Ladies room etiquette

Why is it that we, the fairer sex, are such disgusting pigs when it comes to public restrooms?  What exactly happens when the doorknob is turned/door is pushed open?  Every female out there cannot be such a pig, even when hammered in Coconut Grove on a Saturday night.  I think I will take this opportunity to re-state some ground rules.

Office etiquette

Now, I can't speak for every office building in the country, state, city, or even county, but I think that if we followed some simple rules, we could all benefit.

Using our office as an example, we have three stalls in the ladies room (on our floor).  Two small stalls and one larger, handicapped-accessible stall on the far end.  I know who works here and I also know that we do not currently have anyone on this floor, or in this building that has use for the far stall.  This stall is the furthest from the door (which doesn't really make sense to make the handicapped ladies go further to use the facilities) and therefore should be used for those times when you really have no other choice but to, ahem, drop a deuce at work.  If we all followed this unwritten rule, no one would get slapped in the nose with a turd when walking into one of the smaller stalls.  At least if you go into the large stall, you can brace yourself for the potential smell.  Ladies.  Please.  Poo in the far stall.  It could be your own nose you save.

PS.  Having 7 to 10 cups of coffee a day does NOT help the situation.

Bar/Restaurant/Club etiquette

Okay girls, I know that you're out partying and having a grand old time, but when it comes time to break the seal, think about the rest of the party-goers, huh?

    • Please don't pee on the seat!  If we bitch at our boyfriends/husbands/little brothers/fathers not to do it, then why do we ignore our own rules?!?!  I know, I know, sometimes it just gets out of hand.
        • Sidebar – Gentlemen, yes, we shave/wax our tender nibbles for you, but know that pubic hair has a purpose and that purpose is to guide pee to the bowl without having it splash on our thighs, calfs, toilet seats.  So, feel lucky if your lady goes through that crap just for you.
    • If you do pee on the seat, wipe it off you drunk, lazy wench!  First and foremost, I can aim with the best of them, so you won't EVER see me put my ass on a public toilet seat.  If by chance I miss though, I am always certain to clean up after myself.  There is nothing more disgusting than going into a bathroom and seeing pee on the seat.  After all, it may be your head and face that will end up awfully close to that seat after that 20th shot of tequila that you shouldn't have had.
    • Keep your feminine hygeine products where they belong!  You know what I mean.  Get it in the garbage can.  Why are women so damn nasty?

That's my rant for the day.  Keep it clean ladies.

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No, not the chemical, the wrestling move.

My job used to be very physical.  I taught little kiddies (and big kiddies too) how to fly through the air with the greatest of ease with the least amount of pain possible.  Don't get me wrong.  It isn't painful if you just listen to what you're told, so don't use this as an excuse to not try it out.  I used to be pretty buff.  I handed out tickets to the gun show every time I pointed.  I didn't get hurt often, but when I did, I reverted to just being a girl.

In an attempt to keep the peace in a class (on the ground) and to make sure that everyone got a turn, I assisted a little girl (who was not so little) on the static trapeze.  Said child had a tendency to not listen.  Of course, she slipped right off of the trapeze.  It isn't high.  It was about 4 feet.  Because it was my job, I saved her from splitting her skull and spilling brains all over my mat.  Unfortunately, in the process, the child decided to freak out while almost in my arms and somehow managed to bend my thumb backwards…to about my elbow. 

I refrained from throwing her as far as I could onto her head.  I placed her gently on the floor, feet first even, and then snuck into the back where I could curse this child and her firstborn.  I don't know if you've ever been on a trapeze, but suffice it to say that YOU NEED BOTH THUMBS!  A part of my job included putting on several shows a week, many of which involved me using my thumbs so this little booger machine put a hurting on me.

Skip ahead about two days.  All of the shows for the week have been completed and it's time to go out and party Carlos n' Charlies style.  The alcohol was flowing rather freely, as it did on most nights there.  I'll be the first to admit that I had my fair share (and your fair share, and hers, and his), so I was feeling no pain.  Until…

Brynn (a girl I worked with) decided that it was a good time to have a little fight.  I'd venture to say that Brynn and I were the toughest girls around at that time and there was a play fight or two just to see who was tougher.  We both knew it was jokes, never took it seriously or personal.  Mind you, I was more than half in the bag, but I think it went a little something like this:

B approached me in the manner of play fighting.  I responded.  All was fun and games.  B happened to grab the hand with the bent-back thumb and bent it back again.  At this point, everything ceased to exist except the pain in my thumb.  I now know what is meant by blind rage.  Everything literally went white and all I could focus on was retaliation.  Unfortunately, B just didn't know what she did.  Before Carlos, Charlie, our co-workers, and half of Ixtapa, I blindly grabbed her head and I gave her a DDT.  On the floor.  The dirty, dirty floor.  At Carlos n' Charlies.

Have you ever been in a nightclub and it just got quiet?  I have. 

Brynn was twitching just a bit as she lay on the floor.  People just stood looking from her to me and back again.  Don't worry, she was only slightly stunned.  She got up, brushed herself off, and we kept drinking.  This is the stuff that legends are made of.  I spent another 4 months in that place and it took at least 2 before people stopped talking about the time Sunshine DDT'ed Brynn in CnCs.  Ahh, good times. 

Miss ya Brynn!!

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Sliding into home (part 2)

Part 2 insinuates a continuation from the first part, but that is not what this is.

I grew up in the late 70s – early 80s, child of sports fans.  Many a summer evening was spent in Three Rivers Stadium watching the Pirates beat up on whomever was in town.  As such, we knew of the greats (at least Pittsburgh greats) Willie Stargell, Dave Parker, and later the outfield to die for of Bonilla, Bonds, and Van Slyke. 

My brother, try though he might, could never quite keep Stargell and Parker straight and would end up yelling "Willie Parker!" as he slid into any base.  (Who knew he was calling out to a current Steeler?)  In case you weren't alive then, little kids shorts then looked something like this:

Maybe a little more loose in the leg, but you can get the idea.  At any rate, the three musketeers were doing their daily musketeer things like running around, yelling, jumping off of the highest thing possible, etc.  We were headed to the bottom of the hill when my brother took it upon himself to scream out "Willie Parker!" and perform his best slide into home.  Herein lies the problem.  You see, this quiet and gentle boy just didn't happen to put on any underwear on this particular day and as he slid down the hill with one leg outstretched in the classic slide position, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a small brown penis, oh dear oh dear.

Yup, it popped right out.  I don't remember exactly, but I'm gonna guess he was about 6 at the time, 7 at the oldest.  Young enough for him not to be embarrassed (at least until he reads this post) and young enough for us not to make a big deal of it.  But, out and out hysterical every time I think about it now.  We continued on with our day as if nothing ever happened because, to us, nothing did happen.  Do you know why?  Because the family jewels are sacred!

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Sliding into home

Back in the day, the three musketeers were inseparable.  My cousin Melanie, my brother and I.  All separated by one year, all birthdays in December.  The unified front against our cousins in Monessen.  While Mel lived about 40 minutes away (in a slightly more upscale neighborhood), we always managed to spend a ridiculous amount of time together.  Summers were especially awesome.  We lived in a very rural area where the days were very long and filled with fun times.  Our yard was huge as our grandparents lived right next door.  (Great for escaping the house, terrible for sneaking out or sneaking people in.)  They had a dog that was as big as a house, and being the Sagittarius that I am, I had a bond with that dog like no other.  They tell me that I used to ride around on her back like she was a horse.

I recall one early Saturday afternoon in particular.  I knew that Mel was coming to the house and I couldn't wait.  I had friends around the house, but then, family was way more important. (Unfortunately, the musketeers, or at least one of them, went their separate ways and forgot how important family was and is.)  I waited oh so impatiently to see my aunt's car come down our street.

Finally!  They're here! 

I ran out of our house like the proverbial bat out of hell.  Full speed ahead down through our yard and into my grandparents yard.  I was cute, I was graceful, I was small, and I was muscular.  I was excited.  I was covered in dog shit on my entire right side because in my haste, I didn't notice that the dog had dropped a bomb in my path.  I was running full speed and planted a foot directly in poop and then tried to turn a corner.  I was a running back on wet turf, tackled by number 2, Doo Doo Brown.

And this, this is the beautiful thing about family.  There was no embarrassment.  There was no mean laughing.  We all laughed together as badly as I smelled.  I took a shower, changed clothes, and play resumed like it never even happened.  I guess that's how you know someone is family.  They still love you no matter how much shit you're in.  🙂

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Rest In Peace, Mr. Bettis

This morning, as I read the newspaper, I came across the sad news of John Bettis' passing.  I had never had the honor of meeting Mr. John Bettis, but I am sure that every aspect of his kindness, respect and generosity flowed through his son, Jerome who I have had the honor of meeting.

I have no doubt that the Bettis' are a tightly knit family and this loss is so great, but they are strong.  They are together.  They will survive.  They will honor the memory of their father and husband.  They will keep the memory of this great man alive.

Jerome, I know that you will not read this, but I hope that you know there are millions of us around the world that grieve with you and your family today.  Hundreds of thousands of us who have been here, through the loss of a loved one, and offer you our strength and our compassion. 

To the Bettis family, rejoice in the time that you had with this wonderful man, reminisce about the lives that he touched, and find peace when you can.  It IS harder to lose someone suddenly, but a passing without a long period of pain and suffering, in the end, is easier on your heart, mind, and soul.

I cry for you all because your family has touched my family.  My father was a tremendous fan of Jerome, the Steelers, and football before he passed, and he gave to me that love of football.  Jerome, you were never any less than wonderful on the occasions when I met you and you made football more personal for me and for everyone with which I would share a 'Jerome story'.  I grieve with you and for you and hope that in this trying time, you can all rally around each other and be the championship team that Mr. John Bettis was the head coach of.  God bless you all.


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