Sunday, December 15, 2013

Proper Ways of Toileting and other things you should have learned in Kindergarten

-- Trying an iPad post again: this May prove frustrating. Especially since it capitalized the word May and this one- hand typing is shitsville. We'll see what happens.

-- I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned here that Rachel and I have a night job too - we do janitorial work, cleaning an office building here in town. Long story, but it's a gig we've always done. I think I've mentioned it before but whatever. Anyway, I was thinking tonight, as I cleaned the bathrooms like I've done thousands of times before, that men are pretty much pigs. The women's washroom? Someone might have a particularly large poop that may inadvertently leave skid marks in the toilet, and there is someone who, from time to time, seems to pee with a little too much gusto and gets some urine under the seat, but otherwise, all you really gotta do there is clean the mirrors and sink. Easy peasy as the Brits say with their bad teeth full of canned peas. But the men? It's a whole other ball game.  Sure, it's not like a hole in the floor shitter in China or anything, and while they obviously obsessively wash their hands, as evidenced by the amount of paper towel each night that's used, they nevertheless aren't as careful about ass cleanliness. Night after night after night, I go into that shitter, and 8 times out of 10, the three toilet stalls have toilet seats that need to be cleaned because there is like... How do I say this politely... shit residue on the backs. Like, I'm sure the top of their ass cracks are full of smeared poop and it thusly gets on the toilet seat. And so gross. However, whatever, we all have our crosses to bear, and I fully realize that we fellas might have larger asses and hairier asses, and all sorts of things that just may make toileting at work a smidge more difficult. I know firsthand the embarrassment of pooping in public with someone you know next to you, and the panic of having to wrestle handfuls of one-ply out of the dispenser, and having to keep wiping until it becomes a two flusher and then worrying Johnboy next to you is going to secretly tell everyone about your endless, messy shit. I get it. But fellas, the least you can do is wipe the fucking seat after you pull up your pants. Really. Don't tell me you don't glance at your business when you turn around to flush - everyone does the poop check. You gotta see your poop on the seat. Clean it the fuck up. This one stall also is home to the booger wall, but I'll save THAT story for another day. Man, at my work, we have private staff bathrooms, but I'll often just use the public because the private are stressful. There's always someone waiting, so you gotta poop fast so they don't know you are pooping, and since people seem to poop all the live long day, it always smells and people always think it's you. There's not a lot of poop on the seat incidents there, but enough. And one day I sat down without looking and lil JT was brushing up against this long pube stuck to the side of the bowl. I quickly did a mental panic, trying to figure out who has brown hair, and then called Rachel and said if I end up with crabs, it's from the toilet seat. So, lesson of the day: leave the shitter as you found it.

-- Just read that Lamar and that Khardashian are splitting up. Shocker. Also see that Clooney is single again. Ladies, for the love of God, if he still can't stay with anyone, something is fucking wrong with him. He's either gay or an addict or mean or likes to give coffee enemas or he's crazy or something, but really: if you have 1/2 the female population jumping at you and nobody works? Maybe it's you. Just sayin'.

-- sorry for the short post again, but I'm at 5% charge so I'm just gonna read now. Y'all have a happy Sunday, y'hear?

Friday, December 13, 2013

A Quickie

Gooooood Morning Vietnam!!!!!!! How the hell are all y'all anyway?!  Funny seeing you here!!  So, what's up, homies?  Anything new and exciting happening in your worlds?  Nothing really exciting to report here, but I'll try to think of something.

--  I had the weirdest dream last night.  I'm not making any of this up either.  Yesterday in the staff room, we were talking about all the unrest in the Ukraine, or, as I refer to it, "the old country."  All my young life, we'd go visit my Dad's family, the Ukrainian side, and there would always be talk of so and so in the old country, so now, I've adopted the term.  Anyway, we were talking about the old country and the protests there, and how maybe one day it will be stylish to belong to my people. Then, later on in the day, I was reading some CBC article on how the Alberta floods this summer were predicted by geologists or something. ANYWAY, I also got my blood pressure checked last night at the drug store and while I was sitting there trying to relax I noticed that they had some green Roughrider gear still on the shelf. So, I go to bed last night, and I dream that there is some huge uprising in Saskatchewan about the government and everyone flocks to Regina to protest.  It's spring or summer and a nice day out, and I have a bitch of a time getting parking.  I finally find a spot and have to plug the meter at "a remote meter location" which was a meter behind a row of chairs on the sidewalk.  The person in the chair in front of my meter was this woman I sort of know, a friend of a friend, and she's really shy and wears these hideous glasses - they look like those glasses you used to get at Mac's Convenience Store back in 1986, when you won something with each Mac's Froster (slurpee) you bought.  They gave out these ugly Mac's Froster plastic shades, and this woman wears glasses that look just like those.  I always crave corn nuts and a slurpee when I see her. Anyway, I non-chalantly plug my meter behind her and then I move on to the events happening.  Everyone is wearing Roughrider green and there is this flood coursing down a street, full of brown water and broken trees.  Then I move to the main stage and they start blaring Culture Club's "I'll Tumble 4 Ya" and everyone gets up and starts dancing, doing these tumble motions with their arms and then the John Travolta disco move with their arms.  I don't know what the hell it all meant, but it was interesting.

--  Ok, I have to admit something: I have no idea who Paul Walker is.  Not a sniff.  Everyone is freaking out so bad on the TMZ about him, but fuck if  I know who he is or what the hell the Fast and the Furious is. I'm almost waiting to see some fraudulent sign language interpreter signing gibberish at the crash site for us, that's how overblown this all is.  Of course, there are those smug fucking Facebook things that are all "My thoughts are with the family of the guy who was with Paul Walker, who gets no attention." WTF?  Do you think this guy's family WANTS the TMZ sifting through their garbage?  I don't think so.

--  I just bit into a "Gingerbread" muffin from Tim Horton's.  It tastes like something but I can't figure out what.  like oranges or something. And there's cranberries in it?  I'm thinking she gave me the wrong thing. Go figure.  But my mouth IS sort of burning like it's full of ginger.  hmmm.  I wish I had a lab to send it to, for closure if nothing else.

Anyway, I have to run - just wanted to leave a quick update to let y'all know I'm still here.

Love and other indoor sports,