Monday, December 26th, 2016

Oh my god this new cat sinks. Walking into his room is like being hit in the face with a fresh cow pat. The alchemy in his guts that turns water and kibble into mustard gas is something the military should probably check out.

For many years, we have relied on our cats to tell us what their names are, rather than just giving them whatever cool-sounding name popped into our heads. Bonkers got his name because he liked to butt his head against us when saying hello, and also because he was a little howling-at-the-moon crazy. (Literally.) Boo poked her face out from beyond the stuff she was hiding behind. She didn’t say “boo,” but she implied it. Scooter is a bit of a doofus, the kind of personality you’re talking to when you begin your retort, “Listen, Scooter …”

This new guy seems to be telling us he will be called Stinky. From day one, he has been sending up smoke signals, so to speak. My Darling B is not in agreement with me on this. Neither does she agree that his name might be Fart, Poop, Stench, Miasma, Musty, Toxic, or Peppy le Pew. And she herself suggested Peppy le Pew, but then immediately vetoed it.

She is also against Fragrant, Flower, or any sarcastic variation thereof.

So I don’t know what his “official” name eventually will end up being, but I’m very confident that, whatever name he eventually gets, his nickname will probably always be Stinky. At least, that’s what I’m going to call him.

stinky | 7:00 am CST
Category: Farts & Farting, O'Folks | Tags: ,
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Tuesday, January 20th, 2015

What I learned in yoga class most recently:

That if I concentrate, utilize breath control and engage my core muscles, I can keep myself from farting no matter how much gas is trying to poot out of my behind. And it was trying so very hard. As soon as I lifted my butt into the air for my first downward dog I was sure that I would bust wide open before class was over, and yet somehow I managed to hold it back that time and when I did a dozen more for more than an hour. Clearly there is more to yoga than I thought before.

Our instructor used the phrase “criss-cross applesauce” to describe sitting cross-legged. That’s a new one on me. When I was a kid we would’ve called that “Indian style,” and just “cross-legged” after we grew up realized how many of the words and phrases we’d been taught as kids were racist as all get-out.

Annnd we learned some yoga. Can’t remember what now.

toot | 5:42 am CST
Category: daily drivel, Farts & Farting
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Saturday, January 17th, 2015

Yesterday, for what I’m pretty sure was the first time ever at the office where I work now, someone stepped up to the middle urinal while I was at the right urinal and someone else was at the left urinal. I’m almost one-hundred percent positive that’s never happened there before. At least, not that I’ve seen. I’ve been working there a little over fourteen months. Maybe the old-timers know different.

This particular building went up in 1964, back when urinals stood four feet tall and were sunk into the floor. More to the point, they were very often planted so close together that, when every one of them was occupied, you rubbed shoulders with the guy beside you. I had to learn early on not to mind getting nudged while peeing. That hardly ever happens in modern buildings, where urinals are spaced far enough apart to put up a steel divider between them.

There’s a gang of three urinals in the men’s room off the elevator lobby, and like the rest of the men on our floor, I’ve always used one of the end urinals. Nobody uses the middle urinal, not even when they go in and find themselves all alone, because what if somebody comes in? And if you go in and find that both end urinals are occupied, you either pass by on your way to the toilets, or you do a one-eighty and go to another floor.

I’m not sure why. My first guess was that most guys think it’s gay, but I’m not sure that figures, when you think about it even a little bit. Most guys stand way too far from the urinal while they’re using it – that’s not my opinion, that’s a fact that a quick scan of the floor will confirm – so I don’t think they’re uncomfortable about putting their junk on public display. But maybe it’s the shoulder-rubbing that they’re uncomfortable with. I’m more than a little uncomfortable with it, to be totally honest. I don’t want to be rubbing shoulders with anyone other than my wife in any situation that isn’t a dire emergency.

My second guess, and this one seems a lot more likely to me, is that the social dynamic of the public bathroom has changed a lot in fifty years. Used to be that guys would gab a lot in the men’s room. Especially so at the urinals, probably because they were packed so close together anyway. If a guy stepped into the vacant spot next to you, he’d say Hi, How Bout Them Packers? Or he’d tell you the latest one he heard about the priest, the rabbi and the pastor, and you’d be expected to tell him the best one you heard that week. Doesn’t happen now. I’m not lamenting it; things change. But you can observe it yourself: Guys don’t talk much in the men’s room any more, least of all at the urinals, where they’re silent as gargoyles. About half of them are plugged into podcasts anyway, so you couldn’t trade jokes with them if you wanted to.

Which is why I was absolutely gobsmacked, and just a little taken aback, frankly, when a guy stepped into the middle urinal yesterday. I almost said something to him. Not about the score of the last Packers game, but something like, Did you even check to see if there’s an open toilet? Because I’m pretty sure he didn’t. And because he had Transgressed the Unwritten Law. It’s not like there are a lot of rules to using the men’s room, but this one has solidified over the years to the point that it’s virtually carved into the tiles above the middle urinal: Thou Shalt Not. Back Away. Do It Now.

And yet, there he was. Guy’s obviously too much of a rebel for unwritten laws. Or he’s from another planet. Didn’t think of that until just now.

middle | 9:49 am CST
Category: coworkers, daily drivel, Farts & Farting, office work, random idiocy, this modern world, work, yet another rant
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Wednesday, June 19th, 2013

My Darling B has discovered an amazing product: a non-dairy ice cream that makes me fart more than real dairy does. In fact, my gut may have turned last night’s approximately 8-ounce serving completely into more gas than one human being would ever produce in a 24-hour period under normal conditions. Or even under abnormal conditions, like if you binged on refried beans. I’ve kept our bedroom ten degrees warmer than the rest of the house all night. I’m pretty sure rocket engines don’t convert fuel with this kind of efficiency.

rooty toot toot | 4:05 am CST
Category: daily drivel, Farts & Farting
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Thursday, July 12th, 2012

I’m wide awake, and I don’t know why. Well, I sort of know why. I think it might have something to do with the air conditioning running all night. It doesn’t usually bother me but after two o’clock last night I woke up every freaking time it kicked in until I got up at three and turned it off, but by that time it was too late. I was already wide awake. Laid in bed for another thirty minutes but didn’t feel the least bit sleepy.

Also, I was passing a lot of gas. I don’t know what I ate or drank that made me so gassy but there I was, tooting like a foghorn. Fun fact about me: Farting wakes me up. Really. I have to wake up to do it. I’m pretty sure My Darling B will disagree with me on that one, because she thinks I’m asleep when I’m gassing her out of the room. If only she knew. Mwa-hah-hah-hah!

So, not being able to sleep, I got up and brewed a pot of coffee. Seemed like the sensible thing to do. If you’ve got to be up, you might as well be as up as you can get, right? I’ve been brewing some kick-ass coffee lately, by the way. My Darling B bought me a sack of dark-roasted coffee beans as a present for going through with my colonoscopy because that’s just how kind and considerate she is. She doesn’t like dark-roasted, but I’ve been mixing them half-and-half with lightly roasted beans to moderate the dark stuff and the joe’s been coming out just great! I could drink it all day. My eyes would be fluttering and I probably wouldn’t make any sense when I talked, but I really could drink it all day if the side effects weren’t a consideration.

And then I fed the cats. They were crowding around my feet to get me to feed them. How tripping me so I’ll fall and break my face gets them fed is one of those mysteries of the universe that may never be solved.

tripped | 4:35 am CST
Category: coffee, daily drivel, Farts & Farting, food & drink, play, sleeplessness
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