The Return of the Man Boobs

My mom just found a T-shirt from Jimmy Buffett’s 1981 Coconut Telegraph Tour. It was one of the first concerts that my folks enjoyed together. Unfortunately, my love for Jimmy and my mom’s slender build at the age of 20 do not mix.

Now, I present for your viewing pleasure the cliche Internet photograph of an unkempt blogger wearing a shirt too small for his frame and looking to his right:

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Can't live with 'em

Because I’m on the yearbook staff at school, I had the pleasure yesterday of observing teenage girls in their natural habitat at a time during which they are particularly vulnerable: school picture distribution day.

It’s funny how every girl responds in exactly the same oh-my-god-my-pictures-are-so-horrible-but-I-think-yours-are-so-pretty-oh-no-mine-suck manner. I’ll be sure to add this one to the list of peculiar girlisms that is already longer than _War and Peace_.

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So, do you wipe twice?

Because after 12 years of public schooling I’ve run the gamut of things to talk about, I was discussing with my carpool the merits of bidets this morning as we drove to school.

Now, because I’ve grown up in Clearwater as a member of this family and I’ve lived a relatively simple life thus far, I’ve never used one. I’ve never even seen one. I’ve heard about them and seen them on the Internet, but I’ve never actually seen one. So, they might not actually exist.

But my friend Angus says that they are real and that he’s used one. I have trouble believing that anyone from Beckley, West Virginia named Angus has actually used one; but I have no reason not to believe that he experimented with the one in his New York hotel room, so I’m reasonably convinced.

So, now that I know these things actually exist, I’m kind of curious as to how you would go about using one. I asked Angus, but his recollection of the bidet adventure was just fuzzy enough to facilitate his delivery of an overly ambiguous explanation that made about as much sense as a sneaker in a toaster. So, I asked everyone I saw before school today.

Apparently, such topics of conversation are not popular among my friends, especially those of the female persuasion.

So, I was left in the dark all day. And I’m still out of the know. All because my friends are uptight squares who don’t like to talk about their pooping habits. Lame.

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Chippy, Chippy

Having accepted my fate as a lonely little man for the rest of eternity, I decided last year to scope out chicks with whom I have no chance and watch them from afar. And don’t think that this was some sort of intricate system of hiding out in trash cans outside of girls’ houses and lowering myself into their bedrooms with rock climbing equipment – it’s just normal public girl watching, and the last time I checked, that’s pretty legal.

Anyhow, last year there was this girl at school who I only referred to as Chippy, half because I didn’t know her real name and half because she looked like a chipmunk. Of course, I’m no strange guy with a chipmunk fetish or anything; she was a genuinely hot human chipmunk girl. Anyhow, I digress. She was far less than 5 feet tall and walked around in her nose ring and hanging off of this intensely awkward looking boy who had a giant red bush atop his head, which was just scraping the 7 foot barrier. They were an interesting couple to watch, to say the least.

After a while, though, I realized that Chippy and I were just incompatible. I mean, if I ever brought a girl with a nose ring home to my dad, he’d have a cow. Heck, he’d have a whole herd. It just wouldn’t be pretty.

However, this year, I’ve noticed that Chippy no longer goes around with the Red-Headed Wonder. Maybe it’s because her legs were so much shorter than his that she couldn’t keep up and he’s long gone by now. Or maybe it’s because the mechanics of any sort of physical contact were largely inefficient and, therefore, she is in the market for someone more vertically challenged than Red. Or maybe it’s just because he went to college and left her behind. Either way, she’s roaming the campus unhitched.

Thus, my mind has begun to wander again. And while I am fully aware that she and I are most likely very incompatible, I can’t help but wonder what our babies would look like. And while I don’t ever plan on saying anything to her, I’m curious as to whether a conversation with her would be slightly interesting. And while I know that I really would rather not pursue any sort of relationship with her, I continually ask myself if her mother would like me.

Uh oh, I think this qualifies my life as the saddest existence ever known to man.

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Straighten up and fly right

Yesterday at lunch, I had a revelation that I decided to share with all of my classmates as they entered and exited through the left side of the double doors leading into the cafeteria. I yelled at the top of my pathetic little lungs at them, but I don’t think they noticed. So, I’ll fume about it here, which is the only place many people pay attention to my unceasing quips and clever insight.

Okay, people. It’s not hard. You drive on the right side. At a four way stop, the car to the right goes first. 90 percent of you are right-handed (or so says “Wikipedia”:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Right-handed). Your computer mouse is a right-handed device. The right side has become so well embedded into the framework of our society that it is the default direction for most common actions. Therefore, wouldn’t it make a boat load of sense to use the right side of double doors whenever you’re in a situation wherein you’ve got to make passage into a building?

Honestly, there is nothing that makes people look more stupid than a giant traffic jam around the entrance to a building that festers for a few minutes before someone realizes that the right door hasn’t been opened yet. It’s like a bunch of sheep being herded into the slaughterhouse with a mass of cattle making a break for it through the same door at the same time.

Here’s a novel thought. Why doesn’t everybody just follow primordial traffic laws when they’re walking? You know: walk on the right side, don’t speed, don’t go so slow that the people who have places to be pummel you, and, for the love of God, go through double doors on the right side.

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