Thought of Randomosity #4

Why doesn't Subway put out napkins for its patrons? I know they put one or two in the bag, but what if I'm dining in? Or, God forbid, just want some more napkins? Is this some subliminal message that I'm not allowed to make a mess? What happens if when I make a mess? I already used the ones you gave me ... Do I just leave the crumbs on the table for the next person? That's kinda gross. And I've never seen an employee wipe down tables after people leave. (Ew.) I don't want to interrupt someone else in line just for napkins. Why, Subway, can't you just put some napkins on the drink counter? I know I'm not dining on a $50 sandwich at The Ritz, but please don't make me feel like I'm a cave woman. Pretty please?


P.T.
I love Subway, but I don't want to smell like one all day. Can we do something about that, too? Sorry for being needy today, but it's the little things that count. Thanks!


P.T.T
Pretty please ... [head tilt] ... Is the pretty necessary? I mean, if you were asking someone for a favor, would you really want to offer an ugly please? I know, it's probably one of those sayings that just has a nice ring to it, but come on. That'd be kind of funny though, if there were varying beauty levels of pleases.

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Mystery Solved: The Crusade of The Midnight Potty Perpatrator

Let's start this chat with a little Marcy Logic, shall we?

I work in a 46 (forty-six) story building with at least one men's and one women's bathroom on each floor (I say "at least" because The Man has his own en suite Princess Potty ... and if our own Man has his own can, I would imagine there are a few other boss mans in our building that won't take a leak among the public). In each ladies' restroom, there are 3 stalls. Now because I don't use the men's room, I'm going to go out on a limb and say for all intents and purposes, the men's bathroom has 3 stalls too ... plus probably a few gross urinals, but we'll leave those out of the equation. So we have at least 276 working toilets in the building. Our office up in the sky has anywhere from 30-50 people on any given day. I think only once during actual business hours have I ever had to wait for a stall to open up ... and we have quite a few females in the office. I understand that other floors are probably set up to fit more employees, so there may potentially be time to play the waiting game and maybe give your best potty dance a go.

Furthermore, when we first moved into our office back in August, our floor had been vacant for quite some time. So naturally, one could expect for the other building tenants that sandwich our floors to take a quick trip up/down the stair well and use the bathroom on our floor. But wouldn't it also be reasonable to think that once the floor becomes occupied, they would stop infiltrating our territory? I mean, I know the hydrant has already been marked, but it's ours now. Beat it! I remember some random lady that didn't work with us walking in as I was washing my hands saying, "Oh! Someone is actually on this floor now?" Yes ma'am. Now fly, fly, little birdie. Spread the word! Almost one year later, and people are still using our bathroom. I mean, it's probably not technically ours since it is out in the hall, outside of our doors, but we have the whole floor. And we pay rent. It's just ours, okay? Hmph.

One other restroom nugget (ew, that didn't sound quite right) for you to ponder is that our bathrooms have motion sensors. So after X amount of motionless time in the bathroom, the lights go out. A week or so ago, I got up to go to the bathroom. I opened the door, and the lights were off. I continue walking in quite content because I knew that meant no one had been in there for a while (i.e. no weird smells) and no one would be in there. I go into a stall, and just as I'm contemplating my latest potty pondering, I heard another toilet flush and the toilet paper rolling. Ok, wait ... *head tilt* ... I thought I was alone. The lights were DEFINITELY out. And I DEFINITELY did not hear anyone else come in behind me. Was this person peeing in the dark? Oh. OOoooh. Oh, Lord. I'm not sure at which point the lights go out, but how long had this person been in there? Oh, no. I had to get out quick before she assaulted my olfactory senses (not that ladies do that). I washed my hands and got the hell out of there. I was also afraid that she would come out while I was at the sink (even though I was curious who it was) and there'd be that whole extremely awkward moment like "I totally just caught you waging war under the cover of darkness."

Just this week I had another encounter with the Midnight Potty Perpatrator (I like nicknames, ok? They're fun and they come in handy). I walked in and the lights were definitely off. I go in to do my business, and heard another toilet flush. Only this time, she beat me to the sink. IT WAS SOMEBODY FROM A DIFFERENT FLOOR!!!! Can we just talk about this for a second? Am I the only one who finds it odd / a little rude that she felt the need to launchWorld Wars III & IV on our floor? I mean, I guess she didn't want the humiliation of her own co-workers catching her in the act ... in the dark ...  but really? Seriously? If our floor was still vacant, bomb away. But, please, PLEASE I BEG YOU, use your own floor's bathroom. Or become The Woman of your company and get your own Princess Potty. Thanks and Gig'em.

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Ditch Bums, Lobotomies, and Singing in the Rain

Howdy, dear friends and strangers, I’m baaaaack! I’m sorry for the neglect, but I seemed to have lost my mind.  Where does your mind go when you lose it? I’m not really sure where mine went, but it must have been nice wherever it was! I’m thinking it was lying on a nice sandy beach somewhere on a breezy tropical island (similar to the one I have on my desktop background at work with a little hammock) … or somewhere really cold since lately it’s been hotter than blue blazes in the sauna we call Houston.  

Let’s see, what’s been going on around here? I’ll give you a quick update.

I took a weekend road trip to San Antonio to visit one of my best friends Frances and her family (one of my many bonus families). It’s always great to see them! Her little brother Jacob graduated from high school (congrats Broham!). Tons of family and friends showed up to celebrate and have some of Papa Driffill’s awesome brisket. We were sitting around the table with a few of Fran’s family members, including her Grandma and Tia, when they mentioned they read the obituaries in the paper every day. We talked about how it’s kind of depressing, but a lot of people browse this section of the newspaper. Grandma then said “Hey, that’s how we keep up with our friends!” and Jacob just started laughing … “The obituaries are like Facebook for y’all!” So true.


I stopped at Buc-ee’s on the way home. That was interesting … as always. For those of you who don’t know, Buc-ee’s is known for their glorious and pristine bathrooms. Now, I’ve seen my more than fair share of dark and sketchy, creepy, axe-murderish bathrooms at numerous gas stations in Podunk towns because I couldn’t hold it ‘til the next major city. When I was in elementary school, we drove with another family to Colorado and pulled over at sundown for some fresh peaches at a fruit stand, I asked the nice lady if I could use her restroom. She pointed me to an outhouse off in the distance between some trees … I’ve reluctantly used plenty of Porta-Potties, but this was a dark and all wooden outhouse … now that’s Podunk. I hesitated a little, but since I didn’t think I could hold it any longer, I took off running, “I think I can, I think I can.” Well, I think even God hates outhouses, because the second I took off, it got very dark, started pouring down rain (which didn’t help my situation), and when I opened the door and took one look inside the dark abyss, the thunder let loose, and I flew like a bat out of hell back to the car. (Sidenote- someone at camp many years ago told me things live in Porta-Potties. And even though I had never witnessed this tall tale, I was certain that using an OUTHOUSE in the middle of freaking nowhere that night would result in my demise. To this day, I have this irrational fear that some snake or nasty creature is going to crawl out of the hole and bite me.) Luckily, there was a Dairy Queen a few miles down the road. Dad peeled out and I’m pretty sure I was doing what appeared to be some sort of tribal potty-dance in the back seat to avoid the embarrassing. I ran inside the DQ and past an old lady headed to the bathroom. (Sorry!)

So, all of that to tell you if you’re like me with a tiny bladder, and can hardly ever make it on a road trip without at least one pit stop, Buc-ee’s bathrooms are heaven sent. No, really. Choirs of angels sing when you walk in. Just be sure you know which side of the parking lot to park on so that you are as close as possible to the restrooms or else you will find yourself running the 100 meter dash through a throng of slow people, clothing, food, and random knick-knacks to get to the Great Hall of Thrones on the complete opposite side of the not-so-convenient-convenient-store. Luckily, once you get in, their doors have the little green “vacant” or red “occupied” door signs that change when the door is locked,  so you don’t have to play the Bend-Over-and-Look-for-Feet Game which becomes increasingly difficult if you just potty-danced your way through the last leg of the race. Don’t let their funny billboards mislead you; if you see one that says “You can hold it. Buc-ee’s 70 miles” and you don’t know if you can, go with your gut instinct and pull in to the next available stop. 70 miles is deceiving when you have to go.

Aside from the great bathrooms (Beaver Nuggets (lol), Buc-ee’s ice, and fudge … so I’ve been told)., Buc-ee’s is also a fantastic place for people watching. For instance, I followed a guy in the parking lot on a motorcycle, holding his beard down so it wouldn’t fly up his nose. I also saw all kinds of interestingly dressed people. But not only this, but when I got back to my car to hit the road again, I saw a police car drive up behind me. Whatever it was, I didn’t do it. I swear! He got out and started walking around in the grass ahead of me, looking down into the ditch down below. He started talking into his radio, and an older lady walked up to him. I’m assuming she was the one who called for the police. I was getting a little uneasy, so I decided to back out and go. As I put the car in reverse, a homeless man appeared from the ditch. For any of you hard core SNL fans, there’s a “deleted sketch” on The Best of Will Ferrell DVD where his character is the crazy Old Prospector, Gus Chiggins. This homeless man looked exactly like him, minus the pick axe and lantern. As I made it out to the street, I looked back to see Old Prospector getting cuffed and put into the back of a squad car. What a pit stop! So, next time you pull into a gas station to go potty, watch out for the ditch bums.

Old Prospector Gus Chiggins

 

In other news, Elle had sinus surgery. I had a few sympathetical pre-ops jitters, but I'm happy to report the surgery went relatively well.  She asked me if I would still be her friend with all of the swelling, bruising, and bandages/packing, and if I could compliment on how well the colors in her outfits match said bruising. Of course I’ll still be your friend, but I can’t say I didn’t just gag a little thinking about all the packing (and removal thereof).

I need to practice some of my compliments.

• That shade of blue really complements your eyes.
• The black in this bruise really slims the swelling down.
• I tinted the mirrors yellow to offset that purple.
• Thanks for not being scary on Vicodin after surgery, unlike someone else we know after she broke her foot. (Love you, Fran.)

Speaking of surgery, even though I know good and well that a lobotomy is a neurological procedure where they remove connections in the frontal lobe of your brain (yikes!) and is only spelled with one ‘t’, I can’t help but giggle because it’s got the word “bottom” in it. I think we should double the ‘t’ so it can be the name of a surgery on your bottom – like maybe the J. Lobottomy, a procedure to enhance the lacking of the badonkadonk, no?. I know, I’m 23 years old, but I still laugh at immature things … life’s too short. I couldn’t get through a news story about Representative Weiner (lol) without snickering every time they said his name.


Ok, so the real lobotomy procedure (according to the 1970 Psychiatric Dictionary) was used to treat different kinds of psychological disorders, namely OCD and different versions of schizophrenia. Here are a few procedural nuggets that caught my attention:

• Good results are obtained in about 40 percent of cases, fair results in some 35 percent and poor results in 25 percent. The mortality rate probably does not exceed 3 percent.
• These odds would not have convinced me back in the day ... so you're saying I don't even have a 50/50 shot at ending up with good results? I noticed "great results" was not included on this scale.
• Greatest improvement is seen in patients whose premorbid personalities were 'normal', cyclothymic (bipolar), or obsessive compulsive; in patients with superior intelligence and good education; in psychoses with sudden onset and a clinical picture of affective symptoms of depression or anxiety, and with behaviouristic changes such as refusal of food, overactivity, and delusional ideas of a paranoid nature.
• Ok, wait. Why are 'normal' people partaking in these surgeries? Furthermore, why are you removing cranial matter in the patients with superior intelligence and good education? You know you can't transplant intelligence, right? You either have it, or you don't ... and I pray for your soul if you don't.
• The removal of these aberrant and fixed pathological brain circuits, therefore, might lead to some improvement in mental symptoms. 
• ...might? ...some? Again, if you're going to be snipping my circuits, I'd like a little more confidence in the outcome please.
• Because nearly all psychosurgical procedures have undesirable side effects, they are ordinarily resorted to only after all other methods have failed. The less disorganized the personality of the patient, the more obvious are post-operative side effects. (Side effects include convulsive seizures, blunting of the personality, apathy, irresponsibility, distractibility, childishness, facetiousness, lack of tact or discipline, and post-operative incontinence.)
• These side effects are pretty intense, therefore it seems pretty OBVIOUS that if you have a less disorganized personality (read: normal) going into the procedure, then these outlandish post-op side effects will be more obvious.
• Basically, if Dr. Freeman went in looking like this, but came out of surgery looking like this, the side effects will be more noticeable than if he went into surgery already looking like one flew over the cuckoo's nest. Duh!

Anyway … Elle, I'm glad you're out of surgery, wish you a speedy and relatively painless recovery, and most of all, I hope you don't get any more sinus infections!

I still owe you guys a ditty on my Vegas trip – it’s just a matter of me sitting down and uploading pictures to my computer to accompany some stories. Las Vegas was awesome, until it was time to come home. After a long night out with my cousin and her friend (small world - they planned a trip to Sin City the same week we were there), I tripped and ate it. For any of you who play (or have played sports), I’m sure your coaches told you if you fall, don’t catch yourself because you’ll mess up your wrists on the impact. Well, you guessed it. I tried (keyword) to catch myself and wound up with a sprained wrist and missing half the skin on the back of my hand. I’ll revisit this incident with a dedicated Vegas post.


Most importantly, it rained yesterday for several hours. I did my part and got my car washed on Sunday. You’re welcome, Texas. This is most important because short of a few droplets here and there, it hasn’t really rained in the majority of Texas for 7 months. That’s a pretty severe drought.

That just looks hot, huh?

Here in Bayou City, we’ve only had 1.5 inches of rain from the last three months which is apparently only 15% of what we normally get around this time. So, here’s what I was thinking. We need to organize a flash mob (since everyone seems to be doing those now) and do one giant rain dance. That should at least get us the 10 inches we need to be on par for the season. Check this out – apparently even parts of the Sahara desert are getting more rain than we are! We could also make a Facebook event to have everyone wash their cars on the same day. Just a thought.

 Sheesh, after writing this post, I'm beginning to think I might be a candidate for a lobotomy.

 
Gotta give credit, where credit is due:
http://28.media.tumblr.com/X6pnpwdzPi3d3f1nppEZmgzio1_400.gif
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lobotomy
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/05/10/texas-drought-2011-record_n_859902.html
http://www.myfoxhouston.com/generic/weather/texas_drought_monitor_weather_subindex
http://www.cerebromente.org.br/n02/historia/freeman.gif
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmvDm8b1WvljFtLisouY21dCUFG1QSFHFRmvI9SVmv4nVvogt95WDGAupxbJYcanRI1mGIlUvqsSJtXZrhqbiU6FU_6ocXj6fffL6nNFjfCeP1cEmUmYLfCDUYi1cQAk3RyT3MLbj4nM/s1600/lobotomy.jpg

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Restroom Naming Convention

Have you ever noticed how public bathrooms are labeled? Women’s restrooms are usually labeled either ‘Women’ or ‘Ladies’, and men’s restrooms are usually, well, ‘Men’. Rarely have I seen a men’s restroom labeled ‘Gentlemen’. My point, you ask? It just seems that if you call the female restroom ‘Ladies’, shouldn’t you call their male counterpoint’s baño ‘Gentlemen’? You know … “Laaaadies and gentlemennnnnn” … that whole chestnut? When we leddies excuse ourselves from the table, we say we need to go to the ladies’ room, the little girls’ room, or the powder room. Duh, that’s because our restrooms are extravagant lounges filled with plush couches and the aromas of fresh linens and fields of daisies - we rest. That is why we go in pairs. Silly boys, who wants to go sit by themselves? I’ve never heard a man say “I’m going to the gentlemen’s room.” It’s always the men’s room or the little boys' room (or my personal favorite as my grandpa says, “I have an important meeting to get to.”) because, let’s face it, men do MANLY business in their “rest”rooms, and little boys fill the sinks with water, throw toilet paper, give each other swirlies and have contests to see whose stream can go the farthest.  I’m sure by now some of you are wondering how a girl like me knows so much about men’s bathrooms. Well, when you’re a girl at the age of 6 out in public with your dad and your tiny bladder is calling (loudly for the second time since you’ve left the house, and yes, you went before you got in the car), he’s not going to send you into the ladies’ room unsupervised. He takes you with him in the men’s room like any good father would do. (Daddio, I love you to the moon and back, but that was always super awkward and scary. I’m sure it was equally awkward for you, if not more. Thanks for guarding the door.) Anywho, I guess the knights of the roundtable at the Restroom Naming Convention actually knew what they were doing. There is nothing really gentle about the men’s restroom after all.

This is how the Ladies' and Gentlemen's door signs would look.

Here we have a gentleman (marked by his top hat, morning coat, and walking stick) and a lady (marked by the Victorian big booty dress, hat and parasol). They are fit for the Royal Wedding.

This snazzy couple may also be found in the famous painting 

"A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" by Georges Seurat.

Has anyone ever noticed the monkey in this painting?

P.T.

Do you think Victorian women ever asked their husbands, "Does this dress make my butt look big, dear?" (By the way, I typed that in a Mrs. Doubtfire meets Julia Childs voice.) If so, I hope their suitors looked their ladies in the eyes and replied, "Why, yes, my sweet darling, it makes your butt look rather large!" (And that was Michael Cane's voice you just heard). But instead, I'm afraid the gentleman lied out of respect and said her rear end didn't look big because he didn't want to upset her. Which then leaves me to believe the lady added layer after layer under that blasted dress in hopes he'd say her back side did indeed look big and round. "What about now, darling dear? Does THIS make my tail feather look larger?" Victorians ...

Photo sources:
Lady and Gentleman Door Signs
Sunday Afternoon

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Marcy Meteorology

Here in Texas, you never know what kind of weather you’re going to get. It’s a lot like Marcy Magoo I suppose. One minute it’s hot and sunny, and the next it’s a few degrees below freezing … the one constant is Houston's humidity. And then there’s Texas weather to the power of Marcy Magoo.  Any unit, or combination of units, raised to the power of Marcy Magoo (x^MM) yields something a little bit silly. For more details on the meaning of Marcy Magoo, see Who is Marcy? Let's examine the formula in Example 1.

Picture of disheveled combover man courtesy of this guy.

Image of Texas with flag courtesy of this page.

The Method (used loosely) to My Madness

Here, you have a combination of warm temperatures, precipitation, and high wind speeds. This combination makes for gross weather. Multiplying this aggregation by the State of Texas gives you arbitrary scattering and unpredictability of said weather . Subtract the access to an umbrella and you lose protection from these forces. Raise the cumulative product to the power of Marcy Magoo and you have yourself one old man whose combover has turned into a comb-out.

Yes, I literally witnessed this event today while driving back to the office. Unfortunately, I could not snap my own photo of this funny sighting, but something told me this was not the first time a combover has turned into a comb-out. 

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