THE BATHROOM CONUNDRUM

Ever since I was a young lad my Mother pounded into my and my brother's heads "Lift the seat before you pee!" I'm sure almost every guy who grew up in a North American home with this style of toilet heard the same refrain over and over again. Not sure about the rest of the world because, frankly, I'm to lazy to do the research, but in our house "Raise the Seat" was the rule.

I always thought the reason for this was because Mom (who cleaned the bathrooms) had absolutely no confidence in my, or my brother's, ability to aim; so the larger the target the better chance of hitting said target and avoiding excess...um...splashage that required cleaning. This became more important, apparently, as we boys grew older and taller thus making the target farther away. I was a bit older yet when I found out Mom also was made unhappy when she took a seat after one of her rebel, rule breaking sons neglected to "lift" and left her a wet surprise. Yup, unhappy, that describes it.

Skip forward a few years and I am living on my own and cleaning my own bathroom. Mom was right...again. Lifting the seat became my rule as well...except late at night. If I had to get up in the middle of the night I didn't turn on any lights (too bright). I would just stagger into the bathroom in the dark, check that the seat was down, and have a seat. No muss, no fuss, no wondering the next day how pee got way over there.

Then I married the "Lovely Explorer" and the rule changed. Now, not only do I have to raise the seat to pee but have to put it back down when I'm done. What the hell? Apparently, check before you sit, is not something she learned. Not sure why not, she grew up with brothers. Regardless, I have been chastised severely on many an occasion when she has sat without checking and plunged her delicate tushy into the ice cold water in the bowl. Piece of advice to young guys reading this: If this happens to your significant other DO NOT LAUGH! Bad things will result, trust me.

I'm sure there are many a fellow wondering why it has to be our job to put the seat down and not her job to check. It's her butt after all. It's not like the seat defies the laws of physics and weighs 700 pounds for women but next to nothing for men. I wish I had the answer but all I have ever figured out is life doesn't work that way. The raising and lowering of the toilet seat will forever be the job of men so pick another battle, this one is lost.

CONVERSATIONS WITH...

Conversations with:

MYSELF
Yup. I talk to myself. Not long conversations, mind you, just short little snippets that just kind of pop out of my mouth instead of staying in my head where they belong.
Walking from one room into another - "And I am here why?"
Seeing myself in the mirror before hopping in the shower - "Jesus. I gotta start doing some push ups."
And then those comments I blurt more often than I care for:
"Where the hell are my keys?"
"Where the hell is my phone?"
"Where the hell is my book?"
"Where the hell is my watch?"
And worst of all..."Where the hell are my glasses so I can find out where the hell my keys and phone and book and watch are?"

MY MOTORCYCLE
To be truthful here, I don't actually talk to my bike, it's more like yelling at it during the course of something scary I have gotten myself into. Things like:
"Lean! Lean more! MORE, you fat bastard or we're gonna die!"
Then there's...
"Jesus...STOP!"
This next one is really frightening...
"That noise is new...why are you making that noise?"
And, lastly, the most common for me...
"Oh shit...don't do that/go there!"
On the bright side I am still alive.

MY CUSTOMER
For some reason I hate when a customer starts with this...
Him: I have a question...
Me: Shoot.
Him: I have a 2007 Yamaha R6...
Me: No, no, I did not mean "shoot " as in go ahead, I meant "shoot" as in "Well, shoot, I know already I don't really want to talk to you; it's probably going to be long and painful and fruitless."
Him: What?
Me: Never mind...go ahead...how can I help you today?
And...long, painful, and fruitless.

MY DOG
Let's face it, if you have a dog you talk to it like it is a human being; a stupid human but still we talk and hope for the best.
Me: "Who's a good girl?"
Sadie: "Woof" Lick, lick, lick.
Me: "Are you a good girl?"
Sadie: "Woof" Lick, lick, lick.
Me: " I'm off to work so get the dishes done and vacuum the living room."
Sadie: "Piss off, you made the mess you clean it up...I mean, Woof." Lick, lick, lick.

MY WIFE
For the first 20 years of marriage most conversations with my lovely Explorer ended with me saying "Yes dear." But in the last 10 years I have gotten braver...more outspoken...thus "Your fault, my love, you left me unsupervised." Oddly enough, she has not tried to smother me in my sleep.

THE UNIVERSE AND ITS MYSTERIOUS WAYS

I am, for the most part, a believer that the universe does not give a rats ass, one way or another, about me in particular. Regardless of the number of lemons tossed my way in the last few years I do not hold the "Universe" responsible...and I like lemonade anyway. Good things, bad things, neutral things; it's just stuff that happens to everybody all the time. The idea that some force in the universe has singled me out for some reason just does not make sense to me.

However, (there's always a "however" ain't there?) an interesting series of events did occur this past weekend that did give me a moment of..."Hmmmm, I wonder"...

The lovely Explorer is celebrating a milestone birthday this month so we decided to throw a party to commemorate on Saturday the 10th. My parents are also celebrating a milestone wedding anniversary this month and decided to to have formal(ish) pictures taken with all the kids, grand kids, spouses and partners as well as a dinner after; all to be done on Sunday the 11th. All good so far...except...

Our favourite second born son, who lives out of town, was able to make it down with his fiance to the Explorers birthday party on Saturday but had to leave Sunday morning to drive back home for work on Monday. Needless to say he would miss out on the family photos with his grandparents. We all understood, but sad nonetheless.

Then it happened.

At some point during Saturday evenings festivities the favourite second born's vehicle license plate disappeared. Was it stolen? Did it fall off during the day and just now noticed? Did wild, drug addled biker squirrels steal it for the thrills? We shall never know. What we know for sure is you do not want to make a 7 hour road trip on major, very busy, highways without a plate. The police...they do frown.

So, plan "B". A quick Internet search showed a nearby registry would be open Sunday; so a plan was hatched to swing by the local cop-shop to report the missing plate, get a case number, pop over to the registry to get a new plate then off they go, homeward bound. Well...nope.

As luck would have it, come Sunday, every registry in Alberta was closed, this one day, for system wide updates. The kid was stuck in town until Monday. Grandma and Grandpa were thrilled that the whole family would be together for pictures but now the kid is worried about work on Monday. He did not want to make that call.

But call he did. The boss said to him this could not have happened at a better time. As busy as work was it had just finished dumping a crap load of rain and all the job sites they needed to be at were complete mud bogs and he was going to spend Monday napping instead.

Families were gathered, pictures were great, and dinner was delicious. Was the universe actually throwing me a bone? Did it actually play a part in all this coming together so well? Or, did I just see my Mom, with a mischievous grin, slide what looks like a license plate a little deeper in her purse?

THAT BORING DRIVE TO WORK

I have been working on this post for several months now. Don't get your hopes up, though, now that I've finally put fingers to keyboard, it's not a literary masterpiece; no deep insights into the human condition or anything like that. It was just a germ of an idea that struggled to sprout. When it slowly started to take shape it seemed a little short for a post on my blog...more of a FaceBook post, really. Then, just this morning, there was toast...and peanut butter.

I was munching on a piece of toast (and peanut butter) while standing in the kitchen staring out the window when it hit me. 13. The elusive post revolves around the number 13. The number 13 and how it keeps popping up in relation to my drive to work.

I don't have a long commute to work but, even so, I get bored. As I am fairly law abiding I don't eat while driving nor do I use my cell phone or, worse still, my e-reader. This leaves me with the radio and my own thoughts...which leads to mental games...which ultimately leads to "The Traffic Light Game" (patent pending)

Pause: James Gang "Funk#49" on the stereo...be right back...or join me.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_qHU_6Ofc0
All better now.

On the route I normally take to work there is a total of 13 traffic lights. I wondered what the chances were of eventually getting a green light at every one of them on a single trip. Technically this should be possible. With the exception of two lights, none are timed to traffic flow and should allow a perfect score under perfect circumstances. On the other hand, also due to those same two lights' the worst case scenario would be stopping at 12 of the 13 lights. So I started counting...every day.

I have been doing this for months now and, try as I might, I cannot hit that perfect score. My best effort to date is 11 out of 13 green lights. Even this was marginal as one light was kind of a yellowish-red and at another, a few blocks later, I had to slow down to a creep; sneaking up to the intersection, waiting for the green, without actually coming to a full stop. I take my wins where I can get them. Worst score, 9 reds out of 13 lights. On the bright side the game goes on. Not sure what I will do to keep myself amused if I do hit that perfect 13. Maybe keep my eyes on the road instead.

Oh yeah, the other 13's. The shortest route to work by distance, which is not my normal route due to twice as many traffic lights and a major C-Train crossing, is 13 kilometers. The fastest route to work based on time, which I do not take due to a lack of coffee places (and I must have my coffee) is usually 13 minutes. But the big one, the one that ties all of this together in a nice remarkable package is...nah...that was it. Sorry.

Ta Ta for now.

MY BRAIN IS BROKEN

There are universal household mysteries that affect each and every one of us. If you are an adult and do adulty kinds of stuff then these things happen to you. There is the Tupperware mystery: more lids than containers or more containers than lids. The sock mystery: the laundry is done and even if you count the socks beforehand and all is good...one goes missing. The philips head screwdriver: no matter how many you own you can never find one. But this one is truly weird and maybe uniquily my own; The mystery of  the"Raspberry Vinaigrette"

In one of my many, recurring, consistently failing, attempts to eat better I went on a salad kick. During this fiasco I decided that creamy dressings would not do and chose to decorate my rabbit food with a raspberry vinaigrette. Off to the store went I for the initial purchase blissfully unaware of the months of idiocy ahead of me.

For the next several months, every time I went into a grocery store, I would dutifully purchase a bottle of raspberry vinaigrette, get home, open the pantry to put it away only to be faced with an ever growing supply of the stuff. I have no idea what I was thinking; no idea what made my brain ignore the knowledge that bottles of raspberry vinaigrette were multiplying in the pantry. I would be in the grocery store and compulsively buy a bottle completely ignoring the fact that I had given up on salad and switched to the bacon diet.

It got to the point where even the almost infinitely patient "Explorer" looked at me, looked in the pantry, looked back at me and said "What the hell is wrong with you, you don't eat salad and you don't even like raspberries...STOP IT".

It has taken forever but we have finally rid our pantry of the stuff but the lesson continues. Every time The Explorer and I are in the grocery store and I reach for something questionable she whispers to me..."raspberry vinaigrette".