If It's Yellow

Recently, a male friend of mine told me a quick story about male etiquette in the bathroom.

He had "to go", and the man in the stall next to him apparently had to as well. So much so, that the man next door was loudly grunting and making his "movement" audible.

My friend thought this to be very uncouth and asked how us girls deal with the usage of stalls.

Since I work in an office 45 hours a week, I get to use a public (well, you need a key, but everyone has a key) bathroom many, many times. And I've realized how insane women can truly be.
I've also realized why at every public bathroom, the women's line is so much longer than the men's.

It's not because men can just whip it out, not wash their hands, and leave. (MEN, WASH. I DON'T CARE IF THE PEE HIT YOUR HANDS OR NOT, YOU ARE GROSS.)

But it's because men don't WASTE TIME. They go in, do their business (whether it's of the one or two variety) and get out.

Below is a collection of women I have witnessed in the bathroom at work who have strange bathroom behaviors.
These women have turned trips to the bathroom into some sort of ritual where all sense of common sense has flown out the window (or flushed down the toilet, as it may be.)

1. Ms. Waiting - This is by far the most common reason the line is out the door. You walk in the bathroom and notice that a stall is already occupied. You don't hear any noise, but you confirm that there are feet in there. You find another stall. You do your business. You get out. You wash your hands. You realize that those feet are STILL in there and you still haven't heard any noise. No pee, no splashing, no pulling of toilet paper. This women either has a severe case of pee fright or she's about to drop a deuce and you need to GTFO.

2. Ms. Primper - This woman probably doesn't even have to use a stall. She instead has staked some real estate the size of Rhode Island at the mirror and isn't leaving any time soon. There's a full size bottle of hair spray, a make-up bag that doubles as an overnight bag, and if you're lucky, a curling iron plugged in to a socket you didn't even know existed. Once I saw a women on a TRAIN pull out a curling iron. That woman most likely is Ms. Primper. I'm sorry that you think you are so ugly and also so tardy that what should be saved for your private bathroom has to infringe upon my handwashing time, but DO IT AT HOME.

3. Ms. Clean - At my work, the bathroom has automatic sinks. Not only does the water come out by waving your hand, so does the soap. One squirt of soap is enough for me to feel clean and secure that I can eat with my hands. Yet on more than ONE occasion, I have witnessed insane OCD women who wave their hands not one, not two, not three, but FOUR OR MORE TIMES. They are basically holding about 8 ounces of soap by that point. I'm sure when the water hits it, 75% of that soap splashes into the drain, but apparently this really makes Ms. Clean feel secure and thoroughly washed. I blame them every time I wave my hand and nothing comes out of the dispenser.

4. Ms. Anti-Environment - Honestly, I don't recycle at home. My city doesn't believe in recycle bins. To make up for this fact, when out and about, or in a public restroom, I try not to waste too much. Yet this woman, obviously does not share my sentiment. After they have used half the soap to wash their hands, they grab at least 10 towels to dry off. While one paper towel can do the job, this women apparently made such a mess at the sink that her delicate hands need to be scrubbed to death with 15 towels so that a wet towel does not come in contact with her baby hands.

5. Ms. Scared - A close cousin of #4, is this woman. Her excuse for using half a roll of paper towel is that when she leaves the bathroom, she must NOT touch the door. In a total "What About Bob?" moment, this women uses her wad of towels as a barrier between her precious hands and the door handle. To add insult to craziness, this women than LEAVES her wet towels either on the door handle, or on the floor next to the door. This woman is vindictive to fellow bathroom users as well as the cleaning staff.


And I've worked there less than 6 months.

But to answer my male friends inquiry about women and the bathroom, I simply said "oh, it's much different than you guys."

Hopefully, a few of these women will read this and learn something.
Mainly that the bathroom is a shared space. It's not your personal camp site, vanity mirror, or garbage bag.
Other people would like to use it as well for it's intended purpose.

Falling

I've had the internet since I was 11 years old.

AOL 3.0 in 1996. I still remember my first screen name as well as the many chat rooms where I lied and said I was 17 years old (instead of 12).

Since then, I've stayed out of chatrooms, got rid of AOL, and I quit lying. About my age at least.

The net has changed a lot since then. Angelfire has been replaced by Myspace. Napster has been replaced by torrents. And dial up has gone the way of the dinosaurs.

Yet one thing remains the same - everybody is looking for somebody.
Whether it be just sex, just friends, or that future partner to say "I do."


I'll admit, I've gone on dates and even dated (long term) people I have met via the internet. Be it myspace, craigslist, match.com and even okcupid.com.

When I heard about Crazy Blind Date, it took all my strength not to sign up and start meeting up with people I had not even seen pictures of. (I did sign up, but I never followed through.)

I don't see anything wrong with meeting people from the net. Whether you are looking for friends or something more (just watch out for the herp.)

I have a friend who desperately wants to date and I suggested the net but she instantly brushed me off. If there's a stigma left in the world of dating besides dating a homeless person, it's dating someone you met online.
No matter how much money e-harmony or match.com spend on advertising, there will still be a majority of people who believe that meeting and subsequently sleeping with or, by god, dating someone you met from a website is creepy, weird, and downright wrong.

It's like the 50's. Only instead of being judged because of the color of my and my partners skin, I'm being judged simply on how we met.

While I am a major supporter of dating people you meet online, I can understand how it can be a problem.

Here are the upsides:

• Pictures - you know what they look like in various forms and poses. Unless they are a big ass liar, you got a pretty good idea. Better than any blind date set up by your mother.
• Information - via a profile or emails or ims, you already have a basic idea of their being, which helps break the ice and get rid of the awkwardness when you do decide to meet.
• The Net: the fact that you both are looking online for someone already shows you got something in common. An obsession with the internet.

Yet these very same things can also show why dating via the web can be a bad, bad choice:

• Information - too much information is bad. Most of the first date questions are answered in their profile so what is left to talk about?
• The Net - sure you both love the net, but while you may have a life outside of it, these people you find may not. They might HAVE to use the internet to meet people because they suck that much at the real world.

And lastly, is the pictures.
1. Old pics - nothing is worse than meeting someone in real life after seeing their myspace only to find out that all of their pictures are from 2004 before they got in that horrible burn accident and gained 400 pounds.
2. The Ex - once you break up with someone, no matter how good you looked in the pictures, either crop yourself out or delete them. We don't want to see you smiling with some girl or boy that we think is better looking than us when we are trying to pursue you.


But in the end, I've done it and I'll continue to do it.
I've met some great people.
I've had a few mishaps.
But as some people say, it's better to experience life in the good and the bad.

And right now it's good.

And I didn't even need a chatroom.
But I did have a screenname.

A Happy Journey

I recently celebrated a birthday. Nothing major, no sweet 16, or drunk 21 or over-the-hill 35.

Now that there is nothing major to look forward to, I get to relax a bit and look at myself.
Instead of focusing on graduating or getting a job or getting a boyfriend or making new friends, I find myself, at a young age, living on my own with a steady job, an awesome place to live, a large group of great friends, and even a boy who is interested in me (one who actually bought me dinner.)

They say as you grow older, you grow wiser.

But how does one define wiser?
More educated?
More worldly?
Simply learning more from one's mistakes?

For me, it's become acceptance.

As a child or even a teenager, your future life is completely unknown and can be a huge fantasy.

Being stuck in school and shitty food service jobs and living in your parents house with a curfew can make the freedom of being 22 seem like a fantastic finish line. The storybook ending.

I always thought that once I got out of school and out of the house and was free to just have a job, my life would immediately improve. Everything would be better. There would be less worries, more fun, and I would finally be happy.

Yet this delusion is the same one many people hold where they believe that if they simply find a mate, their lives will be better.

But perhaps my wiseness has been that as I have grown old, I have realized that this is not true. I don't need the validation of others or of the world to make my life better.

The only trick to happiness, is to LET yourself be happy.

While I did gain freedom and more time after graduation and more friends and the ability to drink in bars, I also gained other stresses that stopped me from being happy (when I let them.)

My hair starting going white.
My metabolism slowed down, resulting in quicker weight gain (meaning more time spent working out).
I could see the wrinkles in my face.
I spend 45 hours a week in an office, and many other hours cooking, cleaning, and running errands (and I am not a housewife.)
And tons of friends who leave the state, get married, or don't move on along with you.

I finally had to stop myself.

If I kept thinking like that, I would never get happy.

And why was I letting myself believe that circumstances (mostly) outside of my control were supposed to dictate how I felt about myself and my life?

This is why people who tell themselves a significant other will heal all their wounds only end up in more pain.

You can't rely on others to make you happy. Or to make you unhappy.

I realized I could sweat in 90 degree weather wearing jeans all summer or I could accept the fact that my legs have stretch marks and that some people might see them and judge but dammit, I was going to wear shorts and stay cool. Because I am happier when I am not sweaty.

I realized I could worry that one friend would stop hanging out with me if I ever said no, or I could stand up for myself and risk losing a confidant. Because I am happier when I'm allowed to be a free spirit.

I realized I could spend my time sleeping my way through men looking for the elusive prince charming, or I could get over a silly hang up that only causes me grief based on what I THINK other people are thinking. Because I am happier when I'm with someone that treats me better.


Of course, there will always be things I aim to change and things to give me the push I need to keep trying for something better.

I still don't know what I really want to do for a living. While this currently pays the bills, it's only temporary. But not knowing is half the fun. Who knows where I could end up.


At this point, I gotta admit, I'm pretty damn happy.

I may never be completely satisfied and I by far don't have everything I've ever wanted, but I'm getting there.

By accepting the stupid little things that would hold me back, I'm making progress.

Europe is next.
Now if only the dollar would get over it's hang ups and gain some more credibility I would be able to get there sooner.

Hello, My Name is Fucking Amazing

Sometimes I find a word I really like. I grab onto it and use it whenever I possibly can. I overuse this word to the point where I eventually stop using it until I remember how much I liked using it and the cycle continues.

In middle school, I would greet anyone and everyone with "Howdy." Before I bought a cowboy hat, I stopped this.

Junior year of high school, I decided that everything was "ludicrous." I still think this way but I have stopped letting the world know every two minutes.

The past year, I've decided that one word wasn't good enough. I needed an entire phrase. A phrase I use so much, my roommate now uses it as well.

"Pick your battles."

or my favorite "You gotta pick your fucking battles" (this is used more frequently when drunk or hungover.)


I believe the blog Stuff White People Like really explains why I'm such a strong believer in this phrase.
And I've covered this briefly before, but these whiny, spoiled white kids, with too much time on their hands, need to PICK THEIR FUCKING BATTLES!

You aren't going to save the world. You can be an active PETA member, an active war protester, wearing a SAVE DARFUR shirt while shopping exclusively at local green markets and riding your bike (probably without a helmet) and adopting chinese girls.
Fine.

BUT GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY FACE!

You can live your life like Alec Baldwin can (with his millions of dollars and raging temper) but quit trying to make me feel bad because I only care about ONE of the fifty fucking thousand "causes" you actively work for.

All you are doing is pissing people off and making yourself look like a jackass. This is why there are meetings and such for each cause. Because nobody else wants to sit at a bar and listen to your speech about why the apples at Dominick's are covered in pesticides and that if I eat one, not only am I gonna get sick, but I'm supporting some sort of Brazilian drug lord.

Seriously, I'm sorry to crush your dreams, but unless I show up at one of your little peace rallies with my buttons and stickers, I honestly DON'T. GIVE. A. SHIT. So quit giving me a lecture if I get non-organic chicken in my burrito from the greasy mexican joint down the street.

PICK YOUR BATTLES!

Yes, I do advocate bicycle riding and bicycle safety. It's the easiest and most efficient form of transportation in this city and is healthy and economic.
Yes, I might tell you to buy a bike.
But that's it.
I shop at Aldi, I drink tap water, and I get my news from the Red Eye and blogs (when I get a change to read them.)
I don't have TIME to sit and fight for everyone. Because I gotta fight for MYSELF so I can pay rent and buy food for myself (and my cat.)

With these damn trust fund babies who have all the time in the world to not hold down a job or do their laundry or cook their own meals, they don't even NEED a cause to make you feel bad.

These barely-of-age assholes try to make me feel uninformed and uneducated because I'm not reading The Economist each week and I'm not reading the latest novel about the polar bears dying in Antartica.

Guess what? I can balance a checkbook, get a higher credit score without going in debt, cook a weeks worth of food in an hour, and live on my own with luxuries such as the internet.

How bought you put down the paper and learn how to live on your fucking own?!

I picked my battles. It's done. They are not open for review and I'm not going to listen to your speech on why I should be doing more for the Dairy Farmers of America or whatever the hot cause is this week.

Some people say that I'M being an asshole.

I'm just being fucking amazing.

Try it some time.