ones from the store. The cardboard box, the cellophane top. So one year, third year, finally got a Superman costume… not surprisingly. Mask included in the set! Remember the rubber band on the back of that mask? That was a quality item there, wasn’t it? That was good for about 10 seconds, before it snapped out of that cheap little staple they put it in there with. The thinnest grey rubber in the world. You go to your first house, trick or snap. It broke. I don’t believe it.

So I had my Superman Halloween costume. I was physically ready. I was mentally prepared. And I assumed, that when I put this costume on, I would probably look exactly like the Superman I had come to know on television and in the movies. Now you remember these costumes, it’s not exactly the super fit That you are hoping for! You look more like you’re wearing Superman’s pajamas, is what you look like. It’s all loose, and flowing. Neck line kinda comes down to about there. And you got that flimsy little ribbon string holding it together in the back. And of course my mother makes me wear my winter coat over the costume anyway… I don’t recall Superman ever wearing a jacket.

So you’re going out there, you know, and the mask keeps breaking. So the rubber band keeps getting shorter, and keeps making it tighter and tighter on your face. You can’t even see. You’re trying to breathe through that, remember that little hole? It gets all sweaty in there, and the mask starts slicing into your eyeballs. I can’t see, I can’t breathe. But you gotta get the candy. Let’s keep going. About a half-hour into it, you take the mask off. Bing bong! Yeah, it’s me. Gimme the candy. I’m Superman. Look at the pant legs. What’s the difference.

Remember those last few Halloweens? Getting a little too old for it. Just kind of going thru the motions. Bing Bong! Come on, lady. Let’s go. Halloween, doorbells, candy. Let’s pick up the pace here. They come to the door, they always ask you those same stupid questions. What are you supposed to be? I’m supposed to be done by now. You wanna move it along with the Three Musketeers. I got eighteen houses on this block alone. You just hit the bag, we hit the road. That’s the routine.

Sometimes they gave you that little white bag, twisted on the top. You know that’s gonna be some crap candy. It’s gotta have those official Halloween markings on it. Hold it lady, wait a second, what is this? The orange marshmallow shaped like a big peanut? Do me a favor, you keep that one. Yeah, we got all the door-stops we need already. Thank you very much. We’re going for name candy only this year.”

“I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul. I believe that family is worth more than money or gold. I believe the struggle for financial freedom is unfair. I believe the only ones who disagree are millionaires…”

Seinfeld on Halloween

Quick weekend recap… Not a real exciting weekend. This was the first Saturday that I have been home and haven’t had to work or a Bama game to go to in quite awhile. I took full advantage by lazing (Is that a word? Well, it is now. I’m submitting it to Merriam-Webster.) around most of the day. I did buy a new CD Saturday night. And wow, looking at the amazon.com price, I got screwed at FYE… FYI. Ended up hanging out with friends Saturday night. A late night Halloween trip to LaGrange was debated for an hour or more, before being decided against. (I was all for it.) Got home at about 3:45 AM. But that was daylight savings time, so in reality, it was only 2:45 :-)

EDIT: My phone just rang. Someone named Desiree showed up on the caller ID. I don’t know her, but she sounds quite fetching. At last, 555-BUTT is paying off!

Hope you all have a spooktacular Halloween!!

As is tradition, here is the Seinfeld bit on Halloween, from I’m Telling You For The Last Time. Wonder if it’s illegal to post this? Hmm. Probably. Oh well, fits in with the rest of my life:

“So the first time you hear the concept of Halloween, when you’re a kid, it’s like your brain can’t even… What is this?! Who’s giving out candy? Someone’s giving out candy? Who is giving out this candy…. Everyone that we know is just giving out candy?!!!! I gotta be a part of this. Take me with you. I wanna do it. I’ll do anything that they want…. I can wear that! I’ll wear anything that I have to wear. I’ll do anything I have to do. I will get the candy from these fools that are so stupidly giving it away.

So the first couple of years I made my own costume. They of course, sucked. Ghost. Hobo. No good. So I’m begging the parents, you gotta get me one of the ones from the store. The cardboard box, the cellophane top. So one year, third year, finally got a Superman costume… not surprisingly. Mask included in the set! Remember the rubber band on the back of that mask? That was a quality item there, wasn’t it? That was good for about 10 seconds, before it snapped out of that cheap little staple they put it in there with. The thinnest grey rubber in the world. You go to your first house, trick or snap. It broke. I don’t believe it.

So I had my Superman Halloween costume. I was physically ready. I was mentally prepared. And I assumed, that when I put this costume on, I would probably look exactly like the Superman I had come to know on television and in the movies. Now you remember these costumes, it’s not exactly the super fit That you are hoping for! You look more like you’re wearing Superman’s pajamas, is what you look like. It’s all loose, and flowing. Neck line kinda comes down to about there. And you got that flimsy little ribbon string holding it together in the back. And of course my mother makes me wear my winter coat over the costume anyway… I don’t recall Superman ever wearing a jacket.

So you’re going out there, you know, and the mask keeps breaking. So the rubber band keeps getting shorter, and keeps making it tighter and tighter on your face. You can’t even see. You’re trying to breathe through that, remember that little hole? It gets all sweaty in there, and the mask starts slicing into your eyeballs. I can’t see, I can’t breathe. But you gotta get the candy. Let’s keep going. About a half-hour into it, you take the mask off. Bing bong! Yeah, it’s me. Gimme the candy. I’m Superman. Look at the pant legs. What’s the difference.

Remember those last few Halloweens? Getting a little too old for it. Just kind of going thru the motions. Bing Bong! Come on, lady. Let’s go. Halloween, doorbells, candy. Let’s pick up the pace here. They come to the door, they always ask you those same stupid questions. What are you supposed to be? I’m supposed to be done by now. You wanna move it along with the Three Musketeers. I got eighteen houses on this block alone. You just hit the bag, we hit the road. That’s the routine.

Sometimes they gave you that little white bag, twisted on the top. You know that’s gonna be some crap candy. It’s gotta have those official Halloween markings on it. Hold it lady, wait a second, what is this? The orange marshmallow shaped like a big peanut? Do me a favor, you keep that one. Yeah, we got all the door-stops we need already. Thank you very much. We’re going for name candy only this year.”

“I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul. I believe that family is worth more than money or gold. I believe the struggle for financial freedom is unfair. I believe the only ones who disagree are millionaires…”

Vehicle #7, Massage #3

Sometimes I try to make the letters in the comment verification thing stand for something. Like the other day, I had to type in WWZLG. My translation: When Will Ziggy Look Gay? It’s a fun game. Or, just a game. Or, just something odd that I do.

I got another massage yesterday. That’s number three, if you’re scoring at home. This one was more painful than the other two. I apparently had a knot in my back, and she basically had to push her elbow all the way thru my abdominal cavity to get it. I’m actually a tad sore today. As I was discussing this with a friend, the following exchange took place:

“Was it a deep tissue massage?”
“No, just the one hour full body Swedish massage. Or as they now refer to it, The Bone :-)

OK, so they don’t. Yet. But it made for humorous conversation. It also led me to think, what else could/would “The Bone” refer to? Hmm. I’ll have to think about that one.

That reminds me of a story. Last year, after a video shoot, we went to dinner at Logan’s. Dinner was on the company, so we were all ordering our steaks, burgers, grilled chicken, and what have you. Our crew included this rather corpulent fellow, and when it got around to his turn to order, he chose the 20 oz. porterhouse, the largest and most expensive item on the entire menu. His last name was (not really) Beasley. So everytime we go there now, we joke that we’ll have The Beasley.

Speaking of corpulent… (Boy, the segues are flowing like milk and honey in the promised land today.) I get to work this morning and the temperature outside is 33 degrees. But does Big Sweaty have the heat on? No. Apparently, this is his kind of weather. That has led me to the conclusion that he is like a bear. I mean, he’s about as large as some bears. He smells like what I would imagine a bear to smell like. Now if he’ll just hurry up and hibernate, it shall be a joyful winter for those of us not blessed with multiple chins.

And lastly today, I have made the decision to trade in my truck for the car I’ve been “test-driving” for the past two weeks. The #1 deciding factor? The car has a CD player and cassette player, so I can listen to my Milli Vanilli cassette and sing along with Rob and Fab, unashamed and unfettered. Now, decisions don’t come easy to me, especially rather insignificant ones. For example, a few weeks ago, after I’d lost my sunglasses, I went to buy a new pair. Anyhow, I spent at least thirty minutes looking at and trying on sunglasses. Finally, I was unable to decide between two pair (is it pair or pairs?), so I bought them both. I really need someone to go with me to help make these decisions. Like what to wear. I would love to have a woman to just ask, “Honey, which of these shirts should I wear today?” I have no problem with a woman telling me what to wear. I look forward to it, actually. Saves me thought and effort. How did I get off on this? OK, back to the original topic. I drove my truck for the last time yesterday. I plan to do a blog entry about it, sort of like I did with my old apartment. A lot has been changing in my life recently. New home. New vehicle. New hobby (getting massages). All I need to complete the cycle is a new job. And a new girlfriend. Or a girlfriend.

Hope you all have a great weekend and a spook-tacular Halloween! (Sure, it’s beyond corny, but how many times a year do you get to say “spook-tacular?”)

“I guess it’s been a good year for roses and aggressions, for flowers and freeways. And I guess I’ll put a smile on, get a new girlfriend. Yeah, put a new hat on…”

Maybe it’s Chelsea Clinton

Still upset that I missed/didn’t know about Rachel Ray on Letterman last night. Don’t know when I’ll recover. Kyle just sent me a text message that says “happy hump day.” That helps. Somehow :-S

As most of you know, I recently moved. In doing so, I decided to keep a landline (for now), and my number changed. As I mentioned in an earlier post, my new number is 555-BUTT. That’s all well and good. Easy to remember, etc. Within a day or two of my new number being connected, I began to receive telemarketing calls. I then went online to sign up for the National Do Not Call list. This had worked quite well at my old place. However, it’s been about a month since I signed up here and I’m still getting calls. If I see “private”, “unavailable”, or a toll free number on the Caller ID, I just don’t answer. But anyway, that’s really not what this story is about.

Since I’ve been here, I’ve also gotten calls and messages from people who seem to be looking for a particular person. I’ve probably gotten three or four messages for some girl named Chelsea. The first I remember asked if she needed them to come by and pick her up for church. The most recent was last night. Now keep in mind, my answering machine message is me singing the following:

“Believe it or not, Bone isn’t at home.
Please leave a message at the beep.
I must be out, or I’d pick up the phone.
Oh, where could I be?
Believe it or not, I’m not hoooooome.”

So one would think when someone called and got this message, they would realize fairly quickly something had changed, and this probably wasn’t who they were trying to reach. But no, last night some lady says, “Oh, I just love your message. This is (unintelligible) from (insert church name here). I’m just calling to let Chelsea know we’ve been missing her on Wednesday nights. And I wanted to let her know our service begins tomorrow night at 7:45.” I just want to pick up the phone and go, “Yes, this is Chelsea’s Dad. She is not allowed to associate with you snake-charming, tongue-speaking fanatics anymore, lest you brainwash her. Don’t ever call here again! Goodbye!” :-)

Then, there’s this guy with an accent who calls. He’s called two or three times and he is nearly yelling every time. His message is something like, (in a middle-Eastern accent) “Mister (can’t tell what he says), this is (whomever). Really need to speak with you. It is very urgent matter! Very important that you return my call!” I wonder if whoever had the number before me was a terrorist.

And remember, each time they call, they’re getting the singing phone message with my name in it. And besides that, I thought the phone company didn’t reassign the same number for like six months after it had been cancelled. I used to work for the phone company, so I almost know they don’t. So how does this happen?

Oh, that also reminds me, a few years ago, I got two or three long messages at my old place from what sounded like a little kid. I would guess he was probably 10-12 years old. And again, I had the singing phone machine message even then. But he would go on and on in these long, drawn out messages, alternating between sadness and angry screaming. It would be like, “Pick up the phone, Joey. I know you’re there. (screaming) Why won’t you talk to me?!?!? Are you mad at me, Joey? Did I make you mad? Pick up the phone!!! I know you can hear me. (almost crying now) Call me, Joey.” Geez, it was like one of my ex-girlfriends was calling again. It was hilarious, but sad at the same time.

Anyway, when I was assigned 555-BUTT, I didn’t complain. I didn’t try to get it changed. No, I embraced the BUTT. I cherished it. And I was fully prepared for booty calls, phone sex solicitors, proctology questions, and the like. But picking up Chelsea for church on Wednesday night? Business calls from Najib Abdul Musabi? Oy vey!

555-BUTT isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

“Daylight licked me into shape. I must have been asleep for days. And moving lips to breathe her name, I opened up my eyes…”

Maybe it’s Chelsea Clinton

Still upset that I missed/didn’t know about Rachel Ray on Letterman last night. Don’t know when I’ll recover. Kyle just sent me a text message that says “happy hump day.” That helps. Somehow :-S

As most of you know, I recently moved. In doing so, I decided to keep a landline (for now), and my number changed. As I mentioned in an earlier post, my new number is 555-BUTT. That’s all well and good. Easy to remember, etc. Within a day or two of my new number being connected, I began to receive telemarketing calls. I then went online to sign up for the National Do Not Call list. This had worked quite well at my old place. However, it’s been about a month since I signed up here and I’m still getting calls. If I see “private”, “unavailable”, or a toll free number on the Caller ID, I just don’t answer. But anyway, that’s really not what this story is about.

Since I’ve been here, I’ve also gotten calls and messages from people who seem to be looking for a particular person. I’ve probably gotten three or four messages for some girl named Chelsea. The first I remember asked if she needed them to come by and pick her up for church. The most recent was last night. Now keep in mind, my answering machine message is me singing the following:

“Believe it or not, Bone isn’t at home.
Please leave a message at the beep.
I must be out, or I’d pick up the phone.
Oh, where could I be?
Believe it or not, I’m not hoooooome.”

So one would think when someone called and got this message, they would realize fairly quickly something had changed, and this probably wasn’t who they were trying to reach. But no, last night some lady says, “Oh, I just love your message. This is (unintelligible) from (insert church name here). I’m just calling to let Chelsea know we’ve been missing her on Wednesday nights. And I wanted to let her know our service begins tomorrow night at 7:45.” I just want to pick up the phone and go, “Yes, this is Chelsea’s Dad. She is not allowed to associate with you snake-charming, tongue-speaking fanatics anymore, lest you brainwash her. Don’t ever call here again! Goodbye!” :-)

Then, there’s this guy with an accent who calls. He’s called two or three times and he is nearly yelling every time. His message is something like, (in a middle-Eastern accent) “Mister (can’t tell what he says), this is (whomever). Really need to speak with you. It is very urgent matter! Very important that you return my call!” I wonder if whoever had the number before me was a terrorist.

And remember, each time they call, they’re getting the singing phone message with my name in it. And besides that, I thought the phone company didn’t reassign the same number for like six months after it had been cancelled. I used to work for the phone company, so I almost know they don’t. So how does this happen?

Oh, that also reminds me, a few years ago, I got two or three long messages at my old place from what sounded like a little kid. I would guess he was probably 10-12 years old. And again, I had the singing phone machine message even then. But he would go on and on in these long, drawn out messages, alternating between sadness and angry screaming. It would be like, “Pick up the phone, Joey. I know you’re there. (screaming) Why won’t you talk to me?!?!? Are you mad at me, Joey? Did I make you mad? Pick up the phone!!! I know you can hear me. (almost crying now) Call me, Joey.” Geez, it was like one of my ex-girlfriends was calling again. It was hilarious, but sad at the same time.

Anyway, when I was assigned 555-BUTT, I didn’t complain. I didn’t try to get it changed. No, I embraced the BUTT. I cherished it. And I was fully prepared for booty calls, phone sex solicitors, proctology questions, and the like. But picking up Chelsea for church on Wednesday night? Business calls from Najib Abdul Musabi? Oy vey!

555-BUTT isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

“Daylight licked me into shape. I must have been asleep for days. And moving lips to breathe her name, I opened up my eyes…”

The Urinal Test

Trying to churn out a blog entry before my Unisom kicks in…

After reading my Urinalysis post, J-Mo suggested I post a link to this. I remember seeing this, or something simliar to it, several years ago. I think it goes well with my entry.

Click here to take the Urinal Test.

See? It’s not just me. And while I don’t agree with all their rules, I love the logic on #5. And ladies, you are encouraged to take the test, as well. Don’t worry, it’s phallus free.

“So lately, been wondering, who will be there to take my place? When I’m gone, you’ll need love, to light the shadows on your face…”

7-0!!!

Congratulations to Lass for completing her marathon this weekend. I did my part by sponsoring her for mile #4 :-) And that was integral, I’m sure…

The Agony of Victory?
So, yeah, Bama is 7-0! Saturday’s game was nerve-wracking as we squeaked out a 6-3 win over Tennessee, one of our biggest rivals. We made a field goal with 13 seconds left to win. It was maybe the most exciting ending of any game I’ve been to. However, I’ve decided that watching a Bama game, for me, is three hours of anxiety, worry, stress, and sometimes depression, and about ten minutes of jubilation. Aren’t these things supposed to be fun?

Here’s a pic I took of some random fans before the game:

Looks like a fun group :-)

For those who don’t know, Tennessee’s coach is a rather um, portly, individual, who seems to just get larger and larger every year. So that was a reference to him.

Restaurant Reviews
I’ve actually eaten at two new establishments in the area in the past few days. Last Thursday, we had dinner at the new JW Steakhouse at Priceville. Mine was good. I just had a cheeseburger. Others had mixed results. It’s a bit pricier than the Moulton Steakhouse and Oh Bryan’s, as well. Grade: C-

Then tonight, we went to the new Pizza Inn at Somerville. It was delicious. Decatur used to have a Pizza Inn years ago. That’s the first one I’ve been to in a long time. Ran into Lil Bootay’s brother there. The only thing was, they have a couple of TV’s, so I asked the waitress if I could change the channel. She said OK. It was on Fox, and I wanted to turn to ABC for Monday Night Football. So I pushed the channel button and it wouldn’t change. She said, “I think we only have one channel.” What the crap? It was Fox. It’s not like they were piping in some kind of pizza propaganda. That, I could understand. Grade: A-

Ya Deerty Bone
Discussed Halloween costumes today. Still want to go as Nelly. I think I could pull it off. Gold tooth, band-aid, earrings, bandana, wife-beater, silver chain, etc. However, it would be really sad to dress up and no one know what you were supposed to be. Anyone wanna go as Kelly Rowland? “Bone I… love you… Bone I… need you…” ;-)

Random thoughts
Walking thru the Wal-Mart toy department today, I realized that I think I would still play with toys if it were socially acceptable.

It was cold here today. Temps in the 30’s last night. We went from short sleeve weather to winter coat weather basically overnight. We skipped right over long sleeve stage.

Cold weather means hot chocolate. And I love hot chocolate. I’ve yet to have my first cup this year though.

Still test-driving the car. Longest test-drive in history. Can I common-law take over ownership of this car if I just drive it long enough? I Carfax’d it today. It’s been in one accident. The mileage doesn’t seem to have been tampered with.

It’s my tradition to rent a couple of scary movies around Halloween. I usually end up watching them by myself in the dark.

My favorite scary movie, I think, is the original Psycho.

Saturday I ate a slice of cheese pizza before the game, a hot dog at the game, and a greasy barbecue sandwich on the way home. Healthy!

“I’d love you even if you were bald.” Someone said those words to me recently when I was talking about getting a few gray hairs. Kinda sweet, doncha think?

When the skies outside are dark and dreary and cloudy and gray, yet your world still seems brighter than the sun… that’s an amazing thing.

“I said what about Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She said I think I remember the film, and as I recall I think we both kind of liked it. And I said, well that’s the one thing we’ve got…”

Episode Seven

After a one-week hiatus, the J&K Show is back. Episode Seven is online now for your listening enjoyment.

(Click here to listen.)

As always, your comments and feedback are appreciated.

“I didn’t go to boarding schools. Preppy girls never looked at me. Why should they? I ain’t nobody. Got nothing in my pocket. Beverly Hills, that’s where I want to be…”

Urinalysis: Male Restroom Etiquette

Picture the following… You find yourself at the airport, with an impending renal requirement. After walking past several gates, you finally see the restrooms. The urinator’s oasis. You rush inside. Fortunately, it’s not crowded. There are maybe 15 wall stalls, and only a couple are taken. You position yourself at the second stall from the left, four urinals down from your nearest fellow leaker, unzip, and let it go. Ahhhh. Suddenly, without warning, midway through your discharge, your personal space is invaded. Without any thought for common sense and everything that is good and homophobic, someone sets up camp at the far left urinal, right next to you. What the freak?!

This situation happened to me recently. Twice! I had to fight my natural instinct to yell out “What the crap?!” to the offending parties. As a friend of mine said to me when I relayed this story to him, “You can’t pee with someone right next to you!” Indeed! Of course, it’s much too painful to try and cut off the flow and move, but it was all I could do not to switch stalls in midstream. These events have prompted me to compose this entry.

The rules
There are unspoken rules of men’s room etiquette. I don’t know how we know them, we just do. Well, most of us anyway. Some are common sense. Some, otherwise. I will now attempt to acquaint you with some of the more important rules and procedures for the very natural process of urinating in a public forum.

Rule #1. Always, ALWAYS leave a buffer zone of at least one urinal between you and the nearest peer. Always. Simple enough? Apparently not for the dysfunctional pee people I encountered. I will allow some leeway on this rule if and only if there is some sort of partition between urinals. But even then, skip a space if at all possible.

Rule #2. If it is impossible to skip at least one urinal, then check for an open stall. Yes, that’s right the good old traditional sit-down toilet. Most of these are fully-enclosed, except for perhaps a foot or two of space at the bottom. If no stall is available, then I recommend leaving and coming back at a later time. Although waiting is acceptable, as long as you wait over by the sink. Don’t wait directly behind someone who is doing his business. I mean, really, most of us have been in prison at one time or another, and it’s just a little uncomfortable, that’s all.

Rule #3. Once you’re at your station, employ the three ‘S’ method of public urination (snuggle, straight, silent). Get in close, look straight ahead, and don’t speak. No one likes a loosey-goosey-necked urinator. Don’t look around. No one likes a long-distance bomber either. Get as close as possible to the porcelain without touching it. And don’t make small talk. It’s not a social event. It’s a bodily function. Besides, you should be more worried about what you would do if someone were to steal your wallet right at this very moment. Because really, this would be the opportune time, don’t you think? (That’s what I always think about when I am peeing anyway.)

Addendum A. (The Stall Clause). If you’re using the toilet… defacating… and you get done. Wait until the restroom is completely clear before exiting and washing up. You’ve just done that, and we don’t want to put a face with the odor, Stinky. Really.

I guess that will do for now.

Examples
Next, let’s look at a couple of examples. These are situations that you might very well encounter, and how best to handle them.

Situation 1: There are five urinals and three stalls. Urinals #2 and #5 are occupado. What do you do?

Answer: Since it would be impossible to skip a urinal on each side, check the stalls. If you can’t find an open stall, you can pretend to wash your hands until a urinal comes open, or just leave and come back in a little while. If urinals 1 and 5 would have been occupied, you could have safely and properly used urinal 3.

Also, as a side note here, let me say: Beware of the stinky stall surprise. For some reason, people either don’t like to flush public toilets, or don’t know how. If you encounter this unpleasant stink bomb, exit the stall immediately and find another appropriate location.

Situation 2: There are three urinals. The far left one is occupied. The other two are open.

Answer: This one is easy. Use the far right urinal. For added protection, you might also employ a 30 degree turn, what I like to call the ‘privacy turn’, away from the other urinals. This works especially well on an end urinal.

Reader questions
Now for some reader questions. Or questions that I made up and attributed to readers. Whichever.

One readers asks: “Bone, what if I enter an empty restroom? Is there a best choice of urinals?”

I’m glad you asked. Really, you’re only going to be in there for a short time, hopefully, unless you have some sort of problem. So it doesn’t matter so much. Still, to be safe, choose an end urinal. Then, if someone were to violate the one-urinal buffer zone rule, you could still do the 30 degree turn and get a measure of privacy. Also, sometimes the sinks are next to the urinals. If this is the case, choose a urinal away from the sink.

Another reader wants to know, “What about the restrooms that have large tub-like basins to pee into, Bone? What’s proper etiquette there?”

Well, I know exactly what you’re talking about. And this is pretty much a judgment call. First, I would try to find an unoccupied basin. If there are none, look for a stall. Still no luck? It might be possible to urinate in the same basin as somone else. It really all depends on the basin size. If there’s any chance your ‘streams’ could cross, then you definitely want to avoid that. How awkward would that be. I mean, if you’re gonna do that, you might as well hold hands. Even if no one is there, always position yourself near one end of the basin. Similarly with the restrooms that just have streams of water running down the wall into a drain (I hate those), it’s a judgment call. A good rule of thumb always is to allow as much distance as possible.

Summary
I hope we can all see from these points that I’ve tried to make that when a man enters a public restroom, the choice of stalls is not some haphazard, random, close-your-eyes-and-hope-for-the-best-result process. That’s OK in the bedroom. But not here. This is much more important.

The renality of it is this: It’s a logical process. And it’s really not that difficult. With apologies to Janet Jackson, we all live in a urine nation. So let’s make the best of it. You can’t just go anywhere. However, if you just apply yourself and follow these simple guidelines, you too can engage in proper public urination. And that means a better, safer, more pees-ful world for all of us.

And be looking for my future diatribes, including:
Outdoor urination: When, where, and which bushes are prickly?
High and low urinals: The long and short of it
Proper flushing technique: The kick flush (You can always burn your shoes later)
Proper handwashing: The paper towel first technique
Hand blowers: Your patience is rewarded

Hope you all have a wonderful weekend! Big game this week. Come on, Bama.

“I came along. I wrote a song for you, and all the things you do. And it was called yellow…”

Stops you in your tracks…

She called last night. I was gone. She left a message. She was at her parents’. I called her back when I got home.

Said she had a feeling something wasn’t OK with me. May have had a dream or something. We talked for about an hour and a half. Until her phone died around midnight.

She’s not dating anyone. I felt relieved. Why?

Turns out she knows my masseuse. They used to work together in the mall years ago. I knew she looked familiar.

I told her about the blog. Who knows if she’ll ever visit. Not a big internet person. I actually read her a couple of the entries about her. Said she was going to cry.

It had been over a year since we’d talked. It was good to catch up. Always is. I’m glad and thankful we’re still friends.

Neither of us can believe it’s been six years. Nor do either of us know where that time has gone. Anyhow, that’s all in the past. We’re both different people now. I tell myself. Makes things easier.

She’s been burned. It would take something amazing to cause her to ever open her heart again…

“I don’t know how I’ll get her off my mind, but give me time, and I’ll think of something. I can’t say today that I’m alright, but by tonight, I’ll think of something…”