Live!!! Nude Girls!!!

Well whaddya know, while standing in front of my bedroom window...totally naked...the bedroom curtains fell down. I knew it was going to happen, I have spent much time laying in bed looking at the left side of the curtain rod hanging precariously just by the tip of a screw, so I knew it was going to happen, I just didn't know when. And obviously I was hoping that it wasn't going to be when I was standing there in my birthday suit. Oh who am I kidding, I knew that's when it would happen, and if I really didn't want the curtain to fall when I was naked, I would have fixed it along time ago. Problem is, the only time I thought "Man, I should fix that so it doesn't fall when I'm naked." was when I was naked.

There I stood, freshly cleaned and scrubbed, still pink from the heat of the shower, naked...wearing only a towel turban on my head. I was facing the bedroom window, which faces the street, by the way, facing the bedroom window, staring at nothing. Something made me look up and to the left, and in slow motion, I saw the screw that was holding the left side of the curtain rod lazily tumble out of the wall, as if it had fallen asleep. And although only one side of the curtains fell, the curtains parted nice and wide, so that anyone who happened to be outside my window got way more than they bargained for when they decided to take their dog on an innocent walk around the block. I frantically grabbed the curtain rod mid somersault, lifted it back up and tried to set it on the hook that helps to hold up the curtain rod. The rod(hee) had not previously been on the hook, which probably contributed to the fall. As I lifted the rod(hee) and tried to set it on the hook, I realized that the gap in the curtains had closed up a little, but my right boob was perfectly placed in the gap. Anyone who was walking past, or driving past, or who had stopped to see the rest of the show, saw only a pale white boob, nipple and all, since I hadn't yet put on my bedazzled nipple pasties. After what seemed like 15 minutes, I finally got the curtain rod onto the hook and ran out of the room. Not sure why I ran out of the room, maybe I was chasing what little dignity I had left. Which, after a bare-assed run visible to anyone on the street, was none.

The Joyous One came to my rescue and closed the rest of the gap, so I could dress without an audience, but by that time it was too late, I'd already given everyone outside a free show, which I felt bad about until I saw lip prints on the window. Just kidding, I didn't really see lip prints, it was actually ralph. So you're welcome, street that I live on, you're welcome.

I wanna hold your ass...

So last weekend, yours truly and The Joyous One went to Las Vegas, and it was our first time visiting the Gaygas strip. I know, I know, I seem like the type that would thrive in a place where you can booze 24 hours a day, a place that is home to the Pussycat Dolls, and a place that has glittering titties as far as the eye can see, but Vegas was never really a destination that I considered when planning a vacay. However, we had an opportunity to go with The Joyous One's sister and cousins, so we jumped on it like a moonwalk.

While in Vegas, I spotted a phenomenon that I just don't understand. I saw men, lots and lots of men, guiding their girlfriends/wives by the ass. Literally, guiding them around by the butt cheek. Hand cupped, placed on the right or left globe, guiding these women through casinos, the Forum shops at Caesar's, down the street, into church...okay, so I didn't go to church in Vegas, I'm just saying. Anygooseme, what happened to the good 'ol hand hold, guys? Too prudish for Vegas? What's wrong with a nice arm around the shoulders? Too hot for that kind of thing in Vegas? Why not go arm in arm? Not romantic enough? How about the arm around the waist? Not sexily possessive enough? Seriously, guiding a woman around by the ass? Is creepy. It made me miss the hand-in-your-partners-back-pocket craze of the 80's and you know something is bad when I miss that craze! I mean, come on guys, we will know just as well that this woman is your girlfriend/wife if you simply hold her hand, no need to cup the buttocks and guide her around the mall. Might as well toss a leash on her and feed her treats when she goes the right direction. Leave the ass grabbing for the bedroom...or the poker tables which was another place where ass grabbing was a fixture, although at the tables it was a little more romantic because there was no guiding, just rubbing and such. See? Romantic.

Maybe I'm being a little dramatic, but whatever, if I saw it once, I would not have cared. But I saw it at least 2 or 3 times a day, in various places, at various times, so of course it is now something I will be constantly looking for so I can complain about it and judge people out loud(but not within earshot of them, I'm a sissy!). Don't get me wrong, I love asses as much as the next guy...if you've seen The Joyous One's rump, you'll know this is true...but to me, the ass-guide is a little much, it's degrading, and unless you won the girl in a poker game, she's not your property. Back up off the ass-guide, fellas. Your jean shorts already inform us that you're a tool, we need no further proof.

That Day...

I'm 17 years old, a senior in high school, and it's a Saturday in April. I'm in a 4 hour detention in the North Cafeteria, trying desperately to shave off detention hours so I can go to prom. I've just come back from the bathroom where I was smoking w/ my friend. Not 3 minutes after we sit down at our table, one of the security guards calls both my name and my friend's name and tells us to come with him. We look at each other, panicked, sure that we are being busted for smoking in the girls room. He leads us to the hall, I see my parents, I see her parents, I know something is wrong. My first thought is with our sisters...you see, they are friends, our sisters. I'm sure something has happened to them and that's why our parents are here. I search their faces for an answer. Nothing is revealed, I just know something is wrong. I say "what's wrong?"...at least I think I say that. I maybe just think it. My parents can't talk really, my mom hugs me, my dad wraps around us both. Their names escape my mom's lips...they were found in the garage...and they are dead. It's not our sisters, relief floods me for a moment, until I register that it's my friends who have been found. I swear at my parents, call them liars, I say "f*ck you" to them for hurting me. I limp towards the Student Center, a wounded animal, I want to knock things down, I head towards a garbage can...I try to...I can't.

Slowly I see other kids coming out of detention, out of the auditorium, out of the walls it seems. The news is spreading, people are talking about it, I can hear them and I want them to shut up. I need to find my friends, there are two in particular. They are as close to them as I am, maybe closer even. I know one is at work, I call her, ask her to stop what she's doing before I tell her. She works at a deli-type restaurant, I don't want her to cut herself on accident.

I stand out in the front of the high school, I'm waiting for someone to pick me, my friend who is at work, her boyfriend is coming to get me. I'm waiting in the middle of gossip, and assumptions, and predictions. I still want these people to shut up, more now. Their voices are thunder in my ears, it hurts, I want them to shut up. A group of girls I'm friendly with, but not friends with, takes me within their circle, as if to protect me. They say the right things, they tell me that if I need anything, they are there for me. I know that I won't go to them for my needs, but I appreciate the offer. I don't care if they're feeling sorry for me, I don't care if they never speak to me again, I'm happy to be with them in this moment.

The only laughter I can remember that day comes when I'm at my house. I've gotten high, to take the edge off, to numb myself, I'm in a giggly mood. My parents have bought Cheetos among other snack-type foods, figuring my friends will become semi-fixtures at my house in the days to come. I have a bowl of Cheetos on the couch between me and my friend who works at the deli. I'm tossing the Cheetos to my dog Zoey who is sitting in front of me, and they are bouncing off her nose and onto the floor. She can't catch them, and I'm laughing at her. I think she knows it's helping, because she keeps doing it. That's the only laughter I can remember from that day.

Soon after that day is the first and only time in my life I consider suicide as an option. Then I remember suicide is what brought me to that place where suicide became an option, and how dare I think that way. I know better than that, I know how it feels to be left behind, I know how it feels to carry guilt, I know how it feels to think I could have stopped it. I know soon after that moment when I consider it, that I will never consider it again. And I don't.

I'm not sure what brought this to my brain today. It's not the first time I've thought about that day, but it's the first time I've felt compelled to put it in writing. Let's see if I post it.

I see the glass as half-empty because it friggin is...

You know, I end up drinking like, half of my chocolate milk during the taste-testing process, which leaves me with a lame half a glass of the stuff for enjoyable drinking. Christ, maybe I'll just start making my choco milk in a friggin pitcher so I have a decent amount left to drink once I've got the proper syrup to milk ratio. Of course, I could take the coward's way out and buy pre-mixed chocolate milk, but then what would I have to complain about?

Foam sweet foam...

So I'm really pleased that foam soap has become more prevalent in today's bathrooms. I find myself becoming a bigger and bigger fan of the foam soap each and every time I use it. I love it so much that I dare say I think foam soap should be mandatory in ALL public bathrooms. Yes, I realize that would be a hard thing to keep up with, going around making sure all bathrooms contained foam soap, but hey, maybe that would create new jobs and in this economy couldn't we use some new jobs? I would be more than happy to have my job title be "Foam Soap Monitor" and I betcha I'm not the only one. Sure, the pay would suck, but I'd get to use foam soap as my job...how tits would that be?

One of my first exposures to foam soap came when The Joyous One purchased her weight in coconut-scented foam hand soap from Bath & Body Works. It smelled so friggin good, I wanted to Pina Colada it w/ some rum and sip it while sitting on my balcony, imagining I was somewhere exotic, like Tahiti, or Des Moines. It smelled so friggin good that I would sometimes use it to wash all the way up my arms, then I would sniff my arms and hands every 10 or 15 minutes. Sure, that looked weird to passers-by, but what did I care when I was in coconut heaven? Sadly, The Joyous One now develops hives when the word "coconut" is uttered within 10 feet of her, so our days of coconut scented foam hand soaps are over. But that's okay, coconut isn't the only delicious foam soap on the market. And delicious scents aren't the only reason to love foam soaps.

This afternoon, as I chewed innocently on a pen at work, I noticed something wet looking and blue all over my right hand. It was blue ink from my pen that I inadvertently exploded whilst chewing on it, and it got all over my hand...plus on my face...not a lot on my face, but noticeable. I pulled off my headset and headed for the bathroom, unfortunately running into my work-building crush on the way. So embarrassing. I walked in, pushed on the dispenser and smiled as a perfect vanilla soft-serve of foam soap swirled into my palm. I stole a look at myself in the mirror and noticed that a piece of my hair was doing a weird sticking-up-woop-woop thing, it kind of looked like the St. Louis Arch. Not wanting anyone else to see the "woop woop"(I can't believe my work-building crush saw not only the ink on my face, but the woop-woop-do. What luck!), I decided to use my non-soaped hand to fix the offensive hairdo...offensive because I hate St. Louis due to the Cardinals. Anyrival, it took a little bit of time to fix because the chunk that was "wooping" was tangled with another chunk, so I had to unwind the chunks, plus I was using one hand which doubled my work, and it was 'ol Lefty that I was using, not my power hand so that slowed me down even more. Anyjericurl, when I finished untangling, I went to finish the wash-job on my hands and saw that the soft-serve coil hadn't moved an inch. I realized at that moment that had I been using a liquid soap, it most definitely would have traveled down the creases in my hand and onto the floor, or the counter, or my flip-flopped-foot. But thanks to the form-keeping bubbles of the foam soap, I didn't have to worry about any messes other than the ink all over me, and my hot-mess hair. And that is something to be thankful for.

Delicious scents, cute soft-serve plops, better washing coverage, these are just some of the things a foam soap brings to the bathroom counter. Add those to the awesome "squeeoush" sound the foam soap makes when being dispensed from it's container and you have not only the best smelling, best washing soap in the biz, but also the most entertaining. Next time you use a foam soap, I want you all to think about how much better you life is because of it, and say "thank you"...to the soap.

99 Luftballons...

So today while coming home on the Green Line after Jessica's birthday breakfast(Happy Birthday!), I saw a wayward balloon floating around in the neighborhood of the United Center. In the past, that kind of sighting would make me sad, because seeing a balloon all by itself in the air usually meant that some poor kid was standing on the ground, missing their balloon. I would think about the circumstances that led to the loss. Were they horsing around with some other kid and their shenanigans caused the string to slip out of their grasp? Did their parent tie the string too loosely around their wrist, leading to balloon escapage? Did they spot something shiny on the ground, and in their haste to reach for it, let go of the balloon? Was that kid just standing there, staring up at the balloon, tears streaming down their chubby kid cheeks? Those were the things I used to think about when I would spot a rogue balloon bobbing and weaving in the wind. Today though, I thought about something different. I thought about how that balloon was going to have a great adventure, and maybe, just maybe, some little kid on the ground had wished it well, unclenched their tiny fist, and let their balloon go, smiling and waving until it was out of sight.

My only mention of MJ's Memorial...

At first, I wasn't sure how I felt about John Mayer playing an instrumental version of "Human Nature", but then I was happy about it...because that meant I could sing it myself without John steppin all over my vocals.

Rest well, Michael. May you have the peace in death that no one would give you in life.