Motorcycles vs. Motorskills

When you are driving a motorcycle and you wreck it by falling to one side - sending the bike sliding - it is called "laying it down." A biker will say, "I layed my bike down," and other bikers will know that he wrecked it.

Yesterday I was standing still and suddenly, without provocation, I fell to my side. I have learned this is called "being a huge f***ing moron."

When a biker lays his bike down he will likely tear up his leather pants and perhaps a leather jacket.

When I fell I ripped the seam in my pants.

When a biker wrecks and gets a large bruise it is called a raspberry.

My bruise it apparently called and "idiot mark."

When a biker tells other people about his accident he gets all kinds of sympathy. His friends, even the hugely macho men, will ask if he is ok and if his bike still works.

My friends just sorta laughed a lot.

When a biker has an accident he is referred to as... a biker.

I, it would seem, am a dick.

Man what a month.

Sorry guys. I simply haven't felt up to posting this month on any of my blogs.

I went to the psychiatrist last week. That was a waste. He didn't read my palm or care that I was a Pisces or toss the bones or anything. I offered to give him a locket of hair and he looked at me like I was mental. He said something about me misunderstanding his job.

Then he wanted to put me on medication. What a nutt!

I talked him out of the medication ploy. It was tricky though, he was very persuasive:

Dr: If you are feeling depressed we could put you on Welbutrin.
Me: no
Dr: Ok.


Anyway, after we chopped up several onions, did some theraputic dancing and tossed the Urim and Thummim he decided that I wasn't a lost cause. These phrases came up a little bit more often than I had hoped:

"Wow, that is weird."
"No, your right, you shouldn't be able to do that if you aren't double jointed."
and
"Are you sure you don't hear voices?"

He asked if he could see me again, which wasn't as special as women say it is.

I left his office feeling a bit uneasy and slightly more worried than when I went it. However, as I left his receptionist assured me that I did not look fat in my suit, so the trip wasn't a total loss.

Come On!

Man, why do some guys wipe boogers on the bathroom walls?

Guys, is the bathroom not already sufficiently disgusting? Was there some karmic Muse of Nastiness that told you to pick your nose and smear it in the tile grout? I mean, really!

The men's bathroom is already one of the grossest places on earth. There's the nasty smells and the suspicious rust on the side of the stalls. Not to mention the fact that just about everything in there has probably been touched by some other man shortly after he touched his own junk.

Seriously, I wouldn't touch the walls for anything. If I happened to find myself in the unsual circumstance of having a booger on the tip of my finger while taking a wizz, the last thing I would do is wipe it on the wall. Sure the booger comes off, but what germs hop on?

Look, if you can't wait another second and you must pick your nose while you pee, then just hang on to it until you wash your hands. But who am I kidding? If you are wiping your snot on the wall then you are not the type to wash your hands. You nasty ass.

My boss doesn't wash his hands. He's a nasty ass too. When he takes a leak he stands akimbo in front of the urinal; like he's saving the world by taking a pee. Like there is some special pride to be had in the fact that he doesn't have to hold his member to use it.

ugh.

I don't care if you pick 'em. Who doesn't? But keep your damn boogers to yourself, people.

The mouths of babes.

I know people hate it when other people talk about their kids. Especially those dumb things that kids say all the time.

But my kids are better than other kids, so you will read and suffer.

The other day I was driving the kids to the dentist and my seven year old daughter said, "Daddy, do you think that your next baby will be a boy or a girl?"

"Sweetheart," I said, "Mommy and daddy aren't trying to have a baby right now."

"I know," she said optimistically, "But you could. Mommy could stop taking that pill and she could be pregnant in January and have the baby in September."

I'm sure my eyes must have bugged out. "What pill?"

"That pill," she said. "The one that makes it where you can't have babies."

"Oh, that pill," I said.

"Yeah. And this time Cole and I are old enough to vote on the name."

"No sweetheart," I said as mildly as I could. "Mommy and daddy get to choose the name."

"I know, but we can make suggestions."

"No. Mommy and daddy will choose a good name."

Then she breathed a disappointed sigh.

"But sweetheart," I tried to reassure her, "Mommy and daddy aren't ready to have another baby."

"I know," she said, dejected.


I couldn't believe she had such understanding about the process. I half expected her to start giving me instructions on how to "do it" to ensure we get a boy.

I'm starting to believe that my daughter is smarter than me. I mean... a lot smarter.

Exercise

I've decided that I need to get serious about my health. So I've started exercising and dieting.

So far the only exercise I am doing is Kegels. That's where you stop the flow of pee while you are peeing. It stings at first, but you get used to it.

It's working too. I did so many Kegels while I was peeing a while ago that my Kegel muscle tightened up all on its own and stopped the flow of pee. Of course, it relaxed in the hall way on the way back to my office and I pissed all over myself. But I can definitely tell I'm getting some real Kegel tone.

I wonder if you can get a six pack just from doing Kegels.

Probably not. I probably need to eat a lot of carrots and shit too.