Potty Humor
i often find potty humor to be extremely distasteful and so not funny, but for some reason this story really cracked me up. perhaps it's because the
first person is gay so i had the stereotypical funny gay guy image in mind, or maybe it was the choice word for crap, or maybe it was just the whole situation. i have to share.
"
It was Easter Sunday in Chicago, and my sister Amy and I were
attending an afternoon dinner at the home of our friend John. The weather was
nice, and he'd set up a table in the backyard so that we might sit in the sun.
Everyone had taken their places, when I excused myself to visit the bathroom,
and there, in the toilet, was the absolute biggest turd I have ever seen in my
life - no toilet paper or anything, just this long and coiled specimen, as thick
as a burrito.
I flushed the toilet, and the big turd trembled. It
shifted position, but that was it. This thing wasn't going anywhere. I thought briefly of leaving it
behind for someone else to take care of, but it was too late for that. Too late,
because before getting up from the table, I'd stupidly told everyone where I was
going. "I'll be back in a minute," I'd said. "I'm just going to run to the
bathroom." My whereabouts were public knowldege. I should have said I was going
to make a phone call. I'd planned to urinate and maybe run a little water over
my face, but now I had this to deal with.
The tank refilled, and I made
a silent promise. The deal was that if this thing would go away, I'd repay the
world by performing some act of kindness. I flushed the toilet a second time,
and the big turd spun a lazy circle. "Go on," I whispered. "Scoot! Shoo!" I
turned away, ready to perfom my good deed, but when I looked back down, there it
was, bobbing to the surface in a fresh pool of water.
Just then someone
knocked on the door, and I started to panic.
"Just a minute."
I seriously
considered lifting this turd out of the toilet and tossing it out of the window.
It honestly crossed my mind, but John lived on the ground floor and a dozen
people were seated at a picnic table ten feet away. They'd see the window open
and notice something dropping to the ground. And these were people who would
surely gather round and investigate. Then there I'd be with my unspeakably
filthy hands, trying to explain that it wasn't
mine. But why bother throwing it out the window if it wasnt mine? No one
would have believed me except the person who had left it in the first place, and
chances were pretty slim that the freak in question would suddenly step forward
and own up to it. I was trapped.
"I'll
be out in a second."
I scrambled for a plunger and used the
handle to break the turd into manageable pieces, all the while thinking that it wasn't fair, that this was technically not my job. Another flush and it still
didn't go down. Come on, pal. Let's move
it. While waiting for the tank to refill, I thought maybe I should wash
my hair. It wasn't dirty, but I needed some excuse to cover the amount of time I
was spending in the bathroom. Quick, I
thought. Do something. By now the other
guests were probably thinking I was the type of person who uses dinner parties
as an opportunity to defecate and catch up on my reading.
"Here I come. I'm just washing up."
One more flush and it was all over. The thing was gone and out of my
life. I opened the door, to find my friend Janet, who said, "Well, it's about
time." And I was left thinking that the person who'd abandoned the huge turd had
no problem with it, so why did I? Why the big deal? Had it been left there to
teach me a lesson? Had a lesson been learned? Did it have anything to do with
Easter? I resolved to put it all behind me, and then I stepped outside to begin
examining the suspects.
"
from
Me Talk Pretty One Dayby David Sedaris
news on the duck
mrs. mallard ... well she had her little duckies on the 9th. i know, past her due date of the 6th but she still had 'em. i had thought that there were only five eggs snuggled in her nest but i was wrong. there were eight. only three made it to term and left with mama mallard. the rest were left behind. pity, i know.
she's only been spotted once since then. i guess i can't blame her too much for keeping from the school grounds. kids can surely run a muck! i've heard she hangs out across the street in the marshy grounds.
welp, that's the latest on the duck family.
Finding Neverland?
we had an hour to kill until joni's dance rehearsals ended. mom had a meeting that would run late into the evening. it was me and the kids.
6 o'clock and i sat on a bench and watched andrew play with other children on the playground. the sun still warmed us like it would in the early afternoon.
after dance rehearsals, the three of us enjoyed a quick dinner and had dessert in the backyard. the sun was still up and we most certainly did not want it to go to waste. we swung on the patio swing while eating our ice cream, talking about silly things and made-up games ... just enjoying each other's company, really, in the quiet of the early evening sun.
but it was in the last hour of the day's light that the adventure began.
i sat outside by the front door to keep an eye on andrew who insisted on skating for a while before bed. it was quiet outside. just me and him (joni was inside showering and getting ready for bed). with his helmet on, he looked like a bobble head holding a hockey stick and donning blue and black in-line skates. as a matter of fact, the
more he looked like a bobble head because he
was on skates, and being the amateur hockey player that he is, he wobbled!
he skated down the driveway keeping his stick low to the ground the whole time. he stopped at the manhole in the center of our cul-de-sac.
NO, it was the center of the ice rink. it was time for the face-off. tap.tap.tap. off he went. there were motions of him passing the puck. skate left. right. towards the goal. he shoots. he scores!
he skates up towards me, and another player takes to the ice. he's on the bench for not even a minute when they switch up again. this happens several times during the first fifteen minutes of the game.
it was an exciting first half. i knew the first half was over because andrew threw his stick down to the side claiming that the zamboni was coming out. half-time lasted about as long as his time on the bench during switch-ups.
"1-2-3, FIRE!" he yelled. then he was off to the manhole again ... er, the center.
the second half was more exciting than the first. there was some brutal pushing going on and andrew's teammate was sent to the penalty box. andrew was off the ice at the time of the foul, and he wasted no time when the call was made. he got onto the ice, and apparently made a great play. there were some great passes and at the shot to the goal i yelled out "Ooooooh! Good try." and he corrected me at that. evidently, it had slipped right by the goalie and went in!
i do believe that andrew's team, FIRE, won. unfortunately, the score slips my mind.
it was a great game. a
REAL game. it could not have been more real. every time i tried to step back from the game to see that we were really just outside the front door where he was playing alone in the street, i got sucked right back into his momentary reality.
the power of his imagination was so intense that i became a part of it as well ... and i allowed myself. it was a great thirty minutes and the best hockey game i've seen thus far.
All I Want ...
for my birthday this year i would like:
* a $12.50 money order
* Dove Intense Moisture Shampoo and Conditioner because i can't afford it and i'm out (or in fact, used up all of hay's ... sorry)
* for 2 links removed from my Brighton
* for someone to take care of the crap that's going wrong with my car loan
* for someone to take my car to the body shop for an estimate on the hood (and if he/she would like to pay for the fixing, that'd be great too)
* at least one week off from work
* a vacation to anywhere but here (or richmond)
* for a better contract
* for the school year to be over
* to know what i'm doing after the school year is over
* for my debts to clear
* some time for myself because being in bed sleeping does not count for quality alone time
* all this and more
... hugs and kisses will do too!
MUAH!
Love,
me
Kids Say The Darndest ...
INTRODUCTION
i've known the little guy in this story since he was three when he came into my class a couple of years ago. his mother works at the school and he's familiar with dustin. he's quite a character. he's a well-spoken child and very inquisitive. his expressions are priceless ... just a very theatrical boy.a mallard, mrs. mallard is her name, chose to nest underneath the steps in the school playground. i posted myself nearby, maybe six or eight feet away, criss-cross-applesauce with my waterbottle in hand. a child walks up to me and asks if it's mrs. mallard or ms. mallard.
"ms. angeline? i just don't understand the difference between mrs. or ms." he says with a curious expression on his face.
"well," i say. "mrs. is for married and ms. is for not."
"oh ya!" he responded excitedly. "that's why i call YOU ms. angeline, 'cause you're not married yet."
"right."
and shaking his index finger at me, he adds with a grin on his face "but you're gonna be."
"uh huh." i smile and take a sip of my water.
"and i know who you're getting married to," he says but this time with his arms crossed over his chest, nodding his head and widening his bright blue eyes.
"to whom?," i ask.
he wrinkles his face, grunts, throws his arms down, fists clenched in awe that i may actually not know who i'm engaged to. "oh to dustin, silly."
"you're right."
"yaaaah." he tilts his head and continues without taking a breath, " 'cause he told me he's your fiancé and fiancé means you're gonna get married."
"right." i ask if it's okay to ask a question and with his consent i ask, "do you think i picked a good guy?"
"yeah."
"let me ask you something else," i say. "do you think HE picked the right girl?"
"yeah and not just that," he says. "he picked a really good teacher, too."
with that, i hugged my little fiver and sent him off to play.
(oh and to those who wonder if it's mrs. or ms. mallard ... i haven't the slightest. we all, those at school, say it either way and my little fiver along with his other friends can decide for themselves if she's married or not.)
I'm (Coming) Back
it dawned on me while working tonight that i can't ever make long-term commitments to what some may say are hobbies.
i was standing around like i usually do at the restaurant trying to kill the infinite minutes that were struggling to pass, and thoughts continuously streamed through my head as i drew on scrap pieces of paper.
as i scribbled, a desire to work with a medium of art emerged such as cutting and pasting, pastels or paint. i have this stuff at home. i like to do art. i used to create masterpieces. masterpieces i tell you!!! anyway, i don't anymore. i shoved it aside because "i'm too busy."
then i started to think about all of my stresses and decided that art is a good outlet that i make no time for. such as taking pictures. i've left my camera hidden somewhere, probably gathering dust whereas in i used to take it everywhere i went, snapping pictures of anything and everything. i don't know what the excuse here is, but i think it's because i'm not happy with the model i have and the quality of pictures it takes.
then i began to think of other stress relievers and i thought of my best friend. he's just great to lean on. i guess i could say he's a hobby (i DO enjoy spending my free time with him either together or on the phone)? ha ha. but anyway then thinking about him began stressing me out more because i think i'm losing him too (that's another story i won't ever write about).
SOOOOO i began to think of OTHER stress relievers. dancing. i love to dance. if there's a beat, a rythm, i'm moving. but i abandoned that too 'cause "i have no money for it." sure sure i could dance anywhere, but there's something about being in the studio that really detaches me from daily life.
then i thought, "well hey, i like to write." writing's a good outlet. i thought about the journal i bought last year and used religiously for some time. yes, SOME time. it eventually got buried under crap with more than %50 of it still waiting for some illustrative or literary creation. OH YEAH! then i thought of blogger.com. and well, i left it for a while too 'cause i've been busy, or actually because it's too damn cold in the basement where the computer is so it sucks when i type 'cause my fingers freakin' freeze.
then i thought about coming back, one hobby at a time.
Breathe, Stretch, Shake, Let it Go
each day it seems i have at least one thing to complain about. i do pretty well in "letting go" of these obstacles 'cause i get through my days fine, i'll have to give myself some credit for that. i grunt, bite my finger, buck up and deal. but i wonder, do my efforts go out the window when i end up uncapping these pent up aggressions after being asked how things have been (most specifically at a moment when i've had
PLENTY of days to keep piling the crap)? am i not allowed the room to breathe? i feel that after releasing such frustrations, perhaps more positive conversations can easily follow.
i suppose if i tried harder to be more positive then i wouldn't have the need to vent off frustrations? it seems that grunting, biting my finger, bucking up and just dealing is a temporary fix that gets me through days? but i'm really trying to be more optimistic about everything and anything so i guess that's why i just bottle up and bottle up the need to bitch as well. but when i'm asked "so how've you been?" or "how's work going?" ... then POP! and it's been said that once you pop, you can't stop ('til it's all gone)
blah.
