TMI Thursday: TP Philosophy

Toilet paper usage is a highly under-discussed philosophical issue that I have decided to bring to the forefront of our TMI Thursday work.

Over or Under?

Over or Under?

I find this issue to be important enough that I will refrain from my usual joking around, and play this completely straight.  With that in mind, let us proceed.

A quote from Wikipedia:

Although paper had been known as a wrapping and padding material in China since the 2nd century BC, the first use of toilet paper in human history dates back to the 6th century AD, in early medieval China. In 589 AD the scholar-official Yan Zhitui (531–591) wrote about the use of toilet paper:

“Paper on which there are quotations or commentaries from Five Classics or the names of sages, I dare not use for toilet purposes”.


Wealthy people used wool, lace or hemp for their ablutions, while less wealthy people used their hand when defecating into rivers, or cleaned themselves with various materials such as rags, wood shavings, leaves, grass, hay, stone, sand, moss, water, snow, maize husks, fruit skins, or seashells, and corn cobs, depending upon the country and weather conditions or social customs. In Ancient Rome, a sponge on a stick was commonly used, and, after usage, placed back in a bucket of saltwater.

Uhhhhh can we say OOOOOUUUUUCCCCHHHH???  Stone??  Sand???  Wood shavings?  Good lord.  My ass can’t even handle the single ply stuff, let alone one of those things.  I can’t even imagine.

“Hey Bill, gotta shit.  Looks like the bathroom is out of rocks.  You mind grabbing a handful of pebbles for me on your way in?”


Oh wait, I was supposed to play this blog entry “straight” – sorry about that.

Where was I?

Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that I faced a philosophical issue when I was on my trip to London recently.

Wait wait wait.  Hold on.  I’m getting way ahead of myself.  Let me take a step back again.

So, let’s talk shit basics.

Step 1:  Pull down your pants/underwear

Step 2:   Sit on the toilet – preferably with the seat down

Step 3:  Flex the muscles that control your anal sphincter

Step 4:  Do a crossword puzzle, read a magazine, etc

Step 5:  Shit magically drops out of your butt-hole and into the toilet

Step 6:  Grab some toilet paper and wipe

Step 7:  Repeat step 6 until no more shit is left

Step 8:  Flush

(and no, we are not going to talk about the philosophy of the courtesy flush.  This is an entry about TP – let’s give it the time it deserves.  Ok??)

So, let’s examine step 6 & 7. 

My question is:  how much toilet paper do you take when you wipe your ass?

My answer is:  it’s different every time.

I mean, depending on the consistency and quantity of crap, it all varies.  At first I grab a nice handful and do a scouting run.  Depending on the results, I will vary my usage.

  • The drippier the result, the more I use, and the more I crumple the TP.
  • If the crap is fairly hard, I might not need to wipe again (although I always do, just in case I missed something the first time).  In this scenario I usually just use 2-3 squares folded neatly.

We all do this kind of thing.  There is really no question about it.  In fact, it really sucks when you have to use an alien bathroom and the toilet paper dispenser doesn’t work quite like you want it to.  This means you can’t follow your normal TP philosophy.  An example is when the toilet paper roller isn’t well oiled and it’s hard to get any more than 1 square at a time. 

I f’n hate that. 

Or how about when the roller is TOO well oiled, and when you pull off your expected amount, a huge pile of TP forms on the ground, as the roll comes… well….. completely unrolled. 

This brings up so many other questions, such as, do I really want to wipe my ass with TP that’s touched the floor in a public bathroom?  Probably not…. but I also don’t want to be that guy who leaves a huge pile of TP sitting on the floor.  It’s wasteful, it looks nasty, and it’s embarrassing if the guy in the next stall over notices (I mean, who wants to look like they suck at pulling toilet paper off a roll??)

As you can see, I’ve put a lot of thought into this.

Anyway, it might be time for me to get to my point….

Recently, I took a trip to London.  On that trip, I learned that public bathrooms in that city are fantastic.  Clean and well maintained.  In fact, some of the bathrooms in the malls there were treated better than the one I use at work!  It was fantabulistically grand.

Except for 1 thing

The toilet paper dispensers were all fucked up.

While everything was normal in my hotel room, in public areas, they all had the same kind of toilet paper dispenser.  And they all did the same god-damn thing.

They rationed toilet paper.

Apparently there must be a shortage of toilet paper in the UK, because these fuckers were calibrated exactly the same.  When you grab some TP from the dispenser, it will only give you 2 sheets of toilet paper, with exactly 2 squares each.  You see, there’s no roll, just a big pile of pre-sized TP sheets.

What the hell??

Did someone decide that we’re not smart enough to decide how much toilet paper is appropriate for our own ass?  How did they decide that this was the perfect amount of TP for each wipe?? 

I’m sorry, but 1 size does not fit all!!

Let’s consider this for a moment.  By controlling the serving size of the TP, they have actually altered the physics of wiping. 

Really?  C’mon.  It’s just toilet paper.  How can you start bringing up lofty topics like physics when talking about wiping your ass?

Because if there were a Journal of the Physics of Ass-Wiping, I would be the editor.  You see, it is physically impossible to create an effective crumpled ball of toilet paper from separate sheets containing only 2 squares.  If you are REALLY bored and want to know the science behind this, go here.

Oh whatEVER.  Suck it up buddy and wipe your ass.

Shut up and pay attention. 

You see, your options are pretty much limited to the “fold and wipe” when you only have 2 squares to work with.  This is a problem when you are traveling long distances overseas and your digestive system is unhappy with the overall situation.  Why?  Because it could mean that your ass is a wee bit more drippy than usual.  Or a LOT more drippy than usual.  Or just a freakin’ faucet. 

So?? It’s not like you’ve never encountered that problem before.  Quit your complaining and wipe your ass like a man.

You aren’t paying attention.  Stay with me here.

So, wet shit soaks through thin sheets of TP, which is why the crumple works so well.  By crumpling the TP you  increase surface area, as well as the distance between your hand and your shit.  These are 2 very important concepts, because……

When you can’t do the crumple effectively, you know what you get?


Or in this case, shit all over my hand.

This is not exactly a preferred result of ass wiping.

Oh stop, why can’t you put together a whole bunch of those sheets and form a nice crumpled ball?

Physics my dear inner-voice, physics.  It’s because the sheets aren’t connected. 

In order to form an effective crumple ball, you need at least 5-8 sheets.  When the sheets aren’t connected, and you crumple them up, it doesn’t guarantee they are going to stay together.  It’s not like they’re glued together.  No, you see, it takes very little force to jiggle 1 or 5 of those single serving sheets free from the crumple ball.  And when I say “very little force,” things such as gravity, or a slight northeast breeze on the western plains of Mongolia, are enough to jiggle things free.

What does that mean?


and even worse?

A shit covered piece of toilet paper sitting on my lap.



When visiting London, there were many cultural differences that I observed, but it was the variance in their ass-wiping philosophy that was the most shocking.

After a week, I was finally able to identify the driver of the philosophical difference: diet

The lack of fiber in the British diet eventually made me super-constipated.  Hard shit means less toilet paper usage.

I guess that explains why the British always have pained looks on their faces.


TP Philosophy


(Un)Motivation Nation

Have you ever been at your desk, with a shitload of work to do – but are completely unmotivated to do any of it?  You know you have deadlines approaching, but they aren’t quite close enough to motivate you to get on it?

Yep – that’s the problem I face just about every day.

(Un)Motivation Nation

Let’s take a look at the facts.

So, I have this job-type-thing, and apparently I get paid twice a month to show up and do it.  Or something.  I’ve heard this rumor that, if I don’t actually do my job, they’ll discontinue the whole paycheck/benefits thing.  Whoever “they” are.

I think that’s bullshit.

Especially since there’s this guy who worked for the National Institutes of Health (NIH) who did no work for like 6 or 7 years, and still got paid pretty darn well.  Now keep in mind, this is sort of old news.  The article is back from 2003, but this guy is a LEGEND. 

I love the part of the article where he explains what he did day long:

“”I’ve managed to publish a couple of books, some short story fiction, a little bit of non-fiction writing…. [and] I wound up joining a health club near the office, just to sort of to break up the day.”

How cool is that?  He became a successful author and got into really good shape, and got PAID to do it.

Ahh to work for the government.

Unfortunately, I don’t work for the government….. errr directly.  I work for a government contractor, and apparently we have different rules about quality of work and output and stuff.

So, what’s my point here?  Actually, maybe the real question is, do I ever really have a point?  NO!  But since I have an adoring blog audience who are just dying to see what stupid thing I might say next, I had to come up with some bullshit to write about today. 

My first thought was:  The 12 Best Ways to Fuck Around at Work

But we all like to fuck around in different ways, so I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to do.

My next thought was:  The 12 Best Ways To Fuck Around at Work and Still Get Away With It

But again, I still run into the issue of defining how you do your fucking around.  I’m not a micro-manager.  I don’t care how you do something, as long as you provide me with the results I want.

And then I figured it out.  I realized where my true talents lay, and how I could help you out.  In the spirit of season of giving, I present:


The 12 Rules For Getting Away With Doing Nothing at Work


Make a Mess

  • I apologize now to those people who like to keep their desks anally neat.  Sorry, but you just don’t look like you are busy (plus, you might actually be doing real work, in which case, this post isn’t for you.  Go away!).  The point here is not to just look busy, it’s to make it look like you have a lot going on ALL the time.  I have all sorts of presentations and org charts and spreadsheets scattered all over my desk.  No one notices that they are months old.  I also make sure that I rustle through stuff at least once a day to make it look like I’m looking through things and they are important documents.  Tip:  If you have napkins at your desk, don’t keep them in a desk drawer – instead, store them under one of the piles.  This still keeps your napkins out of sight, and gives you a reason to go through your paperwork. 


  • I didn’t discover this fantabulous way of screwing around until just recently, and it’s one of the best ways to look productive while never actually doing anything.  No one questions what you are doing if you are creating a document in Word.  You see, if I’m writing a post while on WordPress, or an email in Google or AOL or Yahoo, you can tell pretty quickly what I’m doing.  Fucking around.  But Word?  Nope, no questions at all.  That’s why I write all my posts in Word, and I’ll even copy long articles or blog posts into it just to read them un-noticed.

Have Mom Dress You

  • You know the saying “dress for the job you want, not for the job you have?”  Screw that.  I don’t care what job you want, dress for the job you want people to think you are doing.  I over-dress for work every day.  Why?  No one wears a suit around here, but I’ll pretty much always wear either a jacket or a tie.  Why?  Because it makes me look very professional.  Not that I’m actually professional, but I sure do look it.  People in my office just assume I’m more important that I really am.  Plus, when I fart, they just think it’s the guy in the jeans next to me, because as we all know, people in suits never fart.

Deadline Your Poop

  • I work well to deadlines.  In the hour before a deadline, I’m always looking a little bit harried and crazy.  This is a good thing, because I look like I’m really busy.  To that end, I also create all sorts of other deadlines for myself, which are not work oriented.  As an example,  10:30am is my poop deadline every day.  I know that, if I don’t meet my deadline, the bathroom will become over-crowded.  Therefore, I’m always rushing around in the morning getting things done before 10:30am.  Things such as my blog reading, posting, and fantasy sports stats updating. 

Look the Part

  • Perception is reality.  It doesn’t matter what you are doing, as long as you look like you are really intense or in deep concentration, people will just assume that you are doing something important.  When you want to screw around, DON’T CHANGE YOUR BODY LANGUAGE.  I’m equally as intense when creating a powerpoint presentation as I am when I’m surfing ESPN.  It’s when you start leaning back in your chair and looking relaxed that you get in trouble, because people will just assume you are doing some e-browsing at Dealnews or some other fantastic shopping site.

Lists Lists Lists!

  • Nothing says work like a list of things to do.  I’m ALWAYS making lists.  In fact, I’ll create a list and put nice little check boxes next to it so I know when I’ve completed them.  That said, 99% of my lists include items such as: wash underwear, buy toilet paper, renew porn subscription, etc etc.  Once I’ve completed what I need to do, I check mark it, and then cross things out.  Since I’m always in my notebook writing additional “action items” and crossing them off, it makes me look like I’m constantly being productive. 

Carry a Sweet Notebook

  • Again, perception is reality.  Since you’ll be making all sorts of lists and the like, you’ll need something extra professional to write them in.  Only amateurs use Post-It notes to remind them to do things at home.  No no no!!  Post-It notes are easily readable by anyone who walks by your desk, and you don’t want them to know that you accidentally left your underwear in the washer.   Use your notebook instead – it looks great when you are writing in it, and they are inherently private – so you don’t have to worry that anyone will open it to peek at what you are not doing.  Remember – you want to look like you are working hard at all times – so only use Post-Its for work-related items.   That said, if you don’t have any important work notes to remind yourself about – make some up!  Try “spreadsheet due at 12pm” or “Meeting at 3pm, don’t forget to finish white-paper”.   Oh, and not all notebooks are created equal – so, invest in your fuck-around-time and go buy a nice one.

Book It

  • I always have some important looking books on my desk.  I can’t say that I’ve ever read them, but it makes me look like I care.  I’ve had “A Short Etymological Dictionary Of Modern English” on my desk for about 3 months now.  Why?  Because I don’t have room for it at home, so I just keep it at work to save space.  It’s not related to anything I do,  but no one really looks at the title – they just see an important looking book with some papers on top of it.  Important books equal important person.  Important people work hard.  Sensing a trend yet?

Get Intimate

  • You need to have an intimate relationship with Alt-Tab.  Learn it.  Love it.  For PC’s, Alt-Tab switches you from one window to another instantaneously.  I always set up my Alt-Tab to switch to something very business oriented should someone come by my desk to chat.  Outlook or a Powerpoint presentation are my go-to’s.  Don’t be a fool and not be prepared – the last thing you want to do when the VP walks in is Alt-Tab from blog reading to porn.


  • I don’t know if that’s a word, but just do it.  I’m very responsive on email.  I always write back fairly quickly.  Why?  Because writing an email doesn’t really involve any work.  Of course, there might be work associated with the email, but that doesn’t mean I have to do it right away… or at all for that matter.  People like to be heard, and so I take advantage of that need.  How do I avoid doing the work now, or doing it at all?  Continue to the next rule to find out!

Don’t Be Late – Communicate

  • People don’t really care if you do work, they just want to be acknowledged.  This is a fact.  Therefore, I am never late for deadlines… I just always extend them.  And I do it in a timely fashion.  If I have a deadline that I know is coming up, and I just don’t want to do the work associated with it, I’ll send an email to my boss hours in advance.  Generally, I’ll let him know that I won’t be able to meet the deadline, and ask if he would have a problem if I pushed it to [insert preferred date/time when I don’t have 17 other blog posts to read].  99% of the time, he’ll thank me for being honest, and tell me that the new deadline is fine.  In fact, I gain credibility because I was honest and upfront.  I’ve since gained a reputation for being timely with my work, without actually ever being timely.  Nice!

Information Sharing

  • I don’t have all the answers in life (just 99.9999% of them).  Some of you are pretty smart too.  So now it’s your turn.  How do you fuck around at work and get away with it?

I am a Criminal

Bet you didn’t know you were hangin’ with a bad boy, now didja?

I’m like Ben Wade from “3:10 to Yuma

I’m a likeable character with a mean streak.  I’m witty, I’m intelligent, I’ll shoot ya dead from 200 yards for just lookin’ at me funny.

I’m a bad ass mo-fo.

Well, about as bad-ass as a yuppy jew with euro-preppy glasses can be.


I am a Criminal


But don’t tell anyone.

I’m on the run.

It’s been that way for a long time….  Several times, the authorities have closed in, but I always seem to wiggle out of a tight situation. 

It’s stressful.  I’m always looking over my shoulder.  Always planning my next move.  Making sure I stay one step ahead.   That’s the life of a criminal.  And I like it.

I normally would keep this kind of thing a secret, but I’m being blackmailed.  Charlotte Harris has been threatening to reveal my dark-side to the rest of the world for quite some time now.  And I’m tired of it.  Tired of all the crazy things she’s forced me to do, while holding this over me.  So Ms. Harris, I will no longer peel all your grapes.  I will no longer watch repeats of “Britney and Kevin” with you.  And I certainly will no longer clean your toilet while dressed in a catholic school girl uniform (though that uniform is MINE.  I want it back!)

So the cat is out of the bag.

You see, I’ve been living in DC for almost 2 years…..

And I still have Virginia plates.

It’s shocking, I know, so I’ll give you a moment to collect your thoughts and change your now-soiled underwear.

Don’t be scared.  I’m not a bad person, I swear.   Ok, ok I might be a bit of a hypocrite, with my rants against Virginia drivers.  But being a hypocrite isn’t against the law.  Not registering my car in DC?  Well, that might be another story.

So – why don’t I just make the change?

Because I hate the DC Parking Authority.

You see, when I moved into the District, I had grand plans to switch my plates and license over and become one of the few, one of the proud, one of the complainiest people known to man-kind.  A DC resident.  Of course, I would be a unique DC resident, because I own a car. 

I now know why this was so out of the ordinary.

The moment I moved into the District, the tickets started flowing in.  It was a slow trickle at first…. maybe a $30 ticket twice a month.  Nothing I couldn’t handle…. right?  I was living the good life, right up until the day that will live in infamy.

The day I met Rosa.

No, Rosa isn’t a saucy little latino babe.  Rosa is the DC Parking Authority’s trump card. 

You see, the DC Parking Authority is the lovechild of the Nazi’s and this guy:

I am a Criminal 

Pure evil totalitarianism combined with blatant stupidity.

Only an organization as devious as this could create Rosa.

Not familiar with Rosa?  Neither was I.

One day I woke up and I had a ticket on my car that was stamped “ROSA.”  It didn’t have any charge associated with it, so I just chucked it out and forgot all about it.

That’s how they get you.  They lull you to sleep.  You see,  Rosa stands for “Registered Out-of-State Automobiles.”

In normal english, that seems a bit innocuous, right?  But in Parking Authority Lingo that actually stands for “we’re-putting-you-on-a-list-and-we-will-track-your-every-movement-with-a-gps-device-we-secretly-injected-into-your-brainstem-and-when-you-step-away-from-your-car-for-3-minutes-or-longer-we-will-give-you-the-largest-ticket-possible-just-because-ha-ha-ha-who-is-the-asshole-now-you-dumbass-Virginia-resident”

$30 ticket, $50 ticket, $100 ticket, $200 ticket.  They started flowing in faster than farts out my ass when I’m nervous.

It didn’t matter what I did.  I couldn’t avoid them.

In fact, I would get tickets when I didn’t even deserve them.  They would just drive by my car and give it a ticket.  Of course, contesting a ticket gets you nowhere, so I was at their mercy…..

And that’s when it became a challenge.  I could not let them win.  It might involve breaking the law, but I was going to take a fundamental stand against the Evil Empire.  You cannot question my manhood and get away with it.  DC Parking Authority…. my reproductive organ is BIGGER than yours.  Bring it on!

In case you wondered, in ToBlogOr lingo, “taking a fundamental stand against the Evil Empire” translates into “getting-a-garage-parking-spot-as-soon-as-fucking-possible-before-I-go-bankrupt.”

So, now I pay a pretty hefty fee each month to keep my car parked safely indoors.  Safe from the weather.  Safe from the Adams Morgan hoodlums that will break my windows with a shopping cart for no apparent reason.  And most importantly, safe from the Parking Authority Nazi’s.

Of course, I could just save the money and register my car in DC, but no…. DC is already using all the funds they sucked from me to throw a pretty nice Inaugural Ball…. and didn’t even f’n invite me!

I’m not completely safe though.  I still have to venture out of my safe haven once in a while.  You see, GF also lives in DC, and when I stay over at her place, my soft-Virginia-plated-underbelly is exposed.

Being a criminal is an exciting life.  Not everyone can handle the pressure, but I thrive in it.

Except on the last Tuesday of every month, because that’s when Rosa comes out to play.

Get a Good Servicing

WARNING! WARNING! This post is not funny.  Today I will be talking about a fantastic restaurant in the DC area.  Therefore, I will not be making any vile references to poop, boogers, pee-pee, up-chuck, egregious body hair, road kill, necrophiliac and/or smurf porn, blood, spluge, pus, mucus, or Kevin Federline

 Get a Good Servicing

If you are visiting my blog for the first time and are  interested in that sick and disgusting kind of stuff.  Welcome!  Today, we’re taking a brief break from our normal discussion matter, but feel free to proceed here here here and here for some deliciously disgusting times.  If you are seriously sick and demented, please proceed here.

Now that I’ve cleared that all up, on to the good stuff.


I am a serious believer in service.  Good service.  If I am your customer, then I demand that you service me well.  If you do not service me well, I will be quite upset.  Why?  Because if I’m shelling out some serious cash, I expect to be well serviced. 

I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been disappointed by sub-standard service.  It just leaves me feeling completely unsatisfied.

I thought there were schools that taught people this kind of thing, but apparently not.  Perhaps it’s just bad management.  You would think that these people would be well trained by their managers.  It really hurts the brand when customers leave unsatisfied, so you would think that management would do anything in their power to help please you.  I mean, at least lend a hand to their less experienced staff because everyone loves a threesome.  But no, most times they are just ambivalent.  Once you’ve given them your money, it’s almost like they feel like you owe them now. 

I hate feeling like I’ve been left high and dry.  So provide bad service?  I promise I won’t be back.

This will never be the case at Café Renaissance.

Never heard of it?  I’m not surprised.

I was introduced to Café Renaissance about 10 years ago by one of my old bosses.  If he hadn’t pointed it out to me, I wouldn’t have ever known it was there, as it’s possibly the most unpretentious romantic restaurant in the history of all restaurants everywhere.

Why?  Because from the outside a Bob’s Big Boy looks classier.

The problem is that it’s located in Vienna Virginia, not Vienna Austria.  While Vienna has been listed as high as #4 in Money Magazine’s Best Places to Live, it still has the whole “Virginia” thing working against it.  I believe there are specific laws in Vienna that say that buildings must blend in with their surroundings, and being that Café Renaissance is in a non-descript strip mall in between a paint store and an Outback Steak House – it looks a bit like an asian massage parlor might lack a tad bit of charm. 

So why, on a very special night, would I subject GF to a drive outside the beltway to grab some grub at a strip mall?

Because it’s one of my absolute most favoritest restaurants ever in the history of everhoodity.

The moment you walk in to the place, you are transported across the pond.

At Café Renaissance, they play it old school Europe. 

The room is magnificent – in an old European Flair kind of way.

Get a Good Servicing

The food, while not spectacular, is still very good.

But it’s the service that makes this place so outstanding.

At Café Renaissance they will do whatever it takes to keep you happy including swallowing, cupping your balls, and sticking fingers in the no-no place.   

It starts right when you walk in and are welcomed with open arms.  When I walked in with GF, they knew exactly who were were, and I was even greeted by name, “Mr BlogOr, welcome! We have your table waiting for you.  Can I take your coats?”

It’s always a nice touch to have the wait staff call you by name throughout the evening at a restaurant.  I dunno what it is, but it makes it feel that much classier.

When we sit down, GF and I order a couple of glasses of wine and chat…..and chat……. and chat.  No menu’s are presented.  No one interrupts us.

The moment we started getting bored of each other our conversation started to die down a little bit, menu’s were immediately presented without us even realizing that they were keeping a close eye on our table. 

In fact, not a moment went by the entire night where we needed to find a waiter to ask a question.  They were just always there at the right time.  I didn’t need to use the bathroom while I was there, but I’m sure they would have offered to shake it for me if they thought I needed help.

The menu is sort of a combination of fine italian and french food.  Each night they also offer a whole huge list of specials in addition to the menu.

But that’s not the end of it.  If you don’t see something you’re in the mood for, they’ll make you pretty much anything you want. 

We talked it through with our waiter, and GF and I both ended up ordering things that were not listed on the menu.  They put together an appetizer for us that included gnocchi with a cream sauce, along with an oyster on the half shell with some sort of tomato-y cream sauce on top of it.  The gnocchi were perfect, and the sauce had just the right amount of richness.  The oyster was a perfect compliment, and while I have no idea what the sauce was with it, I can definitely say it was great.  I might have licked the plate clean.

For our main course we had the Chateaubriand for 2Not only was the steak not on the menu, it wasn’t on the list of specials either!  The waiter just listened to what we were thinking, and made the recommendation.  I prefer my meat cooked medium-rare.  When the meal was delivered, I thought it was perfect, but GF claims that her meat was still mooing.  So I just ate whatever she didn’t want to finish.

Did I mention that the presentation of all the food was fabulous?  In fact, everything about their service was about fantastic presentation.

Guys.  Listen up.  You will LOVE this place.  Why?

Because when I say they are all about “presentation” that translates to “they love setting shit on fire.”



I swear half their desserts involve some sort of pyrotechnic exhibition.  For a brief moment I thought I was at a Brittney Spears concert when they were serving the “Banana Foster for 2” to the next table over.

Since it was a “special night,” they offered us a Brittney Spears Special on the house, since we had asked about it earlier in the night. 

I love the fact that they offered it to us first, instead of just bringing it out.  This is magnificent service.

Why?  Because good service isn’t about surprise.  It’s all about the customer.  Before they brought it out, they wanted to first make sure that this dessert would be to our liking.  Neither of us really like banana, so we really appreciated them asking us first.  At a normal restaurant,  they would have just assumed we would have enjoyed it and not given it an extra thought.

It’s going the extra mile that always counts the most, and they were very generous and instead pulled together a nice little sampler of their other tasty desserts.  

(neither GF or I drink coffee, but if you do, I would highly recommend ending your evening with the “Flaming Café Renaissance”)

AND THEN? (There’s more?)  They brought us each a nice glass of port, again on the house, to end off our meal properly.

Considering the high level of service we received, and our custom orders, how much do you think we paid?  $150? $200?  More?


That’s the best part about all of this.  Our tab only came to $100 (before tip). 

It’s the best deal in the DC area.


Looking for a fun evening with a date?   Start with dinner at Café Renaissance and finish off the night with some great live music at Jammin’ Java, just a few short blocks away.

Do this, and I guarantee the staff at Café Renaissance won’t be the only ones providing a good servicing.

12 Steps to Becoming a DC Celebrity

Ever want to be a celebrity?  It’s fun to be famous, and whether you realize it or not, ANYONE can be famous at any time.  It’s really up to you to make it happen.

Becoming a celebrity is all about a process.   I mean, you could go out and work really hard and pick up a serious set of skills (or get some major plastic surgery).  But that isn’t necessary.   Since every celebrity has followed the same process,  it is proven that you don’t need to have any visible talent in order to become one.     Why do all the work, when you don’t need to?

That’s why I came up with my list.  I’m here to help you out.

Just realize something:

You can’t become an international star without first being a national star.

12 Steps to Becoming a DC Celebrity

You can’t be a national star, without first being a local star.

12 Steps to Becoming a DC Celebrity

But you need to start someplace.

12 Steps to Becoming a DC Celebrity

So……are you ready to proceed down the road of fame and notoriety?

Great! Let’s go then!

12 steps to becoming a DC Celebrity

Step 1: Have your GF convince you to buy tickets to see Cirque du Soleil.

Advice:  You’ll never become famous by keeping your fat ass planted on your couch.  Get out of your apartment and go someplace where people gather.  They’re only in town for another week, so get your ass in gear!

Step 2: Try to convince other friends to come along, but fail miserably when they use such derogatory references as “gay” and “french”

Advice:  In order to succeed, you must first taste some defeat.  By not being able to convince your friends to hang out with you and your GF, you’ll be extra motivated to do what it takes to become famous.  That’ll teach ’em to diss you!  Plus, no one likes to be called “french.”

Step 3: Purchase tickets online and realize that the price to see the circus has significantly changed since childhood.  The days of $5 tickets are gone.

Advice:  One of the keys to celebrity is spending mass amounts of money.  Why?  Because that’s what celebrities do.  Paying exorbitant prices to see short/fat clowns jaunt around a stage is just the kind of gratuitous expense only a celebrity would make.  It’ll be hard for you to swallow, but it’s a big first step towards attaining your dream.

Step 4: Get caught in massive amounts of traffic on way to “National Harbor”  No, not the Inner Harbor, the NATIONAL Harbor.  Where the fuck is that?  Exactly.

Advice:  In order to reach celebrity status, you have to start by being a big fish in a little pond, so heading to a place that no one knows exists will give you an advantage.  In the DC area, the National Harbor is a perfect spot, since no one goes there.

Step 5: Meet nice group of people at dinner who got confused by Step #4 and actually drove up to Baltimore first.

Advice:  You must meet your potential constituents, and be nice to them.  The dumber the better.  Why dumb?  Well, unless you have some major talent, it’s hard to become a celebrity.  Therefore, you must meet people who are significantly dumber than you, so that they’ll look at you like a star.

Step 6: Surprise GF with front row seats at show.

Advice:  Celebrities always have the best seats.  You want to be seen and that’s hard to do if you are sitting in the nosebleeds.

Step 7:  Have a great laugh with GF when all the clowns keep coming by our seats.  Oh what fun!

Advice:  See, celebrities are always smiling and looking like they are having the time of their life.  Even when freaky ass clowns are harassing you.

Step 8:  Be a random moron.

Advice: This is THE most important step.  By being a random moron, this means that you’ll be chosen to come up on stage during the show and be harassed by the aforementioned clowns.  They don’t pick smart people.  They don’t pre-plan these things.  They ONLY pick random morons from the audience because they are easier more fun to pick on.

Step 9: Endure clown tickling, leg humping, skipping, dancing, and crotch zapping at the amusement of about a thousand of your closest friends.

Advice:  I never said becoming a celebrity was easy.   You don’t even wanna know how many legs were humped in order to get Brittany Spears her first record deal.

Step 10: Exit stage left to much applause and handshaking.

Advice:  Leaving gracefully is key.  You might have been embarrassed, but people only remember the last thing they see.  Yes, you might have had your zipper open on stage, but no one cares.   No on remembers that stuff.  They only remember that you were on stage, and that means you must be special.  A celebrity!  However,  if you trip down the steps on your way out?  1 word: Fucked.

Step 11:  Say things such as “yep, I was the guy on stage” and “Thanks, glad you thought I was super funny” while walking around the tent during intermission, after the show, and on the shuttle bus back to the parking garage.

Advice:  Acknowledging your own celebrity is a key component of being a celebrity.  If you think you are a nobody, everyone else will think you are a nobody.

Step 12:  Realize that fortune doesn’t necessarily come with fame.

Advice:  Just because people know who you are, doesn’t mean you’ll be rich.  True, you might sign an autograph here or there, but don’t rush right out and purchase that sweet Aston Martin yet.  You see, in order to make money, you actually have to have some sort of skills.  Though, if you play your cards just right, you might get asked to star in an Indonesian Soap Opera, and then you’ll be on your way to international stardom!


So there you have it.  If you follow each and every one of these steps, your success is guaranteed.

Because, as shown by my recent experience one fine evening this week.

Any moron can be famous for a moment.  Even me.

My Big Ass Mouth

My co-workers and I take a quick break to grab some coffee.  Unfortunately, our coffee maker is broken, so we have to head over to the executive office area and use theirs. 

I work for a Fortune 500 type company, and over the next couple of days, there’s all sorts of big time meetings going on, and all the executives are actually in town for once.  So, as we walk into the area, I quip, “I better watch my mouth, you never know who is walking around here!”  Everyone kind of snickers and we move on.

Co-worker 1 to Co-worker 2: Have you read ToBlogOr’s entry yet today?  It’s funny.

Co-worker 2:  Nope not yet.

Me:  Nah, you’ll know she’s read it when she barfs all over her desk.

CEO who happened to be walking by JUST at that moment: …………………..

Yeah.  Me and my big mouth strike again.

TMI Thursday: Work Edition

I’m pretty sure this is going to be the best (worst?) TMI Thursday post ever.  LiLu over at Live, it Love it inspired me with her post on Tuesday about her first day of work.  And it got me thinking about my first day at my last job.

I learned a lot that first day of work, and 1 important lesson will stick with me for a lifetime.

You know when you buy new shoes you can “wear them out” of the store?  Well, apparently you can do the same thing with new boxers at the Gap.

Maybe I should start at the beginning……

It was April 2005 and I was massively nervous.  Why?  Because I was just about to embark on a new job and a completely new career.  Even though I was brand spankin’ new at this stuff, I’m not completely moronic, and was able to negotiate myself into a pretty nice position at my shiny new company.  That said, while all my peers were about my age, they were also all significantly more experienced than me. 

I hate it when people know more than me.  It makes me nervous.  Being nervous gives me gas.  And I had bad gas.  Really bad gas.

It started right at the beginning of the day, when I transformed from ToBlogOr the sterling-new-employee, to ToBlogOr the fart-o-matic.

 Work Edition

To the front desk assistant:

Me: Good morning! I’m ToBlogOr, it’s my first day. *fartfart* I’m supposed to meet Lisa – where should I go? *fartfartaudiblefartfart*

FDA: Welcome! Just go ahead and sit down in the waiting room and I’ll call up for her.  She’ll be here momentarily.

Me: Ok! *fartfartfart*

Me: *Waiting* *fartfartfartreallystinkyfartfart*

*Lisa walks in, breathing normally*

L: Good morning ToBlogOr! coughcough It’s coughcough nice to coughcough see you.  Hmm it smells like someone might have left rotting carcasses spilled something in here, lets coughcough go out to a conference room to talk. coughcough

Me: Uhhh, yeah, I noticed it uhh smelled a little funny when I uhhhh walked in.

L (while walking with me down the hall): Oh hi Steve, this is ToBlogOr, he’s just starting with us today.

Me: Hi Steve, great to meet you! *fartfartfart*
S: Great to meet you.  Looking forward to coughcoughcoughgagcoughcough Excuse me please. *walks away dry heaving*
Me: Who was that?
L: Oh, Steve?  He’s the president of the company.
Me: Oh.  *fartfartfartfartfartfartfartfartfartfart*
So, let’s review. 
I’ve been at my new job for about 15 minutes and I’ve already gassed the secretary, the HR lady, and the president of the company.  In fact, in those 15 minutes, my ass was the 4th largest gas producer on Earth.
I’m so fucked.  I can see it already, Steve is going to go talk to the IT guy about the smelly new guy and my email address is going to be
So anyway,  Lisa and I talk for about an hour and I do my best to keep my butt cheeks clamped as tight as possible.  Last thing I need is a police investigation about the death of a local DC HR officer from unknown sulfur and methane gas emissions.
We finish, and I’m off to find my new desk and computer. 
Unfortunately, the company has been running out of office space, so instead of having a nice little office or cubicle to myself, which could privately contain my gaseous emissions….. they stick me at a desk in the middle of the hallway, right next to the main printer.
So, for the next 2 hours or so, I basically gas every employee at the company.  They must have thought I wasn’t very nice, since I was so embarrassed I never even looked up when someone walked by or stopped at the printer.
Ok, ok.  Enough of this.  I should go to the bathroom and see if I can do anything about this problem. 
So I search out the bathroom, sulfur smell in hot pursuit.
[Editor’s note:  Why hadn’t I gone to the bathroom earlier?  Well, if you haven’t been keeping tabs, I’m not a huge fan of pooping in public bathrooms.  But since my career was at stake here, I had to suck it up.]
As I’m trying to decide which stall looks best, I feel a HUGE fart coming on… since I was alone in the bathroom, and without thinking, I just let ‘er RIP.
It wasn’t a fart.
I just shit my pants.
And I didn’t just shit my pants.  I totally explosively diarrhea’d my pants.
You know the saying “shit rolls downhill” right?  Well, apparently it drips down the leg as well.
There aren’t enough expletives on earth to explain what went through my mind in that moment.  Thankfully, I’m a quick thinker, and just about as fast I could, I dove into the closest stall, whipped off my pants/boxers, and planted my ass on the toilet.
Problem solved, right?  NOOOOOOOOOO!
Problem 1: I had a pair of boxers that were absolutely destroyed.  And when I say destroyed, I mean completely shit soaked.  The biggest problem is that boxers are un-flushable.  The last thing I needed right then was to clog a toilet, so I had to figure out what to do with them.  It was like I had just murdered someone and had to dispose of the murder weapon.  Except in this case, the murder weapon was a pair of extra-soiled boxers.
Problem 2:  I was in possession of a very nice pair of khaki’s with a huge brown shit stain from the ass part right down my leg. 
Work Edition

What. The. Fuck. Do. I. Do.

Here it is my first day of work, I’ve gassed out the whole company, and now I’ve shit my pants.  There’s no way I can walk out of the bathroom without any pants on and still keep my job.  But, if I wear my pants, there’s no way I can get through the day without people barfing on me from the smell.

I tried to quickly formulate a plan. 

Hmm this toilet paper is pretty hardy.  Maybe I can weave it together tightly into a new pair of boxers and pants.  Damnit, if only I had my loom. 

I created a small diaper out of TP, but it ended up sort of looking like a thong.  Since I’m not really a thong kind of guy, I decided it was best to just go commando and I put my pants back on.

Then I waited.

Once the coast was clear – in one swift cat-like motion I exploded out of the stall while simultaneously shoving my tp-wrapped soiled boxers as far down into the trashcan as I could get them.

I had several things going for me at that moment.  Firstly, it was lunchtime, so not too many people were around, and secondly, the bathroom was right next to the stairwell.

Out of the bathroom and down the stairs I bounded – going 6 floors in a world record time of 4.2 seconds.

I ran out onto the street.

FREE!! WOO!! I’m out!!

Uhhhh. What do I do now?

Since it was my first day on the job and I didn’t really know the area, I had no idea where to go. Luckily I had my cell phone on me, and I called the only person I could think of. 

My girlfriend.

I spoke quickly and gave just the most relevant facts.

Me: Shit myself. Need new pants quickly.  In middle of DC.  Where do I go?

Her: ……………

Thankfully, there was a Gap only about 4 blocks from me.  After sprinting to the store, hoping no one caught a glimpse/whiff, I was able to purchase a new pair of pants and some boxers.  My career was saved!

Oh, and there was 1 positive that came out of all of this.

At least I didn’t have to fart anymore.