Sometimes in life, you meet people who have no shame. I’m not sure how this comes about, but it’s always a fascinating thing. I’m speaking, of course, about farts.

There is a guy at work. I honestly have no idea who he is because I have never seen his face. The only way I know him is by his shoes and loud grunting and farting when I enter the bathroom. I am simply astounded by the noises this guy makes and I always leave the bathroom trying to hold back my intense laughter, at least until I make it out the door where I end up bursting into tears.

Today was an especially exceptional circumstance. I just consumed a rather large sweet tea from Wackadoo’s (only $1!) and was making my way to relieve myself. I entered the bathroom to notice both stalls were occupied. I didn’t care much as I don’t suffer from stage fright when peeing as I once did as a kid. Then I heard it. “Unnnn…UHHHH!” I knew exactly who it was. I sat there at the urinal trying my best not to laugh and to merely look out the raised window at the clouds. There were some loud plops and lots of gas followed by another “Ahhh…” Then I heard some newspaper ruffling. I instantly put myself into the shoes of the second pooper. Imagine being in the bathroom trying to take a poop, just sitting there reading your paper when Grunty McFarts decides to take up residence in the adjacent stall. Now you have to sit through his grunting and loud gas as you try to focus in on your own goal. After failing at that, you decide to read the paper to try to get your mind off the atrocities occurring mere feet away from where you sit, pants at your ankles. The grunting and forced farting continues. You ruffle the paper as to say “Hey, asshole, I’m sitting right next to you.” Still, the horror goes on.

I sat there for a moment playing this all out in my head, then I had to quickly zip up and leave the bathroom as I couldn’t contain myself anymore. I trotted out the door and waited to get at least 10 feet away before cracking a big smile and laughing to myself for the entire walk back to this desk.

Jumping pic of the day

Hurricane! (The non-alcoholic kind)

Everyone has their morbid pleasure in life. Some love war footage, others election coverage. Personally, I am a fan of hurricane season. I like nothing more than sitting around when a devastating hurricane is bearing in and watching the repetitive coverage of the big red and orange swirling mass on the screen. Plenty of evacuation warnings, stock video of gridlocked traffic, waves battering some pier on the beach, clueless reporters saying "hunker down" a lot. This Sunday I worship at the altar of weather.com with Jim Cantore as my pastor. Sadly, I still do not have cable in my current dwelling so I am relegated to watching the hourly web reports. They essentially condense the past hour of coverage into 2 or 3 small segments. I guess my only complaint is the lack of background noise in between viewings.

Onto the subject of Hurricane Katrina: This thing was at 175mph this morning and people were still brazenly wandering about in areas of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama directly within its path. Maybe it’s just a byproduct of being a Floridian whom has actually been through a few severe hurricanes, but anyone should know that if a category 5 hurricane hits you all that remains are piles of debris where your neighborhood once was. I have a feeling this one is going to be really bad. It’s sad that these people are naïve enough to think they are going to ride it out. Oh well, more episodes of Storm Stories for me to sit through.

Again I close with a comment from a friend:
[20:03] ddhex27: i wish the weatherwoman would fart and then say "imagine that, but a billion times stronger"
[20:05] ddhex27: then she rips off the panties and holds skid stains up to the camera. "THAT is what new orleans will look like tommorrow morning"

Nomad

The life of the nomad is not one to be envied. I used to hate moving, but after my 3rd move in the month of August, I’m beginning to get the hang of things. I’ve streamlined the process and have now gotten it down to a total of 3 trips with my car. With a rent-a-van, I’m confident I could turn that into a single trip.

It’s a strange thing. I feel like a different person because of it, and I’m not sure if it’s for better or worse. There is something liberating about knowing you can pick up and go at any time if you so please. Not being tied down is indeed a great feeling, which makes me realize that perhaps I shouldn’t lament being single after all, but that’s a topic for a later blog entry. I personally love the changes in scenery and the prospect of living with new people, but the process can still be a bit harrowing. Your impression of someone can change drastically after spending a few weeks living together. They can only hide the negatives so long. There is also something distressing about knowing your entire life can fit into 5 boxes. At least, mine can. That’s not counting the desk, computer, and mattress, though.

I’m not quite sure what the end result of this will be, but I have never felt quite as free as knowing that I have no idea where I will be living next week. Or maybe I’m trapped. I can’t tell yet, but it’s exciting and stressful nonetheless. Call it my anti-drug, or maybe it’s just my opiate of choice.

It must suck be homeless. I’ve been living more in Panera, Barnes and Noble, and Starbucks (places with wireless access) now more than my own room. I’d wager it’s easier for me to pull this off than someone who hasn’t had a shower in a few weeks. If I could’ve found a way to sleep at any of these places overnight, I probably would have done so by now. It does suck not having a comfortable place to call home.

Is this how the military makes people lose their identity? I am beginning to see how it would be a very effective way of doing so. Give recruits a bag which consists of all their worldly belongings then send them off. Force them to move numerous times, never allowing them to get settled and attached to a locale, thus building a strong sense of independence… these are good things, right?

The funny thing is how in the past month of moving I have started getting absorbed in submarine books. Living as a rogue sub commander on the open seas suddenly has a strange appeal to me. Trolling enemy waters in cramped confines, never knowing entirely what is ahead of or behind you. Don’t worry; I don’t think I’ve gone crazy just yet. Give it due time.

I will leave you with an exchange I had earlier on this topic with a friend of mine:

[19:00] aleybees: DONT KILL YOURSELF
[19:00] xbobxedgex: working on it.

Same shirt syndrome

Am I the only person who feels totally affronted when someone has the same shirt as me? Even if I’m not wearing it, I still feel weird. Like it’s an attack on who I am. Listen, guy, that shirt is something I think of myself wearing, not YOU. I just realized how horrible it is that I associate my identity with a piece of clothing that is mass produced in Indonesia. Maybe I should leave this post at that to avoid the risk of sounding any shallower.

Panera

Sitting in Panera today, having my usual Bacon Turkey Bravo. The pickle really sucks today. I’m just kinda staring at it. It’s one of those slim little wedges of a pickle that is too flaccid to hold up under its own weight. I can’t even justify trying to eat a thing like that. Women who have men with performance anxiety, I feel your pain.

Is it completely tasteless to hit on a girl who is with her mother? Or is it only half tasteless? Either way, apparently today is “cute girls go with their mom’s to Panera day” because this place is crazy. I guess it’s like the last supper before starting the first day of college on Monday. They all look kinda young. The most beautiful girl is sitting directly across from me. Long black hair, light olive skin… very attractive. She does have a slightly larger than average nose, but for some reason I’m always attracted to girls with big noses. Is that because my mother had one? God, I hope not. Anyways, I wish I had a camera attached to the lid of my laptop, because this girl is really good looking enough that it should be catalogued and saved for posterity.

I’m actually amazed lately at the sheer number of women in this area. Any place I go, women easily outnumber the men I see at a ratio of 4 to 1, I would estimate. Any guy you see is usually with a girl, so that keeps them from every really gaining in number. With these kinds of odds, a man should simply not be single. I need to find a way to use this to my advantage.

P.S. Cute girl across from me just got up and made definite eye contact with me on the way to throw away her trash. Way too much makeup. They never look as good up close. A cuter one just walked by and smiled, too.

Fat People Smell

Fat People Smell

Today I stepped into the Computer Science Building elevator and caught a whiff of something truly unique. This was some serious B.O. The thing is, it wasn’t just any B.O. No, fat computer nerds have a body odor all their own. You know the smell I’m talking about; the odor that only comes from being so fat that your sweat congeals under your skin while playing a 48 hour marathon session of World of Warcraft for the entire weekend. The stench that emanates from the depths of pores tortured under mounds of fat, never to see the light of day nor a bar of soap. So there I ascended, trapped within this aroma-filled coffin of steel, my nostrils filled with this repugnant odor.

Sometimes I wonder if I really want to work in computing.