So There I Was, Sitting On The Toilet

THAT's a great title for a blog post, doncha think? Especially coming from me, who shuns all discussions bowel-related, who has been known to unfollow people on Twitter - even people whom I really, really love - when they mention poo.

But it's true, there I was. And I heard this noise.

Fwwwwipppppp.
Fwwwwipppppp.

I had never heard the noise before. It wasn't a leaking or running water sound. I looked round at the toilet tank.

Fwwwwipppppp.

What the hell. It sounded like nothing else. I tried to feel if the sound was emerging from ME.

"Is that my BUTT????" I thought. "But I can't even FEEL my butt making that noise! How can that be?? Is my butt making noise I can't feel? I know I am old and feeble, but still - should I not be able to feel my own rear end?"

Fwwwwipppppp.

WHAAAAAT? Was something collapsing? Breaking? Dripping? It didn't sound like ANY OF THOSE THINGS.

Fwwwwipppppp.

Gah!

Finally I stood up and went to shut the bathroom window and caught a movement out of the corner of my eye.

I saw a guy in the parking lot of the apartments behind my house.

He was standing at the dumpster, holding the lid open with one hand, downing a giant can of beer in big sips as fast as he could.

Fwwwwipppppp.
Fwwwwipppppp.
Fwwwwipppppp.

He must have someone inside the apartment who he doesn't want to know about his drinking. I saw him do this again tonight. He goes out, holds the dumpster open, and SUCKS down the beer.

Dude. Don't you know that they can smell the beer? Next time, stash some vodka out there. And try to be quiet.

But really? I'm just thankful it isn't my rear end making stealth noises.

The same but different

I took the day off to hang out with my sis, who is visiting from the great Pacific Northwest, so I got to sleep in.

I stumbled out of my bedroom and flipped on the radio..."Obama still has not come out to speak on winning the Nobel Peace Prize."

The Nobel Peace Prize? OBAMA WON the Nobel PEACE PRIZE?

I whooped and began howling with laughter and delight.

Do I think he deserved to win? Heck no. It just made me laugh and laugh to imagine the outrage of the rabid right-wingers.

It was like the mirror image of how us lefties felt as we watched George W. Bush and the Cheney/Rove juggernaut roll over our Constitution.

Tha Patriot Act. Dismantling habeas corpus. Torture. Holding people without charge or trial. We watched it all with horror, helplessness and dismay.

It makes me laugh to see the other side have the same feelings as they watch Obama roll merrily along, garnering the admiration of the world. The Nobel prize. ¡Que rico!

Ok, Rachel Maddow put me in my place:

Things that I wish people at work would quit doing

1. Heating up 3-day old fish leftovers in the microwave. As my dad would say, charmingly, "That is enough to gag a maggot."

2. Using the bathroom as the water cooler. Quit standing around with your friends and chatting in the bathroom. Other people are here to, um, take care of business. Good gosh, we HAVE a water cooler in the break room. Go over there.

3. Using the bathroom as a phone booth. If you are talking on phone in the bathroom, I promise you this: I will try to make every LOUD and DISGUSTING noise possible. Why? Because it cracks me up. Another Hot Mess has some other great hints for making bathroom life pleasant.

4. Coming to work sick. We have gone over this before, I believe. STAY HOME. GERMS. DO NOT WANT.

5. Having loud personal conversations. We work in a cube farm. EVERYONE CAN HEAR EVERYTHING. Yes, I agree that your cousin should not have gotten pregnant by that bastard Daniel while he was having sex with two other women on the side, but maybe everyone within a 30 foot radius should not know that. Just saying.

6. Wearing that godawful cologne. If two people tell you that you smell good, there are ten others who wish you would tone down the perfume. It is an enclosed space, people. Remember that there are people whose noses actually WORK who inhabit the office with you.

Thank you for your cooperation.

This little slice of the internet

I keep wanting to write a thank-you to my blog friends. Something lovely and nuanced and deep about how you all have changed my life and made it richer and more fun.

Then I start and sound so stupid and trite. Or I begin telling stories and just can't stop.

Blog people just keep coming through for me. When I rip out my heart and spread it all across these pixels, you are right there to mop it up for me. And when I laugh, you laugh with me.

In 2007, I went to Chicago for BlogHer in a sad state. I could barely get through a day without sobbing. Strike that - I could not get through a day without sobbing.

But I went and met my blogging friends, and guess what? So many of them were broken that year, too.

I remember standing out on Navy Pier with Parentopia Devra and Goon Squad Sarah and just talking about nothing while we all stared out at beautiful Lake Michigan, which was shining like a turquoise bracelet.

Those moments comforted me then and through so many days since. Just those few minutes of fitting in fully and completely, of not having to explain a thing, of being able to be every inch me.

That's what I'm talking about. You people just being you help make it possible for me to be fully me.

Thank you.

Parents, What Say You?

I was on the Amtrak (again), this time on the West Coast, with all the races mixed up (thankfully).

The train got so crowded that it was standing room only.

Across from me, there was a girl of about age 10 or 11 who seemed oblivious to the conductor's repeated requests to remove personal items from the seat next to you so that everyone could sit down.

She had a purple backpack piled on the seat with a pillow, and both tray tables down filled with stuff, including a route map with a big hunk of yellow gum stuck to it.

The train loaded up and people were wandering back and forth, seeking a seat, any seat. Yet she still did not move her stuff. She fiddled with her MP3 player and tossed her hair around.

Finally a guy, exasperated, asked her "Is this seat taken?"

She answered in what seemed to me a super entitled and bratty tone.

"Oh, I'm not allowed to sit next to anyone," she said.

Me and the lady from Philly next to me looked at each other with bugged-out eyes.

"Oh, now I've heard everything," said Mrs. Philly.

I was wondering if someone should tell the conductor about the nerve of this brat. Just then, he came along.

"You just leave your stuff right there, honey," he said.

Then I started thinking that I might be the lunatic here. I realized that the girl's parents had probably made her swear that she would not sit next to anyone, fearing that the Dreaded Train Molester would harm their young'un.

So what say you, parents? Should the kid have stuck to her guns as she did, or should have she shown some flexibility and let someone sit next to her?