Randomly Rambunctious Reunion Remarks

So let’s just say that one of your good friends has a younger sister.  And that younger sister is really smoking hot.  And has the major hots for you.

What do you do? 

On one hand, the chance to hook up with the younger sister is one of those fantasies that every guy¹ has.  She’s hot.  She’s into you.  It’s also kinda naughty.  Fun naughty.

On the other hand, if your buddy finds out, he’s going to absolutely destroy you, and you might lose a friend.

Is getting some fine ass for an evening worth giving up a friend for?  Probably not, but it sure is intriguing.

This conundrum is similar to the one I faced in deciding to go to my 15 yr high school reunion.  On one hand, there is a real allure to going.  The benefits would be in seeing how all the hot chicks turned out and whether all the former jocks are now fat and bald.  On the other hand, do I really want to wreck my image of high school?  I mean, I’m pretty sure a good number of us disliked our high school experience, and it’s kind of fun to hold on to all that bitterness.  Wouldn’t it suck to find out that most of those people we hated actually turned out to be fairly decent people in the end?  I mean, talk about killing a buzz. 

So, the question I faced was, is it worth risking giving up my bitterness to have the chance to having a great laugh (or 5?). 

I took a risk, and I was not disappointed.

 

 

• Reunion awkwardness can be encapsulated in a single word: Bathroom.  Over the course of a 4 or 5 hour reunion, you eventually have to go to the bathroom.  This also means that you will invariably run into people that that you haven’t seen for 15 years in said bathroom.  Nothing is more awkward then having the hey-nice-to-see-you-what-are-you-up-to-conversation while draining the dragon.  The awkwardness is especially heightened by the fact that the people you generally run into there, are the ones you least want to run into.  I had this experience.   While standing in adjacent urinals talking to a dude who I really didn’t want to have any part of, I briefly considered “accidentally” peeing on his foot just for the fun of it.

 

• I really really really wanted to get a picture of myself with the prom king.  Life has not been good to him, especially after 15 years of heavy drinking and smoking.  Unfortunately, I don’t know him at all, and didn’t think it was all that appropriate to be like – “Hey, mind if I get a picture with you Mr-really-ugly-former-prom-king-dude?”  That said, I’m sure I can dig up a picture of him someplace and photoshop myself next to him for my own personal edification it’ll be a nice memory to keep.  In case you were wondering, he now looks a lot like this guy:

 

 

•  Speaking of prom kings.  In the middle of the event, one of the organizers got on a microphone and announced, “Attention everyone, it is now time for us to choose our 15 year reunion King and Queen.  When everyone walked in, we wrote your name on a piece of paper, and put the men in one bag and women in the other.  We’re going to pick some names now and they’ll be our King and Queen!”  My thoughts at that moment: if there is a God in heaven looking down upon me, PLEASE DO NOT pick me! Please! PLEAAAASE.  I pulled out every jewish prayer I could remember and said them as quickly as I could in my head.  Last thing I want to be is King of the washed-up-sort-of-old-high-school-reunionites.  That’s like coming in last place at an ugly contest – there is no glory in that.

 

• I was really fucking lucky God heard my prayers and I was not chosen as the Reunion King…. or Queen, for that matter.  No, they picked some random dude who I only knew from high school as being some random dude.  The amusing thing?  They gave him a tiara-crown type thing and over the microphone, the MC announced “Congratulations, now stick that in your hair and present yourself to your court!”  The only problem?  He’s bald.

 

• One of ABFF’s former flames came up to me to chat and catch up.  I didn’t know her all that well, but I can definitely say that she did NOT look good.  Later in the evening, in a classic moment when discussing her, ABFF said, “She’s been ridden hard and put away wet.”  I found this line unbelievably amusing, and unbelievably true.  Oy.

 

• Ok ok ok, so it’s true.  The hottest girl from high school is STILL, by far, the hottest girl in our class.  It isn’t even close.  I have great memories of her from 11th grade history class – mostly because whenever our class would “circle up” – she would invariably end up directly across the circle from me and I could always see her underwear.  Ahh, the good ole days of high school.  At the reunion she grabbed my ass and begged me to meet her in the bathroom in 5 minutes said hi to me.

 

• During conversation over dinner with a guy I hadn’t seen in at least 10 years, I might have accidentally spit some food onto him.  Possibly into his hair.  He possibly might not have noticed.  And I possibly might not have said anything.  I possibly might have also seen that same piece of food still sitting comfortably in his hair about 2 hours later.

 

• Who the hell plans dancing as a major part of a high school reunion?  Seriously.  Most people just spent the night avoiding the dance floor as much as they could.  In fact, at one point, I ran into an old friend while I was quickly walking over the dance floor to get back to my table.  He stopped me, and of course, immediately the dj put on a slow song.  In a very urgent, yet diplomatic way, I dragged him off the dance floor before anyone saw us.

 

• Speaking of slow songs, when the DJ starting blaring “Stairway to Heaven” ABFF and I decided it was time to leave. 

 

• On our way out the door, a girl chased after me “ToBlogOr, ToBlogOr, hold up!” She yelled.  ABFF and I stopped.  “Hey, thanks for holding up.  How are you?  I just heard you live down in DC – I’m there too!”  We then proceeded through a 10 minute conversation where we discussed our jobs, her divorce, her kids, etc etc etc as ABFF stood silently by.  We talked about hanging out sometime, and I recommended she look me up on Facebook.  Hugs hugs hugs and goodbyes were said, and ABFF and I headed out.  As we walked out the door, I looked at him and said, “Who the fuck was that?”

 

¹ Except if GF is reading this post.  I swear I do not have the hots for your sister.

TMI Thursday: Thanksgiving Edition

“I dare you to do it”

6 of the worst words I’ll ever hear.

Why?  Because I don’t like people questioning my manhood. 

Of fucking course I’ll do it.  You dare me, and I’m going to prove you wrong.  Not only prove you wrong, but I’m gonna make you look bad when I do it. 

It was Thanksgiving 1995.  I was over at my buddy J’s house, as usual.  I’ve been going to his house for Thanksgiving dinner for 20 years now.  Why?  Because his mom is a freaking amazing gourmet chef.  Going to their house for Thanksgiving is 1 of my 2 favorite days of the year.  The other is the $35 all-you-can-eat sushi gluttony-fest during the Cherry Blossom Festival at Sushi Taro.

So what I’m saying here is that I spend weeks preparing myself so that I could gorge myself with as much food as possible, during the 2 or 3 hours over dinner.

But I digress… Where was I?

Oh yes, 1995.  I had a fro.  I’m pretty sure I was wearing an untucked plaid flannel shirt and acid washed jeans.  Of course, that in itself should qualify for TMI Thursday.

I tried to find an appropriate picture to post to give you a better idea of how badly dressed I was, but apparently google images burned all fashion pictures from 1995.  It’s probably for the best.

Anyway, me and my badly dressed self were sitting at the table with 25 other ravenous people, tearing at the turkey like lions on a wildebeest.

I was thirsty, after piling forkful after forkful of tasty cooked muscle and flesh down my throat.

Luckily, my buddy J had just brought a large pitcher of water to the table, much like the one below:

 

Sort of off handedly I sad something like, “I’m so thirsty, I could chug that entire pitcher.”

His response was swift, “No you can’t.  Not without puking.”

Are you saying that this pitcher of water is better than me?  Are you questioning my testicular fortitude?  Are you calling me a girly-man? 

ARE YOU????

“Oh yeah I can, no doubt about it.” I replied confidently.

We went back and forth about the pitcher for a couple of moments, and suddenly we had an audience.  People I knew and didn’t know started making side bets about whether I could do it.

And then the coup de grâce:

“I dare you to do it.”

I heard it over my shoulder, and I knew I was in trouble.  It was my Dad.

Who wants to let their dad down…. so there was no backing down now.  And suddenly I was the main attraction of the evening.

Sleeves got rolled up.  My belt loosened. 

I lifted the glass pitcher to my lips, and the chugging commenced – and just like at a college frat party, I had people chanting “Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!”

Down the water went, coursing down my esophagus just about as fast as I could pour it.

I could feel my stomach expanding….. bigger…… and bigger……. bigger than I had ever felt it before.

As I finished the last few drops of the pitcher, I had a weird feeling.  A really weird feeling.  It was sort of a combination between pain and extreme fullness.  Like I had reached the point that my stomach would burst at its seams.

And then I realized I was in trouble.  On a normal day, I would have been able to chug that pitcher no problem (living in a Frat with lots of football players provided a fabulous education about how to chug beer out of a pitcher properly, so water was easy).  But today was not a normal day.  It was Thanksgiving.  This meant that, along with the water, my stomach was already filled to the brim with a super yummy Thanksgiving dinner.

Uh oh.

I excused myself from the table, and said I had to go to the walk outside.  Get some air.

Out I went into the brisk evening air.  I paced.  With each step, my body sloshing audibly. 

I couldn’t decide if I felt like I was going to burst like a water balloon, or maybe I just had to pee…. or perhaps this is what the onset of water poisoning feels like.

I swallowed, trying to help calm things down.

Have you ever seen an avalanche?  It always starts with a single rock falling…. and then it picks up steam and more and more and MORE AND MORE AND AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIGGGHHH AAAAAVVVAAAAALLLLLAAAAAANNNNNCCCCCCHHHHHEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This would be an accurate description of the next 3 to 5 minutes of my life.

Yes, I lost the bet.  My pride took a pretty big hit, and I still hear about it to this day. 

But all was not lost.

I cleared enough room to have Thanksgiving dinner all over again!

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Happy Thanksgiving!

The Poop Time Principle

Poop is like income tax.  Neither are pleasant when you consider them singularly… but when you put them in context, both are great.

• Taxes: Giving money to the government is no fun, but having to pay income tax means that I have a job, which is a positive.  There are also all sorts of super useful and important government programs that my taxes help fund.  Things such as the $221,490 the government gave for the Brown Mansion in Coffeyville, KS because it is believed to be a site of paranormal activity and has recently been popular for ghost hunters looking for a scare.  I used to love the X-files and thought Scully was hot.  If the government wants to use my tax money to fund a real-life Fox Mulder and Scully, then I’m all for it.

• Poop: Pooping means my digestive system is still mostly intact and that I have cleared room so I can eat more food.  I like to eat, so clearing room is very important.  Pooping is also important for other reasons that I’m about to discuss.

The point here is, if we didn’t have either, we’d be up shit’s creek (cue groans).

So, why do I want to talk about poop today?  Well, in honor of the whole TMI Thursday thing (known here as Randomly Rambunctious Remarks III), I want to discuss “Poop Time.”

“Poop Time” could refer to the amount of time it takes you to push some poop out of your body, but that’s just icky and it’s not what I’m talking about. 

Let me tell explain.

Growing up, I was a fast pooper.  I was always in and out of the bathroom within 90 seconds at the most.  It actually became lore among people who knew me well.

And then there’s my Dad.  (Hi Dad!  Look, another mention in my blog! You’re famous!)

When I was growing up, every day after breakfast my Dad, along with several sections of the newspaper, would disappear into the downstairs bathroom for 15 or 20 minutes.  It was such a routine that I made sure I read the sports section before breakfast just so I wouldn’t interrupt it.

The thing is, I always wondered what he did in there.  I mean, I figured he was reading, but I couldn’t understand why he would need to.  For me, it was a waste to bring a book into the bathroom, since I would barely make it through a page or 2 before I was done.

This was all so very confusing…. so one day I finally just asked. 

“Dad, why do you spend so much time pooping?”

And that’s when I learned about the stunning principle of “Poop Time.”

Poop Time refers to the block of time that a person is in the bathroom, but it’s all a cover. 

It’s really bonding time with ourselves. 

You see, to most of the known universe, the concept of someone else’s poop is disgusting.  I’m pretty sure we’re born with the knowledge that bothering someone while they are pooping is, using a technical term here, yucky.  By taking advantage of this principle, a person can legitimately book a significant amount of guaranteed uninterrupted time every day, under the guise of pooping.  Everyone needs alone time, which is especially hard to get when you are at work or at home with your family. 

My Dad told me¹ that it was Sir Isaac Newton who first discovered the Poop Time Principle.  Apparently Newton was on the toilet dropping a deuce when he formulated the concept of gravity.  The problem was that he wouldn’t have any credibility if he told the rest of the world that he discovered this groundbreaking concept while looking at some medieval porn on the shitter.  No, another story needed to be created.

Newton puzzled over this conundrum for hours while relaxing outside under a tree.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, an apple fell and knocked him pretty hard on the head.  While rubbing the rapidly growing bump on his oversized noggin, he realized something: with all of the distractions in the world, he did his best thinking while sitting on the toilet.

Thus the Poop Time Principle was conceived.  Eureka! 

Newton then realized that he could use the falling apple thing as his cover story for discovering gravity, and it would also be a secret tribute to his more impactful discovery of the Poop Time Principle. 

From that point on, fathers from all over the world have taught their sons the importance of the Poop Time Principle.  With the advent of women’s rights, some pioneering women have also learned to apply the principle as well.

Just as my father taught me about it, I will pass this knowledge along to my children one day.

You probably didn’t know it, but today is the 300th anniversary of the discovery of the Poop Time Principle.  On November 20th, 1708 Newton’s poop changed history.

So, in honor of this anniversary, I ask you to take an extra moment while in the bathroom today and appreciate your alone time.

I did, because that’s where I wrote this entry. 

¹This may or may not be true.

Randomly Rambunctious Remarks II

This country is addicted to fecal matter.  I swear we spend half of our days talking about it and referring to it.  What am I talking about? 

Well, a week or 2 ago I agreed with Live It Love It to do Random Remark/TMI Thursdays, when a random number of us just randomly made random remarks on the same random day.  Random.

I had planned on already doing a series called “Randomly Rambunctious Remarks” – inspired by [F]oxymoron’s Verbally Voyeuristic posts.  My concept was going to be 1-3 sentence thoughts that I would come up with here and there but was too lazy to expand into an entire post. 

The concept for this week was, not-ironically, hatched while I was sitting on the shitter at work.

Welcome to:

 Randomly Rambunctious Remarks:

 The Shit & Piss Edition

 

It seems that we are always referring to our bodily functions during the day.  There are a number of people who resist this, but they’re just shitheads.  Holy shit!  Stop being such an old fart, take the stick out of your ass, and please stop acting like your shit don’t stink.  It’s really starting to piss me off.  Maybe I’m just full of shit, but I like having fun.  I do things just for shits and giggles.  Sometimes though, I have diarrhea of the mouth which ends up creating a shit storm and gets me in a load of shit.  That’s always a pisser, because I hate getting shit on.   I’m serious here! Wipe that shit eating grin off your face!

I think you get the point. 

The history of the word shit is long and glorious, though not without some controversy. 

Ok, To Blog Or, give us the straight poop.  (Sorry, I couldn’t resist)

The origin or the word shit is NOT that old wives tale about boats, that were shipping manure crap, blowing up because of a build-up of methane gas below deck.  The tale goes that because of all the ships blowing up, they started marking the bags of crap with S.H.I.T. or “Ship High In Transit.”  

This guy does a good job of debunking that theory. 

So, where does it come from?  I did some research in my book “Origins: A Short Etymological Dictionary of Modern English” but got bored just reading the cover.  I mean, seriously, who the fuck cares? 

Ok, ok, I’m not going to leave you up shit’s creek.  Here’s what I learned:

Some people trace the work back to the old norse word skīta (to defecate), and there are some english links to the noun scite (dung).  Bored yet?  I am.  Moving on….

Even better is the etymology of the word “fart” – which according to wikipedia is “one of the oldest words in the english vocabulary.”  It has links to greek, latin, sanskrit, and on and on.  Apparently humans have loved to talk about bodily functions for thousands of years!

Ok enough about that.  Keeping with the random theme: 

Here’s an article about a huge inflatable dog turd that went on a rampage at a Swiss Museum (pictured below). 

 

That’s funny shit.

I’ve had to try to explain to a non-english speaker what “shits and giggles,” “shit eating grin,” and “full of shit” really mean.  It’s hard, and if you want some amusement, take a second and contemplate the literal meaning of those sayings.   

So, in honor of the greatness of poop and all that relates to it, I ask you to take a moment today and appreciate how shitty our lives would be without bodily function references sprinkled into our conversations.

I leave you with the first verse of the T.S. Eliot Poem – “The Triumph of Bullshit”

Ladies, on whom my attentions have waited
If you consider my merits are small
Etiolated, alembicated,
Orotund, tasteless, fantastical,
Monotonous, crotchety, constipated,
Impotent galamatias
Affected, possibly imitated,
For Christ’s sake stick it up your ass.

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Thanks to CreoleInDC and DCBlogs for featuring my blog post 12 Real Reasons Why Obama Won

Randomly Rambunctious Remarks

Some people found my blog by searching for “sex boys and man,” “50lbs overweight,” and “Tighty whitie dude.”  What does this say about my readers (or my writing for that matter!)?

Whenever I eat a nice salad and some fruit for lunch, I’m still hungry.  I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll never feel full unless a slab of cow and a cookie are somehow integrated into my meal.

Dasani is “Purified water enhanced with minerals for a pure, fresh taste.”  So they are unpurifying the water to make it taste more pure?

I use a Swingline stapler everyday.  I wish it was red.

 

I hate it when the car in front of me leaves their blinker on.  It makes me want run them off the road, NASCAR style.

I was once told by a Rabbi that Jews are not prudes.  I think this needs to be better communicated to the Jewish women of the world.

I’ve been pulled over for speeding by a bicycle cop.  He had a siren and lights and everything.  Ironic thing?  I was on travel presenting at a big meeting for public safety officials.

 

I often wonder if I farted on a skunk, would it smell better? 

I’ve always hated September – because that’s when you go back to school.  I haven’t been in school in more than a decade, yet I still hate September.

My work colleague has a hand drawn picture above his desk that says “I love you Dad, Plese take it to work!”  He doesn’t have any kids.

 

I like drinking hot tea, hot soup, hot chocolate, etc but I can’t brush my teeth with either hot or warm water.  It’s disgusting.

When I’m walking up to an elevator, I secretly race anyone nearby so I can be the first to push the up/down arrow.

Whenever someone talks about “Change Management” for some reason a picture of a zoo-keeper pops into my head.

I like making completely random analogies to help explain things.  The more obscure, the better. 

My life is sort of like a feather duster.  I own it, I know I can put it to good use, but I’m too lazy to.  So instead I hire someone else to clean up my dust and mess.

Scenario: 2 guys at work are in the bathroom, both in stalls.  They both flush at exactly the same time.  Invariably, one guy will pause in his stall and let the other wash his hands and leave, in order to avoid having an ”embarassing” meeting of the crappers at the sink.

And those are your Randomly Rambunctious Remarks worth blogging about…… or not.

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A quick thank you to NBC Washington for featuring my post on The 12 Best Places to Make Out in DC on their website yesterday!