So, after all this time (and a little badgering from Donald Trump), President Obama finally produced what appears to be a his legitimate birth certificate. For argument's sake, let's give him the benefit of the doubt and say that the Hawaiian birth certificate is indeed the real deal. So, why did it take all of this time to reveal it? Why didn't he just produce it when all of his opponents (including some Democrats) were asking for it? What was he hiding?
I can only assume that there's political purpose for the timing of all of this. Maybe it's to temporarily take the focus off of the rising fuel prices and faltering economy. Who knows? But here's what I do know. When I was a kid, I had to bring my birth certificate with me when I went to the local movie theater. You see, they wanted me to pay the adult prices (13 years and over) when I was only eleven or twelve. I know it's not exactly the same thing. But, why is that an eleven year old has to show his birth certificate to see "Jaws" but a controversial adult who wants to become President of the United States doesn't?
Shortly after his birth certificate was released, Obama made a public statement basically saying that "We don't have time for this silliness." Attempting to show the country that he was serious, President Obama rounded up the First Lady and promptly left the press conference to fly out to Chicago for an appearance on the Oprah Winfrey show. (He also had to three fundraisers to attend afterwards.) You would have thought he could have at least mentioned the new appointees for the Secretary of Defense (Leon Panetta) and director of the CIA (Gen. David Petraeus). But I guess that would just be downright silly.
There are still many doubters of the legitimacy of Obama's birth certificate. And there are those who will now focus on the point that Obama's father was not a US citizen at the time of the future President's birth. Personally, the whole birth certificate controversy doesn't bother me nearly as much as the fifty-three percent of American voters who elected a President with no leadership experience!
Of course, now Obama will be pressured to release his school transcripts and medical records. Again, why not lay it all on the table to shut the critics up? The secrecy only builds more speculation. The longer it lingers, the worse it looks. I'm not a big conspiracy theorist, but what exactly doesn't Obama want us to know?? I mean, could it possibly be any worse than attending a racist church for twenty years and hanging out with domestic terrorists? I'm almost afraid to ask......
KW
Friday, April 29, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Body Transformations
It's deja vu all over again for me. All winter of trying to lose weight has only proven to be a lost cause. All of those ridiculous Slim-Fast meals and trips to the gym have bought me absolutely nothing. At this point, I'm seriously considering swallowing a tapeworm.
My body is so unproportional. The good news is that my face, neck and legs are still relatively thin. But in contrast to my ever expanding waistline, I'm starting to resemble a snake who has just swallowed a Guinea pig.
Of course, this causes a major problem when trying to find clothes. You see, it's becoming increasingly harder to keep my pants up. My belly wants to push the front of them down while my ass is too flat to keep them up in the back.
I was in Macy's the other day looking through men's section. I noticed that Docker's now have codes on them (D1, D2, D3, etc.). These codes are supposed to make it easier for you to find the appropriate pants for your body style. But as you've probably guessed, the "snake who swallowed a Guinea pig" style wasn't available.
Normally, I would just say, "Nah, I'm good. Think you." But I figured if this woman was up for the challenge, I would put her to the test.
The woman immediately laughs at me. Can you believe this? She's thinks I'm trying to be funny. If I wasn't discouraged before, I sure as hell was now! I had quite enough humiliation for one day, so I went back to the dressing room, changed and left empty handed.
I'm not sure what to do next. Everytime I turn around, there's another excuse to eat. And sure, I could give up beer. But let's be serious..... we know that's about as likely as the Orioles winning the World Series. So, I will continue to painfully search for new wardrobe options. Hey, I know I'm not Scottish. But how do you think I would look in a kilt?
KW
Now that I'm firmly grasping the rungs of the middle aged ladder, I've noticed a few things. Number one, I can almost starve myself and still not lose weight. I assume that this is due to my metabolism slowing to the speed of government paperwork.
I've also noticed that my body is going through a distinct transformation. You see, it seems like my ass is shrinking. Normally, this would be a good thing. But not so fast. Although my ass is indeed getting smaller, my belly is going in the other direction. I walked in front of the mirror the other day and thought to myself, "How did such an ugly woman ever get pregnant?" To my horror, the ugly woman was me!
I've also noticed that my body is going through a distinct transformation. You see, it seems like my ass is shrinking. Normally, this would be a good thing. But not so fast. Although my ass is indeed getting smaller, my belly is going in the other direction. I walked in front of the mirror the other day and thought to myself, "How did such an ugly woman ever get pregnant?" To my horror, the ugly woman was me!
My body is so unproportional. The good news is that my face, neck and legs are still relatively thin. But in contrast to my ever expanding waistline, I'm starting to resemble a snake who has just swallowed a Guinea pig.
Of course, this causes a major problem when trying to find clothes. You see, it's becoming increasingly harder to keep my pants up. My belly wants to push the front of them down while my ass is too flat to keep them up in the back.
I was in Macy's the other day looking through men's section. I noticed that Docker's now have codes on them (D1, D2, D3, etc.). These codes are supposed to make it easier for you to find the appropriate pants for your body style. But as you've probably guessed, the "snake who swallowed a Guinea pig" style wasn't available.
I must have really looked confused because a Macy's employee came over and said, "You really look confused. Can I help you find something?"
Normally, I would just say, "Nah, I'm good. Think you." But I figured if this woman was up for the challenge, I would put her to the test.
I explain my flat ass/protruding belly dilemma to her. She basically scratches her chin and simply replies, "Hmmmmm." Not exactly a what I would call "words of encouragement". But nonetheless, she has me try on several varieties of pants. I finally found a pair that almost fit me. But, just to be safe, I wanted to get some reassurance. When I came out of the dressing room, my Macy's fashion consultant was nowhere to be found. Another female employee came over and informed me that the first woman had went to lunch. How could she just abandon me like that? So, the new woman makes the mistake of asking me, "Is there anything that I could help you with?"
I figured, what the hell. So, I turned around and asked, "Do these pants make my ass look flat?"
The woman immediately laughs at me. Can you believe this? She's thinks I'm trying to be funny. If I wasn't discouraged before, I sure as hell was now! I had quite enough humiliation for one day, so I went back to the dressing room, changed and left empty handed.
I'm not sure what to do next. Everytime I turn around, there's another excuse to eat. And sure, I could give up beer. But let's be serious..... we know that's about as likely as the Orioles winning the World Series. So, I will continue to painfully search for new wardrobe options. Hey, I know I'm not Scottish. But how do you think I would look in a kilt?
KW
Thursday, April 21, 2011
The Student Driver
Yesterday, I was running a little behind schedule. As luck would have it, I got stuck behind a student driver. When I finally got an opening, I floored my gas pedal and blew past the moving roadblock. As I passed, I noticed the student staring straight ahead with his hands firmly locked in the 10-2 position on the steering wheel. Hey, it was nothing personal, I just had places to be. For what it's worth, it seems just like yesterday that I was a student driver myself......
I can remember sitting in those adventurous driver's ed classes years ago. I don't think anyone was really paying too much attention. We just wanted to get behind the wheel! To spice things up, our instructor (I'll call him Steve) would show these old films from the Ohio State Highway Patrol. For the most part, they were pretty gruesome. The main point of these films was to shock you by showing how mangled a human body could become after a serious car accident. (I think a few students were ready to give up on the whole driver's license idea after watching these things!)
And it seemed that every one of these delightful films featured a body that had been burned beyond recognition. This prompted Steve to refer to these videos as "crispy critter flicks". When Steve noticed everyone was getting glassy-eyed, he'd ask, "All right, who's in the mood for a Crispy Critter movie?" Of course, this was back in the early 80's, when moments like this brought giggles instead of lawsuits. It actually became somewhat of a festive atmosphere as everyone slurped their Big Gulp's and crunched on Nacho Cheese Doritos.
When we eventually got out on the road, we experienced another bizarre treat from Steve. As we hit the highway, he would grab this rubber pig mask from under the seat and pull it over his head. As cars passed us, they would see the pig in the passenger seat staring back at them. You should have seen the looks on their faces! I have to admit, it was hilarious. But looking back, it probably wasn't a good idea to have an inexperienced driver laughing hysterically while driving in traffic at 55 mph.
Anyway, when I finally went down to take my driver's test, I was feeling pretty confident. But before I barely got into the driver's course, the DMV rep said, "Ok, stop the car. The test is over."
I was a little confused. My initial thought was that the rep could just sense that I was a great driver and that I should be awarded my license without the formality of a silly thing like a driver's test. I figured he thought it was a waste of time for the both of us. Boy, was I wrong!
He gave me that condescending, authoritarian stare-down and asked, "Do you even know what you did?"
Like an idiot, I timidly replied, "Ummm, I passed?"
Then, he burst my bubble and told me that I went through a flashing red light. Since the red light was on a post on the right side of the road, I wasn't even looking for it. I assumed all traffic lights were overhead. Regardless, this was grounds for an automatic failure.
Embarrassed, I went back home without my license. After two weeks, I went back to the DMV to retake the driver's test. This time, I was ready for the red light. I breezed through the course until it came time to parallel park. Now, keep in mind, this was the one thing that I was actually good at. But, I guess I got stage fright, and the problems began. It probably wasn't the best idea to take the test in my parent's large Ford LTD, but there was no turning back now. I proceeded to run the car up on the curb several times while knocking over every traffic cone within shouting distance. After the allotted time had passed, the instructor said, "Ok, you can put the car in park now. We're done."
As a sixteen year old failing the driver's test for the second time, I felt like a complete failure. I actually thought about abandoning the whole idea of driving and committing to a lifetime of mass transit and hitchhiking.
But the third time was the charm, and I finally passed the test! I was now ready to take on the world!
Like I mentioned before, parallel parking was my forte (just not during the driver's test!). I would often drive over to Baltimore's Inner Harbor with my buddies. I would park alongside of Federal Hill where street parking was often scarce. Parking in a garage was out of the question because it cost money. So, I would look for a spot that was too small for an otherwise less talented parker.
When I would see a potential spot, I would start my self devised "parking process". My friends would say things like, "They ain't no way you're getting this thing in there!" I did not let their little words discourage me. So, I'd back into the spot until I'd hit the bumper of the car behind me. This signalled me to cut the wheels and pull forward until I bumped the car in front of me. This is, of course, signalled me to cut the wheels the other way and back up again until I heard the familiar "clanging" noise. I would repeat these steps until I was within a comfortable distance of the curb. Now, keep in mind, this was back in the early 80's when cars had steel bumpers. If you tried this today, you'd have $5000 worth of body damage and at least three deployed airbags.
We'd all get out of the car and marvel over my accomplishment. It was a thing of beauty! There would be less than a foot of space between all of the bumpers. Of course, my friends doubted that I could ever get out of the spot, but somehow, I always did. As the legendary Willie Rippetoe once said, "They make bumpers for a reason, ya goof!"
So, for all those student drivers out there, don't take it personal if I zip past you on the highway. Just keep your eyes on the road and your hands up on the wheel. And when it comes to parking, let professionals like myself handle the tough jobs. And lastly, beware of anyone wearing a pig mask!
KW
I can remember sitting in those adventurous driver's ed classes years ago. I don't think anyone was really paying too much attention. We just wanted to get behind the wheel! To spice things up, our instructor (I'll call him Steve) would show these old films from the Ohio State Highway Patrol. For the most part, they were pretty gruesome. The main point of these films was to shock you by showing how mangled a human body could become after a serious car accident. (I think a few students were ready to give up on the whole driver's license idea after watching these things!)
And it seemed that every one of these delightful films featured a body that had been burned beyond recognition. This prompted Steve to refer to these videos as "crispy critter flicks". When Steve noticed everyone was getting glassy-eyed, he'd ask, "All right, who's in the mood for a Crispy Critter movie?" Of course, this was back in the early 80's, when moments like this brought giggles instead of lawsuits. It actually became somewhat of a festive atmosphere as everyone slurped their Big Gulp's and crunched on Nacho Cheese Doritos.
When we eventually got out on the road, we experienced another bizarre treat from Steve. As we hit the highway, he would grab this rubber pig mask from under the seat and pull it over his head. As cars passed us, they would see the pig in the passenger seat staring back at them. You should have seen the looks on their faces! I have to admit, it was hilarious. But looking back, it probably wasn't a good idea to have an inexperienced driver laughing hysterically while driving in traffic at 55 mph.
Anyway, when I finally went down to take my driver's test, I was feeling pretty confident. But before I barely got into the driver's course, the DMV rep said, "Ok, stop the car. The test is over."
I was a little confused. My initial thought was that the rep could just sense that I was a great driver and that I should be awarded my license without the formality of a silly thing like a driver's test. I figured he thought it was a waste of time for the both of us. Boy, was I wrong!
He gave me that condescending, authoritarian stare-down and asked, "Do you even know what you did?"
Like an idiot, I timidly replied, "Ummm, I passed?"
Then, he burst my bubble and told me that I went through a flashing red light. Since the red light was on a post on the right side of the road, I wasn't even looking for it. I assumed all traffic lights were overhead. Regardless, this was grounds for an automatic failure.
Embarrassed, I went back home without my license. After two weeks, I went back to the DMV to retake the driver's test. This time, I was ready for the red light. I breezed through the course until it came time to parallel park. Now, keep in mind, this was the one thing that I was actually good at. But, I guess I got stage fright, and the problems began. It probably wasn't the best idea to take the test in my parent's large Ford LTD, but there was no turning back now. I proceeded to run the car up on the curb several times while knocking over every traffic cone within shouting distance. After the allotted time had passed, the instructor said, "Ok, you can put the car in park now. We're done."
As a sixteen year old failing the driver's test for the second time, I felt like a complete failure. I actually thought about abandoning the whole idea of driving and committing to a lifetime of mass transit and hitchhiking.
But the third time was the charm, and I finally passed the test! I was now ready to take on the world!
Like I mentioned before, parallel parking was my forte (just not during the driver's test!). I would often drive over to Baltimore's Inner Harbor with my buddies. I would park alongside of Federal Hill where street parking was often scarce. Parking in a garage was out of the question because it cost money. So, I would look for a spot that was too small for an otherwise less talented parker.
When I would see a potential spot, I would start my self devised "parking process". My friends would say things like, "They ain't no way you're getting this thing in there!" I did not let their little words discourage me. So, I'd back into the spot until I'd hit the bumper of the car behind me. This signalled me to cut the wheels and pull forward until I bumped the car in front of me. This is, of course, signalled me to cut the wheels the other way and back up again until I heard the familiar "clanging" noise. I would repeat these steps until I was within a comfortable distance of the curb. Now, keep in mind, this was back in the early 80's when cars had steel bumpers. If you tried this today, you'd have $5000 worth of body damage and at least three deployed airbags.
We'd all get out of the car and marvel over my accomplishment. It was a thing of beauty! There would be less than a foot of space between all of the bumpers. Of course, my friends doubted that I could ever get out of the spot, but somehow, I always did. As the legendary Willie Rippetoe once said, "They make bumpers for a reason, ya goof!"
So, for all those student drivers out there, don't take it personal if I zip past you on the highway. Just keep your eyes on the road and your hands up on the wheel. And when it comes to parking, let professionals like myself handle the tough jobs. And lastly, beware of anyone wearing a pig mask!
KW
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Know What I'm Sayin'
Sometimes, it's the little things in life that mean the most. But other times, it's the little things that drive me nuts! For instance, have you ever seen someone make a mistake and then say, "My bad"? I personally hate that stupid expression. It sounds like something a three year would say. It doesn't even make sense!
I was channel surfing the other day and stumbled on some rapper who was being interviewed. I'm always morbidly curious to see what enlightening words will come from these guys. The interview was laced with profanity, but what really drove me nuts was that the rapper ended every sentence with, "Ya know what I'm sayin'?" Of course, I know what you're sayin', you just said it! Why do we have to confirm it after every sentence?
And when did "Have a good one" become an acceptable farewell? I mean, what exactly are you saying? Have a good what? And if this isn't bad enough, the other day a woman told me to "Half a good one". I don't know if she thought she was being witty or if she was just that stupid. Either way, it really irritated me. I don't know why these little things tick me off so much, but they do.
While going into a secure building recently, the female "security" guard asked to see my drivin' license. I don't think I've ever heard of it referred to this way. But I'm going to give her a break since the bar to become a "security" guard is set pretty low.
And why do people refer to other people as "dog"? Yeah, Randy Jackson gets away with it on American Idol. But you sound like an idiot when you use this as a term of endearment in normal conversations. One time, someone called me dog and my impulsive reply was, "What the f*ck did you just call me?" Ok, maybe I came across as a little belligerent, but I couldn't help it. I don't like people calling me a dog.
Here's another thing that gets under my skin. I recently ran into business acquaintance who I hadn't seen in a while. The first thing she says to me is, "Damn Ken, I haven't seen you in about a minute!" I didn't even know how to respond to this. I couldn't remember the last time I saw this woman. And now she's telling me that's it's only been a minute? What's that all about?
KW
I was channel surfing the other day and stumbled on some rapper who was being interviewed. I'm always morbidly curious to see what enlightening words will come from these guys. The interview was laced with profanity, but what really drove me nuts was that the rapper ended every sentence with, "Ya know what I'm sayin'?" Of course, I know what you're sayin', you just said it! Why do we have to confirm it after every sentence?
And when did "Have a good one" become an acceptable farewell? I mean, what exactly are you saying? Have a good what? And if this isn't bad enough, the other day a woman told me to "Half a good one". I don't know if she thought she was being witty or if she was just that stupid. Either way, it really irritated me. I don't know why these little things tick me off so much, but they do.
While going into a secure building recently, the female "security" guard asked to see my drivin' license. I don't think I've ever heard of it referred to this way. But I'm going to give her a break since the bar to become a "security" guard is set pretty low.
And why do people refer to other people as "dog"? Yeah, Randy Jackson gets away with it on American Idol. But you sound like an idiot when you use this as a term of endearment in normal conversations. One time, someone called me dog and my impulsive reply was, "What the f*ck did you just call me?" Ok, maybe I came across as a little belligerent, but I couldn't help it. I don't like people calling me a dog.
Here's another thing that gets under my skin. I recently ran into business acquaintance who I hadn't seen in a while. The first thing she says to me is, "Damn Ken, I haven't seen you in about a minute!" I didn't even know how to respond to this. I couldn't remember the last time I saw this woman. And now she's telling me that's it's only been a minute? What's that all about?
KW
Friday, April 15, 2011
No Place Like Boulder
I have been to quite a few cities and towns in my life and have seen some rather interesting things. I would have to say that Boulder, Colorado ranks near the top as one of the most peculiar. If you've ever been to Boulder, you know exactly what I'm talking about. For those who haven't, let me try to describe it.....
Boulder is only about thirty miles northwest of downtown Denver. However, it's a world away when it comes to personality. Don't get me wrong, it seems to be a nice enough town. But it can be a bit of a culture shock for an outsider. The best way to describe Boulder? Just imagine Mayberry on acid!
Pearl Street is one of the town's main attractions. Walking through the outdoor mall, you can easily find a good restaurant or a decent brewpub. You'll also encounter the usual gift and novelty shops as well as a bookstore or two. There seems to be a big interest in poetry here too. But, regardless of all this, it's the people who you pass along the way that make things memorable.
For instance, you might pass a makeshift Appalachian band playing Bob Marley tunes. They'll appear to be as confused as much as you, but somehow it works. Don't be surprised to see a guy with rainbow colored hair giving a kazoo concert with an iguana on his shoulder. Seriously, these things are perfectly normal in Boulder.
On one trip (no pun intended) I ran into a guy who resembled the lead singer from Jethro Tull. He was ranting and raving about the end of the world. It was funny and scary at the same time. I have to admit, I was a bit disappointed that he didn't whip out a flute and segue into Locomotive Breath.
Another time, I saw a woman with a beehive hair-do walking a three-legged dog. That was definitely one of those "things that make you go hmmmmm" moments. I kept looking around to see if anyone else found this sight as odd as I did. But everyone went about their business without so much as a second glance.
Boulder is considered one of the nation's most liberal cities and, no surprise, was a favorite destination for hippies back in the day. Not that much has changed through the years. This would all seem to make things a little unpleasant for a conservative minded person like myself. But it really doesn't come across that way.
Last Wednesday, a co-worker (George) and I were wandering down Pearl Street after dinner in search of a good cigar. I Googled "cigars pearl street" and it led us to what we believed to be a cigar shop. Or at the very least a tobacco shop that sold cigars. As we entered the store, we were engulfed by sea of bongs that would have made Tommy Chong blush. Here in Baltimore, the shop owners would have immediately taken both of us for NARC's and given us a hard time. But in Boulder, we just got a casual, glassy-eyed glance. We were told that cigar shop was actually right around the corner.
As George and I were burning our cigars and sipping on Grand Marnier, a couple of college kids came over to our table. They seemed to get a kick out two middle aged conservatives keeping it real in Boulder. It was all fun until one of them asked me if I had ever went to college. I told her that I once spent a whole year in college. She impulsively replied, "Wow! That must have been a long time ago!" Yeah, so much for the ego boost from the youngsters.........
We're all used to the panhandlers who try to bum money. But in Boulder, your more likely to get propositioned for a beer or perhaps some rolling papers. As conservative as I am, I can't help but get a little jealous about the care-free lifestyle of this place. It should come as no surprise that Boulder was recently rated as one of the happiest cities in America. No wonder, everyone's always high!
KW
Boulder is only about thirty miles northwest of downtown Denver. However, it's a world away when it comes to personality. Don't get me wrong, it seems to be a nice enough town. But it can be a bit of a culture shock for an outsider. The best way to describe Boulder? Just imagine Mayberry on acid!
Pearl Street is one of the town's main attractions. Walking through the outdoor mall, you can easily find a good restaurant or a decent brewpub. You'll also encounter the usual gift and novelty shops as well as a bookstore or two. There seems to be a big interest in poetry here too. But, regardless of all this, it's the people who you pass along the way that make things memorable.
For instance, you might pass a makeshift Appalachian band playing Bob Marley tunes. They'll appear to be as confused as much as you, but somehow it works. Don't be surprised to see a guy with rainbow colored hair giving a kazoo concert with an iguana on his shoulder. Seriously, these things are perfectly normal in Boulder.
On one trip (no pun intended) I ran into a guy who resembled the lead singer from Jethro Tull. He was ranting and raving about the end of the world. It was funny and scary at the same time. I have to admit, I was a bit disappointed that he didn't whip out a flute and segue into Locomotive Breath.
Another time, I saw a woman with a beehive hair-do walking a three-legged dog. That was definitely one of those "things that make you go hmmmmm" moments. I kept looking around to see if anyone else found this sight as odd as I did. But everyone went about their business without so much as a second glance.
Boulder is considered one of the nation's most liberal cities and, no surprise, was a favorite destination for hippies back in the day. Not that much has changed through the years. This would all seem to make things a little unpleasant for a conservative minded person like myself. But it really doesn't come across that way.
Last Wednesday, a co-worker (George) and I were wandering down Pearl Street after dinner in search of a good cigar. I Googled "cigars pearl street" and it led us to what we believed to be a cigar shop. Or at the very least a tobacco shop that sold cigars. As we entered the store, we were engulfed by sea of bongs that would have made Tommy Chong blush. Here in Baltimore, the shop owners would have immediately taken both of us for NARC's and given us a hard time. But in Boulder, we just got a casual, glassy-eyed glance. We were told that cigar shop was actually right around the corner.
As George and I were burning our cigars and sipping on Grand Marnier, a couple of college kids came over to our table. They seemed to get a kick out two middle aged conservatives keeping it real in Boulder. It was all fun until one of them asked me if I had ever went to college. I told her that I once spent a whole year in college. She impulsively replied, "Wow! That must have been a long time ago!" Yeah, so much for the ego boost from the youngsters.........
We're all used to the panhandlers who try to bum money. But in Boulder, your more likely to get propositioned for a beer or perhaps some rolling papers. As conservative as I am, I can't help but get a little jealous about the care-free lifestyle of this place. It should come as no surprise that Boulder was recently rated as one of the happiest cities in America. No wonder, everyone's always high!
KW
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Splish, Splash, I Was Taking A Bath
For the record, I am not a bath person. I have many reasons for preferring a shower. And my latest adventure is just one of them......
Last Friday, I was preparing to come home from a week-long business trip. I eagerly packed my suitcase and got ready to take my morning shower. The hotel bathtub had one of those pull-up gadgets on the faucet that transferred water to the shower head. I had taken a shower each of the previous four days without an issue. But on this particular day, I must have pulled a little too hard and wound up breaking the transfer gadget. Maybe the extra protein from all of the steak and seafood that I ate during the week gave me a burst of Popeye strength? Who knows? But nonetheless, I now had a serious problem on my hands.
I didn't have time to wait for the hotel maintenance people to fix it. So, I attempted to play Joe the Plumber. How hard could it be? So, for the next twenty minutes, I fumbled with the small plastic and rubber parts while cursing like a gansta rapper. I finally gave up and sat on the edge of the tub contemplating my options. I had to face reality. Either I was going to have skip the personal hygiene altogether, thus sharing the smell of stale beer, cigars and perspiration from the previous day with everyone I encountered throughout the day. (This would have been a real treat for whoever was lucky enough to sit next to me on the three hour plane ride back to Baltimore!) Or I was going to have to bite the bullet and take a good ol' fashioned bath! And this is where the real fun started.......
With an equal mixture of irritation and confusion, I started the bath water (I think they call this "drawing a bath"). I really had no idea what I was doing. I wondered if I should light a candle. Of course, with my luck, this could only end with the fire department showing up to put out the ninth floor!
After filling the tub up almost all the way, I got ready to submerge myself. Now, keep in mind, I've put on a few pounds over the past year. Anyway, I gingerly stepped into the tub and attempted to lower myself down. My wide body caused the bath water to begin to spill over the edge of the tub like a miniature Niagara Falls. I thought about pulling myself back up, but I wasn't so sure that I could. In all of the confusion, one of my my hands slipped. My portly ass came crashing down hard, forcing most of the water out of the tub. This, of course, caused a tidal wave to engulf the entire bathroom. Surf's up!
I was a little worried that water would start to drip through the ceiling in the room below me, so I quickly turned my attention back to the bath. I poured some shampoo on my head and lathered up. When it came time to rinse the shampoo out, I was at a crossroads. I was too big to drop my head under the bath water and I wasn't flexible enough to get my head under the faucet. To be honest, I think I might have drowned if I had tried either one of these things. So, my only choice was to reach for a glass that was setting on the bathroom sink. Stretching as far as I could, I grabbed the glass. But as I retracted myself back into the tub, the glass slipped from my hand and shattered on the bathroom floor.
All I could do is stare at the broken glass in disbelief as the shampoo began to dry on my hair. I had to do something quick. So, I basically started to scoop up handfuls of water from the tub and throw them at my head. I got most of the shampoo out but not before totally drenching everything in the bathroom.
By this point, I was done. I just wanted to get the hell out of this death trap. So, I pulled myself up and stepped out of the tub, carefully avoiding the minefield of broken glass that surrounded me. When I finally stood up, I realized that all of the towels had been soaked during the tsunami. So now, dripping wet, I walked back to my suitcase in search of a makeshift drying cloth. The only thing I could find was a t-shirt. But it did the trick.
During all of this madness, I walked bare-assed right past the open window. Yeah, it might have been seven in the morning, but the full moon was still clearly visible from room 927!
After what seemed like an eternity, I finally dried off and got myself dressed. I cleaned up the bathroom as best I could and headed downstairs to check out. When the hotel employee asked how I enjoyed my stay, I replied, "Absolutely fantastic!" I figured she would only laugh in my face if I told her about my adventures with the bath tub. Plus, I didn't want to be held responsible for any water damage to the room below.
From now on, it's showers or nothing!
KW
Last Friday, I was preparing to come home from a week-long business trip. I eagerly packed my suitcase and got ready to take my morning shower. The hotel bathtub had one of those pull-up gadgets on the faucet that transferred water to the shower head. I had taken a shower each of the previous four days without an issue. But on this particular day, I must have pulled a little too hard and wound up breaking the transfer gadget. Maybe the extra protein from all of the steak and seafood that I ate during the week gave me a burst of Popeye strength? Who knows? But nonetheless, I now had a serious problem on my hands.
I didn't have time to wait for the hotel maintenance people to fix it. So, I attempted to play Joe the Plumber. How hard could it be? So, for the next twenty minutes, I fumbled with the small plastic and rubber parts while cursing like a gansta rapper. I finally gave up and sat on the edge of the tub contemplating my options. I had to face reality. Either I was going to have skip the personal hygiene altogether, thus sharing the smell of stale beer, cigars and perspiration from the previous day with everyone I encountered throughout the day. (This would have been a real treat for whoever was lucky enough to sit next to me on the three hour plane ride back to Baltimore!) Or I was going to have to bite the bullet and take a good ol' fashioned bath! And this is where the real fun started.......
With an equal mixture of irritation and confusion, I started the bath water (I think they call this "drawing a bath"). I really had no idea what I was doing. I wondered if I should light a candle. Of course, with my luck, this could only end with the fire department showing up to put out the ninth floor!
After filling the tub up almost all the way, I got ready to submerge myself. Now, keep in mind, I've put on a few pounds over the past year. Anyway, I gingerly stepped into the tub and attempted to lower myself down. My wide body caused the bath water to begin to spill over the edge of the tub like a miniature Niagara Falls. I thought about pulling myself back up, but I wasn't so sure that I could. In all of the confusion, one of my my hands slipped. My portly ass came crashing down hard, forcing most of the water out of the tub. This, of course, caused a tidal wave to engulf the entire bathroom. Surf's up!
I was a little worried that water would start to drip through the ceiling in the room below me, so I quickly turned my attention back to the bath. I poured some shampoo on my head and lathered up. When it came time to rinse the shampoo out, I was at a crossroads. I was too big to drop my head under the bath water and I wasn't flexible enough to get my head under the faucet. To be honest, I think I might have drowned if I had tried either one of these things. So, my only choice was to reach for a glass that was setting on the bathroom sink. Stretching as far as I could, I grabbed the glass. But as I retracted myself back into the tub, the glass slipped from my hand and shattered on the bathroom floor.
All I could do is stare at the broken glass in disbelief as the shampoo began to dry on my hair. I had to do something quick. So, I basically started to scoop up handfuls of water from the tub and throw them at my head. I got most of the shampoo out but not before totally drenching everything in the bathroom.
By this point, I was done. I just wanted to get the hell out of this death trap. So, I pulled myself up and stepped out of the tub, carefully avoiding the minefield of broken glass that surrounded me. When I finally stood up, I realized that all of the towels had been soaked during the tsunami. So now, dripping wet, I walked back to my suitcase in search of a makeshift drying cloth. The only thing I could find was a t-shirt. But it did the trick.
During all of this madness, I walked bare-assed right past the open window. Yeah, it might have been seven in the morning, but the full moon was still clearly visible from room 927!
After what seemed like an eternity, I finally dried off and got myself dressed. I cleaned up the bathroom as best I could and headed downstairs to check out. When the hotel employee asked how I enjoyed my stay, I replied, "Absolutely fantastic!" I figured she would only laugh in my face if I told her about my adventures with the bath tub. Plus, I didn't want to be held responsible for any water damage to the room below.
From now on, it's showers or nothing!
KW
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