“Extreme Peeing in Public,” posted earlier this summer, was well received by the Steve’s Word audience and is a great guideline for those with penises and peeing problems. I agree that one’s dire need to drain the snake is a topic that cannot be ignored, but what about the people who have no problem going #1 and can typically find their way to a toilet but do however live their lives in fear of the other bodily function that is much more difficult to clean up? Those of you who travel to exotic locations, know the aftermath of Jamaican jerk pork chops, or must take a pill before enjoying an Oreo Blizzard, know exactly what I’m talking about. This is your guide. Your guide to pooping in peace. How to keep your sounds and smells to a minimum. You can now get a handle on all the crap in your life. At least the portion that comes out your ass.
1. The Courtesy Flush
This is the most widely used and time tested method for those #2 situations. It is the easiest technique, as it can be done anywhere a flushable crapper is found. The procedure is simple. Any patient person knows that defecation comes in stages. When the first segment is complete and you release the initial burst that sent you running for the loo in the first place, you then have to sit and wait. You are at the mercy of the excrement. It commands you. While you are sitting there, do you really want the first round to sit in the toilet, stinking up the place? I don’t think so. This is when you flush. Not only does it take away the first load, helping to eliminate the lingering smell, but it provides background noise for round two. It’s the perfect way to hide the two most unpleasant parts of pooping. Sometimes the double flush is a tell to the on-listeners but it’s better than having them hear or smell the actual act. And when there is a sensor activated flusher, you can say it went off by itself, allowing you a clean break from your feces.
If you don't know who the Naked Cowboy is then there's a chance you are a true New Yorker, or maybe you've never been on a double-decker bus tour through Manhattan. I don't remember when exactly it was that I became aware of who the jackass in his undies, boots and cowboy hat strumming a guitar in Times Square was, but I'm pretty sure that someone had to tell me who he was multiple times before I realized that he's a mainstay and, some might say, an attraction. Maybe it was in some sort of promotional photo of Times Square that I first saw him, maybe he was just starting his day when I was leaving the TKTS line. Either way, I've never really understood the appeal here, from both sides of his existence, so let's just say I'm admitting some bias right up front. Why would someone feel the need to include him as part of their memories of a trip to New York? It seems the only people who would feel that a cowboy-styled country singer from Cincinnati, Ohio who arrived here twelve years ago is somehow quintessentially symbolic of NYC are people who will never be coming back. And on the other side, why would someone want to do what he does? He stands around in his undies, which must get really cold most of the time. But worse, he stands around in Times Square, which means he has to deal with tourists every goddamn day. This, to me, sounds like a terrible way to spend your time, even if the most creative thing you've ever come up with is to sing country songs in your jockey shorts.
I was so drunk on Friday night when someone told me that Sarah Palin had resigned as Governor of Alaska that I skipped right past insisting that it was a joke but still couldn't quite believe it. In retrospect, however, being completely wasted (and at a bachelor party no less) seems entirely appropriate, since only someone totally out of their gourd could possibly make sense of this move by everyone's favorite moose-hunting rogue-going lady governor. I got home around 2 am and starting puttering around with my computer, even though I could barely see straight, because I just had to see it for myself.
A lot has been said and written about the death of the King of Pop in the last week. People have talked about how much they loved him and how his music has informed their lives, they can remember the first time they saw him on television, the first time they listened to "Billie Jean," how "Thriller" shaped the evolution of music videos. Most of these people called in to E! News or showed up on NY1 over the weekend during Roger-Clark-man-on-the-street interviews. Others have written about how much he meant to the world, how big a star he truly was and how it's really too bad he couldn't have seen all this outpouring of emotion while he was alive. And it wasn't just his dad who felt that way. On the contrary, in fact. Thousands of people tuned into the BET Awards to get a look at Janet Jackson mid-mourning and just about as many lined up outside the Apollo Theater earlier this week to gain entrance to an evening-long tribute.
Here I am again to make your life a little better. Those who know me know that I pee a lot. Those who know me also are aware that this should probably limit my alcohol intake due to the process known as diuresis that takes effect when consuming alcohol. It doesn't. Ipso facto, I have to urinate quite often when a restroom, powder room, water closet, toilet, or any other place where it is acceptable for a human to deposit his or her human liquid waste is not available. As someone with a tiny bladder and high metabolic rate, it's a scientific fact that I've urinated 67% more times than the average 28 year-old male. You can rest easy knowing that my expertise comes from an unlucky amount of experience. The following list of tremendously helpful advice that you're about to read with awe and admiration will begin with those moderately desperate situations that we all find ourselves in far too often. Then it'll be time to move onto some Extreme Peeing in Public. Those highly urgent and perilous situations when all hope is seemingly lost. I'm here to tell you that there's never a situation where you can't courteously pee in public, minimize offending your fellow citizens, avoid getting arrested, and keep your dungarees dry. Oh, please note, this is for people that live in cities. If you live in the burbs or the country, you already know you can pee just about anywhere you want. I envy you. For the rest of us left in cities, the weather is getting much nicer and you'll be finding yourself outdoors and without a convenient place to pee much more often in the coming weeks.
The news was so shocking, so wonderfully amazing that it took me a week to get off the mat and write this piece. For that, I apologize. I'm deeply, deeply sorry that it took me so long because I know you were dying for us to address a story that was one of the best things I've ever heard. Yes, I'm talking about Bristol Palin going Read
Here is yet another bridge to cross in the journey of New Tim. I'm doing my best to be a calmer, patient, spontaneous, worry-free man, but that doesn't mean I still don't want to murder the 10 year old boy that lives next door to me. There are three main things that he does that drives me batty and I will explain each of them for you.
1. He runs back and forth. This is loud and shakes my entire apartment. It was slightly annoying when he was 8, now that he's 10 and much bigger it's quite a dilemma.
2. He shouts and cries all the time thus causing his mother and/or grandmother to yell at him in some harsh Slavic language. Have you ever heard a woman scream in Russian or Polish or Slovenian. I have and it's terrifying and I blame the little rascal for all of it.
3. I don't know what the fuck it is but apparently he rolls something back and forth across the apartment floor. The only thing that I think it might be is a dumbbell with hexagonal weights. Not a roundish dumbbell because it goes "clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk" across the apartment. Obviously, this isn't what the object is, but I can't figure out what the hell it is and why the hell he has to roll this thing. How the fuck does he get away with it? How can his mother and grandmother who he lives with stand it?
So what's the point of all this complaining? When you live in an apartment there are certain things you can and cannot do that you would otherwise partake in in a stand alone home. Moreover, there are certain things one must tolerate living in an apartment, but there is a balance that must be struck. I'm here to tell you what those things are so that you can use this as a guide as to how you should behave when living in an apartment.
This is a true retelling of a night that I lived through a couple of weeks ago. And, before I get into it, I want to explain a little about my daily life. It’s tough. I work a lot at a job that is tedious and difficult and creative and to say that my employers are so insanely aggravating I contemplate homicide regularly is putting it mildly. On top of this, I often have to work late without notice and this is of constant consternation to many people in my life, including multiple friends and, of course, my girlfriend. All this makes her pretty mad on a regular basis and, in turn, I seethe with rage throughout nearly every day as I live in fear of breaking plans. And then pay the price when I do.
But, I’m getting off topic. Let me get back to the night at hand.
It's been a tough decade-and-a-half for me and my wife Kelly. After our college years and Kelly's pregnancy scare, which led to our shotgun wedding in Las Vegas, I got a job selling used cars in Burbank and Kelly started teaching Kindergarten at Bo Jackson Primary School right outside of town. It might not sound like much, but those lean years were probably the happiest of our lives. We were in our early twenties, living in a little one-bedroom and eating tofu chicken three times a week. But, truth be told, we worked hard and played hard, and our sex life had never been better.
Years went by, friends got married and had kids or moved to the suburbs, my best friend Screech died of a painkiller overdose, and my cellphones got smaller as my hairline got taller. I was promoted to General Manager at the car dealership, and Kelly started going to night school to get her MBA. We got a mortgage and upsized to a nice little ranch-style house in South Pasadena and, a few years back, things really started to look up. Then, as my 35th birthday approached, something suddenly went wrong. Kelly and I were getting hot and heavy one night and then...nothing. My groin and brain had cut off the connection and my noodle was as limp as a bowl of Chef Boyardee.
I was impotent.
Happy New President, Everyone! We'd like to cap off Inauguration Week by sharing a little bit of our experience in D.C. with all of you. We got down there Saturday and celebrated straight through Tuesday night. The trip had a lot of ups and downs, mostly ups, and certainly a ton of walking and standing around. It's not that our time in our nation's capital is beyond words, it's just that it would take too many words and we'd rather just show you our pictures from the extended weekend. Hope you enjoy. And just try at least once a day to remember that Barack Obama is our new President and I guarantee you'll feel better. I know I do.
Come on, Eldrick.