Two posts in one week?! Yes, my loyal readers, I feel you deserve another after my recent blog break - it's the least I can do. Besides, I know the torture of a cliffhanger ending - and being that I am wanting to move on from the bathroom/humiliating sea tick topics, I will give you the gritty details regarding the time an outhouse rescued me from certain death. Well, maybe not death, but it sounded better than "extreme embarassment."
Let's set the scene for you, shall I? It was the year 2000 (insert the Conan O'Brien dude singing "in the year 2000" in that hilarious tenor pitch) and Rebecca had invited me to join her and her family on a fishing trip to an island resort in Canada. I had accepted and we set off in our new love to share our first vacation together as a couple. I was a tad wary at first because I had just started dating her during the summer, and despite meeting them once, I still felt kind of like an intruder into her "family time." I was also a wee bit terrified of Mr. Doidge, as I was dating his eldest daughter and now coming along with her for a week in a secluded cabin and his domain...the fishing boat. I never felt more of a need to impress. I was afterall, completely in love with his daughter and wanted nothing more than to "pass the test" of possibity of being his future son-in-law right off the bat.
Then I learned that not only would I be coming along with Mom, Dad and her two sisters, but grandma and grandpa were coming too! Realizing I had probably bitten off more than I could chew this early on in the relationship, I began to get in the zone. The "zone" I speak of, which many of you guys will know of, is the "I need to be on my "A" game from here on out" zone. I am preparing myself for having the best week of my life as a man - exercising proper dinner table etiquette, remembering names, thinking before speaking, not being too funny but not being boring either and of course, not farting, belching or doing anything otherwise embarassing or negatively memorable during this weeklong first impression with the most important people in my sweetheart's life. In short, it was game time and I was excited but ridiculously nervous and uncertain of what lay ahead.
I passed the first tests with flying colors in my opinion - not showing the slightest bit of physical attraction or disappointment when told that I was to be sharing a motel room the first night with Rebecca and her parents. I enthusiastically accepted the cot and would have been just as thrilled to sleep in the bathtub if that was what was asked of me. Upon arriving at the cabin on the Spruce Island, I also was adamant that I sleep on the cot provided, and preferrably as far away from everyone else as possible. Any indication that I had some extracurricular activity in mind would have been the nail in the coffin. I was prefectly content with my placement in sleeping arrangements.
So, you can imagine that I was feeling pretty good about my progress so far with the Doidge's and lack of incidents. I did encounter a slight demoralizing setback the first trip out on the boat though, that nearly cost me everything. Feeling very inadequate as a fisherman, I tried to follow protocol and do nothing without supervision on John's boat - I was a servant and I would do as told without ruffling feathers. I wanted to have fun, don't get me wrong, but I wanted to avoid screwing up at all costs. So, causing him to cut off one of his fishing lures and tackle set-ups because I got snagged on something at the bottom of the lake was not my idea of scoring points with "da man." I sulked and tried to hold back the tears of disappointment and shame. Then, at the support of my wife and her sisters, I pulled myself back together and was determined to get those points back by the end the week. I was ready for a comeback.
Returning to the crammed cabin, we settled down for dinner. Again, I was an all-star and was feeling the momentum shifting in my direction once again. As things were calming down after dinner, I decided to slip upstairs to visit the bathroom for some much needed "tension release." Upon entering, my heart sank and fear crippled my body faster than spotting a sea tick lodged in my family jewels. It was a long, narrow facility with a sink, a shower and a toilet. The lighting was good, there was a window - so air flow was good, but the security and privacy was definitely going to be a major issue. The toilet was directly next to the door. And the door was ultra lightweight with an enormous opening at the bottom. Again, great for air flow purposes. But what I was feeling inside was not going to be quiet, and this door offered me zero comfort and confidence in its ability to contain what was surely about to erupt once I sat down at that seat. I panicked, but there was really no other options. I had to do what I had to do, there was no escaping. I sat down and thought about turning on the water...too obvious. I was just going to have to ease it out and muffle as best as I could. It was terrible. I think it was up there with one of the worst tension releasing sessions I have ever experienced. I was so focussed on what I heard out in the cabin and waiting for just the right time to unleash the tension - I really don't think I got much accomplished. Anytime I made any type of squeak, I felt like I was finished - I would walk out of the door and see everyone avert their eyes from my direction, holding their breath and hiding their awkwardness. I did my best to not take too much time and still do what I could, but it was hopeless. The anger and desperation was welling up inside of me. Who puts the toilet right next to the door? Who leaves such a gap at the bottom of the door? What in the world is this door made of and why did they feel it necessary to use it on the bathroom? It was not a good feeling, inside and out. I left the bathroom defeated - the wind was out of my sails, but not out of where I needed it to be out of most.
The next day while taking a walk alone to the main lodge to call my parents and give them an update, I was literally praying that God would give me another option. Almost as if I had entered the world of Harry Potter, there appeared my room of requirement. Barely able to contain my excitement, I ventured over for a closer look. And there, to my delight, I discovered an outhouse back off the beaten paths of the island. Not wasting any time to break it in, I saddled up and was met by all the comforts of home - privacy, plenty of TP and even a magazine rack. The best part of all - no worry of plugging it up, being too loud or stinking up the cabin - I was free!! From that moment on I took a daily walk to "call my parents." I don't remember if I ever did earn those points back that week, but I surely didn't lose anymore. I can also tell you that as the week progressed I fell more in love with Rebecca and a couple of new loves were also born - for the Doidge's and of course, the life-saving outhouse.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Home Field Advantage
There is simply no way to top my last entry. So, in case you're thinking I've gotten myself into something worse since then, think again. On a completely different topic, but similar note, I have been meaning to write about some odd behavior when it comes to a certain thing I must do on a consistent basis.
There is something to be said about home field advantage for sports teams. The worst of teams can sometimes annihilate another team better than them on their home turf. There is just something in the air - and with the backing of their supportive fans, it is always nice to be at home, in a place comfortable and well known. I would like to state that this is true for me as well - I always prefer my home toilet vs. visitors' toilets...
You see, like most of the country I suppose, I am not wild about public restrooms. I feared going to the bathroom during elementary school. I only went number one, if I could help it, during middle and high school. I always did my best to hold it in until I could get to my home territory. Then in college, I had to share one bathroom with the whole floor. I didn't have any choices then, and for some odd reason, I didn't mind having some company. Guys were stall buddies all the time - chatting away while taking care of business. I of course, preferred my privacy, but since I got along so well with others, it wasn't a big deal when the privacy was interrupted. Since college however, I have discovered that I can no longer hold it in as I did so well growing up, and I am back to preferring total solitude when visiting the restroom.
Not only do I prefer solitude, but there are some other conditions that MUST be met in order for me to take care of business. I will outline my strategy and then describe my plan of action. First, I determine the immediacy of the situation and I decide which location to visit: my primary, secondary, tertiary or last resort option. The judgment criteria for the locations are as follows: cleanliness, air flow, lighting, TP quality, stall space, likelihood of neighbors, smell, security and distance from my office. Here is a breakdown of location descriptions so you know what kind of things I've already established:
Primary choice: I will walk up two flights of stairs to the restroom directly above my office. It gets an "A" for cleanliness, air flow, lighting, stall space, smell, security and distance from my office. There are only two stalls so the likelihood of neighbors is higher, but given that there is little going on, I usually escape with no next door visitors. TP quality isn't the greatest, but there's no place like home in this category.
Secondary choice: If there is too much action in the primary location, I will walk another thirty yards to the secondary location. It gets an "A" for cleanliness, air flow, lighting, stall space, smell, security and distance from my office. Essentially it is the same as the primary location, but it is located further away.
Tertiary choice: In the event that I go 0 for 2, I will visit the third option. This bathroom gets an "A" for cleanliness, air flow, lighting, stall space, likelihood of neighbors and smell. Besides being on the complete opposite end of the building and the furthest distance to walk, it's still better than the last resort. The third option has many stalls, so the likelihood of neighbors is much less. The security however, isn't so good. There are doors, but the locks do not work. What is the point of that? Anyways, I try to get the "executive" stall when I go there. There are like 6 stalls right next to each other, but the executive stall is separated by a brick wall and kind of just sits off on its own. Privacy at its best, even though the door never locks.
Last Resort choice: In the awful event that all three locations are too busy, closed or otherwise unusable, I will go to the last possible option. This bathroom gets an "A" for stall space, security and distance from my office. This option is actually the closest to my office. However, it has absolutely zero air flow, stinks to high heaven, is messy most of the time, has only two stalls and the lights have been prone to go out on me from time to time. There is nothing worse than trying having the lights go out and leave you in total blackness. I don't even think I can describe the smell of this dungeon restroom. Awful. So, I usually hold my breath when going #1, but avoid it as much as humanly possible when having to go #2.
Behavior: Its really simple... I always do two things upon entrance. I check to see if there is enough TP and I wipe off the seat with a piece of it, regardless of the condition. So, you can imagine my relief when I learned that the reason for the recent invasion (see last month for details) was NOT that I had obtained crabs from a campground toilet. I would not have been able to forgive myelf for not inspecting the seat more closely had that been the case.
Home field advantage is very important to me when it comes to taking a load off. And a word about outhouses: don't knock 'em till you try 'em. You never know when they'll show up to save the day - I know I will always look upon them with gratitude for the jam it got me out of way back when I first met Rebecca's family. But, that story is for another time.
There is something to be said about home field advantage for sports teams. The worst of teams can sometimes annihilate another team better than them on their home turf. There is just something in the air - and with the backing of their supportive fans, it is always nice to be at home, in a place comfortable and well known. I would like to state that this is true for me as well - I always prefer my home toilet vs. visitors' toilets...
You see, like most of the country I suppose, I am not wild about public restrooms. I feared going to the bathroom during elementary school. I only went number one, if I could help it, during middle and high school. I always did my best to hold it in until I could get to my home territory. Then in college, I had to share one bathroom with the whole floor. I didn't have any choices then, and for some odd reason, I didn't mind having some company. Guys were stall buddies all the time - chatting away while taking care of business. I of course, preferred my privacy, but since I got along so well with others, it wasn't a big deal when the privacy was interrupted. Since college however, I have discovered that I can no longer hold it in as I did so well growing up, and I am back to preferring total solitude when visiting the restroom.
Not only do I prefer solitude, but there are some other conditions that MUST be met in order for me to take care of business. I will outline my strategy and then describe my plan of action. First, I determine the immediacy of the situation and I decide which location to visit: my primary, secondary, tertiary or last resort option. The judgment criteria for the locations are as follows: cleanliness, air flow, lighting, TP quality, stall space, likelihood of neighbors, smell, security and distance from my office. Here is a breakdown of location descriptions so you know what kind of things I've already established:
Primary choice: I will walk up two flights of stairs to the restroom directly above my office. It gets an "A" for cleanliness, air flow, lighting, stall space, smell, security and distance from my office. There are only two stalls so the likelihood of neighbors is higher, but given that there is little going on, I usually escape with no next door visitors. TP quality isn't the greatest, but there's no place like home in this category.
Secondary choice: If there is too much action in the primary location, I will walk another thirty yards to the secondary location. It gets an "A" for cleanliness, air flow, lighting, stall space, smell, security and distance from my office. Essentially it is the same as the primary location, but it is located further away.
Tertiary choice: In the event that I go 0 for 2, I will visit the third option. This bathroom gets an "A" for cleanliness, air flow, lighting, stall space, likelihood of neighbors and smell. Besides being on the complete opposite end of the building and the furthest distance to walk, it's still better than the last resort. The third option has many stalls, so the likelihood of neighbors is much less. The security however, isn't so good. There are doors, but the locks do not work. What is the point of that? Anyways, I try to get the "executive" stall when I go there. There are like 6 stalls right next to each other, but the executive stall is separated by a brick wall and kind of just sits off on its own. Privacy at its best, even though the door never locks.
Last Resort choice: In the awful event that all three locations are too busy, closed or otherwise unusable, I will go to the last possible option. This bathroom gets an "A" for stall space, security and distance from my office. This option is actually the closest to my office. However, it has absolutely zero air flow, stinks to high heaven, is messy most of the time, has only two stalls and the lights have been prone to go out on me from time to time. There is nothing worse than trying having the lights go out and leave you in total blackness. I don't even think I can describe the smell of this dungeon restroom. Awful. So, I usually hold my breath when going #1, but avoid it as much as humanly possible when having to go #2.
Behavior: Its really simple... I always do two things upon entrance. I check to see if there is enough TP and I wipe off the seat with a piece of it, regardless of the condition. So, you can imagine my relief when I learned that the reason for the recent invasion (see last month for details) was NOT that I had obtained crabs from a campground toilet. I would not have been able to forgive myelf for not inspecting the seat more closely had that been the case.
Home field advantage is very important to me when it comes to taking a load off. And a word about outhouses: don't knock 'em till you try 'em. You never know when they'll show up to save the day - I know I will always look upon them with gratitude for the jam it got me out of way back when I first met Rebecca's family. But, that story is for another time.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Excuses, excuses...
I took a month off from writing, not because I necessarily wanted to, but because of several varying factors that prevented me. So, here are my excuses:
I was swamped at work. I spent what seemed like 8 hours a day in front of a computer, messing up my 20/20 vision by staring at a screen 40 hours a week instead of doing real, hands on "work." I know that seems like a lame excuse for not writing, but who really wants to sit down in front of the computer when that's all you've been doing? I just couldn't seem to find a twenty minute break anywhere to write something down that or think of anything that seemed mildly entertaining or thought provoking the last few weeks.
I got sick with allergies that still haven't seemed to go completely away. Nothing like watery eyes, a dripping nose and trying to look into the light long enough to induce a sneeze to make anyone want to sit here longer to crank out a story. I apologize, but when I am sick, I don't want to write.
I was suspicious as to whether anyone was really reading my blog or if it was just my imagination that this page was good enough to draw people back to it for a second or third view after my first initial entry. But, I was called out for not updating by a friend - which made me feel simultaneously excited and ashamed - you mean you're checking it? Crap, you're checking it - I better add something new...
But perhaps the best excuse a man could offer, would be that I have spent the last few weeks with a crazy itch problem. It all started when we went camping over the Labor Day holiday and our 5 year anniversary, and towards the end of the long, wonderfully relaxing weekend, I noticed some red blotches on my ankles. I thought that I had no doubt gotten into something - either bug bites or something poisonous lurking on the trails while hiking. Well, it turns out that it was something that gotten into me, not the other way around, that was causing me to scratch more and more frequently. I realized the marks were getting more red and incredibly more itchy - which came to be ridiculously uncomfortable and badly timed as I faced the busiest work week of my year. And then, the bombshell. For those of you with weak stomachs or innocent ears, read no further.
During a "routine" scrotum inspection after urinating one morning, I noticed that the red blotches had migrated north and set up camp on my testicles. Every man's worst nightmare - something was attacking my balls. It itched more there than I ever cared to want to scratch. Upon closer inspection, something seemed terribly wrong with these pimple-like marks. I did what I had to do - I asked my wife to take a look under the hood. She did, with professionalism (not giggling) and sprung into action before I could give her my permission. Next thing I know, we are looking at a small grey dot, which I originally suspected was some kind of matter that had somehow come to rest on my "unmentionables." Rebecca had other thoughts. I didn't believe her. She plucked another one off. This time, seeing was believing. It was moving! It was crawling all over her finger! She had just plucked a tiny creature off my balls! I could not contain my horror any longer. "What the HELL is that?!?!?!?!" Remaining calm, she removed one more and we imprisoned the little crotch invading terrorists into a jar. Needless to say, I took a day off from work to go get checked out. The diagnosis? Chiggers and Seaticks. That's right, you read that correctly: SEA TICKS. The doc said that the ankles and legs were no doubt the result of the chiggers and the testicles, well, they were chigger magnets too, but, in this case, sea ticks. A cortisone shot, antibiotics and clear nail polish took care of the rest.
I'm proud to say that I am back, almost fully recovered, and ready to pick up where I left off. My sincerest apologies for the lack of new material, but as you can see, it's not that I didn't have some great excuses...
This is dedicated to my wife, the boldest and most gentle sea tick remover I've ever known. I love you!
I was swamped at work. I spent what seemed like 8 hours a day in front of a computer, messing up my 20/20 vision by staring at a screen 40 hours a week instead of doing real, hands on "work." I know that seems like a lame excuse for not writing, but who really wants to sit down in front of the computer when that's all you've been doing? I just couldn't seem to find a twenty minute break anywhere to write something down that or think of anything that seemed mildly entertaining or thought provoking the last few weeks.
I got sick with allergies that still haven't seemed to go completely away. Nothing like watery eyes, a dripping nose and trying to look into the light long enough to induce a sneeze to make anyone want to sit here longer to crank out a story. I apologize, but when I am sick, I don't want to write.
I was suspicious as to whether anyone was really reading my blog or if it was just my imagination that this page was good enough to draw people back to it for a second or third view after my first initial entry. But, I was called out for not updating by a friend - which made me feel simultaneously excited and ashamed - you mean you're checking it? Crap, you're checking it - I better add something new...
But perhaps the best excuse a man could offer, would be that I have spent the last few weeks with a crazy itch problem. It all started when we went camping over the Labor Day holiday and our 5 year anniversary, and towards the end of the long, wonderfully relaxing weekend, I noticed some red blotches on my ankles. I thought that I had no doubt gotten into something - either bug bites or something poisonous lurking on the trails while hiking. Well, it turns out that it was something that gotten into me, not the other way around, that was causing me to scratch more and more frequently. I realized the marks were getting more red and incredibly more itchy - which came to be ridiculously uncomfortable and badly timed as I faced the busiest work week of my year. And then, the bombshell. For those of you with weak stomachs or innocent ears, read no further.
During a "routine" scrotum inspection after urinating one morning, I noticed that the red blotches had migrated north and set up camp on my testicles. Every man's worst nightmare - something was attacking my balls. It itched more there than I ever cared to want to scratch. Upon closer inspection, something seemed terribly wrong with these pimple-like marks. I did what I had to do - I asked my wife to take a look under the hood. She did, with professionalism (not giggling) and sprung into action before I could give her my permission. Next thing I know, we are looking at a small grey dot, which I originally suspected was some kind of matter that had somehow come to rest on my "unmentionables." Rebecca had other thoughts. I didn't believe her. She plucked another one off. This time, seeing was believing. It was moving! It was crawling all over her finger! She had just plucked a tiny creature off my balls! I could not contain my horror any longer. "What the HELL is that?!?!?!?!" Remaining calm, she removed one more and we imprisoned the little crotch invading terrorists into a jar. Needless to say, I took a day off from work to go get checked out. The diagnosis? Chiggers and Seaticks. That's right, you read that correctly: SEA TICKS. The doc said that the ankles and legs were no doubt the result of the chiggers and the testicles, well, they were chigger magnets too, but, in this case, sea ticks. A cortisone shot, antibiotics and clear nail polish took care of the rest.
I'm proud to say that I am back, almost fully recovered, and ready to pick up where I left off. My sincerest apologies for the lack of new material, but as you can see, it's not that I didn't have some great excuses...
This is dedicated to my wife, the boldest and most gentle sea tick remover I've ever known. I love you!
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